For over two decades, I have seen many Indigenous communities whose lands have been scarred by mining. From Buyat Bay in North Sulawesi, where Newmont Minahasa Raya poisoned the waters with mercury and arsenic, to Timika in West Papua, where Freeport McMorran’s operations have turned sacred lands into a wasteland. I have seen firsthand the devastation that open-pit mining brings. These operations extract not only minerals but the lifeblood of the earth and the spirit of our cultures.
Mining, as it stands today, is inherently destructive. Open-pit mining for gold, nickel, cobalt, and other minerals gouges out the earth, ripping apart landscapes, destroying forests, and in many cases, defiling cultural sites that are integral to the cosmology of Indigenous Peoples. These are not mere “resources” to us; they are part of our living systems. Our ancestors dwell in these lands, rivers, and mountains, and when the earth is torn apart, it tears at the fabric of our existence.
The Myth of Sustainable Mining
Mining companies often sell the idea of “sustainability,” but let me be clear: there is no such thing as sustainable mining. It never was, and it never will.
How can we call an activity sustainable when it strips forests, pollutes rivers, and displaces entire communities? The earth does not heal quickly enough from the gaping wounds left behind. Trees that once whispered stories of our ancestors are reduced to barren landscapes, rivers that nurtured life are now poisoned, and the sacred mountains that connected us to the spiritual realm are forever altered. It is not just the land that is lost.
Mining may enrich a few, but it impoverishes the soul of the earth and the Indigenous communities that depend on it.
This is the reason why for me so annoyingly disturbing that in recent years, we’ve heard a growing chorus from mining companies and their supporters touting the concept of “sustainable mining.” This idea suggests that the extraction of minerals — whether for gold, nickel, cobalt, or copper — can be done in a way that is environmentally friendly, socially responsible, and economically beneficial for all. Mining companies promote this narrative through glossy sustainability reports, partnerships with environmental consultancies, and ambitious greenwashing campaigns.
But I will tell you something that may not sit comfortably with this narrative: there is no such thing as sustainable mining in its current form.
Mining, especially the open-pit mining techniques used to extract minerals like gold and nickel, is one of the most environmentally destructive activities known to humankind. It is akin to carving out the flesh of the earth, leaving gaping scars that may never heal. Unlike agriculture, which at least in theory allows the land to be replenished, mining leaves permanent marks. Once the ore has been extracted, what remains is a barren landscape, stripped of life and function.
The most common method for extracting minerals like nickel, cobalt, and gold is open-pit mining. This process involves removing vast amounts of soil, rock, and vegetation from the surface to access the minerals buried deep beneath. The result is a massive hole, often the size of a small town, surrounded by piles of waste material, tailing ponds filled with toxic sludge, and sometimes rivers that have been dammed or diverted.
To speak of sustainability in such a context is a misnomer.
Can an activity that permanently alters landscapes be considered sustainable? Can the removal of ancient forests, the destruction of sacred mountains, and the poisoning of rivers ever align with the idea of sustainability? The truth is that while mining companies may seek to reduce their environmental footprint by adopting marginally better practices, the fundamental nature of their operations is incompatible with the principles of sustainability.
One of the ways mining companies try to sell the myth of sustainability is through the promise of land rehabilitation. They claim that after the mining is done, they will return the land to its previous state, often planting trees and grasses where the open pit once was. But no matter how many trees they plant, a rehabilitated mine site will never resemble the ecosystem that once thrived there.
Rehabilitation may, in some cases, reduce the immediate visual impact of mining, but it does not restore the complex web of biodiversity that existed before the land was torn apart. It does not bring back the intricate relationships between plants, animals, water systems, and, most importantly, the people whose lives and cultures are tied to the land. Once an ancient forest is destroyed, it is gone forever. The plants and animals that lived there, many of which may be endemic to the area, will never return. The cultural sites that connected Indigenous Peoples to their ancestors and the cosmos are erased, and the very structure of Indigenous cosmology is disrupted.
For Indigenous Peoples, the idea of sustainability goes far beyond environmental considerations. It includes the spiritual, cultural, and social relationships we maintain with our lands, waters, and all living beings. Mining companies, in their drive for profit, fail to understand this deeper connection. When they speak of sustainability, they speak in terms of “resource management” and “carbon offsets.”
However, what is lost in their narrative is the fact that Indigenous Peoples do not see the land as a resource to be managed. We see it as our relative, our kin, our home.
In places like Buyat Bay in North Sulawesi and Timika in West Papua, the destruction is not just environmental but cultural. The land holds the memories of our ancestors, the stories of our people, and the sacred sites that anchor our spiritual practices. Mining companies may promise to avoid the most important cultural sites, but the truth is that the very act of mining itself desecrates the land. Even if they leave a sacred mountain untouched, the surrounding landscape is transformed beyond recognition, disrupting the flow of energy, the movement of water, and the connection between people and place.
For many Indigenous communities, these landscapes are part of our cosmology. They are more than just physical spaces; they are living beings that embody the presence of our ancestors and the spirits of the land. When a mine obliterates a mountain or diverts a river, it is not just the physical destruction that we mourn, but the loss of a relationship that has existed for millennia. It is a rupture in the continuity of life.
Mining companies may argue that they are adhering to voluntary standards or environmental regulations, but these standards are often inadequate, and enforcement is inconsistent at best. In many cases, governments are either complicit or powerless to hold mining companies accountable for the long-term damage they cause. The economic power of these corporations far outweighs the ability of local authorities to regulate them effectively.
Moreover, even when mining companies make commitments to “minimise harm” or “mitigate impact,” these promises often fall short. Too often, we see cases where companies fail to properly clean up their operations, leaving toxic waste behind for future generations to deal with. The toxic tailings, full of chemicals like cyanide and mercury used in gold extraction, seep into rivers and groundwater, poisoning ecosystems and communities for decades to come.
In Buyat Bay, for example, Newmont’s promise of responsible operations turned into a nightmare for local communities who suffered from mercury and arsenic poisoning. In Timika, Freeport’s massive tailings disposal into the Ajkwa River system has destroyed vast stretches of the ecosystem and led to widespread contamination. These are not isolated incidents; they are the norm in an industry that operates on a model of extraction, profit, and abandonment.
Mining companies also argue that they bring jobs and development to local communities. They claim that their operations are essential for economic growth, and without them, local economies would suffer. But this too is part of the myth of sustainable mining. The jobs created by mining are often temporary and precarious, with the vast majority of profits flowing to shareholders and executives far from the communities where the mining takes place. Moreover, the long-term costs of mining far outweigh the short-term economic benefits. Once the minerals are gone, so are the jobs. What remains are polluted rivers, destroyed forests, and communities struggling to survive in the aftermath. The promise of economic development rings hollow when the land itself is left barren and lifeless.
If we are serious about transitioning to a more just and sustainable world, we must reject the myth of sustainable mining and demand genuine accountability from the mining industry. This means holding companies to the highest standards, not just in terms of environmental impact, but also in terms of human rights, particularly the rights of Indigenous Peoples. It means recognising that no amount of greenwashing can change the fact that mining, as it is practiced today, is inherently unsustainable.
But more than that, it means recognising the limits of extraction itself. We cannot continue to consume the earth’s resources at the current rate and expect to build a sustainable future. The green energy transition must not come at the expense of Indigenous lands and cultures. If it does, it will be a red transition, drenched in blood and destruction.In the end, we must challenge the very foundation of the mining industry and ask ourselves what kind of future we want to create. One built on extraction and exploitation, or one grounded in respect for the earth and all her peoples? The choice is ours, and the stakes could not be higher.
A Necessary Transition, But Not at Any Cost
Yet, here we are, in the midst of a global transition to renewable energy, and critical minerals like nickel and cobalt are essential to this shift. These minerals lie beneath the lands of many Indigenous Peoples. As the world demands more of these resources, the pressure on our territories is increasing. Without a doubt, we need a transition away from fossil fuels to combat the climate crisis, but this transition must not be built on the blood of Indigenous Peoples.
This is why we need to push for mining practices that are not just “less destructive” but are grounded in responsibility and respect. Mining will never be without impact, but it can be made more accountable, more responsible, and more respectful of the rights of Indigenous Peoples. The mining industry must be held to the highest standards, not just in terms of environmental protections, but also in terms of human rights, particularly the rights of Indigenous Peoples.
Right now, we stand at a critical juncture in human history—one where the world is finally waking up to the existential threat posed by climate change. The shift from fossil fuels to renewable energy is not just desirable; it is essential for the survival of our planet. Solar panels, wind turbines, and electric vehicles offer hope in reducing greenhouse gas emissions, but they also require critical minerals like nickel, cobalt, and lithium, which are crucial to building batteries and other renewable energy technologies. These minerals are the backbone of the green energy transition.
However, what many people fail to see is that the pursuit of these minerals can come at a devastating cost, particularly to Indigenous Peoples whose lands are rich with these resources. In many cases, the minerals needed to power this transition lie deep within Indigenous territories, lands that have been stewarded and protected for generations. These territories, often still brimming with biodiversity and ecological value, are now seen as the new frontier for mineral extraction, even as they hold immense cultural, spiritual, and historical significance.
It is important to recognise the necessity of transitioning away from fossil fuels, but we must also recognise the dangers inherent in rushing toward a new extractive model without considering its social and environmental impacts. In our race to mitigate climate change, we risk creating another kind of destruction—one that sacrifices Indigenous lands and peoples at the altar of “green” progress.
The dominant narrative suggests that we have only two choices: to extract minerals from the earth to fuel the renewable energy transition, or to face catastrophic climate breakdown. But this framing presents a false dichotomy, one that pits environmental sustainability against the rights of Indigenous Peoples. We must not accept this narrative. There is a way to transition to renewable energy that does not come at the expense of Indigenous territories and lives, but it requires a fundamental shift in how we approach mining and resource extraction.
For far too long, the mining industry has operated on a model of maximising profit and minimising accountability. Lands are seen as mere resources to be exploited, and the communities that live on them are often viewed as obstacles to development. The promise of jobs and economic growth is dangled in front of Indigenous communities, even as the long-term consequences of mining—environmental degradation, cultural destruction, and social disintegration—are ignored.
This approach cannot continue if we are to build a truly sustainable future. Indigenous Peoples must not be seen as collateral damage in the fight against climate change. If anything, they are the frontline defenders of the very ecosystems that the world depends on for survival. To move forward responsibly, we must shift away from an extractive mindset and toward one of respect, partnership, and long-term sustainability.
As the demand for critical minerals grows, the pressure on Indigenous territories increases. These territories are often rich in the very minerals needed for the green transition, such as nickel, which is used in the production of batteries for electric vehicles. In Indonesia, where I have spent years defending the rights of Indigenous communities, the nickel mining industry is booming. Central Sulawesi, Southeast Sulawesi, Halmahera, and other regions with significant Indigenous populations are being targeted for large-scale nickel extraction.
The mining industry, supported by both private investors and state actors, sees these regions as ripe for exploitation. But what they fail to consider is the irreplaceable value of the lands they are threatening to destroy. For Indigenous communities, these territories are more than just mineral-rich landscapes; they are sacred spaces, places where their ancestors are buried, and where their spiritual practices are rooted.
The destruction of these lands is not just a loss of physical territory; it is a rupture in the cultural and spiritual fabric of these communities. For Indigenous Peoples, land is not something that can be owned or commodified. It is part of a living, interconnected system that includes the plants, animals, rivers, mountains, and people who inhabit it. Mining companies that claim to bring “development” to these regions fail to understand that they are erasing centuries of cultural knowledge, traditions, and relationships with the land.
If the renewable energy transition is built on the backs of Indigenous Peoples and their lands, it will not be a “green” transition at all. Instead, it will be a “red” transition, soaked in the blood of those who are most vulnerable to exploitation and dispossession. We must be wary of the narrative that positions mining as a necessary evil in the fight against climate change. Mining, in its current form, is far too destructive and too exploitative to be considered a viable solution.
The extraction of critical minerals from Indigenous territories risks replicating the very systems of exploitation and environmental destruction that have driven us to the edge of ecological collapse. Just as the fossil fuel industry has ravaged the earth and displaced communities for generations, so too could the mining industry—if left unchecked—do the same in the name of green energy.
We must not allow this to happen. If we are to achieve a just and equitable transition to renewable energy, we must ensure that it does not come at the cost of Indigenous lives, cultures, and lands. The fight against climate change and the fight for Indigenous rights are not mutually exclusive; they are deeply intertwined. We cannot solve one crisis by creating another.
While mining, as it exists today, will never be truly sustainable, it can be made more responsible. This is where the role of strong, enforceable standards comes in. The concept of “responsible mining” is not about making mining completely harmless—because that is impossible—but about ensuring that the industry is held to the highest possible standards of environmental and social responsibility.
Responsible mining means more than just mitigating environmental impacts; it means recognizing the inherent rights of Indigenous Peoples to control what happens on their lands. It means adhering to the principle of Free, Prior, and Informed Consent (FPIC), which guarantees Indigenous communities the right to decide whether or not to allow mining projects to proceed on their territories. It means involving Indigenous voices in every stage of the mining process, from exploration to extraction to rehabilitation.
One of the most promising tools in this regard is the Initiative for Responsible Mining Assurance (IRMA), which sets a high bar for the mining industry by demanding rigorous environmental and social standards. IRMA requires companies to respect Indigenous rights, protect biodiversity, and ensure that mining operations do not cause irreversible damage to the environment. Engaging with IRMA and other voluntary standards is a way to push the mining industry in the right direction and ensure that critical minerals are sourced responsibly.
But we must go further. We must demand that the green energy transition is not built on a foundation of exploitation and violence. If the mining industry is to play a role in this transition, it must be held accountable to the highest standards of transparency, accountability, and respect for human rights—particularly the rights of Indigenous Peoples.
The future of the green energy transition depends on more than just the availability of critical minerals; it depends on how we choose to extract those minerals. Will we continue down the path of extractivism, where land and people are seen as commodities to be exploited? Or will we choose a new path, one that values the earth and all its inhabitants as interconnected parts of a living system?
We must reject the idea that the destruction of Indigenous lands is an acceptable price to pay for renewable energy. Instead, we must build a new model—one where Indigenous voices are central to decision-making, where the rights of communities are respected, and where mining is conducted with the utmost care for both people and the planet.
The green energy transition is necessary, but it must not come at any cost. The world’s Indigenous Peoples, whose lands are often the target of mining operations, must not bear the burden of this transition. We owe it to future generations to ensure that the path we take is one of justice, responsibility, and respect for the earth. If we fail to do so, we risk repeating the mistakes of the past, leaving a legacy of destruction in the name of progress.
Why Protecting Indigenous Peoples Comes First
For me, protecting the rights of Indigenous Peoples is the first and foremost issue. Our territories are not just our home; they are the last bastions of biodiversity, the lungs of the earth, and the keepers of ancient knowledge. We, the Indigenous Peoples, are not against progress, but we demand that progress not trample over our existence.
When Indigenous Peoples are displaced, it is not just a community that is lost; entire ecosystems are destabilised. We are the guardians of the land, the water, and the forest. Without us, these places will not survive, and the world will be poorer for it. Protecting Indigenous Peoples is not a matter of charity or goodwill; it is a matter of survival for the earth itself.
However, as we grapple with the crises of environmental destruction and climate change, many see technological solutions which heaviliy relies on critical mineral mining as the answer.
Wind turbines, solar panels, and electric vehicles seem to promise a way forward, a way to reduce our carbon footprint and transition toward a cleaner future. Yet, within this promise lies a great and unspoken paradox.
We need to realise that protecting Indigenous Peoples is not only about preserving culture or language, as vital as these are. It is about recognising that Indigenous Peoples hold knowledge and practices deeply rooted in the sustainable use of land, water, and other natural resources. It is about recognising that our way of life has fostered and protected biodiversity for generations, providing a model for how we might live in harmony with the earth.
Since the Indigenous territories though only make up around 20% of the world’s land area, yet our ancestral domain contain 80% of the planet’s remaining biodiversity. This is no coincidence. Indigenous Peoples have long stewarded our lands with practices honed over millennia, practices that recognise the interconnectedness of all life forms and maintain balance in ecosystems. Our traditions of sustainable agriculture, hunting, forest and ocean management have preserved complex ecosystems, keeping landscapes vibrant and diverse.
When mining companies move in to extract resources, they disrupt these delicate relationships. Forests are cleared, rivers are diverted, and sacred sites are destroyed. The soil and water are poisoned with heavy metals and toxic chemicals that linger for decades, sometimes centuries, after the mining companies have packed up and left. This destruction extends far beyond the physical boundaries of a mining site, rippling outwards to affect entire ecosystems and the people who depend on them.
I have witnessed firsthand the devastation that these extractive projects leave in their wake. In Buyat Bay, North Sulawesi, Newmont Minahasa Raya’s mining activities left local communities suffering from mercury and arsenic poisoning, their fishing grounds contaminated and their livelihoods destroyed. In Timika, West Papua, Freeport McMoRan’s Grasberg mine has produced an almost incomprehensible volume of tailings, choking river systems and wiping out vast stretches of once-thriving ecosystem. These are not isolated incidents. They are part of a global pattern in which Indigenous territories are treated as expendable resources.
When we allow these lands to be destroyed in the name of green energy or economic development, we are not just endangering a particular community. We are endangering biodiversity hotspots that are critical for the health of the entire planet. This is why protecting Indigenous Peoples is essential to protect these ecosystems. It is the only way to ensure that the land is not ravaged for short-term gain, leaving behind scars that may never heal.
In addition, much of the discussion around sustainability today is driven by Western frameworks of conservation, science, and resource management. Yet Indigenous Peoples have been practicing true sustainability for thousands of years, passed down through generations, encoded in stories, rituals, and traditions. These aforementioned discussions has been ignoring the Indigenous Peoples knowledge, showcased how the absence of it in textbooks or scientific journals. This knowledge encompasses an understanding of seasonal cycles, animal behaviours, soil health, and water management that is finely tuned to the specifics of each unique ecosystem.
In Indonesia, as in many other places, Indigenous Peoples have developed intricate systems of land management. For example, the Dayak people of Borneo have practiced swidden agriculture, a form of rotational farming, in a way that enriches soil and preserves forest biodiversity. The Papuans of West Papua have historically hunted and fished in ways that prevent overharvesting, ensuring that resources are replenished and ecosystems remain balanced. These practices are not merely “primitive” methods that should be replaced by modern science; they are deeply sophisticated systems that have allowed Indigenous Peoples to live in harmony with their environment.
When mining companies bulldoze forests, dam rivers, and create vast wastelands of toxic sludge, they are not only destroying the land but also obliterating this knowledge. The traditional ecological knowledge that Indigenous Peoples hold is crucial for understanding how to manage and protect natural resources sustainably. By protecting Indigenous Peoples, we are also protecting this knowledge — knowledge that is invaluable in a world that is increasingly out of balance.
For Indigenous Peoples, the land is not just a physical space; it is a living entity with its own spirit and purpose. It is home to their ancestors, a place where stories and cosmologies are embedded in the very rocks, trees, and rivers that surround them. Their identities, languages, and spiritual beliefs are inseparable from the land. To lose the land is to lose an integral part of themselves. It is a form of cultural and spiritual death that no compensation can rectify.
One of the brutal example is in Timika, where the Freeport mine has desecrated sites that the Amungme and Kamoro peoples consider sacred, places that are central to their understanding of the cosmos and their place in it.
When we ignore these connections, we reduce the land to a mere commodity, something to be bought and sold without consideration of its deeper meaning. By prioritising the protection of Indigenous Peoples, we acknowledge that the land has value beyond its mineral content. We honour the relationship that Indigenous communities have cultivated with their land, a relationship that embodies respect, reverence, and responsibility.
However, Indigenous rights defenders who bravely stand up to protect the ancestral domains are also often becoming the victims of harassment, criminalisation, and even killings. Indigenous leaders who speak out against mining, infrastructure development and logging operations are often targets of violence and intimidation. The stakes are high, but so is the resolve of those who know what is at risk.
This is why the conversation on protecting Indigenous Peoples also means protecting the defenders, the people who are fighting on the frontlines to prevent the destruction of our natural world. Their struggles are no longer can be ignored or downplayed, their voices drowned out by the rhetoric of development and progress. The world needs to understand that our resistance is not merely a local issue; it is part of a global movement to push back against the relentless drive for resource extraction at any cost.
When we protect Indigenous Peoples, we protect and support those who are willing to stand up to powerful interests and say, “this land is not for sale.” We ensure that their voices are heard, their rights respected, and their lives valued.
At its core, protecting Indigenous Peoples is a matter of justice. Without real actions, we are simply repeating the brunt of colonisation, exploitation, and environmental degradation from the colonialism era.
If we are serious about building a more just and sustainable future, we must place the protection of Indigenous Peoples at the forefront of our efforts. This is not a secondary consideration or an optional add-on; it is a moral imperative. By prioritising Indigenous rights, we not only prevent further injustices but also create a foundation for a future that values life over profit, respect over exploitation, and community over consumption.
Share this content: