Democracy and Brazil
Democracy and Brazil: Collapse and Regression discusses the de-democratization
process underway in contemporary Brazil.
The relative political stability that characterized domestic politics in the 2000s
ended with the sudden emergence of a series of massive protests in 2013, followed
by the controversial impeachment of Dilma Rousseff in 2016 and the election of Jair
Bolsonaro in 2018. In this new, more conservative period in Brazilian politics, a series
of institutional reforms deepened the distance between citizens and representatives.
Brazil’s current political crisis cannot be understood without reference to the continual
growth of right-wing and ultra-right discourse, on the one hand, and to the neoliberal
ideology that pervades the minds of large parts of the Brazilian elite, on the other.
Twenty experts on Brazil across different fields discuss the ongoing political turmoil in
the light of distinct problems: geopolitics, gender, religion, media, indigenous populations,
right-wing strategies, and new forms of coup, among others. Updated analyses enriched
with historical perspective help to illuminate the intricate issues that will determine the
country’s fate in years to come.
Democracy and Brazil: Collapse and Regression will interest students and scholars
of Brazilian politics and history, Latin America, and the broader fields of democracy
studies.
Bernardo Bianchi is a visiting professor at the Pontifical Catholic University of Rio de
Janeiro (PUC-Rio), Brazil, and a research associate at the Centre Marc Bloch (CMB),
Humboldt University Berlin, Germany. His main research interests are political philosophy,
history of philosophy, and contemporary political theory, as well as social theory.
Jorge Chaloub is an associate professor in the Department of Political Science at the
Federal University of Juiz de Fora (UFJF), Brazil. He is also senior advisor to the Moreira
Salles Institute (IMS) in Rio de Janeiro. His research interests include political
theory, Brazilian political thought, political philosophy, social theory, and the history of
contemporary Brazil.
Patricia Rangel holds a PhD in political science from the University of Brasilia,
Brazil, and a post-PhD in sociology from the University of São Paulo, with a research
stay at the Latin American Institute at the Freien Universität Berlin, Germany. She
has co-edited titles such as Gender and Feminisms: Argentina, Brazil and Chile under
Transformation (2019) and Women’s Political Participation in Latin America (2018).
She works in the fields of political science, gender studies, and feminist research.
Frieder Otto Wolf is an honorary professor at The Free University of Berlin,
Germany. He is a fellow of the research institute The Rosa Luxemburg Foundation
and sits on the advisory boards of the journals Das Argument, Historical Materialism,
Cosmopolitiques, and Écologie et Politique. He works in the fields of political
philosophy, radical philosophy, critical Marxism, and the epistemology of the social and
historical sciences, with an emphasis on applications to the fields of political ecology
and alternative economic strategies.
Routledge Studies in Latin American Politics
Media Leaks and Corruption in Brazil
The Infostorm of Impeachment and the Lava-Jato Scandal
Mads Bjelke Damgaard
Public Debt and the Common Good
Philosophical and Institutional Implications of Fiscal Imbalance
James Odom
The Media Commons and Social Movements
Grassroots Mediations Against Neoliberal Politics
Jorge Utman Saavedra
The Mobilization and Demobilization of Middle-Class Revolt
Comparative Insights from Argentina
Daniel Ozarow
Latin America and Policy Diffusion
From Import to Export
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Democracy and Brazil
Collapse and Regression
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Peace and Rural Development in Colombia
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Democracy and Brazil
Collapse and Regression
Edited by Bernardo Bianchi,
Jorge Chaloub, Patricia Rangel
and Frieder Otto Wolf
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Contents
List of Figures
1 De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil: From
2015 to 2020
viii
1
BERNARDO BIANCHI, PATRICIA RANGEL, AND JORGE CHALOUB
PART I
Political Collapse
2 Initial Observations on the Brazilian Disaster
17
19
ANTONIO NEGRI
3 Cycles of Democracy and the Racial Issue in Brazil
(1978–2019)
26
FLAVIA RIOS
4 Democratization and De-democratization in Left-Led
Brazil: From “Low-Conflict Progressivism” to
“Hyper-Reactionary Neoliberalism”
41
BARRY CANNON
5 The Right and Neo-Golpismo in Latin America.
A Comparative Reading of Honduras (2009),
Paraguay (2012), and Brazil (2016)
61
LORENA SOLER AND FLORENCIA PREGO
6 Corruption and Neoliberalism in Contemporary Brazil
PEDRO LUIZ LIMA AND JORGE CHALOUB
78
vi Contents
7 Bolsonaro and the Current Stage of the Brazilian Social
Crisis: Historical Continuities as a Backdrop
for the Present Situation
97
RÔMULO LIMA
8 The Post-Depressive Constellation: From Political
Effervescence to the Rise of Right-Wing
Authoritarianism in Brazil
114
ARTHUR BUENO
PART II
Social Regression
9 Paulo Freire’s Legacy and the Ideological Battle in Brazil
131
133
BERNARDO BIANCHI
10 The Urban Crisis in Brazil: From the
Neodevelopmentalist Experiment to the Rise
of Bolsonarismo
150
ERMÍNIA MARICATO AND PAOLO COLOSSO
11 De-democratization in Brazil and the New Puzzle
of Women’s Political Representation
166
PATRICIA RANGEL, ENEIDA VINHAES DULTRA,
AND DAVID MCCOY
12 Politics of Devastation: Remarks on De-democratization,
Indigenous Peoples, and the Environment
in Contemporary Brazil
194
ANA GUGGENHEIM COUTINHO
13 Politics and Religion in Contemporary Brazil: The
Neoconservative Turn in Evangelical Christianity
208
MAGALI DO NASCIMENTO CUNHA
14 What Is Post-Truth? A Tentative Answer with Brazil
as a Case Study
226
ERNESTO PERINI-SANTOS
15 Psychiatric Power: Exclusion and Segregation
in the Brazilian Mental Health System
MARLON MIGUEL
250
Contents vii
16 A Return to the Past or a New Beginning? Why the
Brazilian Case Merits Broader Discussion
268
FRIEDER OTTO WOLF
Notes on Contributors
Index
273
276
Figures
11.1
11.2
11.3a
11.3b
11.3c
11.3d
11.4a
11.4b
11.5
Elite Survey Responses by Year and Gender: Opposition
to Abortion
Female Councilors and Mayors Elected (2004–16)
Female City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Male City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Female City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Male City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Party List Votes for Women (%): Pro-Impeachment
(2004–16)
Party List Votes for Women (%): Pro-Impeachment
(2004–16)
Female Candidates Elected (2002–18)
171
173
175
176
176
177
178
178
184
1
De-democratization in
Contemporary Brazil
From 2015 to 2020
Bernardo Bianchi, Patricia Rangel, and
Jorge Chaloub
This book advances a discussion about the process of de-democratization,
underway in Brazil since 2015. The first act of this process is represented by
the questioning of the results of the 2014 presidential elections by the PSDB
(Brazilian Social Democracy Party), won by Dilma Rousseff by 3.3% of the
valid votes, i.e., 3.5 million votes, the thinnest proportional margin in Brazilian
history. In this context, after a questionable parliamentary maneuver in 2016,
Rousseff was impeached, unleashing a double process comprising the unsettlement of the political institutions and social unrest, which guides the division
of this book into two main parts: Political Collapse and Social Regression.
To these first acts, one must add the rise of Rousseff’s former Vice-President
Michel Temer to the presidency, the murder of Marielle Franco, the Federal
Military intervention in 2018, the imprisonment of Rousseff’s immediate predecessor and mentor, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, the victory of a far-right politician in the 2018 presidential elections, and Bolsonaro’s frequent statements
and acts against institutions, minorities, and political groups.
The conceptualization of de-democratization will shed new light on the
interpretation of Brazilian politics by criticizing an understanding based
simply on a formalist approach. In other words, by preferring the term dedemocratization, we aim to critique those perspectives which tend to consider
contemporary liberal democracies as something given or completed once and
for all, as if the word “democracy” could magically eradicate the threats of
authoritarianism that haunt every democratic experience. It is also a perspective that brings together processes of the expansion of democracy (democratization) as well as its downfall (de-democratization).1
De-democratization addresses a different account of the Brazilian political debate. On the one hand, it can be related to analyses around the idea of
an instrumentalization of the institute of impeachment, that is, the idea that
instead of cancelling elections or electoral results, the ruler can be neutralized by means of the judiciary system as well as parliamentary maneuvers that
materially subvert the existing political regime, even though they can hardly be
regarded as a formal institutional break. On the other hand, de-democratization
highlights the processual dimension of the transformations analyzed, considering them as a meeting of different times, which often cannot be connected to
2
Bernardo Bianchi et al.
one specific episode, such as the impeachment of Rousseff in 2016, the legal
impediment of Lula da Silva’s candidacy in 2018, and the subsequent election
of Jair Bolsonaro in the same presidential campaign. The concept does not
deny the existence of different weights for certain events, but aims to analyze
them from a longer perspective.
One of the main risks of a reading in terms of processual dimension is its
tautologic historicization.2 This can be seen very clearly in the way some analysts read the Brazilian crisis, neglecting the particularities of the present state
of affairs both in Latin America and on a global scale, refraining from elaborating a clear understanding of the present. Accordingly, analysts such as Vladmir
Safatle (2017) and Paulo Arantes (2014) argue that the Brazilian crisis can be
attributed to fundamental vices connected to the end of the military regime
(1964–1985) and to the implementation of the so-called New Republic, which
took shape under the 1988 Federal Constitution. This perspective is characterized by the idea of a depletion (esgotamento) of the New Republic, which
amounts to the fundamental fragility of the agreement between conservative
and progressive sectors of Brazilian society in the mid-’80s. According to
Safatle, the current downturn in Brazilian political life should be understood
as a consequence of this “original sin.” This perspective – which we call the
inherent vices thesis3 – does not do justice to the long and painful democratization process of the late 1970s and 1980s. The emphasis on the fragility of
the reconciliatory nature of the 1988 political regime leads such a perspective
to a teleological analysis, a tautologic historicization, which depoliticizes the
social processes concerned, postulating the current situation of the Brazilian
politics as an unavoidable effect of foundational mistakes of the center-left and
the Left, which were neither resolute nor conscious enough in their view to
bring about the rupture needed by the political context.4
The 1988 pact was a major democratic accomplishment, marking a fundamental turn not only in terms of the transformation of national political
institutions, but also on the level of social movement participation. In the tradition of Brazilian democratic constitutions (1934 and 1946), the 1988 Constitution deserved the appellation it received from Ulysses Guimarães, former
President of the Constituent Assembly, as a Citizen’s Constitution, due to the
rights it enshrined, and additionally for being the product of public participation. The Constitution, “like the sea snail, will conserve forever the roar of
the waves of suffering, hope, and claims from whence it came”5 (Guimarães
2016). Historically neglected social movements were included in the debates
of the 1988 Constituent Assembly – Indigenous, African Brazilians, quilombolas,6 Landless Workers Movement (MST), LGBTQI movement, favelados
(slum inhabitants), etc. Even if it is true that the transition from the military
regime to the New Republic was not made through a radical break with the
past (in the form of a revolution, for example), analysts must admit that it
marked a powerful transformation in the way politics was done in Brazil.
Therefore, 1988 was not a compromise, but a true defeat of the reactionary
sectors of Brazilian society.
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 3
After 1988, Brazil achieved an important consensus over basic human rights
and values, which were not directly attacked by any relevant political group.
This was a major accomplishment of the adversaries of the dictatorship, who
were able to build a solid resistance against previous authoritarian practices.
The 1988 Federal Constitution is a milestone of this political victory. Neither authoritarian ideas nor reactionary actors were publicly supported. Many
current debates in Brazilian politics would seem absurd through the lenses of
this recent past. The right-wing agenda was limited to economic policies, and
their victories were far less relevant than the ones accomplished by progressive
groups in cultural, social, and political realms.
Although a few conservative groups (both religious and secular) had succeeded in influencing and preventing advances in polemical issues such as
abortion, the country experienced an era of progressive neoliberalism (Fraser
2016). In the decades following the establishment of the New Republic, Brazil
witnessed important transformations, even though it continued to experience
effects of the authoritarian organization of society and the state, entangled with
the democratic features of the new regime. The Brazilian Police Apparatus has
never been reformed and has continued to act under the protection of Military Justice like an imperium in imperio. In addition, the political training of
public security officers remains untouched. In their headquarters, military and
police agents continue to be educated along the same lines as employed during
authoritarian times prior to 1985. Systematic massacres undertaken by police
agents are regarded as ordinary mishaps, although they target African Brazilians, the poor, and other marginalized segments of the population, in both
rural and urban contexts: Carandiru (1992), Candelária (1993), Vigário Geral
(1993), Corumbiara (1995), Eldorado do Carajás (1996), Baixada (2005). The
first Brazilian president to directly approach this issue was Rousseff (2011–14,
2015–16), who, among other measures, created the Truth Commission (Comissão da Verdade) – responsible for addressing not only the political assassinations by military agents during the dictatorship but also police violence in
contemporary times.7
Nevertheless, Brazil experienced a period of stability after the introduction of the 1988 Federal Constitution, notwithstanding the impeachment of
Fernando Collor in 1992, and the large popular demonstrations in 2013. The
dramatic shift took place in 2016, when Rousseff was impeached by an illegal parliamentary maneuver. The episode represented a clear break from the
political nature of the regime as it denatured the Brazilian presidential system
into a de facto parliamentarism. This marked the difference between Rousseff’s
impeachment process and Fernando Collor’s in 1992.8 The lack of legal elements demanded by law, together with clear purposes of undermining popular
participation in major political decisions, produced a rupture in Brazil’s democratic trajectory.
The impeachment opened the door to a series of institutional reforms, first
carried out by the newly sworn-in Temer, Rousseff’s vice-president, who
replaced her in office, and then radically intensified by Bolsonaro. The main
4
Bernardo Bianchi et al.
achievements of this process came through in the form of an amendment to
the Constitution, which precluded any real increase in public expenses for the
following 20 years (Constitutional Amendment No. 95/2016), and by means
of a deep reform in social security, which preserved well-paid groups that support Bolsonaro, such as military forces and the judiciary. Other constitutional
reforms are already underway, involving the tributary system and public service reform.
The Brazilian context cannot be understood without reference to the continual growth of the right-wing and ultra-right discourse amid the political turmoil.
Since the massive rallies in 1984, which culminated in the restoration of democratic institutions, the depth of Brazilian social problems has undermined the
power of right-wing rhetoric in both liberal and conservative sectors. The very
label “right-wing” has been regarded as an efficient disqualification method
in the political arena. For this reason, right-wing intellectuals have repeatedly
insisted on the need to overcome the Left-Right dichotomy in Brazil – when
they do not simply reject any affiliation to right-wing ideas. The last few years
have changed this situation. The right-wing camp is no longer ashamed to state
their preferences. Organized through think tanks, as well as by ideologues, and
with the support of the media, they have developed a sophisticated ideological
front, which spreads hate speech against minorities and what they label “cultural modernity.” There is a clear effort to eliminate every idea that could be
regarded as leftist, ideas which are then characterized as cognitive pathologies
and moral deviations. Just like before 1964, moralism has become a central
feature of the new Brazilian conservatism, which, notwithstanding its intrinsic
heterogeneity, reveals important general characteristics.
With the election of the ultra-right candidate Bolsonaro in October 2018, the
Brazilian government seems to adhere to a radical combination of economic
neoliberalism and neoconservatism.9 Although this arrangement was already
present under Temer’s administration, it has taken a radical expression in more
recent developments. In Brazil, criticism against “cultural modernity” comes
alongside the praise of capitalism and market-driven distribution of wealth, as
can be seen in the discourses of Olavo de Carvalho (2013). Analyses such as
those from Jürgen Habermas on the “new conservatism” (Habermas 1991),
Brown (2006) on the relationship between “neoliberalism” and “American
neoconservatism” in the United States, or Jacques Rancière’s (Ranciere 2014)
on “hatred of democracy” express the global inscription of the right-wing tide
and prevent any isolated interpretation of the Brazilian context, which also
hinders any insistence on the inherent vice thesis presented in the beginning
of this text. Nevertheless, Bolsonaro is one of the most radical expressions of
contemporary right-wing forces. Even though Brazil is not a fascist political
regime, there is a clear expansion of fascist politics (Stanley 2018), like the
open defense of violence, a strong sense of natural hierarchies and the pick
of minorities as public enemies. We call ultra-right the political movements
that combine a fascist political language and an electoral strategy for power.
The conjunction between regular institutional means, present in neoliberal and
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 5
neoconservative political languages, with frequent symbolic and physical violence demands a different concept, distinct from the regular uses of terms like
extreme-right, that usually concern groups that do not act in those different
political scenarios. Moreover, unlike the populist radical right, as defined by
Cas Mudde (2017, 5), economics is a central issue for the Brazilian ultra-right,
which incorporates elements from neoliberal and ultraliberal discourses.
Additional approaches can be found throughout the work of other authors.
On the one hand, David Runciman (2018) and Steven Levitsky, together with
Daniel Ziblatt (2018), point at conjunctural troubles concerning the relationship between capitalism and democracy. On the other hand, Wolfgang Streeck
(2014, 2016) and Antonio Negri (see Chapter 2, this volume) argue that such
a relationship is altogether impossible. Nevertheless, both sides converge in
emphasizing the emergence of new tensions arising from the alliance between
capitalism and democracy, which could (in the opinion of Runciman, Levitsky, and Ziblatt) or will necessarily (Streeck and Negri) lead to an articulation
between capitalism and authoritarian politics. Other authors, like Wanderley
Guilherme dos Santos (2016) and Michel Löwy (2016), define a new type of
democratic breakdown, close to the concept of neo-golpismo. For them, a different kind of coup has emerged in recent years. It differs from usual coups by
its methods, which do not explicitly rupture democratic institutions, but rather
develop with an apparent respect for them. Indeed, parliament and the judiciary are frequent protagonists in this phenomenon.
The de-democratization process in Brazil comes in line with the emergence of a new legitimation order (Foucault 2004; Streeck 2016), informed
by a market-conforming economic policy by means of which the state seeks to
decouple popular democracy from the management of the economy. This rearrangement implies the emergence of a new political paradigm amidst liberal
democracies, according to which democracies should only exist under tutelage.
Democracy under tutelage is thus the paradoxical form undertaken by liberal
democracies as the mistrust against the people forecloses the traditional forms
of popular participation. The neoliberal language is largely compatible with
recent changes in conservative discourse. Almost three decades ago, Habermas
(1991) already saw a clear modification in US-American and German forms
of conservatism. Differently from old conservatism, which directly opposed
free-market policies, neoconservatism seeks an alignment with neoliberalism.
According to Habermas, both in the USA and Germany, conservatism has
abandoned the usual criticism against capitalism and chosen cultural modernity as its major opponent. In the aftermath of 1968, neoconservative discourse
directed its harshest criticism against the struggles and claims made by minorities. Neoconservative discourse is based on what it regards as the fundamental
sources of socialization, such as family, from whence emerges its strong attack
against feminism and LGBTQI movements. This ideological frame based on
the idea of “traditional family” allows one to readily understand the attacks
by neoconservatives against what they have labeled as “gender ideology.”
This bet on neoconservatism and a careful effort to represent Bolsonaro as a
6
Bernardo Bianchi et al.
popular individual are the bases of right-wing victory, and a ultra-right hegemony, which is not only based on the power of political or economic elites, but
also leans on strong popular support. Bolsonaro first won the preferences of
wealthy groups, but soon achieved solid popularity. Notwithstanding the huge
rejection linked to his name, he holds solid popular support, which sticks to
him even amidst a difficult economic situation and a long series of accusations
linking him and his family to criminal activities.
The affinities between neoliberalism and neoconservatism hinge on the
refusal of the democratic idea of citizenship. Furthermore, they share a common interest in the dismantling of public education, since both perspectives
defend the idea that education should result from the private space – exclusively based on individual preferences (neoliberalism) or on family values
(neoconservatism). Even though the two discourses (neoliberalism and neoconservatism) still present differences, they have become strongly united in a
moment of right-wing expansion. In this sense, Brown (2006) describes how
neoliberalism and neoconservatism work together in de-democratization processes, that is, processes culminating in the undermining of the democratic
idea of citizenship.
Brazilian neoconservatism is nourished by a strong conservative tradition,
which resulted from specific Brazilian particularities and forged a lexicon to
deal with Brazil’s peripherical place in a global order (Ricupero 2010). After a
sound defeat embodied by the 1988 Constitution and several losses to political
groups identified with a neoliberal discourse, this conservative tradition moved
decisively towards neoconservatism, combining, as previously explained, economic neoliberalism and a conservative agenda. In Brazil, the global level
must be continuously confronted with the local history of a new construction
of political hegemony. On the one hand, it is important to draw on two series
of episodes. First of all, the history of Latin America over the past 15 years,
which has been shaken by repeated instances of presidential removals – JeanBertrand Aristide in Haiti (2004), Manuel Zelaya in Honduras (2009), Fernando Lugo in Paraguay (2012), Evo Morales in Bolivia (2019). Second, we
must consider the radicalization of conservative positions such as those of
Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines, Viktor Orbán in Hungary, Donald Trump in
the USA, and Matteo Salvini in Italy. However, we believe that the decoupling
between democracy and capitalism in Brazil can only be fully grasped with
reference to the long development – in part explicit, in part underground – of
a Right and ultra-right activism at the base of society, organized around social
media, and in articulation with the proliferation of think tanks since the 1980s,
such as the Instituto Liberal and Instituto Millenium.
On the other hand, the success of the articulation between these two dimensions would not be possible without the active adherence of sectors of the
judiciary, the armed forces, and segments of the neo-charismatic movements.
The cohesion of this articulation, however, does not lie in itself, as a prior
feature of this new hegemony. It was against “cultural modernity” and, especially, by means of a struggle and stigmatization of the Left – and the Partido
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 7
dos Trabalhadores (Workers’ Party, PT) – that this movement developed a
common ground and an identity. This attack against the Left, nevertheless,
hides a deeper hatred against the New Republic – which is viewed as a confluence of leftist movements. In this sense, even center-right parties are taken for
far-left political actors. One central idea of this far-right project is to build a
new political order, hostile to most of the post-War democratic institutions.
The main political aim seems to be to wreck the 1988 Constitution. On one
hand, neoliberal ideologues, such as Paulo Guedes, refuse the communitarian soul (Cittadino 2009) of the Constitution, while, on the other hand, being
an explicit supporter of military dictatorship, Bolsonaro logically refuses the
legal mark of this reactionary’s defeat. As he declared in the third month of
his government:
I always dreamed of freeing Brazil from the nefarious left ideology. . . .
Brazil is not an open land where we aim to build things for our people. We
must deconstruct a lot. Undo a lot. So later we start to do this. If I succeed
to be, at least, a turning point, I will already be very happy.10
Even though he says that his main objective is to destroy the actual “leftist”
order, it is evident, in other speeches, that his future is a sort of renewed past.
With the destruction of the 1988 order, Brazil would logically return to its
natural political order, as it existed under the military dictatorship. In that newold order, civil rights, new social expressions, and all kinds of government
contestations would be police matters. Furthermore, because of its 13 years
in office, the PT attracted not only the animosity of those who considered it a
leftist party, but also anti-system criticism, which associated the PT with the
Establishment tout court. Because of these changes, the current fascist political language may become a new-old type of political regime, making Brazil
an important case in a scenario of global expansion of ultra-right ideas, actors,
and movements.
These elements and dimensions are explored by our authors in numerous
ways throughout this volume.
***
The book is divided into two major parts which encompass two different analytical levels.
Part I provides theoretical insights into processes of de-democratization,
neo-golpismo, and the rise of right-wing forces. These processes form a comprehensive basis for understanding the impacts of such deep transformations
in the political background on specific policies and social groups. Part II then
brings together different case studies and debates on the political downturns
of particular and concrete instances: gender and ethnic equality, urban policy,
education, the role of media and churches. Selection of the case studies follows
two criteria: their relevance in the current political crisis and their role in the
discourse of Brazilian far-right-wing actors. All of them were main fronts in
8
Bernardo Bianchi et al.
the political dispute after 2013 and continue to be important fields in the current ultra-right narratives.
Part I Political Collapse
In the first part, authors address the new right-wing forces and the crisis of
Brazilian democracy. Antonio Negri analyzes how authoritarianism can, under
certain circumstances, result from democratic procedures rather than from the
direct overthrow of legitimate political institutions in its classical form. In this
sense, what is at stake is not a modification of the constitutional process or a
break with legality. Instead, the downturn of Brazilian democracy sheds new
light on the internal building of a new legitimation frame, which is authoritarian. Negri thus addresses some paradoxical designations to classify the political processes undertaken in Brazil since the impeachment of Rousseff in 2016,
such as institutional putsch and constitutional putsch. At the same time, Negri
argues that these processes do not limit themselves to Brazil. The paradoxical association between democratic institutions and the emergent authoritarian institutions is a contemporary phenomenon that reaches many different
countries.
Flavia Rios elaborates an interesting discussion on the relationship between
social movements, political parties, and the state during three cycles of democracy in Brazil, namely democratization, democratic establishment, and dedemocratization. The first corresponds to the period of 1978–89, the second
from 1994–2014, and the third period refers to 2015–20. Rios provides a longitudinal sociological approach that seeks to understand trajectory, types, and
quality of socio-state interactions. The main hypothesis is that social movements have lived three distinct moments: contestation of categorical inequalities, institutionalization of mediation spaces with the state and, finally,
institutionalization of public politics and political arenas that allowed for the
development of a relationship between social movements and the party, especially through executive power.
Other authors place the 2016 impeachment within a debate on neo-golpismo.
They draw on the experiences of presidential removals in Latin America mentioned earlier, which are analyzed in parallel with the overthrow of Rousseff
presidency. In all cases, there was the emergence of dramatic political crises
accompanied by mobilizations of civic discontent that led to the removal or
resignation of presidents, but without the use of force.11 Afterwards, governments committed to neoliberal and neoconservative reforms took office and
founded new arrangements that allowed traditional elites to regain voice.
This phenomenon can be hardly interpreted as something other than a putsch,
usually understood as a radical change of government violating the legal Constitution of the state. However, unlike the traditional coups that took place in
the 20th century, in which military forces usurped power through violence,
neo-golpismo is performed by agents inside the state itself (i.e. parliament
or the justice system) and does not establish an authoritarian/military order.
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 9
That gives the putsch an appearance of institutional normality and compliance
with democratic procedures. Consequently, they have been addressed as “constitutional coups,” or “soft-coups”: a strategy of right-wing forces in a context
of Left hegemony to force rulers out of office with little bloodshed and an element of popular and institutional legitimacy.
Cannon presents a wide-ranging perspective on the right in Latin America
based on theories that go beyond the political realm to include the ideological, economic, military and transnational domains, he argues that right-leaning
elites dominate in each of these areas, ensuring minimum deviation from neoliberalism, and hence limiting the possibilities for left governments to implement deep structural change in a progressive, more democratic direction. This
can include the removal of such governments when sufficiently threatening to
elite power, which is the case of Dilma Rousseff’s removal.
As Argentinean sociologists Lorena Soler and Florencia Prego note, neogolpismo would not be successful without support from the national (and/or
transnational) bourgeoisie. Neoliberalism today is being recreated from the
action of right-wing political parties, from the circulation of right-wing ideas
(conveyed by intellectuals and/or conglomerates of media) and fundamentally from the direct action of the bourgeoisies, which give new meanings to
democracy. Latin America is undergoing a process of conservative restoration that merits reviewing the characteristics of a “new Right.” Observing new
formats of arbitrary overthrow of heads of state in the region in the beginning
of the 21st century, they seek to analyze the characteristics assumed by these
episodes.
Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub analyze the process of de-democratization
from the perspective of neoliberalism. They emphasize the incompatibility
between capitalism and democracy and examine neo-golpismo as a means to
neutralize election results (rather than through their cancellation, as explained
earlier). They write about the neoliberalism-neoconservatism relationship,
and address the peculiar Erscheinungsform of neoliberalism, embodied in an
instrumentalization of the institute of impeachment, which took place against
Rousseff. The authors sustain that the concept of “coup” is crucial for an accurate interpretation of President Rousseff’s impeachment process in 2016. In
order to contribute to such an interpretation, they first establish a theoretical
connection between the concept of “coup” and certain notions of the legitimacy of political orders. Second, they approach the discursive structure and
patterns of two groups that were directly engaged in the impeachment process:
the justice system (comprising the judiciary, “Ministério Público,” and Federal
Police) and a majoritarian segment of the political party system.
In the same vein, but focusing on a macro-analysis, Rômulo Lima states
that addressing the Brazilian crisis requires moving beyond problems of the
corruption of individuals or political parties. Such a complex situation must be
placed and analyzed in its most relevant contexts, that is, the political and economic ones. In his analysis, Lima considers elements of global capitalism and
geopolitics, associating the process of de-democratization with Brazilian traits
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Bernardo Bianchi et al.
of a peripheric, ex-colonial, and ex-slavocratic economy. His aim is to give an
account of the current crisis in Brazil in the light of its internal history, on the
one hand, and of the development of global capitalism since the crisis of the
1960s, on the other. The idea behind his argument is that only the identification
of historical continuities at both local and global levels can shed light on what
is at stake in the current stage of the Brazilian historical social crisis.
Finally, some authors address the big picture and the issue of the political conjuncture, providing comprehensive chronologies of the process of
de-democratization, and tracking back some pre-conditions for the process –
especially, the 2013 demonstrations, stressing the fascist tendencies resulting
from them, as Arthur Bueno does. He discerns two general perspectives: a
normativist approach (which grasps June 2013 in terms of the pursuance of
more or less defined normative aims, either single or plural, either class-related
or juridical-political) and the multitudinous approach (which understands
June 2013 in terms of a suspension of established normative grammars, with
the alleged emergence of a de-subjectivized multitude open to the “common”).
Part II Social Regression
As mentioned earlier, the impeachment of Rousseff opened the door for a series
of institutional changes that have weakened democracy by impairing the most
vulnerable strands of the population (Indigenous people, African Brazilians,
women, LGBTQIs, quilombolas, and agrarian workers). Retirement, tax
regime, and labor reforms broke up labor rights, and Constitutional Amendment No. 95 precluded any real increase of the public expenses for 20 years.
Part II of this book is dedicated to examining these issues, focusing on specific social groups and policies, especially setbacks for the most marginalized
ones. The authors examine the political interests of conservative actors who
played a major role in the de-democratization process (agribusiness/agricultural
elite, media, evangelical Christian leaders, conservative parties). They explore
a very important dimension of all of neo-golpismo in Latin America: propaganda and oligarchical media.
Bernardo Bianchi analyzes the ideological battle in Brazil, taking Paulo
Freire’s legacy as a case study. Declared “patron of Brazilian education” by
Rousseff in 2012 (and by the Law No. 12,612), Freire’s work has been considered the paramount adversary of neoconservative groups in parliament and
civil society ever since the 2016 impeachment. Drawing from the analysis
of the ultraconservative Olavo de Carvalho, these groups overestimate the
impact of Freire’s influence in Brazil, believing that the entire national educational system is enthralled by Freire’s doctrine, which they associate with
cultural Marxism. In 2017, after Rousseff’s impeachment, sectors of the Brazilian Congress tried to repeal this law. Despite the evident complexity of the
Brazilian educational system, there is, at present, a surprising insistence on
the role of the Freirean legacy. The author argues that this insistence is indicative of which field Brazilian conservatism believes the struggle for power is
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 11
being played out on, as it is seen as a fundamentally ideological and cultural
battle.
Ermínia Maricato and Paolo Colosso discuss the impacts of the process of
de-democratization over urban everyday life. They argue that the relationship between the rise of an authoritarian neoliberal right-wing and setbacks
in urban politics have been intensified since the mid-2000s, when there was
still a period of economic growth. The authors deal with the context following the institutional rupture that took place in 2016 and point to the profile of
urban politics of the new Right. Its central elements include justifying austerity and the “diminution of the size of the state,” the sale of public patrimonies
in order to unlock businesses that generate profits, and interest and income to
the players of the real estate circuit. In the cities of semi-peripheral capitalism, this opening for business does not take place without hygienist policies,
removing undesirable populations from the central areas, which can then be
“revitalized.” Another important point is an ostensible militarization of daily
life, whose greatest example is the army on the streets of Rio de Janeiro.
Patricia Rangel, Eneida Vinhaes Dultra, and David McCoy focus on setbacks
regarding gender equality and women’s rights. They examine the impacts of
the conservative tide on women’s substantive and descriptive representation,
and how Brazil’s puzzle of unusual patterns of women’s representation interact with the de-democratization process. They argue that the complexity of
political representation and inevitable heterogeneity of group interests often
requires one to move beyond discrete instances of representation, such as a
single policy change or alternation of actors.
Ana Guggenheim Coutinho turns our attention to another crucial topic: the
Indigenous peoples’ relationship with the state. According to the author, Bolsonaro’s election in 2018 represents the apex of a de-democratization process
that deeply affected the struggles of Indigenous peoples and environmentalists
in contemporary Brazil. She presents some aspects of the dramatic situation of
Indigenous people and of the destructive deadlock imposed on them in the era
of agribusiness’ large-scale development in Brazil. Additionally, she provides
examples of a political intensification of counter-developmentalist movements
led by Indigenous, riverside people and agrarian workers, which were determinant for the right-wing reaction in Brazil. Finally, she explains how the agricultural elite have amplified their power and destructive capacity since the
impeachment of Rousseff, placing an environmental and human calamity in
Bolsonaro’s first year in office.
Magali do Nascimento Cunha analyzes the interplay between politics, media,
and religion in the Brazilian context, observing how this relationship favored
the increasing importance of neoconservative discourses in the country. She
argues that evangelical and mainstream media go hand in hand to create a new
conservative discourse in Brazil. The chapter is based on approaches in communication studies focusing on the intersection of media and religion and also
of media and politics. While the evangelical conservatism can be characterized
by its reaction to the progressive movements coming from gender debates,
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Bernardo Bianchi et al.
feminist questions, and reproductive rights, media conservatism becomes visible in the way the mainstream news rejects topics related to social movements
and reacts to the granting of rights to the underprivileged classes.
Ernesto Perini-Santos argues that the current process of de-democratization
in Brazil cannot be understood without reference to the phenomenon commonly referred to as “post-truth,” i.e. the rapid dissolution of a widely shared,
fact- and science-based political discourse. In Brazil, the strategies of fake
news and science skepticism have been applied more radically and more successfully than in any other Western democracy. According to him, the impeachment of Rousseff, as well as the success of Bolsonaro’s presidential campaign
would have been impossible without the massive and concerted manipulation
of political discourse by means of social media. The chapter aims to understand the phenomenon of post-truth less in terms of its historical genesis or
psychological functioning, and more as a symptom of the overall economic
and social situation of the country. Despite the 13 years of the left-leaning
government of the Workers’ PT, the period since the end of the last dictatorship
was marked by a strong neoliberal agenda and media ownership concentration (O Globo, Folha de São Paulo, and Estado de São Paulo), which created
the conditions for the emergence of subjectivities that are highly receptive to
post-truth.
Marlon Miguel writes about changes in Brazilian psychiatric models after
the impeachment. He explains that following the re-democratization process
marked by the 1988 Constitution, the psychiatric reform aimed to treat mentally ill persons as subjects and citizens, in a reaction against the psychiatric
model executed during the Brazilian dictatorship (1964–85) based on the principles of private care, isolation, and segregation of the “mad.” However, since
December 2017, a transformation of the politics on mental health started to
take place, with new policies by the Counsel for National Health (CNS) based
again on the old asylum model and on isolation. The chapter analyzes several
policy shifts and examines the importance of an alternative model anchored on
“geo-psychiatry” and the social integration of “abnormal” subjects in a period
particularly marked by a massive increase in mental illness.
In Chapter 16, Frieder Otto Wolf takes up Brazil as an exemplary case of
de-democratization, as well as the emergence and the failure of “21st century
socialism” in Latin America. He proposes to understand the emergence of the
PT as a new political subject in its underlying ambiguity between left-wing
patronage and a politics of transformation. The global economic crisis of 2007
has not shaken the hegemony of the neoliberal model of politics – and, in contradiction to the years after 1910, no promising Left alternative has emerged,
let alone consolidated. The neoliberal model has only changed its main thrust:
instead of concentrating on “marketization” alone, it now consciously makes
ample use of state power and state resources (turning more to the ordo-liberal
variants, and away from the excessive trust in the Chicago school of sheer
market radicalism). At the same time, the global crisis has provoked a rise and
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 13
consolidation of new right-wing forces, capable of winning popular support in
social categories which the left-wing forces seem to have lost. Their central
strategic proposal is a retreat to the nation state, while giving priority to the
“nationals,” with racist and male-chauvinist overtones. The Brexit campaign
has specifically exemplified this successful strategic turn in Europe. Brazil,
therefore, is an exemplary case which deserves to be studied not only in its real
specificity, but also – and maybe even more so – in order to better understand
the global crisis of the Left – as a first, hopeful step towards overcoming it. The
author sustains it is necessary to inquire into the structural determinants of the
historical defeat of the Left, and not only the Brazilian Left, in the beginning of
this century, as well as a positive entry towards renewing a more radical debate
around left-wing strategies of transformation in Brazil and beyond.
The authors of Part I and Part II argue that de-democratization reflects a
crisis of representation and is part of a broader phenomenon: the rise of rightwing and ultra-right forces not only in Latin America, but also in Europe and
in the USA. It proves the dangers and setbacks to which historically outcast
populations are subjected when the state falls into the hands of conservative
sectors. In this context, it is necessary to rethink the state and its democratic
possibilities. So, what is to be done? The following pages will, hopefully, provide a few answers and several new questions.
Notes
1. For a discussion around the concept of de-democratization, we refer to Tilly (2003);
Brown (2006).
2. We employ the term historicization in view of the argument that tends to understand the present as the teleological unfolding of the past.
3. Drawing on the recurrence of the term “depletion,” Safatle’s perspective has
also been criticized under the name of “depletion thesis” (tese do esgotamento)
(Chaloub et al. 2018, 15).
4. The reading defended by Safatle has a long history in the interpretation of the
Brazilian society, dating back to Francisco de Oliveira’s critique of dualist reason
(razão dualista), which denounces the reconciliatory nature of Brazil’s insertion
into modernity, in which its backwardness plays a fundamental role for the affirmation of its modern features.
5. Discourse of enactment of the 1988 Federal Constitution. “Como o caramujo,
guardará para sempre o bramido das ondas de sofrimento, esperança e reivindicações de onde proveio.”
6. A quilombola is a resident of a quilombo in Brazil, that is, the communities founded
by Afro-Brazilian slaves that escaped from slave plantations.
7. It must be said, however, that on 16 March 2016, the same Rousseff signed the
Antiterrorism Law (No. 13, 260/2016), a sound defeat of social movements, which
can eventually be framed under this law.
8. About the impeachment of Collor, cf. Sallum Jr. 2015.
9. Neoconservatism is here understood as a “political rationality,” in a sense close to
Wendy Brown’s works (2006, 2015) and to others’ research that analyzes contemporary politics inspired by some concepts developed by Foucault (2004) in his lessons on neoliberalism. Authors like Justin Vaisse follow a different path, one that
14
Bernardo Bianchi et al.
identifies neoconservatism with determined thinkers, political groups, and specific
historical moments.
10. https://oglobo.globo.com/mundo/antes-de-construir-preciso-desconstruirmuitacoisa-no-brasil-diz-bolsonaro-nos-eua-235307’2
11. It should be noted, however, that, unlike Paraguay and Brazil, in Honduras and
Haiti the army took part in the process (Soler, 2015).
References
Arantes, Paulo. 2014. O Novo Tempo do Mundo. E Outros Estudos Sobre a Era da
Emergência – Coleção Coleção Estado de Sítio. São Paulo: Boitempo.
Brown, Wendy. 2006. “American Nightmare: Neoliberalism, Neoconservatism, and
De-Democratization.” Political Theory 34 (6): 690–714.
Brown, Wendy. 2015. Undoing the Demos: Neoliberalism’s Stealth Revolution. Cambridge: The MIT Press.
Carvalho, Olavo de. 2013. O mínimo que você precisa saber para não ser um idiota.
Rio de Janeiro: Record.
Chaloub, Jorge, Pedro Lima, and Fernando Perlatto. 2018. “Apresentação Ao Dossiê
‘Direitas No Brasil Contemporâneo.’ ” Teoria e Cultura 13 (2): 9–21.
Cittadino, Gisele. 2009. Pluralismo, Direito e Justiça Distributiva: elementos da filosofia constitucional contemporânea. Rio de Janeiro: Lumen Juris.
Foucault, Michel. 2004. Naissance de la Biopolitique: cours au College de France
(1978–1979). Paris: Seuil.
Fraser, Nancy. 2016. “Progressive Neoliberalism versus Reactionary Populism: A Choice
That Feminists Should Refuse.” NORA – Nordic Journal of Feminist and Gender
Research 24 (4): 281–284.
Guimarães, Ulysses. 2016. Ulysses Guimarães: Edição Comemorativa. Brasilia: Edições
Câmara.
Habermas, Jürgen. 1991. The New Conservatism: Cultural Criticism and the Historians’ Debate. Edited by Shierry Weber Nicholsen. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Levitsky, Steven, and Daniel Ziblatt. 2018. How Democracies Die. New York: Crown.
Löwy, Michel. 2016. “Da tragédia à farsa: o golpe de 2016 no Brasil.” In Por que gritamos golpe? Para entender o impeachment e a crise política no Brasil, edited by
I. Jinkings, K. Doria and M. Cleto, 61–68. São Paulo: Boitempo.
Mudde, Cas. 2017. “Introduction to the Populist Radical Right.” In The Populist Radical Right: A Reader, edited by Cas Mudde. London: Routledge.
Ranciere, Jacques. 2014. Hatred of Democracy. Translated by Steve Corcoran. Reprint
edition. London New York: Verso.
Ricupero, Bernardo. 2010. “O conservadorismo difícil.” In Revisão do pensamento
conservador, edited by Gabriela Nunes Ferreira and André. Botelho. São Paulo:
HUCITEC.
Runciman, David. 2018. How Democracy Ends. New York: Basic Books.
Safatle, Vladimir. 2017. Só Mais Um Esforço. São Paulo: Três Estrelas.
Sallum Jr., Brasilio. 2015. O Impeachment de Fernando Collor. Sociologia de Uma
Crise. São Paulo, Brasil: Editora, 34.
Santos, Wanderley Guilherme dos. 2016. A democracia impedida: o Brasil no século
XXI. Rio de Janeiro: FGV.
Soler, Lorena. 2015. “Golpes de Estado en el Siglo XXI. Un Ejercicio comparado Haití
(2004), Honduras (2009) y Paraguay (2012).” Cadernos PROLAM/USP 14 (26): 77.
De-democratization in Contemporary Brazil 15
Stanley, Jason. 2018. How Fascism Works: The Politics of Us and Them. New York
City: Random House Publishing Group.
Streeck, Wolfgang. 2014. Buying Time: The Delayed Crisis of Democratic Capitalism.
Translation edition. Brooklyn: Verso.
———. 2016. How Will Capitalism End? Essays on a Failing System. London: Verso.
Tilly, Charles. 2003. “Inequality, Democratization, and De-Democratization.” Sociological Theory 21 (1): 37–43.
Part I
Political Collapse
2
Initial Observations on
the Brazilian Disaster
Antonio Negri1
1. The Democratic Road to Fascism
It has become commonplace to observe that every power (potere) is the “power
of exception.” Unfortunately, this assertion does not explain the difference
between a fascist regime and a constitutional regime. And, indeed, there is
no difference, or so those who affirm the normality of the “exception” would
reply. If this is the case, tell that to those Brazilian citizens living through the
Bolsonaro regime, who will instinctively reply: “You have completely lost it!”
The analogy between a democratic regime and a fascist regime is rejected
in the Marxist revolutionary tradition. When the Third International imposed
this resemblance in the 1920s (which soon became an identity), we know how
it ended. I think we need to examine the concept of “constituent power” with
equal attention and discernment: it cannot be confused or even adulterated with
the “political exception,” with its exercise, as is claimed by those enthusiasts of
the autonomy of the political who follow in the footsteps of Carl Schmitt – for
whom constituent power is nothing but a figure of the exception.
Turning our attention to what happened in Brazil, it should first of all be
noted that fascism has arrived not through a classic coup d’état (from outside
democratic institutions), nor through the exception (which is more or less what
happened for the Latin American fascisms up to Pinochet and the Argentine
military), but rather from within the constitutional process itself. Fascism has
arrived not through a breach of constitutional legality, but through the constitutional construction of a new legitimacy. Second, I am increasingly convinced
that the fascicizing Brazilian government will not exercise power through an
external and violent change of the constitutional regime but rather through a
weakening of civil liberties (except against black populations) and a governance of the Brazilian current Constitution. Or else by setting in motion a sort
of functional constituent power, within its governance – absorbed within it
and capable of making deep changes to the constitutional fabric. This perverse path of democracy, now successful in Brazil, but already experienced
in part or whole elsewhere (Turkey, Egypt, for example, without mentioning
former socialist countries) must be submitted to critique. We must ask ourselves not only what representative democracy still means today, but also what
20 Antonio Negri
democracy in general means. We must ask ourselves how, in what forms, and
with what objectives should those people act who are committed to building
and defending a Constitution that respects freedom, builds equality, and projects (proposes) the conditions for this. And finally, we should ask if it is even
possible to pose these questions at all, or if rather the entire fabric of questioning must be renewed.
2. Institutional Coup D’état
“Constitutional coup d’état” and/or “democratic coup d’état”: what happened
in Brazil can be referred to in this way, and practically placed within a new
figure in constitutional law. The overthrow of a legitimately existing power and
its substitution with a power not legitimated by universal suffrage but by a state
organ, the Congress, carried out behind a constitutional mask. It began with
the impeachment of the president, and continued with her replacement, a simple action by Congress which excluded a new general election, even after the
presidential mandate had been recently electorally renewed. The coup d’état
then continued (which is not an irrelevant point) with the immediate approval
by Congress of several laws, characteristic of a neoliberal regime (such as the
establishment of a ban on increased public spending for a long period of time)
which, immediately and treacherously, reversed the “material” paradigms of
the existing Constitution. The link between the impeachment of Dilma for
politico-moral reasons (corruption) and the liquidation of the political orientation of her government through the constitutional affirmation of a neoliberal
principle, reveals that the defenestration had a partisan political qualification,
namely the characteristic of a coup d’état – followed by a radical modification of the political orientation of her government or, put otherwise, of the
“material constitution.” In this way the path was opened for the construction
of counter-efforts which, even in the case of a new election, would avoid what
a different presidential majority (which the polls attributed to Lula) could reestablish (because it was now constitutionally forbidden): non-liberal proposals of income redistribution, or in any case alternative economic apparatuses
to the recently determined economic legitimacy. In support of the continuation of a liberal policy, and therefore on the line of a renewal of state policies
outside (and in any case prior to) a popular legitimation, the magistrate then
moved through the condemnation and incarceration of Lula, and subsequently,
through his exclusion from the “passive vote” (even the possibility of being
voted for). Not by chance, this magistrate was immediately co-opted into Bolsonaro’s government. Finally, the elections were held under the threat – this
time also not “external” to the institutional process – of an intervention by the
national army, in the event that the Left triumphed in the elections. It is at this
point that the new president, a “21st-century fascist,” was elected, thus restoring the democratic legitimation of power a posteriori. A very doubtful restoration, but an effective one. In the government that took office at the end of 2018,
in addition to Judge Sérgio Moro, from the Operation Car Wash (an operation
Initial Observations on Brazilian Disaster 21
that, as explicitly declared by Judge Francesco Greco,2 has nothing to do with
Mani Pulite), Paulo Guedes – a Chicago Boy – will run Finance and Economy;
Ernesto Araújo, a man linked to Trump and the alt-right will sit in the Foreign
Office; while the army will be assigned the functions of the Ministry of the
Interior, of a Ministry of Order.
This perverse path, from democracy to fascism, a linear path, organized not
by external movements but by the very institutions of constitutional power,
by means of conforming the organs of control (particularly the magistrate) to
the political lines of the extreme-right, the unveiling of a coherent design that
runs through the institutions, destroying every link and influencing new conformations of the formal figures of the Constitution and the materiality of its
political orientation, guaranteed by the process of electoral legitimation, and
therefore dispelling every ethical characteristic of democratic principle – all of
this imposes, when and if the indignation has subsided, a reflection on the very
theme of democracy.
But that is not all. The fasco-populism of Trump-Bolsonaro commits a further violation of democracy. In fact, these fascist leaderships accept “direct
democracy” in a massified and mystified way, insofar as direct democracy is
overturned from a mode of governing to simply a figure of legitimation for the
government. Trump’s tweets interpret this overturning. Social media and institutional media now willingly bend to this function of legitimation. It can also
be added (and the literature on this topic is disproportionate) that they produce
it – or in any case make it possible. When the indignation has subsided, we will
still have to pose for ourselves the problem of “free expression” subjugated to
power. It is the first of the problems that a resistance movement, under the sign
of books, not weapons (as is beginning today in Brazil), must ask, because it
first of all must liberate “free expression.” Of course, the contradiction between
free expression (constitutionally protected) and money (= property = corruption = criminal use of misinformation on the part of major media . . .) seems
insoluble. But it is so only for those who continue to consider it as a Gordian
knot and do not trust a sword that can cut it. A political force that wants to exit
from the slime that, embedded, democracy and fascism represent, must pose
this as the first problem to be solved.
3. A General Problem
An analogous process to the Brazilian situation is underway in the USA. The
democratic solidarity and value of the Constitution in that country for now
prevent the transformation process from having the perverse and sometimes
grotesque aspects of what is happening in Brazil. In the United States, the
presence of opposition forces can still block (and in any case render uncertain)
the realization of a tendency such as that in Brazil. This does not alter the fact,
however, that a consolidation process of reactionary power is underway. It can
be observed in the heavy displacement of the Republican Party towards the
Trumpian hardcore (and, behind this, to the supremacist alt-right), the 20-year
22 Antonio Negri
alignment of the Supreme Court around ultra-conservative positions, the production of colossal financial operations of media control of the vote, etc.
In a much more fragile way, but with sometimes fierce accelerations, analogous processes are also taking place in Italy. In any case the populist horizon
widens in Europe and Latin America. This extension dramatically deepens the
problem posed previously: how does fascism establish itself within and through
democratic institutions? And, second, what is this fascicizing insurgency?
In what follows, we will try, if not to give an answer, at least to introduce this
question more extensively. For now, let’s be content in defining this strange
fascism that appears here in deep conjugation with neoliberalism. Better, we
will try to define the difficulties of fulfilment that, to us, a new radical experiment of the Chicago theories must encounter in its development. The current fascicizing conversions of the capitalist ruling class (not all of it, for the
moment) seem indeed determined by the necessity of supporting with more
strength, with all of the means of the state, constructively, a neoliberal more
of development in profound crisis. It is important to emphasize this customary
dissimilarity: the force of authoritarianism is called in support of liberalism in
its present crisis. From this perspective, fascism seems to present itself (even
if it is not only this) as the tough face of neoliberalism. It presents itself as the
difficult reprisal of sovereignty, as an inversion of the slogan “first the market
and then the state,” in various figures, on the points of the utmost difficulty of
development, or of the rupture of its apparatuses, or, better, in the face of the
strong resistance that will eventually emerge.
What characterizes this fascism is a reactionary reflection. This distinguishes it from those fascisms of the 1920s and 1930s, which were certainly
reactionary on the political terrain, but on the economic terrain could be relatively progressive, pseudo-Keynesian. This reaction is thus probably a symptom of weakness, more the effect of a response than of an attack. This is borne
out by the fact that these fascist demands, rather than totalitarian techniques,
seem to intend to use flexible mechanisms for the authoritarian transformation of the state, calibrating governance as a sort of perverse new “constituent
power.” But these are projections which only the intensity of the coming class
struggle will be able to confirm or deny.
However, the question remains: what is this 21st-century fascism? The fascism of the 20th century wanted to destroy the Soviets, in Russia and wherever
else they were to be found in the world. Where are the “Bolsheviks” today?
They are clearly conjured up. But the effort of neoliberalism to consolidate
itself, the political crises that are added to the economic crises, resurrect the
fear of the “Bolsheviks.” This insistence is astonishing.
In order to try and rationalize it, let’s advance a hypothesis which allows us
to qualify these fascist tendencies in an era in which the development of the
mode of production has placed the multitude at the center of class struggle.
The multitude is a set of singularities, connected by social cooperation. For
the multitude (especially in metropolitan areas), the element of cooperation
is the central point of its class existence. In productive terms, this cooperative
Initial Observations on Brazilian Disaster 23
power pushes the multitude towards the common. However, when strong tensions that act on the singularities (which make up the multitude) intervene, in
terms such as economic or environmental insecurity and the fear of the future,
then the multitudinous cooperation can implode into the terms of identitarian
defense. Twenty-first century fascism seems to sustain itself on these accidents
of the cooperative nature of the multitude.
4. Fascism and Neoliberalism
If in Plato’s time, democratic constitutions proved inadequate to block the crisis of democracy, in the current situation they favor the rise of fascism, generating corruption.
The modern democratic constitutions were organized over a dynamic confrontation of interests, eventually coalescing into Right and Left around a
model of enmity and peace, with the regulated solution of this in the hypothesis of a balanced composition of conflicting interests. Today, globalization has
pushed towards the homogenization of governance at a global level (we could
even say towards its standardization), so that to govern in globalization today
requires composing the relation between formal and material constitution
through inserting into the former rules developed by multinational monetary
relations of corporations on the global market – and therefore of substantially
eliding the confrontation/conflict, within the Constitution itself. “Centrist
extremism,” or the “GroKo” (Grand Coalition), was, in this sense, fundamental moments in recomposing, through governance, constitutional profiles now
expanded to a global level. But this phase has ended and the accentuation of
conflicts in globalization pushes the traditional formulas of liberal-democratic
governance to a deep crisis. These are thus followed by experiments of rupture:
America first, Brexit and now Brazil first, Italy first. . . .
It is here that governances (i.e., that set of apparatuses that have singularly
configured the horizon of national and global government) are experiencing
more and more frequent constitutional accidents which above all have the effect
of obliterating those aspects of “progressive democracy” that the Constitutions
had inherited from the Second World War and from the end of the Cold War. In
such a way the physiognomies of states are transformed in contempt of democracy. The long crisis of 2007 has made things worse. Governing the crisis has
always meant that the crisis imposes its needs onto democracy. Today, we make
a full measurement of the consequences of these incidents. More and more the
dialectical constitutional dynamics are disregarded, the oppositions integrated
into governance, Keynesianism destroyed with the help of Keynesians. The possible operations of “exception” are given directly within democratic governance,
almost like the hidden joints of “constituent power,” rather than through controllable options and mechanisms. I mean to say that the transformations that these
movements hint at is now commanded by a destructive power of democracy.
With the crisis and weakening of American power that had so far determined
a certain global equilibrium, even though tinged by its rule, these processes
24 Antonio Negri
have accelerated, bringing chaos everywhere. The new fascism installs itself
in this chaos. Armed with neoliberalism as a project for dominating, will it find
lasting conditions of development? It will be very difficult. In these conditions,
neoliberalism finds itself in a desperate situation, if it wants to restore the equilibrium. Having dislocated or rejected the old democratic constitutional equilibrium, it is now exposed to the void. It needs something new, to respond to
new difficulties, and only finds forms of authoritarianism, of renewed fascism.
To survive this passage through the void, it must resort to media and ideological instruments, and it must defame and destroy the forces that have opposed it
(often timidly or even anticipating its destructive directions – this crisis is long
and deep, and the responsibilities are still to be defined). They were socialdemocratic, Keynesian forces. Now, the neoliberals who construct the new
formulas of fascicizing government in Brazil, call them “communists” and
“Bolivarians,” supporters of chaos. In the USA they recognize them as bobo
metropolitans and subverters of the national identity. This fascism founded on
the ideological void is thus qualified as a falsifier of memory and reactionary
restorer of past identities. Be it a past slavery, as in the USA, it should be noted;
that it is a present slavery, as in Brazil, is even more worrying.
5. Do Not Be Afraid
My Brazilian friends are wondering how Bolsonaro’s victory was possible,
because their fellow citizens voted in such large numbers. The answer is simple: they did not vote for fascism, they voted rather for the end of corruption
and insecurity, in that critical conjuncture for their life that, in fact, a part of the
population imputed to the Workers’ Party (PT). It is thus not difficult to think
that the racist motive and the defense of the family (see the disproportionate
polemic about gender) have built the fascist clot of this unease. It is easy to
prophesy thinking that, as we have already said, Bolsonaro will not be able to
establish his government as a regime. For him, specific internal difficulties can
be added, in addition to what we mentioned earlier as obstacles to the marriage
of fascism and liberalism: it will be necessary in fact (in the face of the tactical impediments that the dispersal of the vote creates in Congress) to continue
to purchase parliamentary majorities from evangelicals or other mercenaries;
the price to be paid to agriculture for electoral support, for the support of the
government, and in the bargaining of ecological limits to the expansion of
their own interests will be even higher; the extreme proposals of privatization
of public assets will find the hostility of the army in the name of the nation,
etc. It will not be easy for him to advance. And, also, the consolidation of this
victory will be difficult, very difficult, and will clash with the same constants
of the Brazilian economy (open to international markets of food and energy,
closed to ecological limits of enormous importance, urged to a strong productive dynamic from the widening of the labor market . . .). We are – it seems – on
a margin over which the promises of Bolsonaro’s victory clash with the intentions of its neoliberal supporters. How will they balance themselves? We are
Initial Observations on Brazilian Disaster 25
not in the 1930s, when fascism organized itself through the planning of large
industry (for war) and large banking capital – with redundancies, however, of
immediate social advantages for the proletariat.
What makes one tremble, after Bolsonaro’s victory, is predicting the disasters that this government will in any case produce, incapable of developing
a political plan that deviates from a terrain of raids against the poor, against
blacks, and in general from an antisocial proposal – as his ultraliberal plan
demonstrates. Militaristic, homophobe, machismo, pressed by the hatred of a
population now majority non-white (we are now far from the 54% whites in
the 2000 census), Bolsonaro will be exposed to the non-white demographic
thrust that incessantly increases. The disaster that awaits him is enormous, but
the consequences will be long in the years to come.
Today, what is to be done? It is necessary to stop weeping and to get to
work, comforted by the awareness that the fascist framework is still weak.
In what sense, with what spirit to get to work? Already the provocations are
measured and in the future they will multiply. In the universities, gangs appear
that provoke, right-wing groups are working on lists of “communists,” school
programs begin to be filled with references to a past slavery, etc. It is necessary
not to be afraid. Not being afraid becomes the central element of building a
resistance.
Fascism supports itself through fear. Here it arouses and cultivates the fear
of the black and the communist. But this couple is a symbol of life and its
struggle is a sign of liberation. The parties of the Left, starting from the irrecuperable Workers’ Party, are in crisis. It is within the relation and political
recomposition of blacks and communists that a radically antifascist Left can be
built. This passage is fundamental. There is no antifascism in Brazil without a
political recomposition of white communists and the non-white population. It
is unnecessary to add that for this recomposition, the women’s movements are
already the spark today. These are majoritarian movements and the majority is
not afraid.
Note
1. The editors thank Dave Messing for translating this chapter.
2. Francesco Greco was one of the judges responsible for the judicial investigation
Mani Pulite in the beginning of the 1990’s (Editors’ note).
3
Cycles of Democracy and
the Racial Issue in Brazil
(1978–2019)
Flavia Rios1
1. Introduction: When and How Did Claims
Against Racism Enter the Public Agenda?
In the last quarter of the 20th century, Brazil has built its democracy by extending political, civil, and social rights crystallized in the constitutional reform
of 1988. At the end of the military dictatorship in 1985, the country had an
authoritarian legacy marked by strong hierarchies of gender, race, and class,
which sustained enormous and persistent social and political inequalities. In
addition to these lasting and categorical inequalities, the authoritarian regime
would leave to the new government a strong repressive apparatus capable of
promoting serious human rights violations and perpetuating inequalities, both
territorial and racial in nature.
Even so, the confrontation with the military regime left a legacy of powerful
connected networks and a myriad of collective actors, strongly active in civil
society. Under different banners, these movements and collective organizations
were unified within an encompassing campaign – the return to democracy – a
system interrupted in 1964 by the coup d’état. During the military period, racial
democracy became the dominant national ideology, the foundation of which
sat atop a type of nationalism that denied the existence of racism and racial
inequality in the country.
The struggle for the distribution of political and symbolic power within
the state in the rising democracy took place in roughly two ways: on the one
hand, by party pluralism, which ensured that both the interests of capital and
the interests of workers could be represented (Singer 2012); on the other, by
the strong interaction between civil society agents and the state, guaranteeing a representative participation or a pluralism of participation (Lavalle et al.
2006), making it a strong feature of the democratic politics that was established
in Brazil. The return to democracy did not put political actors on an equal
footing, but allowed underrepresented groups in parliamentary politics to create new mechanisms and forms of interaction with the state. Through these
mechanisms – such as councils, secretariats, commissions, and other bodies of control or public policy formulation – agents from social movements,
associations, and non-governmental organizations established agreements and
Cycles of Democracy 27
pacts with democratic governments, making the state a true arena of interest
conflicts that went beyond the traditional mechanics of the capital-labor relationship. Broadly speaking, an expressive part of these struggles in the state
area involved disputes over conceptions of life, over the recognition of historically stigmatized social groups (such as Indigenous peoples and descendants of enslaved people), as well as social and civil rights. In fact, the state
became a battlefield among political actors seeking greater democratization
and expansion of rights as a way to reverse the country’s gigantic inequalities,
while seeking to deepen democratic values in a nation with a strong history of
authoritarianism based on latifundia and economic hierarchies, whose foundations can be located in the patriarchal and colonial system, in the reproduction
of these mechanisms in the free market society that succeeded it.
On the party and electoral policy side, the great novelty of the democratic
cycle marked by this re-democratization was the emergence of two political
organizations, each in its own way, that presented the innovation of national
party politics: the Workers’ Party (PT) and the Brazilian Social Democracy
Party (PSDB), created in 1980 and 1988 respectively. In general terms, the
two party associations were responsible for the democratic stability that lasted
20 years, that is, from the election of sociologist Fernando Henrique Cardoso
(1994) until the end of Dilma Rousseff’s first mandate (last day of 2013). Both
parties were founded in the largest industrial center of Brazil, São Paulo,2 a territory marked by large population concentration and urban conflicts (such as
living costs, housing, struggles against police violence, access to public health,
etc.). From this context of great clamor for citizenship and basic social rights,
these two parties emerged (Sader 2001).
During this period, the Workers’ Party identified as having distinct characteristics from traditional political parties. The strong interlocution with a wide
range of social movements, the foundation of trade unionism, in addition to
the link with the basic nuclei of the Catholic Church, were the most expressive indications of the popular base of the young PT. In a public declaration
of 13 October 1979, when it was not yet a legally established party, the Black
movement was presented together with the other social movements (landless
workers, women, urban movements, Indigenous, among others) as one of the
bases of social mobilization and legitimation that supported the idea of a party
association marked by class heterogeneity and political pluralism.
PSDB – founded by liberal professionals and middle-class intellectuals,
with little acquiescence to civil agents and the demands of the popular classes
and Black Brazilians – was created roughly a decade later, in 1988, under the
still-unfolding developments of the constitutional construction. The few Black
people linked to this party were associated with Fernando Henrique Cardoso,
mediated by his experience at the University of São Paulo (USP), which had an
intellectual tradition of empirical research focused on racial relations, studies
which sought to confront the ideology of racial democracy.
The constitutional reform was decisive in building an intense relationship
between social movements and political parties, as well as highly relevant for
28
Flavia Rios
the establishment of a hybrid dynamic within the state, in which civil society
actors entered the political sphere through participatory mechanisms. From
the point of view of antiracism in Brazilian legislation, it is important to note
that, in the Constitution of 1988, the reservation of land to quilombolas (Arruti
2000) and the criminalization of racism were codified and ensured. In the
quilombola case, due to the strong mobilization of the Black movement, the
quilombola question became part of Brazilian public policies. Article 68 of
the Transitory Constitutional Provisions Act (ADCT) states: “To the remaining
communities of the quilombos that are occupying their lands, definitive ownership is recognized, and the State must issue the titles to these ethnic groups.”
According to information from Fundação Cultural Palmares, the state agency
responsible for certifying quilombola communities, there are now 3,386 territories in Brazil recognized by the state.3
According to the constitutional principles of the 1988 Charter, the Brazilian
state will “promote the good of all without prejudice of origin, race, sex, color,
age or any other form of discrimination” (Art. 3, VI). In addition, legislation
designates legal action and punitive sentencing for people who are found guilty
of crimes of racism (Machado et al. 2015).
The objective of this chapter is to analyze the three cycles of democracy
in Brazil, namely: democratization (already presented in its dominant features in this introduction of the chapter), democratic establishment (second
section) and de-democratization (third section). The first corresponds to the
period from 1978 to 1989; the second from 1994 to 2014,4 and the third
period refers to 2015 to 2020. This investigation seeks to examine the relationship between social movements, political parties, and the state, with the
issue of race as its central consideration. This is a longitudinal sociological approach that seeks to understand the trajectory, types, and quality of
socio-state interactions. The main hypothesis is that the social movements
experienced three moments, that of contesting inequalities; the institutionalization of mediation spaces with the state; and, finally, de-democratization
defined as the de-institutionalization of the agenda that marks the weakening of a structured relationship between social movements and public institutions, through the redefinition of the political ties, the expulsion of agents
representing civil society, and the breakdown of work routines in agencies
within the state, on the one hand; on the other, through the delegitimization of the demands and interests of groups underrepresented in institutional
policy.
2. The Institutionalization of Racial Equality
in the Brazilian Public Agenda
The modern language adopted to refer to the racial equality agenda in Brazil
is affirmative action. Affirmative action policies gained prominence within
the public agenda right after the 3rd International Conference Against Racism, Xenophobia and Related Intolerances in South Africa, 2001. While
Cycles of Democracy 29
under the Fernando Henrique Cardoso administration, diplomacy agents,
antiracist organizations, and intellectuals and leaders formed an expressive
and articulated delegation at the world meeting. From this great international
event on, Black activists returned to Brazil with an agenda for racial equality
based on policies of positive discrimination in order to reduce the strong historical legacies and modern manifestations of racial inequalities, especially
in the education system and in the labor market (Telles, 2016). During this
period, the debate grew especially strong in higher education, where there
were notable inequalities between white students and Black students (Lima
and Pretes 2018).
The Brazilian sociologist Antonio Sérgio Guimarães (2008, 84–85) presents the educational structure against which the popular and Black social
movements struggled significantly. In his analysis, the university expansion
of private higher education, associated with the relative stagnation of public
universities and the precariousness of basic education, limited educational
opportunities, and, consequently, the expectation of upward mobility of young
Brazilians whose income bracket did not allow them to pay for a place in private third-degree establishments. This came as a direct result of the incredible
competition for places in public universities, recognized for greater prestige, overwhelmingly occupied by the children of the middle classes, whose
financial conditions allowed them to pay for secondary schools with a higher
approval rate in the public universities.
This socioeconomic structure determined an absolutely peculiar bias in the
Brazilian educational system: roughly speaking, positively privileged students
paid for basic education and enjoyed free public higher education, while the
negatively privileged, graduates of public schools, were pushed into the private system through the restricted educational credits, funded by government
loans which require repayment, or even discouraged from attending this type
of education completely. Within this context characterized by social injustice,
agents of both popular movements and social movements, as well as community entities took advantage of this reality to build their discourses and political
platforms with few economic resources in defense of a more inclusive system
envisioned through changes in public policy.
Due to these strong distortions in the education sector and because schooling
is a determining factor for social mobility, Brazilian public universities have
become the focal point of affirmative action (Feres Jr. et al. 2018). Although
these higher education institutions did not reflect the totality of Brazil’s thirdgrade education system, they are internationally recognized for their quality
of education and their research contribution. Moreover, the substantial racial
inequalities within these institutions had turned them into the destination for
the nation’s middle class and white elites, being almost impenetrable to the
poor and Black Brazilians from public high schools. Given this problem of
racial inequality and social injustice, quotas were adopted for public school
students in the country, and within this, a percentage was allocated to Black,
brown, and Indigenous people.5
30
Flavia Rios
The result of these quota policies in higher education has been extremely
positive (Cicalo 2012). Almost 20 years of affirmative action in Brazil have
shown that confronting the nation’s severe and persistent racial inequalities
within education only became feasible once the country began to produce and
disseminate institutional data on color and race in a transparent, periodic, and
systematic manner. Not by chance, it has been one of the political strategies of
the Black movements, antiracist intellectuals and academics to collect information about color/race in various Brazilian institutions. Once in possession of
this information, it became possible to demonstrate – both qualitatively, as well
as quantitatively – the nature and size of inequalities in various sectors, such
as the labor market, income distribution and housing conditions, education,
violence, and political representation.
The most recent data have shown a significant transformation in the profile
of the student population, represented by more Black Brazilians, more women,
and more Brazilians from popular classes (BRASIL 2019). Despite advances
made in recent decades in relation to the introduction of the color/race question
in official state documents (for example, registration of the health system, the
educational system, the justice system, monthly labor market surveys, among
others) and the dissemination of this collected information, it is still possible
to find great gaps that impede the struggle against systemic racism, and this
is particularly notable when considering and analyzing the career prospects
within higher education institutions.
In terms of institutional labor policy, Brazil has not adopted quotas for
Black and Indigenous people, only for women. Regarding elections and political representation, only very recently did the Superior Electoral Court insert
a question considering color and race into its own registration forms, thereby
generating a certain amount of academic production on the subject of political
inequalities. The most recent data have shown how underrepresented Afrodescendants, Indigenous peoples, and women are in institutional politics, especially in parliament, despite the balanced number of candidates from these
social groups. Research shows that the financial and educational conditions of
Black candidates are signifiers of this underrepresentation; however, political
parties also present significant barriers to the mobility of this profile of these
candidates in the electoral competition, as they are dominated and controlled
by white men with greater economic power (Rios et al. 2017).
This broader picture of social and political transformations in Brazil during
this cycle of democratic institutionalization saw a great swell of Black political
activism in relation to the issue of racial equality in the public sphere. One of
the achievements of this period was under Lula’s administration, beginning in
2003, when the Secretariat for Policies to Promote Racial Equality (SEPPIR)
was created, with administrative and political autonomy from a ministry, but
with few economic resources. Since then, the country has witnessed a series of
measures aimed at reducing racial inequalities, which have come to exist at the
federal level. Promoted by SEPPIR, municipal and state agencies also began to
Cycles of Democracy 31
develop policies to combat racism. The implementation of affirmative actions
was one of SEPPIR’s main goals.
In the Ministry of Education, important actions were also developed, both at
the executive and council levels. From the political point of view, there were
great advances in legislation that impacted the lives of Afro-Brazilians, such as
Law No. 10,639/2003 and Law No. 11,645/08, sanctioned by the federal executive power, in strong interaction with civil society, mediated by state agencies
created during the Lula government to promote racial equality. The two laws
deal with the introduction of teaching Afro-Brazilian and Indigenous cultures
and histories, respectively. Both were fundamental to guarantee the revision of
the didactic material distributed in schools, considered inadequate within the
new parameters that sought to present the contributions of Black and Indigenous populations to the Brazilian social formation in a positive way. Furthermore, the two laws provided for training for teachers and other education
professionals in which they learned new pedagogical forms to combat stereotyping, prejudice, and racial discrimination in the school environment.6 These
legal gains also demonstrate the ways in which Black mobilization played an
important role in the changes made to the Brazilian higher education system,
substantially changing the profile of its students.
Another legislative success within the executive branch, a joint effort by
Black congresspeople and civil organizations, was PEC No. 66/12, also known
as the domestic workers’ Constitutional Amendment Proposal, which was
sanctioned by then-President Dilma Rousseff. As a result, domestic workers,
the majority of which being Black women,7 won legal right to a regulated,
eight-hour working day and, consequently, the right to overtime pay. Domestic
workers also became entitled to the Severance Premium Reserve Fund (FGTS),
unemployment insurance, and an additional rate for night shifts. This was an
incredible struggle and thus, an historic win. Over the decades, domestic work
had been incredibly precarious work, with characteristics resembling those of
enslavement, as workers were hyper-exploited, oftentimes having to sleep in
the homes of the families for whom they worked, and even being required to
work entire weekends. Domestic work within Brazil spoke to a very specific
class dialogue: domestic workers were typically from a working subclass, constantly and consistently targeted by social humiliation, while employers were
usually from the middle classes, where having a domestic worker served as an
indicator of social distinction. This legal success – and legislative guarantee –
of the labor rights of domestic workers also speaks very directly to gains and
protection of Black women, as they are the dominant group represented within
this professional occupation in Brazil.
Finally, it is essential to highlight the legislation that guaranteed the quotas for Black Brazilians in public sector employment. Ratified until 2024,
Law No. 12,990/2014 reserves 20% of the vacancies in federal public service employment for self-declared Black candidates, aiming to reduce the
strong racial inequalities in public sector careers. This antiracist educational
32
Flavia Rios
legislation resulted from a set of actions and interactions involving civil society, Black parliamentarians, the secretariat for racial equality (SEPPIR), and
the federal executive, under Rousseff’s management at that time.
During the entire cycle of democratic establishment, there have been strong
advances in some crucial areas for Brazilian society. Even though there are
racial inequalities in parliamentary politics, the Black movements have acted
strongly, with the state bureaucracy and in the executive arenas of the state,
guaranteeing legislation and institutional spaces, and this activity has been pursued in strong interaction with the federal executive, especially during PT governments (Rios 2019a). In addition to policies focused on racial equality, there
have been improvements in the living conditions of Black Brazilians, guaranteed by public policies on income transfer, which have especially affected poor
populations within which Black Brazilians are in the majority. In addition to
this, there was a real increase in the minimum wage, especially impacting the
working classes.
3. De-democratization: Delegitimization of the Racial
Equality Agenda and Retraction of Spaces
and Measures to Ensure Rights
Since the so-called Jornadas de Junho in 2013, when a great cycle of protest
began in Brazil (see Chapter 6, by Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub, this
volume), many political transformations have rapidly presented themselves
within the public scene. Although the political agendas of June were diffuse
and plural, using agents from multiple ideological spectra, it cannot be denied
that those great political manifestations gave impetus to the strengthening of
conservative and liberal movements, which appeared more often in the streets
(Alonso and Mische 2016). Multiple factors have converged in the formation
of these protests, which ran in cycles from June 2013 to the impeachment of
President Dilma Rousseff in 2016. These factors have been synthesized by
urban planner Omena de Melo (2019): the widespread use of new communication technologies (Internet, live broadband transmission, social media); the
production of alternative narratives, temporarily out of the control of traditional
media intermediaries; the partial and temporary delegitimization of large institutions (politicians, police, media, FIFA); claims directly related to urban problems (transportation, public investment priorities in infrastructure, health and
education), as discussed by Maricato and Colosso in this book (Chapter 10),
and their connections with the impacts of mega sporting events; groups linked
to autonomist and anarchist traditions and the intensified use of direct action,
i.e. political acts guided by criticism of political parties, traditional associations
such as trade unions. Since the democratization and impeachment of President
Collor (1992), Brazil had never seen such numerous and expressive movements as those in June of 2013. The great mobilizations brought novelties and
with it political forces capable of changing the political scenario, as long as it
was well used by political actors well positioned in the sphere of power.
Cycles of Democracy 33
With the impeachment of President Rousseff moved by politicians from parliament and the Senate – supported by economic forces, like the Federation
of Industries of the State of São Paulo (FIESP) – the articulation between the
judiciary (through the operation Lava Jato) and the mainstream media, Brazil
under Michel Temer (President Rousseff’s vice-president who took power following her impeachment) experienced tense moments and great political instability. The Temer government took a conservative turn, especially with regard
to the pension reform. Its illegitimate position on account of the parliamentary
coup against Dilma Rousseff left him in a relatively fragile position, especially
as his political decisions were not supported by popular vote. Similarly, he had
very low popularity among Brazilians. In regard to the issue of race, the Temer
government was marked by the exit of technical profiles from the government,
which had been developing policies aimed at improving racial equality. In
general terms, the Temer administration feared substantive proposals to tackle
racism and did not change the measures that were already underway. It should
be noted that his government made no progress on the issue of racial equality.
This crisis of political representation expressed in the impeachment of President Rousseff and the low popularity of the subsequent President Temer, in
addition to the loss of credibility of the major parties that alternated power –
PT and PSDB – provided enough instability for the extreme-right-wing movement to take advantage under the leadership of Jair Bolsonaro, who presented
himself as a candidate in this period. Throughout the presidential campaign,
Bolsonaro continuously made racist statements against Black Brazilians,
quilombolas, and Indigenous peoples. In a speech at the Jewish Association,
he said that Afro-descendants of rural communities do nothing, in addition
to using terms referencing slavery when referring to quilombolas. In derogatory statements made about the daughter of musician and former Minister of
Justice Gilberto Gil, Bolsonaro declared that he would never let his son marry
a woman like her, because she was Black.8 On several occasions, the then precandidate said that if he were elected president of the republic, he would not
make land demarcations for Indigenous and quilombolas.
After elected, the extreme-right government put at risk Brazilian democracy
and all of the social, political, labor, civil, cultural, and land rights won since
the re-democratization of the nation in the 1980s. Bolsonaro’s mode of government rests on two pillars: the first being the delegitimization of the demands of
underrepresented and socially marginalized social groups. All critical debate
in regard to issues of gender, race, and class inequalities in the country is now
interpreted and declared as victimization by Bolsonaro and his followers (see
Chapter 11, by Rangel, Dultra, and McCoy, this volume). With rhetoric based
on denying the victim, Bolsonaro provokes and promotes the significant corrosion of democratic values based on the rule of law in Brazil.
The second strategy of the Bolsonaro government effectively involves the
withdrawal of rights or the weakening of state mechanisms and agencies aimed
at confronting social and racial problems. In the case of the rights of the quilombola population, the president has fulfilled his campaign promises. In 2019,
34
Flavia Rios
according to the Palmares Cultural Foundation, only 11 quilombola communities were recognized, compared to 166 communities recognized by the state in
the previous year. Land conflicts have increased and human rights analysts see
in presidential declarations incentives to increase agrarian conflicts, especially
since the president openly declares his support in favor of economic exploitation of Indigenous lands by private agents, as explained by Ana Guggenheim
Coutinho in Chapter 12 (this volume). These conflicts have increased tension
throughout the nation’s countryside. The pastoral care of land has registered
at least seven murders of Indigenous people in agrarian conflicts in 2019, in
comparison to two deaths the year before.9
The increase of political conservatism and the emergence of politicians
openly opposed to the policies of affirmative action, to the demarcation of
quilombola lands, and to policies contrary to gender equality have placed
women and Black Brazilians in quite different institutional, cultural, and political contexts. It was an experience of civil reaction, in the form of organized
protests, which questioned the meaning of state public policies, social transformations, and moral values in a strong transformation of the country. These
protests were generated in part by the great strength of progressive social
movements as heirs of the democratization process, which brought about the
cultural transformation in daily life and in the non-state public sphere, seen
through public policies in the areas of education and health, which guaranteed
the production of data on inequalities and by the design of policies with a view
to overcoming disparities found in research conducted by both the academy
and government agencies.
The course of such transformations, however, has been called into question
by the great democratic crisis in Brazil. With the dismissal of the first female
president in Brazilian republican history, with the accusations brought against
her having little legal basis, the spaces for the management of racial and gender equality became smaller, with a low presence of feminist and antiracist
movements in government. In addition, conservative civil movements began
to question the public policies implemented by the previous governments. In
this context of a strong regressive state engagement, traditional feminist and
Black movements are mixed with movements formed by younger generations
who work in civil society exercising control and public denunciations, in addition to street mobilization against state violence, as the most important case in
the country today, which is the fight against lethal state violence, referred to
as the genocide of the Black population. This campaign has now moved to the
public scene by both young Black men and women engaged in Black feminist
mobilization.
In the 2018 presidential elections, the issue of race appeared in public debate,
especially with the derogatory statements of candidate Jair Bolsonaro, calling
for the destruction of quilombola communities, the use of pejorative language
that associated them with slaves and openly presenting himself for the titling
of quilombola lands. Bolsonaro’s statements led these social movements to
Cycles of Democracy 35
accuse him in the Superior Electoral Court (TSE) of racism, but the Supreme
Court ruled at this time that it was not a crime of racism. With reactions and
campaigns from social movements – women, Black Brazilians, Black women,
and other movements in the context of re-democratization and that had links
with the state during the democratic cycle – Bolsonaro adopted a strategy of
keeping Black figures at his side, in particular the candidate Hélio Bolsonaro
(also known as Hélio Fernando Barbosa Lopes), who is now a member of the
president’s political party, the Social Liberal Party (PSL). To him, Jair Bolsonaro lent his surname, ensuring that he was elected through a loan of both social
name and party support (financial and campaign structure). Congressman
Hélio Bolsonaro was responsible, for example, for signing an article opposing
affirmative action in Brazil, on the grounds that the speeches of Black activists were victimists. According to him, “Cota racial,10 just like various actions
taken by the ‘black movement,’ are mere partisan programs.”11
In this new turn to the extreme-right, several negative effects can already
be seen on the democratic agenda in general and on the racial equality agenda
in particular. The most notable actions are those aimed at de-legalizing and
delegitimizing the agenda in favor of equality between Blacks and whites in
the country. The most widely used strategy is the emptying of portfolios, bodies, and councils focused on the issue of civil rights. Two recent cases deserve
highlighting. The first was the appointment of the president of the Palmares
Cultural Foundation, an institution created in the context of the democratization of Brazil and which aims to combat racism; more specifically, this body
is responsible for identifying the quilombola communities. In November of
2019, the Month of Black Consciousness, a symbolic period in Brazil since
the 1970s, a Black person was appointed to the highest office of this organization who openly defended the non-existence of racism in Brazil and who
was explicitly opposed to the very existence of Black social movements and
affirmative action policies. In other words, there is a deliberate attempt by the
Bolsonaro government to delegitimize the claims and symbolic forms of confronting racism in Brazil. Unlike previous governments, the Bolsonaro government appointed a person who was not technically prepared to his position.
In addition, there was no compatibility between his ideas and the institutional
mission of the state agency. He lacked support from Black social movements
and civil organizations. This is a break with the democratic strategies and routines established since re-democratization, when social movement collectives
were consulted and formed their own representation within state spaces.
Second, the case of the Racial Equality Council deserves reflection, as it is
also one of the spaces where attacks by the Bolsonaro government have been
observed. The National Council for Policies on Racial Equality (CNPIR) is a
collegial advisory body and part of the basic structure of the Ministry of Human
Rights/National Secretariat for Policies on the Promotion of Racial Equality
(MDH/SEPPIR). Its main mission is to propose policies to promote racial equality, with emphasis on the Black population and other racial and ethnic segments
36
Flavia Rios
of the Brazilian population. In addition to combating racism, CNPIR’s mission
is to offer alternatives for overcoming racial inequalities, from an economic
approach, as well as from a social, political, and cultural point of view, thus
expanding the processes of social deliberation within these policies. Various
historic organizations from the Black movement, like Educafro – a fundamental
association in the implementation of affirmative action in Brazilian universities – as
well as the historic organization of the Unified Black Movement (MNU), created in 1978 to denounce racism in a nation still under a military regime, were
expelled from the Presidential Council by presidential decree.12
Today, many Black leaders have diagnosed that the current attacks on public institutions are especially harmful to Black students who enter university
institutions in a fragile economic situation, and therefore depend on grants
and other forms of financial aid, which have been affected by cuts made by
the Ministry of Education. Additionally, there are several proposed bills aimed
at ending quotas for Black Brazilians and Indigenous people in public universities. Two draft laws are currently being processed in the legislature: Bill
No. 1,531 and Bill No. 5,303, both presented by representatives from the party
that elected Jair Bolsonaro.
In this new scenario, social movements have again become oppositional to
the government. Activists have reorganized themselves within the sphere of
civil society and have started to oppose government declarations, to struggle
against its regressive policies and denounce the boycotts by the Bolsonaro government to public policies for racial equality. In particular, the most important
agenda item in this context has been the fight against police violence. With
very high murder rates, the current positions and public policies of the federal
government systematically weaken human rights organizations and foster violent actions by the state. In this moment of democratic crisis, political violence
has also been escalating, especially against Indigenous and quilombola leaders in Brazil’s rural regions. This scenario of de-democratization, therefore, is
marked by a rhetoric that denies the egalitarian values and collective, social,
labor, and affirmative actions that have been consolidated in Brazil since the
process of democratization itself.
4. Final Considerations
The institutionalization of the racial equality agenda in Brazil depends strategically on executive and participatory bodies (politically created within the state)
and their capacity to promote public policies – maintained through social and
state interaction between public agents and social movement activists, especially in establishing a process of broad democratization. During the political
crisis, that institutional path was broken by the Bolsonaro government. Social
movements for racial equality rights lost access and legitimacy to the spheres
of power, especially in the federal executive arena.
From the ideological point of view, during the democratization cycle, Brazil
was built as a multi-racial and multi-ethnic nation, which had been questioning
Cycles of Democracy 37
the myth of racial democracy based on data analyzing racial discrimination and
inequality. During the period of democratic stability, a political consensus was
formed that there was racism in Brazil, that racial democracy was an ideological farce – a myth, rather than fact – and that the country needed focused policies to combat racial discrimination. Under Bolsonaro, the colorblind ideology
(re)emerges. This is the period in which the country’s de-democratization
(Tilly, 2007) has become most evident. According to this ideology assumed
by the extreme-right, above all is the nation itself, above everything and everyone, perpetuating a rhetoric of homogenous national identity. Above the
nation, only the Christian god. All speeches about racism, discrimination, and
racial inequalities would be forms of victimism invented by the political Left.
According to this view – which is not based on scientific literature or on statistics produced by respected institutes nationally or globally –, even Atlantic
slavery should be questioned. The combination of these discourses that delegitimize demands, social actors, and entire groups that struggle to ensure
social, political, and civil rights – in addition to the practices of emptying state
agencies and implementing measures to weaken institutions and ministries that
are dedicated to the expansion of the state of rights to the neediest population
with fewer resources, where Black people, Indigenous people, and women are
found – reveal a regressive scenario marked by policies of austerity I have
called de-democratization.
Against all these official and governmental speeches, new civil actors, a
new Black generation – especially of Black feminists – use social networks as
important spaces for political action, where they guide changes in values and
conceptions of life, while denouncing cases of racism, machismo, and lesbophobia among other symbolic and physical violences that target the civil
rights of Black Brazilians and women. These women work in the squares,
on public transportation, in the peripheral areas doing cultural and political
performances. An example can be found in Slam, a form of collective action
that involves performance and poetry in public spaces. Collectives organized
in universities to combat racial discrimination in the academic environment,
to monitor the application of affirmative action and to welcome young Black
people entering higher education are the hallmarks of this new generation
of activists. Finally, it is worth mentioning its strong performance in social
networks, where they guide the public debate against racism, reporting experiences of discrimination while spreading experiences of overwhelming racial
violence.
This new generation seems to act with more intensity for the interactions
between social movements and legislative power. To a certain extent, in the
2018 elections, despite the expansion of political conservatism in the legislative and executive spaces, women and Black Brazilians achieved political
representation in the legislative space, with qualitative prominence for Black
women, constituting expressive minorities engaged with social movements.
Perhaps this is the new, though tenuous, political direction of a democratic
alternative in Brazil.
38
Flavia Rios
Notes
1. This work is the result of the research ‘Socio-state interactions and institutionalization processes at the federal level: a post-2016 balance sheet,’ financed by the
CNPQ Universal call for proposals. A version of this chapter was presented at
the Summer School of Harare, Zimbabwe in January 2020. I thank Paris Yeros,
Givania Silva and Marcelo Rosa for their critical comments. This chapter received
English language technical reviews from Carlyn Rodgers (University of Cambridge), to whom I am immensely grateful. I also thank Professor Frieder Otto
Wolf for his valuable suggestions.
2. Located in the south-central region of the country.
3. Quilombolas is the term used for particular Black populations, especially in rural
areas. The origins of these communities can be traced back to slavery. Their
presence in the Constitution of 1988 arose from debates regarding their origins
as marginalized and disenfranchised peoples, thus resulting in the constitutional
guarantee of their cultural and land rights. In the 2020 demographic census, the
quilombola communities in Brazil will be included for the first time in the database
of the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE). From this data, it
will become possible to know the size of this population and its living conditions.
4. The first democratic elections after the military dictatorship elected an outsider
from a small party with no parliamentary base. This period from 1989 to 1994 was
characterized by great political instability, leading to the impeachment of the thenPresident Fernando Collor. For more information see Sallum Jr. (2015).
5. Preto (Black) and pardo (brown) are official categories that refer to all Brazilians
of African descent. These categories are both officially recognized through censuses, as well as acknowledged as socially acceptable within Brazil. According to
data from PNAD Continuous (2018) the Black population (“pretos” + “pardos”) in
Brazil is 55.8%; in contrast, 43.1% declared themselves whites.
6. For more information, see Silva (2010); Rios (2019b).
7. According to a household sample survey, domestic employment represents 18%
of the total workforce of Black women, while for white women it represents 10%
(BRASIL, 2016). According to IBGE, in 2016, Brazil had 6.158 million domestic
workers, 92% of whom were women. Based on 2010 data, the ILO, when comparing
the number of people who were domestic workers in the world, identified that Brazil topped the list with more than a hundred countries as the country with the most
absolute numbers of domestic workers. See: www.ilo.org/brasilia/temas/trabalhodomestico/lang--pt/index.htm. For more information, see Lima and Prates (2019).
8. This case was taken to the Superior Electoral Court, but Bolsonaro was acquitted for lack of substantive evidence, for ambiguity in the interpretation (sexual
or racial discrimination) and for the fact that he had parliamentary immunity. See
http://g1.globo.com/politica/noticia/2015/05/stf-arquiva-inquerito-contra-bolso
naro-por-falas-sobre-preta-gil.html, accessed on 7 February 2020.
9. See Human Rights Watch Word Report 2009 in www.hrw.org/world-report/2019,
accessed on 6 February 2020.
10. The quota program for Blacks was approved in 2012. That law has a term of ten
years. It is important to say that there are no quotas exclusively for Blacks in
Brazil. The model adopted in the country requires that applicants for quotas have
attended high school in the public system. Blacks who studied in private schools
are not allowed to compete for quotas, according to the law.
11. This opinion article was published in an important Brazilian newspaper in the
month of Black Consciousness. See Bolsonaro, Hélio (2019). Nossa Cor é o Brasil. Folha de São Paulo. In https://www1.folha.uol.com.br/opiniao/2019/11/nossacor-e-o-brasil.shtml, accessed on 8 December 2019.
Cycles of Democracy 39
12. Several other important Black and quilombola organizations have been prevented
from remaining on the council, such as Educafro, Unegro, Apn’s, MNU, Enegrecer, Conaq, Abpn, Fepal. Besides these, the National Union of Students and the
Central única dos Trabalhadores (CUT) were also left out of participation in this
institutional arena. It has become common in Bolsonaro’s management to empty
state control agencies. By decree, the president extinguishes the participation of
civil society in the councils, following the example of the Council for the Protection of Child Rights in 2019 and the Environment Council in 2020.
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———. 2019. “Emprego doméstico e mudança social: reprodução e heterogeneidade
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4
Democratization and
De-democratization in
Left-Led Brazil
From “Low-Conflict Progressivism”
to “Hyper-Reactionary Neoliberalism”
Barry Cannon
1. Introduction
In this chapter, I offer a complex, layered, and comprehensive view of the
interaction between the contemporary Latin American Right and Left, relating it directly to processes of democratization and de-democratization. First,
I identify, following Bobbio (1996), the central role of inequality, particularly
class, but also gender, race, and sexual inequalities, in Left/Right differentiation. I then relate this discussion to democratization and de-democratization
viewing these from a long-range, wide-angled perspective. Second, I advance
Michael Mann’s concept of social power as an analytical framework from
which to examine Left/Right differentiation, with its focus on elite power
networks in the economic, ideological, political, military, and transnational
domains. Third, I illustrate the key position of neoliberalism in Latin American right-wing policy and discourse. Moreover, I argue that the ultimate aim
of neoliberalism’s centrality to contemporary right-wing ideology, is to form
what I call right-oriented state/society complexes, in which neoliberal forms
of governance are deeply anchored in Latin American power structures at the
national, regional, and transnational level. Ultimately, the totalizing reach of
such governance makes it much more difficult for ideological alternatives to
prosper, as it is supported not just by central state actors, but also by powerful
sub- and supra-state ones as well. This helps preserve and even extend existing
social hierarchies along class, race, gender, and/or sexual lines.
Fourth, I argue that the success of this project was threatened, to greater
or lesser degrees by “pink tide” government democratizing programs in
at least one if not more of the power domains specified, provoking a multilevel strategic response from the Right at the institutional, mobilizational, and
extra-institutional levels, all aimed at the removal of Left-led governments.
I then illustrate this theoretical framework by examining the case of Brazil,
showing how all these different elements came into play in the run-up to the
removal from power by impeachment of the Workers’ Party (PT) President
Dilma Rousseff (2010–16) on 31 August 2016, eventually resulting in a hyperreactionary neoliberal restoration project under the ultra-right government of
Jair Bolsonaro, elected on 28 October 2018.
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Barry Cannon
2. Left/Right Differentiation in Theory
The Left/Right dichotomy can be viewed from three perspectives: political,
economic, and sociological (Burton 2011). The political perspective views the
Left as embracing change as progress, while the Right normally accepts change
which maintains or deepens existing social hierarchies. In the economic perspective the Left supports increased state intervention in the economy to help
ensure relatively equitable social outcomes, which the Right rejects, favoring
state intervention that facilitates “the quarantining of democratic social power
from any substantive intrusion over ‘market sovereignty’ ” (Kiely and Saull
2017, 822). Finally, the sociological perspective, following Bobbio (1996),
places issues of inequality as essential to the Left/Right cleavage, both over
time and across space; policy solutions may change but this central concern
is constant. It recognizes that each policy option has implicit and explicit outcomes favoring some classes over others, and class – further crossed with inequalities on gender, race, and sexuality – should be central to any discussion of
the differentiation between Right and Left.
Indeed, as class is central to the analysis of this dichotomy, so the role of
elites is central to such analysis. Here the term elites refer to both a social phenomenon and an ideological construction (Bottomore 1993). As a social phenomenon, these can include, following Fischer (2017), varied groups involved
in the construction of a dominant social class, through a complex, conflictual,
relational, historical, and dynamic process, eventually allowing them to act
collectively as a class in itself and for itself. In the present context, this class
may, but does not necessarily, include the governing elite (Fischer 2017, 26);
the bourgeoisie, that is those who “possess, lend, invest in and grow capital,
employ workers and who do not themselves work manually or for a salary”
(Fischer 2017, 25); “merchants and shopkeepers, owners of real estate, business people, bankers, rentiers and speculators” (Fischer 2017); “high-level
managers” (Fischer 2017, 26); and, importantly, certain groups of intellectuals whose work is to discursively validate the power of these social groups as
a class. In other words, these final groups can themselves make use of elite
theory to help realize Bottomore’s (1993) second sense of the concept as an
ideological justification for rule by such elites due to their technical superiority. Hence, in this chapter by elites I generally mean the dominant “power
bloc” in its Gramscian sense, straddling the economy, and the spheres of politics and civil society (ideological apparatuses), whose function is to secure
and perpetuate elite dominance. In the present historical conjuncture the main
ideological-political force to secure this is neoliberalism.
Fourth, debates around inequality between Left and Right, and the class
formation projects linked to them do not remain within nation-state boundaries, but also structure international and global policy making, giving them an
important transnational aspect (Nöel and Thérien 2008; Silva 2009). Finally,
the Left/Right debate takes place within a wider struggle for hegemony between
the fundamental worldviews of these tendencies. While certain consensuses
Democratization and De-democratization 43
between them may emerge at particular junctures, these are rarely fixed and
can and will be challenged.
In light of this discussion the core meaning of the Left/Right distinction can
be conceived as “whether one supports or opposes social change in an egalitarian direction” (Ronald Inglehart cited in Noël and Thérien 2008, 10). This
means not just greater equality in the areas identified, but also an overturning
of traditional hierarchies which underpin and benefit from such inequalities.
As neoliberalism is recognized by many as leading to increased socioeconomic
inequality (Harvey 2005; Stiglitz 2012; Piketty 2014), it can be argued that
ideologically speaking (although not necessarily in terms of party identification), those who support and actively promote neoliberalism are on the Right
side of the political spectrum while those who oppose them, or at least question them, are to the Left. There is also, it must be noted, an important social
conservative ideological position which can cut across party identification but
with an extreme anti-egalitarian thrust. In effect, this discourse rarely disturbs,
and often complements, the centrality of neoliberalism to the Right’s overall
class project (Brown 2019).
Moreover, the Left/Right distinction can be further mapped onto processes
of democratization and de-democratization. Here, in line with the editors’ conceptualization as set out in the introduction to this volume, democratization is
viewed within a wide-angle, long-term analytical perspective, in which polities
can experience periods of democratization and de-democratization, that is the
“expansion and contraction of popular rule” (Nef and Reiter 2009, 3). In this
conceptualization, therefore, “it may be more appropriate to speak of democratization as an ongoing, dynamic process than of democracy as a final end state”
(Barrett et al. 2008, 29). At the heart of these processes of democratization
and de-democratization are struggles over what Balibar (2009) identifies as
equaliberty denoting the tension between the two ideals of modern democracy:
equality (social rights and political representation) and liberty (the freedom
citizens have to contest the social contract). Within that, Balibar identifies three
domains of struggle: internal exclusion of those who are entitled to but denied
access to rights within states, such as ethnic minority citizen groups; external
exclusion of non-citizen migrants; and, struggles for social rights by citizens
denied social rights or who have had them withdrawn (ibid.). Such struggles
aim to overturn existing social hierarchies to achieve greater equality and freedom for those denied them. As, according to Robin (2018, 7), “conservatism
is the animus against the agency of the subordinate classes,” so the dynamic of
the Right can be viewed in this light as de-democratizing while that of the Left
as seeking, in principle at least, greater democratization.
3. Mann, Social Power, and Contemporary
Left/Right Interaction in Latin America
Here I contend that Michael Mann’s concept of social power provides a
useful framework from which to view the strategic interaction between the
44
Barry Cannon
contemporary Latin American Left and Right in the context of (de)democratization struggles. Mann identifies four primary domains of power – ideological, economic, military, and political (IEMP) – which are then intersected by
a possible fifth – the transnational (Silva 2009), and which are each dominated by their specified elites. Ideological power is “when meaning, norms and
aesthetic and ritual practices are monopolised by a distinctive group [which
must be] highly plausible in the conditions of the time” (Mann 1986, 23). In
this chapter, this is operationalized by referring to ideological norms around
inequalities, and ideological transmission belts such as media and education.
Economic power “derives from the satisfaction of subsistence needs through
the social organisation of the extraction, transformation, distribution, and consumption of the objects of nature” (Mann 1986, 23). This process causes the
formation of social classes, with the dominant class monopolizing control over
these processes. The main question considered here is the balance between private and public control of the economic apparatus, and the resultant impact this
has on social inequalities particularly around class, but also on gender, race,
and/or sexual lines. Military power “derives from the necessity of organised
physical defence and its usefulness for aggression” (Mann 1986, 26). Ideally,
in democracies, military power should be subservient to political power, but
this is not always the case as the long history of involvement of Latin American
militaries in politics amply demonstrates.
Political power “derives from the usefulness of centralised, institutionalised, territorialised regulation on many aspects of social relations,” in other
words “state power” (Mann 1986, 23). Political power can take despotic or
infrastructural forms, the first when elites “take decisions without negotiation
with groups in civil society” (Mann 2002, p. 2); the second when states “possess infrastructures penetrating universally throughout civil society, through
which political elites can extract resources from, and provide services to all
its subjects” (Mann 2002, 2). In most advanced democracies, state power
is despotically weak but infrastructurally strong, and can also have a strong
transnational element, usually organized along imperial or multi-state lines
(Mann 1986, 27). A major question considered here is the level of conformity
of political power around neoliberalism and the extent to which this facilitates
the dominance of despotic or infrastructural power.
Mann (2002) argues that the central issue for Latin American states to
develop democratically is the lessening of distributive inequalities, which
in turn requires the reduction of oligarchical power with an increase in state
power (i.e. increasing infrastructural power). Yet, here it is argued that Latin
American elites possess sufficient collective power across each of the four
power networks, crossed by transnational power, to successfully resist any
move towards greater social equalization, which would by necessity involve
a lessening of their own (white, masculine) oligarchical power. Moreover,
Fairfield (2015) shows that neoliberalism has increased rather than lessened
the business elite’s structural and instrumental power, using it to reinforce
that ideology, both nationally and transnationally, across each of the power
Democratization and De-democratization 45
domains. Hence, neoliberalism is central to the maintenance and extension of
elite power in the post-Cold War/early 21st-century historical conjuncture in
Latin America.
This is not to say that challenges to neoliberalism have not taken place in
Latin America or will not do so in the future. Grugel and Riggirozzi (2012),
Wylde (2012), and Riggirozzi and Wylde (2017) among others have argued
that left-wing governments instituted what they call post-neoliberal forms of
governance which sought to challenge neoliberalism, strengthening the role of
the state in order to reinforce popular citizenship, both in the economic and at
the political levels. The extent to which these actions seriously confronted neoliberalism’s core principles is questioned by some analysts (Webber and Carr
2012; Zibechi 2010), but here it is argued that elite social power was at least
threatened, symbolically or practically, in some or all of the identified power
domains in a number of Left-led states, either on a distributive basis or on a
recognition basis, and sometimes on both, to a sufficient degree to alarm those
self-same elites. This suggests a direct link between right-wing strategies and
the intensity of change to the neoliberal model effected by left-wing governments in the region.
In this light, the so-called “pink tide” of left-wing governments which
emerged at the turn of the millennium presented the greatest threat to elite
power in the region since the 20th-century guerrilla insurgencies, and even at
times to the more salient aspects of neoliberalism itself. This prompted a fierce
counter-reaction from elites along three strategic lines, institutional, mobilizational, and semi- or extra-constitutional, with different emphasis placed on
each depending on the particular conjunctural dynamic. Coups, in particular,
be they military or “constitutional,” emerge in national spaces where the elites
felt the neoliberal project was particularly threatened in a context of weak
democratic institutionality.
These strategies have two objectives, which while not inseparable can be
complementary in their ultimate aim. The first and shared objective, is to institute a restoration and extension of neoliberal systems of governance at the
national level, which have the potential to link in to those at the regional, transnational, and inter-continental levels. This objective most definitely limits class
equalization measures, but may be tolerant of limited gender, sexual, and even
racial equalization measures, in what Nancy Fraser (2017) has called “progressive neoliberalism.” The second, much more radical objective, seeks to restore
traditionally dominant systems of social hierarchy by rolling back not just
class equalization measures but also progressive advances on racial, gender,
and sexual inequalities. This objective, termed “reactionary” or even “hyperreactionary” neoliberalism by Fraser (ibid.), is often executed in alliance with
conservative church groups, both Catholic and increasingly Evangelical, and
supported by powerful US individuals and groups (Encarnación 2018; Fischer 2017; Ramiréz 2018; Fang 2017). It has the additional beneficial effect
for the Right of putting the Left on the defensive, hence limiting its ability to
challenge neoliberalism itself. Nevertheless, both objectives seek to achieve
46
Barry Cannon
the same overall aim: the installation of what I have termed elsewhere rightoriented state/society complexes (Cannon 2016). Such neoliberalized systems
are so named due to their deeply embedded and mutually enmeshed nature at a
national, regional, and transnational level across the identified power domains,
making it extremely difficult, if not impossible, to unravel by any future Left
administration.
4. Right-Wing Neoliberal Practice and
Discourse in Latin America
A brief examination of the policy options of the four original members of the
Pacific Alliance (PA) regional alliance can provide empirical examples of such
societies dominated by neoliberalism. Established in 2011 by Chile, Colombia,
Mexico, and Peru, “countries with alike views on development that are free
trade promoters” (Pacific Alliance 2020), neoliberalism is so deeply embedded in these countries’ power networks that alternative non-neoliberal policy
options become almost unthinkable. Economically, these countries are characterized by few state-controlled enterprises and low levels of market-controlling
state intervention. Instead, they present high levels of market freedom, with
a concentration of ownership of the means of production and of the market
in the hands of a few powerful corporations (corporatization), many of these
transnationalized. They also have highly open trading regimes, with a large
number of free trade agreements (FTAs), most notably with the US, but also
with European and Asian countries. FTAs are particularly important as they
usually contain legal clauses which inhibit policy change liable to prejudice
profit, regardless of its social or environmental benefits. Equally importantly,
these rules are usually governed by courts outside national jurisdictions, often
located in the United States.
Ideological regimes are controlled through highly concentrated, oligopolized, and sometimes transnationalized media ownership structures which are
characterized by heavy editorial biases in favor of maintaining and deepening
the neoliberal status quo. Moreover, networks of often transnationally funded,
liberal, and right-wing think tanks, espousing, supporting, and disseminating
neoliberal principles, and indeed in some cases conservative viewpoints, are
found in each of these countries. Additionally, education systems are highly
privatized, directly linking this model’s continuance to neoliberalism. Political
regimes show remarkable levels of ideological uniformity in favor of neoliberalism, and even when this is not the case, policy deviance from neoliberal
principles is highly controlled due to the embeddedness of neoliberalism in
the other power networks. Militarily these regimes usually maintain alliances
with the United States, cooperating with that country in the region, and sometimes, beyond, including facilitating US intervention under the banners of the
so-called wars “on drugs” and “on terror.” As can be seen by this account,
high levels of transnational influence traverse most of these power networks,
mostly from the US, but also from Europe, and increasingly from China.
Democratization and De-democratization 47
The PA itself, established in 2012 is an example of such transnationalization,
grouping these neoliberalized states together, with Costa Rica and Panama as
future candidates for membership. Moreover, the PA provides the potential
to further embed this model at the transnational level, linking it up to the key
centers of neoliberalism in North America and Europe and then across to the
economies of East Asia, as well as projecting itself as an alternative to existing regional groupings such as Mercosur (or the Market of the South). Furthermore, with the accession of Chile to the OECD and with Colombia also
on its way to becoming a member, such agreements will make it even more
difficult to deviate from neoliberal prescriptions, opening up the possibility
for their extended application across the region. This suggests a longer-term
transnational project with the potential to impose and homogenize this political
economy model throughout the Latin American region.
In each of these countries, then, neoliberalism possesses a formidable collective power – in the sense that neoliberal advocates have horizontal linkages across all of the power domains examined here. Confluences of interests
can also aggregate around social conservatism and law-and-order issues, but
these do not often conflict with neoliberal policy preferences and indeed can
often enhance them. These regimes I therefore suggest are right-oriented state/
society complexes due to the deep embeddedness of neoliberal governance at
the sub-state, state, and supra-state levels. This makes it extremely difficult for
left-leaning alternatives to effect structural change, even if such alternatives
appear, as was the case, for example, in Peru under Ollanta Humala (2011–16)
(Adrianzén 2014) or the second administration of Michelle Bachelet in Chile
(2014–18) (Heiss 2017; Arana Araya 2017).
Moreover, Cannon (2016) finds that in two of those neoliberalized countries –
Chile and Colombia – and even in two which had been dominated by Left-led
governments for quite some time – Argentina and Venezuela – neoliberalism
continued to hegemonize thinking in right-wing or liberal-leaning civil society
groups and political parties. Interviews among liberal or right-wing elites held
in these countries in 2011/2012 found that there was a pronounced adherence
to neoliberal market-based principles with a firm consensus around the subsidiarity of the state to the market. Moreover, the existence of inequalities of
class, race, or gender are for the most part unacknowledged by subjects, with
instead an emphasis on unproblematized meritocracy. In this narrative, any
individual, with the right guidance, support, and personal effort, regardless of
race, class, gender, or sexuality can participate in national life and achieve success to any level.
Neoliberal dominance was however, powerfully challenged in at least one,
if not more, of the five domains of power discussed, from the beginning of
the millennium, by “pink tide” governments in the region, seeking to control the excesses of the market and institutionalize new forms of political
participation for marginalized groups. By “pink tide” I mean the series of
left-leaning or post-neoliberal governments which emerged in Latin America
after the election of Hugo Chávez as president of Venezuela in late 1998, until
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Barry Cannon
the impeachment of PT President Dilma Rousseff in Brazil in 2016. While
the depth and range of such challenges varied widely among the “pink tide”
countries, with the Bolivarian countries of Venezuela, Bolivia, Nicaragua, and
Ecuador being the most radical, along with Argentina led by Nestor and then
Cristina Kirchner (see Cannon 2016), in the rest of the chapter we will examine
the case of PT-led Brazil as a case study for such processes of democratization
and de-democratization.
5. Democratization and De-democratization
Processes in Left-Led Brazil
Brazil provides an interesting example of such processes of democratization
and de-democratization as described previously. As is well known, it has one
of the highest levels of socioeconomic inequality in the world, and Reis (2011)
finds that its elites display similarly dismissive attitudes to class, race, gender, and sexual inequalities as those in the countries discussed earlier. The
Workers’ Party (PT) first came to power under President Luiz Inácio da Silva
(“Lula”), in 2002, and began to implement what Friedmann and Puty (2020)
have termed a “low-conflict progressive” agenda, seeking to democratize some
of the identified domains of power.
Ideologically, the PT began to challenge many of the traditional social hierarchies considered fundamental to conservative ideology, in the areas of gender, racial, and sexual inequalities. For example, Blofield et al. (2017, 350) find
that the PT was “more likely to respond to women’s mobilization” than the
Right; its social policies “indirectly supported women’s economic autonomy”
despite doing “little to transform the division of household labour,” (ibid.,
357), and PT governments improved women’s political representation, including providing Brazil’s first female president, as well as strengthening violence
against women (VAW) legislation (ibid., 359–360). In terms of racial equality, PT governments made the teaching of African and Afro-Brazilian histories
and cultures mandatory in public and private schools in Brazil and introduced
racial quotas to help increase attendance of Afro-Brazilian students in Brazil’s public universities. Due to such measures, Lula, according to Johnson and
Heringer (2015, 20), “did more than any president before him in showing a
sensitivity to and support for historic demands of the black movement,” a path
followed by his successor Dilma Rousseff.
In terms of sexual equality, Corrales (2017) finds that in the period 1999–
2013, mostly dominated by PT governments, Brazil was one of only three
countries in the region (along with Argentina and Uruguay) that become a
“super achiever” (ibid., 8) in extending LGBT rights in the domains of decriminalization; anti-discrimination statutes and the right to serve in the military;
protections for gender identity; hate crime laws; rights and protections for civil
unions, and same-sex marriage. Despite these advances, however, the ideological apparatuses, such as the media, remained unregulated and highly oligopolized, and powerful US-funded think tanks continued to establish themselves
Democratization and De-democratization 49
in the country. Churches, also, including the Catholic and increasingly Evangelical churches remained powerful (Friedmann and Puty 2020, 86), often promoting a conservative anti-feminist and anti-LGBT discourse.
Economically, the Workers’ Party adhered to overall neoliberal macroeconomic principles, “seeking solutions (to poverty and inequality) that caused
the least friction with the ruling class” (Friedmann and Puty 2020, 86), to
the extent that some qualify it as a neoliberal government (see Saad Filho
2020). Nevertheless, the successive PT governments stalled privatization and
increased state intervention in the economy, especially during Rousseff’s first
presidential term (2010–15). PT-led governments introduced a variety of social
policies, which along with its economic policies, had a notably democratizing
social impact by increasing employment, raising wages and access to credit
and hence reducing poverty and even inequality, thereby benefiting the popular
sectors (Friedmann and Puty 2020, 86).
In the domain of the military, however, the PT effected little change. Brazil
remained the only South American country which “experienced dictatorship
during the second half of the 20th century . . . that never punished a public servant” (Canofre 2016, 96). A 1979 Amnesty Law granted “unrestricted
and unconditional” amnesty to everyone involved in the dictatorship, and in
2010 the Supreme Court found that the law could bar investigations into past
human rights abuses (ibid., 98). The PT did recognize the need for an examination of this past, when in 2011, PT President Dilma Rousseff created the
National Truth Commission. This found, after two years of investigations, that
the dictatorship was responsible for “at least 434 dead and disappeared” (ibid.,
99). Nevertheless, despite herself having been tortured during the dictatorship, Rousseff “never tried to alter the Amnesty Law, saying she didn’t want
revenge” (ibid., 99). Additionally, many state personnel in the bureaucracy and
in the justice system retained strong ties to the military and the state military
police (Friedmann and Puty 2020, 87).
Equally, in the political domain, the PT conformed to rather than disrupted
existing state institutionally in Brazil. The PT itself regarded the 1988 Brazilian Constitution as “a restricted and conservative re-democratization” (Friedmann and Puty 2020, 84), yet they never contemplated a thorough revision of
its bases, through for example a Constitutional Convention. As a result PT governments were subject to what Friedmann and Puty (2020, 87) term a “siege of
the government by the state.” This meant that the majority of state personnel
in the high bureaucracies, and in the judiciary, were often “resolute opponents
by origin or class position of any left-wing projects” (ibid., 87). Additionally,
as all PT governments were minority administrations, they relied on the centerright PMDB (Brazilian Democratic Movement Party) party to secure governability. Both these factors would be key elements in the PT’s eventual undoing.
On the other hand, however, the PT did comprehensively redirect Brazilian state policy at the transnational level. Brazil forged an independent foreign policy, supporting Venezuela, Cuba, and other left-wing governments
in the region and leading efforts to increase Latin American autonomy from
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US-dominated regional fora, most notably through its leadership roles in the
formation of UNASUR (Union of South American Nations) and CELAC
(Community of Latin American and Caribbean State) and its strengthening of
Mercosur ((Friedmann and Puty 2020, 91). This regional leadership by Brazil
“was fundamental for burying the proposed Free Trade Area of the Americas
[at Mar de la Plata, Argentina in 2005], the main US strategy for the region
since 1994” (Friedmann and Puty 2020, 91). Further afield, its membership of
the BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China, and South Africa) inter-governmental
forum, and its relations with Iran, among other features, diverged from US
dominated neoliberalism and foreign policy objectives. Cumulatively, the PT’s
foreign policy gave Brazil “a global role unprecedented in its history” (ibid.).
In sum then, it could be said that the PT did threaten established hierarchical
and class patterns in a number of key areas in at least three of the identified
power domains: ideology, in terms of gender, race, and sexual inequalities;
economics, in terms of increased state intervention in the economy, reducing
class inequalities; and transnationally, in terms of a non-US oriented foreign
policy, addressing geopolitical inequality. Nevertheless, as Friedmann and Puty
(2020, 87) note, the PT were constrained from the beginning by its “center-left/
left congressional minority, broadly hegemonic financial capital, a media oligopoly by private groups, and a state commitment to anti-redistributive logic,”
constraints which remained largely unchallenged by successive PT governments. These strategic failures on the part of the PT in the various domains
of power identified were then capitalized on by the Right, leading to the PT’s
spectacular fall in 2016.
6. Brazilian Right-Wing Counter-Offensives
Across the Power Domains
The recession beginning in 2013 presented an opportunity for Right elites to
restore their full-spectrum dominance of all four main power networks, using
the considerable structural power available to them both inside and outside
Brazil’s institutions. This process began over a two-month period in June–
July 2013, on the eve of the Confederations Cup, with the country seeing the
largest popular mobilizations since its return to democracy in 1985. Started by
a small, Left grouping protesting modestly against public transport fare rises in
São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro, these rapidly escalated into mass events, encompassing a whole range of issues and groups and drawing crowds of a million
or more in the grand avenues of São Paulo. Initially the demonstrations were
dismissed by right-wing politicians and corporatist media, with Gerardo Alckmin, right-wing PSDB governor of São Paulo state, branding demonstrators
“vandals” and “troublemakers,” and right-wing journalists labelling them “terrorists” (Conde and Jazeel 2013, 441).
Yet this attitude changed sharply as military police brutally attacked demonstrators, injuring a number of journalists in the process, and the right-wing
media sensed a perfect opportunity to attack the PT-led federal government
Democratization and De-democratization 51
(Conde and Jazeel 2013, 442; Sader 2013; Saad-Filho 2013, 659). From thence
on they offered blanket coverage of the protests, emptying these of their radical
content and framing them as against the more generic “state inefficiency and
corruption” (Saad-Filho 2013, 659). Participation in the marches exploded,
with some marches in July 2013 reaching over 1 million people (ibid.).
According to Winters and Weitz-Shapiro (2016, 138) by this stage all Brazil
was aware of the marches, with only 3% in polls not having heard of them.
Moreover, the themes of the original marches became subsumed in a
cacophony of demands, from same-sex marriage to the return of the military
government. Most marchers were young and middle class, organizing through
social media, although local community groups and workers were often integrated into the multitude, these pursuing their own demands (Saad-Filho 2013,
660). Demonstrators rejected party politics in general but particularly the PTled administrations of “Lula” and Dilma Rousseff. This rejection of the PT and
the directionless, leaderless nature of the demonstrations allowed the Right to
co-opt and manipulate the demonstrations “in order to assert their own agenda”
(Conde and Jazeel 2013, 443). This consisted primarily of undermining and
delegitimizing the Rousseff administration while promoting the “neoliberal
globalising project” (Saad-Filho 2013, 662).
Indeed, the media and business elites saw this latest mobilization as an
opportunity to remove the PT from power altogether in the upcoming elections in 2014. With the economy in decline, the demonstrations helped push
President Dilma Rousseff’s approval ratings in polls down from a high of 80%
before March 2013 (ibid.) to 30% in mid-July of the same year (ibid., 663).
The government did attempt to win back the initiative: fare increases were
rescinded, a new participative Public Transport Council was promised, and
more money was pledged for public transport and for health (Conde and Jazeel
2013, 445). Moreover, new laws against corruption were introduced and the
government proposed a referendum on political reform. Yet, most of these initiatives were stopped in their tracks by the existing unreformed institutionality,
with Congress, for example, rejecting the referendum proposal as “unfeasible,” and instead announcing cuts in education and health (ibid.).
Ideological colonization of emerging parties can also be observed in the
Brazilian case. In the 2014 elections, for example, there was a rush on the
part of elites to endorse Socialist Party candidate Marina Silva in her challenge to Rousseff. Silva enjoyed considerable support among Brazil’s highly
oligopolized private media, and each time she surged in the polls, corresponding surges were felt in the Brazilian stock exchange, suggesting endorsement
from the country’s financial and business elite, despite her strong background
in environmental politics (Grandin 2014). Once Silva lost in the first round,
however, elites support swiftly moved to Aécio Neves, the PSDB challenger.
The Right’s gamble almost paid off in the elections, with Rousseff barely
winning against Neves by a mere 3.28% of the vote and the PT losing seats
in Congress. This, however, emboldened the same sectors to organize more
demonstrations in 2015 with similar demands, in which calls for Rousseff’s
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impeachment, and even for the return of the military government, began to
be heard (Jimenez-Barca, 2015). Instrumental in the genesis of these protests were the corruption scandals involving the giant, mostly state-owned oil
company Petrobras, providing kickbacks to politicians in return for favors,
brought to light by a judicial inquiry known as Lava Jato (Car Wash). While
the media and elites projected these scandals as being entirely the responsibility of Rousseff, despite her not having been accused of any crime, many of the
accused were in fact from the Right, including the Speakers of the Chamber of
Deputies, Eduardo Cunha, and of the Senate, Renan Calheiros, both from the
PMDB; the chief opposition leader, and Rousseff’s presidential challenger in
the 2014 elections, Aécio Neves, of the PSDB; and, Michel Temer, Rousseff’s
then-vice-president also of the PMDB (Saad-Filho 2015). Of these only Cunha
lost his position, after having served his purpose as the spearhead of the process which led to Rousseff’s impeachment.
Temer, of course, ultimately replaced Dilma Rousseff as president on 31
August 2016, despite the accusations of corruption against him, in a similar
process to that previously executed in Paraguay against President Lugo in 2012
(see Lambert 2012). After a tortuous and highly questioned impeachment process, the Senate convicted Rousseff of using the pedalada, a commonly used
accounting technique to temporarily reduce the deficit, despite a Senate committee previously declaring that this was not an impeachable offense (Watts
2016). While some suggested that this act was in order to stall the Lava Jato
process (see Miranda 2016), it also became clear that a key objective was not
just to restore neoliberalism but to embed it more deeply in Brazil’s governance structures. We can see then in this process the use of electoral, mobilizational, and semi-constitutional strategies to remove Rousseff, and indeed to
destroy the PT in order to re-establish the country’s neoliberal path.
Once Rousseff’s removal was achieved, the neoliberal restoration project
was swift to establish itself. Rousseff’s erstwhile vice president, Michel Temer,
on assuming the presidency in August 2016, first led this neoliberal restoration project in post-PT Brazil. He immediately announced standard neoliberal policies such as a fire sale privatization of state assets, possibly including
parts of Petrobras, the state-owned oil giant (Robinson 2012) and areas of the
defense industry (Adghirni 2016), a wide-ranging labor law eliminating many
historical workers’ rights (Goldstein 2019), as well as cuts in public spending on social programs, and increased autonomy for the Central Bank (Leahy
and Pearson 2016). He also introduced a new law to set constitutional limits
on spending for the next 20 years (Robinson 2012), hence institutionalizing
austerity for the foreseeable future, eliminating the minimum allocation for
education and health, reducing access for the poor to these social goods, and
making it much more difficult for any future (Left) government to increase
social spending. Moreover, Temer was consistently criticized for a negative
attitude to gender and other cultural rights.
Jair Bolsonaro, who assumed the presidency in Brazil on 1 January 2019,
winning over 55% of the vote, further radicalized the Temer agenda (Rangel 2018). Using the IEMP structure derived from Mann earlier to examine
Democratization and De-democratization 53
Bolsonaro’s initial measures on assuming power indicate the installation of
a type of hype-reactionary neoliberalism. Ideologically there is a pronounced
rejection of previously instituted measures aimed at reducing class, gender, or
racial inequalities, directly relating these to “communism” (Berron 2018). This
is evidenced by Bolsonaro’s pledge in his inaugural address to fight “nefarious
ideologies” that destroy Brazil’s “values and traditions,” including “gender ideology” (Smyth and Lloyd 2018). Bolosonaro’s election was heavily supported
by evangelical leaders, a support rewarded by his appointment of Damares
Alves, an evangelical pastor and adviser to the evangelical parliamentary caucus, as Minister of Women, Family and Human Rights. This latter appointment
ensured the removal of LGBT concerns from consideration by this ministry,
building on Bolsonaro’s notoriously negative attitude to LGBT rights (Associated Press 2019). A major part of this conservative agenda is in education, with
Bolsonaro promising that he will ensure that schools prepare their children
“for the job market and not for political militancy” (BBC News 2019), with
his Minister for Education, conservative philosopher Ricardo Velez Rodriguez,
shutting down the agency responsible for diversity in the Education Ministry
(Lopes and Faiola 2019), and hence jeopardizing the aforementioned affirmative action policies in favor of Afro-Brazilian and poor students.
A further interesting characteristic of Bolsonaro is his rejection of the media
establishment in Brazil (Demori et al. 2018) and his successful use of social
media, especially WhatsApp in his election (Nemer 2018). However, such
animosity to mainstream media is less concerned with the high ownership
concentration of Brazil’s media, and its unequal outcomes, than his desire to
hegemonize public discourse. Bolsonaro instead favors those media who support him, such as Record TV, owned by billionaire Evangelical bishop, Edir
Macedo (Greenwald 2018) as indicated by his promise to review the distribution of funds for official publicity (Latin American Herald Tribune 2019),
rather than interfere with property rights of non-Bolsonarista media.
Economically, Bolsonaro looks to radically deepen neoliberalism as evidenced by his choice of Paulo Guedes, ex Chicago School professor and
acolyte of Milton Friedman (1912–2006), giving him free rein to choose his
team (Latin American Herald Tribune 2019). A key part of this program will
be to deepen privatizations with promises to privatize or liquidate 100 state
run companies (Fonseca, Mano and Baum 2019), including Electrobras, the
state electricity giant, and many airports and seaports (Conley 2019). Equally,
Bolsonaro has shown his anti-state animus by closing the Labour Ministry
(and hence undermining state regulation of employment conditions), installing a federal hiring freeze on state employment, and promising to reduce state
employment by 30% (Lopes and Faiola 2019). Moreover, Guedes has promised to slash taxes for the rich, aiming at halving the tax take in GDP terms
from 36% to 20% (Conley 2019).
Bolsonaro has never made any secret of his admiration for the military and
the military dictatorship which ruled Brazil from 1964–85. Bolsonaro himself is an ex-army captain, his vice-president Hamilton Mourao is a retired
army general, and by 2018 Bolsonaro had appointed seven former military
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Barry Cannon
personnel to his 22 member cabinet, more than any administration since the
dictatorship (Tsavkko Garcia 2018). Bolsonaro has moved Brazil closer to the
US militarily, pledging to open a US military base in Brazil (Brooks and Paraguassu 2019), although this has been questioned by some members of the Brazilian military (Viga Gaier 2019). He has also made clear his intention to fully
embrace the US-led “war on drugs,” adopting “iron fist” policies on drugs and
crime, relaxing gun ownership laws and citizen legal protection against shootto-kill policies on the part of security forces.
Politically, Bolsonaro has signaled his intention to “rid Brazil of socialism.”
Immediately on assuming office he launched a purge of left-wing government
officials with approximately 300 people expected to be dismissed, in order to
“do away with the Socialist and Communist ideas that during 30 years have
led us to the chaos in which we live” (Kahn, 2012). Furthermore, the new
Congress is primarily dominated by like-minded Congress members, signaling
the mainstreaming of such discourse (Costa 2018). This increased presence of
radical right ideology in Congress, along with moves to privilege such sectors
in the media, all point to greater ideological homogeneity in Brazilian politics
and state around market freedoms and elite, male, privilege.
Finally, transnationally, there is an abandonment of the PT’s carefully constructed foreign policy. Bolsonaro, along with his conspiracy theory peddling
foreign minister, Ernesto Araujó (Tsavkko Garcia 2018), has expressed support for President Trump, who has returned the favor. Bolsonaro has rapidly
moved to follow the White House lead regionally, by increasing criticism of
Venezuela, Cuba, and Nicaragua among other leftist governments, instead
pledging support for US policy on these countries. He is seeking Brazil’s abandonment of UNASUR, promising a new regional forum PROSUL (Forum for
the Progress of South America), closer to the Pacific Alliance ideologically and
in terms of membership (Europa Press 2019) and “has no clear policy vis-àvis Mercosur” (Stuenkel 2019). Further afield, he has pivoted Brazil towards
the radical right Israeli government, followed the US lead in casting doubt on
multilateralism, expressing criticism of “globalism” and arguing in favor of
reform of multilateral bodies such as the WTO (Paraguassu and Brito 2019).
He announced Brazil’s withdrawal from negotiations on the Trans-Pacific Partnership, again following the United States’ lead (Lopes and Faiola 2019) and
threatened to withdraw Brazil from the Paris Climate Accord (also following
the US) but later retracted that threat (Leal 2018). Nevertheless, such moves
are limited by other important relations such as that with China, Brazil’s foremost trading partner (Lopes and Faiola 2019) or Brazil’s Middle Eastern markets for its beef.
7. Conclusion: Hyper-Reactionary Neoliberalism
in Post-“Pink Tide” Brazil
To sum up, in this article I argue the following with regard to Left/Right relations in Latin America. First, these relationships are shaped and controlled to
Democratization and De-democratization 55
an extraordinary degree by the sources of social power. These sources of social
power – economic, ideological, political, military, and transnational – are dominated by neoliberalism in the present conjuncture, both at a policy and at a
discursive level, reducing space for alternative policy constellations to emerge.
Additionally, I argue that democratization and de-democratization processes
can be mapped on to such Left/Right interaction. In such a configuration, the
regional Right’s aim to install systems of neoliberal governance at a national
and transnational level, can be qualified as de-democratizing, as neoliberalism
almost always ensures greater class inequality at the very least. On the other
hand, the “pink tide” government policies were by and large aimed at reducing
class inequalities, and often gender, race, and sexual inequalities as well. These
efforts, while not eradicating and replacing neoliberalism, weakened elite social
power in many of these power domains to a sufficient degree to alarm neoliberalized elites. These results unleashed right-wing counter-acting strategies at the
institutional, mobilizational, and semi- or extra-constitutional levels, suggesting a direct link between Right strategies and the degree of threat felt by elites
to the neoliberal model. The aim of these right-wing counter-offensives was to
achieve national neoliberal restoration projects, eventually linking these into
wider regional and transnational neoliberalized governance structures.
I then used the case of the PT governments in Brazil to illustrate this theory,
arguing that while the PT left some important areas within the identified power
domains unreformed, they still disturbed settled social hierarchies in many of
them, particularly in terms of class, gender, racial, and sexual hierarchies, and
in terms of state intervention in the economy. The Right eventually responded
by activating their remaining social power through the three identified strategies to successfully remove a sitting PT president, Dilma Rousseff, and to arrest
and imprison her predecessor and mentor, Lula in 2018. With the PT electorally defeated and its historical leadership removed, this allowed free rein to the
successor Temer and Bolsonaro administrations to reverse the democratizing
gains implemented by the PT, leading a rapid neoliberal restoration project.
Bolsonaro in particular has augmented this project with a hyper-reactionary
discourse and actions designed to discombobulate, distract, and dismember
the Left. This chapter seeks to offer a novel analytical framework with which
to help understand such processes, and hopefully contribute to recomposing a
unified response to the challenges they present.
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5
The Right and Neo-Golpismo in
Latin America. A Comparative
Reading of Honduras (2009),
Paraguay (2012), and
Brazil (2016)
Lorena Soler and Florencia Prego1
1. Introduction
As 21st-century populist and progressive governments continue to recede
across the region, there is a need to look more closely at the “new” Latin
American Right. Neoliberalism is being reshaped across the continent through
the activity of political parties, in the ideas propagated by intellectuals and/
or media conglomerates, and, most importantly, through the direct action of a
bourgeoisie bent on investing democracy with new meanings. In Haiti (2004),
Honduras (2009), Paraguay (2012), and Brazil (2016) the Right has seized
government by using a series of novel coup methods that suggest that Latin
American democracy is at a turning point, and this reality belongs at the top of
the intellectual agenda.2
These new “deconstituent” methods or “overthrow technologies” (Ramírez
2002) are taking place in the context of populist and/or progressive governance, targeting presidencies whose legitimacy emanates from sovereign will
and formal democratic rule. Different from the coups during the 1960s and
’70s, which were carried out by National Armed Forces and overseen by the
Doctrine of National Security, contemporary coup-agents arise primarily from
civil society, employ legal tools as their primary putsch methods, and rely less
on physical violence. At the same time, this development is taking place in
a post-September 11 framework in which foreign policy is increasingly contained within a terrorist paradigm and no longer adheres to the intense bipolar
disputes of the Cold War.
Bearing in mind this characterization, the present work employs a historical
sociology approach in order to perform a comparative analysis of 21st-century
coups in Honduras, Paraguay, and Brazil, examining the intervening actors –
political parties, legislatures, and judiciaries – as well as the types of putsch
mechanisms employed. Attention will additionally, if secondarily, be placed on
the role of the armed forces and mass media in the coups.
Our initial hypothesis is that wherever populist and/or progressive governments are in crisis, the Right has been able to concentrate its strength in parliamentary spaces and create the necessary conditions of possibility to launch
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a coup against constitutional presidencies, using the legal and political tools of
democratic rule. This “new” Right has appealed to legislature and the judiciary
in order to carry out its coups and instate a new order.
This study is organized into four parts. The first offers an overview of the
diverse approaches and theoretical perspectives employed to define the new
coup formats. The second analyzes national cases and the role of the intervening actors, using the following pairing: the role of political parties and the
legislature, the judiciary and mass media, and, lastly, electoral processes and
the types of governments that take office after the coup. Finally, by way of
closure, we shall look at the relation between the diverse right-wing forces and
neo-golpismo.
2. Conceptual Definitions: Political Instability?
Rupture? Change? Coup?
In its original formulation, presented for the first time in 1639 in Gabriel Naudé’s Considérations politiques sur les coups d’État, a coup is defined as an
act carried out by the sovereign in order to remove his own officials, accused
of conspiring against him. No matter the case, the factor of surprise and the
coup’s secretive conception were keys to committing the act. However, by the
19th century, constitutionalism had constrained the meaning of the coup to
signify a change in government instigated by those in power that violated the
legal constitution of the state. That is, state officials would be responsible for
committing the coup – be they the sovereign, the titular holder of legal political
power, civilian or military officials – using the elements and institutions of the
state apparatus itself in order to remove the sovereign.
In his exhaustive study, Rafael Martínez (2014) maintains that the difference between Gabriel Naudé’s original definition is that while in the past the
coup was an extraordinary instrument of absolutist power, used to preserve the
prince’s dominion against external and internal threats to the state, the modern
coup is not an act of defense or protection of the system, but rather one that
interrupts democracy: “in contrast with the coup as a protection of (absolutist)
power, there emerges the coup as an attack on (democratic) power” (Martínez
2014, 203).3
The coup does not always produce a dictatorship or instate an authoritarian
or military order,4 no more than all dictatorships are the same in all times and
places. For the Romans, dictatorship was an exceptional and necessary moment
meant to guarantee order: the state is suspended during times of extreme external conflict, civil war, or internal turbulence. The Senate retained the ability to
appoint a civilian as dictator (who could be a member of the Senate, a consul,
or patrician) and granted him command for a period of six months until order
could be restored (Leiras 2010, 27).
Carl Schmitt (in Dictatorship, 1921, and Political Theology, 1922) provided
a foundational theoretical contribution, later to be taken up in diverse intellectual and academic analyses, centered on his definition of the “commissary
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 63
dictatorship” and the “sovereign dictatorship” as moments in which rights are
suspended. Schmitt speaks in favor of using exceptional powers and certain
prerogatives by the executive branch in order to govern in times of crisis. Thus,
in the midst of extreme emergency, the sovereign decides on what must be
done to eradicate the emergency situation and whether the constitutional order
should be suspended in order to resolve the crisis. In other words, the sovereign considers the conjuncture and determines the state of exception.
In legal theory, the coup, understood as a violation of prevailing legality,
implies a shift in foundational rules and, subsequently, the validation process
for all its laws (whether or not changes are instituted). It follows that for international law, a government emerging from a coup must request/receive recognition from other states.
Despite the foregoing, overly extending the coup label, as Pérez Liñán (2008)
has pointed out, can also run the risk of producing a “dead-end” in which every
president’s removal can be brought before the Organization of American States
(OAS) and, if followed by majority approval, become the instigating cause for
arbitrary intervention. As Liñan suggests, a new pattern of political instability
characterized by recurrent crises tends towards the removal or resignation of
presidents, without in any way implying a break with democratic rule.
Our intention is not to explain the coup as a problem of political instability. Quite the opposite, political instability can in fact be a decisive element
allowing for the types of social change seen in the region during the 21st century. Coups against Jean-Bertrand Aristide in Haiti (2004), Manuel Zelaya in
Honduras (2009), Fernando Lugo in Paraguay (2012), and Dilma Rousseff in
Brazil (2016), as well as attempted coups against Hugo Chávez Frías in Venezuela (2002),5 Evo Morales in Bolivia (2002), and Rafael Correa in Ecuador
(2010) are substantially different from the removal of presidents at the end of
the 1990s and early 2000s, occurring in the midst of neoliberalism’s crisis as
the dominant mode of accumulation and domination. Between 2000 and 2005
there were at least six presidents who failed to serve a complete term: Jamil
Mahuad (2000) and Lucio Gutiérrez (2005) in Ecuador, Alberto Fujimori in
Peru (2000), Fernando de la Rúa in Argentina (2001), Gonzalo Sánchez de
Lozada (2003) and Carlos Mesa (2005) in Bolivia. These putsches were instigated by popular movements, mobilizations, and street-based insurrectional
logics that, in conjunction with a rupture in the traditional political system, led
to the fall of their respective presidents.
Unlike the presidential instability of the 1980–90 period, 21st-century coups
attempt to overrule, eliminate, or inhibit (depending on the given relation of
forces, and the capacity to impose a new political will) the course of a process
underway that generally emerges as a threat to the established order, what Perry
Anderson has called “preventative counterrevolutions” in reference to the populist upswing of the 1950s. As Waldo Ansaldi points out, “when democracy is
radicalized to such an extent that it seriously questions bourgeois hegemony,
this class will not hesitate to employ violence of any kind” (2014, 28). What
is being described here are actions designed to impose a substitutive social
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order and thus prevent the kind of radicalization of democracy as took place in
constituent processes throughout the 21st century.
Neo-golpismo can thus be defined as a phenomenon primarily spearheaded
by civic actors who, at the same time that they generate unstable conditions
or scenarios, nevertheless invoke the idea of a constitutional, legal, or institutional resolution that keeps them from breaking with democratic rule, even in
cases where they are violating popular sovereignty (Tokatlian 2009, 2012), and
often times with implicit or explicit support from the armed forces. Formally
speaking, this is a less virulent and more gradual type of coup.
One of the main arguments cited by coup instigators is that they are intervening in the name of preserving democratic order. Institutional military dictatorships used a similar invocation against the threat of communism in the
Southern Cone in the 1970s. More commonly today, coup leaders concentrate
less on a posteriori legitimations for their actions – an approach they themselves would acknowledge as illegal – and instead seek to demonstrate the
legality of the acts and processes employed in order to supplant the executive.
Hence the legislature and the judiciary have assumed a special prominence for
their role as guarantors of legitimacy in the new coups.
Neo-golpismo is thus paradoxical: it recognizes as democratically elected
the same governments it is deposing while maintaining that they do not govern
democratically. It follows that several authors prefer to denominate these new
putsch methods as constitutional coups (Roitman Rosenmann 2013), since
they employ legal mechanisms and avail themselves of the participation of
democratically elected authorities. In that sense, it can be said that while
coups in Latin America [still] follow the agenda of the dominant classes,
[the] exclusively military coups, perpetrated with the ample autonomy
granted to the armed forces during the Cold War, are disappearing and
giving way to constitutional coups, which are cleaner and more effective.
(Roitman Rosenmann 2013, 200)
3. Actors and Methods of Intervention
in 21st-Century Coups
As we have earlier suggested, there is a dialectical relation between processes
of social change in 21st-century Latin America and the specific coup methods
pursued. This shift in the correlation of forces has imposed determinate conditions on the strategies and interventions of the region’s right-wing forces
(political parties, corporations, political elites, and the military) as they have
attempted to recover control of the state and restore a new social order.
Using a comparative framework to analyze the coups against Zelaya in Honduras (2009), Lugo in Paraguay (2012), and Rousseff in Brazil (2016), it is clear
that the modes and methods for removing presidents were not identical. The
degree to which political processes were consolidated in one or another government varied significantly and, therefore, the correlation of forces or party
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 65
alliances proved to be a variable factor. In the case of Brazil, the coup process
that culminated in the impeachment of Rousseff (2016) was much longer and
more complex than was the case with Zelaya in Honduras (2009) and Lugo in
Paraguay (2012). The Workers’ Party (PT) managed to establish a hegemony
in Brazil with no parallel in the other two national cases: “impeachment undid
the Lulist6 social pact, bringing to an end a political cycle begun in 2003 with
a coalition overseen by a PT hegemony” (Goldstein 2016, 91).
In each of the three cases studied here, the deposed government had previously suffered from waning support within the dominant force and the conditions of governmentality had come to rest on ever more fragile party alliances.
Zelaya, representing the Liberal Party that triumphed in the 2006 election,
demonstrated an unexpected shift in terms of his own personal and political
trajectory when he assumed the executive office. By promoting heterodox,
pragmatic policies in support of public investment and state administration (De
Gori 2014, 53), frictions with the dominant bloc soon came to the fore: Zelaya
promoted accords with “Petrocaribe,” gained admission for Honduras to the
Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of Our America,7 increased the minimum
wage, and began a program of agrarian reform granting land titles to peasants.
These measures led to conflicts with the political class (the National Party and
his own), as well as the economic and military elites who denounced the government’s “Chavista turn.”
The electoral victory of Lugo in Paraguay represented a sea change in the
political history of that country: it broke with 61 uninterrupted years of the
National Republican Association – Colorado Party hegemony in government –
a party with historic connections to the authoritarian regime of Alfredo Stroessner (1954–1989) – as well as the democratic regime instated after his fall.
The Patriotic Alliance for Change (APC) comprised of social movements, leftwing parties and the traditional Liberal Party,8 enabled Lugo’s presidential victory and that of liberal Federico Franco as vice president. Nevertheless,
the origins of Lugo’s victory were also at the root of his weakness, and
his unifying profile, overcoming partisan lines, was also reflected in the
weakness of left-wing forces in the legislature: the same political process
that made Fernando Lugo possible also granted broad powers to Congress
and left the executive in a weak position.
(Soler 2011, 43)
In Brazil, Rousseff began her second term in the midst of an increasingly
severe economic crisis, made worse by an international arena that offered few
of the advantages she had enjoyed in her first term. In that context, cutbacks
in social spending and a series of orthodox economic measures resulted in a
reduction of the government’s support. The impeachment of Rousseff thus took
place in the midst of a “perfect storm” in which different crises converged: the
economic crisis (based on a declining national-developmentalist cycle, made
worse by the international crisis); a political crisis (whose counterpart was the
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ascent of the Brazilian Democratic Movement, PMDB); and a social crisis
(based on growing discontent towards the government’s economic policies)
(Goldstein 2016).
It was against this general background – racked by political weaknesses,
facing institutional, economic, and social crises, with right-wing forces gathering strength in parliament as the executive branch was simultaneously weakened by opposition parties (as well as its own coalition partners) – that the
conditions for Latin America’s coups became possible. However, the causes
and arguments in favor of the respective coups varied from one case to another.
In Honduras, the coup against Zelaya (2009) was triggered by an opinion
poll concerning the possibility of a Constituent Assembly. This was quickly
rebuffed by the Honduran legislature and judiciary and, finally, led to the
intervention of the armed forces. The main argument against the Constitution’s modification was that it would allow for the president’s re-election. The
Supreme Court of Justice, the Superior Electoral Court, and Congress branded
the poll as illegal, and the election materials employed in the poll were confiscated by the armed forces. The president of the republic however ignored the
decision and decided to advance with the electoral process and depose the Joint
Chief of Staff, General Romeo Vásquez Velásquez.
In Paraguay, the massacre of Curuguaty (15 June 2012) led to calls for a
political trial against Lugo. The massacre occurred when an eviction on the
property of Blas Riquelme (the National Republican Association – Colorado
Party) led to the murder of 12 peasants and five police officers. The real cause,
however, is significantly more complicated, involving powerful economic
interests connected to agro-business with representation in Congress and the
media (Escobar 2012, 88). There had previously been 23 attempts to subject the president to political trial, although the necessary majority was never
attained.
In Brazil, the specific accusation levelled against Rousseff (2016) was that
she had rubberstamped decrees allowing for supplementary credits and delayed
transfer of payments from the National Treasury to the Bank of Brazil.9 In what
follows, we will analyze how, while for impeachment to be possible it was necessary to demonstrate that an act of “criminal responsibility” had taken place,
none of the accusations appeared capable of substantiating said crime.
Who were the actors that made the coups possible? What forms did neogolpismo assume? In what follows, we will explore these explanatory variables.
3.1 Political Parties and Legislative Powers
Wherever populist and/or progressive governments have come to power in the
early 21st century in Latin America, parliament has become a place of institutional refuge for the reorganization of right-wing opposition and a site where a
parliamentary ideology could be constructed. This phenomenon, overseen by
the combined forces of elite conservatives and the mass media, has sought to
undermine the legitimacy of the executive branch (Salas Oroño 2010).
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 67
In Honduras, Paraguay, and Brazil, as an organ of partisan representation the
legislative branch would become a central actor in keeping with the specific
way that the coup processes unfolded. Right-wing forces with links to traditional parties gathered principally around the Liberal Party (PL) and National
Party in Honduras, the ANR-Colorado Party and the Authentic Liberal Radical Party (PLRA) in Paraguay, and the Democratic Movement of Brazil Party
(PMDB). Nevertheless, the PL (Honduras), the PLRA (Paraguay), and the
PMDB (Brazil) were part of a governing coalition.
Neo-golpismo in Honduras employed a mixed format involving both the
armed forces and the legislature. Unlike other coups, the armed forces did not
follow their own initiative, nor did they use direct physical violence or take
the government by force. Nevertheless, they were responsible for arresting
Zelaya and deporting him to Costa Rica on 28 June 2009. Hours later, the
National Congress read a letter of resignation, attributed to the president, and
then approved a legislative decree (No. 141/2009) ordering his removal from
office and naming Robert Micheletti (PL) as his replacement, to serve as constitutional president until the end of Zelaya’s term.
There were three factors informing the accusation levelled in parliament
against Zelaya: the refusal to submit to Congress the General Budget of Revenue and Expenses for the Republic during the 2009 fiscal year; the collection
of materials for the opinion poll on the Constituent Assembly, which, by court
order was to be confiscated by the Air Force; the dismissal of General Romeo
Vásquez Velásquez as Joint Chief of Staff (Gómez 2014, 61).10 Thus, the Honduran Congress declared Zelaya guilty without having carried out any trial,
violating due process and the right of defense, preventing the possibility of the
acts in question being tried before a judge (Gómez 2014, 65).
The coup, sanctioned by Congress and the Supreme Court, was also supported by the armed forces in a clear demonstration that the military was an
ideological and geopolitical buttress of bipartisan consensus. Parliament, representing traditional parties and the economic Right, had meanwhile become
a force capable of deposing the president and a laboratory more generally for
the undermining of presidential powers (De Gori 2014, 59). The coup thus
laid bare the economic and political elites’ domination and control, as well as
the resistance they would pose to any other group’s attempt to dispute their
hegemony and control of the political system (Cuadra Lira 2014, 47).
In Paraguay (2012) and Brazil (2016), coups were carried out as political
trials and impeachments, as provisioned by the constitution of each country.
Political trials in Paraguay were modified through the 1992 reform to the
National Constitution (Article 255).11 Its main objective was to obtain greater
balance between the branches of the state, and above all, to impose limits
on the executive after 35 years of dictatorship (1954–89). Political trial thus
became the preferred mechanism for limiting attempts to perpetuate presidential rule. Nevertheless, that period saw an increase in parliamentary powers (in
detriment to the executive), exacerbating a hegemonic deficit characteristic of
Paraguayan politics since the fall of Stroessner (Escobar 2012, 86). In the case
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Lorena Soler and Florencia Prego
of Brazil, the Federal Constitution of 1988 allows for impeachment proceedings (Articles 85 and 86), as well as Law No. 1,079/1950 pertaining to “criminal responsibility.” It followed from those precedents that for a president to be
removed from office, there must be proof of criminal responsibility.
Political trials and impeachments had been put in practice before Lugo
and Rousseff. In Paraguay, the first precedent can be found when Raúl Cubas
Grau was nearly deposed after the assassination of then-Vice-President Luis
María Argaña (on 23 March 1999), an event that produced a wave of protests
known as the “March massacre in Paraguay.” The resulting repression and
deaths over the course of those days led the Chamber of Deputies to present
a motion before the Chamber of Senators calling for a political trial against
President Cubas Grau, accused of “acts that constitute malfeasance and
that furthermore could constitute crimes committed while exercising duties.”
Nevertheless, the president tendered his resignation before trial proceedings
could commence. Another case, involving Luis González Macchi, in 2001,
was unsuccessful due to an inability to obtain the necessary majority in the
Chamber of Senators.
Brazil’s Fernando Collor de Mello, accused of corruption, money laundering, and influence peddling, was subject to impeachment proceedings in
1992.12 In addition to massive street protests, the then-president gradually lost
support among the country’s main economic groups, media, and parliament.
The lack of support from the legislature in Paraguay – if not outright opposition – and the predominance of the ANR-Colorado Party in the same legislative
branch proved to be a major obstacle to Paraguay’s Alliance government. Lugo
was struck down by mouthpieces who, in the words of José Carlos Rodríguez,
“accused the government of being leftist in order to keep it from becoming so,”
while the government itself demolished its own social and electoral support,
expressed days prior to the coup in the figures of indignant citizens on social
media and in the murder of peasants (Soler 2012, 29). Right-wing forces in
parliament, represented primarily through the ANR-Colorado Party and the
Authentic Radical Liberal Party (PLRA), sanctioned the request and ultimate
approval of the political trial.
The swiftness with which Lugo’s trial was processed is without precedent.
This was a televised coup: the Chamber of Deputies lodged their claim and
issued a request (approved in a short few hours), and the Chamber of Senators executed the request in just over 24 hours. Seventy-nine deputies voted
in favor of the political trial and 39 members of parliament deposed him and
named Federico Franco as president, the latter swearing in the very same day.
Lugo’s indictment was based on malfeasance, resting on his alleged “ineffectiveness, negligence, ineptitude and unpreparedness” in relation to the
Curuguaty massacre. To that accusation were added others related to a political
event held at the Engineering Corps of the armed forces (2009), the Ñacunday
case,13 the overall insecurity of the country, and the fact that he was a signature
of Mercosur’s Ushuaia II Protocol.
Lugo’s “express trial” consisted in the violation of virtually every constitutional guarantee:14 the right to a defense trial, the principle of legality,
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 69
procedural law, the right to reasonable notification, the right to the production of evidence, the principle of consistency,15 among others. However,
most objectionable of all was the issue of proof for the alleged crimes, since
there was effectively none provided. The criminal complaint presented by
the prosecution maintained that “the aforementioned grounds are public
knowledge and therefore do not require proof, according to the current legal
framework.” This appeal was carried out by giving recourse to the primary
clause for all dictatorial repression: “political crimes do not require proof,
being ‘public knowledge.’ ” That accusation, in plain defiance of the republican and democratic contract of 1992, was publicly approved by almost the
entire Chamber, thus sanctioning a return to the earlier dictatorial contract
(Rivarola 2012, 46).
The accusation levelled against Rousseff in Brazil could not be justified on
the grounds of “criminal responsibility.” However, her impeachment was successfully carried out all the same. The alignment of a “putschist political class”
in parliament (Salas Oroño 2016), comprised not just of deputies aligned with
PMBD but also the PP, PSD, the PTB, and other “medium-sized and minor
parties,” made possible a joint indictment.
Fewer than 5% of all the intervening deputies mentioned the alleged budget
irregularities,16 laying bare the fact that the arguments brought against the
president were simply a pretext to refute popular sovereignty (Gentili 2016,
29). Instead, they appealed to accusatory narratives against the Workers’ Party
in general and Rousseff in particular, claiming they were “mafiosos,” corrupt,
unfit for governing, that the government did not respect the law of God, that
it was supported by communists, that it did not pursue a policy of growth and
adopted anti-business measures. There were also calls to put an end to Chavismo, Bolivarianism, socialism, homosexuals, and human rights. Similar calls
could be heard in the Paraguayan parliament, where “there was a soft return
of the ‘democracy without communism’ discourse, an authoritarian ideology
characteristic of the defeated dictatorship from twenty-three years earlier”
(Rodríguez 2012, 49).
3.2 Judiciary and the Mass Media
Political parties and legislatures are not the only important players in 21stcentury coups. The judiciary and mass media provide coups with a cover of
legitimacy and disseminate the type of ideology that can sanction the coup.
In Honduras, the judiciary intervened in both the period before and after the
coup. First, the Supreme Court ordered the capture and deportation of Zelaya
for the following crimes: “crimes against the state, the fatherland, abuses of
authority and usurpation of duties.” Second, it declared the armed forces were
acting in defense of the rule of law and characterized the coup as constitutional. In the words of the Supreme Court:
[the Supreme Court] affirms that the origin of the actions taken today are
based on a legal order issued by a competent judge, that its execution is
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in keeping with legal precepts and should be carried out against any who
should impede the commission of the law of the Honduran state.
In Paraguay the Supreme Court intervened similarly, in the context of
Lugo’s attempt to have ruled as unconstitutional (Sentence No. 1323/20
September 2012), and the Chamber of Senators’ resolution to remove him
from office (Resolution No. 881/22 June 2012). According to the ruling of
the Supreme Court, the resolution finding him guilty and stripping him of
office was in keeping with the law. The Supreme Court also ruled that it was
beyond its competency and that of penal law to adjudicate on a political trial
for which the Chamber of Senators is responsible. Thus, the Supreme Court
denied Lugo’s claim of unconstitutionality and, with it, his defense, opting
to legitimize the measure in constitutional terms or simply insisting that the
Court does not have authority to intervene in prerogatives belonging to other
branches of the state.
The judiciary in Brazil not only took an active role at the time of the coup;
for some time running it had maintained an active presence in the political
arena. One of its first acts in that respect involved the Mensalão scandal (the
“monthly pay-out” scandal) in which three important precedents were established for the subsequent arrest of Lula da Silva:
“[R]ewarding for delation” – was introduced in Brazil; indefinite preventive imprisonment, prisão cautelar, long a judicial power used to cram the
country’s jails with its underclass, became for the first time an acceptable
instrument for breaking those above that level; and sentences in a first
court of appeal could no longer be deferred pending confirmation by a
higher court.
(Anderson 2016, 46)
In 2014, Operation Car Wash began one of the major political and legal events
in Brazil’s modern history. Based on recordings from a carwash, a smuggler
was arrested and revealed a plot of corruption and money laundering that
implicated the board of directors of the main construction firms and contractors with Petrobras, as well as deputies, senators, and governors. Two central
figures quickly rose to prominence in the context of the investigation: the judge
Sergio Moro17 and the prosecutor Deltan Dallagnol.
The judiciary in Brazil had already sowed the conditions for the coup prior
to its realization. At the heart of that operation were a series of corruption
claims, backed by a media campaign that would have great impact on society.
As suggested here, reactionary physical violence plays only an auxiliary
role in the methodology of neo-golpismo, particularly compared to the type of
mediatized violence that Gene Sharp has studied (1988). The media has shown
itself capable of creating crisis narratives in which a scenario of social and
political instability would justify intervention. The power of the mass media
thus reflects the ability of the dominant classes to wage an ideological battle
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 71
in order to delegitimize populist and/or progressive governments and policies
(Prego 2016, 12).
In their study of mass media in Paraguay, Soler and Nikolajczuk (2017)
analyze the relation between economic and media groups (the Vierci and Zuccolillo Groups) with regard to Lugo, focusing on three cycles. In the last of
these cycles, discourses developed and disseminated by media conglomerates
are subsequently taken up in the argumentation of criminal indictment.
In each of the three cases, the mass media and social networks have played
a central part in establishing a coup ideology. As shown in Ariel Goldstein’s
studies, among the narratives created there are several standouts: the narrative
of an “isolated government”; the need to “put an end to conflict and confrontation between citizens of the same nationality”; the “inability” of those in power
to effectively govern; the excessive ambitions of social movements. Paradoxically, while labelling governments with a strong executive as authoritarian and
accusing them of seeking to perpetuate their hold on office, the media simultaneously attempts to uncover a “power vacuum” and a climate of “political
ungovernability.”
The media began to assume a central role in Brazil when, in 2013, the media
itself, along with social networks and large street demonstrations combined to
great effect. The demonstrations and protests, we hasten to add, represented a
broad political and ideological spectrum, becoming truly massive in 2013 and
continuing on into 2016. This period saw deepened political radicalization and
polarization (Bringel 2016), with palpable effects in the political-institutional
and political-electoral spheres. As Salas Oroño indicates (2016), one of the
main organizers of these street demonstrations was the Free Brazil Movement
(MBL) whose members would become candidates of the “putschist political
class” in the October 2016 elections.
Corruption was one of the preferred narratives used for the purposes of eroding political legitimacy. These types of accounts have become common sense
for vast sectors of the population, particularly among an upper-middle class
that is also responsible for establishing public opinion, so that the putsch itself
becomes the culminating phenomenon in a drawn-out process of undermining
presidential legitimacy (Goldstein 2012, 02).
3.3 Coups, Elections, and the Right in Office
Considering the historical processes analyzed here, we can conclude that
these coups allowed for the return of the right-wing to government and state
leadership, and with it, the return of the neoliberal agenda: by first appointing
provisional presidents to see out constitutional terms – without interrupting
institutional continuity – and, subsequently, calling for elections that would
restore the right-wing to the executive.
In Honduras, the call for elections was intended to calm the country’s political crisis and provide positive signs to the same international community
that had repudiated the coup and refused to recognize Roberto Micheletti’s
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Lorena Soler and Florencia Prego
provisional government. Rather than mollifying the political crisis, it instead
grew worse, leading to a split within the Liberal Party and the Honduran bipartisan political structure. Porfirio Lobo, candidate for the National Party that
lost against Zelaya in 2005, took the elections in an electoral process with 65%
abstention. Voting took place at the same time as the former president sought
refuge in the Brazilian Embassy and the country was expelled from the OAS.18
Porfirio Lobo and his successor Orlando Hernández implemented reforms
leading to increased poverty, the loss of rights, and an increase in violence.
With Federico Franco’s swearing-in, the liberals took office in Paraguay for
the first time in 72 years and the ANR-Colorado Party was able to separate
itself from the political crisis it had largely created. In an attempt to demonstrate a return to institutional normality and differentiate itself from Lugo’s
government, Franco implemented an agrarian policy in line with the interests
of transnational firms and large agricultural corporations. The ANR-Colorado
Party returned to power in the 2013 elections, with businessman Horacio
Cartes assuming the executive office. That victory represented an attempt to
put to rest the crisis that had first upset the hegemonic system with the end of
Stroessner’s regime: it was, in other words, a fresh attempt by the bourgeoisie
to establish a new order based on the neoliberal project (Quevedo 2015, 52).
Cartes trimmed the social role of the state and established an alliance with both
the transnational and local bourgeoisie: his government is the expression of
a renewed local right-wing configuration linked to a new rentier class (Soler
2014, 81).
In Brazil, Rousseff’s replacement, Michel Temer, had very low approval and
legitimacy ratings. His first measures in office were to eliminate entire Ministries (including those for Women, Culture, Development, Agriculture, Racial
Equality, and Human Rights), scale back the intervention of the state into
economic matters (cuts to social policies and programs), create a reform bill
affecting retirement and pensions law, and generally court private investment.
However, the climax to Brazil’s political drama was yet to come: the arrest
of Lula da Silva in April 2018, followed by the denial of his candidacy by
resolution of the Supreme Electoral Court. Following the impeachment, persecution of the PT and, especially, Lula da Silva was intensified, culminating
in a disproportionate sentence against the former president. With Lula da Silva
imprisoned and unable to compete in the presidential race, the 2018 elections
were the scene of a momentous political shift for both Brazil and Latin America: the victory of former military captain Jair Bolsonaro.
In each of these cases, the rightward turn was enshrined by elections.
4. The Right-Wing and Neo-Golpismo.
Characteristics of a New Order
Populist and/or progressive governments of the early 21st century carried out
profound transformations, placing a check on neoliberal hegemony, advancing substantially in terms of redistributive policies and greatly expanding the
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 73
domain of social rights. These alterations had a direct impact on the “new
Right,” affecting their strategies for recovering control of government and the
state. One novel element rises to the surface: right-wing political participation has evolved through the direct institutionalization of the bourgeoisie in
power. Perhaps the most eloquent examples of this have been Sebastian Piñera
in Chile, Horacio Cartes in Paraguay, Mauricio Macri in Argentina, and Pedro
Kuczynski in Peru. This same phenomenon saw the incorporation of local
business and/or corporate bureaucracy into ministries and strategic sectors of
governments, achieving direct rather than mediated control of their class interests (Nikolajczuk and Prego 2017).
Right-wing forces have appealed to two mechanisms on this front: electoral strategies, as in the case of Mauricio Macri in Argentina (2015), Jimmy
Morales in Guatemala (2016), Lenin Moreno in Ecuador (2017), Sebastián
Piñera in Chile (2010, 2018), and Iván Duque in Colombia (2018). The other
cases, analyzed here, rely on coups.
However, with the victory of Donald Trump in the United States (2016)
and the rise of right-wing and far-right forces in Europe,19 the phenomenon
we are here describing should be situated within a broader geopolitical framework. Enzo Traverso (2018) has defined this emerging right-wing tendency
as post-fascist, highlighting certain novel elements such as the new Right’s
embrace of institutionality and republican values, its preference for proselytizing strategies in order to build an electoral consensus. Thus, while seeking
to distance itself from fascism’s radical violence, the new Right has settled
on a double discourse: on the one hand, a defense of popular rights, and on
the other, an appeal to the notion of the “nation-under-threat” by immigrants
and the Islamic community (Traverso 2018). Jair Bolsonaro’s victory in Brazil
is in that sense the regional expression of an extreme-right force previously
restricted to Europe and the United States.
As we have had the chance to observe here, neo-golpismo is different from
20th-century coups. This difference is most palpable in the new Right’s limited use of violence and its relation to democracy: the new coup methodologies have interrupted democratically mandated terms through mechanisms that
remain within the legal and political order. They violate the state’s constitution
while preserving a degree of institutionality.
The main agents of this new Right are political parties and the legislature,
understood as spaces where right-wing opposition forces can cohere. The judiciary also plays a leading role, as does the mass media, whose joint objective is
to confer legitimacy and consensus on the coup. These putsch mechanisms can
thus be understood as attempting to obstruct the radicalization of democracy
(or at least its threat) through the intervention of civic agents whose priority
is to justify the legality and legitimacy of their actions: “where once the coup
was a necessarily illegal and legitimate act, we are now faced with a coup that
enjoys ‘the force of law’ ” (Martínez 2014, 204).
Twenty-first-century coups reveal the limits and mitigating elements that
Latin American democracies face. One can plainly see how the framework
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Lorena Soler and Florencia Prego
of political democracy (liberal and capitalist) also allows for fragmentary,
divided, and discontinuous forms of governance, an arrangement where normality can coexist with its exception, (Crespo 2017), and where neo-golpismo
is becoming the most extreme case of this type of coexistence.
Some prefer to call it the Right, others the new Right. What is at stake, in
any case, is recognizing that these political actors have adapted to the epochal
changes ushered in by populist and/or progressive forces in the 21st century: this
Right has called on new actors and employed new methodologies to carry out
coups that seek to establish a new, more unequal and less democratic social order.
Notes
1. This chapter was translated by Nicolas Allen. We thank Enzo Scargiali and Barry
Cannon for revising the text.
2. This work revisits a previous discussion on neo-golpismo, explored in the work of
Lorena Soler (2015) “Golpes de Estado en el siglo XXI. Un ejercicio comparado,
Haití (2004), Honduras (2009) y Paraguay (2012)”. Cadernos Prolam/USP 14 (26),
p. 79–92.
3. Rafael Martínez (2014) proposes seven variable properties that interact in the basic
definition of a (constant) coup, with eight possible theoretical subcategories of
a coup. There, the author is interested in identifying the differences in the “new
generation” of coups, that is, from the 1970s onward. We have followed a different route here, based on the approach identifying actors, mechanisms, and sociohistorical contexts, allowing us to isolate a common problem so as to characterize
a minimum concept of the 21st-century coup.
4. Another extensive debate in the social sciences concerns whether the coup can
become a revolution. Following the work of Theda Skocpol (1984), one can argue
that coups, unlike revolutionary processes, have obstructed mass mobilization
or revolts from below. However, the authors also allow for exceptions, such the
overthrow of Salazar in Portugal and the Ethiopian revolution, which began as
coups when rebel military officials joined mass mobilization against aristocratic
landowners.
5. At the time this article was nearing completion, the government of Nicolás Maduro
was entering a critical conjuncture. On 23 January, Juan Guaidó, president of the
National Assembly, proclaimed himself president under a provision of the 1999
Constitution. Guaidó belongs to the Voluntad Popular (Popular Will) party, a political force led by Leopoldo López, who is currently under house arrest. The acting
president enjoys the military, political, and economic support of President Donald
Trump (who imposed a blockade) and the governments of Argentina, Brazil, Chile,
and Colombia.
6. The term Lulism was coined by André Singer (see Singer 2009).
7. He also maintained free-trade agreements with the United States and other member
countries of the DR-CAFTA (Dominican Republic-Central America Free Trade
Agreement).
8. The Patriotic Alliance for Change is comprised of the Democratic Christian Party,
the Democratic Progressive Party, the National Encounter Party, the Broad Front
Party, the Authentic Radical Liberal Party, the Movement towards Socialism, the
Party for a Country of Solidarity, the Revolutionary Febrerista Party, the Social
Democratic Party, the Socialist Commoners Party, the Ñembyaty Guasú Movement, the Social Popular Bloc, Colo ́oApytere, ERES, Women for the Alliance, and
the Tekojojá Movement.
The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 75
9. The operations for additional credit, decreed on July and August 2015, were
intended to cover certain expenses without encroaching on other competencies or
transgressing established fiscal goals, which were in all fact achieved. On the other
hand, delays in fund transfers from the National Treasury to the Bank of Brazil,
meant to cover the equalization of rates for certain subsidies under Plan Safra,
were authorized by the Budget Law. Thus, nothing could be justified under the
concept of “criminal responsibility” (Salas Oroño 2016).
10. The Public Ministry appealed the Supreme Court and obtained a favorable ruling
ordering the restoration of general Romeo Vásquez Velásquez as Joint Chief of Staff.
11. Art. 255 of the National Constitution (1992):
The President of the Republic, the Vice president, the Ministers of the Executive Branch, the Ministers of the Supreme Court of Justice, the State Attorney
General, the Ombudsman, the Comptroller General of the Republic, the Subcomptroller and the members of the Higher Court of Electoral Justice, can only
be subject to political trial for malfeasance, for crimes committed in the commission of their charge or for common offences.
12. Similar tactics were used, albeit unsuccessfully, as a means to profit from political
crisis: Getulio Vargas and Joao Goulart are chief examples.
13. President Fernando Lugo is accused of “instigating” and “facilitating” land occupations in the area.
14. This was raised before the Supreme Court in the presentation “Action of Unconstitutionality of Fernando Lugo Méndez.” There were outlined the constitutional
guarantees that had been violated during Lugo’s removal and, in particular, during
the trial.
15. This concerns the consistency that must exist between what must be proven and the
right applicable to the case.
16. Particularly noteworthy was the fact that 60% of the legislative representatives in
favor of impeachment were also facing legal trials, often for corruption. Hence, 36
of the 65 members of the Commission overseeing impeachment also faced legal
action of some type (Gentili 2016, 28).
17. Judge Moro tried and condemned ex-President Lula da Silva. There is not enough
space here to discuss the trial leading to the ex-president’s imprisonment, but it is
important to highlight that irregularities were committed all throughout the trial
and numerous guarantees backed by the rule of law were violated. As soon as Jair
Bolsonaro took office he named Moro as Justice Minister.
18. Lula da Silva, then president of Brazil, played a central role. After twice attempting
unsuccessfully to return to Honduras, Manuel Zelaya managed to enter Tegucigalpa and sought refuge in the Brazilian Embassy.
19. Former member countries of the USSR have become privileged sites for the emergence and expansion of these new right-wing forces.
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The Right, Neo-Golpismo in Latin America 77
Rodríguez, José Carlos. 2012. “Los motivos del lobo. O el Golpe Parlamentario.” In
Franquismo en Paraguay. El golpe, edited by R. Carbone and L. Soler. Buenos
Aires: El 8vo Loco.
Roitman Rosenmann, Marcos. 2013. Tiempos de oscuridad. Historia de los golpes de
Estado en América Latina. Madrid: Akal.
Salas Oroño, Amilcar. 2010. “La ‘parlamentarización’ de la política en América Latina.”
Valencia: Centro de Estudios Políticos y Sociales.
———. 2016. “La democracia brasileña en entredicho: el golpe institucional a Dilma
Rousseff.” Revista Paraguaya de Sociología, año 52 (147): 51–66.
Sharp, Geme. 1988. La lucha política no violenta. Criterios y métodos. Santiago: Ediciones Chile América.
Singer, André. 2009. “Raízes sociais e ideológicas do lulismo.” Novos estudos CEBRAP
85: 83–102.
Skocpol, Theda. 1984. La explicación de las revoluciones sociales: otras teorías. Los
Estados y las revoluciones sociales. Ciudad de México: Fondo de Cultura Economía.
Soler, Lorena. 2011. “Paraguay: cuando la novedad no es el resultado. El proceso
político que construyó Fernando Lugo.” Nueva Sociedad 231: 28–44.
———. 2012. “Lugo: el palacio y la plaza.” In Franquismo en Paraguay. El Golpe,
edited by R. Carbone and L. Soler, 23–29. Buenos Aires: El 8vo loco Ediciones.
———. 2014. “Golpe de Estado y derechas en Paraguay: Transiciones circulares y restauración conservadora.” Nueva Sociedad 254: 73.
Soler, Lorena, and María Nikolajczuk. 2017. “Actores económicos y medios de comunicación. El golpe parlamentario a Fernando Lugo (2012).” Revista Chasqui. Revista
latinoamericana de comunicación 136, December 2017–March 2018. Available at:
http://revistachasqui.org/index.php/chasqui/article/view/3263.
Tokatlian, Juan Gabriel. 2009. “Neogolpismo.” Página/12, 13 July. Available at: www.
pagina12.com.ar/diario/elmundo/subnotas/128159-41146-2009-07-13.html.
———. 2012. “El auge del neogolpismo.” La Nación, 24 June. Available at: www.
lanacion.com.ar/1484794-el-auge-del-neogolpismo.
Traverso, Enzo. 2018. Las nuevas caras de la derecha. Buenos Aires: Siglo Veintiuno
Editores.
6
Corruption and Neoliberalism
in Contemporary Brazil
Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub1
1. Introduction
Corruption is a central issue in Brazilian public debate. Since the dawn of the
Republic, concern with the corruption of order has played a prominent role in
political discourse – be it with movements seeking to break with the existing
political system, be it as a ploy used in electoral campaigns. Countless actors
have embraced the “fight against corruption” as a core element of their public
policy and political identity. That this narrative has proven so enduring, however, does not mean that the corruption discourse is a constant repetition of the
same argument.
In recent years, the de-democratization of Brazilian politics has gone hand
in hand with an upsurge in anti-corruption discourses. The latest interruption
of Brazilian democracy has indeed been shaped in large part by the question
of corruption, an issue around which the national business class, the traditional
middle class, the media oligopoly, and legal actors have tended to converge.
The ouster of a legitimately elected government was framed as part of such
an anti-corruption struggle, as was the arrest of former President Lula – just
months prior to a presidential election in which he was the frontrunner in the
polls. Nor can we understand Jair Bolsonaro’s victory in 2018 without also
addressing how a very harsh conception of corruption gained acceptance
among large segments of the Brazilian population.
Throughout the mass demonstrations calling for the impeachment of Dilma
Rousseff in 2015 and 2016, or in the electoral rallies for Bolsonaro in 2018,
corruption became a central issue. Protest symbols suggested there was a fundamental connection between the neoliberal agenda and a specific approach to
the fight against corruption. Three examples serve to illustrate this point. One,
the opposition movement calling for the impeachment of Rousseff adopted a
yellow duck as their symbol. This giant, yellow inflatable duck was installed at
the door of the Federation of Industries of the State of São Paulo (FIESP). The
duck, marking a gathering spot for anti-Rousseff protesters, also symbolized
the refusal of protesters and industrial businessmen to pay the high taxes that
would, in their view, ultimately serve to fund corruption and embezzlement
schemes. The fight against corruption was, thus from the outset, a challenge
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 79
to supposedly abusive taxes. Protestors often carried miniature yellow ducks
recalling the FIESP’s stationary totem.
As anti-corruption rose to the top of the public agenda, so too did neoliberal
assumptions regarding the state. This particular phenomenon is especially clear
from our second example. Throughout the impeachment campaign and the
demonstrations in favor of Operation Car Wash (Lava Jato), it became customary practice to inflate a giant doll symbolizing former President Lula wearing
a prison uniform. The doll’s name, “Pixuleco,” soon became synonymous with
bribery associated with Operation Car Wash. The collective desire for the arrest
of the political leader of the Workers’ Party (PT) also crystallized a conception
of the state in which its primary role should be to arrest criminals, thus ensuring
the safety of “good citizens” – even if accomplishing this goal meant suppressing individual rights and reasserting longstanding prejudices of a justice system
prone to imprisoning the poor, workers, and black people. The emphasis on
criminal law as a solution to the nation’s maladies is a conspicuous trait of contemporary Brazilian politics, and “Pixuleco” has become one of its symbols.
The third and final example illustrates a seemingly schizophrenic trait of the
Brazilian political process, symptomatic of the prevailing bias in the country’s
hegemonic discourse on corruption. When anti-corruption demonstrators took
to the streets against the alleged corruption of Rousseff, Lula, and the Workers’
Party (PT), they did so dressed in the Brazilian football team’s traditional yellow jersey. What could be seen as a mere display of patriotism (Alonso and
Mische 2016) in fact represented a deep-seated contradiction: those who took
to the streets against corruption wore the insignia of the Brazilian Football
Confederation (CBF), one of the country’s most notoriously corrupt institutions. The demonstrators’ endorsement of the CBF, a private entity, typifies
this selective view of corruption, wherein the state and professional politicians
are considered the locus of all vice and the private sphere is safeguarded from
any scrutiny – despite the fact that most glaring cases of embezzlement and
immoral behavior can be found there.
Yellow ducks, inflatable dummies in prison uniforms, and Brazilian soccer
jerseys served to disseminate and consolidate a specific perception of corruption. But how to characterize the specificity of that perception? The profoundly
relational and open nature of the concept of corruption, determined by the
notion of order to which it refers, invites us to look closer at its history and in
doing so reconstruct relevant aspects of Brazilian history. If, on the one hand,
the recurrence of the concept points to continuities on the national political
scene, on the other hand, its diverse narratives suggest different types of perceived and desired social orders.
Focusing on continuities, we find a striking relationship between the use of
this concept and periods of democratization, i.e., an expansion of the political
space allowing for greater inclusion of actors previously excluded from the
political-institutional setting. The 1920s, the Republic of 1946, and the New
Republic of 1988 are examples of this relation between democratization and
the growth of an anti-corruption discourse.
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As far as discontinuities are concerned, our interest lies mainly with the
conceptual transformations taking place as soon as a particularly fierce strain
of neoliberal discourse began to make its presence felt in public debate, and
the ramifications this brought for the Brazilian democratic order after 1988.
To that end, this chapter opens with a brief overview of particularly sensitive
moments in which the discourse on corruption affected national political history. There, our focus lies on the emergence of an anti-corruption discourse
in the media, along with a corresponding figure of the anti-corruption intellectual. In that way, we set out to comprehend the shifting fortunes of Brazil’s
political scene through the notion of corruption, with particular emphasis
on a certain type of ultra-right discourse that would assume great centrality
during the period in question. We conclude by analyzing one of the central figures in this history and the preponderant role corruption has played
in shaping their discourse – a figure that has been cast as a savior, a hero, or
an intellectual capable of absorbing and reformulating the leading slogans
of the new ultra-right: the political jurist. For this particular case, we center
our analysis on the recent discourse of Operation Car Wash task force leader
Deltan Dallagnol.2
2. The Long Trajectory of a Narrative
Rui Barbosa,3 a central character in the construction of the Brazilian Republic,
alleged that elite corruption was the greatest evil of the First Republic. To overcome this problem, Barbosa proposed that the middle classes assume a more
prominent role in society – a substitute for the liberal concept of civil society,
which proved unsuccessful in presidential campaigns.
Tenentism, a political movement comprised of young military members
critical of the republican status quo in the early 1920s, was based on a similar criticism. However, it proposed a more top-down solution in which the
renewal of the state would serve as the guiding – and corruption-free – project,
for national renewal. The 1920s saw the increased use of corruption discourses
among “bacharéis,”4 journalists, the military, and other public figures, where
corruption was often portrayed as a constraint to building a modern Brazil.
Their criticisms, often directed at individuals rather than institutions, established a narrative that laid the blame at the feet of what they considered Brazil’s substandard national elites, whom they held responsible for the barriers
that kept the nation from entering modernity.
Years later, the National Democratic Union (UDN), the main liberal party
of the 1946 Republic, would inherit and champion the legacies of Rui Barbosa
and Tenentism. The “udenistas,” as they were known, led an anti-corruption
campaign similar to the one embraced by the lieutenants and other opponents of Getulio Vargas, albeit with new elements. Amongst party leaders, the
“bacharéis” were the main proponents of this rhetorical strategy, as well as
Carlos Lacerda, an individual whose namesake, “lacerdismo,” became synonymous with a discourse grounded in histrionics and fierce moralisms.
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 81
Lacerda represented a modernizing voice in Brazilian journalism, not only
due to his more colloquial and direct style, but also for his use of humor and
irony. The politician Lacerda realized that the emergence of a mass culture in
Brazilian society brought with it profound consequences for politics and the
media. Not only did he renew the longstanding Brazilian tradition of political
pamphlets, he also consolidated corruption as a central part of the political
agenda. Lacerda conveyed his corruption discourse on two different fronts:
asserting the illegitimacy of the country’s leaders and the excesses of the state.
Both types of corruption were framed by a moral perspective in which the
world is divided between absolute opposites – good and bad – without any
possibility for compromise (Chaloub 2018).
Jânio Quadros, candidate in the 1960 election, personified the most successful use of corruption on the election trail. As the symbol for his victorious
presidential campaign, Quadros used a broom – promising to “sweep up” the
government and the country. His tragicomic persona, successful in fashioning
himself as an enemy of corruption, proved less successful in office, and he
resigned in August 1961, less than seven months after becoming president. His
short-lived government, however, would not diminish the future influence of
the anti-corruption discourse.
The authoritarian regime instituted after the 1964 coup sought to legitimize
itself using the corruption discourse. The 1960s anti-communist mentality was
vital for the coup orchestrators (Motta 2002), combining corruption and subversion into a single public enemy, described as communism. Under authoritarian regimes, corruption always centers on the other, a figure external to the
government and respectable citizens. Corruption thus emerged as a criterion
for distinguishing between “acceptable” and “unacceptable” political actors.
During the re-democratization period of the 1980s, the corruption discourse
returned to the center of Brazilian public debate. The concept played a pivotal
role for the PT as it sought to brand itself as a “new left,” different from the
other “populist” traditions of the national Left, such as the labor and communist Left.5
The topic would assume new contours at the end of the decade, as the economic issue became central for reshaping the concept of corruption. While the
economic focus of the corruption discourse had predecessors in figures such
as Eugenio Gudin and Roberto Campos, it undoubtedly gained traction with
a new global climate, characterized by the emergence of neoliberal governments like Ronald Reagan in the United States, Margaret Thatcher in England,
and Pinochet’s Chile. Although the argument correlating corruption with the
state was not without precedent, it assumed a hegemonic role during the New
Republic.
Two events are particularly representative of this shift. The first was marked
when the progressive sector of the PMDB shifted its economic orientation, leading in 1988 to its split and the creation of the Brazilian Social Democracy Party
(PSDB). Mário Covas, a center-left leader in the 1988 Constituent Assembly
and a prominent participant in the construction of the most progressive aspects
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of the Constitution, was emblematic of this inflection. In 1989, delivering a
famous speech in the Senate, he spoke of a “capitalist shock” (Covas 1989) as
the solution to the country’s difficulties. According to this narrative, Brazil’s
problems stemmed from a feeble “civil society” and an excessively prominent
interventionist state, instituted during the Vargas Era.
The “capitalist shock” advocates a doctrine that strips away the state’s
capacity to decisively influence society and idealizes a notion of civil society
closely associated with the free market. The second, and most conspicuous
event, was Fernando Collor’s victorious presidential campaign in 1989. Much
like Jânio Quadros, Collor chose corruption as his central campaign motto, in
which he claimed the title “maharajas hunter.”6 Alongside the corruption issue
and old anti-communist themes, Collor embraced a neoliberal discourse, then
internationally in vogue. Thus, following the talking points provided by the
literature of American Political Science (Filgueiras 2006), Collor established a
direct relationship between the expansion of state intervention in the economy
and corruption.
Ironically, corruption was vital to Collor’s ascension as much as his downfall. As for the latter, the Left played a central role and amassed a wide coalition
of political forces, garnering the support of the mainstream press towards the
creation of a mass movement, “Fora Collor” (“Collor Out”), which called for
the impeachment of the first directly elected president in the post-dictatorship
period. He resigned in 1992, charged with direct participation in embezzlement
schemes.
A movement spearheaded by students, which became known as “Caraspintadas” (“Painted Faces”), gave force and popular legitimacy to the accusations. A leftist-inclined youth movement espoused an anti-corruption rhetoric
that had previously been associated with the Right. Throughout Fernando Henrique Cardoso’s presidential administration (1995–2002), the existing notion
of “capitalist shock” provided the fuel for a broad constitutional reform process seeking to “end the Vargas Era” (Cardoso 1994), depicted as an era in
which the state assumed a dominant role over civil society. The 1998 economic
crisis had a strong negative impact on the PSDB’s prestige, which failed in
every presidential election after FHC’s re-election and constantly had to contend with the political costs of its embrace of the free market.
Following Lula’s 2002 victory, the PT administration (2002–16) would bring
fresh airs to the national political stage. Without initially breaking with the
macroeconomic policy of previous administrations, the party gradually sought
to resume part of the developmentalist recipe, particularly during Guido Mantega’s term as Minister of Economy (2006–14). The state embraced a more
active role in the definition of political policy, be that in regulating private
activities or as a guiding hand in social transformation processes.
That trend changed, however, after 2005, the year when the PT was hit by
Legal Action 470, popularly known as “Mensalão.” On the one hand, corruption increasingly gained ground in the mainstream media and it became the
center of public debate. A candidate’s interests, ideas, or commitments were
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 83
deemed irrelevant, and instead what mattered was maintaining an image of
unwavering honesty. Corruption continued to be addressed according to specific “cases” (Bezerra 2018), and criminal law represented a form of cathartic
treatment. Specific cases, akin to those from the bygone years of the 1946
Republic, seemed to be appearing everywhere, creating the impression of an
endless crisis. And that impression was further intensified by social media,
responsible for the constant flow and consumption of information.
Meanwhile the Brazilian Right was reconciling extreme variants of economic liberalism with a renewed conservative tradition (Chaloub et al. 2018),
employing a language reminiscent of the North American conservative tradition (Brown 2015; Cooper 2018). A new type of anti-corruption criticism was
emerging.
3. The Market Consensus: Intellectuals and the Press
Harsh criticism of the PT administrations was raised by a heterogeneous coalition, combining different beliefs and trajectories but all sharing a social vision
opposed to any notion of common interests beyond the individual or the family. Criticism of PT administration was accompanied by a general hostility
to anything identified with the party’s value, leading ultimately to an anti-PT
political identity and a broader rejection of the Left. The point of convergence
within this field was a belief in the centrality of the market, grounded on the
assumption that state stewardship is inherently inefficient and corrupt. While
there existed differences regarding the government’s “cultural wars” (Hunter
1991), the defense of the free market became almost unanimous outside the
Left, an undisputable truth.
There were, of course, different formulations of that belief. Some advocated
a restricted regulatory state, acting solely to correct excesses through moderate
social policies, similar to FHC’s economic policies. Others, followers of the
ultraliberal approach championed by present-day Minister of Economy Paulo
Guedes,7 advocated that the state should be limited to its punitive function,
a perspective in which the state is restricted in its capacity to influence the
economy and regards the most damaging social inequalities as natural or even
positive.
Voices calling for the overthrow of Dilma Rousseff provide a clear portrait
of the base comprising that coalition. That the grounds for her impeachment
were based on “fiscal pedaling” was no accident: it demonstrated the prevailing economic perspective, which associated excessive spending and a strong
interventionist state with corruption. The impeachment for Rousseff’s “overall performance,”8 the “poor management of the economy,” or “corruption”
comprised a discourse seeking to criminalize certain economic choices, even
if done legally.9 For our purposes, it is not relevant to engage in the technical issues around Dilma’s economic policy, but rather to understand how this
policy became a justification for her ouster. Dilma’s impeachment proceeded
regardless of several constitutional mechanisms, compelling different authors
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to employ the term coup d’état, albeit with different meanings (Singer 2016;
Santos 2017; Migue 2016; Avritzer 2019). In their chapter for this volume,
Lorena Soler and Florencia Prego discuss the range of meanings behind the
term “coup.”
The anti-corruption discourse underlying the coup presumes there is an economic legitimacy that precedes democracy itself and that poses limits to democratic decisions. If constitutionalism removes certain issues from democratic
deliberation as a way of safeguarding rights, neoliberalism attempts to expand
this dimension in order to remove economic policy decisions from the political
realm. The mere guarantee of the right to private property would appear to be
trumped by the demand for autonomy in all economic decisions. In addition to
fundamental constitutional clauses seeking to preserve important institutions
and rights, economic clauses would emerge seeking to be shielded from the
“irrationality” of the political world.
Friedrich Hayek developed a sophisticated version of this argument by
counterposing the concept of democracy to one of demarchy (1979). Liberalism, the theory of limited government, and democracy, a form of government
that since Rousseau has been characterized by unlimited popular sovereignty,
are two traditions destined to inevitably clash. Hayek explicitly advocated for
the predominance of liberalism, since democracy, in its purest form, would
naturally lead to the suppression of freedom due to the constructivist optimism
that the author attributes to reason. Hayek thus suggested replacing democracy
with a regime where the fundamental pillars of economic liberalism would
supersede the democratic game.
Hayekian ideas exist, under different forms, within the Brazilian public
sphere. Alluded to since the 1989 election and only narrowly circumvented in
2002 after explicit negotiations with the “market,” those declaiming the Lula
threat is a clear expression of a veto to alternative economic paths. The justification for this line of thought is an allegedly pragmatic approach, grounded
in the notion, albeit lacking empirical evidence, that this is the only prescription that “works” and follows the most advanced economic science. The same
standards are not present in other terrains, such as public security policy, where
reiterated failed experiments responsible for countless deaths are accounted as
minor “divergences of opinion.”
Major newspapers, as well as the most influential television networks, are
staunch supporters of this discourse. An analysis of editorials on the eve of
Dilma Rousseff’s impeachment, on 17 April 2016 in three of the most prominent national newspapers (Folha de São Paulo, Estado de São Paulo, and O
Globo) share a very similar narrative. Along with the concern to validate the
legality and legitimacy of the impeachment proceedings, a common diagnosis argued that there were two justifications for ousting Rousseff from office,
in addition to the formal issues: “poor management of economic policy” and
“endemic corruption.” These, and not the unfounded “crimes of responsibility” were the main reasons for the impeachment. Both approaches bear more
similarities than are initially apparent. It is also not by chance that they overlap
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 85
with two central narratives behind Jair Bolsonaro’s victorious discourse, represented by Paulo Guedes and the “vigilante” Sergio Moro.10
To understand the leading role played by ultra-right intellectuals in their
challenge to the established post-1945 liberal-democratic consensus – respect
for human rights, and so on – we must recall that behind that discourse is an
attempt to discredit the public sphere and institutional politics in general. This
intellectual hodge-podge created an auspicious climate for the emergence of
self-fashioned outsiders situating themselves to the right of the political spectrum. This new sector drew on a radical critique of the 1988 Republic, founded
after the military dictatorship. And it was above all the corruption discourse,
inveighing against the Brazilian political order, that laid the groundwork for
that scenario.
For this ultra-right phenomenon to blossom, several rhetorical strategies
were deployed. First, the Brazilian political and intellectual scene was portrayed as widely dominated by the Left. The looming legacy of the military
dictatorship meant that actors on the right of the political spectrum could not
politically capitalize by openly embracing a right-wing political identity. This
in turn led to the perception that there was no such thing as a Right in Brazil.
In that scenario, the PSDB came to be portrayed as “communists” and the PT
regarded as a proponent of the extreme Left.
The second rhetorical strategy was to establish a direct association between
the Left and corruption. This discourse took two lines of attack. According to
neoconservative and reactionary authors such as Olavo de Carvalho and Luiz
Felipe Pondé, the Left is defined by its intrinsic immorality, stemming from
its relativism. Other authors in the camp of neoliberalism and ultraliberalism,
allude to an inevitable tendency of state interventionism to default to corrupt
practices. This discourse presupposes a close affinity between the state and
corruption. With these two arguments in place, the diagnosis that the country
was entirely dominated by the Left began to gain ground.
If the growing influence of the ultra-right is a global phenomenon that
precedes and exceeds the Brazilian case, two particularities of the national
scenario are noteworthy: the influence of ultraliberalism and the wide prominence of ultra-right intellectuals in the traditional media. As mentioned in the
introduction to this volume, the Bolsonaro government combines a discourse
critical of cultural modernity that is something akin to the American neoconservative tradition11 (Vaisse 2010; Brown 2015), and an ultraliberal economic
policy, which not only seeks to eliminate the interventionist state but, in a
manner different from the reform program of the Washington Consensus, also
seeks to undermine the state’s regulatory capacity. This combination of factors distinguishes Bolsonaro from other governments that rely on superficially
similar rhetorical strategies and draw support from similar social forces, such
as those led by Donald Trump, Viktor Orbán, and Matteo Salvini.
In Brazil, culture wars (Hunter 1991) have not favored an expansionist
economic policy targeting the domestic market and benefiting an impoverished national working class, but instead have served the interests of a fierce
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Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub
ultraliberal agenda. The anti-globalist discourse common to these governments
and espoused by Steve Bannon (Alexander 2018) finds a clear counterpart in
the Bolsonarist coalition: on the one hand, Chancellor Ernesto Araújo’s nationalist discourse, on the other hand, the economic policy led by Paulo Guedes.
There are at least two reasonable hypotheses for the distinction being
offered here. The first has to do with prior administration, led by the PT. The
PT administrations have always faced resistance from the business community.
Tensions increased when the developmentalist tendencies of the first Rousseff
administration (2011–14) (Singer 2018) triggered a widespread rejection of
any ideas remotely related to the Left, which in turn were immediately labeled
as corrupt and inept. The notion of a radical dismantling of the state began to
gain traction, justified on the grounds that there was a need to purge the country
of corruption, which allegedly had reached unprecedented levels and sophistication during the PT era.
The industrial business community, traditionally dependent on the state, gambled on an ultraliberal project, seduced by the promise – thus far fulfilled – of
reduced labor costs and a profound dismantling of labor rights established during the First Republic and consolidated during the Vargas Era (Gomes 2005).
With a significant electoral base among lower-income sectors and the capacity to mobilize around certain social issues that speak to the country’s urban
peripheries – advocating for private executions, for example – Bolsonarism
nevertheless gained its initial impulse from national elites and has always
maintained strong voting intentions among that sector, just as it currently
shows stronger approval ratings among the higher income strata of the population.12 It is therefore essential to understand the role played by the media,
and the market consensus it forged that would prove detrimental to the PT
administrations. Here, we arrive at a second peculiarity of the Brazilian case:
the presence of ultra-right discourse and intellectuals in the traditional media.
Highly concentrated and mostly undiversified,13 the traditional Brazilian
media opened the doors for an ultra-right discourse. While a few leading figures in the field, such as Olavo de Carvalho, were already a household name
in the mainstream media, during PT administrations there was an increased
media receptivity for discourses identifying the Left with corruption, questioning the validity of human rights, and promoting conspiracy theories, such as an
imminent communist revolution in Brazil.
Several radical figures, united in their rejection of the Left, began to publish
columns in the country’s major print newspapers. Most of these columnists
lacked traditional credentials to access such an environment, as is the case of
Kim Kataguri and Rodrigo Constantino. Paulo Guedes, one of the most important champions of the Bolsonaro administration and a figure cherished by the
economic elite, wrote a weekly column in O Globo for over 11 years, ceasing
his collaboration in mid-2018, just before assuming his new office. Different
from the USA, where media vehicles such as Fox News have the lion’s share
of the most extreme “neocons,” the traditional Brazilian media gave free reign
for radical intellectuals to express their ideas. In that sense, the mainstream
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 87
Brazilian media played a leading role in normalizing a certain type of radical
narrative advocating for a full rupture with the democratic order established
after the 1988 Constitution.
While several studies have addressed the types of intellectuals who made
their way into the mainstream Brazilian media (Velasco et al. 2015; Chaloub
and Perlatto 2016; Messenberg 2017; Rodrigues 2018; Chaloub et al. 2018;
Cerboncini and Moraes 2019; Rocha 2019), further research is necessary to
understand how the political and intellectual ascent of the ultra-right is connected to the judiciary, particularly members involved in Operation Car Wash.14
Drawing out this connection is particularly important for two reasons. First, the
Public Prosecutor’s Office and the judiciary not only provided the institutional
conditions for the emergence of the ultra-right, but they also took part in the
construction of this movement, providing it with intellectual raw material.
On the other hand, the Public Prosecutor’s Office played a major role in
connecting mass demonstrations, the media, and anti-corruption discourses in
Brazil. Since the June 2013 protests in Brazil, when the media cast an unprecedented spotlight on protests against Constitutional Amendment Project 37
(which limited the investigative powers of the Public Prosecutor’s Office), the
institution has issued a self-proclaimed mandate to serve as the representative of civil society, entrusted with the mission of liberating society from the
evils of corruption entrenched within the state.15 Here, affinities with certain
elements of neoliberal discourse are evident. The media too is one of the key
instruments for advancing this agenda, leading the present authors to coin the
concept political jurist (Chaloub and Lima 2018): a legal professional that
grounds their legitimacy through intervention in mainstream media rather than
the legal arena. To address the role of the Public Prosecutor’s Office in developing a neoliberal discourse, where the concept of corruption is central, we
shall analyze the public activity of Deltan Dallagnol, leader of the Operation
Car Wash task force.
4. Punishment, Efficiency, and Competition: Core
Principles in the Fight Against Corruption
Behind the recent reemergence of corruption in Brazilian political life, there
are widespread assumptions anchored in a conceptual web in which the state
is tied to notions of impunity, inefficiency, and dysfunctionality. Furthermore,
those underlying assumptions attribute efficiency, competitiveness, and moral
purity to the market. The road leading to a general perception that corrupt
politicians are largely responsible for all the country’s troubles has been a
long one. If corruption drains the nation’s resources, and if this perspective
reduces corruption to the actions of corrupt individuals (mostly located within
the state), it follows on this same account that the solution to corruption is to
identify actors capable of bringing about a nationwide ethical rehabilitation.
Judges, prosecutors, police chiefs, military and ex-military personnel all play
their part in this narrative.
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In order to understand how law enforcement agents became protagonists in a
messianic fight against corruption, we turn our attention to some excerpts from
an exemplary book in which the figure of the self-anointed anti-corruption
warrior was fashioned. Dallagnol, the leading prosecutor in the so-called “task
force” of Operation Car Wash, published a book in 2017 that simultaneously
served as an overture to expand his roster of supporters, as well as a summary
of the foundations behind the anti-corruption discourse that would be reproduced by the media and eventually accepted by a considerable portion of the
Brazilian population.
Dallagnol’s book, The Fight Against Corruption, serves our analytical
purposes foremost for its power of synthesis, rather than the originality of
its formulations. Precisely because it lacks any trace of originality, it offers
a privileged viewpoint for us to understand the discursive elements grounding anti-corruption politics. In short, the book offers no political discourse or
platform; it merely repeats a few central topics, allowing us to understand how
a neoliberal instrumentalization of the corruption agenda took hold in Brazil. Other political jurists, Dallagnol included, have addressed many of these
issues in recent years, and we reproduce them here merely as a supplement to
our analysis of Dallagnol’s emblematic book.
To begin, one of the consequences of the anti-corruption crusade has been
push the issue of inequality down the agenda. In Brazil, one of the most unequal
countries in the world, this displacement becomes even more evident when the
need to eradicate the remarkably unjust regressive tax system is crowded out
by a discourse insisting that the state’s inefficiency is the result of corruption.
Linking taxes and corruption thus pushes inequality to the background and
foregrounds inefficiency as the main cause for the poor quality of the state
public services. At this point, Dallagnol not only managed to impose an AngloSaxon conception of taxation, which understands citizens as “taxpayers,” but
also aligned himself with the anti-tax campaigns permanently financed by the
entrepreneurial class in the country:
We pay high taxes trusting that the state will take care of things, but that is
not the case. I would understand if these troubles emerged from a lack of
money. But the solutions never come as most of the money becomes lost
along the way, going down the drain of corruption.
(Dallagnol 2017a, 40–41)
The political use of a depoliticized conception of corruption is not a novel
creation unique to the aforementioned prosecutor, but it does further underline
the depoliticizing effects of the argument that “solutions never come” since the
taxpayers’ money is allegedly diverted by corrupt agents. The state would thus
be responsible, in this context, to provide supposedly undisputed “solutions,”
i.e. technical solutions, to the problems faced by society. In Dallagnol’s view,
the problems, as well as the solutions, should not be the subject of political
disputes.
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 89
The prosecutor certainly acknowledges the differences between governments and rulers when it comes to corruption. Nonetheless, he translates these
differences into the seemingly tautological language of administrative efficiency, according to which “the level of corruption in the country relates to
the efficiency of its administration, that is, less corrupt governments are more
efficient” (Dallagnol 2017a, 44). This leads us to an essentially political question: in what way exactly are they efficient? Efficient in doing what? The scale
of efficiency only acquires meaning when the government clearly defines its
goals. Lacking any definition of efficiency, Dallagnol compares governments
based on their greater or lesser lenience to corrupt embezzlement practices.
The fact that his comparative assessment is always skewed by prior political
preferences (or purely bad faith) is of little importance to our argument. Our
point here is not to understand the ideological content of Dallagnol’s work as
merely being an a posteriori rationalization that justifies the defense or attack
on any given government or party. Instead, his work matters to us insofar as he
articulates a worldview that has become widespread in the country – or at least
among broad segments of the economic elite.
The celebration of efficiency as a value in itself first appears alongside a
hierarchy of corrupt governments. Overcoming a decadent status quo and
fighting against corruption would thus call for a double strategy. On the one
hand, harsher punishment for those who are corrupt, i.e., an efficient state
would need to exemplarily punish those who divert its resources. On the other
hand, the state would be regarded as inherently inefficient for certain tasks.
For this reason, the efficient state becomes one that refrains from intervening
in economic matters while expanding its scope of action to ensure security for
economic actors.
Impunity lies at the core of a belief shared among several segments of Brazilian society. Our interest in Dallagnol lies precisely in how he reproduces
this belief:
To fight corruption, we must fight impunity. Brazil is a country that lives
off the impunity of white-collar criminals. There are many contributing
factors to this impunity, one of which being the delay in prosecuting criminal cases. If I say to my son “You made a mistake. Dad will punish you
12 years from now,” not only will I ruin my son and turn him into a professional troublemaker, but I’ll also create an atmosphere of impunity in
my home. White collar lawsuits in Brazil may take up to 10, 15, 20 years
to reach a conclusion. And when they do conclude, due to the delay itself
there is something we call a prescription, which is the annulment of the
final case.
(Dallagnol 2015)
This excerpt illustrates a common argumentative strategy in neoliberal economic discourse: a spurious parallel between the public and the domestic
dimension to affirm supposed self-evident truths. One of the most widespread
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Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub
arguments claims that managing a state economy is the equivalent of managing a house, and just as the housewife cannot spend more than the domestic
budget, so does the government need to be financially responsible. The multiple forms of revenue that a state may use, and the political choices necessary
to increase or reduce its revenues, become obscured when the public budget
is compared to domestic accounting – which additionally infantilizes the general public with analogies that impoverish the debate. Likewise, Dallagnol
reduces the complex dynamics of criminal law, in one of the countries with
the most rapid growth of prison populations, to children’s tricks. In his eagerness to garner support for the legal measures – otherwise unconstitutional –
that he has called “10 measures against corruption,” the prosecutor ends up
providing yet another example of how this punitivist ideology finds its way
into the discursive logic of neoliberalism. The prosecutor promptly ignores
any comparison between the incarceration rate of black and poor people, and
rich white people – an important characteristic of a selective Brazilian penal
system.
In one of his many participations on national TV in recent years, Dallagnol
has stated with total clarity that his reformist goal aims at what he considers the
excessive rights afforded by the Federal Constitution. His idea of the state is
far from a simple, minimal one. Reiterating in practice what the extensive bibliography on neoliberalism had already identified, as early as Foucault (2004)
(Brown 2015; Dardot and Laval 2010), Dallagnol wants a state strong enough
to discipline and punish any deviancy:
We find conflicting viewpoints across different generations. The generation who lived under the dictatorship saw in our Constitution a series of
guarantees for fear that the dictatorial regime would return. These people
are afraid of the excess of the State, that the State may exceed its purpose.
My generation, who grew up in a democracy and did not experience the
dictatorship, has the opposite fear: the fear that the State will not act. What
we have seen happening is authority and abuses, corruption across decades, without an effective action against these crimes. What we are afraid
of is inertia, of inefficiency.
(Dallagnol 2017b)
Always at pains to avoid revealing his true face, the face of a political agent
with projects and intentions that situate him clearly at one extreme of the
political spectrum, the prosecutor chooses to interpret a political dispute as
if it were a mere generational difference. Furthermore, he tacitly endorses the
interpretation, shared by political figures associated with the dictatorship, that
widespread corruption results from the country’s democratic period and its
constitutional charter, which is seen as overly generous with respect to citizens’ rights to legal defense. In stating that he is not afraid of the dictatorship
and its excesses, but rather of the “inefficiency” of the state, Dallagnol situates
his fight against corruption in the midst of a swampy terrain where democratic
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 91
assurances are regarded as relative. When it comes to punitivism, dictatorship
on this account will always be more efficient than democracy – and thus we
see how this supposed ode to efficiency is increasingly associated, consciously
or otherwise, with the antidemocratic trends of contemporary national politics.
And that trend opened the path to Bolsonaro winning the Presidency of the
Republic in 2018 – not by mere coincidence.
Beyond Dallagnol’s anti-corruption discourse, the efficiency of the punitive state was made evident by the composition of Bolsonaro’s cabinet. The
punitive state-model is the reverse side of the assertion that the market is the
fundamental motor for efficient resource allocation. It is not by accident that
the fight against corruption, symbolized by former judge and current Minister of Justice Sergio Moro, and the privatization agenda led by Minister of
Economy Paulo Guedes, make for comfortable bedmates in the current administration. Within the discursive field that this chapter is concerned with, the
emphasis on the inefficiency of corrupt governments (and a corrupt state) is
always accompanied by the assumption that free market competition ensures
greater efficiency and greater justice: “while free competition promotes a ‘natural selection’ that favors the most efficient enterprises, corruption promotes an
‘artificial selection’ that eliminates the most honest and concedes a long life to
those who accept to partake in disreputable businesses” (Dallagnol 2017a, 45).
“Free competition” is thus construed as the opposite of “corruption,” where the
former is associated with notions of purity and moral superiority. Moreover,
the effect of the comparison is to foreclose any dissenting opinion about the
free market – if its opposite is “corruption,” we find ourselves with no other
alternative.
The idea that a certain brand of “crony capitalism” had developed in Brazil
began to spread in the wake of the fight against corruption. Dallagnol and
Rodrigo Janot, former Attorney General of the Republic, made explicit references to the term (Dallagnol 2017a, 211; Janot 2017). Luís Roberto Barroso,
Minister of the Supreme Federal Court, spoke in similar terms and introduces
his own variations: “shameless capitalism” (Barroso 2014). Sergio Moro once
said that
another detrimental effect of systemic corruption is that it chases away
local and foreign investors. If the market is not clean and trustworthy, if
bribes and cheating are the rules, a responsible investor will not have confidence in that market and he will not put his money in it.
(Moro 2017)
All of the aforementioned individuals, leaders in the fight against corruption in
Brazil, adopt the premise that corruption and capitalism are “strictly speaking”
in a zero-sum game. All of them, without exception, consciously or unconsciously reproduce a political platform that, as we have seen, began to gain in
popularity 30 years ago, when the country first witnessed the emerging discourse of “capitalist shock.”
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Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub
5. Final Conclusions
Contrary to what some have argued (Barros 2019), it is no accident that the
contemporary fight against corruption emerged in Brazil amidst an economic
crisis. Nor is it fortuitous that this convergence between economic and political crisis has disseminated a perception of corruption grounded in punitivism,
denouncing the state as the locus of ethical deviations, and elevating the private sphere based on a specific ideology of entrepreneurship. Amidst this cultural potpourri, forged affinities ultimately allowed an ultra-right figure such as
Jair Bolsonaro to reach the Presidency of the Republic.
And while we must interpret this electoral result by following its complex
web of causalities, we must also acknowledge that it would not have easily come to fruition without the corruption issue weighing so heavily on the
national public sphere. The discourse on corruption is therefore a necessary,
albeit insufficient, condition. One should also recall that the main actors spearheading the latest of anti-corruption agenda were by no means anticipating
Bolsonaro’s victory. The complexity of the country’s political situation stems,
to a large extent, from this fact: Bolsonaro is a non-deliberate effect of several
more or less divergent movements, comprised of numerous actors more or less
unconnected to one another, which culminated in his election. Nor does this
mean that his victory was a sudden bolt of lightning in a clear blue sky. On the
contrary, it is an effect of the complex process of de-democratization, expedited when the then-defeated political forces questioned the results of the 2014
presidential election. A process that, as we have seen in this chapter, gained
steam by rallying around a neoliberal version of the anti-corruption discourse,
which swiftly adapted itself to the longstanding roots of anti-corruption discourse in Brazilian political history.
The country’s main media conglomerates – active forces in the parliamentary coup against Rousseff and also willing collaborators in the Operation Car
Wash’s hunt against PT and Lula – did not deliberately forge Bolsonaro’s candidacy, nor did they directly support it. As for intellectuals, while there is a
greater array of positions, there is no evidence of a conscious and progressive
intellectual movement leading to the Bolsonaro administration – even some of
the most ferocious critics of “left-wing corruption,” those directly responsible
for the emergence of the culture of de-democratization in which Brazil finds
itself submerged, would later become severe critics of Operation Car Wash and
the current government (as is the case, for example, of Reinaldo Azevedo). The
same can be said of the political jurists, and while the presence of Sergio Moro
in the Ministry of Justice is glaring evidence of the continuity between Operation Car Wash and the Bolsonaro administration, the link between the group of
prosecutors in Curitiba, led by Dallagnol, and the rise of the former captain is
not immediate or pre-conceived.
At this point, hopes of staunching the inexorable march towards the dissolution of the country’s democratic institutions cannot hinge on the actions
of the actors mentioned here. Political jurists and ultra-right intellectuals find
Corruption and Neoliberalism in Brazil 93
themselves comfortably accommodated in a climate defined by degraded democratic relations, while the media oligopoly insists on anchoring any criticism
of the Bolsonaro administration in false equivalences with the PT administration. Thus, denouncements of “populism” and accusations of “polarization”
abound in the national public sphere – claims that could eventually affect Bolsonaro but seem to prefer to target the PT and the Left in general.
Within this context, the resumption of democratization implies politically
overcoming the authoritarian-neoliberal coalition. To that end, we must understand that this coalition is not accidental. Brazil is currently a privileged case
for observing the contradictions between democracy and neoliberalism (Santos 2017; Brown 2015). As we have tried to show, amidst this entanglement,
the anti-corruption discourse played a central role in a far-reaching agenda to
criminalize politics, seeking to impede any attempt, however timid, to overcome (or even question) the dominant neoliberal credo. With political parties
in ruins and democratic values severely depressed, even the most optimistic
observer would likely conclude that things will become much worse before
they can get better.
Notes
1. We thank Paulo Scarpa for the translation, and Patricia Ranger and Niclas Allen for
revising the chapter.
2. Operation Car Wash was a criminal investigation led by the Public Prosecutor’s
Office, the Federal Police, and the Federal Justice of Paraná. Explicitly inspired by
Operation Clean Hands, in Italy, they subverted Brazilian procedural law practices
in an attempt to radically renew the country. The operation significantly affected
the 2018 presidential elections, with the illegal disclosure of information and the
arrest of former President Lula. The judge responsible for the Operation, Sérgio
Moro, would later become the Justice Minister in the Bolsonaro administration.
3. Rui Barbosa was a highly influential liberal politician in the early years of the
Brazilian Republic, proclaimed after the fall of the monarchy in 1889.
4. “Bacharéis” are Brazilian politicians that use juridical speech for their selffashioning and political disputes. The concept has been used since the 19th century
to represent the powerful role of jurists in Brazilian politics.
5. Populism was a common object of Marxist interpretation in Brazil, led by Francisco Weffort and Octavio Ianni, among others. These authors criticized both communist and labor traditions for their excessive emphasis on a strong state, which
have frustrated free development of the working class. After the 1990s, a great deal
of research, particularly in the field of cultural history, has offered harsh criticism
of that perspective.
6. In his speeches, and without any strong data to back his claim, Collor frequently
compared public employees to “maharajas” – public employees that do not work
and earn huge salaries.
7. Bolsonaro’s Minister of Economy, Paulo Guedes, is an enthusiastic advocate of
ultraliberal policies and a veteran investment banker.
8. “Conjunto da obra” was the term used by politicians and media to advocate for
the overthrow of Dilma Rousseff based on her mistakes, a charge without legal
precedent.
9. For a more detailed narrative of Dilma Rousseff’s impeachment, see Rômulo
Lima’s chapter in this book.
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Pedro Luiz Lima and Jorge Chaloub
10. Sergio Moro is the judge who, as the leader of “Operation Car Wash,” convicted
ex-President Lula and sent him to jail, in a judicial process full of formal problems,
illegally released confidential audios of ex-President Dilma Rousseff. Months later
he took office as Minister of Justice in Bolsonaro’s government.
11. Particularly the first and third age as described by Vaisse (2010).
12. In a Datafolha survey conducted in April 2016, Bolsonaro was leading solely
among one fraction of the electorate: voters with a monthly family income of
over ten minimum wages. Recently, another survey by the same institute on the
approval of the Bolsonaro administration reveals that his highest approval ratings
are within the same group.
(cf. http://media.folha.uol.com.br/datafolha/2016/04/11/intencao_de_voto_presi
dente.pdf and https://especiais.gazetadopovo.com.br/wp-content/uploads/sites/
24/2019/12/09171708/datafolha-aprovacao-bolsonaro-dez-2019.pdf ).
13. According to a 2017 report by Media Ownership Monitor, an initiative of the
Reporters Without Borders, the four main media groups in the country concentrate
over 70% of the television viewership and Grupo Globo, in particular, has a higher
viewership than all other major groups combined. When comparing risk indicators
endangering media pluralism across ten different developing countries, the report
concludes that the Brazilian media landscape was the worst.
14. Most of the studies of Operation Car Wash, such as the works of Kerche in 2018
and Almeida in 2016, focus on the institutional changes of the Brazilian Public
Prosecutor’s Office and the careers of its members. We began to develop this line
of research in Chaloub, Lima (2018).
15. Arantes (2002) conducted empirical research during the 1990s and identified these
trends in the institution.
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7
Bolsonaro and the Current
Stage of the Brazilian
Social Crisis
Historical Continuities as a Backdrop
for the Present Situation
Rômulo Lima1
1. Introduction
Within the last few years and in a very short period of time, the world has
witnessed a dramatic shift in expectations concerning Brazil. Whilst in early
2013 the country was still being praised for its ability to combine significant
growth rates with income distribution, current events have revealed a scorched
landscape. In contrast to the previous image of an awakening giant successfully guided by left-wing pragmatism, Brazil has now an extreme-right-wing
government and undergoes deep neoliberal and austerity measures. Within
attempts to explain this unexpected change, critical analyses often run the risk
of summarizing the current neoliberal turn as a product of a successful ambush
conducted by a cunning opposition at the crossroads of an economic recession
and high-profile corruption scandals. However, if the “perfect storm approach”
may well elucidate the convergence of different factors that undermined the
previous popularity of the Brazilian center-left Partido dos Trabalhadores
(Workers’ Party, PT), it does not exhaust the need for addressing the socioeconomic and historical structures underpinning this crisis.
My idea is that Brazil’s recent course synthesizes – with specific traces of
a peripheral, ex-colonial, and ex-slavery society – the contemporary dilemmas of the post-2008 world. As such, this development cannot be understood
without considering the country’s historical model of socialization, on the one
hand, and the way the transformations of global capitalism after the crisis of
the 1960s affect the country’s regime of accumulation on the other. In this
sense, the identification of historical continuities in the formation of the Brazilian society can help us to elucidate what is at stake in the current situation.
What is here referred to as the current stage of the Brazilian social crisis
covers the broad group of political, economic, and social events that were set
in motion during the mass protests of June 2013, then fueled the impeachment process against President Dilma Rousseff in 2016, continued under the
unstable presidency of Michel Temer (2016–2018), and finally culminated in
the election of a right-wing government led by President Jair Bolsonaro, who
took office in 2019. This is examined as well in the forthcoming chapters.
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Rômulo Lima
As argued, this ensemble is the last unfoldment of the centuries-old social crisis in Brazil, which stems from the combination of three mutually reinforcing factors: (1) a highly concentrated pattern of wealth accumulation; (2) the
reluctance of local elites in accepting the popular masses as true democratic
actors in Brazilian politics; and (3) the limits imposed by the country’s role in
the international division of labor. Notwithstanding the conjunctural aspects
involved in the present context, Bolsonaro’s election is directly or indirectly
associated to these three elements and appears as a critical manifestation of
Brazil’s structural crisis, now evolving under the aegis of economic neoliberalism and political conservatism. That is why the present state of the Brazilian
politics only becomes adequately intelligible when analyzed against its historical background.
In this sense, the idea of de-democratization and its meaning to the Brazilian context will be assessed through an enlarged historical dimension. In
spite of the advancements brought about by the 1988 Federal Constitution, as
mentioned in the introduction of this volume, Brazil could never overcome
the structures responsible for the existence of a social abyss separating a relatively small group of well-off Brazilians entitled to social recognition, on the
one hand, and the economically, politically, and culturally marginalized groups
and classes that form the majority of its population, on the other. For this reason, even if the country achieved some institutional consistency over the past
decades, it has never been a substantive democracy, at least not for the major
part of its citizens. The continual postponing of the struggle to overcome these
structures is one reason why regressive aspects of Brazilian sociality keeps
emerging from time to time on the surface of national politics – not as an unavoidable consequence of some “original sin,” as referred to in Chapter 1, but
as the eternal return of unsolved dilemmas in a context of unbearable social
tensions.
Inscribing the series of critical events that started in June 2013 within a
broader framework offers two advantages. First, it offers us clues to understand
the limits of the recently defeated left-wing model of post-Fordist reformism
in Brazil. Second, it allows us to perceive the country as a concentration of
tendencies that, at a more general level, can put to test the very stability of
liberal democracy. For Brazil, with its current form of neoliberal conservatism,
is once again in the vanguard of capitalist savagery.
2. Inequality as a Distinctive Feature
If one was to pick a single defining characteristic of the Brazilian society across
its history, a broad consensus would point to its tremendous levels of inequality. For inequality is probably the social feature that best connects Brazil’s
present to its past. Although it is perfectly admissible that each moment of the
country’s history is marked by a different form of inequality, based on different
specific causes, it is also evident that old inequalities often lay the foundations
for upcoming ones. In other words, in the absence of a substantive political
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 99
and economic rupture, the pattern of wealth and income concentration that has
characterized Brazil’s long-term history can still be seen as a strong influence
on the current stage of the country’s development. If not, how does one explain
that, according to some estimations, the Gini coefficient of income inequality
for Brazil measured 0.56 in 1872, approximately the same value for the mid1960s and for 2006?2 This suggests the existence of a kind of structural rigidity
that in many aspects relates to present-day problems in Brazil, to the pattern of
development assumed by its evolving sociality.
If this is correct, contemporary problems may be seen as the development
of basic forms of interaction inscribed in the foundations of modern Brazil.
In other words, the present crisis can be understood as a particular stage of
the broader, long-term Brazilian social crisis. As much as the colonial form
of capitalism that prevailed during the first three centuries of Portuguese rule
determined the development of the Brazilian economy following its political
independence, the political and psychosocial structures of a former slavery
society with extreme levels of wealth and income concentration can still exert
a powerful influence over the country’s present standards of sociality.
In this sense, it is worth considering how the idea of social question and the
initiatives aimed at mitigating inequality have developed in Brazil’s history.
Initially, with slavery officially running until 1888, it would seem anachronic
to speak of a social question up to this point. Until the end of the 19th century,
in fact, the social question was only indirectly addressed through the campaigns for slavery abolition. But precisely this anachronism makes explicit
how extreme the deficit of social inclusion during that time was. In the debates
concerning the strategies to replace captives by free workers in the Brazilian
economy, slaves and ex-slaves were usually treated by the Brazilian ruling
class as a dead weight for the national society: a mass of useless people that,
due to intrinsic psychological impairments, would never fit into a regular form
of waged labor. Such a perception was connected to an extremely negative
attitude towards labor, which, for centuries, had been intrinsically associated
with the curse of compulsive work and, as a consequence, with a state of degradation, abnormality, and inhumanity. This prejudice, culturally transferred to
manual workers and to poor people in general, did not disappear with the official end of slavery, neither institutionally, nor affectively. Instead it laid down
a set of cognitive and moral standards that determined the later assimilation of
the working classes in modern Brazilian society (Cardoso 2008).
After the abolishment of slavery and the subsequent proclamation of the
Republic, economic liberalism was in fashion among the landlords who concentrated the country’s wealth and power. This materialized in the first Brazilian republican Constitution of 1891, according to which labor relations were
merely – and conveniently – interpreted as free contracts between equal parties. The result was that the labor relations were put out of reach of any effective form of social regulation. This model of economic liberalism, selectively
adopted by what was for the rest a very anti-liberal society, prolonged the emptiness in the areas of welfare regulation and social security. Estimations show
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that in 1907 only 12.5% of school age children received formal education. In
1920 around 65% of the total population older than 15 was still illiterate (Cardoso 2010, 132).
After Getúlio Vargas seized power in 1930 in a coup against some of the
traditional landlord oligarchies, the new government introduced the first minimally effective social security laws, while booting the process of national
industrialization. However, the incorporation of the social question through
these laws was still marked by a great deficit. The social security norms implemented under Vargas were officially restricted to urban workers in a country
which was by far still predominantly rural. Furthermore, this partial incorporation of the social question in the public agenda was conditioned by the necessity of workers formally belonging to the official labor market, further driving
the presence of great inequalities. The truth was that a large part of the active,
urban population could barely achieve the status of a formal worker. Despite
being very limited, the political and symbolical weight of Vargas’s initiatives
in the social field helped him, after an uninterrupted period of 15 years in
office, to be democratically elected for a new term in 1951.3
The tragic death of Vargas in 1954, who, in the midst of an escalating political crisis, took his own life while still holding the president’s sash, helped to
shape the mythic image of him as a great popular leader. However, Vargas’s
economic nationalism, aiming at a higher level of economic autonomy for the
country, had made powerful enemies. The main sources of discontent among
the Brazilian most conservative forces – aligned with foreign interests – were
the president’s defense of a state-owned oil company (finally created in 1952
and named Petrobras) and the taxation of the remittance of profits sent by the
Brazilian subsidiaries to their international headquarters.
Many of Vargas’s industrialization plans would be pursued by his first
elected successor, the centrist Juscelino Kubitschek (1956–61). Shortly after,
however, the following President João Goulart (1961–64), a former minister
of Vargas, could not resist the upheaval of the conservative forces. In 1964, he
was ejected from the presidential chair by a military coup orchestrated against
his moderate left-wing government. Goulart’s proposition of a set of social and
economic measures, the so-called Basic Reforms, included a project of agrarian reform and, as a continuation of Vargas’s economic nationalism, aimed at
achieving a superior level of autonomy for the Brazilian industry. This would
constitute the basis for a more inclusive model of capitalist development in the
country. However, even this could not be tolerated by the Brazilian conservative elites in the context of the Cold War.
With the 1964 coup, the political possibilities for an inclusive project of
social development would be lost for decades. Despite growth years of the
so-called “Brazilian economic miracle” (1968–73), the 21 years of a civilmilitary dictatorship was marked by a sustained increase in inequality levels.
Wages were squeezed, union leaderships were persecuted, and productivity
gains were retained by capital owners. The Gini coefficient, estimated 0.53 in
1960, grew steadily until 1990, when it achieved 0.60 (Neri 2014). Thus, the
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 101
formation of a relatively robust industrial structure advanced at the political
and economic expense of the working class.
After a period of economic stagnation during the 1980s and the return to
a democratic system, with direct presidential elections taking place again in
1989, a long-lasting inflationary process inherited from the military regime
was finally tamed in 1994. Agreements with international creditors and new
liberalization reforms allowed Brazil the return to the international financial
system, whose global character had then further increased. By this time, the
economic window for an autonomous and more inclusive form of capitalist
development in Brazil had become much narrower. The historical project of
the PT must be understood against this historical background. The party’s
broad political project was less industrialist than those of Vargas and Goulart,
but still carried a similar aim of achieving a more inclusive model of capitalist development. In this respect, the differences regarding the Vargas model of
social inclusion should not be ignored. While Vargas represents for many the
archetype of populism – and it is not by chance that Vargas became known
as the Father of the Poor – the PT has always envisaged representing a form
of active self-government of the working class. Still, both movements have
important convergences when considered as political attempts at mitigating the
persistent inequalities of the country.
It is important however to understand the particular context in which the
much-celebrated redistributive policies of the Lula years took place. Many
indicators of living conditions clearly improved under the PT administration.
Yet most Brazilians remained poorly assisted in matters of housing, education,
public transportation, basic sanitation, security, and more. If Brazil reached
the same level of annual GDP as the United Kingdom in 2007, the per capita
income of the country was around five times lower in the same year: US$ 8,300
in Brazil against US$ 43,700 in the UK.4 In 2012 around 40% of the dwellings
in Brazil were still considered inadequate regarding minimum standards of living (IBGE 2015). In this same year, almost half of the youth of Brazil could not
complete the basic school education at the due age (IBGE 2013). Regarding
job creation, 95% of the positions generated during the 2010s paid up to one
and a half minimum wages (Pochmann 2012, 19), which roughly corresponded
to US$ 290 per month in January 2010.
These figures show that the deficit of social policies for most Brazilians
was – and still continues to be – enormous. As such, the positive results of
the 2000s would have to be maintained at the same pace for at least another
two decades to put Brazil at a comparable level regarding social inclusion in
Western Europe (Singer 2012). The mass protests of June 2013, gathering literally millions of people in the streets across the whole country, can arguably be regarded as a sudden explosion of the accumulated unease with the
general state of affairs. In sum, even if the living standards in Brazil have
improved over the last few years, they were still largely unsatisfactory for the
majority Brazilians. As a truly structural redistributional reform could never be
attempted in the country,5 it should have been clear that the political consensus
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formed around the recent social-democratic administrations of the PT would
only last if the latent contradictions of this problematic model of social inclusion could be circumvented by an increasing level of household consumption.
With the economic slowdown of 2014 and the deep recession that started
in 2015, the then only precariously pacified distributive struggle grew again
in tension. As the economic instabilities contaminated the political sphere, the
Brazilian historical social crisis accelerated to a decisive breaking point. When
long-term structural problems combined with conjunctural tensions, the result
was the emergence of a multi-level crisis, evolving simultaneously at the political, economic, and social levels.
3. Social Rigidity and Capitalist Accumulation
From a historical perspective, it appears that the recent fall of the PT’s model
of reformism should be associated with the structural rigidity of the Brazilian
elites when it comes to the question of accepting a more inclusive model of
capitalist regulation. As argued by Singer (2018, 296), despite the conciliatory
character of the PT, the simple attempt to mitigate the severity of the social
question in Brazil “has touched the nerve of the national question.” For inequality, as inherited from the slavery and colonial systems, is not simply part of
Brazilian sociality. The truth is that capitalist relations in Brazil are profoundly
shaped by inequality and, in the way that these relations have developed hitherto, they actually depend on it.
Economic relations in Brazil have been shaped by inequality since the country’s origins. The very meaning of the colonization, as referred by Prado Jr.
(1967), pursued by the Portuguese Crown in the dawn of the 16th century could
not be more clear: the establishment of a commercially profitable enterprise in
the tropics. After the first decades of settlement, it became evident for the colonizers that their commercial success could not rely on the simple extraction of
natural products that were already available in the new territory. Instead, they
would need to produce on site. And who was to work for this enterprise? The
Portuguese noblemen holding royal permissions to exploit the country surely
never considered to plow the lands with their own hands. The use of enslaved
Indigenous at first and then of captive Africans and their descendants for over
three centuries formed the basis for the colonial economy, which continued
operating under the same model until the end of slavery in 1888, that is, much
after Brazil’s political independence in 1822. The profitability of this economic
enterprise literally depended on the extreme levels of exploitation of the workforce – slaves in this case.
The poor and miserable conditions under which a significant proportion of
Brazilians had to live after the official end of slavery demonstrated that this
same logic would still persist for many decades. Even the industrialization
process, started in the 1930s under Vargas, could not dismiss the strategic use
of cheap a workforce to achieve the expected level of productivity and profitability. As argued by Brazilian sociologist Francisco de Oliveira, Brazil started
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 103
its industrialization under the worst possible conditions: during the world crisis
of the 1930s and with no direct support of any of the central economies. By
that time, Brazil’s rural economy was broken and, as one can imagine, only
had limited resources to ignite an alternative industrial sector. The industrial
accumulation was based on the horizontal exploitation of a virtually infinite
labor supply (Oliveira 2003).
The interruption by the end of the 1970s of the late industrialization process
attempted in the post-War period in Brazil destined the country to the periodic
repetition of short spasms of growth amidst long periods of economic stagnation. Lacking the material basis to operate with a greater degree of autonomy,
the economy mostly fluctuates according to external conditions, with Brazilians suffering the consequences of this instability. Capital accumulation in
Brazil still depends on cheap labor and, given the economic conditions under
which it takes place, continuously produces its precondition. That is why poverty is not exactly an obstacle for the development of Brazilian capitalism. In
fact, poverty is integrated into this regime of accumulation, since it represents
the social limbo from which the peripheral capitalists constantly pull out one of
their most basic resources: cheap labor. Dependent as they are on cheap labor,
the dynamic sectors have relatively little room for maneuver regarding redistribution projects. As Singer (2018, 21) comments, in such a context “some poor
may cease to be poor, but poverty cannot cease to exist.” Brazil’s incomplete
modernization, thus, makes the country a fertile ground for a deep-seated form
of under-citizenship.
The development of peripheral capitalism, by combining distinct phases of
the historical process, typically produces a kind of hybrid system (Oliveira
2007), one that simultaneously contains elements of the most advanced forms
of material production and of the most backward standards of human sociality.
Such a coexistence of the modern with the archaic is not a trait that can simply
be overcome by the spontaneous development of the peripheral societies. On
the contrary, this is a characteristic that keeps being updated with new elements and variations at each new phase of global capitalist development. By
no accident, racism, violence, militarism, and anti-republicanism remain as
structural elements of a society that, in various aspects, could not accomplish a
satisfactory transition into modernity. These are some of the authoritarian elements that emerge from the conservative management of a social crisis that has
never been structurally addressed, because addressing it would imply nothing
less than refounding the country’s socioeconomic structure – something that
the Brazilian elites seem to have no intention of doing.
Breaking with structural inequality in Brazil would thus require breaking
with the country’s peripheral condition (Sampaio Jr. 2007). However, the
national bourgeoisie seems to be in a beneficial position, given that it compensates its peripheral condition through a higher level of exploitation of the
working class. In other words: low wages as means of compensation for technological backwardness and low productivity.6 This helps to explains why Brazil is among the ten biggest economies on the planet, while at the same time
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the country figures as one of most unequal places in the world. The wealthiest Brazilians (top 1%) receive the highest share of national income in the
world, while the top 10% stay only behind the Middle East’s top 10% with
regards to their participation in the national income. At the same time, Brazil,
Sub-Saharan Africa, and the Middle East have the lowest income share for the
bottom 50% of the population (WID 2018, 43–45).7 The combination of low
productivity, high GDP, and extreme inequality indicates that a relevant basis
for growth in Brazil remains to be the extensive exploitation of its working
class.8
Far from the technological frontier in sectors with higher added value, Brazilian capitalism incorporates the high technology predominantly through consumption, and not in the production domain. The weakness of such a condition
would in any case slow down the political project started by the PT in 2003.
The social crisis management implemented by Lula and Dilma mitigated some
of its most harmful effects but did not achieve the necessary quality leap to
overcome structural inequality. The crisis that began in 2013 triggered a process of rapid dismantling of the party’s achievements. The political pendulum
moved once again to favor those willing to reduce all social protection for
workers, throwing the latter, free as birds, into the satanic mills of the deregulated free market.
Thus, it seems as if there was an invisible line beyond which it starts to
be problematic to the Brazilian capitalists to accept any further measure of
redistribution. This line was crossed somewhere between the end of the 2000s
and the beginning of the 2010s. And the economic downturn which hit Brazil in the second half of Dilma’s9 first term rang the alarm for the Brazilian
bourgeoisie. By this time, the objective condition of a virtually infinite supply of cheap labor, a structural characteristic of peripheral economies, was
under pressure. On the one hand, real wages had been raised above inflation
for almost a decade then, on the other hand, Brazilian productivity remained
stagnated. In the meanwhile, the critical fall in the prices of the commodities
exported by Brazil had already eliminated the last cushion against instabilities, hindering the state’s ability to pursue redistribution without affecting the
profitability of national capitalists. The impeachment against Dilma was made,
after all, to restore the balance by reducing the costs of labor in Brazil. The
election of Bolsonaro represented to the bourgeoisie an extension of this same
goal. As Bolsonaro clearly stated during the presidential run, Brazilians must
choose between two options: either rights or jobs.
As much as Brazilian capitalists have problems with income and wealth
redistribution, the Brazilian bourgeoisie has problems with the redistribution
of political power, i.e. with democracy. The entrance of masses of voters in the
Brazilian democracy can only be accepted up to the point in which it does not
threat business. These two rigidities, one political and one economic, are of
course two sides of the same coin. It is true that there have been changes and
reorientations, but the fact remains that Brazil could never completely break
with the limitations given by its peripheral position in the international division
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 105
of labor, nor with the historical ballast that defines the country as a profoundly
unequal society.
4. Social Rigidity and Political Conservatism
Much has been said about the conservative nature of the Brazilian upper
classes and their role as catalysts in the political crisis which followed the
mass protests in June 2013. In this sense, the uneasiness of parts of the Brazilian elites with redistributive programs and other social-democratic policies are
often presented as evidence of a consciously discriminatory character of these
groups, as if they were openly and decidedly taking part in a struggle of the
rich against the poor. To a certain extent, this may indeed be the case. But clearcut episodes of hatred of social policies, however disturbing, seem to indicate
the existence of a more pervasive political affect, one that goes rather diffuse
and underground. This affect can be described as a psychological rigidity of
the Brazilian upper classes regarding any political project of social inclusion.
Reflecting the standards of sociality that have prevailed in Brazilian history,
this rigidity takes the form of a political conservatism that – as much as the
material constraints depicted in the last section – keeps holding back a consistent increase in the quality of life of the Brazilian working classes.
For its size and political importance, the traditional middle class plays a
critical role in this story.10 The transformation of the original discontent regarding the general standards of living in the country, which first motivated broad
sectors of the middle classes to take part in the 2013 mass protests, into a
crusade against corruption, at the beginning, and then against PT, was built
upon the historical unease of the Brazilian elites towards the kind of political
project embodied by this party. From a cultural perspective, centuries of normalized inequality can make any serious redistribution attempt look like a law
against nature, for breaking with deeply rooted standards inevitably triggers
some misunderstanding or incomprehension. Further, implicitly bearing the
idea of an existing social injustice that should be solved, redistribution policies
compromise the very notion of merit, which is an important element of selfjustification for upper-class individuals living in an extremely unequal society
such as Brazil. Furthermore, if redistribution goes on and affects unavowed
privileges of well-off Brazilians, then it becomes truly unacceptable for a great
part of them. In this case, the psychosocial reluctance in accepting minimally
embracing social-democratic ideas was also reinforced by concrete outcomes
of the PT administrations.
One objective reason for parts of the middle class to be anti-PT resulted
from the indirect effects of the economic growth and the redistribution policies
implemented by this party. Despite the average increase of 18% in incomes
between 2001 and 2015, there are differences regarding the relative participation of each social group in these positive results. In this period, the wealthiest
10% increased their participation in the national income from 54% to 55%.
The participation of the poorest 50% increased from 11% to 12%. The 40% in
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between, the statistical middle class, experienced a decrease in their participation, from 34% to 32% – thus justifying the expression “squeezed middle.” It
is also worth noting, however, that the top 1% increased its share from 25%
to 28%. This means that the 9% below the top 1%, a reasonable proxy for the
traditional middle class in Brazil, experienced a decrease from 29% to 27%
in its share of national income (Morgan 2017). In the Brazilian context, this
phenomenon could be dubbed the “squeezed traditional middle.”
Thus, the set of policies promoted under the presidencies of Lula and Dilma
caused relative losses to the urban middle classes. The slow, but remarkable
improvements for those living at the bottom of the Brazilian social pyramid
indirectly squeezed some historical benefits that the traditional middle classes
have always enjoyed. The rapid inclusion of larger groups in the consumer
market, together with the increase in the minimum wage, favored increases
in the prices of conventional services and household goods. As a result, general costs of living increased for the groups whose wages had risen below the
national average.
To illustrate the ambiguous effects of the social improvements under PT,
one can look at the example of the public transport system, the catalyst of the
2013 protests. Brought about by the emerging poor, the arrival of thousands
of new cars and motorcycles in the Brazilian streets appeared as a sign of the
economic dynamism of the country. However, it also put an additional pressure on the already strained transportation systems of many urban centers of
Brazil. The growing discontent regarding increasing bus fares and the decreasing quality of urban mobility grew unbearable. Comparable effects could also
be observed in the fields of housing, security, healthcare, and education, all
lacking proper investments and hence noticeable improvements. The middle
classes, both the statistical and the traditional, were particularly exposed to the
contradictions brought about by the years of economic growth.
The other major source of discomfort for the Brazilian elites when confronted
by the PT’s redistributive policies was a direct one. In Brazil, the high level of
inequality has always produced a convenient situation for the bourgeoisie and
the traditional middle class, groups that have historically profited from the low
wages paid for unskilled labor. A great part of domestic workers, almost all
black women that, until very recently, used to inhabit windowless tiny rooms
in the back of middle-class apartments is only the most evident reminiscence
of the Brazilian economic system that separated the landlord’s house from the
slave hut. In essence, the picture originally described by Oliveira in 1972 still
remains valid:
Even certain types of strictly personal services, provided directly to the
consumer and within families, can reveal a disguised form of exploitation
that reinforces accumulation. Such services, in order to be provided outside the family, would require an infrastructure that cities do not have and,
of course, a base of capital accumulation that does not exist. The washing
of clothes at home can only be replaced in terms of costs by commercial
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 107
washing that competes with the low wages paid to domestic workers; the
private driver who takes the children to school can only be replaced by an
efficient public transport system that does not exist. Compared to an average American, a Brazilian of the [traditional] middle class, with equivalent
monetary incomes, enjoys a higher real standard of living, including all
kinds of personal services at the family level, basically supported by the
exploitation of labor, especially female labor.
(2003, 58)
These cheap services can only be afforded by the traditional middle class
because the service workers, earning low wages, are kept in poverty. This
corresponds to the dependency on low wages that characterizes the Brazilian
accumulation regime, a standard which further affects the average wages at all
income levels. The PT, with all its flaws, symbolized an attempt to re-balance
this situation. As the minimum wage rose in the form of a deliberate state
policy, conventional services and cheap, unskilled labor became relatively
expensive for those who had historically benefited the most from it.
These two mentioned forms of distributive struggle – one indirect and concerning the relative benefits of growth or its side effects, the other direct and
relating to the costs of cheap labor for the elites – have thus reinforced the
subjective challenge felt by the traditional middle class in Brazil. At the bottom
of the issue lies a question of alterity, one that has been haunting the Brazilian
upper classes for decades now. In Brazil, the poor have never enjoyed quality education, efficient hospitals, good housing, or urban security. Substantive
citizenship was never extended to the broader Brazilian population, but instead
only to a small part of it. An invisible line has always separated those who had
access to this citizenship, which I refer here to as the “elites,” from the majority, that is, the Brazilian poor.
In a widespread form of social conscience, as the “true” citizens (i.e. those
deserving social respect and enjoying a minimum of material comfort) are
never poor, then the poor are not regarded as true citizens. That is why a typical citizen of the traditional middle class would only accept the incorporation
of the poor into his or her own space of social dignity if the poor became a peer.
The Brazilian poor are not only materially, but also culturally deemed to a form
of sub-citizenship. The social policies implemented by the PT, even if very
limited, went against this logic. The traditional middle class, which usually
see the poor as being part of a qualitatively different social dimension – one
deserving less attention and care – felt disfavored.
In the present-day political debate, our typical middle-class individual
would possibly voice his or her discomfort by saying that it is not fair to give
money to poor people (as with the well-known social welfare program Bolsa
Família), because it would encourage them to work less. Such resources, he
or she would instinctively think, could be put to a “better use.” That is, to
improve the living standards that a middle-class citizen feels entitled to have:
one allowing for more consumption and for moving as far as possible from the
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world of social exclusion. If poverty is to end, then it should happen spontaneously, through the benefits of capitalist development and the personal merits of
those involved, and not through public policies and higher taxes. An example
of how social rigidity feeds a conservative political stance.
As the disappointment with the PT grew, the most conservative fringes of
the elites skillfully managed to form a new consensus around the flaws of Lula
and Dilma. The ensuing corruption scandals, some of them real, others inflated
or distorted, affected high-ranking members of the party, serving as the perfect
instrument for the freshly revived right-wing forces. The moral crusade against
corruption continuously provided important parts of the Brazilian elites with a
perfect excuse for being anti-Left, one that they could translate into slogans and
political actions. Thus, to a certain extent, the corruption scandals only gave the
upper classes a perfect excuse for supporting the impeachment of Dilma.11 The
economic downturn during Dilma’s second term, followed by daily critiques in
the media against the country’s stalling performance, galvanized masses around
the idea that the state in itself is a permanent source of corruption and inefficiency. This paved the way for an extreme variant of neoliberalism.
In fact, the anti-PT feeling has been pervasively instigated in the Brazilian
population for many years, much before the ascension of Bolsonaro. This has
been encouraged by representatives from neoliberal and conservative ideologies operating in different fields: mass media,12 the judiciary,13 think tanks,14
business associations,15 etc. With the party finally weakened after years of
organized attacks, the dispute for being its Other was open.
After the Temer interregnum (2016–18), Bolsonaro was not the first choice
for the Brazilian bourgeoisie. At first, the Brazilian upper classes wanted a
more palatable version of neoliberalism. But something went wrong with their
plans: neoliberalism per se would not so easily catch on amongst the Brazilian
lower classes. Further, the traditional pro-market party, the center-right Partido da Social-Democracia Brasileira (PSDB, the Brazilian Social Democracy
Party), was considered too much an establishment party. Skillfully conjugating
the critiques of the PT’s role in corruption scandals on the one hand, and a
strong (not to say authoritarian) stance in security matters, on the other, Bolsonaro grew in appeal and displaced the conventional center-right forces. The
marriage was arranged when Bolsonaro gave up his life-long nationalist and
corporatist positions while the neoliberal forces gave up their appearance of
enlightenment. Thus, to win the elections, neoliberalism carried the torch of
far-right conservatism. After all, neoliberalism requires subjectivities in order
to put forward its agenda. That was how conservative and neoliberal forces
formed a new power bloc in Brazilian politics.
Bolsonaro is the rude personality that is prepared to do the dirty work for the
Brazilian neoliberal elite. But he is also more than that. In the words of Cunha
(2019, 5), the strength of Bolsonarism
as [an] ideology seems to rely on the fact that it combines the needs of
contemporary crisis capitalism, both in what refers to accumulation itself
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 109
as well as to ideological processes, with deep-seated, constitutive elements
of the social character and the constitution of the subject in Brazilian . . .
truncated modernization.
The conclusion is that Brazil’s inequalities are historically so resilient that
even moderate attempts to improve the situation of the socially less fortunate
invariably raise important resistances, especially due to the rigid class structures and the relatively unstable living standards of both the low and the middle segments of the Brazilian population. The PT, maybe anticipating these
difficulties, did not dare to openly challenge the traditional forces that have
historically blocked the much-needed structural changes in the country. Still,
finding that the PT’s social policies had become too costly for their own interests, the conservative forces showed no mercy and moved to literally destroy
not only the party itself, but also some of its main actions of mitigation of the
Brazilian social crisis. Worst of all, the very ideas of economic regulation and
public policies have been increasingly demonized since the beginning of the
current crisis.
5. Concluding Remarks
If the structural character of inequalities in Brazil is a continual source of
resistance against inclusive projects of capitalist development in the country,
neoliberalism constitutes the specific drive behind the current stage of this
social crisis. Indeed, it is only possible to fully understand why the impeachment of Dilma, despite the formal observation of all legal requirements, should
be described as a soft coup d’état if we consider the neoliberal plot behind it.
For the Brazilian capitalists, the direct benefit of the impeachment was the
possibility to replace, without elections, a moderate social-democratic administration with an assumed pro-market one. For such capitalists, the impeachment was thus a way to impose a political platform that had been repeatedly
defeated in the previous four presidential elections. The executors of the coup
made use of controversial budgetary irregularities allegedly incurred by Dilma
as a convenient excuse to oust a democratically elected president with a centerleft background. Regarding the debate about the legal aspects of the whole
process, one cannot avoid the feeling that, no matter what Dilma actually did
or would eventually have done, her government had no chance against the
impeachment plot.
After the impeachment of Dilma, the pressures to reduce labor costs and
increase market flexibility were greatly reinforced in Brazil. The first postcoup phase of neoliberalism under Temer had a grand goal: tying the hands of
the state by making balanced budgets a mandatory constitutional requirement.
This was imposed by the so-called Ceiling Amendment in 2016, which freezes
discretionary public expenditures for a period of 20 years. The true meaning of
this amendment, however, is to ensure that the Brazilian state will assume the
payment of its debt as a top priority. In sum, the coup in Brazil was carried out
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in order to impose austerity plans and flexibilization measures on an unreliable
electorate.
Under Bolsonaro, however, the commitment to the neoliberal principles is
even more radical. His Minister of the Economy is the liberal Paulo Guedes,
a Brazilian Chicago Boy16 who shows no qualms in announcing his dream of
privatizing all possible state-owned companies and other providers of public
services. Guedes’ team have already managed to pass a pension reform that
substantially reduces public pensions and associated social benefits. The minister also plans to remove constitutional norms that ensure a minimum of public expenditure in the sectors of education and healthcare. He overtly speaks
of ceasing to hire new civil servants for the next years, without replacing those
who are going to retire (between 40% and 50% of current positions, he says).
This will literally shrink the state and strongly compromise the quality of services in a country where the poor population is already feebly assisted.
The present rise of an extremely conservative political discourse in the
country suggests that the movement around the values defended by Bolsonaro
may become a permanent force in the country’s political landscape, no matter
how disastrous his own administration will be. Bolsonaro has already shown
his ability of using the smoke screen of the moral combat against “cultural
Marxism” to mobilize support for the reforms proposed by his government.
Unfortunately, the accumulated level of discontent regarding living conditions
in the country, on the one hand, and the scale of misinformation produced
either by supporters of neoliberalism or by those of conservatism, on the other,
may allow for Bolsonarism to establish itself as long-term force in the country’s politics.
In Brazil, a peripheric economy with a colonial past and great social inequalities, the social fabric is being torn apart. Nevertheless, the current conservative and neoliberal power bloc is pursuing goals that will contribute to further
increasing the already enormous social problems of the country. Following
the impeachment in 2016, the first outcomes can already be seen; namely, an
increase in poverty, the collapse of public institutions and the explicit lack of
confidence in politics. The Bolsonaro administration has managed to put the
country in the vanguard of the backwardness.17 The self-contented retrieving
of a neo-colonial position in the world economy, the progressive weakening
of the already precarious social protection system and the emergence of an
authoritarian state corresponding to the failure of the liberal democracy are the
products of this crisis, which brings large portions of Brazilian society to the
brink of social collapse.
If the previous administrations of the PT were often rightfully accused of
covertly implementing neoliberal policies, the situation has now changed.
Under Bolsonaro, both the neoliberal and the most conservative forces have
lost their discretion and are given free reign. If the results in the short term can
be catastrophic for all Brazilians lacking effective means of social protection,
the country’s history is unfortunately a living testimony of how poor standards
of social inclusion can be indefinitely prolonged. The Brazilian society is not
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 111
only a prisoner of the things that it cannot change alone, such as the world
economic order, it is also a prisoner of things that, in other circumstances, could
eventually be altered. But even a more inclusive form of capitalist development,
one simply aiming at being profitable for a larger amount of people, proves to be
too radical an idea for those who have traditionally controlled the country’s fate.
Conservatism and neoliberalism, although seemingly disparate in their rhetoric, can perfectly match in reason of each one’s refusal of taking otherness
into consideration. Whereas the neoliberal reason reduces humanity – and thus
the human difference – into a matter of economic calculation, conservatism
rejects all values that do not correspond to its own image. The crisis and common interests just united them in Brazil. In a country where, a little over a century ago, the economic liberal discourse existed together with a slavery system,
this is actually no big surprise. Either way, the fact remains that the existence
of a power bloc uniting neoliberals and conservatives is one of the biggest
challenges for the progressive forces in the Brazilian history. This, precisely
when capital accumulation at the global level seems to enter a delicate phase,
with the deceleration of China’s economy, increasing productive automation,
growing precarity, and the outcomes of climate change. Brazil, not so long ago
an aspirant “global player,” is now far from being up to these challenges.
Notes
1. I thank Alex Jacobson for his careful reading and suggestions.
2. For the Gini coefficient of 1872, see Bertola et al. (2012). For the Gini coefficient
of the 1960s, see Neri (2014). The most recent statistics can be found at http://
ipeadata.gov.br.
3. After seizing power in 1930, Vargas led a provisional government until 1934. In
this year, he was indirectly elected president by the Constituent Assembly for a
four-year term. In 1937, however, Vargas dissolved the Brazilian Parliament and
installed a dictatorial regime that lasted until 1945. Following the presidency of
Eurico Dutra (1946–51), Vargas was elected president for the first time through a
direct election.
4. See Word Bank Open Data: https://data.worldbank.org.
5. An example of how Brazil’s wealth and income concentration is institutionalized
appears in the gentle tax structure that prevails in the country – gentle for the richest, of course. While the mean participation of income and profit taxes in the total
taxation reaches 33.7% in the OECD countries, Brazil has only 20.9% of its tax
revenues coming from these two sources, what favors those with big revenues or
capital earnings (OECD 2017, 154). In this regard, Brazil has the lowest rate in
South America, except for Paraguay (15.2%) and Argentina (20.5%).
6. In 2016, Brazil’s GDP per worker, a usual measure of labor productivity, corresponded to only 25% of the value for the USA. See Machado (2018).
7. According to the World Inequality Report 2018, “Brazil, the Middle East and
South Africa are the world’s most unequal regions” (WID 2018, 67).
8. Oliveira (2003) points to a strange coincidence by the fact that the highest rates of
growth during the 1950s and 1960s happened when real wages were reduced even
in the most dynamic sectors of the Brazilian economy. The fact that the economic
boom of the Lula years happened when 95% of the new job positions created in the
country paid up to 1.5 minimum wages is likewise remarkable.
112 Rômulo Lima
9. From now on, I will drop the surname (Rousseff ) and refer to the former president
simply as Dilma, as Brazilians generally do.
10. The sociological notion of “traditional” middle class is used here to describe the
Brazilian social group whose members’ occupations usually require higher education degrees, such as doctors, lawyers, engineers, managers, and company executives, for example. Statistically, it corresponds roughly to the upper-middle class.
Sociologically, it could be also dubbed petty bourgeoisie. In turn, the “statistical” middle class (as referred to later) merely describes the intermediary income
group between the richest and the poorest. Thus, in Brazil, regarding the level of
income, the statistical middle class stays below the traditional middle class. In this
sense, the traditional middle class comprises about 10% of the Brazilian population, placed just below the wealthiest 1% or 2%.
11. A typical example of the middle classes’ selective indignation against corruption
could be seen as President Temer was indicted for corruption while still in office.
In a disconcerting contrast to what had happened under Dilma, any important mass
protest was seen against the new president.
12. See https://t1p.de/mny2.
13. See https://t1p.de/dnps.
14. See https://t1p.de/0obl.
15. See https://t1p.de/9qwz.
16. Paulo Guedes received his PhD in economics at the University of Chicago
and worked as professor at the University of Chile during Augusto Pinochet’s
dictatorship.
17. The liberalization shock under implementation since the Temer administration is
impressive: it touches upon labor laws (suppression of directives against slaverysimilar working conditions and a labor law reform that, through flexibilization,
brings the very informality to the core of the formal relations of labor); environmental rules (extinction of protection areas in the Amazon Rainforest); privatization of state companies (including the strategic fields of sanitation, water supply,
energy production, and oil); the drastic reduction of public funding for education
and research, etc. With Bolsonaro, however, this may just be the beginning.
References
Bertola, Luís, Cecilia Castelnovo, and Henry Willebald. 2012. “Income distribution in
Brazil, 1870–1920.” XXVII Jornadas Anuales de Economía. Banco Central del Uruguay, Montevideo. Available at: www.bcu.gub.uy/Comunicaciones/Jornadas%20
de%20Economa/iees03j3551112.pdf.
Cardoso, Adalberto. 2008. “Slavery and Capitalist Sociality: An Essay on Social Inertia.” Novos Estudos CEBRAP (Special Edition in English) 4: 1–21.
———. 2010. A construção da sociedade do trabalho no Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: FGV.
Cunha, Daniel. 2019. “Bolsonarism and Frontier Capitalism.” The Brooklyn Rail,
February 2019. Available at: https://brooklynrail.org/2019/02/field-notes/Bolsona
rism-and-Frontier-Capitalism.
IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics). 2013. PNAD (Pesquisa
Nacional por Amostra de Domicílios). Available at: https://biblioteca.ibge.gov.br/
visualizacao/livros/liv94414.pdf.
———. 2015. Indicadores de Desenvolvimento Sustentável. Available at: https://biblio
teca.ibge.gov.br/visualizacao/livros/liv94254.pdf.
Machado, Flávio. 2018. Renda e produtividade nas últimas duas décadas. Série Panorama Brasil. São Paulo: Insper/Oliver Wyman. Available at: www.oliverwyman.
com/content/dam/oliver-wyman/v2/publications/2017/apr/panorama-brasil-paper1pt.pdf.
Bolsonaro and Brazilian Social Crisis 113
Morgan, Marc. 2017. Extreme and Persistent Inequality: New Evidence for Brazil combining National Accounts, Survey and Fiscal Data, 2001–2015. WID. World Working Paper Series 2017/12.
Neri, Marcelo. 2014. “Poverty Reduction and Wellbeing: Lula’s Real.” In Brazil under
the Workers’ Party, edited by F. Castro, K. Koonings, and M. Wiesebron, 102–125.
New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
OECD (Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development). 2017. Revenue
Statistics in Latin America and the Caribbean 1990–2015. Available at: https://
publications.iadb.org/publications/english/document/Revenue-Statistics-in-LatinAmerica-and-the-Caribbean-1990-2015.pdf.
Oliveira, Francisco de. 2003. Crítica da razão dualista. São Paulo: Boitempo.
———. 2007. “O momento Lênin.” In A era da indeterminação, edited by Francisco de
Oliveira and Cibele Risek, 257–288. São Paulo: Boitempo.
Pochmann, Márcio. 2012. Nova classe média? São Paulo: Boitempo.
Prado Jr., Caio. 1967. The Colonial Background of Modern Brazil. Berkeley Los Angeles: University of California Press.
Sampaio Jr., Plinio. 2007. “Globalização e reversão neocolonial: o impasse brasileiro.”
In Filosofía y teorías políticas entre la crítica y la utopía, edited by Guillermo H.
Vásquez, 143–155. Buenos Aires: CLACSO.
Singer, André. 2012. Os sentidos do lulismo. São Paulo: Cia. das Letras.
———. 2018. O lulismo em crise. Rio de Janeiro: Cia. das Letras.
WID (World Inequality Database). 2018. World Inequality Report 2018. Available at:
https://wir2018.wid.world/files/download/wir2018-full-report-english.pdf.
8
The Post-Depressive Constellation
From Political Effervescence
to the Rise of Right-Wing
Authoritarianism in Brazil
Arthur Bueno1
1. Introduction
At this point, few if any observers would consider it exaggerated to characterize Brazil’s recent political life as marked by permanent turmoil. An undeniable milestone in this process were the demonstrations of June 2013: in the
wake of the Arab Spring and Occupy Wall Street, and in anticipation of a series
of protests that would later surface in other parts of the world, the “Journeys of
June” signaled a decisive political shift in the country. A striking feature of this
event – also shared by many of these other protests, despite their differences –
was its initial political indeterminacy. Millions of people from a variety of
social and political backgrounds went out to the streets and took part in a widespread, intense and diffuse revolt against the political system as a whole. What
had begun as a local protest organized by a small autonomist group against the
rising prices of public transportation progressively gained momentum until it
turned, in rapid escalation, into a generalized revolt featuring a wide variety
of political claims. At their peak, the 2013 demonstrations were marked by
the pervasive feeling – well captured by one of the placards which became
famous at the time – that “There are so many things wrong that they don’t fit
one placard.”
Yet in the months and years that followed, this rather vague political force
came to take on progressively consolidated forms in the course of an oscillating dynamic in which moments of polarized struggle between different social
groups were intertwined by situations of distention or new indeterminacy. It
suffices to list some of these moments to give an idea of the intensity of Brazil’s political life after June 2013. Since then a federal investigation against
corruption, Operation Car Wash, came to target powerful economic and political actors – in particular leading figures of Lula’s and Dilma Rousseff’s governments – and became a source of permanent struggle and legal instability.
In 2014 President Rousseff (PT) was re-elected amid questioning of the election’s legitimacy by her opponent in the second round, Aécio Neves (PSDB),
and only two years later, after a long series of mass demonstrations from both
sides, removed from office by the National Congress. The government of her
former vice-president, Michel Temer (PMDB) – supported by a plethora of
The Post-Depressive Constellation 115
political forces comprising both earlier supporters and oppositionists of Rousseff’s administration – then came to experience the lowest rates of popularity of
recent decades amidst an economic crisis deepened by the enforcement of fiscal austerity policies and ongoing corruption scandals prompted by Operation
Car Wash. The country later saw former President Lula be charged by the same
criminal investigation and taken to prison in 2018, what prevented him from
running for office at a moment when polls indicated his possible victory. It
witnessed in the same year the assassination of the politician and human rights
activist Marielle Franco (PSOL), who had successfully made her way from the
favelas to city councilor of Rio de Janeiro. Finally, it watched the political rise
and presidential election of Jair Bolsonaro (PSC), a congressman historically
linked to the defense of the military dictatorship (1964–85) and – as it would
only recently become widely recognized – associated with members of paramilitary forces (known as “militia”) suspected of involvement in the murder
of Marielle Franco. Few days after the election, Bolsonaro nominated Sérgio
Moro, the federal judge who sentenced Lula to prison and rose to prominence
with Operation Car Wash, as Minister of Justice.
In half a decade, Brazil’s political life thus oscillated from the diffuse and
quite ambivalent enthusiasm of June 2013 to an increasing ideological polarization which culminated in the election of Jair Bolsonaro. It was in the midst
of this process that a “new Right” was seen to emerge and assumed a hitherto
unprecedented role in the country’s political struggles. While right-wing discourses and practices have deep roots in Brazilian society, not ceasing to be
present with the transition from the military dictatorship to the “New Republic” established by the 1988 Constitution (Pierucci 1987, 1989), from 2013
on they took center stage and came to be explicitly encamped by a plethora
of social movements, assuming more ideologically marked as well as more
combative forms. A neoconservatism emerged, then, that no longer manifested
itself predominantly in taken-for-granted practices – as those carried out by
state apparatuses such as the police and the army, both still largely structured
along the authoritarian directives of the dictatorship period – and a diffuse
depoliticization, but rather through the articulation of relatively coherent ideological discourses (Chaloub and Perlatto 2016; Fernandes and Vieira 2019)
and a variety of organized struggles for hegemony: against communism and
“cultural Marxism,” against feminism and “gender ideology,” against quotabased distributive policies and in favor of meritocracy, for nationalism but also
for the radicalization of neoliberal economic policies, for more permissive gun
laws and even for a novel “military intervention” (Cruz et al. 2015; Telles
2015; Messenberg 2017; Solano 2018; Rocha 2019a).
This was certainly not the outcome of an unambiguous development. While
one of the striking features of the 2013 protests was the unequivocal return of
the (far) right to the streets, the “Journeys of June” also gave new impetus to a
variety of left-wing movements: feminist, antiracist, LGBTQI, for public education and the right to the city, among others (Maricato et al. 2013; Facchini
and Rodrigues 2017; Medeiros and Fanti 2019; Medeiros et al. 2019). These
116 Arthur Bueno
diverging tendencies can, however, be meaningfully grasped as part of one and
same process insofar as they are considered against the backdrop of a general
crisis that has taken Brazilian democracy and given new forms to its social
struggles. Such a crisis has certainly many dimensions: it can be analyzed as
an outcome of distributive conflicts between different social classes and groups
(Braga 2017; Singer 2018), as well as in terms of a progressive delegitimization
of the political system in relation to the demands of society (Nobre 2013b). Yet
some of its aspects cannot be sufficiently understood, I contend, without taking
into account the social psychological structure on which the previous political order was based and which can also be seen as having entered into crisis.
The political events of the past years, including the rise of the new Right, may
then come to appear as manifold reactions to the subjective tensions inherent
to the institutional arrangement in force before the 2013 protests. From such a
perspective, what we are dealing with is not only the crisis of a social-political
order but also of a corresponding form of subjectivity: one, as I will argue in
this essay, for which experiences of psychological malaise came to be predominantly conceived of in terms of depression.
2. From Depression to Post-Depression?
The turn to the 21st century took place largely under the sign of depression.
The “noonday demon,” as Andrew Solomon referred to it in his 2001 best
seller, appeared not only to afflict ever larger portions of the population but
also to symbolize some of the most pressing problems of contemporary life.
More than to just mark the spread of an individual illness, the rapid rise in the
rates of depression was seen to constitute an index of major social transformations occurring after the Second World War and especially since the 1960s.
Psychological suffering seemed, then, no longer to be predominantly displayed
in the classical neurotic symptoms of Freud’s time, but rather in feelings of
exhaustion, emptiness, and an inability to act (Ehrenberg 2010 [1998]). While
Freudian neurosis consisted in an illness of guilt in which the subject felt torn
between the allowed and the forbidden, the authority of the law and the force
of repressed drives, depression can be described as an illness of inadequacy in
which everything is apparently allowed but one feels nevertheless unable to
measure up to the full range of available possibilities. “If, as Freud thought, ‘a
person becomes neurotic because he cannot tolerate the amount of frustration
which society imposes on him,’ he becomes depressed because he must tolerate
the illusion that everything is possible for him” (ibid., 232). Split between the
possible and the impossible, the endlessly available and what one is actually
able to accomplish, the depressed individual is a person “out of gas”: “Tired
and empty, restless and violent – in short, nervous – we feel the weight of our
individual sovereignty” (ibid., 9).
This shift from neurosis to depression in clinical diagnoses was considered
by many the sign of a new social order: one in which individuals came to
be faced with ever stronger requirements of self-responsibility and authentic
The Post-Depressive Constellation 117
self-realization – the demand of “being oneself” or, as suggested by a popular
self-help book, one’s Best Self: Be You, Only Better – in a context of declining
social support and escalating inequality, competition, and precarity (Boltanski
and Chiapello 2017 [1998]; Sennett 1998). As a result of an “elective affinity”
between the development of a financialized, post-Fordist regime of accumulation and the diffusion of Romantic and aesthetic ideals of personal authenticity,
a “new individualism” (Honneth 2004 [2002]) was seen to emerge in which
disciplinary obedience gave way to entrepreneurial initiative (Bröckling 2016
[2007]; Dardot and Laval 2014 [2010]). Rather than guided (and constrained)
by universal and relatively fixed patterns of rationality, this new subject would
be driven by the possibility (and demand) of continuously sustaining a singular, authentic life (Reckwitz 2017): one that is both self-discovered and
experimentally created, emotionally communicative and flexibly adapted to
ever-changing market conditions.
If the role model of such a society is represented by the neoliberal “entrepreneur of the self” in search for both authenticity and success, its antitype is
nothing other than the depressive subject.
When the enterprise becomes a life-form – a Lebensführung, as Weber
would have put it – the multiplicity of choices to be made on a daily basis,
the incitement to continual risk-taking, and the constant encouragement of
personal capitalisation are liable to entail a “weariness of the self” in the
long run.
(Dardot and Laval 2014 [2010], 292)
The depressive individual marks the point at which the requirement of being
an entrepreneur of the self becomes subjectively problematic: when the prospect of authentic self-realization turns into emptiness and exhaustion, when
the search for self-determination ends up in a sense of alienation (Rosa 2016;
Jaeggi 2016). Moving between the entrepreneur of the self and its depressive
counterpoint, social experience then takes the form of a “frantic stagnation”:
the perception that one must keep moving forward and trying harder – at ever
faster rates, preferably faster than the others – without actually feeling one is
going anywhere (Rosa 2013 [2005], 2011).
More than just a clinical diagnosis, depression has thus become a keyword
for various kinds of subjective failure with regard to normative expectations
institutionalized in the last decades of the 20th century. As a result of the shift
of emphasis from discipline and norm-conformity to individual initiative and
self-discovered identity, two central problems of modernity – the interrelated
perils of lack of autonomy and lack of authenticity – have come to take on specific forms. Instead of proving themselves as autonomous beings by asserting
capacities they possess as general members of the human species, individuals
have increasingly attempted to do so by employing creative forces that make
them appear as singular with regard to others (Reckwitz 2017). It is in this
respect that depression represents, as Ehrenberg (2003) emphasized, a “disease
118 Arthur Bueno
of autonomy.” Now by virtue of the same process, depression can also be interpreted as a “disease of authenticity.” Whereas subjects would once seek selfrealization by referring to a core personality conceived of as intimate, even
unfathomable, and as such largely held apart from public scrutiny, they have
come to do so more and more by the success-oriented mobilization of personal,
affective capacities viewed as both open to transformation and permeable to
external evaluation: they are “invented” as much as “discovered” (Honneth
2004 [2002]).
This social configuration – which we may designate metonymically as the
depressive society – is pervaded by escalating tensions, and yet it managed to
maintain a considerable degree of stability in the past decades. So much so
that, at the turn of the 21st century, such institutional arrangement seemed by
its very logic to hinder the articulation of depressive symptoms and associated
forms of psychological malaise in terms of explicit political claims and organized struggles (cf. Honneth 2000, 2009 [2004]). Today, however, we reached a
point at which the pressures of this order have intensified to such an extent that
its persistence appears to be seriously compromised: it does not seem possible
to remain for much longer in a state of frantic stagnation. From the Arab Spring
to Occupy Wall Street, from June 2013 in Brazil to the gilets jaunes in France,
from Brexit to the elections of Trump and Bolsonaro, many political events
of our time suggest an exhaustion of the social configuration which had been
stabilized in recent decades. They equally seem to indicate an exhaustion of
the forms of subjectivity which came to prevail in that order. It is in this regard
that I suggest we speak of a post-depressive constellation: a situation in which
the social psychological tensions of the depressive order have reached a peak,
leading to a variety of reactions and struggles but not yet to the establishment
of a new consensus and a stable institutional framework.
The prefix “post” thus does not designate here an overcoming of the depressive society and its prevailing forms of subjectivity; it rather indicates the persistence and transformation of that order’s conflicts in the context of its crisis.
It is on the basis of, and in reaction to, the exacerbation of tensions linked
to the institutionalization of an entrepreneurial-depressive subjectivity that a
constellation of varied, and oftentimes opposing, forms of social psychological
experience as well as a diversity of conflicting political horizons can be seen
to have surfaced.
3. Depressive Brazil
While the emergence of this configuration can be taken to consist in a global
phenomenon, it has assumed a specific form in Brazilian society. As mentioned
earlier, since 2013 the country’s political life has been marked by intense social
struggles and ongoing institutional disruptions in a context marked by a deepening economic crisis. This situation contrasts sharply with the decade that
preceded it: during Lula’s two presidential mandates (2003–10) and the first
two years of Rousseff’s government (2011–12), Brazil experienced a period of
The Post-Depressive Constellation 119
economic growth, mitigation of extreme poverty, and relative social ascension
by the lower classes to such a degree that for many a “new middle class” (Neri
2011) or, more accurately, a “new working class” (Pochmann 2012; Singer
2012) had emerged. This was a time of rising expectations, and one then had
the impression that, as stated in the cover of a 2009 edition of The Economist,
Brazil was “taking off.”
Yet those incipient forms of social progress not only relied on specific economic conditions (e.g., the 2000s “commodities boom” and the expansion of
microcredit [cf. Carvalho 2018]) but were also bounded by a political configuration characteristic of the country’s New Republic: one in which demands
for social inclusion were counteracted by, and had to be constantly negotiated
with, the interests of well-established actors. Particularly significant in this
regard was a bundle of powerful yet ideologically loose political parties, epitomized by the PMDB and largely symbiotic to the state apparatus, as well as an
economic elite whose financial profits increasingly depended on the enforcement of neoliberal policies. It is on this basis that one can describe such a
period in terms of an “immobility in motion” (Nobre 2013a): i.e., an ongoing and conflictual adjustment between a “social developmental” consensus
welcoming the expansion of rights, on the one hand, and a political-economic
core functioning as a veto system and imposing ever-renewed barriers to those
demands, on the other.
This conflictual arrangement also explains other important features of that
period. As a new working class gained strength and voice, labor conditions
turned increasingly precarious and social ascension came to be predominantly
understood in terms of a competition for individual self-realization and success
(Braga 2012). Such a tendency was equally expressed in the dissemination of
forms of conspicuous consumption framed by discourses of personal authenticity emphasizing not only inter-class but also, and perhaps most significantly,
intra-class competition (Pinheiro-Machado and Scalco 2014; Caldeira 2014).
Something similar applies to the role played by evangelical neo-Pentecostal
churches, whose cultural importance grew steadily in that period: here again,
the path to social ascension and improvement of one’s life was largely understood as relying on a charismatic connection to God conceived as both leading
to and being attested by the individual’s entrepreneurial effort and success in
the world (Côrtes 2018).
A new subjectivity was thus formed in this period: one that presents considerable similarities – if also important differences – with the type of subject
highlighted by those analyses of depression formulated in the context of the
richer countries of the West and, for the most part, of their middle classes
(Ehrenberg 2010 [1998]; Honneth 2004 [2002]; Dardot and Laval 2014 [2010];
Rosa 2011). The precarious worker, the ascending consumer, the enthusiastic
believer, the threatened member of the middle class, even the rich wary of its
social standing – all these can be seen to constitute different versions of an
“entrepreneur of the self” eager to explore the full range of available possibilities to affirm their autonomy through individual initiative as well as to find
120 Arthur Bueno
authenticity in the creation of a successful “best self.” And yet, as the Brazilian
case also shows, such attempts cannot but face limitations intrinsic to the order
in which they emerge: namely, those manifested in a sense of intensified individual competition as well as in the perception that one’s attempts to succeed
come to be blocked, again and again, by apparently insurmountable powers
“from above.” It is precisely to those limits that many political processes and
movements of the past years, despite their differences, can be seen to have
responded. And it is in such regard that they may be grasped as particular
moments of a broader “post-depressive constellation.”
4. The Politics of Exhaustion
Yet on what conceptual grounds can one argue that our social and political
present, in particular as it has taken shape in Brazil, may be seen to consist in
a post-depressive situation? The pertinence of such an account can be founded,
I contend, on the fact that the forms of social struggle and political action
which have become prominent in the past years may be meaningfully interpreted as reactions to two central features of the depressive order, two interconnected sources of its frantic stagnation.
It is clear, on the one hand, that recent political movements build on the
widespread dissatisfaction with a social order that has largely presented itself
as unavoidable. The dictum “There Is No Alternative” not only served to legitimize neoliberal economic policies adopted to varying degrees by governments
on the Right and the Left, but also presented an eloquent expression of the way
in which subjects came to relate to social institutions in general, many of which
were reshaped in the image and likeness of the “laws of the market.” One of its
political consequences was a significant limitation of popular participation and
a widespread sense of closure of the political system in relation to society – a
perception that could only become more acute in a context of rising inequality
and failed responses to economic crises. It does not come as a surprise, then,
that several movements of our time manifest a certain resentment towards the
ruling elites and claims for more participation: they can, indeed, be seen to constitute a reaction to the fatalism of the prevailing forms of social regulation.2
But contemporary political processes can also be viewed as reactions to
another feature of the depressive order: i.e., the structuration of social life as a
market-like competition between atomized individuals, each of whom is held
responsible for his or her own success and self-realization (a notion that was,
again, synthetized by one of Thatcher’s mottos: “There is no such thing as a
society”). However, the demand that each person should be a self-sufficient
individual has resulted in growing feelings of isolation and social fragmentation. The fact that the neoliberal homo economicus incorporated aspects of
the Romantic ideal of authentic self-discovery did not mitigate those negative
effects. Rather, it raised the stakes and was bound to increase the frustration of
those who cannot fulfil the demands of achieving success and “being oneself.”
Such a feeling could only become more acute as social benefits were gradually
The Post-Depressive Constellation 121
removed and larger parts of the population found themselves in a situation
of precarity and uncertainty. It does not come as a surprise, then, that several
political movements of our time manifest a desire for experiences of affective
communion: they can be seen to constitute, in this regard, a reaction to the
prevailing forms of social disintegration.
Typical of the post-depressive situation are hence forms of political struggle
which respond to the tensions of the depressive society in ways that point, at
least potentially, towards the constitution of a different social order. But even if
(or precisely because) they can be seen as reactions to the central problems of
the depressive configuration – in particular its normative fatalism and its affective fragmentation – it would be misleading to conceive of these movements
as simply external to that institutional order. Rather, in both these regards the
political struggles of the present can be seen to build upon tensions and potentials inherent to the depressive society. The self-responsible and authentic
“entrepreneur of the self” already consists in an internally conflicted ideal.
It implies, on the one hand, the promise that by experimentally discovering
one’s own singularity one would be able to establish a meaningful connection, a sense of communion with others and the world. Such an ideal also
points, on the other hand, to the notion that market-like forms of regulation
would allow for a legitimate balance between personal activity and normative
cohesion, individual autonomy and collective self-determination. So much so
that, if these potentials are not fulfilled – when the emphasis on self-sufficient
singularity results in social disintegration and the enforcement of market-like
regulations leads to a sense of normative closure – they may bring forth, again
and again, precisely those demands for affective communion and normative
self-determination.
What seems to characterize our current situation is, however, that the realization of these unfulfilled promises is to a great extent no longer sought in the
framework of the depressive order, but rather by attempts of moving beyond
it. Depressive exhaustion has itself, so to speak, come to a point of exhaustion.
And yet, the post-depressive situation is not characterized by a single cohesive
form of political action or organization. What connects its many and often contradictory expressions is rather the fact that they can all be seen as responses to
the escalating tensions of the depressive society. We are dealing not so much
with a new order as with a new constellation, a set of different reactions and
political stances. Two of the latter have become prominent in the past years and
are crucial to understand recent political processes in Brazil. The first consists
in what I suggest designating as “post-depressive effervescence.”
5. Post-Depressive Effervescence
The 2013 demonstrations in Brazil, as many of the political uprisings of the
2010s, were marked in their decisive moments by experiences of affective
immersion in a vaguely structured collectivity as well as by the absence of
clearly defined goals. These two features are crucial to understand why they
122 Arthur Bueno
can be seen as expressions of a post-depressive situation: it was due to, and
not in spite of, their normative and affective vagueness that those uprisings
could be perceived as powerful contestations of the predominant social order.
The political indeterminacy of these movements, for which they were so often
criticized, was also the basis of their attraction: it allowed for a sense of togetherness based on the participation in a shared affective atmosphere, an experience that could appear as a counterpoint to the competitive atomization of
the depressive order. A decisive moment in the 2013 demonstrations in Brazil
occurred when, on 17 June, a protest initially prompted by the high cost of
public transportation and propelled by an autonomist group – the Free Fare
Movement (MPL) – was joined by millions of people who, coming from multiple social and political backgrounds, protested for an equally wide diversity
of political aims (Nobre 2013b; Alonso and Mische 2016). As if from one
moment to the next, everything that drew these multiple actors apart no longer
seemed to hold. In the words of one of the protesters:
On that day I saw a lot of people arriving with the Brazilian flag, some
organised groups distributing Brazilian flags, anarchists, black blocs, people from PSOL, from the Workers’ Party . . . I thought: “There are a lot
of people here that hate each other, and they are all together.” During the
demonstration, I felt that that was really beautiful. When I came home,
I saw that some people were worried, writing on Facebook: “let’s get out
of the streets,” “the right is trying to co-opt,” “we’re losing focus.” But
actually, I came home feeling delighted.3
These statements capture well the general atmosphere of that day: an
excited feeling of togetherness, a sense that social and political differences
were no longer irreconcilable but rather could give rise to a sort of affective
unity established in and out of diversity (Moraes et al. 2014). This is crucial
to understand the thrust of that movement as well as why it could be felt as a
reaction to the prevailing forms of social fragmentation. In contrast to the selfsufficiency of the “entrepreneur of the self” and the isolation of the depressive subject, the experience of finding oneself on the streets with a multitude
of people was felt by many as an affectively liberating or “cathartic” one
(Bringel and Pleyers 2015, 8). Now, it is clear that this (rather indeterminate)
sense of affective togetherness arose in connection with, and was premised on,
the confrontation with a common (yet also quite roughly defined) antagonist:
the political system, prevailing institutions, tudo isso que está aí (“all that
is there”). The experience of collective effervescence was made possible as
well as intensified by its conjunction with radical, if momentary, challenges
to established norms and corresponding claims for more direct or substantive political participation (Mendonça 2018). Confrontations with the police,
blockages of the streets, occupations of public institutions: from one moment
to the next, life no longer seemed to be constrained by a set of immutable, fatal
laws. One rather felt that the collectivity would from then on establish its own
The Post-Depressive Constellation 123
norms, that the population would exert its constituent power. As expressed by
one of the protesters:
Someone called us and said: “They are invading the National Congress.”
I felt a very high adrenaline, as if a Bastille would fall down on that day.
That is why I went to the Palace of Bandeirantes [head office of the São
Paulo state government]. I thought: “If they are going to remove the governor by force, I want at least to see that.”4
In contrast to the self-entrepreneur’s adaptation to pre-given norms and the
depressive subject’s feeling of impotence, the experience of challenging the
established order could give one the sense that they regained the capacity for
effective collective self-determination, the possibility of actively participating
in the construction of social institutions.
Such moments have proven to be, however, inherently unstable. Soon the
perception arose that this sense of togetherness is made of heterogeneous elements which are not easily reconcilable; soon those involved realized that their
normative standpoints can lead to radically different political arrangements.
A new set of tensions derived precisely from the normative vagueness and
affective indeterminacy of these movements. They marked the beginning of
struggles concerning the political meaning and institutional articulation of that
intense yet quite ambivalent collective experience.
In the early stages of the Journey of June one could, indeed, already notice
the emergence of conflicting stances regarding the political significance of the
protests. Each of these positions can be discerned as a specific response to
the practical challenges posed by such a disrupting event. There were those,
for instance, who claimed that the demonstrations should be further pursued
precisely in the shape in which they had initially presented themselves: as an
overall rupture with prevailing norms in tandem with the sustenance of a vague
and affectively charged “common.” Such was the position defended by several
of those associated with the autonomist movements that had taken the front
line of the demonstrations (cf. Pelbart 2013; Moraes et al. 2014). For their
part, many sectors of the center-left closer to the Workers’ Party considered the
political indeterminacy of the Journeys of June – which had not only paved
the way for an insurgence against PT administrations but also for a return of
the (far) right to the streets – as a risk to democratic institutions and the social
achievements of the Lula and Rousseff governments (cf. Souza 2016). In doing
so, however, they could not avoid appearing as advocates of a political-social
order whose normative fatalism and affective disintegration were precisely
being challenged. Other political groups equally criticized the institutional
rupture caused by the protests and advocated a return to the previous social
configuration, yet not so much with a view to expanding social rights but rather
to intensifying market-friendly policies already underway. This was the position assumed by center-right parties such as the PSDB and the PMDB (later
made explicit in the proposal of a “Bridge to the Future” presented in the first
124 Arthur Bueno
days of Temer’s government) as well as by new right-wing movements that
emerged in the wake of the protests, e.g., the Free Brazil Movement (MBL)
(cf. Rocha 2019b). Others still, while seeking to retain the affective intensity
and sense of togetherness which irrupted in the Journeys of June, claimed that
such a state could only be secured and stabilized within a novel institutional
order: one supposed to guarantee social and normative cohesion by repressive
means and which would represent, in many regards, a rupture with the New
Republic founded by the 1988 Constitution (cf. Messenberg 2017). This is a
crucial feature of the far-right that gained traction in the wake of the 2013 demonstrations and came to assume over the years a leading role in the country’s
politics.
6. Post-Depressive Authoritarianism
Brazil’s political history since 2013 may, then, be understood in terms of an
ongoing struggle between the normative-affective horizons projected by these
stances as well as their combinations. While Rousseff’s re-election in 2014
represented a momentary victory for the center-left proposal of gradual expansion of social inclusion as had been pursued in previous years (even if, at this
point, implying an even greater commitment to the neoliberal program of fiscal austerity), during her government a series of mass protests followed which
were no longer marked by the political indeterminacy of the Journeys of June
but rather by a stronger polarization between the Right and the Left or, more
specifically, between those against and for Rousseff’s impeachment. With her
removal from office in 2016, a new administration led by President Michel
Temer (PMDB) ensued which explicitly aimed at the enforcement of a radicalized program of neoliberal austerity reforms. Yet far from taming the politicaleconomic crisis that had developed in previous years, this process rather led to
its intensification. The sense of growing affective disintegration – manifested
most visibly in the polarization between political claims which appeared as
ultimately irreconcilable – then came to be accompanied by a significant loss
of legitimacy of the institutional order, with the increasing perception that the
latter would no more than express the particular interests of powerful actors
and their interplay. It is in this context that far-right movements which had
surfaced in the Journeys of June – if then only with a marginal role – gained
momentum until they culminated in the election of Bolsonaro in 2018. If one
can interpret the recent rise of the far-right as part of a post-depressive constellation, it is to the extent that this process may be interpreted as a reaction to the
intensification of the democratic crisis in the aftermath of Rousseff’s impeachment and during Temer’s government: a crisis characterized by a feeling of
affective disintegration and radicalization of social conflict, on the one hand,
and an acute delegitimization of the normative-institutional order, on the other.
While the rise of the (far) right and the election of Bolsonaro should not be
seen as unavoidable outcomes of such a double-edged crisis, they certainly
cannot be understood without reference to it. The growing perception of social
The Post-Depressive Constellation 125
fragmentation may explain why, similarly to what had occurred in the Journeys
of June, the upsurge of the new Right has been characterized by intense expectations of affective communion. The 2015 and 2016 protests against Rousseff’s
government which led to her impeachment were, in fact, marked by states
of collective excitement reminiscent of those of the 2013 demonstrations. Yet
they also differed in important regards. Even while bringing together a variety of positions across the political spectrum, the protests against Rousseff
took place in a context of intensifying ideological polarization and were more
clearly manifestations of the Right. They hence not only helped to create some
form of unified action on such a camp but also consolidated the far-right as a
relevant political actor: amidst the millions of people who rallied against corruption wearing the colors of the national flag, one could hear not only warnings against the alleged “communism” of the Workers’ Party and the threat
posed by “gender ideology” for the preservation of traditional family values,
but also acclamations of the military dictatorship (1964–85) and demands for
a novel “military intervention.”
In a sense, then, the experience of being immersed in a heterogeneous multitude gave way here to more uniform and exclusionary conceptions of (national)
communion. Rather than constituting the political expression of a multiple and
indeterminate “common,” as it was at least momentarily the case in the Journeys of June, these protests largely vocalized the moral defense of a socially
homogeneous community. Such a view would later play a crucial role in the
2018 election of Jair Bolsonaro, whose main slogan – “Brazil Above Everything, God Above Everyone” – not only evocated Trump’s “Make America
Great Again” but also literally, if not admittedly, Hitler’s “Deutschland über
alles.” This political view can, thus, be seen to respond to social disintegration
in a particularly defensive manner: it takes affective togetherness to be possible
only by way of an exclusion or even elimination of extraneous and corrupting
elements, be they “communists” or “cultural Marxists” (associated with the
Workers’ Party and the Left), “scroungers” or “criminals” (associated with the
racialized poor), “enemies of the family” or “pedophilia advocates” (associated with feminist and LGBTQI movements), or other deviant figures from the
perspective of moral conservatism.
Yet the new far-right has not only reacted to the perception of affective fragmentation by advancing a moral crusade against sexual minorities, political
opponents and sectors of the “dangerous classes” in the hopes of achieving a
rather homogeneous form of social cohesion. It has also responded in a particular way to the growing sense of normative delegitimization which achieved
its peak during the Temer administration. In the context of failed attempts to
mitigate a deepening economic crisis (via the radicalization of market-friendly
policies) and the emergence of ever-new corruption scandals (resulting from
Operation Car Wash), what came to be felt by many as problematic about
social institutions is not so much that they seem to embody seemingly inexorable “laws of nature” – as it was the case in the depressive order – but rather that
we apparently live in a world in which “natural” norms have lost their efficacy.
126 Arthur Bueno
In this regard, the authoritarian subject reacts less to a state of fatalism than to
a perceived situation of anomie, i.e. a sense that forms of regulation no longer
hold which would be able to provide social relations with order and stability.
This explains why such a political view is not oriented towards the suspension
of prevailing norms, as in the collective effervescence of June 2013, but rather
towards the establishment of a repressive order. In reaction to a society perceived as socially disintegrated and anomically deregulated, the authoritarian
claims for a political community which could extirpate disintegrating elements
and enforce norms coercive or violent enough to retain their effectiveness.
Besides authoritarian, the new Brazilian far-right is also – and quite strikingly, in view of the features of the depressive order it responds to – characterized by claims for an even further radicalization of the neoliberal project.
Bolsonaro’s presidential campaign was, indeed, explicitly marked by an alliance between the defense of moral conservatism and the repressive enforcement of norms, on the one hand, and a radically neoliberal economic program,
on the other (Puzone and Miguel 2019). Such an alliance is certainly pervaded
by tensions, yet not necessarily incongruent – both with regard to its historical
emergence and its political form. Inasmuch as the roots of the crisis came to
be largely associated with Workers’ Party administrations, the way was paved
for an identification of the problems of the depressive order with the Left and
everything connected to it. In this context, it became reasonable for many to
envision a way out of the crisis in the implementation of a program of economic reforms which would reinforce, rather than contest, the notion that one
must abide to the “laws of the market” as well as attempt to become a successful “entrepreneur of the self.” Specific to such a radicalized affirmation
of neoliberalism, in contrast to other previous instantiations, is precisely its
combination with an explicitly authoritarian stance that draws its impetus from
the crisis of the depressive order. New authoritarianism and radical neoliberalism are mixed here in a peculiar – we may say: post-depressive – manner. Their
political alliance leads, on the one hand, to the notion that an affective communion could be established that would be based on the exclusion or elimination of every heterogeneous element, i.e. each and every one who refuses or
fails to comply to the ideal of a morally incorrupt entrepreneur of the self: “the
good citizen” (an expression that became wide-spread in Brazil as the new
Right rose to prominence). It also leads, on the other hand, to the idea that a
sufficiently cohesive normative order could be achieved only by means of the
undeterred, and unapologetically brutal if necessary, enforcement of the “laws
of the market”: there shall not be an alternative.
7. Conclusion
Such a political project is, as the previous ones addressed in this essay, pervaded
by tensions. It is not only potentially explosive concerning its effects to social
relations in general, and in particular to those groups that appear as its opponents. It is also internally conflicted by the very combination of new authoritarianism and radical neoliberalism – and these have been, indeed, widely
The Post-Depressive Constellation 127
recognized at this point as two different poles of Bolsonaro’s government as
well as two distinctive social movements on which it relies. And yet, the far-right
feeds off that very instability: the production of an ever-renewed sense of social
disintegration and normative disarray allows it to restate, once and once again,
its promise that an integrated and regulated social order can only be achieved
through the exclusion of extraneous or corrupting elements and the repressive
enforcement of naturalized, market-friendly or market-like norms. Whether the
conflicts it produces will conduce to the stabilization of a novel social order in line
with that far-right project or rather lead to a different outcome is, at this point, an
open question. It would be certainly misleading to consider such a project the only
political horizon of a post-depressive situation as it has emerged in Brazil since
the Journeys of June. Still, whatever path we might take in this regard cannot but
come from the unfolding tensions and struggles posed by such a constellation.
Notes
1. An initial version of this paper was presented at the workshop “The Brazilian Coup
d’État and the Right-Wing Tide” (26-27 September 2017) at the Rosa Luxemburg
Foundation in Berlin. I would like to thank all the participants for their comments
on that occasion, as well as Bernardo Bianchi, Jorge Chaloub, Mariana Teixeira and
Ricardo Juozepavicius Gonçalves for their further suggestions.
2. The arguments developed here and in the following pages rely on a specific understanding of Durkheim’s account of the social pathologies of modernity. Crucial in
this regard is a distinction between two dimensions of sociality: social regulation
(which refers to normative orders) and social integration (which refers to affective or
atmospheric conditions). Social regulation moves between two poles: high or excessive normative constraint (“fatalism”) and high or excessive normative pulverization
(“anomie”). Social integration, for its part, moves between the two poles of high or
excessive affective atomization (“egoism”) and high or excessive affective dissolution (“altruism”). Cf. Durkheim (2013 [1893], 2005 [1897]); Bueno (2018).
3. From the documentary “Junho: O Mês que Abalou o Brasil,” directed by João
Wainer (2014), produced by TV Folha. Available at: https://arte.folha.uol.com.br/
tvfolha/2014/05/20/junho/.
4. From the documentary “Junho: O Mês que Abalou o Brasil,” directed by João
Wainer (2014), produced by TV Folha. Available at: https://arte.folha.uol.com.br/
tvfolha/2014/05/20/junho/.
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Part II
Social Regression
9
Paulo Freire’s Legacy and the
Ideological Battle in Brazil
Bernardo Bianchi1
1. Introduction
In 2011, Congresswoman Luiza Erundina (PSB) sent Bill No. 50 to the Brazilian Chamber of Deputies: the bill in question would consecrate educator Paulo
Freire as the patron of education in Brazil. Having received parliamentary
approval, the bill was signed into law by President Dilma Rousseff the following year under No. 12,612. A year later, Freire’s literacy method celebrated its
50th anniversary. And yet, despite the bill’s passage, Law No. 12,612 would go
largely ignored in the ensuing years. In 2016, Senator Magno Malta (PR-ES)2
presented Bill No. 193/2016 before the Senate, also known as the “Nonpartisan School” Bill (Escola Sem Partido). Although that initiative was fruitless,
it paved the way for a proliferation of similar bills nationwide. In 2017, the
Senate Commission of Human Rights rejected a request, backed by popular
demand, to revoke law No. 12,612. Since the 2018 presidential election, Jair
Bolsonaro has decried Freire’s influence in Brazil and made clear his intention
of challenging Freire’s status as patron of national education.
The honorary title conferred on Freire, Patron of Brazilian Education, represents a recognition of the author’s national importance. His writings have
had significant repercussions in Brazil as well as internationally. In the late
1960s, having been exiled by the military dictatorship (1964–85), Freire began
to receive widespread international acclaim and was eventually invited in the
early 1970s to teach courses at Harvard University, and later still, serve as
consultant for the World Council of Churches (WCC) in Geneva, Switzerland.
During that same time period, his writings were published in English and began
to attract the enthusiasm of educators and young people in the United States.
This in turn led to a certain fetishistic admiration of his figure, since his method
was prone to interpretations construing it as a panacea for any and all issues
related to education. Freire received a number of honorary academic titles in
the following years – from the University of Geneva (1979), the Complutense
University of Madrid (1991), and the University of Chicago (1993), in addition to receiving awards like the 1986 UNESCO Prize for Peace Education.
Gustavo Fischman noted in 2009 that “a decade after his death, all his books
are still in print . . . in more than 60 languages; and his name has been used to
134
Bernardo Bianchi
identify public and private schools, research centers, NGOs, and pre-schools in
more than 45 countries” (Fischman 2009, 232).
No doubt important, the “Patron” title had no real practical effect – it did
not lead to new Freire-inspired public policies. Nor should the honorific be
confused to mean that a Freirean pedagogy had been adopted as policy for the
Brazilian educational system in the era of re-democratization (1975–85). In
fact, the application of Freire’s method in contemporary Brazilian public education is limited. Following his return from exile in 1980, Freire worked as a
university professor3 and served as Secretary of Education in São Paulo under
the mayorship of Luiza Erundina (1989–91), at the time affiliated with the PT.
That period was the only time that Freire was directly linked with fashioning
public policy after 1964 in the area of education, and even then those initiatives
were limited to the municipality of São Paulo. Notwithstanding the national
importance of that city, the policies Freire formulated during the period did not
extend to national educational policy.
Despite its 13 years in the executive branch, the PT never managed to reform
primary and secondary, non-university, education, which could have seen
Freire’s methodology assume a level of national prominence. By no means
does that mean that the PT did no prioritize education and its corresponding
ministry, the latter being helmed by either technical appointments or important
party cadres (Cristovam Buarque, 2003–4; Fernando Haddad, 2005–12; Renato
Janine Ribeiro, 2015). Worth noting, the policies of inclusion implemented in
the educational field, particularly strong during Haddad’s term as Education
Minister, drew the ire of conservative and reactionary sectors of Brazilian society. These measures included both structural modifications, such as the National
Minimum Professional Salary (PSPN) – Law No. 11,738/2008 – as well as
curricular modifications, such as obligatory instruction of Afro-Brazilian and
African culture and history in the schools – Law No. 11,645/2008. Whatever
the case, it remains a rarity in Brazilian recent history that the PT did not
realize any proper reform project – unlike other governments that did substantially alter national primary education. In 1971, the military regime approved
sweeping educational reform through Law No. 5,692, which revised the Brazilian education system so that it would play a professionalizing and vocational role. In 1996, with the 1988 Constitution already in place, and during the
government of Fernando Henrique Cardoso (1995–2002), Law No. 9,394 was
enacted – the National Educational Bases and Guidelines Law. That law led to
the creation of National Curricular Parameters (PCNs), issued by the Ministry
of Education under Cardoso, between 1997 and 2000.
Brazilian secondary, high-school level, education was reformed under
Michel Temer’s (PMDB) government (2016–18) with the passage of Provisional Measure 746/2016, which would become Law No. 13,415/2017. That
reform bore many similarities with the 1971 reform.4 Earlier, in 2012, Rousseff’s Ministry of Education had been studying the possibility of implementing
a high-school reform bill, but that initiative was definitively buried with Temer’s 2016 reform (Oliveira 2017, 29). The latter reform established a National
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 135
Common Base Curriculum (BNCC), which, like the PCNs, sought to formulate guidelines for curricular content. In other words, Freirean methodology
was largely absent from the main public documents – the 1971 reform, the
PCNs, and the 2017 reform – that have guided primary and secondary level
education throughout the last 50 years.
The demonstrable marginality of Freire in Brazilian educational policy
serves to frame how the Brazilian ultra-right has developed its rhetorical strategy in recent years. In contemporary Brazilian political debate, the politicization of Freire’s work goes well beyond any sober assessment of his legacy as
it relates to the national education system. Demonstrations calling for Rousseff’s impeachment in 2015 often attacked Freire’s figure, which in turn was
identified with the PT. Banners reading “Enough Paulo Freire” showed that,
despite all evidence to the contrary, the conservative camp had successfully
convinced many people of a direct relationship between the PT government
and the implementation of Freire-inspired educational policy, which in turn
would come to be associated with “Marxist indoctrination.”
This chapter seeks to extend the notion of de-democratization and its methodological concerns as they are developed in Chapter 1 of this edited volume.
Specifically, my concern here is to emphasize the political dynamics culminating in the regression and collapse of Brazilian democracy. De-democratization
is not understood here as the inevitable result or reconciliation with a “democratic illusion” underlying the implementation of the New Republic (1985), but
rather as the effect of processes and political disputes. As Rômulo Lima points
out in Chapter 7, the point here is not to deny the limits of re-democratization
that were indeed intrinsic to the New Republic, but only to reject any analytic key that ignores the emergence of factors that would play a decisive role
in determining the current Brazilian political situation. The present chapter is
divided into three sections, focusing on: (1) the Nonpartisan School Movement
(ESP); (2) the Brazilian political context in which Freire’s pedagogical project
emerged; (3) the relation between politics and education in Paulo Freire.
2. The Nonpartisan School Movement
The ESP movement emerged in 2004 but remained in the shadows of public
debate for many years, until, finally, it started gaining political relevance in
the 2010s. Its founding indictment was that Brazilian schools act as a privileged site for ideological manipulation. That initiative culminated in Bill
No. 867/2015, which sought to have the nonpartisan program incorporated
into the standards of national instruction. The project was shelved in 2019, but
that did not prevent many other similar legal initiatives from being proposed.
At present, the movement maintains an online platform where students and
family members are encouraged to document professors’ in-class behavior, in
order to prevent violations of “teacher neutrality.” According to Miguel Nagib,
founder of ESP, practices considered to be in violation of neutrality are the following: “on the one hand, indoctrination, or ideological, political or partisan
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propaganda in schools and universities; on the other hand, encroaching on
parents’ right to provide religious and moral education for their children, by
schools and professors” (2018).
Even though the movement sought to present itself as ideologically neutral,
documents issued by the ESP lead us to draw certain conclusions about its
ideological slant: “the Left alone is responsible for instrumentalizing instruction for political and ideological ends; being opposed to this practice, we are
seen as [their] ideological adversaries” (“FAQ – Escolasempartido.org: O ESP
é de direita?” n.d.). This accusation, of left-wing indoctrination through educational establishments, has been a common practice in Brazil since the 1960s,
particularly among law enforcement officials. Not only is the “indoctrination
claim” an abiding feature of Brazilian history, it cannot be analyzed as if it
were unique to the Brazilian ultra-right. Like its counterparts in the United
States of America and Hungary, the Brazilian ultra-right views education and
culture as playing a central role in the creation and consolidation of public
consensus, and for laying the foundation of political communities. As defined
by James Davison Hunter, the American culture wars refer to the emergence in
the 1960s of polarized notions of political community, fundamentally different
worldviews and moral systems (Hunter 1992, 42). These culture wars mark a
shift in public debate away from economic policy or electoral contests, instead
prioritizing struggles over worldviews (Hartman 2016, 6).5
The Brazilian ultra-right maintains that the Left has been successful in consolidating its grip over the cultural sphere, and thus, undermining the foundations of the prevailing moral order. On their account, this calls for a type of
cultural action capable of countering the Left’s successful strategy. With that,
the ultra-right has embraced a particular conception of political transformation based on the idea of intellectual revolution. That is, it is fundamentally
by changing the way people think that political and social transformation will
take place. This view, labeled as “metapolitics,” has proven a crucial idea for
the ultra-right (Sedgwick 2019, xviii) and has included right-wing readings of
Antonio Gramsci and other authors identified with the Left, such as Theodor
Adorno.6
In France, proponents of the so-called Nouvelle Droite like Alain de Benoist
and Guillaume Faye have been responsible for rereading Gramsci and defending the necessity of developing a right-wing Gramscian strategy (ibid., xviii).
This reading concentrates on the Gramscian argument that state-oriented
political action has limitations. Gramsci did indeed argue that the struggle for
hegemony should include, above all, the dispute within civil society over a
larger Weltanschaaungen and for cultural dominance.7 In 2018, during the Brazilian presidential elections, a WhatsApp driven campaign proclaimed “more
military schools, less Frankfurt School.” There was, in other words, a similar
operation applied to the Frankfurt School as there was with Gramsci. Adorno’s
argument, developed in the 1960s, held that political action without a critique
of ideology was useless – a conclusion which was regarded as a call for a
left-wing cultural strategy.8 The ultra-right understands this argument to mean
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 137
that there is a left-wing strategy of intellectual manipulation seeking to spread
a Marxist worldview. Their indictment, specifically, is that by taking control
of universities, schools, and cultural organizations, the Left has hegemonized
opinion and effectively laid the groundwork for the seizure of power.
The Brazilian ultra-right applies this same logic to its own actions. Interviewed by journalist Natália Portinari for O Globo in 2018, ultra-right ideologue and adviser of the Bolsonaro clan Olavo de Carvalho underscored his
sympathies for the ESP leaders, while adding that he has his own criticisms
of the movement’s strategy (Portinari 2018). In his book on Gramsci, O. de
Carvalho maintains that “if Lenin was the theorist of the putsch, [Gramsci]
was the strategist of a psychological revolution paving the way to the coup
d’état” (O. de Carvalho 2019, Chapter 2, para. 3). O. de Carvalho thus equated
Gramscian strategy with brainwashing and the undermining of Western values
and traditions (O. de Carvalho 2019, Chapter 2, para. 15). In short, the accusations leveled against Gramsci were remarkably similar to those applied by the
ultra-right to Freire.
In order to prevent ideological meddling in schools, Nagib defends the place
of the family in the educational process and appeals to arguments formulated
in Armindo Moreira’s Professor não é educador (A Teacher Is Not an Educator) (Nagib 2018). The central thesis of that work, endorsed by Nagib, is that
education and instruction should be separate affairs. While education is the
purview of the family, the second is the responsibility of the school. On this
account, Nagib repeats Moreira’s definition of instruction: “providing knowledge and skills that allow people to easily earn a living and their livelihood”
(Nagib 2018). For Nagib, schools usurp a right that is the exclusive purview
of parents and the family. The teacher should limit him- or herself to imparting
neutral knowledge, avoiding the promotion of any type of value or perspective
on the student’s reality and instead concentrate on preparing him or her for
their professional future. This type of argument explains the links that the ESP
movement has formed with several ultraliberal think tanks, such as the Instituto Mises Brasil9 and the Instituto Millenium, as well as Brasil 200, a group
of prominent business leaders associated with the ultra-right, such as Luciano
Hang and Flavio Rocha.
Disseminating the idea that the Left – via Freire – had sealed its cultural
hegemony through Brazilian educational institutions, the ESP movement and
the Brazilian ultra-right look to position themselves as combatants in an ideological war. And Freire is their natural adversary. At the heart of Freire’s pedagogical project, there is an integral link between education and the need to
adopt a critical stance. Worth recalling, that which Nagib calls “instruction”
would be defined in Freirean terms as “banking education”: the simple transmission of knowledge. Freire’s position earned him a reputation by the Brazilian Right as political agitator, someone who confused education and politics.
But this characterization overlooks the fact that education as a political problem was not something invented by Freire, but rather the result of contradictions inherent in the foundation of the very republican idea in Brazil.
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3. The Political Context: Education and Exclusion
In his book Os Bestializados: o Rio de Janeiro e a República que não foi, (The
Brutes: Rio de Janeiro and the Republic That Never Was), 1987, José Murilo
de Carvalho weighs in against simplistic accounts of the early 1889 Republic,
where it is commonly held that inhabitants of the capital were largely apathetic.
Against that account, the author argues for the need to understand that the Brazilian state, marked as it was by its colonial past, was alienated from the people
it regarded more as subjects than citizens (J. M. de Carvalho 1987, 141). Given
that context, the brutes were not those who abstained from politics, instead
“the brutes were those who took politics seriously, [and, therefore,] those who
could be manipulated” (J. M. de Carvalho 1987, 160). Murilo de Carvalho’s
historiographic work has the merit of shedding light on the Brazilian people’s
lack of political interest. Idleness and knavery thus constituted a type of “hidden transcript,” similar to what James C. Scott claimed “represents a critique
of power spoken behind the back of the dominant” (Scott 1992, X). What at
first glance appears to be passivity is in fact activity: a form of political resistance. Therefore, it is an error to judge the population in terms of politicization
or the lack of it, since their depoliticization has also political causes.
The Brazilian Constitution of 1891, inspired by the French Constitution of
1791, established a distinction between active and passive citizens (Arts. 69
and 70). Emmanuel-Joseph de Sieyès, one of those responsible for drafting
the French law of 22 December 1789,10 which would serve as the basis for a
fundamental distinction enshrined in the French charter, declared on this matter that all can “enjoy the advantages afforded by society; but only those who
contribute to the public establishment are . . . true, active citizens, the true
members of this association” (Sieyès 1789, 21). Nor was this an unfortunate
misstep that would be rectified in the republic. Commenting on a piece of
propaganda dating from the Brazilian empire which stated that in 1887 only
1.5% of the Brazilian popular was eligible to vote, Sérgio Buarque de Holanda
observes that “the situation would not change in the 40 years since the fall of
the regime” (2005, 285). Brazil, for the time period, boasted one of the most
restrictive systems of suffrage.
The illiterate were barred from voting in Brazil. This represented a serious segmentation of the citizenry which would have dramatic repercussions
on the formation of the public sphere under the First Republic,11 where the
right to vote served a social function rather than a right:12 suffrage represented
a concession on the part of the state to the citizens on whom it entrusted its
conservation. Worth noting, the exclusion of the illiterate was implemented
during the Empire, with the 1882 electoral reform, known as the Saraiva Law,
but it would only become a constitutional rule nine years later, in the 1891
Constitution.13 According to Holanda, in the debates preceding the reform, in
1879, legislators “were more afraid of the illiterate than the constitutionalists
of 1824” (Holanda 2005, 234).14 The parliamentary sensibility of the time felt
that it was necessary to neutralize the threat of the “unconscious masses,” the
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 139
“ignorant rabble,” the “sovereignty of ignorance.” The “literary census,” as
politician Ruy Barbosa called it, was not a Brazilian invention either, being a
characteristic feature of Latin America, where, different from Europe, exclusion worked through “ignorance” rather than income or property (see Nicolau
2012). The 1891 Constitution eliminated pecuniary voting criteria that had
been in place since 1824, but it simultaneously enshrined the “literary census.”
It thus excluded an enormous contingent of the population. According to the
1890 census, this illiterate group represented 82.63% of the population, discounting those younger than five years old (see Paiva 1990, 10).15
The idea that the exercise of political citizenship could be tied to the attainment of a certain type of knowledge, a determinate capacity, is a debate rooted
in the second half of the 19th century, occasioned by the establishment of universal suffrage in France. In that country, however, the numerical principle
and that of intellect were reconciled via obligatory instruction, which would
neutralize what was considered the danger of an immature national population. Countless times, republicans would evoke the tragedy of the number:
examples of this were the presidential elections of 1848, which elected Louis
Bonaparte, and the 1851 plebiscite legitimizing his coup d’état. In the eyes of
many republicans, the ignorance of the people had passed from national shame
to potential threat. According to Pierre Rosanvallon, that perception spurred
the démopédie movement, which sought to raise the people to the standard
set by the republicans through the greatest republican achievement: universal
suffrage in France (Rosanvallon 1992, 353–371). Through their efforts, many
came to support public instruction as a means to form conscientious political
actors, although for many their primary goal was to create a secular morality
that would guarantee social cohesion.
In Brazil, illiteracy was neither exclusively a national shame nor just a matter of public instruction, but rather, and above all, a political question: in Brazil, politics is defined more by the imperatives of maintaining public order than
any issue related to the public sphere. Whereas in France there was an attempt
to eliminate the gap between the public sphere and the people, Brazil saw an
effort to protect public order from the meddling of the “ignorant masses.” In
the final instance, illiteracy was about much more than the individual lack of
ability to read and write. It was intimately related to an effort to neutralize the
presence in the public sphere of large contingents of the population seen as
representing a threat to the elite-established social order. It would be overly
simplistic though to suggest that the population was regarded as dangerous for
their ignorance. In truth, it was because they represented a threat to the established order that they were regarded as incapable of political participation.
This is why José Bonifácio the Younger, an imperial politician, could assert
that the exclusions from suffrage aimed at creating and protecting an “electoral
elite” (Holanda 2005, 264).
Adding to that, the republican Constitution of 1891 removed the guarantee of primary-level instruction for all citizens (Art. 179, XXXII, from the
Imperial Constitution of 1824). In that way, access to political citizenship was
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virtually restricted to only those social segments that had the means to educate
themselves. More than constituting and fortifying a true public sphere, this
was an effort to protect public order in a context in which the agrarian elite,
long-resenting the centralization of power under the empire, was consolidating
its own power. Defining ignorance – illiteracy – as a limitation to the exercise
of political citizenship is a cruel measure, as it cloaks insurmountable social
inequalities in the appearance of transitory and reversible differences. In that
sense, barring former slaves from exercising their right to vote, as envisaged
by the 1824 Constitution (Art. 94, II), explicitly consecrated the racial character of relations of domination. The 1891 Constitution, on the other hand, used
the artifice that social inequalities and racial exclusions could be legitimatized
and dissimulated through the literary census. If on the one hand all individuals
could be instructed and leave behind their condition of ignorance or incompetence, on the other hand, the state made no effort to expand social rights and
solve social and ethnic inequalities that impeded large parts of the population
from accessing education. The possibility of education disguised the fact of
exclusion – it was an ideological artifice.
4. Education and Politics
According to censuses conducted in Brazil, between 1890 and 1960 there was
a continuous reduction of illiteracy in the country. Surveys showing 82.6%
illiteracy in 1890 reported 46.7% in 1960 among people five years of age or
more.16 During that period, Brazil had four different Constitutions (1891, 1934,
1937, and 1946). Under each Constitution there was a prevailing understanding that the vote could not be extended to the illiterate.17 In the 1960s, in Latin
America, only Brazil, Chile, and Peru demanded that their citizens be able to
read and write in order to vote. Brazil, which was the second country in the
region to grant women the right to vote, in 1932,18 was the last to extend suffrage to the illiterate in 1985 (Nicolau 2002),19 under Constitutional Amendment No. 25. It is within this context that the work of Freire must be grasped.
Education is not an issue restricted to issues of ignorance, backwardness, or
barbarism. It is directly related to strategies of domination. It is through education that society’s internal divisions are instantiated, allowing some voices to
be heard and form an electoral elite, while other are relegated to the margins of
the polis, reduced to the condition of dehumanized noise.
In 1962, Brazil witnessed an extended stretch of democratic rule. Thenpresident of the republic João Goulart was a progressive politician who
engaged in political dialogue, albeit partially, with agrarian and urban social
movements. But the literary census represented an obstacle to the expansion
of political participation, excluding nearly half of citizens from the right to
vote (Nicolau 2012). In 1961, the Grassroots Education Movement (MEB),
based on an initiative of the National Brazilian Bishops Conference (CNBB),
participated promoting adult literacy in marginalized regions. The National
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 141
Student Union (UNE) created an organization known as the Popular Center
for Culture (CPC), which would be active in campaigns to raise consciousness
among popular sectors. Calazans Fernandes, Secretary of Education for Rio
Grande do Norte – one of the states with the highest illiteracy races – invited
Freire to design a literacy project for Angicos. At that time, Angicos was a
small and poor municipality situated at 178 kilometers from Natal, the capital
of Rio Grande do Norte, in the Brazilian Northeast. The project was conducted
in collaboration with the SUDENE (Superintendence for Development of the
Northeast20) and the US Agency for International Development (USAID),
through the Alliance for Progress.
The project catered to 380 residents of Angicos and was conducted between
January and April 1963, totaling 40 hours of classes. The final class was attended
by President João Goulart, the economist Celso Furtado of the SUDENE, and
General Humberto Castelo Branco, later to become the first military president
after the 1964 coup,21 among other authorities and figures from the Alliance for
Progress. According to accounts of the project, it managed to teach literacy to
300 participants (Lyra 1996). In July 1963, Ministerial Ordinance No. 195/6,
issued by the MEC, instituted the Committee of Popular Culture “with the
express purpose of implementing new, eminently popular educational systems
on a national scale, in order to reach areas that have not enjoyed the benefits of
education.” Under a subsequent Ministerial Ordinance, Freire was designated
president of the commission and his literacy method became national policy.
In early 1963, the adult literacy methods of Freire began to see application
in the state of São Paulo – a pioneering project conducted by the São Paulo
State Student Union. Also participating in that initiative was Celso Beisiegel,
then connected to the Regional Center of Educational Research for São Paulo
(CRPE). Similar projects spread across the country and on 21 January 1964,
Presidential Decree No. 53,464 enacted a “National Literacy Program [PNA]
based on the Paulo Freire System and implemented through the Ministry of
Education and Culture.” Education Minister Júlio Sambaqui decided that
Freire and other members of the Angicos Literacy Project should be included
in a committee responsible for implementing the project. According to Carlos Alberto Torres, the project called for the creation of 60,870 culture circles throughout the country, each one lasting three months and attending to
1,834,200 illiterate individuals between the ages of 15 and 45 (see Torres 2014,
117–118). During that same time period, Freire’s methods were having powerful international repercussions and President John F. Kennedy had even scheduled a visit to Angicos in December 1963, cancelled after his assassination
on November 1963. The PNA itself was scheduled to begin on 13 May 1964.
However, the coup d’état in April 1964 brought those plans to an abrupt halt,
as the armed forces ousted João Goulart. Presidential Decree No. 53,886/14
April 1964, struck down the PNE on the grounds that the program required
restructuring. In June 1964, Freire was imprisoned for 70 days. Following his
release, Freire went into exile.
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4.1 Freire’s Legacy
Freire, author of numerous works spanning 40 years, incorporated a diverse
range of influences that in turn led to transformations in his own thought.
The present chapter does not intend to review the history of these modifications.22 For my purpose, it suffices to point to the continuities across his legacy
that have been the object of the Brazilian ultra-right’s critique. In that sense,
I seek here to demonstrate that Freire’s proposal to politicize education was a
response to the historic exclusion of the masses based on their lack of access
to formal education. Confronting that problem demanded an educational proposal centered on the principle of equality, a basic idea upon which Freire
systematically insisted until his final days.
Freire sought to reveal the contingent and artificial nature of domination
over the oppressed – disguised under the cloak of illiteracy. He likewise
insisted on equality as a central principle to his pedagogical formulations and
practices, the core of his political stance. Politics thus is the task “of enabling
many of our comrades, especially in the countryside . . . to read and write,
which they were prohibited from doing during the colonial regime. . . . The
decision to teach literacy is a political act” (Freire 1980, 137). I refer here to
Freire’s “political stance” in a sense that is diametrically different from what
I have previously designated as the political treatment of illiteracy and access
to formal education in Brazil. Freire’s perspective deserves to be classified as
such and is understood best in light of how the concept of the political has been
formulated by Jacques Rancière.23 For Rancière, politics is not to be confused
with the discourse of domination, which involves the naturalization of power
relations – as is the case with exclusion on the basis of illiteracy. The discourse
of power produces a “distribution of the sensible,” that is, it prescribes what
can and cannot appear, what word and what sound can be heard or ignored
determining the place and function of each individual and social group in a
given social organization. In short, at the same time as it produces a distribution of the sensible, power naturalizes its operation so that every form of
contestation from the oppressed is regarded as illegitimate. The type of action
typical of the discourse of power is to subordinate politics to public order.
The Freire method meant, simultaneously, teaching literacy and politicization. Under the influence of the intellectual Álvaro Vieira Pinto, Freire rejected
the naïve notion that the illiterate can be only understood as individuals, without
also taking into account the social relations in which they are situated – that is,
to use Murilo de Carvalho’s terminology, as brutish victims of backwardness.
The alienated pedagogue will never understand that illiteracy is a degree
in the educational process and not the absence of education. . . . The illiterate person is an individual that has been educated under the conditions
that national reality has offered them. They know a number of things that
serve for their subsistence, and that they do not know how to read and
write is because under their working conditions these are not required for
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 143
their subsistence. The fundamental error of our official pedagogues and
their erudite, simplistic pedagogy is in supposing that their object is the
zero-degree individual with no education or knowledge. . . . In truth, these
individuals possess sufficient education for the life conditions in which
they exist, so that if we wish to alter their education, what we have to do
is not simply infuse them with knowledge, but transform their general life
circumstances.
(Pinto 1960, 2:383)
Freire’s work thus guarded itself against a naïve conception of the illiteracy
problem, where the illiterate person is taken as substandard or a strictly passive or imperfect being. It is worth recalling here the manner in which Benedictus Spinoza rejected the Scholastic concept of perfection, and proposed
in its place to equate that concept to the concept of reality – “by reality and
perfection I understand the same thing” (Spinoza 1985a [1677], 447). Spinoza
thus argues that no being is ever lacking in anything, just as the human being
that does not see is not lacking anything in and of itself, but only in relation
to the opinion that they lack vision (Spinoza 1985b [1665], 377). The same
argument could easily be extended to the illiterate person, a category historically constructed under the sign of imperfection. Also worth recalling here is
the distinction that one of Freire’s own students brought to his attention: one
cannot say that an Indian is illiterate. The Indian comes from a reality that does
not know writing. For someone to be considered illiterate, they must live in a
context which knows writing and where they were deprived access to it (Freire
1981b [1968], 16).
Illiteracy exists and is a problem only with regard to the social relations
that surround it, which in Freire’s case meant oppression. Freire’s intervention thus meant a break not only with the Brazilian exclusionary tradition, but,
beyond that, a naïve and elitist pedagogical perspective that takes the illiterate
as the “zero-degree of knowledge,” the maximal expression of imperfection.
This displacement in favor of a critical perspective was not lost on Henry A.
Giroux, for whom both literacy and illiteracy are “ideological constructions,”
forms of distinguishing and separating individuals and social groups within a
given society while endowing them with different functions, so that some read
and others do not – some vote and others do not. In that sense, the knowledge
and experiences of the illiterate person are not to be taken as the “experience
of the other” (Giroux 2005, 8). In Freire’s assessment, literacy campaigns only
make sense if they are accompanied by a critique of the social conditions that
produce illiteracy, a critique that must be developed between the educator and
the educated, and not simply imposed in a top-down fashion.
For Freire, domination is both intellectual and political. His project for
emancipation through education thus requires that that which has been made
invisible by dominant culture and common sense become visible – a struggle
over the redefinition of the borders of the thinkable in politics. The Freirean
educational project puts at its center the constantly negated capacity of the
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oppressed to develop autonomous thought. Perhaps Freire never formulated
a definitive stance on this question, for which reason I would situate him in a
space of undecidability, somewhere between Pierre Bourdieu (where emphasis
falls on the reproduction and domination running through the social field) and
Jacques Rancière (postulating an irreducible power of the oppressed to challenge public order).24
Consciousness-raising (conscientização) precedes literacy teaching in
Freirean pedagogy, or, as he expressly puts it, “reading the world comes before
reading the word, so that the posterior reading of the latter cannot do without the reading of the former” (Freire 1989 [1981], 9). Freire’s approach thus
opposes the elitist vanguardism of the Center for Popular Culture, expressed
by that group in its 1963 Manifesto that appeared in the first issue of Arte em
Revista. There, CPC members claim authority of educating the masses, who
could only then enter the stage of history.25 In Freire’s pedagogy, his educational proposals are subordinated to a process of democratizing culture (see
Brandão 2014, 66). Freire’s concern was to combat the private uses of culture that turn it into a privilege, a view expressed in the CPC’s Manifesto,
which could be interpreted as a call for “cultural invasion.” In its place, Freire
asserts the necessity of operating culturally on culture (Freire 1981a [1970],
69). Based on a connection between pedagogy and cultural action, Freire calls
for a “cultural synthesis,” a concern that was especially present in his writing
from 1968 (see Freire 1981c [1968], 29).
In the 1970s, Freire challenged pedagogical models based on a “transmission of knowledge,” as if in the educational relation there was a pole that was
active and neutral (the educators), and another that was passive and ideological (the educated). Instead, he defended a cultural synthesis like that mentioned previously, where “actors become integrated with the people, who are
co-authors of the action that both perform upon the world” (Freire 2000, 180).
This allows Freire to assert with respect to the educator-educated relation that
“no one teaches another, nor is anyone self-taught. People teach each other,
mediated by the world” (Freire 2000, 80). Dialogical pedagogy, beginning
from the affirmation of ontological equality between individuals and social
groups, means recognizing the oppressed as creators of culture. Effectively, it
is necessary to emphasize that Freire nowhere states that the oppressed would
be more afflicted by ideological domination than the dominant classes. Their
difference consists solely in that the oppression of the dominated is to the benefit of the dominant. Following in the transformative spirit of 1968 and Chinese
Cultural Revolution, Freire aimed to break down the barriers between high and
popular culture, academic and popular knowledge, which are expressions of
inequality in education and knowledge.
The issue of culture is connected to ideology, a theme that appears most
clearly in Freire’s texts from the 1990s. In texts like Pedagogy of the Heart,
Freire announces that “ideologies can only be ideologically killed” (Freire
2007, 52). This evinces the argument that ideology can never be fully overcome, which in turn brings into clear view a number of critical issues that the
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 145
ultra-right would associate with the Freirean legacy. In the last instance, Freire
does not believe that ideological permanence is the same as the absence of a
critical effort to unmask ideological discourses. The issue then is not to defend
an equivalence between antagonistic positions on the Left and the Right, as if
in the impossibility of overcoming that conflict one could concede legitimacy
to either side. The conception of ideology that Freire mounted at the heart of
his pedagogical project is not a nihilistic one. Quite the contrary, it naturally
stems from a hermeneutics of suspicion that, as Torres calls it, “attempts to
ground social inquiry in the understanding of agents . . ., while also taking into
account the social structural context of action” (Torres 2014, 104–105). What
this means for Freire’s pedagogy is that all social relations are traversed by
relations of power. That notion, however, does not suggest a cynical position,
as if Freire ultimately were admitting that his educational project would merely
be another expression of the power relations that he sees present all throughout
the social body.
By admitting the presence of domination in human relations, Freire’s principle educational task becomes one of critically examining social reality. It follows that pedagogical action must be critical, so as to denaturalize that which
was naturalized by the dominant discourse: colonialism, racism, patriarchy,
authoritarianism, etc. This means shedding light on those aspects of thought
and behavior of which we are unaware, in order that we might think and act
differently. The centrality of critique in Freire’s work thus represents a revival
of an enlightenment perspective26 in the sense that Michel Foucault gave it: a
permanent critique of our historical being (Foucault 1994, 571).
5. Final Conclusions
The discourse associated with Bolsonaro, particularly that identified with O. de
Carvalho, is intimately tied to a conception of democracy as the maintenance
of public order. Thus, democracy is not measured by the strength of its institutions and the preservation of the rules of the game (Norberto Bobbio), nor is it
the inclusion of the excluded (Rancière), or the empowerment of the multitude
(Antonio Negri). When Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro, Vice-President
Hamilton Mourão, and Finance Minister Paulo Guedes argue that “Brazilian democracy has never been stronger,” they are employing a definition of
democracy that is essentially restrictive. On the one hand, for the ultra-right,
democracy only exists when public consensus is confronted by an antagonistic
position, ignoring the content of the discourses involved in that opposition.
The ultra-right envisions democracy as a rotating cast of empty, supercilious
positions that ignore any given public consensus. On the other hand, this same
type of discourse essentially imagines democracy as the expression of public
order. Democracy would then consist in a way of life based on the fixation of
individuals within the sites assigned to them by the social body. It would be
nothing more than the externalization of the culture and the values of a “community of good men,” or of their ideology.
146
Bernardo Bianchi
The ESP movement, proposing to eradicate ideology from schools, fits
neatly into this logic that consecrates public order and its values. The movement represents an extension of the issues that emerged with the Saraiva Law:
an exclusionary conception of citizenship based on a lack of access to formal
education. Whereas before 1985 the illiterate were denied political participation,
the ESP now seeks to prohibit teachers and students from engaging in any critical
questioning of social reality, and in that way perpetuates privileges all around.
This same exclusionary logic can also be found in the National Civic-Military
Schools Program organized by the Ministry of Education together with the Ministry of Defense, whose express goal is to establish 216 military schools by 2023.
This initiative would consecrate a paternalistic and hierarchical vision of public
instruction, which is especially cause for concern since, as was discussed in the
Chapter 1 of this volume, the Brazilian military and police to this day are trained
and instructed under the lines used during the military dictatorship.
It was not Freire, then, who politicized the issue of education. This “infection” of Freirean thought dates well before the Angicos literacy project: its
roots are in the manner in which formal education became a tool for political exclusion in the early Brazilian republic. By announcing a political vision
of education, Freire was suggesting an entirely different conception of politics, one that would not be identified with domination – racial, class-based, or
gender domination. Instead, his project imagined politics as emancipation and
the negation of privileges, against the fixation of individuals or social groups
in determinate sites of society – a politics in favor of their demands finding
a space in the public sphere. It should be emphasized that Freire was commonly invoked in the struggle to democratize education after the period of
re-democratization, a time in which, additionally, Freire served the Secretary
of Education in São Paulo. Along with other thinkers and militants identified
with the field of education, like Anísio Teixeira, Florestan Fernandes, and
Darcy Ribeiro, Freire’s name remained associated with the ideal of democratizing Brazilian society (and education), which, while it may have never led
to a consistent process of transformation, continues to be an important part
of the lexicon along the terrain of political struggles. Whether it be in highschool-led student occupations and demonstrations taking place between 2015
and 2016,27 or the protests unfolding between May and August 2019, Freire’s
legacy continues to pose a threat to the ultra-right.
Notes
1. I would like to thank Nicolas Allen for proofreading my chapter.
2. PR (Party of the Republic), renamed as Liberal Party (PL) in 2019.
3. He was professor of the State University of Campinas (Universidade Estadual
de Campinas [Unicamp]) and of the Pontifical Catholic University of São Paulo
(PUC-SP).
4. For a comparison between the two models, see Oliveira (2017).
5. In that same sense, an important book to consider in the field of American neoconservatism is God and Man at Yale, de William Buckley (2004).
Paulo Freire’s Legacy 147
6. For a discussion of Gramsci’s relevance for the Brazilian Right, see Puglia (2018).
7. For those concerned with exploring this aspect of Gramsci, they can consult his
call for a “cultural revolution,” a “new” culture, and Weltanschauung (see Prison
Notebooks VII and XI, 1992).
8. This argument can be traced back to Interventions: Nine Critical Models, 1963,
and Catchwords: Critical Models II, 1969 (see Adorno 2005).
9. The Instituto Mises Brasil and its website Mises.org.br are particularly concerned
with the Frankfurt School and what they call “cultural Marxism.”
10. This distinction was enshrined in the third article, section I, of the previously mentioned law.
11. I follow here the definition of public sphere provided by Gerard A. Hauser: “a
discursive space in which individuals and groups associate to discuss matters of
mutual interest and, where possible, to reach a common judgment about them”
(1999, 61).
12. With respect to voting, the distinction between social function and rights is established by Murilo de Carvalho (see J. M. de Carvalho 1987, 42–65).
13. For an analysis of Brazilian parliamentary debates between 1878–81 where illiteracy first emerged as an issue, see Ferraro (2009, 53–84).
14. Against Holanda’s argument, one should note that the need to create a literate people only became a political issue at a very late stage, and this was not the exclusive
case of Brazil. For more, see Cipolla (1969).
15. Of course, to know the precise meaning of that exclusion would mean ascertaining
how many of those illiterate also fulfilled other criteria for exclusion.
16. One should still bear in mind that electoral rules established an age criterion, so
that these numbers should be interpreted with caution.
17. Under the 1946 Republic, there were two Constitutional Amendment bills seeking
to include the vote of the illiterate (Art. 132): (1) Bill No. 15/1957, proposed by
Armando Falcão, and (2) Bill No. 27/1961, by Fernando Ferrari. In 1964, under
the military regime, there was a new bill authored by the acting president General
Castelo Branco. However, that same bill was limited to municipal elections.
18. The first country was Ecuador, in 1929.
19. This issue needs to be viewed in its proper perspective, since Brazil was the last
country in the region to abolish slavery in 1888.
20. Superintendence for the Development of the Northeast.
21. According to Calazans Fernandes’s account, Castelo Branco approached him
and said: “young man, you’re fattening up rattlesnakes here in these backlands
[sertões]” (Lyra 1996, 18).
22. For an analysis of Freire’s intellectual influences and the ramifications they would
have in different phases of his work, see Kress and Lake (2013).
23. I have in mind here concepts that are recurrent throughout the work of Rancière,
but that are also summarized in Disagreement (Rancière 2004).
24. For an insightful analysis of the tensions between Bourdieu and Rancière, see Nordmann (2006).
25. For an analysis of the CPC and its campaigns during the period, see Ridenti (2005,
Chap. 2).
26. More precisely, Foucault refers to the ethos of the Aufklärung and that this cannot
be neatly assimilated to other currents of Enlightenment thought.
27. For more on this subject, see Medeiros et al. (2019).
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Brandão, Carlos Rodrigues. 2014. “Paulo Freire: a educação, a cultura e a universidade.
Memória de uma história de cinquenta anos atrás.” EJA em Debate 3 (4): 57–74.
Buckley, William F. Jr. 2004. God and Man at Yale. South Bend, IN: ISI Conservative
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Carvalho, José Murilo de. 1987. Os Bestializados: O Rio de Janeiro e a República Que
Não Foi. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
Carvalho, Olavo de. 2019. A Nova Era e a Revolução Cultural – Fritjof Capra & Antonio Gramsci. [Kindle book]. Vide Editorial.
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Ferraro, Alceu Ravanello. 2009. História Inacabada Do Analfabetismo No Brasil. São
Paulo: Cortez.
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Apple, Wayne Au, and Luis Armando Gandin, 232–239. London: Routledge.
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Rodrigues Brandão, 136–196. São Paulo: Brasiliense.
———. 1981a. “A Ação Cultural Para a Liberdade.” In Ação Cultural Para a Liberdade e Outros Escritos, 35–70. Rio de Janeiro: Paz e Terra.
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Artigos Que Se Completam, 9–14. São Paulo: Cortez.
———. 2000. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Continuum.
———. 2007. Pedagogy of the Heart. New York: Continuum.
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Kress, Tricia M., and Robert Lake, eds. 2013. Paulo Freire’s Intellectual Roots: Toward
Historicity in Praxis. London ; New York: Bloomsbury.
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New York: Teachers College Press.
10 The Urban Crisis in Brazil
From the Neodevelopmentalist
Experiment to the Rise
of Bolsonarismo
Ermínia Maricato and Paolo Colosso1
1. Introduction
After the institutional rupture of 2016, with the impeachment of Dilma Rousseff from the presidency, and the 2018 election of an extreme-right-wing
president, the relaunched neoliberal project has paralyzed social policies and
deepened an urban crisis marked by social and territorial segregation, environmental damage, and violence. However, for those who study cities and,
in particular, the production of urban space, the unrest in society was already
evident a few years earlier.
The deficit of a spatial and urban analysis in the Brazilian democratic Left
did not allow it to comprehend the deterioration in urban living conditions in a
period of economic growth and income distribution. Between 2009 and 2015,
we had an exponential increase in the cost of housing and rent, the reproduction of the peripheralization that condemn many city dwellers to long periods
of time spent commuting, as well as insecure jobs and high rates of institutional violence for young, black people. This Left also did not perceive that
other agents began to take control of the peripheries, where the working class
resides, leaving them behind. A preoccupation with the institutional space and
the electoral calendar, as well as widening alliances to ensure governability
when faced with political crises, partly explain this gap. Hence the surprise
when in 2013, an increase in public transport fares triggered protests, until
today a misunderstood episode, drawing 1.5 million people onto the country’s
streets; as well as the incomprehension at many other uprisings against the
mega-event of the 2014 World Cup.2
In this way, this chapter has two goals: to understand the factors that culminated in the 2016 coup and the rise of a new Right, as well as the contradictions
that had been appearing in the previous decade, always from the urban point of
view. The process is divided into three steps. First, we briefly summarize the
Workers’ Party’s (PT) legacy and in particular its successes in urban politics.
This allows us to tackle a reality that in the aftermath of the coup was simply
swallowed up by an anti-PT sentiment, in which all of society’s ills were supposedly the fruit of the party’s governments.
The Urban Crisis in Brazil
151
In the second part, the period previous to the coup d’état is retraced, from
2009 to 2015, when contradictions worsened. The focus is on an economic
growth wrapped up in countercyclical measures to address the 2008 crisis,
with heavy investments in infrastructure and housing as well as tax relief for
the car industry. Such a combination propelled an unprecedented real estate
boom and reproduced the pattern of urban sprawl marked by segregation and
long distances between the center, the area where jobs are concentrated, and
the periphery, where the class that sells its labor is forced to live.
The third part deals with the resurgence of a more aggressive neoliberalism
after 2016, just before Jair Bolsonaro’s rise to power, which from the urban
point of view meant the complete disfigurement of the housing program, the
scrapping of environmental and mobility policies, and the return of extreme
poverty, as well as the employment of a rhetoric of modernization in order to
justify business freedom, and, even, the militarization of everyday life. As this
is a very recent moment, this last part is less an evaluation of public policies,
than what in classical terms we call criticism of ideology, paying attention to
the devices with which the so-called “way out of the crisis” is actually a democratic regression.
Before moving on to the subject itself, it is valid to make some methodological considerations. Often times, the production of urban space is seen exclusively in the local scale, local government, and, in some cases, as a sectoral
issue separately from political economy. Our approach, however, comprises
the urban in its mediations between local, national, and global. In other words,
the reciprocal impacts between such scales.
2. A Brief Review of the Popular-Democratic
Governments’ Legacy
The antipetismo3 that enabled the 2016 coup and set in place the conditions
which made the rise of Bolsonaro’s “new Right” possible, demands that we
restate some objective and non-debatable facts. It requires acknowledging the
PT’s legacy under the command of an ex-factory worker and a former leftwing guerrilla in one of the world’s most unequal societies, so we can criticize
what should be criticized.
First, the PT governments’ (2003 to 2016) social and democratic advances
are indisputable and some are unheard of in the country’s history. The country’s
removal from the FAO’s hunger map was one of these achievements and was
the result of two PT policies, Bolsa Família and a real increase in the minimum
wage. Bolsa Família, an income distribution program, benefited 13.9 million
families by 2015. It involved mandatory school attendance for the program’s
17 million children and adolescents. The minimum wage increased by 77% in
12 years, there was the expansion of the internal market and the creation of
23 million formal jobs. Formalization of the employment relationship went
from 45.7% in 2003 to 57% in 2014, and all these measures led to the steepest
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decline in income inequality, as measured by the Gini coefficient, ever seen in
the country’s history. In all, 36 million people escaped extreme poverty and
another 42 million people became upwardly mobile. The reduction in infant
mortality that had already been happening under previous administrations,
accelerated sharply under the PT, dropping by 50% between 2002 and 2015
(Mercadante 2018).
In the governments of Lula and Dilma (2003–16), education’s budget was
increased by 206%, with enrolments in primary education increasing by 84.7%
and in secondary schools by 20%. In public universities there was an increase
of 3.4 million enrolment, to 8 million due to the expansion of university campuses (Mercadante 2018, 26). But the main novelty was the increase of black
and poor white students in higher education thanks to a quota policy and
scholarships.
Second, it is critical to recognize that the PT’s greatest achievement in relation to urban politics had occurred previous its federal electoral victory in
2003. Despite setting up the Ministry of Cities and a significant participatory
structure in city, state, and federal government conferences,4 which culminated
in directives for the Council of Cities, the federal government did not follow
through on the local PT governments’ vibrant experiment with direct democracy. The “PT way of governing” became well known through programs such
as the famous “Participatory Budget” set up by Olivio Dutra’s administration
in the city of Porto Alegre. It was replicated in all leftist city governments in
the country and indeed spread to many cities all over the world.
3. From Anti-Urban Neodevelopmentalism
to the Institutional Rupture
At the moment the US financial system suffered a breakdown which impacted
on the whole world, Brazil was in an economically dynamic and sociopolitically stable period. During Lula’s governments, the economy grew and
salaries rose above inflation. Nevertheless, the increase in the workforce’s
income occurred in jobs paying up to 1.5 minimum salaries. This meant bringing 2.1 million workers per year to the formal employment market, of which
only 100,000 were earning over 1.5 minimum salaries.5 Most of the positions
with this basic salary had been filled by young people, about 60% of them by
women and 80% black (Pochmann 2012, 34).
This combination of economic growth, formalization of cheap labor jobs,
popular credit for mass consumption, as well as the continuation of rules that
guaranteed banks’ profits, built a “win-win” environment: favorable for capital
and the workforce. With the onset of the 2008 international crisis, Brazil’s GDP
suffered a shock. To face the decrease of economic growth and employment,
the federal government launched Keynesian programs, especially through construction projects, social and economic infrastructure as well as housing, and
tax exemption for durable goods.6 This new economic matrix was known in
Brazil as a “developmentalist experiment,” or “neodevelopmentalism.”7
The Urban Crisis in Brazil
153
The increasing income as a result of wage rises and distributive policies
does not necessarily imply an improvement in the urban living conditions. This
is not to say that the increased consumption of household or communication
devices, access to electricity, or improvement in the standard of food, education, and health did not have an important impact on the quality of life of
the poorest. But these socioeconomic improvements did not substantially alter
the historic urban problems of segregation, mobility, housing, sanitation, and
violence in the ten largest metropolises where, according to IBGE (Brazilian
Institute of Geography and Statistics) data for 2016, approximately one-third
of the country’s population resides. In a society marked by such archaic practices regarding the production and appropriation of its built environments, a
redistribution of income does not automatically result in a redistribution of
the city. Electronic and digital goods, only accessible through the extension of
credit for purchasing, found in precarious housing without sewage or garbage
collection underlines the contradictions of this underdevelopment. Despite the
PT’s success in local governments from the mid-’80s, the creation of the Ministry of Cities with a significant participatory structure, the ground gained by
social movements, and the conquest of a significant legal framework related to
urban management planning which includes the conquest of the “social function of property” in the 1988 Federal Constitution, life in cities has worsened,
especially after the massive investments planned in what is called the antiurban neodevelopmentalist plan.
The theoretical challenge for understanding the paradox is presented to those
who are unfamiliar with the contradictions present in the capitalist production
of space and, even more so, in peripheral capitalist societies. In 2009, the housing deficit in Brazil was 5,990,000. After building over 4 million houses, most
of which were highly subsidized, the deficit increased to 6,350,000 houses
in 2015. Excessive rent – defined in the housing deficit index as rent higher
than 30 percent of household income – is the component that has grown the
most since 2011. Even as we use these figures as measurements for the deficit,
they seem to go unquestioned. Between 2009 and 2015, the fantastic sum of
R$ 800 billion was invested by public sources (OGU, the Union’s General
Budget), semi-public (FGTS, the Brazilian Government Severance Indemnity
Fund for Employees, a type of unemployment fund administered in partnership
by governments, employees, and employers), and banks (private funds from
savings accounts mainly with the public bank CAIXA) in housing construction. These cheap sources of money are added to the investments of the stock
market which, nevertheless, presented a much inferior performance, allowing
the theses of the financialization/monetization of space production in countries
on the periphery of capitalism to be questioned (UQBAR 2016).
Unlike what happens in central capitalist countries, real estate loans in Brazil
have historically had a reduced share in the GDP since the private market covers only a minority of the population. The two recent experiences of significant
housing construction and real estate boom that changed the physiognomy of Brazilian cities happened between 1975–80 and 2009–15. Both were heavily driven
154
Ermínia Maricato and Paolo Colosso
by the same public and private funds of cheap or inexpensive money, changing
the patterns of horizontal sprawl and verticalization, producing millions of residences situated outside the continuous urban area, heavily feeding the financierled land/property speculation, which was partly related to traditional regional
oligarchies. As a result both transformed the urban land market producing new
conditions of segregation. The major contractors, developers, and landowners
were deferred to on decisions about both what and where to build.
Perversely, the constitutional guidance of legal decentralization that granted
local governments control over urban soil, transport, and sanitation policies did not impede, but on the contrary, ended up facilitating, especially in
medium-sized cities, local lobbies consisting of landowners, real estate agents,
and builders involved with election campaign funding to run the large federal
investments, which were part of the anti-cyclical developmentalist plan. The
attack on the slums’ residents who stood in the way of the huge construction
projects funded by the federal government was heavily documented, especially
in Rio de Janeiro, where the construction related to the World Cup and Olympics was responsible for removing 122,000 families to public housing built in
the distant city outskirts.
In the real estate boom that preceded Dilma Rousseff’s impeachment, in
addition to investment in housing there was a significant increase in investments in infrastructure linked to urban mobility. Between 2008 and 2016,
according to the Federal Government’s Growth Acceleration Program (PAC)
Portal, R$ 88 billion was invested. This investment included the construction
of subways, trains, monorails, BRTs (Bus Rapid Transit), bike lanes, many of
them in highly questionable locations from the point of view of urgent social
needs (Pereira 2018).
Federal investment in construction related to urban space had a higher initial
impulse in 2007 after the expiry of the International Monetary Fund’s (IMF’s)
restrictions on public investments in place since the beginning of the 1980s.
With the creation of the PAC 1 (2007), the Lula government gave a new dimension to investments in (1) logistical infrastructure, (2) energy infrastructure,
and (3) social and urban infrastructure. In 2009, the PAC 2 and the Minha
Casa, Minha Vida (PMCMV) housing construction program were launched,
with the second part of the latter being launched in 2011.
It is important to underline subtle differences between PAC 1 and PAC 2.
The first one still followed the local governments’ project guidelines. This is
noticeable in the PAC-UAP (urbanization of precarious areas or urbanization
of favelas). From 2009 onwards, in addition to expanding the scale of investments, large construction companies are evidently deciding on the type of construction, as well as real estate and land owners deciding on the location of
construction projects. The traditional participation of social movements, along
with the technical advice of professionals, architects, and engineers, in projects
and housing construction, that had been the practice of democratic and popular local governments, had a reduced participation in the PMCMV. The category of the PMCMV, which enables this participation, received less than 2%
The Urban Crisis in Brazil
155
of the entire program’s budget, notwithstanding the PT’s prestige with social
movements.8
The radical increase in the cost of construction per square meter in the real
estate market, especially between 2009 and 2015, impacted city life. The
largest increase in this period, 265% against an inflation rate of 55%,9 was
recorded in the city of Rio de Janeiro. The Federal Government, in partnership
with the state and local governments, invested in the subway, tramways, RTs,
cable cars, the Olympic Village, a renovation of the Maracanã football stadium
and, following the canons of “spectacular urbanism,” an urban “revitalization”
of the old port area that included the Museum of Tomorrow, designed by the
Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava. A public-private partnership has enabled
real estate entrepreneurs to take ownership of public lands and borrow public
resources. A small portion of the poor residents from an area considered “deteriorated” remained; most were evicted.
In São Paulo at its highest point, between 2008 and 2015, real estate prices
rose by as much as 223.46%, far exceeding the returns in the stock market,
inflation, and the increase in salaries during this period. With the economic
crisis that followed in 2014/2015 prices stopped rising, but stayed relatively
stable where they had peaked. All cities were affected, in a general way, as
well as impacting rent. During that period rent rose 140% (followed by a slight
decrease) in Rio de Janeiro and 100% in São Paulo. Millions of Brazilians were
victims of what we might call an attack on cities by real estate speculation.
But beyond the difficulties of the cost of housing, the working classes faced
a new difficulty in the increased cost of transportation and time spent commuting. The cost of transport increased 38% during this period, 42% for individual
transport and 24% for public transport. Travel time increased for all forms
of transport but especially for public transport, not only due to the increased
distances promoted by the urban sprawl already pointed out, but also because
of more vehicles in circulation. The tax exemption given by the federal government to encourage vehicle purchase contributed massively to this. Studies
carried out by the National Association of Public Transport (ANTP) in all Brazilian towns with over 60,000 inhabitants show that between 2002 and 2014,
the increase of vehicles was five times greater than the increase in population
and three times the increase in income (ANTP 2017).
Research confirms the social, environmental, and economic flaws of mobility network based on individual motorized transport. The space required for
infrastructure is eight times larger per inhabitant transported in an individual
vehicle than in public transport, and energy consumption is three times greater.
Unsurprisingly, between 2003 and 2014, CO2 emissions increased by 26%,
that is from 23.1 to 29.3 million tons (ANTP 2017).10
According to data from the survey Living in São Paulo – Urban Mobility (Nossa São Paulo/IBOPE 2018), the average time spent in 2018 on daily
trips in the city was 2 hours and 43 minutes. This means that in São Paulo a
greater part of people’s week or, indeed life, is spent in transport affecting
everyone, but especially public transport users: 2 hours 57 minutes per day. If
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we consider the 39 municipalities in the metropolitan region of São Paulo and
that 70% of employment is located in the expanded city center of São Paulo,
the time spent is much longer. It isn’t by chance that anxiety, depression, and
stress disorders affecting 29.6% of the population in the metropolitan region
of São Paulo are largely attributed to poor traffic conditions (Andrade 2012).
In relation to health, it should also be remembered that in 2015, 700,000 traffic accidents resulting in injuries were recorded in 533 municipalities including 24,000 deaths, generating a cost to the public health system (SUS) of R$
130.5 billion (ANTP 2017).
To conclude this picture of negative impacts for the public interest and the
environment, studies carried out by Vasconcellos on the amount of resources
related to tax exemption for the automobile industry should be recalled. In
2012 individual transport received exemption and subsidies to the order of
$16 billion per year, while public transport, in turn, received only $2 billion, a
priority relationship of 8 to 1 (Vasconcellos 2014).
Our central argument that it was possible to have economic growth and
social regressions can be verified also by the violence in the black and peripheral population, that follows historic patterns. In the state of São Paulo, the
number of homicides in the population considered white fell 12.2%, while
among black people, it increased 18.2%. There are variations in other states,
but the tendency is similar. In Brazil, black people have a 23% percent higher
risk of being murdered; for every 100 people murdered, 71 are black.11
This combination of the reproduction of peripheralization, a rise in the cost
of housing, an increase in time and cost of transportation, institutional violence, and, furthermore, an unstable job market for the young population,12 lit
a powder keg for social unrest. At the end of the decade, with the conservative
offensive gaining headway, all the street movements emerging from June 2013
are seen as steps that culminate in the rise of Bolsonaro. But such a perspective
is reductionist, as it does not take into account the social contradictions that are
evident when examining urban daily life.
In our view, June 2013 should be analyzed as a “social opening,” a disruption of the consensus, in which the entire political spectrum descends on the
streets, building new coalitions on the Right and Left. If June was the seed
of the polarized environment and the 2018 conservative victory, it also grew
into a cycle of protests against the increasingly precarious working and living
conditions for the subordinate classes living on the periphery, predominantly
young, black people. New social actors appeared among these movements in
the progressive camp and their future roles are still to be seen.
In 2014, it was the turn of housing movements to question the impact of
mega-event urbanism, which evicted large numbers of residents from the areas
involved in the construction. In São Paulo that year, homeless movements
were also important for the approval of a more progressive Master Plan13 when
they camped out in front of the city council. In 2015 and 2016 it was the turn
of students in secondary education, when about a thousand schools throughout
Brazil were occupied in the defense of quality public education.
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157
This melting pot of political culture still crosses the collective experience
and marks a good part of a young generation who took on the agendas of urban
mobility, assigned new meanings to the “Right to the City,” and connected
with other homeless movements. It is worth remembering the collective movements Rua (Street), Juntos (Together), and Levante Popular da Juventude
(Youth Popular Uprising). No less important is the fact that these movements,
in which young people and informal workers broke down walls and jumped
turnstiles, forced onto the public agenda the wave of policies promoting public
transport, active mobility, and the opening up of public spaces. In São Paulo,
between 2013 and 2016, 55 km of bus corridors were built, in addition to
400 km of dedicated lanes and more than 400 km of bicycle lanes and paths.
However, Fernando Haddad was not re-elected, and such policies were not
only discontinued, but were reversed. To understand the parliamentary coup
and the consolidation of the new Right, perhaps the policy shifts in cabinets
and important corporations, including the mass media, are more important.
As André Singer recalls, in 2012 economic policy was already not meeting
the industrial part of the private sector’s expectations.14 Reports from large
banks, research centers, and their organic media were demonstrating disappointment with what they considered “economic interventionism.” Even those
who benefited the most from Dilma Rousseff’s “developmentalist experiment”
due to stimulated production, swung to mistrust. Breaking the agreement
established in 2011, industrial entrepreneurs returned to a strictly neoliberal
agenda. The parts of the bourgeoisie, previously split into the industrial sector
and the rentier financial sector, came together in a block. In this sense, “the
capitalist unit was formed around cutting public spending, the decline in the
value of work and the reduction in protection for workers.”15 Capital’s discontent with the countercyclical measures widened political polarization, but not
enough to stop Dilma’s re-election in 2014. Rousseff won by a small margin
and, immediately afterwards, within days, a movement rejecting the election’s
outcome was formed.
The venture was initially headed by the defeated opposition, the Social
Democratic Party of Brazil (PSDB), and in particular the losing presidential
candidate’s supporters, who demanded new elections.16 Another decisive actor
in Rousseff’s fall was the president of the Chamber of Deputies, Eduardo
Cunha. Since her first term, Dilma had been exchanging politically nominated
members of the Brazilian Democratic Movement Party (PMDB) in key posts
(ministries, presidencies of large public companies) for figures with technical
profiles, angering the party.17 Cunha began to gather together those discontented with this policy and in 2015, deliberately, broke the tacit pact of rotating
the Chamber’s presidency with the PT becoming president himself. This gave
him crucial leverage over Dilma and only he as the Chamber’s president, could
accept or deny requests for impeachment.
The movement to depose President Dilma was supported by sectors practicing cronyism in the legislature as she couldn’t staunch the torrent of accusations of corruption that penetrated the entire political system. Simultaneously,
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the neoliberal narrative was gaining strength in the mass media. It was increasingly accepted that corruption and bad management were exclusive to the
Workers’ Party and, if they were removed from government, the country would
start growing again.
The accusations of corruption mainly came from the judicial operation entitled “car wash,” conducted by a more activist wing of the Public Prosecution who, as well as being close to the press, had lived and studied in the
United States. The cases involving the former President Lula and the public
company, Petrobras, became public in key moments, which incited an atmosphere of antipetismo. This will be fundamental in socially legitimatizing the
impeachment as well as central to Bolsonaro’s later election, which elevated
antipetismo to hysteria and collective paranoia.18
Little by little the narrative of the fight against corruption, which although
widespread throughout the political system, still tended to focus on the government, meets up with the PT’s accountability for the economic crisis, thus
creating the necessary context for the president’s dismissal. As a result, people
donned the national colors of yellow and green, and marched onto the streets
again. The pro-impeachment rallies were generously televised, the police were
much more respectful and in São Paulo, even subway turnstiles were opened
(Valor 2015). As we said, June 2013 was a “social opening” to the Right and to
the Left. In 2016, the victory was of the Right’s June.
Supported by private equity, pork barrel cronyism in the legislature, as well
as crowds on the streets and a consenting Supreme Court, produced all the necessary elements to create the political opportunity for a constitutional rupture
masquerading as something else.
4. The Days Following the Coup: Worsening Inequality
and Concealing the Urban Crisis
The institutional rupture took the party most involved in cronyism in the
New Republic to power. This party has participated in all governments since
re-democratization and, in this sense, understood the institutional and extrainstitutional chicanery of the so-called coalition presidentialism. Appointing
allies to strategic positions and buying votes in the legislature, they knew how
to staunch the bleeding which put the political system at risk. And as they
had come to power by exceptional methods, using democratic impasses and
accumulation through spoliation, the government opts without hesitation for
the latter. Brazil again aligned itself with neoliberalism in its strictest sense,
which once again became dominant internationally in the ten years following
the global economic crisis.
With the rise of the Right, urban social policies, which once were pillars of
the PT’s Urban Reform, not only regressed, but simply ceased to exist. The
housing program was dismantled; environmental policies and the provision
of basic sanitation, necessary for large sections of the population, were abandoned; rodoviarismo19 was reaffirmed and the need for another model of urban
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159
mobility disappeared over the horizon. This did not mean that public authorities did not act on urban space; on the contrary, it quickly became evident that
urban space could be used in the creation of a good business environment and
in the militarized control of social life.
In effect, Brazil’s cities concretized the sui generis marriage between economic neoliberalism and social conservatism. Official statements were structured around at least four pillars and these narratives became the accepted
truth, as this governmental style became present in the cities, with São Paulo
and Rio of Janeiro being paradigmatic, and reinforced at the state and federal
levels, which became ideologically aligned.
The first pillar is based on “fiscal responsibility,” calling for the need for
“austerity” and for the “modernization” of the economy, which justifies relaxing labor relations, the privatization of public goods, and the handing over of
strategic sectors – base industry, infrastructure, and aerial transport. President
Temer, the “interim” president replacing Rousseff in 2016, took advantage of
this discourse at the federal level, to approve the labor reform that permits casualized work, widespread outsourcing, direct negotiations between employees
and employers and the disempowerment of trade unions, among many other
such measures. Austerity was put into practice, particularly when it came to
social rights for ordinary citizens; however, when it came to writing off large
corporations’ debts owed to the state, the state was much more generous, a
policy of double standards to be perfected by Bolsonaro.
At the urban policy level, this first pillar is based on the presumption
that private initiative is always more efficient. While this does not always
stand up to closer scrutiny, it is useful to justify the handing over of oil
exploration in the Presalt Basin and the intelligence sector of companies
like Embraer to the private sector. This overlapping discourse also appeared
in local governments. The João Dória Jr./Bruno Covas (PSDB) administration in the city of São Paulo strongly based itself in this mentality, proposing “the greatest privatization program in the world.” In São Paulo’s case,
the “state denationalization,” concessions, partnerships, and privatizations
themselves involved parks, cemeteries, stadiums, bus terminals, and ticketing services in stations. The assets put up for sale have a minute impact on
the public budget, especially as some are even profitable, but their locations
are strategic for urban business as they can create new market situations in
their surrounding locations. Besides the policy chimed with the pro-business
zeitgeist then in vogue.
A second pillar of an urban policy which is economically liberal and socially
conservative aims to return public investments to the areas and structures
where the city is already historically valued. As the middle and elite classes
tend to inhabit and utilize well-established areas of the territory, these are also
easily closed off. In São Paulo, this decorative urbanism became known as the
program “Beautiful City” and, although it was one of the flagship actions of the
mayor’s daily performance on social media, in real terms the urban custodianship worsened.
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The third pillar of this urban policy is the official mobilization of feelings of
insecurity and fear so as to justify a new militarization of the urban daily life.
Rio de Janeiro is the paradigmatic case here, with policing being reinforced by
the armed forces, that is military troops without the training to deal with civil
society. The intervention that legislates for the reinforcement of army troops
in daily life was decreed in mid-February 2018. At that moment it was considered a positive move according to public opinion, because it gave the image of
the state resuming control of a city at risk of chaos and widespread violence.
Two months later a report revealed the ineffective exhibitionism at the heart of
the policy: 70 operations, involving 40,000 men, only managed to seize 140
weapons. Moreover, the number of extra-judicial killings doubled in relation
to the previous year. After six months, the number of operations involving the
army and police without clear objectives and with negative effects multiplied.
One of the most striking was the case involving the boy Marcos Vinícius who,
while on his way to school and dressed in his school uniform, was shot and
killed from a helicopter during an operation in the Maré favela. Despite such
negative impacts of the policy, the number of such police killings continues to
rise. An amount of about R$ 1.2 billion has been invested in this exhibitionist
carnage, during ten months of intervention.
One reason for its continued expansion, despite such negative impacts, is
that it pleases the conservative feelings. It is no coincidence that in 2018 the
number of military candidates elected to Congress increased significantly and
the victorious president himself comes from this line. This militarization of
urban daily life is only the most palpable incarnation of a social vision which
in no way aims at democratic landmarks. Through distinct measures, be it the
physical force of the state, or the passing of more legal instruments, the authoritarian impulses of conservatism tend to eliminate from the scene their opponents and the parts of the population considered deviant or merely undesirable.
Although the official discourse is about turning the social processes on their
heads, the real numbers leave no doubt. The hope that Brazil would return
to economic growth never materialized, and, instead, there was an alternation
between stagnation and minimal growth. What did return, however, was inequality and pauperization. A 2018 report using the Gini index shows that, for
the first time in the last 15 years, the relationship between the average income of
the poorest 40% and total average income was unfavorable to the bottom of the
pyramid. It is also important to note the racial aspect. From 2011 to 2016 black
people had an average income of 57% compared to the white population, but
by 2017, this number regressed to 53% (OXFAM 2018). There is also a gender
aspect, in that in 2016 women were earning about 72% of men’s income, with
this proportion falling to 70% in 2017, the first reversal in 23 years.
There is also a return of extreme poverty, with the country reappearing on
the hunger map and tropical diseases once considered extinct also returning.20
And as the social security system in Brazil is still fragile, the negative effects
of the austerity policies become visible in the cities. There is a growing number
of street residents, camped under bridges and on public spaces.
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161
Other symptoms appear in the urban space. In Rio, we watched as the
imposing National Museum, part of the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro’s
structure, burnt down. Its collection was composed of over 20 million items,
including the most important records of Brazilian natural and anthropological
science. The numbers show that the resources allocated to the institution in
2018 were between 100% to 150% less than the average of the two previous
years. The museum director had made the building’s bad conditions public a
few months before and demanded the federal government take responsibility.
As far as the urban structural policies are concerned, despite the difficulties and omissions outlined earlier, there were advances which have since
regressed completely. The PMCMV lost its identity as a housing policy when
the ceiling was raised and the most popular range cut. It reinforced its character
as a program for accelerating the real estate and civil construction sectors. In
turn, urban mobility is an irrelevant issue at any level of government with this
economically liberal and socially conservative vision. From the federal point
of view, the Urban Mobility Law No. 12.587/2012 is still empty words. In São
Paulo, Mayor João Doria was elected with the proposal to increase the city’s
speed limit again. The former mayor Fernando Haddad had taken the initiative
of reducing the speed limit, resulting in a drop in the number of deaths. With
the cancellation of the preventive measure of regulating the speed limit the
number of deaths went back up. As a further sign of the return to the hegemony
of the rodoviarismo, the Social Democratic Party of Brazil (PSDB) administration suppressed a series of bike lanes, cut more than 130 bus lines, reduced
the student pass that had been achieved in 2015 and, furthermore, increased
the fares for public transport above inflation. There were protests by young
people against the dismantling, but the police had political backing to repress
the unrest.
Questions linked to urban sustainability follow in the same direction. It is
completely anathema to conservatives to consider the need for denser and
more compact cities, capable of providing full water and sewage treatment,
with an urban mobility network centered around public transport, the use of
clean energy sources and even the preservation of natural heritage as public
property. The conservative tendency is to erase questions about such matters
from public opinion, while others more favorable to the Right are kept in the
spotlight, or to treat ecological questions as secondary and of little importance.
It is no coincidence that the Ministry of Cities in the Bolsonaro government
is simply extinct, while the Environment Ministry is headed by someone convicted of fraud in environmental bids, Mr. Ricardo Salles.
5. Conclusions
The conquest of the democratic cycle that began in the early 1980s and ended
with the coup that deposed President Dilma in 2016 had the vital support of
urban social movements constituted in the ’70s with the help of the social
communities of the Catholic Church. The period marked by the PT’s political
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hegemony tended to drain the participation threaded into every city through
local governments, so as to prioritize the institutional party policy related to
elections, to executive positions, parliamentary mandates, and to the alliances
necessary to stay in power. The “Popular Democratic Municipal Administrations,” which created a good impression of the PT in local governments and
therefore in urban policies in the 1990s, tended to disappear in the 2010s –
with a few exceptions such as Fernando Haddad’s administration in São Paulo
(2013–16).
Urban studies can contribute to recent debates in some areas. By showing
that the 2000s were characterized by economic growth and rising wages, but
a relative worsening in living conditions in large cities, largely due to the high
value of housing, the reproduction of the plundering peripheralization and the
ethnic-racial stigmas, we posit two explanations. First, it was a unique historical experience to understand that economic growth, even being redistributive,
is something distinct from urban development. Despite the importance of the
federal social policies of the PT governments there was no significant impact
on urban inequality and historical territorial segregation that mark Brazilian
society. On the contrary, the attempt to tackle the international crisis of 2008
with a countercyclical developmental policy only accentuated urban inequality. The peripheries starved of the state’s presence (which is most often represented by a repressive and criminal police) were gradually taken over by
strongly conservative evangelical churches, organized crime, and militias (parallel groups of police officers or ex-police officers who exploit urban services,
such as water, energy, gas, public transport or offer plots of land for housing).
Hence the classic debate: In contemporary society the struggle for wages (at
the workplace) is as important as the urban struggle (in the residential areas).
The contradictions of space sometimes go unnoticed, even in the more leftist
governments, a fact that goes some way to explain why many on the Left did
not capitalize on the urban demonstrations of 2013, losing the opportunity to
take those movements in another direction.
This leads on to the second epistemological advantage stemming from an
urban studies approach to the coup, as it allows us to avoid a simplistic reading
of the scenario after June 2013. That is, remembering the collective experiences put forward by these new social and political actors emerging from these
urban demonstrations can wrest power from the narrative of weakening social
movements as a harbinger of what was to come in 2018.
It is a fact that we are not facing a closed situation but rather an open picture
of effervescent contradictions, in which there are young and popular forces,
still with the need for new syntheses. It is the duty of critical thinking committed to democratic advances to understand that even in regressive situations in
institutional politics, it is the everyday policies along with the living forces that
make society dynamic, experimenting with new forms of collective action and
the declaration of living together.
A critical urban studies perspective makes clear that the rise of the new Right
implies a cover up of long-standing structural problems. The neoliberal agendas
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163
currently in vogue aim to use public institutionality in the service of business
by providing it with urban lands for development and controlling space through
the use of the state’s physical force. With such methods, the new Right achieves
power but does not provide any hope for “the other 99%” of the population.
In the days after the coup, the big cities have become one of the main stages
for the symptoms of the neoliberal offensive to come to light. They embody
Dardot and Laval’s (2016) diagnosis after the global crisis, according to which
the minimum state intervenes in society to rescue the conditions for the accumulation of capital. On the other hand, as the uprisings of the subordinate
classes have an urban character and, as in cities, the administrative spaces and
society come closer together, so local government can be the starting point for
the reconstruction of the horizons of an effective democracy.
Notes
1. We would like to thank Aaron Dann for the translation of our text.
2. It is worth remembering some articles and books about the period, in which
we reconstruct these processes in more depth. Ermínia Maricato, O impasse da
política urbana (Petrópolis: Vozes, 2011); idem, “Copa del Mundo en Brasil: un
tsunami de capitales que profundizan las desigualdades urbanas.” In Luchas urbanas al rededor del fútbol. In Fernando Carrion (Ed 5 Avenida: Equador, 2014).
3. T/N: The negative feeling that some Brazilian voters have towards the PT.
4. Conferences (municipal, state, and federal), as well as councils, were fundamental pillars of the participatory body structure advocated by PT governments and
largely extinct in 2019.
5. Márcio Pochmann, Nova classe média? (São Paulo: ed. Boitempo, 2012), 19. The
pagination follows the original digital version of the book. Cf. http://politicaedireito.
org/br/wp-content/uploads/2017/02/Nova-Classe-media_-Marcio-Pochmann.pdf
6. David Harvey points out that structural crises are addressed with investments especially in fixed capital in the built environment. Harvey, David 2017. Marx, Capital
and the Madness of Economic Reason. London: Profile.
7. The first term is from Singer, André 2012. Sentidos do Lulismo. São Paulo,
Boitempo. The second is from Boito, Armando. 2018. Reforma e Crise Política no
Brasil – os conflitos de classe nos governos do PT. Campinas: ed Unicamp.
8. Cf. “Ministro garante continuidade do MCMV entidades em 2017.” www.
dci.com.br/economia/ministro-garante-continuidade-do-mcmv-entidades-em2017-mesmo-apos-suspens-o-1.464754
9. Information taken from Fipezap, graphs available at http://fipezap.zapimoveis.
com.br/
10. The investigation comprises 438 municipalities over 60,000 inhabitants, in all
states and regions. This universe is representative enough to be treated as national.
11. These numbers are available at: www.ipea.gov.br/portal/images/170609_atlas_da_
violencia_2017.pdf
12. Most of these positions were created in the tertiary sector, with salaries up to 1.5
minimum wage and with unstable conditions. They were filled by young people
between 25 and 34; 77.2% by “non-whites” and 60% by women. Márcio Pochmann, op. cit., p. 38.
13. Master Plan is the name given to a body of laws and guidelines that direct urban
development.
14. André Singer, O lulismo em crise: um quebra-cabeça do período Dilma (2011–
2016). São Paulo: Cia das Letras, 2018, 39-ss. In more accurate terms, Singer
164
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
Ermínia Maricato and Paolo Colosso
understands the “financier coalition” as the financial sector and the traditional middle class, while the “industrial coalition” to be made up of industrial entrepreneurs
associated with the organized part of the working class. These coalitions cease to
be competitors from 2012 and 2013, when even the most benefited become dissatisfied with a certain “statism.”
André Singer, ibidem, p. 61. It is possible this argument has been made too succinctly. Singer, like Boito, understands that during the Lula governments and Dilma’s first term, there was distance between the parts of the bourgeois class, that is,
the industrial sector, more based in production, and the financial sector. But at this
moment of dissatisfaction and in the following polarization, the sectors realign.
The decisive moments in this process are explored in more detail in André Singer.
O lulismo em crise, p. 161-ss.
It is interesting to remember, as Singer does, ex-President Fernando Henrique
Cardoso’s statement that the PMDB’s political negotiations would be similar to
“blackmail.” Singer referred to Dilma’s attempt as a “republican trial.”
We use the term collective paranoia as during the elections, Bolsonaro’s alt-right
profited from a phantasmagoria, creating the image that the PT governments were
communist. Such an interpretation is, to say the least, extravagant and shocks any
remotely reasonable historian.
T/N: This is a state policy that prioritizes road transport as the preferred method of
circulation for cargo and individuals and, due to this, invests in motorways instead
of other forms of transport, such as railroads.
ONU-FAO, 2018. Brazil had been removed from the Hunger Map when less than
5% of the population were below the poverty line. In 2016, this number went up to
5.6%, which means 11.7 million Brazilians live on less than $1.90 per day. Infant
mortality also started growing again.
References
Andrade, Laura et al. 2012. “Mental Disorders in Megacities: Findings from the São
Paulo Megacity Mental Health Survey.” PLOS ONE 7 (2).
ANTP. 2017. Relatório geral – Sistema de Informações da Mobilidade Urbana da Sistema de Informações da Mobilidade Urbana da Associação Nacional de Transportes
Público – Simob/ANTP. Available at: http://www.antp.org.br/sistema-de-informacoesda-mobilidade/apresentacao.html.
Boito, Armando. 2018. “Reforma e crise política no Brasil: os conflitos de classe
nos governos do PT.” Campinas, ed. UNICAMP BrCidades. 2017. Por uma frente
ampla em defesa da construção social de um projeto para as cidades do Brasil.
São Paulo: BrCidades. Available at: www.brcidades.org/documentos. Accessed on
10 November 2018.
Dardot, Pierre, and Christian Laval. 2016. A Nova Razão do Mundo. São Paulo: ed. Boitempo.
Harvey, David. 2017. Marx, Capital and the Madness of Economic Reason. London:
Profile.
INESC/OXFAM. 2018. “Monitoramento dos direitos humanos em tempos de austeridade no Brasil.” Available at: www.inesc.org.br/wp-content/uploads/2018/08/Rel_
Dir_Hum_Temp_Aust-NOVO-1-_V3.pdf?x63825. Accessed on 10 February 2019.
Mercadante, Aloizio et al., eds. 2018. O Legado dos governos do PT. São Paulo:
Fundação Perseu Abramo.
Nossa São Paulo/IBOPE. 2018. “Mapa da Desigualdade 2017.” São Paulo, Rede Nossa
São Paulo Oxfam Brasil. 2018. Inequality report 2018. Available at: https://brazilian.
report/money/2018/11/26/recession-brazil-poor-oxfam/.
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Pereira, Rafael. 2018. “Transport Legacy of Mega-events and the Redistribution of
Accessibility to Urban Destinations.” Cities 81: 45–60.
Pochmann, Márcio. 2012. Nova classe média? São Paulo: ed. Boitempo.
Singer, André. 2012. Os sentidos do lulismo: Reforma gradual e pacto conservador.
São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
UQBAR. 2016. Anuário Uqbar: securitização e financiamento imobiliário. Rio de
Janeiro: Uqbar Publicações.
Valor. 2015. “Metro de SP liberou catraca para manifestações em ato contra Dilma.”
Available at: www.valor.com.br/politica/3963126/metro-de-sp-liberou-catraca-paramanifestantes-em-ato-contra-dilma. Accessed 10 February 2019.
Vasconcellos, Eduardo. 2014. A Política de transporte no Brasil: a construção da mobilidade excludente. São Paulo: ed. Manole.
11 De-democratization in Brazil
and the New Puzzle of Women’s
Political Representation
Patricia Rangel, Eneida Vinhaes Dultra,
and David McCoy
1. Introduction
In April of 2016, a few months before approximately half of a million Brazilians would formally declare their candidacy for mayor and city council elections across the country, Brazil’s Chamber of Deputies voted to impeach its
first and only female president, Dilma Rousseff, on questionable auspices.1 Her
leftist credentials include three decades of service as ministers and secretaries
in the Workers’ Party (PT)2 at all levels of government. Before that, in her
20s, she was a resistance fighter against military dictatorship (1964–85), which
eventually resulted in her imprisonment and brutal torture. Jair Bolsonaro, the
bombastic, right-wing deputy from Rio de Janeiro dedicated his impeachment
vote to the soldiers of ’64 and Colonel Carlos Alberto Brilhante Ustra, the
dread of Dilma.3
Bolsonaro televised a dedication to Ustra – who was the most infamous torturer of captured resistance fighters during the dictatorship – and was rewarded
two years later with the presidency. In spite of the highly visible #EleNão (not
him) movement against his candidacy in 2018 and his well-documented history of inflammatory comments toward women, Bolsonaro is estimated to have
won 50% to 54% of the female vote.4 What if anything does this conspicuously
gendered moment of de-democratization mean for women’s political representation in the country?
Brazil is an outlying case for gender representation. Almost two decades
ago, Mala Htun (2002) articulated the puzzle of women’s rights in the country: it held the lowest level of women’s representation in national politics in
Latin America, yet it was known as a pioneer of policy advancing women’s
rights and social progress. Brazil is oft cited as an exceptional case in one of
the canonical debates in feminist political theory regarding the relationship
between descriptive5 and substantive representation6 (Pitkin 1967), or the distinction between a politics of presence and a politics of ideas (Phillips 2001),
despite having laws that guarantees sex quotas in PR party lists since 1995
(Laws No. 9,100/95; 9,504/97; 12,034/2009; and 13,487/2017).
Proponents of descriptive representation maintain that political institutions
should proportionally reproduce the social groups that constitute the social
De-democratization in Brazil 167
body, as a microcosm of the society (Tremblay 2007). Considering gender
balance has been increasingly adopted as a baseline measure for democratic
deficits (Paxton 2000), Brazil’s 15% female Lower Chamber should be a cause
for concern. While descriptive representation remained weak, substantive
representation of women in Brazil was exceptionally advanced. They have
developed strong social movements that pushed for women’s rights in the Constitutional Assembly (1988); women are prominent in the workforce compared
with other countries in the region; and the bancada feminina (women’s caucus)
has been more successful in passing legislation than its small numbers could
predict (Wyle 2018).
Feminist literature typically maintains a strong, positive relationship
between women’s descriptive representation (politics of presence) and substantive representation (politics of ideas). A wealth of empirical literature
backs up this mutually causal relationship (Celis et al. 2008; Diaz 2002)
through a range of mechanisms, including demonstrated differences in policy
proposals from women (Bratton and Ray 2002) and changes in political discourses (Grey 2002). Authors, such as Drude Dahlerup (1988), argue that the
inclusion of more women (more precisely, a female critical mass) makes a
difference in politics, especially when preferences diverge between the sexes.
Other authors, such as Magdalena León and Jimena Holguín (2005), radicalize the argument, claiming that the election of a number of legislators only is,
in itself, transformative of political institutions assuming that they will advocate for themes related to needs, rights, and interests seldom addressed by
male legislators.
Wylie (2018) argues that Brazil’s puzzling, consistent exception in this relationship between descriptive and substantive representation can be explained
through its peculiar institutions. Brazil’s non-programmatic party system
stems from open list proportional representation in which elites have incentives to offer personalized platforms, compete to differentiate themselves from
co-partisans, change from party to party and invest little in programmatic party
discipline (Ames 2001). This lack of party institutionalization creates an additional barrier to establishing the critical psychological, organizational, and
material support that is required to change patterns of representation within
institutions (Wylie 2018, 20).
The exclusionary tendencies that hinder descriptive representation result
from undesirable but self-reinforcing, path-dependent mechanisms. However,
the drastic changes in Brazilian politics in recent years (detailed in other chapters of this book) place the country at a critical juncture in which previously
stable patterns of behavior suddenly give way to processes that allow for new
trajectories (Collier and Collier 1991).7 The resulting political chaos and antisystem sentiments, in addition to the highly questionable, temporary jailing of
Brazil’s most popular politician (Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva or simply Lula from
the PT), cleared a path for Jair Bolsonaro (PSL) to win the presidency in 2018,
with the support of the growing conservative evangelical population, as further
explained by Magali do Nascimento Cunha in her chapter.
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Patricia Rangel et al.
Bolsonaro, a former army officer and open apologist for Brazil’s military dictatorship, has built his career as an ultra-right, anti-system elite whose presence
in politics has been highly polarizing along gender lines. While his campaign
worked to frame him as a political outsider, many of the established rightwing and Center parties that generated the political chaos of the impeachment
now support his government. Both the impeachment and Bolsonaro’s ascent
to power were marked by misogynistic expressions and followed by setbacks
regarding gender equality policies/women’s rights. It was the critical juncture
that initiated a series of regressions in social rights, criminalization of leftist
activism,8 and increases in police violence. As a result, discourses of hate were
legitimized, targeting historically marginalized social groups (women, African
Brazilians, LGBTQI+, the working class, rural communities, and Indigenous
populations).
This recent critical juncture poses several questions: has women’s substantive and descriptive representation been altered? If so, how? And how would
Brazil’s puzzle of unusual patterns of women’s representation interact with the
de-democratization process? It is also essential to acknowledge how women’s
decisions to declare candidacy or join a party is influenced by changes in a
political environment (Kanthak and Woon 2015). The complexity of political
representation and inevitable heterogeneity of group interests often requires
one to move beyond discrete instances of representation, such as a single policy change or alternation of actors. To enrich analysis in this complex setting,
Celis et al. (2008, 104) recommend focusing on changes in the processes and
structures of gender representation:
considering what might constitute conditions that are more conducive to
[substantive representation]. Thus, in addition to highlighting how discrete rights or discrete numbers of individuals change over time, we focus
on changes, the creation or demolition of locations of representation.
2. Women’s Political Representation After
Rousseff’s Impeachment
In this section, we examine women’s political representation in 2016 local
elections (mayors and city councilors), which took place a few months after the
impeachment of Dilma Rousseff. Brazilian politicians have been historically
unwilling to respect the authority of women, a trend which comes into glaring
clarity when one considers how the degradation of presidential-parliamentary
relations jeopardized Rousseff’s ability to rule. With scarce support in Congress, the president struggled to pass her agenda, nor could she ultimately stay
in power.
The media have consistently contributed to the demonization of left-wing
sectors and depreciation of Rousseff’s public image. Several magazine and
newspaper covers pictured her as unstable, hysterical, and other adjectives
often addressed to women as a delegitimization strategy.9 Sexist expressions
De-democratization in Brazil 169
were also common still during her electoral campaigns of 2010 and 2014, when
she and presidential candidate Marina Silva were both judged through many
aspects other than political proposals and background, i.e. outfit, hair, makeup,
body, private life (Magalhaes 2017). During the finalization of Dilma’s
impeachment hearing in 2016, each MP was given the floor to offer a brief justification of their vote, and misogyny and traditional gendered logic abounded.
Congresspeople justified their votes mentioning their families, wives, and
hometowns, as well as employing openly sexist attacks, such as lack of laundry
to do and lack of a man. After the votes were cast and it was clear Dilma would
be impeached, many of the supporters of impeachment engaged in mock-song
and shouted “Bye-bye, darling!”10 which, in Brazilian Portuguese, cannot be
understood without strong associations to gender hierarchy.
Biroli (2016) understands this expression of violence and hate speech against
the president not only as a politician but as a woman, specifically – a political violence against women as an effort to silence them, as well as to push
them from public life back to the private realm. This gender-based symbolic
violence would trigger two outcomes: (1) it reduces women’s ability as political actors; and (2) it weakens the gender agenda, reducing the legitimacy of
feminist claims, as the next section displays.
In post-impeachment Brazil, political leaders of right-wing parties, the
media, and representatives of the judicial branch nourished a narrative that
criminalized the political class and fostered judicial activism geared towards
the fracturing of other governmental powers. As stated by Senra (2017), quite
to the contrary to what had been foreseen by the media – which has been
aligned with conservative sectors of politics and business since democratization (Albuquerque 2019) – the takeover by Dilma’s Vice-President, turned
ouster, Michel Temer, did not solve the political/economic crisis. The crisis
deepened and reinforced institutional instability, economic depression, and the
weakening of democracy,11 as Rômulo Lima discusses in his chapter.
2.1 Substantive Representation/Politics of Ideas
In the pre-impeachment context, equality had been advancing through gender mainstreaming and cross-cutting policies bolstered by the Secretary for
Women’s Policies or Secretaria de Políticas para as Mulheres (SPM). After
2016, this state structure was diminished through ministerial reform carried
out by the newly sworn-in Temer.12 The SPM had been an insider women’s
policy agency (WPA),13 according to State Feminism categories,14 as it asserted
women’s movements claims and succeeded in gendering the dominant frame
of public debate. Through interaction with feminist movements, the SPM
influenced institutional politics and persuaded decision-makers, deploying sustained efforts to push for national legislation aiming at increasing the women’s
political representation (Rangel 2012 and 2018). The SPM’s dismantling, thus,
caused a great loss of women’s political representation in descriptive, substantive, extra-parliamentary (Celis 2008), and procedural dimensions. After its
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dissolution, Temer created the Secretariat of Human Rights, subordinate to
the Ministry of Justice, to host three secretariats: Women, Racial Equality, and
Human Rights.15 Brazilian WPAs were historically coordinated by feminist
or progressive women, until the new Secretariat of Women was assigned to
conservative Fátima Pelaes, who is openly opposed to abortion in any circumstances (even rape) and upholds strong religious opinions in politics.16
As explained by Soler (2015), the 21st-century coup d’état tries to stop or
eliminate a process of change in which the dominant sectors, when affected,
deploy their capacity to impose their interests and overthrow the current government (Soler 2015, 87). By March 2017, government investment in gender
equality reached the lowest level in a decade. A survey conducted by Poder
360 (2016) based on data from the Integrated Federal Financial Administration System (Siafi 2017; Siga Brasil 2017) showed that the budget for women,
racial equality, and human rights, all together, was reduced by 35% that year.
Symbolic representation of women was also impaired under Temer’s rule
with his all male (and white) cabinet, the first one since the rule of Ernesto
Geisel (1974–79) during the military dictatorship, garnering criticism from the
international community. In 2017, the United Nations stated that his government had one of the lowest levels of female representation in the executive
branch in the world. In a country where white men make up approximately
25% of the population (according to the 2010 census), Temer opted to include
zero women and zero racial diversity. During International Women’s Day 2017,
Temer’s choice of praise for women substantiated his exclusionary behaviors
in the political arena:
No one else is capable of indicating mismatches, for example, in supermarket prices than women. No one is better able to detect any economic
fluctuations in the household budget than the woman. . . . I am convinced,
by my upbringing, by Marcela [his wife], of how much women do for
their households, for home, for the children. If society is doing well, if the
children are brought up well, it is because they have adequate nurture in
their homes, and, certainly, the person who does that is not the man, it is
the woman.17
His statement reinforced a traditional perspective, which places women as
second-class citizens and alienates them from public and productive life. This
is a vastly different speech from the one Rousseff gave when she came to power
in 2010 and promised to empower and prioritize women.18 Temer’s approach
enabled a political scenario that neglected the foremost concerns of feminist
and women’s movements. As noticed by Biroli (2016), a radically diminished
presence of feminists in the state provided space for groups in parliament who
have been acting against women’s and LGBTQI+ rights.
One of the issues at stake was the debate on sexual and reproductive rights.
Although over a million women undergo unsafe abortions each year, and
despite the intense feminist struggle, the legislation forbids abortion in most
De-democratization in Brazil 171
cases (abortion is permitted only in case of rape, death risk, and when the child
would not survive after birth – anencephaly for example), and new legislative
proposals seek to toughen the prohibition. Figure 11.1 (Elite Survey Responses
by Year and Gender: Opposition to Abortion) shows the distribution of support
and opposition to the legalization of abortion among a representative sample
of Lower Chamber MPs from 2014 and 2018 (PELA-USAL 2014, 2018). The
question simply asks the degree to which each MP supports or opposes the
legalization of abortion on a scale from one to ten (we display five bins for
simplicity). We also performed a two-way ANOVA test of the differences in
means between the years 2014 (mean = 4.0) and 2018 (mean = 6.9) by male
and female representatives. The result shows that the difference between the
legislatures over time is highly significant [F(1, 220) = 47.6, p < 0.001]; however, the difference by sex of the MP did not approach significance nor the
interaction between sex and legislature.
These findings show that there was a drastic shift in how the legislature
viewed abortion rights from 2014 to 2018 but that male and female MPs were
not significantly different from each other, nor was the change over time driven
more by male nor female MPs. In light of our findings in the next section that
women in the Lower Chamber in 2018 saw the single greatest increase in representation (from 9.9% in 2014 to 15% in 2018) this represents an inversion
of Mala Htun’s puzzle of low descriptive but high substantive representation
of women in Brazil.
A second issue concerns changes to retirement (social security). Parliament
passed a Retirement Reform (Reforma da Previdência)19 that broke up many
labor rights and benefits. Women were not the only ones affected by that action;
although, the original proposal arguing that it would put an end to progressive
distortions by establishing the same retirement age for men and women, disregarded women’s second shift. The former distinction was a measure designed to
Figure 11.1 Elite Survey Responses by Year and Gender: Opposition to Abortion
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compensate women for their double work day that results from the sexual division of labor, as well as the countless other injustices suffered during their professional life.20 In the end, the approved text increased the retirement age for women
from the current 60 years to 62 years, keeping at 65 years the age for men.
As stated in the book’s introduction, the ultimate achievement of this process came through in the form of Constitutional Amendment No. 95, which
precluded any real increase of public expenses for the next 20 years. According to a public opinion survey published by Datafolha in December 2016, only
24% of the population approved of this. Similar to the Retirement Reform,
the result is likely to disproportionately affect marginalized groups, including
women.
2.2 Descriptive Representation/Politics of Presence
Have the aforementioned misogynistic narratives surrounding Dilma’s
impeachment and the subsequent decline in women’s substantive and symbolic representation affected the descriptive dimension of representation? It is
important to remember that these changes emerged due to a critical juncture
created, in part, by intense anti-system sentiment. While one might expect to
see a decline in women’s descriptive representation in this scenario as women
perceive greater barriers to entry or success in politics, there is also evidence
that female candidates, as natural political outsiders, benefit electorally from
anti-system moments. This section explores how the political arena for women
changed, beginning with the first election after Dilma was removed from
office: the 2016 mayoral and city council elections.
Several works empirically demonstrate that culture and social relations
related to gender have a major influence on women’s access to politics (Inglehart and Norris 2003; Inglehart et al. 2002). The prevalence of conservative
attitudes regarding traditional gender roles in economic, political, and social
spheres directly impact women’s preparation to hold office and decision to
emerge as candidates, as well as how voters perceive them as candidates (Norris 1985; Nowacki 2003; Paxton 1995, among others). For Fraser (1985, 1997),
the destructive capacity of androcentric values rely in the daily exercise and
basic socialization processes, placing women in inferior positions and directly
impacting the distribution of power resources between men and women, as
well as in the ways in which both groups are represented. This literature suggests the impeachment and the misogynistic political moment that accompanied it could have a negative impact on the ability of women to enter races and
attain office in contemporary Brazil.
A distinct line of research has found that moments of political discontent or
anti-system sentiment tend to favor female candidates, who are more easily
framed as new faces or outside candidates (Funk et al. 2019). Women are seen
as generally less corrupt than men (Barnes and Beaulieu 2018), and voters prefer female candidates when system trust is low, as long as they are not already
specifically viewed as being an insider (Morgan and Buice 2013). These
De-democratization in Brazil 173
findings seem especially appropriate for Brazil, given the sustained dominance
of men in politics – making a given female even more likely to be seen as
an outsider. Thus, while the misogyny and intentional dismantling of sites of
representation for women should present a barrier for female candidates, the
anti-system component of this critical juncture should open a door for them. In
the remainder of this section we review recent changes that accompanied the
2016 mayor and city council elections, and we analyze this data to test whether
women in 2016 performed better or worse and whether those changes can be
attributed to anti-system voting.
A trend analysis of women elected as city councilors pre- and postimpeachment using TSE (Superior Electoral Tribunal) data indicates a slight
increase in the number of female candidates in 2016, which did not cause an
equivalent increase in the number of women elected (similar to 2012). In 2016,
7,786 women were elected (13.5% of the total City Councilors – 57,592). In
2012, 7,634 women had been elected (13.4% of the 57,172 representatives
elected). The advance (0.1 percentage point) was much smaller than that
observed in the previous election: the percentage growth of women elected
between 2008 and 2018 was 0.9 percentage point.21 Figure 11.2 shows less
than a one-point rise of the percentage of women in over a decade.
Women running for mayor in 2016 represented 13% of candidacies (2,150
out of 16,568 candidates) and 11.6% of elected people (641 women). In 2012,
women represented 12.6% of the 15,438 candidates and 11.8% of the mayors
elected (659 women). In 2016, therefore, there was a decrease in the number
of female mayors. This is a reversal of the large gains made by women in 2008
Figure 11.2 Female Councilors and Mayors Elected (2004–16)
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and again in 2012. The parties who voted to impeach Dilma’s ran more female
candidates for mayor in 2016 than 2012 (from 1,532 to 1,633), while the leftist
parties ran fewer (from 383 to 380). In large Brazilian cities that make use of
a second round: out of 57 mayors elected, only one was female, elected by the
PSDB, while several leftist parties reached the second round but failed to elect
female candidates.22
Brazilian political parties were compelled to respect the gender quotas in
2012 and 2016, which require that all party lists (or coalitions) must include
30% female candidates. Thus, while the number of female candidates for city
council and other legislative positions (but not mayors and governors) has
surged, parties have not generated real opportunities of election for women.
This indicates problems in the effectiveness of the quotas, which parties are
able to easily circumvent by filling legislative party lists with laranjas or fake
candidates who often receive very few or even literally zero votes (Wylie
et al. 2019). For this reason, Brazilian mayors seem to have a far higher election rate than mayoral offices, even though the executive position should have
higher barriers. It also means that empirical measures of success for female
candidates in legislative positions cannot compare elected female candidates
to unelected females, as the latter was severely inflated starting in 2012.
The 2016 election for city councilors and mayors in Brazil overlapped substantially with Dilma’s impeachment, as well as a more general wave of anti-system
sentiment. During this period, thousands of women and men decided whether to
run, and political parties on both sides of the impeachment conflict sought new
talent that could resist or capitalize from this critical juncture. Soon after, the public decided whom to vote for. As discussed earlier, prior research provides two
highly plausible but countervailing predictions for women in 2016: the salient
misogyny would discourage their entry and success, while the tide of anti-system
sentiment should open the door for women. It is worthwhile to understand what
happened in the post-impeachment Brazilian city council race for its own sake,
as women entering politics would be vastly more likely to enter politics through
city council than any other office. This scenario also provides an opportunity to
explore, in a general sense, how anti-system voting affects female candidates.
While it is impossible to know how candidate entry and voting would have
occurred differently in 2016 in a counterfactual Brazil without salient misogyny, the very modest increases in 2016 for female city councilors and modest
losses for female mayors do not initially lend credibility to the theory that popular distrust of elites and anti-system voting have opened the door to Brazilian
women. However, we assume it is possible for anti-system voting to contribute
to female candidate success even as the national trends saw no real growth.
To explore this relationship, we focus on variation in anti-system sentiment
among municipalities.
We use TSE electoral data aggregated by CEPESP (2020) to exploit municipal variation in first-round voting for the anti-system candidate Jair Bolsonaro
in the 2018 presidential election as a proxy for anti-system sentiment in the
2016 city council elections. While Bolsonaro’s first-round voting in a future
De-democratization in Brazil 175
election could not have a direct effect on outcomes in 2016 (or before), we
assume the anti-system sentiment that gave him the presidency already existed
by 2016 in a form that would affect (female) candidates’ decisions to run, as
well as voters’ preferences toward (female) elites. The variation among the
5,570 municipalities (ranging from 2% to 89% first-round support for Bolsonaro) presents an opportunity to see how women fare compared to men across
a variable range of anti-system sentiment. Thus, this variation among municipalities should appear as a more important explanatory factor for 2016, as this
anti-system characteristic becomes activated between 2012 and 2016.
Figures 11.3a to 11.3d show how women and men from four party groupings evolved in city council races from 2004 to 2016. We split the municipality
samples into equal terciles based on the percentage of the first-round voting
received by Bolsonaro (anti-system proxy). The cutoff points of the terciles
are: low municipalities below 27%, the middle is 27–51%, and high is above
51% of the first-round vote. We separated the parties into those that supported
impeachment in the 2016 Chamber of Deputies vote and those in which 50%
or fewer of the deputies voted to impeach.23 The pro- and anti-impeachment
groups can be understood as correlating with the Brazilian Right and Center
versus the Left; however, some members of the center-left supported Dilma’s
impeachment, such as the PSB.
Figures 11.3a and 11.3b show that men and women in the PT suffered losses
in all three municipality terciles in 2016; however, both female and male candidates suffered greater losses (% change) in the highest anti-system tercile.
When comparing the relative losses of women to men in the PT across levels
of anti-system voting, women in the PT suffered a greater loss of seats than
men in low anti-system voting, while men suffered a greater proportional loss
Figure 11.3a Female City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Grouped by Municipality Terciles of First Round Votes for Bolsonaro in 2018
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Figure 11.3b Male City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Grouped by Municipality Terciles of First Round Votes for Bolsonaro in 2018
Figure 11.3c Female City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Grouped by Municipality Terciles of First Round Votes for Bolsonaro in 2018
than women in the high anti-system voting municipalities. For the PT’s allies
in the against impeachment group, both women and men gained a substantial number of seats in 2016, and those gains were concentrated in the lowest
tercile of municipalities. Female candidates (see Figure 11.3c) in parties that
voted to impeach President Dilma (including the PSDB in Figure 11.3a) lost
seats in municipalities with low anti-system voting while men gained seats
De-democratization in Brazil 177
Figure 11.3d Male City Councilors Elected (2004–16)
Grouped by Municipality Terciles of First Round Votes for Bolsonaro in 2018
in that tercile. In the highest anti-system category, female candidates gained
more seats (% change) than their male counterparts. In the most important
comparison for the anti-system theory – men versus women in the high antisystem category – women outperformed the men in their own party category
(as % change) in each case; however, the opposite was often true in the lowest
tercile. For the PT, this means that women were punished less by voters, even
though they also had a net loss. For within gender and within party comparisons between terciles, the party groups become moderating factors: women in
the PT and against impeachment group performed better in the lowest antisystem tercile than women in the highest, while women in the PSDB and voted
to impeach performed best in the highest anti-system tercile. Thus, betweengender, within-party relationships strongly support the anti-system theory.
However, the within-gender, within-party, between-levels of anti-system voting suggest a different mechanism is at play related to whether women are in
outsider versus insider party groups in a given district.
Figures 11.3a to 11.3d provide support for the theory that women benefit from anti-system environments over men in their own parties under certain assumptions that are defensible: every elected city councilor is weighed
equally regardless of how many votes she received. We provide an alternative
model that describes the probability that each individual vote for city council
between 2004 and 2016 was cast for a woman based on the year, the party
group (pro- or anti-impeachment) and the anti-system voting of the municipality in which it was cast (first-round Bolsonaro votes in 2018 as earlier) while
controlling for potentially confounding factors. The dependent variable is the
proportion of votes in each party list (in each municipality, each year) that
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Patricia Rangel et al.
was cast for female candidates. Each party list is weighted by the total votes it
received, which results in a Bernoulli distribution (of successes/trials as female
votes in a given list/total votes in a given list).
The independent variable in this model is an interaction between 2018 firstround voting for Bolsonaro (anti-system voting) and the party groups described
previously. In order to relax the assumption of strict linearity in this relationship,
we also perform an interaction with a polynomial (square) of anti-system voting.
Because this produces eight coefficients that are essentially impossible to interpret, the results are visualized in Figure 11.4a and Figure 11.4b. Additionally,
this model allows us to ensure that the relationships are significant beyond the
effects of a number of control variables.24 The results for the control variables
are in Table 11.1. The coefficients are odds ratios with p-values in parentheses.25
Figure 11.4a Party List Votes for Women (%): Pro-Impeachment (2004–16)
By Municipal-Level First Round Votes for Bolsonaro in 2018
Figure 11.4b Party List Votes for Women (%): Pro-Impeachment (2004–16)
By Municipal-Level First Round Votes for Bolsonaro in 2018
De-democratization in Brazil 179
Table 11.1 Party List Voting for Female City Council Candidates, 2004–16
Percentage of Votes for Women
No Coalition
List Size (List Candidates/
Seats)
Female Mayor Wins
Female Mayor (Lagged)
(m2004)
(m2008)
(m2012)
(m2016)
0.52***
p = 0.00
1.31***
p = 0.00
1.13***
p = 0.00
0.88*
p = 0.05
1.36***
p = 0.00
0.98
p = 0.38
1.09***
p = 0.0003
2.31***
p = 0.00
0.96***
p = 0.00
1.11***
p = 0.00
1.21***
p = 0.00
0.12***
p = 0.00
58,711
1.19***
p = 0.0001
1.14***
p = 0.0000
1.05**
p = 0.004
1.03
p = 0.14
2.11***
p = 0.00
0.94***
p = 0.00
1.08***
p = 0.0000
1.05*
p = 0.04
0.24***
p = 0.00
69,302
2.00***
p = 0.00
1.13***
p = 0.0000
1.00
p = 0.88
1.08***
p = 0.0001
1.93***
p = 0.00
0.95***
p = 0.00
1.01
p = 0.57
1.09***
p = 0.0001
0.21***
p = 0.00
75,898
Income Inequality (Gini)
1.53***
p = 0.0001
Population (Ln) 2010
0.96***
p = 0.00
North and Northeast Regions
1.06***
p = 0.0005
Int: No Coalition * List Size
1.04
p = 0.09
Constant
0.16***
p = 0.00
Observations
55,467
Note: * p < 0.05 ** p < 0.01 *** p <0.001
Odds Ratios with p-values in parentheses
Figure 11.4a shows that votes cast in 2016 for the PT and their allies in the
against impeachment group demonstrate a clear divergence from past years.
Votes cast for the anti-impeachment parties in anti-system municipalities in
2016 were significantly more likely to be cast for women, and this effect is
significant even in the presence of the many significant control variables in
Table 11.1. Thus, Figure 11.4a provides support for the theory that anti-system
voting benefits women.
While the data on pro-impeachment parties supported the hypothesis that
female characters perform well in anti-system settings when each candidate
is weighted equally, this relationship is not as clear in Figure 11.4b. For the
PSDB there is a positive slope as voting districts demonstrate greater antisystem tendencies in 2016; however, the PSDB is not significantly different
from past years in the extreme anti-system districts. Women in the PSDB made
significant gains over past years across all of the distribution except the strong
anti-system districts and the weakly anti-system districts. Votes cast in 2016
for the parties in the supported impeachment group are more likely to be cast
for female candidates across the entire spectrum of municipalities, except in
the extremely anti-system districts.26 Thus, Figure 11.4b suggests that female
candidates do not always perform better in anti-system districts, but rather the
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effect could be limited to parties that are vulnerable to anti-system sentiment
(in this case, those who opposed impeachment).
Gains in 2016 were modest for female city councilors and slightly negative
for female mayors. This stagnation lends some support to the theory that salient displays of misogyny might have raised barriers for women in local elections in 2016. Using data from Brazil’s city council elections from 2004–16,
we found evidence that female candidates succeeded (or were able to evade
losses) in anti-system districts better than their male counterparts in the same
party (especially when candidates are weighted equally). However, female
candidates in a given party in anti-system districts only outperformed their
female co-partisans outside the anti-system districts if they belonged to parties
with anti-system credibility in 2016 (those supporting Dilma’s impeachment).
Thus, even if an increase in misogynistic narratives stunted the progress for
female descriptive representation in 2016, it seems that the anti-system sentiment was often able to compensate to some degree by opening the door to
female candidates. While the overall number of female city counselors was
similar in 2012 and 2016, the circumstances under which they won shifted by
the party’s relationship to Dilma’s impeachment and the district’s relationship
to anti-system preferences. While one can see that only small changes occurred
in the descriptive representation of women, important changes occurred at the
intersection female representation and the backgrounds of the representatives
that will likely engender changes to women’s substantive representation.
3. Women’s Political Representation After 2018 Election
The 2018 Presidential elections took place in a context of right-wing consolidation following the impeachment – which generated a fertile ground for the
emergence of a conservative forces within the political system. Former President
Lula27 was sentenced to 12 years and sent to prison five months before the elections,28 at a time when he was a likely presidential candidate with good chances
of victory. Hate speech based on social class, ethnicity, and gender gained ground
amongst voters, as demonstrated by the Bolsonaro’s successful campaign.
Bolsonaro ran with a political party (PSL – Social Liberal Party) that, until
2014, had no representatives in the Senate and only one in the House of Representatives. His candidacy was bolstered after getting seriously injured (he was
stabbed at a rally), conducting the rest of his campaign (approx. one month)
almost exclusively on social media. His misogynist, racist, and homophobic
declarations provoked the formation of a campaign known as #EleNão (not
him), with several demonstrations under the motto: Mulheres Unidas contra
Bolsonaro (Women United Against Bolsonaro).29
In the weeks which preceded the elections, we examined the candidates’
presidential plans for governance (Dultra and Rangel 2019a),30 aiming at systematizing their proposals for gender equality, ethnic equality, and sexual diversity – considering that 81% of Brazilians wish for public policies that promote
equality.31 The president-elect presented only two proposals (0.6% of the total
De-democratization in Brazil 181
345 proposals related to gender and race): to restrain rape of women and children, and to establish a dentist appointment for pregnant women. He did not
mention gender-based violence, although domestic violence has been costing
the government approximately R$ 1 billion per year.32 The research stressed
Bolsonaro’s fundamentalist, conservative, and moralizing political intentions,
pointing to religious intervention in politics, the defense of traditional family values, privatizations, and social spending cuts. Still, he got elected. For
the first time since the end of the military dictatorship, Brazil experiences an
ultra-right government. Considering this critical juncture, we aim to learn
whether, two years after the symbolic overthrow of a female president and the
dismantling of the structures/policies for gender equality, has women’s political underrepresentation become reinforced?
With an almost all male cabinet (20 men and two women as ministers),
Bolsonaro maintained during a public event on 8 March, that this was the first
gender-balanced government in history, adding that each of his female ministers was worth ten. This disdain toward gender equality had repercussions on
the structure and actions of the executive power, regarding issues and policies
of interest to women – from the composition of the cabinet (two women and 20
men as the heads of ministries), to the person chosen to be in charge of the new
Ministry of Women, Family and Human Rights (MMFDH), Mrs. Damares
Alves.
In the previous 20 years,33 Damares had worked as parliamentary adviser for
several evangelical congresspeople, and as an evangelical missionary, traveling
the country with financial resources from the National Congress.34 During that
period, she became renowned for her preaching, YouTube videos and activities
in a neo-Pentecostal church, in which she made false allegations against the
PT government, accusing it of dispensing school textbooks making apology
to sex and drugs and of promoting a gay dictatorship. Further, she advocated
for scientifically denied gay cure treatments, as she considers homosexuality a disease. As Minister, speaking before the UN Human Rights Council in
Geneva in February 2019, Damares affirmed that life begins in conception,
promoting religious opinions and fighting feminism. This found resonance in
the mainstream ideology of the government: anti-feminism is a blueprint of the
government and MMFDH – who, instead of taking care of policies for women,
has been fighting what it calls the pitfalls of feminism,35 i.e., dismissing allegations of rape and gender-based violence (GBV) victims.
3.1 Substantive Representation/Politics of Ideas
Bolsonaro’s reform agenda consists of three phases: the first concludes remaining priorities from the Temer government (budget adjustments, taxation of
investment funds, regulatory agencies); the second phase concerns structural
reforms (fiscal adjustment, administrative reform, and privatization/assets
sale), pensions reform (Constitutional Amendment 103),36 labor reform (Provisional Measure 905/2019),37 and adjustments in social assistance policies,
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which seem to be detrimental to women, due to their greater job insecurity and
wage inequalities resulting from gender discrimination.
The third phase impacts gender equality more directly, as it targets values
and behaviors, aligned agribusinesses, evangelical and arms industry caucuses,
with topics such as social movements criminalization, prohibition of gender
debate in the schools and restraints on women’s sexual and reproductive
rights. The government has not been launching endeavors to promote access
to sexual and reproductive health services, neither to prevent women and girls
from resorting to unsafe abortions that endanger their lives, especially the poor
(mostly African Brazilian). In fact, the government has supported legislative
initiatives to increase punishments on women who voluntarily terminate their
pregnancies. There was a record on the number of abortion-related draft bills
during Bolsonaro’s first year of government: 28 new proposals, 43% of which
aim to restrict access to legal abortion (Genero e Numero 2019).38 Although
men are historically responsible for most of such drafts (80%, according to
Genero e Numero), a congresswoman was the one who proposed most of the
anti-abortion draft bills in 2019: Chris Tonietto, elected by Bolsonaro’s PSL
(three projects).39 Her draft bills seek to set the definition of life from conception (PL 4,150/2019), establish National Week of the Unborn Child (PL
4,149/2019), and suspend access to legal abortion in case of rape or death risk
for the woman, as ensured by the Penal Code in 1940 (PL 2,893/2019).
Tonietto, however, is not alone. Other congresswomen elected in 2018 have
been playing a major role, such as Mrs Flordelis (PSD/RJ), who introduced
Draft Bill No. 788/19, which states that the unborn child is a conceived human
being, including those conceived in vitro, even before the transfer to the womb.
In case the unborn child was conceived as a result of rape, the project proposes
that it will have the right to prenatal care, psychological counseling for the
mother, and referral to the foster care system in case the raped mother wishes.
The polarization that marked the race for the presidency also determined the
design of the new women’s caucus in the House of Representatives – which
reached a record in 2018 elections. Out of the 77 congresswomen elected, nine
are from Bolsonaro’s PSL, 42 belonged to political parties allied to the new
government,40 while left-wing parties (PT, PCdoB, and PSol) had, altogether,
21 members.41 In the Senate, out of the seven women elected, two belong to
Bolsonaro’s PSL (50% of senators elected by this party) and one to the ally
PSDB. The 77 women tend to agree on topics such as equal pay and policies to
fight GBV, yet they disagree on topics such as abortion and gender discussions
at schools, according to a survey conducted with 48 of the 77 congresswomen
(Estado de Sao Paulo 2019).
Despite consensus amongst congresswomen from different political alignments, actions to fight GBV displayed a minimalist tendency in 2019. One of
the MMFDH initiatives was a makeup campaign, which taught the victims
to camouflage physical marks from the assault.42 Further, a government act,
published on 12 November, replaced the program Women, Living without Violence (instituted by Federal Decree No. 8,086/2013)43 by a new one: Safe and
De-democratization in Brazil 183
Protected Women44 – designed with no social participation, and excluding the
word gender.
With respect to the government’s budget proposal for 2020, MMFDH changed
the names of former actions, making it difficult to compare resources with previous years (including 2019) and to exercise social control of public policies.
Amongst the new actions, there are Protection of the Right to Life and Family
Strengthening, but one cannot tell which initiatives will be contained within the
new budgetary actions. It is no longer possible to easily identify the resources
provided for the LGBTQI+ rights, promotion of racial equality, or even Hotline
180, a public service of unquestionable relevance for the protection of GBV
victims. In addition, funds for the initiative Brazilian Women’s Home, although
explicitly maintained in the budget law, were reduced when compared to 2019.
International organization Human Rights Watch (2020), examining the figures,
indicated that only 40% of the budget reserved to fight GBV was maintained –
90% of which was employed exclusively to keep Hotline 180 working.
As a result, violence against women has escalated in 2019, according to
MMFDH data obtained by GloboNews through the Access to Information
Act. Hotline 180 received 3,664 reports of femicide45 and attempted femicide nationwide between February and October (on average, one report every
two hours), which represents a 272% increase compared to the same period
in 2018 (G1 2019). It is not expected that parliament will reduce negative
impacts of the government actions. By October 2019, there were 124 draft
bills in course in the House of Representatives to change Lei Maria da Penha.46
Bolsonaro’s PSL was the political party who presented the most bills in this
regard (seven bills), followed by PSDB and PTB (six bills each). By October
2019, five bills had been approved.
3.2 Descriptive Representation/Politics of Presence
In 2018, TSE data47 showed that the candidacy of women fell in comparison to
2014, except for state governmental posts (which rose 10.4% to 14.4%): there
was a decrease in the percentage of female candidates to the Federal House
(from 31.8% to 31.7%), legislative assemblies (from 31.4% to 31.3%), to the
Senate (from 19% to 17.6%), and to the presidency (from 27.3% to 15.4%).
At the end of the election, women represented 3.7% of the governors (only
one female governor was elected),48 12.9% of senators, 15% of federal representatives, and 15.3% of representatives of State Legislative Assemblies. In
2014, only one female governor had been elected as well, female senators were
18.5%,49 female federal deputies were 9.9% and the female state representatives
were 11.4% of the total. Brazilian women comprise 52% of the population;
52.5% of the electorate and almost half of the affiliates of political parties, but
less than 15% of the elected representatives. This placed Brazil in 157th place
in the global ranking of IPU,50 and in the last place in South America.
Figure 11.5 shows the evolution of elected women over the last two decades. What stands out most about the 2018 elections is the minuscule evolution
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Figure 11.5 Female Candidates Elected (2002–18)
Source: CFEMEA/TSE, 2018
of women’s election for the House of Representatives and State Legislative
Assemblies. Looking at the impact of the quota law from the beginning
(Law No. 9,100/95) to its subsequent amendments (Laws No. 9,504/97 and
12,034/09), one can see that the percentage of female candidates evolved significantly, but found no correspondence among the elected. In the House of
Representatives, from 1998 to 2018, there was a growth of 9.4 percentage
points, a modest result for a period of 20 years. In state legislatures, the evolution was even smaller: 5.3 points.
Parties are responsible for such results, since rationality and transparency
of candidate recruitment depends on the establishment of clear rules and the
willingness of parties to comply with them (Matland 2004; Norris 1997; Gallagher and Marsh 1988). The choice of candidates is centralized by party elites,
without such clear rules.51 Considering descriptive political representation, it
can be said that there is a deficit of representation in countries with dramatic
female underrepresentation in the legislative houses. As Lucia Avelar (2007)
argues, the presence of women in politics is important because it allows the
claims made by society to become policies. Without mandates or influence,
the construction of equality is slow and difficult. Their presence is necessary
because the female perspective can only be offered by women, argues Iris Marion Young (2006).52
Some authors point out that the election of a certain number of women is,
in itself, capable of transforming institutional policy by incorporating themes
related to rights and interests of women (Dahlerup 1988; Leon and Holguín
De-democratization in Brazil 185
2005). This approach postulates a moral difference between genders originated in a differentiated socialization; however, it ends up biologizing political
styles, as Miguel and Feitosa (2008) explain. This speech is commonly appropriated by candidates who see the possibility of making their biological sex
a certificate of integrity and a tool to increase their chances of election. Such
arguments raise the questions: is it really important who the representatives
are, or would it be more relevant what they do?
4. Final Thoughts
Ultra-right congresswomen are a majority amongst female representatives
elected in 2018. Understanding representatives as intermediary and guardian
of the interests of the represented (Lavalle et al. 2006), can we affirm that these
congresswomen are legislating for women? First, we must examine whether
or not women, such a diverse group, have common interests to be represented.
Women are not all the same, and there is no single definition for being a woman
nor for a feminist project (Young 2006, Collin 1992). Given the impossibility of
representing them all, some authors (such as Lovenduski 2005) suggest distinguishing between women’s issues and women’s perspectives. Women’s issues
are those that primarily affect women, both for biological reasons (e.g., breast
cancer treatment) and for social reasons (equal pay policies). On the other
hand, women’s perspectives are their views on political concerns, based on
their experiences.53 Further, women can build general actions, because they
have experienced subordination and oppression (Gohn 2007).
Assuming that there are interests and issues to be represented, one might
argue that the 42 right-wing congresswomen are not representing Brazilian
women’s perspectives. We have examined their legislative production and
parliamentary fronts and came to the conclusion that, despite only 7% (three
women) actively fighting sexual and reproductive health, most of them joined
pro-life and religious fronts.
Although there is usually a link between descriptive representation (presence) and substantive representation (ideas) of women, such a link may not
exist (Marx et al. 2007). The argument that greater access for women to parliament improves the representation of society in descriptive terms does not
question what representatives should do about their positions. Many congresswomen have agreed with the reverberation of acts and words of hatred against
the feminist and antiracist agenda, with strong links with the neo-Pentecostal
religious apparatus, resonating in the performance of women’s representation.
Our examination suggests that part of the gender setback may be coming
from women themselves. Aligned with their political parties, these women are
influencing the agenda and, more than that, disputing the very own idea of
women. This is a relevant shift, as congresswomen have voted in favor of interests and rights of female citizenship since the Constituent Assembly (Braga
2008). The legislative proposals, discourses, and votes of this group reinforce
the government agenda, one that degrades feminist achievements in the field
of gender public policies. Further, Bolsonaro’s ultra-neoliberal policies have
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shown signs of deepening the inequalities of opportunities for women to
occupy space with autonomy and dignity. Any posture harmonized with these
elements, especially from female representatives, has the potential to interfere
in political practices that increase the incidence of gender-based violence and
impoverishment.
Notes
1. In August 2016, the Federal Senate concluded the impeachment process with
Rousseff’s definitive removal from office.
2. She was previously affiliated with PDT – the Labor Democratic Party and held
positions in public administrations representing this political party.
3. Ustra, one of the most ruthless figures of Brazilian dictatorship (1964–85), was the
head of São Paulo DOI-CODI (Department of Information Operations – Center
for Internal Defense Operations, the intelligence and repression agency during
the military dictatorship) between 1970 and 1974. He is considered responsible for at least 50 assassinations and 500 instances of human torture, including
Rousseff when she was arrested as a young guerrilla activist. See the National
Truth Commission final report (http://cnv.memoriasreveladas.gov.br/index.php?
option=com_content&view=article&id=571) and Ustra’s oral testimony (http://
cnv.memoriasreveladas.gov.br/images/documentos/Capitulo15/Nota%2039%20
-%2000092.000666_2013-17.pdf ).
4. See https://politica.estadao.com.br/noticias/eleicoes,bolsonaro-tambem-ganhouentre-as-mulheres-diz-ibope
5. Descriptive representation/politics of presence both refer to the numeric congruence or proportionality between the social identities of the representatives in office
and the represented in the public (Brazilian women in this case).
6. A politics of ideas, or substantive representation suggests a broad secular interpretation and expects political loyalties to develop around politics and preferences
rather than around identities or social groups. According to this approach, what
is represented is more important than who is represented. Therefore, representatives are not expected to reflect the characteristics of the group they represent, and
women are represented by anyone who addresses their demands.
7. These recent changes are far too complicated to summarize here, but we offer
a brief summary. Vast corruption scandals throughout the mid-2000s (including
within the ruling PT) followed by economic downturn in 2014 led to public discontent with Dilma’s presidency. Conservative forces in the Chamber of Deputies
took advantage of this discontent and conducted a highly contentious and partisan
impeachment of Dilma in April of 2016. Her former vice-president, Michel Temer,
whose party (PMDB) helped orchestrate the impeachment, carried out a series of
unpopular reforms and attempted to elude corruption investigations while finishing
Dilma’s term.
8. Only to cite a few examples: Marielle Franco, a feminist, black, and lesbian councilwoman from PSOL, was assassinated at the beginning of 2018 for her leftist
advocacy; Romualdo Rosário da Costa, was killed by a Bolsonaro supporter; and
Charlione Lessa Albuquerque, killed during a public act in support of the PT candidate for the presidency, Fernando Haddad.
9. Similar representations have been published to undermine the public image of
Hillary Clinton, Cristina Fernández de Kirchner, and Michelle Obama as well –
associating them with emotional imbalance. This, as explained by Biroli (2016),
is part of a misogynistic move that affected not only these women in particular,
but all women as a collective – since it perpetuates the feminine stereotype of
De-democratization in Brazil 187
10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
17.
18.
19.
20.
21.
women as people who tend to be irrational and are, therefore, unfit to rule. A stereotype of women’s participation in government is the idea that they are best suited
to run positions linked to domestic concerns and caretaking, such as education,
health, and social affairs, while hard politics positions, such as economy, industry,
or defense, remain a niche dominated by men (Huddy and Terkildsen 1993). Patriarchal society perpetuates the idea that politics is for men, and therefore, political
institutions lock women into functions or fields traditionally identified as feminine.
As stated by Biroli (2016), querida (darling), in Portuguese, has an ironic connotation because it is more often used among women or by men referring to women in
a top-down relation.
The happenings that followed the impeachment proved that corruption was an
excuse, since Temer’s cabinet was not less corrupt (Biroli 2016). When he, as
provisional president, appointed 23 new ministers in May 2016, six of them were
under inquiry by the Supreme Court (STF), seven were cited in Operation Car
Wash, and 12 received donations from companies involved in the Operation.
The Provisional Measure No. 726/2016 changed the administrative organization
of the state, subjugating the jurisdiction and structure of the specific secretaries to
the interim Minister of Justice and Citizenship and making alterations that weakened these mechanisms, i.e. the diminution of public resources (Dultra and Rangel,
2019b).
A WPA is the smallest unit of the state structures designated to develop policies to
redress gender inequality and to promote women’s rights (Scheidegger 2014).
State feminism, commonly defined as the connection between women’s movements, women’s policy agencies, and the state within a particular conceptual relation
(Scheidegger 2014, 27). Other definitions are: the activities of feminists or femocrats in government and administration (Hernes 1987; Sawer 1990); institutionalized feminism in public agencies (Eisenstein 1990; Outshoon 1994; Lovenduski
2005); the advocacy of women’s movement demands inside the state (Lovenduski
2005); a term to describe women’s policy agencies and a label to identify the agencies most friendly to the women’s movement (McBride and Mazur 2010).
SPM was not the only ministerial change. In May 2016, making use of provisional
executive orders, Temer modified the architecture of the presidency and ministries,
extinguishing several entities, such as the Policy Directorate for Rural Women,
an important institutional branch for women’s movements from poorer, agrarian
regions of the country.
In March 2017, she held evangelical services at the secretariat headquarters in
Brasilia.
Video with English subtitles available at https://youtu.be/7UyXawSuEdE
Rousseff’s speech with English subtitles available at https://youtu.be/MZwedh
GiJRw?t=5m
Approved and incorporated by Constitutional Amendment No. 103. See www.pla
nalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/constituicao/emendas/emc/emc103.htm
The average journey for domestic work among employed women was average
17.3 hours per week versus only 8.5 hours per week amongst men (data from the
last National Survey by Annual Continuous Household Sample – 2017). The sum
between productive and reproductive hours corresponds to 54.2 hours for women,
and 49.9 hours for men, weekly. When compared to other countries, only in European ones there are similar minimum retirement ages between both sexes. This is
because a set of state policies aimed to stimulate more equitable levels of reproductive work. The World Economic Forum placed Brazil in 94th position, among 149
countries, in the 2018 gender equality section.
All political parties respected the minimum percentage of female candidates foreseen in Law 12,034/2009, but the number of women elected was not substantial,
both in 2012 and 2016. In 2008, none of the 27 parties had met the quota – then
188
22.
23.
24.
25.
26.
27.
28.
29.
30.
31.
Patricia Rangel et al.
provided by Law 9,504/97, which reserved a minimum percentage of 30% of seats
for the minority gender in party lists – PR elections.
PT and PSOL did not win in any of cities in dispute: PT was running in the second
round in seven municipalities, and PSOL in two.
We separate the PT and the PSDB from the other parties, as they are the two
most ideologically coherent and clearly oppositional parties on the anti- and proimpeachment sides, respectively. The groups named against impeachment include:
PC do B, PDT, PEN, PSOL, and REDE. The groups named voted to impeach
include: DEM, PHS, PP, PR, PRB, PMB, PT do B, PPS, SD, PROS, PSB, PSC,
PSD, PSL, PTB, PTN, PV, PFL, PMDB.
We run a generalized linear model with a logit link from the quasi-binomial link
family. The quasi-binomial produces the same coefficients as the binomial family
but it adjusts (increases) standard errors in response to overdispersion, which we
detected. We ran separate models for each year, because it was not possible to use
random effects to account for repeated observations. Quasi-binomials do not produce AIC, BIC, or R-squared statistics. Instead we performed hypothesis testing
against null and diminished forms of the models. Odds ratios can be interpreted
as the proportion increase or decrease in the dependent variable caused by a oneunit increase in the control variable, so 1.10 is a 10% increase and 0.90 is a 10%
decrease. Replication material will be provided.
While theorizing and interpreting the control variables is not possible in this limited analysis, some results may be of interest to readers. “No Coalition” means the
given party list did not join a coalition. Interestingly, this reduced the proportion
of female votes in 2004 and 2008 but increased it after quotas were enforced. Due
to the interaction term, this is the predicted effect for a list of zero candidates (or a
very small list size). “List Size” is the number of candidates in a list, normalized
by the seats in that district. Larger lists increase female vote proportions inside or
outside of coalitions. “Female Mayor Wins” means a female mayor won in the
same municipality-year as the given list, which has a positive effect sometimes.
“Female Mayor (Lagged)” means there was a female mayor in the previous term,
which also usually affects female vote proportion positively. “Income Inequality”
always increases the female vote, while “Population (Ln) 2010” always decreases
it. The “North and Northeast Regions” are more poor and opposed Bolsonaro.
Interestingly, women did better there except for in 2016.
One way to reconcile this finding with the time-series figures (11.3a–11.3d) is
that women performed well in smaller municipalities or on smaller party lists that
would have received little weight in this model but equal weight in the time-series
graphs.
Lula governed the country between 2003 and 2011 with high popularity and approval
ratings.
He was released 580 days later, following a supreme court decision, on 8 November 2019.
See www.cartacapital.com.br/diversidade/por-que-algumas-mulheres-votam-embolsonaro; www.theguardian.com/world/2018/sep/30/huge-protests-in-brazil-asfar-right-presidential-hopeful-jair-bolsonaro-returns-home; www.reuters.com/article/
us-brazil-election-protest/brazilian-women-lead-nationwide-protests-against-farright-candidate-idUSKCN1M90E5; and www.bbc.com/news/world-latin-america45696677
We drew on data from the TSE website, where candidates’ platforms and governance plans are available. Using grounded theory (Strauss and Corbin 1994), we
coded 569 pages of the plans for governance of the 13 candidates and analyzed
each one of their proposals.
According to a study from the UN Women and the Brazilian Institute of Public
Opinion and Statistics (IBOPE). See www.onumulheres.org.br/noticias/81-de-
De-democratization in Brazil 189
32.
33.
34.
35.
36.
37.
38.
39.
40.
41.
42.
43.
44.
45.
46.
47.
48.
49.
50.
51.
brasileiros-e-brasileiras-querem-politicas-federais-de-promocao-a-igualdade-rev
ela-pesquisa-ibope-onu-mulheres/
According to a study by the Federal University of Ceará based on Research into the
Socioeconomic Conditions and Domestic/Family Violence Against Women (PCSVDF Mulher).
Official curriculum available at: www.mdh.gov.br/damares-alves
A few details of the investigation on Damares travelling with public resources
are available at: www.diariodocentrodomundo.com.br/damares-alves-voou-comcotas-parlamentares-para-fazer-cultos-como-pastora-por-marcelo-auler/
As example, the lecture of Congresswoman Ana Caroline Campagnolo (PSL-SC),
author of the book Feminism: Perversion and Subversion. Notícia disponível em:
https://oglobo.globo.com/sociedade/ministerio-da-mulher-organiza-evento-compalestra-sobre-as-armadilhas-do-feminismo-23552270
Available at: www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/constituicao/emendas/emc/emc103.htm
Available at: www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/_Ato2019-2022/2019/Mpv/mpv905.htm
Also according to Genero e Numero (2019), 275 draft bills related to abortion were
presented between 1949 and August 2019. Pro-abortion proposals reached their
highest peak during the ’90s (40% of the drafts); meanwhile restrictive abortion
drafts increased in the 2010s (44% of them).
A 28-year-old Catholic lawyer, Tonietto employed the agenda of criminalization of
abortion as her candidacy flags, stating the one of the main reasons that led her to
run for office was the firm decision to defend the lives of the ones who, inside their
mothers’ womb, have no voice, and therefore need ours to guarantee their rights
(Genero e Numero 2019).
PSL, PL, PP, PSD, MDB, Republicanos – REP (former PRB), PSDB, DEM, SDD,
PODE, PTB, NOVO, PSC, PATRI.
In absolute terms, the parties that elected the largest number of women to the
House of Representatives were PT (10 congresswomen), PSL (9) and PSDB (8).
In percentage terms, the parties that most included women were liberal REDE
(100%), leftist PSOL (50%), center-right Christian PTC (50%), and communist PC
do B (44.4%).
The proposal argues that this will raise awareness, however, the action is likely to trigger a perverse effect on victims, leading them to hide what happened and creating an
environment (a reverse culture) of discouragement to file domestic violence complaints.
This program was created to facilitate access to public services of protection and
economic autonomy of women involved in the cycle of violence.
Available at www.planalto.gov.br/ccivil_03/_ato2011-2014/2013/decreto/d8086.htm
Defined under Brazilian law as the killing of a women on account of being persons
of the female sex.
The law on domestic violence, whose implementation is lagging: only 8% of
municipalities had police stations specializing in violence against women and
about 2% operated women’s shelters in 2018. One million cases of domestic violence were pending before the courts in 2018, including 4,400 femicides (Human
Rights Watch 2020, 87).
www.tse.jus.br/eleicoes/estatisticas/estatisticas-eleitorais
Fátima Bezerra (PT-RN), maintaining the 2014 percentage, 3.7% – which had
fallen compared to 2010 (50% fall among governors which was equivalent to a
decrease of 3.7 percentage points). We draw attention to the fact that the number of
female governors-elect has been falling for three consecutive elections.
After 2018, the presence of women in the Senate receded to levels worse than
2002, reaching the same percentage as of 20 years earlier.
http://archive.ipu.org/wmn-e/classif.htm
As well defined in the title of Michael Gallagher and Michael Marsh’s book (1988),
candidate recruitment is the secret garden of political parties.
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Patricia Rangel et al.
52. The social perspective argument presumes we live in unequal societies that impose
different experiences associated with the position people occupy. Everyone has a
unique social perspective originated from their experiences. The perspective of
non-dominant groups is considered a non-perspective.
53. Many scholars argue that while women and men agree on the relevance of a particular subject, they perceive it differently. Men and women may agree on the need
for decriminalization of abortion in Brazil, but only women get pregnant and are
subject to criminalization for the practice of termination of pregnancy. No matter
how sympathetic to the cause, a man will never go through this experience.
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12 Politics of Devastation
Remarks on De-democratization,
Indigenous Peoples, and the
Environment in Contemporary Brazil
Ana Guggenheim Coutinho1
It was late August, back in 2016, and we woke up around five in the morning at the Tapi’Itãwa Indigenous village, in the land of the Tapirapé people
(Apyawã), located in the State of Mato Grosso, Central Brazil.2 The village is
semi-circular, composed of a ceremonial house surrounded by the residence
houses of extended families. From each of the residence houses (retyma), one
must be able to see the big ceremonial house (takãra), a place inhabited by
ritual masks and spirits.
Unlike the previous days, the ceremonial house is not in sight: a dense layer
of fog, or so I think, fills the landscape in such a way that one cannot see anything even from a small distance (I wonder what could be the cause of such an
odd event: could it be the dry-season peak in Central Brazil?). Women soon
start talking about the invisibility that takes place in the village. There is a need
for visualization in a semi-circular village, a need for a constant relation with
the ceremonial house. As the Tapirapé themselves say: “there is no home, no
domestic space, unless a ceremonial house, a house of the spirits, is visible
to each and every one.” The agitation grows as it becomes even harder for
anyone to open his/her eyes. The “fog,” in fact, is a thick layer of smoke that
arises from uncontrolled burning of the land. The drought, always so common
in the region, had intensified, with the devastation of the neighboring lands.
The pasture and soy and corn crops are the main causes of increasing uncontrolled burnings. This was the case on that August day. The dust/smoke was a
sui generis wildfire, occurring in devastated lands. The village became dust,
it was hard to breathe, impossible to see the ceremonial house, and difficult to
continue with life. The conjugation of the dry season, the water scarcity in the
region, and the accelerated wildfires creates a blend of destructive forces which,
for the Tapirapé, is yet another of the several violent and inconsequent actions
performed by white people (Maira). Indigenous peoples have, for centuries,
used techniques to control the fire and the burning of their gardens. White people, so they say, “do not know how to deal with the land, with fire, with life.”
This short description of an event taking place in an Indigenous village
synthesizes many of the issues that have become dramatic across the country
in recent years. The criminal burnings in the Amazon forest and in Central
Politics of Devastation 195
Brazil escalated in 2019, drawing attention from the international community.
Government officials, including the current president Jair Bolsonaro in his
United Nations’ speech, blamed the Indigenous peoples (and nature itself ) for
the fires.3 Almost at the same time, a group of farmers, landowners, entrepreneurs, and wood-traffickers, enthusiasts of the new president, secretly organized something called “Dia do Fogo” (Fire Day) when they purposely set parts
of the forest on fire in order to enlarge the pasture lands in the region.4 No
one was prosecuted for that orchestrated action. At the end of the year, on the
other hand, a group of activists that work for the preservation of the forest was
accused of intentionally provoking fires in Alter-do-Chão, a city in the Amazonian State of Pará. They were arrested and spent two days in prison in a highly
controversial, not to say blatantly persecutory, case.5
After the Tapi’Itãwa episode, in September 2018, an accidental fire destroyed
the 200-year-old National Museum (Museu Nacional) during the Temer government.6 Brazil has been living thus under a regime of devastation through fire
in which not even the collective memories are spared. It is not a coincidence
that these events took place amidst the deepening of a de-democratization process. This chapter sheds some light on the effects of this process on the Indigenous peoples and the environment. One of its main premises is that although
there were severe limits and setbacks in the struggles of Indigenous peoples
and environmentalists during the democratic routinization between 1988 and
2016, things have gotten a lot worse since then. In other words, although a
liberal-democratic context far from assured the facticity of Indigenous rights,
without it the anti-Indigenous coalition has had an open field without obstacles, not even formal ones, for their attacks.
If today, in early 2020, Brazil is under emergency, it is due to a political
project conceived for the devastation of lands and peoples. A project that finds
little resistance in the state apparatus at this point; there are no checks and balances to prevent it when the three branches of government are filled with people directly interested in the devastation profitability. A project that, after all,
could only become as hegemonic as to achieve the presidency of the republic
because of a series of unprecedented attacks on the democratic order.
Social diversity is the keeper of biodiversity (IPAM 2015). They are mutually dependent. As Manuela Carneiro da Cunha puts it, Brazil’s presence in the
list of megadiverse countries can only be explained by the existence of more
than 300 different ethnic groups speaking 274 different languages (Carneiro da
Cunha 2019a). In this sense, environmental and Indigenous groups, apparently
two separate subjects, can and will be dealt with as one common theme.
***
Two days prior to his election, back in October 2018, the then-presidential
candidate Jair Bolsonaro uploaded a homemade video on his social media with
a declaration regarding (and directed to) the Indigenous peoples that live in
Brazil. To those who understood what was being said, the policies that he has
196 Ana Guggenheim Coutinho
put forward since his first day in office should come with no surprise. In one of
the most symptomatic parts of the video, he states the following:
To the best of my abilities, you will be emancipated. The American Indian
lives mostly off casino royalties. You, here, could also live off royalties,
not only from iron ore, but also from biodiversity exploration and possible
hydroelectric plants that could be built on your lands. Because you are
Brazilian just like us and have full right to explore your lands.7
As every other promise coming from any running candidate, this promise of
emancipation could be seen as completely void, except that this one actually
reveals much about Bolsonaro’s project for the Indigenous peoples and for their
land. The imperative of emancipation seems to derive from an understanding
that Indigenous communities would be, in their current existence, deprived of
freedom and autonomy. Bolsonaro’s freedom is thus intertwined with exploration; only those who explore biodiversity for profitable ends are free. Thus,
this bizarre utopia of royalties neglects the precise element that differentiates
the Indigenous peoples. If “belonging to the land, instead of being its owner,
is what defines the indigenous peoples” (Viveiros de Castro 2017, 5), then it is
clear that the emancipation envisaged by Bolsonaro means an ontological rupture and ultimately aims at annihilating the identities of the Indigenous peoples
and, as such, their existence. The right to exist and to affirm a different mode
of existence vanishes and the language of rights is limited to individuals taken
as economic agents who are always eager to explore and possess. Difference
does not matter and nature only matters if it is exploitable. This remarkable
piece of discourse encapsulates Bolsonaro’s Weltanschauung in a mere four
lines and shows that to be “Brazilian just like us” actually means to mirror “the
American.”
In some sense, Bolsonaro’s political project is a very coherent one – the
geopolitical submission to Trump’s agenda is also echoed in his plans for
Indigenous peoples and in his anti-environment policies. The project of turning
Indigenous peoples into rich entrepreneurs contains an obvious falsehood in
that the exploitation of their lands has always favored white farmers and large
corporations, and would continue to do so. Nonetheless, maybe it is revealing
of the ideological core of his political aims: an accelerated version of the 1960s
authoritarian project of assimilating the Indigenous peoples while misappropriating their lands and denying climate crisis.
This chapter presents a brief reconstruction of contemporary Brazil’s historical process leading to the disastrous present. It focuses on the transformations
in the relationship between the state, the Indigenous peoples, and the environment. Since the Lula government (2003–10), Brazilian anthropologist Eduardo
Viveiros de Castro has been criticizing what he understood as a project of
“turning indigenous peoples into poor people” (Viveiros de Castro 2017, 5)
through a mix of environmental destruction by large infrastructural plants
and the distribution of social benefits in a universalistic manner indifferent
Politics of Devastation 197
to ethnic particularities. It is interesting to attest how a leftist-led agenda that
could have as collateral damage the “turning of indigenous peoples into poor
people” ended up being replaced after a few years by a far-right policy that
openly affirms its objective of turning them into “human beings like us” (as
recently said by the current president).
Bolsonaro’s government represents the apex of a de-democratization process that began with the overthrow of Dilma Rousseff from the presidency
in 2016, as many other chapters of this book argue. In order to show how
the escalation of anti-democratic values and events in Brazilian society has
affected the struggles of Indigenous peoples and environmentalists, our argument begins with (1), an account of the process of re-democratization in the
1980s and its virtuous effects for the struggle of Indigenous peoples; (2) the
limits and contradictions of the PT environmental policies and their ambiguous
effects before addressing (3), the first years of de-democratization, when the
destruction of Museu Nacional by fire symbolizes the fragility of a state which
is incapable of keeping national memory alive. A final section (4) will present
a brief overview of the environmental and human calamity in Bolsonaro’s first
year in office.
If there is a certain continuity in Brazil’s history, it is that the state has
always, ever since the arrival of the Portuguese in 1500, directly or indirectly
endorsed continuous devastation of the environment and conditions of Indigenous peoples to reproduce their modes of existence. However, it is also worth
noting the discontinuities in that recent trajectory. Brazil’s contemporary history may be a sound example that there are many different ways through which
a state can help destroy its own natural resources. Bolsonaro’s politics of devastation is certainly the worst and most dramatic point in this history, implicating a severe rupture that can only be correctly analyzed when it is properly put
into perspective.
1. The military dictatorship (1964–85), whose specter appears to have
gained new life in the guise of the recently elected government (with an abundance of military personnel in the cabinet and in other positions of command),
had a very clear conception on how the state should deal with Indigenous peoples. The keyword then was assimilation and the state instruments, such as
Fundação Nacional do Índio (FUNAI, the National Indian Foundation, created
in 1967), were designed to impose the “national culture” on alterities. Assimilation was a counterpart of a project which had, as its core, the expansion
of capitalism through stealing or simply destroying the lands of Indigenous
peoples by building roads and large infrastructural enterprises. The mission of
integrating Indigenous communities through assimilation also comprised an
ambiguous ideology of tutelage (Carneiro da Cunha 1987, 30). The state-tutor
was legally constrained – as much as it can be in a dictatorship where the rule
of law is in itself not particularly binding – to the task of protecting the land of
those who were an object of tutelage. Oddly enough, emancipation of Indigenous peoples was at that time demanded by big farmers and land speculators
in order to gain unhindered access to their lands. At the same time, “tutelage
198 Ana Guggenheim Coutinho
was an instrument for a civilizing mission, a protection granted to these ‘big
children’ until they grow up and can be ‘like us’ ” (Carneiro da Cunha 2012,
113–114). We know now that more than 8,000 natives were killed directly or
indirectly by state actions during the dictatorship period (CNV 2014).
Some of the first non-governmental organizations were established in this
context, as is the case of the Indigenous Missionary Council (CIMI), which
has been fighting since 1972 to safeguard Indigenous lives and lands. If the
previously mentioned “civilizing mission” had an evident Jesuit aspect to it,
then it is worth noticing that the resistance also came from the ranks of the
Catholic Church. CIMI was linked to a major Catholic organization in Brazil,
the National Confederation of Brazilian Bishops (CNBB), and was founded
by adherents to Liberation Theology. The movements of this civil society –
encompassing indigenists, environmentalists, and rural and urban workers –
were pivotal for progressive opening of the regime in the late 1970s, when
other organizations such as Indigenous Advocacy Centre (CTI) were formed
and further increased the pressure for democratization. This was a time of new
characters entering the scene (Sader 1988).
As a symbol of Indigenous participation in the country’s newly restored parliamentary life, the Xavante leader Mário Juruna became Brazil’s first Indigenous congressman in 1983. His presence in the House of Representatives was
of major importance in a decisive moment when Brazilian democracy was
deciding how it would deal with the Indigenous question. Right after the end
of Juruna’s mandate, Congress started working on the country’s new Constitution. Mining companies, supported by former dictatorship supporters, lobbied
intensively to fight any restrictions to operate on Indigenous lands. They lost –
and the Constitution ended up overcoming the ancient authoritarian conception
of Indigenous peoples as mere obstacles to development.8
The project of assimilation was replaced, at least in the written formulas
of law and in the spirit of the Constitution, by an effort to integrate without
trying to suppress differences – it was a matter of “articulating the existing
differences with justice” (Carneiro da Cunha 2019a). In its final form, Article 231 of the Brazilian Federal Constitution represented a remarkable victory
for the Indigenist struggle. Indigenous peoples’ social organization, costumes,
languages, beliefs, and traditions were recognized by the state, and a definition
of the native lands included “all those necessary for their physical and cultural
reproduction.” These lands are formally considered as federal property, but
with the proviso that Indigenous communities bear the exclusive and permanent right to possess them.
The democratization period in Brazil carried a deep sense of openness and
utopian energy; notwithstanding the notorious setbacks such as the defeat of
the Diretas Já movement for general elections in 1984 (the first presidential
election would only take place in 1989, almost 30 years after the previous one).
To a great extent, the Federal Constitution of 1988 lived up to the expectations
and presented an image of a progressive Brazil that would be erected in the
coming years and decades. However, there was a crucial blind spot: in spite
Politics of Devastation 199
of reinforcing individual rights, the New Republic (and the whole process of
democratization) never faced the imperative of bringing to justice the crimes
perpetrated by the military during the dictatorship.
At the time of its formulation, for the average conservative politician, as
well as for the emerging neoliberal ideologues, the Constitution was too progressive, too leftist, and failed to establish a concrete relation between law, the
currently existing country, and the new challenges of globalization. Either way,
the democratic promises inscribed in the Constitution would only be consistently hegemonic if they passed the rough test of time and routinization.
2. The demarcation of lands traditionally occupied by Indigenous peoples
was established as a constitutional duty in the New Republic. Throughout
the 1990s, especially during the Collor (1990–92) and Cardoso governments
(1995–2002), there was an intensive pace of demarcations. The number of
demarcated lands during the eight years of Cardoso’s presidency reached 145,
encompassing more than 40 million hectares. After that, the rhythm was never
quite the same. Lula’s period in office could not reach even half of Cardoso’s
figures, and Dilma Rousseff stopped at the pale number of 3 million hectares.
Many different reasons are frequently presented to explain why the centerleft coalition led by PT that governed Brazil for 13 years did so little in terms
of securing the lands of Indigenous peoples. One argument points to the profound incompatibility between a developmentalist ideology and the Indigenist
agenda. With the country’s GDP relying heavily on the export of commodities,
there was an infrastructural tendency to expand soy fields, accompanied by a
stronger presence of agribusiness representatives in parliament, in state governors’ chairs, and also in Lula and Rousseff’s cabinets. There was also a clear
ideological reproach, especially by Rousseff, of the demands of environmentalists and Indigenists.
Another argument, that complements rather than opposes the first one, indicates that after Cardoso’s administration the lands remaining to be demarcated
were mostly in more conflictual regions of the country. The demarcation process then would have required much more delicate political negotiation. Either
way, the fact remains that PT could not deliver a solid political defense for
the whole of the Indigenous populations; and even worse, many vulnerable
communities, such as the Guarani-Kaiowá in Mato Grosso do Sul state, were
poorly (or not at all) assisted by the state when they were literally being killed
by invaders.9
Lula’s style of governing was often characterized by his ability to bring society’s contradictions and antagonisms into the government; he wouldn’t suppress the contradictions altogether; instead, he would try to soften antagonisms
by putting adversarial ideas around the same table. Still there were persistent
asymmetries that ended up being reproduced and even strengthened by Lula’s
conciliatory method. One clear example of this relied in his cabinet composition: the nomination of Marina Silva, a historical environmentalist responsive
to Indigenous demands, for the Ministry of Environment, was accompanied by
the indication of an agribusinessman for the Ministry of Agriculture (Roberto
200 Ana Guggenheim Coutinho
Rodrigues). The conflict between their opposite perspectives was one piece of
evidence that the government was intrinsically contradictory. It was also far
from being a conflict between equals, since the much larger Agriculture budget
showed very clearly who had the dominant force in the relationship.
The construction of the Belo Monte hydroelectric power plant on the lower
reach of the Xingu River, in the State of Pará, is also a dramatic example of
how developmentalist imperatives often ignored any other considerations that
did not submit to the straitjacket of economic growth. Many riverside populations, along with the Juruna community, were greatly affected and suffered
severe transformations in their modes of existence because of the gigantic
enterprise approved by Lula and developed by Rousseff. According to Indigenists and environmentalist organizations, there were little to no official concerns
with regards to Belo Monte’s effects on local and native lives or its irreversible
environmental damages.
Democratic routinization allowed PT, the largest leftist party in Latin America, to win four consecutive presidential elections. However, the broad and
heterogeneous coalitions that made those victories possible in the first place
also imposed narrow margins for any radical changes that could potentially
move Brazilian politics beyond the traditional imposition of the interests of the
wealthy, although there were still some margins, a few of which were actually
seized by Lula and Rousseff. There is at least one striking example in matters
that concern our subject here. In spite of a vehement refusal by the military,
Rousseff established a truth commission to investigate the crimes perpetrated
by the state during authoritarian regimes. The National Truth Commission
(CNV) consisted of a collective research by several intellectuals, historians,
social scientists, anthropologists, etc. After years of work, they have successfully managed to put together a substantial document in which the state
recognized its crimes for the first time, and also affirmed the need for many
future research efforts following the CNV accomplishments. There was finally
an official document estimating the number of natives (8,350) killed by state
actions. The document contained straightforward passages such as the following, part of the 60-page chapter on violence against the Indigenous peoples:
The multiple kinds of human rights violations committed by the Brazilian
State against indigenous peoples were articulated around the main objectives of forcing or accelerating their “integration” and of colonizing their
territories whenever it was considered to be of strategic relevance for the
implementation of the State’s political and economic project.
(CNV 2014, 245)
The National Truth Commission was, in this sense, a virtuous example of how
a democratic context can produce and safeguard national memory so that its
darkest times do not happen again. However, the limits of Brazilian democracy are also apparent in this example, for the official CNV document ended
up being released in December 2014 with little official support for its proper
Politics of Devastation 201
diffusion. The same government that had created it also worked rapidly to hide
it on bureaucracies’ shelves because of other political priorities – Rousseff was
already under pressure and beginning a fight (one she would eventually lose)
to hold her mandate. Maybe it was already the case that the limits and contradictions of the PT years were reaching an exhaustion point – and democracy
began its downfall.
3. After the 2016 parliamentary coup, an illegitimate government took office.
Michel Temer, former vice president, was an active part in a conspiracy that,
along with large sectors of corporate media and the business elite, managed to
turn him into president. Not surprisingly, a break with legality conducted by
the wealthiest fraction of Brazilian society (with the remarkable support from
traditional middle-class conservative sectors) had many consequences for
minorities. As soon as Temer’s cabinet was formed, a picture became famous
for putting clearly into an image the meaning of the coup: there was Temer, at
the center, surrounded by his white, elderly, male, rich ministers, as discussed
by Rangel, Eneida Vinhaes Dultra, and McCoy in their chapter on gender setbacks.10 There was not a single woman or a single black person in this picture
(needless to say, there were no natives either) – and many of the new ministers
were facing legal charges for corruption.
The so-called conciliatory government led by PT was overthrown by a political coalition that clearly had no intentions of conciliating with anyone. The
political parties that had lost four presidential elections since 2002 were back
in power, with Temer to carry forward an agenda of economic liberalization,
privatizations of public patrimony, and expansion of agribusiness interests.
The white-men-only cabinet was there to put Brazil back on a strict neoliberal
track – in fact, in the face of neoliberal policies implemented in the 1990s,
Temer’s agenda was incomparably more destructive.
For Indigenous peoples, the coup meant a significant setback. Temer’s
attorney general embraced an interpretation of Indigenous rights that had
the practical effect of freezing most demands for new demarcations. With
this interpretive shift, a piece of land would only be rightfully possessed by
Indigenous communities if one could prove that it was occupied by the community at the precise date of the Constitution’s promulgation. A number of
land demarcation processes were suspended, or even worse, as in the case of
Jaraguá (São Paulo), an Indigenous land that had already been homologated
and was cancelled by the government due to real estate speculative interests.
There was also another symptomatic event, amongst so many others, of how
regressive the new tide in Brasília really was: for the first time since the end
of the military dictatorship, a military officer was appointed as the director
of FUNAI.
One could say that if developmentalist governments, leaning to the Left,
were mostly insensible to the demands of Indigenous peoples, then the neoliberal right-wing administration was directly and consciously blocking them.
This constituted an important upgrade in intensity of the historical denial of
Indigenous peoples’ means for subsistence.
202 Ana Guggenheim Coutinho
As for the country’s environmentalist and Indigenist communities as a
whole, this part of Brazilian history will be forever remembered by one catastrophic event of incommensurable proportions. There were no greater signs
of the destructive character of Temer’s administration than the aforementioned
fire that destroyed the Museu Nacional on 2 September 2018. The museum
is a public institution, and the fire image synthesized what Brazil was going
through at that moment: giant flames consuming the museum’s collections
full of archaeological findings, botanical rarities, anthropological items, not
to mention the burning of many postgraduate libraries that were amongst the
most complete in Latin America, with the incalculable loss of material of many
research groups. The museum contained over 20 million items. The memories
of many native groups, existing or no longer existing, were turned to ashes. It
was as if not only the present, but also the past was doomed by devastation.
Brazilian society was reaching the bottom of a destructive whirlwind – or at
least it appeared so, as soon after the catastrophe, the reactions to the fire at the
Museu Nacional already demonstrated that things could still get worse. While
neoliberal responses had a pattern of blaming the insufficiency and incompetence of the public sector for the disaster, reiterating the panacea of privatization, there was another emerging discourse in the public sphere that simply
did not demonstrate any empathy at all with this tragedy. When asked about
the fire, candidate Jair Bolsonaro made the following comment, largely reproduced by national media, one month prior to the presidential election: “It’s
done. The fire has already happened. What do you want me to do? My name is
Messias, but I cannot perform any miracles.”
There were many other right-wing candidates in the 2018 run for presidency,
many of them strictly aligned to Temer’s agenda. However, according to the
polls, at the end of his illegitimate mandate, Temer was the most unpopular
president in national history. Being a neoliberal right-wing candidate was no
longer enough.
4. Bolsonaro’s neofascist government has continued, in a radical fashion,
the economic policies of his predecessor. But while Temer was a typical actor
from the political establishment, Bolsonaro had to maintain his outsider image
(in spite of him having been a congressman for almost 30 years). This outsider
façade implies a further radicalization, especially in the so-called “cultural
wars.” This means that, on one hand, Bolsonaro wants to attract foreign investors, to limit public expenditure, to sell public patrimony, and to “calm down”
the financial market, following a neoliberal recipe of austerity; while on the
other hand, he declares war against scientists, artists, intellectuals, journalists,
indigenists, environmentalists, leftist activists of any sort, and so on.
Another crucial difference between Temer and Bolsonaro resides in the
legitimacy issue. Temer was never elected, and this fact was often used by him
to defend his unpopular policies, as if he was courageous enough to ignore the
majority and govern in a purely “technical” way. However, the argument also
functions in the opposite sense: as he was never elected and had to continuously strive for any legitimacy during his usurped government, Temer had to
Politics of Devastation 203
stay within certain limits, acceptable to the political system and mainstream
media who supported him after the coup. Bolsonaro was elected, no matter
how bizarre this might seem, while speaking his extremist positions loudly –
and taking advantage of the fact that the favorite candidate, Lula, was taken
out of the dispute by lawfare practices of a biased judiciary. He never had to
hide his defense of torture, his anachronistic anti-communism, nor his racist,
sexist, and xenophobic stances. Because of this, as he was elected in spite (or
because) of his explicit anti-democratic discourse, endorsed by what some call
a “bolsonarista moral community” (Alonso 2019), there is a disturbing general
feeling that Bolsonaro lacks any limits in what he is capable of saying or doing,
and he keeps proving that this is precisely the case, over and over again.
As for the discourse, there is a mix of selective nationalism and diffuse paranoia that directly targets Indigenist and environmentalist non-governmental
organizations. It is not by mere accident that Bolsonaro repeatedly mentions
Indigenous peoples in his speeches. Sometimes as obstacles to national development, sometimes as allies to obscure international agents, and sometimes
as naïve individuals who are used by foreign interests and who desire to be
incorporated as common Brazilians without any special prerogatives. This line
of projecting an alleged “real indigenous interest,” with Bolsonaro proclaiming himself to be some sort of privileged interpreter of Indigenous frustrations,
has appeared in the earlier mentioned “emancipation project” and returns in
passages such as these:
There is external pressure by NGOs from outside Brazil. Practically every
indigenous reserve is located in a rich area. We want to integrate the native
in our society; he is a human being just like you and me. When he presents
himself to us, he wants television, internet, football, movies. He wants to do
what we all do: go to the doctor, go to the dentist. That is what we want for
them; we want to integrate them in society like human beings, just like us.11
With his usual and accidental rhetoric, Bolsonaro updates the traditional military discourse on the imperatives for assimilation with an unambiguously racist tone to it. First, the confusion between “we want to integrate” and “he wants
television” leaves it clear that it is not about a magical convergence of interests
between white men and natives – the end of the passage, “that is what we want
for them,” leaves no room for misinterpretations. In addition, the discourse’s
main premise is that Indigenous peoples, in their current mode of existence,
are not proper human beings – in order to achieve that status, they should be
socially integrated “just like us.” To prove we are not overinterpreting these
lines, Bolsonaro has recently said that “Indians are undoubtedly changing. . . .
They are increasingly becoming human beings just like us.”12
This openly racist version of the military assimilation project is usually
combined with a Trumpist denial of climate change. Just as common as official declarations against Indigenist organizations is the criticism about environmentalist NGOs. The Environment Minister, Ricardo Salles, a far-right
204 Ana Guggenheim Coutinho
ideologue who represents the country’s agribusiness sector, has blamed Greenpeace for an oil spill that affected most of Brazil’s shoreline. With Bolsonaro
and Salles, the state has been largely used to criminalize any organization that
dissents from their radical extractivist agenda. Riverside populations, landless
and homeless workers, Indigenous peoples, the LGBT community – every vulnerable group of people is being targeted as a potential enemy.
There have never been so many military men in the cabinet except during dictatorship periods – which also means that there is not even an attempt
to disguise the objective of restoring an authoritarian regime (or at least vast
elements of it). In his first year in office, Bolsonaro’s hybrid regime had one
of its major battlefields on the debate over environmental issues. The wildfires in the Amazon forest and the expansion of deforestation to unprecedented
levels have raised national and international denunciation.13 The worldwide
demand for a response was faced internally by the “bolsonarista moral community” as yet further evidence of a globalist conspiracy, as well as serving
for further dismantling of state institutions. One of Bolsonaro’s first measures
in January 2019 was a ministerial rearrangement that placed FUNAI under
the Ministry of Agriculture, cancelling its autonomy and submitting it to landowners interests;14 and a few months later, facing the wildfires in the Amazon,
the government chose to discredit the National Institute for Space Research
(INPE). Its director, Ricardo Galvão, was exonerated by Bolsonaro and ended
up being on the top ten of the year’s most important scientists according to
Nature magazine.15 Galvão’s case was not the first nor the only purge of the
current administration, and it is exemplary of the level of obscurantism imbued
in the de-democratization process in Brazil.
***
Erosion had done much to ravage the country before; but above all, Man was
responsible for its chaotic appearance. . . . Here in Brazil the soil has been first
violated, then destroyed. Agriculture had been a matter of looting for quick
profits. Within a hundred years, in fact, the pioneers had worked their way like
a slow fire across the State of São Paulo, eating into virgin territory on the one
side, leaving nothing but exhausted fallow land on the other.
(Lévi-Strauss 1961, 97–98)
Lévi-Strauss’s impressions on Brazil’s destructive agricultural practices take
São Paulo as an example, but it could be applied to the whole of the country’s
territory as well – with the exception of the Indigenous lands that remained protected from white men. First published in 1955, the passage seems somewhat
premonitory: more than 60 years later, what was once a metaphor (“la flambée
agricole”) has become a harsh reality. The poetic use of fire as an imagetic
resource to account for the agricultural devastation of Brazilian territory is now
more up-to-date than ever before. Nowadays, however, it functions more as
an immediate description of what is happening with the non-stop enlargement
of the agricultural frontier in past decades. This was a major tendency during
Politics of Devastation 205
the military dictatorship years that further intensified after democratization in
the 1980s. Thirteen years of a leftist-led government, with Partido dos Trabalhadores at the head of the state, only amplified the contradictions between the
preservation agenda and an economy fueled by exportation of commodities.
After PT, and with the downfall of Brazilian democracy, there also came a brutal radicalization of the political and economic actors that profit directly from
environmental devastation.
In short, if not even in the context of democratization could Brazilian progressive political parties and social organizations put together a coherent
political project to fight social inequalities and preserve different modes of
existence, it seems very unlikely that such a project could be designed in the
present conjuncture.
As minoritaire as that project may be, it is worth noting that resistance can
still be heard throughout the country in the voices of Indigenous leaders, environmentalist activists, and members of the scientific community. One of the
leading Brazilian anthropologists, Manuela Carneiro da Cunha has been very
vocal about her concerns with regards to the situation of Indigenous peoples
and about her hopes on the best way to oppose Bolsonaro’s politics of devastation. In a January 2019 article – written between the election and the beginning
of the elected government – her final words were as follows: “A couple of
days ago, someone asked me what my expectations were regarding the new
government’s policies. My answer is this: I hope it abides by the 1988 Federal
Constitution” (Carneiro da Cunha 2019a). Formulated in the external language
of hope, it actually consisted of an elegant challenge directed at those whose
political objectives imply in (and unashamedly advocate for) the suppression
of the Constitution’s spirit.
Almost a year later, the scientific community has already shown a different
tone. Now it is more akin to open denunciation of the misdeeds of Bolsonaro’s
administration. Eduardo Viveiros de Castro believes “we are watching a final
offensive against indigenous peoples. This is a big wave now, and it is coming
from all over the place” (Viveiros de Castro 2019). The feeling of fighting a
decisive moment of the secular struggle between Indigenous peoples and the
state is also shared by Carneiro da Cunha. She took part in an effort by a group
of human rights organizations that in November 2019 put together a 71-page
representation in the International Criminal Court accusing the Brazilian government of inciting a genocide of Indigenous peoples. Although not necessarily incompatible, the shift from defending the Constitution to appealing to the
international community is indicative of a new perception of the risks made
explicit in less than a year of administration.
Exemplary of this chapter’s main argument, Carneiro da Cunha’s authoritative words illustrate how the politics of devastation has reached an unparalleled level in a context of weak democratic institutions – where Brazil is being
turned into a global pariah with its fundamentalist defense of the indefensible:
What is happening in Brazil today is an unprecedented situation. It is clear
that the indigenous peoples have been subdued, tortured, and decimated
206 Ana Guggenheim Coutinho
for more than five hundred years. But the big difference today is that there
is an official discourse that preaches, justifies, and even incites many forms
of violence against indigenous patrimony and physically against their
bodies. Above all, there is cultural destruction: their homes and modes of
existence are being destroyed. This is a way of killing them.
(Carneiro da Cunha 2019b)
Notes
1. In the loving memory of Xywapare’i Lourenço Tapirapé, who died by Covid-19 in
July 2020.
2. That is where I have been writing the ethnography for my PhD dissertation over
the past four years.
3. https://politica.estadao.com.br/noticias/geral,questao-indigena-domina-discursode-bolsonaro-na-onu-liderancas-criticam,70003023618
4. https://www1.folha.uol.com.br/ambiente/2019/10/fazendeiros-e-empresariosorganizaram-dia-do-fogo-apontam-investigacoes.shtml
5. https://www1.folha.uol.com.br/ambiente/2019/11/juiz-determina-soltura-de-brig
adistas-acusados-de-causar-incendio-no-para.shtml
6. Museu Nacional had one of the largest collections of archaeological and ethnographic material in Latin America – the museum is administered by the Federal
University of Rio de Janeiro.
7. https://g1.globo.com/politica/eleicoes/2018/noticia/2018/10/26/bolsonaro-defendeque-indios-recebam-royalties-pela-exploracao-da-terra-em-que-vivem.ghtml
8. A crucial moment of the debates preceding the Constitution was the declaration of
Aílton Krenak, one of the most important leaders of the Indigenous peoples’ struggles over the last decades (Krenak 2015).
9. For a film documentary on the Guarani-Kaiowá situation, see Vincent Carelli’s
“Martírio” (2016).
10. https://oglobo.globo.com/brasil/falta-de-mulheres-de-negros-em-ministerio-detemer-criticada-19293761
11. https://g1.globo.com/jornal-nacional/noticia/2019/06/19/bolsonaro-devolvedemarcacao-de-terras-indigenas-para-agricultura1.ghtml
12. www.theguardian.com/world/2020/jan/24/jair-bolsonaro-racist-comment-sparksoutrage-indigenous-groups
13. www.socioambiental.org/pt-br/noticias-socioambientais/novo-arco-do-desmata
mento-fronteira-de-destruicao-avanca-em-2019-na-amazonia?utm_source=isa&utm_
medium=manchetes&utm_campaign=; www.pri.org/stories/2019-08-23/brazilfaces-international-backlash-over-amazon-fires-deforestation
14. This decision was object of a series of political and juridical battles. So far, FUNAI
stays under the Ministry of Justice.
15. www.nature.com/immersive/d41586-019-03749-0/index.html
References
Alonso, Angela. 2019. “A comunidade moral bolsonarista.” In Democracia em Risco?
52–70. 22 ensaios sobre o Brasil hoje. São Paulo: Cia das Letras.
Carneiro da Cunha, Manuela. 1987. Os direitos do índio: ensaios e documentos. São
Paulo: Brasiliense.
———. 2012. Índios no Brasil: história, direitos e cidadania. São Paulo: Claro Enigma.
———. 2019a. “Povos da megadiversidade.” In Revista Piauí. N. 148, January 2019.
Politics of Devastation 207
———. 2019b. “Manuela Carneiro da Cunha e a questão indígena” – Entrevista a
Mario Sergio Conti. Globonews, December 2019. Available at: https://globosatplay.
globo.com/globonews/v/8143845/.
CNV – Comissão Nacional da Verdade. 2014. “Violações de direitos humanos dos
povos indígenas.” Relatório II (December): 197–256.
IPAM – Instituto de Pesquisa Ambiental da Amazônia. 2015. Terras Indígenas na
Amazônia Brasileira: reservas de carbono e barreiras ao desmatamento. 14p. Available at: https://ipam.org.br/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/terras_ind%C3%ADgenas_
na_amaz%C3%B4nia_brasileira_.pdf.
Krenak, Aílton. 2015. “Discurso na Assembleia Nacional Constituinte.” In Encontros,
edited by Aílton Krenak, 30–35. Rio de Janeiro: Azougue.
Lévi-Strauss, Claude. 1955. Tristes Tropiques. Paris: Plon.
———. 1961. Tristes Tropiques. Translated by John Russell. New York: Criterion Books.
Sader, Eder. 1988. Quando novos personagens entraram em cena. Rio de Janeiro: Paz
e Terra.
Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo. 2017. “Os involuntários da pátria: elogio do subdesenvolvimento.” 1–9. Belo Horizonte: Chão de Feira.
———. 2019. “Estamos assistindo a uma ofensiva final contra os povos indígenas” –
Entrevista à Agência Pública, October 2019. Available at: https://apublica.org/2019/
10/viveiros-de-castro-estamos-assistindo-a-uma-ofensiva-final-contra-os-povosindigenas/.
13 Politics and Religion in
Contemporary Brazil
The Neoconservative Turn
in Evangelical Christianity
Magali do Nascimento Cunha1
1. Introduction
A series of interconnected sociocultural and political phenomena taking place
since the early 2000s has revealed the rising presence and social influence of
evangelicals (non-Roman Catholic and non-Orthodox Christians) in Brazil:
1.
2.
3.
4.
5.
the growing strength of Pentecostal groups, reflected in the growing number of autonomous, local churches, altering the national landscape where
Christianity is concerned, and causing a significant growth in the evangelical population both in numerical and geographical terms, a trend that
has also been reflected by a sharp drop in the number of Catholics;
encroachment of evangelical groups into traditional media (radio and TV),
made even more explicit by the extensive participation of various evangelical denominations and religious leadership in digital media;
the growth, expansion, and consolidation of the religious market, by offering an array of products and services specifically targeting religious interests (goods, leisure, and entertainment);
the occupation of institutional politics, reflected in the consolidation of
an Evangelical Caucus in the National Congress, organized through the
Evangelical Parliamentary Front (EPF), which has seen a concerted effort
by churches and their leaders to exert influence and participate in the executive, legislative, and judiciary branches;
the emergence of evangelical political activism, in addition to institutional
politics, campaigning around political issues, calling for public actions,
and engaging in intense digital media activity.
Recent years have seen a noteworthy surge in evangelical leaders defending
ideas and attitudes that, while conservative in nature, are presented in a modern fashion, customized to adapt to a contemporary age in which religion is
connected to markets and technological innovations. It is in that context that
we can identify a new type of religious conservatism, a neoconservatism one.
By conservative, we are referring to individuals or groups that defend the
maintenance of the existing political system and its modes of functioning, thus
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 209
presenting themselves as the antithesis of popular forces working for social
innovation (Bobbio and Matteucci 1983). Brazil saw transformations in the
evangelical social base throughout the 20th century that can explain in part
this development: groups prone to take social action and practice ecumenism
began to assume a greater presence in national public life (Trabuco 2016).
However, conservatism has been an enduring feature of Brazilian evangelism
for some time, historically observable in the role churches played during the
establishment of the military dictatorship (1964–85). In a historical scenario
where the government attempted to isolate social demands and political participation, several evangelical leaders began to form alliances with the military
dictatorship that oversaw the state of exception (CNV 2014).
What we are here calling neoconservatism emerged in Brazil as a reaction
to the sociocultural transformations that the country experienced starting in
2002, with the pursuit and implementation of policies related to human rights
and gender. The prefix “neo” is due to the manner in which evangelical leaders
present themselves: as belonging to a new age in which religion has a strong
foothold in the market and can count on the media and technology as allies,
although evangelicals profess an explicitly conservative discourse centering
on moral rigidity and aim to conquer power through interventions in the public
sphere (Cunha 2019).
Three outstanding features deserve special attention: the enhanced presence
of evangelicals in politics, the emergence of new forms of fundamentalism in
contemporary Brazil, and transformations in the relationship between religion
and the media. The purpose of this chapter is to reflect on these three themes
in light of theoretical orientations offered by religious studies, focusing on the
interface between communication and politics.
2. The Enhanced Role of Evangelicals in Politics
By “evangelicals,” this chapter is referring to the non-Catholic and non-Orthodox
Christians. According to the 2010 National Census (the most recent one),
Christians represent 86.8% of the population. This Christian population can be
broken down into two segments: Roman Catholics representing 64.6% (9.27%
down from the 2000 census) and Evangelicals 22.2%, representing (6.4% up
from the previous census). Estimates for the 2020 census are that evangelicals
will exceed 30% of the population.
Regardless of the particularities of the distinct groups that make up this heterogeneous branch of Christianity, Brazilian evangelicals are historically identified in religious studies by (according to Cunha 2007):
1.
2.
a predominantly fundamentalist (decontextualized) reading of the Christian sacred text, the Bible;2
an emphasis on personal piety, the pursuit of the salvation of the soul
(influenced by the Puritanism and pietism of pioneer missionaries who
came from the South of the United States to Brazil in the 19th century);
210
3.
4.
Magali do Nascimento Cunha
the frequent rejection of non-Christian national cultural expressions (as a
result of the aforementioned missionary activities);
exclusion of social demands (privileging the spiritualization of individual
and social issues) and a predisposition against political participation in
favor of those demands.
The elements making up this conservative identity have left an indelible
mark on the otherwise diverse evangelical population. However, as previously mentioned, the passage from the 20th to the 21st century saw significant
changes in the evangelical identity that would in turn alter the entire national
scenario.
There is hardly a clearer index of this transformation than the erasure of
what had once been an evangelical maxim: “a believer is not of this world,
so he/she does not get into politics” (Mendonça and Velasques Filho 2002).
Political participation was accordingly interpreted as something “worldly,”
identified with earthly passions. This shift towards political intervention was
marked by the 1986 Constituent Assembly elections, when the first Evangelical Caucus in National Congress was formed. From that point onwards, the
stance in favor of non-participation and non-visibility in public affairs began to
coexist with a separate set of ideals, summarized in the phrase “brothers vote
for one another” (Freston 2006). Suffering numerous setbacks due to corruption and cronyism, the Evangelical Caucus managed to consolidate itself as a
political force, resulting in the creation of the Evangelical Parliamentary Front
(EPF) in 2003.
Until 2010, evangelical congressmen were not commonly identified as
socially and economically conservative. Their primary political activity consisted of blocking projects considered offensive to religious morality: campaigns to decriminalize abortion or LGBTI+ marriage were their main targets.
Evangelical draft bills rarely interfered with broader social questions: they
concentrated their political activity on “Bible squares,” the creation of religious holidays to compete with Catholics, and obtaining financial support for
evangelical church projects. The parties to which most of these politicians
belonged tended to reflect these policy goals, all the while struggling with cronyism (Baptista 2009).
It is possible to date the rising political strength of the evangelical contingent to 2010, following presidential and congressional elections. Some of the
factors contributing to this change include:
1. a shift in tack in terms of the way that evangelical politicians related to the
federal government. That relation, strong during the period of the Brazilian Constituent Assembly (1987–88), later weakened in the 1990s despite
all the electoral support given by evangelical leadership to candidates
Fernando Collor and Fernando Henrique Cardoso, was finally renewed
with the election of Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva in 2002. That relationship
was facilitated by the Workers Party’s (PT) alliance with several parties
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 211
represented by evangelical congresspeople, as well as a strategic campaign
to make overtures to evangelical leaders in the hopes of de-stigmatizing
Lula, regarded as a “communist” and “against the churches.” This strategy meant that the government embraced various initiatives proposed by
evangelical churches and allowed for dialogue between state and religious
leaders (Mariano 2016);
2. two evangelical churches in particular were explicit in their pretensions to
occupy the halls of institutional power: the Assemblies of God (AD) and
the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (IURD). Following 2003,
both churches began to conquer spaces within political parties (respectively, the Christian Social Party/PSC and the Brazilian Republican Party/
PRB which, in 2019, was renamed the Republicans) (Baptista 2009). Once
in office, those same churches achieved unprecedented nominations for
state ministers during President Dilma Rousseff’s terms (2011–16): Marcelo Crivella (PRB and IURD, appointed Minister of Fishing and Aquaculture), George Hilton (PRB and IURD, appointed Minister of Sports).
Michel Temer’s term saw the nomination of even more evangelical ministers: Marcos Pereira (PRB and IURD, appointed Minister of Industry, Foreign Trade and Services), Ronaldo Nogueira (Brazilian Labor Party/PTB
and AD, appointed Minister of Labor). The General Convention of the
Assemblies of God in Brazil meanwhile has sought to have its own party
registered, the Christian Republican Party (PRC). In recent elections, AD
ran two presidential candidates, Marina Silva (2010 and 2014) and Pastor
Everaldo (2014), and the IURD won seats with Bishop and Senator Marcelo Crivella as Mayor of Rio de Janeiro (in 2016), setting the tone for the
growing political strength of these two evangelical denominations;
3. In 2010, the mainstream media began to provide extensive coverage
of LGBTI+ rights in the context of election campaigns and in projects
debated in the National Congress (National Human Rights Plan-3). Along
with that issue, legal abortion also rose in the public agenda, with presidential candidate Dilma Rousseff (PT) under pressure to pursue legalization. Evangelical groups responded by mobilizing against Rousseff as
her campaign began to embrace those claims. In 2013, the media frenzy
surrounding the case of Deputy Marco Feliciano (then, of PSC) threw in
bold relief the escalating tensions around the political presence of evangelicals. The case, concerning the unusual appointment of Feliciano (an
AD pastor) as Chairman of the Chamber of Deputies Human Rights and
Minorities Commission, centered on a set of related scandals in which
the deputy expressed racist and homophobic public statements. The affair
culminated with the Evangelical Caucus and evangelical leaders renewing their commitment to a political project, reaffirming their intent to
pursue public visibility in the fight to guarantee sexual morality in the
legislature, under the heading “Defense of the Traditional Family,” and
against feminist and LGBTI+ movements. In keeping with that trend, the
PSC grew stronger in the 2014 national elections and even launched its
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5.
6.
7.
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own presidential candidate, Pastor Everaldo (AD), only to later support
the candidacy of Federal Deputy Jair Bolsonaro (former PSC, later Social
Liberal Party/PSL, at present, without party affiliation) who took the presidency of the republic in 2018 (Cunha 2019);
the election of evangelical federal deputy Eduardo Cunha (Brazilian Democratic Movement Party/PMDB) as president of the Chamber of Deputies
in 2015, the same year he transferred from the Heal Our Earth Church
(Pentecostal) to the Assembly of God, only added to the growing presence of evangelicals in national politics and the strengthening of the conservative agenda in the Congress. As leader of the PMDB, Eduardo Cunha
acted decisively in the impeachment of President Dilma Rousseff in 2015
and 2016. His eventual fall was postponed so that he could continue to
play a role in the impeachment process, although it was only a matter
of time: Cunha was arrested in 2016 on charges of corruption led by the
Operation Car Wash (an ongoing criminal investigation overseen by the
Federal Police of Brazil). From prison, Eduardo Cunha continued to exert
his influence over deputies in exchange for political favors (Cunha 2019);
in 2015, under the heading “defense of the family,” a series of Puritanical
proposals guided by the leadership of Eduardo Cunha began to gain traction in the Chamber of Deputies, in the form of bills and Constitutional
Amendments. Meanwhile, churches began to pursue a more aggressive
campaign to conquer special privileges in matters of public affairs (Mariano 2016);
evangelical politicians began to gain influence over political matters that
were not strictly religious, through alliances with parliamentarians and
conservative fronts, attempting to set the agenda on social issues such as
the reduction of legal criminal age and ending the Disarmament Statute.
The eventual consolidation of the so-called BBB Caucus (“Bullet”/Security, “Bull”/Ruralist, and “Bible”/Evangelical) made the process of this
convergence especially visible, as did the support of evangelicals for the
presidential candidacy of Deputy Jair Bolsonaro in 2018 (Cunha 2019);
beginning in 2014, Operation Car Wash was charged with investigating
criminal acts of corruption in the Brazilian petrol company Petrobras,
although the investigation would assume a messianic nature with the
appointment of evangelical prosecutor Deltan Dallagnol (Federal Public
Prosecutor’s Office/MPF) to lead the Operation Car Wash task force;
Silas Malafaia, pastor for Victory in Christ Assembly of God Church, was
recognized by the national media as a spokesperson for evangelicals. The
media recognized Malafaia as the voice authorized to give opinions and
analyses of the relationship between evangelism and politics. In that role,
he became a spokesperson in defense of the conservative “traditional family” and against social advances related especially to women’s rights and
sexual rights. Malafaia’s conservative discourse achieved ample exposure
in the mainstream media, largely due to the fact that it met with the news
producers’ expectations regarding religion (imaginary and ideology). Silas
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 213
Malafaia’s consecration as an influential evangelical leader and a spokesperson for the evangelical group was also recognized by religious media
(Cesar and Saldanha 2019);
9. religious media played its part in amplifying the sexual morality agenda,
trumped up in the mainstream media and presented as a “war” between
evangelical politicians and feminist and LGBTI+ activists. In that way,
the media played into the “imaginary enemies” conjured by evangelicals,
with such rallying calls as “saving the family” from LGBTI+, feminist and
leftist activists, whose larger project was deemed to be one of “establishing communism in the country.” These themes gained in relevance during
campaigns for public office candidates, as well as in church leadership
speeches. The religious media contributed in kind by stoking the notion
that, ever since the local arrival of Protestantism in the 19th century, evangelicals in Brazil were a persecuted group and a “spiritual war” was the
only appropriate response (Cunha 2019);
10. The election of retired army captain Jair Bolsonaro to the presidency in
2018 enhanced the role of evangelicals in the political arena. Religious
support for the elected president, especially Christian (Catholics and
Evangelicals) played a pivotal role. Most noteworthy, Bolsonaro was the
first Brazilian president to embrace an explicitly conservative, evangelical discourse both on the campaign trail and once elected. Jair Bolsonaro
declares himself a Catholic,3 but maintains close alliances with evangelical politicians and political leaders. This had already become evident in
the 2010 elections, when evangelical leaders formed an intense opposition
to Dilma Rousseff’s candidacy, as previously mentioned. In 2016, while
Dilma Rousseff was facing impeachment proceedings, Jair Bolsonaro
left the Progressive Party (PP) where he had served for seven years, and
joined the PSC. The shift in political affiliation was framed by a religious
ritual: the retired captain was baptized in Israel in the waters of the Jordan
River at a ceremony held by Pastor Everaldo, the party’s president. The
episode led many church members to believe that the deputy had converted to the evangelical faith. Bolsonaro’s candidacy for the presidency
thus found support among this religious group, as well as Catholics identified with the ultra-conservative far-right-wing of that faith (marked by
nationalism, xenophobia, racism, homophobia). His campaign would be
characterized by calls to end urban violence and save the family from an
alleged “gay and feminist dictatorship.” This religious support has held
firm during the first year of Jair Bolsonaro’s term (Burity 2019).
The previously mentioned elements give some picture of how evangelicals
in contemporary Brazil managed to become a leading religious group in the
national political process. The end result, in summary, has been the rising influence of the Evangelical Caucus in the National Congress and the emergence of
religious, non-politician leaders who have nevertheless acted as political activists and enjoy a strong presence in social networks (Cunha 2019).
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3. The Emergence of New Fundamentalist
Tendencies in Evangelical Brazil
Religious fundamentalism emerged in the early 20th century among US Protestants as a reaction against the values of the Enlightenment and humanist modernity, which in turn had challenged the centrality of Christianity in
Western culture and sparked the process of secularization. That social environment also fostered a dialogue between theology and human and social sciences, leading to the advent of biblical sciences and liberal theology, whose
intention to reveal the literal sacred text proved unacceptable for the Catholic
Church.
A common feature of this religious fundamentalism is the idea that religion should be “the all-encompassing principle of organization of society in
all its dimensions” (Santos 2015, 16). Linked to scripture, the Bible, where
the foundations of faith are to be found, the Protestant notion of revelation
suggests a reading by literal interpretation, without mediation, as the basis for
the organization of social and political life. These foundations of faith promote an understanding of life on the basis of dualisms: good-evil, right-wrong,
sin-salvation, sacred-mundane. It establishes religious boundaries around what
should be supported and practiced and what should be abandoned and refused
by believers.
Anchored in the defense of Western Christian civilization and embodied in
the culture of the dominant Protestant countries, evangelical fundamentalism
makes the case that it alone is the true Christianity and refuses any type of
ecumenical dialogue (Mendonça and Velasques Filho 2002).
In varying contexts and historical settings, fundamentalism has assumed
new forms while still maintaining its foundational link to reaction and its rejection of historical novelty. Therefore, in general, fundamentalist evangelicals
have reacted to new expressions of modernity as they have appeared in relation
to the family, sex education, and the autonomy of women over their own bodies, especially in the matter of abortion, all of which are regarded as opposed to
the Christian values contained in the Holy Scriptures. As such, they advocate
for the defense of the traditional family, made up of a husband, a wife, and
children, and the authority of the man as head of the family (Santos 2015).
Some groups even lobby for the Biblical teaching at school, particularly where
science would deny the intervention of God in the creation of the world (Creationism vs. Evolutionism, for example).
The type of fundamentalism expressed in Brazilian evangelicals’ discourses
and practices, in churches, politics, and the media, is not altogether new. In
addition to emphasizing bodily control, these theological approaches justify,
for example, racist positions based on a fundamentalist reading of Biblical
texts. Also, part of the fundamentalist repertoire are theological reflections
in defense of the existence of a Warrior and Bellicose God, encouraging discrimination against those who oppose them or have different positions, and are
regarded as agents of the devil.
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 215
What is new about contemporary Brazilian evangelical fundamentalism is
the visibility these leaders have gained in the public sphere. This visibility
takes place through the media, crossing the traditional boundaries of evangelical circles – the examples of Silas Malafaia, gospel singers, and new religious
celebrities are testament to this crossover appeal – and through evangelical
incursions into institutional politics.
Evangelical fundamentalism has emerged as a reaction against the sociocultural transformations the country has experienced, particularly since 2002,
with the pursuit of policies focused on human rights and gender (Vital da
Cunha et al. 2017). This reaction is new to the extent that evangelical leaders
present themselves in a different light: as belonging to a new age in which
religion interacts with the market, the media, and technologies. All the while,
they remain staunch defenders of fundamentalist principles, promoting discourses of moral rigidity while aiming to conquer power in the public sphere
(Cunha 2014).
It is important to note that these new evangelical fundamentalist expressions
are not an isolated element, instead partaking in the growing strength of conservative stands in the Brazilian public arena in general.
A survey conducted in February 2018 revealed that the degree of conservatism among Brazilians has increased in recent years (Ibope Inteligência 2018).
Ranked according to low, medium, and high degrees of conservatism, the
proportion of the population responding with opinions to controversial issues
showed that the sector corresponding to a high-degree of conservatism had
grown from 49% in 2010 to 54% in 2016, reaching 55% in 2018. Around
certain issues in particular, there has been a marked increase in conservative
opinion, especially among the most educated, families with incomes between
two and five minimum wages, residents of the North and Midwest regions,
and those who are neither Catholic nor evangelical. The defense of life imprisonment for serious crimes increased from 66% in 2010 to 78% in 2016, and
remained at 77% in 2018. Support for reducing the minimum criminal age –
allowing adolescents to be tried as adults – rose from 63% in 2010 to 78% in
2016, dropping slightly to 73% in 2018. Support for the death penalty grew
from 31% in the first survey to 49% in the second and reached 50% in 2018.
Half of respondents are against same-sex marriage (growing from 44% in 2016
to 54% in 2018), and 80% are against legalizing abortion (up from 78% in
2010 and 2016).
According to the survey, evangelicals remain the most conservative religious group in Brazil, although conservatism has also grown among Catholics
to a lesser extent – and has slowed since 2017.
The results of the 2018 Ibope Inteligência survey indicate that, facing
greater moral conservatism (opposition to legalizing abortion and same-sex
marriage) and rising punitivism (support for the death penalty, reduction of
criminal age and life imprisonment), more conservative candidates would have
a better chance for success in elections than would liberals. Jair Bolsonaro’s
victory confirmed this trend.
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However, Brazil is not an isolated case, as reflected in studies of strengthening conservatism in the United States and Europe. Michael Löwy states about
the European case:
The European elections confirmed a tendency that has been apparent for
some years across most of the continent: the spectacular rise of the far
right. . . . This far right is very diverse, a variety ranging from openly
neo-Nazi parties like “Golden Dawn” in Greece to bourgeois forces who
are perfectly well integrated into the institutional political game, such as
Switzerland’s UDC. What they have in common is their chauvinist nationalism, xenophobia, racism, hatred of immigrants – particularly “nonEuropeans” – and Roma (the continent’s oldest people), Islamophobia and
anti-communism. To that we could add, in many cases, anti-Semitism,
homophobia, misogyny, authoritarianism, disdain for democracy and
Europhobia. On other questions – for example their stances for or against
neoliberalism or secularism – this movement is more divided. It would be
mistaken to believe that fascism and anti-fascism are phenomena belonging to the past.
(Löwy 2014)
Against that historical background, Deputy Jair Bolsonaro spoke in 2013 as
an alternate for the Chamber of Deputies Commission on Human Rights and
Minorities: “As an army captain, I am a Feliciano soldier” (referring to the
Marco Feliciano Case, mentioned earlier), and he added:
There used to be a minority agenda that had nothing to do with it [referring
to the Workers Party’s control of the Commission]. Today we represent the
true minorities. I believe in Feliciano with all my heart. It is as if he were
my lifelong brother. I no longer sense that weird smell here inside this
commission and no longer feel that weight on my back.
(Costa 2013)
Before his 2018 election campaign, Bolsonaro had a history of racist positions
and conflicts with social activists and LGBTI+ movement activists.4 Pastor
Silas Malafaia similarly has become widely known for stirring media controversies against LGBTI+ rights and abortion, ever since the presidential campaign of 2010.
There is thus ample evidence of a growing connection between conservative politicians without any ties to evangelical churches, on the one hand, and
on the other, evangelical political leaders and evangelical media figures. This
broad network, whose impact has been registered all across the conservative
agenda, was ultimately given broad electoral support in the 2018 elections.
American evangelical religious fundamentalism, which during the 1980s had
developed into a form of partisan religiosity with examples like the Moral
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 217
Majority, finally found a Brazilian version 40 years later in the form of Bolsonarismo (Rocha 2019).
3.1 Bolsonarismo and Evangelical Partisan Religiosity
In his first speech after the election results, on 28 October 2018, Brazilian
President-elect Jair Bolsonaro cited God several times and said:
For our slogan, I went to the toolbox where one can find the tools to fix
man and woman, that is, the Holy Bible. We went to John 8:32: “And ye
shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”5
From that moment onward, every month in Bolsonaro’s first year of government has only reinforced the unprecedented alliance with a significant portion
of Brazilian evangelicals.
Two examples in particular, among the many available, illustrate Bolsonaro’s
growing proximity to the evangelical sector. In October 2019, President
Jair Bolsonaro declared, through a videoconference at the 3rd Conservative
National Symposium, held in the interior of the state of São Paulo, that he
would be preparing changes in national cultural agencies. “We will not persecute anyone, but Brazil has changed. We will not use public money for a
particular type of activity. This is not censorship. This is preserving Christian
values,” he said.6
Two months earlier, in August, Jair Bolsonaro made overtures to the conservative evangelical segment, arguing that the president of the Ancine
(National Film Agency) should be an evangelical who could “recite by heart
200 biblical verses with bruised knees, kneeling and walking with the Bible
under his arm.”7
It is the case that the evangelical vote weighed heavily on the outcome of
the 2018 elections and remains an important social base for the federal government as it faces numerous political crises during its first term and has failed to
promote popular policies.
According to electoral polls in 2018, 69% of evangelicals and 51% of Catholics cast their votes for Jair Bolsonaro in national elections (Alves 2018).
Fonseca (2018) acknowledges that the evangelical vote in support of Bolsonaro is altogether remarkable. In absolute terms, of the 42 million evangelical
voters, Bolsonaro got about 20 million votes while his rival candidate Fernando Haddad won just 10 million. Blank ballots, null and abstentions would
amount to around 12 million votes, or around 67% of valid evangelical votes
for Bolsonaro, while Haddad would have received 33%. However, Fonseca
draws attention to the fact that the difference in votes among evangelicals was
practically the same as the overall final difference between candidates. For this
reason, Fonseca warns that it is necessary to look at the weight of the evangelical vote for Jair Bolsonaro in more qualitative and less quantitative terms.
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Jair Bolsonaro’s alliance with evangelicals began in 2013 with his support
for Deputy Pastor Marco Feliciano as chairman of the Human Rights and
Minorities Commission of the Chamber of Deputies. That alliance would be
consolidated in 2016, when Bolsonaro became a member of the PSC (heavily
dominated by the Assembly of God church). As previously mentioned, that
convergence was symbolized by his baptism in the Jordan River, although Bolsonaro remains to this day a Catholic.
As a candidate, Bolsonaro developed a strong communication strategy that
fed directly into his own political agenda, and held strong appeal among conservative evangelicals, centering on the protection of the traditional family,
heteronormative ideals and control over women’s bodies. Many evangelicals
have come to imagine in Bolsonaro, the country’s most powerful leader, a supporter of the evangelical agenda and a “simple man of the people who speaks
his mind.” This seems to have been the driving force behind Jair Bolsonaro’s
evangelical vote, even if he has been married more than once, is a violent figure, and uses bad language (Brum 2019).
Considering all the aforementioned, it is important to look beyond the simplistic idea that evangelical leaders ordered the church faithful to vote for Bolsonaro. In the case of the 2018 elections, it is crucial to take into account
the type of ideals that would prove decisive in winning over conservative
evangelicals.
One must therefore look more closely at the evangelical worldview and
culture to understand why Bolsonarismo would be successful with that
demographic. One key element is the sexual morality based on Puritan Protestant theology, which denies the corporal and sexual dimension as it is
related to personal fulfilment and pleasure, classifying related activities as a
sin and a deviation from the larger goal, which is the formation of families
for procreation (Alves 1979). The result of this worldview is the submission of women to the power of the male/patriarch (father, husband, brothers,
uncles, children, pastor), the repression of the body, and the condemnation
of homo-affectivity.
This denial of sexuality is related to another element that looms large in
the evangelical worldview: the notion of engaging in war with one’s enemies
(Cunha 2013). This warrior theology, with its idea of a Bellicose God and the
Lord’s Armies, has been present among the fundamentalist strain of Brazilian
evangelicalism since its inception, providing it with its dominant worldview
while identifying its enemies (which an army needs). Historically, the Roman
Catholic Church has always been identified as just such an enemy, to be fought
in the symbolic battlefield as well as the physical and geographical. Likewise,
Afro-Brazilian religion also plays the role of enemy for this fundamentalist
evangelism, particularly for Pentecostal groups. Communism and related progressive politics have played the part of a central enemy since the 1940s, to
varying degrees.
Beginning in 2010, when evangelical leaders began to pose a radical opposition to Dilma Rousseff’s candidacy, this list of enemies was updated: any
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 219
people, groups, or parties that defend gender justice were regarded as threats
to the traditional family and to evangelical sexual morality.
In addition to the aforementioned, the 30-year tradition of evangelical gospel culture (Cunha 2007), based on the triad of music, markets, and entertainment, disseminated by religious and secular media, has as one of its theological
and doctrinal centerpieces the idea of “spiritual warfare.” Evangelical gospel
culture teaches that enemies of the faith, the incarnation of evil powers, must
be constantly fought.
Songs with lyrics such as “Our general is Christ . . . no enemy will resist us”
have been and are to this day sung in churches, through process of education
meant to eliminate differences and dissent. The rhetoric employed there mirrors the language preached by Jair Bolsonaro in his moral crusade.
This evangelical-political alliance also carries strong repercussions for
religious groups that have been working to expand their influence over the
political process. Ever since Dilma Rousseff’s government, evangelicals have
begun to occupy seats in the executive branch (see the previously mentioned
nomination of ministers). While significant, their presence was not yet numerically powerful. During Michel Temer’s government that evangelical presence remained a constant. Ever since Bolsonaro came to power, the executive
branch has been hegemonized by the military, although they share power with
evangelicals.
Pentecostal pastor Damares Alves took over leadership of the Ministry of
Women, Family and Human Rights (MMFDH), as further examined in Chapter 11. The Ministry of Civil Affairs was occupied by Lutheran Onyx Lorenzoni
and the Ministry of Tourism is led by a Maranata Pentecostal Church member
Marcelo Álvaro Antônio. The Minister of the General Advocacy of the Union
is the Presbyterian Pastor André Luiz Mendonça and the Chief Minister of the
Secretariat of Government, General Luiz Eduardo Ramos, is a Baptist. There
are five evangelicals in the upper echelons of the federal government, apart
from the significant number of positions allocated to evangelicals in lowerranked positions, with posts within the MMFDH being occupied overwhelmingly by evangelicals.
The strategy of embracing this evangelical sector in all its diversity was
skillfully conceived, revealing an aptitude for working with that religious
group (note, despite news coverage to the contrary, there is no Pentecostal
dominance in that power bloc). Finally, the fact that Bolsonaro, the former
military captain, has developed a religious self-image, has contributed to many
believing he is evangelical.
Also worth pointing out is the role played by federal deputy Marco Feliciano
(Podemos Party) within the Bolsonaro government. As the federal government
suffered from diplomatic and policy crises in early 2019, Feliciano publicly
criticized the government’s rhetoric, classifying it as inept and adding that the
president who rules alone becomes a “mud-footed giant” (Frazão, Moura, Formenti 2019). Shortly thereafter, Feliciano became the deputy leader of the government in Congress and one of the president’s main interlocutors. Following
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Feliciano’s advice, Bolsonaro began to regularly attend religious services and
events.
The federal government is therefore representative and leader of the significant portion of conservative evangelicals, particularly because the government
does not enjoy anywhere near the same level of support among other segments
of society. Conservative evangelicals have become a priority for the federal government and represent a partisan, Bolsonaro-loyal form of religiosity in Brazil.
4. Transformations and New Dimensions of
the Media-Religion-Politics Relationship
The media have acted as mediators in the process we are here describing,
enhancing evangelical visibility in the public space while promoting interactions between evangelicals and other groups that are not necessarily religious.
Here, it is important to look beyond the evangelical takeover of traditional
media (radio and TV) in the 1980s, achieved through the work of the Evangelical Caucus, which since 1987 has won public concessions. One must also
consider the role of non-religious mainstream media, where, in news and entertainment, the public presence of evangelicals has been amplified along with the
evangelical “gospel culture” typical of the 2000s (Cunha 2007). Just as important, one must analyze the role of the media in configuring the new relationship
between evangelicals and political activism, where individuals, institutions,
and affiliated religious figures have engaged decisively with digital media,
numerous websites, blogs, and social media profiles (Cunha 2019).
Lima (2009) offers important insights for grasping this phenomenon, focusing on the role of the media in socio-political dynamics: specifically, the role
and lasting power the media plays in the construction of reality. The media
is present in the day-to-day routine of the population and represents different aspects of socioeconomic, political and cultural life, as well as politicians
and politics. The media develops the symbolic dimension of politics, and it
is through the media that politics gain meaning. The relationship between
evangelicals and politics in contemporary Brazil is a highly mediatized one,
a highly mediated relationship. Media becomes the “arena of visibility” that
places Brazilian evangelicals in a “sphere of public visibility” (Gomes 2005).
It is in this sense that we agree with Burity (2016), who argues that evangelicals have ceased to be a group sealed off in an exclusive vision of the past.
Being socially isolated “from the world” is no longer a dominant evangelical
tenant, as it was with the fundamentalist-Puritan tradition brought by American missionaries: this evangelical group wants to live a “normal life,” that
is, combine their religiosity with a media presence, fashion, the marketplace,
and entertainment, creating their own artists and celebrities. Evangelicals have
shown that they have their own political agenda and are capable of electing
their own representatives to exercise public office.
Adding to this overall scenario is one important element: evangelical political activism, no longer restricted to election periods wherein candidates established ties with their respective churches. This new evangelical activism came
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 221
to fruition in 2010 as religious leaders and believers mobilized both for their
own candidates, and even more so, in opposition to candidates regarded as
enemies of the church (that is, mobilizing to not vote for a certain candidate,
typically from the Left), as well as for such specific issues such as the presidency of the Human Rights Commission of the Parliament (in 2013), reduction
of the age of criminal responsibility (in 2015), or the impeachment of President
Dilma Rousseff (in 2016).
Digital activism has assumed an especially prominent role in this respect,
becoming an area of political life where passions tend to run highest and where
the construction and reconstruction of world visions go hand-in-hand with discourses calling for collective action.
Research conducted by the author of this chapter suggests the conservative
evangelical current in Brazil has attained obtained a privileged level of influence in both traditional and digital media spaces, whether they be religious
or non-religious (Cunha 2019). This online presence reflects the hegemony
the group has achieved as a partisan force. Against that background, this
type of online activity tends to marginalize other religious groups and render invisible the progressive currents within evangelicalism. Among the
varied Brazilian evangelical groups, Pentecostals hold an unrivalled sway
over traditional media and are the standard-bearers of the new fundamentalist
expressions described previously, enjoying the financial resources that come
with Prosperity Theology. Those financial resources allowed the Pentecostals
to achieve a professional mastery of media and set a standard in terms of
media visibility. Following their example, an evangelical media culture has
flourished wherein similar evangelical groups and individuals have found a
home in the world of digital media. Conservative evangelical activists are
thus fully aware of the role the media plays in gaining space and visibility in
public space and devote themselves to mastering the techniques and methods
of social media. These groups also adopt a rhetoric and theology that reflects
the strong fundamentalist worldview of Brazilian evangelicals. These same
groups use the Bible as a literal measure of faith and as a vital tool to support
the ideas they propagate.
Progressive evangelical activism lags behind the conservative evangelicals: that group has produced no media celebrities; its theology and language
conflict with the conservative religious worldview characteristic of Brazilian
evangelicals; it does not enjoy the sympathy of the mainstream media, whose
owners are politically conservative. As a minority, progressive evangelicals
use digital media and employ the tools it provides as their greatest opportunity
for the time being. They use digital media for counter-hegemonic purposes
both in the political sphere as well as within Brazilian evangelicalism, obtaining an unprecedented scope and visibility.
5. Concluding Notes
The rise of the extreme-right in Brazil, enabled by the election of Jair Bolsonaro, is taking place in a global context of growing political conservatism.
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At the same time, it is a reaction to the advances in public policies allowing for
greater social inclusion of the poor and for gender justice.
Religious conservatism has found a place of refuge in this extremist wave
and has enabled, in the Brazilian context, the rise of a religious right with
a never before seen level of political activity. This political activity centers
around a media-heavy socio-political and religious dynamic, announcing a little understood trend in the overall social scenario that, until it is better studied,
will continue to lead to religious, political, and cultural tendencies like the ones
outlined here. The fact is that one can no longer ignore or deny the visibility
that religion has attained in the contemporary public sphere. This phenomenon
has left an indelible mark on Brazilian socio-political, cultural, and religious
dynamics, wherein evangelicals have situated themselves in a place of great
visibility and formed a unified bloc.
Although the portrayal offered here suggests that evangelical fundamentalism has effectively reversed advances made in relation to public policies for
human and sexual rights, the presence of evangelical Christianity in the media
and politics should not be understood as a threat to democracy. Their presence
is better understood as factor taking part in the democratic process underway
since the end of the military dictatorship in the 1980s. Pluralism in a secular
and democratic state means allowing space for different political and ideological positions. It is through confrontation and respectful debate between different views that a space for change is opened. These divergent positions are even
present within religions themselves, and this dynamic must be reflected in the
public sphere as well. For that same reason, religious groups open to minority advancement, that engage in dialogue with diverse social sectors, must be
valued and given the same visibility, especially by the media, that is granted to
conservative religious groups.
What threatens democracy is the absence of debate and expression of different voices. This difference is what needs to be guaranteed in the democratic
context, and it is there that media democratization assumes such a central
importance. In that same sense, doctrinal rhetoric or news coverage suggesting
that evangelicals are a homogeneous group (news coverage of the “Evangelical
Caucus” in the National Congress tends to reproduce a false notion of homogeneity that glosses over differences among evangelicals) must be questioned
in the strongest terms possible. That religious current is, after all, made up of
an enormous variety of groups with different origins, practices, and doctrines.
The voices of progressive evangelical groups, which have become prominent
thanks to digital media, is a positive trend that should continue and grow.
The position advocated here calls for governments to prevent the use of the
state as an instrument to impose on all citizens what certain religious groups
deem appropriate for their adherents, on the basis of sacred texts and precepts.
In summary, the contemporary Brazilian scenario reveals the following
reality: evangelicals have ceased to be an invisible minority in Brazil, having
achieved a high degree of visibility in both media and politics, giving expression to a political tendency that is predominantly although not exclusively
Politics, Religion in Contemporary Brazil 223
conservative. This reality in turn reveals the need for a broad public debate,
and not one restricted to religious spaces.
Notes
1. I thank Nicolas Allen for proofreading my text.
2. Fundamentalism, as we shall discuss later, is a conservative religious movement,
born among US Protestants in the early 20th century, whose principle is a return to
the “Fundamentals” – elements regarded as foundational for the Christian faith and
doctrine, based on the literal interpretation of Bible narratives and teachings. On fundamentalism, its origins and emphases, see Dreher (2002). For more on evangelical
identity in Brazil and fundamentalism, see Mendonça and Velasques (2002).
3. Jair Bolsonaro, president of Brazil: “No quiero que Argentina siga la línea de Venezuela, por eso apoyo la reelección de Macri” (“I don’t want Argentina to follow the
example of Venezuela, which is why I’m supporting Macri.”) Exclusive interview
with Guido Nejamkis. Clarín, 14 jul 2019. Available at www.clarin.com/mundo/
jair-bolsonaro-presidente-brasil-quiero-argentina-siga-linea-venezuela-apoyoreeleccion-macri_0_r0JjNpoAE.html. Accessed on 20 November 2019.
4. In November 2011, Bolsonaro, speaking in the Chamber of Deputies, asked President Dilma Rousseff to recognize that she liked homosexuals. In March of the same
year, he replied that he “would not allow promiscuity” when asked on a TV show
hosted by Brazilian singer Preta Gil about how he would react if his son dated
a black woman. See Castro, Juliana. 2011. Preta Gil will sue Jair Bolsonaro for
statements on a TV show. O Globo, 29 March. Available at http://oglobo.globo.
com/politica/black-gil-will-process-jair-bolsonaro-by-declarations-in-tv-program2803805#ixzz2tU4qowTO. Accessed on 20 November 2019.
5. Bolsonaro afirma em seu primeiro discurso que terá governabilidade; leia íntegra.
Folha de S. Paulo, 28 October 2018. Available at: https://www1.folha.uol.com.br/
poder/2018/10/bolsonaro-afirma-em-seu-primeiro-discurso-que-tera-governabili
dade-leia-integra.shtml. Accessed on 20 November 2019.
6. Bolsonaro diz que veto a obras culturais não é ‘censura,’ mas sim ‘preservar valores
cristãos.’ O Globo, 5 October 2019. Available at: https://oglobo.globo.com/cultura/
bolsonaro-diz-que-veto-obras-culturais-nao-censura-mas-sim-preservar-valorescristaos-23998872 Accessed on 20 November 2019.
7. Brant, Danielle. Bolsonaro quer evangélico que ‘recite versículos bíblicos’ na Ancine.
Folha de S. Paulo, 31 August 2019. Disponível em: https://www1.folha.uol.com.
br/ilustrada/2019/08/bolsonaro-quer-evangelico-que-recite-versiculos-biblicos-naancine.shtml?utm_source=twitter&utm_medium=social&utm_campaign=twfolha.
Accessed on 20 November 2019.
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Alves, Rubem. 1979. Protestantismo e Repressão. São Paulo: Ática.
Baptista, Saulo. 2009. Pentecostais e neopentecostais na política brasileira: um estudo
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Bobbio, Norberto, and Nicola Matteucci. 1983. Dictionary of Politics. New York:
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Cesar, Larissa O., and Patrícia G. Saldanha. 2019. “Pastor Silas Malafaia e o uso estratégico das mídias digitais: o novo púlpito religioso no cotidiano midiatizado.” Reciis
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Cunha, Magali N. 2007. A Explosão Gospel. Um olhar das ciências humanas sobre o
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———. 2014. Gênero, religião e cultura: um olhar sobre a investida neoconservadora
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14 What Is Post-Truth? A Tentative
Answer with Brazil
as a Case Study
Ernesto Perini-Santos1
1. Introduction
For most of what we know, we depend on those who are more knowledgeable
than we are. But one may not like those that are more knowledgeable, or not
like what they say. If this is the case, we face a dilemma: one can accept what
those more knowledgeable say and choose to live with a conflict between what
is known and one’s own personal preferences, or outright reject that knowledge. If we adopt the second attitude, that internal conflict has effectively been
resolved, but at the cost of losing the knowledge to be gained. The phenomena
to which is often applied the label “post-truth” consists in the adoption en
masse of the second of these two options.
The term “post-truth” gained popularity with the election of Donald Trump
and the 2016 Brexit referendum, wherein both campaigns saw the use of massive amounts of lies and falsehoods (D’Ancona 2017; Ball 2018; Kakutani
2018). However, accepting unsubstantiated claims and being manipulated by
politicians are hardly novel phenomena. So why, then, the new word? More
important than answering this question is to understand the mechanisms
leading to a widespread deviation from epistemic norms, with dire political
consequences.
A “lax” attitude towards the truth has been the explicit stance taken by
Trump’s aides, as well as Brexiters: “People in this country have had enough
of experts,” said Michael Gove, a top Brexit campaigner; Kellyanne Conway,
a former White House aide, offered “alternative facts” in order to explain a
patently false statement made by Trump’s press secretary. Trump’s attorney
Rudy Giuliani has taken a more direct route: “truth isn’t truth.” Two years
later, Brazil entered in the row of countries suffering the political effects of
whatever the post-truth label seems to be diagnosing: Jair Bolsonaro was
elected president in large part based on a strategy of spreading huge amounts
of lies through social media. This is no coincidence: this strategy has been
devised by the same group responsible for the Trump and Brexit campaigns,
with Steve Bannon as mentor. Bolsonaro himself, following in the footsteps
of Trump, is not concerned with the truth: in his 415 days as president, he
What Is Post-Truth?
227
made 691 false or misleading claims (AosFatos 2020; Kessler et al. 2019;
Dom Phillips 2020).
In this chapter, I will address two issues. The main argument tries to explain
at least partially what is being referred to with the term “post-truth.” The other
objective of this chapter is to provide an account of one aspect of Brazil’s
ongoing process of de-democratization, as was already outlined in the introduction to this volume. I do not intend to provide a political analysis of the
rise of the far-right, nor is the chapter concerned with the agents responsible
for destroying the educational system (as Bernardo Bianchi discusses in Chapter 9) through inordinately large budget cuts, constant attacks on teachers and
researchers by government officials, and the demotion of science and culture in
general (Peres 2019, 2020). My goal is a much more modest one: to understand
how the different mechanisms that I take to explain post-truth phenomena are
exemplified in Brazil.
To begin, “post-truth” is not a new concept of truth, nor a change in what
is true. Despite Conway’s and Giuliani’s remarks, our discussion is not a matter of metaphysics, nor of semantics, but it concerns the social distribution of
knowledge. Gove is a symptom that something has gone awry.
The main argument of this chapter proceeds as follows: in Section 2,
I explain briefly how, for many, if not most of our beliefs, we cannot follow
epistemic norms in any direct fashion, instead having to defer to more knowledgeable others, so that trust becomes an essential part of the fabric of knowledge. Section 3 argues that beliefs are responsive to epistemic reasons, but are
also identity markers, responding to coordination values, and that those two
functions may enter into conflict. Extending on the argument of Section 3, in
Section 4 I advance a first answer as to why people accept claims and theories with no evidence. Where group identity is concerned, people tend to align
their opinions to match their worldview, rather than according to the available
evidence. But the mere willingness to do this is not itself enough: there is a
need for a social supply of claims and theories aligned with one’s own values. This applies, for example in the case of science denialism. In Section 5,
I extend this account to fake news. Before doing so, we have to delve deeper
into the concept of epistemic trust. Fake news thrives in the information landscape provided by the Internet, where it is very difficult to discern if the source
in question is reliable. Fake news does not thrive spontaneously, but is instead
planted by dedicated and costly machines that served the far-right in Brazil
and around the world. Perhaps the most surprising element of fake news is
that, unlike pseudo-science, it does not have to pretend to come from a reliable
source. It may simply operate according to a coordination game. In Section 6,
I conclude my argument as follows: the equilibrium between the coordination
game and the epistemic game is fragile, and its current instability is due both
to general features, changes in the information ecosystem due to the Internet
and the growth of inequalities, and to the more or less concerted actions of the
global far-right.
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Ernesto Perini-Santos
2. Epistemic Normativity and Deference
Beliefs aim at truth, and therefore are sensitive to ways of tracking truth. This
is the source of epistemic normativity, which enjoins us to adjust our beliefs
to the available evidence. However, for a large number of beliefs, if not the
majority, this injunction can only be followed indirectly, through deference to
experts. For any subject about which one is not an expert, the evidential basis
cannot be assessed directly. Even if an ideal epistemic subject could adjust her
beliefs to her own evidence, the second-best option is to follow what more
knowledgeable people say. At least part of what falls under the label “posttruth” is the refusal to defer to experts, leading many to describe it as an issue
of trust (see, e.g., Enfield 2017; Davies 2019).
Consider the recent outbreak of coronavirus. What are the risks? How did it
start? How to fight it? And what is coronavirus? Expertise is required to answer
those questions. Without competence in epidemiology, one cannot evaluate the
evidence, even if one were to have access to the data. As a matter of fact, deference to experts is required to even to understand what is being said about the
flu. As Hilary Putnam argued long ago, to know the meaning of natural terms,
of which “virus” is an example, we have to defer to experts (Putnam 1973).
For the layperson, the very content of beliefs about the flu outbreak is available
only through deference.
Moreover, deference is independent of any consensus of opinion among
specialists. Experts may have doubts about the nature of the virus, or about
how to fight the pandemic. But doubt among experts does not change what
is required to have knowledge about the flu, because it does not change the
evidential basis of any such claims. Even when there is no consensus of opinion, if one is not an expert, the rational thing to do is to follow what experts
say – although of course, in such a case, ex hypothesi, there will more than one
opinion available. When there is a wide consensus of scientific opinion, the
epistemically rational thing to do is to accept what science says. But, as we
know, in more than one case, this is not what happens. Many people refuse
vaccination with no epistemic ground, and many do not think that the earth is
undergoing a process of global warming caused by human activities, despite
the view of 99% of experts (Watts 2019). Such behaviors are part of the posttruth outbreak, and the decline of vaccination in the last decades suggests that
there is indeed something new, and bad, happening.
But our epistemic dependence goes further. If you happen to live where the
outbreak of the flu occurs, you may have somewhat direct knowledge of it: perhaps many of your acquaintances got sick, or you know someone who works
in a hospital treating a large influx of patients. Otherwise, you rely on the
media to know about the pandemic. Journalists are not experts, but they often
have better access to different sources of information, they have a professional
standard to fact-check what they publish, and they can be held accountable
should they misinform.
What Is Post-Truth?
229
Trust is required for the acceptance of scientific conclusions and of journalistic coverage. We place our trust in the institutions where science is produced,
and, in order to obtain knowledge about what is happening, we also trust specialized institutions such as newspapers and television channels. Post-truth
may then be described as the widespread lack of trust in institutions that function as evidential mediators. And while some suspect that this lack of trust is
increasing today, it has deep roots in the way human culture works.
3. A Deep-Rooted Conflict
Human culture is built on cooperation. We engage in joint actions and largescale coordination, unlike other animals. We imitate others sometimes without
even understanding the actions being performed, also unlike other animals,
who imitate only what is within their grasp (Gergely and Csibra 2011; Tennie
et al. 2009). Human culture displays what is called “ratchet effect,” building
on what others have done (Boyd 2018; Tomasello 2009, 2014; Tennie et al.
2009). We are deeply dependent on others to our own thoughts and actions.
There are strong epistemic motivations to follow what those around us think.
For many subjects, the aggregation of information is a good indication of truth;
in fact, baboons and other social animals follow the majority rule (Mercier
2020, 71–72). However, when there is an asymmetry between what experts
and non-experts believe, following what many people think, as opposed to
what most experts think, is not a good epistemic strategy. Since the distribution
of knowledge is asymmetrical, our dependence on others is also asymmetrical.
Children are well equipped to do this, learning opaque contents and keeping
track of who possesses what knowledge (Gergely and Csibra 2011; Sperber
et al. 2010; Mercier 2020, 64–69). Even if cues indicating who is more knowledgeable about a determinate matter are not always clear, and may be faked,
being attuned to the asymmetry of knowledge has always been part of our
toolkit. Epistemic deference to others is a deep feature of human culture. But
so are those elements that can enter in conflict with it.
Beliefs respond to more than epistemic norms – they also function as signals
for an individual’s mental states, and this function plays a crucial coordinating role, in particular as an identity marker (Tomasello 2014, 93; Boyd 2018,
118–120; Sterelny 2015, 558–561; Funkhouser 2017; Levy 2018). Large-scale
coordination requires the identification of groups, and who belongs where, for
which cues are required. Displaying beliefs is a way to show that one belongs
to a group. Beliefs themselves, and not just their signaling, are sensitive to
coordination functions, for they are selected with the behavioral patterns they
produce (Funkhouser 2017, 824).
Let us consider the theory of evolution. Weatherall, O’Connor, and Bruner
argue that while for most people there are no practical consequences of accepting or not accepting the theory of evolution, “espousing one view or the other
can have significant social benefits, depending on whom one wishes to conform
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Ernesto Perini-Santos
with” (Weatherall et al. 2018, 90). This is illustrated by the story of Stephen
Godfrey. Godfrey is a paleontologist raised as a fundamentalist Christian. While
in graduate school, he understood that the theory of evolution is the correct
account of the diversity of life, and that earth is not 6,000 years old. When he
told his family that he was no longer a young-Earth creationist, he was estranged
from his parents and rejected by his religious community (Couzin 2008).
A belief may have an identitary value not only for the group to which one
belongs, but also for one’s identity, resulting in what Dan Kahan and his colleagues call Identity-Protective Cognition:
Individual well-being, this account recognizes, is intricately bound up
with group membership, which supplies individuals not only with material benefits but a range of critical nonmaterial ones, including opportunities to acquire status and self-esteem. Challenges to commonly held group
beliefs can undermine a person’s well-being either by threatening to drive
a wedge between that person and other group members, by interfering
with important practices within the group, or by impugning the social
competence (and thus the esteem-conferring capacity) of a group generally. Accordingly, as a means of identity self-defense, individuals appraise
information in a manner that buttresses beliefs associated with belonging
to particular groups.
(Kahan et al. 2007, 470)
The result is a tendency of individuals to unconsciously conform assessment
of factual information to some goal collateral to assessing its truth (Kahan
2016 2). “Collateral to assessing truth”: in other words, non-epistemic. Here
we have a deeply entrenched motivation not to believe what out-groups say,
in particular when they challenge beliefs that are central to one’s identity. If
experts’ claims are seen as a challenge to one’s identity, chances are that they
will not be accepted, for non-epistemic reasons.
But the consequences go beyond individual well-being. Consider again the
acceptance of the theory of evolution. At first, one might think that “you can
live your life just fine and not know about evolution” (Couzin 2008, 1036). But
it is not obvious that not accepting the framework of the theory of evolution
has no practical consequences, at least not at an aggregate level. The development of strains of viruses and of antibiotic-resistant bacteria, for instance, is
explained in evolutionary terms. Of course, no one but biologists have to know
this. However, policy concerning antimicrobial diseases, listed as one of the top
ten threats to global health according to the World Health Organization (WHO
2019), depends on experts’ knowledge of the evolution of pathogens. One does
not have to understand what experts say, just follow their advice, and that is
enough as far as the acceptance of theory of evolution is concerned. But it does
make a lot of difference whether or not a society accepts the theory of evolution.
Coordination pressures are so strong that some think that they always trump
epistemic values. For Yuval Harari, for instance, “we have always lived in
What Is Post-Truth?
231
the age of post-truth,” because we create fictions that “served to unite human
collectives” in large-scale cooperation (Harari 2018, 195). However, besides
solving coordination problems – such as preventing cheating and free-riding –
cooperation also has to generate benefits, what Brett Calcott calls “the other
cooperation problem.” The benefit of the division of cognitive labor is knowledge. While the generation of knowledge favors plasticity and diversity, coordination prefers homogeneity:
Being with like individuals, or having correlated interactions, is thus an
advantage for maintaining cooperation. There is a tension between this
solution and the advantages of heterogeneity and the division of labor for
generating benefit. We might state the problem with generating diversity
in a within-species group this way: we want individuals to be different to
perform the varied subtasks that generate benefit, but we want individuals
to be the same so that their reproductive interests will be aligned.
(Calcott 2008, 197)
This biological problem translates into culture as a tension between coordination values and epistemic values.
There are at least two lines of reasoning leading to conflicts between coordination values and epistemic values. The first is that beliefs having an identitary value may be challenged by experts, as is the case in the clash between
modern biology and creationism, or intelligent design, creationism’s pseudoscientific counterpart. The second potential source of conflict is that experts
may belong to a group that represents, or is seen as representing, different
coordination values (Stanley 2018, chap. 3). Violent attacks on universities
by right-wing authoritarian regimes, such as Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, in Turkey, and Viktor Orbán, in Hungary, are often motivated by the clash between
liberal values embodied by universities and anti-liberal values. In Hungary,
the result was the ousting of the Central European University. In Erdoğan’s
Turkey, since 2016,
more than 7,300 academics have been dismissed via emergency state
decrees. Around 700 scholars have been criminally charged for signing a
peace petition. They have lost their jobs and been blacklisted. Some have
been arrested, others have had travel bans imposed on them or had their
passports confiscated.
(Shafak 2019)
In 2013, Damares Alves, a minister of the Bolsonaro government, said that the
church had mistakenly abandoned science to the scientists, allowing the theory
of evolution to be taught in schools (Holanda 2019). Although she probably
does not grasp the meaning of her own words, what Alves was saying was that
she does not care about knowledge, nor truth, but only cares about coordination values. To have knowledge is to deal with evidence, and a religious stance
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Ernesto Perini-Santos
does not offer an alternative way to deal with the evidence on which biology or
any other science is built.
A society that decides to give equal weight to evolutionary theory and creationism/intelligent design does not have the conceptual resources to deal with
the challenges presented by evolving strains of viruses and bacteria, nor any
other challenge involving biological knowledge. As a society projects coordination values onto epistemic problems, it loses contact with knowledge. But it
is still not clear why people accept claims with no evidence. I will turn to this
problem now.
4. Beyond Bias: The Distribution of Opinions in Society
Humans are not epistemic machines, and this has always been the case. What is
relatively new is the identification of patterns in our mistakes. Dan Kahneman
and Amos Tversky’s theory of heuristics and bias has shown how the way we
think deviates in predictable ways from what epistemic norms enjoin us to do.
The availability heuristic is a case in point:
The availability heuristic, like other heuristics of judgment, substitutes
one question for another: you wish to estimate the size of a category or
the frequency of an event, but you report an impression of the ease with
which instances come to mind. Substitution of questions inevitably produces systematic errors.
(Kahneman 2011, 130)
And a former minister of Bolsonaro government, Osmar Terra provides us with
a perfect example:
I don’t trust the research of Fiocruz [one of the main research institutions dedicated to public health in Brazil] – said Terra in an interview to
GLOBO, and then went on to explain his reasoning: – if you tell to the
mothers of those junkie kids in Brazil that Fiocruz said that there is no
drug epidemic, they will laugh at you. It is obvious to the population that
there is a drug epidemic in the streets. I strolled the streets of Copacabana,
and they were empty. If this is not an outbreak of drug related violence,
I don’t know what it is. We have to follow evidence.
(Furlaneto 2019)
This is a textbook illustration of cognitive bias. But the availability heuristic
is only part of the story. Terra refused the opinion of experts, when he should
have corrected his beliefs and aligned them with more knowledgeable advice.
Alignment with experts seems to be the rule in many domains. One may have
an opinion about what medicine to take for the flu, but if a physician explains
that this is wrong, one will correct one’s belief accordingly. Why did Terra
not correct his beliefs? He has motive to do so: an agenda concerning drug
What Is Post-Truth?
233
policy (CartaCapital 2016). This is not merely a matter of poor cognitive performance, but rather a case in which a stance about a coordination problem
prevents the revision of beliefs, when the correction is available. It is a form of
motivated irrationality.
This example provides a lesson that can be generalized. Kahan et al. (2007,
2010, 2012, 2016, 2017); Stefan Lewandowksy, Gignac, and Vaughan (2013);,
Lewandowksy, Gignac, and Oberaue (2013); Lewandowksy et al. (2015) and
others have shown that, in subjects with political significance, such as anthropogenic global warming (AGA) and gun control, the distribution of views in
a society does not follow what is epistemically recommended, but is divided
along political and cultural lines – let us call this pattern “the Distribution.”
About AGA, Kahan and co-authors have found that
people who subscribe to a hierarchical, individualistic world-view – one
that ties authority to conspicuous social rankings and eschews collective
interference with the decisions of individuals possessing such authority –
tend to be sceptical of environmental risks. Such people intuitively perceive that widespread acceptance of such risks would license restrictions
on commerce and industry, forms of behaviour that hierarchical individualists value. In contrast, people who hold an egalitarian, communitarian
world-view – one favouring less regimented forms of social organization
and greater collective attention to individual needs – tend to be morally suspicious of commerce and industry, to which they attribute social inequity.
(Kahan et al. 2012, 732)
Following the opinion of 99% of experts concerning AGA is the epistemically
rational thing to do, so skepticism about it is a sort of epistemic irrationality.
And since it is not the result of a cognitive difficulty stemming from the complexity of the theme, but rather motivated by political and cultural values, it is
a form of motivated irrationality.
Alignment with coordination values also takes place when the subject herself has to extract a conclusion from empirical data. Kahan and co-authors have
asked subjects to infer conclusions from the same data showing the results of
a gun control ban and a new skin-rash treatment. While in the second case the
response varies with the level of numeracy, in the first case, it follows one’s
political view (Kahan et al. 2017). Adopting a purely cognitive analysis of risk
perceptions, including the risks associated with AGA,
becomes less a strategy for rationally implementing public values than a
device for strategically avoiding political disputes over individual virtue
and collective justice.
(Kahan et al. 2006, 1073; see also Funk et al. 2019)
In effect, a purely cognitive account is not enough to account for the Distribution in issues such as AGA, gun control, and the risks of HPV vaccination.
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Biases are explained cognitively: the subject substitutes a difficult question
for an easier one, for which she has a heuristics. It is a strategy that demands
less effort and gives the right answer in some contexts, but cannot be generalized. Cognitive biases are part of the account of how non-experts think about
scientific themes and explain, for instance, why pseudo-sciences are much
easier to accept (Kahan et al. 2010, 512). However, a purely cognitive account
does not explain the Distribution, that is, how opinions pattern with cultural
and political views. In effect, if a purely cognitive account were correct, we
would not expect the acceptance of epistemically ill-motivated claims – be it
by the direct assessment of evidence, or by following what others say – to be
sensitive to worldviews. But this is precisely what happens.
The first reason why people accept claims and theories without proper evidence is that, at least for some subjects, they believe things that are in accordance with their worldview, instead of adjusting their beliefs to the available
evidence.
But the mere disposition to align one’s beliefs with one’s political and cultural views is not enough. When refusing the deviation from experts’ views
represents the interests of groups and institutions, there are two other steps.
First, the usual sources of information have to be debunked. In the case of denialism about AGA, as Naomi Oreskes and Erik Conway have shown, there was
a massive and very costly effort by the oil industry to promote doubt (Oreskes
and Conway 2010). More generally, denialisms of all sorts use conspiracy
theories to explain the scientific consensus against which they are fighting
(Kahn-Harris 2018, 58–59; Lewandowsky et al. 2013b; Runciman 2017): for
Ernesto Araújo, the Brazilian Minister of Foreign Affairs, the scientific consensus about AGA is the result of a leftist conspiracy, or a Marxist plot (Reuters
2019b; Watts 2018).
Besides the disposition to align one’s opinion on any subject to one’s worldview, and the debunking of recognized sources of knowledge, constructing an
alternative theory is also part of the science denialism playbook. An alternative
theory may be the result of entrenched ways of thinking, plus the craving for
novelties and attention-grabbing claims (Blancke and De Smedt 2013; Boudry
et al. 2015). Those who believe in theories such as the existence of the Loch
Ness monster or chemtrails form a group of “belief buddies” who feel that
“their views are neglected or stigmatized in society at large,” and “consciously
attempt to affirm contributions that further their agenda” (Koertge 2013, 169;
see also Bronner 2016, chap. 2). These individuals will be essentially immune
to debunking, and will not interact with information coming from scientific
sources (Zollo et al. 2017). This sort of camaraderie existed long before the
World Wide Web, but the Internet made it much easier to find like-minded
individuals who will develop together a more or less imaginary account than
an audience that is already convinced, with minimal effort, if any, to fake scientific competence.
But not every alternative theory grows spontaneously, particularly when
they serve the interests of institutions or groups. In its more deliberate mode,
What Is Post-Truth?
235
denialism builds on the division of cognitive labor, as Keith Kahn-Harris notes
(Kahn-Harris 2018, 46). Science denialisms mimic scholarly practices, so as
to provide seemingly valid external cues of knowledge, for the consumption
of those unwilling to accept what science says, for whatever reason. Facsimile sciences, in Oreskes’s expression, have dedicated peer-reviewed journals,
organized conferences etc., that follow the outward conventions of science and
thereby offer a social source of (fake) epistemic authority. The president of
CAPES, the Brazilian agency responsible for undergraduate and graduate studies, did exactly this. He created a center for intelligent design studies at the
university of which he was president. If this is a common strategy for science
denialism, it is, of course, very disturbing to see it being implemented by the
president of an agency responsible for the promotion of science (CartaCapital
2020).
5. On Fake News
In more than one respect, a similar account can be extended to fake news. To
begin with, fake news spreads faster than real news, because novelties attract
our attention, and false rumors tend to be more novel than true ones, particularly if they are designed to be attention-grabbers with little concern for accuracy (Vosoughi et al. 2018; see also Del Vicario et al. 2019). But this does not
entirely explain the phenomenon. As Anna Elisabetta Galeotti says, cognitive
accounts do not explain the distribution of fake news. Believing in patent falsehoods, she claims, is a form of motivated irrationality.
Now I propose to extend the motivated irrationality analysis to ideological
convictions in a broader sense, as comprehensive worldviews, which people not only believe as true, but with which they also identify themselves.
(Galeotti 2019, 67)
In such circumstances, correcting one’s view is too costly, because those
claims have an important role in one’s identity, and in the identity of the group
to which one belongs.
This circumstance leads to sinking or discounting the costs of inaccuracy, lowering the threshold of evidence for believing something true and
heightening the threshold for disbelieving it.
(Galeotti 2019, 69)
It is a bit of an understatement to say that the threshold of evidence is lowered.
How can one believe, for instance, that the Workers’ Party (PT) distributed
baby bottles with penis shaped nipples to children? Yet, this claim was widely
shared by Bolsonaro supporters in the 2018 election (AosFatos 2018a). It is an
entirely counterintuitive claim for which there was no evidence. Just as accepting AGA is identity-threatening for hierarchical individualists, believing in the
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most absurd claims is a way to protect one’s political identity. Perhaps professing such a blatant falsehood is a way to show loyalty to a group (“see how
far I can go to be with you!”), and they are not really taken as true, as Hugo
Mercier suggests (Mercier 2020, 191–197). It is not easy to know how far
people can go in their beliefs, but his account does not generalize. Bolsonaro
also said that the PT distributed a “gay kit” to a 6-year-old with the intention of
making them homosexual, another absurd claim believed by nearly 90% of his
supporters (AosFatos 2018b, 2018c; Pasquini 2018).
As for science denialism, the mere disposition to buy such bizarre claims
is not enough. For one, traditional news outlets have to be debunked. This
is not a difficult task where Brazilian mainstream media is concerned. Ownership of media in Brazil is highly concentrated (Reporters without Borders
2019) and its owners never shy away from imposing their right-wing agenda.
For instance, Folha de São Paulo, arguably the main Brazilian newspaper, has
published, in its first page, a false criminal record of Dilma Rousseff from an
unchecked source, and only corrected the information 20 days after publication (Magalhães 2009). As Chomsky has taught us time and again, there are
reasons to be skeptical about the mainstream media (e.g., Chomsky 2002). But
far-right supporters do not share that belief. They also perceive mainstream
media as biased; however, they think it is biased against Bolsonaro, and adopt
conspiracy theories to explain it (Benites 2018).
We might think that mimicking traditional media would be the next step.
However, things are much less clear here. The information landscape is messier than the structure of institutions dedicated to produce and publish academic
work, to say the least, and it is much more difficult to read the cues as to what
is trustworthy.
Let us take a step back. Axel Gelfert defines “fake news” as follows:
(FN) Fake news is the deliberate presentation of (typically) false or misleading claims as news, where the claims are misleading by design.
(Gelfert 2018)
In this definition, a crucial aspect of fake news is that it is presented as news,
that is, as having passed through a proper epistemic filter. At first, we might say
that the cues to the reliability of the source are the reason why someone publishing fake news may expect it to be accepted. But the story is not so simple.
To begin, dictatorships may tell the most absurd lies that people seemingly
come to accept, or at least profess to accept, through coercion and not because
they judge them to come from a reliable source. The claim that former North
Korean leader Kim Jong-il could teleport and control the weather is a case in
point (Mercier 2020, 128–145). But not all lies are so easy to spot. The explosion of Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, in April 1986, could not be known
except by experts with access to data – everyone else depended on reports
about the accident. How could someone living in Ukraine or Belarus see
through the Soviet lies about the risks they were incurring? (Plokhy 2018, esp.
What Is Post-Truth?
237
chap. 11) Democracies also tell all sorts of lies with harsh consequences, such
as Colin Powell’s address to the UN stating that Iraq had WMDs (Schwarz
2018). Although both the Soviet response to Chernobyl and the US address
to the UN were deliberately false, they were not presented as news, or, put
differently, governments are not institutions dedicated to filter information to
the public. Governments may produce fake news indirectly, when they use
the press in order to mislead the public. The US government paid newspapers to publish false and misleading information about Mosaddegh in order to
promote the coup in Iran in 1953, although the news itself was published by
Iranian newspapers (Rahnema 2015, 80–87).
Propaganda vehicles may bypass trust. A well-known RAND Corporation
report has shown that Vladimir Putin’s communication strategy has no commitment to consistency, and delivers the most blatant lies without really counting
on the audience to have confidence in the trustworthiness (Paul and Matthews
2016). This strategy, known as “firehosing of falsehood,” overloads our cognitive mechanisms, thereby lowering our epistemic vigilance. The result is not
so much a certain source being seen as reliable, but to make the very idea of
reliability useless, suggesting that there are no truths, but only versions of the
truth; this is the context of Conway’s “alternative facts” and Giuliani’s “truth
isn’t truth” lines. Firehosing is also a communicative strategy of Trump and
Bolsonaro (Maza 2018; Simão 2019). What is clear is that in order to assess the
way we deal with truth, we need to understand both stable cognitive mechanisms and changing information policies.
For Quassim Cassam, a purely cognitive explanation of conspiracy theories
cannot explain why they come essentially from the right-wing anti-Semitism –
mind the Distribution! (Cassam 2019). In contrast, Mercier’s cognitive explanation of vaccine hesitancy as a result of our intuitive ways to think about
the vaccination (Mercier 2020, 60–61) cannot explain why there has been an
increase of the antivaxxer movement, which, according to the World Health
Organization, “threatens to reverse progress made in tackling vaccine-preventable
disease” (WHO 2015 – emphasis added). What is missing is a social component
that might be the way information propagates on the Internet or somewhere else.
My suggestion is to use the same explanatory blueprint – cognitive mechanisms
plus a social factor – to explain the spread of fake news, a phenomenon that
appears to have always existed and yet presents a new challenge.
I am well aware that this is a rough approximation and that it fails to address
many cases, such as the fact that newspapers may be seen as vehicles of propaganda, as with Josef Stalin’s and Mao Tse-tung’s state-owned news outlets,
which were not really believed by their audience (Mercier 2020, 130–134).
There are many ways of giving misleading information for political purposes.
Jason Stanley’s definition of “propaganda” offers an account of the phenomenon in all its diversity (Stanley 2015, 39–80). I am interested here in the cases
in which we take information at face value because we trust its source.
Discussions about epistemic trust usually focus on testimony, and the question of when to trust a source of information is, quite often, a question about
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who to trust. For this reason, the debate is cast in terms of interpersonal trust.
There are two polar positions in the debate: we may think that a person trusts
someone else because she calculates the chances of the trustee being truthful,
or because she sees the trustee’s behavior as bound by norms assuring trustworthy behavior (McLeod 2015; for a different perspective on this debate, see
Origgi 2004). This way of seeing the problem is only partially translatable into
a question about institutional trust. Consider Mercier’s very useful discussion
about personal trust (Mercier 2020, chap. 6). The asymmetry of knowledge,
which is crucial to understand the role of epistemic trust, is about recognizing who knows best, which we know by keeping track of past performance
(Mercier 2020, 65). We trust people who we recognize as being diligent communicators, “and diligence is all about incentives: we can trust speakers to be
diligent when their incentives align with ours” (Mercier 2020, 92). This is how,
as trustors, we evolved to track sources of information, but also how, as communicators, we evolved to be trustworthy.
However, it is not clear that we trust in institutions in the same way we trust
other people. Where the flu outbreak is concerned, we do not think that the
WHO is a better source of information than non-institutional sources because
we have been keeping tabs on the WHO’s success. It seems more reasonable
to say that we have learned in school and through our dealings with different
domains of competence, concerning health, computers, and so on, that science
is the basic source of our knowledge, and that certain institutions represent scientific knowledge. It is not clear either that we can straightforwardly extend an
evolutionary account of trust to institutions. Probably, at a more general level,
the stability of such institutions depends on their success and motivations, but
that does not translate into an individual’s assessment of what to trust. That
said, there is a way to see the debate about institutional trust as similar to the
one concerning interpersonal trust.
We can think of trust as resulting from the trustor having certain expectations concerning the institution’s behavior, with no normative grounding. If a
newspaper publishes something patently false, it will risk losing a crucial asset,
public trust. Moreover, the very fact that something is made public is a sort of
epistemic filter, for it is exposed to criticism, and thereby tends toward a higher
epistemic standard. In this way of thinking, the trustor is simply calculating
the trusted institution’s behavior based on an assessment of its competence
and interests, in an environment that functions as a sort of epistemic filtering.
At the personal level, many believe that thinking about trust in this manner is misleading. Relying on someone’s behavior doesn’t have the normative
dimension that seems to be part of a trusting relation (McLeod 2015). The
trustee has to be seen as bound by norms. Bernd Lahno argues that a similar
reasoning can be applied to institutional trust:
Trust is directed here to the assumed fact that the institutional rules –
whatever they might be – are adequately designed to ensure the realization
What Is Post-Truth?
239
of aims that the trusting person affirms in principle, for example, the aim
to formulate relevant questions and answer them as accurately as possible.
(Lahno 2001, 40)
The trustor has to take “an internal point of view toward the institution and its
guiding rules.”
As a matter of fact, both accounts present an important challenge to institutional trust in the unstructured news ecosystem of the Internet. For one, there is
virtually no reputational cost. Every vehicle finds its audience, who will follow
it no matter what, and that vehicle does not have to care about the way it is
perceived by others (Boyer 2018, 90–91; Bronner 2016, 30–31; on the polarization of the Press in the US, see Ball 2019). For the same reason, exposure
to criticism is ineffective, since the publisher can always choose who will be
a recognized discussion partner. Moreover, the massive offer of informative
vehicles makes it easy for anyone to trust any source with which she identifies
for reasons other than epistemic. Part of the difficulty of debunking is precisely
that people interact essentially within their own tribe.
This does not mean that changing the traditional media hierarchy is in itself
a bad thing. Brazilian mainstream media has not always been a reliable channel of information, to say the least, and it is very important to have alternative
news sources.
Arguably, the most important news coverage in the wake of Bolsonaro’s
victory was conducted by the online site The Intercept. It has shown in the
clearest terms possible that there was a plot by federal judges and prosecutors
involved in Operation Car Wash against Lula and the PT during the 2018 elections (Greenwald and Pougy 2019). Crucially, the plot included leaks to the
mainstream media (Greenwald and Neves 2019). Of course, The Intercept is
a widely recognized news site, but it is not a traditional outlet. It is more and
more difficult to read signs of epistemic trustworthiness. In this new landscape,
fake media mushroomed, from fake news sites created in Macedonia, mostly
by teenagers earning money per click, to Russia-based troll factories, feeding
false information for political purposes in many parts of the world (see Ball
2019, Chapter 6). While it may be argued that their success, at least partially,
results from the difficulty to grasp what is a reliability cue, in some cases,
people seemingly simply do not care about epistemic trust. WhatsApp enters
the scene here.
For the purposes of propagating fake news, there are few platforms that are
better, or worse, than WhatsApp. There is no reputational cost, no epistemic
filter, and it already selects groups with respect to which one takes, from the
very start, an internal point of view. It is a network built purely on coordination
values that functions as an epistemic channel, that is, as a source of information (Gragnani 2018). In this environment, debunking seems nearly impossible. In the relatively open space of the Internet, on sites such as Facebook, it
is already very difficult to reach conspiracy theorists, since they don’t interact
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with what might disconfirm their claims (Zollo et al. 2017; Anagnostopoulos
et al. 2015). In a closed network, there is no confrontation at all.
It is little wonder that WhatsApp was the main vehicle of propagation of
fake news by Bolsonaro’s campaign. As is well known, there was a sophisticated and expensive machine, comprised of more than 80% bots of foreign
origins, feeding fake news in his favor (Benites 2018; Phillips 2018). Unlike
the belief in the existence of the Loch Ness monster, this was not a spontaneous, noxious growth. That campaign of lies was not so different from pseudoscientific climate denialism, although it took place in an environment that does
not demand any form of signaling of epistemic worth. Instead of epistemic
trust, we have pure coordination trust.
Let us take stock. To know about virtually anything, we need to trust others.
But trust, and even epistemic trust, is not only an epistemic matter, but also a
matter of sharing values, just as beliefs are not only responsive to evidence, but
are also sensitive to coordination issues. The dual key to believing and trusting may be part of the explanation of why people align their views of politically significant subjects, not with the best epistemic option, but according to
their worldview. The mere disposition to do so is not enough to explain the
apparent increase in science denialism movements, from the relatively inoffensive flat-earthers to the much more harmful antivaxxers. In addition to this
anti-knowledge disposition, there is a need for a social offer of an alternative
theory, a theory that will often be disguised as science so as to display the signs
of reliability. The spread of fake news follows a similar pattern. A bit surprisingly, however, it does not have to fake epistemic reliability, or at least, if it
does, it is such a shallow disguise that it has seemingly given up any pretense
to epistemic reliability – a contrast pointed out by Keith Kahn-Harris between
denialism and what he calls “post-denialism” (Kahn-Harris 2018, 125). So,
why does it work?
6. Conclusion
There are cognitive traits that favor the sharing of fake news, from the general
preference for attention-grabbing false information, to age-related media literacy (Guess et al. 2019). But, again, this does not explain the Distribution. By
far, fake news is “a right-wing thing” (Hern 2018). The story is similar in many
countries, not only in Trump’s and the Vote Leave campaigns: there are armies
of trolls and bots acting in concert with authoritarian, right-wing governments
and candidates, from Rodrigo Duterte in the Philippines to the “peñabots” in
Mexico, with a crucial role played by Putin’s Russia (Pomerantsev 2019). This
is the pattern of Bolsonaro’s campaign. Armies of bots spread fake news to a
much larger audience than his left-wing adversaries:
In a sample of 11,957 viral messages shared across 296 group chats on the
instant-messaging platform in the campaign period, approximately 42% of
rightwing items contained information found to be false by factcheckers.
What Is Post-Truth?
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Less than 3% of the leftwing messages analyzed in the study contained
externally verified falsehoods.
(Avelar 2019)
A social media campaign based on false and misleading information is the
chosen strategy of the far-right camp. It is certainly true that politicians on
all sides of the political spectrum are capable of lying, and that the cognitive
mechanisms that make us susceptible to different forms of manipulation do not
choose sides. However, the open disregard for truth, the huge amount of lies
told without the small pretense of reliability, and the repeated refusal to commit to what is said, these and other practices typical of the far-right are beyond
what its adversaries do. As I write this chapter, Bolsonaro pretended that a
message he sent to his supporters was dated from 2015, while the message
itself refers to a 2018 event (Putti 2020; Tom Phillips 2020a). He does not even
seem to mind that his lies are so easily debunked, probably because most of
his supporters do not care either. He is playing an epistemically unconstrained
coordination game.
But why does this strategy work? I believe that there are two convergent reasons. The first is the change in the information landscape created by the Internet, which has made any sort of filtering obsolete. Filters were imposed out of
a need for mediation through vehicles that had to respond for what they published. When financial and reputational costs are very low, there is no longer
any need for this mediation: anything can be published, and that gives much
more power to fringe groups. Yascha Mounk highlights this effect of social
media, noticing, for instance, that the introduction of much cheaper cell phones
increased the violence in some regions in Africa, closing the gap between
insiders and outsiders (Mounk 2018, 146–149). Angela Nagle and Dale Beran
tell the story of the radicalization of both right- and left-wing groups, but,
by very far, radicalization has taken place mainly in the homophobic, racist,
and misogynist alt-right (Nagle 2017; Beran 2019). More generally, there is a
“plethora of evidence” showing that, at least in the US, polarization is not symmetric, but was essentially a movement towards the far-right (Lewandowsky
et al. 2017, 358). In the open space of the Internet, these groups are no longer
bound by what they once perceived as an unfair limitation on their freedom of
speech. Without any filter, they can deliver their unconstrained hate speech,
which includes freedom from any commitment (“it’s only a joke, don’t you
see?”). They are unaccountable.
Of course, hatred did not spring up with the Internet, but hate-fueled groups
gained a new, unprecedented power in this morally unconstrained world. Bolsonaro, Trump, and others speak within this world unhindered by any sense of
decency. It is enough for them to signal their allegiance, in remarks that they
can always later withdraw (Kahn-Harris 2018, 134). The very same groups feel
free from any sort of epistemic accountability. And here, we see why they converge: the moral unaccountability that has been exploited by the far-right also
creates the space for an epistemically unconstrained speech. As Kahn-Harris
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puts it, their “concept of truth is one in which the individual is the arbiter of
what is truthful” (Kahn-Harris 2018, 139). There are here two moves away
from knowledge involved. With what is sometimes called disintermediation
(see, e.g., Zollo et al. 2017) also comes a lack of evidence, since almost all
evidence to which non-experts have access is mediated by experts and journalists. Never mind that disintermediation is a delusion (Morozov 2017). Even if
they do not see how they are being manipulated, these groups do not accept
the epistemic mediation of acknowledged sources of information, be it the
mainstream media or universities. More important is the destruction of a common ground, both epistemic and moral. In effect, part of the common ground
is guaranteed by institutions that produce and also serve as the depositary of
knowledge. Once such institutions are not universally recognized in this role,
the knowledge they keep is no longer part of what everyone is supposed to
take for granted – for instance, that the earth is a globe, or that vaccines are
not harmful.
But this not all. Kahn-Harris describes a change in the alt-right discourse,
from the Holocaust denialism that uses pseudo-historical knowledge to the
open praise of Nazism, in what he calls “Post-Denialist Age.” The challenge,
he says, is to “handle a world of radical moral diversity” (Kahn-Harris 2018,
125). Moral diversity is an understatement for someone that praises a convicted torturer, as Bolsonaro has repeatedly done (Reuters 2019a). There are
probably many factors explaining how this happened, including that hatred
was always present and just now is being made more visible. However, the
very fact that expressions of explicit hatred seem to now be more acceptable
in the public space may be taken as a sign of increasing of racism, misogyny,
homophobia, and other harmful feelings and attitudes. Following the lead
of Lewandowsky and colleagues, I think that one possible reason for this is
increasing inequality (Lewandowsky et al. 2017). Inequality is associated
with polarization and augments the pressure for group identification. Richard
Wilkinson and Kate Pickett have shown the widespread effects of inequality
in societies, and in particular the increase of status anxiety and the reduction of trust (Wilkinson and Pickett 2010, 52–53, 2018, 41–67, 91–95). Being
an extremely unequal country (Oxfam 2020), Brazil also has extremely low
levels of social and interpersonal trust, indeed, one of the lowest in the world
(Mattes and Moreno 2018).
It is probably safe to say that the unleashing of all sorts of hatred in Brazil
in recent years, identified by many authors, is in part an effect of status anxiety
due to the high level of inequalities. The projection of this moral disturbance
into the epistemic domain is not automatic, but it is exploited by the far-right,
playing the identity card against universities and all sorts of epistemic mediation. In effect, coordination values may remain relatively insulated from the
epistemic realm, and therefore not affect our collective efforts to gain knowledge – see, for instance, how religions can accommodate beliefs that are not
part of their creed (in very different frameworks, see Appiah 2018, chap. 2;
Atran 2002, 83; Levy 2018, 998). But political and institutional actors may
What Is Post-Truth?
243
also decide to play the coordination game against science, and more generally,
against any epistemic mediation, which is what the far-right does, in Brazil
and elsewhere. The result is the destruction of our epistemic common ground.
The label “post-truth” is misleading, not only because it suggests a substitute for the concept of truth, but also because it seems to imply that there
is something new happening. There is no substitute for the concept of truth,
nor a change in what is true. The conflict between epistemic and coordination values that is at the origin of “post-truth” has deep roots in the evolution of human culture. We depend on others to know pretty much everything
we know, and therefore we need trust in order to have knowledge. However,
trust is not only epistemically motivated, but also a matter of identity. This
much is not new. The crucial point is that the equilibrium between the diversity
and the asymmetry required for the production of knowledge and the homogeneity that provides an easier solution to coordination problems is fragile.
I think that this equilibrium is coming apart due to two structural factors: a
new information ecosystem on the Internet and rising inequalities. On top of
those general factors, and partly as a result of them, the actions of a somewhat
heterogeneous global player, the far-right, has done much to make things worse.
In the unconstrained space of the Internet, the far-right has attacked the moral
common ground that makes room for diverse forms of life, and the epistemic
common ground, which it sees as the embodiment of moral values it despises,
to which it should be added the active denial of science as a result of economic
interests, in particular the denial of AGA promoted by the oil industry. Being an
extremely unequal country, with a relatively weak institutional framework, both
in terms of the media and the educational system, Brazil is very vulnerable to this
deleterious actor. Truth doesn’t change: global warming doesn’t depend on our
beliefs about it, nor does the shape of the earth. However, our epistemic common
ground is not nearly as robust as we might have thought, or wished, it were.
Acknowledgment
I am grateful to the CNPq (National Council for Scientific and Technological
Development), for the financial support for my research.
Note
1. I thank Nicolas Allen for proofreading my text.
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15 Psychiatric Power
Exclusion and Segregation in the
Brazilian Mental Health System
Marlon Miguel 1
1. Introduction
The history of the Brazilian psychiatric system is closely connected to the development of the country’s democratic processes throughout the 20th century –
the inequalities, racism, and exclusions at the foundation of the nation, along
with its instabilities, advances, and retrogressions. Brazil’s military dictatorship (1964–85) radicalized a system based on the principles of privatized
care, isolation, and segregation of mentally ill patients, transforming psychiatric institutions into something like prisons or concentration camps. That
situation would only begin to improve with the re-democratization period, in
1988, in which debates around the Brazilian Psychiatric Reform began to align
with the spirit of a new, progressive Federal Constitution. The Reform movement aimed then to transform the social perception of madness and advocated
for looking at the mentally ill through the lens of citizenship. It furthermore
emphasized the subject’s concrete experience of suffering, the current state
experienced by the mentally ill, rather than their “condition” or “disorder”;
“care,” “social bonds,” and “relationality,” rather than “isolation,” were the
privileged concepts. These shifts drew inspiration from anti-psychiatry and
institutional reform movements in Europe, as well as some exceptional Brazilian figures such as Nise da Silveira. The Reform law, first proposed in
1989, would only be implemented in the 2000s. And it has been under attack
ever since the 2016 coup, directly reflecting the de-democratization that this
event unleashed. Brazil has witnessed a strong return of forced hospitalization, the use of violent treatment and the dismantling of public mental health
structures.
This chapter seeks to provide a historical analysis of Brazilian psychiatry. My purpose here will be to emphasize the inherent connection between
(un)democratic processes and social understandings of the figure of the “mad.”
The structuration of the system of psychiatric care indeed would seem to be
inseparable from human rights concerns and the need to consider all individuals as worthy of care. Without a doubt, social acceptance of the “mad” is intrinsically related to concerns for democracy, and de-democratization, for its part,
begins by targeting “deviant” figures.
Psychiatric Power 251
Beyond expressing a determinate social understanding of madness, I claim
that mental health models directly condense the actual forms of an (un)democratic regime. Indeed, undemocratic regimes tend to create enemies and transform them into pathological beings, casting them as disrupting the natural
order. The image of the enemy is thus constructed through a medical vocabulary as a pathological intrusion, to be combatted through treatment. In presentday Brazil – after the 2016 coup and in the midst of an authoritarian climate
inaugurated with the 2018 election of Jair Bolsonaro – intensified discourses of
pathological abnormality and the renewal of exclusionary mental health policies go hand in hand, expressing a radical shift towards the de-democratization
of Brazilian society.
2. Early Brazilian Psychiatry: A Project of Isolation,
Racial and Social Exclusion
The history of Brazilian psychiatry is marked by the coexistence of, on the one
hand, early progressive and even vanguard clinical practices, and on the other,
a heavily exclusionary, violent, and carceral psychiatric system. Already in
the 1920s, Sigmund Freud’s work was the subject of intense debate in Brazil
and, in 1927, the Brazilian Psychoanalysis Society was founded. The use of
art as a therapeutic tool also appears during this period, and, in 1929, Osório
César would publish his seminal book A expressão artística nos alienados:
contribuição para o estudo dos símbolos na arte (The Artistic Expression of
the Alienated: A Contribution to the Study of the Symbols in Art) – a publication contemporary with Hans Prinzhorn’s Bildnerei der Geisteskranken
(1922), Walter Morgenthaler’s Ein Geisteskranker als Künstler (Adolf Wölfli)
(1921), and Jean Vinchon’s L’art et la folie (1924). Where most doctors only
recognized a disorder, non-sense, and absurdity, by observing the work of the
mentally ill it became possible to envision a new way of examining delusions,
behaviors, and pathologies. The artwork of the “mad” thus became a central
influence in Brazilian modernism and along with César, the artist Flavio de
Carvalho organized in 1933 the exhibition Mês das Crianças e dos Loucos
(Month of the Children and Mad) at the Modern Artists Club in São Paulo. This
was the first in a series of exhibitions where the work of mentally ill patients
migrated from psychiatric institutions to the world of arts. Furthermore, with
these works, Carvalho shifted the very understanding of art, claiming: “the
only art is abnormal art” (De Carvalho 1936 with Cabañas 2018, 42).
While these elements reflected the emergence of a new, radical, relational,
and progressive understanding of madness, most 20th-century Brazilian psychiatric institutions continued operating along the lines of the grand renfermement model described by Foucault (1972).2 As Foucault has shown, a radical
division emerged in the 17th-century between normal and mad people, wherein
the latter are to be isolated and receive treatment. A psychiatric discourse such
as Philippe Pinel’s was certainly progressive for the time period, focused as
it was on “liberty” and on “unchaining” the mad. However, their liberation,
252
Marlon Miguel
based on “adequate” treatment, was conditioned by disciplinary practices. In
addition, Pinel proposed a correlation between “mental alienation” and the
unhealthy social milieu in which the subject lived. In that sense, his argument
called for the subject’s isolation from these causes. As consequence, this discourse promoted (1) isolation and (2) the identification of mental disorders
with certain social milieus.
The first psychiatric institutions created in Brazil in the 19th century adhered
to this isolationist logic while targeting particular parts of the population.3
Moreover, in the Brazilian context, it clearly integrated racist discourses.
The Pedro II Hospital was the first asylum created in Brazil, in Rio de
Janeiro in 1853, followed by many others, such as the São Pedro Hospital,
in Porto Alegre (1884) and the Juquery Colonial Hospital, in the suburbs of
São Paulo (1898). These institutions mainly received lower-class Brazilians.
Following behind “schizophrenia” and “alcoholism,” the third most common
cause of hospitalization was “unknown” (IBGE 2006, 235). Furthermore, most
of the patients that entered an asylum would never leave. For example, under
the direction of Franco da Rocha (1898–1920), around 60% of the patients
that entered the Juquery Hospital would also die within the institution. Even
more striking is that this numbers would go up to between 70.9% and 90%
among black people (Machin and Mota 2019, 2). Patients were often sent
to asylums by the police, for seemingly random reasons or simply based on
“social disorder.”
The early history of Brazilian psychiatry was also marked by a eugenics
project (Costa 2007; Reis 1994) based on the concept of “race” and the classification of disorders according to ethnicity. This project was represented
by prominent medical figures in São Paulo, like Renato Kehl (creator of the
São Paulo Eugenics Society), José Paranhos Fontenelle, Pedro Monteleone,
Otávio Gonzaga, and Da Rocha himself, or the Brazilian League for Mental
Hygiene, created in 1923 in Rio de Janeiro. The discourse around the “mental disturbances of black people” was commonplace, as was the attempt to
pseudo-diagnose “Brazilian racial reality” (Roxo 1904; Juliano Moreira with
Reis 1994, 132). Very often, these discourses contained categories of mental
disorder associated with “race” and the “degeneration” of the human species.
Some psychiatrists, such as Raimundo Nina Rodrigues, defended immigration control in order to progressively limit miscegenation, “whitening” the
Brazilian population and with it reducing mental pathologies (Reis 1994;
Oda 2003).
Eugenicist ideologies, sanitation concerns, and mental hygiene discourses
weighed heavily during this period in Brazilian society, which in turn was
characterized by radical transformations: the abolition of slavery (1888), the
early years of the Republic (1889), industrialization, significant immigration, and rural exodus – São Paulo, for example, doubled its population in the
final decade of the 19th century. Eugenics and psychiatry were fused in an
attempt to reorganize urban centers, with particular concern for “pathologies
of the poor” – delinquency, alcoholism, prostitution, along with tuberculosis
Psychiatric Power 253
and syphilis – and the repeated correlation between madness and (racial and
psychic) degeneration. Lower-class populations being mostly black or miscegenated, these ideologies associated the project of racial cleansing with
maintenance of social order and crime reduction. Medical discourse functioned during the period as a means for “social disqualification of black people” (Birman 1989). The aforementioned eugenicist Kehl, who later moved
to Rio, was an active member of the League for Mental Hygiene in the 1920s
and 1930s, an organization where other important figures participated, such as
Juliano Moreira (Pedro II Hospital’s director), Miguel Couto (president of the
National Academy of Medicine), Carlos Chagas (director of Oswaldo Cruz
Institute), Edgar Roquette-Pinto (director of the National Museum), and Monteiro Lobato (writer and cultural figure).
The League for Mental Hygiene remained very active in the 1930s, during
the Vargas Era, which saw several reforms after the 1933 Constituent Assembly. The League formed a powerful lobby advocating for the identification of
health with eugenics, and sought to turn terms such as “eugenetics,” “eufrenia,” “eugenics,” “dysgenics” into common parlance (Stepan 2004, 376). Their
project consisted in an attempt to “extend the methods of mental hygiene to
the entire Brazilian population” (Costa 2007, 60). Furthermore, their members
would occupy important administrative positions in Ministries of Education
and Public Health, and the Ministry of Work. In 1934, the Assistance for Psychopaths and for Mental Prophylaxis was created. This marked a moment in
which psychiatry acquired, for the first time, a prominent status among other
areas of public health.
The 1930s also saw the emergence of the Integralists, a kind of local fascist
movement led by the political and literary figure Plínio Salgado. Characterized
by strong anti-communist sentiments, the movement disseminated a discourse
in which communists were identified with pathologies or infectious agents
(Motta 2000, 79–80).4 This discourse would return, even stronger, decades
later during the pre-1964 coup era.
The Estado Novo (1937–46) would emphasize the practice of preventive
medicine, education, and individual care, while at the same time suppressing
more openly racist and eugenicist discourse.5 It also confronted the Integralist
movement. Furthermore, after 1941, the Brazilian state centralized all public
sanitary administration and created the National Service of Mental Disorders
(SNDM). The Brazilian Health Code proposed in 1945 also explicitly condemned terms such as asilo and hospício (asylum and hospice), proposing to
replace them with “hospital.” Under Juscelino Kubitscheck’s government, the
SNDM would later expand psychiatric services across the country in an effort
to prevent dislocation, with patients having to travel to urban and economic
centers, as well as reducing hospital over-population. Finally, this period saw
an important expansion of medical posts providing outpatient care for the prevention of mental disorders.
While this broad trend saw a marked shift towards prevention in the mental
health field, that same perspective was undeniably hygienic and racist at its
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foundation. And that same view would continue to structure Brazilian psychiatric policy for years to come.
3. Nise da Silveira: An Exception to the Psychiatric Order
While early Brazilian psychiatry was generally a dismal affair, one important
figure represented an exception: Dr. Nise da Silveira. Born in Maceió in 1905,
she began work as a psychiatrist in the early 1930s in Rio de Janeiro at the
Praia Vermelha Psychiatric Hospital, in the National Department of Mental
Health (Dinsam) and in the Brazilian Feminist Union (UFB). A fellow traveler
of the Communist Party and member of the UFB, she was persecuted by the
Vargas regime, held in prison for 17 months and spent several years living
underground. She was eventually accepted back into the public health system,
in 1944, and began work at the Pedro II Hospital. Although a reader of Freud,
her work is based rather on that of Carl Gustav Jung – with whom she corresponded – as well as the work of Antonin Artaud and Spinoza – whose work
she read with particular devotion during her time in prison.
In 1946, in collaboration with the artist Almir Mavignier, Silveira opened a
painting studio at the Pedro II Hospital. There, they organized exhibitions and
encouraged figures of the art world to visit – among those invited were Belgian
critic Léon Degand and Brazilian critic Mário Pedrosa, as well as the painters Ivan Serpa and Abraham Palatnik. The collaboration with Pedrosa would
prove essential to the studio and later, to the foundation in 1952 of the Museum
of Images of the Unconscious. The museum, housed within the hospital, contained the work of Silveira’s patients, which she considered crucial instruments
for further scientific study of psychosis. Silveira emphasized the creation of a
favorable working environment for artistic endeavors and organized permanent exhibitions. The exhibition space was not however conceived for teaching
art, but rather as encouraging the patients’ artistic production.
Silveira managed, against great adversities, to develop her work over the course
of several decades. She struggled constantly with the so-called “modern” psychiatric methods (insulin shock therapy, Cardiazol-induced convulsions, psychosurgery, and lobotomy) that were common practice during the period. Not only that,
her patients’ exhibitions too served to call attention to the violent practices and
precarious conditions of psychiatry. Here too Pedrosa played a vital role. His conception of modern art was crucial for the critique he would develop of rationality,
as well as the methods of modern psychiatric institutions. Underlying Pedrosa’s
critical project was an interesting tension: he insisted on the autonomy of form,
paying close attention to the work of art, while simultaneously critiquing bourgeois rationale justifying the exclusion of the mentally ill. The “mad” are here
neither outside modern art nor a model of transgression, but as Pedrosa puts it,
echoing Goethe’s Denn was innen, das ist außen: “They [patients] see everything
simultaneously from inside and from outside” (Pedrosa 1979).
Silveira’s “rebellious psychiatry,” as she herself described her method in her
unfinished autobiography (Mello 2014), is not just the integration of madness
Psychiatric Power 255
into humanistic practices, but, based on her Spinozian monistic “unity of
things” (Da Silveira 1995 with Mello 2014, 85), it is also a critical inquiry
into the separation of nature and culture, and the hierarchical categorization of
things – and with them, humans. Her psychiatric method consisted in investigating a possible reconfiguration of living things according to their singular
and plastic forms. For her, “creative activity” mobilizes “several aspects of
the psyche,” and in particular, its “ordering auto-healing forces” (ibid., 27).
Furthermore, she recognizes the necessity, when treating mental disorders, of
reconnecting patients with a social environment, incorporating the suffering
body into a certain community. Hence, we might call her a kind of “ecological
doctor” (Pordeus 2018).
Silveira’s practice and thought anticipated by several decades many of the
principles that would later appear in the Brazilian Psychiatric Reform, as well
as resonate with the global institutional reform and anti-psychiatry movements.6 Already in 1956, she created the Casa das Palmeiras to host former
patients of psychiatric institutions. She advocated for the importance of the
externato, or outpatient halfway house, crucial for the deinstitutionalization of
patients. This dimension will prove central to the Reform project, as we shall
soon see.
In 1961, Silveira sent a letter to then-President Jânio Quadros proposing a
national reform work program. Her aim there was to completely rethink the
existing psychiatric structure, focusing on the isolationist practices of hospitals:
The hospital is reinforcing the pathology, because it does not help at all
in re-establishing connections between the patient and their milieu, from
which they are being separated because of the pathology. . . . The Hospital
becomes an extremely efficient apparatus for the chronification [cronificação] of disease.
(Da Silveira 1961 with Mello 2014, 29)
While Quadros expressed interest in Silveira’s proposal, he renounced it some
days later and no further progress was ever made. Her project would be completely forgotten, existing for decades as an exceptional, alternative project.
4. Barbacena and the Military Dictatorship Years
The structure of Brazilian psychiatric institutions would remain stable from
the end of the Vargas Era up to the 1964 military coup. In 1941, Brazil had 62
psychiatry hospitals, of which 39 were private and 23 public – though public
hospitals were responsible for 80.7% of hospital beds. In 1961, the number of
total hospitals approached 135, with 81 hospitals in the private sphere and the
remaining 54, public, accounting for 71.1% of hospital beds. The years following the military coup would see the radical redistribution of private and public
hospitals: by 1981, the private hospitals would represent 70.9% of hospital
beds (Paulin; Turato 2004, 245).
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Indeed, the psychiatric model implemented during the Brazilian dictatorship
(1964–85) was based on the principle of private care. The state itself invested
in the private system, providing the working classes with access to these services through social security policies, subcontracting those same services
within public hospitals. The public system was thus neglected, reaffirming,
once again, the idea of the public psychiatric hospital as a place of isolation,
segregation, and “chronification” of patients treated in these institutions – a
zone of “social abandonment” (Biehl 2005). At the same time, and because of
the catastrophic state of public services, the discourse emphasizing the “efficiency” of the smaller, private services began to gain ground.
The privatization of the psychiatric sector was accompanied by a huge
increase in hospitalizations. Between 1965 and 1968, the hospital population
swelled by 20% – although the same number jumped to 60% in private institutions (idem). Private hospital beds funded by the state increased from 14,000
in 1965 to 30,000 in 1970, reaching 98,000 in 1982; the number of psychiatric
spaces lacking in proper hospital beds (leito-chão, translated euphemistically
as “ground-beds”) climbed to 1045% in the private hospitals (idem; Resende
1987). These numbers are significant insofar as they also reveal the dominant
perspective structuring psychiatric discourse: hospitalization. The dominant
psychiatric ideology during this period held that the proper place for the mad
was away from the public eye and enclosed in the asylum. Lacking in other
clinical services to assist, host, and treat patients with mental disorders, the
only remaining option was to send them to hospitals. And, furthermore, hospitalization in this discourse implied long-term hospitalization. As all these
transformations were taking place, the psychiatric system became a very lucrative business for private hospitals receiving money from the state – but lacking in government oversight – for the patients they received. The period in
question thus became known as the boom of “madness industry” (Mello 1977;
Cerqueira 1984; Amarante 2011).
Statistical figures from the period also reflect the absence of state control.
In the 1970s, it was calculated that more than 7,000 hospitalized psychiatric patients lacked a bed, that hospitalization periods on average lasted seven
months, and that the mortality rate at psychiatric facilities was 6.5 times higher
than in other hospitals for chronic diseases (Paulin; Turato 2004, 250). All the
while, given the military dictatorship, any type of dissenting voice against the
state of asylums was often paid with firings, persecution, and expulsion from
public service.7
Higher rates of hospitalization during the dictatorship were linked in turn
with the shift towards the so-called preventive orientation of prior decades, a
policy that, as we have seen, was premised on a racist model. Not unlike the
model implemented by the United States in the 1960s, psychiatry aiming at
preventing social instability targeted certain population profiles. In the USA,
these were segregated minorities: black and poor people, hippies and the drug
dependent. This phenomenon reflected a very problematic “conceptual slippage,” wherein “social deviation, a by-product of the individual’s political and
Psychiatric Power 257
economic maladjustment” was correlated with “the behaviour of the mentally
ill” (Birman; Costa 1994, 64). The psychiatry in service of the state and as
“manager of risks” (Castel 2011) becomes a dangerous tool and the influence
of this ideology is very present in the Brazilian context.
The 1960s also witnessed the updating of the communist-as-enemy discourse. This same discourse was accompanied by the revival of a discourse
concerning the pathological and infectious infiltration of foreign agents, representing a disruption of a supposedly natural, organic order. These elements,
together, lent weight to a discourse in which the figure of the “mad” was stigmatized, while expanding on the notion of madness and deviation and emphasizing the need for exclusion and isolation.
Perhaps no other institution better represents the dramatic situation of the
Brazilian psychiatric system as the Colonial Hospital of Barbacena, in Minas
Gerais. Upon his visit to Barbacena in 1979, Franco Basaglia compared the
hospital to a “concentration camp” (Arbex 2013, 207), and indeed, it was a
perfect example of a “total institution” (Goffmann 1961). The hospice was
founded in 1903, along with the creation of the country’s first psychiatric hospitals, and was designed according to the “colony” model – isolated from the
urban centers, the asylum would be a place where patients were meant to work
as part of their treatment, according to the motto Labor/Praxis Omnia Vincit (Work Conquers All). The colony had initially been projected to host 200
patients. During its first three decades, almost 50% of the hospital’s funding
came from the commercialization of products harvested there (beans, corn,
potatoes, etc.), as well as from the patients’ labor force, employed for a variety
of activities, such as road maintenance. The colony started to become famous
around 1930 and got quickly over-populated. Around this period, it would
already have about 5,000 patients. José Consenso Filho, Minas Gerais State
National Department of Neuropsychiatry’s director at that moment, decided
to replace the usual hospital beds by “ground-beds” made of grass, something
that would be later, in 1959, adopted by other asylums of the state.
The situation would progressively worsen in the following decades, with
increasingly more people sent to the colony. The asylum became a fitting symbol for the use of psychiatry as tool for power, beyond its supposed treatment
of mental illness. It is calculated that 70% of the patients hospitalized did not
even have a proper mental disorder diagnosis (Arbex 2013). Patients were sent
there for a variety of unrelated reasons: epilepsy, alcoholism, homosexuality,
prostitution, social disorder, or to unburden influential members of society.
Many pregnant women were also “hospitalized” during that period: the victims
of rape – by their bosses, lovers, etc. – or the daughters of influential landowners who had engaged in premarital sex. At least 30 babies were born inside the
asylum and were taken from their mothers.
People were often sent to Barbacena by trains – the so-called trem dos loucos (train of the mad) – that would leave crowded and return empty. Most of
the individuals were sent there to die or to remain enclosed forever. With one
psychiatrist for every 400 patients, over-populated spaces, frightful conditions,
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food and clothing shortages, it is believed that over time more than 60,000
people died inside the colony. As part of that same “madness industry,” 1,823
corpses were sold between 1969 and 1980 to 17 medicine faculties, most of
them to the Federal University of Minas Gerais (Arbex 2018, 76).
In 1961, when Nise da Silveira sent her reform work program to thenPresident Jânio Quadros, photographer Luiz Alfredo, and journalist José
Franco published an important article in the O Cruzeiro newspaper documenting the asylum’s situation. Quadros reacted immediately by proposing
to improve the institution’s condition, but after his resignation, there was no
follow-up. No other journalist would enter the institution again until 1979, and
the entire affair remained completely blocked during the military dictatorship’s
“years of lead.” New documentation would only be produced in 1979, with a
series of articles by Hiram Firmino for the Estado de Minas newspaper, and
with the documentary Em nome da razão (In the Name of Reason) by Helvécio
Ratton. These documents, Basaglia’s public pronouncements, and the movement for the Reform would finally start to exert real public pressure on the
treatment of Barbacena.
While Barbacena represents an extreme case, it also remains very representative of how most Brazilian psychiatric institutions functioned. No doubt, the
histories of other asylums around the country remain to be told, in particular
those histories from the military dictatorship years.
5. The Movement for Brazilian Psychiatric Reform
By the end of the 1970s, the situation of Brazilian psychiatric institution had
become unsustainable. In that same context, a new generation of critical and
engaged psychiatrists and psychoanalysts started to organize themselves. In
1978, echoing a broad impulse for more social movement participation, the
MTSM (Mental Health Workers Movement) was formed in Rio de Janeiro.
In the same year, the First Brazilian Congress of Psychoanalysis, Groups and
Institutions took place, with the participation of figures such as Franco Basaglia, Felix Guattari, Robert Castel, Erving Goffmann, and Thomaz Szasz. The
debates around the SUS (Unified Health System) also started to mature.
The movement for psychiatric reform was driven by a systematic critique
of the exclusionary and isolationist practices on which the asylum-form was
based. It took as its target the very core understanding of madness and the way
in which the entire system was structured on a hospital-centric model. The
same movement took part in larger debates, beyond clinical issues, and was
framed broadly in terms of citizenship and human rights.
The Brazilian Reform drew on the ideals of the anti-psychiatry movement –
in particular the Italian – as well as from French institutional reforms. These
movements, however, were very different one from another. The Italian movement fought for the total dismantlement of asylums – typified by the experiences of Franco Basaglia in Gorizia (1961–68) and Trieste (from 1971), and
culminating in the Italian Mental Health Act of 1978 (the famous Law 180).
Psychiatric Power 259
The French movement, in turn, claimed the necessity of a radical transformation of the hospital structure, although without abolishing its function – represented by the psychotérapie institutionnelle, the experiences taking place in
Saint-Alban Hospital during the Second World War and at La Borde Clinic
(from 1953). What both movements had in common was the concern about
rethinking mental disorders in terms of their intrinsic social and relational
dimension, the critique of the absolutely vertical doctor-patient relationship,
and the importance of rethinking care in more horizontal and collective terms.
Basaglia’s proposal was certainly radical: the need to dismantle the traditional psychiatric structure, that is, to close the pavilions and psychiatric infirmaries in order to replace them with a series of more efficient and humanized
services, spaces, strategies, dispositives. The alternative proposed by the psychiatrist was the creation of local Centri di Salute Mental (CSM) that would
be territorially based. According to this perspective, the CSM would at the
same time treat the mentally ill and work to advance the social comprehension of madness, adapting society to serve as a welcoming host for the mad.
According to Basaglia, the traditional therapeutic institution gave too much
power to the psychiatrist, and in reality only served so that people could be
reconciled with the violence they suffer. In other words, “psychiatric science”
was a tool in the service of dominant powers, reflecting what society at-large
decided to make of the mentally ill person (Basaglia 1965, 107). In this perspective, there is no mental disorder “in itself”: it always appears inside a
certain structure of relationality that gives it meaning. Furthermore, there are
certainly better and worse structures for providing care, structures in which the
disorder expresses itself. In that sense, the crucial issue where mental disorders
are concerned, claims Basaglia, is to determine what type of relationship is
established with the patient and thus with the disorder (ibid., 109). By assuming this position, Basaglia did not deduce that the pathology does not exist,8
but, rather, he sought to question the presupposition according to which the
mental disorder must be isolated in order to be treated. On the contrary, by isolating the mental disorder, one in fact transforms it into a fictive object devoid
of any relation to the broader, complex existence of subjects and social bodies
in which it develops. And, by doing so, one only renders chronic the pathology.
In that sense, Basaglia considered it a crucial task to shift the perspective “from
mental disorders to the existence-suffering” of the subject as Franco Rotelli,
Basaglia’s successor, puts it (Rotelli; Amarante 1992, 53). It was important for
the Italian psychiatrist, following Edmund Husserl’s gesture, to operate a sort
of phenomenological reduction, suspending the idea of disorder in order to
work with the subject’s concrete experience, revealing the singular, suffering
subject hidden behind the nosological framework of the “pathology.”
According to Basaglia’s critique, the only possible position is to negate the
institution, the asylum’s mode of operation and push for extra-hospital forms
of care. In the first instance, his thinking centers on a “therapeutic community”:9 organization of discussion groups, “operative groups” co-involving the
patients in their own treatment, along with doctors, caretakers, and relatives.
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The “therapeutic function” should be exercised by all of these actors. What
is at stake in Basaglia’s critique is hospitals’ hierarchy – a critique that advocates for “horizontality” and the “democratization” of the therapeutic relations. However merely dismantling the hospital and multiplying extra-hospital
services, or use of the term “therapeutic community,” does not itself solve
the problem, and these practices have their ambiguities (Basaglia 1985, 112;
Rotelli; Amarante 1992; Birman; Costa 1994). What is crucial is the permanent
deconstruction of asylum logics – which in turn means the permanent reinvention of care situations.10 And this permanent movement does not come without
an unending questioning of social reality and positions of power.
The other crucial figure behind the Brazilian Reform is Catalan psychiatrist
François Tosquelles, who fled Franco’s regime during the Spanish Civil War
and began practicing a very innovative type of work at the Saint-Alban Hospital, in Lozère, southern France. This experience preceded the later psychotérapie institutionnelle of Jean Oury and Félix Guattari, implemented at the La
Borde Clinic. Tosquelles attempted to disrupt the traditional patient-doctor/
caretaker relationship by introducing (1) the idea of a “therapeutic collective”/
“therapeutic club” and (2) breaching the dichotomy between “inside/outside”
that characterizes asylum spaces. His main aim was to “integrate madness at
the cite,” at the same time seeking to create strategies so that the mad “succeeds in his madness” (François Tosquelles with Recherches 1975, 87) when
provided with favorable conditions and are not “suppressed” (réfoulés) by
society.
For Tosquelles, the psychiatric institution must break with its conventional
closed-circuit, so that the mental disorder can be properly treated. In order
to achieve that, it is crucial to reconnect the mentally ill patient with their
social milieu and continue working after their hospitalization has concluded.
Tosquelles and Lucien Bonnafé called this “geo-psychiatry,” a practice in which
the patient is reinserted into society. According to Bonnafé, Saint-Alban’s real
innovation was geo-psychiatry – a practice rarely emphasized by historians
and commentators who, according to Bonnafé, instead insist on intra-hospital
work. Geo-psychiatry involved work outside the hospital that would enable the
patient to “disalienate” and help their “reinsertion into a human geography”
(ibid., 89).
While La Borde remained a psychiatric hospital, that institution’s orientation was defined by an openness towards the outside, with several activities
taking place within the clinic also being open to the public, and those outside
available to patients. La Borde also applied the notion of “institutional analysis” as a decisive tool for disrupting the static forms of traditional psychiatric
organization, placing particular emphasis on transversality rather than power
relationships. Institutional analysis consisted of a permanent questioning of the
hospital’s functioning, enabling it to be open to the constant transformation of
relations between those working and living in the institution. Thus, in 1957,
for example, it was decided that everyone working at La Borde would earn
the same salary regardless of their position. Transversality and the search for
Psychiatric Power 261
horizontality were also the specific objectives of “clubs” where patients would
play active roles leading activities and workshops (Recherches 1976). Hence,
while the French and the Italian contexts certainly shared similarities, Basaglia
had aimed at dismantling the psychiatric institution, whereas Jean Oury saw
“anti-psychiatry” as “the true psychiatry” and the “institutional utopia” capable of “saving psychiatry” (Oury 1996, 70).
Guattari paid several visits to Brazil beginning in 1979, and he took a sharp
interest in the foundation of the Workers’ Party. Basaglia travelled to Brazil in
1975, and again in 1978 and 1979. The closure of the Psychiatric Hospital in
Tristes in 1976 and the approval of Law 180 in Italy gave special impetus to
the Brazilian movements.
More than “humanizing the asylum” – which in a sense was already Pinel’s
motto – the Brazilian Reform aimed at a new social understanding of the figure of the mad and, in keeping with the Italian movement, sought to close
the asylums. The reform intended to reframe the understanding of what was
meant by “mental health”: “to debiologize pathology and sociologize suffering” (Biehl 2005, 135); to shift the perspective from disorder towards the state
of suffering and the subject’s concrete existence. Furthermore, it was argued
that the notions of care and treatment needed to move beyond the fields of
medicine and psychology. In that sense, the progressive replacement of the
asylum by other dispositives was envisioned as helping the patient to recreate
social ties. Indeed, one of the foundational concepts behind the Reform was
“territory” or “subjective territory”: a network of social references that anchor
the subject in the world and that are essential to the cure (Delgado 1997). The
Reform thus emerged as the exact opposite of the private, exclusionary, and
isolationist model adopted by the military dictatorship. Against isolation and
the hospital space, it proposed a notion of social, public, and territorial care
that would nourish the patient’s social ties.
An important turning point for the movement was the Second Congress of the
MTSM, held in 1987. The movement at that time began to perceive the necessity
of opening its ranks beyond the almost exclusive participation of mental health
professionals, and include patients and families. It was in this period as well that
the movement adopted its clearest slogan: Por uma sociedade sem manicômios
(For a society without asylums). The creation of groups and associations followed, spreading across the country: SOS Saúde Mental (São Paulo), Cabeça
Feita (Rio de Janeiro State), Loucos por Você (Minas Gerais State), Loucos
por Cidadania (Pernambuco State), Lokomotiva (Rio Grande do Norte State),
Qorpo Santo (Rio Grande do Sul State), among others (Amarante 2011, 79).
Another landmark event contributing to the Reform took place in Santos
(São Paulo State), in 1989, at the Casa da Saúde Anchieta. Also known as
the “House of Horrors,” this psychiatric institution was a space typical of
the “madness industry”: an over-populated and derelict private institution –
funded by the state – that employed abusive disciplinary methods such as electroshock as means of punishment, leading to the death of patients. Telma de
Souza, city counsellor and later mayor for the Workers’ Party – also a party
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co-founder – led an occupation of the institution, protesting against the Casa’s
conditions and eventually achieving the institution’s closure. The occupation
was also a way of demonstrating that the ideals of patient deinstitutionalization
and the private sector’s interest in maintaining the patients hospitalized were
fundamentally incompatible interests. The new therapeutic spaces to be created along with reform would thus be exclusively public.
These movements played an instrumental role in drafting the chapter on
health included in the 1988 Constitution, as well as the legal institution of
the SUS through Law 8.080 (19/09/1990) and the subsequent “social control
law” (Law 8.142), which transformed local communities into central sites of
healthcare administration. Likewise, thanks to reform movement, communities
became central actors in debates around mental health policy and the administration of psychosocial institutions. It was also through this law that the term
“patient” was replaced by usuário (user, customer) or by “citizen burdened by
mental suffering,” emphasizing their agency and role as social actor.
In 1989, the Workers’ Party deputy for Minas Gerais, Paulo Delgado – brother
of activist psychiatrist Pedro Delgado – presented law proposal 3657/89, the
Psychiatric Reform bill. Its main points were: (1) put a halt to the construction of new psychiatric hospitals; (2) redirect state resources to the creation of
non-traditional psychiatric care structures; (3) make it obligatory that forced
hospitalizations be reported to the corresponding legal authority, so that hospitalization could be legally approved (or denied). Two other important elements
are added to the project in 1992: (1) the notion of atenção integral (integrated
assistance), against “specialized assistance,” which would pave the way to
diversified forms of care; and (2) the notion of “citizenship” as fundamental
where mentally ill patients’ rights are concerned. The project began implementation during the 1990s with the creation, in particular, of Psychosocial Community Centers (CAPS).11 However, the “mental health law” (Law 10.216)
would only be approved, after many years of discussion and in a watered-down
version, in April 2001. That law would also emphasize the assistance model,
as well as the protection and rights of people suffering from mental disorders,
but it did not adopt one of the movement’s central demands: the progressive
dismantlement of asylums. Finally, Law 10.708 (07/31/2003), legislating for
the program De volta para casa (Back home), emphasized, again, deinstitutionalization, establishing assistance for long-term hospitalized patients. Albeit
slowly, and still struggling with the remnants of a derelict system, the public
mental health system has grown considerably throughout the 2000s, in keeping
with the new progressive agenda set during that time period.
6. De-democratization and the Dismantlement
of the Mental Health System
The 1987 Bauru Letter, a landmark for the Reform, equates “democratic society” with “a society without asylums.” The Reform movement was far from
fulfilling all its promises. However, for the first time, structural questions
Psychiatric Power 263
concerning mental disorders were finally being addressed and efficiently managed. The World Health Organization, for example, recognizes the importance
and improvement of the Brazilian mental health system after the implementations of the Reform, and calls for the program’s expansion (WHO 2007).
Despite these recognitions, in 2016 Michel Temer implemented Constitutional Amendment Number 95, and later in 2017, through a series of policies,
his administration began to dismantle the Reform’s achievements not only
by cutting funding to healthcare (which did in fact take place), but also by
fundamentally targeting its main principles: reducing territorial mental health
structures, resuming the hospitalization strategy and investing in psychiatric
hospital beds, and so on. Between that project, initiated by Temer, and the current agenda led by Jair Bolsonaro, there has been remarkable continuity.12 In
three years (2016–19), their shared agenda (1) modified the National Program
of Primary Care (PNAB) dispensing with communitarian health worker assistance for families; (2) expanded funding for psychiatric hospitals and increased
the price of daily hospitalization; (3) reduced the registration of new CAPS; (4)
reasserted the role of psychiatric hospitals as the main institution responsible
for care; (5) re-established day-hospitals structures; (6) re-established specialized and non-local outpatient services.
Bolsonaro’s agenda however has been even more aggressive, and his model
for the mental health system is outright exclusionary. In February 2019, he
published “Technical Note Number 11,” regarding transformations to national
mental health policy, wherein he criticized the current “ideology” of the system and proposed to replace it with “scientific methods” based on the “technical knowledge” of psychiatric hospitals, biological treatment methods such as
electroconvulsive therapy, and the hospitalization of children and adolescents
(Brasil 2019; Delgado 2019). The effects of these policies are already being
felt. A new national report for 2018 and published last December, surveying
40 psychiatric hospitals in 17 states across the country, shows dramatic human
rights violations and signs of torture inside these institutions (Brasil 2019b).
Bolsonaro’s discourse is also emphatic in its attempt to revive traditional
medical vocabulary as a means to pathologize his enemies. He seeks to transform “the other” (leftists, communists, the LGBT+ population) into an abnormal figure and asserts the need to exclude them from visible public space.
Typical of authoritarian regimes, alterity automatically becomes a figure of
deviation that needs to be isolated and “treated.”
Hiding behind this pseudo-techno-scientific discourse is a program that
embraces a renewed exclusionary agenda very similar to what existed before
the Reform. With the same claims to scientificity and efficiency used to promote private care decades ago, Bolsonaro’s program represents a clear sign of
de-democratization. As in so many other aspects of the government’s agenda,
the insistence on private care reflects not only the economic interests of a small
group of powerful individuals, but also a project to eradicate any type of large,
popular, democratic agency. Against social and collective control, against the
idea of public and territorial care, nourishing the patient’s social ties, against
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all these elements that were central to the Reform, the hospital-centric model
again rears its head along with the all-powerful psychiatrist – a mere puppet
acting on behalf of a radically authoritarian ideology that hates difference.
Acknowledgment
I am grateful to the FCT, “Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, I.P.,” for
their financial support (Stimulus of Scientific Employment, Individual Support
CEECIND/02352/2017/CP1387/CT0006).
Notes
1. I thank Nicolas Allen for proofreading my text.
2. And even inside psychiatric institution employing more humane and experimental
approaches, these practices were the exception. In the years 1953–55, for example,
at the Juquery Hospital, where César worked, only 60 of 15,000 patients would
take part in the Arts Section (Cabañas 2018, 68).
3. Foucault notes that the appearance of the psychiatric hospital in Europe and “massive hospitalizations” were also a “police affair” inspired by concerns very divergent from “healing” (Foucault 1972, 75).
4. In fact, colonial asylums in particular were conceived as places not only for the
mad, but for all those branded undesirable. Rodrigues Caldas, responsible for
moving the Juliano Moreira Hospital to the Jacarepaguá neighborhood, claimed
in 1920 that “besides alcoholics, mad, retarded, delinquents,” the Asylum was also
meant for “the undesired enemies of order and the public good, possessed by the
red delirium, fanatics of the bloody and dangerous anarchists and communists doctrines, of Marxism or Bolshevism” (Rodrigues Caldas with Hidalgo 2011, 25).
5. Framed by a cultural and social perspective, although also impacting policies and
ideologies, the eugenicist discourse was progressively replaced by that of racial
democracy, thanks to authors such as Gilberto Freyre. Freyre’s celebrated formulation emphasized, on the contrary, the positive aspects of Brazilian miscegenation.
Despite that, psychiatric institutions would remain a locus of sanctioned exclusion,
reflecting the socioeconomic structure of Brazilian society.
6. For example, after visiting the Museum of Images of the Unconscious in 1974,
Ronald Laing would recognize her work as essential to the study of psychosis.
7. This was the case of, among others, Paulo Amarante, who, along with two colleagues, was fired after denouncing the conditions in the asylum where they
worked (Amarante 2011, 11); or Francisco Barreto, persecuted by the Regional
Council of Medicine after filing a report on the Colonial Hospital of Barcena
(Arbex 2018, 204).
8. Ronald Laing takes a similar stance when he claims that mental illness should not
be taken as the natural object that psychiatry takes it to be, but rather an experience
of the subject in their relationship with the socius. However, his position concerning pathology seems much more relativistic, where the division between the “normal” and the “pathological” appears to be extremely blurred (cf. Laing 1967).
9. One can revisit the term “psychosocial medicine” as it appears in the British context around mid-19th century in James L. Halliday’s work.
10. The USA, for example, saw the emergence of “deinstitutionalization” practices
(measures taken to help the patients when they leave the hospital) and a communitycare logic, in which the creation of mental health centers, outpatient care, clinical
residences, shelters, and day-hospitals ended up contributing to the medicalization
of life and even more demands from people concerning these services.
Psychiatric Power 265
11. The first CAPS unit opened in 1986 in São Paulo. Several units were also created
in Santos after the Casa da Saúde Anchieta was shutdown. The CAPS are local, territorial, outpatient assistance structures. Their guiding inspiration was to open up the
mental health sector and connect with civil society. There are five types of structures
and some function 24 hours, with the capability of treating subjects during crises. Different from hospitals, they are open spaces and allow the patient to be accompanied
by relatives. The CAPS are also encouraged to create different kinds of relational,
clinical, and expressive activities, with the aim of reducing medication and preventing
hospitalization. They are open to professionals of other areas, such as artists who can
organize activities there and are invited to interact with the local territory.
12. Psychiatrist Quirino Cordeiro served as Temer’s general coordinator for the Mental
Health, Alcohol and Drugs Section of the Ministry of Health and is now Bolsonaro’s National Secretary of Care and Drugs Prevention, in the Ministry of Citizenship. He is a clear supporter of forced hospitalization and defends that mental
healthcare should be separated from drugs-addiction policies transforming drugs
into a primarily “police affair”.
References
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Arbex, Daniela. 2018. Holocausto Brasileiro. Genocídio: 60 mil mortos no maior hospício do Brasil. São Paulo: Geração Editorial.
———. 2013. Holocausto Brasileiro. São Paulo: Geração Editorial.
Basaglia, Franco, ed. 1965. “Corps, regard et silence: L’énigme de la subjectivité en
psychiatrie” [Body, viewpoint, and silence: The enigma of subjectivity in psychiatry]. L’Evolution Psychiatrique 30 (1): 11–25.
———. 1985. A instituição negada: relato de um hospital psiquiátrico. Rio de Janeiro:
Edições Graal.
Biehl, João Guilherme. 2005. Vita: Life in a Zone of Social Abandonment. Oakland:
University of California Press.
Birman, Joel. 1989. “O negro no discurso psiquiátrico.” In Cativeiro e liberdade, edited by
Jaime Da Silva, Patrícia Birman, and Regina Wanderley, 44–58. Rio de Janeiro: UERJ.
Birman Joel, and Jurandir Freire Costa. 1994. “Organização de instituições para uma
psiquiatria comunitária.” In Psiquiatria social e reforma psiquiátrica, edited by
Amarante Paulo, 41–72. Rio de Janeiro: Fiocruz.
Brasil (Conselho Federal de Psicologia). 2019. Hospitais Psiquiátricos no Brasil:
Relatório de Inspeção Nacional: 2018. Brasília: CFP. Available at: https://site.cfp.
org.br/publicacao/hospitais-psiquiatricos-no-brasil-relatorio-de-inspecao-nacional/.
Brasil (Ministério da Saúde). 2019. “Nota Técnica. Esclarecimentos sobre as mudanças na Política Nacional de Saúde Mental e nas Diretrizes na Política Nacional
sobre Drogas.” Coordenação Nacional de Saúde Mental, Álcool e Outras Drogas,
November 2019. Available at: www.abrasco.org.br/site/wp-content/uploads/2019/02/
11_23_14_123_Nota_Te%CC%81cnica_no.11_2019_Esclarecimentos_sobre_as_
mudanc%CC%A7as_da_Politica_de_Sau%CC%81de_Mental.pdf.
Cabañas, Kaira Marie. 2018. Learning from Madness: Brazilian Modernism and Global
Contemporary Art. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press.
Castel, Robert. 2011. La gestion des risques. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit.
Cerqueira, Luiz. 1984. Psiquiatria social: problemas brasileiros de saúde mental. São
Paulo: Atheneu.
Costa, Jurandir Freire. 2007. História da Psiquiatria no Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Garamond.
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Delgado, Pedro Gabriel. 1997. “A psiquiatria no território: construindo uma rede de
atenção psicossocial.” In Saúde em Foco: informe epidemiológico em saúde coletiva.
Saúde Mental: a ética de cuidar. Rio de Janeiro: Secretaria Municipal de Saúde. VI,
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———. 2019. “Reforma psiquiátrica: estratégias para resistir ao desmonte.” Trab. educ.
saúde 17 (2) Rio de Janeiro: Epub. Available at: http://dx.doi.org/10.1590/19817746-sol00212.
Foucault, Michel. 1972. Histoire de la folie à l’âge classique. Paris: Gallimard.
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report_brazil.pdf.
16 A Return to the Past or
a New Beginning?
Why the Brazilian Case Merits
Broader Discussion
Frieder Otto Wolf 1
There are two issues that immediately arise when one is dealing with case studies of a particular historical reality – a country, in this case – in a given phase of
its life: (1) the exemplary (or, alternatively, singular) character of the real developments analyzed, and (2) the reliability and reproducibility of the analytical
method(s) applied. There is another underlying issue of great importance that
is all too often taken for granted, i.e., the question of what we can learn and
determine with objective validity about specific socio-historical realities and
their changes, where doing so means bringing to bear our own expectations
and evaluations in order to find a possible avenue for action. Learning from
this type of analysis will depend on making important distinctions between
what we know by analysis itself, and what possibilities for action are presumed
by our own judgment about present as well as emerging conditions.
I propose to take contemporary Brazil as an example of what is a broader,
and no doubt complex phenomenon: the much vaunted 21st-century socialism,
said to be on the point of emerging in Latin America, and its historical failure.
Although there are perhaps other, more salient examples – Venezuela, at least
rhetorically, is unsurpassed in this respect – the Brazilian case may in fact be an
even more telling example, since it is there that the question of what will follow
in the wake of the failure of 21st-century socialism becomes most prescient.
Historical analogies are often misleading: humanity does not step into the
same river twice, as Heraclitus warns. And yet, it is equally difficult today to
ignore one historical resonance: the broad array of fascist and fascistic, certainly counter-revolutionary, regimes that emerged with the fall of European
revolutionary movements in the early 1920s, in those states which had suffered
from (revolutionary) instability.
The emergence of the Workers’ Party (PT) as a new political subject ushered
in a novel phase of democratic politics in Brazil, clearing away the cobwebs
of a party system that since the end of the military dictatorship had acted as
an appendage of the state apparatus of politics. Nor was this a question of
mere party politics, with that phase being brought about, and against significant adversities one might add, by a broad array of social organizations – most
centrally, by the Landless Workers’ Movement (Movimento dos Sem Terras).
And even where party politics are concerned, these have not been limited to
A Return to the Past or a New Beginning? 269
strictly parliamentarian politics: the PT produced new avenues for democratizing politics, such as participatory budget making and allotment, at the high
point of PT’s ascendancy.
The failures and eventual defeat of the historical opening represented by
the PT should not make us overlook what was at stake in the hopes it ignited
among the so-called sub-proletarian sectors of Brazil, since at least 2006.2 That
population had been mobilized by the League of Poor Peasants (Liga dos Camponeses Pobres), as well as community movements in the big cities, and by the
Landless Workers’ Movement (MST). This same sector, which since 1945 had
never had any stake in politics, was also prone to being swept up by new rightwing forces in the last national election, voting for the ultra-right, a new type
of electoral far-right with clear affinities to fascist tendencies of the populist
variety. Looking back at these defeated hopes, we can retrospectively distinguish there at least two antagonistic elements: prominent patronage – i.e. the
promise that the subaltern strata will share in the spoils gained by state intervention into economic profits3 – and a structural redistribution from capitalist
profits towards wages, enhancing the income of small farmers or the material
conditions of Indigenous groups. Nor should one overlook the fact that, along
with the rise of income for labor, as reported by national statistics from 2006 to
2014, there was also a substantive improvement in the income of the wealthiest 0.1%.4 In the end, the promise of a more substantial redistribution clearly
failed to materialize. That the landless small peasants eventually changed their
attitude towards the Lula government might be taken as a reliable indicator for
deeper shifts.
Making an elementary distinction between left-wing patronage and a politics of transformation seems to be essential for understanding the problematic
elements of the Lula government, a problematic that Dilma Rousseff failed
to recognize as such. Distinguishing between these two trends presupposes
at least two analytical steps that go beyond the kind of phenomenal description and statistical analysis so dear to mainstream political science:5 these
constitute, along with an analysis of the ideological processes involved, or
the struggles by which such ideologies are reproduced within given societies,6
the first steps in any proper analysis. However, a real understanding of the
causes and reasons behind historical processes cannot be gained from them
alone – this would require, at minimum, some determination of the national
historical conjuncture (or the associated countries of which it is part) and the
structural determinants which have brought about this conjuncture. In the case
of Brazil – not unlike other Latin American countries – this would require
understanding how the country went from a development model of dependent
Fordism until the 1970s, to a new paradigm of dependent neoliberalism in the
1980s and 1990s. At the same time, grasping the causes behind the historical
processes in question requires a deeper level of analysis that begins to account
for how the different structures of domination – capitalism, dependency, patriarchy, industrialism7 – are mutually overdetermined without destroying their
common effect: the continuous reproduction of the structures of domination.
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Frieder Otto Wolf
In contrast with past attempts in the Marxist tradition, this deeper analysis
cannot be, as it were, imposed from above – i.e., simply applying Marxist
categories to available statistics. It has to unfold as an extension of a deeper
understanding of given developments and struggles – which in fact has been
analytically accomplished – so that one can gain insight and identify where
general structures are needed for understanding (and practically coping) with
specific, given situations and developments.
The difficulty involved in applying Marx’s critical theory of the domination
of the capitalist mode of production in modern bourgeois societies – Brazil,
for example – can only be adequately solved by an analysis of specific, indeed
singular, historical realities.
This difficulty has a triple structure, namely:
1.
2.
3.
the specifically abstract character of Marx’s theory of the ideal average of
this domination, which meant his relative neglect of modern slavery as a
constitutive element of Brazilian history;
the complex overdetermination of modern forms of domination – such as
patriarchy, dependency, and ecological overexploitation – within concrete
historical societies in their singular development, underscoring the problematics of Brazilian machismo in everyday life and political culture; and
the dependent, regionalist, and racist specificities of the Brazilian modern
state, even when compared to other Latin American states, which in terms
of democratic political deliberation imply certain vulnerabilities and limitations that simultaneously open the door to state-of-exception politics.
These dimensions are not the extension – and much less deduced – from general
theories, but have to be “reconstructed” theoretically on the basis of concrete
case studies looking deeply at Brazilian political processes, their underlying
projects and real dynamics.
Even such a scientific analysis – carried out with an unbelievable degree of
comprehensiveness and even completeness – will not be capable of producing
what Lenin had rightly understood to be the starting point of any meaningful strategic deliberation, i.e. the “concrete analysis of the concrete situation.”
Such an “analysis,” rather than being formulated as a “diagnosis,”8 can never
be the result of scientific inquiry alone.9 And this, for two decisive reasons: first,
because any scientific inquiry takes time, and cannot, therefore, logically capture the present moment of action; second, because any action always also has
to address not only the existing reality, but also the inherent, real possibilities of
the given present moment, which scientific analysis cannot properly capture.10
This unavoidable distinction between analysis and deliberation does not in
any way imply irrationality – not on either side: on the side of scientific analysis, it prevents the “closure” of results from being converted into dogmatic
convictions, while on the side of practice, it strengthens the critical attitude
towards what indeed is the actually existing case, but could very easily be otherwise. Nor does it mean, as it were, a differentiation of literary genres, e.g. on
one side, a literature of political intervention, clearly distinguished from what
A Return to the Past or a New Beginning? 271
would be a literature of social analysis: indeed, intervention may illuminate
avenues of analytical research, while innovative research inevitably tends to
generate new perspectives for intervention. This distinction would be of great
value in current debates, for improving and advancing both deliberation and
research.
The present volume presents a strong example of a differentiated and combined approach to analysis and intervention. It provides an exemplary deciphering of recent political processes wherein capital’s domination – and its support
structures of domination – have been reconfigured under a new onslaught of
neoliberal politics.
This volume should not be mistaken for a mere case study of a distant and
atypical case. Brazil can and should be understood rather as an exemplary
demonstration of the workings of a renewed kind of “post-crisis neoliberalism.” As such, it provides an excellent starting point for further inquiry into
the structural determinants of the historical defeat of the Left, and not only
the Brazilian Left, in the beginning of this century, as well as a positive entry
towards renewing a more radical debate around left-wing strategies of transformation in Brazil and beyond, in a renewed global perspective.
Notes
1. I thank Nicolas Allen for proofreading my text.
2. Cf. André Singer (2013), for whom 2006 was the year that so-called sub-proletarian
categories were mobilized by the PT. Prior to that, argues Singer, the PT was clearly
based on the proletariat – in a traditional Marxist understanding – and the middle
strata.
3. This dynamic seems to already have been of central importance for the Chavez government in Venezuela.
4. Cf. Marcelo Medeiros et al. (2015), despite issues that could be raised concerning
their depoliticized understanding of economic processes.
5. Solano and Rocha represent a good example of what this kind of approach is capable
of achieving (see Solano and Rocha 2019).
6. Both of these questions are almost completely avoided in Solano and Rocha (2019).
7. I propose the following terminology as a shorthand for distinct structures of domination irreducible to each other: capitalist, as referring to the domination of the capitalist mode of production in modern bourgeois societies (as analyzed by Marx and
the productive lines of the Marxist tradition); dependency, as referring to the kind of
dependency analyzed by André Gunder Frank, among others, in his earlier writings;
patriarchy, as referring to the modern forms of male gender domination, analyzed
by Mary Mellor, Ariel Salleh and others; industrialist, as in the anti-ecological side
of the modern application of science to production, importantly analyzed by Rudolf
Bahro (1978).
8. The concept of “diagnosis” emerged in medical practice long before the modern
natural sciences took over the work of medical doctors – and this is why, to my mind,
it continues to convey an awareness of the insuperable difference between scientific
investigation and practical deliberation, i.e. “decision making and judgment”– cf.
e.g. Thompson and Dowding (2009).
9. Therefore, Lenin was clearly wrong in affirming that “concrete analysis of the concrete situation” was the “highest point” of scientific analysis – it is, instead, the
unavoidable starting point of any rational political deliberation which always has
already gone beyond what may be established by scientific analysis of the real.
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Frieder Otto Wolf
10. Ernst Bloch, in his philosophy of hope, found impressive ways of articulating the
“Principle of Hope” with specific interpretations, but these have been exercises in
re-animating lost elements of a radical, liberating tradition, and have not constituted an additional dimension of scientific analysis. Meanwhile, “future research”
as initiated by Flechtheim and others has not been capable of going beyond projecting alternative futures.
References
Bahro, Rudolf. 1978. The Alternative in Eastern Europe. London: New Left Books and
Verso.
Bloch, Ernst. 1991. Heritage of Our Times. New York: Polity.
Flechtheim, Ossip K. 1966. History and Futurology. Meisenheim am Glan: Anton Hain.
Frank, André Gunder. 1966. The Development of Underdevelopment. New York:
Monthly Review Press.
Medeiros, Marcelo, Pedro H. G. Ferreira de Souza, and Fábio Avila de Castro. 2015.
“O Topo da Distribuição de Renda no Brasil: Primeiras Estimativas com Dados Tributários e Comparação com Pesquisas Domiciliares (2006–2012).” Dados 58 (1): 7–36.
Mellor, Mary. 1982. Breaking the Boundaries. Towards a Feminist Green Socialism.
London: Virago.
Salleh, Ariel. 1997. Ecofeminism as Politics: Nature, Marx and the Postmodern. London: Zed Books.
Singer, André. 2013. “Os sentidos do lulismo: reforma gradual e pacto conservador.”
Novos Estudos CEBRAP 95 (São Paulo).
Solano, Esther, and Camila Rocha, eds. 2019. As direitas nas redes e nas ruas: a crise
política no Brasil. São Paulo: Expressão Popular.
Thompson, Carl, and Dawn Dowding. 2009. Essential Decision Making and Clinical
Judgement for Nurses. London: Churchill Livingstone.
Wolf, Frieder Otto. 1978. “Ideologia burguesa e proletariado.” Vértice. Revista de
cultura e arte 404 (405): 2–17.
Notes on Contributors
Arthur Bueno is Lecturer and Research Fellow at the Philosophy Department
of the University of Frankfurt and Visiting Professor at the University of
São Paulo. He was an Alexander von Humboldt Postdoctoral Fellow at the
Max Weber Centre, University of Erfurt, and at Paris Nanterre University.
His research interests include critical theory, social philosophy, social suffering, and social pathology.
Barry Cannon (PhD, Dublin City University) lectures on politics in Maynooth University, Ireland, with research interests in Latin American politics,
civil society, democratization, and the Left and Right. He has published
in Third World Quarterly, Latin American Politics and Society, and Democratization, and his most recent book is The Right in Latin America: Elite
Power, Hegemony and the Struggle for the State (Routledge, 2016).
Paolo Colosso is an urbanist and philosopher, professor at the Federal University of Santa Catarina (UFSC). He was a visiting researcher at École des
Hautes Études em Sciences Sociales (ÉHESS-Paris).
Ana Guggenheim Coutinho is currently a PhD candidate in the Department
of Social Anthropology at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (Museu
Nacional-UFRJ), Brazil. She received a Master’s degree in social anthropology from L’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales (EHESSParis). Her research interests include Indigenous ethnology and Indigenist
politics in contemporary Brazil.
Magali do Nascimento Cunha is currently the coordinator of the Research
Group on Communication and Religion of Brazilian Society on Interdisciplinary Studies of Communication (INTERCOM). She is a doctor in communication sciences (University of São Paulo), with postdoctoral studies
in communication and politics (Federal University of Bahia). Her research
objectives relate to the interface between media, religion, and politics.
Eneida Vinhaes Dultra holds a PhD and a Master’s degree in law, state, and
constitution from the University of Brasilia. She is Technical Advisor in the
House of Representatives, a popular lawyer, and a member of the research
274
Notes on Contributors
groups registered in CNPq. She has authored “Pathways, Narratives, Fragments: History of Law and Constitutionalism” and “The Law Found on the
Street.” Her research interests and experiences include constitutional law,
labor, social security, acting on the following subjects: democracy, history
of law, social rights, and gender issues.
Pedro Luiz Lima is currently an assistant professor in the Department of
Political Science at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro (UFRJ-Brazil).
He received a PhD in political science from the State University of Rio de
Janeiro (UERJ). His research interests include political theory, Brazilian
political thought, and the crisis of democracy in contemporary Brazil.
Rômulo Lima is currently an adjunct professor in the Department of Latin
American Studies at the Universität Hamburg, Germany. He received a PhD
in political economy from the Universidade Federal Fluminense, Brazil.
His current research interests include Marxism, state theory, and theories of
peripheral development.
Ermínia Maricato is an urbanist, professor at the University of São Paulo,
visiting professor at the Centre of Human Settlements of British Columbia
and the Witswaterand University of Johannesburg. She was Secretary of
Housing and Urban development in São Paulo (1989–92) and coordinated
the creation of the Ministry of Cities (2003–5).
David McCoy is a PhD candidate in the Department of Political Science at
the University of Pittsburgh. He received a MA in Latin American studies
at Tulane University and a MA in political science from Pitt. His research
interests include institutions of participatory democracy, political representation, and Latin American politics.
Marlon Miguel is currently an FCT researcher (Fundação para a Ciência e a
Tecnologia) at the Center of Philosophy of Science, University of Lisbon
(CFCUL). He is a former ICI Berlin fellow. He holds a double PhD in fine
arts (Université Paris 8 Vincennes-Saint-Denis) and philosophy (Federal
University of Rio de Janeiro). His current research focuses on the intersection between art and (anti)psychiatry.
Antonio Negri is an independent researcher and writer. He has been a lecturer in political science at the University of Paris and a professor of political science at the University of Padua. He is known worldwide for his
co-authorship of the tetralogy which includes Empire (2000), Multitude
(2004), Commonwealth (2009), and Assembly (2017).
Ernesto Perini-Santos is a professor in the Department of Philosophy at Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais, Belo Horizonte, Brazil. He received a
PhD in medieval philosophy from the Université François Rabelais, France.
His research interests include the history of 14th-century philosophy, but
also philosophy of language. Recently, he extended his research to issues
Notes on Contributors 275
linked to what is called “post-truth,” using the conceptual apparatus of analytical philosophy.
Florencia Prego holds a degree in sociology and is a Master’s student in Latin
American social studies from the University of Buenos Aires (UBA). Prego
serves as a training researcher based at the Institute of Studies of Latin
America and the Caribbean, and since 2019, is a PhD student in social sciences under the direction of Lorena Soler.
Flavia Rios (PhD, USP) is a professor of sociology at the Universidade Federal Fluminense (UFF), Brazil. She was a Visiting Student Researcher Collaborator (VSRC) in the Department of Sociology at Princeton University
(2013). Her main interests are social movements, racial inequalities, affirmative actions, and Black thought. Flavia’s current research focuses on intersections between gender, race, and democracy.
Lorena Soler has a degree in sociology, a Master’s in research in social sciences, and a PhD in social sciences from the University of Buenos Aires
(UBA). She is a researcher for the National Council of Science and Technology (CONICET) based at the Institute of Studies of Latin America and the
Caribbean, and a university professor (Faculty of Social Sciences, UBA).
Index
Note: Page numbers in italics indicate figures.
3rd International Conference Against
Racism, Xenophobia and Related
Intolerances in South Africa, 2001 28
1988 Constitution see Constitution
of 1988
2008 financial crisis 152
2013 protest marches: collectivity in
121 – 123; lack of clearly defined
goals 121 – 124; middle class and 105;
police attacks on 50; political shift
and 105, 114 – 116; post-depressive
effervescence 121 – 124; public
transport fares and 50 – 51, 106, 114,
122, 150; rejection of Worker’s Party
51; right-wing media use of 50 – 51,
71, 87; social crisis and 97, 101, 106;
social opening and 156, 158
2014 election 1, 51, 114, 124, 157 – 158
2016 mayoral and city council elections:
anti-system voting and 173 – 180;
female city councilors elected 175,
176; female councilors and mayors
elected 173; gender quotas and 174;
male city councilors elected 176, 177;
party list votes for women 178; party
list voting for female city council
candidates 179f; women in politics
172 – 173
2018 election 1 – 2, 136, 180
abortion rights 170 – 171, 171, 182, 211
Adorno, Theodor 136
affirmative action 28 – 31, 34 – 36
Afro-Brazilians 29, 31, 48; see also
Black Brazilians; quilombolas
Alckmin, Gerardo 50
Alfredo, Luiz 258
Alliance for Progress 141
alt-right 21, 241 – 242; see also ultra-right
politics
Alves, Damares 53, 181, 219, 231
analysis 270 – 271
Anderson, Perry 63
Ansaldi, Waldo 63
anthropogenic global warming (AGA)
233 – 235, 243
anti-corruption discourse: authoritarian
politics and 81; communism and
81; in coup against Rousseff 78 – 79,
83 – 84, 158; criminalization of politics
in 93; criticism of elites 80; crony
capitalism in 91; de-democratization
and 78, 92; democratization and
79 – 80; dismantling of the state 86;
economic focus of 81 – 82; elites
and 108; illegitimacy of leaders and
81; impunity and 87, 89 – 91; law
enforcement agents and 88; Left
and 85; media and 80, 82 – 83, 93;
neoliberalism and 78 – 82, 88, 93;
private sphere protection from 79;
punitive state-model and 83, 91 – 92;
role of the state in criminal justice
79; state excesses and 81; state
inefficiency and 87 – 91; udenistas and
80; ultra-right discourse and 78 – 81,
83 – 84
antipetismo 151, 158
anti-urban neodevelopmentalist plan 153
antivaxxer movement 228, 237, 240
Arantes, Paulo 2
Araujó, Ernesto 21, 54, 86, 234
Argaña, Luis María 68
Argentina 47 – 48, 63, 73
Index 277
Aristide, Jean-Bertrand 6, 63
Artaud, Antonin 254
Assemblies of God (AD) 211
austerity policies: de-democratization
and 37; economic crisis and 115;
impact on social rights 159 – 160;
neoliberalism and 52, 97, 124, 159,
202; Rousseff impeachment and 110;
Temer and 52, 115, 124; ultra-right
politics and 11, 97, 110
Authentic Radical Liberal Party (PLRA)
67 – 68
authoritarianism: anti-communist
81; anti-corruption discourse 81;
attacks on universities and 231;
capitalism and 5; coups and 62;
fake news and 240; Indigenous
people and 196, 198; media and 71;
military dictatorship and 26, 204;
National Truth Commission and
200; neoconservatism and 115, 160;
neoliberalism and 93, 126 – 127;
pathologizing of “the other” 263 – 264;
police agents and 3, 146; postdepressive 124 – 126; renewed fascism
and 22, 24
Avelar, Lucia 184
bacharéis 80, 93n3
Bachelet, Michelle 47
Balibar, Etienne 43
Bannon, Steve 86, 226
Barbosa, Ruy 80, 139
Barroso, Luís Roberto 91
Basaglia, Franco 257 – 261
Bauru Letter 262
BBB Caucus 212
Beisiegel, Celso 141
beliefs: alternative theories and
234 – 235; biases and 233 – 234;
collateral to assessing truth 230 – 231;
conflict in 231; coordination values
and 230 – 233, 242 – 243; cultural/
political views (Distribution) and
233 – 234, 237, 240; epistemic
normativity and 228 – 229, 231 – 233,
237 – 238; identitary value of 229 – 231,
235 – 236; motivated irrationality and
233; propaganda and 237; science
denialism and 231 – 236, 240
Belo Monte hydroelectric power
plant 200
Benoist, Alain de 136
Beran, Dale 241
Bestializados, Os (Carvalho) 138
Bianchi, Bernardo 10
bias 232 – 234
Biroli, Flavia 169, 170
Black Brazilians: affirmative action
and 30; de-democratization and 34;
democratization and 27; as domestic
workers 31, 106; educational
inequality and 29 – 31, 48; feminist
mobilization and 34, 37; forced
psychiatric care and 252 – 253; labor
policy and 30; official categories 38n4;
political activism and 30; public sector
employment quotas and 31 – 32; risk of
violence to 156; social networks and
37; threats to affirmative action 36
Black movement 27, 29 – 32, 34
Black women 31, 34, 37, 106
Blofield, Merike 48
Bobbio, Norberto 41 – 42
Bolivarian Alliance for the Peoples of
Our America 65
Bolivia 6, 48, 63
Bolsa Família 151
Bolsonarism 86, 110
Bolsonaro, Hélio 35
Bolsonaro, Jair: anti-democratic
discourse and 203; anti-LGBT rights
and 53, 213, 216; anti-system voting
and 174 – 175; authoritarianism and
126 – 127; challenge to Freire’s status
133; conservative agenda of 53;
constitutional reform and 3 – 4, 181;
critique of cultural modernity 85;
delegitimization of racial equality
and 33, 37; desire for new-old
order 7; disdain for gender equality
180 – 182; economic neoliberalism
and 4, 85; evangelical support and
24, 53, 167, 181, 212 – 213, 216 – 220;
fasco-populism of 21; firehosing of
falsehood and 237; hate speech and
166, 168, 180; Indigenous people and
195 – 196, 203; labor reforms and 181;
misogyny and 166, 168, 213; outsider
image of 168, 202; popular support for
6; racism and 33 – 35, 216; rejection of
media establishment 53; support for
military dictatorship 53, 115, 166, 168,
242; Trump and 54, 196; ultra-right
politics and 54, 73; use of social media
to spread lies 21, 226
278
Index
Bolsonaro administration: anti-corruption
discourse and 85, 91; anti-environment
policies 196, 203 – 204; anti-globalist
discourse 86; cuts to GBV budget
182 – 183; de-democratization and
197; on democracy as public order
145; exclusionary psychiatric care
and 263; healthcare cuts 263; military
men in cabinet 204; military power
and 53 – 54; neoliberal restoration
and 24 – 25, 52 – 53, 55, 86, 108, 110,
126 – 127; Operation Car Wash and 92;
punitive state-model and 83, 91 – 92;
social crisis and 97 – 98, 110; ultraright women in 181 – 183; withdrawal
of quilombola rights 33 – 35
Bolsonaro campaign: fake news and
240 – 241; hate speech and 33,
180; misogyny and 180; moral
conservatism and 126, 213; neoliberal
economic program and 126; outsider
image in 168; racism and 33, 216; use
of social media to spread lies 12, 53
Bonifácio, José 139
Bonnafé, Lucien 260
Bottomore, Thomas 42
Bourdieu, Pierre 144
Brasil 200 137
Brazil: 2008 financial crisis 152;
affirmative action and 28 – 31;
crony capitalism in 91; culture
wars in 85 – 86; de-democratization
in 48; democratization in 2, 48;
environmental destruction and
195 – 197; housing deficit in 153;
illiteracy in 138 – 143; industrialization
in 102 – 103; inequality in 48, 88,
98 – 111, 111n4, 160, 242 – 243;
neoconservatism and 4; neoliberal
restoration in 4, 52, 97; political
citizenship in 138 – 140; post-crisis
neoliberalism and 271; regional
leadership and 49 – 50; role of media in
71; social crisis in 97 – 102, 110 – 111,
116 – 118; social diversity in 195;
social progress in 118 – 119; suffrage in
138 – 139
Brazilian crisis 2, 4
Brazilian Democratic Movement Party
(PMDB) 157
Brazilian Feminist Union (UFB) 254
Brazilian Football Confederation
(CBF) 79
Brazilian politics: 21st-century coups
64 – 68, 71 – 72; constitutional reform
and 3 – 4, 26, 181; de-democratization
and 1, 3, 5; democratization process in
2; fascism and 4, 7; neoconservatism
and 6; political trials in 68; rightwing economic policies and 3; ultraright and 4, 6, 61; women’s political
representation and 166 – 170, 172 – 178,
180 – 181, 183 – 184
Brazilian Psychiatric Reform 250, 255,
258, 260 – 262
Brazilian Psychoanalysis Society 251
Brazilian Republican Party (PRB) 211
Brazilian Social Democracy Party
(PSDB): 2014 election and 1, 157;
democratic stability and 27; economic
policy and 81 – 82; as establishment
party 108; founding of 27; loss
of credibility 33; return to
rodoviarismo 161
Brexit referendum 226
BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China,
and South Africa) inter-governmental
forum 50
Brown, Wendy 4, 6, 13n9
Bruner, Justin P. 229
Bueno, Arthur 10
Burity, Joanildo 220
Calcott, Brett 231
Calheiros, Renan 52
Campos, Roberto 81
Cannon, Barry 9, 47
capitalism: benefits of impeachment
109; cheap labor and 103 – 104;
democracy and 5 – 6; dependence on
inequality and 102 – 104; domination
and 269; globalization and 111; hybrid
system 103; opposition to wealth
redistribution 104, 109; peripheral
103; social rigidity and 102
capitalist shock 82, 91
Caraspintadas (Painted Faces) 82
Cardoso, Fernando Henrique 27, 29, 82,
134, 199
Carneiro da Cunha, Manuela 195, 205
Cartes, Horacio 72 – 73
Carvalho, Flavio de 251
Carvalho, José Murilo de 138, 142
Carvalho, Olavo de 4, 10, 85 – 86,
137, 145
Casa da Saúde Anchieta 261 – 262
Index 279
Cassam, Quassim 237
Castel, Robert 258
Castelo Branco, Humberto 141
Castro, Eduardo Viveiros de 196, 205
Catholic Church 27, 45, 49, 161, 198
CELAC (Community of Latin American
and Caribbean States) 50
Center for Popular Culture (CPC) 144
Centri di Salute Mental (CSM) 259
César, Osório 251
Chagas, Carlos 253
Chaloub, Jorge 9
Chávez Frías, Hugo 47, 63
Chile 46 – 47, 73
Chomsky, Noam 236
Christian Republican Party (PRC) 211
Christian Social Party (PSC) 211
citizenship: Brazilian suffrage and
138 – 139; democracy and 6;
literary census and 139 – 140,
146; neoconservative/neoliberal
undermining of 6; political 138 – 140
civil liberties 19
civil society 26 – 28
cognitive bias 232, 234
Collor de Mello, Fernando 3, 32, 68,
82, 210
Colombia 46 – 47, 73
Colonial Hospital of Barbacena 257 – 258
Colosso, Paolo 11, 32
commissary dictatorship 62 – 63
communism: anti-corruption discourse
and 81; evangelicals and 218;
Integralists and 253; military
dictatorship arguments on 64;
portrayal of Lula as 211; portrayal
of PSDB as 85; religious media and
213; right-wing discourse and 24 – 25,
53 – 54, 69, 82, 86, 125, 257
conservatism: evangelicals and 11, 49,
208 – 209, 215, 222; moralism and 4;
neoconservatism and 6; opposition to
affirmative action 34; opposition to
cultural modernity 4 – 6; radicalization
of 6; social rigidity and 105; see also
neoconservatism; Right; ultra-right
politics
Considérations politiques sur les coups
d’État (Naudé) 62
Constantino, Rodrigo 86
constitutionalism 84
constitutional law 20 – 21, 23 – 24, 62
Constitution of 1824 140
Constitution of 1891 138 – 140
Constitution of 1988: amendments to 4;
as citizen’s constitution 2; civil society
and 28; criminalization of racism in
28; democracy and 26 – 27; far-right
aim of wrecking 7; human rights
and 3; mental health policy in 262;
progressiveness and 198; reservation
of land to quilombolas in 28, 38n2;
social function of property in 153;
social movements and 27
Conway, Erik 234
Conway, Kellyanne 226, 237
coronavirus 228, 230, 232
Corrales, Javier 48
Correa, Rafael 63
corruption: allegations against the
Workers’ Party (PT) 24, 79; economic
crisis and 65, 92; free market
versus 91; historical discourse
80 – 82; identification of actors to
prevent 87; legislatures and 75n15;
specific perceptions of 79; state
interventionism and 82 – 83, 85; taxes
and 88; tenentism and 80; ultra-right
discourse and 80; see also anticorruption discourse
Costa Rica 47
coups: 21st-century Latin American
61 – 73, 74n2; constitutional 64;
constitutionalism and 62; corruption
narratives 71; defining 62; ideology
of 70 – 71; illegal parliamentary
maneuvers and 67; international
recognition and 63; interruption of
democracy through 62; judiciary and
69 – 71; legislatures and 66 – 69; mass
media and 69 – 71; neo-golpismo
and 5, 64; political instability and
63; political parties and 62, 66 – 69;
presidential removal in 6, 63;
radicalization of democracy and
63 – 64; revolution and 74n3; Right
and 61 – 62, 67, 71 – 72
Coutinho, Ana Guggenheim 11, 34
Couto, Miguel 253
Covas, Bruno 159
Covas, Mário 81
Crivella, Marcelo 211
crony capitalism 91
Cuba 49, 54
Cubas Grau, Raúl 68
cultural modernity 4 – 6, 85
280
Index
culture wars 85 – 86, 136, 202
Cunha, Daniel 108
Cunha, Eduardo 52, 157, 212
Cunha, Magali do Nascimento 11
Dahlerup, Drude 167
Dallagnol, Deltan: anti-corruption
discourse and 88 – 91; anti-tax
campaigns and 88; on crony capitalism
91; Fight Against Corruption, The 88;
on impunity 89 – 91; Operation Car
Wash and 70, 87 – 88, 92, 212; on state
inefficiency 88 – 91
Dardot, Pierre 163
de-democratization: anti-corruption
discourse and 78, 92; austerity
policies and 37; delegitimization of
racial equality 32 – 37; environmental
destruction and 197; equaliberty
and 43; Indigenous people and 197;
neoconservatism and 6; neoliberalism
and 6; obscurantism in 204; process
of 1 – 2, 5; Right and 43 – 44; social
movements and 28; withdrawal of
quilombola rights 33 – 35; withdrawal
of social rights and 36 – 37; women’s
political representation and 166, 168
Degand, Léon 254
Delgado, Paulo 262
Delgado, Pedro 262
deliberation 270 – 271
demarchy 84
democracy: capitalism and 5 – 6;
citizenship and 6; civil society and
26 – 27; equality and 43; expansion
of 1; interruption through coups 62;
liberty and 43; movement to fascism
20 – 25; party pluralism and 26;
radicalization of 63 – 64; right-wing
hatred of 4; social order and 145;
under tutelage 5
democratic establishment 28
Democratic Movement Party (PMDB)
49, 66 – 67
democratization: anti-corruption
discourse and 79 – 80; Black political
activism and 29 – 30; domestic worker
rights and 31; equaliberty and 43;
extension of rights in 26 – 31; Left
and 43 – 44; process of 2, 43; social
movements and 28
depression 116 – 118, 121
depressive individuals 116 – 117, 123
depressive society 118, 120 – 121
descriptive representation 166 – 168,
171, 185
developmentalism 82, 86
“Dia do Fogo” (Fire Day) 195
dictatorships 62 – 63
Diretas Já movement 198
disintermediation 242
domestic workers 31, 38n6, 106
domination: capitalist 269 – 270, 271n6;
dependency 269, 271n6; Freire on 140,
142 – 146; industrialist 269, 271n6;
modern forms of 270; neoliberalism
and 24, 46, 50, 55, 63; patriarchal 269,
271n6; political elites and 67; power
domains and 44, 142, 269; racial
character of 30, 140; structures of
269 – 270
Dória, João 159, 161
Dultra, Eneida Vinhaes 11, 201
Duque, Iván 73
Duterte, Rodrigo 6, 240
Dutra, Olivio 152
economic neoliberalism 4, 46, 89 – 90
economic policy: anti-corruption
discourse and 81, 91; elite power
and 41, 67; free market centrality
and 83, 91; industrialization and
102 – 103; inequality and 102 – 103;
legitimacy and 84; liberalism and 84,
99 – 100; middle class and 106, 119;
neoliberalism and 22, 46, 49, 53, 84;
redistributive 101 – 102, 104 – 105;
slavery and 102; undermining of state
regulations 85
economic power 44, 46, 49 – 50, 53
Ecuador 48, 63, 73
Educafro 36
education: adult literacy and 140 – 141;
affirmative action and 29 – 30, 48;
ESP movement and 135; expansion
of military schools 146; family in
137; Freire and 133 – 135, 142 – 144;
Freirean pedagogy and 134 – 135;
illiteracy and 138 – 140; instruction in
137; literacy projects and 141 – 144;
literary census and 139 – 140; National
Curricular Parameters (PCNs) 134;
politicization of 142 – 143, 146; reform
in 134 – 135; right-wing discourse
and 136 – 137; role of family in 137;
secondary education reform and
Index 281
134 – 135; social injustice and 29;
strategies of domination and 140;
systemic racism and 30; teacher
neutrality and 137; teaching AfroBrazilian/Indigenous history and
culture 31, 134
Ehrenberg, Alain 117
elections 71 – 73
#EleNão movement 166, 180
elites: anti-corruption discourse 108;
celebration of efficiency 89, 91;
dominance and 42, 50; ideological
colonization of emerging parties
51; neoliberalism and 42, 44 – 45,
108, 119; opposition to wealth
redistribution 104 – 107; “pink
tide” government threat to 45, 55;
social power and 44 – 45; structural
rigidity and 102; threat of left-wing
governments 45; as true citizens 107
entrepreneur of the self 117 – 119,
121, 123
environment: anti-environment
policies of Bolsonaro 196, 203 – 204;
de-democratization and 197;
destruction by fire 194 – 195, 202, 204;
devastation of 204 – 205; hydroelectric
plant construction and 200; Indigenous
people and 195, 199 – 200, 205 – 206
epistemic normativity 228 – 229
equaliberty 43
equality 43; see also inequality
Erdoğan, Recep Tayyip 231
Erundina, Luiza 133 – 134
ESP movement see Nonpartisan School
Movement (ESP)
Estado Novo 253
Europe 73, 216
Evangelical Caucus in National Congress
208, 210, 213, 220
Evangelical Parliamentary Front
(EPF) 208
evangelicals: alliances with military
dictatorship 209; conservatism and
11, 49, 208 – 209, 212 – 213, 215,
222; defense of traditional family
214, 218 – 219; gospel culture and
215, 219 – 220; growth in 208 – 209;
identification of 209 – 210; institutional
politics and 208, 211 – 212, 219 – 220;
media and 208, 211, 213, 216,
220 – 222; neoconservatism and
208 – 209, 215; political activism
and 208, 210 – 212, 219 – 222;
progressive activism 221; racism and
214; reactionary neoliberalism and
45; religious fundamentalism and
214 – 216, 218, 222; sexual morality
and 218 – 219; social media use by
220 – 221; support for Bolsonaro 24,
53, 167, 181, 212 – 213, 216 – 220;
warrior theology and 214, 218;
Workers’ Party (PT) and 210
Everaldo, Pastor 211 – 213
Fairfield, Tasha 44
fake news: asymmetry in knowledge and
229; cognitive traits favoring 237, 240;
coordination values and 227; defining
236; fast spread of 235; firehosing
of falsehood and 237; governments
and 237; Internet and 227, 239,
241; mimicking of traditional media
236 – 237; motivated irrationality and
235; post-denialism and 240; rightwing use of 227, 240 – 241, 243; social
factors and 237; social media and
240 – 241; WhatsApp and 239 – 240
fascism: constitutional process
and 19, 21, 23 – 24; fear and 25;
movement from democracy to
20 – 25; neoliberalism and 22 – 25;
reactionary 22
Faye, Guillaume 136
Federation of Industries of the State of
São Paulo (FIESP) 33, 78 – 79
Feitosa, Fernanda 185
Feliciano, Marco 211, 218 – 219
Fernandes, Calazans 141
Fernandes, Florestan 146
Fight Against Corruption, The
(Dallagnol) 88
Filho, José Consenso 257
Firmino, Hiram 258
First Brazilian Congress of
Psychoanalysis, Groups and
Institutions 258
Fischer, Karen 42
Fischman, Gustavo 133
Fonseca Alexandre Brasil 217
Fontenelle, José Paranhos 252
Foucault, Michel 13n9, 90, 145, 251
Franco, Federico 65, 68, 72
Franco, José 258
Franco, Marielle 1, 115
Fraser, Nancy 45
282
Index
Free Brazil Movement (MBL) 71, 124
Free Fare Movement (MPL) 122
free trade agreements (FTA) 46, 50
Freire, Paulo: critique and 143, 145;
dialogical pedagogy 144; education
and politics 140; imprisonment and
exile of 141; international acclaim
for 133; legacy of 142 – 146; literacy
projects and 141 – 144; marginality
in educational policy 134 – 135; as
neoconservative adversary 10, 137,
145; on oppression 142 – 143, 146;
as patron of Brazilian education
133 – 134; Pedagogy of the Heart
144; political stance of 142 – 143;
politicization of 135; on social
relations and power 145; ultra-right
critique of 137, 142, 146
Freud, Sigmund 116, 251, 254
Friedman, Milton 53
Friedmann, Gustavo Codas 48, 49, 50
Fujimori, Alberto 63
Fundação Nacional do Índio (FUNAI)
197, 201, 204
Furtado, Celso 141
Galeotti, Anna Elisabetta 235
Galvão, Ricardo 204
Gelfert, Axel 236
gender-based violence (GBV) 48,
182 – 183, 189n46
gender equality: Bolsonaro disdain for
180 – 182; government investment
in 170; influence of ultra-right
women on 185 – 186; setbacks under
conservatives 34, 168, 185
gender ideology 5
geo-psychiatry 260
Gerais, Minas 262
Gignac, Gilles E. 233
Gil, Gilberto 33
Giroux, Henry A. 143
Giuliani, Rudy 226, 237
globalization 23
Godfrey, Stephen 230
Goffmann, Erving 258
Goldstein, Ariel 71
Gonzaga, Otávio 252
Goulart, João 100, 140 – 141
Gove, Michael 226
Gramsci, Antonio 136 – 137
Grassroots Education Movement
(MEB) 140
Greco, Francesco 21
Grugel, Jean 45
Guatemala 73
Guattari, Félix 258, 260 – 261
Gudin, Eugenio 81
Guedes, Paulo: on democracy as public
order 145; fasco-populism and 21;
neoliberalism and 7, 53, 85 – 86;
O Globo column 86; privatization
agenda of 91, 110; tax cuts for the
rich and 53; ultraliberal policies of
83, 93n6
Guimarães, Antonio Sérgio 29
Guimarães, Ulysses 2
Gutiérrez, Lucio 63
Habermas, Jürgen 4 – 5
Haddad, Fernando 157, 161 – 162, 217
Haiti 6, 61, 63
Hang, Luciano 137
Harari, Yuval 230
hate speech 4, 33, 166, 168, 180, 242
Hayek, Friedrich 84
Heringer, Rosana 48
Hernández, Orlando 72
heuristics 232, 234
Hilton, George 211
Holanda, Sérgio Buarque de 138
Holguín, Jimena 167
homeless movements 156
Honduras: 21st-century coups 63 – 64,
66 – 67, 69, 71 – 72; call for elections
71 – 72; judiciary involvement in coup
69; neo-golpismo in 67; presidential
removal in 6, 64 – 65; seizure of power
by the Right 61
housing movements 156
Htun, Mala 166, 171
Humala, Ollanta 47
human culture 229, 243
human rights: abuses against Indigenous
people 34, 36, 200, 205; authoritarian
abuses of 26; Brazilian consensus
over 3; budget reductions for 170;
evangelical fundamentalism and
215; military dictatorship and 49;
psychiatric care and 250, 258, 263;
ultra-right discourse and 69, 85 – 86,
209, 215
Human Rights Watch 183
Hungary 136
Hunter, James Davison 136
Husserl, Edmund 259
Index 283
Ianni, Octavio 93n4
Identity-Protective Cognition 230
ideological power 44, 46, 48 – 50, 53
illiteracy: in Brazil 138 – 143; exclusion
from voting 138 – 140; Freire and
142 – 143; literacy projects and
141 – 142; neutralizing population
through 139; oppression and 142 – 143;
reduction in 140
impeachment 1, 3, 52, 84; see also
Rousseff impeachment
impunity 87, 89 – 91
Indigenous Advocacy Centre (CTI) 198
Indigenous Missionary Council
(CIMI) 198
Indigenous people: affirmative action
and 29; Amazon burnings and
194 – 195; civilizing missions and
198; de-democratization and 11,
197; demarcation of lands 199 – 201;
emancipation and 196 – 197, 203;
environmental destruction and
195 – 196, 205 – 206; genocide of
205 – 206; human rights abuses against
34, 36, 200, 205; hydroelectric plant
construction and 200; impact of 2016
coup on 201; labor policy and 30;
military assimilation discourse and
197 – 198, 203; political participation
and 198; political violence against 36;
as target of Bolsonaro 203; teaching
about history and culture 31; threats to
affirmative action 36; violence against
198, 200
individualism 117, 120
industrialization 102 – 103
inequality: austerity policies and
160; Brazilian society and 98 – 99;
capitalist economy and 102 – 103;
democratization and 44; extreme
poverty and 160; impact of anticorruption discourse and 88; labor
policy and 102 – 103, 106 – 107; in
Left/Right differentiation 41 – 43;
middle class advantages of 106 – 108;
neoliberalism and 43, 47; polarization
and 242; resistance to inclusion 105,
109; social crisis and 110; taxation of
the rich 111n4
inherent vices thesis 2, 4
institutional trust 238
Instituto Liberal 6
Instituto Millenium 6, 137
Instituto Mises Brasil 137
Integralists 253
Intercept, The (website) 239
Internet: conspiracy theorists and 234,
239; disintermediation and 242; fake
news and 227, 237, 241 – 243; far-right
manipulation of 240 – 241, 243; lack
of filtering on 241; organization of
protests and 32; unstructured news
ecosystem and 239, 243; see also
social media
Italy 22, 261
Janot, Rodrigo 91
Johnson, Ollie A., III 48
Journeys of June (Jornadas de Junho):
collectivity in 124 – 125; far-right
movements and 123 – 125; left-wing
movements and 115; political shift and
32, 114, 123
judiciary: legitimacy of coups and
62, 69 – 71, 73; mass media and 33,
69 – 70; Right and 62; ultra-right and
87; use of crisis narratives 71
Jung, Carl Gustav 254
Juruna, Mário 198
Kahan, Dan 230, 233
Kahneman, Dan 232
Kahn-Harris, Keith 235, 240, 241 – 242
Kataguri, Kim 86
Kehl, Renato 252 – 253
Kennedy, John F. 141
Kirchner, Cristina 48
Kirchner, Néstor Carlos 48
knowledge: “alternative facts” and 226;
asymmetrical distribution of 229,
243; cognitive bias and 232, 234;
coordination values and 230 – 232,
239 – 240; denialisms and 234, 240;
disintermediation and 242; epistemic
trust and 226 – 229, 237 – 239, 243;
fake news and 227, 241 – 242; posttruth phenomenon and 226; science
denialism and 227, 231 – 235, 240;
social distribution of 226 – 229, 243
Kubitschek, Juscelino 100, 253
Kuczynski, Pedro 73
La Borde Clinic 260
labor policy: cheap labor and 103 – 104,
106 – 107; inequality and 102 – 103;
neoliberalism and 159; racial equality
284
Index
and 30; reduction of costs 104, 109;
slavery and 99, 102
Lacerda, Carlos 80 – 81
Lahno, Bernd 238
Landless Workers’ Movement (MST)
268 – 269
Latin America: 21st-century coups
61 – 73; 21st-century socialism
and 268; autonomy and 49 – 50;
democratization and 44; economic
neoliberalism and 46; free trade
agreements (FTA) 46, 50; ideological
regimes 46; Left/Right differentiation
41 – 44; military power and 44,
46; neoliberalism and 41, 44 – 47,
61; political regimes 46; populist/
progressive governments in 66; Right
in 61; right-wing policy and 41; social
change and 64; transnational power
46 – 47
Lava Jato (Car Wash) see Operation Car
Wash
Laval, Christian 163
League for Mental Hygiene 253
League of Poor Peasants (Liga dos
Camponeses Pobres) 269
Left: anti-corruption discourse and
85; democratization and 43 – 44, 55;
depressive society and 126; opposition
to neoliberalism 43; protests in 2013
50 – 51; radicalization of 241; ultraright discourse about 85
Left/Right differentiation:
democratization/de-democratization
and 43 – 44, 55; economic perspective
42; elite power and 44 – 45; inequality
in 41 – 44; neoliberalism and 44 – 47;
political perspective 42; social class
and 42; social power in 41, 43 – 44, 50,
54 – 55; sociological perspective 42
legislatures: corruption of 75n15; coups
and 66 – 69; impeachment proceedings
and 75n15; legitimacy of coups and
62; Right and 62, 73
León, Magdalena 167
Lévi-Strauss, Claude 204
Levitsky, Steven 5
Lewandowsky, Stephan 233, 242
LGBTQI+ rights 48, 53, 170, 183,
210 – 211
LGBTQI movement 2, 5, 10, 125,
211, 213
liberalism 84, 99 – 100
Liberal Party (Honduras) 65, 67, 72
Liberal Party (Paraguay) 65
liberty 43
Lima, Pedro Luiz 9
Lima, Rômulo 9, 135
Lima, Venício 220
literacy projects 141 – 144
Lobato, Monteiro 253
Lobo Sosa, Porfirio 72
Löwy, Michel 5, 216
Lugo, Fernando: corruption allegations
and 52; coups against 6, 63 – 66,
68 – 70; express trial and 68 – 69;
massacre of Curuguaty and 66; media
discourse and 71; political power
and 65
Lula: anti-corruption discourse and
78 – 79; arrest and imprisonment of 1,
55, 70, 72, 75n16, 115, 180; economic
growth and 118, 152; economic
policy and 106; evangelical support
and 210 – 211; governance style 199;
legal impediments to candidacy
2; public investments 154; racial
equality policies and 30 – 31; social
achievements of 123; Workers’ Party
(PT) and 48
Macedo, Edir 53
Macri, Mauricio 73
Mahuad, Jamil 63
Malafaia, Silas 212 – 213, 215 – 216
Malta, Magno 133
Mann, Michael 41, 43 – 44, 52
Mantega, Guido 82
Mao Tse-Tung 237
Maricato, Ermínia 11, 32
Martínez, Rafael 62, 74n2
Marxism 93n4, 270
mass media: anti-corruption discourse
and 80, 82 – 83, 93; on authoritarianism
71; Bolsonaro rejection of mainstream
53; coup ideology and 71; crisis
narratives and 70 – 71; debunking 236,
239; delegitimization strategies and
Rousseff 168 – 169; democratization
and 222; disintermediation and 242;
evangelicals and 208, 211, 213, 216,
220 – 222; fake news and 236 – 237,
239; Internet and 227, 239; judiciary
use of 33, 69 – 71; legitimacy of
coups and 69 – 71, 73; LGBTI+ rights
coverage and 211; neoliberal discourse
Index 285
and 87; Operation Car Wash and
92; radical intellectuals and 86 – 87;
right-wing agenda in 50 – 51, 236;
Rousseff coup and 92; sexual morality
agenda and 213; support for economic
liberalism 84; ultra-right discourse and
84, 86 – 87
Mavignier, Almir 254
McCoy, David 11, 201
media see mass media
Mendonça, André Luiz 219
Mensalão scandal 70
mental health: art therapy and 251,
254 – 255; dismantling of public
structures 250; eugenics project and
252 – 253; exclusionary psychiatric
care and 251 – 252, 263; extra-hospital
forms of care 259 – 260; focus on
prevention 253; geo-psychiatry and
260; groups and associations 261;
Integralists and 253; progressive
practices and 251; race/ethnicity and
252 – 254; reform movement and
258 – 259; social acceptance of 250;
see also psychiatric system
Mental Health Workers Movement
(MTSM) 258, 261
Mercier, Hugo 236, 237, 238
Mercosur 50, 68
Mesa, Carlos 63
metapolitics 136
Mexico 46
Micheletti, Robert 67, 71
middle class: advantages of inequality
106 – 107; anti-corruption discourse
and 71, 78, 80, 108, 112n10; defining
112n9; depressive individuals and
119; employment of domestic workers
31, 106; expansion of 119; higher
education and 29; opposition towards
social inclusion 105; opposition
to wealth redistribution 107 – 108;
political conservatism and 105 – 106;
protests and 51; PSDB and 27;
redistribution of political power threat
104; as true citizens 107
Miguel, Luis Felipe 185
Miguel, Marlon 12
military dictatorship: 2013 protest
marches and 125; accountability and
199; amnesty for 49; assimilation
of Indigenous people 197, 203;
authoritarianism and 26; Bolsonaro
defense of 53, 115, 166, 168, 242;
communist-as-enemy discourse 257;
evangelical alliances with 209; exile
of Freire and 133; inequality in 100;
police and 146; psychiatric system and
250, 255 – 256, 258; racial democracy
and 26; Rousseff resistance against
166
military power 44, 46, 49, 53 – 54
Minha Casa, Minha Vida (PMCMV) 154
Ministry of Human Rights/National
Secretariat for Policies on the
Promotion of Racial Equality (MDH/
SEPPIR) 35
Ministry of Women, Family and Human
Rights (MMFDH) 53, 181, 219
minorities 1, 4 – 5; see also Black
Brazilians
Monteleone, Pedro 252
Month of Black Consciousness 35
moral diversity 242
Morales, Evo 6, 63
Morales, Jimmy 73
moralism 4
Moreira, Armindo 137
Moreira, Juliano 253
Moreno, Lenin 73
Morgenthaler, Walter 251
Moro, Sérgio: anti-corruption discourse
91; Bolsonaro administration and
20–21, 75n16, 85, 91 – 92, 93n1, 115;
Operation Car Wash and 70, 93n9;
Silva trial and 75n16, 93n9
Mourão, Hamilton 145
Mudde, Cas 5
Museum of Images of the Unconscious 254
Museu Nacional (National Museum)
161, 195, 197, 202
Nagib, Miguel 135, 137
Nagle, Angela 241
National Association of Public
Transport (ANTP) 155
National Brazilian Bishops Conference
(CNBB) 140
National Civic-Military Schools Program
146
National Common Base Curriculum
(BNCC) 135
National Confederation of Brazilian
Bishops (CNBB) 198
National Council for Policies on Racial
Equality (CNPIR) 35 – 36
286
Index
National Curricular Parameters
(PCNs) 134
National Democratic Union (UDN) 80
National Department of Mental Health
(Dinsam) 254
National Institute for Space Research
(INPE) 204
National Party (Honduras) 67, 72
National Program of Primary Care
(PNAB) 263
National Republican Association –
Colorado Party 65 – 68, 72
National Service of Mental Disorders
(SNDM) 253
National Student Union (UNE) 141
National Truth Commission
(CNV) 49, 200
Naudé, Gabriel 62
Negri, Antonio 5, 8
neoconservatism: attacks on gender
ideology 5; Brazilian government
and 4; conservative tradition and
6; defining 13n9; evangelicals
and 208 – 209, 215; ideology
and 115; neoliberalism and 5 – 6,
111; parliaments and 10; refusal
of citizenship idea 6; right-wing
discourse and 6, 115
neoconservative discourse 1, 4 – 5; see
also ultra-right discourse
neodevelopmentalism 152 – 153
neo-golpismo 5, 64, 67, 70, 73 – 74
neoliberalism: anti-corruption discourse
and 78 – 82, 88, 93; austerity
policies and 52, 97, 124, 159, 202;
authoritarianism and 126 – 127;
Brazilian government and 4; collective
power of 47; economic 4, 46, 53,
89 – 90; elite power and 44 – 45, 108,
119; entrepreneur of the self 117;
fascism and 22 – 25; hyper-reactionary
53; inequality and 43, 47; modernization
of the economy 159; neoconservatism
and 5 – 6, 111; “pink tide” government
threat to 47 – 48; post-crisis 271; postdepressive 126; progressive 3, 45;
reactionary 45; refusal of citizenship
idea 6; rhetorical strategies 89 – 90;
right-oriented state/society complexes
41, 46 – 47; right-wing policy and
41, 43, 71, 108; social conservatism
and 159; social power and 47, 55;
socioeconomic inequality and 43
Neves, Aécio 51 – 52, 114
New Republic: anti-corruption discourse
and 79, 81; barriers to social inclusion
119; cronyism and 158; demarcation of
Indigenous lands 199; democratization
and 79, 135; implementation of 2;
progressive neoliberalism and 3; rightwing discourse and 115; right-wing
hatred of 7; see also Constitution
of 1988
Nicaragua 48, 54
Nikolajczuk, María 71
Nogueira, Ronaldo 211
Nonpartisan School Movement (ESP)
135 – 137, 146
Oberaue, Klaus 233
O’Connor, Cailin 229
Oliveira, Francisco de 102, 106
Omena de Melo, Erick 32
Operation Car Wash: Bolsonaro
administration and 20, 92; corruption
allegations and 52, 70, 79, 114 – 115,
158; Cunha and 212; Dallagnol and
87 – 88; media and 92; subversion of
procedural law 93n1; ultra-right and
judiciary in 87
Orbán, Viktor 6, 231
Oreskes, Naomi 234 – 235
Organization of American States (OAS)
63, 72
Oury, Jean 260 – 261
Pacific Alliance (PA) 46 – 47, 54
Palatnik, Abraham 254
Palmares Cultural Foundation 35
Panama 47
Paraguay: 21st-century coups 64, 67 – 69,
72; agrarian policy in 72; authoritarian
politics in 65; impeachment in 68;
judiciary involvement in coup 70;
massacre of Curuguaty and 66; political
crisis and 72; political trials in 67 – 68;
presidential removal in 6, 52, 63 – 65;
seizure of power by the Right 61, 73
parliaments: illegal maneuvers in 1, 3,
33, 52, 67, 69, 201; neoconservatism
and 10; racial inequalities in 32;
right-wing opposition in 61, 66;
underrepresented groups in 26, 30
Partido da Social-Democracia Brasileira
(PSDB) see Brazilian Social
Democracy Party (PSDB)
Index 287
Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT) see
Workers’ Party (PT)
party pluralism 26
Patriotic Alliance for Change (APC)
65, 74n7
Pedagogy of the Heart (Freire) 144
Pedrosa, Mário 254
Pelaes, Fátima 170
Pereira, Marcos 211
Pérez Liñán, Aníbal 63
Perini-Santos, Ernesto 12
peripheral capitalism 103
Peru 46 – 47, 63
Petrobras 52, 70, 212
Petrocaribe 65
Pickett, Kate 242
Pinel, Philippe 251 – 252, 261
Piñera, Sebastian 73
“pink tide” governments 41, 45,
47 – 48, 55
Pinochet, Augusto 81
Pinto, Álvaro Vieira 142
police 3, 36, 50
political instability 63
political jurists 80, 87 – 88, 92
political movements 80, 120 – 121,
125 – 126
political parties: coups and 62, 66 – 69;
dominance of white men in 30;
neoliberalism and 47, 61; Right and
73; social movements and 27 – 28
political power 44, 46, 49, 104, 142
political violence 36
Pondé, Luiz Felipe 85
Popular Center for Culture (CPC) 141
populism 81, 93, 93n4, 101
populist/progressive governments 66,
70 – 74
Portinari, Natália 137
post-denialism 240, 242
post-depressive constellation 118 – 121
post-neoliberalism 45
post-truth: de-democratization and
227; internal conflict and 226, 243;
lack of trust in institutions 229;
science denialism and 227 – 228;
social distribution of knowledge and
226 – 229; Trump and 226; use of
social media to spread lies 226
Powell, Colin 237
Prado, Caio, Jr. 102
progressive neoliberalism 3, 45
Progressive Party (PP) 213
propaganda 237
PSDB see Brazilian Social Democracy
Party (PSDB)
Psychiatric Reform bill 262
psychiatric system: de-democratization
and 250 – 251; deinstitutionalization
and 260 – 262, 264n9; democratization
and 250; dismantling of asylums
262 – 263; dismantling of reforms
263; dominant powers and 259 – 260;
eugenics project and 252 – 253, 264n4;
expansion of 253; extra-hospital forms
of care 261; forced hospitalization and
250, 252, 256 – 258; geo-psychiatry
and 260; hospital-centric model
in 258 – 260, 264; isolation and
exclusion in 251 – 252, 257 – 258;
“madness industry” and 256, 258, 261;
military dictatorship years 255 – 258;
pathologizing of “the other” 251 – 253,
257, 263 – 264, 264n3; prevention
of social disorder and 252 – 253,
256 – 257; privatization of 256; race/
ethnicity and 252 – 253, 256 – 257;
reform movement and 258 – 263;
Silveira and 250, 254 – 255, 258;
transversality and 260 – 261; see also
mental health
Psychosocial Community Centers
(CAPS) 262 – 263, 265n10
public sphere: defining 147n10;
discrediting in ultra-right discourse
and 85; Hayekian ideas in 84;
political citizenship and 138; public
order and 139 – 140; racial equality
and 30
public transportation 50 – 51, 106, 114,
122, 150, 155
Putin, Vladimir 237, 240
Putnam, Hilary 228
Puty, Claudio A. Castelo Branco 48,
49, 50
Quadros, Jânio 81 – 82, 255, 258
quilombolas: defining 13n6, 38n2;
political violence against 36; racism
and 33; reservation of land to 28; social
movements and 2; withdrawal of rights
33 – 34; see also Afro-Brazilians
racial democracy 26, 37
racial equality: affirmative action and
28 – 30; de-democratization and
288
Index
32 – 36; higher education and 29 – 30;
institutionalization of 28 – 32, 36;
labor policy and 30; parliamentary
politics and 32; public sector
employment quotas and 31 – 32;
public sphere and 30 – 31; teaching
Afro-Brazilian/Indigenous history
and culture 31; Workers’ Party (PT)
and 48
Racial Equality Council 35
racism 28, 33 – 35, 216
Ramos, Luiz Eduardo 219
Rancière, Jacques 4, 142, 144
Rangel, Patricia 11, 201
Ratton, Helvécio 258
reactionary neoliberalism 45
Reagan, Ronald 81
real estate boom 153 – 156
Reis, Elisa P. 48
religious fundamentalism 214 – 216,
223n1
Retirement Reform (Reforma da
Previdência) 171 – 172
Ribeiro, Darcy 146
Riggirozzi, Pia 45
Right: affective communion and 125;
co-option of protest marches 51 – 52;
counter-offensives of 55, 73; coups
and 61 – 62, 67, 71; de-democratization
and 43 – 44, 55; dismantling of urban
social policies 158 – 159; electoral
strategies and 71 – 73; elite power
and 42, 50, 55; institutionalization of
the bourgeoisie 73; judiciary and 62;
legislatures and 62, 73; nation-underthreat narrative 73; neoliberalism
and 41, 43, 47, 55, 71; “pink tide”
government threat to 41, 55; political
parties and 73; radicalization of
241; structural power and 50; see
also conservatism; Left/Right
differentiation; neoconservatism; ultraright politics
right-wing discourse: accusations of
left-wing educational indoctrination
136 – 137; elimination of leftist ideas 4,
7; fake news and 227, 240 – 241, 243;
hate speech and 4; labor reform and
159; moralism and 4; neoconservatism
and 6, 115; neoliberalism and 6; new
conservatism and 4; pathological
abnormality and 251; see also ultraright discourse
Rios, Flavia 8
Robin, Corey 43
Rocha, Flavio 137
Rocha, Franco da 252
Rodrigues, Raimundo Nina 252
Rodríguez, José Carlos 68
Rodriguez, Ricardo Velez 53
Roquette-Pinto, Edgar 253
Rosanvallon, Pierre 139
Rotelli, Franco 259
Rousseff, Dilma: 2014 election win 1,
51, 114, 124, 157; attention to police
massacres by 3; corruption allegations
52, 83, 158; coups against 63 – 66, 84;
democratic stability and 27, 31 – 32;
economic crisis and 65 – 66; media
depictions of 168 – 169; National Truth
Commission and 49, 200;
public service of 166; sexism and
168 – 169, 172; symbolic violence
against 169
Rousseff administration:
developmentalism and 65, 86, 157;
economic crisis and 65, 104; economic
growth and 118 – 119; economic
policy and 106; evangelicals and
211, 219; right-wing undermining
of 51 – 52, 55, 168 – 169; social
achievements of 123
Rousseff impeachment: austerity plans
and 110; collective paranoia and
158, 164n17; collectivity in 125;
corruption allegations and 52, 66,
78, 108, 114; de-democratization
and 2, 48, 55; democratic crisis and
124; illegal parliamentary maneuvers
and 1, 3, 52, 69, 201; neoliberal
restoration and 41, 109; political
instability and 33; protests and 32,
97; reduction of labor costs and 104,
109; urban social movements and
161 – 162
Rúa, Fernando de la 63
Runciman, David 5
Safatle, Vladmir 2
Salas Oroño, Amilcar 71
Salgado, Plínio 253
Salles, Ricardo 161, 203 – 204
Salvini, Matteo 6
Sambaqui, Júlio 141
Sánchez de Lozada, Gonzalo 63
Santos, Wanderley Guilherme dos 5
Index 289
Saraiva Law 138, 146
Schmitt, Carl 19, 62
science denialism 227, 231 – 235, 240
Scott, James C. 138
Secretariat for Policies to Promote Racial
Equality (SEPPIR) 30
Secretary for Women’s Policies
(SPM) 169
Senra, Alvaro 169
Serpa, Ivan 254
Severance Premium Reserve Fund
(FGTS) 31
sexual and reproductive rights
170 – 171, 182
sexual equality 48
Sharp, Gene 70
Sieyès, Emmanuel-Joseph de 138
Silva, Luiz Inácio Lula da see Lula
Silva, Marina 51, 169, 199, 211
Silveira, Nise da 250, 254 – 255, 258
Singer, André 102, 103, 157
Skocpol, Theda 74n3
social ascension 119
social class 42, 116, 119, 252; see also
elites; middle class; working class
social conservatism 159
social crisis: authoritarian politics
and 103; current stage of 97 – 98;
depression and 116 – 118; economic
crisis and 104; elite resistance to
democratic actors 98; international
division of labor and 98; labor
relations and 99 – 100, 102 – 103;
social class conflict and 116;
wealth inequality and 98 – 102,
110 – 111
social disintegration 121, 125, 127
social inclusion: attitudes towards labor
and 99; democratization and 79,
124; economic conditions for 119;
education and 134; elite opposition
to 105, 109, 119, 222; historical lack
of 99, 110; increase in household
consumption 102; populism and
101; psychological rigidity on 105;
structural inequality and 101 – 102;
Vargas and 101
socialism 268
Socialist Party 51
Social Liberal Party (PSL) 35
social media: 2013 protest marches and
51; 2018 election and 180; activism
and 6, 71; anti-corruption discourse
and 83; Bolsonaro and 12, 21, 53,
226; campaign use to spread lies
12, 53, 226; conspiracy theorists
and 239 – 240; coup ideology and
71; evangelicals and 220 – 221; fake
news and 240 – 241; legitimation
through 21; WhatsApp 53, 136,
239 – 240
social movements: coup ideology and
71; de-democratization and 28, 34 – 35;
democratic establishment and 28;
democratization and 28; educational
structures and 29; government
opposition 36; political parties and
27 – 28
social order: democracy and 145;
depressive individuals and 116 – 117;
depressive society and 120 – 121;
diverse narratives for 79; eradication
of ideology 146; politics and 139;
power discourse and 142; rightwing policy and 64, 74; widespread
dissatisfaction with 120 – 121
social power: economic 44, 46, 49 – 50,
55; elites and 42, 44 – 45; ideological
44, 46, 48 – 50, 55; in Left/Right
differentiation 41, 43 – 44; military 44,
46, 49, 55; neoliberalism and 47, 55;
political 44, 46, 49, 55; transnational
44, 46 – 47, 49 – 50, 55
Soler, Lorena 9, 71, 170
Solomon, Andrew 116
Souza, Telma de 261
sovereign dictatorships 63
Spinoza, Benedictus 143, 254
Stalin, Josef 237
Stanley, Jason 237
state: anti-corruption discourse and 79,
85 – 90; assumptions of inefficiency
87 – 91, 108; capitalist shock and
82, 91; criminal justice role of
79; de-democratization and 5, 28;
efficiency of punitive 91; impunity
and 87, 89 – 91; interventionism and
corruption 82 – 83, 85; neoliberalism
and 22, 41, 46 – 47, 79; political and
symbolic power in 26 – 28, 44;
political policy and 82; public
policies and 33 – 37; as source of
corruption 108
state feminism 169, 187n14
Streeck, Wolfgang 5
290
Index
Stroessner, Alfredo 65, 67, 72
substantive representation 166 – 168, 171,
185, 186n6
SUDENE (Superintendence for
Development of the Northeast) 141
Superior Electoral Court (TSE) 35
Szasz, Thomas 258
Tapirapé people (Apyawã) 194
tautologic historicization 2
Teixeira, Anísio 146
Temer, Michel: austerity policies and
52, 124, 159; conservative turn of
33, 72; corruption allegations 52;
evangelicals and 211, 219; healthcare
cuts 263; institutional reforms and 3,
169 – 170; legitimacy and 202 – 203;
neoliberal restoration and 52, 55, 109,
112n16, 124, 201; presidency of 1,
52, 97, 108, 114 – 115; secondary
education reform and 134; sexism
and 170; unpopularity of 33, 115,
186n7, 202; white male cabinet of
170, 201
tenentism 80
Terra, Osmar 232
Thatcher, Margaret 81, 120
Tonietto, Chris 182
Torres, Carlos Alberto 141, 145
Tosquelles, François 260
Transitory Constitutional Provisions
Act (ADCT) 28
transnational power: Bolsonaro and
54; Brazil and 49 – 50; domain of 44;
neoliberalism and 46 – 47; Workers’
Party (PT) and 49 – 50
Traverso, Enzo 73
Trump, Donald: Bolsonaro and 54, 196;
fake news and 240; fasco-populism of
21; firehosing of falsehood and 237;
social media use by 21; ultra-right
politics and 6, 73; use of social media
to spread lies 226
trust: epistemic 226 – 229, 237 – 240;
inequality and reduction of 242 – 243;
institutional 238 – 239; interpersonal
238, 240, 242; media and 236; posttruth phenomenon and 228 – 229;
propaganda and 237; scientific
institutions and 229
Truth Commission (Comissão da
Verdade) 3
Tversky, Amos 232
udenistas 80
ultra-right discourse: anti-corruption
78 – 81, 83 – 84; anti-globalist 86;
anti-LGBT 49; Congress and 54;
criminalization of economic policy
83 – 84; critique of cultural modernity
85; defense of popular rights 73;
discrediting of the public sphere 85;
epistemically unconstrained speech
241; hate speech and 242; on the Left
and corruption 85 – 86; marginality
of Freire 134 – 135; mass media
support for 84, 86 – 87; metapolitics
and 136 – 137; moral diversity and
242; move away from knowledge
241 – 242; nation-under-threat
narrative 73; neoliberalism and 43, 55,
82; post-denialism and 240, 242; racial
democracy and 37
ultra-right politics: Brazilian
development of 6; culture wars and
85 – 86; economic neoliberalism and
5; electoral strategies for power and
4; fascist political language and 4, 7;
judiciary and 87; neoliberalism and
108; radicalization of 241; rhetorical
strategies 85
UNASUR (Union of South American
Nations) 50, 54
UN Human Rights Council 181
Unified Black Movement (MNU) 36
Unified Health System (SUS) 258
United States: 2008 financial crisis 152;
conservatism and 216; consolidation
of reactionary power in 21 – 22;
deinstitutionalization of mental
health 264n9; free trade agreements
(FTA) 46, 50; psychiatric system
targeting of minorities 256; religious
fundamentalism and 214, 216, 223n1;
Republican Party and 21; ultra-right
educational discourse 136; ultra-right
politics and 6, 73; weakening of
23 – 24
Universal Church of the Kingdom of
God (IURD) 211
University of São Paulo (USP) 27
urban crisis: austerity policies and
160 – 161; collective movements
156 – 157; dismantling of social
policies by the Right 158 – 159;
ethnic-racial stigma and 160, 162;
extreme poverty and 160; housing
Index 291
costs 153 – 156, 162; impact of
economic growth on 150 – 151,
162; neodevelopmentalism and
152 – 153; neoliberal restoration and
150; peripheralization and 151, 156,
162; public investment in 154 – 155;
real estate boom and 153 – 155;
socioeconomic improvements 153;
traffic and 156, 161; transportation
costs 155; transportation time
155 – 156
urban policy 159 – 161
urban social movements 161
urban space: as business environment
159; development of 163;
extrajudicial killings 160; federal
investment in construction
154; militarized social life and
159 – 160; production of 150 – 151;
rodoviarismo and 158, 161;
sustainability and 161
US Agency for International
Development (USAID) 141
Ustra, Carlos Alberto Brilhante 166,
186n3
Vaisse, Justin 13n9
Vargas, Getúlio 80, 100, 102, 111n2
Vasconcellos, Eduardo 156
Vásquez Velásquez, Romeo 66 – 67
Venezuela 47 – 49, 54, 63, 268
Vinchon, Jean 251
Vinícius, Marcos 160
violence against women (VAW)
legislation 48
Washington Consensus 85
Weatherall, James Owen 229
Weffort, Francisco 93n4
Weitz-Shapiro, Rebecca 51
WhatsApp 53, 136, 239 – 240
Wilkinson, Richard 242
Winters, Matthew S. 51
Wolf, Frieder Otto 12
women: Black feminist mobilization
34, 37; de-democratization policies
and 34; domestic worker rights and
31; gender-based violence (GBV) 48,
182 – 183, 189n46; increase in violence
against 183, 189n46; labor rights and
171 – 172; sexual and reproductive
rights 170 – 171, 182; social networks
and 37; withdrawal of rights 34;
Workers’ Party (PT) and 48; see also
gender equality
women in politics: after Rousseff
impeachment 168; anti-abortion
182; anti-system voting and
172 – 180; decline in candidates
elected 183 – 184, 184; descriptive
representation 166 – 168, 171,
185; evangelicals 181; genderbased violence actions 182 – 183;
institutional policy and 184; low
levels of 166 – 167; misogyny and
172 – 175, 180, 186n9; perceptions
of gender roles and 172; sexism and
168 – 169; state feminism and 169,
187n14; substantive representation
166 – 168, 171 – 172, 185; symbolic
representation of 170, 172; symbolic
violence against 169; ultra-right
181 – 183, 185; see also 2016 mayoral
and city council elections
women’s movements: affirmative
action and 30; democratization and
25; insider women’s policy agencies
(WPA) 169 – 170; religious media and
213; Workers’ Party (PT) and 27
women’s policy agencies (WPA)
169 – 170
Workers’ Party (PT): antipetismo
and 151, 158; attacks on 7, 83;
Black movement and 27; capitalist
development and 101; corruption
allegations 24, 79; crisis in 25;
democratization and 27, 268 – 269;
developmentalism and 82; economic
power and 49 – 50; effects of social
improvements 106 – 109; evangelicals
and 210; hegemony and 65;
ideological power and 48 – 50; legacy
of 151 – 152; loss of credibility 33;
military power and 49; minimum wage
increases and 151 – 152; neoliberalism
and 49, 110; political pluralism and
27; political policy and 82; political
power and 49; power domains and 50,
55; progressive agenda and 48; racial
equality and 48; redistributive policies
and 101 – 102; resistance from business
community 86; right-wing use of
protest marches to undermine 51;
sexual equality and 48; transnational
power and 49 – 50; urban politics
and 152
292
Index
working class: commuting time 150,
155 – 156; conservative constraints
on 105; economic policy and 85,
93n4; exploitation of 101, 103 – 104;
housing costs 153, 155 – 156; intraclass competition and 119; labor
relations and 99, 119; minimum
wage increases and 32, 151 – 152;
self-government and 101; social
ascension and 119; transportation
costs 156
Wylde, Christopher 45
Wylie, Kristin 167
Young, Iris Marion 184
Zelaya, Manuel 6, 63 – 67, 69
Ziblatt, Daniel 5