28 LISTENER SEPTEMBER 7 2019
At first, there’s nothing but forest for two
hours. Below us, the Amazon appears
indefatigable, a huge emerald fabric. Carved
into the unflagging greenery, switchback
rivers wend seawards, their sandy banks a
surprising shade of gold. From up here, it’s
easy to buy into that pioneers’ view of a
remote, scary jungle.
Closer to our destination, the cattle town
of Rio Branco, we start to see signs of the
more audacious land grabbing: rectangular
patches of light-green pasture surrounded by
forest, waiting to be joined up to others in a
game of bovine Tetris. Gradually, these give
way to consolidated cattle ranches and we
see the line of the frontier. The ideological
boundary between light and dark green,
farm and forest, as clear and visceral as the
Berlin Wall once was.
We dip down to see wisps of smoke
marking the places where the grileiros are
burning off the remnants of trees, getting
ready for grass seed and cattle. An existential
nausea is exaggerated by the low-altitude
manoeuvres of the plane.
This view from the air is shocking, but
not unexpected. In São Paulo, we’d already
stopped in at Brazil’s National Institute for
Space Research (INPE). We’d seen the arc
of deforestation in primary colours on its
computer screens.
INPE uses four different satellites and
measures any change in land use down
to 6.25ha. Apparently, the grileiros have
caught on and are downsizing their grabs
to try to escape detection. After the INPE’s
release of deforestation data in July, which
was higher than in a long time, Bolsonaro
launched a fierce verbal attack against the
institute, claiming its information was fake
and it was trying to sabotage his country’s
economic future. Puzzled INPE staff say
they’re not remotely interested in the poli-
tics. It’s not their job. The satellite imagery
tells the story: the land is deforested or it’s
not; it’s forest or ex-forest – there’s not much
room for subjective interpretation.
A big meeting is planned for the following
Wednesday. Are they worried? No. Just con-
cerned for this important project that they
have proudly laid out for the entire world
to see. Anyone from anywhere can go onto
its website and watch the forest disappear.
For now. A week after our visit, the director
of the institute is fired. Bolsonaro is talking
about handing the work to a private com-
pany, which may not be required to make
the information public.
As well as running interference on his
Government’s space programme, the Presi-
dent has been flashing the nationalist card,
painting those concerned about the forest as
mischievous foreign busybodies or plotting
economic rivals. “We understand the impor-
tance of the Amazon for the world,” he told
foreign journalists, “but the Amazon is ours.”
What right do developed countries, which
have already cut down their original forests,
have to tell Brazilians what to do? This is
Bolsonaro’s argument, adding, “Indigenous
people want to work, they want to produce
and they can’t. They live isolated in their
areas like cavemen.”
END OF THE ROAD
The BR317 federal highway from Rio Branco
brought the outside world to the tribe of
cacique G, back in the 1970s – it cut the
indigenous community off from its past but
failed to connect them with a future worth
having. With the highway came the land
grabbers, and plenty of violence. Their res-
ervation was created after the cattle ranchers
had their way with the land. There’s not
much forest left.
It’s a cautionary tale about what might
happen to S and R if the powerful ranching
and farming “ruralistas” get their hands on
the riches of their reserva.
G and his wife, M, take us to the place
where they used to go hunting – a mud
lake in the forest where deer and pigs would
gather, only 20 minutes from the village.
They used to get enough to eat for a week
using just bows and arrows.
Now, when we walk through paddocks to
the spot, there’s nothing but cracked earth
surrounded by grass, cowpats and the occa-
sional small tree that used to be part of the
forest. Their hunting anecdote seems from
another time, but this was G in his twenties.
His people used to live in a rainforest, but
they now rely on a tanker to bring them
water from town. G says the surrounding
cattle ranches have contaminated the nat-
ural supply with agrochemicals. A nearby
village lost several members of the same
family from drinking poisoned water.
The tanker moves through clouds of red
dust along BR317 to the next indigenous
community; a motorcyclist rides in front to
announce its arrival and collect the money.
TIPPING POINT
Paulo Artaxo, one of Brazil’s leading climate-
change scientists, says the agribusiness tail is
wagging the dog. Awarded the Nobel Prize in
2007, as a member of the Intergovernmental
Panel on Climate Change, Artaxo is well
known enough to offer sturdy criticism of
Bolsonaro’s Government. He isn’t worried
about the sort of backlash that the INPE has
been experiencing. As an academic, he says,
it’s his job to criticise. And, like everything
to do with climate, time is running out –
deforestation is frighteningly efficient.
To lose the entire Amazon, we have only
to destroy 40% of it, says Artaxo. With 20%
of the original forest already gone, if we lose
another 20%, it is thought that various feed-
back mechanisms will swing into action,
transforming the remainder into savanna
- mixed woodland and grassland. Then the
ruralistas would have all the land they want.
Artaxo’s best hope for the Amazon is that
it is left in the hands of indigenous and tra-
ditional communities who live there. They
know how to look after it.
“The forest needs us,” says S. “When those
other people come up the river and look to
the forest, this would be an amazing pasture,
they say. For us, we have a connection with
the forest, we can feel it asking for help. We
feel fragile because we don’t know how far
we are able to protect it.” l
Phil Vine is directing a documentary on the
human effects of the global food system for
GE Greenpeace International. It’s due out in October.
TT
Y^ I
MA
GE
S
SAVING THE AMAZON
His people used to live in
a rainforest, but they now
rely on a tanker to bring
them water from town.
Defiant:
Brazilian
President Jair
Bolsonaro.