In late July, a large sinkhole ʻikeʻia kokoke i ke kaona o Tierra Amarilla ma ka mokuʻo Copiapó o Chile ma ka paʻakai ʻo Atacama. Ua puka mai ka lua pele, nona ka anawaena ma mua o 100 kapuaʻi, ma kekahi o nā lua nui loa o Chile loaʻa kālāregions for copper and lithium extraction. The kokoke Candelaria mining complex—80 percent of the property is nona iho e ko Kanada Lundin Mining Corporation and 20 percent is owned by Japan’s Sumitomo Metal Mining Co Ltd. and Sumitomo Corporation—had to halt its operations in the area. On August 1, Chile’s National Geology and Mining Service (Sernageomin) Hoʻokumuʻia that it had assembled a team to investigate the sinkhole that appeared less than 2,000 feet away from human habitation. The mayor of Tierra Amarilla, Cristóbal Zúñiga, questioned why the earth had given way near the Alcaparrosa mine, and whether the appearance of the hole had something to do with the mining operations. “Today it happened on an agricultural property,” the mayor haʻiʻia ʻO ka lekiō Ciudadano ADN, "akā, ʻo ko mākou makaʻu nui loa ʻo ia ka hiki ke hana ʻia ma kahi lehulehu ma ke alanui, ma ke kula, a ʻo ka pale ʻana i ka kūpaʻa o ko mākou poʻe kamaʻāina ʻo ia kā mākou hopohopo nui i kēia manawa."
Government officials traveled to Tierra Amarilla to investigate the sinkhole. On August 12, Marcela Hernando, the minister of mining, joined Cristóbal Zúñiga and others kaapuni the Alcaparrosa mine. Before the visit, Zúñiga Kāheaʻia e hoʻopaʻi nā mana i nā "hoʻopaʻi kiʻekiʻe" e hoʻopaʻi i ka poʻe kuleana no ka sinkhole, ka mea i ʻike ʻia kena ae la by underground mining activities carried out by the Candelaria mining complex. The government agency responsible for the investigation—Sernageomin—has hoʻokuʻuʻia nā hana eli a pau ma ia wahi a ke hoʻomau nei i kāna loiloi forensic no ka ʻike ʻana i ke kumu o ka hiolo ʻana o ka honua ma kahi kokoke i ka paʻakikī eli.
Moratorium no ka Mining
“We should not be speaking of any kind of extraction in the Atacama salt flat,” Ramón Morales Balcázar told us a few days after the sinkhole was discovered. Morales Balcázar is the founder of Fundación Tantí, a nongovernmental organization in San Pedro de Atacama that is dedicated to the promotion of agroecology and socio-environmental sustainability. “The Atacama salt flat is exhausted, [and has been] deeply impacted by copper and lithium mining and tourism. We should be working to restore the ecosystem there,” said Morales Balcázar. The word “exhausted” is also the title of a new hoike i kākau pū ʻia e Morales Balcázar e hāʻawi ana i kahi kiʻi ʻoluʻolu o ka pau ʻana o ka wai o ka honua ma muli o nā mea lawe lithium honua. "ʻO ka lawe ʻana i ka lithium, ka ʻoihana hou loa i ka ʻāina [o ka paʻakai Atacama paʻakai], ʻo ia kekahi ala ʻē aʻe e hoʻopau ʻia ai nā kumu wai liʻiliʻi," olelo ka hoike.
ʻO Morales Balcázar kahi ʻāpana o kahi hui o nā mea noiʻi i ʻike ʻia ʻo ka Plurinational Observatory of Andean Salt Flats (OPSAL). These scholars are engaged in fine-grained research about what they see as the ecocide of the salt flat, which stretches across Argentina, Bolivia and Chile. A book written by these scholars in 2021—ʻO Andean Salt Flats: He Ecology of Knowledge for the Protection of our Salt Flats and Wetlands—offers a detailed assessment of what they call “green extractivism” and “green growth.” Extractivism refers to the extraction of natural resources from the earth to make profits without any consideration for the earth being mined or for the people who live in the areas being mined. “Extraction and extractivism are not the same,” said Morales Balcázar. The former is the mere removal of natural resources, which can be done sustainably without harming the earth, and is carried out for the social well-being of the people who live near the mines.
“We have been holding conversations with Indigenous institutions and trade unions to imagine different regimes of extraction,” Morales Balcázar told us. When the workers at Albemarle—a U.S. mining company—went on hahau i ka makahiki 2021, ua kamaʻilio ʻo Morales Balcázar a me nā hoa hana ʻē aʻe me lākou e pili ana i ka hiki ke noʻonoʻo e pili ana i nā ʻano ʻenehana unuhi hou, ʻoiai "ʻaʻole ia he mea hiki iā mākou ke ʻike i ka wā e hiki mai ana," wahi a Morales Balcázar. ʻO kekahi kumu i kumu ai nā miners ma Albemarle a me nā hui ʻōiwi (e like me ka Consejo de Pueblos Atacameños) ʻaʻole hiki ke noʻonoʻo i kekahi mea ʻē aʻe inā loaʻa iā lākou nā kaʻa kauā mai ka waiwai mining, ʻike ʻia ia he koho ʻoi aku ka maikaʻi ma mua o ke alo ʻana i ka hana ʻole.
ʻO Bolivia kahi koho
North of Chile, in Bolivia, the concept of “resource nationalism” has framed the debate around lithium extraction in the country. In 1992, the government of then-Bolivian President Jaime Paz Zamora signed an agreement with the U.S.-based company Lithium Corporation of America, now known as FMC Corporation, which “allowed the company to take all the lithium it could, giving Bolivia only eight percent of the profits. Many Bolivians were outraged over the deal,” according to a 2010 Haawina in the New Yorker. This led to nā hoʻonāukiuki e ke Komite Civic Potosí, ka mea i hoʻopau i ka ʻaelike.
When Evo Morales took over as president of Bolivia in 2006, the residue of this battle shaped his “resource nationalism” approach to lithium and other minerals. “He vowed to ‘industrialize with dignity and sovereignty,’ promising that raw lithium would not be exploited by foreign corporations but instead processed by state-controlled entities in Bolivia and transformed into batteries,” noted a 2018 Haawina in Bloomberg. In 2007, Bolivia developed a lithium industrialization policy. The Mining Corporation of Bolivia (Comibol), we learned from officials there at the time, encouraged Bolivian scientists to develop and patent traditional methods of extraction through evaporation (although this method has struggled due to the high levels of magnesium found in the Bolivian lithium). Morales’ government invested heavily in the lithium industrialization scheme, which led to Bolivia being able to develop its own batteries (including cathode production) and develop its own electric car through the state-owned Kuantum Motors. To control and manage lithium production, a company called ʻO Yacimientos de Litio Bolivianos(YLB) i hana ʻia ma 2017 e ke aupuni.
"Ke holomua nei mākou," wahi a Evo Morales iā mākou, "a hiki i ka coup of 2019 and then the pandemic.” The coup eventually led to his ouster. “We will coup whoever we want,” kakau iho la ʻO Elon Musk, nona ka hui ʻo Tesla e hilinaʻi nei i ka lithium no kāna mau pihi a me nā kaʻa uila. ʻO ia ka huhū e kū'ē i nā hiki o ka "nationalism punawai."
Developments in Bolivia show that new ways of extraction are being explored, even if these are not perfect. Environmental challenges in the Salar de Uyuni, the world’s largest salt flat, and grumbles by people who live there continue to define lithium extraction. However, the lithium industrialization policy and the great care taken by the country for what the Bolivians kahea Pachamama—the earth—during the extraction process offer some differences from the extraction work done by the large O Junior Ah and U.S. mining companies. In Chile, Lester Calderón, a union leader in the city of Antofagasta, who ran for governor in 2021, wrote an Haawina in January 2022 in which he argued that the Indigenous communities must decide about the way lithium is used and that the resources (including water) of Chile must be nationalized. These elements are in place in Bolivia, and yet there are challenges ahead for the people there.
Bolivia’s current President Luis Alberto Arce Catacora hopes to renew the state-led lithium industrialization policy but cannot find the resources domestically to do so. That is the reason why his government has embarked on a process of drawing in investment from outside (currently, ʻeono ʻoihana mai Kina, Rūsia a me ʻAmelika Hui Pū ʻIa e hoʻokūkū mau nei e hoʻopaʻa i ka bia).
The center of the struggle in Bolivia is Potosí, where the Spaniards, who ruled the region, had for centuries hollowed out the earth to draw silver to export to Europe. “We were the center of [silver] exploitation but remained at the fringes of the country’s decision-making,” Potosí government official Juan Tellez haʻiʻia Reuters. “That is what we are trying to avoid now with lithium.” The people of Potosí, like the people of Tierra Amarilla in Chile, want to imagine a different kind of extraction: one that is controlled by those who live by the sources of the metal and one that does not destroy the earth, creating sinkholes everywhere.
Ua hoʻopukaʻia kēiaʻatikala e ʻO Globetrotter.
ʻO Vijay Prashad he mea kākau moʻolelo India, hoʻoponopono a mea kākau moʻolelo. He hoa kākau ʻo ia a he mea kākau nui ma Globetrotter. He lunahooponopono ia o Puke LeftWord a me ka luna o Tricontinental: Institute no ka noiʻi ʻimi kaiaulu. He kāne noho makua ʻo ia ma Ke Kula ʻo Chongyang no ka ʻike kālā, Ke Kulanui ʻo Renmin o Kina. Ua kākau ʻo ia ma mua o 20 mau puke, e like me Nā Aupuni ʻEleʻele a Nā Aupuni Poorona. ʻO kāna mau puke hou loa ʻO ka hakakā e hana ai iā mākou i ke kanaka: ke aʻo ʻana mai nā Movements for Socialism a (me Noam Chomsky) ʻO ka haʻalele ʻana: Iraq, Libya, Afghanistan, a me ka palupalu o ka mana US.
Taroa Zúñiga Silva He hoa kākau a me ka mea hoʻoponopono media Spanish no Globetrotter. ʻO ia ka mea hoʻoponopono pū me Giordana García Sojo o Venezuela, Vórtice de la Guerra del Siglo XXI (2020). He lālā ʻo ia o ke kōmike hoʻonohonoho o Argos: International Observatory on Migration and Human Rights a he lala o ka Mecha Cooperativa, he papahana o ka Ejército Comunicacional de Liberación.
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