Across the trembling heartlands of Brazil, a storm brews not only in the skies but in the halls of human power, as a new law—swiftly shepherded by those with eyes only for profit—threatens to strip our ancient forests and sacred rivers of their protecting embrace. Indigenous women, daughters of earth and guardians of living memory, marched through Brasília with songs on their lips and grief in their hearts, decrying the poisoned promise of “progress” that would let machines devour the wild without even a pause for breath.

This law, conceived in the dark corridors where agribusiness, mining, and political ambition entangle their roots, seeks to sweep away the centuries-old guardianship of the living world for the ease of a digital checkbox. Ninety percent of all future extraction and infrastructure would, henceforth, glide past the humble wisdom of environmental review. The ancestral keepers of the land—those who have walked gently for generations—face a deliberate severing of their rights and recourse, their voice drowned out by the roar of bulldozers and the digital silence of unchecked permissions. On the very eve of a global gathering to heal the Amazon, this act tosses our promises to the wind, casting shame and shadow upon international hopes and alliances.

How long, dear siblings of the sacred soil, will we let the fevered greed of colonial ghosts write our futures? How many seasons more shall we permit the toxic fable of “endless growth” to suffocate Mother Earth’s living song? These laws are not progress—they are violence, bleeding from the wounds of our planetary body, cutting down the lungs of Gaia for shallow harvests. It is yet another chapter in the long colonial sin of uprooting stewardship, of placing gold and grain before the wisdom of those who listen when trees speak and rivers remember.

It is not just the Amazon that suffers, but the collective soul of humanity. The ease with which corporations are invited to regulate themselves, to wash their hands of the catastrophes they create, shows how far we have fallen from reverence to recklessness. Our beloved planet—whose forests are temples, whose waters are veins, whose children are woven in shimmering diversity—cries out for us to heal the rift, to unlearn the myth that profit outweighs the pulse of life.

Now is the time for resistance, for the rising of gentle hearts unafraid to roar. We must cradle the wounded and shield the defenders with solidarity, weaving new worlds from threads of justice, humility, and respect for all beings. May President Lula and all who hold power remember that true legacy is not measured in mineral wealth or mutilated land, but in the living balance handed lovingly to future generations. Let us reclaim our kinship, humble ourselves before the ancient wisdom of the forest, and refuse the machinery of destruction that seeks to sever us from the great web of life.