COP30, the United Nations climate conference taking place in Belém, Brazil, has a promising agenda. On paper, such declarations lend the conference an air of promise. Yet in practice, global climate gatherings have long been shaped not by the communities most affected, but by nation-states and multinational corporations whose interests often overshadow the voices of those living at the frontlines of ecological collapse.
In response, sixty Native/Indigenous organizations from both the southern and northern of Abya Yala* embarked on an extraordinary journey known as the “Yaku Mama Flotilla.” Activist leaders from Ecuador, Peru, Brazil, Colombia, Panama, Guatemala, and Mexico set out from Ecuador, traveling over 1,800 miles down the Amazon River to Belém, Brazil. The name “Yaku Mama,” derived from Quechua language, translates to “Mother of the Waters.” This name reflects a worldview in which every river, forest, and creature is nurtured by a maternal presence. It embodies a vision of creation as not merely an object, but as an integral part of a shared existence with the cosmos.
Their voyage is at once a protest and a plea: an unequivocal call to end fossil-fuel extraction; a demand to safeguard uncontacted peoples; a push for direct, community-led climate financing; and a reaffirmation that any durable climate solution must be rooted in ancestral knowledge. It is not simply a political act—it is a spiritual procession, a living litany on behalf of the wounded Earth.
The disconnect between these frontline communities and international climate forums often reveals itself most acutely in language. For many Indigenous peoples, humanity exists within nature, not beyond it. Their urgency is not an abstract concern but the anguish of losing a loved one, the Amazon, the rivers, the mountains, the trees, the motherland, home.
Remembering the words of Pope Francis, in Laudato Si’ (2015), reminds the world that the Earth “is our common home,” a mother who “cries out because of the harm we have inflicted on her.” His words resonate profoundly with the spirit of the Yaku Mama Flotilla. Both speak of creation not as a commodity to be exploited, but as a sacred gift entrusted to our care. Francis warns that when humans, from an Eurocentric and anthropocentric point of view, imagine themselves as masters and owners, detached from the web of life, the result is the devastation of ecosystems, vulnerable peoples, and the moral fabric that binds us together.
In Laudate Deum (2023), he becomes even more urgent, insisting that the climate crisis is not merely political or scientific but deeply spiritual. In the face of this reality, Pope Francis speaks with prophetic clarity, denouncing both political inaction and the systematic obstruction of negotiations driven by economic interests that place profit above the common good. He calls for the creation of global structures capable of protecting our common home, and he lifts up the vital role of popular movements and local communities, who already bear the weight of environmental destruction. Francis urges a profound cultural revolution, one that frees us from selfishness and leads us to responsibility and care. He insists that science is an essential ally, not an enemy of faith. He invites us to embrace an active hope, a hope that is not naïve, but committed, courageous, and transformative.
The flotilla’s journey thus becomes a living homily. It proclaims what Pope Francis emphasizes repeatedly: that ecological conversion requires listening to those who live closest to the land, who understand creation as a communion of relationships. It is an invitation to repentance for the harms done, a call to defend the sacredness of all life, and a commitment to walk, like the “Yaku Mama Flotilla,” ourageous hope toward a future where humanity and creation may be healed together.
*Abya Yala in the Guna language means “land in full maturity and land of vital blood .” In the 1970s, Native activists, historians, politicians, and theologians with a strong sense of ancestral identity adopted the term Abya Yala as a unified name for the continent, instead of referring to it as Latin America, Hispanoamerica among other names that perpetuate colonial divisions (Delgado & Ramírez, 2022).









