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Epidemic fears as 80% of Indigenous Amazon tribe fall ill

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Tuesday, April 9, 2024

More than 100 Indigenous people in Brazil’s Javari valley have been diagnosed with flu-like symptoms, raising fears that the situation could escalate into an epidemic.The valley, where Indigenous advocate Bruno Pereira and journalist Dom Phillips were killed in 2022, is home to the largest population of Indigenous people in voluntary isolation and of recent contact worldwide. The Korubo people were first contacted by government officials in 1996, and they continue to live with little interaction with other Indigenous groups and local authorities.“The vulnerability of this community is extremely high; any infection can quickly escalate into an epidemic,” said Manoel Chorimpa, a local leader and adviser at OPI, an organisation dedicated to protecting Indigenous groups in voluntary isolation and those recently exposed to urbanisation.Healthcare workers operating in the territory say that of the 101 individuals from the Korubo community diagnosed with symptoms, 22 cases had progressed to pneumonia, of whom 15 were under nine years old.The community is made up of just 121 people, meaning the vast majority have been infected. In 2022, the Covid-19 pandemic also affected most of its people.To address the difficulty of providing healthcare to these communities, Pereira had proposed a health boat, which became a reality one year after his death. Currently managed by the health ministry, the unit was intended to cross the Ituí river, providing healthcare to remote Korubo villages. However, it has been parked along the banks of the Ituí River, requiring patients to travel there instead.“This has already subverted the boat’s purpose,” said Luisa Suriani, another OPI adviser. “When someone is sick and heads over, the whole family tags along, setting up camp on the riverbank, which makes it easier for diseases to spread.”One or two doctors serve in a team of usually seven, which includes a nurse, cook, and boat driver – but there is a high turnover of staff. “When we spoke to health agents, no one wanted to stay due to its bad working conditions,” Suriani said.According to the OPI advisers and a health worker who requested anonymity due to their position, the raft is too small for the team, who also contend with unbearable heat, leaks from the ceiling during rain, and loud noise from the light oil-fuelled generator. They have also faced shortages of medical supplies.Mobile videos recorded by a local professional in March showed patients seeking shelter from heavy rain under plastic tents near the health boat.“There is no decent shelter for them,” the health worker said. “There was a triage of critically ill patients who needed to stay in the camp. Many couldn’t be adequately cared for due to limited resources and poor conditions.”In addition to dealing with flu outbreaks, the Javari people have grappled with high rates of malaria and diarrhoea, worsened by the fact that less than a fifth of villages have access to sanitation. Between 2018 and 2022, 134 people died, 34% of whom were under a year old, the health ministry said.The ministry told the Guardian no deaths had yet been reported in the recent outbreak, and several patients had already been discharged to their villages.Invasions by illegal miners, loggers, fishers, hunters and drug gangs have had severe effects on the health and quality of life of Indigenous people living in the Amazon. The situation worsened under the administration of Brazil’s former president Jair Bolsonaro, who halted enforcement and slashed environmental budgets, leading to surges in deforestation and illegal activity in the region.Hopes for a more active stance towards the protection of the Amazon and its native peoples were reignited when the new president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, took power in January 2023. His administration has established the first ministry of Indigenous peoples.However, the reality has been different. “It feels like nothing has really changed in the Javari valley since the death of Bruno and Dom, despite the global attention it received,” said Indigenous advocate Eliésio Marubo.He said that aside from sporadic government enforcement operations to dismantle illegal activities, people in the region had received minimal assistance.Marubo himself lives in fear of criminal groups acting in the area and always uses a bulletproof vest and an armoured car. “I don’t want to believe this is normal,” he told Brazilian congresspeople last year.A taskforce comprising government officials and environmental leaders is preparing a protection plan for the Javari valley. The preliminary document, obtained by the Guardian, underscores persistent illegal mining and deforestation within and around the protected area.Deforestation inside the Javari valley surged by more than 30% to 99 hectares in 2023 compared with the previous year, according to Mapbiomas, a platform monitoring land changes in Brazil.Even with the pressures of agricultural expansion and urbanisation, Indigenous lands persist as green islands in the Amazon, with less than 3% of the biome’s deforestation occurring within these protected areas.The most pressing concern in the Javari valley arises from the “significant invasion” of fishers and hunters into areas inhabited by isolated Indigenous communities, the document says. These groups have been linked to the killing of Pereira and Phillips, and five individuals accused of the crime are in prison.Several Brazilian news reports have highlighted the continued presence of invaders in the region, as Indigenous people have to navigate the same river routes as criminal groups in order to access limited medical care.

Advocates fear situation could escalate in Javari valley, a region plagued by violence and poor healthcareMore than 100 Indigenous people in Brazil’s Javari valley have been diagnosed with flu-like symptoms, raising fears that the situation could escalate into an epidemic.The valley, where Indigenous advocate Bruno Pereira and journalist Dom Phillips were killed in 2022, is home to the largest population of Indigenous people in voluntary isolation and of recent contact worldwide. The Korubo people were first contacted by government officials in 1996, and they continue to live with little interaction with other Indigenous groups and local authorities. Continue reading...

More than 100 Indigenous people in Brazil’s Javari valley have been diagnosed with flu-like symptoms, raising fears that the situation could escalate into an epidemic.

The valley, where Indigenous advocate Bruno Pereira and journalist Dom Phillips were killed in 2022, is home to the largest population of Indigenous people in voluntary isolation and of recent contact worldwide. The Korubo people were first contacted by government officials in 1996, and they continue to live with little interaction with other Indigenous groups and local authorities.

“The vulnerability of this community is extremely high; any infection can quickly escalate into an epidemic,” said Manoel Chorimpa, a local leader and adviser at OPI, an organisation dedicated to protecting Indigenous groups in voluntary isolation and those recently exposed to urbanisation.

Healthcare workers operating in the territory say that of the 101 individuals from the Korubo community diagnosed with symptoms, 22 cases had progressed to pneumonia, of whom 15 were under nine years old.

The community is made up of just 121 people, meaning the vast majority have been infected. In 2022, the Covid-19 pandemic also affected most of its people.

To address the difficulty of providing healthcare to these communities, Pereira had proposed a health boat, which became a reality one year after his death. Currently managed by the health ministry, the unit was intended to cross the Ituí river, providing healthcare to remote Korubo villages. However, it has been parked along the banks of the Ituí River, requiring patients to travel there instead.

“This has already subverted the boat’s purpose,” said Luisa Suriani, another OPI adviser. “When someone is sick and heads over, the whole family tags along, setting up camp on the riverbank, which makes it easier for diseases to spread.”

One or two doctors serve in a team of usually seven, which includes a nurse, cook, and boat driver – but there is a high turnover of staff. “When we spoke to health agents, no one wanted to stay due to its bad working conditions,” Suriani said.

According to the OPI advisers and a health worker who requested anonymity due to their position, the raft is too small for the team, who also contend with unbearable heat, leaks from the ceiling during rain, and loud noise from the light oil-fuelled generator. They have also faced shortages of medical supplies.

Mobile videos recorded by a local professional in March showed patients seeking shelter from heavy rain under plastic tents near the health boat.

“There is no decent shelter for them,” the health worker said. “There was a triage of critically ill patients who needed to stay in the camp. Many couldn’t be adequately cared for due to limited resources and poor conditions.”

In addition to dealing with flu outbreaks, the Javari people have grappled with high rates of malaria and diarrhoea, worsened by the fact that less than a fifth of villages have access to sanitation. Between 2018 and 2022, 134 people died, 34% of whom were under a year old, the health ministry said.

The ministry told the Guardian no deaths had yet been reported in the recent outbreak, and several patients had already been discharged to their villages.

Invasions by illegal miners, loggers, fishers, hunters and drug gangs have had severe effects on the health and quality of life of Indigenous people living in the Amazon. The situation worsened under the administration of Brazil’s former president Jair Bolsonaro, who halted enforcement and slashed environmental budgets, leading to surges in deforestation and illegal activity in the region.

Hopes for a more active stance towards the protection of the Amazon and its native peoples were reignited when the new president, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, took power in January 2023. His administration has established the first ministry of Indigenous peoples.

However, the reality has been different. “It feels like nothing has really changed in the Javari valley since the death of Bruno and Dom, despite the global attention it received,” said Indigenous advocate Eliésio Marubo.

He said that aside from sporadic government enforcement operations to dismantle illegal activities, people in the region had received minimal assistance.

Marubo himself lives in fear of criminal groups acting in the area and always uses a bulletproof vest and an armoured car. “I don’t want to believe this is normal,” he told Brazilian congresspeople last year.

A taskforce comprising government officials and environmental leaders is preparing a protection plan for the Javari valley. The preliminary document, obtained by the Guardian, underscores persistent illegal mining and deforestation within and around the protected area.

Deforestation inside the Javari valley surged by more than 30% to 99 hectares in 2023 compared with the previous year, according to Mapbiomas, a platform monitoring land changes in Brazil.

Even with the pressures of agricultural expansion and urbanisation, Indigenous lands persist as green islands in the Amazon, with less than 3% of the biome’s deforestation occurring within these protected areas.

The most pressing concern in the Javari valley arises from the “significant invasion” of fishers and hunters into areas inhabited by isolated Indigenous communities, the document says. These groups have been linked to the killing of Pereira and Phillips, and five individuals accused of the crime are in prison.

Several Brazilian news reports have highlighted the continued presence of invaders in the region, as Indigenous people have to navigate the same river routes as criminal groups in order to access limited medical care.

Read the full story here.
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California extends cap-and-trade, as Indigenous nations grapple with the trade-offs

The Yurok Tribe has earned tens of millions from offsets, but critics say carbon markets perpetuate colonialism and allow companies to pay to pollute.

In 2013, California launched its cap-and-trade program, a carbon credit market that allows companies and governments to engage with offset projects that incentivize investments in planting trees, preserving forests, or even supporting solar farms. The idea is to reduce or offset greenhouse gas emissions by purchasing credits for nature-based projects.  Initially, the Yurok Tribe expressed interest in joining the program. The market would provide additional revenue and would enable the Yurok to play an additional role in addressing climate change. But Frankie Myers, an environmental consultant for the tribe and former vice chairman, had doubts. “This idea of you can pay-to-pollute was something that I was very, very concerned about,” he said. “I was very concerned with how that lined up with our cultural values as a tribe.” The Yurok Tribe’s carbon offset project in Northern California includes 7,600 acres of a tribally-managed forest: mature evergreen, fir, and redwood trees, ideal for carbon sequestration. When the tribe joined the state’s program in 2014, private consultants and brokers oversaw the project due to the nation’s limited funds, removing the tribe’s ability to manage the forest in a way that aligned with Yurok values. Four years later, revenue began to climb and the nation took over management. It was then that Myers began to see the benefits of a tribal-led carbon offset project. Since the Yurok Tribe joined the cap-and-trade program, at least 13 Indigenous nations in the U.S. have launched their own offset projects on California’s marketplace. Originally, the program was slated to end this year. However, last week, California Governor Gavin Newsom extended the state’s cap-and-trade program until 2045. The “action comes as the Trump administration continues its efforts to gut decades-old, bipartisan American clean air protections and derail critical climate progress,” Newsom’s office said. The tribal economy for the Yurok Nation before their project relied on discretionary funds from the federal government and gaming revenue, but Myers said that the tribe has now received tens of millions of dollars in carbon credit sales, boosting their economy and funding environmental projects like and Klamath recovery work in the wake of dam removal. Read Next How the Klamath Dams Came Down Anita Hofschneider & Jake Bittle But critics of carbon markets remain staunchly opposed to the programs, alleging that the scheme perpetuates colonialism, incentivizes the theft of Indigenous resources, and allows companies to essentially pay to keep polluting without having to change their activities. Even today, Myers agrees. “I do think the concerns they bring up with carbon offsets are absolutely valid 100 percent,” he said. “I think we do fully grasp the concerns that organizations have with carbon offsets and having seen the market from the inside, they have valid concerns.” According to a 2023 report on carbon markets by Landesa, a nonprofit focused on land rights around the world, offset projects can have negative impacts on Indigenous communities including displacement and land dispossession. In Brazil, tribes near the Amazon have experienced “green land grabs” driven by carbon offset projects. In Kenya, a soil-storing project with investments from Meta and Netflix has reportedly uprooted the traditional pastoralist culture of Indigenous Kenyans, including Maasai, Samburu, Borana, and Rendille, near the site. Reports like this have led Landesa to provide recommendations on proposed legislation in Kenya such as the Natural Resources Bill, which clarifies the rights local communities have over land resources. However, Juan Robalino, one of the report’s authors, said that carbon markets, if done right, are beneficial for communities committed to environmental stewardship. “The influence of Indigenous people and local communities in this space of carbon markets has been action from governments, per se, to set up regulatory frameworks regarding carbon rights as well as carbon trading,” he said.  Alongside the efforts to ensure credits possess environmental integrity, that is if projects actually promote carbon offsets, Robalino notes that social integrity, or how these projects impact communities, is a recent demand by market participants and “related to respecting the rights, of the community [and] thinking more about moving from principles to actually actionable actions, setting up processes, systems, mechanisms that actually take these principles and put them on the ground.” Both Robalino and Myers think regulation is the best way to minimize harm towards Indigenous groups on both the sellers and buyers end. Myers wants higher carbon pricing as a way to enact better controls on what type of project is sold on the market and for companies to reflect a deeper commitment to mitigating climate change than satisfying its net zero pledges. According to Robalino, there is no mechanism to regulate carbon markets at the international level. The upcoming COP30 may address this, but advocates such as the Indigenous Environmental Network, have called for a moratorium on carbon markets repeatedly, representing an ongoing and growing resistance to how these programs impact Indigenous communities.  However, in Canada’s British Columbia, First Nations including the Council of the Haida Nation manage forest carbon projects from an Indigenous-led conservation framework while in Australia, the government’s Carbon Farming Initiative supplies credits to Aboriginal farmers who utilize traditional knowledge of land management towards projects.  For tribes interested in launching their project? Myers has three points of advice. “You have to have ownership of it. You have to have control of it, and become a hyper-focused organization on who you’re partnering with and who you’re selling to,” he said. “Don’t move away from your traditional values at whatever cost.” This story was originally published by Grist with the headline California extends cap-and-trade, as Indigenous nations grapple with the trade-offs on Sep 29, 2025.

Rare Earth Metals Must Not Come at the Cost of Indigenous Rights

As mining interests expand in northern Sweden, Indigenous Sámi communities face existential threats. But a sustainable and just alternative exists — urban mining. The post Rare Earth Metals Must Not Come at the Cost of Indigenous Rights appeared first on The Revelator.

As the global race for rare earth metals accelerates, industries and policymakers in the European Union and Sweden have increasingly set their sights on the mineral-rich lands of northern Sweden. But amid calls for new mines to fuel a wide range of technologies, a vital truth is being sidelined: There’s a more sustainable and just alternative — urban mining (or circular mining). Recycling metals from existing products and waste can help meet strategic needs without sacrificing the environment or Indigenous rights. Modern economies are built on a linear model of consumption: Extract, consume, discard. This model underpins traditional mining as well. State-owned mining company LKAB is now planning a new mine in the Per Geijer area of Kiruna, Sweden, a region known to contain significant rare earth element deposits. These materials are crucial for electric vehicles, wind turbines, solar panels, drones, military applications, consumer electronics, and artificial intelligence hardware. The scramble for these materials is partly about climate policy, but also about geopolitics and economic dominance. But there is a high risk that this industrial expansion will once again harm the Indigenous Sámi population and the ecosystems some of the Sámi depend on. After years of reporting on Sweden’s environmental controversies, one thing is clear to me: Sámi culture is repeatedly steamrolled, and the ecosystems that sustain us are treated as expendable. People speaking on behalf of the Gabna Sámi village warn that a mine in the Per Geijer area would destroy the last viable migration corridor for reindeer in the region. Reindeer herding is not only an economic activity but a vital part of some Sámi’s culture and identity. Currently, the herds are already squeezed between regulated rivers, expanding urban areas, and existing mining operations. The loss of this last narrow corridor could mark the end of reindeer herding in the area. Some Sámi wonder: Will it even be possible to continue this way of life? This is not an isolated conflict. In Gállok, outside Jokkmokk, another mining project threatens lands adjacent to the Laponia World Heritage Site. A 2024 review  by UNESCO concluded that mining could cause “significant damage” to this protected area, not least because it could threaten the ongoing practice of Sámi reindeer herding in the region. UNESCO’s criticism was clear: Sweden has failed to adequately consider the site’s cultural and Indigenous value in its decision-making. Should the growing demand for rare earths be satisfied through industrial expansion that devalues Indigenous rights? Or is there a path that is both sustainable and just? This is why urban mining matters. Every year the world produces over 62 million metric tons of electronic waste, according to the Global E-Waste Monitor. This includes old smartphones, laptops, solar panels, and batteries. Many of these products contain rare and valuable metals. Instead of discarding them or shipping the waste to low-income countries, these growing resources can be harnessed. According to the European Commission’s Joint Research Centre, recycling cobalt from lithium-ion batteries alone could cover up to 42% of the EU’s cobalt demand by 2050. Extraction from used batteries is far more efficient and environmentally friendly than mining virgin ore. For example, producing 1 kilogram of cobalt from the ground consumes 250 kg of water and generates at least 100 kg of waste. Recycling that same cobalt from batteries requires only 100 kg of water, with far less environmental impact. Urban mining also helps the EU reduce its heavy reliance on imports. Today China controls about 70% of the global battery value chain and is expected to maintain over 75% of the global material recovery capacity by 2030. Meanwhile the EU’s own recycling infrastructure is underdeveloped, handling only around 5% of the global recovery capacity. A significant portion of the EU’s battery waste is still being exported — ironically, often to the very countries that dominate raw material production — because recycling is considered more cost-effective in the same facilities where those primary materials were originally processed. Despite local opposition, the Per Geijer project was classified in April 2025 as a strategic project under the EU’s Critical Raw Materials Act. Exploration continues. At the same time, the EU has set ambitious recycling targets. By 2031 80% of lithium and 98% of cobalt in batteries must be recovered. Member states are expected to build up domestic capacity and implement laws that drive collection, sorting, and product design for recyclability. Sweden has the potential to play a role in this shift. A report from the Geological Survey of Sweden and the Swedish EPA found that Swedish mining waste contains up to 500,000 metric tons of rare earth elements, along with significant quantities of cobalt, bismuth, and other strategic metals. But despite this, recycling efforts are hampered by weak policy incentives, legal uncertainty, and underinvestment. Although Sweden’s Parliament has signaled support for urban mining and the government has launched a circular economy roadmap, new mining continues to take precedence in practice. This is not inevitable. Reconciling Indigenous rights with the demand for strategic resources is possible — but it requires a fundamental shift in how northern Sweden is viewed. This is not an empty wasteland where resources can be mined; it’s a living, cultural landscape with its own inherent value and rights. Society’s demand for rare earth metals must not come at the expense of Sámi land. Consumption habits can be adapted, and product designs and recycling systems can be altered. In Sweden public opinion supports recycling — 8 in 10 Swedes believe it’s important to recycle electronics. Yet 6 in 10 have never recycled an old phone. Worse, much of Sweden’s e-waste is exported to countries with poor labor and environmental standards. Urban mining is no silver bullet. Some primary extraction will likely remain necessary in the foreseeable future. But it’s a critical piece of the sustainability puzzle. By integrating urban mining into our resource strategies, it is possible to reduce pressure on ecosystems, improve supply chain resilience, boost recycling industries and innovation, and cut dependence on overseas mines — many of which are devastating for women, children, Indigenous communities, and local environments. Most importantly, urban mining offers a path forward where we no longer pit nature and cultural heritage against the technical needs of the green transition and society at large. There’s plenty of room for improvements, and those improvements should be based on EU law (like the Critical Raw Materials Act and the Batteries Regulation), Sweden’s own circular economy roadmap, international Indigenous rights frameworks, and analyses by the European Commission’s Joint Research Centre and Swedish Geological Survey. In other words, they should be logical extensions of existing research, legal commitments, and policy gaps. Sweden’s government and regulatory authorities should: Implement a moratorium on new mining in Sámi territory until urban mining is fully investigated and developed. Develop a national strategy for metal recycling, including mapping of secondary resources, enforceable design requirements, and improved collection infrastructure. Ban the export of recyclable battery waste outside the EU to retain critical materials within the region. Meet EU recycling targets and invest in Sweden’s own recovery capacity. Sweden must show that it takes both Indigenous rights and environmental responsibility seriously. Urban mining works, and the time for it is now. Republish this article for free! Read our reprint policy. Subscribe to our weekly newsletter. Scan the QR code, or sign up here. Previously in The Revelator: On the Horizon: Nature’s Top Emerging Threats and Opportunities The post Rare Earth Metals Must Not Come at the Cost of Indigenous Rights appeared first on The Revelator.

‘We’re still in the dark’: a missing land defender and the deadly toll of land conflict on Indigenous people

Julia Chuñil is one of 146 land defenders who were killed or went missing last year, a third of them from Indigenous communitiesOne day last November, Julia Chuñil called for her dog, Cholito, and they set off into the woods around her home to search for lost livestock. The animals returned but Chuñil, who was 72 at the time, and Cholito did not.More than 100 people joined her family in a search lasting weeks in the steep, wet and densely overgrown terrain of Chile’s ancient Valdivian forest. After a month, they even kept an eye on vultures for any grim signs. But they found no trace of Chuñil. Continue reading...

One day last November, Julia Chuñil called for her dog, Cholito, and they set off into the woods around her home to search for lost livestock. The animals returned but Chuñil, who was 72 at the time, and Cholito did not.More than 100 people joined her family in a search lasting weeks in the steep, wet and densely overgrown terrain of Chile’s ancient Valdivian forest. After a month, they even kept an eye on vultures for any grim signs. But they found no trace of Chuñil.Chuñil is one of 146 land and environmental defenders who were killed or disappeared around the world last year, according to a report by the campaign group Global Witness. About a third of those, like Chuñil, were from Indigenous communities – a heavy toll for groups who collectively make up just 6% of the global population.Chuñil, a leader of Chile’s indigenous Mapuche, was living on disputed land. Ten years ago she had moved on to Reserva Cora, a 900-hectare (2,200-acre) portion of the ancient Valdivian forest 500 miles south of Santiago, which her people claimed as an ancestral territory.She spent years campaigning to secure land rights over the site for her community. But the site’s nominal owner, the descendant of settlers, refused to relinquish control. He wanted the site for logging – Chile is a major supplier of wood to the US – and he wanted rid of Chuñil. Before she vanished, Chuñil told supporters: “If anything happens to me, you already know who did it.”Global Witness started documenting cases of killings and disappearances of land and environmental defenders in 2012. Since then it has collated a total of 2,253 cases. For the past decade, the most dangerous place has been Latin America. In 2024 it accounted for 82% of cases, including 45 Indigenous people.“Land conflict is at the heart of violence against defenders, and Indigenous peoples are paying the highest price,” said Javier Garate, a senior policy adviser at Global Witness. “Communities with ancestral connections to land often form the frontline of resistance when their territories come under threat from exploitation and encroachment. But despite their critical role, they are frequently denied recognition and justice, and subjected to serious danger for defending their rightful lands.”Chuñil’s was the only case recorded in her country last year, although it fitted a pattern of the targeting of Mapuche activists in Chile. Colombia recorded 48 cases, making it the deadliest country overall for environmental defenders, followed by Guatemala with 20, the deadliest country per capita. Mexico had 19 cases, putting it in third place overall.Under-reporting remains an issue, particularly in Asia and Africa, which registered 16 and nine cases respectively, Global Witness said. Overall, last year the fewest cases of killings and disappearances of environmental defenders were registered for a decade.Laura Furones, who led the research for Global Witness, said: “I would also like to be able to tell you that this implies a decrease in violence and an improvement in the conditions for defenders, but unfortunately that’s not the case. Human rights defenders face realities of violence that go far beyond murder. What violence often does is evolve, become more sophisticated, change its face.”skip past newsletter promotionThe planet's most important stories. Get all the week's environment news - the good, the bad and the essentialPrivacy Notice: Newsletters may contain information about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. If you do not have an account, we will create a guest account for you on theguardian.com to send you this newsletter. You can complete full registration at any time. For more information about how we use your data see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionChuñil’s family have continued to pursue justice but their advocacy has made them a target of threats and intimidation, too. In April, two animals from Chuñil’s home that they had planned to auction to fund legal costs were found killed, one shot and one poisoned. “It is, above all, a deliberate attempt to prevent us from fighting this case,” her son Pablo San Martín told Global Witness.The group’s report calls on governments to act to end the impunity of the killers of environmental defenders by addressing the lack of rights defenders have over land and territory, strengthening weak national legal systems, and ensuring defenders at risk are given adequate state protection.“All we are asking for is a full, fair investigation to take place,” San Martín said of his mother’s case. “It’s been almost a year since she disappeared and we’re still in the dark about what happened. We want those behind this to be identified and charged.”

Oregon Indigenous farm navigating uncertainty over federal grants

One federal grant awarded to the farm was recently restored but two others are still on hold.

A few miles south of Salem, the Elderberry Wisdom Farm uses generations of traditional knowledge to grow native plants, restore habitats and train Indigenous adults and other underrepresented students for careers in agriculture. The six-year-old farm has received much of its funding through state and federal grants — but a farm founded on principles of equity and sustainability is a target for cuts under the Trump administration. As she led U.S. Rep. Andrea Salinas, D-Oregon, on a tour of the farm Wednesday, founder Rose High Bear half-jokingly asked if she could still use the words “equity” and “climate,” both terms Trump and his team have disparaged and used as keywords to find disfavored programs and policies. One $750,000 grant, awarded to the farm and community partners to expand tree canopies, was temporarily frozen but restored as of last week, following a letter from Salinas. Two other federal grants meant for workforce development are still on hold. “We need to restore the planet, and this is one way to do it,” Salinas said. “I keep saying, let’s bring all solutions to the table. This is just one, but if I can write a letter and unfreeze funds, I’m going to do it.” High Bear, an Alaska Native of Deg Hitʼan and Inupiat descent, founded the farm in 2019 after retiring as executive director of Wisdom of the Elders, a Portland-based nonprofit dedicated to preserving and sharing Indigenous history. She said the work is spiritual, and that she trusts ancestors will help guide the farm’s workers to accomplish their task of restoring the earth and raising awareness of traditional ecological knowledge. “We have no doubt in our mind that what we’re doing is right,” High Bear said. “If a government doesn’t necessarily believe in it, that doesn’t mean they’re going to stop us from doing our work — no matter what, we’re going to accomplish it.”Right now, much of the work consists of developing a native tree nursery, with Willamette Valley ponderosa pines, as well as firs and other pines native to the region. About 1,000 of those trees, as well as companion shrubs and pollinator ground cover plants, will be planted in areas of Salem that lack tree canopies. The farm will work with local high school students, as well as its adult interns, on the project. Natural shade from tree canopies helps cool the air and reduce air pollution. Nearby trees also increase home values and help prevent stormwater runoff. The farm will also feature a garden planted with the “three sisters” — maize, beans and squash — growing together. Hopi corn will provide a natural trellis for the Cherokee Trail of Tears beans, which convert nitrogen in the air to soil nitrates. Leaves of the summer and winter squash that make up the lower level provide shade, suppress weeds and retain soil moisture. The farm doesn’t use pesticides. Instead, workers manually remove most pests — and are resigned to some others, including deer who wander through nibbling on plants. “This is our oldest grandmother here, Mother Earth, and we’re not going to put poison on her just to get rid of our new neighbors,” High Bear said. Dawn Lowe, an Indigenous traditional ecological knowledge instructor of Hawaiian, Apache, Cherokee, and Mohawk descent, told Salinas the farm could always use more grant money to expand its work. “There’s a lot that we want to be able to achieve in the crisis we’re living through,” Lowe said. Each day at the farm includes some classtime, with videos or reading, and a discussion about a different topic. On Wednesday, that topic was seeds — saving, germinating and choosing them. Then interns spend time working with plants, including transplanting native pines and planting an elderberry forest heading up the hill.For Joaquin Ocaña, interning at the Elderberry Wisdom Farm is part of connecting with his heritage. On his father’s side, Ocaña is descended from the Kaqchikel people, an Indigenous Maya group from the highlands of Guatemala. Trying to connect to that side of his identity over the past few years led Ocaña to farming and spirituality, but feeling that connection is still a work in progress, Ocaña said. “I’ve never actually been to the place where my people are from, so I think that part is kind of lacking for now,” he said. “I’m still very young and figuring it out, but there are some things that as an individual that you can pay attention to and feel. Those can be my family guiding me and helping me along the way.”Intern Amanda Puitiza, an Oregon State University graduate student completing her Ph.D. in animal sciences, said she learned more about ecology and traditional practices at the farm than she did through her classes or prior work. She grew up in New York, and on the East Coast she said there wasn’t as much discussion about traditional practices outside of specific communities. “I’m really happy to get another perspective on how we’re protecting the environment or the ecosystem, trying to make it healthier,” Puitiza said. “I think it makes me a better learner and teacher in general, just to have more perspectives.” C.J. Senn, an enrolled member of the Umatilla Tribe, pivoted from 13 years working as a pastry chef to finishing her double major in environmental studies and science at Portland State University. After graduation, she’ll join her tribe working on huckleberry genealogy. The most valuable thing Senn has learned through interning at the Elderberry Wisdom Farm, and that she hopes to continue working on, is how to relate to plants and animals. “It’s really just about being a part of it, rather than trying to manipulate it,” Senn said. -- Julia Shumway, Oregon Capital ChronicleThe Oregon Capital Chronicle, founded in 2021, is a nonprofit news organization that focuses on Oregon state government, politics and policy.

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