Tuesday, 25 March 2025

The Borders We Share: Sherwood’s Green, Amazon’s Roots (Post 4)

 


The Borders We Share: A New Way to Fix a Broken World

Picture Robin Hood facing off with the Sheriff over Sherwood’s ancient oaks—then shift to the Amazon, where Brazil’s government and Indigenous tribes wrestle for a jungle that sustains the world. These are battles over green: land, legacy, life itself. In The Borders We Share, I’m planting a seed: no single victor needed. Split the roots equitably, and the forest thrives for all. Let’s wander these woods—one a legend, one a living stakes—and see if sharing can mend what conquest tears apart.

Robin Hood’s arrows slicing through Sherwood’s mist grabbed me as a kid—not just for the outlaw swagger, but for the raw tug-of-war over who claims the wild. Those childhood tales stuck, whispering questions about justice in contested spaces. In The Borders We Share, I’m tracking that thread, turning border fights into shared futures. Last week, Sherlock unraveled a dockside feud and Ireland’s Brexit knot. Today, we’re stepping into Sherwood’s green and the Amazon’s canopy—forests where power and people lock horns, but where a new path might sprout. Grab your quiver; the trail’s alive with possibility.

First, Sherwood—a tale I’m borrowing from the public domain, not owning. It’s medieval England: gnarled oaks twist skyward, deer dart through undergrowth, and Robin’s band slips through the shadows. They hunt to survive, staking the forest as their refuge from a crushing feudal order. The Sheriff, puffed up with royal writ, calls it the king’s—tax it, fence it, string up the poachers who dare defy. Locals—woodcutters hauling logs, farmers grazing pigs—rely on its timber and game; the crown smells coin, control, and a chance to flex dominion. Arrows whistle, axes bite into trunks, and the green heart shrinks as both sides dig in, each claiming the forest’s soul. Can Robin and the Sheriff carve up the woods without burning them down?

Now, cross the ocean to the Amazon—a vast, steamy sprawl across Brazil, Peru, Colombia, Venezuela, Ecuador, Bolivia, Guyana, Suriname, and French Guiana. Its borders carry scars from Spanish and Portuguese colonial hands. Spain’s haphazard lines, drawn with little care for terrain or tribes, left gaps after independence splintered its empire. Portugal, ruling Brazil until 1822, muscled in with uti possidetis de facto—boots on soil trumping dusty titles—pushing beyond 1810 borders with Bolivia and Peru. Treaties like 1494’s Tordesillas split the unknown with bravado, while 1750’s Madrid and 1904’s Petrópolis locked Brazil’s gains, often at Spain’s expense. Disputes like Ecuador-Peru’s festered until 1998’s Brasilia Peace Agreement, nudged by guarantors (Brazil, U.S., Argentina, Chile), settled the lines. Borders gelled, but the fight morphed. Today, it includes Indigenous tribes—Yanomami, Munduruku, Kayapó—against Brazil’s state and firms ravenous for gold, soy, timber. Since 2019, deforestation’s roared—12,088 km² lost in 2022, per INPE—mines spew mercury into rivers, tribal lands shrink under bulldozers. It’s Sherwood’s feud, scaled up with chainsaws and a planetary heartbeat.

These aren’t mere land grabs—they’re tapestries of people, pasts, and power, woven with threads of desperation and ambition. My 2020 book, Territorial Disputes, tosses out “border spat” as too tidy—think agents (tribes, states, peasants), contexts (colonial ghosts, modern greed), realms (law, survival, ecology). Sherwood’s peasants need firewood to cook, warmth to endure winter; the Sheriff craves order to shine before his king. In the Amazon, the Yanomami fish rivers now laced with poison—11 tons of gold ripped out yearly, says Greenpeace—while Brazil’s “progress” means soy fields, beef ranches, and a GDP bump. My 2017 work, Sovereignty Conflicts, spots the puppeteers: the Sheriff’s king flexes prestige to keep nobles in line; Brazil’s elite cash in—deforestation spiked under Bolsonaro, eased post-2023, but the appetite endures. Outsiders stir the brew—Normans in Sherwood pressuring the crown, multinationals in Amazonia chasing timber and profit margins.

The colonial past cuts deeper still. Spain and Portugal carved South America with blunt knives—Spain’s vague frontiers ignored Indigenous lives, deeming them invisible in law, while Portugal’s treaties like Tordesillas sliced the unknown with swagger, claiming half a continent unseen. Both saw tribes as shadows—either not “persons” (lands free to claim via terra nullius) or “lesser” (titles snuffed by “civilized” might). Post-independence, Brazil’s uti possidetis de facto gobbled colonial leftovers; Portugal’s legacy fueled its heft, turning Brazil into the region’s giant. Today, international law nods to Indigenous rights—UN’s 2007 Declaration, 2016’s American Declaration—but clings to old rules like terra nullius and uti possidetis, sidelining tribal “effective occupation,” per the International Court of Justice. Brazil’s Constitution tips a hat to Indigenous land, yet the Amazon churns: states, tribes, NGOs, firms, scientists—all tugging a resource-rich web strung tight with tension.

Here’s my axe, from 2017: egalitarian shared sovereignty. Imagine Robin and the Sheriff, blind to rank, hashing out, “What’s just?” They’d split it—hunting rights for outlaws to feed their families, taxes for the crown to fund roads, timber for locals to build homes, the strong propping the weak. Four rules: all talk as equals, jobs fit skills (hunters hunt, taxmen tally), rewards match effort (wood for those who chop), big players lift the small (crown aids peasants). In the Amazon: Brazil farms edges for export, tribes guard the core as stewards, carbon credits divvy up—tribes thrive with schools and clinics, not just suits with profits. My 2023 book, Cosmopolitanism, layers it in 3D—agents (Kayapó, Brasília), contexts (colonial roots, global lungs), realms (law, ethics, ecology), tangled like vines in a quantum dance. Sherwood’s deer ban? Sheriff’s ego. Amazon’s rush? Greed, not justice.

All-or-nothing fells the forest. Sherwood’s war thins the herd—nobody eats, the oaks dwindle. The Amazon bleeds carbon—1.5 billion tons yearly, per WWF—tribes lose homes, rivers die under mercury’s weight. In 2017, I tested this on Kashmir: India gets water, Pakistan security, locals jobs—pride holds firm. My 2023 lens digs a 2021 Brazilian poll—78% want protection, not plunder, a cry for balance. Sherwood could split seasons—Robin hunts winter, Sheriff summers, wood shared year-round to warm every hearth. Amazon? Zones—tribes steward jungle hearts, Brazil works borders, profits fund schools, health, clean water. History whispers—Sherwood’s oaks stood centuries; the Amazon’s tribes rooted millennia before Portugal’s flag or Spain’s cross claimed a single root. Guarantors steadied Ecuador-Peru with outside eyes; they could anchor this too, ensuring promises stick. Every voice counts—outlaws, Munduruku, not just lords or lawmakers.

Sharing’s not a pipe dream—it’s practical, rooted in precedent. Brazil’s past proves borders bend: Portugal’s 1750 deal with Spain traded land for peace, a pragmatic swap; modern guarantors sealed Ecuador-Peru, proving third-party weight works. Indigenous rights creep forward—Bolivia’s Indigenous leaders rise, Ecuador’s tribal clout grows—starting local, rippling out to reshape power. The Amazon’s wealth—timber, oxygen, gold—demands inclusion, not exclusion. Split it right, and the forest breathes for all, a living testament to equity over conquest.

Skeptics hack back: “Sovereignty’s lone—sharing’s a fable.” The Sheriff won’t yield his royal leash; Brazil won’t blink—1,900 km² razed in 2023, per Imazon, despite global pleas. Power rules—royal writ in Sherwood, agribusiness in Brasília (68% rural vote, 2018, locked Bolsonaro in). Leaders feed on strife—Sheriff’s glory keeps him seated, Bolsonaro’s base cheered the chainsaws. Outsiders muddy it—Norman nobles pressed the crown, firms gobble soy for foreign plates. Indigenous claims? Law lags—the UN Declaration’s not binding, ICJ shrugs at tribal tenure, stuck in colonial ruts. Who’d sign on? Fair barb—my 2017 fix needs trust, a rare coin; reality’s thornier, thick with mistrust and old grudges.

But pause: sovereignty’s never pure, always a negotiation. My 2020 work shows it—Gibraltar’s UK bends to EU rules, ASEAN ties sea foes in uneasy knots. Latin America shifts—Mexico’s autonomy push, Peru’s Indigenous voice—tribes gain domestically first, cracking colonial molds. Portugal’s grip loosened in 1822; Spain’s faded earlier. In 2017, I bet on reason—Sherwood’s folk craved peace over blood; Amazon tribes (80% favor rights, per 2022 FUNAI) want life, not loss. My 2023 multiverse spots the weave—Kashmir’s jobs beat flags; Amazon’s air could too. Sharing’s not soft—it’s a sturdy graft, pruning waste for growth.

Sherwood’s green and Amazon’s roots aren’t just tales—they’re us. A poacher’s kid goes hungry; a Yanomami elder breathes smoke, her river choked. The Borders We Share says we can replant—split the forest, not the fight. Next week, “Atlantis Rising, Antarctic Thaw: Deep Claims, Shared Wins” dives into icy stakes—same fix, new frost. I’m Dr. Jorge, spinning this into a book you’ll grab someday. Swing by https://drjorge.world or X (https://x.com/DrJorge_World)—let’s grow this together.

  • Núñez, J.E. (2017). Sovereignty Conflicts (Ch. 6, 7).
  • Núñez, J.E. (2020). Territorial Disputes (Ch. 1, 7).
  • Núñez, J.E. (2023). Cosmopolitanism and State Sovereignty (Ch. 1, 6, 7).

New posts every Tuesday.

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      State Sovereignty: Concept and Conceptions (OPEN ACCESS) (IJSL 2024)

      AMAZON

      ROUTLEDGE, TAYLOR & FRANCIS

      Tuesday 25th March 2025

      Dr Jorge Emilio Núñez

      X (formerly, Twitter): https://x.com/DrJorge_World

      https://drjorge.world

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