On the day I took this image, a local activist took me on a hike to take in the city of La Oroya from above and to observe how 90 years of pollution have etched themselves onto the surrounding Andean landscape. At moments along the ascent, my guide (pictured here) offers me tidbits of knowledge about the fossils, plants, and archaeological remains we pass. While he has suffered greatly for his involvement in local toxicity politics, incurring harassment and recently losing his job, it is clear that he still finds things to love in La Oroya. When we reach the top, we pause for a long time to take in this birds-eye-view of the smelting city. Like skeletons from the past, the bleached rocks bear witness to the loss of generations of agriculturalists of the high Puna landscape. A local environmental scientist explained to me that in La Oroya acid rain made by smelter gases unearths mountains: as the roots of plants disentgrate, the soil washes away, revealing the geologic shades and textures that lie beneath. This gradient effect startles and unsettles me, but the landscape is also breathtakingly beautiful. Nonetheless, this image participates in a common practice of photographing La Oroya, often from above, through the lens of toxic voyeurism. Images like this accompany articles that defame the city in national and international press, enhancing their text with the shock of the toxic landscape, so visually evident. Oroyans who defend the smelter, despite the contamination, are so suspicious of photography that I avoided taking photographs in town, less I attract glares and snickers. It is through images like this one that La Oroya has become a toxic place.
On the day I took this image, a local activist took me on a hike to take in the city of La Oroya from above and to observe how 90 years of pollution have etched themselves onto the surrounding Andean landscape. At moments along the ascent, my guide (pictured here) offers me tidbits of knowledge about the fossils, plants, and archaeological remains we pass. While he has suffered greatly for his involvement in local toxicity politics, incurring harassment and recently losing his job, it is clear that he still finds things to love in La Oroya. When we reach the top, we pause for a long time to take in this birds-eye-view of the smelting city. Like skeletons from the past, the bleached rocks bear witness to the loss of generations of agriculturalists of the high Puna landscape. A local environmental scientist explained to me that in La Oroya acid rain made by smelter gases unearths mountains: as the roots of plants disentgrate, the soil washes away, revealing the geologic shades and textures that lie beneath. This gradient effect startles and unsettles me, but the landscape is also breathtakingly beautiful. Nonetheless, this image participates in a common practice of photographing La Oroya, often from above, through the lens of toxic voyeurism. Images like this accompany articles that defame the city in national and international press, enhancing their text with the shock of the toxic landscape, so visually evident. Oroyans who defend the smelter, despite the contamination, are so suspicious of photography that I avoided taking photographs in town, less I attract glares and snickers. It is through images like this one that La Oroya has become a toxic place.