In the fog-covered hills of Covas do Barroso, a quaint Portuguese farming village recognized as a globally significant agricultural heritage site, tension is mounting as residents push back against plans to establish four large-scale lithium mines in the area. For villagers like Filipe Gomes, who returned from the hustle of London’s catering industry to reclaim a peaceful life in his birthplace, the ongoing prospecting has shattered the tranquility they came back for.
“They are destroying everything,” said Gomes, who now runs the only café in the village with his partner. The community fears the mines will pollute their soil, deplete water sources, and unleash unrelenting noise and truck traffic across the once-pristine landscape.
As Europe scrambles to transition away from fossil fuels and bolster its green economy, the demand for lithium—essential for electric vehicle batteries and renewable energy storage—has skyrocketed. The EU has set ambitious targets to source at least 10% of its critical raw materials domestically by 2030. The planned mine in Covas do Barroso has been designated as one of 47 strategic projects expected to receive expedited support under this policy.
Yet many in Covas believe they are being sacrificed in the name of environmental progress elsewhere. Residents, backed by protest group Unidos em Defesa de Covas do Barroso (UDCB), describe the initiative as an act of modern colonialism—one that threatens a sustainable ecosystem nurtured over five centuries. “You’re going to sacrifice all of this for open-pit mines,” said activist Catarina Alves Scarrott. “And then, you start to ask: for what?”
The British mining company Savannah Resources, granted a one-year administrative easement by Portugal’s environment ministry in December, resumed exploration after a brief injunction. Villagers accuse the company of downplaying the mine’s scale and trespassing on communally owned land. Though Savannah claims it operates legally and aims to keep residents informed, it declined to comment further.
While some locals in the wider Boticas region hope the mine could revitalize the rural economy, many in Covas remain unconvinced. A torn banner in the village reads: “No to the mine, yes to life.” Anger is not only directed at the miners but also at the government, which residents say has betrayed their trust.
Europe’s lithium dependency—currently reliant on Australia, Chile, and China—has sparked urgency among EU policymakers to build supply chains within its borders. However, the push has encountered widespread resistance, not just in Portugal. Protests have erupted in Serbia’s Jadar Valley and France’s Allier region, highlighting how communities across the continent are unwilling to bear the environmental and social costs of lithium extraction.
Analysts point out that the mining industry’s checkered safety record and lack of local employment opportunities have made the industry’s promises less persuasive. “It’s going to be very hard for the EU to develop primary sources of lithium domestically,” said Kwasi Ampofo, a mining analyst at BloombergNEF.
The Covas mine is projected to supply enough lithium for 500,000 electric vehicle batteries annually. But for Gomes and others, that statistic does little to justify what they see as irreversible harm. He compares the mine’s impact to that of an oil well in his backyard—something he says he would oppose just as strongly. “We do need to find a solution, but what we are doing now is not a solution.”
Experts suggest alternative paths. Shifting society away from private car ownership toward public transit and walkable cities could limit lithium demand. Better recycling of electronic waste and favoring lithium extraction from brine rather than hard rock mining are also seen as more sustainable options.
Still, analysts caution that electrifying Europe’s massive fleet of combustion engine vehicles without domestic lithium sources will likely shift extraction abroad—to countries with weaker environmental protections.
Political scientist Thea Riofrancos argues that protests emerge not just from environmental risk but from a lack of inclusion in decision-making. “It’s the harm combined with the lack of voice to be able to say something about that harm,” she said.
For residents like Alves Scarrott, the deepest wound isn’t just environmental degradation—it’s the erosion of democratic rights. “The biggest shock initially was not even the impact of the mine,” she said. “It’s the attack on democracy, and democratic processes, and the rights of the people that live there.”
As lithium becomes a cornerstone of the global energy transition, the fate of Covas do Barroso encapsulates a broader dilemma: how to build a greener world without creating new zones of sacrifice in the process.