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A year ago, Bolivia’s second largest lake disappeared. All that remained was a plain covered in salt, corpses of fish and snails, and small indigenous towns scattered along the former coast, deprived of vital employment. Fisherman without fish. Fishermen without the water that, until less than ten years ago, fed a huge mirror. One who gave them their historical name “qotzuñi”, which means sea people in Aymara.
The first time Michael Salama heard about the Qotzuñi and their disappearance Poopó Lakein the Bolivian highlands, was actually in the Atacama Desert in Chile. Although I live in the United States, this is the case 24 year old Anglo-Argentinian adventurer He knew several corners of Latin America, an area he traveled primarily to know and then show those places where the effects of climate change are inevitably obvious and even extreme.
“Bolivia is one of the clearest examples of climate change and environmental problems. I think if we understand them, we could return to the United States and better understand our problems and make an additional difference there. It’s like saying, ‘This could happen here,'” Salama described.
He had previously promoted projects in other places, such as El Chaltén and the Argentine glacier region. What he could never have imagined is that the documentary about the Bolivian lake and its unfortunate fishermen, which he produced together with the Argentine videographer Gastón Zilberman, that could be it nominated for the 2026 Oscars. “Gotzuñi: People of the Lake” It has already received three international awards, including Doc NYC 2024, and seven other recognitions. Now he’s competing for the United States Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ gold statuette in the documentary short film category.
Everything was cooked in a small hotel room in Oruro after the first visit to the lake. “I remember we came back and started with one brainstorming I was furious to download all the information we learned from the walk with the first community. “We knew we wanted to reproduce accurate images of the change in the lake,” Zilberman described.
In 2022, in Atacama, Salama heard from Teodoro Blanco, an Aymara lawyer who to this day represents several Uru peoples in the region, one of the 36 indigenous communities in Bolivia. The Qotzuñi were some of them. Until a few years ago they were fishermen and gatherers who spent their lives in the water.. “They lived in the reeds for whole days,” said Blanco, referring to the rafts made of elongated reeds that both Aymaras and Urus built. But what was a mirror four times larger than Nahuel Huapi became smaller and smaller until, in 2024, this plain of mud and saltpeter remained. Why did it happen?
The question ran through Salama’s mind for several days and later prompted him to buy a plane ticket. He planned his trip to the south of Bolivia for the end of 2023 and met Zilberman, who has also been dedicated to depicting the climate crisis for some time. “I had worked with a few NGOs, but it was the first time I decided to do something on my own. I heard about Michael’s project through friends,” recalls Zilberman.
The variations of Lake Poopó have been studied in science since at least 2006. An article published in Journal of Hydrological Sciences This year there had already been some droughts in the past. And from the 80s to the present, water loss at this point is visible in satellite photos.
This lake was like a large mirror, no more than a meter deep, but expanding so much that it can be seen in satellite images. Its main source of water is Lake Titicacathe largest in the country, and is particularly connected by the river called Desaguadero.
Most articles published in this journal describe the phenomenon, although there are a few – such as one from Harvard (2023) and another from Princeton (2025) – that attribute water reductions to a mix of factors. There is numerous evidence of rising temperatures and also competition for the resource.
“Quinoa begins to be cultivated in very extensive crops, destroying the entire vegetation cover, which reduces the water absorption capacity. In addition, there is a significant decline in the surrounding watersheds,” agreed Teodoro Blanco. Because in the corner of the Bolivian highlands where there is water, dams are built, crops are grown and factories are built. And the Desaguadero is the one that transports the most water.
Over time, the canals and rivers become overloaded and water becomes increasingly scarce. Blanco warned that this has visible consequences. “(The streams) are not fed as before. Especially the Desaguadero, which is part of the Titicaca system, is more affected and finally the mining activities in the area are causing severe blockages,” he explained. Just before the river flows into the Poopó, several tin mines are installed that collect water for operations. What they expel, as Blanco described, is water mixed with sand and chemicals.
The lawyer pointed out that although there is no water now, the lake has been polluted for a long time. The Qotzuñi live there, in the last level of the water chain.
The name of the city where Salama and Zilberman first arrived was Puñaca Tinta María, almost 200 kilometers from Oruro, very close to the remains of Poopó. From this place where more than 80 families grew and formed, only a handful remain today; The majority are women, the elderly and children. Like this one, the other two Qotzuñi peoples have also experienced extreme migration movements.
“There are more women than men in the three towns. It appears that they became more important as the lake dried up,” Zilberman said. He stated that the majority of The young men left to nearby towns to mine tin; They went to Oruro, La Paz or even other countries like Argentina. The women stayed to take care of the children and the elderly, and they began to find ways to survive.
“It is women who today support people from within. They are the ones who make handicrafts. “It is very interesting how they became the center of attention after the lake dried up,” commented Salama. He also explained that people who leave start to forget the Uru traditions; they call it an “Aymarization” of culture because they stop speaking the language and abandon the customs of their ancestors. But in the remaining cities they are trying to preserve them.
At school, they paint murals of the animals that live there or collect stuffed animals that they find on an expedition. “Mauricio, one of the people we interviewed, was mayor of one of the three towns on the lake. He went to Chipaya to look for Uru teachers to preserve the language,” commented Salama.
The documentary filmmakers explained that they are doing publicity beyond the awards they have won local impact projects. “From the international dissemination of the project, we managed to raise the funds to launch a three-stage relief plan. The first was the purchase of school supplies for the Puñaca Tinta María school, which children from several cities attend. The second and third have to do with financing family businesses there, such as the production of handicrafts, salt harvesting and the collection of medicinal plants,” described Zilberman.
“Families have a lot of power and many suggestions for adapting to this new context. The lake no longer exists, but they find a way to stay there,” he added.
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