By Suki Ozaki

 

This time the gate was open. The padlock had been removed. For nearly two years it had been closed and the Guarani-Kaiowá passed by a small opening at the side. The farmer, title holder to the lands that they had to cross to arrive in the forest where they had camped, this morning, day 11 of September, he arrived early and left the large gate open. Twice before it’s opening had been refused by the security forces that guard the place. Two times that cost the life of two children: one 8 years old and the other a baby. Both were in need of medical care and this was denied them.  The car from the National Health Foundation, responsible for indigenous health, was not allowed to enter onto the property and when the indigenous people managed to remove the children from the encampment, which was 3.5 kilometers from the road, it was already too late. They died in the hospital: the first from pulmonary complications and the second, from dehydration.

 

The day dawned and the activity was intense. Bicycles, baby carriages serving as means of transport, took the few belongings of the 35 Guarani-Kaiowá families who claim the lands of Nhãnderu Laranjeira, situated within the fazenda of Santo Antônio da Boa Esperança, in the municipality of Rio Brilhante.* The 35 families had, for 1 year and 8 months been within the 420 hectares of forest reserve. There they had water, game for hunting, fish and shelter.

 

The children, without understanding the dimensions of the problem, sought out their beloved animals: parrots, dogs, cats. The elders could not hide the great sadness: “Today I am furious like a jaguar”, repeats Nhãnderu Olímpio, a spiritual leader, as he tied parts of a bed to his bicycle. “Since midnight we have not stopped gathering our things, we are treated like [unwanted] beasts”, he declares releasing the tensions of the night. Suddenly, he lowers his head and cries. “I want to hang myself”, he murmurs. More than 70 years old the pajé (shaman) who still dreams of dying in a land that is theirs is taken over by despair. The same despair that led three youngsters of the encampment to kill themselves by hanging, in the last two threats of dispossession.

 

“Here there is firewood, there is water for the children. If the FUNAI does not bring basic food baskets, we hunt a macaco or fish to eat. We do not need much land, only a portion to live on, to plant manioc and potato, bananas for the children”, explains Kaiowá Adelaide Albino.

 

It was half past 9 in the morning and finally the FUNAI truck arrived to help with the move. The deadline of 48 hours set by the federal police on September 9, for leaving the fazenda, expired at 11 that morning. By midday there remained only the barracks of tarp and thatch at the site. The 130 indigenous people expulsed still left some things behind; cooking pots, pails and clothes to complete what they had agreed to: a peaceful departure.

 

“They said that if we did not leave on our own two legs, they would remove us by force, that there would be gunfire”, Adelaide states flatly.

 

At the side of BR163 some of the barracks have already been set up. Of others, only the wood skeleton is standing. Four meters from there, the trucks pass in indifference. The greatest concern for the moment was to obtain water. A technician was brought in by a partner observer from the social movements that are accompanying the dispossession. He indicated the place for digging a water hole. Immediately, the indigenous start taking turns to dig a well on that spot.

 

It is half past three when three Federal Police riot vans arrive at the fazenda. About 12 agents come out accompanying the court servant to inspect the eviction area. The Kaiowá gather, began to dance and the chants, ever stronger, unite children, youngsters and the elders, in sad lamentations. Slowly they form a mass that goes back and forth, several times crossing the bustling BR. Cries of protest begin to echo. “We want justice”, “We want the return of the anthropologists”, “We want the demarcation”. For 30 minutes they externalize their revolt, their fears, their contained despair. When the police return, the gate is closed again and the padlock replaced.

 

Following the departure of the police, the observers also took their leave. One Guarani-Kaiowá, her tears streaming said: “You who are here today, take this to your people. Tell them that in the lands of Mato Grosso do Sul the indigenous people are not treated as human beings”.

 

At the end of this day, night fell on the 21^st Guarani-Kaiowá encampment, all of them at the sides of highways in the state of Mato Grosso do Sul, Brazil.