This blog was written by master students Masande Sigebu and Alessandra Thunde, as part of their internship at the Coalition for Human Rights in Development. Check out also the page of the multimedia exhibition “The future we want“.
In Northern Cape, South Africa, mining activities have disrupted local water sources, forcing people to wake up as early as 3am to fetch water. This responsibility falls mostly on women, who have to walk long distances in the dark. In Buhera, Zimbabwe, the Chinese-funded Sabi Star lithium mine has led not only to physical displacement but also to a profound cultural rupture. Families have been compelled to exhume graves, disturbing the resting places of their ancestors who had long anchored them to the land. In Ulanga, Tanzania, what was once fertile ground sustaining generations has become a site of dispossession, broken promises, and repression by the state and the global north companies that own and operate the mines.
These stories resonate with many mining-affected communities across Africa and are just some examples of the experiences shared last month at the Alternative Mining Indaba (AMI) in Cape Town, South Africa. The AMI, which runs in parallel to the industry-led Mining Indaba, was established in 2009 to challenge dominant narratives around the mining sector, to center the lived experiences of mining-affected communities, and advance visions of development that prioritise people and the environment over profit. This year the event – which includes keynote speeches, panel discussions and exhibitions – brought together dozens of civil society organizations, affected communities, academics, researchers, and policymakers from across the continent, including several Coalition for Human Rights in Development’s members and partners.
We joined the AMI for the first time as part of our internship at the Coalition, and we were struck by how different this gathering is from more conventional conferences. It was not distant or overly structured; instead, it felt grounded in people’s realities through exhibitions, testimonies, and performances that carried both weight and honesty. It created a space where communities could speak, rather than speaking on their behalf.
One of the themes that stood out was the idea of critical sustainable development. Across different sessions, people kept returning to the same question: “sustainable for who?”. Many projects imposed under the slogans of sustainable development or just energy transition, instead of improving lives, often lead to displacement, worsening living conditions, and increased gender based violence. There was a strong sense of connection across the room. Even though people came from different countries, the similarities in their experiences were difficult to ignore. It became clear that these were not isolated cases, but part of a broader pattern shaping communities across the continent.
What was discussed at the AMI did not feel abstract. It felt close. A presentation on mining in the Northern Cape in South Africa was incredibly striking. A researcher spoke about how mining operations had led to the disturbance of graveyards. In one case, a family who had buried their daughter later found her remains exposed, recognising her only by the jersey she had been buried in. Other graves had been moved and reburied without markers. It was difficult to listen to, and even harder to process. It made clear how deeply mining can disrupt not just land, but memory and dignity. When listening to these experiences, it became clear how interconnected these struggles are. Issues of land, water, care, and safety are not separate. They shape each other.
Recognizing the similarity of the lived realities and experiences created a sense of shared struggle, and a need for collective responses. As a Xhosa proverb says, “Isana elingakhaliyo lifela embelekweni”, which can be loosely translated to a ‘child who does not cry dies in the afterbirth’. It is a reminder that silence comes at a cost and at the AMI, communities were refusing that silence. They were speaking out, organising, and standing together across borders. This sense of unity was also felt beyond formal discussions. There were moments of singing, ululating, and shared expressions that brought people together. These are familiar as Xhosa and South African cultural forms of expressions whether in grief or celebration. But in the AMI space, they carried something more. Even when we did not understand the language of the songs, the singing still brought us together. That, in itself, felt like resistance.
Overall, attending the AMI was an interesting and insightful experience. As Master’s students, much of the exposure to concepts like community-centred development is theoretical, but the AMI demonstrated how these ideas should be applied on the ground to truly centre communities so that they can shape their own development in line with their own demands and aspirations.
This was particularly evident in discussions where civil society organisations explored what meaningful development could look like, considering the challenge of aligning policy goals, economic priorities, and community needs. Observing these conversations made it clear that the concept of development continues to evolve, even decades after it was first introduced in the mid-twentieth century. It also made clear that there is a long way to go to ensure that development projects are shaped by and are accountable to those who are most affected. The power that mining companies hold over land that belongs to communities reveals how development is often imposed in a top-down manner, with corporate priorities shaping access, use, and control of resources, often at the expense of the communities directly affected.
But the AMI also demonstrated that when communities are empowered to speak, organise, and lead, development can be reimagined in ways that prioritise people, land, and the environment, offering a more just and accountable path forward. This raises a fundamental question: Is it truly development if the community is not at the heart of it?
