By David M. Kneas; December 12, 2004
Environmental Writing; FES 583; Fred Strebeigh
In Intag, mining is cause for celebration.
On May 12th, 2004, in this remote, cloud forest region along the northwest slopes of the Ecuadorian Andes, four neighboring communities converged upon the picturesque village of Junin to celebrate their historic struggle against mining. May 12th marked the seventh anniversary of the burning of a mining camp, established by Mitsubishi, a burning that rocked the Intag region and the entire nation. Seven years earlier, these same communities had gathered in Junin (pronounced “who-neen”) and called upon the Ministry of Energy and Mines to halt mineral exploration in Intag. The Ministry, however, was unresponsive. “It was absurd,” recalls community leader Alirio Ramirez, “three times we tried to contact them and three times they completely ignored us; they were making fun of us.” The communities then took matters into their own hands. Assembling mules and machetes, grandmothers and godsons, over three hundred villagers marched slowly up the mountain, through small farms and misted forest, to the mining camp. After carefully inventorying and removing its contents for safekeeping – “one toothbrush, three spoons, five flashlights,” the list went on – the villagers burned the camp to the ground. They left only a pile of ashes and a large sign that said, “Ni un Paso Mas para Los Mineros en Junin”: Not Another Step for Miners in Junin.
But above the old mining camp in Junin, Mitsubishi’s mark on the landscape remains. As a result of dozens of exploratory perforations, which were only two inches wide but hundreds of meters deep, huge swaths of earth gave way, flooding the Junin River with soil, rock, and forest. Rusty orange water, laden with arsenic, still spouts from the perforations, contaminating the drinking water below. Open sores on an otherwise blemish-free mountain, these massive landslides will forever scar the region’s hillsides and its relationship with mining.
For all of its discomforts – incessant rain in the wet season, suffocating dust in the dry season, and buses that defy antiquity – travel into Intag produces the type of views that even an agnostic would call divine. Though I’ve made the trip countless times, it is usually at the point in the road when the bus flanks the top of the 14,000-foot snow-capped Cotacachi Volcano, and I look out across the montane tropical rain forest awaiting our descent, that I become bewildered at how rational human beings could even think to open one of the most ecologically diverse places on the planet to large-scale mining. What is even more disconcerting is that the idea to mine here came not from Mitsubishi, or for that matter any other mining company, but from Washington D.C., and the headquarters of the World Bank.
Ironically, one day after communities celebrated the anniversary of their act of resistance, representatives of a new mining company called Ascendant Exploration arrived in Intag and announced that they now possessed Mitsubishi’s former concession. Ascendant declared that it would open one of the world’s largest copper mines, pledging that their goal was to “work with the communities.” But, despite these official declarations, community leader Polibio Peres sees a different side of Ascendant. Shortly after communities forced a company bulldozer to leave the area, Polibio was greeted by three armed men, whose only words were bullets that whizzed through the otherwise quiet night – warning shots. Polibio and other anti-mining leaders suspect that Ascendant’s only interest is the copper that lies beneath. They fear that if the communities continue to reject Ascendant’s version of local development, then a more aggressive face of mining, and a state apparatus that supports it, will begin to threaten.
Kindling
Inteños, as natives to Intag are called, have not always opposed mining. Assured that mining would address all of Intag’s basic needs, most inteños welcomed Mitsubishi and wholeheartedly supported mining – at least, in the beginning. Indeed, everything Ascendant is now offering, like roads, schools, health clinics, and jobs, Mitsubishi offered years ago. Considering the isolation, poverty, and lack of basic resources in Intag, it is not hard to imagine why inteños would want to believe Mitsubishi’s promise that mining would improve local livelihoods. “We thought mining was great,” remembers Alirio Ramirez, “we thought it would be beneficial for us.” In their support of Mitsubishi, Alirio and men young and old, from Junin and the surrounding communities, built access roads and transported heavy perforation equipment on their backs to the mining site, a two hour walk up the mountain from Junin. Inteños even supplied the wood to the build the mining camp.
Despite initial widespread cooperation with Mitsubishi, a small but important group of inteños questioned mining from the beginning. Shortly after Mitsubishi’s arrival, Father Giovanni, a local Catholic priest, and Carlos Zorrilla, a Cuban-born U.S. citizen who had lived in the region for years, formed a grassroots environmental group called DECOIN (Ecological Defense and Conservation of Intag). “Basically we were a small group of friends concerned about the environment,” recalls DECOIN co-founder Carlos Zorrilla, “We weren’t experts on mining, but we knew it was risky.” Educating themselves on the impacts of mining, the leaders of DECOIN began a slow organizing process with communities, sponsoring workshops on the ecological and social impacts associated with what they learned is the world’s most environmentally destructive industrial process. With the help of a national environmental organization, DECOIN gradually gained more and more support in the communities closest to the mining concession. Significant strides were made when DECOIN helped fly a group of inteña women to Peru, where they visited an open pit mine similar in scale to what Mitsubishi had in mind for Intag. A few women in Junin still have jars of mining waste that they brought back from Peru to show their neighbors.
In the end though, Mitsubishi itself played a prominent role in turning inteños against mining. After being in the area almost five years, Mitsubishi’s promises of better roads, schools, and health facilities were unfulfilled. In blatant disregard of communities, engineers dumped waste material directly into Junin’s main river. Placing latrines right next to the water, miners even sent their own shit to the community below. Livestock that drank from the water became sick and rashes covered the skin of children who swam in it. The company ignored complaints. “More than anything,” recalls Alirio Ramirez of the four years Junin lived with Mitsubishi, “we weren’t used to such hard labor or foul language that they used to deal with us.”
The final break between Mitsubishi and the communities around Junin came when DECOIN finally obtained, from the Ministry of Energy and Mines, a copy of Mitsubishi’s Environmental Impact Assessment (EIA). The assessment, written by a Japanese engineer contracted by Mitsubishi, stated that the company, in its pursuit of opening one of largest copper mines in the world, would have to dam two major rivers to make way for tailings ponds, displacing Junin and four surrounding communities. As if that weren’t enough, the environmental report forecasted massive deforestation, on a scale that would lead to a process of regional desertification, in the Intag region and the Cotacachi- Cayapas Ecological Reserve to Intag’s immediate north, one of Ecuador’s largest protected areas and the last remaining stretch of the country’s western forests. With only one copy, community leaders decided that each family would hold the report for two days then pass it on to another family, before handing it over to a neighboring community. In this manner, inteños – by candlelight in their small kitchens, on land they carved out of the forest with their own hands, in communities they created – read about how mining would strip them of everything. Mitsubishi had lied.
It is no surprise that the five communities who burned Mitsubishi’s mining camp, and remain ardently opposed to Ascendant, are the same communities Mitsubishi stated would have to be removed to make way for a mine.
The copper that lies beneath this drama is under the shadows of the Toisan, an ancient mountain range that predates the Andes and forms a natural boundary between Intag and the Cotacachi-Cayapas Reserve. Rising beneath the 14,000 ft Cotacachi Volcano, the Toisan runs parallel to the western rim of the Andes, before turning west and plunging towards the coast. As the Andes fall westward into Intag, the Toisan rises. Nearing Junin, the Toisan emerges from above.
Given the basic geology of the copper deposit, it is not surprising that Mitsubishi would foretell massive environmental impacts. While Ascendant claims the copper deposit is one of the largest in the world, what they don’t mention is that copper is less than 1% of the deposit. This means that the over 99% which is not copper would remain on site long after Intag’s riches were sent across the globe. A mine would essentially eat the Toisan range, find the trace amounts of copper, and spit out the rest. Toxic heavy metals, embedded within these waste piles, would leach out into the water system for centuries after the closure of the mine.
Blinding Insight
The burning of the mining camp roused the government. The Ministry of Energy and Mines charged three leaders of Junin with destruction of government property and terrorism. Throughout the 90s, in the shadow of the 500-year anniversary of European colonization, Ecuador’s indigenous population – organized, militant, and a quarter of the population – pressured the government with protests, strikes, and demands for reform. By contrast, the government expected Intag – populated by poor, non-indigenous colonists on the margins of social reform – to be the one place in Ecuador where mining could walk with confidence. The government hoped mining in Intag would guide the country towards a future as one of the world’s great mineral producers. Inteños not only razed a mining camp, but also endangered an extractive fantasy espoused by Ecuador’s rulers and their international backers.
Standing on the ruins of the mining camp, even though more than half a decade has passed since the burning season of 97, I wonder what it is that makes this place so humbling. The camp sits on a small ledge that protrudes near the point where two precipitous ridges, which rise sharply from either side of Junin, come careening into the flanks of the Toisan. In the middle of the camp, facing north towards the Toisan, head tilted upwards like a tourist in Manhattan, I watch walls of matted green disappear into a blanket of clouds. The earth on which I stand feels like pier, an island of level ground in a headlong forest – nature’s perfect stage. To the south, the land falls away and opens a view that, on a clear day, extends as far as Quito, seven hours away by bus. Junin is a short distance below, yet more than an hour’s walk for Victor Calvache, the former president of Junin who has brought me here.
Victor still remembers the day, three months after the camp burned, when the helicopter from Quito landed here. From his and the rest of Intag’s perspective, as well as that of the national and regional press which covered the event, the conflict of mining in Intag should have been resolved that day, when Ecuador’s Minister of Energy and Mines visited Intag:
Camouflaged by concrete and urban cacophony, the helicopter climbs smoothly from its harbor in Quito. Sighting the coordinates of Intag, the government chopper churns north, slicing through the wide passage of the inter-Andean valley. Raul Baca, Minister of Energy and Mines, sits inside. Weeks earlier Baca had said, “Mining is going to happen in Intag.”
As he does every morning, Victor Calvache rises from bed shortly after his roosters announce the impending day. After breakfast, Victor jumps into his rubber boots, grabs his small satchel, and disappears into the forest. Approaching Junin, he spots several neighbors, whose determined strides mirror his own. Exchanging short, habitual greetings, Victor begins to organize the gathering assembly.
With a visual on the Cotacachi Volcano, the chopper banks left, pounding towards the Intag valley that lies to the east. Bearing down on Junin, the chopper begins to quiver – the air faltering under the sharp relief of the Toisan. Its shimmering fuselage alien against the mountain forest, the chopper hovers over the ruins of the mining camp that will be its landing site. The chopper touches down and Baca steps out. The large sign “Not another step for Miners in Junin,” towers in front of him, judging, challenging Baca to cross a line that inteños marked with fire less than three months ago. On the other side, a small regiment from Junin stands in formation. A group of women ignore cordiality, their sign reminding Baca “The women of Junin will defend our children’s future.”
The forest towering above, Baca starts walking toward Junin. He moves awkwardly on the uneven trail. Mud climbs his loafers. Mosquitoes hone in on his heavy breathing, drilling his open flesh. His pants and jacket tug against him. Baca staggers to take in the new sights and sounds; he smiles broadly at the occasional burst of color against the green canvas of the forest. Arriving in Junin, Baca is disheveled, though not entirely unhappy at his recent trek.
A line of tables in the center of Junin marks the debate. Behind them, Raul Baca sits with bodyguards and two other officials. They drink Coca-Cola. Facing Baca, Victor Calvache stands in the center of hundreds of inteños who oppose mining. Banners reflect their position: mining’s heavy step will only walk in Junin on the graves of those who stand before him. The nervous posture of Baca’s bodyguards reflects the unified, silent voice of Junin. One of the officials speaks in general terms about development and conflict resolution. Community leaders then address the Minister. “The only way we’ll leave is if our dead bodies are dragged out,” yells one leader, “Threats don’t scare us. We demand our rights. We will defend our land!”
The sole voice in favor of mining comes from “Gringo Pepe,” a 73 year old Czech-native and self-proclaimed founder of the neighboring Mandariacos valley. “For 40 years I’ve been drinking contaminated water from the Guayllabamba [a river that comes from Quito],” Pepe confides to the crowd, “It hasn’t killed me, but only made me stronger.” Much of the crowd responds with laughter, slightly easing the growing tension. Even Baca seems amused by mining’s staunchest local ally.
After listening to a few more comments from local leaders, Raul Baca addresses the crowd. Baca is the first Minister of Energy and Mines to visit Intag, an environment, and a way of life unlike his world in Quito. After his journey today, facing his present audience, his previous views of Intag – the ones he saw on topographic and geological maps – must seem alien, as though they described an entirely different place. With uncharacteristic emotion and a tone of reflection, Baca remarks on the beauty of the region, its forests, rivers and especially “the valor and vigor through which people defend it.” Astounding everyone present, Baca then promises to lift the judicial charges against local leaders and promote a national debate about mining in environmentally sensitive regions. Perhaps, he reasons, mining just isn’t suitable in a place like Intag. Having lunch after the meeting, Baca accepts a drink – cane liquor – from Victor Calvache, then another from Alirio Ramirez. Later in the evening, Raul Baca says it’s time he should go. Somewhat drunk, he decides to depart Intag by land, leaving the helicopter on the mining camp, on the ashes of his own ideas.
Too much was riding on the idea to mine Intag for the top official in Ecuador’s Ministry of Energy and Mines to maintain his position after he had questioned the entire logic of mining in Intag. Not long after his return to Quito, higher authorities from the national Congress and President’s own staff formally censored Baca. He lost his job shortly thereafter. Since the early 90s, when the president of Ecuador declared mining a “national priority,” every subsequent president has given mining the same distinction – allowing mining projects to side-step certain government regulations that might slow the development of a mine. Some of Ecuador’s rulers are so determined to open the country to mining that even the insight of one of its highest mining authorities matters little.
Constructing Calamity
Ascendant Exploration has tried to convince inteños that their immediate interest is exploration, drilling for rock samples in order to learn more about the deposit. They tell inteños that exploration is benign, as far as the environment is concerned, thus trying to assuage local fears of open-pit mining. Mitsubishi never made it beyond exploration, yet the landslides above Junin suggest that exploration is much more than harmless information gathering. But the people at Ascendant know that exploration is a foot in the door, that once they convince locals to let them take that step, it will be virtually impossible for communities to get rid of them. The mining law once required companies to have two separate permits from the government, one for exploration and another for exploitation. But since reforms to the mining law in the early 90s, a mining company needs only one authorization from the government, which covers both phases of mining, for thirty years. “You can now obtain a mining title in any region in Ecuador in about two weeks – there’s no hassle, no red tape, nothing like that,” Pablo Teran, Minister of Energy and Mines, told an international mining journal, “Once you have your title, you don’t have to report what you’re doing, and it is up to you what you do.” If Ascendant establishes a base camp above Junin communities will have virtually no legal recourse to prevent the opening of the copper mine.
Ecuador reformed its mining law in the early 1990s with support from the World Bank. According to the Bank, if Ecuador wanted to compete for international mining investment, it had to become more attractive to companies. The Bank said that the mining law in force with its environmental, tax, and consultation requirements did the opposite. In addition to changes in the permit process, other consequences of the reforms are: Mining companies are now allowed in national ecological reserves; mining companies have priority access to water resources; mining companies no longer have to pay any royalties to the government (previously at 3%); and mining companies cannot lose their mining rights even if they cause severe environmental degradation.
In addition to reforming the mining law, the Bank structured the Ministry of Energy and Mines as the central authority for mining projects, responsible for both promoting mining and regulating it. Under World Bank guidance, as two former Ministers of the Environment told me, the Ministry of Energy and Mines is now “Juez y Parte” – an Ecuadorian phrase referring to someone who has the capacity to judge, but who is also party to the problem.
The ‘Juez y Parte’ complex is most apparent in matters relating to the environment. The Mining Environment Unit, within the Ministry of Energy and Mines, is responsible for reviewing and approving a mining company’s analysis of environmental impacts and for monitoring environmental performance after a mine opens. These two tasks could overwhelm an entire government Ministry, let alone the six technicians that compose the entire environmental unit. “It all looks fine on paper,” one technician told me when I asked him about the lack of personnel and resources, “but in reality, we have no way of knowing what really goes on.” This governing structure leaves any serious evaluation of the environmental feasibility of mining in the hands of mining corporations. “There is no subjectivity, no bureaucracy,” said Pablo Teran, “no way the government can take the [mining] title away from you, except if you don’t pay your fees.” The fees begin at one dollar per hectare.
“Explore Ecuador: A new mining law brings new opportunities,” reads the title of a supplemental eight page report published in late 2001 by Northern Miner, an international mining journal based in Canada. The same month, the Mining Journal, based in the UK, published another special report, titled: “Ecuador: Andean opportunities await evaluation.” Cesar Espinosa, the Under-Secretary of Energy and Mines under Pablo Teran, gave them to me to highlight the Ministry’s renewed efforts to attract mining investment after Ecuador’s political and economic meltdown of the late 90s turned many investors away. Both begin by highlighting the benefits of Ecuador’s new mining law and describing exploration projects currently under way. With their interest piqued, journal subscribers are enticed further with descriptions of, and directions on how to access, maps and baseline information on Ecuador’s geology. With a few clicks of the mouse, interested parties can order a CD Rom with detailed thematic maps and geological data on the entire country, including Intag and Ecuador’s 18 protected areas. With this information, mining companies can plan exploration projects without leaving their offices in London, Toronto, or New York – a map of Ecuador’s mineral composition at the fingertips of mining companies, all courtesy of the World Bank.
According to the Bank, an attractive mining law alone would not reel in large-scale mining. Mining companies needed not only promises of rich mineral resources, but actual maps of Ecuador’s geology – Bank authorized treasure maps. Almost half of the Bank’s $24 million aid program in Ecuador went to fund geological surveys of areas with mineral potential, including Intag and the Cotacachi-Cayapas Ecological Reserve. The Bank’s involvement in Ecuador began in 1992 and ended in 2001, with most of the project’s price tag being picked up by Ecuadorian taxpayers. “The rapid and efficient access to geo-information is essential for development of the mining sector in general,” states the original, For Official Use Only, project report; it adds, “The availability and regular publication of basic geological maps is an essential service which must be provided by governments to attract foreign investment to mining activities.”
In 2000, DECOIN initiated a claim against the World Bank through the Bank’s own Inspection Panel policy. DECOIN argued that the Bank, in failing to conduct an Environmental Assessment for the geo-information project, violated its own environmental policy regarding extractive industry. The Bank responded by saying that there was not a direct connection between the geo-information project and mining. “Thematic mapping conducted by the project is a common and environmentally neutral international practice…a basic component of environmental knowledge,” reasoned the Bank in its public reply to DECOIN.
The Inspection Panel agreed with DECOIN. The Bank should have carried out an Environmental Assessment, should have consulted with local communities and organizations, should have considered whether Ecuador’s varied ecologies could support mining’s heavy gait. With little authority, however, the Inspection Panel’s finding amounts to a small report in a Washington office, an incidental footnote on a program that effectively targeted over a quarter of Ecuador’s surface area for large-scale mining.
Conflict on the Rise
Ascendant has claimed that one of its primary interests is the development of Intag, as if to suggest that Ascendant is as much a development organization as it is a mining company. Shortly after its arrival in May of 2004, Ascendant began circulating a “Local Development Plan,” designed, according to the report, in conjunction with the “Latin American Foundation for Humanist and Scientific Development,” a not-for-profit and non-governmental organization. In addition to a number of odd grammatical errors in the “development plan,” the address for the Humanist Foundation is the exact same address as Ascendant Exploration. When I went to Ascendant’s office, I found no evidence of any Humanist Foundation. I did find Paul Grist, the president, co-founder and principal shareholder of Ascendant, who never mentioned the Foundation when I asked him about the company’s plans for Intag. “Look, I’m an environmentalist at heart,” he said defensively when I gave him a puzzled look. As if he thought I wasn’t convinced, the 27-year-old Canadian added, “Mining is like harvesting fruit.”
Despite his self-portrayal as the Johnny Appleseed of mining, inteños have yet to see Paul Grist actually walk the orchards of Intag. Indeed, most of Ascendant’s “key personnel” have never stepped foot in Intag, or even in Ecuador for that matter. Ascendant’s board members are bankers and venture capitalists, mostly from the United States and Canada, though the bulk of Ascendant’s capital has come from one investor in Saudi Arabia. A “junior exploration mining company,” nominally based in the Bahamas, Ascendant is actively courting big investors, whether they be venture capitalists interested in a direct stake in the company or larger mining companies interested in buying Ascendant’s mining rights in Intag. Ascendant’s web page describes one of their interests as “selling concessions.” The way Ascendant describes itself to investors’ stands in stark contrast to how the company describes itself to inteños. When talking to inteños, the company’s story line is its desire to develop a region that is poor and isolated. On the investment stage however, Ascendant dresses up as a company that will produce huge profits, providing valuable returns for investors across the world. Ascendant’s mineral aspirations are driven not by what Intag lacks, but rather by a desire to profit from what Intag has. Dancing to the tune of global markets, Ascendant arrived in Intag on the wake of bloating global prices for copper, caused by increasing demand in China.
“Copper is in things we use everyday,” Patricio Polanco, Ascendant’s environmental manager, explained to a group of inteños at a community meeting in July of 2004. “It’s like sugar or salt.” General Cesar Villacis, Ascendant’s director of community relations, reminded the same crowd that it was important to protect the environment. “But in a rational way,” he qualified, “because everything extreme is negative.” Villacis, a former military general, once stated publicly that environmentalists, along with indigenous and human rights organizations, formed a subversive triangle, a threat to Ecuador’s national security. Rationality and community relations came to my mind every time I saw Villacis talking with Gringo Pepe, the tall, aged Czech native, who calls Junin a community of “terrorists.” “Whoever burns a house, whoever burns a mining camp is a terrorist,” he once told me, in a deep voice that would rattle a bull.
In addition to his role as director of community relations, General Villacis is also Ascendant’s political liaison, a position he probably has more success with, considering the background of Ecuador’s current regime. Ecuador’s President, Lucio Gutierrez, is a former military Colonel who has made mining one of his top economic priorities. Gutierrez recently traveled to China, where he signed a trade agreement giving China priority access to Ecuador’s metallic resources, like copper.
Villacis would and does say that most inteños support mining. But in Intag, the loudest pro-mining voices also belong to the wealthiest mouths.
Wearing Italian leather shoes and designer jeans, Ronald Andrade addressed the crowd at a large meeting: “We must take advantage of the mine or we’ll remain marginalized and die poor.” A former congressman, still in his 30s, the tall, balding, histrionic Andrade is one of the largest landowners in Intag, with various estates totaling well over 10,000 hectares. Replacing forest with cattle, Andrade is described by one neighbor to have “cleared the forest like he was sweeping with a broom.” Many reason that Andrade’s interest in mining stems from his desire for better roads to access his own land, if not an outright stake in mining profits. On stage, though, Andrade spoke in terms of we – as in, “In a region where the average wage is three to four dollars per day it turns out we live on a mine. It would be a shame it we didn’t take advantage of that wealth.”
Like Andrade, Gringo Pepe is one of the area’s largest landlords. “My given name is Jose Yanuch,” he intoned when I interviewed him on camera in his home, “but in Intag, in the Imbabura province, and throughout the Republic of Ecuador, I am known as Gringo Pepe.” Like Andrade, Gringo Pepe also spoke in terms of we. “In the poorest area of Ecuador, the Intag, it turns out that we have the one of the largest copper deposits in the world.” In addition to their wealth and loud voices, Gringo Pepe and Ronald Andrade share an opinion about why mining has not arrived in Intag. “There are certain groups,” Gringo Pepe told me, “who are extremist, almost eco-terrorists. They dress up like ecologists; but they are not ecologists, they are terrorists.”
The group Pepe refers to is DECOIN. Andrade believes that DECOIN is corrupt, funneling huge quantities of development money into their own pockets. “We need an independent audit of DECOIN,” he yelled at the same meeting, “Where is the money?…where is the money? Or maybe it’s in the pockets of two or three lazy, shameless bums.”
For readers of one of Ecuador’s largest newspapers, Hoy, Ronald Andrade calling DECOIN corrupt may seem ironic. In a full-page story in March of 2001, Hoy asked how it was that Andrade, a congressman, could have acquired so much valuable land, most of it without formal title. Hoy suggested that Andrade acquired so much land, and wealth, through corruption. Many locals believe that Andrade is paying for the miners’ bodyguard, who always has his pistol visible and has threatened anti-mining leaders on more than one occasion. While a respected national newspaper calls Andrade corrupt and locals refer to him as dangerous, Ascendant Exploration calls him a leader. “We think that Ronald Andrade wants what is best for Intag,” John Bolanos, one Ascendant’s geologists told me, “Ronald is a very important figure in the region.”
With a gray beard, worn flannel shirt, small cup of coffee, and easy manner Carlos Zorrilla, now the executive director of DECOIN, seems every bit the terrorist Gringo Pepe told me he was. Born in Cuba, raised in the United States, Carlos has lived in Intag for almost 30 years, where he runs, with his wife and two boys, a small cloud forest reserve and organic farm. Carlos works full time for DECOIN with no pay, often using his own scarce resources when DECOIN lacks them. Carlos has been instrumental in advancing sustainable alternatives to mining and in promoting community conservation. DECOIN helped found an independent organic coffee growers association and, in the community of Junin, the forest that sits atop the mineral deposit is now a community reserve. When I asked Carlos about his major goals for DECOIN, his answer surprised me. “That we don’t exist anymore,” he replied as if it were an obvious question, “I feel there is a need for us now, but at some point I hope that need is no longer present.” For almost a decade, DECOIN has successfully challenged more than four mining companies, won an official inspection against the World Bank project, and carried a legal case against mining in Intag to the Ecuadorian supreme court and to the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights. “It’s tiring,” Carlos told me when I re-capped all of DECOIN’s achievements. “Mining is all we talk about; it’s all we do. Sometimes it would be nice just to play guitar, read a book, and look at the forest without worrying whether it will still be there in five years.”
While Carlos is not a native in the purest sense, the rest of DECOIN consists of Ecuadorians who have lived in Intag most of their adult lives. Indeed, the majority of folks who come to DECOIN’s weekly meetings are poor farmers. But perhaps because Carlos speaks English, carries a U.S. passport, or helped the struggle in Intag garner international attention, General Cesar Villacis has tried to caricature DECOIN as a foreign environmental group, with foreign interests. Though never mentioning DECOIN or Carlos by name, Villacis told a large crowd, “I just hope that people who are from other countries will allow those who are from here the same opportunities to speak as they enjoy.” Portraying environmental interests as foreign, Villacis has sought to turn the question of mining in Intag into a narrative of nationalism, implying that those who support mining are upholding their national rights against foreign environmental interlocutors. Depicting DECOIN as the only anti-mining voice allows Villacis, Ronald Andrade, and Gringo Pepe to de-legitimize community resistance to mining. According to their logic, Junin is not opposed to mining, but rather is “held hostage by DECOIN.”
Symbolic of many of the contradictions in Ascendant’s mining narrative, General Villacis, in an effort to inspire locals to support mining, quotes Martin Luther King Jr. “As Martin Luther King said during the anti-racial period,” he told a large crowd, “he who fears death is not entirely free and he who will not risk his life for a good cause does not deserve to live’.” Slightly stunned by his choice of martyrs to support mining, someone from the anti-mining side shot back, “That’s why we’re here!”
Intag: Its Mine, not Yours
In the end, perhaps the greatest paradox in Intag is this: mining is cause for celebration; or rather, the conflict that mining has engendered in Intag. The burning of Mitsubishi’s mining camp on a misty afternoon in May, almost a decade ago, marked the beginning of a grassroots social and environmental transformation. In resistance to mining, communities have organized, challenging the reins of power traditionally held by men like Gringo Pepe and Ronald Andrade. In resistance to mining, inteños have redefined local government – anti-mining candidates, though not indigenous, joined the national indigenous political party, and won the majority of recent elections. In resistance to mining, inteños have created economic alternatives more in tune with the regions ecological rhythms – alternatives that provide not only real material gains but also foster possibility and reason for hope. When inteños burned Mitsubishi, they did more than bring down a mining camp. On the camp’s ashes, they cultivated a voice – an assertion of local rights.
The Intag that Ascendant is dealing with is not the same as the Intag Mitsubishi confronted. The Intag that Ascendant faces is more organized and more determined to close its doors to large-scale mining. Yet as the global price of copper continues to rise, so does the incentive for Ascendant to consume the Toisan. The stakes are higher. As inteños continue to reject mining, Ascendant’s options narrow. If the company cannot persuade inteños that mining is in their best interest, then the company’s only choices are to leave, or to attempt to silence the voice of Intag through acts of intimidation and violence. These have already begun. Ascendant has initiated lawsuits against anti-mining leaders and a regional newspaper. Death threats have increased against those who continue to say “not another step for miners in Junin.” Bullets may begin to find their targets. The Ministry of Energy and Mines ignored inteños’ latest petition to subdue Ascendant. As the government continues to back the company, mining’s heavy step into Intag may be in cadence with the military’s march.
