Our Children Will Know the Forest - Loss of Kechwa Identity

‘Our Children Will Know the Forest’- the Loss of Kechwa Identity

“Before asking permission from someone, from some institutions, we always ask permission from the forest. That is, we had to smoke ‘mapacho’ [Nicotiana rustica, tobacco plant of South America and Mexico] in order to be able to enter the mountain, because the mountain has souls; sometimes we have to ask permission by smoking mapacho so nothing will happen to us, and then we enter.” (Manuel Amasifuen Sangama, age 50)

For Manuel Amasifuen Sangama, the ‘apu’ [indigenous leader] of the Kechwa community of Alto Pucallpillo in the northern Peruvian Amazon, the forest is shared space. Accessing it entails respecting the territory’s protective beings – beings that keep watch over those who enter the space.

Nonetheless, in 2009, eight members of his community were denounced by the Área de Conservación Regional Cordillera Escalera [Staircase Mountain Range Regional Conservation Area] (ACR-CE) for having their ‘chacras’ [small farms] within the area. After a tortuous one-year process, they were exempted; however, since then no one has entered the forest for fear of once again being denounced. As a result, the people say that nowadays 18-year-old young men in Alto Pucallpillo do not know how to hunt, do not prepare their bodies, nor do they know the forest.

Custodio, the former apu of the native community of Mishki Yakillu, is the heir to a Kechwa lineage. His parents and grandparents have lived and grown up in the community since 1956. Throughout that time, he has learned how to use the forest [and] how to hunt animals so as to ensure there is not only enough for his family, but also leftovers to share with others.

This Kechwa community, similar to Alto Pucallpillo, does not, however, enjoy the rights to use, access, or own this area, as they are not recognised through titled territory. Despite the obligations of the Peruvian State to legally recognise the traditional territories of indigenous Amazonian peoples, the titling process that began in the 1970s still has 1,300 communities and nearly 20 million hectares outstanding. In recent years, as a result of the Peruvian government’s climate-related commitments, diverse titling projects have been approved, including in the region of San Martín. Nonetheless, none of the communities have been approved for inclusion on the community titling list, in light of the fact that they and the protected area overlap.

In 2016, a Kechwa community named Nuevo Lamas, whose homes and chacras were overlapped by the ACR-CE, received title to land. However, barely 1 per cent, (31 hectares of the 1,650 hectare titled land) was titled in the name of their community. In the rest of the territory, an assignment-of-use agreement [‘contrato de cesión en uso’], is in force, a modality used by the State to retain the area under State ownership, while only granting use and access rights to the community. Given that it is a contract, the rights can be lost, for example through a case of non-compliance. As the people of Nuevo Lamas say, “The 30 hectares are not sufficient for our 19 families; it does not allow us to give the soil a rest [fallow it].” For the people of Mishki Yakillu and Alto Pucallpillo, the situation is worse because they are not even permitted an assignment-of-use agreement because the space they identify as their own is not a place of continuous habitation.

The three communities belong to the indigenous Kechwa people and live in their ancestral territory in the northern Peruvian Amazon. The first two communities have been prohibited from using the ancestral territory since 2009. This year, the Peruvian State determined that the territories where the Shapingos [the Kechwa name for the mountain spirits] rest may no longer be used as had been done ancestrally by the descendants of the wise ones, of the grandparents, nor by their successor generations. This year, without the free, prior, and informed consent of the Kechwa people, their territory was classified by the regional San Martín government as the Área de Conservación Regional Cordillera Escalera [Staircase Mountain Range Regional Conservation Area].

Western law supports the Kechwa communities’ demands, according to diverse regulatory frameworks, both national as well as international. At the national level, the State has an obligation to recognise the rights of campesino and ancestral native communities to the lands they possess within National Protected Areas. In addition, the Reglamento de la Ley de Áreas Naturales Protegidas [Regulations of the National Protected Areas Law] itself notes that not only should the preexisting right of the communities be recognised, but that National Protected Areas should only be established if they [the communities in question] have given their explicit consent. At the international level [is] ILO Convention 169, whose constitutional ranking obligates the State to ‘recognise the right of the peoples concerned to the ownership and possession of the lands they traditionally occupy’ (Article 14.2). In 2007, the Conference of the Parties (COP) of the Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) decided that ‘the establishment, management, and oversight of protected areas should transpire with the full and effective participation of indigenous and local communities.’ This decision is legally binding on the States Parties of the CBD. In general, international jurisprudence in this matter is clear, requiring States to ensure the effective participation of indigenous peoples and [the need] to obtain their free, prior, and informed consent with regard to the establishment and management of protected areas and mechanisms for equitably distributing benefits.

Nonetheless, in this case we focus on Kechwa common law, which they are unable to uphold because they are unable to access their territory as had their ancestors.

Losing life lessons

Alto Pucallpillo is a native community that was recognised in 2011 in accordance with Peruvian law. It has approximately 45 families, with a population nearing 200 residents. Following the criminal proceedings against them for being on the land, the settlers were freed from responsibility due to ignorance regarding the new categorisation of their territory. However, the justice system did not recognise them as owners of the space, nor were they financially compensated for the destruction of their chacras by the park guards.

Manuel notes that, in order to go to the forest to hunt, the ancestral people would perform a seven-month purge, meaning they would not: eat meat, have sex, drink, smoke, permit the sun’s rays to fall on them, or consume salt, ají [hot pepper], or coffee. During this period, they had to consume the purgative of the plant named ‘sanango’ and nourish themselves with vegetables, fruits, and nuts. The purge is no longer performed. Manuel is 45 years old and his generation is the last to perform good purges:

“. . . That is, as long as the purges are good when no one sees them. Few people come to that territory, and you find purges that are good and cure you, and it is very easy to hunt animals. Bear in mind that the animals do not smell or see you, [so] it’s as if no one were there.’ (Manuel Amasifuen, age 50)

The first time Gerardo Amasifuen went to the forest he was 10 years old and went to help his father. He served as the ‘camero’ and had to carry part of the prey. Gerardo, similar to many children of his generation, participated with the adults in the hunting strategy, learning that one must not shoot a pregnant female or her cubs because that represents a ‘loss of one’s bullet.’ Gerardo began going into the forest alone at age 16, in order to test his skill. He has an eight-year-old son but he has been denounced by the Regional Conservation Area (ACR) so his son does not know the forest.

Those who are becoming men do not know the teachings regarding hunting provided by the forest, while in Mishkiyakillo, the elderly can no longer ‘protect their age,’ explains Custodio, the community’s former apu, referring to the ‘nodillo,’ a plant that prevents the symptoms of age, and which grows only in the restricted area:

“It is a strong diet and one must be a real he-man [‘macho’] to drink that purgative. My father and uncles drink that and now at the age of 85, they have no [physical] pains. The grandfathers would drink the purgative every six months. They are strong and have experienced no pain to date. To this day, they go fight in the carnival. . . . It is a strength challenge.” (Custodio Guerra, age 50)

Going into the forest entails a learning process regarding forest strategies and uses. It takes between 10 and 16 years to learn. One must think about performing a purge beforehand in order to ensure the effectiveness of the activity. Not everyone submits to this process, because not everyone has the strength to do so.

The people of Mishkiyakillo learned that they were no longer able to enter their territory when they were warned not to enter without a governmental permit. Since then they have applied for and received annual permits to make the rounds of their territory every three months in groups of seven people. Every time they make their rounds they must be accompanied by at least one park guard who will draft a report on what transpired.

The permits are issued after eight business days and must be retrieved in the city of Tarapoto. The city is one-and-a-half hours’ drive away and two hours if done partly by foot, and the trip costs approximately 30 soles. This situation is disturbing to the settlers, given the expense it entails and the bureaucracy they must navigate.

Each permit indicates how many and which animals they can hunt. In August 2016, the community was threatened with legal proceedings by the ACR for having felled a palm tree on their own ‘purma’ [cultivated area which is then allowed to fallow] in order to make a straw camp hut.

And in Alto Pucallpillo, it is not only indigenous people who make use of the space, but also the mestizos, who take the animals to sell in neighboring markets, such as Tarapoto or Yurimaguas. They ask themselves how it is possible for this activity to continue when they are prohibited from consuming these species. [The community of] Alto Pucallpillo has not gone to the territory for eight years for fear of suffering reprisals, nor are they motivated to apply for permits due to the bureaucracy.

The forest as a storehouse

The forest represents a storehouse for Mishkiyakillo and Alto Pucallpillo. They would supply themselves with salt for festivals, have meat every two months, pick medicinal plants for ailments and prevention, and they would teach their children how to do it correctly.

For the settlers of Nuevo Lamas, all of whom come from Lamas and settled in the space in 1980, hunting is also undertaken for subsistence reasons:

“But I say to you, we do not hunt as a business, [but rather] it is for our daily needs. And it is never a lot. Maybe it’s like chickens, that you kill three or four of them? . . . And we also know which month the animals are pregnant and that is when we do not go hunting. I always tell them that, because we always know the dates on which we are allowed to hunt animals.” (Miguel Ishuiza, age 50)

Despite the fact that the three communities are Kechwa, they do not use the territory in the same manner because it does not have the same morphology throughout. Logic prevails. One does not force the territory to do something for which it is not suitable, according to the teachings of the ancients.

In the case of Mishki Yakillu, the ancestral zone is mountainous. Chacras cannot be maintained; as such, it was used for gathering medicinal plants, hunting animals, and gathering salt. In the case of Alto Pucallpillo, the soil was good for establishing chacras; that is, less than a hectare on which foodstuffs were grown for the men and women who would come to the territory, in order to not carry any loads during the 45-minute walk. It likewise serves as a place for feeding the animals that pass through: they eat bananas/plantains which they ‘turn over,’ thereby helping in planting by dispersing the seeds. The community’s land is not as good as that in the territory. Sanango does not grow there, purges are not performed for hunting purposes. Pablo Salas Sangama is 30 years old and Custodio Guerra Sangama is 50, and they are the current and outgoing ‘apus’ of Mishki Yakillu, respectively. Both of these generations have seen changes and continuity in their culture. A part of these changes has been the end of purges performed for hunting: and while sanango grows throughout the community, it is not necessary to take it because people do not go into the forest close to the animals live who should not smell one’s ‘malice.’ Pablo has never taken sanangoand currently, neither does Custodio.

The majority of Nuevo Lamas’ territory, measuring 1,600 hectares, is classified as being suitable for family agriculture; however, the assignment-of-use agreement allows them to work the three- and four-year-old ‘purmas,’ following debates held with those responsible for administering the Regional Conservation Area. A purma is the local name for land used for cultivation then allowed to return to fallow in order to regenerate:

“We have to continue working the land, we [need to] continue to work the land for the children’s cereals. . . . Thank God we have fought for it and are working on solid purma, solid purma.” (Miguel Ishuiza, age 50)

The plants that exist in the forest can no longer be harvested, nor can the salt in the mine be collected for eating. They even say that it [salt] cures and prevents diverse diseases. The purgatives cannot be gathered; as such, people are not preparing the plant. Knowledge is being lost.

Many factors influence the change in Kechwa life, such as Western modernity, the new needs that present themselves, [and] the nearness of mestizo towns, among others. By not having their rights to their territories recognised for many years, little by little people become separated from their own territory. Even so, with the creation of the ACR in 2009 and prohibition or restriction of their entrance into their own territory, the Peruvian State has unleashed a series of impacts in the indigenous Kechwa culture. This is about the gradual loss of their rights and way of life. This makes it so that the lessons that are learned cannot continue to be passed down, the bodies are more and more aphasic, and, the paths are being forgotten by entire communities and with them, part of their history.

In July of this year, the community of Nuevo Lamas (with the support of its federation, Consejo Étnico de los Pueblos Kechwa de la Amazonía [Ethnic Council of the Kechwa Peoples of the Amazon], or CEPKA), tired of the restrictions and lack of political will to recognise their territories for more than 40 years, filed a lawsuit in constitutional instances on behalf of getting their territories titled and having their rights to being consulted regarding the creation of the ACR recognized. The lawsuit questions the legality of the ‘assignment-of-use agreement’ that was used for recognising their territory, and which has served as a model in Peru that has been greatly questioned by the indigenous movement.

“For whom shall we wait? Here we are the only ones to decide. Who else? If we do not do this, how long will we wait like this? Here we are adults, the rest are the youth here, so for whom shall we wait? We have to file this lawsuit.” (Miguel Ishuiza, age 50)

Miguel recognises the benefits of finding himself within the ACR-CE, such as through the improvement in the Putayakillo waterfall, the construction of the community centre and possible funds for investing in training and community improvements. Nonetheless, these benefits have been acquired [only] after negotiations, as have all of their rights.

Currently, the regional government is aware of the lawsuit. As a result of the suit, representatives of GORESAM announced their intention to fire the president of the federation who worked as an employee in the region and cancel the titling program in the region that is financed by the Inter-American Development Bank, Norwegian government, and Forest Investment Program of the World Bank.

Despite the threats, the three communities maintain hope in the process:

“Our idea is to have it as a communal area for ourselves. It holds great importance, perhaps we want it for our children, so that they can come to know a mountain, an animal, because previously our grandparents lived off it.” (Pablo Salas Sangama, age 30, Mishki Yakillu)

ENDS

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