Deusdedit Ruhangariyo
Special to ICT
Around the world: Wampis ambushed after Peru withdraws from anti-mining patrol; Indigenous knowledge reshapes Canada’s mining project reviews; and Western Australia conference confronts coercive control in the lives of First Nations people.
PERU: Wampis ambushed after anti-mining patrol ends
An armed ambush on a 60-member Indigenous patrol in Peru’s Amazon has reignited concern over illegal gold mining and the Peruvian government’s wavering support for Indigenous-led enforcement. Just days after government agencies unexpectedly pulled out of a planned joint operation, members of the Wampis Nation came under attack while patrolling ancestral lands near the community of Fortaleza, AP reported on July 16.
The Wampis had organized the mission themselves after two years of urging Peru’s public prosecutor and environmental authorities to address unchecked mining in the Santiago River basin. Their goal: to monitor and stop environmental destruction on Indigenous territory. But their peaceful patrol was met with explosives and gunfire.
“People started throwing explosives – I don’t even know what kind they were – and then came the gunfire,” said Evaristo Pujupat Shirap, 45, communications officer for the Wampis Nation’s autonomous government. “Bullets hit the vehicle and even pierced a teacher’s jacket at chest level.”
Although none of the patrol members were injured, the incident underscored the growing risks faced by Indigenous land defenders operating without state protection. Government agencies had pulled out of the coordinated patrol without providing a reason, leaving the Wampis to act alone.
Despite being armed only with hunting rifles and strict orders not to engage, the patrol remained disciplined. Shirap confirmed that only warning shots were fired into the air. “We wanted to show presence, not provoke violence.”
Wampis vice president Galois Yampis condemned the government’s abandonment: “We will not stand by while our rivers are poisoned and our forests destroyed. The government failed to honor its commitments, so we are acting to defend our territory and the future of our people.”
The Wampis Nation has created an autonomous territorial guard to patrol and protect their lands from illegal mining, logging and trafficking. These community-led missions are deeply rooted in the Wampis’ cultural ethos of Tarimat Pujut – a worldview that centers harmony with nature and intergenerational responsibility.
Environmental groups say the Wampis are being left to confront violent criminal networks alone. “They only confront violent actors – yet are left to face danger without state protection,” said Raphael Hoetmer, Amazon Watch’s program director.
As Peru’s illegal gold economy continues to thrive, the Wampis are calling not only for stronger domestic enforcement, but also for global accountability. They urge gold-importing nations to trace and reject conflict-tainted gold and to support Indigenous-led territorial monitoring.
Their message is clear: defense of the Amazon will not wait for permission.
CANADA: Indigenous knowledge reshapes mining projects
As Canada’s mining industry expands, a new research project is spotlighting the critical role of Indigenous knowledge in environmental impact assessments – especially since more than half of proposed projects sit on or near Indigenous lands, Royal Roads University published on July 21.
Cecilia Campero, an adjunct professor at Royal Roads University and of Mapuche heritage, is leading a groundbreaking study to explore how Indigenous worldviews can influence environmental governance. Her project, titled “Indigenous Knowledge and the Sustainable Development Goals,” is backed by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada.
“Impact assessments are tools used by decision makers to approve new development projects, programs or policies,” Campero explains. “They help identify potential impacts and propose mitigation strategies. But these are knowledge-based tools – so the question is, what knowledge are we accounting for? Whose knowledge is seen as important?”
Campero’s work highlights that knowledge systems are not just scientific data points but living cultural frameworks. “I want to emphasize Indigenous knowledge,” she says, “but also the sovereignty of Indigenous communities, their territories, and their cultural practices.”
One powerful example: when considering the United Nations Sustainable Development Goal on zero hunger, integrating Indigenous knowledge offers a holistic model of food security – one that considers not only human nutrition, but the health of surrounding wildlife and ecosystems.
By incorporating insights passed down through generations, such as seasonal patterns, migration cycles, and ecological relationships, Indigenous knowledge adds a level of nuance often absent in traditional Western scientific assessments.
Adriana Lelio, a Royal Roads University graduate student and project research assistant, says community consultations reveal recurring themes: food systems, hunting, fishing, water access, and impacts on sacred sites.
“These worldviews are incredibly rich and deeply holistic,” says Lelio, who also traces her roots to Argentina’s Mapuche community. “They bring a level of complexity and wisdom that is often overlooked.”
He adds: “Indigenous knowledge integration and consultation is not just cultural recognition. It is a moral act – an act of humility. It lays the foundation for reconciliation and for building the kind of social licence that sustainable mining projects require.”
Lelio and Campero caution against the common practice of treating consultation as a bureaucratic box-ticking exercise. Instead, they advocate for meaningful engagement – where Indigenous communities shape not only the conversation but the final decision-making frameworks.
“Long-term sustainability depends on listening,” Campero concludes. “And listening starts with respecting the people who’ve lived on and with the land the longest.”
AUSTRALIA: Conference confronts abuse of First Nations people
A major national conference in Western Australia is shining a long-overdue spotlight on the lived experiences of First Nations communities with coercive control and family violence. As Australia grapples with persistently high rates of domestic abuse, First Nations women and children remain disproportionately affected – prompting urgent calls for culturally safe and community-led solutions, National Indigenous Times reported on July 19.
Scheduled for October 28-29 on Whadjuk Noongar Country, the Hatchery’s Ending Coercive Control & Family Violence conference will gather practitioners, legal experts, and community advocates to address the unique forms of abuse impacting Indigenous Australians. Among the core concerns is coercive control – a pattern of manipulative behavior used to dominate another person, often without physical violence but with deep psychological and emotional harm.
According to a 2023 study by the Australian Institute of Health and Welfare, coercive control plays a role in 57 percent of reported family and domestic violence cases. Its impacts stretch far beyond physical harm, often threatening a person’s autonomy, mental health, employment, and cultural identity.
Stephanie Monck, a Kungarakan/Warramungu woman and speaker at the conference, has spent over two decades in the legal field and now serves as Principal Legal Officer with Women’s Legal Service WA. She stressed that coercive control in First Nations families can look different from mainstream cases – often involving extended family structures and community dynamics.
“In Indigenous families, it can be his whole family against her – so there’s more than one coercive controller,” Monck explained.
She added that many women underreport or normalize abuse when it isn’t physical: “What we find is often women downplay the violence they are experiencing because it’s not physical – and that’s the norm.”
Alison Scott, a proud Noongar woman, offered further insight into the roots of what she called “lateral violence” within Indigenous communities. “It comes from invasion and colonisation … to have communities fighting amongst themselves so that they don’t fight presence,” she said.
The legal path forward remains complex. While some jurisdictions are exploring laws to criminalize coercive control, Monck expressed caution. “I’m not overly fond of the idea,” she said, noting the risk of Aboriginal women being misidentified as perpetrators when defending themselves or their children.
“Everyone’s heightened,” Monck explained. “Police are going off to a heated situation. … Aboriginal women often get misidentified because they’re also committing ‘violence’ in fight or flight mode.”
Western Australia’s criminal code currently lacks clear distinctions in such situations, and those misidentified can face severe penalties, including electronic monitoring as Serial Family Violence Offenders.
Monck emphasized that genuine solutions must come from within First Nations communities, not imposed from outside: “Let’s try and find solutions within their communities – it has to be culturally safe and secure.”
She added, “Aboriginal people, for too long, we’ve had other people making decisions for us. And where are we? No better off.”
Despite acknowledging that family violence may never be fully eliminated, Monck sees hope in continued national attention, evolving legal frameworks, and growing awareness.
“Things are going to improve because we’re talking about it. And we’re finally listening to the voices that should have been at the center all along’’.
My final thoughts
When a mining company prepares to pierce the earth, what stories lie beneath our feet – and who gets to hear them?
That is the moral question buried in the latest study from Royal Roads University, which confronts a troubling truth: Over half of all mining projects in Canada are on Indigenous lands. And yet, the environmental scans that guide these developments often sideline the very voices whose histories, ecosystems, and spiritual ties are most deeply at stake.
In “Mining with Meaning,” Cecilia Campero and graduate researcher Adriana Lelio challenge the technocratic norms of environmental planning. They argue for a radical shift in protocol: Environmental scans must begin with Indigenous knowledge – not end with it.
This is not just academic theory. It is sovereignty science.
The disparity runs deeper than methodology – it cuts to the epistemological core. Mainstream environmental assessments quantify risk through technical metrics: parts per million of heavy metals, decibel levels of industrial noise, projected tonnage of displaced soil. Indigenous assessments map consequences through relational webs: the disruption of seasonal ceremonies, the severing of ancestral pathways, the silencing of creation stories encoded in specific landscapes.
These aren’t competing approaches – they’re complementary intelligences that current policy systematically divorces. While developers measure water contamination through chemical analysis, Indigenous knowledge-holders track it through ecological relationships spanning generations – observing when particular fish species abandon traditional spawning grounds, when sacred plants begin flowering out of season, when the acoustic signature of a healthy watershed shifts to something unrecognizable.
Yet current policy, both in Canada and globally, still treats Indigenous knowledge as supplementary. Voices are invited after the project blueprint is drafted. Comments are solicited once the contracts are nearly signed. Communities are asked to react, rather than shape.
This is what Campero and Lelio call “extractive consultation” – where the very act of asking becomes part of the extraction process. It mirrors colonial mining itself: taking what is useful, ignoring the sacred, and leaving behind confusion and dust.
But what if we flipped the model?
Imagine environmental scans designed by Indigenous communities themselves. Imagine impact assessments that begin with the question: Who holds the memory of this land – and what do they need us to hear before we disturb it?
This isn’t just about inclusion. It’s about rebalancing epistemology. It’s about moving from “checklist consultation” to “consent as covenant.”
The precedents exist. Indigenous communities worldwide are demonstrating sophisticated environmental governance that integrates traditional knowledge with contemporary science. These frameworks don’t romanticize the past – they architect futures where technological capacity serves ecological wisdom rather than replacing it.
The stakes extend beyond any single mining project. As environmental decision-making increasingly relies on algorithmic analysis – satellite imagery processed through machine learning, predictive models trained on decades of ecological data – we face a crucial question: What happens when these systems learn from datasets that have systematically excluded Indigenous perspectives?
The risk is algorithmic colonialism: artificial intelligence systems optimizing for extraction efficiency while remaining blind to the cultural and spiritual dimensions that make certain landscapes irreplaceable. Without Indigenous frameworks embedded in the foundational logic of these tools, we risk encoding historical erasure into the very systems meant to guide our environmental future.
That’s why the Campero-Lelio study matters so profoundly. It doesn’t just critique environmental governance – it maps a pathway toward decision-making that honors both technical precision and moral intelligence. Their framework suggests that the most rigorous environmental science isn’t the kind that excludes Indigenous knowledge, but the kind sophisticated enough to integrate it.
The Earth is not silent. The question is whether our systems of governance are wise enough to hear what it’s saying – and humble enough to ask who has been listening longest.