A Birthday with Flare

Igniting a forestry revolution in Rome

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” I ask Mariluz.

She shrugs her shoulders and laughs nervously. Mariluz doesn’t usually celebrate her birthday.

We’re in Rome for a conference hosted by FLARE, a network of forestry professionals that is trying to revolutionize the industry by working with Indigenous and local communities to improve their livelihoods. The organizers invited us to show our film “Karuara, People of the River”, which follows Mariluz and her people in Peru’s Amazon as they struggle to protect their river and spirit universe below. A few hundred academics, members of civil society groups and government officials have converged on the ancient city for the 4-day event at the elegant Auditorium Antoniamum, close to the Colosseum, of Gladiator fame.

Mariluz Canaquiri in front row (right) beside Andrea Vasquez, a PhD graduate from the University of British Columbia (Canada), during conference opening.

Peru’s forestry industry is badly in need of the FLARE approach, but none of the country’s logging companies or government officials are at the conference. In the past two decades Peru has lost more than 2.7 million hectares (6.7 million acres) of Amazon Forest, about the size of Haiti. New legislation rushed through Congress last year, nicknamed the ‘anti-forest law’, opens up the jungle to agriculture. Ironically, deforestation is on the increase at a time when the devastating impacts of climate change make Peru’s Rainforest more vital than ever to humanity’s survival.

The Amazon’s few protected areas are under siege from illegal logging and even so-called ethically sourced timber has come under fire. A Peruvian company certified by the Forest Stewardship Council (FSC), has a concession on ancestral land belonging to the Mashco Piro, Peru’s largest Indigenous tribe living in voluntary isolation. In recent years there have been several violent encounters between loggers and Mashco Piro, resulting in the deaths of at least 3 loggers. No one knows how many Indigenous people have been killed or injured in the conflicts. FSC suspended the company’s certification this year after they received more than 14,000 letters from activists, but the suspension is only temporary, while the case is being investigated.  

These somber realities weigh heavily on Mariluz, who is president of the Kukama-Kukamiria Indigenous Women’s Federation and lives in a small community in Peru’s northern Amazon region. Her federation launched a reforestation project a few years ago and has planted more than 23,000 trees, but they face powerful adversaries like the timber lobby. The women have also filed 4 lawsuits in Peruvian courts to protect their environment, including a ground-breaking case to have their river declared a legal person, with rights.

Gilda Fasabi of the Kukama Women’s Federation preparing tree seedlings for planting

The lawsuits and the Karuara film have skyrocketed Mariluz to notoriety and she’s been on the road more than she’s been home this year. I worry the pace will burn her out so I decide we have to take the afternoon off on her birthday to see a bit of Rome. Neither of us have been here before and there are ancient sites on every corner. After scrolling around on her phone, she finally decides on St. Peter’s Basilica.

I’d forgotten that Mariluz is deeply Catholic. Outsiders might see this as a contradiction – a politicized Indigenous leader who fights for the rights of water and forest spirits and is also a devout Christian - but this syncretism is common in Peru. In the Amazon there’s room for Heaven and Hell AND spirit villages under the river. Who can say which is more fantastic: angels, pearly gates and a fiery devil or mermaids and pink dolphins that transform into dashing young men?

A meeting of River Spirit Shaman from our film, “Karuara, People of the River”

Vatican City is on the other side of Rome, but there’s a transportation strike so the subway is shut down. Google Maps tells me it’s 65 minutes on foot, meaning at least 90 minutes for Mariluz who walks as though she’s carrying a 25-kilo load of bananas on her back in searing heat. Old habits are hard to change and even without the fruit she is the proverbial tortoise in the race.

We take an Uber and arrive just in time to shelter under the giant marble archway in St Peter’s Square as a sudden downpour erupts. Despite the rain people are lined up in giant circles that snake around the square and spiral inward toward the security checkpoint. We wait until the rain stops and then head out into the maze looking for the end of the line. A police officer points the way, laughing, and tells me the line-up is at least 2 hours long.

I ask Mariluz if she wants to stick it out. She says yes without hesitation. The sun has come out now and the line moves slowly but constantly, as though we were part of a giant chessboard. Our slow progress gives us time to observe the statues and grandiose architecture in the square, with its massive pillars and archways. From above 140 statues of saints look down on us and on top of the Basilica, front and center, is Jesus himself with 6 disciples on each side. In the center of the square is an Egyptian obelisk.

“Wasn’t there an environmentalist saint?” I ask Mariluz.

She looks at me and raises her eyebrows.

“I mean, he liked animals, right?”

“Oh,” she says, “St. Francis.”

We try to pick him out, but the statues are so high we can’t discern one saint from the next.

Pause for a selfie as we get closer to the Basilica entrance

We open our umbrellas to shade ourselves from the hot afternoon sun. It feels like a pilgrimage, this circling around the square and we enjoy ourselves people watching. Mariluz asks me to take her photo at different key points in our journey. Some Italian teenage girls behind us have sent one of their members for water and snacks. With a two-hour wait before we reach a bathroom, Mariluz and I agree not to drink anything.

Today is her 56^th birthday and also her 50^th. Years ago, the Peruvian government reissued Mariluz’s national identity document (DNI) with the wrong birthdate, making her 6 years younger. They said she had to show her birth certificate to make the correction, but hers was lost. In Peru the DNI is sacred; you have to show it when you travel, go to the bank, sign a legal document or enter a government building. So Mariluz is now stuck with two birthdays, one real and the other from a state that consistently stomps on Indigenous rights.

Eventually we reach a security checkpoint with x-ray machines. “Like in the airport,” says Mariluz.

Well, sort of. The two Italian guards barely glance at the screen as our bags and umbrellas go through. We have to pass the trays back to the people waiting in line because the guards are too busy gossiping to make the effort.

Once inside, Mariluz takes countless photos. The Basilica is much larger than Peru’s main Cathedral in Lima, which I thought was pretty big. There’s some spectacular art, and we get cramps in our necks from staring at the frescos on the ceilings. We’re both struck by Michelangelo’s Madonna della Pietà statue, of a forlorn Mary holding the body of Jesus in her lap after his crucifixion.

Inside the Basilica

As we wander through the golden splendour, I remember yesterday’s keynote address at the conference by Rukka Sombolinggi, president of Indonesia’s Indigenous federation. She pointed out the irony of holding the event in Rome, where a papal declaration 500 years ago gave permission for colonization and the enslavement of Africans and Indigenous peoples.

Last year Pope Francis repudiated this so-called “doctrine of discovery” and asked for forgiveness. Rukka says “this humble apology was a powerful step,” but that Indigenous people in Indonesia still suffer abuses by the Catholic Church, showing “we still have mountains to climb.”

“Make no mistake, we are fighting back,” she said, placing her hope in Indigenous youth, who are her people’s future.

The parts of Rukka’s speech about the rights of nature echo Mariluz’s own words, yet the two women live half a world apart. I wish they could meet, but Rukka had trouble with her flight and we watched her keynote on a screen. (You can watch it here.)

It’s time to return to the conference for our presentation. We show the Karuara film and Mariluz talks about the threats facing her forest: 50 years of oil spills from a leaky pipeline, illegal gold mining and logging and the proposed Amazon Water Highway that would dredge four major rivers and build highways through pristine jungle.

She also tells the audience that every tree has a spirit and before harvesting or even taking a cutting, you have to make an offering to the tree’s “owner” and ask permission.

A Swedish researcher asks what academics can do to help her federation’s work.

 “Show the film,” says Mariluz. “Spread the word. Teach your students to respect Indigenous worldviews.”

The giant auditorium is silent.

Another academic raises her hand and asks the same question.

Mariluz gives the same response.

The public seems confused. They want to take action, do something significant to save the world’s largest remaining Rainforest.

But changing minds and attitudes is key, and it’s no small task. Imagine if the first Europeans to reach the Americas 500 years ago really listened to what Indigenous leaders had to say and learned to live in harmony with the land and its people? Imagine if the Europeans had respected Indigenous beliefs and practices?

Now that would have been a real revolution.