by Deep Green Resistance News Service | Feb 28, 2012 | Agriculture, Biodiversity & Habitat Destruction, Colonialism & Conquest, Indigenous Autonomy
By Ignacio Cirio / Translated by Jim Rudolf
Eight million hectares, half the surface area of Uruguay: That is the combined area that the government of Fernando Lugo is hoping to investigate, to determine if the lands are “ill-gotten,” whose title deeds could be forged or faked or simply seized from the times of the Stroessner dictatorship. The landowners who have inundated Paraguay with transgenic soy are resisting the review, in an alliance with a parliament where Lugo is clearly in the minority. The conflict could lead to an institutional breakdown – to the sound of [army] boots.
Magui Balbuena, of the National Council of Organizations of Rural and Indigenous Workers, offers her account to Brecha Magazine of a conflict that has as its epicenter the Paraguayan department of Alto Paraná, on the border with Brazil.
What is the situation in Alto Paraná, and what are the conflicting interests?
The struggle of the landless in this area has been going on for a long time. Recently Lugo’s government has sought to legislate on the border lands that are being destroyed by multinationals, mainly Brazilian. Then the government sent the military to the border to place boundary markers and inspect title deeds. There are many doubts about how, in a very short time – about 10 years – those border lands passed into the hands of foreigners; and they are the best lands! Those expanses are dedicated to the cultivation of transgenic soy, a monoculture for export. They have destroyed mountains, they have dried up streams and drained swamps, they have poisoned rivers with indiscriminate use of agro-chemicals. This is a very serious situation that is taking place across the country, but mainly in the border area, where a kind of patriotic spirit is rising because what the people see in those areas no longer looks like Paraguay. The campesinos feel they are the owners of the land and they react. When the soldiers went to place the boundary markers and check the title deeds of those fields, the “carperos” reacted.
What is the “carpero” movement?
It is people from different departments who are in the conflict area and are questioning a Brazilian landowner named Tranquilino Favero. He has land in three or four departments, some of the best land near the border. He has endless farms and soy fields that in all exceed one million hectares. The National Institute of Rural Development and Land (INDERT) has started to investigate and verify the origin of the title deeds of this businessman, many of which are fake or forged. But there is also a real mafia inside INDERT that for years has sold and resold land belonging to the state. This is what created the crisis in Ñacunday, in the department of Alto Paraná. There they are questioning a piece of land of 162,000 hectares on the border, currently controlled by Favero, that the landless campesinos claim was distributed between them by the state.
How did the different parties react?
It has been a delicate situation since the army arrived in the middle of January to place the boundary markers. The big soy farmers united around Favero to defend him. That is the case with the Agricultural Coordinator of Paraguay, the Coordinator of Soy Producers and the cooperatives. The fact that the army is there has prevented the landowners from acting against the campesinos who claim the land. There is even an order from the Interior Ministry so that the police do not suppress them. But the landowners resisted the setting of markers. Why do they refuse the examination of the documents by the state? The district attorney and the entire congress are on the side of the soy farmers, and they have covered up this problem of the “ill-gotten” lands.
The only way that the land will continue to be under the sovereignty of our country is to offer land to the thousands and thousands of campesinos who claim it.
Have there been direct confrontations by the landowners?
The pressure is very great, the press is on the side of the soy farmers, and there is real risk that they will act as they know how: with violence against the landless campesinos. The landlords have already organized armed groups and have threatened to act on their own. We are currently in a tug-of-war, and a political problem is emerging because the soy farmers have threatened that if the government continues it could put the 2013 elections at risk. They have even had meetings of military retirees. Their allies are very strong here in Paraguay. Remember that according to some estimates, the “ill-gotten” lands occupy an area of eight million hectares and are in the hands of officials, members of the military, companies, and collaborators of [former] dictator Alfredo Stroessner.
Are we talking then of a risk of institutional breakdown?
That’s right. The problem in Paraguay is agriculture, of the land. There is a profound contradiction between the 400,000 landless families and Brazilian settlers (“brasiguayos“) who already occupy not only border lands but also lands deep into the Chaco. It is a wooded area, natural. It is a true lung of the earth that must concern everyone. There is no control over it and it is being preyed upon, destroyed by the cultivation of transgenic soy. The right-wing of the parliament supports these invaders and it is very difficult to do something to recover sovereignty. It’s an outrage, a true plundering of our land. Under this model, which has existed for decades, the women and children suffer the consequences the most: illnesses, malformations, abortions, and the extreme impoverishment of our communities and families.
We really believe that there are actors whose goal is destabilization, even resorting to bloodshed to heighten the conflict.
Brasiguayos
Over half a million Brazilians have lived in Paraguay for the past several decades. They include all kinds, but those who are central to the conflict are the landlords who have settled in the border areas in the east of the country, particularly in Alto Paraná. The majority of the landlords own enormous expanses of land that they for years have dedicated to the super-profitable cultivation of soy. And they defend their lands with arms. The dictator Alfredo Stroessner (1954-1989) found the landlords to be great allies, and let them act as they pleased on territories that were extended with no restrictions. Of the 1.5 million hectares planted with soy in the east of the country, 1.2 million of them are planted by Brazilians. The “brasiguayos” and others who arrived more recently acquired the land for a bargain price: land that in Brazil is worth $7,000 to $8,000 per hectare, in Paraguay they paid from $1,000 to at most $4,000 for the most fertile land, above all for those lands that until recent times were dedicated to ranching. In fact, in the east of the country, they do not enforce the 2005 law that prohibits the purchase or usufruct of lands situated less than 50 kilometers from the border by citizens of neighboring countries. Even less attention is paid to environmental regulations.
The hi-tech production of soy (the Brazilians “modernized” the Paraguayan agricultural sector) to a large extent drove small producers out of those areas. Claudia Ricca, of the NGO Friends of the Earth, which works in the area, told the BBC: “There is no benefit whatsoever for the area: the people are expelled from their jobs and territory, the roads are completely destroyed by the soy farmers’ trucks, the businessmen don’t live here, they don’t pay taxes, and none of what is earned stays in the communities.”
Tranquilino Favero, a septuagenarian who disembarked in Paraguay in the early 1960s, symbolizes the “brasiguayos” like few others. He crossed the border tempting fate, soon after the dictatorship was established, and today he is one of the biggest businessmen in the country. He is called the “king of soy” and is in charge of an empire that has its own army of hit men. His connections in the army are notorious, and on multiple occasions Favero has called to “resist the advance of communism,” which he sees symbolized by Fernando Lugo because of the president’s historic links to campesinos and landless movements. Dozens of campesinos have been killed in the east of Paraguay by “unknowns,” probably paid off by the landlords in the area.
From Upside Down World: http://upsidedownworld.org/main/paraguay-archives-44/3482-paraguay-land-soy-and-boots
by Deep Green Resistance News Service | Feb 18, 2012 | Colonialism & Conquest, Indigenous Autonomy, Mining & Drilling, Obstruction & Occupation
By Edward Helmore / The Observer
As she stands among villagers in the highlands of western Panama, their chosen leader, Silvia Carrera, is an image of bucolic harmony. Then Carrera, elected chief or general cacique of the Ngäbe-Buglé community, gestures to a woman who hands her a bag of spent US riot-control equipment – rubber bullet casings, shotgun shells, sting-ball grenades, teargas canisters.
Panama national police, she explains, used these against her people only days earlier to break up a protest against government plans for a vast copper mine and hydroelectric schemes on their territory. Three young Ngäbe-Buglé men were killed, dozens were wounded and more than 100 detained.
What began with villagers at Ojo de Agua in Chiriquí province using trees and rocks to block the Pan-American highway earlier this month – trapping hundreds of lorries and busloads of tourists coming over the border from Costa Rica for six days – has now placed Panama at the forefront of the enduring and often violent clash between indigenous peoples and global demand for land, minerals and energy. Carrera is emerging as a pivotal figure in the conflict.
“Look how they treat us. What do we have to defend ourselves? We don’t have anything; we have only words,” Carrera protests. “We are defenceless. We don’t have weapons. We were attacked and it wasn’t just by land but by air too. Everything they do to us, to our land, to our companions who will not come back to life, hurts us.”
At the height of the protests, thousands of Ngäbe-Buglé came down from the hills to block the highway; in El Volcán and San Félix they briefly routed police and set fire to a police station. In Panama City, students and unions joined with indigenous protesters marching almost daily on the residence of President Ricardo Martinelli. Some daubed walls near the presidential palace with the words “Martinelli assassin”.
Carrera pulls from her satchel a hastily drawn-up agreement brokered by the Catholic church that obliges the Panamanian national assembly to discuss the issue. It did not guarantee that the projects would be halted. Neither she nor the Ngäbe-Buglé people expressed optimism that the government would keep its word on the mining issue.
“The village doesn’t believe it,” she says, “and it wouldn’t be the first time that the government threw around lies. They do not listen to the village. There was a similar massacre in 2010 and 2011, when there were deaths and injuries. Some were blinded, some of our companions lost limbs.” A cry goes up: “No to the miners! No to the hydroelectric!”
The Ngäbe-Buglé comarca, or territory, sits atop the huge Cerro Colorado copper deposit, the richest mineral deposit in Panama, possibly in all of central America. Pro-business Martinelli, a self-made supermarket tycoon, signed a deal with Canada’s Inmet Mining with a 20% Korean investment to extract as much as 270,000 tons of copper a year, along with gold and silver, over the 30-year lifespan of the proposed mine. Panama’s tribes form 10% of the population but, through a system of autonomous comarcas, they control 30% of the land, giving them greater leverage.
Martinelli could hardly have found a prouder adversary than Carrera who, at 42 and elected only in September, is the first woman to lead Panama’s largest indigenous tribe. “The land is our mother. It is because of her that we live,” she says simply. “The people will defend our mother.” Carrera holds Martinelli in scant regard. She accuses him of “mocking” indigenous people and considers his administration a government of businessmen who “use us to entertain themselves, saying one thing today and another tomorrow”.
Two days before the police cleared the roadblocks, the president invited her to the Palacio de las Garzas in Panamá City for a “good meal and a drink”. The Ngäbe-Buglé chief, who received education to secondary level, was unimpressed. The offer, she said, revealed “a lack of respect”.
In past mining disputes, the government blamed “foreign actors” and journalists for stirring up trouble. Last week it accused the Ngäbe-Buglé of “kidnapping” and “hostage-taking” when referring to the travellers delayed on the highway. By the time the smoke cleared, Panama’s foreign minister, Roberto Henríquez, conceded that his government was “only producing deeper wounds”.
Carrera gestures to women in the group she says have been injured. Over the previous 24 hours she had travelled between towns to ensure that all the protesters had been released, but some reports suggest that dozens are still missing. One woman holds up a bandaged hand, a wound that she says came from an army bullet.
With the dead – including Jerónimo Rodríguez Tugri, who had his jaw blown off, and Mauricio Méndez, a learning-disabled 16-year-old – still lying in the mortuary, Carrera’s anger is plain. “This is the struggle of the indigenous people. We are trying to make contact, asking our international brothers to join us in solidarity. We call for justice from the UN. The government doesn’t want other countries to know about this. That’s why they cut off our cellphone service. We couldn’t find each other. Nobody knew anything. They were trying to convince us to give up.”
Fearful of the environmental and political fallout, governments throughout central America are tightening mining controls. But Martinelli, who came to power with the campaign slogan “walking in the shoes of the people”, seems determined to find a way around legislation that protects indigenous mineral, water and environmental resources from exploitation.
The Martinelli government faces accusations of systematic cronyism in the allocation of more than $12bn in new construction projects, funded in part by increased revenue anticipated from a $5.25bn Panama canal expansion programme. Among the disputed projects is a $775m highway that will encircle Panama City’s old quarter of Casco Viejo, cutting it off from the sea and isolating a new Frank Gehry-designed museum celebrating Panama’s influence as a three-million-year-old land bridge between the Americas. Critics say the road is pointless and Unesco is threatening to withdraw its world heritage site designation if it proceeds.
Despite the region’s history of conflict and shady banking practices, Panama is aggressively positioning itself both as an economic haven (GDP growth is running at close to 7.5%) and a tourist and eco-tourist destination. New skyscrapers thrust up into the humidity like a mini-Dubai; chic restaurants and hotels are opening up .
Officials express concern that the Ngäbe-Buglé and other indigenous disputes may undo Panama’s carefully orchestrated PR push, spotlighting the disparity of wealth in a country where 40% of the population live in poverty. “The government says Good, Panama is growing its economy. Yet the economy is for a few bellaco [macho men],” Carrera says. “But progress should be for the majority and for this we will go into the street, and from frontier to frontier, to protest.”
The tourism Panama seeks is threatening their way of life, she says. Along the coast, private developments are beginning to restrict access to the sea. “We work and we own property, but the tourists take the land and the best property. Then we can’t go there.”
At the bottom of the hill the general cacique waits for a bus to take her and several dozen women to Panama City, 200km to the west, for another anti-government rally, where they will be joined by the Kuna and representatives of the Emberá and Wounaan peoples, who are opposing encroachment of farmers on their land in the eastern provinces. Carrera vows that the Ngäbe-Buglé campaign will continue. “We are not violent. We just want to reclaim our rights and justice. Above all, we want to live in peace and tranquility.”
From The Guardian: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/feb/19/panama-protest-silvia-carrera
by Deep Green Resistance News Service | Feb 16, 2012 | Agriculture, Colonialism & Conquest, Indigenous Autonomy
By Dominic Brown
The Lower Omo Valley in south-western Ethiopia is a vast and rugged region of mountains and valleys, inhabited largely by nomadic agro-pastoralist tribes numbering some 200,000 people. Many live a simple existence, living in straw thatched huts and have little contact with the outside world. But the Ethiopian government’s new found appetite for large-scale sugar production threatens the very existence of many of these tribes.
Nearly 300,000 hectares of land in the Omo and Mago National Parks, which comprises much of the Lower Omo Valley, has been earmarked for the Kuraz Sugar Development programme. Backed by large-scale investment from Indian companies, the programme aims to help increase overall sugar production in Ethiopia to 2.3 million tonnes by 2015, with the goal of achieving a 2.5 per cent global share by 2017.
Whilst revenues from the sugar plantations will undoubtedly fill the coffers of central government, the forced relocation of tribes from their traditional lands is already having catastrophic consequences. The permanent damage to a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site is also raising alarm amongst environmentalists.
“We stand to lose everything,” one tribal leader explained, tears welling in his eyes, as he stood surrounded by his villagers. “Our traditional hunting grounds, the land we use for grazing our cattle, our homes. Everything will be gone. We will be left with nothing. We need the outside world to help us.”
Early in 2011, Ethiopian Prime Minister Meles Zenawi spoke of the importance of the project to the country’s economy, outlined in the government’s Growth and Transformation Plan (GTP). “In the coming five years there will be a very big irrigation project and related agricultural development in this zone. Even though this area is known as backward in terms of civilisation, it will become an example of rapid development.”
This “rapid development” has come at a price. There have been almost inevitable human rights abuses inflicted upon those resisting relocation since the Kuraz Sugar Development programme began last June. A report [PDF] by the Oakland Institute, a US-based think-tank, details how Ethiopian Defence Forces “arrive at Omo Valley villages (and in particular Bodi, Mursi and Suri villages) questioning villagers about their perspectives on the sugar plantations. Villagers are expected to voice immediate support, otherwise beatings (including the use of tasers), abuse and general intimidation occurs”.
Other allegations of abuse to have leaked out include the rape of male tribesmen, as well as of women and children by Ethiopian soldiers. Dozens of villagers from the region also remain in detention after voicing opposition to the development plans.
Violent clashes between the Ethiopian army and tribes from the region are on the rise. A local human rights worker told me of their fears of an escalation in the crisis to civil war. “Many tribes are saying they will fight back rather than be moved off their traditional lands to make way for these plantations. They are living in fear but feel they have nothing to lose by fighting back.”
Roadblocks are now in place in many parts of the Lower Omo Valley, limiting accessibility and ensuring the relocations remain out of the spotlight. Tribal rights NGO Survival International is leading calls for a freeze on plantation building and for a halt to the evictions. They have been campaigning to draw more attention to the deteriorating situation in the region since the Ethiopian government announced plans for the Gib III Dam [PDF] – Africa’s tallest, and one that is scheduled for completion later this year.
When completed, it threatens to destroy a fragile environment and the livelihoods of the tribes, which are closely linked to the river and its annual flood. Up to 500,000 people – including tribes in neighbouring Kenya – rely on the waters and adjacent lands of the Omo River and Lake Turkana, most of which lies in Kenya. The Karo people, now estimated to number just 1,500 along the eastern banks of the Omo River, face extinction. Already suffering from dwindling fish stocks as a result of the dam, the reduced river levels have also harmed their crop yields.
Read more from Intercontinental Cry: http://intercontinentalcry.org/ethiopias-tribes-cry-for-help/
by Deep Green Resistance News Service | Feb 15, 2012 | Mining & Drilling, Repression at Home
By Dawn Paley / Vancouver Media Co-op
It’s been almost three years since hundreds of Zapotec community members took direct action to temporarily shut down Vancouver-based Fortuna Silver’s gold and silver mine just south of Oaxaca City, Mexico.
The blockade ended with a massive police raid, during which demonstrators were beaten and 23 people were taken by police and jailed, some for up to three months. Since then, the neighbouring community of San José del Progreso has been deeply divided, and residents have faced a series of difficult and sometimes deadly confrontations.
Three people have been killed since then, most recently Bernardo Méndez Vásquez, who was shot seven times on January 18, 2012, by a municipal police officer. Locals say municipal authorities ordered the police to attack residents, who were refusing to allow a new water system to be installed on their land because they felt it would be used to supply the mine with water.
“Yes there’s problems in the municipality,” admits Bernardo Vásquez Sánchez, who lives in San José and works with the Coordinating Committee of the United Villages of the Ocotlan Valley. “But it’s not unconnected, because they started in 2008 and they’re because of the mine, if the company leaves, the municipal problems will be solved,” he said in an interview with the Vancouver Media Co-op.
So far, the mining company has avoided being linked with the violence by playing up the fact that people in San Jose are fighting with each other. Fortuna CEO Jorge Ganoza has repeatedly referred to it as “senseless” violence. “It is in no way related to our activities or involves company personnel, and we really hope that the people of San Jose, with the assistance of the state authorities, will find a long-term solution to this senseless violence,” Ganoza told the National Post regarding the recent killing.
The mine, known locally by the name of its subsidiary Minera Cuzcatlán, went into production in late September 2011. Its opponents maintain that Fortuna Silver’s mine is the root of the social problems that plague the once peaceful region. In a press conference following the police shooting of Méndez Vásquez, mine opponents made it clear that they see a direct link between Fortuna Silver and the violence.
“The social and political conflicts that have ended the lives of three people are due to the appearance of the mining company, without the consent of the people, and not to the control and power over the municipality as expressed by various authorities in the state government,” reads a statement signed by over a dozen Oaxacan organizations.
Today, the existence of the mining project is something that residents of San José del Progreso couldn’t ignore, even if they tried. The main access road into the town passes directly in front of Fortuna’s operations, complete with its own power station, offices, and a huge stockpile of ore, all surrounded by high chain link fence. Near the entrance to the mine, there’s fencing that looks more like the high, super resistant barrier surrounding the Canadian embassy in Mexico City, where anti-mining activists from all around the country gather regularly in outrage and protest.
In the centre of the village, which is home to about 1,200 people, Vásquez points out that there’s two different taxi stands, one used by people in favour of the mine, and another by those who are opposed. “In one year [the company] managed to cut the town in half, to divide the people, and the dispute become present in all spaces: in the primary school, in the secondary school, in the kindergarten, in the health centre, in city hall, in all of these situations,” said Vásquez.
Because of the company’s refusal to inform and properly involve the community in the decision to allow the mining company to operate in San José del Progreso, the community has been without an Ejidal (communal land owners) commission for three years. This commission effectively exercises control over the communally owned lands in the region, without it, communal land owners are left without means of making officially recognized decisions about the fate of their territories.
City hall has effectively been shut down since January, when municipal authorities and the municipal police fled after the murder of Méndez Vásquez. “Basically the entire town is divided in two parts, one part that has a mayor, and another part that does not have a mayor,” said Vásquez, who together with others has formally requested the dissolution of powers of the municipal government.
In addition, according to sources in Oaxaca City and in the community of San José del Progreso, a group started by the mining company, called “San José in Defense of our Rights,” has taken on a paramilitary role in the community, intimidating opponents of the project.
“Things are so broken that there’s no other way out, the only way, I think, is that the company leaves,” said Father Martin Garcia Ortiz, who served as priest in San José del Progreso until he was beaten and kidnapped by those in favour of the project. He was later jailed and released without charge, and subsequently decided to leave the parish.
Vásquez, too, is determined to see to it that the mine packs up and leaves. He and others are worried the project might eventually become an open pit mine, further threatening the region’s already fragile water system. Given Fortuna’s track record, there’s reason to be worried: Simon Ridgway, chair for Fortuna’s board of directors, was subject to two arrest warrants in Honduras because of environmental contamination from an open pit mine now owned by Goldcorp Inc.
“There’s no reason to negotiate with the company, there’s no parameters to say ‘okay, we’ll propose some productive projects or development projects,’ and then the next day I’ll have to leave my village,” said Vásquez. “That doesn’t make sense.”
From Vancouver Media Co-op: http://vancouver.mediacoop.ca/story/tensions-flare-over-vancouver-based-mine-oaxaca/9900
by Deep Green Resistance News Service | Feb 13, 2012 | Biodiversity & Habitat Destruction, Repression at Home
By Tom Phillips / The Guardian
A single shot to the temple was Mouth Organ John’s reward for spilling the beans. His friend, Junior José Guerra, fared only marginally better.
Guerra’s prize for speaking out against the illegal loggers laying waste to the greatest tropical rainforest on Earth? A broken home, two petrified children and an uncertain exile from a life he had spent years building in the Brazilian Amazon.
“I can’t go back,” said Guerra, one of the Amazon’s newest environmental refugees, three months after his friend’s brutal murder forced him, his wife and his two children into hiding. “We’ve been told that they are trying to find out where I am. The situation is very complicated.”
Mouth Organ John, 55, and Guerra, 38, lived along the BR-163, a remote and treacherous highway that cuts from north to south through the Amazon state of Para. They were migrants from Brazil’s south who came in search of a better life.
Neither man was a card-carrying environmentalist and both had reportedly been previously involved with environmental crimes. Still, they opted to commit something widely considered a cardinal sin in this isolated corner of Brazil – they informed on criminals allegedly making millions from the illegal harvesting of ipê trees from conservation units in a corner of the Amazon known as the Terra do Meio, or Middle Land.
In a region often compared to the Wild West, betraying those pillaging the rainforest all too often leads to a coffin or to exile.
Mouth Organ John, an amateur musician and mechanic whose real name was João Chupel Primo, met his fate first.
Last October, he and Guerra handed the authorities a dossier outlining the alleged activities of illegal loggers and land-grabbers in the region. Within days two men appeared at Primo’s workshop in the city of Itaituba and shot him dead. A bloody photograph of his corpse, laid out on a mortician’s slab, made a local tabloid. “There are signs this was an execution,” the local police chief, José Dias, told the paper.
Guerra escaped death, but he too lost his life. Told of his friend’s murder, he locked himself indoors, clutching a shotgun to ward off the gunmen. The next day, he was spirited out of town by federal police. Since then Guerra has embarked on a lonely pilgrimage across Brazil, journeying thousands of miles in search of support and safety. He became the latest Amazonian exile – people forced into self-imposed hiding or police protection because of their stance against those destroying the environment.
“They will order the murder of anyone who reports them [to authorities],” Guerra said this week over a crackly phone line from his latest hideout. “We thought that … if we reported these crimes they [the government] would do something … But actually João was murdered as a result.”
In June Brazil will host the Rio+20 United Nations conference on sustainable development. World leaders will gather in Rio to debate how to reconcile economic development with environmental conservation and social inclusion.
Brazil will be able to trumpet advances in its battle against deforestation – in December the government claimed Amazon destruction had fallen to its lowest level in 23 years. But the continuing threats to environmental activists represent a major blot on its environment credentials.
“What is at stake … is the government’s ability to protect its forests and its people,” said Eliane Brum, a Brazilian journalist who has won numerous awards for her dispatches from the Amazon. “If nothing is done … the government will be demoralised on the eve of Rio+20.”
Guerra is far from the first person to be forced into exile for opposing the destruction. According to government figures 49 “human rights defenders” are currently under protection in Para state, while another 36 witnesses are also receiving protection.
Last year, after the high-profile murders of Amazon activists José Cláudio Ribeiro da Silva and Maria do Espirito Santo, two local families were flown into hiding and given new identities in a distant corner of Brazil. Like Primo and Guerra, they knew too much.
In the neighbouring state of Amazonas, where activists say nearly 50 people run an imminent risk of assassination, rural leader Nilcilene Miguel de Lima was forced to flee her home. “The gunmen and the killers are the ones who should be in prison, but it’s me who is under arrest,” she told the O Eco website after an attempt on her life drove her into exile.
José Batista Gonçalves Afonso, a veteran Amazon human rights lawyer, said he had seen “countless” families forced into exile for fear of being assassinated. He blamed the situation on “the state’s inefficiency in investigating threats and providing security”.
Read more from The Guardian: http://www.guardian.co.uk/world/2012/feb/12/brazil-amazon-rainforest-activists-murder
