A tragic tale unfolds in the heart of Colombia, where a once-thriving wildlife sanctuary has transformed into a deadly zone. The story begins with Yuly Velásquez, a brave woman standing atop her wooden canoe, machete in hand, battling against the devastating consequences of an oil spill. The San Silvestre wetlands, located in Barrancabermeja, have become choked with crude oil, threatening the very existence of its unique ecosystem.
"The destruction is immense," Velásquez, president of Fedepesan, a sustainable fishing organization, laments. "For the fish, animals, and flora, it's an immediate death sentence." This biodiversity hotspot, known for its swamps, lagoons, and forests, is home to endangered species like river turtles and manatees. However, it also bears the title of Colombia's biggest oil town, with gas flares lighting up the sky and producing vast amounts of crude oil to meet the nation's fuel demands.
For decades, the state-owned company Ecopetrol, which operates the refinery, has faced accusations of releasing oil and toxic waste into nearby rivers and wetlands. Environmental authorities and residents paint a grim picture, describing a catastrophic impact on fish populations, water quality, and the once-thriving manatee population. A report published by the Environmental Investigation Agency and Earthworks last year revealed more than 800 records of major environmental damage caused by Ecopetrol, with most incidents occurring between the mid-1990s and mid-2010s.
The report, based on leaked files known as the Iguana Papers, also exposed a "web of deceit and cover-ups" allegedly used to conceal these incidents. Despite Ecopetrol's rejection of these claims, asserting full compliance with Colombian law, the evidence of pollution remains. By the end of last year, large areas of the territory were still contaminated, with an oily sheen coating the water and the air thick with the pungent smell of petrol.
The impact on local communities, who rely almost entirely on fishing for their livelihoods, is devastating. Luis Carlos Lambraño, a 56-year-old fisherman with 37 years of experience, expresses his sadness: "If we can't fish, we can't eat." Ronaldo Martínez, a 68-year-old water buffalo farmer, describes the impossible-to-ignore contamination, which has led to the deaths of his buffalo due to poisoning.
Martínez places the blame squarely on Ecopetrol, stating that as the largest company, they should have better management of their operations. He adds that the taste of the fish during oil spills confirms the presence of oil.
Compounding the crisis is the presence of illegal armed groups, known as "gasoline gangs," who have moved into the area, considering it a strategic corridor for moving illegal goods. These groups hack into the oil pipelines to steal and sell fuel illicitly, causing further environmental damage. Velásquez, who monitors biodiversity in the area, describes how these gangs steal gasoline daily, collecting it in massive plastic bags that often break, spilling oil into the water.
The presence of armed groups has made fishing a perilous activity. Local activists face threats, intimidation campaigns, and assassination attempts. Drones are used by these groups to monitor and shadow fishing boats until they retreat. Velásquez, one of the campaigners at risk, has suffered repeated attacks on her home, assassination attempts, and threats to her family for speaking out against the contamination and armed groups.
Colombia's reputation as one of the most dangerous countries for land and environmental defenders, according to Global Witness, adds to the gravity of the situation. Velásquez describes the devastating impact of the assassination of another fishing leader, Luis Arango, in 2012, which silenced voices for a long time.
Lambraño recounts an incident in February when he was intercepted by gang members and chased off the water, with shots fired in the air and a torch shone on him until he retreated. Eñi Salazar, a lifelong fisher, has countless stories of being threatened for merely doing her job. Armed men have intercepted her twice in the wetlands, seizing her boat engine and threatening her life.
Amnesty International has reported a permanent atmosphere of harassment for fishing families in Barrancabermeja, with extortion attempts, direct threats, and people forced to leave the area. Researcher Alejandro Jiménez Ospina states, "Fishing families have felt the pressure from armed groups for a long time, but their presence has expanded in recent years." He adds, "Oil smugglers, armed groups - everyone wants the water. Whoever controls the water controls Barrancabermeja."
Such intimidation has forcibly displaced 26 fishing families in February 2025. Velásquez emphasizes the fear of the armed groups, stating, "If you don't listen, they will kill you." She estimates that about 100 of her colleagues have stopped fishing due to these threats.
Despite the dangers, Velásquez refuses to wait for action. She describes the daily disappearance of wildlife habitats and the community's desire to be left alone to live in peace, free from limits and restrictions.
"We want to truly enjoy our marsh, our river, day and night, without fear," she says. This story highlights the complex interplay between environmental destruction, corporate negligence, and the dangerous reality faced by those who dare to speak out.
