Arqueologia dos Povos da Floresta

Now Let Us Make Europeans – Citizenship, Solidarity and Identity in a Pluri-Cultural Europe

This book addresses the right of indigenous peoples to live, own and use their traditional territories, and analyses how international law addresses this. Through its meticulous examination of the interaction between international law and indigenous peoples’ land rights, the work explores several burning issues such as collective rights, self-determination, property rights, cultural rights and restitution of land. It delves into the notion of past violations and the role of international law in providing for remedies, reparation and restitution. It also argues that there is a new phase in the relationship between States, indigenous peoples and private actors, such as corporations, in the making of territorial agreements.

The proposal to create a Northern Corridor that would allow for cross-country, multi-modal infrastructure development is an ambitious vision (Sulzenko and Fellows 2016; Standing Senate Committee 2017). This proposed infrastructure corridor would incorporate multiple uses, from pipelines to railways, roads, telecommunications, electricity infrastructure and more. Its geographic scale stretches continuously from coastal B.C. across Canada to the Atlantic coast, with spurs running northward to the Arctic Ocean through the Northwest Territories, Nunavut and via Manitoba to Hudson’s Bay. A critical foundation for its successful development will be the ability to appreciate and incorporate the rights of Indigenous peoples affected by the project (Wright 2020; Newman 2022). The goal of this research paper is to outline the law of Indigenous peoples’ land ownership rights, including proven and asserted title, Crown-Indigenous treaty relations and obligations and Indigenous land claims agreements, and to consider the implications for a large-scale infrastructure project like the Northern Corridor.1 The focus is on the legaland regulatory aspects of Indigenous peoples’ land rights within the non-Indigenous Canadian legal system.2 The research paper uses standard legal methods to assess the land ownership rights of Indigenous peoples, drawing on relevant constitutional and statutory provisions, leading cases and secondary literature. The paper proceeds with a brief overview of these distinct types of Indigenous land rights, then provides a more detailed account of the legal content of s. 35 constitutional Aboriginal title, historic and modern treaty rights. This includes discussion of government’s legal duty of consultation and accommodation, and the requirements for constitutionally justified limitation of these rights. Indigenous land ownership rights in reserve lands are also discussed. A series of case studies more fully illustrates the implications of these varied Indigenous land rights for a project like the Northern Corridor. Finally, the paper turns to the dynamic nature of Indigenous rights and the potential influence of the UNDRIP. The implications of Indigenous peoples’ land rights for the proposed Northern Corridor are extensive. While many of the legal obligations fall on the Crown, as represented by provincial, territorial and federal governments, industry proponents must also play a role. Project proponents engage directly with Indigenous land-rights holders and are crucial to the exchange of information, mitigation of project impacts and creation of benefits for Indigenous communities. Successful development of the Northern Corridor infrastructure project requires a partnered approach with affected Indigenous rights- holding communities. Portions of the proposed corridor traverse the traditional territories of Indigenous peoples over which Aboriginal title is claimed. Where Indigenous claimants demonstrate sufficient, exclusive use and occupation of the land prior to Crown claims of sovereignty, title will be established. The legal test for recognizing title is one that reflects both the common law and Aboriginal perspectives, and is sensitive to context. The geographic scope for successful Aboriginal title claims that overlap with the Northern Corridor is significant. Where Indigenous peoples hold title to the land, they are collectively entitled to exclusively enjoy the benefits of that land, and to decide on its uses. Governments or third parties seeking access to the land require consent from the title holders. In the period before title is established, governments authorizing projects like the Northern Corridor, that could negatively impact Aboriginal title, must consult with Indigenous peoples and, when appropriate, accommodate their interests. This is required to maintain the Honour of the Crown. While the legal duty falls on government, project proponents working directly with Indigenous peoples are an important part of the consultation and accommodation process. Governments do retain a legal ability to justifiably limit Aboriginal title. They can pursue projects in the public interest that are consistent with s. 35’s reconciliation purpose, if they meet the requirements of their unique obligations to and relationship with Aboriginal people (the fiduciary duty and Honour of the Crown). This means satisfying the procedural duty to consult and accommodate Aboriginal title holders, pursuing only limits on title that do not damage their long-term relationship with the land, as well as meeting a recently outlined requirement for proportionality. Proportionality means that limits on Aboriginal title must be necessary to achieve the public purpose and must be as minimal as possible, and that the overall public benefit must not be outweighed by negative impacts on title holders. Projects that go forward with participation and consent of Indigenous title holders will meet these requirements. There is also potential for the Northern Corridor to cross reserve lands. Where these remain subject to the Indian Act, one of the relevant statutory mechanisms for access must be used. These require consent from the band and federal government. For bands that have transitioned to management of their reserves under the First National Land Management Act (FNLMA), only consent of the band as set out in its Land Code is required. The Northern Corridor also crosses lands over which Indigenous people hold land rights under the historic “Numbered Treaties.” While the treaties appear to include formal surrenders of Aboriginal title (an interpretation that is contested), continued rights of use over traditional territories are critical elements of these constitutionally binding agreements. Although governments can “take up” surrendered lands for development, this right is subject to a duty to consult Indigenous parties and accommodate impacts on their treaty rights. Governments can justifiably infringe historic treaty rights. This can be done when a permissible objective is pursued in a way that meets government’s fiduciary duty and upholds the Honour of the Crown. The specific requirements can vary, but generally the test is more restrictive when non-commercial treaty rights are at stake and requires some form of priority to be given to these Aboriginal rights. The requirement for justification is triggered when treaty rights are infringed — when a group is deprived of a meaningful ability to exercise its treaty rights within its traditional territory. Recent developments suggest this threshold should be assessed looking to cumulative impacts and that a process for monitoring and addressing these is part of justified limits on these historic treaty rights. Finally, the Northern Corridor also intersects with lands covered by modern treaties. These agreements provide detailed guidance about the specific rights Indigenous parties enjoy, processes for consultation and co-management of the treaty lands as well as interactions between jurisdictional decisions under the treaty and by other levels of government. Courts have outlined a distinctive approach to the modern treaties that recognize their sophistication and the efforts to negotiate these modern governance frameworks to advance reconciliation. Courts would pay close attention to the relevant treaty terms and processes in any dispute over development of the Northern Corridor. Relatively minimal supervision of the modern treaty relationships should be expected from the courts, although the Honour of the Crown and the obligations it places on governments still apply. It is unclear whether justified infringements of modern treaty rights are possible, and whether a stricter constitutional standard would be required. Case studies of recent infrastructure and resource development projects show that while much of the law is clear, outstanding issues remain, and the practical application of the law can be challenging. The sufficiency of consultation can be in doubt on complex projects involving multiple Indigenous communities. Basic issues such as who to consult can emerge when there is overlap between traditional and Indian Act governance structures and both reserves and other land rights are involved. The applicability of Indigenous laws to traditional territories under claims of Aboriginal title and interactions between Indigenous law and jurisdiction and non-Indigenous law and government authority can also be unclear. Many modern projects proceed with the consent and participation of Indigenous peoples, for example, through benefit agreements. These agreements, because of their link to the underlying Aboriginal rights, can engage the Honour of the Crown and the duty to consult if subsequent developments negatively affect benefits under the agreements. In practice, meeting the legal obligations triggered by Indigenous land rights requires direct, good faith engagement with affected Indigenous communities. The best-case scenario is partnered development that proceeds with the consent of Indigenous rights holders. Current case law suggests that projects like the Northern Corridor might go ahead without full consensus, since there is no “veto” implicit in s. 35(1) Aboriginal rights. However, legal requirements for justified infringements, if possible, still require adequate consultation and accommodation of the rights of Indigenous peoples, and support only necessary, minimal limits on their rights. Overall benefits must outweigh negative impacts on Indigenous communities, and their ability to benefit directly from projects or be compensated for harms is generally part of justifying limits on their rights. On the ground, project proponents will be deeply involved in the relationship-building and engagement that is needed to support consensual development, or will meet the high bar for constitutional justification. Determining whether governments’ legal obligations ultimately have been met is done at a detailed, fact-specific level — not in the abstract. There are no leading cases that support constitutional justification of hypothetical, indeterminate public uses such as the proposed Northern Corridor. The law of Indigenous rights is constantly evolving. Over the lifespan of a project like the Northern Corridor, change would be certain. Canadian approval of the UNDRIP and recent federal and provincial legislation committing to bring Canadian law into compliance are important signals of future development. The UNDRIP embraces a model of Indigenous rights grounded in self-determination and its standard of “free, prior, informed consent” appears to reflect the ability of Indigenous peoples to make their own decisions about projects that impact their rights. The legal implications of the UNDRIP for s. 35 and Indigenous land rights in Canada remain to be seen. As with modern treaties and the FNLMA, it represents a resurgence in Indigenous peoples’ rights to play a direct role in governing their traditional lands and bringing their own laws to bear on developments that impact their lands and rights. Co-management and shared governance frameworks that integrate Indigenous rights holders will likely be key to successful future project development. For a proposal like the Northern Corridor, further study is required to fully appreciate the implications of these nascent developments and consider how they should be reflected in the project proposal.

Este artigo analisa as causas da disparidade nos direitos coletivos conquistados por grupos afro-latinos durante as recentes iniciativas de reformas relacionadas à cidadania multicultural na América Latina. Em vez de atribuir o maior êxito dos índios na conquista desses direitos a diferenças no tamanho da população e a níveis mais elevados de identidade de grupo ou de organização dos movimentos indígenas, a autora sustenta que a principal causa da disparidade está no fato de os direitos serem atribuídos levando em conta uma identidade de grupo distinta, definida por meio de critérios étnicos ou culturais. Os índios estão, em geral, melhor posicionados do que a maioria dos afro-latinos para reivindicar uma identidade de grupo étnico, distinta da cultural nacional, e por isso foram mais bem-sucedidos na conquista dos direitos coletivos. A autora sugere ainda que uma das conseqüências potencialmente negativas da vinculação dos direitos coletivos à diferença cultural é que isso pode levar os grupos indígenas e afro-latinos a privilegiar, como fundamento para a mobilização política, temas relacionados ao reconhecimento cultural, em detrimento dos temas centrados na discriminação racial.

Bali, as a province with strong roots in local cultural traditions and significant economic importance for Indonesia, is striving to balance modernity and tradition, economics, especially mass tourism, and cultural identity. This is why Universitas Warmadewa, one of the largest Balinese universities, chooses the theme ‘Local Wisdom and Business Law’ for its international conferences each year.As a non-Indonesian legal scholar, this theme presents two challenges for me. Firstly, I am not an expert in tourism economics and can only approach the topic from a traditional market law perspective, theoretically. Secondly, the terms used in Indonesian legal discussions may seem vague and unclear from a German perspective, as the legal discussion in Indonesia integrates traditional legal phenomena pragmatically into the applicable legal system. This may also be historically conditioned because since independence Indonesia has to handle a legal pluralism in law, which also finds its cause in the legacy of the colonial era.When speaking on the legal perspective of ‘local wisdom’, several questions are unclear to me:What exactly is local wisdom and how can it be defined?Where does it fit into the Indonesian legal system?What role can local wisdom play in contemporary law?Local wisdom may be understood as part of traditional customary law or Adat, at least in terms of its influence on legal issues, as the conference theme suggests. The terminology around ‘customary law’, ‘Adat’, ‘indigenous law’, or ‘living law’ is still a problematic issue in Indonesian scientific discussion and should only be briefly mentioned in this presentation. The term ‘Adat law’ was originally not used in Indonesian society and was first systematically used by the Dutch. Van Vollenhoven, considered the ‘father of Indonesian Adat law’ by Indonesian scholars, defined Adat law as law that is not based on codified legal rules from the legislator. This definition is still used by contemporary Indonesian scholars. Adat law in this sense contains sanctions, making the character of ‘law’. It was characterized by Van Vollenhoven as dynamic and flexible folk law, which combines the term with the often-used term of ‘living law’. There are numerous discussions in Indonesian literature about Indonesian customary law, its functions, and significance, but the terminology has not been clearly defined and the role of religious law is also subject to numerous publications.Therefore, having read various contributions on the topic, I am left confused because some of them discuss the existence of legal principles of living customary law and describe them as “national Indonesian principles,” which can replace parts of the post-colonial Indonesian law, but they do not clearly identify these principles. The topic seems to be of almost patriotic importance to Indonesia, making it particularly difficult for foreign scholars to approach the subject in presentations before Indonesian colleagues. My contribution should be seen in light of this difficulty, as a first observation of the phenomenon from a foreign perspective.The term Adat is already difficult to comprehend, and this is even more true for the term “local wisdom” in a legal context. So, what is the “Local Wisdom” that I am asked to talk about? The Terms of Reference of our conference describe the meaning of “local wisdom” mainly as the clash of market actors in local Balinese tourism that can lead to conflicts, which the law should resolve. These conflicts are said to occur because local communities and institutions, based on a kind of traditionally grown trust, seek to build and maintain their business relationships in the tourism industry. This trust, which one could call “traditional good faith,” meets the need to regulate contractual arrangements more formally in terms of contract law (“more official...instead of just relying on promises or good faith”).In this sense, local wisdom is an aspect of good faith. Based on this understanding of the term, I have no systematic issues with the term “local wisdom.” However, it should be noted that good faith and contract, as a predictable shaping of legal relationships between market actors, should not be seen as opposites. It is possible and necessary to resolve disruptions in contractual relationships in light of good faith and, if necessary, adapt contractual regulations. Here, “local wisdom” should not be understood as a unique source of good faith, but as a general aspect that can influence the expectations of the contracting parties and their trust in shaping the law. This raises the question of which factors should be taken into account by the non-local contracting party in good faith, and which should not. It is a question of the concrete assessment of the structure of interests and the balance of the contract, how to allocate risk and assign external aspects to the contracting parties and which aspects should be considered subsequently.This is a theoretical matter, and it is unlikely to play a significant role in practice since local market actors and communities have the freedom, within the framework of private autonomy, to incorporate their traditional interests into the contract negotiations. This allows for traditional interests to participate in the “equivalence justice” of the contract. However, if the traditional interests of the local community result in unacceptable consequences for the contract’s execution, the question of whether these reasons can lead to a change in the contract’s basis may arise. In civil law systems, the clausula rebus sic stantibus is regulated as a limitation of the pacta sunt servanda principle and falls under the principle of good faith (bona fides). If the invocation of “local wisdom” by one party leads to the other party having to agree to an adjustment, it would have to be examined.I would like to give you an example of this, which seems credible even if no prove about the issue can be delivered due to the ‘popular’ source: A person without Indonesian citizenship acquired the right to use a plot of land with a house in Bali ten years ago. Since foreigners cannot acquire land ownership in Indonesia themselves, the foreigner had agreed on a legal arrangement with an Indonesian citizen resident in Bali, in which the Indonesian acquired ownership (hak milik) of the land with the foreigner’s money and agreed on right to use for the foreign partner. After ten years, the foreigner wanted to sell the property again to move to his country of origin. The agreement with the Indonesian partner stipulated that the Indonesian partner must agree to the sale of the plot on the wish of the foreign partner and would receive 10% of the sale amount in the event of a sale. In the case described, however, the Indonesian partner seems to have refused to sell the property on the agreed terms. He was not satisfied with the 10% share and demanded a 70% share instead. As justification for this, he argued that the contract terms should be changed because he had spiritually enhanced the property over the years through certain religious rituals and this required a revaluation of his shareholding.It is not known whether the case was heard in an Indonesian court and how it was finally settled. Assuming the case had occurred as described, from the perspective of Indonesian civil law, it is clear that no change in the business basis of the contract occurred as a result of the Indonesian partner’s spiritual acts, which can lead to an adjustment of the agreement between him and the foreign contractual partner. Just as local communities depend on their interests in cultural identity being taken into account even in legal relations with partners coming from outside, foreign investors must be able to rely on certain standards of contractual obligation. The principle of good faith would be grotesquely overstretched if local contracting partners could use fuzzy notions of ‘local wisdom’ to make contractual arrangements more flexible in their favour.Another example of the clash between traditional legal customs and supra-regional legal ideas in highly traditional markets with supra-regional economic importance, such as Bali, is the handling of legal disputes and methods of dispute resolution. The trust of traditional communities in supra-legal ties of interest in business relationships, as mentioned in the Terms of Reference to this Conference, meets a systemic trust in formal contractual regulations of non-local actors. The reference points of trust of the respective groups of market actors thus differ. This also affects dispute resolution. According to Sulastriyono, the voluntary character of traditional customary law has the advantage over civil law methods of litigation and dispute resolution of a ‘win-win’ solution, which leads to greater acceptance of the solution by the parties to the conflict. In theory, this is undeniable. However, it is questionable whether this acceptance can also be achieved among contract participants who do not originate from the respective culture, because the existence of sufficient advantages for a party may well depend on the integration of the party in the respective local society. Moreover, the indisputable advantages of consensual dispute resolution can also be well integrated in state procedural law via mediation mechanisms.Cases such as the one outlined one above would in principle be likely to erode the confidence of foreign investors in Indonesian law in general if courts do not rule clearly and draw clear boundaries here. The example seems to be a particularly extreme case, but it shows how important it is to clearly determine the meaning and possible role of terms such as ‘local wisdom’ and ‘tradition’ for use in law. Culturally related aspects are prone to serve as a tool for discrimination against individuals and companies that do not belong to the respective cultural environment. The difficulty, for example, of establishing an intellectual property right on cultural heritage follows not only from the contrast between individual subjective rights and collective subjective rights. It follows above all from the problem of determining the collective rights holders who are to benefit from ‘their’ cultural heritage. Who is a member of a certain culture? Is there a generational link or does it depend on the integration of the individual into his or her living environment? If the legal system does not want to fall back to abstruse considerations of ‘blood identity’, what remains is the assignment of such claims to territorial authorities or the state itself, whose task it is to protect cultural diversity on its territory. This is the path that the Indonesian legislature had taken in Art 38 Law No 28/2014 on copyright law.The misuse of cultural aspects carried into the application of law is also visible in another aspect: In another paper I have pointed out the problem that the concept of traditional customary law in Indonesian law and the position of Adat law in the hierarchy of norms seems in need of clarification. Shidarta notes that there is no sufficient clarity about the relationship between Adat law and state law and thus no consistent system of Indonesian law as a whole. Accordingly, the maturation of an independent Indonesian legal system suffers to this day from the internal conflict with the colonial legacy of existing state law based on Dutch civil law and the lack of a consistent overarching pluralistic concept of law. This is seen by Shidarta as a major reason why the systematic positions of customary law, Islamic law and western law within national law are not clearly defined and why a clear hierarchical determination of the various sources of law in relation to national law is lacking. The doubts about the systematic location and certainly also the failure to establish the principles of traditional customary law as original Indonesian law after the attainment of independence instead of the sources of law inherited from the colonial period are probably due - in addition to the idea of the state founders of an Indonesian unitary state (‘eenheidstaat’) - above all to the disagreement about the concept of customary law, which is formally understood in the sense of a binding source of law defined during the colonial period, or as post-colonial Adat law in the sense of traditional customary rights of various Indonesian ethnic groups either with a binding character or as norms of social order based on voluntariness. In this respect, too, different definitions of the term can be found in the literature:There is thus generally a more philosophical recognition of the importance of traditional customary law in the sense that customary law reflects the actual sense of law of the people and the Indonesian people as a nation. The latter statement seems problematic to me because the statement only applies with regard to the significance of customary law as a source of law, but not to the content of the individual customary laws of the various ethnic groups, in which different legal customs apply in each case. It therefore seems questionable to me whether Adat law can be understood in the sense of an alternative to Indonesian state law. In my opinion, Adat as a source of concrete legal norms has a supplementary development perspective in the communal area. Here it can certainly have an influence on economic life in the regions if it is applied consistently and transparently, and its importance would grow especially if the autonomy of municipal territorial units were strengthened, and a strong federalism were developed. However, a scientific inventory of norms and principles of local customary law is then required, and a clear formulation of such norms is needed, because it must be ruled out that the invocation of undefined, non-transparent or arbitrarily formulated Adat rules unduly restricts the freedom of market actors and are used as protectionist instruments in the provinces.In this sense, I believe that the postulate that Indonesian law must simply recognise Adat law as it has grown and as it is applied alive within the Indonesian local societies falls short, because the compatibility of social rules based on voluntariness and constantly changing with the overall legal system based on the rule of law is at least debatable. In other words: either one renounces the legal certainty and predictability of legal norms in the area of traditional customary law. This could then constitute a breach of the constitutionally enshrined principle of the Rule of Law. Or one formulates clear norms based on traditional legal principles, which have the character of binding legal norms and applies them in the sense of subsidiarity in the local environment with priority over central state law in certain predefined aspects. Then the rules of the hierarchy of norms must be correspondingly clear. However, the question of the hierarchy of norms then no longer presents itself as a problem of the nature of Adat or customary law because the latter would have lost its character as actual customary law. The advocates of a strong recognition of Adat by state law will, however, reject this path because they see the advantage of traditional customary law over state law precisely in its flexibility and ability to change. This flexibility would no longer be readily available through an integration of traditional principles into a local classical law in the sense of imperative norms.A clear hierarchy of norms defined by constitutional law seems indispensable, because such local customary law cannot displace state law without further ado, but only if the principle of subsidiarity and the better regulation of local circumstances by local law indicates otherwise. This would also be in line with the philosophical assessment of local customary law as the law that best captures the living conditions of the people in its cultural area of application. The importance of the principle of subsidiarity should generally be given more attention in the discussion on legal pluralism in Indonesia. This can not only ensure greater recognition of traditional customary law, but also enable the transparency necessary for the predictability of the law.Insofar as Adat is to be understood as the source of ‘abstract normative’ aspects, as certain common Indonesian legal values and principles in the sense of a ‘pan-Indonesian’ legal order and, as such, is to find its way into an independent state Indonesian civil law, legal scholarship in Indonesia will also have to identify and clearly define these principles. In doing so, it will be necessary to determine which principles of traditional customary law in the various regions of the archipelago are suitable as overarching legal principles, so that they can possibly have an identity-forming effect in a national private law. This difficult process might lead to reform of the Indonesian Civil Law which meets the special requirements of a socially and culturally integrated legal system.Indonesia as a state with a unified internal market needs a cross-cultural private law and commercial law. Consideration of the interests of local communities and traditions is of importance in a multicultural state. The Indonesian constitution therefore emphasises the specifics of traditional rights and thus guarantees Adat its own status in the legal system. However, there seems to be a lack of a clear hierarchy of norms in the legal system and a clear definition of the nature of Adat. A hint of a certain hierarchy between Adat and state law is indeed found in agricultural law (Art. 5 Law No. 5/1960 on the Basic Regulations of Agrarian Principles) and in forestry law (Law No. 41/1999 on Forestry). Adat is recognised here but must harmonise with state law. It is therefore likely to be in a relationship of subsidiarity to state law. The fundamental assertion of the primacy of state law over other co-existing legal systems is also in line with the view of Indonesian legal scholars such as Sunaryati Hartono. Referring to Griffiths’ formulation of “weak legal pluralism”, where co-existing legal systems are subordinated to a dominant formalistic national law, it can be stated that the Indonesian legal system follows this model.In my opinion, the integration of traditional customary law into the legal system should not be done as a mere tolerance of state law towards deviating regulations of facts in certain regions. From my perspective as a foreign observer, this seems to lead to significant problems for the development of the Indonesian economy and for investment. In particular, this seems to me to be the case for Bali. Local Wisdom can be incorporated into the contractual relations of the parties within the framework of private autonomous arrangements. A ‘creative’ qualification of protectionist measures against outside market actors or the justification of the failure to sanction breaches of contract or violations of law against outsiders as ‘Adat’ or ‘protection of local traditions’ should be consistently avoided.Incidentally, it seems to me that in contract law there is no real opposition between state law and traditional customary law. Either the parties trust each other, in which case state law does not prevent an agreement based on good faith. Or they do not, in which case only state contract law can lead to proper solutions. The same applies to traditional dispute resolution methods, to which the parties to the conflict can easily submit. In contrast, the integration of customary law as independent Indonesian legal principles or as legal norms at the local or municipal level into Indonesian law would require considerable academic effort. For this, the principles concerned would have to be clearly identified, systematised, and formulated to be able to substantiate a claim to validity beyond the respective local communities. The mere reference to historically evolved convictions of local communities is too vague. The term ‘local wisdom’ seems to me to be problematic in this sense to accurately describe the question of the collision of traditional customs and expectations of outside market actors, especially since it is already conceptually positively evaluative. Finally, it should not be forgotten, that the continental European codifications are culturally neutral and in big parts based on the Roman law. Roman law itself was not developed under the cultural framework of northern and middle European regions, however it served well as source for the modern European codifications. These codifications are working fine until these days in different nations without obvious incompatibilities with local traditions. The amount of a ‘Volksgeist’ after the idea of Friedrich Carl von Savigny within the Private Law does not play a big role in the contemporary discussion as law should be seen in a pragmatic way as a viable tool to organize the modern society. Indonesia is an important economically emerging nation. As such it might be a good idea to keep an internationally compatible private law, which might be carefully adapted to certain peculiarities of the Indonesian society. The use of general clauses as entrance doors for local legal convictions seems to be a good way for that and a clearly defined legal hierarchy with a constitutionally based legal subsidiarity principle seems important. In contrast, the foundation of modern law on nationalistic, local, or indigenous traditional customs should only be done with extreme caution, if at all. The contemporary discussion on the role of Adat in Indonesian law shows the great difficulty of determining viable legal rules that can enter a future reformed Indonesian private law as ‘originally Indonesian’. The criticism against Von Savigny’s ‘Volksgeist’ idea also applies here: Defining who the ‘people’ are and what constitutes their common identity is already hardly rationally possible in a non-multi-ethnic state, even more in a multi-ethnic state. National identity-forming circumstances are hardly suitable as common principles for pluralistic societies.

This World Bank publication is a collection of selected papers presented at the Conference on Conservation of West and Central African Rainforests in Abidjan Ivory Coast in November 1990. These rainforests are very important to the stability of the regional and global environment yet human activity is destroying them at a rate of 2 million hectares/year. Causes of forest destruction are commercial logging for export conversion of forests into farmland cutting of forests for fuelwood and open-access land tenure systems. Other than an introduction and conclusion this document is divided into 8 broad topics: country strategies agricultural nexus natural forestry management biodiversity and conservation forest peoples and products economic values fiscal issues and institutional and private participation issues. Countries addressed in the country strategies section include Zaire Cameroon Sao Tome and Principe and Nigeria. The forest peoples and products section has the most papers: wood products and residual from forestry operations in the Congo; Kutafuta Maisha: searching for life on Zaires Ituri forest frontier; development in the Central African rainforest: concern for forest peoples; concern for Africas forest peoples: a touchstone of a sustainable development policy; Tropical Forestry Action Plans and indigenous people: the case of Cameroon; forest people and people in the forest: investing in local community development; and women and the forest: use and conservation of forestry resources other than wood. Topics in the economic values section range from debt-for-nature swaps to environmental labeling. Forestry taxation and forest revenue systems are discussed under fiscal issues. The conclusion discusses saving Africas rainforests.

Indigenous Peoples in Eritrea, 2019

T he people of the central highlands of Cameroon possess a rich and varied art tradition that appears to differ significantly from the arts of their neighbors: the Mambila, Chamba and Boki to the northwest; the Ejagham, Keaka and Banyang of the Cross River region to the southwest; and the forest peoples such as the Banen, Bafia and Wute to the southeast. To find clues to understanding this complex cultural situation, one must look to the northeastern edge of the central Grasslands and beyond to the Adamawa Plateau, where many of the Grasslands immigrants originated. At least as early as the sixteenth century, groups of people began to move slowly southwestward into the high rolling hills of the Grasslands. Their reasons for leaving their homeland are less than clear; the results of their arrival, equally imperfectly understood. They established themselves, group by group, among the local peoples until the distinctions between indigenous and immigrant populations became obscure. Only the

James Tully's account of a ‘post‐imperial constitutionalism’, in his book Strange Multiplicity, wrongly rejects the ideal of impartiality in modern political theory. Pace Tully, this paper argues for a conception of impartiality called ‘justice as provisionality’. This is demonstrated by explaining the concept of a ‘contrastive hard case’. These cases, exemplified both by indigenous peoples’ struggles for recognition and ‘traditional’ justifications for violence against women, centrally involve conflicts over the cultural interpretation of value. The paper argues that the just adjudication of these cases depends on understanding two different senses of the term ‘provisionality’. These demonstrate that the post‐imperial state can give impartial reasons for the rights of parties to ‘contrastive’ claims in a way that integrates the concerns of both feminists and cultural pluralists. The two senses of provisionality are: first, that consequent upon historical injustice, the post‐imperial state should recognize the legitimacy of citizens’ partial reasons for their actions and practices; and hence, should recognise that the domain of public, impartial reason is always provisional and incomplete. Second, our capacities for reason are dependent on public and nonpublic provision, protection and care. This is because diverse inequalities and injustices could prevent vulnerable people, in some cases women, from acting according to reasons at all.

Drawing on the analysis of several concrete aspects related to the construction of an autonomous organization in the regions where the EZLN is established, the article examines what autonomy means according to the Maya rebels of Chiapas. While the notion refers to the claiming of Indigenous Peoples’ rights, it above all involves the choice of a strategy of struggle implying a turning away from the State structures and ultimately points to a project of radical transformation that comprehends all aspects of life. This essay tries therefore to account for the ways Indigenous Peoples’ struggle for recognition and quest for autonomy, on the one hand, and the anti-capitalist nature of their endeavors on the other, are articulated within the very heart of the Zapatist Movement. It also shows that there is no essential incompatibility between an ethnically based claim and the anti-capitalist perspective.

What makes a Diaspora Diasporic? Is it a shared sense of culture, of experience, of home? Ongoing research in Bangladesh into the ‘Urdu-speaking Bihari’ minority explores the role of space and settlement in the formation of Diasporic identity. Research finds a community that conceive of themselves as a unit of collective membership, but one with very little to unite around. A community divided along cultural, political, linguistic, generational and socio-economic lines. Of the estimated 1.3 million Urdu-speaking Muslims that migrated to Pakistan following the country’s creation in 1947 more than one million migrated to the region of East Bengal in present day Bangladesh.1 Only 300,000 are thought to remain, 160,000 of whom have been living in temporary ‘camps’ set up by the ICRC since the War of Liberation in 1971. The remaining 140,000 live outside the camps, integrated, to varying degrees, within majority Bengali society. As a linguistic community they do not speak a common language. As a cultural community they practice ‘culture’ in different ways. As a social community the divisions of class, money, opportunity and status are deeply felt. As a political community they are without a common political identity or equal access to political participation. As a Diaspora they do not share a sense of home. Through the experience of space, settlement and segregation this paper analyses the role of culture, politics, language, generation and class in dividing and uniting Diasporic groups, and questions the significance of a sense of ‘home’ in understandings of the term.

Indigenous peoples are particularly vulnerable to the negative effects of climate change, as their livelihoods and ways of life depend heavily on natural resources impacted by climate variability and extremes. In addition, global climate governance and the implementation of climate projects often have damaging consequences on Indigenous peoples, including restricting their access to lands and resources. In this context, REDD+ as an international mechanism under the UNFCCC aimed at mitigating climate change through forest management, has raised concerns about its impact on the human rights of Indigenous peoples. To date, studies have shown that the implementation of REDD+ on a domestic level has had both negative and positive impacts in Indigenous peoples’ rights. Drawn from this tension, this article examines the relationship between the REDD+ mechanism and the rights of Indigenous peoples, focusing on its domestic operationalization in Chile.Chile, with a vast forest network in indigenous territories, offers valuable insights. The article highlights that REDD+ in Chile has allowed Indigenous peoples to incorporate their concerns into national forest governance and has facilitated project development in collaboration with Indigenous communities. These efforts have resulted in both financial and non-financial benefits for these communities. However, the analysis reveals that progress in promoting Indigenous peoples’ rights has been primarily in individual rights rather than their collective rights as peoples. While REDD+ in Chile has shown potential in promoting social and economic rights of Indigenous peoples, further attention is needed to address collective rights such as self-determination, land rights, and Free, Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC).

Cultural Rights as Collective Rights

In an influential account of rain forest, the botanist P. W. Richards has suggested that Africa is the ‘odd man out’ in terms of human impact on rain forest ecology (Richards, P. W., 1996). In this view, the rain forests of tropical America and Asia are pristine or primary forest, whereas those of Africa (and especially West Africa) show clear signs of human disturbance and management. Ecological differences are paralleled by differences in the relationships between forest people and the environment in Asia, America and Africa. In Asia and tropical America, forest societies are commonly perceived as ‘indigenous people’, racially or culturally distinct from the encroaching wider modern society. Following on from this, the anthropologist’s role in conservation has been primarily one of advocate for indigenous rights, and of documenting cultures which are, like the forest, under threat. Thus in Amazonia, anthropologists have long been engaged in ethnobotanical inventory work, in establishing first contacts with tribal peoples, and in documenting their plight to the outside (western) world of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and international agencies. (For a useful review of anthropology and the conservation of biodiversity, see Orlove and Brush, 1996.)

The development of international law relating to indigenous peoples has been rapid, in particular if one considers advances at the universal level since the 1980s. The article provides a short introduction of the Convention on Indigenous and Tribal Peoples in Independent Countries and determines whether complaints manifesting problems that the northern indigenous peoples confront when dominant societies and modern economic activities penetrate deeper into their traditional territories and hamper their traditional livelihoods.