The Anacé indigenous people are taking action against TikTok over Brazil's largest data center

 

 

 

 

 

 

The natives, who fear the socio-environmental impact, accuse the company of not consulting them before installing the multi-million dollar project on their traditional lands.

 

 

Before getting into the details, Roberto Ytaysaba, from Brazil, wants to make one thing perfectly clear. Neither he nor the Anacé indigenous people he leads are against progress. “We are not against progress if it respects the communities, nature, spirituality, the autonomy of the peoples, and Convention 169,” he explained one recent morning in his village. They have had electricity here since the 1980s , the school teaches ethnomathematics to their children, and they recently inaugurated a clinic specifically for native people, which is the envy of this region in the arid northeast of Brazil. As so often in recent centuries, a threat looms over them. “This project is an invasion, like the Portuguese invasion in 1500, what they called the discovery,” says this Anacé chief, who was born in 1976 in a hammock and is known as Chief Roberto. He elaborates on his arguments, seasoned with history, metaphors, and irony, in the communal kitchen, the heart of the village, while a pleasant breeze mitigates the heat.

The traditional lands of the Anacé are located in Caucaia, a metropolitan municipality of Fortaleza. After resisting here, between the 17th and 18th centuries, what the chronicles of the colonizers called the war of the barbarians and other vicissitudes, they now face one of the most formidable adversaries one can encounter in the 21st century, TikTok, one of the most popular social networks in the world.

This Indigenous community has launched a peaceful battle—backed by lawyers, NGOs, and the Public Prosecutor's Office—against the Chinese company because they fear the mega-data center it plans to build on land they consider their own will negatively impact them. They are also concerned because they were not consulted in a "free, prior, and informed consultation" as mandated by ILO Convention 169 (the International Labour Organization), a convention as ignored by investors as it is invoked by Indigenous peoples worldwide.

ByteDance, the company that owns the social network that has seduced hundreds of millions of internet users, has partnered with a Brazilian wind energy company, Casa dos Ventos, to build a 300-megawatt data center, the most powerful in Brazil.

ByteDance “appreciates the license granted for TikTok to operate a data center in Brazil,” according to a statement responding to questions from this newspaper, which adds: “We continue our advanced discussions with local partners and look forward to collaborating with local communities in our commitment to sustainability, equity, and transparency.” In another statement, Casa dos Ventos adds that it “complies with all international and national conventions and regulations.”

The indigenous man Ytaysaba recalls that one of his first discoveries in this battle against the technological giant is that the cloud, that place to store data, is not an ethereal space , but a physical place, on earth.

Like many Indigenous people, Roberto Ytaysaba also has a civilian name: Roberto Antonio Marques da Silva. A teacher at the local school and a librarian, the Indigenous leader says he also works as a security guard. Upon meeting his wife, he abandoned his plans to become a Catholic priest.

Chief Roberto grabs his helmet and rides his motorcycle a few kilometers to a crossroads. On the other side, he points out the land apparently reserved for TikTok in what the Anacé consider their traditional territory. The plot is barren with a couple of small ponds, some trees and bushes, along with white stakes and numerous stones that gleam with silvery flashes. On the way to the plot, he points out another encroachment, this one of a religious nature, he jokes: a shrine dedicated to Saint Hedwig, erected by a local congressman.

And why data centers right here on the map, in Fortaleza? The answer lies at the bottom of the sea. The capital of Ceará is the major Brazilian hub for the submarine cables that connect Brazil's internet to the world.

Construction to house TikTok's supercomputers will begin "this year or in early 2026," according to the Brazilian company Casa dos Ventos, and "the first phase will be operational in the second half of 2027." For now, nothing on the rocky site indicates that a project in which Brazilian authorities have placed great hopes is about to take root. They estimate it will attract $9 billion in investment.

Brazil is campaigning to attract the growing data center industry . It aspires to become one of the international epicenters of the business. To that end, it is offering investors tax breaks, low costs, and abundant sunshine and wind, which, thanks to renewable energy, could power the supercomputers that operate 24/7. “Data centers are now the heart of the digital ecosystem, driving innovation, expanding connectivity, and generating jobs worldwide,” said Communications Minister Frederico de Siqueira at the inauguration of one in October. “The expectation is to attract other centers, strengthening digital sovereignty and expanding our data storage and processing capacity,” he added. Brazil is home to nearly 200 data centers, employing two million people, according to the government.

Government interest in the TikTok project is at its peak. President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva met for 30 minutes with the company's CEO , Shou Zi Chew, at the latter's request, in September in New York, where the president was attending the UN General Assembly.

The Anacé have not yet achieved legal recognition of their lands as an indigenous reserve , although they enjoy tacit recognition because the authorities provide them with education and healthcare adapted to their culture. This lack of recognition is compounded by the effects of a family split, one of those frequent ruptures within families.

The new data center will be part of the Pecém port industrial complex, built thanks to Chief Roberto, who explains that a splinter group of the Anacé agreed to cede the land behind the backs of the other leaders in exchange for their relocation. For this reason, the remaining Anacé, whom he leads, do not recognize the agreements made by the dissenting relatives and assert their right to the land. “We want it back,” he demands. Following that internal split, these Indigenous people approved their own 26-page protocol for internal consultations.

The first news that TikTok and its Brazilian partners were going to launch in Caucaia came from an article published by The Intercept Brazil in May. It revealed the enormous quantities of water and energy the project would require and reminded everyone that the city had declared a drought emergency in 16 of the last 21 years. The Indigenous people immediately began searching for allies. Natives and activists had to thoroughly research a subject about which they knew almost nothing, and they soon began to mobilize in protest.

Letícia Abreu, 32, a community lawyer with the NGO Instituto Terramar , which advises the Anacé people, points out, sitting next to the chief, the two issues she considers most problematic: the data center project obtained its environmental license through a simplified process, without any mention of its scale. This is the procedure now being investigated by the Public Prosecutor's Office, according to the lawyer. “These data storage structures are plugged in 24/7, they never unplug them, they require a huge water supply, and they say they will only use renewable energy, but solar and wind power don't offer a stable supply,” Abreu notes as another problem. Casa dos Ventos states that the project will operate with “a 100% renewable energy supply.”

The underlying problem, points out the activist from the Terramar Institute, is that renewable energy projects prefer to be located in areas inhabited by traditional or indigenous communities , where land ownership is often not legally recognized, weakening the ability of those affected to defend their rights. The activist also emphasizes that what they are fighting against is inequality, not renewable energy itself. The NGO advocates for a just energy transition.

Chief Roberto confirms a dialogue with the promoters of the data center, whose terms he finds unconvincing: “They want to come and explain the project, but for now we haven’t authorized it,” he explains. “First they violate us, and now they’re asking us to marry them,” he says ironically. Like the vast majority of poor Brazilians, the Anacé indigenous people are well aware of their rights . And when the project representatives sit down with him and offer to improve the electricity supply or internet connection in exchange for the community’s support, he becomes enraged and responds sharply: “What kind of promise is that? That’s a right!”

He's been told the data center will operate on a closed-loop water system, but he fears the village wells will run dry. He's worried about the water supply, the impact on biodiversity, the heat and noise emanating from the facility, and, above all, that this project looks set to pave the way for similar ones to follow.

The Anacé chief uses every means at his disposal to publicize his struggle. On the day of the interview, he had just returned from Belém, where he spoke about his battle against TikTok in a debate held alongside the UN climate summit , COP30. And that's precisely why, he says, he has a TikTok account. Like some one hundred million of his compatriots. "I use it only to amplify our voice, not for those silly dances," he states.

His reflections on the internet link contemporary addiction to social media with one of the most influential chapters in Brazilian history. “We live in an era of digital slavery. The internet is like a chain that, instead of tightening around the neck, tightens around the brain. The data center is a kind of slave ship, because we are at the mercy of a minority that manipulates us and encourages us to buy a false happiness.” These are the words of Chief Roberto, a teacher, librarian, security guard, and Indigenous leader in Brazil in 2025.