The landscape of asphalt and concrete that defines La Paz can give way, within just a few miles, to hot, dense forests clinging to the mountainsides. The steep, unforgiving streets north of Bolivia’s administrative capital are replaced by thick vegetation and winding rivers that descend more than 5,000 meters toward the Amazon.

It is in this region that the tilcayo (Leopardus tilcayo), the first wild cat identified in more than a century, was recently described. But the area is also home to significant gold deposits that are drawing companies, mining cooperatives and local communities eager to capitalize on record gold prices and the severe economic crisis gripping the country.

The extraction of this mineral poses a threat not only to the tilcayo but also to the habitat of thousands of animal species. In the municipality of Coroico, one of the seven municipalities that make up the Yungas region, there are around 16 mining areas authorized to operate and another 129 awaiting approval or under review, according to a 2025 survey by the Administrative Mining Jurisdiction Authority (AJAM). The agency carries out frequent inspections because many of those 129 sites are already operating despite not having completed the regulatory process.

Although some mining is carried out underground, the dominant method is open-pit extraction along riverbanks. Dump trucks, excavators and heavy-haul vehicles move earth, gravel and sediment in search of gold. The sight of felled trees across vast cleared areas signals the arrival of this machinery. The effects of mining are also visible in the vegetation lining the rivers, much of which has collapsed into the water due to landslides caused by soil removal.

One such landslide has opened a crater at the very entrance to the Senda Verde Wildlife Refuge, home to the tilcayo specimen that led scientists to identify the new species.

“We’re incredibly proud of the feline,” says Vicky Ossio, founder and director of Senda Verde since it was established in 2003. “It made us turn our attention back to the natural world. In Coroico, a law has already been passed to protect the tilcayo. How can you do that and at the same time allow mining that affects all wildlife?”

“With the noise from the [gold-mining] machines, the capuchin monkeys would run away. That noise drives them away. There were even big cats that could be seen crossing the road,” continues the founder of Senda Verde, which is home to about 1,200 animals from 70 species, cared for by a dozen rangers and volunteers.

In fact, the tilcayo that gave the species its name, a specimen known as Tigrino, was itself the result of this forced displacement. A member of the local community found it by the roadside when it was still a cub. It was kept as a pet until 2017, when its rescuer handed it over to the refuge. Nine years passed before scientists formally recognized the discovery of a new species. Since then, Senda Verde has been featured in media outlets around the world.

Ossio says she is inundated with calls from visitors, journalists and officials hoping to see Tigrino, who is around nine years old and belongs to a species that typically lives between 13 and 15 years. But visits to his enclosure are prohibited. “He’s settled — why would we take him out and stress him? To satisfy people’s curiosity?” asks Ossio.

She wants the focus instead to be on the latest incursion by mining cooperatives, the one that left a large crater at the entrance to the sanctuary. Senda Verde and its surroundings have been targeted by the gold rush almost since the refuge opened its doors, but the threat has never been this close.

The mining cooperative behind the latest push is claiming rights to an area caught in a legal gray zone that affects around 30 properties in Coroico. The AJAM classifies these as areas with “pre-existing rights”: concessions granted before the 2014 Mining and Metallurgy Law that must now be brought into line with newer environmental regulations, including the requirement to obtain an environmental license.

The cooperative asserted its extraction rights, while staff at Senda Verde demanded updated documentation. Tensions escalated until three members of the mining cooperative were arrested. They were released three days later.

Mining is also affecting other areas that provide refuge for the tilcayo and nearly 930 vertebrate species in the Yungas, a transitional bioregion on the eastern slopes of the Andes Mountains in Peru, Bolivia, and northwestern Argentina. In Cotapata National Park, one of the three legally protected areas in Coroico, a mine entrance was recorded in 2025. Most local communities have sought legal protection by creating nature reserves, as the advance of extractive activity threatens not only wildlife but also water by muddying it, altering its course and contaminating it with mercury.

The 12 communities that make up the Río Negro Reserve, just under two miles from Senda Verde, are finalizing the management plan required to secure state protection for their 6,200 hectares against mining. “Every day there is a mining threat. We have identified between four and six cooperatives that threaten 80% of our territory,” says Víctor Álvarez, a reserve member and community representative.

Álvarez acknowledges that although most local residents oppose mining, some community members engage in artisanal or small-scale extraction. This activity is recognized under Bolivia’s Mining and Metallurgy Law, which defines it as mining operations that are labor-intensive and involve low levels of capital goods. “With the economic crisis, there are more and more,” says Álvarez. “They go down to the river in seasons when they don’t have crops. There is also no detailed regulation.”

EL PAÍS observed a group of around 20 of these gold prospectors, known locally as barranquilleros, on the banks of the Coroico River, less than 100 meters from Senda Verde’s rewilding area. They operate from tents where they store pickaxes, gold pans and motor pumps, machines that combine combustion engines with hydraulic pumps to move large volumes of water.

For the refuge’s director, the damage caused by the barranquilleros is no different from that caused by mining cooperatives. “That’s not artisanal mining. They’re using engines and hoses,” she says.

The municipality of Coroico agrees that small-scale mining is increasingly dependent on more sophisticated machinery. “In addition to motor pumps, they use suction dredges to remove rocks, creating what are effectively pits,” says Ana Carranza, Coroico’s director of environmental affairs. “This affects the riverbanks because it increases sediment and water turbidity, while also destroying aquatic habitat.”

The divisions among local residents over how much mining should be allowed have eroded community structures. In the Yungas, mining is no longer seen only as an environmental problem but also as a social one, extending well beyond Coroico.

In the municipality of Coripata, residents confronted the mayor, challenging him to drink water from the rivers that supply the community, accusing him of turning a blind eye to illegal mining. In the municipality of La Asunta, tensions escalated even further: local residents attacked a mining cooperative last September, injuring several people and setting part of its machinery on fire.

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Nikole Hannah-Jones says there have been only two occasions when she looked around a first-class cabin and saw that every passenger was Black. She says that when that happens, something else is going on as well.

“White passengers come on, turn the corner, see that the entire first class is Black and there is a pause. Because it is very normal to fly coach… if the people in first class are white. But all of a sudden coach gets real shabby to you if everybody in first class is Black. And that’s a metaphor for America,” she says.

“You don’t ask: why does there have to be a first class and a coach? Why can’t you make the whole plane first class? That’s not a problem to you. You only question first class if the wrong people are in it. And this is America writ large,” she adds before a crowd of hundreds at the Texas Theatre, as part of the Hay Festival in Dallas. Everyone listens attentively. Then comes another thunderous round of applause. Then the requests for photos, the festival’s longest line for a book signing, and countless people thanking her for her work.

Hannah-Jones, 50, is a journalist at The New York Times Magazine and the creator of the 1619 Project, a landmark reporting initiative on the legacy of slavery in the United States. She won the Pulitzer Prize in 2020, turned the project into a documentary series that earned an Emmy Award, and expanded it into two books, both of which became bestsellers.

That came with consequences. In Florida, the 1619 Project was explicitly barred from being taught in public schools, while in Texas schools, educators were prohibited from requiring students to study it. Efforts to keep it out of classrooms spread across Republican-led states. During his first term, U.S. President Donald Trump cited the project as an example of the “toxic propaganda” he said was dividing the country and announced the creation of the 1776 Commission to promote what he called “patriotic education.”

“The most openly white nationalist administration knows that to control power you have to teach a history that justifies your power. Control of history is never superficial,” Hannah-Jones says.

In a later interview with EL PAÍS, the journalist points to how Trump uses the idea of memory and history: “He gets his legitimacy by evoking a past where white men were the natural leaders of this country. He recalls that past to justify the open racism of his administration, saying ‘this is who we are as Americans.’ If the people who built this country were white men, it becomes a divine destiny that they should rule. He’s saying, ‘no matter what the country looks like, you will be on top.’”

The author is clear about who is receiving that message: white Americans unsettled by the country’s demographic changes, many of whom are themselves living on the brink of poverty.

She points to the example of a woman in Texas waiting in line at a food bank who was asked whether she regretted voting for Trump three times. She said she did not, but wished he had begun deportations sooner. “She thinks her suffering is okay, as long as the wrong people can’t be in the country and the right people are also suffering,” says Hannah-Jones, adding that race is being deliberately weaponized in such cases: “We spend too much time focusing on people we think should be out lessers, instead of recognizing who is exploiting all of us.”

Hannah-Jones believes it is precisely this “resentment” that Trump has successfully tapped into. “Trump understands America more than the Democrats,” she says. “He understands how effectively you can use racism as a Trojan horse. You don’t have to have great economic policy or great international policy. You can constantly lie to people, but if you provoke their sense of racial resentment, none of that will matter.”

“I don’t think Democrats have been willing to acknowledge how much race still animates and drives American politics,” she continues. “They tend to have an innate belief about the goodness of America and that everything will work out. Trump has a very realistic understanding of this country that he exploits.”

The journalist, whose career has focused on investigating race and inequality, founded the Center for Journalism and Democracy at Howard University, as well as the Ida B. Wells Society for Investigative Reporting, which is dedicated to training and supporting Black investigative journalists.

One of her most recent essays, on segregation in the U.S. education system, has once again thrust her into the center of a national debate. Hannah-Jones and her husband, both upper-middle-class professionals living in New York, chose to enroll their daughter in an under-resourced public school in Brooklyn where most students are Black. “I believed Faraji and I could bring some of that power with us,” she writes. “We had connections and time and status that should not matter, but that we all know do. And more than that, we believed strongly that if families like ours went into schools like this one, it would challenge other families with similar values to do the same.”

In the essay, she recounts her daughter’s sense of “betrayal” when she learned of the decision. Hannah-Jones has defended it, noting that her daughter was ultimately admitted to the predominantly white high school she wanted to attend. “I’ve often been told that I ‘sacrificed’ my daughter,” she says. “But we are so willing to sacrifice a whole lot of our children. And we’re okay with that. I wanted to use the story of this one child to stand in for the story of millions of children whose parents can’t just pull them out of a school when it goes bad.”

In doing so, Hannah-Jones once again shines a spotlight on educational segregation, a subject she has spent two decades investigating. She also sees the attacks on books and higher education as what she calls “the earliest attacks on democracy in the United States in this most recent moment.”

“If you study any fascist regimes, they always go after institutions of higher education because they teach you critical thinking. They teach you to question,” she explains. “And regimes don’t want people who question their power. And then they have to turn us against each other — that is the most important part.”

The upcoming midterm elections are looming large over cultural events across the country, particularly in Texas, where Democrats believe a long-awaited breakthrough may be within reach.

When asked what the headlines will be on November 4, the day after the midterms, Hannah-Jones replies: “I never try to predict the future because I think that’s the easiest way for journalists to look like an idiot. I just fear that, if we look at what the administration is saying and doing, we will not have a result on November 4 that is accepted. So I think the headline is going to be that the Trump administration is only going to accept one outcome in the election.”

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