Indigenous Peoples and Conservation Organizations
Indigenous Peoples and Conservation Organizations
Indigenous Peoples and Conservation Organizations
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76 The Sirionó in Bolivia<br />
more than half a century of dependence on<br />
“benevolent” outsiders <strong>and</strong> by the influx of NGOs<br />
that have descended on High Hill since the presidential<br />
decree. Many have come with their own<br />
agendas, offering services that sound good but do<br />
not necessarily meet the needs of the Sirionó or<br />
prepare them to run their own projects once the<br />
short-term funding runs out. This case study<br />
looks at a long-term effort that is under way to<br />
help the Sirionó develop an integrated forest management<br />
plan to hold on to their l<strong>and</strong> <strong>and</strong> use its<br />
resources wisely. This effort is still in its early<br />
phases, <strong>and</strong> some of its components, including<br />
wildlife management, are focused on research to<br />
help the community recover its knowledge of the<br />
environment <strong>and</strong> adapt scientific concepts, when<br />
appropriate, to meet local needs.<br />
The story of this effort to put the Sirionó in<br />
charge of their own destiny is broken into three<br />
parts. The first gives a brief overview of local<br />
ecosystems, social organization, <strong>and</strong> resource-use<br />
patterns, <strong>and</strong> the implications of new tenure <strong>and</strong><br />
usufruct legislation. The second looks more<br />
closely at the forest management initiative <strong>and</strong> its<br />
wildlife component. Finally, lessons are offered<br />
that may be of use to others. The Sirionó are a<br />
small group, their territory is modest, <strong>and</strong> it sits<br />
on the far fringes of the more biodiverse parts of<br />
Bolivia’s Amazon Basin. But the Sirionó are fortunate<br />
to have what so many other groups in<br />
those areas lack—a presidential decree that<br />
allows them to begin turning the dream of a<br />
homel<strong>and</strong> into a lasting reality. They are part of<br />
a much larger indigenous movement, <strong>and</strong> what is<br />
learned in Ibiato can be applied elsewhere <strong>and</strong><br />
become a precedent for persuading a reluctant<br />
government to give others the same opportunity.<br />
Lessons are also being learned about how conservation<br />
NGOs can build a sustained dialogue with<br />
indigenous peoples to build partnerships in which<br />
economic viability <strong>and</strong> environmental stewardship<br />
go h<strong>and</strong> in h<strong>and</strong>.<br />
II. An Overview<br />
2.1 Ecosystems of the Sirionó Territory<br />
Sirionó ancestors chose their foraging grounds<br />
wisely. As nomads who roamed a wide belt east<br />
of the Andes, they knew that the transition zone<br />
between the forested Chiquitano highl<strong>and</strong>s <strong>and</strong><br />
the savannas of the Beni Basin was rich in the<br />
motacú palm (Attalea phalerata), which was<br />
their principal carbohydrate source (Holmberg<br />
1969). The area is abundant with game, as<br />
wildlife also feed on the palm, which produces<br />
fruit year-round. The density of these palms is<br />
not accidental, but is a sign of intensive pre-<br />
Columbian activity by indigenous peoples<br />
(Balée 1987, 1988, 1989), who nurtured the<br />
plant as a wild crop. Confirmation of that presence<br />
can be seen in the many human-made hills<br />
<strong>and</strong> canals carved across the region (Denevan<br />
1966; Townsend 1995, 1996). The village of<br />
Ibiato is built on one of these hills, rising about<br />
80 meters above the surrounding floodplain.<br />
Visible reminders of past human habitation are<br />
evident in the pottery shards littering more than<br />
20 other hills elsewhere in the territory. The<br />
Sirionó do not remember the people who once<br />
inhabited this zone <strong>and</strong> are probably not<br />
descended from them, since the Sirionó language<br />
is linked to those of the great<br />
Tupi–Guarani migrations entering the area prior<br />
to the arrival of the Spaniards (Holmberg 1969).<br />
Although they have roamed the zone for much<br />
longer, the Sirionó have been rooted to the patch<br />
around Ibiato for little more than half a century,<br />
some three generations. Nonetheless they know it<br />
intimately, as their names for the mission’s 36<br />
l<strong>and</strong>marks indicate. Some of the names refer to<br />
relatively recent events: Ama Nguichia is where<br />
“the woman was struck by lightning.” Other<br />
names come from the particular resource endemic<br />
to the spot: Tambatá savanna bears the moniker of<br />
the walking catfish (Hoplosternum thoracatum)<br />
that is common there. The accumulated knowledge<br />
crystallized in the language includes an ability<br />
to describe the great diversity of habitats<br />
found in this region. The area of the San Pablo<br />
Forest that has yet to be demarcated is less well<br />
known by living Sirionó.<br />
The l<strong>and</strong>scape delineated by the presidential<br />
decree is primarily of two types. Some 46 percent<br />
is flooding forest, <strong>and</strong> 48 percent is flooding<br />
grassl<strong>and</strong> or swamp. The remaining patches consist<br />
of artificial hills, gallery forests, <strong>and</strong> related<br />
agricultural l<strong>and</strong>. Even though soils may be variable,<br />
over 70 percent of the territory floods for<br />
two to six months a year. Some forested areas<br />
only flood in peak rainfall years, <strong>and</strong> the water<br />
may drain in only days or weeks, making agriculture<br />
possible most of the time.