Beyond the ITT Initiative: How Ecuador’s Civil Society Reclaimed the Future of Yasuní

By Edgar Aguilar

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Photo from flickr

The failure of Ecuador’s Yasuní-ITT Initiative in 2013—an internationally recognized proposal to leave oil in the ground in exchange for global compensation—sparked a nationwide civic response. Civil society actors mobilized not only to oppose oil drilling in Yasuní National Park but to redefine what environmental governance could look like in Ecuador’s constitutional context.

Indigenous federations condemned threats to ancestral territory and the rights of uncontacted peoples. Environmental organizations cited Yasuní’s status as one of the most biodiverse regions on Earth. Youth activists framed the issue around climate justice and generational rights. Meanwhile, oil producing communities, local governments and the state oil company defended drilling as a source of critical state revenue and social investment.

In this context, YASunidos was born. Formed in 2013 by a coalition of artists, students, lawyers, environmentalists, and Indigenous youth. YASunidos set out to trigger a national referendum to halt extraction in Block 43. By early 2014 it collected over 756,000 signatures—well above the legal threshold. Yet Ecuador’s National Electoral Council invalidated more than half on technical grounds, effectively blocking the referendum.

Over the next decade, YASunidos evolved. Faced with institutional barriers, the group pursued a multi-pronged strategy: legal challenges in domestic and international courts, cultural campaigns, public education, and transnational alliances. Their demands were anchored in Ecuador’s 2008 Constitution, which enshrines both the Rights of Nature and participatory democracy, a globally unique legal foundation that positioned extraction in Yasuní not only as an environmental threat but as a constitutional violation.

Crucially, YASunidos helped keep the issue in the national spotlight. Even when the media cycle moved on or administrations changed, they maintained public pressure. Through sustained outreach and alliances with indigenous federations, human rights defenders, and global environmental networks, the group broadened its message and constituency. Rather than frame Yasuní as a niche ecological issue, they positioned it as a symbol of the country’s democratic and development crossroads.

That civic pressure paid off. In May 2023, Ecuador’s Constitutional Court approved a binding referendum on oil drilling in Block 43. On August 20, nearly 60 percent of Ecuadorian voters opted to halt extraction, which marked the first time a national electorate democratically voted to leave oil in the ground. The result was globally unprecedented, representing a major step in participatory environmental governance.

Still, the vote revealed important nuances. In oil-producing provinces like Orellana and Sucumbíos, where jobs and infrastructure depend on extraction, a majority voted to continue drilling. These regional differences underscored a key tension: while many voters perceived few benefits from extractive activity despite its costs, others remain economically dependent on it. Civil society’s challenge was—and remains—to articulate a just transition that resonates across these divides.

Following the vote, the Ministry of Energy announced plans to decommission the Ishpingo B-56 well, beginning a phased shutdown of Block 43. The court-mandated timeline requires full dismantling within one year, though the Energy Ministry estimates the process will take five years and cost over $1.3 billion. Whether the state follows through remains uncertain, which makes the ongoing need for civil society oversight critical.

The Yasuní case shows how civil society can do more than resist. It can reshape national debates. YASunidos didn’t just oppose drilling; the coalition reframed it as a matter of constitutionality and democratic participation. By grounding its message in Ecuador’s legal framework and sustaining civic pressure over time, it turned an aborted referendum into a test of the country’s democratic and legal architecture.

The coalition’s success also underscores the value of adaptability. When formal avenues were blocked, YASunidos shifted tactics. They combined litigation, media, and grassroots organizing, without losing focus. Few civic movements sustain relevance over a decade, let alone drive constitutional interpretation and national decision-making. YASunidos did both.

Finally, the decade-long social discourse around Yasuní demonstrates that public debate matters. It was not just a legal battle, but a cultural and moral one about how Ecuador defines development and whose voices count. The 2023 referendum wasn’t the end of that conversation, but a civic milestone in a much longer struggle.

As Ecuador begins to implement the results of the referendum, civil society remains a critical force not only in holding the government accountable but in imagining and advancing alternatives that confront the complex realities on the ground. In many oil-producing regions, communities have received some benefits—such as jobs or infrastructure—but have also shouldered the heaviest environmental and health burdens. The perceived gains have often been limited, unevenly distributed, and insufficient to justify the long-term damage. YASunidos demonstrated that civic engagement can do more than just oppose extractivism. It can defend rights, reframe national debates, and build lasting democratic momentum.

Edgar Aguilar is a Researcher at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies and a graduate student in International Economics at American University

Edited by Rob Albro, Associate Director, Research, at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies

*This post continues an ongoing series, as part of CLALS’s Ecuador Initiative, examining the country’s economic, governance, security, and societal challenges, made possible with generous support from Dr. Maria Donoso Clark, CAS/PhD ’91.

Innocence Suspended: From Seeking Security to the Guantanamo Concentration Camp

Luis Alberto Castillo Rivera graduating from high school in Venezuela (Photo courtesy of his family; Source: Migrant Insider)

Luis Alberto Castillo Rivera graduating from high school in Venezuela (Photo courtesy of his family; Source: Migrant Insider)

The story of Luis Alberto Castillo Rivera, a Venezuelan asylum seeker, has gone viral on TikTok and gained media coverage. Castillo is a man without any criminal history or gang affiliation who entered the United States through a legal pathway. In 2024, this Venezuelan asylum seeker flew to Mexico and awaited his court date. Once he received his appointment date on the CBPOne app on January 19th, 2025, he presented himself at the U.S.-Mexico border in El Paso, where he was processed by immigration authorities and held in detention for no given reason. At the ICE detention center in El Paso, authorities started to question his tattoos, specifically one he had of Michael Jordan. Authorities claimed his Jordan tattoo was affiliated with the Venezuelan gang Tren De Aragua. Many of the tattoos identified by a law enforcement list as used by Tren de Aragua, including stars, roses, tigers, and jaguars, are common among Americans. These so-called identifiers may just be a flimsy pretense for criminalizing the average, non-criminal migrant.

Castillo in a photo released by the Department of Homeland Security of the first flight of migrants preparing to takeoff for Guantanamo Bay, Feb. 4, 2025. DHS

Castillo in a photo released by the Department of Homeland Security of the first flight of migrants preparing to takeoff for Guantanamo Bay, Feb. 4, 2025. DHS

On February 3rd, Castillo told his family that he would be deported to Venezuela, even without a hearing. The next day, he lost contact with his family and was sent to Guantanamo Bay, Cuba on February 4th. President Trump stated he is sending those who have committed crimes in the U.S. to Guantanamo Bay, but Castillo had no criminal history nor gang affiliation and never even had the chance to freely step foot in the U.S.

Castillo’s family was not notified that he would be held at the “longest-running war prison.” His family members only found out about this after seeing pictures online of migrants arriving in Guantanamo Bay. When his family searched for him on the US Immigration and Customs Enforcement website, it appeared he was still in the processing center in El Paso, Texas. Attorneys are calling Guantanamo Bay a “legal black hole,” a place where typical legal protections do not exist for some of the detainees. Some are being held without due process indefinitely without trial or conviction, including thousands of Haitian refugees in the 1990s and almost 800 Muslim men, including minors, over the past two decades. Some of these prisoners have endured incredible physical and psychological abuse and torture in this extralegal space.

Now, the first group sent to Guantanamo Bay, including low-risk migrants and migrants with no criminal record, such as Castillo, were detained in the “counterterrorism suspect” part of the prison – rather than the Migrant Operations Center used in the past to process migrants. The conditions these individuals are facing at this maximum-security prison are inhumane, including mold, undrinkable water, and a lack of adequate medical care. Guantanamo Bay does not even meet the minimum safety standards for detention facilities as set by the U.S. government. Furthermore, the detainees at Guantanamo Bay are subject to permanent physical and psychological trauma.

A less-known but recent story close to home is one where five migrants in North Florida went into a gas station to grab breakfast on the way to their construction job on January 27th and were detained by ICE. Four of them remain detained in Florida. One of them, a Mexican man name Jose Angel Juarez, was sent to Guantanamo Bay; the rumors go that he would be held there for two years. He has no criminal record beyond being caught multiple times crossing the border. He is simply a worker who has been entering and leaving the U.S. every year to work and go home. The idea that Guantanamo Bay was ever for the “worst of the worst” is an illusion. These are just two among many cases of immigrants being detained, held, deported, or sent indefinitely to Guantanamo Bay without due process after being profiled racially or for having tattoos. 


Katheryn Olmos is a Research Assistant at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies and a graduate student at the Sociology Research and Practice program at American University.

Edited by Ernesto Castañeda, Director, and Emma Wyler, intern at the Center for Latin American and Latino Studies and the Immigration Lab.