Everyone thought they should have left Cesar. That they had been receiving threats for years and that sooner or later it would pass; that they would kill Teófilo Acuña and Jorge Tafur. Activism against paramilitarism and the big landowners in the region was going to take its toll. They also felt it, but they decided to stay and continue in the process of recovering peasant territory that began in the late nineties. On February 22, 2022, two hitmen arrived walking to the municipality of San Martín and shot them dead in front of family and friends, after years of disputes and threats with members of the Mayor's Office. "Should they have migrated?" asks Nadia Umaña, a comrade in struggle and spokeswoman for the Interlocution Commission of Southern Bolivar, Central and Southern Cesar, Colombia. "I think the questions we have to ask ourselves are different: Where was the state when they threatened us for defending the land? How long are we going to be worth more dead than alive?"
Neither the security schemes, nor the denunciations, nor the history of violence against Colombia's environmental leaders are enough to prevent the bloodletting of murders of defenders of the territory. At least 60 were killed in the Andean country in 2022, according to Global Witness' latest count. The country, which doubled this figure from one year to the next, has buried nearly two-thirds of the world's 177 dead environmentalists. "The worst thing about this chilling figure is that we know it represents just a small drop in an ocean of violence," said Gabriella Bianchini, a researcher at Global Witness. "They protect everyone's territory, but no one protects them."
The trend is scary. Latin America maintains the dishonorable title of being the deadliest region for activists and accumulates nine out of ten of these violent deaths that, since 2012, total 1,910 people. One activist every two days. Protectors of the swamps, leaders of invaded indigenous communities, caretakers of the Amazon, defenders of peasants, Afro-descendant spokespersons. Choosing to protect territory, whatever it may be, is a death sentence. Umaña and four other comrades from Cesar migrated to Bogotá more than a year ago, after burying five members of the organization in the last decade. "It's unfair to have to decide between uprooting or death. Spokespeople do not have to be martyrs. I give my life for the peasant struggle, yes, but I want to die at the age of 90, as an old woman. I contribute so much more to my living community."
For Lourdes Castro, human rights activist and coordinator of Somos defensores, what is behind these murders is economic interest. "Legal or illegal. Leaders are stigmatized as enemies of economic development. But you have to question what development we are supporting," he says. Although it is complex to know for sure the intellectual authors – since there are very few cases that end up prosecuted and even fewer that have been sentenced – according to the organization's estimates more than 60% of these crimes are linked to agribusiness, mining and timber extraction.
"We activists annoy the powerful," Castro argues. The way to turn off their voices is the same from Sonora, in Mexico, to Tierra del Fuego, in Argentina. Harassment, intimidation, sexual violence, criminalization and threats that pile up until they are fulfilled. Many do not report it. "What for?" asks Sofía Rivas, sister of Hipólito Rivas, murdered in Honduras in January 2023. "They killed him anyway, even with protective measures. What they achieve is that many of us are forced to flee. Those of us who stay, we already know what we're up against." And those who do denounce, lament the deaf ears of the institutions. "It seems that governments are also interested in keeping us silent," Víctor Vásquez, an indigenous leader from Simpinula, in the south of the Central American country, told América Futura months after being denounced by his own bodyguard.
Peasant leader Santos Hipólito Rivas, in Honduras, in a file photo. COURTESY
Honduras is the country with the highest rate of homicides of activists per capita. With just 10 million inhabitants, it lost 14 leaders in 2022. More than one a month. Although Xiomara Castro, Honduras' first female president, pledged to protect defenders, at least eight murders have already been reported in the first four months of the year. For Víctor Fernández, a member of the Human Rights Law Firm Estudios para la Dignidad, protection measures are nowhere near sufficient: "At this point, agribusiness has already achieved a level of relationship with institutions that, in addition to allowing them violence, guarantees impunity."
Indigenous communities: one third of those killed
Brazil lost 34 leaders, down from 26 in 2021. An increase that researchers attribute to the policies of then President Jair Bolsonaro, which favored the exploitation of the Amazon and illegal invasions in indigenous territory. In Mexico, the country with the highest number of murders in 2021, it registered a notable drop, as it went from 54 homicides in 2021 to 31 in 2022. However, non-lethal attacks remain a constant in the daily lives of defenders and make their work difficult. Fear does not go away.
The research, published on Tuesday, concluded that the world's indigenous communities face a disproportionate level of attacks with deadly consequences, as they were victims of more than a third (34%) of the assassinations of leaders, despite only constituting 5% of the world's population. "Studies have shown time and again that indigenous peoples are the best custodians of forests and are therefore indispensable in mitigating the climate crisis," said Laura Furones, Senior Campaign Advisor at Global Witness, during the launch of the report. "However, in countries like Brazil, Peru and Venezuela they are besieging them precisely for carrying out this work [...] Measures against the growing climate emergency and the defence of human rights must go hand in hand."
An indigenous boy looks at the Igara-Paraná River, on January 26, 2023, in La Chorrera, Colombia. Juan Diego Lopez (EFE)
The violent trend is a consequence of weak policies, with hardly any budget and little capacity to react. While safeguarding leaders is at the heart of the Escazú Agreement, Latin America and the Caribbean's first regional treaty on human rights and the environment, only 16 countries have ratified it. Nations that have not done so are Brazil, Costa Rica, Dominica, Guatemala, Haiti, Jamaica, Paraguay, Peru, and the Dominican Republic. Colombia was the last to join after two years of delays in Congress. This will enter into force in a few months. "The government of Gustavo Petro has shown political will," says Lourdes Castro. "That he recognizes that there is violence against us is something historic. But there is no time to lose in implementing national policies to make it happen." This pact includes one for greater transparency to access information, environmental justice and better protection of leaders.
So far, the mechanisms vary from country to country. These measures usually include weekly or biweekly patrols, monitoring calls or permanent individual or collective security schemes. However, demand exceeds resources. Or the requirements to receive the security schemes leave out hundreds. In Colombia, according to official data, there are 5,038 leaders and human rights defenders with protection measures granted. In Brazil there are 506. In Honduras, these data are not public. "Protection measures are often not enough and many of the leaders do not qualify to benefit from them," laments Bianchini.
The Amazon, in check
If there is a place on the globe threatened by armed groups, it is the Amazon. This is one of the hotspots of violence against defenders. In these 6.9 million hectares, one of the most biodiverse corners of the world, 39 environmentalists died in 2022. The outcome of these crimes is usually identical: a handful of international bodies that condemn what happened, local and national governments that commit to take action, a community in mourning and condemnations that almost never come. According to experts, impunity for crimes encourages further attacks.
In June 2022, there was a case that went around the world. The murder of British Guardian journalist Dom Phillips, 57, and Bruno Pereira, 41, an expert on indigenous peoples. They were brutally murdered while touring indigenous territory in Brazil's Amazon region. "It had the impact it had because one of them was European. It's not bad that he was known worldwide, but the murders of other activists who are also on the front line do not reach that scope," says Bianchini. Since 2014, at least 296 defenders have been killed in the Amazon. "The role of the press and civil society is fundamental so that murders do not become numbers," he adds.
A protest over the murder of Dom Philips and Bruno Pereira, in Rio de Janeiro, in July 2022. Silvia Izquierdo (AP)
"They killed two environmentalists and my two teachers"
In the savannah of Cesar grows the flower of the cañaguate. Most of the time it goes unnoticed as a dry and graceless stick. And it is only when it goes a while without rain that it blooms like a huge yellow bell. In the rainy season, it uses all the nutrients in the water to take root and expand.
The peasant organization to which Umaña belongs is, he says, the Cañaguate. "Teo [Acuña] and [Jorge] Tafur were the water that allowed the roots to branch out and reach more corners." For the 35-year-old activist, the death of both defenders goes beyond politics. "What I am, what I think and how I see life. It's all thanks to them and the other colleagues. They killed two spokesmen and my two teachers. But the roots of the cañaguate are cast."