Colombia's River Guardians Fight to Safeguard the Atrato Amidst Threats and Neglect

Sediment and pebbles are now all that remain around Bernardino Mosquera's small riverside community in Colombia's Choco region. Just a year ago, lush shrubs and trees flourished in this biodiversity hotspot, rich with native species. However, illegal miners have invaded, employing heavy machinery to dredge the riverbeds for gold.

"It's just desert here," Mosquera lamented. "Illegal mining impacts the ecosystem in every way… it leads to degraded land. There are no trees, water sources are drying up, and the pollution from mercury is rampant."

Mosquera is among a group of river guardians, a title given to him and 13 others. These unpaid guardians act as the eyes and ears of the Atrato River, engaging with government agencies on environmental and social issues while facing threats from armed groups. They hope to restore the damage they observe along the river. However, after eight years, their disillusionment is growing due to insufficient institutional support and escalating threats from armed groups controlling the area.

In 2016, Colombia's constitutional court recognized the Atrato River, which flows alongside this town of 2,500 residents, as having rights equivalent to a person due to its vital importance to life. This region hosts thousands of species, with 25% of its plant and bird species being endemic, as reported by the United Nations Development Programme. The river's legal recognition marked a historic first for Latin America, coinciding with the establishment of the guardians.

"It's an unbreakable bond between the inhabitants and the rivers," said Mosquera, 62. "That's why we must protect the Atrato."

Over the past decade, illegal gold mining has rapidly expanded to become the fastest-growing criminal economy in South America, initially taking root in Colombia and Peru before spreading to Ecuador, Venezuela, and Brazil.

In Choco, illegal mining is rampant, with towns like Paimado acting as hubs under the control of the Gulf Clan, the largest criminal organization in the country. Each morning, small wooden boats transport gasoline containers to fuel the mining machinery along the 750-kilometer (470 miles) Atrato River, winding through northern Colombian jungles.

Numerous illegal mines dot the river from Mosquera's home in Paimado, situated on the Rio Quito, the Atrato River's main tributary, to the state capital Quibdo. Large wooden rafts anchored on stilts reach deep into the riverbed to extract materials that are then sifted for gold, while heavier machinery operates deep within the riverbanks, resulting in significant deforestation.

Drone footage captured by The Associated Press reveals vast patches of barren land stretching behind the riverbanks.

"Many believe that because it appears green, deforestation isn't occurring," noted river guardian and agronomist Maryuri Mosquera, 42.

Widespread poverty has driven many into gold mining, a practice that destroys land and contaminates their river, creating a vicious cycle that undermines the local economy and increases dependency on mining.

In April, Colombia's human rights ombudsman reported that the government is failing to protect the river, stating, "there is no evidence of any progress" since the river was granted personhood. The ombudsman urged the environment ministry to comply with the 2016 ruling.

In response, Colombia's environment ministry indicated that Minister Susana Muhamad is coordinating efforts with the Ministry of Defense "to protect this important ecosystem." It also mentioned plans to engage communities in restoring the Atrato River basin and its tributaries.

The Atrato River has long served as a crucial source of water, food, and transport for its predominantly Afro-Colombian residents who established communities along its banks.

In the tiny village of El Arenal, river guardian Juan Carlos Palacios, 33, views his role as a victory for Black communities who fought for the 2016 ruling.

"It saddens me to see machinery constantly passing by without oversight. They come to our land, and we cannot voice our concerns because the miners are accompanied by armed individuals," Palacios shared.

Palacios has been involved in artisanal gold mining for most of his life. His mother continues this work, bent over with a hoe and a wooden gold sifting pan. This has been her way of life for as long as she can remember.

"I think if I stop, I'll die quickly because I'm so accustomed to it," Ana Palacios Cuesta said with a laugh. "The dredgers have emptied the entire river, so we hardly find anything anymore."

The minuscule amounts of gold sediment she collects are sold in nearby towns like Yuto or Quibdo, approximately 40 minutes away.

Industrial-scale miners use mercury and arsenic for gold extraction, contaminating the river and surrounding lands. This practice has devastated marine life, altered the river's natural flow, and further marginalized some of the country's most vulnerable communities.

Palacios, who holds a degree in biology, noted that fish in the river are "highly contaminated" with mercury, which transfers through the food chain, harming vital organs in humans.

"Of course, we continue to consume them because we have no other option," he stated.

Local women and their children wash dishes and clothes in the river, a practice reserved for the most rural and needy communities due to fears of water contamination.

The guardians undertake a precarious role in an area dominated by rebel and criminal armed groups, such as the National Liberation Army and Gulf Clan.

The armed groups oversee mining machinery along the riverbanks, requiring miners to pay protection money, referred to locally as "vacuna," to operate without becoming targets.

"The act of raising awareness and denouncing the situations affecting the Atrato basin exposes us to significant risks," guardian Maryuri Mosquera said, particularly for her colleagues in more remote areas.

Guardian Bernardino Mosquera has received a bulletproof vest provided by the state after enduring multiple death threats over the years, the latest occurring in March. He has been kidnapped by the Gulf Clan and has found bullet shells placed under his door as warnings on several occasions.

At one point, he considered quitting.

"But I realized that if we withdraw from the process, we empower them… no one will want to speak out about what's happening, and you'll end up riddled with bullets," Mosquera explained, as tropical rain pounded the tin roof of his home.

"We must continue to make our efforts visible. It's the only way for them (armed groups) to know that we, too, are present in the territory. That motivated me to persist… and here I am."