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Protecting the last of Brazil’s Lear’s macaws involves a difficult moral dilemma

WITH AN AIR of proprietary pride, Jose Cardoso de Macedo, 60, looks out over the nesting site of one of the world’s rarest birds. The land before him--a green canyon nestled between spectacular red cliffs--has been in his family since the turn of the century. So if there is such a thing as a guardian of the species, it is Senhor Zequinha, as Cardoso is known.

The bird, a vibrant, cobalt blue parrot, is called the Lear’s macaw. Some 20 miles from Cardoso’s mud house, a clamorous flock of perhaps 40 of these spectacular creatures swoops through arid fields covered with sinuous licuri palms, the nuts of which serve as the parrots’ primary food. This single conglomeration of birds comprises about one-fourth of the species’ total wild population.

“There used to be 200, maybe 300, birds flying overhead every day,” Cardoso says, dragging deeply on a cigarette rolled with tobacco so strong it is referred to as rat killer. He leans on the house where he was born, his avuncular face curling up into a grin as he strokes a turquoise-fronted parrot caged above his head.

The roosting site of the Lear’s macaw was discovered here in northeastern Brazil a mere 20 years ago. Now the species is nearing extinction. Its decline is largely the result of illegal poaching for the pet trade combined with the degradation of a unique habitat ravaged by drought and social misery.

Sr. Zequinha is just one of many colorful rescuers involved in a last- ditch effort to save the remaining birds. Other players in this drama include Brazilian and foreign ornithologists as well as government conservationists, some of whom are now wrestling over competing strategies, not the least of which involves a contentious moral dilemma: Should presumably reformed bird traders, who come with shady pasts but offer intimate knowledge of the parrots, be a part of the rescue effort?

The struggle over how to resolve that question illustrates the challenges involved in preserving a species with high commercial value and in dealing with everyday questions about how best to pursue a noble goal in a world that is neither black nor white. For the Lear’s macaw, those challenges are especially formidable because time is running out.

The story of the species goes back to at least 1856, when the bird was first described by Charles Lucien Bonaparte, Napoleon’s nephew, and instantly valued as a great rarity. It was named after Edward Lear, an English artist better known for his nonsense rhymes, who had painted a blue parrot in 1832, not realizing at the time that it was a species unto itself. From the first, the bird’s origin was shrouded in mystery. Of numerous theories, the most accepted was that it was a hybrid between the hyacinth and glaucous macaws.

An expatriate German scientist--Helmut Sick, considered Brazil’s premier ornithologist--was convinced otherwise. To demonstrate that the Lear’s was a separate species, he needed to find the bird’s roosting site. That would prove far from easy, in part because of the extreme inhospitability of the parrot’s native habitat. Referred to as the caatinga, which in the Tupi native language means “white forest,” the area is naturally prone to droughts. The vegetation consists of succulent plants, cacti and terrestrial bromeliads, with thorny trees and bushes hitched to a sandy soil. Years of intense human activity have further exacerbated the region’s arid nature.

The caatinga also harbors a long history of social unrest. At the turn of this century, a messianic priest named Ant(tm)nio Conselheiro and his 30,000 followers--royalists who were resisting the imposition of republican rule--were slaughtered to the last man in a town right next to the Lear’s population. The region has also produced other charismatic characters able to harness the discontent prevalent among the peasant classes against an exploitative elite. Today, a rugged local population struggles on.

In 1978 after several frustrated attempts, Sick finally managed to locate the Lear’s roost, ironically using information collected from traffickers. It was a moment he described as the most thrilling in his illustrious career. But it may have also been a disaster for the bird. “After the gringo came,” says Sr. Zequinha, referring to Sick, “people from all over the world visited our valley. But we also saw that the number of birds went down a lot. That’s when the traffickers came here all the time.”

The traffickers, whose take of Lear’s macaws started on a large scale in the 1990s, are part of an ongoing worldwide trade in wild animals that is estimated to generate around $10 billion a year, of which Brazil accounts for $700 million. About 30 percent of the animals captured by traffickers in Brazil are sent abroad, while the remaining 70 percent feed domestic demand, with the great majority sold in open- air street markets. The rarest birds of all are funneled to collectors who either keep them or sell them abroad.

But the birds have also faced other problems, as their dryland habitat undergoes intense change. “You see that field over there,” Sr. Zequinha explains, pointing to a parched, open plain seemingly devoid of vegetation. “We used to swim there. And next to it we used to grow rice.”

This scenario is almost impossible to fathom. Countless riverbeds, which have apparently been dry for decades, dot the area. And an unrelenting recent drought, perhaps fueled by global climate change, has made an already impoverished population even more desperate. Lear’s and people suffer together as the food staples for both dry up. The leaves of the licuri palm are given to cattle during times of food scarcity, and the birds, in turn, raid cornfields. That creates the perception among small farmers that the macaw is an agricultural pest and should be done away with.

In addition, the local people are resentful of conservation efforts they regard as valuing the lives of a hundred birds more than their own. A recent economic downturn also bodes badly for the Lear’s, as traffickers can more easily lure residents to scale the perilous cliffs and pluck Lear’s from their nests to feed the illicit international demand for the bird.

Ornithologist Charles Munn, a senior zoologist with the Wildlife Conservation Society, feels that purchasing as much Lear’s habitat as possible, making it economically viable through ecotourism and co- opting the traffickers in the conservation efforts present the best hope for the birds’ survival. While government officials agree with some of this, they are loathe to be so forgiving of former traffickers.

Since 1992, the National Lear’s Committee has spearheaded official efforts to protect the birds, and in 1997 it received a $200,000 grant (US$165,000) from the Brazilian government for Lear’s preservation. Almost from the start, however, discord has impeded collaboration. One of several fundamental disagreements separating two opposing camps centers around the idea of using ex-traffickers and the extensive knowledge they possess about the Lear’s as a pillar in the conservation strategy.

One of the traffickers is Carlos Arajo Lima, known as Carlinhos, the man most responsible for depleting the Lear’s population. BioBrasil Foundation, a private conservation group established in 1996 to protect endangered fauna and their habitats, believes that Carlinhos has forsworn trafficking, and for the past four years, the organization has been paying him to provide vital information to help locate feeding grounds and possible undiscovered populations.

But that doesn’t sit well with men like Eurivaldo “Caboco” Macedo Alvez, 28, who is responsible for guarding the Lear’s area against poachers. Caboco is paid by Funda?o Biodiversitas, a conservation organization that receives the government’s endorsement for its work with Lear’s and is made up of a cross section of respected Brazilian biologists. “Yeah, I know Carlinhos,” Caboco says, “that no good thief.”

“Last year,” he continues, “I apprehended two guys who said Carlinhos paid them $1,000 each [US$510] to get Lear’s. I handed them over to the authorities, but nothing happened,” says Caboco. “If I find them here again, I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

Dressed in fatigues and brandishing a rifle and pistol he seems itching to use, Caboco is perched on a rock looking up at two active Lear’s nests. His youthful yet hardened face and compact, muscular frame belie the affection he exudes when talking about Lear’s. His father, Eliseu Pereira Alvez, guided Helmut Sick’s successful discovery expedition.

“They’re checking us out,” he says, pointing to a pair of Lear’s circling overhead, squawking loudly before swooning into their nest hole. Teams of peach- fronted parakeets flutter in the valley, and the operatic crescendo of their high-pitched cries, combined with those of the more baritone Lear’s, are the only sounds reverberating against the cliffs. Almost immediately after the Lear’s enter the hole, the gargling of their chicks becomes audible.

Government funds allocated in 1997 have been exhausted on basic research, trying to locate all the bird’s feeding grounds or nurturing new plantations of the licuri palm. That means that only donations from abroad can keep Caboco and Sr. Zequinha, who also guards the site, on the job. Caboco’s frustration is obvious and his fear for the bird’s future, palpable. “Without me here, the traffickers will have free range,” he concludes, shrugging his shoulders and continuing his observation of the nesting pair through a spyglass bequeathed to him by his father. “But what can you do?”

The infamous Carlinhos, meantime, sees things differently. He lives in Petrolina, a bustling town of 100,000 perched on the banks of the So Francisco, a massive river that winds through the arid northeastern region of Brazil known as the Serto. Carlinhos is in a jovial mood, induced by Sunday afternoon celebration and a good amount of beer, as he seems proud to report. He is surrounded by friends, obviously the center of attention.

Around 5 feet 4 inches tall with a jocular face with mestizo features, he is given to wearing large belt buckles and cowboy boots with his shirts open to show his multiple gold chains. He greets his visitors warmly and immediately launches into a tirade against the present-day traffickers. “These guys are going to finish off the Lear’s,” he states forcefully.

Carlinhos’ relationship with Lear’s macaws goes back a long way. When he was 11 years old, his neighbor asked him to look after some birds that he was rearing. When the neighbor was forced to leave the area, he told Carlinhos to sell the birds and keep the income. “I put all the birds in a cart and went through the streets trying to get rid of these animals,” Carlinhos says. “I found that it was quite easy to do, so I started to get more serious about it.”

He soon became a very successful dealer, bought a car at 17 and gained notoriety throughout Brazil and the world. If you wanted to buy a Brazilian macaw from overseas, you got it through Carlinhos. “In some months I made up to US$100,000,” he continues. “I probably sold between 40 to 50 Lear’s in my heyday. But money is just money, and after I got arrested, I realized that I had to stop.”

As a convicted felon, he spent seven months in jail, during which time he was visited by members of the BioBrasil Foundation, who on his release offered to pay him a monthly salary if he would use his knowledge and network to help preserve the Lear’s. In recent expeditions based on information he provided, the foundation has located two previously unknown feeding sites and a possible separate population.

“I bet you there are 1,000 Lear’s out there,” Carlinhos boasts. If true--and many experts think it is not--that’s six times the known population of about 170. Aside from the salary he receives from the foundation, Carlinhos has a pet shop and a farm close to the city where he wants to retire to raise rheas and capybaras. But what of those persistent rumors that he continues to traffic?

“How absurd! I swear to Jesus Christ that I am not trafficking anything. But if you guys would listen to me, I could tell you who is and stop it.”

Irrespective of the relative merits of the various Lear’s conservation strategies, it is clear that efforts to strengthen and protect the Lear’s population are faltering. The birds seem harried, and their feather alignments lie in distorted configurations called stress bars, a sure sign of nutritional deficiencies. Their sources of food are in decline, and there still remains a great dearth of basic information on the bird. Of the 43 breeding-age Lear’s in the area visited, all but three pairs failed to produce offspring this year, yet no one knows why. And just this February, when Caboco was on holiday, an intern to the project watched helplessly as two men captured a pair of Lear’s and carted them away, no doubt spurred by the big cash the birds can fetch on the market.

Despite Sr. Zequinha’s lack of formal education, he understands the significance of the birds to the world and the need to save them. He does not, however, understand the squabbling that festers in the conservation community, and he wonders why all sides can’t just get together and put the bird’s survival first. This simple suggestion is really the key solution, since the amount of talent and experience of those involved in Lear’s conservation is more than enough to achieve that goal and galvanize opinion both within and outside Brazil about the importance and feasibility of this task.

And, adds Sr. Zequinha, looking at the darkening sky dotted with wispy clouds, “Com fe em Deus (with faith in God), together we can do it.”

“I probably sold between 40 to 50 Lear’s in my heyday. But money is just money, and after I got arrested, I realized that I had to stop.”

--Carlos “Carlinhos” Arajo Lima

“Last year I apprehended two guys who said Carlinhos paid them $1,000 to get Lear’s....If I find them here again, I won’t hesitate to shoot.”

--Eurivaldo “Caboco” Macedo Alvez

The Shady Side Of Wildlife Trade

In the United States, legal imports of wildlife and wildlife products, including pets and live animals for research, amount to more than $1 billion annually. But a brisk illegal trade--especially in rare birds and reptiles--also goes on. Worldwide, this illicit commerce is valued in the billions of dollars each year, according to the nonprofit group TRAFFIC that monitors such trade. The world’s rarest parrots, including most macaws, are at special risk. Despite the scarcity of Lear’s macaws in the wild, the birds are stolen at a rate of 15 to 20 per year. For more on Lear’s macaws and other endangered species, see NWF’s web site

Richard Hartley, a free-lance journalist, is executive director of the BioBrasil Foundation, the nongovernment group that pays the salary of former bird trafficker Carlinhos. Last spring he traveled to the Lear’s roosting site with Brazilian photographer Luiz Claudio Marigo, a long- time contributor to International Wildlife.

© 2000 National Wildlife Federation & 2000 Gale Group