Ask anyone who grew up near a gold rush and they will tell you the punchline before you finish the joke. The mine strikes gold, the bosses buy a new Land Cruiser, and the village downstream gets the leftovers: cloudy water, dead fish, cattle that will not stop dying for reasons nobody wants to write down. That has been the arrangement in mining towns from Mazowe to Penhalonga for years. A syndicate churns up a riverbed, washes the ore with mercu…
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