1 INTRODUCTION

Probably no other environmental policy instrument has inflamed so many debates as payment for ecosystem services (PES). Since the 2000s, stakeholders both in industrialized and developing countries are propagating PES as a means of choice to preserve natural resources. They assume that financial incentives for carbon sequestration, the establishment of private nature reserves, and other market-based conservation measures have the potential to improve the living conditions of local populations. But PES quickly provoked fierce criticism from political ecology scholars (HECKEN; BASTIAENSEN; HUYBRECHS, 2015). These critical scholars claim that the use of market incentives for environmental purposes leads to an expansion of capitalism into hitherto uncommodified spheres of life (^{BÜSCHER; DRESSLER; 2007}). From their perspective, PES will sustain or even aggravate inequity. Most notably, critical scholars claim that the financial valorization of nature is at odds with indigenous holistic worldviews and legitimizes “green grabbing”, i.e. the eviction of local communities in the name of environmental preservation (^{ASIYANBI, 2016}; ^{BENJAMINSEN; KAARHUS, 2018}; ^{FAIRHEAD; LEACH; SCOONES, 2012}; ^{OSBORNE, 2015}).

Whereas the criticism of political ecology scholars focuses on distributive justice, i.e. the outcomes of PES for marginalized actors, liberal advocates of PES put more emphasis on procedural justice. From their perspective, negative consequences can be contained by dialogic procedures between different stakeholders (^{MOROS et al., 2019}; ^{HOLMES; CAVANAGH, 2016}; ^{KULL; DE SARTRE; CASTRO-LARRAÑAGA, 2015}; ^{MCELWEE, 2012}; ^{SHAPIRO-GARZA, 2013}). Most notably, they assume that PES may also contribute to the establishment of more inclusive institutions within state bureaucracies, which increases the chances of indigenous actors to make themselves heard (^{LEDERER; HÖHNE, 2019}). In normative terms, some liberal authors also demand that procedural justice should include the ethics of recognition. They claim that PES should acknowledge the value systems of indigenous communities without perpetuating the existing inequalities within the communities themselves (^{BÉTRISEY et al., 2018}).

Regardless of these different viewpoints, the prevailing literature generally tends to underestimate the impact of the postcolonial conditions in which many PES projects are situated (^{COLLINS, 2019}). That is where our paper steps in. We investigate how ongoing settler colonialism affects the viability of procedural PES safeguards and the distributional implications of these initiatives in Mato Grosso do Sul (MS), a province in the mid-west of Brazil. Our research results indicate that especially smaller, privately financed PES projects reinforce the socio-economic and political inequalities and fail to meet the standards of both distributive and procedural justice. The larger projects of international donors, by contrast, have the potential to empower indigenous actors to confront local elites more ef­fectively. At the same time, however, the focus on procedural standards challenges the existing power relationships within the indigenous communities themselves, which weakens their self-organizing capabilities. Local projects without international support, in the end, may lead to positive outcomes both in terms of distributional and procedural justice, but their institutionalization remains comparably weak.

Our empirical focus on MS allows us to investigate the early dynamics of PES in “yet to be case”, because PES politics in this province are still at an embryonic stage. This makes it possible to observe the initial motivations of key stakeholders, the formation of alliances, and their preparatory strategies. MS seems to be a promising candidate for both the high hopes as well as the fears which are associated with PES. It covers one of the world’s most important floodplain wetlands with very specific biodiversity and an immense potential for carbon storage (^{IORIS, 2014}). At the same time, this province is often described as the “Gaza Strip of Brazil” (^{IORIS; BENITES; GOETTERT, 2019, p. 138}; SCHMIDT, 2018). Over the last years, more than 400 indigenous spokespersons have been assassinated during land rights conflicts which result from ongoing settler colonialism (BOAS, 2016). Analyzing the preconditions and first contours of PES institutionalization in this context appears particularly helpful to answer the question of whether this policy instrument can contribute to more procedural justice in environmental politics.

For this article, we used in-depth qualitative research methods. One of the authors conducted 50 semi-structured interviews with indigenous spokespersons, NGO activists, scientists, large landowners and their families, state bureaucrats, public prosecutors, and local politicians during two field trips in 2019. For safety reasons, the travels to some interview partners in conflict-ridden areas were accompanied by local acquaintances. The preliminary results of the study were presented at a seminar at the Catholic University Dom Bosco (Campo Grande, MS). As this lecture was attended by many stakeholders (including indigenous actors), their feedback was used as a further source for empirical information as well as for the interpretation of the findings.

Our article is organized as follows: Section 2 gives an overview of PES. It situates these policy instruments in the broader debate on liberal environmentalism and discusses the deficits in the existing literature. Section 3 sketches the postcolonial context conditions of PES politics in MS. Subsequently, section 4 presents the various actors’ expectations concerning these policy instruments. In section 5, the emerging coalitions and implementation patterns are analyzed with regard to the impact of PES on the ongoing land rights conflicts. The article concludes with a reflection on the implications of our findings for the more general debate on PES and their possible contributions to distributive and procedural justice in a postcolonial world.

2 PES, PROCEDURAL SAFEGUARDS, AND POSTCOLONIALITY

In this section, we first contextualize PES in the prevailing zeitgeist of the 1990s and 2000s and give a short overview of the most relevant instruments (2.1). Thereafter, we summarize the criticism on PES and the debate on procedural safeguards as remedies (2.2). Finally, we show that a postcolonial perspective may nuance both critical and liberal assessments (2.3).

3 SETTLER COLONIALISM IN MATO GROSSO DO SUL

It is necessary to set the analysis of PES politics in MS in the context of its historical legacy of settler colonialism. This particular form of colonialism is characterized by a constellation in which the oppression of the original inhabitants of a region is mainly exercised by the local settlers. The power of the latter results from their transnational connections to the colonial powers (^{VERACINI, 2010, p. 6}). As this section will show, the ongoing settler colonialism shapes the political and economic structure of MS until today (^{IORIS, 2019}).

Until the era of the Brazilian Empire (at the beginning of the 19^th century), only a few settlers cultivated some smaller portions of land. The region was mainly inhabited by indigenous groups, whereby the Guarani Kaiowá and the Terena were the largest groups (^{MONDARDO; SERJO; STALIANO, 2019}). The indigenous groups either moved freely across the region or lived in the mission stations of the Jesuits, where they had taken precarious shelter from the Bandeirantes (militarily organized fortune hunters, see ^{CHAMORRO and COMBÈS, 2019}). The situation dramatically changed after the Paraguay war (1864-1870), the bloodiest military conflict in Latin America until today.

After its victory, the Brazilian government initiated a more stringent settlement policy. On the one hand, it explicitly encouraged the settlement of farmers, who mainly processed yerba mate, in order to stabilize the border regions. On the other hand, it rewarded the Terena, who had supported Brazil in the war, with the establishment of a comparably large reservation. However, the land rights situation of most indigenous groups remained very fragile (^{FERREIRA, 2009}). As property titles for lands are alien to the cultures of the Terena and Kaiowá Guarani, these groups did not even attempt to negotiate for more territory. Many Indians worked at the plantations of the settlers, frequently under exploitative conditions. During the second half of the 19^th century, the export-oriented cultivation of yerba mate was intensified, and many Indians were forced to cut down those forests which had previously formed the main source of their existence (^{IORIS; BENITES; GOETTERT, 2019}; ^{CAVALCANTE, 2013}).

In the first half of the 20the century, the Indian Protection Service (SPI) created more reserves for indigenous groups. In line with the prevailing assimilationist doctrine, these territories did not recognize the cultures and social structures of indigenous peoples (^{FERREIRA, 2009}; ^{CAVALCANTE, 2013}). Indigenous groups had to give up their nomadic lifestyles. Family clans, which play an important role in the indigenous social fabric, were deliberately separated and deported into different reservations. During the allocation, the ethnicity of indigenous groups remained disregarded. For example, the Terena, with their rather secularist and agriculture-based culture were often packed together with the Guarani Kaiowá, whose culture is far more inspired by spirituality and closeness to nature. This often led to tensions among the different groups (INTERVIEW 495, 2019). Officially, the inhabitants of the reservations were forbidden to practice their own cultures. Contraventions were punished by torture and death penalties. Most of the verdicts were executed by Indian captains who had been forcibly recruited by the SPI. The brutal repression during these times has significantly shaped the indigenous collective memory and is an important feature of their contemporary oral history until today (INTERVIEW 461, 2019; 464, 2019).

At the same time, large parts of the lands were given to the settlers, who profited from the global commodity boom in the interwar period. Although it is meanwhile acknowledged that the titling procedures were fraud with corruption, they still form the basis of the present distribution of lands (Governo do Estado MS, 2018). The family history of many farmers in MS dates back to this period. This often implies a retrospective which is marked by an ambiguity of pride in the economic successes and a guilty conscience with regards to the origins of the family wealth (INTERVIEW 503, 2019). Under the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964-1985), agricultural production was further intensified. With the expansion of cattle breeding, even more indigenous groups were forced to leave their traditional areas of settlement (^{IORIS; BENITES; GOETTERT, 2019}).

Since the democratic reforms of the late 1980s, the situation has not significantly improved. Although MS has the second largest indigenous population of Brazil² (roughly 85,000 individuals), there are still only a handful of small reservations. At the same time, the agricultural production is shifting towards the exportation of soya and corn, which once again is increasing the demand for land (^{MATO GROSSO DO SUL, 2018}). Today, MS is one of Brazil’s most important agricultural exporters. Beef, soya and corn constitute more than 97% of the state’s gross export value (^{CUNHA; FARIAS, 2019}). At the same time, its political economy is shaped by sharp and violent conflicts between the large landowners and the indigenous population (^{CHAMORRO; COMBÈS, 2019}).

According to the Brazilian legislation after democratization, indigenous communities are only entitled to claim the lands that they inhabited in 1988 (adoption of the democratic constitution), unless it can be proved that they were forced to leave by violent means before that date (^{MONDARDO; SERJO; STALIANO, 2019}). The so-called “demarcation” of indigenous lands, however, is a very cumbersome process. The National Office for Indigenous Affairs (FUNAI, the successor organization of the SPI) must collect anthropological, historical, and judicial evidence to demonstrate that indigenous communities have been unlawfully displaced. The retitling of lands to indigenous groups theoretically takes place in a three-tiered process, involving the state level, the federal ministry of justice, and the office of the president of the republic. If landowners were to have to leave their lands because of indigenous entitlements, they would be entitled to receive an indemnity for the property value of their buildings, but not for the loss of their lands (INTERVIEW 455, 2019; INTERVIEW 504, 2019). That is why their representatives try to impede the demarcation procedures by all available means (INTERVIEW 456, 2019; INTERVIEW 460, 2019).

Even under the workers party’s governments of Lula and Rousseff, the demarcation of indigenous lands hardly progressed (^{BOITO; BERRINGER, 2013}; MONARDO et al., 2019; ^{IORIS; BENITES; GOETTERT, 2019}). The current president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro, is known for his close connections with the agribusiness, which makes it even more unlikely that indigenous groups will succeed in regaining lost territories (INTERVIEW 455, 2019). Given the legal and judicial impasse, they often occupy portions of the farming lands which are located on their traditional areas of settlement. The so-called “retomadas” (literally: recoveries) are carefully prepared and organized by indigenous political and spiritual leaders. After several preparatory talks within the communities’ narrower circles of decision-makers, retomadas are formally decided by community-wide assemblies (INTERVIEW 502, 2019; ^{CORRADO, 2018}).

One of the main goals of the retomadas is to re-unite the family clans which had been separated by the SPI (^{IORIS; BENITES; GOETTERT, 2019}; ^{CORRADO, 2018}). To further this goal, the elders of some indigenous communities increasingly enforce endogamy. Indigenous girls are often married against their own will in order to strengthen the relationship between family bonds and land claims. Among the Terena, girls with non-indigenous partners are sometimes cast out from the communities and must leave the settlements (INTERVIEW 455, 2019; INTERVIEW 460, 2019). Nevertheless, most indigenous women support their communities’ land claims and sometimes organize their own protest rallies. For the Guarani Kaiowá, the sacredness of their territories is another motivation for retomatads (^{MONDARDO; SERJO; STALIANO, 2019}). Their initiatives are often sustained by religious cults (drum beatings, ritual songs) which are frequently practised throughout the night (INTERVIEW 460, 2019; INTERVIEW 503, 2019; ^{IORIS; BENITES; GOETTERT, 2019}).

From the perspective of those landowners whose territories are occupied (or, from an indigenous viewpoint, recovered), these religious ceremonies are often experienced as a form of psychological warfare, which is aggravated by the occasional burning of their buildings and family souvenirs (INTERVIEW 503, 2019). In many instances, farmers hire gunmen to shoot indigenous spokespersons or even children (INTERVIEW 461, 2019; INTERVIEW 464, 2019). Professional killers are easily available, either across the Paraguayan border or among the many unemployed former rural workers, whose day-to-day lives are characterized by boredom, alcohol abuse, and domestic violence (INTERVIEW 455, 2019; INTERVIEW 461, 2019). It is estimated that roughly 80 indigenous representatives per year are assassinated because of their engagement in land rights conflicts. The rural hinterlands of MS are often described as “lawless territories” (INTERVIEW 455, 2019). To deter indigenous activists, large landowners publish their names on hit lists (INTERVIEW 464, 2019). But even in the capital of Mato Grosso do Sul, indigenous spokespersons are illegally wire-tapped by police officers who work on behalf of the agribusiness (INTERVIEW 460, 2019).

The political economy on the province level mirrors the local power imbalances. Especially since the landslide losses of the workers` party during the last elections, the legislative assembly of MS is dominated by conservative deputies who either represent the agribusiness or are large landowners themselves (INTERVIEW 459, 2019; INTERVIEW 466, 2019). Many lawmakers subscribe to an assimilationist doctrine. They perceive indigenous subsistence (and, consequently, not wage-based) lifestyles as backward and at odds with indigenous claims for their inclusion into the Brazilian social welfare schemes. That is why they assume that the restitution of indigenous lands would only uphold their integration into the Brazilian mainstream society by giving them additional reservations (INTERVIEW 473, 2019; INTERVIEW 476, 2019; MONARDO et al., 2019).

Moreover, lawmakers mirror the perspective of huge landowners who claim that the structure of the global trade regime does not provide any alternative development route other than the further expansion of the agribusiness (INTERVIEW 504, 2019). While such a perspective may appear as a mere excuse, one has to take into account that international trade agreements (most notably, with regards to intellectual property protection) indeed restrain the options for a catching-up industrialization (^{EIMER; LÜTZ; SCHÜREN, 2016}). Despite their opposite political orientations, both conservative and left-wing observers in Brazil agree that recent trade agreements such as the EU-Mercosur agreement reinforce the country’s lock into a commodity-based economy (INTERVIEW 466, 2019; INTERVIEW 460, 2019; INTERVIEW 504, 2019).

As most lawmakers are eager to support the further expansion of the agribusiness in MS, they forcefully fight against any political representation of indigenous groups. Most notably, they strongly criticize the Missionary Council of the Catholic Church (CIMI), because this organization regularly supports indigenous groups and also provides judicial assistance (INTERVIEW 473, 2019). In a widely publicized parliamentary inquiry committee, conservative attempted to portray CIMI as a foreign agent acting against the interests of the Brazilian state (INTERVIEW 459, 2019; INTERVIEW 466, 2019; INTERVIEW 473, 2019). Intimidated by this commission, CIMI has partially withdrawn from overt activism in favor of indigenous land rights (INTERVIEW 468, 2019). This means that indigenous spokespersons are more or less left to their own devices, because transnational human rights organizations shy away from the security risks and rarely visit their residences in remote areas (INTERVIEW 464, 2019).

With a few exceptions, the government of MS is permeated by agribusiness interests (INTERVIEW 458, 2019; INTERVIEW 459, 2019; INTERVIEW 469, 2019). Nearly all ministers and the governor of the state are large landowners, and the top management levels of subordinated state authorities are staffed with their protégés (INTERVIEW 456, 2019). A sub-department for indigenous affairs was only recently established in 2015, and the allocated budget is hardly sufficient for the personnel costs of a handful of public servants (INTERVIEW 460, 2019; INTERVIEW 472, 2019). However, even if the state apparatus were more open to indigenous representatives, it remains questionable whether the situation would change. In view of their historical experiences with the SPI, many indigenous actors deeply distrust public authorities and oppose all forms of representative democracy. In their view, any form of cooperation with the state apparatus is perceived as cooptation at best and treason at worst (INTERVIEW 460, 2019; INTERVIEW 502, 2019).

The only political counterweight to large landowners can be seen in the subdivisions of federal authorities within Mato Grosso do Sul. In this context, the abovementioned National Office for Indigenous Affairs (FUNAI) plays a certain role, because it is represented in all municipalities in which indigenous communities are located. FUNAI is not only responsible for the (failing) demarcation of lands, but also provides a broader range of social and judicial services for indigenous groups. However, the authority is poorly financed and understaffed (INTERVIEW 455, 2019; INTERVIEW 463, 2019). Although some employees are recruited from the indigenous groups themselves and show a remarkable degree of compassion for their tasks, many top positions are filled by patronage, which once again plays into the hands of the agribusiness (INTERVIEW 455, 2019).

Against this background, it seems fair to say that the federal public prosecution office (Ministério Público) is the only serious antagonist against the overwhelming power of agricultural interests. Due to disproportionally high incomes and a highly developed “esprit de corps”, public persecutors are usually immune to corruption. They perceive themselves as guardians of the Brazilian constitution. Apart from the prosecution of political killings, they are also involved with the judicial proceedings surrounding land right conflicts (INTERVIEW 460, 2019). Not surprisingly, both lawmakers and the government of MS attempt to impede the politico-judicial activities of the public persecutors (INTERVIEW 460, 2019). As of yet, however, the Ministério Público has proven its resistance against all sorts of legal and illegal attacks. It remains to be seen whether this institution will be able to defend its powerful position under the right-wing government of Jair Bolsonaro.

4 PES AT THE HORIZON

The political and economic structures of ongoing settler colonialism shape the debates about PES in MS. According to Brazilian law, the competences for environmental regulations are shared between the federal and the state level. This means that the government of MS is legally obliged to implement national legislation and remains free to initiate more far-reaching policies.

Compared to the northern neighbor states in the Amazon, environmental policies in MS are lagging behind. Especially in view of the right-wing government on the federal level, lawmakers and elected politicians in MS are too afraid to endanger the large landowners’ interests. The polarization of political debates in Brazil reinforces their fears. On average, voters in MS are not very keen to be reminded of their ancestors’ colonial past, and indigenous rights are taboo in public debates (INTERVIEW 460, 2019). What is even more, the prevailing discourse associates any sympathy for environmentalism with treason, since the Bolsonaro government has popularized the perception of environmental organizations as a “green mafia” (INTERVIEW 504, 2019). However, despite the absence of a g­enuine PES legislation, all politically relevant actors are aware of the new policy instrument. Based on professional experiences or because of personal contacts with colleagues in the neighbor states, they are currently pondering the potentials and risks of a more stringent PES policy.

The most passionate PES supporters can be found among natural scientists (^{SCHULZ et al., 2015}). Their enthusiasm can be explained by a combination of self-interest and idealistic goals. The calculation of carbon-storage potentials and the economic value of biological resources is an intellectually challenging task which triggers the curiosity of many academics (INTERVIEW 458, 2019). Moreover, the implementation of PES projects makes it possible to receive funds from transnational NGOs or international organizations. While the acquisition of private research funding increases the reputation and career chances of scientists, it also serves as a substitute for public funding. Most notably, public universities have been suffering from severe expenditure cuts throughout the last years, and the acquisition of foreign grants has become necessary to uphold at least a minimum level of academic research (INTERVIEW 462, 2019).

Apart from this, many scientists also assume that the economic valorization of natural resources may also serve as a political tool. If they can credibly show that the preservation of biodiversity is economically reasonable, they can use this argument against the large landowners’ insistence on the importance of agro-industrial production (INTERVIEW 458, 2019). Scientists also hope that such an argumentation will eventually help to defend indigenous communities because their lifestyles are generally perceived to be in harmony with the sustainable use of natural resources (INTERVIEW 458, 2019). Having said this, they also take into account that their engagement for indigenous rights might have negative career implications because state politicians might decide to intervene into university politics in the case of unwelcome publications (Interview 462).

For large owners, on the other hand, the question of PES eventually boils down to a cost-benefit analysis (^{SOARES-FILHO et al., 2016}). At the moment, they stand to profit from the global commodities boom, which makes sustainable land-use practices quite unattractive (INTERVIEW 462, 2019). However, global markets are highly volatile, and it is anything but certain whether the intensive ­agro-industrial use of the land can be maintained in the future. Moreover, landowners may be pressured by international banks, whose credit policies are scrutinized by sustainability rankings for environmental impact when receiving loans. Against this background, they do not oppose an at least tentative experimentation with PES, if this can generate alternative sources of income (INTERVIEW 473, 2019). In this context, the federal forest code plays a certain role. Although the reservation of 20% of the land for nature conservation is hardly enforced, the registration of legal land-use practices in public cadasters helps to ascertain otherwise dubious land titles. Moreover, the certificate trade with private nature reserves is occasionally perceived as a welcome ancillary revenue (INTERVIEW 504, 2019; ^{PEGAS; CASTLEY, 2016}). This holds particularly true because transnational NGOs have pledged to support farmers with the registration of their lands (INTERVIEW 470, 2019).

Environmental NGOs have a very strong interest in the promotion of PES. They often have very clear conceptions regarding which kinds of plants and animals should be protected. Their plans are mainly based on preservationist goals and the estimated potentials for carbon storage. However, the preferences of environmental NGOs are also driven by the need to collect donations in industrialized countries. Even more important, NGOs must be able to guarantee that their projects will remain ongoing for a lengthier time period because potential donors would be deterred if they heard, for instance, that they are paying for trees that may be cut in the near future (INTERVIEW 454, 2019). This potentially brings environmental NGOs into conflict with indigenous groups. Although the livelihoods of the latter usually do not provoke major destruction of the natural habitat, even small-scale farming or shifting cultivation practices may be at odds with specific preservationist plans for a certain habitat (INTERVIEW 470, 2019; INTERVIEW 474, 2019; INTERVIEW 500, 2019). Moreover, any political intervention in favor of indigenous communities would endanger their conservation projects in the political “hornet’s nest” of MS (INTERVIEW 454, 2019).

However, it is important to note that the motivations of NGOs are widely dispersed. Some organizations are unilaterally focused on preservationist goals and at least tacitly disapprove the use of the lands by indigenous groups (INTERVIEW 500, 2019). At the other end of the spectrum, some left-wing NGOs oppose PES for ideological reasons, because they perceive the economic valorization of natural resources as an expansion of capitalism. In terms of financial resources, however, these critical NGOs hardly have the means to remain continuously involved with the ongoing debates in MS (INTERVIEW 472, 2019; INTERVIEW 475, 2019). If at all, their interventions usually remain limited to the support of spontaneous protests (INTERVIEW 464, 2019). For tactical reasons, most of the critical NGOs rather rely on awareness-raising campaigns in industrialized countries, where they find a certain level of ideological support among leftist activists.

Between these extremes, the majority of local NGOs take a middle ground and attempt to connect environmental goals to the support of indigenous livelihoods. These NGOs are typically less dependent on individual donors but receive their funding from international organizations such as the Global Environmental Facility (World Bank) or the Amazon Fund³. However, local NGOs remain inherently critical of international organizations. They perceive the rigid project implementation conditions and reporting obligations as well as the communication style of transnational bureaucrats as arrogant and implicitly colonial. Moreover, they criticize the prevailing top-down approaches, which in their view are often an expression of being badly informed about local circumstances (INTERVIEW 475, 2019). That having been said, it would be impossible for local NGOs to ignore internationally binding standards such as the inclusion of women’s rights into their initiatives. Apart from practical imperatives, a feminist orientation is often part of these NGO’s motivation to engage with socio-environmental issues (INTERVIEW 475, 2019; INTERVIEW 468, 2019).

This focus on procedural standards and women’s rights is one of the reasons why indigenous leaders often remain sceptical of whether they should cooperate with NGOs. Despite the gradual transition to small-scale agriculture, indigenous groups generally rely on the sustainable use of natural resources. Their spokespersons know that the indigenous closeness to nature may be used as an argument to gather support in political debates, especially in the context of transnational audiences (INTERVIEW 459, 2019; INTERVIEW 464, 2019; INTERVIEW 472, 2019). However, they are also aware that a defense of land rights with the help of transnational NGOs may come at the price of unwelcome interventions into their cultural practices, e.g. with regard to the position of women in tribal communities (INTERVIEW 460, 2019).

This is not to say that all spokespersons of indigenous communities would defend patriarchic values. Quite to the contrary, the enforced exposure to the culture of the “white man” has already led to cultural bricolages in which fragments of international discourses are intertwined with indigenous worldviews (INTERVIEW 472, 2019). However, indigenous activists are afraid that any change in their customs might weaken their organizational capacities, esp. with regards to the recovery of their lands (INTERVIEW 502, 2019). Their scepticism must be seen in the context of their previous experiences with the missionaries of the 18^th century (see section 3.) and transnational NGOs in the more recent past (Interview 460, 2019; INTERVIEW 474, 2019). In view of literally lethal threats, indigenous leaders have often made the experience that transnational actors disappear whenever the situation becomes truly critical (INTERVIEW 464, 2019). That explains why solidarity within the communities and family clans still enjoys the highest priority, even if this entails the acceptance of unequal (gender) relationships.

Indigenous leaders’ reluctance is partially shared by the relatively powerful federal public prosecutors, albeit for different reasons. While the latter acknowledge the tactical usefulness of an indigenous environmentalist discourse in political debates, they also perceive the risk that large landowners will eventually succeed in retaining all economic benefits from PES and rather increase the pressure on indigenous occupants of their lands. In addition, they are afraid that the internationalization of Brazilian environmental politics will eventually sustain a colonial worldview, in which the natural resources of the Global South are instrumentalized for the environmental priorities of the industrialized countries. Public prosecutors argue that an improvement of the human rights situation could be better reached if industrialized countries would put more emphasis on human rights issues in the context of international free trade negotiations and adopt the rules for the due diligence protocols of their banks. However, they expect that these suggestions will never be fulfilled because of the prevailing economic interests within the countries of the Global North (INTERVIEW 461, 2019; INTERVIEW 466, 2019).

5 EMERGING ALLIANCES, FIRST EXPERIENCES, AND PROSPECTS

Despite the lack of a genuine legal framework, some actors have already initiated PES projects in MS or at least started to plan them for the new future. At the moment of writing, three distinct trajectories can be observed.

The most active alliances are constituted by smaller NGOs and large landowners that attempt to combine natural reserves, carbon offsetting schemes, and smaller initiatives of ecotourism in privately funded projects. At least some large landowners use the implementation of the reservation quota system of the Brazilian forest code for the establishment of private nature reserves (INTERVIEW 470, 2019). Smaller transnational NGOs provide technical and logistical support for the registration of large landowners’ land titles in exchange for their willingness to comply with federal environmental laws. Especially in the Pantanal, the cooperation between NGOs and landowners helps the latter to make use of the protected areas for ecotourism in order to generate additional income sources. The establishment of protected zones is expected to become even more attractive in a long-term perspective because private landowners and NGOs are cooperating on the development of a cryptocurrency to facilitate the trade with certificates for nature reserves (INTERVIEW 500, 2019).

While these first experiments show that the establishment of natural reserves may be economically beneficial for large landowners, their implications for indigenous and local communities are rather questionable. Neither large landowners, nor preservationist NGOs are interested in taking the demands of indigenous communities into account (INTERVIEW 474, 2019). The ongoing transition of indigenous communities towards small-scale farming reinforces the already existing tensions. From the perspective of large landowners, indigenous small-scale farming reduces the chances to attract tourists that expect to enjoy pristine natural habitats. For transnational NGOs, it must be possible to stage their conservation projects as undisturbed natural paradises in order to satisfy the expectations of their donors in industrialized countries. Pictures of indigenous farming contradict this cliché and provoke financial risks, even if indigenous practices rather contribute to the sustainable use of natural resources. Currently, public prosecutors have acquired information about the killing of indigenous spokespersons who had been involved with the occupation of lands on an ecological resort (INTERVIEWS 466; 468). In the Pantanal, the establishment of private nature reserves led to the eviction of fishermen communities (^{CHIARAVALLOTI; HOMEWOOD; ERIKSON, 2017}), and local indigenous communities were denied access to their fishing grounds because they might have deterred tourists (INTERVIEW 468, 2019).

Such instances do not necessarily imply that western NGOs would withdraw from particular conservation projects. Quite to the contrary, the International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN) officially stepped out of a project after its local partners decided that indigenous land rights should also be part of the agenda (INTERVIEW 475, 2019). One NGO representative reported that his organization had supported the establishment of private nature reserves after the illegally settling indigenous groups had “disappeared”. He denied any co-responsibility for their fate (INTERVIEW 454, 2019). Probably, future developments will strongly depend upon the behavior of international banks as the main financiers of the agribusiness in MS. As long as their due diligence protocols do not endorse the compliance of landowners with human rights standards, neither the agribusiness nor preservationist NGOs have any incentive to take indigenous rights into account. In view of the postcolonial political economy in MS, governmental authorities cannot be expected to fulfil this role. If at all, it is rather probable that they will understand the ecological modernization as a further instrument to enforce the assimilation of indigenous groups.

A second alliance recently emerged around international organizations and some local NGOs. It focuses on the establishment of carbon offsetting projects and also includes some preliminary studies on the viability of REDD+ projects. Some Terena communities, for example, receive money from the Global Environmental Facility for a participatory mapping project as a preparatory study for REDD. Supported by local anthropologists, they made use of the gathered information to initiate a mediation process with large landowners in order to legalize their tomada. Although the negotiations eventually failed, indigenous leaders perceived the project as a success, because it made it possible for them to stay on the occupied lands. Given the international visibility, the local landowners avoided open conflict, and acquiesced indigenous settlements on their grounds, at least for the time being. Apart from these tangible results, the Terena appreciate that the geo-mapping project also serves as a documentation of their oral history. From their perspective, the recognition of the cultural value of a particular lake is a significant part of their victory, because they believe that this lake is inhabited by an important lake goddess that lures evil white men into the water and makes them drown (Interview 502).

Especially in the Pantanal, many larger projects are already being executed or at least envisaged by a cooperation of international organizations and civil society actors. First experiences have shown that the money derived from the Amazon fund can be used to improve judicial assistance for indigenous groups in land rights conflicts (INTERVIEW 468, 2019; INTERVIEW 475, 2019). Moreover, the debates about PES projects help to establish contacts with political actors in the capital of MS. At least to a limited extent, they increase the willingness of politicians to show some responsiveness to indigenous demands because they know that this is expected by international donors (INTERVIEW 473, 2019). In a similar vein, local scientists emphasize their sympathy for indigenous groups because they anticipate that international cooperation partners will insist on indigenous participation (INTERVIEW 458, 2019).

From the perspective of indigenous spokespersons, however, internationally financed projects come at a price. The international donors’ focus on women’s rights implies that indigenous women become relevant political actors, especially if their agency is supported by the collaborating local NGOs. Indigenous women seize this opportunity and demand more equal rights within their communities (INTERVIEW 475, 2019). As they often do not enjoy any legitimate mandate by customary rituals and decision-making processes, they make use of the newly established contacts to seek support in the state’s sub-department for indigenous affairs. From the perspective of indigenous elders, however, the reshuffling of traditional structures and the circumvention of traditional decision-making rules bears the risk of decreased political self-organization capacities. Even more importantly, they are afraid that indigenous women that cooperate with the state authorities will eventually be coopted, which plays into the hands of the large landowners (INTERVIEW 502, 2019). These claims are not entirely unsubstantiated. Even non-indigenous observers report that indigenous women that work with the government use their newly gained privileges against the interests of their own communities (INTERVIEW 460, 2019).

The third alliance entirely consists of domestic actors and evolves around the use of the tax subsidy system for municipalities as an environmental tool. At the moment, this instrument is hardly used in practice. However, some activists hope that local indigenous groups can draw on this instrument to demand protection of their settlements, if they can give evidence of their sustainable lifestyle (INTERVIEW 472, 2019). On the local level, indigenous communities are comparatively well organized, and there are intensive communication channels between indigenous activists across the municipalities (INTERVIEW 458, 2019; INTERVIEW 461, 2019; INTERVIEW 474, 2019). In an ideal world, FUNAI and public prosecutors might help indigenous actors to make use of the tax incentive system to secure indigenous land rights on municipal grounds. In view of the national (and global) political climate, however, it cannot be taken for granted that they will be able to fulfill this role.

6 CONCLUDING REMARKS

With our case study, we attempted to answer the question of how postcoloniality affects the potential of PES in contributing to procedural justice in environmental politics. For this purpose, we investigated initial PES politics in Mato Grosso do Sul, a Brazilian province, where political and economic structures are continuously shaped by ongoing settler colonialism. On the one hand, it seems to us that the answer depends on the size and the institutional design of the individual PES projects. On the other hand, and perhaps even more importantly, our results imply that both liberal and critical scholars would need to reflect more carefully on the socio-cultural implications of procedural justice and recognition under the conditions of postcoloniality.

Wirth regard to smaller, privately financed PES projects, the adoption of indigenous rights safeguards appears rather questionable. Smaller NGOs simply do not have the financial means to establish any institutions which might go against the interests of local (agrarian) elites. Regardless of whether they would be willing to adapt their projects to the demands of the local population, any deviation from the landowners’ preferences would decrease their chances of collecting funding in industrialized countries. Apart from that, their preservationist understanding of nature as a pristine space might discourage them from accepting indigenous land-use practices. These findings mirror postcolonial caveats. Global power structures and a Eurocentric understanding of nature as pristine landscapes prevent smaller PES projects from taking indigenous demands into account.

By contrast, internationally funded, large projects seem to have the potential to increase the agency of indigenous and local communities. Their institutional design may slightly shift power balances and increase the willingness of public officials to take the demands of indigenous groups into account. However, at least in this case study, this would rather be a collateral than an intended result and would strongly depend on the historically rooted capacities of indigenous communities to organize themselves. Moreover, the contributions of internationally financed PES projects to increase dist­ributive justice, especially in regard to land right conflicts, remains rather marginal because of the prevailing power constellations. The socio-economic and political inequalities under the conditions of an ongoing settler colonialism also explain why locally financed projects remain weakly institutionalized, although they might positively contribute to both procedural and distributive justice for indigenous communities.

Our results may be inconvenient for both the critics and the supporters of PES. Against the critics, we show that it is indeed possible to devise market-based environmental policies which facilitate a recognition of indigenous perspectives, albeit in an indirect manner. In view of the brutal realities of ongoing settler colonialism, the procedural safeguards of internationally funded climate projects provide at least a weak protection for indigenous actors against lethal threats. However, this does not take away the fact that PES projects are ultimately rooted in a postcolonially shaped global political economy. Supporters should recognize that the dependence of externally financed PES projects from the donors in industrialized countries reinforces an imagery of nature that is ultimately rooted in a Eurocentric worldview and tends to disregard the living conditions of indigenous peoples.

At the same time, it seems to us that both liberal and critical scholars would have to reflect more thoroughly on the individualistic basic assumptions of procedural justice and recognition. At least if we take gender equality into account, it appears normatively tempting to subscribe to the adoption of inclusive dialogic standards that ensure that all stakeholders can make themselves heard. Larger, internationally financed PES projects have the potential to empower tribal woman and to increase their potential for agency, both within and beyond their communities. Against the critics of PES, this shows that their inclination to protect indigenous peoples’ cultures against capitalism may indirectly entail a romanticizing of inherently patriarchic structures. However, the individualistic understanding of procedural justice and its focus on gender equality also threatens the social cohesion within indigenous communities and weakens their political self-organization. Eventually, this may undermine indigenous groups’ capacities to demand more distributive justice, especially with regards to the recognition of their land claims. It seems to us that the relationship between procedural justice standards and women’s rights on the one hand and their implications for the social cohesion of indigenous communities and their struggle for more distributive justice on the other hand need more empirical research and theoretical reflection. While a normative weighting is beyond the scope of our article, taking postcoloniality into account appears imperative to avoid an unquestioning application of western normative standards to societal contexts that are deeply shaped by historically rooted power imbalances.

A postcolonial perspective sharpens our view of the embeddedness of PES projects in Eurocentric worldviews and the highly unequal structures of the global political economy. It makes us aware that the protection of the environment and the mitigation of climate change must be adapted to the concrete living conditions of local (indigenous) communities. Otherwise, even well-intended interventions may worsen the living situation of those who are already suffering most from the colonial legacies of the existing world order.