Brazil and the Amazon

Welcome to our shrinking jungle

A political storm over environmental policy has coincided with a rise in deforestation

From the Amazon last month, Brazil's Indian agency released aerial pictures of painted men with bows and arrows who have had little or no contact with modern civilisation. To judge from their hostile stance, they want to keep things that way. But the Amazon is the responsibility of Carlos Minc, Brazil's hyperactive new environment minister. In his first few days on the job he flew to Germany to talk about the Amazon, from there to the northern city of Belém to meet the governors of the states that contain the forest, and then on to Brasília where on June 3rd he explained to a crowd of journalists why the rate of deforestation is increasing again. “I haven't changed my shirt in three days,” he complained.

Since taking office in 2003, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva has balanced the wishes of those who would like the Amazon to be a giant park and Indian reserve against those who want to turn it into a giant farm. He appointed an icon of the conservationists, Marina Silva, as his first environment minister. He has sometimes been willing to enforce the law against loggers: in February he sent troops to Tailândia, a town in Pará state where illegal logging is the main industry, after inspectors from the environment ministry were thrown out by sawmill workers.

But Lula has also encouraged infrastructure projects in the Amazon that trouble conservationists, including two new hydroelectric dams. Instead of giving the job to Ms Silva, he asked Roberto Mangabeira Unger, a Harvard philosopher turned minister, to produce a development plan for the Amazon. And he is touchy when he feels Brazil is being lectured by foreigners: Europeans, Lula said recently, should take a look at a map of their own continent and see how much forest is left before telling Brazil what it should do with the Amazon.

All this was too much for Ms Silva. She grew up in the forest, learned to read only when a teenager, worked with Chico Mendes, an activist who was killed by ranchers in 1988, and later became a senator. She tired of lending her credibility to the government only to lose battles with other ministries. She resigned last month. Her replacement, Mr Minc, says that he accepted the job on a number of conditions (ten in all), which amount to a refusal to be pushed around. “I am not a masochist,” he says, before admitting that it remains to be seen if the deal he thinks he got will hold.

It needs to if Brazil is to halt a recent rise in deforestation. On June 2nd the National Institute for Space Research, which monitors deforestation (see article), announced that the forest retreated substantially in April compared with the month before. The change may be explained in part by the fact that April was less cloudy than March, so a greater area was visible to satellites. But the trend is clear. The environment ministry began to get alarmed in January: in the previous two, usually wet, months nearly 2,000 square kms (770 square miles) of forest were cut down. There may be worse to come, as the next four months—the dry season—are normally peak ones for deforestation.

This increase has several causes, and picking out one or two tends to distort the picture. However it does seem that there is a link between high commodity prices and deforestation, with a lag of about a year (see chart). Brazil became the world's largest exporter of beef in 2004. Meat from the Amazon is eaten in Brazil but not exported because the cattle there have not been declared free of foot-and-mouth disease. So the link between a hamburger eaten in Paris and a tree felled in Brazil is indirect.

As for soya, the relationship is even more indirect. The vast majority of the crop is grown nowhere near the Amazon. But its expansion has pushed cattle ranches further into the jungle, and started itself to encroach on the forest. Big trading houses have imposed a ban on buying soya from recently deforested parts of the Amazon. It is too soon to judge the effects of this. Even so, Mr Minc has already picked a fight with Blairo Maggi, the governor of Mato Grosso and one of the world's largest soya farmers. Mr Maggi in turn has cast doubt on the reliability of the numbers on deforestation.

Yet high commodity prices are only part of the story. Illegal deforestation happens when ranchers and loggers conspire to clear swathes of land. A rancher typically claims a part of forest and then sells the timber rights to a logger. This helps to finance the next stage of the rancher's operation. The logger then takes what he wants and afterwards clears the area. The rancher tidies it up with the help of a bulldozer, burns what is left, sows grass and raises cattle. When the land is exhausted, as it quickly is, the ranchers move on.

That is the most common way to stake a claim to ownership of land in the Amazon. Of the 36% of the forest that is supposedly privately owned, only 4% is covered by a solid title deed, according to Imazon, an NGO. Since the government does not know who owns what, enforcing any rules is impossible.

As of July, says the new minister, ranchers and other farmers who fail to present any kind of documents backing up their claims to ownership of land will have lines of subsidised credit suspended. If they have not co-operated after four years, their land will be confiscated. But in practice it is close to impossible for the government to impose its will on the edges of its empire, even if it wanted to. Members of that newly photographed tribe are not the only people who do not recognise Brazil's sovereignty in the Amazon.

http://www.economist.com/world/la/displaystory.cfm?story_id=11496950