TIERRA QUEMADA

Amid economic turmoil, Argentines sort through waste to survive.

ONE MAN’S BATTLE AGAINST ARGENTINA’S LARGEST LANDFILL

Inside Argentina's largest open-air dump, hundreds of low-income residents suffer chronic health issues from toxic smoke. Six years ago, federal courts approved $12 million to convert the facility into an environmental center, but President Milei's austerity measures have stalled the project.

By MAX FELIU

LUJÁN, Argentina — Hunched over, Sergio Almada wrestles a lawnmower to cut grass in Argentina’s wealthiest neighborhoods. A chronic disability worsened by years of labor has lead to a welded spine that has him bent at 90-degree angle. Almada’s wife María cleans government buildings to contribute to the household income that keeps their three granddaughters fed and in school.

The neighborhoods where Almada works sit just five kilometers from La Quema — Argentina’s largest open-air landfill where 120,000 kilograms of waste still burn daily. Almada, who now serves as the president of the San Pedro neighborhood association, has spent 40 years battling the environmental catastrophe that has left hundreds of low-income residents with chronic health issues.

Decades of fighting led to a federal court order approving $12 million to convert the dump into an environmental center. Under President Milei’s strict austerity measures, those hopes are now shattered.

“When your granddaughters are breathing this poison every day, you can't just sit back and watch,” Almada said. “This isn't just my problem—it's killing our entire neighborhood.”

50 miles west of Buenos Aires, Luján, a city of 106,000 people, is best known as Argentina's most important Catholic pilgrimage site. The landfill's proximity to Argentina's capital has made it a convenient solution for waste management.

THE WORKERS’ DILEMMA

Trash burns at La Quema around the clock. Of those affected by the toxic fumes, the dozens of families who live inside the dump face the greatest exposure.

An informal economy has formed around the dump, making its removal difficult due to hundreds of workers who sort recyclable materials for their livelihood.

“All my family has always lived here looking for work,” Joana Enriques, a waste picker at La Quema said. "Most of us don’t know how to do anything else but recycle and be here."

Enriques has sorted recyclable materials at La Quema since she was 12, following most of her family members into the work.

She represents one of an estimated 200 families who depend on La Quema for survival, scavenging for plastic, cardboard and metals they can sell to middlemen.

The work is dangerous. Former worker Estela Jaime said workers regularly face robbery, violence and sexual assault inside the dump. She carried a knife for protection and never worked alone.

"They might steal your cell phone or ask you for money for drugs," Jaime said. "When you walk out, you always have that fear. You can't look to the sides because they might jump at you."

In Luján, waste collectors can only sell to one middleman, known as "El Indio." The lack of options leaves workers vulnerable to exploitation.

"If the trash we sort is worth $100, El Indio will only pay us $20," Enriques said.

Despite the dangers and exploitation, many workers chose La Quema over formal employment. Argentina's economic crisis under President Javier Milei has driven more people into informal work as unemployment rises and austerity measures eliminate social programs.

"There are factories, but you need an education, and the pay is not the same," Enriques said. "It's easier here — you just come if you feel like it. You decide your own time."

The economic pressures have also intensified under Milei's policies. His administration opened imports of cheaper foreign recycled materials, driving down prices that waste pickers receive. Materials that once provided steady income now barely cover basic needs.

Eduardo Donza, a professor at the University of Buenos Aires who studies labor markets, said an estimated 33% of Argentina's workforce operates in what economists call the "popular economy" — jobs that lack labor protections and exist outside traditional employment.

"At levels that are very close to subsistence, this implies issues of great exclusion and the impossibility of acquiring minimal food," Donza said.

For workers like Enriques, the choice between health and survival remains stark. Closing La Quema would eliminate their livelihood, but staying means continued exposure to toxins that have already begun affecting their health.

SURROUNDING COMMUNITIES

In the working-class neighborhoods surrounding the dump, residents like Almada pay the steepest price for living downwind from Argentina's waste.

Almada's disability tells the story of a lifetime of exposure. He developed psoriasis at age six, which for decades worsened until arthritis forced him into early retirement 25 years ago. His joints became so inflamed that doctors said he could no longer work.

"I had inflammation in all my joints, and my vertebrae were fused together," Almada said. "I was embarrassed and would start to cry because of it."

For a decade, Almada was bedridden. His spine gradually fused into the hunched position that now defines his silhouette. He rarely left his house, ashamed of his appearance. That changed eight years ago when on Christmas Eve, his daughter suffered a fatal heart attack, leaving behind three young girls.

"We were having a toast when our daughter died of a sudden heart attack," Almada said. "She left behind a two-day-old, a two-year-old, and a nine-year-old. Their father couldn't raise them and we were left in charge of them."

Almada and his wife became their granddaughters’ guardians, and bore witness to them developing the same respiratory problems that had plagued the rest of San Pedro. Lung diseases, skin conditions, and pregnancy complications that have become endemic in the area.

"The doctors from the municipality said that 40% of people from the area who go to the clinic are there for diseases caused by the dump," Almada said. "A person who is eight years old today will still carry the pollution in their bodies until they are 90."

The fight to close La Quema gave Almada a new purpose, pulling him from his decade of isolation. When he started organizing his community, he initially viewed the dump workers as obstacles to his environmental crusade.

"When we started taking on the landfill problem, I began to go out again, I started to appear in the media," Almada said. "I never stopped to think if my disability was holding me back."

Almada's perspective shifted as he recognized that many waste pickers lived in his own neighborhood, facing the same health consequences while depending on the dump for survival. Having worked at La Quema years earlier, he understood their desperation.

"Being at the forefront of this struggle today and thinking about the workers is a source of pride for me," Almada said. "I still feel like one of them."

His activism evolved from demanding the dump's immediate closure to advocating for a solution that would provide dignified work for waste pickers while ending the environmental catastrophe. The solution, he believes, lay in the proposed environmental center.

PUSHING FOR A SOLUTION

Argentina's Environment Ministry secured a $12 million loan from the Inter-American Development Bank to build the "Laudato Sí" Environmental Center. The project promised to transform waste management in Luján while providing dignified working conditions for the hundreds of families who depend on the dump.

The environmental center would replace the open-air burning with a modern facility featuring conveyor belts for sorting recyclables, water treatment infrastructure, and protective equipment for workers. Plans included a daycare center where waste pickers could leave their children while working, along with administrative offices, workshops, and even a public interpretation center.

Construction began in October 2022 as part of a federal plan to eliminate open-air dumps across Argentina. The project advanced steadily, reaching 70% completion by early 2024. But then the work stopped.

President Javier Milei's administration, focused on fiscal austerity, refused to release the remaining funds despite federal court orders demanding the project's completion. The Environment Ministry that championed the center was dissolved entirely, leaving no government agency to oversee the work.

"There's no one left to talk to, no one to file complaints with," Almada said. "We know there's little we can do."

The half-finished environmental center now sits abandoned, its concrete structures exposed to the elements while La Quema continues burning just miles away.

The Inter-American Development Bank has formally complained about Argentina's failure to complete the project, but the millions allocated remain frozen. For Almada, the stalled construction represents the latest setback of San Pedro’s decades-long fight for human dignity.

His granddaughters, now in their teens, continue taking daily asthma medication, their young lungs already irreversibly scarred.

"This is the opportunity to end La Quema and stop future generations from getting sick," Almada said. "They are our life, for me and for María."

As Milei's government prioritizes budget cuts over environmental justice, the hopes for change of families in Luján remain buried beneath the same bureaucratic indifference that created La Quema four decades ago.