Sympathetic Conclusion

Rubén Miranda -  Autorretrato

Rubén Miranda - Autorretrato

All images I tried to outline here can be interpreted with different colours depending on where you are standing on social hierarchy, where you are from, what your political bias is, and so on. What I did here in this series of posts was not to defend any particular point-of-view, although I clearly have mine. I have just tried to point how different those images or perceptions can be if we change our perspective. It was merely an exercise of sympathy.

What is your image of Brazil? Has it changed along the pass years? How do you perceive the images created by different medias?

For me, this is a fascinating time to observe and live. Definitely it is not a decade to linger on, it is a decade to enjoy.

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Brazil inside-out

There is no doubt that Brazilians and foreigners alike have changed their perception of Brazil in recent years. Defining the turning point of the that change is relatively easier from the point of view of an outsider, and a lot more complex from inside, as expected by the way.

The most important event in the world scenario in recent years was the crash of the United States financial system. It was just as serious as the 1929 crash, only this time even the ones most entwined in the laisser-faire orthodoxy  backed off due to its huge economic impact and ran to the big umbrella of government. This support shortened its long-terms effects, such as unemployment and deflation. The great, great majority of economists apologetic of the free-market proved to have an incredibly flexible spine. And I truly admire those broken by the events cascaded by the waves of Lemon Brothers bankruptcy.

To really understand subprime crisis

Nevertheless, even shortened and contained, the crisis shocked the economies all around the world, more deeply in developed economies, true, but historically peripheral economies had to struggle harder with any crisis. How we are going to survive, how agile every economy response will be to that threat was a “natural” stick to measure the strength of all countries. And through that test, Brazil passed fast and almost unharmed. That was the turning point when everyone asked themselves “how could it be”.

The Economist - Brazil Takes Off

All elements in the current image of Brazil abroad came from that question. The Brazilian president is very well approved by the locals. It must be that, let us appoint him the man of the year. Brazil abandoned orthodoxy in favour of a liberal approach. Partially true, the central bank seeks just an inflation target and it is independent by any point of view, nothing more orthodox than that. Mixed inputs, c’mon should be something, they were struggling with every international crisis like everybody else not so long ago! In fact, there is no clear answer, just because there is no single answer. Seen from outside, it was just like magic. And, as a marvellous nation, Brazil rose out of the blue.

The image Brazilians have of themselves was not defined by this serious international threat. Seen from here, it was just a little wave and Brazilian economic authorities were quick enough to mitigate any collateral damages. Furthermore, it must be a polychromic picture captured by the bias of who has seen such complex reality. Today, in my point of view, that bias is set mainly by social classes.

There is one huge difference between what that government in office did and the previous one did. The current government took office promising to rise the lower classes to a better stand. In the first term, that promise was not delivered, although you may point that it was being brewed. However, in their second term, the government promoted a social rise as never seen at any time of Brazilian history. Even more, the economic boom was not concentrated in traditional regions; it spread a boost in the income through out the country. The better the families’ income is, particularly in the lower classes, the better local commerce and what economists call the multiplier-effect of income. Because we are surfing on this self fed economic boom, one that is not fully dependent on international prices or markets,  the worst economic crisis of our days hit us as little waves.

This social and economic prosperity, side-by-side with democratic and institutional normality we are experiencing today, changed more deeply than anything the image we have of ourselves. For better or for worse, national pride is on the rise, internal demand is good, agriculture is expanding its frontiers, local currency is getting stronger, and upper classes never lost so much political power.

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The Lost Decade

The third period I have chosen is what we Brazilians call the lost decade. We were leaving behind roughly 20 years of a fierce dictatorial government. A government set up by army’s generals with right-wing industrials and landowners support. A government said to pursue eradication of chaos set in course by a communism infiltration in Brazilian society. A government that had begun with strong support by the media, until the economical boom promised proves to be a mirage. Then, it was just the tyranny trying to return the power without the fear of being persecuted by its atrocities.

As I said, it begun with the first civil president in 20 years, after a backfired lockdown attempted by military high commanders. Whatever the mess the dictatorship left behind, we were sure that we would cope.

But we could not cope. It was far beyond our means and the reason was very simple, and very old: compound interest over a long term debt.

To deliver the economical strength in order to justify the coup d’état, the finance ministers of military government heavily relied on international capital at the time cheap and available in the market. That was before the first oil crisis of 1973. The interest was low and the debits were taken in long-term loans. From 1973 to 1978 the price of oil barrels skyrocketed, pulling interest rates with them. The long-term Brazilian debts rendered impossible to be paid. Most of military government support corrosion was due to the suppressing economic drain those debts impose on Brazilian economy. This was not a domestic affair; this is something that does not change just because a civil president takes office. But it was a start.

The Dragon

In round numbers from 1985 to 1995, successive Brazilian democratic governments struggled just to cope with monetary inflation, the major internal collateral effect of those debts in economy. Inflation was the only way in which central government could inflict on all society a widespread taxation to be able to pay the interests of debts contracted a long time ago. This taxation as so imposing and the resultant inflation so demanding that every Brazilian adult that lived in this period remembers it vividly as the lost decade. It was a decade we had to linger on.

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Music, not football

I like to think that every Brazilian who had to go abroad for any reason and spent some months living in another country had that odd experience that happens to us when we are stricken by a Brazilian song we identify immediately. I wander how many of us had that clash with a Tom Jobim song. In my case, I stood frozen in a noisy supermarket in my second day abroad. It’s like seeing a very familiar face in the middle of an ocean. You’re never prepared.

Music is the Brazilian product that every one in the world recognizes by its quality. It is not as ubiquitous as American-British music, but its quality is uncontested. Coffee, we have to admit, is Colombian; football, well football depends on the nationality of whom you are asking. But, in the imagination of the world, music is for Brazil like chocolate is for Switzerland, every one regards it as outstanding.

All this started when Bossa Nova impacted music scenarios all around the world in the mid ‘60s. You can never over-evaluate the influence of Bossa Nova. It changed fundamentally the way we make music. You will see no more traditional music regarded in Brazil as second class music since a whole generation of urban middle-class musicians emerged from its dive on the strong and cultivated popular music.

Better representing this generation was not one of its own, but Vinicius de Moraes; one generation older, former ambassador, highly educated poet that left behind his European-centric and spiritualised poetry. He was not the first to bring samba closer to the new urban class, as we can point out Caymmi, nether was he the one who will take Bossa Nova to its pinnacle, as someone will remember João Gilberto. Nevertheless, for his past and his commitment, I regard him as the most emblematic figure in Bossa Nova movement: a bon vivant, former catholic white ambassador, singing for Orishas, gods in Brazilian-African religion. And when it was released in a long-play it was a big hit, both in Brazil and abroad.

That “clash of civilization” changed for good the way we Brazilians perceive our culture. All prejudice we had did not disappear in the air; neither had we become a racist-free society. But it is quite remarkable that the most appreciated Brazilian product in the world was brewed when we put aside our preconceptions and mixed together all ingredients of our culture in a big pot. And what a fertile pot!

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A Minha Tia, a Minha Mãe

Há um spam do bem. É aquele praticado pela minha mãe e por minha tia. Essas senhoras que guiam meu olhar para onde é importante. E que nada têm de senhoras. Que olham nos olhos de qualquer um como igual.

Hoje é importante olhar a vergonha. A vergonha de Sílvio e de todos nós.

“Vergonha, três vezes vergonha”

Srs. que me envergonham:

Judeu identificado com as melhores tradições humanistas de nossa cultura, sinto-me profundamente envergonhado com o que sucessivos governos israelenses vêm fazendo com a paz no Oriente Médio.

As iniciativas contra a paz tomadas pelo governo de Israel vêm tornando cotidianamente a sobrevivência em Israel e na Palestina, cada vez mais insuportável.

Já faz tempo que sinto vergonha das ocupações indecentes praticadas por colonos judeus em território palestino. Que dizer agora do bombardeio do navio com bandeira Turca que leva alimentos para nossos irmãos.

Vergonha, três vezes vergonha!

Proponho que Simon Peres devolva seu prêmio Nobel da Paz, e peça desculpas por tê-lo aceito mesmo depois de ter armado a África do Sul do Apartheid.

Considero o atual governo de Israel e todos seus membros, sem exceção, merecedores por consenso universal do Prêmio Jim Jones por estarem conduzindo todo um país para o suicídio coletivo.

A continuar com essa política genocida nem os bons sobreviverão; e Israel perecerá sob o desprezo de todo o mundo..

O Sr. Lieberman [Avigdor Lieberman, ministro das Relações Exteriores de Israel] que trouxe da sua Moldávia natal vasta experiência com pogroms, está firmemente empenhado em aplicá-la contra nossos irmãos palestinos. Este merece só para ele um tribunal de Nuremberg.

Digo tudo isso porque um judeu humanista não pode assistir calado e indiferente ao que está acontecendo no Oriente Médio. Precisamos de força e coragem para, unidos aos bons, lutar pela convivência fraterna entre dois povos irmãos.

Abaixo o fascismo!

Paz já!

Sílvio Tendler

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Inverted Oreo

Inverted  Oreo

Inverted Oreo

Firstly, she was a white, Portuguese descendent urban girl. Although arising from a working class family, she was not a poor black girl from a shantytown. In the radio era, when the image of a pop star was not so universally spread as it is today, we may ask ourselves if the fact that she was a white girl is important. But to be able to succeed in theatres of Broadway, it was not irrelevant. Furthermore, considering that she was a samba singer (like almost every other radio queens) and samba is a music style born and bred in the black culture, it’s somehow odd seeing her standing out over all other singers.

Secondly, she represents the first try by urban class to take control of popular music that had abounded for a long time around big cities, notably in Rio de Janeiro. Taking control may sound a little inappropriate. In a sense, it was urban elite overcoming its prejudices and accepting this music as valid, worthy of being listened to. And again, the image of Carmen Miranda, a white urban girl singing samba, set an image that Brazilian elite may be proud of. Historically, this elite had never accepted the black and popular culture as representative of Brazilian culture. At most, if impossible to avoid, it represented the underdeveloped, most shameful part of Brazil, as there were two Brazils, one enlightened the other unworthy.

Brasil dá samba?

O Brasil dá samba?

The most important effect Carmen Miranda had over the image Brazilians hold of themselves was to crack the elite’s prejudice over popular culture; paving the way for the acceptance that even illiterate people may create a valid and solid culture. This is not saying the white Brazilian elite will accept to share power, loose its tight grip over people or its control over mass media. But in the ideological battle, they blink for the first time.

And the second time this elite blinked was when Bossa Nova was born in white middle-class’ bosom.

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Previous images

Starting in the twentieth century, we may distinguish four moments in which Brazil gained international recognition: in the early ’40s with Carmen Miranda, in the ’60s with Bossa Nova, in the early ’80s as an indebted third country, and now in the later ’2000s as a country that better survived a crisis paralleled only by the crash of 1929. Let us start with the first two which have a cultural bias in common.

O Cruzeiro cover: Carmen Miranda

O Cruzeiro cover: Carmen Miranda

Before the II World War, Brazil was seen as little more than a big tropical country in Latin America. Like any tropical country, it was inhabited by a lazy people intended but to master the arts of easy going. And to fulfil this predestination, an artist with an amazing and exotic look sticks out in the music scene. Her name was Carmen Miranda. Simply put: the Brazilian bombshell.

Using a military term to describe Ms. Miranda is quite interesting in itself if you consider the pre-war self-image the United States has about its place in world. After the I Great War, the United States establishes itself as a major power with a rising military industry. But it remained very keen on its image of a pacific country, disconnected from the complex and confusing European diplomacy, even a kind of naive and red-neck country. Using Brazilian bombshell to describe that little exotic girl that took Broadway by surprise starts to show cracks in such self-image.

One important aspect of Carmen Miranda is that she did not become a star only abroad; her success in Brazil was already very solid when she went to the United States. And the radio buzz of the early ’30s had everything to do with Carmen Miranda’s celebrity. She was the first national idol of the mass media era. Thus, she can be seen as an image Brazilians want to worship, if you like; a bearer of values Brazilians honour. But, what are those values?

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Introduction

Snail - Henry Matisse

Snail - Henry Matisse

Almost every image people create to talk about a country is superficial and diminishing. And it is bound to be this way as, by definition, we create an image to frame a complex reality in a simpler mould we can grasp and live with. Yet, those images reveal a lot not only about the country portrayed, but also about the ones who created the images. Deceiving as it can be, images often emphasise a very real aspect of a county. On the other hand, the prejudice explicit on the image tells a great deal about the portraitist. If we continue a little further, it is easy to see that every text which depicts any scene, real or fictional, is doomed to be simplistic and is subject to the same rules that reveals not only a partial and distorted picture but also glimpses of the portraitist.

This introduction is to set clear that this text will not try to be an impartial essay about the recent Brazilian history. It is by design a collection of bits and pieces loosely put together by my own choices.

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Prelude

Olho na Bandeira, Bandeira no OlhoIn the category Images of Brazil, I am going to write about the ongoing changes in the perception Brazilians and foreigners have about Brazil. Those posts will try to assess my own perception that, both as nation and as folk, Brazil is not seen as simplistically as it was seen before: as a country of carnival and soccer by foreigners, or as a country of the future, a country to be made by our people.

Choosing to set this proposition as loose as it is, I may preserve some degree of freedom to approach this subject from the point of views of my interest, not only the usual political or economic analyses. To understand the deepest and subtlest changes I feel it is paramount, as well, to weigh Brazilian culture.

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Mãe Dela

Descobri com quem NaMaria aprendeu a pregar esse olhar na dimensão humana das piores tragédias.

As desventuras de uma anciã num metrô alagado de SP

Há pelo menos 25 anos eu não entrava no metrô em São Paulo. A idade vai chegando e todo mundo fica preocupado comigo, então desisti do metrô. Quando preciso ir para qualquer canto ou me levam ou arrumo um taxi. Também desisti do ônibus porque da última vez levei um tombo danado, me quebrei quase inteira, foi um trabalhão consertar os ossos; visivelmente o motorista era louco. Também desisti porque eu dava o sinal e eles não paravam para eu entrar, quando eu entrava eles queriam que eu saísse rapidíssimo e não davam tempo nem de eu por meus pés no chão da rua, aceleravam a toda.

Mas eu sempre tive vontade de passear de metrô e trens, principalmente com essas propagandas todas mostrando que se pode até dançar dentro dos vagões e plataformas, tamanha a comodidade que alegam ter. Há meses venho combinando e descombinando com minha filha e umas amigas. Estas acham que sou louca de querer “passear do metrô”, minha filha nem fala mais nada, só concorda e me diz “andorinha que dorme com morcegos acorda de ponta-cabeça”. Mas tem coisa mais prática do que metrô, gente? Fala sério, tem não. No mundo inteiro isso é possível, porque aqui haveria de ser diferente, uai?

Então combinei bem certinho com a NaMaria e a Lulu, minha amiga, a única que topou a aventura. Minha filha disse que eu só iria se ela estivesse junto. Ela também me mostrou lugares legais para visitar que estivessem próximos às estações. Mas eu já sabia que queria ir ao Masp, Museu da Palavra e Pinacoteca e se desse, queríamos passar pela José Paulino para ver o quanto mudou com a saída dos judeus e entrada dos orientais (faz 23 anos que não vou até lá!). Tudo num dia só. É bom dizer que Lulu, a minha amiga, tem 80 anos, mas está firme e forte – ela só é um pouco lenta.

E lá fomos nós, felizes da vida, com o sol. Partimos da estação Sumaré, que sempre quis conhecer e vi de onde se penduravam em cordas aqueles meninos, vi a avenida, vimos tudo porque descemos lá para fotografar e provar que lá estivemos. Depois fomos rumo à estação Paraíso, mas já não gostei tanto mais. No primeiro trecho o trem era novinho, verde UTI, sem TV, mas com ar funcionando bem. Percebi que havia menos bancos, mas o espaço para ficar de pé era bom. Mas no Paraíso já começou a complicar e entendi o motivo de tanta preocupação com os velhos. O que significam aquelas baias? A gente fica espremido naquilo e todo mundo empurra todo mundo para entrar e sair dos trens. Não falei nada porque lembrei do dito das andorinhas e minha filha me mataria se eu desistisse. Lulu nem abria mais a boca. Estava cheio e ninguém nos deixou sentar, era abafado, quente, todo mundo grudado. Para sair na Luz foi outro problema, porém menor do que para entrar nos trens.

Foi então que os verdadeiros suplícios começaram. Gente, o que é aquilo? No meio do caminho escutamos trovões altíssimos, seguimos em frente e a cara da minha filha era aquela coisa: “eu disse que ia dar m*$#*%”. E deu. Depois de passar por duas catracas começou algo semelhante a uma tempestade no deserto. Mas era sujeira! Uma ventania colossal resolveu limpar o forro da estação e toda sujeira acumulada em anos passou a voar em nós todos, eram bolas de poeira imensas. Minha filha puxou-nos para dentro de uma farmácia, porque tenho asma e seria um perigo respirar aquela imundície. O pessoal não gostou muito. Lulu estava quase cega a esta altura.

Quando pensamos que havia melhorado e podíamos sair, começou a brotar barata de todos os cantos. Elas estavam caindo do teto? Sim, mas também de qualquer buraco. Não suporto barata, se tem uma coisa de que não gosto é barata. E elas vinham de todo canto, para o nosso lado. Resolvemos mudar de lugar e quando tentamos, vimos que além dos insetos e da sujeira, estava entrando água na estação. Como pode? Ficamos sabendo que lá fora estava um dilúvio e a água entrava pelas escadas rolantes, escadarias, jardim ao lado do “atendimento ao usuário”… Era água que não acabava mais. Foi quando acabou a luz, as pessoas gritavam mas continuavam andando, no escuro. A luz foi e veio várias vezes. E a água aumentando, aumentando, começou a cair do teto.

Quase não tínhamos mais onde andar, chegar ao Museu era impossível. Para aumentar a provação, as pessoas que tomariam os trens na plataforma ficaram desnorteadas porque fecharam com cones muitas das escadas. Apareceu um homem do metrô gritando para onde as pessoas deveriam ir se quisessem chegar em Guaianazes, então elas corriam naquela água, caíam na escada que estava parecendo a cachoeira de Paulo Afonso. Estávamos nesta hora perto de uma banca de biscoitos, que ainda estava com o piso seco. Mas de repente a água começou a jorrar do teto, cada vez mais forte, tivemos de sair, voltamos para perto da última catraca de saída. Foi quando vimos os ratos. Tinha muito rato tentando sair da chuva! Enormes. Também odeio rato, imagine meu desespero. Lulu estava quase enfartando. Minha filha pensava em como nos tirar dali sem nenhum AVC.

Ficamos encostadas perto daquelas catracas e o pior de tudo foi quando chegaram as moças da limpeza. A que estava diante de nós dispunha de um balde de 5 litros e um pano de chão. Seu trabalho consistia em secar o oceano com um paninho. Então ela mergulhava o paninho naquela água imunda e torcia no balde. Sem botas, luvas ou qualquer proteção. Em seu uniforme estava escrito FAÍSCA – SERVIÇO LEVE. Leve? Só se for para o dono da terceirizada do metrô que não via, muito menos fazia aquilo. Sísifo tem uma vida de marajá perto daquela moça. Chegaram outras como ela bem depois, pelo menos tinham rodos. O problema é que não havia ralos. Para onde levariam aquela porcaria toda? Incrível que não haja saídas estratégicas de água naquela obra colossal. Depois descobrimos, porque minha filha foi falar com a moça: ficava a uns 70 metros dali, era preciso contornar catracas, pilastras, pessoas… para chegar no ralo, que era uma grade de 1 metro, no chão. Em seguida chegou um rapaz dessa Faísca para ajudar as meninas e seus paninhos. Ele era doido e corria feito um alucinado, empurrando a água em cima das pessoas.

Tivemos de sair dali, fomos para perto de um orientador de usuários ou algo assim. Senhor simpático, muito esclarecedor. Já que estávamos ali perguntamos muitas coisas, reclamamos da falta de proteção dos funcionários, da falta de ralosin… Soubemos que essa Faísca foi realmente terceirizada e faz a limpeza do metrô. Já ele fazia parte da Power. Essa empresa pertence a Tejofran (NaMaria já ficou empolgada e lascou lenha nas perguntas). Faz muitas coisas no metrô essa Tejofran, mas como o contrato venceu, entrou a Power no lugar dela. Fácil assim: para continuar eternamente nos negócios, tenha sempre mais de uma empresa (com nomes diferentes). O senhor odeia o trabalho que tem (seja de quando era Tejofran, seja Power), mas como está para se aposentar tenta aguentar cada dia. Ele disse que tudo piorou com as terceirizações, trabalha nisso desde 1995 e nunca viu tanta tristeza como ultimamente.

Perguntei a ele se uma empresa como essa Faísca (ou o Metrô) não teria um aspirador de água para resolver o problema e não maltratar os funcionários dessa maneira que vimos. Ele respondeu assim: “A senhora acha que um patrão desses está preocupado com a dignidade do funcionário?” Aquele senhor tinha toda razão.

Resolvemos voltar para casa. A nossa sorte foi não termos ultrapassado a última catraca, então foi mais fácil fazer o caminho contrário, apesar daquelas rotas pré-determinadas, daquelas baias (vai ver que é por isso que há tantas lojas fechadas: puseram baias, cortaram o livre trajeto público). Mas estávamos tristes, não pelo fato de o passeio ter dado um pouco errado, mas pelo que vimos sobre tratamento humano. Nem as baratas incomodaram tanto quando ver aquela moça solitária secando um mar inteiro. Para tentar nos alegrar minha filha entrou numa daquelas lojinhas e nos presenteou biscoitos e panetones, “pra vocês não saírem de mãos abanando”. Eu fotografei tudo com meu celular, mas ainda não sei como tirar as fotos dele, preciso aprender; foi pena que a bateria da máquina tivesse acabado na hora errada.

Agora NaMaria pergunta a cada instante: mãe vai querer passear mais de metrô? Precisa conhecer a Sé às 18 horas, mãe. É imperdível. Depois vamos até a Zona Leste no rush… A senhora vai amar.

Eu acho que preciso pensar mais sobre isso.

Ah, antes que eu me esqueça: a propaganda do Metrô na TV é enganosa. Absolutamente enganosa.

Postando para o blog do menino Nassif, A Mãe Dela escreveu a indignação com a leveza e a certeza de quem tem muito a dizer.

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