The global push for clean energy is intensifying pressure on lithium-rich regions of northern Chile, where Indigenous communities warn that large-scale extraction risks undermining fragile ecosystems, water resources, and traditional ways of life.

Chile, one of the world’s leading producers of lithium, has become central to the energy transition as demand for electric vehicle batteries and energy storage systems accelerates. However, in the high-Andean salt flats where much of the mineral is found, local communities say the costs of extraction are being borne disproportionately at the territorial level.

In the Atacama region, the Colla Indigenous community of Pastos Grandes lives near the Salar de Maricunga, a high-altitude ecosystem characterized by salt flats, wetlands, and limited freshwater sources. The environmental balance in the region depends on underground aquifers and scarce water flows that sustain both human livelihoods and biodiversity.“Living in our territory today means resisting,” said Zulema Mancilla, a member of the Colla community.

She described growing concerns over water depletion linked to lithium extraction, noting that the pumping of underground aquifers has reduced water availability in downstream areas where communities live and work.“We have serious problems with water,” she said, adding that while extraction projects are advancing, local populations face increasing environmental stress.Further north, in the highlands of Tarapacá near the Bolivian border, Aymara communities rely on pastoralism and subsistence agriculture, including llama and alpaca herding and quinoa cultivation.

These activities depend on high-altitude wetlands, known locally as “bofedales,” which are particularly sensitive to changes in water availability.“If this lithium project goes ahead, it will become an enormous ‘sacrifice zone’ for our people,” said Juana Mamani Flores of the Panavinto community, highlighting concerns over the long-term viability of local livelihoods.

For many Indigenous residents, the issue extends beyond environmental impact to encompass cultural and spiritual dimensions. Eva Mamani, also from Panavinto, described the territory as intrinsically connected to community identity and belief systems.“The waters have spirit, the shrubs have spirit, the mountains have spirit,” she said, framing environmental protection as both a practical and cultural imperative.

United Nations human rights officials say such perspectives underscore the need to reframe discussions around the energy transition. Jan Jarab, Regional Representative for South America, noted that areas targeted for lithium extraction are not uninhabited resource zones but living territories shaped by long-standing social and cultural systems.

While communities acknowledge the importance of addressing climate change and transitioning to cleaner energy sources, they emphasize the need for clearer information and stronger safeguards. Samuel García, an Aymara leader, said there is a lack of reliable data on the potential environmental impacts of lithium extraction.“We do not have a specific and reliable study of the damage,” he said, pointing to uncertainty surrounding long-term consequences.

The debate, according to observers, is shifting from whether lithium extraction is necessary to how it is conducted and who bears its costs. UN Human Rights has facilitated dialogues among Indigenous leaders, governments, and industry stakeholders across the “lithium triangle,” a region spanning Chile, Argentina, and Bolivia that holds more than half of the world’s lithium reserves.

These discussions focus on aligning extraction practices with international human rights standards, particularly the principle of free, prior, and informed consent for Indigenous Peoples. Jarab emphasized that affected communities must be involved in decision-making processes and have the opportunity to influence project outcomes.“Communities themselves best understand their needs and know how to care for the environment,” he said, adding that consultation mechanisms should enable equitable participation and benefit-sharing.

The UN has framed the issue within the concept of a “just transition,” warning that without adequate safeguards, the shift to renewable energy could replicate historical patterns of extractive industries, where economic gains are concentrated while environmental and social costs are localized.The role of both governments and corporations is central to this process.

Under the UN Guiding Principles on Business and Human Rights, companies involved in lithium extraction are expected to conduct due diligence, assess environmental and social impacts, and establish mechanisms to address harm. States, in turn, are responsible for regulating these activities and ensuring compliance with human rights obligations.

Jarab noted that state-owned enterprises, in particular, are expected to uphold higher standards of accountability, given their direct link to public policy and governance.The broader debate reflects a tension between global climate objectives and local realities. As countries accelerate decarbonization efforts, the extraction of critical minerals such as lithium has become essential.

However, the Chilean case illustrates the complexity of ensuring that environmental goals do not come at the expense of vulnerable communities.For Indigenous groups, the stakes extend beyond economic considerations to the preservation of cultural identity and long-term sustainability.

Decisions made in the coming years are likely to shape not only environmental outcomes but also the future of traditional ways of life in the region.The discussion, UN officials say, is ultimately about ensuring that the benefits of the energy transition are distributed equitably, and that its implementation does not undermine the rights of those living in resource-rich territories.

The Navajo Nation, the largest Native American reservation in the United States spanning roughly 27,000 square miles across New Mexico, Arizona and Utah, is confronting the dual pressures of historical trauma and modern socio-economic challenges as its people work to preserve cultural identity.

Home to the Navajo, or Diné, meaning “the people,” the region faces persistent issues including inadequate housing, limited infrastructure and restricted access to technology. These challenges have shaped daily life for many residents while also influencing patterns of migration and cultural continuity.

Elders point to the long-term impact of U.S. assimilation policies, particularly the forced placement of Indigenous children in boarding schools during the 20th century. Virginia Brown, 69, recalled being taken from her family at the age of six and punished for speaking her native language. Such experiences contributed to the erosion of cultural practices and created generational gaps in language transmission.

The UNESCO classifies the Navajo language as “vulnerable,” with recent declines in fluency despite it remaining one of the most widely spoken Native American languages. In response, schools such as Holbrook High School have introduced language and culture programmes aimed at revitalising linguistic heritage among younger generations.

Younger community members express concern about shifting cultural priorities. Teenagers in towns such as Tuba City describe a growing influence of social media and mainstream culture, which some believe is reducing engagement with traditional practices.

At the same time, efforts to sustain cultural traditions continue across generations. Artisans like Drake Mace, who raises Navajo-Churro sheep and weaves rugs using techniques passed down within families, maintain longstanding practices tied to identity and livelihood.

Economic and infrastructural constraints remain significant. Around 30% of households lack running water, requiring residents to transport water from communal sources. These conditions have led some families to relocate to nearby towns, while others balance traditional lifestyles with modern employment.

Tara Seaton, 48, works remotely for Texas State University while living on the reservation, using satellite internet services to maintain connectivity. Such arrangements illustrate the blending of traditional living with contemporary economic opportunities.

Community leaders emphasise that cultural evolution does not necessarily equate to loss. Residents note that practices and values have adapted over time while maintaining continuity with ancestral traditions.

Cultural preservation initiatives include public performances by groups such as the Diné Tah Navajo dance troupe, which present traditional dances in schools and community events. Organisers describe these performances as a means of reconnecting younger generations with heritage while addressing historical trauma.

Entrepreneurs and activists are also working to strengthen cultural and economic resilience. Ira, a community member involved in agricultural and textile initiatives, described efforts to revive traditional weaving while integrating sustainable practices such as hemp cultivation. He also highlighted mentorship programmes and Indigenous farming cooperatives aimed at strengthening community networks and trade.

These initiatives reflect a broader trend in which Navajo cultural practices extend beyond reservation boundaries. Migration to urban and border areas has contributed to a diaspora where traditions such as weaving, silversmithing and language use continue in new settings.

Community members say the concept of Hózhó, which emphasises balance, harmony and beauty, remains central to Navajo identity. As cultural practices evolve alongside changing economic and social conditions, efforts to preserve language, traditions and community ties continue across generations.

Iran’s military renewed its warning on Sunday, saying it would target energy, information technology and desalination facilities linked to the United States and Israel if its own infrastructure continued to be hit.

The statement, issued by the Khatam Al-Anbiya operational command and carried by Fars news agency, followed a 48-hour ultimatum from U.S. President Donald Trump to reopen the Strait of Hormuz or face strikes on Iranian power plants.

The threats mark a rare escalation into water systems, which have historically been less frequent targets in warfare. However, recent incidents suggest a shift. Bahrain said an Iranian drone strike on March 8 damaged a desalination plant, though authorities reported no disruption to supply.

Iran, in turn, accused the United States of striking a desalination facility on Qeshm Island that supplies dozens of villages, calling it a dangerous precedent. Iranian Energy Minister Abbas Aliabadi said multiple water transmission and treatment facilities had been hit, damaging critical supply networks.

Analysts warn that targeting such infrastructure could significantly widen the conflict. Water economist Esther Crauser-Delbourg said earlier this month that attacks on water systems risk triggering “a war far more enormous” than the current confrontation.

The Middle East’s dependence on desalination heightens the stakes. According to World Bank data, water availability in the region is roughly one-tenth of the global average, making engineered water supply systems essential.

The region accounts for about 42% of global desalination capacity, with Gulf states relying heavily on the technology for drinking water. Desalinated water supplies around 42% of demand in the United Arab Emirates, 70% in Saudi Arabia, 86% in Oman and 90% in Kuwait, based on a 2022 report by the French Institute of International Relations.

Large urban centres such as Dubai and Riyadh depend on uninterrupted operation of these plants. A U.S. intelligence assessment cited in earlier diplomatic communications warned that disruption of desalination systems could have more severe consequences than the loss of any other major industry in the region.

Desalination plants face multiple risks in a conflict environment, including direct missile or drone strikes, power outages and contamination of intake water from oil spills.

Operators have moved to strengthen protection. Philippe Bourdeaux, a regional executive at French utility Veolia, said access controls around facilities had been reinforced and authorities in some countries had deployed missile defence systems near major plants.

Facilities are often interconnected, allowing some redistribution of supply if one site is damaged. Most also maintain reserves equivalent to two to seven days of consumption, providing a limited buffer against short-term disruptions.

Direct attacks on desalination infrastructure have been relatively rare. Iran-backed Houthi forces in Yemen have previously targeted such facilities in Saudi Arabia, while coalition strikes have hit water systems in Yemen. Israeli operations have also affected water infrastructure in Gaza, according to conflict monitoring data.

Broader targeting of water systems dates back to the 1991 Gulf War, but experts say the current scale of dependence on desalination makes the risks more acute.Prolonged outages could trigger severe consequences, including water rationing and population displacement from major cities.

Disruptions would also affect industries reliant on water, including tourism, manufacturing and data centres, amplifying the economic fallout of the conflict.