You don’t just watch the documentary We Are Guardians — you feel it. From the very first frame, the film draws you in with the soundscape of the Amazon. It’s not just trees and greenery. It’s alive. Birds chirp, insects buzz, and somewhere beneath the dense green canopy, ants are hard at work while sloths hang in peace. It’s a quiet, meditative symphony of life. But then — CRACK. The sound of chainsaws cuts through the calm like a scream in a library. Trees — some older than any living person — creak and crash to the ground. And just like that, the forest breathes a little less.
This stunning, heart-wrenching documentary, co-directed by Edivan Guajajara, Chelsea Greene, and Rob Grobman, sets its sights on a section of the Brazilian Amazon under constant siege. But instead of delivering a one-sided tirade or reducing this environmental crisis to good guys versus bad guys, We Are Guardians attempts something far more ambitious: it tells the human stories behind the destruction — and behind the resistance.
A Complicated Tangle of Lives
At the center of the film are the people. Not talking heads in suits or academic narrators with graphs (though, don’t worry, you get those too). We’re talking about Indigenous leaders, illegal loggers, environmental activists, and struggling ranchers — each with skin in the game, each navigating a murky, morally grey landscape where survival doesn’t always align with what’s legal or just.
On one side, you have the Indigenous guardians of the rainforest — men and women who’ve been protecting this land long before Brazil was even a country. Among them are Marçal Guajajara and Puyr Tembé, fierce, articulate, and deeply rooted in their mission. They don’t just see the forest as “land” — it’s their home, their history, and their identity. They hunt, fish, raise families, and most importantly, defend the land from threats that keep multiplying.
Marçal is part of the “internal defense force,” essentially a self-organized Indigenous patrol. Think of it as a grassroots, jungle-based version of a neighborhood watch, only here, the stakes are literal life and death. Then there’s Puyr Tembé, whose activism transcends the rainforest. She’s the bridge between the forest and the cities, traveling to Belém and Brasilia in full cultural regalia, standing tall at protests and conferences to make her people’s voices heard where they are often drowned out.
But the film doesn’t stop with the guardians. It introduces us to logger Valdir Duarte, a man whose very livelihood is tied to cutting down the forest. Duarte doesn’t deny his actions. He knows what he’s doing is illegal, but he lays it out plainly: “We know that we’re working illegally, but we’re forced to do it. Otherwise, how are we going to live?” There’s no cartoonish villainy here. He’s not twirling a mustache while torching the rainforest. He’s a father, working for weeks in the forest and returning to his family only briefly. His job — destructive as it may be — keeps food on the table.
And then there’s Tedeu Fernandes, the idealist of the group. For decades, he’s been buying up land in hopes of turning it into a sanctuary, a place safe from the loggers and profiteers. He dreams of conservation, not conquest. Yet he watches helplessly as illegal operations continue within land he owns. One of the documentary’s most affecting moments shows him standing in front of government building after government building, all of which he’s petitioned for help. The number of complaints he’s filed is staggering. The response? Crickets.
Layers of Exploitation
It would be easy — and tempting — to slap a hero/villain label on everyone involved. But We Are Guardians constantly asks us to go deeper. Why is this logger here in the first place? Why are these people risking their lives to protect land that the government seems willing to sell off piece by piece?
Brazil’s recent political history plays a big part. Under former President Jair Bolsonaro, the country saw an aggressive rollback of environmental protections and an open hostility toward Indigenous rights. Logging boomed, enforcement waned, and the Amazon became a free-for-all, especially for those eager to cash in on potassium and timber.
And let’s be honest — this isn’t just a Brazil problem. The Amazon is often referred to as the “lungs of the planet.” Its preservation or destruction doesn’t just affect South America. It affects rainfall patterns in North America, CO2 levels globally, and climate systems that touch every part of the world. That’s why We Are Guardians feels so urgent — because its subject is everyone’s problem.
Enter Luciana Gatti, a climate scientist whose contribution to the documentary is part reality check, part wake-up call. She explains, with sobering clarity, how the forest generates rain — a vital, life-giving resource not just for Brazil but the Earth. Through her insights, accompanied by striking visuals — satellite images, CGI maps, aerial drone footage — we see the forest’s steady, terrifying decline over time. It’s one thing to know deforestation is happening. It’s another to watch it on a time-lapse map, year by year, like a wound that won’t stop spreading.
Up Close, and Personal
Despite the sweeping scope, the documentary’s most powerful moments are its most intimate. At one point, we’re on a boat in the Amazon River with Tembé and other Indigenous leaders. They’ve come across a group of people illegally harvesting açaí berries. The situation is tense — these are, after all, thieves stealing a sacred resource. But instead of violence, what follows is a remarkably human exchange. The two sides talk. Firmly. Directly. But with respect. And eventually, they find a resolution.
It’s a rare moment of peace — one that hints at the possibility of a different future, one rooted in communication and shared humanity. It also underscores the documentary’s central point: that there are no simple solutions here. That every person you meet is navigating a world where laws and survival often don’t line up. And that healing this planet will take more than drones, protests, and satellite images — it will take empathy, understanding, and collective action.
The DiCaprio Effect
You might be wondering: where does Leonardo DiCaprio fit into all of this? The actor’s production company, Appian Way, is one of the forces behind We Are Guardians, and if you’ve been paying attention to his environmental activism over the past decade, you’ll know this isn’t just a vanity credit. DiCaprio has used his platform — and his wallet — to amplify environmental issues, from melting glaciers to coral reefs. The Amazon is a natural next frontier.
His involvement brings attention — and probably some funding — but importantly, it doesn’t hijack the message. This isn’t a celebrity-led tour of the Amazon. DiCaprio’s face is nowhere to be found. The spotlight remains on the people who’ve been fighting this fight for generations. It’s their story.
Why It Matters
We Are Guardians isn’t trying to solve the Amazon crisis in 90 minutes. That would be impossible. Instead, it gives us something arguably more important: perspective. It forces us to slow down, to listen, and to see the world not in binaries, but in shades of real-life complexity.
The film never shies away from showing the tragedy — the burning, the loss, the heartbreak. But neither does it surrender to hopelessness. In between the deforestation and exploitation, you’ll see moments of resilience. Of resistance. Of stubborn, unwavering love for a place too sacred to give up on.
So what are we left with when the credits roll? Hopefully, a little more awareness. Maybe even a shift in how we think about the Amazon — not as an abstract “environmental issue,” but as a living, breathing entity sustained by people who are just as real, just as complicated, and just as worthy of attention as any CEO or politician.
In short: We Are Guardians doesn’t offer easy answers, but it does ask the right questions. And in a world where everyone wants to scream over each other, sometimes the most radical thing you can do is listen.
