“Kobeni, Kobeni, Narotari, obambaroataka, narotari, niavagitacharina, okasanka, gitetapakira kobeni” (What would happen to us if nature did not exist, we would die, we would not exist). – Machiguenga Song
There are moments that you keep in your memory, frozen in time. They remain there, persistent, summing up a long trip. The moment etched into my mind from our trip to explore the Camisea project’s impact in 11 Machiguenga communities of the Urubamba region, in the jungles of Cuzco, takes me to Camaná. A cool, calm morning after a rainy night. The smell of humid earth. A communal assembly next to a soccer field. Traditional cushmas, confused among jeans and synthetic polos. Casiano Jeremias shows two small cans of tuna with tomato, a little bit of rice and onion. He does not speak Spanish; it’s not necessary. His anguish explains his complaint about the lack of fish resulting from the last spill. “This is what they give us for contaminating the environment,” he says.
The 45-year-old native points. “When have the Machiguenga eaten onions? When have they eaten garlic? You, the white people, do not understand us; we like to fish. We only want the fish to return to the river,” he insists. His words cover resentment. Except for a few exceptions, penetration of Western culture into the Machiguenga communities has been abrupt and violent.
First the rubbermen and their greed for latex, then the landowners and their voracious appetite for forests in order to convert them into cultivatable land. And always the aggression. The natives were exploited as unskilled laborers, traded in for chickens and sold to the highest bidder, until midway through the 20th Century, when the Dominican Missions were established. It was the Dominicans who played such a fundamental role in the social changes experienced by the Machiguenga people. The Dominicans organized them into communities and provided them education and health.
Only later, during the 1980s, when Shell Company discovered gas deposits, did the State arrive to tell them: the exploitation of these reserves will not damage the environment. “They said that the project would not harm us, that on the contrary, it would improve our quality of life,” remembers Job Korinti, head of the Kirigueti community.
But Shell did not stay, because it never came to an agreement with the Government. Recently, at the beginning of this decade, the Government granted a concession for the exploitation and transportation of gas in the Amazonian zone to two operators: Pluspetrol and Transportadora de Gas del Perú (TGP).
The Machiguengas perceived the investment positively despite the fact the majority did not understand the details or the parameters of the project. It was the 22nd of November 2004, when a piece of news disturbed the tranquility to which this society is accustomed. The pipeline had broken. Four months ago tranquility had still not returned when the pipeline ruptured for the fourth time: 2 thousand barrels of Liquid Natural Gas (LNG) contaminated the river. (The two previous spills had taken place in the mountains).
Flights That Disturb
The last week of February we set off towards Cuzco, and from there, on a highway more theoretical than real; after 24 hours of traveling, we arrived in Ivochote, the point of the Urubamba River for all embarkation to Machiguenga communities. At the port, Marcial Shiviturori awaited us, the experienced driver that crosses the dangerous rapids of the Mainique River without fright, even during this season of vigorous rain. It would be him to whom we would entrust our lives from that day forward each time the ferocious waters of the Urubamba tried to prevent our crossing.
It was 8am in Poyentimari, the first community that we visited. During the night, the white noise of the insects accompanied our sleep, but later, a more persistent sound accompanied us, that of a helicopter flying through the sky of the Amazon and the motor of a boat in the river. With the clatter, the first to flee were the birds. Community resident Bautista Goshi later told us that the animals of the mountain have also fled. Before, in order to hunt a peccary, one had to walk three hours; now it requires two days.
The same thing occurs in other communities. The animals have vanished. During the entire trip, we managed to see only one fish. This loss condemns the Machiguengas to malnutrition since 75% of their protein comes from the river.
We are Dying
The medical assistance received by the affected communities after the spill was insufficient. The native peoples assert that not one of them was given a medical diagnosis. “We don’t know if we are dying…I think we are dying little by little,” says Juanito Perez, native of the Mayapo community. “The people don’t know if they are sick or healthy. Why don’t the doctors come?”
Until a few years ago, ‘Ovegaga tanaka’ meant “everything is ruined” in the Machiguenga language. After the spill, however, this phrase acquired a more precise definition: “the environment is contaminated.”
Last November 25, the natives of Camaná, Puerto Huallana and Mayapo fished in abundance. They ate doncella and zungaro [types of fish] in excess. Only hours later did TGP inform them of the spill. The company, nevertheless, maintains that it first had to confirm the escape of the liquids.
Nobody eats fish in abundance anymore. Carlos Perez, native of Mayapo, says that he has to leave at four in the morning and walk to the source of the river to find any fish. If he is lucky, he will return in the late afternoon with three mojarritos fish to feed his six children. This nourishment will supplement, to a certain extent, the supplies given to them after the spill.
The environmental impact accentuated economic differences within the community. The situation is less difficult for those who have outside income (merchants or company workers). They can buy food products from fortuitous merchants. The others, like Carlos Perez, will continue walking for hours in search of a single fish.
Before, all of the Machiguenga people hunted, fished, and ate what their land provided. Before, they did not have the opportunity to leave and study abroad or go to a better health center. Now, they seem condemned to search for money in order to eat. And those that manage to do this study in Quillabamba or Sepahua, and work in the health centers of these cities.
More Risks
The risk of river contamination exists, not only because of spills, but also because of river boat transportation. Last year in Kirigueti, a speeding boat ran over a young girl, drowning her. Since then, transportation rules have become more strict.
Matías Ríos, head of the Camisea community, recognizes that another important issue is health. He is not mistaken. Health workers in various communities have diagnosed some locals as having sexually-transmitted diseases. Ríos explains that while it’s true companies have generated work, the risk is that without the State, this can provoke a social problem. “There is a lot of money, but it doesn’t make it here.” And he’s right. The negligence of the State is such that it doesn’t even ensure that operating companies comply with environmental obligations.
Stats:
800 Machiguengas live in the Urubamba region
17 deaths in the zone denounced by the Defensoría del Pueblo [Human Rights Ombudsman’s Office], which has requested an investigation into these cases
