Beyond Australia’s failed referendum: Truth, treaty and voice in Victoria | Indigenous Rights News

Melbourne, Australia – In October this year, a referendum to establish an Indigenous “Voice to Parliament” in the Australian Constitution was heavily defeated at the polls.

Had the vote passed, an advisory group would have been established to make recommendations to the federal government to alleviate the social and economic inequalities experienced by Indigenous people.

In the referendum, 60 percent of Australians voted against the proposal in a campaign marred by disinformation and public racism.

Still, 25-year-old Jordan Edwards remains pragmatic.

“You can’t lose something you never had,” he told Al Jazeera.

The Gunditjmara, Waddawurrung and Arrernte man is a newly-appointed member in the southern state of Victoria’s First Peoples’ Assembly.

Similar to the proposed Voice to Parliament, the First Peoples’ Assembly was established in 2020 to advance treaty negotiations with the state government.

Separate from the federal government, Australian states have the capacity to introduce such initiatives, despite the failure of the national referendum. Currently, only Victoria and Queensland have committed to the treaty process.

Edwards also acts as the Youth Voice convener, engaging with Indigenous young people around the state to educate them about a process that aims to secure an agreement between local Indigenous groups, known as “traditional owners” and the government, which would allow some self-determination and decision making on matters affecting the community, including land use and resources.

Australian Rock group Yothu Yindi has long called for a treaty between Australian governments and Indigenous people [File: AP]

Edwards says it is important that Indigenous young people are included in these conversations.

“I think for young people, [treaty] always been an Elders’ fight, or their parents’ fight. And now, realising that’s on our doorstep, I think we need to grapple with that conversation,” he said.

Looking to the future

Calls for a treaty between Indigenous Australians and both state and federal governments have been echoing for decades, including in the 1991 hit song Treaty, by Indigenous band Yothu Yindi.

Unlike Canada and New Zealand, the British colonial powers did not form treaties with Indigenous people in Australia, instead declaring the land “terra nullius” – nobody’s land – a legal fiction that took more than 200 years to be overturned.

Victoria’s state government committed to establishing a treaty process in 2018, which is set to be cemented in 2024. Edwards says a treaty is important for Indigenous communities and could especially affect young people into the future.

“They are our largest demographic in our population. So, we actually need young people there because it will affect them as a majority,” he said.

While non-Indigenous Australia has an ageing population, Indigenous communities have far more younger people. A 2021 census showed there were 60,000 Indigenous people in Victoria, with about half of them under the age of 25.

Edwards’s focus on young people is shared by Esme Bamblett who is also an elected member of the First Peoples Assembly and the Elders’ Voice convener.

“We need to think about seven generations’ time,” she told Al Jazeera.

“Personally, in seven generations’ time, I’d like my children and my descendants to have generational wealth, I want them to have every opportunity just like everybody else. I want them to know that they are strong and to be proud of who they are and have a strong identity as Aboriginal people.”

A man conducting a traditional Aboriginal smoking ceremony. He is sqautting down next to a large pan with a smaller one inside. There is greenery in the smaller and smoke rising.
A traditional smoking ceremony took place ahead of the Yoorrook Commission [Ali MC/Al Jazeera]

Bamblett said the inclusion of an Elders’ Voice at a parliamentary level was important not only to highlight the challenges Indigenous elders face but also to reflect Indigenous cultural protocols.

“A very important part of our culture has been respect for our elders,” she said.

“The heads of all the families were the Elders, and the Elders would get together and they would then decide on issues and actions and there would be a consensus of opinion about what would happen. You learn from a very young age to respect your elders, and to listen to them.”

Indigenous people had lived on the continent now known as Australia for more than 65,000 years, when the British sailed into Botany Bay in 1788.

Their declaration of “terra nullius” paved the way for violent colonisation in the 1800s and punitive assimilation policies that removed Indigenous children from their families well into the late 20th century. Known as the Stolen Generations, this attempt at assimilation was buttressed by strict immigration laws which excluded non-Europeans, known as the “White Australia” policy.

Those policies’ negative legacy continues to be felt by the more than 30 Indigenous nations that live in the state of Victoria.

“Out-of-home care, the incarceration rates, unemployment – all these things have really impacted on our mob [communities],” Bamblett told Al Jazeera.

“And there’s a lot of our elders who are caring for their grandchildren.”

Truth for change

Similar to the structure of the proposed – and defeated – Voice to Parliament, Victoria’s First Peoples’ Assembly is made up of 32 members elected by local Indigenous communities who each represent the concerns and cultures of traditional owner groups.

First Peoples’ Assembly Co-Chair Ngarra Murray told Al Jazeera that Indigenous people needed to be “in the driver’s seat when it comes to the issues that affect us”.

“To be able to distil and articulate the views of our communities is powerful in itself and provides us with a strong platform to advocate for and against certain policies and practices that affect our communities,” she said.

Victoria Police Chief Shane Patton publicly apologised for the systemic racism experienced by Indigenous people at the hands of the police when he appeared at the Yoorrook Justice Commission [Ali MC/Al Jazeera]

Murray – who is from the Wamba Wamba, Yorta Yorta, Dhudhuroa and Dja Dja Wurrung peoples – said self-determination was vital if the impacts of colonisation were to be rectified.

“We are the experts on our own lives, we just need the freedom and the power to make the decisions about our culture, communities and country,” she said.

Alongside the First Peoples’ Assembly and treaty negotiations, a truth and justice commission has also been established to investigate both historical and ongoing injustices against Indigenous people since colonisation.

Yoorrook – meaning “truth” in the Wemba Wemba/Wamba Wamba language of northeastern Victoria – has a mandate to establish an official record on the impact of colonisation and make recommendations to address the ongoing challenges facing Indigenous people.

Professor Eleanor Bourke, a Wergaia/Wamba Wemba Elder and Chair of Yoorrook, told Al Jazeera that the truth-telling process was vital in the fight for change.

“Telling the truth about injustice can help build shared understanding,” she said. “But understanding on its own is not enough. We must also create transformative change. Being heard is the first step.”

Yoorrook’s most recent report, Yoorrook for Justice, investigated the links between child welfare and adult imprisonment and found there was a direct “pipeline” between the two.

The report also said that without major reforms, First Nations’ children would continue to be at greater risk of entering the child protection and criminal justice systems from birth.

Nationally, Indigenous children are 11.5 times more likely to be in state welfare than non-Indigenous children, while Indigenous adults are 14 times more likely to be imprisoned than non-Indigenous adults.

“The report found that First Peoples faced racism and injustice at almost every turn across both systems and made strong recommendations for reform,” Bourke told Al Jazeera.

“Yoorrook is still waiting to see when, and how, the Victorian government will respond. There were promising signs of progress during the inquiry process. This includes commitments by government to improve the state’s bail laws, to repeal public drunkenness laws and to raise the minimum age of criminal responsibility.”

‘Confronting and raw’

The Yoorrook for Justice inquiry began in 2021 and held 27 days of hearings. Notably, Victoria Police Chief Shane Patton publicly apologised for the systemic racism experienced by Indigenous people at the hands of the police, and then-premier Daniel Andrews said that the over-representation of Indigenous people in child protection and prison was “a source of great shame”.

Alongside the investigation into the impact of government systems, Yoorrook also hears personal stories from First Nations community members.

Members of the First Peoples’ Assembly on the steps of Victoria’s parliament house [Ali MC/Al Jazeera]

These can include personal experiences of racism, the justice system and historical family narratives.

Such intimate stories are heard by “truth receivers” such as Lisa Thorpe.

“There is a mixture of stories we are hearing but they are almost always confronting and raw, and involve trauma,” she told Al Jazeera.

“People who’ve been through the criminal justice system, who’ve been mistreated in jail, who’ve had children taken off them, who’ve only just survived – these are the stories we are hearing. Many of these stories I’ve heard before but never in an official way like this.”

Thorpe, who is from the Gunnai, Gunditjmara, Wamba Wemba, Boonwurrung and Dja Dja Wurrung nations, also said that such stories were emanating directly from her family and community.

“So many of the stories I hear affect me personally, I relate to them or they are stories of people I love and care about,” she said. “But hearing them is also part of healing for me.”

While the failure of the Voice to Parliament was deeply disappointing to many around the nation, Indigenous people are demonstrating a resilience and fortitude to address the challenges of colonisation and hold the government to account.

Like Jordan Edwards and Esme Bamblett, Thorpe hopes the initiatives of the First Peoples’ Assembly, treaty negotiations and the Yoorrook Justice Commission will bring about a fairer future for her children and the generations of Indigenous Australians to come.

“Yoorrook has an opportunity to make real change, to hold the government to account and question the systems causing injustice to our people,” she said.

“My one goal is to make life better for my children than it was for me. This is a real opportunity to contribute and make positive change for the next generation and there might not be another opportunity like this again.”

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Indigenous advocates reject Chile’s new draft constitution ahead of vote | Elections News

For more than a decade, architect Julio Ñanco Antilef has campaigned to rewrite Chile’s constitution, a relic from when General Augusto Pinochet ruled the country as a military dictator.

But now, as Chile prepares to vote on a new draft, Ñanco Antilef finds himself in a paradoxical position: hoping to keep the old version in place.

“It’s not that we are defending Pinochet’s constitution. It’s just that this proposal is worse,” he told Al Jazeera in a recent interview.

A member of the Democratic Revolution party, Ñanco Antilef was one of the few left-wing representatives to participate in the Constitutional Council that drafted the new version, which is set to go before voters on Sunday.

Rather, it was Chile’s far-right Republican Party that led the drafting process, holding 22 of the council’s 50 seats.

The result, critics say, is a draft that favours right-wing priorities at the expense of historically marginalised groups, including Chile’s Indigenous peoples.

“It is tied to a business model and favours individual interests rather than collective ones,” said Ñanco Antilef, himself of Indigenous Mapuche descent.

Now, he and other Indigenous Chileans are pushing for voters to reject the draft constitution, even if that means the country will be stuck with the Pinochet-era version for the foreseeable future.

“We are 13 percent of the population,” said Alihuen Antileo Navarette, a Mapuche lawyer elected to represent Chile’s Indigenous peoples on the council.

He argues the draft constitution deliberately “excludes” Indigenous voices from government.

“The text does not ensure that we have institutional representation, neither in Congress nor in the Senate, and it ignores our historical demands to respect our ancestral territories,” Antileo said.

Chilean President Gabriel Boric holds up a copy of the latest draft constitution, presented to him by Constitutional Council President Beatriz Hevia [File: Esteban Felix/AP Photo]

A history of inequality

Sunday’s referendum will be the second time in as many years that Chileans have gone to the ballot box to weigh a new version of the country’s constitution.

President Gabriel Boric indicated it would also be the last opportunity to swap out the Pinochet-era constitution for the remainder of his four-year term.

“Whatever the result that the people choose, that process will come to an end,” Boric said at a summit of world leaders last month.

The history of the current constitution stretches back to 1980, when Pinochet — a ruler who oversaw the mass abduction and execution of his left-wing critics — appointed a government commission to draft a legal framework to formalise his authority.

Ñanco Antilef grew up during the dictatorship in the 1980s. “There was a strong repression. We didn’t even go out on the patio of our house because police would throw tear gas. It was a situation of fear. I remember they shot a neighbour dead. These are the memories I have of that time.”

Living in a low-income neighbourhood on the periphery of the capital Santiago, Ñanco Antilef also witnessed inequality that he now credits to Pinochet’s right-wing model of governance.

“It allowed people who had resources to maintain their privileges, and for the people who didn’t, it was difficult to obtain a higher quality of life. I was only able to go to higher education because I won grants and got help from others,” he said, adding: “Pinochet’s constitution generated a very individualistic society.”

The 1980 constitution has been criticised not only for its undemocratic origins but also for enshrining Pinochet’s rigidly conservative values in Chilean law.

Opponents say that, despite numerous amendments, the constitution still curtails social welfare programmes in favour of protecting free-market values. It also fails to acknowledge Chile’s Indigenous groups, which comprise an estimated 2.2 million people.

José Antonio Kast, leader of Chile’s Republican Party, celebrates the number of seats his party claimed on the Constitutional Council on May 7 [File: Esteban Felix/AP Photo]

A tale of two drafts

Concerns over social welfare ultimately simmered into widespread anti-government protests in 2019. Millions of Chileans flooded the streets, voicing a spectrum of demands, including calls for better public healthcare, fairer access to education, abortion rights and pension reform.

Many protesters singled out Pinochet’s constitution as the root cause of the discontent. That prompted Chile’s government to hold a referendum in 2020 to decide whether to ditch the old charter and write a new one.

The voters came back with an overwhelming response: 78 percent approved of the proposal, and a plan to reimagine the constitution was hatched.

But the first attempt floundered. Written by a Constitutional Council comprised mostly of left-wing leaders and independents with no political experience, the 2022 draft was seen as lengthy, confusing and overly progressive. It failed at the ballot box, with 62 percent of voters rejecting it.

In May, another election was held to determine who would write the second draft. This time, voters turned to the conservative right.

“After [the] progressive movement, there was a regression and fear of change,” Claudia Heiss, the head of political science at the University of Chile, said of the swing rightward.

She believes the draft on Sunday’s ballot enshrines values and ideas that “don’t belong in a constitution”, by recognising “patriotic symbols” and protecting “the patriarchal conception of society and traditional gender roles”.

Among the most controversial additions is an article that appears to acknowledge the rights of “life of those who have yet to be born” — language that could tighten Chile’s already restrictive abortion laws.

Elisa Loncon from the Mapuche Constituent Assembly celebrates her election to lead the Constitutional Convention on July 4, 2021 [File: Esteban Felix/AP Photo]

Draft prompts Indigenous concerns

But Indigenous rights supporters also see Sunday’s draft as a step backwards, after the promise of the first rewrite attempt.

The first draft envisioned Chile as a “plurinational” country, “composed of various nations” that recognised Indigenous rights to autonomy and self-governance.

The second version, however, defines Indigenous groups as “part of the Chilean nation, which is one and undivided”.

The number of Indigenous representatives on the second Constitutional Council was also curtailed. Indigenous candidates had to receive at least 1.5 percent of the total vote to have a seat on the council. Only one, Antileo, qualified.

By contrast, the first council included 17 seats for Indigenous groups, distributed according to population size. The Mapuche, Chile’s largest Indigenous population, were given seven seats, while the Aymara were given two. Eight other Indigenous groups — the Atacameño, Colla, Quechua, Yagán, Kawésqar, Chango, Diaguita and Rapa Nui — were given one seat each.

Experts like Salvador Millaeo, a Mapuche lawyer and academic at the University of Chile, indicated that the new constitutional draft’s shortcomings are part of a long tradition of Indigenous marginalisation.

“Chile has a terrible relationship with its Indigenous people,” Millaeo said. “We need rules that establish an equal distribution of development opportunities where ancestral grounds are recognised, and the cultural patrimony of Indigenous people is protected, respected and guaranteed.”

He explained that Sunday’s constitutional draft only mentions Indigenous rights in an “abstract” way, by saying the law “could” include Indigenous representation in Congress.

The new draft would also strengthen Pinochet’s governance model, upholding neoliberal principles that are at odds with Indigenous values, Millaeo said.

“For example, the idea that nature is not an object but a subject that needs to be cared for — that’s not in the current [constitution], but the new proposal goes even further away from that.”

Constitutional experts meet inside the National Congress to create a proposal to send to members of the Constitutional Council in Santiago, Chile, on June 5 [File: Esteban Felix/AP Photo]

Voter fatigue high

That Indigenous viewpoint, however, runs contrary to many of Chile’s business interests.

The country is one of the world’s top copper producers, and its economy is hinged on resource extraction. Mining makes up about 58 percent of the country’s total exports.

Fernando Hernandéz, a civil engineer who works in the mining sector, said he plans to vote in favour of the new draft constitution because it protects Chile’s economic interests.

Land should “generate value, jobs and growth”, Hernandéz explained.

But like many Chileans, Hernandéz is sceptical of what a new constitution can achieve. And after nearly three years of constitutional votes and councils, fatigue is setting in.

“Chile won’t transform from one day to another by changing the constitution,” Hernandéz said. “This has been exhausting for Chile and for its people.”

Ñanco Antilef, the architect who participated in the Constitutional Council, agreed that voter enthusiasm is waning. “There’s electoral fatigue and less interest in the process this time around.”

But he insisted that voting was still important, if only to protect the status quo — and hold out hope for a better deal in the future for Indigenous Chileans.

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Can Indigenous inclusivity be the key to successful carbon markets? | Indigenous Rights News

Carbon markets, a popular mechanism used by global businesses and countries to offset their emissions, have been on the table during negotiations at the United Nations COP28 Climate Change Conference.

In a year that has seen carbon markets under growing scrutiny due to reports of alleged scams revealing that only a handful of emissions were offset instead of the massive amounts projected, Indigenous communities at the conference which ended this week were eager to be heard on how these could work.

“Trees are not objects. They are our brothers,” Selvyn Pérez, a Maya K’iche’ leader from Guatemala explained at an event organised on the sidelines of official COP28 talks. “There are reasons why we safeguard trees. We don’t do it for money or to receive benefits, we do it because nature is our mother, and Mother Earth is calling. If everyone understood that human and environmental rights were at the centre of all action, this COP would be very different”, instead of the lack of concrete action in past years,” he said.

An estimated 370 million Indigenous peoples live on 20 percent of the Earth’s land, protecting 80 percent of the planet’s biodiversity. Yet, only 17 percent of the $270m in climate and conservation funding invested annually in Indigenous and local communities goes to projects led by the populations.

Several of the extreme climate events throughout the world in the past year have spurred a sense of urgency among Indigenous communities who are the first to be affected.

For instance, a drought that began a year earlier in the Peruvian Andes, hit hard months later further downstream elsewhere in the region in the Amazon basin, making rivers impassable to transport and killing wildlife amid rising temperatures.

Researchers had already warned that the Amazon basin was reaching dangerous tipping points, due to large-scale deforestation limiting humidity in the region and causing even greater deterioration of vegetation because of stressful climate conditions.

Many representatives from the region had joined a record number of Indigenous people from around the world — including Pérez – in Dubai to defend their role as guardians of the rainforests and other natural lands which act as significant carbon sinks, storing nearly half of the world’s terrestrial carbon.

Like many other Indigenous communities who had never fully recovered the rights to their land since colonial times, the president of the Utz’ Che’ Community Forestry Network of Guatemala said the struggle to have their voices and rights recognised has been a long one.

“We didn’t come here to the COP to negotiate but to demand,” he said.

Shadow carbon market

Some Indigenous people refer to the carbon credits as an extension of a colonial legacy that has sought to exploit and control resources in Indigenous lands [Paula Dupraz-Dobias/Al Jazeera]

Amid a booming market in emissions trading, which grew by 13.5 percent in 2022 to hit a record value of $909bn, Indigenous representatives have been trying to play catch-up and be more actively involved in schemes and their benefits.

Carbon markets are where credits are sold to countries and companies to help offset their carbon emissions. A draft proposal on how the mechanism can be regulated was under discussion between negotiators in Dubai after being submitted in November, a year later than expected.

Over the past year, multiple reports by media and nonprofit organisations shed light on how carbon markets – which may involve preserving natural areas from deforestation – have been providing false promises on their environmental value. Reports have also noted how offset buyers continue to emit despite the greening of their credentials, including with claims of reducing their carbon footprint.

Verra, a major carbon standard system, reportedly provided more than a billion credits, equivalent to a billion tonnes of carbon, of which 90 percent were said to be “phantom” or generally worthless and did not represent real carbon reductions. Verra disagrees with the allegations, saying they were “off track”.

The claims add questions to the general use of offsets, as many companies purchasing carbon credits, label their products as “carbon neutral”, giving customers the impression that they can continue to fly or purchase goods without contributing to the climate crisis.

In the Brazilian Amazon, carbon offset projects certified by Verra and bought by major global companies to fund forest protection were accused of being “scams” with little to show.

Elsewhere, in Colombia, information of a carbon credit sale, by national certifier ColCX, of an offsetting project in an Indigenous reservation failed to be shared with most of its inhabitants who should have been included as its beneficiaries.

Some Indigenous people have referred to the carbon credits as an extension of a colonial legacy that has sought to exploit and control resources in Indigenous lands.

Already threatened by rising deforestation due to illegal mining, logging and farming encroaching on their lands, which failed to be banned by leaders at an Amazon summit earlier this year, the region’s Indigenous communities are asking for more transparency in the schemes and, above all, involvement in project planning and implementation.

Finding solutions

Indigenous communities say the COP ‘must deliver’ on carbon reduction [Paula Dupraz-Dobias/Al Jazeera]

In Dubai, they have been meeting with other local communities and Indigenous organisations to learn from each other.

“We need a clear carbon definition and know who owns those carbon rights and how do we ensure the distribution of revenue sharing of the carbon credit,” said Dominik T-Johns, convener for the REDD+ Technical Working Group in Liberia.

The REDD+ system, established in 2009 within climate negotiations, encourages developing country governments to mitigate emissions through forest management.

In the West African country, recent laws have set aside protected areas and recognised local communities as customary-law land owners.

Mary Molokwu-Odozi, a REDD+ project manager working with Fauna and Flora, a conservation NGO, said that “securing land tenure for local communities dependent on the forests would mean more effective forest stewardship and the potential to maintain the resources they have for future generations as well to deal with external influences”.

Walter Quertehauri Dariquebe, the president of the Amarakaeri communal reserve in southeastern Peru, explained that its “co-management” with the government has been an unequal arrangement, with the state holding the purse strings and the community responsible for administering state plans.

“We are not leaving it at that,” the Indigenous leader told Al Jazeera.

In addition to strengthening their capacities as project executors, they recently penned an agreement that gives the community the role of authorised managers of the carbon credit rights. “Why? It’s to avoid the issues of carbon pirates, which have communities give up their rights not knowing at what price the credits are being sold,” he said.

The reserve is creating a board for the sale of carbon credits to be in direct contact with end buyers. But legislation is not yet in place, he added.

With two years to go before the COP30 is held in Belém, at the mouth of the Amazon River in Brazil, Indigenous climate activists are already stepping up their calls for talks where they speak as equals with governments.

At an event hosted by Sônia Guajajara, Brazil’s minister of Indigenous peoples and a former Indigenous activist, Hindou Oumarou Ibrahim, an Indigenous leader from Chad and previously co-director of the World Indigenous Peoples’ Initiative at three COP climate conferences, had a few tips to offer as communities prepare for the global event in 2025.

“We have to have a clear plan, work with all partners and deliver on direct access finance, with great numbers,” Oumarou Ibrahim said at an inaugural meeting of the International Indigenous Commission in Dubai. ”We must stand together and say this COP must deliver on carbon reductions.”

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Indigenous advocacy leads to largest dam removal project in US history | Indigenous Rights News

Every fall, Barry McCovey, a member of the Yurok Tribe and director of tribal fisheries, takes his four children salmon fishing on the Klamath River, the second largest river in California.

A strong salmon run normally nets his family 30 or 40 fish. It’s a supply big enough to last them all year: They freeze, smoke and can the salmon to serve either on its own or on sandwiches and crackers.

But this year, the predicted salmon run was the second lowest since detailed records began in 1978, and the fall fishing season was cancelled.

The river’s salmon population has declined due to myriad factors, but the biggest culprit is believed to be a series of dams built along the river from 1918 to 1962, cutting off fish migration routes.

Now, after decades of Indigenous advocacy, four of the structures are being demolished as part of the largest dam removal project in United States history. In November, crews finished removing the first of the four dams as part of a push to restore 644 kilometres (400 miles) of fish habitat.

“Dam removal is the largest single step that we can take to restore the Klamath River ecosystem,” McCovey told Al Jazeera. “We’re going to see benefits to the ecosystem and then, in turn, to the fishery for decades and decades to come.”

Barry McCovey fishes with his family in northern California’s Klamath River [Courtesy of Louisa McCovey]

The die-off that sparked a change

The decades-long fight for dam removal began with a devastating fish kill.

For thousands of years, the Klamath River has been a cornerstone of Yurok culture, providing its people with a bounty of chinook salmon, coho salmon and steelhead trout.

But starting in the 20th century, the dams interrupted the river’s flow, pooling the water into reservoirs for use in hydroelectric power and farm irrigation.

Reservoirs, however, can cause the water to stagnate, warm and lose oxygen, according to McCovey. Those conditions, in turn, degrade the water quality and increase the spread of parasites that kill fish.

That threat ballooned into a crisis in 2002. Drought had racked the region, and farmers were pushing for more water for crops like potatoes and alfalfa. Some even wore ribbons and pins, denouncing the water restrictions as a form of “rural genocide”, threatening farmers’ livelihoods.

Facing pressure, the US Bureau of Reclamation diverted more water from the dams to agriculture. But that decision left river levels low. Soon, adult salmon were washing up dead, their gills brown with dead tissue and spotted from parasitic infections.

Critics estimate as many as 70,000 salmon perished as diseases spread through the population.

It was a turning point. The 2002 fish kill prompted tribes like the Yurok to spring into action to protect the river ecosystem and their way of life.

Salmon caught in 2002 are measured near the Klamath River as members of the Yurok Tribe advocated for measures to prevent further fish death [File: Rich Pedroncelli/AP Photo]

A ‘watershed moment’

Four years later, in 2006, the licence for the hydroelectric dams expired. That created an opportunity, according to Mark Bransom, CEO of the Klamath River Renewal Corporation (KRRC), a nonprofit founded to oversee the dam removals.

Standards for protecting fisheries had increased since the initial license was issued, and the utility company responsible for the dams faced a choice. It could either upgrade the dams at an economic loss or enter into a settlement agreement that would allow it to operate the dams until they could be demolished.

“A big driver was the economics — knowing that they would have to modify these facilities to bring them up to modern environmental standards,” Bransom explained. “And the economics just didn’t pencil out.”

The utility company chose the settlement. In 2016, the KRRC was created to work with the state governments of California and Oregon to demolish the dams.

Final approval for the deal came in 2022, in what Bransom remembers as a “watershed moment”.

Regulators at the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC) voted unanimously to tear down the dams, citing the benefit to the environment as well as to Indigenous tribes.

“A number of years back, I don’t think the commission necessarily spent a lot of time thinking about the impact of our decisions on tribes,” FERC chairman Richard Glick said in a public meeting to announce the decision. “I think we’re making progress on that front. Still a ways to go, but we’re making the right progress there.”

For Bransom, the chairman’s words were a “real revelation”, an acknowledgement unlike any he had heard from the commission.

“That was the first time that that agency of the United States government had ever made those comments,” Bransom said.

The Yurok Tribe has helped lead efforts to remove dams that interrupt fish migration routes along the Klamath River [Courtesy of Amy Cordalis]

Fighting a ‘core American value’

Amy Cordalis, a Yurok Tribe member, fisherwoman and lawyer for the tribe, credits the “colonial mindset and racism” with preventing the dam demolition from happening sooner.

“Nobody believed in dam removal,” she explained. It ran contrary to the ideals many Americans were raised with: that humanity was meant to tame the natural world.

“We fought this core American value that nature is here to serve humans at whatever cost to nature,” she said. “That was the biggest thing in our way. It wasn’t people or money or law. It was that mindset.”

For Cordalis, the Klamath River is more than a waterway: It is a relative, with its own spirit. In 2019, she helped push the Yurok government to grant the Klamath legal personhood, a designation that allows tribal members to seek remedies through the justice system if the river is harmed.

Around 2018, Cordalis also became a part of the KRRC’s board — but her family’s struggle for water rights stretches deep into the past. She said her relatives have long fought pressures that would remove them from the river.

Her great-grandmother, for example, was taken to an Indigenous boarding school — a residential system designed to stamp out Native cultures and force children to assimilate into white society. She resisted those pressures, though, and ultimately returned to her community.

Then there’s Cordalis’s great-uncle Aawok Raymond Mattz, who was arrested in 1969 for illegal fishing under California state law. He took his fight to the Supreme Court, successfully arguing that the state had infringed upon the tribe’s right to fish.

“We’ve been there since the beginning of time, fishing these same runs of salmon,” Cordalis said. “For us, our cultural way of life and everything that we do revolves around being a fishing people.”

Water flows over the Copco 1 Dam near Hornbrook, California, one of the structures slated for demolition before the end of 2024 [File: Gillian Flaccus/AP Photo]

Tears of joy

Destruction of the first dam — the smallest, known as Copco 2 — began in June, with heavy machinery like excavators tearing down its concrete walls.

Cordalis was present for the start of the destruction. Bransom had invited her and fellow KRRC board members to visit the bend in the Klamath River where Copco 2 was being removed. She remembers taking his hand as they walked along a gravel ridge towards the water, a vein of blue nestled amid rolling hills.

“And then, there it was,” Cordalis said. “Or there it wasn’t. The dam was gone.”

For the first time in a century, water flowed freely through that area of the river. Cordalis felt like she was seeing her homelands restored.

Tears of joy began to roll down her cheeks. “I just cried so hard because it was so beautiful.”

The experience was also “profound” for Bransom. “It really was literally a jolt of energy that flowed through us,” he said, calling the visit “perhaps one of the most touching, most moving moments in my entire life”.

Demolition on Copco 2 was completed in November, with work starting on the other three dams. The entire project is scheduled to wrap in late 2024.

Dam removal on the Klamath River is expected to lead to better water quality and improved conditions for the fish and other species that live in the waterway [File: Gillian Flaccus/AP Photo]

A return to family fishing

But experts like McCovey say major hurdles remain to restoring the river’s historic salmon population.

Climate change is warming the water. Wildfires and flash floods are contaminating the river with debris. And tiny particles from rubber vehicle tires are washing off roadways and into waterways, where their chemicals can kill fish within hours.

McCovey, however, is optimistic that the dam demolitions will help the river become more resilient.

“Dam removal is one of the best things we can do to help the Klamath basin be ready to handle climate change,” McCovey explained. He added that the river’s uninterrupted flow will also help flush out sediment and improve water quality.

The removal project is not the solution to all the river’s woes, but McCovey believes it’s a start — a step towards rebuilding the reciprocal relationship between the waterway and the Indigenous people who rely on it.

“We do a little bit of work, and then we start to see more salmon, and then maybe we get to eat more salmon, and that starts to help our people heal a little bit,” McCovey said. “And once we start healing, then we’re in a place where we can start to help the ecosystem a little bit more.”

Already, McCovey is looking ahead to the spring salmon migration – and the possibility of returning to his family fishing traditions with his kids.

“My hope is that next year, we’ll see a better fish run, and we’ll be able to go fishing and hopefully catch the fish that we need.”

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Panama celebrates court order to cancel mine even as business is hit | Mining

For more than a month, protests against Central America’s largest open-pit copper mine have held Panama in a state of siege. Roadblocks have caused gas and propane shortages. Many supermarket shelves have run bare. Restaurants and hotels have sat empty.

But on Tuesday, protesters in Panama got the news they were waiting for.

The country’s Supreme Court of Justice ruled that Panama’s new mining contract with the Canadian company First Quantum was unconstitutional.

Protesters danced in the streets in front of the Supreme Court. They waved the red, white and blue Panamanian flag and sang the national anthem.

The ruling, a big blow for investors and for the country’s long-term credit rating, is, for the moment, a source of relief for Panama, which has been shaken by the country’s largest protest movement to plague the country in decades.

The news of the Supreme Court ruling came early on Tuesday – the day of the anniversary of Panama’s Independence from Spain.

“Today, we are celebrating two independences,” 58-year-old restaurant worker Nestor Gonzalez told Al Jazeera. “Independence from Spain. And independence from the mine. And no one is going to forget it.”

People turned out to celebrate. The bistro where Gonzalez works, in the western province of Chiriqui, was packed with patrons by noon – something the restaurant had not seen since mid-October.

“We are so happy,” said Gonzalez. “Because, we had been locked up in the province of Chiriqui for 35 days, without gas, without propane, and with little food. I had to go look for firewood in the mountains because I had no propane to cook with. So thank God that the justices took a stand and issued this ruling.”

The mine, known as Cobre Panama, has been in production since 2019, and extracting 300,000 tonnes of copper a year. It represents roughly five percent of the country’s gross domestic product (GDP) and 75 percent of Panamanian exports. The mining sector contributes roughly seven percent of Panama’s GDP with Cobre Panama as the country’s most important mine.

But protesters said Cobre Panama was a disaster for the country’s environment and a handout to a foreign corporation.

“I’m protesting because they are stealing our country. They are just handing it over,” said Ramon Rodriguez, a protester in a yellow raincoat in a march in late October, after protests ignited against the mine. “The sovereignty of our country is in danger. That’s why I’m here.”

This question of sovereignty is particularly important for Panamanians, who fought throughout the 20th century to rid the country of the United States-controlled Panama Canal Zone. This was an area almost half the size of the US state of Rhode Island that sliced through the middle of Panama.

“This contract is bad. It never should have been made. Never. So you have to fight,” said Miriam Caballero, a middle-aged woman in a grey sweatshirt who watched the October protest pass.

Protesters said Cobre Panama was a disaster for the country’s environment and a handout to the Canadian firm that had the mining contract [Michael Fox/Al Jazeera]

Impact on foreign investment

This was not the first contract with the mine. In 2021, the Supreme Court declared the previous contract unconstitutional for not adequately benefitting the public good. The government of President Laurentino Cortizo renegotiated the contract with improved benefits for the state. This was fast-tracked through Congress on October 20. Cortizo signed it into law hours later.

The president and his cabinet had applauded the new contract, saying it would bring windfall profits for the state.

“The contract ensures a minimum payment to the state of $375m dollars a year, for the next 20 years,” said Commerce Minister Federico Alfaro told Panama news outlet Telemetro. “If you can compare this with what the state was receiving before, which was $35m a year, it’s a substantial improvement to the past.”

Cortizo promised to use the funds to shore up the country’s Social Security Fund and increase pensions for more than 120,000 retirees.

After the protests spiralled out of control, he announced a moratorium on all new mining projects and promised to hold a referendum over the fate of Cobre Panama. The idea didn’t gain traction. The protesters wouldn’t budge.

Members of Panama’s business sector have blamed Cortizo for mishandling the crisis and refusing to use a heavy hand to end the roadblocks and stop the protests. Last week, they said it had cost the country $1.7bn.

Cortizo, whose approval rating was already down to 24 percent in June, responded to this week’s court ruling stating, “All Panamanians need to respect and abide by the decisions of the Supreme Court.”

Analysts say the protests and the ruling will have an impact for foreign companies looking to do business in Panama.

“I believe this court ruling is sending a very clear message to foreign investors,” Jorge Cuéllar, ​​Assistant Professor of Latin American Studies at Dartmouth College, told Al Jazeera. “If this is the kind of foreign investment that politicians and capitalists are innovating in 2023, then Panamanians want no part of it.”

But this stance will likely come at a price.

In early November, after more than a week of protests, rating agency Moody’s downgraded Panama’s debt to the lowest investment-grade rating. It cited financial issues and noted the political turmoil. JP Morgan analysts said, at the time, that if the mining contract were revoked, it would substantially increase Panama’s risk of losing its investment-grade rating.

First Quantum also has much to lose. Its shares have lost 60 percent of their value over the last month and a half. More than 40 percent of the company’s production comes from the Panamanian mine.

Over the weekend, the company notified Panama that it planned to take the country to arbitration under the Free Trade Agreement between the two countries.

But in a statement released after the ruling, First Quantum said, “The Company wishes to express that it respects Panamanian laws and will review the content of the judgement to understand its foundations.”

Protesters said the country’s sovereignty was at stake [Michael Fox/Al Jazeera]

‘Jobs at risk’

The announcement is also a blow for the employees of the mine. The mine employs roughly 6,600 people – 86 percent of whom are Panamanian – and a total 40,000 direct and indirect jobs.

The Union of Panamanian Mine Workers, Utramipa, announced its members would march in several cities on Wednesday against the Supreme Court decision and in defence of their jobs.

“We are not going to allow them to put our jobs at risk, which are our means for supporting our families,” the union said in a statement.

Last week, Utramipa member Michael Camacho, denounced the protests on the news outlet Panamá En Directo. Operations at the mine were suspended last week due to protests at its port and the highway in and out of the facility.

“What about us, the workers? We are also Panamanians. We have the right to go to our homes and return to our place of work,” said Camacho. “But at this moment, we are being held hostage by the protesters, by the anti-social, the terrorists – which is what we should call them – and the people that stop us from passing.”

For the majority of Panamanians, the Supreme Court ruling is a welcomed sign that the country is on the road to normalcy.

Protesters in some provinces have promised to stay in the streets until the Supreme Court ruling is officially published – which usually takes a few days – or until the mine is closed for good. But many roadblocks have now been cleared, highways that stood empty for weeks are now open, and gas stations are rolling back in business.

“We are in a new phase,”  Harry Brown Araúz, the director of Panama’s International Center of Social and Political Studies, told Al Jazeera. “The protests, as we have seen until now, should be lifted. And the government has said that it will begin the process of closing the mine in an orderly manner. This can generate confidence in the population, which had been lost.”

Araúz says the protest movement and the ruling are a powerful sign of the strength of Panama’s democracy, which the country regained just over 30 years ago.

“This is a really important moment,” he says. “It marks a before and after for Panamanian democracy.”

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Reconciliation Back to Square One? — Global Issues

Credit: Jenny Evans/Getty Images
  • Opinion by Ines M Pousadela (montevideo, uruguay)
  • Inter Press Service

On a 90 per cent turnout under mandatory voting, 60 per cent voted against. Supporters of the referendum were left pointing the finger at disinformation – and those who pushed it for political gain.

A history of exclusion

For a long time, Indigenous Australians – currently 3.8 per cent of the country’s population – lacked any recognition. European settlers didn’t see any need for a treaty with the people already there. Indigenous Australians only got the vote in 1962 and, following a referendum, were put on the census as late as 1972 – until then, they literally didn’t count. They remain unrecognised in the country’s constitution.

For most of the 20th century, assimilation laws saw Indigenous children forcibly taken from their families on a mass scale. It’s estimated that between 1910 and 1970 10 to 30 per cent of Indigenous children were handed to childless white couples to be raised as white. The horror of the ‘stolen generations’ only began to be acknowledged in the mid-1990s.

In 1997 the Australian Human Rights Commission issued a report with recommendations for healing and reconciliation. But a belated prime ministerial apology came only in 2008. That same year, the government issued a plan to reduce disadvantage among Indigenous people. After most of its targets expired unmet, a new approach was developed in partnership with an Indigenous coalition in 2020.

But little progress has been made in overcoming exclusion. On almost any indicator, Indigenous people remain two to three times worse off than non-Indigenous Australians. Being dramatically underrepresented in decision-making bodies, they also lack the tools to change it.

The Uluru Statement from the Heart

The road towards the referendum started more than a decade ago, when an expert panel found that constitutional recognition was the way to go. But the call for a referendum was delayed. In 2016, a Referendum Council again concluded that constitutional reform should proceed.

In 2017, the First Nations Dialogues issued the Uluru Statement from the Heart, which called for a Voice to Parliament for Indigenous people, a truth commission and a treaty. The Voice was viewed as the first step to open up a conversation and enable further progress.

Then-Prime Minister Malcolm Turnbull, of the centre-right Liberal Party, rejected the Uluru Statement. But in 2018 another committee was set up to investigate options for constitutional change – and again, it endorsed a constitutionally enshrined Voice. The Labor opposition promised to put the proposal to a referendum if it won the next election.

Political change: potential and limitations

The Liberal/National coalition lost the May 2022 election, and Labor’s incoming prime minister Anthony Albanese promised progress on long-stalled policies to address Indigenous rights.

The proposed constitutional amendment and text of the ballot question were made public in March 2023 and approved by parliament in June. The government endorsed a set of principles of representation, transparency and accountability that would be used to design the Voice. It was made clear that, as the name implied, this new body would give a voice to Indigenous people but not have decision-making authority or veto power. Any further decision on its composition, functions, powers and procedures would be in the hands of parliament.

Foreshadowing what was to come, the Liberal and National opposition parties submitted dissenting reports, and the Nationals rejected the proposal entirely. By siding with the No campaign, the opposition doomed the referendum. No referendum has ever been carried without bipartisan support.

For and against

Given the legal requirement to distribute an official pamphlet presenting the case for both sides, members of parliament who’d voted for and against the amendment bill drafted and approved a text containing their side’s arguments. This meant that disinformation was inserted into the process from the start: as an independent fact-checking initiative showed, several claims in the No pamphlet were false or misleading.

The Yes campaign focused its messaging on fairness, reconciliation and healing, seeking to sell the idea that Australia would be made better by the recognition of a space for Indigenous people to have a say in national politics.

Indigenous people overwhelmingly supported the proposal, although some opposed it – because they thought it didn’t go far enough, saw it as whitewash or hoped not to see relationships they’d painstakingly developed sidelined. The No campaign made a point of foregrounding contrarian Indigenous voices, disproportionately boosted by supportive media.

Different organisations in the No camp appealed to different groups. Advance, a conservative lobby group, went after young progressives with its ‘Not Enough’ campaign, suggesting that the Voice wasn’t what Indigenous Australians wanted and wouldn’t solve their problems. The Blak Sovereign Movement questioned the timing, arguing that a treaty should be negotiated first. Disinformation and racial abuse were rife.

Two much-repeated claims were that the Voice would divide Australians and enshrine privileges for Indigenous people. No campaigners peddled a zero-sum idea: that non-Indigenous people would lose if Indigenous people won. They falsely claimed that people would lose their farms or that Indigenous people would charge them to access beaches.

Another fear-stoking argument was that the Voice was only the beginning – after they secured this, Indigenous people would go for more, until they took everything from the rest. It could, for example, open up a conversation about land rights. That may have been a genuine fear for Australia’s powerful extractive industries, explaining why the right-wing think tanks that have consistently opposed climate action also lobbied against the Voice.

Having sowed disinformation and confusion, the No campaign told voters that, if in doubt, they should play it safe and vote no. It worked.

What next?

The result could bring even greater backlash. Emboldened, some opposition politicians have since withdrawn their previously stated support for a treaty and suggested rolling back practices they now present as inadmissible concessions to identity politics. This could be a harbinger for the opposition pinning its comeback hopes on a culture war strategy.

But while the referendum defeat has dealt a hard blow to hopes of challenging the exclusion of Indigenous Australians, it isn’t quite game over. A specific proposal has been defeated, but there’s plenty left to advocate for. Progress on the wider reconciliation agenda, including other forms of recognition and redress, could still be possible, particularly at state and local levels. The Uluru Statement from the Heart remains the compass, and civil society will keep urging politicians and the public to follow its path.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Senior Research Specialist, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.


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A Step Forward for Indigenous Peoples Rights — Global Issues

  • Opinion by Ines M Pousadela (montevideo, uruguay)
  • Inter Press Service

The case was brought in relation to a land dispute in the state of Santa Catarina, but the ruling applies to hundreds of similar situations throughout Brazil.

This was also good news for the climate. Brazil is home to 60 per cent of the Amazon rainforest, a key climate stabiliser due to the enormous amount of carbon it stores and the water it releases into the atmosphere. Most of Brazil’s roughly 800 Indigenous territories – over 300 of which are yet to be officially demarcated – are in the Amazon. And there are no better guardians of the rainforest than Indigenous peoples: when they fend off deforestation, they protect their livelihoods and ways of life. The best-preserved areas of the Amazon are those legally recognised and protected as Indigenous lands.

But there’s been a sting in the tale: politicians backed by the powerful agribusiness lobby have passed legislation to enshrine the Temporal Framework, blatantly ignoring the court ruling.

A tug of war

The Supreme Court victory came after a long struggle. Hundreds of Indigenous mobilisations over several years called for the rejection of the Temporal Framework.

Powerful agribusiness interests presented the Temporal Framework as the proper way of regulating article 231 of the constitution in a way that provides the legal security rural producers need to continue to operate. Indigenous rights groups denounced it as a clear attempt to make theft of Indigenous lands legal. Regional and international human rights mechanisms sided with them: the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights and the United Nations (UN) Special Rapporteur on the rights of Indigenous Peoples warned that the framework contradicted universal and Inter-American human rights standards.

In their 21 September decision, nine of the Supreme Court’s 11 members ruled the Temporal Framework to be unconstitutional. With a track record of agribusiness-friendly rulings, the two judges who backed it had been appointed by former far-right president Jair Bolsonaro, and one of them had also been Bolsonaro’s justice minister.

As the Supreme Court held its hearings and deliberations, political change took hold. Bolsonaro had vowed ‘not to cede one centimetre more of land’ to Indigenous peoples, and the process of land demarcation had remained stalled for years. But in April 2023, President Lula da Silva, in power since January, signed decrees recognising six new Indigenous territories and promised to approve all pending cases before the end of his term in 2026, a promise consistent with the commitment to achieve zero deforestation by 2030. The recognition of two additional reserves in September came alongside news that deforestation in the Brazilian Amazon had fallen by 66 per cent in August compared to the same month in 2022.

Agribusiness fights back

But the agribusiness lobby didn’t simply accept its fate. The powerful ruralist congressional caucus introduced a bill to enshrine the Temporal Framework principle into law, which the Chamber of Deputies quickly passed on 30 May. The vote was accompanied by protests, with Indigenous groups blocking a major highway. They faced the police with their ceremonial bows and arrows and were dispersed with water cannon and teargas.

The Temporal Framework bill continued its course through Congress even after the Supreme Court’s decision. On 27 September, with 43 votes for and 21 against, the Senate approved it as a matter of ‘urgency’, rejecting the substance of the Supreme Court ruling and claiming that in issuing it the court had ‘usurped’ legislative powers.

The Articulation of Indigenous Peoples of Brazil’s (APIB) assessment was that, as well as upholding the Temporal Framework, the bill sought to open the door to commodity production and infrastructure construction in Indigenous lands, among other serious violations of Indigenous rights. For these reasons, Indigenous groups called this the ‘Indigenous Genocide Bill’.

The struggle goes on

As the 20 October deadline for President Lula to either sign or veto the bill approached, a campaign led by Indigenous congresswoman Célia Xakriabá collected almost a million signatures backing her call for a total veto. Along with other civil society groups, APIB sent an urgent appeal to the UN requesting support to urge Lula to veto the bill.

On 19 October the Federal Public Prosecutor’s Office said Lula should veto the bill on the basis that it’s unconstitutional. On the same day, however, senior government sources informed that there wouldn’t be a total veto, but a ‘very large’ partial one. And indeed, the next day it was announced that Lula had partially vetoed the bill. According to a government spokesperson, all the clauses that constituted attacks on Indigenous rights and went against the Constitution were vetoed, while the ones that remained would serve to improve the land demarcation process, making it more transparent.

Even if the part of the bill that wasn’t vetoed doesn’t undermine the Supreme Court ruling, the issue is far from settled. The veto now needs to be analysed at a congressional session on a date yet to be determined. And the agribusiness lobby won’t back down easily. Many politicians own land overlapping Indigenous territories, and many more received campaigns funding from farmers who occupy Indigenous lands.

While further moves by the right-leaning Congress can’t be ruled out, the Supreme Court ruling also has some problems. The most blatant concerns the acknowledgment that there must be ‘fair compensation’ for non-Indigenous people occupying Indigenous lands they acquired ‘in good faith’ before the state considered them to be Indigenous territory. Indigenous groups contend that, while there might be a very small number of such cases, in a context of increasing violence against Indigenous communities, the compensation proposal would reward and further incentivise illegal invasions.

But beneath the surface of political squabbles, deeper changes are taking place that point to a movement that is growing stronger and better equipped to defend Indigenous peoples’ rights.

The 2022 census showed a 90-per-cent increase, from 896,917 to 1.69 million, in the number of Brazilians identifying as Indigenous compared to the census 12 years before. There was no demographic boom behind these numbers – just longstanding work by the Indigenous movement to increase visibility and respect for Indigenous identities. People who’d long ignored and denied their heritage to protect themselves from racism are now reclaiming their Indigenous identities. Not even the violent anti-Indigenous stance of the Bolsonaro administration could reverse this.

Today the Brazilian Indigenous movement is stronger than ever. President Lula owes his election to positioning himself as an alternative to his anti-rights, climate-denying predecessor. He now has the opportunity to reaffirm his commitment to respecting Indigenous peoples’ rights while tackling the climate crisis.

Inés M. Pousadela is CIVICUS Senior Research Specialist, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.


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Political Volatility under Cost-of-Living Crisis — Global Issues

Credit: Fiona Goodall/Getty Images
  • Opinion by Andrew Firmin (london)
  • Inter Press Service

Jacindamania fades

Former Labour leader Jacinda Ardern captured the public imagination when she took the helm of her party in August 2017. Labour had been floundering but went on to gain seats at the election the following month, unexpectedly forming a coalition government.

Aged 37, Ardern was her country’s youngest-ever prime minister by some margin, and the world’s youngest female government leader. Many saw her as a breath of fresh air, offering an approachable and empathetic brand of politics. Ardern enjoyed an international profile unprecedented for a New Zealand prime minister.

The 2020 election saw Ardern and her party rewarded for what was widely seen as an effective pandemic response, credited with saving around 20,000 lives. The opportunity seemed on to pursue an ambitious agenda. The government could point to progress in decriminalising abortion, tightening gun control laws and introducing stronger workplace rights. But many saw the government as having an overcrowded legislative agenda, failing to make headway on headline policies such as child poverty, while voters increasingly became preoccupied with high inflation.

Ardern announced her resignation in January 2023. Her popularity and that of her party had declined amid the soaring cost of living, which some blamed on long pandemic lockdowns.

Ardern had been the target of a bombardment of online abuse, much of it vilely misogynist in nature. Last year New Zealand police reported that threats against Ardern had almost tripled over two years, as anti-vaccine disinformation and conspiracy theories accumulated extremist adherents. In 2022, anti-vaccine protesters camped for weeks outside parliament. The protests, which ended in violence, were a magnet for far-right extremists. Levels of vitriol previously unseen in New Zealand were again present during the election campaign, in which women and M?ori candidates in particular were subjected to intimidation and instances of violence.

Ardern’s replacement as prime minister, Chris Hipkins, promised to focus on bread-and-butter issues. He cut many progressive policies and pitched squarely for the centre. But his strategy failed. Labour was the only major party to shed votes. It lost support to the centre-right National Party – New Zealand’s other party of government – along with the right-wing Act and the nationalist and populist NZ First. But it also shed more progressive voters, with the Green party and Te P?ti M?ori, which advocates for Indigenous rights, picking up support.

Fractious coalition ahead

Quite what government will form isn’t yet clear. Results are provisional and won’t be finalised until 3 November, with over half a million ‘special votes’ still to be counted – many from New Zealanders living overseas. Due to the death of a candidate a by-election will also be held.

The National party has 50 seats in the 121-seat single-chamber parliament; the workings of the electoral system mean parliament will expand to 122 seats once all votes are counted. This total means it’s clear the National party will head a coalition government, with Christopher Luxon as prime minister. But a National-Act alliance might not be enough to command a majority. NZ First may need to be part of the coalition too.

NZ First is the creation of maverick opportunist Winston Peters. Over the course of a long career, Peters has pulled off the trick of positioning as anti-establishment while working with both main parties in coalition governments, including Ardern’s first administration, and serving as deputy prime minister twice. This time he was able to capitalise on anti-government sentiment developed under the pandemic, including by opposing vaccine mandates.

Among his campaign targets were M?ori rights, with Peters – himself M?ori – pledging to withdraw support for the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Another focus was trans rights, tapping into the same currents of manufactured outrage seen in Europe and North America, with a law proposed to restrict access to toilets for transgender people.

The numbers may mean that the National party finds it easier to govern with Peters than without, even though the three parties disagree on key policies, including on the economy and housing. It could be a rocky road ahead.

Advances reversed?

For New Zealand’s civil society, the question could now become how best to defend gains made and keep on the agenda vital issues such as climate change. The climate crisis was barely mentioned during the campaign even though the country is experiencing extreme weather along with the rest of Oceania. Hipkins scrapped a series of transport reforms intended to cut greenhouse gas emissions. Act, certain to be part of government, wants to get rid of New Zealand’s Climate Change Commission and Zero Carbon Act, which mandates an emissions reduction plan and cap.

The last government’s experiments in ‘co-governance’ – essentially collaborative management, mostly of environmental resources, between government and M?ori representatives, based in New Zealand’s foundational Treaty of Waitangi – seem sure to end. All parties likely to be involved in the new government attacked these moves with a flurry of hyperbolic claims. Act and NZ First characterise efforts to challenge the exclusion of M?ori people as privileging them over other population groups. The danger is that those strongly opposed to M?ori rights will feel emboldened, signalling increasing division and polarisation ahead.

New Zealand offers a lesson on the political consequences of the impacts of the pandemic and the cost-of-living crisis intensified by Russia’s war on Ukraine. In just three years, overwhelming political support evaporated. Progress may be temporary and subject to rapid reversal. Civil society must be able to switch strategies just as quickly, from advocating for more to defending gains already made.

Andrew Firmin is CIVICUS Editor-in-Chief, co-director and writer for CIVICUS Lens and co-author of the State of Civil Society Report.

© Inter Press Service (2023) — All Rights ReservedOriginal source: Inter Press Service

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In Brazil, Indigenous Leaders and Youth Activists Fight To Protect Amazon — Global Issues

Indigenous leader and activist Vanda Witoto poses at her home in Manaus, Brazil, in October 2022. Credit: Michael Dantas/United Nations Foundation
  • by Farai Shawn Matiashe (brasÍlia)
  • Inter Press Service

The 22-year-old, whose name has been changed to protect his identity, is seeking refuge in Manaus, a gateway city to the Amazon tropical rainforest.

“They killed two of my friends. I had to run away,” he says while speaking in Portuguese through a translator.

The powerful companies are linked to former President Jair Bolsonaro. He was succeeded by 67-year-old Lula da Silva, a Latin American leftist and a veteran in Brazil’s politics who won in the October 2022 elections.

Nava’s tribe is resisting the invasions from these companies who are cutting down trees for timber and clearing land for agriculture.

“Our territory is wanted by these people. Cattle ranchers have already taken thousands of hectares. My people are receiving threats,” he says. “I am here on the frontline. Fighting to protect our land and that of Brazil, I do not even know if I will go back home or not. I fear for my life.”

Over the years, the lives of indigenous community activists and leaders have been at stake throughout the Amazon.

In 2020 alone, more than 260 human rights defenders were murdered in Latin America, 202 of which occurred in countries of the Amazon Basin, Colombia, Brazil, Peru, and Bolivia, representing 77 percent of the cases, according to a report by the Coordinator of Indigenous Organizations of the Amazon Basin (Coica).

About 69 percent of these murders in 2020 were against leaders working to defend territory, the environment, and the rights of indigenous peoples.

Brazil holds 60 percent of the Amazon, the biggest tropical rainforest in the world, with the other portion shared by nine South American nations, including Peru and Colombia.

Brazil and Bolivia have about 90 percent of deforestation and degradation in the Amazon, shows data from research titled Amazonia Against the Clock, which covers nine countries sharing the tropical rainforest released in September last year by scientists from the Amazonian Network of Georeferenced Socio-environmental Information (RAISG) in collaboration with Coica.

Indigenous organisations from the Amazonas are calling for a global pact for the permanent protection of 80 percent of the Amazon forest by 2025.

In the Amazon, land grabbers have been invading the land of indigenous communities to pave the way for mining and agriculture.

Agriculture is responsible for 84 percent of deforestation in the Amazon forest, and the amount of land given over to farming has tripled since 1985, according to the report.

The Amazon forest plays a significant role in absorbing carbon dioxide from the atmosphere, thus reducing the effects of climate change caused by gas emissions worldwide.

There are over 390 billion trees in the Amazon, helping it to retain some 123 billion tons of carbon dioxide.

But over the years, increasing deforestation and land degradation have been reducing the ability of the Amazon forest to absorb carbon dioxide and instead contributing to global warming through both human-caused and natural fires.

The tropical rainforest has also been experiencing droughts and floods, signs human activities are causing climate change.

During his campaign days, Lula promised to combat deforestation in the Amazon forest, which had worsened under Bolsonaro, who was President since 2019.

Bolsonaro backed farm and ranching expansion in the region due to his links to some of Brazil’s powerful agricultural industry leaders.

Another activist based in Manaus, whose life is in danger from powerful people, says deforestation in the Amazon worsened under Bolsonaro.

“His policies are of less protection. He also reduced the number of protected areas in the Amazon. He made laws that should protect the forest weaker,” he says in an interview in Manaus in October 2022 during Brazil’s elections.

He says during Bolsonaro’s era, there was an increase in the loss of vegetation due to deforestation, reduced biodiversity and a rise in cases of invasions of indigenous communities in the Amazon.

The activist says agro-businesses and those in the extractive industries use pesticides and chemicals that pollute and contaminate water bodies in the Amazon forest, putting many people and animals in danger.

Vanda Witoto, a Brazilian indigenous leader, says multinational companies and agro-businesses were funding illegal operations such as logging in the Amazon during the Bolsonaro era.

“I visited some communities in the Amazon. There was illegal gold mining. Sadly, there is less reporting because the locals are being threatened. Big companies are investing a lot in illegal mining and deforestation in the southern part of the Amazon,” Witoto says, toning down her voice and holding back her tears during an interview at her home in the neighbourhood of Parque das Tribos just outside of Manaus in October last year.

“I saw this with my own eyes. Some indigenous people work for these companies, pushed by poverty and unemployment. We are against this. We have always been fighting to stop it.”

Adriano Karipuna, an indigenous leader, during an interview in October last year, said law enforcement agents in the Bolsonaro government were ineffective in arresting people committing crimes against his people.

“Our people have been struggling with deforestation. We have been reporting for the past years. But it worsened under Bolsonaro,” says Karipuna, who represents the Karipuna people, an indigenous group who have inhabited the Amazon rainforest for centuries.

“We have been receiving threats. Bolsonaro’s government has been taking our land and donating it to the invaders. Environmental criminals are going unpunished.”

Lula has just hit the ground running with his appointment of a veteran environmentalist, Marina Silva, as the Environment and Climate Change minister.

The 64-year-old Silva’s task is to rebuild Brazil’s environmental protection agencies and stanch the destruction of the Amazon rainforest.

Under Lula’s Presidency, Joenia Wapichana, the first-ever Indigenous woman elected to Brazil’s Congress, has been appointed leader of the country’s Indigenous affairs agency, the National Foundation of Indigenous Peoples, popularly known as Funai.

This is a huge achievement for the Brazilian indigenous communities whose role was suppressed under Bolsonaro.

Bolsonaro had to cut some of Funai’s budget, authority and number of staff, a move that crippled the agency when he assumed Presidency in 2019.

Witoto says she is hopeful that the predicament of indigenous people will change under Lula’s regime.

“We have to elect a person who respects the rights of indigenous people,” she says, speaking to IPS before Lula’s successful election. She added her people lived in fear from the violence perpetrated by Bolsonaro supporters for merely wearing Lula regalia during the election period in October.

A recent joint analysis by researchers at the University of Oxford, the International Institute for Applied System Analysis (IIASA) and the National Institute for Space Research (INPE) shows deforestation could fall by 89 percent by 2030 under Lula if he reinstates the policies introduced during his first term in office, saving 28,957 square miles of the Amazon rainforest.

Note: Reporting for this story was supported by the United Nations Foundation.

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© Inter Press Service (2023) — All Rights ReservedOriginal source: Inter Press Service



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Mexico Turns to Military Entrepreneurs — Global Issues

Sara López (C) and other members of the Regional Indigenous and Popular Council of Xpujil are seen here in a photo from 2020, while campaigning against the environmental problems posed by the Mayan Train, which will run through part of southern and southeastern Mexico. The Secretariat (ministry) of National Defense has been put in charge since September of the construction and administration of the Mexican government’s flagship project. CREDIT: Cripx
  • by Emilio Godoy (mexico cityhttps://ipsnoticias.net/2023/09/mexico-gira-hacia-los-militares-empresarios/)
  • Inter Press Service

“These are things that cause damage. In the communities, both the National Guard (a civilian security force, but made up mostly of military personnel) and the army are present. People tell us they have lost the peace they used to have. There are communities that have been invaded, there has been a very strong impact,” the member of the non-governmental Regional Indigenous and Popular Council of Xpujil told IPS.

“The entire Yucatan peninsula is militarized,” she said from Candelaria, in the southeastern state of Campeche. Agriculture and livestock are the main activities in the municipality of some 47,000 inhabitants, which will be the site of a TM station.

The megaproject consists of seven sections along some 1,500 kilometers and will also cross the states of Quintana Roo and Yucatan, which share the peninsula with Campeche together with the states of Chiapas and Tabasco.

The railway will run through 41 municipalities and 181 towns, with 20 stations and 14 stops.

President Andrés Manuel López Obrador, who begins his sixth and final year in office on Dec. 1, has transferred the administration of ports, airports and rail transport to the Secretariat (ministry) of National Defense (Sedena).

This is despite the fact that there are no records of their performance in the management of these key areas in the recent history of the country, in which their experience has been limited to the production and sale of supplies.

Aleida Azamar, a researcher at the public Autonomous Metropolitan University, argued that uniformed personnel are not prepared for these tasks.

“The military are not trained for many functions. The government is concerned about economic growth and development, and to preserve that model it has put the military in charge. They think it will be achieved through infrastructure and extractive projects,” Azamar, who is coordinating a new book on the military and natural resources in Mexico, told IPS.

“In their view, the fastest way to finish them is with the army, because it is more difficult for the public to put up opposition when they see someone with a gun. It is not the most adequate solution.”

López Obrador announced on Sept. 4 the transfer of control of the Mayan Train from the state-owned National Tourism Development Fund (Fonatur) to Sedena, in an intensification of the trend of ceding more civilian responsibilities to the military, by handing over his flagship megaproject.

The president’s argument for this strategy is that he aims to reduce corruption in public works. But actually it may be due to other reasons, such as the culture of discipline in following orders so that the works advance as quickly as possible and thus meet the deadlines set.

Sedena will be responsible for the completion of sections five, six and seven of the railroad, whose works were started by Fonatur in July 2020 and which López Obrador promised would begin to operate by Dec. 1. Other sections are being built by private companies.

The resistance to deploying the military into the TM and other civilian areas is also due to its actions since 2006, when then President Felipe Calderón launched the so-called “war against drugs” using the military, which led to extrajudicial executions, disappearances, human rights violations and impunity, according to local and international organizations.

In fact, so far this century the Inter-American Court of Human Rights, the highest regional court attached to the Organization of American States, has condemned Mexico on at least five occasions for military crimes such as forced disappearance, sexual violence and arbitrary detention.

The government promotes the TM as a major new engine of socioeconomic development in the southeast of the country and its trains will transport thousands of tourists, and cargo such as transgenic soybeans, palm oil and pork, the main products in the area.

The administration claims that it will create jobs, boost tourism beyond traditional attractions, and invigorate the regional economy, which has sparked highly polarized controversies between its supporters and critics.

From the barracks to business

Historically, the armed forces had been limited to producing supplies and building government facilities, such as hospitals and other infrastructure.

Sedena’s General Directorate of Military Industry operates at least 16 ammunition and armament factories.

However, thanks to the policies of the current government, Sedena has created the corporations Tren Maya, Aerolínea del Estado Mexicano, Grupo Aeroportuario, Ferroviario, de Servicios Auxiliares y Conexos Olmeca-Maya-Mexica (Gomm) and the Felipe Ángeles International Airport, located in the state of Mexico, adjacent to the Mexican capital.

Gomm is also involved in the operation of 12 airports, and will receive more in the future.

In addition, it will operate the revived Compañía Mexicana de Aviación, the country’s oldest airline and one of the first in the region, privatized in 2005 and closed since 2010. Under the new name Aerolínea del Estado Mexicano, the government resuscitated it in January, buying the brand. The armed forces will also manage hotels along the TM route.

At the same time, the Secretariat of the Navy (Semar) manages five shipyards in various areas of the country.

To run seven airports, including Mexico City’s, out of the 19 facilities under state control, Semar created the company Casiopea.

Mexico has 118 ports and terminals, of which 71 have been given in concession in 25 administrations of the National Port System. Since 2017, Semar has been administering the ports.

This scheme requires a lot of money, provided by the public budget. The clearest case is the TM, whose cost rose threefold, from the initial projected investment of 7.2 billion dollars to the current estimate of over 28 billion dollars.

For 2024, Sedena has already requested 6.7 billion dollars for the railroad, the second highest figure for the TM since 2020, when allocated funds totaled 349 million dollars.

Military requirements for all civilian sectors under their administration have grown, as Sedena requested 14.55 billion dollars, compared to 6.27 billion in 2023, and Semar asked for 4.02 billion, compared to 2.34 billion this year – in both cases more than double.

Behind this is the fact that state-owned companies under military management are not yet profitable, so they require subsidies. The non-governmental organization México ¿Cómo Vamos? calculates that it will take 17 years to recoup the investment in the TM and 22 years in the case of the Tulum International Airport, under construction in the state of Quintana Roo.

Potential threats

As in the case of military involvement in security and public safety, military business management poses risks of information concealment, corruption and economic losses.

The armed forces are the institutions that most violate human rights, including cases of murder, torture and sexual violence. Between 2007 and 2020, some 70,000 people suffered physical aggression after being apprehended by the army, according to the Citizen Security Program (PSC) of the private Ibero-American University.

The number of military personnel involved in public security already exceeds the total number of municipal and state police, in a proportion of 261,644 to 251,760, according to data reported by the PSC.

López the activist and Azamar the academic warned of the risks of military management.

“Only the government knows how much they have spent, how much is going to be spent,” said López. “There is no real report on what they are doing. Since the megaproject began, there has been no real information. They have never talked to us about environmental, cultural or economic impacts. It has caused us problems, it has been chaos for us. And once it is operating, the situation is going to get worse because of tourism.”

Azamar warned of increasing reliance on the military, the potential erosion of civil rights, a distorted perception of the approach to security and public safety and the undermining of trust in civilian institutions.

“There is a problem of lack of transparency and accountability: what is spent and how. It is risky, because there is no real, disaggregated data. This creates an environment of impunity that allows secrecy to continue and does not make it possible for other information to be made public. If there are no effective oversight mechanisms, abuses could be committed. We are in a gray area, because we do not know who controls them,” she argued.

In November 2021, López Obrador classified the TM as a “priority project” by means of a presidential decree, a strategy that facilitates the fast-tracking of environmental permits and thus hides information under the broad umbrella of national security.

This despite the fact that a month later, the Supreme Court reversed the national security agreements to annul the reservation of information, due to an appeal by the autonomous governmental National Institute of Transparency, Access to Information and Protection of Personal Data.

Mexico’s problems will not end in the short term, as pro-military policies will condition the next administration that will take office in December 2024, regardless of where it stands on the political spectrum, although the polls point to presidential hopeful Claudia Sheinbaum of the National Regeneration Movement (Morena), López Obrador’s party, as the favorite.

© Inter Press Service (2023) — All Rights ReservedOriginal source: Inter Press Service

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