The Roots of Engagement: Understanding Opposition and Support for Resource Extraction 0197639704, 9780197639702

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The Roots of Engagement Understanding Opposition and Support for Resource Extraction MOISES ARCE, MICHAELS. HENDRICKS, AND MARC S. POLIZZI

OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS

Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2022 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Arce, Moisés, author. | Hendricks, Michael S., author. | Polizzi, Marc S., author. Title: The roots of engagement : understanding opposition and support for resource extraction / Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks, and Marc S. Polizzi. Description: New York, NY : Oxford University Press, [2022] | Series: Studies in comparative energy and environmental politics | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifier s: LCCN 2022026933 (print) | LCCN 2022026934 (ebook) | ISBN 9780197639672 (hardback) | ISBN 9780197639696 (epub) | ISBN 9780197639689 | ISBN 9780197639702 Subjects: LCSH: Natural resources—Political aspects—Peru. | Mineral industries—Political aspects—Peru. | Protest movements—Peru. Classification: LCC HC227.5 .A74 2022 (print) | LCC HC227.5 (ebook) | DDC 333.70985—dc23/eng/20220714 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022026933 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022026934 DOI: 10.1093/oso/9780197639672.001.0001 1

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To students of just transitions

Contents Preface

1. Introduction

ix

I

2. Understanding Opposition to and Support for Resource Extraction

10

3. Opportunities, Not Threats

34

4. The Pilgrimage for Life

55

5. We Will Not Move

73

6. Survey Results

94

7. Conclusion

119

Appendix A: Tia Maria, Rancho Grande, and Fuleni Results Appendix B: Santo Domingo Results Notes References Index

139 159 169 183 197

Preface The extraction of natural resources has become a pivotal economic strategy for countries in the Global South. Because of increased demand for minerals and other commodities, countries throughout Latin America and sub-​ Saharan Africa have opened the doors to investment in the extractive sector. While these efforts have been a boon for national treasuries and industry actors, host communities living near these extractive projects face several negative externalities. Disputes over water access, land rights, the defense of community livelihoods, and the redistribution of resource wealth, to name some examples, have manifested into peaceful, and sometimes violent, campaigns to prevent mining, or when this is not possible—​as in many cases—​to renegotiate the terms of extraction. The literature on the politics of resource extraction has made valuable contributions to our understanding of these conflicts. In this book, however, we take a different approach. We focus on individual attitudes and pay attention to conflict areas where extraction appears to be imminent but has not taken place yet. We aim to explain what sets individuals apart from each other even though they face similar uncertainties related to threats and opportunities over mining. To this end, we leverage public opinion surveys to get a more representative sample of views in conflict areas. Our approach gets us closer to the roots—​or micro-​politics—​of attitude formation over resource extraction. This approach also helps to inform the trajectory of conflicts and the effectiveness of industry-​or state-​sponsored mechanisms to improve resource governance. With coordinating and conducting multiple fieldwork trips in three different countries—​Peru, Nicaragua, and South Africa—​as well as administering surveys in each location, it took several years to collect the data for this book. Each of us also presented portions of this book at several academic conferences and other gatherings. The feedback we received significantly improved the manuscript. For their insightful comments and suggestions at different stages of this project, we thank: Zara Albright, Paul Almeida, Matthew Amengual, Barry Ames, Omar Awapara Franco, Taylor Boas, Patrick Bond, Darin Christensen, Marcelle Dawson, Todd

x Preface Eisenstadt, Maria-​ Therese Gustafsson, Maiah Jaskoski, Pablo Lapegna, Philippe Le Billon, Fabiana Li, Cynthia McClintock, Carlos Monge, Mason Moseley, Shauna Mottiar, Thomas Oatley, Aníbal Pérez Liñán, John Quinn, Pablo Quintanilla, Thea Riofrancos, Lia Roberts, Carin Runciman, Andrés Sandoval, Martin Scurrah, Claudia Sícoli Pósleman, Jessica Steinberg, Erin Tatz, Javier Torres Seone, Marcela Torres Wong, Takeshi Wada, Kehan Wang, and Gisela Zaremberg. At Tulane University, Eduardo Silva’s Research Group on Mobilization, Extractivism, and Government Action, a network of scholars investigating the impact of contentious action against mega-​development projects on policy and institutional change, has been an incredible resource for exchanging ideas and refining knowledge of common research interests. Special thanks to Maria Akchurin, Murat Arsel, Anthony Bebbington, Michael Dougherty, Ludovico Feoli, Julieta Godfrid, Paul Haslam, Denise Humphreys Bebbington, Amalia Leguizamón, Lorenzo Pellegrini, Eduardo Silva, Rose Spalding, and Zaraí Toledo Orozco. This book would not be possible without the help and support of several institutions and organizations. We would like to acknowledge the support of Sheila Berry, a founding trustee of Global Environment Trust in South Africa; Mario Sánchez González, director of the Socio-​Cultural Analysis Center at La Universidad Centroamericana in Managua, Nicaragua; the late Oscar Lanchipa Quintanilla, professor of economics at the Universidad Nacional de San Agustín in Arequipa, Peru; Ludovico Feoli, executive director of the Center for Inter-​American Policy and Research at Tulane University, and Thomas Reese, executive director of the Stone Center for Latin American Studies at Tulane University. Funding for this project was supported by the School of Liberal Arts at Tulane University, and Research Council Grants and Research Board Awards from the University of Missouri and University of Missouri System, respectively. We are also very thankful to the reviewers and to Todd Eisenstadt, co-​editor of the series of Studies in Comparative Energy and Environmental Politics at Oxford University Press, for their detailed reading of our manuscript as well as their recommendations for revisions. We thank Angela Chnapko, Alexcee Bechthold, and Kavitha Yuvaraj, the editorial team at Oxford University Press, for their invaluable editorial support throughout the publication process. We also thank Max Weber, a Valedictorian student in political economy and political science at Tulane University, for his outstanding research support.

1 Introduction The Tía María project by Southern Copper Peru is one of the most protracted and violent resource conflicts in Peru. It began in 2009 when Southern presented its first environmental impact assessment to develop an open-​pit copper mine near the Valle del Tambo (Tambo Valley) area in the southern region of Arequipa. Twelve years later almost every mobilizing strategy and state response typical of protracted resource conflicts has taken place in Tía María, including roadblocks, regional strikes, a popular referendum in opposition to mining, a state of emergency declaration, violent clashes with the police that resulted in eight deaths and hundreds of people injured over the span of the conflict, and the increasing criminalization of protesters. When we visited the district of Cocachacra in 2015, near the proposed mining site, we saw a heavy police presence in the streets, and almost every house had a neon green flag on its roof reading “agro sí, mina no” (agriculture yes, mining no). The slogan captured the main source of contention, which is the incompatibility of mining and agriculture. Southern has rolled out several corporate social responsibility (CSR) strategies to obtain a social license to operate. In the same year as our visit, they launched a community relations project called Valleunido (Valley United). The goal of this strategy was to have “the Tía María project viewed as an opportunity and not as a threat” (quoted in Dunlap 2019, 20). On the opposite side of the world, in the province of Kwa-​Zulu Natal in South Africa, the little-​known and recently created company Ibutho Coal requested a lease to extract coal through open-​pit operations on a portion of the Fuleni Reserve. When Ibutho’s mining rights application was accepted in 2014, that decision immediately sparked controversy due to the proposed mine’s close proximity to the oldest nature reserve in Africa—​the Hluhluwe-​ iMfolozi Park—​and its endangered wildlife. It also called for the resettlement of at least 1,600 households. Unlike our visit to Tía María, however, we did not observe widespread, visible signs of opposition to the project. Fuleni itself is a sparsely populated, rural area and rather distant from a major city. The rental vehicle we were driving, in fact, was the only one circulating The Roots of Engagement. Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks and Marc S. Polizzi, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197639672.003.0001

2  The Roots of Engagement through the unpaved roads of Fuleni, and on several occasions, we offered rides to villagers. While many community members voiced their opposition to the project, requesting that the company “leave the coal in the hole,”1 our interviews revealed that some villagers viewed possible advantages in the form of employment and improvements to community conditions. Like Tía María and Fuleni, there are hundreds of resource conflicts around the world. The Environmental Justice Atlas (EJAtlas), a source that catalogs conflicts over environmental issues around the world, recorded over 500 conflicts related to the extraction of mineral ores globally (Scheidel et al. 2020).2 Over half of these events occurred in Latin America. When we place mining locations next to areas with known conflicts, countries like Peru, Mexico, and Chile experience the largest and most public of these events (see Figure 1.1).3 Similarly, Africa has had its share of resource conflicts. To illustrate, Steinberg (2019) notes that from 1990 to 2014 nearly 25% of the approximately 2,500 active mines in Africa endured conflicts. Several of these sites have led to notable and sometimes violent clashes in countries as diverse as South Africa, Ghana, and Zambia. The global commodity boom (2002–​14) multiplied the incidence of these conflicts due to the high demand and rising prices for oil, minerals, and other commodities. Commodity prices remain relatively high—​even after the boom—​due to a steady demand for raw materials from emerging economies, namely, China and India. For instance, China’s share of global demand for copper doubled from 23% in 2005 to 46% in 2017, and its share of iron ore (proxied by crude steel production) increased from 31% in 2005 to 49% in 2017 (Farooki 2018).4 Furthermore, with the shift toward renewable and clean energy sources, a renewed commodity boom could be on the horizon (Riofrancos 2022). The World Bank predicts that over three billion tons of minerals like lithium and cobalt are needed to produce the green technologies required to reach the benchmarks outlined in the Paris Climate Accords.5 Both Latin America and Africa are blessed with an abundance of natural resources. Latin America is the world’s leading source of minerals and the second most important source of oil (ECLAC 2013). The region produces around 18% of the world’s gold, over 50% of its silver, and 45% of its copper, and Peru, Mexico, and Chile are the top producers of gold, silver, and copper, respectively (World Mining Data 2021). Africa, in turn, holds approximately 30% of the world’s mineral reserves and 12% of its oil.6 A sizable portion of this production comes from sub-​Saharan Africa, and South Africa’s output

Introduction  3

Active Mining Sites No conflict Conflict

Figure 1.1.  Active Mining Sites and Known Conflicts in Latin America Source: Mining sites and known conflicts are both coded from Haslam and Ary Tanimoune (2016).

is notable. Globally, the country is the largest producer of platinum (72%) and one of the top five exporters of coal (World Mining Data 2021). In recent years, the production of copper in Zambia and gold in Ghana also increased significantly (World Mining Data 2021). With soaring global investments in the extractive sector as a consequence of the commodity boom, the economies of several mineral-​rich countries in these regions turned the corner.7 At the peak of the commodity boom, resource rents accounted for over 7% of the Latin American GDP and an astonishing 20% for sub-​Saharan Africa (see Figure 1.2). In some countries, such as Peru, mineral commodities account for nearly 60% of the country’s

4  The Roots of Engagement 25 20 15 10 5 0

2000

2002

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Latin America & Caribbean

2012

2014

2016

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Sub-Saharan Africa

Figure 1.2.  Resource Rents in Latin America and Africa, 2000–​2019. Numbers on the left axis are GDP percentages. Source: World Bank (2021).

total exports and nearly 10% of its GDP (García and Pantigoso 2020). Africa displays a similar trend, with mineral extraction approaching an average of 70% of the region’s total exports during the commodity boom (African Development Bank Group 2015). Coal rents reached 8% of South Africa’s GDP in the middle of this period (World Bank 2021).8 Governments in both regions and representing different political orientations actively encouraged extraction into new areas as a viable development policy (Riofrancos 2020). This has become an international trend. Arsel et al. (2016, 880), for instance, speak of the “extractive imperative” because resource extraction “needs to continue and expand . . . with the state playing a leading role and capturing a large share of the ensuing revenues.” The “extractive imperative” reinforced power asymmetries between the industry actors and host communities to the detriment of the latter, and in that way, it facilitated the “consumption and accumulation needs of distant others” (Bebbington 2009, 181). Resource extraction is certainly not new to the Global South, but the literature views the current expansion of the extractive frontier as distinct from these earlier periods. To echo the words of David J. O’Reilly, former CEO of Chevron Corporation, it is the end of the era of “easy oil” (Klare 2012). With greater demand for energy sources, existing oil and gas fields are maturing, and new energy discoveries have expanded to ecologically and

Introduction  5 socially vulnerable areas where resources are more difficult to extract (Klare 2012; Conde and Le Billon 2017, 682). Some of these areas are closer to urban settings, agricultural valleys, protected forests, and glaciers, to name a few examples. In addition, since the advancement of globalization in the Global South, extractive industries have become more interconnected to financial markets. Whereas in the past the foreign origin of an extractive company was distinctive, joint ventures with national companies or other countries have become more common. New technologies have also enabled companies to recover small deposits of precious metals. Low-​quality mineral ores, which mining companies may have overlooked as unprofitable in the past, now become attractive investment opportunities because of sky-​high commodity prices. New technologies also reduced the need for unskilled labor, and in some areas, large-​scale mining investments overpowered traditional artisanal mining (Toledo Orozco 2020). Across these examples, access to these resources—​physically, economically, and politically—​was central to the expansion of the extractive frontier. Resource conflicts can occur at different stages along the commodity chain: (1) the point of resource access (when agricultural producers and extractive industries clash over land and water use prior to extraction), (2) the extraction stage itself (when extractive activities open or existing ones expand to new lands or green fields), (3) the processing and transportation of oil and minerals, (4) and the waste management stage (when tailing dams or oil pipelines fail) (Özkaynak et al. 2015). The primary commodities behind these conflicts around the world are precious metals, such as gold and silver (39%), base metals like copper (36%), and energy resources, such as coal and uranium (19%) (Özkaynak et al. 2015). Industry actors are aware of the possibility of conflict over extraction, leading them to provide transfers to host communities to compensate them for negative externalities (Steinberg 2015)—​a strategy that is not always effective and can lead to corruption through an increase in bribes (Knutsen et al. 2016). To diffuse conflicts and improve resource governance, governments promote participatory institutions like prior consultation and mandate public hearings of environmental impact assessments (Torres Wong 2018; Jaskoski 2020). Government actors also embrace what Lapegna (2016, 138–​42) characterizes as “performative governance.” They visit conflict areas and sign agreements with communities, but later on, they do not take concrete steps to redress their claims. Thus, they appear to respond to communities’ concerns but without addressing the underlying causes of their grievances, a move that ultimately

6  The Roots of Engagement demobilizes community members as they come to perceive that something is being done. Despite facing very similar global trends, not all countries hailed the commodity boom equally. Spalding (2020), for instance, has shown significant policy variation in the Latin American extractive sector as some countries in the region seek to regulate these activities, while other countries aim to prohibit them. In the former case, countries seek to advance resource extraction, but they also require industry actors to provide services on behalf of affected communities, such as more generous local compensation, environmental controls, and/​or local consultation. In the latter case, countries seek to restrict extractive activities, and they embrace temporary, geo-​specific, and/​ or national bans. In Central America, for instance, El Salvador adopted several bans, but Nicaragua invited greater investment in the extractive sector. Across the provinces of Argentina, at least eight governors embraced specific legislation to block mining, while six governors provided tax exemptions to expand it (Mangini 2015, 12).

Moving Beyond Resource Conflicts A growing literature studies the causes of resource conflicts in the Global South, and there are numerous contributions across several disciplines. In a review of 224 studies published in academic journals and presses over the past two decades, Conde and Le Billon (2017) identify how different factors affect the likelihood of conflict and how these factors operate at different levels, such as the mining project, the host communities, the extractive industry, and the government. In terms of the mining project, for instance, a major driver of resistance is the adverse effect of mining on livelihoods and the environment (e.g., Arce 2014; Akchurin 2020; Bebbington and Bury 2013; Bebbington et al. 2008; Eisenstadt and West 2019; Svampa 2019). Examples include the risk of water contamination, the loss of land, and the displacement of a whole community to make room for the mine. Turning to host communities, poor participatory mechanisms over mining decisions (Zaremberg and Torres Wong 2018) and inadequate benefit sharing of resource rents can trigger conflicts (e.g., Arellano-​Yanguas 2011; Ponce and McClintock 2014). At the extractive industry level, the inability of companies to make credible commitments related to compensation or the lack of transparency of their CSR efforts can incentivize conflicts (Newell 2005;

Introduction  7 Jenkins and Yakovleva 2006; Owen and Kemp 2012). And finally, with respect to governments, the criminalization of protesters (Bebbington and Bebbington 2011), the pro-​industry bias as reflected in the so-​called “extractive imperative” (Arsel et al. 2016), and the mismanagement of funds (i.e., corruption) (Kolstad and Søreide 2009; Knutsen et al. 2016) also engender conflicts. Across the levels where conflicts take place, varied disciplinary traditions emphasize different sets of explanatory variables, such as commodity prices (Blair, Christensen, and Rudkin 2021), in-​country variation of resource rents (Arce 2015; Orihuela et al. 2019), ecological threats and related vulnerability to environmental distress (Adger 2006), coalitions conducive to successful opposition to extraction (Arce 2014), demobilization of affected communities (Lapegna 2016), institutional mechanisms to improve resource governance (Torres Wong 2018; Jaskoski 2020), as well CSR programs (Amengual 2018; Haslam 2021; Sícoli Pósleman and Sallan 2019), to name some examples. In this book, rather than focusing on the structural characteristics of mining projects or how different factors incentivize conflicts across host communities, industry, or government actors, we take a different approach that looks at individuals living near the extractive frontier. We seek to understand how individuals come to perceive and act upon the threats or opportunities associated with mining and to explain what makes individuals who oppose mining different from those who support these activities. These differences have important implications for the onset of conflicts, the salience of preventive strategies, firm–​community relations, as well as participatory mechanisms related to decisions over mining. Unlike prior literature, which is centered on resource conflicts themselves and the sources of resistance to mining, we leverage public opinion surveys to examine individual-​level attitudes over resource extraction.9 Existing studies tend to emphasize the uniformity of opposition to mining in affected communities. By extension, the factors that prompt individuals to support resource extraction remain relatively unexplored. Our surveys, in contrast, allow us to explore the variation in attitudes toward extraction and to analyze the factors that form or reinforce those attitudes. Insofar as areas known by protracted conflicts reveal such widespread variation, our findings have broad implications for other sites where extraction is under consideration. Our central argument is that social engagement provides a window into the micro-​politics of decision-​making related to resource extraction. By social engagement, we mean participation in local organizations, including

8  The Roots of Engagement church groups, environmental organizations, community assemblies, and agricultural associations. With social engagement, individuals have greater access to information and organizational tools about community concerns. They gain a higher degree of self-​and collective efficacy, empowering them and their communities. More importantly, they develop a stronger community worldview, which makes mining incompatible with existing livelihoods or the environment. We argue that these interrelated outcomes associated with participation in local organizations help to form or reinforce attitudes toward mining, moving individuals to reject mining projects.

Overview of the Book Chapter 2 reviews the contributions of the existing literature. It develops the theoretical arguments related to social engagement and how it helps to differentiate individuals who oppose mining from those who support these activities. Social engagement is thus a critical component to understanding how an individual processes competing information over mining. This chapter also situates the threats and opportunities presented by extraction by drawing attention to the nature of claims over extractive activities, which we broadly categorize as either rejection or redistribution claims. Rejection claims emphasize the threats associated with mining activities, such as water access, changes to livelihoods, and loss of cultural rights. Redistribution claims, in contrast, emphasize the advantages or opportunities associated with resource extraction, such as higher resource rent transfers and community development projects. The chapter concludes by explaining the selection of case studies and the research methodology that informs our empirical analysis. This methodology combines field research carried out directly in communities lying within the extractive frontier as well as public opinion surveys. Drawing upon our fieldwork, Chapters 3, 4, and 5 focus on three proposed mining sites in three separate countries: Peru, Nicaragua, and South Africa, respectively. Chapter 3 explores Southern’s open-​pit copper mine in Tía María, Peru. Chapter 4 presents the case study of B2Gold’s open-​pit gold mine in Rancho Grande, Nicaragua. Lastly, Chapter 5 shifts to Ibutho Coal in Kwa-​Zulu Natal, South Africa, and its proposed open-​pit mine in the Fuleni Reserve.10 In all three cases, mobilizing strategies and protracted conflicts have derailed the prospecting rights of these companies, and therefore, these

Introduction  9 sites are on standby and are not currently in operation. Because we are interested in explaining how attitudes over mining are formed or reinforced, the selection of sites at the point of resource access (prior to mining) is ideal. In Chapter 6, we present our quantitative analysis based on public opinion surveys from the communities of Tía María, Rancho Grande, and Fuleni. The chapter begins by drawing on the insights of our case studies to unearth the nature of claims related to resource extraction. We also use these insights to justify the operationalization of our core variables of interest. Next, we use survey analysis to model the micro-​politics of attitude formation, which allows for a clearer understanding of pockets of opposition and support in communities that at first glance may appear uniformly opposed to extraction. We conclude this chapter by revisiting the individual and community behaviors that are commonly associated with greater social engagement. Chapter 7, our concluding chapter, summarizes the major findings, highlighting our contributions to the literature on resource conflicts. There, we explain the significance of social engagement for the trajectory of mining projects and how it informs future mobilizing strategies. The conclusion also adds a comparative perspective to the book by examining a fourth case—​ Santo Domingo, Nicaragua. Unlike the previous cases (Tía María, Rancho Grande, and Fuleni), Santo Domingo is a mine currently under operation. This case shows limited preventive mobilization at the point of resource access, but greater levels of mobilization at the extractive stage when the mine became operational. It also reveals competing rejection and redistribution claims. This comparison aids our results because once a mine is active, the discourse of threats and opportunities associated with mining is no longer a distant and abstract concept. Rather, community members observe tangible outcomes, both positive and negative. In other words, this contrasting case allows us to compare real and perceived threats and opportunities related to mining. Lastly, the concluding chapter re-​examines the consequences of the “extractive imperative” (Arsel et al. 2016) after the end of the commodity boom.

2 Understanding Opposition to and Support for Resource Extraction Resource-​rich countries in the Global South have made important socioeconomic progress in recent years. In Latin America, poverty decreased from about 27% to 12%, and inequality declined by almost 11% over the period 2000–​14 (López-​Calva and Lustig 2010).1 The economies of sub-​Saharan Africa also experienced an important economic expansion, with peak growth rates of 6.4% from 2002 to 2008 and modest reductions in poverty figures.2 During this period, commonly referred to as the commodity boom, the prices of resources, such as oil and minerals, steadily increased thanks to growing demand from countries also situated in the Global South, namely, India and China. While observers debate the sustainability of this growth, few would dispute that the commodity boom was a key contributor to the improved welfare of these regions. However, the commodity boom has also been associated with a host of negative externalities, such as environmental harms, corruption, and social conflicts over the extraction of natural resources.3 Existing literature has shown that host communities seek to defend basic rights in response to the threats associated with extraction (e.g., Arce 2014; Bebbington et al. 2008; Bebbington and Bury 2013; Eisenstadt and West 2019; Svampa 2019). For instance, communities contest water access and quality, the integrity of land and landscapes, and/​or the cultural survival of indigenous peoples. Other host communities seek a more equitable distribution of the economic benefits generated from extraction (e.g., Arellano-​Yanguas 2011; Ponce and McClintock 2014). While this scholarship has mainly been preoccupied with understanding the varied motivations and goals pursued by communities near the extractive frontier, research on individual-​level attitudes related to resource extraction is sparse.4 Specifically, what environmental concerns lead individuals to oppose extractive activities? Under what political or economic conditions are individuals likely to support these activities? And more

The Roots of Engagement. Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks and Marc S. Polizzi, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197639672.003.0002

Understanding Opposition and Support  11 importantly, what set of social characteristics separates the individuals who oppose extraction from those who support it? We begin this chapter by reviewing the contributions of the existing literature and discuss how an approach focusing on individual attitudes addresses important gaps in the current scholarship. Next, we develop the theoretical arguments related to participation in local community organizations—​what we call social engagement—​which we posit helps to differentiate individual attitudes over extraction. The chapter also situates the threats and opportunities presented by extraction by drawing attention to the nature of claims that are typical of extractive activities, which we broadly categorize as either rejection or redistribution claims. We conclude the chapter by explaining our case study selection, the scope of our fieldwork in these regions, and the methodology that informs our empirical analysis.

The Causes of Resource Conflicts Much of the existing literature has sought to explain the determinants of conflicts over resource extraction. One set of works examines the variation of these conflicts cross-​nationally (Arce et al. 2018; Haslam and Ary Tanimoune 2016; Berman et al. 2017; Christensen 2019) and sub-​nationally (Arellano-​Yanguas 2011; Akchurin 2020; Mähler and Pierskalla 2015; Ponce and McClintock 2014; Orihuela et al. 2019). Some studies draw attention to the geographic and firm-​level characteristics of mining projects (e.g., the relative isolation of mining areas, the quality of mineral ores, the ownership of mining companies, the techniques used to extract minerals, etc.) and conflict likelihood (e.g., Haslam and Ary Tanimoune 2016). Other studies explore why seemingly comparable resource-​abundant countries—​or provinces within the same country—​experience different levels of conflict (e.g., Mähler and Pierskalla 2015; Arce 2015; Arce et al. 2018).5 These works draw information on conflicts using event data, that is, data sets of aggregated social events compiled largely from news media sources. While considering a host of theoretical and control variables, these studies have confirmed the extraction–​conflict nexus—​geo-​referenced extractive areas and resource wealth are both associated with resource conflicts. Beyond these works that examine the variation of resource conflicts, other studies have emphasized the diverse goals and motivations pursued by social actors living near the extractive frontier. In some cases, challengers do

12  The Roots of Engagement not want extraction under any circumstances, and their demands in opposition to mining are intransigent. These protesters often frame their claims in terms of threats, and their collective resistance aims to block the granting of concessions to allow extraction or to halt the expansion of existing extractive activities (Arce 2014; Bebbington and Bury 2013; Svampa 2019). A community leader fighting against the expansion of the Yanacocha mine in northern Peru phrased this resistance as follows: “We are not opposed to mining, we are also saying that it should be done elsewhere, not over our sources of water” (quoted in Salas Rodriguez 2006, 101).6 In other cases, protesters do not oppose extraction but, rather, seek to negotiate (or renegotiate) the terms of extractive activities (Arellano-​ Yanguas 2011; Ponce and McClintock 2014). Protesters demand prior consultation rights, make calls for transparent environmental and social impact studies, and petition companies or governments for the equitable distribution of resource rents to local communities (Conde 2016; Conde and Le Billon 2017). The scarcity of economic opportunities in remote areas is likely to motivate social actors to embrace mining. For instance, referring to the Fuleni mining project by Ibutho Coal in northern South Africa, a villager noted that “we need jobs more than anything else” and that “there is no work locally.”7 Another set of works, following political process theory (Tarrow 1998; Tilly and Tarrow 2006), draws attention to local protesters’ access to organizational resources, the mobilization frames these protesters adopt, and the political openings that facilitate successful challenges over resource extraction (Arce 2014; Bebbington et al. 2008; Quintanilla and Rogelio 2013; Svampa 2019). As it is commonly known, shared grievances or interests seldom mobilize individuals. Instead, mobilization is relative to the organizational capacity of civil society organizations (McCarthy and Zald 1977; McAdam 1983). In fact, as the social movement literature reminds us, mobilizing challengers to take to the streets is a costly, and potentially dangerous, endeavor. Such actions necessitate many resources and the construction of successful mobilization strategies that aids in the development of broad-​ based coalitions. In particular, local grassroots organizations facilitate and increase the likelihood of successful challenges over resource extraction (Arce 2014; Akchurin 2020). These organizations are often connected to local agriculture, conservation efforts, and schools and churches and do not emerge as a response to extraction. In areas where extractive industries compete with agriculture,

Understanding Opposition and Support  13 for instance, the agricultural economy advances several local organizations, such as irrigator boards and producers’ associations, through which organized and sustained challenges can develop. These agricultural organizations often coalesce into larger opposition movements known as defense fronts or neighborhood assemblies, which emerge later as the leading anti-​mining coalitions. Other local-​level coalitions, which Bebbington (2007) describes as “social movement organizations,” and which involve NGOs, churches, and student organizations, have also played a decisive role in coordinating opposition to extraction. Moreover, in several challenges over resource extraction, the participation of global environmental NGOs, also known as environmental justice organizations (EJOs), was crucial for the coordination of collective action among host communities affected by resource extraction. These agricultural organizations (e.g., irrigator boards, producers’ associations), social movement organizations (e.g., NGOs, churches, student groups, neighborhood associations, mothers’ centers), and global EJOs exemplify the various kinds of community alliances and coalitions behind organized and sustained challenges against extraction.8

An Individual-​Based Approach to Attitudes over Mining While the existing literature has made important contributions to our understanding of the causes of resource conflicts, research on individual attitudes related to resource extraction is limited (for exceptions, see Eisenstadt and West 2017b; Dougherty 2019). An analysis using public opinion surveys and focusing on individual attitudes can address important gaps in the existing literature. First, research tends to focus on successful campaigns against extraction, and these campaigns typically draw a lot of local, national, and even international media attention. The works focusing on successful campaigns typically assume uniform opposition to mining within local communities. A more complete picture of resource conflicts involves pockets of resistance and support, in which challengers are generally better organized and vocal compared with those who support mining. Similarly, given the attention to successful campaigns against extraction, the drivers and faces of resistance are well documented and known, but those related to support remain understudied. In fact, mining supporters are often viewed as too poor, marginalized, or uneducated, and for these reasons, they acquiesce to mining

14  The Roots of Engagement (Conde and Le Billon 2017). Supporters may view resource extraction as beneficial to local employment and community development while not vocally expressing their opinions through demonstrations. Local organizations can also reproduce old patterns of coercion where it is difficult for these supporters to express their views (Llanes Salazar and Torres-​Mazuera 2017; Herrera 2017; Torres-​Wong and Jimenez-​Sandoval 2022). Our use of public opinion surveys allows us to explore systematically the variation in attitudes over mining better than competing approaches. Second, existing research ignores the complexity in decision-​making around resource extraction. To be clear, opposition to and support for mining are both politically layered processes. Individuals exhibit degrees of opposition, with some of their claims being more intractable than others. The same is true for degrees of support toward mining. Writing about the negative externalities related to oil drilling in the Ecuadorean Amazon region, Eisenstadt and West (2017b, 245) capture this complexity as follows: Indigenous groups “strongly criticized the central government’s failure to attend to environmental degradation, but were divided over whether to further explore and drill for oil.” Jorge Pérez Rubio, the president of the Asociación Interétnica de Desarrollo de la Selva Peruana (Interethnic Association for the Development of the Peruvian Rainforest), Peru’s largest umbrella organization representing Amazonian indigenous peoples, also echoed these concerns. He pointed out that there were “areas where it is not possible to have extractive activities,” such as natural reserves, but also recognized “economic synergies” in other areas where oil companies were operating.9 Our study using public opinion surveys allows us to explore methodically the complexity of the decision-​making calculus over mining. Third, and finally, a study centered on individual attitudes can help us to understand the micro-​politics (or roots) where these attitudes are formed or reinforced. Individual attitudes over resource extraction are, in fact, varied, particularly in low-​information settings. For instance, an individual may be exposed to some potentially “bad news” about extraction (e.g., the risk of water contamination), and these reports may influence her attitudes toward mining. Conversely, an individual may have read some latent “good news” about extraction (e.g., new job opportunities), and these reports may, in turn, shape her views toward mining. A key challenge here is trying to understand how individuals absorb these competing claims, and what makes individuals who oppose mining different from those who support it. In this book, we argue that social engagement differentiates these individuals.

Understanding Opposition and Support  15

Social Engagement We understand social engagement as participation in local organizations, such as church groups, environmental organizations, community assemblies, and agricultural associations. These organizations advance formal (e.g., purpose-​driven or work-​related activities) and informal (e.g., casual or social activities) ties among community members and provide regular opportunities for interaction with multiple interconnections (Wilkinson 1991). By interacting with each other in community organizations, individuals extend their networks as well as make them stronger and denser, which enables them to gain critical information and resources to achieve common interests (Boulding and Holzner 2021). Organizations also encourage trust, increase commitments, and foster norms of reciprocity (Putnam 1993; Mattessich 2009) as well as provide the space for individuals to reach out to other community members in times of crisis (Woolcock 2001), such as when resource extraction is imminent. Social engagement provides a window into the micro-​politics of attitude formation over resource extraction. Following Moseley’s (2015, 2018) contributions on protest participation, and in line with public opinion research that has shown that socially engaged individuals are more likely to challenge resource extractive activities (Arce, Polizzi, and Reeder 2020), we argue that participation in local organizations also helps to form or reinforce attitudes toward mining. This argument is based on three sets of interrelated outcomes associated with such participation. First, socially engaged individuals have greater access to information and organizational resources about community concerns, including concerns about the threats posed by mining. Second, these individuals have a higher degree of efficacy and trust, empowering them (and their communities) vis-​à-​vis industry or government actors interested in advancing extractive activities. Third, participation in local organizations cultivates a community worldview, which makes mining incompatible with existing livelihoods or the environment. In what follows, we explain each of these elements in depth and how they relate to opposition to extractive activities.

Information and Organizational Resources There are substantive differences in terms of what individuals learn or gain by participating in organizations, and these provide key insights into what

16  The Roots of Engagement sets them apart from each other when it comes to attitudes in general, and mining views in particular. A broad literature, in fact, suggests that community organizations are central focal points for organizational resources and information, and as such, they can shape perceptions of environmental threats and, ultimately, move individuals to pursue common goals, including participation in protests. Tarrow (1998), for instance, argues that organizations (formal and informal) can assist in recruiting new members and strengthen the cohesion of the existing group, particularly when they offer rewards or solidarity incentives. Organizations also provide communication networks that can mean the difference between a successful mobilization and a missed opportunity. Jenkins (1983) and McCarthy and Zald (1973, 1977) also show that participation in organizations provides key tools and resources. Grounded in the resource mobilization literature, socially engaged individuals have access to networks of participation that are unavailable to those not socially engaged. For example, socially engaged individuals have the ability to identify essential local resources, to gather community-​relevant information, to develop and train local leaders to serve as effective representatives for the group, and to support both internal and external networks that have interests in assisting group efforts. Writing about the importance of social relationships, Woolcock (2001, 6) suggests that informed individuals have a greater capacity to “organize, evaluate conflicting information, and express their views in constructive ways.” The information and resources these individuals receive from organizations can enhance their perceptions of environmental harms, particularly when they live in close proximity to extractive areas. Eisenstadt and West (2017b) find that these individuals are already more environmentally conscious because they are faced with what they characterize as “objective vulnerabilities,” such as water scarcity and pollution. Because they are more conscious, they may be more motivated to further community livelihoods. Thinking about these vulnerabilities, in areas where resource extraction is awaiting, individuals are more likely to accept the information they learn from the organizations they already participate in, rather than the information coming from industry or government actors. When community organizations speak to the potential threats posed by mining, individuals will join in action to avoid them. Turning to collective action, prior research focusing on Latin America connects an individual’s protest involvement to her engagement in local

Understanding Opposition and Support  17 organizations (Boulding 2014; Moseley 2015; Boulding and Holzner 2021). Moseley (2015) suggests that socially engaged citizens are more likely to protest for two reasons. First, when citizens are socially engaged in their communities, they likely have more access to crucial organizational tools essential for communication and mobilization. Second, by being a member of political and nonpolitical organizations and groups, citizens face more exposure to the relative strengths and weaknesses of formal institutional structures. This exposure offers these individuals the necessary information to make sound decisions about the necessity and/​or effectiveness of protest participation. In terms of resource extraction, Arce, Polizzi, and Reeder (2020) show that socially engaged individuals are more likely to mobilize in opposition to mining in Latin America. These citizens are more likely to challenge extractive activities because their participation in organizations permits them to be more aware of the institutional environment they face, and how this environment may, in turn, facilitate or hinder their collective action efforts. Similar to Moseley (2015), participation in organizations offers individuals the necessary information to make decisions about their mobilizing strategies. But in contrast to Moseley (2015), Arce, Polizzi, and Reeder (2020) argue that the success of collective strategies over resource extraction is mediated politically, as movements are more influential in some institutional contexts as opposed to others. Put another way, the institutional environment is not a static feature that triggers higher or lower levels of mobilization. Rather, an individual’s willingness to protest over resource extraction is shaped by her ability to leverage the strengths of the institutional environment to her advantage. Socially engaged individuals have access to such institutional information, shaping their individual and collective strategies. In contrast, non–​socially engaged individuals do not have access to the information regarding the strengths and weaknesses of their institutional environment. These individuals are less capable of coordinating collective action strategies when resource extraction is looming or in response to challengers of these activities. To summarize, participation in local organizations, which we characterize as social engagement, provides interconnections between community members, enabling them to gain information and organizational resources to pursue common interests (Boulding and Holzner 2021). In the context of resource extraction, their social engagement permits them to have better access to information about the threats of mining, information about their institutional environment that must be navigated to act collectively, and the

18  The Roots of Engagement organizational tools to mobilize when resource extraction is imminent. In contrast, when individuals are not socially engaged, they do not have access to this information about resource extraction and lack the organizational structure for collective action, and thus, they may be more likely to express supportive views of mining. In all, individuals participating in community organizations gain critical information and organizational resources, thus helping to form or reinforce their attitudes toward mining.

Organizations as a Source of Empowerment Just as important as information and organizational resources from local organizations, social engagement also empowers individuals to act; that is, it moves individuals to put the imparted information and resources into concrete community actions or behaviors. In the context of mining, this empowerment moves individuals to challenge outside sources and defend their communities against perceived threats. Empowerment can be seen through the lenses of efficacy and trust, both of which are closely related. Efficacy occurs at both the individual and the community level and, at its core, is a belief that action will effect change. Drawing on Bandura (1997), Butel and Braun (2019, 1) define self-​efficacy as “the belief in one’s ability to act to produce desired results, and collective efficacy [as] the shared belief that actions by a group will influence the future they seek.” Existing research has shown that collective efficacy is associated with a wide range of positive community outcomes, such as improved health conditions, higher school attendance rates, and fewer incidents of crime (Butel and Braun 2019, 2). These outcomes can extend to a concern for and protection of the environment and community livelihoods. However, for such effects to occur, trusted bonds and cooperative behavior among community members is necessary. Following Putnam (1993, 2000), trust is a byproduct of participation in local organizations. Voluntary associations, in particular, create and advance strong horizontal networks that enable peer-​to-​peer interactions between individuals. These networks generate trust because information about the trustworthiness of other individuals “become[s]‌transitive and spread[s]: I trust you, because I trust her and she assures me that she trusts you” (Putnam 1993, 169). These networks then act as a resource that permits individuals or

Understanding Opposition and Support  19 groups to achieve common goals and, because of the trust they generate, assure that individuals will not diverge from the shared goals.10 In their research on mining in Guatemala, Dougherty and Olsen (2014b) demonstrate how individuals with higher levels of self-​and collective efficacy have higher levels of relational trust within the community and among community members. When relational trust is present, individuals are more likely to trust the information they receive from their own community rather than the information coming from an outside source, such as industry or government actors. Community members are more likely to be resilient because they believe they have a greater capacity to act, mitigate, or adapt to the threats affecting them. Conversely, individuals with lower levels of self-​and collective efficacy are less likely to have relational trust and more likely to have institutional trust (Dougherty and Olsen 2014b). Individuals with institutional trust are prone to accept the information they receive from outside sources, that is, industry and government actors, rather than the information from their fellow community members. These individuals are more likely to use institutional trust to cope with changing circumstances (Sztompka 1999).11 We posit that socially engaged individuals are more likely to possess greater efficacy as well as trust, which permits them to feel empowered to challenge industry and/​or government actors resolved in expanding resource extraction. For example, we found that when industry actors float slogans, such as “green mining,” “responsible mining,” or “coal is clean,” socially engaged individuals are more likely to be skeptical of these messages because they express more efficacy and relational trust. These individuals are more likely to accept the information about mining they receive through their peer-​to-​ peer interactions in local organizations, such as church groups, environmental organizations, community assemblies, and agricultural associations. Accordingly, they are less likely to trust discourses from government and industry actors and more likely to join in action to avoid the threats posed by mining. When resources are available, these individuals can also produce their own sources of information, such as alternative environmental impact assessment reports as a rebuttal to the ones presented by industry or government actors. However, non–​socially engaged individuals, who express low levels of efficacy but greater institutional trust, will be more receptive to pro-​ mining discourses. In sum, relational and institutional trust operate as filters for the perceived threats (or opportunities) surrounding resource extraction and motivate individuals to pursue (or not pursue) certain behaviors.

20  The Roots of Engagement

Community Worldview from Organizations In several narratives of extractive conflicts, we learn that the threats of mining are not solely material (e.g., the quantity or quality of water, the value of land), but also nonmaterial (e.g., what existing community livelihoods are about and what these livelihoods represent to individuals, their cultural practices, or traditions). When we talk about community worldview, we mean shared values that enable community members to redefine those material threats over land or water with discourses related to territory, identity, or culture. And, as a consequence of these shared values, socially engaged individuals are more likely to engage in actions that promote the well-​being of the community over exclusively individual interests. If local organizations promote pro-​environment (anti-​mining) actions, then community members will embrace those actions. When individuals participate in local organizations, the formal and informal connections they have with other members form a common set of values that inform their social construction of community and their own identity rooted in that community. Environmental psychologists, human geographers, and sociologists define this subjective connection to one’s locale as place attachment (Lewicka 2011). Despite the concept of place attachment being inherently idiosyncratic, scholars often conceptualize this idea along two dimensions: place dependence and place identity (Boley et al. 2021). Place dependence is the “utilitarian” component of place, which is based on a calculated comparison of one’s economic well-​being in her current community and “how other substitute places compare in offering the same experiences or satisfaction” (Boley et al. 2021, 2). Place identity is the emotional or symbolic connection that the individual has with a location, which often forms the person’s own identity (Proshansky 1978). When emotional ties to the land become stable and long-​lasting, the success of the community can be inextricably linked to her personal sense of accomplishment (Williams and Vaske 2003). As such, when industry or government actors present individuals with plans that construct the region’s future as radically different, or challenge their own socially constructed view of their community, these outside forces will be perceived as a threat. In their study of attitudes over climate change in Ecuador, Eisenstadt and West (2017a) find that the indigenous worldview of cosmovision, a traditional worldview based on values of environmental protection, is enhanced when an individual lives in an extractive frontier and is, therefore, more

Understanding Opposition and Support  21 vulnerable to environmental harms. As such, if individuals are concerned with threats mining poses for existing community livelihoods, then they are more likely to associate themselves with fellow community members who share the same worldview and are willing to promote similarly held pro-​ environmental behaviors, such as opposition to mining projects. Simmons’ (2016) study of the Cochabamba Water War in Bolivia also highlights some of the key components of how community-​based identity can create a worldview that assists in producing broad mobilization. Her research shows how water can generate a conception of community. Cochabambans believed that water connected them to their local and regional identities through the community’s irrigation practices, its agricultural past, and their continued struggles with resource scarcity. Many shared their beliefs that water signified something more than its “biophysical characteristics” (Simmons 2016, 43). In Cochabamba, water symbolized community for all members independent of their social and economic statuses, cutting across cleavages and facilitating the circumstances needed for large-​scale mobilization. The proposed privatization of water did not just threaten the small neighborhoods and communities in Cochabamba but the entire nation of Bolivia. Therefore, when individuals have a strong sense of belonging within their community, know and understand the threats to their material and nonmaterial well-​being, a community worldview is created that contributes to collective goals. Following these contributions, we suggest that participation in local organizations facilitates a feeling of belonging and affiliation—​a place attachment, encouraging community norms and behaviors, as well as mutual responsibility and ownership among community members (Mattessich 2009; Gardner 1993). It produces a community worldview, which allows community members to bundle material threats over land or water with ideational connections related to territory, identity, or culture. In other words, it blends utilitarian conceptions of place dependence with symbolic connections of place identity (Boley et al. 2021). By participating in community organizations, individuals are thus more likely to have the same community worldview conducive to shared behavioral norms and group consensus. What is more, when threats crisscross material and nonmaterial concerns (Simmons 2016), opposition to mining is likely to be stronger among socially engaged individuals. To summarize, we seek to understand how individuals residing near proposed mining sites come to formulate their views about mining. We argue

22  The Roots of Engagement

Social Engagement

Information Empowerment Community Worldview

Views about Mining

Rejection & Redistribution Claims

Figure 2.1.  Consequences of Social Engagement on Resource Extraction

that participation in local organizations, what we identify as social engagement, provides important insights into what distinguishes individuals from each other. Such engagement helps to explain how individuals form or reinforce their attitudes toward mining, which, in turn, influences their claim making (see Figure 2.1). We advance this argument through three defining consequences related to participation in local organizations: access to information and organizational resources, efficacy and related attributes, and community worldview. When socially engaged individuals have access to critical information and organizational tools to challenge extractive activities, feel empowered to achieve their goals in resisting mining, and see themselves as being in the same boat as a consequence of their community worldview, they are more likely to participate in the behaviors that local community organizations promote. If these organizations embrace pro-​environmental behaviors, sustained challenges against mining are possible. In contrast, non–​socially engaged individuals do not have access to this information or organizational resources, come short on efficacy and related attributes, and do not share a community worldview. For these reasons, they are more likely to reveal individualistic traits and accept the discourse from outside sources (e.g., industry or government actors) as when the latter submits that mining will bring employment opportunities or development to the area.

Rejection and Redistribution Claims In an analysis of the Environmental Justice Atlas (EJAtlas), Scheidel et al. (2020) document 2,743 cases of environmental conflicts around the world, of which 573 (or 21%) are related to mining.12 Similarly, the Observatorio de Conflictos Mineros de América Latina (Observatory of Mining Conflicts in Latin America [OCMAL]) (2020) reports 277 mining conflicts in Latin America, and three countries account for half of all conflicts in the region: Mexico (20%), Chile (17%), and Peru (15%). To understand the nature

Understanding Opposition and Support  23 of these conflicts better, we follow the social movement literature and emphasize the primary incentives stimulating joint action: threats and opportunities (Tilly 1978; Goldstone and Tilly 2001). These incentives mirror the competing information that individuals near the extractive frontier grapple with when mining is looming.13 On the one hand, threat-​induced collective action is motivated by negative externalities or “bad news” that challengers could potentially avoid if they join in action (Almeida 2010). As discussed earlier, the expansion of the extractive frontier imposes several socio-​environmental hardships that move host communities into struggle. Examples include the loss of water access and quality, as well as the integrity of land and landscapes. The social and cultural aspects of these losses are also important, particularly when projects jeopardize the cultural survival of indigenous peoples. Threats related to water or land are more likely to activate local grassroots movements, but threats related to the survival of indigenous peoples may trigger the participation of transnational movements outside the direct impact area of extraction (Almeida and Pérez Martín 2020). On the other hand, opportunity-​generated collective action is stimulated by “good news” (Meyer 2004) or positive conditions that motivate community members to join in action as opportunities move them closer to the realization of their goals (Tilly 1978; Goldstone and Tilly 2001). The literature emphasizes opportunities for mobilization related to the political environment. In the context of resource extraction, the creation of participatory institutions like prior consultation, policies that mandate public hearings of environmental impact assessments, or the distribution of resource rents to areas with proximity to extraction can be seen as a change in the environment that provides host communities with new advantages and moves them into joint action. In a narrower sense, the prospects of higher wages or community development projects emerging from mining activities can be seen as a positive motive conducive to individual or collective well-​being, also stimulating joint action.14 Arce (2014) presents threat-​induced collective action as “demands for rights,” and opportunity-​generated collective action as “demands for services.” Rights-​based collective action represents all-​or-​nothing campaigns against extraction and entails broader claims that are intransigent and less prone to compromise. These broader claims, in turn, encourage different kinds of community alliances and coalitions and lead to sustained challenges over resource extraction. Service-​ based collective action, in contrast,

24  The Roots of Engagement involves claims that are specific and negotiable, and the groups mobilizing are generally not very well organized. These mobilizations, in fact, produce a pattern of nonstop protest whereby short-​lived protests lead to small concessions, which later encourage other short-​lived protests and other concessions, and so on. Rights-​ oriented (or rejection) claims overlap with Perreault’s (2006, 154) demands for procedural justice, as these call for “greater participation and transparency in decisions over the management of natural resources.” Service-​oriented (or redistribution) claims have similarities with demands for “distributive justice,” as they call for a “more equitable distribution of the benefits deriving from the exploitation of natural resources” (Perreault 2006, 154). Likewise, Spalding (2020) speaks of definitional and distributive conflicts. Definitional conflicts happen when mining is seen as incompatible with community livelihoods and practices, and thus, challengers call for its prohibition. Distributive conflicts occur when mining is accepted but there is competition over its windfalls. Lastly, José de Echave et al. (2009) considers “conflicts based on rejection,” where challengers refuse mining in their districts entirely, and “coexistence” conflicts, where contention surrounds the redistribution of mining benefits through investment, work contracts, or philanthropy. While Arce (2014), Perreault (2006), Spalding (2020), and de Echave et al. (2009) identify two broad categories of conflicts, studies have shown that in some conflicts, groups and individuals make both rejection and redistribution claims, even within the same case and period of the conflict (Wilson Becerril 2021; Paredes 2022). In some instances, protesters initially reject a project but then adopt redistributive positions once the mine begins construction and production and later return to rejection claims when the mine seeks to expand to new lands. This perspective is consistent with our approach because even the most publicized conflicts against mining include sources of support and opposition—​redistribution and rejection claims—​ and the existing literature has generally emphasized the uniformity of these claims, in particular, rejection claims. Dougherty’s (2019) work on mining in Guatemala, in fact, reveals the variation of these claims, as some individuals support mining activities for economic development and educational attainment, while other individuals oppose mining because of its adverse effects on public health and the local environment. Our individual-​based approach to attitudes over mining allows us to capture the diversity of views over mining within one project and one place.

Understanding Opposition and Support  25

Case Selection This book explores the micro-​politics through which attitudes over mining are formed or reinforced. To provide a well-​grounded perspective, we compare three sites at the point of resource access (before mining) and one site at the extraction stage (after mining). The three sites before mining are of particular interest and receive the most attention since we seek to explain the roots of individual attitudes over mining. These sites are ongoing struggles to stop extraction in new lands, and rejection claims are common in these areas. These projects are often categorized as under exploration or concession, but extraction itself has not begun. In these sites, collective resistance against mining through various local organizations coexists amid clear government backing for these projects as well as powerful industry actors who are equally interested in advancing the extractive frontier. These campaigns against extraction, either through mobilization or judicialization or both, span over several years. To echo Klare (2012), in the race for what is left over the world’s resources, we wanted to know what makes areas of protracted conflicts atypical compared with the larger sample of resource conflicts. Our case selection is thus informed by areas where extraction is imminent. In these areas, host communities and industry actors are in a race against each other to define the threats and opportunities presented by mining (Haslam 2021). Community members receive competing information about the pros and cons of future mining, and they have not experienced—​either directly or indirectly—​the “objective vulnerabilities” (Eisenstadt and West 2017b) and/​or advantages related to extraction. Our case selection approximates an exploratory, most-​different design (Gerring 2007; Gerring and Cojocaru 2016).15 These cases vary widely in background factors or characteristics that may affect support for extractive projects. While variation of these characteristics is maximized, this strategy requires minimizing differences related to the outcome to be explained (that is, support for extractive projects) with the goal of identifying a common factor across these cases as a likely cause of said outcome. We introduce ample variation of several characteristics that may impact support for mining projects. For instance, these sites differ with respect to geographic location (e.g., urban, rural), geographic region (e.g., Central America, South America, and sub-​Saharan Africa), stage in the commodity chain (e.g., point of resource access, extraction), types of organizations active in the

26  The Roots of Engagement community (e.g., church groups, environmental organizations, community assemblies, and agricultural associations), type of commodity (e.g., copper, gold, and coal), country of origin of the primary investors (e.g., Canada, Mexico, and South Africa), type of primary threats (e.g., agriculture, wildlife), and populations served by a previous history of mining, among others (see also Table 2.1). In addition, rather than talking about social engagement, our main independent variable of interest, using a categorical scheme (e.g., high vs. low), we introduce a quantitative measure based on public opinion surveys. Our dependent variable—​support for extractive projects—​also follows this quantitative approach. The sites at the point of resource access are Tía María in Peru, Rancho Grande in Nicaragua, and Fuleni in South Africa. Mining is seen as a threat to agriculture in Tía María and Rancho Grande, but wildlife in Fuleni. The livelihoods of the communities near these sites are also at risk. At the same time, proponents of these projects purport that those extractive activities can increase employment and provide resource rents for community development. Tía María of the Southern Copper Corporation is an open-​pit mine project to extract copper in Peru. The mining concession is located in the province of Islay in the southern region of Arequipa and is also very close to the Table 2.1.  Background Factors across the Cases Project characteristics

Tía María

Rancho Grande Fuleni

Santo Domingo

Location

Islay, Peru

Commodity chain Year of concession Mining in progress Exploitation method History of mining Geographic location Primary threat

Point of access 2009 No Open-​pit

Matagalpa, Nicaragua Point of access 2012 No Open-​pit

iMfolozi, South Africa Point of access 2014 No Open-​pit

Chontales, Nicaragua Extraction 2010 Yes Open-​pit

Yes Urban/​Rural

No Rural

No Rural

Agriculture

Agriculture

Wildlife/​ Cultural

Yes Urban/​ Rural Agriculture

Note: By history of mining, we mean the presence of nearby mines and populations served by the operations of these mines. Tía María and Santo Domingo are marked as a yes because of Cerro Verde and artisanal mining, respectively. Threats to agriculture include threats to water or lands.

Understanding Opposition and Support  27 agricultural area of the Tambo Valley. Tía María is a greenfield project, but Southern is an old mining company in the area. Southern, formerly known as the Southern Peruvian Copper Corporation (SPCC), was established in 1952, and its operations began in the region of Tacna (located at approximately 372 kilometers south of Arequipa).16 In 2005, SPCC acquired Minera Mexico and was renamed Southern Copper Corporation. Currently, the Grupo Mexico is Southern’s majority shareholder (75%). Rancho Grande of Canadian B2Gold Corporation is a mining lease for an open-​pit gold mine. It is situated in the community bearing the same name in the northern department of Matagalpa, Nicaragua. In 2012, B2Gold acquired the total shares for this lease from Canadian Radius Gold, which first took interest in the area after the discovery of gold deposits in 2003. The Rancho Grande project (also known as El Pavón project) is limited to the extraction of the ore since the processing to convert it into gold would be carried out at the El Limón Mine in the department of León (located approximately 240 kilometers west of Rancho Grande).17 The community of Rancho Grande has always subsisted economically and socially on the production and commercialization of agriculture—​mainly coffee and cacao, as well as other fruits and vegetables native to Nicaragua. Rancho Grande is also home to Cerro Kuskayas Nature Reserve, which is part of the larger Bosawás Biosphere Reserve (Centro Humboldt 2015b). In South Africa, Fuleni of Ibutho Coal (Pty) Ltd. is a project to extract low-​ sulphur anthracite coal, mainly from open-​pit operations over the expected 30-​year life span of the mine. Ibutho Coal is a relatively new company. It was established in 2006 with the goal to develop and exploit coal mineral resources in South Africa commercially. The Fuleni mining project is situated on a portion of the Fuleni Reserve in northern Kwa-​ZuluNatal. This greenfield area is bordered by the Mfolozi River to the north, the Richards Bay railway line to the south, and Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park to the northwest. The Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park is Africa’s oldest nature reserve and home to several endangered species, such as the southern white rhino. The Park is not only an important tourist destination, but also a cultural heritage site of the Zulu nation because King Shaka lived and hunted there as a youngster. The proposed mining project threatens the communities near Fuleni as well as the wildlife of this nature reserve. Next to these sites before mining, we explore one site at the extraction stage: Santo Domingo in Nicaragua. The operation of the Santo Domingo mine has led to various rejection and redistribution claims, and

28  The Roots of Engagement mobilizations are generally intermittent. As in Rancho Grande, the conflict is also associated with B2Gold Corporation of Canada. In 2009, B2Gold acquired the open-​pit gold mine of La Libertad in the department of Chontales. One year later, B2Gold discovered the Jabalí vein, about 7 kilometers south of the town of Santo Domingo. Santo Domingo has been a traditional artisanal mining town for quite some time, and the company’s activities have affected the income of these miners. These actions have also affected the water sources of the area, threatening the community’s agriculture and livestock. Since 2011, a broad set of local actors and organizations involving artisanal miners, farmers, ranchers, and concerned community members has led various mobilizations rejecting the expansion of B2Gold in Santo Domingo and La Libertad. The government of Nicaragua has met this resistance with violence, and protesters have been unjustly imprisoned for periods of time.18 Glancing over these three countries, mining runs deep in the history of Peru and South Africa, going back to colonial times (Kruijt and Vellinga 1979; Davenport 2013). Mining has also been present in Nicaragua since colonial times, but its intensity and scale increased substantially after the country’s return to democracy in 1990. Nicaragua is, thus, a relative newcomer to the globalized nature of mineral investment flows and provides a good contrast to the experiences of Peru and South Africa, where mining is very well established. Governments across these three cases endorse mining leases over new lands, like those of Tía María, Rancho Grande, and Fuleni, as a means to generate resource rents and thus promote local and national development. In Nicaragua, when the government of Daniel Ortega reopened La Libertad mine in 2010, he stated, “Our grand objective is to defeat poverty” (quoted in Spalding 2020, 1). Similarities notwithstanding, the strength of social organizations challenging mining varies as a result of the quality of agricultural lands vis-​à-​ vis other economic opportunities. As prior research has shown (Arce 2014), where the agricultural economy is strong, the types of social organizations contesting mining are likely to be better organized and stronger vis-​à-​vis the organizations found in areas where subsistence agriculture is common. In the latter areas, given the scarcity of economic opportunities, farmers may be more willing to sell their lands in exchange for fair compensation. In addition, in places where the agricultural economy advances a dense network of local organizations, challengers have the opportunity to forge alliances with other groups, often beyond the direct impact area of extraction (Özkaynak et al. 2015). In this way, resource conflicts experience a “scale shift” (McAdam,

Understanding Opposition and Support  29 Tarrow, and Tilly 2001, 331), connecting more actors and increasing the intensity of contentious action. In contrast, conflicts are likely to remain localized and fragmented where local organizations are absent or weak due to the scarcity of economic opportunities (Reeder, Arce, and Siefkas 2022). Dating back to 2009, the Tía María project is the oldest conflict, and also the most violent due to the death of at least eight protesters in clashes with the police (Dunlap 2019). Mining also has a longer trajectory near the area of the Tía María project because of the Cerro Verde open-​pit copper mine, just 20 kilometers southwest of the city of Arequipa. In contrast, mining is fairly new in the other two cases. For instance, the Tendele coal mine is the nearest mine to Fuleni. It began operations in 2007 and is about 20 kilometers from Fuleni.19 There are no mines near Rancho Grande. The history of mining, and what populations draw from the presence of these activities, varies across these three cases. To exemplify, as shown in several opinion polls, citizens in the province of Arequipa have a generally positive attitude toward the Tía María project because they have experienced firsthand the benefits of mining.20 Workers of the Cerro Verde mine live in Arequipa but commute to their jobs on a regular basis. The experience of the Tendele coal mine is somewhat mixed. While the mine has generated some local employment, it has increased water pollution and led to the displacement of villagers to make way for the mine.

Methodology When one visits an area where mining is looming, one can easily strike a casual conversation with someone who opposes the project, and also with someone who supports it. Yet both individuals live in nearby areas, patronize the same local businesses, and likely participate in similar local festivities. Our core inquiry is to explain what sets these individuals apart from each other. While we explore several viable factors, our hunch is that individuals are connected to their communities in different ways, and those connections can be traced to their participation in local organizations. Our research methodology combines field research and public opinion surveys carried out in each of these mining areas. We made multiple field research visits to Tía María (2015 and 2017), Rancho Grande and Santo Domingo (2017 and 2018), and Fuleni (2016 and 2017). The field visits sought to ascertain the types of local organizations that were active in each

30  The Roots of Engagement site, what individuals “get from” participating in these organizations, and how participation in these organizations forms views over mining. The field visits also allowed us to design and pre-​test the survey instruments on each of these three sites. During the field visits, we interviewed community members, owners of local businesses, and leaders of community organizations central to these conflicts. We also collected primary sources and documents. As explained earlier, the bulk of the existing literature is centered on conflicts and the drivers of resistance, and there are numerous accounts of these conflicts in each of these areas. We draw on this information to contextualize our findings, but a detailed treatment of these conflicts is beyond the scope of this book. During our field visit to Rancho Grande, we talked to representatives of the Centro Humboldt (Humboldt Center) and Asociación para la Diversificación y Desarrollo Agrícola Comunal (Association for Diversification and Communal Agricultural Development), leaders and members of Guardines de Yaoska (the Guardians of Yaoska), and business owners. In Santo Domingo, we talked to members of Salvemos Santo Domingo (Let’s Save Santo Domingo). In Fuleni, we talked to representatives of the Global Environment Trust and groundWork, leaders and members of the Mfolozi Community Environmental Justice Organisation and the Mpukunyoni Community Property Association, members of the Umbumbano Youth Organisation, Mining Affected Communities United in Action, and business owners. In Tía María, we talked to several community members and business owners in the province of Islay, the direct impact zone of the project. We visited Tía María right after the escalation of violence in 2015 and key stakeholders were not accessible. At least 16 different leaders and representatives of local organizations, including political authorities, faced criminal charges for inciting civil disorder, including Pepe Julio Gutiérrez (former leader of the Defense Front for the Interests of Cocachacra), Jesús Cornejo (former president the Tambo Valley irrigator board), Jaime de la Cruz (former mayor of Deán Valdivia), and Julio Cornejo (former mayor of Cocachacra). Fortunately, the case of Tía María is very well documented by the ombudsman (Defensoría del Pueblo) and other primary written sources. Given the increased criminalization of protesters and environmental defenders in some of these conflict areas, we anonymize these data whenever possible throughout the manuscript. The surveys seek to unveil the micro-​politics of individual attitudes over mining. Surveys are among the best ways to test causal theories (Brady 2000).

Understanding Opposition and Support  31 Unlike interviews or focus group designs, surveys have a wider range of applicability, as they include a large number of participants. When surveys are conducted using appropriate random sampling techniques, we can make clearer causal inferences about an underlying population. Extensive interviews, which are largely sampling elites and other influential actors in the communities, in contrast, do not give us a clear picture of the attitudes of the “average” person in each of these locations. However, surveys require instruments that reflect the conceptual richness of the theory. Poor operationalization of these concepts diminishes the validity of the research design. With our field research influencing our survey designs, we minimized this problem as best we could. As our theory informs us, the book emphasizes the importance of social engagement, which we argue helps to differentiate individual attitudes over mining. The survey instruments also allow us to rule out competing explanations, for instance, how threats and opportunities associated with mining affect views related to extractive activities, proximity to extractive areas, and the relative importance of mining vis-​à-​vis other economic activities, among other explanations. The surveys were done in the span of four years (2015–​18) and were collected through personal interviews in a proportional and randomized manner. In the Tía María survey, the respondents were the local populations of six districts in the province of Islay (the direct impact zone) and 12 districts in the province of Arequipa (the indirect impact zone). The districts in the province of Islay were Cocachacra, Deán Valdivia, Islay, Mejía, Mollendo, and Punta de Bombón. The districts in the province of Arequipa were Alto Selva Alegre, Arequipa, Cayma, Cerro Colorado, Jacobo Hunter, José Luis Bustamante y Rivero, Mariano Melgar, Miraflores, Paucarpata, Sachaca, Socabaya and Yanahuara. The survey was executed by the Economics Department of the Universidad Nacional de San Agustín, and the total number of respondents was 985. In the Rancho Grande survey, the respondents were the local population of seven neighborhoods and 22 districts in the municipality of Rancho Grande. The respondents in the Santo Domingo survey were the local population of 14 neighborhoods and 17 districts in the municipality of Santo Domingo. The Centro de Análisis Sociocultural of the Centroamericana University of Nicaragua, which coordinates the Latin America Public Opinion Project, conducted the survey, with approximately 400 respondents in each locale. In the Fuleni survey, the respondents were the local population of five local municipalities in the districts of uThungulu and uMkhanyakude: uMfolozi,

32  The Roots of Engagement uMhtathuze, Ntambanana, Hlabisa, and Mtubatuba. PLUS94, which conducts the Afrobarometer, executed the survey, and the total number of respondents was 400. Before going further, an important clarification about the public opinion surveys is warranted. These surveys are drawn on subnational samples close to the mining lease areas under study, not samples based on the entire country. Our justification for these subnational samples is twofold. First, prior research has shown that socially engaged individuals and those who live directly in the vicinity of mining activities are more likely to protest over resource extraction across Latin America (Arce, Polizzi, and Reeder 2020). Socially engaged individuals have the organizational resources necessary for collective action, as well as the opportunities to join like-​minded citizens through their participation in these organizations. Likewise, those who live near mining activities are likely to be more vulnerable to the adverse effects of these activities (Eisenstadt and West 2017b). In contrast, individuals who are distant to the extractive frontier may not perceive the threats (or opportunities) related to mining in the same way as individuals who are very close to proposed mining sites. Building on these contributions, we rolled out the surveys near the areas where citizens would be directly impacted by extraction. Second, and following the insights we gained through our field visits, these subnational samples allow us to introduce a broad array of survey questions that are relevant to the host communities near the extractive frontier. These questions help us to understand better the interconnections among individuals living in the same community. As Mattessich (2009, 51) writes, individuals residing in the same geographic location typically “share a large number of social ties, and feel a commitment to the place where they live.”

Conclusion While making important contributions, the literature on the determinants of extractive conflicts has some blind spots. Conflict areas are typically presented as hotbeds of opposition, and sources of support are often ignored. In this chapter, we have explained how an approach based on individual attitudes can help better account for the complexity of decisions over extractive projects. We argue, in fact, that a more complete picture of resource conflicts must take into consideration pockets of resistance and support, in

Understanding Opposition and Support  33 which challengers are more vocal and better organized than those who support mining. With random sampling, the survey method can provide “a truly representative and unbiased picture” of conflict areas (Brady 2000, 47). Approximating an explanatory, most-​ different design (Gerring and Cojocaru 2016), our research draws on areas characterized by protracted conflicts over mining. In many ways, these projects are, so to speak, on standby. Governments have showed continued interest in extending these leases, but host communities have also been resilient and keep on challenging these projects. Our central argument is that participation in local organizations, or social engagement, is what binds individuals together as a community to reject mining. These organizations provide key organizational resources and information, empowering individuals and their communities. These organizations also give individuals a shared community worldview, which later translates into actions that promote the well-​being of the community over individualistic interests. The importance of local organizations in the context of resource extraction cannot be underestimated. Mobilizing challengers against mining is costly, as it requires important material and human resources. It is also a risky endeavor given that several governments have sought to criminalize protest activity. In line with the “extractive imperative” (Arsel et al. 2016), the existing literature also reminds us that there are large power asymmetries between industry actors and host communities. Industry actors often engage in divide-​and-​conquer strategies, seeking to split communities to obtain a social license to operate. To this end, they can provide selective material rewards to the leaders of protest organizations (e.g., employment opportunities), or they can spend money on high-​profile projects in collaboration with local authorities, mostly municipal mayors (e.g., the rebuilding of the town’s school) (Arce 2014). The goal is to win the support of the local population and authorities through a series of small concessions. The playing field is thus skewed in favor of industry actors. In the chapters that follow, we examine how host communities meet these extractive projects.

3 Opportunities, Not Threats On May 15, 2015, in the Tambo Valley area of the Islay province, violent clashes broke out between the police and protesters over the Tía María project of the Southern Copper Corporation. The episode followed weeks of demonstrations and strikes by tens of thousands across several towns in the region of Arequipa, mostly organized by the Frente de Defensa de los Intereses de Cocachacra (Defense Front for the Interests of Cocachacra). Despite an overwhelming military and police presence, anti-​ mining protesters stood their ground flanked by a coalition of unions and university students. Demonstrators loaded slingshots with cobblestones to throw at police and used nearby materials to forge barricades to protect themselves; the police fired rubber bullets and launched tear gas from helicopters to disperse the crowds and to dismantle the road blockades. Following the 4-​hour clash, news outlets reported 36 injuries (14 protesters and 22 police officers).1 On May 22, Pedro Cateriano, the prime minister of Humala’s government, declared a 60-​day state of emergency. More than 1,000 soldiers and 4,000 police officers descended on the area to restore order, further exacerbating tensions. The clash of May 2015 is only one manifestation of violence in one of the most protracted resource conflicts in Latin America. Since 2009, the struggle over the Tía María project has resulted in a total of eight deaths (seven protesters and one police officer) and dozens of injuries. The severity of violence suggests strong opposition to the proposed mine. However, this well-​organized and vocal opposition coexists with clear government support for Tía María across different national governments and the state’s use of heavy-​handed tactics to intimidate protesters and quell dissent. Southern also remains determined to bring the project to light, continually readjusting its strategy to win a social license to operate. By all accounts, Tía María has reached a stalemate, waiting on protesters to compromise or even an external shock that would tilt the balance in favor of Southern. In conflicts at the point of resource access, like Tía María, industry actors and host communities are in a race against each other to delineate the The Roots of Engagement. Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks and Marc S. Polizzi, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197639672.003.0003

Opportunities, Not Threats  35 threats and opportunities presented by mining. Southern has, in fact, spent a significant amount of resources and employed dozens of representatives to promote a discourse of opportunities the copper mine would generate for the region of Arequipa, such as employment in high-​wage jobs and increased tax revenues through resource rents. Mining companies pay taxes on profits, and currently, the Peruvian government transfers a substantial portion of these revenues to the areas where mining takes place. In turn, local governments can use these funds on a variety of development and infrastructure programs. In exchange for these opportunities, supporters of the project seek improved dialogue between the community, government and industry actors, thorough environmental impact assessments (EIAs), and a transparent process of awarding exploration and construction licenses.2 However, the agricultural economy of the Tambo Valley area places a major hurdle on the likelihood of mining in the region. Areas where agriculture is strong are, in fact, known to have a rich, dense collection of local organizations, including producers’ associations and irrigator boards. In response to concerns over environmental harms, water shortages, and threats to community livelihoods, these agricultural organizations quickly coalesce into larger opposition movements known as defense fronts, which later emerge as the leading anti-​mining coalitions. In the Tía María case, the Defense Front engaged in preventive mobilization strategies (organizing strikes, road blockades, demonstrations, and a popular referendum), called for a complete rejection of the project, and demanded that the government revoke Southern’s construction license. The Defense Front drew on its organizational advantages to distribute information about the threats posed by mining. It also empowered individuals to mobilize and, what is more, sought to imbue a community worldview that bridged material threats over land and water with nonmaterial threats related to the agricultural identity of the Tambo Valley community. When we visited the district of Cocachacra in 2015, neon green banners with the words “agro sí, mina no!” (agriculture yes, mining no) lined the streets and draped several households’ windows.3 It appeared that the strategies of the Defense Front had been effective in shaping attitudes toward the Tía María project. In this chapter, we leverage our fieldwork near the project site to outline the role social engagement plays in forming or reinforcing individual attitudes over resource extraction. To recast our argument, individuals who regularly engage in local organizations are more likely to receive information about mining’s threats from these trusted associations, feel empowered to act

36  The Roots of Engagement against these threats, and possess a community worldview that sees mining as inconsistent with existing livelihoods. Non–​socially engaged individuals, by contrast, come short on the outcomes associated with participation in organizations, making them more susceptible to the discourse of government and industry actors that promotes the project’s opportunities. The remainder of this chapter is organized in the following way. First, we summarize Peru’s mining boom since the turn to market-​oriented reforms in the 1990s. Second, we examine Southern’s proposed open-​pit copper mine and its various community relations efforts to win local support, including the opportunities the project presents for the region. Third, we provide background information on the communities surrounding the Tambo Valley area, highlighting the primary concerns raised by local agricultural organizations. Fourth, we use our fieldwork in the region to illustrate how participation in these organizations influences oppositional attitudes toward mining. Lastly, we discuss how these anti-​mining positions manifested into specific preventive strategies that have continually derailed the development of the project for over a decade.

Peru’s Mining Boom Peru’s long history of natural resource extraction dates back to colonization. Large-​scale mining began at the turn of the 20th century with the operations of the Cerro de Pasco Corporation (CPC) (Kruijt and Vellinga 1979). The mining industry declined considerably in the 1970s when the then-​military regime of Velasco Alvarado expropriated and nationalized several private mining companies. However, the economic liberalization policies of the 1990s under President Alberto Fujimori reversed course by returning these companies to the private sector (Arce 2005). The change in policy significantly contributed to the country’s most recent mining expansion. China’s thirst for commodities also played a crucial part in the unprecedented mining boom (Sanborn and Torres 2009). Peru has become the world’s second-​largest producer of copper, silver, and zinc and is one of the largest producers of gold (sixth), tin (fifth), and lead (fourth) (Acosta et al. 2019). Consequently, the country’s economy has become one of the fastest growing and most stable in Latin America. For instance, the economy grew by 9.8% in 2008 alone. From July 2001 until March 2009, it accumulated 93 months of continuous expansion. The Great Recession of 2008–​9 briefly slowed this

Opportunities, Not Threats  37 trend, but it would resume by the end of 2009 (BCRP 2012). In 2013, the World Bank characterized the growth of the Peruvian economy as “Asian” because it mirrored the high growth rates of East Asian countries.4 This economic expansion was also unique in that it largely generated an improved standard of living for all segments of the population. Peru’s GDP per capita more than doubled between 1990 (the start of the Fujimori regime) and 2019 from $2,650 to $6,490 (constant 2010 US$).5 The percentage of the population living in poverty declined from 48.5% in 2004 to 27.7% in 2017. Those living in extreme poverty dropped from 17.4% in 2004 to 3.8% in 2017 (Acosta et al. 2019). The unprecedented economic expansion influenced a consumer-​oriented mindset among the country’s growing middle class. With such positive economic consequences, most investment dollars flowed into the country’s attractive mining sector. The 2017 annual report of Peru’s Central Reserve Bank (BCRP) estimated that mining activities accounted for nearly 10% of the country’s GDP (BCRP 2017). By 2020, mining exports accounted for around 60% of the country’s total exports and about 15% of total taxes collected, 20% of all corporate income taxes paid, and over 21% of all private investment (García and Pantigoso 2020; Acosta et al. 2019). CooperAcción (2019), a prominent Lima-​based environmental justice organization, reports that 14% of Peru’s national territory (approximately 17.99 million hectares) is under active mining production. When expanding this figure to include all mining concessions (e.g., lands that may be in the exploration stage), this number jumps to 21% of the country (approximately 26.98 million hectares). While a variety of minerals have contributed to the country’s dramatic economic development, copper has become an especially vital component of this expansion. Figure 3.1 shows the price of copper during the commodity boom period. While the price has fluctuated over the last 20 years, peaking in value at $4.26 per pound in 2011, since around 2005 the price per pound has always remained above $2.00. Tía María is part of Peru’s continued efforts to expand mining and the tax revenue generated due to high copper prices. Unsurprisingly, the commodity boom has yielded substantial profits for extractive companies, and taxes collected in the form of resource rents (known as canon minero) have become the most critical intergovernmental transfer to regions. These resource rents, in turn, are distributed to the areas closest to extraction.6 Figure 3.2 shows the distribution of these rents across Peru’s 25 regions.7 Moquegua received the most disbursements at around 15,906 Peruvian soles per capita for the period 2004–​20. For Arequipa, the

4.50 4.00 3.50 3.00 2.50 2.00 1.50 1.00 0.50 0.00

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Figure 3.1.  Price of Copper (2000–​19). Numbers on the left axis are U.S. dollars per pound. Source: Banco Central de Reserva del Perú (2020).

Soles per capita S/ 15,906

Loreto Piura La...

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Figure 3.2.  Resource Rents by Region (2004–​20). Resource rents are Peruvian soles per capita. Source: Ministerio de Economiá y Finanzas del Perú (2021).

Opportunities, Not Threats  39 region where the proposed Tía María project is to be located, the amount for this same period is around 2,878 Peruvian soles per capita (the sixth highest disbursement). With such large transfers occurring regularly, the national government views the industry as crucial for sustainable economic development. As such, the government’s support of mining remains resolute, and it is dissimilar to national and regional mining bans found in other countries (Spalding 2015; Mangini 2015). As the former Minister of Energy and Mines Carlos Herrera stated, “The success of Peru depends on mining.”8

Southern and Its Social License to Operate Initially established in 1952, Southern Peruvian Copper Corporation (SPCC) was one of the very few large-​scale mining companies that was not nationalized by the military regime of Velasco Alvarado. The company operates the Toquepala and Cuajone mines, located in the Tacna and Moquegua regions, respectively. In 2005, SPCC acquired Minera Mexico and was renamed Southern Copper Corporation. Currently, Grupo Mexico is Southern’s largest shareholder (75%),9 and with the new ownership, investments increased drastically. In 2018, for instance, the company reported it had invested $1.76 billion in the country (Southern Copper Grupo Mexico 2018). Southern proposed the development of an open-​ pit mine near the Tambo Valley area, which crisscrosses the districts of Cocachacra, Punta del Bombón, Deán Valdivia, and Mejía, all within the Islay province of the region of Arequipa. The company set up projections to extract 1.68 million tons of copper over a decade (with an average production of 120,000 tons annually).10 With an investment of nearly $1.4 billion, Tía María would require the construction of three sites across the Tambo Valley area to extract and process the minerals (Dunlap 2019). The first location, named La Tapada in the Pampa Yamayo, an extractive site, would be closest to Cocachacra and the Tambo River. The second extractive site, also called Tía María, was to be built in the Cachuyo area, about 7 kilometers from the Valley. Finally, the third site of Pampa Cachendo, a processing and leaching facility, was set to be only about 11 kilometers from the Valley. Opponents of the project have claimed that the company’s proposed locations diverged from the actual locations, with the sites being extremely close to inhabited areas and local water supplies like the Tambo River.11

40  The Roots of Engagement Southern’s interest in developing a mine in the Tambo Valley area dates back to the early 2000s when it started geological and geochemical studies in the region. By 2005, the company began negotiations with the government and nearby communities, which resulted in a series of three consultations (November 2007, July 2009, and August 2009). The Ministry of Energy and Mining (MEM) approved Southern’s request to conduct an EIA in 2006, an essential first step before obtaining a construction license (Castillo Fernández et al. 2011). As detailed later, the rollout of the project had many bumps along the way, which to date has made it difficult for the company to build a good relationship with the communities of the Tambo Valley area.12 The long, drawn-​out campaign against the project had three peaks of intensity (2011, 2015, and 2019), each in response to government and industry actors’ renewed interest in Tía María. Southern has readjusted its strategy accordingly.13 For instance, the company created a new position of manager of institutional affairs to lead Southern’s multipronged public relations campaign to obtain a social license to operate. This manager would work directly within the community to spread the “good news” of the project, such as generating 9,000 jobs in the first two years of construction alone (Southern Copper Grupo Mexico 2018). The company also focused on the discourse that the project would generate significant resource rents for the Tambo Valley area, which could fund local social service and infrastructure projects, including a much-​needed potable water program to deliver freshwater for consumption. To connect with the community, Southern employed dozens of social scientists, mostly sociologists and anthropologists, to “guide development interventions and measure their impact at convincing the population to accept the Tía María project” (Dunlap 2019, 21). Southern also used its 13 radio stations across the Islay province and Tambo Valley area to carry this message (Lapa Romero 2017). In April 2015, based on a public opinion survey by IPSOS (2015), 60% of respondents supported the Tía María project. Despite this support, the violence resulting from the May 2015 conflict by a more vocal opposition forced Southern to rethink its public relations strategy midcourse. Now on the defensive, in 2016, the company shifted its efforts to rebuilding its image through the Valleunido (Valley United) campaign, which aimed for the community to see the project as an opportunity, not a threat (Dunlap 2019, 20). The company sent 27 people to oversee the development of several “information centers” located on the main streets of Punta Bombón, Deán Valdivia, and Cocachacra (the three districts of the

Opportunities, Not Threats  41 Islay province closest to the project), primarily recruiting workers from the local population to distribute information brochures door to door (Dunlap 2019, 20). To attract individuals, staff operated these centers as Internet cafés, but staff were explicitly directed to discuss the benefits of the project. They even hosted pep rallies to foster enthusiasm for the mine. Additionally, Southern invested in more refined social plans under the program Construyamos Confianza Proyecto Tía María (Building Trust for the Tía María Project). The plan approached the community along six socioecological fronts. Tambo Agrícola (Tambo Agriculture) distributed free fertilizers, pesticides, and seeds to farmers; instructed classes on how to improve rice production; and repaired irrigation canals. Tambo Ganadero (Tambo Livestock) led educational workshops on cattle and livestock raising, staffed veterinarians, and offered free straw and nitrogen tanks for optimal cattle insemination. Mejora tu Vividenda (Improve Your Home) built portable water tanks and concrete floors for homes. Apoyo a la Educacíon (Education Support) distributed school supplies, computers, and uniforms and developed after-​school programs, while repairing local schools and painting homes (mostly to cover anti-​Southern graffiti) (Lapa Romero 2017). Lastly, Apoyo a la Salud (Health Support) constructed medical clinics and provided access to 24-​hour medical professionals and dentists. Despite Southern’s efforts, local organizations juxtaposed these messages with information campaigns signaling widespread concerns over the project’s impact on the agricultural economy of the Tambo Valley area and community livelihoods. These local organizations have firm bases of support and trust among community members because of the crucial role they play in the region’s economic prosperity. As a result, the anti-​mining campaign based on threats to the sustainability of the local economy resonated with community members and, in turn, informed their attitudes over mining. In the following section, we discuss the Tambo Valley community, its sources of economic well-​being, and the role of local organizations prior to the impetus of the project.

The Communities of the Tambo Valley The Tambo Valley area is home to a vibrant agricultural economy that employs 15,000 families and generates a profit of around 320 million Peruvian soles per year (about $100 million).14 Because of its fertile soil and

42  The Roots of Engagement temperate climate, farmers produce a diversity of crops, such as rice, onions, garlic, corn, tomato, quinoa, wheat, and watermelon. Tambo Valley is known as the “larder” of southern Peru, as 97% of its agricultural produce and 88% of its fishing feed the southernmost districts of the country. Figure 3.3 shows the portion of the Islay province most affected by the project, including the locations of the two extractive sites, La Tapada and Tía María. We overlaid the region’s agricultural zones, including the Tambo Valley that runs along the river of the same name. Using information from the 2017 National Census, Lapa Romero (2017) shows how connected Tambo Valley is to agriculture. The census reports that 25% of the Islay provincial population has an occupation rooted in agriculture. For Cocachacra—​the district closest to the direct impact zone of the project—​36% work in agriculture or fishing. It consists of around 2,000 medium landholdings with another 7,000 small landholdings. Merchants also benefit from increased

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Province Agricultural Zones

Figure 3.3. Tía María Mining Project Source: Authors’ own elaboration.

Opportunities, Not Threats  43 production as they sell goods across southern Peru. When harvests are particularly good, the profits are often used to support urban centers and to pay for social services. Rather than being dominated by a few latifundios (large landholdings), where land tenure is arguably more secure, most production in the Tambo Valley area occurs in minifundios (medium to small landholdings) (Dunlap 2019). In Cocachacra, for instance, 75% of farms are small properties, and 9% are medium. For the district of Deán Valdivia, the proportions are 69% and 25%, respectively. Sixty-​eight percent of the district of Punta de Bombón farming is through small landholdings, and another 30% is through medium landholdings (Lapa Romero 2017). Furthermore, the 2017 Peruvian National Census reports that the district of Cocachacra consists mostly of independent workers and day laborers. Around 37% of this population works as laborers, with another 32% being independent workers. Notably, the La Junta de Usuarios del Valle de Tambo (Irrigator Board of the Tambo Valley) consists of over 2,000 medium-​and small-​scale producers, operating via a shared governance model (Lapa Romero 2017). The communities of the Tambo Valley area, given the structure of their local economy, rely on local organizations, such as producers’ associations and irrigator boards, for their economic success. Producers’ associations link fragmented owners to markets, enhance opportunities for cooperation between producers by creating a common forum, and design collective plans to address climate shocks or natural disasters. They also help producers navigate a complex institutional environment that includes the municipal, provincial, regional, and national levels of government. For example, the Ministry of Agriculture and Irrigation directs national policies aiming to enhance agricultural productivity, providing grants and technical expertise to increase output and use scarce resources more efficiently. Producers’ associations help coordinate these efforts by transferring this information and funds to individual producers. Overall, these organizations provide an essential service that more expansive landholders would not require.15 Similarly, irrigator boards also serve a vital role, as they direct water supplies for both agriculture and personal consumption.16 Since the passage of the General Water Law in 1969 and the subsequent presidential decree in 1989 (037-​89-​AG), previously informal boards became the formal actors directing a decentralized management system (Lapa Romero 2017). Beyond facilitating day-​to-​day water usage, these boards also work with agencies at various levels of government to modernize degraded water infrastructure

44  The Roots of Engagement (World Bank 2005). For instance, in 2006, the government created a national fund known as the Fondo de Fortalecimiento de Organizaciones de Usuarios de Agua (Support Fund for National Water Users’ Associations) “so that water users’ organizations themselves can strengthen their own development capacities for leaders, personnel and users” (Huamanchumo et al. 2008, 34). With the national government promoting public–​private partnerships in agricultural areas, these investments have become more complex, and irrigator boards intervene to direct these efforts. All of this is to say that many community members depend on these agricultural organizations for their economic well-​being, which in tandem elevates their standing vis-​à-​vis other local associations. In short, given the structure of the local economy in the Tambo Valley area, producers’ associations and irrigator boards help medium-​and small-​scale producers navigate the institutional environment, overcome barriers to profitability, and assist the supply chain from harvest to market. These organizations are probably less relevant in agricultural areas with large landholdings, where land tenure is more stable and owners can weather external shocks. As explained next, when Southern moved closer to the execution of the Tía María project, these organizations became the one-​stop source of information related to mining and its consequences.

The Impact of Agricultural Organizations on Mining Attitudes Given their standing in the region—​a feat of their work in supporting the agriculture of the area over the years—​these organizations became a trusted source of information about the Tía María project and the potential threats its activities posed to water, the environment, and community livelihoods. Community members were more receptive to the information coming from these organizations, which we identified earlier as a form of relational trust (Chapter 2), rather than the information from industry or government actors. In a way, participation in these organizations produced a form of social capital (Putnam 1993), showing the willingness of medium-​and small-​scale producers to help each other because of trusted connections and shared values.17 The bonds of cooperation transmitted among community members are similar to other agricultural organizations operating in Peru. Muñoz Portugal (2009, 96) explains these bonds as follows:

Opportunities, Not Threats  45 The majority of farmers participating in irrigator boards know each other from the past; they have approached each other multiple times for different reasons, sometimes because of business opportunities and other times because of family or communal activities; they see each other during the town’s celebrations or they have organized these festivities together; they go to the same restaurants or bars or shops to talk; and they also participate in the same parent-​teachers conferences as other members of these boards.

There are several examples that show how producers’ associations and irrigator boards went beyond their traditional roles in supporting the activities of the local economy of the area to articulate a defense of community livelihoods. Looking back, Southern made it somewhat easier for these organizations to speak up on behalf of the communities of the Tambo Valley area because the rollout of the mining project itself was flawed and poorly managed. One specific example concerns the community’s access to water and Southern’s reversal on its promise to not disrupt existing water supplies of the Valley. The Tambo River supplies water for Cocachacra, Deán Valdivia, and Punta de Bombón. Castillo Fernández et al. (2011, 15) estimate that 85% of the population relies on the river for personal consumption and 100% for agricultural production. As the Islay province is mostly desert, water in the Valley is indeed a limited resource. Here, the voice of irrigator boards was instrumental. They managed the distribution of water in the area on a day-​ to-​day basis, hence their concerns about potential water scarcity because of future competition with mining resonated with community members. Originally, Southern promised it would use seawater processed via its own desalinization plant, which would avoid the need of ground and river water. However, in one of the first consultation meetings held in 2009 between community members and Southern representatives, the company reneged on that promise and stated that the mine would rely more heavily on existing water sources. Berly Gonzáles, a government official from Arequipa, characterized this broken promise as a “new attack on the water deficit that the Tambo Valley has” (quoted in Ugarte Cornejo 2018, 24). The unexplained change concerning the source of water sparked a wave of protests and regional strikes, and Southern would later reverse course back to include the construction of the desalinization plant. With the back and forth concerning the source of water for the project, the seeds of distrust in Southern were sown.18

46  The Roots of Engagement Southern’s initial EIA is another example of the company’s poor rollout of the project. This misstep also allowed local organizations to expose the deficiencies of the project, which in the end served to maximize the threats posed by mining. In 2011, the MEM contacted the UN Office of Project Services (UNOPS) requesting that the office serve as an impartial evaluator of the company’s EIA (Castillo Fernández et al. 2011; Jaskoski 2014). The UNOPS report made 138 observations, including concerns over a missing hydrological study and opaque details as to the location of minerals and pit depth (Castillo Fernández et al. 2011).19 Observations outlined deficiencies in either the assessment process or missing components to be addressed in subsequent EIAs (78% of these observations were considered serious deficiencies).20 Moreover, the UNOPS report raised issues related to the poor communication process between government officials, Southern representatives, and the Tambo Valley community. It also brought up the lack of an official prior consultation mechanism for affected communities. Such issues produced greater negative views among community members, manifesting again in protests and road blockades. When the company conducted a subsequent EIA between 2013 and 2014, many remained skeptical of the validity of these new efforts as distrust of the company’s intentions was now widespread (Dunlap 2019). The UNOPS report, however, was not the only document critical of the project. The Defense Front also put together a parallel technical commission comprised of local engineers, lawyers, economists, and other researchers who monitored the actions of Southern, including scrutinizing the EIAs produced by the company (Defensoría del Pueblo 2009). Having the support of experts, who questioned the mining company’s technical arguments, ensured local organizations could maintain control over the discourse of the project’s disadvantages. This parallel commission was a rebuttal to the information coming from industry or government actors, and its creation is only possible when local organizations have access to resources. Southern’s views of protesters was the straw that broke the camel’s back. While newspapers spoke of a new public relations company strategy, representatives themselves belittled protesters or, even worse, painted them as terrorists. To illustrate, following a wave of protests and conflicts with police on March 23, 2015, Southern’s head of community relations, Julio Morriberón, said that what “happened is regrettable, your little deaths (muertitos), rest in peace, who died in these protests” (quoted in Dunlap 2019, 16). Two days later, on March 27, 2015, Southern’s community relations

Opportunities, Not Threats  47 department stated on national television that the project was withdrawn due to “the onslaught of a new type of terrorism, anti-​mining terrorism . . . [and] the paralysis of the state in its role of promoting investments and giving the necessary guarantees to get them started” (quoted in Dunlap 2019, 16).21 To state the obvious, the company’s views of protesters infuriated several in the community, further galvanizing opposition to the project. Moreover, many in the region of Arequipa saw the use of such language of terrorism as particularly troubling given the country’s history of political violence. Journalist Gariela Wiener coined this political strategy as terruquear, meaning a “political strategy that uses the fear of terrorism for [one’s] benefit” (quoted in Dunlap 2019, 16).22 The use of this language also meant that community members were more likely to view the presence of the company and the national government as a threat to their individual safety, independent of the effects of mining. It is often said that communities close to mining areas face an uphill battle in opposing extraction. They do. The playing field is, in fact, tilted to favor industry and government actors. Arguably, the most effective arguments against the Tía María project came from Southern itself, not the Defense Front. The company’s original decision to renege on the promise to not use local water supplies, the faulty EIA report highlighted by the UNOPS, and the controversial statements made by company representatives all watered down the company’s discourse of employment and economic opportunities. By May 2015, support for the project was almost evenly split: 46% of respondents approved of the project, while 43% rejected it (IPSOS 2015). Some attributed these blunders to the new ownership of the company and the arrogance of the new company representatives.23 This is not to say that the local organizations that made up the Defense Front had an “easy” campaign against mining vis-​à-​vis other resource conflicts. They still had to explain the threats of mining to water and the environment, as well as articulate a defense of community livelihoods. Given the company’s missteps, perhaps the Defense Front only had to show that the status quo of being the “larder” of southern Peru is great as it is, not necessarily that agriculture is superior to mining as in other resource conflicts. The Defense Front’s discourse of “agro sí, mina no!” (agriculture yes, mining no), which was employed throughout the extensive anti-​mining campaign, is suggestive of a community worldview local organizations had for the Tambo Valley area. Given the importance of agriculture, the proposed project was not just a threat related to water or land; it also threatened the

48  The Roots of Engagement community’s agricultural identity. This discourse resonated with community members in slightly different ways, but the common thread was a connection to the land that transcended purely utilitarian purposes.24 Material and nonmaterial threats thus became two sides of the same coin. Domingo Condori, a local rice farmer, said, “Here, life is peaceful. He who works, even if he lacks an education, gets ahead. Why would we want a mine?”25 A leader in the Defense Front further explained that “The mine affects all sectors, not only agriculture, but everyone” (quoted in Quintanilla and Rogelio 2013, 65). In addition to highlighting a preference for agriculture, the statements also revealed a deep concern for the well-​being of the community, rather than the individualized opportunities offered by the mine.

The Resistance Campaign Those opposed to mining in the Tambo Valley area remained steadfast in their rejection claims, and their collective efforts have thus far successfully prevented the development of the project. The Defense Front draws on its organizational advantage of agricultural associations to engage in preventive mobilization calling for strikes, road blockades, and large-​ scale demonstrations in major urban centers. Local authorities, such as mayors and regional governors, also intervened and sided with the Defense Front, but these politicians also attempted to progress a solution that would be amenable to industry and government actors.26 The long campaign against mining has passed through three different national governments (García, Humala, and Vizcarra). These governments often called for dialogue, but they adopted repressive and heavy-​handed tactics in their treatment of protesters, in particular, the government of Humala. While contention ebbed and flowed for over a decade, we can highlight four distinct episodes throughout the campaign against Tía María: the 2009 referendum and three peaks of mobilization intensity (2011, 2015, and 2019).27 Early on, the communities of the Tambo Valley area did not reject the mine. Many in the community were interested in dialogue via the 2007–​9 consultations. However, distrust over the company and opposition to the project galvanized local organizations because of two noteworthy events: the company’s decision to renege on the plan to use seawater in favor of local ground and river sources and the deficiencies in its first EIA. In the race to

Opportunities, Not Threats  49 delineate the threats and opportunities presented by mining, the missteps of Southern were detrimental to its goals. Taking direction from other resource conflicts, such as Tambogrande and Río Blanco (both located in the Piura region), local organizations worked alongside the municipal government of Cocachacra to create a popular consultation mechanism for Tía María (Reeder, Arce and Siefkas 2022). The popular consultation was meant to determine whether the community endorsed the project and whether ground water should be made available for mining. In September 2009, 93.1% of voters in Cocachacra, Punta de Bombón, and Deán Valdivia rejected the Tía María project. On whether the project should use local water supplies, 96.3% voted no.28 The results of popular consultation served to legitimize the community’s concerns over mining. The national government responded by denying the legality of the mechanism. Southern also ignored the result. In response, in 2010, a coalition of agricultural organizations, unions, university students, and local political groups organized regional strikes and demonstrations, escalating further in 2011.29 Moreover, each of these events took place during the presidency of Alan García, a leader who had no quibbles in embracing the so-​called “extractive imperative” (Arsel et al. 2016, 880). In March of that year, following the UNOPS report on Southern’s EIA with all of its 138 observations, leaders of the Defense Front and local labor unions called for an indefinite strike. They asked the government to re-​evaluate the company’s EIA rather than to continue to ignore its deficiencies. The government responded to the strike by sending in the Peruvian National Police. A group of demonstrators countered by creating makeshift shields to block tear gas and rubber bullets and launching projectiles with slingshots. It was not until April 8, 2011, and following several clashes between police and protesters that resulted in the deaths of four demonstrators, that the MEM rejected the EIA and suspended the project until a new one was approved. In November 2013, in an effort to repair its fractured image, Southern released its second EIA report, which amended the observations raised by the UNOPS and changed the source of water back to the originally planned desalinization plant. By August 2014, the government of Ollanta Humala approved this new EIA. The government also called for renewed dialogue via mesas de diálogo (round tables) to discuss these revisions, but many living in the direct impact zones of the project remained vocally opposed to any development. Moreover, challengers opposed these round tables because they felt the deliberations had become shows of strength between supporters and

50  The Roots of Engagement opponents of the project. A local woman from the area said the round tables included people bused in from outside the community (quoted in Ugarte Cornejo 2018, 65). Others argued that Southern purposely conflated attendance to these meetings with support for the project. Guzmán Espezúa articulates this perspective as follows (quoted in Ugarte Cornejo 2018, 65): The myth has been generated in the community that the residents who attend the workshops are endorsing the [mining] project with their presence. [This myth has occurred because the organizers] overwhelm them with photos, and overwhelm them with the fact that they have to sign the minutes [ . . . ] So, as this myth has been generated, and in a conflict scenario, people no longer participate. So, the workshops have become a competition for who brings more people, and I have seen that.

In December 2014, the mayors of Cocachacra, Deán Valdivia, and Punta de Bombón led a new demonstration in opposition to Tía María. Protests waned into the harvest season, but in April 2015, these mayors, along with other organizations, called for a regional strike. Protesters also formed road blockades in more populated areas. Between April and May, the conflict escalated to violent clashes with police. In these two months, three more demonstrators and one police officer were killed, resulting in the national government declaring a state of emergency and dispatching 2,000 additional police officers to restore order in the region (Dunlap 2019; Lapa Romero 2017).30 Consequently, the Humala government placed another temporary hold on the development of the Tía María project. These conflicts became national news, raising the visibility of the project and influencing public opinion beyond the region of Arequipa. Between April and May of 2015, the main period of conflict, support for the mine dropped 14 percentage points, from 60% to 46% (IPSOS 2015). Also noteworthy is the number of individuals who became informed about the project because of increased national media exposure of the violence. In April, only 29% of national respondents indicated they were informed about the development of Tía María. By May, this figure grew to 51% (IPSOS 2015). Respondents largely blamed the violence on the national government and protest leaders rather than police and protesters. Of those survey respondents opposed to the project, the three primary reasons were the potential for environmental harms, the negative impact for local agriculture, and distrust of the state to oversee Southern’s actions

Opportunities, Not Threats  51 (IPSOS 2015).31 When asked to identify the main ways Southern could win support for the project, 43% indicated that it would have to convince them that Tía María provides employment opportunities to the region, 41% said the company would need to create an EIA report approved by the state, and 40% said Southern would need to comply with agreements made with the local population (IPSOS 2015).32 Our survey, conducted in 2015 directly in the area affected by the Tía María project, draws similar conclusions to the IPSOS surveys.33 In a multiple response question asking self-​identified opponents to name the main reasons for their opposition, the top three answers were that mining harms the environment (44%), mining harms agriculture (29%), and that they do not trust the state to oversee the actions of the mining company (11%). Turning to self-​ identified supporters, the top three reasons were the increased employment opportunities (47%), local economic opportunities (34%), and increased resource rents transfers (9%).34 Collectively, the surveys report a similar trend: a split across the communities of the Tambo Valley area over rejection and redistribution claims. But as seen in the intensity of the resistance campaign, those holding rejection claims were clearly more vocal and better organized. The Observatory of Mining Conflicts in Latin America (OCMAL) characterized the Tía María conflict as low intensity by 2018, but the campaign against Southern resurfaced once again under the government of Martín Vizcarra. Vizcarra initially aimed to appease both sides, being careful not to hurt mining investment while also trying to prevent an escalation in violence that punctuated the conflict under Humala. Dismissing calls by local officials in Islay to refrain from authorizing the project, on July 9, 2019, Vizcarra changed course and granted Southern a construction license.35 The license came just before the expiration of the UNOPS report (August 1). This decision was roundly criticized, with many interpreting this timing as a reflection of government and industry actors’ interest in avoiding environmental and social requirements that may further delay the project. Despite Southern’s assurances that they were compliant with UNOPS’s recommendations, several details surrounding the project remained opaque, such as the precise location of certain minerals, the depth of the pit, modes of transportation, and even which water resources would be utilized.36 The response to Vizcarra’s decision was swift. The mayor of Cocachacra, Julio Cornejo, called this decision “a traitorous blow,” as the president had promised to send representatives to discuss the project with the community before issuing the license (Turner 2019). Several mayors from the area also

52  The Roots of Engagement signed a letter asking the national government to reconsider the construction license. The regional Defense Fronts called for strikes and demonstrations until the license was revoked. Interestingly, even those more hesitant to reject Tía María outright sought greater transparency in the licensing process (Turner 2019). In late July 2019, conflict between protesters and National Police officers left 34 police injured and resulted in the arrests of eight demonstrators (Turner 2019). In a move likely aimed to prevent further violence, the National Mining Council, an independent review committee attached to the MEM, announced on August 9, 2019, that the permit would be suspended for 120 days pending further review.37 Following this review period, the Mining Council said it would grant Southern the construction license, but that formal operations could not begin until more favorable conditions were met with the community. Southern maintained that it desired to have open dialogue and said in a prepared statement that the project would only be developed “within the framework of a more favorable social climate.”38 But community members remained skeptical given the company’s past misrepresentations.39 The Defense Fronts responded to the Mining Council’s decision with more road blockades. Following a short hiatus in demonstrations so farmers could finish the seasons’ harvests, mobilizations resumed in December.40 In January 2020, Vizcarra responded to the renewed demonstrations and stated that the project would not be completed during his term in office, a position supported by the regional governor of Arequipa Elmer Cáceres.41 Further, Vizcarra stated, “if consensus is not generated, we are not going to force it.”42 The Minister of Energy and Mines, Juan Carlos Liu, said the delay provided time to address outstanding concerns, including a water study, and to “close gaps” in infrastructure in the Tambo Valley area.43 The situation in Tía María remains fluid.44 The economic recession caused by the COVID-​19 pandemic has renewed the importance of the project for the region of Arequipa and beyond. The company sees an opportunity in this crisis, and thus it remains optimistic about the future of the project.45 Southern executive president Óscar Gonzales Rocha has blamed the regional government of Arequipa for blocking the construction of the mine, painting them as obstructing progress for the Valley. In his words, The Regional Government of Arequipa does not allow itself to be helped and it is one of those that is most against (Tía María) . . . Hopefully this is resolved for the benefit of Arequipa and the government, because

Opportunities, Not Threats  53 the economic situation is now difficult due to low tax revenues and unemployment.46

Gonzales Rocha also believes that the majority of the population supports the project and that everybody agrees that it needs to happen.47

Conclusion In this chapter, we have shown the role social engagement in agricultural organizations played in forming or reinforcing attitudes over resource extraction. Despite Tía María being one of the most protracted and violent conflicts over mining in Latin America, our account demonstrates that even among a seemingly unified opposition, pockets of support still exist. Competing discourses about the threats and opportunities of the project aim to influence individuals within the community either to oppose or support the project. However, individuals who regularly engaged in local organizations, particularly those tied to the region’s vital agricultural economy, sift through this information and process threats more acutely than they do opportunities. Throughout this conflict, those holding rejection claims remained resolute on their goals to stop the project. The rollout of the project by Southern was problematic on several fronts and may have unintentionally hurt the company’s efforts to present a clear discourse of opportunities. Those missteps gave credibility to the community’s concerns over mining and further emboldened the local organizations represented by the Defense Front. Despite several false starts, Southern also remains resolute on its objective to bring the project to light. Each national government—​from García to Humala and then Vizcarra—​has embraced spaces of dialogue to reach a settlement, but their repressive and heavy-​handed tactics toward protesters paint a different response. As of the writing, debate over the development of the project persists, which is clearly observable with the negative consequences of the COVID-​19 pandemic on the Peruvian economy. The nationwide lockdown has slowed production of mining activities throughout the country. Reduced consumption by emerging economies has also decreased demand for commodities, further compounding the country’s economic downturn. Despite statements by government actors assuring communities that no license would be granted without further consensus, the recent economic downturn brought

54  The Roots of Engagement on by the pandemic has revived discussion of operations starting sooner. Government and industry actors are looking to expand operations to make up for the economic loss, and Tía María is an obvious choice. The impact of the pandemic on the economy could be the external shock that could tilt the balance in favor of Southern.

4 The Pilgrimage for Life At the beginning of October 2015, the anti-​mining resistance movement in Rancho Grande in the department of Matagalpa, Nicaragua, reached its pinnacle with a massive demonstration strategically called the “Pilgrimage for Life.”1 After months of planning by Catholic Bishop José Rolando Álvarez Lagos, the head of the Diocese of Matagalpa, 10,000 people from the community of Rancho Grande marched in solidarity against mining while promoting their right to exist within a safe and healthy environment (Marcus 2015; Serjeant 2015; Witte-​Lebhar 2015; Sánchez González 2016, 2017). The sheer size of this demonstration attracted media attention for the first time. The community had invited national media to other anti-​mining events, but journalists had previously been notable only by their absence.2 Such media coverage and the vast presence of protesters also piqued the attention of international media sources and environmental justice organizations (EJOs). With this exposure, on October 12, 2015, the Nicaraguan government decided to stop the open-​pit gold mining project in Rancho Grande (also known as El Pavón) run by Canadian B2Gold. Furthermore, First Lady Rosario Murillo publicly declared that the “conclusion of all the environmental experts is that the project is not viable due to the impacts it would have on the surroundings, on nature, on the environment, on people’s way of life, [and] on water sources in general” (quoted in Cuffe 2015, para. 5).3 This was a momentous reversal by President Daniel Ortega’s government, which had taken significant measures to attract foreign investment in the country’s mining sector (Witte-​Lebhar 2015). As in the previous case of Tía María (see Chapter 3), local organizations played a central role in forming attitudes and later claims regarding mining among individuals who regularly engaged in these associations. In the case of Rancho Grande, however, respected Catholic Church leaders emerged as a vocal ally in defense of the environment and community livelihoods and played an outsized role in the campaign against B2Gold. To a certain degree, their activism was reminiscent of that during the Sandinista revolutionary period (1979–​90), when progressive religious leaders took a stand on the The Roots of Engagement. Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks and Marc S. Polizzi, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197639672.003.0004

56  The Roots of Engagement behalf of the poor, following the teachings of liberation theology. Given the historical affinities between Ortega’s Sandinista movement then and progressive sectors within the clergy, the intervention of Church leaders in support of community livelihoods in Rancho Grande put government actors in a tight corner to advance the project. Church leaders reached out to their networks to connect community members with other organizations and provided crucial information and resources to address their concerns. They emboldened individuals to stand against the proposed project by signing petitions and organizing demonstrations against mining. More importantly, they put forward a pro-​environment discourse that bridged material threats over land and water with nonmaterial threats related to the community’s religious identity. Years before mining threatened the area, in fact, Church leaders in Rancho Grande conveyed religious teachings that supported the protection of the environment. Through these teachings, parishioners immersed themselves in the conviction that they were the custodians of God’s greatest gift, Mother Earth. Individuals who regularly engaged in church groups were thus encouraged to protect the community’s natural environment through largely nonviolent mobilizing strategies. Given the Catholic Church’s influence in this multifaceted campaign (e.g., organizing boycotts, marches, blockades, demonstrations, and petitions), which dates back to 2010 when B2Gold became interested in the area, it was important for President Ortega to speak directly with Bishop Álvarez before going public with the news. Thus, on October 11, 2015, Bishop Álvarez started his typical Sunday celebrating mass when he received a telephone call from President Ortega and First Lady Murillo. Because of the importance of their message, Ortega and Murillo waited on the line for mass to end. Then, they communicated privately to Bishop Álvarez that the national government would announce that it planned to halt B2Gold’s concession in Rancho Grande the next day. They shared this news with Bishop Álvarez before anyone else because of his leadership in organizing and strategizing against mining in Rancho Grande. They also wanted to give him the chance to communicate with other stakeholders in the anti-​mining campaign, so they could share the news with their networks before it went public (Marcus 2015). Although most community members rejoiced in the national government’s decision, host communities where mining is imminent include individuals who also support it. They support mining because they view it as advantageous to the local economy, but—​unlike more vocal and better organized opponents—​their support remains largely hidden. Community members

The Pilgrimage for Life  57 who did not regularly participate in Rancho Grande’s organizations tended to support the proposed mine because they did not have access to the same information and resources as socially engaged individuals. In turn, they trusted discourses from B2Gold and government actors regarding the economic opportunities the proposed project would bring to the area, such as jobs, social programs, and local development. In short, individual views toward mining varied throughout the community.4 Thus, in this chapter, we explain how community members processed competing information over the threats and opportunities presented by mining. Moving forward, we first explore the resurgence of gold mining in Nicaragua. Next, we discuss B2Gold’s entrance into Rancho Grande and the company’s efforts to secure local support for its project. We then describe the community of Rancho Grande and the role local organizations, including the Catholic Church, had in shaping individual attitudes against mining. Finally, before we conclude, we provide an overview of the conflict that illustrates the Catholic Church’s unique position in organizing the mobilization efforts in the community.5

The Resurgence of Mining in Nicaragua The economic importance of mining in Nicaragua dates to colonial times (Bulmer-​Thomas 1987). However, the revolutionary Sandinista government (1985–​90) nationalized the mines in the 1980s, contributing to the industry’s collapse (Martínez Cuenca 1992).6 In 1990, Nicaragua’s civil war ended, and the country began its transition to democratic governance. Violeta Chamorro (1990–​96), of the Unión Nacional Opositora (National Opposition Union, UNO) party, won Nicaragua’s democratic election and began implementing market reforms to revitalize the fledgling mining sector. However, foreign investors were initially hesitant to invest for fear of future instability and expropriation. Since Chamorro, every national government has advocated for policies and incentives to attract foreign investment to remedy this reluctance. Even when Ortega, the leader of the revolutionary Sandinista government, returned to the presidency in 2007, he embraced the mining industry through an ideology known as populist capitalism; this is a mixture of anti-​imperialist discourse, moderate social spending, and a market-​oriented economy (Veltmeyer and Petras 2014). In doing so, Ortega alleviated investors’ fears regarding the previous actions undertaken by the

58  The Roots of Engagement Sandinista government (e.g., land expropriation, nationalization of mines, and the adoption of heavy regulatory controls). In keeping with global trends, and seeking to boost investment in the extractive sector, the country has adopted free trade agreements and bilateral investment treaties, adopted clearly defined permit processes and investor guarantees, and endorsed legislation that deregulated mining activities and exempted firms from taxation. The country’s actions increased foreign direct investment and helped the country’s gold mining industry to flourish as the leading producer of gold in Central America (Spalding 2016). From 1995 to the early 2000s, the Nicaraguan government privatized existing mines and enacted laws to increase investments. These changes led to the emergence of business organizations within the sector. For example, Chamorro’s government supported the Cámara Minera de Nicaragua (CAMINIC), the country’s mining business chamber. CAMINIC enabled collaboration between investors and the government on contentious issues, such as land rights for artisanal miners and community resistance to mining concessions. During Alemán’s term in office (1997–​2002), the government passed the Foreign Investment Promotion Law in 2000 and the Special Mining Exploration and Extraction Law in 2001. These laws intended to increase investments by approving mining concessions up to a maximum of 50,000 hectares for 25 years and extendable for another 25 years. The law also permitted mining royalties at 3% (of the value of the extracted material), which is a deductible income tax expense and a more favorable rate than Guatemala (1%) and El Salvador (2%) (Spalding 2016). From the early to mid-​2000s, the Nicaraguan government continued to see the economic importance of this industry. In particular, it identified mining as a critical target for development purposes because of the steady increase in the price of gold.7 For instance, the National Development Plan under the Bolaños government (2002–​7) stated that Nicaragua “possesses enviable mining potential, which places it in a privileged position with respect to the rest of Central America” (Fundación Enrique Bolaños 2003, 138). The government supported other pro-​ mining business organizations and passed several laws to lure foreign investment. For example, the government oversaw the creation of PRONicaragua, a public-​private agency. The purpose of this agency was to encourage foreign investment in the mining sector via the country’s low labor costs, guarantees for foreign investors (Law 344), and access to international tribunals in cases of investment disputes (PRONicaragua 2013, 2014). PRONicaragua attracted

The Pilgrimage for Life  59 investors by highlighting Nicaragua’s strong scores in the World Bank’s “Doing Business” rankings (Whyte, Ortega, and Griffin 2011).8 For the next decade, PRONicaragua focused on mining in its promotional publications and presentations and quickly allied itself with CAMINIC officials who attended and cohosted international trade fairs and congresses. In the early and mid-​2000s, government and industry actors enthusiastically praised the industry’s achievements and prospects (Spalding 2016, 2020). With Ortega’s return to power, some investors feared that these accomplishments were at risk. However, like other Latin American leaders, Ortega was enthusiastic to develop foreign investment in the extractive sector further to promote economic growth and secure funding for social programs targeting poverty. One of Ortega’s first undertakings as president was creating the Ministry of Energy and Mining (MEM). Over time, investors began to view Ortega as a dependable leader in advancing the interests of industry actors. Spalding (2020, 15) highlights this perception change by showing how “B2Gold CEO Clive Johnson reported that his first act in pursuing investment opportunities in Nicaragua after he arrived in 2007 was to meet directly with Ortega, a 20-​minute appointment that turned into a two-​hour conversation.” Mining investments, concessions, and production grew exponentially during the commodity price boom with this investment-​friendly environment.9 As a result, the mining industry not only recovered but thrived. In terms of gold production, Figure 4.1 shows, from 2009 to 2018, a 232% increase (Banco Central de Nicaragua 2020). In 2012, Nicaragua became the top gold producer in Central America, contributing 35.4% to regional production (Centro Humboldt and IEEPP 2017). As Carlos Zarruk, the country’s general director for mining, suggested, Nicaragua was “open for business.”10 Vancouver-​based B2Gold Corporation, founded in 2007, is one of the companies that has benefited the most from the revitalization of Nicaragua’s mining industry. B2Gold has become Nicaragua’s leading industry actor due in part to its acquisition of mining concessions around the country. In fact, since 2007, it has invested more than $100 million in mining activities throughout Nicaragua.11 Presently, the company has production, exploitation, and exploration projects in two municipalities in the department of Chontales (La Libertad and Santo Domingo) and one municipality in the department of León (El Limón). It also has other concessions at the exploration stage in Rancho Grande in the department of Matagalpa (see Figure 4.2),

350 300 250 200 150 100 50 0

1994 1996 1998 2000 2002 2004 2006 2008 2010 2012 2014 2016 2018

Figure 4.1.  Gold Production in Nicaragua (1994–​2018). Number on the left axis are troy ounces (in thousands). Source: Banco Central de Nicaragua (2020).

El Pavon Mine N

Rancho Grande Cerro Kuskayas Nature Reserve

El Limon Mine

La Libertad Mine Legend Departments Nature Reserves Active Mine Site Proposed Mine Site Town

Figure 4.2.  Rancho Grande Mining Project Source: Authors’ own elaboration.

Santo Domingo

The Pilgrimage for Life  61 a site in which the company has invested heavily. In 2007, B2Gold created a joint venture with Radius Gold to explore the El Pavón hill in Rancho Grande.12 Together, the companies received an exploratory concession of 1,301 hectares, discovering a concentration of 6.7 to 10.3 grams of gold per tonne of land. By 2010, B2Gold representatives had publicly expressed their interest in investing in an open-​pit mine. In 2012, the company bought out Radius Gold’s shares and became the sole recipient of the El Pavón concession (Ministerio de Energía y Minas 2014).13

B2Gold’s Social License In areas where mining is under consideration, host communities and industry actors are in a race against each other to define the threats and opportunities presented by mining. In this spirit, B2Gold followed a three-​fold strategy to gain a social license to operate. First, similar to Southern’s Valley United campaign in Tía María (see Chapter 3), the company pursued several CSR programs. For example, it offered monetary assistance to support social infrastructure and microfinance programs.14 It provided new gear to police officers, medicine and equipment to health clinics, and seeds to farmers. In support of their long-​term interest in community development, company representatives held public meetings to discuss additional social programs the company would offer to the community after the mine was operational. These included employment opportunities and generous financial compensation for land when the project would need to expand. The company also promised local business owners resources to improve their facilities in preparation for the expected increase in demand for local services.15 Second, B2Gold promoted its image through branded gifts distributed to the community and by flooding the airwaves with positive messages about the project using local radio stations. For example, company representatives were known to hand out baseball caps and T-​shirts with B2Gold’s logo, including presents to children during Christmas. Radio messages were meant to maximize the opportunities presented by the project, while minimizing its threats to the environment and community livelihoods. For instance, the company broadcasted messages about the benefits of “green mining,” drew attention to its efforts to finance a forest nursery in the community, and highlighted how operating the mine would contribute to employment and economic development (Sánchez González 2016, 2017).

62  The Roots of Engagement Third, and in line with the “extractive imperative” (Arsel et al. 2016), government actors collaborated closely with their industry counterparts to advance the project (Serjeant 2015). One of the more notable examples includes permitting B2Gold to take credit for government-​sponsored projects. For instance, if the government donated materials or brought doctors to the community, the company received recognition. Nicaraguan state agencies also gave the company opportunities to deliver positive messages about the project in health centers and local public schools. In one such occasion, the Ministry of Education (MINED) allowed company representatives to enter local schools to distribute school supplies in exchange for watching pro-​ mining presentations. During these “classroom assemblies,” company representatives aimed to alleviate potential concerns about the project by telling students that no harm would come to community livelihoods (Sánchez González 2016, 2017). The offer of new economic opportunities tied to the Rancho Grande project was an attractive prospect for some individuals in the community.16 Our survey data shows that the three primary reasons individuals supported the project were because of employment opportunities (54%), local economic opportunities (16%), and community benefits, such as social programs (11%) (see Chapter 6). However, before B2Gold’s arrival, most community members had worked with local organizations, including the Catholic Church, to promote sustainable agricultural practices and, in that way, pro-​ environmental behaviors, which eventually made it difficult for the company to gain the community endorsement it needed. In the next section, we discuss the community of Rancho Grande, its primary economic sources (agriculture, livestock, and ecotourism) that sustain community livelihoods, and the influence that local organizations and Catholic Church leaders had in shaping individual attitudes about the project.

The Community of Rancho Grande Rancho Grande is a community of close to 50,000 residents, 90% of whom live in mostly rural areas (Centro Humboldt 2015b; INIDES 2005).17 The municipality bearing the same name is the 15th most impoverished in Nicaragua, with nearly 69% of households living in extreme poverty (Serjeant 2015). Many homes consist of plastic tarps and unfinished or earthen floors, with no running water or electricity, and limited access to

The Pilgrimage for Life  63 clean water.18 There are no banks or ATMs, and few businesses, and the local schools are rundown and lack supplies. Only one poorly paved road runs through the town.19 The community of Rancho Grande has always subsisted economically and socially on small-​scale agricultural production—​mainly coffee and cacao, but also other fruits and vegetables native to Nicaragua. Community members rely on a sustainable relationship with the area’s rivers (e.g., Yaoska, Manceras, Kiwaska, and Babaska), which are vital to community livelihoods. The climate and soil conditions found in Rancho Grande have generated favorable conditions for the community’s farmers. Crop production largely feeds local community members, with additional produce being sold at nearby markets. In addition, Rancho Grande’s healthy environment and clean rivers provide for the community’s livestock, which yields ranchers up to 6,000 liters of milk per day (Centro Humboldt 2015b). Rancho Grande’s natural environment also contributes to the region’s ecotourism. The municipality is home to the Cerro Kuskayas Nature Reserve (see Figure 4.2), which is part of the larger Bosawás Biosphere Reserve. In 1997, the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO) declared Bosawás a biosphere reserve, and it is known internationally as the “Heart of the Biological Corridor.” It is the largest forest sanctuary in Central America (Centro Humboldt 2015b), and it protects some of Nicaragua’s most prized flora and fauna. The community of Rancho Grande also displays a diversity of local organizations connected to agriculture and protection of the environment. The Asociación para la Diversificación y Desarrollo Agrícola Comunal (Association for Diversification and Communal Agricultural Development, or ADDAC) is one such example. Over the past decades, ADDAC has assisted community members in boosting overall output by encouraging the expansion of skills in local cooperatives, especially in coffee and cacao.20 Ríos de Agua Viva (Rivers of Living Water) is one of these many cooperatives created and supported by ADDAC. It currently includes 39 communities with more than 1,300 participants. In addition to promoting sustainable practices like agroforestry systems, ADDAC also supports agricultural marketing and alternative credit programs (Centro Humboldt 2015b). ADDAC encourages pro-​environmental behaviors by instilling life strategies that have taught farmers to use, conserve, and recover their resources to continue to nourish the community. A community member summarizes the impact of ADDAC as follows (Sánchez González 2017, para. 21):

64  The Roots of Engagement I’ve been looking after the forest on my property for many years. I’ve had training and guidance from an organization called ADDAC, which taught us a long time ago to take care of the environment, the water, forests and land—​not to burn it. I started to care for the forests thanks to an exchange of experiences . . . I would gladly give my life for the environment. That’s why the teaching about caring for and conserving this forest appealed to me. This forest won’t be cut down as long as I live.

Beyond these agricultural organizations, which are typical of farming communities like Rancho Grande, the existence of several other local organizations supports a high degree of social engagement. Based on our survey data, in Rancho Grande, over three-​quarters of respondents (77.49%) participated in at least one local organization. In fact, almost half of respondents (about 45%) regularly engaged in two or more associations (see Appendix A). These figures are the highest of our cases, suggesting a robust level of participation in local organizations.

The Imminent Threat of Mining and the Role of the Catholic Church Two broad factors help to explain the Catholic Church’s unique position in the conflict and why it became the face of the anti-​mining campaign. First, Catholic Church leaders have a distinctive record of advocating on behalf of the poor that dates back to the heydays of liberation theology. Their activism then was in part a response to the repressive character of the military during the country’s civil war. Although the political circumstances in the current period are very different, the threats to farmers and their community livelihoods presented by mining are not. Second, the unfortunate history of violence during the country’s civil war had a moderating effect on the mobilizing strategies pursued by local organizations.21 Community leaders and their organizations did not embrace the project but at the same time feared escalating the resistance campaign to the point of provoking a police (or military) response from the Ortega government. The intervention of respected Church leaders not only served to legitimize their struggle but also gave a sense of protection from possible state criminalization or repression of protesters. The overall peaceful resistance to mining with an emphasis on the defense of the environment was set by Church leaders and ultimately empowered community members to mobilize.

The Pilgrimage for Life  65 The influence of Church leaders in shaping individual views about mining is both indirect, as when parishioners participate in religious gatherings or attend church groups, and direct, as when Church leaders act as third-​party actors (or brokers) for the two parties involved in a conflict (host communities vs. industry-​government actors) to help mediate a solution. In the case of Rancho Grande, they took a stand in support of the environment and community livelihoods and thus added a source of moral authority to the anti-​ mining campaign. While both types of influence are important, the direct role is more readily observable. Similar to local organizations dedicated to sustainable agricultural practices, the Catholic Church encouraged pro-​environmental behaviors by emphasizing its religious teachings about the protection of the environment.22 In doing so, the Catholic Church instilled a spiritual connection to the land outside purely material considerations. Several declarations issued by the Catholic Church on the environment shaped the religious teachings of Rancho Grande’s religious leaders. To illustrate, Bishop Álvarez, who emerged as a key stakeholder in the anti-​mining campaign, stated, “Biblical considerations have motivated and encouraged us to be aware that we are the custodians of creation” (quoted in Sánchez González 2017, para. 15). Similarly, Monsignor Edgar Sacasa Sierra of Matagalpa, who followed the legacy of liberation theology from neighboring El Salvador, suggested that “[t]‌he Church is pro-​environment and so are our flocks . . . [T]here’s been a new pastoral option: the environmental option. It started very gently with reforestation, building plant nurseries, founding environmental clubs. It started with positive environmentalism” (quoted in Sánchez González 2017, para. 17). Catholicism is widespread in Rancho Grande. By participating in religious gatherings or attending church groups, parishioners learned a personal responsibility to be stewards of the environment and that they should safeguard the environmental well-​being of the community on which their existence depends. For example, one community member stated, “I’m against destroying the environment. What motivates me is that I have to love Mother Earth because she’s the treasure God left for us” (quoted in Sánchez González 2017, para. 28). Another individual said that in “[s]‌tudying the Bible, I see how we should value, care for and defend Mother Earth because it says there that she’s like a mother’s womb” (quoted in Sánchez González 2017, para. 27). These teachings about the protection of the environment—​while indirect and difficult to trace—​were put into practice when B2Gold became interested in the Rancho Grande project.

66  The Roots of Engagement Rancho Grande’s parish priest, Father Pablo Espinoza, and former parish priest, Father Teodoro Custer, were two of the community’s main advocates of the anti-​mining discourse. As soon as Father Custer learned of the Rancho Grande project, he shared his knowledge about mining with community members. Father Custer had learned about the adverse effects of mining from his time with the Maryknoll Sisters in Guatemala (Sánchez González 2016, 2017), and both Fathers Custer and Espinoza visited personally with community members to discuss the experiences of other mining communities in Nicaragua (e.g., El Limón, Santo Domingo, La Libertad, Bonanza, and Santa Pancha) and in neighboring countries (e.g., El Salvador, Honduras, and Guatemala).23 Moreover, they shared information from reports prepared by well-​established EJOs like Centro Humboldt and national human rights organizations like Centro Nicaragüense de los Derechos Humanos (CENIDH).24 For example, Centro Humboldt has written several reports on environmental harms (e.g., water contamination from the release of toxic metals) in other Nicaraguan communities since the organization’s inception in 1990 (Centro Humboldt 2008, 2014). Resembling a form of relational trust, others would be drawn to the movement because they trusted the source from which information was coming. Two important organizations emerged during the course of the anti-​ mining campaign. The first, the Guardines de Yaoska (the Guardians), formed to protect the Yaoska River. Later, it joined with the Catholic Church and ADDAC, along with several other local associations, for example, Asociación para el Desarrollo Integral Comunitario (Association for Inclusive Community Development, ADIC), Radio Comunal Católica (Catholic Communal Radio), the Movimiento de Mujeres de Matagalpa (Matagalpa Women’s Movement), Movimiento Comunal Nicaragüense (Nicaraguan Community Movement, MCN), and Rios de Agua Viva (Rivers of Living Water) Cooperative, to form the Strategic Group Against Mining (Spalding 2016). Despite several groups serving as key actors of the social movement, Church leaders became the most visible, using their standing to grant legitimacy (and protection) to anti-​mining resistance and setting the direction for the actions that followed. The Catholic Church, ADDAC, and the Guardians used daily radio shows to communicate their pro-​environment discourse. In much the same way as their door-​to-​door visits throughout the community, leaders from the Catholic Church and the Guardians used personal stories from neighboring communities to humanize more technical messages from national

The Pilgrimage for Life  67 environmental and human rights organizations (i.e., reports from Centro Humboldt and CENIDH).25 To supplement these messages, the radio hosts would also utilize menacing but memorable messages like “bread today, hunger tomorrow” (Spalding 2016, 18). This meme meant to highlight the limited nature of mining opportunities. The use of media, like these radio shows, has a broad impact and reach in low information settings like Rancho Grande. Using the voice of respected Church leaders to raise these concerns had a multiplier effect in incorporating more individuals and organizations into the anti-​mining campaign.26 Some evidence suggests the anti-​mining discourse was effective in shaping views toward the Rancho Grande project. The more information community members learned about the project, the more they became alarmed about the impact of mining on community livelihoods. Echoing these fears, one resident suggested, “We’ve seen in other places, in other countries that desertification can happen [from mining] just by removing trees from the mountains. That’s what we’re trying to avoid” (quoted in Witte-​Lebhar 2014, 3). Additionally, a local business owner told us, “I can only imagine if the mining concession went through for B2Gold. Rancho Grande’s environment would be negatively affected like it is being affected in Santo Domingo.”27 The campaign itself, as discussed in the next section, incorporated themes with strong religious connotations, such as “Protect Mother Earth” (August 2014) and “Pilgrimage for Life” (October 2015). When we visited Rancho Grande, we witnessed this phrase painted on nearly every house and building in town: “No a la Minería” (no mining).28 Similar to Tía María (see Chapter 3), this discourse captures a community worldview that sees mining as incompatible with existing livelihoods and also makes individuals prioritize the welfare of the community over individualized opportunities. Mining was not solely a threat to land and the area’s sustainable agricultural practices; it was also a threat to what land and those practices represented to the community’s religious identity. As Bishop Álvarez argues, community members’ religious identities with their land and environment directly relate to their dignity, which they need to protect from external threats like mining (Sánchez González 2016, 2017). One of the consequences of this worldview is that community members will see themselves as being in the same boat and thus willing to put their religious and political differences aside to live in a community free of mining. As a leader from the Guardians suggested, the strength of the community stemmed from “uniting, setting aside parties, everyone together, Liberals

68  The Roots of Engagement and Sandinistas, Evangelicals and Catholics, through a single cause” (quoted in Sánchez González 2017, para. 56).29 To exemplify, in the beginning stages of the project, Rancho Grande’s Frente Sandinista de Liberación Nacional (Sandinista National Liberation Front, FSLN) party leaders demonstrated mixed attitudes toward the project. During the 2012 municipal elections, FSLN candidates campaigned on a promise to resist mining. However, once these party leaders won the election, they invited B2Gold representatives into the community with open arms, following President Ortega’s orders. In contrast, leaders of Rancho Grande’s Partido Liberal Constitutionalista (Constitutionalist Liberal Party, PLC), the other popular political party, never made their position about the project clear. The FSLN’s abrupt change in their stance toward mining and the PLC’s lack of one were primary catalysts motivating Father Teodoro Custer to speak against the project. As local opposition to the project increased, FSLN party sympathizers began to distance themselves from their local party leaders. An FSLN member suggested that he did not renounce his political ideology but reclaimed its meaning to work with others to protect the community and its members from mining. Additionally, the former FSLN political secretary of Rancho Grande pointed out that as a Sandinista, it is essential to maintain your dignity and work for the visions of the community and its members—​that is, a community without mining (Sánchez González 2016, 2017). Our survey data from Rancho Grande shows that 90% of respondents opposed the mining project. The two main reasons they rejected it relate to the proposed mine’s environmental harms, such as environmental destruction (59%) and water contamination (21%) (see Chapter 6). In the race to define the threats and opportunities presented by mining, it appears that the pro-​ environment discourse advocated by local organizations, including Church leaders, was far more effective than the one presented by industry and government actors. There were special contextual factors that made Church leaders the face of the anti-​mining campaign, but their intervention in the conflict does not detract from the views and claims that the community’s farmers had about the project.

Rancho Grande’s Resistance Beyond the anti-​mining discourse espoused by local organizations, the Catholic Church, along with ADDAC and the Guardians, shaped the

The Pilgrimage for Life  69 mobilization strategies community members utilized from 2010 to 2015 (Pérez González 2015; Gutiérrez Elizondo 2015). However, Catholic leaders implemented the most comprehensive resistance strategies between 2013 and 2015, which included more than 15 peaceful marches (at both the municipal and departmental levels), awareness workshops, a petition to the national government with more than 6,000 signatures, appeals with courts in Matagalpa and the Supreme Court of Justice in Managua, and other actions like road blockades and boycotts (Cuffe 2015; Marcus 2015; Centro Humboldt 2015b, 2015c). In March 2013, for instance, Father Pablo Espinoza, the parish priest of Rancho Grande, led a march against the project with approximately 6,000 participants.30 By 2014, Rancho Grande’s resistance movement transcended its local Church leaders and gained the attention of the entire Diocese of Matagalpa. Forty-​three priests from the diocese, led by Bishop Álvarez, signed a letter that concluded, “There is no balance point in this project between the profits of a few and the damage of the majority” (Spalding 2016, 19). They sent this statement to President Ortega in May 2014, and it eventually garnered the support of Catholic Church leaders at the national level. In the same year, at the Catholic Church’s Episcopal Conference in Nicaragua, bishops from all over the country showed their solidarity with community members and local leaders by backing the letter the Diocese of Matagalpa sent to Ortega (Spalding 2016). As respected Church leaders set the direction of the anti-​mining campaign, other community members followed their lead, coordinating nonviolent resistance movements that often relayed messages similar to those advocated by community leaders. For instance, in July 2014, parents and school officials called for a “School Stoppage” in defiance of B2Gold’s “classroom assemblies.” The boycott attracted the attention of high-​ranking, pro-​mining government officials at the national, departmental, and municipal levels, including Rancho Grande’s Mayor María Isabel González, Deputy Minister of Energy and Mines Lorena Lanzas, Minister of the Environment and Natural Resources Juanita Argeñal, Minister of Education Miriam Ráudez, and Matagalpa Mayor Zadrach Zeledón. These public officials rushed to Rancho Grande to persuade individuals to halt the boycott. However, their efforts failed to resonate in the community because many had never previously visited Rancho Grande. Community members also disliked these officials’ inability to redress their demands, such as working within the law to conduct environmental impact assessments and pursue prior consultation rights

70  The Roots of Engagement (Centro Humboldt 2015b).31 The stoppage persisted until the municipal authorities and the national government conceded and removed B2Gold representatives from the classrooms (Pérez González 2015). Rancho Grande’s mobilization efforts did not end with the “School Stoppage.” A month later, in August 2014, more than 500 people began marching peacefully in a movement they called “For the Defense of the Common Good, Protect Mother Earth!”32 However, riot police arrested some participants and confiscated identification cards and driver licenses from others. Government actors also prohibited buses from transporting anyone associated with the resistance movement.33 Two days later, representatives from national government ministries and local government agencies called for an “open dialogue” on mining. During the scheduled gathering, 3,000 people filled the community’s sports center and openly rejected the mining project. In the gathering, a group of mining supporters, wearing shirts with B2Gold’s logo, caused several injuries by inciting violence against the multitude of people concentrated in the sports center. Other community members also reported being harassed and threatened on several other occasions.34 These repressive acts did not deter those opposed to mining, nor did it change the course of the anti-​mining campaign. On the contrary, community members rely on the support of their local organizations to overcome difficulties, even when government actors sought to increase the cost of collective action. This support strengthened their motivation to continue their fight against mining.35 A leader from the Guardians told us that “When an individual faced a difficult time, other community members offered assistance, both financially and in terms of services. If they needed a ride, they received a ride. If they needed to eat, they ate.”36 Furthermore, when community members created a petition against the mine, some government actors attempted to stop it by requiring a fee to sign. Despite the obstacle, community members turned to their existing networks built on trust to lend the support they needed.37 As the leaders of the Guardians suggested, “the people of Rancho Grande felt empowered to protect their community from the impending threats related to mining,” galvanizing their opposition to it.38 As we discussed in the introduction of this chapter, the conflict reached its zenith with “Pilgrimage for Life.” Although this massive demonstration is the event that led to President Ortega stopping the Rancho Grande project, this march built on years of previous resistance activities organized by the Catholic Church, ADDAC, and the Guardians. Even the demonstration’s

The Pilgrimage for Life  71 name suggests that the nonviolent, pro-​environment discourse had infused itself into the movement, despite at that point the campaign incorporating several different organizations into its ranks. Monsignor Sacasa summarizes Rancho Grande’s anti-​mining campaign by suggesting, “Rancho Grande has become a beacon for many people . . . Rancho Grande and what we did is now illuminating many other communities. . . . It’s now part of grassroots awareness that one cannot go against the Earth, against Nature, against God’s Creation. And that awareness has a lot of heft” (quoted in Sánchez González 2017, para. 66).

Conclusion This chapter has illustrated the resurgence of mining in Nicaragua and how it has become one of the most attractive nations in Central America for investments in this sector. Since 2007, B2Gold has invested heavily in the country. In 2010, it sought to establish an open-​pit gold mine in the community of Rancho Grande, and shortly thereafter, it followed a broad strategy to win local support for its project. In retrospect, Rancho Grande was a probable case where extraction could have moved to the next stage in the commodity chain given the close alliance between industry and government actors. However, the timely intervention of local organizations, unified under a pro-​ environment discourse generated by Catholic Church leaders, derailed these plans. Although these were vastly different periods, the political activism of Church leaders echoed that of the Sandinista revolutionary period (1979–​90) when liberation theology was in full force. More critically, the intervention of such a powerful ally on behalf of the anti-​mining campaign brought to light the contradictions of Ortega’s brand of populist capitalism, a capitalism that seeks to expand the extractive frontier while jeopardizing the environment and the community livelihoods that directly depend on it. Our focus on the participation of Church leaders in Rancho Grande contributes to the limited literature that examines the role of religion in resource conflicts (e.g., Spalding 2011; Arellano-​Yanguas 2014; Hendricks 2019). The insights provided in this chapter paint an alternative picture of the Church’s involvement in anti-​mining movements highlighted by Arellano-​ Yanguas (2014). His study focuses on how social actors at the grassroots level shape and influence the Church’s response and involvement in anti-​mining campaigns. His analysis also assumes oppositional attitudes toward mining

72  The Roots of Engagement among individuals formed before the Church participated in the conflicts. In contrast, this chapter demonstrates that the Catholic Church was the key organization that formed and reinforced individual attitudes over the environment well before mining became imminent. Church leaders worked alongside a dense network of community organizations to impart an individual responsibility to protect the environment and, as a result, community livelihoods. During the anti-​mining campaign, they presented a discourse focusing on threats to counter the one about opportunities coming from industry and government actors. They shared critical information about the risks of mining, and their active participation in peaceful preventive strategies served to empower socially engaged community members in other local organizations to resist extractive activities also. Beyond the material threats mining posed for the community’s small-​scale agricultural economy, the project also posed nonmaterial threats because it challenged the core of the community’s religious identity and the responsibility community members have in protecting the environment. Church leaders thus helped to redefine the nature of these threats and the trajectory of the campaign. As of this writing, the quality of democracy has eroded significantly in Nicaragua, reverting into authoritarianism. While the community of Rancho Grande is not under direct threat from mining, the future remains uncertain given recent developments in the country. In a fraudulently held election that imprisoned most political opponents, the Ortega-​Murillo regime secured another term in office in late 2021.39 This marks Ortega’s fifth term as president and Murillo’s second term as vice president. Beginning with his return to power in 2007, President Ortega has squashed the country’s hope for democracy. Instead, to secure his reign on power, he has caused the de facto suspension of constitutional guarantees and the deterioration of the country’s weak state institutions. He has also violently attacked his own citizens. President Ortega’s government has responded with severe forms of violence and repression to mass mobilizations against his regime and its policies beginning in April 2018. The intensity of these actions created a high human cost with at least 325 dead, thousands injured, more than 5,000 arrests and kidnappings, and 600 political adversaries imprisoned in subhuman conditions (Sánchez González and Mercado 2020). As it is commonly acknowledged, Ortega has now become the dictator (Anastasio Somoza) he opposed and fought against a long time ago. These political developments will likely pose a significant obstacle for social engagement in Rancho Grande and elsewhere in the country.

5 We Will Not Move In April 2016, about a thousand villagers of Fuleni blocked the main road to Ocilwane to express their disapproval of Ibutho Coal’s proposed open-​pit mine. They were deeply concerned about its adverse effects on surrounding inhabitants as well as the project’s proximity to the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park, Africa’s oldest nature reserve. As it turns out, Ibutho’s plan will affect villagers of Ocilwane the most, as they will need to be moved to make way for the proposed mine. The decision was particularly contentious because in the 1960s under the apartheid regime of South Africa, nearby villagers were relocated to Ocilwane to allow for the construction of the Owen Sitole Agricultural College. Thus, the plans to relocate villagers again sparked intense emotions and angered many community members. During the road blockade, villagers held a large banner that read “we will not move.” There is a sizable number of resource conflicts that involve clashes between mining and agriculture. Mobilization is also a common preventive strategy to derail proposed mining sites. The cases of Tía María and Rancho Grande are two such examples (see Chapters 3 and 4). By contrast, the communities surrounding Fuleni are areas of subsistence farming where families harvest and live off the land. Rather than a clash between mining and a robust and organized agricultural economy (Chapter 3), the Fuleni case is more closely related to the preservation of wildlife as the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park houses the largest population of endangered southern white rhinos in the world. This tourist area also has cultural and historical importance because King Shaka of the Zulu nation lived and hunted there as a youngster. Moreover, despite protesters facing intimidation and threats, widespread mobilizations and clashes with the police were not common in Fuleni. Instead, transnational wildlife advocacy networks outside Fuleni have challenged Ibutho Coal through the court system. The judicialization of the conflict has been more important in the Fuleni case vis-​à-​vis the other two cases. The presence of traditional leaders and councils also separates Fuleni from examples in previous chapters. Traditional leaders and councils were the means of indirect rule during South Africa’s colonial period. Later they The Roots of Engagement. Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks and Marc S. Polizzi, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197639672.003.0005

74  The Roots of Engagement became the administrative agents of the apartheid regime, supporting its policies and actions, and with limited accountability to rural constituencies.1 Today, these traditional leaders (also known as local chiefs) operate as “guardians of the land,” and some evidence suggests that these actors do not always consult with local communities over decisions affecting their territories, including resource extraction (Leonard 2019). Fuleni was no exception. These differences relating to the importance of wildlife, the judicialization of the conflict, and the presence of traditional leaders makes Fuleni an interesting case in which to examine the impact of social engagement on attitudes over mining. On this subject, the types of local agricultural organizations found in Tía María and Rancho Grande, such as producers’ associations and irrigator boards, were nonexistent in the subsistence farming areas of Fuleni. Instead, transnational wildlife advocacy networks based outside the impact area of extraction have played an outsized role in shaping the direction of the campaign against Ibutho Coal. Thus, the effects of social engagement over attitudes related to mining may not be as straightforward as in the other two cases. We begin this chapter by highlighting the importance of mining to the South African economy and the arrival of Ibutho Coal in Fuleni. Next, we describe the community of Fuleni and its organizations contesting the impact of the proposed mine on the surrounding area. The last sections of this chapter discuss the impact of these organizations on individual attitudes over mining and the mobilizing strategies pursued during the campaign against Ibutho Coal.

Mining in South Africa Like Peru and Nicaragua, South Africa is also blessed with an abundance of mineral resources. The country is the world’s biggest producer of gold and platinum, and one of the leading producers of coal and diamonds. Mining plays an integral role in the country’s economic and social development and is an important source of resource rents. In 2008, for instance, just before the Great Recession, resource rents rose to 11.9% as a share of GDP, a figure last seen in the early 1980s (World Bank 2021). Coal royalties alone rose from R702 million (around $47.8 million) in 2015–​16 to R2,059 million (about $140.3 million) in 2018–​19, an increase of nearly 200% (Minerals Council South Africa 2020). In real terms, between 2009 and 2019 the mining

We Will Not Move  75 industry has contributed to an average of 8% of the country’s total GDP per year (see Figure 5.1) (Minerals Council South Africa 2020). Consequently, South African governments have been very supportive of private mining corporations because of their contributions to tax revenues, and as such, industry actors occupy a privileged position in government relative to other sectors (Adler et al. 2007). Coal, in particular, has been an important resource to the South African economy. To describe the close ties between government and the mining industry, South African scholars speak of the “minerals–​energy complex” (Fine and Rustomjee 1996; Sharife and Bond 2011), similar to the U.S. military–​ industrial complex. Under this arrangement, private mining corporations supply cheap coal to the state-​owned power utility company Eskom, and in turn, Eskom supplies cheap power to the mines and metal smelters. Eskom accounts for over 90% of the country’s electricity, and this electricity comes from burning coal because it is cheap and widely abundant. Sharife and Bond (2011) and others also argue that these government–​business connections have not served society or the environment well in South Africa. The apartheid regime, for instance, enabled “the conscription of cheap labour to dig the coal and stoke the furnaces” (Peek and Taylor 2015, 11). Eskom is also the country’s biggest polluter and fails to comply with the air quality standards set up by the government of South Africa itself.2 Coal’s grip on the country’s

9.5 9 8.5 8 7.5 7

2009 2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

Figure 5.1.  Mining’s Contribution to South Africa’s GDP (2009–​19). Numbers on the left axis are GDP percentages. Source: Minerals Council South Africa (2020).

76  The Roots of Engagement economy is not changing anytime soon, and the arrival of Ibutho Coal illustrates well this coal dependence.

Ibutho Coal Ibutho Coal (Pty) Ltd. was established in 2006 with the goal to develop and exploit commercially coal mineral resources in South Africa. It sought to start an open-​pit mine in the northern side of Fuleni, and following the coal seam toward eShowe, the project would cover an area of approximately 40 kilometers.3 The company expected to produce low-​sulphur anthracite over a 30-​year life of the mine at the rate of 500,000 tons per annum. The coal extracted from the mine was to be shipped through Richards Bay, which is located approximately 45 kilometers southeast of the project area. To win local support, Ibutho Coal pitched the idea of job creation and sustainable community development. According to Jacana Consultancy, which assisted Ibutho Coal in preparing its environmental assessment report, the project was expected to create 200 permanent jobs, which could possibly increase to about 400 other job opportunities after five years. About half of these opportunities will go to community members. Moreover, as a part of its social labor plan, the company proposed offering community members basic adult education and training, core business training, artisan training, scholarships, and internships to the value of R6.6 million (about $400,000). The package included scholarships in mechanical and electrical engineering, human resources, and geology, as well as 31 learning opportunities for machine operators; truck drivers; health, safety, and human resources staff; mechanics; electricians; fitters; and turners. Additionally, the coal company planned to support educational endeavors and small business projects worth R2 million (about $120 thousand).4 Ibutho described its Fuleni coal mining project as a 44.9% Black Economic Empowerment (BEE) shareholding initiative. BEE was launched by the African National Congress when the apartheid regime ended in 1994, and it encourages “the transfer of stakes in white-​owned businesses to a new class of black investors.”5 Ibutho also offered 5% of equity in the company in the form of a community shareholding trust. Finally, the company argued that its project was in line with KwaZulu-​Natal Planning Commission’s Vision 2030. According to this planning document, by 2030 the province of KwaZulu-​ Natal will become South Africa’s “skills capital.”6

We Will Not Move  77 Ibutho’s arrival to Fuleni came as sort of a surprise. The company applied and received two consecutive prospecting licenses in or around 2009 and 2012, respectively.7 A prospecting right is defined as “a permit which allows a company or an individual to survey or investigate an area of land for the purpose of identifying an actual or probable mineral deposit.”8 Among other requirements, this right is granted if mining operations will not result in unacceptable pollution, ecological degradation, or damage to the environment, and when the applicant has the ability to comply with existing health and safety regulations. If the Department of Mineral Resources accepts an application, it must make known within 14 days to interested and affected parties that an application was approved, and thereafter, interested and affected parties have 30 days to submit comments regarding this application. One of the many controversies surrounding Ibutho Coal was its “flagrant disregard for the law,” as Fuleni villagers only learned about these prospecting rights in early 2014, when the project moved closer to its execution.9

The Community of Fuleni Located in northern KwaZulu-​ Natal, in the uMkhanyakude District Municipality, Fuleni is best described as a rural community composed of four villages: Ocilwane, Nthuthunga, Nthuthunga Two, and Novunula. These four villages are in the direct impact zone of the mining concession. The population of these areas is largely rural and with limited social service coverage. According to the most recent census of 2011, 14.6% of the population aged 20 and over had no formal schooling, only 5.5% have a flush toilet connected to sewerage, and 10.5% have piped water inside their homes (Statistics South Africa 2011). Furthermore, the district has pronounced, incessant unemployment rates (about 42%), with youth unemployment being especially high at 50.4%. The persistent lack of economic opportunities in the region means that “more than 90% of the population [is dependent] on subsistence farming to feed their families” (uMfolozi Municipality 2017, 15). Because of subsistence farming, the Fuleni area did not have the rich and diverse organizational density typical of a strong agricultural valley, such as Tía María. Community villagers were also not connected to a broader market. That said, when we visited the area, we talked to several members of two active organizations: the Umbumbano Youth Organisation and the Mfolozi Community Environmental Justice Organisation (MCEJO). Umbumbano

78  The Roots of Engagement Youth was a local association whose goal was to look for opportunities for the youth after high school graduation.10 Outside the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park, the local economy of Fuleni does not offer many employment opportunities for these youth and their career dreams go largely unfulfilled.11 For example, after finishing high school, a villager of Fuleni attended law school in Pretoria, but she could not finish her degree because her family’s financial situation had unexpectedly changed. At the time of our interview, she was still unemployed.12 Leonard (2020) suggests that the youth were not necessarily against mining. A member of Umbumbano Youth noted, “I think the youth, we support the mine, like myself I support, although I don’t have security that they may take me [for a job opportunity]” (quoted in Leonard 2020, 14). MCEJO was another local association representing approximately 530 members of the villages surrounding Fuleni.13 It was established in 2014, shortly after the plans of Ibutho Coal became known, by advocates for the defense of livelihoods, as well as clean air and water. By extension, the organization rejects the possible displacement of villagers due to the opening of this mine.14 The goals of Umbumbano Youth and MCEJO were opposite to each other and suggest a possible division on the impact of coal mining.

A Two-​level Response to Ibutho Coal Ibutho’s proposed mine would affect not only the livelihoods of the community of Fuleni, but also the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park (see Figure 5.2). The Park is not only seen as part of the cultural heritage of the Zulu nation but also a tourist destination and home to the largest population of endangered rhinos in the world. These impacts triggered a response at two levels, one centered in the local community, approximating what Guha and Martinez-​Alier (1997, 260) characterize as the “environmentalism of the poor,” and one transnational and most closely related to nature or wilderness conservationism. As will be explained further, the negative impact of the operations of a relatively new coal mine near Fuleni—​Tendele—​as well as the successful anti-​mining campaign of the Xolobeni community in the province of Eastern Cape helped to link these responses and mobilized important human and material resources. When Guha and Martinez-​Alier (1997, 260) speak of the “environmentalism of the poor,” they are advocating for “the defence of the environment to ensure livelihood for those directly impacted by conflicts over resource

We Will Not Move  79

N

Hluhluwe Imfolozi Park Tendele mine Fuleni

Somkhele

Legend Active Mine Site Town Protected Areas Province border

Figure 5.2.  Fuleni Mining Project Source: Authors’ own elaboration.

extraction and disposal of wastes.” In the Fuleni case, this environment is connected to subsistence farming as people harvest and live off the land. Geographically, the villages of Ocilwane, Nthuthunga, Nthuthunga Two, and Novunula are spread out and the roads connecting them are unpaved. In addition to the relocation of some villagers to make room for the mine, which some estimates have as affecting some 1,600 households and about 16,000 people, the availability of water is a major source of concern.15 Water scarcity is common in the area, and the water needed for coal mining will simply make things worse for both subsistence farming and livelihoods. Coal dust also threatens family health and farming productivity. MCEJO is a good example of an organization advocating for the “environmentalism of the poor,” and its leaders were instrumental in formulating rejection claims against mining. The community of Fuleni borders the famous Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park. The proposed mine drew immediate attention from transnational wildlife advocacy networks interested in wilderness conservationism. For instance,

80  The Roots of Engagement based at Hillcrest, near the city of Durban, the Global Environment Trust (GET) was an organization seeking to promote the sustainable use of the natural environment and biodiversity.16 GET challenges human activities that harm conservation areas or contribute to the impoverishment of affected communities. In the late 1980s, some members of GET were involved in the campaign to stop open-​pit mining in the Greater St. Lucia Wetland Park situated on the east coast of KwaZulu-​Natal, and because of their successful conservation efforts, St. Lucia was later listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.17 GET emerged as one of the most vocal opponents of Ibutho Coal. In May 2014, Sheila Berry, a founding trustee of GET, launched the “Save Our iMfolozi Wilderness” campaign in opposition to the mine. GET’s campaign has been influential in advocating for wilderness preservation, as well as forging alliances with other NGOs and affected communities over mining. groundWork, another nonprofit EJO, also participated in this campaign.18 It is located in Pietermaritzburg and seeks to create awareness of the negative effects of coal on people’s health, the environment, and climate change. In August 2015, the iMfolozi Community and Wilderness Alliance (ICWA) was formed. Members of the alliance include GET, MCEJO, the Mpukunyoni Community Property Association (MCPA), groundWork, the Wilderness Action Group, the Wilderness Leadership School, the Wildlands Conservation Trust, the African Conservation Trust, the Wildlife and Environmental Society of South Africa, the Magqubu Ntombela Memorial Foundation, and Mining Affected Communities United in Action (MACUA). The name of the alliance itself speaks to the dual response to Ibutho Coal: one local and focused on community livelihoods, and the other transnational and centered on wilderness conservationism. MCEJO and MCPA, however, were the only organizations with a physical presence in the Fuleni area. Transnational wildlife groups also provided resources to the campaign against coal mining. Some of the prominent international organizations included the Gaia Foundation (London, U.K.), the WILD Foundation (Colorado), and the Wilderness Specialist Group of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature (IUCNI) (Switzerland). Celebrities, like Gillian Anderson, Kristin Bauer van Straten, and Stephen Fry, have also spoken on behalf of the Fuleni community and the threatened southern white rhinos through “The Crowd vs. Ibutho Coal” campaign.19 Their

We Will Not Move  81 support statements included “I strongly oppose Ibutho Coal’s application to develop a coal mine” (Anderson), “Coal mine pollution will be devastating to endangered rhinos” (Bauer), and “Rhinos versus coal mine. I’m with the rhinos” (Fry). Coal mining was also a threat to the tourism industry connected to the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park. With such persistent unemployment, many argue that this industry brings a substantial number of job opportunities to the region that mining activities would put at risk. Tourism and travel accounted for an estimated 726,500 direct jobs in the country in 2017.20 In comparison, 82,372 jobs are attributed to coal mining and production in that same year (Minerals Council South Africa 2018). Some advocates also see employment from tourism as being more stable than in mining because the life of the mine is finite, while the nature reserve can continually attract tourists. On this point, and mirroring the message of “bread today, hunger tomorrow” (Spalding 2016, 180) of Rancho Grande (Chapter 4), a member of the ICWA said, “the jobs tend to have a longer life. Whereas with the mine they are predicting 32 years . . . the attitude of mines [is that] they only operate when they are making a profit so the horror is having started the mine then disappearing and leaving this big hole” (quoted in Leonard 2020, 329). Some members of Umbumbano Youth also emphasized the importance of tourism to the region’s sustainable economic development, and as such, they participated in the campaign against Ibutho Coal (Leonard 2020, 330). To summarize, when Ibutho Coal arrived in the area, it triggered joint action at the local and transnational levels. The local organizations that emerged in the area like MCEJO and MCPA were reactive insofar as they were created in response to mining. These organizations were not recast from local agricultural organizations, such as the Tambo Valley irrigator board (Chapter 3) and Rivers of Living Water (Chapter 4). They sought to protect community livelihoods. Transnational wildlife advocacy networks outside Fuleni, in contrast, advocated for wilderness conservationism. These two groups are as ethnically and income diverse as one could imagine. Furthermore, the operations of the nearby Tendele mine in the community of Somkhlele showcased the negative externalities associated with coal mining, helping to visualize its adverse effects on livelihoods and the environment. If there was a distance between those fighting for the “environmentalism of the poor” and those supporting wilderness conservationism, Tendele helped to close that distance.

82  The Roots of Engagement

Somkhele The Tendele coal mine began work in the area of Somkhele in 2007. It is also known as the Somkhele coal mine and is owned by South Africa’s Petmin Group. The mine is the country’s largest producer of high-​quality metallurgical anthracite, an energy-​rich type of coal. Tendele has capacity in excess of 1.2 metric tons per annum of anthracite, feeding both national and international markets. According to the Petmin Group, the mine creates employment for nearly a thousand people and supports the social and economic development of the Somkhele community.21 In 2015, 20% of the ownership of the mine was transferred to the Mpukunyoni community to support local development projects and the local youth. Like Fuleni, the Somkhele community is also an area of subsistence farming. In terms of the commodity chain, there is limited evidence of host community resistance at the point of resource access. Kirsten Youens, the environmental justice attorney representing several clients across Fuleni and Somkhele, suggests that when the project arrived “many people were duped into believing the mine was in their best interests.”22 When Tendele moved along the commodity chain to extraction itself, however, it generated a litany of negative externalities worth discussing. To begin with, the mine operated without a valid water use license for several years, and because it uses underground water to wash the coal, Somkhele community members have experienced water shortages.23 Community members rely on water tankers to get water and, if they can afford them, JoJo plastic tanks to store it. Community members have complained about excessive coal dust, which affects their health and livelihoods. Mine blasting has damaged the walls and structures of several homes.24 Moreover, about 72 households were relocated to the KwaQubuka area to make room for the mine, and at that time, Tendele paid community members the value of the home itself, but not their land. The company argued that people living in traditional leadership council areas were not entitled to be paid for their land because tribal land is “owned by the King and managed by the Ingonyama Trust Board (ITB).”25 This issue remains unresolved. The displacement of households also meant the exhumation and relocation of hundreds of graves, but the company disregarded the important traditions associated with burial sites in Zulu culture. Youens summarizes the grievances from community members as follows:

We Will Not Move  83 It is hard to imagine how one would feel when told to vacate one’s home, to hand over one’s land, to find somewhere else to live, to move belongings and livestock, exhume and move ancestral graves, and to build a new house to start life all over again—​all for a meagre R250 000. The suffering is both physical and emotional. Also spiritual.26

Notwithstanding these adversities, the operation of the mine encouraged the formation and presence of several organizations; some of them sought to halt the mine, and others wanted the company to improve local conditions. For instance, in 2013 community members around Somkhele formed the MCPA. This organization denounced several environmental harms produced by Tendele, but it also petitioned for job opportunities and the procurement of goods and services from local suppliers.27 Short of local organizations, creating this association from the ground up was difficult. As a leader of MCPA phrased it, we “have stumbled here and there, but our resilience paid off.”28 When we visited the Somkhele community, we also talked to members of WoMin, a women’s rights alliance seeking to raise awareness of the effects of extractive activities on lower-​income and working-​class women.29 Women frequently experience the adverse effects of mining first, and as such, they tend to play a leading role in anti-​mining campaigns. Unfortunately, as a consequence of their vocal opposition, they can also fall victim to harassment and attacks. WoMin was launched in 2013 with a head office in Johannesburg but has a regional footprint in the Fuleni and Somkhele areas. Given the proximity of these two communities, some of the organizations that were active in Somkhele networked with those of Fuleni and vice versa. MCEJO members also participated in the campaign against Tendele. Overall, Tendele became a reference point for those seeking to defend livelihoods and those advocating for wilderness conservationism. It showed what the Fuleni community could become if the plans of Ibutho Coal go forward. Water scarcity, coal dust, and mine blasting will affect community livelihoods and the nature reserve. Multiple interviews, in fact, made references to the environmental harms of the Tendele mine.30 However, with the exceptions of MCPA in Somkhele and MCEJO in Fuleni, the bulk of the organizations involved in these anti-​mining campaigns were not indigenous to the direct impact area of extraction. Organizations like GET, groundWork, and MACUA, even though they share similar goals as MCEJO and MCPA, were geographically very distant from the affected communities. Given

84  The Roots of Engagement these circumstances, the effects of these local organizations on attitudes over mining remain unclear.

The Impact of Environmental Organizations on Mining Attitudes To recast our central argument, social engagement allows us to explore the roots of individual views about mining, which later influences claim making. By participating in local organizations, individuals gain critical information about mining threats and feel empowered to challenge these threats to their community. They also develop a stronger community worldview, emphasizing the project’s material and nonmaterial threats, thereby viewing mining as incompatible with existing livelihoods or the environment. Our fieldwork provided an opportunity to explore how social engagement shaped or reinforced attitudes over resource extraction. With the assistance of transnational wildlife advocacy networks, local organizations like MCEJO and MCPA played a prominent role in disseminating information on the adverse effects of coal mining. The strategy of these groups was twofold. One was to bring villagers from other areas affected by mining to the Fuleni area. In September 2016, for instance, community members from Highveld, Waterberg, Newcastle, and Xolobeni visited the Fuleni area. During the visit, they shared their experiences about the negative impacts of mining on livelihoods and called into question the alleged benefits of extraction, particularly when promises of job creation go unfulfilled.31 The other one was to take groups of Fuleni villagers on “toxic tours” to the Somkhele area. There, Fuleni community members witnessed firsthand—​just as we did too—​coal dust fallout, houses cracking from mine blasting, and last but not least, water scarcity.32 The visits of other communities affected by mining to the Fuleni area, and the visits of Fuleni villagers to the Somkhele area, became sort of a living environmental school, moving abstract threats of coal mining to concrete representations. While villagers shared their experiences, both related to the impact on mining and the rapport of mining companies with communities, the meetings were also meant to build solidarity across these communities as they all faced a common struggle. In one of these exchanges near Melmoth, MCEJO and MCPA leaders made references to the struggle of the Xolobeni community in the Eastern Cape province against mining.33 The case is

We Will Not Move  85 arguably one of the longest campaigns against extraction in contemporary South Africa. Since 1996, the Amadiba Tribal Authority granted permission to an Australian mining company, Mineral Resource Commodities Ltd., to mine ilmenite, a source of titanium, and other minerals in the sand dunes of the Wild Coast. To win local support, one of the local chiefs was appointed director of the mining venture, and other chiefs received various benefits. However, villagers strongly opposed this concession on their lands, and this protracted conflict resulted in the killing of the leader of the Amadiba Crisis Committee, Sikhosiphi “Bazooka” Rhadebe. Only in 2018, the North Gauteng High Court ruled that the South African government could not issue a license for the proposed titanium mine without community consent. The Xolobeni case was influential in shaping the views of MCEJO and MCPA leaders. Leaders also understood that they faced a tall order in opposing mining, including potential individual risks. In late 2015, a leader of MCEJO attended a six-​day workshop in Durban to learn video capturing, editing, and sharing skills. The Wilderness Leadership School supported this training. While this leader worked tirelessly to raise awareness on the mining issues affecting the communities of Fuleni and Somkhele, he also observed that sometimes his messages were overlooked.34 With visual evidence, this leader argued that it will be difficult to call into question the authenticity of events affecting community livelihoods. Sheila Berry of GET viewed this training as one way to empower the social struggles of the communities affected by mining. Echoing this leader, Berry noted that “it is easy to dismiss someone’s words but not that easy to dismiss visual evidence.”35 Participation in local organizations provided ample evidence of self-​ efficacy and trust. The support local leaders received from their organizations also served to embolden their actions. For instance, a representative of MCEJO noted that the organization rose as a response to the lack of accountability of tribal authorities and local ward councilors toward community members. In opposition to the proposed coal mine, the MCEJO representative stated, “We are like their ambassadors. We are all the time prepared to struggle against the proposed mine.”36 Similarly, a leader of MCPA wrote a memorandum of grievances directed at Tendele and the Department of Mineral Resources. In this memo, he noted that the actions of MCPA were “inspired by messages of support [they] received from the community members,” and to show the community’s resilience he quoted the Russian intellectual Mikhail Bakunin. The passage read, “By striving to do the

86  The Roots of Engagement impossible, man has always achieved what is possible. Those who have cautiously done no more than they believed possible have never taken a single step forward.”37 In subsistence farming areas like Fuleni, individuals rely on each other for support, and these peer-​to-​peer interactions build trust among community members. The MCEJO representative talked about how community members have been sustaining themselves for decades using environmentally sustainable farming practices.38 For instance, this representative would slaughter one cow in the first quarter of the year and divide it into four pieces. He would then keep one-​fourth and share the other pieces with three other villagers. In the second quarter, it would be the turn of one of these three villagers to do the same practice, and so on. The representative also argued that coal mining endangered these farming practices because of limited water supply. These interactions over farming can be seen as a form of relational trust, as community members were more likely to accept the information about mining they received from other community members, while remaining skeptical of the information that came from industry and government actors. It remains unclear how effective local organizations were in advancing a community worldview free of mining. While MCEJO and MCPA leaders sought to connect the threats of coal mining to water and land with conceptions of territory and Zulu identity, the goals expressed by different organizations were varied. For instance, WoMin members focused on rejection claims and the adversities of extractive activities on lower-​income and working-​class women. Some members of Umbumbano Youth saw potential job opportunities in mining, but others viewed these opportunities as “too short-​term” because the life of the mine is finite (Leonard 2020, 330–​31). Somkhele’s MCPA made both rejection and redistribution claims. It denounced environmental harms but also requested employment opportunities for the area. Moreover, while villagers learned about the threats associated with mining, they also learned about the risks in opposing mining companies. The assassination of Sikhosiphi “Bazooka” Rhadebe from Xolobeni was a case in point. The intimidation of protesters in both Fuleni and Somkhele not only raised the costs of joint action but also made the bundling of material and nonmaterial threats more difficult. To summarize, participation in local organizations provides a window to examine how individuals come to form their attitudes over mining. These organizations advance information that center on the threats associated with

We Will Not Move  87 mining. They also empower individuals to act, while seeking to foster a community worldview that promotes collective well-​being rather than individualized opportunities. Although MCEJO and MCPA operated in different locales, it is clear that these organizations shared closely related grievances or claims associated with extraction. By way of “attribution of similarity” (Tilly and Tarrow 2006, 95), they also began to embrace a common set of tactics, frames, or images in their resistance against mining.39 The next section explains their claim making.

The Campaign Against Ibutho Coal Our public opinion survey of the area showed that about one-​third of the local population supported the coal mine project (see Chapter 6). It also revealed a variety of both redistribution and rejection claims via a set of multi-​response questions. For instance, of those in favor of the project, and echoing Ibutho’s arguments, 88% of respondents believed the mine will generate employment for the local population, 55% said it will help to improve the local economy of the village, 53% indicated that mining will benefit nearby communities, and 42% backed the project because of the economic opportunities created by the Tendele mine—​the mine located approximately 20 kilometers from Fuleni in the same province of KwaZulu-​Natal. However, most respondents rejected the project. Of those opposed to Ibutho Coal, their responses stated that mining hurts the environment (76% of respondents), that mining threatens the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park (43%), and that the mining company does not respect the local population (42%). Respondents also opposed the project because of the harm it can cause to local agriculture and farming (40%) and because it would not generate sufficient taxes (40%). These varied responses suggest that even in areas where communities appear to be uniformly opposed to extraction, redistribution and rejection claims coexist. Preventive mobilization in the scale and form of Tía María (Chapter 3) or Rancho Grande (Chapter 4) was not common in Fuleni. As explained earlier, local organizations were not abundant because of subsistence farming. In addition, the communities of Fuleni (and Somkhele) faced several barriers to claim making, ranging from geographic location and the influence of traditional leadership councils to the intimidation of protesters and local-​level restrictions on protest activity. These conditions made mobilizations costly, and potentially ineffective. However, with the support of transnational

88  The Roots of Engagement wildlife advocacy networks, legal action became a more accessible channel through which to contest the Ibutho’s proposed mine. Geography was a major hurdle for organized resistance. The communities of Fuleni and Somkhele are not only spread out and with limited local transportation but are also distant from large urban centers. Local resistance is unlikely to be picked up by the national or regional media. For this reason, transnational wildlife advocacy networks like GET and groundWork provided transportation for challengers to move to the cities where courts were located, and on days that these judicial bodies deliberated their claims. There, they were joined by other protesters from these areas.40 Another barrier to protest revolves around the influence of traditional leaders. During the apartheid regime, government and industry actors drew on local chiefs to legitimize decisions over land ownership and resources. These arrangements continue post-​ apartheid, as these same actors co-​ opted traditional leadership structures to support their extractive interests (Leonard 2019). The central question about land ownership is who gets to claim it: the chiefs or the people. A briefing from the Southern African Catholic Bishops’ Conference summarized this dispute as follows: It seems that, while the people and the courts seem to share the sentiment that traditional power lies with the people and that traditional leaders must, should, and can only derive their power from the community, the leaders themselves, with the acquiescence of government, seem to be taking the position that they have some kind of inherent power that gives them not just authority over, but outright ownership, of traditional lands and resources.41

Chiefs’ claims over lands and resources had profound consequences on challengers’ ability to contest extraction. For instance, a representative of MCEJO argued that when Ibutho Coal sought to approach the Fuleni community, it was already too late because the company “had already made some deals with the tribal authorities” and thus ignored the community. Moreover, Ibutho Coal would refuse to give information to individual Fuleni community members unless through their traditional, and already coerced, leaders, who again supported the project (Leonard 2020). Similarly, to assuage the concerns that Somkhele community members had about the operations of the Tendele mine, the company stressed the “unconditional support” they received from the Inkosi of the Mpukunyoni Area (representing the eight Royal Houses related to the Zulu King), as well as the Indunankulu, the Chief

We Will Not Move  89 Induna of the same area. These traditional leadership structures were thus called to speak for the community at large, and making matters worse, they were under no obligation to relay the community’s concerns. The gap between chiefs and the people grew wider in the context of resource extraction and effectively tamped down activism. The intimidation of protesters, including death threats, raised the costs of collective action. For instance, a leader of MCPA had his vehicle set on fire after speaking against the alleged involvement of traditional leaders with Tendele (groundWork 2019). A representative of MCEJO was threatened at gunpoint for resisting relocation and impeding the expansion of Tendele.42 Fikile Ntshangase, another representative of MCEJO, refused to sign an agreement that would allow for the expansion of the mine. In late 2020, she was killed in her home by four gunmen.43 Targeted, gender-​based violence against activists also surfaced in the Fuleni and Somkhele areas. Several women have documented their experiences with death threats they received from other members of the community, including members of the traditional leadership structure (groundWork 2019). Threats against women affect their families and children because women are often the primary caregivers (Gumboh 2018).44 Finally, local municipalities created barriers to protest by making it restrictive and confusing to participate. Municipal officials floated the idea that protests need to be approved, even though such a requirement has no legal merit. These officials often require challengers to notify the company in question before they begin demonstrations, but again such a requirement is not supported by the law (groundWork 2019). In addition, when a mining company formally consents to address the claims of protesters, municipalities can opt to disapprove protests. But, according to South Africa’s Regulation of Gatherings Act of 1993, the right to protest in the country exists independent of the content of the protest (groundWork 2019). In low-​ information settings, municipal officials appear to have the upper hand in regulating and censoring protest activity.

The Judicialization of the Conflict Not all was lost in the fight against Ibutho Coal as transnational wildlife advocacy networks put together a legal challenge to oppose the project.45 Led by Kirsten Youens, the legal strategy on behalf of Fuleni villagers,

90  The Roots of Engagement and by extension the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park, was rooted in three broad arguments: that Ibutho Coal’s process lacked transparency, that it lacked community consultation, and that environmental rights are intrinsically connected to human rights.46 In terms of transparency, Ibutho Coal failed to provide a plan for environmental and social sustainability on the community’s protected land. Upon being illegally denied their right to access documentation from Ibutho Coal or the Department of Mineral Resources, the legal team drew attention to unlawful treatment of community members attempting to access the same documents. Fuleni protesters had no adequate channels through which to ask questions of Ibutho Coal, nor to assert their demands regarding the project. The legal team cited the judgment from Bengwenyama Minerals (Pty) Limited v Genorah Resources (Pty) Limited, Minister for Mineral Resources & Others, requiring an applicant to consult with all parties before they are granted a license. In the absence of these safeguards, wildlife and local activists developed their own parallel reports outlining their plans for the economic future of the area but without the presence of mineral extraction. This future emphasized sustainable livelihoods for villagers through more diverse work opportunities in agricultural, educational, and cultural community roles. In an August 2014 meeting called by Ibutho Coal to present information about the project, a leader of MCEJO noted that the event was poorly organized; the venue had insufficient space to accommodate all attendees, and not all could hear what was being discussed. The leader noted that organizers brought a police presence to the meeting, presumably to better organize the event, but there were “no toilets for the people.” Attendees also refused to sign the roster provided by the company because they feared that such information could be used later as evidence of consultation. The meeting abruptly ended and community members left not knowing what the purpose of the meeting was.47 Another representative of MCEJO also expressed his frustration with this meeting and asked the director of Ibutho Coal, Thembi Myeni, not to call for another meeting. After strongly voicing his opposition to the proposed mine, the representative added, “You know we speak Zulu, yet you come to the community with a presentation in English. You are not welcome to come again.”48 Turning to consultation, the legal team relied on prior cases to show that Ibutho Coal failed to comply with community obligations. They cited

We Will Not Move  91 the Alexkor Ltd v The Richtersveld Community decision, which held that a community’s rights over their land included consent to the entry of outsiders and outsider resource use. Under the Interim Protection of Informal Land Rights Act, consent from all landowners, in this case, the whole of the Fuleni community, was required prior to the granting of a mining right to Ibutho Coal. Not only did Ibutho Coal fail to consult customary landowners on the efficacy, location, or structure of the mine, but they also failed to provide any information when prompted. The Fuleni community also accused Ibutho Coal of avoiding any discussion of the social impacts associated with mining activity. Finally, and echoing the arguments related to the “environmentalism of the poor” (Guha and Martinez-​Alier 1997, 260), the legal team drew attention to the severity of the mine’s impact by making a connection between environmental rights and human rights. It used prior legal decisions to show that environmental damage constitutes a human rights violation. Specifically, coal contributes to climate change, diminishes water resources, and in the case of Ibutho Coal in Fuleni, it would compromise the Mfolozi River. This river is the singular water source for several villages, and it is already considered a stressed resource. Ibutho Coal, therefore, failed to comply with Section 10(1) of the Mineral Petroleum Resources Development Act, as well as Section 24 of the South African Constitution, which guarantees a degree of environmental justice the proposed mine would obstruct. Section 24 states, “Everyone has the right to an environment that is not harmful to their health and well-​being, and to have the environment protected, for the benefit of present and future generations.”49 Environmental justice thus includes rights, like access to food and water, information, property, as well as the protection of wildlife in the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park. Taking to the courts proved productive in staving off the threat of coal mining, not only because it forced Ibutho Coal into accountability under national law, but also because it brought attention to the intergenerational hardship mineral extraction generates in South Africa. These legal actions solidified the anti-​mining campaign Fuleni community members began in early 2016 with their road blockade. It put villagers on alert as they sought to thwart the company’s advances. It was not until April 2018 that the Department of Mineral Resources issued a notice of refusal to Ibutho Coal, indicating that their Environmental Management Plan “failed to outline environmental management to control and remedy the impact that will arise.”50 The company is presently challenging this notice,

92  The Roots of Engagement arguing that “they cannot adequately mitigate the impacts their mine would have on the iMfolozi Wilderness area.”51 Preventive mobilization is difficult when local organizations are weak or fragmented. Preventive mobilization is also difficult when the costs of joint action are high. In these scenarios, mobilizations could be seen as ineffective or insufficient for canceling a mining concession, more so when traditional leadership structures are co-​opted to support these activities. However, these mobilizing strategies brought together community members across Fuleni and Somkhele as they faced similar unfavorable decisions. Transnational wildlife advocacy networks can be instrumental in picking the fight up where local organizations left off. These networks, even though they are more interested in wildlife conservationism, can also speak to environmental justice as it relates to those whose livelihoods depend on subsistence farming.

Conclusion Challenging resource extraction is a daunting endeavor in the Global South. The power asymmetries between industry actors and host communities are well documented. In South Africa, government actors work with traditional leaders and councils to promote mining, sidestepping the will of communities. As of this writing, right after the Department of Mineral Resources issued a notice of refusal to Ibutho Coal, a new company called Imvukuzane Resources filed an application for the right to mine in the same area. The project had the same environmental and community concerns as Ibutho Coal. Imvukuzane Resources is a subsidiary of Canyon Coal and operates several mines in Mpumalanga and KwaZulu-​Natal. When Vuslat Bayoglu, the Managing Director of Canyon Coal, was asked why he has to mine so close to the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park, he replied, “Because God created the coal there.”52 This chapter has traced the impacts of the proposed coal mine in Fuleni and the nearby nature reserve. Although preventive mobilization was not widespread, the organizations opposing mining in the area engaged in other mobilizing strategies, such as community exchanges and visual evidence to disseminate information on the threats posed by extractive activities. These exchanges also served to cast doubt on the alleged benefits of mining.53 These organizations sought to promote a community worldview free of mining, connecting material threats over land and water with nonmaterial

We Will Not Move  93 threats related to Zulu identity and culture. Transnational wildlife advocacy networks outside Fuleni were instrumental in taking this struggle to the next level by approaching the court system. While Ibutho Coal’s application was ultimately rejected, the arrival of Imvukuzane Resources suggests that this project remains on “standby.” Some studies suggest that mining companies opt to locate their projects in relatively isolated rural areas because they anticipate less resistance (Muradian, Martinez-​Alier, and Correa 2003). The Fuleni communities are, in fact, very isolated, but they managed to organize a successful campaign against Ibutho Coal. The case of Fuleni prompts us to examine more closely the nature of these threats and how these may activate collective action at two different levels. One was local and centered on community livelihoods and subsistence agriculture, and similar to those in the other two chapters, it seeks to protect the water and land from mining. It also opposes the relocation of a whole community to make room for the mine. The other one was transnational and advocates for the defense of wildlife as well as the cultural heritage of the Zulu people. Overall, threats over mining are most likely to activate local grassroots organizations, like MCEJO and MCPA, but under certain conditions, they may trigger the additional participation of transnational organizations outside the direct impact area of extraction. By approaching the courts, ICWA broadened the range of mobilizing strategies in opposition to mining and successfully derailed Ibutho Coal’s plans, albeit temporarily.

6 Survey Results Based on our observations from fieldwork close to the proposed mining sites, we have argued that socially engaged individuals are more likely to oppose mining than less engaged individuals. With social engagement, individuals have greater access to information and organizational tools about community concerns. They gain a higher degree of self-​and collective efficacy, empowering them and their communities. They also develop a stronger community worldview, that is, shared values that enable community members to reformulate material threats over land or water with discourses related to territory, identity, or culture. The Tía María and the Rancho Grande projects appear to provide supporting evidence of this theorized relationship. In Tía María and Rancho Grande, local grassroots organizations, such as agricultural associations and church groups, were active in the community well before the mining concession. As these organizations had already formed deep roots within the community, socially engaged individuals held strong community connections, including trust of their neighbors and norms of reciprocity. When mining was imminent, these organizations quickly engaged in preventive strategies to stall mining. Furthermore, the livelihoods of both regions were reliant on an agricultural economy. The risks of contaminated groundwater and increased competition for limited water supplies presented the communities with a significant threat to their survival, regardless of the potential local employment or development opportunities associated with the projects. Principally, organizations associated with the Tambo Valley Defense Front in Tía María and the Guardians of Yaoska in Rancho Grande (with the support of Catholic Church leaders) presented a discourse that maximized the threats of mining, while minimizing its opportunities. Turning to Fuleni, our observations related to the effects of social engagement on mining attitudes are mixed. The context surrounding Fuleni is different compared with the other two cases. First, the communities affected by the project were geographically dispersed and isolated. With these groups being more spread out, active engagement in local organizations was The Roots of Engagement. Moisés Arce, Michael S. Hendricks and Marc S. Polizzi, Oxford University Press. © Oxford University Press 2022. DOI: 10.1093/​oso/​9780197639672.003.0006

Survey Results  95 relatively more difficult and costlier. Second, because of the presence of subsistence farming, there was not an abundance of local grassroots organizations, as in the other two cases. The kinds of organizations that led the charge against the Fuleni project, in fact, came mostly from transnational wildlife advocacy networks outside the impact area and were motivated principally by the threat mining posed for the wildlife of the nearby nature reserve as well as the cultural survival of the Zulu people. Their preventive strategy privileged the judicialization of the conflict. Third, the presence of traditional leadership councils subdued the concerns of the villagers who were most likely to be affected by the project and weakened communal efforts. As a result of these three interrelated issues, and despite survey respondents acknowledging that the extraction of coal posed real dangers for wildlife and community livelihoods, redistribution claims related to employment opportunities or local development were tangible and salient. Individuals living near proposed mining sites are presented with contrasting information about the threats and opportunities of these projects. Opponents to mining offer information to the community about threats, arguing extraction in any form is disastrous for the environment and community livelihoods. They also draw attention to the nonmaterial aspects of these threats (i.e., what community livelihoods represent to an individual’s identity or cultural practices). In Tía María, for instance, the Tambo Valley Defense Front contended that the community had only one path moving forward: agriculture or mining. The campaign’s slogan exemplified this dichotomy: “agro sí, mina no” (agriculture yes, mining no). Contrasting this message, mining’s proponents, particularly industry actors, developed extensive marketing campaigns that emphasized the opportunities mining presented for the region’s improvement. Southern Copper Corporation’s Valley United community relations project in the Tambo Valley area, for example, constructed several “information centers” throughout the area and recruited locals to spread positive messages to overshadow mining’s detractors. Despite a sizable number of individuals acknowledging both threats and opportunities, they did not weigh this conflicting information equally. Socially engaged individuals had built strong relationships within the organizations in which they participated and, therefore, were more likely to weigh heavily the concerns raised by these associations and discount the potential opportunities. In this chapter, we leverage three original surveys to test the relationship between social engagement and support for mining. Individual-​level survey

96  The Roots of Engagement data provides us with a window into the micro-​politics of attitude formation over resource extraction, permitting us to explain what makes individuals who oppose mining different from those who support these activities. The surveys also allow us to contextualize threats and opportunities differently for each site (e.g., agricultural interests in Rancho Grande, wildlife concerns in Fuleni), but without sacrificing the comparability we seek to achieve. The survey instruments take into account concerns over environmental harms and defense of livelihoods (i.e., rejection claims), as well as considerations over advantages resulting from mining (i.e., redistribution claims). We organize the remaining sections of this chapter in the following way. First, we provide a broad overview of the reasons for support and opposition to these projects, highlighting similarities as well as differences unique to each locale. Second, we summarize our hypotheses, which are drawn from our theoretical framework. Third, we justify the operationalization of our variables based on these surveys, paying particular attention to differences in contexts across the three sites. Finally, we outline the results of our statistical models and discuss how these speak substantively to our theory.

Rejection and Redistribution Claims We surveyed individuals living within the extractive frontier in three mining sites with a history of protracted conflicts. As opposed to national surveys, our modeling allows us a nuanced exploration of the micro-​politics of attitudes over mining. Our first case uses data from our survey in the agricultural area of Tambo Valley in the southern region of Arequipa, Peru, the site of the Tía María project.1 We conducted the second survey in the communities surrounding the Rancho Grande project in Nicaragua’s northern department of Matagalpa.2 Our third case utilizes a regional survey in Kwa-​ ZuluNatal, South Africa, the site of the Fuleni project, which is near the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park.3 The survey instruments include variables that ask respondents to state the reasons for their opposition to or support for the project. Opposition responses include threats to community livelihoods, such as damage to the agricultural economy, environmental harms, and concerns over wildlife. In terms of support, responses encompass perceived opportunities or advantages related to mineral extraction, such as employment, increased resource rents, and investment in the local economy.

Survey Results  97 Tables 6.1 and 6.2 present these data to show the variation among opponents and supporters, respectively. The overwhelming majority of individuals with rejection claims indicated that their opposition is rooted in concerns over environmental harms (see Table 6.1). The second most common response varied across cases based on particular characteristics. For instance, in Tía María, this response was the concern that mining activities would harm the local agricultural economy. In the case of Rancho Grande, the second most common response was the potential for water contamination. Finally, Fuleni’s second most common rejection response was that the project posed a threat to the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park. These surveys also include questions related to redistribution claims. In all three cases, the most common response among supporters was the potential for employment opportunities (see Table 6.2). Turning to the second most common response among supporters, and in all three cases, respondents Table 6.1.  Rejection Claims among Self-​identified Opponents. Claims

Tía María

Rancho Grande

Fuleni

Harms the environment Harms agriculture Do not trust state oversight /​Lack of consultation /​ No state oversight Nearby communities do not benefit /​Destroys homes Does not generate employment Does not create development projects /​Does not improve the local economy /​No community benefits Mining company does not pay sufficient taxes /​No social programs Abusive company /​Mining company does not respect local population Mining threatens the Hluhluwe-​iMfolozi Park Devastation of Somkhele Mine Water contamination Land expropriation Total %

43% 29% 11%

59% 4% 2%

76% 40% 36%

3%

2%

—​

2% 3%

3%