The fire of resistance is burning in Argentina’s lithium mecca

A mixture of herbs, coca leaves and branches slides from the hand of Patricia Cruz (38) into a simmering pot on a campfire. As wisps of smoke rise, she throws a clenched fist into the air and calls out in Quechua ‘Pachamama’, Mother Earth. “Save our soil, bless our lives. We keep fighting!”, her hoarse voice sounds. Block-shaped and colorful wiphala flags fly around the camp – a symbol of indigenous resistance in the Andes. Cruz’s aunt, Sabina Avalos, an octogenarian indigenous woman, claps her hands and repeats the words. “We keep fighting!”

Next to the camp, a small stream of water meanders along bone-dry banks. Behind it rise immense shining rocky mountains – known as the Hills of Seven Colors. Llamas nibble on the sparse greenery further along between giant cacti. Here in the Argentine province of Jujuy, the cry for help from indigenous women has everything to do with the future of the area.

According to experts, this region is the new mecca of lithium mining in South America. Investments worth 7 billion dollars (6.4 billion euros) have already been made and around 120,000 tons of lithium can be extracted in 2024, it is predicted. But the indigenous residents of the area are already seeing that it is to the detriment of their habitat: water is being withdrawn from the rivers, which are drying up. And they see animals dying from the waste generated by lithium extraction.

Argentina, Chile and Bolivia together form the so-called lithium triangle. More than half of the world’s supply lies beneath the salt flats on the high Andean plains. Lithium, also called ‘white gold’ because of its light color and high market value, is crucial in the energy transition as a raw material for batteries.

But the strategies for extracting this raw material vary. In Bolivia the sector has been nationalized and in Chile the government retains a majority stake, which is less attractive for foreign companies. Argentina has so far used a more market-oriented model. The more than thirty mining projects here, all in various stages, are often owned by private investors, including foreign companies from Canada, Russia, China and the US.

On the eve of the second, decisive round of presidential elections on Sunday between the ultra-right rock star economist Javier Milei and the left-wing Sergio Massa – who is currently the economy minister – the question arises what the outcome will mean for Argentina’s lithium mining. The indigenous residents fear that if Milei wins, it will have an even greater impact in their area. “We know that Milei doesn’t care about indigenous people or nature conservation. He is a capitalist through and through and will probably decide everything in favor of the mining companies. With Milei we lose even more,” says Patricia Cruz somberly.

Economists and analysts also expect that Milei, with its free market and pro-business policies, will accommodate investors with simpler regulations and less bureaucracy. And although Milei has repeatedly said that as president he no longer wants to do business with “communist China”, the question is whether he can keep that promise. China is the largest importer of Argentine lithium.

Argentina’s economic situation is also dramatic, with a sinking peso and annual inflation of 140 percent. China wants to invest more in the country in the coming years. Milei will hardly be interested in any damage to the environment: he also calls the climate crisis a “socialist fabrication”.

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Goats bleating

After a long journey from Purmamarca through the rocky hilly landscape with herds of llamas along the road and goats bleating on the asphalt, the Salinas Grandes (large salt flats) come into view. A group of tourists put on their sunglasses against the bright reflection of the stark white salt desert. Along the road, a group of indigenous women with wiphala flags and protest signs hold a silent protest. “Tourism yes, lithium no,” is written on one of the signs. A skull is painted on the wall of a stone house on the road with ‘litio’ written underneath in cow letters.

“It’s getting drier here, because the lithium companies are taking huge supplies of water from our rivers,” says Celia Naves. She holds her knitting under her arm and with lightning-fast movements and tapping needles she knits a scarf from llama wool. It is now sunny on the plateau (4,000 meters above sea level), but at night it becomes bitterly cold.

Another woman puts her hand in a bag, takes out some coca leaves and starts chewing them. Coca has been the medicine for thousands of years against the dizziness and stabbing headaches that the thin air can cause here. She shows a video of dead llamas on her phone. “This is the result of the discharges of the lithium waste. Animals drink this, they get sick and die,” she says.

Deeper into the province, where many lithium mines are currently opening, there is also a different sound. Around the village of Olaroz, where the indigenous Atacama population lives, people are happy with the arrival of the lithium companies and the development they bring. Until a few years ago the village was a small settlement, but now there is a lot of construction going on and larger and larger stone houses are rising along a newly opened canal.

Village leader Mario Geronimo drives up in a white four-wheel drive and parks the car in front of the community center. “I hope that in about ten years this will be a real city. With hotels, restaurants, a vibrant life,” he says enthusiastically during a tour through the village. The ambitious village leader previously worked as a laborer in the mining industry and makes no secret of his dreams.

There is good cooperation with the lithium companies that invest in the communities. he says. Many residents benefit from the arrival of lithium companies and the economic development that it brings. Mostly as miners, but some also have supply companies. “They help with the transport. In catering or as a cleaner,” says Geronimo.

At the entrance to Olaroz there is a technical secondary school for almost sixty students. The school is partly financed by the province and lithium companies and will soon graduate its first group of students. In one room, a group of girls in school uniform are sawing, while in a classroom further away, students are doing chemical tests.

“I think we have a great future here as young people,” says Lucas Cruz (15). “If this training were not available, I would have to go to the capital San Salvador de Jujuy for training, which is a four-hour drive away. Now I can continue to live at home with my family and hope to find work here at a lithium mine after my training,” he says.