MACO at the COP16 on biodiversity

By Balthazar Sellier (Master students exchange programme, cohort of 2024-2025)

Our common journey starts in Cali, the capital of biodiversity for ten days as it hosts the COP16.

It’s 11 a.m. when my phone rings. It’s Javier. He tells me they are already at the meeting point and that I should be there in 30 minutes. I’m still folding fifty sheets of political notes into thirds on the wooden table of a youth hostel in San Antonio. I need to hurry. The most important meeting of my research awaits just a kilometre away: MACO at COP16. I down the rest of my coffee in one gulp, tidy up the mess, and head out into Cali’s already hot and bustling streets. I had been both dreading and anticipating this event. A COP feels monumental to a young student full of utopian dreams. Witnessing the conferences from the inside, being in those spaces where people deeply committed—sometimes despite themselves—to biodiversity protection for years is exciting. Moreover, I was not there just as a student but as a “researcher,” driven by the critical goal of making a difference.

There they are—a group of five people seated at a café across from the building where the event would occur. I don’t hesitate for a second; I know it’s MACO. The way they sit with a casual ease reflects their authenticity. Then I recognise Javier; he wears a white polo shirt adorned with the MACO logo, and on the back, the full name is spelt out: Movimiento Ambiental de los Campesinos del Oriente de Caldas. The welcome is warm. We introduce ourselves quickly, and the conversation I had interrupted picks up again with renewed vigour. We sit in a circle on plastic chairs at the small café. Javier, MACO’s president, is deep in discussion with Viviana Berra, the president of the ecofeminist movement EcoGenova and coordinator of the Red Nacional contra las PCHs project. James, the eldest of the group, participates enthusiastically, his voice carrying a strong conviction tinged with emotion. Lastly, two other men, peasants from Pennsylvania and Samana, complete the group.

The excitement rises as we left the café, crossing the street to the venue. That intense hour of discussion flies by, and Viviana, speaking French to me, confides that she hasn’t had time to eat. We enter the building, bypassing the queue like VIPs. We are the delegation set to speak at COP16, and I am part of it. It’s 1:45 p.m. when the event finally begins. We decorate the starkly white room with posters and large banners covering half the wall space, bringing a bit more warmth to the space. One of the banners is a drawing from a “counter-mapping” workshop held months earlier, depicting the territory of eastern Caldas as envisioned by the peasants. Green fields and blue rivers stand out vividly on this map, underscoring the significance of nature and biodiversity—a theme that would resonate throughout the three speeches.

The room is filled with about fifty people. I distribute the policy note written especially for the COP, titled: “Small Hydropower: Breaking the Myth of the False Green Energies”. Writing for this event was a great opportunity to join MACO and the others directly in the resistance and get involved firsthand. Beyond its informative value, the note reflects my engagement, which is crucial for building trustful relationships.

Viviana speaks first, her tone calm yet confident. She delivers her talk at an impressive speed, clearly well-versed in her topic. The audience, trying their best to keep up, is captivated by her ease with the microphone as she moves across the stage. In just a few minutes, she lays out the context, diving into the devastating impact of small hydroelectric plants—PCHs (in Spanish), the conference’s central theme. Her presentation is filled with factual accounts, supported by studies and references to Colombia’s constitution, painting a grim picture of how peasant knowledge and aspirations are swept aside by these multimillion-dollar projects rife with corruption. “You have five fingers, and they cut off four,” she says, describing the dramatic drying up of rivers caused by PCHs. James speaks next. He used a few slides, and his voice reflected a deeply personal narrative. He speaks slowly, leaving long pauses that fill the room with a heavy silence, where only the echoes of his last words linger, leaving us with a profound sense of the enormity of his lifelong struggle. At one point, James reads a poem about water. The audience, initially surprised, quickly connects with the raw emotion. His message is clear: we must reconnect with our emotions to grasp the plight of these peasant communities. Finally, Javier takes the stage. By then, the session is nearing its end, and the room buzzes with movement as people enter and exit noisily. Javier’s speech contrasts sharply with James’s measured pace. His delivery is urgent and impassioned, his voice rising and breaking with emotion. He doesn’t move much, his intensity anchoring him in place. His words are raw, reflecting the struggles of a peasant turned into an advocate of a resistance movement. He conveyed the weight of years of fighting, with survival as the only possible outcome. Javier’s speech is filled with passion, carrying the authenticity of a man deeply connected to the cause.

After being pushed to the exit, we gather on the sidewalk, the tension finally easing. Everyone agrees—the event is a success. Smiling broadly, Viviana, Javier, and the others were thrilled. “It’s human to feel emotions,” James tells me, reflecting on his memorable speech. Two of the peasants, heading off to grab a bite, confide that it is their first time attending an event of this magnitude. Reflecting on the “COP de la gente” etiquette, their peasant norms and codes contrast slightly with the institutional setting. But their authenticity, though unintentional, shines through, making their contributions heartfelt and unique. MACO had left its mark on the event, shaping it in its image.