Others Fighting for Their Rights

  • The struggle for environmental rights is not unique to Udorn. Here are a few examples of indigenous struggles taking place worldwide.
    Indigenous to the Kalahari desert of Botswana, Namibia, and South Africa, the Bushmen (part of the Khoisan group) number more than 82,000. Although the constitution of Botswana guarantees them a right to live in the Central Kalahari Game Preserve indefinitely, the government began trying to move them out in the mid-1990s. The official stance is that basic service provisions are too costly and that the reserve’s ecology is threatened by the Bushmen’s lifestyle. Opposing groups maintain that the actual intent is to clear the area for tourism and diamond mining. Many of the Bushmen have been moved to resettlement camps, but a group of about 240 are involved in an ongoing court case with the government to reverse the trend.
    The Wichi, a South American collection of tribes (also commonly known as the Mataco), includes more than 150 groups in Bolivia and Argentina. Their tradition of hunting, fishing, and basic farming has been jeopardized in the last century by deforestation, the introduction of cattle and alien crops like soybeans, and loss of land. In 2004, a provincial Argentine government lifted the protected status of a natural reserve where Wichi lived, planning to sell part of the land to private companies for deforestation and soybean planting. A legal struggle and a Greenpeace-sponsored campaign eventually led the government to create a new protected reserve in General Pizarro, a portion of which the Wichi will own.
    The 4,000 members of the Tao, an aboriginal Taiwanese tribe, have resided on the small, tropical Orchid Island for more than 1,000 years. In the 1970s, the government designated the island as a nuclear waste storage site, reasoning that building the infrastructure would be cheaper and the population was unlikely to cause trouble. Roughly 98,000 barrels of nuclear waste now sit on the island. The Tao claim the waste has caused sickness and death and have become active in the anti-nuclear movement.
  • – Paula Kashtan

The People's Protest
Villagers voice opposition to potash mine, Thailand

By Sara Schaumburg
This article was printed in Abroad View magazine fall 2006

A government mining official addresses the villagers at a protest against the surveyors of their land. Photo courtesy of Sara Schaumburg

Boonlert—a slight and unassuming man wearing a bright yellow hat—hardly looks like someone wanted by the police. Neither, for that matter, does La-iat, who lies on a nearby mat. Five months pregnant and visibly uncomfortable in the stifling midday heat, La-iat munches irritably on sour mangoes.

Boonlert Lekkhieo, 56, and La-iat Onsa-art, 38, are two leaders of the Udon Thani Conservation Club, a group of villagers in Thailand who are fighting plans to construct a multi-billion-baht potash mine beneath their farmland.

Local opposition is based largely on the fear that salty dust emitted from the mine could increase the salinity of their rice fields and groundwater to the point where both would be rendered useless. Environmental experts have also warned that the soft geology above the mineral deposit and the shallow depth of the mine makes the chance of collapse likely. This could cause serious structural damage to the homes, roads, and railways nearby.

Naowarat Daoruang, another leader in the movement, got word that she and four others are to be arrested for their involvement in a recent confrontation with mining representatives. The incident that prompted the warrants occurred on March 11, 2006 when villagers tending buffalo noticed several young men surveying the land. More than a dozen police officers, anticipating resistance, accompanied the surveyors, who had been hired by the Canadian-based Asian Pacific Potash Corporation (APPC).

A villager ran to alert La-iat, who announced over the local PA system that surveyors were using metal poles to mark the proposed site of the ore-processing factory. Within minutes, 200 villagers arrived on the scene demanding that the men stop. After an hour-long standoff, the surveyors abandoned their work and hurriedly drove away, leaving the field studded with metal poles.

No sooner had they left than a handful of young boys began a friendly competition to see who could gather the most markers. The boys strode proudly across the field, hoisting their trophies over their shoulders.
The villagers had won—for now. Attempting to hold on to their small victory, they held sunrise-to-sunset vigils along the road adjacent to the mining site for almost a week, waiting for any sign of the surveyors’ return. In the end, their efforts proved futile. Apparently survey teams had returned to finish the job at night.

What forced these villagers to resort to such desperate measures to ensure they have a voice in planning a project that will affect their land and their livelihood? The legal structure that should have acted on their behalf seems to have failed. By law, APPC does not need villagers’ permission to demarcate the land. Even so, Naowarat vehemently defends the actions of the Conservation Club. She points out that Thailand’s 1997 constitution—heralded as the “People’s Constitution”—mandates that the government allow citizens a chance for public participation in projects that affect their community. But these provisions are seldom enforced, so villagers must rely on the goodwill of the government to have their opinions heard.

Thai Human Rights Commissioner Sunee Chaiyaros is skeptical about the chances of that happening. “Constitutional provisions mandate local villagers’ right to participate in the management of natural resources,” she says. “However, the government tends to ignore them.”

Pachara Petchasuwan, head of the Basic Industries and Mining Department in Udorn, disagrees. He claims that residents have “ample opportunity” to voice their concerns about the proposed mine. With demarcation complete, he says, his office will post a map indicating what land will be affected by the project. He adds that, in accordance with the Minerals Act, villagers will have 20 days to raise objections and concerns.

By taking these small steps, the local government can claim it abides by the letter of the law governing mining projects. Still, Naowarat argues, neither local officials nor APPC are acting within the spirit of a constitution that seeks to protect community rights. The Udorn case demonstrates the gap that often exists between what is written on paper and what happens in practice.

In 1999, APPC hired Team Consulting Engineering and Management Co. (TEAM) to perform an environmental impact assessment of the mine’s potential hazards. Noticeably absent from the process was a single member of the village or anyone with a genuine understanding of local customs and lifestyles. Villagers claim they were unaware that TEAM was conducting an assessment.

The constitution also guarantees that an individual “shall have the right to get access to public information in possession of a State agency.” And yet, simply obtaining the final report proved to be a further challenge. It was only when a sympathetic official at the Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment leaked a copy of the environmental assessment that villagers had their first glimpse of what they were up against.

The information gap remains a problem, since villagers still lack access to thorough and accurate assessment reports. As stated in the Bangkok Post, the National Environment Board rejected the previous environmental impact assessment, citing 26 serious flaws. APPC is revising the report. Still, there is no guarantee that the company will be finished by the time the 20-day review period is scheduled to begin. Without this study, the villagers have little ground on which to base their opposition.

Finally, exactly how much resistance villagers must demonstrate to block the mine remains unclear. As Pachara points out, APPC has already invested billions of baht in the project. He is skeptical that anything short of an overwhelming show of opposition can derail it.

When asked about the prospect of achieving unanimity among villagers on this issue, Banya Khamlap, another leader of the Conservation Club, shakes his head. “Villagers can’t devote all of their time to the movement,” he says. “We still need to feed our families.”

Unlike the villagers, the company knows it can well afford to continue this struggle as long as necessary. The arrests, Banya fears, may also deter villagers from supporting the anti-mine movement. “APPC’s strategy is to intimidate us,” he explains. “They want to waste our time by threatening arrest so we cannot work to actively oppose the mine.”

On March 29, more than 500 villagers gathered outside the Udorn Provincial Hall, calling for the governor to nullify the demarcation results. The message to the governor was clear. Laws alone do not make a democracy. It is the people, given a genuine voice in determining their welfare, who do.

The Thai constitution intended to refashion the relationship between citizens and their government. But the handling of the potash situation, observes the well-known philosopher and social activist Sulak Sivaraksa, is not in the spirit of the constitution. “In a democratic state,” he argues, “the government must be under control of the citizen. It cannot be the other way around.”

Until this happens, Naowarat will continue protesting, La-iat will return to wait on the side of the road, and the war over the markers will continue.

Sara Schaumburg attended the University of Pennsylvania at the time this article was written. She studied abroad with the CIEE Program at Khon Kaen University.