Land regularization and knowledge regimes: notes on the south of the state of Amazonas (Brazil)¹

ABSTRACT

The present article seeks a reflection on land regularization processes in which different forms of knowledge intersect. The starting point is a set of experiments related to studies of indigenous land identification in the southern state of Amazonas. The intention is to point at possibilities of different contextual readings. If on the one hand the anthropologist must write a report containing a map that establishes the boundaries of an indigenous land, on the other hand he must understand the confluence of the constitutive relations of a collective and its place. If the production of a text and a map are intended for future readings (legal and anthropological), the registers of places, based on events that combine sociality and sociability, are also a form of language.

KEYWORDS
South American indigenous; Tupi-Kagwahiva; indigenous territory

RESUMO

Com o presente artigo, busca-se uma reflexão acerca dos processos de regularização fundiária nos quais diferentes formas de conhecimento entrecruzam-se. O ponto de partida é um conjunto de experiências relativas a estudos de identificação de terras indígenas no sul do estado do Amazonas. A intenção é problematizar a grafia de distintas leituras de contextos. Se de um lado o antropólogo deve redigir um relatório que contenha um mapa com os limites de uma terra indígena, de outro deve compreender a confluência de relações constitutivas de um coletivo e seu lugar. Se a produção de um texto e de um mapa são pensados para futuras leituras (jurídicas e antropológicas), os registros dos lugares, pautados em eventos que conjugam socialidade e sociabilidade, são também uma forma de linguagem.

PALAVRAS-CHAVE
Povos indígenas sul-americanos; Tupi-Kagwahiva; terras indígenas

RESUMEN

Con el presente artículo, se busca una reflexión sobre los procesos de regularización de la tierra en los que se entrecruzan diferentes formas de conocimiento. El punto de partida es un conjunto de experiencias relacionadas con estudios de identificación de tierras indígenas en el sur del estado de Amazonas. La intención es problematizar la grafía de diferentes lecturas de contextos. Si por un lado el antropólogo debe redactar un informe que contenga un mapa con los límites de una tierra indígena, por otro debe comprender la confluencia de relaciones constitutivas de un colectivo y su lugar. Si la producción de un texto y de un mapa están pensados para futuras lecturas (jurídicas y antropológicas), los registros de los lugares, pautados en eventos que conjugan socialidad y sociabilidad, son también una forma de lenguaje.

PALABRAS CLAVE
Pueblos indígenas de Sudamérica; Tupi-Kagwahiva; tierras indígenas

LAND AND COMMITMENT

In 1993, when I was among the Tenharin²of the Marmelos River as a master’s researcher, I was invited to participate in a large leadership meeting. At the time, they asked me to present my research proposal so that it could be evaluated by the collective. It should be noted that my arrival was facilitated due to previous trips to Amazonas and also because I was guided, during graduation, by Prof. Miguel Menéndez, researcher with the Tenharin and already deceased at the time³. In the master’s degree, I left a focus on indigenous history and went to the study of kinship. The Tenharin, called Tupi Kagwahiva, have a system of exogamous moieties that receive complex names linked to birds: one is called Mutum-Nagwera and the other Kwandu-Taravé. At the time when I was asked to present the research, this was my main theme and on which I wrote several texts later (Peggion, 1996a, 2004, 2011, 2012). For a long time, at the meeting mentioned above, I was asked about the intentions and objectives of the research. As a master’s student and for personal reasons, I was unable to make any payment in return for the research, but I made myself entirely available to help the group politically.⁴. Our conversation was interspersed with great speeches, in the indigenous language, which were about what my possible contribution would be if the research was accepted. Discussions were suspended, each one went to his house and I was accommodated in one of them, next to Tavejara’s house. ⁵Kwahã, which was empty because of the resident’s travel. To my surprise, the subject of the meeting was not yet over. There were hours of micro meetings held by Kwahã, who visited all the leaders during the night. The other day, in the morning, I was again called to a new meeting in which the acceptance of my work was solemnly announced. The condition, as agreed, was effective support in the land regularization of indigenous lands in the region and, in particular, in the necessary adjustments for the Tenharin Indigenous Land. It should be noted that, in the mid-1980s, there had been a first study to identify this Indigenous Land. However, a region with chestnut groves had been left out because of an agreement, made at the time, between the Tenharin, the National Indian Foundation (FUNAI) and some invaders.

Back at home, a little lost on how to proceed with the request that was made to me, in a period before the format of today’s media, I started calling and writing letters to Funai, in Brasília. Soon after, I was invited to coordinate the Working Group to carry out land adjustments in the Tenharin do Igarapé Preto Indigenous Land. This was followed by land studies for the Tenharin Indigenous Land of the Sepoti River and the Torá Indigenous Land (Txapakura people) in the lower Marmelos River region in 1998, the Jiahui Indigenous Land in 2000 and the Tenharin Indigenous Land of the Marmelos River - Gleba B in 2002. I wrote, at different times, about the territorial issue in the south of the Amazon (Peggion, 1996b, 1998, 2001).

Today, when I return to the Marmelos River, some old Tenharin always want to talk to me about the lands, places of passage, places of residence, events, rivers, names and memories. In conversations, we always talk about the events that mark the identified places: references to events from the time of “the ancients”, relatively recent times and when we were passing through those places during the studies on territorial limits. For various reasons, whether political and/or circumstantial, there are also controversial points in the established limits, generating debates about the bites.⁶be in some places and not in others. However, they are specific records that do not significantly affect the territorial guarantee generated from the land regularization process, which is based on the study carried out by the anthropologist⁷.

Based on a relatively long period as a professional who carried out academic research, and who was present in supporting the identification of Indigenous Lands in the region, I intend to reflect, in a preliminary way, on some questions that refer to the context in which land regularization processes usually to occur. In view of this, my intention is to refer to the encounter between the indigenous perspective regarding their territory and the perspective given to a study, carried out by an anthropologist, which results in a report and a map. The study, in this case, must translate the symbolic references that account for other meanings that are not exclusively anchored in geography.

HISTORICAL OVERVIEW

The Kagwahiva presence in the region is undisputed. In addition to the notes of travelers, missionaries and provincial presidents, there are moments of conjunction between documentary records and ethnographic sketches. The main references for the region, at the beginning of the 20th century, with regard to the Kagwahiva peoples are Curt Nimuendajú (1924, 1963), José Garcia de Freitas (1926), Joaquim Gondim (1925, 1938) and Vitor Hugo (1959).). Claude Lévi-Strauss also wrote about the Kagwahiva peoples of the Machado River region (Lévi-Strauss, 1996, 1958, 1963).

Nimuendajú participated in the so-called “pacification” of the Parintintin and Lévi-Strauss was among the Tupi-Kagwahiva in the current state of Rondônia. Both have written and published about their experiences. Although Nimuendajú only started working with the Parintintin, he ended up publishing a text that tried to give an account of the social organization of the Kagwahiva. José Garcia de Freitas and Joaquim Gondim worked for the Indian Protection Service (SPI) and Vitor Hugo was a Salesian missionary in the region.

In the records that precede these authors, in official reports produced both in the 19th century and in the beginning of the 20th century, we read things like “indigenous rush”, warrior attacks, etc., demonstrating the effective occupation, by indigenous peoples, of all areas. territory of the Madeira River basin, in particular its main tributaries.

With each invasion attempt, the Kagwahiva peoples responded by defending their territories. The ethnohistorical map developed by Miguel Menéndez (1981/1982) is an example of this. By recording the locations of indigenous peoples according to the citations in the documents, Menéndez (1981/1982) shows us the extensive indigenous occupation of the region.

The Tupi-Kagwahiva, in this context, are perhaps the most recorded peoples in different parts of the territory. With the departure of Nimuendajú from the region, his successor in the SPI was José Garcia de Freitas, who, as we will see, appears in the documentation as a usurper of indigenous lands. José Garcia de Freitas had the task of attracting the indigenous peoples of the region and “pacifying them”, using the positivist methodology in force at the time. After the established contact, the indigenous villages were configured in micro villages and the territory was released for the occupation and extraction of rubber. As a result, the indigenous people themselves, traditional inhabitants, became rubber tappers and began to work for the rubber tappers who occupied their lands. This phenomenon, it should be noted, occurred in a generalized way throughout the Amazon.

José Garcia de Freitas made extensive records aimed at the directors of the SPI. In such records, already familiar with the Kagwahiva language, he wrote down the particularities of each group. The perception that Freitas gives us is that of groups that knew themselves to be similar, but that established their distinctive marks. Furthermore, it is clear that the constitution of such units was somewhat unstable and that dissensions were frequent.

What is noticeable in the historical documentation is the extensive occupation of the Kagwahiva groups in the region in order to generate a particular configuration that refers to the social organization of such peoples. The alliances and conflicts that define groups are part of kinship and, in addition to being understood as resulting from encounters between enemy groups or territorial disputes, they are part of processes that are inherent to social organization. In a previous article (Peggion, 2016) I outlined this issue.

During his passage through the Machado River region (in the current state of Rondônia), in the 1930s, Claude Lévi-Strauss elaborated a reflection on the Kagwahiva social organization, based on his ethnographic observations. His experience in the field resulted in two articles (Lévi-Strauss, 1958, 1963) and a part of the book Tristes Trópicos (1996). The perception of Lévi-Strauss (1958) in relation to the Kagwahiva groups of the Machado River region (today the state of Rondônia) was accurate and the similarity to the processes that occurred in the south of the Amazon is remarkable. The question that arises is how the transition from small groups organized and named by the father-in-law/leader of the domestic group to the current configuration as ethnic units occurred. I think this is the focus to think about in a context in which there is a record of limits and, also, the presence of a federal highway. The Transamazon Highway (BR-230) passes through the Tenharin and Jiauhi territories and, which we will see shortly, has a strong impact on the lives of the indigenous peoples of the region. Gabriel Garcêz Bertolin (2014) studied the Tenharin of the Marmelos River and also noted the aforementioned configuration, as well as the issues related to the Transamazon Highway. According to Bertolin, the name of the highway is pepuku’hua which means “long road”, “long road”:

The expression “long way” points to the multiplicity of other paths accessed by the Tenharim as opposed to the extensive trail opened by the State, an endless path, in dimensional terms, compared only to the Marmelos River (Bertolin, 2014: 57).

According to the author, the “long path” is opposed to the variety of trails open in the forest that connect villages, hunting spots, chestnut groves and the Marmelos River (Bertolin, 2014: 57). Furthermore, I think that the confluences between the Marmelos River and the Trans-Amazonian highway can bring elements to think about the Kagwahiva social organization. Bertolin’s work is important for thematizing questions, precisely, about the relationship between the Marmelos River and the Transamazon Highway. In the same way that we will do here, the author refers to an article by Fernando Santos-Granero (2005), to think of the Kagwahiva landscape as loaded with human and non-human agency (Bertolin, 2014: 68).

Currently, the peoples called Kagwahiva are distributed in two areas, the middle Madeira River, in the state of Amazonas, and the upper Madeira River and Machado River, in Rondônia (respectively, the northern Kagwahiva and the southern Kagwahiva, according to Kracke [2004]). According to Nimuendajú (1924, 1963), these groups would be descendants of the ancient nation of the “Cabahibas” who, when migrating from the Upper Tapajós to the west, ended up dividing into several segments.

As recorded by this author, the local groups, territorially located and politically independent, had a social organization based, as we have seen, on a dualism represented by clan moieties called Mutum and Gavião. These two halves organized the marriage system, which was carried out, preferably, in the form of an internal exogamy to each of the groups. According to Nimuendaju,

The Parintintin tribe is divided into two exogamous and unlocalized clans: Mitú (Crax sp.) and Kwandú. This last name probably does not designate the Quandú — porcupine [Cereolabus sp.) but of a large bird of prey (Thrasaëtus harpyia Linn. ? — Spizaëtus tyrannus Wied. ? — conf. MR 347) (Nimuendajú, 1924: 225).

Of the groups recorded in the early 20th century, we have today, in Amazonas, the Tenharin (from the Marmelos River, the Preto stream and the Sepoti River), the Parintintin, the Jiahui and, further north (in the Purus River region), the Juma . In the current state of Rondônia, we have the Karipuna, the Amondawa and the Jupaú (Urueu-wau-wau), in addition to several groups in voluntary isolation.

Figure 1
Location of Indigenous Lands inhabited by the Kagwahiva

After the so-called “pacification” of the Parintintin, carried out under the coordination of Curt Nimuendajú in 1922, only this group had regular contact with the regional population. With regard to other groups in the southern region of Amazonas, the process that took place slowly between 1922 and 1970 and gained intensity when the TransAmazonian highway was opened, which cut through the Kagwahiva territory, allowing the definitive penetration of agricultural and mining-based expansion fronts. .

With the people who inhabit the current state of Rondônia, the Jupaú, Amondawa and Karipuna, effective contact took place in the 1980s. Quince, in the Tenharin Indigenous Land⁸.

Thus, such groups appear in the historical documentation distributed throughout the territory. One of the effects of contact is the stabilization of some of these groups in order to constitute stable units characterized as ethnicities. However, the movements of social organization continue to produce their alliances and conflicts within such units in the same way as they did before contact, as we will see in this work.

The lack of knowledge about the different Kagwahiva peoples became more evident when Curt Nimuendajú was in the region, even though it was for a short period. For lack of funds, after five months, Nimuendajú left, delegating the activities of the so-called “pacification of the Parintintin” to several assistants. A few years later, the aforementioned José Garcia de Freitas was shocked by the number of local groups he called “warrior clans”:

“We provisionally know of nine groups, all enemies among themselves, waging war and committing cruelty in the highest degree to their victims. They are the following: “Kuandey” (Gaviãozinhos), “Odiahub”, “Itauéry”, “Tucut”, “Miundê”, “Pain”, “Apairandê”, “Kôte-Apain”, “Boritá”, this group today composed only of women (Freitas, 1930: 7-8).

Prior to this finding, the SPI began to perceive, soon after approaching the Parintintin, that the war against the rubber plantations persisted, preventing the permanent settlement of non-Indians in the region. In the 1925 report there are “pacification” projects of various groups, which are immediately related to the Parintintin:

Unlike the Parintintin, who usually cut their hair around the head, the Odiarhúebe keep them long and Bantu, but like those, they also have their penises wrapped in a tube of arumã leaves, in a cylindrical shape. Their akanitaras are made of japu and red macaw feathers and the same adornments that are seen on the warrior weapons of the Parinttintins (Lemos, 1925: 20).

In 1926, José Garcia de Freitas published a statistic, also confirming that the knowledge of other local Kagwahiva groups came after the “pacification” of the Parintintin.

“The number of the Tribu - At the beginning of the pacification, it was estimated at 250 heads, but the existence of the Apairandé and the Odyahuibé was ignored and according to information from the Parintintin, the Odyahuibé are more numerous than them and as for the Apairandé I calculate at 100 people based on the number of canoes that were found in the Machado River (Gy-Paraná) when a boat from the “Calama” house surprised them: therefore, I estimate 500 people, because of the pacified people, more than 120 Indians have already died (Freitas, 1926: 72) .

After the process was established and consolidated with the Parintintin, the joint objective of the SPI, the individuals and the church was to establish contact with the various Kagwahiva peoples who still remained isolated defending the territory from non-indigenous occupation. In addition to the Kagwahiva, several other indigenous peoples inhabited the southern region of the Amazon, such as the Torá, Matanawi (speakers of the Txapakura language) and Mura-Pirahã (speakers of the Mura language). As it was a positivist project, several attempts were made in order to establish coexistence between these different peoples and the regional population. One of the SPI posts called Antonio Paulo, for example, had, in 1928, Parintintin, Torá and Pirahã, all traditional enemies. The peaceful coexistence between these peoples was a project to make the region,

“But the truth is that we must direct the service so that, after the pacification of all the parintintin malocas, fraternizing all the tuchauas, we can found Vila Cauahib in the region, in an appropriate place, locating the great Brazilian nation and surrounding it of well-deserved comfort - with an agricultural - professional patronage for the boys, a professional school for the girls and other improvements compatible with our civilizing intentions (Lemos, 1929: 21-22)

The documents show that, in the 1930s, José Garcia de Freitas set up a team to approach the “Odiahub” with a group from Parintintin as a guide. His report shows that, a few years after contact with the Parintintins, the region was practically taken over by private individuals. The chestnut grove “Quandú-Ogá”, in 1930, was called “Boa Esperança” and was owned by Manoel Lobo. The first pacification post was called “Paraíso” and belonged to the firm P. Monteiro & Cia. and in the Igarapé Traíra they opened a wide pier that led to the Madeira River. Even in the central chestnut grove, an important nucleus of the indigenous territory, there were already tents by the firm Monteiro e Freitas recognizes “in order, perhaps, to legitimize the possession of their explorations” (Lemos, 1930: 03).

In this search for the “Odiahub”, Freitas’ team ended up meeting with the “Pain”, a dissent from the “Odiahub”, who fled from them. Freitas manages to arrest a wife and two children, saying that she would be his messenger of peace. The following day, he released his wife (retained the children) and asked the Parintintins to “sing and dance, each one for himself, playing our harmonicas, saying our good intentions, talking about machetes, knives, axes and beads” (Lemos, 1930: 08).

They managed to get in touch with the “Pain”, but not with the “Odiahub”. Freitas returned with his team to get supplies, but when he returned to the forest, he found no one else, only traps and signs of a struggle. After having attempted the approach, at the end of the same report Freitas concluded:

The main cause that drags them to war is the nefarious superstition, origin of all the intrigues and that, even nowadays, among those already pacified for 8 years, with difficulty we can remove. Hence, we cannot trust the pacified Parintintin to attract other distant groups (Lemos, 1930: 08).

After a few years, the real intentions of this person in charge of the SPI come to light. Francisco Pereira Barrancas carried out, in 1941, the First Madeira Expedition. He found, strategically located on the banks of the Maici River, José Garcia de Freitas, having, under his command, several Kagwahiva. They extracted firewood on a large scale and forest products for the boats that passed by, in addition to working in agriculture. Also in the Três Casas region, the indigenous people lived from hunting, fishing and agriculture, in addition to extracting forest products for Colonel Manoel Lobo, now the owner of the region (Barrancas, 1941).

From the 1940s onwards, the indigenous peoples of the southern region of Amazonas lived without guarantees over their traditional territories. Many went to live in the surrounding cities, such as Humaitá and Manicoré. Some of these groups managed to maintain relative isolation or established contacts mediated by regatões. This was the case with the Tenharin, who worked for many years with a man who even married a woman from this indigenous people. It is interesting to note that, even in permanent contact with the regional population, the Tenharin kept their social organization in operation in the same terms in which it happened before the contact. It is characterized by the formation of alliances and conflicts between different groups that speak the same language (Peggion, 2016). In a similar way to that described by LéviStrauss (1958, 1963) for the peoples of the Machado River, alliances generate unions between different groups that, over time, may undergo rupture processes or new alliances, a typical characteristic of multibilateral systems. According to Viveiros de Castro (1990: 45), multilateral systems are those in which a marital partner establishes alliances with an indeterminate number of other partners according to the combination of several localized bilateral exchanges. In this case, the different Kagwahiva groups established ties between groups through the marriage of cross-cousins (when close) or by alliance (when distant). According to Viveiros de Castro (1990: 45), multilateral systems are those in which a marital partner establishes alliances with an indeterminate number of other partners according to the combination of several localized bilateral exchanges. In this case, the different Kagwahiva groups established ties between groups through the marriage of cross-cousins (when close) or by alliance (when distant). According to Viveiros de Castro (1990: 45), multilateral systems are those in which a marital partner establishes alliances with an indeterminate number of other partners according to the combination of several localized bilateral exchanges. In this case, the different Kagwahiva groups established ties between groups through the marriage of cross-cousins (when close) or by alliance (when distant).

In the other Kagwahiva groups, this constitution was gradually suppressed by the action of regionals who began to occupy the indigenous territory. The definitive contact took place in southern Amazonas, with the opening of the Trans-Amazonian highway in the late 1960s, and in northern Rondônia, with the intensification of expansion fronts that arrived in the region in the 1980s. start in this context.

THE IDENTIFICATION STUDIES

The land regularization of Indigenous Lands is based on the Federal Constitution of 1988, in particular article 231 and its subsequent paragraphs (Brasil, 1988). Decree 1775 of January 8, 1996 determines:

The demarcation of the lands traditionally occupied by the Indians will be based on work carried out by an anthropologist of recognized qualification, who will prepare, within a period fixed in the ordinance of appointment issued by the head of the federal agency for indigenous assistance, an anthropological study of identification.

Ordinance 14 of the Ministry of Justice, of January 9, 1996, establishes rules for the preparation of a detailed report on the identification and delimitation of Indigenous Lands.

From the anthropologist’s point of view, he sees himself as a mediator who will contribute to the realization of a study that will show the limits of an indigenous territory of traditional occupation, combining his knowledge with indigenous knowledge (I think, here, in the terms de Viveiros de Castro [2002a]) and with the knowledge of the other team members, such as cartographers and environmentalists, making a right to the land evident.

As we saw in the opening of this text, the process certainly begins in a previous period, when the anthropologist begins to understand the social organization of the people studied. In general, participation in such processes stems from the ethical commitment assumed with the indigenous people. Before setting out in the field, in general, historical archives and previous studies are sought on the people who claim the land tenure regularization of their lands.

When in the field, although in an articulation of the so-called Technical Group established by FUNAI ordinance, the anthropologist sees himself in the condition of a researcher whose objective is to collect ethnographic information and topographical records that define an indigenous territory.

Through interviews, observations and notes, the anthropologist intends to gather the necessary information to allow a glimpse of possible limits to the indigenous land. It is a detailed and multidisciplinary study coordinated by him, which carries out an ethnography, but which has a very objective sense of producing a very well-founded legal piece that justifies the future demarcation of the indicated limits. The terms of the detailed study prepared by the anthropologist are contained in the aforementioned Ordinance 14 of the Ministry of Justice, which establishes topics that must be included in all identification reports. There is no doubt about the support needed for such work during the stay in the field, a factor that allows for another type of relationship between the anthropologist and the indigenous people in the context of the process of identifying limits. There is an expectation in relation to the result that is not a thesis, but neither is a report expected. What is expected is that there will be a demarcation of the land to give greater security to the people who inhabit it.

The limit points must be justified and composed in order to make the conjunction between them. In other words, for the western perspective, the indigenous land must have limits (natural or not), composing an organized and consolidated configuration. An important reflection that presents arguments similar to those developed here can be found in an article published by Dominique Gallois (2004). The distinction he proposes between occupied lands, territories and territorialities makes perfect sense when thinking about land regularization processes. For the author, there is no semantic correspondence between land and territory. Indigenous Land is related to the political-legal process, while territory would be the construction and culturally variable experience of a specific society and its territorial base. Territory is not just prior to land and land is not just a part of a territory. They are absolutely different concepts. In addition, “in the transformation of a territory into land, one passes from the relations of appropriation (which dispense with the material dimension) to the new conception, Taking the Waiãpi as a reference, a people with whom it has a long history of coexistence, it shows how confronting the way of being of others led to the claim of an exclusive territorial base. Through a learning process of collective management, the Waiãpi went from a sparse network of sociability to a “we waiãpi” (Gallois, 2004: 3940). According to the author, the anthropological studies carried out show the absence of the notion of territory:

“Analysis like this one seeks to describe indigenous conceptions based on open notions of territory and limits, which are extremely variable. These studies also show that the idea of a closed territory only arises with the restrictions imposed by contact, by the processes of land regularization, a context that even favors the emergence of an ethnic identity (Gallois, 2004: 39).

In the Kagwahiva case, the broad regional occupation of such groups led to the constitution of different territories and, consequently, different ethnic identities. Although there is the notion of a “we Kagwahiva”, it is established as a broad identity made up of diverse peoples who inhabit their own territories and have their own ways of being. On the other hand, even today, given the pressure of the expansion front, there is information about peoples in voluntary isolation. In some cases, there is the possibility that they are Tupi-Kagwahiva speakers.

As an anthropologist who worked in the region and who carried out identification studies, I think it is up to us, in addition to the legal piece, to understand the relational meanings interposed in indigenous perceptions about their own territory.⁹. This perception articulates multiple images, layers, places with a geographical cutout (rivers, streams, water encounters, mountains) and places of memory (places of events, struggles, conflicts, old villages, old swiddens). In the limit, something like translating a lived dimension of the land into a legal and anthropological register called Indigenous Land. From a perspective that dialogues with Dominque Gallois (2004), Marcela Coelho de Souza has developed an interesting and important collective work at the University of Brasília, which focuses on the passage, also discussed here, between territory (the lived dimension) and Indigenous Land. (political-legal record):

However, if the entire identification procedure is aimed at translating the first into the second, and thus depends on this erasure (otherwise, the concept would not function as a hinge capable of articulating a right that precedes the Law to the legal order instituted by the latter), we know — ethnographically — that this translation and this erasure will always miss something. Because there is a difference of worlds between these two lands” (Coelho de Souza et al., 2017: 19)

In the end, it is necessary to present a report that justifies the territorial limits and that will be read by several professionals, but that has, mainly, a legal dimension. The determining factor, perhaps, is whether the report presents evidence of what constitutes a relationship. In this case, the relationship of a collective with its territory.

This conjunction between a collective and its territoriality (and later its territories) was what ended up linking me ethically and politically with the indigenous peoples of the south of the state of Amazonas. Even though it was not, initially, my research topic, it came to me because of a pressing need of the moment in which we lived (and that we live). In addition to returning my studies, what was asked for was a commitment that came to be configured as a marker of our relationships.

WRITING IN THE FIELD

Although the area of occupation of the Kagwahiva peoples is the space between the Madeira and Tapajós rivers, internally the definitions between different groups have always been well demarcated. In this case, the records show that the people were referred to in two ways: by the name of the leader or by a topographical record of the vicinity of the place of habitation. Although several names have been recorded in historical documentation (such as the Parintintin, for example), the Kagwahiva themselves refer to each other by the names of former leaders or places and that can also refer to groups that no longer exist. Thus, among the Tenharin there are several men who descend from ancient Parintintin relatives, but who married Tenharin women and never returned to live with their group. The subgroup of these Parintintin men probably no longer exists. We saw above the Freitas record that reports a high mortality rate of indigenous peoples in the region. On another occasion, I wrote about the multiple constitution of such groups, distributed throughout the territory (Peggion, 2016). Until the end of the 1990s, the Jiahui lived among the Tenharin of the Marmelos River (Ytyngyhu).

The Jiahui suffered deeply from the hardships of contact with Brazilian society, in particular the military dictatorship. Haunted by the arrival of the machinery that opened the Transamazônica, they saw no alternative but to accept the contact. As a solution, at the time, they were taken to live next to the Tenharin of the Marmelos River. Before that, probably several members of the Jiahui were already dispersed in the region. Treated as slaves by José Garcia de Freitas of the SPI, they were forced to work on their own land in exchange for survival for many years. It is quite likely that the Jiahui brought to live with the Tenharin were the last remnants who had very little contact with national society.

The arrival of the road took on the contours of a mythical event in the Jiahui narratives, as if it were (and indeed was) the harbinger of a tragedy. The tractors clearing the soil of the road made a strong impression on the Jiahui:

Our path... to this day is marked. So after the road turned we stayed there where I’ll show you the cemetery. Then we hear ourselves - one of these times - we hear a hoot. Then: - Is it an airplane? We call evytevaé plane. Is it evytevaé that’s hitched to a stick? Because until now it turns from day to night, everything... Then we set it up to look, right? (Ñagwea’i & Irá, 1999).

Then they warned everyone... then it broke there... the road, talking to people, at that time Paranapanema... then Kari stayed here, then another one under the responsibility of Tenharin, they took us there to Marmelos... Then they grabbed us by the arm, my sister everything, my mother, then we wanted to escape, but we couldn’t afford it anymore. (Ñagwea’i & Irá, 1999).

Among the Tenharin, the Jiahui remnants married and began to live, but they never abandoned the idea of retaking their traditional territory. Around the 1990s, in meetings held between the Tenharin and the Jiahui, it was agreed that there would be support for the latter for the retaking of their territory. The place next to the Tenharin of the Marmelos River, has always been recognized as the land of the Jiahui.

In this condition, I carried out the identification studies of the Indigenous Land in question. The Jiahui had already moved to occupy their extensively recorded and documented traditional territory. As we could see, the SPI reports and maps gave an account of the location of this people. In 1999, I was among them to carry out the land identification study. We started with a team composed of me, as coordinating anthropologist, an environmentalist, a cartographer, a representative of the Instituto de Terras do Amazonas and two technicians from FUNAI for the land survey. Accompanied by Jiahui representatives, we carried out several expeditions within the territory to record important points that would later be transported to the charts of the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics - IBGE.

The transposition, with the feature of the GPS¹⁰and the cartographer’s technical knowledge made an impression on all of us. How to understand the reference and the passage between different symbolic contexts? From a specific landscape to a sheet of paper? As the days passed, the provisional map gained new contours, gradually and very meticulously constituting what we understand as an Indigenous Land. But the transposition between symbols did not seem to be based exclusively on geographic points.¹¹. On the contrary, what was cataloged during the trips were events and places of memory. In addition, each trip had its own cataloged route, making the territory a map and the records a form of writing. To illustrate my point, I present below some records made among the Jiahui. In my field diary I took some notes that were converted into the following observations:

We left very early that day because of the route to be taken. Ñagwea’i had, the day before, reported about a path that led to a large chestnut grove in the interior of the territory. Upon understanding the meanings given to the maps, Ñagwea’i decided to comply with my request and draw, himself, a partial map of the territory that would cover the next day’s trip. His map was not made up of boundaries, but of paths. And such paths were marked by ancient sites, hunting and chestnut harvesting sites. We took the route suggested by Ñagwea’i and entered the dense forest. In such situations it is important to prepare equipment, such as a camera, GPS, flashlights, batteries, notebooks. In addition, it is also important that you bring some food. None of this, however, can get in the way of the long journey with obstacles that you will face.

A good resource for what is known as “merenda” in the Amazon is to carry a plastic bag in which rice was originally packed (there is a preference for such plastic bags given their resistance). About half a kilo of water flour is poured into this bag. A can of sardines is taken together, which will be mixed with the flour at the time of the meal.

After many hours of walking and many points recorded, a stop for a meal was suggested. The site chosen was the dry bed of a stream (the work was done in the Amazon summer, when small streams dry up). We immediately prepare our mixture. By shaking the sardines, the oil and the flour, you have a great farofa that can be consumed with your hands. While we were resting and talking about the territory, Irá, who always accompanied us, attentive to important information, said that, although he had known that small stream in the interior of the territory for a long time, the fact that it was intermittent left it without a defined record. He asked us to record that point on the GPS and said that from that day on the stream would be called “Igarapé da Sardinha”. Immediately, he pointed to the spot where the empty can was, but that had already been duly collected by a member of the team, whose ecological principles would not allow the can to remain as garbage inside the indigenous land. The can would certainly be collected, but not the memory of the event we had participated in...

Another constant presence on hikes like the ones above is Mbahíra. According to these peoples, Mbahira, the central hero of cosmology, still lives among us. However, he lives inside the stones, and the stone is his registration symbol. In the old days, the Kagwahiva had the practice of hemming stone axes found in the territory. Such axes are considered to be traces left by Mbahíra (Mbahira tagwera, Mbahira dung). Gabriel Garcêz Bertolin, in his master’s thesis, also noted that

the main points of reference of this kagwahiva spatiality are the old villages, the places where there is terra preta - a place that points to the ancient swiddens -, the place where the big snake is found, the village of the cultural hero Mbahira, good places to hunt or fish and several other points of reference that make up this landscape(Bertolin, 2014: 68).

On routes carried out inside the indigenous land, whenever we found rocks, they said they were elements linked to Mbahíra. In ancient swiddens, petrified manioc was the food of Mbahira and mountains and mountains are their abodes. A connection between sociality and sociability has always been evident to me¹². Although the stones are directly linked to the main mythical hero who, among other things, gave fire to the Kagwahiva, nothing prevented their use. The Mbahira tagwera, for example, gained new wooden handles and the regions called Itaky (“sharpening stone”) were appreciated, as the stones are great knife sharpeners. Thus, in almost all the contexts in which we were jointly discussing the territory, the elements that the Kagwahiva mobilized were more related to the paths (varadouros, places of important events in remote or recent times) than to the limits themselves.

ABOUT THE PATHS

Fernando Santos-Granero (2005) calls the marks in the landscape among the Yanesha topographic writing, products of the action of humans or superhumans. The “topograms” are elements of the landscape that acquire their configuration in the present as a result of the action of such beings in the past (Santos-Granero, 2005: 186187); as signs, they evoke things, events, gods and can be combined and recombined as if they were mythemes. They contribute to preserving the memory of important historical events (Santos-Granero, 2005: 190).

In the case of Kagwahiva, the reference linked to important events has always been remarkable, both mythical and historical events, whose narrative is even made by people who experienced the event. There are places that belong to some leaders and whose “ownership” refers to someone who founded the place (ascendant relative), took the first chestnut, made the first swidden. Tenharin villages do not have a random foundation. Although almost all of them are located along the Trans-Amazonian, there is a memory resource in them that makes the group’s right to live in the place effective. Even the chestnut groves are part of this authority. However, unlike our notion of ownership, when I asked about the uses of the places, there was no restriction as long as the “owner” was informed.¹³. Another context in which the word owner reappears is in the performance of the Mboatawa ritual, a ritual that takes place annually around July-August and that mobilizes all the villages. There is always a party owner, who will designate a series of assistants who will hunt, fish, roast the meat, prepare the flour and organize the entire ritual process (Bertolin, 2014). It is important to note that the flow of hunters and fishermen generally follows the Marmelos River. I will return to the subject. In addition, during the performance of the ritual, there seems to be a spacetime flattening, in which the present and the past become unique and there is a lively experience of alterity.

In the same way, in the processes of identification of indigenous lands, there was always this mismatch: faced with a concern to define a limit for a certain space that would, from then on, be recognized as an Indigenous Land, the interlocutors gave life back. Everything was very present, very current. The explanations about the events, in specific places, were always marked by emphases and admiration.

Contrary to thinking about limits, they always sought to articulate references through paths. And the paths are not necessarily the limits. The paths create relationships, across the landscape, of humans with each other and of humans with non-humans. More than instituting a territory as a delimited space, there is always a perception of a relational tangle whose references always come from the village in which one lives at the moment. And there’s more. There are fishing camps, chestnut harvesting camps, hunting camps. All interconnected, by waterway or trails.

Walking in the forest with the Kagwahiva is an experience that refers to writing, as there is a reading of the landscape that refers both to the myth (Mbahira’s abode) and to historical events (conflicts, contacts, events). As Stephen Hugh-Jones shows for the Upper Rio Negro, it is as if the myth appeared in a variety of forms (Hugh-Jones, 2012: 148) and, as in the case of the Yanesha, those who read such records did not necessarily experience the events., making the landscape something that refers to memory (Santos-Granero, 2005). In addition to an exclusively personal experience, the Kagwahiva landscape is knowledge that, in contexts of defining territories and land tenure regularization, has become fundamental.

Returning to the report from 1999, we were organizing several routes, equipped with GPS to record important places for the Jiahui. Encouraged by me and interested in the characterization of the map that was in progress during the work, Ñagwea’i decided to draw the territory on sheets of sulfite that I had taken with me.

Figure 2
Map of Jiahui Territory made in 1999 by Ñagwea’i

In addition to a concern with the definition of limits, Ñagwea’i demarcated paths and paths taken by himself and the other members of the group. The second line on the left, from which several paths leave, is the Transamazonian highway and the double circle on the right is the Tañoapina chestnut grove. There are no limits, but paths that connect fundamental places for the survival of the Jiahui.

The focus around the notion of limits has always had a perspective of knowledge that operated in other fields in which the path was the reference that characterized another type of map. From various maps made of forest paths, all of them marked by mythical and historical events, to a map that is cartographically defined and recorded on paper. These reflections later brought us closer to the propositions of the English anthropologist Tim Ingold. In particular, his reflections on the relationship between movement, knowledge and description (Ingold, 2015). My argument here relates to the author’s idea that lives are not lived within places, but through and around places (Ingold, 2015: 219)

Contrary to seeming that limits are unnecessary, it is important to emphasize that they are based precisely on the relationship with a type of event that acts on it. Invasions in places laden with topographical meanings and often the loss of such places were defined, in the Yanesha case as “desacralization” (Santos-Granero, 2005: 182). This is what most likely occurs in all contexts in which memory records also have a topographical dimension.

For the things that the inhabitants know are not facts. A fact simply exists. But for the inhabitants, things do not so much exist as they occur. Resting on the confluence of actions and responses, they are identified not by their intrinsic attributes, but by the memories they evoke. Thus, things are not classified as facts, or tabulated as data, but narrated as stories. And every place, as a set of things, is a knot of stories (Ingold, 2015: 227).

Each walker leaves, throughout life, a trail and several nodes, which make up a large mesh (Ingold, 2015). Such meshes can often go beyond delimited contexts, constituting maps not definable by conventional geography.

The lines connecting these destinations comprise a network that is spread over the entire surface, and “fixed” at each of its nodes. For the pilgrim, however, the world is not presented as a surface to be crossed. In his movements, he weaves his way through this world, rather than traversing it from one point to another (Ingold, 2015: 223).

In southern Amazonas, the view of the Kagwahiva spatial distribution is of a multiplication of nodes that spread across the region (Peggion, 2017). As we have seen, the different groups and many others that no longer exist were distributed along the entire strip that extends between the Madeira and Tapajós rivers. There was knowledge of the collectives among themselves, who lived between alliance and conflict (Peggion, 2016). However, how was this knowledge given? According to the information from the Tenharin, each Kagwahiva group was referred to by the name of its leader or by some geographical reference (rivers, mountains). In the documentation, the Tenharin appear as Apairandê, which I assume is an onomastic reference to Nhaparundi, regarded as one of the first of the group. Some time ago, they changed to Ytingyhu, in reference to the Marmelos River and, recently, they started to call themselves Pyri. The Tenharin of the Igarapé Preto, in turn, call themselves Yvytytyruhu in reference to the surrounding mountains, but are called by the Tenharin of the Marmelos River as Tenondé because of their location (in reference to themselves). In general, the so-called leaders were in-laws who led their domestic groups between alliance and conflict, occupying specific places in the territory. Such connections between groups were recorded in several places: they are the mesh points that constitute the memories of all the Kagwahiva in the region. occupying specific places in the territory. Such connections between groups were recorded in several places: they are the mesh points that constitute the memories of all the Kagwahiva in the region. occupying specific places in the territory. Such connections between groups were recorded in several places: they are the mesh points that constitute the memories of all the Kagwahiva in the region.

FINAL CONSIDERATIONS

The course carried out in this text sought to show how, in a given region, the process of indigenous occupation responded to a dynamic inherent to the forms of social organization. At first, the references to indigenous peoples accounted for a wide territorial occupation constituted by small units such as domestic groups. With the more effective non-indigenous presence, documents began to indicate localized and ethnically named groups, but still diffuse. At the beginning of the 20th century, with the SPI taking direct action on indigenous peoples, the multiple units gained shape with specific names and a more effective ethnic configuration. In the south of Amazonas, these groups started the fight for their lands, which only had their limits raised in the 1980s. Even so, During this period — between 1990 and 2000 — it was possible to participate in land tenure regularization processes in the region. Based on the new legislation in force at the time, which established a set of fundamental elements for the identification of an Indigenous Land (Federal Constitution of 1988, Decree 1775/96 and Ordinance 14/96 of the Ministry of Justice), several studies were carried out. In this context, the present article was an attempt to elaborate a reflection inspired by the circumstances in which the anthropologist sees himself as responsible for defining the limits in which an indigenous people inhabits.

Experience has shown that the anthropological report must combine field experience and writing to substantially create a map. And the map records must also be understood in parameters other than ours. An indigenous land must be thought of at the confluence of relationships that intersect sociality and sociability, as an articulation between flows, paths and meshes rather than a space delimited by borders.

In the south of Amazonas, for example, it was possible to notice that the passage of the territory to the Indigenous Land articulated, in other terms, the relational flows that already existed before. One can even imagine an ontological appropriation in a context in which there is a dispute between different ontologies (Almeida, 2013).

In the case of the Tenharin of the Marmelos River, there are two fundamental geographical references today: the Marmelos River and the Transamazon Highway (BR230). In previous articles I have tried to show how the marital cycles of the Kagwahiva peoples of Rondônia, recorded by Lévi-Strauss (1958, 1963), continue to occur in the south of the Amazon, but in a different way (Peggion, 2016, 2017). As we have seen, the author called attention to marriages carried out through alliances with neighboring groups (also speaking Kagwahiva Tupi) that replicated, in later generations, marriages with bilateral cross-cousins. Over time, cycles of cousin marriage tended to restrict marital possibilities within the local group, leading to new cycles of alliance.

With the opening of the Trans-Amazonian highway, in the late 1960s, the non-indigenous presence intensified. Many Tenharin came to work for the companies that were opening the roads and participated in the approximation with the Jiahui remnants referred to in this text. Furthermore, the road has become a new and permanent geographical reference in the Kagwahiva context. In 1993, the Marmelos village was divided into four sectors that aggregated domestic groups allied with each other. The dividing marks were the road and the river. Over the years, the road was effectively configuring itself as an occupation reference for the constitution of new villages. As shown by Bertolin (2014), the highway is recognized as a “long way” and, in his opinion, is opposed to the various trails in the forest. Although it established a state of permanent tension, today practically all the new villages are on the sidelines of the BR-230. And such villages arise precisely in the rupture of domestic groups and in the formation of new alliances, in the same way as already pointed out by Lévi-Strauss (1958, 1963) for the Kagwahiva of the Machado River.

Dispersion remains a central element for the Kagwahiva and the points of tension are in the relationships between in-laws and sons-in-law. The difference is that the new units are currently named after villages and each of them may contain different domestic groups. However, opening still occurs at the intersection of domestic groups and the initiative to leave always belongs to someone with some prestige. This father-in-law, according to his influence, will be able to form a new village and will be able to count on the support of other domestic groups in his initiative.

The important part is that, even with all the impact and pressure surrounding indigenous lands, traditional forms that link kinship and territory are strong. The movement never occurs in a random way, but in the return to old places of habitation from which someone who has maintained, in the recent past, some bond with the domestic group, those who are recognized as “owners” of the place. This movement, in turn, can function as a protection measure against actions of invasion of the territory now delimited, but which until recently was entirely indigenous.

If, on the one hand, the Trans-Amazonian highway constituted a landmark in the occupation by villages, the axis constituted by the Marmelos River became decisive for the performance of the Mboatwa ritual. It is precisely following its flow that the family members follow and remain in the forest for a period hunting and fishing for the celebration of the festival. The road is tension, it is the flow of humans, affinity and consanguinity. The river, in turn, is the path of the ancients, of non-humans, where they set off in search of plenty to perform the Mboatawa ritual. It is in the great stones of the Marmelos river that Mbahira inhabits.

Thus, although the limits mark another regime of knowledge, the Kagwahiva know that they have become fundamental, given the expansion front that has taken the south of the Amazon in recent years. In addition, the topographic markers where the memories of each of the collectives are based are alive. And they are continually renewed.

• 1
  This article emerged from my experience in land regularization processes in which I participated in the south of the state of Amazonas. The stimulus to develop the reflection came from participating in two events: as coordinator of the table “Ações em Terras: Ocupar, Retomar, Demarcar, Mapear e Caminhar”, during the II Meeting of Ethnology, History and Indigenous Policy, in September 2018 at the UFSCar and as a debater at the panel “Policies and Territorial Dynamics during the Seminar on Joint Multicommunity in the South American Lowlands”, in November 2018 at Unicamp. Parts of this work were presented at the following events, both in 2019: at XLI Convegno Internazionale di Americanistica, Perugia, Italy and at Canteiro de Antropologia - Jornadas da Caatinga at Universidade Federal do Vale do São Francisco in São Raimundo Nonato, Piauí. This version is part of a larger reflection that has the support of the Fundação de Amparo à Pesquisa do Estado de São Paulo (FAPESP Process n. 2018/19262-9). The opinions, hypotheses and conclusions or recommendations expressed in this material are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect FAPESP’s view.
• 2
  In a meeting with the Tenharin in October 2018, I noticed that the Association documents were being spelled with “Tenharin”, with a final “n”. I asked the leaders present at the meeting the reasons and was told that they had agreed that, from now on, it would be like this. In this sense, I also start spelling Tenharin and no longer Tenharim.
• 3
  Miguel Angel Menéndez produced an important reflection on the indigenous peoples of the region. In addition to studies on the ethnographic or ethnohistorical context (Menéndez, 1981/1982; 1984/1985), he has also written on land issues (Menéndez, 1984) and a thesis on the Tenharin (Menéndez, 1989).
• 4
  At the time of the trip for the master’s research I wasn’t sure there would be any kind of return requirement. When, in the field, I noticed that the Tenharin would not charge a financial return, as I ended up being linked to prof. Miguel Menendez. Either way there was an expectation of support of some sort.
• 5
  Among the Tenharin, Tavejara is the term used for chief. In the Summer Institute of Linguistics dictionary, we have: “ta-: indicates a positive and desired mode of action. / ta-: indicates desired negative mode of action or negative order; / occur together with a prefix and a suffix. / -ovajar: game divided in half or in four parts. / -ovajar: killer” (Betts, 1981).
• 6
  Picada is an opening in the forest that establishes the physical limit of the Indigenous Land. It is generally about six meters wide and is interspersed with landmarks and signposts.
• 7
  A similar argument can be found in Sáez (2015: 279): “To the annoyance of anti-indigenous people, and perhaps even to the swoon of pro-indigenous people, indigenous territorial disputes never seem to reach a happy ending. I am not referring (only) to situations such as those in the Northeast or the South of Brazil, where dense demography and strong economic interests oppose serious resistance to the recognition of the Indians and, therefore - as the Constitution mandates - of their lands, if not to situations such as those of the Yaminawa, where relatively weak land pressure facilitated recognition and demarcation. The demarcated land already seems too much for opponents of the indigenous cause, but the claim continues”.
• 8
  The film entitled Piripkura was recently released, directed by Bruno Jorge, Mariana Oliva and Renata Terra, which reports the drama lived by two survivors in the region of the Madeirinha river in northern Mato Grosso and who are probably remnants of some Kagwahiva group.
• 9
  It is worth noting that the Kagwahiva, like many peoples in the Amazon and elsewhere, have the need to draw maps on the ground to explain to the interlocutor about places or events that mark the landscape (Bertolin, 2014: 69).
• 10
  A fundamental instrument in territorial identification processes, the GPS (Global Positioning System) is now widespread.
• 11
  I take as a reference to think about symbols the perspective of Lévi-Strauss: “Without a doubt, such symbols can be homogeneous, as happens in the opposition between summer and winter, earth and water, earth and sky, high and low, left and right, red and black (or other colors), noble and commoner, strong and weak, firstborn and youngest, etc. But sometimes a different symbolization is observed, in which the opposition takes place between logically heterogeneous terms, such as stability and change, state (or act) and process, being and becoming, synchrony and diachrony, simple and ambiguous, univocal and equivocal, all they are forms of oppositions that, it seems, can be subsumed into a single one, the opposition between continuous and discontinuous” (Lévi-Strauss, 2008: 168). It is also possible to think about the perspective of Roy Wagner (2010) and the relationship of symbols with convention and invention.
• 12
  I understand sociality and sociability from a reading of Eduardo Viveiros de Castro (2002b). In his text “Actualization and countereffectuation of the virtual: the kinship process” (Viveiros de Castro, 2002b), the theme is treated in several ways: ritual life (sociality) and everyday life (sociability), the line that descends and the line that rises, actualization and counter-effectuation (inspired by Deleuze). I understand, by his arguments, that the time of the constitution of the world, in which humans and non-humans lived together, is the time of sociality. In it would be the full affinity that needs to be updated permanently to become sociability and, consequently, produce consanguinity. In this case, everyday life, the current world, would be that of sociability maintained by matrimonial exchanges and gifts. There is, according to the author, a permanent tension, and this sociability can counteract itself. Furthermore, I understand that both can be in the present tense, they can coexist, as they are processes.
• 13
  The terms used such as “property” and “owner”, although they resonate with the theme discussed, for example, in Fausto (2008), here are native categories that seem to refer more to the times when rubber plantations existed. In general, chestnut groves or places in old villages have an owner and their use by others involves communication with the owner of the place, but not an absolute impediment. About chestnut groves owners, see Araújo (2019:134).
• FINANCING: FAPESP

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Depoimentos:

• Ñagwea’i Jiahui & Irá Jiahui. 1999. Registros realizados durante o processo de regularização fundiária da Terra Indígena Jiahui. Aldeia Ju’i,Amazonas.

Publication Dates

• Publication in this collection
  06 July 2022
• Date of issue
  2022

History

• Received
  16 July 2020
• Accepted
  05 Aug 2021