The man pictured above is Raoni Txucarramãe, chief
of the Kayapó
people, who hail from Brazil's northern Pará province. The homeland of the
Kayapó is the tropical rainforest surrounding the tributaries of the giant Xingu
river, itself a nearly 2,000km long tributary of the Amazon. But the livelihood
of the Kayapó people is under grave threat. Brazil's president, Dilma Vana
Rousseff, has authorised the construction of a dam that will
flood their homeland.
The Belo Monte dam will be the world's third-largest
hydroelectric dam (after China's Three Gorges dam, itself with numerous problems, and the Brazilian-Paraguayan Itaipu
dam). It will flood 400,000 hectares of the world's largest rainforest,
displacing 20,000 to 40,000 people – including the Kayapó. The ecological impact
of the project is massive: the Xingu River basin has four times more
biodiversity than all of Europe. Flooding of the rainforest will liberate
massive amounts of methane, a greenhouse gas far more damaging than carbon
dioxide. But the impact on Chief Raoni's people, on an entire society, is
unimaginable.
The Kayapó traditionally practised slash-and-burn
agriculture on small farms cut into the jungle. The rich resources of their
lands (minerals, timber, and potential hydroelectrical power) have brought
pressures from outside. Although the Brazilian constitution explicitly prohibits
the displacement of "Indians" from their traditional lands, it provides for one
convenient exception: where the National Congress deems removal of the people to
be "in the interest of the sovereignty of the country".
Proponents of the dam argue that its construction is in the nation's
interest.
The Kayapó people's leadership has learned how to
participate in the world economy. They were one of the first indigenous peoples
to participate in international commerce, with the Body
Shop, and they learned how to fight back against projects they did
not support. A five-day media conference they organised to fight
the Bel Monte dam in 1989 generated enough international attention
that the World Bank refused the loan necessary for the project to proceed.
Now, as the project raises its head again, the
Kayapó have forged alliances with non-profits worldwide to continue their
battle. In February, Chief Raoni delivered a petition with 600,000 signatures to the Brazilian government,
and construction of the dam was temporarily blocked. But this week, the
Brazilian government gave the project the green light.
Chief Raoni and his people have, essentially, played
by our rules. They learned the ways of a foreign society, and they waged their
battle according to those foreign rules and with those foreign weapons,
launching petitions and protests, and engaging media and lawyers. I am reminded
of another photo that recently appeared on these pages: that of an
"uncontacted" Amazonian tribe, their bows raised, their arrows aimed at the
Brazilian Indian Affairs Department aircraft flying overhead. For all his
efforts, Chief Raoni, too, might as well have been shooting arrows at the
Brazilian National Congress building.
This losing battle is not unique. Rather, it is the
common story to the Americas. I recall my visits with Cristina Calderón, known in Chile as "the last Yaghan",
the last survivor of her race and last speaker of her native tongue. Across the
Beagle Channel from her home lies the large island of Tierra del Fuego,
traditional homeland of the Selk'nam, but now devoid of any indigenous people. The
demise of the Yaghan was due largely to diseases introduced and
spread by displacement from their expansive territories to crowded mission
schools. The Selk'nam, however, were actively hunted by European settlers. The
new industry here was sheep-ranching. With their traditional hunting territories
turned to grazing lands, and with no concept of animals as private property, the
Selk'nam turned to hunting sheep. The settlers, in turn, issued a bounty for
each pair of Selk'nam ears.
The Kayapó and their partners have launched a
last-ditch effort, including another petition, to have the Brazilian government
listen to their concerns, and respect traditional land rights. The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights has urged the
Brazilian government to consult "in good faith … and with the aim of arriving at
an agreement with each of the affected indigenous communities".
But I know, from experience here, where I
live – also a land of pristine rainforest that is still populated by
vibrant communities of original inhabitants – what industry's requirement to
"consult" with indigenous people means: the parties will, at some point, show up
in a room together and voice their opinions. The indigenous people will have
every right to say no to the project. But no one is required to heed
that.
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