2023-12-19 15:54:00
Yrá Tikuna, indigenous teacher, crosses an improvised bridge over a dry river to reach the Inhãa-Bé community (AM)|Paulo Desana/Dabukuri/ISA
We are emerging from the worst drought in history in the largest state in Brazil, Amazonas, whose territory is 1,559,255.881 km² — equivalent to the areas of France, Spain, Sweden and Greece combined. This giant that houses most of the Amazon in Brazil suffered intensely from the effects of the climate emergency in 2023.
The year goes down in history because the largest rivers in the Amazon Basin reached record drought levels, leaving the 62 municipalities of Amazonas in a state of emergency. It was also the year in which Manaus had the third worst air quality in the world due to illegal fires and dryness driven by the El Niño climate phenomenon, climate change and human traps against themselves, as defined by French philosopher Bruno Latour.
In the face of the catastrophe, we, indigenous women and socio-environmentalists, took initiatives to provide food for those who were isolated and unable to fish. We are also dedicated to animals that have suffered from fires, smoke, intense heat and the devastation of forests. And, above all, we report and take information to the whole world, because the invisibility of the North is scary and kills.
Praça do Amarelinho, Manaus: desolate landscape during drought. State of Amazonas experienced the worst drought in history | Paulo Desana/Dabukuri/ISA Smoke sommelier
In the fight between local politicians to exempt themselves from responsibility for unhealthiness, the Manauara, as people born in Manaus are called, specialized in smelling smoke and identifying it by the intensity of the odor. “This is fresh, it comes from close by, if it came from Pará it wouldn’t smell like this”, said the Uber driver, opening the window to test the smoke like a sommelier. No one had ever seen anything like it, Manaus hidden by smoke and the population without answers as to who was to blame.
If this time was difficult for those who live in the city, it was much more difficult for the people who live on the banks of the rivers, who depend on the river for their subsistence. It had a widespread impact: in the way of relating, in the spirituality arising from diving in the waters and in the consumption of food, coming from the river, the forest and community gardens.
In November, we visited the community of Inhãa-Bé, on the outskirts of Manaus, to take food and talk to teacher Yrá Tikuna, 44 years old, one of the leaders of the village, which brings together 25 families from six ethnicities. Located on the banks of a tributary stream of the Tarumã Açu River, the community was isolated and it was only possible to get there by walking a few kilometers under the scorching sun. Never, in the residents’ memory, have they been without river access to the community during other droughts.
Yrá Tikuna, leader and teacher from the indigenous community of Inhãa-Bé, around Manaus, which was isolated in the worst drought recorded in history in 2023 | Paulo Desana/Dabukuri/ISA
Yrá told us that “no one got there to help them”, even though they were in a region very close to the city and a well-known tourist and leisure area. In Inhãa-Bé, named Sateré Mawé which refers to a rattle tied to the foot in the tucandeira ritual, there were school dropouts, more cases of malaria than usual and the fish, the village’s staple food, disappeared. People just didn’t go hungry because those who have a source of income share what they have with everyone, as is the basis of indigenous culture.
The support received came from distant friends, artists and organized civil society. For Yrá, the omission and negligent behavior of governments towards indigenous communities and riverside people was not surprising. “We didn’t even expect to receive any help, not even a visit from Civil Defense.” Meanwhile, Mutchiaücü, a 4-year-old Tikuna boy, asked with his parrot in his hand: “Where is the river? Where did the fish go?”
Mutchiaücü Tikuna, a 4-year-old Tikuna boy, asked with his parrot in his hand: “where is the river? Where did the fish go?”|Paulo Desana/Dabukuri/ISAClimate inequality
When we talk about the climate emergency, we know that it will not happen the same way for everyone. The way it is governed places indigenous peoples, riverside populations, farmers, women and children in a state of vulnerability. Indigenous people have been living in a state of emergency for a long time, in a state of historical vulnerability. Even without the climate crisis, fundamental rights have never been guaranteed or respected and even territories that have already been demarcated are under constant threat.
The Amazon is a region where the colonial gaze still persists. A look that sees a landscape that needs to be explored. This exploitation is very tragic and leaves us, as inhabitants of this place, subject to complete violence. As we look at the Amazon only with a neoliberal capitalist perspective, the destruction of the lives of this ecosystem grows, which in turn is fundamental for maintaining the lives of people. We feel the impacts every day of living in a region that has been extremely sacrificed by this neocolonial thinking.
Concepts such as environmental racism and climate justice reflect on the violence that this territory experiences: an extremely violent region that kills its young people, that kills its women. It is the region where, in the 21st century, organized crime, deforestation and fires are advancing to give way to the economy of large estates, mining, illegal logging and predatory fishing, which degrade this ecosystem that is so important to our lives.
We need to look for less devouring ways of existing. Today, we face a “polycrisis”, a series of interconnected crises that reinforce each other. With the increasing loss of credibility of institutions and liberal democracies, we need to reinvent ourselves. We already realize that increasing GDP alone does not bring collective happiness. At the same time, the idea of degrowth, to flourish here, needs to be associated with the thought of decoloniality.
Manaus has just reached fifth place in the ranking of richest municipalities in the country, with a municipal GDP of R$ 103.3 billion, behind only São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Brasília and Belo Horizonte. The Manaus economy expanded 86% in the last 10 years (from 2012 to 2021). The data comes from the IBGE study on the municipal GDP of 5,570 Brazilian cities. But how has this been reflected in the population’s quality of life? What is our Amazon growth perspective?
Precarious housing vulnerable to the climate emergency is growing in Manaus|Paulo Desana/Dabukuri/ISA River dwellers live with garbage and a lack of basic sanitation. Unhealthy water consumption causes diseases in the population|Paulo Desana/Dabukuri/ISA Recognition
The world needs to recognize, the Brazilian State needs to recognize, the political powers need to recognize and society needs to recognize the importance of the ancestral knowledge of indigenous peoples. Recognition of the way of life of these people is necessary for the sustainability of the ecosystem. The recognition of indigenous territories as an essential principle for tackling climate change. Science in dialogue with the knowledge of the world’s indigenous peoples is central to resolving the global problems we experience.
We also believe in the political power to face this challenge. One of the strategies is to place indigenous women, quilombolas and those linked to environmental preservation in spaces of political power. We need to elect more women climate leaders to be senators, governors, federal deputies, etc. In order to be able to create structuring mechanisms in our country’s politics to combat climate change, it is essential to have the strength of the feminine in politics. Our historically silenced and marginalized voices in decision-making processes need to occupy these spaces, only then will we have a new sustainable path.
It’s not the Amazon that needs to be saved, it’s us.
From the conversation between the two of us when we were thinking about distributing food to communities during the severe drought in Amazonas, the idea for this end-of-year writing came about. On the eve of her departure for the Dubai Climate Conference, Juliana asked Vanda if there is still time to save the Amazon. This reflection is in full:
“It is not the Amazon that needs to be saved. Nature has the ability to regenerate itself. We human beings are on the brink of extinction. We are becoming extinct. Therefore, we need to save ourselves and to do this we are the ones who have to take measures to protect nature because our lives depend on this ecosystem. If we don’t have land, we don’t have food, if we don’t have a living river, we also have no way to drink water. We have strayed from our nature. We no longer recognize ourselves in nature. We feel superior to nature. This humanity feels superior to nature and feels it has the right to violate it, to destroy it, to contaminate it, to exploit it. And I’m not that optimistic about our end. But I continue telling stories and retelling our ancestral stories. Because for us, Witoto, when we die we become ants, tobacco seeds, coca seeds. We are sweet cassava or we become a tree. Therefore, for us indigenous people, dying is not the end. But rather the new beginning of life. Now I don’t know about you, where you will go.”
The message for the end of this year 2023 comes from the Witoto people: “May the indigenous maracas, the sacred songs, the dances, the roots, the seeds, the pitch smoke and the sacred food continue to move in the territories, in the forests, who are still alive, sustaining this planet.” It is up to us all to take care of our common home.
…
We thank Thaís Kokama, Flávia Abtipol and Paulo Desana for their support in producing the visit to the Inhãa-Bé community. We also thank Yrá Tikuna, Gleicieli Ferreira Marques, from the Mura people, and Pure Munã, from the Tikuna and Sateré Mawé people, for guiding us to the community during the drought.
#year #Amazon #dried