have been the culmination of a dream for many men, especially a poor
caboclo
from remote Mato Grosso.
Rondon, however, had other plans. He wanted to serve not just his country but its most disenfranchised and endangered inhabitants: the Indians. “I want to bring the civilization which I have acquired to my Mato Grosso and my Amazonia,” he said, “to the jungle and its tribes.” His determination to protect South American Indians and incorporate them into mainstream Brazilian society—a passion that would come to override all others in his life—grew less out of his ethnic background than his philosophical convictions. Rondon was a member of Brazil’s Positivist movement, which, founded by the French philosopher Auguste Comte in the mid-nineteenth century, had its foundations in the French Enlightenment and British Empiricism. Although Positivists claimed to be, as one historian put it, “the respectful heirs of Catholicism,” the country’s dominant faith, their beliefs were in direct contradiction to that religion. Largely a philosophy of humanity, Positivism chose scientific knowledge and observed facts over mysticism and blind faith, putting its trust in the inevitable pull of progress, a type of Darwinian evolution toward civilization.
Rondon was first exposed to the tenets of Positivism while he was a student at the military school. His math teacher, Benjamin Constant—a man known as a “mathematical sleepwalker” because hecould sit for hours in perfect silence, ruminating on the mysteries of math while the chaotic world went on around him—was a vocal member of the movement and did not hesitate to indoctrinate his students. Although he was a personal friend of Emperor Pedro II, Constant, through the military, played a pivotal role in the overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of the Federal Republic of Brazil in November 1889. After the relatively bloodless coup—Pedro II, like countless fallen monarchs before and after him, sought exile in Paris—the leaders of the Republic created a new flag for Brazil, choosing a green background with a bright-blue globe resting on a gold diamond. On the globe they scattered twenty-seven five-pointed stars, one for each of Brazil’s states and for the Federal District, and stretched a white banner across its face that today still proudly bears the Positivist motto:
Ordem e Progresso
, Order and Progress—not just for Brazilians but also for the country’s native inhabitants.
Less than six months after the founding of the Republic, Rondon was given an unexpected opportunity to put his Positivist beliefs to work for the good of Amazonian Indians. He was chosen as the head of the Strategic Telegraph Commission—thereafter known as the Rondon Commission—a job that would put him in direct contact with the Amazon’s most isolated tribes. Rondon accepted the assignment and returned to Mato Grosso in April 1890 as a local hero. He was not yet twenty-five years old, but, just eight years after leaving Cuiabá, he was the commander of a small arm of the military, and he had been entrusted with arguably the Republic’s most difficult assignment.
The Rondon Commission’s expeditions into the Brazilian interior were infamous. At best, they were long, exhausting, lonely treks through unfamiliar territory. At worst, they were terrifying forced marches that subjected the soldiers to disease, starvation, and relentless Indian attacks. Rondon was supposed to have between 100 and 150 men for his expeditions, but he rarely had a full unit. In 1900, Rondon began an expedition with eighty-one men. By the end of the year, only thirty were left. Of the missing, seventeen had deserted, andthe rest were either hospitalized or dead. Time passed, and Rondon gained more experience, but the conditions under which his men labored did not improve. In 1903, only fifty-five men returned from an expedition that had begun with a hundred. Assignment to Rondon’s unit became a
caboclo
from remote Mato Grosso.
Rondon, however, had other plans. He wanted to serve not just his country but its most disenfranchised and endangered inhabitants: the Indians. “I want to bring the civilization which I have acquired to my Mato Grosso and my Amazonia,” he said, “to the jungle and its tribes.” His determination to protect South American Indians and incorporate them into mainstream Brazilian society—a passion that would come to override all others in his life—grew less out of his ethnic background than his philosophical convictions. Rondon was a member of Brazil’s Positivist movement, which, founded by the French philosopher Auguste Comte in the mid-nineteenth century, had its foundations in the French Enlightenment and British Empiricism. Although Positivists claimed to be, as one historian put it, “the respectful heirs of Catholicism,” the country’s dominant faith, their beliefs were in direct contradiction to that religion. Largely a philosophy of humanity, Positivism chose scientific knowledge and observed facts over mysticism and blind faith, putting its trust in the inevitable pull of progress, a type of Darwinian evolution toward civilization.
Rondon was first exposed to the tenets of Positivism while he was a student at the military school. His math teacher, Benjamin Constant—a man known as a “mathematical sleepwalker” because hecould sit for hours in perfect silence, ruminating on the mysteries of math while the chaotic world went on around him—was a vocal member of the movement and did not hesitate to indoctrinate his students. Although he was a personal friend of Emperor Pedro II, Constant, through the military, played a pivotal role in the overthrow of the monarchy and the establishment of the Federal Republic of Brazil in November 1889. After the relatively bloodless coup—Pedro II, like countless fallen monarchs before and after him, sought exile in Paris—the leaders of the Republic created a new flag for Brazil, choosing a green background with a bright-blue globe resting on a gold diamond. On the globe they scattered twenty-seven five-pointed stars, one for each of Brazil’s states and for the Federal District, and stretched a white banner across its face that today still proudly bears the Positivist motto:
Ordem e Progresso
, Order and Progress—not just for Brazilians but also for the country’s native inhabitants.
Less than six months after the founding of the Republic, Rondon was given an unexpected opportunity to put his Positivist beliefs to work for the good of Amazonian Indians. He was chosen as the head of the Strategic Telegraph Commission—thereafter known as the Rondon Commission—a job that would put him in direct contact with the Amazon’s most isolated tribes. Rondon accepted the assignment and returned to Mato Grosso in April 1890 as a local hero. He was not yet twenty-five years old, but, just eight years after leaving Cuiabá, he was the commander of a small arm of the military, and he had been entrusted with arguably the Republic’s most difficult assignment.
The Rondon Commission’s expeditions into the Brazilian interior were infamous. At best, they were long, exhausting, lonely treks through unfamiliar territory. At worst, they were terrifying forced marches that subjected the soldiers to disease, starvation, and relentless Indian attacks. Rondon was supposed to have between 100 and 150 men for his expeditions, but he rarely had a full unit. In 1900, Rondon began an expedition with eighty-one men. By the end of the year, only thirty were left. Of the missing, seventeen had deserted, andthe rest were either hospitalized or dead. Time passed, and Rondon gained more experience, but the conditions under which his men labored did not improve. In 1903, only fifty-five men returned from an expedition that had begun with a hundred. Assignment to Rondon’s unit became a
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