In the far southern reaches of Colombia, nestled deep within the Amazon rainforest, the town of Leticia stands as the country’s lone gateway to the Amazon River. For decades, this bustling jungle outpost has thrived on its unique position at the so-called “triple frontier,” where Colombia meets both Peru and Brazil. But today, Leticia faces a crisis that’s both environmental and political, threatening not only its lifeline to the outside world but also relations with its neighbors.
On September 7, 2025, NPR reported that Leticia’s future as a river port is in jeopardy. The Amazon River, the world’s second largest, is gradually shifting its course southward into Peru, driven by a combination of drought, sedimentation, and the river’s natural meandering. According to a recent Colombian Navy study, if these trends continue, Leticia could be left landlocked within five years. The implications for the town’s 55,000 residents are profound.
“We depend on daily trade between the three countries to survive,” explained Santiago Duque, a biology professor at the Leticia branch of Colombia’s National University, in an interview with NPR. “The river is essential.”
Leticia, perched at the southernmost tip of Colombia, is isolated in more ways than one. Although it boasts an airport, there are no highways connecting it to the rest of the country. Most food, fuel, and other vital goods must arrive by boat from Peru or Brazil. The river isn’t just a waterway—it’s the town’s lifeline.
The area’s “triple frontier” status means borders are porous and life is international. On any given day, tourists, boat pilots, and shoppers cross freely between Leticia, the Peruvian island town of Santa Rosa, and Brazil’s Tabatinga. English, Spanish, and Portuguese mingle in the air, and a local saying goes that people breakfast in Colombia, lunch in Peru, and dine in Brazil. But as the river recedes, the easy camaraderie is giving way to anxiety and, increasingly, to tension.
As the Amazon’s main channel drifts away from Leticia, the town’s cargo wharf has been repeatedly extended in a desperate bid to keep up. During the dry season, however, the wharf often sits stranded on dry land, its forklifts and machinery rendered useless. Workers are forced to carry crates of beer, sacks of rice, and bags of flour up a muddy riverbank by hand, sometimes for a hundred yards or more. “It’s like going back to the 18th century,” lamented Sigifredo Beltrán, a local businessman and hotel owner, speaking to NPR. The cost and effort required to move goods have soared, slowing trade and straining local businesses.
For years, Colombian officials largely ignored the creeping crisis. But in July 2025, the issue exploded into the national spotlight, fueled by a simmering dispute with Peru over the tiny river island of Santa Rosa. Formed in 1974, Santa Rosa sits just a few hundred yards from Leticia and is home to about 3,000 Peruvians. Yet Colombia has long claimed the island as its own.
The controversy flared when Peru’s congress upgraded Santa Rosa’s status from village to town, increasing its governmental presence. The move prompted Colombian President Gustavo Petro to fly to Leticia in protest. In a fiery speech, Petro declared, “Colombia does not recognize Peruvian sovereignty over Santa Rosa.”
Not to be outdone, Colombian presidential candidate Daniel Quintero staged a dramatic stunt, sneaking onto Santa Rosa, hoisting the Colombian flag, and proclaiming, “This is Colombian territory.” Peruvian authorities responded swiftly, removing the flag within 15 minutes. The spectacle stoked nationalist sentiment on both sides, with Colombian politicians quick to recall past territorial losses, such as Panama’s secession in 1903, which remains a sore spot for many.
The roots of the dispute run deep. The 1922 border treaty between Colombia and Peru established that the deepest channel of the Amazon River would serve as the frontier—Colombia to the north, Peru to the south. When Santa Rosa emerged, the deepest channel was north of the island, making it Peruvian territory. But over the decades, the river has shifted, and now the deepest channel runs south of Santa Rosa, arguably placing the island within Colombia’s domain. “Disputes over riverine borders are common,” noted Walter Arévalo, an international law professor at Rosario University in Bogotá, in comments to NPR. He pointed to similar issues between Belgium and the Netherlands and suggested, “The ideal situation would be for both countries to take full advantage of the river.”
Leticia itself has a complicated history. Established by the Peruvian military in the 1800s, it was named after the girlfriend of one of its founders. The town eventually changed hands, giving Colombia access to the Amazon River—though not without protest. In 1932, Colombia and Peru fought a brief border war over the area, a reminder that tensions here are never far from the surface.
The latest flare-up has prompted the revival of a bilateral border commission, dormant for years. The commission is scheduled to meet in Lima on September 11 and 12, 2025, in hopes of finding a peaceful solution to the Santa Rosa dispute and the broader challenges facing the region.
For the people of Leticia and Santa Rosa, the political machinations in Bogotá and Lima are less important than the practical realities of daily life. Islanders like Flor Gómez, a fisherwoman, insist, “We’ve never had problems with Colombia. We are like brothers.” Hotel manager Iván Yovera noted that many Santa Rosa residents shop, send their children to school, and receive medical care in Leticia. The acting mayor of Santa Rosa, Max Ortiz, shrugged off the latest dispute, saying, “That’s Mother Nature.”
The prospect of Leticia becoming landlocked looms large. Dredging the smaller branch of the Amazon that now passes by the town could preserve river access, but the project is expensive and, according to Professor Duque, suffers from political neglect due to the region’s sparse population. Without intervention, Leticia’s isolation could deepen, cutting it off from the river that sustains it.
As Leticia’s future hangs in the balance, the story unfolding at the triple frontier serves as a vivid reminder of the complex interplay between nature, politics, and the daily lives of those who call the Amazon home. Whether the coming negotiations will yield a solution remains to be seen, but for now, the people of Leticia and Santa Rosa continue to navigate both muddy banks and murky diplomatic waters, hoping that their shared river—and their shared future—will not slip away.