Originally published on Global Voices

Among the main issues addressed by residents are flooding, lack of forest coverage, and inadequate housing. Photo by Isabela Alves/Agência Mural, used with permission.

This story, written by Isabela Alves, was originally published on October 31, 2025, on Agência Mural’s website. The edited article is republished here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.

Not expanding landfills in poorer neighbourhoods, promoting environmental education in schools and other spaces, creating a green currency for recycling, and holding big polluters and public authorities accountable for preservation.

These are some of the proposals developed by activists from the peripheries — marginalized, poorer neighborhoods — of São Paulo, Brazil, the largest city in Latin America. They are to be taken to COP 30 (the 2025 United Nations Climate Change Conference), being held between November 10 and 21, in the city of Belém, in the northern Brazilian state of Pará.

In total, about 30 proposals appear in the “Letter from the Peripheries on Commitments for the Climate – The Atmosphere is Tense!,” signed by 50 collectives and 1,000 community leaders. As well as the proposed ideas, the document provides an analysis of the situation in these areas in the face of climate change.

“We plan to connect with people from other countries, other regions and marginalized areas of Brazil, so that together we can present a project shaped by society’s peripheries,” said Edson Pardinho, 50, coordinator of the Peripheral [Neighbourhoods’] Front for Rights, which organized the letter.

The Peripheral [Neighbourhoods’] Front for Rights came out of the collaboration of social movements during the COVID-19 pandemic, when they acted to help families by distributing food, hygiene kits, and masks. Following the pandemic, the collectives continued their work together.

In the months before the COP, the front mobilized activists to discuss climate goals in their neighbourhoods and draft their collective proposals.

“[Climatic changes] first affect the outer peripheries, and only then are they felt in the more protected areas. Those who live in peripheral neighbourhoods have been dealing with climate change for a long time,” Pardinho observed.

The letter presents ideas with the objective of guiding public policies and community practices that promote socio-environmental justice. It emphasizes the importance of strengthening public involvement in decisions concerning their territory. The suggestions include actions aimed at waste management, environmental education, decent housing, a solidarity economy, and basic sanitation.

Marginalized voices speaking about the climate

Jaison Lara is an environmental activist working on culture and the education of children and young people. Photo by Isabela Alves/Agência Mural, used with permission.

The letter highlights that the historical expansion of São Paulo’s peripheral areas was driven by the lack of urban planning. “The city’s rapid expansion was not [socioeconomically] neutral: it prioritized major economic interests, such as those of the real estate market, whose exclusionary logic relegated poorer people to dilapidated, risky areas.”

“People have developed their own technologies to make sure they survive, even with the worsening climate situation,” said Pardinho, a resident of the Dom Tomás Balduíno Settlement in Franco da Rocha, São Paulo.

Mateus Munadas, 34, is one of the founders of the Peripheral [Neighbourhoods’] Front for Rights and a resident of Itaquera district. For him, it is important that peripheral activists attend the COP, as the perspectives of those who truly feel the impacts of the climate emergency daily are never taken into account.

“There are common points of vulnerability between these marginalized neighbourhoods, and there are also many people fighting for change in these areas,” he said.

Among their proposed solutions are actions such as cleaning streams, community vegetable gardens and farms, solidarity groups during storms, environmental support networks, and community communications. In the field of education, social educators, culture collectives, and teachers are working tirelessly to raise awareness about SDOs (Sustainable Development Objectives), and warn about the environmental racism experienced in marginalized areas.

There are also other solutions, such as community reforestation, strengthening recycling cooperatives, expanding rainwater collection networks, and plans for local adaptation guided by the communities themselves, according to sources Mural spoke to. 

A place for discussion

Children and teenagers from Jardim Lucélia and Jardim Shangri-lá, from Grajaú, spoke about climate change. Photo by Isabela Alves/Agência Mural, used with permission.

The Guaraní people from the Tekoá Pyau Indigenous Village, in Jaraguá, called for the protection of Indigenous peoples, and highlighted that their survival is essential for environmental preservation.

“It is not only about the increase in temperature, but [also] the survival of human beings who cohabit wooded and forested spaces. They are directly targeted by landowners and real estate speculation,” Pardinho said.

The coordinator of Casa Ecoativa, Jaison Lara, explained that the manifesto also questions the logic behind an event historically composed mostly by older, white, and cisgender men who nevertheless speak on behalf of the diverse range of residents and territories.

“If there are only diplomatic figures [present], the [same] powerful people as always, it will likely be an empty event as it won’t take into account knowledge from the peripheries, quilombolas [settlements of residents descended from enslaved people who escaped to freedom], Indigenous and riverside dwellers,” said Lara.

In one of the meetings, Lara talked to more than 200 children. “These are the main people facing the environmental disasters that have been happening. We are leaving [them] a collapsing planet, and this isn’t their fault. There are no public policies that relate to this age group, that look at these children,” he said.

The housing issue

A key question for those living in the peripheries is the right to housing, especially in areas such as the very south of São Paulo. Here, there are houses built irregularly in the “APAs” (Environmental Protection Areas). In recent months, Greater São Paulo has seen a series of actions by authorities and judicial decisions against these occupations.

“Housing and the environment must go together,” argued Clair Helena Santos, 67, coordinator of the housing movement for Missionária-Cidade Ademar and Cecasul (Citizenship and Social Action Centre – South).

Santos joined the social movement at the age of 17 and has been selected as an activist to attend COP30. “Having housing, I understood that it is the channel for all other human rights: health, education, transport, leisure, and so many others,” she said.

Clair Helena Santos has been an activist for housing rights since the age of 17; she was selected to go to COP30. Photo by Isabela Alves/Agência Mural, used with permission.

The letter to the COP proposes an “end to evictions and violent practices against settlements and favelas,” and programs aimed at people living in at-risk areas, so that they do not find themselves with nowhere to go if anything happens to their homes.

The letter shows the main demands of communities in areas such as Cidade Ademar and Pedreira, regions hit hard by climate change, as they are near dams or sewage flows.

A recent example of environmental impact was the construction of a bridge on Alvarenga Road, which passes over the Billings Dam, one of the largest water reservoirs in São Paulo, affecting aquatic fauna and plants.

“There’s no point in the big guys staying there discussing the environment and fighting floods if the peripheries and social movements are not represented, right? For us, it’s the maxim of nothing about us, without us,” Santos observed.

Originally published on Global Voices

Image created on Canva Pro by Global Voices. Fair use.

This article, written by Natalia Viana and edited by Bruno Fonseca, was originally published by Agência Pública on July 10, 2025. It was edited for length and context, and is republished here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.

A large lobbying group funded by US-based Big Tech companies — including Google, Meta, Microsoft, Amazon, Uber, Apple, Pinterest, and eBay — is linked to US President Donald Trump’s threat to investigate Brazil’s commercial trade practices. The investigation was announced alongside the decision to increase import tariffs on Brazilian products last July.

This group is the CCIA, an acronym for Computer and Communications Industry Association. Just minutes after Trump announced the tariffs against Brazil on his social media platform Truth Social, the group published a note applauding it.

“CCIA welcomes the attention of the administration toward Brazil’s barriers to U.S. digital exports through a deliberative Section 301 investigation into the harms caused by discriminatory treatment. […] We look forward to these actions bringing relief for industry operations in Brazil and bringing back open and fair trade between these two important partners,” said CCIA President and CEO Matt Schruers in a note published on their site.

Section 301, which the CCIA cites, is a mechanism from the 1974 US Trade Act that allows for the investigation of unfair trade practices and imposition of penalties. Trump used this act to order an investigation into Brazil.

At the end of 2024, the CCIA compiled a list of all the actions taken by the Brazilian government and legislature that would go against the interests of Big Tech companies. The report was presented to the US Department of Commerce in October 2024. A representative of this department, Jamieson Greer, will conduct the investigation initiated by Trump using Section 301.

In this report, the lobby group calls for the US government to monitor, question, and act against a variety of measures taken in Brazil, from the suspension of X (formerly Twitter) run by Elon Musk, the General Law on the Protection of Personal Data (LGPD), and even the “blouses tax” — imposed on international purchases costing under USD 50.

Below is a summary of the main points of the lobbyists’ report.

Lobby group comes out in defense of Musk’s platform

The group highlighted the suspension of Elon Musk’s X, ordered by the Supreme Court (STF) in August 2024 for refusing to name a legal representative in Brazil, as well as the USD 5 million fine that the company had to pay.

The report says “this drastic step has implications for the broader investment landscape and could be copied by authoritarian regimes seeking to leverage control over content online to restrict freedom of speech or political dissent.”

The lobbying group further argued that cases like this “undermine the free flow of services and data” and the “open and globally connected internet.”

Criticism of the General Law on Data Protection and other proposals

The group opposes Brazilian legislative proposals for data protection, and says that the 2018 LGPD follows the European Union’s legislative model but with stricter rules for data transfers. 

The report calls for the US government to monitor the implementation of the law and suggests that the country’s Department of Commerce representative “should urge Brazil to deem privacy protections available in the United States as adequate under Brazilian law.”

The CCIA also asks that the US government “should urge Brazil to reject” the proposed bill No. 4.097/2023, which would amend a 2014 law to implement new “digital sovereignty” measures under the LGPD. Under this legislation, tech companies offering services in Brazil would have local ownership and control obligations, such as being required to have 25 percent of the voting share capital held by Brazilian citizens.  

Against the “blouses tax”

The lobbying group also questioned the law that became known as the “blouses tax,” implemented in August 2024. It gained this nickname as it relates to purchases such as cheaper clothes on international websites. 

The CCIA argues that taxation increases the time and cost of the customs clearance process and acts as a barrier to e-commerce. The group argues for a minimum purchase price of USD 100 to begin taxation. It also calls on the US government to pressure Brazil, suggesting that the tax “could be inconsistent with Brazil's obligations under the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT)” treaty.

Criticism of the bill to regulate AI

The Artificial Intelligence (AI) regulation bill, PL 2338/2023, approved in the Brazilian senate in late 2024, is also opposed by the lobbying group, which called it concerning. It then went to the Chamber of Deputies for consideration. The platforms say it imposes “excessive reporting obligations for high-risk and low-risk AI products, neither of which is well defined.”

One of the main complaints is about mandatory copyright compensation, “that extend[s] far beyond proposals floated elsewhere globally, which would require developers to provide compensation for any Brazilian content used to train AI models.”

The group said that this will lead to AI applications not being developed in Brazil and says that the US government “should monitor this regime to ensure that the framework is aligned with international agreements and avoid discriminatory treatment of US services and suppliers.” 

Opposition to Anatel’s regulation

The CCIA also criticized the PL 2768/2022, authored by Deputy João Maia (PL, Liberal Party, the same as former president Jair Bolsonaro), which would authorize the National Telecommunications Agency (Anatel) to regulate digital platforms. For Big Tech companies, this would equip Anatel “with broad discretionary authority to set the definitions and draft rules.” 

Criticism of taxes on digital products and services

The report points to the Provisional Measure No. 1262/24, from Brazil's Ministry of Finance, which establishes a minimum tax of 15 percent on multinationals operating in the country. For the group, “the government appears intent on seeking new revenue streams for its coffers by disproportionately taxing foreign corporations.” Big Tech companies are asking the office of the US Trade Representative to monitor developments in this matter. 

Against taxes on internet services

The group said that in 2023, Anatel launched a public consultation on the regulation of “Value-Added Services,” including exploring the feasibility and appropriateness of internet usage fees in Brazil.

CCIA also criticizes the legislation PL 2804/2024, authored by Senator Angelo Coronel (PSD-Social Democratic Party) and currently passing through parliament, which proposes that digital platforms contribute 5 percent of their revenue to the Fund for Universalizing Services in  Telecommunications, managed by Anatel. According to the group, “this law could violate the principle of competitive neutrality under the WTO’s [World Trade Organization] rules governing universal service, as Brazilian suppliers would receive preferential treatment at the expense of foreign suppliers that are unable to access the Fund (including through affiliates).”

The text “urges the Trade Representative to remain vigilant as Brazil continues to pursue network usage fees.” 

Looking at the new rules of the reduced tariff regime

The report points to changes in the “Ex-Tariff” regime, a mechanism that allows for the reduction of taxes for negotiations with foreign companies in the computer and telecommunications sector. 

A decision by Brazil's ministry of development, industry, trade and services in August 2023 determined that, in order to obtain exemptions from taxes on imports, multinational companies operating in Brazil must have an investment plan and show details about equipment needs, productivity gains, and the technologies brought with their product.

Originally published on Global Voices

Post-election protests in Maputo, Mozambique, in 2025. Photo: Wilson Tholee, used with permission

Editor’s note: The author of this text is also a contributor to the new edition of the book by interviewee Domingos da Cruz. 

In June 2015, Domingos da Cruz, a journalist and human rights defender, and other activists were detained under suspicion of “planning a coup d'état” after attending a conference discussing his book on peaceful methods of protest and civil resistance. The conference was led by Da Cruz, and the group of 17 activists became known as the “15+2” group.

Ten years later, Da Cruz has released a new edition of “Tools to Destroy the Dictator and Avoid a New Dictatorship – A Political Philosophy of Liberation for Angola,” which includes analyses from several academics and discusses tools of civil resistance. The work, according to a 2015 Deutsch Welle report “is an adaptation of the 168 techniques presented by the American philosopher Gene Sharp in the book From Dictatorship to Democracy.”

The title summarizes the purpose of the work, which aims to provide civil resistance methods for authoritarian contexts, such as those of Angola and Mozambique. In these, “academia should promote human dignity and that means confronting the dictatorship with practical solutions,” said Da Cruz in an interview with Global Voices.

In 2015, Da Cruz was remanded in custody for six months, he was “let go” to house arrest for about three months, and was then convicted along with other activists. He was released in June 2016. Since then, he has been living between Portugal, Sweden, and Canada where he was a visiting researcher at the Centre for Interdisciplinary Studies in Society and Culture, at the University of Concordia, and has been coordinating the Media Observatory (Observatório da Imprensa), a civil society organization that aims to monitor and evaluate the performance of Angolan media.

At that time, Angola’s president was José Eduardo dos Santos, who stayed in power for nearly four decades (1979–2017) and died in 2022. He was succeeded by the current president, João Lourenço, from the same party, the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA).

In the Human Rights Watch’s 2025 report, the organization listed problems Angola currently faces, such as police brutality and chronic malnutrition among children, highlighting:

O presidente João Lourenço assinou leis que não atendem aos padrões internacionais de direitos humanos e que restringem severamente as liberdades de imprensa, de expressão e de associação. As prisões angolanas continuaram a sofrer com a superlotação.

President João Lourenço has signed off on laws that do not meet international human rights standards and that severely restrict freedoms of the press, expression, and association. Angolan prisons continued to suffer from overcrowding.

The new version of Da Cruz’s work revisits ideas discussed in the first edition, published in 2015, now expanded with contributions from Brazil (Susan De Oliveira and Fernanda Cris Franco), Mozambique (Nelson Domingos António, Tirso Sitoe, and Edgar Barroso) and Angola (Raul Tati), in a collective effort to refine strategies of action against political oppression.

In May this year, as French outlet RFI reported, the book was censored in Angola, which led the author to make it available for free online.

The transition of power

Da Cruz starts from the observation that “the reality of Angola’s authoritarianism requires concrete answers, and that relying on elections organized by authoritarian regimes would be falling into a trap.” According to him, in such contexts, there is no possibility for a transition of power as would typically be expected in democracies.

No caso de Angola, colocaria todos os partidos de lado pois eles não representam uma solução revolucionária. Agora, dentro da sociedade civil, talvez seja necessário que haja unidade da sociedade civil para que possa elaborar dois ou três grandes planos estratégicos, que seriam um conjunto de táticas para desencadear uma revolução popular. Especificamente, educação informal da sociedade em que é preciso vigilância para preservação da liberdade, mas também educação para a confrontação de um regime autoritário.

In Angola’s case, I would not count on any of the current parties because they do not represent a revolutionary solution. Now, within civil society, maybe there needs to be unity among the civil society [organizations] so that they can develop two or three major strategic plans [of action], which would be a set of tactics to bring about a popular revolution. Specifically, informal education about a society in which vigilance is needed to preserve freedom, but also education for confronting an authoritarian regime.

Da Cruz points to the example of Mozambican rapper and activist Azagaia, who passed away in 2023, and whose music made social commentary that inspired demonstrations, which were met with police repression. He makes a comparison with the Angolan context, where he perceives the artists as being focused on the symptoms of the dictatorship, by talking about arbitrary arrests, high levels of poverty, corruption, manipulation of the media, and a general lack of basic services:

É preciso que se produzam músicas que digam claramente ao povo que, para que nos possamos livrar, é necessário desencadear uma revolução popular. Logo, isso seria um projeto coletivo em que as pessoas juntam a sua força para o alcance da democracia e derrubar a ditadura. O que há em Angola não são eleições, são simulações para legitimar o poder. Muitos acreditam que estão numa democracia, mas vivem numa ilusão.

We need to make songs that clearly tell the people that, to free ourselves, it’s necessary to start a popular revolution. So, this would be a collective project in which people join their strengths to achieve democracy and overthrow the dictatorship. What there is in Angola is not elections, it’s rehearsals to legitimize the power [in place]. Many believe they are in a democracy, but they live in an illusion.

In the country’s last elections in 2022, the civil society movement Mudei carried out an initiative — “Citizen Electoral Monitoring Project” — and incorporated activists and citizens from various parts of Angola who contributed to the unofficial counting of the election results. These results highlighted a disparity with the official results, which showed the MPLA winning with more than 80 percent of the vote against UNITA (National Union for the Total Independence of Angola), and which the opposition contested.

Just like Mozambique’s FRELIMO (Mozambique Liberation Front), both the MPLA and UNITA have their roots in movements dating back to the struggle for independence from Portugal, which later evolved into political parties.

Mudei also assessed press coverage at the time of the elections. In its report, they said there was unequal treatment and that the press gave more attention to the party in power, the MPLA. Da Cruz said:

Em Angola não é possível falar de eleições livres, justas e transparentes.

In Angola it’s not possible to talk about free, fair, and transparent elections.

He also observed that tools of civil resistance, such as protests, boycotts, and holding vigils, have been used in government transitions, such as in Tunisia, during the Arab Spring, and could be adapted and employed in other contexts.

In Mozambique, for example, Da Cruz sees similarities with Angola and has been sharing the book with Mozambican activists and academics, as they too are faced with an authoritarian-inclined government formed by the party FRELIMO. In the run-up to elections in 2019, Mozambican journalists and activists were the target of threats.

More exchanges and raising awareness

Da Cruz believes it is urgent to promote deeper political and philosophical exchanges between Portuguese-speaking countries. Although still limited, he has noticed a deepening of the links between civil societies, as seen during the protests in Mozambique after the 2024 elections, which inspired protests against the socio-economic crisis in Angola.

He also cites examples such as Turkey, where the president, Recep Erdoğan, in power for over 20 years, adding his time as prime minister and president, has become more authoritarian over time, to highlight that no democracy is invulnerable:

A liberdade não é definitiva. As democracias também caem. É preciso educar as novas gerações sobre isso e manter uma sociedade civil vigilante e ativa.

Freedom is not guaranteed. Democracies can also fall. It is necessary to educate new generations about this and maintain a vigilant and active civil society.

In order to achieve this, the writer highlights the role of accessible media, such as content published on social media, where citizen art or sharing articles can be used to raise awareness around issues.

Returning to his work a decade later, in the current context of Lusophone Africa, he says he hopes readers will not only read, but also adopt the tools and put them into practice.

Não basta conhecer a receita. É preciso pôr a mão na massa. Só assim a liberdade será conquistada e defendida.

It is not enough to know the recipe. We need to get to work. Only this way will freedom be won and defended.

Originally published on Global Voices

Some of the selected photographers on the visit to the Monte Azul Favela Alley. Photo by Marlon Marinho, used with permission.

This article, written by Léu Britto, was originally published on Agência Mural’s website on May 25, 2025. An edited version is republished here by Global Voices under a partnership agreement.

Amid heated debates about the advancement of artificial intelligence (AI) and its possible impact on the art market, a question arises: will experience and creativity still have a place in photography from urban peripheral areas? These doubts followed me in the days leading up to May 10, when three other photography enthusiasts and I promoted another edition of FotoBeco (Alley Photos), an exhibition featuring images produced by photographers from São Paulo’s peripheral neighbourhoods.

Every two months, Rogério Vieira, my partner at Sérgio Silva Gallery, and I make a selection to present a photographic series in an alley located on the way out of the Monte Azul Favela, in southern São Paulo. It is a free, public exhibition of the selected artists’ work.

Each artist wins a free print of their work on a canvas of 4 × 2 metres, displaying a synopsis of the piece to members of the public passing by.

We also launched the fan magazine “BECO-Volume 1,” in partnership with the publisher Selo Vertigem, which brought together 30 images from people who believe in the importance of our mission for photography, resisting the market’s modus operandi and its hierarchical commercial structure.

Streets and alleys

My story with photography has two major milestones. The first was in 2007, when I left high school, torn between studying mechanical engineering and journalism. The choice came after photographing, albeit as an amateur, an event known as the State Meeting of the Homeless of São Paulo State.

There, the president of the event, Robson Mendonça, showed me a part of the population facing a situation as difficult as that of life in the favelas — those who didn’t even have a roof over their heads. After that meeting, I decided to fight against the further erasure of marginalized people, of whom I am a part.

A father and son contemplate pieces from São Paulo’s peripheral neighbourhoods in Monte Azul Favela Alley. Photo by Marlon Marinho, used with permission.

The second milestone came a few years later, in 2013, after college, with the Women's Popular Union from Campo Limpo and Surrounding Areas. This institution supported cultural initiatives and the fight for human rights along with the Solano Trindade Popular Agency of Culture, with which I work to this day. That’s how I bought my first professional camera, a second-hand one, which would stay with me for seven years.

And my journey into photography turned into a resistance against the erasure of the idea of how we, as residents of the peripheries, imagine what we are, how we live, and what we think of this unequal world, since our streets and alleys. Be it against the omission of the state or of art that doesn't like to highlight the reality we suffer, or the lack of doors open to us in the bubbles of already established art markets.

In the commercial art market, it seems guaranteed that we won’t even set foot there, unless it’s through the 1 percent quota reserved for Black people, the impoverished, and favela residents.

A market made in Brazil

In Brazil, photography may not be seen as something for people from poorer neighbourhoods, but we continue making and sharing it anyway. This point resonates with the reality of the Brazilian photography market, where, when a portfolio is analyzed, the origin of the photographer and their academic background often seem to carry more weight than the work itself.

Between 2021 and 2023, I was managed by a curator who tried to include me in the market. One day, a client of hers who was buying some photographs saw a photo from my 2021 book “A Gambiologia da Sevirologia” [The Art of Getting By]. At first, he went straight past it and didn’t take any interest, but his wife called him back to it: “Wait, this one is different, I've never seen anything like it in your collection, it’s worth acquiring,” she said.

He asked the curator, “How much is it?” She answered, “BRL 1,000” (around 185 US dollars). He replied, “But who is he? Does he have a CV?” She said: “He has 10 years’ experience; he’s an exponent [of photography] and he has a promising future.” The client said, “As I don't know him, I'll pay BRL 500 for two images.” That same day, he was negotiating the purchase of a series of six photographs by a North American photographer who worked with the people of Peru, and was going to pay 50,000 US dollars for them.

Does this approach consider representation, the breaking of stereotypes, and the power of [including] perspectives from the peripheries in photography? I remember the words of Maria Luiza Meneses, an art curator, who wrote the preface to our zine. “These are photographs that widen the ways of seeing São Paulo’s peripheries, [which are] equally important for the transformation of the collective imaginary.”

A Black professional, she reiterates how this photography can itself be a tool for changing others’ and art markets’ perceptions of these areas.

Those who make this bridge between realities are the new photographers whose images come from a common starting point: their own expression of the reality lived within peripheral neighbourhoods, across the country.

We no longer need “colonizers” to come and record our daily lives; it has been some time since we have been able to do it ourselves. And our local people acknowledge our efforts through the breaking down of cliches about ourselves.

Photo by Léu Britto, one of the creators of FotoBeco, taken in the district of Rio Pequeno. Agência Mural, used with permission

The fight against stereotypes

With each edition of FotoBeco, since December 2023, our determination has strengthened: we show what we record,in the fight against negative stereotypes about our neighbourhoods — favelas, peripheries, and marginalized places — something still unvalued by the market.

Works that highlight the violence against Black bodies, exalt beauty in the midst of chaos, [show] the exotic, are still common representations of poverty, and what generally translates into saleable art.

When we are among them, when they allow us to be there, in general, we cause fright, strangeness, a certain unease. Our origin does not allow creativity and art, only destruction and tragedy, according to the “validators” [of art]. It’s that clichéd way of looking at us: “Wow, how talented you are, in the middle of nothing,” Or “It was your individual effort that enhanced your look.”

This May 2025, even with the rain, over 50 people came to appreciate the works we selected from 200 applications. “The number, perspectives and diversity of images received are an indication of the place that the peripheries occupy in contemporary photographic interest,” Meneses concluded.

I was certain of this as I walked toward the alley. And I wasn’t alone.

“I'm from Taboão da Serra (in São Paulo) and I remember well when I just had a desire to take photographs. I hardly knew the profession; I had no references from people from my neighbourhood who had managed to get there. It seemed out of reach,” said Tuane Fernandes, another member of the selecting panel.

For the established market, most photographers originating in the poorer neighbourhoods, like us, are still disorganized beginners who do not really know what we are trying to express. And then we have the verse from Racionais, one of Brazil's most significant rap groups: “Us here, you there, everybody in their place. Got it?”

My feeling is that this market is only now adapting to our generation, which has come up, qualified, and delivers what they think we should produce. Only we are going further; we are tired of waiting. We are getting ourselves out there, as we say. Creating our networks, opening galleries, doing our festivals, building our collections, and setting the prices of our own works of art.

The reality is there’s no more waiting for the sun to rise. When they say it’s daytime, we are already up well before [that]. We are the generation that eats fresh fruit because we wake up earlier.

Originally published on Global Voices

Photo by drobotdean on Freepik.

This article, written by Kelvyn Araujo, was originally published in Portuguese on the website of the Jornalistas Pretos — Rede de Jornalistas pela Diversidade na Comunicação (Black Journalists’ Network — Journalists for Diversity in Communication) on May 13, 2025. An edited version is republished here by Global Voices under a partnership agreement. 

In Brazil, more than half of Black boys between the ages of 13 and 17 dream of becoming a digital influencer or football player. The statistic, analyzed by the report “Black boys: finance, future, and work” from the Men’s Talk Institute (PDH), indicates that, more than just for career considerations, the desire for visibility and recognition is linked to absence of representation, structural racism, and the search for symbolic and economic survival, in one of the world’s most unequal countries.

The survey, conducted in 2024, interviewed 1,435 Black teenagers from all of Brazil’s states. Asked whether they would like to be famous or become an online influencer, 51.77 percent of them answered “yes.” In response to the question about wanting to become athletes in their favorite sport, 51.6 percent answered affirmatively. Almost half of them (45.6 per cent) said that they live in poorer urban neighbourhoods.

“Sport continues to represent a hope for young Black Brazilians for gaining fame and social status,” says the text on the website of the Global Pact Network Brazil, a local network focused on raising awareness among companies about the United Nations’ (UN) 10 universal principles.

Active listening was the starting point of the survey, which aims to humanize these young people, who are often viewed with prejudice, leading to assumptions about criminality. It was conducted in partnership between the Global Pact Network Brazil and the non-governmental organization Centre for the Study of Labour Relations and Inequalities-CEERT.

The JP Network (Rede JP) spoke with Humberto Baltar, a teacher, writer, and specialist in ethnic-racial relations, and Zé Ricardo Oliveira, a communicator and activist, who were leading the survey and have been working for years with Black youth and mass education.

“When a young Black man says he wants to be an influencer, he’s saying he wants to be seen, heard, recognized. That’s where he finds potential visibility,” said Oliveira. The problem, according to him, is not in the dream itself, but in the absence of alternatives. “It is not a rejection of knowledge, but a reaction to the lack of opportunities in professions such as science, engineering, or journalism.”

He argues that this shows a worrying phenomenon: the online environment is one of the few spaces in which young Black people see themselves as having some possibility of social status. Without policies supporting access, digital literacy, and analytical training, this same space could, though, become a trap. The culture of immediate success, combined with the logic of exclusionary algorithms, reinforces inequalities and offers recognition to only a few people.

Support Global Voices as we publish more articles like this one

For more information about this campaign, please go here.

When you look at the representation of different identity groups in Brazilian society, this disparity is even greater.

According to data from the 2022 Demographic Census by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE), the most recent in the country, Black and mixed ethnicity (“pardo”) people make up 55.5 per cent of the Brazilian population. According to the definitions adopted by the institution, this means that over half of the population of 212 million identifies as of African descendant. The same survey pointed out that this population also has higher rates of employment in the informal economy and represents the majority in activities with a lower average income.

Lack of Black journalists, and disinformation

The information ecosystem, including employment in the communications sector, is emblematic of this inequality and exclusion. According to a 2022 survey by JP Network in partnership with GEEMA (Group for Multidisciplinary Studies on Affirmative Action), only 20 per cent of prominent journalists in the Brazilian press identify as of African descendant (Black or mixed ethnicity).

According to the experts spoken to, a direct consequence of this poor representation is the invisibilizing of Black narratives and low diversity of sources and views in newsrooms. The absence of Black journalists also reinforces stereotypes and deepens the disconnect between youth of peripheral neighbourhoods and traditional media, which then impacts the way these young people understand the world, express themselves, and construct their identities.

Without media and analytical training, Black boys may be more exposed to racist content, hate speech, and disinformation, which influences not only their career choices but also self-esteem and perceptions of belonging.

For the educators in charge of the study, there is also the challenge of a school structure still suffering from institutional racism. Oliveira commented on how the lack of antiracist policies regarding students compounds the problem:

Falta investimento em uma educação transformadora formal de qualidade e um aprofundamento nas grades curriculares para mostrar a importância do povo negro na História. Fora da sala de aula, há falta de apoio de cunho psicológico, para garantir que esses jovens atravessem as violências que se abatem sobre eles. Acredito — pensando também nos resultados da pesquisa — que o espaço escolar é essencialmente claustrofóbico. Não há a criação de um conforto e entendimento perante os alunos negros, que se vêem abandonados em demandas e sem representação nas grades curriculares, principalmente em disciplinas de estudos humanos.

There is a lack of investment in good quality formal transformative education and the proper inclusion in school curricula of the importance of Black people in history. Outside the classroom, there is a lack of psychological support to ensure that these young people overcome the challenges they face. I believe — also thinking about the research findings — that the school space is essentially claustrophobic. There is no creation of comfort and understanding around Black students, who find themselves abandoned and unrepresented in the curricula, especially in the humanities subjects.

The study will be expanded through a documentary of the same name, expected to be released in the second half of 2025. The film is an invitation to listen, according to the educators. Baltar highlighted:

É um fruto natural da pesquisa. A linguagem audiovisual permite que as experiências e dores desses meninos cheguem a quem nunca os escutou de verdade. Eu, pessoalmente, fiquei muito tocado.

It is a natural result of the research. The audiovisual medium allows the experiences and pain of these boys to be shown to those who have never really listened to them. I, personally, was very touched.

Change depends on Black presence in the information ecosystem

The authors of the study also call for a transformation in the participation of young Black people in education and society generally, which includes communications media.

To prevent the dream of being an influencer from becoming just a side effect of their social exclusion, it’s necessary to expand possible avenues and choices. Ensuring access to government programs, promoting Black presence in different media, and validating diverse viewpoints are urgent steps.

“These boys dream, feel, and think about the world. We need to stop seeing them as a threat and start seeing them as a potential,” Oliveira summarized.

Baltar recalled the West African symbol “sankofa.” With origins in Ghana, Togo, and Burkina Faso, the bird with its head turned backwards is seen as a symbol of African-American and African-Brazilian history, recalling past mistakes to avoid them in the future, according to Wikipedia. The name, in the Akan language, represents going back and fetching or bringing back.

“The bird looking back, protecting the egg it carries, represents this youth that needs to save its past to build a more just future. We need to guarantee these Black children and youth the right to dream and exist fully,” the educator said.

Originally published on Global Voices

Iris scanner in a World ID shop in São Paulo. Photo: Leu Britto/Agência Mural, used with permission

This article by Artur Ferreira and Isabela do Carmo first appeared on Agência Mural's website on February 25, 2025. An edited version is being republished on Global Voices under a content partnership agreement. The names of people who participated in the project were changed to protect their identities.

Selling iris data? Ocular biometrics? These terms, not commonly heard until recently, have become a regular topic of discussion among friends, families, and communities in São Paulo.

This follows recent online publications inviting people to scan their irises in exchange for about 600 Brazilian reais (about 105 USD), paid in the cryptocurrency World. According to the company, from November 2024 to February 2025, at least 400,000 São Paulo residents submitted this data, which is considered to be the most personal and unique in terms of identification.  

“I saw it as an opportunity to start investing in cryptocurrencies,” said Débora, 51, a resident of Vila Alpina in eastern São Paulo. Her son, Bruno, 26, also sold his data. The submission process took a few minutes. 

The buyer of their iris scans was Tools for Humanity, a tech company which manages the World ID project in Brazil. 

“I don’t think it’s ‘taboo’ to scan irises. Banks and authentication systems on mobile phones use face and iris recognition programs. When they attended to me, they said they used the iris because fingerprints could be circumvented,” Bruno recalled.

His real interest was cryptocurrency. “I already had other digital wallets. You can leave the money there earning interest, without withdrawing,” he said.

For those who want to withdraw this money, however, it is not that simple: withdrawals in the app run by World are in installments, and can only be done once a month.

“We have an increasingly aging population, a country with socio-economic problems. [This project] is a risk for people with lower-incomes, who can turn into data points for a company that [now] has [their] unique data, which you will need in the future,” said Mário Gazziro, professor at the Department of Information Engineering at UFABC (Federal University of ABC).

Data protection

The World ID store in a mall in Santo Amaro, southern São Paulo, is discreet. There is no logo, nor clear identifying signs. With the windows open, you can see the scanners, which resemble crystal balls with a touch of science fiction.

At the counter, some employees were waiting for the first customers. Invited to watch a video and download the company’s app, they were then told to position themselves in front of the metal globe. Seconds later, it was done: the iris was scanned and the cryptocurrency credit sent.

According to what the company told Agência Mural, the iris scan is used to train systems for verifying website users’ identities, including for shopping platforms, banks, and financial investments. The company said the idea was to develop the technology and sell it to third parties. The software for verifying identities trains digital systems to differentiate human irises, and so prevent fraud.

Just four days after our reporter’s visit to one of the stores, on February 11, 2025, Tools for Humanity was subject to a preventive measure, prohibiting any financial compensation for the collection of iris data, from ANPD (National Data Protection Authority), linked to the Ministry of Justice and Public Security. This practice is seemingly at odds with Brazil’s LGPD (General Data Protection Law).

The company tried to appeal the decision, without success. After the currency transfer, users of World’s application, which gives access to the cryptocurrencies, reported difficulties in using the services, making withdrawals, or checking their balance, according to news outlet G1.

‘For the money’

The LGPD considers irises to be extremely sensitive personal data, as experts consider the iris a more accurate and secure way to identify a person than fingerprints. As such, according to the law, informed and safe consent should be required to collect this data. 

When asked, World ID said the collection of iris data aims to help differentiate real human interactions from artificial intelligence reactions, “as well as increase access to the global digital economy.”

“It’s like that famous saying: when the offerings are too much, the saint gets suspicious,” observed Professor Gazziro. Why would anybody pay for data if it wasn't important?

Gisele had thought about this, but decided to go through with the procedure. She went there with her two daughters. “The truth is, most people do it for the money. I already knew about the project; I had researched it, and they made me feel comfortable when I was attended to,” she said. 

Some days after these interviews, she and other interviewees had difficulties in using the World ID app, after it was blocked by the Data Protection Authority.

Understanding risks 

A journalist from Mural, Isabela do Carmo, visited one of the company’s shops in Heliopolis, one of São Paulo’s largest favelas.

“Before I could even express my concerns, I was led, without much explanation, into a small room. There, one of the employees was preparing to bring me to the machine that would take the photo of my iris, and I immediately refused,” she said. “He explained that the idea was to collect data to ‘improve the technology in the future.’”

A Heliópolis resident, approximately 60 years old, who agreed to undergo the procedure, told the journalist that she took part in the project for the payment, but had no idea what the company really did.

The use of the iris to identify system users appears likely to be increasingly common in the near future, particularly to ensure more security in these processes. 

“The iris can be used, for example, to improve authentication techniques for bank passwords. The increasingly specific and unique data nowadays can also be used to hone personalized advertizing techniques,” said Gazziro.

For him, the most ethical thing for World ID to do would be to use the iris data only for the training of AI (artificial intelligence), and ensure that no information about the eyes of any participant is stored.

The company said they “do not store any personal data, including iris data, and the selected World ID holders are anonymous.” The technology, they say, allows verifying “humanity, not identity,” while “preserving the privacy and security” of participants.

In other countries that have legislation similar to the Brazilian LGPD, such as Spain, Portugal, South Korea, and Argentina, Tools for Humanity and World ID faced similar difficulties in their operations.

The company’s response

After the report’s publication, World ID’s media team contacted Agência Mural to reiterate that the project did not sell the personal data nor store it.

They said the scanner (called an “Orb”) generates a binary code for each recorded iris and creates a verified profile. The images are encrypted and sent to the app on the users’ cell phones while being erased from the Orb.

The company also guarantees that “biometric images never leave the Orb; that is, they are not sent to any cloud or database,” and it uses advanced privacy technology, AMPC (Anonymized Multi-party Computation).

The company also stated that the “anonymized data is stored in databases operated by trusted third parties, including universities in the US, Zurich, and Germany.”

Regarding the payments, the company explained that part of the payment is made just after the scan, while another part is paid monthly over the course of a year.

“There has never been, by World ID, any equivalence of the cryptocurrency tokens’ values with Brazilian currency or any other, ” the company said. “Values vary according to market conditions, never by internal company criteria.”

The company also claimed that those who could not access data and credits had not used the app correctly. It reiterated that it was in compliance with Brazilian legislation.

Originally published on Global Voices

Indigenous people of several ethnicities participated in the Free Land Camp (Acampamento Terra Livre ) in 2024. Photo by Marcelo Camargo/Agência Brasil. Fair use

This article, written by Guilherme Cavalcanti and edited by Thiago Domenici, was originally published on Agência Pública's website on April 10, 2025. An edited version is published here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.  

The impacts of the climate crisis are evident in fishing, subsistence agriculture, and people's health, altering habits and ways of life in various regions of Brazil. This is what Indigenous youth of different ethnicities felt and expressed to Agência Pública during the country's largest Indigenous collective action, the Free Land Camp  (Acampamento Terra Livre -ATL), which takes place every April.

“We don't fish now like we did eight, [or] six years ago. On Bananal Island (the world’s largest river island), there were lots of fires last year. It is an accumulation of various factors that are having an impact. In the case of my Karajá people, we never thought there wouldn’t be enough fish [one day]. We have to go to a specific lake now to fish, you know?” said 25-year-old Maluá Silva Kuady Karajá. 

She emphasized that the exacerbation of global warming is not only something appearing in scientific data. “It is changing everyday life completely. It has changed the biome, the fauna, our way of life, our lives. And it brings other difficulties that go beyond the climate question,” said the young Indigenous woman.

One of the main priorities of this year's event is to coordinate and guarantee Indigenous action at COP30, the UN's climate conference, which will take place in Belém, Brazil, in November. The campaign “The Answer Is Us,” by the Organization of the Indigenous Peoples of Brazil (Apib), proposes that the demarcation of Indigenous lands be strategically included in the environmental goals of Amazonian countries.

“Discussing the environment without Indigenous people is already problematic, to say the least, especially here in our country, where the main [natural resources] reserves are within our territories,” explained Maluá. She stressed that their struggle for land does not aim to exploit it for economic purposes, but rather to discuss environmental challenges. “[This discussion] impacts many things that are part of the essence of our daily life.”

According to MapBiomas, a platform that helps to map deforestation and land use in Brazil, Indigenous lands represent 13 percent of the national territory, but account for only 1 percent of native vegetation loss between 1985 and 2023.

‘We can't plant’

Indigenous youth at ATL Camp carry a poster that reads, “Indigenous youth — Planting the future with the strength of ancestry.” Photo by Guilherme Cavalcanti/Agência Pública.

Yan Mongoyo, 21, lives in a transitional territory between the biomes of the Atlantic Forest and the Caatinga, in southeast Bahia state, northeastern Brazil, and explained that the prolonged drought has been hindering family farming in different ways. “It's too dry, we can't plant [crops]. It rained a little and we planted [crops], but they didn't survive. So we are very concerned because our community is not supplied by piped water; it is supplied by a truck, one truck for three families. So there is no way to plant crops,” he said. “The people who are there on the ground are the ones who suffer the most, especially those working in family farming.”

Yan also criticizes the advance of agribusiness in Indigenous lands, especially in regions historically forgotten by the media and the state.

“No matter the region, [the ranchers] are invading [lands], destroying what they can destroy, and we are suffering. It is a challenge that all [Indigenous] people are facing,” he said. “I've been analyzing some newspapers, and I think, first, they stereotype us too much. Generally, they talk a lot about the Amazon and all that, and forget about the other biomes that are also very important. The Caatinga and the Cerrado regions are suffering a lot from these climate problems, [and] agrarian issues,” he observed.

The lack of debate about the Cerrado region is something that Leticia Awju Torino Krikati, 20, is trying to change. She is a city councillor for the Montes Altos municipality and the only Indigenous woman in the parliament in the state of Maranhão. She wants to show the importance of the biome for the country, “because it is where the sources of some of the largest rivers are found, and so an extremely important hydrographic base.”

Leticia says that she faces difficulties in including environmental questions in the development of municipal policy, as in Montes Altos, there is still no secretary for the environment. “This also affects discussions about climate change in Indigenous territories. We have the Department of Indigenous Affairs, but it also has to work in partnership with other departments,” the councillor said.

She recalled that the Krikati people, her ethnicity, are still awaiting the court's decision for their lands to be actually handed over to them. Over 250 legal processes for demarcating Indigenous lands remain incomplete in Brazil, according to the Social-environmental Institute. The idea of the “marco temporal” (time marker), which proposes that Indigenous people should only have the right to claim for a lands if they were living on it at the time of the 1988 constitution, was made into law by the National Congress, despite it being deemed unconstitutional by the Supreme Court (Supremo Tribunal Federal, STF). 

Illegal mining and food 

“Today, non-Indigenous people use the term agro-ecology, but we know that agro-ecology is an appropriation of Indigenous knowledge, traditional knowledge,” observed Evelin Cristina Araújo Tupinambá, a 27-year-old geography professor in the city of Goiânia. In the classroom, she connects science and ancestry to explain climate change and the relationship between Indigenous territories and conservation.  

Evelin also highlighted that Indigenous people's concerns and priorities vary according to their territory and experiences. In her case, living for years in the capital of Goiás state, in central-western Brazil, one of her main struggles is the conservation of the Cerrado region. She compares this situation with that of her people, who live in the Amazon, where the challenges are different, such as the presence of logging, illegal resource extraction, and river pollution.

“They are different contexts, but they are linked, you know? I think that’s why our efforts stay connected to each other. Even though we are talking about different territories and biomes, our struggle is the same,” explained Evelin. “Here is an opportunity to make our complaints official. It's a way to go directly to the plenary debates, to the Chamber [of Deputies]. Directly to the people who, institutionally speaking, make things happen.”

Maria Lilane, 24, from the Baniwa people of São Gabriel da Cachoeira, in the northern Brazilian state of Amazonas, sees the environment as a “second home,” and says that to destroy it is to destroy life itself.She criticizes food inequality in Brazil, which, even though it is one of the world's largest food producers, does not ensure healthy food for everyone. “[Food] comes with an exorbitant price. It's [also] toxic. As much as they try to make healthy food, we know that nowadays all industrialized food comes with a lot of pesticides. This has a great impact not only on the lives of Indigenous people, but for Brazilians in general.”

Originally published on Global Voices

In the street rehearsals before the main event, members of the Paraíso do Tuiuti samba school celebrate the life of Xica Manicongo. Image: Lucas Cézar/apalavrimagem, used with permission.

In São Cristóvão, a neighbourhood in northern Rio de Janeiro, Monday nights turned into a celebration of transgender people. From the beginning of the 2025 carnival rehearsals, a drum section of about 300 people led the group in singing the samba-enredo [samba style for carnival] loud and clear:

Eu, travesti
Estou no cruzo da esquina
Pra enfrentar a chacina
Que assim se faça

Me, travesti
I'm at the corner's crossing
To face the slaughter
So be it

In these times where we see laws attacking gender identity, threats, and cases of violence against LGBTQ+ people, the Paraíso do Tuiuti samba school decided to respond by highlighting a historical case: the life of the first non-Indigenous travesti recognized in Brazil was the theme of its annual parade, entitled “Who's afraid of Xica Manicongo?”

Identifying as travesti — a Latin American, female gender identity — is a political statement and a way of re-signifying the term used pejoratively for so long.

Master of ceremonies and flag bearer during rehearsal in São Cristóvão. Image: Lucas Cézar – apalavrimagem, used with permission.

For Bruna Benevides, president of the National Association of Travestis and Transsexuals (ANTRA), this theme choice also took a stand against political hostility, which has been mirrored elsewhere in the Americas, such as in the United States under Donald Trump's presidency.

“While Trump, in his inaugural speech, named trans people as targets for harassment, Brazil's carnival, on the other hand, is saying that here trans people are important,” she said, in conversation with Global Voices.

In line with his political agenda, Trump has closed diversity programs and announced a series of measures that directly affect LGBTQ+ rights. Meanwhile, in Brazil, according to a survey by the newspaper Folha de São Paulo, at least 77 anti-trans laws are in place in 18 states.

Who was Xica Manicongo?

Thought of as the country's first travesti, Xica Manicongo's story has been sidelined and made invisible over the centuries. Historical records show that in the 16th century she was taken from Congo, in Africa, to be enslaved in Salvador, Brazil's first capital, in Bahia state.

There, she worked as a shoemaker, and was accused of sodomy for refusing to wear clothes considered masculine and for not conforming to behaviors expected of a ”man.” She found refuge with the Tupinambá Indigenous people, with whom she exchanged cultural and spiritual knowledge. She was also a priestess of the Afro-Brazilian religion Quimbanda.

During parade rehearsal, the community held a banner reading ‘Trans Lives Matter! Citizenship, dignity, and rights. Image: Beatriz Gimenes/Used with permission.

Now, Xica Manicongo's identity and legacy are highlighted in this parade's story, developed by Jack Vasconcelos. Interviewed by Global Voices, he said:

Eu acredito que o nosso enredo é um manifesto. É um grito de resistência que começa no Brasil e vai pro mundo todo. Nosso desfile é visto por mais de uma centena de países e eu acho que serve como um recado para a comunidade LGBTQIAPN+ mundial para não desanimar.

I believe our theme choice is a manifesto. It is a cry of resistance that begins in Brazil and goes all over the world. Our parade is seen in over a hundred countries and I think it serves as a message to the global LGBTQIAPN+ community to not despair.

For Vasconcelos, giving prominence to the story of a travesti in the country's largest popular festival is a positive response. However, the political rights gained so far cannot be taken for granted and demand vigilance.

Tuiuti's leading group stages a burning of travesti, making reference both to the Holy Inquisition of the 16th century and the violence and murders of today. Image: Beatriz Gimenes, used with permission.

Observatória, an organization that monitors LGBTQ+ legislation, revealed that in 2024 alone, at least 39 anti-LGBTQ+ proposals were put forward by parliamentarians in Brazil in state-level legislative assemblies and the Lower Chamber of the National Congress. Rhetoric and laws opposing neutral language and other rights for LGBTQ+ people have increasingly come from conservative politicians.

Furthermore, the National Association of Travestis and Transsexuals reported that 122 trans people were murdered last year. In Brazil, even recording the statistics on trans people who have died faces difficulties. There are no official records, while different civil society data initiatives continue to try to document the reality.

Fighting fear

Bruna Benevides and Jack Vasconcelos argue that fear of being manipulated is one of the reasons behind the persecution of the trans community.

Bruna explained that this feeling is used deliberately by the far right to dehumanize the group. For her, conservatism, “through the manipulation of fear, panic, and the creation of this common enemy, [looks to] implement [its] authoritarian, unscientific, and undemocratic plans.”:

É preciso saber de onde vem esse medo, como se construiu esse imaginário em torno das pessoas trans, por que as pessoas têm medo das travestis e das mulheres trans… Qual é a visão que as pessoas têm que foi incluída e construída a respeito da nossa comunidade? Só a partir das possibilidades de respostas a estas perguntas a gente vai pensar em um processo de humanização da comunidade trans/travesti.

We need to understand where this fear comes from, how this collective perception but was built around trans people, why people are afraid of travestis and trans women … What is the understanding that people have created of our community? It is only with the possible answers to these questions that we will be able move towards humanizing the trans/travesti community.

Jack argues that we must be constantly vigilant to combat transphobia. “Historically, these attacks are recurrent, we must always be prepared [ … ], defend conquered territory, not let it slip away/lose it, and build on it,” he said.

The Tuiuti group on the main avenue of the São Cristóvão neighbourhood during street rehearsals. Image: Lucas Cézar – apalavrimagem, used with permission.

Government action

To resist the actions of conservative governments, such as the current Trump administration, Bruna pointed to the need for states, countries, and the targeted groups themselves to understand the importance of defending transgender people's rights. ”We are in a cultural war of narratives that is constantly trying to roll back a pro-human rights, progressive agenda,” she said.

In January, the Ministry of Human Rights and Citizenship of Brazil, in partnership with the National Secretariat for the Defense of LGBTQ+ People, ANTRA, and other civil society organizations, launched the National Agenda to Tackle Violence Against LGBTQIA+ people, a set of 14 actions aimed at the general population. On a practical level, there are courses planned in the areas of public security and combating homophobia.

A pact of protocols to be signed throughout the country to fight against LGBTphobia in the judiciary and in actions taken with the Ministry of Health was unveiled at the launch event.

The parade

Scheduled to take place on the last day of carnival in Brazil, Paraíso do Tuiuti's parade included transgender artists, activists, and parliamentarians.

Trans federal deputies Erika Hilton (PSOL) and Duda Salabert (PDT) participated in one of the floats, along with other guests representing the prominence and power of the community in Brazilian politics.

For Jack, the point of choosing this theme is to demonstrate to this part of the LGBTQ+ population that their story is “beautiful and significant.”

ANTRA participated in the process of managing, researching for, and developing this year's parade and, in Bruna's view, Tuiuti's topic is engaged, thoughtful, and popular. It constructs a political imaginary that makes us believe change is possible in the Americas and around the world:

“Society as a whole will be able to learn that it is not normal and not reasonable to be afraid of trans people. That it should not even be acceptable: that trans people, then, are worthy of respect, of guaranteed freedom,” she said.

Originally published on Global Voices

Police fire tear gas at protesters in central Maputo on 21 October 2024. Image: taken from a YouTube video, filmed by Maputo residents. Editing By Giovana Fleck/Global Voices

Since the end of October 2024, Mozambique has seen a wave of protests. Initially, the protests were demanding justice for the murder of Elvino Dias, lawyer for then-presidential candidate Venâncio Mondlane, and of Paulo Guambe, leader of the PODEMOS party (Optimistic Party for the Development of Mozambique). They have since become more intense in reaction to police violence against protesters and distrust of the election results, which officially declared a new victory for the FRELIMO party (Mozambique Liberation Front), in power for almost five decades.

People of varied social backgrounds took to the streets, holding placards and chanting protest songs, including “People in Power” by Azagaia. His music gained popularity among pro-democracy movements because of the lyrics that openly criticized the government. “People in Power” was released in 2008 and became a protest song during demonstrations against rising petrol and energy prices.

The protests continued for weeks after the newly elected politicians took office, including the new president, Daniel Chapo. In the second week of January, Mondlane called for three days of a general strike.

“Why are they going to kill us? Because we Mozambicans like you?” asked a woman in an interview with Deutsche Welle at a protest on January 13, the day of the deputies’ inauguration.

The protester was asking police officers present why the police used violence against citizens. Since October 21, 2024, more than 300 people have died, and over 600 have been injured, according to the Mozambican organization Plataforma Decide, which monitored the elections and human rights violations.

In Angola, a central African country that also belongs to the PALOP (Portuguese-speaking African Countries), protests also broke out in support of Mozambicans. The capital, Luanda, also witnessed episodes of police violence like those that stifled the protests in Maputo. Find a video of the protests below.

Political context

FRELIMO, which led the independence struggle — won in 1975 — against Portuguese imperialism, has dominated the Mozambican political scene ever since. The party's historical opponents are RENAMO (Mozambican National Resistance), which, as a political adversary, paved the way for multipartyism, along with the MDM (Democratic Movement of Mozambique (MDM) — both seen as more conservative on the political spectrum.

However, in this latest election, these parties lost strength to PODEMOS, created in 2018 by former members of the two opposition parties, and which became the second political force in terms of parliamentary seats. PODEMOS, which endorsed the presidential candidate Venâncio Mondlane, benefited electorally from general discontent with corruption, social inequality, and lack of opportunities for youth. Badly managed internal political crises in RENAMO and MDM also contributed to the rise of the new party.

With all this, since 2024, Mondlane has gained prominence. An Evangelical leader and former member of Renamo, he joined PODEMOS due to internal disagreements in his former party. His movement was based on the promise of “national peacemaking” through dialogue, investments in housing, and an end to the imprisonment of protesters. Internationally, he has said that he is an admirer of far-right politicians, such as Jair Bolsonaro, former president of Brazil, and Donald Trump, who has returned to power in the United States.

The 2024 elections were marred by allegations of irregularities in the electoral process, voter intimidation, and violence. According to the CPLP (Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries), in a preliminary observations report, problems were identified in the vote counting procedures and in its “slowness” and “lack of efficiency.”

RENAMO and MDM rejected the results, saying that FRELIMO committed fraud to stay in power. After the announcement of the result, these parties were nevertheless invited to a dialogue with the then-president, Filipe Nyusi, to resolve the post-election crisis. The debate extended to civil society organizations. Meanwhile, the waves of discontent about alleged electoral fraud continued, with protesters demanding the election be annulled. 

After the talks with Nyusi, the parties RENAMO, PODEMOS, ND, and MDM still refused to recognize the election results.

Repression and the human cost of the protests

The government has reacted violently to the protests, with security forces using tear gas, rubber bullets, and lethal ammunition to disperse protesters, resulting in hundreds of deaths and injuries, mainly in the provinces of Zambézia, where the capital Maputo is located, and in Inhambane, where police are known for their brutality.

Human rights organizations, such as Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch, denounced the excessive use of force and arbitrary detention of protesters, journalists, and members of opposition political parties.

International organizations have denounced police violence and the militarized response of the state to bodies such as the African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights and the African Court of Human and Peoples’ Rights and called for dialogue between the government and the opposition.

Impact in Angola

Angola faces challenges similar to those of Mozambique, with growing popular dissatisfaction over the economic crisis, unemployment, corruption, and lack of democratic freedoms. The Angolan government, led by MPLA (Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola) — which has also been in power since 1975 following their independence struggle — fears the instability in Mozambique could leak into their country.

In November 2024, amid tensions in Mozambique, protesters took to the streets of Luanda shouting: “The police don't belong to the MPLA. The police belong to the people.” Hundreds of people marched to protest against the country's socio-economic difficulties and also against the detention of four activists arrested at a demonstration earlier the same month. Indeed, the country has been under the observation of international organizations due to its history of repressing civil society. Hunger, unemployment, and homelessness were the main drivers of the protest.

Faced with these protests, the Angolan government did not comment on the political situation or the violence in Mozambique. The coordinator of the NGO Omunga, João Malavindele, said in an interview with DW Africa that both parties — MPLA and FRELIMO — use similar methods to stay in power in their respective countries.

Civil society in Angola seems to have learned from the positions taken by Mozambican activists and academics, along with international bodies submitting petitions, to stand up to the MPLA government. There are initiatives such as “Conversations from our yard,” where topics such as “Mozambique and nonviolence” are discussed with researcher and human rights activist Domingos da Cruz.

While civil society has been organizing, non-governmental organizations Mizangala Tuyenu Kupolo and Handeka released a report in December, compiling the human rights violations recorded in the first three months of 2024 in Angola. According to their work, arbitrary obstacles to “holding demonstrations, marches, and any acts of protest” must continue to be monitored in Angola. A new report is due for the first quarter of 2025.

Originally published on Global Voices

Picture of a dormitory where a task force rescued 163 Chinese workers at a plant in Brazil. Photo: Labor Public Prosecution Office (MPT). Fair use

This article, written by André Uzêda and edited by Bruno Fonseca, was originally published on the Agência Pública website on January 21, 2025. It has been edited for length and context and republished here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.

About two months after a story by Agência Pública revealed alleged violations against workers at the company BYD’s factory in Bahia, northeastern Brazil, new allegations have emerged. The Chinese company is a global leader in the production of electric cars.

According to information obtained by Pública's reporters, after the piece was published in November 2024, the company installed cameras in the administration and the construction areas and put up posters prohibiting photographs in these spaces.

According to the story, a computer program that creates a digital watermark with each employee's name was also installed to identify from which machine information was shared externally.

BYD sent an email on December 18, 2024, informing employees of the changes.

In the message, the company explained that the installation was implemented by the ”Department of Information Technology of China,” and that ”this watermark registers the name of the user logged into the device, device name, and the current date,” adding that ”this measure aims to prevent possible information leaks.”

Assaults, exhausting work routines, and hazardous conditions

All these changes began to be implemented shortly after Pública revealed, exclusively, the complaint it received that workers brought from China were being subjected to poor working conditions and living in dirty, crowded, and poorly lit accommodations.

According to information gathered by the news agency, Brazilian workers were not affected. The Brazilians explained that Chinese workers have great difficulty filing any complaints since they do not understand Portuguese, just as the Brazilians cannot speak in Mandarin, Cantonese, or any other languages spoken by the Chinese workers.

Based on personal accounts, images, and videos, the story published by Pública showed that many employees were working without personal protective equipment, subjected to shifts of 12 hours per day, and suffering physical violence if they did not follow orders or meet deadlines.

Last December 23, a month after the complaint, a task force including the Public Prosecutor's Office for Labour (MPT) and the Ministry of Labor and Employment rescued 163 Chinese workers hired by the company Jinjiang Group, one of the three outsourced Chinese companies that BYD partnered with to set up the factory in the industrial hub of Camaçari city, Bahia state.

In addition to the poor working conditions, the task force identified that workers were being subjected to slavery-like conditions, having their passports and part of their salary retained by Jinjiang. About 60 percent of their income was confiscated, and the rest was paid in Chinese currency to prevent them from leaving the job.

According to Ana Paula Studart, a lawyer specializing in labour law, companies must adhere to occupational health and safety standards to protect their employees. ‘This includes implementing accident prevention programs, [providing] personal protective equipment, conducting periodic training, and occupational health examinations. All this is essential for foreign companies to adapt to the labour regulations in place,” she said.

The earth-levelling sector (preparing the ground for construction), for which Jinjiang was responsible, was suspended by MPT's auditors. The case led the Brazilian government to suspend the issuance of temporary work visas to BYD at the end of December.

What the companies say

BYD explained, by way of a note, that it “does not tolerate disrespect for Brazilian law and human dignity” and, given this, has “decided to immediately terminate the contract with Jinjiang.” The company also revealed that the 163 rescued workers were taken back home and received the amounts they were owed based on their contracts.

When asked to explain the installation of 135 cameras and the program that identifies users’ profiles, the company said that “measures relating to the protection of industry secrets are common and essential practices in cutting-edge industries, especially for leading companies in technological innovation.” 

The company also said that these actions ”reflect the responsibility to protect strategic assets and are adopted consistently, respectfully, and in accordance with the law”, given that it applies for, on average, ”45 patents per working day.”

In the note, BYD did not explain why it only began to adopt such ”industrial protection measures” shortly after the complaints about mistreatment of Chinese workers, given that the company began operating in Bahia in March 2024.

‘Witch hunt’

BYD's measures to monitor employees in an attempt to prevent further leaks of possible wrongdoing stands in direct contrast to the company's public messaging since the allegations of labour comparable to slavery were made public. 

People spoke of a “witch hunt” climate to try to find and punish those allegedly responsible despite lacking proof that the material in the first report actually came from BYD employees.

A São Paulo law firm, Urbano e Vitalino Advogados, was assigned to provide support during the controversy. In a statement, BYD said it had previously used this firm’s services, and it had been ”working on issues related to the companies hired to carry out the works in Camaçari.”

In December, with the help of Chinese translators, BYD's president in Brazil, Tyler Li, spoke with Brazilian employees and underlined the importance of the venture.

He reportedly guaranteed that Brazilian employees who were working in the administrative section of Jinjiang — and did not suffer mistreatment or violence — would not lose their jobs following the end of the contract with the Chinese company. Some of the employees, however, were already reportedly given notice of termination by January.

In a statement, BYD said that Jinjiang's Brazilian employees will be considered in a selection process and those who meet the requirements of the available positions “will be integrated into the team”. 

BYD said it is committed to its operations in Brazil and the city of Camaçari — and intends to turn the site into the “Silicon Valley of South America.”

Pro-BYD lobby

In the week that Pública revealed the complaint about the mistreatment of workers, the governor of Bahia, Jerônimo Rodrigues of the Workers’ Party (PT) — the same as president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva — took part in an event at the BYD construction plant. The event was already scheduled before the story's publication.

Asked by journalists about the case, the governor said he trusts BYD, citing his party's history in defending workers.

Camaçari's mayor, Luiz Caetano, also from PT, came out in defense of the company, suggesting that there are competing interests looking to tarnish BYD's image.

Governor Jerônimo and President Lula have viewed the construction of the BYD factory in the state as part of a strategy of rapprochement with China. The federal government even has a contract with the company to use two of their models as official cars. It strengthens the company in the national market and confronts Tesla, owned by billionaire Elon Musk, the main competitor in Brazil's electric car market.

The site where the Chinese company is building its factory in Camaçari was owned by Ford for almost 20 years. The American company decided to end its car production in Brazil in 2021. Bahia's government then bought the site and resold it to BYD for R$ 287.8 million (about 49.8 million US dollars) to incentivize the construction of the first electric car factory in the country.

Originally published on Global Voices

Julieta Inés Hernández Martínez. Image: Background art with photo from social media. Image Freepik.

This article was written by Dominique Maia and originally published on MigraMundo's website on October 15, 2024. An edited version is republished here on Global Voices under a partnership agreement. 

In January 2024, the body of Venezuelan artist Julieta Inés Hernández Martínez was found in the municipality of Presidente Figueiredo, 124 km (77 miles) from Manaus, in Brazil’s northern Amazonas state.

Missing since December 23, 2023, Hernández had been seen for the last time when she told her family that she would spend the night in the city before continuing on to Rorainópolis, in the neighboring state of Roraima.

The disappearance sparked searches and investigations that later led to the arrest of a couple of suspects, subsequently charged by the Amazonas Police. The case shocked Brazil and Venezuela, and had a big impact online and among artistic organizations — Hernández was an active figure in social and cultural groups.

Her death still raises questions about gender violence in the Amazon region, while the struggle for the recognition of the case as femicide continues.

Who was Julieta?

A circus artist and feminist, Hernández arrived in Brazil in 2015 and, over the course of eight years, transformed her life into a real journey of movement and creativity. On social media, she presented herself as a ”nomadic migrant, doll maker, clown, and bicycle traveller.”

She also played the clown Miss Jujuba, traveling to various places in Brazil with the play “The bike journey of a single clown … alone?” Alongside her performing, Hernández also produced handicrafts, made dolls to order, and offered art workshops for children, encouraging creativity and imagination in new generations.

Part of the circus group Red Foot, which brought together artists and bike travellers, Hernández used the bicycle as a means of transport to travel around Brazil and connect with different communities.

The crime

Amazonas State Police began investigations shortly after Hernández's disappearance was reported in early January. From the information about her last known whereabouts, searches were carried out in guesthouses in the region of Presidente Figueiredo, a town of 30,668 people.

On the morning of January 5, police spoke to Thiago Agles da Silva at a shelter in the region; he stated that Hernández had spent the night there before continuing her journey. However, on the same day, a local resident found parts of the missing woman's bicycle, prompting police to question Silva, who then tried to flee.

During questioning, he and his companion, Deliomara dos Anjos Santos, gave contradictory versions of what happened until finally admitting to the crime. According to the official Valdinei Silva, Silva said he had attacked Julieta while she was sleeping to steal her phone. According to the outlet G1, after a physical struggle, the man sexually assaulted her.

During questioning, his partner confessed that she became jealous while witnessing the scene, threw alcohol on them both and set them on fire. Hernández was allegedly strangled and buried in a shallow grave. At the time, police said they suspected she may have been buried alive.

The couple were arrested on January 5. With the help of the Amazonas Military Fire Department and their sniffer dogs, Hernández's body was found in a grave in the shelter's yard, along with some belongings.

Why femicide?

Hernández's family is pushing for Brazil’s courts to recognize the crime as femicide, arguing that the violence suffered by her shows the misogynistic and xenophobic nature of the crime, given that she was a Venezuelan woman and migrant.

These efforts are being carried out in collaboration with the Brazilian Union of Women (UBM), and they highlight problems in the investigation of the case, which Amazonas’ Public Prosecutor’s Office framed as armed robbery, rape, and concealment of a corpse.

During a plenary session in Amazonas State's Legislative Assembly in June, Sophia Hernández, Julieta's sister, said that the case was closed quickly without a thorough investigation, and she questioned its classification as armed robbery resulting in death or serious harm.

She stressed that Julieta's belongings were not stolen or sold but were instead hidden to cover up the crime, which further supported their call for the courts to recognize the misogynistic and xenophobic motives behind the crime.

“Firstly, because when it is armed robbery resulting in death, it carries a lower sentence; secondly, and more importantly, it is because it was a femicide, and we cannot call a gendered crime by any other name. Julieta died as a result of being a woman, a migrant, and living a life in freedom, as we women should live,” Sophia told the outlet Amazônia Real at the time.

Denise Motta Dau, National Secretary for Fighting Violence Against Women, from the Ministry for Women, who also attended the session, said, “This crime had nothing to do with theft, but there was sexual violence, there was torture, there was cruelty, which are very explicit signs of hatred, misogyny, and xenophobia.”

In a note released on June 6, the Ministry for Women expressed support for the family's action. It stated that the ministry “recognizes the concern of Julieta's relatives and lawyers about the absence of due legal treatment of the case as a serious violation of the human rights of women and migrants.”

The ministry also said that “this reinforces the belief of Brazilian institutions that this case and those of all women who come to the justice system should not go unpunished, for [the sake of] their lives and for the right to memory.”

Brazilian law

Lawyer Carlos Nicodemos, who represents the family, also argued that there are elements in the crime that support it being characterized as femicide. “There was evidence there regarding the intention of assaulting, raping, [and] practising misogyny and xenophobia. Under our criminal legislation this is clearly a crime of femicide, which was not effectively presented by the Public Prosecutor's Office, nor accepted by the courts,” he told the media.

Nicodemos also highlighted that the case violated international human rights treaties, such as the Inter-American Convention to Prevent, Punish and Eradicate Violence Against Women, known as the “Convention of Belém do Pará” (1994), of which Brazil is a signatory.

The classification of a crime as femicide is not only a semantic or legal issue; it is about recognizing the specificity of gender violence and the social context in which it occurs.

In Brazil, since 2015, the penal code was amended by a law that defined the crime of femicide. In October of 2024, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva passed a new law that increased the sentence for such cases to up to 40 years.

In many cases, such as Hernández's, gender violence is shaped by the discrimination and inequality that affect women, while migrants also suffer from xenophobia.

For migrant women, the struggle to have a femicide recognized as such can be even more complex. This is because they are often on the margins of systems of protection, often without access to support networks, and face more difficulties in accessing justice due to their migratory status, language barriers, and a lack of information about their rights.

Recognizing Juliet Hernández Martínez's murder as femicide could set an important precedent for dealing with other similar cases.

Originally published on Global Voices

Photo courtesy Rafael Villela/Agência Pública, used with permission.

This article, written by Clarissa Levy and edited by Marina Amaral, was originally published on the Agência Pública website on October 16, 2024. It has been edited for length and context and republished here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.

In the centre of the village is a football field. Around it, in nicely painted wood, are the main community buildings of the roughly 1,000 Kapohn Indigenous people who live on the banks of the Kako River, in an area of preserved Amazonian forest less than 40 kilometres from the Guyanese-Venezuelan border. Near the church and next to the health care centre, the village's newest development stands out in fresh, light green paint: a mall, or, maybe more accurately, a shed of shops.

Andy's Mall is the result of the first payment made by Guyana's government to the Indigenous people of the Kako area, who are proud to say that they were the last to give in and sign the contract with the government that determined the conversion of their forests into carbon credits, sold to the Hess Corporation, an American oil company.

The sale of the first batch of carbon credits issued by the country for the deforestation avoided between 2016 and 2020 was completed in 2022 and made international headlines. The move made Guyana the first country in the world in which credits issued on a national scale and managed by a government body — “jurisdictional credit” being the term used in the sector — were available to be sold on the private market.

Almost 100 percent of the forest area of the small South American country was included in the negotiations. Combining public forests and Indigenous peoples’ forests in the same package, the government certified and issued credits for Guyana's approximately 18.4 million hectares of forest. The sale of this first batch of 30 percent of the credits brought in USD 150 million in 2022.

According to Guyana's president, Dr. Irfaan Ali, Indigenous peoples legally hold 16.4 percent ownership of the country's territory, slightly higher than the 15 percent that Predeepa Bholanath, the Number Two person in the government's Low Carbon Development Strategy (LDCS) estimated (and which included lands that are still in the process of having their titles made official). Based on these figures, she explained, the government calculated that 15 percent of the amount paid by the Hess Corporation should go to Guyana's Indigenous peoples.

In the months following the signing of the first sale of credits to the oil company, each village received a share of the payment according to its number of residents. In addition, in 2023, USD 22.3 million were transferred to these communities. All officially recognised villages have signed letters of accession to the programme as a condition for accessing the funds.

In March 2023, Kako village received 114,000 USD from the Guyanese government. As with the other 241 villages in the country, the government set up a bank account in the cacique's (community leader) name and informed them that the payment could be withdrawn upon the approval of a sustainability plan.

“They gave us a week to decide what to do with the carbon money, to deliver a plan. I thought a mall would be a good idea for our young people. Everybody wants to own their first business,” said 54-year-old Kathleen Andrews, a retired teacher who sits on Kako's leadership council.

Built to house 12 shops, the development has yet to catch on. When Pública visited Kako in mid-July 2024, only one shop was operating. Selling cassava bread, snacks, and cleaning products, the Indigenous woman who was running the shop said she serves two or three customers a day. Seven months after the inauguration, Kathleen lamented, “Now we see that our idea of building a mall benefited only one person: the builder.”

‘We were forced to sign’

Bholanath, who coordinates carbon negotiations along with former president Bharrat Jadgeo, who created the initiative, said, “We had nobody against it, [or] not agreeing, not receiving the money. If that were the case, well, the difference is that the money would stay in the cacique's account without them withdrawing it — because the government was going to deposit the money anyway.”

Mario Hastings, who was Kako's cacique at the time, disagreed. He says they felt like there was no choice, and even though the majority of the caciques on the National Toshaos Council (NTC) adhered to the project, they were forced to sign it. His vote at the council was a losing one in the discussion about the carbon project. ”For us there was no choice. We were forced to sign”, he says.

The construction of the almost inactive mall shows that, without the participation of Indigenous people with guidance and time to develop these projects, the real results fall far short of the aims of developing self-sustaining projects. After all, the Indigenous people of Kako followed the government's guidelines in preparing the annual sustainable development plan, which resulted in Andy's Mall. It is not that different an outcome from what happened in Guyana’s other 241 villages — some invested in the construction of business centres, others in infrastructure to host tourists, and others in equipment for growing crops.

Travelling along the Mazaruni River and the Kako River in western Guyana's Essequibo Territory, target of a territorial dispute with Venezuela, Agência Pública interviewed 22 Indigenous people from the region of the Akawaio and Arekuna ethnic groups. All complained about the loss of autonomy over their territories. “As it stands, it's as if the government were the owner of all the land, and it's not,” commented Laura George, an Indigenous lawyer who believes that the carbon project is tantamount to a loss of Indigenous control over their lands.

According to the Amerindian Act — legislation from 2006 establishing Indigenous rights in Guyana — populations must be consulted on projects that impact them, and their local council has the power to authorise or not certain uses of their lands, such as leasing areas or logging. However, this legislation has gaps, allowing the implementation of government projects in their areas even without the consent of Indigenous people, such as in situations where “large-scale mining is considered in the public interest.” 

The money comes, but recognition of land rights does not

On a hot morning in late July, 47 Kako Indigenous people gather at their local community center with Publica's team and shared their concerns and anxieties about the carbon credits project.

“My question is: why do they give us this percentage [of income] instead of recognising our traditional ownership rights over the forests that are remaining in Guyana?”, asked Stephanie Crammer, one of the atendees.

To this day, the Kapohn people do not have their lands fully registered and protected. In 1991, they obtained a land title, but the document covers only a part of their traditional lands — the part in the vicinity of the current village. The areas used for planting and for traditional housing on the other side of the river, despite being part of their daily life, were not included.

“We're not on the map, but the mining concessions are,” said Derrick Krammer, another participant at the meeting, who complained shortly after. “If mining goes on like this, how are they going to have any more carbon [credits]?”

Pública asked the Guyanese government whether the areas deforested by mining are included in the lands connected to the carbon credits which have been commercialised. Predeepa Bholanath responded that the government uses satellites to map areas degraded by mining and deducts them from the credit count, but from the documents our reporters were able to reference, they could not determine which parts of deforested lands have been deducted from the general count.

In the second year of the carbon project, however, President Irfaan Ali announced at the national meeting of the caciques that the communities will receive the same net amount as the previous year, even though the country has received less for the credits this year (USD 87 million in total), taking 26.7 percent of the total profit from the sale of credits. The majority of the council of the caciques approved supporting the government project.

But, far from the capital Georgetown, several questions remain unanswered, angering Indigenous people who complain that they have been shut out of the debate over the use of their lands. “The program was never explained to us in detail. The strategy had already been designed by the government, without our input as Indigenous people,” said Alma Marshall of the Kamarang community.

Many also felt that the rush in the project schedule was problematic. “I would like to see how we could create and model a development trajectory that was our own, not just a replica [of somebody else’s],” said Romario Hastings, Kako's new chief, who was elected in June this year to take over the position held by his father for the last two terms.

“We could create a future where, for example, Indigenous knowledge has more value in our communities, in how we build our infrastructure and live our culture,” he reflected. ” I know it's a lot. But I think a young man can dream, right?”.

Originally published on Global Voices

A Starlink antenna used in illegal mining in the Amazon was seized by authorities. Photo by Bruno Mancinelle/Casa de Governo, used with permission.

This article, written by Rubens Valente and edited by Thiago Domenici, was originally published on the Agência Pública website on July 29, 2024. It has been edited for length and context and has been republished here under a partnership agreement with Global Voices.

Starlink, a company that sells satellite communication antennas owned by billionaire Elon Musk, has resisted implementing additional security protocols that might help protect exploited Indigenous lands, such as utilizing video calls and facial biometrics.

The company is technically capable of identifying and locating buyers and users of its satellite communication antennas, including those used in illegal mining, but in practice, it only conducts basic checks when its services are contracted.

The public prosecutor in Manaus, the capital city of Amazonas state, André Luiz Porreca Ferreira Cunha, told Agência Pública that “about 90 percent” of the Starlink antennas seized in illegal mining in the Amazon since 2022 were registered in the name of “oranges” (a Brazilian expression to referring to people using a fraudulent name).

The company acknowledged that it requires only basic information, such as personal data, address, and a phone number from its customers, but argues that there is no Brazilian law obliging it to act differently.

The arrival of Starlink antennas in the Amazon in 2022, under the government of then-Presdient Jair Bolsonaro (PL, Liberal Party), revolutionized communication in regions with little or no mobile phone signal. However, they were also used, on a large scale, for criminal activities, especially by illegal prospectors who invade Indigenous lands to steal minerals (known as “garimpeiros”).

Pública revealed that since March 2024, at least 50 Starlink antennas have been seized from illegal mines within the Yanomami Indigenous Territory, located in the Amazon region and Brazil's largest Indigenous territory.

In May, the Federal Public Prosecutor's Office (MPF) opened an inquiry to “investigate the expansion of satellite internet in areas of illegal prospecting and mining in Amazonas state, particularly with the unrestricted availability of the service from the company Starlink.” 

They also highlight that “[the company] has not adopted basic criteria for verifying users’ identity or the veracity of the documentation presented and the addresses provided during the sale, potentially facilitating the practice of environmental crimes.”

Lack of cooperation with Brazilian authorities

The investigation also revealed that the company has not cooperated with Ibama, the Brazilian Institute for the Environment and Renewable Natural Resources, the agency responsible for fighting environmental crimes.

Ibama's president, Rodrigo Agostinho, told the MPF that the antennas have become instruments “for conducting environmental crimes,” aiming “to enable and facilitate the communication of people who are on the frontline of illegal mining with people located in cities,” which would help in “logistics, in the sending of supplies and provisions, as well as in all the necessary organization to enable the continuation of environmental crimes.”

The Federal Police (PF) informed the MPF that Starlink's willingness to collaborate with its investigations only changed “recently” when the company began to give the authorities users’ registration data, according to the director of Amazon and the Environment, delegate Humberto Freire de Barros. 

The public prosecutor André Cunha, who is following the case, told Pública that the company's actions are illegal:

These antennas cannot remain in the hands of orange [fraudulent] users, of people who reside in other states and are providing their data to users here in the Amazon. And they cannot be [permitted to be] used as instruments of crime while no measures are taken and these people are not identified. Because the company has a duty to, at least, provide the data so that public bodies can know who they are.

Cunha wrote Starlink a letter, questioning what mechanisms the company has adopted to verify the identity of buyers, citing “facial biometrics, video calls, [or] manual checking of identification documents” as potential examples. According to the company, it requires only “basic information” for customers to register.

In a reply signed by the director of Starlink Brazil Internet Services and Starlink Brazil Holding Ltd., Vitor James Urner, the company argued that “there is no law or regulation in Brazil that obliges telecommunications service providers, or service providers in other regulated sectors, to conduct biometric identification of its users.”

Urner stated that Starlink “takes proactive measures to check on the usage of the services it makes available, for lawful purposes, [sic] in Brazil and worldwide” and that it has cooperated with the Brazilian Federal Police.

In July, the lawyers representing Starlink during the inquiry requested a meeting with prosecutor André Cunha. According to the registry, during the meeting, the prosecutor again questioned the company about the measures taken to improve the identification of Starlink users. The lawyer representing the company stressed “the existence of limitations imposed by Brazil's General Data Protection Law (LGPD),” indicating the company does not feel it can strengthen the identification requirements of its users.

In its written response, the company argued that “as with any other mass-market electronic product, Starlink cannot be required to independently police the way in which each terminal is used after purchase.”

Antennas in Yanomami Indigenous lands

In the documents sent by Starlink to the MPF, the company stated that it had deactivated 68 user terminals located in the Yanomami Indigenous Territory “on suspicion of violating the terms of service.”

The company stated:

Starlink used the available data to identify user terminals in areas associated with illegal mining on Yanomami Indigenous lands. […] The Starlink users affected by a deactivation [of their device] were instructed to provide certain verification information, including proof of identity and a detailed description of how they plan to use Starlink services, to ensure that Starlink is only used for legitimate purposes.

The documents state that the company has the technical capability to know where the antennas are and who bought the antennas used within Indigenous lands. However, the company claimed that “telecommunications service providers are subject to an explicit legal prohibition regarding the inviolability of the secrecy of users’ communications via the internet, except by court order.”

In response to the MPF, Starlink also said that “no user can have multiple antennas and, if detected by Starlink, users who are practicing illegal resale immediately have their contracts suspended.”

The company also stated that it has collaborated with the Federal Police — including that it “allowed” police “to use a Starlink kit to help fight crime” and that, last year, it responded to a letter from Roraima State Federal Police it “provided important information to the PF's Regional Superintendency, which enabled the capture of several illegal prospectors in Yanomami Indigenous communities, as well as the seizure of 11 Starlink antennas.”

“The measures taken on a daily basis by Starlink, in identifying customers who use these services to carry out illegal activities, and the support offered to the relevant local authorities are a clear example of Starlink's commitment to collaborating with the justice system and authorities in Brazil, to the greatest extent, for the purpose of fighting illegal mining,” the company told the MPF.

The firm representing Starlink in the inquiry, Tozzini Freire Lawyers, said this to Pública's request for comment: “Thank you for your contact, but unfortunately, we do not comment on ongoing cases.”

Starlink informed the National Telecommunications Agency (Anatel) that it had 65,215 customers across these states of the Amazon region as of 2023. The company has authorization from Anatel to operate 4,408 satellites until 2027. It has applied for permission to operate another 7,000 units.

The company has also been involved in the recent confrontation between Elon Musk and the Supreme Federal Court (STF), following the suspension of X (formerly Twitter) due its non-compliance with court orders.

Starlink had its assets frozen following a Supreme Court decision because of fines owed by X. Starlink's accounts were liberated again after the payment of 18.3 million Brazilian Reais (around USD 3.3 million) in fines.

Originally published on Global Voices

SAAL neighbourhood, Casal das Figueiras, in Setúbal. 2022. Photo by Pedro Augusto Almeida, used with permission

Portugal, 1974: 8.754 million people lived in Europe's westernmost country, where about a quarter were illiterate; 38 out of every 1,000 children died in their first year. All under the Estado Novo regime, which had been in place since 1933.

Fifty years after the April 25 of that year, which marked the end of the regime, the country has transformed on every level. The coup d'état of the “Carnation Revolution“ opened the way for changes pushed for by the people in the streets.

On May 1, 1974, the first Labour Day after April 25, Portugal saw the largest demonstrations in its history, which then triggered a takeover of the streets by the disadvantaged classes. The people also began to organize themselves in their neighborhoods. Among the mottos of the period were: “Houses yes, shacks no” and “Houses are for the people. Down with exploitation.”

In Porto, residents of working-class neighborhoods gathered, demanding an end to the regime's rules, which restricted their liberties. In Lisbon, residents of favelas joined the protests to demand decent housing, and occupied social housing, which had been completed but not distributed. More than 2,000 houses were occupied in the cities where the country's industries were concentrated, such as Lisbon, Porto, and Setúbal.

Although there were no concrete data on how many people did not have housing — or on the living conditions of those who had a place — the study “General Housing Census: Mainland and Islands,” conducted by the National Institute of Statistics (INE) in 1970, points to the existence of 31,110 “shacks and others” across the country.

The architect José António Bandeirinha, in the work “The SAAL Process and Architecture on April 25, 1974,” estimated that a quarter of Portugal's population lived in places lacking any decent living conditions. The first provisional government, and those which followed it, hurried to address this question.

On August 6, 1974, less than four months after the revolution, the SAAL – Local Support Service was created by an order signed by the minister of internal administration, Manuel da Costa Brás, and the secretary of state for housing and urban planning, Nuno Portas.

Being just a ministerial order, the SAAL had weak legislative power to solve Portugal's housing problems. However, it made possible the construction of 75 neighborhoods, and there was a real engagement between public entities, such as the Housing Development Fund (FFH), professionals, students of architecture, social workers, and the people who would come to live in the neighborhoods.

Bandeirinha said that Nuno Portas, the secretary of state at the time when the FFH began to outline its plan to assist people who could benefit from SAAL, proceeded with a “systematization of actions and priorities that reflected a certain pragmatic focus based on experiences that he knew so well, particularly from South America and North Africa”.

As such, in SAAL, it is possible to note the influence of architecture projects that attempted to address social issues which took place in Latin America from the 1960s. Examples of these are the initiatives of cooperativism in Uruguay, the neighborhoods designed by Germán Samper Gnecco in Colombia, and, most notably, the PREVI-Experimental Housing Project in Peru.

In Peru, the president, Fernando Belaúnde Terry, an architect by profession, began to implement a plan that also aimed to solve the problem of favelas, which had proliferated in Lima because of a huge rural exodus towards the capital. Through an international competition, 13 international architects were selected, and they worked on PREVI with local architects.

With the 1968 coup d'état in Peru and the establishment of a military dictatorship, social concerns disappeared from the agenda, and of the 1,500 homes planned, only 500 were built, all of which were completed in 1974.

The Portuguese experience

The SAAL process led to the construction of 75 neighborhoods, although 170 projects had been planned: 17 through the Saal/North delegation; 34 by the Saal/Lisbon and South-Central delegation, and 24 through the Saal/Algarve delegation. Most of the municipalities concerned are located on Portugal's coast. What is important to highlight, even more than the quantity produced, are the dynamics involved in developing this housing program.

How could they build neighborhoods that respect and incorporate the social and economic characteristics of the population? The Technical Brigades, put together for the construction of the SAAL neighborhoods, were composed not only of architects but also of social workers, who had a key role in understanding the people to be housed.

This engagement between different actors generated a dialogue between different social visions. Furthermore, wherever possible, the SAAL neighborhoods were built in the same areas as the favelas had been in to preserve the existing social relations that had developed over time, which had been crucial to resist the authoritarian power of the Estado Novo regime.

Another possibility that SAAL foresaw was people building for themselves. Wherever people considered it appropriate, they could build their own homes.

The struggle for housing in Portugal after the revolution was also a women's struggle. As the researcher Lia Antunes writes in the article “My dream? Having a home. Thinking about housing, the city, and women's citizenship in Revolutionary Portugal (1974–1976),” women were protagonists in the project and in discussions about the right to housing.

Despite the fact that SAAL lost momentum after the military coup of November 25, 1975, which put an end to the revolutionary process begun the previous year, and that it was repealed in 1976, it is an example of a public policy which incorporated public participation in a real and pioneering way, and which would not be implemented again in Portugal.

In 1976, the first Human Settlements Program took place, organized by the United Nations (UN) in the city of Vancouver, Canada. Portugal decided to participate by making SAAL known with the documentary “Habitat: A Challenge,” by the Portuguese director Fernando Lopes, one of the figures of the new Portuguese cinema whose most-known work is “Belarmino” (1964).

This production by the Portuguese Cinema Centre led to a short documentary film focused on the Portuguese housing shortages at the time that SAAL was taking the first steps to solve the issue and the sociopolitical context in the “Highway at the End of Europe,” as the political scientist Philippe Schmitter put it.

Housing, an ongoing issue 

The Portuguese constitution of 1976, despite its seven revisions, continues to define housing as a right — Right No. 65. However, there remains a gap between theory and practice, and the possibilities opened by SAAL have been weakened by housing market speculation.

Over the past decade, Portugal has seen house prices rise. Eurostat, which gathers data and statistics from the European Union, highlighted that housing prices increased by 7 percent in the first part of 2024 as compared to the same period last year, while the European Union average was 1.3 percent.

The coordinator of the National Strategy for the Integration of Homeless People (ENIPSSA) said that the number of homeless people doubled between 2018–2022.

In 2023, there were two major street demonstrations about housing in several Portuguese cities, on April 1 and September 30. This year, on January 27, the streets of major cities were occupied by similar demonstrations, and a new protest was called for the end of September.

Originally published on Global Voices

Pirapora do Bom Jesus is a religious site and has 18,000 residents. Photo by Léu Britto/Agência Mural, used with permission

This story was written by Sarah Fernandes, Jacqueline Maria da Silva and Arthur Ferreira and was originally published on June 4, 2024, on the Agência Mural website. An edited version is republished on Global Voices under a partnership agreement. 

In Pirapora do Bom Jesus, São Paulo state, information is mainly shared by word-of-mouth. Cars with loudspeakers, WhatsApp groups, the local authorities’ website, social media accounts, and church announcements are the means by which news and announcements are spread to the 18.370 residents, according to IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics).

Imagine living in a town without access to reliable information about public administration. How would you know where public money is going or what mayors and councillors are doing?

These are the doubts of 26.7 million Brazilians in almost half (48.7 percent) of the municipalities considered news deserts by the Atlas of News (Atlas da Notícia), a study that evaluates press coverage over a given area. There are 2,712 cities in this situation. In total, Brazil has 5,565 municipalities.

A place is called a news desert when it lacks independent local journalism, which follows and monitors life in the city — essential features of the press in a democracy.

Pirapora do Bom Jesus, one of the poorest municipalities in the metropolitan region of São Paulo, appears in the study. Agência Mural's team spent five days there to understand how information gets around in a place like that.

Historic center of Pirapora do Bom Jesus. Photo by Léu Britto/Agência Mural, used with permission

“It's hard to stay informed because the town doesn't have its own newspaper. If you don’t attend church or the sessions of the City Council, you are not informed. We only have access to information through the church and the City Hall,” said Antonio Juarez de Oliveira, a local businessman.

Pirapora do Bom Jesus was founded after reports of miracles; it became a religious destination and has a historical and cultural heritage. In 1725, an image of Bom Jesus was found in a river in the region by two enslaved people. This became a local patron saint, but the municipality would only become an independent entity in 1959.

Today, the city still faces socio-economic challenges, with a low rate of formal employment and its sanctuaries in need of restoration.

In addition to informal sources of information, such as WhatsApp, direct contact with acquaintances, or notices in churches, contact channels with councillors serve as a means for complaints and investigations.

There is only one woman among the nine councillors on the City Council. In opposition to Mayor Dany Wilian Floresti (PSD) are Helton Bananinha (Republicans), Elias Araújo (Republicans) and Roge Baudichon (Union), pre-candidate for vice mayor in the 2024 elections and known as the “inspector of the people.”

With his “mobile cabinet,” he travels around the city recording videos denouncing the lack of medicine and problems with sanitation and medical care, as well as publicizing his own social activities.

Councillors of Pirapora do Bom Jesus City Council. Photo by Léu Britto/Agência Mural, used with permission

“We hear everything in the town from the mouth of a councillor. We don't get news that isn't from a politician,” lamented Jeanderson Gomes dos Santos, a construction worker and resident of the Parque Payol neighborhood, the most populous in Pirapora.

This annoys a large part of the population. Designer and resident Mário Rodrigues said, “I notice that in neighboring cities people have a more active voice to charge public management; I think because they have more access to information.”

Dubes Sônego, a researcher with the Atlas, points out that when people live in an information desert, they start to give up on searching for “factual truth” and opt for trusting what they see on social media.

“You don't have a source of journalistic information distinguishing between what is fact and what is opinion, and this weakens the town and favors the spread of fake news,” he explained.

A news desert during elections

When one asks about journalism in Pirapora, one of the outlets people mention is Radio Pirapora FM, a community radio.

By law, as explained by Agert (Association of Radio and TV Broadcasters from Rio Grande do Sul), this type of service can only be run by “non-profit community associations and foundations, based in the locality.” The radios “must have a pluralistic program, without any type of censorship, and must be open to the voices of all the residents in the region served.”

Despite this, in Pirapora, the local broadcaster seems to lack impartiality and is under the name of an association chaired by the mother of a former mayor, who governed the city for two terms.

He is Gregório Maglio (MDB), a politician who intends to run for the position again this year. Maglio has a radio show on which he interviews allies who intend to run for public office. Despite this, he claims that the show is a chat about the day-to-day life of the city.

Senhor Bom Jesus de Pirapora sanctuary. Photo by Léu Britto/Agência Mural, used with permission.

A divided town

Pirapora is a small town, but it is divided. The residents of Parque Payol, on the outskirts, face more difficulties in getting information than those in other neighborhoods. They often have to go to the town centre, four kilometers away, to confirm information about vaccination campaigns or extracurricular activities for children.

Public transport is limited to intercity bus lines, which connect Pirapora to other towns, and only one line goes through Payol. The neighborhood has a busy local commerce, the largest number of voters, and also sees the main socio-economic problems.

“My daughter took part in Projovem (National Youth Inclusion Program), got her first job, studied, and is now in Portugal,” explained Maria de Fátima, a resident of the central neighborhood area.

On the other hand, Josiane Rocha dos Santos, a resident of Payol, lamented: “My son did not enroll in the program because the spots ran out before I knew they were available.”

This discrepancy in access to information is no exception in a news desert. There are also other difficulties. The government has an obligation to ensure transparency, in accordance with the Access to Information Act. In Pirapora, both the transparency portal of the City Hall and the City Council have shortcomings.

Up to the publication of this article, the most recent financial statements and fiscal management reports available were from 2022, and the last balance sheet for the executive available for public consultation on the website was from 2018.

A saint in the newspaper

Despite having no local newspaper, Pirapora's history has been influenced by journalism. In 1884, a São Paulo newspaper reported on the image of Bom Jesus found there and that it performed miracles, transforming the town into one of the state's main religious sites. 

This attracted crowds and turned the city into a meeting point for samba communities, jongo (African dance) and drumming, giving the area the status of the cradle of Paulista samba.

“It is the reason that this place exists and stopped being a farm, which was acquired by Santana de Parnaíba city, to become the town we have today,” said Father Marcelo Magalhães, the rector of the sanctuary of Senhor Do Bom Jesus De Pirapora.

Since the 1980s, tourism has decreased. Currently, only 15.52 percent of residents have formal employment. The sanctuary's administration works to raise funds and restore the site and its works of art. The newspaper O Anhanguera, of nearby Santana do Parnaíba, essentially covers Pirapora.

“It is up to us to follow councillors to know about the city's problems and what is being done. Local authorities do not inform us about everything that happens,” complained Jeanderson Gomes dos Santos.

Eugênio Bucci, a professor at ECA-USP (School of Communications and Arts of the University of São Paulo), explained that journalism can be a step towards resolving problems, but it does not completely solve them.

“Journalism does not govern, it does not legislate, it does not make judgements, it does not exercise judicial power. It is just a social institution that contributes to mediating public debate and checking power,” he said. “If journalism provides quality information, it is already helping a lot.”