Serbia’s mineral-rich northeast is being transformed as the Chinese Zijin Mining company expands copper and gold extraction. The mines are swallowing villages, polluting rivers, and displacing families, raising fears over health risks to the local population and cultural heritage. And as foreign investors rush to claim a share of Serbia’s minerals, Serbia’s sovereignty and autonomy are on the line.

The towns of Bor and Majdanpek, in northeastern Serbia, sit on some of the largest copper and gold deposits in Europe. Though evidence of mining activity in the region dates as far back as ancient Roman times, Bor only became a major mining hub after the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia nationalised the mines in 1951 and created the mining company RTB Bor. The establishment of the Bor Mining and Smelting Combine in 1961 sparked a period of rapid industrial expansion and demographic growth.

View of the central fruit, meat, and vegetable market in Bor. Once a small village, the town experienced dramatic growth following the discovery of large gold and copper deposits, which brought industrial development and attracted many newcomers. Today, the municipality of Bor is one of the wealthiest in Serbia, despite local salaries remaining low, as in the rest of the country. Bor, Serbia, December 2024. ©Matteo Trevisan

Granted city status in 1947, Bor attracted workers from across Yugoslavia, while Majdanpek, just 70 kilometres away, grew around another vast deposit with reserves estimated at over 600 million tonnes of ore. For decades, the two towns thrived as pillars of Yugoslav heavy industry. Those days, however, are long over.

Chalcopyrite (CuFeS2) is the primary copper ore in Bor. Its metallic golden-yellow colour distinguishes it from pyrite (which is brighter and yellower). Chalcopyrite is often confused with pyrite, but it is softer and more opaque. Bor, Serbia, February 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

Following the breakup of Yugoslavia, production in the RTB Bor dropped significantly, and the company recorded years of financial losses. In 2017, after several failed privatisation attempts, the Serbian government signed a memorandum of understanding with the International Monetary Fund (IMF), committing to launch a tender for privatisation or strategic partnership by the following year. In 2018, Belgrade chose the Chinese Zijin Mining Group as its strategic partner, and the mining giant took over 63 per cent of RTB.

Outside the headquarters of the Chinese company Zijin Mining, large screens display promotional videos of the company’s activities in the area. Bor, Serbia, February 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

A photograph displayed on a phone, taken by a worker inside one of the tunnels of the underground copper and gold mine owned by Zijin Mining. In 2023, Serbia exported more than a million tonnes of copper ore and concentrate, valued at 1.46 billion US dollars. The main buyer was China, which imported nearly 604,00 tonnes worth 842.6 million US dollars, followed by South Korea, Bulgaria, and Brazil.Bor, Serbia, February 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

Since 2018, Zijin has taken over the Bor mining complex and invested 2.5 billion US dollars (2.3 billion euros) to expand operations. This enlargement is not just industrial – it is reshaping the landscape and the lives of local communities. Entire families are witnessing their homes, land, and memories vanish as the mine swallows settlements. Meanwhile, the Serbian government has offered no real options for resettlement.

Jasna, with her daughter Katarina, inside their home in the village of Krivelj. The village is slowly disappearing due to the expansion of the mine, but Jasna and her loved ones are committed to defending the village and preserving their home, which has been in their family since the 1800s. “I don’t want to live anywhere else. This is home. I remember when I was a child, I used to play with my friends on a hill not far from here, but now that hill doesn’t exist anymore,” says Katarina. “My children may never even see this village because it might disappear forever.” Bor, Serbia, February 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

“One day, we’ll have a mine under our house,” says Miodrag, a farmer from the village of Slatina, standing in front of his agricultural land, expropriated by Zijin Mining. Miodrag is currently suing the company as he believes the expropriation was unfair. His family’s livelihood depends on this land, which has now been reduced to just a few hectares. Slatina (Bor), Serbia, December 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

The environmental consequences of the mining rush are also severe: forests, rivers, and wildlife have been devastated, and residents breathe some of the most polluted air in Europe.

The Borska Reka River is one of the most polluted waterways in Europe. With a length of about 47 km and a drainage basin of 373 km², it is the main tributary of the Veliki Timok River. Sediment analysis has shown high concentrations of copper, arsenic, and nickel, exceeding remediation thresholds, particularly near mining areas. As a result, the Borska Reka is considered a “dead river,” devoid of aquatic life, with severe environmental impacts that extend to the Danube via the Timok.Bor, Serbia, September 2024. ©Matteo Trevisan

Bor and Majdanpek are emblematic of a wider trend. By 2022, Chinese investments in Serbia had reached a level equivalent to the combined total of all 27 EU member states, sparking debates on strategic autonomy and a possible loss of sovereignty. The fact that Chinese contractors were responsible for renovating the canopy in Novi Sad’s rail station – which later collapsed, killing 16 people and sparking the largest protests in Serbia’s history – only adds to the complexity of China’s presence in Serbia. In Bor and Majdanpek, this engagement is at the same time both significant and invisible. Thousands of workers brought from China live in isolated camps, rarely interacting with the local population.

A betting shop in the town of Bor. Although Chinese presence is barely visible in the city –Chinese workers live in camps inside the mining complexes, which are inaccessible to the local population – several Chinese-operated betting shops have opened in recent years. These venues signage in Chinese and are intended to attract company managers and senior staff, who are allowed to leave the camps, unlike the regular workers from China. Bor, Serbia, February 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

Debates around mining in Serbia are not limited to copper, nor is China the only investor eager to put its hands on the country’s rich natural resources. In a bid to reduce its dependence on China for critical mineral resources needed for the green transition, the EU has pushed for lithium extraction in the area around Jadar, in the western part of Serbia. Mining plans have sparked mass demonstrations all over the central European countrymass demonstrations all over country.

Families abandon their homes due to the expansion of the mine Shot at night with flash, this black and white photo evokes a sense of lost familiarity. Bor, Serbia, February 2025. ©Matteo Trevisan

While president Aleksandar Vučić’s authoritarian government claims lithium extraction would respect strict environmental norms, the experience of local communities in Bor and Majdanpek tells a different story.

A glimpse inside the train station of Bor, now abandoned after a 2023 fire that destroyed much of the roof. Some residents suspect arson, believing that the Chinese company Zijin Mining started the blaze as it was interested in expanding its operations in the area and acquiring the railway land. There is no official evidence to support this claim. Bor, Serbia, October 2024. ©Matteo Trevisan

A report published in January 2024 revealed frequent spikes of sulphur dioxide (SO2) in the Bor area, responsible for both acute and chronic respiratory problems as well as acid rain. The study also detected PM10 fine particles containing heavy metals such as lead, cadmium, nickel, and arsenic. Despite the proven adverse effects of mining, no systematic assessment of public health has been carried out since Zijin took over operations. However, the Batut Institute of Public Health has published a study showing an increased mortality risk for both men and women in Bor across all age groups.

Aerial view of the copper and gold mine in Bor. The effects of intensive extraction and smelting are felt across the region, and air quality is a major concern. Bor, Serbia, September 2024. ©Matteo Trevisan

Bor and Majdanpek embody the human and environmental cost of extractive expansion in Serbia. Histories, homes, and traditions are under threat as the rush for critical minerals intensifies.

The Czech region of Moravia-Silesia was once referred to as the “boiler room” of Europe, but coal mining is soon slated to be phased out after decades of declining production. While EU-sponsored projects and the Czech government’s retraining programmes have achieved some success in facilitating green transformation, the region’s future remains uncertain amid political corruption, social exclusion, and a lack of a coherent vision for a just transition.

On the outskirts of the city of Karviná in the coal-rich Czech region of Moravia-Silesia is located the Church of Saint Peter of Alcántara. Mining activity has caused the building to sink some 37 meters and tilt nearly 7 degrees to the south, earning it the nickname the “leaning church”.  Karin Lednická’s popular trilogy of novels by the same title recounts the fate of the church and tells the story of the people in the area’s mining colonies, where many other buildings have developed cracks, sunk, and collapsed. In the second half of the 20^th century, the old town had to be demolished gradually as a result and rebuilt elsewhere.

Within sight of this much-visited heritage site, a heated debate is brewing around the future of Karviná. As Czechia prepares to phase out its last deep coal mine, plans to turn the area into an industrial zone are stirring opposition, and populist politicians are trying to bank on social discontent.

Conflicting visions

The effects of coal extraction are starkly visible around the Czechoslovak Army Mine in Stonava, a municipality in the Karviná district. The dead, “lunar” landscape is interspersed with sludge ponds, and artificially recultivated green spaces with trees that intersect with rusty piping. Underground pipes installed to allow methane to escape from the old tunnels stick out from the surface. And the remains of old streetlamps tower above water-filled depressions in the ground.  Much of the coal industry’s waste ended up in these areas, which used to have thousands of inhabitants. Now, the dumps and sludge ponds will be waiting for years for land reclamation to start.

Together with Jan Lenart, a geologist from Ostrava University who specialises in undermined landscapes, we are scouring through demolished houses and old roads amongst the remains of the old town of Stará Karviná. The visit is a unique experience, and not just for fans of the Leaning Church trilogy. Thanks to the process of spontaneous succession (the natural recovery of an ecosystem, without human intervention) and the fact that many areas have been lying fallow, the area resembles an open-air museum.

Locals have also come to appreciate the value of this changing landscape. In summer, many flock to the shores of the “Karviná Sea” – the lake created as a result of mining depressions – to swim or attend cultural events.

For more than seven years, Lenart has been mapping the territory in order to lay out a vision for its recreational and touristic use. He is planning bike paths, hiking trails, and historic sites. However, the geologist laments that public authorities lack a clear vision of what to do with the landscape in its post-mining phase. According to representatives of the Moravian-Silesian Investment and Development Agency, the area is ready for construction: it is well-networked with water and gas pipelines and roads, even if the ground surface is still settling.

But fragmented ownership of the land makes it difficult for public authorities to plan its future. Asental Land (owned by Czech billionaire Zdeněk Balaka), a real estate group owning the largest share of the Karviná area, is eager to turn it into an industrial zone. In addition, American development company Panattoni has presented a plan to “attract top-notch investment” and “return thousands of jobs” to Moravia-Silesia, where employment has been negatively affected by the phaseout of coal.  If this plan goes through, prefabricated halls will soon be visible from the leaning church.

However, these proposals have sparked opposition from conservationists and locals, who are not eager to see new industrial buildings replace the old mining complex. The construction plan might also clash with one of the strategic projects of the Just Transition Mechanism, an EU policy framework aimed at alleviating socio-economic impacts in the areas that are most affected by the transition to a low-carbon economy. The project in question is the POHO Park Gabriela, named after a former coal mine and designed for visitors who seek rest and relaxation.

Industrial glory and decline

Ostrava, the capital of the Moravian-Silesian region, is known as the “steel heart” of the Czech Republic. Black coal extraction, dating back to the late 18^th century, powered the establishment of Vítkovice Ironworks in 1828 and enabled the development of the Austro-Hungarian railway network.

Before then, the predominantly agricultural population relied on wood from the nearby Beskydy forest. Local artisans were aware of the existence of black coal long before the Karviná-Ostrava basin became one of the most important mining sites in Austria-Hungary and played a fundamental role in the industrial development of the entire monarchy. The volume of extraction grew throughout the 20^th century. Even World War II did not lower the region’s productivity, although mining equipment was damaged.

By 1946, the Communist-led government had nationalised a total of 32 mines, nine coking plants, 10 mining power plants, ironworks in Třinec and Vítkovice, farms and forests, and several other industrial enterprises in the region. With annual production volumes increasing and the mining industry failing to comply with safety regulations, fatal accidents occurred regularly (for instance, the death of 108 miners at the Dukla mine in 1961 as a result of a fire). From the 1960s onwards, mining activities accelerated, until they reached a peak in 1979 with 24.1 million tonnes of coal mined. Since 1982, production has been in steady decline.

As demand for coke rose and salaries grew, many young men and their families came to Moravia-Silesia. Mining soon became associated with a sense of pride, even though some workers – i.e., political and other prisoners –  ended up in the mines as a punishment. A coal-fired heavy industry took shape in the area, and new towns were built or expanded around it – including Karviná. Air pollution was one of the side effects: as recently as the 1990s, Ostrava was famous for its intense smog.

After the Velvet Revolution in 1989, the coal industry underwent a rapid decline. The government compensated laid-off miners and started large-scale retraining courses, which have successfully continued to this day. But these offers have failed to resolve all the challenges facing the Moravian-Silesian population, which has driven the population to emigrate to other regions en masse.

Adéla Gajdicová, a student and young journalist from Moravia-Silesia, recently asked her peers why they weren’t planning to remain in their native region. Some pointed to the subpar quality of education, while others mentioned factors like low pay, lack of interesting work opportunities, or insufficient support for entrepreneurship. Social geographer Ondřej Šlach says that half of those leaving the region are between 19 and 30 years old.

By the year 2080, one-third of the 1.1 million current inhabitants of Moravia-Silesia are predicted to leave it, most of them young people. During just the first month of 2025, more than 6,500 residents moved away, most often from the Karviná and Ostrava area. The population is ageing, and buildings, streets, and whole housing estates are being demolished.

The wave of privatisation that followed Czechoslovakia’s transition to democracy negatively impacted communities that were already struggling due to industrial decline. In 1990, the 43,000 housing units that formerly belonged to the Ostrava-Karviná Mines (OKD) – the largest housing holdings in Central Europe – were privatised. Billionaire Zdeněk Bakala took control of them, along with the commercial structures, land, and recreational real estate.

Bakala never kept his promise of selling the homes to their tenants at affordable prices. Eventually, in 2020, the units were sold to Heimstaden, a Swedish real estate firm. Residents complain that Heimstaden not only keeps raising rents on the units – driving up rental prices in the region as a whole – but it also does not communicate well with tenants. The situation is mirrored in properties Heimstadem owns elsewhere, for instance in Berlin or in the Swedish city of Malmö. In an interview with Czech media outlet PageNotFound, a co-founder of the Stop Heimstaden initiative complained about “regular raising of the rent, short-term contracts, poor maintenance, the impossibility of ever connecting directly with somebody from the firm”.

In 2024, one of the tenants brought the case before the European Court of Human Rights after the Czech courts found no wrongdoing in the privatisation process. The case is still open. Meanwhile, the Bakala Foundation is trying to rebuild the reputation of its owner in the region, for example by offering scholarships and other activities for talented students. This year, municipalities began buying back housing units from Heimstaden at significantly higher prices than they were sold, but even so, the company remains Czechia’s largest landlord.

Ostrava and its surrounding areas have one of the highest concentrations of socially excluded localities – second only to the Ústecký region, another former coal-mining area. More than 20,000 inhabitants, including children, are living in social exclusion in the Moravian-Silesian region. The towns of Karviná and Orlová are consistently placed at the bottom of Czechia’s quality-of-life rankings, often alternating for last place.

Ostrava and its surrounding areas have one of the highest concentrations of socially excluded localities – second only to another former coal-mining area.

Campaigning on disaffection

Meanwhile, opportunistic politicians are trying to bank on social discontent. Former prime minister Andrej Babiš will be the right-wing ANO party’s front-running candidate for Moravia-Silesia in parliamentary elections in October. The party is leading the polls, and Babiš has good chances of being elected premier again.

Although he was born in neighbouring Slovakia, Babiš has claimed that he has a historical relationship to the “unique” region. The former prime minister claims credit for the construction of a bypass around the city of Frýdek, and for “saving” OKD after Bakala stripped the mines’ assets. At the same time, he has professed his love for the Jeseníky Mountains – despite facing criticism for his government’s failure to address a devastating bark beetle infestation there. And in recent months, Babiš has often been photographed attending cultural events or wearing the jerseys of local sports teams from Moravia-Silesia.

What brought the populist former premier to the region is mostly its untapped electoral potential: turnout in the last parliamentary election stood at 60 per cent – 10 percentage points lower than in Prague.  “We need as many of you as possible to come to the polls here,” declared Babiš, whose campaign events are well attended by both pensioners and younger people. He has often used these gatherings to speak against EU policy and praise US President Donald Trump.

Babiš says Czechia is corrupt and that Moravia-Silesia has been robbed. The region’s inhabitants have no doubt that the latter claim, at least, is correct, as the political representation of the region has undergone one scandal after another. However, Babiš tends to omit the fact that his party is also entangled in these scandals.

Last year, former Moravian-Silesian governor Jan Krkoška left the ANO movement after being convicted of bribing doctors on behalf of the pharmaceutical company he was working for. In the months following Krkoška’s downfall, vice-governor Jakub Unucka (from the Civic Democratic Party, ODS) resigned after being charged in a regional scandal for influencing the distribution of public tenders in exchange for bribes. ANO is currently governing the region in coalition with other right-wing and far-right parties.

Missed opportunities

Populist narratives find fertile ground in a region that, after centuries of supplying coal to the country and beyond, has yet to forge a new identity. Can the Moravian-Silesian community truly move on from coal? Workers still hold ceremonies honouring their mining tradition with their work uniforms, and they pay homage to colleagues who perished in mining accidents.

The Leaning Church brought stories from the coal region to thousands of readers who now travel there to photograph it. The former steelworks in Dolní Vítkovice have also found a second life as a venue for music festivals, cross-country skiing, firefighting competitions, and other events for smaller and larger communities. This year, for instance, world-famous singer and songwriter Sting performed against a backdrop of rusted pipes in Ostrava. Still, the touristification of industrial heritage is not replicable everywhere and is not enough to guarantee a prosperous future for the people of Moravia-Silesia.

At the same time, regional leaders, the mayors of former mining municipalities, and private investors remain fixated on the idea of attracting a single large employer that can provide thousands of jobs – as demonstrated by the Panattoni Smart Park project in Karviná. The Just Transition Fund was meant to offer an alternative path, enabling a green transformation that would protect the most vulnerable. However, the 10 projects sponsored by the scheme in Moravia-Silesia lack a unifying vision and often fail to address the real needs of citizens.

To address this problem, the Centre for Business, Professional and International Studies (CEPIS) – still under construction in Karviná – is encouraging residents participating in its courses to establish their own enterprises. The IT sector promises to bring new opportunities and higher-than-average pay, and some former miners are seizing this opportunity by retraining. The 2020 documentary A New Shift, which follows a miner trying to become a computer programmer, shows that this process is far from easy. While initiatives like Trautom – which provides education and advisory services – aim to help former coal workers find new career paths, the image of laid-off miners as victims of the transition still dominates Czech media.

The Black Cube library, whose construction started this spring in the centre of Ostrava, is another project supported by the Just Transition Fund – one aimed primarily at promoting culture rather than technology. Upon completion, the building will resemble a block of coal surrounded by a moat. The design, however, is more than 20 years old, which might explain the high energy intensity of the building. “Its seven floors will be full of opportunities waiting to be discovered,” the director of the project tells me, without providing much detail. He says part of the project’s funding has been earmarked as small grants for the activities of local nonprofit organisations.

But the project is also facing criticism. Zuzana Klusová, a social worker and a local politician of the Pirate Party, thinks the library is a waste of resources. “Are we telling poor children from Karviná they have to travel to a library that costs almost 82 million euros in the centre of Ostrava, which would take them an hour by public transportation, when they do not even have a telephone at home from which they could call the child safety hotline?” she asks ironically.  

The politician believes there are more urgent challenges to address in Moravia-Silesia. Together with the NGO S.O.S. Karviná, Klusová campaigned against the expansion of coal mining. Now, in collaboration with another NGO – Let’s Save the Karviná Railway Station – she is working to transform the disused station into a drop-in recreational club for children and youth. Trains no longer run on the tracks as mining has made the subsoil unstable. She laments that the Just Transition Fund cannot be used to support such projects, even with relatively small sums of just a few hundred thousand crowns.

When asked why she continues to live in an area that is often visited by journalists looking for images of “the worst place to live in Czechia”, she replies:  “Life is not worse here than it is anywhere else. We have our acquaintances, our families, our friends here. We are building a community garden near the railway station; for Saint Nicholas Day, we organised benefit rides and carolling on a little train car covered with Christmas lights there. Sometimes I tell myself we should leave, but we are staying just the same.”

Klusová claims that local citizens associate the Just Transition Mechanism with costly and extravagant projects that are far removed from their needs. One of these initiatives is EDEN Silesia, a 102-million-euro project supported by the fund for the conversion of the Barbora mine. Its aim is to create a research, educational, and commercial park designed as a group of massive greenhouses and laboratories. However, the construction of this tropical jungle in Karviná has been postponed indefinitely due to the lack of preparedness as well as objections from European evaluators. “Do you comprehend that you are discussing this type of project in a town where abandoned buildings are being demolished and where, during Advent, the debate on social media is about the theft of baked goods from people’s balconies?” Klusová asks rhetorically.

Meanwhile, Ostrava has lost one of its cherished community spaces, the Bauhaus. Between 2018 and 2024, the centre offered activities to Romani children, ran a mothers’ club, and functioned as a space for arts and culture. But the city administration decided to demolish the centre and convert it into a judicial complex to make it more lucrative. This happened despite the fact that the existing structure had won architectural awards and brought real value to the community. A new, smaller space called Placek is planned to replace the Bauhaus.

There will be life after coal

Civil society organisations oppose the building of an industrial zone next to the Leaning Church as well as a planned lithium battery gigafactory in Dolní Lutyně, near Karviná, arguing that Moravia-Silesia does not need more assembly plants for manual labourers.  “There is no interest here in that sort of jobs,” says Martin Bohoněk of Zachovejme Poolší (“Let’s Save Poolší”). “It is clear, therefore, that an investor will need to tempt a foreign workforce here. What kinds of problems will be addressed by that? They are building on the last green space in the area, but they will not be building homes, hospitals, or institutions of learning for it.” The gigafactory is planned to cover an area the size of 380 football pitches. For the Czech government, this is a strategic project, but locals overwhelmingly rejected it in a referendum in 2024.

In the Bedřiška colony in Ostrava, tenants have been complaining about an unjust transition for years amid the looming threat of eviction. Their Finnish-style single-family houses are slated to be demolished and replaced by new construction, even though the colony is one of the best examples of coexistence between non-Romani and Romani people in Czechia. The community achieved this feat without the aid of the government or any formally trained social workers, purely thanks to mutual solidarity and self-organisation. As Eva Lehotská, a member of the community, told Czech online daily Alarm: “What angers me most of all is that they are making it clear to us that there is no point in trying. People here have tried so hard, they started going to work, nobody here owes any back rent, the children tutor each other and have improved their school results, and because they are throwing us out of our homes, they are making it clear to us that all the efforts of the entire community, all the people here, were for nothing.”

In August, hundreds of climate activists – including members of Limity jsme my (“We Are the Limits”) – visited Bedřiška to show their support for local residents. These activists are among the few public figures drawing attention to the climate crisis in the Czech media. They call out the coal barons’ unfair practices and companies’ lack of decarbonisation plans, while also highlighting the social dimensions of a just transition that remain unaddressed.

This should come as no surprise. The Just Transition Mechanism was conceived as a way to mitigate exactly the sort of challenges that coal regions of Czechia – still often referred to as Europe’s “boiler room” – are facing, and to make sure no one is left behind. But so far, Moravia-Silesia’s transition has proven very complicated.

The region has been hit by successive corruption scandals involving regional representatives, has the highest proportion of socially excluded localities in Czechia, and features vast post-mining “lunar” landscapes. Regional strategies are too often created without meaningful input from those working on the ground – people trying to improve life for themselves, their neighbours, and the poorest. Instead, locals involved in civil society initiatives frequently find themselves at odds with municipal and regional leaders.

Within Czechia’s declining coal regions, there seems to be little appetite for large factory complexes. There will be life after coal here, but whether it will mean a good life for all is difficult to say.

In Ecuador, the Amazon rainforest is plagued by an intensifying gold rush undertaken both by illegal small-scale miners and foreign companies. These illegal activities impose significant environmental, social, and economic costs on local communities, which are already facing a high level of poverty. But there is a ray of hope: Yuturi Warmi, a group led by Indigenous women in the Serena community, has organised communal resistance to extractivism while paving the way for alternative living strategies.

It is late September 2023 in Tena, Ecuador. 20 Amazonian Indigenous women are gathered in the city to protest against gold mining in their ancestral lands. However, across from them stands a much larger group, touting the economic benefits of extraction and holding signs that read “Sí a la minería!” (Yes to mining!). The situation escalates when pro-mining demonstrators start insulting and issuing death threats at the women while breaking their placards. A fight between the two camps is barely averted.

The 20 women all come from the Kichwa community of Serena. To protect their ancestral territory from the advances of the mining sector, they have formed Yuturi Warmi, the first women-led Indigenous guard of the Napo province in the Ecuadorian Amazon. They aim to preserve the integrity of the rainforest and the wellbeing of its inhabitants, but as the episode in Tena shows, they often lack external support in tense situations, including from environmental organisations.

Yuturi Warmi’s work entails considerable perils: Latin America has been designated as the most dangerous place to be a climate activist. Death threats and murder are common strategies used to deter endeavours against destructive and polluting activities. Indigenous peoples are especially vulnerable to this violence because they often firmly oppose unsustainable resource extraction taking place on their territories.

The Amazon rainforest harbours about 10 per cent of the world’s known species as well as hundreds of culturally rich ethnic groups. Moreover, it plays a vital role in regulating our global climate. Acting as an enormous carbon sink, the Amazon absorbs around 5 per cent of the world’s total emissions, earning it the nickname of “the lungs of the Earth”. Additionally, the rainforest is also called “the world’s largest medicine cabinet” since 25 per cent of modern Western medicines originate from its flora.

A Resource Curse

Despite its incredible natural capital, the Amazon’s biodiversity and the communities it hosts are facing serious threats from extractivism, i.e., the large-scale and violent extraction of raw materials. At its core, extractivism is defined by the non-reciprocity of a global organisation system in which Western capitalist superpowers accumulate wealth from resources in the Global South.

Since its discovery by European colonisers, the Amazon has been scarred by destructive activities such as mining, oil exploitation, and the agro-industrial sector. Aside from contaminating the land with toxic chemicals, these industries drive deforestation, resulting in a loss of forest cover bigger than the size of France in the past 20 years.

Ecuador entered the global market following its colonisation by the Spanish Empire in the 16^th century. Shortly afterwards, its European conquerors started extracting minerals, including copper, silver, gold, lead, and zinc. Mines were opened in every region, and large swathes of forest were turned into agricultural fields.

However, in the 1970s, the discovery of oil in the Northern Amazon took extractivism in the area to an unprecedented level. Both state-owned and international oil companies invaded the region to profit from Ecuador’s black gold. These actors peddled a narrative of salvation to justify the dispossession of Indigenous land and the destruction of natural habitats. Such propaganda is still being used to this day, and it was especially pronounced during the presidency of Rafael Correa from 2007 to 2017. Correa’s so-called neoliberal social policies promised to fund social projects aimed at elevating the seemingly “backward” and “underdeveloped” Indigenous communities.

Still, despite the dramatic increase in the scale of these extractive projects over the past ten years, local communities continue to face systemic poverty. Correa’s neoliberal policies fuelled growing inequalities and enhanced Ecuador’s dependence on the export of a few commodities. Maintained in this unequal global system of exploitation, the country needs to continuously export more resources to keep up with the international market’s demand. Like many other regions in the Global South, the Amazon suffers from a resource curse: abundant in non-renewable resources but unable to benefit from them, it is condemned to remain in a state of economic precarity.

Like many other regions in the Global South, the Amazon suffers from a resource curse: abundant in non-renewable resources but unable to benefit from them, it is condemned to remain in a state of economic precarity.

To maintain its position as an important exporter of minerals, the Ecuadorian government has entered into agreements with large foreign mining companies. The mining sites of Fruta Del Norte for gold (owned by Lundin Gold, a Canadian US-funded company), and Mirador for copper (owned by Chinese CRCC-Tongguan) have now permanently scarred the country’s landscape. More recently, President Daniel Noboa secretly negotiated and concluded a free trade agreement with Canada. Local Indigenous organisations have condemned this deal as solely benefiting transnational mining and private interests. Furthermore, the Ecuadorian government failed to conduct adequate prior consultation with the local population to obtain their informed consent.

Since 2019, Napo province – where the Serena community is located – has witnessed a boom in gold mining. The state has sold dozens of mining concessions to large enterprises, such as TerraEarth Resources S.A. In 2020, the Chinese-owned company acquired exclusive mining rights in most of the area, including the Serena community’s territory. But shortly afterwards, the Provincial Court of Justice in Tena ordered TerraEarth to halt its activities due to inappropriate environmental management.

This provided an opportunity for illegal small-scale miners to enter the vacant mining areas and start digging. Without proper law enforcement, and due to an unemployment crisis exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic, the quick source of income that gold mining offered was attractive to both locals and foreigners. But the precious metal also attracted criminal groups involved in narcotrafficking since it offers an ideal solution for laundering the gains from drugs.

So far, more than 7000 hectares of land in Napo has been permanently damaged by illegal gold mining activities. However, it is important to note that Indigenous groups such as Yuturi Warmi consider all mining to be illegal, as no actors seek to obtain their prior and informed consent before starting excavations. In the same vein, local environmental organisations complain that it has become difficult to separate illegal and legal mining in the region because state authorities and official companies alike knowingly benefit from illegal mining.

Laying waste to land and culture

Industrial gold mining has numerous negative consequences for local communities and their natural surroundings. Trees are uprooted to make space for the excavators, which then cause erosion by digging into the land. The rivers and soil get contaminated by mercury used for separating the gold from the ore, along with other toxic wastes dumped directly into the water and pollution from the process of leaching piles of rock. In some areas, this has led to the complete disappearance of aquatic life, which is unable to adapt to these conditions.

For humans, exposure to the heavy metals used in the mining process causes lung diseases, skin rashes, stomach issues, and cancers. Often, the polluted river is the only source of water available to local communities. Moreover, the contamination of the soil also renders any kind of agriculture impossible, depriving families of an important source of livelihood. “The land does not bear fruits anymore, it’s worthless”, states Rosaura Alvarado, one of the members of Yuturi Warmi.

Amazonian Kichwa communities depend on their chakras ― a system of sustainable agriculture that uses ancestral and ecological knowledge to conserve the forest, water, soil, and wildlife. This regenerative model is an integral part of their traditional way of life, providing them with edible, medicinal, and other kinds of useful plants. In addition, the Kichwa culture and spirituality are intimately linked to nature’s integrity, and every rite is related to products obtained from the land. Like in a variety of Latin American Indigenous cultures, the women of Yuturi Warmi consider their bodies to be connected to the territory, and harm to one results in harm to the other. Gold mining thus represents a threat to the survival of the Kichwa culture.

Another threat to the communities living near mining sites is the increasing prevalence of narcotraffickers in their region, coupled with the deterioration of socio-economic conditions.  These criminal groups sometimes carry out shootings and other deadly acts of violence in Indigenous areas, as well as human rights abuses such as the forced labour of children or other vulnerable individuals in the mines. “There is prostitution, drug addiction, alcoholism that come to the communities. (…) It is the result of mining,” says Elsa Cerda, another Yuturi. But she also remains determined: “In this community we don’t have it. And we are not going to allow it. Ever.”

Often, women suffer a disproportionate share of these problems. Traditionally considered as the primary caretakers of the household and chakra, their responsibilities are rendered more difficult to manage. The need to use water for chores exposes them to the toxic chemicals, and the struggles to farm on contaminated land intensify. Even when they are sick, women still need to tend to their families. Gender based violence linked to alcoholism and forced prostitution is also a symptom of gold mining. Indeed, most of the women who are members of Yuturi Warmi said they had suffered domestic violence at the hands of their partners, who initially opposed their wish to protest against extractivism. The women would leave the household and their responsibilities to protest on the streets, and their husbands would be angry at them for coming home empty-handed after a full day of absence.

Resistance strategies

So far, the inhabitants of Serena are the only ones in the region who have successfully prevented miners from entering their territory. This success is due to their self-organisation as the Indigenous guard of Yuturi Warmi. Back in 2020, faced with the growing threat posed by the advances of the gold  mines, a group of 14 women from Serena decided to take action and unite against extractivism. Their name translates to “bullet ant (yuturi) women (warmi)”, referring to the infamous insects whose bite causes excruciating pain and which collectively attack intruders.

Today, the association has grown to encompass almost all of Serena’s inhabitants, including some individuals living in other communities. Yuturi Warmi joined the politically powerful Indigenous Ecuadorian movement, which has won numerous environmental victories in recent years. One of its most important successes is the 2023 Yes to Yasuní referendum, in which Ecuador’s citizens democratically voted against oil exploitation activities in the precious Yasuní National Park. However, the referendum has yet to be enforced, as governmental plans to increase national oil exploitation continue.

Yuturi Warmi’s resistance strategies are manifold. The group takes part in street protests, marches, and sit-ins outside of judicial hearings. Moreover, the Yuturis have travelled to other areas to take part in anti-mining action organised by local collectives both in the nearby city of Tena, and in further locations such as Puyo, or even the capital, Quito. “We make signs, write that we want clean water, that we want our nature, no more mining,” explains Rosaura. They often go to protests wearing their traditional Kichwa apparel such as artesanías (beaded jewelry) and maquicotona (typical women’s shirt). Some members of the group have even been invited to speak about climate justice and Indigenous rights at both governmental and international conferences, such as COPs. Yuturi Warmi also takes part in protests unrelated to mining but opposing development projects threatening their own or other Kichwa communities’ right to self-determination. For example, in December last year, they went to the small town of Archidona to oppose the construction of a large prison, which would endanger the locals’ security and economic activities.

Besides public demonstrations, the Yuturis organise at the community level to ensure no miners enter Serena’s territory. They have a group chat and an alarm system to communicate, scout their land both in teams and with a drone, and, more recently, started guarding the entrance of the community around the clock in response to intensifying efforts from miners to intrude.

To defend themselves, the members of Yuturi Warmi have expressed their readiness to use what they call justicia indígena (Indigenous justice). In the Kichwa culture, this entails brandishing spears and threatening assailants with chilli peppers, nettles, and liquid tobacco: “Do you know what chilli pepper is like? If it gets on your face or in your eyes, it stings and makes you cry. You won’t be able to open your eyes. That’s our first weapon that we must throw. And we put tobacco wherever we can get our hands on; in the nose, in the eyes… That’s our weapon. And to intimidate them, we have the spear,” said another member of the group, Piedad Alvarado.

Finally, Yuturi Warmi takes part in activities providing alternative sources of income to industrial mining. Through communal classes, all the women, as well as some of their husbands, have learned how to craft objects such as jewellery and ceramics. They sell their creations to visitors or at events outside the community. However, the group’s dream is to develop a community tourism project, in which they could welcome foreigners and share their culture with them, while also selling their products. More precisely, they would like to build a tourist lodge including a small shop and a botanical garden of medicinal plants. This resilience strategy is already used in other communities, notably to resist oil exploitation in the Amazon.

Most of the inhabitants of Serena do not have the resources to pursue higher studies, nor opportunities to find salaried positions. The families all tend to their chakras,which provide them with edible products such as plantain and cassava, as well as products they can sell, like cocoa and vanilla. Moreover, they also engage in alluvial gold panning, a non-destructive and traditional way of collecting gold from the river. Nevertheless, the revenues from these activities alone are low, and families need additional income to support their children’s education.

For the women of Yuturi Warmi, their association is not only successful in safeguarding their community but has also helped them feel empowered in their personal lives. Protecting their future as a group has made many of them more comfortable with public speaking and talking to journalists about the threats of extractivism. As confident and driven activists, the Yuturis are changing the perception of Indigenous women living in an extractive zone as unassertive, silent victims.

Community support has also helped those suffering domestic violence to stand up to their husbands. The men in the Serena community initially did not understand why the women were “losing time” crafting jewellery or going to protests instead of doing house chores. But the verbal and physical abuse gradually disappeared once the men understood the benefits of their wives’ resistance. Now, many husbands and sons are actively part of the group and have become important supporters of the cause. 

Can mining be stopped?

Within Ecuador’s government, support for mining remains high.

In April, right-wing president Daniel Noboa won a second term after defeating Luisa González, from the leftist Revolución Ciudadana party. The third candidate in line, Leonidas Iza – who represented the Indigenous party Pachakutik – was eliminated from the presidential race on the first round of the election. Despite its influence, the Ecuadorian Indigenous movement was not able to face the rising conservative political tendencies of the country.

Although a divisive matter, Noboa has gained support through his iron fist approach in dealing with alleged narcotraffickers, deploying more military troops and police in the streets. Organised crime linked to illegal mining and drug trafficking has plagued Ecuador since 2021, making it the most violent country in the region. Noboa’s tough crackdown has therefore been welcomed by a large part of the electorate. However, the first five months of 2025 were registered as the most violent start of the year in Ecuador’s history, with 2361 murders recorded in the first trimester alone, a 65-per cent increase compared to the previous year.

During his mandate, Noboa also promised to boost the country’s weak economy. As he considers the mining and oil sectors crucial to its development, he has already implemented measures to increase the extraction of raw materials. Notably, he has eliminated the Ministry of the Environment, Water, and Ecological Transition (MAATE) and transferred its functions to the Ministry of Energy and Mines. The parliament also recently approved a new law allowing private entities and foreign companies to participate in managing conservation zones. These measures are heavily criticised by Indigenous organisations, which fear that they will lead to unchecked environmental and land rights abuses.

Notably, the low political appetite in Ecuador for curbing mining activities has parallels elsewhere in Latin America, where neoliberal and socialist leaders alike tend to support unrestrained resource extraction. The other Amazonian economies are also heavily dependent on the export of commodities that rely on mining, oil drilling, and intensive agriculture. For instance, Lithium extraction drives Bolivia’s development policy agenda, while in Venezuela, the government has opened large “special economic zones” in Indigenous territories to extract as many resources as possible. This is also the case in Peru, where Dina Boluarte’s authoritarian presidency has enabled a murderous crackdown on Indigenous protesters. Even the progressive administrations of president  Luiz Inácio “Lula” da Silva in Brazil and Gustavo Petro in Colombia have been unable to give up extractivism. These countries’ dependence on commodity exports means abandoning them would lead to grave losses in jobs and revenues while the troublesome process of economic diversification is undertaken, which could in turn lead to popular anger and frustration.

Now, following the conclusion of the trade deal between the EU and Mercosur (of which Ecuador is an associated member), the situation is unlikely to improve for Indigenous communities in the Amazon. The deal will see an increase in EU imports of beef, poultry, sugar and other products from South America, in exchange for European plastics, cars, and pesticides. With reduced tariffs and looser regulations on South American products coming from intensive agriculture, local small-scale farmers from both continents are likely to be disadvantaged. Besides, it can also lead to destructive environmental consequences, notably with more deforestation in the Amazon, to allow for more commodity production.

A ray of hope

In light of these developments, amplifying the voices of affected communities and supporting the fight of Indigenous groups is crucial. Associations such as Yuturi Warmi can inspire a fairer, post-extractive society. The inhabitants of the Serena community are adapting their traditional ways of life to preserve their culture and livelihood in the face of extractivism. And their resilience has allowed them to stay true to their values of reciprocity and community, effectively challenging the endless neoliberal expansion that has taken over much of the Amazon.  

Corina Andi, one of Yuturi Warmi’s elders, asserts: “I will go into history, I tell you, that Mama Curi died like this for herself, for her community. […] That’s why I want to fight for my children who are going to be left here, for my grandchildren.” Her determination is shared by other members of the group, who place the integrity of their land above all else.

Indigenous peoples are the primary guardians of the Earth’s most vital ecosystems. Supporting their struggles is not just an act of solidarity – it is a commitment to protecting life itself. The women of Yuturi Warmi, through their defence of land, culture, and community, offer a living example of what a just and sustainable future can look like. Their resistance reclaims dignity and reminds us that extraction is not the only path.

This article is based on a master’s thesis field research conducted in collaboration with Filippo de Rossi, Margot Tjolle, and the inhabitants of the Serena community in 2024.

Following Donald Trump’s remarks about a possible US annexation of Greenland, the High North has come under renewed international focus. Climate change and geopolitical tensions are driving a new race for the region, increasing the militarisation of the Arctic and making it a key focus of predatory “green capitalism”. The melting ice is revealing hidden dangers, and what happens in the Arctic doesn’t stay there.

“Everyone wants to bite off somewhere or to bite off something from us. But they should know that we will knock out everyone’s teeth so that they cannot bite.” This was the response Vladimir Putin gave in 2021 to American criticism of Russian naval and military expansion in the Arctic. It made clear that for Russia, the Arctic is a region of strategic importance that Moscow is willing to fight for using any means necessary.

The Arctic, once a remote and largely untouched region, is increasingly becoming a focal point of international interest and geopolitical tensions. Of course, struggles for control of the Arctic are nothing new. Historically, the region often mirrored the strategic manoeuvring of superpowers and minor countries with territorial claims, thus making it a microcosm of global geopolitical dynamics. The bipolar structure of Arctic geopolitics dominated by US and Soviet interests during the Cold War became largely unipolar after the fall of the Soviet Union. Now it’s evolving further as Russia and China become more assertive in pursuing their interests. Given the extreme climate conditions, the region may seem unattractive at first sight, but a closer look unveils its vital importance for modern economies from the 18th century onwards.

Interest in the Arctic goes back at least to the 1730s, when expeditions by Dutch and English explorers around Spitzberg Island opened the door to commercial whaling. In the 20th century, attention shifted towards oil and natural gas extraction as the region proved rich in resources vital for fossil fuel economies. That is most striking in the case of Russia. The Arctic makes up some 28 per cent of the Russian landmass, and it’s also where the majority of Russian oil and gas production is located. In 2022 alone, “Russia’s production of Arctic oil and gas amounted to some 10.65 million barrels of oil equivalent per day,” according to Statista, making it “the largest producer across the globe,” followed by Norway and the US. But the future of the Arctic lies elsewhere.

What happens in the Arctic doesn’t stay there

The Arctic warms approximately three times faster than the global average. This has led some to assume that the Arctic countries (Canada, Denmark, Finland, Iceland, Norway, Sweden, Russia, and the US) may benefit from climate change to some degree, as it will make their largely frozen regions more habitable, if not suitable for agriculture. This idea is especially popular in Russia, where permafrost covers almost two-thirds of its territory and whose vast Siberian region faces extreme conditions. According to this line of thought, Russia could profit from rising global temperatures and become a “climate winner”. But while the economic potential of thawing may seem promising, much more than permafrost lies under the fertile soil, including methane, a greenhouse gas 84 times stronger than carbon dioxide,  and the danger of unknown bacteria and viruses.

As climate change accelerates, its impacts on the Arctic ripple outwards, influencing global weather patterns. Less ice means less reflected heat to disrupt the polar jet stream that circles the Arctic region. This can result in heat waves or, conversely, harder winters. Melting sea ice also affects precipitation patterns around the northern hemisphere. Even worse, the melting of both sea ice and Greenland glaciers is changing patterns of ocean currents in the North Atlantic to such a degree that they may stop altogether. If that happens, it would cause significant regional cooling, of about 5 to 10 degrees Celsius, in Europe and North America.

At the same time, the melting of Arctic ice accelerates global climate change further, as detailed by the National Ocean Service: “When warming temperatures gradually melt sea ice over time, fewer bright surfaces are available to reflect sunlight into the atmosphere. More solar energy is absorbed at the surface, and ocean temperatures rise. This begins a cycle of warming and melting.” Thus, global climate change is heavily influencing the Arctic region and the Arctic is heavily influencing the global climate, creating a feedback loop.

Paradoxically, the Arctic may soon become a hotspot for mining materials needed to build the green economy.

The invasion of Ukraine spreads into the Arctic

The melting ice and warming temperatures have reshaped not only the physical landscape of the Arctic but also the political and economic interests that converge there. This evolving dynamic mirrors broader shifts in the international order and intensifying competition for resources and strategic advantages.

At the heart of Arctic governance lies the Arctic Council, an intergovernmental forum established in 1996 to promote cooperation among the Arctic states, Indigenous peoples, and other inhabitants on issues of sustainable development and environmental protection. Although its role in the Arctic is vital, its mandate does not extend to security issues (these were purportedly excluded from its mandate right at the very beginning). But their importance in the region is growing.

Unsurprisingly, given that Russia is a key player in the Arctic, its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 has had significant implications for Arctic cooperation. The other seven Arctic states resorted to unprecedented sanctions that have restricted Russia’s ability to explore, produce, transport and sell oil and gas in the region. It also resulted in Russia’s closer cooperation with China and growing militarisation of the Arctic that goes hand in hand with the wider intensification of geopolitical rivalries — mainly between the US and Russia, and the US and China. Despite its ongoing war in Ukraine, Russia is expanding its Northern Fleet and deploying nuclear submarines, radar stations, airfields and missile facilities.

Furthermore, the old Russian dream of establishing an Arctic route and dominating international shipping got a significant boost with the disruption of the Red Sea route by Houthi rebels. However, the northern route may not be a safe one. Continuous melting of sea ice may well open up new trade routes in the High North, but it is not yet possible to use these routes without icebreakers. Even worse, rapid changes in the Arctic climate cause more extreme weather, and, therefore, more unstable and challenging conditions for marine transports. Russia’s dream may not be realised anytime soon.

The Arctic green economy

Evidence that the post-Cold War unipolar world order is ending is starkly evident in the Arctic. The region is now divided into the NATO Arctic and the Russian Arctic, reflecting the broader splitting of powerful countries into two alliances or blocs: NATO, and BRICS, the latter led by China and Russia. This division may have serious implications for security, environmental policies, and especially, future resource extraction. Despite the possibility that oil and gas extraction in the Arctic will eventually become a thing of the past, this does not mean that the Arctic will become unattractive for economic interests. Paradoxically, it may soon become a hotspot for mining materials needed to build the green economy. A region that has been exploited primarily for its vast fossil fuel reserves may not find peace after all.

The Arctic is believed to contain substantial quantities of valuable minerals and metals. These include rare earth elements (essential for manufacturing wind turbines or electric vehicle batteries), copper (critical for electric wiring and renewable energy infrastructure), nickel and cobalt (key components of batteries for electric vehicles), and platinum-group metals (vital for catalytic converters and hydrogen fuel cells). So far, European countries have been able to mine these resources outside of the EU – for example, rare earth elements from Brazil, India, Australia, China, or Russia. Worsening global security and geopolitical tensions mean however that the EU may need to secure its own supply of these key resources. Mining is, however, a very socially and environmentally disruptive economic activity that is often met with local resistance.

Deep sea mining is (not) the future

In early December, for example, Norway had to postpone its plans to mine part of its Arctic seabed in the Norwegian continental shelf and adjacent areas – a process known as deep-sea mining. Along with the slow phase-out of its oil drilling in the Northern, Norwegian and Barents Seas (which has served as an important factor in its economic success over the last 50 years), Norway is seeking alternative extractive options for the near future. Deep-sea mining would also help the country break China and Russia’s mining dominance in the field of rare earth minerals. As Norwegian Prime Minister Jonas Gahr Støre declared: “Deep-sea mining is the solution to the Chinese world monopoly.” However, the move was blocked by internal political opposition.

Deep-sea mining is a highly controversial resource-extraction method. The deep-sea environment is one of the least understood ecosystems on the planet. Disturbance from mining activities could have unknown and potentially irreversible impacts on marine biodiversity as well as ecological balance. These ecosystems, particularly those involving cold-water corals and sponge fields, play a role in carbon sequestration. Any disruption could negatively affect this natural carbon sink.

The list of environmental concerns continues. Apart from the potential destruction of unique and fragile deep-sea ecosystems, the process of mining the seabed generates large sediment plumes, which can smother marine life, clog the gills of fish, and block sunlight from reaching photosynthetic organisms. These plumes can spread over vast areas, affecting ecosystems far beyond the mining site. At the same time, deep-sea mining can release toxic substances, including heavy metals and hydrocarbons, which are trapped in seabed sediments. These pollutants can enter the food chain, posing risks to marine organisms and, ultimately, to human health. Mining can disrupt the natural biogeochemical cycles of the deep sea, including carbon and nutrient cycles, with unknown consequences for global ocean health and climate regulation.

So far, the Norwegian government has issued licenses for exploratory missions to assess the feasibility and impact of deep-sea mining. These missions aim to gather data on resource availability and environmental impact. At the same time, Norway’s actions are supposed to be limited by international laws and agreements, such as the United Nations Convention on the Law Of the Sea (UNCLOS).

Disturbance from mining activities could have unknown and potentially irreversible impacts on marine biodiversity as well as ecological balance.

The future of Arctic Indigenous communities

Geopolitical tensions in the Arctic and the potential for economic expansion there are not good news for the region’s inhabitants. The Arctic is home to about half a million Indigenous people who are significantly affected by both the direct impacts of climate change and economic developments. These communities face significant challenges as their traditional lifestyles depend on ecosystems that are literally melting away.

Indigenous communities’ distinct cultural and territorial claims are often overlooked or undermined by national and international agendas, particularly as Arctic states, including Russia, the US, Canada, Norway, and Denmark, more boldly assert their sovereignty over Arctic territories. The remilitarisation of the Arctic, driven by these rivalries, can disrupt Indigenous lands and waters and lead to restricted access to traditional hunting and fishing grounds, as well as further degradation of the environment.

Balancing mining activities, shipping, and economic development with the legitimate interests of Indigenous communities is part of the purpose of the Arctic Council, where six permanent participants represent Indigenous groups. But with the Russian incursion in Ukraine having quickly deteriorated Russian relationships with the remaining Arctic countries, the future of this relatively inclusive diplomacy is in peril.

The rule of “green capital”

The struggle for the Arctic is real. Despite its severe climate conditions, it has been a destination for both economic and military interests for centuries – and that doesn’t seem likely to change.

The region thus lies at a critical juncture. With Finland and Sweden’s accession to NATO, and other Arctic countries increasing their military presence in the region, geopolitical tensions are on the rise even in the High North. It is not yet clear what Donald Trump’s second term will mean for NATO, but it’s obvious that the alliance’s centre of gravity is shifting northward. In the near future, both Finland and Sweden may play an increasingly important role in the geopolitical struggle for the Arctic and its resources.

And that is the bleak prospect for the Arctic: despite its vital role within the global climate system, its future may be rather determined by the rich deposits of natural resources it hides underneath its surface and at the bottom of its seas – only this time, it may be the green economy (or, more accurately, “green capitalism”) that causes the most damage.  This shows that there is no easy technofix for our destructive relationship with nature. The Arctic stands as a stark reminder that true sustainability cannot be achieved through resource extraction and technological invention alone, but requires a fundamental rethinking of our economic systems and their alignment with climate and social justice.

The government, private investors, and the EU see lithium mining in Czechia’s struggling coal regions as an opportunity to revitalise the economy while also boosting Europe’s green transition. But local communities have different aspirations for their future.

The ridges of the Krušné hory (Ore Mountains), on the border between Czechia and Germany, have begun to grow green again after recovering from the era of coal mining and heavy industry. There are water sources that the people living in the foothills visit for recreation. The former quarries are being transformed into lakes with beaches and adjacent wetlands. Tourism has started to develop.

Yet the future of the mountains, named for their plentiful metal ores, may once again be tied to mining: the Cínovec area, on the Czech side of the border, is believed to hold 3-5 per cent of the world’s lithium reserves. With global demand for lithium projected to increase 26-fold by 2050, private investors, the EU, and the Czech government are eager to start mining. But local communities are sceptical about the benefits more mining would bring to their lives.

A history of mining

Mining has played a significant role in the economic and cultural life of Bohemia and Saxony ever since the 12th century. Silver, iron, uranium, lignite (brown coal), tungsten, tin, cobalt and other minerals have all been exported from local tunnels.

Kamila Vítek Derynková, a member of the local association Cinvald, explains that mining is linked to local pride and identity, both in Czechia and in Germany. “In Germany, they still hold festivities to celebrate mining, even though most of the men who once worked in the mines are no longer alive.” She clarifies that “we do not find that kind of cultural tradition associated with strip coal mining.”

The extraction of brown coal from strip mines in the Czech Ore Mountains will end in a few months (earlier than in northern Bohemia, where coal will be phased out by 2033 at the latest). Since its inception during the Industrial Revolution, lignite has profoundly impacted the Czech regions of Karlovy Vary and Ústecký, leading to the destruction of villages, and transforming large swathes of land into a moonscape. Moreover, the chemical industry in the foothills often caused acid rain and pollution. Atmospheric pollution from the burning of brown coal in power plants remains an issue to date.

In terms of socioeconomic indicators, Karlovy Vary and Ústecký are still the least developed regions in Czechia. Mining companies did not reinvest their profits in the development of these areas, so local communities are facing not just environmental pollution and degradation, but also social exclusion, and a lack of attractive jobs for young people.

A race for Zinnwaldite

Czechia allegedly has the 10th-largest lithium reserves in the world and the second-largest in Europe after Germany. Most of the lithium, tin, and tungsten deposits are located on the Czech side of the Ore Mountains, about six kilometres north of the town of Dubí, in the Teplice area.

Mineral extraction in Cínovec lasted until 1991, when the deposit was closed due to a decline in profitability. However, new mining technologies, the rise in prices of tin and tungsten, and the growing importance of lithium for the energy transition have revived commercial interest in the site. GEOMET, a joint venture between the Australian company European Metals Holding (EMS) and the ČEZ group (whose majority shareholder is the Czech government) is planning to extract the mineral zinnwaldite contained in the granite rock.

Feasibility studies for GEOMET’s planned 450-metre-deep mine are underway. Mining is expected to start in 2027, with an estimated duration of 26 years, during which enough lithium for half a million car batteries should be extracted annually. The plan includes the construction of lithium processing plants, and originally entailed the intention to build a car batteries gigafactory in the region. However, this part of the project has been put on hold for lack of investor interest. “Given the shares held by foreign investors, it is not at all clear how much lithium would ultimately remain in Czechia for processing and how it would be used,” explains Vítek Derynková.

Zinnwaldite ore is not particularly rich in lithium (it contains 0.2-0.3 per cent of the mineral), and underground extraction is costly, but the volume of the deposit makes it an attractive undertaking for investors. However, local associations opposed to mining highlight how investors and politicians tend to exaggerate the size of mineral deposits to make a stronger case for extraction.

Test drilling has been underway in Cínovec since 2010, and 67 tests have been performed to date for lithium alone. In the immediate vicinity of the site, there is also a landfill dump of the sand produced by the extraction of tin. That heap of sand, which has been recultivated by now, belongs to Czech billionaire Karel Janeček. If he wanted to, he could mine and process the lithic mica it contains, as he already holds the necessary permits. Local rumour has it that he is waiting for the planned lithium processing plant to be in operation before proceeding.

Yet mining the sand could compound the impacts of deep mining both in terms of traffic (an estimated 33 truckloads of sand per day would pass through Dubí to transport the sand) and water consumption. “The wind blows 300 days a year in that area, and it would be necessary to sprinkle the sand with water to keep it from becoming dust,” explains Vítek Derynková. “Already today, there is not enough water for the natural environment and the people there during the hot summers.”

Local associations opposed to mining highlight how investors and politicians tend to exaggerate the size of mineral deposits to make a stronger case for extraction.

Local resistance

It was not until the summer of 2023, when GEOMET purchased land in the Újezdeček municipality, that the Czech media started providing more in-depth coverage of the planned processing plant. Earlier that year, the European Commission had classified Cínovec as a strategic project, making it eligible for financial aid under the Just Transition Fund.

At the first public meeting held in July 2023, GEOMET representatives promised to compensate the local community by upgrading the children’s playground and donating snow removal equipment. At that time, however, government representatives were speaking in the media about a mining project worth 80 billion euros, sparking a wave of local displeasure with the scale of the proposed compensation.

In September, the mayors of local municipalities voiced their opposition to mining to Czech Prime Minister Petr Fiala. In his visit to the planned mine, Fiala said the Ústecký region could become Europe’s lithium superpower. More public meetings have been held since, but local residents feel they still lack basic information about the project. The promised feasibility study is being delayed, the Environmental Impact Assessment is not yet ready, and the beginning of extraction is being postponed. 

“Information from the mining companies is constantly changing, the size of the mining area keeps fluctuating,” complains Stanislav Molnár, the mayor of Újezdeček. There is a lack of clarity on the processing and transportation of the minerals too: “Sometimes it is described as going to happen by cable car, sometimes as passing through the forest.” According to Molnár, conflicting information, along with an ongoing drop in lithium prices and the low interest in electric cars, explains why everybody but one person said they were against mining in a local survey.

The opponents of extraction have already notched up a first victory: the transfer of the planned lithium processing plant away from Újezdeček. The municipality is already strongly impacted by industrial activity, and Molnár believes the plant would have had negative repercussions on the local community at a time in which it is trying to move towards a different future with the construction of 77 single-family houses. The processing facilities are now set to be built some 50 kilometres away, in the Prunéřov industrial campus. Újezdeček is expected to host an ore transfer station instead, which has sparked another wave of protests.

Locals are trying to amplify their voices by reaching out to the media, gathering relevant documentation to prepare for public meetings, and drawing on many years of experience in political organising. “We are creating pressure so that the extraction of lithium won’t harm people and nature. We have a wealth of experience with mining companies, their work, and their unfulfilled promises. They always do their best to get started as quickly and cheaply as possible, ideally without the population commenting on their plans, says Vítek Derynková of Cinvald. According to the activist, the aim of the ČEZ group and GEOMET is not to contribute to Europe’s decarbonisation, but to profit, as shown by the lack of focus on recycling, among other things. “If the European Union wants local communities to accept extraction, it has to negotiate with them and monitor the process.”

For Derynková, this isn’t just a “not in my backyard” position. The area, she explains, still bears the visible signs of past mining activity, such as abandoned piles of materials, depressions and sinkholes on the ground’s surface, and the entrances to the tunnels. Lithium extraction would bring more dust and pollution, as well as groundwater depletion, harming ecosystems (the local bogs are already suffering from a lack of water) and wildlife (especially birds such as the grouse). Locals hope that a large nature reserve, which has been expected for years, will finally be declared.

On the contrary, the Cínovec project would increase the traffic of heavy trucks and put more pressure on local water systems, without bringing tangible economic benefits to the community: property prices would likely fall, while coal workers would not get access to quality jobs unless they are retrained. GEOMET representatives have admitted to local associations that most miners would be employed through agencies based in other countries. They have yet to respond to my question on this issue.

Transforming work

During a recent visit to Ústecký, Czech President Petr Pavel pointed out that most of the country’s socially excluded localities are concentrated in just three regions – Moravia-Silesia, Karlovarský, and Ústecký itself – all of which have in common the gradual phasing out of mining as part of the energy transition. “Those three regions concentrate about 70 per cent of all excluded localities in the country on their territories, while the other 30 per cent are distributed around the other 11 regions,” Pavel noted.

Social anthropologist Lucie Trlifajová, who has long studied the economic situation in coal-mining regions, explains that “more than 10 years ago, Ústecký was quite strongly impacted by the economic crisis and high levels of unemployment,” which contributed to sparking anti-Roma marches and demands for welfare benefits to be restricted. Today, employment is comparatively high, and wages are rising, but many local workers commute long hours and work shifts around the clock. For instance, when Amazon opened a large fulfilment centre in Dobrovíz, outside of the capital Prague, it hired many people from Chomutov or Most, in Ústecký. “They are brought to work by bus. There are daycare facilities for the children of the parents who work at Amazon and have 10-hour shifts plus a two-hour round-trip commute, and they are open six days a week, non-stop, overnight,” explains Trlifajová.

The transformation of work must therefore take into account the impact on the quality of life. The social anthropologist recounts how, ever since the 1989 Velvet Revolution, when Czechia joined global networks of production, higher-educated citizens left Ústecký, while local communities have struggled with declining public services – hospitals, local shops, post offices. For Trlifajová, a Just Transition process, if it were to be set up well, would be a cure for the frustration and insecurity that results in the population’s lack of trust in democracy.

Zuzana Vondrová, an expert on the Just Transition from the Centre for Transport and Energy, believes that closing the mines need not just be painful for local communities, but should open up new opportunities and prospects for the future, especially for younger generations. “The Just Transition Fund is also based on that principle –  which is why it has to be drawn on in such a way that local populations in particular will benefit from it.”

With regard to lithium mining, Vondrová says it should be assessed in terms of its impact on the local population and the natural environment, but also in terms of climate obligations. “The state should arrange the kind of conditions that will guarantee we will not be mere exporters, but that in addition to companies paying taxes on our territory, the processing of these resources will also take place here, creating added value for our economy. We certainly will need these batteries for the green transformation and need to obtain these critical resources on EU territory, but not at any cost,” concludes Vondrová.

No participation

In Czechia’s coal regions, lithium and the production of batteries for the car industry have long been presented as the greatest opportunities linked to the green transition. However, the undemocratic handling of the process has led to a state of generalised distrust, and industrial development plans have cracks in them.

From the outset, NGOs have criticised the lack of transparency and information, which sidelined local participation. The interests of big companies took precedence, no matter if these companies had a track record of contributing to the poor quality of life in these regions.

As Marika Volfová of the Platform for Environmental and Social Transformation Re-set put it, “the money is divvied up for strategic projects which frequently do not correspond to the genuine needs of the coal mining regions. … Nobody asked the employees and the people living in these regions what their needs are and what issues are crucial to them.”

The local population is being given no guarantee that the lithium mined will be used for a socially just green transition. For example, will it serve to produce personal vehicle batteries, or will it also contribute to strengthening public transport? At the moment, such a debate with local communities is missing at both the EU and Czech level.

According to Volfová, “The failure of the transformation could intensify the lack of trust among some members of the public in institutions and in politics itself. People see money being distributed, but they do not have the feeling that it’s their money too, that it’s money they could also ask for, that this entire process also concerns them somehow.” The motto of the EU’s Just Transition programme, “leave no one behind”, seems difficult to fulfil without meaningful participation.

The undemocratic handling of Czechia’s green transition has led to a state of generalised distrust, and industrial development plans have cracks in them.

Finding consensus

At a conference called Future Symptoms, held in the industrial city of Ústí nad Labem in early November 2024, sociologist Ágnes Gagyi explained that Czechia is a semi-peripheral country, economically dependent on Germany and its car industry. On a global scale, the country’s domestic capital is low, as is its competitiveness. For this reason, Czechia tries to attract foreign investors with incentives and tax breaks, allowing them to realise their projects cheaply and fast. The risk is that both employment conditions for labourers and the quality of life for local residents are negatively impacted unless Czech politicians are sufficiently prepared to negotiate with investors.

Gagyi, who studies Eastern European movements and politics, emphasised the need for constant dialogue among all involved parties. “After years of negotiations, parties often join forces for which such a move would have been unthinkable at the beginning.” In her view, it is essential to hold interdisciplinary conferences and create spaces where economic, artistic, activist, as well as local and EU perspectives can be shared and discussed. “Thanks to this, we can create a common agenda according to which the [green] transformation can actually happen.”

Future Symptoms brought together other initiatives that have lithium in common as a subject. Local communities opposing mining in Germany and Portugal, as well as the associations fighting against the construction of a Samsung gigafactory in a green meadow in Dolní Lutyně, in the Ostrava region near the Czech-Polish border, all face common challenges and powerful adversaries.

With its Critical Raw Materials Act, the EU aims to source 40 per cent of strategic minerals from within its borders by 2030, thereby reducing its dependence on third countries like China and Russia. However, this should not come at the expense of rigorous permitting processes or backsliding on environmental protection and public health.

The constant fight for access to complete, truthful information about mining and industrial projects is what brings together local communities and associations from all corners of Europe. They are demanding that the natural environment, water sources, and quality of life be safeguarded in the green transition.

Vítek Derynková finds reason for hope in local organising. A couple of decades ago, she says, she could never have imagined that local residents would join forces to fight against the state’s plans to allow more mining in the region. “The very fact that today, on the ridges of the Ore Mountains, fighters from the Ostrava region, from Germany, from Portugal, many journalists, and especially local residents have come together gives me hope that the most important transformation may have already happened in the minds of the people,” she told me at the Future Symptoms conference.

One of the conference’s organisers, social anthropologist Karolína Žižková, believes that “climate change requires the fastest possible end to the extraction and exploitation of fossil fuels,” but “lithium in and of itself is not a simple solution.” She added: “We must reflect on global inequality, energy fairness, and what lies at the root of our ideas about the future.”

Two years after plans to exploit Serbia’s lithium seemed to have been permanently shelved, the issue is back on the table. To get their hands on the precious metal, Germany and the EU are willing to turn a blind eye to Aleksandar Vučić’s abuses. Will collaborating with Serbia’s right-wing government further undermine citizen trust in accession to the EU project? 

After Ana Brnabić, former Prime Minister of Serbia, issued a statement on 20 January 2022, it seemed that the country’s story of lithium exploitation was over. “The regulation on the spatial plan for the Jadar project … has been repealed. We never had contracts,” stated Brnabić. “We have met all the demands of the environmental protests and brought an end to Rio Tinto in the Republic of Serbia.” But the ensuing calm only lasted until the summer of 2024, when lithium, like a boomerang, returned to public discourse. Lithium exploitation is very much back on the socio-table. 

Beneath the surface 

Preparations for lithium extraction in Serbia became news in 2020, when residents from the western Serbian municipality of Loznica and ecological organisations uncovered multinational Rio Tinto’s intended mining project. While the company’s controversial plans may have officially been stopped in 2022, locals have repeatedly reported that Rio Tinto is still purchasing land and carrying out preparatory work despite losing its work permits. The company has even sponsored sports clubs and cultural events in places near the planned, yet halted, mine. Something is brewing beneath the surface; the project seems only to be temporarily on hold. 

Environmental activists and certain supportive political parties, who had demanded a legal ban on the extraction of lithium and boron ores in Gornje Nedeljice, Loznica, clearly wanted to permanently protect local residents. But, before the general elections in April 2022, right-wing Serbian Progressive Party (SNS) politicians – already in power for a decade – had pushed the issue under the carpet to avoid any political risk. 

When the SNS secured a parliamentary majority, Aleksandar Vučić was re-elected as president. The governing party’s authoritative control, favouring nationalist topics spiced with neoliberal economic politics, seemed assured. However, Green representatives entered parliament for the first time and highlighted the lithium issue at an institutional level, raising frequently unanswered questions and demands in parliament. Vučić insisted that a great opportunity for development had been missed, while Brnabić claimed that Serbia would have to pay large sums in compensation to the multinational company for the cancelled project. 

Snap elections and protests 

Serbian socio-political issues then took a sudden violent turn in the spring of 2023, when two mass shootings, in which 19 children and young people were killed, and 18 others were wounded, occurred just one day apart. The events shook the entire country, sparking mass protests, which disrupted everyday social structures and led to parliamentary, Belgrade city assembly, regional, and some local elections.  

The slogan of these protests and the entire movement, Nećeš kopati (“you won’t dig”), became widespread. Chants could be heard at parliament, sporting events, concerts, and other mass gatherings.

In December’s snap elections, the pro-European opposition ran together under a “Serbia Against Violence” banner, achieving the best result for an opposition coalition since 2012, with Radomir Lazović, co-president of the Green-Left Front (ZLF), leading the list. Unprecedented allegations of vote rigging also marked the elections, resulting in new protests and a struggle at all levels to contest the results. European Green and Social Democratic parties played a significant role in exposing electoral fraud in Belgrade and nationally. The ensuing political instability lasted until the Belgrade elections were repeated alongside regular local elections in early June 2024. In this rerun, the fragmented opposition, which in part boycotted the elections and campaigned against the opposition that chose to participate, led to poorer results and renewed victory for the SNS. 

Once the elections were over, the issue of lithium mining resurfaced. According to data from the Bureau for Social Research (BIRODI) monitoring the media, lithium mining was mentioned only 37 times in national broadcasts in May 2024, 330 times in June, and 1,045 times in July. Most of these segments were favourably oriented towards lithium extraction, even though public opinion remained over 50 per cent opposed. During this period, state officials primarily acted as PR agents, loudly promoting the supposed positive aspects of lithium mining in Serbia. 

The government’s position sparked public outrage. During the summer, a series of mostly self-organised protests spread across Serbia. The call to action rose in Loznica, the city closest to the planned mine, then expanded to nearly every city in Serbia, culminating in Belgrade, where in mid-August, during a heat wave at the height of the holiday season, tens of thousands of people gathered. The slogan of these protests and the entire movement, Nećeš kopati (“you won’t dig”), became widespread. Chants could be heard at parliament, sporting events, concerts, and other mass gatherings. 

Simultaneously, Rio Tinto became increasingly present in the public sphere through media responses to activists, hiring lobbyists, and receiving support from within ruling political parties. It became clear that the lithium exploitation project was back in full force in July 2024, when the Constitutional Court overturned the Serbian government’s decision to halt the Jadar project, stating that it was “not in accordance with the Constitution and the law”. 

After the decision, Biljana Đorđević, member of parliament and co-president of the ZLF, publicly raised a question: “Is former Prime Minister Ana Brnabić just incompetent for drafting an unconstitutional regulation on ending the Jadar project and thereby exposing the state to a potential lawsuit, or is she merely a corrupt lobbyist for Rio Tinto?” 

The EU and German Greens 

On 19 July 2024, just days after the Constitutional Court’s ruling, a German and European Commission delegation visited Belgrade: Chancellor Olaf Scholz; State Secretary for Economic Affairs and Climate Action and Green member of the Bundestag, Franziska Brantner; European Commission Vice President for the Energy Union, Maroš Šefčovič; and German industrialists. Their summer visit realised a Memorandum of Understanding (MoU) launching a Strategic Partnership between the Republic of Serbia and the European Union on sustainable raw materials, battery value chains, and electric vehicles. In other words, Serbia has lithium reserves that are useful to the German car industry. This aligned with the European Critical Raw Materials Act, which aims to shorten the supply and processing chains of materials such as lithium for the net zero industry. 

The development paradigm pushing for a new wave of extractivism and greenwashing neo-imperialism has to change.

Contesting the Serbian government on democracy, media freedom, the rule of law, its relations with Kosovo, and issues with other neighbouring countries appears to have slipped for the sake of accessing lithium. Despite a change in Germany’s ruling coalition since the last German Chancellor’s visit to Serbia, the goals remain the same. Scholz wants the same lithium that Angela Merkel wanted on her last international visit and is willing to legitimise Serbia’s autocratic regime to do so. 

At a joint press conference, President Vučić mentioned his joint guarantee on environmental protection with Franziska Brantner. However, this constructive cooperation is in effect an attempt to shift responsibility for any potential environmental degradation from himself to Germany, especially to the German Greens. While Vučić knows full well that only the Serbian state can determine that the project will meet the highest environmental standards, he still chooses to delegate responsibility. Vučić’s corroborative tone sends a clear message: he might not like the German Greens, but he considers them reasonable, unlike domestic Greens opposing such a “great” project. This strategy legitimises the president while attempting to marginalise local green actors. 

Rather than supporting Serbians, who are largely against lithium mining, as illustrated by their protests and blockades, Brantner and the German Green Party are taking the opposite stance. It is not a stance that proposes how the citizens of Serbia could resolve this issue internally without external pressure but rather one focused on insistently pursuing lithium for the decarbonisation of a foreign car industry. It appears geopolitics has once again prevailed over ideals, and the priority is to secure Serbia’s lithium before China or Russia. As Brantner states: “It’s not a question of ‘whether the project will happen’, but ‘whether Rio Tinto’s project will be carried out with European partners or the Chinese’. I don’t believe a Chinese-Serbian partnership would be better for democracy, the environment, and the local population.” However, Brantner’s perspective overlooks how Serbian institutions are completely undermined: there is no rule of law or democracy. In such conditions, the decision on lithium mining would be forcibly imposed. 

As a result, Serbian citizens opposing lithium mining perceive the German Green Party as a malignant force seeking to harm them. They fear that Serbia could become a sacrificial zone for the European green transition. If this pressure continues, it raises the question of how long it will take for Serbia and progressive political actors to recover. Support for joining the European Union would likely continue to decline, even though it is already the lowest of all countries negotiating for or in the process of joining the EU. 

Serbian right-wing narratives that equate the EU-backed exploitation of lithium with the “stealing” of Kosovo or Bosnia’s Serbian entity, Republika Srpska, by foreign powers will continue to strengthen. Scholz and Brantner’s visit only seems to benefit Vučić and the right-wing opposition, which the president already heavily influences. Serbia’s few progressive actors are left in a worsening position, having to explain how they can oppose lithium exploitation while still supporting EU accession, given the EU’s unethical pursuit of lithium. 

The ZLF, a party on the verge of joining the European Green Party (EGP), has undertaken various international activities to show Serbian citizens that European politics is neither homogeneous nor monolithic. Many parties, organisations, and individuals oppose the planned lithium mining in Serbia. The EGP is the first pan-European party to issue statements that clearly oppose the project. Croatia’s left-wing Green party, Možemo, supports Serbian citizens in their struggle, fostering regional cooperation that contrasts with the dominant nationalist narratives in both countries. 

Serbian citizens fear that Serbia could become a sacrificial zone for the European green transition.

Local activists receive support from experts, politicians, and their counterparts in countries from Portugal to Georgia. International backing is essential for broadening the movement against an activity that threatens environmental degradation. ​​The development paradigm pushing for a new wave of extractivism and greenwashing neo-imperialism has to change. 

What’s next? 

United opposition parties in the Serbian parliament jointly submitted a proposal to amend the mining law, which would impose a long-term ban on the exploration and mining of lithium and boron ore throughout the country. This proposal represents another attempt to prevent the lithium extraction project in western Serbia through institutional means. While opposition members of parliament point out environmental, economic, social, and other risks, the ruling party argues that such amendments would destroy the mining industry, even though there are currently no active boron or lithium mines in Serbia. Other arguments suggest that this proposal would halt economic growth, as Serbia would have to pay compensation to Rio Tinto. The blame is often shifted onto the opposition for introducing the company to Serbia in the early 2000s, despite many current members of parliament having been at school or just starting university at the time.

Rather than political dialogue, the SNS is calling for expert analysis. However, local residents of western Serbia, activists, and politicians who oppose the project emphasise that the time for analysis is over; they have been appealing for in-depth assessments for years, with the company and government representatives avoiding accountability. After a four-day parliamentary debate in October 2024, which eventually culminated in a ballot rather than a public roll call vote, the proposal to ban the exploration and mining of lithium and boron was rejected: 128 votes against, 84 in favour. 

It is expected that the ruling party, with the help of its media and institutions, will now work on further damage control and diluting the debate. Their argument asserts that there is still time before the potential construction of the mine. They declare that experts should exclusively make the decision, while simultaneously discrediting numerous experts who oppose the project. In the meantime, as institutional mechanisms are yielding no results, local residents, activists, and other anti-mine actors are gradually preparing for further counteraction. Plans for new protests and blockades are being announced despite increasingly repressive state control – over 40 activists were brought in for questioning or arrested during the summer for their role in calling for resistance to the lithium mining project. 

It seems that “lithium” will continue to be the word in Serbian society in the upcoming period. Besides uniting the country’s rather heterogeneous activist and political scene, discussions about lithium mining could also focus debate on what kind of society Serbians want to live in, what their real needs are, and what a just energy and social transition should look like. 

In recent years, the EU has turned crises into opportunities to advance its green agenda. But when it comes to the energy transition, overcoming internal divisions between member states is not enough: the Green Deal cannot succeed without a strong external dimension. Nathalie Tocci explains how the EU should lead the global fight against climate change. 

Edouard Gaudot: In your book A Green and Global Europe, you argue that the EU is a global leader thanks to its climate ambitions and policies. What kind of leadership does this represent?  

Nathalie Tocci: The EU has gone through almost two decades of existential crisis, starting with the rejection of the constitutional treaty in 2005, then the Eurozone crisis, migration, Brexit, the pandemic, and now the war in Ukraine. Because of the magnitude of these crises, it has at times faced the prospect of collapse. But whereas in the first of these shocks, the EU had both lost itself and the ability to transform them into opportunities, that dynamic changed with the pandemic and now with the war. The EU has used these more recent crises to advance its integration journey in ways that are intimately connected to the green agenda. 

The Next Generation EU funds were coloured in green and added real substance to the European Green Deal. A similar argument can be made for the war – and it wasn’t obvious. There was a risk that energy security could have been interpreted exclusively in brown terms. But more than one year on, it’s safe to conclude that this hasn’t happened, and investment in renewables has accelerated. 

The EU desperately needed a new narrative, a new vision, a new way of understanding itself and reconnecting with citizens, especially younger generations. Recreating a new growth model not only based on restrictions and rules but associated with a constructive, productive, forward-looking agenda was a way to do that. 

So the EU’s internal constitution is my starting point. What does it have to do with external leadership? The EU has long been considered a climate leader, but the climate was never really at the heart of the international or domestic political agendas. Now all of a sudden, climate and the energy transition are at the centre not only of EU but also domestic politics. International relations are getting far more politicised and even polarised. In some respects, I consider it good news, because it means that now the green transition becomes real: choices and tradeoffs to make, winners and losers emerge, and inevitably it becomes a much tougher game. This is the challenge for the EU: reinventing what external leadership means – the tools of climate diplomacy of the 1990s and the 2000s won’t do – while it puts climate and the transition at the core of its internal story. 

And who leads the EU? The Council, the Parliament, member states? 

The simple answer would be the Commission and President Von der Leyen. The Commission did not do particularly well in the earlier succession of crises. Its leadership was weak, with the Council and in particular the European Council at the forefront. Since the pandemic, the Commission (and especially its President Ursula Von der Leyen) has done a remarkable job in becoming the face, in “Kissingerian” terms, of EU leadership. 

As for member states, one would have expected Germany to be a prominent leader, especially with the Greens as part of the government coalition. But so far this hasn’t happened, at least not the way we expected, because the coalition struggles to project a strong identity. In the recent turmoil about combustion engines and e-fuels, for instance, Germany objected to green measures and stroke shady bilateral deals with the Commission. In this respect, Germany has been punching below its weight.  

We should think of the transition as something that almost resembles a revolution.

France is interesting. Second in line in the EU executive branch, in terms of prominence, you find Internal Market Commissioner Thierry Breton. The other commissioners, including Vice-President Frans Timmermans, are somewhat less convincing. I believe this reflects the fact that industrial policies are in vogue worldwide. France has become one of the pivots because it has always pushed for industrial policy and a greater role for the state. Its success on the nuclear agenda is a sign of that too. 

How can the EU overcome the tensions between its member states? Whether it’s Poland, Romania, and the Czech Republic on coal, Germany and Italy on cars, or the rising cost of energy for citizens, there are many issues that make internal leadership difficult. Is a narrative going to be enough? 

We should think of the transition as something that almost resembles a revolution. Revolutions produce winners and losers – the main question is how to compensate the losers. Because if you don’t, the resistance to change risks becoming insurmountable. 

There are different ways to make the transition desirable for the many, but part of it always has to do with compromise, and the rest with money. Compromise is necessary if you want to bring everyone along, and this is what happened on combustion engines until someone tried to derail the process. Funding is a key aspect too, and this is why the EU has a Just Transition fund, the European Social Fund, and wants to use the revenues from the Emissions Trading System and the Carbon Border Adjustment Mechanism.  

The sums we’re talking about may not be anywhere near what is needed. In the last year and a half, European countries (including Norway and the United Kingdom) spent 800 billion euros on utility bills to mitigate the energy crisis. This is the same amount Next Generation EU will spend over seven years, and only 40% of it is aimed at climate. When a crisis hits, governments have to find the money somehow, so we need to convince them to put their money where it is needed – before it’s too late. 

China’s share in the solar panel industry is about 80 per cent and the US’s Inflation Reduction Act (IRA) has caused panic in the EU. Is Europe a credible green leader? Are its industrial ambitions feasible? 

The EU can’t be a climate leader in the way it used to be in the past. It must reinvent its claim. The IRA has very significant limits, especially if you look at it through the lens of climate and the transition. As a piece of legislation, it is primarily aimed at China and only secondarily at climate.  

Moreover, unlike in Europe, the green transition is extremely controversial politically in the United States. The only reason the IRA has taken this shape, form and magnitude was to get Democrats and Republicans to agree on something. But how sustainable is it to address the climate question only through funding? How many 400-billion-dollar packages can you pass in the long term? It is more reasonable to bet on a mix of funding regulation and carbon pricing. In this respect, the EU’s approach is more sustainable. 

The European Green Deal was never about China – it is about the transition. However, it needs now to develop its external aspect. The question is how to reinvent external climate leadership, given that the world – even if we just think about the relationship between the US and China – has changed fundamentally. 

Globally, tensions are growing around critical resources and the raw materials essential for the energy transition. In this regard, there are ambivalences in the way the EU treats its neighbours. Isn’t there a risk that external climate leadership resembles classic resource-based neo-colonialism? 

Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, all of the EU’s attention has been focused on weaning itself off Russian fossil fuels. But we’ve ended up in the same position we were in when we were vaccine hoarding during the pandemic. Gas hoarding made gas prices and overall prices shoot up, not just for the EU but for the whole world. So the response to the war and the energy crisis wasn’t all green, it was also brown and expensive.  

So leadership shouldn’t mean that everyone becomes like the EU. The point is to understand that the transition can take different paces and forms.

I’ve been on the board of [Italy’s energy giant] ENI as an independent non-executive member over the last three years. It’s been quite interesting to see the way in which Italy turned from Russia to Algeria for its gas. It was not additional production, so the Algerian gas was taken away from another client. In exchange for depriving Algeria’s local market of its gas, Italy gave it new investments in energy efficiency, renewables, carbon capture and storage. In doing so, we may construct a rebound partnership with the countries in the neighbourhood by inserting in them an energy transition. In non-OECD countries, big investments in renewables have not taken place because the return of an investment in renewables is much lower compared to fossil fuels.  

So there is a real potential in these countries to start inserting green investments as part of a broader partnership away from brown energy. Ideally, what should happen over time is that the green component of the energy mix grows to the point that the brown one is no longer needed. EU institutions should lead this process, not just count on private companies. It requires a policy framework that can induce the private sector to follow.  

If I follow your reasoning, claiming to be a leader requires that you have an idea of where to go. Europe is a rich continent whose economy is stagnating, its population shrinking, and its colonial past brings the suspicion of neo-colonialism to every trade deal it negotiates. Why should Europe aspire to lead anyone, especially in the face of new narratives heralded by China or perhaps the BRICs? 

The EU accounts for under 8 per cent of global emissions. If it were to become fully green while the rest of the world is brown, it would achieve exactly zero – well, 8 per cent, which is not great. This is the obvious first reason why the EU has an interest in leading. A European mission towards a green society only makes sense in the broader global context. Secondly, there has been a lot of talk about “decoupling”, mainly understood as the US and China reducing their economic interdependence. But decoupling green and brown economies carries a risk of higher costs for everyone along the global value chains. 

So leadership shouldn’t mean that everyone becomes like the EU – and this is not easy for Europeans. The point is to understand that the transition can take different paces and forms. In the process, we find out how we can contribute to others’ journeys. The eventual destination is the same, but the routes will be different. This must be a co-development exercise. What Europe can’t do is say to Chile, for example, “We really like your physical minerals. But it’s not possible in the context of our FTA that you protect your domestic industry in order to develop storage and battery capacity.” If it keeps that kind of mentality, the EU will end up in yet another form of extractivism and colonialism. On the contrary, as it makes industrial policy part of the core of what it does, the EU has to support industries in partner countries to help them develop their own features, and move up the value chain in terms of technology and industry. 

This conversation is part of a series of essays and interviews dedicated to the crisis of political leadership and the alternatives Green thinking has to offer. Read all contributions here.

ChatGPT and other large language models are triggering a profound industrial reorganisation in the digital economy. Leading AI expert Kate Crawford looks at the risks posed by the extractive practices that lie behind these technologies.

Green European Journal: The release of ChatGPT for public use has sparked worldwide hype around artificial intelligence. What are the politics and interests driving this and other similar large language models (LLMs)?  

Kate Crawford: The first thing to note is that large language models are a very significant inflection point. In the AI field, I haven’t seen anything like this since the creation of the web, and possibly further back. This is causing a profound industrial reorganisation, where LLMs are not just a new interface, but the new medium through which we will receive and create information in the years to come. It is a very meaningful change, because it comes with a variety of technical and political questions. For me, the most important aspect is the material one.

In my book Atlas of AI, I look at the three main components that drive artificial intelligence: data, human labour, and environmental resources. Generative AI (referring to technology that can produce text, imagery, audio, and other kinds of content) increases the use of each of those components. It requires a vast amount of data, more people working behind the scenes as clickworkers and in factories, and much more energy. This leads to a larger carbon footprint and greater water consumption than ever before. 

Would there be a way to create large language models without this level of extraction? 

Part of the reason I describe AI as an extractive industry is that it has always relied on extracting data, labour, and natural resources at scale. Evidence from the first phase of this “generative turn” in the AI field suggests that it is heavily dependent on extraction. There is ongoing research trying to create generative AI models with less data and make them more energy efficient, but there is a widespread belief in the field that scale is the solution to making LLMs work better. This entails billions of hyperparameters involved in the machine learning process and extraordinary amounts of energy to sustain LLM-based searches. For this reason, rather than asking whether the AI industry could be different, we should look at how it works right now. And it is raising a lot of environmental red flags. 

You argue that AI is neither artificial nor intelligent. Can you explain why? 

AI is often described in terms that make it sound like science fiction, as if it were just immaterial data in the cloud. But in fact, AI has enormous material implications connected to its energy use, water consumption, the extraction of minerals, the construction of data centres, and so on. In this sense, AI is not artificial at all, but deeply rooted in the material world. As for the intelligence part, I find it problematic that people approach LLM systems as if they were interacting with other humans. This anthropomorphisation generates the belief that there is a form of consciousness emerging from AI, but this is simply not the case. 

It is important that we demystify the way these models function. And that means looking at the technical and social layers, the hidden labour, and all the components that make a system work. They are forms of statistical probability and analysis at scale – something very different from human intelligence. In many cases, it requires thousands of humans to prop these systems up all along the supply chain, from dataset labelling to content moderation. In some cases, we even see people pretending to be AI. For all these reasons, AI is neither artificial nor intelligent. 

In the book, you also discuss AI’s almost colonial logic, its attempt “to capture the planet in a computationally legible form”. Can you explain how that works? 

The large training sets behind LLMs are scraping the entire internet, using data from sensors in cities, robotic vacuum cleaners, and every other possible source, which will all become a form of data input to train ever-larger models. In this sense, LLMs systems harvest everything that can be made digital, and then use it to train corporate AI models. 

Why are environmental aspects still downplayed in the discussion about the possible harms of AI? 

Because the true environmental costs of AI are among some of the most closely guarded corporate secrets. Despite the lack of reliable data from the industry, several studies have modelled the impact of AI. One study estimated searches through LLMs to be five times more energy consuming than traditional search engines. Another claims that every ChatGPT query is the equivalent of pouring out half a litre of water onto the ground. That’s very disturbing, considering that fresh water is such a scarce resource.

The environmental costs of AI are closely guarded corporate secrets.

So there are studies looking at the empirical evidence, but it is difficult for this story to really catch on because it takes time to do this investigative work. I spent five years researching around the mining that goes into the creation of these systems, and to assess the true environmental cost of Bitcoin. It will take time until we know the true carbon footprint and environmental costs of generative AI. But we already know that it is more energy intensive than it should be, and that it is going in the wrong direction at a time when we urgently need to curtail our energy use and carbon footprint. 

What could be done to move this issue up the agenda? 

I think it has to be a regulatory issue. We should have transparency laws that force companies to release reliable data around the environmental cost of their systems, similarly to what has happened in the automotive industry. It is also very important that we start to have a public debate around where and when AI systems are useful. What we are seeing now is a situation in which generative AI is the hammer, and everything is a nail. We see generative AI being built into everything from search to document writing, image generation, video editing, and so on. We need to ask whether systems that are so energy intensive should be used so pervasively.  

Part of what is happening comes from a condition of ignorance: people are not aware that every time they use generative AI, they contribute to the pollution of the environment. But to make users more aware, we should first have some transparency. 

It is often said that AI could be useful – or even essential – in the fight against climate change, but people who take this position rarely explain why they think this is the case. 

Taking action on climate change will require governments to do much more than they’ve done so far. We know that a small number of companies is responsible for a big part of the total carbon footprint. So more than artificial intelligence, the solution to climate change is political action, including some real regulation around what is currently happening. AI is commonly described as a solution to everything, when often it is just part of a much more complex picture.

What kinds of developments can we expect within AI in the near future? Could it be approaching a plateau? 

There is a lot of debate around whether the current techniques for building LLMs will plateau at a certain point. The answer will depend on whether the industry can sustain the extraordinary amount of computing necessary to build these systems. Currently, there is a global shortage of specialised chips for AI training rounds due to extraordinarily high demand. This shows that the choke points concern the materials and infrastructure needed to do AI at scale. The conversation about AI needs to look beyond algorithmic approaches and ask whether we are going to hit a plateau in terms of what the planet can sustain. 

Great powers have their different approaches towards AI and are actively trying to manipulate each other’s access to the value chain. What lies ahead for the geopolitics of AI? 

The geopolitics of AI is already heating up. The EU is now creating its own policies on the production of semiconductors. In April, the European Council and Parliament reached a political agreement on the so-called Chips Act. In the United States, the Biden administration has an increased focus on localising the production of technological infrastructure and is looking to break its reliance on China for rare earth minerals and other components. At the same time, Taiwan is a major exporter in the digital economy, so AI is already an important phenomenon in today’s geopolitical conflicts. It remains to be seen how this is going to play out with the additional infrastructure demands linked to generative AI. 

Lithium powers the batteries needed for the energy transition. The Salta and Jujuy regions in northern Argentina have the world’s second-largest lithium reserves. But mining it is water intensive, increasing the risks of resource competition and social conflict within nearby communities. Multinationals backed by the Argentinian government set their sights on this “white gold”, how can the EU ensure a fair and inclusive energy transition that does not stop at its borders?

We are in northern Argentina, near the Bolivian border, at an altitude of over 3000 metres. The sun shines brightly on the vast, snow-white landscapes of the Salinas Grandes, the country’s largest salt flats. In summer, temperatures here soar to 45 degrees Celsius. The air is thin – it’s harder to breathe, and walking takes effort – and the light is different. Brighter, warmer, more immediate. It is bone dry, and the salt crunches beneath our feet. We have driven a hundred kilometres without seeing a single oncoming vehicle – only vicuñas (a wild relative of the llama), jackals, and hawks. Passing through a landscape almost devoid of vegetation, the road was littered with stones, reminiscent of the Dakar Rally. It is here, in these arid Argentine highlands, that the world’s second-largest lithium reserve is located.

The white gold rush

Lithium is sometimes called white gold. “With its attractive silvery-white colour, lithium is the least dense of all metals. It is so light that it floats on water, and so soft that it can be cut with a knife. But the property that makes it such a coveted and strategic element today is its great capacity for energy storage,” writes Spanish science journalist Héctor Rodríguez. Used in electric car batteries, wind turbines, solar panels, mobile phones, and computers, lithium is indispensable for the energy transition. A World Bank report published in 2020 predicts that by 2050, graphite, cobalt, and lithium production could increase by as much as 500 per cent to meet the rising demand for minerals associated with the transition to renewable energy. The war in Ukraine is further speeding up the energy transition as countries aim to generate more green energy domestically, thus reducing their exposure to geopolitical tensions. As a result, renewable energy could become the main source of electricity worldwide as early as 2025. A resource rush in the Salinas Grandes, led by the Argentine government as well as Australian, Chinese, and Canadian mining companies, therefore seems inevitable.

The so-called Lithium Triangle, comprising the border region of Argentina, Chile, and Bolivia, accounts for more than 60 per cent of the world’s lithium reserves. Brine rich in the metal is pumped from reservoirs 200 metres beneath the salt flats and transported through pipelines to a series of large open-air basins, where most of the water slowly evaporates. The remaining brine is then pumped to a recovery facility, and the metal is extracted. The region’s aridity favours particularly rapid evaporation, conferring a financial advantage on operations there. However, it also means that water resources are scarce. As the lithium extraction process is highly water intensive, with an estimated 400,000 to 2 million litres of water needed to extract one tonne of lithium, it is unsurprising that it is leading to the depletion of groundwater in the surrounding regions. 

Water and drought, life and death

A 2020 projection estimated that lithium mining in Argentina would use up to 50 billion litres of water in 2022, equivalent to the annual consumption of a city with a population of 350,000. This is catastrophic for a region already experiencing severe drought linked to the increasingly tangible effects of climate change. Most residents depend on agriculture for their survival. If the groundwater runs dry, crops will fail, and there will be no food on the table. According to social movement news portal El Ciudadano, farming communities in this drought-stricken corner of South America fear for their livelihoods. Gil Cruz, a weaver from Santa Cruz, testifies, “The day I run out of llamas, I don’t know what I’ll live on, what I’ll feed my children. If the water runs out, life will disappear. What will our cattle live on if there’s no water left? The mining companies think of today’s bread, but not tomorrow’s. We are worried about the future of our children and grandchildren.”  

“Aquí la Pacha se defiende” is written in large letters on the walls of the villages that line the salt flats. This phrase, which means both “Here the Earth is defended” and “Here the Earth defends itself”, gets to the crux of the matter: the fundamental clash between two worldviews. On the one hand, that of the indigenous communities of the salt flats in their struggle to protect their livelihoods, traditions, and ecosystem. On the other, that of the modern world in its desperate need to find an alternative to oil that will allow its system of production and consumption to go unchallenged. Since the beginning, the exploration and exploitation of lithium have led to territorial conflicts with local indigenous communities. In the case of the Salinas Grandes, this concerns a population totalling 6000 people who depend on small-scale agriculture, salt mining, and tourism. But the problem extends much further, with protests also growing in the Atacama Desert, just across the Chilean border. 

The salt flats as a sacrifice zone 

In the Argentine region of Jujuy, locals have been resisting the continued expansion of mining projects for more than a decade. They organise regular inter-communal consultation meetings, raise awareness of the cause via social media, and create murals. Every year on 12 October – the day Columbus first set foot in the Caribbean, a day that for them marks the beginning of genocide – they organise a march for water and life. “Our ancestors cared for this land for centuries, now it is up to us. The rotation of crops, of pastures… These companies don’t understand that. They come, they clear the land, and leave again. But that’s not how it works: it’s about a delicate collaboration [with the planet Earth and water] so that there is enough for everyone,” says Clemente Flores, a representative of the 33 communities resisting the advance of mining in the Salta and Jujuy regions. “We depend on the landscape for our agriculture, for cattle breeding. And tomorrow, what then? Moreover, the mines do not provide many jobs even though they claim otherwise.”  

One of the major problems is the infringement of the right to free, prior, and informed consultation as recognised in the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples – both by the government and by the companies themselves. “We are not against mining per se,” Flores continues, “we just want our voice to be respected.” The communities inhabiting the region have complained for years that the government approves mining projects without consulting them, despite the fact that these projects have a direct impact on their culture and way of life and take place on their ancestral land. They refer to the right to self-determination of indigenous communities, which should allow them to “freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development”. “If these rights are not at least respected, colonialism in all its facets remains in force,” says anthropologist Gustavo Ontiveros, himself a member of the Omaguaca community in the region.  

In spite of the protests, the colonisation of indigenous territories and sacrifice of their traditions to “save the world” appears to be inevitable. Are we doomed to repeat the history of past centuries? Will the salt flats and the life they support become zonas de sacrificio (“sacrifice zones”) for the North American, European, and Asian energy transitions? Sociologist and activist Maristella Svampa and environmental lawyer Enrique Viale underline the importance of recognising the role of historical ecological debt: the Global North’s centuries-long predation on the natural environments and human rights of the Global South. The high environmental costs still paid by the peoples of the Global South reflect the deep inequalities between continents.  

Threatened local ecosystems  

A large-scale 2021 study by Wetlands International confirms that lithium mining is associated with massive water loss and leads to freshwater salinisation, posing a huge threat to fragile wetlands in Argentina, Bolivia, and Chile. These ecosystems in the heart of the Andes are not only of great value to the local economy; they also support unique ecosystems and represent an invaluable cultural heritage. Moreover, a group of scientists from the British Royal Society concluded in a 2022 study that the recent large-scale flamingo deaths in the region were effectively due to a lack of water. The bird, emblematic of the region, lives in large flocks in the salt lakes. A further increase in lithium mining and an associated reduction in surface water could have dramatic consequences for the population.  

The debate around lithium extraction is a microcosm of the broader cultural-philosophical crisis faced by contemporary industrialised societies. We continue to view the environment as the backdrop to human activity, thus placing ourselves outside nature. This clashes heavily with the worldview of communities seeking to preserve their environments and traditions. The example of lithium also highlights the importance of climate justice: it is often the most vulnerable groups in society that are hit hardest by the effects of climate change. The case of the salt flats, however, seems to present us with a “Sophie’s choice” between the consequences of climate change and the harm done by extracting the resources necessary to fight it.  

There is no doubt that the energy transition is a necessary step in the move to a post-fossil society. The continued rollout of renewable energy is crucial to keep our planet liveable. The only question is how to make it happen in an equitable way, involving all parties. There is much talk in progressive European circles about a just transition, but this is still too often limited to workers’ rights within the borders of our own continent. If we want to combat global inequality, we need to broaden our perspective and apply these principles of justice and compensation to the entire supply chain.  

In this context, the rollout of EU due diligence legislation is a hopeful step forward. Its aim is to promote sustainable and responsible corporate behaviour and embed human rights and environmental considerations in companies’ operations and governance. The new rules will ensure that companies address the negative impacts of their actions, including in value chains within and outside Europe. This is clearly a positive development, but it is not enough. We need global due diligence legislation that goes beyond the European Union to include the rest of the world. 

Due diligence and the ethics of care  

The due diligence principle aligns with what we call a “care ethic” in Dare to Care: Ecofeminism as a source of inspiration. Such an ethic assumes that we, as human beings, are embedded in numerous natural and social relationships and dependencies that must be taken into account when considering a particular course of action. Science and technology professor and feminist thinker Maria Puig de la Bellacasa translates this insight as concern for “more-than-human worlds”. She shows that we cannot separate human and non-human care relationships. Those who care for nature also care for humans. There is only one health, and planet and people are inseparable. This new position calls for us to carefully decentralise ourselves – not always considering humans as the centre of everything – while at the same time staying very close to the fortunes of people in their concrete and sometimes precarious life situations. It demands that we change some of our fundamental conceptions. It involves re-grounding ourselves with an open gaze and taking responsibility for the world that sustains us.  

In their book El colapso ecológico ya llegó, Maristella Svampa and Enrique Viale stress the importance of decentralising energy systems. According to them, the lithium issue inhabits both the old paradigm of predatory extractivism – linked to unsustainable water consumption, the destruction of biodiversity, and disrespect for human rights – and the new paradigm of a post-fossil society and renewable energy. The energy transition should not and cannot be limited to a mere switch to renewable energy sources that allows our current mode of consumption to go unchallenged. Decarbonisation must lead to a profound change in our production, distribution, and consumption systems. Above all, it must change our social conduct – towards each other and towards our environment. It must restore and strengthen our interdependence with nature. This can only be achieved by adopting a perspective that considers the rights of local populations and nature as well as environmental costs. Besides recycling and developing a circular economy, we need to develop energy systems that operate by decentralisation and devolution to guarantee equal access to and distribution of energy. Energy cooperatives are one means to ensure civil society participation in energy governance and production. 

The case of the Argentine salt flats demonstrates that the way we generate energy, whether fossil or green, has a concrete impact on the lives of people worldwide. It is imperative that we continue to work towards an energy system that emphasises social and environmental responsibility along all parts of the supply chain. This is not an individual, but a collective, political task.

In recent years, the citizens of Serbia and Albania have offered inspiring examples of mobilisation against extractivism and ecosystem degradation. Can their success be replicated across the Balkans and beyond?

In the past decade, the Balkans have witnessed a surge in environmental protests, fueled by concerns over the region’s ecological heritage and the impact of human activity on natural resources. The Vjosa River protests in Albania – opposing the construction of hydropower plants on one of Europe’s last wild rivers – and the Jadar movement in Serbia – fighting against the exploitation of one of the continent’s largest lithium reserves – are prominent examples.

The two movements diverged in terms of their organisation, duration, and tactics. The Jadar protests lasted a few months and involved political actors, while the Vjosa ones spanned several years and were driven by grassroots initiatives and non-profit organizations. Despite their differences, both movements successfully mobilised citizens and influenced political outcomes. In January 2022, the Serbian prime minister announced the withdrawal of Rio Tinto’s exploration permits for the Jadar project. Similarly, in March 2023, the Vjosa River was declared a national park, shielding it from any additional developments.

Biodiversity under attack

Originating from Greece, the Vjosa is one of the last wild rivers in Europe, flowing for over 270 kilometres without any artificial obstacles. Its basin is home to over 1100 species of animals and plants, some of which are internationally classified as threatened.

In May 2017, the Albanian government re-launched a tender for the construction of a large hydropower plant in Kalivaç, which had been initiated in 2007 with the Italian Becchetti group but shelved. The termination of the agreement with Becchetti was prompted in 2016 by serious allegations of document forgery and money laundering related to the project. This time around, the government offered the concession to Turkish investors. Another project in Poçem included the construction of a 25-metre dam wall, endangering the river’s gravel islands and alluvial forests. Protests grew in intensity in 2018, when construction was about to resume in Kalivaç. The main investor was Ayen-Alb, a joint venture of Albania’s Fusha and Turkey’s Ayen Enerji.

In Serbia, the Jadar River Valley is home to a diverse range of plant and animal species. Besides its biodiversity, the river provides a key water source for surrounding communities. The valley also holds one of the world’s largest lithium deposits , a strategic resource for electric vehicle batteries. Jadar was set to become Europe’s biggest lithium mine, helping the EU meet its fast-growing demand in advance of the phasing out of carbon-emitting combustion engines in 2035.

The discovery of lithium deposits in Jadar dates back to 2004. The Anglo-Australian mining corporation Rio Tinto planned to start constructing mining facilities in 2023, aiming for the first saleable product to enter the market by 2026.

Rio Tinto had not produced an environmental impact study for the Serbian authorities. The imminent commencement of Rio Tinto’s operations at the Jadar mine led to major protests between September 2021 and February 2022.

Lessons learned

While both protests were centred around the preservation of natural sites, the two movements had different structures, tactics, and scale.

The backlash against the Kalivaç hydropower plant involved grassroots movements led by local activists, environmental organisations and concerned citizens across Albania. Several influential nonprofits such as EcoAlbania, Riverwatch, EuroNatur, and Front 21/42 played a pivotal role, whether in mobilising public protest, engaging policymakers, or collaborating with scientists.

The environmental nonprofits spearheaded the Vjosa River protests through the Save the Blue Heart of Europe, an international coalition to protect the rivers in Balkan countries against dam projects and to promote higher standards for preservation. Formed in 2012, the coalition was also involved in protecting other rivers in the Balkans, including the Sava and the Neretva.

The movement took action through small but persistent initiatives, exerting continuous pressure on the Albanian government. Fear of repression and violence is one explanation for the choice of non-confrontational advocacy efforts over mass public demonstrations. In 2011, anti-government protests involving tens of thousands of citizens had led to violent clashes between demonstrators and the police, leaving four people dead and dozens more injured.

With their advocacy-driven approach, civil society organisations also hoped to engage Prime Minister Edi Rama, who had been a leader of the 2011 protests. A member of the Socialist Party, Rama had gained popularity and support during his tenure as the mayor of Tirana by implementing initiatives that improved the city’s infrastructure and quality of life for its residents. Ahead of the 2013 parliamentary election, Rama had promised to combat corruption, revitalise the economy, and pursue European integration. His background and popularity made him a possible interlocutor for civil society organisations.

The advocacy approach proved effective for the Vjosa river protest movement, but the limited popular involvement raises concerns about the extent of societal buy-in. In-person demonstrations and a higher degree of public involvement, as was the case in Serbia with the Jadar protests, could also have placed more pressure on the government to address the issue earlier.

The reason behind mass participation in the Jadar protests is partly the involvement of political actors. In September 2021, the Ecological Uprising movement organised a protest demanding that Rio Tinto halt the mining project and leave the country. Endorsed by the Democratic Party and the People’s Party, the demonstrations attracted thousands of participants.

During the protests, the lines between politics and civil society became blurred. In mid-2021 Aleksandar Jovanović Ćuta, a prominent Ecological Uprising activist, declared that the movement would field candidates for the 2022 Belgrade city assembly election. In November 2021, amidst the ongoing Jadar protests, he announced that the movement would also take part in the Serbian parliamentary elections in 2022.

The prominence of in-person demonstrations in Serbia was also the result of President Aleksandar Vučić’s clampdown on civil society. In 2020, Serbia passed anti-terror legislation imposing strict reporting requirements and financial penalties on organisations receiving funds from abroad. While keeping up democratic appearances, Vučić exerts near-complete control over the country’s media and centres of power.

Between 2018 and 2020, sustained and largely peaceful demonstrations had taken place against Vučić’s increasingly authoritarian rule. With most avenues of dissent blocked, public protests became one of the last remaining outlets for expressing opposition.

Though effective in mobilising mass participation, the involvement of political parties linked to the opposition risked forfeiting the protests’ credibility.  Moreover, if the new political actors that emerged during the Jadar protests fail to hold true to their environmental commitments, further disenchantment among Serbians will be the result. 

Mavrovo and Bor

Both the Vjosa and the Jadar movements drew on the experience gained from previous protests. Between 2014 and 2015, close to the timing of the Vjosa protests, Save the Blue Heart of Europe was active in the protection of North Macedonia’s Mavrovo National Park, home to beech forests and the critically endangered Balkan lynx. 

The park was threatened by the construction of two hydropower plants funded by the World Bank and the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD). One of the environmental coalition’s main requests was the withdrawal of World Bank and EBRD funding. It accomplished this through several tactics, including a petition submitted to the prime minister that gathered over 100,000 signatures. At the end of 2015, the World Bank announced its decision to withdraw from the project. EBRD followed in 2017.

The Jadar and Vjosa protests highlighted the transformative power of an engaged and active citizenry in democratic decision-making.

The Jadar protests also had a successful predecessor. In 2018, the Serbian energy minister announced that China’s Zijin Mining Group had won a tender to become a strategic partner in one of Europe’s largest and Serbia’s only copper complex, RTB Bor. Located in eastern Serbia, the mine had been operating since the early 1900s and faced a number of environmental and social issues, including water and air pollution, and health impacts on local communities.

After the Chinese takeover and expansion of the Bor mine, air pollution worsened, with sulphur dioxide levels topping 2000 micrograms per cubic metre, up from the maximum allowed of 350. Between the end of 2019 and the beginning of 2020, the citizens of Bor organised several protests that eventually compelled the city’s mayor to file an official criminal complaint against Zijin, and led the government to take steps aimed at holding the company accountable. In early 2021, Serbia ordered Zijin to complete a wastewater treatment plant after failing to adhere to environmental standards.

Kayaks and roadblocks

The advocacy tactics used against the proposed hydropower plants on the Vjosa River not only helped the coalition to raise national and international awareness, but also kept the issue present in the public consciousness for years. This ultimately put significant pressure on the government to reconsider its plans for the river.

The international dimension of the movement served as evidence that environmental protection is a global concern that can attract support beyond the local groups and communities that are directly affected.

Another noteworthy example of an internationally oriented initiative was the Balkan River Tour in 2016. Kayakers from various countries, including Italy, Germany, and the Netherlands, embarked on a journey down threatened rivers in the Balkans to draw attention to the detrimental consequences of dam construction. The tour culminated in a powerful protest held in front of the Albanian prime minister’s office in Tirana, where kayaks adorned with hundreds of signatures opposing the proposed dams on the Vjosa and advocating for the establishment of a national park were displayed.

Two years later, Save the Blue Heart of Europe organised a concert for Balkan rivers as the culminating event of the first European Rivers Summit in Sarajevo. The gathering attracted over 200 activists, scientists, and concerned citizens from various countries, who shared the common objective of preserving and restoring clean, free-flowing rivers in the region.

Capitalising on mass participation, the Jadar protests were mostly national. Strategic road blockades across Serbia proved particularly effective in capturing attention. By causing inconvenience to people and disrupting economic activity, the blockades added to the pressure on decision-makers.

The intensity of the protests escalated in November 2021, following the Serbian government’s proposal to modify two crucial national laws. The proposed changes sought to increase the state’s power to expropriate properties within a mere eight-days, which would expedite the relocation of communities near the planned mine, and to remove the threshold for the number of voters needed for a referendum to pass, replacing it with simple majority. Serbian officials had previously suggested the possibility of a referendum on Rio Tinto’s operations in Jadar.

In 2020, Rio Tinto had initiated the acquisition of land surrounding the lithium reserve, often presenting compensation as the sole alternative to expropriation. The company’s mention of expropriation seemed to anticipate the new law, which the communities around Jadar perceived as a direct threat.

This was the peak of discontent among the Serbian public. On 4 December 2021 one of the largest protests occurred, with demonstrators blocking the Freedom Bridge in Novi Sad and halting traffic on motorways in Niš, Užice, Subotica and other cities. The demonstrations forced the Serbian government to withdraw the proposed expropriation law, but decided to retain the amendments to the referendum legislation, fueling further unrest.

In collaboration with over 40 initiatives and movements, Ecological Uprising acknowledged the withdrawal of “predatory laws” as a positive step, but emphasised that victory was not yet complete. The movement called for the immediate public disclosure and nullification of all agreements with Rio Tinto. Meanwhile, demonstrators continued to stage blockades on roads, major highways, and bridges in over 50 locations across Serbia.

Democratic impact

The Vjosa and the Jadar protests are some of the highest profile and successful environmental campaigns in the history of Albania and Serbia respectively, reflecting growing awareness and concern about environmental issues among citizens and interested stakeholders.

In different ways, these two movements united diverse individuals, communities, and organisations, providing a platform to voice concerns and express dissent. In doing so, they highlighted the transformative power of an engaged and active citizenry in democratic decision-making.

In Albania, the protests brought the protection of the Vjosa to the forefront of political discussions. In 2020, then-President Ilir Meta officially advocated for the creation of a national park. During the 2021 electoral campaign, the opposition leader of the Democratic Party (DP) Lulzim Basha emphasised his commitment to safeguarding the river and preventing the construction of hydropower plants.

In response to the mounting pressure, Prime Minister Rama also pledged to protect the area and later announced the cancellation of the hydropower project. The following year, he sought re-election with the promise to declare the Vjosa a nature park. Still, the protest campaign persisted until the full protection measures were put in place for the river in early 2023.

The political consequences of the environmental protests were even deeper in Serbia, ushering in the emergence of new political forces. After announcing its participation in the 2022 general election, Ecological Uprising formed the Moramo (We Must) coalition with Together for Serbia (ZZS) and Do not let Belgrade Drown (NDB).

Moramo’s impact on Serbian politics has been profound. The coalition garnered approximately 5 percent of the popular vote in the general election, winning 13 seats in the National Assembly. In June 2022 ZZS, Ecological Uprising and Assembly of Free Serbia merged into Zajedno (Together), a party with a green-leftist political orientation. The party presents environmental protection, energy transition, and direct democracy as its core priorities.

The advent of Moramo and Zajedno invigorated the political landscape in Serbia by strengthening the opposition and offering new perspectives. It provided a platform for progressive voices to advocate for environmental concerns and drive meaningful change through democratic participation. It showed Serbia the possibility for an alternative road, even if it was not sufficient to challenge Vučić’s grip on power.

The success and visibility of the Jadar and Vjosa protest movements have already inspired other communities facing similar environmental and social concerns. Emboldened by their success in Albania, the leaders of Save the Blue Heart of Europe have announced their intention to take their river-first approach to other Balkan countries. Bosnia-Herzegovina and Montenegro, where the battle to preserve pristine waterways from mounting environmental pressures is intensifying, have been chosen as the coalition’s next priority. The creation of the Vjosa National Park could inspire protection efforts for rivers around the world, such as the free-flowing Patuca in Honduras, the second-largest river in Central America.

Double standards at the EU level?

The EU expressed support for both the Vjosa River and Jadar protests, but not with the same level of engagement. A key objective of the EU’s biodiversity strategy for 2030 is to rehabilitate a minimum of 25,000 kilometers of free-flowing rivers. The safeguarding of Europe’s rivers and coastal waters is also at the core of the Water Framework Directive. For these reasons, EU support for the protection of the Vjosa River has been determined and consistent over the years.

In 2018, the European Parliament passed a resolution on Albania expressing concern about economic projects “that have resulted in severe environmental damage within protected areas, such as large-scale tourist resorts and hydropower plants along the Vjosa and Valbona rivers”. The resolution also encouraged Albania to reassess its renewable energy strategy and reduce its dependence on hydropower for electricity generation.

To maintain its credibility as a genuinely democratic force, the EU must take a consistent stance and openly address any conflicts of interest.

Concerns regarding the Vjosa were also included in the 2021 Progress Report on Albania, in which the EU urged the Albanian government to “establish as soon as possible the Vjosa National Park, extending the whole length of the river.”

But the EU’s response to the Jadar lithium mine project was much more restrained, given the Union’s substantial need for lithium in its energy transition. . With the phase-out of combustion engines by 2035, it is expected that 30 million electric cars will be in use by 2030. EU countries already produce more than a quarter of the world’s electric vehicles, and Germany’s Volkswagen aspires to become the largest electric-car maker by 2024, surpassing Tesla.

In December 2021, while the Jadar protests were ongoing, EU Commission Spokesperson Ana Pisonero stated that the project was “a very good opportunity for the socio-economic development of Serbia provided it respects the highest environmental standards,” adding that the EU would help Serbia attract partners and investments to develop sustainable value chains for raw materials and batteries.

These different approaches reflect the EU’s difficulty in reconciling its support for environmental struggles with its economic interests in the context of ecological transition.

The future of environmental protest

The Vjosa River and Jadar protests adopted distinct approaches that reflect the political and social circumstances in their respective countries. But despite their differences, both movements are proof of the democratic impact of citizen engagement on environmental issues in the region. Not only did they successfully halt the projects they were opposing, the protests also fostered government and corporate accountability, and opened new avenues for political change.

But environmental struggles are not over.

In Serbia, Rio Tinto has not given up on its project in Jadar. The company has been purchasing land around the proposed site of the mine, and the possibility of holding a referendum on the mining project is still on the table. The response of Zajedno and other new green and leftist political actors remains to be seen. In Albania, meanwhile, civil society organisations are now mobilising against the construction of an international airport in Vlora, which poses a threat to the migratory bird areas on the Adriatic Sea.

In the coming years, the emergence of environmental movements will likely continue to shape the political landscape in Albania, Serbia, and other Balkan countries. The EU can be a valuable ally in this process. But to maintain its credibility as a genuinely democratic force, it must take a consistent stance and openly address any conflicts of interest.