In the Amazon, Eat Ants to Reduce Stress.
By Melanie A. Katzman
I’m on the upper deck. It’s midnight and I’m drinking freshly mixed caipirinhas and dancing to a DJ and sax player with my fellow International Advisory Board members. We’re stuck on a sandbar in Brazil’s Rio Negro, a major tributary of the Amazon River. There’s barely a moon, and the heavens are black. The water is black. There’s no horizon line. Sea and sky have merged. We have no cell service, no wifi, the boat’s radio isn’t working, neither is its depth finder, and we’re running out of fuel. So, we dance. And eat the ants the Dean was dispersing we later learn, to distract us.
South America’s largest business school, the Fundação Dom Cabral, brought us together in person for the first time in four years. In recognition of the Amazon’s critical role in climate and sustainable development, our strategy meetings were enhanced with immersive visits with the indigenous Amazonian communities of Tatuyo and Tumbira. The board is comprised of deans from an array of international business schools, global CEOs, NGO leaders, military, and government officials (and me). Wanna know how many PhDs it takes to rescue a forty-passenger boat? Read on.
I was told that there are three Amazons: the romantic, the tribal, and the lawless. Having enjoyed the first two versions by day, the last descriptor came into focus as we oscillated between images of Gilligan’s Island and the Titanic.
To review some basics: The Amazon is HUGE. Like really, really big. There are no roads. The river is treacherous, even by day. It’s slow going. From the outer territories, it can take up to 30 days to reach a city. Access to education is limited, and health care is minimal. The only “services” a local might receive are provided by the army. There are no property deeds. Grab some land, set up shop, and work to survive. Centralized Brazilian regulations strangle businesses, prompt work arounds, and seem to promote corruption. Policies to protect the environment are not popular here. The citizenry skews right.
Protecting the climate and stopping deforestation is a rallying cry from abroad. On the ground, it’s far more complex. People need a source of income. In the Amazon, there’s no infrastructure, no formal banking, no way to turn the cash one has into digital currency. The people of the Amazon are not shopping on Amazon! Citizens aren’t even registered, so it’s hard to document and distribute government funds. Life expectancy is low. Life is hard.
In meetings with three Brazilian leaders: the largest local entrepreneur, the former head of Brazil’s national security force, and the founder of one of the largest regional NGOs, we were told that the Amazon desperately needs a cohesive plan for productive development and a means of educating and developing its people. Simply saying, “don’t cut down trees,” doesn’t cut it. Nor does the suggestion that Amazonian peoples can’t govern themselves and therefore should lose their sovereignty. Few politicians venture deep into the jungle’s interior. If it takes a month to reach Manaus, the capital city of the Brazilian state of Amazonas, itself way up in north central Brazil and almost four hours from Sao Paulo by air, it’s not a stretch to see that issues need to be resolved locally.
When asked by Norwegian government officials what he would do with a million dollars, a local business leader said, “what I need is ten of your best scientists.” In an area with tremendous biodiversity, the people we spoke to crave science as a means of advancement. And patience. A common refrain was: “We can’t have prosperity in a hurry.“ “Regulations aren’t the answer.”
The leaders we met encouraged informed cooperation, solutions derived in conversation with the Amazonian residents. And Education! Education! Education!
Our boat’s captain lacked the tools required to steer our vessel. He also lacked judgment: he ignored the local advice to hug the shore where the water was deepest, and his efforts to dislodge the boat ran through our limited petrol. In the end, an FDC team member (let’s call him Daniel, because that’s his name) took command of the boat. Daniel cut the engines and then boarded a skiff in search of internet and fuel. Once he found lights, he climbed onto shore and clapped his hands until someone came out of their home. He was able to make a call. The nearest large-enough boat was hours away, and since we had no signal onboard, the only way to find us was for the rescue boat to go to the village and then be led to us by people who moments before were total strangers. With borrowed fuel and water to sustain his ride, Daniel returned to share the plan.
Ingenuity. Collaboration. But what about trust? Well, my colleagues and I trusted the FDC to find a solution. The FDC, however, didn’t trust the seas. Unbeknownst to us we had security guards on board to protect us from pirates. Yup, that’s a real threat. And unfortunately, you don’t know if the captain and crew work with the pirates when potentially valuable cargo is aboard! How do you break the cycle? Most of us chose not to focus on the realities of our situation. The solution came from one of the people with the least “overt “power.
Quite the informative metaphor.
So, here’s to experiential learning. One night in the darkness cast a light on so many complexities of the region—and the importance of listening to answers from people of all different backgrounds and positions.