Surrounded by his seven dogs, Pedro Andino sits on his dock in the Paraná delta and watches the river. Behind him, his red-stained house peeks through the wilderness, and a small fire fans away the mosquitoes.
The 80-year-old was born on this land but, for more than a decade, has been battling to stay. While islanders see the delta as the Earth’s fourth lung, real estate developers regard it as an opportunity – and Andino says local people and animals are being pushed out.
“The islands are being taken by force, and our people are being thrown away,” he says. “Little by little, they have pitted the islanders against each other.”
Developers from nearby Buenos Aires advertise the delta as the “Miami of the South”, filling it with weekend retreats, luxury homes, and gated communities. The land – one of the world’s largest river deltas, extending more than 17,500 sq km – has been carved up to create private beaches, spas and helipads.
Andino claims that, in the past 15 years, his father’s home has burned down, and most of his neighbours’ houses destroyed. He, too, says he has resisted multiple threats designed to make him leave.
“In 50 years, it has completely changed, even the shape of our rivers, without any consultation. Our delta, as it was, does not exist any more,” says Andino, raising his voice above the rumble of a nearby jetski. “Every year is a bit worse.”
The Paraná delta is a reservoir of wildlife; the islands are thick with twisting flora, white-necked herons, giant wood rails and pinnated bittern fly overhead, and water hyacinths tangle in the crisscrossed rivers. The wetlands also serve a vital environmental purpose: they regulate the climate, store water and act as a carbon sink.
However, scientists warn that overdevelopment of this land has had a cataclysmic impact.
Industrial waste and agricultural runoff have polluted the water, and rampant deforestation has disrupted the humidity, reducing the water flowing through its streams. Fires caused almost entirely by humans rage out of control each year and have burned 1,235,000 hectares (3,051,751 acres) since 2020 according to Greenpeace.
In recent years, much of the land has been replaced by livestock pasture and the commercial afforestation of willows and poplars, which is altering the wetland ecosystems, according to Rubén Dario Quintana, a principal investigator at the National Scientific and Technical Research Council. Pesticides are killing the bees, he adds.
Juan Carlos García, 70, is an islander and descendant of the Indigenous Guaraní people. He describes his people as “part of the delta’s nature” but says they have been abandoned.
“We are the fourth lung of the world. Our delta gives oxygen to the planet, but today, they are damaging it terribly,” says García. “A lot of chemicals run into the water from plantations, affecting our health. The fauna is changing, and the fish are dying – animals that used to exist here no longer do.”
The Paraná River is a migratory corridor for birds that use its wetlands as feeding areas and the home of animals like the capybara and the gato montés. “Because the land has changed so much, the animals cannot get in or out of the water – their highways have been cut,” says Diego Domínguez, a 50-year-old teacher, islander and member of the Isla Esperanza Cooperative, a local group resisting forced evictions.
Building large-scale gated communities also requires dredging and bouldering, which can exacerbate the flooding of older communities nearby. “The machines have deepened the rivers, which makes the water run and leave faster. If it’s not a fire, it’s a flood,” García says, pointing to flooding underneath a warehouse on stilts belonging to the Isla Esperanza Cooperative.
Sofía Astelarra, a leading expert on the delta and professor at Buenos Aires University, says the “intense repopulation” of the islands began in 2000 and that the 12,000 population now triples each summer. About 800 hectares (1,977 acres) have been modified by gated communities, she says.
As the wealthy have moved in, utilities such as electricity have been installed – but some islanders say they have been blocked from accessing these.
Domínguez points to some nearby electricity lines, which serve a gated community, and which hang over the cooperative’s communal land – its second site after its first warehouse burned down. He says his group and fellow islanders have asked for years to be connected to its grid, but their requests have been refused. “It’s unequal here. There is infrastructure like electricity for the rich but not for us,” he says.
According to Quintana, the islanders cannot access communal areas for their daily activities, such as fishing and hunting.
This ordeal has been experienced by Miguel Galloro, 55, another islander whose house was destroyed. “They wanted to pay me for my house, but I didn’t want to sell.”
He has rebuilt his home but now struggles to earn a living. “I was a fisher all my life,” Galloro says. “But I’m not allowed to fish any more. They won’t give me a permit. They took away my boat and nets. It’s very hard to get work here now.”
“We used to live on the vegetation, but now, if we want to eat fish, we have to go to the store,” says García.
Many of the islanders who have left have ended up living on the impoverished outskirts of nearby urban areas, according to Quintana.
“Their objective is to empty the land of its people so wealthy people can come and make money. It’s to push you in a corner until you leave,” says Domínguez. “It is a constant battle.”
Representatives for the developers could not be reached for comment in response to these allegations. However, in one of the key disputes in the region, known as the Colony Park project, developers were ordered by a court to stop work due to environmental and aggravated damage. At the time of the judgement, a spokesperson defended the project’s actions by arguing they were improving the quality of life in the delta.
Across Latin America, wetlands have decreased by approximately 35% over 50 years – and globally they are disappearing three times faster than forests.
Since 2014, Argentina has been discussing a law designed to conserve its 600,000 sq km of wetlands – nearly a quarter of the country’s surface area – including the Paraná delta.
The law would require real estate projects to comply with sustainability regulations, but it has stalled in Congress, having failed to gain sufficient bipartisan support amid lobbying from industry and provincial governments.
“The deterioration to which Argentina’s wetlands are subjected year after year is the result of the fact that there is no law at the national level to protect them,” says Leonel Mingo, coordinator of the wetlands campaign at Greenpeace Argentina.
Ana Di Pangracio, a lawyer and biodiversity director at the Environment and Natural Resources Foundation, says Argentina lacks the desire to protect its wetlands. “Environmental regulation depends on the government’s political will at the moment – it shouldn’t,” she says.
Many fear that the presidency of Javier Milei, who is attempting to quash existing environmental protection laws, will further complicate efforts.
“This government will be difficult – we risk facing a regression in environmental protection, like the law on forests and the glaciers,” says Di Pangracio. “And the wetlands law has strong lobbyists against it – real estate, agriculture, mining.”
Part of the problem is that wetlands are not valued by society, says Gastón Fulquet, a programme manager at Wetlands International. “The real estate sector misunderstands them as marginal lands which can be used as something more useful,” he says.
Members of the cooperative say the islanders cannot match the money the real estate companies have to fight. “The economic powers in Argentina are stronger than the law every time,” says Domínguez. “We have no political representatives, which makes it very difficult for island people to have autonomy. We have been abandoned.”
“They take advantage of us because we are vulnerable,” says García. “It is our duty to protect this land. The delta must be the land of the people.”
