On 5 November 2015, Rondon Felix Viana’s life changed for ever. On that day the Fundão tailings dam near the city of Mariana burst, unleashing 60m cubic metres of toxic waste that flowed more than 600km down the Doce River into the sea, obliterating everything in its path. It was Brazil’s worst environmental disaster.
Nineteen people died and thousands were made homeless as the waste buried villages. The livelihoods of hundreds of thousands more people were affected. Eight years on, the impact of the disaster continues.
Like his parents and grandparents, Viana, an Indigenous leader of the Krenak community, was born and raised on the banks of the Doce, the waters of which are believed to be sacred by the Krenak people. Children were baptised in the river; the family used to bathe and swim in it every day, and their diet consisted mainly of fresh fish.
Since the disaster, “life has changed radically”, says Viana. “We had to move further away from the river because of a putrid, fetid smell. We can’t bathe or swim in the river because people get skin rashes.”
The human toll of non-communicable diseases (NCDs) is huge and rising. These illnesses end the lives of approximately 41 million of the 56 million people who die every year – and three quarters of them are in the developing world.
NCDs are simply that; unlike, say, a virus, you can’t catch them. Instead, they are caused by a combination of genetic, physiological, environmental and behavioural factors. The main types are cancers, chronic respiratory illnesses, diabetes and cardiovascular disease – heart attacks and stroke. Approximately 80% are preventable, and all are on the rise, spreading inexorably around the world as ageing populations and lifestyles pushed by economic growth and urbanisation make being unhealthy a global phenomenon.
NCDs, once seen as illnesses of the wealthy, now have a grip on the poor. Disease, disability and death are perfectly designed to create and widen inequality – and being poor makes it less likely you will be diagnosed accurately or treated.
Investment in tackling these common and chronic conditions that kill 71% of us is incredibly low, while the cost to families, economies and communities is staggeringly high.
In low-income countries NCDs – typically slow and debilitating illnesses – are seeing a fraction of the money needed being invested or donated. Attention remains focused on the threats from communicable diseases, yet cancer death rates have long sped past the death toll from malaria, TB and HIV/Aids combined.
'A common condition' is a Guardian series reporting on NCDs in the developing world: their prevalence, the solutions, the causes and consequences, telling the stories of people living with these illnesses.
Tracy McVeigh, editor
He and his community no longer fish in the river because the water is contaminated by mercury, and they are buying more processed foods. As a result, diseases Viana had never heard of, such as diabetes and hypertension, have ravaged his community.
Viana says his ex-wife was one of about 15 people who have died from complications arising from diabetes since the disaster. She was 40. Other people are obese, or have depression and anxiety. Viana lives with hypertension and diabetes.
“It’s painful to remember,” he says. “It was a happy life, we were together and united … Our life was peaceful until the mud came and destroyed everything.”
The dam was owned by Samarco – a joint venture between Brazilian iron ore producer Vale and Anglo-Australian mining company BHP.
Viana is one of about 720,000 Brazilians suing BHP over its role in the disaster. It is facing claims for compensation amounting to £36bn in the largest group claim in English legal history. The case is due to be heard on 7 October at London’s high court. BHP denies liability.
In Brazil, BHP, along with Vale and Samarco, established the Renova Foundation to provide compensation for loss and damages, and to mitigate the disaster’s environmental effects. It has given more than $6bn (£4.58bn) to all affected communities, says a spokesperson for BHP.
However, victims say this is not enough.
Last month, Viana and representatives from other communities staged a protest outside BHP’s London offices and delivered a letter to the prime minister, Rishi Sunak, urging the UK government to act on unethical practices by British companies.
Like Viana, Antônio Carvalho, a chief of the Guarani people, has seen his way of life change. “After the tragedy of Mariana, the trauma weighs heavily on the minds, hearts, souls and the spirit of our people,” he says.
Studies commissioned by the Tupiniquim-Guarani Indigenous peoples in 2018 showed that the river was contaminated with heavy metals and unsafe to drink.
“Children who bathed by the beach have skin problems and problems with their eyes,” Carvalho says. “We are getting a lot of cases of cancer since the disaster occurred.”
Monica dos Santos believes she would be dead if she hadn’t gone to work on the day of the disaster. Her village, Bento Rodrigues, was the first to be flattened by the mud, killing five people.
Much of the village is still uninhabitable and some of the dam tailings remain. Residents were put up in rental properties paid for by Samarco. Santos says 52 people from her community have since died from various health problems such as heart disease. Two people have killed themselves. She blames the collapse of the dam.
“My life as I knew it ended that day. We had a plan for our lives that has been suspended since the disaster and we don’t know when we can continue it. It seems like a never-ending fight,” she says.
While Santos and others have received a measure of compensation for what happened, there are some communities who say they have received nothing.
Thatiele Monic Estevão and Michele de Fatima Estevão are sisters and Afro-Brazilian Quilombolas, descendants of enslaved Africans trafficked to Brazil.
They live in Mariana but belong to a group of four rural communities close to two offshoots of the Doce River. Their communities were not physically destroyed, but the disaster impacted on their cultural practices and livelihoods. People can no longer perform certain traditions by the river, and cannot rely on small farms and artisanal gold mining to make a living any more.
“We have received nothing. We want justice and we deserve it,” says Michele. “These companies come to our communities, take what they want and leave us in the mud.”
