Interview with Olívio Jekupé

NATIVE LITERATURE AS A FORM OF INDIGENOUS RESISTANCE
by Amanda Viana – Interstices: Center for Transversal Thinking

Olívio Jekupé was born on October 10, 1965. His complete name reveals a mixture of indigenous and Catholic provenance: Jekupé as marker of his Guarani identity, and Olívio Zeferino da Silva as sign of the new identity imposed on his ancestry. He is an indigenous writer from the Guarani people in Brazil, and was born in the municipality of Novo Itacolomi (Paraná, Brazil). Olívio Jekupé spent much of his life in Krukutu (São Paulo, Brazil), a small village populated mainly by the Guarani Mbya people. Today he lives in the urban village Kakané Porã, located in the city of Curitiba (Paraná, Brazil). This village hosts around forty families from the Guaranis, Xetás and Kaingangs indigenous groups. Son of Donira da Silva (of the Guarani people) and Olavio da Silva (born in Bahia), Jekupé, as his name in the Guarani language indicates, was born as a mestizo, but chose to follow and deepen the indigenous life-path, leading him to engage in activism for the causes of the Guarani people by using a significant weapon of their colonizers: the technique and art of writing.

Olívio Jekupé, who calls himself an “indigenous writer”, is one of the most important writers fighting to consolidate what is called “native literature” in Brazil, a counter-colonial and dissident literature based on oral tradition and written exclusively by indigenous people. Jekupé has published around thirty books, the most important of which are the following:

2000 – O Saci Verdadeiro [The true Saci] – Editora UEL

2002 – Xerekó Arandu, a morte de Kretã [Xerekó Arandu, the death of Kretã] – Ed. Peirópolis

2002 – Iarandu, o cão falante [Iarandu, the talking dog] – Ed. Peirópolis

2002 – Arandu ymanguaré (sabedoria antiga) [Arandu ymanguaré (ancient wisdom)]– Ed. Evoluir

2003 – Verá – O contador de histórias [ Verá – The storyteller] – Ed. Peirópolis

2006 – Ajuda do Saci [Saci’s help] – Kamba´i – Ed. DCL

2011 – A mulher que virou Urutau [The woman who became Urutau], com Maria Paulina Kerexu – Ed. Panda Books

2011 – Tekoa – Conhecendo uma aldeia indígena [Tekoa – Discovering an indigenous village] – Ed. Global

2013 – As queixadas e outros contos guaranis (organização) [The peccaries and other Guarani tales (org.)] – Ed. FTD

2014 – Tupã mirim – O pequeno guerreiro [Tupã mirim – The little warrior] – Ed. LeYa

2015 – 500 anos de angústia [500 years of anguish] – Ed. Scortecci

2017 – O presente de Jaxy Jatere [The gift of Jaxy Jatere] – Ed. Panda Books

2018 – Escritos indígenas: uma antologia, com outros autores [Indigenous writings: an anthology, with other authors ] – Cintra Editora

2022 – A Invansao [The Invasion] – Ed. Urutau

Transversal Paths has decided to publish Amanda Viana’s conversation with Olívio Jekupé because of its cultural significance – which consists precisely in what the figure of this indigenous writer embodies in the present context. His trajectory is already a good reason to include him in a review that advocates the idea of a “pluriverse” and a transversal modality of thinking. Born within an agonizing culture (that of the Guarani, to a great extent wiped out by missionary and colonial power), Olívio Jekupé made an incredible effort to acquire some of the cultural tools of the conquerors (Western mainstream culture) to redress the balance of history, mainly through writing. But his project is not merely individualistic. It entails an alternative idea of education and knowledge transmission, as well as the reenactment of the oral traditions of indigenous peoples – increasingly trampled and ravaged by “global imperatives of development and profit” – through the medium of writing.

The contradictions faced by this project are those of any courageous attempt to find concrete alternatives to a consolidated system of oppression. Despite all the difficulties he had to face, Olívio Jekupé’s creations have had increasing repercussion in Brazil, especially after the expansion of Ailton Krenak’s critical talks held all over the country as well as in different internet media, to introduce the unseen dimension of indigenous traditions and their importance for the survival not only of local groups in Amazonia but, ultimately, of mankind itself.

As a dissident writer, Olívio Jekupé is increasingly read and discussed, but also strongly resisted and opposed by a system that has created rules, customs, legitimation codes, and cultural etiquettes to rule out any instance of living critical expression – in the case of Ailton Krenak and Olívio Jekupé (among others), one that threatens to shake the foundations of the “one-world-world” aimed at by a mainstream Western culture running on empty.

Amanda Viana: Who is Olívio Jekupé?

Olívio Jekupé: I am a dreamer. In the past I dreamed of being many things. I wanted to be a designer, but it didn’t work out; I wanted to be a football player, but it didn’t work out; I wanted to be a singer, but it didn’t work out. I dreamed of playing the guitar, but it never happened. I would dream of becoming many different things, but I had no success in it, simply because it wasn’t my gift. I was lucky enough to finally discover my gift: writing. Nhanderu, our God, gave this gift to me. The divine gift is what determines the path and the career we should follow. I really like writing. I started writing in 1984 and continue writing to this day. The time when I began to write was very difficult, because I had no life experience; I only knew how to write. I simply let my inspiration flow and wrote poetry, short stories, novels, and songs.

Amanda Viana: Tell us a little bit about your ancestry.

Olívio Jekupé: My father was from Bahia and my mother is Guarani, from Paraná. Even though I was born as a mestizo, I am more familiar with the Guarani tradition. When we are born from two different cultural groups, we get acquainted with both cultures. In my case, I got to know city people on the one side, and the indigenous lifestyle on the other. At a certain point, I had to choose what was more significant to me, and my choice was to live as an indigenous person. I am a mestizo who believes that our spirit has the power to choose. If I hadn’t embraced indigenous life, I would have followed quite another life-path: the life of city people. I love the path my spirit chose, my indigenous life. There are many mestizos who do not like to follow the indigenous life-path, because they are drawn to the world of white people. I, on the contrary, like the indigenous world very much.

Amanda Viana: Does your mother speak Guarani?

Olívio Jekupé: No, she didn’t learn to speak Guarani because she went to live in the city. This was also the reason why I didn’t learn to speak Guarani as a child.

Amanda Viana: So, you learnt to speak Guarani as an adult…

Olívio Jekupé: Yes. When I was studying at the University of São Paulo, I got married with a Guarani woman from the Krukutu village, which is also in São Paulo. Everyone there speaks Guarani. At that time, despite having daily contact with the language, I had great difficulties learning it. Nowadays, I can understand Guarani, but I still don’t dare speak it… I simply don’t have the gift of languages. Studying a language requires memory. I write poems, but I don’t recite them by heart. I also tried to learn Latin, English, and French. Unfortunately, I was not successful. A gift is a gift, and if you don’t have it, there is nothing you can do. All my children were born in Krukutu village, and they speak mainly Guarani. My son Werá¹, who sings rap in Guarani, asked me one day to recite a poem of mine by heart. I told him that I only recite my poetry when I read from my books. He told me that he read my books and can recite my poems by heart.

Amanda Viana: In which villages have you lived?

Olívio Jekupé: I have spent my whole life in Krukutu village², in São Paulo. I visited villages in other states, but I never wanted to leave Krukutu, not only because my children were born in that village, but also because we developed many projects there, such as the community association, some projects with Furnas³, with the company Rodoanel⁴, and with the train line Rumo⁵, to mention a few. Due to the proximity of Krukutu village to the city of São Paulo, I could also publicize my books and hold lectures at city schools.

The Guaranis are used to visiting other villages and settling there during their trip. My ex-wife even asked me to move to another village, something I totally rejected. Because of what I said before, it was an advantage for me to live in Krukutu village, and I wanted to stay there.

In the past, Krukutu village embraced two areas: Krukutu village itself and Tenondé Porã village. After we started carrying out projects in Krukutu, these villages became very big. Then, as there were only two villages, the indigenous people who lived there began to create other villages, because the Guarani do not like large villages – for them big villages begin with a population of between fifty and hundred inhabitants. Today this area comprises fourteen villages. Can you imagine? In some villages of Brazil, there are thousands of indigenous people. For the Guarani, this is asphyxiating. How can one deal with so many people? A small village is already a big struggle, so can you imagine a really big one? The Guarani don’t like to live with a lot of people close to them.

Amanda Viana: You made some contributions to the indigenous radio program Aldeia Sonoras⁶ with Ângela Papiani⁷ and Ailton Krenak⁸. Could you talk a little about that experience?

Olívio Jekupé: Yes, my discussions with Ângela Papiani in the context of Aldeia Sonoras were mainly about my writings and our daily life at Krukutu village.

Ailton Krenak once declared, in the social media, that I am his favorite writer. I made a video praising him and congratulating him on being elected member of the Brazilian Academy of Letters, and he responded nicely, praising me too. We regularly exchange messages. I admire Ailton because he is a very simple man, but he has incredible wisdom. Once, he did an interview at Krukutu village, and I said to him: “You have to publish books because otherwise your wisdom may disappear in the future. You speak on live programs, and that is very good, but in the present situation your words need to be written down.” He was moved to tears by that remark of mine. I added, “When I have the chance, I will publish a book about you.” Recently, I have finished a book about him, a mixture of poetry and prose… I will publish it when the right moment comes. On that very occasion, Ailton told me, “I want to write, but I can’t do it.” I replied, “You are already a very well-known author, and you hold lectures the whole time. You should start recording your lectures, because you always share new flashes of wisdom that must be preserved. If we record your talks, we can also transcribe them, right?” As I said, each one is born with a gift, and Ailton has the gift of the spoken word.

Amanda Viana: Can we say that Ailton Krenak is a shaman of the word?

Olívio Jekupé: Of course, his words are amazing. Ailton Krenak is a shaman also because he always brings new ideas. Whoever invites him to speak must be very well prepared to face a dialogue with him. Ailton has the gift of oral speech. He doesn’t write, but this is not a problem at all, because someone can record and transcribe his speeches and his talks. Ailton is like Socrates, who didn’t write any books but whose wisdom was recorded for posterity by Plato, because the latter wrote down everything.

Amanda Viana: You are a writer, and your gift is that of the written word.

Olívio Jekupé: I also like to speak. I would say that my gifts are speaking and writing.

Amanda Viana: Are you also a good storyteller?

Olívio Jekupé: Yes, I am good at conversation, I love telling stories, and when I tell them, they turn out to be long ones. People are impressed by them. Just the other day, at a farm, I was asked to tell Saci’s story.⁹

Amanda Viana: What was the first time that you felt an impulse to write?

Olívio Jekupé: When I was a child, I really liked reading newspapers and magazines. I loved reading in general. At fifteen, I lived in the inland of Paraná in the municipality of Cornélio Procópio, and I liked playing indoor football. In that municipality, there was a Sesc¹⁰ that offered indoor football training and I went there to play with the children. Sesc also had a small library. I went into the library and picked out a book called “What is philosophy?” I started reading it. It made a deep impression on me.

From then on, whenever I went to play ball there, I went first to the library and read a little from that book. I read for half an hour or so and afterward went to play football. I loved that book, even though I didn’t understand anything. Philosophical discourse, from analytical and dialectical arguments to metaphysics and ontology, was very different from everything I was used to, and therefore fascinating. But I couldn’t understand the meaning of those contents. If someone asked me to explain those words, I couldn’t do it, even today. However, the mere fact of reading gave me inspiration. My reading scope was very broad: I also read history books, novels, and poetry. In short, I read everything that I felt inspired by, for example the book Capitães de areia [Captains of the Sands] by Jorge Amado¹¹, but also Leonardo Boff¹², and several others. Everything I read inspired me and brought me to reflect on various things. At a certain point, I discovered that the meaning of the term ‘philosophy’ was ‘friend of wisdom’, so I decided to read everything I could to gain more wisdom. Later, in 1988, I decided to study philosophy at the university. Before that, in 1984, I had started writing poems in a copybook. I also wrote songs. I started writing these things and keeping a record of them. During that same period, I also wrote a novel which I am now ready to publish, for the first time after thirty years. It will be published by the publishing house Urutau.

Amanda Viana: What is the title of the novel?

Olívio Jekupé: O breviário de um índio [Breviary of an Indian]¹³. It is a criticism of the Catholic church; I was afraid of publishing it. Breviary is a book that Catholics use to pray…

Amanda Viana: Is that your first book?

Olívio Jekupé: Yes, the first one I wrote, still unpublished. I wrote it in 1985. I haven’t published it so far because I was worried about the consequences. Apart from that, publishers generally don’t accept to publish some critical novels. After a long story of hesitations, the publisher Urutau has lately decided to publish it.¹⁴ Well, now that I come to think of it, this novel is not the first one…

Amanda Viana: Is the first one Leópolis Inesquecível¹⁵ [Unforgettable Léopolis]?

Olívio Jekupé: That was my first book of poetry. But before that, in 1984, I wrote a novel of five hundred pages – handwritten, which filled several copybooks. I filled the first copybook and the book was not finished, then started another one and I did not know how to finish it. I was a child, and I didn’t know how to conclude a book. I asked a writer how to end a novel and he told me, “It is you who decides!” Then, after a long process, I finished it. Unfortunately, these copybooks, which I had kept for thirty years, got lost.

Amanda Viana: That was a time when some authors still wrote by hand…

Olívio Jekupé: I wrote everything in the copybooks and then typed out the texts. But typing long texts was exhausting, because I made mistakes, so I had to correct them or rewrite the sentences, and all that took a long time. I didn’t have the patience to type out those texts. As I said, I lost the first novel, so after writing the second one, I paid a friend to type it for me. I started writing like that, I continued writing in the same way, and I still do it today.

Amanda Viana: Do you write by hand even nowadays?

Olívio Jekupé: No, I have an electronic notebook and I write directly there, because it is easier. At that time, having a pen and a copybook was a technology; it was the most advanced method. But technology has changed a lot! Today electronic notebooks make writing much easier, as they detect grammar or typing mistakes. In the past, when we finished typing a text, sometimes it looked like a shootout because of the mistakes and their corrections on the same page. Typing was for those who were good at it, for those who had that gift.

Amanda Viana: Have you ever thought about writing an autobiography?

Olívio Jekupé: Well, I haven’t written my autobiography so far, but I have written something similar. Not long ago, I was invited to participate in a book with several writers from Brazil, whose subject was ‘The Reader and the Writer’. Each writer had to come up with a contribution of eight pages. I talked about some experiences of my life. For me, that is like an autobiography, because, as I was working on it, I noticed that it flowed spontaneously. But I had never written anything like that before.

This year I was honored in the city of São José do Rio Preto (São Paulo) at an event coordinated by a friend called Carol. It was a week of exhibitions and talks about my work, with several writers and storytellers. Then they set up a panel talking about my life path and my work. My wife, Jovina Kaingang, who is also a writer and activist from the Kaingang people¹⁶, and my son, Jekupé Mirim, who also sings, accompanied me. It was a very good experience. I gave talks and listened to several writers who talked about me. Finally, I decided to write a book about this tribute to me. The organizer of that event, my friend Carol, suggested that we embark on a partnership. She developed a project around the book to raise funds, and the project was approved. The book will be published by my own publishing house, Jekupé. This will also be an opportunity to make my own publishing house known to the public.

Amanda Viana: Let’s talk a little bit more about your writing. Where does your inspiration come from?

Olívio Jekupé: I think it comes from nature. When I am in a natural and peaceful place, my head is purified. The head, the brain, and our body in general need to be cleansed from time to time. In the city, we are always busy with a lot of things. The body and the mind get tired of that.

During the thirty years that I have lived in Krukutu village, I have had the opportunity to contemplate the silence, because the village is in the forest. As I lay in the hammock, the inspiration came. To receive inspiration, it is very important to have a clear mind. The forest and the woods help me a lot; they clear my mind. In such a situation, I get new ideas and write them down. I only write when I am inspired. When my mind is clear, it makes room for writing.

Writing is a form of self-defense and resistance, a political act. I write “Native Literature” as a form of defense against the dominant power that oppresses Indigenous peoples.

When you live in the forest, there are also some surprises, difficult to deal with. I’m currently writing a book about an accident with a snake that happened to my eldest son called Werá, the Rap singer. We were leaving our place for one of his shows when all of a sudden, he was bitten by a poisonous snake called a jackfruit snake¹⁷. We quickly decided to take him to the nearest health center, but our car was out of gas. We asked for help but the next car arrived… an hour and a half later! During that time, we were all in total despair because that kind of poison is likely to kill you. When the car finally arrived, we took him to Butantã¹⁸. When we arrived there, the medical team recognized him, “Gee, that’s the Rap singer!” They gave him anti-venom serum and at night, when he got better, he sang some songs for the doctors there.

Amanda Viana: That event surely made a lasting impression on you.

Olívio Jekupé: Yes. When I talk about that experience, it makes me want to cry. This snake is very dangerous, if it doesn’t kill, it can easily cripple a person. My son was already 19 years old at the time, but this snake can also kill adults.

Amanda Viana: Did your son bear any consequences?

Olívio Jekupé: Fortunately, not. After that happened, he told me: “Dad, I’m afraid of having consequences later, and that’s why I’m going to take ayahuasca medicine. It will eliminate the rest of the poison.” He took the plant medicine and didn’t have any further consequences. My next book will be about that experience, which caused me a lot of worries. But the reason why I decided to write it down is because I had a dream about that very experience twice. That was significant to me.

Amanda Viana: Do you have shamans in Krukutu village?

Olívio Jekupé: Every Guarani village has a shaman.

Amanda Viana: Didn’t the local shaman treat your son’s snake bite?

Olívio Jekupé: My son took some medicine from him, but still had to go to the hospital. While he stayed at the health-care unit of the village, he ate a kind of potato that is used to cleanse the body. Women eat it, for example, after giving birth, to clean themselves. This type of potato is very strong. We eat just one little piece and spend the whole day with a bad taste in the mouth, and sometimes we may even vomit. My son Werá, right after the snake bite, was given big chunks of it and ate them, one after the other. He ate that potato in a way that no normal man could eat it. That helped him retard the poison until he reached the hospital.

Amanda Viana: Hearing your story, it occurred to me that you write your experiences in those books as a way of rendering them meaningful, or integrating their difficult aspects, as a kind of therapy, am I right? What does writing mean to you?

Olívio Jekupé: Firstly, I must say that the act of writing is in itself good for me. It makes me happy. Writing is also a form of self-defense and resistance, a political act. I write “native literature” as a form of defense against the dominant power that oppresses us. My books report facts and highlight stories in an attempt to preserve indigenous traditions. Our modern society is considerably damaging to the lives of indigenous people.

When people ask me which book of mine I like the most, my answer is that I like them all, because all my books are like children. No matter how many children you have, you will love them all equally. Sometimes, one of your children may think that another is your favorite one, but that is not true. I like all my children and I know exactly what each one is like. Just like my children, my books make me happy – all of them. When I finish a book, I have a sensation of happiness that lasts for a month or so. When I feel inspired to write another book, I anticipate the joy of the new contents. Every time I talk about one of my books, I feel joyful because each of them has something new.

Amanda Viana: You have published more than twenty books so far…

Olívio Jekupé: Up to now I have published thirty.

Amanda Viana: Thirty books in different registers and covering different topics. Your work includes children’s literature, a critique of colonization, indigenous activism, and some denunciations – as in the book about Ângelo Kretã¹⁹…

Olívio Jekupé: Probably because I started reading philosophy when I was fifteen years old, the main feature of my first writings is criticism. I didn’t know how to write children’s literature. I only read and wrote critical things. Imagine a boy reading “Raízes do Brasil [Roots of Brazil]” by Sergio Buarque de Holanda²⁰! At the beginning of my career as a writer, I wrote mainly critical reviews. When I asked for funds to publish those writings, nobody would give me anything. When I realized the situation, I felt compelled to adapt myself to the subtle and sneaky censorship of the intellectual mainstream, and I did this by shifting to children’s literature. However, my strong point has always been to write a critique of oppression. I had to change, for example, the title of the book O Choro da Mãe Terra [The cry of mother earth]²¹, precisely because the title I had chosen was too “critical”. The alternative title is beautiful, though, don’t you think?

Amanda Viana: What is your opinion about books dealing with indigenous culture written by non-indigenous authors?

Olívio Jekupé: Most people, in their opinions and writings, prove to be mistaken about indigenous peoples. They simply repeat what their commonsense dictates instead of directly talking with us, indigenous people, and learning from us how we see and experience those things. Some authors write about indigenous peoples without even having met any of us, or without having spent a single day in an indigenous setting. When we (indigenous authors) write, what we express is our own thinking through literature. I always say that I am not the reincarnation of José de Alencar²², who became famous without having any idea of what indigenous peoples are like. He created a fiction that influenced the way Brazilians think about indigenous peoples. The indigenous peoples are not like that, they are different, because they live differently. Our literature, which we call “native literature”, is different from the category of “indigenous literature”, which was coined by non-indigenous authors.

“Indigenous literature” describes indigenous peoples, but in a very different way from that of indigenous peoples who live their own tradition. “Indigenous literature” is written by white people. It includes the works of anthropologists, ethnologists, missionaries, and many other writers who do not have, as they claim, the only valid point of view about indigenous traditions and cosmovisions. This type of literature reveals only what white people think about us indigenous people.

“Native literature” is, on the contrary, indigenous self-empowerment. It shows indigenous thinking from an indigenous perspective, since it is written by indigenous people themselves and reveals what they think about themselves. This literature challenges many preconceived ideas about indigenous peoples put forward by white people. It is not an easily accepted literature, of course, because of what it provokes in non-indigenous readers. When we try to publish it, we are immediately faced with the prejudices of white people: they usually want us to change some ideas, concepts, ways of narrating, etc., out of ignorance, or for moralistic and religious reasons.

If you read my latest book, Conversa de fim de tarde [Late Afternoon Conversation] you will see what I mean in emphasizing that difference. That book is a piece of indigenous thought from the inside.

Amanda Viana: Do publishers, in your opinion, exercise a type of censorship?

Olívio Jekupé: What they do is something milder than censorship. I’ll try to make my point clear. Once, an editor criticized me because I used the word “pipe” in my texts, claiming that it was inappropriate and had to be changed. I had to explain that the pipe belongs to my culture, and that from my own perspective it was rather inappropriate not to use it. On another occasion, I was criticized for describing an indigenous wedding and talking about the age at which indigenous women generally get married, around 14 years old. I was told that teenagers at that age shouldn’t get married because they are too young. I explained that in the Guarani tradition there is no such notion as “adolescence”. We actually have a simple distinction between “girl” and “woman”. After having her first period, a girl does not become a teenager but a woman. My daughter got married when she was twelve years old! When I retell such things in my books, publishers ask me to change the age from twelve to seventeen to avoid shocking the readers.

“Native Literature” challenges many preconceived ideas about indigenous peoples put forward by white people.

Amanda Viana: Hearing your story, one realizes that publishers have a great influence on your work.

Olívio Jekupé: If they require it, we have to consider making some adjustments, otherwise our books are not published. In some of my books, I had to change some things and “lie” to my white readers – against my own will.

Amanda Viana: That is why it is important for you, I suppose, to have your own publishing company and be able to fully express yourself as a Guarani.

Olívio Jekupé: Yes, when I receive financial aid for a certain project, as was the case with the book O Choro da Mãe Terra, sponsored by the Alok Institute, I can express myself freely because there are no such requirements.

Amanda Viana: What is it like being an indigenous writer in Brazil?

Olívio Jekupé: At the beginning it was very difficult, because publishers were not interested in my writings. Today it has improved a lot, but we still face many challenges, because many publishers don’t know anything about indigenous life in the villages. Many indigenous writers face difficulties because they don’t know how to publish or how to reach a publisher. It is for that reason that I created the publishing house Jekupe²³, which aims not only at reviewing, editing, and publishing indigenous writings, but also at helping indigenous writers needing guidance in order to publish their own work.

Unfortunately, there is a lot of mistrust and many doubts about indigenous authors’ ability to write. Many white people reduce us to the role of orality, and mostly in a pejorative way. Orality is very important for us, and we are very good at sharing wisdom through speeches, dialogues, conversations, storytelling, etc. But some of us can also write. Many white people ask me, “How is it possible for you to have studied at university and published so many books? I’m white, I went to university, and I’ve never published anything.” The reason for such mistrust lies in the fact that I was born indigenous. Well yes, I am indigenous, and I am a writer! Sometimes I feel that, in order to be respected by white people, I must become part of their institutions and show them that I also have their abilities. White people have the view that indigenous peoples are backward and unsophisticated. Hence, we become suspicious in their eyes whenever we show our wisdom and know-how.

My son Werá is a writer and has already published three books. He signed his first publishing contract at the age of nine. Obviously, many suspected me, his father, of having written his books. The truth is that he wrote them himself, and in fact he is a better writer than me. The book that Werá wrote is called Contos dos curumins guaranis [Tales of the Guarani curumins]; it was a success in Brazil. Several publishers approached me afterward and asked me if we wanted to publish those tales in school textbooks. There are already five Brazilian schoolbooks that contain texts written by my son Werá.

Amanda Viana: The ignorance and prejudice of many non-indigenous people concerning indigenous traditions is astonishing. In one of his talks, Ailton Krenak said: “For white people, an indigenous person who doesn’t read is an illiterate; but what about white people who don’t read indigenous graphic arts?”

Olívio Jekupé: Indigenous people have always written in some sense. They become writers when they tell stories, or when they draw, or when they paint, or when they produce their craft. These are all “books” and can be read as such, but they remain unpublished, and cannot therefore be appreciated by white people.

Amanda Viana: Why do indigenous people need to join white institutions to be recognized and valued?

Olívio Jekupé: So as not to be marginalized and excluded from an all-encompassing system. If an indigenous person does not enter the system created by white people, he or she is simply ruined. This is a very unfortunate fact. I am convinced that indigenous people can no longer live solely on their traditions. Well, maybe some isolated groups deep in the Amazonian forest can still do so. We were all once “isolated”, but contact with white people, which began centuries ago, led to a real and progressive destruction of our ways of living.

If an indigenous person only sticks to tradition and is not literate, they call him/her backward. When an indigenous person enters the system, white people say that this person stops being indigenous. For me the task is to be able to live on both sides.

When you see an indigenous storyteller who doesn’t know how to write and doesn’t know how to work on these issues, it is our task to help him. I recommend recording the words he/she said and publishing them, because he/she is in some sense a writer! Anthropologists did this in the past; they arrived in the villages and wrote down what they heard, but they did not publish all the wisdom of this orality in the name of the indigenous peoples, but in their own name.

Amanda Viana: I think white people have placed so much value on writing because they lost the living connection with their own ancestry expressed in orality.

Olívio Jekupé: We have a kind of oral encyclopedia in which our ancestry is kept alive. Indigenous peoples have preserved their oral transmission of knowledge precisely because of the strong and living bond they have with their ancestors. If we hadn’t had masters of orality, people capable of transmitting our knowledge in that way, our tradition would have already died. Our stories are still alive.

I think it is necessary to foster the type of writing exercised by indigenous authors. And these are precisely the books that should reach our villages, not the literary classics imposed on us. In any case, indigenous people do not lay much value on Western classics. We need to encourage “native literature”.

Amanda Viana: Those books should reach not only villages, but schools in general…

Olívio Jekupé: I emphasize education in our villages because nowadays many indigenous teachers are not storytellers. When they receive a book of “native literature”, they are very excited because they can pass on the stories contained in it, which is a way of retrieving orality in the classroom.

Amanda Viana: We live in an interesting historical period. We have access to “native literature”, we know several indigenous authors like you, Ailto Krenak, Daniel Mundurku, and some others. In the past, we were influenced by indigenous literature…

Olívio Jekupé: In 2000, I published a book called O Saci Verdadeiro [The true Saci]. A woman contacted me after reading my book. She was angry because, at school, her son’s teacher told him that a Saci had to be trapped in a bottle. So, the boy caught a Saci, put it inside a bottle, and placed it on the top of a tree. He kept hitting the Saci, until his mother arrived and asked, “Son, what are you doing?” He replied, “The teacher told me that we have to catch a Saci and beat him”. Then his mother got angry. When she retold that scene to some of her friends, someone recommended her my book, Saci Verdadeiro instead of the homonymous novel Saci by Monteiro Lobato²⁴, which is full of prejudices.

Indigenous peoples have preserved their oral transmission of knowledge precisely because of the strong and living bond they have with their ancestors.

After making my acquaintance, the mother thanked me very much and told me that by reading my book she could correct the prejudices her son had acquired at school.

According to Monteiro Lobato, who tells a story that doesn’t exist, Sacis die every seven years. Right after one dies another one is born. For us, neither the one-legged black Saci nor the indigenous Saci dies, because Saci is an entity. If you believe in angels and someone tells you that your angels die and others are born, then you would say that the person in question is not talking about angels. You would be more powerful than an angel which dies at seven years of age while you can live until seventy!

Amanda Viana: Your first book is Leópolis Inesquecível (1993) [Unforgettable Leopolis]. I learned today about your latest one, Conversa de fim de tarde (2023) [Late Afternoon Conversation]. Along this trajectory, how do you see and analyze your work?

Olívio Jekupé: Since I began to write, I have learned a lot. My literature adopted different forms. I’m like a child, I always learn new things. When I reread what I wrote, I realize how much I have grown up. Somehow, we grow up when we seek to create new things. We are in a permanent process of development. We can never be reduced to just one thing. We are constantly transforming ourselves. Life itself is like that! I always try to write new things. Last year, I released five books. Already at the beginning of this year, I have five works in progress. I would say that it is the Creator who inspires us to be so creative.

Yes, my work is a life mission. Being a writer means having a mission. It’s a way of fighting for myself, for my relatives, and for indigenous peoples in general. It is also a form of awareness.

At present, many people are doing research on my works, and that research is part of master’s and doctoral programs. I have also learned a lot from that. It was very difficult to introduce “native literature” in Brazil, but current research on it has also helped to expand that type of literature. “Native literature” can generate another type of attitude to the world, which is the reason why it is in itself an education program.

Amanda Viana: Considering everything you have said about “native literature”, how do you see philosophy today? On the one hand, philosophy liberates. On the other hand, it is possible to say that in South America, philosophy is based on a form of European epistemological imperialism…

Olívio Jekupé: Well, sometimes it is necessary to take other people’s cars in order to drive before we get into our own car. On the one hand, what we know of philosophy is framed in a Western project. We, indigenous people, have our own philosophical project.

I think philosophy is important to question dogmas and overcome prejudices. But the specific philosophical work I defend is the one linked to “native literature”. Of course, it is necessary that different ideas from the West have their own place, since they are part of the present context and situation.

I think it would be interesting to create a philosophy of Brazil, that is, a project capable of encompassing and articulating the different ways of being and thinking in this large territory. Brazil must deconstruct some learning habits, for example that of reading exclusively European authors. The aim of my work is precisely to encourage “native literature”, so that we can value other ways of thinking that exist and have their own codes. In this way, we can create a different mentality in our country. So, my suggestion would be: Read indigenous authors! Through them, you will see that we have our own thoughts, and that it is important to understand them.

Amanda Viana: What are your upcoming projects?

Olívio Jekupé: For the year 2024, I have five books that I would like to publish. I would very much like my books to be translated into European languages beyond Portuguese, because if that happens, Europeans might be able to understand the specificity of indigenous thought. I want to see mainly two of my books of criticism translated: Morte do Kretã [The death of Kretã] and A Invasão [The Invasion], as well as a poetry book called 500 Anos de Angústia [500 Years of Anguish].

Amanda Viana: Do you have any special message to transmit to your readers?

Olívio Jekupé: Yes, I would like to say that we write for and with a mission. It is because of my mission that I continue writing, and I hope that my literature can bring awareness of the diversity, plurality, and importance of native thoughts in this great territory called Brazil.

1. Werá Jeguaka Mirim, indigenous singer of the Guarani Mbyá people.
2. Krukutu is a Guarani village (recognized and delimited as indigenous territory since 1987), located in the Atlantic Forest of São Paulo state, in the region of Parelheiros. See: polodeecoturismosp.com/places/aldeia-krukutu
3. Furnas is a regional company running hydroelectric power plants. Besides generating and transmitting electricity to households in various states of Brazil, it also develops social projects, among others with indigenous people of the state of São Paulo.
4. Rodoanel is a company that manages highways in São Paulo, which is also engaged in social projects.
5. Rumo (legal name Latin Amerika Logistic) is a Brazilian company for railway logistics.
6. ikore.com.br/aldeias-sonoras/
7. Ângela Pappiani, a Brazilian journalist born in São Paulo, was married to the indigenous leader Ailton Krenak for 25 years. She has devoted her life to indigenous causes and is currently director of Ikore (Institute of Indigenous Traditions – Indigenous culture center): ikore.com.br.
8. Ailton Krenak is an indigenous leader, activist, environmentalist, thinker and writer, who belongs to the Krenak Indigenous people (located in Minas Gerais by the river ‘Doce’, which in 2015 was severely polluted with toxic chemical substances after an accident by the dam company Samarco). Because of his philosophical talent and political engagement for indigenous and ecological causes, he is the first indigenous person in the history of Brazil to be elected member of the Brazilian Academy of Letters, in 2023.
9. Saci pererê is a mythical entity in the Guarani cosmovision. There are several variants of the myth of Saci, some of them acquired with the time colonial and prejudiced meanings. Olívio Jekupé wrote a book in Portuguese O Saci verdadeiro [The true Saci], São Paulo: Panda Books, 2021, where he describes the indigenous character according to his own tradition.
10. The Social Service of Commerce (Sesc: Serviço Social do Comércio) is a private institution whose objective is to promote activities in the areas of education, health, culture, leisure and assistance to workers, selling goods, offering services and organizing tourism.
11. Jorge Amado (1912-2001) was a writer who belonged to the modernist movement in Brazilian literature. His work is marked by political issues related to the living conditions of black people and cultural traits of the people from the northeast of Brazil. Amado was elected as member of the Brazilian Academy of Letters and is especially remembered for one of his masterpieces Dona Flor and Her Two Husbands (1976). See: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jorge_Amado
12. Leonardo Boff is a Brazilian theologian and former Catholic priest. He is known world-wide for his engagement in the Latin American movement of Liberation Theology.
13. Olívio Jekupé. O breviário de um índio. Lisboa: Urutau, 2024.
14. This book was published in the first semester of 2024.
15. Olívio Jekupé. Leopolis Inesquecível. São Paulo: João Scortecci, 1993.
16. Indigenous group based in south of Brazil. See: pib.socioambiental.org/pt/Povo:Kaingang.
17. Lachesis muta.
18. Butantan is a medical institute in the capital city of São Paulo, which deals with accidents caused by venomous animals.
19. Ângelo dos Santos Souza Kreta (1942-1980) was an indigenous leader from the Kaingang people. He devoted his life to the rights of indigenous lands against landowners and loggers. He was one of the most important figures of the Brazilian indigenous movement called Union of Indigenous Nations. He died in a car accident, but there are suspicions that the accident was in fact an assassination, since he had previously received many threats because of his political activities. See: pt.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%82ngelo_Kret%C3%A3
20. Sérgio Buarque de Holanda (1902-1982) was a Brazilian historian, journalist, and sociologist. Roots of Brazil is considered his masterpiece. It was first published in 1936 by the publishing house José Olympio and contains a critique on colonial violence during the formation of Brazilian society. The book had negative consequences for the establishment of democracy in Brazil.
21. Olívio Jekupé. O Choro da Mãe Terra. São Paulo: Editora Jekupé/Editora Versum, 2023.
22. José de Alencar (1829-1877) was a Brazilian journalist and writer in the heritage of Brazilian romanticism. He published several books on the way of living of indigenous peoples in Brazil. His literature contributed to the implantation of a controversial idea about indigenous people in Brazil, since his work has been used in the Brazilian school system. Some of these books with indigenous themes are O Guarani (1857), Iracema (1865), and Ubirajara (1874).
23. In Guarani language “mestizo”.
24. Monteiro Lobato (1882-1948) is a Brazilian writer whose work focuses on children’s literature. He was an ideologically contestable divulgator of indigenous symbols in Brazilian society.