Eunice Paiva's Legacy for Indigenous Resistance

Brazilian writer Marcelo Rubens Paiva stood out as a grand and captivating figure during the 23 December 2024 episode of the television talk show Roda Viva. Despite the indelible marks of personal and familial tragedy, Marcelo exudes a vital joy that fuels his fight for justice. His artistic talents and multifaceted career as a writer, screenwriter, filmmaker, and journalist have made him a magnetic presence. Known for his charming wit and keen intellect, he gracefully welcomed questions from the show’s panelists. Like his mother, Eunice Paiva, Marcelo is combative and skilful, never dogmatic, yet always firm. He evokes memories of iconic Brazilian intellectuals and activists, such as Orlando Villas Bôas, Darcy Ribeiro, Ana Maria Gonçalves, and Ailton Krenak, drawing listeners in with his powerful, almost hypnotic, discourse —it seems almost a faux pas to interrupt its profound depth.
Eunice Paiva, an icon of resistance during Brazil’s military dictatorship (1964–1985), gained renewed attention with Marcelo's 2015 book and the 2024 film adaptation, both titled Ainda Estou Aqui (I'm Still Here). Among the many topics explored, these works highlight Eunice’s significant contributions as a lawyer defending the rights of Indigenous peoples. Marcelo's book goes even deeper than Walter Salles' film in exploring Eunice’s remarkable career, detailing her alliances with Indigenous leaders.

Eunice’s advocacy for Indigenous rights is a story that warrants its own dedicated book or film. However, there is one event, in which I participated, that I have never seen documented in writing, and which, in Eunice's case, could be particularly symbolic of the Indigenous cause, given the far-reaching national and international impact of I'm Still Here.
I would dare to call the episode “The opposite of 8th January 2023: pushing the glass door of the Palácio do Planalto.”
Eunice Paiva was the legal advisor to the administrative council of the Fundação Mata Virgem (FMV) from 1989 to 1992 and, until 1994, a member of its advisory board.
On 10 January 1990, she joined a delegation of activists, Indigenous leaders, and artists at the Palácio do Planalto, Brazil’s presidential palace, to demand the demarcation of 4.9 million hectares of Kayapó-Mekrãgnoti lands. Sting, the singer and founder of the Rainforest Foundation, a partner of the FMV, had promised to cover the costs of the demarcation with the revenue from his concerts, although this was the responsibility of the Brazilian state. The demonstrators included Eunice Paiva, Raoni Metuktire, Sting, Gilberto Gil, Rita Lee, Roberto de Carvalho, Arnaldo Antunes, Olympio Serra, then president of the FMV, Megaron Metuktire, director of the Xingu National Park, Jorge Terena from the Union of Indigenous Nations, along with representatives from the FMV Council, such as Carmen Junqueira, André Villas Bôas, Roberto Baruzzi, Sidney Possuelo, Walter Alves Neves, and myself, as a council member of the FMV and, later, of the Rainforest Foundation.
In a symbolic act of resistance, the delegation pushed against the glass doors of the palace. Security staff, stunned by the sight of renowned artists and Indigenous leaders asserting their rights, eventually allowed them inside. President José Sarney promised action, but President Itamar Franco only completed the demarcation in 1993.
Although the hearing was scheduled, it was awarded by the civil office head, not President José Sarney, and it seemed impossible to enter the Palace. We were blocked.
We refused to accept the prohibition, and, united, we pushed against the glass door. The security staff, stunned to see prominent artists respectfully requesting entry but forcefully pushing the glass, more symbolically than effectively, eventually gave in. Gradually, they allowed us to pass, one by one, and ultimately, all of us; even Sarney had to comply. I vividly remember being with Rita Lee, Roberto de Carvalho, and Gilberto Gil, their strong hands touching the gate of the Executive Power.
On the way to Sarney's office, Eunice stated that she wouldn’t enter—how could she shake hands with those who had allied themselves with those responsible for Rubens' assassination? We persuaded Eunice, a measured legal scholar capable of arguing and proving the Kayapó's right to the land, to join us. Sarny made a promise, but it took a long time to carry out the demarcation. President Itamar Franco officially approved it in 1993.
After January 8, 2023, the gentle push on the glass door from 1990, an act of audacity by a social and artistic movement of our Indigenous peoples, predating the national state for equality, climate, and respect, takes on new relevance. It stands in stark contrast to the coup against Lula's election, symbolising the opening of the ruler's gate and portal through the upholding of the law.
Eunice Paiva, a loyal follower, performed a necessary act to increase the visibility of the Indigenous movement.
Curiously, none of the participants have written about or spoken about this highly symbolic gesture. Rita Lee does not mention it in her excellent autobiography. I am not sure if Gilberto Gil or Arnaldo Antunes, if he was there, ever recalled it—it could have become an anthem. There is still time for those two to speak about it. Dr. Roberto Baruzzi, a remarkable advocate for Indigenous health, has passed away. I, deeply moved by the event, never wrote about it. I have shared the story countless times in conversation. At Eunice’s wake, I mentioned it to her daughter Veroca, and she had me tell it to TV Globo. I am not sure if it ever aired. While I feel the weight of being the sole guardian and witness, I cannot seem to get others to remember or share my astonishment.
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The first memory I have of Eunice Paiva is from February or March 1971, when she came to the hospital to visit my uncle Henrique Mindlin, who passed away in July. Rubens Paiva was missing, and nothing was known about him; we shared a double despair for such different reasons. Uncle Henrique was the brother-in-law of Baby Bocayuva Cunha, the brother of Aunt Vera. I think this is how he became friends with Rubens and Eunice. They all lived in Rio. Although I am uncertain if my parents ever met Rubens, they have maintained a connection with Eunice for many decades.
The closeness between my parents and myself with her, and later with her four daughters and son, grew when they moved to São Paulo, and she became a lawyer. My parents included her in their circle of friends, and they saw each other frequently. Marcelo is a friend of my sister Sonia; he used to play guitar with her at my parents' house. The two of them studied at the Santa Cruz School.
At the Pro-Indigenous Commission of São Paulo (CPI-SP), founded in 1978, Eunice’s presence was striking. It was at Eunice’s house that I met Indigenous leader Ailton Krenak, perhaps around this time. Eunice insisted on introducing me to "a brilliant, exceptional young man, an Indigenous person from Minas Gerais." The CPI-SP was the hub of debates, partnerships, Indigenous figures, and lessons for the anthropologist-in-training that I was, a follower of Carmen Junqueira.
Between 1983 and 1987, Eunice was part of a team of consultants, serving as a legal expert, tasked with evaluating the Indigenous situation of the peoples affected by the Polonoroeste Programme (1983-1987). I was the coordinator of evaluation at the Foundation for the Institute of Economic Research-USP (Fipe-USP), the academic institution that hired us and provided resources for the trips to Indigenous communities. The World Bank and the Brazilian government partially funded the Polonoroeste Programme, which aimed to pave the BR-364 highway between Cuiabá and Porto Velho and support colonisation projects. Brazil allocated a small portion of the funds for the benefit of Indigenous peoples and the environment, both of which the project impacted and degraded. Anthropologists like Robert Goodland and activists successfully negotiated this minimum clause in the bank. The allocation was insufficient in light of the economic goals of Polonoroeste, which was conceived as if the region were uninhabited, as if there were no Indigenous ancestral lands, other inhabitants, peoples, riverside communities, quilombos, or a vast forest and environment to preserve. Large construction companies controlled the economic system, overlooking the social aspect. It was within the framework of this evaluation that Eunice produced expert opinions for the Indigenous cause, such as the one analysing illegal logging in Indigenous lands or the crucial report for the demarcation of the Zoró Indigenous Land in 1987.
The evaluation team's studies and results, which included and transmitted the voice of Indigenous peoples and their claims, led to the demarcation of more than 30 affected peoples and the defence of previously ignored isolated peoples. The Fipe-USP evaluation gained recognition for its collaboration with anthropologist Maritta Koch-Weser, who oversaw the World Bank's environmental program in the region. Together, they successfully halted the institution's funding in 1985, ensuring that four lands—Urueu-au-au, Zoró, IkolenGavião/Arara Karo, and Nambiquara—were demarcated and free from invasions.
In 1985, Eunice Paiva published a book, co-authored with Carmen Junqueira, titled O Estado Contra o Índio (The State Against the Indian), which was published by PUC-SP. It remains as relevant today as it was then. It highlights a state where large economic interests and wealth concentration dominate, with little understanding of Indigenous life, which is centred around community and collective values.
In 1987, Eunice Paiva, along with Carmen Junqueira, Rinaldo Arruda, Mauro Leonel, myself, and other scholars, founded the non-governmental organisation IAMÁ (Institute of Anthropology and Environment). The organisation, which was active until 2001, had a strong presence in Rondônia and Mato Grosso, as well as a national focus on defending Indigenous rights and creating projects related to education, health, and political and economic autonomy for many Indigenous peoples. We were generously supported by Professor Aziz Ab’Saber, who led IAMÁ’s environmental plan for Plínio de Arruda Sampaio’s 1990 campaign for the governorship of São Paulo in 1990.
Beyond our professional partnership and activism against the dictatorship, a deep personal bond united us. Eunice, Carmen, Mauro, and I, sometimes joined by my parents and my comrade Adão Pinheiro, spent countless weekends away from São Paulo, engaging in long, delightful conversations. Adão never said it directly, but like many others who knew her, he always described Eunice as a captivating woman with an attractive and original femininity—traits complemented by her bold and skilled work as a lawyer.
In his book I'm Still Here, Marcelo offers a beautiful summary of his mother's work with Indigenous peoples. He highlights her defence of the Pataxó people in 1983 alongside Manuela Carneiro da Cunha, both working within the Pro-Indigenous Commission of São Paulo, as well as the involvement of Lux Vidal, Carmen Junqueira, Dalmo de Abreu Dallari, Carlos Frederico Marés, Ailton Krenak, and many others. Marcelo shows a deep understanding of the Indigenous situation during the dictatorship. He comments on the National Truth Commission, testimonies from victims, genocides in the Krenak Reformatory, the Cinta-Larga of Parallel 11, the Xetás, and the Avá-Canoeiro peoples. He also discusses the debate on TV Cultura, with Eunice alongside Ailton Krenak, Dalmo Dallari, Sylvia Caiuby, and Carmen Junqueira—just one of many presentations that followed. He writes about her defence of Indigenous peoples affected by Cia. Vale do Rio Doce—working with anthropologists, led by Lux Vidal, in opposition to the Carajás Project, a project similar to Polonoroeste. Both teams consistently faced the World Bank, Eletronorte, and the Brazilian government. Eunice represented Brazil at the World Congress of Native Peoples in Strasbourg in 1984, visited Indigenous peoples, and clashed with the National Indian Foundation (FUNAI). She also served as a consultant for the National Constituent Assembly in 1988. Walter Salles' film touches on her role, including her partnership with anthropologist Manuela Carneiro da Cunha, one of the leading Brazilian figures in the defence of Indigenous peoples.
It would be impossible to fully explore Eunice's contributions in the book or the film. There are at least 300 Indigenous peoples in Brazil, each with their own unique saga, customs, languages, struggles, and resistance. This is a task for scholars, with many archives and documents to explore, working alongside the collaborators and institutions Eunice supported. It bears similarities with what Rubens Valente did in his book Os Fuzis e as Flechas (The Rifles and the Arrows), delving into each specific case and Indigenous people.
May Eunice's visit to the Planalto in 1990 serve as inspiration. Her legacy—a fire reignited by Marcelo Paiva's book and Walter Salles' film—lives on.
Author
Betty Mindlin, an anthropologist, serves as a member of the Advisory Board of the Guita and José Mindlin Brasiliana Library at the University of São Paulo.
Translator
Jamille Pinheiro Dias
This piece was originally published by Jornal da USP as 'Palácio do Governo: a porta de vidro forçada, o oposto de 8 de janeiro de 2023,' and slightly adapted for an English-speaking readership. The reproduction of articles and photographs from Jornal da USP is permitted, provided that Jornal da USP and the author are credited.
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