Guardians of the Amazon: A Peaceful Indigenous Protest in the Heart of Brasília
I’d been living in Brasília for barely a year, so the city still felt fresh and unfamiliar. When I heard that Indigenous groups had been camping on the Esplanada, beginning their daily march around five in the afternoon, I grabbed my camera, determined to see it for myself. It was a warm day in April 2022, and the sun was already dipping low, setting the stage for something that felt both urgent and overlooked.
Driving into the city center, I could sense a calm intensity in the air. Drums and chatter guided me up the Eixo Monumental, where people in vivid feather headdresses, intricate tattoos, and striking face paint were gathering. The late afternoon sun lit up every color—reds, yellows, blues—and gave the concrete structures around us a softer glow than usual. Beneath any hint of pageantry was a quiet resolve: this was a peaceful protest, but with a clear, purposeful message.
I moved among small groups, capturing photos of elders talking with younger protesters, banners referencing land rights, and children taking it all in. Many participants were there because of the “Marco Temporal,” a law stating Indigenous peoples could only claim territory they had occupied by 1988—never mind that many communities were displaced long before then. Groups like APIB and COIAB had organized these demonstrations, highlighting how Indigenous rights and the protection of the Amazon rainforest are deeply connected. Their perspective was straightforward: what happens to them and their lands will ultimately affect everyone.
As they approached the National Congress, some chanted, others sang in languages I didn’t recognize. Yet the demands were crystal clear: respect, demarcation, and a plea to safeguard the Amazon. Many had traveled great distances to be here, but the issues they spoke of—illegal mining, deforestation, disregard for ancestral lands—didn’t stop at city limits or national borders. When the march reached its endpoint, the sky bled into pinks and oranges. Drum circles echoed beneath the modern lines of the Congress building, while children raced around on the grass, full of energy even after a long day. Elders sat down to rest, their faces reflecting both fatigue and quiet determination.
Driving home afterward, I couldn’t shake the thought of how this peaceful, powerful demonstration had received so little notice beyond Brazil. Though new to Brasília, I was certain moments like these mattered not just for the city or the country, but for everyone who depends on the Amazon—and that’s all of us. What unfolds on this sweeping avenue at sunset is more than just a local march; it’s a vivid reminder that people, heritage, and the natural world are inseparable, and defending one means defending them all.
