Building a Safe & Responsible Plant Medicine Culture: Q&A with Jerónimo Mazarrasa of ICEERS

Tripsitter correspondent, Mags Tanev & Jerónimo Mazarrasa, Director of Social Innovation at ICEERS, discuss integrating ceremonial plant practices, ayahuasca safety, & ethical tourism.

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Dec 17, 2024

After recently completing ICEERS’ Ayahuasca Safety training, which Jerónimo leads, I felt inspired to sit down with him to discuss all things ayahuasca culture, responsibility, and safety outside of traditional contexts.

We dove into creating safe ceremony spaces, the path of the ayahuasca facilitator, respectful interactions with indigenous cultures, and more.

Jerónimo, how did you come to this education & advocacy work around sacred plants?

“It began with a personal interest in psychedelics — my own experiences sparked a fascination and a drive to understand them better. Research naturally led me to indigenous traditions, and this interest evolved into documentary work exploring the intersection of these traditions with the Western world.
Over a decade, I worked on multiple film projects, including two focused on ayahuasca. This became a kind of school for me — I spent years in South America filming, interviewing, and learning from practices like Santo Daime, Barquinha, União do Vegetal, and Indigenous traditions. While I initially aimed to document a comprehensive “family picture” of ayahuasca practices, I realized the depth of these traditions made this impossible. Still, the experience profoundly shaped my understanding.
This work led to collaborations with activist organizations, eventually bringing me to ICEERS. I started as a volunteer and now work full-time, applying skills from my background in product design — like identifying unmet needs and developing solutions — to the globalization of ritual plant use.
At ICEERS, we focus on sacred plants, fungi, and traditional practices, exploring their cultural significance. While medical and recreational uses of psychedelics are well-known, I’m most interested in the ritual and community path — ceremonial uses outside medical contexts. This third way is new to the West and presents unique challenges, but it holds tremendous potential for cultural transformation. It has been my focus for the past 10 years, and I expect it will keep me engaged for many more.”

How do we balance the fine line between cultural appropriation and respectful integration when it comes to ayahuasca and indigenous traditions? Are there any best practices to preserve the integrity of these traditions?

“Cultural appropriation is something I’ve thought about for years. Back in 2005, I gave lectures on it when few people were discussing the topic, as I had already noticed a kind of “circus” forming around these practices. I find metaphors helpful in explaining the concept.
Imagine someone from a country with no Jewish community becomes fascinated by Jewish spirituality and the Kabbalah. They study it, visit Israel, and spend time with Orthodox Jews, learning what they can. After a few years, they return home, open a synagogue, and present themselves as a rabbi. While the people in Israel might say, “He didn’t learn enough to be a rabbi,” those in his home country wouldn’t know the difference.
This illustrates what happens when elements of another culture are superficially adopted without deep understanding or context. The result is a diluted version of the tradition, benefiting neither the original culture nor those adopting it.
The key is understanding the difference between inspiration and appropriation. Inspiration involves learning from other cultures’ answers to universal human questions without claiming full understanding or belonging. Appropriation, however, is copying something out of context without the depth or training that gives it meaning.
For example, in traditional Amazonian medicine, the soplada, blowing tobacco or perfume over participants is a key intervention. To outsiders, it might seem like a simple gesture to imitate, but its effectiveness comes from years of training and dietas. Without that foundation, the act itself becomes empty — like wearing Michael Jordan’s shoes and expecting to play like him.
Indigenous traditions can offer inspiration for many of the challenges we are facing. For example, providing care during psychedelic therapy. Physical touch can be supportive for some but harmful for others. The soplada I mentioned before can be understood as a non-contact method of care. It’s an act that is unmistakably caring; at the same time, it avoids potential misunderstandings, creating a “language of care” uniquely suited to altered states.
The lesson is that Westerners can draw inspiration from these practices without appropriating them. By learning the principles behind these approaches — like creating a distinct language of care — we can integrate meaningful lessons into our own contexts while respecting the depth of Indigenous knowledge.”

How would you recommend that a Westerner start the process of apprenticing to lead ceremonies if they feel called after years of drinking medicine? What should they have in place?

“That’s a big question with no one-size-fits-all answer. While traditional training is often seen as the starting point, it’s equally important to develop complementary skills for safely facilitating ceremonies outside the Amazon.
Amazonian ceremonies grew out of tightly knit communities where people know each other, reducing the need for extensive screening or follow-up. In Western contexts, however, ceremonies bring together for a weekend a group of strangers who return to separate lives, creating a need for robust protocols around screening, integration, and follow-up — skills not typically included in traditional training.
One facilitator I know pursued a nursing degree after their training in the Amazon in order to be able to also handle emergencies like injuries, panic attacks, or heart concerns. Having nursing or advanced first aid training on your team — or being trained yourself — is invaluable.
Another critical skill is integration: the ability to actively listen and support participants without imposing personal interpretations. This is particularly important for first-timers, who often need more guidance than experienced participants.
Facilitators should also build a network of professionals — doctors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and even lawyers — to ensure participant safety and navigate legal complexities.
Ultimately, aspiring facilitators need to balance respect for traditional practices with practical skills suited to the demands of their context. This approach creates safer, more supportive environments while preserving the integrity of the work.”

What do you think are the most important safety protocols that should be in place during an ayahuasca ceremony, especially in Western settings?

“Safety begins with thorough screening — not just identifying those who shouldn’t drink, but learning how to say no without pushing them toward less careful facilitators. This is crucial because some people, out of desperation, may hide disqualifying factors like mental health issues or medications. Screening requires both skill and compassion.
Preparation is equally important. Many issues arise because participants, especially first-timers, are unprepared for what might happen during a ceremony. Facilitators should provide clear guidelines and realistic expectations, ensuring participants know their responsibilities — such as not leaving the ceremony without permission, avoiding major decisions immediately afterward, and only participating if they’ve made the choice themselves, free of pressure.
Facilitators also have clear duties. Participants should trust they won’t be abandoned or exploited for economic, romantic, or sexual favors. They should feel confident reaching out to the facilitator if they experience difficulties days or weeks later. Unfortunately, a lack of follow-up often leaves participants struggling alone, which is something we see frequently at the ICEERS support center.
Follow-up care, including integration and emotional or somatic support, is vital. Most outcomes are positive, but some experiences can be challenging or very challenging. A supportive and trustworthy facilitator or team is key to navigating this.
Explicit agreements about expectations and responsibilities — before, during, and after the ceremony — are the foundation of safety. Proper preparation, clear communication, and ongoing support help prevent many of the issues we encounter.”

More and more people are seeking healing through ayahuasca. What do you believe are the long-term implications of this surge in interest, both positive and negative, for Indigenous communities?

“This surge of interest has had both positive and negative effects. On the positive side, it has led to a renewed appreciation for traditional practices within indigenous communities. Younger generations, who were losing interest in traditional medicine, are now more engaged, and some communities have benefited from increased resources. During crises like COVID-19 or floods, support networks tied to ayahuasca have provided much-needed aid. This kind of reciprocal exchange — where outsiders benefit from the medicine and offer help in return — is ideal.
However, there are significant negatives. The influx of money and attention has drawn opportunists who see ayahuasca as a business opportunity, leading to ethical and safety concerns. Western demands often conflict with traditional practices; for example, in many indigenous communities, only the healer drank ayahuasca and only when addressing serious issues. Now, Westerners often seek frequent ceremonies for personal exploration, pressuring traditions to adapt to these new expectations and altering the practices.
This mirrors the “paradox of tourism,” where tourists seek unspoiled, authentic experiences but inevitably change the very things they value. Similarly, the heightened status of ayahuasca within communities can transform it to fit external demands, often at a cost to its integrity.
These changes are complex and often irreversible. The focus should be on managing these dynamics to minimize harms and respect the essence of these traditions, ensuring they are preserved while navigating globalization.”

How can we promote ethical ayahuasca tourism for participants? And what role should education and preparation play for those seeking ayahuasca experiences abroad?

This is a big issue. People often ask me to recommend an “authentic” place in the Amazon, but when I ask if they speak Spanish or Portuguese or if they have been to the jungle, the answer is usually no. For first-timers, I always recommend starting at a well-staffed retreat center. These places offer structure, safety, familiar food… and the staff speaks your language! Jumping into a remote Indigenous community without preparation is risky for both the participant and the community, which might not be equipped to handle emergencies like retreat centers are.
I’ve also seen people familiar with the medicine organize trips for groups without fully considering the logistical challenges. Bringing 15 or 20 people to the jungle without robust screening, contingency plans, or group-leading experience often leads to problems. The jungle is tough — challenging environment, exhausting travel, and overwhelming conditions. I’ve seen trips fall apart when participants, unprepared for the environment, break down physically or emotionally. It’s like deciding to lead a group from Madrid to climb a mountain in Switzerland without checking first if they’re physically fit or have the right gear. Somehow, basic common sense gets lost when it comes to these things.
Ethical tourism also means mindful resource distribution. For example, when working on documentaries, we compensated the entire community — not just specific families — even if one family did most of the work. In egalitarian cultures, singling out individuals can create inequalities that harm the community’s social fabric.

How do you suggest Westerners vet practitioners and retreat centers? And what about criticisms of overpriced ayahuasca retreats?

“Retreat pricing often seems high, but people overlook key factors. Costs depend on group size — paying €5,000 for a week-long retreat might be necessary if there are only two people attending, but it would be a different issue if there were 100 participants. Fixed costs like housing, food, facilitators’ salaries, and the necessary low staff-to-participant ratio add up quickly. For 20 participants, you need at least 4-5 staff to ensure proper care. Facilitators also need recovery time, so their salaries often cover more than the retreat days where ayahuasca is served.
People sometimes do quick math and think retreats are making huge profits, but most of the money goes toward costs. Greater transparency — like a rough breakdown of expenses — could help participants understand pricing.
To vet retreats, participants should ask about the experience of the team, support systems, and emergency protocols. If you’re new, start with a retreat center where staff speak your language and the environment is safe and structured. Avoid poorly planned trips to the jungle, which can become dangerous without proper preparation. With care, common sense, and critical thinking, you can find a safe and respectful experience.”

What do you believe are the responsibilities of facilitators in fostering an accountable and responsible ayahuasca community? And how do we address the challenges of charlatanism and abuse in this growing space?

“This boils down to two issues: legitimacy and justice. Legitimacy involves identifying responsible facilitators, while justice addresses holding harmful facilitators accountable.
In Western societies, justice is handled by the state, but many abuses in ayahuasca — like exploiting participants’ suggestibility for financial or romantic gain — don’t meet the legal definition of a crime. Without formal regulation, the community relies on public denunciations, which sometimes work but aren’t a lasting solution. To create accountability, we need frameworks that address the vulnerabilities psychedelics create and protect people experiencing altered states of consciousness.
Legitimacy is also a challenge. Professionals in other fields gain legitimacy through education and certifications, but these aren’t widely available for psychedelics due to their legal status. This limits access to safe, supervised training for facilitators, leaving a gap in proper preparation.
The lack of legal frameworks hinders progress on both fronts. To address this, we need open conversations between facilitators, participants, and regulators to build systems for responsible integration. We’ve successfully managed other powerful but risky technologies, like motor vehicles. There’s no reason we can’t do the same with psychedelics if we approach the issue thoughtfully.“

To wrap up, can you share what’s going on at ICEERS right now? Any upcoming programs or events, like the Aya Safety Training, that we should mention?

“At ICEERS, we run two key training programs every year: one focused on safety and harm reduction for facilitators and another for care professionals on integration. These are unique in the field, and next year’s cohorts will open soon.
We also have a support center offering donation-based integration sessions — typically five — to help people process their plant medicine experiences. Also, a team of pharmacologists and doctors answer questions about interactions between plant medicines and pharmaceuticals.
On the legal side, we’ve supported over 200 cases across 50 countries, helping people who face legal issues for working with these plants. We believe no one should go to jail for this work.
Additionally, we conduct scientific research, engage in policy advocacy, and collaborate with indigenous communities. We also organize events like the World Ayahuasca Conference. The next one is scheduled for 2026, so stay tuned for updates!”

Takeaways From Our Conversation

I found this conversation illuminating and a stark reminder of the work we have to do to improve safety in non-traditional ayahuasca contexts. As ayahuasca continues to expand globally, Western culture is faced with increasingly complex issues that surround uses of the plant, whether that’s lack of training, negative impact on indigenous communities, or legal barriers.

As a community, we have to come together to share insights, receive support, and hold each other accountable to be able to safely and responsibly navigate this uncharted terrain.

It’s also clear that educational work like that of ICEERS will be even more crucial as people increasingly find out about ayahuasca. I thoroughly recommend ICEERS’ programs for anyone who wants to increase safety in the work they do with plants.

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