“Do you know the Children of the Moon story?” asked Alejandro Argumedo, a Peruvian scientist, glancing toward an albino child entering a straw-roofed hut.
Alejandro and I were sitting under some palm trees overlooking a very languid South Caribbean sea. It was mid-afternoon; windless, hot, and humid; siesta time. I was exhausted and jet-lagged but still wired with excitement, having arrived a few hours earlier in the village of Ustupu, which covered most of a small, low-lying island off the eastern coast of Panama, and home to 4,500 Kuna Indians.
”We’re pretty close to the equator. The Kuna are very dark-skinned, so they’re protected from the sun’s ultraviolet rays,” Alejandro explained.
While we sat, two Kuna men began loading fishing nets into a dugout canoe called an ‘ulu that’s fashioned from a single enormous tree. Another Kuna, not quite five feet tall, staggered across the white coral sand carrying an outboard motor as big as he was.
“I couldn’t even lift one end of that motor,” I said in amazement.
Alejandro just smiled. He was a Quechua from the Andes Mountains and well aware of the practical strength, toughness, and endurance of indigenous people living traditionally. He continued: “Albinos don’t have any protective melatonin, so they get skin cancer, and the sun damages their eyes. They usually don’t live very long,”
“That’s horrible,” I said, recalling the slim albino teenager who’d eagerly hauled me and my luggage out of the canoe that brought me to the island. His eagerness had an anxiousness, as if trying to prove he was as capable as the other short, wide-bodied, dark-skinned Kuna teens.
“Less than 100 years ago any albino child was killed soon after birth,” Alejandro said. “Called Children of the Moon for their pale skin, they were considered bad luck.”
The Kuna are a subsistence culture that relies on fishing and small gardens. Healthy, strong children who could pass on their skills as adults were essential to the survival of the community.
Surprisingly, the Kuna have the highest rates of albinism in the world, with one child in 150 born albino.
Alejandro continued:
In the early 1900s, the Kuna had increasing conflicts with officials from the new Republic of Panama who wanted them to give up their culture and lands. In addition, some Kuna men were tricked or forced into doing work on sugar and banana plantations. Conflicts became violent with police raiding villages and arresting Kuna men.
Genetics was a new science at this time, and the abundance of Kuna albinos attracted growing interest. American adventurer Richard Marsh believed the albinos were a “white” race descended from errant Vikings who arrived in the Americas long before Columbus. In the early 1920s, Marsh brought several albino Kuna to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington to be studied by researchers.
However, doing additional genetic research with the Kuna in Panama was difficult due to the ongoing conflict.
The Panama Canal had been completed by then, and the US had a considerable presence in the country, including several naval vessels. Marsh lobbied the Panamanian government to give them autonomy. The Kuna, seeing US support, declared independence and attacked police outposts in their territory, freeing Kuna prisoners. In response, the Panamanian military was about to invade Kuna territory until, at Marsh’s urging, the US Navy intervened.
With American support, the Kuna obtained autonomy over their territory — all because of their Children of the Moon. They were now seen as a blessing; a special gift from the ancestors, Alejandro concluded.
One result of that autonomy is that over 90 percent of the original forest in their territory remains after nearly 100 years.
This isn’t unique. An estimated 80 percent of the Earth’s plants, insects and animals are found in Indigenous territory.
What’s more remarkable is that Indigenous people rarely have autonomy over the lands they have occupied for hundreds and thousands of years. Nation-states are loath to give up control of “public lands”, although happy enough to sell or auction off those lands to the highest bidder.
Clash of worldviews
During the era of colonization, the invaders were occasionally considerate enough to read a statement laying out their claims to the local native people. There wasn’t much discussion since the local people didn’t understand Spanish, French, English, Dutch, or other foreign language. And even if there was a good translation, their claims involved strange and bewildering concepts of “property” and “ownership of land”.
For many Indigenous peoples, individual ownership of a piece of ground was an alien, even absurd concept, akin to claiming you owned the air or the clouds.
Concepts like property, boundaries, and the economy are imaginary constructs.
A useful Need-to-Know to keep in mind is that we invented these abstract ideas. They don’t exist in the real, physical world.
The living world, that we’re a part of, is a complex web of relationships and interactions. Everything is connected to everything else. That’s why if you slap a big glass bowl over your home and the surrounding area, things will start to go bad pretty quickly. That’s our fundamental ecological reality.
It makes the idea of private property ownership — ‘this is mine and I can do whatever I want to it’ — absurd.
Even more problematic in our interconnected, finite world is a market-based economic system that encourages buying a piece of land, stripping and selling off the trees, minerals, soil, etc to buy more land to do the same thing again, and again. Those abstract concepts — property ownership and a market-based economy — are two of the main reasons more than 75 percent of Earth’s land areas have been severely altered, putting up to a million species at risk of extinction.
We are nature, and nature is us
If nature is in trouble, then we are in trouble. This is an overarching Need-to-Know.
Here’s a practical suggestion based on something Indigenous architect Alfred Waugh told me:
Let’s put nature at the centre of our lives.
There are lots of ways to do this. Acknowledging that “we are nature and nature is us” is one way.
For me, it also means being outside as much as I can. I wrote this in a small forest I walk to every day when I’m home. It means walking or riding a bike to go places so I can feel the wind, hear the leaves, and smell… well, life, I guess.
And it means stopping often to truly see and appreciate nature in its bazillion variations.
Until next time, be well.
Stephen


















