At the border of the Tocantins River in Brazil, on the outskirts of the Amazon rainforest, fourteen indian tribes competed in the First Traditional Indian Games of Pará (I Jogos Tradicionais Indigenas do Pará). From 15–20 June 2004, 470 indian men, women and children played ancient and modern games, such as soccer, archery, spear throwing, tug–of–war, canoeing, swimming and running. Some gave stunning demonstrations of traditional sports played only by their own tribes, like the tree–log relay race of the Gavião indians, where men carry 200–pound (90 kilogram) logs on their back, or the hockey sport of the Kayapo indians called Ronkrã.
What should one expect from such an event? An Amazon carnival? A beautiful parade of feathers and body–painting? A thrilling competition between “real” athletes trained by the jungle? Or a simple portrait of people trying to find their place in the world?
More than a sports event, it was an opportunity for the daily audience of 3,000 to see how Brazil’s indians are struggling to relate to modern society and each other – protecting their own culture as they assimilate to urban life.
Assurini indians live in these brick wall houses. They are considered a "rich" tribe, because they receive regular compensation money from the nearby hydroelectric power plant in Tucurui.
In most tribes only the young men speak Portuguese. Women and the elderly speak only native languages and have difficulty integrating in cities or even communicating with other tribes. Add this to the abuse of trust that took place in government–led colonisation of the Amazon in the 1970s, which left many indigenous people dead or landless, and it goes some way towards explaining why most participants at the games were so jumpy (and grumpy) at first contact with someone like me.
It’s worth remembering that these young athletes would have been young warriors no more than a few decades ago. The Kayapo always walk around with their bordunas, a weapon that resembles a baseball bat, and actually the Xavantes tribe wasn’t even invited to the games because they are said to be troublemakers.
Assurini indians wait for the beginning of the games.
My first encounter with the Kayapo was just after they had come off their bus. They were singing and dancing, and I ran in between them to photograph. I instantly found myself surrounded by a dozen guys with bordunas looking at me like I was stealing something. I didn’t take any pictures, and one of the many anthropologists at the game mocked me and said I was lucky to come out alive. A few days later I was joking around with those same warriors who probably hadn’t been far from hitting me once or twice with their clubs.
The fact is that indigenous people in Brazil don’t want to be seen as human peacocks. Before the opening ceremony, when all 470 indians were being painted in traditional patterns, one young “warrior” started mimicking the anthropologists: “Ooh, I love your culture! You have such rich feather art! Look how beautiful your body painting is…” The whole tribe was laughing in stitches.
A Gaviao athlete gets painted for the opening ceremony of the games.
There is a very subtle balance between exposing their culture in order to secure a space in society and being perceived as a freak show. So far, the indian games that have been organised around Brazil over the past decade, to virtually no interest from the press, have been the best effort to integrate jungle and urban culture.
The majority of Brazil’s indigenous peoples live on protected land, or terras indígenas, a system devised in the 1980s by the Brazilian Federal Indian Agency (Funai) in order to protect them. Unfortunately it has also had the consequence of isolating indians from wider Brazilian society.
Indians in Brazil don’t have the right to vote, and regular laws don’t apply to them. This means they are protected from legal prosecution for actions that correspond with tribal traditions, but it is also a trade–off in terms of rights and recognition.
But it’s clear the indians have very immediate needs when it comes to modern life: on the first night of the games (to cite just one silly example) the entire stock of toilet paper “disappeared” from the dormitories; the Styrofoam coolers vanished too.
A Kayapo girl sketches traditional designs in the dust on a bus window.
After rough times in the 1960s and 1970s during the development boost of the Amazon, and later with Funai’s tight control of their lands in the 1980s (you need permission from Funai even to enter indian territory), maybe the time has come to let the indigenous communities develop a stronger connection to our “civilised” world. Something will definitely be lost behind in the process, but these people shouldn’t be left aside.
A Kayapo soccer player holds his niece.
The photos that accompany this article provoked diverse reactions in the American press. A major American sports magazine decided at the last moment not to print the image of the painted Kayapo women playing tug–of–war because they decided their exposed nipples were too risqué. The art director of a New York fashion magazine thought some of the indians’ shorts were really hip; “too bad we have been publishing ‘Brazil’ nonstop for the last year,” she said. If it hadn’t been for that, maybe the Kayapo–look would have become the coolest new Brazilian trend of New York summer 2005.
Kayapo women compete in a game of tug-of-war.
The entrance of the arena that was built especially for the games in Tucurui, a small city only known for its hydroelectric power plant.
The Kayapo and Xicrim tribes play soccer against each other.
Spear-throwing competition moments before a thunderstorm erupted.
Xipaya indians demonstrate traditional wrestling.
A Kayapo girl named Kokojuriti swims to victory in the river swimming competition.
A traditional Gaviao log relay race where men pass 200-pound logs to each other as they run.
Kayapo women dance at the closing ceremony.
