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Trouble in Paradise: Indigenous Populations, Anthropological Policies, and Biodiversity Conservation in Manu National Park, Peru
Glenn H. Shepard Jr.a; Klaus Rummenhoellerb; Julia Ohl-Schachererc; Douglas W. Yud a Museu Paraense Emilio Goeldi, Belm do Par, Brazil b Asociacin Peruana para la Conservacin de la Naturaleza (APECO), Lima, Peru c Center for Ecology, Evolution and Conservation (CEEC), School of Biological Sciences, University of East Anglia, Norwich, UK d Ecology, Conservation, and Environment Center (ECEC), Kunming Institute of Zoology, Kunming, Yunnan, China Online publication date: 14 June 2010
To cite this Article Shepard Jr., Glenn H. , Rummenhoeller, Klaus , Ohl-Schacherer, Julia and Yu, Douglas W.(2010)
'Trouble in Paradise: Indigenous Populations, Anthropological Policies, and Biodiversity Conservation in Manu National Park, Peru', Journal of Sustainable Forestry, 29: 2, 252 301 To link to this Article: DOI: 10.1080/10549810903548153 URL: http://dx.doi.org/10.1080/10549810903548153
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Trouble in Paradise: Indigenous Populations, Anthropological Policies, and Biodiversity Conservation in Manu National Park, Peru
GLENN H. SHEPARD, Jr.1, KLAUS RUMMENHOELLER2, JULIA OHL-SCHACHERER3, and DOUGLAS W. YU4
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Trouble G. H. Shepard, in Paradise Jr. et al.
Downloaded By: [Shepard, Glenn H.] At: 14:38 21 June 2010
1 Museu Paraense Emilio Goeldi, Belm do Par, Brazil Asociacin Peruana para la Conservacin de la Naturaleza (APECO), Lima, Peru 3 Center for Ecology, Evolution and Conservation (CEEC), School of Biological Sciences, University of East Anglia, Norwich, UK 4 Ecology, Conservation, and Environment Center (ECEC), Kunming Institute of Zoology, Kunming, Yunnan, China
Manu National Park was founded in 1973 on a profound contradiction: The untouchable core area is, in fact, the homeland of a large indigenous population, including the Matsigenka (Machiguenga). Some view the Westernization of native communities living in protected areas as a threat to biodiversity conservation and suggest that such populations should be enticed to resettle outside parks. Here, we present an overview of the indigenous populations of Manu, outline the history of the park and its anthropological policies, and discuss evolving park-Matsigenka conflicts as well as areas of common interest. Analysis reveals that resettlement has no political, legal, or practical viability. Thus, given the options available, we propose that long-term biodiversity conservation can best be achieved through a
A preliminary draft of this article was presented by Shepard and Rummenhoeller (2000) at the meeting of Associao Braslieira de Antropologia in Brasilia in a session organized by Henyo Barreto Filho. A much revised draft was presented by Shepard and Yu at the International Society for Tropical Foresters conference at Yale, 2004. We give special thanks to the conference organizers, Iona Hawken and Ilmi Granoff, and acknowledge major funding support by the Leverhulme Trust. We also thank Instituto Nacional de Recursos Naturales (INRENA), Asociacin Peruana para la Conservacin de la Naturaleza (APECO), John Terborgh and Cocha Cashu Biological Station, and the people of the native communities of Tayakome and Yomybato. Address correspondence to Glenn H. Shepard, Jr., PhD, Curator of Ethnological Collections in the Curt Nimuendaj Reserve Department of Anthropology Museu Paraense Emilio Goeldi Av. Perimetral, 1901-Terra Firme Belm do Para, PA, 66077830 Brazil. E-mail: gshepardjr@gmail.com 252
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tenure for defense trade: indigenous communities receive explicit benefits (e.g., infrastructure and service investments, employment opportunities, or economic alternatives such as ecotourism) in exchange for helping to defend the park against incursion and managing vulnerable resources such as game animals. KEYWORDS biodiversity conservation, ecotourism, humaninhabited protected areas, indigenous rights, Manu National Park, park management, Peru, subsistence hunting
INTRODUCTION
The presence of native human populations in nature reserves, particularly in the Amazon region, has spawned debate between those who view indigenous people as conservationists, and those who see them as a threat to biodiversity conservation (Alcorn, 1993; Peres, 1993; Redford & Stearman, 1993; Schwartzman, Moreira, & Nepstad, 2000; Terborgh, 2000; Zimmerman, Peres, Malcolm, & Turner, 2001; Terborgh & Peres, 2002). In part, this polemic involves different notions of what constitutes nature, and what role human culture plays in the natural world. Romantically minded conservationists in the American tradition since the time of John Muir have viewed primeval nature as a kind of spiritual cathedral, requiring protection so as to remain unspoiled by the hand of Man. During the creation of the worlds first national park system in the United States, indigenous inhabitants were forcibly removed from important parks such as Yosemite Valley, Yellowstone, and others (Spence, 1999). Under this conception, the concepts of Nature and Culture are seen as diametrically opposed categories. In contrast, indigenous Amazonian ecologies, economies, and cosmologies are characterized by tremendous fluidity between the categories of Nature and Culture (Lvi-Strauss, 1970; Viveiros de Castro, 1992; Descola, 1994; Johnson, 2002). Furthermore, research by ethnobotanists and cultural ecologists has highlighted aspects of indigenous ideologies, knowledge, and practice that appear to contribute to biodiversity conservation (Posey, 1985; Bale, 1989; Shepard, 1999b, 2002a; Carlson & Maffi, 2004). Emerging from alliances forged in the 1980s between environmentalists, rubber-tapper unions and indigenous federations, the new perspective of socioenvironmentalism (see Ricardo & Campanili, 2005) has emerged in Brazil and other South American countries as an alternative to the North American preservationistconservationist model. Socioenvironmentalism affirms the multiple associations between cultural and biological diversity (Declaration of Belm, 1988; Harmon, 1998; Maffi, 2004), and takes a politically active stance on biodiversity conservation as inseparable from issues of social justice and cultural and territorial rights for indigenous and forest peoples. Nonetheless, state conservation
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agencies in Peru, Brazil, and elsewhere remain uncomfortable with, if not openly hostile to the (albeit frequent) overlap between nature preserves and indigenous territories (Ricardo, 2004). In this article, we examine the people/ parks polemic in the light of a specific and celebrated case: Manu National Park, one of the worlds largest and most biologically diverse natural protected areas. Manu, the crown gem in Perus national park system, has almost legendary status among tropical scientists, ecotourists, and wildlife film producers. However, Manu Park was created upon a fundamental contradiction: The core area, considered untouchable and closed to human interference, is home to a substantial indigenous population. Until 1990, the parks anthropological policies were idealistic, paternalistic, and negligent, leading to serious health, social, and political crises in settled and isolated populations and creating an atmosphere of mutual resentment and mistrust (Shepard & Rummenhoeller, 2000). The ecotourism industry flourished in the mid-1990s, initially with minimal benefits for indigenous populations. Since 1990, however, new park administrations and several non-governmental organizations (NGOs) have sought to attend to the needs of indigenous communities, especially in the areas of health, education, and social and political organization. Members of the two settled Matsigenka native communities in Manu Park have also recently benefited from an indigenous-owned ecotourism enterprise. As the Matsigenka have improved their living standards and begun to make ever more frequent trips outside the park to participate in elections, political meetings and acquire Western goods, they have become more visible to park personnel and scientists working in Manu Park. Some conservation biologists have argued that indigenous populations in parks constitute a threat to the future integrity of tropical conservation (Redford & Stearman, 1993; Robinson, 1993). In particular, Terborgh (1999, 2000) has argued that the Westernizing and growing Matsigenka communities in Manu Park, with increasing access to modern health services and technologies, will degrade the wildlife and ecosystem integrity of the park; he proposes that the only effective solution is resettlement to titled lands outside the park. We believe that such ideas are based on a narrow view of conservation goals and human adaptability (Shepard & Yu, 2003). In this work, we present a history and critical assessment of the anthropological and conservation policies of Manu Park. We discuss the history of the region prior to the parks establishment, and describe evolving conflicts between the park and its indigenous inhabitants over the past three decades. We also summarize and point out contradictions in legislation in Peru concerning indigenous populations in natural protected areas. The discussion makes it clear that resettlement of indigenous park inhabitants, voluntary or otherwise, has no political or practical viability. Furthermore, the demographic and political void left by a park emptied of indigenous inhabitants would likely attract commercial resource extractors (especially loggers), who currently are active at the park borders.
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We conclude by arguing that despite a history of conflict and misunderstanding, the park and its inhabitants have common interests, the most important of which is the desire to prevent incursion by outsiders. This shared interest can form the basis of a tenure-for-defense trade, as long as the local biodiversity costs of indigenous subsistence are outweighed, in the long run, by the benefits of territorial defense. Given the conservation importance of large vertebrates and their vulnerability to local extinction from subsistence hunting, we argue that ensuring the persistence of game populations is a key requirement in the development of a tenure-fordefense conservation model in Manu Park. We briefly summarize findings from a participatory study of game animal harvest in the Matsigenka communities of the park (see also da Silva, Shepard, & Yu, 2005; Ohl et al., 2007; Ohl-Schacherer et al., 2007), and outline how the findings could be used in a long-term management plan. Any concessions by the Matsigenka inhabitants will have to be met with some acceptable package of direct as well as indirect compensation from the park or the international conservation community. In this light, the fledgling Matsigenka-owned ecotourism lodge project in Manus tourism zone has become an important site for the negotiation of conservation-fordevelopment trade-offs between the park and its native inhabitants.
WHOSE PARADISE? A BRIEF HISTORY OF MANU AND ITS NATIVE POPULATIONS

In films, popular books, websites, and tourist pamphlets, Manu National Park is often portrayed as a remote paradise without human interference or a Living Eden where nature flourishes in all its primordial splendor (MacQuarrie, 1992). Though remarkably rich in wildlife, Manu is anything but free from human interference. The human history of Manu, in the Madre de Dios basin and the adjacent Urubamba-Ucayali region, spans at least three millennia (Huertas & Garcia, 2003). Archeological studies of ceramics, textile technology, stone axes, rock art, and other ancient remains suggest a continuous though dynamic occupation by four predominant cultural linguistic groupsArawakan, Panoan, Harakmbut, and Tacanafrom pre-Colombian times through the present. Lowland Amazonian groups of the region engaged in long-distance trade with Andean populations since at least Inca times (Lathrap, 1973; Myers, 1981) with copper tools, precious metals, jewelry, and other goods of Andean manufacture being exchanged for lowland products such as tobacco, resins, smoked meat, animal skins, and bird feathers (Camino, 1977). Inca roads extended into the Cosipata region (Madre de Dios headwaters), where the Inca and later, the Spanish maintained coca plantations, gold mines, and trading posts. Pre-Colombian trade routes in Madre de Dios may have reached as far east as the Tambopata
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River (Lyon, 1981). Nonetheless, the Inca were unsuccessful in conquering the Amazonian lowlands, and direct Inca rule never extended far beyond the Andean foothills. Spanish explorers and Catholic missionaries engaged in trade and attempted to subjugate Amazonian peoples starting in the late 16th century (Camino, 1977). By the middle of the 17th century, indigenous populations throughout Amazonia had suffered demographic and political collapse due to the rapid spread of smallpox and other European diseases (Myers, 1988; Denevan, 1992). The capture of women and child slaves was already an element of Amazonian inter-group warfare prior to the Conquest. In the post-Conquest reconfiguration, surviving riverine groups raided weaker groups from the hinterlands, capturing children to be sold at distant market towns as agricultural laborers, domestic servants, or Christian converts. Nonetheless, the Spanish encountered great difficulties in conquering, occupying, and subjugating remote montaa (upland rainforest) regions, with their impenetrable forests, fast-flowing rivers of difficult navigation, and resistant local populations. In 1742, the messianic leader Juan Santos Atahuallpa gained the support of Arawakan populations and led an uprising that expelled the Spanish from the Ucayali-Urubamba basin for over a century (Santos-Granero, 2002). Spanish explorers had even less success in the Madre de Dios basin, where repeated expeditions starting in the late 17th century were destroyed by Indian attacks, treachery among rival Spanish leaders, and calamities in the fierce rapids (MacQuarrie, 1992). Manu and Madre de Dios basins remained isolated and devoid of a definitive European presence through the late 19th century. For its indigenous inhabitants, the enchantments of the remote, isolated forests of the Manu region were finally and brutally dispelled by the Rubber Boom or fever of rubber from 1895 to 1917. Charles Goodyears discovery in 1839 of vulcanization and Dunlops subsequent invention of the pneumatic tire fueled a drastic increase in demand for Amazonian rubber. Perus lowland rain forests were suddenly teeming with entrepreneurs (rubber barons) and their local guides in search of rubber trees and cheap labor. Existing patterns of slave trading and inter-ethnic violence rose to a feverish pitch. Dominant tribes of the Ucayali region such as the Piro, Shipibo, and Ashaninkaalready engaged in tradeserved as guides in locating rubberrich forests and enslaving local indigenous labor. In 1896, the infamous King of Rubber, Carlos Fermn Fitzcarrald (Reyna, 1941), employed 200 rubber tappers and a thousand native guides of the Ucayali River basin to portage a small steamship across the narrow land passage, now known as the Isthmus of Fitzcarrald, separating the upper Mishagua River (a tributary of the Urubamba) from the upper Manu River (tributary of the Madre de Dios River), thus opening up a vast region that had hitherto been inaccessible to rubber exploitation and European colonization more generally. Accompanied by a flotilla of native guides in canoes, Fitzcarralds force was
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attacked by fiercely resistant native inhabitants known as the Maschos. Fitzcarrald lost 50 men, and in retaliation mounted a vicious counter-attack, killing some 300 Mashcos, burning their houses and gardens, and destroying their canoes. A witness of the fierce battle described the carnage: You could no longer drink the water from the river because it was so full of the corpses of Mashcos and rubber tappers, because the fight was to the death (Reyna, 1941, cited in MacQuarrie, 1992, p. 59). Punitive and slave-capturing raids known as correras (Camino, 1977) brought dislocation and devastation to indigenous populations who sought to flee the rubber camps or resist intruders. In addition to the violence they perpetrated, rubber tappers also brought new epidemics of exotic illnesses such as malaria, measles, and influenza. Native populations who were pressed into labor in the rubber camps were subjected to poor health and working conditions. Von Hassel (1904, p. 244) estimates that 60% of the native workers in the Manu River rubber camps died of disease or malnutrition. Despite international protests about the atrocities, and denunciations that were considered before British courts and the U.S. Congress (Hardenburg, 1912; U.S. House of Representatives, 1913), it was not until after the collapse of international rubber pricesdue to the rise of Malaysian plantation rubber that slave trading and genocide practiced against native Amazonians finally started to diminish. After 1917, Manu was abandoned even by the Catholic priests who had established a mission at San Luis del Manu. However, the same routes and techniques used during the rubber boom continued to provide indigenous slaves for the hacienda plantation economy, logging enterprises, and domestic service in Peruvian cities at least until the 1950s (Zarzar & Roman, 1983; Alvarez-Lobo, 1996). Many native populations only managed to survive these grim times by isolating themselves from all contact with peoples outside their group, cutting themselves off from centuriesold networks of inter-ethnic trade. Some groups even abandoned agriculture and adopted a nomadic, hunting-and-gathering lifestyle to avoid being detected and captured. Several indigenous groups of the Manu and adjacent regions remain isolated and hostile to outsiders today. Far from the popular notion of isolated indigenous peoples as being innocent savages, unspoiled by contact with civilization, the isolated indigenous groups of Manu and Madre de Dios regions today are anything but uncontacted; instead, they are themselves refugees from the violence of a global economy. In the 1960s, the rich resources of the Manu basin once again attracted the attention of traders in timber and animal pelts, as well as human souls. Sawmills were established on the lower Manu to exploit the rich reserves of fine hardwoods such as cedro (Cedrela odorata L.) and mahogany (Swietenia macrophylla King). Hunters also plied the lakes and forests of the Manu basin seeking jaguars, giant river otters, caiman, and other animals with valuable pelts or hides. Meanwhile, missionaries of the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) employed acculturated indigenous guides to contact isolated
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Matsigenka populations who had retreated to the headwater regions in the aftermath of the Rubber Boom. Celestino Malinowski, a taxidermist and naturalist of Polish descent who had explored the Madre de Dios region since childhood, became alarmed by the indiscriminate logging and hunting. He began sending letters to Peruvian authorities about the situation, and through a series of fortunate coincidences (see MacQuarrie, 1992, pp. 6366), his advice was finally heeded, and Manu was declared a Reserve Zone in 1968, and finally a National Park in 1973. Loggers, hunters, and missionaries were expelled from the newly created park (see MacQuarrie, 1992; Terborgh, 1999). Firearms and extractive economic activities were also prohibited, though indigenous peoples were permitted to remain as long as they engaged in traditional subsistence activities. A group of Piro-speaking people of mixed descent, who had lived on the Manu and worked in various extractive economies (rubber, logging, pelt hunting) since the Rubber Boom, moved downstream and established new communities outside the park near the mouth of the Manu River to avoid the new restrictions.
THE INDIGENOUS INHABITANTS OF MANU, THEN AND NOW

The linguistic, cultural, and territorial integrity of indigenous peoples throughout the Madre de Dios region was disrupted during the Rubber Boom, as some groups migrated from adjacent regions, others were displaced or exterminated, and survivors were forced to intermarry or assimilate with other groups (Lyon, 1975). Furthermore, the nomenclature applied to indigenous groups in historical sources has always been problematic. In some cases, a single term is applied to speakers of multiple languages or even members of different language families (Lyon, 1975). Thus, our understanding of the human history of Manu Park is fragmentary and somewhat speculative.
Mashco and Mashco-Piro

The historical sources mention Mashcos on the upper Manu River, whom Fitzcarralds men came into conflict with and ultimately massacred. The term Mashco appears to have been originally a Conibo (Panoan) word, used as long ago as the late 17th century to refer to an indigenous nation (possibly Piro) found on an eastern tributary of the Ucayali River (Alvarez-Lobo, 1996, cited in Gow, 2006). Lyon (1975) locates the Mashco in the late 19th century in the Manu-Camisea-Mishagua watershed (i.e., the Isthmus of Fitzcarrald), describing them as a band of Arawakan-speaking Piro, known variably as Mashco, Piro-Mashco, and Mashco-Piro (cited in Gow). The term Mashco was originally used in Madre de Dios to refer to any isolated or warlike groups (Lyon, 1975). However, Dominican priests working in the
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Madre de Dios region came to use Mashco as an ethnic denomination for the Harakmbut-speaking Arasaeri and Amarakaeri (Califano, 1982), peoples originally of the Colorado River (a Madre de Dios tributary) who are wholly unrelated to the Piro. To add to the confusion, a short word list of dubious origin for the Mashco language collected by Farabee (1922) in the Manu-Mishagua watershed in 1907 contains a few words of apparently Harakmbut and a few of Piro origin (Lyon, 1975), contributing to the unlikely theory that Mashco-Piro was a hybrid language mixing Mashco (Harakmbut language family) and Piro (Arawakan language family; see Gow). Because of such confusion, the Harakmbut (or Hat) languages (e.g., Amarakaeri, Arasaeri, Huachipaeri, Toyeri) were once erroneously assigned to the Arawakan language family (Lyon, 1975). Who were the Mashco massacred by Fitzcarrald, who essentially disappeared from the ethnographic record for Manu? Gow (2006), drawing on these historical sources and an interpretation of the enigmatic data concerning the isolated indigenous peoples of Manu and adjacent areas, comes to the conclusion that the Mashco were, in fact, the very same Mashco-Piro or Piro-Mashco, that is to say Arawakan speakers of a Piro dialect. They were massacred by Fitzcarralds men, and a few survivors fled to the forest, abandoning agriculture and taking up a nomadic lifestyle. Their descendents are almost certainly the enigmatic Mashco-Piro (see Kaplan & Hill, 1984), huntergatherer nomads who shun all contact with outsiders. One Mashco-Piro group been known from the Pinquen River on the south bank of the Manu River for decades. Three Mashco-Piro women emerged from isolation at the Park guard station of Pakitza along the Manu River in the 1970s, apparently fleeing from internal conflict within the group. These women, dubbed by local people as the Three Marias, later went to live in Matsigenka and Piro communities on the Madre de Dios River along the park borders. The Piro of the community of Diamante have confirmed that they speak a language or dialect that is close to Piro, but marked by numerous linguistic differences. Moreover, the Piro, in their tireless efforts to contact the remaining, isolated Mashco-Piro, have communicated with and even temporarily captured Mashco-Piro individuals (see MacQuarrie, 1992; Gow). However the main group of the Mashco-Piro insist on maintaining their isolation. Since the mid1990s, a second group assumed to be Mashco-Piro has appeared on the north bank of the Manu, apparently fleeing from incursions by petrochemical companies and loggers on Rio de las Piedras (see Box 1). The Mashco-Piro nomads today are almost certainly descendents of these original occupants of the upper Manu, decimated by Fitzcarralds attacks and forced to abandon agriculture and enter isolation. Yet were they the only indigenous inhabitants of the upper Manu at the time of the Rubber Boom? Historical sources are ambiguous (see Gow, 2006), but an examination of oral history suggests that at least one other group was present. The Matsigenka people living today at Tayakome and Yomybato mention a time,
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Box 1 Isolated Indigenous Groups Today Anthropological studies carried out during the parks creation indicated the presence of numerous isolated indigenous groups within the parks boundaries (dAns, 1972). The warlike Yora were contacted in the late 1980s, decimated by disease, and left park territories seeking better humanitarian assistance. The remote Matsigenka of the upper Sotileja and Cumerjali have increasingly emerged from isolation since 1990, also suffering from numerous respiratory epidemics. In 2004, a Polish film crew led by Jacek Palkiewicz entered park territories along the Pii-Pii River, seeking the legendary lost Inca city of Paititi, and in the process infected isolated Matsigenka populations of the Pii-Pii and Mameria with severe respiratory epidemics; a British film crew sconting for the Mark & Olly series was likewise blamed for an outbreak of colds among isolated Matsigenka of the Cumerjali (Shepard, 2008). Throughout the parks history, no effective action has been taken to prepare for the immediate health emergencies or long-term consequences of such contact situations with isolated groups. There are still considerable numbers of isolated indigenous peoples in Manu Park. The Mashco-Piro nomads of the Rio Pinquen migrate throughout the south bank of the lower Manu in close proximity to tour operations and Westernized native communities along the Upper Madre de Dios River. Supported discreetly by SIL missionaries, indigenous Protestant converts among the Piro of the Ucayali and Madre de Dios regions have aggressively sought to contact the Mashco-Piro for at least 15 yr. The Dominican mission of Shintuya has also made sporadic efforts to contact this group. Since 1996, clear evidence of hitherto unknown, isolated indigenous groups began to appear on the northern bank of the Manu river. The arrival of these people seems to have coincided with large-scale seismic exploration initiated by Mobil Oil in the Rio de las Piedras, northeast of Manu Park. Though loggers and missionaries had made exploratory trips to the Piedras basin since at least 1990, their incursions increased greatly after Mobil relinquished the concession in 1998. On one occasion, in the late 1990s, isolated natives shot arrows at tourist boats. In late 1999, carrying out an ethnobotanical survey close to Tayakome, Shepard and Yu and their Matsigenka guides were given warning calls by a party of isolated natives passing nearby (Shepard & Yu, 1999, cited in Huertas, 2002). More recently, with the explosion of illegal logging in the Madre de Dios province fueled by Brazils banning of mahogany exports, isolated indigenous groups have attacked, and been attacked by loggers working in the Piedras and adjacent areas, including the territory of isolated indigenous groups near the border with Brazil (Huertas). Since 2002, isolated groups have encroached with increasing frequency and boldness on the territory of settled Matsigenka communities on the upper Manu. They have taken metal implements and food from Matsigenka houses, burned one Matsigenka house located far up a north-bank tributary stream (perhaps as a warning not to return to that region),
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and fired arrows as warning shots at groups of Matsigenka who inadvertently approached them. Clearly, this group or groups are fleeing from turmoil in the Piedras area and seeking new territories within Manu Park. The Matsigenka claim that encounters have occurred with two distinctive cultural groups, presenting different kinds of arrows and different forms of bodily adornment. One group is assumed to be Mashco-Piro of the Piedras, surely constituting a distinctive population from the MashcoPiro of the Pinquen (Gow, 2006). The Matsigenka doubt the second group is Panoan (i.e., relatives of the Yora) due to the forms of body ornamentation and arrow-making styles. Some suggest that this second group may represent a final remnant of the Harakmbut-speaking Toyeri (Aogyeri), thought to have been wiped out in the 1950s (see Mashco and MashcoPiro). One Matsigenka man says he encountered a group of four men at the edge of his garden in the dry season of 2004, and exchanged, at a considerable distance, a few words of greeting in the Harakmbut tongue as taught to him by his deceased Kogapakori-speaking elderly relative. During the dry season in June 2005, a large group (perhaps as many as 100) of isolated people made a dramatic appearance at the biological research station of Cocha Cashu, leading to the evacuation of the station. The group migrated over a period of a few days towards Tayakome, where they repelled all attempts at approach or contact by Matsigenka community members with a hail of arrows. There, the group forded the Manu River at the mouth of Yomybato (Quebrada Fierro stream) and moved further into the interior of the park towards the Sotileja River. The Matsigenka consider this group to be Mashco-Piro. Never before had such a large and visible migration taken place, and the Matsigenka interpreted it as an indication that the Mashco-Piro group hoped to migrate on a more permanent basis to uninhabited territories in Manu Park, fleeing conflict with loggers in the Piedras basin. However, in August, a party of shotgun-wielding Yora who had entered the park from the Mishagua headwaters (undetected by the park of course, since no guard post exists there) encountered this group near the mouth of the Sotileja River. In the ensuing conflict, the Yora fired gunshots and wounded or perhaps killed at least one Mashco. This worrisome scenario summons a profound sensation of dja-vu, considering the Yora tragedy of the mid-1980s, likewise provoked by petrochemical, logging, and missionary penetration. Despite this experience, and despite a tremendous growth in the parks funding and personnel in the 1990s, little has changed in terms of the parks capacity to respond to health emergencies and conflict situations associated with the contact of isolated indigenous populations. The park badly needs to establish control posts along the Isthmus of Fitzcarrald, negotiate with the Matsigenka and Yora populations to establish norms of conduct to avoid such conflicts, and set aside no-go zones for isolated populations to transit, especially during the dry season when migrations are most common.
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probably before the beginning of the 20th century, when the Matsigenka maintained friendly relations with a group they refer to as Kogapakori, a generic Matsigenka term for all hostile groups, but whom the modern Matsigenka equate with the Harakmbut-speaking Toyeri. The Kogapakori were considered the dominant group, and so Matsigenka families sometimes allowed a son to be raised by the them to learn the language. The large number of Harakmbut loan words (especially animal, plant, and craft names) in the dialect of Matisgenka spoken in Manu Park bear testimony to this history of cultural contact. The last such Kogapakori-raised, Kogapakori-speaking Matsigenka, essentially the patriarch of the Tayakome-dwelling Matsigenka, died as a very old man in Tayakome in the 1980s. Fragments of Kogapakori vocabulary passed on to younger relatives are clearly Harakmbut in origin. According to stories passed on by this man, the whites massacred the Kogapakori on the Manu River at the tributary Kapiroshampiato (up-river from modern Tayakome), and the survivors fled to the middle and upper Cumerjali River, the next major down-river tributary, where they were joined by other members of the same group fleeing warfare and epidemic diseases elsewhere in the Madre de Dios basin (P. Lyon, personal communication, January 27, 2007, also mentions Huachipaeri oral histories of a small Toyeri group that crossed from the east bank of the Madre de Dios into the Manu watershed in the mid-20th century). However, the Kogapakori population at Cumerjali was massacred once again by whites several years later. According to another piece of oral history, the whites were aided in this second massacre by vengeful Matsigenka guides whose family members had been attacked and killed by the Kogapakori on the upper Sotileja. These Kogapakori are certainly among the socalled Mashcos massacred by Fitzcarrald, yet they would appear to bear no linguistic relation to the Arawakan-speaking Mashco-Piro. Indeed, Gow (2006) tentatively identifies two separate Mashco groups: those along the ManuMishagua watershed, likely Arawakan-speaking Mashco-Piro, and a second group of uncertain linguistic affiliation (possibly Harakmbut, though Gow is skeptical) along the Cumerjali. In light of Matsigenka oral histories, these latter were almost certainly the Harakmbut-speaking Kogapakori or Toyeri, a notoriously warlike Harakmbut sub-group, formerly dominant along the upper Madre de Dios, assumed to have been driven to extinction. The last surviving Kogapakori (Toyeri) group in the Manu watershed consisted of one man, his wife, and three sons, and they resided on a tributary of the Yomybato (Quebrada Fierro). To rebuild his group, this man began raiding the Matsigenka of the upper Sotileja to capture young girls to raise and later marry. He captured two girls, and killed many Matsigenka during the raids. He had a reputation for fearlessness, bravery, and great skill at dodging arrows in mid-flight. Finally, probably around 1950, the Matsigenka organized a raid to eliminate the Kogapakori threat and recapture the Matsigenka girls. The Kogapakori man and his three sons were killed in an early dawn raid, and his wife escaped into the forest where she subsisted, entirely alone, for
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many years before perishing: She could hunt with bow-and-arrow, and the Matsigenka found occasional traces (for example, finely made ceramic pots) of her solitary existence until as late as perhaps the 1970s. The Matsigenka girls who were rescued had learned the Kogapakori language, and the older one bore a male child nicknamed Mashco, the fierce Kogapakori chiefs last heir. These women remarried Matsigenka men, and the younger one, who died in 1987 in Yomybato, taught a few words of the Kogapakori language to her children. Words such as apane for jaguar are clearly of Harakmbut origin. Her Matsigenka husband, still alive, says the proper name for this group was Aogyeri, perhaps a deformation of Eorieri, which would appear to be the Harakmbut word for people of the Madre de Dios (Eori) river (P. Lyon, personal communication by telephone, 2004). He considers these Aogyeri to be identical with the near-extinct Toyeri. Together, this evidence strongly suggests the presence of two culturally and linguistically distinctive indigenous groups in the upper Manu at the outset of the 20th century, both probably referred to as Maschos by contemporary observers, and both of which were reduced almost to extinction by Fitzcarralds attacks. The Arawakan Mashco-Piro have certainly survived through the present, abandoning agriculture and isolating themselves from all outside contact. The Harakmbut-speaking Aogyeri (Toyeri) survived until the 1950s, though recent events suggest the possible survival of an isolated Harakmbut-speaking group through the present (see Box 1).
Piro
The Arawakan-speaking Piro were known as excellent navigators and shrewd middlemen, and through the 19th century carried out raids of local populations (especially the Matsigenka) along the Urubamba to obtain slaves and lowland goods, which they traded with highland Quechua peoples and Spanish missionaries for metal tools, fishhooks, glass beads, ceramics, and manufactured cloth (Camino, 1977). In the closing years of the 19th century, the Piro were Fitzcarralds principal guides in discovering the Isthmus across the upper Camisea and Mishagua into the Manu headwaters. Names of most major tributary rivers and some place names of the middle and upper Manu (e.g., Sotileja, Cumerjali, Cashpajali, Serjali, Tayakome, etc.) have a Piro derivation. These may be names applied by the original Mashco (i.e., MashcoPiro) inhabitants, but more likely represent names given by the Piro explorers and guides who accompanied Fitzcarrald. Descendents of Fitzcarralds native guides, representing a mix of indigenous groups (Ashaninka, Matsigenka, Piro) but speaking the language of the culturally dominant Piro, occupied the lower Manu River after the collapse of the Rubber Boom until the early 1960s. At that time, the Piro left and established new communities near the mouth of the Manu River, seeking to take advantage of new economic opportunities especially employment by oil companies involved in exploration along Madre
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de Dios. Most of their descendents now live in the native community of Diamante on the upper Madre de Dios upriver from the mouth of the Manu River, with a population in 2004 of about 360. Some have married with mestizo families in the jungle town of Boca Manu, at the mouth of the Manu River, while others have moved to the Urubamba River to mingle with ancestral Piro populations there. A Piro man from the Urubamba, affiliated with SIL missionaries, has often used Diamante as his base for contacting the isolated Mashco-Piro bands in Manu and Rio de las Piedras regions (see Gow, 2006).
Yora (Nahua)
The Panoan-speaking Yora or Nahua (see Hill & Kaplan, 1990; Feather, 2001; Shepard, 2003) migrated to the Manu-Mishagua watershed soon after the collapse of the Rubber Boom. They apparently fled from similar disruptions in their home region in the Purus basin to the northeast. They came to occupy the demographic and territorial void left by the retreating rubber tappers, and the Mashcos they had massacred and displaced. In the early years of their occupation, the Yora obtained metal tools and other trade goods by searching and excavating around the abandoned rubber camps, and ate from the rubber tappers abandoned banana plantations (MacQuarrie, 1991). Later, the Yora came to satisfy their desire for trade goods by attacking and raiding the Matsigenka of the Manu headwaters (MacQuarrie, 1991; Shepard, 1999a). Yora attacks also impeded the progress of loggers and later Shell seismic teams in their penetration of the upper Mishagua river (Zarzar, 1987). The Yora made national headlines in 1982 when they attacked and repelled an expedition of the Peruvian marines to the Manu River headwaters, intending to inaugurate construction of the Peruvian leg of the Trans-Amazon highway. Peruvian President Belaunde himself was flown in by helicopter. The group was attacked with bow-and-arrow by the Yora, and returned fire, killing or wounding an unknown number (Moore, 1984). President Belaunde appeared on the cover of the national newspaper cradling a Marine with a Yora arrow through the neck (MacQuarrie, 1992, p. 284), and the trans-Manu highway plan was shelved and remains inactive, though it is still visible on some maps. A group of four Yora men were captured by loggers in 1984, and taken to the Catholic mission town of Sepahua on the Urubamba River, where they were greeted warmly and showered in gifts. A larger group came to Sepahua weeks later, and was given a similar treatment (Zarzar, 1987; MacQuarrie, 1991; Shepard, 2003). Notoriously, however, the Yora made one final attack on the Matisgenka of Yomybato at Herinkapanko in 1985 (Shepard, 1999a), 1 yr after they had initiated peaceful contact on the Urubamba River. By 1986, the contact process resulted in a devastating epidemic of respiratory diseases, reducing the Yora population by one half or more (Shepard, 1999a; Shepard, 2003; see Box 1). Seeking medical help, food, and material assistance, the Yora periodically traveled down the Manu River in large numbers from 1986 to 1988, causing
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serious disruptions in indigenous communities of the Manu and Madre de Dios regions as well as at Cocha Cashu research station and the guard posts. Sensing a lack of assistance, the Yora left the Manu watershed to receive medical and other assistance from Protestant and Catholic missionaries operating out of Sepahua. The Yora currently occupy the village of Serjali on the upper Mishagua with a population of about 250. Small groups of Yora return occasionally to the Manu River to hunt, fish, and gather turtle eggs on their way down the Manu River to visit or seek work on the upper Madre de Dios or merely to pasear (visit, wander). The Yora are currently struggling to take control of their territory and remove illegal loggers who have overrun the region since the Yora were first contacted (Feather, 2001). The creation of the KugapakoriNahua Indigenous Reserve in 1991 (Figure 2) has done nothing to stem the tide of illegal logging. Once feared warriors who inadvertently defended Manu Park from loggers, oil companies, and road-building crews for decades, the Yora now need support from non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and the Peruvian government to defend their territory.
Matsigenka
The Matsigenka, currently the main indigenous population of Manu Park, did not occupy the main course of the Manu River until the 1960s. Oral histories suggest that the Matsigenka of Manu immigrated from the southfrom the headwaters of the Madre de Dios and Urubamba. The Matsigenka of Manu speak a different dialect than that spoken in the Urubamba watershed, and their dialect is characterized by a number of Harakmbut loan words, apparently resulting from extensive Matsigenka-Harakmbut inter-ethnic relations in Madre de Dios dating from before the Rubber Boom. The Matsigenka came to occupy the upper Sotileja, Cumerjali, and other southbank headwater tributaries of the Manu River by the middle of the 20th century, occupying the demographic void left by the Rubber Boom (Shepard 1999a). In the late 1950s, Protestant SIL missionaries employed native guides from the Urubamba to contact remote Matsigenka settlements in the Manu and upper Madre de Dios headwater regions. In the early 1960s, the SIL established a settled village at Tayakome on the Manu River and built a schoolhouse, a medical post, and a small air strip (dAns, 1981; Shepard & Izquierdo, 2003). At its height, Tayakome had more than 200 Matsigenka from dispersed settlements throughout the Manu and Madre de Dios (dAns, 1975). Although SILs main goal was evangelical, their work also included health care, community organization, bilingual education, and linguistic and ethnographic study (Snell, 1964, 1973, 1978, 1998; Snell & Davis, 1976). SIL missionaries also brought shotguns and ammunition, and the Matsigenka supplied the missionaries with animal pelts to help finance the operations (Jungius, 1976). Partly because of this, soon after Manu Park was established, the park administration expelled the missionaries.
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Starting in 1973, many Matsigenka evangelical converts exited from Tayakome. Enticed by missionary promises of trade goods and eternal salvation, approximately half the population of Tayakome abandoned Manu, crossed the Isthmus of Fitzcarrald to the Camisea River, and established a new community at Segakiato. Other families, also from the original Tayakome mission, established themselves along the upper Madre de Dios outside Manu Park, joining or creating new communities at Palotoa, Shipetiaari, and Diamante. Due to internal tensions, lack of missionary support, and fear of Yora attacks in the late 1970s, several families from the remnant Tayakome community created new settlements on the upper Quebrada Fierro or Yomuivaato stream, later establishing the native community of Yomybato. Yomybato grew in the 1980s as survivors of Yora attacks in the upper Cumerjali and Sotileja fled there. The Matsigenka communities of Tayakome and Yomybato have since become the foci of the parks indigenous policies, especially since the 1990s, when they became better organized and began making concrete demands for health care, educational facilities, and economic opportunities. There are also a number of poorly known, isolated Matsigenka and related Kogapakori or Nanti settlements in the Manu, Camisea, and Timpia headwaters (see Box 1). Since the mid-1990s, people from some of these isolated settlements, especially from the upper Cumerjali and Sotileja, have initiated weeks- to months-long visits to Tayakome and Yomybato in order to socialize, trade for steel tools and other goods, and find spouses. A few families have moved permanently to the Yomybato community. Likewise, a few men from the Nanti settlement of Montetoni (upper Camisea) have come to Tayakome seeking spouses. Finally, starting in the 1990s, a few Matsigenka from the SIL village of Segakiato on the Camisea rivermostly children of those who left Manu Park in the 1970shave returned to Manu Park seeking spouses, better hunting grounds, and respite from the turmoil caused by the Camisea Gas Project. The long-term residents of Tayakome and Yomybato view these return migrations, and the potential for more in the future, with ambivalence. Though they have close familial ties with the migrants, the migrants are viewed as outsiders. Some bring with them an attitude of superiority over the more traditional, less well-schooled people of Manu Park. The people of Tayakome and Yomybato also fear illnesses and especially techniques of witchcraft, sorcery, and love magic that the migrants could have learned in the Urubamba basin.
Quechua
Many highland Quechua peasant settlements are found along the parks southern boundary. Also, numerous Quechua-speaking migrants came to the Madre de Dios lowlands through government-sponsored colonization projects since the 1960s. However, the only Quechua-speaking population to be found within the boundaries of the park is Callanga, a settlement of about 200 at the southern tip of Manu Park (see Box 2).
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Box 2 Callanga: The Forgotten Indians The highland township of Callanga near the southern tip of Manu has long been an annoyance to Manu Parks administration, its inhabitants viewed by some former park directors as illegal squatters and possibly drug traffickers (Terborgh, 1999, p. 40). These squatters are in fact indigenous Quechua who have inhabited the valley at the confluence of the Pitama and Sihuas rivers for centuries. With an altitude of 1,200 m, Callanga has about 40 families with a total population of some 200. Complex kin relations with high Andean communities outside the park make it difficult to establish exactly who are permanent Callanga residents. Most of the population is monolingual in Quechua. They cultivate cassava, tropical fruits, coffee, and coca in a subsistence economy involving exchange and trade with high Andean communities that produce cold-weather crops such as potatoes and onions and are located some 2 d by mule from Callanga at higher elevations outside the park boundaries. Callanga families travel there to sell or trade the products for Sunday markets. The consumption and trade of coca leaves has deep cultural and historical roots and greatly precedes the contemporary drug trafficking trade. Callanga has some of the worst health conditions yet documented anywhere in Peru and perhaps all of Latin America, with an infant mortality rate of 124.2 per 1000; chronic infant malnutrition of more than 70%; only 21% coverage for tetanus, measles, diphtheria, polio, and whooping cough vaccinations; high rates of tuberculosis; and a maternal mortality rate of 38% (Cueva, 1990; Rummenhoeller, 1997). Vegetation-covered stone ruins, walls, and roads in the vicinity attest to the fact that Callanga was an ancient Incan trade enclave in the Amazon region, and has probably been inhabited continuously since before the Spanish conquest. Francisco Toledo in his Visita General del Peru (15701575), mentions Callanga as an Indian land division in Paucartambo Province. In the 18th century, Callanga appears as a large hacienda on land documents from Paucartambo (Corregimento de Causas Ordinrias de la Provncia de Paucartambo, Archivo Departamental de Cusco, Legajo 76, 17801784). By the end of the 19th century, the hacienda of Callanga was an important center of rum and coca production, spanning an altitudinal zones from 1200 to 3200 m. Through the early 1960s, when many isolated Matsigenka populations of Manu were contacted by Protestant missionaries, some Matsigenka families made an arduous 15-d or more journey on paths through rugged Andean foothills to trade at Callanga, the only regional source of metal tools, beads, and other trade goods (Shepard & Izquierdo, 2003). When the last hacienda owner died in 1965, the Quechua peasants and sharecroppers took over the hacienda and
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divided the land up among themselves. One group remained in the low lands currently within the boundaries of Manu Park, and the other group took the high Andean lands currently outside the Park. As such, Callanga remained unaffected by Perus massive Agrarian Reform of 1969 that broke up former haciendas and titled the lands to peasants. Thus, Manu Park was superimposed partially onto this ancient Andean community with a complex though officially unresolved history of land tenure. Peasant families of Callanga maintain traditions of ancestral land rights that go back for centuries, and are passed on through the generations according to strict, clearly defined traditional norms. The people of Callanga are not easily willing to recognize the rights of Manu Park, a newcomer to their ancient territory, over land that they have used and inhabited for centuries. Nonetheless, the people of Callanga were stigmatized, subjected to strict controls and treated as invaders for many years by the park administration and park guards. Only since 1995 has the park directorship taken up a dialogue with the residents of Callanga, enabling, for example, the peaceful transfer of cattle from lowlands areas within the park to pastures in the high Andean segment of Callanga outside the official park boundaries. In the recent re-zoning of PNM, the impasse was resolved and Callanga was set aside under the category of special use zone (see Figure 1), excising (or at least forming a cyst around) the troublesome township and recognizing the de facto historical land tenure of this highland peasant community within the borders of a strictly protected nature reserve.
MANU NATIONAL PARK: CURRENT STATUS

Manu National Park or Parque Nacional del Manu (PNM) is a UNESCO World Heritage site, considered one of the most important regions for biodiversity conservation in the tropics. It includes the entire watershed of the Manu River, from its headwaters in the Andes mountains over 4,000 m above sea level, to the lowland tropical forests of the Manu floodplain. Manu was first set aside as a National Forest Reserve in 1968, and then declared a National Park on May 29, 1973, with a total area of 1,536,806 ha. Since its creation, PNM has officially been considered in its totality an untouchable area, where the ecological integrity of the environment is preserved, and only non-intrusive activities such as basic research are permitted. Nonetheless, as we relate above, both settled indigenous communities and numerous isolated populations are found within this core. In March 1977, PNM was incorporated as the core region of a larger conservation unit, Manu Biosphere Reserve or Reserva de Biosfera del Manu (RBM),
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established through United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organizations (UNESCO) Man and the Biosphere program. Encompassing PNM plus buffer zones, RBM has a total area of 1,881,200 ha; see Figure 1). In 1980, part of the buffer zone along the lower Manu River was designated Manu Reserve Zone or Zona Reservada del Manu (ZRM), a category with provisional protection status within Perus system of natural protected areas. Initially, sustainable-use practices in addition to tourism were contemplated for the ZRM, including selective logging, experimental forestry, and even agriculture. In the long run, however, tourism has won out as the major economic strategy for this zone; and in 2002, much of the ZRM was incorporated into PNM, giving the park a total area of 1,716,500 ha.
FIGURE 1 Manu National Park, Madre de Dios, Peru. Locations of uncontacted indigenous groups are approximate. The Matsigenka settlements of Sarigemini (1b) and Maizal (2b) are recent and smaller satellite communities derived from Yomybato and Tayakome, respectively. The former Reserve Zone has been incorporated into the park proper. The Special Use Zone, which borders the Yomybato river and the Manu river between 2a and 2b, indicates the area set aside for subsistence activities by the settled Matsigenka communities.
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Manu Biosphere Reserve also includes the Cultural Zone, sometimes referred to as the cooperation zone or the Andean/Amazonian multiple use zone. The Cultural Zone, located at the parks eastern boundary along the fairly populous upper Madre de Dios River, contains a diversity of human populations including legally titled native communities, Andean peasant communities and colonist settlements, semi-urban settlements, logging concessions, and private land holdings, including private nature reserves associated with tourism ventures. The Cultural Zone has no legal protection status, but serves as a buffer zone of mostly stable, titled lands where sustainable development can be promoted among local populations, thereby avoiding more destructive development or colonization projects. Especially since the late 1990s, government agencies and NGOs have carried out projects in environmental education, forest management, agricultural outreach, health care, community-based ecotourism, and other activities in this zone. More recently, the Manu Biosphere Reserve has been bolstered by the creation of neighboring reserves of varying protection status, creating an extended buffer zone in surrounding areas (see Figure 2). KUGAPAKORI-NAHUA
INDIGENOUS RESERVE
The Kugapakori-Nahua Indigenous Reserve, with an area of 443,887 ha, was set aside in 1991 to protect a region inhabited by indigenous populations with little contact with national society: the recently contacted Yora (Nahua) of the upper Mishagua River, and isolated Matsigenka-related populations (Nanti or Kogapakori, where Kugapakori is the official name of the reserve but is a misspelling) of the upper Camisea and Timpia. In theory, this reserve protects the back door to Manu via the Isthmus of Fitzcarrald. In fact, the Kugapakori-Nahua reserve is not included in Perus system of protected areas and has no state support. The upper Mishagua is thoroughly invaded by loggers from the Ucayali, while the Camisea is the site of a massive natural gas extraction and pipeline project originally studied and developed by Shell, and currently operated by Plus Petrol. It is only through the efforts of individual indigenous communities and NGOs that any control or protection is afforded. Nonetheless, this reserve would appear to be critical for PNMs long-term integrity, and deserves serious study and support by Peruvian and international conservation organizations. AMARAKAERI
COMMUNAL RESERVE
The Amarakaeri Communal Reserve was designated in 2002 as a communal-use area for the main surviving Harakmbut-speaking group of Madre de Dios, encompassing their traditional territory throughout the headwaters of the Rio Colorado (or Karene) and other south-bank tributaries of the Madre de Dios (Blanco, Chilihue, Inambari). Its area of 402,336 ha is separated from the Alto
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FIGURE 2 Protected areas and indigenous reserves surrounding Manu National Park. Not Indicated are titled lands and concessions for resource extraction along the Madre de Dios River (here, white).
Madre de Dios and the Madre de Dios courses by a swath of lands titled or granted as use concessions to various colonist and native communities. Gold mining throughout the Rio Colorado basin since the 1950s has caused extensive environmental degradation and cultural change. Again, the reserve is not governed by strict conservation rules. However, by guaranteeing land rights and promoting sustainable use by native communities, it is hoped that colonization and exploitation by outside resource extractors may be controlled. ALTO
PURUS NATIONAL PARK
The Alto Purus National Park was created in 2004 with more than 2,500,000 ha, divided between the departments of Ucayali and Madre de Dios. The Madre de Dios portion of the reserve (depicted in Figure 1) is contiguous with Manu National Parks northern boundary. The Ucayali portion (Purus River
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proper) contains a large number of settled, Westernized indigenous communities, mostly of the Panoan language family, as well as several isolated populations. Within Madre de Dios, the Purus Park embraces the headwaters of the Piedras River, and a territory of two or more isolated indigenous groups about which not even the most basic informationlinguistic affiliation, population, territory, prior history of contactis known (Huertas, 2002). Prior to being incorporated into the national park, the upper Piedras was included within Mobil Oils exploration block number 77, an enterprise criticized both for its disturbance of pristine forest and its likelihood of contact with isolated Indians (Shepard, 2002b). Mobil registered numerous signs of isolated indigenous groups, but no direct or hostile encounters were reported. Soon after Mobil began its exploration activities in 1996, hitherto unknown, isolated indigenous groups suddenly appeared in Manu Park along the north bank of the Manu River, due south of the area impacted by Mobils seismic operations (Shepard, 1998b, cited in Huertas). It seems likely that these groups had fled to Manu seeking safer territories after the massive influx of outsiders, helicopters, and heavy equipment. Mobil relinquished its contract in 1999 without pursuing petroleum extraction. However, the region was then overrun by loggers from the city of Puerto Maldonado. Illegal mahogany loggers remain in the region today, despite the establishment of the national park. Reports of conflicts between illegal loggers and isolated indigenous groups in the Piedras River basin have become increasingly frequent; and groups of the latter, apparently fleeing conflict in the Piedras, now migrate on a yearly basis into Manu Park, provoking ever more frequent and aggressive encounters with the settled Matsigenka populations (see Box 1).
LOS
AMIGOS CONSERVATION CONCESSION
The Los Amigos Conservation Concession on the Rio de los Amigos is situated between Manu River and Rio de las Piedras, along the parks eastern border. Like the adjacent Piedras, the Amigos basin was completely overtaken by loggers in the years following Mobils retreat from Block 77. In 2002, the non-profit Amazon Conservation Association (http://www.amazonconservation.org) was granted management authority over 1.6 million ha of the Amigos basin. Loggers were removed, and the reserve is currently being used to promote research and tourism. The Amigos watershed includes territory used by isolated indigenous groups from the Piedras and Manu basins, and areas have been set aside within the concession to accommodate these groups annual migrations. MEGANTONI
NATIONAL SANCTUARY
Megantoni National Sanctuary, with 216,003 ha, was set aside as both a wildlife sanctuary and a cultural reserve for the Matsigenka people. It stretches from
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the Pongo de Maiique canyon on the Urubamba River to the headwaters of the Timpia River along Manu Parks back door northern boundary, territory of the so-called Kogapakori: isolated, feared, apparently hostile groups closely related to the Matsigenka. The reserve includes the fantastic rock formations along the Pongo de Maiique known as Tonkiniku (place of bones) in Matsigenka, considered both sacred and fearsome as the final resting place of dead souls. Though government conservation agencies have little involvement here, the Matsigenka communities in the region are well organized and politically active, intent on defending the sanctuary from various destructive development options including roads, colonization projects, petrochemical drilling, and a long-proposed hydroelectric dam (Rivera, 1991). A Matsigenka ecotourism enterprise has operated on the Timpia River with marginal success.
THE LEGAL LANDSCAPE

Today in Peru, it would be impossible to design a national park without considering the rights and participation of local indigenous people (see Table 1). But when PNM was created in 1973, Peruvian law did not yet recognize indigenous territories, which were considered to be empty. Under the development-minded government of President Fernando Belaundes first term of office in the mid 1960s, the Amazon interior was viewed as a vast and under-exploited emptiness: a no-mans land about which the state reserved the right to make land-use decisions, and a demographic void to be filled with colonists seeking untapped riches. Belaundes mission statement appears in a book entitled, appropriately, The Conquest of Peru by Peruvians (Belaunde, 1959). The state gave preference to colonization projects, hoping to harness, inhabit, and civilize the empty Amazon interior; and to logging, mining, cattle ranching, and oil prospecting projects (Moore, 1984). Indigenous people were often expelled from their own traditional territories, or subjected to exploitative economic relations at the hands of hacienda owners and labor bosses. The Belaunde government likewise stimulated colonization and development projects in the department of Madre de Dios, including logging concessions throughout the Cultural Zone and petroleum exploration blocks immediately surrounding and even crossing Manu Park boundaries. Most egregiously, Belaunde initiated planning of an interfluvial canal and highway that would have cut through the middle of PNM and connected the Peruvian coast with the trans-Amazon highway in Brazil, a project which he attempted to inaugurate in 1982 during his second term of office, with disastrous results (see Yora [Nahua], above). In 1974, the socialist military government of General Velasco Alvarado decreed the Law of Native Communities (D.L. 20653), granting indigenous people certain collective rights over land. However, the law was formulated
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TABLE 1 Peruvian Laws Pertaining to the Status of Indigenous Peoples in Parks Year 1974 Law name Ley de Comunidades Nativas Ley Forestal y de Fauna Silvestre Law number Decreto Legislativo N 20653 Decreto Legislativo N 21147 Summary and relevance to native populations Law of Native Communities: establishes basis of legal land title for indigenous communities throughout Peruvian Amazon. Forestry and Wildlife Law: general policy for conservation and protected areas; native inhabitants of protected areas are not mentioned. Revised Law of Native Communities: caveats and restrictions to 1974 legislation; notably, legal land title in parks is not allowed, though native communities can remain in parks if they do not interfere with conservation objectives. Code for the Environment and Natural Resources: native communities can receive legal land title in parks, as long as they do not interfere with the conservation objectives (in contradiction to above). ILO Convention 169: requires participation by indigenous peoples in administration, use, and protection of natural resources; forced resettlement of native people is illegal. Law of Natural Protected Areas: special use zones permitted in national parks where inhabitants who predate the park can practice land use; but legal land title not permitted. Strategy for the implementation of the 1997 Protected Areas Law (above) Implementation of the 1997 Protected Areas Law (above)
1975
1978
Ley de Comunidades Nativas y de Desarrollo Agrario en las Regiones de Selva y Ceja de Selva
Decreto Legislativo N 22175
1990
Cdigo del Medio Ambiente y los Recursos Naturales
Decreto Legislativo N 613
1994
International Labor Organization Convention 169 on Indigenous Peoples Ley de reas Naturales Protegidas
Ratified as R.L. 26253
1997
Ley N 26834
1999
2001
Estrategia Nacional para las reas Naturales Protegidas Plan Director (INRENA 1999) Reglamento de la Ley de reas Naturales Protegidas
Decreto Supremo N 010-99-AG Decreto Supremo N 038-2001-AG
in such a way as to recognize indigenous territorial rights only at the local level, the so-called native community, and not at the level of larger cultural-linguistic groups or geographic regions. In this way, large traditional territories were fragmented into small, autonomous communities, each recognized legally and organized according to democratic principles. This formulation was intended to put to rest the specter, raised during the
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nascent indigenous movement of the early 1970s, of independent indigenous nations within the Peruvian state. Nonetheless, the Native Community Law provided a crucial legal framework of land tenure for indigenous peoples, and has ultimately led to the titling of tens of millions of hectares of land to native communities throughout the Peruvian Amazon. The revised 1978 Law of Native Communities (D.L. 22175) further weakened indigenous rights to land tenure by stipulating that only agricultural lands could be held in communal title. Forested lands (the vast majority of land in a native community) are treated as government property ceded for communal use, with the government maintaining the right to withdraw or condition that use. These stipulations were clearly intended to ensure that indigenous territories would not present an obstacle to colonization, road construction, petrochemical and mineral exploration, and other development projects. Furthermore, the 1978 law also states that native communities in national parks are not allowed to receive land title, though they are permitted to remain as long as their activities do not interfere with the parks conservation objectives. Nonetheless, three Andean peasant communities and one lowland native community were titled in the 1980s with territories partially overlapping PNM. In direct contradiction to the 1978 Law of Native Communities, the more comprehensive 1990 Environmental and Natural Resource Code (D.L. 613) recognizes land tenure and the resource-use rights of indigenous communities within natural protected areas. As such, this legislation conforms with the language of Convention 169 of the International Labor Organization (ratified in Peru in 1994 by R.L. 26253), guaranteeing the rights of indigenous and tribal peoples to participate in the use, economic benefits, administration, and conservation of natural resources. During a 1993 meeting between Matsigenka inhabitants, indigenous NGOs, and park officials (see Shepard, 2002a), the park officials were shown the paragraphs in the 1990 Natural Resource Code that specifically permitted the titling of native communities within national parks; they had not been aware of this aspect of the legislation, and were surprised by the revelation. More recently, the 1997 Law of Protected Natural Areas (L. 26834) attempted to resolve the contradictory legal situation by permitting the creation of Special Use Zones (see Figure 1) for ancestral communities in national parks. Such special zones provide official recognition for native communities without granting them actual land title. However, it is still possible that politically ambitious native communities in parks could take advantage of the contradictory legislation and push for land titles. In addition to the contradictory laws governing land title in parks, the legislation that ostensibly limits indigenous activities in parks is open to different interpretations. For instance, several important laws (see Table 1) grant ancestral indigenous populations the right to remain in parks as long as their traditional activities do not interfere with a parks conservation goals. However, a more restrictive interpretation could argue that even traditional subsistence activities have sufficient environmental impact to be deleterious to
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a national parks objectives, given a large enough population size. Thus, it is not clear whether legal weight rests more on the total environmental impact of indigenous activities, or on the fact that those activities are traditional. The situation becomes even more murky when one tries to define traditional subsistence activities. One reading might include only the activities of isolated or so-called uncontacted populations. However, the historical record indicates that the isolated, nomadic populations of Manu are not traditional at all, but rather refugees from Rubber Boom violence. On the other hand, the current settled populations of Tayakome and Yomybato (and increasingly, the more isolated Matsigenka populations with whom they trade) are utterly dependent on steel tools, Western medicines, other imported technologies, and, increasingly, formal school education. These are distinctly non-traditional innovations, and yet were introduced by missionaries prior to the founding of the park. In any event, restricting access to trade goods, medicines, and formal education would drastically lower their quality of life and probably contravene their broad legal rights as Peruvian citizens, as well as those guaranteed by the Environmental and Natural Resource Code.
THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL POLICIES OF PNM

It is clear that the core, untouchable area of Manu National Park (PNM) was created on the ancestral territory of indigenous Amazonian and Andean peoples and that those populations have legal rights to the use of that land for the foreseeable future. Even today, the total indigenous population of PNM is not known, due to significant numbers of isolated groups in various parts of the park. The focus of the rest of this article is therefore on the Matsigenka population of about 420, settled in two legally recognized Matsigenka communities, Tayakome and Yomybato. For now, the status of human populations and the control of human impacts remain a subject of debate and polemic among state institutions, NGOs, biologists, anthropologists, and indigenous organizations. Despite the obvious need and many attempts over the years, PNM has never developed effective, long-term policies concerning local indigenous and non-indigenous populations. During most of the parks history, no anthropologist or other professional with social science training has been on the staff. The longest tenure was between 1985 and 1988. Since that time, a number of park anthropologists have been hired on a temporary basis using momentary funding opportunities, but have been let go once full funding responsibility falls back on INRENA, and the impact on native community relations has been negligible, becoming a standing joke among the Matsigenka: That one came one time, and never came back. Then there was that other one we didnt even meet! I wonder how long this latest one will last? It would appear that INRENA and PNM do not place a high priority on maintaining a full-time anthropological
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professional. Thus, since PNMs inauguration, its anthropological policies have tended to be vague, even unwritten, sometimes contradictory, and frequently changed, paralleling the legal history related above. To the inhabitants, the rationale and regulations of PNM remained mysterious through the first two decades of the parks existence, until the early 1990s, when these inhabitants began demanding information, attention, and assistance.
TABLE 2 Timeline of PNMs Anthropological Policies Year 1968 Author/institution Name/description Implications for communities Status Never implemented Largely followed through the present
La Molina Forestry Habitat zoning School
1970s PNM
1985
Rios et al.
1989
Helberg
1997
Rummenhoeller
2002
INRENA and Pro-Manu
2002
INRENA and Pro Manu
Recommends various resource-use zones for native communities Native inhabitants Informal rules allowed to move concerning native freely in park and peoples maintaintraditional subsistence activities 1st Master Plan Very little for PNM anthropological information or planning; native communities maintain traditional lifestyle or else leave the park 1st Anthropological Guidelines for Plan for PNM anthropological policy and dialogue with communities 2nd Anthropological Preliminary Plan for PNM document to coordinate actions, improve quality of life, and promote participation in park management 2nd Master Plan Harmonize the cultural development of indigenous peoples with objectives of National Park Revision of the 2nd Assurance of traditional Anthropological indigenous rights Plan in park territories, better education and health access, participation in park management
Overall plan implemented, though aspects referring to native communities never communicated to them Never implemented
Never officially implemented, but some of its recommendation s eventually adopted Implemented
Not yet implemented, though implementation required per the 2nd Master Plan
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The history of PNMs anthropological policies can be divided into three main phases: (a) an early phase, from the inception of the park through the mid-1980s, guided by unrealistic and idealistic notions and with little direct contact or communication with native communities; (b) a phase of crisis, from the mid-1980s through the late 1990s, when the native communities began to react to the parks negligence during the prior decade; and (c) the current phase of rapprochement and negotiation, marked especially by the inauguration in 19971998 of the Matsigenka ecotourism lodge with direct INRENA support.
The First Decade of Official Policy: 19731985

The Belgian anthropologist Andr-Marcel dAns (1972, 1975), who participated in early anthropological surveys, saw the creation of PNM as a chance to protect native peoples from outside influences that would change their way of life or subject them to undignified or inhumane conditions; for example, forced labor or debt peonage. But the main impetus for creating PNM came from biological conservationists, which meant that the parks location, rationale, and boundaries were determined according to ecological and defensibility criteria: high wildlife abundances and the opportunity to conserve an entire watershed and an unbroken altitudinal gradient. There was no consideration of the existing territories, resource- use patterns, or ancestral rights of lowland or Andean indigenous populations, nor were local populations consulted about the creation of the park. In 1968, soon after the declaration of a national forest reserve in Manu, a team from the Forestry Research Institute at La Molina University proposed a habitat zoning system for the Matsigenka communities, including areas for hunting, forest product collection, and agriculture (Ros, Vasquez, Ponce, Tovar, & Dourojeanni, 1985). Curiously, the work was carried out without any study of actual Matsigenka land or resource-use practices, and not surprisingly, this first attempt at anthropological policy making had no practical consequences. As the first intervention aimed at native populations, this anecdote appropriately sets the stage for a long history of top-down policy making that has shown little respect for or interest in indigenous cultures, and often verged on the absurd. The early administrators of PNM established a set of guidelines governing the activities of native peoples in the park. For the most part, these rules were not written down or communicated explicitly to the native inhabitants. However, because of the isolation and cultural conservatism of the Matsigenka communities, the rules have proven to be somewhat self-enforcing. 1. Indigenous residents of PNM are free to carry out traditional subsistence activities such as hunting, fishing, gathering, and agriculture throughout the park. Firearms are prohibited, yet other non-traditional technologies such as fishhooks, line, and nets are permitted.
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2. Commercial logging and the traffic and sale of animal skins and hides, as well as wild animals are prohibited. Raising cattle or swine, even for subsistence reasons, is not allowed. 3. Indigenous residents of PNM are allowed to circulate freely in the park. Although they need no authorization to enter or leave the park, they are subject to search and confiscation of non-authorized items, especially firearms and munitions. However, since there are no explicit rules, depending upon the historical moment and the disposition of the park guard, traditional food, craft, and extractive items (e.g., smoked fish or meat, turtle eggs, palm thatch, arrows, medicinal saps, or bark) assumed to be destined for commercialization outside the park have been confiscated, usually to the great consternation of the person carrying them. 4. Persons or groups entering PNM whose activities could affect the indigenous way of life are subject to search and are usually required to obtain prior authorization from the Peruvian government. The main idea behind these norms is to prevent indigenous communities having access to technologies (such as firearms) or extractive economic opportunities that could harm the ecology of the park. In 1985, a document known as the Master Plan (Plan Director) was approved for PNM (Ros et al., 1985). The plan lacks any detailed anthropological, ethnohistorical, or human-ecological analysis. It considers only two acceptable options for native populations: conserve their traditional lifestyles and remain in the park, or opt for Westernization and leave the park; however, no provisions were made to enforce the second option. Effectively, the Master Plan provided the justification behind the unwritten rules put in place by previous PNM administrations, as described above. The tacit hope of preservationist-minded conservationists was that the park would gradually become depopulated as native inhabitants were drawn toward trade centers and economic opportunities outside the park (Helberg, 1989). Those who subscribed to such ideas underestimated the strong ties of native people to their lands, resources, and traditions. In fact, as surrounding areas succumb to colonization and resource pressure, PNM may become increasingly attractive to both Westernized and isolated indigenous peoples as a safe haven, a crucial point to which we return below (see Common Interests, below).
The Growing Crisis: Matsigenka-Park Conflicts, 19731985

The expulsion of Protestant missionaries from the Summer Institute of Linguistics (SIL) in 1973 marked the first important conflict between PNM and the Matsigenka, and arose out of the protectionist-idealist vision of the park: by removing outside influences, the indigenous population would return to an idealized, but historically inaccurate, natural state. The flaw in
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that plan was that economic, education, and especially health-care necessities had already been generated by the missionaries 10-yr presence in the region. In the early years of the parks existence, a guard post was established at Tayakome. Due to insufficient material support, lack of appropriate training, and nonexistent park rules, the park guards stationed there provoked a series of conflicts with the inhabitants of Tayakome that are remembered bitterly to the present day: sexual relations with native women, a heavy dependence on the community for food, abuse of authority, alcoholism, and other transgressions. After many complaints, and also for logistical reasons, the guard post at Tayakome was finally relocated downstream. The removal of the SIL left a tremendous political, economic, educational, and medical vacuum in Tayakome that the park did little, or nothing, to fill. One Matsigenka schoolteacher who had been trained by the missionaries continued teaching for a few years in Tayakome after the SILs official departure, but he eventually gave up due to a lack of support both within the community and from the outside. A group of families moved downstream from Tayakome and began sporadic trade relations with the scientists at the Cocha Cashu Biological Station, bartering fish and agricultural products for Western goods. Another group of families, hoping to escape cold epidemics, attacks by the hostile Yora tribe, and social conflicts within the community, left Tayakome beginning in 1978 to establish new settlements on the upper Quebrada Fierro tributary, constituting the community known today as Yomybato. The most critical conflicts between PNM and the communities were precipitated by the precarious health situation during the decade following the parks inauguration in 1973. After having lived in a settled community with missionary health care for a decade, suddenly the Matsigenka were left with no Western medical assistance. Their health status during the decade of isolation that followed was abysmal. Epidemics of respiratory infections were frequent and fatal, and outbreaks of unusual new illnesses resulted in accusations of sorcery, death threats, and the exile of some community members. Analysis of demographic data from the village of Tayakome, where the SIL school and health post had been, shows a 50% decline in the rate of population growth during the decade of 19751984, after the missionary exodus, when compared with the prior decade of missionary presence. Between 1974 and 1980, 15 of the 25 children born in Tayakome died during that period, a grim 60% rate of infant and child mortality (Shepard et al., 2009). During 1986, anthropologists Magdalena Hurtado and Kim Hill spent much of their fieldwork time and all of their personal medical resources (plus several thousand penicillin tablets donated by the parents of G. Shepard) treating a particularly virulent outbreak of respiratory infections among Matsigenka and Yora populations (Hurtado, Hill, & Kaplan, 1987; Hill & Kaplan, 1990). The researchers made arrangements with SILs air fleet, Alas
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de Esperanza (Wings of Hope), for an airdrop of additional medicines and possible removal of an acutely ill patient. Though unable themselves to address the dire health-care needs of the indigenous communities, PNM officials denied SIL access to Manus airspace, apparently in fear that medical assistance might represent a foot in the door for the return of SIL presence to Manu. These direct conflicts between the anthropologists and park officials, as well as ideological conflict between their research agenda and the parks idealistic-protectionist anthropological vision, jeopardized future research authorizations for the team. Colleagues of Hill and Hurtado, Hilliard Kaplan and Kate Kopischke carried out research in Manu in 1988 and again found themselves treating major health problems while encountering only obstacles among park officials: Critics sought to revoke our research permits, and at regular intervals we learned of rumor campaigns designed, undoubtedly, to instill distrust among the Matsigenka themselves (Kopischke, 1996, p. 185). These conflicts between the park and the anthropological researchers, and the continued lack of economic opportunities, further embittered the Matsigenka. In this and other instances, persons and organizations who worked with or sought to assist the Matsigenka were expelled, banned, or otherwise hindered in carrying out their work with the communities. In each instance, PNM administrators judged the immediate or long-term impacts of the work of these people or organizations as inconsistent with the parks conservation interests and preservationist policies. Certainly a park has the right, indeed the obligation, to restrict access to its territories and take decisions about which research and other projects will be allowed to take place. However, due to the unclear or nonexistent anthropological policies, the absence of concrete alternative projects, and a complete lack of communication with the communities to justify or clarify such decisions, they came to be perceived by the Matsigenka as arbitrary, unfair, and detrimental to their livelihood. After the withdrawal of the SIL, the Dominican mission at Shintuya on the upper Madre de Dios decided to re-conquer the souls of Manu for the Catholic Church, taking advantage of and sometimes fueling a growing antipark sentiment among the Matsigenka. Initially, the priests at Shintuya sent humanitarian aid such as tools, clothes, and medical supplies. In 19831984, the diocese established schools, first in Tayakome and then in Yomybato. Various episodes of conflict and confrontation occurred between the park and the Dominican priests over the confiscation of banned articles; for example, when priests tried to smuggle guns or ammunition to the communities, or when they left the communities and the park laden with dried bush meat or turtle eggs given to them by the Matsigenka. The return of schools and teachers caused fundamental changes in the social organization of the communities. As in the SIL times, the school became a fixed and central point of reference for the community, serving as a hub of
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access to Western goods and medicines and contributing to a growing sedentarization of formerly scattered, mobile settlements (dAns, 1975; Shepard & Chicchn, 2001). The pedagogical method and philosophy of the schools, however, changed completely from SIL times. Motivated by a curious mixture of linguistic, anthropological, and evangelical zeal, SIL teaches reading and writing in the native language. SIL missionaries are trained in field linguistic techniques in order to develop a custom orthography for translating the Bible and other Christian texts into the native tongue. In contrast, the Dominican teaching method emphasizes reading and writing skills in the national language of Spanish, employs Spanish orthography to render the native tongue (which is the source of the spelling Machiguenga, instead of the SIL-devised and orthographically proper spelling Matsigenka), and is driven by a philosophy of acculturation and assimilation into Peruvian national society. The teachers sent by the priests to run the small, community-built schoolhouses are bilingual, Westernized Matsigenka from the Urubamba River who studied under the Dominican education system. Because of their Spanish language ability, they often serve, whether in official capacity or not, as intermediaries in interactions with outsiders. Consequently, the schoolteachers have come to acquire significant political and economic power in the communities, and have been prime motivators for a wide range of social and cultural changes over the past two decades. In both communities, close relatives of the schoolteachers have come for extended visits from their home regions, sometimes marrying and remaining in the communities but in other instances provoking social conflict, especially when male relatives have fathered illegitimate children. The schoolteachers facilitated contacts with Peruvian indigenous organizations and contributed greatly to the current political engagement of the communities. In particular, the indigenous rights organization CEDIA (Centro para el Desarrollo del Indgena Amaznico) was connected by close kinship ties to one of the schoolteachers. However, the schoolteachers have also introduced a complex and somewhat paradoxical cultural dynamic. Though they are often motivated by altruistic goals of educating and defending the human and cultural rights of their people, the teachers have, through contact with the national society, subliminally assimilated a series of negative stereotypes and prejudices toward their own culture, which they have inadvertently visited upon the community. Worse, because the communities remained culturally isolated, the Spanish-language-based teaching met with very limited educational success for many years. The community members made tremendous sacrifices and gave up their much-desired autonomy to maintain the schools and support the teachers, but received disappointing results for their children. (Only in recent years has the educational situation improved, though this is largely due to the impetus provided by the recent ecotourism project at Cocha Salvador in 1998.)
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The resulting low literacy standards, combined with PNM-imposed limits on commercial activities and the general geographic isolation, served to further limit economic opportunities. Though some Matsigenka worked as boat drivers or wage laborers in the tourist trade or for scientific researchers, overall such benefits were short-term and minimal, not truly building local capacities or social capital. During the particularly bleak years between PNMs establishment and the mid-1980s, some young men left the park for months at a time to work under appalling conditions as wage laborers in commercial logging or gold mining operations. Having almost no command of Spanish or notions of money, they often came back with little more than serious illnesses and a few pieces of used clothing. Throughout the first decade or more of the parks existence, virtually the only access to Western goods available to the Matsigenka was charity or barter trade from Catholic missionaries, the poorly paid indigenous schoolteachers, visiting anthropologists, and scientists at Cocha Cashu station. Other than an occasional order for palm-leaf roof thatch, the Matsigenka in the park received virtually nothing from the ecotourism agencies operating since the 1980s. By the mid-1980s, most Matsigenka inhabitants were of the opinion that the park was, at best, a nuisance, and at worst, an oppressor and a menace, providing no visible assistance, imposing arbitrary restrictions and prohibitions, hindering or expelling anyone who tried to help them, and denying them access to goods, services, and the market economy without providing any obvious benefits in return. There was little or no direct dialogue between the park administration and the Matsigenka for the first decade or more of the parks existence. The very rules and restrictions of the park had only arrived to the Matsigenka indirectly and sometimes in contradictory fashion, usually second- or third-hand, transmitted by park guards or the biologists at Cocha Cashu.
Reacting to Crisis: 19851997

The parks rigid, protectionist vision eventually became obsolete in dealing with the settled Matsigenka communities, as their communication with Peruvian society and increased access to health, education, and other services in the 1980s generated new necessities and expectations. In response, from 19851988 the park administration hired, for the first and only significant time, a professional anthropologist, who formulated new guidelines for an anthropological policy with a focus on dialogue with native populations (Helberg, 1989; Rummehoeller and Helberg, 1992). Nonetheless, the plan was never put into action. In the late 1980s, Perus park system underwent an overhaul, and control over parks and natural resources was centralized at the National Institute of Natural Resources (INRENA), a large, semi-autonomous institute affiliated with the Ministry of Agriculture (previously, parks had been
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managed by a small department of Forestry and Fauna within the Ministry of Agriculture). In addition to the legal contradictions and loopholes discussed above, there emerged at times an inconsistency in policy, if not direct personal rivalry, between the Lima-based INRENA and the Cuscobased PNM administration. For instance, researchers, film crews, and others granted entrance authorizations in Lima have been denied authorization in Cusco. When such institutional conflicts have delayed or otherwise interfered with the plans of visitors to native communities, the communities have taken it as further evidence of interference by both INRENA and PNM in their welfare. The discontent in the Matsigenka population reached critical levels in the early 1990s, when INRENA refused to approve a tourist lodge project to benefit the Matsigenka communities that had been proposed by the indigenous rights organization CEDIA. In part incited by the organization, the Matsigenka defied INRENA and in 1992 began construction of the lodge at an important tourist destination in Manu without awaiting approval. When INRENA moved to interdict the construction, some Matsigenka threatened to open cattle pastures along the Manu river if the lodge project were not approved. To overcome this impasse, INRENA decided to implant its own tourism lodge project with the Matsigenka as part of FANPE (Fortalecimiento del Sistema Nacional de Areas Naturales Protegidas por el Estado), a larger project funded by the German governments aid agency GTZ (Deutsche Gesellschaft fr Technische Zusammenarbeit) to support Perus national park system. With this political move, INRENA co-opted the tourism lodge concept, giving in to the Matsigenkas demands without turning over control of the project to an organization perceived as hostile to the parks interests. CEDIA retaliated with a media campaign, threatened legal proceedings against INRENA for intellectual property theft, and mobilized a high-level investigation of the situation in Manu park by Perus ombudsmanship agency, the Defensoria del Pueblo. The conflict between the CEDIA and INRENA also had repercussions for relations between the two Matsigenka communities. One of the communities cut off its ties to the organization during this tense period, upset by the organizations proprietary stance toward the lodge project. The second community maintained its relationship with CEDIA due to strong kinship ties between the organization and the schoolteacher. This led to tensions between the two communities in the early phase of the lodge project. Factions within the second community, loyal to CEDIA, remained skeptical and critical of the INRENA/FANPE lodge project. In this case, we see how native communities can become a kind of battleground between different organizations or political philosophies. Even though INRENAs and PNMs policies toward the native populations changed in response to the conflict, the underlying principle of power and control was maintained intact. In the 1990s, with growing pressure from the communities themselves, as well as from some biologists, anthropologists, and indigenous organizations,
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the Directorship of PNM as well as INRENA began to take a greater interest in the situation of the native populations. In 1993, a workshop funded by the Discovery Channel (Washington, DC), Superflow Productions (Colorado Springs, CO), and Friends of the Peruvian Rainforest (Philadelphia, PA) was held at Tayakome during which, for the first time since the creation of the park in 1973, representatives of the Peruvian government, the park administration, and the conservation community explained to Matsigenka inhabitants what a national park was, and why one had been created in Manu 20 yr prior. As described by Shepard (2002a), some Matsigenka participants had difficulty understanding why a park had been established in Manu to protect endangered species, when many of the so-called endangered species did not seem to be particularly endangered by Matsigenka subsistence activities. In 1995, the Director of PNM visited for the first time the larger village of Yomybato. In 19961997, the Directorship of PNM prepared a preliminary document to establish norms and policies for coordinating actions among various sectors of the state, NGOs, and local populations in order to improve the quality of life and promote their participation in park projects and policies (Rummenhoeller, 1997). The anthropological issues and problems mentioned included: 1. the participation of indigenous and local populations in the management of PNM; 2. respect for and revitalization of indigenous cultural heritage, including the protection of intellectual property rights over traditional knowledge; 3. the protection of isolated or uncontacted indigenous populations within PNMespecially considering their extreme vulnerability to contagious and epidemic diseasesand the development of an emergency medical action plan; 4. measures to address problems in the provision of basic services such as health and education to local populations; 5. formalizing land tenure among Andean peasant and colonist communities along the western border of PNM, and resolving conflicts involving the overlap of Andean and indigenous communities and pasture areas with PNMs boundaries; 6. the establishment of transparent, long-term policies and rules governing subsistence activities, resource extraction, applied and scientific research in native communities, and the practice of economic alternatives, including tourism. Despite this promising diagnosis, an effective, long-term anthropological policy toward native communities was not put into practice, and thus, the parks treatment of its indigenous policies continued to be guided by the ever-more-obsolete dichotomy between so-called traditional and Westernized indigenous lifeways.
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Rapprochement, Negotiation, and the Matsigenka Lodge: 1997Present

The current phase of increasing negotiation and cooperation between PNM and the Matsigenka communities began with the inauguration of Matsigenka ecotourism lodge project at Cocha Salvador in 19971998, supported by INRENA through the German-funded FANPE project. Despite initial conflicts between CEDIA and INRENA over the intellectual ownership of the lodge concept, as well as conflicts between the two communities over their relationship with CEDIA, the two Matsigenka villages quickly set aside their differences and took on the lodge project wholeheartedly. The construction phase of the project (19971998), overseen by a Peruvian conservation NGO, was beset by numerous problems, including delays, poor choice of key personnel, and confusion among the Matsigenka with regards to payment for their labor and material contributions to the construction (Shepard, 1998a). Officially inaugurated in 1998, the lodges first 3 yr (19972000), nonetheless, saw a growing positive relationship between INRENA/PNM and the Matsigenka. More recently, however, shortcomings in the projects implementation have caused many to question the lodges economic viability and the projects ultimate success (Ohl, 2004). Monitoring of cultural and economic change, included in the original project proposal (APECO, 2000), was not given adequate financial support by FANPE. The crucial program of capacity building workshops were also curtailed and ultimately dropped. FANPE cut back all funding for the project in 2003, despite the fact that the Matsigenka were not yet adequately trained in basic management skills. Initially, the economic success of the lodge seemed guaranteed, since it was to be the only lodging facility (other than dry-season campsites) at Cocha Salvador, an oxbow lake surrounded by pristine lowland forest with abundant fauna, which is Manu Parks prime tourist attraction. This situation would guarantee the Matsigenka a monopoly on rainy season tourism, when camping is no longer feasible or permitted on the soggy forest floor. Within the first few years of the lodges operation, however, the other tour groups operating at Salvador successfully lobbied INRENA for permission to build small shelters for rainy season lodging, creating significant competition and severely undercutting the lodges business year-round. Especially since FANPE funding to the lodge project has been cut back, the lodge is barely managing to break even, and is not generating enough revenues to make investments required for basic maintenance and upkeep (Ohl, 2004). Furthermore, tourism generally in Manu has declined due to increasing competition from cheaper, more convenient tour packages to the Tambopata region near Puerto Maldonado on the lower Madre de Dios. Though the lodge project has been hailed as a model project within the national park system and for indigenous populations, the fact that it remains under direct INRENA control presents the risk that the parks anthropological
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policies will continue to respond to fickle internal politics and state-defined interests, rather than to the actual needs of local populations. This danger is especially apparent in the policies governing how the lodge services are sold to tourists. Though INRENA openly supports the lodge project, there are signs that other, competing ecotourism operations in Manu may be exerting political pressure on INRENA and PNM to minimize the Matsigenka lodges access to tourists, and hence its economic success. Only in 2006 has the Matsigenka lodge project finally been granted its official tour operator license for Manu Park, allowing the lodge to sell tourism packages directly to clients. However, the lodge still receives most tourists from other, official Manu tour operators who are, of course, their competitors. For now, the lodge has been able to cover its operating expenses, including salaries for four workers at a time, but has not been generating enough profits to pay for necessary capital spending, such as the periodic replacement of buildings (Ohl-Schacherer et al., 2008). Thus, without improved management, greatly enhanced revenues, and a strengthened anthropological vision of cultural change and community development, the lodge could fail commercially, generate profound social and cultural disruptions, and create yet more conflicts and disillusionment among the Matsigenka communities. Despite all its problems, however, and due mostly to the profound commitment of the Matsigenka themselves, the lodge has remained a positive force in their communities, generating some income for most families via salaries and handicraft sales, while also serving as a focal point of cultural pride. Despite the shortcomings in the capacitybuilding process, a few key Matsigenka managers have emerged to shoulder the bulk of the responsibilities in running the lodge, despite minimal financial rewards. Cultural and community pride, as much as economic opportunity, appears to be a prime motivation for all those involved in the project. The Matsigenka have also been extremely careful to share responsibilities and rewards of the lodge project in as inclusive a manner as possible. Thus far, and largely through their own vigilance and efforts (rather than through any fixed anthropological plan), the Matsigenka have managed to avoid or mitigate the worst of the social and economic conflicts that such projects generally unleash. As required by 1997 environmental legislation (see Table 2) and a revised national strategy for protected areas (INRENA, 1999), a new Master Plan for Manu Park was drawn up by a collaborative European-Peruvian project known as Pro-Manu (INRENA and Pro-Manu, 2002), a process which took almost 6 yr to complete. Unlike the first Master Plan of 1985 (Rios et al., 1985), the newer document takes a more serious look at the role of native populations in the park and proposes some solutions to the ambiguous situation of traditional versus Westernized styles of resource exploitation; for example, by establishing a quota system for resource use. It also proposes a system of economic benefits and compensation to substitute for ecologically
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harmful activities, seeking a balance between conservation priorities and the interests of local populations. And finally, it proposes a system of representation and participation of local communities through management committees and contracts of service for the use of renewable resources. In many ways, this Master Plan borrows the rhetoric and methods of Integrated Conservation and Development Projects (ICDPs), a popular strategy at the time the plan was written. So far, however, these proposed solutions remain at best only partially implemented. The Matsigenka lodge, the major component of direct compensation for native communities in Manu, is not yet financially sustainable and so has neither satisfied the expectations of conservationists nor solved the concrete problems of local populations. In short, the 1999 Master Plan is succumbing to the same problems as other ICDP projects, which have been criticized for achieving neither conservation nor development (Ferraro & Kiss, 2002). In summary, rather than working to implement comprehensive management with regard to native communities, PNM has instead responded to various crisis situations in a politically expedient way without serious consideration of long-term goals or consequences, most obviously by failing to include any social scientists in its ranks. Thus, unequipped to deal with anthropological issues, PNM and INRENA have and continue to seek short-term solutions to complex, long-term problems. In the meantime, disputes over access to PNM and to its natural resources, as well as over who benefits from that access, continue to multiply. Most generally, people/park conflicts in PNM derive from different opinions over the relative importance of socio-economic development of indigenous communities, on the one hand, and biodiversity preservation on the other. This basic conflict manifests itself in different forms, for example: in legislative conflicts between laws governing protected areas and those governing indigenous rights; in ideological and political conflicts between indigenous rights organizations and INRENA; and in social and economic conflicts over access to natural resources among different local actors, including indigenous communities, colonists, scientists and ecotourism agencies; and in conflicts between such local actors and outside economic interests governed by separate government agencies such as logging, mining and petrochemical exploration. Biologists as well as park administrators have a tendency to view Manu Park as a closed system, both in ecological as well as cultural and historical terms. It would be enough, it seems, to guard the front door of the park along the lower portion of the Manu River to avoid the arrival of external influences that could upset the supposed ecological and cultural balance and purity of this Amazon paradise. This vision ignores the long and complex human history in Manu of which we have related only a portion. Long before the arrival of Fitzcarrald, the footpaths crossing various isthmuses between the Manu, Camisea, and Mishagua headwaters have served as
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routes of trade and communication between various ethnic groups, and the routes remain active today.
A NEW EXPULSION FROM PARADISE?

John Terborgh, in his book, Requiem for Nature (1999), dedicates an entire chapter, entitled The Danger Within (pp. 4058) to a discussion of the threats posed by the Matsigenka to the future of Manu Park. Terborgh affirms that in the long run, the park and the people cannot coexist. He concedes that his argument is politically incorrect and that any rational resolution of the people/parks dilemma in Manu and elsewhere is becoming increasingly difficult due to the growing political power of indigenous organizations and the popular appeal of calls for indigenous rights. Terborgh (1999, pp. 2627) views the inevitable consequence of this process will be that Manu will imperceptibly pass from being a national park to being a reserve for its indigenous inhabitants. Analyzing the situation in Manu Park and other tropical areas, he concludes, When human necessities are placed in the balance with the natural world, nature always loses. Terborgh suggests that the only way to guarantee conservation in this (and other rainforest parks) is by convincing Westernized indigenous communities to relocate voluntarily to lands of lesser conservation value outside park boundaries, in exchange for some package of employment, schooling, land titles, and other services. However, an enticement strategy would, he concedes, require years of consistent and enlightened management to be successful, an unlikely prospect. As even-handed as it is, this argument represents a simplification of the political and social realities both inside and outside Manu Parks boundaries. To begin with, a poorly managed emigration that resorted to coercive tactics would quickly become entangled in the national laws, outlined above, that grant indigenous land rights and would likely trigger a political battle involving national and international indigenous organizations that no government would win. Political obstacles aside, there is in fact little uncontested land surrounding Manu Park (Figure 2). Numerous petrochemical and lumber concessions exist in this region, as well as indigenous and colonist communities already demarcated or in the process of demarcation. There are also several large indigenous communal reserves in various stages of study and demarcation, including the Amarakaeri Communal Reserve. Furthermore, the lower Manu, Los Amigos, and Piedras basins include substantial areas where isolated indigenous populations transit. The Los Amigos river has recently been set aside as a sustainable use and conservation concession, while parts of the upper Piedras have been included within the Purus Reserve Zone. For these reasons, major emigration, voluntary or otherwise, of Matsigenka and other populations to lands outside the park would provoke a series of social and
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environmental conflicts that would certainly affect Manu Park in ways perhaps more immediate and dire than the long-term threats Terborgh considers. In short, the resettlement of park inhabitants has today little political or practical viability. After the SIL emigration, not even the blatant neglect and mistreatment of the park administration toward the Matsigenka through the late 1980s led to any major emigration. On the contrary, as we have seen, PNM is becoming increasingly attractive as a safe haven for the less market-integrated indigenous groups. It is this dynamic that provides us with a possible resolution of the people/park conflict, at least over the next several decades.
COMMON INTERESTS
It would be unfair to describe only the negative impacts of the park on its indigenous inhabitants. The park also benefits its human inhabitants by allowing them to avoid or alleviate several socio-environmental conflicts observed in other regions of Peru. Most directly, because outsiders are kept from entering, the park protects intact a large forested area that serves as a source for wild game, fish and other resources that park inhabitants can take advantage of. The people of Tayakome and Yomybato are increasingly aware of the specter of game animal scarcity in communities outside the park, where firearms and commercial hunting have visibly reduced animal populations. For indigenous populations, animal protein is a crucial aspect of daily subsistence, since the agricultural staples of manioc and plaintains provide almost no dietary protein. The park also benefits communities on its borders. For example, Manu Park is one of the few locations in Madre de Dios Province where there still exist significant populations of the valuable tropical cedar (Cedrela odorata), which the indigenous and mestizo inhabitants of Boca Manu exploit sustainably (for the valuable boat construction trade), under the supervision of park guards, by taking only those tree trunks that float out of the park each year. Secondly, despite the lack of control over the backdoor entrances via the Camisea and Mishagua headwaters, the existing guard posts on the Manu River itself have stopped colonists, loggers, gold miners, and other destructive invaders from occupying and exploiting park lands and the indigenous populations (including the uncontacted groups) within and immediately surrounding Manu. Thirdly, since about 1990, the international fame of Manu has attracted a number of research and conservation and development projects that have conferred both direct and indirect benefits on the Matsigenkas. And finally, over the longer term, if their ecotourism lodge should establish long-term commercial viability, the profits and the training opportunities will help to reinforce a positive relationship between the Matsigenka and the parks physical integrity and conservation goals.
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Just as indigenous inhabitants have benefited from Manu Park without always being aware of these benefits, so has the park benefited from the presence of indigenous inhabitants. The most dramatic example were Yora attacks along the upper Mishagua and Camiseathe parks unprotected back doorthat repelled loggers, petrochemical prospectors, and most notoriously, the government survey team sent to inaugurate the highwaybuilding project that would have destroyed Manu Park a mere decade after its inauguration. Today, the contacted and settled Yora are struggling to protect the Kugapakori-Nahua Reserve from loggers who will certainly have no qualms about crossing into park territory to cut mahogany once it becomes commercially extinct along the Mishagua River. Illegal logging has also increased dramatically to the east and north of Manu Park during the 1990s, especially after Brazil banned mahogany exports in 1999, raising international prices and creating a mahogany boom in Madre de Dios. In 2001, Peruvian scientists implementing the Rio de los Amigos ecological reserve zone, adjacent to Manu, discovered logging camps located less than 2 km from Manus borders (C. Flores, personal communication, June 4, 2001). Drug trafficking also poses a serious threat, as exemplified by an episode that occurred in the Cultural Zone of Manu Biosphere Reserve in 1994. Colombian and Peruvian traffickers, fleeing the increasingly policed Huallaga valley, occupied the small tourist airport at Boca Manu and established a coca-paste-processing operation. The traffickers forcibly paid off local indigenous and mestizo community authorities and employed community members as laborers. In such a high-profile tourist airport, authorities were notified almost immediately of the problem, yet the operation continued for nearly 6 months. It was finally closed down by a dramatic drug bust that included participation of the Peruvian Marines and the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency. Most of the Colombian and Peruvian traffickers who ran the operation escaped prior to the bust, apparently having received early warning. Virtually all of the drug traffickers captured in the operation were local indigenous and Andean colonist residents with minimal involvement and financial benefit from the lucrative, large-scale operation. At least one resident (unarmed and fleeing along the bank) was shot and killed during the operation. Some twenty suspects, a significant proportion of the adult population of two quiet jungle villages, were charged with international drug-trafficking and terrorism, carrying a penalty of 40 yr in prison. Thanks largely due to legal counsel paid for by the regional Catholic Church, these charges were eventually reduced. Nonetheless, thirteen heads of family served up to 2 yr in Cuscos high-security prison. Rumors still abound of unusual airplane traffic, campsites, and clandestine landing strips in the hinterlands. Cocaine traffickers also seem to have scouted native communities in and around Manu Park in search of knowledgeable native guides. The threat of further drug-trafficking operations in
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Manu gives all the more urgency for viable, dignified economic alternatives for indigenous populations. Whether the Manu Matsigenka will aid in discovering, denouncing, and resisting such incursions, or whether they will greet them as badly needed economic alternatives, will be a key determinant of the success or failure of long-term efforts to defend the integrity of PNM. The Matsigenka possess unique advantages with regards to controlling such incursions, as they can draw upon the support of national and international indigenous rights organizations while providing a human face for PNM in political battles over access to the parks resources. If, on the other hand, the Matsigenka were to leave the park through the proposed voluntary relocation plan, Manu would become a demographic and a political vacuum, surrounded by politically savvy extractive enterprises with legions of politicized laborers. In 1999, logging interests carried out behindthe-scenes manipulations leading to a general strike and violent outbursts in the capital of Puerto Maldonado (and elsewhere) in response to an INRENA operation to confiscate illegal mahogany. Similar kinds of protests and violence have occurred sporadically since throughout Peru. One can easily imagine how such interests might manipulate the press against a Manu Park devoid of visible indigenous inhabitants, pitting poor, jobless loggers and farmers against the wealthy gringo scientists and tourists of Manu. For example, the loggers operating in the Alto Purus National Park are publicly denying the presence of its isolated indigenous inhabitants, despite numerous eyewitness accounts of abandoned camps, thereby undermining the legitimacy of the park (C. Kirkby, personal communication, June 25, 2005). Over the longer term, the ongoing paving of the (politely re-named) Interoceanica highway that runs from Brazil through Madre de Dios to Perus coast is bringing enormous colonization and deforestation pressures to bear on the entire region. Given such political realities, arguments such as Alvards (1993) namely, that native hunters maximize short-term returns and hence are not conservationistsseem narrow. Whether or not one chooses to define indigenous people as conservationists in an absolute or technical sense, there seems little doubt that they are better conservationists, relatively speaking, than the logging companies, colonists, miners, cattle ranchers, and agribusiness that await access to their largely unexploited forests. In this way, the obvious costs to biodiversity from local human inhabitation could be outweighed by the real, even if difficult-to-quantify, benefits of preventing large-scale incursion by more destructive, outside interests.
THE TENURE-FOR-DEFENSE TRADE

Could this, then, represent a possible resolution of the people/park conflict in Manu, one that does not need to invoke resettlement but rather relies on
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the continued presence of indigenous peoples (Schwartzman et al., 2000)? To give a definitive answer, we would need to show that the defensive benefits of inhabitation will outweigh the local costs of exploitation over the long run. That is, we must realize that even when indigenous inhabitants can successfully repel commercial resource extractors (e.g., Zimmerman et al., 2001), the more the indigenous population itself grows, Westernizes, and exploits the parks natural resources, the blurrier becomes the distinction between internal and external threats until such point as the park loses its conservation value (Terborgh, 1999). As a practical matter, it is far from easy to quantify the risks and costs of incursion into Manu Park by commercial agents, even though we can be sure that both numbers are greater than zero, nor can we predict with certainty whether the Matsigenka will be successful in opposing those agents. Instead, with respect to this tenure-for-defense trade, we view the Matsigenka as a conservation wager: a known, small, but growing biodiversity cost that is paid for the possibility of a much larger conservation benefit (or benefits) some undefined time (or times) in the future. The lower the cost (and the more slowly that cost grows), the higher the conservation return will be on that wager and the longer that Manus biodiversity can coexist stably with its human inhabitants. A key issue, then, is estimating the cost to biodiversity as the Matsigenka population grows and Westernizes. Matsigenka agricultural practices by themselves will cause little disturbance to the park. Even allowing for a 50-yr fallow period, soils within the immediate vicinity of the current settlements will be able to sustain agriculture indefinitely for a population of at least 2100 people, five times the current population (Ohl, 2004; Ohl et al., 2007). The greater cost to biodiversity conservation would appear to be the reduction in game populations caused by hunting. Preferred game species are large vertebrates, which are the most extinction-prone, have a high intrinsic conservation value, and are important for seed dispersal. If populations of large vertebrates can be protected from over-hunting, then we can be fairly sure that other components of biodiversity in Manu (tree cover, top predators, small vertebrates, and arthropods) will also persist. In short, a viable tenure-for-defense trade requires an effective game management plan for the Matsigenka. To this purpose, the authors are engaged in a 3-yr research project, funded by the Leverhulme Trust, to assess the degree to which source-sink processes can stabilize game exploitation (Ohl-Schacherer et al., 2007). Like most hunters, the Matsigenka are centralplace foragers, who limit most of their hunting to one-day forays on foot. The most important implication of this is that for each game species, the rate of mortality due to hunting should scale up more slowly than does hunter population growth, and eventually asymptote at the rate of immigration from the unhunted source population (the rest of the park) into the hunting zone sink. Therefore, by limiting the number and location of
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Matsigenka settlements, it should be possible to put a cap on the biodiversity cost of indigenous inhabitation. Such source-sink dynamics are credited with allowing the persistence of game species within the larger indigenous reserves across the Amazon, despite local hunting pressure (Novaro, Redford, & Bodmer, 2000; Peres, 2001; Sirn, Hamback, & Machoa, 2004; Peres & Nascimento, 2006), and of course, parks themselves are partially justified on the basis of their source-sink benefits. Our study has assessed: (a) current rates of game animal harvest in the two Matsigenka villages; (b) the extent of the current hunting zones; (c) game animal densities in both hunted and non-hunted areas; and (d) historical and current rates of human population growth. Our overall objective is to calculate the degree to which limits will need to be imposed on the number and location of Matsigenka settlements, given different scenarios of population growth and spread. Settlements are, of course, more easily monitored than are hunting quotas. Significantly, the project includes the Matsigenka as active participants in the research process. Twenty-eight Matsigenka households (96%) monitored their own game harvest profiles, using participatory monitoring sheets adapted from those developed by Townsend (1997) for use among indigenous Amazonian peoples with minimal reading and writing skills. In this way, we were able to amplify our observational powers as compared to single-year, single-researcher studies, both in the numbers of households being monitored and in the continual coverage of households over the course of the study. Furthermore, the involvement of the Matsigenka in the data collection will be crucial to their sense of ownership, commitment, and validation to the research results. The project is also undertaking an interdisciplinary study of the nature and scale of the conflict between the Matsigenka and Manu Park, and of the extent of external threats, both currently and in the future. Ultimately, in collaboration with the Matsigenka, INRENA, and other stakeholders, the authors will design a management plan to minimize and stabilize the costs of park occupation. The goal of the management plan will be to build on existing park policies by clarifying and delimiting the rights granted to the Matsigenka, and conferring new responsibilities on all sides to make explicit the tenure-for-defense trade.
CONCLUSION
Currently, the conservation situation in Manu is far from dire. Game animal populations are healthy despite heavy hunting near the Matsigenka communities (Ohl-Schacherer et al., 2007). Important large animal species such as spider monkeys, woolly monkeys, scarlet macaws, and many others, threatened or extinct in other parts of Peru, can be seen near both Matsigenka communities in the park (Shepard, 2002a; da Silva et al., 2005). Hunters report
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41% of their kills within 500 m of the community perimeter (Ohl-Schacherer et al., 2007), and they perceive no lack of game animals. On the contrary, they complain about the populations of collared peccaries and pacas that destroy their manioc gardens. The Matsigenka rarely deign to eat howler monkey, brocket deer, or capybara due to cultural beliefs: only those with abundant and healthy game populations can afford to be so choosy (Shepard, 2002a). Accordingly, over the last 15 yr, hunted prey profiles have not shifted toward less valuable species (Ohl-Schacherer et al., 2007), as occurs with over-hunting (Rowcliffe, Cowlishaw, & Long, 2003; Peres & Nascimento, 2006). Although relations between the park and its Matsigenka inhabitants have been tested in the recent past, they have grown friendlier, especially due to the ecotourism project. The commercial resource extractors outside Manu have not yet shown serious interest in invading park territory, despite minimal patrolling. We, therefore, emphasize that our diagnosis and proposed solutions, including the option of relying mostly on natural source-sink dynamics to stabilize faunal offtake, are based on this set of circumstances and must be understood as applicable to this place and time. Manu Park appears to be an ideal place to achieve a tenure-for-defense trade. Elsewhere, where political, economic, and ecological circumstances are different, different diagnoses and solutions will be required. But even for Manu Park, to achieve a sustained resolution to the conflict between people and parks, we will have to understand not only the cultural values of people who live in the parks we wish to protect, but also be aware of our own cultural biases as administrators, scientists, anthropologists, and conservationists. We can no longer ask Nature and Culture to rule over separate kingdoms in a crowded world. There is not the space, whether we mean that physically, legally, or politically. Strictly protected, people-free parks cover only a tiny fraction of the land area needed to maintain critical ecosystem services such as carbon storage and hydrological cycles (Schwartzman et al., 2000). In South America, this state of affairs has prompted a consensus that successful conservation will require a network of extractive reserves, indigenous territories, national forests, and strictly protected parks, which only together can preserve basin-wide ecosystem services, with parks serving the additional role of protecting the large vertebrate species crucial for biodiversity maintenance (Peres & Terborgh, 1995). However, we cannot rely solely on parks for the latter role. Firstly, indigenous and extractive reserves are too numerous and large to ignore as potential sanctuaries of wildlife populations. Indigenous territories account for 54% of all reserves by acreage in the nine Amazonian countries, and overall cover 100 million ha or 21% of forested area in the Brazilian Amazon (Peres, 1993). Secondly, of the 186 national parks in Latin America, 86% are home to indigenous communities or other local human populations (Amend & Amend 1992, Kemf, 1993; Brandon, Redford, & Sanderson, 1998) and are, furthermore, poorly protected from extractive incursions (Terborgh & Peres,
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2002). Thus, indigenous societies, in a literal sense, have been made stewards of half or more of the Amazons protected biodiversity. Given the long and mostly tragic history of indigenous peoples in Amazon reserves, it is imprudent, not to mention hypocritical, to alienate these potential allies in biodiversity conservation through preservationist polemics and threats of relocation. Participatory, community-based research on questions of resource use are an important means of promoting dialogue between social scientists, biologists, and indigenous populations about conservation issues. The time is past where we could continue to debate whether indigenous people are or are not conservationists. For much of the Amazon, and elsewhere, the useful question is rather how indigenous residents can both benefit from and strengthen conservation in the lands where they live.
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WHOSE PARADISE? A BRIEF HISTORY OF MANU AND ITS NATIVE POPULATIONS

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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THE INDIGENOUS INHABITANTS OF MANU, THEN AND NOW

Mashco and Mashco-Piro

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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MANU NATIONAL PARK: CURRENT STATUS

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AMIGOS CONSERVATION CONCESSION

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THE LEGAL LANDSCAPE

G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

Decreto Legislativo N 22175

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Cdigo del Medio Ambiente y los Recursos Naturales

Decreto Legislativo N 613

Ratified as R.L. 26253

Decreto Supremo N 010-99-AG Decreto Supremo N 038-2001-AG

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G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL POLICIES OF PNM

La Molina Forestry Habitat zoning School

INRENA and Pro-Manu

INRENA and Pro Manu

G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

The First Decade of Official Policy: 19731985

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The Growing Crisis: Matsigenka-Park Conflicts, 19731985

G. H. Shepard, Jr. et al.

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