London, Sep 12 (The Conversation) Deep in the Amazon rainforest, sound designer Eric Terena has been documenting its rich tapestry of sounds. Sitting quietly beneath the dense, lofty treetops, armed with his recording equipment, Terena has observed significant transformations. As the co-founder of Mídia Indígena, a Brazilian media and communications network dedicated to the preservation and promotion of Indigenous cultures, Terena explains, “What the environment once spoke, what biodiversity once sang, has shifted to sounds from industrial projects that have arrived in our territories.” His words illustrate a shift not just in sound but in the very essence of nature, as it is increasingly replaced by mechanized noise, with ancestral songs drowning amidst the clamor of industrial activity. By leveraging digital tools, Terena amplifies these transformations, transforming lived experiences into climate consciousness at a global level.
In our research with Indigenous communities within the Brazilian Amazon, we delve into how film and other technological means—from smartphones to social platforms—are harnessed to document environmental shifts, safeguard land rights, and influence climate dialogues. Working in solidarity with Indigenous leaders and the Intercultural Faculty in Mato Grosso, Brazil, we investigate “educommunication,” a blend of media education and active community involvement, to empower young communicators with the technical prowess and political acumen required to narrate their stories to diverse audiences, from local communities to global dignitaries.
As Brazil hosts Cop30, the UN climate summit in November, our studies demonstrate how these digital methodologies are enabling Indigenous narratives to reshape global perceptions of the climate crisis, ensuring that their viewpoints are reflected not only in cultural storytelling but also in international ecological policymaking.
A Pivotal Shift This evolution was gradual and methodical, arising from isolated voices that burgeoned into a significant movement. Initiated by Terena in 2017 at the Free Land Camp, a yearly Indigenous rights convergence in Brasília, Mídia Indígena was co-founded to champion Indigenous voices. Alongside him, young Guajajara leaders—Indigenous peoples from Maranhão, Brazil—embarked on the platform, training 128 young Indigenous individuals in the art of reporting, recording, and sharing their narratives. This initiative rapidly gained momentum, with Mídia Indígena’s videos now amassing over 10 million views annually.
Central to this endeavor is a compelling principle: “Nothing about us, without us.” Indigenous people can now authentically represent their own stories instead of relying on external narrations, making integral decisions regarding what to film, how to tell a story, and who the audience will be.
The significance of this shift became profoundly apparent during the Yanomami humanitarian crisis in early 2023. As one of the largest Indigenous groups in the Amazon, residing across northern Brazil and southern Venezuela, the Yanomami territories have been drastically impacted by illegal gold mining. In that startling year, reports highlighted issues of severe malnutrition, child mortalities, and mercury contamination stemming from mining activities polluting rivers and ravaging forest ecosystems. Equipped with first-hand access, Mídia Indígena reporters led the charge in documenting and disseminating evidence of the crisis, revealing not only the immediate health emergency but also correlating it to wider environmental devastation and climate change dynamics. While national and international outlets subsequently picked up the story, it was Indigenous journalists who initially unveiled it.
This transcended journalism; it encapsulated lived reality, deeply entrenched in native land knowledge. Mídia Indígena’s reporting exuded a genuine authenticity unparalleled by external narratives. They were not isolated in their efforts. Emerging communicators from Xingu+, a network dedicated to territories along the Xingu River basin, produced the impactful video “Fire is burning the eyes of Xingu,” showcasing illegal blazes devastating sections of the Amazon. This visual narrative captured attention from entities like the US Agency for International Development and the EU, underscoring how local stories can drive global consciousness.
Further, films by the Ija Mytyli Manoki and Myki Cinema Collective, established in 2020 by neighboring Indigenous groups in Mato Grosso, showcase how traditional wisdom and rituals are being celebrated abroad, even if lesser recognized in Brazil. Filmmaker Renan Kisedje insightfully remarked in the short film “Our Grandparents Hunted Here,” “we are digital warriors.” Where once traditional weaponry defended their lands, contemporary tools like cameras and smartphones now advocate for land, rights, and justice.
Challenging Outdated Ideas Collectives such as Mídia Guarani embody another layer of this digital defiance. Their video productions scrutinize outdated perceptions about Indigenous life, highlighting the profound connection these communities nurture between nature and technology. Yet, this storytelling is about more than identity—it concerns survival. These creators bring into focus acute threats like Brazil’s “devastation bill,” aiming to dilute environmental safeguards by broadening self-licensing and undercutting protections for traditional territories, paving the way for unchecked pollution and territorial encroachments.
By illuminating such dangers, Indigenous storytellers strive to hold governments and corporate entities accountable. Their narratives extend beyond mere information—they incite public pressure and demand systemic transformation. This shift holds international significance, with the UK pledging £11.6 billion for climate finance from 2021 to 2026, including £3 billion earmarked for nature restoration and £1.5 billion for forestry initiatives. Nonetheless, the Independent Commission for Aid Impact, tasked with scrutinizing UK aid allocation, cautions that changes in accounting might have “moved the goalposts,” inflating perceived expenditures without ensuring tangible outcomes.
While such funds traditionally flow through substantial international charities and foundations collaborating with Indigenous communities—such as the Rainforest Foundation UK and the International Institute for Environment and Development—there is a gradual transition toward Indigenous communities engaging directly with funding agencies and influencing resource allocation. This progression is crucial since they collectively manage expansive land areas vital to conservation. While numerous governments invest heavily in advanced climate technologies, these communities possess longstanding expertise in protecting ecosystems through time-tested practices.
For the first time, in the storied history of UN climate summits, significant numbers of South American Indigenous peoples will participate at Cop30 in November, both physically and virtually. For too long, they've been laying the groundwork to bridge gaps left by mainstream media narratives. Now, these previously muted voices resonate powerfully and authoritatively.
In late August, a coalition of a hundred Indigenous journalists assembled in Belém for the 1st National Meeting of Indigenous Communication. Under the rallying call “Indigenous communication is resistance, territory, and future,” they fortified their networks and prepared collectively for COP30. As the globe’s seasoned protectors of the environment acquire more influence in climate dialogues, their stories—and the manner in which they convey them—will significantly shape decisions that impact everyone. (The Conversation) SCY SCY
(Only the headline of this report may have been reworked by Editorji; the rest of the content is auto-generated from a syndicated feed.)
