I am the President of the El Angosto Indigenous community of the Salinas Grandes and Laguna de Guayatayoc basin in the northwest provinces of Salta and Jujuy, Argentina. Salinas Grandes is located at 3,200 meters above sea level at the foot of the Nevado de Chañi, Argentina. We are approximately 7,000 inhabitants of 33 communities scattered over an area of 150 kilometers, with numerous roads connecting us. We identify as part of the basin, and we have a shared culture that is transmitted from generation to generation.
Although the basin is distributed between Salta and Jujuy, there are no divisions between Salteños and Jujeños. There are families where the mother lives in Salta and her children a few meters away in Jujuy; daily life takes place on that invisible line that knows no borders. Indigenous communities pre-exist the Argentine State and enjoy a series of rights, such as the right to decide on the priorities of our development, participation in the formulation of plans, policies, or programs that may affect us, and Free, Prior and Informed Consent, guaranteed in the Constitution of the Argentine Nation and the international covenants to which this country has adhered.
Most communities live from raising sheep and llamas, complementing our economies with smaller-scale agricultural production. Llamas are part of our family, and we keep small herds so that they do not suffer from a lack of food in the winter. There is also an affectionate and familial relationship with the whole environment. By the signs that wild animals such as the puma or the fox give us, we know if the year will be dry or rainy. The flowering plants also warn us about the weather. The weather itself is family, and each natural phenomenon has its own way. That is why we ask for respect for this spiritual relationship with the natural environment.
Clement Flores handing out the Kachi Yupi (Basin Communities Consultation Protocol).
The Salt Flats are part of our history and identity. They have provided us with sustenance for many generations through barter and exchange trips, and today, many work as day laborers in the salt cooperatives or as vendors in the regional markets. To defend ourselves against what has been dubbed the “white gold of the Puna”—lithium— and the battery production rush, we started organizing ourselves in 2010. The communities of the basin were unaware of the exploration and exploitation of this precious mineral. We learned about what it was and what they would produce with it, and we organized ourselves to demand information about what they wanted to do in the territory. Our concern was always the amount of water that was going to be consumed in this extractive activity.
To mine lithium, it is necessary to pump millions of liters of water that make up the subsoil of the salt mine. That water has been there for millions of years and is one more link in the composition of our fragile ecosystem. In Catamarca, the Livent Mining Company has been exploiting lithium since 1997 and has been denounced for drying up a river. The Supreme Court of that province prohibited the granting of new permits in the Salar del Hombre Muerto until a study of the accumulated environmental impact of all the projects and works carried out there is done. We do not want to be the guinea pig of the energy transition. If they take away our water, our way of life will end, and with it, our culture.
The ecosystem of the Puna is very precarious. We live in balance and use the resources that nature gives us to the maximum. We have small productions of pea and potato crops and raise llamas and goats on a small scale. In all these activities, water consumption is essential. That is why we made a collective demand to the State to guarantee our rights. The watershed belongs to the communities. It is our responsibility to protect it as a source of life.
We filed a lawsuit before the Supreme Court requesting that the Free, Prior and Informed Consent of the local communities be respected. We began to meet systematically to plan and raise awareness about this emerging problem that could affect everyone’s lives. We also met so that the State would understand that before it carries out any activity out in the basin, we should be consulted through an adequate and participatory procedure. This required the commitment of the communities to meet every month and their willingness to participate in the meetings, which are attended by between 30 and 60 people. Sometimes, the weather or lack of transportation and roads affect the routes we must travel to be present, making it very difficult for all the representatives to participate. Commitment is our main organizational tool.
Organized communities on their way to witness mining companies leaving the salt flats with excavations and intrusions without permission.
Incompatibilities of Lithium Exploitation with Local Production
In the Puna, it rains only 10 centimeters per year. This means that the water consumed for lithium extraction is not available except deep underground. Wells will have to be drilled dozens of meters deep, which will dry up the springs, and the communities will be left without water. The State has never shown us the lithium extraction plan, nor have they involved us in the generation of public policies aimed at respecting and involving the Indigenous Peoples. Just 90 kilometers from our basin, in the area of the Cauchari salt flat, they are exploring lithium and we see what is happening: large drillings, dry springs, and producers who are forced to leave with their llamas.
We are not against mining, progress, or the generation of employment, but we want our voices to be respected, involved, and consulted. In 2009, the State announced that it was going to open the Pirquitas mine for 30 years, but today it is closed. What happened to the local populations and the environment? If the energy transition is intended to improve the world, why do they put our lives at risk? We want to be part of the world they are trying to save, but we also have the right to be included in the future. We can contribute so that the extraction of energy transition minerals does not mean sacrificing our culture. If they kill Pachamama, they kill our People.
One of the strategies we used to address this situation was to prepare a document on our right to Free, Prior and Informed Consent, where we explained the appropriate consultation procedure for our culture. Everyone had the opportunity to add contributions and content that they considered significant. Today, we are ensuring that the State complies with this binding document. If it is not complied with, then our rights are violated. Once formalized, this proposal will work for all mining exploration projects.
Roadblock and mobilization in Salinas Grandes against the exclusion of Indigenous Peoples from the provincial constitutional reform of 2023.
For us, the salt mine is not an economic resource, but a living being. Salt has a breeding cycle. In October and November of each year, the sowing is done by building pools. December to February is the rainy period in which the salt is raised. Harvesting happens from March until May, at which time the salt is fractioned and sold. In August, we ask for a good year for salt, and in our territories we make offerings to Pachamama, offering coca leaves, food, drinks, and sahumada with coba. In this way, we renew the salt cycle.
When we walk through the salt flats, from time to time we find that water springs up. For us, these springs are authorities that must be respected; they are sacred because they are the source of life. To touch them, we must ask their permission. However, these spiritual beings are more vulnerable than others. Their existence depends exclusively on the conservation of the wild landscapes that contain them. That is why we say, “If they take the water, our life is gone.”
Special thank you to Soledad Sede for contributing to this article.
Top photo: Indigenous communities cultivate salt in pools using ancestral methods.
All photos by Joaquin Zaldivar and Soledad Sede.
