February 2019, ScientificAmerican.com 51access to protected lands—sometimes with success. In 2006 Pos-
suelo was fired from his post after criticizing the head of FUNAI
for stating publicly that native peoples had too much land.
More recently, some anthropologists have begun to suggest
that the no-contact policy is ill conceived in the face of ruthless
groups that operate outside of the law in the jungle. In a contro-
versial editorial published in 2015 in Science, Robert S. Walker of
the University of Missouri and Kim R. Hill of Arizona State Uni-
versity argued that miners, loggers and hunters routinely pene-
trate into protected territories, exposing the tribespeople there
to deadly pathogens and committing atrocities with virtual
impunity. The safest, most humane approach to safeguarding
isolated tribes, in their view, was “controlled contact.”
Hill says the essay was the culmination of decades of work in
the field and repeated encounters with tribes that spoke of star-
vation, brutality and an unsettled life on the run. He spoke out,
he says, because these stories long ago burst his early idealism,
and he is convinced that the epidemiological challenges can be
managed with better planning. “All of the isolated tribes in the
world are pretty much under the control of pathetically inept
and corrupt Third World governments that are doing a piss-
poor job of protecting them,” he explains. “So that protection is
really an illusion. By keeping the tribes away from transparent
information collecting, we have no idea what’s really happening
to them. And I think all kinds of horrific things are happening
and stay hidden, specifically because we can’t talk to them and
ask them what’s going on.”
Despite Hill’s stated intentions, the Science editorial sparked
widespread outrage from indigenous-rights groups, NGOs and
others, prompting angry letters—even death threats. (Walker
declined to comment for this article, saying he no longer speaks
publicly about the issue.)
“Even if you could [make] safe, controlled contact, which I
don’t think you can, what then happens?” demands Fiona Wat-
son, director of advocacy and research for Survival Internation-
al, the organization that has been perhaps
the most vocal critic of Hill’s and Walker’s
argument. “When you look at cases where
tribes have been contacted recently, it’s
not making their life any better. In fact,
you could argue it’s making it worse. Now
they are surrounded; their lands are be-
ing invaded; they’re much more exposed
to disease.”
Many of Hill’s colleagues, meanwhile, re-
main torn. Stephen Beckerman, a cultural
anthropologist at Pennsylvania State Uni-
versity, notes that “everyone can agree that
the most important thing is to keep them alive.” But he says no ex-
isting approach is ideal. “Every cell in my body emotionally
screams, ‘Leave them the hell alone!’ ” says Beckerman, whose
fieldwork focuses on the Barí tribe of Venezuela and Colombia and
the Waorani of Ecuador. “And every day of experience I have had in
the tropical forest working there, reading about it, talking to other
people who have worked there, says, ‘That’s not going to happen.’ ”FOR A FIRST-TIME VISITOR, the trip to Curare can seem like a journey
to the end of the earth. To get there, I caught a plane to Bogotá,
where I met Daniel Aristizabal, a skinny thirtysomething Colom-
bian with a dark ponytail, a worn, white T-shirt and faded cargo
pants. Aristizabal works for the Amazon Conservation Team
(ACT), an American NGO. Together we flew to Leticia in Colom-
bia’s extreme south, then boarded a beat-up World War II–
era cargo plane bound for the remote frontier town of La Pedre-
ra, a dusty outpost deep in the Amazon built around an airstrip.
Cruising at 15,000 feet and surrounded by pallets of eggs,
powdered milk and sacks of flour, I gazed through a small
window. Below, hundreds of miles of thick primary jungle un -
folded, broken only by the many long, powerful tributaries of
the Amazon River curling through the green in an endless suc-
cession of brown curves. I did not see a single settlement the
entire 200-mile trip. In La Pedrera we stepped onto a rickety,
wood longboat and headed upriver. Five hours later—four full
days after setting out from New York City—I finally arrived at
my destination.
The people here live in jungle settlements along the river
with no running water or electricity aside from a few rarely used
generators. They obtain most of their food through hunting,
fishing and the cultivation of traditional crops. There are no
roads, just jungle paths and dugout canoes. La Pedrera is the
nearest town, with a hotel and restaurant. The tribespeople like
to say they are poor in money and material possessions but rich
in land and natural resources.SHAMANS Moises Nilmore Yakuna ( red
shirt ) and Alfonso Matapí ( blue striped shirt )
join the annual meeting of the Curare
communities to review their protection
plans for the uncontacted tribespeople ( 1 ).
Daniel Aristizabal of the Amazon Conser-
va tion Team ( center ) and members of the
Río Puré National Natural Park team work
on the meeting minutes ( 2 ).2© 2019 Scientific American