Dispatch #17

Read about a regenerative livestock farm in Brazil, LGBTQ+ Indonesians resisting online erasure, a Polish-Lithuanian beekeeping initiative and Venice’s oldest waterborne tradition.

Welcome to Translator’s weekly Dispatch, where we bring you summaries of four compelling stories written beyond the Anglosphere.

In southern Brazil, a farm operating on land seized by a 1990s farming cooperative reflects on an alternative to modern industrial-scale livestock farming.

In Indonesia’s digital shadows, LGBTQ+ voices are being hacked, harassed and silenced – often with the law’s blessing.

In Lithuania, a centuries-old tradition of honeymaking fosters community and intercultural awareness.

Finally, an Italian article describes how the sandolisti – rather than the gondolieri – preserve Venice’s oldest waterborne tradition.

We hope you enjoy the read.

P.S.: In the meantime, tell us what you like and dislike, themes you’d like to see explored from the perspective of different linguistic media landscapes. And, as ever, feel free to recommend specific pieces we should summarise for our Dispatches, or translate in full for the magazine.

Here’s what we’re looking for and how to let us know.

What’s the Polish word for ‘beekeeping’? There are two answers…

At Lithuania’s first Mead Festival, the co-founder of the Polish-Lithuanian Beekeeping Brotherhood initiative reflects on the community-building and intercultural elements of the centuries-old tradition of honeymaking.

In the pine forests of Dzūkija National Park in southern Lithuania, an ancient tradition is buzzing back to life.

Enthusiasts are reviving the practice of bartnictwo (traditional tree beekeeping) as a way to acknowledge the shared heritage of Lithuania, Poland, Belarus and Ukraine, and develop a more harmonious relationship between humans and bees.

In an article published in Kurier Wileński, Lithuania’s main Polish-language newspaper, journalist Rajmund Klonowski reports on the activities of the Beekeeping Brotherhood (Bractwo Bartne), an informal cross-border group that has been running since 2013.

Unlike pszczelarstwo (modern beekeeping), which involves man-made hives and frequent intervention, bartnictwo relies on the natural habits of bees. Hollows are carved into living trees or suspended logs to serve as hives, and bees are left to build their combs undisturbed. As Piotr Piłasiewicz of the Beekeeping Brotherhood explains in the article:

“Today’s style of beekeeping is a 19th-century invention. Previously, humans were more aligned with nature. The honeybee has been living on Earth for 120 million years as part of the ecosystem. In the Augustów Forest, where we operate, the native Central European bee of the Augustów line has survived – adapting to local conditions since the last ice age. In the 1970s, a protection zone was created here to prevent the introduction of foreign species.”

Choosing the right tree for the hives is part science, part intuition: not too large or small, with plenty of sunlight to prevent dampness. In Dzūkija, some of these living hives are thought to be more than a century old.

Honey harvesting here is a delicate process, quite unlike the industrial methods of modern apiaries. Whereas a modern beehive can produce some 60kg of honey a year, only around 2-3kg can be extracted from a traditional barcie. The produce itself can be 10 times more expensive, but for Piłasiewicz, the labour and cost is worth it:

“Beekeeping gives us a sense of peace and fulfilment – our own place in the forest, which we take care of, to which we return. We want to show that you can live in harmony with nature, and not change it.”

The revival of bartnictwo has also taken on cultural and political significance. The Beekeeping Brotherhood, a Polish-Lithuanian initiative, works with partners in Belarus and Ukraine to promote this shared history. As a result of the group’s efforts, traditional beekeeping was recognised by UNESCO as intangible cultural heritage in 2020.

At a meeting last year, members of the Brotherhood presented a certificate of the UNESCO listing to Belarusian opposition leader Sviatlana Tsikhanouskaya, who was visibly moved, recalling her own family’s connection to beekeeping.

The article in Kurier Wileński notably recounts the story of a Polish Brotherhood member who, upon arriving in Lithuania to help install tree-hives, committed to learning Lithuanian fluently in just six weeks.

This extreme, intensive immersion in local culture serves as yet another reminder that bartnictwo is not just about bees and honey. It’s about community and the transcending of national boundaries. 

Original article (“Na Litwę wraz z Polakami wraca bartnictwo. ‘W półtora miesiąca w Dzukii nauczył się litewskiego’”) by Rajmund Klonowski appeared in Polish in Kurier Wileński on 21 April 2025.

It’s available here.

Kurier Wileński is a Polish-language publication in Vilnius, Lithuania – and the only Polish-language newspaper printed east of Poland.

Summary by TM.

Is another kind of livestock farming possible?

How a Brazilian farm operating on land seized by the Movement of Landless Workers in the 1990s is pointing the way to an alternative to modern industrial-scale livestock farming.

When we discuss climate change, we tend to focus on carbon dioxide emissions as the cause, and rising temperatures as the result. In reality, there are a host of related and often mutually reinforcing processes at work in our changing environment, from the loss of biodiversity to the acidification of the oceans. Agriculture, and livestock farming in particular, plays multiple roles in shaping how these interlocking systems are changing, in ways that threaten both planetary health and our own ability to survive as a species. 

Agriculture is both the source of 30% of global carbon dioxide emissions and a key driver of topsoil loss and erosion, as well as overall soil fertility – with potentially major impacts on future yields and therefore on food security. (Jason Clay’s Rethink Food cited a recent WSJ article in this regard – well worth a read).  

Taking its cue from the example of the Cooperativa de Produção Agropecuária Vitória, a farmers’ cooperative in the Brazilian state of Paraná, built on land seized the Movement of Landless Workers (MST) in the 1990s – accompanied by aerial photographs that testify to the impressive transformation that it wrought on the landscape – an article published in the Brazilian outlet O Joio e O Trigo suggests an alternative form of livestock farming is necessary, and possible. 

Pecuária regenerativa, as the approach to livestock farming is known, has the ultimate goal of regenerating the soil and restoring its biodiversity, something particularly hopeful for a country like Brazil, in which illegal land grabs and an export-led economic model dictated by large agribusiness bears a direct responsibility on the destruction of the Amazon and other distinct biomes such as the Cerrado. 

In order to tell her story, the author Mariana Costa interviews farmer Daniela Calza, who, after growing up on the estate, specialised in agroecology and livestock management and now provides technical support. By grabbing a piece of earth and showing how it is full to the brim with minhocas and besouros (earthworms and coleoptera), rather than focusing on expensive machineries and productivity charts, Daniela demonstrates how pecuária regenerativa can offer a radical alternative to the intensive model of farming which dominated agriculture since the 1960s.

If the latter relies on chemical inputs (pesticides, insecticides and fertilisers), heavy machinery and monocultures to boost short-term productivity at the cost of longer-term negative externalities in the form of soil degradation and biodiversity loss – pecuária regenerativa, on the other hand, takes a holistic approach. Indeed – as the article goes on to explain by looking at Copavi, where only 40 of 242 total hectares are dedicated to livestock farming – cows are only part of a wider chain, almost an afterthought of a larger system of land management that starts with grasses and microorganisms responsible for restoring soil nutrients, and ends with fairer working conditions for agricultural workers. 

A big part of this alternative model of animal husbandry is a system of “rational grazing” inspired by French biochemist and farmer André Voisin (1903-1964), which as Daniela Calza tells the author, was introduced to Copavi by zootechnics professor at Universidade Federal do Rio Grande do Sul (UFRGS) Pinheiro Machado. Originally devised to prevent overgrazing, this method hinges on subdividing the estate in smaller plots called piquetes and a careful rotation of pastures destined to feeding cattle so as to allow for the grasses to grow back stronger after being eaten. Another is allowing for the spontaneous growth of a wide array of plants – including pulses and bushes – which not only improves cattle diets, but also contributes to restoring soil health and natural fertility. 

At the same time, as other interviewees make clear as well, pecuária regenerativa is anything but a rigid formula to apply uncritically. In the case of Copavi, Daniela Calza stresses the importance of the natural shade provided by trees, for instance, which not only helps protect the cattle against heat and parasites (since cows are allowed to rub themselves against trees as they would in nature), but also translates in higher productivity and reproductive fertility. However, it varies depending context, and often relies on the interplay and fine-tuning between ancestral and indigenous knowledge and the guidance from researchers and universities – reason for which perhaps, as the article details toward the end, its approach struggles to be adopted by results-driven government policies. 

Be that as it may, in the specific case of Copavi, this regenerative approach proved a success. The article makes the interesting point that focussing on carbon footprint might be too narrow-minded. Still, the biodiverse, lush environment of the farm sequesters way more carbon dioxide than a conventional intensive livestock farm ever would. The fact that the farm forms a closed loop, makes it so that it is not subject to what is usually called “the agricultural treadmill” – less capital invested in inputs and machinery means higher profits margins. The fact that Copavi doesn’t rely on chemical inputs whilst practicing a kind of agriculture that predates the innovations of the Green Revolution also makes it more resilient and better equipped to withstand increasingly frequent weather extremes such as droughts. 

However, the article doesn’t address the elephant in the room: to introduce agroecology at scale would require more land, labour and resources than its intensive counterpart, and may lead to a larger net carbon footprint if consumption remains unchanged. It’s for this reason that authors like Michael Grunberg argue the exact opposite – that ever-increasing intensification is needed to resolve climate change. 

Still, even by foregoing these relevant “bigger picture”–issues, the article makes a convincing case for regenerative agriculture in general that should be actively encouraged and explored where and when the context allows it.

Original article (“A pecuária pode ser sustentável?”) by Mariana Costa appeared in Brazilian Portuguese in O Joio e O Trigo on 1 January 2025.

It’s available here. 

O Joio e O Trigo (The Chaff & The Wheat) is a Brazilian non-profit and platform for investigative journalism with a particular focus on food, health and power.

Summary by BS.

From Behind the Digital Curtain

In Indonesia’s digital shadows, LGBTQ+ voices are being hacked, harassed and silenced – often with the law’s blessing.

In the dark corners of Makassar’s digital sphere, where anonymity should be armour and expression a right, LGBTQ+ voices are being silenced. Writing for Bollo.id, journalist Gayatri Resqi Wulandari Gani offers a harrowing dispatch from the front lines of a digital war waged not with bullets, but with logins, lawsuits and the silence of state complicity.

Barry, one of many, yet also singular in his suffering, offers his account to Bollo.id of what it means to be targeted simply for existing aloud. His story is one of vanishing identities, hacked profiles, and the painful choreography of self-censorship. “To lose a social media account”, Barry says, is not just losing access, “it’s losing home, memories, experiences, everything is gone”.

Makassar’s LGBTQ+ activists live under siege. Their words, flagged. Their images, stolen. Their lives, under algorithmic and human scrutiny alike. Attacks come wrapped in the rhetoric of ‘morality’ executed through the blunt tools of Indonesia’s ITE Law, and rarely, if ever, met with justice. Reports languish unacknowledged. Police responses range from indifference to accusation.

Legal advocates like Mira and Ros from LBH Makassar and LBH Apik South Sulawesi confirm the chilling trend: LGBTQ+ victims are more likely to be investigated than protected. Their solution? Build resilient networks outside the system, networks like SAFEnet and PurpleCode, who catalogue, train and fortify, offering stopgaps in a nation without a digital sanctuary.

And yet, resistance pulses forward. Queer communities strategise behind closed doors in form of discussions, workshops on encryption and impersonation, and quietly circulated security manuals.Their resistance is both practical and poetic: a refusal to vanish.

But it’s not just trolls and hackers they battle, but systems. Suci of Perempuan Mahardhika Makassar names the real antagonist: a patriarchal, heteronormative order etched into the very architecture of online life. Even in digital “safe spaces,” queer bodies remain at risk – sexualized, stigmatized or simply erased. As transgender activist Eman notes, the web has ceased to be neutral ground. Social media, once a haven, now mirrors a society still hostile to gender expression.

The government’s own narratives exacerbate this reality. Politicians publicly brand LGBTQ+ people a threat to national morality, fertilising a digital soil ripe for hate. Activists aren’t merely contending with trolls, they’re contending with institutions.

What the article captures so poignantly is that for LGBTQ+ Indonesians to be online is to risk being undone. And yet, they log on. They speak. They fight. Not because it’s safe, but because silence has always been a luxury they couldn’t afford.

In this battle for voice, the act of speaking itself becomes radical. And that’s what makes this story, not just urgent, but revolutionary.

Original article (“Dari Balik Dunia Digital : Suara yang Tak Pernah Didengar”) by Gayatri Resqi Wulandari Gani first appeared in Indonesian on Bollo.id on 15 December 2024.

It’s available here.

Bollo.id is an Indonesian independent media outlet focused on public interest issues, including environmental concerns, human rights, and issues affecting vulnerable groups and minorities. They aim to provide news and information from the perspective of the community and work to empower marginalised voices. In addition to news, Bollo.id also focuses on citizen journalism and training residents to become citizen journalists.

Summary by TMH.

Quiet Guardians of Venice’s Living Waters

In this intimate portrait of the sandolo and the boatmen who preserve Venice’s oldest waterborne tradition, Carola Cappellari and Lavinia Nocelli explore its fading yet resilient legacy of craft, rhythm and identity.

Long before the gondola became the global symbol of Venice, there was the sandolo, which is a humble, flat-bottomed boat that quietly shaped the lagoon city’s daily life and infrastructure. In this atmospheric piece, the sandolisti (sandolo boatmen) emerge not as quaint remnants of the past but as skilled navigators and cultural custodians, keeping alive one of the city’s oldest and most endangered traditions.

Anchored in the quieter canals of the Jewish Ghetto and districts like Cannaregio, sandolisti like Luca Padoan, Guglielmo Crocicchio (William), Livio Bon and Mariano Pozzobon reflect a world where family heritage, craftsmanship, and a love of rhythm converge. Many began rowing with their fathers and grandfathers as children, learning not only how to steer but how to listen: to the wind, the tides and the unspoken rules of the canals. Unlike gondolas, which are longer and designed for show, sandoli are agile, symmetrical and practical – capable of navigating narrow, shallow waters, especially during high tides.

Speaking to the writers, Valentino Scarpa, head of the sandolisti guild, says the gondola became Venice’s status symbol but the sandolo is how the city was built. From transporting fish to ferrying food, from family outings to funerals, sandoli were once integral to Venetian life. Each variant had a specific role – the sàndolo a la ciosòta for fishing, the puparìn for racing, the s’ciopon for hunting and the sandolo da barcariol for transporting people. Today, only around 20 sandolisti remain, a stark contrast to the 400+ gondoliers who dominate the city’s tourist economy.

Despite their shrinking numbers, the sandolisti continue their work with pride and patience. For men like Livio and Mariano, the boat is not just a vessel but a world: decorated by hand, maintained in winter and lovingly passed down. Now, many sandolisti note that their children and grandchildren have chosen other careers. The profession survives through municipal competitions and professional certifications rather than family inheritance.

But the spirit remains. “When a tourist steps off the boat, they should feel like they’ve breathed the city,” Livio tells Lucy sulla cultura. The job is part rower, part storyteller, part psychologist, offering not just a ride, but a perspective. As one boatman says: “Each tour is a conversation with the city itself.” 

Yet the future is uncertain. Mass tourism, climate change and rising tides pose existential threats to Venice and its traditions. The sandolisti, like the city, are caught between nostalgia and survival. Still, their resilience speaks to something deeper than commerce. As Valentino puts it: “This job will continue until the boats stop. When they do, that’s when Venice dies.”

Original article (“I sandolisti sono i veri custodi dei canali di Venezia”) by Carola Cappellari and Lavinia Nocelli was published in Italian on 13 January 2025.

It’s available here.

Lucy sulla cultura is an Italian-language online magazine dedicated to culture, history, and everyday life in Italy, with a special focus on lesser-known stories and local traditions often overlooked by mainstream media.

Summary by ZN.

That’s all for now – we hope you’ve enjoyed the read. Keep an eye out for our next Dispatch of summaries this time next week!

The Translator team