La búsqueda para razón

      Jorge Amado’s novel demonstrates several underlying complexities with regards to Brazil’s Bahia, namely the distinct fusion between Roman Catholic and indigenous African belief systems. As work of fiction and salient social critique, Amado’s novel remains critical of the former, being forced upon the unknowing Africans who were funneled into Brazil. The Catholic bishops and other high-ranking religious leaders are depicted as bumbling idiots- having absolutely no idea how to resolve the debacle of the missing statue of Santa Barbara. Practitioners of Candomble, however, are presented as the genuinely happiest characters throughout the novel. Manela, indeed, finds solace amidst the festivities of Bomfim, only after renouncing the stuffiness and unnecessary strictness of her conservative and fanatical aunt, Adalgisa. Furthermore, while the Roman Catholic parishioners partake in confession and other traditional rituals, it is the Candomble ”version” of Santa Barbara that engages in hands-on acts of goodwill.

      Amado’s novel is also a good representation of the controversies of liberation theology, a sociopolitical bend in traditional Catholic teachings that interprets the words of Jesus Christ to renounce political, social, and economic injustice. Within the context of the military dictatorship in Brazil, Jorge Amado underscores the impalpabiliy of liberation theology under an authoritarian regime that desires Catholicism in the traditional sense- maintaining an allegience to the affluent over the downtrodden (as far as wealth is concerned). 

      Likewise, Jorge Amado’s novel conceptualizes the complexities associated with race in Bahia, more specifically (1) who claims which portion(s) of their heritage(s) and (2) for what purposes. Aunt Adalgisa, for example, explicitly denounces and often ignores her African roots. She instead emphasizes her “Spanish” roots. The character of Adalgisa points to the phenomenon of the “mulatto escape hatch,” in which an individual of mixed race claims specific (and “whitened”) aspects of his/her ancestry in order to guarantee higher socioeconomic standing.

      The film O Auto da Compadecida (A Dog’s Life) points to the extreme differences in various regions of Brazil. We have studied thus far that Brazil’s southeast is by far the wealthiest of Brazil’s regions, and the film provides a stark contrast via a region frequented by droughts and rampant impoverishment. I feel as though it was a little too lighthearted in a sense, especially for North American audiences, because it highlighted quirky characters much more than the actual issues of poverty and the need to survive in the northeast. But then again, perhaps the film is meant to be an “escapist” work.

      Prior to the class I was more aware of the issues faced by Argentina and I was always a little less sure about Brazil’s history and contemporary issues. I had, of course, taken a course last year pertaining to Latin American politics, so I did have some degree of knowledge regarding Brazil from a political standpoint. Despite this, I had a limited understanding of the various social, cultural, and economic factors at work. This particular course has helped me bridge the gap between the two courses. It did not simplify Brazil in any “neat” or compartmentalized manner; Brazil is, after all, a very complex nation, with enormous differences between its many representative subcultures and regions. By far the most important aspect that I have taken away from this class is the prevalence of African elements in Brazilian language and culture. I am very tempted to continue my graduate work in Latin America through a Brazilian context.

Carolina Maria de Jesus’s diary perhaps most prominently presents to an international audience the inability to escape the cyclical nature of poverty in Brazilian favelas. More importantly, though some 50 years old, de Jesus’s writing is still applicable to a government incapable (or perhaps unwilling) to come to terms with its slum populations.

Upon reading the quick, urgent entries that trace the leading antagonists in the drama of the favelados (Hunger and Violence), I instantly think of similar messages presented visually in Cidade de Deus(City of God). Attempts to lift oneself up from poverty and out of the favela are either (a) few and far in between or (b) ultimately futile. Carolina reenters poverty despite being a published favelada. The favelados presented in City of God inherit neither riches nor opportunities; they inherit violence (it is no accident that the film concludes the same way it opens, thus reiterating a vicious cycle).

But neither Carolina de Jesus norCity of Goddo much justice in terms of underscoring the rich artistic culture that dwells alongside poverty and violence in Brazilian favelas. Indeed, the characteristically Brazilian samba was born in the foothills of Rio’s favelas.

<More coming soon, as soon as I finish Elite Squad.>

The Diary of “Helena Morley” is an excellent primary source in terms of presenting late-19th-century society Minas Gerais. It is a colorful and accessible portrait of Brazilians’ hardships, racial and class distinctions, and elements of religion and folklore. But, above all else, it is a representation of the universal nature of the archetypal coming-of-age story. 

It was a fitting read for my research interests of race and ethnicity coupled with gender and sexuality. The diary was particularly useful with regards to examining the differences in gender norms between the wealthy and working classes, in addition to the those of the former slave groups. I found it to be very interesting that Helena attended a normal school while her more affluent female cousins attended Catholic institutions. This is a topic that I would like to pursue at a later time. 

My favorite “episode” of the diary was Helena’s terror of committing a capital sin by thinking her priest and confessor was homely, only to have the father acknowledge that (a) he is homely, and (b) that it is not a sin. This comedic instance strikes a chord with any given reader because it demonstrates a young individual trying to make sense of societal norms, the patriarchy, etc. around her.

I would consider the strangest “episode” to be the slave tale of the old man who would capture disobedient children and place them in his knapsack. Regardless, it is a fascinating glimpse into local folklore.

The film adaptation of the diary was a satisfactory representation of the rhetorical component. Although a great deal of complexity was simplified due to time constraints placed upon a motion picture, the overall impression presents to the general viewer the rich, difficult, and contradictory social fabric of 1890s and 1900s of a specific Brazilian locale. 

Class discussion, readings, and group work over the past two weeks have pointed overwhelming to important similarities between Brazil and the United States. This is in itself significant because the United States educational system—particularly in middle and high school—tends to emphasize the various dimensions of slavery within a North American context alone. This myopic view obscures the the broader context of slavery in the Americas between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries. Both the plantation economic systems of the United States and Brazil necessitated the massive importation of African slaves in order to sustain a problematic economic model. Despite this, Brazil imported the largest proportion of Africans in the Americas during the 1800s. 

Perhaps the most important aspect of Brazilian slavery discussed/presented in class is the idea of using race a tool for brokering a specific socioeconomic identity. Indeed many of the readings have pointed to the tendency of “becoming white.” Marrying whites simultaneously whitened one’s complexion and elevated one’s social standing, thus pointing to the fact that race—as opposed to notions in the United States—was based on appearance much more so than blood (as in the “one-drop” rule). Indigenous women who married whites gradually became classified as “white,” and the social standing of their children improved exponentially as well. Skidmore points to Antonio Raposo Tavares as an example, who was initially listed as an Indian-white mixed blood and then eventually as “white” upon marrying a white woman. Absolutely fascinating is the polar fates of two siblings, one of which who could be “lighter” in complexion and thus attain a professional profession, while a “darker” child would be cast into domestic servitude. 

This certainly raises the question of why, in the United States, the “one-drop” rule was paramount in terms of race, and why, in the Brazilian context, appearances were the defining characteristic of one’s racial identity, and thus social standing.

Furthermore, I find the position of the quilombos to be intriguing. Originally I was not aware of discourse centered on runaway slave communities in the United States as much as Brazilian quilombos, but I have discovered their presence—similarly to Brazil—in isolated areas beyond the control of slave masters. History in Focus (http://www.history.ac.uk/ihr/Focus/Slavery/articles/lockley.html) points to the presence of runaway communities throughout the American south, particularly in South Carolina and Louisiana. 

William Byrd is cited, describing the presence of runaway slaves in southern swamplands:

Run-away Negroes have resided in these places for twelve, twenty, or thirty years and upwards, subsisting themselves in the swamp upon corn, hogs, and fowls, that they raised on some of the spots not perpetually under water, nor subject to be flooded, as forty-nine parts of fifty of it are; and on such spots they have erected habitations, and cleared small fields around them; yet these have always been perfectly impenetrable to any of the inhabitants of the country around, even to those nearest to and best acquainted with the swamps.

Tim Lockley states that most runaway slaves inhabited the dense and relatively untouched swamps, such as the Great Dismal. This tendency is not at all dissimilar to the process in Brazil, in which runaway slaves fled to uninhabited and remote areas. Despite this, one is led to ponder why, then, the runaway communities in the United States never transformed into a North American counterpart of the quilombo, such as Palmares, containing some 20,000 (+/-) runaways. Lockely, indeed, notes that most runaway communities contained relatively few individuals, numbering in the low hundreds or thousands. 

Lockley notes that the African slave population in the United States was self-sustaining whereas that of Brazil was maintained via regular importation. One may infer, then, that since most slaves in the U.S. were “born into” the practice, there was little incentive (or availability in general) for slaves to band together with newly imported Africans to establish vast self-sustaining communities. Furthermore, there were relatively fewer “remote” areas in the early U.S. than in Brazil.

Since I am interested primarily in cultural history in relation to race, gender, and sexuality, I feel as though I have a much more solid understanding of African slavery within the Brazilian context. In terms of graduate studies, I would be very interested in looking at quilombos in closer detail.

Several weeks ago (better late than never) I watched Avatar for the first time. Although I had firsthand knowledge that the film was highly analogous to the romanticized encounter between John Smith and Pocahontas, I continued to draw parallels in the back of my mind. With each passing utterance of “savage” or “barbarian,” I began to dwell on the initial interactions between indigenous Americans and English settlers. Although as inhabitants of the twenty-first-century, we can rely solely upon what remains of written correspondence regarding this initial “encounter.” Likewise, romanticized elements of popular culture (the cinematic representation concocted by Disney in 1995 is included) inform our understanding of the clash between the “old” world and “new.”

Yet this almost universal “encounter” is not limited only to a North American context. Indeed the same story played out in Brazil and Argentina, and there exists a corpus of literature that underscores divisions between “civilization” and “barbarism” (to quote the Argentine Domingo Faustino Sarmiento). Iracema (though virtually unknown to most Americans) and its striking parallels to the legend of Pocahontas and John Smith reveals a great deal about our past.

Both the legends of Iracema and Pocahontas are typically romanticized, dramatized, and not to mention commercialized (both legends have spawned commercial ventures in motion pictures, books, tourist attractions, and the like). As social critiques, however, both are quite potent and able to be interpreted in a variety of manners. To those espousing beliefs that the societies of indigenous Americans were inferior to Western ways, Pocahontas depicts the possibility of an indigenous American being incorporated into Western society via-a-via conversion and coercion, and the figure of Iracema does much the same. Conversely, both figures have the potential to question the nature of Western values.

Yet both works are only the “tip of the iceberg” in terms of attempting to understand race relations in the New World. In many respects, both the “encounters” (Pocahontas/Smith and Iracema/Martim) begin to to turn the gears of the machinery that is modern-day Brazil and the U.S. Both societies coped with the presence of the “other” in different ways, but ultimately followed similar patterns. Both Brazil and the U.S. relied upon massive importations of African slaves and large waves of European immigration during the nineteenth- and twentieth- centuries.

The “melting pot” analogy of the U.S. is very applicable to Brazil, as well. In Brazil—as in the United States—Africans injected a vibrant strand into popular culture

The documentary Brazil Revealed does a wonderful job presenting the ethnic/racial, socioeconomic, cultural, and linguistic complexities of South America’s largest and only lusophone (not Spanish-speaking) nation. As an indisputable economic powerhouse in the Americas, it is not surprising that Brazil continues to capture the imaginations of North Americans, who frequently marvel at the brasileira spitfire, the beaches of Rio, and the largest and perhaps most festive celebration on the planet: Carnaval.  Although a popular tourist destination reputed for its gorgeous beaches and women (Brazil ranks second in terms of South American nations, following Argentina), Brazil continues to face its fair share of hardships in 2012.

The class documentary presents a number of these problems, most notably the stark division between the haves and have-nots. Many areas outside of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro are almost anachronistic in the sense that they rely on bartering and virtually little to no infrastructure. The industrial megalopolises, conversely, are steadily moving upward (literally and figuratively; there is virtually no room for building outward). Rio de Janeiro serves as an abode to Brazil’s wealthiest, but on the slopes surrounding the city stand the infamous informal housing developments (favelas) forged by poor squatters decades ago.

In Rio’s favelas, as in many other Brazilian cities, towns, and villages, many Brazilians inherit not wealth or possessions from their parents and relatives, but poverty. It is cyclical in the sense that attempts to escape extreme hardships are futile, and inhabitants often return to square one: a lack of security, peace of mind, a stable source of income, few opportunities for the betterment of youth, etc. Drug dealing and prostitution often times serve as the preferred means of attempting to escape the cycle of poverty faced by Brazil’s impoverished, but paradoxically these activities only reinforce abjection. Sporadic government efforts to purify the favelas of violence and drug trafficking have inadvertently claimed the lives of the innocent.

Likewise Brazilian officials have long looked with disdain upon the shantytowns, who stand in marked contrast to the cosmopolitan allure of the touristy Rio. As has been demonstrated by various news outlets presenting Rio’s preparations for the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Summer Olympics, there has begun the process of “marking Brazil ready for the games.” Communities have been leveled in order to break ground for new sports arenas and hotels. Along with the structural demolition of the favelas has been an attack on their multifarious cultures as well.

Favelas are the homes of the now-famous Brazilian samba, and many of the most esteemed samba schools are nestled in the foothills inhabited by the shantytowns. Favelas have also served as the critical point of contact between African, European, and indigenous cultures and the consequent forging of a uniquely Brazilian identity.

Brazil serves as an example of the issues faced by modern nations of the Americas. In addition to two Brazils there exist two Argentinas, Colombias, Venezuelas, and Guatemalas. One of each of these nations is inhabited by the rich, visited by international tourists, and glorified on film and on postcards. The other, however, is marred by political corruption, racism, a disparate distribution of wealth, and the “shocking” reality that there exists not a single whitewashed and culturally homogenous Latin American nation, but rather an assortment of identities, traditions, and social classes, each following the path of the pendulum set in motion by the arrival of Europeans some five-hundred-twenty years ago.