Feature image: Smoke from forest fires in Chiquitanía, eastern Bolivia, is spotted early in the morning. Photo credit: buna

Bolivia is rich in biological as well as cultural diversity. As part of a research project on the biocultural diversity of farming landscapes in the country, I have spent four years studying human-bee interactions in the dry forests of Chiquitaníain eastern Bolivia, and home to various Indigenous peoples, including the Chiquitano and the Guaraní. 

This work is done in collaboration with Fundación Tierra—a Bolivian NGO dedicated to the sustainable rural development of Indigenous and peasant communities, which has been studying the socio-environmental conflicts around land tenure in this region. But never had the conflict loomed as large and clear—or smoky—as in 2024. This was when the country lost close to 11 million hectares during the annual fire season, linked to the establishment of an agroindustrial production model that promoted deforestation and land grabbing. 

The political context in which this is taking place is complex. The fires are driven by an interest in land clearing to establish soybean monocultures and cattle ranches, and involve various actors, including medium and large companies linked to globalised markets, Mennonite communities, Indigenous people from the Andes highlands and lower valleys looking for new land to cultivate or sell.

Yet, regardless of who is responsible, millions of plants and animals have died in the fires, and countless people have fallen sick because of the terrible air quality. Moreover, the smoke from the fires hurts the eyes and lungs, and permeates hair, clothes and people’s houses. The smoke has even engulfed the main city of the Santa Cruz department where people were wearing protective masks every day.

As we visited local communities in Chiquitanía, we saw burnt plants and animals, and also observed that wild bees didn’t leave their hives as often in search of food—they seemed numb. As an agroecologist studying bees, I wondered what they were eating, with the habitat destroyed and few flowering plants as sources of pollen or nectar. The sounds of insects had almost completely disappeared—would they ever return?

It was in this grim situation that we wanted to remember, jointly with the local people, that there is still hope for a brighter future. With us was a young mural artist, Angy Saku, who likes to represent wildlife and people’s daily lives in rural areas. And so, we decided to use art to work with the community, to observe and to help them consider their strengths in contrast with the destructive forces surrounding them. 

With a persistent cloud of smoke over her head, Angy Saku started painting some of the themes of our research on the most visible walls in the community sites we visited. As she worked, many curious faces started to surround her. The children had several questions that they didn’t hesitate to ask in high-pitched voices: “What are you doing?”, “Do you like flowers and bees?”, “Is that my grandma?”. 

Over time, they became her friends and then her colleagues, as they started to ask for instructions to help with the murals. Angy Saku gladly accepted their aid and guided them on the use of a brush and the shapes of nature. She is not only an accomplished artist, but also a good teacher. The children’s parents also arrived in due course to see, comment and interpret the murals. “Can I take a picture with the corechi (southern three-banded armadillo)?”, “Why didn’t you draw my husband?” Many questions were raised amid laughs and over shared food. We almost forgot the smoke and the headache it caused us all. 

After ten days of the smoke making us dizzy, the murals were finished. They represented biocultural diversity through colourful images of bees and humans interacting, with a constantly and rapidly changing dry forest in the background. It was not the local people’s fault that “progress” took the form of fires and deforestation, and their ravaging impacts were not always visible until it was too late. Yet, seeing children and adults identify deeply with the animals and plants in the murals, and watching people carefully observe the composition of the artwork, shows how art can be an ally in the fight to protect nature in these territories.

Research is meaningless unless the results are shared—whether in the form of words or using another medium. Life’s intricate web is so vast that translating it into art reminds us of our connection to it or deepens our understanding. Either way, it can stir something within us, igniting the belief that life—human and non-human—is worth protecting.

Further reading

Benavides-Frias, C., S. Ortiz Przychodzka and T. Schaal. 2022. Nature on canvas: Narrating human-nature relationships through art-based methods in La Paz City, Bolivia. Letras Verdes 32: 67-87. https://doi.org/10.17141/letrasverdes.32.2022.5393.

Czaplicki Cabezas, S. 2024. Agronegocio sin frenos: Bolivia rumbo al desastre ecológico. Revista NÓMADAS. https://revistanomadas.com/agronegocio-sin-frenos-bolivia-rumbo-al-desastre-ecologico/. Accessed on October 29, 2024.

Fundación Tierra. 2024. Bolivia: El fuego consumió más de 10,1 millones de hectáreas; 58% corresponden a bosques. https://www.ftierra.org/index.php/tema/medio-ambiente/1258-bolivia-el-fuego-consumio-mas-de-10-1-millones-de-hectareas-58-corresponden-a-bosques. Accessed on October 20, 2024.