Project
Amazon Watch / Maíra Irigaray
Barragem de Belo Monte no rio Xingu: 10 anos de impactos na Amazônia e de busca por reparações
A usina hidrelétrica de Belo Monte causou um desastre ambiental e social no coração da Amazônia: um dos ecossistemas mais importantes do planeta.
Essa situação só piorou desde que a usina começou a operar em 2016. A busca por justiça e reparação para as comunidades indígenas e ribeirinhas afetadas continua até hoje.
Em 2011, a Comissão Interamericana de Direitos Humanos (CIDH) concedeu a essas comunidades medidas de proteção, que até hoje não foram totalmente implementadas pelo Estado brasileiro.
E, desde junho daquele mesmo ano, a CIDH mantém um processo contra o Estado por sua responsabilidade internacional no caso.
A CIDH pode encaminhar o caso à Corte Interamericana de Direitos Humanos, que tem o poder de emitir uma sentença condenatória contra o Estado brasileiro.
Consulta o expediente de fatos do caso
Após 10 anos de operação da usina hidrelétrica e mais de 15 anos de violações de direitos humanos documentadas, é hora da justiça ser feita para as comunidades afetadas.
Leia a carta aberta das organizações que levam o caso à CIDH
Leia nosso comunicado à imprensa
Contexto
A usina hidrelétrica de Belo Monte — a quarta maior do mundo em capacidade instalada (11.233 MW) — foi construída no rio Xingu, no estado do Pará, norte do Brasil.
Foi inaugurada em 5 de maio de 2016, com uma única turbina. Naquela época, 80% do curso do rio foi desviado e 516 km² de terra foram inundados, uma área maior que a cidade de Chicago. Desse total, 400 km² eram de mata nativa. A usina começou a operar em plena capacidade em novembro de 2019.
Belo Monte foi construída e é operada pelo consórcio Norte Energia S.A., composto principalmente por empresas estatais. Foi financiada pelo Banco Nacional de Desenvolvimento Econômico e Social (BNDES), que aportou ao consórcio 25,4 bilhões de reais (aproximadamente US$ 10,16 bilhões), o maior investimento de sua história. Portanto, o BNDES também é legalmente responsável pelos impactos socioambientais associados ao projeto hidrelétrico.
Décadas de danos ambientais e humanos
As violações dos direitos humanos e a degradação da Amazônia remontam ao início do projeto. Em março de 2011, a Norte Energia iniciou a construção da barragem sem consulta adequada e sem o consentimento prévio, livre e informado das comunidades afetadas.
A construção levou ao deslocamento forçado de mais de 40.000 pessoas, rompendo laços sociais e culturais. O plano de reassentamento em Altamira — cidade diretamente afetada pelo projeto hidrelétrico — incluía moradias na periferia da cidade, sem serviços públicos adequados, moradias dignas para as famílias reassentadas e moradias diferenciadas para aqueles pertencentes a comunidades indígenas.
A operação da barragem de Belo Monte impôs uma seca permanente e artificial na Volta Grande do rio Xingu, agravada pelas secas históricas na Amazônia em 2023 e 2024. Como resultado, a morte de milhões de ovos de peixe foi documentada por quatro anos consecutivos (de 2021 a 2024) e, nos últimos três anos, não houve migração de peixes rio acima para desovar e se reproduzir. Assim, a pesca artesanal, principal fonte de proteína para os povos indígenas e comunidades ribeirinhas, foi severamente afetada: o consumo de peixe caiu de 50% para 30% do total de proteínas consumidas, sendo substituído por alimentos processados. Em suma, houve um colapso ambiental e humanitário que resultou no colapso da pesca como modo de vida tradicional, insegurança alimentar e falta de acesso à água potável para milhares de famílias, empobrecimento e doenças.
Além disso, a construção da barragem aumentou o desmatamento e intensificou a extração ilegal de madeira e a insegurança em terras indígenas e tribais, colocando em risco a sobrevivência dessas comunidades. Outra consequência foi o agravamento da pobreza e dos conflitos sociais, bem como a sobrecarga dos sistemas de saúde, educação e segurança pública em Altamira, cidade considerada a mais violenta do país em 2017, onde houve aumento do tráfico de pessoas e da violência sexual. Também foram registrados casos de violência contra defensores de direitos humanos envolvidos no caso.
Em 2025, durante a 30ª Conferência das Nações Unidas sobre Mudanças Climáticas (COP30), realizada no Brasil, o Ministério Público Federal classificou os danos causados por Belo Monte como ecocídio.
Foto: Amazon Watch / Maíra Irigaray.
A busca por justiça e reparação
Ao longo dos anos, o Ministério Público Federal do Pará, a Defensoria Pública e organizações da sociedade civil impetraram dezenas de ações judiciais em tribunais brasileiros para contestar as diversas irregularidades do projeto, bem como seus impactos. A maioria das ações permanece sem solução, algumas há mais de 10 anos.
Essas ações não obtiveram sucesso porque o governo federal tem reiteradamente anulado decisões favoráveis às comunidades afetadas, recorrendo a um mecanismo pelo qual o presidente do Supremo Tribunal Federal pode suspender uma decisão judicial com base unicamente em argumentos genéricos como "interesse nacional" ou "ordem econômica".
Diante da falta de respostas eficazes em nível nacional, a AIDA — juntamente com uma coalizão de organizações aliadas — levou o caso à Comissão Interamericana de Direitos Humanos (CIDH) e, em 2010, solicitou medidas cautelares para proteger a vida, a integridade e a saúde das comunidades indígenas afetadas.
Em 1º de abril de 2011, a CIDH concedeu essas medidas e solicitou ao Estado brasileiro a suspensão das licenças ambientais e de quaisquer obras de construção até que as condições relativas à consulta prévia e à proteção da saúde e integridade das comunidades fossem atendidas.
E, em 16 de junho de 2011, apresentamos uma denúncia formal à CIDH — juntamente com o Movimento Xingu Vivo Para Siempre, a Coordenação das Organizações Indígenas da Amazônia Brasileira, a Diocese de Altamira, o Conselho Missionário Indígena, a Sociedade Pará de Defesa dos Direitos Humanos e a Global Justice — contra o Estado brasileiro por sua responsabilidade internacional nas violações de direitos humanos contra os povos afetados neste caso. A denúncia foi apresentada em dezembro de 2015.
Em 3 de agosto de 2011, a CIDH modificou as medidas cautelares para solicitar — em vez da suspensão de licenças e obras — a proteção dos povos que vivem em isolamento voluntário, a saúde das comunidades indígenas e a regularização e proteção das terras ancestrais.
Foto: Amazon Watch / Maíra Irigaray.
Situação atual
As medidas de proteção concedidas pela CIDH permanecem em vigor, mas o Estado brasileiro não as cumpriu integralmente, relatando apenas ações genéricas. As comunidades documentaram as contínuas violações de seus direitos. A situação que motivou o pedido dessas medidas — o risco à vida, à segurança e aos meios de subsistência das comunidades — persiste e se agravou com a usina hidrelétrica operando em plena capacidade e com as recentes secas extremas na Amazônia.
Além do ocorrido em Belo Monte, existe o risco de maiores danos sociais e ambientais decorrentes da implementação de outro megaprojeto de mineração na Volta Grande do Xingu. Lá, a empresa canadense Belo Sun pretende construir a maior mina de ouro a céu aberto do Brasil.
Os impactos sinérgicos e cumulativos da usina e da mina não foram avaliados. O Estado excluiu povos indígenas, comunidades ribeirinhas e comunidades camponesas do processo de licenciamento ambiental do projeto. Apesar disso, dos protestos indígenas e de outras irregularidades em torno do projeto, o governo do estado do Pará autorizou formalmente a mina em abril de 2026.
Belo Monte, assim como outras usinas hidrelétricas, agrava a emergência climática ao gerar emissões de gases de efeito estufa em seu reservatório. Além disso, é ineficiente diante das secas prolongadas e intensas causadas pela crise, pois perde capacidade de geração de energia.
O caso perante a Comissão Interamericana
Em outubro de 2017, a CIDH anunciou que decidiria conjuntamente sobre a admissibilidade (se o caso preenche os requisitos para admissão) e o mérito (se houve, de fato, violação de direitos humanos) da denúncia internacional contra o Estado brasileiro.
Quinze anos após a apresentação da denúncia, as comunidades afetadas e as organizações que as representam ainda aguardam essa decisão. Caso a CIDH conclua que houve violações de direitos humanos e emita recomendações que o Estado brasileiro não cumpra, poderá encaminhar o caso à Corte Interamericana de Direitos Humanos, cujas decisões são vinculativas.
Uma possível decisão da Corte Internacional de Direitos Humanos neste caso estabeleceria um precedente jurídico regional em relação aos direitos dos povos indígenas e ribeirinhos, à participação pública em megaprojetos e à responsabilidade do Estado no contexto da crise climática. Isso é particularmente relevante à luz do Parecer Consultivo nº 32 da Corte, que reafirmou as obrigações dos Estados de proteger pessoas e comunidades em todo o continente da emergência climática.
Partners:
Related projects
Páramos = water = life
Páramos are high-mountain ecosystems that capture water from fog and supply it to the lowlands. They lie between the upper limit of the Andean forest (about 3,000 meters above sea level) and the glaciers or permanent snowfields of the mountains (about 4,500 meters above sea level).Typically, páramos can be found in tropical regions near the equator, especially along the Andes mountain range.In Latin America, páramos cover more than 30,000 km2. South America is home to more than 80% of the world’s páramos, and Colombia accounts for 50% of them.The páramos are not isolated; rather, they form a high-mountain system that maintains ecological connections with other biomes and ecosystems, extending beyond national borders. In the Andean region, they form a corridor known as the "string of pearls," stretching from the Cordillera de Mérida in Venezuela, across Colombia and Ecuador, to the Huancabamba Depression in northern Peru.There, the water retained by low-altitude wetlands gradually flows downward, forming streams and rivers that flow down to the coast or the Amazon basin.Because of their interconnectedness, the páramos also serve as natural bridges or "springboards" for the migration and dispersal of species. Their conservation, therefore, cannot be limited to specific areas; it must extend to protecting the ecological, biological, and cultural relationships they share with other ecosystems. The importance of protecting the páramosWe must protect the páramos because they are essential to sustaining life. Among other reasons, this is because:They feed key watersheds, which in turn support agricultural and livestock systems that contribute to the population's food supply. They are the primary source of water for more than 85 million people. In Colombia, these ecosystems supply 70% of the freshwater consumed in major cities.They are home to a unique biodiversity: more than 3,370 plant species and 250 animal species. Among the endemic species found there are the frailejón (a plant with hairy leaves that trap moisture from the fog and regulate water), the Andean condor, the mountain tapir (or Andean tapir), and the spectacled bear.They serve as living spaces and homes for rural and indigenous communities. According to the 2018 páramo census, more than 76,000 people in Colombia live in the country’s páramo ecosystems. Furthermore, their stunning natural beauty drives nature tourism, thereby sustaining local ways of life.They are extraordinary natural carbon sinks and are indispensable allies in mitigating the climate crisis. They can sequester up to ten times more carbon dioxide per square meter than a tropical forest. In specific areas of a páramo, such as peat bogs, carbon sequestration can reach 2,000 metric tons. Photo: Aztlec Flickr (Creative Commons).What threats must we protect the páramos from?Despite their great importance, the páramos currently face several threats. One is the climate crisis, which is raising ambient temperatures; because these ecosystems are located high in the mountains, they have no cooler thermal zones to migrate to.On the other hand, extensive livestock ranching and agriculture—particularly potato farming—affect considerable areas of páramos. Deforestation or reforestation with non-native species also endangers them, as does a lack of knowledge about their importance and characteristics.And mining is undoubtedly one of the greatest threats to these ecosystems. Due to their geological formation, these ecosystems contain large quantities of minerals and metals, such as gold and silver. The mining industry poses serious risks to the páramos because:It extracts large volumes of water and builds infrastructure on wetlands, reducing their ability to regulate water flows, and can cause pollution from mercury and other toxic substances, leading to species loss and affecting water quality and availability in low-lying areas.Underground mining can alter groundwater flow dynamics through dewatering processes designed to prevent tunnel collapse. This can lower the water table, cause land subsidence, and dry up water sources, among other impacts.It removes vegetation cover and organic soil, degrading fragile ecosystems such as the páramos, weakening their role as natural carbon sinks, and releasing stored carbon.Its impacts can last in perpetuity—for centuries or millennia—timeframes that cannot be predicted with certainty. Tailings dams and other infrastructure (tailings piles or dumps) where mining waste ends up, for example, have effects that persist indefinitely because they were not designed to be dismantled. Learn more about the true cost of mining in the páramos. The iconic case of the Santurbán páramo in ColombiaThe Santurbán case reflects the socio-environmental conflicts that arise from corporate efforts to establish mining operations in páramos, as well as from citizens’ efforts to protect these ecosystems and the life they sustain. Photo: Alberto Peña Kay. Located in the heart of the Eastern Cordillera of the Colombian Andes, in the departments of Santander and Norte de Santander, the Santurbán páramo covers 129,743 hectares and is home to 57 lagoons, 457 plant species, and 293 vertebrate species.Santurbán is home to mineral deposits—primarily gold, but also silver and copper—that have attracted foreign mining conglomerates for decades, which have sought to establish large-scale projects in the ecosystem, threatening to degrade it.This has raised concerns among the population that relies on the Santurbán water sources—more than two million people—who have mobilized to defend water, their land, and life.The Committee for the Defense of Water and the Santurbán Páramo has led these efforts. This coalition of environmental advocates, supported by AIDA and other civil society organizations, has thwarted the mining industry’s ongoing attempts. The defense of Santurbán has included litigation and national and international advocacy. Learn more about the effort to protect the Santurbán páramo. Protecting Latin America's páramosAs with Santurbán in Colombia, indigenous peoples, rural communities, and citizens in other countries in the region are using legal strategies to protect the Andean páramos.Also in Colombia, rural communities in Cajamarca, in the department of Tolima, succeeded in rejecting the La Colosa mining project—which would have involved gold mining in the Los Nevados páramo region—through a public referendum. They are currently defending the referendum's validity and the páramo demarcation in court.In Ecuador, the Kichwa Saraguro indigenous people are pursuing legal action to protect more than 27,000 hectares of the Fierro Urku páramo, which were granted as mining concessions for gold, silver, and copper without prior consultation. At the same time, they are demanding compliance with a protective order that suspended the Loma Larga mining project in the Quimsacocha páramo until prior consultation is guaranteed and environmental impact studies are conducted.In partnership with communities and allied organizations, AIDA works to protect the páramos and other ecosystems that sustain life in Latin America.
Read more
Self-generation: How to democratize access to energy
In the traditional and dominant model, electricity is generated by large power plants and distributed through extensive grids that make up an electric power system. These activities are the exclusive domain of large electric companies, whether privately or government-owned.Therefore, the current energy system, based on fossil fuels—coal, natural gas, and oil—is not only one of the main causes of the global climate crisis, but it is also inequitable because it is concentrated in the hands of a few, in addition to limiting access to resources and public participation in decision-making.This requires that the energy transition involves not only a shift in the energy mix but also the creation of a new energy system that—among other things—enables democratized access to energy from clean, renewable sources.Energy self-generation, as a decentralized production model, is an opportunity to move in that direction. What does democratic access to energy mean?Energy is necessary for people to have access to better food, clean water, job opportunities, education, and other rights. Therefore, energy is also a right and a prerequisite for ensuring the enjoyment of other human rights.Energy democracy is both a principle and a movement that seeks to ensure that energy decisions—how it is generated, who generates it, and who benefits from it—are in the hands of the people rather than concentrated in the hands of large corporations or elites, prioritizing the use of clean and renewable energy sources as well as decentralized systems, with a focus on social justice.Therefore, democratic access to energy entails:Community control of energy resources.Citizen participation in energy planning.Equitable distribution of benefits. This contrasts with traditional centralized systems—often monopolistic—that have led to inequities, such as communities paying high electricity rates or suffering the impacts of large-scale electricity generation, yet having no say in the decisions that affect them.In Latin America, the active involvement of indigenous, rural, and traditional communities in energy projects is seen as a cornerstone for achieving a socially and environmentally just transition, closing energy access gaps, and strengthening energy democracy.In this regard, energy self-generation embodies energy democracy, as it allows entire communities to make their own energy decisions and reclaim control over key links in the electricity value chain, such as generation and management. What is energy self-generation?Self-generation is a decentralized model of electricity production that relies on locally available clean and renewable energy sources (such as solar, hydropower, or wind). This approach is used in projects that are often small-scale and can be used individually or collectively to meet energy needs in urban or rural areas, including those far from distribution grids.It is a model that enables progress, at the local level, toward reducing greenhouse gas emissions—which exacerbate the climate crisis—without repeating the extractivist model. It recognizes the right of communities to generate their own energy to meet their needs and, at the same time, helps reduce energy poverty and dependence on centralized power grids.Energy self-generation can take two forms:Distributed generation: A small-scale self-generation system connected to nearby distribution grids to feed surplus energy into the grid.Off-grid systems: A closed-loop self-generation system disconnected from distribution grids. In this model, users are no longer passive participants but instead play an active role in generating and managing energy wherever they are. A self-generating individual or community both produces and consumes energy. Examples of energy self-generation in Latin AmericaAcross the continent, success stories in implementing the self-generation model are strengthening the regional movement for energy democratization. Here are a few examples:Mexico - "Energy for the Yeknemilis (Good Living)." A community initiative implemented in the Northeastern Highlands of Puebla to promote local energy sovereignty through the installation of photovoltaic systems in community spaces.Colombia - Community solar project on Isla Fuerte. Installation of a solar microgrid with batteries (150 kW peak and 348 kWh of storage), not connected to the National Interconnected System, capable of providing continuous electricity to the 250 households on the Caribbean island.Brazil - Percília e Lúcio Renewable Energy Cooperative. A community initiative founded by the NGO Revolusolar and developed by residents of the Morro da Babilônia and Chapéu Mangueira favelas in Rio de Janeiro. Solar panels were installed there, reducing electricity rates by more than 50%.Chile - Curicó Electric Power Supply Cooperative. A community-based initiative operating in the Maule Region that installs solar panels to supply electricity to rural grids and community facilities. Challenges for energy self-generationDespite the progress made, the widespread and effective implementation of this model faces significant challenges on the continent. The main ones are:Inadequate regulation (complex or insufficient). Often, a country’s domestic regulations make it difficult or impossible to implement such schemes. This is due to limitations on the number of megawatts (MW) that can be generated, complex contractual requirements, or a lack of appropriate legal structures.Limited financing. Many low-income households cannot afford the upfront cost of solar panels or other technologies. Government support or loans for these projects are scarce. The risk is that self-generation will be concentrated among those with the financial means to implement it, thereby excluding the segments of the population most affected by energy poverty.Inefficient electrical infrastructure. Local grids often lack the capacity or technical capabilities to integrate energy generated by decentralized sources, limiting the ability to take advantage of surplus energy feed-in. Furthermore, the need for storage systems to address the variability of renewable energy sources, as well as the lack of grid backup, increases project costs. Energy self-generation: A solid path toward a just transitionThe pursuit of equitable access to energy through tools such as energy self-generation is consistent with the need to ensure that the energy transition puts people at the center and prioritizes improving their living conditions as its ultimate goal.Electricity generation models designed by and for communities are an important means of ensuring access to affordable, reliable, sustainable, and modern energy for everyone.Because discussing a just energy transition means reclaiming energy as a tool to meet human needs in the context of inequities and finite resources. Learn more about a just energy transition in Latin America.
Read more
Voices for the Motagua River: Olga Vázquez, hands that shape hope
Stories of courage, dignity, and resistance for life in the face of pollution in Guatemala’s longest river.For generations, clay was the heart of Santa Cruz Chinautla. It emerged from the earth as a daily gift, was shaped by patient hands, and transformed into pots, jugs, whistles, and comales that were taken to the markets in the capital.There, between the river and the wood-fired kilns, doña Olga Noemí Vázquez grew up. From childhood, she learned the art of pottery from her mother. Today, at nearly sixty years old, she continues to work with clay, but the craft is no longer the same. Clay is scarce, the river smells like sewage, and her hands crack from the chemicals carried by the polluted water.Doña Olga fondly recalls how she first got into pottery. "I learned it when I was ten years old. My mom taught me. I wanted to make different shapes and styles, because sometimes tourists would bring different figurines, and here we’d try to imitate them," she says from the small workshop she’s set up in her home. Every piece she creates is an act of remembrance, a way to resist oblivion and the loss of the landscape and her livelihood.He also recalls that in the past, the town's inhabitants didn't go to the capital to work. "We made our living right here. We grew vegetables, güisquiles, and corn. Everything was produced right here. And we made a living from clay. Today, it’s not like that anymore." Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. From drainage to destruction The change was slow, like a tide that rises without you noticing. First came the drainage systems. Then, the trucks. The city’s trash found its final destination in Chinautla. "There was nowhere else to dump it, so they dumped it on us," she says. That’s how the tragedy began: the rivers turned into channels of waste, the banks became covered in gray crusts, and the odors became unbearable, especially during the rainy season. "The river carries all the trash from Zone 3. It smells awful. There’s no clean clay anymore; we can’t dig it up as we used to."The 1976 earthquake left a mark on the town’s memory, but it was systematic neglect that ultimately disfigured the landscape. The municipal government, she says, moved from Santa Cruz to Zone 6, and since then the town has been left without any real representation. "There’s no mayor here. They come here to put up their campaign posters, they hold office, but they’re never here. They’ve never taken us into account," she laments. Women who resist In the face of institutional silence, associations, collectives, and struggles emerged. Among them was the Chinautla Women’s Association. "We organized because if we didn’t, we would have been left with nothing. The clay was running out, the sand miners were advancing, and the river was washing everything away. The women here don’t go to the capital to work. They make pottery at home and take care of their children. If we ran out of clay, we’d have no life left."In 2010, disaster struck with full force. Two rivers, Las Vacas and Chinautla, overflowed due to the accumulation of sand that had been extracted without any controls. The water swept away a bridge. The community banded together and built another one with their own hands. The municipality did not cooperate. "That bridge is in ruins, but we, the neighbors, built it. Otherwise, we’d still be cut off."Sand mining has become their most persistent enemy. "The sand miners are wearing us down. They take out tons and tons of sand every day. Our clay is gone with them. We’re left with almost nothing. And what little remains is contaminated," he says. The damage isn’t limited to the landscape—people’s health is suffering as well. Photo: Mayela Sánchez García. The value of words and justice The expansion of businesses, the passivity of the authorities, and social erosion have caused divisions within the town. "Politics has planted ideas in people’s minds. There are thousands of residents, but only 500 support us. The rest don’t cooperate. They don’t understand that this isn’t about a political party—it’s about our town," she explains.In recent years, the women’s association has joined forces with the town’s ancestral authorities. Together, they have succeeded in opening channels of dialogue with government ministries, halting the renewal of extractive licenses, and bringing the conflict to the government's attention. The 2025 ruling, handed down after years of legal battles, was a ray of hope amid the neglect. A court ordered the municipality to assume its environmental responsibility. For the first time, someone listened. "Thanks to that ruling, a businessman was stopped. His license hasn’t been renewed. It wasn’t like that before: you’d go to talk to them, and the ministers only thought about making a profit. Now, at least, they listen to us."The future is uncertain. Drinking water is delivered only once every eight days. Mining permits can be renewed at any time. The river continues to carry trash. But there’s one thing doña Olga is not willing to lose: her dignity. "I advise women to get involved, to stay informed. We can’t just stay at home without knowing what politicians, businesspeople, and ministers are doing. If you get involved, you’ll find out. And once you know, you’ll fight."When asked what Chinautla was like 50 years ago, her eyes fill with lost images: girls playing in the street, clean water flowing over stones, women shaping clay at sunset. "It was peaceful," she says. “It was ours.” Today, amid pollution and plundering, Chinautla endures thanks to women like her, who continue to shape its history with clay, memory, and courage.
Read more