“We came here to get our cattle back. Are you releasing them?” shouted Jossone Lopes Leite from horseback. The 38-year-old Cerrado rural settlement leader ­– joined by five community members ­– approached the fence of a large soy, cotton and corn plantation in Northeast Brazil.

Private security men waited there. They pointed guns at Lopes Leite. One of the armed men spoke: “Stop there, stop there.”

Shots rang out. “Are you releasing them?” Leite asked again, then realized he’d been shot in the foot.

“No,” the security men replied.

This recent violent episode, recorded on a January 31 mobile phone video and made available exclusively by Mongabay, is a scene from an ongoing conflict between geraizeiro traditional communities and the large scale Agronegocio Estrondo plantation in Formosa do Rio Preto, Western Bahia state, Brazil.

The ancestors of these geraizeiros came to this region – part of the vast Cerrado biome savanna ­– and settling here up to two centuries ago. Many are descendants of indigenous people and former slaves who arrived at the end of the 19th century. Their traditional settlements and the lands on which they raise small cattle herds, though often lacking deeds, are protected under federal law.

All remained relatively peaceful here – as the subsistence farmers annually harvested lowland crops and raised upland livestock – until the 21^st century. That’s when Western Bahia became a target for rapid agribusiness expansionThe overall result: fast-paced deforestation and a steady uptick in agrarian land conflicts.

In many cases, the lack of land deeds by the traditional settlers prompted large-scale soy growers to appropriate and fence off the highlands, where the communities once raised their cattle and gathered wild foods, herbs and medicines. In the case of Estrondo, the agribusiness company is now pushing its plantation land claims down into the lowlands next to the Rio Preto (Black River), where the firm can tap irrigation water. However, the Rio Preto valley also happens to be where the villagers live, and where they’re making a stand against the big grower.

Agronegocio Estrondo has continued to expand its operation year-by-year, and the vast lands the large farm now claims grows soybeans, corn and cotton on a massive scale – most of it likely for export to the European Union and elsewhere. Today, the plantation sprawls over 305,000 hectares (1,177 square miles), an area almost four times the size of New York City.

As Mongabay reported in March and July 2018, the small local rural communities accuse Estrondo of illegally expanding onto their traditionally held lands. The agribusiness company’s occupation strategies are partly carried out on paper, through the acquisition of deeds, and partly on the ground, by keeping the local communities from accessing their traditional lands.

As a result, the plantation has more-and-more come to resemble a fort: it has been protected by fences, security cabins, and armed guards who blockaded a major road connecting the traditional villages to the city of Formosa do Rio Preto, where the local people do much of their trade. The company also created deep trenches and embankments to prevent the movement of people and livestock. Recently, Estrondo even built an observation tower to prevent incursions. In another alleged act of aggression, the villagers say that the plantation’s security men came into a village and destroyed a mobile cellphone tower used to connect with the outside world.

Inside the boundaries claimed by the plantation, Estrondo has continued to deforest the Cerrado. It has turned soils that once grew native vegetation which the communities relied on for grazing, into soy, cotton and corn crops for export.

In January 2019, the villagers used their cellphones to record tractors pulling down the forest and opening new ditches in strategic areas to block passage. But of course, there was no cell tower to quickly send those images of destruction out to the world.

Legal action

The rural communities have pled their case with environmental organizations, but without success so far. They’ve also entered into litigation against the plantation. Sixty-two families in seven communities have claimed a 55,000-hectare (212-square mile) area along the Black River as theirs, an area also claimed by Estrondo. The Bahia State court has ruled in favor of the geraizeiros for now. However, Estrondo is likely to appeal. And between November 2018 and January 2019, further court decisions favored Estrondo first, and then the communities.

“The violent actions by Estrondo are commonly tied to the court calendar. If they lose an action, they tend to act more violently against the people,” explained Mauricio Correa, a member of the Association of Lawyers of Rural Workers in Bahia state that oversees the case for the communities.

Correa and his colleagues worry that violence will escalate. And because local legal action so far has not resolved the struggle, they plan to denounce what they see as Estrondo’s aggression with international human rights groups.

Mongabay contacted a lawyer representing Estrondo who acknowledged the request for comment but made no further response. The company has never replied to comment requests made regarding previous Mongabay stories.

The battle over land intensifies

Jossone Lopes Leite told Mongabay that he spent three days at the end of January looking for his lost livestock – the cattle usually breed freely in the Cerrado native vegetation. His brother, Ednaldo Lopes Leite, finally located the herd: the 41 animals were being held inside a corral built by the plantation. Ednaldo asked for the return of the animals, but was refused. The next morning, 31 January, the Lopes family returned to the coral and recorded part of the dispute.

“Why are you not releasing them? Is it your cattle?” Jossone asked.

“I am doing my job. I am following the farm’s order,” a security man replied, pointing his gun at the family, which included Jossone’s 12-year-old son. More shots were heard.

“You’re shooting to kill! The way you’re pointing the gun, you’re shooting to kill!” Jossone cried.

Hit by a bullet, that’s when he and his family retreated back to the village of Cachoeira. From there, the family rushed Jossone to a hospital more than 80 miles away. Once treated, he reported the incident to local police.

Shortly thereafter, the police acted, going to Estrondo and ordering the cattle release. Still nobody was charged with the shooting or arrested. There is, as far as anyone knowns, no ongoing investigation.

This wasn’t an isolated incident. In December, another conflict over cattle and land resulted in security men shooting at rural workers from Cachoeira village.

“Nobody was hurt at that time. So it is getting worse,” Jossone told Mongabay. “We are all scared. But while we are alive, we will remain. Nobody will take our land.”

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