A wave of "green colonisation" is threatening an Indigenous people's way of life in the Arctic. Can having a voice to parliament save it?
On Norway's Arctic tundra, Nils Mathis Sara adjusts his binoculars, scouring the land for his reindeer.
The vast treeless landscape seems hostile to life but it's supported generations of Indigenous Sámi reindeer herders like him.
Squinting through the binoculars, he spots several small groups of reindeer that have separated from the herd.
"Today we're going to drive around the edges of the area of the herd, to hold them back a little so they don't spread any further," he says.
"That's my task, every day. Doesn't matter if it rains or if it's windy. It's the same."
Just as his ancestors have done for hundreds of years, he will stay here in the mountains until the snow comes and the lakes freeze, before moving with the herd another 90km towards the Finnish border.
As the Arctic nights get longer, Nils Mathis Sara fears there are dark days ahead in more ways than one.
Across the Arctic, many Indigenous people say their way of life is being threatened by a wave of green developments sweeping over their ancestral lands, from wind farms to mines extracting the raw materials for electric vehicles (EVs).
While these projects are being embraced by Nordic governments keen to meet their climate targets, many are opposed by the Sámi, northern Europe's indigenous people, who say they risk disrupting reindeer migration and poisoning fisheries.
For Sámi parliaments established to give Indigenous people a say in matters affecting them and their lands, this so-called "green shift" is the biggest test yet. Norway, Finland and Sweden all have Sámi parliaments but with different powers to fight unwanted projects on their ancestral lands. As Australia prepares to vote for its own Indigenous Voice to Parliament, Foreign Correspondent travelled to Scandinavia to see how these parliaments work and what lessons they might hold.
A mine in the mountains
For Nils Mathis Sara, life on the tundra is about to become a little less lonely. A plan to mine Norway's largest deposit of copper in the Nussir Mountains, not far from the summer reindeer pastures he's just migrated from, promises to bring new jobs to the country's remote north. According to the company behind the project, it will also set an environmental benchmark as the world's first zero-emissions mine.
But the project's green credentials have done little to sway Nils Mathis, even as the Arctic warms at a rate nearly four times faster than the rest of the planet. "The 'green shift' is not a green shift for us," he says. "More like a brown shift, from green to brown. It seems like everything will be destroyed and they call it a 'green shift'."
"It seems like everything will be destroyed and then they call it a green shift."
Nils Mathis still remembers what happened the last time copper was mined in this area back in the 1970s, before a recent spike in demand for the metal – an essential element in EVs as well as solar and wind energy — made mining it here profitable again.
"They drove these big vehicles over there, up and down," he says. "All the time it was this suspended dust. And then the reindeer came up to the area there and what happened was that winter came, and when spring came, we saw the results. Lots of nice, well-fed reindeer that got pneumonia. They died."
Reindeer, and the unforgiving landscape they cross, are central to Nils Mathis's Sámi culture and heritage. Sámi herders live semi-nomadic lives, following the reindeer's natural migration patterns across large swathes of the Arctic.
The Sámi's traditional land, known as Sápmi, stretches from Russia's Kola Peninsula across the borders of Finland, Sweden and Norway. For centuries the Scandinavian Sámi were subject to forced assimilation and discrimination by governments, including being denied the opportunity to speak their language, practise their religion and culture, or own property unless they changed their names.
Today it's estimated around 10 per cent are involved in herding reindeer and it's getting harder to attract young Sámi into a traditional life on the land. "If the youth are not going into the industry, it will die," says Nils Mathis. "Then our culture will also die."
'Poisoning' the fjord
Down by the still, inky waters of the Repparfjord, Torulf Olsen fills a bucket with halibut heads, fresh from the fjord, which he's planning to make into a soup. Torulf is a Sea Sámi fisherman whose livelihood and culture revolves around the life of the fjord. "The connection to the water is in your blood," he says. "You have to go to the sea, you have to see the sea, you have to feel the sea. Even if it's cold."
Torulf is worried about the copper mine's most contentious proposal — a plan to pump around 2 million tonnes of tailings into the fjord every year. Norway is one of just a handful of countries that allow mining waste to be dumped at sea. The company behind the mine says new technology will contain the tailings but Torulf fears the waters will be poisoned.
"The connection to the water is in your blood. You have to go to the sea."
For a long time, he wouldn't eat anything he caught from the fjord. When copper was last mined here in the '70s and waste was dumped in the water, the fish turned "green inside". You "couldn't eat it," he says. "It looks like a lot of copper inside. I tried to taste it, I can remember the taste. No, we had to go to meatballs after that."
Despite opposition from the Sámi Parliament, the mine has been given the go-ahead by the Norwegian government and is only waiting on a final building permit. If investors come through, digging could start as early as next year.
Nils Mathis's reindeer herding district is considering taking legal action but in the meantime, he hopes Norway's Sámi Parliament will continue to fight against the project. "Without the Sámi Parliament, it would have been worse for us," Nils Mathis says. "When the Sámi Parliament got involved, now it's more like we have a kind of hope … that they will manage, they will work for us Sámi people."
The fight for a voice
The catalyst for the creation of a Sámi Parliament in Norway was a fight over another contested stretch of water in the country's north — the Alta River.
In the late 1960s, the Norwegian government produced a plan to dam the river and build a massive hydro-electric power plant.
The original proposal would have seen the nearby Sámi village of Máze flooded.
But the Sámi fought back, sparking protests that would last almost 20 years and become the biggest civil disobedience case in the country.
A scaled-back version of the dam was eventually completed in 1987 and two years later, the Sámi Parliament was born.
The current president of Norway's Sámi Parliament, Silje Karine Muotka, says the protests were a major turning point in Indigenous relations. While the protesters "didn't win the battle, it became clear for the Norwegian government that they needed a political body where the Sámi community voice could be heard," she says.
Norway's Sámi Parliament has 39 members who are elected by Sámi voters every four years. They meet four times a year and advise the Norwegian government on policies and matters that affect the Sámi. "We have our disagreements but when a decision is made in this hall, the Sámi people has stated their opinion," says Ms Muotka.
Lately, much of their work has been about pushing back the wave of development across the Arctic. "You could call it green colonialism, because those climate measures you're taking on behalf of the world population … unfortunately, our future is ruined by those measures," she says.
"You could call it green colonialism … our future is ruined by those measures."
Despite their name, Scandinavia's Sámi Parliaments have no legislative power, but Norway's Sámi Parliament still has some legal teeth. The year after Norway established its Sámi Parliament, it became the first nation to ratify an international convention known as ILO 169, which requires governments who sign up to consult Indigenous people on matters that concern them, with the goal of achieving consent.
Along with other international conventions, it’s given the Sámi a strong legal tool to fight developments. Last year, in a landmark case, Norway’s Supreme Court ruled a wind farm on the Fosen Peninsula illegal after local reindeer herders took legal action.
While the government is yet to take the turbines down, Ms Muotka is hoping the landmark case will set a precedent and prevent other green developments, like the Nussir copper mine. It "gives some information that there is a limit," she says, "and it gives us somewhat an understanding of when the limit is breached".
After building its wealth on oil and gas, Norway is now racing to go green. The country has the highest rate of EV ownership in the world and an almost 100 per cent renewable energy grid. Norway's state secretary for the Energy Ministry, Andreas Bjelland Eriksen, says the country is committed to balancing its green goals while upholding Indigenous rights. "It's important to work as close together with the reindeer herders, with the Sámi people, to be able to find the framework that can last over time," he says.
Not everyone wholeheartedly supports the Sámi Parliament in Norway. Terje Wikstrøm, a Sea Sámi and the local mayor where the Nussir copper mine is planned, is concerned about tailings being dumped in the fjord but says the mine would create jobs and opportunities for his community. "We can't have just reindeers or fishing in this area," he says. "We have to have other industries … it would be worse for the culture if there would be less people here."
He says the Sámi Parliament has too much power and shouldn't persist in fighting a proposal the Norwegian government has approved. "I don't think it's democratic," he says. "I don't think it's right."
A weaker model
Across the border, the Sámi Parliament in Norway has inspired a similar model in Sweden, but one with fewer powers due to its very design. Unlike its Nordic neighbour, Sweden's Sámi Parliament is not truly independent of the state. While it's a voice for the Sami people, it's also a government agency.
"It was not established by the Sámi people," says Stefan Mikaelsson, a member and former president of Sweden's Sámi Parliament. "It was established by the members of the Swedish parliament."
The Swedish Sámi Parliament has around half the budget of its Norwegian counterpart. Until recently, the Swedish government has also had no obligation to consult the Sámi Parliament, although that's set to change with a new law.
But Stefan Mikaelsson says the key limitation is Sweden’s refusal to ratify ILO 169, leaving its Sámi Parliament in a weaker position to demand consultation. He says the reason for this is simple: "[The Swedish government] don't think Indigenous peoples have the same human rights as other peoples. They talk about the Sámi people but they never talk with the Sámi people."
Sámi advice for an Australian Voice to Parliament
Silje Karine Muotka says Australia's model should come from First Nations people. "I think it’s really important that the Indigenous people in Australia, that their voices must be heard on the issue."
Nils Mathis Sara says Norway's model is a good one to follow. "As long as you don't have anyone working for you, representing you, it's hard fighting. So my advice is to work in the same way as we have."
Stefan Mikaelsson says adequate resourcing and an obligation for the State to consult are crucial. "We know what is good for us and we can speak for ourselves. I'm quite sure that Australia's Indigenous peoples can find their way forward best themselves."
The limitations of Sweden's Sámi Parliament are a source of frustration for some of the nation's reindeer herders too. "The combination of it being a Swedish state authority and an elected organisation is complicated," says Karin Kvarfordt Niia, a herder from the village of Rensjön. "On one hand, they have to follow the rules set up by the Swedish state and on the other, they should be a voice for the Sámi people."
Karin's family has followed the reindeer's seasonal migration through the hills of northern Sweden "since ancient times," she says, perfecting the "long-term sustainable use of the land". But after the discovery of Europe's largest graphite deposit not far from her village, a different kind of sustainability project is now underway. Australian-based company Talga Group has outlined a billion-dollar proposal to mine the graphite, an in-demand material for EVs, and has already started test drilling under a trial mining license.
"I think about the love they must have felt for the land and the will to carry this on."
Local Sámi including Karin are fighting the proposal. One herder told Foreign Correspondent one-sixth of his reindeer grazing area will be lost. Other mines have already encroached on their ancestral herding lands and Karin fears for the health of the reindeer if another project is approved. "The more intruded upon we become, the greater the risk, in my opinion, for a cultural collapse," she says. "Because the land is so important for the culture and for the language."
Three different Sámi villages and the Sámi Parliament have voiced their opposition to the project. But Talga chief operating officer Martin Phillips says the company has had good dialogue with local Indigenous people and will continue with its plans regardless of whether the communities give their consent.
"We'll still proceed with digging if the court gives us that permission to," he says. "We're following due process and we are following all of the laws and the legislation that Sweden has laid out for us."
Karin fears the current proposal could be just the beginning of a much larger project. She wishes her Sámi Parliament had more influence but, she says, "our people are used to fighting" for their culture.
"Just thinking how [my ancestors] have survived on this barren landscape where almost nothing grows, for generation upon generation upon generation. It is quite fantastic.
"I think about the love they must have felt for the land and the will to carry this on.
"The reindeer's opportunities for grazing are disappearing. The natural connections between the traditional grazing areas disappear.
"And when that disappears, the reindeer lose their prospect of survival. And then a very important foundation will disappear for the Sámi people.
“There are people who have struggled, who are my relatives, who have struggled and survived, who have succeeded in using the land, made sure the reindeer get to graze, and have carried the heritage on.
"That is what I see when I look around."
Watch Foreign Correspondent's Voices from the Arctic tonight at 8pm on ABC TV and iview.
Credits
- Reporter: Lauren Day
- Producer: Anne Worthington
- Cinematography: Greg Nelson ACS
- Digital Production: Matt Henry
- Graphic Design: Emma Machan
