A woman in her 30s looked up from the floor, directed her gaze at me, and spoke. "Señorita," she began respectfully, yet ready to speak her part. "These projects you have helped us with are good. We are growing fish, and our gardens are healthy. But, a real concern to me is education. After completing the 6th grade here in the community, where will my children go to study?" She explained that she does not want to send them away to boarding school, but that she wants them to be educated "so that they know who they are, and what they can do." She proceeded to ask us to help them build a school.
This is a big request. I had to explain that Oxfam is not in a position to build schools in every rural Amazonian village. And once built, they need to be staffed with properly paid teachers. Schools also need books, desks, chalkboards, qualified teachers and to be maintained—every year. Funding a school from outside the community can be risky. A well-meaning donor could cover some construction and other costs. But as the years go by, if there is no viable local structure to foster education, who will be responsible for the school?
However, I continued, the people of Sensa have a basic right to quality education for their children, and we would consider supporting their efforts to claim that right in collaboration with the communities farther down the river. This would involve organizing these communities, and forming allies with others outside the Urubamba river valley. In this way they could reach out to the local and national government, who are responsible for education, and advocate for decent schools that will endure.
The contrast between the poorest indigenous people in Peru and the fantastic wealth in timber, gas, and minerals coming from their lands is stark. While the local government builds fancy offices for itself down the river in Echarate with oil and gas money, villages like Sensa, where the resources are extracted, have no electricity, telephones, or health clinic.
The indigenous people in these villages do not always understand their rights to a fair portion of these revenues in the form of basic services like health care and education. And if they do, they may not have the means to verify that they are getting their fair share. They usually lack the skills and political connections to hold accountable a government that has never shown it is open to the concerns of its native peoples.
"You do not want to be beggars, saying 'We are poor, give us money. Take care of us,'" said my colleague Igidio Naveda, himself an indigenous person from the Andes of Peru and a passionate, highly experienced program officer.
"No—you are indigenous people," he continued. "You have your culture, your traditions; you love your land. You have rights and need to demand them and ensure that they are met. And your lands: these are your home. Would you walk into someone else's home and take their things, leave a mess, disrespect the place? You should demand that the loggers in the area, the gas companies, the government workers respect your rights, and knock at the door before coming in. You need to lay out the rules and make them follow them."
Heads were nodding and people began to speak to one another in their Yine language. The group became animated, some laughing, others speaking intensely, gesturing as they sat at the wooden tables.
We concluded the meeting soon thereafter, inviting a new and more ambitious funding proposal from them, developed together with the chiefs of the other three nearby communities that had participated in the current project. A proposal like this would show that the community is moving to the next level of organization: The villagers will need to coordinate the project with other communities, and create effective ways to encourage the local government to meet its obligations. They will also have to address the illegal logging and other threats to the environment coming from outside the community.
From my perspective, last year's project was a success. It helped indigenous communities manage their local biodiversity and begin to increase their food supply. That, in turn, served as a catalyst for them to become organized and collectively determine their priorities. This greatly strengthens their control over local development efforts, and increases the likelihood that new projects they pursue will succeed.
Although they may lack the advocacy skills needed to get the government to meet its obligations to educate their children immediately, we know the right organizations that can train them. Once people know their rights and are educated, they are better able to hold their leaders accountable. This knowledge and sense of empowerment can never be taken away. It is one of the best investments you can make, because it helps people learn to solve their own problems—they create a vision for the type of future they want for their village, set their own priorities, and make sure that they are met.
Hoping to reach the next community before dark, we excused ourselves from the welcoming community of Sensa, slipping down the muddy river banks to our canoe, with children trailing us on all sides, teasing each other and, laughing, no doubt at the spectacle of the four outsiders that had come to visit. The sun had moved sideways along the river and the tree tops were shining with a golden light. As the first mosquitoes of the evening reached us in our boat, we pushed off and continued downstream, eager to see what the next community had to say.
]]>This report examines current laws and practices relating to mining revenue management in Mali, and presents a series of recommendations for improving transparency and information disclosure.
The authors are A. Rani Parker, Ph.D., and Fred Wood, Ph.D., of Business-Community Synergies (www.bcsynergies.com).
A French language translation of this report is available below.
]]>Rodolfo Pocop, the National Coordinator for the National Indigenous and Peasant Council (CONIC), says that despite this violent history, the indigenous people of Guatemala are well-organized, and mobilizing to protect their culture and defend their rights and ancestral lands.He feels their next big challenge is surviving in the "Free Trade" economy in the Americas. The number one concern: international mining projects, which Pocop saysis a significant threat to Mayan lands and culture. In a talk with Oxfam America staff in Guatemala, Pocop explains indigenous concerns about mining and indigenous lands and rights.
"Our ancestors taught us to love mother earth and live in harmony with all natural beings. All our political, economic, and social institutions are part of this heritage. This is the base on which we construct the future. The valleys, the plains, the mountains, the deserts, the oceans, the rivers, the condor, the eagle, the hummingbird, the puma, the jaguar—they are all witness to our collective systems of living, based on sustainability of humans and the environment.
We were kicked off our original lands by the colonizers, and then by our governments. We were divided in order to guarantee political control and pushed onto inhospitable lands. We are now trying to manage these lands by the conservation of biodiversity and natural resources. This started in 1492 and continued through the 19th century. In 1954, the best, most productive indigenous lands were passed to private hands, like the banana companies. Big areas now grow cotton and sugar cane; the best lands are for coffee production. In 1954, our culture and our collective ways of living were destroyed, and collective property was abolished.
[From 1960] until 1996, there was an armed conflict. Part of the reason for this was the concentration of wealth in the hands of no more than 30 families. They had all the economic and political power and social control over the country. Seventy percent of the population, the indigenous people, did not even have basic legal rights. We did not get any benefits from the government, we were just used as cheap labor, almost slaves or indentured servants. During the 36 years of armed conflict, 83 percent of the victims were among the indigenous Mayan people.
In Guatemala we have a republican constitution, almost a literal copy of the US Constitution. Only in articles 66 to 70 are indigenous people mentioned. We are seen as resources and folklore. Our fundamental rights are not recognized.
Discrimination is structural, it comes from the government, and it is replicated in the educational system. It teaches more about other cultures than our own. And for that reason, when we speak our own language and wear our traditional clothing, they say that we are inferior to those who are not Mayan. They assume that other peoples' culture is superior to that which is here.
If the state structure discriminates against indigenous people, then this is converted into exclusion from development. These last four years we have seen an example of this exclusion : 85 percent of the national budget was spent in the urban areas; 15 percent was for rural areas. But not even this amount reached the countryside due to high levels of corruption and misuse of funds.
The social fabric of indigenous communities has been torn. If we have survived for 500 years, it is not just chance. It is because our grandmothers and grandfathers have taught us to survive by growing crops without chemical fertilizer, and to live together, in solidarity, in harmony between humans, nature, Mother Earth, the birds, and animals."
"Before the first conquerors came, the Maya worked with gold, and silver, and other metals. They used these resources, but for personal and domestic usage. It was not for export. Now the extraction of metals comes with a cost. It is breaking the harmony between families and nature.
We are concerned about mining, and the way it is done, with open pits. Cyanide is highly toxic for humans.
We also can't understand why these companies don't respect something very important and fundamental to our survival: our own perspective and spirituality. Ours is not any old religion. Our spirituality is precisely the harmony between humans, Mother Earth, space, and nature. When we see the respect to Mother Earth is lost, we feel our roots are touched. And that is what is taken from us. It is like an extermination of our cultural identity, a moral extermination of our historical memory, of our grandmothers and grandfathers and what they have contributed to the development of humanity. This is the harmony of the Maya.
A whole system of life and culture is being destroyed. Scientific data and analysis show one impact, on nature, but to us it is deeper. We feel like this kind of mining represents a destruction of life and culture. So we are denouncing this new system of development, because it is passing over our right to be consulted, which is protected by the International Labor Organization Convention No. 169.
The benefit of mining to Guatemala is about one percent of the earnings generated, and only about half of one percent is for the municipality. So after all the millions and millions are taken out, half of one percent is nothing. And after they are done, they will leave our lands and they will be no longer useful for agriculture.
In the case of the Marlin mine, they project 109,000 ounces of gold and silver. With this comes the destruction of 10,000 hectares of land. There will be a lot of Mayan communities unable to survive into the future.
Our struggle going forward as indigenous people directly affected by mining is based on three principles: we will keep struggling so that our cultural rights as indigenous peoples are recognized; under no conditions will we negotiate with the government or companies the principles of lands and territories—we have a territory, and this should be respected; and we have the freedom of self determination about our lands and territories and their resources."
"We do not have a formal mining code that reflects our world view. Our ministry of energy and mines does not recognize that we have a right to be consulted each time they want to take a product out of our territory. Our government does not take into consideration the priorities of the indigenous people. It does not know about rural poverty and realities and does not understand indigenous peoples.
A high level commission is now developing a mining law. The government is trying to please every sector—using a sort of double discourse. When they speak to us, they say "Oh, you indigenous people, we love you and admire you" and they are going to give us all these things. And when the transnational companies come, they do the same thing. It is selling Guatemala, and keeping a good relationship with everyone while doing it.
The issue is not for them to give us something; the issue is for them to recognize our ancestral rights."
]]>My grandmother told us that we were many, many Secoyas, between the Rio Napo and Putamayo, near the frontier with Colombia. We must have been over 8,000 there?
At the time of the Spanish conquest many people died from measles and mumps. And even when my grandma was a little girl, she had to escape into the jungle to avoid such terrible diseases. She said that nobody came to help them; people were dying in their houses, like chickens.
Then came the rubber boom. The rubber producers held the Secoyas as slaves. Many Secoyas drank poison to liberate themselves from the indignity of forced labor. Others fled deeper into the jungle.
After all this dislocation the Secoyas regrouped in about 1970. We were only 120 people. And those remaining 120 people, along with their children and grandchildren, were the ones who had to endure the impact of the oil companies. And of those 120, I was one.
This is to contextualize what is happening today. These 120 continue to suffer. Two [just] died of cancer, and eight years ago more people died of cancer. So we wonder, for those 120 native people and their descendants, if our days are numbered too; if some sickness will take us instead of a natural death. This is to say that life is uncertain now.
The oil companies have had a significant cultural impact, especially on our territory. How we used to live—naturally, that is—is no longer natural. We are experiencing the impact of many other cultures, especially from [modern-day migration]. Before we didn't need money because we had everything we needed. There were animals and fish; there was fruit, and medicines. Everything was found in the forest. But now we must go out to buy everything.
We also need to buy notebooks and school supplies. We are now surrounded by school walls in order to learn. The education beforehand for the Secoyas began at four in the morning. The elderly people in the community worked with the young people, teaching them weaving. They also told stories, legends, which taught respect for older people.
Though we agree that education should take place in the classroom, we are not in agreement that the only thing that should be taught is what the government decides should be taught. We see that we are not educating ourselves and our children in the way that our ancestors taught us. In that sense we are losing our culture. Now the youth doesn't know about our legends and our stories and our customs. And this is why now, through our own bilingual education, we are trying to reintegrate our own values, our own cultures, and our own traditions into our education.
Another great impact is on the environment. For example, we no longer have animals because one step behind the oil companies came the colonists. And every time the colonists found an animal they had to shoot it, they had to kill it. [The animals] withdrew farther and farther away. And now we no longer have territories in which we have everything we need around us; in which we can go from one side to the other. Everything has its owner. Now there are other communities—Shuar communities and Kichwa communities—which were ours before. This is a reduction of our territory. Right now we're enclosed and circumscribed by different pacts. There is one pact with the oil company; the African palm company [harvesting hearts of palm]; the colonists; even other indigenous people who have migrated here from their ancestral homes in other provinces.
What has really damaged us is the pollution in the rivers. This is really the worst part, along with the contamination in the air and the earth itself on which we cultivate our plants and our food. These are the terrible effects that have been visited upon us.
Although we talk about remediation, I think it will be difficult to repair what has been damaged. I think perhaps we will never be able to, because even though we might repair the natural environment, modern society is here among us—on our doorstep—and we will never be able to repair that.
We have seen many new sicknesses that we didn't see in our people before. We the Secoyas knew how to cure ourselves when those sicknesses were natural sicknesses. But now, with these unknown diseases, not even the best healer among us knows how to cure them. I think if we don't now have people who really know how to cure those previously unknown diseases, if we don't resolve this case against Texaco, then the very few Secoyas that remain—about 400 of us—will lose our culture and we may be finished off by sickness or disease. Or for other reasons we will disappear bit by bit. This is what I can tell you about the impact of the oil industry on the Secoya people.
Yes there is a hope for us, in the way that we have been organizing around Texaco because the Sionas, Secoyas, and Cofanes, we are the ones who have lived here in Sucumbios. We are the original owners of these territories and we have seen all of the damage that has been done here. So we organized through some friendly organizations—they came and told us about human rights—before we knew nothing about human rights. And through friends and allies the Sionas, Secoyas, Cofanes, and Kichwas started to organize in order to bring justice to this case.
We, as one part of the affected people, believe that since we have already waited 10 years [while the case languished in the United States courts]; we could wait and continue another 10 years if necessary. This is our priority. People are saying: "If we don't get this resolved, what are we doing? If we can't drink the water from our traditional sources—then what?"
So we are newly united since the case has been presented in a court here, and now we are just waiting for the judge's decisions. We are assisted by Oxfam America and other people. We feel we are engaging in common work to ensure a future for the people who are in danger of disappearing.
We can't waste time being sorry about what has happened. We have to be able to defend and exercise the same rights as Spanish-speaking mestizo people do in our own territory.
]]>I don't anticipate a lot of difficulties in the judicial inspections phase, except for the financing of the inspections. The evidence provided by the judicial inspections is the fundamental basis for the case. The evidence must be supported scientifically, and this is expensive. If there?s not enough money to carry out these tests, I anticipate serious problems, and we run the risk of losing the case.
With the legal process itself, I don't foresee difficulties because the laws determine the process that should be followed, and the Judge will make a decision based on what the law says. He needs to determine his decision according to the law.
As for the final sentence: I will reserve judgments about what I think might happen. Unfortunately our courts have weaknesses, and there are many examples of corruption and political influence and political pressures on the legal system. For example, at our conference today we just heard the delegate from Ecuador's Ministry of Foreign Commerce say that the US government asked for the Texaco case to be dropped as a condition for negotiating a free trade agreement. Although the government has publicly said they do not accept this position, we are certain that pressure will be applied to the judge to decide in favor of Texaco. And that is very dangerous because for me what is at stake is the dignity of the Ecuadorian Amazon and the dignity of the justice system.
The only thing that I hope for in the Texaco case is that justice can be done. Those of us who live here have a great opportunity to demonstrate to the rest of the country that we are men and women with rights equal to those of others.
Since I was very small, I was always searching for justice. When I was 14, and my parents migrated from Esmeraldas, where we lived before, here to Sucumbios, I worked in an African palm plantation company for four years. Afterwards I worked for an oil company, also for four years, and in both places I saw great injustices with the workers and the campesinos. I also saw grave destruction of the environment. I shared these concerns with others, and so about six young people (I was just 17 at the time) agreed, we said "we must do something about these problems." Some were colleagues from work, some were friends from school, and others were from a church youth group. So when we got together and started to take actions with protests and complaints or simply pointing out problems and suggesting solutions, I got into trouble. That was the reason they fired me from the African palm plantation company. Then the oil company threw me out for defending the rights of other workers.
And so from this experience came my dream, my idea, to become a professional. A lawyer. To defend those like myself and others who would be denied their rights, especially for rural people.
Fortunately the church supported me for about 12 years. When I was left without work in the companies, the church gave me work so that I could continue with my studies and social service. I worked with the church until about one year ago when I was hired by the Amazon Defense Front.
The first obstacle and the most important one was the economic obstacle. My parents provided education for me until [eighth grade]. From there on I had to do it on my own—to study and to work. So I worked during the day and studied at night. And when I entered the university, the church helped me by providing more than half of the tuition. That was not easy for them. And it was very difficult for me as I simply didn't have the money. Out of 10 brothers and sisters, I am the only one who finished high school, because of a lack of resources.
The group of friends that I mentioned before also helped me. And I also took other jobs. I worked for the radio doing the news, and as a professor in a distance learning program. I had to study from four until seven in the morning. Then I had to go to work until six at night. The time I had free for lunch midday I dedicated to doing news on the radio. At night I taught high school classes, so my work day was from four in the morning until 11 or 12 at night. That was how I got to this point.
]]>In modern day Mali, it remains to be seen which of these images most accurately depicts reality. Gold production is growing quickly in Mali, which is now the third largest gold producer in Africa (after South Africa and Ghana). Gold has replaced cotton as Mali's leading export and has been promoted by the Bretton Woods Institutions as a key driver of Mali's national development. The Syama goldmine discussed in this report was the first large mine constructed during Mali's current gold boom. In a country ranked 164 out of 172 on the Human Development Index and with 90.6 percent of the population living on less than $2 per day, it is hard not to see the allure of gold's earning power.
This study, drawing on the lessons learned from Syama, examines the contribution of Mali's gold industry and its potential as a tool for development and poverty reduction. It presents data on a range of impacts (direct and indirect, positive and negative), tied to the operation and closing of the Syama gold mine.
]]>"Extractive Sectors and the Poor" comes on the eve of a new yearlong World Bank review of its oil, gas, and mining investments. The report contests the conventional economic wisdom that developing nations prosper by extracting and exporting their oil and mineral wealth.
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