For Brazil’s Indigenous youth, visibility is resistance

They are watching rising temperatures, vanishing food sources, devastating wildfires and the accelerating loss of ancestral territory – but they are also claiming new space online, using social media, music, photography and dance as tools of resistance.

Ahead of the UN day celebrating the world’s Indigenous Peoples on 9 August, three young Indigenous leaders shared how they are using their voices – and their creativity – to reach millions of people.

Among them are dancer and entrepreneur Marciele Albuquerque, from the Munduruku people; singer-songwriter Kaê Guajajara, from the Guajajara people; and photographer and communicator Cristian Wariu, from the Xavante people. 

All three are members of the UN’s Verified initiative, which works to counter climate-related misinformation.

‘The forest no longer provides’

Marciele grew up in Juruti, in the Brazilian Amazon, where childhood meant swimming in rivers and gathering fruit steps from her village. Returning home today tells a different story.

“We can feel it’s getting hotter every year,” she said. “The fruits are no longer as abundant as they used to be. We once found them close to the village, right in the forest. Now we have to walk much farther, and even then there isn’t the same quantity. Droughts have become extreme, and so have the floods.”

Wildfires reshape the Cerrado

Cristian Wariu comes from the Parabubure Indigenous Territory in Mato Grosso state, where increasingly intense wildfires are transforming the Cerrado biome and disrupting daily life.

“Life has become increasingly unsustainable because these fires are now uncontrollable,” he said. “They severely affect the Xavante people’s food chain, and that also makes it easier for foods that are not good for our people to enter our communities. One problem leads to another, and eventually it reaches our health.”

The UN estimates more than 370 million Indigenous people worldwide are already experiencing the impacts of climate change, as global temperatures continue to rise.

Songs of displacement

Kaê Guajajara, born in Mirinzal in Maranhão state, believes today’s environmental crisis reflects a development model imposed on Indigenous peoples. 

For her, distinguishing fact from misinformation is critical to helping vulnerable communities prepare for climate threats before they strike – and music has become an act of resistance in itself.

“Our traditional songs once celebrated the beauty of nature and our relationship with it,” she said. “Today, those same songs speak about our territories and about being forcibly removed from them. They tell the story of deforestation because we’re living it.”

Around half of Brazil’s Indigenous population now lives in cities, including Kaê, who was raised in Rio de Janeiro’s Maré favela. She is calling for stronger public policies to support Indigenous communities in urban settings, and sees a growing Indigenous presence in Brazil’s music industry as a chance to heal what she calls a long-standing colonial wound.

‘Visibility has become power’

Cristian credits earlier generations of Indigenous leaders with securing constitutional rights and building organizations that strengthened citizenship. His generation, he said, is fighting on a different front.

“Demarcation is no longer just about politics. It’s also about occupying screens. One strengthens the other,” he said. “When I look at the Indigenous movement as a whole, I believe our generation’s greatest contribution has been communication.”

Marciele Albuquerque understands that idea well. She is the first Indigenous woman ever chosen as Cunhã-Poranga – the highest female cultural title – at Brazil’s Parintins Folklore Festival, which she won this year performing with Boi Caprichoso. The victory song, Guerreira das Lutas (Warrior of the Struggles), names Indigenous peoples across Brazil, and still moves her each time she hears it.

“I’m not representing only my own people,” she said. “I’m representing Brazil’s extraordinary Indigenous diversity.” For her, “art is a way of fighting.”

Kaê makes a similar case through music, rejecting the idea that Indigenous people lose their identity by using smartphones or making electronic music. “Today it’s increasingly common to hear the sound of the maracá alongside synthesizers,” she said.

Roots will push through

Her song Samaúma, named for a majestic, centuries-old tree revered by many Indigenous peoples, captures her philosophy: “No matter how much concrete you pour onto the ground, the roots will always push through. They will always grow and break the concrete, taking everything back.”

All three share the same conviction: rather than weakening their communities, the challenges ahead are making them stronger, more united, and determined to keep occupying new spaces.