The mercury threat to 951 Amazon communities in three countries by Alexa Velez, Vanessa Romo, Daniela Quintero Diaz Mongabay Latam, agencies   Sep. 2026   For the first time, Mongabay Latam analyzed 39 scientific studies published between 1997 and 2024 that confirm that 249 Indigenous and riverside communities in Peru, Bolivia and Brazil have been exposed to mercury contamination.   Nearly all of them exceed the limits considered safe by the World Health Organization. The stories reported by three journalistic teams in the field reveal the impact on schools, breastfeeding mothers and numerous Indigenous communities.   Mongabay Latam followed the trail of mercury along 2,763 kilometers of three Amazonian rivers: the Madre de Dios (Peru), Beni (Bolivia) and Madeira (Brazil).   The analysis by Mongabay Latam reveals that another 702 communities located less than two kilometers from the rivers analyzed are at risk and could be living the same situation, but remain uncertain because no assessments have been carried out.   “I had some tests done on my little daughter Bayolet when she was 5 years old. She had already fainted twice at school and we didn’t know why,” says Gladys Ordonez, a resident of the Indigenous community of Shintuya, in the Peruvian Amazon.   A few kilometers beyond Shintuya, navigating the Madeira River, lies the Karipuna territory in Brazil. There, Adriano Karipuna, the community leader, tells a similar story. “The children are born with problems, with heart condition … There are young people and teenagers who already have trouble breathing.”   The same scenario is repeated in the Bolivian Amazon. “We are tired of asking for medical assistance,” says Limberth Miquere, the corregidor (local Indigenous community leader) of the community of Buena Vista.   These voices of desperation come from men and women living along the Madeira (Brazil), Beni (Bolivia) and Madre de Dios (Peru) rivers in the Amazon, testimonies inevitably marked by one word: Mercury. “I don’t know if my husband is sick or if I am. Who can explain that to us?” asks Iris Yante, a mother of three from the Peruvian Amazon.   Mercury is a heavy metal used in illegal gold mining, a violent, highly profitable illicit activity that is currently booming.   In the Madre de Dios River basin, over a 27-year period (1997–2024), mining destroyed more than 95,000 hectares (234,750 acres) of forest, an area almost as large as the entire urban area of Lima, according to the MapBiomas satellite analysis platform.   A similar situation is occurring in the Beni and Madeira basins, where the devastated area exceeds 9,000 and 28,000 hectares (22,000 and 54,000 acres), respectively. And the activity is expanding daily, driven by the rising price of an ounce of gold, which surpassed $5,000 in January 2026.   As gold increases in value on the international market, violence and the deadly impact of mercury are growing in the Amazon, where forest loss is only one of the serious consequences of this activity. The impact on the health of thousands of people is undoubtedly the most harmful effect.   Mercury is used to separate gold from sediment and is dumped into rivers, irreversibly contaminating them. It contaminates the fish eaten by Indigenous communities, the water they drink and the areas where they bathe. The effects on health are devastating, ranging from memory loss and headaches to damage to the central nervous system.   The testimonies of Gladys, Iris, Adriano and Limberth, gathered in communities along the three Amazonian rivers by Mongabay Latam, show the helplessness of people living with ailments they cannot explain.   How widespread is mercury contamination in the Amazon? How many communities and residents have become victims of its impact?   Despite the severity of the situation, no regional studies have been conducted to fully understand the scale of this enormous environmental and public health problem. What does exist are scattered studies conducted in some communities in the Amazon basin of these three countries.   To put a number on this problem and close this information gap, Mongabay Latam reviewed 39 scientific studies published between 1997 and 2024, which include measurements of mercury levels in people living along 2,763 kilometers (1,717 miles) of the Madeira, Beni and Madre de Dios rivers, as well as in the fish consumed there.   This work involved processing different datasets and methodologies, as well as standardizing measurements to clearly establish the impact and obtain a comprehensive picture of the situation.   The result is a database containing 7,725 mercury samples from people and 5,939 fish tissue samples extracted from these publications, which involved at least 130 scientists.   This analysis — conducted with the support and guidance of the Amazonian Scientific Innovation Center (CINCIA), affiliated with Wake Forest University in the U.S. — traces the path of contamination along three emblematic Amazonian rivers that are hydrologically connected and that carry mercury into the lives of hundreds of families.   The data analyzed is clear: At least 249 communities have been exposed to mercury over the past two decades. Of these, 220 — 88% — have levels of the heavy metal far above those considered safe by the World Health Organization (WHO).   But this is not the worst-case scenario. Mercury has spread through the currents of each river. In doing so, it has contaminated not only the 249 communities that have been sampled, but also those located downstream.   Mongabay Latam’s analysis has established that around 702 communities living along the banks of these three rivers, within a maximum distance of two kilometers (about 1 mile), and located between active illegal mining sites and contaminated communities, are at risk.   In total, 951 communities have alarming mercury levels or live in a state of vulnerability. For years, thousands of people have been living alongside a silent threat, with little or no support to protect them from its effects..   http://news.mongabay.com/custom-story/2026/09/new-analysis-maps-mercury-threat-to-951-amazon-communities-in-three-countries/ http://news.mongabay.com/2026/09/mercury-threatens-over-160-communities-in-bolivias-beni-river-basin/ http://ishr.ch/latest-updates/hrc63-states-must-protect-indigenous-territories-and-those-who-defend-our-natural-and-cultural-heritage/ http://news.mongabay.com/2026/09/tight-brazil-election-challenges-fragile-gains-for-amazon-conservation/ http://news.mongabay.com/2026/09/right-wing-leaders-could-rule-95-of-the-amazon-by-2027-experts-warn/ http://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2022/10/exposure-toxic-substances-form-environmental-violence-against-indigenous http://www.ohchr.org/en/press-releases/2026/09/move-beyond-managing-toxic-pollution-after-harm-has-occurred-and-focus http://www.ohchr.org/en/special-procedures/sr-toxics-and-human-rights http://www.ohchr.org/en/special-procedures/sr-environment/annual-thematic-reports Visit the related web page
	The struggle for protection for land and environmental defenders by Joan Carling Global Witness   Sep. 2026   The struggle for protection for land and environmental defenders, foreword by Joan Carling, Executive Director, Indigenous Peoples’ Rights International. (Global Witness)   As an Indigenous activist from the Philippines, I’ve seen networks of solidarity hold strong against deadly threats – safeguarding the lands, waters and cultures that so many depend upon.   In the 1980s, I lived for several months with tribal communities resisting the Chico River Dam in the Philippine highlands. Backed by the World Bank, the project threatened to flood ancestral territories and displace 100,000 Kalinga and Bontoc people.   Their courage in the face of militarisation, mass arrests and the assassination of Kalinga leader Macli-ing Dulag profoundly shaped my understanding of what it means to be Indigenous.   The government – whose soldiers riddled Macli-ing's home with bullets – accused protesters of opposing development.   They failed to understand that, for Indigenous Peoples, land is life. Any threat to our lands, territories and resources is a threat to our very existence – our cultures, our identities, our dignity and our future generations. That is why our communities were willing to risk everything to protect them.   The same language is still being used to stigmatise land and environmental defenders today. In the Philippines and around the world, companies and state authorities label Indigenous Peoples as obstructionists who stand in the way of progress.   This is a narrative rooted in racism: a colonial dismissal of Indigenous knowledge and practice that is based on living in harmony with nature.   In today’s world, that ancestral knowledge is vindicated every day. From sustainable agriculture to climate-resilient water management, Indigenous Peoples’ customs offer effective climate solutions.   But the climate crisis is testing our capacity to adapt to the natural world. It is too drastic, too vast in scale. Rather than try to respond to this emergency on our own, we want to contribute to collective global efforts.   Instead of being listened to, however, Indigenous Peoples are being excluded from major decision-making spaces. As a result, the very projects touted as solutions – renewable energy, transition minerals – drive land grabs, dispossession and violence. We call this “green colonialism.”   If we resist attempts to steal our land and resources, we are criminalised, disappeared or killed. In 2025, at least 124 defenders were killed just for standing up to protect their homes, according to Global Witness.   Take the resistance of Dayak communities in Indonesia. Corporate clearances were destroying community farmland and customary forest, while also fuelling the loss of carbon-rich peatlands and orangutan habitat. Ritual sites – central to Dayak spiritual life – were trashed. Local Dayak leaders organised to resist this damage, imposing customary sanctions on the company responsible.   But instead of being supported in their efforts to protect these climate-critical ecosystems, they were criminalised. A community leader was charged with extortion for using traditional practices to hold a company accountable for its reckless environmental destruction.   We see similar tactics in the Philippines, one of the deadliest places on the planet to defend the environment. My former organisation, the Cordillera Peoples Alliance – which grew out of the resistance to the Chico Dam – had bank accounts frozen after four of its leaders were classified as terrorists.   Other threats are more severe. In the Philippines, 12 defenders were killed in 2025. Global Witness linked five of those killings to the armed forces, showing how, when attempts to criminalise defenders fail, the military reverts to more direct attacks.   Facing an indifferent or hostile state, Indigenous communities do what we’ve always done. We self-organise to protect ourselves, our homes, our forests, our mountains, rivers and territories.   This is the case in the Peruvian Amazon, where dozens of Indigenous leaders have been killed as criminal groups seek to establish themselves on their territories.   In response, Amazonian Peoples, such as the Kakataibo and Shipibo, have developed their own Indigenous guards. These monitor and patrol their land, challenge illicit actors, respond to threats and coordinate outreach to state institutions.   Around the world, Indigenous Peoples have had to establish such systems to protect themselves. Leaders no longer travel on their own. Safe houses and vehicles are put in place to provide refuge or streamline escape when threats escalate. Alliances are built with lawyers and doctors, who can respond in the event of legal or physical attacks.   Support is needed from mental health specialists, too. I know this myself. While I was chair of the Cordillera Peoples Alliance, two brilliant Indigenous colleagues were killed – Alyce Omengan Claver and Rafael Markus Bangit.   As threats circulated, I was forced to live in the office temporarily to avoid travelling back and forth to my home. I fell into a serious depression after this, although it took me some time to realise it.   Tragically, during 2025, another 44 Indigenous people, including seven Indigenous Guards, were killed for defending their land, their culture and their resources. From Edgar Tumina Gembuel (a Nasa Guard from Colombia) to Nickasio Tayas Mindo (a Teduray leader from the Philippines), here we honour their legacy.   Despite the stress and danger, defenders have made progress. The Chico Dam resistance spurred the World Bank to develop its policy on Indigenous Peoples. The UNFCCC has established the Local Communities and Indigenous Peoples’ Platform to integrate Indigenous practices into global climate action.   The problem is that these tools are kept away in a corner. They don’t feed into other processes, such as multinational discussions on just transition pathways or climate adaptation.   This is the opposite of what is needed. Indigenous Peoples and our knowledge must be at the heart of climate decision-making. Our role as custodians of land, our understanding of the consequences of climate breakdown, and our collective resistance to dispossession must have an influence on policy at the centre of power.   But this can only happen when our territories are secure and our people protected from harm. States and leaders must work with us firstly to ensure that our communities are safe – and then to tackle the environmental crises that pose an existential threat to us all.   http://globalwitness.org/en/campaigns/land-and-environmental-defenders/collective-power/ Visit the related web page
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