Raquel Celina Rodriguez steps carefully across the Vega de Tilopozo in Chile’s Atacama Desert. The wetland once held groundwater springs, but now the plain lies dry and cracked. She points to holes that were once water pools. “Before, the Vega was all green,” she recalls. “You could barely see the animals through the tall grass. Now everything is dry.” Llamas graze in the distance, a reminder of her family’s tradition of raising sheep. Climate change reduced rainfall and left little grass. But the crisis worsened when lithium companies arrived.
Lithium beneath the desert
Beneath the Atacama salt flats lie the world’s largest lithium reserves. The metal powers electric cars, laptops and solar energy storage. As countries shift to renewable energy, demand has soared. In 2021, the world consumed 95,000 tonnes of lithium. By 2024, that figure more than doubled to 205,000 tonnes, says the International Energy Agency. By 2040, demand could surpass 900,000 tonnes, mainly for electric vehicles. Locals say their environment pays the price. The question rises: does decarbonisation fuel another ecological disaster?
Shrinking lagoons and dying flamingos
Chile ranks second in global lithium production after Australia. In 2023, the government unveiled its National Lithium Strategy. It partly nationalised the industry and invited private investors. The finance minister said production could rise by 70% by 2030, though no official target exists. This year, a joint venture between SQM and state-owned Codelco won approval to extract 2.5 million tonnes annually until 2060. Officials present the plan as both climate action and a source of income. But the extraction process pumps brine to surface pools, consuming vast amounts of water in this drought-prone land.
Biologist Faviola Gonzalez works in the Los Flamencos National Reserve. She tracks environmental changes in the desert’s salt flats, marshes and lagoons, home to 185 bird species. “The lagoons are smaller now,” she says. “We’ve seen fewer flamingos reproduce.” Mining disrupts microorganisms that feed the birds, damaging the food chain. For the first time in 14 years, flamingo chicks hatched in 2021 after slight water reduction. But Gonzalez calls the success “small.” “Before, there were many. Now, only a few.” She warns the Andes’ underground water is ancient and replenishes slowly.
Studies warn of water exhaustion
About ten years ago, Chile declared the San Pedro and Vilama river basins exhausted. A 2023 University of Chile study confirmed brine extraction is shrinking the Salar de Atacama by up to 2 cm yearly. Author Francisco Delgado warned of irreversible soil changes and subsidence. Last year, an OECD review said lithium mining creates acute water pressures in the Atacama and could spread to other regions. Environmental groups have also raised alarms. A 2022 report by the US-based Natural Resources Defense Council said one-third of native carob trees died in SQM’s salt flat territory as early as 2013. SQM disputes this and claims tree numbers have risen.
Can technology limit the damage?
Mining always damages nature, says political scientist Karen Smith Stegen of Constructor University in Germany. She argues companies must involve local communities earlier. Social impact assessments could show broader effects on water, wildlife and people before extraction begins. SQM says it now listens to residents. Sustainability manager Valentín Barrera stresses the world needs more lithium for the energy transition. He highlights pilot projects in Antofagasta to recover water and extract lithium without evaporation pools. “We aim to reduce brine extraction by 50%,” he says. By 2031, SQM hopes to roll out these technologies.
Locals remain sceptical. “The Salar de Atacama feels like an experiment,” Gonzalez warns. She fears the desert serves as a “natural laboratory” for untested methods. Sara Plaza, another local, remembers water declining in 2005. She breaks down when asked about the future. “One day, the lithium will run out. And what will we do without water, without farming?” She says companies give small sums of money, but that cannot replace nature.
Communities under pressure
In Peine, community leader Sergio Cubillos describes severe water shortages. “We changed our entire water and electrical systems,” he says. He blames extractive mining more than climate change. He accuses Santiago of making decisions far from local realities. “If the president wants to fight climate change, he must involve the indigenous people of these landscapes,” he insists. Sergio recognises lithium’s role in renewable energy but refuses to see his people treated as bargaining chips. His community negotiated some economic benefits but fears rising production will worsen damage. “This cannot be decided from a desk in Santiago,” he stresses.
The government insists it consults indigenous groups and integrates new technology to reduce harm. It highlights lithium’s value for national growth and global climate action. Still, Sergio worries the region is a testing ground. “If new technology harms us, we will resist with all our strength,” he vows.
A global dilemma reflected in Chile
The Salar de Atacama illustrates a worldwide paradox. Climate change drives drought, but lithium mining intensifies the pressure. Supporters argue mining brings jobs and revenue. Consultant Daniel Jimenez claims communities exaggerate environmental harm to demand compensation. “This is about money,” he says. “Companies built roads and schools, but communities want more cash.”
Professor Stegen disagrees. “Jobs and money are not what these communities seek,” she argues. “Disruption of their economy and rising housing costs hit harder.”
Locals rarely demand more money. Instead, they ask why they must pay the environmental price. “For the cities, maybe lithium is good,” says Raquel. “But it harms us. We no longer live as before.” Gonzalez also challenges the global approach. “We must all cut emissions,” she says. “But why should indigenous people with tiny carbon footprints sacrifice their water and sacred birds for cars in Europe and the US?”
