In late May this year, scientists at Ecuador’s Geophysics Institute detected a fivefold increase in sulphur dioxide emissions from Cotopaxi—one of the world’s tallest active volcanoes, a looming presence 60 kilometres south of Quito, the national capital. On 17 June, the volcano’s vent began spewing plumes of gas and steam a kilometre into the sky. Two months later, on the morning of 14 August, it erupted. The eruption continues today.
In 1877, Cotopaxi’s last major eruption killed over 1,000 people, causing desolation that a government press release described as “terrible and complete.” Today, at its current intensity, the eruption has already disrupted surrounding areas. Thousands have fled their homes, as rumours of impending mudslides spread through vulnerable communities. Falling ash, which can harm respiratory health, threatens Quito’s population of more than two and a half million, as well as livestock and crops that are vital to the largely agricultural Cotopaxi province.
This natural upheaval coincided with turmoil in Ecuador’s political world, which was being rocked by some of the strongest protests and public dissatisfaction since President Rafael Correa took office eight years ago. On 13 August, the Confederation of Indigenous Nationalities, an activist organisation, finished a two-week march from southern Ecuador into Quito. They protested things such as mining projects, central government control over local policy, and constitutional amendments seeking to erase presidential term limits. Several of the confederation’s complaints were popular among the wider public, especially their opposition to the amendments.
This political unrest, along with Cotopaxi’s eruption, stoked fears of a national crisis. It wasn’t the first time that a volcanic eruption in Ecuador occurred simultaneous with major political events. Martin Pallares, a former reporter for the national newspaper El Comercio, noted in a New York Times opinion editorial, dated 1 September, “There is a strange connection between volcanoes and political crises in Ecuador: They seem to erupt together.” Pallares was referring to the 1999 eruption of the Pichincha volcano, which covered Quito in ash during a severe banking crisis that prompted Ecuador to abandon the national currency, the sucre, for the US dollar.
The timing of this year’s twin crises bolstered a growing national pessimism. Since 2014, the global collapse in prices for oil—Ecuador’s largest export—has driven the economy into a recession. While other South American nations have devalued their currencies to boost manufacturing competitiveness, Ecuador’s use of the dollar deprives it of this tool, hurting its chances for an expedited economic recovery. Besides the eruption, other natural phenomena continue to cause anxiety. A slew of severe forest fires has damaged terrain near Quito, and the upcoming El Niño rains, predicted to be the worst since 1997, could batter agricultural production.
Some of the government’s attempts to manage these crises have been controversial. On 15 August, Correa issued a national “decree of exception,” a measure that suspended certain constitutional rights. The decree allowed the the army to mobilise against protesters, resulting in violent clashes in Quito and in the Southern province of Loja. A November report from the international watchdog group Human Rights Watch pointed out that, under national law, the military may only be deployed to protect public safety during times of official emergencies. While some supported the deployment, many viewed the decision as an overreaction to predominantly peaceful protests.
The decree of exception also precluded independent media from publishing unauthorised information about Cotopaxi’s eruption. Pallares’s Times opinion editorial speculated that the decree was in line with the Correa administration’s goal to tighten its grip on the flow of all news information. Santiago Basabe, a professor of political science at the Latin American School of Social Sciences in Quito, confirms that “some political actors” promote this interpretation. They contend, Basabe said, that “the government used the issue of Cotopaxi as a pretense to create a state of exception, with the goal of limiting certain basic rights.”
In recent years, Human Rights Watch has also criticised Correa’s policy towards the press. It has argued that a 2013 law, which created a government agency to police the media, leaves press organisations vulnerable to fines and other sanctions for publishing material critical of the state. The government denies this, claiming that the law simply made it more difficult to publish unsubstantiated reportage. This year, the government explained that the Cotopaxi decree of exception sought to prevent the dissemination of rumours over social media. (In early October, without any explanation, the government chose not to renew the Cotopaxi decree, though another has since been instated pertaining to the El Niño rains.)
The government’s actions in the wake of these crises have been interpreted, by many, as evidence of Correa’s creeping authoritarianism. Some believe he aims to secure an indefinite office—although the ruling party, Alianza PAIS, has announced that, despite the proposed amendments that would elminate presidential term limits, officials who have already served two terms will be ineligible to run in the 2017 election. The constitutional amendments, which are set for debate this December in the national assembly, are not popular. An August survey showed that 80 percent of the public prefers that the issue of presidential term limits be decided by referendum. National polls also reflect Correa’s waning popularity. In September, the latest study from the polling firm Cedatos recorded his popularity at 52 percent—significantly lower than the mid-sixties figures from earlier in his administration.
After the eruption, public anxieties about government preparedness percolated through the country. In September, an internet rumour circulated, claiming the military was buying thousands of body bags for Cotopaxi’s future victims. This underscored fears that the state, unprepared to protect citizens, was instead preparing for their mass deaths.
Rumours aside, the government had begun safety preparations. In the days following the start of the eruption, it began a programme of simulated evacuations, and urged all citizens to prepare “go bags” with emergency supplies. As of 3 September, 200,000 people had participated in evacuation drills. Not all of the simulations have gone smoothly. In early September, in the city of Latacunga, local media reports noted disorganisation among the police who marked evacuation routes and safe houses.
Evacuations will be necessary only if the volcano produces lahars—an Indonesian word meaning “mudflow.” With a large eruption, rising heat from Cotopaxi’s crater could melt part of the volcano’s glacier, prompting as much as 400 million cubic metres of water and rock to flow, like wet concrete, into the surrounding river valleys.
Three hundred thousand people are residents of evacuation zones, designated as such because they are at risk of lahars. These zones cluster in three areas: a part of the Pan-American Highway, a valley called Los Chillos, and the city of Latacunga. The stretch of highway encompasses 40 kilometres of a key trucking route, the blockage of which would disrupt food supply to Quito. Los Chillos is a sprawling region, where 160,000 people live in evacuation zones. And in Latacunga,
30 percent of the city’s 100,000 residents have already evacuated due to rumours of imminent lahars.
The eruption has not intensified to a level that could generate lahars; however, Cotopaxi’s previous eruptive periods have typically lasted two to three years, suggesting the eruption is still in its early stages. Government officials have expressed concern that people will become complacent, breeding disaster if lahars arrive. Preparation is critical; for example, in a worst-case scenario, lahars could travel from Cotopaxi to Latacunga in only 10 minutes.
In an October interview, the mayor of Latacunga, Patricio Sánchez, told me that when he took office in February of 2014, city hall “had zero preparations” for such an eruption. He estimated that the city is now 70-percent prepared, after installing an alarm system, distributing educational leaflets, and setting up 129 lahar shelters.
Still, uncertainty weighs heavily on the city’s residents, including Sánchez himself. “No vulcanologist or scientist can tell us if or when the eruption will intensify,” he said. “Psychologically, it’s difficult, knowing that it could happen at any time. Tomorrow morning or tomorrow night.”