Resistance is a river

Corruption, illegal mining, and lack of action threaten Peru’s mountain communities as glaciers disappear.

A community in Arin, Peru, celebrating and calling for the protection of Arin waterfall, photo by Yasmin Dahnoun

On a misty September morning, villagers from a small community nestled in Peru’s Sacred Valley - Arin - rise early to gather beneath a waterfall that cascades from the Andes above. 

They come to celebrate Arin’s birthday: the day the river was first redirected by hand into the mountains so it could flow down to the valley below, nourishing all

Three lives were lost during that redirection, and each year the villagers celebrate both the sacred, life-giving waters and those who sacrificed themselves to bring them here.

Protected

At dawn, the small group of villagers climbs to the mountain’s summit to temporarily dam the river above the falls, slowing its usual strong, steady flow to a trickle. After a moment of anticipation, they release the water once more, recreating the instant the river first reached the village generations ago. 

As the surge bursts through, dancers emerge from the mist to the sound of drums and flutes. They descend the mountain carrying the spirit of the water to the crowd below. Coca leaves are shared; sweet, hot chicha and bread are passed around; flowers and incense rise in offering.

In Quechua, water is called Yaku, and it is sacred. For agricultural communities across the Andes, these flowing waters are lifelines. Yet the region is now among the most severely affected by the global climate crisis.

Beyond the celebrations, anger bubbles in the country's capital, Lima, where protests have erupted over corruption and the rise in gang violence. Illegal mining continues to expand, often inside so-called protected areas, with national and regional authorities accused of looking away.

“We have about three governors in prison in Áncash,” says Jenny Luz Menacho Agama, deputy director of knowledge management at Peru’s National Institute for Research on Glaciers and Mountain Ecosystems (INAIGEM).

Pests

“Corruption affects everything that could be done through politics or law. Many actions must come from the regional government, but if that institution is unstable and corrupt, nothing works. It becomes both a barrier and a frustration."

By the early 2010s, studies showed that the average temperature in the Tropical Andes had risen by about 0.7°C  between 1939 and 2006. 

Between 2000 and 2016, Peru - home to more than 70 per cent of the world’s tropical glaciers - lost roughly 29 per cent of its glacial area. At the current rate of retreat, these glaciers could disappear entirely by 2056, according to the Journal of Water and Climate. 

Jenny’s understanding of this crisis is deeply personal. She grew up in Cocha Hongo, a small agricultural community in the Llanganuco basin, where her campesina grandmother taught her to respect the land and water. 

“The communities most affected by the changing climate are those that depend on agriculture and livestock,” she explains. “This isn’t new. Even in the 1980s, farmers told me that too much rain was damaging their crops - especially potatoes - and bringing more pests.”

Nourish

As rainfall patterns grow erratic and temperatures rise, the Andean agricultural calendar has lost its rhythm. “There isn’t an immediate government response,” Jenny told The Ecologist.

“Measures exist, but they’re limited. Families are forced to manage on their own, often sacrificing other things - like their children’s education - when crops fail. The poorest communities are always hit hardest. And within those, women even more so.”

The Andes are not only mountains, they are living systems. Their glaciers, wetlands, and rivers feed both local valleys and distant regions. Meltwater from Andean glaciers helps sustain the Amazon Basin, where many rivers originate in the Peruvian and Bolivian ranges of Vilcanota, Carabaya, and Apolobamba.

The relationship between the Andes and the Amazon is deeply intertwined: the mountains force warm, moist air from the Atlantic to rise, cool, and condense, producing the rains that feed the rainforest. 

In turn, the Amazon releases vast amounts of moisture back into the atmosphere, creating “flying rivers” that return to nourish the Andes. When the glaciers vanish, this cycle begins to falter.

Combustion

Tropical glaciers, those found in high-altitude regions near the equator, are especially vulnerable to warming. Andean glaciers have reached their lowest levels in more than 11,700 years, according to a recent paper published by Science. 

One of the lesser-known consequences of glacial retreat is acid rock drainage. As ice melts, it exposes rocks that haven’t been touched by air or water for millennia. When these rocks contain sulfides, they react with oxygen and moisture to produce acidic runoff rich in heavy metals.

In Huaraz, the capital of Ancash, with approximately 150,000 residents, acid drainage has already forced the city to abandon two of its main watersheds due to contamination. 

“Here in Huaraz, the city depends on just one sub-basin that is safe and free from contamination,” Jenny says. “But even within the same Cordillera Blanca, some areas have abundant water while others face scarcity and contamination.”

Another factor accelerating glacial melt is black carbon, a soot-like residue from the incomplete combustion of fossil fuels, biofuels, and biomass. Deposited on snow and ice, it darkens the surface and increases heat absorption.

Inequality

One study has detected black carbon from burning in the Amazon settling on Andean glaciers. When this soot enters meltwater streams, it may also contaminate water sources downstream - though research on its local impacts remains limited.

The Río Santa, which once carried clean glacial water north through Huaraz to the Pacific, is now heavily polluted. Nearly 85 per cent of sampled sites exceed safe limits for at least four elements, with arsenic showing concentrations ten times higher than recommended, research has found. 

These pollutants stem largely from mining operations - both active and abandoned.

One of the largest gold mines in the Callejón de Huaylas valley began surface extraction in 1998. But the roots of Peru’s mining industry run far deeper, tracing back to the forced labour systems of Spanish colonial rule between 1532 and 1800, as archaeologist Sarah Kennedy notes in an article in Sapiens. 

The legacy of exploitation continues in new forms - through environmental destruction, corruption, and social inequality. Antamina, one of the largest mines in Peru, has just had a license renewed for another 30 years.

Resistance

Despite limited state support, Andean communities are not standing still. Across the highlands, farmers are reviving ancestral practices to adapt and survive. 

Some are reintroducing native plants that retain moisture and restore wetlands (bofedales). Others are repairing pre-Columbian irrigation systems - stone canals and terraces that slow water loss and prevent erosion.

In some regions, ayllus (traditional community groups), NGOs, researchers, and local governments are collaborating to restore puna grasslands, replant queuña forests, and build artificial lagoons to store rainwater for the dry season.

“These efforts aren’t just adaptation,” Jenny says. “They’re acts of resistance - a refusal to let our land and culture disappear. 

"We can’t wait for solutions to come from above. People here have always known how to live with the mountains. What they need is to be heard and supported, not ignored.”

This article has been published through the Ecologist Writers' Fund and originally published on The Ecologist.