America's Uncontacted Tribes
America's Uncontacted Tribes
Lessons in ideological flexibility from the heart of the Amazon
Image: Marcos Lopes
Tashka Yawanawa walked into the room. His loose fitting, embroidery-adorned jeans and black t-shirt caught me off guard. When I was told I’d be meeting with the tribal chief of the Yawanawa Peoples, my mind immediately leapt to images of him in his traditional regalia. But here he was, wearing the same stuff that average Americans wear every day. He humbly put out his hand and casually said, “Hi, I’m Tashka.” No pomp. No circumstance. Just two fellas introducing themselves. Little did I know that this first meeting would be the beginning of a masterclass in flexibility.
I met Tashka a little less than a decade ago. His tribe, a community of nearly 1,000 members, lives a full day’s boat ride away from the nearest road, deep in the forests of the Brazilian Amazon.
Two generations ago, the Yawanawa were first contacted by the outside world. Tashka tells tales of the challenges the community faced in the early days. Western influences threatened the tribe’s connection to spirituality, to ancestral culture, and even to their core identity. Aside from these existential threats, first-contact often comes with the massive risk of disease. These communities have learned to heal the ailments and sickness endemic to their region with the plants and folk medicine from their shamans. But when they encounter new diseases, even seemingly benign ones to our acclimatized antibodies, there is a massive risk of wholesale community decimation.
But the Yawanawa and their contact story has been luckier than others. They survived these risks, existential and practical, and while it has been hard, over several generations they’ve found a way to co-exist in the space between.
I don’t know many formerly uncontacted tribespeople, but over the last few years, I’ve met lots of uncontacted people right here in the US. The author Isabel Sawhill refers to them as “forgotten Americans'' in her book by the same name. In thinking about these communities and this particular time in America, I was reminded of my talks with Tashka. About what it means to be “uncontacted” and how perhaps in this day and age, our forgotten Americans are just as isolated and vulnerable.
Sawhill writes about her research, “I came away sad for the narrative we’ve developed in this country that says we live in a meritocracy and the government is broken. The common theme is that if you’re having problems, it’s your fault and no one else’s. Even if you want help, you’re not going to get it from elected officials who care more about themselves than they do about ordinary citizens. I see a vicious and harmful cycle in this narrative. The less government is seen as willing or capable of addressing people’s problems, the more the cynicism about it grows. But that cynicism, in turn, breeds dysfunctional politics that makes constructive responses to the challenges we face virtually impossible.”
This rabbit hole of American tribalism is a deep one. Despite being a country known as the “melting pot” we’ve gotten really good at cultural mise en place. Everything neatly organized, separated, and kept apart so that we only mingle with those that seem most like us.
Us Americans are practiced at building our own little echo chambers that narrow our vision myopically to avoid seeing the communities of forgotten folks scattered across our periphery. Lately, I’ve been exploring these communities with my friend Simone. Sister Simone Campbell, as she’s formally known, is an activist and change-maker. Despite her salutation, Simone’s views are gospel driven and thereby often contrary to those in support of the hierarchical Catholic Church. She jokes that photos of her are on more than a handful of rectory dart boards. Her rabble rousing, among many other endearing traits, is why we’re friends. Together, we’ve been building a plan to visit and work with these forgotten American communities. Simone refers to these people as the “underheard” parts of America. I quite like that. It reminds us that they have a voice, and they should be listened to, but that we’re not doing enough to connect.
Recently, she put me on to a novel piece of research entitled Hidden Tribes: A Study of America’s Polarized Landscape. In it, the authors identify 7 “hidden tribes” of Americans. They are:
Progressive Activists: younger, highly engaged, secular, cosmopolitan, angry.
Traditional Liberals: older, retired, open to compromise, rational, cautious.
Passive Liberals: unhappy, insecure, distrustful, disillusioned.
Politically Disengaged: young, low income, distrustful, detached, patriotic, conspiratorial.
Moderates: engaged, civic-minded, middle-of-the-road, pessimistic, Protestant.
Traditional Conservatives: religious, middle class, patriotic, moralistic.
Devoted Conservatives: white, retired, highly engaged, uncompromising, patriotic.
The research team groups everyone from “traditional liberals” to “moderate” into a category referred to as the “exhausted majority.” This group is defined in the study as those “...who do not conform to either partisan ideology. The Exhausted Majority contains distinct groups of people with varying degrees of political understanding and activism. But they share a sense of fatigue with our polarized national conversation, a willingness to be flexible in their political viewpoints, and a lack of voice in the national conversation.”
[Insert collective sigh]
Yes, there are many among us who are exhausted. Who are tired of Sisyphusianly pushing the rock up the mountain. Who would like things to be better. Amidst these disheartening feelings and collective malaise, the Hidden Tribes research showed that 77% of Americans “believe our differences are not so great that we cannot come together.” Hope springs eternal.
But before we throw on our rose colored glasses and hold hands around the campfire, let’s be absolutely clear; “coming together” does not necessarily mean agreeing. The practice of empathy does not require conversion. This is a common misconception. True empathy is agendaless. By simply endeavoring to understand another person’s perspective we gain more insight. We become more informed. And perhaps, with additional data, we can learn to see and connect with each other in different, more dimensionalized ways.
As we know, today’s America is full of underheard, forgotten folks living among an exhausted majority. However, I believe the human potential to will ourselves into a better future cannot be discounted.
Tashka taught me this. Had his ancestors fought intensely and held, stone-fisted, to the desire to be left alone, they would have risked the lives of their entire community. Encroachment by cartels and unscrupulous companies seeking to pillage the Yawanawa’s natural resources put their lives at risk. Instead of fighting the gatecrashing outsiders with bows and arrows, Tashka’s elders encouraged members of their community to leave and ultimately understand more about these foreign people and their ways. To learn to speak their language, walk in their cities, and dress in their clothes. They knew that survival against this foe would require a new approach. I call this ideological flexibility. It’s the ability to hold to your own beliefs while also bending to concede, compromise, or collaborate when necessary. And it’s a skill that extends far beyond the borders of the Brazilian Amazon.
Back here at my home in New York, I’m thinking about our uncontacted American tribes and the tribeless individuals who have never found their community and therefore remain even more voiceless and invisible. They are countless in their numbers, with different views, opinions, stories, ups and downs that don’t neatly fit into the convenient little buckets researchers like to create. Many of us pass by them every day while meandering the aisles of our big box retailers or walking the spare hallways of our offices and institutions. Many of them working and doing their best for barely a living wage. And while this upsets and disappoints me in equal measure, I am heartened by Tashka’s story and motivated to help find a way for us to rebound from our national funk.
If you feel similarly, I’d ask you to seek out the underheard in your community. Ask questions about what fears and worries keep them up at night. Hidden inside their responses are the shibboleth to our country’s rehabilitation—a reawakening of civility and decency and a sense of community that can help erode the radical edges on both sides of the political divide and restart the momentum of the middle majority.
If you’re thinking this seems pollyannaish, your malaise might be showing.
I know this won’t be easy. And I know it won’t be quick. But nothing good often is. Instead, if we’re willing and brave enough to endeavor to try, in small ways and large ones, with strangers and family alike, perhaps we’ll find that middle place where the Yawanawa reside. And in that place, where our co-existence can begin to supersede our polarization, perhaps we’ll accept that a willingness to change, even at the risk of existential loss, is the key to our shared survival.
Take good care,
MV
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Women’s rights need to be protected. But the legal battle that’s ensuing isn’t going to get resolved soon enough. In the meantime, my friends at Plan C are doing the work to ensure that anyone who needs access to safe abortion support can get it. Check out their work, support their efforts, and share this info with your communities.
DOÑA LEOVA HAS RETURNED
New York, May 10th - June 1st
My teacher, Doña Leova, has returned from Mexico to share her offerings as a curandera (a traditional medicine practitioner). Her work is powerful and heartfelt. Should you wish to experience her beautiful tradition, please email me directly.
THIS MUCH I KNOW TO BE TRUE
May 11th - Onward
Nick Cave is one of the humans in this world that continually leaves me awestruck. On May 11th he released a feature length documentary called This Much I Know To Be True. Seek it out and watch pure genius at work. Oh, and here’s the trailer.
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Drop in anytime, no scheduling required, and let’s talk about what’s on your mind. The conversations have been heartfelt, loose, and generative in equal measure. Come on over.
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If you or someone you know is interested in making a move or if you’d like to share a need in this section on a future letter, drop me a line. It takes a village.
If Tashka’s story touched you, please consider making a donation to Tribal Link (disclosure: I am on the board). The organization has worked with the Yawanawa and many other Indigenous Peoples around the world to ensure support reaches their communities at vital moments.
The team at MAPS continues to lead the charge in the evolution and legalization of psychedelic studies and clinical therapy. They are presently raising additional capital and still have room in their next round. To be put in touch directly, drop me a line.
If your business is looking to develop an integrated financial model, the generous folks at Bright Zen have offered to do a free session to build out your financial model and talk you through how to use it. You can sign up for this offer here.
Artifact ethics, beans, black holes, triangular cities…
Things I’ve picked up while meandering around the internet.
After six months of diligent work, a team of historians and curators from the Smithsonian have developed and adopted a new set of policies that will include moral and ethical evaluation of their collection and the potential restitution of pieces to their rightful homes.
Hidden deep within the walls of HBOMax’s archives you’ll find Joe Pera. I don’t know how to describe his content but if I had to try, I’d call it “wholesome ASMR.” If your cortisol levels need adjusting, give him a shot. I particularly like the episode in season 2 entitled “Joe Pera Talks with You About Beans.”
A recent study has shown that triangular shaped cities produce less rainfall than square or circular ones, sparking discussion about the future of urban design amidst our climate crisis.
Here’s a great photo of the black hole that eats suns and bends space-time at the center of our Milky Way.
And here’s Fred Armisen doing an impression of a time-lapsed video of a decomposing fox.
