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“I have never defined myself as an activist,” Nina Gualinga says at the outset of our conversation. “I am part of a collective process,” she continues. “It is not something I chose. When I decided to dedicate my life to defending my territory, the forest, and Indigenous rights, it was because I was impacted by the oil industry and because the lives of my people—and of all beings living in the area—were at risk.”
Nina, 28, is a member of the Kichwa Indigenous People of Sarayaku, an Amazonian village in eastern Ecuador. Families live in oblong homes situated on the banks of the Bobonaza River, in an area notable for its abundant biodiversity. The people subsist on fishing, hunting, and farming crops such as cassava and plantain. They have always realized the importance of balance and connection in nature. Their ancestors viewed the ecosystem as formed by three different ecological units: sacha (the jungle), yaku (the rivers), and allpa (the land). “When the scientific community or the activist community talks about climate change and the imbalance of the earth, our yachaks, or shamans, refer to the imbalance in the world that is created by human intervention,” Nina says. “My grandfather always said: ‘We have to respect Mother Earth’. If we do not know how to live in balance with her, and to respect and love her, there will be consequences. The spiritual beings and Mother Earth will protest.”
As a spokesperson for Mujeres Amazónicas and Women Defender Program Coordinator at Amazon Watch, Nina has been raising awareness and taking action against extractivist practices in the Amazon from a young age. Historically, Sarayaku women have been at the forefront of the struggle in defense of their territory, often putting their lives at risk in the process. “All of us have grown up within that struggle, seeing old women guiding and advising younger leaders to defend the territory and not to forget our culture and traditions,” Nina says. Her mother and younger sister are also part of the movement to protect Indigenous land.
In 2002, Sarayaku women—among them Maricela Gualinga, currently the vice-president of the Sarayaku People—stood up against the Argentine oil company CGC, resulting in a confrontation with military and company workers. The community’s stance would result in the territory being demilitarized and the case went to the Inter-American Court of Human Rights (IACHR). The result, delivered in 2012, was a win against the Ecuadorian state. Nina was 18 then, and something stirred in her. “[The court] recognized not only the violence against us and the violations of rights that we experience as a people, but also that Indigenous peoples have a voice and can create change. We can resist and make decisions about our future, our territory, and our lives,” she says.
Still, a decade later, the Kichwa Indigenous People of Sarayaku are fighting against fossil fuel extraction in the Ecuadorian Amazon and contending with the environmental threats posed by climate change. Last January, an oil spill occurred on the banks of the Coca River, its second major oil spill disaster in under two years, according to Amazon Frontlines. Crude petroleum is Ecuador’s number-one export, and pipelines criss-cross Indigenous lands in the Amazon.
Last November, the United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) awarded its prestigious Equator Prize to the Kichwa Indigenous People of Sarayaku in recognition of their decades of efforts to protect their territory. Their vision for a world in which humans are connected to the natural world is summed up in a philosophy entitled Kawsak Sacha, or “The Living Forest.” “Whereas the western world treats nature as an undemanding source of raw materials destined exclusively for human use, Kawsak Sacha recognizes that the forest is made up entirely of living selves and the communicative relations they have with each other,” the declaration begins.
One way the people of Sarayaku foster their connection to the forest is through Wituk painting, in which lines, dots, or intricate designs are applied to the face using the pigment from Wituk fruits. The ancestral practice stems from a legend that says in ancient times, human beings and animals were one; there was no distinction. Back then, as Nina tells it, the sisters Wituk and Manduru were going through difficult times. In their quest for healing, they were transformed. The older sister became a Wituk tree [a genip tree] to give life and energy to sick or sad people; while the younger sister became a Manduru [an achiote shrub] which also supports life and has healing properties.
“The Wituk painting gives us energy,” Nina explains. “It gives us life and provides us with the will to continue living. It is used for people who are sick or who are sad. We paint ourselves when we are celebrating and also in situations of struggle, assemblies, or meetings—it is something that strengthens us.” Women collect fruits to prepare them over the fire, and with a thin stick they paint their own faces with shapes inspired by nature. The application of the pigment “reflects the transformation of the Wituk woman who—despite all the situations that had befallen her and the difficulties she had experienced—became a healing tree, providing fruit that gives energy and life to people,” Nina adds. Wituk is also used for natural hair treatment; the juice of the fruit is squeezed over the hair to keep it healthy and to preserve color.
Wituk painting is just one example of how the Sarayaku people continue traditions that connect them to the earth and their history of living in harmony with nature. “When I wear Wituk paint, when I sing the songs of my grandmother and great-grandmother, when I speak the Kichwa language with my son, I feel the presence of all those, all my ancestors, who transmitted this to me,” Nina says. “And when I paint myself, I feel the presence of the spirit of the virtuous woman.”
Not only is the application of Wituk a source of internal strength, but Nina is conscious of the message it sends to the world beyond Sarayaku. “We live in a world that is constantly trying to eradicate, eliminate, and undo who we are, and to destroy our culture, language, territory, education system, and traditions through extractivism and racism,” she says. “In this context, speaking your language, wearing traditional clothing and face paint, and being part of your community, are acts of resistance.”
As the resilience of the Amazon rainforest—and the earth as a whole—hangs in the balance, these acts of resistance are more vital than ever. At November’s COP26 conference in Glasgow, Nina marched in the streets and spoke at an event for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. “As Indigenous women we’re protecting our territories. We’re protecting the mountains, the forest, the water, the air, and our bodies are part of the land,” she said. “Any violation of our land is a violation of our bodies.” Below her eyes that scanned the crowd of women gathered, her face was painted with Wituk in delicately drawn lines that stretched from ear to ear.
In this story: Production, Denisse Navia/El Marisco Films; Co-production, Kino Productions & Fly Casa Creativa; Cinematography, Daniel Marcet; Post Production, El Marisco Films; Retouching, Adriana Gómez. Sarayaku women: Nina Gualinga, Helena Gualinga, Kerly Santi, Shakira Machoa, Maricela Gualinga, Mireya Gualinga; special thanks to the Kichwa Indigenous People of Sarayaku.