in a small hut thatched with palm leaves under a tree. Next to the school is the lean-to roof where communal shamanic sessions take place nearly every day.
Tables
Table 6.1. Illustration of parallel and partly conflicting categories.
Table 6.2. Perspectives on primary entitlement to land on the basis of the categorizations in Table 6.1.
Maps
Map 3.1. The map shows the central part of the area inhabited by the Yanomami in 2012. It outlines the territory of the Yanomamï or the “central Yanomami” and depicts the locations of the selected Yanomami communities and the mission posts discussed in the text. There are many more Yanomami villages or shaponos in this region which are not shown here.
Preface
Adam Kuper
Towards the end of the first United Nations “Decade of Indigenous Peoples,” I published a critical review of the “indigenous peoples” discourse, arguing that the very idea of “indigenous peoples” was conceptually incoherent; that it relied on obsolete and completely discredited notions about “primitive peoples”; that it romanticized the past; and that its political uses were by no means self-evidently generous and harmless (Kuper 2003).
Heated debate followed. Few anthropologists mounted a defense of the “indigenous peoples” discourse, but some insisted that, whatever its intellectual deficiencies, it was politically useful. Alcida Rita Ramos even advocated strategic self-censorship. She warned that academic critics might provide ammunition to sinister forces, including “some oppressive governments that, in disclaiming the political agency of indigenous peoples, attribute their actions to the manipulative powers of non-Indian agitators” (Ramos 2003: 397).
Other anthropologists protested that academic reservations are neither here nor there. The key imperative is action. The indigenist rhetoric may come across as essentialist and romantic, Steven Robins admitted, and yet “such rhetorical strategies often make for effective activism” (Robins 2003: 398.). Alan Barnard added that if there was an element of romanticism, that was not necessarily to be deplored. “In fact the romantic imagery at the root of the indigenous peoples movement is part of anthropology too, and I don’t think any of us who work with former hunter-gatherers are immune to it” (Barnard 2004: 19).
Yet the romanticism is not innocent, or free from troubling implications. James Suzman pointed out that the indigenist discourse promotes stereotypes of so-called primitive folk and “may well reinforce the very structures of discrimination that disadvantage these peoples in the first place.” Indeed, many of the peoples identified as “indigenous” are precisely those who featured most prominently as “primitive” in Victorian anthropology. Suzman added that San people in Southern Africa “are frustrated not because they cannot pursue their ‘traditional culture’ but because they are impoverished, marginalized, and exploited by the dominant population” (Suzman 2003: 400).
Nor is Robins’ “effective activism” always to be uncritically applauded. Where “indigenous peoples’ movements” book local successes, this may be at a cost to others—often themselves poor and disadvantaged. Surely a more defensible politics would seek to help the unfortunate whoever they are, without discriminating on the basis of descent.1
Perhaps the knottiest questions have to do with the very definition of “indigenous peoples.” International organizations that have engaged with the indigenous peoples’ movement struggle to define just whom they are supposed to represent. The term “indigenous” cannot be taken to refer simply to the presumptive descendants of the first inhabitants of a country, because the indigenous peoples’ movement has nothing to do with (for example) European nativist movements. Nor can it just mean former hunter-gatherers, since we are all descended from hunter-gatherers. At what stage, after how many centuries, is the status of “former hunter-gatherer” lost? In any case, some of the most assertive members of the indigenous peoples’ movement represent Maori or Inuit, or descendants of the Aztecs and Incas, who ceased to be hunter-gatherers hundreds or even thousands of years ago.
Some authorities, such as the International Labour Organization (ILO), suggest that “indigenous” peoples should be defined rather with reference to political identity. They are minority groups, marked out by cultural difference and subjected to discrimination. Their status is “regulated wholly or partially by their own customs or traditions or by special laws or regulations” (ILO 1989). Obviously, these criteria would apply equally to Roma in Eastern Europe, members of scheduled castes in India, or Christians in Saudi Arabia, none of whom are classed as “indigenous” peoples. Nor can it be a blanket term for peoples whose lands had been colonized by European states, since most African countries are home to populations with a variety of cultural traditions, who came there at different times, some as rulers, others as refugees, and who have intermingled and intermarried for centuries. (Significantly, no African country signed up to the UN draft treaty on indigenous peoples.)
Even if there is some agreement as to what constitutes an indigenous grouping in a particular country today, there are problems about who can claim membership of it, and in particular whether the crucial criterion should be “cultural” or “racial.” This has proved a difficult problem for some indigenous movements, in North America in particular. In practice, the general rule is that descent—a specified number of grandparents—trumps “culture,” language, or way of life.
The UN Permanent Forum on Indigenous Issues simply sidestepped the whole question of definition. “In the case of the concept of ‘indigenous peoples,’ the prevailing view today is that no formal definition of the term is necessary” (United Nations 2004: 4). But it is necessary. If the goal is to do something to help “indigenous peoples,” one has to know what—and whom—one is talking about.
In 2003, Richard Horton, Editor in Chief of The Lancet, one of the world’s most influential medical journals, proclaimed that there was “an overwhelming need for action” to better the health of the world’s indigenous peoples, and he published a series of six papers to document the crisis. In 2005, The Lancet reported that there were between 257 and 350 million indigenous people (Stephens et al. 2005: 11). The following year, Horton wrote that there were 370 million indigenous people spread through seventy countries, accounting for 6 percent of the world’s population (Horton 2006). Three years later, also in The Lancet, Professor Michael Gracey and Professor Malcolm King reported that “the world’s almost 400 million indigenous people have low standards of health” (Gracey and King 2009: 65). Had the population expanded so very rapidly within a year or two, or are the criteria for inclusion so vague that the numbers make little sense? It is hard to say, since none of The Lancet’s authors ventures a clear definition of who counts as “indigenous,” although several do note that there is a definitional problem—and then briskly move on.
And what health problems are these hard-to-define peoples supposed to have in common? In an overview of six papers published in The Lancet, Horton reported that, when compared to non-indigenous populations, life expectancy is lower, and afflictions such as respiratory disease and diabetes occur more frequently. He cited three examples of special risks faced by indigenous populations: “Maori (heart disease), Canadian First Nation peoples (intentional self-harm), and Native American and Alaskan Natives (assault).” Obviously, these are not problems that go hand in hand with being indigenous. And there is no evidence that any of these particular afflictions are shared by all, or even many of the populations lumped together as indigenous by the contributors to The Lancet. Nor is it apparent that the health problems of so-called indigenous peoples in any country
