‘No choice’: India’s Manipuris cannot go back a year after fleeing violence | Indigenous Rights News

Lingneifel Vaiphei collapsed to the ground in agony after she saw the lifeless body of her infant child laid out on a cold steel stretcher in a mortuary in Chennai, the capital of India’s southern Tamil Nadu state.

Steven’s body was tightly wrapped in a striped woollen shawl, traditionally worn by the Kuki-Zo tribe in the northeastern Manipur state. His face had turned blue. He was only six months old.

Crying profusely, the 20-year-old mother kept kissing her child’s face as she carried his body towards an ambulance, her husband Kennedy Vaiphei walking beside her. Amid sobs and muted rage, the family made their way to a burial ground, about 7km (4 miles) away, and laid their only child to rest. Nine months after Lingneifel and Kennedy had moved to Chennai in search of a fresh start away from violence, a nightmare they had never imagined had visited them.

Lingneifel burying her infant son at a burial ground in Chennai, Tamil Nadu [Greeshma Kuthar/Al Jazeera]

Less than 24 hours earlier, on the night of April 25, the couple had rushed Steven to Chennai’s Kilpauk Medical Hospital after his week-long fever refused to subside and kept getting worse.

But the infant died on the way in his mother’s arms – before the family could even reach the hospital.

A year of deadly violence

Steven was born last winter in Chennai, nearly 3,200km (1,988 miles) away from the place his parents call home in Manipur, which has been in the grip of deadly ethnic clashes between the predominantly Hindu Meitei and the mainly Christian Kuki-Zo tribes for a year now.

The Meiteis – about 60 percent of Manipur’s 2.9 million people – are concentrated in the more prosperous valley areas around the state capital, Imphal. The Kuki-Zo and the Nagas, another prominent tribal group, mostly live in scattered settlements in the hills around the valley. The tribes constitute about 40 percent of the Himalayan state’s population.

The Meiteis are politically dominant. The state government is led by Chief Minister N Biren Singh, a Meitei and member of Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP). In the 60-member Manipur legislative assembly, 40 are Meitei.

The Kuki-Zo and the Nagas are protected through Scheduled Tribe (ST) status given by the Indian constitution, making them eligible for various state-run affirmative action programmes. The status provides them quotas in state-run educational institutions and government jobs – a provision which, for decades, has caused tensions between the tribes and the Meities.

Those tensions came to a boil in March last year when a local court recommended that the ST quotas should also be extended to the Meiteis. The court order angered Kuki-Zo and Naga groups, who, fearing a takeover of their entitlements by the majority Meiteis, held protest marches mainly in the hill districts, demanding the withdrawal of the court order. The protests led to threats of a Meitei backlash.

During a Kuki-Zo rally on May 3, 2023, in the hill district of Churachandpur, a centenary gate built to commemorate the tribe’s 1917-1919 rebellion against the colonial British was set on fire, allegedly by a Meitei mob. The incident immediately triggered deadly clashes between the two communities across the state.

Amid the killings, mutilations and lynchings, there were also multiple allegations of sexual assault on Kuki-Zo women and burning of dozens of their villages and churches. The internet remained suspended for months across the state and the army was called in to contain the bloodshed.

A year later, however, the violence has not abated – making it one of India’s longest-running civil wars that has already claimed more than 200 lives and displaced tens of thousands of mainly Kuki-Zo people.

Among the displaced were Lingneifel and Kennedy, who moved to Tamil Nadu in July last year after their villages were burned down in the first week of the clashes. As they rebuilt their lives in a new city despite barriers of language and culture, the struggle for a livelihood trumped their worries over the violence back home.

Lingneifel, who works in a Chennai restaurant that serves the local cuisine, had to return to work within days of Steven’s death, fearing she could be fired over absence. Kennedy is yet to find work.

“When we first came to Tamil Nadu, we didn’t know anybody here. We weren’t even sure what to do when our baby fell sick,” she told Al Jazeera, lamenting that she could barely make time for her son due to her long working hours at the restaurant.

However, a larger support network for the displaced Kuki-Zo is slowly emerging. Comprising professionals from the community, the network is now in place in Chennai, New Delhi and Bengaluru cities, helping them find accommodation and work.

Haoneithang Kipgen, 26, is a member of the network. He reached Chennai last June.

Days before the violence broke out, Haoneithang had borrowed 300,00 rupees ($3,600) from a local moneylender to set up a customer support business in his K Phaizawl village in Manipur’s Kangpokpi district. But his shop was burned down, along with the rest of the village.

The debt, however, had to be paid, forcing Haoneithang to migrate to Chennai, where his small, rented apartment also operates as a transit home for other Kuki-Zo displaced by the violence.

Manipur
Haoneithang’s apartment in Chennai is a transit home for those displaced from Manipur seeking work in the city [Greeshma Kuthar/Al Jazeera]

Haoneithang said many from his tribe also send a part of their salaries towards a fund to support volunteers back home, who guard the Kuki-Zo villages after the government forces withdrew from many areas of a buffer zone between the hills and the valley. These areas have been the most vulnerable in the conflict.

But Haoneithang also stressed that he cannot look at all Meitei people as his enemies.

“During my first job at a restaurant, my roommate was a Meitei. We were away from our state, our communities at war, but we weren’t,” he told Al Jazeera. “So many of them are my friends, how can I? My problem is with [Chief Minister] Biren Singh and the government of Manipur.”

Singh’s government has been accused of enabling the violence for political gains – a charge the chief minister and the BJP have denied.

Most of the displaced Kuki-Zo across India share a similar sentiment. “We don’t want to go back now, the violence is only increasing and the government is doing nothing,” said Kennedy.

Thanggoulen Kipgen, professor of sociology at the Indian Institute of Technology Madras in Chennai, said the violence has set Manipur back by decades.

Referring to both the collapse of the economy and the distrust between the communities, Thanggoulen saw migration as the only option for those affected by the war and seeking survival.

“The Meitei are also fleeing the state to protect their families from being sucked into violence. The Kuki-Zo have no choice but to migrate and work to support their families back home,” Thanggoulen told Al Jazeera.

Ruling BJP’s ‘denial’

The scale of death and displacement faced by Manipuris on both sides of the ethnic divide has, critics of the BJP say, largely been missing from the prime minister’s narrative.

In an interview on April 8 with a newspaper based in the neighbouring Assam state, Modi said a “timely intervention” of the federal and state governments resulted in a “marked improvement in the situation”.

“We have dedicated our best resources and administrative machinery to resolve the conflict,” the prime minister said. “Remedial measures undertaken include a financial package for the relief and rehabilitation of people living in shelter camps in the state.”

However, less than a week after Modi’s statement, videos showing the mutilated bodies of two Kuki-Zo men went viral on social media. And on April 27, an army post in Bishnupur district was bombed by unidentified men, killing two paramilitary personnel and wounding two others.

A signboard at the airport in Imphal, the capital of Manipur [Greeshma Kuthar/Al Jazeera]

The violence forced the authorities to hold the ongoing general election in Manipur’s two seats over two phases – April 19 and April 26. Yet, despite massive security, several incidents of violence and alleged vote rigging were reported from there, forcing authorities to carry out re-polling in several of about a dozen election booths.

Many in Manipur accuse Arambai Tenggol, an armed militia allegedly backed by the ruling BJP, of the violence and election rigging. The opposition Indian National Congress, in a news conference on April 19, complained of “unprecedented mass violence and booth capturing in the valley region by armed groups”.

At least three witnesses Al Jazeera spoke to claimed they saw Arambai Tenggol members forcing voters to vote for the BJP in the valley districts. The group and the BJP have denied the allegations. The BJP’s state vice president Chidananda Singh told Al Jazeera the party “always stands for free and fair elections”.

But Congress politician in Manipur, Kh Debabrata, said the crisis has only worsened under the BJP.

“There is total breakdown of the economy and a complete militarisation of society, with armed groups in power everywhere. This is well out of the control of the BJP government,” he said, demanding the sacking of the state chief minister and the imposition of the president’s rule – an administrative provision that brings a state under New Delhi’s direct control during a political or security crisis.

“If we have to address this divide between the hill and the valley, the CM [chief minister] has to go. There is no other option,” said the Congress politician.

The BJP’s Chidananda Singh rejected the charge, blaming the Congress for being unaware of the ground reality of Manipur. “It is part of their politics to only blame us,” he told Al Jazeera.

However, many in Manipur, including among Meiteis, accuse the BJP of militarising their community through groups such as the Arambai Tenggol.

Disillusioned with the violence, Amar L* left his home in Imphal and settled in New Delhi to pursue a degree in history as “staying in Imphal would have come in the way of my education”.

“The way in which the Arambai Tenggol are taking so many young men into their fold is scary. Our aspirations for Manipur were and are different,” the 20-year-old told Al Jazeera.

Patricia Mukhim, editor of The Shillong Times newspaper, said continuing political incompetence had failed to check the violence in Manipur.

“The nature of politics is to thrive on division and fear-mongering,” she said, calling on the warring communities to discuss their issues “without placing too much reliance on either the government or armed groups”.

“There is no alternative to peace,” she said.

*Name changed to protect the individual’s identity because of fears of a backlash. 

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Holding Up the Sky: Saving the Indigenous Yanomami tribe in Brazil’s Amazon | Indigenous Rights

A Brazilian tribal leader warns that illegal mining in forests will have dire consequences for the rest of the world.

Davi Kopenawa is a tribal chief and spokesman for the cause of the Indigenous Yanomami people of the Brazilian Amazon. Their territory has been officially protected since the 1990s, but during the presidency of Jair Bolsonaro, there was a huge increase in illegal gold mining – and it now threatens to destroy everything. Davi seeks support to stop illegal mining from wiping out his people. He appeals to lawmakers in Europe to put pressure on the Brazilian government. His message is that the world needs to heed the warnings of Indigenous people, the true protectors of the Earth, before it is too late. Holding Up the Sky is a documentary film by Pieter Van Eecke.

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A Vision of Justice: Chile’s first blind senator | Politics

An Indigenous mother rises in Chilean politics when she is caught in the crossfire of a polarised nation.

On her way to work, Fabiola Campillai was blinded when she was shot in the face with a tear gas canister by police during Chile’s 2019 uprising.

Despite having no experience in politics, the Indigenous mother and former factory worker decides to fight for justice and run for parliament.

Campillai is elected Chile’s first blind senator. The policeman who attacked her goes on trial as she meets other survivors of police brutality seeking reparations.

Campillai knows her fight is far bigger than just her case. But she faces another unexpected attack – this time from within Chile’s polarised parliament.

A Vision of Justice is a documentary film by Nancy Roberts.

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Ahead of election, tension brews in Kashmir over tribal caste quotas | Indigenous Rights

Tral, Indian-administered Kashmir – Like many people from his nomadic tribal community, Bashir Ahmed Gujjar, a 70-year-old shepherd, never went to school.

Poor and often on the move, formal education was not an option.

Things changed for the Gujjars, his community, after the government introduced quotas for what are known in India as Scheduled Tribes (STs), in state-run educational institutions and government jobs in 1991 as part of an affirmative action programme for historically marginalised groups. Gujjars were included in the beneficiaries.

Families decided to send their children to school and college. “My children, my nieces and nephews have all been fortunate enough to have received education because of the ST status bestowed on us by the government,” Bashir told Al Jazeera at his home in the region’s Pulwama district. He said his niece now works as a teacher in a government school in Tral because of the job quotas that Gujjars can avail.

Now, he fears the next generation of his community could lose out on those gains of the past three decades.

Earlier this month on February 6, Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s government passed a legal amendment to include another community, the Paharis, within the list of STs. At the time, federal Tribal Affairs Minister Arjun Munda said the law would not erode the education and job quotas currently available for existing tribes — but would add additional quotas for new communities.

But the government is yet to explain how it plans to do that, leading to fears among the Gujjars and Bakarwals, two major tribal communities originally covered by the affirmative action, that they will now need to split their benefits with the Paharis who have historically been seen as better off.

“We have no hope for the future. The government is giving our share of guarantees to others,” Bashir said.

The government move has sparked a wave of protests by Gujjar and Bakerwal community groups, demanding that the amendment be repealed. The move has also spawned caste divisions in a region already on the edge over other controversial moves by the Modi government in recent years.

The decision to add Paharis to the list of STs could affect the national elections, expected to be held between March and May.

‘Using reservation to sway Paharis’

The Paharis consist of Hindus and Sikhs – who mostly migrated from what is now Pakistan when the subcontinent was carved up during partition in 1947 –  and a significant number of Muslims.

Constituting about 8 percent of the region’s 16 million people, nearly two-thirds of Paharis live in the Jammu area towards the south of Indian-administered Kashmir, while a few reside in forests in the north.

The current tensions are rooted in the events of 2019 when, in a sudden move, Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) government abolished the special status of the region and brought it under New Delhi’s direct rule.

Since then, the Gujjars and Bakarwals allege that the BJP has been trying to induct the Paharis into the ST category.

India’s affirmative action to uplift its historically marginalised groups – mainly underprivileged castes and Indigenous tribes – also includes a provision to reserve seats for them in legislative assemblies.

In Indian-administered Kashmir, also referred to as Jammu and Kashmir in official documents, state assembly seats for the Gujjar and Bakarwal communities were reserved in 2004.

Members of these two communities – who form about 10 percent of the region’s population – now allege that the BJP is trying to patronise the Paharis community for political benefits ahead of the general election.

A Gujjar settlement with houses made of mud and stones in Tral [Tarushi Aswani/Al Jazeera]

More than 200km (124 miles) away from Tral, in Jammu, Javid Chohan, another Gujjar, said the government was trying to curb protests through a heightened police presence and internet blackouts.

“The BJP is using reservation to sway the region’s Pahari-speaking population to strengthen its Hindu vote bank in Jammu,” he told Al Jazeera. Unlike the Paharis, the Gujjars and Bakarwals of the region are predominantly Muslim.

Pro-India political parties also allege that the BJP is using the community to peddle its politics, like it did with its promise in its 2014 and 2019 election manifestos to resettle thousands of Kashmiri Hindus, called Pandits, displaced by the rise of an anti-India rebel movement in the late 1980s.

“First, they used Kashmiri Pandits to win the 2019 election. This time, the Paharis are being politicised. The BJP is pitting communities who have lived in harmony for centuries against each other,” Waheed Ur Rehman Para of the Peoples’ Democratic Party (PDP), told Al Jazeera. “They are stealing from one’s plate to feed the other.”

Naik Alam, an elected representative of the Gutroo village in Tral, said the BJP was “simply misusing” law to show that Hindus can also get a reservation in a Muslim-majority region.

A tribal Gujjar woman sits with her child outside their house in Tral [Tarushi Aswani/Al Jazeera]

What’s the BJP’s election game plan?

In the 90-member legislative assembly in Indian-administered Kashmir, the BJP, which predominantly relies on Hindu votes, has traditionally done well in the Jammu region, where Hindus are in the majority. But it has struggled to make political inroads in the Kashmir region, where Muslims are in majority.

Spanning Jammu and Kashmir are nine seats in the legislature that are reserved for STs. Critics of the BJP argue that winning these could help it secure an overall majority in the legislature: The state assembly elections are also expected to be held later this year.

In 2020, the federal government granted 4 percent reservation, as a linguistic minority, to the Paharis, who form the majority in at least 10 constituencies. If given the ST status, the group could contest the seats reserved for STs in the legislature and challenge the traditional dominance of Gujjars and Bakarwals in these sets. Gujjars and Bakarwals are predominantly Muslims, who rarely vote for the BJP.

Gujjar activist Guftar Ahmed Choudhary said the BJP’s move would backfire.

“We are protesting for our rights. Our youth leaders are being targeted and even pressured by the authorities to give up the movement… This is completely unconstitutional and the BJP will suffer in the coming elections,” Choudhary told Al Jazeera.

A protest by the Gujjars and Bakarwals in Srinagar [Courtesy of Gujjar-Bakerwal Youth Welfare Conference]

But according to BJP’s Kavinder Gupta, a former deputy chief minister of the region, reservations for the Paharis were long due. He alleged that Kashmiri political parties regarded the community as second-class citizens and ignored their development.

“We were only trying to bring the Paharis into the mainstream since they have always been sidelined by the Kashmiris,” Gupta told Al Jazeera.

Lawyer Ahsan Mirza, a member of the Pahari Tribe ST Forum, a group working for the welfare of the Paharis, said the community had been previously assured by the BJP of a place in the tribal quota.

Iqbal Hussain Shah, another Pahari activist in the Jammu district of Rajouri, echoed Gupta’s comments to argue that the Paharis were discriminated against for decades. He also suggested that even Muslim Paharis would now back the BJP, a Hindu-majority party.

“Gujjars and Bakerwals got the ST status in 1991 and the BJP got us this status finally, after three decades. All Paharis will definitely support the BJP in the upcoming election,” he said.

But Zahid Parwaz Choudhary, the head of the Gujjar-Bakarwal Youth Welfare Conference, sees a more sinister plan on the part of the BJP.

“Now that Paharis are declared as STs, the community would eat into the opportunities aimed at the social and economic empowerment of the Gujjars and Bakarwals,” he told Al Jazeera.

“It is simple: BJP knows it cannot secure many votes in Kashmir, so they are using the Paharis to cut the vote share of other political parties.”

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‘Our bodies know the pain’: Why Norway’s reindeer herders want Gaza peace | Indigenous Rights

Fosen Peninsula, Norway – A herd of reindeer running through thick, white snow sounds a bit like thunder.

It is a spectacle that has been replayed for at least the past 10,000 years on eastern Norway’s Fosen Peninsula and one that Maja Kristine Jama, who comes from a family of reindeer herders, is deeply familiar with.

Like most Sami reindeer herders, Jama knows every inch of this terrain without any need for a map.

Instead of going to kindergarten like most other children in Norway, she was raised living outdoors alongside the migrating reindeer. Reindeer husbandry in Norway is a sustainable activity that is carried out in accordance with the traditional practices of Sami culture. Reindeer also play an important role in the Arctic’s ecosystem and have long been a symbol of the region

“Reindeer herding defines me,” Jama says. “We are so connected to nature, we have respect for it. We say that you don’t live off the land, you live within it. But we see our lands being destroyed.”

Europe’s oldest and last remaining Indigenous people are under grave threat as a result of borders, land seizures, construction projects dedicated to the extraction of natural resources and systematic discrimination.

Yet, that creeping sense of suffocation has made the Sami reach out to another set of Indigenous people nearly 4,000km (2,500 miles) away, whose fight for survival they identify with: the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip and the occupied West Bank.

Their own struggle for Indigenous rights and self-determination has turned the Sami into vocal advocates for the Palestinian cause.

“There is an instant urge to stand up for people who are being displaced from their homes,” Ella Marie Haetta Isaksen, a Sami activist and artist widely known for her singing, tells Al Jazeera.

‘We say you don’t live off the land, you live within it,’ reindeer herder Maja Kristine Jama says [Courtesy of Norske Samers Riksforbund/Anne Henriette Nilut]

Isaksen had just finished taking part in several months of demonstrations in Oslo for the rights of her own people when Israel launched its war on Gaza in October.

As the death toll mounted, anger about Gaza quickly spread through Norway generally and the Sami community in particular. Scores of Norwegians posted images of themselves holding “Stop bombing Palestine” placards on social media while mass demonstrations called for an immediate ceasefire after Nordic countries, with the exception of Norway, abstained from a United Nations General Assembly ceasefire vote on October 27.

For the Sami, it was a pivotal moment of two causes tangling into one. The community launched a series of regular protests in Oslo against the war in Gaza, and those rallies continue to take place.

In front of the Norwegian Parliament on a cold October day, surrounded by hundreds of Palestinian and Sami flags, Isaksen held a mic and performed the “joik”, a traditional Sami song performed without instruments. Her lilting sounds brought the noisy demonstrators to a standstill, carrying a prayer that she hoped would somehow reach the besieged children of Gaza.

“I’m physically so far away from them, but I just want to grab them, hold them and take them out of this nightmare,” Isaksen says.

“Without trying to compare situations, Indigenous peoples all over the world have stood up for the Palestinian people because our bodies know the pain of being displaced from our homes and forced out of our own lands,” Isaksen says.

Ella Marie Isaksen at Sami demonstrations in Oslo in October 2023 [Courtesy of Rasmus Berg]

A long struggle

For more than 9,000 years, the Sami lived a free, nomadic existence spanning modern-day Norway, Sweden, Finland and Russia. That began to change in the ninth century when outsiders from Southern Scandinavia encroached into Sapmi, the name given to the broad, untamed lands of the Sami. Christian invaders established a church in the 13th century in Finnmark in northern Sapmi territory in what is now northern Norway.

Sweden’s break from Denmark, which had also ruled Norway, in 1542 launched an era of land disputes, conflict and coercion of the Sami that lingers today. A Swedish census that has been preserved from 1591 notes how one Sami community, moving across borders that hadn’t existed for their ancestors, simultaneously paid taxes to Sweden, Denmark and Russia.

The creation of Europe’s longest unbroken border in 1751 – between Norway and Sweden – was particularly disastrous for the Sami, restricting them permanently within one country, splitting families apart and forcing their reindeer away from migratory routes.

As has been the case for the Palestinians, the imposition of such borders has had a direct impact on the Sami’s fragile existence, says Aslat Holmberg, president of the Sami Council, a nongovernmental organisation promoting the rights of the Sami people across the Nordics and western Russia. He comes from an area on the border between Finland and Norway.

“I don’t like to divide the Sami with borders, but we are people now living in four countries,” Holmberg says.

Although Sami groups maintain a bond, they believe the borders imposed on them were one of many colonial acts that tore them apart. A ban on speaking their own language under forced assimilation policies, which officially ended in the 1960s in Norway, almost erased their cultural ties. Holmberg warns that Sami languages are now “endangered”.

A Sami woman on a Sami farm in Solheim, Troms og Finnmark in Norway [File: Jorge Castellanos/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images]

He isn’t exaggerating.

There are no historical records showing population figures for the Sami through history. Today, however, they are estimated at 80,000. About half that number live in Norway, where just three Sami languages remain in use. There are only 20 remaining speakers of one of them – the Ume language used in Sweden and Norway.

In all, there are nine surviving Sami languages, which are related to languages such as Estonian and Finnish.

Preservation of these languages is fraught with difficulties. In Finland, 80 percent of Sami youth live outside traditional Sami territory, where there is no legal obligation to offer their language services in government and the judicial system. By comparison, Swedish language services in legal and government administration are mandatory in Finland.

Dying languages and disruptions from borders are not the only problems faced by the Sami. Climate change and land seizures for the extraction of natural resources also threaten livelihoods.

Small-scale gold mining and forestry, both legal and illegal, are common. The mining of nickel and iron ore, which is considered part of the European Union’s mission for self-sufficiency, have restricted reindeer from roaming and have destroyed their feeding grounds.

According to Amnesty International, mining companies are now showing interest in digging up Sami territory in Finland to feed the ever-rising demand for mobile phone batteries.

“We live in a settler colonial society,” Holmberg says. “The Sami know how it is to be marginalised and lose our lands. The levels of violence are different in Palestine, but a lot of the underlying mindset is similar. The US and Europe have shown they are not able to fully acknowledge their own colonial history.”

Holmberg delivers a stark warning that sounds eerily similar to the voices heard in Palestine.

“We are at the edge now. Any more push, and we collapse.”

Wind turbines stretch across what used to be reindeer pastures of the Sami in Norway [File: Jonathan Nackstrand/AFP]

‘Greenwashing colonialism’

Construction of Europe’s biggest wind farm in the Fosen Peninsula began in 2016. A total of 151 wind turbines and 131km (81 miles) of new roads and power cables are now spread across the winter pastures for local reindeer herders and were placed there without the consent of local Sami.

Five years later, Norway’s Supreme Court ruled that the green energy construction had been illegal and violated the Sami’s human rights. But it did not issue any instructions about what should be done next.

So the Fosen wind farm, which is co-owned by a state-funded Norwegian energy firm, a Swiss company and the German city of Munich, remains operational on Sami land to this day.

A compensation deal between Fosen Vind, a subsidiary of the Norwegian state utility Statkraft, which operates 80 of the wind turbines at Fosen, and the southern Fosen Sami was agreed in December. But wind farms owned by foreign companies have yet to compensate the remaining Sami.

There is an irony at play for the Fosen Sami here. “Green” energy projects for globalised communities have been prioritised and built at the expense of the very people living sustainably – a process described as “greenwashing colonialism” by Sami activists.

“Many talk about the material impact of the landscape destroyed for grazing with the pastures now gone for reindeer,” Jama says. “But any proof of Sami history in the area is hidden now and needs a well-trained eye to see it.”

She adds that living in “constant fight mode, in stress or fear of our future” has taken a toll on the mental health of many Sami.

The past year has seen the Sami staging sit-ins inside the Norwegian Parliament and blockading the offices of Statkraft, an event that was attended by Swedish climate activist Greta Thunberg.

Ida Helene Benonisen is carried away from a protest at a government building by Norwegian police [Courtesy of Rasmus Berg]

Throwing off a shadow of shame

Sami resistance is in the throes of a revival, particularly among people in their 20s and 30s born or living in urbanised communities and now embracing their Sami roots, which their grandparents were made to feel shame for, they say.

“There’s a wave of people wanting to reconnect with the culture of our grandparents, who themselves wanted to hide it,” says Ida Helene Benonisen, a Sami poet and activist who herself scuffled with police at the October protests in Oslo.

Official assimilation of the Sami ended in the 1960s in Norway. But the stigma of having Sami roots left families back then feeling “ashamed”, including her own family, she says. Historical “Norwegianisation” still haunts Sami families today.

‘There’s a wave of people wanting to reconnect with the culture of our grandparents,’ Ida Helene Benonisen says [Courtesy of Rasmus Berg]

While navigating past traumas is difficult, Benonisen takes pride in her roots, showcasing her Sami identity on social media platforms such as Instagram and TikTok.

Like Isaksen and other activists in their 20s and 30s, she uses social media to educate outsiders about greenwashing and also shares stories from Gaza as part of “a movement of people standing against colonialism”.

“It felt natural for Sami to speak for Palestine, especially since the genocide started,” says Benonisen, co-founder of a slam poetry venue in Oslo with Asha Abdullahi, a Norwegian Muslim.

“Social media is giving people a platform to connect with a decolonised point of view. The history we are too often told is the story of the oppressors.”

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At Rio’s Carnival parades, Yanomami activists fight ‘genocide’ with samba | Indigenous Rights News

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil – Yellow and green feathers radiating from his headdress, Davi Kopenawa strode onto the parade route with a mission in mind.

All around him, the city of Rio de Janeiro was pulsing with music and merry-making: It was February 12, and the world’s largest Carnival celebration was under way. But Kopenawa was not in town to party.

Rather, he had travelled more than 3,500 kilometres (2,000 miles) from his village in Brazil’s Amazon rainforest to spread a dire message: His people, the Yanomami, were in trouble.

For decades, the Indigenous Yanomami have suffered at the hands of illegal gold miners, who destroyed vast stretches of their homeland and polluted their rivers with mercury.

But since 2019, the crisis has reached new heights, with hundreds of Yanomami dying from conditions related to the mining. President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva has gone so far as to declare the situation a “genocide”.

“Every day, we face death in our villages and attacks from illegal miners,” Kopenawa, a shaman, told Al Jazeera.

Davi Kopenawa, centre, poses with parade participants in Rio de Janeiro [Monica Yanakiew/Al Jazeera]

So this year, Kopenawa and other Indigenous leaders took an unusual step. They teamed up with Salgueiro, one of Rio’s celebrated samba schools, to stage an awareness campaign, right in the middle of the annual Carnival festivities.

The result was unveiled in the early hours of Monday at Sambadrome, one of the premier destinations for Carnival parades.

Floats dedicated to the “people of the forest” sailed down the Sambadrome’s wide parade avenue, surrounded by stands packed with thousands of spectators.

Some of the floats featured larger-than-life depictions of Indigenous peoples, arms outstretched as if to soar above the pavement. One float, however, represented the death and destruction wrought by the miners, with feathered headdresses crowning skulls.

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Fifty years on, a case to uphold Indigenous rights resonates in the US | Indigenous Rights News

First, she heard a ping, then the sound of something hitting her boat.

It was 1975, and Norma Cagey, only 18 years old at the time, was alone with her husband on the calm waters of the Hood Canal, a tree-lined fjord in Washington state.

A member of the Skokomish Indigenous nation, Cagey was using nets to catch Coho salmon when a series of strange noises interrupted the tranquil: whirs, pings and thuds. That’s when the couple realised they were being shot at.

Cagey’s husband quickly turned on the boat motor, and the pair sped off. But the memory lingers with Cagey to this day.

Indigenous fisher Norma Cagey said she faced gunfire for casting nets in her ancestral territory [Courtesy of Norma Cagey]

“We were scared. It took a few days for us to get back out there. We needed the money,” Cagey told Al Jazeera.

She believes she was targeted as part of the “fish wars” in the 1960s and ’70s: a string of clashes over Indigenous fishing rights in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States.

But 50 years ago, on February 12, 1974, a federal court decision would change the course of the conflict, delivering a compromise that remains controversial to this day.

The Boldt decision — named for its author, Judge George Boldt — upheld the Indigenous right to fish in Washington state, delivering a high-profile win to local tribes.

What’s more, it designated that Indigenous peoples could claim a share of the catch equal to that of non-Indigenous fishermen. In other words, the state’s fish harvest would be split 50-50.

Cagey was among the Indigenous residents present in court that day. She remembers a packed house, with tribe members decked out in regalia, hippies in tie-dye and Indigenous elders, comfortable in their everyday clothes.

“It was a surprise to see how many people turned up to support the Natives,” said Cagey, now a member of the Skokomish Tribal Council.

She considers the ruling a victory, albeit limited: “If you look at the history of Native Americans, we lost everything. We wanted a lot more, but we got some. And we can work with some.”

But others believe the Boldt decision was a setback, setting the stage for hurdles that persist into the present.

Coho salmon are among the species native to Washington state in the US [NOAA Fisheries handout/Reuters]

Fishing as an act of protest

The Boldt decision arrived in the twilight of the US civil rights movement, a time of racial awakening and cultural reckoning that started in the 1950s.

It was an era of civil disobedience, when Black and brown protesters took to the streets to denounce racial segregation and other discriminatory practices.

One of the most iconic forms of protest at the time was the sit-in. Demonstrators would occupy spaces where they ordinarily were not allowed, bellying up to segregated lunch counters or plopping down at segregated libraries where they would then refuse to move.

In the Pacific Northwest, Indigenous protesters created their own version of the sit-in: a fish-in.

The idea was to arrive at a waterway where they might otherwise be barred from fishing — and cast their nets en masse, defying orders to leave.

The tactic was part of a shift in the Indigenous rights — or “Red Power” — movement. Certain older Indigenous-led organisations had previously resisted the idea of public protest with slogans like “Indians Don’t Demonstrate”.

The fish-ins ultimately attracted major media attention and celebrity participants. Gary Peterson, 79, the former business manager of the Skokomish tribe, remembers that Academy Award winner Marlon Brando and comedian Dick Gregory took part.

“People were seeing it on the news every night,” Peterson said. “There were prominent people like Marlon Brando getting arrested.”

But unlike the fight to end racial segregation, the Indigenous protesters behind the fish-ins were not seeking assimilation. They were seeking sovereignty.

Actor Marlon Brando, right, speaks to the press in 1986 alongside Indigenous leader Janet McCloud, centre [Courtesy of the Museum of History and Industry/Seattle Post-Intelligencer Photograph Collection]

‘This paper secures your fish’

The US government had recognised certain Indigenous tribes as sovereign nations — at least, on paper. In practice, however, the treaties it signed with these nations were often violated with little consequence.

Such was the case in the Pacific Northwest. In the 1850s, Isaac Stevens, the first governor of the Washington Territory, drew up several treaties establishing the local tribes’ right to fish at “all usual and accustomed grounds”.

But the treaties served primarily as vehicles to strip Indigenous peoples of their land. Historians underscore that Stevens took advantage of language barriers — and threatened military force — to ensure the documents were signed.

Altogether, 64 million acres (25.9 million hectares) of Indigenous territory came under Stevens’s control. Still, he pledged to uphold tribal fishing rights.

“This paper secures your fish. Does not a father give food to his children?” Stevens reportedly said during one treaty negotiation.

Species like salmon were integral to the Indigenous communities in the region: They were a primary food source and an important part of spiritual life.

“It may sound foreign to people, but [fishing] is tied into our culture and who we are,” said Amber Taylor, the assistant director of the Puyallup Tribe’s Historic Preservation Department.

“So much so that when Stevens came to negotiate the treaty, our ancestors had the foresight to include those prefaces because we relied on them so heavily for our sustenance.”

But as settlers moved into the Washington Territory, access to ancestral fishing spots became increasingly fraught.

And then there was the population decline. The number of salmon had plummeted by the 20th century.

Manmade changes to the environment — including the canal between Lake Washington and Puget Sound, the dredging of the Duwamish River and various hydroelectric dams — had disrupted fish migration patterns, impeding their ability to breed.

Other factors like commercial fishing, urban development and pesticides also played havoc with the salmon populations. The shrinking number of salmon ultimately increased competition for fish harvests which, in turn, spurred hostility.

Nez Perce activist Elliott Moffett advocates for removing the dams along Snake River at Washington state’s Capitol building on June 9, 2022 [File: Ted S Warren/AP Photo]

Violence on the water

By the 1950s, the state of Washington sought to impose restrictions and regulations on Indigenous fishers, to bring them under state control. Arrests were made, charges were filed and tribe members had their gear confiscated or destroyed.

Peterson, the former Skokomish business manager, explained that non-Indigenous fishermen even targeted them for reprisals, fearing competition for their catch.

“There were a lot of angry non-Indian fishermen. They would bring cement blocks and throw them into Indian fishing nets and try to sink them. It always felt unsafe,” he said.

Indigenous residents took to fishing at night so they could maintain their cultural traditions and earn a livelihood with the least amount of violence, Peterson added.

Tensions came to a head in September 1970. Indigenous leaders had set up a six-week encampment on the Puyallup River, and violence broke out as police tear-gassed those present. Sixty people were ultimately arrested, including children.

Stan Pitken, a federal prosecutor, was there that day. What he witnessed would inspire him to file the court case United States v Washington. It argued that Washington state had not upheld the legally binding treaty rights it had made with tribes in the 1850s.

“To me, it was a matter of getting the federal government to do what they were supposed to always do,” Peterson said.

The late Nisqually tribal elder Billy Frank Jr in 2014 points to a photograph showing his wife Norma being arrested during the ‘fish wars’ of the 1960s and ’70s [File: Ted S Warren/AP Photo]

A breakthrough with a catch

Three years passed before the case finally reached trial. When the Boldt decision was finally pronounced, there was celebration that tribal fishing rights had been upheld — a breakthrough nearly a century in the making. The case was hailed as a major win for tribal sovereignty.

But that victory was tinged with downsides. It would take years for the decision to be fully implemented, and provisions like the division of the fish harvest sparked immediate criticism.

“My grandma said we lost 50 percent of the fish when the Boldt decision landed,” said Taylor of the Puyallup Historic Preservation Department. “We really did — in a lot of folks’ minds — lose 50 percent of the harvest.”

In addition, the Boldt decision created boundary lines between tribes that did not previously exist.

Quoting the 1850s treaties, the decision re-asserted the right for Indigenous peoples to catch fish at “all usual and accustomed grounds”. But what those grounds were had not been legally established.

“The language in the Boldt decision complicated things,” Peterson said. “They hired an anthropologist to find out each tribe’s ‘usual and accustomed fishing areas’. It created boundaries where there had been none before.”

Colville Tribe member Pam James, the tribal liaison for the Washington State Historical Society (WSHS), explained that dividing up territory was not a part of traditional Indigenous culture.

“When we think about pre-contact, the resources were shared,” she explained.

But the Boldt decision changed that, demarcating areas for each tribe’s use.

“When these boundaries were put in, it didn’t just impact our fishing. It impacted our food, our food sovereignty and our medicines,” James said. “There are places we can’t go to gather. Now we have to get permits to go into national forests to gather our medicines.”

She added that the violence Indigenous fishers faced did not necessarily abate right away.

“After the Boldt decision, I think some of the violence was worse,” James said. “I remember being out on the beach digging clams and being shot at. We all had those kinds of experiences.”

Amber Taylor of the Puyallup Tribe, left, says her grandmother Ramona Bennett considers that the Boldt decision cost Indigenous tribes ’50 percent of the fish’ [Courtesy of Amber Taylor]

From the Boldt decision forward

Fifty years on, tribes in the Pacific Northwest are still fighting to maintain their ancestral ways of life. A 2021 report from Washington state’s Salmon Recovery Office found that several salmon populations in the region “still are teetering on the brink of extinction”.

That prospect is alarming to Taylor, from the Puyallup Tribe’s Historic Preservation Department.

“I was raised with my grandmother telling us that every river has a group of Native people who are there to protect the salmon and to ensure they are cared for,” she said. “Within my own family, we have a belief that when the salmon are gone, we are gone.”

She pointed to Indigenous culture as an example of sustainable living practices. “What we learn when we are out in the water is how to be a good steward. Our people have only taken what they needed.”

For James, the Boldt decision is a powerful reminder of the importance of holding federal and state powers accountable.

“One of things we always forget is there are three sovereigns in this nation: federal, state and tribes. We are sovereign nations. We stand shoulder to shoulder with the federal government,” she explained.

She warned, though, that the outcome of such cases has traditionally been unfavourable to Indigenous peoples. To her, the legacy of the Boldt decision is largely one of economics: How can tribes stay afloat financially while preserving their culture?

It’s a question, James indicated, that is vital to ensuring traditional foodways like the salmon harvest can endure for future generations.

“When I think about the future, I always say I do this work for my granddaughter. I don’t want her to read about who she is in a book. I want her to know it, experience it and pass it on to her grandchildren.”

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New Zealand calls on Papua rebels to release pilot kidnapped a year ago | Politics News

Phillip Mehrtens, a commercial pilot with Susi Air, was taken captive from an airstrip in the troubled Indonesian province.

New Zealand has called for the immediate release of pilot Phillip Mehrtens who was taken captive by fighters in Indonesia’s troubled Papua province a year ago.

Mehrtens, who was flying a single-propeller plane for Indonesia’s Susi Air, was snatched from his aircraft on February 7 last year by a group of fighters from the West Papua National Liberation Army (TPN-PB) who said he would only be released if Papua was given its independence.

The group, led by regional commander Elias Kogoya, later released images and videos showing Mehrtens surrounded by rebels – some armed with guns and others with bows and arrows – in remote forested areas.

New Zealand Foreign Minister Winston Peters said the New Zealander had been providing “vital air links and supplies to remote communities” at the time he was kidnapped.

“We strongly urge those holding Phillip to release him immediately and without harm. His continued detention serves the interests of no one,” Peters said in a statement to mark a year since the pilot was taken.

The incident in the remote highlands region of Nduga, one of the most restive areas of the province, drew renewed attention to one of the world’s least-known and longest-running conflicts.

Papua, whose people are ethnically Melanesian, occupies the western half of the island of New Guinea – just 200km (124 miles) north of Australia – and shares a land border with Papua New Guinea (PNG).

A low-level battle for independence has been under way since Indonesia took control of the resource-rich former Dutch colony after a controversial referendum in 1969.

Peters said New Zealand had been working with Indonesian authorities and others towards securing Phillip’s release.

“Let me be absolutely clear,” he said. “There can never be any justification for hostage taking.”

Peters’s statement came after the TPN-PB, the armed wing of the Free Papua Movement (OPM), said they had asked Kogoya to release Mehrtens, although they gave no timeframe for when that might happen.

“We plan to proceed with the release based on humanity,” TPN-PB spokesperson Sebby Sambom was quoted as saying by the Associated Press news agency.

“We believed that most Australians and New Zealanders support Papua’s independence,” he added. “We don’t want to be blamed by international community if the pilot dies while he is being held hostage by our fighters.”

Peters said Mehrtens had been able to contact some friends and family before Christmas and had assured them that he was well.

New Zealand was “exploring all avenues” to bring the pilot home, he added.

Indonesia deployed police and soldiers into the highland district in an attempt to rescue Mehrtens shortly after he was taken captive and there have been a number of clashes since.

Outsiders, including foreign journalists, international organisations and diplomats require special permission from Jakarta to visit the region, which is the location of one of the world’s largest gold and copper deposits.

There has been a surge in violence in Papua since 2018 when rebels killed 24 Indonesian men who were building a major new road to connect the coast with the highlands.

United Nations human rights experts have expressed concern about the deteriorating situation.

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Why Lula has failed to address the Yanomami genocide | Indigenous Rights

In December 2022, Brazilian media published photos of malnourished Yanomami children which shocked the nation. The Indigenous peoples of the Amazon had long lived off of hunting, farming, and gathering food and resources from the bountiful rainforest. But the encroachment on their lands by the Brazilian state, corporations, illegal loggers, and illegal miners has now doomed them to starvation and disease.

Soon after taking office in January 2023, President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva rushed to address the crisis. He visited the Yanomami community in the northern Roraima state and declared that a “genocide” was happening against the Indigenous people, blaming it on his predecessor, Jair Bolsonaro. He vowed to take action and put an end to the suffering of the indigenous people.

Today, a year after Lula made his promise, the Yanomami are yet to see a radical change in their lives. Despite the measures the Lula government undertook, expelling thousands of illegal miners, the crisis in Roraima state has persisted. Many illegal miners have returned and the Indigenous people continue to suffer from diseases and malnutrition.

In an audio message to the press, Indigenous leader Dario Kopenawa from the Hutukara Yanomami Association (HAY) said, “We have seen many operations to root out the miners from Yanomami land and also on the humanitarian and sanitarian crisis. However, precariousness still lies in the Yanomami territory.”

Indeed, the Lula government’s efforts have not improved the situation much because the roots of the crisis go much deeper than the disastrous policies of Bolsonaro’s presidency. Addressing it would necessitate radical action.

A history of victimisation

Like other countries in the Americas, Brazil was founded against the backdrop of a genocidal campaign led by the European settlers against the Indigenous population. Successive Brazilian rulers and governments have oppressed and dispossessed the Indigenous communities throughout the past two centuries.

One of the worst episodes of violence in recent history took place during the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964 – 1985). Indigenous peoples were subjected to forced labour, torture and acts of extermination at the hands of the state which sought to take over their lands to build federal highways and exploit its resources.

The dictatorship forces and big landowners introduced the smallpox virus into communities and distributed sugar laced with poison, killing many. Army aeroplanes dropped napalm on villages, devastating whole communities.

Although these atrocities stopped after the end of the dictatorship, the marginalisation and dispossession of the Indigenous peoples of Brazil continued into the democratic era. During his first two terms in office in the 2000s, Lula, too, was known to pursue policies which harmed the rights of the Indigenous people of Brazil.

Case in point: the Belo Monte Dam on the Xingu River in the Amazon. Lula played a key role in pushing through the project, which was completed under his successor, Dilma Rousseff, also a member of the Workers’ Party (PT).

The dam flooded some 500 square kilometres (193sq miles), displacing more than 20,000 people, destroying the livelihoods of fisherfolk, devastating Indigenous communities and creating a deforestation hotspot in the Amazon rainforest.

Lula’s environmental wreckage did not stop at Belo Monte. In 2009, he decided to grant land rights to squatters on Amazon land, basically legalising land grabs and giving an amnesty to people responsible for deforestation and encroachment on Indigenous territories.

He also had friendly relations with the big agribusiness sector, another enemy of Indigenous rights. He gave the meat industry – known as a major driving force of deforestation – access to cheap loans, allowing it to expand meat production and export exponentially, growing its appetite for cleared land.

Bolsonaro’s policies – although widely condemned by the PT – were merely an extension of the decades-old Brazilian state policy of complete disregard for Indigenous people’s rights and wellbeing.

A crisis decades in the making

Bolsonaro’s open disdain for the Indigenous communities encouraged further encroachment on their land. Illegal loggers and miners tied to organised crime flooded the Amazon, terrorising Indigenous communities, including the Yanomami.

They killed Indigenous activists and rangers trying to protect the forest, prevented people from hunting and growing food, poisoned the water resources with mercury and other harmful substances, spread diseases such as COVID-19 and malaria and even prevented healthcare workers from reaching the communities.

This devastated the Yanomami people, who hold one of the largest Indigenous territories in the country, with almost 10 million hectares. It is estimated that 28,000 Indigenous people reside there, so the following numbers paint a disturbing picture.

Undernourishment, famine, pneumonia and mercury poisoning killed 570 Yanomami children between 2018 and early 2023. Just in 2022, at least 99 Yanomami children aged five and below died.

In January 2023, the Health Ministry reported that almost 10 percent of registered malaria cases in the country were found in Yanomami communities, although they represent just 0.013 percent of the Brazilian population.

While Bolsonaro’s actions undoubtedly made the situation much worse for the Yanomami and other Indigenous groups, he was by no means solely to blame for this disastrous state of affairs. The systematic disregard of Indigenous rights had long had deadly consequences for Indigenous communities.

For example, within a year of the construction work on the Belo Monte Dam commencing, the number of seriously underweight Indigenous children jumped by 53 percent; within the first two years, the cases of intestinal parasites increased by 244 percent.

Indeed, the present crisis with the Yanomami people also did not happen overnight. Lula has tried to manage it by cracking down on illegal mining, launching a special task force to tackle the issue. Many people suspected of criminal activities were arrested and their mining equipment and aeroplanes were destroyed or confiscated as seen.

Emergency healthcare units were also dispatched to the Yanomami territories, as well as supplies of medicine and food.

In May 2023, the Health Ministry announced that in the first four months of the public health emergency for Yanomami territories Lula had announced, 67 of the 122 registered deaths of Yanomami people were children and teenagers; most of them had succumbed to curable diseases, such as pneumonia and diarrheal infections.

By October 2023, the death toll had reached 215, surpassing the total for 2022. More than half of the deaths were of children up to the age of four; 29 of them were due to malnutrition and 90 due to infectious disease. Shortly after this grim statistic was made public, the government stopped releasing official reports – perhaps an indirect admission that it had failed to resolve the crisis.

In statements released to the press, HAY has also said that illegal mining on Yanomami land continues, with 5,432 hectares (13,423 acres) devastated by such activities in 2023.

Stopping a genocide

Lula’s efforts to address the Yanomami crisis are clearly not enough. And as the Yanomami are no longer in the media spotlight – government officials and celebrities having ceased their PR visits to the communities – they run the risk of being once again forgotten and ignored.

One of the main problems is that the government does not appear to be consulting with the Indigenous people on ways to address the crisis. A case in point is the allocation of 1.2 billion real ($240m) and the construction of a “Government House” in Roraima state where all federal institutions involved in protecting, securing, and developing the region will be located. The government has said that the house will help implement an “action plan” to address the crisis, which, the HAY says, it has not been consulted on.

In his audio message to the press, Kopenawa explained, “We haven’t sat with them, nor the government has consulted us, the local leaders … We don’t see this money being invested in the Yanomami land but in the Roraima State government, so the money won’t be used for the specific Yanomami needs … [it] won’t solve the deaths, malnutrition, malaria cases, the health care structure.”

The second serious problem is that the government is upholding the interests of people and industries that fundamentally threaten Indigenous communities.

In an interview with me, the coordinator of the Indigenous Council of Roraima, Edinho Batista from the Macuxi people, said, “The state and federal governments are in league with plans that have been directly affecting the Indigenous communities. Construction enterprises, thermal and hydropower stations, and soy culture have been affecting the Indigenous peoples’ lifestyles and territories that are already disturbed by organized crime and mining. The Yanomami land is one example where criminal acts are killing people; meanwhile, the government is tight with businesses, merchants, politicians, and other economic players that have been financing mining in Yanomami land.”

In other words, for the crises in Yanomami lands and all Indigenous territories to be resolved, the Brazilian government has to start listening to the Indigenous people and has to completely overhaul its economic policies. It cannot continue to favour big agribusiness, the meat industry, oil and gas extraction, and export of raw materials, produced at the expense of nature and the Indigenous people.

It cannot continue to implement “half-measures” – sending security forces to clear the forests of illegal miners and then withdrawing them. Sending some food and medical supplies, but not establishing permanent health care infrastructure to ensure the wellbeing of the Indigenous people.

It cannot continue to treat the Indigenous people as if they are second-class citizens.

“It is also important that the government pays compensation to the Yanomami who have lost half of their people and that the criminals are investigated, identified, and punished. So, there will be justice, and then these people will be truly respected and seen as part of the society, not as a group that doesn’t belong to Brazil and is undeserving of respect,” Batista told me.

At the UN Climate Conference in Dubai (COP28) last year, Lula, who is trying to style himself as a global climate leader, was accompanied by a large delegation headed by Sonia Guajajara, minister of Indigenous peoples.

In a statement after the end of the conference, Guajajara, a lifelong advocate for Indigenous and environmental rights set hefty goals – including Indigenous rights protection and zero deforestation – for COP30, which Brazil will host in two years.

If Lula and his government are indeed committed to delivering on major climate commitments, they do not have much time to waste. They need to overhaul their economic policies immediately with Indigenous rights and sustainability in mind. Otherwise, come 2025, they will be presiding over a COP amid a climate catastrophe and an Indigenous genocide.

The views expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect Al Jazeera’s editorial stance.

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Toppled statues, protests: Australia marks contentious national holiday | Politics News

Thousands join marches in major cities amid growing debate over holiday once known for barbecues and beach trips.

Thousands of Australians have gathered at rallies against the Australia Day holiday, which marks the arrival of British colonists in 1788 and has become increasingly contentious.

Protesters gathered on Friday at Invasion Day rallies in Sydney, Melbourne and other major cities across the country, according to the Australian Broadcasting Corporation (ABC).

Once known as a time when Australians held barbecues and went to the beach to mark the end of the summer holidays, debate has grown over the meaning and purpose of the holiday, which is marked on January 26; the day a fleet of 11 British ships carrying a human cargo of convicts arrived in present-day Sydney in 1788.

Indigenous people refer to it as Invasion Day or Survival Day because it marked the start of a sustained period of discrimination and dispossession of Indigenous peoples without the negotiation of a treaty. The lack of such a treaty puts Australia out of step with other countries including the United States, Canada and New Zealand.

On the eve of this year’s holiday, protesters damaged two monuments to the country’s colonial past in the southern city of Melbourne, itself named after a former British prime minister.

Thousands joined rallies in cities including Melbourne amid increasing division over the merits of marking a day of colonisation [Diego Fedele/EPA]

A statue of Captain James Cook, who mapped the coast around Sydney in the 18th century and first claimed the territory for Britain, was sawn off at the ankles, while a monument to Queen Victoria was doused in red paint.

Images posted on social media showed the Cook statue lying on the ground with the words “The colony will fall” spray-painted on the stone plinth where it had previously stood.

Protesters threw red paint at the same statue in January 2022.

“This sort of vandalism has no place in our community,” said Victoria state premier Jacinta Allan.

At Friday’s rally in Melbourne, organiser Tarneen Onus Browne said the holiday needed to go.

“We believe that there is no day in the calendar that massacres and violence didn’t happen,” Browne, who represents the Warriors of Aboriginal Resistance, told the ABC.

“That’s what we’ve been coming out every year to say, and we also want to dispel the myth of this colony and the discovery of it.”

Hundreds of people also attended dawn services to mark January 26.

“Basically if you break it down, it means peace, unity and coming together, and acknowledging the past so we can move forward,” Jason Briggs told the ABC at a We-Akon Dilinja, or mourning reflection ceremony, in Melbourne.

Workers remove the rest of the Captain Cook statue from its plinth in Melbourne after it was vandalised on Thursday [Diego Fedele/AAP Image via AP Photo]

He said such activities were designed to bring Australians together.

“We’ve got to look forward to a pathway that takes us and brings us to a place where we can engage in a better dialogue about resolving issues, differences, reconciling outstanding matters and say, hey, we’re all in this together, we’re a nation, we’ve got this country, we’re all fellow Australians,” he said.

Polls show a majority of Australians are keen to keep the public holiday and the name, but are divided, often along political lines, about changing the date.

Cricket captain Pat Cummins, perhaps the country’s most prominent sports personality, this week suggested a more inclusive date could be found.

“I absolutely love Australia. It is the best country in the world by a mile,” he said.

“We should have an Australia Day, but we can probably find a more appropriate day to celebrate it.”

Last October, Australians rejected changes to the 1901 constitution that would have recognised the country’s first inhabitants and created an Indigenous consultative body known as the Voice to Parliament.

Some 3.8 percent of Australia’s 26 million people are Indigenous.

They are among the country’s most disadvantaged people and face issues including poor health and education outcomes as well as high imprisonment rates.

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