{"id":739,"date":"2019-01-31T02:56:16","date_gmt":"2019-01-31T02:56:16","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/commons.princeton.edu\/indigenous-brazil\/?page_id=739"},"modified":"2019-01-31T02:56:16","modified_gmt":"2019-01-31T02:56:16","slug":"national-geographic-and-the-indigenous-peoples-of-the-brazilian-amazon","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"https:\/\/commons.princeton.edu\/indigenous-brazil\/outros-textos\/national-geographic-and-the-indigenous-peoples-of-the-brazilian-amazon\/","title":{"rendered":"National Geographic and the Indigenous Peoples of the Brazilian Amazon"},"content":{"rendered":"

Myths and Misconceptions:<\/strong><\/p>\n

National Geographic and the Indigenous Peoples of the Brazilian Amazon<\/strong><\/p>\n

Peter Schmidt<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 When I was growing up in a quiet suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, I would eagerly await the arrival of each month\u2019s National Geographic magazine. On the day it appeared in the mail slot beside my front door, I would rip off its plastic binding and experience through its pages a world that seemed endless and alluring. Arctic exploration, deep-sea hydrothermal geology and Serbian coming-of-age rituals were suddenly transported to my living room table. Through the pages of National Geographic, I first learned about the Brazilian Amazon and the people who lived there.<\/p>\n

Now, thanks to advances in technology as well as the advance of ecological destruction on a global scale, the world seems smaller than it did before. This is especially true in the case of the Brazilian Amazon, a once-remote place whose fate is now inextricably bound to the rest of the world\u2019s by the forces of climate change. In recent years, National Geographic has dutifully reported on the threats to the Amazon, but this wasn\u2019t always the case. Historically, the magazine has presented a rose-tinted view of the world, one that obscures the damage inflicted by development, deforestation and dehumanization. Over the past century, the pages of National Geographic have told the history of the United States and other developed countries as they examine and misrepresent places and peoples beyond their borders.<\/p>\n

The National Geographic Society was founded in Washington D.C. in 1888 by “a small cadre of distinguished businessmen, explorers, scientists and scholars” with a common interest in what they called \u201cgeographic knowledge.\u201d[1]<\/sup><\/a> Within nine months, the Society had established a magazine, which it distributed to its 165 charter members. The magazine\u2019s original style of turgid scientific reports was soon nixed by Gilbert H. Grosvenor, whom society president Alexander Graham Bell appointed as the magazine’s first full-time editor.[2]<\/sup><\/a> In place of this more academic focus, Grosvenor pushed the magazine toward first-person narratives and accessible, vibrant prose, thus placing the magazine in the vein of Darwin’s captivating travelogues. The magazine has continued in this tradition, introducing photographs in 1905 and accruing a subscription base that now exceeds 40 million readers monthly.[3]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n

National Geographic is, by design, a magazine oriented toward a particular vision of the world. It peddles the unfamiliar and distant\u2014it was the first magazine to publish underwater photographs, and as early as 1906 was reporting from the interior of the Brazilian Amazon.[4]<\/sup><\/a> As the National Geographic Society\u2019s CEO recently said, \u201cwe are not in the magazine business. We are in the business of bringing the world to people.\u201d[5]<\/sup><\/a> Exactly which world they are presenting, and to whom, is not specified. But like so many other institutions, the mission of the National Geographic magazine is evident in its origins: a society of North American men determined to subject distant and exotic places and peoples to their own critical inspection.<\/p>\n

For this reason, I assert that the National Geographic magazine is a telling indicator of the ways that the northern, developed world has historically viewed the peoples and places beyond its borders. For many readers, the magazine\u2019s pages were the only exposure to the lives of indigenous people around the world, particularly in a place as remote as the Brazilian Amazon. National Geographic\u2019s correspondents have been reporting on the Amazon and its inhabitants for over a hundred years now. Over the course of this history, the way that the magazine\u2019s writers represent their subjects in relation to the world of their readers has shifted from a fantasy of isolation to the hard realities of violent encounter. National Geographic\u2019s pages\u2014particularly the articles I examine in this paper\u2014reveal not so much the history of the Brazilian Amazon, but rather the history of the myths<\/em> of the Brazilian Amazon, specifically the myths told by those who do not call the forest home.<\/p>\n

As persistent as they may be, however, these myths have begun to fail. Climate change and the relentless expansion of a resource-hungry planet represent a perverse iteration of National Geographic\u2019s mission. The forces of expansion are bringing the world to people, but it\u2019s a world characterized by extraction rather than exoticized beauty, and the people are imperiled indigenous communities, not paying subscribers. These samples from National Geographic\u2019s history suggest that the fantasy of an idyllic indigenous existence often serves to obscure histories of violence and extermination.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fishing and Hunting Tales From Brazil, 1909<\/u><\/strong><\/p>\n

One of National Geographic\u2019s earliest reports on indigenous communities in the Brazilian Amazon is Dewey Austin Cobb\u2019s \u201cFishing and Hunting Tales from Brazil,\u201d published in 1909. The article is concerned mostly with the ethnobotanical practices of the Tupuya tribe (whose location Cobb neglects to mention), primarily the Tupuya\u2019s use of barbasco and of curare, two naturally synthesized poisons.<\/p>\n

Cobb\u2019s time with the Tupuya coincided with the height of the Amazonian rubber boom. The invention of the vulcanization of rubber and inflatable bicycle and car tires in the United States and Europe had caused demand for rubber to sky rocket: between 1840 and 1900, exports of Amazonian rubber quadrupled each decade. And between 1900 and 1906, the year that Cobb published his article, the exports from a single rubber cartel increased from 16,000 kilos to 644,000 kilos.[6]<\/sup><\/a> While the wealth from the boom went to ringleaders and industries in the northern hemisphere, indigenous communities paid the price. In the five years following the publication of Cobb\u2019s article, the population of Indians on the Putumayo River alone dropped from fifty thousand to eight thousand, casualties of torture, amputation and overwork.[7]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n

Cobb\u2019s article makes no mention of this brutality, but his interest in the ethnobotanical resources of the indigenous people is a faint echo of the frenzied rubber industry of his time. He first describes barbasco, which is a root resembling horseradish that the Tupuya grate and boil in a mixture. When poured in a pool, this mixture kills all the small fish and brings them floating to the surface. Cobb gives himself a pat on the back by adding that \u201cthe Tupuya indians, among whom [the use of barbasco] is chiefly practiced, seldom tell white folks anything useful if they can help it,\u201d although he fails to specify why this might be the case.[8]<\/sup><\/a> The value of his account is, in some way, increased by the degree of distance between the \u201cwhite folks\u201d (some of whom were, presumably, paying subscribers to the National Geographic magazine) and the Tupuya people.<\/p>\n

In addition, Cobb recounts second-hand the use of curare, a natural tranquilizer synthesized in what he describes as the upper waters of the Amazon and the Orinoco.[9]<\/sup><\/a> He dedicates a paragraph to the \u201cgun\u201d from which curare-tipped darts are launched, and goes so far as to specify the fiber used to give the dart its aerodynamic qualities. At the time, doctors in the U.S. were researching curare\u2019s anesthetic potential, meaning that the indigenous practices surrounding the preparation and use of the substance had a profound monetary value, as well as a cultural one.[10]<\/sup><\/a> Cobb\u2019s narrative seems to follow the money, as it were, although implicitly: the only cultural practices that he describes are the \u201choodoo ceremonies and incantations\u201d that the Tupuya perform when preparing curare. He ends the article with a first-person account of hunting a deer, noting for dramatic effect that \u201ceighteen minutes after it was struck by the arrow it was dead.\u201d[11]<\/sup><\/a> The Tupuya indians are, it seems, interesting to the North American reader only for their ethnobotanical practices, particularly those using substances that North American industry may someday be able to exploit.<\/p>\n

Throughout his account, Cobb uses language that portrays the Tupuya people as subhuman, an uncivilized relic of the distant past. The Tupuya are \u201cUntutored Savages\u201d keeping a \u201cTribe Secret\u201d from a \u201ccivilized world.\u201d After learning this \u201csecret\u201d (which the Tupuya make no apparent efforts to conceal, although Cobb suggests to the contrary), Cobb \u201cwent home alone, less mystified by the barbasco fishing than by the inherited capacity of this ancient race, to enjoy a whole week, with nothing to think about and nothing to do, but eat, sleep and smoke.\u201d[12]<\/a> Not only are the Tupuya suggested to be a different \u201crace\u201d from that of his audience, but one that is \u201cancient,\u201d or far behind the supposedly modern reader in a forward-moving historical chronology. Furthermore, he paints a picture of the Tupuya that supports the stereotype of indigenous peoples as indigent and unproductive, with \u201cnothing to think about and nothing to do, but eat, sleep and smoke.\u201d The indigenous group misidentified by Francisco de Orellana in the early Spanish conquest is described in the article as a \u201cshiftless tribe of savages, too lazy to make other garments.\u201d The implication is that the lazy, shiftless, groups of the Amazon have remarkable pharmacological practices which they are seemingly unqualified to manage on their own. In Cobb\u2019s account, the value of the Amazon\u2019s diversity is made clear, but the extractive industries that had begun to exploit this value are nowhere to be seen.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Indians of the Amazon Darkness, 1964<\/u><\/strong><\/p>\n

In the early 1960\u2019s, National Geographic\u2019s correspondent Harald Schultz, a Brazilian anthropologist, visited the Erigbaagtsa indigenous group on the upper Juruena river. He published his findings in an article entitled \u201cIndians of the Amazon Darkness\u201d mere months after the establishment of Brazil\u2019s authoritarian military dictatorship. Driven by “the need to occupy the Amazon with Brazilians lest it be overrun by foreigners,” the dictatorship had already begun to build highways through the forest, displacing not the \u201cforeigners\u201d but, perversely, the indigenous communities that predate the country itself.[13]<\/sup><\/a> Perhaps this thorough, systematic displacement accounts for the fact that the military dictatorship was the first Brazilian administration to create formal protocols for demarcating indigenous territories\u2014a progressive policy, if not for the callous destruction that precipitated it.<\/p>\n

Curiously, Schultz\u2019 depiction of the Erigbaagtsa omits any mention of the dictatorship\u2019s encroachment onto indigenous land. Rather, he focuses on their hunting and fishing practices in order to an uncited rumor: \u201cWere these people cannibals? That was one of the things we hoped to find out.\u201d[14]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n

Schultz abandons this sensational question almost immediately, however, focusing instead on the aesthetic beauty of the Eribaagsta lifestyle. \u201cA succession of rainy nights stirs up snakes, lizards and insects. Tree frogs hammer and sing, crickets and cicadas hum. Brilliant butterflies flutter about, seeking shining flowers. With darkness, large fireflies glow among the trees, seemingly chasing each other and sometimes getting into the hut. Children and grownups enjoy their glow, reddish in flight, greenish while at rest. The indians catch the insects, then let them fly off again.\u201d[15]<\/a> This description, which reads more like poetry than reportage, evokes a fairytale existence in a phosphorescent forest. It\u2019s a romantic scene, one blissfully devoid of any mention of deforestation or displacement.<\/p>\n

Indeed, romance is the emotional heart of Schultz\u2019s depiction. The Eribaagsta, \u201cinnocent of either cruelty or gentleness,\u201d rest in their hammocks \u201cinnocent of clothing,\u201d and apparently neglect to tend to their jet-black hair, which \u201cnever knows a comb.\u201d[16]<\/a>[17]<\/a> The use of \u201cinnocence\u201d has both pre-Christian connotations and echoes the \u201cUntutored Savages\u201d that Crosby had described fifty-five years earlier. Innocence in Schultz\u2019 piece seems to have been intended as a complementary comment on the Erigbaagsta\u2019s distance from the corruption of the modern world, with its sentimental \u201ccruelty\u201d and \u201cgentleness,\u201d where people corrupted by civilization walk about clothed and combed. Schultz sees only innocence and beauty, but his explicit attention to these characteristics of Amazonian life suggest an implicit condemnation of the world known to his readers. He thus constructs a binary of innocent, lazy Amazonian existence and the corrupted existence of the civilized, contemporary world of his readers. These worlds are portrayed as distinct, although his very presence in the Erigbaagsta\u2019s community and the presence of Erigbaagsta\u2019s nude depictions on every National Geographic subscriber\u2019s coffee table suggest that this distinction is more permeable than Schultz is willing to admit.<\/p>\n

However, despite representing the Erigbaagsta\u2019s world as a peaceful counterpoint to the supposedly civilized world, Schultz makes no explicit mention of the civilized world\u2019s encroachment onto the Amazon. His binary is ultimately one-sided. Such is Schultz\u2019 fantasy\u2014a proud, gentle community of indigenous people whose isolation from the outside world is, in many ways, exculpatory evidence of the white man\u2019s innocence. In this fantasy, the reporter becomes a sensitive, beloved, neutral observer, rather than merely another iteration of white civilization\u2019s seizure of the Amazon\u2019s resources, labor and culture. He concludes, charitably, saying: \u201cAre these people cannibals? To us they are gentle friends.\u201d[18]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Threatened by the Outside World, 2018<\/u><\/strong><\/p>\n

In October of 2018, National Geographic writer Scott Wallace published \u201cThreatened by the Outside World,\u201d an article on the Forest Guardians, a volunteer group from the Guajajara tribe of the state of Maranh\u00e3o. The Forest Guardians are dedicated to protecting the Arariboia Indigenous Land, a shrinking patch of protected rainforest with the uncontacted Aw\u00e1 tribe at its center.<\/p>\n

\u201cThreatened by the Outside World\u201d was published during the same month of the Brazilian presidential election, of which right-wing candidate Jair Bolsonaro was the victor. Bolsonaro\u2019s platform represents a clear threat to the Amazon and its people: just hours after taking office, he transferred the regulation and creation of new indigenous lands to the agriculture ministry, a government entity controlled primarily by the agribusiness lobby.[19]<\/sup><\/a> His incoming health minister has promised to cut federal spending on indigenous healthcare, and Bolsonaro himself intends to permit lucrative but highly destructive hydroelectric projects along the Amazon\u2019s many tributaries.[20]<\/sup><\/a> As an editorial in the Guardian wrote, “Brazil\u2019s new war on its forests and those who defend them has already begun.”[21]<\/sup><\/a> This war is the context for Wallace\u2019s article.<\/p>\n

Unlike Crosby and Schultz, Wallace tells a story not of blissful isolation but of violent and unequal encounter. The Guajajara know intimately the forces threatening their land\u2014indeed, they have \u201cadopted effective survival strategies since their first bloody contacts with outsiders centuries ago. Most of them know the ways of the outside world: many of them have lived in it.\u201d[22]<\/sup><\/a> This overlap between the world of the indigenous people and the world beyond appears in the photographs that accompany the piece. Beside images of Aw\u00e1 women swimming in the river with red-footed river tortoises are aerial photographs of trains carrying iron ore along deforested tracks towards the port of S\u00e3o Lu\u00eds, where it will be shipped to China. While the Aw\u00e1 women are dressed traditionally in their portraits, with black shell necklaces and bare chests, the Guajajara men of the Forest Guardians are portrayed in worn jeans and camouflage jackets, their rubber-soled boots resting on the pedals of their motorcycle, their rifles in hand. Even in the center of the Amazon, where long-practiced ways of life continue, the presence of the outside world is inescapable. And in this case, the Guajajara have resorted to using weapons and vehicles from the outside world in order to protect their own.<\/p>\n

Despite this relatively contemporary theme of violent encounter, Wallace\u2019s portrayal of the Aw\u00e1 lapses occasionally into the rhapsodic style of his predecessors. He writes: \u201cIn the shadows of a porch, women pasted tufts of harpy eagles and king vulture feathers to the heads, limbs and chest of a half dozen otherwise naked men, all of them village elders. The patterns of the white feathers seemed to throb in the darkness, giving the men a spectral, otherworldly appearance.\u201d[23]<\/a> Wallace\u2019s article, which recognizes more explicitly the realities of indigenous Amazonian existence, complicates our judgement of this style. On the one hand, romanticized prose has served, as in the cases of Cobb and Schultz, to conceal the barbarity to which these groups of people have historically been subjected. On the other hand, to dismiss it outright on such a basis may conceal an aspect of Amazonian existence that cannot be otherwise expressed: the ineffable, uncanny resonance of different ways of being.<\/p>\n

Perhaps this is what Wallace refers to when he says that there is \u201csomething much larger at stake: the preservation of the last vestiges of a way of life that has all but disappeared from the planet, one that has survived apart from our industrial economy.\u201d[24]<\/sup><\/a> The descriptions that in Cobb\u2019s and Schultz\u2019 writing were mere fantasies gain traction in the context of the Guajajara\u2019s violent encounter with deforestation. The binary of indigenous and developed societies no longer appears as one-sided as it once was. In Wallace\u2019s telling, the strangeness of Amazonian existence finds its necessary counterpart in the destructive encroachment of the white man\u2019s world.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

It appears that National Geographic is beginning to come to terms with the myths it once perpetuated. But why now? And to what end? One hundred and thirty years after its founding as a scientific institution, National Geographic positions itself as a society with an agenda: as the CEO said, \u201cWe\u2019re not simply doing a job, we\u2019re inspiring people to care about the planet.\u201d[25]<\/sup><\/a> Its publications explicitly oppose the extractive industries and hegemonic worldviews that threaten the natural environment and its people. And its reporters present themselves as warriors in the fight for a more just and verdant world.\u00a0 \u201cMarco Lima grabbed my pen and held it aloft.\u201d Wallace writes. \u201c\u2018You see this pen?\u2019 he shouted for all to hear. \u2018This is Scott\u2019s weapon. With this he will tell the world about the Aw\u00e1!\u2019\u201d[26]<\/sup><\/a> National Geographic now purports to save the people it previously examined from the injustices it previously concealed.<\/p>\n

The story of National Geographic is, in many ways, the story of the United States and the developed world it represents coming to terms with the reality of its own past. Perhaps the answer to the question \u201cWhy now?\u201d is that the stakes have never been higher. Jair Bolsonaro\u2019s callous dismissal of indigenous dignity threatens not only the communities of the Brazilian Amazon but also the rest of the world\u2014the tropical forest is one of the planet\u2019s largest carbon sinks, and its destruction will inevitably accelerate anthropogenic climate change.[27]<\/a> However, the question \u201cto what end?\u201d is more difficult. How can concerned citizens of the United States and the rest of the developed world intervene in a situation that is at once foreign to them and also deeply consequential? The verdict is still out. But one thing is clear: to remedy past injustices, we must first rewrite the myths that obscured them.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Bibliography<\/strong><\/p>\n

amyatwired. \u201cJan. 27, 1888: National Geographic Society Gets Going.\u201d Wired<\/em>, January 27, 2010. https:\/\/www.wired.com\/2010\/01\/0127national-geographic-society-founded\/<\/a><\/u>.<\/p>\n

Chantelle Wallace. \u201cNational Geographic CEO Says Nonprofit\u2019s Mission Is Bringing the World to Readers,\u201d May 28, 2010. https:\/\/web.archive.org\/web\/20100528153618\/http:\/\/www.mccombs.utexas.edu\/news\/pressreleases\/fahey07.asp<\/a><\/u>.<\/p>\n

Dewey Austin Cobb. \u201cFishing and Hunting Tales From Brazil.\u201d National Geographic<\/em>, October 1909.<\/p>\n

Harald Schultz. \u201cIndians of the Amazon Darkness.\u201d National Geographic<\/em>, May 1964.<\/p>\n

\u201cJair Bolsonaro Launches Assault on Amazon Rainforest Protections | World News | The Guardian.\u201d Accessed January 14, 2019. https:\/\/www.theguardian.com\/world\/2019\/jan\/02\/brazil-jair-bolsonaro-amazon-rainforest-protections<\/a><\/u>.<\/p>\n

Milman, Oliver. \u201cScientists Say Halting Deforestation \u2018just as Urgent\u2019 as Reducing Emissions.\u201d The Guardian<\/em>, October 4, 2018, sec. Environment. https:\/\/www.theguardian.com\/environment\/2018\/oct\/04\/climate-change-deforestation-global-warming-report<\/a><\/u>.<\/p>\n

Phillips, Dom. \u201cBolsonaro Backers Wage War on the Rainforest.\u201d The Guardian<\/em>, October 25, 2018, sec. World news. https:\/\/www.theguardian.com\/world\/2018\/oct\/24\/bolsonaro-backers-wage-war-on-the-rainforest<\/a><\/u>.<\/p>\n

Phillips, Dom. \u201cJair Bolsonaro Launches Assault on Amazon Rainforest Protections | World News | The Guardian.\u201d Accessed January 14, 2019. https:\/\/www.theguardian.com\/world\/2019\/jan\/02\/brazil-jair-bolsonaro-amazon-rainforest-protections<\/a><\/u>.<\/p>\n

Scott Wallace. The Unconquered<\/em>. New York: Crown Publishers, 2011.<\/p>\n

\u2014\u2014\u2014. \u201cThreatened by the Outside World.\u201d National Geographic<\/em>, October 2018.<\/p>\n

Stephan Schwartzman. \u201cBrazil: The Legal Battle Over Indigenous Land Rights.\u201d NACLA Report on the Americas<\/em> 29, no. 5 (1996).<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I pledge my honor that this paper represents my own work<\/p>\n

in accordance with University Regulations.<\/p>\n

\/s\/ Peter Schmidt<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

[1]<\/sup><\/a>Wired, 2010<\/p>\n

[2]<\/sup><\/a> ibid.<\/p>\n

[3]<\/sup><\/a> ibid.<\/p>\n

[4]<\/sup><\/a> ibid.<\/p>\n

[5]<\/sup><\/a> Chantelle Wallace, 2010.<\/p>\n

[6]<\/sup><\/a> Scott Wallace, The Unconquered<\/em>. 2011.<\/p>\n

[7]<\/sup><\/a> ibid.<\/p>\n

[8]<\/sup><\/a> Cobb, 1909. p917<\/p>\n

[9]<\/sup><\/a> ibid. p918<\/p>\n

[10]<\/sup><\/a> ibid. p918<\/p>\n

[11]<\/sup><\/a> ibid. p920<\/p>\n

[12]<\/a> ibid. p918<\/p>\n

[13]<\/sup><\/a> Schwartzmann, 1996. p37<\/p>\n

[14]<\/sup><\/a> Schultz, 1964. p738<\/p>\n

[15]<\/a> ibid, p749<\/p>\n

[16]<\/a> ibid. p746<\/p>\n

[17]<\/a> ibid. p755<\/p>\n

[18]<\/sup><\/a> ibid. p758<\/p>\n

[19]<\/sup><\/a> Phillips, 2019.<\/p>\n

[20]<\/sup><\/a> Phillips, 2018.<\/p>\n

[21]<\/sup><\/a> ibid.<\/p>\n

[22]<\/sup><\/a> Scott Wallace, 2018. p47<\/p>\n

[23]<\/a> ibid. p58<\/p>\n

[24]<\/sup><\/a> Scott Wallace, 2018. p48<\/p>\n

[25]<\/sup><\/a> Chantelle Wallace, 2010.<\/p>\n

[26]<\/sup><\/a> Scott Wallace, 2018. p59<\/p>\n

[27]<\/a> Milman, 2018.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Myths and Misconceptions: National Geographic and the Indigenous Peoples of the Brazilian Amazon Peter Schmidt \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0 When I was growing up in a quiet suburb of St. Louis, Missouri, I would eagerly await the arrival of each month\u2019s National Geographic magazine. On the day it appeared in the mail slot beside my front door, I<\/p>\n

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