Part Three Of A Three Part Special On Colombia

BACK TO THE HEART OF LIGHTNESS

Alan Ereira Revisits The Kogi Indians Of Colombia, And Finds Them Ready To
Adopt Desperate Measures To Prevent The Annihilation Of 'The Heart Of The
World'

'When I took part in the film I was a young man, and I thought it was a
good idea. Now I am not so sure.' The speaker was Arregoces, a Kogi Indian
from the Sierra de Santa Marta in northern Colombia. We were sitting in the
Casa Indigena, the Indian House in Santa Marta, the city at the foot of the
mountains.

The film in question was From the Heart of the World: the Elder Brother's
Waming, a featurelength documentary that I had made for the BBC in 1990. At
that time, Arregoces was indeed quite young, and distinctly dashing.
Something of a rebel, he was impressed by some features of white culture
and very critical of what he saw as the ignorance of his parents'
generation. 'My father is an ignorant man, he had told me in 1989, 'he
doesn't even know how to speak Spanish.'

Most Kogi did not know how to speak Spanish and still don't. The Kogi are
the most isolated of the tribes of the Sierra, remaining deliberately
withdrawn from what they still see as an invading, colonising culture.
Favoured by the intimidating terrain, protected to a considerable degree by
a wall of dense jungle and steep mountain rivervalleys, some 12,000 Kogi
still live in traditional communities, wear traditional costume, speak
their own language and live under the rule of their own priests, the
'Mamas' or 'enlightened ones'. They have tried to preserve the life that
they were leading when they established this safe haven in the early
seventeenth century, and today reject the 'benefits' of roads, electricity
and, of course, Christianity. They call us the 'Younger Brother' from
across the sea a dangerous intruder who does not understand nature, who
came to rob and continues with mindless destruction.

'The Heart of the World' is their description of the Sierra itself, the
world's highest coastal mountain, which rises from the tropical Caribbean
to snowfields and glaciers in just 25 miles. The Sierra is a triangular
pyramid; one side faces the sea, another desert, and the third jungle, so
that its thirtyfive river valleys provide an infinite variety of habitats,
with every possible variety of temperature and rainfall. This richness, and
the variety of interactions between ecosystems, means that the indigenous
people have attained a very complex understanding of nature and its processes.

The Mamas believe that they have been charged with the sacred obligation of
taking care of nature and managing the interaction between human beings and
the natural world. They do this by devoting the bulk of their lives to an
arduous regime of offerings, 'payments' which rebalance the world,
compensating for the damage caused by human activity in both material and
transcendent reality. They understand material reality to be simply an
instant of time, the present moment, embedded in a continuum which is
itself a living intelligence, called Aluna. They speak of Aluna as 'the
Mother', but say she is not a person, rather, 'she is memory and
possibility.' Human beings (or at any rate the 'Elder Brothers') are able
to cross the frontier between the material and nonmaterial worlds and it is
their duty to act as servants of the Mother, taking care of the material
world as instructed.

The obligation of their work, which they believe is necessary to prevent
the material world from collapsing into chaos, means that they have a duty
to survive. This is the imperative that has prevented the indigenous
societies of the Sierra from losing their identity. The function of their
society is to sustain the Mamas; the function of the Mamas is to sustain
the world.

To do that, the Indians need to maintain as much distance as possible
between themselves and our culture. When Arregoces was young, and thought
that it was a good idea to make a film, most Kogi thought it was a very
frightening idea indeed.

Film Rites

The decision to make the film came from the Mamas. They had concluded that
their work was failing. Nature was suffering, the Mother was grievously
sick. The depredations of the Younger Brother had become overwhelming.
Sacred sites had been destroyed and had become inaccessible, ancestral gold
had been looted. The steady advance of colonisation, which had begun with
Columbus, was on its way to a final conclusion. This last stronghold, The
Heart of the World, was on the point of falling. At the same time, the
earth was being tortured: forests were being torn down, minerals being
grubbed up, oil being drained from the ground. The Mother was in physical
torment.

The consequences were clear to see. Rivers were drying up, wild animals
were vanishing, and jaguars were beginning to hunt humans, as their prey
had disappeared. The ice cap of the Sierra was rapidly melting, and the
high tundra, which provides the fresh water that sustains all life below,
was becoming desiccated.

The Mamas decided to make the film in order to give us a final warning. It
was a rebuke and an offer of help, from an older, wiser and now very
frightened civilisation. 'We are the Elder Brothers, with knowledge of all
things, material and spiritual. We know what you have done. You have sold
the clouds. Open your eyes.'

Filming was a disturbing exercise, involving a complete reversal of
centuries of noncooperation. Some took part only because they were directly
instructed to by Mamas, who supervised their participation. Arregoces, who
had had some contact with Younger Brother (he had been trained as a health
assistant and wore a watch as a badge), was given the job of helping me
survive in this unfamiliar environment. He was teased about his liking for
Younger Brother and his ways.

Arregoces has come a long way since then. Today he is the General Director
of Gonawindua Tayrona, the political organisation that exercises authority
in Colombia on behalf of the Mamas. Far from being a rebel, he is a rock of
tradition. And he is no longer seen as any kind of enthusiast for Younger
Brother.

The question that concerned him - was it a good idea to have made that film
and opened a window on the Sierra? - is one that of course concerned
everyone involved with the project from the beginning. It is a question
that should be addressed by seeing what has happened there since 1990, and
how much of that change, for better or worse, has resulted from the film
itself. But it is difficult to establish cause and effect.

The greatest change is the transformation of the political status of the
indigenous people. In 1990, they had no distinct legal identity beyond
living in designated reserves under the paternal care of the Department of
Indian Affairs. That Department no longer exists. Colombia has a new
constitution, which recognises the political autonomy of indigenous
'territorial entities'. This has paved the way for the indigenous reserve
of the Sierra to become a self-governing region in which the laws,
languages and educational system of indigenous people have legal authority,
and where the budget is handled directly by local indigenous organisations.
The film certainly did not make this happen, but it did contribute in some
small way, as one of the factors that helped to raise awareness of the
dignity of indigenous Colombians.

The new Constitution has encouraged the appearance of some indigenous
communities that were virtually invisible in 1990. When we made the film
there were three groups of indigenous people in the Sierra: the Kogi, the
Arhuaco and the Arsario. They share a common culture, and all recognise the
authority of the Mamas to some extent, though the Arhuaco and Arsario were
considerably more acculturated than the Kogi, and the Mamas exercised less
complete authority in many of their communities. They were more likely to
speak Spanish and to be familiar with the language of business and
government, and more likely to have received a formal education. 1 was told
there was once a fourth group, the Kangwama, but that they had been
completely acculturated.

The new constitution has encouraged a retreat from acculturation among the
Arhuaco and Arsario. This had already begun in the 1980s, when the Arhuaco
confronted the Capucin missionaries who had been largely controlling their
lives. 'We have been listening to you for four hundred years,' they told
the Capucins. 'We have considered your words, and analysed them. You are
wrong. Now you must go.' They followed this coup by walking around the
Sierra delimiting what they called 'The Black Line', the boundary of the
traditional lands of the four tribes, and demanding that they should
reassume control of the land enclosed. This line, formally mapped in 1994,
has now been recognised by the government as delimiting the territory
within which the indigenous people of the Sierra exercise moral authority,
if nothing more.

Even the Kangwama have reappeared. They have salvaged their language from
an obscure German anthropological text and rediscovered their culture.
Gonawindua Tayrona is the largest of four indigenous organisations that now
represent the tribal people of the Sierra, and the Mamas have stepped in to
put an end to squabbles between tribes, by insisting that they operate in
concert, under an umbrella 'Territorial Council'.

1994 was also the year in which the Colombian president first took notice
of the Sierra and its indigenous people, flying in by helicopter to
announce that by decree, he was designating a corridor of land down to the
sea which was to be restored to them. Here too the film can claim some
credit. Although it was never shown in Colombia, the President's wife had
been sent a copy by a friend in London. The enthusiasm of these two ladies
did play some part in bringing about the presidential visit.

Out Of Trust

The return of their land is the most fundamental of the Mamas' concrete
ambitions. It is only when their ancestral lands are fully accessible, and
their direct access to the sea is restored, that they can hope to carry out
the offerings and rituals which they believe can sustain life and the
health of the Mother. The most immediate consequence of the film was the
creation of the Tairona Heritage Trust to receive donations from viewers,
and the Trust provided Gonawindua Tayrona with the finance to purchase 13
small farms from settlers. The Trust also provided finance for legal help,
medical assistance, and made a contribution to the rebuilding of the Indian
House in which Arregoces was voicing his doubts.

All this activity acted as a springboard for a much larger scale of
assistance. The University of Rome and the EC offered help with restoring
sustainable agriculture in the damaged lands that were being bought, and
since the end of 1999, a US foundation, Nature Conservancy, has spent some
$500,000 on land purchases for the indigenous people, with considerably
more to come. In addition, the World Bank has offered loans totalling some
$20 million for 'sustainable development' projects in the region.

The heartlands remain intact: there are no new roads, power stations or
missionaries though the efforts of evangelical Christians to undermine
respect for indigenous spiritual authority does cause constant anxiety, as
do appearances of backpackers and New Age tourists inspired by the film and
its message. For some reason the part of the message that says: 'Stay
away we do not want you here' seems to be beyond the comprehension of many
Europeans and Americans.

If you have read this far, and have perhaps noticed the appearance of 'Kogi
organic coffee'on your supermarket shelves, you will have probably formed
the impression that it is all going rather well for the indigenous people
of the Sierra. But this is Colombia, and Colombia is engaged in an
apparently endless civil war. Power here lies not with the government but
with warring gangs. These gangs are principally: guerri as (notionally left
wing, their trade is kidnap, ransom and taxing the drug trade);
paramilitaries (notionally right wing, their trade is antiguerrilla murders
and taxing the drug trade); and 'narcos' (the cartels whose trade is drugs,
enforcement and financing guerrillas and paramilitaries). The nearest thing
to stability comes when there is equilibrium between these forces. In the
last two years that stability has been dramatically upset by the
government's attempt to create a new 'peace process', which has weakened
the guerrillas, and by an apparently more effective ColombiaUS assault on
the local narcos.

The result has been a dramatic escalation in the power of the
paramilitaries, and in particular of one charismatic paramilitary leader,
Carlos Castano He appears to be engaged in a war of conquest of northern
Colombia, which has now moved into the Sierra. He is effectively in control
of Santa Marta and of much of the lower region of the Sierra. The
guerrillas of the region, who are mostly members of the FARC (the Armed
Revolutionary Forces of Colombia), have been driven into the higher parts
of the mountain, although they still control an area of the lower Sierra on
the eastern side. Castano's 'selfdefence forces', now a uniformed army of
some 8,000 men, have conducted numerous massacres; the fact that they
effectively pacify the regions they control does not make them less
frightening.

The crucial area of conflict and danger is on the guerrillaparamilitary
frontier, which now tuns right through the indigenous communities of the
Sierra. The FARC have moved into Arhuaco and Arsario villages, taking
effective control of them, and forcibly recruiting young Indians. They are
demanding that each family provide a 'volunteer'. Some Kogi villages are
also affected. There is now terror of paramilitary reprisals. Such
reprisals have already been suffered by the Kangwamas, dozens of whom have
been slaughtered and many more 'relocated'.

I visit the Sierra most years, on behalf of the Tairona Heritage Trust.
This year, for the first time, I was told that I should not go up into the
Sierra at all. The Mamas and officials of Gonawindua Tayrona would come to
the Indian House in Santa Marta. Anything else would be too dangerous.

The main issue that they wanted to discuss was the everpresent question of
reclaiming land. The Nature Conservancy and World Bank projects are
controlled by a local NGO, the Fondacion ProSierra Nevada de Santa Marta.
The Nature Conservancy money is being used to purchase land in accord with
a priority list drawn up in consultation with Gonawindua Tayrona. But what
is given with one hand, Younger Brother takes away with another. New
settlers are moving into the Sierra, and virgin land is being seized for
farming. This is not exactly a case of landhungry individuals accessing a
new frontier: the region is far too dangerous for any optimistic peasant to
attempt to carve out a farm on his own. Castano appears to be rewarding his
followers by setting them up with land that is being seized for the purpose.

He claims in his public statements to be concerned about environmental
issues, and to be antidrugs. The indigenous leaders, recognising that they
cannot stop land being taken in this way, have decided that they can at
least stop it from being deforested and destroyed. They do have one card to
play: they are now a recognised part of the government, and under the 'Plan
Colombia' the government is spraying defoliants on cocaine plantations in
other parts of the country. So the deal is that if the new settlers cut
down even a single tree, or put in a single coca plant, Gonawindua Tayrona
will call in the defoliant aircraft and destroy the farm.

The destruction would not, of course, be of just one farm. A whole region
would be blasted. The indigenous people themselves would be victims.
Calling in the defoliants would be a Doomsday scenario the guardians of
the earth threatening to destroy it themselves. It is their equivalent of
the nuclear deterrent mutually assured destruction. So far, they say, it
has worked.

A Matter Of Land

And they are still determined to continue with their own programme of
acquiring land. The last President's promise to purchase a swathe of land
down to the sea was, of course, never fulfilled, but gradually a connected
line of farms has been assembled between two river valleys. The next target
is a narrow strip, two and a half miles long, between the road and the sea
that includes the beach. Nominally prime agricultural land (though the plan
is not to put it into production), it is the most expensive purchase in
their minds, too expensive for the Nature Conservancy project. But in terms
of restoring the overall spiritual landscape of the Sierra, and allowing
the Mamas to conduct their work, it is seen as fundamental. The lands that
are bought are owned communally, but the Mamas decide who will live and
work on the new farms. In some cases, where the farms were producing
commercial coffee, the new farmers have continued production, though using
only organic methods, and have sold their crops. This has created a new
situation: a society that was relatively egalitarian in material terms has
begun to develop a class structure. There is considerable unease at this
development, and the Mamas are now considering what can be done to control
the growth of private wealth and prevent the existing social structure from
being wrecked. It does look as though the days of the private ownership of
crops may be coming to an end.

Encouraged by government education programmes and a buoyant market, other
farmers have also turned to organic coffee production. Shrewd dealers are
buying up this production, from settlers, Arhuacos, Arsarios and Kogis, and
marketing it as 'Kogi organic coffee'. This too is one of the consequences
of the film, and it annoys the Kogi. Their identity, they feel, has become
a commercial commodity in other peoples' hands. Besides, they think people
must assume that they are producing all this coffee themselves and becoming
very rich. It annoys the Arsario and Arhuaco too. The film made the Kogi
famous, and has given the world the impression that Arhuaco and Arsario do
not exist. This makes for some uneasiness. It helps to account for
Arregoces' feeling that the film might not have been a very clever idea
after all.

The money from the World Bank, millions of dollars, is a loan to the
Colombian Government, and is managed by the Fondacion ProSierra Nevada, an
organisation created by Juan Mayr, who is now Minister for the Environment.
None of this money may be used for land purchase, a situation that baffles
and angers Gonawindua Tayrona. They are also extremely uncomfortable with
the notion of financing 'sustainable development', and challenge the
concept of 'development' on which it is based. The Arhuaco leaders, who are
fully familiar with the issues of globalisation and corporate capitalism
that lie behind 'development', are taking the lead in this political
discussion. But they clearly speak for all the indigenous leaders whom I
met, who share the view that the plan in question was drawn up without
reference to them. 'You are stitching a bag, and say that we are being
consulted on what it will be like. But you only consult us when the bag is
complete and it is time to fit the handle. We should be consulted from the
very first stitch.'

There is a strong feeling that the indigenous people have to take
conceptual control. They have to define 'development' in a way that is
compatible with their own beliefs. They also believe that establishing a
proper frontier between their world and ours means that they must become
gatekeepers of information as well as territory. The major current
undertaking of Gonawindua Tayrona is to create a Documentation Centre that
will enable them to do this.

In 1988, when I first visited the Sierra, the Kogi had only the most
minimal knowledge of the outside world. They do not have a written
language. And though they insisted on a written contract as the basis for
the film, and dictated its contents, which were shrewd and sophisticated,
it had to be written down by a Colombian government official, and 'signed'
with fingerprints.

Now things are a little different. Most of the Kogi still have no office
skills though some do. And an increasing number of Arhuacos and Arsarios
have had decent educations, a few to degree level. Two years ago, I was
asked if the Tairona Heritage Trust could supply Gonawindua with a
highpowered computer, a sophisticated mapping programme and training
courses. We obtained a grant from a charity called Avina, but were
reluctant to actually spend the money until Gonawindua was able to
establish regular email contact with us. Now that has happened, and the
project has been set in motion. An indigenous map of the Sierra will be
created which will order information in a different way from that which is
being imposed by the Younger Brother. What that will mean, and how a
traditional culture can shape and use 21st century technology, will be
fascinating to see. Assuming, of course, that it can be done.

There was one other purpose to my visit. Part of the University of Rome
project had been to develop printed material in Spanish using stories told
by the Mamas. A small number of pamphlets were produced under the title
Words of the Mamas, which were used to provide Kogi children with reading
material in Spanish from their own culture. These stories are, in their raw
form, very obscure and hard to make sense of, but the Mamas relate them as
a way of helping children learn about their own society, and how to think.

We agreed some years ago that I should attempt to translate and elucidate
these stories in English, to make them accessible to a wider audience.
Younger Brother would be given some idea of the mode of thought that the
Mamas want to encourage, and which they believe must be encouraged if the
world is to survive. 1 was returning with my text, to read it back to them
in Spanish.

This is where Arregoces' doubts really came to the fore. We had begun by
discussing my explanations of the tales, their metaphorical interpretation
and moral significance. 1 had also described the relationship between some
of the Words of the Mamas and material from Greek and Biblical sources. And
then the deeper issues began to emerge. Do we really want to be known,
opened up, exposed? We are an oral culture; we speak to each other face to
face. What happens when our words are detached from that encounter? Who
reads a book, and what happens when they read it? Are people going to be
given new ways to damage us and profit from us?

For Sale

That has been one consequence of the film. The Kogi have become a
marketable commodity. They are aware of a character based in Arizona who
travels the world giving workshops on 'Kogi telepathy', teaching that the
Mamas speak only a telepathic language and communicate through him. Whether
what is being sold is Kogi telepathy, Kogi coffee, or 'Kogi Experience'
trips into the jungle, they feel it all amounts to a theft of their public
identity for profit, and one which could not have happened if the film had
not been made.

Compared with the catastrophes that afflict most other indigenous people,
the Kogi seem to have done pretty well. Four hundred years of experience in
surviving Younger Brother have taught them to think very carefully about
what they are doing, to be proactive where possible, to be discreet and
show united respect for their leaders. These are probably the fundamentals
of survival, and even in these terrible times, when the paramilitaries and
guerrillas are intruding on a wholly new and frightening scale, one should
not be pessimistic.

Until you look at the larger picture.

The disintegration of civil society, like the appearance of new diseases
among humans and animals, is understood by the Mamas to be a natural
consequence of the sickness of nature itself. The change in the climate,
the drying up of rivers, the melting of the snowfields, all these things
are symptoms of the deep malaise caused by Younger Brother's rape and
mutilation of the world. 'You are cutting out her eyes and ears, you are
tearing out her veins; the Mother is weak and in pain. You are bringing the
world to an end.'

I do not think that the film changed that. Nor do they.