The water crisis is no longer a passing event — it is a chronic symptom of a country that has yet to connect the dots between deforestation, climate change, food security, and inflation.
From Alexandre Mansur*
In recent years, the word “drought” has firmly entered the daily vocabulary of Brazilians — not only in rural areas but also in cities. It appears in the news, in conversations, and increasingly in Google searches. Data from Google Trends shows that interest in this term has been rising steadily over the years. In 2024, for example, searches for “drought” on Google reached popularity peaks of 100 points on the platform’s scale, while “deforestation” and “climate change” remained below 25 points during the same period. This indicates that, even with the growing impacts of climate change and deforestation, public perception is still much more focused on the symptoms than on the causes of the water crisis.
One detail stands out: while interest in “drought” grows, searches for “deforestation” and “climate change” remain practically stable. In other words, there is a disconnect between the visible effects of the water crisis and the understanding of its structural causes. Brazil is talking more about drought, but still does not fully understand where it comes from.
This disconnect helps explain why we keep trying to put out fires with leaky buckets. The drought haunting Brazil is not a random event. It is the result of an ongoing cycle of environmental degradation. Deforestation in the Amazon and the Cerrado compromises the so-called flying rivers — flows of moisture generated by the forest’s evapotranspiration that irrigate the country’s central-southern regions. Without forest, there is no water vapor. Without vapor, there is no rain. And without rain, the country dries up — inside and out.
The situation has worsened year after year. According to a MapBiomas study, Brazil recorded a reduction in water surface area for the second consecutive year. In 2023, the loss was 571,000 hectares — an area the size of the Federal District. In 2024, the loss was 400,000 hectares — two and a half times the size of the city of São Paulo. The Pantanal was the most affected biome, losing 61% of its coverage. And the Amazon, which holds more than half of the country’s water, suffered an extreme drought and saw a 3.6% drop compared to its historical average. In two years, Brazil’s natural water surface shrank by more than 900,000 hectares — equivalent to twice the size of the Federal District. Researchers point out that this spread of dryness is directly linked to unplanned land use, deforestation, and extreme events induced by climate change. It is a clear warning about the need for adaptive strategies and water management policies.
The consequences are far-reaching. The agricultural sector suffers from reduced productivity, unpredictable planting calendars, and unstable prices. These impacts directly compromise the country’s food security: less production means less food supply, which puts pressure on prices and fuels inflation. Rising prices of staple foods like rice, beans, corn, and soybeans ripple through the domestic economy, disproportionately affecting the most vulnerable families. Studies have documented these connections between drought, crop failure, and inflation. According to a survey by Fábio Marin, professor at Esalq/USP, drought was the main cause of the grain crop failure in 2021/2022 in Brazil, with significant losses in soybeans and corn.
The reduction in rainfall has also forced livestock production to abandon increasingly dry areas with low pasture vigor, moving toward regions with higher rainfall and better soil recovery potential. Between 2000 and 2023, this shift led to both the migration of activity to new frontiers, such as wetter parts of the Cerrado and Amazon, and the conversion of degraded pastures to other uses, mainly agriculture. This was documented in research by Paulo Barreto, from Imazon, for the Amazônia 2030 project. This movement reflects a passive desire for better climatic conditions in a reality where little is done to achieve them — postponing action until a future we no longer have. If drought has become a trend — almost a new normal — the data shows that the country’s cattle industry enters this phase with known vulnerabilities. Cattle ranching occupies 64% of all agricultural land but accounts for only 17% of the gross production value. Moreover, 64% of pastures are of low or intermediate quality. Today, deforestation is part of cattle ranching’s modus operandi. For every hectare of pasture restored, another hectare of forest is cut down. Only 0.2% of degraded pastures have actually been recovered. “In short: the new climatic normal demands efficiency — restoring pastures, linking credit to productivity goals, and ending deforestation are not ‘green options,’ but requirements for food and energy security,” says Barreto. “What if rural credit required productive and environmental performance?”
A 2023 report from Embrapa, coordinated by Celso Moretti, also indicated that extreme climate events, especially prolonged droughts, have already caused annual losses of up to R$50 billion to agribusiness. Another study by the National Institute for Space Research (INPE), led by Alberto Setzer, indicates that the loss of humidity caused by Amazon deforestation is already undermining the climatic predictability needed for successful crops across much of the Midwest and Southeast. In cities, the crisis manifests in rationing, higher water bills, and conflicts over water use. Brazil is learning the hard way that water does not spring from the ground — it comes from the forest.
The good news is that there is still time to act — but only if there is clarity. And clarity requires information. The rise in searches for “drought” is a warning that society is feeling the symptoms. What is missing now is understanding the disease. Connecting the dots between climate, forests, and water supply is not an intellectual exercise — it is a matter of survival.
The forest is not just biodiversity: it is rain infrastructure.
I really dislike being apocalyptic. I have spent decades trying to make the case through strong warnings, even when based on scientific consensus reports like those from the IPCC, the UN climate panel. But sometimes it is impossible to avoid facing the risks head-on. So here it is.
The only reason the Amazon is not a desert today — a true desert like the Sahara, not a savanna or scrubland — is the forest itself. It works as a climate regulation system that retains humidity, recycles water through evapotranspiration, and feeds the so-called flying rivers that keep the rainfall cycle going. Researchers point out that the Amazon region lies roughly at the same latitude as the Sahara Desert, on the other side of the Atlantic. The difference is that, while the Sahara has almost no vegetation cover, the Amazon sustains a dense forest that creates its own climate. Studies like those by Antônio Nobre, from INPE, show that the forest produces humid atmospheres that prevent the establishment of a desert system. Deforesting the Amazon, therefore, risks breaking this balance and accelerating large-scale desertification. Preserving and restoring native vegetation is more than environmental policy — it is a water, economic, and food security measure. Until this is understood, the word “drought” will remain on the rise. And water, in decline.
