Hope amid tragedy: Will slain journalist’s death spark change in Amazon?

In December 1988, when most people were out buying turkey and Christmas crackers, something happened in the Amazon that changed the way the world saw Brazil and the nascent environmental movement.

Three days before Christmas, a man was murdered in the southern reaches of the rainforest. He was a rubber tapper named Francisco Mendes, although everybody called him Chico.

Mr. Mendes had no formal schooling, but he was a born leader. When loggers threatened to cut down rubber trees to create cattle pastures, he ran to the front lines to stop lumberjacks from using chain saws and bulldozers to decimate the forest that Mr. Mendes and his community called home.

It cost him his life.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Mr. Mendes these past two weeks, ever since my friend Dom Phillips went missing in the western Amazon with his traveling companion, the Indigenous advocate Bruno Pereira.

Dom was writing a book about sustainable development in the region, and Bruno, who had worked with Indigenous tribes there for years, opened doors to the isolated communities where many of Brazil’s estimated 235 Indigenous groups live. 

They were killed on June 5 as their boat sped up the Itaquaí River, apparently ambushed by men who Bruno suspected were fishing protected stocks of turtles and pirarucu, one of the world’s largest freshwater fish.

Three men are in custody, one of whom confessed to shooting the pair and burying their bodies deep in the forest. Another five people are wanted by police.

“How To Save the Amazon”

I met Dom at the end of the 2000s, when he came to Brazil to escape the hustle of London, where he had been a successful music writer. I was a foreign correspondent in São Paulo, and Dom was completing a book called “Superstar DJs Here We Go!” about the electronic music boom. He was quiet and easygoing, but always eager to learn about his new home, and I was impressed by the way he listened more than he talked, a rarity among most journalists I know.

When I think about his killing, I want to believe that I haven’t lost a friend for nothing, that something good can come of this. I want to believe that Dom’s wife, Alessandra Sampaio, whose poise and dignity have been as admirable as they are heartbreaking, will be rewarded in some way. And I want to believe that his work was not in vain.

On the last of these wishes, at least, there’s reason for optimism.

Dom had been reporting his book for at least three years. Entitled “How To Save the Amazon,” it was a tough sell at first, or at least not a lucrative one, and he struggled to make ends meet on his meager advance.

But he was determined to get his ideas into print. He talked to Indigenous people, police, cattle ranchers, and illegal miners, and he was aware that his book would not please everyone. He believed these stories were urgent, and many of the people he spoke with still do. Right now, friends, colleagues, his editor, and his agent are discussing how to complete his work. A bestselling book, even by – or maybe especially by – a posthumous author, would shine a light on the issues Dom so cared about.

A Chico Mendes moment?

What connects the murder of Mr. Mendes to the killings of Dom and Bruno 34 years later?

The answer is what came after Mr. Mendes’ murder, and what could happen now.

Tom Hennigan/AP

British journalist Dom Phillips poses for a photo during a hike in Paraty, Brazil, April 2, 2010. His quest to unlock the secrets of how to preserve Brazil’s Amazon was cut short this month, when he was killed along with a colleague in the heart of the forest he so cherished.

The international community united in outrage at Mr. Mendes’ murder, which led to widespread change in Brazil. The South American nation introduced a series of laws and regulatory frameworks designed to protect the rainforest and the Indigenous people who live there.

The laws are not always enforced, but they are there, and that marked a big step forward.

Will Dom and Bruno’s deaths have the same effect? I hope so.

In terms of outrage at least, the parallels are clear. In the days after they disappeared, a host of celebrities took to social media to register their disgust.

Former soccer player Pelé, singer-songwriters Anitta and Caetano Veloso, and U.S. actor Mark Ruffalo were among the many who demanded action, both to find the missing men and to investigate what happened to them and why.

It was reminiscent of the activism sparked by Mr. Mendes’ murder, when former Police frontman Sting took the lead, meeting with Indigenous people and organizing regular “Rock for the Rainforest” gigs. Consumers and companies woke up to the demand for natural products and sustainable development. Mr. Mendes gave the environmental movement a martyr to rally behind.  

Perhaps naively, and certainly optimistically, I hope we’re witnessing a Chico Mendes moment. The Amazon is a lot more vulnerable than it was in 1988, and the tipping point – the moment when it can no longer recover from drought, fires, and deforestation – is edging closer. Drastic action is needed.  

The Indigenous people who live there are also under increasing attack. Brazil’s far-right President Jair Bolsonaro has encouraged loggers, miners, and hunters to develop the region, and the number of invasions of Indigenous land has more than doubled since he took power in 2019. Deforestation in the Amazon this year hit a 15-year high.

But when it comes to concrete action, there is one important difference between 1988 and today. Back then, Brazil was emerging from a 21-year military dictatorship. It was embarrassed by Mr. Mendes’ killing and reacted like the modern and progressive democracy it wanted to be.

Today, the military is ascendant again. Mr. Bolsonaro is a former army captain with a general as his vice president. Before taking office, he vowed not to give Indigenous people “one more square centimeter of land,” and he has proudly kept that promise.

With his development-at-all-costs ethos, Mr. Bolsonaro has undermined environmental oversight bodies and ignored existing legislation. The Indigenous agency Funai is so poorly funded that officials in Amazonia had to hire boats to search for their former colleague, Bruno, because their own fleet had been left to rot.

Justice and change

I’ve lived in Brazil for almost all of this century. I’ve seen more senseless murders than I care to remember, and I’ve seen almost as many campaigns for justice. I know that justice is slow and that change, when it does come, is often too little and often too late.

When I speak to people about the events of the last two weeks, there are a number of agreements. Dom and Bruno were good people; the Amazon and the Indigenous people who live there are under serious threat; Mr. Bolsonaro and his policies represent a big part of that threat.

We can’t bring Dom and Bruno back. But we can honor their work. If there’s a silver lining in all this, it will be a renewed focus on the plight of Brazil’s Indigenous people, just as the death of Mr. Mendes focused attention on the plight of the rainforest. They need land, resources, and most of all protection.

Brazil has a presidential election in October. If Dom’s and Bruno’s deaths spark a reaction at the polls, that would be one indication they did not die in vain.