Critical Minerals

The map illustrates the geographical locations of key mines by critical mineral type. Around the map, reported and projected mining volumes by mineral type are visualized with the area. Next to it, the expected supply growth between 2023 and 2040 is represented by the height of a “pile”.

Mapping the expected supply from existing and announced projects by country, reveals that cobalt dominates the landscape for supply volumes, however graphite and lithium show the most significant growth. Congo (DRC) is projected to maintain its status as the leading global producer of cobalt while countries like Mozambique and Zimbabwe are increasing their production of graphite and lithium, respectively.

This infographic presents the current state of global critical mineral supply in 2023 and forecasts future trends based on the Net Zero Scenario (2030, 2035, 2040). While copper and cobalt are anticipated to decline, the overall supply growth for critical minerals underscores the necessity for reliable supply chains to navigate potential challenges in the energy transition landscape. The comparison of supply volumes and expected market values illustrates the link between resource availability and economic potential in achieving a sustainable future.

At the height of its operation, Chuquicamata was more than just a mine—it was a microcosm of modernity, a place where the promise of progress seemed within reach. The town that grew alongside the mine was a peculiar entity, a “state within a state,” where the infrastructure, social services, and daily life were all intertwined with the operations of the mine. For those who lived there, Chuquicamata was both a privilege and a burden, a place where the earth's wealth could be seen and touched and where the consequences of that wealth were felt deeply.

As the 20th century progressed, Chuquicamata symbolised Chile’s economic prowess. The copper extracted from its depths was not just a commodity; it was the lifeblood of a nation, fueling development and shaping the country’s place on the global stage. But with this wealth came power, and with power, conflict. The story of Chuquicamata is as much about the people who lived and worked there as it is about the political forces that sought to control it.

In 1971, Salvador Allende, Chile’s first socialist president, saw the potential of Chuquicamata and other mines as tools for national transformation. Allende’s vision was bold: he sought to nationalise Chile’s copper industry, believing that the wealth generated from these resources should be used to uplift the people of Chile. For Allende, copper was not just a mineral but a means to achieve social justice and fund education, healthcare, and housing for low-income people.

When the last residents evacuated in 2006, Chuquicamata had become a ghost town. Its once-living buildings were left to decay under the relentless sun. The mine, however, continued to operate, a stark reminder of the price paid for the wealth extracted from the earth.

Today, Chuquicamata stands as a symbol of the complex relationship between natural resources, political power, and social memory. The lessons of Chuquicamata are particularly relevant as the world once again turns its attention to the strategic value of critical minerals. Just as copper was central to Chile’s development in the 20th century, so too are minerals like lithium, cobalt, and rare earth elements crucial to the global economy of the 21st century. Copper, in particular, remains indispensable—its role in clean energy technologies has only grown more critical as the world seeks to transition to a sustainable future.

Copper is often referred to as the “metal of electrification.” Its superior electrical conductivity makes it essential for a wide range of clean energy technologies, including wind turbines, solar panels, and electric vehicles (EVs). The demand for copper is projected to skyrocket as the global economy shifts towards renewable energy. A single wind turbine, for example, can contain up to 30 tonnes of copper, while an electric vehicle can use up to 80 kilograms. By 2040, global copper demand is expected to double, primarily driven by the expansion of clean energy infrastructure.

This insatiable demand for copper underscores its strategic importance in the geopolitical landscape. Countries that possess significant copper reserves, like Chile, hold a vital position in the global economy. The control of copper supply chains will likely become a focal point of international relations as nations scramble to secure the resources necessary to power the energy transition. The strategic importance of copper today echoes the role it played in Chile’s history. Still, the stakes are even higher now as the world faces the dual challenges of climate change and energy security.

The story of Chuquicamata serves as a cautionary tale. The wealth generated by natural resources can bring significant benefits and lead to exploitation, environmental degradation, and social unrest. The history of Chuquicamata reminds us that the extraction of resources is not just an economic activity—it is a profoundly political one with far-reaching consequences for the societies involved.

One of the most striking aspects of Chuquicamata’s story is how perceptions of privilege and memory have shaped the town’s legacy. For the workers and their families, living in Chuquicamata was both a privilege and a challenge. On the one hand, they had access to better housing, education, and healthcare than many other Chileans. On the other hand, they were constantly exposed to the dangers and hardships of life in a mining town.

The memory of Chuquicamata is similarly complex. For some, it is remembered as a place of opportunity, where hard work was rewarded with a better life. For others, it is a place of exploitation, where the wealth generated by the mine was taken by those in power, leaving the workers with little to show for their efforts. These conflicting memories reflect the broader tensions in Chilean society between the individual and the collective, between progress and its costs.

These lessons are more important than ever in today’s global rush for critical minerals. As countries and companies seek to exploit new mineral deposits, they must consider the economic benefits and social and environmental costs. The story of Chuquicamata shows that the true value of a resource cannot be measured in dollars or tonnes alone—it must also be measured in the impact it has on the people and communities who live in its shadow.

Moreover, the geopolitical implications of critical mineral extraction are profound. Just as Chile’s copper was a prize for both domestic and foreign powers in the 20th century, today’s critical minerals are also a source of competition and conflict on the global stage. The control of these resources can shape the balance of power in the 21st century, just as it did in the 20th.

But there is also a risk that history will repeat itself—that the rush for critical minerals will lead to the same kinds of exploitation and environmental harm that have marked the history of resource extraction worldwide. The story of Chuquicamata offers a stark reminder that the benefits of resource wealth are not always evenly distributed, and those who stand to gain the most are often furthest removed from the consequences.

The process of extracting lithium from the salt flats of Atacama is an alchemical endeavour of immense proportions. It takes an astonishing 30,000 litres of brine water to produce 10 kilograms of lithium, a metal that has become indispensable in making electric vehicle batteries. This is the paradox of the Atacama: a desert where water is as rare and precious as the lithium it conceals, and yet, water must be sacrificed to harvest this new "white gold."

The scale of the demand is almost incomprehensible. To replace the world’s fleet of conventional vehicles with electric ones would require 15 million tonnes of lithium—a quantity that underscores the vastness of the challenge and the profound impact on the region. In 2022 alone, the mining giants SQM and Albemarle extracted 40,000 tonnes of lithium from the Atacama salt flats. But these staggering figures come with a cost. As these companies draw ever more brine from beneath the desert floor, the surrounding communities, already vulnerable to water scarcity, face even harsher conditions. The summer heat brings with it days-long water shortages, a stark reminder of the environmental toll of this extraction.

These companies have been granted licenses to extract up to 2,000 litres of water per second—a volume that can disrupt the physical landscape and the delicate balance between technological progress and environmental preservation. The situation in the Atacama is not merely a case of resource extraction; it is a narrative that pits the needs of the present against the sustainability of the future, where the water that sustains life is being depleted to power the devices of tomorrow.

For the indigenous communities of the Atacama, who have lived in harmony with this harsh yet beautiful environment for centuries, the intrusion of industrial mining is not just an economic or environmental issue—it is deeply personal. These are the ancient stewards of the land whose lives are intimately tied to the rhythms of the desert and the scarce water that sustains it. The encroachment of lithium extraction threatens their way of life and the very soul of the landscape they have called home for generations.

Ingrid Garcés, an engineering professor at Chile’s University of Antofagasta, clarifies the situation's gravity: “In Chile, lithium extraction has been regarded as a regular type of mining as if you were extracting hard rock. But this is not regular mining – it is water mining.” Her words resonate deeply in San Pedro de Atacama, where the act of extracting lithium is inextricably linked to the depletion of the region’s most precious resource—water.

The global rush for lithium is driven by a collective desire to mitigate climate change, reduce our dependence on fossil fuels, and transition to cleaner forms of energy. Yet, this pursuit of a greener future has its ironies. The element that promises to help save the planet also contributes to the strain on local ecosystems and communities. In the Atacama, the dance of progress is delicate, where each step forward in the name of environmental sustainability risks leaving a deep footprint on the fragile desert landscape.

The Atacama’s story is not just one of industrial ambition and technological progress—it is a narrative woven from the threads of water, indigenous resilience, and the delicate balance between the timeless and the transient. As the world’s demand for lithium continues to grow, the lessons of San Pedro de Atacama become ever more relevant. The pursuit of critical minerals, essential as it may be, must be tempered with respect for the places and people from which they are extracted.

In the years to come, the world will need more lithium. The International Energy Agency estimates that global demand for lithium could increase by more than 40 times by 2040 if the world is to meet its climate goals. This means more brine will be pumped from the depths of the Atacama, more water will be evaporated under the relentless desert sun, and more pressure will be placed on the ecosystems and communities that inhabit this arid landscape.

The strategic importance of lithium is undeniable. It is the lifeblood of the clean energy transition, essential for the batteries that power everything from electric cars to renewable energy storage systems. But the story of San Pedro de Atacama reminds us that extracting critical minerals is not just a technical challenge—it is a moral one. How we choose to source the materials that will power our future will define the sustainability of our energy systems and the equity and justice of our environmental policies.

The narrative of lithium in the Atacama is also a testament to the complex interplay between individual and collective perceptions of privilege. For the global consumer, lithium represents progress, innovation, and a step towards a more sustainable future. But for the indigenous communities of San Pedro de Atacama, it means a threat to their way of life, a reminder that the benefits of modern technology often come at a cost borne by those who are least able to afford it.

As the twilight fades and the stars emerge over the Atacama Desert, the landscape tells a story that is both ancient and modern—a story of cosmic beauty and earthly challenges, of timeless rhythms and the relentless march of progress. The lithium extracted from this remote corner of the world will power the electric vehicles central to our environmental aspirations. Still, it will also leave behind a legacy that must be reckoned with.

In the end, the lesson of San Pedro de Atacama is one of balance. Just as the stars and mountains coexist in a delicate harmony, so must our pursuit of progress be balanced with the need to preserve the natural and cultural landscapes that sustain us. The future of energy lies in the lithium beneath the Atacama, but so does the future of the communities who call this desert home. Like the echoes of Carmelo’s Pututo, their voices must be heard, lest the dance of progress become a march towards irreversible loss.

As the first light of dawn touches the peaks of the Andes, one is reminded that the story of San Pedro de Atacama is far from over. The lithium lies deep within the earth, waiting to be unearthed. Still, the real treasure of the Atacama is the wisdom to extract it without losing the essence of what makes this place so extraordinary. Like the desert, which has endured for millennia, the challenge is to find a way to sustain both the earth’s resources and the human spirit, to draw from the depths without depleting the well of life.

Kolwezi, a city shaped by its sprawling artisanal mines, offers a stark portrait of the human toll of cobalt extraction. Above ground, the city hums with the activity of a modern world—markets bustling with trade, children playing in the streets, and trucks rumbling down dirt roads, laden with the fruits of the miners’ labor. But another narrative unfolds below ground in the dimly lit tunnels that crisscross the land. It is a tale of labour and minerals, a land rich in resources yet impoverished in almost every other sense. The miners who toil in these tunnels are the silent protagonists of this story, their faces etched with the history of their labour, their bodies marked by the physical toll of years spent underground.

The story of cobalt in the Democratic Republic of Congo is deeply intertwined with the country’s colonial past. For centuries, the riches of the Congo—copper, diamonds, rubber, and now cobalt—have attracted the attention of foreign powers. During the colonial era, European nations carved up Africa in a scramble for resources, with little regard for the people who lived there. The Congo, with its vast mineral wealth, was particularly prized. The exploitation of its resources fueled the industrial revolutions of Europe but left the country itself mired in poverty and conflict. This legacy of exploitation did not end with independence. Today, the DRC remains one of the poorest countries in the world, even as its minerals continue to be extracted to power the economies of wealthier nations.

Cobalt, in particular, has taken on new significance in the 21st century. As the world rushes to embrace a green revolution, cobalt has become critical in producing lithium-ion batteries, essential for electric vehicles, smartphones, laptops, and renewable energy storage systems. The demand for cobalt will skyrocket in the coming years, driven by the global shift towards sustainable energy. The DRC, which holds more than 60% of the world’s cobalt reserves, is at the centre of this new resource scramble.

Yet, for the creuseurs of Kolwezi, the realities of cobalt mining are a far cry from the promises of wealth and development often associated with the industry. Working in makeshift tunnels that can plunge as deep as 60 meters, these miners face daily risks of cave-ins, toxic exposure, and accidents. Their tools are rudimentary, their safety measures nearly nonexistent, and their pay is meagre—often just a few dollars a day. Despite these harsh conditions, the creuseurs labour accounts for an estimated 30% of the world’s cobalt supply, a staggering contribution to a global market poised to expand rapidly in the coming decades.

The cobalt extracted by these miners only stays in Congo for a short time. It enters a complex supply chain that ultimately delivers it to multinational corporations and, eventually, into the batteries of smartphones, laptops, and electric vehicles. This journey from the depths of the Congolese earth to the gleaming storefronts of the developed world is marked by a profound disconnect—a chasm between the human cost of extraction and the convenience of the products it enables.

The cobalt industry in the DRC is not just an economic phenomenon but also a reflection of the country’s post-colonial struggles. The wealth generated by this industry rarely trickles down to the miners and their communities. Instead, it is siphoned off by corrupt officials, intermediaries, and foreign corporations, perpetuating a cycle of poverty and inequality. This corruption is a direct descendant of colonial exploitation, which established a pattern of resource extraction that benefits a few at the expense of many. Today, the DRC remains trapped in this pattern, with its mineral wealth enriching others while its people remain impoverished.

The story of cobalt in the DRC is also a microcosm of the broader challenges facing resource-rich nations in a globalised economy. The allure of cobalt has drawn a new wave of foreign interest, from Chinese conglomerates to Western tech giants, each vying for a piece of the pie. However, the wealth generated by this industry rarely benefits those who need it most. Instead, it fuels a cycle of poverty, environmental degradation, and political instability—a cycle that has played out time and again in the DRC’s history.

The cobalt these miners extract daily is part of a global supply chain that links the Congo’s mines to the world’s tech hubs. Yet, despite cobalt's vital role in the global economy, the miners who extract it remain marginalised and exploited. In the DRC, the benefits of resource wealth are often limited to a small elite, while most of the population remains impoverished. This inequality is starkly apparent in Kolwezi, where the contrast between the wealth generated by the cobalt mines and the poverty of the miners themselves is impossible to ignore.

As the world accelerates its shift towards a green revolution, the demand for cobalt is set to soar. The transition to electric vehicles alone could require millions of tons of cobalt, a demand likely exacerbating the already immense pressures on the DRC’s mining regions. In response to this growing demand, international corporations are expanding their operations in the Congo, often with little regard for their activities' environmental and social impacts. The result is a growing divide between the wealth generated by cobalt extraction and the poverty experienced by those who extract it.

The challenge is clear: we must rethink how we source and consume the materials that fuel our modern world. This requires more than just technological innovation; it demands a profound transformation in global trade and industry structures. Supply chains must become more transparent, ensuring that the origins of the materials we rely on are visible and accountable. This visibility is crucial not only for ethical reasons but also for empowering the workers who extract these resources, enabling them to claim their fair share of the wealth they help to create.

In places like Kolwezi, where the past and present are inextricably linked, miners' struggle is emblematic of a broader issue—the need to build a robust middle class in developing countries that can participate in and benefit from global economic growth. However, entrenched local corruption often thwarts this vision, which siphons off wealth before it can reach the people who need it most. Intermediaries and brokers exploit the system, leaving miners with meagre earnings while foreign corporations extract vast profits. This corruption is a direct descendant of colonial exploitation, perpetuating a cycle of poverty and disenfranchisement.

The cobalt extracted in the DRC is indispensable to the future of energy, but it comes at a steep cost. The story of the creuseurs highlights the stark inequality between those who produce the raw materials for modern technology and those who consume the finished products. The convenience and privilege consumers enjoy in wealthy countries are built on the backs of workers in places like Upper Katanga, where the benefits of resource wealth are far from evenly distributed.

If we are to address these disparities, we must commit to fair trade practices that ensure equitable wealth distribution and foster economic development in resource-rich regions. Building a middle class in countries like the DRC is essential for breaking the cycle of exploitation and creating a more just global economy. This requires international cooperation, strong governance, and the will to address corruption at all levels of the supply chain.

Sulawesi’s transformation is most evident in places like Morowali, where the push for nickel has reshaped the landscape and the lives of those who inhabit it. Once dotted with small fishing villages, the region pulses with the frenetic energy of a modern-day rush for wealth. The Morowali Industrial Park, a sprawling complex of processing plants and factories, has become the epicentre of this boom. Thousands of workers, drawn by the promise of jobs and prosperity, have flocked to the area, building makeshift shacks and boarding houses along dusty roads. The air here is thick with the noise of machinery and the constant hum of anticipation—a far cry from the quiet, pastoral life that once defined the region.

The nickel mined in Morowali and other parts of Sulawesi is crucial to the global supply chain, feeding the insatiable demand for batteries and electronics. As the world transitions towards greener technologies, nickel has become a key component in lithium-ion batteries, essential for electric vehicles and renewable energy storage systems. With its vast nickel reserves, Indonesia has positioned itself as a significant player in this new green economy, attracting investment from international corporations eager to secure their supply of this critical mineral.

Yet, this rapid industrialisation comes at a significant cost. The deforestation accompanying mining operations has led to severe environmental degradation, transforming once-fertile lands into barren, muddy coastlines. The loss of forest cover has exacerbated flooding, with heavy rains washing loose soil into rivers and out to sea. This sedimentation has choked the waters along the coast, disrupting fish populations and undermining the livelihoods of local fishermen who have depended on these waters for generations. The traditional way of life in Sulawesi’s coastal villages is threatened as the relentless push for nickel transforms the land and sea that sustained them.

The social fabric of Morowali, once a close-knit community of small fishing villages, is now fraying under the weight of industrialisation. The influx of workers across Indonesia has brought change as new cultural and economic dynamics take root. Some residents have embraced the financial opportunities that mining has brought, seeing it as a pathway to a better future. They view the industrial expansion as a necessary step towards progress, promising jobs and infrastructure, and escaping the poverty that has long plagued the region.

However, the cost of this progress must be lowered for others. The constant noise, the dust that hangs in the air, and the loss of the natural environment have eroded the sense of peace and community that once characterised the area. The fishermen, in particular, have seen their way of life upended—many struggle to make a living, with fish populations declining due to pollution and habitat destruction. The mud-choked waters have made it difficult to sustain traditional fishing practices, forcing some to leave their boats behind and seek work in the mines—a bitter irony for those who once prided themselves on their independence and connection to the sea.

This duality of progress and loss encapsulates the complex reality faced by the people of Sulawesi. The promise of modernity, with its economic benefits and technological advancements, starkly contrasts with the erosion of their natural and cultural heritage. The forces propelling the region into the global economy also drive the loss of its traditional ways of life, creating a tension that is palpable in the stories of those who live here.

The transformation of Sulawesi is not an isolated phenomenon. Across Indonesia and much of the developing world, pursuing critical minerals like nickel reshapes landscapes and communities, often with little regard for the long-term consequences. The global demand for nickel, driven by the need for sustainable energy solutions, is accelerating deforestation and environmental degradation, posing a significant threat to biodiversity and the livelihoods of those who depend on the land.

In places like Pomala, once extensive forests have been reduced to muddy expanses dotted with camps and barracks reminiscent of the American Far West during the gold rush. The landscape has been irrevocably altered by mining, with the scars of deforestation visible for miles. The reticulated python, once a symbol of the jungle’s vibrancy, is now a rare sight, its habitat infringed upon by the ever-expanding mining operations. The ecosystem that once supported a diverse array of wildlife is now struggling to survive in the face of industrial encroachment.

The environmental impacts of nickel mining, as are the social implications, are profound. The influx of workers and rapid development have disrupted the traditional social order, leading to tensions between locals and newcomers. The promise of wealth and opportunity has drawn people from across Indonesia, but the reality is often exploitation and hardship. Many of the workers live in squalid conditions, with limited access to clean water, healthcare, or education. The social infrastructure needs to keep pace with the industrial expansion, leaving many communities needing help to cope with the changes.

The benefits of nickel mining are often unevenly distributed to the local population. While some have found employment in the mines or related industries, others have seen their livelihoods destroyed. The fishermen, in particular, have borne the brunt of the environmental degradation, as the loss of fish populations has undermined their primary source of income and food. The shift from fishing to mining represents not just a change in occupation but a fundamental transformation in the way of life for many in Sulawesi.

The nickel extracted from the mines of Sulawesi is crucial to the future of energy, but the question remains: at what cost? The push for sustainable energy solutions is driving demand for critical minerals, but extracting these resources is often something other than sustainable. The environmental degradation and social upheaval accompanying mining operations are at odds with the goals of the green revolution, raising essential questions about the actual cost of progress.

As the world continues to move towards a future powered by renewable energy, we must consider the full impact of the resources we rely on. The story of Sulawesi reminds us that the pursuit of progress must be balanced with a commitment to environmental and social sustainability. The nickel that powers our batteries and drives our technology comes from places like Sulawesi, where the extraction costs are often hidden.

The dual edge of progress is sharp in Sulawesi, where the loss of natural and cultural heritage tempers the promise of economic development. The transformation of the landscape, the erosion of traditional ways of life, and the environmental degradation accompanying mining operations are all part of a complex narrative that speaks to the challenges of the modern world. The people of Sulawesi live at the intersection of these forces, navigating the difficult balance between the demands of the global economy and the preservation of their way of life.

The majority (90%) of global lithium production is currently concentrated in Australia, Chile, and China, with China holding a dominant position in processing and refining.