"but the trees are enchanted, they had spirits in them. The long trees are gone, but their songs still exist."

The song of longing for the long trees, contrasted with the aerial images of the completely bare Tikmũ'ũn (Maxakali) territory, sets the tone of the manifesto that begins the work Nũhũ Yãg Mũ Yõg Hãm: Essa Terra É Nossa. "Yãg Mũ Yõg Hãm" is the cry of the Maxakali as they write these words on a wall in the town where another member of their people has been murdered.

This gesture, presented as both protest and tribute, marks yet another mobilisation by the Maxakali to denounce and confront the harassment, threats and destruction they have faced since colonisation. The narrative mixes contemporary claims with historical speeches and images, revealing how the Maxakali people feel constantly trapped by the proliferation of white people around them and their radically opposed notions of territory.

For Indigenous people, territory means their own bodies, spirits and livelihoods. This understanding is radically opposed to the logic of the capitalist system, which understands territory as a means, a resource to be consumed, a place from which things are taken. In the Indigenous way of thinking, as the thinker Ailton Krenak points out, territory "is a place where you have to tread softly, walk carefully, because it is full of other presences". In other words, for the Indigenous people, territory is a living thing.

Directors Isael Maxakali, Sueli Maxakali, Carolina Canguçu and Roberto Romero imprint the severity of the conflicts on their narrative by interviewing members of the community. In a classroom, people narrate the murders of their family members as their names are written on the whiteboard. The characters denounce the fact that their voices are not taken into account and point out the lack of knowledge in national society about their current situation.

With an aesthetic of tension, the film's motivation is clearly stated as "a document for the government to see and return our lands". This statement gives us a clue about Brazilian Indigenous cinema; it has been presented as a device that operates with an essentially urgent and contingent approach. The camera also moves with those who move the resistance. It informs us through the eyes of those who are directly affected. For this and other reasons, it is necessary to stress the relevance and solidity of Indigenous narrative productions made by Indigenous people, as opposed to generalist narratives, documentary or ethnographic productions. This is the gap between languages: the Indigenous narrative does not represent but presents its own reality.

Nũhũ Yãg Mũ Yõg Hãm: Essa Terra É Nossa is a precious document about courage and resistance. The violence against Indigenous territories is contrasted with the cosmologies and creation narratives of the Maxakali people. In this scenario, the song that opens the film, mourning the extinction of the long trees, finds the affirmation that they still exist in the firm final words of the protagonists: "We will sing the songs that were born here on this land of ours, and we will say: this land is ours. May this land come alive again for us". And like the songs of the ancient trees, as long as they exist, there will be resistance.