IBIRAMA-LA KLÃNÕ INDIGENOUS TERRITORY, Brazil — Zág, pronounced “zã,” is the Xokleng word for the Brazilian pine. This tree species, Araucaria angustifolia, is typical of the Atlantic Forest that runs along Brazil’s south and southeastern coast, and has been evolving on the planet for about 200 million years. Each female tree produces dozens of cones, which in turn carry hundreds of seeds.
Known in Brazil as pinhão, the Brazilian pine seed is a nut eaten by at least 22 animal species as well as humans, who rely on it for both nutrition and income. For some Indigenous peoples, however, it means more than food. It’s part of their culture, history, and origin myths. That’s the case for the Xokleng people, also known as the Laklãnõ, in what is today Santa Catarina state. In their villages, people are even named after the tree.
“Brazilian pines are sacred to us,” says Carl Gakran, executive director of the Zág Institute. “You can’t tell the story of our people without speaking of them. Our creation myth says the protective animal was made from that tree, so it appears in the very first story.”
Carl decided to do something for the pines in 2016, after learning that the species was critically endangered as a result of deforestation, urban expansion, and logging. Currently, Brazilian pine forests are estimated to cover less than 3% of their original range, which once stretched across much of the states of Paraná, Santa Catarina and Rio Grande do Sul, with small patches in São Paulo, Minas Gerais and Espírito Santo states. The Xokleng want to reverse this decline.
“Just as our pine is endangered, my people are also endangered, and consequently our language and culture are endangered,” says Carl, who self-identifies as Laklãnõ.
Historically, their territory used to cover the entire region where the pine occurred. Today, this too has been whittled down: the Xokleng now occupy the 37,000-hectare (91,400-acre) Ibirama-La Klãnõ Indigenous Territory that straddles the borders of the municipalities of José Boiteux, Doutor Pedrinho, Vitor Meireles and Itaiópolis, in Santa Catarina. The territory is home to about 2,000 people living in 10 villages, representing the Laklãnõ/Xokleng, Guarani, and Kaingang peoples.
When Carl learned that his people’s sacred tree was listed as critically endangered on the Red List maintained by the IUCN, the global wildlife conservation authority, and as vulnerable in neighboring Rio Grande do Sul state, he says he felt anguished and began thinking about what he could do to help it. His initial goal was to plant 10 of the trees on his home plot from seedlings he’d cultivated himself.
But he didn’t stop there. With the help of friends during workshops, they produced a little over 1,000 seedlings. Following his father’s advice, they began recording the initiative, which became the Zág Institute the following year. Carl’s wife, Isabel, is the institute’s vice president and environmental director.
Since then, they’ve produced more than 140,000 seedlings, with survival rates of 70-80%, Carl says.
“From the start, our strategy was to involve the community, especially schools, because we couldn’t plant everything by ourselves,” he says. “As the tree is sacred, people adopt these seedlings, and the children who receive one will care for it as if it were a pet.”
To give the community a sense of belonging to the project, the institute provides training at community associations and schools, inviting people to join collective efforts during school holidays — when they plant Brazilian pines in degraded areas and springs — and donating seedlings throughout the year to be planted on people’s plots. A group of 30-40 volunteers from several villages works directly on the project; that number rises to 60 during harvest and distribution periods.
According to Carl and Isabel, half of the active participants are women; gender equality is important for the institute.
“They’re ‘the women who plant zág,’ as we say,” Isabel notes. “They take part in harvesting and planting, and attend workshops we run to empower them, such as photography and technology.”
To date, they’ve planted Brazilian pines across some 1,000 hectares of land, or about 2,500 acres. Some of the areas, Isabel says, were the subject of a case brought before the Supreme Federal Court over a law barring Indigenous groups from staking a territorial claim to land they occupied after a cutoff date of Oct. 5, 1988. Still, they persisted with the planting, Isabel says: “As a way of demarcating our territory, we also plant trees in those areas.”
Carl says the seedlings are produced responsibly from the moment the seeds are harvested, based on Indigenous tradition.
“Following our elders’ knowledge, we speak to the seeds, explain what’s happening, and perform harvest rituals. We harvest 60%, no more than that, respecting the tree and the animals that feed on it,” he says.
Indigenous harvesters use tree-climbing techniques, but they also collect cones from the ground. In the past, Carl says, they used climbing spikes, but these damaged the trees and encouraged fungal growth that could kill them.
Cones mature between April and July, depending on the variety. After harvest, cultural restoration activities take place, including traditional cooking and music, followed by work to ensure genetic diversity, in which all the seeds collected from different trees are mixed together and buried to germinate.
After a month, each seedling is placed in a biodegradable bag made from sugarcane fiber and set in a wooden structure under a thatched roof with a shade cloth. The thatch lets rain infiltrate while the fabric reduces exposure to sunlight. To enrich the soil for the seedlings, they use organic fertilizers produced on the Indigenous territory.
After growing for a year, the seedlings are ready for distribution. The first trees planted are now 10 years old and about 5 meters (16 feet) tall; a mature Brazilian pine can exceed 50 m (164 ft).
