Written by Gabriel Cavalcante
MA Environment, Development and Policy
University of Sussex

The global view of the Amazon is often limited to its vast rainforest, seen as the ‘sanctuary of biodiversity’. This narrative ignores one fact: the Amazon is also urban. Data released by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE) at the beginning of November shed light on this reality. According to the 2022 Demographic Census, the Legal Amazon is inhabited by 27.8 million people, representing 13.7 per cent of the Brazilian population.

To put this into context, the Legal Amazon covers all the states of the Northern Region – Acre, Amapá, Amazonas, Pará, Rondônia, Roraima and Tocantins – as well as parts of Maranhão and Mato Grosso. As the map below shows:

According to the latest Census, the North Region has 19 per cent of the Brazilian population living in slums, the highest proportion in the country. And its two largest capitals (population-wise) reflect this reality: Belém, which will host COP 30 next year, leads the way with 57.2 per cent of the population living in slums, followed by Manaus, with 55.8 per cent. These are the only Brazilian capitals where more than half the population lives in urban communities. The region is also home to 8 of the country’s 20 largest favelas – 7 of them in Manaus alone.

This is the portrait of a Brazil without an urbanisation plan, without universal water collection and sewage treatment and without protection of its biomes. The data above is the latest evidence that there is an urgent need for a territorial development plan for the north of the country, whose fragility exposes the population to crime, basic sanitation and urban mobility (the latter two non-existent) and the environment to degradation. Any effort to conserve the Amazon must necessarily consider its urban fabric. Neglecting this dimension is tantamount to jeopardising any cooperation for the conservation of the Amazon, which I’ll explain below.

The urbanisation of the Legal Amazon is a direct reflection of the historical strategies of territorial occupation and economic exploitation adopted in Brazil. This process can be divided into two historical milestones: 1) the Rubber Cycle and 2) the Age of Roads and ‘Greater Brazil’. Both were marked by policies that prioritised national integration and the exploitation of natural resources.

1st Historical Landmark: The Rubber Cycle

The rubber cycle was a historical period in Brazil, between the late 19th and early 20th centuries, marked by the intense exploitation of latex extracted from the rubber tree (Hevea brasiliensis), a tree native to the Amazon rainforest. This latex was transformed into rubber, a valuable product at the time and widely exported to meet the growing global demand of the Industrial Revolution, especially in the automobile and war sectors (Weinstein, B., 1983).

Cities like Manaus and Belém prospered economically, attracting immigrants, foreign investment and modern infrastructure. Manaus, for example, was the first Brazilian city to have public electricity and even imported materials from Europe to build the iconic Amazonas Theatre (Becker, 1990).

However, this urban expansion was elitist and deeply unequal. The wealth generated by rubber benefited the few, while the majority of the population lived in precarious conditions, without access to infrastructure or basic services. Furthermore, with the collapse of the rubber cycle at the beginning of the 20th century, these cities faced economic stagnation, creating a fragile urbanisation base dependent on external economic cycles (Chein, 2022).

2nd historical milestone: the era of motorways and ‘Brasil Grande’ (Big Brazil)

In the 1970s, during the military regime, the Amazon became the centrepiece of a national development project known as ‘Big Brazil’. This period was marked by major infrastructure projects, such as the opening of motorways (BR-364 and Transamazônica), tax incentives for agriculture and mining, and the construction of hydroelectric dams. These initiatives aimed to integrate the Amazon with the rest of the country and consolidate Brazilian sovereignty over the region (Fajardo et al., 2023).

Cities grew rapidly along these roads, often without proper planning. Small villages became improvised urban agglomerations to meet the demand of workers attracted by these projects. The occupation logic was predatory: the forest was seen as an obstacle to be overcome, and the urban settlements were conceived as support points for the exploitation of resources. As a result, cities like Altamira, Marabá and Porto Velho grew, but with insufficient infrastructure and high dependence on local economic activities, such as mining and cattle ranching (Chein, 2022).

OK, but what were the results of these actions?

Both historical moments left a legacy of inequality and precariousness in Amazonian cities. Only half of the municipalities in the Legal Amazon have a Master Plan, the basic urban planning instrument, and many of these plans are out of date. Cities face problems such as lack of basic sanitation, limited access to public services and high socioeconomic vulnerability (Fajardo et al., 2023).

Furthermore, the integration of cities into the Amazon ecosystem has historically been neglected. By treating the forest as an obstacle to progress, urbanisation projects have ignored the importance of solutions adapted to the Amazonian context, such as valuing hydrography for transport and sustainable urban planning. The result is fragmented urbanisation, marked by deep inequalities and severe environmental challenges.

What’s next?

The structural problems faced by Amazonian cities require a profound change in public policies, with a focus on sustainable urban planning, environmental integration and social inclusion. Solutions that combine innovation and sensitivity to the local context are indispensable for overcoming decades of neglect and predatory exploitation. Below, I use three studies to highlight the five main points that must be prioritised in order to guarantee fair territorial development:

1. Urban Planning

More than 50 per cent of the municipalities in the Legal Amazon still lack up-to-date Master Plans, which are essential for guiding urban growth in a balanced way (Fajardo et al., 2023). The implementation of plans that integrate housing, transport and environmental preservation is urgent to avoid the perpetuation of inequalities and environmental damage within Amazonian cities.

2. Basic sanitation

The lack of basic sanitation is one of the biggest indicators of exclusion in the region. According to Cynamon et al. (2007), intersectoral policies that align infrastructure and health are crucial to promoting quality of life and reducing health and environmental risks.

3. Amazon Hydrography as an Axis of Mobility and Planning

Chein (2022) argues that Amazonian rivers, essential for transport and local life, remain underutilised in urban planning. Incorporating them as axes of mobility and integration is a sustainable solution that respects the geographical dynamics of the region.

4. Inclusive Housing

The concepts of habitability and ambience, as highlighted by Cynamon et al. (2007), are fundamental to rethinking housing development in the Amazon and in other contexts of vulnerability. These concepts transcend the idea of housing as a mere physical space, considering it as an element integrated with human well-being, public health and environmental balance.

5. Social Participation

Fajardo et al. (2023) argue that the active inclusion of communities in urban planning is essential to ensure that the solutions implemented reflect the local and specific needs of the Amazonian population. By integrating local voices into the decision-making processes and construction of public policies for cities, it is possible to build a relationship of co-responsibility, where communities not only influence the guidelines, but also contribute to their implementation and monitoring.

Almost over…

On 24 November, COP-29 in Baku ended with results that fell short of expectations, especially with regard to financial commitments to tackle the climate emergency. This scenario imposes a huge challenge on Belém, which will host COP-30 in November next year, demanding significant efforts and Brazilian diplomacy to match the circumstances.

Holding the event in a capital city where 57.2 per cent of the population lives in slums highlights a glaring paradox. How can climate justice be debated in a city that symbolises the structural abandonment of the city, its population and the environment?

By imposing COP-30 in Belém, without a robust legacy plan for the city and its population, the Brazilian government risks turning the event into a spectacle disconnected from local reality. Without concrete actions to tackle inequalities and promote sustainable urban development, COP-30 risks being just another stage for empty promises, rather than catalysing real change.

As an Amazonian Brazilian, I’m sad to write this.

But we continue to resist. 

REFERENCES

1. Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE). (2022). 2022 Demographic Census: Brazil had 16.4 million people living in favelas and urban communities. Available at: https://agenciadenoticias.ibge.gov.br/
2. Cynamon, S. C., Bodstein, R., Kligerman, D. C., & Marcondes, W. B. (2007). Healthy housing and healthy environments as a strategy for health promotion. Ciência & Saúde Coletiva, 12(1), 191-198. Available at: https://www.scielo.br/j/csc/
3. Fajardo, P. C., Santos, A. M., & Neves, M. C. (2023). Amazonian Cities: A Call to Action. Publication on urban planning and action for the Amazon Legal region.
4. Chein, J. S. (2022). Cities in the Amazon Legal Region. Study on urbanization in the Amazon.
5. Becker, B. K. (1990). Amazonia: Geopolitics at the Turn of the Third Millennium. Brazilian Journal of Geography.
6. Weinstein, B. (1983). The Amazon Rubber Boom, 1850–1920. Stanford University Press.

Written by Oliwia Kaczmara

Spending a week in Indian-administered Kashmir is nowhere near enough time needed to fully appreciate the beauty of the breath-taking mountains and enchanting lakes. Having such little time there in August 2023, what became very apparent to me was the striking around-the-clock surveillance that hits you in the face straight upon arrival. The countless roadblocks and military checkpoints on the way into the Kashmir Valley, do not calm the fear from a 15-hour long drive on winding roads through the pitch-black night, where all you can see is hundred feet tall cliffs on your side, waiting for a deadly boulder to tumble down at you at any moment. The helplessness in the face of nature’s grandiosity, however, is nothing compared to the powerlessness of witnessing human-inflicted suffering that the Indian occupation has forced onto Kashmiris, ever since British India’s 1947 partition.

When the once princely state of Kashmir, which refers to the Kashmir Valley that is about 90-miles long, was divided up between India and Pakistan in 1949 after their 2-year war over the region, two-thirds of the territory landed in India’s hands, and one-third in Pakistan’s. The Line of Control (LoC)[1], drawn up by the UN, still remains in place today and it is the Indian two-thirds of the Kashmir region that this blog refers to.

The continuous assertion of land control over Kashmir by the Indian state has been historically characterised by a series of different mechanisms that have all aimed at compromising Kashmiri bodies’ ability of resisting the occupation, whether it be at a physical level, by excessive use of pellet guns (Zia, 2019), or at a psychological level by capitalising on the trauma and PTSD of Kashmiris (Duschinski et al., 2018). However, what I will discuss in this blog is what I consider the ‘new frontier’ of India’s land control – sand extraction – and ecocide as its consequence. Analysing this through the lens of ‘extractivism’ – “a regime based on the capture of value from nature in which production occurs without reproduction” (Ojeda et al., 2022: 2) – brings a new ecological dimension to understanding the conflict, alongside the physical and psychological. Here, the ‘killing’ of the natural environment merely becomes a tool for reproducing the vision of the occupation forces in the Himalayan foothill terrain. Viewing extractivism and ecocide as mechanisms of India’s settler colonialism, highlights the coming together of dreams of control and capitalism, which will continue to devalue Kashmiri lives and land, as long as the occupation lasts (Crook and Short, 2021).

Extractivism and Ecocide in Settler Colonialism

Sand mining is not a widely known form of extractivism such as oil or precious stones, yet it is the single most mined commodity and the most exploited substance after water (UNEP, 2022[2]). If, like me, you haven’t heard about sand mining before, then you may not know that sand is used in production of concrete, and so effectively in every one of our construction or manufacturing processes and is even used as an ingredient in our toothpastes. The amount of daily sand consumption equates to 20kg per person and currently “we are extracting sand more than three times faster than nature can replenish it” (Hall, 2020[3]).

Sand extraction in India has gained significant traction in the past decade due to the country’s construction boom, however it’s important to distinguish between ‘extraction’ and ‘extractivism’, as it is the latter that is destroying the riverbanks of Kashmir in irreversible ways. Junka-Aikio and Cortes-Severino differentiate the two by defining extractivism as “a paradigm of severe exploitation” (2017: 177). Extractivism as a product of capitalism prioritizes monetary gain and monopoly control, benefiting the resource exporters more than the resource rich countries (Ye et al., 2020). It is a relentless process that doesn’t respect natural rhythms of regenerations, leaving behind nothing except ‘negative externalities’ such as disadvantaged local populations and toxic pollution (Ye et al., 2020). It is a process of ecocide in the name of profit.

Environmental degradations caused by military presence is a big issue in conflict zones around the world, most recently for example, Palestinian soil becoming infertile and biohazardous thanks to countless Israeli bombardments. There have been many comparisons made between the situations of Kashmir and Palestine, most notably by Ather Zia (2020) who outlines the main similarities between the two states as following; both countries were under the control of the British Empire in 1947, they both have been portrayed as lawless Islamic terrorist states in the public eye, and the motif of ‘suffering’ is deeply ingrained within both national identities. In both cases, there is a lot to learn about ecocide not only as a byproduct of war, but also how it is used in extractivist regimes as a strategy of occupation.

As proposed by Jaber (2019), settler colonialist ideologies aim to erase traces of previous indigenous life which involves the people and their culture, but also their physical and ecological conditions. Jaber (2019) argues in their research that settler ‘spaces’ built upon Zionist ideologies are inherently ecocidal towards Palestinian land. This framework of thought can also be seen in the Hindutva and Narendra Modi’s Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) homogenizing ideologies with regard to Kashmiri land. The creation of a settler exclusive space is simultaneous with ecocide because “the ability to dominate and manipulate an ecology for power benefits, contributes to the settler goal of native elimination” (Jaber, 2019: 142), which in the case of Kashmir is exemplified through the occupational forces deliberately disadvantaging locals from land access and bringing in outsider sand extraction businesses that fulfil the BJP’s goals of ‘development’ for the unified ‘Rising India’.

The environmental impacts of sand mining

In India, the sand extracted in the peripheries doesn’t leave the nation’s borders and is mostly used for the development of the country’s core financial centres, like Delhi and Mumbai, with no trickle-down effect back to the original extraction locations. This is especially evident in the city of Shopian which is surrounded by two rivers – the Rimbiara and the Veshav – of which both have been exploited by heavy machinery since 2019 for their untouched, sandy riverbeds. The intense and endless digging that followed the abrogation of Article 370 which revoked the special autonomous status of Jammu and Kashmir, integrating it fully into India as two separate Union Territories; Jammu & Kashmir and Ladakh, has had severe environmental and social implications that, in Kashmir, are as much to do with the conflict as the profit motive.

Sand mining has enormous and catastrophic effects on the ecosystem, affecting every living organism. From erosion of riverbanks, loss of biodiversity and a threat to livelihoods through disrupted water supplies, food production and fisheries. Most of all, the deep puncturing of the riverbeds from sand digging produces a very high risk of climate-related disasters because there is no longer enough sediment to protect the nearby areas against flooding. In the words of a Shopian local, Mukhtar Ahmed; “Tractor owners, who extracted sand with hands, did not damage the river as much in fifty years as machinery has done in six months”[4].

As per local rules and agreements, extraction can only occur up to three to four feet in depth, however external mining businesses have illegally dug more than 50 feet, causing serious danger of floods for nearby residents. The deep punctures in the waterbed caused by the extraction from heavy machinery have made the damages irreversible and now it is impossible to bring back the original freshwater flow. Disturbing the riverbeds has also severely damaged water canals that supply fresh tap water. Locals have been reportedly receiving a Rs 1,000 water bill every month, despite the fact they have not had a supply of fresh water for months.

The Jammu & Kashmir district is also the primary source of apples in India, providing 80% of all apples in the country[5], and the apple crops destroyed by sand mining or the water-starved soil create financial losses for the local farmers that are disastrous for their livelihoods. A local apple orchard owner, Bashir Ahmad[6], notes that the freshwater quality is so bad that even the fungicide they spray on the trees has now become futile and the crops are beyond saving.

Where local farmers struggle, companies have stepped in to take advantage and many of the new landowners in Kashmir are corporate actors. As reported by Mukhtar Ahmed[7], these groups have been engaging in various acts of bribery in order to keep the locals away from the rivers. The firms, which earn remarkably more than locals, regularly bribe local administrations with Rs. 50,000 so that they receive mining priority. The local miners that do manage to still extract sand with their hands and tractors and earn around Rs. 1,000 daily, are often forced to pay a bribe ten times bigger to the local authorities to transport the manually dug out sand. Knowing how absurd the price difference becomes, many of the locals abandon their hard-earned sand as they simply cannot afford it. Around 10,000 manual sand mining labourers from 10 to 15 villages around Shopian have also been made unfairly redundant by the new big sand mining companies that, according to Abdul Ahmed Dar[8] – a local mining worker – use violence or bribing to kick local workers out of their sites.

The combination of dispossession and income loss, on top of already hard living conditions for all the rest of the residents – no fresh tap water, the possibility of your house being washed away and living in one of the most militarised areas of the world – are not conditions that should be imposed upon a person just because they were born one Himalayan valley away from peace. Not only has then the sand extractivism directly seized basic water supply but also indirectly removed people’s main sources of income and a stable life.

Kashmir in the public eye

The ecocide caused by the sand mining boom and the political factors behind the Indian occupation of Kashmir are not however isolated events, but are deeply intertwined. Since coming into power in 2014, the BJP party’s aims have been mainly pro-big business and winning their voters through propagating their idea of a ‘Rising India’, a reason for the major construction boom around that time. The country has been flooded with ‘development projects’ such as extremely long flyovers and expressways that relieve commuters from having to travel through slum neighbourhoods. As of today, India has 47 expressways that total 3,466 miles in length[9], which is exactly the distance between London and New York in a straight line. Of course, to build all those new development projects and all of these roads, sand is needed, and so more intense sand mining than ever is needed, making the abolition of Article 370 and within it, article 35(A) an ideal gateway into Kashmir’s riverbeds.

Modi’s justification for scrapping almost all of Article 370, was a pretext for integrating Kashmir with the rest of India and not giving it any special treatment so that it can resemble other Indian states. However, to Kashmiris, this decision was a step towards complete annexation of the territory (Zia, 2019: 778) which is precisely what followed. Article 35(A)[10], which is a section of Article 370, pointed out specific domicile laws regarding residency statuses in Kashmir. However, with its demolition and a new law in its place, Indian nationals living outside of Kashmir who meet specific requirements can be granted domicile status, giving them the right to apply for government employment and land in the area. This new law has led to up to 25,000[11] new people being granted residency certificates, explaining the sudden influx of external sand mining businesses.

The abrogation of Article 370 was thus a neoliberal economic policy that allowed for state territorialization to take place. Peluso and Lund (2011) explain ‘territorialization’ as various means of controlling territory and land for a bigger purpose of people and resource control. In short, simply “power relations written on land” (Peluso and Lund, 2011: 673). In the context of Kashmir, the government’s prioritization of access to the territory for mass sand extraction also served the bigger aim of developing a ‘united’ India.

To assert the claim over Kashmiri soil even further, the government chose to auction the first 200 mining areas online in February 2020. Ironically, 4G internet connection has been completely cut off in Kashmir since the abrogation of Article 370 and within the first year, any internet connection was also cut off from access 50 times in total (Zakaria and Baba, 2020). Therefore, Kashmiris became disadvantaged with regards to purchasing their own land whilst anyone outside of Kashmir had a strategic, better advantage. Assigning Kashmir’s territories to new owners through systems that disadvantaged Kashmiri locals from equal land access also simultaneously dispossessed them from the land that has sustained them for many centuries and has effectively turned them into ‘illegal’ ‘poachers’ in the eye of the state.

The framing of the Kashmiri people as dangerous and undeveloped citizens in the public eye, also legitimises sand mining’s exploitations. Prior to India’s security concern of the Kashmiri insurgency, Kashmir has been highly romanticized and portrayed as a place of escapism, and often a perfect location for the setting of many famous Bollywood movies[12]. This however changed from the 1990s onwards, when Kashmiris intensified their demands for independence and consequently their portrayal became ‘the other’, and potential terrorists.

As highlighted by Nitasha Kaul (2018), the exoticisation of the Kashmir territory also has a gendered aspect to it that drives the military goals of India’s possession of the territory. As Kaul explains, the feminisation of Kashmir is crucial for “the ‘strong’ hegemonically masculinist neoliberal state of India” (2018: 119), as it turns Kashmir’s ownership and governance into a vital component of Indian nationalism’s self-image.

These series of environmental, social, economic and political changes have all worked against Kashmiri people and in favour of big corporations and government control. Apple farmers and manual sand miners have lost their incomes, their families have lost a stable life, freshwater and internet access have become limited and the riverbeds irreversibly damaged, all in the name of ‘development’ fuelled by extractivism. These policies not only chip away at the viability of local lives, but also attempt to rob people of the hope of a peaceful future.

The paths to a solution

It is clear from the example of Kashmir that local sand extraction is not an issue itself, as people have been doing it harmlessly for decades. However, when enrolled in an extractivist regime, with the objective of capital accumulation and state control, irreversible damage is caused with no regard for the environment.

From a demand side, moving our societies and communities towards a circular economy for concrete, and creating a more rigorous recycling infrastructure would decrease the need for new sand extractivism. Studies have found that using recycled glass and plastic in concrete production instead of sand, would reduce CO2 emissions by 18% and we could save 820 million tonnes of sand per year (Hall, 2020[13]). To cut down on extractivism however, we must challenge the very logic of capitalism and colonialism.

As this blog has shown, in Kashmir, extractivism and ecocide are key mechanisms of settler colonialism that will continue to cheapen Kashmiri lives and land (Crook and Short, 2021). Therefore, extractivism in Kashmir will continue for as long as the occupation continues, and the root of the solution certainly needs to be about the liberation of Kashmiris at its forefront, and not just about better ways of mining.

Bibliography

Crook, M. and Short, D. (2021). Developmentalism and the genocide–ecocide nexus. Journal of Genocide Research, 23(2), pp.162-188.

Duschinski, H., Bhan, M., Zia, A. and Mahmood, C. (eds), (2018). Resisting occupation in Kashmir. University of Pennsylvania Press.

Falk, R.A. (1973). Environmental warfare and ecocide—facts, appraisal, and proposals. Bulletin of peace proposals, 4(1), pp.80-96.

Hall, M. (2020). 6 things you need to know about sand mining. Mining Technology. Available at: https://www.mining-technology.com/features/six-things-sand-mining/?cf-view [Accessed 11 May 2024].

Harvey, D. (2017). The ‘new’ imperialism: accumulation by dispossession. In Karl Marx (pp. 213-237). Routledge.

Higgins, P., Short, D. and South, N. (2013). Protecting the planet: a proposal for a law of ecocide. Crime, Law and Social Change, 59, pp.251-266.

Jaber, D.A. (2019). Settler colonialism and ecocide: case study of Al-Khader, Palestine. Settler Colonial Studies, 9(1), pp.135-154.

Junka-Aikio, L. and Cortes-Severino, C. (2017). Cultural studies of extraction. Cultural studies, 31(2-3), pp.175-184.

Kaul, N. (2017). Rise of the political right in India: Hindutva-development mix, Modi myth, and dualities. Journal of Labor and Society, 20(4), pp.523-548.

Mar, T.B. and Edmonds, P. (2010). Introduction: Making space in settler colonies. In Making settler colonial space: Perspectives on race, place and identity (pp. 1-24). London: Palgrave Macmillan UK.

Peluso, N.L. and Lund, C. (2011). New frontiers of land control: Introduction. Journal of peasant studies, 38(4), pp.667-681.

UNEP (2022). Sand and sustainability: 10 strategic recommendations to avert a crisis. GRID-Geneva,

United Nations Environment Programme, Geneva, Switzerland

Ye, J., Van Der Ploeg, J.D., Schneider, S. and Shanin, T. (2020). The incursions of extractivism: moving from dispersed places to global capitalism. The Journal of Peasant Studies, 47(1), pp.155-183.

Zakaria, A. and Baba, W. (2020). The false promise of normalcy and development in Kashmir. Al Jazeera. Available at: https://www.aljazeera.com/opinions/2020/8/5/the-false-promise-of-normalcy-and-development-in-kashmir [Accessed 11 May 2024].

Zia, A. (2019). Blinding Kashmiris: The right to maim and the Indian military occupation in Kashmir. Interventions, 21(6), pp.773-786.

Zia, A. (2020). “Their wounds are our wounds”: a case for affective solidarity between Palestine and Kashmir. Identities, 27(3), pp.357-375.

---

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Line_of_Control

[2] https://www.unep.org/resources/report/sand-and-sustainability-10-strategic-recommendations-avert-crisis

[3] https://www.mining-technology.com/features/six-things-sand-mining/?cf-view

[4] https://youtu.be/FeFWBSu1PKM?si=JbXZggTAXvx4K6Jt&t=76

[5] https://kashmirobserver.net/2021/03/22/apple-economy-in-jammu-kashmir-changing-paradigm/

[6] https://youtu.be/FeFWBSu1PKM?si=A1Qm1MySTZVG8kWT&t=256

[7] https://youtu.be/FeFWBSu1PKM?si=PUOVx7PUsvJucW7-&t=99

[8] https://youtu.be/FeFWBSu1PKM?si=A680dYhDv0Uj0jLQ&t=124

[9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Expressways_of_India

[10] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Article_35A_of_the_Constitution_of_India

[11] https://www.aljazeera.com/news/2020/6/28/kashmir-muslims-fear-demographic-shift-as-thousands-get-residency

[12] https://thediplomat.com/2019/08/bollywood-and-indias-evolving-representation-of-kashmir/

[13] https://www.mining-technology.com/features/six-things-sand-mining/?cf-view

Written by Adam Lazar

Last summer, I was awarded the opportunity to travel to Jordan to research Queer Palestinians, a topic I cared deeply about as it related to my intersectional struggle for my identity and the identity of others in my community, whom I’d discovered at university.

So, in this manner, this fieldwork was the accumulation of 3 years of self-discovery and an intense but marvellous pursuit of unravelling the complex but necessary issue of queerness in a modern, de-colonial context.

It took many months in second year to prepare this difficult piece of research; I was plagued by anxiety around the genocide in Gaza, along with the general precarity of the unstable economic climate following the COVID-19 pandemic, along with increasingly violent and visible transphobia. This put me on edge, but I persevered.

I first applied for the dissertation module in late February, which I successfully enrolled into.

Then, after initially receiving mostly negative feedback due to the timing and theme of the research, I switched from applying to research in the West Bank to Jordan after consulting Melissa, my dissertation supervisor.

The next step was to apply for the Nicola Anderson bursary, after which I received an email inviting me to the lunch event in late May, at the height of the exam season. This is where I had the opportunity to sell my research proposal in a presentation that I had prepared.

At the end of the afternoon, the award winners were announced, and everyone, including me, received a chunk of the £2000 that year.

I then bought the flight tickets to Jordan and prepared the ethics application; quite the intense procedure given the many bureaucratic steps taken to fill it out, on top of having to reapply due to mistakes I had made repeatedly.

I then finally flew to Amman and landed in the beautiful city late at night, to the views of shimmering golden lights cast in the dark horizon.

I began my fieldwork there by visiting Books@Cafe. I spoke to the owner of the cafe, who directed me to his brother Madian, a well-known gay figure in Jordan, not before having to travel to the other Books@Cafe branch on the other side of town, though!

And that’s why fieldwork can be slow and tedious, especially when doing it alone.

Madian pointed me to others in the community to whom I reached out, but with limited success, every little helps! Eventually, I was led to a prominent queer activist in the UK, who I later interviewed.

Jordan is truly gorgeous and colourful. With the many pink flowers and random gardens you encounter with every step you take, you wonder how such a chaotic paradise can have so much homophobia.

Melissa also helped me connect with her colleague, whom I met up with in Amman in a spacious art centre in a hip neighbourhood called Jabal Lweibdeh. She connected me with one of her students, a gay man, whom I interviewed online!

Speaking of, one problem encountered was that all the queers I connected with in Amman were cis gay men, which led to a skewed account of the already subdued and difficult-to-reach subsect of people in Amman.

Regardless, I persevered, and on the last day of my stay, I met up with a friend of a friend in my hotel. I interviewed him and wrote down many of his points, including why all of my participants were cisgender men. He was an ally to the LGBT community, serving as the gateway into this secretive and sidelined group in this gorgeous city.

My fieldwork in Jordan was undoubtedly a rocky but successful endeavour to capture the essence of the queer community in Amman, a feat marked by intense networking, repetitive ethics applications and strong rapport in interviews.

Due to the themes raised by the research participants, I’ve learnt a lot about myself, Jordan, Palestine, and Israel, and intersectionality as a whole.

I’d love to do more fieldwork, especially ethnographically, due to the authenticity and high validity of the data produced. I look forward to piecing together all the clues and knowledge given to me into my dissertation in my final year at Sussex!

See you next time!

A simple google search containing the words ‘Women’ and ‘Liberia’ relays a multitude of articles contending that women are ‘Liberia’s guardians of peace’ who contributed to, or indeed, entirely ended, Liberia’s civil war.

Such a narrative emerges from the tactics employed by Leymah Gbowee, who unified women of all backgrounds through protests, marches, and a weapon with more impact than any other: sex. Plagued by violence from both Charles Taylors government and the brutal government rebels, these women vowed to abstain from sexual intercourse until peace was achieved, with increased support resulting in the opposing parties agreeing to attend peace talks.

Sex strikes have a long history, dating back to war-torn Athens in 411 BC, where the legendary Lysistrata of Aristophanes’ comedic play encouraged abstinence to end the Peloponnesian war. Despite being fictional, the character of Lysistrata serves as a testament to the power of collective action and female resilience, having had such an impact that real life examples of sex strikes, such as Liberia’s, may be referred to as Lysistratic protests.

The issue with this, however, is that Liberia’s sex strike was not fictional. Whilst it may be easy to draw comparisons between the two as tales of resistance and unity, the desperate act of Liberian women withholding sex is underscored by various gendered implications, both pre-existent and reinforced. With many narratives failing to consider this, the sweeping statement of these protests as ‘empowering’ damages the rhetoric surrounding Liberia’s sex strike and hinders the quest towards true sustainable peace.

Gender in war

Conflict is inherently gendered with increased gender-based violence (GBV) in the form of arbitrary killings, torture, sexual violence and forced marriage heavily increasing for women in conflict and post-conflict zones. Over 70% of women have experienced GBV in some crisis settings.

Demonstratively, the Liberian civil war saw widespread brutalities inflicted on its female citizens. Detailed in the harrowing 2008 documentary, Pray The Devil Back to Hell,  approximately 60-70% of the population suffered sexual violence with women being the primary targets.

Once used as an opportunistic form of violence, sexual abuse is now frequently used as deliberate military strategy, primarily as a means of exerting control rather than for sexual gratification. GBV is frequently underscored by hypermasculine attitudes with men striving to gain status through sexual domination. This was demonstrated by the tactical recruitment of impressionable child soldiers, some as young as eight, many of whom later recounted the sense of power they felt when engaging in such aggression.

In contrast, women in conflict are often expected to adopt nurturing roles and care-related tasks, offering emotional support to communities. For this reason, it is important to examine the aforementioned narrative of women as ‘guardians of peace’ as to avoid absolving men of their accountability and framing peace as women’s responsibility.

Reclaiming autonomy?

Considering the disproportionate impact of GBV on women, sex strikes may be considered a way of restoring sexual autonomy, as sex is being initiated on the women’s terms.

The idea of African women as sexually passive permeates the core of much sexual discourse, with explorations of sexuality often being omitted from, or looked down upon in dominant rhetoric. In spite of recent projects aiming to discredit dominant narratives, see The Sex Lives of African Women and Treasure Your Pleasure, dialogue tends to primarily surround family planning, disease and sexual violence, with ideas of female sexual autonomy remaining undiscussed.

Determining sexual terms can therefore be seen as women taking control over their bodies. Responding to strict abortion laws, actress Alyssa Milano demonstrated this ideology by urging women to join her in a sex strike until “[they got] bodily autonomy back”. In challenging prevailing narratives and reclaiming bodily autonomy, women’s engagement in sex strikes can therefore be seen as a powerful challenge to expected gender roles and an assertion of their sexual agency.

Reinforcement of ideals

It is, however, important to recognise that sexual autonomy encompasses more than just control over whether or not sexual acts occur. Though few studies and methods of measuring female sexual autonomy exist, the overarching definition of sexual autonomy as “the human right to protect and maintain an informed decision over one’s body, one’s sexuality, and one’s sexual experience” is demonstrative of how sex strikes may inadvertently undermine female sexual agency.

The concept of sex strikes perpetrates the notion that women’s sexuality is a means of negotiation rather than an expression of desire. By reducing intimate relations to a transactional exchange, the significance of ones “sexual experience”, and therefore autonomy, is diminished. This reinforces the idea of women’s bodies as commodities and women themselves as passive objects of desire rather than active agents of their own sexual experiences.

Given this, Milano’s encouragement of a sex strike, though receiving significant support, was also met by claims that it encouraged women to provide sex “as a reward to the worthy” rather than for their own enjoyment. This underscores the complex dynamics of consent within sex strikes. By hinging women’s consent on their partners agreement with their objectives, critical questions are raised about the authenticity of their consent during subsequent sexual activity, highlighting how women’s autonomy is often disregarded.

The aforementioned understandings of gender dynamics in conflict zones further supports how sex strikes may undermine female sexual autonomy. Given that women face heightened GBV in conflict zones, leading to a loss of agency over their bodies, the idea of withholding sex as a form of protest may inadvertently replicate power dynamics where women’s bodies are still subject to negotiation and control by external forces.

The perception of women as sexually passive may, in turn, be reinforced by societal attitudes. Leymah Gbowee herself attributed the effectiveness of the strikes to the belief that “every man is interested in the act of sex”. While the outcome of the events supports this notion, it unintentionally suggests a disparity in sexual desire between men and women, therefore reinstating stereotypes of African women as sexually passive.

Did the strike achieve peace?

But maybe the obtainment of peace outweighs this regurgitation of outdated falsities, right? Many narratives attest to the sex strike as being “surprisingly effective” given the consequential peace talks, and the eventual end to the conflict. Not only this but further political mobilisation resulted in the instatement of Africa’s first female president. Such social development would imply that the strike was successful in securing peace across Liberia.

An overarching definition of peace, however, is something which has been greatly contested and changing throughout history. John Galtung’s distinguishment between positive and negative peace particularly highlights the complexities within considering sex strikes as a means of obtaining peace. Here, negative peace is defined as the absence of war and violence, a notion which many narratives appear to use in contending that the Liberian sex strikes led to peace. The more sustainable concept of positive peace subscribes to a lasting peace built on the development of societal attitudes which oppose the ‘structures and cultures of violence’. Dissecting these definitions, it is clear that not only did the use of sex strikes in Liberia fail to contribute to the attainment of positive peace but also detracted from the notion entirely.

If positive peace requires the improvement of societal attitudes, the clear reinstatement of limited perceptions of African women and their sexuality only further exacerbates the existing inequitable gender relations, therefore contributing to the culture of GBV. Instating a female president is not enough to ensure a long-lasting development of societal attitudes, as demonstrated by Liberia’s declaration of rape as a national emergency in 2020. Therefore, whilst contributing to the end of the civil war, the strikes were not an effective tool in addressing broader social issues for sustainable peace.

Alternatives for empowerment

Similarly to the Liberian civil war, the 1994 Rwandan genocide saw sexual violence against women on a large scale with assailants claiming to have raped an estimated 250, 000 women.

Following such atrocities, as well as women’s critical role in rebuilding Rwanda, President Paul Kagame opted to make the empowerment of women a priority. Changes to the constitution made it mandatory for 30% of government positions to be occupied by women. Education reforms, such as the 2009 policy to provide free compulsory education to children, were introduced to encourage opportunities for previously excluded girls. The introduction of sex education in schools fostered a positive, open dialogue regarding sexual safety, addressing both health and emotional aspects. Consequently, these initiatives have empowered women politically and socially, leading towards a more gender-equitable society.

Ranking fourth on the 2017 gender gap report, and having the highest share of women in parliament globally  (61% in comparison to the global average of 26.4%), adaptations to the frameworks of Rwandan society have shown to be extremely effective. Shifts towards open conversations have also empowered women sexually, with the provision of female pleasure being seen as integral to masculinity. Practices such as Kunyaza (female ejaculation) are commonplace, with men striving to achieve it and women freely requesting it. This investment in female empowerment provides women with a voice, therefore quelling the idea that men need to be negatively affected to get on board with women’s objectives.

Towards a Deeper Understanding

The paradox of female sexual autonomy in conflict is exemplified throughout the sex strike discourse. Women endure sexual violence as a tool of oppression whilst also utilising sex as a survival tactic to navigate these harrowing circumstances. This dual experience serves as a poignant reminder of the dehumanising effects of conflict, often reducing women to objects of sexual exploitation. However, it is imperative to refrain from interpreting this critique as diminishing towards the resilience demonstrated by Liberian women. Instead, it calls for an examination of the societal frameworks that perpetuate and normalise gendered violence. By scrutinising these narratives and structures, we can strive towards a more comprehensive understanding of gender and peacebuilding, that hinges upon efforts to empower rather than exploit.

---

Written by Chloe Williams, a recent graduate from the University of Sussex with a first class degree in International Development and a passion for exploring gender relations within activism and their impact on development.

“Being a part of this Critical Hope series inspires students like me to occupy and lead ‘change-making’ now, and in the future. I look forward to how the workshop will express practical and tangible solutions/examples while also allowing me to answer and challenge my personal questions about the need for dramatic change in the world. Often these questions are faced with pessimism rather than optimism. I hope the workshop further encourages the need to have critical hope as a foundation of my current understanding of development literature and practices. Additionally, critically engaging with peers in ideas of critical hope and change-making opens up a fresh space for us to occupy and enable for the future.” 

Introspective reflection from one of our friends

Upon entering the room, there was an excited yet confused buzz that was going around the tables as people were queuing up to sign the consent forms for taking pictures. Nobody knew what to expect – some had signed up just to put the extracurricular experience on their CV, others were eager to dissect the critical topics in question, some were just there because their friends dragged them. Unbeknownst to us, this would become a safe haven and a platform where we could express our rawest political and sociological ideas for the next three months, learning from the experience of those who came before us in order to lay the foundations of our own pathways. We laughed, we learned, we spent time with friends and made new ones along the process of actively and radically  unlearning the internalised oppressive nature of the world around us. 

Now looking back on what we hoped to gain from these workshops in the Making Critical Hope Practical series, which had been organised by four tutors in the International Development department, we can definitely say that our thought process on what Critical Hope is has been changed. The workshops have reinforced Critical Hope as the foundation of our current understanding of development literature and practices. This does not mean that we view the world through rose-tinted glasses, but rather, our perspective of current development challenges is much more grounded in real world examples that begin from Brighton. If we want Critical Hope to work we must be realistic and honest with ourselves, though solutions may not be drawn out immediately, there is a beauty in the chaos of negotiating what Critical Hope looks like.

Having postgraduate and undergraduate students in the same space with similar focuses and goals made the workshops a vibrant hub for passionate young thinkers to come together. The workshops brought vastly different experiences and pathways together; a time and space where lecturers,  undergraduate and postgraduate students alike sat together, working, collaborating, striving towards a common goal – attaining Critical Hope for the world we live in. Critical hope became an embodied experience. 

Below, we share our key takeaways from each week.

Week 1: Jess Leigh, Our Streets Now

• 

• 

Jess’s session on Gender and Equality that was vibrant and colourful just as herself. Given the fact that it was the first session, we did not necessarily know what to expect from the workshops themselves, but with her as a guest speaker we were sure to have an interesting ride. Jess’s passion and experience in advocating for women’s rights, equality and emancipation inspired the 30-ish buzzing students that attended the workshop. 

The session shed light on important aspects of the reaffirmation of gender roles and division in a tightly woven web between everyday life, traditional beliefs, commercial enterprises and overarching politics. Through the session we were able to appreciate how deeply ingrained into a capitalist society certain gender norms are – from toys and hobbies that are labelled “boyish” or “girly” to gendered professions and positions within high power. Jess’s session allowed us to think critically through the oppressive limiting structures that invisibly surround us and make a radical breakthrough on our lived experiences.

Week 2: Melanie Rees, The Green Centre

Similarly, Melanie’s session was both practical and engaging, we were given handouts which broke down the various ways household items could be recycled and some of the key places in and around Brighton to throw our rubbish away. Her Brighton based organisation emphasises the importance of  maintaining a sustainable standard of living, holding companies and individuals to account. Melanie was very open and transparent about her own struggles of finding hope in such a broken world, until she decided to set up a table stall in Hove and share the importance of recycling and maintaining a sustainable standard of living. 

This initiative was a wakeup call for us to take the earth seriously, and that small habits will contribute to bigger change. From keeping the lids on soft drink bottles, to properly separating our plastics from paper so that it is easier to process and recycle our waste. Sometimes critical hope isn’t flashy, or ‘the next big thing that everyone must follow’. It could be very simple solutions like building on smaller habits which over time will contribute to greater change. Critical hope can be practical, it may seem mundane at times but you just have to keep at it. 

Melanie’s presentation focused on “curb-side” recyclable objects, places in Brighton, where you could recycle other domestic waste and the amounts of recycling cycles they could undergo. It was inspiring to see how well she commanded the topic and how efficiently she was trying to disseminate the presentation to us. Whilst there were some quiet jokes that we were back at elementary school, they were soon silenced by the noise of 30 pens pacing across the papers in order to fill the crucial information. There we were – 30 students who believed they understood how the circular economy works, carefully listening to the do’s and don’ts  of the recycling world. I guess the jokes about being taken back to elementary school were not that far off the mark. 

The final part of Melanie’s session entailed working in teams to create a presentation about the carbon footprint and half-life of select household items. There was a hectic rustle and bustle as we were getting ready to look for the corresponding information on the internet, every table a vibrant hub of people working, learning and sharing together.

Week 3: Jools Lawton, Fork and Dig It

• 

• 

• 

The connection with nature – physical and spiritual, dictated everything we did that afternoon.  Deweeding, digging the ground and smelling the fresh veg was like therapy (or a therapeutic experience). There was a sense of joy around the students and lecturers when working together to tend the ground. There was something humbling and conciliatory in this experience and we left the session feeling refreshed, re-energised and much more connected to the nature within and around us. 

For the agroecology session we started off with a beautiful field trip across Stanmer Park, which allowed us to catch up with friends or talk to people we had not talked with before. We went up to the Fork and Dig It allotment and met one of their members, Jools Lawton. They are a community food growing project with a strong commitment to organic principles. We were split into two groups – the first started directly removing weeds from one of the soon-to-be-sowed plots of land, whilst the other were quickly briefed into the purposes and activities of the organisation. Whilst some of us were becoming inherently grounded with the surface beneath us, the others were eager to understand about the way that a circular agroecology works.

Week 4: Stephen Silverwood, Refugee Radio and Lette Batten-Turner, Conversation over Borders

• 

• 

In this session we spent time critically analysing Britain’s migration laws. Learning about the oppressive nature of British immigration laws and the subhuman conditions in which refugees and asylum seekers were typically treated definitely left a lasting impression on us. 

One of Stephen’s and Lette’s friends also came along to share his story within the asylum system. By shining a light on his “success” story, the session showed us that despite the structural racism and outright xenophobia that the system perpetuates, with efforts, patience and (unfortunately) a lot of struggle people who are seeking to change their lives had a chance to do this here. The story also highlighted the importance of people such as Lette and Stephen – people from inside the system looking to help out those who are struggling to get in.

During this workshop we were also given the opportunity to actively listen to one another and listen to the stories of our fellow peers. Lette’s organisation Conversations over Borders show us the importance of listening to one another. This has an important part to play in how a person’s story is shared. Namely, there is a level of care that one should show, in a sense they are vitally important contacts to the people they may be communicating with – they are an intercessor, someone who is helping to give another a voice. 

Week 5:

• 

• 

The last session gave us a chance to come together and reflect on the stories of critical hope and how we can integrate these into university life and teaching. We took time to brainstorm, mind-map and discuss the various topics we encountered and what things stood out to us. Seeing all the different coloured pens, stickers and post-it notes reminded some of us of our primary school days where our imaginations could ‘run wild’. In a similar sense, Week 5 gave room for creativity; the chance to think beyond academic research and focus on what kinds of lesson content and teaching methods could improve our understanding of Critical Hope.

Additionally, going around from table to table to listen to the different ways our peers thought about critical hope and the things they learned from each week was encouraging. A highlight in this session was listening to how our teaching staff were also inspired by our attitudes and thinking as a Critical Hope cohort and how for themselves, the Critical Hope series was a timely intervention. 

However, what was most significant to some was the food during this session. We had a freshly prepared vegetarian/vegan Thai meal provided by Koong’s Kitchen. The food was wonderful, and lots of discussions were had over where the food comes from, how it is cooked, and how it reminded some peers of their own homes. This may be insignificant to some, but you may want to start thinking about food being a hope making practice. Food represents community, collaboration, and culture. That is what we aim to cultivate here at Sussex, of course not just through food, but in a more serious sense, to inspire students to look beyond academics and bring their stories to the fore. 

In that sense, the Making Critical Hope Practical workshops embodied everything the university stands for – critical thinking, inclusivity and acceptance. They also allowed us to develop a specific mindset of collaboration, tolerance and change. These skills are easily translated into our future everyday lives and professional endeavours. 

As eloquently embodied by one of our friends from the workshops:

“Also wanted to say a massive thank you for the Critical Hope Workshops. They were really fantastic and helped me be more confident in a recent (successful!) job interview. 

I’m hoping to carry over the skills I learnt from the workshops into my new job which is a new project by Cambridge University trying to collate new forms of community-based data to make policy planning more accessible based on Anglesey.” 

Here is the link to a video put together by Ayen Dela Torre about the workshops and what critical hope is all about (thank you so much for documenting each week!):

This blog post was written by David hMensa and Petar Tabar. The project was supported by an Education and Innovation Fund grant from the University of Sussex.

All photos featured are credited to Ayen Dela Torre

Some additional photos just because we looked cool:

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

• 

•