By Elielson Almeida, journalist and member of Pororoka

In the Papagaio Village, in the Barra Parauá region, about six hours by boat from Santarém, the Tapajós is not merely a landscape: it is a sacred place. It is where people fish, bathe, celebrate rituals, and pass on ancestral knowledge that is not found in books.

“The river is part of us. We are part of it. It’s the same as the forest. One thing is connected to the other,” summarizes Chief Gilson Tupinambá, a leader of the Pindorama territory, which brings together 28 villages across approximately 350,000 hectares. He speaks with the precision of someone who knows the land well: “The river is our road, our transportation, where we get our food. There are beaches, fish, the flood season and the dry season. In the dry season, one kind of fish comes; in the rainy season, another. All of this organizes our lives.”

Chief Gilson Tupinambá. To him, the river is the main constant and way of life for the indigenous people of the Lower Tapajós. Photo: Gilson Tupinambá

But for the traditional communities of the Lower Tapajós, this balance is directly threatened by a set of political decisions that treat the Tapajós merely as a logistical route for transporting agribusiness products from the region, not as a living territory.

When the river begins to be treated as a logistical corridor

Decree No. 12,600, published in August of last year by the Federal Government, enabled studies for the concession and privatization of the country’s waterways, including a 250-kilometer stretch of the Tapajós River between Santarém and Itaituba.

The main concern of the communities today revolves around the intensification of interventions in the river, especially those associated with dredging and the increase in traffic of large vessels. “The Tapajós is wide, but it’s not deep. Only we know how to navigate the channels. Now imagine thousands of barges passing through here. It will disturb the riverbed, it will disturb areas already contaminated with mercury, it will disturb everything,” the chief explains.

For him, the concern is not only environmental, but also about safety. “There have already been accidents where barges hit fishermen’s canoes. We set longlines in the middle of the river to catch fish. How will that work with thousands of barges passing by? And crossing at night will be even more dangerous. Barges don’t stop, they don’t respect canoes.”

However, the residents of the Tapajós were not consulted by the Brazilian government. The administrative process of the decree ignored a fundamental right: free, prior, and informed consultation, guaranteed by Convention 169 of the International Labour Organization (ILO), to which Brazil is a signatory. According to the chief, even the consultation protocols developed by the peoples of the territory themselves were not respected.

“All of this is threatened by this decree. We went to Belém and were told we would be consulted. But we do not want to be consulted with the decree already in place. It makes no sense to consult if there is already a decree.”

The indigenous communities say that there wasn't a free, prior, and informed consultation, guaranteed by law, prior to the beginning of the dredging. Photo: Conselho Indígena Tapajós e Arapiuns.

This complaint is not an isolated case. It adds to a recurring pattern in the Amazon: large infrastructure projects advance through institutional channels while the communities directly affected remain excluded from decision-making.

From the riverbank to the Cargill port

Community dissatisfaction did not remain confined to the banks of the Tapajós. On January 22, Indigenous leaders from the Lower Tapajós occupied the Cargill port in Santarém in a symbolic act against the dredging of the river. For the communities, the multinational represents more than just a company operating in the city: it symbolizes a development project that directly threatens the ways of life of traditional peoples.

Cargill is a private U.S.-based multinational corporation, considered one of the largest privately held companies in the world. It operates in the food, agriculture, and nutrition sectors. For the Indigenous peoples of the Lower Tapajós, the privatization of stretches of the river represents a strategic advantage for Cargill, particularly in terms of logistical efficiency, reduced operating costs, and the strengthening of the waterway corridor, expanding exports to China and Europe.

The company’s presence along the banks of the Tapajós River is also criticized by Indigenous communities in the region, who denounce socio-environmental impacts and the use of public resources to benefit private interests alone. Traditional peoples also question how the company was established in the municipality, after the multinational won the bid to build the Port of Santarém in 1999 and began operations in 2003 without an environmental license.

“This company is the third-largest multinational in the world, an American company. And for us, Cargill symbolizes the death and destruction of our territories. It is because of Cargill that the Tapajós River is being privatized. It is because of Cargill that Ferrogrão is being pushed forward as a megaproject. It is because of this company that countless ports are planned for this region,” said Indigenous leader Auricélia Arapiuns during the mobilization.

Indigenous people from the Lower Tapajós occupy Cargill's port in Santarém (PA), protesting against the river's dredging. Photo: Conselho Indígena Tapajós e Arapiuns.

Ferrogrão is a planned railway project intended to connect grain-producing regions of Brazil’s Central-West, especially Mato Grosso, to the ports of the Northern Arc in the state of Pará. Its main objective is to facilitate the transport of agricultural commodities such as soybeans and corn, reduce transportation costs, and increase the competitiveness of Brazilian agribusiness in the international market.

At approximately 930 kilometers in length, the railway is expected to connect Sinop (MT) to Miritituba, in southwestern Pará. Despite the economic benefits highlighted by supporters of the project, Ferrogrão is controversial due to potential environmental impacts, risks to conservation units and Indigenous lands, and its direct benefits to large agricultural corporations.

In her assessment, the expansion of agribusiness and logistical infrastructure does not serve local populations. “Who eats soybeans here? We don’t eat soybeans. They say agribusiness sustains the country, but for us it kills us. Everything leaves here and nothing stays for the communities,” she said.

“The Tapajós River is not a commodity”

Criticism of the development model also appears at a deeper level in the words of other leaders from the Lower Tapajós. According to Paulo Tupinambá, who took part in the mobilizations, the debate goes beyond infrastructure or environmental impact: it is about recognizing the very meaning of the river for the peoples who live in the region.

For him, the river cannot be treated as a commodity or an economic resource, but as a living being, part of the collective existence of forest peoples. “We are talking about something much deeper. The river is not a commodity, the river is not a resource. The river is a living being like us, it is our grandfather. It is what gives us food, it has been our companion forever,” he said during a public address to authorities.

He explains that the current degradation of the river—caused by mining, mercury contamination, the expansion of soy farming, the opening of pastures, and pressure on conservation units—also represents a violation of the dignity of the peoples who depend on it to exist.

In his view, defending the Tapajós also means defending the human dignity of the Indigenous peoples of the region, since their identity, territory, and existence are deeply intertwined. “This appeal is not only for those of us who are alive today. It is for the memory of our ancestors, our parents, our grandparents who are in this river. Defending the Tapajós is defending our existence,” he concluded.

To whom does the future of a river belong to?

Back in Papagaio Village, archaeological research conducted in the region has identified evidence of human presence dating back around 4,000 years. “There is technical research that proves it. This gives us original rights to the land, which is a right that does not expire. More than four thousand years of history are being threatened by a momentary business deal,” explains Chief Tupinambá.

For the chief, the continued presence of the people in the territory was not accidental, but the result of knowledge passed down by elders across generations. He reports that elders taught not only fishing techniques, but also respect for the river, for enchanted beings, for sacred places, and for the territory itself. According to him, it was this attitude of care and resistance that ensured the preservation of the Tapajós until today, and now it is up to the current generation to continue the struggle to protect the river and the community’s way of life.

“It will completely change our way of life. It will become very difficult. But we will not accept it. We will fight with all our strength.” For the chief, what is at stake is not just a specific project, but who has the right to decide the future of the Tapajós.