THE HUMAN SIDE OF THE CIRCULAR FUTURE

Sustainable development and a circular future are not shaped by policy or new technologies alone. A new way of imagining the future begins with everyday people, those who believe things can be done differently. In this article, we share stories of individuals from our trip to Brazil who are breathing new life into waste and into people pushed to the margins of society.

By Ekaterina Egorova, Arina Pakhomova & Polina Dudareva

Renato Paquet, CEO da Polen

Before becoming the CEO of a Brazilian startup, Renato Paquet imagined his future inside a protected natural area, working to preserve forests, rivers, and biodiversity. He enrolled in an environmental sciences program, expanded his understanding of ecosystems, and gradually realized that protecting nature also meant influencing public policy.

Later, Paquet turned his attention to production chains where millions of tons of packaging become waste each year.

Brazil is the largest producer and polluter of plastic in Latin America, generating around 500 billion single-use plastic items annually, of which 87% is packaging and 13% consists of disposable utensils such as cutlery and bags. Waste management systems remain insufficient, leading to the disposal of approximately 1.3 million tons of plastic into the oceans every year.

Seeing this inefficiency up close led Paquet to create POLEN, a platform that connects companies, recyclers, and cooperatives to return waste to the production cycle.

POLEN’s Trace system tracks packaging waste from collection to recycling, recording who collected it, where and when it was recovered, and in what volume.

When the material is sold to a recycling company, the transaction invoice serves as legal proof that the waste has been reintroduced into production as a resource. This verified data is then converted into reverse-logistics credits that companies purchase to meet their environmental obligations.

In just one year, POLEN helped redirect 160,000 tons of post-consumer packaging, including plastic containers, paper and cardboard, glass, and metal — back into recycling and manufacturing industries, preventing 60,000 tons from ending up in landfills. These recovered materials were processed and reintroduced as secondary raw materials for new products. The impact reaches far beyond numbers.

“In 2024, 73% of all collected waste came from cooperatives,” Paquet explains, referring to groups of waste pickers, organized collectives of independent workers who gather, sort, and sell recyclable materials.

“Seventy cents of every Brazilian real invested goes to the front line of the chain, increasing recycling capacity and improving infrastructure across the country,” he adds. These funds are directed toward equipment, better working conditions, and operational support.

Transparency is another pillar of the model.

“We give every consumer the ability to verify which brands participate in the reverse-logistics program. They become a kind of auditor. This is important because consumers are the ones who care most about sustainability and accountability.”

For Paquet, however, the most important transformation is human.

“Many street collectors handle waste, but they themselves are treated as ‘social waste,’ people excluded from society.”

Many collectors live on the streets and lack basic identification documents. In response, POLEN created Hive, a network of centers where independent collectors can register, access formal employment, and receive support from social workers and educators.

“Many collectors earn more than the minimum wage,” Paquet explains, “but without proof of income they can’t rent housing and are forced to remain on the streets. Now they finally have the documentation to rent a place to live.”

In a world where too much is thrown away and too many people are overlooked, POLEN shows that it is possible to restore value, giving a second life not only to materials, but to people as well.

IT TAKES A VILLAGE

Though small in size, the coastal settlement of Vila de Santo Antônio, in Brazil’s Bahia state, has achieved an environmental milestone that far exceeds its scale. It has become the first community in Latin America to receive international Lixo Zero (Zero Waste) certification, setting a new benchmark for community-led waste management. The achievement reflects a collective effort by residents, environmental experts, local authorities, and partner organizations.

Project coordinator and environmental engineer Anderson Laudano explains that the goal was to create a waste-separation model that would shift how people perceive garbage. The initiative unfolded in three phases: assessing existing conditions, improving infrastructure, and engaging the community through education.

Previously, all waste was sent to a landfill, and only about 8% of recyclable materials were recovered, often through manual bag tearing. Of the roughly 10 tons of waste produced each month, nearly half was recyclable. Following this assessment, the team refurbished the local collection point, known as the daubão, and established a composting area.

“We began to see changes in people’s behavior,” Laudano recalls. “Residents started separating their waste. We later realized that door-to-door collection worked best when everything was collected on the same day, because people otherwise tended not to separate it properly.”

The solution was to create distinct collection streams: organic waste in bio-bags; recyclables and glass labeled by type; and non-recyclables in black bags.

Personal engagement proved essential. Meetings with boat operators, street vendors, and residents led to the creation of a social committee representing each group. Acting as a bridge between the project team and the community, the committee helped spread information and build trust.

During the educational phase, the team learned that 30% of residents were illiterate and 56% were over the age of 55. Yet these residents, especially the elderly, became the project’s strongest advocates. Laudano recalls Señora Teresa, a 72-year-old longtime resident who quickly embraced the new system.

“Her environmental awareness was incredible,” he says. “She would wait at her doorstep with her separated organic waste and ask whether banana peels should go directly into her garden or into the compost.”

As compost production grew, it was redistributed to residents, who invested modestly in gardening tools. A community garden soon followed, with local vendors agreeing to purchase its produce, closing the sustainability loop within the settlement.

Within six months, Vila de Santo Antônio raised its recycling rate from 8% to 70%. The project is now testing new methods to divert 90% of waste from landfills by the end of 2025 and scale the model across Brazil.

A SECOND STITCH

“In my childhood, I used to collect fabric scraps from local seamstresses and sew clothes for my dolls,” recalls Adjaneara Costa, a military police officer in Bahia.

What began as a simple childhood habit, seeing creative potential in every small piece of fabric, would later become the foundation of Milieco, a project dedicated to giving discarded textiles a second life.

Costa entered the military academy in 2005, already carrying a growing interest in sustainability. Years later, while overseeing uniforms for an Independence Day parade, she encountered massive warehouses filled with military clothing.

“I kept wondering,” she says, “‘What happens to all of this afterward?’”

The answer was troubling: old uniforms were routinely burned. In 2025 alone, the Brazilian Army spent 459 million reals on uniforms destined for eventual incineration, releasing pollutants into the environment and wasting valuable material.

“I thought this could be a weapon of creativity,” Costa says, “a way to engage people, generate income, and spark innovative thinking.”

She began experimenting, transforming discarded military uniforms into bags, backpacks, and cosmetic pouches. The process requires listening as much as designing.

“Our work is more of an inversion,” she explains. “I look at the material and it tells me what it wants to become. Sometimes the fabric won’t allow you to create what you imagined, and you have to respect that.”

After more than a decade of working with military textiles, Costa’s persistence has paid off. Today, Milieco recycles up to 20% of Bahia’s military uniforms, transforming them into functional, thoughtfully designed products. Behind those numbers, however, are years of uncertainty and resilience.

“When the pandemic hit Salvador, everything stopped,” she admits. “We were just about to take off, and suddenly there was nothing. But I realized that the one thing I truly knew how to do was work with uniforms.”

Instead of stepping back, Costa leaned in. She rented a warehouse and began collecting and storing uniforms.

“People thought I was crazy,” she recalls. “But I believed that one day we would be able to transform them.”

That day came during the pandemic, when Costa joined forces with women from neighborhoods across Salvador and throughout Bahia. Together, they built a growing network that is strengthening the local textile-recycling industry and creating jobs, marking Costa’s journey from a childhood habit to a movement that redefines waste, work, and opportunity.