(Photo: Etica e Coragem/Ethics and Courage, Cf.)

As I finish up my work in Manaus and thereabouts, some last thoughts on current flashpoints of conflict, the resolution of which may point the way to the Amazon’s future—for better or worse.

In an area this vast, there, of course, are many disputes simmering at once: the drug-running that bedevils badly-policed border areas, ensnaring indigenous people into their economies, such as at the tri-border frontier (Brazil-Colombia-Peru) around Tabatinga in the west; the soy distribution terminal built by multinational Cargill in Santarém that environmentalists argue will induce even greater destruction in the state of Para as more rainforest is cleared in favour of soy plantations (Greenpeace has pursued an injunction to halt operations at the terminal).

But the two that were most talked about during my stay were the ongoing legal battle to recognize a demarcated territory for the indigenous people at Raposa Serra do Sol in Roraima, adjacent to the border with Venezuela, and the rehabilitation of an old highway project that would connect Manaus with the rest of the country.

Raposa Serra do Sol was declared an indigenous reserve by former president Henrique Cardoso in 1998, but the necessary legislation wasn’t signed into law until Lula did so in 2005. The demarcation would force several major rice growing operations to leave the territory, but they’ve fought tooth and nail to resist their eviction despite provisions of compensation. There have been some violent episodes over the years between the politically-connected agri-businesses and Indians; while a Supreme Court challenge on behalf of the farmers was in the works, the general who commands the Brazilian army unit in Amazonia attacked the government’s Indian policy, suggesting he would refuse to order his troops remove the farmers if required to do so.

A couple weeks ago the Supreme Court upheld the demarcation and the farmers have run out of legal options. Many feared further violence, but according to one source who was just in the area, the plantation owners appear to be backing down; they’re negotiating with Indian leaders for an additional month to shut operations, and in some instances selling their equipment locally.

If the situation does wind down peacefully, it could be landmark moment. Brazil has a habit of passing laws and constitutional resolutions it has little ability, or sometimes enthusiasm, to enforce. Paulo Adario, director of the Greenpeace office in Manaus, joked to me that, “Brazil loves to have the biggest constitution in the world, but when it comes to enforcement or enactment there is no one to fucking do it.” There are several tribes awaiting resolution of demarcation disputes and the redistribution of land they invariably require. The Supreme Court ruling may finally bring some nascent semblance of law and order, and respect for Indian land claims, to the region.

The other development, the highway project, actually brought Lula to Manaus while I was there. The capital of Amazonas state is presently connected to the rest of the country only by river or air. In the 1970s the military government embarked on a series of grand highway building projects in Amazonia, among them the BR-319 linking Manaus with Porto Velho, about 800 kilometres to the south (from Porto Velho you can drive to Cuiabá, Brasilia and the rest of southern Brazil). But the highway was little used and the forest, as is its want, eventually took it back.

Most regular people in Manaus I surveyed were unreservedly in favour of the road, arguing it would make it easier for them to visit family in the south and leverage more development in the area. Adario at Greenpeace, along with other environmentalists, insist the road would have marginal economic impact (a point backed up by several studies) while opening up what remains one of Amazonia’s last pristine quadrants to logging and ranching. Of the six states considered part of the larger Amazon basin, Amazonas is the least deforested at about 3 percent (Para is as much as forty percent deforested according to some estimates). Adario points to Para state and the highway that runs south from Sanatarem to Cuiabá. On either side of that highway, for fifteen miles inland, the forest is mostly gone. He expects the same to happen should the BR-319 get the go-ahead.

Halting the BR-319 may be a losing battle. There’s a lot of popular support, and the revitalization of the highway is a pet project of Lula’s Minister of Transportation, who is from here and has ambitions to run for governor of Amazonas. Making the road happen would give him something to campaign on.

If there’s one thing I’ll miss about Manaus and Amazônia, it’s the fish—the best fresh water peixe I’ve enjoyed anywhere. Generally fatty but not rich, served lightly fried with little fuss with or sauces (a little lime or hot sauce suffices), they come in tastily exotic names like pirarucu, tambaqui, filhote. My favourite joint was a stall run by two busy ladies at the docks across from the wholesale food distribution market. Shipmen and dockworkers bench themselves here for overflowing plates of pirarucu, rice and beans, and salsa for about 5 Reais a pop ($3 CAD). I went almost everyday, sometimes treated by locals to bottles of guarana (a local fizzy pop derived from a berry with caffeine-like properties) just for showing up.