Uneven protections and lingering uncertainties

Despite the success of the taricaya repopulation program, some experts consulted by OjoPúblico have raised concerns about large-scale restocking and the release of these turtles into areas where they are not endemic or where they may disrupt the reproduction of other species. There is little evidence to determine, for instance, whether these releases may be saturating the habitat of the larger charapa turtle.

According to Edson Del Águila Alván, the Peruvian Amazon Research Institute (IIAP) is currently studying the genetic variability of the taricaya to assess the long-term effects of the program after decades of repopulation efforts.

Enrique Michaud, who headed Serfor’s Directorate of Sustainable Wildlife Management until May 2024, told OjoPúblico that the taricaya export permits issued during his tenure involved such large quantities that it was difficult to understand how much income they generated for the Indigenous communities collecting them.

“Honestly, I felt bad signing those CITES permits—each permit was for 20,000 or 30,000 turtles […] And for each of those turtles, the community received twenty cents. It was absurd. I would think, ‘How can you possibly pay so little for such a valuable resource?’” he said.

Rider Yuyarima Aquituari, along with his management group Los Manatís in the community of San Martín de Tipishca, collected around 24,000 taricayas in 2024. However, he says that the company they work with has already informed them that it will not be buying taricayas next season.

When the company pays them, the amount is enough to cover that year’s costs, but nothing is left for food or fuel for the next season, Rider explains. To make ends meet, the other 12 members of the group hunt paca (Cuniculus paca), white-lipped peccary (Tayassu pecari), and fish.

“They pay us, we divide it, and then everyone takes responsibility for themselves. But there’s nothing left to start the new year,” Rider says. “It doesn’t add up. The total looks big when the company deposits money to the organization… but it doesn’t work because there are so many of us.”

Sernanp told OjoPúblico that it is aware of these concerns in the taricaya market. Officials pointed to several commercial initiatives, such as creating local companies formed by management groups like Pacaya S.A. and ECOMATSA, to promote the direct sale of taricayas and their by-products. They also said they are exploring alternative natural resources that could help broaden economic activities.

Samuel says that several community members who once harvested taricayas have migrated to Amazonian cities like Nauta or Iquitos because they can no longer support themselves. He worries because their role also includes monitoring and protecting taricaya nests.

“Sometimes we don’t go in for two or three days, and people [illegal hunters] are already there… I don’t know how, but they must know when we’re gone,” Samuel says. According to Del Águila Alván, “there is always the possibility that some members decide to stop participating, as happens in any community-based process.”

For his part, Michaud, the former Serfor official, says that another concern in the trade, both for management groups and for hatcheries, is the condition of the turtles once they are taken for export. “We had no idea what was happening—or what is happening—with those turtles once they get here [to Lima],” he says. “There are things that are non-negotiable, and our animals, our wildlife, all the value of our megadiversity—that is something we cannot bargain away.”

Michaud explains that the taricaya trade resembles the way alpaca or vicuña fiber markets function. In any bio-business linked to megadiversity, “very few people make a lot of money at the expense of many others.” He adds that “the State needs to play a more decisive role” in managing the resource.

Segundo Lomas, a community member from San Martín de Tipishca, is encouraging others to pursue different bio-businesses, such as working with punga colorada (Pseudobombax munguba). The seed of this Amazonian plant, Segundo explains, is dried in the sun and produces a fiber that can be used in value-added textiles.

This year, together with the nonprofit Amanatari, 20 people from his community carried out their first collection of the fruit for commercial use. He estimates that 50 fruits produce one kilo of fiber, and they were able to gather 140 kilos in this first season. Segundo says they earn 90 soles per kilo, and that most of the group’s members are women.

“I’m proud that we are part of the reserve and proud to contribute to its protection,” he says, “but it has to be compatible with the work we do.”

From inside his home, Samuel watches through the window as his neighbors help him repair the boat’s motor.

On one hand, he recognizes the importance of seeking new income opportunities. They are working with the Ministry of Production to sustainably use, for example, paiche (Arapaima gigas)—an enormous Amazonian fish that is critically endangered—in the reserve’s lakes. Through their collaboration with the State, they have recorded 988 adults and 488 juveniles in a single lake. Samuel says that if their management plan is approved, they will be allowed to harvest only 10%.

But on the other hand, he knows he will continue working with his taricaya management group one way or another. After 15 years of returning to the same beaches to recover eggs during the dry season, he says the turtles almost seem to recognize them.

“At this time of day, they’re still laying [eggs],” he says. It wasn’t like this before. “It used to be three or four in the morning, when there was no one on the beaches. Now people don’t bother them anymore. That’s why they’re laying calmly until the time the workers leave the beach.”

*Samuel is a pseudonym used to protect the individual’s identity due to fear of reprisals.