The Xikrin kayapó “a war of lyes”
The first time I met Mukuka Xirin it was February of 2012. He was 23 years old student at that time; knowledgeable but quiet. Although he was not a leader; Mukuka had inside the strength of one; hidden behind his humble look. He took me to 7 out of the 8 Xikrin tribes on the Bacajá River, tributary of the Xingu River, and we had a sleep over his community – Poti-Krô. At that time Mukuka already knew what Belo Monte meant to his community but didn’t realize what it would mean to himself…
Months later, Mukuka became target for having such a strong opinion about the Belo Monte Dam. He was threatened and harassed. After that he isolated himself for a while in order to protect his family. One year later I was back there to the same place where we had met before; his community – Poti-Krô. The strength and humbleness where still there; I could see it on his eyes; but Mukuka didn’t want to fight anymore; he was just looking for a way his community could survive.
We held meetings on his village and listen to their voices. They started by apologizing for not being all painted and dressed as their culture demand, but Belo Monte is destroying even that. The local Health Counselor, Tukuraré shared his thoughts but asked for us not to record him…
“The government says Belo Monte will bring development to the country, and they said they would consult the indigenous because it would effect indigenous people. But the ‘consultation’ was like a little bird that comes from one side and crosses to the other side. It was a very quick conversation, but to make indigenous understand you have to repeat things many times.” (…) he continued: “They took advantage of this weakness of lack of understanding then presented the emergency plan and gave just the little things that people wanted… FUNAI could have worked to bring real things to the community, but that never happened. They just started making these little blue houses, giving boats, and saying they’re ‘doing their best. But the things they gave to indigenous only caused more problems – more division, headaches, trouble.”
The people from Poti-Krô village understands that Belo Monte is affecting not only them; but everyone that relies on the Xingu River, or its tributaries for their survival; because as they pointed out; Belo Monte is causing more “traffic, crimes, prostitution, which brings a lot of sadness” for them. When asked if there was any chance that the dam could bring happiness Tukuraré responded: “No, I don’t think it’s possible, because the river is our road. The government has airplanes. Without airplanes, how will they work? It’s the same for us. Taking our road is taking our way out….This should have happened before, but not as an exchange for our rights. I’m very sad with this situation. They’re gambling with our lives here, and we’ve lost a lot of partners because they’ve pitted us against our partners.”
Around the room, filled with man (mainly), and few woman holding their babies on their arms, I realized that this war was harder to see and understand than an actual war… The isolation and differences of languages made the Xikrin world and my world be so far apart. I wasn’t the only one feeling that… Tukurare seemed to be reading my thoughts: “The worst war is a war of language–you don’t see that people are suffering because there are no bombs or fighting. It’s a war of lies and legal systems. It is a war of language;” he finalized. Tukuraré was right; an this war of lies, of our system was slowly burring this people alive…
The conversation went on and on. Mukuka was only translating by then, and kept his thoughts to himself. Tukurare in the other hand seemed to be the express voice of the Xikrin; and asked precisely for us to tell the world his exact words.
“Today I heard some indigenous saying, ‘What now? Who will be able to help us now? Who can we talk to?’ [Because talking to the officials goes nowhere.] If we talk to FUNAI, they give the message to Norte Energia, and Norte Energia talks to the government, and the government gives the message to FUNAI, and the message goes all around among themselves and never accomplishes anything” cried Tukuraré. Then He the acknowledge our presence there: “The best thing to do is what you’re doing, because you’re bringing understanding. If indigenous people had that understanding, they could stop this dam.”
Tukuraré also denounced the current status of the village: “The two most important things are good health and good education, because with education, we are able to choose what is best for us and what is not. The government is responsible for providing these two things, health and education. But the worst health system in Brazil is in indigenous communities. And if you ask the people here, you’ll see that nobody has passed the fourth grade. Our schoolteacher just left last October. We radioed to see where he went or when he would come back, and now they’re saying we might not have a schoolteacher at all this year. How can we fight for what’s right without an education?”
He was right. The Poti-Krô village, out of the other 7 I have visited had the best structure and yet, no structure at all. Some of the villages where missing even wells. Kids where getting sick because the water is getting dirty with the construction of the dam. “The government is irresponsible; said Tukuraré, and continued “My message to them is to respect indigenous people and to respect nature, because this land held our ancestors, and we survive and rely on nature.”
After looking around and realizing it was dark, we decided to continue our talk on the next day. Only by then, when we where getting settled, Mukuka came by, and set with us in the dark, and shared his personal thoughts… We asked him about what where the impacts Belo Monte was bringing that he could notice. “Last year, because of construction, we noticed mud in the water [a green mud], and the fish started dying.” First noticed in October. “We saw a lot of fish dying;” said Mukuka, and continued: “Nobody from Norte Energia explained anything. We started noticing these effects just by reality.” Then we asked if no one from the company was there to explain all those effects and he again said that all they know is through observation, and that no one ever came to explain anything, or to talk about a compensation…
Mukuka also explained how hard Norte Energia worked on dividing the tribes, to explain why they are not fighting the dam anymore… He said that all they want to do is try to move on, without creating more conflict among themselves. Mukuka highlighted that the tribes still talk but it’s not the same anymore; because they used to be all together. He also said that they don’t celebrate anymore.
When questioned about plans for the future he sadly responded: “I don’t know—there’s no plan for what will happen. If there’s no road, we’ll be stuck here. The company has a plan to build a road, but it never came. If it gets too rough here, we’ll just have to move.”
How do you feel about Belo Monte, we asked. “I feel angry inside, and at the same time, sad. Most people feel this way. And also confusion. Things are not clear, and they use difficult words to explain, he said. However Mukuka also was hopeful for the future and for his wishes. He said he would wish for the kids to be able to leave on the world he did, with an alive culture and preserved language. About Belo Monte he completed: “I think one day the dam will be stopped. We believe in god.”
That day was over. I went to sleep and couldn’t stop wondering about the future of the Xikrin…. Today there are about 1 thousand and 300 people leaving on those 8 villages. They are beneficiary of almost all the law suits that the Public prosecutors brought in defense of the Xingu people and against all illegalities during the license process. They are also beneficiary of one very specific law suit targeting the neglect of BNDES, IBAMA, and Norte Energia stemming from the absence of prior analysis of impacts and associated compensation measures for them.
The following day we went harvesting yucca in the forest with them, and we held a meeting only for the woman. We also spend a long time watching the kids jump on the river, and play with the water. Bacajá means the same thing that runs on their blood, says Mukuka. I could see that. And undertanding that the river is dying and with that, also the dreams, culture and life of these people are being washed away was just a sad realization… So I preferred to leave with the same hopes I saw still on their hearts: the hope that in the end, everything somehow will be all right.