What has been hailed as the ‘green transition’ – the global project to end large-scale extraction of fossil fuels – requires a shift to a new set of extractive projects. Green technologies depend on minerals and metals locked in the earth: lithium, cobalt, nickel, copper, and, above all, iron for steel. The exploitation, corruption and environmental destruction involved in the mining of these materials are not on the wane. But what can be done to counter the interests behind them? What possibilities are there for a less ecologically compromised and economically stratified future?
Thea Riofrancos is a political scientist whose research focuses on the politics and economics of extraction. In 2019, she co-authored A Planet to Win, proposing a political strategy and material blueprint for a just, green future that tackled the dilemma of extraction for the energy transition. Her scholarly book, Resource Radicals: From Petro-Nationalism to Post-Extractivism in Ecuador (2020), examines Ecuador in the 2000s, and the conflict between new political groups demanding environmental restoration and a traditional Left government that aimed to use mining revenues to pay for social services and infrastructure. In her most recent work, the forthcoming book Extraction, Riofrancos focuses on the global lithium industry in light of the green transition.
The editor of Granta spoke with Riofrancos in February.
Editor:
How should we think of extraction as an activity across the millennia?
Thea Riofrancos:
Extraction is a very old practice. We can say that it is as old as human history. For example, the indigenous peoples that first settled in the Atacama Desert of northern Chile around 12,000 BP mined for silica, iron and copper. Archeological evidence suggests rudimentary quarries, as well as surface deposits of the siliceous rocks used to make knives and scrapers and other tools. Today when we think about extraction, we tend to think about a set of economic sectors, like the so-called extractive sectors of oil, gas and mining. Extraction in these sectors means that you’re removing something from nature that nature cannot replenish on human timescales. That’s why we call them non-renewable.
Editor:
When does extraction in the more modern, large-scale industrial sense begin?
Riofrancos:
The main changes began in the late fifteenth century, when Europeans started to look to the outer world for resources – especially to the Americas. What started as a project to add to the Crown’s wealth of silver and gold became a search for the raw materials that could feed the nascent industrial processes then developing in Europe. A cycle of growth and expansion followed, and extraction on a planetary scale began. Europeans secured capital and resources across the globe, violently incorporating local populations into the extractive circuit. This basic model – large-scale, export-oriented, environmentally reckless mining in the Global South to serve production and consumption elsewhere – continues today. But there have been major changes. Three key shifts are the rise of state-owned mining and fossil-fuel firms in the Global South, the growth of mining powerhouses like Canada and Australia in the Global North, and the entrance of China as a major importer.
Editor:
The conquistadors in the Americas were after precious metals: gold and silver. On the one hand, these were convenient: they didn’t require a great deal of technology to mine and they could be shipped back in galleons to Europe. On the other hand, extraction as it was conducted by the Europeans involves a great deal of forced labor, since you want as many hands as possible sifting through the surface. When does the shift happen to more common metals that require more intense, technology-dependent mining and are less easy to carry off the continent? When does the qualitative shift to modern extraction – which of course hardly precludes slavery, and may even intensify it – begin?
Riofrancos:
If we take the example of Latin America, extraction intensified in the decades after independence from Spain – this was one of the outcomes of the Creole revolutions of the early nineteenth century. The now politically independent states were still dependent on the processes of resource extraction, which became the basis of their economies. Leasing and taxing the state’s resource wealth, whether tin or guano, became essential to public budgets.The independence of these countries coincided with the expansion of industrialization across Europe and North America. If gold and silver previously served to fill the monarchs’ coffers and acted primarily as a unit of exchange, now a whole new bevy of minerals were needed as industrial inputs. This phase of extraction is linked to the production of commodities on a global scale; it’s the start of a new era.
Editor:
Extractivism, as an -ism, seems like a concept fraught with imprecision. What does ‘extractivism’ denote that ‘extraction’ does not cover? How do you make use of a term that seems almost indistinguishable from human activity itself?
Riofrancos: Extractivism is almost extractive as a concept, isn’t it? We often hear the term in relation to Big Tech, cryptocurrency and knowledge sectors. Extraction is the act itself, extractivism is the larger system by which natural resources are taken from one place and moved to another with minimal processing. That lack of processing is the key component, as it preserves an economic imbalance – the raw materials and the finished goods are separated. One way to think about it more precisely is that extractivism is the modality through which capitalism is lived in the periphery. I’m riffing on Stuart Hall’s analysis of class and race. It is through mines that the places peripheral to the centers of finance and industry became incorporated into capitalism. Entire societies are shaped by the fact that the extraction of materials is the fundamental economic basis of their economies, and therefore shapes everything from ideology to civil society, from labor relations to subjectivity. And the implications are not just domestic; extractivism reinforces these countries’ position in the world system. Indeed, one of the factors that defines being part of the Global South is being a net provider of raw materials to the global economy.
Editor:
Can we really say that this is a phenomenon confined to the periphery? Extractivism was – and is – an inescapable part of the imperial cores. The Normandy of Émile Zola figures as a kind of mine-pocked wasteland. The last two hard coal mines only closed in the Rhineland a few years ago, and a new one is set to open in Cumbria.
Riofrancos:
Think of it in terms of the percentage extractive industries take up of the country’s GDP or annual budget. How much state revenue comes from extraction and other ‘nature-facing’ sectors? The US is currently the world’s number one oil and gas producer. But oil and gas are not central to the government because there are so many other streams of revenue, including income taxes. Proper petrostates tend to have very low income or wealth taxes – most of their revenue comes from royalties and taxation on oil. So in the case of an extraction-based economy, we’re talking about the fiscal model of the state. If you have an oil-price crash in the US, it’s considered good news, despite the fact that the US is a major oil exporter. The majority of working people benefit from cheaper gas at the pump. Most oil-exporting countries, by contrast, don’t like oil-price crashes because government income, and by extension the rest of society, suffers.
Editor:
A lot of your research now focuses on lithium. Why zoom in on that mineral? What does it tell us about resource extraction writ large?
Riofrancos:
Lithium is a crucial input for the batteries that power electric vehicles. EVs are in turn the dominant approach to taking emissions out of transportation – and transportation is central to dealing with the climate crisis (in the US, it’s the number one source of our emissions). You can look at the sudden spike in demand for this mineral as a microcosm for the green transition as a whole.
No part of the process is simple. The auto industry is a multi-trillion-dollar global economic sector with close ties to the political system and historically quite powerful labor unions. So the attempt to change how cars are produced has quickly become an arena populated by fiercely competing interests.
Conflicts have also erupted upstream. At the beginning of the supply chain, protests over the mining of lithium, from Argentina to the southwestern US to Portugal, have thrown into relief the contradictions of the energy transition. Despite the end goal of moving away from fossil fuels, on a local level the transition can mean more extraction, not less. And – corporate green rhetoric aside – mining for minerals like lithium is no different from any other mining: it’s largely organized by multinational companies with little public accountability, is rarely properly regulated, and mostly conducted in marginalized communities and upon vulnerable ecosystems. Reckoning with all of these tensions reveals the contradictions inherent in the new ‘green’ sectors of the economy.
Editor:
How does the recent bout of onshoring figure in this? The US and several European governments have declared that they now need to bring back certain types of mining that they were content, as you say, to push out to the periphery for decades.
Riofrancos:
There’s a shift, and it’s worth attending to, but we shouldn’t get too carried away with the idea. It still remains a fact that the bulk of raw materials for global production come from the Global South, as well as from a couple of large mining producers in the Global North. The overall trend, historically, has been towards offshoring: there are environmental, economic and finally political reasons to import minerals from elsewhere rather than mine domestically (among many reasons why, miners have been inconveniently militant and well organized since the advent of industrialization). But recently we do seem to be in a new era of onshoring. The US, UK and EU are now prioritizing mining within their borders, especially for so-called ‘critical minerals’, like lithium, needed for the energy transition.
In the peak period of neoliberal globalization in the 1990s and early 2000s, if you asked any economist or policymaker how we should think about sourcing raw materials for finished goods, they would say comparative advantage is most efficient. Wherever the minerals can be gotten cheapest and fastest – from the most pliable states with the fewest regulations – that’s where they should come from. There were rumblings to the contrary that started in the wake of the financial crisis, just because of how serious a blow that crash was to many preconceived notions about neoliberal globalization, but there wasn’t really a political opening for change.
The rare-earths crisis in 2010, when China supposedly made it impossible for anyone to get rare earths, was an important milestone. Well before Western media and politicians took notice, China had been quietly limiting the extraction and export of rare-earth elements. China’s goals were twofold: limiting an industry infamous for the contamination of water, soil and workers and, perhaps more importantly, leapfrogging up the value chain by using the minerals for domestic industry rather than shipping them off in raw form to global markets. In other words, the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) identified a fundamental tension between export-oriented extraction and economic development, and prioritized the latter. Indonesia’s 2020 ban on the export of unprocessed nickel, and the subsequent development of a battery supply chain there, can be seen in a similar light. In late 2010, the Chinese military impeded a rare-earth shipment to Japan following a dispute in the contested waters between Taiwan and Okinawa. Although minor and unrelated to industrial policy, the international press called it an ‘embargo’, setting off a market panic and bellicose speeches from US lawmakers – and sparking calls to reshore rare-earth mining. (The US had been a major global producer of these minerals until the Mountain Pass mine in California was closed in 2002, on environmental grounds.) Misinterpretations can have quite real consequences.
Following the onset of the Covid pandemic, as well as the recent spate of geopolitical conflagrations, new fears about vulnerable supply chains have emerged. EU and US policymakers decided we should no longer just rely on imports from unpredictable places, or places that are not firm political allies. We should, to the degree possible, onshore, or onshore with our allies, gaining direct territorial access or control over these inputs. So yes, there’s been a significant shift. New mining projects are certainly being developed from the western US to the Iberian peninsula to the Upper Rhine Valley. But mining in Global South extractive zones, from Chile to the Democratic Republic of Congo, continues apace.
Editor:
In the Global South, there has been a variety of political responses to extractive projects. One is resource nationalism: states aim to take direct control and expel or at least better govern foreign capital. Another is anti-extractivism: mining and oil projects are outright opposed with a goal of transitioning to a ‘post-extractive’ economy. You write as someone sympathetic to the claims of both resource nationalists and anti-extractivists. In fact, you have argued that they need to combine their strategies.
Riofrancos:
I do think it’s possible to have it both ways. There’s nothing necessarily contradictory about wanting more public involvement – I’ll use that word rather than state involvement, because I think we can think more broadly than the state itself – wanting whatever extraction takes place to maximize public benefit (especially in the zones of extraction), and wanting to environmentally control or limit extraction to what is socially necessary, rather than what is most profitable.
On the one hand, there’s the resource nationalist idea that the people should own their country’s resources – that everything should be extracted to benefit the demos. The resource nationalist view is very clear on who should lose power: transnational capital and multinational corporations. But that view is – or can be – consistent with the idea that we should limit how much overall extraction takes place. More extraction doesn’t necessarily equal more well-being. Much of it is not sustainable in any sense of the term. But if the goal is to phase out extractive sectors then you need public involvement in that process. This might seem like an outlandish idea; it’s perhaps hard to imagine a country with abundant mineral or oil reserves simply leaving that wealth underground. But there are precedents here, historical and contemporary. During the early years of OPEC’s formation, ministers of these petrostates openly discussed the benefits of a more conservative approach to extraction so as not to exhaust a fundamentally nonrenewable resource. More recently, in Panama, El Salvador, Costa Rica, Ecuador and elsewhere in Latin America, broad popular movements have achieved bans on new extraction, whether in specific ecosystems or the country as a whole.
Editor:
Why can’t the end of mass-scale fossil fuels be instead a technocratic, elite-driven project?
Riofrancos:
It’s abundantly clear that the phaseout of oil, gas and coal isn’t happening anywhere near as fast as the climate crisis requires. As long as fossil fuels are a profitable investment, and so long as there is growing energy demand, the buildout will continue. Some combination of social pressure and government intervention will be required to neutralize and eventually eliminate the behemoth that this sector has become. The problem is that the world’s two most powerful countries, for quite different reasons, have no immediate interest in abandoning fossil fuels. China, while expanding renewables at an astonishing annual rate, still relies on coal for more than half of its energy consumption. And the US is an oil and gas juggernaut in its own right. The situation is further complicated by the reality that lower-income petrostates – from Ecuador to Nigeria – would cease to have state budgets if oil was phased out overnight; there needs to be a multilateral plan for redistributive finance to address what happens in the latter stages of the process.
Just letting capitalism do its thing isn’t working. Some have faith that ‘green capital’ – i.e. firms and investors in renewable energy or climate technology sectors – will peel off from its fossil counterpart, allying with progressive policymakers and social movements to push a fast transition. The reality is more grim. Green capital is not nearly as economically or politically powerful as fossil capital, and not as neatly distinguished from the latter as we might like. Lithium batteries were partly developed in Exxon’s labs amid their sprawling petrochemical facilities. That was in the 1970s, the era of the ‘oil shock’ that sent Western governments and oil companies looking for alternatives to crude (when markets re-stabilized, Exxon suddenly lost interest in a post-oil world). Today, we see much of Big Oil diversifying into renewable energy projects – although the investments are often paltry enough to make one wonder if the goal is PR rather than really moving ‘Beyond Petroleum’ – as BP tried, and ultimately failed, to rebrand itself. Commodity giants like Glencore retain hold of major coal assets while diversifying into lithium-battery recycling plants. In a throwback to its early involvement in batteries, Exxon is now planning to mine lithium in Arkansas.
Editor:
Lula’s Brazil may have been the most successful case of resource nationalism in our lifetimes. Programs such as the Bolsa Família – Brazil’s nationwide social-assistance initiative for low-income families – were built on the back of intensified extraction and the export of iron ore and oil. But now some anti-extractivist groups can boast of considerable, if temporary, successes from a more localized perspective. How are these taking shape?
Riofrancos:
There were massive protests in Panama last year against the Canadian company First Quantum Minerals, which owns the concession at the Cobre mine. It had been operating for around twenty years, which is notable, since typically we find militancy centers around new sites of extraction. The protest wasn’t restricted to the enclave: it wasn’t just blockading machinery. It made the mine an issue for the elected government. Panamanian civil society was able to convince political and party leaders of their cause.
A similar thing happened in Serbia in 2022, when a popular movement managed to cancel Rio Tinto’s contract for lithium at Jadar. Both of these movements – in Panama and Serbia – turned a local issue into a national grievance, centered around government dealings with the firms, and environmental harm. These victories may only be temporary, or limited to certain parts of the country. But they point to new ways to manoeuvre, opportunities to implement new and better regulation, to scrap and renegotiate contracts, and to rethink the economic development model.
Editor:
How do anti-extractivist strategies differ in the Global North and the Global South?
Riofrancos:
There’s a lot of overlap. You get people in parts of Nevada (where a lithium rush is underway) and Chile (the world’s second largest producer of the mineral) who say: we have more in common with each other than we do with the elites in our respective capitals. There are networks of anti-oil activists now that stretch from the Sarayaku territories in Ecuador’s Amazon to Standing Rock in North Dakota. If there’s a major difference in approach, it has to do with the violence that activists in the Global South can expect. The protesters at Standing Rock were treated brutally – I don’t want to downplay that – but in places like Mexico, Central America and Colombia, environmental activists are regularly assaulted or even killed. Latin America is the most dangerous region in the world to be a land or water defender.
‘Community opposition’ is a broader category in the Global North, and can even be a misnomer. It might just refer to Koch money funneled into a front group that’s opposing a wind farm. This is why I reject the term ‘Nimbyism’, not because some people don’t want things in their backyard, but because that characterization doesn’t speak adequately to the array of forms of localized opposition at play. I don’t like conflating anti-mining and anti-solar activism. I haven’t yet seen any evidence of nefarious oil money funding anti-mining protests. But we have seen that happen with some – though absolutely not all – of the opposition to wind and solar.
Editor:
How does the mining industry perceive the green transition?
Riofrancos:
My experience of going to mining industry conventions is that corporations are very anxious right now. Which is not to say they aren’t still powerful. But the mining industry sounds different when the public isn’t present. They have major problems, a chief one being financing. After the big commodity bust in the mid-2010s, there’s been a reluctance on the part of Wall Street to finance the sort of long-term, risky, deferred-profit extractive projects that have high upfront capital costs and very lengthy routes to profitability. The 2014 bust saw a consolidation of the ‘capital discipline’ that forces firms to increase dividends and conduct share buy-backs instead of investing in more productive operations. So one anxiety of the mining sector is just attracting their friends in the finance sector. A related concern has to do with supply. There are concerns about bringing enough supply – cobalt, copper, lithium – online fast enough to meet rising demand.
Editor:
But if supply is tight, don’t prices go up?
Riofrancos:
Of course, but an industry that’s a supplier to major companies – battery producers, car companies, etc. – wants to have a reputation for reliability. Reliability is often better than scarcity for the ongoing profitability of major mining firms. But the thing that most worries the mining industry – more than finance, more than the reliability of supply – is the so-called social license to operate. Over the past couple of decades there has been a rise in community-level militancy. I’ve mentioned the protests in Panama and Serbia, but there are many, many more. Some mining projects have been stalled for years or a decade with no clarity over when or even whether they will resume. Mining companies no longer feel confident that local populations will accept their operations, which has resulted in a whole cottage industry of consultants on corporate social responsibility, green credentials and ethical certification schemes. The classical form of contention in the mining industry for the past century was labor. And strikes still happen. But given how much automation has changed the sector and reduced its labor intensity, community and frontline conflict have become the primary concerns.
Editor:
If the green transition requires getting vast amounts of new metals and minerals out of the ground in a short period of time, doesn’t one still have to reckon with the mining companies? Their combination of technology and know-how seems hard to replicate quickly.
Riofrancos:
It may be hard to replicate quickly. But it is not impossible. We know from past examples, whether copper or oil, that governments in the Global South can successfully establish state-owned companies that either replace or, more commonly, operate jointly with multinational firms. Before Allende nationalized Chile’s copper sector, the mines were the property of US companies; before Saudi Aramco, Saudi Arabia’s oil was in the hands of a consortium of American firms. The question is not whether there are alternatives to shareholder-owned multinationals. The question is, under what conditions can Latin American or African governments gain the know-how, technology and, crucially, the capital to shift the balance of power from the private to the public sector? How can they move from eking out a sliver of royalties to actually being involved in mining operations? What leverage do governments have over multinational capital? The answer, first and foremost, is that they control the resource deposits that investors want. Once permits are acquired and initial investments in physical plants are made, the reality of the huge sunk costs can erode the bargaining position of foreign firms. This is what’s called the ‘obsolescing bargain’ of extractive-sector negotiations. It’s not shocking that we see higher levels of state involvement in oil and mining than in other sectors. There’s precedent for this to happen with other energy transition minerals as well. We have seen lithium nationalizations in Mexico and Bolivia, with Chile potentially on the horizon; following in Indonesia’s footsteps, Zimbabwe banned raw lithium exports. In all these cases, it seems unlikely that these governments can go at it entirely alone, which brings us back to questions of access to capital, leverage, and technology transfer.
Editor:
What are the limitations for states that want to pursue resource nationalism, whether by expropriating foreign firms or by other means?
Riofrancos:
Resource nationalism and the creation of state-owned firms only confront part of the conundrum of extractivism. What these address are the ownership issue, and the question of the distribution of the economic benefits. What they don’t deal with are two other looming problems: the underdevelopment trap of specializing in primary materials, and the problem of socio-environmental harm. This is not to say nationalization isn’t a crucial tool. It is. But on its own it isn’t enough.
Editor:
What makes the governance of states undergoing an extraction boom so challenging?
Riofrancos:
The sheer power of multinational companies means there’s an asymmetric relation between them and their host states. The more important question becomes: why are we experiencing such a boom and such a rush around the inputs for the green transition? Evidently the main driver of demand for, say, lithium, is electric vehicles. But that raises the further question: is there a way to organize the decarbonization of transport without reproducing auto dependency? The real challenge we face is to avoid reproducing our current, entrenched habits via green technology.
Editor:
The Russian invasion of Ukraine in 2022 galvanized Europeans to think about moving away from Russian fossil fuel, while at the same time making them more dependent on US supplies of liquid natural gas (LNG). How are geopolitical threats jumpstarting the way we think about resources?
Riofrancos:
Competition between the so-called Great Powers has transformed supply chains into terrains of competition. This is especially the case with China and the US, two states with large fiscal capacities. They are the ones that see themselves in the most dramatic tension with one another, despite periodic denials. It’s hard to imagine a scenario in which the Inflation Reduction Act could have passed in the US Congress without that underlying sense of competition.
These geopolitical changes have given some political impetus in Europe to the renewable energy transition. In the US, however, they have also created a big opening for the domestic oil and gas industry. As soon as Europe makes progress in its own energy transition, and no longer needs to import as much US LNG, that LNG is going to broadly shift to markets in Asia. So while geopolitical tension is a motivating force for policy-led shifts in energy usage, which could lead to benefits from a climate perspective, those same factors also motivate increases in oil and gas extraction. We’re not really in an energy transition as it is popularly understood. What we’re in is a period of major energy addition, in which both fossil fuels and renewable sources are growing at a rapid clip.
Editor:
How does the Chinese state feature in this future?
Riofrancos:
Through intelligent planning China got a head start on many green technology sectors while the West was still in climate denial mode. The CCP didn’t do this to benefit the climate per se, though there were important incentives around the local politics of pollution. It was a very carefully thought out industrial strategy. They recognized where there were openings and niches in the global production network. Understandably convinced that Western and Japanese firms dominated traditional auto, China has made itself into an EV juggernaut. Local governments and provinces were roped into the scheme and even competed with one another – the challenge was who could get the most EVs on the road.
Chinese firms are asset-seeking, because they are not able to satisfy all their need for the raw materials for batteries, EVs and other green tech products within China’s jurisdiction. They have gone to Africa, Latin America and Australia. When they embark on mining projects, they’re open to joint ventures, and they’re much less picky than Western goverments about working with state-owned companies. They have been innovative in their deal-making, offering things like advance royalties on mines to ensure host governments are flush with cash from the start. They prioritize access to resources over the strict profitability of the project. They don’t have to please Wall Street. That is a fundamental difference in parameters compared to Western multinationals.
What makes me uneasy is the way that European and especially American policymakers explain China’s success as a conspiracy. How it actually happened is textbook planning, in an industrial policy sense. China’s industrial policy has become a model, whether acknowledged or not, that a lot of other countries will now want to copy. Whether they have the capacity to do so is a different story. China’s development strategy, especially in renewables, has raised the question of whether the standard of neoliberal globalization is competitive in the long-term.
Editor:
Would you say there is planning envy of China on the part of some Western policymakers?
Riofrancos:
Adjacent to the word ‘planning’ is the word ‘coordination’. It’s helpful to have a state with a bird’s eye view, and to have interfaces between the public and private sector. It may even be advantageous, in some sense we might not like to admit, to have an authoritarian regime that can enforce and obligate its population to behave and consume in certain ways. There is still no national or consistent charging network for EVs across the US, the UK or Europe. When you think about what the blockages and obstacles to this are, they often have to do with the coordination between different firms across the supply chain, between the financial and the industrial sectors, and between government and society. A more robust public sector with real enforcement capacity could help alleviate some of those coordination dilemmas.
Editor:
What is to be done?
Riofrancos:
We should ask: who are the people most intimately involved in the energy transition? The US recently experienced one of its largest strikes in the past decade, led by a very militant United Auto Workers. Their argument was not to stop electrification, or to cling to the traditional gasoline-powered automobile industry – they wanted to embrace electrification, but wanted to ensure workers benefited from dignified jobs, ones that revitalized communities left behind by deindustrialization. They had a powerful message, and their tactics worked well. They reversed decisions the auto companies had made to reduce union presence at battery plants.
On the other end of the supply chain, we’ve seen frontline resistance to mining projects that, in many cases, shouldn’t be allowed to go forward as designed, whether that’s because they would be environmentally destructive or because they would disturb long-standing cultural connections to the land. We need to look, too, to other centers that are not traditionally included in the discussion of the green transition. What’s happening with transit systems and urban planning? Where are the communities pushing for alternatives, organizing fare-free electric buses, bike lanes and safer streetscapes? We see such initiatives, with varying levels of success, popping up across Europe, the UK and the US, from efforts to dramatically reduce car use in cities like Paris or Barcelona, to the huge popularity of flat-rate monthly rail passes in Germany, to people organizing against the ‘death spiral’ affecting transit systems across US metro regions.
Essentially, we have to imagine what a coalition of organized constituencies of workers and communities looks like. This means looking at the concrete contexts of supply chains from end to end, from mines to factories, recycling plants to transit hubs. For me, this is what being a materialist means. Staying close to the ground, detecting emergent phenomena before their full efflorescence, imagining political possibilities that fulfill social needs while harmonizing nature and economy.
Photograph by Julian Charrière, Controlled Burn / Open Pit Mine G.4, 2023.
Courtesy of VG Bild-Kunst/DACS
