Editor’s note: “Never underestimate the power of a small group of committed people to change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has.” ~ Margaret Mead.
Several Chelemeras look out on the nursery before submerging themselves in the lagoon. After inclement weather, they return to the mangrove shelters to repair them. Image by Caitlin Cooper for Mongabay.
Keila Vazquez walks through a higher-elevation area in Progreso, Yucatán. Las Chelemeras are currently working to level the topography of the area so that freshwater can reach the mangroves naturally. Image by Caitlin Cooper for Mongabay.
The women of Chelem, a fishing community on the northern coast of the Mexican state of Yucatán, hadn’t planned to work in mangrove restoration. At first, it was simply an opportunity to make money to support their families, so they signed up for the project.
It was 2010, and the initiative, led by the Center for Research and Advanced Studies (CINVESTA) at the National Polytechnic Institute, aimed to restore a mangrove forest that had been devastated by the construction of a port in the late 1960s.
The group has since come to be known as Las Chelemeras (“the women of Chelem”), who have learned to restore and defend mangroves and who, 15 years later, continue to do so.
Keila Vázquez, coordinator of Las Chelemeras, remembers this place, known as the Yucalpetén bend, as barren.
“It was caused by dredging for a nearby port,” Vázquez says. “All the gravel from the port was dumped there: the topography changed, the salinity increased and the water stopped flowing.”
That’s where Las Chelemeras came in. The 14 women in the group, ranging in age from 30 to 85, learned about the different mangrove tree species of the area and what they needed to survive and grow, Vázquez says.
“Despite being from the coast, we didn’t know why the mangroves were important,” Vázquez says. “For example, they protect against cyclones and act as nurseries for commercial marine species such as prawns. Now we understand how much they benefit us.”
She adds, “We know that each of our actions is benefiting the environment and contributing to the economy and protection of the coast itself.”
The second Las Chelemeras project began in 2015, in the nearby municipality of Progreso, to restore an area of 110 hectares (272 acres) inside the State Protected Natural Area of the Marshes and Mangroves of the Northern Coast of Yucatán, a wetland reserve impacted by highway construction.
“The highway is wide — six lanes — and stretches from Mérida to Progreso, interfering with the hydrological flow of the mangroves,” says Calina Zepeda, an expert in climate risk, resilience and restoration with The Nature Conservancy (TNC), an international NGO that has supported and financed the project. “This led to the loss of many mangroves and also caused a large part of the wetland to dry up, while another area flooded.”
To date, Las Chelemeras have restored more than 60% of the forest and 90% of the water flow in this affected area inside the reserve in collaboration with CINVESTAV and TNC, according to Vázquez. She adds that their work has focused on hydrological restoration, with the opening of channels and the creation of tarquinas, topographical modifications that act as small islands where new mangrove trees can grow.
“When the hydrology is restored and the water begins to flow again, it brings with it black mangrove seeds and they propagate there on their own,” Vázquez says. “This is natural regeneration. We don’t plant them. But in the last two years, we have been helping with the reforestation of red mangroves.”
Las Chelemeras clear sediment from a canal in their current work site in Progreso. Image by Caitlin Cooper for Mongabay.
Keila Vazquez walks through a higher-elevation area in Progreso, Yucatán. Las Chelemeras are currently working to level the topography of the area so that freshwater can reach the mangroves naturally. Image by Caitlin Cooper for Mongabay.
Saving the mangroves
The State Protected Natural Area of the Marshes and Mangroves of the Northern Coast of Yucatán is an important biological corridor that encompasses several ecosystems. According to the Ramsar Sites Information Service (RSIS), it includes mangroves, sea meadows, petén — islands of trees surrounded by marshes — lowland forest and savanna. It’s home to three mangrove tree species: red (Rhizophora mangle), black (Avicennia germinans) and white (Laguncularia racemosa).
The reserve provides habitat for a wide variety of plants and animals, some of them globally threatened, such as the Yucatán killifish (Fundulus persimilis) and the blind swamp eel (Ophisternon infernale) — both listed as endangered on the IUCN Red List — and the golden silverside (Menidia colei), a species of small fish found only along the northern coast of the Yucatán Peninsula and offshore islands. The site also hosts a large number of waterbirds, including the American flamingo (Phoenicopterus ruber) and the reddish egret (Egretta rufescens).
It’s in this biologically diverse area that Las Chelemeras work. They not only build channels and dig up sediment to reestablish the water flow — manually, with tools they made themselves — but they also recreate the topography of the area by building small islands out of wooden posts, shade cloth and soil. These are the tarquinas, or nurseries, where they cultivate new mangrove trees.
“We make the channels and take the sediment [and use it to build] the tarquinas,” Vázquez says.
The tarquinas are piles of earth built in the most flooded areas of the mangroves and fenced with mesh or greenhouse cloth to keep the sediment from washing away. Claudia Teutli is a researcher at the National School of Higher Education of the National Autonomous University of Mexico (ENES-UNAM) who, together with Jorge Herrera of CINVESTAV, has accompanied Las Chelemeras since the beginning and provided technical and scientific assistance to develop the group’s skills and formalize their knowledge.
Teutli says the goal of the tarquinas “is to help establish the seedlings, because these areas can flood up to 2 meters [6.6 feet].” By doing this, they contribute to the recovery of the mangrove’s ecosystem services, she says.
The women make their own tools to do their work. For example, the jamo, a stick with a net attached to one end, is used to clear channels.
“After working with a shovel and pick, they extract the sediment with the jamos, so that the water drains through the nets,” Teutli says, adding that they made them because shovels, in addition to being expensive, rusted too quickly and lasted less than a week, after which they would have to get rid of them. “These other tools can last months and have been a great success.”
Teutli says Las Chelemeras also weave baskets out of coconut fiber and palm leaves to transplant the mangrove seedlings and prevent contamination with the plastic bags normally used in nurseries.
Las Chelemeras say their workday begins very early in the morning. After they finish, in the afternoon, several members pick up their children from school, take them home and make them meals. Many say they also have jobs outside the mangroves, and some say they’ve invested their earnings from their work in the mangroves by opening shops and small catering businesses.
Vázquez says that for their mangrove work, they make sure responsibilities are divvied up equitably.
“There are two members whose job it is to watch the birds, another two who monitor, others who supervise … and that’s how we divide up the tasks between everyone,” Vázquez says. “We try to make sure that tasks are evenly distributed, so that no one gets upset. There’s a reason we’re all still here after [15] years. We know how to work together, and we understand one another.
Part of the restoration site in Progreso, where Las Chelemeras have built shelters where mangrove seedlings can take root. Image by Caitlin Cooper for Mongabay.A patch of restored mangrove in Yucalpetén, Las Chelemeras’ first work site. Image by Caitlin Cooper for Mongabay.
A source of pride
Vázquez says the hard work of Las Chelemeras has turned what were once barren and desolate landscapes of mud back into vibrant forests.
“All this vegetation is thanks to our work and our effort, all the exhaustion we experienced: it tells us it has been worth it,” she says.
In addition to the mangrove trees themselves, Vázquez says she’s seen many other species return to the area.
“There are crabs, fish, and what here in the Yucatán we call caracol chivita [Melongena corona, a species of sea snail]. But what has surprised us recently are prawns, and seeing that there are birds,” she says.
This, in her opinion, is one of the best parts of their work. “We have such diversity: we see reddish egrets … and white egrets, flamingos and groove-billed anis,” Vázquez says. “Being in this place really brings me peace. It comforts me, listening to the birds, seeing them in the trees, together with all the other animals. It makes you forget the world, the noise, everything.”
Vázquez says the mangrove trees have become like family to Las Chelemeras.
“I think it’s women’s intuition,” she says. “We say that the seedlings we managed to grow there are like our daughters. When we see their propagules, we say they are our granddaughters. We’ve made this place our home.”
What they want most, Vázquez says, is for new generations — especially their own children — to take part in conservation work. She says to this end they’ve introduced volunteering days, in which around 500 university students have participated in restoration activities.
“We aren’t going to live forever,” Vázquez says. “We know we need new generations to continue our work. My 2-year-old grandson likes birds; he’s made his own little mangrove nursery. They are the ones we need to bring into this world.”
Astrid Arellano is a Mexican journalist focused on investigative and narrative journalism. She writes about Indigenous peoples, the environment and human rights. Her reporting also focuses on victims of violence and kidnappings in Sonora, in northwestern Mexico, where she was born and currently lives. She won the 2019 National Journalism Award in Reporting and, in 2021, joined the Mongabay Latam team to cover Indigenous peoples and the environment. Follow her on Twitter: @astridarellanoo
More than 250 members of Indigenous and local communities gathered in Indonesia’s Merauke district to demand an end to government-backed projects of strategic national importance, or PSN, which they say have displaced them, fueled violence, and stripped them of their rights.
PSN projects, including food estates, plantations and industrial developments, have triggered land conflicts affecting 103,000 families and 1 million hectares (2.5 million acres) of land, with Indigenous communities reporting forced evictions, violence and deforestation, particularly in the Papua region.
In Merauke itself, the government plans to clear 3 million hectares (7.4 million acres) for rice and sugarcane plantations, despite Indigenous protests; some community members, like Vincen Kwipalo, face threats and violence for refusing to sell their ancestral land, as clan divisions deepen.
Officials have offered no concrete solutions, with a senior government researcher warning that continued PSN expansion in Papua could escalate socioecological conflicts, further fueling resentment toward Jakarta and potentially leading to large-scale unrest.
Hundreds of protesters, including young and Indigenous peoples from three coastal villages, have demanded the closure of sand dredging in Indonesia’s West Sulawesi over environmental concerns and permit violations.
The protest earlier this month marked the latest in a series of demonstrations by residents of Karossa, Pasangkayu and Kalukku, who have voiced opposition to sand mining in Mamuju and Central Mamuju districts since November 2024. Tensions escalated after the West Sulawesi provincial investment office issued a mining business permit in March 2024 to PT Alam Sumber Rezeki (ASR), which plans to operate at the mouth of the Benggaulu River in Karossa.
The May 5 rally at the West Sulawesi governor’s office was sparked by a public statement from Governor Suhardi Duka, who dismissed the opposition as “thuggery” and insisted the mining permit had been issued in accordance with the law.
“That statement shows that our leaders still greatly lack a sense of solidarity with the people and the ability to understand what we are going through,” said Taufik Rama Wijaya, youth coordinator at the Indigenous Peoples Alliance of the Archipelago (AMAN) in West Sulawesi.
For nearly three hours of the protest, no government official came to address the crowd. It was reported that the governor and his team were on their way to Jakarta — some 2,000 kilometers (1,240 miles) to the west from his office. Frustrated, the protesters attempted to force their way into the governor’s office, sparking a clash with security forces. Several demonstrators were drenched by water cannons during the confrontation.
“So why is it so difficult for us to simply meet the governor and directly express our concerns?” said Zulkarnain, a coordinator of the Alliance of West Sulawesi People Against Mining.
PT Alam Sumber Rezeki holds a 69.9-hectare (173-acre) mining concession, according to Minerba One Map Indonesia (MoMI), an area that largely overlaps with community-owned land and fishponds. An investigation by the Alliance of West Sulawesi People Against Mining into the company’s feasibility study indicates that sand extracted from the river will be transported to North Penajam Paser district in East Kalimantan to support the construction of Indonesia’s new capital, Nusantara.
Many environmentalists have warned of the extensive footprint of environmental degradation brought on by the development of the city’s core and supporting infrastructure — not just in the interior of East Kalimantan, but across the island and beyond.
“The presence of sand and rock mining operations in several parts of West Sulawesi meant to supply materials for the new capital (IKN) or for sand exports poses a serious threat to communities living near the extraction sites,” the group said. “This is currently being experienced by residents in Mamuju and Central Mamuju.”
The protest in West Sulawesi is part of a long-running resistance. Residents had previously organized demonstrations at the village, subdistrict and regency levels and repeatedly participated in public hearings with the West Sulawesi provincial legislature and the mining company.
Yet, the government pushed ahead with the permit while public opposition was still mounting. The decision has not only intensified tensions between the community and the company but also led to criminalization of at least 21 residents (18 from Central Mamuju and three from West Kalukku) reported to the West Sulawesi police for rejecting the mining operation.
“Community involvement in issuing permits must not be merely a formality because they are the ones most affected by the mining,” AMAN’s Rama said.
Rama and his group demanded the closure of harmful mining operations in areas such as Karossa, Kalukku and Pasangkayu while also condemning the West Sulawesi governor’s remark equating anti-mining protests with thuggery and calling for a public apology. They also denounced police repression of peaceful demonstrators, urged the release of three detained protesters and called for an end to all environmentally destructive mining activities.
“The Indigenous youth and communities will not remain silent. We will continue to speak the truth and stand with the people,” Rama said.
Miguel Guimaraes, a Shipibo-Konibo leader, has spent his life protesting palm oil plantations and other agribusiness ventures exploiting the Amazon rainforest in his homeland of Peru. Last spring, as he attended a United Nations conference on protecting human rights defenders in Chile, masked men broke into his home, stole his belongings, and set the place on fire. Guimarares returned days later to find “he will not live” spray-painted on the wall.
The U.N. special rapporteur on human rights defenders, Mary Lawlor, denounced the attack and urged Peru to guarantee Guimarare’s protection. Although Guimaraes enjoyed international support, his assailants haven’t been identified.
Guimaraes is one of 6,400 activists who endured harassment or violence for defending human rights against corporate interests. That’s according to a new report from the Business & Human Rights Resource Centre that chronicles attacks and civil violations human rights defenders worldwide have experienced over the past decade. Although Indigenous people make up 6 percent of the world population, they accounted for one-fifth of the crimes documented in the report. They also were more likely than others to be killed, particularly in Brazil, the Philippines, and Mexico.
Some of these attacks arise from the “range of ways” governments are restricting civic space and discourse and “prioritizing economic profit,” said Christen Dobson, an author of the report and co-head of the Civic Freedoms and Human Rights Defenders Programme. “Over the past 10 years, we’ve seen a consistent, sustained pattern of attacks against people who speak out against business-related human rights, risks, and harms,” he said.
Most of these attacks are reported by local organizations focused on documenting and collecting Indigenous cases, and the number of crimes against them may be higher. “The only reason we know about even a slice of the scale of attacks against defenders worldwide is because defenders themselves are sharing that information, often at great risk,” said Dobson.
Virtually every industry has a case in the database that the Business & Human Rights Resource Centre maintains. The organization has tracked companies, trade associations, and governments believed to have requested, or paid, law enforcement to intervene in peaceful protest activity. In 2023, for example, local authorities in Oaxaca, Mexico, attacked and injured members of the Union of Indigenous Communities of the Northern Zone of the Isthmus who were peacefully blocking the Mogoñe Viejo-Vixidu railway, which posed a threat to 12 Indigenous communities in the area.
The protest against the Dakota Access Pipeline saw the highest number of attacks related to a single project over the last decade, the report found. Around 100,000 people in 2016 and 2017 gathered to oppose the pipeline and were met with a campaign of harassment, intimidation, and arrest. Energy Transfer, the company that led the project, filed a defamation suit accusing Greenpeace of violating trespassing and defamation laws and coordinating the protests. In March, a jury ordered Greenpeace to pay $660 million in damages, a verdict legal experts called “wildly punitive.”
The Business & Human Rights Resource Centre cites that lawsuit as an example of companies using a legal tactic called a strategic lawsuit against public participation, or SLAPP suit, to silence dissent and harass protesters. But Energy Transfer cited that courtroom victory in its response to the nonprofit’s report: “The recent verdict against Greenpeace was also a win for the people of North Dakota who had to live through the daily harassment and disruptions caused by the protesters who were funded and trained by Greenpeace.”
Fossil fuel companies were hardly the only offenders, however. Dobson and her team identified several cases involving renewable energy sectors, where projects have been linked to nearly 365 cases of harassment and more than 100 killings of human rights defenders.
But mining, including the extraction of “transition minerals,” leads every sector in attacks on defenders. Forty percent of those killed in such crimes were Indigenous, a reflection of the fact that more than half of all critical minerals lie in or near Indigenous land.
The outsize scale of harassment and violence against Indigenous people prompted the U.N. special rapporteur to release a statement last year making clear that “a just transition to green energy must support Indigenous peoples in securing their collective land rights and self-determination over their territories, which play a vital role in biodiversity, conservation, and climate change adaptation.“
Businesses, particularly those in mining and metals, are being pressured to ensure their operations do just that. The Consolidated Mining Standard Initiative, or CSMI, for example, is a voluntary framework to improve industry policies adopted by several trade associations like the Mining Association of Canada. “The standard addresses a broad range of community risks by requiring mining operations to work with communities to identify and work together to mitigate risks faced by the community,” the association said. “Such risks include those to human rights defenders, where they exist.”
Another member of the initiative, the International Council of Mining and Metals, said it has “strengthened our member commitments on human rights defenders to explicitly include defenders in companies’ due diligence, stakeholder engagement, and security processes. Defenders often work on issues related to land, the environment, and Indigenous peoples’ rights.”
Even as this report highlights the dangers human rights defenders face, a growing need for critical minerals, mounting demand for the infrastructure to support AI, and the dismantling of regulatory oversight in the United States bring new threats. The report also makes clear that these attacks will not decrease until broad agreements to adopt and implement protections for these activists are enacted. Such policies must be accompanied by legislation designating Indigenous stewardship of their land and requiring their involvement in project consultations.
Yet Indigenous organizations tend to doubt any industry can be trusted to voluntarily participate in such efforts. In a letter sent to the CSMI, 25 human rights organizations including the Business & Human Rights Resource Centre said mandatory participation will be required to ensure robust protection of human rights defenders and relationships between industry and Indigenous peoples. “People and the environment suffer when companies are left to self-regulate with weak voluntary standards,” the letter stated.
Still, change is coming, however slowly. When Dobson and her team started tracking the harassment and violence against human rights defenders, she wasn’t aware of any companies with a policy pledging to not contribute to or assist attacks against defenders. Since then, “We’ve tracked 51 companies that have made this policy commitment,” she said. “Unfortunately that doesn’t always mean we see progress in terms of implementation of those policies.”
Today, October 12th of 2024 –a symbolic date for Indigenous Peoples of this territory we call Abya Yala– we have gathered in these territories of resistance in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec, at the Continental Encounter Building an Alliance Against Gas Pipelines and Other Megaprojects in Defense of the Territories of Indigenous Peoples.
We are 374 delegates including representatives and spokespersons of Indigenous Peoples and organizations, environmentalists, people from the academia, communicators and free media journalists, coming from 20 states of the part of the Planet some call Mexico, 22 Indigenous Peoples and 11 countries, we have gathered in order to strengthen and amplify the alliances and networking initiatives of the Peoples of the Americas.
At this continental encounter, we speak out strongly against war and other forms of violence that are used as mechanisms to plunder the heritage of our peoples, and impossing megaprojects to make it happen. This violence manifests –in the harshest and most brutal ways– as what is happening right now to the Palestinian People –and the full regional war in the Middle East– and also the criminalization of water, land, air and life protectors in all our countries.
We demand the cessation of the violation of Nature rights, and we denounce and oppose the role of international banking that finances megaprojects that threaten all life.
Today marks 532 years of Indigenous, Black and Peoples resistance. Despite the vicious and destructive capitalism, in the face of the countless attempts to erase our ancestral culture and the militarization of our territories and geographies, and in spite of the false well-being that governments preach, we all declare from here –the Isthmus of Tehuantepec– that we stand strong celebrating life with dignity and a rebellious indomitable spirit.
In this encounter we have agreed to foster –together with our brothers and sisters from the North, Meso and South America– the efforts to walk together to defend our rights and territories. We condemn the imposition of these megaprojects of death and, in particular, gas pipelines, such as those in Tuxpan, Tula and La Puerta del Sureste, which cause serious environmental damage and threaten the lives and culture of our peoples.
We, the women participating in this encounter –as guardians of the territory, the land and the life of our peoples– reflect with concern about the future of new generations, of our children, as well as the need to make visible the pain generated by imposition, and by the dispossession of the natural resources and the territory of our peoples. We emphasize the importance to encourage relationships based on sisterhood, empathy, care and support each other among ourselves, as well as to foster mutual respect with our fellow life protectors. We salute the brave struggle of our sisters throughout the continent who mobilize for women and our peoples rights.
It is essential for the movements of our peoples to strengthen actions regarding community and popular communication. It is our challenge to break the media siege, through which the great (state- corporate)powers seek to make our struggles invisible. Therefore, we call on our peoples’ communicators to foster a great continental outreach initiative that contributes to strengthening the processes of unity.
We denounce any boost of neoliberal programs by the governments of our continent. These governments are acting in the interests of large transnational corporations and –to fulfill their needs– criminalize protectors of our territories.
This is why this encounter is calling for the release of our political and consciousness prisoners like: Leonard Peltier, Chief Dhstayl (Adam Gagnon), Kenia Hernandez, Tomás Martínez Mandujano, Emiliano Zambrano Aguilar, Arnulfo García Santos (from the Triqui People); and many other protectors of the Earth Family.
We demand to see alive our relatives Sergio Rivera, the 43 student teachers from Ayotzinapa, Sandra Estefanía Dominguez, Claudio Uruchurtu, Ernesto Sernas García, Estefanía Domínguez Martínez and many, many, many more.
We demand transformative justice for the murderers of Samir Flores, Noe Jiménez Pablo, José Santiago Gómez, Luis Armando Fuentes Aquino, Jesús Manuel García Martínez, Felix Vicente Cruz, Juan López, and the comrades of the Popular Union of Street Vendors “October 28”. We want justice for Bety Cariño and Jyri Jaakkola, 14 years after their assassinations. We demand an end to the persecution of our brothers and sisters of UCIZONI, Puente Madera and other communities, who have been criminalized for protecting their territory against the megaproject of the Interoceanic Corridor in the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. We urge to put an end to the criminalization and harassment of Cholulteca and volcanoes peoples in Puebla, so as the defenders of the territory against the so-called “Mayan Train” megaproject. We also denounce the governments that persecute water and land protectors who confront the Canadian pig farm corporation Granjas Carroll. We demand the cancellation of the Las Cruces hydroelectric megaproject in Nayarit, in the part of the Planet some call Mexico, because it threatens the sacred sites of the Naáyari, Wixarika, Odham and Meshika peoples, damming the last free river in Mexico. We demand an end to the persecution and criminalization of people living in poverty for their skin color and way of dressing. We ask fair treatment to our fellow migrant relatives. And we reject and denounce the use of the organized crime and government agreements with drug cartels as a way to attack and assault people’s movements.
We have agreed to boost legal prevention strategies, and we urge peoples and municipalities to carry out their own consultation protocols and municipal and regional statements. So that we all can have, in our own geographies, declarations of territories free from (mountain-top removal)mining, fossil fuel industry, damming of our rivers, (reckless industrial)farm wind, industrial parks, and toxic waste dumps projects.
We send our deep and respectful greetings to the National Indigenous Congress, on the 28th anniversary of its birth today, and we recognize its struggle as the main reference for the mobilization of the Indigenous Peoples in these bioregions. We also greet our sisters and brothers who are mobilizing today in Tepic, Mexico City, El Salvador and Guatemala, and we recognize and deeply appreciate the contribution and solidarity of our relatives from the parts of the Planet we call Switzerland, Germany, France, Canada and the United States who all have expressed their willingness to be a close companionship in our struggles.
532 years of indigenous, black and popular resistance. Long live the resistance of our peoples!
Long live the organized continental struggle!
Not one more isolated struggle!
Continental Encounter Building an Alliance Against Gas Pipelines and other Megaprojects in Defense of the Territories of Indigenous Peoples.
Yajxonax Agroecology Center, Tierra Bonita, Isthmus of Tehuantepec, Oaxaca, Part of the Planet some call Mexico.
*Yajxonax means “Beautiful Land” in Ayuujk (or Mixe) language.
Community Land & Water Coalition (CLWC) on Friday Feb. 14, 2025, filed a demand for a cease and desist after confirming that Eric Pontiff, doing business under the name of Standish Investment Group, LLC, started the work before the legal appeal period expired.
The group’s cease and desist request states:
The Work is destroying the ancestral lands and heritage of the Wampanoag Tribes including destroying potential burial sites, graves, and homesites without an archeological study, without Free Prior Informed Consent and in violation of Article 32 of the United Nations Declaration of the Rights of Indigenous People, the laws of Massachusetts and the Zoning Bylaw.
Photos Above: February 14, 2025, tree clearing has started to cut down ancient trees on sacred Wampanoag Lands at 71 Hedges Pond Road, Cedarville, Plymouth MA.
One of the last remaining hills in the Town, sacred site of the Wampanoag People
The proposed mining site is 33-acres of forested land at 71 Hedges Pond Road. It is one of the last hills not leveled by decades of sand and gravel mining in the Town. The plans show massive excavation that will start at the top of the 150-foot hill and mine about 90 feet deep across the site.
In January 2025, following a recommendation by Plymouth’s Planning Board, the Town’s Director of Inspectional Services issued zoning and building permits to level the 150 foot hill, allegedly preparing the site for a “commercial complex” of large buildings. Over 1,000 letters were sent to the Town demanding that the Director require a special permit under the Town’s Zoning Bylaw. The Town ignored the letters.
The hill and forested land is in an area known as the “Ancient Indian Plantation” and are the ancestral lands of the state’s Native American Wampanoag People.
“We oppose this project and the development of this area on Hedges Pond Road,” said Melissa Ferretti, Chairwoman of the Herring Pond Wampanoag Tribe based in Plymouth, which was called Patuxet by Indigenous People. “This location is an integral part of our original reservation lands known to us as the “Great Lot.” This project threatens to irreversibly damage our ancestral homelands, the heart of our existence and heritage here in Plymouth. The Great Lot holds immense cultural and historic significance for our community and any development would not only harm the land but also disrupt our deep-rooted connection to it. Honoring the sacredness of these grounds is fundamental to our community and culture,” Ferretti stated. In November 2024, Governor Healy issued an Executive Order granting the Tribe state recognition, a major accomplishment.
Speaking at the February 11, 2025 Select Board meeting,Indigenous youth urged the Town to, “At least consider and possibly even invite people from her tribe and other neighboring sister tribes to have discussions about these matters and include them in them.”
At the Select Board meeting Miciah Stasis from the Herring Pond Wampanoag Tribe said, “Our people have been here for thousands of years and our ancestors lay beneath those lands that you are trying to sand mine… If this was anybody else’s grandmother or grandparents that are being dug up right now, there would be an issue.”
“Plymouth officials and the business interests that make up the Plymouth Foundation promote the Town as “America’s Hometown.” They market the Native American and Pilgrim story to the world’s tourists. They profit from the Thanksgiving story but are letting this project destroy that very history without even an archeological or environmental impact study,” said Meg Sheehan, attorney for the petitioners filing the appeal.
The community neighborhood Cedarville Village Steering Committee in a December finding unanimously rejected the “unified complex” plan calling it vague. By claiming a development is a “unified complex,” a sand and gravel company can seek to evade the more stringent special permitting process and proceed without a public hearing.
The February 14, 2025 appeal requires the Zoning Board of Appeals (ZBA) to hold a public hearing on whether to uphold the permits. The hearing will be scheduled in several weeks and is open to the public. In a potential conflict of interest, two members of the ZBA are Directors of the Plymouth Foundation, which received the sand mining permit from the Town.
On another mining project, on March 3, 2025, the Zoning Board of Appeals will hold the second day of a public hearing on a proposal by PA Landers, a regional sand and gravel mining operator, to expand its 100 acre mine and level a hill visible from Route 3 North. This is adjacent to 71 Hedges Pond Road, the subject of the February 14, 2025, legal appeal. The hearing is in the Great Hall, 2nd Floor, 26 Court St., Plymouth, 7 pm.
On Sunday, February 16, 2025 at 7 p.m. the local group CLWC is holding its second public forum on sand and gravel mining in Plymouth.
A state-wide campaign, Stop the Desecration, seeks to raise awareness about the destruction of Native American archeological sites without proper legal reviews.
Editor’s note: This year’s biannual Biodiversity COP was in Cali, Colombia, a country with the dubious distinction of topping the list of the number of environmental activists killed by a country in both 2022 (60) and 2023 (79) and will probably have that dubious honor this year with a continuingly rising number of (115) as of November 7th.
BOGOTÁ, Colombia — While music played in Bogotá’s streets and a sense of victory filled the air after a long protest, Ana Graciela received a new appointment on her calendar: the funeral of Carlos Andrés Ascué Tumbo.
Nicknamed Lobo (meaning “wolf” in Spanish), the esteemed Indigenous guardian and educational coordinator was killed Aug. 29, while his fellow guardians, the Kiwe Thegnas (or Indigenous Guard of Cauca) were protesting for better security in Cauca, Colombia. The region has increasingly become dangerous with incursions by illegal armed groups.
“The situation is tough. Women and children are being killed [almost] every day,” said Ana Graciela Tombé, coordinator of the Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca.
The Bogotá protest gathered more than 4,000 people, in what is known as a minga in the Andean tradition, against escalating violence in the region. After eight days, on Aug. 28, the Indigenous communities succeeded in getting President Gustavo Petro to sign a new decree, the Economic and Environmental Territorial Authority, which grants Indigenous territories greater autonomy to take judicial action against violence within their lands.
But the sentiment is bittersweet for the Indigenous Nasa and Misak activists in Ana’s homeland of Cauca, particularly in Pueblo Nuevo, a nationally recognized Indigenous territory (resguardo). They’ve lost a dear leader and role model, impassioned with protecting their ancestral territory, forests and youth from illegal armed groups.
Labeled the deadliest country for environmental defenders in 2023, Carlos, 30, was the 115th social leader killed in Colombia this year, according to the Development and Peace Institute, Indepaz.
Although the police investigation into his death is still underway, members of his community say they believe Carlos was the latest victim of armed groups and drug traffickers the Nasa people have struggled with for more than 40 years. Mongabay spoke with these members of the community, including Carlos’ family and friends, to gather more information on his life and killing that received little attention in the media.
One of Carlos’ close friends leans on the coffin. Image by Tony Kirby.Musicians play Carlos’ favorite music. Image by Tony Kirby.
Pueblo Nuevo is located in the central mountain range of the Andes in the Cauca department, which today has become a hub for drug trafficking and illicit plant cultivation. This is due to its proximity to drug trafficking routes to ship drugs to international markets, the absence of state presence and the remoteness of the mountains.
The loss of Carlos is both physical and spiritual, a close friend of Carlos, Naer Guegia Sekcue, told Monagaby. He left behind a void in the lives of his family which they are trying to fill with love, Naer said, and the community and guardians feel like they lost a part of their rebellion against armed groups.
The ‘Wolf’
Carlos was a member of the Indigenous Guard since his childhood. The children’s section of the Guard is called semillas, meaning “seeds,” for how they’ll fruit into the next generation of leaders protecting their territory.
He met his wife, Lina Daknis, through mutual friends at university. Lina, though not of Indigenous heritage, said she fell in love with his rebellious spirit, devotion and commitment to Indigenous rights. When Lina became pregnant, the couple decided to raise their daughter in the Indigenous reserve, Pueblo Nuevo.
For many in this Indigenous community, their lands and forests are far more than mere sustenance; they hold deep traditional and spiritual significance. Among the Nasa people, one significant ritual involves burying the umbilical cord under stones of a sacred fire (tulpa), symbolically tying them to their ancestral territories. According to the sources Mongabay spoke to, they consider that the lands and forests do not belong to them but are a loan from their children they are entrusted to protect.
Carlos was fully dedicated to this Indigenous Guard, Lina said.
Many days, he would get up in the middle of the night to patrol the territory. While facing well-equipped armed groups, the Indigenous Guard remained unarmed. They carry a ceremonial wooden baton, adorned with green and white strings as symbols of Indigenous identity. Carlos was particularly outspoken against illegal armed groups and coca cultivation. Faced with their invasions and deforestation on their territory, the Guard also took on the role of environmental defenders.
Coca cultivation, as done by armed groups to produce cocaine, not only impacts lives, but also the environment. The traditionally sacred crop is now tied to violence and degradation in the region.
According to Colombia’s Ministry of Justice, 48% of cultivation is concentrated in special management areas, including national parks, collective territories and forest reserves. Between 2022 and 2023, coca cultivation caused the deforestation of 11,829 hectares (29,200 acres) of forested land, according to the latest report from the United Nations Office on Drugs and Crime. This deforestation increased by 10% in 2023 and threatens biodiversity, placing more than 50 species at risk of extinction, the Ministry of Justice stated at the COP16 U.N. biodiversity conference.
In one instance, Carlos and the Guard destroyed coca plants, took photos and uploaded videos to social media. Shortly after, his family began receiving threats from anonymous people on social media, warning Carlos to be careful. Lina now said she believes these threats came from dissident groups profiting from coca cultivation.
Pueblo Nuevo is located in the central mountain range of the Andes in the Cauca department, which today has become a hub for drug trafficking and illicit plant cultivation. Image by Tony Kirby.
In Cauca, several dissident groups are active, including Estado Central Mayor and the Dagoberto Ramos Front. These factions emerged following the 2016 peace agreement and consist of former FARC guerrillas who either rejected or abandoned the reintegration process. Law enforcement say their presence poses a persistent threat. Most recently, in May, a police station in Caldono was attacked, with local authorities suspecting the involvement of the Dagoberto Ramos Front.
Despite the danger, Carlos never stopped his work.
“I told him to leave the Guard, to go to another country, that they would kill him,” said his mother, Diana Tumbo. “But he didn’t leave us nor the Guard.”
Carlos’ mother calls for the unity of the people in the fight against violence. Image by Tony Kirby.
The seeds of tomorrow
The road to the Carlos’ home is surrounded by peaceful landscapes: small villages, chicken restaurants and hand-built huts. But the graffiti on walls — “FARC EP” (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, People’s Army) and “ELN Presente” (National Liberation Army, Present) — are stark reminders of the violence. Despite the peace agreement signed between the FARC and the Colombian government in 2016, violence has resurged in Cauca.
Carlos saw the armed groups as a destructive force to youth by recruiting minors.
According to the annual report of the United Nations Commissioner for Human Rights, armed groups forcibly recruited at least 71 Indigenous children in 2023. Oveimar Tenorio, leader of the Indigenous Guard, said the armed groups no longer have the political ideology that once defined the FARC. Instead, their attacks on the Indigenous Guard are driven by profit and control of drug routes.
“We are an obstacle for them,” he told Mongabay.
The graffiti reads “FARC – EP,” which stands for “Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia – People’s Army.” An man sits on a bench in a square in Jamundí, Colombia. For decades, violence has been a part of daily life for Colombians. Image by Tony Kirby.
Carlos became an educational coordinator, supporting teachers with Indigenous knowledge programs and organized workshops for the schools in the Sath Tama Kiwe Indigenous Territory. He believed in educating youth not just with academic knowledge, but with a sense of pride in their Indigenous heritage and the need to protect their land, Naer said.
Carlos encouraged the young people not to feel ashamed of being Indigenous, but instead to learn from their own culture. He always carried a book by Manuel Quintín Lame, a historical Indigenous Nasa leader from Cauca who defended Indigenous autonomy in the early 20th century.
But Carlos’ approach was one of tenderness; he was always listening to his students and fighting for a better future for the youth. “He was convinced that real change started from the bottom up, through children and the youth,” Naer said.
People show support for Carlos, demanding justice for him. Image by Tony Kirby.
Murder of the ‘Wolf’
His friends and family said Carlos’ actions made him a target.
On Aug. 29, 2024, Carlos went down to the village of Pescador, Caldono, to pick up his daughter from swimming lessons. It was a peaceful moment: mother, father and daughter having a family meal at a small restaurant. Afterward, Carlos went to refuel his motorbike at the gas station.
Suddenly, a stranger approached his wife in the restaurant, she said, asking, ‘Are you the woman who is with the man with the long hair? Something has happened, but I can’t say what.’
Carlos Andrés Ascué Tumbo of the Andes Mountains was shot in the head.
The Regional Indigenous Council of Cauca quickly blamed “criminal structures” linked to dissident FARC groups, particularly the Jaime Martínez and Dagoberto Ramos factions. However, the police investigation is ongoing, and the Fiscalía General de la Nación (Office of the Attorney General), which is overseeing the case, has not shared details with the public or Mongabay.
Mongabay approached Fiscalía General de la Nación and local authorities for comment but did not receive one by the time of publication.
Sept. 1, in a small village perched on a hillside, marked the date of Carlos’ funeral. Fellow members of the Indigenous Guard, wearing blue vests and carrying their batons, lined the dusty roads. They formed a solemn procession from Carlos’ house down to the cemetery with about 1,000 people walking around them through Pueblo Nuevo.
“We want to show our strength,” said Karen Julian, a university student in Cauca who didn’t know Carlos personally but felt compelled to attend his funeral. Along with others, she boarded a brightly painted chiva bus to Carlos’ home village, where he was laid to rest.
Members of the Indigenous Guard, carrying batons, line the streets of Pueblo Nuevo, accompanying Carlos on his final journey to his grave. Image by Tony Kirby.
Children holding flowers led the way of the procession, followed by a cross and then the coffin. A woman rang the church bell and people chanted the slogan to resist armed groups: “Until when? Until forever!”
At the covered sports field at the center of the village, the funeral transformed into a political rally. “I will not allow another young person to die!” Carlos’ mother shouted to the audience. “I demand justice.” She spoke of her worries for her granddaughter, Carlos’ daughter, who stills had many plans with her father. She called on the community to stand united against the violence that has taken so many lives.
As Carlos’ coffin was lowered into the ground, the crowd began to swell, pressing in tightly with his 6-year-old daughter at the front row of the mass. All were watching as the coffin reached its final destination.
“Carlos’ death was not in vain,” Naer said. “The youth understand that they must follow his path. The younger generations will continue preserving the Indigenous traditions while defending our territories and rights.”
The last look: Carlos’ daughter watches her father before he is buried, while his parents cry beside the coffin. Image by Tony Kirby.
Banner image: Carlos’ fellow guardians carry his coffin; they fought shoulder to shoulder to protect the Indigenous territories against illegal armed groups. Image by Tony Kirby.
