Project
Victory: Haven for leatherback sea turtles declared off-limits
In two separate rulings in May 2008, the Costa Rican government stood up for endangered leatherback sea turtles against business interests intent on building within their protected habitat.
A relative of dinosaurs, the endangered leatherback sea turtle has continually found its home in Costa Rica under threat. Poor planning and lack of oversight destroyed its nesting beaches in Flamingo and Tamarindo.
This time developers had their eye on the Leatherback National Marine Park (LNMP), home to some of the most important Leatherback nesting beaches in the Eastern Pacific Ocean.
A municipal zoning regulation was enacted that would authorize construction in part of the LNMP. However, AIDA and its local partner CEDARENA, together with the Leatherback Trust, successfully defended the park.
The Constitutional Chamber of the Costa Rican Supreme Court nullified the municipal zoning regulation, safeguarding the Leatherback sea turtles and their nesting beaches. This ruling closely followed another court victory by AIDA, CEDARENA, and Justice for Nature that required the government to expropriate the private lands within the LNMP, otherwise destined to be tourist playgrounds.
The leatherback sea turtle will continue to face threats from tourism development, fishing, egg poaching, and pollution. However, AIDA and its partners have shown that the law can be used to make a powerful difference.
Related projects
Self-generation: How to democratize access to energy
In the traditional and dominant model, electricity is generated by large power plants and distributed through extensive grids that make up an electric power system. These activities are the exclusive domain of large electric companies, whether privately or government-owned.Therefore, the current energy system, based on fossil fuels—coal, natural gas, and oil—is not only one of the main causes of the global climate crisis, but it is also inequitable because it is concentrated in the hands of a few, in addition to limiting access to resources and public participation in decision-making.This requires that the energy transition involves not only a shift in the energy mix but also the creation of a new energy system that—among other things—enables democratized access to energy from clean, renewable sources.Energy self-generation, as a decentralized production model, is an opportunity to move in that direction. What does democratic access to energy mean?Energy is necessary for people to have access to better food, clean water, job opportunities, education, and other rights. Therefore, energy is also a right and a prerequisite for ensuring the enjoyment of other human rights.Energy democracy is both a principle and a movement that seeks to ensure that energy decisions—how it is generated, who generates it, and who benefits from it—are in the hands of the people rather than concentrated in the hands of large corporations or elites, prioritizing the use of clean and renewable energy sources as well as decentralized systems, with a focus on social justice.Therefore, democratic access to energy entails:Community control of energy resources.Citizen participation in energy planning.Equitable distribution of benefits. This contrasts with traditional centralized systems—often monopolistic—that have led to inequities, such as communities paying high electricity rates or suffering the impacts of large-scale electricity generation, yet having no say in the decisions that affect them.In Latin America, the active involvement of indigenous, rural, and traditional communities in energy projects is seen as a cornerstone for achieving a socially and environmentally just transition, closing energy access gaps, and strengthening energy democracy.In this regard, energy self-generation embodies energy democracy, as it allows entire communities to make their own energy decisions and reclaim control over key links in the electricity value chain, such as generation and management. What is energy self-generation?Self-generation is a decentralized model of electricity production that relies on locally available clean and renewable energy sources (such as solar, hydropower, or wind). This approach is used in projects that are often small-scale and can be used individually or collectively to meet energy needs in urban or rural areas, including those far from distribution grids.It is a model that enables progress, at the local level, toward reducing greenhouse gas emissions—which exacerbate the climate crisis—without repeating the extractivist model. It recognizes the right of communities to generate their own energy to meet their needs and, at the same time, helps reduce energy poverty and dependence on centralized power grids.Energy self-generation can take two forms:Distributed generation: A small-scale self-generation system connected to nearby distribution grids to feed surplus energy into the grid.Off-grid systems: A closed-loop self-generation system disconnected from distribution grids. In this model, users are no longer passive participants but instead play an active role in generating and managing energy wherever they are. A self-generating individual or community both produces and consumes energy. Examples of energy self-generation in Latin AmericaAcross the continent, success stories in implementing the self-generation model are strengthening the regional movement for energy democratization. Here are a few examples:Mexico - "Energy for the Yeknemilis (Good Living)." A community initiative implemented in the Northeastern Highlands of Puebla to promote local energy sovereignty through the installation of photovoltaic systems in community spaces.Colombia - Community solar project on Isla Fuerte. Installation of a solar microgrid with batteries (150 kW peak and 348 kWh of storage), not connected to the National Interconnected System, capable of providing continuous electricity to the 250 households on the Caribbean island.Brazil - Percília e Lúcio Renewable Energy Cooperative. A community initiative founded by the NGO Revolusolar and developed by residents of the Morro da Babilônia and Chapéu Mangueira favelas in Rio de Janeiro. Solar panels were installed there, reducing electricity rates by more than 50%.Chile - Curicó Electric Power Supply Cooperative. A community-based initiative operating in the Maule Region that installs solar panels to supply electricity to rural grids and community facilities. Challenges for energy self-generationDespite the progress made, the widespread and effective implementation of this model faces significant challenges on the continent. The main ones are:Inadequate regulation (complex or insufficient). Often, a country’s domestic regulations make it difficult or impossible to implement such schemes. This is due to limitations on the number of megawatts (MW) that can be generated, complex contractual requirements, or a lack of appropriate legal structures.Limited financing. Many low-income households cannot afford the upfront cost of solar panels or other technologies. Government support or loans for these projects are scarce. The risk is that self-generation will be concentrated among those with the financial means to implement it, thereby excluding the segments of the population most affected by energy poverty.Inefficient electrical infrastructure. Local grids often lack the capacity or technical capabilities to integrate energy generated by decentralized sources, limiting the ability to take advantage of surplus energy feed-in. Furthermore, the need for storage systems to address the variability of renewable energy sources, as well as the lack of grid backup, increases project costs. Energy self-generation: A solid path toward a just transitionThe pursuit of equitable access to energy through tools such as energy self-generation is consistent with the need to ensure that the energy transition puts people at the center and prioritizes improving their living conditions as its ultimate goal.Electricity generation models designed by and for communities are an important means of ensuring access to affordable, reliable, sustainable, and modern energy for everyone.Because discussing a just energy transition means reclaiming energy as a tool to meet human needs in the context of inequities and finite resources. Learn more about a just energy transition in Latin America.
Read more
Voices for the Motagua River: Olga Vázquez, hands that shape hope
Stories of courage, dignity, and resistance for life in the face of pollution in Guatemala’s longest river.For generations, clay was the heart of Santa Cruz Chinautla. It emerged from the earth as a daily gift, was shaped by patient hands, and transformed into pots, jugs, whistles, and comales that were taken to the markets in the capital.There, between the river and the wood-fired kilns, doña Olga Noemí Vázquez grew up. From childhood, she learned the art of pottery from her mother. Today, at nearly sixty years old, she continues to work with clay, but the craft is no longer the same. Clay is scarce, the river smells like sewage, and her hands crack from the chemicals carried by the polluted water.Doña Olga fondly recalls how she first got into pottery. "I learned it when I was ten years old. My mom taught me. I wanted to make different shapes and styles, because sometimes tourists would bring different figurines, and here we’d try to imitate them," she says from the small workshop she’s set up in her home. Every piece she creates is an act of remembrance, a way to resist oblivion and the loss of the landscape and her livelihood.He also recalls that in the past, the town's inhabitants didn't go to the capital to work. "We made our living right here. We grew vegetables, güisquiles, and corn. Everything was produced right here. And we made a living from clay. Today, it’s not like that anymore." Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. From drainage to destruction The change was slow, like a tide that rises without you noticing. First came the drainage systems. Then, the trucks. The city’s trash found its final destination in Chinautla. "There was nowhere else to dump it, so they dumped it on us," she says. That’s how the tragedy began: the rivers turned into channels of waste, the banks became covered in gray crusts, and the odors became unbearable, especially during the rainy season. "The river carries all the trash from Zone 3. It smells awful. There’s no clean clay anymore; we can’t dig it up as we used to."The 1976 earthquake left a mark on the town’s memory, but it was systematic neglect that ultimately disfigured the landscape. The municipal government, she says, moved from Santa Cruz to Zone 6, and since then the town has been left without any real representation. "There’s no mayor here. They come here to put up their campaign posters, they hold office, but they’re never here. They’ve never taken us into account," she laments. Women who resist In the face of institutional silence, associations, collectives, and struggles emerged. Among them was the Chinautla Women’s Association. "We organized because if we didn’t, we would have been left with nothing. The clay was running out, the sand miners were advancing, and the river was washing everything away. The women here don’t go to the capital to work. They make pottery at home and take care of their children. If we ran out of clay, we’d have no life left."In 2010, disaster struck with full force. Two rivers, Las Vacas and Chinautla, overflowed due to the accumulation of sand that had been extracted without any controls. The water swept away a bridge. The community banded together and built another one with their own hands. The municipality did not cooperate. "That bridge is in ruins, but we, the neighbors, built it. Otherwise, we’d still be cut off."Sand mining has become their most persistent enemy. "The sand miners are wearing us down. They take out tons and tons of sand every day. Our clay is gone with them. We’re left with almost nothing. And what little remains is contaminated," he says. The damage isn’t limited to the landscape—people’s health is suffering as well. Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. The value of words and justice The expansion of businesses, the passivity of the authorities, and social erosion have caused divisions within the town. "Politics has planted ideas in people’s minds. There are thousands of residents, but only 500 support us. The rest don’t cooperate. They don’t understand that this isn’t about a political party—it’s about our town," she explains.In recent years, the women’s association has joined forces with the town’s ancestral authorities. Together, they have succeeded in opening channels of dialogue with government ministries, halting the renewal of extractive licenses, and bringing the conflict to the government's attention. The 2025 ruling, handed down after years of legal battles, was a ray of hope amid the neglect. A court ordered the municipality to assume its environmental responsibility. For the first time, someone listened. "Thanks to that ruling, a businessman was stopped. His license hasn’t been renewed. It wasn’t like that before: you’d go to talk to them, and the ministers only thought about making a profit. Now, at least, they listen to us."The future is uncertain. Drinking water is delivered only once every eight days. Mining permits can be renewed at any time. The river continues to carry trash. But there’s one thing doña Olga is not willing to lose: her dignity. "I advise women to get involved, to stay informed. We can’t just stay at home without knowing what politicians, businesspeople, and ministers are doing. If you get involved, you’ll find out. And once you know, you’ll fight."When asked what Chinautla was like 50 years ago, her eyes fill with lost images: girls playing in the street, clean water flowing over stones, women shaping clay at sunset. "It was peaceful," she says. “It was ours.” Today, amid pollution and plundering, Chinautla endures thanks to women like her, who continue to shape its history with clay, memory, and courage.
Read more
Voices for the Motagua River: Nazario Pascual, an artery of the Poqomam people
Stories of courage, dignity, and resistance for life in the face of pollution in Guatemala’s longest river.Nazario Pascual needs no embellishments to define himself: "I am a Poqomam warrior who uses music and sung poetry to plant a little seed in people’s minds. I am an artery of the Poqomam people."A musician, cultural promoter, and independent producer, Nazario lives in Santa Cruz Chinautla, a community affected by pollution in the Motagua River. From there, he sings in Poqomam so that his language will not disappear, and so that the children who listen to him will grow up knowing that the river, too, has a memory.His journey began in the church pews, watching his father play. But it was an intimate moment that ignited the spark: one night, he heard his dad praying in Poqomam. "I thought, ‘Wow, God hears us in Poqomam. It’s your heritage.’ That’s where I started." The landscape that took away his childhood When Nazario talks about his childhood, he describes fruit trees, springs, and a communal washhouse where mothers washed clothes while the children played. Today, all of that is gone.The uncontrolled expansion of the capital and the diversion of stormwater to the Zone 3 landfill have turned the river into an open wound. Added to this are the sand pits that extract material without any oversight: "They’ve eaten away at a large part of the Poqomam territory. Here we call it ‘black gold.'"His family has lost their land dozens of times. When it rains in the city, the smells reach Chinautla even if not a single drop falls there. Houses are sinking, the ground is cracking, and residents are being displaced."The river is a monster coming from the city," he says. Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. A legacy of struggle, but also of weariness Nazario inherited his father’s conviction to protest. He took part in demonstrations, organized meetings, and, together with others, built a retaining wall under the red bridge with community support. But he also bears the weight of so many years: "At first there were 17 of us at the protests, then 12, then 7, and now barely 4."An aunt told him straight out: "Don’t try to be a folk hero." The remark made him reflect on the limits of commitment… and on the need for new forms of resistance. Seeds that sing Nazario found that new path in music. He formed a band with his cousins and later began working with children. Together, they write lyrics about the river, compose melodies, and sing in Poqomam. That’s how "Mamut" was born—one of the songs sung in the community today."Getting children and young people involved is the small contribution I’m trying to make,” he explains. “They’re the ones who will remain here." Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. A message that endures Nazario knows the problem is bigger than he is. The Motagua River carries trash that ends up in the Caribbean, affecting entire communities. But he also believes that local struggles have power."It’s understandable to go to work—because we have to—but we shouldn’t be indifferent to what’s happening in the town."He fears that the real plan of the polluting and extractive industries is to wipe the Poqomam people off the map. But he dreams of a different story:"I imagine Chinautla with the river stabilized, children growing up in a dignified environment, knowing their rights and fighting for them." The pulse of a community His voice is a blend of pain and hope. He speaks of losses—of his father, of the land, of the river—but also of music, of living languages, and of children singing along to his songs."I am an artery of the Poqomam people," he repeats.And like any artery, he beats to keep his community alive.
Read more