Focus on Arts and Ecology

November 19, 2024

The Waurá people are fighting to restore degraded springs, with historic droughts increasing the vulnerability of waters and ways of life in the Xingu Basin. 

By Flávia Milhorance, November 7, 2024

The Waurá Indigenous people live on the banks of the Piyulaga, a lagoon that also lends its name – meaning “fishing place” in the native Arawak language – to their village.

The residents are duly skilful fishers. As their boat floats upon the lagoon, a group casts a net from one side, while a young man claps his rod into the water on the other, towards a gathering of fish. Frightened, they swim straight into the trap. The Indigenous fishers then pull them out of the net, kill them with their teeth and throw them into the boat. The technique is repeated at strategic points in the lagoon until a few bags are filled.

The men bring in their catch a few times a week, securing the fish that, together with manioc, form the basis of their families’ diet. But in the first week of October, when they arrived at the lagoon, they found several fish dead in the water. In the days that followed they found more dead fish with each new trip.

They believe that the causes are related to the rapid decrease in the level of the lagoon and the abnormal warming of its waters – aggravated by a historic drought in the Xingu River basin, a hydrographic network that extends over more than 500,000 square kilometres, an area the size of Spain, between the Brazilian states of Pará, in the north, and Mato Grosso, in the centre-west.

On 30 September, the National Water Agency (ANA) declared the basin to be in a critical situation of water scarcity. At some points in the basin, the rates of recovery to normal flow were said to be extremely slow and would exceed a century, according to estimates by Patrick Thadeu Thomas, deputy superintendent at the agency. 

“We are currently experiencing an extraordinary drought in the Xingu River basin,” he said at the ANA meeting that day.

As well as cutting through the Piyulaga village and more than a hundred communities in the Xingu Indigenous territory, the basin serves 23 municipalities, totalling half a million inhabitants, Thomas noted. It is crucial for navigation and supplies hydroelectric plants, including the giant Belo Monte. Although the dam accounts for nearly 5% of Brazil’s installed power generation capacity, it generated only 1% of its capacity at the beginning of October, the lowest rate in the last five years, according to an analysis based on data from the National Electric System Operator.

The declaration of a critical situation in the basin remains in effect until 30 November, when the rains are expected to return to the Amazon region. Until then, mitigation measures are being adopted, such as reducing the level of the Belo Monte reservoir to release more water into the Xingu River.

‘The lagoon is our market’

Sitting in the shade near the entrance to his oca, Tirawá Waurá, a 51-year-old teacher, invited the reporter to come closer on a sweltering mid-August afternoon. “I wanted to talk about climate change,” he said, which described as now being “the biggest cause for concern” in his community.

“The lagoon is our market, it’s where we get our food,” Tirawá explained. “If it dries up, we won’t live well.”

Located in the transition zone between the Amazon and the Cerrado biomes, the Xingu Basin is home to a vast diversity of fish. But each year its capacity for regeneration diminishes, according to the Waurá. “There used to be more species,” said Yaruma Kauê, 20, while holding a tucunaré.

“He says there were catfish, giant wolf fish…,” added the young man, looking towards 61-year-old Ewelupi Waurá, the most experienced leader among the fishers, whose robust build, despite his age, tells of his decades of hard, physical work. Ewelupi avoids speaking Portuguese, like many of the villagers who maintain traditional habits, such as their fishing techniques.

In addition to Belo Monte’s impact on the basin’s biodiversity, agro-industry has advanced into its native forests to the point of practically cutting off the Xingu Indigenous reserve. Its springs, found in its southern portion, are not protected by reserves, suffering from the intense advance of the agricultural frontier: Pará and Mato Grosso accumulate the highest rates of deforestation in the Amazon, according to federal government monitoring.

For decades, the effects of hydroelectric dams, agro-industry and urbanisation have therefore left the Xingu Basin vulnerable. The Waurá’s concern is that with each passing year, when the rainy season returns, the waters around the village do not recover to their previous levels, becoming a little lower in each cycle.

An analysis of satellite images from three sources suggests that intensifying drought has hit the area over time. The Global Surface Water platform shows that some waters, once permanent, have become seasonal over the last three decades. The trend of declining waters over decades in the area is also visible on the MapBiomas monitoring platform. 

“If an area is no longer permanently covered by water, it could be drying out,” explained Ayan Fleischmann, who researches the hydrology of the Amazon region and analysed the images at Dialogue Earth’s request.

Meanwhile, the Water Masks for Amazon Basin platform shows that this year’s drought has surpassed records set last year, when a historic drought hit the biome. The drought gained strength in October compared to August this year, making the sandy banks around the watercourses more evident when viewed from satellites.

“The Xingu region has been experiencing a constant decrease in water availability, and this is in a regional context of the impact of climate change in the south of the Amazon,” added Fleischmann, leader of the Research Group on Geosciences and Environmental Dynamics in the Amazon at the Mamirauá Sustainable Development Institute.

Satellite images are in line with residents’ own accounts. In August, the water in a stream that connects the Piyulaga lagoon to the Batovi River, a tributary of the larger Xingu, was no more than an adult’s knee deep. In October, the stream dried up completely.

“In past droughts, there was little water. This year, it’s all dried up, there’s no more river near the village,” said Yatakulo Waurá, from the local Tulukai Indigenous Association. He adds that a little water is only found in the stream once more three kilometres away from the community – a kilometre further than during previous droughts.

Yatakulo is one of the few in the village who knows the traditional name of that watercourse: “It’s Yalatukenenepu, which means ‘crab’.” For most people here, its role is so essential, that it’s simply known as “the river”.

As the dawn breaks, the dirt track down to the river starts to get busy and stays that way until nightfall. This is where the Waurá people bathe and socialise. It’s also where they leave the pequi fruit submerged until it becomes a porridge-like texture due to the force of the current, and is then served in rituals.

For the Waurá, water is more than a necessity; it is central to their cosmology. They say they used to bathe in the lake “to stay strong and not grow old”. Rivers and lakes harbour spirits, like the Munä. One myth says that the canoe snake Kamalu Hai taught them the art of pottery by leaving clay on the banks of the Batovi River. Today, the Waurá still collect clay from the riverbed.

For consumption, they rely on an artesian well, as do most of the Indigenous people around the Xingu River. Although its name means “clean water, good water,” the Xingu has suffered from the degradation of its quality over the years.

A tower stands out in a corner of the village, storing and pumping water to the taps nearby or inside the huts. But its distribution is unstable: there are shortages, so the villagers have got used to storing water in jars. At other times, the tower overflows and becomes an artificial rain that attracts the playing children.

At the back of Yatakulo’s oca, his family peels, grinds and dries manioc flour, as well as storing seeds such as annatto and favela. He is one of the collectors of the Xingu Seed Network, which since 2007 has been dedicated to restoring deforested areas, mainly with the aim of recovering springs and restoring the flow of water.

The network has around 700 collectors, including Indigenous people and small farmers, 45 of whom are from the Piyulaga village. The recovery process involves finding the best seeds and using muvuca, a mixture of seeds for manual or mechanised planting. So far, more than 350 tonnes of seeds have been collected, restoring more than 8,800 hectares.

It’s a modest effort compared to the expectation of restoring more than 200,000 hectares around the region’s springs, but it represents a crucial step towards securing water – this vital link between the Waurá’s spirituality, culture and survival.

Zimbabwe’s wetlands are under threat from urban expansion and unsustainable agriculture. Can state and community efforts reverse the damage? 

By Sally Nyakanyanga, November 13, 2024

Budiriro 1 and Budiriro 5, two high-density suburbs of Harare in Zimbabwe, were once separated by a wetland. Now, they are separated by “Budiriro 3 Extension”, an illegally built settlement of temporary homes.

As a result of this development, important functions performed by the wetland have been lost, causing flooding, frequent sewer outbursts and increased levels of phosphorus in the water.

This is not an isolated case. A 2020 UN Development Programme report found that in Harare alone, there were “30 wetlands under threat from illegal settlements”.

While the government has made the right noises about protecting these wetlands, it has been accused of not backing up its words with action.

Residents of the new settlement moved there because they needed a home. But they also describe the conditions as beneficial to them, despite the problems they bring. Dialogue Earth spoke to Mary Tawarimira, a Budiriro 3 Extension resident: “It makes urban cultivation viable. It is also cost-effective, especially at a time when there is a scramble to own land.”

Living near the wetlands

Claud Kaharo, a Budiriro 5 resident, says the impact on his community is worst during the rainy season: “Previously, the rainwater will get into the storm drains and [be] directed into the wetland, and the wetland will absorb the water. However, over the years that has not been happening due to human habitation.”

This means water floods the streets, which brings mosquitoes – and malaria.

“The fact is that in most of these open spaces, people have started putting up illegal structures and doing cultivation on wetlands. Moreover, they are dumping rubbish everywhere [and] as a result there is a bad stench,” adds Kaharo.

It is also important to note that due to water shortages and the resulting consumption of contaminated water, Budiriro is a hotspot for outbreaks of cholera and other diarrhoea-related diseases. As a result, during the rainy season these waterborne diseases become more rampant.

A natural resource under threat

According to the Zimbabwe Environmental Law Association (ZELA), wetlands cover 3% of Zimbabwe’s area, while the country has seven Wetlands of International Importance. ZELA also states that 21% of the country’s wetlands are stable, whereas 18% are severely degraded and 61% moderately degraded.

According to Leonard Unganai, a climate science expert at Oxfam, a huge element of this degradation is caused by human activity – particularly urban expansion and uncontrolled arable agriculture.

In its 2021 report on the complex challenges of wetlands protection, ZELA decries the practice of turning wetlands into residential areas. It says some now act as a “hive of commercial activities where service stations, housing communities and other business-related facilities have taken over”.

Christopher Gohori, senior programmes officer for the local grassroots organisation Community Water Alliance, says climate change is another root cause for the degradation of the wetlands: “Due to poor rainfall and droughts, people are resorting to cultivation on wetlands where they believe they can harvest more in the event that there is erratic rainfall.”

Agricultural activities on wetlands destroy their natural functions, he adds: “Wetlands perform flood attenuation services, slowing down the flow of water and absorbing it, reducing flash floods. However, due to climate change, this service is no longer available as people are now doing farming on the natural water infrastructure.”

The UN Development Programme states wetlands perform other important functions too, such as removing pollutants, serving as wildlife habitats, and acting as groundwater recharge systems. Wetlands also capture and store atmospheric carbon dioxide, allowing it to be converted into other carbon compounds and cellulose and thus mitigating global heating.

Unganai explains that wetlands interact with the climate system in a number of ways, particularly when there is declining rainfall. 

“We really need to look at the potential role that wetlands play in terms of biodiversity conservation, livelihood support and also in terms of the climate system, not only in Zimbabwe but globally,” he adds. 

Community efforts in vain

There have been community initiatives aimed at stopping cultivation on wetlands, but some residents have carried on. 

“They are of the view that if they stop the cultivation – where most of them derive their livelihoods, as they are unemployed – how are they going to survive?” says Kaharo. “In the cities, the only areas for cultivation are mainly on wetlands.”

Kaharo says a residents’ group called Budiriro Water Foundation has been formed to educate communities on the importance of wetlands as sources of water.

“We have also tried to engage local authorities including councillors, members of parliament in our areas, and the Ministry of Environment, Water and Climate, but all these efforts have been in vain, as they have not been able or willing to stop human activities that are causing a threat to wetlands,” Kaharo notes.

Call for coordinated efforts

There have also been national interventions to save Zimbabwe’s wetlands. The Conservation Society of Monavale (COSMO), a support group founded in 2005, took it upon itself to promote and protect Monavale Vlei in Harare.

Characterised by miombo woodlands, Monavale Vlei is an urban wetland. Another of Zimbabwe’s Wetlands of International Importance, it plays an important role in the fragile ecosystem of the Manyame Basin, the main supplier of water for Harare city and its suburbs. It supports a variety of birds, mammals, rodents, amphibians and reptiles.

A COSMO project manager, Dorothy Wakeling, says the Monavale Vlei community has taken significant steps to protect the wetland, collaborating with the municipality of Harare and international bodies to do so. 

“The community efforts include reducing biodiversity loss, restoration projects, educational walks, research, outreach to other communities, advocacy and influencing policymakers,” Wakeling tells Dialogue Earth. “We have hired a conservation person who oversees the preservation of the area, and also carries out various awareness programmes to educate stakeholders on the significance of wetlands.”

The government of Zimbabwe, meanwhile, has produced the National Wetlands Guidelines, as well as a Zimbabwe Wetlands Map. It is also in the process of reviewing the Environmental Management Act. But Gohori says there has been an outcry over the lack of action by the relevant authorities, such as the Environmental Management Agency, which comes under the Ministry of Environment, Water and Climate: “Zimbabwe is good at formulation of policies, but we have serious challenges when it comes to implementation.”

Unganai adds that urban expansion into wetlands is the responsibility of the Ministry of Local Government, Public Works and National Housing: “In as much as the Ministry of Environment is encouraging the protection of wetlands, if they don’t get the support or cooperation from the Ministry of Local Government, there is no headway.”

The Ministry of Lands, Agriculture, Fisheries, Water and Rural Development also plays a role, in managing and promoting sustainable agricultural practices, which is crucial in regulating activity that contributes to wetland degradation.

Gohori believes a wetlands map highlighting ecologically sensitive parts of urban areas would help: “There is a need for the government to declare the gazetted wetlands as ecologically sensitive areas, ensuring there is no construction of buildings or farming activities.” 

Ultimately, though, Unganai says protecting wetlands must be everyone’s responsibility, not just those tasked with implementing policies.

“There is a need for collaboration among different ministries,” he says. “Different ministries are supposed to be coordinating their efforts to make sure that wetlands are protected.”

Sally Nyakanyanga

Ocean issues cut across all three major UN conferences taking place at the end of 2024, says Felipe Cárcamo Moreno. 

By Felipe Cárcamo Moreno, November 8, 2024

Those who know how to surf understand that the rhythm of the waves changes. Clinging to the board, watching the ocean, you decide which wave to take or let go, calculating the direction. And suddenly you are already on your feet, gliding through the sea … aligned with the rhythm of the ocean. Looking at the horizon, you can clearly see what is coming. 

This year has been a decisive one in the management of the ecological crises that plague the ocean. We are currently surfing between three UN Conferences of the Parties (COPs), dedicated to three different UN conventions. Each has a different agenda, but also several elements in common. Among them, the ocean stands out as a cross-cutting and potentially unifying theme.

But despite its importance, there is a deficit of attention being paid to the ocean and its three crises. Climate change, pollution and biodiversity loss on the seas are already manifesting in rising sea levels, record water temperatures, changes in precipitation, ocean acidification and deoxygenation, and the decline of ecosystems.

Three UN gatherings dominate the end-of-year environmental agenda: the Convention on Biological Diversity’s COP16 in Colombia, the Framework Convention on Climate Change’s COP29 in Azerbaijan, and the Convention to Combat Desertification’s COP16 in Saudi Arabia. Will the ocean command the attention it demands? Let’s dive in.

October | Biodiversity, COP16 | Cali

In 2022, the parties to the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework (KMGBF) set a milestone target of protecting 30% of terrestrial and marine areas by 2030. As they gathered in Cali last month, it became clear that global ocean protection languishes far short of this goal.

Another UN treaty will be a key building block in reaching this goal: the Agreement on the Conservation and Sustainable Use of Biodiversity Beyond National Jurisdiction – otherwise known as the High Seas Treaty. Once it has been ratified by 60 countries (currently only 15 have done so, after France recently joined the list) it will enable the establishment of marine protected areas on the high seas, the two thirds of the ocean that lies beyond national jurisdiction. Protecting this will complement efforts to reach the KMGBF’s 30% target.

Ocean protection is further strengthened by other international instruments negotiated in recent years: the Port State Measures Agreement and the Fisheries Subsidies Agreement. Both are designed to combat illegal fishing and promote marine sustainability.

Funding, however, remained a central and outstanding challenge at Cali’s COP16. 

The Latin American and Caribbean Network for a Sustainable Financial System (REDFIS) says funding specifically allocated to biodiversity protection and conservation in each country must be established. The network says the current financial resources on the table are insufficient, and the critical situation of the debt markets in Global South countries is diverting funds that could combat climate change to pay off interest. REDFIS also says more effective mechanisms are needed to channel funds directly to those who protect nature. In particular, local communities, Indigenous peoples and African descendants who manage marine areas. 

November | Climate change, COP29 | Baku

A turning point for climate change discussions to sufficiently incorporate the ocean is hopefully indicated by a recent report. Compiled by the facilitators of the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change’s “ocean dialogue”, the report emphasises the need for synergies between various UN multilateral frameworks. For example, between the 2030 Agenda for Sustainable Development, the Agreement on the Conservation and Sustainable Use of Biodiversity Beyond National Jurisdiction, and the Global Biodiversity Framework. The report stresses this collaboration is critical to the success of national policies on climate change, including adaptation and mitigation.

A central theme of COP29 will be how to implement climate pledges. The ocean dialogue report urges countries to unify their efforts to avoid duplication and strengthen collective action on oceans. How to fund the climate pledges of developing countries will feature prominently.

For Latin America, it is crucial to establish a New Collective Quantified Goal (NCQG) defining a level of international support for climate finance that effectively supports developing countries in protecting their waters. In addition, countries should integrate oceans into their Nationally Determined Contributions and National Adaptation Plans by 2025 – both of which detail countries’ efforts to reduce carbon dioxide emissions and adapt to climate change.

Technology is emerging as a controversial issue where ocean concerns meet climate change, particularly in two areas. The first is geoengineering for marine carbon sequestration, as supervised by the UN’s International Maritime Organization. The consequences of such technologies are yet to be decisively proven. They could enlarge the ocean’s absorption of carbon dioxide, but they could also fail to make a significant difference and further damage already battered ecosystems.

The second area is deep sea mining, supervised by the International Seabed Authority. Some experts worry this could disrupt carbon sequestration in the deep, while advocates say it is a vital source of elements needed for the green transition. Nations including several in Latin America are promoting a moratorium. That would allow for further scientific research on these little-understood deep-sea ecosystems, applying a precautionary principle in the face of possible environmental impacts. 

For significant progress to be made in protecting the oceans in Baku, agreement on concrete action is needed for all the above areas.

December | Desertification, COP16 | Riyadh

The connection between land and ocean is of particular relevance to the third COP of 2024: in Saudi Arabia, members of the UN Convention to Combat Desertification will gather for their 16th conference. 

In addressing the intensification of droughts, the convention stresses the need to align efforts with the findings of the Sixth Assessment Report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change. The convention’s approach is holistic: it highlights the interrelationship of terrestrial and marine ecosystems and encourages development that strengthens their resilience. It also recognises that pressures on ocean ecosystems and water resources are intimately linked to the need to secure food and water for millions of people.

This year has been marked by devastating cyclones and unprecedented ocean warming, alerting the world to the fundamental need to protect the oceans to mitigate climate change and safeguard biodiversity.

It is encouraging to note that behind every political decision there is a relentless activist struggle. One shaped by local, Indigenous and African-descendant communities that are increasingly mobilised to protect the oceans. 

As surfers know, it takes balance to get on the board. Taming the waves of change, which are already crashing, demands a triple balance: being guided by scientific and local knowledge, taking permanent action that is forceful, and having high ambition in the work to mitigate climate change. Get it right and before we know it, we will be on our feet, gliding across the sea.

Felipe Cárcamo Moreno