Before the Bulldozers: Why Prior Consultation Could Be the Climate Justice Tool We’re Missing
Saee Rege, MSc International Development
Image: Diego Delsa / CC-BY-SA 4.0
On March 3, 2016, gunmen broke into the home of Indigenous leader Berta Cáceres in La Esperanza, Honduras, and murdered her for defending her people’s land. Her death shocked the world, sparking protests. It also sparked a rare case of justice, as even the head of the dam company she had fought against was eventually found guilty. But Berta’s story is an exception in a region where violence against environmental defenders is normalized and largely ignored.
Across Latin America, Indigenous communities are standing up to the extractive industries like mining, oil, and hydroelectric projects that threaten their lands and our collective future. They face some of the violent conditions for activists anywhere in the world. Still, they resist. Why? Because they understand something many of us are only starting to grasp. Protecting their territories is also protecting the planet.
Despite making up just 8 percent of the global population, Indigenous peoples protect around 80 percent of the Earth’s biodiversity. They may be small in numbers but they hold the line for all of us. However, they are not entirely alone and have several tools that are meant to protect them. One, prior consultation, is a legal mechanism that gives Indigenous communities a say before extractive projects break ground. The idea is rooted in international agreements like ILO Convention 169, and many Latin American countries have passed laws to enforce it. But their say over what happens on their lands is still often treated like a checkbox.
Here is the catch. Somewhere along the way, “free, prior, and informed consent” got watered down into just “consultation.” And consent and consultation are not the same thing. One implies power. The other just implies presence.
So why do Indigenous peoples continue to use this process, flawed as it is? The answer to this question can be found in examples from Bolivia and Peru.
In Bolivia, the Guaraní people used their self-governance to reshape the San Isidro Block consultation process. In Peru’s Lote 192, Indigenous federations unified, reclaimed their power, and created their own independent monitoring systems to hold corporations accountable. And the Wampis, Peru’s first autonomous Indigenous government, used the very mechanism of prior consultation to solidify their sovereignty.
What connects all these stories? Agency. When Indigenous peoples are given real space to exercise agency through tools like independent monitoring, media visibility, and legal autonomy, consultation stops being a formality and starts becoming a tool for justice and self-determined development.
These are not just isolated wins. They show us what is possible when we actually listen. When prior consultation works and centers Indigenous self-determination, it can produce tangible benefits like cleaner water, improved healthcare, and real economic outcomes. It is not just about stopping extractive projects. It is about giving communities the power to shape what development looks like for them and, by extension, all of us.
This matters for the youth today because we are inheriting a world in a climate crisis. We do not just need new technologies. We need new systems. Or, in this case, systems we have been ignoring.
Prior consultation is not perfect. But if we invest in strengthening it rather than gutting it, it could be one of the most powerful climate justice tools we have. Not only for protecting ecosystems but for empowering the people who protect them.
And if we want to honor voices like Berta Cáceres, voices silenced because they dared to defend the Earth, then we have to fight for the living systems and legal tools that can carry their visions forward.
Let us stop treating Indigenous leadership as symbolic and start treating it as essential.