Piatsaw: The Resistance of the Indigenous Nations of Ecuadorian Amazon

By Pamela Cruz. Terra 360.

In the Ecuadorian Amazon, where oil runs beneath the earth and mercury poisons the rivers, the rainforest is not landscape: it is memory, it is law, it is spirit. There, Indigenous nations—Shuar, Achuar, Cofán, Waorani, Kichwa, Sápara—are not merely defending hectares threatened by mining and oil concessions, but the possibility of continuing to be.

That is what Nicola Okin Frioli began documenting in 2015 in Piatsaw, a long-term project portraying Indigenous resistance to extractivism in one of the most biodiverse territories on the planet.

“The project began as a search,” the Italian photographer recalls. “I didn’t want to be moved by the first story I heard. I wanted to understand the deeper coherence of these struggles.” He found that coherence in southern Ecuador, in Shuar territory, during the twentieth anniversary of the Alto Cenepa War. There he encountered the story of the Arútam—Indigenous fighters who guided the Ecuadorian army through the jungle after a shamanic ceremony of protection.

“They defended their territory during the conquest, later alongside the State during the war, and today they defend it from that same State that grants their land to extractive companies. Their position has remained the same: protect the forest.”

Ecuador is rich in oil and minerals such as copper, gold, silver, and zinc. Much of these deposits lie within Indigenous territories recognized as ancestral, yet rarely subject to meaningful prior consultation. The impact has been devastating: deforestation, contamination of water and soil, constant spills from deteriorating pipelines inherited from decades of exploitation, and 450 active gas flares burning day and night in just three Amazonian provinces. Texaco—now Chevron—acknowledged having discharged billions of gallons of toxic waste into the northern region.

“What we see as a resource, they understand as society,” Frioli explains, echoing anthropologist Philippe Descola. “For many Amazonian peoples, trees, animals, and spirits belong to the same community.”

Yet Piatsaw is not a narrative of defeat. “I present it as David against Goliath,” he says.

In 2018, the Cofán community of Sinangoe succeeded in annulling 52 mining concessions, freeing more than 32,000 hectares of primary forest. Using drones, GPS, and territorial guards, they mapped their own land and brought the case before the Constitutional Court. “They have found ways to win. Their model now inspires other peoples,” he notes.

Resistance is also spiritual, because, as he says, “they understand things we cannot perceive.” During a meeting with Indigenous former combatants, a mestizo general confided to him: “I will die wondering whether these men truly spoke with the animals.” For Frioli, this is not exoticism but a different relationship with the world. “We believe water flows from the tap by right. They know water is life because they depend on it every single day.”

There are territories one visits—and others that claim you. For Nicola, the Ecuadorian Amazon was not a geographic destination but an intimate summons.

Born in Italy and trained in Fine Arts—painting, sculpture, the chiaroscuro of Caravaggio—he never formally studied photography. “I read the camera manual and understood that everything is a matter of time and light. The rest was experience.”

Before Ecuador came Mexico, in search of an Indigenous world that no longer existed in Europe. In 2004, what he describes as a “prophetic” experience led him to fix his gaze on the upper Amazon. For more than a decade he prepared himself by reading chronicles, anthropological studies, and histories of the conquest. When he finally set foot in Shuar territory in 2015, he knew the investigation had to be lived, not merely studied.

Piatsaw is the name of the founding god of the Sápara nation, a mythical figure who foretold both the origin and the eventual disappearance of his people. That tension—between creation and extinction—defines the tone of the black-and-white images: intense, high-contrast, where the forest seems to breathe alongside those who inhabit it.

“I try to seize life’s events with intensity,” he explains. “To search for beauty even within conflict.”

The project continues. Although a spinal fracture forced him to pause in 2023, Frioli does not consider it finished. “My presence there is learning. It is not only documentation.”

For him, Amazonian communities are not only defending their territory; they are defending the planet’s lungs. “The future lies with them. They possess instruments we do not know. We are covered over.”

In a world that measures progress in barrels and tons, Piatsaw reminds us that there are peoples who measure time in generations and territory in memory. And that, as long as the forest remains standing, so will resistance.