The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49

Contents lists available at ScienceDirect

The Extractive Industries and Society

journal homepage: www.elsevier.com/locate/exis

Original article

Mining industry perspectives on indigenous rights: Corporate complacency T

and political uncertainty
⁎
Rebecca Lawrencea,b, , Sara Moritza
a
Department of Political Science, Stockholm University, Sweden
b
Department of Geography and Planning, Macquarie University, Australia

A R T I C LE I N FO A B S T R A C T

Keywords: Over the last decade or so, there has been a global shift towards attempts to recognise the rights of indigenous
Indigenous Rights peoples, particularly in regards to extractive activities on their traditional territories. At the same time, however,
Human Rights the extraction of natural resources in breach of indigenous rights, continues to take place at ever increasing rates.
Mining Using a case study of Swedish mining industry attitudes to indigenous rights, and specifically that of the prin-
Resource Extraction
ciple of Free Prior and Informed Consent (FPIC), the article explores this paradox. Mining companies operating
Sámi
in Sweden do not currently respect or implement the principle of FPIC, and the article illustrates how mining
Sweden
representatives justify and reconcile this. It elucidates how the Swedish mining industry mobilises various, and
at times contradictory, discourses, including on the one hand, the complacent rationale that human rights
protections are superfluous in Sweden, and on the other hand, the idea that a respect for FPIC would create
uncertainty and thereby threaten the existence of the mining industry.

1. Introduction negative effects of extractive activities (Anaya, 2004; Åhrén, 2016),

Over the last decade, there has been a global shift towards re-
cognising the rights of indigenous peoples,1 particularly in regards to
extractive activities on their traditional territories (Anaya, 2005; Daes,
2004; Tomlinson, 2017; Xanthaki, 2007: 255; Åhrén, 2016). The
adoption of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous
Peoples (UNDRIP) in 2007 is an oft cited moment at which the inter-
national community took considerably steps to formally recognize in-
digenous peoples’ rights to traditional lands (Barelli 2012: 9; Errico,
2011). For example, Article 32 of UNDRIP, proclaims that states must
consult with and obtain the free prior and informed consent (FPIC) of
Indigenous peoples prior to approving any natural resource develop-
ment project affecting Indigenous people and their lands. This is un-
derpinned by a more general acknowledgment of the centrality of lands
to indigenous peoples’ livelihoods and cultures, and the potentially
such as the dispossession of indigenous peoples from their traditional
territories (Howitt et al., 1996).
Indeed, within international human rights jurisprudence, FPIC is
now increasingly referred to by international bodies, including the
Human Rights Committee (HRC), the Committee on the Elimination of
Racial Discrimination (CERD) and the Committee on Economic, Social
and Cultural Rights (CESCR) (Barelli, 2012; Ward 2011: 65). In addi-
tion, there has been a veritable explosion in the number of “guidelines”
and “ethical standards” developed,2 most of which seek to govern the
behaviour of multinational corporations or public finance institutions
operating on indigenous territories, given their increasing influence and
presence in the natural resource sector.3 In the last few years, most of
these guiding international and industry norms have specifically
adopted FPIC, and the general consensus is that companies must respect
human rights, even when the laws of nation-states do not.4 In sum, we

⁎
Corresponding author at: Department of Political Science, Stockholm University, Sweden.
E-mail addresses: Rebecca.lawrence@statsvet.su.se (R. Lawrence), sara.moritz@statsvet.su.se (S. Moritz).
1
See Åhrén (2016, Section 6.4) on the definition of indigenous peoples, and also Ivison et al. (2000) on the complexities of indigenous claims and responses to them.
2
Examples include the IFC’s Performance standard:7 Indigenous peoples, the World Bank’s Operational Policies on Indigenous Peoples, the UN Norms on the Responsibilities of
Transnational Corporations and Other Enterprises with regards to Human Rights, The UN Global Compact, the OECD Guidelines for Multinational Enterprises, and multiple industry
standards developed by, and specific to, various industries, such as finance, mining and forestry.
3
See Ballard and Banks (2003) more generally regarding the role of the private sector in mining conflicts.
4
See Buhmann (2012) more generally on the consensus within the UN that corporations have a responsibility for respecting human rights.

https://doi.org/10.1016/j.exis.2018.05.008
Received 6 February 2018; Received in revised form 29 May 2018; Accepted 29 May 2018
Available online 07 June 2018
2214-790X/ © 2018 Elsevier Ltd. All rights reserved.
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
might regard these developments in soft-law as norm-building; they
signify a fundamental shift in the way the international community
regards the question of indigenous rights to traditional territories, and
an increasing expectation that corporations also bear an ethical re-
sponsibility towards indigenous peoples.5
If we were to take all of these policies, guidelines and developments
in international law and norms at face value, there would be no further
story to tell, but the emerging global recognition of indigenous peoples’
rights continues to stand in stark contrast to the reality on the ground.
NGO’s argue that mining companies have been particularly slow on the
uptake of developments in international law,6 particularly in regards to
the adoption of FPIC (Hill and Lillywhite, 2015). In fact, there is a
considerable literature that demonstrates that in most cases, states and
natural resource companies continue to fail to adequately consult with
affected indigenous peoples – and rarely seek their consent − prior to
the exploitation of natural resources on traditional indigenous terri-
tories (Anaya, 2004; Hanna and Vanclay 2013: 149; Tomlinson, 2017).
In short, resource companies routinely stand by generalised claims to
ethical behaviour and respect for human rights, when their own cor-
porate policies and practices clearly demonstrate the opposite
(O’Faircheallaigh, 2015: 93).
Yet, to our knowledge, there is no research into how this disjunction
between developments in international norms and unethical practice is
justified by corporations themselves: how do they rationalise this con-
tradiction? In other words, what are the workings of power at play? We
address this through a case study of Swedish mining industry per-
spectives on indigenous rights, and specifically that of FPIC. Sweden
provides a novel case because Sweden − and the Nordic countries more
generally − is customarily seen (and sees itself) to be a pioneer of
human and indigenous rights amongst the international community. It
should therefore arguably provide a litmus test or benchmark for a best-
case scenario. Yet increasing conflicts in Sweden over resource extrac-
tion activities on indigenous Sámi lands, in particular over mining and
the question of indigenous rights, suggest otherwise, something we
explore in further detail.
We focus on the attitudes and perspectives of mining companies
because corporations have an important role in constituting both the
discursive space and the practice of recognition itself: what mining
companies and the mining industry thinks about indigenous rights
matter, simply because they are a powerful actor in constituting public
debate around these issues (Parsons and Moffat 2014: 340). They also
have interests that are clearly aligned with those of nation-states: the
state is “an unambiguous protagonist of resource-based development”
(Howitt, 2001: 224). Yet, the literature on indigenous rights has gen-
erally downplayed the role of companies and instead focussed on the
nexus of states, indigenous organisations, and international organisa-
tions, such as the UN and IFC (O'Faircheallaigh, 2012: 543). O’Fairch-
eallaigh argues that the acceptance by mining corporations of in-
digenous peoples’ rights to control developments on their lands is
crucial for determining the outcomes of natural resource conflicts. We
are not suggesting a deterministic model, on the contrary. As
O’Faircheallaigh and others [anonymous] have argued, successful
campaigns by indigenous peoples against resource developments on
their lands are often multi-level and address various scales of both the
domestic and international legal systems, as well as different market
mechanisms, such as investors, ethical rating agencies, customers and
the like. Moreover, the idea of “outcomes” suggests some kind of neat
cause and effect, whereas the impacts of resource conflicts are
5
Our approach in this article is primarily informed by normative formal legal and soft-
law developments in international law concerning indigenous rights. However, we re-
cognize that the development of indigenous rights is underpinned by longer histories of
broader social and political movements and protests by indigenous people. See Lantto and
Mörkenstam (2008) for a history of Sámi moblisation in Sweden.
6
Compare to the forestry industry where the FPIC has been enshrined in Forest
Stewardship Certification sceheme
42
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
invariably tied up in messy and contingent circumstances, and their
consequences are often difficult to untangle from other, related antag-
onisms and struggles. Nevertheless, corporate perspectives are an im-
portant area of research, and particularly so in the Swedish case, where
the primary negotiations over resource developments are not handled
by the state, but are essentially outsourced to mining companies, via a
lax regulatory environment (Allard, 2006).
The article proceeds with a synopsis of the conceptual terrain.
Thereafter, we move onto the Swedish case study itself, beginning with
a discussion of our methods and material, followed by a background
discussion of Sámi rights and the Swedish mining industry, before
moving onto an in-depth analysis and discussion of the empirical ma-
terial. We conclude the article with some critical observations about the
Swedish case at hand, and its importance for international debates
around indigenous rights to traditional territories in the face of in-
creasing extractive activities.
2. The conceptual terrain
The principle of FPIC and what it requires has been widely debated
(See Ward, 2011; Barelli, 2012; Doyle, 2014) with the interpretation of
consent being the most contested. Our aim here is not to provide a de-
tailed legal discussion of the consent mechanism, or the principle of
FPIC.7 Rather, our goal is to summarise the ways in which FPIC is more
generally debated, within international jurisprudence, the academic
literature, and in public discourse. Below, we outline what we believe is
a novel and original typology of three kinds of approaches to FPIC.
The first two approaches are like two sides of the same coin: on the
one side is the minimalist interpretation, which argues that FPIC it is to
be interpreted as a requirement to consult with indigenous peoples,
rather than the more strenuous requirement of consent. The funda-
mental difference between the two being that consent actually requires
a genuine influence over the material outcome whereas consultations
focus on the right to be involved in the process (Åhren, 2016: 135). We
contend the interpretation of FPIC as consultation is an out-dated in-
terpretation of international law as it pertains to indigenous peoples,
but one which none-the-less finds political currency when states and
companies attempt to reject the consent requirement and justify the
status quo. The Swedish government’s recent proposal for a consulta-
tion law with Sámi communities and organisations, which explicitly
rejects any consent requirement, provides a timely example of this
approach (Government Office of Sweden, 2017). So too does the In-
ternational Council on Mining and Minerals (ICMM) Indigenous peoples
statement (2013), which commits only to working towards seeking the
consent of indigenous peoples, and where consent is not obtained, the
policy states that companies are free to pursue major mining projects if
permitted by national governments (ICMM, 2013).8 In this context,
consultation processes do not guarantee indigenous peoples any
meaningly influence over the outcome. Moreover, as research on re-
source consultations in the Latin America demonstrates, states are still
unwilling to revise dominant development ideas and grant local com-
munities a decisive say in extraction activities (Flemmer and Schilling-
Vacaflor, 2016). Consultations may also be used as a tool to reinforce
social order and depoliticise contentious processes (Andreucci, 2017).
The second approach, firmly imprinted on the other side of the coin,
is the maximalist interpretation, which we describe as a “carte blanche
7
See Åhrén (2016) for a comprehensive discussion of indigenous peoples’ rights and
international law. As Åhrén argues, FPIC should not be referred to as a free-standing right:
”the ’right’ to consent or not is always a result of the applicability of an underlying
material right”, whether that be a right to property or culture (2016: 206). For further
8
ICMM members continue to face sustained critiques from affected indigenous com-
munities and NGOs for failing to even adhere to their own minimalist interpretation of
FPIC (MacInnes et al., 2017:154). See also Franks (2015: 34) for a history of ICMM’s
relationship with the concept of FPIC.
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
veto-right” approach. This interpretation holds that FPIC entails a right
for indigenous peoples to withhold their consent regardless of the scale
of the impacts of the proposed activities, in other words, they can say
no to anything and everything. This is the way many nation states and
companies have characterised FPIC in their justifications against its
adoption, and was evidenced in discussions by nation-states during
UNDRIP negotiations (Gilbert and Doyle, 2011; Errico 2011: 361;
Åhrén, 2016). It essentially makes a straw-man argument in order to
distort and exaggerate the actual rights being claimed by indigenous
peoples. It feeds into long-standing discourses that indigenous peoples,
if given the opportunity, will hinder development and progression, and
ultimately pose a threat to the national interest of nation states de-
pendent on the extraction of natural resources. It also draws upon an
“extractivist logic”, based on the utilitarian idea that the environment
should be made useful for people through the extraction of resources for
development purposes, and that not extracting resources constitutes a
threat to development itself (Wilson and Stammler, 2016). These two
arguments − the minimalist and maximalist approaches − are re-
lationally interlinked and co-dependent. They function to prop each
other up in what appear to be oppositional arguments, but are in reality
both perverse interpretations of the FPIC principle because they mo-
bilise straw-man arguments to justify the status quo.
We now turn to the third approach, which we advocate, and has
been characterised by others as a “flexible” (Barelli (2012), or “sliding
scale approach” (Åhrén, 2016: 139–140). This approach “holds that the
extent of the requirement to obtain consent is a function of the degree
of impact of the proposed activity” and finds its basis in an inter-
pretation of recent developments in international law as it pertains to
indigenous peoples. It allows for mere consultation in the spirit of ILO
169, when the impact is small, but also requires consent if the impact is
severe and threatens the survival of the indigenous group (Gilbert and
Doyle 2011: 318).9 In his position as the UN Special Rapporteur, James
Anaya argued that “the strength or importance of the objective of
achieving consent varies according to the circumstances and the in-
digenous interests involved”. Where there is a significant or direct
impact on indigenous peoples’ lives or territories, Anaya contends there
is a strong presumption that the proposal requires the affected in-
digenous peoples’ consent. He also argues, that “in certain contexts,
that presumption may harden into a prohibition of the measure or
project in the absence of indigenous consent.” As he outlines, these
contexts are defined in UNDRIP as including cases of relocation of in-
digenous peoples from their traditional lands (e.g. caused by extractive
industries) (Anaya, 2009). The Inter-American Court of Human Rights
(IACHR) endorses this approach (Barelli, 2012), as evidenced in the oft
cited Saramaka v. Suriname case (2007) concerning a large-scale de-
velopment on Saramaka territories, where the court held that “the State
has a duty, not only to consult with the Saramaka, but also to obtain
their free, prior, and informed consent, according to their customs and
traditions” (para. 134).
This flexible approach to FPIC as a qualified right is gaining re-
cognition (Barelli, 2012): in cases of small-scale projects the focus lies
on consultation rather than consent, but in those cases where a project
is likely to have a serious negative impact on the lives of indigenous
peoples, states are obliged to obtain indigenous peoples consent. There
are critical differences between consent, participation and consulta-
tions, and that it is clear from international human rights instruments
and the emerging jurisprudence that where the impact is significant,
such as through forced relocation because of development projects,
“consent is mandatory” (Gilbert, 2006:265). The logic to this sliding-
9 question of indigenous rights. Fontana and Grugel (2016) demonstrate that FPIC is not a
As Åhrén (2016) also argues, ILO 169 was assimilatory in spirit and presumed that
indigenous peoples would eventually be assimilated into majority societies (Åhrén,
2016). Note, however, that ILO 169 continues to hold symbolic importance for many
indigenous peoples and has remained a political hot potato in Sweden. Despite numerous
governmental commissions and proposed bills, successive Swedish governments have
failed to ratify it.
43
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
scale approach is relatively straight forward: indigenous peoples’ de-
cision- making powers over traditional lands and resources, must rea-
sonably be “relatively extensive”, given their intrinsic cultural, and
social connections to them (Åhrén, 2016: 140). Without the ability to
stop major industrial projects on their traditional lands, indigenous
peoples would be without any real power to protect their traditional
livelihoods, their cultures or their societies.10
Beyond specific debates around FPIC, we are also concerned with
the related question of how to theorise conflicts over resource extrac-
tion on indigenous territories more generally. As Sawyer and Gomez
argue, these conflicts are persistent and “perplexing”, given that states,
multinational firms and international finance institutions are all pub-
licly committed to the protection of indigenous rights (Sawyer and
Gomez, 2012, xii). Likewise, as O'Faircheallaigh has demonstrated,
even in those cases where governments and extractive companies have
made a commitment to respecting indigenous rights − which he argues
are in fact relatively few − those rights are often ignored when it comes
to dealing with natural resource developments on indigenous lands
(O’Faircheallaigh, 2012).
We contend that this is not necessarily an anomaly or failure of
liberal democracies or “market” mechanisms, such as CSR, but in fact
constitutive of “illiberal” practices in relation to indigenous peoples
more generally. In the late-19th-century, colonial powers commonly
argued that those considered incapable of acquiring perceived liberal
capacities should simply be moved out of the way (Hindess, 2001: 98):
indigenous people invariably fell into this category, and according to
the Lockean logic could therefore be justifiably “cleared out of the way
[and] sensibly driven off the territory they inhabit[ed]” (Hindess 2001:
96; Tully, 2000: 40). Similarly, as Andreucci and Kallis argue, a parti-
cular kind of political work is required in order to justify the violence
and repression that underpins the modern extractive-led growth model:
indigenous opponents to extractive projects are “othered” as enemies of
progress “whose elimination is necessary for the betterment of all”
(Andreucci and Kallis, 2017: 95–96). As our empirical case study will
demonstrate, these particular logics and rationalisations are also ex-
pressed by the Swedish mining industry in their justifications of why
FPIC should not apply in Sweden, albeit in some rather peculiar ways.
3. The case study: Swedish mining industry perspectives on FPIC
3.1. Methods and material
Our primary source of empirical material is a set of in-depth qua-
litative interviews with 10 key representatives from the Swedish mining
industry undertaken in 2015 concerning their views on FPIC. The
sample included representatives from the four mining companies who
were (then) actively undertaking environmental impact assessments for
proposed mining operations on traditional Sámi lands and included
representatives from management (sustainability, CSR etc.) and those
involved in every day consultations with Sámi communities as a part of
the formal permitting process. The sample included the two largest
mining firms in Sweden (LKAB (4) and Boliden (2)) who together
produce over 90% of the mineral value in Sweden, as well as Avalon
(1), a junior mining firm with Australian management. We also inter-
viewed the President and the Director of Environment and Energy of
Svemin − the Swedish Mining Industry Association − and the
President of Georange, a self-proclaimed “pro-mining” Swedish busi-
ness NGO.11 While small in absolute numbers, the sample provides a
10
We recognize that the implementation of FPIC is not a simple solution to the
neutral solution to the problems of participation, arguing that it runs a risk of supporting
local elites, creating non-accountable institutions and have negative implications for
other small groups.
11
These industry interviews were undertaken under the auspices of the research
project “x” (to be inserted after blind peer review).
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
comprehensive insight into attitudes. The Swedish mining industry is a
tight-knit community and all the main companies and industry orga-
nisations were included in our study.
The second source of empirical material is a set of in-depth inter-
views with Swedish Government representatives (3) and Sámi re-
presentatives (2) concerning their views on FPIC.12 While not the pri-
mary focus of this article, we draw on this material in order to contrast,
challenge and contextualise the responses by industry representatives in
broader public debates over indigenous rights.13
Our analysis of the empirical material was inspired by a
Foucauldian method of discourse analysis and asked the following
questions: What are the limits to what is sayable? What is possible to
speak of? Which discourses are sustained and circulated among parti-
cular groups and what is, as it were, outside the discursive space of
possibility? In short, “[w]hich utterances does everyone recognize as
valid, or debatable, or definitely invalid?” (Foucault, 1991: 60). The
emphasis is thus less on singular ‘dominant’ discourses and more con-
cerned with the plurality of discourses and “the logics of contestations”
(Barry et al., 1995: 485). The interview material was therefore not
analysed as isolated texts, but was contextualised though a broader
analysis of government and corporate policies and statements, and as a
part of a wider discursive terrain, constituted by shifting, overlapping
and sometimes contradictory discourses in relation to developments in
the international field of juridical-political indigenous rights.14
Moreover, through the lead author’s long-term engagements as both
academic-activist and community advocate.15 with Sámi reindeer
herding communities affected by mining, we have also sought to ex-
plore the relationship between “official policy and unofficial practice”
(Van Maanen, 2001: 233). In short, if a company has a policy to respect
indigenous rights, and the lead author’s previous engagement with
Sámi communities affected by that same company suggests contrary
corporate practice, our interview questions and analysis were informed
by this: how is the disjunction between policy and practice rationalised
by the company? Before turning to the core of our analysis, we first
provide a brief sketch of the contested landscape of mining in Swedish
Sápmi.
3.2. A contested landscape: mining in Swedish Sápmi
There are around 20,000–40,000 Sámi people living within the
borders of Sweden and of this population around 4600 Sámi own
reindeer and around 2500 are dependent upon reindeer as a primary
income. There are around 225,000 to 280,000 reindeer in Sweden and
reindeer herding rights cover approximately 50% of Sweden’s total
area, in the northern part of the country. To own reindeer, a Sámi
person must be a member of a reindeer herding community (RHC), of
which there are around 50: they are legal entities constituting both a
geographical area and a kind of economic association between their
reindeer herding members16 The majority of the Sámi population in
Sweden are not members of Sámi reindeer herding communities, and
are legally excluded from highly valued membership rights, such as
hunting and fishing, which causes considerable conflicts within the
Sámi society, not least within the Sámi Parliament (Lawrence and
Mörkenstam, 2016). Sámi reindeer herders are thus commonly viewed
as a “privileged” minority, because of their perceived “special” rights,
12
Insert reference after blind peer review.
13
See following publications for deeper analysis of the attitudes of Sámi reindeer
herders towards resource developments such as mining (Lawrence and Kløcker Larsen,
2016).
14
See Dean and Villadsen (2016) for an important critique of Foucault and the gov-
ernmentality literature for failing to properly engage with the formal juridical-political
elements of power in society.
15
For full detail on this engagement with Sámi communities see Lawrence & Raitio,
2016.
16
See www.samer.se and www.sametinget.se for more demographic information.
44
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
(see Mörkenstam, 1999). However, the over-representation of suicide
and mental health illness within the Sámi reindeer herding population
suggests that these rights also come with considerable costs, with land-
use conflicts cited by herders and their families as one of the main
causes of stress (Lawrence and Kløcker Larsen, 2016).
Reindeer herding is a traditional subsistence economy, with herders
and their families dependent upon on reindeer herding for social rela-
tions, cultural practices and language maintenance, cultural materials
and cultural and social status, as well as monetary income. Crucially, it
is through the recognized usufruct right to graze reindeer that Sámi
people are collectively able to maintain their rights to land: several
Swedish court cases have confirmed this right, but in reality, it is in-
creasingly difficult for Sámi communities to enjoy this right, which in
turn threatens their ability to maintain connections and claims to tra-
ditional territories. In the last few decades in particular, reindeer
herding has come under considerable economic pressure as running
costs increase, primarily due to reindeer losses to predators, and pasture
fragmentation and disturbances because of competing land-uses, such
as natural resource projects, leading to an increasing number of protests
from Sámi communities (Lawrence and Kløcker Larsen, 2016).
The colonisation of Sámi territories in Sweden is complexly inter-
twined with a long history of natural resource extraction and the gra-
dual undermining of the recognition of Sámi rights to land (Lawrence
and Åhrén, 2016). In contemporary times, this colonial history plays
out over and over again as questions around unresolved land rights fuel
conflicts between Sámi reindeer herding communities and natural re-
source developers, and the state as an active supporter of the latter
(Lawrence, 2014). While land-use conflicts concern multiple pressures,
including forestry, wind power parks, hydro-power, reindeer predator
policies and tourism, the conflict between mining and Sámi reindeer
herding communities is perhaps the longest-running, with the alleged
use of Sámi slave labour at the Nasafjäll mine in the 1600′s on the
Swedish-Norwegian mountain border oft cited by Sámi people as il-
lustrative of the mining industry’s role in the colonisation of Sápmi.
Today, Sweden’s mining industry today constitutes a relatively small
portion of its GDP (approx. 0.6%) in comparison to mining giants such
as Australia (approx. 8%), but it has a special role in the developmental
history of the North of Sweden (Lawrence and Åhrén, 2016). As early as
1600 the north of Sweden was considered “an India within our borders”
and later as the “Land of the Future” due to its natural resources of
forestry, hydropower and ore (Sörlin, 1988). The historical view of the
North as a resource colony within our borders continues and the north
of Sweden is often considered a “natural space” for resource extraction
(Tidholm, 2014). Moreover, Sweden’s mineral production plays a
strategic role within Europe, providing over 90% of the EU’s production
of iron-ore.
Mining activities have far-reaching negative impacts for traditional
Sámi indigenous livelihoods, in particular reindeer herding, through
the loss and fragmentation of reindeer grazing pastures associated with
the mine sites per se, as well as related infrastructure and roads; dis-
turbances to reindeer by way of noise and dust from mining activities
and ore transportations; and associated social impacts for herders and
their families. While some compensation is paid to Sámi communities,
communities feel that this compensation does not cover the actual costs
incurred, purely because lost, fragmented and disturbed grazing lands
are irreplaceable and not commensurate with monetary compensation.
Moreover, some Sámi reindeer herders have become dependent upon
work in the mining industry (either alongside their reindeer herding or
instead of), because reindeer herding has become less profitable due, in
part, to the very same impacts mentioned above. Thus, the perceived
benefits of mining − by way of employment − are generally not re-
levant to Sámi reindeer herders who seek to maintain their traditional
livelihood instead, and which is directly threatened by mining activ-
ities.17
Mining, like other resource developments, equates to a breach of
indigenous peoples’ cultural and property rights, in those cases where
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
the impacts are significant and their consent is not given (e.g. Anaya,
2009; Anaya, 2011; CERD, 2013; UNHRC, 2016). Sámi reindeer
herding communities are structurally marginalised in permitting pro-
cesses: no consent mechanisms exist, the consultation mechanisms that
do exist have been extensively critiqued and rejected by Sámi reindeer
herding communities as biased and proponent driven, and to date Sámi
reindeer herding communities have had very little success in appealing
mining permits in the courts.18 This marginalisation is symptomatic of
Swedish mineral law, which is specifically geared towards facilitating
mineral extraction.19 But it is also characteristic of Nordic planning and
property law in general, where individual property rights (in particular
those of Sámi reindeer herders) hold very little weight against resource
developments, the latter of which are legally defined as being in the
collective or public interest.20 (Brännström, 2017: 42–44)
Mining companies in Sweden have, after increasing pressure from
Sámi communities and organisations, sought to expand consultation
processes with affected communities, resulting in more comprehensive
“reindeer herding analyses” (Tarras-Wahlberg, 2014). Indeed, several
of the mining industry representatives we interviewed were themselves
critical of the lack of legislatively required consultation with Sámi
communities, and most mining companies do considerably more than is
required of them by law (informant A, informant C, informant O, and
informant N). Most mining companies now compensate affected Sámi
communities for their time spent in consultations, yet these processes
remain fraught with unequal relations of power, given their voluntary
nature and the lack of economic, institutional, political and legal re-
sources available for affected communities. Moreover, Sámi commu-
nities voice frustrations that they are included for the “extraction of
facts” in regards to their reindeer herding and current land-use, while
the crucial work of assessing actual impacts of the proposed develop-
ment is monopolised by consultants and proponents, and the cumula-
tive impacts of other competing land-uses are left aside (Kløcker Larsen
et al., 2017).
Sweden has received on-going and repeated criticisms from the UN
for its failure to legislate and protect Sámi land rights in its mineral law
specifically, but also across its national legislation more generally.21
Sweden’s refusal to address these criticisms is indicative of a broader
failure to engage with its colonial history: it does not see itself as a
coloniser and has long purported the largely rejected ‘salt-water’ theory
(compare Tully, 2000: 55) in which colonies are defined as territories
geographically distant from the imperial ‘home’. For instance, a
Swedish government official report of 1986 stated that ‘[i]t is im-
possible to compare the Swedish influence over the traditional Sámi
areas with what is ordinarily called colonialism’ (Statens offentliga
utredningar 1986, p. 164). This narrative functions to temporally and
spatially distance colonialism to another time and place, and denies the
histories and on-going resistances of Sámi people to the internal colo-
nisation of their traditional territories through extractive activities
without their consent, such as mining.
While Sweden established a Sámi Parliament in 1996 and extended
constitutional recognition as to the Sámi as a ‘people’ in 2006, the Sámi
Parliament lacks significant political mandate (Lawrence and
17
It should also be noted that there is scant evidence to suggest that indigenous
communities are the recipients of any net-benefits from mining also elsewhere throughout
the world. See for, example, academic debates in Australia (O'Faircheallaigh, 2012;
Scambary, 2013)
18
See Brännström (2017) on the weak protection afforded Sámi reindeer herding
rights in relation to forestry and also Torp (2007) more generally.
19
See Prop. (1988/89:92, pg. 35). [Prop. is an abbreviation of Proposition, Government
Bill]
20
Note that this Nordic legal tradition is now being challenged by harmonisation with
EU laws, which place a greater weight on individual civil (property) rights (Brännström,
2017…. Pg?)
21
An example: in August 2016 the UN Special Rapporteur on the rights of indigenous
peoples, Victoria Tauli-Corpuz, criticised the legislation governing mining activities in
Sweden for being in breach of indigenous rights (UNHRC, 2016, 12).
45
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
Mörkenstam, 2016), and it is also unclear whether the constitutional
recognition has otherwise had any practical implications22 Arguably,
even more importantly, while Swedish domestic jurisprudence has af-
forded a relatively strong recognition to Sámi rights − most recently in
the Nordmaling case (2011) − the Swedish state lags and has thus far
failed to amend relevant legislations accordingly (Lawrence and Åhrén,
2016). In practice, Swedish legislation in relation to Sámi rights is very
much the same as it was over a century ago (Lantto and Mörkenstam,
2008). In this context, Sámi communities and organisations have lob-
bied both the government and individual mining companies to respect
indigenous rights, evidenced in appeals to the UN, direct protest, and
investor campaigns, amongst other activities.23 This also forms part of a
broader social movement in Sweden where environmental and social
critiques of Swedish mining policy have been on the increase (Haikola
and Anshelm, 2016).
4. Analysis and discussion
The following analysis is structured according to three major themes
that emerged from our interview material: 1) political and industry
uncertainty around FPIC; 2) a kind of corporate complacency through
the idea that human rights protections are superfluous in Sweden; and
3) the notion that respect for indigenous rights are the responsibility of
the state and not the mining industry. These three themes are over-
lapping and interconnected, but for sake of structure we attempt to
untangle them in our analysis below.
4.1. Uncertainty: FPIC as a threat to the mining industry
Amongst the majority of mining representatives there was little
knowledge of FPIC. None had any detailed understanding of its content
and scope and those respondents who had heard of FPIC said they found
it difficult to understand and interpret (informant O, informant C, in-
formant P, informant R and informant N). Perhaps this is not surprising
given that none of the corporations or organisations interviewed had
made any specific commitments to FPIC at the time of the research (or,
at the time of writing).24 One respondent reported their company had
discussed the issue internally and decided that they could follow the
regulations of FPIC concerning free, prior and informed, but that con-
sent was not possible to comply with (informant O).
Most seemed to interpret FPIC as a carte blanche veto for indigenous
peoples and argued such a right should not be granted to Sámi people
concerning mining developments (informant N, informant A, informant
H and informant D). Several and were concerned about what a change
toward respect of FPIC would mean.25:
No, I don’t recognize the concept and I don’t know what it contains
precisely, but I cańt imagine that some other stakeholder than the legis-
lative assembly should have some sort of right to veto (Informant H)
I have difficulties rationally understanding how [a] decent dialogue
would arise with a veto [for the Sámi](Informant N)
When interpreted as a general veto, mining representatives ex-
pressed concern over the uncertainty this might entail for the mining
22
As far as we are aware, the Sámi people are the only formally recognized indigenous
peoples in Europe. However, as this article argues, this formal recognition is not trans-
lated into government policy or corporate practice.
23
For example, the Vapsten Sámi community has appealed to the UN Committee on
the Elimination of Racial Discrimination regarding the Swedish government’s decision to
allow mining in Rönnbäcken, in the heart of crucial reindeer herding areas.
24
LKAB and Boliden have general human rights policies that briefly mention in-
digenous peoples, but neither have an indigenous peoples’ policy per se.
25
Only one of the mining representatives did not consider FPIC a threat to the mining
industry, but when asked to define the content and scope of FPIC, he claimed it pertained
mainly to transparency and communication, and not to consent (Informant P), the latter
of which is undeniably the most loaded.
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
industry in terms of the development of future mines (informant C,
informant D and informant R):
[We need] clear rules of engagement, otherwise they will never be any
new mines in the future to replace those that close….If [a Sámi] influ-
ence [over mining projects] means that they can partially or entirely
make it impossible to develop [mines], then I think it's wrong⋯I think
that the mining industry would disappear because of it [FPIC]
(Informant D)
It is curious to note the discomfort (and sometimes highly emotive
responses) by the mining industry more generally, when faced with the
possibility that indigenous peoples may be given greater power at the
negotiating table. For example, after the famous Australian High Court
Mabo Decision (1992), which promised to give some indigenous
Australians the ability to claim native title over their lands and thus
some influence over mining developments, resource-based industries in
Australia espoused the economic argument that any attempt to legislate
for Aboriginal rights threatened the national interest (Howitt, 2001:
257) and that “communistic plots to establish a separate Aboriginal
state were coming to fruition” (Neale and Vincent, 2017: 418). The
responses by Swedish mining representatives echo a similar sentiment:
they rehearse a kind of maximalist argument, where FPIC is char-
acterised as a carte blanche veto right for indigenous peoples to impede
mining developments in any and all circumstances. This categorizes
indigenous peoples not only as anti-mining, but also as a fundamental
threat to societal development, and draws upon a more general view in
Swedish society that Sámi communities hinder progress for the majority
society26
Conversely, in our interviews with Government representatives, the
minimalist argument was more commonly employed. When we asked
government representatives to explain how FPIC was implemented in
Swedish mining law, they repeatedly referred to practices of “con-
sultations” encompassed in existing permitting processes (informant G
and informant Q), implying that current legislation was sufficient. But
overall, government civil servants were reluctant to directly comment
on the Swedish state’s interpretation of FPIC, quite simply because
there is no guiding policy. The only interpretation civil servants could
refer to was the Swedish Government’s official statement upon the
adoption of UNDRIP in 2007 (UN General Assembly, 2007), which did
not refer to FPIC specifically but made the more general argument that
UNDRIP did not imply a collective right of veto and could be im-
plemented in different ways, for example, through a consultative pro-
cess between institutions representing indigenous peoples and govern-
ments, and through participation in democratic systems, such as the
current Swedish system (United Nations, 2007) (informant F).
Whereas for representatives for the Swedish Government, FPIC is
conflated with a right to be consulted, and for the Swedish mining in-
dustry there exists a fear that it would entail a carte blanche veto, the
National Swedish Sámi Association argues that neither approach is re-
levant. Instead, they essentially argue for a “sliding scale approach” and
that Sámi consent is required in those cases where the impacts are se-
vere, but also that “indigenous people must motivate and explain that
this [development] will have such significant and lasting impacts over a
very long time that it will change and impede the maintenance of our
lands and economies [traditional land uses]” (informant J).
As we argued earlier, theoretical discussions on FPIC emphasise that
the so called ”right to veto” is dependent on the scope of the impacts of
a project on the affected indigenous people, but when the impacts are
severe, consent is required. But who is to determine the potential im-
pacts of the activity or project in question (Gilbert and Doyle, 2011,
319).27 and who is to decide the threshold? Industry and government
26
The authors wish to thank Niila Inga and Anders-Erling Fjällås for this point.
27
See [insert after blind peer review] on knowledge controversies around constituting
indicators of impact.
46
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
are primarily concerned with technical mitigation measures such as
artificial feeding of reindeer and eco-viaducts (favoured by the industry
and seen to ameliorate impacts), and teleological arguments that po-
sition reindeer herding in need of modernisation (Informant R, in-
formant N, informant S and informant B), both of which also tie into the
idea that reindeer herding is infinitely adaptable28 According to this
logic, because impacts can always be ameliorated, and reindeer herding
can adapt, the harm is never too severe, and the consent mechanism is
never necessary. And in the unlikely situation that it was, it is the re-
sponsibility of courts to determine impacts and relevant compensation,
both of which are overwhelmingly framed within a Western conception
of land-use and not an indigenous one. Yet Sámi reindeer herding
communities refer to land rights and reindeer herders’ privileged tra-
ditional knowledge of their traditional land uses and the impacts of
competing land uses as the relevant point of departure: who else can
define and assess impacts if not us, the affected indigenous peoples?
(Informant J and informant I). Moreover, Sámi reindeer herding com-
munities are sceptical of technical mitigation measures because they
fundamentally change the nature of traditional reindeer herding and do
not address their central concern: the sustainability of an indigenous
land-use and cultural practice for future generations (Lawrence and
Kløcker Larsen, 2016).
4.2. Complacency: human rights superfluous in Sweden
While most respondents knew little or nothing about FPIC, they
simultaneously argued that it was not relevant in Sweden, or if it was,
had to be adapted to the Swedish context. Linked to this, was the
overwhelming assumption that because Sweden had “best practices”
concerning both technology and environmental issues – echoing a well-
known tautological argument from the Swedish media debate on
mining – it must necessarily be better to mine in Sweden than anywhere
else, even from a human rights perspective (Weihed and Ahl, 2013,
Åman et al., 2017, informant S informant R). Several argued that cor-
porate attention to human rights protections and CSR work was simply
not necessary in Sweden, the same way it was in other countries (in-
formant O on FPIC; informant S on CSR generally; and informant N on
international commitments).As one informant explained: “our busi-
nesses are not operating in such areas where society does not protect
stakeholders or different groups“ (informant D).
“I think we need a Swedish definition of this [CSR rules concerning the
mining industry], I don’t think that it is automatically easy to translate
the situation from Australia or Canada to our conditions. We have an-
other historical background. Captain Cook never travelled to Norrbotten,
he travelled to Australia. (Informant S).
The implied logic is that the situation of the Sámi people cannot be
compared to the indigenous peoples of Canada or Australia because the
Sámi have not been colonised (see, previous discussion on the salt-
water thesis). Similarly, another respondent argued the following:
“I argue that in Sweden we are not that bad, in Canada the Indians [sic]
are practically treated like another people, but in Sweden the Sámi are
part of the Swedish society and not any different from anyone else”.
(Informant R).
From the perspective of the Swedish mining industry, this is un-
problematic, and the more general argument in Sweden goes something
like this: we are simply being inclusive of the Sámi. Indeed, this appeals
to the idea of the Swedish welfare state and its universal protection of
all citizens. But statements such as the above actually work to erase
difference: the Sámi are not considered legitimate bearers of indigenous
rights because they have not been colonised, but moreover, because
they are not deemed different enough. In other words, they are not
28
See [insert after blind peer review]
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
regarded ‘authentically’ indigenous because they are too culturally
alike the colonisers themselves. Biological and cultural regimes of au-
thenticity, such as these, have regularly provided colonisers the means
for justifying the dispossession of indigenous peoples of their lands and
cultures (Harris et al., 2013; Povinelli, 2002).
This is a powerful discursive tool, and combined with the compla-
cent attitudes of mining companies in Sweden, there is a veritable si-
lence on the question of corporate commitments to indigenous rights in
Sweden. While both Boliden and LKAB have made numerous commit-
ments to human rights and indigenous rights through Global Compact
and various other policies and guidelines, we could not find any evi-
dence that they actually implemented them in projects on indigenous
Sámi territories in Sweden. In the case of Boliden, the head office in
Stockholm referred us to the local management (informant H) and the
local management (informant A) claimed that it was the head offices
that handled the issue. For instance, Boliden management claimed that
human rights were generally considered in their EIAs in Sweden, but no
such evidence could be found in our review of any of their EIAs per-
taining to their operations on Sámi territories. When asked if Boliden
specifically undertakes human rights due diligence in regards to their
operations in Sweden on indigenous territories in accordance with their
various corporate commitments they responded: “We don’t have that in
the systematic way [human rights due diligence reporting], on the other hand
we do internal audits, with heavy focus on labour conditions and the en-
vironment. (Informant H)”29
In the case of LKAB, the director responsible for CSR questions and
human rights issues, as well as other employees at that department,
would not confirm who was ultimately responsible for human rights
issues as they pertained to the Sámi people, and declined an interview,
despite repeated requests. When we spoke to other representatives at
LKAB about their CSR work and human rights issues they focussed on
their work with supporting the local community, being a “team-player”
in the region and supporting Sámi enterprises (informant B), but no
respondent could give us a direct answer as to how their human rights
commitments were implemented at an operational level in regards to
Sámi rights as indigenous peoples. Representatives from other mining
companies and organisations were often vague and several simply fo-
cussed on the importance of being transparent and communicating well
with the stakeholders (informant P, informant R and informant N).
Sámi representatives expressed a familiarity with these kinds of
responses by both the mining and forestry industries, which either in-
directly side-stepped indigenous issues in Sweden by focussing on other
issues, or by the direct claim that the protection of indigenous rights
was simply not necessary in Sweden:
“We often get thrown at us ‘yes, but you [the Sámi] are doing well, look
at the tribes of Africa or South America etc. and the picture is different
there’. And yes, we are doing well, but that doesn’t mean that the prin-
ciple [of FPIC] shouldn’t apply here. This picture of indigenous people [as
exotic and oppressed] is to our disadvantage.” (Informant J)
4.3. FPIC is political; mining is apolitical
In prompting mining representatives to reflect upon FPIC, several
respondents outright avoided questions concerning FPIC and in-
digenous rights by replying “that’s a political question” or “that’s a
question for the state to handle”. A traditional compliance approach
was thus held by several respondents:
“That [FPIC] is a question for the politicians to decide. We shall not even
29
This is illustrative of a uniquely Swedish interpretation of the business and human
rights regime as almost exclusively applying to supply-chain issues in the developing
world (see, for an example, Government Office of Sweden, 2015) thus excluding the
possibility that human rights breaches may in fact also pertain to the activities of Swedish
companies in traditional Sámi areas in Sweden.
47
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
discuss politics in the company, [we] just consider what the owner tells
us”(Informant B on FPIC).
That is a political question, a legislative question, and Sweden needs to
decide on what one wants and how one wants this process to look.
(Informant R).
Several of the respondents were critical of the Swedish state’s ab-
sence and sought clearer political directives from the state on the cur-
rent mineral policy:
Generally, I think that the state has left these issues to the companies and
reindeer herding communities to solve, and I don’t think it’s right.
(Informant O).
Another respondent also emphasised that the absent state created
conflicts at the local level. “The state has a responsibility, yes. I think it’s a
case of putting their head in the sand and telling us at the local level to solve
[the conflict over a mine] and it’s an example where no-one can win. There
are only losers” (Informant D).
But as our empirical material also demonstrates, the mining in-
dustry has a complex relationship with the state. While they at times
express a wish for the state to take a greater role and establish clear
“rules of the game” (informant D and informant O), there was also the
view that tighter regulations and legislation is generally not good for
business:
“Generally, we think that it is good if parties can agree and solve things
without a need for legislation” (Informant C).
Sámi organisations and communities are, however, generally un-
equivocally frustrated over the “absent state”, as expressed by the Head
Lawyer for the National Swedish Sámi Association:
The state has shifted the responsibility [off themselves and] onto the
parties [resource companies and Sámi communities] to solve this [con-
flict] …(Informant J)
One tangible example of this absence was when political state re-
presentatives failed to attend a high-level workshop in 2016, which was
organised within the auspices of a state initiated program to facilitate
better collaboration between the mining industry and Sámi reindeer
herding communities. During discussions Sámi communities pushed for
a recognition of FPIC and thereby a fundamental shift in power rela-
tions, while the mining industry remained focussed on “improving
consultations” and sought to exclude discussions of FPIC and in-
digenous rights from the workshop agenda and workshop report be-
cause they lay outside their mandate and squarely in the field of politics
(Kløcker Larsen et al., 2017). The workshop itself and its outputs (in
terms of a report) were thus negotiated in a highly charged and poli-
tically sensitive context. They were also emblematic of the strained
relationship between the mining industry and Sámi communities more
generally, given the absence of any clear policy from the Swedish state.
5. Conclusion
The impetus for this research came out of genuine curiosity: what do
mining representatives actually know, and think, about indigenous
rights? How do they justify contemporary mining practices that are in
breach of those same rights? While our engagement with mining re-
presentatives throughout the years had already given us a sense that
they had a limited understanding of the content of indigenous rights,
this research highlights the deep extent of that knowledge gap. Our aim
is not to critique the individuals, per se − some of whom expressed a
desire to learn more (informant A, informant C, informant P and in-
formant O), one who questioned the status of the Sámi as indigenous
(informant S), and another who seemed to question the idea of “so-
called indigenous peoples rights” altogether (informant D). Rather, our
concern is with the larger discursive field in which some particular
modalities of thought become legitimate, and others not. Our broad
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
concern has been with the despotic (Dean, 2002) or darker elements of
our liberal democratic societies, which on the one hand claim to protect
the rights of indigenous peoples, while at the same time legitimise the
idea that indigenous peoples should be removed – or ignored – if in the
way of the extractive industries.
We can make several conclusions from our study. First, we contend
that the current focus by states and mining companies on extreme
characterisations of FPIC – either through minimalist or maximalist
interpretations – functions to maintain the status quo. The former
mobilises a discourse of complacency (we don’t need to change any-
thing, because we already do enough) whereas the latter appeals to a
logic of uncertainty (if we change anything, the world as we know it
will end). But this circular reasoning also functions to exclude more
constructive debates around a “flexible” implementation of FPIC, which
we argue is both pragmatic and in-line with international developments
in indigenous rights.
Second, the argument that human rights, such as those referred to in
the principle of FPIC, are not relevant in Sweden, makes it possible for
the mining industry to justify the gap between policy and practice.
Indeed, from their perspective, there is no gap or contradiction. They
argue, rather, that the Sámi are not in need of human rights protection
as an indigenous people because colonisation never took place in
Sweden, the same way it did in Australian and Canada via salt-water
colonisation. This kind of spatial distancing of the indigenous “other” to
far-flung parts of the world, outside of the Nordics, also essentially
functions to deny and make invisible those injustices taking place at
home in Sweden. Furthermore, the indigenous status of the Sámi is
denied by the claim by some mining representatives that the Sámi are
simply not different enough from the Swedish society.
Third, the argument that questions pertaining to ”Sámi rights” are
political, also infers that some things are not political, such as the core
business of mining. There is an implicit assumption that mining com-
panies can separate the technical (mining) aspects of their operations,
from the broader social and political context in which they operate. In
other words, they can continue to mine, while the state gets on with the
business of ”solving” the difficult issue of Sámi rights. Yet those Sámi
communities affected by mining see things rather differently. For them,
on-going mining operations on Sámi lands are not only unethical, but
also overtly political, quite simply because they are embedded in a
colonial dispossession of Sámi lands and a systemic lack of recognition
of their rights. Mining, like any other resource extraction on indigenous
lands, is itself a political act, and particularly so where a recognition of
indigenous rights is absent.
Compliance with ethical standards
The study was funded by grant P12-0046 from the Jan Wallanders
and Tom Hedelius Foundation and grant 211-2012-135 from the
Swedish Research Council for Environment, Agricultural Sciences and
Spatial Planning .
Acknowledgements
We wish to thank all informants for their time. We also thank the
two anonymous peer-reviewers and the following colleagues for critical
comments and suggestions: Christina Allard, Dag Avango, Malin
Brännström, Rasmus Kløcker Larsen, Ragnhild Nilsson, Kaisa Raitio,
Peder Roberts and Mattias Åhrén. We acknowledge especially the nu-
merous Sámi communities with whom we have worked and whose
experiences inspired this article. The arguments contained herein re-
main the role responsibility of the authors.
References
Åhrén, M., 2016. Indigenous Peoples' Status in the International Legal System. Oxford
University Press, New York.
48
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
Åman, L., Andersson, I., Nordström, N., Stenberg, H., Öhlund, H., 2017. Klimatsmart att
öppna fler gruvor i Sverige. Dagens Samhälle 2017–11-07 [Accessed 13 November
2017].
Allard, C., 2006. Two Sides of the Coin: Rights and Duties: The Interface Between
Environmental Law and Sami Law in a Comparison with Aoteoaroa/New Zealand and
Canada. Luleå Technical University (Phd Thesis).
Anaya, S.J., 2004. Indigenous Peoples in International Law. Oxford University Press,
Oxford.
Anaya, J., 2005. Indigenous peoples' participatory rights in relation to decisions about
natural resource extraction: the more fundamental issue of what rights indigenous
peoples have in lands and resources. Ariz J. Int. Comp. Law 22 (1), 7–18.
Anaya, J., 2009. Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Situation of Human Rights and
Fundamental Freedoms of Indigenous People. (A/HRC/12/34 15 July 2009).
Anaya, J., 2011. The Situation of the Sami People in the Sápmi Region of Norway, Sweden
and Finland Report of the Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples,
James Anaya. (A/HRC/18/35/Add.2).
Andreucci, D., Kallis, G., 2017. Governmentality: development and the violence of natural
resource extraction in Peru. Ecol. Econ. 134, 95–103.
Andreucci, D., 2017. Resources: regulation and the state: struggles over gas extraction
and passive revolution in Evo Morales's Bolivia. Polit. Geogr. 61, 170–180.
Ballard, C., Banks, G., 2003. Resource wars: the anthropology of mining. Annu. Rev.
Anthropol. 32 (1), 287–313.
Barelli, M., 2012. Free, prior and informed consent in the aftermath of the UN Declaration
on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: developments and challenges ahead. Int. J. Hum.
Rights 16 (1), 124.
Barry, A., Bell, V., Rose, N., 1995. Introduction. Econ. Soc. 24 (4), 485–488.
Brännström, M., 2017. Skogsbruk och renskötsel på samma mark: En rättsvetenskaplig
studie av äganderätten och renskötselrätten. Department of Law. Umeå University
(PhD Thesis).
Buhmann, K., 2012. Business and human rights: analysing discursive articulation of sta-
keholder interests to explain the consensus-based construction of the ‘protect, re-
spect, remedy UN framework’. Int. Law Res. 1 (1).
CERD, 2013. Committee on the Elimination of Racial Discrimination, Concluding
Observations on the Combined Nineteenth to Twenty-First Periodic Reports of
Sweden, Adopted by the Committee at Its Eighty-Third Session. (12–30 August 2013)
CERD/C/SWE/CO/19–21.
Daes, E.-I., 2004. Indigenous Peoples' Permanent Sovereignty Over Natural Resources.
Final Report of the Special Rapporteur, E/CN.4/Sub.2/2004/30. Economic and Social
Council, United Nations.
Dean, M., Villadsen, C., 2016. State Phobia and Civil Society: the Political Legacy of
Michel Foucault. Stanford University Press, California.
Dean, M., 2002. Liberal government and authoritarianism. Econ. Soc. 31 (1), 37–61.
Doyle, C.M., 2014. Indigenous Peoples, Title to Territory, Rights and Resources. Taylor
and Francis.
Errico, S., 2011. The controversial issue of natural resources: balancing states sovereignty
with indigenous peoples’ rights. In: Allen, Stephen, Xanthaki, Alexandra (Eds.),
Reflections on the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Hart Pub.,
Oxford, pp. 329–366.
Flemmer, R., Schilling-Vacaflor, A., 2016. Unfulfilled promises of the consultation ap-
proach: the limits to effective indigenous participation in Bolivia’s and Peru’s ex-
tractive industries. Third World Q. 37 (1), 172–188.
Fontana, L.B., Grugel, J., 2016. The politics of indigenous participation through free prior
informed consent: reflections from the Bolivian case. World Dev. 77, 249–261.
Foucault, M., 1991. Politics and the study of discourse. In: Burchell, G., Gordon, C.,
Miller, P. (Eds.), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality. The University of
Chicago Press, pp. 53–72.
Franks, D.M., 2015. Mountain Movers: Mining, Sustainability and the Agents of Change.
Routledge, London.
Gilbert, J., Doyle, C., 2011. A new dawn over the land: shedding light on collective
ownership and consent. In: Allen, Stephen, Xanthaki, Alexandra (Eds.), Reflections on
the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Hart Pub., Oxford.
Gilbert, J., 2006. Indigenous Peoples’ Land Rights Under International Law. Transnational
Publishers, Ardslay, NY.
Government Office of Sweden, 2015. Action Plan for Business and Human Rights.
Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Article: UD 15.021).
Government Office of Sweden, 2017. Konsultation i frågor som rör det samiska folket (Ds
2017:43). (Consultation on issues concerning the Sámi people).
Haikola, S., Anshelm, J., 2016. Mineral policy at a crossroads? Critical reflections on the
challenges with expanding Sweden’s mining sector. Extr. Ind. Soc. 3 (2), 265–576.
Hanna, P., Vanclay, F., 2013. Human rights, Indigenous peoples and the concept of Free,
Prior and Informed Consent. Impact Assess. Proj. Appraisal 31 (2), 146–157.
Harris, M., Carlson, B., Poata-Smith, E.S., 2013. Indigenous identities and the politics of
authenticity. In: Harris, M., Nakata, M., Carlson, B. (Eds.), The Politics of Identity:
Emerging Indigeneity. University of Technology Sydney E-Press, Sydney, pp. 1–9.
Hill, C., Lillywhite, S., 2015. The United Nations ‘Protect, Respect and Remedy’
Framework: six years on and what impact has it had?’. Extr. Ind. Soc. 2 (2015), 4-6.
Hindess, B., 2001. ‘Not at home in the empire’. Soc. Identities 7 (3), 363–377.
Howitt, R., 2001. Rethinking Resource Management: Justice, Sustainability and
Indigenous Peoples. Routledge, London.
International Council of Mining and Minerals, 2013. Position Statement on Indigenous
Peoples and Mining. (Downloaded https://www.icmm.com/website/publications/
pdfs/position-statements/2013_icmm-ps_indigenous-peoples.pdf).
Ivison, Patton, Sanders (Eds.), 2000. Political Theory and the Rights of Indigenous
Peoples. Cambridge University Press.
Kløcker Larsen, R., Raitio, K., Stinnerbom, M., Wik-Karlsson, J., 2017. Sámi-state colla-
boration in the governance of cumulative effects assessment: a critical action research
R. Lawrence, S. Moritz
approach. Environ. Impact Assess. Rev. 64, 67–76.
Lantto, P., Mörkenstam, U., 2008. Sámi rights and Sámi challenges. Scand. J. Hist. 33,
26–51.
Lawrence, R., 2014. Internal colonisation and indigenous resource sovereignty: wind
power developments on traditional Saami lands. Environ. Plann. D: Soc. Space 32 (6).
Lawrence, R., Åhrén, M., 2016. Mining as colonisation: the need for restorative justice
and restitution of traditional sami lands. In: Head, L., Saltzman, S., Setten, G.,
Stenseke, M. (Eds.), Nature, Temporality and Environmental Management:
Scandinavian and Australian Perspectives on Landscapes and Peoples. Taylor and
Francis, UK.
Lawrence, R., Kløcker Larsen, R., 2016. Då är det inte renskötsel − Konsekvenser av en
gruvetablering i Laver, Älvsbyn, för Semisjaur Njarg sameby [That’s Not Reindeer
Herding: Impacts of the Proposed Boliden Mine in Laver, Älvsbyn, Sweden, for the
Semisjaur Njarg Sami Reindeer Herding Community]. Stockholm Environmental
Institute (Project Report, 2016-01).
Lawrence, R., Mörkenstam, U., 2016. Indigenous self-determination through a govern-
ment agency? the impossible task of the swedish Sámediggi. Int. J. Minor. Group
Rights 23 (1), 105–127. http://dx.doi.org/10.1163/15718115-02301004.
Lawrence, R., Raitio, K., 2016. Academia and activism in Saami research: negotiating the
blurred spaces between. In: Drugge, Anna-Lill (Ed.), Ethics in Indigenous Research
−Past Experiences, Future Challenges. Anthology, Vaartoe/CeSam:s skriftserie,
Cemtrum för samisk forskning, Umeå.
Mörkenstam, U., 1999. Om Lapparnes privilegier: föreställningar om samiskhet i svensk
samepolitik 1883–1997. Stockholms Universitet, Diss. Stockholm.
MacInnes, A., Colchester, M., Whitmore, A., 2017. Free, prior and informed consent: how
to rectify the devastating consequences of harmful mining for indigenous peoples’.
Perspect. Ecol. Conserv.
Neale, T., Vincent, E., 2017. Mining, indigeneity, alterity: or, mining Indigenous alterity?
Cult. Stud. 31 (2–3), 417–439.
O’Faircheallaigh, C., 2015. Social equity and large mining projects: voluntary industry
initiatives, public regulation and community development agreements. J. Bus. Ethics
132, 91–103.
O'Faircheallaigh, C., 2012. International recognition of indigenous rights, indigenous
control of development and domestic political mobilisation. Aust. J. Polit. Sci. 47 (4),
531–545.
Parsons, R., Moffat, K., 2014. Constructing the meaning of social licence. Soc. Epistemol.
28 (3–4), 340–363.
Povinelli, E., 2002. The Cunning of Recognition. Indigenous Alterity and the Making of
Australian Multiculturalism. Duke University Press, Durham, NC.
Prop. 1988/89:92 Om ny minerallagstiftning m. m. https://www.riksdagen.se/sv/
dokument-lagar/dokument/proposition/om-ny-minerallagstiftning-mm_GC0392.
[Accessed 09 October 2017].
Sörlin, S., 1988. Framtidslandet: debatten om Norrland och naturresurserna under det
49
The Extractive Industries and Society 6 (2019) 41–49
industriella genombrottet. Univ., Diss. Umeå.
Sawyer, S., Gomez, E. (Eds.), 2012. The Politics of Resource Extraction: Indigenous
Peoples, Multinational Corporations and the State. Palgrave Macmillan, New York.
Scambary, B., 2013. My country, mine country: indigenous people, mining and devel-
opment contestation in remote Australia centre for aboriginal economic policy re-
search college of arts and social sciences. the australian national university, canberra.
Res. Monogr. 33.
SOU, 1986. Samernas folkrättsliga ställning: delbetänkande av samerättsutredning.
Statens Offentliga Utredningar, Stockholm.
Tarras-Wahlberg, N.H., 2014. “Social License to Mine in Sweden: do companies go the
extra mile to gain community acceptance?”. Mine. Econ. 27, 143–147.
Tidholm, P., 2014. Norrland. Teg Publishing.
Tomlinson, K., 2017. Indigenous rights and extractive resource projects: negotiations over
the policy and implementation of FPIC. Int. J. Hum. Rights 1–18.
Torp, E., 2007. Samebys talerätt i civilrättsliga ärenden. Förvaltningsrättslig Tidskrift 3.
Tully, J., 2000. The struggles of indigenous peoples for and of freedom. In: Ivison, D.,
Patton, P., Sanders, W. (Eds.), Political Theory and the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.
Cambridge University Press, pp. 26–59.
United Nations General Assembly, 2007. General Assembly Adopts Declaration on Rights
of Indigenous Peoples; ‘Major Step Forward’ Towards Human Rights for All, Says
President. (13 September 2007) https://www.un.org/press/en/2007/ga10612.doc.
htm. [Accessed 09 October 2017].
United Nations General Assembly Human Rights Council (UN GA HRC), 2016. Report of
the Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples on the Human Rights
Situation of the Sámi People in the Sápmi Region of Norway, Sweden and Finland A/
HRC/33/42/add.3. (9 August 2016).
United Nations, 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples
(UNDRIP). Adopted by the General Assembly on 2 October 2007.
Van Maanen, J., 2001. Afterword: natives ‘R’ us: some notes on the ethnography of or-
ganizations. In: Gellner, N., Hirsch, E. (Eds.), Inside Organizations: Anthropoligists at
Work. Berg., Oxford, pp. 233–261.
Ward, T., 2011. The right to free, prior, and informed consent: indigenous peoples' par-
ticipation rights within international law. Northwest. J. Int. Hum. Rights 10 (2),
54–84.
Weihed, P., Ahl, P., 2013. Omoraliskt att inte själva ta fram metaller. Svenska Dagbladet
(2013-01-02 [Accessed 13 November 2017]).
Wilson, E., Stammler, F., 2016. Beyond extractivism and alternative cosmologies: arctic
communities and extractive industries in uncertain times. Extr. Ind. Soc. 3 (1), 1–8.
Xanthaki, A., 2007. Indigenous Rights and United Nations Standards: Self-Determination,
Culture and Land (Cambridge Studies in International and Comparative Law).
Cambridge University Press, Cambridge. http://dx.doi.org/10.1017/
CBO9780511494468.