Capturing the resilient environment of Latin America and a shift in mindset - Isabella Galante

By Isabella Galante

I’ve always identified as an environmentalist. I even own a T-shirt that screams “Save the Planet” in bold letters, printed over and over again like a mantra. But in recent months, that message has shifted meaning for me.

As the Communications Manager for Earthworm Foundation in Latin America, I’ve had the privilege of traveling to Peru, Mexico, and Brazil’s Amazon. These trips were more than just work — they reshaped my understanding of sustainability and ecology.

(C) Marianne Wasowska

In each place, I met with local communities, listened to their stories, and witnessed firsthand the challenges they face. One of the most powerful experiences happened in the region of Chiapas, Mexico, in the La Encrucijada Biosphere Reserve — a delicate yet remarkably resilient mangrove ecosystem. That’s where it hit me: it’s not about saving the planet. It’s about saving the planet from us.

(C) Isabella Galante

The Earth doesn’t need saving. Life here has persisted through ice ages, mass extinctions, and fluctuations. Sea turtles, for example, have been around for over 350 million years — they’ve outlived the dinosaurs. They adapt. Humans? We’ve only existed for about 200,000 years. On the planet’s geological timeline, we’re like teenagers — reckless, impulsive, testing boundaries, and engaging in destructive behavior, as Earthworm’s CEO puts it.

Whether we’re here or not, life will go on. Earth has an astonishing capacity to regenerate. But our survival, in particular, depends on how we choose to interact with it.

A Warning in still waters

This truth became even clearer in Xochimilco, a place with a network of canals and artificial islands, once rich in biodiversity. Its name comes from a Nahuatl phrase meaning “where the flowers grow”, and it represents the last remaining trace of traditional land use in the lagoons of the Mexico City basin before the Spanish conquest. Today, the government uses the lake to supply the water needs of the capital’s growing demand.

(C) Isabella Galante

As I floated in a colorful trajinera, traditional boats with oarsmen touching the bottom with their paddles, I asked the biologist accompanying me about the impact of this activity on aquatic life. Her answer was blunt: “These waters are practically dead.”

Between springs drying up, water pollution, invasive species, pesticide use, motorboats, and climate change, even the iconic axolotl — an amphibian found nowhere else — is nearing extinction. Still, the conservationist insisted: if humans were to step back for long enough, nature would reclaim the space.

When civilizations vanish

The disappearance of societies is nothing new. In Mexico, the ancient Mayan civilization collapsed, in part due to deforestation and water scarcity. Coincidence or not, a similar story played out halfway across the world with the fall of the Khmer Empire in Cambodia.

And here we are in the 21st century — despite everything we know, despite the broad consensus on the importance of preserving natural resources — still clearing forests and contaminating rivers, as if history hasn’t already warned us.

So, what future are we building for ourselves? Will it be livable? For how long? Or are we simply doomed to repeat the same story, again and again?

(C) Marianne Wasowska

These experiences haven’t made me hopeless — they’ve made me more determined. More than ever, I believe in the power of storytelling to change hearts and minds. My mission is clear: to tell stories that don’t just inform, but inspire action. To raise awareness and promote positive change.

Because if we want a future that’s habitable, just, and alive with biodiversity, we need to act. Not to “save the planet” — but to save the part of the planet we depend on.

Learn more about Isabella and our other members here.