- In southeastern Brazil’s Jequitinhonha Valley, a region that is home to up to 85% of the country’s known lithium deposits, residents say the arrival of the mining company Sigma Lithium brought new community conflicts and issues with their water supply.
- Some researchers say decisions concerning where and how to mine, as well as the types of consultation practices companies use, result in different levels of impact, but that there’s no way governments can ensure corporate responsibility.
- Local communities in the Jequitinhonha Valley have a blueprint on how companies can improve relations and mitigate impacts.
- Sigma Lithium did not respond to Mongabay’s request for a comment, but its website states its mission is to support the growth of the electric vehicle industry as a producer of sustainable lithium.
ARAÇUAÍ, Brazil — It’s a sunny, cloudless morning in the Poço Dantas when a sudden loud blow shakes the ground of Maria Aparecida’s* house. A few kilometers away, a cloud of dust coats the horizon, and the air smells of explosives. Almost a minute goes by before the distant sound of a siren becomes discernible.
Since 2023, the roughly 70 brick houses of this 150-year-old village in Brazil’s southeastern state of Minas Gerais have been experiencing the seismic waves from Sigma Lithium’s Greentech mining plant at least twice a day. Residents say they face atmospheric pollution, water shortages and increased social inequalities. Located in the Jequitinhonha Valley, a region that is home to up to 85% of the country’s known lithium deposits, Sigma Lithium is but one of the companies currently mining or prospecting the region.
The Brazilian Lithium Company (CBL in Portuguese) has also been mining in the area since the 1990s. But there’s a difference, say residents, as the decisions a company takes regarding where and how to mine result in different levels of impacts for communities and the environment.
“It used to be much better. There were no explosions, no dust, no piles of dirt,” says Antônio*, a member of the Aranã Indigenous people in the region, while he sits under the shade of a vine with his wife.
The choices on how to mitigate impacts include whether a company decides to mine where other companies already are and whether they consider all other land uses in place, like agricultural, cultural and spiritual uses. Consulting communities as a whole — instead of people individually with offers of profit from land sales — is also important to avoid divisiveness, say residents.
“In the decades when CBL was the only lithium mining company present in the region, we never saw the types and the level of conflicts that came along with Sigma,” Bruno Milanez, an environmental policy professor at Brazil’s Federal University of Juiz de Fora, told Mongabay.
Sigma Lithium did not respond to Mongabay’s questions by the time of this publication. On its website, the company says its mission is to “support a sustainable energy future by empowering growth in the electric vehicle industry as one of the world’s largest producers of environmentally sustainable lithium.”
The government of Minas Gerais says they launched the Lithium Valley project in the region to boost “socioeconomic development through the promotion of lithium production, to improve municipalities in various regions, especially in the Jequitinhonha Valley.”
As it’s a key mineral for energy transition, global lithium demand is expected to grow to more than 531,000 tons by 2030. Home to the fifth largest global reserve, Brazil has the potential to produce up to 25% of the world’s lithium in the coming years. Between 2022 and February 2024 alone, the number of mining processes in the valley reached 1,377. Given that mineral exploration worldwide is increasingly conducted in remote and sensitive locations, with up to 69% of energy transition mineral projects taking place in or around Indigenous and peasant lands, reducing impacts will demand coordinated action from companies, governments and communities, environmentalists say.
Residents in the Jequitinhonha Valley told Mongabay they have some ideas on what these actions should be.
Theory versus practice
In theory, companies like Sigma have sustainability practices to source lithium responsibly and are very clear about how to reduce the worst impacts of mining. Industry principles and community engagement manuals detail the importance of transparency, respect for human rights and local cultures, participatory decision-making, conservation of biodiversity and integrated approaches to land-use planning. Different decisions on where and how they mine result in different levels of harm.
Unlike Sigma’s open-pit mines, CBL works underground, which, according to Milanez, accounts for less atmospheric pollution, less deforestation and disruption for ecology, lower volumes of moved material, and simpler ecosystem recuperation upon termination of the operation. However, he says, there are usually issues and new problems with underground mining, and technique alone is not enough to completely mitigate impacts.
In the Jequitinhonha Valley, although the mining methods used by Sigma consume less water than traditional extraction, its 3.6 million liters (951,000 gallons) daily water license from the Jequitinhonha River strains the already-semi-arid region, say residents, and is equivalent to the amount consumed by 24,000 people.
In official communications, Sigma also says it doesn’t use potable water in their operations, and that they don’t use hazardous chemicals. However, the company advises families to stop consuming water from the Piauí River, on whose banks the mining pit is located. Instead, people now depend on the water tanks which the company refills once a month as a compensatory measure, but residents say this water also has issues.
“When you open the tank, you’re taken by the strong chlorine smell,” Maria Aparecida says. She says the water is not enough for cooking, showering and cleaning, and they often run out before the month is over. “And we can’t even use the river water anymore, because it itches.”
Better consultation practices
His forehead gleaming with sweat from the afternoon heat, Adalberto* sips even hotter coffee from a tall, handle-less transparent glass. He lives in Chapada do Lagoão, a nearby 24,180-hectare (59,750-acre) Environmental Protection Area (APA in Portuguese) preserved by traditional communities through agroforestry practices. The territory is home to over 139 springs, as well as to 300 Quilombola families — descendants of formerly enslaved people.
Sitting by his living room table, Adalberto describes how he and his community fear the arrival of a mining company inside the territory, a reality that draws nearer each day as more companies show interest. Upon witnessing firsthand what Sigma’s presence has done to the neighboring Poço Dantas, they can no longer shy away from debating how to minimize the damages that they feel are sure to come.
“First and foremost, we want companies to negotiate with the community as a whole,” Adalberto tells Mongabay. He has witnessed the too-common reality of division and internal conflicts that arise when individual profits come at the expense of the collective. “You can’t just negotiate with the owner of a particular plot of land, offering him a lot of money, when the harms from exploration will impact everyone else around it.”
The International Labour Organization’s (ILO) 169 Convention, which holds constitutional strength in Brazil, requires states to consult people and communities directly affected by any process of development that impacts the lands they occupy and warrants them the right to free, prior and informed consent. Commonly, that entails developing consultation protocols for projects that will interfere with their territories and ways of life. In 2008, the Brazilian Justice Department endorsed the understanding that the convention was applicable to Quilombola communities as well.
While consultation protocols rarely succeed in preventing mining activities, Milanez said they can improve the conditions under which they transpire.
“It’s best to negotiate the company’s entrance on your own terms, rather than theirs. Even if there’s no guarantee,” he says.
Milanez describes three instances in which consultation protocols should be used to negotiate the conditions of a new mining enterprise: Firstly, to decide whether or not it will take place; secondly, to determine the speed and scale of both installation and operation; finally, to agree on how the mining income should be distributed.
“Any debate about a less harmful mining industry must address these three points,” he said.
Mining companies still haven’t made it into Chapada do Lagoão, but Adalberto and others in the community already envision a series of demands that would ensure real benefits for the community, whilst protecting it from remaining hostage to predatory undertakings.
They expect to be directly involved in the development the companies promise to bring, to receive part of the profits made from their land, and to be offered training in relevant areas, both for more qualified jobs in the mining industry and for other activities they could continue to conduct in the region once mining operations are closed.
One part of preparing locals for job opportunities in the lithium sector, the government of Minas Gerais tells Mongabay, is through expanding their offers for educational courses to residents in the Minas Forma program. The Jequitinhonha and Mucuri Valleys also “recorded the second-largest growth (18.25%) in the opening of new businesses, compared to 2023,” a spokesperson said.
Sigma brought jobs and financially supported existing female business entrepreneurs in the region. However, residents who spoke to Mongabay mentioned issues to address: The jobs are not well-paying, the support was limited to a few people, and it focused on businesses that won’t easily survive once mining is done and come in the form of loans that can lead to debt.
A call for structural changes
The growing global demand for minerals like lithium, the promises of increased revenue and regional development, and the pressure from companies that argue about locational rigidity — the notion that extraction can only occur in specific areas — add extra layers of complexity when it comes to reducing impacts.
“There is no way to ‘ensure’ responsibility. This is a longstanding challenge of the current economic system,” the Centre for Social Responsibility in Mining tells Mongabay over email. “Governments can’t ‘guarantee’ corporate performance. Communities can’t ensure anything either — they can engage, negotiate, litigate, or apply force through direct action.”
At the back of her house, hiding in the shade from the scorching Sun of the semi-arid, Maria Aparecida points to the many cracks that cross the walls, from ground to roof. They are the result of the company’s ongoing daily explosions. Yet, she recalls, they used to be much stronger at the beginning.
“We complained, and complained, and complained, until they started to soften the blows.” She believes that, had that not been the case, her house would be rubble by now.
The same was the case for other challenges they faced in the state. In the past few years, the administration of governor Romeu Zema has twice attempted to constrain community rights in the ILO’s 169 Convention in favor of mining interests. In 2022, he passed a resolution that sought to restrict the scope of their right to free, prior and informed consent and, in 2024, implemented a decree allowing for environmental licenses to be granted without consulting communities.
But through campaigning, social organizing and political articulation, the communities of the Jequitinhonha Valley achieved a rare legal victory, as both measures were overturned. Governor Romeu Zema did not respond to Mongabay’s questions by the time of this publication.
Still, that wasn’t enough to cement their rights. Earlier this year, a bill proposed a 23% reduction in the size of Chapada do Lagoão Environmental Protection Area under the pretense of adjusting administrative boundaries of the municipality of Araçuaí. If approved, residents worry it would weaken environmental protection and pave the way for the expansion of mining activities.
In response, residents launched an online campaign in defense of Chapada do Lagoão. This grassroots initiative, organized in collaboration with local unions and other regional movements, gained traction and led to the bill being challenged in higher legal instances. Still, amidst rumors that the local government may proceed with the bill, locals fear its alignment with interests of mining companies might lead it to resurface, stronger than before.
For Milanez, there is but one viable solution to truly reduce mining impacts: to mine as little as possible. He defends reducing consumption, increasing durability and, above anything else, confining mining areas and setting clear preconditions for the activity. “We need to say: ‘this is all the area you’re allowed to mine — so make do with it’,” he says.
According to the network Territórios Livres, mining-free territories (MFTs) challenge people to reimagine how, where and for whom minerals or metals are mined, as they call for setting aside non-negotiable preservation areas. By insisting that mining be confined to clearly defined zones and that local communities hold the decisive voice in setting those boundaries, MFTs shift the focus from short-term gains to long-term sustainability and social justice. While the concept has gained momentum across the country, it has yet to materialize in the Jequitinhonha Valley.
*For the safety of local residents affected by the mining operations, all of their names were changed in this story.
Banner image: A towering tailings pile sits directly behind a residence in Poço Dantas. Image by Rebeca Binda.
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