Rainforest logging disrupts deep cultural rhythms in tiny Belize

National Catholic Reporter, Dec 27, 1996 by Mary Jo McConahay

About an hour's drive southeast of here, near the village of Santa Anna (population: 200), critics abound.

"Look at that creek - full of cohune nut palm trees that will never live again, just wasted," said Juan Sam, 57.

Sam and his 19-year-old son, Ambrosio, were exploring a trail in newly-logged forest, about a two-hour walk from the village. A midday sun burned through holes in the canopy created by felled giant hardwoods. Streams looked clogged and sluggish with broken plants and other logging residue. A few months ago the rivulets ran clear, the men said, but now they feared to fish in them. "And how are we supposed to water our fields downstream when the creeks are just turning into trickles?" asked Sam.

Santa Anna's mayor, Santiago Chub, who lives here with his wife and two children, is also worried about simple survival. "People here earn $ 1,000 a year for a good crop, so I can't just reach into my pocket and go to the market if I want some meat or fish - that forest is one of our main sources of food. We must find a way together to resolve this, because we will never move away."

The government's excellent forest management plan forbids logging near streams. "But the plan doesn't mean anything in the Belize context," said Joel Wainwright. "It's ignored and irrelevant because no forest person ever gets out there to most of the places where logging occurs."

Returning home, Sam and young Ambrosio deftly managed a canoe, dug out of a cedar trunk, to cross the rain-swollen Moho River. They made extra tips loaded with 66-pound bags of rice, which neighbors had carried from fields down to shore on their backs. Jutting out of the choppy current stood remnants of a half-built bridge, an abandoned government project. Sam's canoe was clearly the only transport across the fast-flowing river.

Blocking development

"Where will my son get cedar for his canoe if the loggers take the big trees?" Sam asked. His message was clear: The jungle has helped Maya here become self-dependent.

But opposition to the logging concessions is far from unanimous. Support for them is strong in Belmopan, of course, the national capital, an eight-hour bus ride north, but also in Toledo's own provincial seaside capital, Punta Gorda.

The pleasant fishing and commercial center is home to some 4,000 Creole, mestizo and other residents. Maya presence is felt only on market mornings, when they arrive by bus to sell fruits and vegetables. Many Punta Gorda residents say they believe Indians of the outlying villages act like an obstacle to development when they insist on maintaining their traditional way of life.

"That way of life is history," said a car mechanic. "What we need now are healthy industries that bring jobs, like tourism, for instance. The roads being built into the forest by the Malaysians can bring tourists there too."

Local businessman Calvert Supaul became the legally required Belizean partner for Atlantic Industries on payment of a $1 share in the business. Supaul also owns the land on which the company built its sawmill, one of the largest in Latin America, according to logging industry sources. Supaul said the company paid the government $15,000 for its license. It also pays taxes on the timber, and has employed 49 locals in an area where jobs are scarce. Most important, he says, a resource that appeared static to many - trees in the forest - is being used.