On Colombia's northern tip, where the Guajira Peninsula juts into the Caribbean, children have been dying of malnutrition for decades. Not quietly, not without record, since 2013, official figures document 581 children dead from causes linked to inadequate nutrition. The word ‘official’ matters here: these are just the deaths the state has acknowledged.
The Wayuu people, roughly 480,000 of La Guajira's one million inhabitants, have watched this crisis compound across generations while sitting on some of the most resource-rich land in South America. Beneath and above their territory lies coal, oil, gas and some of the continent's strongest wind corridors. La Guajira is poor in the particular way that places with things other people want, tend to be poor, deliberately, structurally and with paperwork attached.
La Guajira accounts for more than 20% of all malnutrition deaths among children under 5 in Colombia, despite holding only 7% of the national population. Over 75% of those deaths are indigenous children, though the indigenous population makes up 42% of the region. In targeted clinical studies of Wayuu children under five, up to 92% showed at least one nutritional alteration. The poverty rate sits at 67.4%, against a national average of 39%. In some remote communities, just 4% of Wayuu people have access to quality water.
Water is the axis around which everything else turns. La Guajira is semi-arid, rainfall increasingly erratic, and the territory's water sources have been systematically compromised by extractive operations that arrived with state backing and left the infrastructure bill to everyone else. Jacobo Ramirez, Associate Professor in Latin American Business Development at Copenhagen Business School, has spent years researching governance and legitimacy in contested indigenous territories. He is blunt about what fills the gap the government leaves. ‘When companies want access to the territory, the consultation process becomes a negotiation to fill the gaps the government has in this region, the company ends up doing the job of the state.’
The Cerrejón coal mine, one of the world's largest open-pit operations, has long dominated La Guajira's economic landscape. The same peninsula the government now wants to reposition as Colombia's green energy hub, lined with wind farms and solar installations, remains a place where 77% of indigenous households are food insecure, where only 3 of 16 hospitals offer specialised care for acute malnutrition, situated in a country where approximately $8 billion is lost every year to corruption.
The governance architecture is itself a source of paralysis. Indigenous authority in Colombia has a layered legal history: recognised under Law 89 of 1890, constitutionally strengthened in 1991, and regulated through Decrees 1088 and 2164 in the years that followed. The Wayuu operate through a clan system of around 22 groups, each with ancestral authority tied to family heritage and a semi-nomadic territory that straddles the Colombian-Venezuelan border. The state, meanwhile, created its own parallel ‘traditional authorities,’ assigning representatives that the clans themselves frequently refuse to recognise. When companies seek consent for new projects, they face two authority structures with no agreed relationship between them. Consultation processes collapse. Development proceeds anyway.
Jacobo Ramirez is careful not to romanticise the internal picture. Alongside the structural failures of the state, he points to significant governance instability at the local level, 12 governors, mostly removed from office for corrupt practices, in the last ten decade, as well as internal Wayuu tensions over territory and the fragmented, uncoordinated nature of corporate social investment.
Some companies have made genuine efforts within extremely difficult circumstances: schools have been built, water infrastructure installed. But different companies build different things in different places with no coherent strategy, and without state coordination, individual efforts struggle to add up to systemic change. Between 2015 and 2018, the government expanded mobile malnutrition screening units from 4 to 10, screening 27,000 children in 2018. It invested roughly $18 million in school meal programmes in 2019 alone.. None of it has significantly moved the dial on child mortality rates yet.
The green energy transition threatens to repeat the same pattern in a different register. Colombia faces a genuine energy security problem, 65% of its electricity comes from hydropower, which failing rains have rendered unreliable. La Guajira, flat and wind-battered and coastal, is the obvious site for what comes next. But as Jacobo Ramirez and colleagues note, the conditions for implementing these plans have not been developed in accordance with Wayuu practices or priorities. Their 2026 policy brief documents how the legitimacy gap between energy companies and indigenous communities has widened precisely where the transition has accelerated fastest. The urgency of energy transition has arrived without bringing the population along. Wind turbines generate electricity that doesn't reach local homes. The contradiction is not incidental, it is the logic of the place.
Colombia's Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development (OECD) membership, granted in 2021, has made the La Guajira crisis harder to see internationally, not easier. Membership implies a baseline of institutional function that the peninsula straightforwardly contradicts. 581 counted children. The ones not counted. The water that isn't there. These are not development challenges awaiting the right programme design. They are political choices, still being made.
Further information and opportunities to engage with organisations working in this area are listed below:
https://mama-tierra.org/
https://conviventia.us/
https://americasquarterly.org/article/turning-rescued-food-into-a-lifeline-in-colombias-la-guajira/
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