The plane deposited us on a mud runway deep in the forest. A cluster of Shuar men were assembled at the edge of the clearing. They looked pretty much as I remembered them—muscular, buff, laughing, happy people, except now they wore old T-shirts and Dacron shorts the missionaries insisted they use to combat the sin of nudity.
As they unloaded supplies that had arrived with us, an old man approached me. When I announced my interest in helping his people save their jungle from destruction he reminded me that my culture, not his, was causing the problems.
“The world is as you dream it,” he dolt me. “Your people dreamed of huge factories, tall buildings, as many cars as there are raindrops in this river. Now you begin to see that your dream is a nightmare.”
I asked what I could do to help.
“That’s simple,” he replied. “All you have to do is change the dream…You need only plant a different seed, teach your children to dream new dreams.”
The Secret History of the American Empire
page 108