YUQUÍ FIGHTINGTHE ODDS FOR CULTURAL...

YUQUÍ:FIGHTING THE ODDS

FOR CULTURAL

SURVIVAL

Allyn MacLean Stearman

Portraits TOC

The Yuquí live in the dense rain forest of the Bolivian lowlands,in an area about forty miles east of the Andes Mountains.1

Until first contact by missionaries in the 1960s, the Yuquí werenomadic hunters and gatherers who subsisted entirely on what theywere able to harvest from the forest. Their culture was remarkablysimple and devoid of embellishment. They practiced no agricultureand they had no domestic animals, not even dogs. They built nodwelling places and had few material possessions. Although theylived in a region replete with rivers and lakes, they did not make oruse canoes and could not swim. Perhaps most remarkably, they hadlost the knowledge of making fire, a precious commodity that had tobe carefully preserved when they moved from place to place. TheYuquí called themselves Mbiá, “the people,” as opposed to Abá, “theothers,” who belonged to the spirit domain. According to the Yuquíexplanation of the world, they were the only people still in exis-tence.

In reflecting on the Yuquí and their place on our ever-shrinkingplanet, I am always struck by the improbability of their survival intothe twentieth century. How could a group of people manage toremain so isolated from the rest of the world that they truly believedthey were the only humans left on earth? Perhaps even moreastounding, how did they manage to inhabit, for a remarkable periodof time, a secret retreat in a developing country that was bent, as aremost, on exploring and exploiting every available space? Their mereexistence, let alone their successful adaptation to a difficult environ-ment, is a testament to the tenacity of the human species and its abil-ity to survive. Now, however, the Yuquí are facing perhaps theirgreatest challenge as they confront Bolivian society and the threats itbrings to their traditional way of life. Their cultural survival for thelong term is far from assured; in this respect, they are similar to themany other small groups of native peoples throughout the world whoface an uncertain future.

THE PEOPLE OF THE FOREST:TRADITIONAL YUQUÍ CULTURE

The Yuquí are a Tupi-Guaraní–speaking people who, according to thelinguistic and cultural evidence available, probably migrated intolowland Bolivia from the northern region of what is modern-dayParaguay. We do know that prior to the European conquest of thispart of South America in the mid-1500s, groups of Guaraní warriors

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from the Itatín River region of Paraguay made frequent forays intolowland Bolivia to take captives. Some of these raiding partiesremained in the area, giving rise to Guaraní-speaking peoples such asthe Guarayo and Sirionó.2 In the case of the Sirionó, continued attacksfrom traditional enemies resulted in a population decline and increas-ing “deculturation,” or loss of cultural traits. To survive, the Sirionótried to remain mobile and out of reach of their traditional enemies aswell as of Europeans. Farming became increasingly difficult.Eventually, the Sirionó became nomadic, planting only small patchesof crops such as sweet potatoes and manioc that they would abandonto continue their trekking, returning months later to harvest whatnature and predators had not already claimed.

During the seventeenth century many Sirionó were brought toJesuit missions from great distances, and some of these Sirionóescaped into the forest. Evidently, one or more of these escaped bandsmanaged to elude contact and capture by retreating into the farthestrecesses of the large wilderness region at the western base of theAndes, far from the Sirionó’s known range. Over time, this isolationresulted in the evolution of a new culture. Lowland Bolivians begancalling these people Yuquí, a word whose origin is unknown. Tales oftheir presence in the lowlands had an almost mythical quality, withchance encounters from time to time confirming that at least a fewYuquí were truly still in existence.3

The Yuquí currently inhabit a dense rain forest that stretcheslike a long finger down the eastern side of the Andes and is formedby the rainfall generated from moisture that is trapped by themountains. Precipitation in this region ranges from 120 to 200 inchesa year. Also, because of its proximity to the mountains, the land isintersected by numerous rivers that form on the high slopes, rushdown at a steep gradient, and then spill out suddenly onto thealmost flat plain below. As the rivers meander northward, theymerge to form larger and larger streams, until just a single river, theMadeira, reaches the mighty Amazon itself. Among the meanderingrivers is the Chimoré, on whose southern bank is located the Yuquísettlement. The river is pristine, bordered by seemingly impenetra-ble rain forest, and can be deceptively tranquil. When there is norain in the mountains to the west, the Chimoré runs crystalline andcalm. The wide, sandy beaches that are formed at each bend attracta multitude of birds, mammals, and reptiles. But a sudden storm farup on a mountainside changes all this, bringing a flash flood in amatter of hours, which turns the river into a raging torrent of sandand silt, carrying huge log jams of flotsam as it tears at the trees lin-ing the banks. Although the area is very close to the mountains, it is

4 PORTRAITS OF CULTURE

only about eight hundred feet in altitude; with little varied topogra-phy, the rivers quickly overflow their banks, converting any lowareas into swampland. Just as quickly, the waters recede, leavingbehind mud and debris.

Because this is a “white-water” region, or one that is marked byrivers carrying a heavy silt load that gives a whitish cast to thewaters, the rivers are extremely productive. Enormous catfish weigh-ing up to 110 pounds are not uncommon. The oxbow lakes, con-stantly replenished by flooding, are excellent sources of fish. Areasdrained by white-water rivers are also known for their thriving insectpopulation, which includes clouds of mosquitoes that descend as thesun begins to set, the tiny “no-seeums” that can penetrate any mos-quito net and have a bite as painful as if they were ten times theirsize, and myriad deerflies in all colors and sizes.

Although the rain forest presents an image of lushness andplenty, large animals are widely distributed over the landscape andare often elusive. This makes hunting difficult and unpredictable. Inorder to survive, the Yuquí had to move continually to find game,fish, and edible plants. Consequently, their material possessions, all ofwhich had to be transported daily, were few. Hunting weapons con-sisted of a bow and two types of arrows: the “bleeder” arrow madewith a large lanceolate bamboo tip, and a smaller, barbed arrow.These arrows were used for both hunting and fishing.

The Yuquí bow is extremely large, almost seven feet in length,and is constructed of black palm wood, a material used for this pur-pose by native peoples throughout the Amazon. The arrow shafts,equal in length to the bow, are made from the flower staff of a rivergrass (Gynerium saggitatum) also common to the South Americanlowlands. Feathers are attached with a fine fiber strand taken from apalm leaf and black beeswax as glue. A knocking plug, attached tothe base of the arrow, is made from soft wood that is worked with theonly permanent tool kept by Yuquí men—a piece of bone with anincisor from a large rodent known as an agouti embedded in the end.The bindings for the arrows and bowstring are made by the women,who strip bark from a tree called imbai (Cecropia spp.), a weedyspecies found in areas of secondary growth. By rolling the strands ofwashed bark across the upper thigh, Yuquí women twist the fiber intostring and rope. This same fiber is also used to produce the Yuquíhammock, which consists of a very long piece of twine doubled backand forth and held together with a few crossties, and a woman’s babysling. Baskets are also plaited from palm leaves, but these are for tem-porary use and are discarded shortly after arrival at camp when theircontents are unloaded.

5YUQUÍ

According to the missionaries who lived and traveled with themduring the long process of contact, the Yuquí established campsites inwhich they attempted to form as tight a circle as possible, often hang-ing three tiers of hammocks to the same tree. Around this circle wereplaced dry palm fronds to act as “alarms” against predators such asjaguars, whose steps would be heard if they attempted to cross thebrittle leaves. Each nuclear family cooked on its own fire, and thewomen were responsible for carrying a lighted piece of kindlingwhen the group moved. Small fires were kept burning under tiers ofhammocks to keep off the night chill and to provide some protectionfrom the ever-present swarms of mosquitoes. When it rained, theYuquí broke palm fronds, using their teeth to finish the job, and thenstacked these as shelter over their hammocks and the fires smolderingunderneath.

Yuquí society was structured according to membership in one oftwo groups: the Saya, who were “masters,” and the Enembaco, whowere their slaves. Although foraging groups have been known to takecaptives, hereditary slavery such as that practiced by the Yuquí is vir-tually unknown, and again underscores their more complex originsamong the horticultural Guaraní, who practiced slavery as an institu-tion. That this tradition has persisted among a group as small as theYuquí is remarkable, but certainly not without significant repercus-sions. In order to have marriage partners, as well as to maintain asupply of slaves, Saya were known to marry Enembaco if necessary.Consistent with patrilineal (tracing one’s descent through males)Guaraní patterns, if a Saya male married a slave female, their childrenwould be Saya; conversely, if a Saya female married a slave male, thelikelihood was that the offspring would become slaves to their Sayarelatives.

Slaves performed menial chores such as gathering firewood, car-rying and cleaning game, climbing trees to harvest fruit, and coveringtheir master’s hammock during rainstorms. Although female slaveslearned the gender-defined skills necessary for independent adult sta-tus such as child care, cooking, string making, and gathering, maleslaves generally did not learn to be good hunters. Their role was toaccompany their masters on hunts, help with tracking, carry the preyback to camp, and clean it for cooking by the women.

Another facet of Yuquí life that differed from what we wouldnormally expect to find among foragers was hereditary leadership,again pointing to their probable origins as members of a more com-plex social system. Leadership among the Yuquí was vested in a lineof males—all Saya, of course—and preferably passed from father toson. The Yuquí headman had greater power than the more typical


leader of foraging bands, who must reach a consensus with his peo-ple before a decision is made. Nonetheless, the choice of a Yuquíleader was also based on personal qualities such as charisma andhunting prowess, selection factors that are common among huntersand gatherers. Thus, if the firstborn son of an old leader was a poorhunter and did not show skill at dealing with dissension in thegroup, he would be passed over for a younger son or even anephew, if necessary.

Religious belief among the Yuquí can best be described as aform of animism: They believed that all animate and inanimateobjects possessed a spirit. The natural and supernatural realms werepart of the same experience. The Yuquí believed in the power ofnature to influence the outcome of many human biologicalprocesses, particularly childbirth. For example, during pregnancywomen were expected to observe taboos against eating certain foodsthat were believed to have a direct effect on the development of thefetus. Eating deer meat was believed to result in a baby with arunny nose; eating “twin” (double) fruits would result in theunlucky occurrence of having twins (many societies see twin birthsas “unnatural” and may destroy one or both of the twins; twins arealso difficult to keep alive, since most women cannot provide ade-quate breast milk for two nursing infants); and consuming the meatof animals with “turned” feet such as sloths and anteaters wouldresult in a child born with clubfeet (the Yuquí as well as the Sirionóshow an abnormally high incidence of this condition).

Although the Yuquí were comfortable in their forest, they alsofeared the unknown it often presented: Small darters, birds that sud-denly appeared from nowhere, were thought to be spirits of the dead,perhaps returning to claim a living Yuquí to carry off to the spiritworld in the sky. There was also the cocoi, a shapeless being orshadow that was said to emerge from the forest at night to seizeunsuspecting victims. The dead were both feared and respected. Ifsomeone of high status died, the body was left in the forest to decom-pose, as was the case with all the dead; in addition, however, theband would return at a later date to recover the skull and long bones.The bones were then painted with the red-orange coloring urucú (Bixaorellana), red being a color that the Yuquí believe holds supernaturalpower. The skull would be carried by women, perhaps for years, as ameans of warding off sickness and accidents. The Yuquí also believedthat when an adult died, particularly a Saya, the spirit would belonely and would return to take a companion with it into the after-world. Following a death the Yuquí would kill a slave child, or possi-bly even an adult slave, to accompany the dead so that someone more

7YUQUÍ

“valuable” would not be taken. However, as the Yuquí populationdeclined, slaves became more important as potential marriage part-ners, so sacrificing a slave at the death of a Saya was avoided, if possi-ble. Settlers were becoming more common, making it possible for theYuquí to substitute colonists as offerings to the dead. As might beexpected, this served only to step up armed reprisals against theYuquí.

As the Yuquí became increasingly hemmed in by settlers, theirpopulation declined as the result of a number of factors: excessivemobility to avoid contact with Bolivian nationals and the stressesthis placed on reproductive success; diminishing access to vitalresources; death through disease contracted from periodic encoun-ters with settlers or their homesteads; and outright killings by localpeoples. An important consequence of this population loss was thatthere were fewer members to pass on knowledge and cultural tradi-tions. Population reduction no doubt influenced Yuquí marriagepatterns as well. Polygyny was common among the Guaraní, andwas still being practiced by the Sirionó at the time of contact. TheYuquí, however, were rigidly monogamous, no doubt the result ofan ever-diminishing supply of marriage partners. It is fair to saythat at the time of contact, the Yuquí were living on the edge of sur-vival, focusing all of their energy and attention on simply stayingalive.

CONTACT AND SETTLEMENT

In the late 1950s the Bolivian government launched several programsfinanced by multinational lending agencies to open the Amazon Basinfor development. The region inhabited by the Yuquí was one of theareas targeted for colonization by highlanders plagued by a scarcityof arable land in the mountains. Within a short time, colonists werereporting shooting incidents and thefts of their crops. To defend theirhomesteads, colonists—together with military personnel assigned tothe colonization zones—began organizing expeditions to track downand kill or take captive any Yuquí found in the area. Several NewTribes Mission (NTM) missionaries working in the region receivednews of these hostilities and sought permission from the governmentto attempt a peaceful solution.

The history of the Yuquí contact spans more than a decade, andinvolves the cutting of trails along which gifts such as machetes,knives, and cooking pots were set out. Gradually, mutual confidence


was established as encounters became longer and more frequent.During this process settlement of the region increased, and with it thelikelihood of hostilities breaking out between colonists and Yuquí.The Yuquí were by now constantly fearful of being discovered andkilled. They were also increasingly constrained in their movementacross the landscape, which ultimately impinged on their ability tofeed themselves. The missionaries eventually set up a permanentcamp on the Chimoré River, in the heart of Yuquí territory, and grad-ually the Yuquí spent longer and longer periods at the mission sta-tion, where they received vaccinations, general medical attention, andfood. By 1967 they had given up their nomadic existence. The band’spopulation had dropped to forty-five.

The first camp established for the Yuquí by the missionariesconsisted of a few rude thatched palm huts that housed several fam-ilies. These shelters represented the first experimentation by theYuquí in building shelters, and most had leaky roofs and did notlast long. According to mission records, by April 1972 there wereeight structures housing forty-eight people. Several stands of plan-tains (cooking bananas), which the Yuquí greatly enjoyed, had alsobeen planted nearby by the missionaries and served as furtherinducement to stay at the site. The camp was located on the northside of the Chimoré River, across the river from the mission settle-ment. The missionaries were still afraid that the Yuquí mightambush and kill them, so the river acted as a protective barrier,because the Yuquí could not swim. Also during this period, severalYuquí were canoed across the river each day so that the missionar-ies could begin the task of learning their language in order to con-vert them. Their first follower was Leonardo (Quichiguaru), anephew of the old leader, Papa Equitá, who died shortly after theYuquí were settled at the Chimoré. The missionaries hoped thatLeonardo would become the group’s new leader as well as their firstconvert, and would thus lead his people along the path towardChristianity.

In 1979, twelve years after the initial peaceful contact with theYuquí was made, the missionaries decided to move the Yuquí acrossthe river to the mission site. Still, the missionaries were not comfort-able with the idea of living in close proximity to the Yuquí, whowere settled about two-thirds of a mile to the west of the missionsettlement. By now, Yuquí houses were becoming more substantial,with the addition of tin roofing donated by a mission supporter.However, this second camp had to be moved in early 1982 becauseof a change in the course of the Chimoré River that made the sitesubject to flooding.4

9YUQUÍ

The third Yuquí camp was once again located apart from the mis-sion settlement, at the far end of the airstrip, about one-half mile fromthe missionary homes. By now a pattern of keeping the Yuquí atarm’s length had been established by the senior missionaries, Bob andMary Garland and Dick Strickler, all members of the original contactteam. Although this procedure certainly helped preserve much of theintegrity of traditional Yuquí culture, it also seemed to interfere withthe process of religious conversion.

With the backing and support of the American missionaries,Leonardo was eventually accepted by his people as their headman,but he lacked the strength of personality and conviction in his ownfaith to become a strong political or religious leader. The Yuquí wereaccustomed to leadership marked by an aggressive personality andthe ability to make binding decisions, particularly when theyinvolved dealing with strife among families and individuals.Leonardo held his own as a respected hunter, but he was quiet bynature and known for indecision about important matters of conductamong the various factions in camp. Thus, hindered by spatial sepa-ration and the lack of strong native leadership, the missionariesadmitted that they were not making much headway in the Yuquí’sreligious conversion.

The Yuquí’s perception of this situation, however, was quite dif-ferent. After more than a decade of exposure to the teachings of themissionaries, most Yuquí claimed to be creyentes (“believers”), refus-ing to participate in activities such as drinking or smoking whenvisiting settlers’ homesteads. Yet the missionaries despaired overthe undeniable fact that the Yuquí continued their lives much asthey had in the past, pursuing old rivalries, engaging in elaborateplots and lies to confuse and enrage their current enemies, fightingverbally and physically, and, perhaps most frustrating to the mis-sionaries, carrying on with their “promiscuous” and “immoral” sex-ual behavior. The Yuquí displayed the veneer of “missionization”but in many fundamental respects their daily lives remainedunchanged from the era when they traveled the forest unfettered byWestern ideologies.

FIRST ENCOUNTERS

I met the Yuquí in 1982 while conducting preliminary fieldwork tolocate remnants of the Sirionó, a group that had received consider-able anthropological as well as popular attention in the 1950s but


had not been reported on since.5 Prior to my departure for the field aletter arrived from a colleague in Bolivia who added an interestingpostscript: An unknown indigenous people, suspected to be Sirionóor a related group, had been contacted by a Protestant mission.Although I was intrigued with the idea of adding a visit to thisgroup to my agenda, I doubted that I would have time for this sidetrip.

When I reached the lowland city of Santa Cruz I immediatelybegan to contact people who had information about the Sirionó. Atthe same time, I discovered that the New Tribes Mission, the organi-zation working with the recently contacted group, had a center in thatcity. With an afternoon free, I stopped by to visit, only to learn thatthe senior missionaries, Bob and Mary Garland, would be leaving inonly a few days for an extended leave in the United States. I was toldthat if I wanted to visit the mission settlement I would have to speakwith them first. I was also informed that a flight to the camp wasscheduled to leave from the city of Cochabamba in two days, and thatthere was space available if I wanted to make the trip. With the offerof a scheduled flight, I immediately changed my plans. I would post-pone my search for the Sirionó a week or so in order to explore thisnew turn of events.

Arriving the next day in Cochabamba, I met briefly with theGarlands. They were polite but guarded. This was my first experiencewith Protestant missionaries and I was naively unaware of the historyof antipathy that exists between anthropologists and “evangelical”missionaries. They agreed to my visit, although with reservation, stat-ing that I could stay with a new missionary family now in residenceat the Yuquí camp. The Garlands were leaving for Chicago the fol-lowing day and would not return for a year.

After a short flight over the mountains I arrived at the camp,met by a small cluster of Yuquí and the people working with them,including the missionaries I would be staying with. I was also intro-duced to Mariano and Leonarda Ichu, a Bolivian couple of TrinitarioIndian origin who were mission converts, and who had been invitedto the Chimoré a few years earlier so that Mariano could run theone-room schoolhouse. Mariano remained aloof, but Leonarda waswarm and welcoming in her attitude toward me. Over the years shehas always been a supportive friend, a loyalty that has, at times,placed her at odds with her husband and the other missionaries,who were not always happy about my continued involvement withthe Yuquí.

The new missionary couple was not much help in providingeither background or insight into the Yuquí—they had been there a

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very short time and seemed to be struggling with their own adapta-tion to the heat, humidity, insects, remoteness of the Chimoré envi-ronment, and—by their own admission—the almost incomprehensi-ble strangeness of the Yuquí. I sought the assistance of the remainingmissionary in residence at the time, Dick Strickler, who had been withthe Yuquí since contact. I was able to talk with him briefly on a fewevenings when he was not busy with Bible lessons, but he maintainedan attitude of distance and disinterest in my efforts to learn moreabout the Yuquí. He did, however, make available to me the mission’s“Culture File,” which the Garlands had mentioned during our con-versation in Cochabamba.

The Culture File turned out to be a fascinating set of documentsconsisting of diaries and notations taken during the ten years it tookto make peaceful contact with the first group of Yuquí. As I took copi-ous notes from the file I became more and more intrigued with thepeople who called themselves Mbiá. The contact had been lengthyand difficult, with the threat of Yuquí treachery always a concern.Observations by various members of the contact team had beenmeticulously recorded regarding Yuquí customs, patterns of subsis-tence, and family organization. One of the most intriguing sectionscovered a month-long trek made with the Yuquí by Bob Garland,during which he recorded even such details as the nightly configura-tions of hammocks in the camp.

Halfway through my visit I learned that the missionaries haddecided to encourage the Yuquí to put in a crop of rice and corn. Ihad had several discussions with the couple I was staying with aboutthe degree of dependency on the mission that the Yuquí had devel-oped over the years, but did not feel I was making much headwaywith them. The missionaries became defensive at my observationsthat the Yuquí were demonstrating classic dependency patterns, andthat their long-term cultural survival would depend on being able,and willing, to solve their own problems. To a great extent, the mis-sion’s isolationist practices (visitors were never encouraged and theYuquí were discouraged from leaving the settlement) had spared theYuquí from many of the problems that often accompany contact andacculturation.6 There had been amazingly few deaths from introduceddisease. There was no prostitution, venereal disease, alcoholism, oreconomic exploitation by outsiders. Still, the day would come whenthe mission would no longer be able to maintain this protective butunfortunately paternalistic isolation. The Yuquí were becomingincreasingly curious about the outside world and were losing theirfear of Bolivian nationals. However, the missionaries appearedunconcerned by these prospects, and seemed convinced that the mis-


sion would always be there to take care of the Yuquí. Nevertheless,they had evidently determined that it was time the Yuquí learned tofarm. Unfortunately, they had let almost a generation go by beforeseriously confronting the problem. By now the Yuquí were convincedthat they could continue their lives as sedentary foragers (virtually acontradiction in terms), with the mission taking up the slack withwage labor and surplus food supplies.

From the outset, the farming project experienced difficulties, suf-fering primarily from the missionaries’ severe lack of expertise inlowland farming techniques. They simply told the Yuquí to “startclearing land,” assuming that by now they must have picked up someof these skills from the few local peoples that they visited from timeto time. After several days of haphazard slashing through the forestnearby, the Yuquí and the missionaries became equally discouragedwith the project. Watching this comedy of errors going on day afterday, I finally ventured to suggest to the missionaries that they neededto find someone who could act as a “technical advisor.” The school-teacher, Mariano Ichu, was enlisted to help, as was the nearest neigh-bor on the Chimoré, Francisco Blanco, a Yuracaré who had befriendedthe mission shortly after the Yuquí camp had been established. Blancowas an expert farmer, as are all Yuracaré, an indigenous people witha long history of horticulture in the lowland regions of Bolivia. Fromlater communications with the mission, I learned that about fifteenacres of land were eventually cleared and planted, but that Blancohad nearly lost patience with the entire project. Often, the Yuquíwould simply fail to show up for work and would decide to go hunt-ing or fishing instead. They hated working in the hot sun, and worse,there was nothing to take home at the end of the day. With foraging,the Yuquí had virtually instant gratification.

I spent five weeks with the Yuquí in spite of my intentions tomove on more quickly. I had never had an experience quite like thisand found myself irresistibly drawn by the desire to learn more aboutthis small remnant population of foragers. My hosts seemed willingto tolerate my continued presence because I immediately pitched inwith household chores and helped with other camp responsibilitiesnormally carried out by the young missionary couple. I earned mykeep by helping with the daily clinic responsibilities and assisting theYuquí with making ax and shovel handles and in repairing their otherfarming tools. I spent time with Leonarda, whose house located mid-way down the airstrip was a place where Yuquí women frequentlycongregated. Leonarda was learning to speak Yuquí, and at the sametime was interested in teaching the younger women skills theyneeded to prosper in this new life they were now leading. Several

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young girls were learning to sew, wash clothes, make bread, and pre-pare foods such as rice, which had to be hulled in a large woodenmortar. I also met Monica, my first Yuquí “friend.” The third camp atthe end of the airstrip had been completed only a month or so beforemy arrival, and Monica’s house was still unfinished. Only about halfof the roofing from her house in the abandoned second camp hadbeen moved by her son, Jaime. When I arrived at the Chimoré,Monica was living under two sheets of tin. From all appearances,Jaime was not particularly concerned about finishing his mother’sshelter and spent most of his time in the forest hunting for his family.I set to work with Monica to finish building her house, an experiencethat was full of excitement, frustration, and great satisfaction as wesuccessfully completed the task by somehow managing to bridge anenormous cultural chasm.

During this first visit I was struck by the volatility of the Yuquípersonality and by the spontaneous emotions that marked most inter-actions. I was amazed at Leonarda’s descriptions of the lengths theYuquí would go to foster dissension and upheaval among their fami-lies and the elaborate and convoluted tales that were fabricated tospite an enemy, conflicts that often ended in violent physical fights.At any given moment Yuquí men and women would be on theground biting and pounding on each other, with blood, hair, andteeth flying. Only days before I left, a community meeting had to becalled when Mariano Ichu was accused by a Yuquí girl of enticing herinto the forest and having sex with her there. A faithful follower ofthe mission, Mariano was angry and mortified by these wrongfulaccusations. As the meeting progressed and tempers flared, the girlfinally recanted, stating that she was only trying to get even withMariano’s wife for some perceived slight. During my initial visit withthe Yuquí I escaped being included in these intrigues, but in lateryears I, too, was the target of such efforts, which, I suppose, one couldconsider a sign of my integration into the community. I suspect thatno small part of the incentive to return every few years to work withthe Yuquí was finally having met the challenge of successfully match-ing wits with them.

By the time I left the Chimoré after this first visit I had come toknow several of the Yuquí, especially Monica, whom I visited fre-quently in her new home. I was determined to return in the nearfuture to undertake a more complete research project. I went on thatsummer to locate a Sirionó community and spend time with them aswell. When I returned to the University of Central Florida in the fall Ibegan preparations for a full year of research to be divided betweenboth groups.


FIELDWORK AMONG THE YUQUÍ

While writing research proposals for funding to carry out my field-work among the Yuquí, I naively assumed that the presence of mis-sionaries would be peripheral to carrying out my “real” work ofstudying the Yuquí. Soon after my arrival at the Yuquí camp in thefall of 1983 to begin fieldwork in earnest, it became increasingly evi-dent that the missionaries did not welcome my presence. Althoughmy brief first visit the previous year was tolerated with a quiet indif-ference, my return caused open consternation. In subsequent conver-sations with individual missionaries, I came to understand that NewTribes, as well as most evangelical missionaries working around theworld, had a long and often bitter history of confrontation, publicdenouncements, misunderstandings, and open hostilities withanthropologists who objected to missionary work in general.7 Afterall, anthropologists subscribed to an ideology of cultural relativism,of valuing the unique integrity of all cultures. Although I was willingto be as “culturally relativistic” about the missionaries as I would beabout any social group I was hoping to know better, the missionarieswere not as open-minded. They were extremely gun-shy of anthro-pologists in general, and I mistakenly assumed that my previoussummer had somehow smoothed the way for my second visit. At thesame time, I was having difficulties learning how to behave amongthe Yuquí, who were proving to be a real challenge. My dabblingwith Yuquí culture the previous year in no way prepared me for whatI was now experiencing.

The Yuquí were the most intimidating people I had ever encoun-tered. Just as I began to feel that I was gaining the upper hand in a sit-uation, I would suddenly be brought down hard. By offering a fewacts of kindness to one of the older women, I did not gain her friend-ship as I had with Monica; rather, she informed me through hergrandson, who was interpreting in relatively good Spanish, that Iwould be her slave. So much for reciprocity. One afternoon I wasplaying a dilapidated guitar that one of the Yuquí men had gotten intrade from a colonist and was teaching a group of women and chil-dren to sing “Oh, Susanna.” It turned out to be an unfortunate choiceof songs. At first everyone was having a good time and there werepeals of raucous laughter as the Yuquí struggled with the Englishlyrics. In the past, sharing songs with the peasant people I workedwith had always been a sure way of building rapport and this seemedto be having the same effect on the Yuquí. Then a young womannamed Yeyudetsá, who, as I later discovered, had been given the

15YUQUÍ

Spanish name of Susana, joined the group. She immediately tookoffense at the song, assuming that I was somehow mocking her. Thenext thing I knew she was on top of me and had her fingers locked onmy windpipe in the infamous Yuquí choke hold. I knew she wouldnot release her grip until I passed out. Ironically, one of my firstthoughts was how embarrassing this was—to be pinned to theground by a Yuquí woman, someone who was supposed to be one ofmy trusted native informants, who was now trying her best to hurtand humiliate me. Then my survival instincts took over and I foughtback, pinning her arm behind her back and pushing her off me. As Igot up, I was greeted with open mouths and silent stares. I let out ahoot that was sheer bravado and the tension broke. Everyone laughedand the women, including Susana, brushed the dirt and leaf debris offmy back. The next day I had some impressive bruises on my neck,which, to my surprise, were a great source of awe among the Yuquíwho inspected them.

I began to understand that I would have to alter much of my nor-mal behavior if I was to learn to live comfortably among the Yuquí.For example, my decision to build a hut in the center of their campwas not received with the positive reaction I had expected. From theirperspective, the missionaries, with their superior technology andpower over Yuquí lives, socially outranked even the Saya. Therefore,if I was living with them instead of with the other Abá, I must besomeone of low status. Then, unaware that several Yuquí had attrib-uted statements critical of their enemies to me, I was unknowinglyinvolved in several camp intrigues. When confronted by the victimsof this malicious gossip, I at first reacted with surprise, hurt, and con-fusion—feelings that they interpreted as an admission of guilt and,worse, a sign of weakness. Later I learned to manage these situationsby displaying indifference, or better, by simply laughing derisively atthe accuser. I also learned that favors had to be called in frequently, tolet the Yuquí know I could not be taken advantage of easily. Socialrelations began to smoothen, but I knew that I must always remainalert to the continual jousting and taunting that marked Yuquí behav-ior.

By building my hut in the center of camp, which the Yuquí even-tually accepted, I could easily watch the comings and goings of thefamilies around me. There were now 17 dwellings, located about 130feet from each other, housing a total of 73 Yuquí. At the suggestion ofthe missionaries, the Yuquí had constructed a house for each nuclearfamily. The missionaries were convinced that this pattern (which ofcourse reflected their own cultural norms) would lead to less fightingand fewer sexual transgressions. Old patterns of communal living are


hard to break, nevertheless, and often several families would be tem-porarily packed together under one roof, particularly if an unusualsupply of meat or fish was available. The new spatial distribution alsohad little effect on the number of violent confrontations in the com-munity or the frequency of “illicit” sexual activities.

With the new housing arrangement, however, ex-slaves werenow able to physically separate themselves from their Saya masters,and several took advantage of the situation to establish greater inde-pendence. Still, their lack of hunting skills often forced these men toaccompany Saya men on the hunt, performing the same duties asthose they had in the past in order to receive a small share of themeat. I also noticed that the young headman, Leonardo, and his wife,Loida, were often the recipients of meat and fish from the ex-slaveswho were still psychologically tied to previous customs of showingdeference to a leader in this fashion. One day I watched Humberto, anex-slave who had built his house a good distance from any of his rela-tives to avoid demands for subservience, take a circuitous routearound camp in order to avoid passing in front of Loida and havingto give her a share of his prey. It was obvious that former slaves werebeginning to break away from old patterns of behavior and were tak-ing advantage of the enormous changes occurring in Yuquí life toimprove their own situation.

Much of the Yuquí camp routine in 1983 consisted of spendingtime at the clinic and store at the mission end of camp. Dick Strickleroperated the store each afternoon, and the missionary women tookturns attending the clinic in the morning. Both the store and the clinicwere major sources of attraction for the Yuquí, regardless of whetherthey needed medical attention or wanted to make a purchase. Yuquípatterns of spending time together in a single camp had simply beenshifted to the store/clinic area. Then too, the new settlement at the farend of the airstrip had only recently been cleared, and the area wasunshaded and hot. The tin roofs provided by the mission for Yuquíhouses were a substantial improvement over the poorly constructedthatched roofs the Yuquí had erected across the river, but by middaythe heat from the tin was unbearable. Consequently, those womenand men who were not out in the forest on a hunting or gathering tripcould invariably be found sitting in front of the building that housedthe store and the small clinic, cooking, eating, or just relaxing withone another.

The women generally sat on the ground in clusters, chatting andmaking string. A missionary had taught them to make macraméhandbags and plant hangers that were taken to Cochabamba to besold to other missionaries and the occasional tourist. Beside each

17YUQUÍ

woman was a jar or other receptacle containing the money sheearned from her handicrafts. The women kept their money withthem at all times because thievery was now common. With participa-tion in a cash economy and the availability of a store, the Yuquí wereacquiring trade goods such as plates and spoons, clothing, or otherarticles that were not equally owned by all and that consequentlyinspired envy from their relatives. The result was that theft was apervasive problem, particularly when it involved cash, which, unlikeclothing or other personal items, could not be easily traced to a par-ticular owner. Fighting now also involved the destruction of prop-erty, and vengeance was meted out in the same fashion. Thus, theYuquí were stealing from each other’s houses on a regular basis,often for the sole purpose of throwing an article into the forest or theriver to spite an enemy.

By now most of the men had learned to hunt with firearms thatthe mission provided to them at a reduced cost. Like the women whowere producing string primarily for the handicraft market, the menspent much of their free time making bows and arrows for trade. Inthe process, they were learning that bright feathers, not the drab blackof the guan or curassow, were what seemed to sell best. Arrows werenow fletched with the pink wing feathers of roseate spoonbills or thebrilliant plumage of macaws. All of the men, however, continued tokeep a bow and several arrows for fishing. A couple of the men wereexperimenting with making canoes, in spite of the fact the adult menhad not learned to swim.8 The area around the settlement was begin-ning to show signs of being overhunted—game was increasinglyscarce, particularly the larger, more valued animals such as the tapirand white-lipped peccary. Colonists, most of whom were engaged inthe growing of coca leaf (from which cocaine is extracted), were alsomoving in from the west as the price of coca began to rise. They, likethe Yuquí, depended on bush meat for animal protein, and were seri-ous competitors for game.

During that first season of fieldwork I tracked the fishing andhunting activities of each Yuquí man. I was particularly interested inthe animal protein intake of the Yuquí and how the changes in theirsociety were affecting foraging strategies. Among the many interest-ing results of my fieldwork, I determined that each of the seventy-three Yuquí was consuming on average about three ounces of animalprotein a day, well above the allowances set by most nutritionists.9

With few exceptions, Saya hunters performed better than ex-slaves(the top five hunters in terms of total weight of meat procured wereall Saya), even though all sixteen hunters were using firearms.Remarkably, as the data came in, it was becoming more apparent that


although the Yuquí defined themselves as hunters, fish was provid-ing most of their meat. In terms of river fishing, an activity the Yuquípracticed only after hooks and nets had been introduced to them, theex-slaves were performing extremely well. Two former slaves rankedsecond and fourth in total fish take for the study period. After fifty-sixdays of continually monitoring hunting and fishing activities, I deter-mined that more than half the total animal protein consumed duringthis period by the Yuquí came from fish.

That year the Yuquí were once again encouraged by the mission-aries to put in a crop but had even greater difficulty than the yearbefore. Mariano decided that it would probably be easier to attemptto weed last year’s garden rather than fell new forest. But BobGarland, back after his year’s leave in the United States, was not par-ticularly interested in the farming project, something he had neverbeen involved with and knew little about. Leonardo, Bob’s primarylanguage informant, was occupied with Bob during much of the day,and so was not free to participate in the project. This was a strong sig-nal to the Yuquí that this chore could easily be avoided. Combinedwith the Yuquí’s irregular work patterns, the half-hearted efforts toput in a second garden understandably met with failure. The weedsgrew faster than the Yuquí could clear them, and very little wasplanted.

Five years later, in February 1988, I returned to Bolivia to do a fol-low-up study of the Yuquí. On this trip I brought in a small woodhouse that had been prefabricated for me while I was working withthe Sirionó near Trinidad, almost six hundred miles down the riverfrom the Chimoré. A riverboat carried the house in sections up theMamoré, Ichilo, and Chimoré rivers, where we eventually landed atthe Yuquí settlement. The missionaries met me at the edge of theriver, and from the cool reception I received it was apparent that theconstruction of a permanent house did not sit well with them at all.By now they were having to deal with the disturbing prospect that Iwas becoming their “resident” anthropologist.

Since my previous visit, there had been a significant change in lifeat the camp: A second group of twenty-three Yuquí had been success-fully contacted in 1986 and was now living at the Chimoré site. Thissecond contact was carried out with the assistance of several Yuquímen and so was accomplished much more quickly than the first.General settlement of the region had also intensified, making hostileencounters more frequent and the protection offered by the missionmore appealing. Thus, with the addition of the second group andnatural increase, the Yuquí population now numbered 103. I wasamazed at how quickly this second group had adjusted to the mission

19YUQUÍ

environment and attributed this to the effect of having the first groupas mentors. The first group of Yuquí had had to find their own way inlearning to cope with a very different world. The missionaries hadkept them at arm’s length for almost ten years, during which theprocess of adaptation, for better or worse, proceeded very slowly. Thetransition from leading their traditional nomadic existence to beingpart of a settled community with ties, albeit tenuous, to the outsideworld had been a slow and difficult process for the first group. Thesecond group appeared to be adjusting very quickly with the mem-bers of the first as role models. They were learning Spanish rapidly,and several of the men and older boys were already enthusiasticmembers of the recently formed Yuquí soccer team.

The arrival of the second group also created some curious socialdistinctions. It was immediately apparent to the first group how“backward” these new arrivals were in comparison to themselves.Behavior toward the second group alternated between arrogance andcondescension. The slaves of the first group were by now less identifi-able as such in their behavior, and most led relatively independentlives; but the slaves of the second group were quickly enlisted by thefirst group’s Saya to serve their households. In time, slaves from thesecond group were provided with their own houses, learned that theycould perform wage labor for the mission to buy food at the store,and put in their own plantains. In this way they, too, ultimatelyachieved some independence.

Perhaps the greatest advantage held by the first group over thesecond was its use of firearms. Especially under conditions of dimin-ishing game resources, a firearm gives a hunter a tremendous advan-tage over the bow.10 Men from the second group did not know how touse firearms, and the first group was not particularly interested inteaching them. Consequently, the first group often gave meat to thesecond, a situation that exacerbated their status differences.

The introduction of a second group of Yuquí to camp life wasonly one of numerous changes that had occurred during the fiveyears I was away. The Yuquí were no longer constantly at the missionend of camp, hanging out in front of the store and clinic. They werespending their time in their own village, which now had a few shadetrees. While a more comfortable environment undeniably contributedto this change, I noticed that the Yuquí seemed generally more self-assured and less dependent on having constant missionary presenceto feel secure. Again, the addition of the second group must have hada significant effect on the attitudes and behaviors of the first groupwho, until their arrival, had not interacted with another Yuquí bandfor almost fifty years.


Although many of the same patterns of intrigue and spiteful gos-sip persisted, there was a general lessening of tensions and the almostcontinual violence that had been part of this group’s daily existenceduring my previous stay. There was also a marked “opening up” ofthe culture, exhibited by greater willingness among the Yuquí to talkabout themselves. The process of acculturation, of learning new ways,was proceeding more rapidly now. Part of this could be attributed tothe substantial increase in highland migration during the last fiveyears. When I traveled up the river from Trinidad to the Yuquí settle-ment I had noticed that there were many more houses and small gar-dens lining the banks of the Chimoré. The Yuquí, whose Spanish con-tinued to improve, were venturing out more often to meet the newsettlers and were becoming more confident in their ability to interactsuccessfully with them.

My relations with the missionaries did not improve significantlyduring this time, but the Garlands were making a greater effort tolessen the tensions between us. At one point, Bob invited me over tohis house to talk with the other missionaries about some of my ideasand concerns about the Yuquí and their future. I was surprised andflattered by this turn of events, but also suspicious that I was simplybeing patronized. Even so, I was pleased that we were at least movingforward in opening communication.

The results of my fieldwork that year revealed some disturbingtrends. In the intervening years since 1983, significant changes hadoccurred throughout the Chimoré region. Coca prices had soared,bringing in even more colonists. In addition, the government wasunder stringent economic controls exerted by the InternationalMonetary Fund to tighten the economy. As a consequence, thousandsof tin miners had been laid off from the historically unprofitable statemines. Many of these individuals were heading toward the coca-growing areas of Bolivia to find their livelihood there. Finally, a newroad had been completed, opening a more direct route from the low-land city of Santa Cruz to the gateway of the highlands, Cochabamba.This highway passed within seven miles of the Yuquí settlement, fur-ther encouraging people to move into the area now that markets weremore accessible. All of this was not only speeding up the process ofacculturation as the result of more frequent contact with outsiders,but was also affecting the Yuquí’s ability to feed themselves.

In 1988 I found that the Yuquí were having to go farther andstay away from the main camp for longer periods of time in order tobring back amounts of meat comparable to what they had been tak-ing in 1983. For example, in 1983 I recorded only two “long hunts,”or hunting trips that took the Yuquí outside the five-kilometer

21YUQUÍ

radius of the mission “core area” and that required them to remainovernight in the forest. In 1988 the Yuquí carried out nineteen suchhunts. They were also having to take a great many more small ani-mals. In 1983 only five species of large animals—tapir, deer, capybara(a rodent that looks like an enormous guinea pig), collared peccary,and white-lipped peccary—accounted for sixty-five percent of thecombined weight of all game meat. These animals are also thecolonists’ preferred species because of their large size and the similar-ity in taste to domestic animals such as pigs and cows. In 1988 threeof the largest species—tapir, white-lipped peccary, and capybara—were missing from the game animal list. Although the Yuquí werestill consuming about the same per capita amounts of game as in1983, eighty-eight percent of the animals taken weighed less thaneleven pounds. Thus a greater number of animals from a much widerrange of species had to be harvested in order to meet nutritionalneeds. The loss of the larger species from the game inventory couldbe expected to have a negative effect on the long-term sustainabilityof Yuquí hunting.

Worse, however, was the effect that increased colonist incursionwas having on fish resources. Recall that in 1983 more than half ofthe animal protein procured by the Yuquí was coming from theChimoré River and its system of oxbow lakes. When I first startedrecording fish and game takes in 1988, I thought it odd that very fewfish were coming in and that these were all small. After severalweeks it became apparent that there simply were no large fish in theriver to catch. Interviews I conducted with colonists up and downthe river, accounts from the Yuquí, and my own observationsrevealed the cause of this scarcity. With a highway connecting theregion to the urban market centers of Bolivia, the numbers of com-mercial fishers had grown considerably. These men would come upthe Chimoré River in canoes or small boats carrying large Styrofoamice chests. With nets strung across the entire width of the river, theywere quickly capturing virtually all net-sized fish. Adding to theproblem were the communities of coca growers up the river, groupscomposed primarily of ex-miners. With their expertise in handlingexplosives, they had discovered that dynamite was an effective wayof supplying fish not only for their own subsistence, but also for amarketable surplus. During my 1988 study the Yuquí harvestedonly about 130 pounds of fish as compared to over 2,200 poundstaken during the same period in 1983. The effect was to lower theiranimal protein intake from 3 ounces per capita per day to less than1.5 ounces. The difference was having to be made up with foods lowin protein but high in carbohydrates, such as plantains, and greater


subsidies from the mission. Although the connection between dietand sickness may be difficult to establish, particularly since the Yuquíwere having more frequent contact with outsiders, it is important tomention that in 1988 the Yuquí experienced a three-fold increase insick days. As these results became more apparent, I discussed themwith the missionaries, who showed concern but were at a loss as tohow to counter the trend.

Once back in the United States I collaborated with conservationbiologists Kent Redford and John Robinson, who were interested inproblems of hunting by local peoples and the effects this had on ani-mal populations. Using the results of my animal capture data and theexisting information on expected densities of the major game species,they were able to determine that, at a minimum, the Yuquí wouldneed about 250,000 acres to continue their hunting at sustainable lev-els into the near future. This would provide not only a capture areabut also a “recharge” area where game would be able to reproducefreely—without danger of being hunted—in order to supply thoseareas being depleted by hunting. Nonetheless, acquiring this muchland for the Yuquí seemed out of the realm of possibility, particularlygiven that the mission had been working for years to convince theAgrarian Reform Law system to deed them only about twenty thou-sand acres.

THE YUQUÍ DEVELOPMENT PROJECT

After I left the Yuquí camp in late May 1988, I toured Bolivia for sev-eral weeks and returned to Cochabamba. I decided to stop by the mis-sion home before leaving the country and found Bob and MaryGarland there. They were quite agitated about a recent visitor to thecamp, a representative of the Interamerican Development Bank (IDB).In December 1987, the IDB had evidently signed a loan agreementwith the Bolivian government to finance the paving of a large sectionof the recently opened Santa Cruz–Cochabamba highway, the roadthat was having such a negative effect on Yuquí foraging success. Inaccordance with U.S. legislation the IDB was required to includefunds in the project to protect the environment and native peoples inthe area affected by the road. Stewart Hudson, the legislative repre-sentative for the National Wildlife Federation in Washington, D.C.,had made several visits to Bolivia to meet with local conservationistorganizations regarding the road and its impact on the region. Hewas also personally interested in the well-being of native peoples and

23YUQUÍ

had opened a dialogue with the lowland indigenous organization,CIDOB (Confederación Indígena del Oriente Boliviano [IndigenousConfederation of the Bolivian East]). Representing international con-servation interests, Stewart met with Bolivian government officialsand the IDB to express concern over the impact of the improved roadon the environment and the local indigenous peoples. Based on pastexperience with these types of projects, Stewart was convinced thatthe bank and the Bolivians would not willingly meet the loan require-ments for environmental and indigenous protection without continu-ous oversight. Through his efforts and those of local and internationalgroups, the Bank, in concert with the Bolivian government, estab-lished the Secretaría Nacional del Medio Ambiente y RecursosNaturales Renovables (the National Secretariat for the Environmentand Renewable Natural Resources), which in turn would develop sixsubprojects to address conservation and indigenous protection issuesassociated with the loan.

Therefore, the purpose of the visit to the Yuquí camp in June 1988by the IDB representative was to inform the missionaries that theYuquí were now going to be “protected” as part of the loan agree-ment to pave the highway. This news was understandably upsettingto the missionaries: They were concerned about how this projectwould function, who would run it, and what effects it would have ontheir lives as well as those of the Yuquí. I promised to look into theproblem as soon as I returned home. When I reached the UnitedStates I contacted Stewart, who provided me with the current loandocumentation, and I then began to follow the progress of whatbecame known as the proyecto. I was appalled, but not surprised, atthe way the IDB had simply developed a project proposal withoutconsulting with the Yuquí. As is so often the case with projects under-written by these immense multinational development institutions, theYuquí were simply one of many small details to be “managed” aspart of a larger development program.

At the same time, however, I had real fears about the Yuquí’s pre-sent situation. Events that would have serious consequences for theYuquí’s future were happening very quickly in the region. The mis-sionaries at the camp seemed resigned to accept what lay ahead assomething beyond their control. The Yuquí, on the other hand, stilldid not have any of the skills or understanding necessary to defendthemselves and, even worse, could not even conceptualize the scopeof the disaster about to befall them. In many regards, they were will-ing victims of their own destruction.

Thus, I had very ambivalent feelings about this planned interven-tion. As things now stood, the Yuquí had very little chance for sur-


vival, and perhaps this project would have some positive impact. Iwas also hopeful that the initial missteps taken by the bank would bereversed as the project got underway. The proposal called for a teamof well-trained people to be headed by an anthropologist. Landdemarcation was also a part of the plan, and for the first time since Ihad been involved with the Yuquí I saw the real possibility of theYuquí having a homeland adequate for their needs.

As the project gained momentum, however, it became increas-ingly evident that Yuquí well-being was now at even greater risk. Theanthropologist selected as project director for the Yuquí componentwas a political appointee and had questionable credentials. Herefused to involve CIDOB or to work with any indigenous organiza-tions in Bolivia. I started receiving frequent letters and even commu-nications by shortwave radio from the missionaries who were grow-ing frantic about the direction the project was beginning to take. Inparticular, the project director was gathering funds and support fromcolonists to open a road to the Yuquí camp directly from the newhighway. Ostensibly, this was to provide “market access” for theYuquí, although ironically, they had nothing to market. The mission-aries were convinced that the real reason was that the project directordisliked having to reach camp by boat, which took almost two days ofadditional travel. In the meantime, absolutely nothing had been doneto initiate the process of acquiring a legal territory for the Yuquí.Without this, not only would the proposed road open the Yuquí toalmost continual contact from the outside, but also they would beunable to control the flood of colonists that would surely follow anynew access into the forest.

Working in concert with CIDOB and the missionaries, who wereproviding me with up-to-date information on the progress of theproject, Stewart and I were able to successfully sound the alarm inWashington. In December 1991, as the result of outside evaluationsof all six subprojects, a general restructuring began that culminatedin the firing of many of the original personnel, including the anthro-pologist. The proyecto among the Yuquí was temporarily put onhold.

After several abortive attempts to find a capable replacement forthe Yuquí project director, the bank called me. Would I be interestedin the job? It was obvious that this invitation was not inspired by thebank’s confidence in my professional abilities. Rather, this was a caseof “you complained, so you fix it.” Yet I also knew that, one way oranother, the project would continue until the funding ran out, whichwas a frightening prospect. I thought about the problem for days,going over all the good reasons to decline, but also thinking about

25YUQUÍ

what it would take to be able to turn things around. I finally sent thebank a list of conditions that would have to be met before I wouldconsider the offer. I was reasonably confident that they would neverbe accepted and I would be off the hook. I was insisting on virtualautonomy to run the project and required that the funding be in theform of a grant to the university that would guarantee that graftwould not be an issue. Remarkably, the bank accepted my terms.

During our Spring break of 1992 I agreed to go to Bolivia towork out the final details of the contract. Only two days into thevisit, I was informed that the president of Bolivia would shortly behosting an international conference to announce the founding of theIndigenous Fund for Latin America, sponsored in part by the IDB.To underscore his support of land rights for indigenous peoples, thepresident would recognize by presidential decree four indigenousterritories at the opening ceremonies of the conference. I was toldthat the Yuquí were being considered as possible recipients, andwas asked if I would assist in the preparation of the necessary docu-ments. I immediately traveled to the lowlands to discuss the propo-sition with the Yuquí, who responded positively. The missionarieswere extremely skeptical that any of this would come to pass, andadmittedly, so was I. But the chance possibility that we could pullthis off was certainly worth the effort. Of significant importance inthis process was having my years of research results available tosupport not only the urgent need to set aside this land for the Yuquí,but also to increase the original government offer of less than125,000 acres to at least 250,000. On April 9, 1992, I received wordthat President Jaime Paz Zamora had signed a presidential decreeestablishing the boundaries of almost three hundred thousand acresof land as the Yuquí Indigenous Territory. With a stroke of the penand less than a month after the idea had been proposed, what Ifeared was probably just another political deception had becomereality. The future of the Yuquí suddenly looked brighter. Less thantwo months after the signing of the decree, I was in Bolivia, ready toreinitiate the Yuquí Development Project.

A FRESH START

My first task was to put together a team that would enable the vari-ous groups that had been at odds since the inception of this projectto begin working together. I knew that without the full cooperationand participation of the mission we would have little chance for suc-


cess. Fortunately, the previous two years of mutual efforts to stopthe destructive policies of the first project had finally established agreater sense of trust between us. Having gone through so muchdisruption, uncertainty, and fear that the Yuquí would be destroyedin the process of “protecting” them, the mission was actuallyrelieved when I accepted the offer to take over the project. I knew,however, that this relationship was extremely fragile and couldcome apart with even the most minor misunderstanding. After seri-ous reflection, I offered the position of agronomist to Dan Gill, ayoung NTM missionary with a doctorate in soil science. He was an“MK” (missionary kid), the child of New Tribes missionaries whohad been born and brought up in Bolivia. His wife, Judy, was a reg-istered nurse and was extremely interested not only in nursing butalso in teaching preventive health care and community wellness.Both were convinced that the Yuquí needed to lessen their depen-dency on the mission and learn the skills necessary to stand on theirown. Throughout the project the Gills played the crucial role of“cultural brokers” between the project and the mission. Many times,Dan or Judy would be aware of a problem before I could see troublein the making and were able to intervene to avoid the escalation ofdifficulties. The project reached its conclusion with the missionariesas truly invaluable participants, something that would have beenmuch more difficult to achieve without the presence of my mission-ary co-workers.

I also contracted José Bailaba, who had visited the Yuquí on twoprevious occasions and seemed interested in working with them. Hewas a representative of CIDOB and would help in developing leader-ship skills among the Yuquí, open a dialogue with them on the issuescurrently affecting indigenous peoples, and, hopefully, raise theirconsciousness as native Amazonians. The Yuquí still had no sense ofethnic identity and even less understanding of their indigenous ori-gins.

The remaining staff consisted of a boatman, a carpenter, and twosawyers who would cut wood for our various building projects. I hadalso agreed to accept a Bolivian counterpart who, I had initiallyhoped, would be a working partner and someone who would benefitfrom the experience. Unfortunately, this individual turned out to beyet another political appointee with a work record that did not inspireconfidence. Although affable, he did not seem to have much interestor background in development work. Eventually, he left the project tobe replaced by a much better candidate, but by that time the projectwas in the final months of completion.

I also knew that I had some difficulties to resolve with the Yuquí

27YUQUÍ

themselves. One of the many problems left behind by the previousYuquí project director was to sideline Leonardo and select instead ayounger and more acculturated leader who would be easier to workwith. Jonatán, a young Saya in his mid-twenties, was the obviouschoice because he spoke Spanish well, had many of the qualities of anatural leader, and immediately sought to befriend and assist theproject personnel. As a government representative with the abilityto provide money, trade goods, and access to equipment such as theboat and motor, the project director gained rapid influence over theYuquí and the affection and loyalty of his protégé, Jonatán. Jonatánwas well aware that I had been instrumental in the firing of hisfriend and mentor, and had no intention of cooperating with me.Shortly after my arrival, he took off on an extended trek, taking hisgroup of close supporters—about a third of the Yuquí camp—withhim.

Jonatán returned with his group about ten days later, curiousabout what we had been doing in their absence, but making it clearto all that they would continue to boycott the project. I understoodJonatán’s reaction, but I also knew that if this impasse was not bro-ken we would have tremendous difficulty in moving forward withour plans to carry out a fully participatory development program.As the new project director I would have to be the one to challengeJonatán; I gambled on my hard-earned standing with the Yuquí togive me some credibility. I had known Jonatán since he was ateenager, and until this latest situation had always had his respect. Idecided to confront him in front of the store, where we faced offwith most of the community watching. Everyone knew what thiswas about and I could feel the tension and expectation buildingaround me. In good Yuquí fashion, I displayed a lot of emotion andanger, talking rapidly and loudly about how Jonatán was letting hispeople down and berating him for his recent behavior. He shoutedback at me but could think of little substantive to say. I had theunfair advantage of having had the time to plan out much of mydiscourse, whereas he had not. I had the last word and walked awayfrom him, a power play well understood by his peers. I was theclear winner in this verbal duel, and that afternoon Jonatán came tomy house to make peace. He was alone and so I was able to talkwith him in a more personal manner, reflecting on many of the posi-tive experiences we had shared. Then he revealed that the previousproject personnel had not left much to show for their efforts (or thefunds expended) and that he wanted to participate in this renewedattempt. Although I had good reason to doubt the sincerity of hissudden change of heart, I was willing to take it at face value.


Throughout the remainder of the project I had Jonatán’s help andcooperation, and in time he began to show real promise as a capableleader.

Because of our desire to help the Yuquí develop sound leader-ship skills that would help them deal more effectively with the out-side world, we moved quickly to establish a Yuquí Council. Each ofthe camp factions selected a representative, forming a group thatincluded Jonatán, who was elected president, and Leonardo, whoseemed overwhelmed by all that had happened in the past twoyears but who wanted to recoup some of his former influence. JoséBailaba worked with the council members, often becoming discour-aged by their lack of willingness to play an objective role in settlingdisputes—the activity that occupied most of the council’s time andenergy. This, of course, was impossible in a kin-based society inwhich all decisions are determined by the nature of one’s relation-ship to the parties involved. Nonetheless, over time the councilbegan to function more smoothly and to take on wider responsibili-ties. One of these was dealing with the increasingly complex issuesthat surrounded the establishment of the Yuquí IndigenousTerritory.

It was one thing to receive government recognition of a YuquíTerritory, but entirely another to demarcate and defend it. Althoughthe presidential decree was a legal and binding document, it wasnot followed by legislation that would provide funding to map andprotect the territory. We decided to undertake this as part of ouroverall integrated development strategy. Keith Jarvis, a graduatestudent from the University of Florida, volunteered to undertake themapping project as his master’s thesis topic. Using a GPS (GlobalPositioning System) unit and working with members of the Yuquícouncil, they mapped the entire territory over a period of threemonths. Fortunately, in establishing the boundaries, we had had theforesight to follow major rivers where possible, meaning that mostof the mapping could be done quickly and from the boat running atfull speed, since data points were automatically taken and storedfrom the satellite fixes received by the GPS unit. Back in the UnitedStates Keith integrated the GPS data with the GeographicInformation System (GIS) to generate a full-color, computerizedmap of the territory. We made numerous copies of this map and cir-culated these to local residents and government officials. Within avery short time, we had established the credibility of the YuquíTerritory.

Our next task was to select and train three Yuquí forest guardsand then convince the government to provide them with proper cre-

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dentials. Recent legislation that gave greater recognition to indige-nous rights facilitated this process, and the Yuquí guards were givenwritten permission to expel illegal colonists and loggers from theirterritory. More importantly, they could also confiscate wood andequipment from the loggers. We began a schedule of monitoring theterritory, at first taking along armed members of the national govern-ment’s forestry unit to back up the Yuquí. Later, the Yuquí took overthe patrols themselves. Within only a few months, the word hadspread among the wildcat loggers that the Territory was now “off-limits.” A gratifying side effect of this activity was the growingawareness by the Yuquí that they were a “people” now and had anidentity that was linked to their territory.

Over a period of fourteen months we completed a new clinic andtrained two Yuquí as health care workers. By now the Yuquí were liv-ing closer to the facilities provided for them. The village had beenmoved again in 1988, this time to the mission end of the settlement.This move was largely the result of the influence of the younger mis-sionaries who wanted to live in closer proximity to the people theyhad come to proselytize. Two Bolivian teachers had been hired toassist Mariano Ichu, and we were fortunate to be able to secure gov-ernment salaries for them. We expanded the existing school andincreased the number of classrooms to provide adequate space for thenearly sixty students. The population continued to grow and hadreached almost 150, augmented by the recent contact of yet anotherYuquí band.

This third group of Yuquí, decimated by repeated skirmisheswith loggers and numbering only 19, had been successfully contactedin late 1989. Because of the extreme danger that now faced these sur-vivors, the contact had proceeded faster than expected and there wasno housing available upon their arrival. Compounding this problem,however, was the fact that at the time the former project director wasin control of all camp activities, and, for whatever reason, did notrespond to this need. Thus, the third group, suffering severe culturaldisorientation from tremendous upheavals in their lives (including amassacre that left eleven of their men dead), took up residence wherethey could, with one family inhabiting an abandoned chicken coop.As had happened in the past, the first group took advantage of thesituation by inviting members of the third group into their houseswhere they could perform chores in exchange for a place to sleep anda little meat (they were also being given food by the mission, which,of course, had to be shared with their Yuquí hosts). Within a shorttime, several of the children were parceled out to Saya families asslaves. Once the project director had been dismissed, the missionaries


quietly acted, and in all cases but one, were able to return the childrento their parents.

The unfortunate living conditions and exploitation of the thirdgroup continued until our arrival, however, because the missionarieshad been reluctant to initiate any major interventions as long as theprojecto remained on hold. As a result, one of our first projects was tobuild a “longhouse” for the new people. We located the structure inan area removed from the main settlement but easily accessible to it.We knew this was a risky experiment but we hoped to “liberate” thisgroup from servitude and at the same time house them together asthey had lived in the forest. We designed a building with five sepa-rate but connected living areas with a large open cooking area in frontof each living space. Each of the families carried its own lumber fromthe cutting site in the forest, helped with the construction of the mainstructure, which was directed by our carpenter, and then was shownhow to close in the front and back of the living areas with split palm.The third group took up its new residence with tremendous anticipa-tion and pride. Within days of the move, they had regained their self-esteem.

During this time Dan Gill and Mariano Ichu taught the men ofthe third group (along with those of the second group) to hunt withfirearms. There was no longer any reason for them to continue serv-ing the first group. There seemed to be a new sense of purposeabout them, and the children in particular lost their constant uncer-tainty. The longhouse inspired the envy of the other Yuquí whosedwellings had been hastily constructed and were by now on theverge of collapse. Eventually, working with groups of extendedfamilies, we replaced all of the Yuquí structures with similar long-houses. This reorganization better reflected traditional communalliving patterns, created a more efficient use of space in the settle-ment in that more area was available for house gardens, andallowed for the consolidation of latrines, which had previously beenlargely lacking in the community.

Other projects included the building and stocking of a carpentryworkshop so that young Yuquí could learn to make furniture such asbenches and tables for their homes, something else that was now aneed. Later, these skills could provide them with an additional sourceof income. With the carpentry functioning, woodworking was addedto the school curriculum. Six Yuquí youths were selected to receiveteacher training, something that held great promise for the future,particularly in terms of bilingual education. However, there weremany failures as well. We started a tree nursery to encourage theYuquí to plant more fruit trees, especially native varieties. But we

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were unsuccessful in our efforts to discourage them from harvestingmature trees by cutting them down. That year a crop of any kindproved impossible. The rainy season was protracted and intense,making clearing futile because we could not burn.

After fourteen months with the Yuquí we concluded our contractand prepared for the gradual withdrawal of project personnel. It wasdifficult; we knew that we needed, but did not have, a great dealmore time to nurture many of the complex processes that had beeninitiated. We left behind many tangible results of our work, whichincluded a well-equipped clinic with Yuquí health workers, a newstore (also now run by Yuquí), an enlarged and improved school, acarpentry shop, and new housing. Infrastructure such as this madepossible many kinds of innovative activities. It also gave the Yuquí asense that their community has stature. Receiving legal recognition ofa homeland, demarcating and mapping this territory, and activelyprotecting it from encroachment placed the Yuquí in an unusuallystrong position as an indigenous people. The intangibles, however,are what will ultimately determine their ability to cope with an uncer-tain future. The Yuquí council continues to function but it will bemany years before it becomes a stable governmental body. Yuquíleaders are learning the skills necessary to ensure their people’s right-ful place in Bolivian society but this process will also take time. Thereis a new pride in being Yuquí, particularly among the youth, butthere are also powerfully seductive external forces that lure themaway from their people and traditions. For their part, the missionariesare coming to better understand that the Yuquí are capable of takingcharge of their own lives and of making choices to determine thecourse of their future, and that they need support and not discourage-ment in these efforts. Still, the Yuquí are few in number and historyhas shown that the odds are against the cultural survival of suchsmall remnant populations. The Yuquí have some extremely difficultchallenges ahead, but if they succeed, those of us who have shared intheir struggle will certainly rejoice in their triumph.

NOTES

1. Funding for research carried out since 1982 among the Yuquí hasbeen provided by the National Science Foundation, the L. S. B.Leakey Foundation, the Charles A. Lindberg Fund, the Explorer’sClub, the Amazon Research and Training Program of the Universityof Florida, and the University of Central Florida Summer ResearchProgram.


2. Allyn MacLean Stearman, Yuquí: Forest Nomads in a Changing World(Fort Worth: Holt, Rinehart & Winston, 1989).

3. Allyn MacLean Stearman, “Losing Game,” Natural History 103, no. 1(1994): 6–10.

4. New Tribes Mission, “A History of the New Tribes Mission Project toEvangelize the Yuquí Indians,” typescript, 1955–1976.

5. Anthropologist Allan Holmberg introduced the Sirionó to the scien-tific community in his well-known ethnography, Nomads of the LongBow (1950, 1969, 1985). Holmberg went on to work in the Peruvianhighlands and died at a relatively young age, never having returnedto do follow-up work on the Sirionó.

6. John H. Bodley, Victims of Progress, 2nd ed. (Palo Alto: Mayfield,1982).

7. See Claude Stipe, “Anthropologists and Missionaries: The Influenceof Presuppositions,” Current Anthropology 21 (1980): 165–179; andDavid Stoll, Fishers of Men or Founders of Empire? (London: ZedPublishers, 1982.)

8. Three of the older Yuquí men died from drowning when their canoesoverturned.

9. The recommended daily allowance of protein is about 2 ounces perday for a 154-pound man and 1.5 ounces for a 121-pound woman.Leslie S. Lieberman, “Biocultural Consequences of Animals versusPlants as Sources of Fats, Proteins, and Other Nutrients,” in M.Harris and E. Ross, eds., Food and Evolution (Philadelphia: TempleUniversity Press, 1987), pp. 303–310.

10. Raymond Hames, “A Comparison of the Efficiencies of the Shotgunand the Bow in Neotropical Forest Hunting,” Human Ecology 7 (1979):219–252.

SUGGESTED READINGS

Bodley, John H., ed. Tribal Peoples and Development Issues: A GlobalOverview. Mountain View: Mayfield, 1988. A widely acclaimed col-lection of readings dealing with issues affecting tribal peoples in themodern world.

Holmberg, Allan R. Nomads of the Long Bow. Prospect Heights: Waveland,1985. An anthropological “classic” that describes in a highly readablestyle the culture of the Sirionó Indians of eastern Bolivia.

Stearman, Allyn MacLean. “The Effects of Settler Incursion on Fish andGame Resources of the Yuquí, a Native Amazonian Society ofEastern Bolivia.” Human Organization (1990): 373–385.

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. “Losing Game.” Natural History 103, no. 1 (1994): 6–10.. Yuquí: Forest Nomads in a Changing World. Fort Worth: Holt,

Rinehart & Winston, 1989. Two articles and a book by the author ofthe present study that will give added insight and technical depth tomany of the topics discussed in this ethnographic profile of theYuquí.


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