A gust of wind rustles through towering canopies as dawn breaks over the Ibirama-Laklãnõ forest. Birds call in delicate voices, the river glints with first light, and in that fragile quiet, elders recall a truth older than memory: this land is themselves, and they are the land.
For more than a century, that belief was contested by law, by force, by politics. Then, on September 21, 2023, Brazil’s Supreme Court issued a verdict that echoed across the country — dismantling a legal barrier that had, for decades, threatened to strip away Indigenous claims to ancestral territories.
In Brasília, tears and chants erupted outside the court. Across the Amazon and Brazil’s southern hills, Indigenous communities celebrated. They felt vindicated — and, in that moment, hopeful.
A Century’s Struggle, Distilled Into A Verdict
For the Xokleng people and allied Guarani and Kaingang communities in Santa Catarina state, the journey to reclaim their land had been a slow, grueling opening act.
The Ibirama-Laklãnõ region, long contested and dismissed by authorities under a rigid legal doctrine, had become their symbolic battlefield. As 72-year-old Yoko Kopacã put it: “We are not defenders of nature; we are nature defending itself.”
Their fight converged on one critical legal concept: the marco temporal, or “time marker” doctrine. This notion held that Indigenous peoples could only claim land they occupied (or were actively in legal dispute over) by October 5, 1988 — the date Brazil’s current constitution was enacted.
That cut-off, backed by powerful agribusiness interests and some state governments, threatened to invalidate thousands of legitimate land claims — especially for groups forcibly expelled prior to 1988.
When the Supreme Court voted 9-2 to reject the time-limit thesis, it struck at the heart of that doctrine’s validity. The court affirmed instead that the essence of land claims must rest on how Indigenous peoples traditionally occupy, live from, and belong to the land — not whether they were physically present at an arbitrary moment in the past.
Justice Cármen Lúcia emphasized that the decision was meant to protect the dignity of Indigenous peoples, who have endured centuries of displacement and oppression.
Outside the court, celebrations broke out as activists rejoiced, while Indigenous leaders highlighted the ruling as a milestone in their ongoing struggle for rights and recognition, affirming that the land of Brazil belongs to its first peoples.
Beyond Symbolism: Real Implications And Lingering Tensions
This ruling is not just a legal milestone — it is a pivot in Brazil’s approach to Indigenous rights. The immediate effect is that nearly 300 pending land recognition claims, often caught in limbo because of the time marker doctrine, may now move forward.
In Santa Catarina, where the case originated, the victory allows land already under dispute to reenter legal consideration without being struck down automatically.
Yet even as optimism ripples through Indigenous communities, threats remain. Some non-Indigenous farmers express unease about possible conflicts over overlapping claims. Government bodies like Funai (Brazil’s Indigenous affairs agency) still face considerable workload: there are about 490 outstanding Indigenous land claims nationwide, many awaiting investigation and demarcation.
More ominously, not long after the court’s ruling, Congress pushed forward legislation to re-entrench the time marker idea in statute — essentially trying to override the judicial decision via law.
That move, championed by Brazil’s agribusiness caucus, was partially vetoed by President Lula, but Congress overrode the veto. The law came into force by December 2023, potentially invalidating claims unless judicial review blocks it.
Thus the lingering legislative threat looms large: even as the court gave Indigenous peoples a robust constitutional shield, political actors strive to carve it back. The tension between judiciary, legislature, and the powerful rural lobby ensures the fight is far from over.
Echoes In The Amazon, Echoes Beyond
This legal shift took place largely against Brazil’s broader reckoning with land use, deforestation, and Indigenous rights. Under the Bolsonaro presidency (2019–2022), protections were rolled back, agencies weakened, and Indigenous territories increasingly invaded by miners and loggers.
Lula’s return signaled a change in tone. His administration reactivated environmental agencies, removed illegal settlers from vulnerable territories like Yanomami and Alto Rio Guamá, and even created a ministry dedicated to Indigenous affairs.
Sônia Guajajara, Brazil’s first minister for Indigenous peoples, described the Supreme Court decision as “unprecedented” and pledged to defend it politically.
However, the forces opposing Indigenous expansion remain formidable. The “devastation bill” passed in 2025 weakens environmental licensing, reduces the role of agencies representing Indigenous and quilombola populations, and effectively excludes many unrecognized lands from oversight.
In a related move, Brazil’s top court in April 2025 ordered the federal government to seize properties guilty of illegal deforestation or fire, and to block land regularization in such cases — a powerful instrument in the legal arsenal for defending forests and Indigenous claims.
On the ground, Indigenous mobilization continues. In April 2025, thousands gathered in Brasília to protest bills that could further erode land rights, underscoring the ongoing stakes.
Human Faces, Hopeful Futures
Walking along the Hercílio River that cuts through Ibirama-Laklãnõ, Nduzi Gakran pauses at the water’s edge. He sees the same currents his ancestors knew. Around him, younger generations learn songs and hunting paths, retelling stories of forced eviction and return. The Supreme Court ruling gives them permission — a renewed permission — to believe those stories can continue on their land.
In Brasília, a smaller but intense drama is underway: Sônia Guajajara meets with lawyers, activists, senators. Her origin story — from rural poverty to ministerial power — gives her moral authority. She reminds lawmakers: land is culture, connection, breath.
In local villages, among laughter and tears, elders bless the seedlings, children run barefoot over soft loam, and new flags are sewn. The ruling has shifted something deep — not just legality, but dignity.
Yes, the path ahead is steep. Threats from Congress, land grabbers, diverted policy are real. But for the first time in decades, the judiciary has spoken unmistakably: Indigenous land rights must be honored on their own terms, not judged by exclusionary cut-offs.
In the soft, rising light, nature remembers its defenders. And they, in turn, are beginning to remember the land as hope, not claim.
Sources:
Reuters
The Guardian
