navigating the anthropocene

Navigating the Anthropocene

On the Riachuelo

October 2024- July 2025

Text-Clément Layes/ Aime C. Songe

With the support of Ana Laura López de la Torre

Photography: Tammo Walter

Riachuelo–Matanza. History and Geography

The Riachuelo is a short river, measuring 64 km. Its source lies among pampas and fields; of the spring someone once told us, “It’s nothing, just a muddy puddle.” As the river descends along a nearly imperceptible slope toward the Río de la Plata, many small tributaries join it, forming the Matanza–Riachuelo basin. This basin is home to over 6 million people—roughly 15% of Argentina’s population. The river crosses fourteen municipalities in Buenos Aires Province, passing through both rural and urban landscapes. In the capital, it is bordered by industries and poverty: more than 10,000 factories and many working-class neighbourhoods, including the infamous Villa 21–24. La Boca, near the delta, was once the historic port of entry to Buenos Aires, a point of arrival and departure for migrants and goods. Soon after, the Riachuelo empties into the Río de la Plata, a vast “sea-river,” as Uruguayans sometimes call it, collecting waters from a quarter of the South American subcontinent before flowing into the Atlantic Ocean.

The Riachuelo is one of the most polluted rivers in South America. Yet one can imagine a time before colonisation when it shone along its curves and meanders, surrounded by marshes and riparian forests, with small groups of Querandíes camping on its banks. The Guaraní called it “Iberá,” meaning “shining water.”

From the 18th century onward, tanneries, slaughterhouses, and salting plants multiplied along its course. Animal carcasses floated in blood discharged into the water. Perhaps this is why the river was named “Matanza” (slaughter), or because violence was committed there against Indigenous populations. Later, refrigeration plants and factories added chemical pollution to organic waste. By the 20th century, contamination levels of arsenic, mercury, lead, and zinc exceeded permitted thresholds, causing severe health problems among residents. Organic waste depleted the river’s oxygen, rendering it nearly lifeless.

Meanders were straightened, marshes filled, and floodplains built over without drainage solutions, increasing flooding in poor neighbourhoods. Industrialisation was never slowed; economic crises and dictatorship pushed environmental concerns aside. The river came to be seen as lost—a rubbish dump.

In the 2000s, residents of the most polluted areas organised. Their activism led to the landmark Mendoza case. On October 8, 2008, a judge ordered the implementation of a recovery plan. The ruling was influenced by the “paper war” conflict with Uruguay over pollution of the Uruguay River: Argentina could not condemn pollution abroad while tolerating it at home.

The rejuvenation plan for the Riachuelo included constructing an underground canal for wastewater, building a treatment plant (which was recently suspended by the government), creating treatment stations for industries, banning toxic discharges, and eliminating decades of accumulated solid waste, ships, and scrap metal. Ultimately, it aimed to relocate residents living in the most affected areas to less toxic environments. But reversing environmental damage is not easy, nor can the impacts of the environmental catastrophe be erased in a few years. Although the Riachuelo is the site of one of the world’s most fascinating revitalisation processes—a large experiment involving major political and economic actors and billions of dollars—after 15 years of cleanup, the river remains heavily polluted. For every centimetre recovered, there are still kilometres where injustice, poverty, and pollution prevail—pushed further away, beyond our sight. The current government has implemented a major dismantling of the agencies in charge of the rejuvenation process, including critical staff cuts at ACUMAR. They promote a narrative suggesting the river’s revival is sufficient, and navigation has been authorised for 2024 (previously prohibited due to pollution). They also encourage real estate investment along the banks.

“The River” on the Riachuelo

“River 1” is a performance created on the Spree in Berlin. It offers the audience a boat tour along the river. The goal is to connect the audience with the river, while gently engaging them in a grieving ritual facilitated by the water. The performance begins on the bank with a text that the audience listens to through headphones, and then continues on the boat. The text and music are choreographed with the movement of the boat in a fluid manner, consisting of fragments of stories about the river and personal anecdotes that invite us to connect with its present, to reflect on longer temporalities, and to see the river as an image of life’s impermanence. Recreating this performance on the Riachuelo gave it a new dimension, considering the major ecological and economic tensions running through these waters, as well as political questions and urban development issues, especially in La Boca. It was very important for me and for the partners involved—the FIBA Festival and the Goethe-Institut—that the project not be instrumentalised by the government to promote the idea that the river is now clean. The festival opening and the performance were initially planned to coincide with the resumption of navigation, which we declined to support.

The performance relied on boats used for waste removal: a barge and three smaller boats. They were navigated by workers who supported the project and were clearly in love with the river.

With the help of Andrea Ferrarazzo, a geography expert on the Riachuelo, and Ana Laura, the project’s dramaturge, we interviewed local actors, associations, and residents to understand current issues, and we researched the river’s history. We wrote and recorded a text (in Spanish) with the actress Ingrid Pelicori. We also invited performers from La Boca—Ileana Robles and Juan Barroso from the community theatre group Catalinas—to welcome the audience and facilitate the performance.

The text introduces the idea that the river dreams, blending poetry, activism, residents’ voices, and reflections on petrochemical pollution.

Ana Laura and I wrote it while traveling—she with her students from Montevideo across the white zones of the Paraná Delta, and I across Europe. We conducted research through newspapers and interviews with residents. Before arriving, we were anxious about the state of the river. The following reflections emerged afterward, as a way to further understand it.

“Turtles have survived the river pollution, scientists still don't know how. They are survivors, they have been on earth for 200 million years…

The frequency of turtle voices are so low that we cannot hear them. We feel that way about the river too. We need to train our perception to listen to it…”

Dream of the River

It is a river, and it is also a changing being—a vivid and complex presence. I like the idea that the river dreams—not only of its own course, but also of all the beings who live in it or pass through it, in its waters and under its skies. Buenos Aires has been built around this river; it is one of its emanations. This is why I have come to believe that the fate of the Riachuelo is closely tied to that of the city and the country.

The dream of the river is also a nightmare. This river lies at the edges of civilisation, where unpredictable futures are invited and where death seems to speak. Here, healing is needed as much as activism. Art, in this context, is pushed to its limits. It becomes urgent, and one must ask: whom does it serve?

The dream we encountered in the river is made of the dirt, trash, waste, and industrial discharge of millions of people. It is the result of the digestion and transformation of our industrious bodies. This is why the dream is sometimes so dark—it is not made of the beautiful things we wish for, but of what we reject.

Because of this rejection, I find it important to be here and to welcome the trouble. What is happening in this river is terrifying, yet also slow and strangely tranquil. Sometimes the river changes colour or catches fire, but most of the time the disaster is not spectacular: it is polluted water passing by, slowly.

Children and activist

Exclusion, poverty, exploitation, and rejection are fundamental parts of the environmental problem; there is no ecology without social justice. The children growing up here are deeply impacted by the materiality of the river (they have lead in their blood) and by the cultural, social, and economic context—lack of horizons, care, access, respect… (1)

During one of the tours, on the second day, the boat was moving slowly across the water while the spectators listened quietly to the text. Suddenly, a stone bounced on the surface; it nearly hit the boat. The captain moved away from the bank to protect us. A child had thrown a stone at us. The workers cleaning the river and driving our boat later told me that children often throw stones at them for no apparent reason. (2)

Gerardo Montes de Oca, an art teacher and graffiti artist, collaborated with children and residents of Isla Maciel (where the stone came from) to create a large mural on the abandoned hangar facing La Boca (see above). The mural depicts children looking from Isla Maciel toward La Boca. According to Gerardo, they represent that side of the river—the abandoned Isla Maciel—inviting residents and tourists on the other side to reflect on the situation of the children there.

Later, on Isla Maciel, with Gerardo and Ana Laura, we looked for the children, hoping to speak with them. The streets were strangely quiet—almost no cars, no people. This contrasts with the rest of the city, noisy and hyperactive. But the children were not there.

Childhood is raw power; it is life at its maximum, like the river, like a tornado. Its violence is without purpose, without distinction. There are no plans, only existence. Juan, from the Catalinas theatre group who lives in the neighbourhood, told me that children often throw stones at trains for no reason, for fun. When a stone hits, it slows down time, like in an accident; time stretches and a gap opens. I think about the G8 (3)—those giant gatherings of politicians representing the richest nations, held behind barriers and anti-terrorist police.

Activists are there to defend a cause, but children are the cause itself—there is no mediation; they embody their own right and justice. Mediation is always problematic for activists: there are many risks in representing a cause—appropriation, misrepresenting real issues, taking power away from the oppressed… The kids here are not defending a cause; they are simply sending the violence back. (4)

Sacrifice Zone

Sacrifice zones are areas of major ecological catastrophe caused by industrial activities. This concept was initially used to describe areas where farmers stored manure to protect the rest of the land from pollution. Indigenous Americans later adopted the term to define areas devastated by industries, often inhabited by poor and marginalised populations with little access to urban services (transport, sewage, water, electricity) or support. For many years, the Riachuelo is one of these zones, particularly the “Villa flammable” * (2). Navigating there I hear silence, something is suspended here. In ceremonial context sacrificing something is a way to connect to other worlds, to the underworld, the divine, the spirits or the dead… Our global culture doesn’t have this sens of the sacred maybe that’s also why it creates this sacrificed zones like the Riachuelo. But this place also become sacred, they open to an other world: the abandoned building, the emptiness and the pollution makes the river a portal to other dimensions and futures. It is an experience, where life communicates openly with death. The sacrifice of this zone, echoes the massive consumption, the excess, the noise the excitement made possible elsewhere. I read about the concept of “toxic uncertainty” (1) connected to living in polluted neighbourhood: Is my life in danger simply by being here? what does it mean to live with this toxicity?

*”Flammable: environmental suffering in an Argentine shantytown”(2008) by Auger and Swistun

Navigated by the River

Is this still a performance? Am I still capable of creating a performance? Is it not dangerous to do so? Is there not too great a risk of separating vital experience from the act of creation—the risk of representing life rather than living it? The risk of professionalising creation, of bourgeois appropriation? The risk of participating in dissociation, increasing the loss of sensuality, encouraging the migration of humanity into greater virtuality, denying its connection to itself and to its environment?

I fear that I may simply be feeding the absurd monster of the “society of the spectacle” that Debord denounced long before I was born.

This is why I dream instead of an experience of the river. I long for a celebration of life—an experience suspended in time, floating on the water. I dream that the river could be our guide and teacher. That the Riachuelo might open us to new ideas and possibilities. That it might guide us through the Anthropocene.

The Anthropocene

The Anthropocene means that human activity on Earth has become the strongest geological force acting upon it. As a fact, this is true, but it also implies that the massive transformation of life on the planet is the fault of all humanity—which is not accurate. It risks blaming billions of people for processes of which they are often the victims. It would be like shaming the river for its pollution: only a small fraction of humanity—decision-makers, industrialists, the wealthy—is primarily responsible.

Technological power allows us to transform earth, sea, and air at an unprecedented speed. For this reason, some thinkers propose calling this era the “Technocene,” suggesting that technology is the main driver of these changes in a new geological epoch. Yet responsibility for the misuse of technology stems from the ideology that shapes how we live and employ technique in destructive ways. Indigenous cultures have long lived in ways that respect their environments. This is why some prefer the term “Capitalocene”: the relentless pursuit of profit and growth is what produces these geological disruptions. Other authors speak of the “Thanatocene,” since many ecocidal technologies were first developed for war and later applied to the environment (fertiliser emerged from gunpowder). We might also speak of the “Plantationocene,” referring to monoculture systems that have spread globally since colonisation.

Each concept highlights a different perspective on what drives planetary change. For me, the conceptual tool of the “Chthulucene” is particularly helpful. It does not describe the problem from a detached, external viewpoint, but proposes a way of engaging with the world. It suggests that the problem lies precisely in this view from above, in this disconnection. Rather than seeking solutions for a world imagined as outside ourselves, it invites us to “stay with the trouble” and create with the world. Ultimately, our era marks a transition from the Holocene toward an as-yet-unimaginable epoch.

Meditation on Death

The Western culture in which I grew up suffers from a high level of dissociation, which is the result of traumatic experiences called the “freeze response.” Anyone who grew up in the global West is affected by this dissociation. There are various traumas passed on from generation to generation. One of them is how we deal with death. When my mum died, I realized the lack of care our culture has for death and its process; we are unable to have a healthy relationship with dying. Because death doesn’t have a place in our culture, when it comes, it arrives with a lot of fear and denial. To understand how to heal from this frozen state and grieve the death of my mum, I explored various therapeutic methods—this is the subject of another text. In this research, I realized that in the health practices of many cultures, there is a regular engagement with mortality, grieving collectively in rituals to share pain, or through meditation.

Some very strong fears appear in the proximity of death. On the Riachuelo, I feel these fears. There is a Tibetan and Hindu meditation called Chöd that involves visualization of fears. Fear appears as “demons” and “gods.” In India and Tibet, the meditation is often practiced in graveyards, as they are places where the fear of death arises. What kind of fear is the Riachuelo emanating for me? I practice.

In the visualization process of the meditation, I see the image of an old, drunk, sad man—loveless, alone. He carries a very old turtle on his back, forever dying. He wants us to abandon life. He is ready to tear us apart. But behind that anger and sadness, he needs to be cherished, fed, celebrated. If he is fed, he would straighten up, start to live, participate, and help us. And the turtle would grow wings and become a magical animal. He would dance in undulating movements and feel so happy while the turtle flies around him. I imagine feeding and cherishing this monster-river and seeing it transform into a white dragon carrying boats that resemble all kinds of animals.

Meditation on catastrophe

In the book by Lynn Margulis I am reading during this project, I learn about an ancient planetary catastrophe—two billion years ago, oxygen overproduction by bacteria created the “Great Oxidation,” which could have wiped out life on Earth. At the time, life was made of prokaryotes (unicellular microorganisms without nuclei), but instead of disappearing, life created new ways of inhabiting the world: it invented eukaryotes (cells with nuclei), which led to the development of the life forms we know today. The two main kingdoms of life—eukaryotes and prokaryotes—are intertwined in symbioses we are only beginning to understand. This microscopic universe is the chore of life; there is no fundamental difference between life within us and life outside us. These invisible microorganisms constitute the majority of life on the planet, shaping the air, earth, and oceans at the microscopic level as well as all animal bodies. On Monday afternoons, as the heat intensifies, the putrid odor of the water becomes unbearable. The tension between my senses and the environment turns into an internal battle: I want to be elsewhere but have chosen to be here. This river carries the future. It invents the post-catastrophe to which I am clearly not invited: this environment is hostile to my senses, but I stay, hoping to learn something.

Pleasure

It’s a nice sunny day on the river. I feel connected to the water, in relation to the space, the light, through the wind on my skin, the sounds of birds, the gentle movement of the boat. It is a joy in being with, a pleasure that dancers know, the body knows—the kinesthetic pleasure—the pleasure of sensing in movement. It is not only good and pleasurable but also produces a sense of perfection that exists only in the very act of moving and sensing—a sense of being part of the space, participating in the world. Participating in the fundamental joyfulness, feeling included in the dance of the microscopic collectives that stir creation at speeds and dimensions beyond thinking. Maybe this pleasure is the reason for life to be. Pleasure justifies itself in the moment through its very experience. It has no other aim than itself; it is immediate, sensual, inscribed in the instant. I feel this with the river, and it connects me, it welcomes me into its dream. Our aesthetic sense is central for us to practice connecting to the nonhuman. Pleasure is a sort of alignment with presence. It arises with dignity. It’s a sort of portal to connect and engage with this world; it’s a way to dialogue with nonhuman beings.

Acknowledgment

I’d like express my greatest gratitude to the team I worked with: Ana Laura López de la Torre for the precious support in dramaturgy, text and so much care for the river and the process, to Tammo Walter for being such a supportive and caring ally in the work and making it possible through production and management. And for taking the amazing pictures I use in this document. My deepest gratitude for Andrea Cuesta Ferrarazzo, who help us to meet and interview some great practitioners of the river, thanks to them: Marina Dogliotti - Sergio Biasotti - Silvana Canziani -Gerardo Momtes de Oca -Luciano Garramuño -Thank you to the team of the teatro de la Ribera, and very many thank you to Ileana Robles, Juan Barroso for such an amazing work at hosting the audience and the teatro Catalinas Sur who helped us to connect and who’s community work is so important. Thank you Fede Geller for the precious thinking and knowledge. Thank you so much to Ingrid Pelicori for lending her amazing voice to the river, and doing it with so much commitment and fun. I want to say thank you to the festival FIBA and the great team than made this possible particularly Rodrigo González Alvarado, Felicitas Oliden and Fer Cava. Thank you so much for the team of the Goeth institut BA, particularly Maren Schiefelbein for her patience and support to make this happen in changing times, for her curiosity and commitment, and thank you for the deep interest and support of Friso Maecker who’s belief in art work for changing time is so relevant now. Also thanks to the amazing team of people who clean the river in the section of La boca and that drove us on the boat with the audience daily into the river, their attention and sensitivity to the work was incredible and I’m pleased they took it with such a serious and attentive way.

credits

El Rio/ the river- Recreación para Buenos Aires - Adaptación: Clément Layes - Public in Private / Dramaturgia, textos: Clément Layes, Ana Laura Lopez de la Torre / Apoyo artístico: Andrea Cuesta Ferrarazzo, Jasna L. Vinovrški / Voce: Ingrid Pelicori / Sonido: Dan Peter Sundland / Anfitriones / guías: Ileana Robles, Juan Barroso / Producción creativa y giras: Tammo Walter / Agradecimientos: Marina Dogliotti, Sergio Biasotti, Silvana Canziani, Luciano Garramuño, Gerardo Momtes de Oca. Creación en Berlín - Concepto: Aimé C. Songe - Public in Private / Colaboración artística: Jasna L. Vinovrški / Dramaturgia: Jonas Rutgeerts, Mila Pavićević / Música: Steve Heather / Anfitriones / guías: Asaf Aharonson, Zinzi Buchanan, Shannon Cooney, Clément Layes, Thiago Rosa / Diseño del bote: Jonas Maria Droste, Clément Layes / Vestuario: Malena Modeer / RR.PP.: Aïsha Mia Lethen Bird / Producción, supervisión: Tammo Walter, Tiphaine Carrère Loquet

the perfjoamcne was Supported by Goethe-Institut Buenos Aires and funds from the German Federal Foreign Office. Funded by the Berlin Senate Department for Culture and Europe and supported by Fonds Darstellende Künste with funds from the Federal Government Commissioner for Culture and Media within the program Neustart Kultur. Supported by Bureau Ritter.

Notes

1-I read about the complex feelings of many people living or raised in these sacrifice zones. The real daily hardship is compounded by stigmas and negative perceptions from others people living in more privileged conditions. Identification to this is low self-esteem, a difficulty to mentally leave the place long after physically leaving it. I do not want to reinforce negative images of the river and its inhabitants. Instead, I want to question what appears there—under a particular intensity.

2-In fact, this is not the first time I have been throne stones in an artistic setting. It happened also during an artist residency at the Rilleux la Pape choreographic center in 2006. During the presentation evening of our group ALS, neighbourhood youth threw stones at the building’s doors—so much so that we had to close the iron shutters for protection. A few years later, the wooden building of the CCN was built and then burned down. After this experience at the Riachuelo, Ana Laura recommended I read Denis Merke’s memoir: *Why Do We Burn Libraries?* That explains the sociology behind this. I recommend it. There is fire and stones between culture and these “sacrifice zones.”

3-In Andreas Malm’s book *How to Sabotage a Pipeline,* I find questions about the non-violent limits of ecological activism and the boundaries of those limits: what pollutes this water is a slow, ongoing assault. It is not just a problem of the river but of urbanization, territorial management, industry regulation, overexploitation… Six million residents near its banks, “villages” without sewage or sanitation systems, ten thousand industries without wastewater filtration. Contamination has become structural, part of the scenery; it has become normalized. It nourishes injustice and exploitation.

4-I feel on the wrong side of history—on the side of oppression and power. Despite my ideals and convictions, I am the one children throw stones at. Art is caught between two antagonistic sides—it has to deal with the elite and the marginalised, itself sometime cornered. Artists always risk appropriating social issues for personal gain, without truly advancing the causes they claim to support. The stone thrown by the child reveals this tension. At that moment, the complex and fragile structure resulting from the assembly of actors—artists, festival, funders, government, Ministry of Culture—is threatened because the neighbourhood children are not on the boat. A breach opens within me, but also symbolically everywhere on the planet. That stone signifies the failure of art as a radiant, humanising, spiritual force. Suddenly, the frightening abyss appears between these values and these acts.

Links

On the Riachuelo

https://agendarweb.com.ar/2025/03/28/algo-huele-mal-en-el-riachuelo-la-destruccion-de-acumar/

https://www.andaragencia.org/el-riachuelo-uno-de-los-problemas-ambientales-mas-graves-del-mundo/

https://noticiasambientales.com/environment-en/after-10-years-aysa-has-completed-the-riachuelo-systemthe-impact-of-the-long-awaited-project/

https://pulitzercenter.org/stories/there-still-hope-latin-americas-most-toxic-river

Icla Maciel

https://tn.com.ar/sociedad/2024/01/21/pinto-la-isla-los-vecinos-de-maciel-levantan-murales-y-organizantours-contra-los-estigmas/

the river on the Riachuelo

https://www.lanacion.com.ar/espectaculos/teatro/apertura-del-fiba-2024-la-ciudad-desconocida-que-se-vedesde-las-aguas-y-una-noche-con-cuerpos-en-nid19102024/

https://www.lanacion.com.ar/espectaculos/teatro/apertura-del-fiba-2024-la-ciudad-desconocida-que-se-vedesde-las-aguas-y-una-noche-con-cuerpos-en-nid19102024/

https://www.pagina12.com.ar/775825-the-river-un-viaje-sensorial-por-el-riachuelo

https://www.nueva-ciudad.com.ar/notas/202410/54935-arranca-el-fiba-el-festival-de-teatro-de-buenosaires.html

https://kamonline.com.ar/articulo/de-un-paseo-por-el-riachuelo-a-un-recorrido-por-un-hotel-alojamiento-laspropuestas-mas-sorprendentes-del-fiba-2024.php

https://palermonline.com.ar/wordpress/tres-celebradas-propuestas-internacionales-abriran-fiba-2024/

https://www.clarin.com/suscripciones/landing-apw.html?apworigin=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.clarin.com%2Frevista-n%2Finusual-experiencia-fiba-paseoriachuelo_0_2mMzAto6sw.html&wb=PW_HPW_ZONDA

https://www.goethe.de/ins/ar/es/sta/bue/ver.cfm?event_id=26107274

https://culturagcba.clientes.ejes.com/noticia_completa.cfm?id=91539911

https://culturagcba.clientes.ejes.com/noticia_completa.cfm?id=91540052

https://culturagcba.clientes.ejes.com/noticia_completa.cfm?id=90979365

https://lavereda.com.ar/el-fiba-2024-inicia-con-destacadas-propuestas-internacionales/ https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1KQOfK8wXUSZ3H9e8SeDPLKbTpTvR6Vznp5y9voledws/edit? gid=0#gid=0