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In the U.S., many Native American tribes maintain deep cultural and historical ties to ancestral lands outside of reservation boundaries. A 19th-century mining law still governs much of today’s lithium boom—and it doesn’t require the federal government to consult tribes before mining projects advance on these ancestral lands.
While some federal policies attempt to fill that gap, tribal consultation often remains discretionary and occurs too late—leaving tribes with little power to influence project outcomes.
No country grappling with its colonial history offers a perfect model for mining on tribes’ ancestral lands. But in stark contrast to the U.S., some have more robust policies and legal protections for Indigenous communities that acknowledge past harms, create space for informed consent and even give contested land back to tribes.
How the Rush to Mine the Metal of the Future Echoes America’s Colonial Past
By Johanna Hansel, Carla Samon Ros, Wyatt Myskow
In New Zealand, Māori rights and treaty principles are built into statutes that govern land and resource decisions. Officials have also adopted mechanisms to compensate Indigenous communities for lost land. Since 1975, a government commission has investigated claims about tribal treaty breaches, leading to roughly 100 settlements with Māori tribes—iwi—to date.
These agreements include financial compensation, recognition of cultural sites, land transfers and partnerships to co-manage natural resources. In some cases, the government has bought land and placed it under Māori stewardship or granted legal personhood to places of deep Indigenous significance.
Norway officials have recognized the Sámi people by protecting their cultural heritage in the country’s constitution. Three decades ago, Norway became the first country to ratify the international agreement known as ILO 169, committing to recognize Sámi traditional land rights and consult them when developments affect their interests—with the goal of reaching consent.
A 2005 law transferred control of nearly 95 percent of one Norwegian county—about 17,760 square miles—to a landholding estate co-managed by Sámi and government authorities. One of the fees on mineral extraction there helps to ensure revenue from resource development flows back to the Sámi. More recently, Norway’s supreme court invalidated a wind energy project after finding it would infringe on Sámi reindeer herders’ right to cultural preservation.
And in Canada, “meaningful consultation” and “accommodation” before advancing mining projects that infringe on Indigenous land rights is required by law. Recent court decisions have tested how early this duty to consult applies, including whether it must occur before mineral claims are granted. But the country’s constitution affirms “existing aboriginal and treaty rights” of Indigenous peoples, which has paved the way for a formal system to redress historic land loss and broken promises: Since the 1970s, dozens of settlements have returned land or established shared governance over territory.
In 2019, British Columbia’s provincial government codified into law a United Nations declaration affirming Indigenous peoples’ rights to culture, land and self-determination. Now, it works with Indigenous communities to share decision-making of national parks and sacred sites—moving closer to the ideal of informed consent.
Over half of the lithium projects in the U.S. are from Canadian companies. Canada has more publicly listed mining companies than any other country in the world, with operations across the Americas, Africa and Asia—some with a track record of environmental destruction. But others are drawing on approaches used in their home country and rethinking how mining is done in the U.S.
Take the Canadian gold and silver mining company Integra Resources, which has recently signed a first-of-its-kind partnership agreement with the Shoshone-Paiute tribe over an Idaho mining project on ancestral territory outside reservation boundaries. The company and the tribe created the legally enforceable contract together to account for tribal interests and to give the tribe a seat at the table from the early-permitting stage through development. Tribal members will be on-site to monitor the mining operations and will receive a share of the company’s future revenue.
Mark Stockton, Integra’s vice president for external affairs and sustainability, who helped facilitate the agreement, said he hopes to show that building strong relationships with tribes is not merely a cost or a risk-mitigating measure, but instead can be a tremendous opportunity for all sides—including shareholders and investors. Getting early input from communities means designing more resilient projects that move through permitting and development with greater predictability, he said.
“There are a lot of people that try to come up with a lot of reasons not to do something,” Stockton said. “Mining is important … [but] if there’s people that have interests in an area … then it’s my job to understand what that interest is … [as part of] being a responsible corporate operator.”
His hope, he said, is to “push the bounds a little bit” in the mining industry and to “inspire others to see the benefits of doing this.”
According to Brian Mason, chairman of the Shoshone-Paiute tribe, the agreement represents what tribal nations on the mining frontlines had long worked to achieve.
“This agreement asserts our right … to help direct how things happen in our territory,” he said in a statement last year. “It supports the Shoshone-Paiute to be a driver of responsible economic development in the region, providing for our people and our neighbors, and protecting our values, interests, and culture.”
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