From above, the North Sentinel Island tribal reserve in India’s Andaman and Nicobar archipelago is a thick, unbroken patch of dark green — starkly surrounded by the shimmering coastal blue waters of its buffer zone. On these shores, Sentinelese people, who live in voluntary isolation protected by a strict government no-contact policy, spear fish, hunt turtles and collect mollusks in shallow reefs surrounded by mangroves. The coastal reefs are intact ecosystems rich in fish life, say biologists. “I have seen them [groups of men, women and children] foraging and collecting these food resources during low tide on several occasions,” says Manish Chandi, a tribal expert who has watched the island from afar. “The Sentinelese are aware of these as nutritious and sparsely available resources in such [mangrove] habitats, which are very few on and around the island.” The giant trees of the North Sentinel Island coastline are its first natural defense against storms and which hold its coastal soil together. The shore is lined with sandy beaches and rocky shores, while the foreshore is dotted with coral reefs and mangroves — excellent nurseries for marine biodiversity. Image by Manish Chandi. Like other tribal reserves on the Andaman and Nicobar Islands, in the southeast of mainland India, North Sentinel Island is a biodiversity hotspot; and, like other tribal reserves, the isolated people who live there have attracted influencers and misunderstandings, says Chandi. “Curiosity and ignorance regarding the islanders is quite high and understandably so amongst outsiders and [government] bureaucrats who have…This article was originally published on Mongabay
Indigenous land restitution in Chile came with a mixed bag of environmental outcomes and did not boost natural forest cover, according to a new study published in Nature Sustainability. While the return of ancestral lands gave the Indigenous Mapuche communities in southern Chile greater control over how their land was used — leading to an increase in grasslands for livestock production and a reduction in non-native tree plantations — it did not improve biodiversity, carbon sequestration or erosion control. Researchers say these findings challenge long-held assumptions that Indigenous self-determination automatically equates to positive changes in natural forests, carbon sequestration or biodiversity. “In the past, conservation advocates have at times adopted romanticized views of what such self-determination would mean, assuming that Indigenous communities will always choose to allocate land towards more ‘natural’ uses,” said study co-author Robert Heilmayr, an associate professor at the University of California Santa Barbara in the U.S. He told Mongabay over email that the new research “complicates this narrative,” arguing that true self-determination only emerges when Indigenous communities define for themselves what land uses align with their needs and values. The study set out to understand how Indigenous land restitution in Biobío, Araucanía, Los Ríos and Los Lagos reshapes the environment. It did so by analyzing satellite and administrative data from 1,577 properties across 36 communities to compare land use and environmental outcomes before and after land restitution. Researchers focused on what happened after a Chilean land restitution program, known as the Chilean Indigenous Land and Water…This article was originally published on Mongabay
RIOHACHA, Colombia — Amid the low slopes of a tropical dry forest, families from the Wiwa community of Gomke are building a new home. Their ancestral settlement lies higher on a lush mountain in the town of Dibulla, overlooking the Caribbean coast in Colombia’s Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta. Across this region, many Indigenous communities have been forcibly displaced by climate-related disasters or uprooted by armed actors. Gomke’s move to lower terrain, however, is described by community representatives as voluntary: a collectively led adaptation strategy to protect social, educational and spiritual cohesion amid intensifying climate pressures and the presence of paramilitary groups. They call their new settlement Shegunamke. Shegunnamke is a recently rebuilt Wiwa village. Severe weather events and the spread of paramilitary violence have made their home village increasingly isolated and dangerous. In response, the community is building a new settlement in a safer and more accessible location in order to preserve its social and spiritual structures. Image by Roberto Maccariello. The Wiwa have also acquired other parcels of land elsewhere in the Sierra, including at higher elevations. “We have left [those] untouched so that rivers, springs and bodies of water do not die,” said Roberto Carlos Coronado Calvo, rector of Shenzhawimaku, the Wiwa educational institution that combines conventional learning with the community’s language, culture, knowledge systems and relationship to the territory. “If we begin clearing and cutting into the páramo [ecosystem], how can we guarantee life for those living below?” Across the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, known…This article was originally published on Mongabay
GOMA, Democratic Republic of Congo — High above the lush forests of protected areas in the Congo Basin in eastern Congo, the calls of endemic birds and monkeys echo through the trees. Beneath the canopy, the Maiko, Salonga, Kahuzi-Biega, and Virunga National Parks sprawl across millions of hectares. For millennia, long before these protected areas were established, Indigenous peoples lived in, roamed and shaped these lands, only to be expelled during the 20th century. “We lived in harmony with the forest,” says Julien Basimika, a young Mutwa man, one of the Indigenous Twa people in Congo. “We protected everything that needed protecting, because our lives depended on it. If we had started destroying the forest, we would have suffered the consequences.” Today, many descendants of those who were displaced live in extreme poverty owing to lack of land, armed conflicts and discrimination. Discussions on how to better involve these communities in conservation fuel passionate debates among protected area managers, environmentalists, lawyers and human rights advocates: Should they return to their ancestral lands or not? Should they be part of environmental projects? If so, which ones? How can we mitigate armed conflicts and the involvement of Indigenous peoples in illegal logging, which complicate the situation? Among the communities living near these four national parks, views vary on how to address these issues. Meanwhile, policymakers are discussing how best to involve communities in the Belém Call to Action, announced in November 2025, which aims to halt and reverse deforestation and forest degradation…This article was originally published on Mongabay
In 2020, a strange rumor began circulating in villages around the Yangambi Biosphere Reserve in the Democratic Republic of Congo’s Tshopo province. A newly constructed scientific tower, people said, was extracting oxygen from the surrounding rainforest and sending it to Europe, where it was being sold for profit. Not long after, an initiative to plant acacia trees around the reserve was incorporated into the rumor: the trees, some people claimed, were being planted to produce more oxygen for the tower to extract. Then, during an unusually hot spell in May 2024, another version spread rapidly through social media in Kisangani, the provincial capital. This time, the tower was accused of causing the extreme heat by removing oxygen from the atmosphere. When that rumor spread in 2024, the DRC’s then environment minister, Ève Bazaiba, publicly attributed such claims to “ignorance” and “superstitions.” She posted a video on social media to demonstrate that the tower, CongoFlux, does not extract oxygen: it measures exchanges of greenhouse gases between the rainforest and the atmosphere, helping scientists understand the Congo Basin’s role in global climate regulation. But correcting the science only gets us so far. Rumors can also tell us something about the people who spread them — and their relationship with conservation. While conducting research in Yangambi, recently published in Environmental Sociology, we learned that the rumors are ways for people to contest conservation, but also to make claims about who should benefit from it. At the same time, they are shaped by a…This article was originally published on Mongabay
Eriberto throws his head back with a laugh and shakes it as he tills his plot of land in the Peruvian Amazon, near the Cordillera Azul National Park in central Peru. “That does not work here,” he says with a chuckle, responding to a question about why he doesn’t call his diverse forest garden “agroforestry”. In the past, government officials promoted planting coffee or cacao in agroforestry systems near his community. But Eriberto Guerra and other Indigenous farmers in the town of Lamas say it hasn’t been effective enough and some have rejected the sustainable farming label. “They promoted growing just one or two other food crops with some trees,” Guerra tells Mongabay. “But you need to plant dozens of species along with traditional plants. When one crop fails or doesn’t perform well in the local market, you need to have others to make up for it. And those others need to be the right crops, planted the right way, near the right plants.” His forest garden attracts endemic bird species and wildlife researchers, and has sustained his family for a decade, he says. “This is what is working,” Eriberto says. To mark the International Day of the World’s Indigenous Peoples and better understand the subtleties in biodiversity conservation and climate solutions implemented by people living at the frontlines, Mongabay interviewed nine Indigenous representatives from around the world. Dami Tateburuk, Frengky Sabbattilat, Ismael Saumanuk and Vincent Tateburuk (left to right), part of Malinggai Uma Tradisional Mentawai, a grassroots, Indigenous-led organization…This article was originally published on Mongabay
INVERMERE, Canada — Mark Thomas, Shuswap Band salmon chief, welcomes groups of students to a narrow stretch of the Columbia River, between the Rocky and Purcell mountains in western Canada. It’s late May, and snow still graces the distant peaks. For the past five months, students from schools nearby towns have raised sockeye salmon (Oncorhynchus nerka) in their classrooms. They have watched pea-sized eggs transform into tiny, newly hatched fish known as alevin, with an egg sac still attached to their silvery bodies, and then to free-swimming fry. This morning, they will slip the fry into the river, just downstream from its headwaters in the province of British Columbia. “When you go down to the river, tell the water your name, introduce yourself to the water spirits,” Thomas tells them. “Then you can pray for whatever you want. You can pray to be smarter, or taller. You can pray for your family — or the fish.” Thomas begins by smudging the group as part of a traditional ceremony, using an eagle’s wing to gently waft smoke from a bundle of juniper and sage that is smoldering in an abalone shell. The kids then make their way to the riverbank and, to the sounds of drumming and traditional song, each takes a plastic cup with a fish inside. When they are ready, they send it down a DIY funnel and watch the tiny fry swim away. The morning’s fry release, through the Fish-in-Schools program, and an afternoon ceremonial release for community…This article was originally published on Mongabay
In just a few weeks, Colombia will have a new leader. Right-wing candidate Abelardo de la Espriella won Colombia’s runoff election on June 11 with 49.6% of the vote, securing a razor-thin victory over the left-wing candidate Ivan Cepeda, who received 48.7%. De la Espriella has promised to expand fossil fuel production and mining in the country, leaving the future of conservation in the Colombian Amazon, the fossil fuel phaseout commitments made by current President Gustavo Petro’s administration and the rights of Indigenous peoples and other traditional communities open to question. Ahead of de la Espriella’s inauguration on Aug. 7, Mongabay interviewed Marino Peña, an Indigenous Inga leader and president of the Indigenous Zonal Organization of Putumayo (OZIP), to get his take on how the incoming president’s policies might impact communities in the department of Putumayo, in southwestern Colombia. De la Espriella has also promised to reduce the state budget to a minimum and tackle violence using greater force and militarization. For communities in Putumayo, the implications of these promises hold weight. Colombia’s Putumayo region, which has historically been a drug production and trafficking hotspot, is “one of the deadliest regions in Colombia for social leaders.” Illegal mining by armed groups has also grown exponentially in recent years, fueling conflicts, violence, mercury contamination and accelerated deforestation. Due to their critical role as vocal defenders of their territories and of environmental and Indigenous rights, social leaders have frequently found themselves in the crossfire between armed groups and the state. In addition,…This article was originally published on Mongabay
In 2025, fires were responsible for a significant spike in forest loss in three territories in Brazil that are home to Indigenous peoples living in voluntary isolation, according to Global Forest Watch data analyzed by Mongabay. Indigenous leaders from the Alto Turiaçu, Uru-Eu-Wau-Wau, and Apiaká do Pontal e Isolados Indigenous territories, told Mongabay that fire is a growing threat to their way of life and the isolated Indigenous people who share the same lands. It affects their productive practices and destroys the biodiversity and vegetation they depend on for hunting and gathering, thereby leading to food insecurity. Damage to health, such as respiratory problems caused by the smoke, is another impact frequently mentioned by sources Mongabay spoke to. “The communities suffer from health problems caused by the smoke, difficulties in mobility, and food insecurity because several planting areas are affected,” Almir Narayamoga Suruí, a Paiter Suruí Indigenous community member from the Sete de Setembro Indigenous Territory that straddles the Amazonian states of Rondônia and Mato Grosso, told Mongabay via WhatsApp. “Culturally, the impact is also very strong because the forest for us is not just a natural resource; it is part of our spirituality, our history, and our identity. When an area of the forest is destroyed, we also lose part of our memory and the traditional knowledge transmitted by our ancestors.” Mongabay looked at forest loss and its dominant drivers across territories in Brazil with recognized isolated Indigenous peoples, using Global Forest Watch (GFW) drivers data that rely on…This article was originally published on Mongabay
For years, Wayne Mercredi spent hours driving the Tibbitt to Contwoyto winter road. Leaving early in the morning to take advantage of limited daylight, he’d travel the road’s 400-kilometer length (250-mile length) — built atop frozen lakes, to connect the territorial capital of Yellowknife to diamond mines farther north — before turning around at the end and driving back home. On those 19-hour days, Mercredi, a North Slave Métis Alliance guardian, kept his eyes peeled. “I would see caribou off in the distance, avoiding the ice road.” As caribou appeared on the snowy expanse, he’d record their information. Occasionally, he’d come across an increasingly rare sight: A large herd of caribou, navigating the landscape. “It’s such a beautiful thing, it would just fill my heart.” The Canadian Arctic is home to once-monumental herds of caribou. These caribou undertake the longest terrestrial migrations on the planet, congregating in large groups at their calving grounds along the way. Historically, caribou existed in the millions, but in the last several decades, their numbers have declined dramatically; the Bathurst herd, for example (whose name derives from their traditional calving grounds in Bathurst Inlet, Nunavut) numbered nearly half a million caribou in the 1980s but has shrunk to just 3,600 in 2025. The reasons for this decline are multifaceted, including climate change, industrial development and, in some cases, overharvesting. But many of these forces intersect around roads, which block migrations and expose caribou to more hunting. Concern over the impacts of roads have promoted Indigenous…This article was originally published on Mongabay
DERBY, Australia — While Spanish sailors packed in dirt to stabilize the bottom of ships sailing from the Americas in the 16th century, they were unaware that they were also helping tiny stowaways aboard. Research suggests that tropical fire ants sailed across the Pacific Ocean, joining Europeans over the centuries as they landed and colonized landmasses across the world. Then, in the early 2000s, tropical fire ants (Solenopsis geminata) were detected on Melville Island in the Tiwi Islands, a picturesque archipelago off the coast of Darwin, the capital of Australia’s Northern Territory. Here, they were able to flourish, according to researchers, and have since become naturalized in parts of the Australian tropics while dominating the environment, eating small mammals, and potentially deterring nesting birds. “The ants have a huge impact on native birds and animals on the Tiwi Islands,” said Stanley Tipungwuti, a ranger on the islands where most identify as Aboriginal or Torres Strait Islander. But after two decades of effort, and the work of the Tiwi Ranger team, tropical fire ants are deemed no more on Merville Island: In 2025, the species was completely eradicated, according to Ben Hoffmann, who was part of the eradication program from its inception. That same year, the Tiwi Island Rangers received the Territory Indigenous Natural Resource Management Award in Darwin for their efforts. The Tiwi Rangers were the 2025 winners of the Territory NRM Indigenous Natural Resource Management Award. Image by the Territory Natural Resource Management Award, supplied by Tiwi Resources. Hoffmann, principal research…This article was originally published on Mongabay
A crackdown by the Brazilian government on land-grabbers who cleared primary Amazon forest for ranching and other agricultural activities in the Piripkura Indigenous Territory is yielding some results, with satellite analysis by Mongabay indicating a decline in deforestation. But one tricky problem remains, according to government agents and Indigenous rights organizations: removing their cattle. The 242,405-hectare (598,995-acre) Piripkura Indigenous Territory in west-central Brazil’s Mato Grosso state is home to the last two — known — Indigenous Piripkura people in voluntary isolation. According to Jair Candor, the coordinator of the Funai unit that protects isolated Indigenous groups, a third Piripkura person left the land and married into another tribe, the Karipuna, several decades ago. Funai, the country’s Indigenous affairs agency, has not yet ruled out the possibility that more isolated people live there. Ranchers coming in with their cattle to graze land have contributed to a large share of forest loss here. According to data from Global Forest Watch, the area lost a total tree cover of 1,769 hectares (4,371 acres) in 2021 — equivalent to 2,500 soccer fields — representing the largest increase since 2004, when the area lost was almost double (3,276 hectares, or 8,095 acres). Since the spike in 2021, due to successful operations by government agencies, deforestation has declined substantially, and despite a slight increase in 2023, losses remained far below 2021 levels and continued to decrease in 2024 and 2025. By 2025, tree cover loss had fallen to 106 hectares (262 acres). While deforestation has slowed…This article was originally published on Mongabay
BRASÍLIA — Illegal miners have adapted their tactics in the Yanomami Indigenous Territory as Brazilian authorities seek to remove all the illegal occupants from the Amazon land, according to a recent report. Since a peak in illegal mining in 2022, there have been “significant and successive reductions” in the rainforest from 2023 to 2025, researchers using satellite imagery found. However, “mining activity was not completely eradicated,” as miners change how they operate, decentralize and move to borders. Sources also raise concerns about the health of isolated Indigenous people, who are at risk of the spread of malaria linked to illegal mining. In 2024 and 2025, mining impacted 129 hectares (318.7 acres) of land, down from about 1,800 hectares (4,448 acres) in 2022. The report, conducted by the NGO Instituto Socioambiental (ISA) and Amazon Conservation, said the steep decline is a reflection of the operations initiated by the Brazilian government in 2023, when president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva came to power and declared a health emergency due to widespread disease and mercury contamination in rivers from mining. “Illegal mining activity, the invaders, continue on Yanomami land, but the rest have already been expelled,” Dário Kopenawa Yanomami, vice-president of HAY (the Hutukara Yanomami Association) and son of Davi Kopenawa, a spokesman for the Yanomami people, told Mongabay. “The government has carried out many operations, but other invaders, miners, are difficult to remove. They remain in some specific locations, such as border areas with Guyana and Venezuela. These miners who are on…This article was originally published on Mongabay
A new study published in the journal Nature shows that Ethiopia’s protected areas successfully slowed deforestation, limited agricultural expansion and helped maintain grasslands. But the study also suggests the same conservation gains may also be linked to declines in food security and wellbeing for nearby communities — while underlining some caveats in their findings. The study, conducted through collaboration between researchers in Ethiopia and the UK, and the Ethiopian Wildlife Conservation Authority, assessed both environmental and social outcomes across 25 protected areas in Ethiopia during the period 2000–2020. They measured forest cover, agricultural expansion, grasslands, food security, dietary diversity and material wellbeing. While protected areas were broadly effective at reducing environmental degradation despite mounting pressures from population growth, agricultural expansion, and land demand, the researchers found “trade-offs” between environmental and social outcomes in their assessments. Twelve of these protected areas experienced positive environmental performance at the cost of social wellbeing. Meanwhile, five of the protected areas had “win-win” outcomes for biodiversity and social outcomes and three protected areas had “lose-lose” outcomes. “Ethiopia is exceptionally biodiverse, but also faces major challenges around poverty, food security and demand for land,” said Sophie Jago, lead author of the study and research assistant at the Royal Botanic Gardens, Kew in the UK. “The fact that protected areas are delivering measurable benefits for nature in this context is important … The difficult finding is that these environmental gains have come with costs for nearby communities, particularly around food security.” A ranger discusses with community members…This article was originally published on Mongabay
Over the past decade, the U.S. Department of Defense (DoD) spending for critical minerals transformed from virtually nonexistent into a major revenue stream, with the last five years delivering a dramatic surge in both contract volume and dollar value. The Pentagon and other defense-adjacent agencies’ growing appetite for these projects is already visible in affected communities. Several of these communities impacted by DoD-funded projects told Mongabay that state backing has fast-tracked approvals without essential environmental safeguards or meaningful consultation by companies. For this research, Mongabay aggregated information from the USAspending database — an official open data source of federal spending information — about U.S. Department of Defense grants spending on critical mineral projects for military purposes between 2015 and 2025. This figure excludes Pentagon contracts, which is a major way that the Department of Defense (DoD) spends its money. The actual amount is likely larger given that some projects may not be public due to national security reasons, according to the Congressional Research Service (CRS). We decided to focus only on grants, as other types of contracts are generally non-binding and do not guarantee federal spending. Mongabay found that the federal agency provided an estimated $621 million on grants for critical mineral projects for defense purposes over the period, according to the USAspending database. Between 2021 and 2025, the DoD secured 24 agreements worth nearly $550 million (549.7 million) — up from just $31.3 million for three contracts in the previous five-year period. It poured the most funding into lithium…This article was originally published on Mongabay
Global oil giant Shell continued operating a compromised pipeline in Nigeria’s Niger Delta despite knowing it posed a pollution risk in the surrounding coastal wetland environment, newly disclosed internal company communications reveal. The emails and memos, reviewed by Mongabay, show senior leadership knew of the poor conditions of the 97-kilometer (60-mile) Nembe Creek Trunk Line as early as 2008. Despite concerns it was operating outside technical integrity standards and proposals to shut it down, a top executive decided to keep pumping oil through the line. Carrying 150,000 barrels of oil per day to the export terminal at Bonny Island Rivers state, the Nembe Creek Trunk Line is a critical oil artery in Nigeria. Throughout the years, theft from the pipeline using illegal connections caused spills into the vast mangrove ecosystem of true (Rhizophora sp.) and flowering black (Avicennia sp.) tree species. An internal 2013 Shell document coded such tampered lines as “red,” requiring either their immediate shutdown or immediate action to remove all illegal connections. Locals from the nearby riverine Bille community said the oil spills killed about 2,000 hectares (4,900 acres) of mangrove swamps around the village while impacting an area of 13,200 hectares (32,600 acres). The contaminated waterways and degraded ecosystem, they told Mongabay, killed fish and other aquatic life. Satellite imagery surrounding the village shows massive degradation of the mangroves. “The aquatic life is gone. Our people can no longer go to the river and catch reasonable fish — they can’t even find the fish in the…This article was originally published on Mongabay
Katelynn Delos Reyes thought she knew what to expect when Typhoon Sinlaku slammed into Saipan in April. As a lifelong resident of the island, Delos Reyes had survived frequent storms, including Super Typhoon Yutu, the second-strongest in U.S. history. Eight years ago, Yutu’s 274-kmph (about 170-mph) winds devastated her village in the southern end of Saipan. Just three years before that, she survived Typhoon Soudelor. But Sinlaku was different. “At the beginning, it was OK. But later on it wasn’t,” said Delos Reyes, who is Chamorro, Indigenous to the Mariana Islands. A few days before it hit the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, or CNMI, on April 14, Sinlaku had tropical-storm winds. That made it what is known in the Marianas as a “banana typhoon” because such storms level banana trees but leave others standing. Then over the weekend, the typhoon rapidly intensified by 120 kmph (75 mph) in just 24 hours before becoming a 298-kmph (about 185-mph) monstrosity and the strongest storm on Earth so far this year. Delos Reyes and her family had done what they could to prepare. They boarded up the windows. They bought gallons of drinking water and filled plastic drums to use in the shower and toilet. Then the storm hit, and Delos Reyes grew scared. The winds, which had weakened to 240 kmph (about 150 mph), ripped the wood from a window. Rainwater gushed through the ceiling and soaked their belongings, including Delos Reyes’ mattress. She and her partner, her mother, her…This article was originally published on Mongabay
The year 2011 marked the first time a land-use restriction order was enforced for the Ituna/Itatá Indigenous Territory, a swath of Brazilian Amazon roughly twice the size of Singapore and home to people living in voluntary isolation. The order was meant to protect the latter by prohibiting unauthorized individuals from entering — but rates of forest loss and invasions grew. In 2019, Ituna/Itatá was one of the Indigenous territories with the highest forest loss, primarily due to illegal land grabbers. In Brazil, land-use restriction orders exist to protect isolated Indigenous peoples and are a temporary tool in cases where the demarcation process to formalize the protected status and boundaries of Indigenous territories are not yet complete. But as recent Mongabay reporting has shown, they’re often renewed many times over for years while the formal land titling stalls, and aren’t always effective at protecting isolated peoples’ lands from invaders. Following one of the latest land-use restriction orders in 2022 for the Ituna/Itatá territory, the area lost 2,211 hectares (5,464 acres) of tree cover, or about 1.5% of its total area, according to satellite analysis by Mongabay. The most recent renewal was in 2025. Brazilian federal public prosecutor Daniel Luís Dalberto, head of the office for recently contacted Indigenous peoples and those living in voluntary isolation, told Mongabay in a recent interview that while the legal measure is important, it should have “a short time frame, until the Indigenous territory is demarcated as quickly as possible,” and should be accompanied by other…This article was originally published on Mongabay
BUTEMBO, Democratic Republic of Congo — In the lush forests of North Kivu, Gangala Yafali Mangusa Jr. leads a forest patrol with members of his community. Together, they monitor human activity, identify threats and prevent damage to biodiversity, such as large-scale logging, unregulated timber harvesting and artisanal mining. “For example, once a month or once a quarter, we conduct inspections to check whether there are people in the community who are illegally hunting [protected] animals,” he explains. In his 30s, Mangusa Jr. leads the local management committee in the Bamasobha Local Community Forest Concession (CFCL), located in Lubero, a region threatened by terrorist attacks in eastern Democratic Republic of Congo. Composed of Indigenous Batwa, Bapiri and local communities, Mangusa Jr.’s team works together to protect this community forest, promote sustainable management of natural resources and strengthen coexistence between communities and the ecosystems on which they depend. According to him, this commitment is rooted in a personal history marked by tensions and, at times, violence experienced around the Maiko National Park — a sprawling park protecting endemic species such as eastern lowland gorillas, okapi, chimpanzees and forest elephants — after the 1970s. Aerial view of forest and river in North Kivu, Democratic Republic of Congo. Image by MONUSCO/Myriam Asmani via Wikimedia Commons (CC BY-SA 2.0). He recounts that, when the park was established, his family, like so many others, faced park rangers for several years who had been sent to enforce the new park boundaries, particularly in the Batike settlement, within…This article was originally published on Mongabay
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