PROFILE | Damaris Sánchez: the panamanian woman who made defense of water a continental cause
Born and raised in the province of Chiriquí, in Western Panama, Damaris Sánchez grew up surrounded by mountains, forests, and crystal-clear rivers. The territory, known for its fertile volcanic soils and for being home to the country’s highest point, the Barú volcano, was the setting for her childhood. The life she was given. A time of discovery running through the woods and along the river, water rippling in the wind, a space for learning, struggle, and leisure.
“I am the daughter of a farming family. We live in a very productive region of Panama, with volcanic soils; it is the main area producing vegetables consumed in the country. However, this area was greatly affected by changes in land use – from deforestation to agriculture – especially from the 1970s onwards, when there was a large agricultural expansion. I was born precisely during that period.”
This period was also marked by cases of climate vulnerability. “We’ve already had several extreme rainfall events that caused landslides and river overflows, directly affecting communities. Being the daughter of farmers, I’ve had a very strong connection to the soil and the forest since I was little. My leisure space was the woods, and the river has always been a very important connection for me,” says Damaris.
Like the story of so many other children of the working class, her family always pointed to education as a path to follow. “My family always valued education very much. My father was an uneducated man, quite sexist and very protective, especially of his daughters. He didn’t let us go out much, so our games and leisure time happened between sisters, in the river and in nature. My mother also hadn’t studied, but when we were older, she decided to finish elementary school and continue her studies. I liked biology, but I wanted to stay close to my family.”
This connection to the land was also what led her to activism. With a degree in Computer Programming and Statistics, Damaris returned to her community after college, seeking work that would keep her close to home. She found her calling in an environmental project focused on soil and forest conservation and less invasive and more sustainable agricultural practices – MISCONDE – in the Cerro Punta district.
“I started working as an office assistant because of my knowledge of technology. But, over time, I began to hear the technicians talking to the farmers about soil conservation, reducing the use of pesticides, organic farming, and environmental education. I fell in love with it and gradually acquired knowledge, even without formal training in the area. The project ended in 1996, and one of its objectives was to form a local organization to continue this work. That’s how Fundicep was born, formed by people from the community itself. Even without being technicians in biology or agriculture, we started writing our own projects, seeking support from national and international organizations for conservation initiatives.”
The organization was officially created in 1998, and Damaris has remained involved ever since. “It was there that I became closer to activism, because it didn’t make sense to tell the children to take care of the river and, at the same time, see projects destroying the territory and remain silent. That’s where my activism was born.”
In 2006, a new challenge mobilized the community: preventing the construction of a road inside a national park. During the mobilization, they discovered another silent problem: the installation of dams on the rivers of the Chiriquí province. It was necessary to send the damned things away, as Maria Bethânia sings. “At that time, we didn’t even really know what a hydroelectric plant was. People started coming to us asking for help. We had to study and understand what was happening,” recounts Damaris.
In a short time, dozens of projects were planned on a single river. The government allocated up to 90% of the water to companies, leaving only 10% for the communities and the ecosystem. Indignation transformed into a movement. “We started denouncing that the right to water was being violated. In the beginning, each community fought alone. Then we understood that the problem was national, it wasn’t just one river, it was a system.”
Thus, in 2012, the National Water Defense Network (RNDA) was born, an organization that unites communities affected by dams throughout Panama. The network advocates for community use of water, promotes agroecology, and fosters popular education as instruments of sovereignty.
Over time, the RNDA has become a Latin American benchmark in the fight for water and life. “In 2015, we managed to halt seven hydroelectric projects and repeal the ecological flow law. It was a great victory,” recalls Damaris. “But the threats didn’t stop. Today, we face mining, privatization, and the criminalization of social struggles.”
Panama, a country with more than 500 rivers, lives with a contradiction: an abundance of water and scarcity for its people. “The main user of water is the Panama Canal, which generates economic benefits but doesn’t bring benefits to the communities. While luxury buildings have water every day, there are villages that go weeks without a drop,” denounces Damaris.
She emphasizes that state policies favor companies and marginalize those who defend the territory. “Governments have created regulations that benefit corporations, and those who protest are criminalized. We’ve had teachers fired, women imprisoned and persecuted. It’s a context of repression, but also of great courage.”
Among these courageous voices are women. “About 90% of the social organizations active in Panama are led by women. We are the ones in the streets, with the drums, with the strongest voices. But we are also the most criminalized.”
This struggle connects Damaris to movements in other countries, such as the Movement of People Affected by Dams (MAB) in Brazil. “Our relationship with MAB began early in the network. We participated in meetings and saw that the problems are the same throughout Latin America: dams, mining, climate crisis. But we also have the same hopes: to build other models of life. This is a continental struggle.”
Even in the face of repression, Damaris bets on youth and culture as engines of resistance. “Young people have a lot of creativity. In the last mobilizations, people protested by singing, playing drums, creating verses. It was a joyful resistance, which even involved children. This joy is the force that makes us continue.”
For her, the fight for water is also affective. “When I see people from Africa, from Latin America, I realize that, even without speaking the same language, we are united by the same hope. It’s a profound spiritual feeling of belonging and collective strength.”
Before ending the conversation, Damaris leaves a message that summarizes the meaning of her journey:
“The problems will continue, but it is in resistance that the will to change lies. We can win more hearts and bring more people to the fight. Even if life is difficult, with so many worries, we need to understand that fighting for the planet is fighting for our common home. If we don’t, what will we leave for the children? We have to fight and resist.”
