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After reading my last post, it has become undeniable that growing up SDA has deeply shaped my world view. Christianity has penetrated my psyche. It has made me an unsuspecting disciple and become an intrinsic tool in my attempts to take the world apart.

Nemonte Nequimo’s groundbreaking memoir of the Waorani people, We Will Be Jaguars, prompted me to consider once more if I could truly disassemble the master’s house with the master’s tools. I fear my faith was placed in the hands of my people just as the missionaries sought to replace the spears of Waorani warriors with bibles. We Will Be Jaguars chronicles Nemonte’s childhood into her womanhood, growing up in the Amazon amidst a period of western penetration. First came the missionaries, in the form of a woman who calls herself Saint Rachel, or Rachel Saint as she is termed by the locals. Then came the accusation of savagery accompanied with forced labor. Nemonte’s father, Tiri, is essentially kidnapped by the oil companies for weeks at a time to scout areas for their wells, and he returns with a baby parrot who lost her home due to deforestation. Nemonte is tasked with caring for her. After the devastating losses endured by Nemonte’s people, their fight culminates in forming a intertribal coalition to defend ancestral lands in the Ecuadorian court system.

The book is titled after the Waorani belief that they, as a people, are uniquely connected to the jaguar. For the jaguar and Waorani have both dwelled in the forest since the beginning of time. We see this unique connection first when Nemonte’s brother, Victor, falls ill from mysterious seizures that descend upon him just as new white people touch down in the village of Tonampare. Despite Saint Rachel’s attempts to deter the family from turning to their indigenous practices for healing, Nemonte’s mother calls upon the shaman, Mengatowe, who miraculously heals Victor, and in doing so, uncovers Victor’s role as a menewempo (jaguar father). Jaguar mothers and fathers are people who are able to communicate with the ancestors in the form of jaguars that roam the forest. Nemonte notes during the healing process that, “Mengatowe was in a trance. His eyes looked like jaguar eyes. I felt afraid of him.” Victor leaves the healing irrevocably changed, gifted the name Mengatowe to ensure his safe keeping from evil spirits.

Names have powerful meanings. Nemonte’s birth name means “many stars”, whereas her Christian name given by the missionaries, Ines, means “pure” or “virginal”. This language of purity is repeatedly invoked by the same missionaries who are complicit in her childhood molestation. This tradition of fetishizing purity has a long history in Christianity. The concept of purity is an effective tool in colonizing the minds of prospective converts by creating a perceived deficiency in one’s soul and, ostensibly, offering the remedy. This dichotomy manifests tangibly in the retired warrior Nenecawa, who now sits in a wheelchair as a result of the polio brought by the missionaries. In Nene’s own words, “They gave me the sickness and then they gave me the wheelchair.” Soon, the language of purity falls from Nemonte’s own tongue even as she is victimized by a pedophilic missionary. She questions whether her soul is stained, or if she is being punished for some nebulous sin by Wengongi (another misnomer for the Christian God given by Saint Rachel).

Upon indulging in the salacious nightmare along the oil roads, it is easy for Christians to rebuke the notion that any of this is a reflection of God’s will. Rather, it is mankind’s sinful nature hijacking a narrative that, if enacted with care, could bring about peace on Earth. When I called on the Christian lens in my last essay, its invocation was rhetorically used to highlight the spiritual and philosophical harm of pursuing domination over others. Even the Creator values agency. But if we are to truly confront the implications of the protestant mission to spread the gospel, or the advent message, such a directive would still dictate that we uncover the uncontacted tribes who desire to remain hidden and try to delegitimize the cult of the jaguar.

Nequimo and I suffer from the same problem: we don’t know who to trust in a post-colonial world. In the end, the bible tells us that all must profess that Jesus Christ is Lord. When confronted with the modern devastation left in Christianity’s wake, I can only profess that the most benevolent Christian can become a harbinger of white supremacy and all of her ill-begotten ilk. Good Christian people need land to practice their religion. Good Christian people draw borders in the sand where blood was shed. Good Christian people marry good Christian people. Good Christian people build towns and engage in good Christian commerce. Good Christian people need good South American — I mean Christian oil to power their good Christian cars to drive to church. Good Christian people engage in Christian politics to protect their Christian ways of life. Don’t you want to be a Christian too?

I am already a Christian whether Christ will have me or not. My ears are pierced, after all — a sordid fact my family would prefer to forget. I have been marked by the devil. Still, I say, “Happy Sabbath” and kiss the elderly and love sincerely. I ask my God to take me as I am, because I do not strive for perfection anymore. My soul is black and stained and hungry from being abandoned here on Earth. I do not wish to be useful for fear of becoming useful for the wrong purposes.

In Audre Lorde’s words, being “reviled,” is one way to ensure that I do not haplessly fall into the arsenal of some white man’s panoptic fantasy. As my family can attest, this is not the only reason I am unpleasant. The truth is I have grown skeptical! More so, now, with Nequimo’s help. More than that, I am a believer of the jaguar. On the road to Demointare, Nequimo encounters another child who asks her if she believes in Wengongi or the jaguar. Nemonte says she didn’t know she had to choose. The artificial binary of good and evil emerges as a bastian formed between two identical grains of sand. The distance between them grows and the wound festers, and soon, the history of their likeness is transformed. Syncretism becomes sin, and I am rendered a heretic. If not for fear of being smited, one might suggest an amendment to the good book to end the Christian wars on our planet and people. It says, “For God so loved the Woarani people, that in place of his son, he gave them a fierce protector, so that they may dwell in the forest for all their days.”

Source: Lorde_Audre_1983_2003_The_Masters_Tools_Will_Never_Dismantle_the_Masters_House.pdf