Project
Preserving the legacy of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, Heart of the World
Rising abruptly from Colombia’s Caribbean coast, the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta reaches 5,775 meters (18,946 ft.) at its highest points, the peaks of Bolívar and Colón. It is the highest coastal mountain system in the world, a place where indigenous knowledge and nature’s own wisdom converge.
The sheer changes in elevation create a wide variety of ecosystems within a small area, where the diversity of plant and animal life creates a unique exuberant region. The melting snows of the highest peaks form rivers and lakes, whose freshwater flows down steep slopes to the tropical sea at the base of the mountains.
The indigenous Arhuaco, Kogi, Wiwa, and Kankuamo people protect and care for this natural treasure with an authority they have inherited from their ancestors. According to their worldview the land is sacred and shared in divine communion between humans, animals, plants, rivers, mountains, and the spirts of their ancestors.
Despite this ancestral inheritance, development projects proposed for the region have failed to take the opinions of these indigenous groups into consideration. The Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta is currently threatened by 251 mineral concessions, hydroelectric projects, agriculture, urban sprawl, and infrastructure projects.
Many of these concessions were granted without the prior consultation of the indigenous communities, which represents a persistent and systematic violation of their rights.
Mining, which implies the contamination and erosion of watersheds, threatens the health of more than 30 rivers that flow out of the Sierra; these are the water sources of the departments of Magdalena, César, and La Guajira.
These threats have brought this natural paradise to the brink of no return. With it, would go the traditional lives of its indigenous inhabitants, who are dependent on the health of their land and the sacred sites it contains.
The Sierra hosts the archaeological site of la Ciudad Perdida, the Lost City, known as Teyuna, the cradle of Tayrona civilization. According to tradition, it is the source from which all nature was born—the living heart of the world.
The four guardian cultures of the Sierra are uninterested in allowing this natural and cultural legacy to disappear.
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Lessons in Strength and Solidarity from the Mexico City Earthquake
Seconds before 1:15 p.m. on September 19, the Earth reminded us just how fragile life is. As soon as we felt the first movement, and the seismic alert confirmed what was happening, our Mexico City team suspended a call with team members in five countries and took to the streets. Words can’t describe the emotions that engulfed us during the next hours and days. Fear and joy, anxiety and solidarity, nervousness and hope. Just two hours before, we had participated in a simulation in honor of the victims of the devastating earthquake exactly 32 years before. While for some residents of Mexico City these exercises are a repetitive protocol, we in AIDA always follow them because our team consists of professionals from across Latin America, some who don’t have experience with earthquakes. So luckily our team knew what to do. We met at the rendezvous point, as best we could. We were relieved to learn the teams of AIDA and CEMDA—with whom we share offices—were all safe and accounted for. But the calm was short-lived, as reports came in from nearby streets: building collapses, gas leaks, the loss of power and communication. The city suspended all activities. Those who were able showed up to help. Damaged streets were flooded with volunteers. Astrid Puentes, co-director of AIDA, gave shelter to our team in her nearby home. Those who could returned to their homes at the end of the day. Unfortunately, the house where one of our interns was staying was left uninhabitable. These have been difficult days. Work was put on hold as our team joined the relief efforts. We have seen so many signs of solidarity. Despite the tragedy, the humility and confidence of the Mexican people has awakened in us a new sense of hope. Everyone could help in some way. We’ve seen therapists, lawyers, motorcyclists, cooks, blacksmiths, architects, masons, journalists, and clowns offering their knowledge and experience to one cause: helping the victims, whether they knew them or not. We won’t emerge from this situation unscathed. While AIDA’s office remains in good condition, the news of friends who have lost loved ones or their homes continues to arrive. But we’ve seen the spectacular strength and resilience of Mexico’s people; they work with their hands as well as their hearts. We know now that the reconstruction that awaits us will have its foundation in solidarity and empathy. We’re confident that the millions of people who have been awakened, who are acting as conscious and involved citizens, will continue working for our city and our country. And we return to our work this week conscious that thousands of people still need help, not just in Mexico City, but also in the states of Morelos, Puebla, Oaxaca, Veracruz, Tabasco, and Chiapas. We will work for them and for the whole continent. We will work for the Earth, which has reminded us that life is but an instant, and that it’s always worth fighting for. -- In solidarity, AIDA’s team from Mexico City: Astrid, Ava, Cecilia, Laura, Paulina, Rodrigo, and Victor. ¡#FuerzaMéxico!
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Why damming rivers, like blocking veins, risks our health
Some of my most treasured childhood memories happened in or near a river. I can still feel the cold water on my feet, and the current that pulled me smoothly past rocks and branches. I remember vacations with my cousins, throwing ourselves into the river near my aunt and uncle’s country house, leaping from the tops of rocks or swinging from the branches of a tree. I remember summer road trips, driving down seemingly endless bridges over the great rivers of southern Mexico. I’ve always thought of rivers as the veins of our planet. In their waters, the rivers and their tributaries carry nutrients to wetlands, lakes, and the sea. They carry oxygen and host thousands of species. They supply drinking water to millions of people in small towns and big cities. They give us food, entertainment, transportation, and life. Recent natural disasters have reminded us that—despite our best attempts—there are no limits, dams, dikes or pipelines that can control the water. It’s true that, properly implemented, dams can have benefits; but in many cases, particularly those of large-scale development, the damages dams do far outweigh any benefits. There are currently more than 300 large dam projects planned or in construction throughout Latin America. Many of them are underway without adequate social and environmental impacts assessments. The results are displaced communities, destroyed forests, and rivers with no fish. Blocking our veins The water flowing down our rivers is vital to the natural equilibrium of the planet and its climate. It’s like the blood circulating through your body. If your bloodflow were blocked, you’d get cardiovascular disease, maybe even a heart attack. Well, damming rivers is like intentionally blocking your veins and expecting no problems. Only one third of the world’s great rivers remain free-flowing, without dams or canals. Now I’m not a doctor, or a biologist, but I often wonder: are we heading for the collapse of our natural system by blocking, tubing, manipulating, and contaminating the veins of the Earth (which, like us, is a living organism)? And because rotting vegetation in dam reservoirs releases lots of methane (a super-potent greenhouse gas), isn’t the current climate crisis, in part, a response to the blockages in Earth’s circulatory system? A slow death The mouth of the Colorado River opens to the Sea of Cortes, in northeast Mexico. It’s an area historically rich in sea life from the Gulf of California. For eons, the flow of the Colorado brought nutrient-rich sediment to the Sea of Cortes. It kept the coastal estuary rich and healthy, along with the animals that sought shelter there. But that’s not happening anymore. The vaquita, now the world’s rarest marine mammal, teeters on the edge of extinction. Between the Colorado River’s mountain headwaters and the end of its main channel, more than 10 large dams and 80 water diversions have squeezed the river dry. Now the Gulf no longer receives the river’s nutrient-rich waters, harming not just marine life like the vaquita, but also the area’s fishermen. No one mentions that the near disappearance of the vaquita has been caused by habitat destruction due to the upstream dams on the Colorado River. Mexico’s last free-flowing river The San Pedro Mezquital River is the last undammed river in the western Sierra Madre Mountains. The river links the region’s indigenous people. It’s a source of their culture and identity. The river channel, more than 500 kilometers long, connects the forests of the highlands with the wetlands of the coast, opening into Marismas Nacionales, the largest mangrove forest in the Mexican Pacific. Marismas Nacionales, declared a wetland of international importance, is home to more than 12,000 families engaged in fishing, agriculture, and tourism. But this national treasure is at risk due to the government’s plan to build a hydroelectric dam on the San Pedro Mezquital. If the river were blocked, its contribution of nutrients downstream would be drastically reduced. The health of Marismas Nacionales, its rich biodiversity, and the region’s sustainable local economy would all be slowly starved. The reservoir would also destroy at least 14 sites sacred to local indigenous communities. But we’ve still got time to stop this plan and others like it. We can avoid the collapse of the natural world that surrounds us, on our one and only planet. By supporting AIDA, you can help keep Earth’s veins flowing free.
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Hope for the Ciénaga, seed of Colombia’s magical realism
“We were in the great swamp, the Ciénaga Grande, another of the myths of my childhood.”– Gabriel García Márquez in Living to Tell the Tale, 2002. Today I learned that Colombia—thanks in part to AIDA’s supporters—took an unprecedented step to save an ecosystem central to Colombia’s identy: the Ciénaga Grande de Santa Marta. As a Colombian and an environmental attorney, I’m deeply moved. And so thankful to the hundreds of supporters whose petition signatures helped move the government to action. The government added the Ciénaga Grande to the Montreux Record, a global list of at-risk wetlands. This action will provide Colombia with international technical and financial support needed to save the vital ecosystem. When I heard the good news, I immediately thought of the yellow butterflies of Macondo. And I thought of Colonel Aureliano Buendía, who stood in front of a firing squad remembering the day his grandfather took him to see ice. The imagery of this magical world, masterfully created by Gabriel García Márquez in One Hundred Years of Solitude, was born from the Ciénaga Grande de Santa Marta. In the early 1900’s, after the Thousand Days’ War, Colonel Nicolás Ricardo Márquez, grandfather of Colombia’s Nobel laureate, passed through the Ciénaga to settle near Aracataca. Later, accompanied by his grandfather, the author crossed the Ciénaga Grande various times to visit his parents in Barranquilla. In 1950, he crossed it again with his mother as they were going to sell his grandparents’ house. It was there, in the Ciénaga Grande, that Márquez found the spark that would light one of the classics of modern literature. So it’s no exaggeration to say that without the Ciénaga Grande, we wouldn’t have the yellow butterflies, or Macondo, or Colonel Aureliano Buendía, embedded so deeply into our cultural memory. It was there that the seed of magical realism was planted. That’s why even a cachaca like me—what those who live in the Caribbean call those of us from the country’s interior—who has lived for many years outside her country, identifies so deeply with the Ciénaga Grande. An international treasure For that and so many other reasons, we at AIDA decided to act in defense of the Ciénaga Grande, named a Wetland of International Importance under the Ramsar Convention. It’s home to Colombia’s largest coastal lagoon, which connects the fresh waters of the mighty Magdalena River with the salt water of the Caribbean Sea. The area is home to many species of mangrove, as well as tropical and riparian forests. It shelters raccoons, howler monkeys, manatees, red herons, ducks, and migrating birds. The Ciénaga Grande also hosts one of the largest artisanal fisheries in Colombia, which supports hundreds of families throughout the area. As a coastal wetland, it’s essential for climate regulation, absorption of pollution from the atmosphere, and flood control. But the Ciénaga Grande is gravely threatened. The spread of mass agriculture and livestock farming, along with large-scale infrastructure projects, has led to deforestation and water diversion. The animals and fish and people of the area are suffering as a result. That’s why I’ve joined the efforts to conserve the Ciénaga Grande, and why every person in Colombia, in the region, and in the world, should do the same. Hope for a healthier tomorrow The addition of the Ciénaga Grande to the Montreux Record fills me with hope. Although it’s shameful such an important ecosystem is in such bad shape, having the government recognize that fact and ask for help is an important advance. Thanks to all the caring activists who’ve joined the cause, my colleagues and I are inspired to do everything we can to ensure that the Ciénaga Grande recovers its vitality. We expect the government will do the same. After all, what would Colombia, Latin America, and the world be without the yellow butterflies of Macondo, and without the magic of nature to envelope us and gives us life?
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