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New report slams carbon offset project in Cambodia for violating Indigenous rights

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Wednesday, March 13, 2024

When Suwanna Gauntlett started working on conservation in Cambodia in the early 2000s, hundreds of hectares of rainforest were set ablaze every month to clear the land for illegal sales, and dozens of tigers and elephants had been killed.  Gauntlett had founded the Wildlife Alliance in 1994 to fight tiger poaching in the Russian Far East, and a decade later expanded the nonprofit’s work to India, Ecuador, Myanmar, and Thailand. In 2000, Cambodia was their next frontier, home to one of the last giant rainforests in Southeast Asia stretching across the country’s Southern Cardamom region — what Gauntlett described as a “remote and completely lawless province.”  “There were no rangers, no park headquarters, no ranger stations, no law enforcement at all in the area,” Gauntlett said in a 2016 interview with Mongabay. “It was literally the wild, wild west.” Gauntlett spoke with the news outlet to celebrate the establishment of a new national park, which promised to protect more than a million acres of rainforest. It was a big victory for Gauntlett’s organization, and helped spur an even more expansive project in partnership with the Cambodian government to protect rainforests and sell carbon credits as corporate offsets to fund the work. The project is part of the United Nations framework called REDD+, which stands for “‘Reducing emissions from deforestation and forest degradation in developing countries.” The idea is that countries can fund environmental protection projects by selling a project’s carbon credits to corporations.  But that project, known as the Southern Cardamom REDD+, has come under fire from the nonprofit Human Rights Watch, an international human rights watchdog.  In a report released February 28, Human Rights Watch investigators describe how the project by the Wildlife Alliance and Cambodia’s Ministry of Environment repeatedly violated the rights of the Indigenous Chong peoples who have called the Cardamom mountains home for centuries.  According to the authors, the Wildlife Alliance and Cambodian government embarked on the project without first consulting with the Indigenous peoples who lived there, violating their right under international law to free, prior, and informed consent to projects on their land. The report also outlines how Indigenous people were prevented from farming on their land and even thrown in jail for collecting resin from trees. “This is my livelihood and tradition, and I am doing nothing wrong,” a man referred to as Chamson in the report told investigators.  Luciana Téllez, lead author of the Human Rights Watch report, said the findings reflect a broader trend globally in which Indigenous peoples and other traditional communities manage some of the best-preserved landscapes globally but are repeatedly marginalized and discriminated against.  “The push to increase the areas that are under protected status is not matched by an impulse to recognize these minority groups’ rights. And we need to see the pace of both of these things match each other,” Téllez said. “We need to see conservation moving at the same rhythm as the move to recognize, protect, uphold the rights of Indigenous peoples and local communities.” Overlooking Indigenous peoples while establishing conservation areas is a long-standing global problem. Settlers in the U.S. who saw the continent as a remote and lawless place established many national parks only after the removal of Indigenous peoples. But the practice continues across the globe: In Tanzania, the Indigenous Maasai people fled gunfire in 2022 to make way for a game reserve. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, park guards at Kahuzi-Biega National Park have killed Indigenous Batwa people in the name of conservation. Forced evictions are a feature, not a bug, of the practice known as fortress conservation: The United Nations estimates that since 1990, 250,000 people have lost their homes to make way for conservation projects.  Read Next How the world’s favorite conservation model was built on colonial violence Joseph Lee In order to comply with international law, conservation projects like the Southern Cardamom REDD+ project should conduct thorough consultation with Indigenous peoples before projects begin. The report noted that for years, Wildlife Alliance and Cambodian government officials made key decisions about the conservation project, including mapping the area, applying for funding, and signing contracts in the region, before embarking on consultations. Even the establishment of a national park in 2016 enclosed eight Chong communities before mapping or titling their traditional lands, the report found. Protecting conservation land at the cost of Indigenous rights is a problem that’s expected to continue as countries face increasing pressure to combat climate change. At least 190 nations have pledged to conserve 30 percent of the Earth’s lands and waters by 2030, many of which are home to Indigenous peoples, and the United Nations’ REDD+ framework has added financial incentives to these conservation efforts.  But Téllez said major questions remain about who actually benefits from carbon offset projects. Human Rights Watch found that in 2021, Southern Cardamom REDD+ made $18 million from carbon credit sales to multinational corporations. At the same time, Indigenous peoples described to investigators that the Wildlife Alliance’s enforcement of the REDD+ program cost them their livelihoods, including forcing some to borrow money when they were unable to farm on their family land.  “Everybody is banned from entering the forest, but many people have farmland there,” a woman named Sothy told investigators. Another named Pov said, “Wildlife Alliance came to cut down the banana trees. There was no warning or discussion prior to the destruction.” Téllez said a key problem is the lack of a legally binding benefit-sharing agreement to ensure that the communities affected receive a certain proportion of project funds. Wildlife Alliance and the Cambodian government had committed to complying with voluntary standards set by Verra, a company that sets quality-assurance standards on the voluntary carbon market. But Verra does not require that agreements be made with Indigenous communities to ensure they benefit financially. After learning of Human Rights Watch’s findings, Verra announced it would begin investigating the Southern Cardamom REDD+ project. Wildlife Alliance says the report is misleading. “Many of the criticisms the report makes about the Southern Cardamom project conveniently fit the narrative HRW had already created as part of their advocacy on international carbon markets,” the Wildlife Alliance said in a statement on their website.  The organization published a video this week of one of its community managers, Sokun Hort, denying that anyone had been evicted and saying that Human Rights Watch ignored broad community support for the project. The Wildlife Alliance and Cambodia’s Ministry of the Environment did not respond to requests for comment on the report.  Téllez of Human Rights Watch said the report reflects what investigators heard in dozens of interviews. Even a Cambodian government official told Human Rights Watch that the Wildlife Alliance had been “harassing poor people just for collecting forest products.”  Téllez is concerned by the organization’s continued denial of the allegations.  “There isn’t an acknowledgment that some people have been harmed by the project, and there isn’t an acknowledgment that those people are entitled to remedy,” she said. “And so we will continue demanding accountability.” This story was originally published by Grist with the headline New report slams carbon offset project in Cambodia for violating Indigenous rights on Mar 13, 2024.

Human Rights Watch alleges Indigenous peoples were thrown off their land in name of conservation.

When Suwanna Gauntlett started working on conservation in Cambodia in the early 2000s, hundreds of hectares of rainforest were set ablaze every month to clear the land for illegal sales, and dozens of tigers and elephants had been killed. 

Gauntlett had founded the Wildlife Alliance in 1994 to fight tiger poaching in the Russian Far East, and a decade later expanded the nonprofit’s work to India, Ecuador, Myanmar, and Thailand. In 2000, Cambodia was their next frontier, home to one of the last giant rainforests in Southeast Asia stretching across the country’s Southern Cardamom region — what Gauntlett described as a “remote and completely lawless province.” 

“There were no rangers, no park headquarters, no ranger stations, no law enforcement at all in the area,” Gauntlett said in a 2016 interview with Mongabay. “It was literally the wild, wild west.”

Gauntlett spoke with the news outlet to celebrate the establishment of a new national park, which promised to protect more than a million acres of rainforest. It was a big victory for Gauntlett’s organization, and helped spur an even more expansive project in partnership with the Cambodian government to protect rainforests and sell carbon credits as corporate offsets to fund the work.

The project is part of the United Nations framework called REDD+, which stands for “‘Reducing emissions from deforestation and forest degradation in developing countries.” The idea is that countries can fund environmental protection projects by selling a project’s carbon credits to corporations. 

But that project, known as the Southern Cardamom REDD+, has come under fire from the nonprofit Human Rights Watch, an international human rights watchdog. 

In a report released February 28, Human Rights Watch investigators describe how the project by the Wildlife Alliance and Cambodia’s Ministry of Environment repeatedly violated the rights of the Indigenous Chong peoples who have called the Cardamom mountains home for centuries. 

According to the authors, the Wildlife Alliance and Cambodian government embarked on the project without first consulting with the Indigenous peoples who lived there, violating their right under international law to free, prior, and informed consent to projects on their land. The report also outlines how Indigenous people were prevented from farming on their land and even thrown in jail for collecting resin from trees. “This is my livelihood and tradition, and I am doing nothing wrong,” a man referred to as Chamson in the report told investigators. 

Luciana Téllez, lead author of the Human Rights Watch report, said the findings reflect a broader trend globally in which Indigenous peoples and other traditional communities manage some of the best-preserved landscapes globally but are repeatedly marginalized and discriminated against. 

“The push to increase the areas that are under protected status is not matched by an impulse to recognize these minority groups’ rights. And we need to see the pace of both of these things match each other,” Téllez said. “We need to see conservation moving at the same rhythm as the move to recognize, protect, uphold the rights of Indigenous peoples and local communities.”

Overlooking Indigenous peoples while establishing conservation areas is a long-standing global problem. Settlers in the U.S. who saw the continent as a remote and lawless place established many national parks only after the removal of Indigenous peoples. But the practice continues across the globe: In Tanzania, the Indigenous Maasai people fled gunfire in 2022 to make way for a game reserve. In the Democratic Republic of Congo, park guards at Kahuzi-Biega National Park have killed Indigenous Batwa people in the name of conservation. Forced evictions are a feature, not a bug, of the practice known as fortress conservation: The United Nations estimates that since 1990, 250,000 people have lost their homes to make way for conservation projects. 

In order to comply with international law, conservation projects like the Southern Cardamom REDD+ project should conduct thorough consultation with Indigenous peoples before projects begin. The report noted that for years, Wildlife Alliance and Cambodian government officials made key decisions about the conservation project, including mapping the area, applying for funding, and signing contracts in the region, before embarking on consultations.

Even the establishment of a national park in 2016 enclosed eight Chong communities before mapping or titling their traditional lands, the report found.

Protecting conservation land at the cost of Indigenous rights is a problem that’s expected to continue as countries face increasing pressure to combat climate change. At least 190 nations have pledged to conserve 30 percent of the Earth’s lands and waters by 2030, many of which are home to Indigenous peoples, and the United Nations’ REDD+ framework has added financial incentives to these conservation efforts. 

But Téllez said major questions remain about who actually benefits from carbon offset projects. Human Rights Watch found that in 2021, Southern Cardamom REDD+ made $18 million from carbon credit sales to multinational corporations. At the same time, Indigenous peoples described to investigators that the Wildlife Alliance’s enforcement of the REDD+ program cost them their livelihoods, including forcing some to borrow money when they were unable to farm on their family land. 

“Everybody is banned from entering the forest, but many people have farmland there,” a woman named Sothy told investigators. Another named Pov said, “Wildlife Alliance came to cut down the banana trees. There was no warning or discussion prior to the destruction.”

Téllez said a key problem is the lack of a legally binding benefit-sharing agreement to ensure that the communities affected receive a certain proportion of project funds. Wildlife Alliance and the Cambodian government had committed to complying with voluntary standards set by Verra, a company that sets quality-assurance standards on the voluntary carbon market. But Verra does not require that agreements be made with Indigenous communities to ensure they benefit financially. After learning of Human Rights Watch’s findings, Verra announced it would begin investigating the Southern Cardamom REDD+ project.

Wildlife Alliance says the report is misleading. “Many of the criticisms the report makes about the Southern Cardamom project conveniently fit the narrative HRW had already created as part of their advocacy on international carbon markets,” the Wildlife Alliance said in a statement on their website. 

The organization published a video this week of one of its community managers, Sokun Hort, denying that anyone had been evicted and saying that Human Rights Watch ignored broad community support for the project. The Wildlife Alliance and Cambodia’s Ministry of the Environment did not respond to requests for comment on the report. 

Téllez of Human Rights Watch said the report reflects what investigators heard in dozens of interviews. Even a Cambodian government official told Human Rights Watch that the Wildlife Alliance had been “harassing poor people just for collecting forest products.” 

Téllez is concerned by the organization’s continued denial of the allegations. 

“There isn’t an acknowledgment that some people have been harmed by the project, and there isn’t an acknowledgment that those people are entitled to remedy,” she said. “And so we will continue demanding accountability.”

This story was originally published by Grist with the headline New report slams carbon offset project in Cambodia for violating Indigenous rights on Mar 13, 2024.

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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.

Indigenous river campaigner from Peru wins prestigious Goldman prize

Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari led a successful legal battle to protect the Marañon River in the Peruvian AmazonPrize recognises seven activists fighting corporate powerAn Indigenous campaigner and women’s leader from the Peruvian Amazon has been awarded the prestigious Goldman prize for environmental activists, after leading a successful legal campaign that led to the river where her people, the Kukama, live being granted legal personhood.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari, 57, from the village of Shapajila on the Marañon River, led the Huaynakana Kamatahuara Kana (HKK) women’s association, supported by lawyers from Peru’s Legal Defence Institute, in a campaign to protect the river. After three years, judges in Loreto, Peru’s largest Amazon region, ruled in March 2024 that the Marañon had the right to be free-flowing and free of contamination, respecting an Indigenous worldview that regards a river as a living entity. Continue reading...

An Indigenous campaigner and women’s leader from the Peruvian Amazon has been awarded the prestigious Goldman prize for environmental activists, after leading a successful legal campaign that led to the river where her people, the Kukama, live being granted legal personhood.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari, 57, from the village of Shapajila on the Marañon River, led the Huaynakana Kamatahuara Kana (HKK) women’s association, supported by lawyers from Peru’s Legal Defence Institute, in a campaign to protect the river. After three years, judges in Loreto, Peru’s largest Amazon region, ruled in March 2024 that the Marañon had the right to be free-flowing and free of contamination, respecting an Indigenous worldview that regards a river as a living entity.It was a landmark ruling in Peru. The court in Iquitos, Loreto’s capital city, found the Peruvian government had violated the river’s inherent rights, and ordered it to take immediate action to prevent future oil spills into the waterway. The court also ruled that the government must mandate the creation of a protection plan for the entire river basin and recognise the Kukama community as its stewards. The government appealed against the decision, but the court upheld the ruling in October 2024.“She is the ‘mother of rivers’, the Marañon is born in the Andes and flows downstream to become the Amazon River,” Canaquiri said. The Kukama believe the river is sacred and that their ancestors’ spirits reside in its bed. for four decades, however, the Kukama have endured scores of oil spills which destroy fish stocks, damage the ecosystem and contaminate the water with heavy metals.The village of Shapajila on the Marañon River. Photograph: Goldman Environmental PrizeThe Peruvian state oil company Petroperú began building the the Northern Peruvian pipeline in 1970s, and the region around the Marañon River has accounted for 40% of the county’s oil production since 2014 – with devastating effects. There have been more than 60 oil spills along the river since 1997, some of them catastrophic.“My grandparents taught me that there is a giant boa that lives in the river, Puragua, the ‘mother of the river’,”said Canaquiri. The spirit represents the health of the river and its personhood, according to the Kukama’s cosmovision.In practical terms, the Kukama depend on the river for transport, agriculture, water and fish, which is their main protein source. As a result of the the oil drilling, however, they have become highly vulnerable to water contamination.Local people have suffered from fevers, diarrhoea, skin rashes and miscarriages after oil spills, and elevated levels of lead, mercury, arsenic and cadmium were found in the blood of river community members in a 2021 study.Canaquiri, a mother of four with six grandchildren, remembers a blissful childhood with abundant fish and animals before the oil drilling began. “There was plenty of food. We shared everything, worked on each other’s farms and celebrated the festivals together,” she said.Mari Luz Canaquiri Murayari out on the river with members of her community. Photograph: Goldman Environmental PrizeDespite the ruling, the river is not out of danger and Canaquiri and the HKK are asking the Peruvian government to implement the court’s ruling. The fight continues.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 info about charities, online ads, and content funded by outside parties. For more information see our Privacy Policy. We use Google reCaptcha to protect our website and the Google Privacy Policy and Terms of Service apply.after newsletter promotionPeru’s congress passed an anti-NGO law last month, which the country’s president, Dina Boluarte, approved last week. The law prevents civil society organisations from taking legal action or even giving legal counsel in cases against the state over human rights abuses.Canaquiri says the law could cripple their legal battle. “It is worrying because it means lawyers cannot take our cases to enforce our fundamental rights,” she said.“It is not just for us, it is also for the country and the world. Who can live without breathing? If it wasn’t for the Amazon, the forest, the rivers, we wouldn’t have clean air to breathe. How would we get food to eat every day, our fruits, our vegetables, our animals, our fish?”She says she and the HKK are motivated by the future of their children and grandchildren,: “The government needs to understand that it should not kill nature but protect it. Otherwise, what hope will our children, the next generation, have?

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