a diversity of cultural experience

Movimento Sem Terra—MST:
The last weekend of September we took a 2-hour bus ride into the interior of Ceará to visit a settlement (Ze Lourenço) and an encampment (Paz Lenin II) of the Landless Workers Movement (MST). The MST organizes the Brazilian landless and/or homeless to occupy unproductive land (belonging to large landowners) until they achieve ownership—a semi-dangerous but legal process which takes a painstaking 2 years of squatting or camping out before the government recognizes them, evaluates the land, and forces the sell of the land to the MST. We visited an encampment, where landless workers had been for only 2 months, but we stayed in a settlement, where landless workers achieved land, built houses, began producing cajú (cashew), and had been living since 1998.

In the settlement, 71 families live a simple life—bathing with a cup and a few douses of water (no running water), cooking over wood-burning stoves, living in clay houses with limited electricity, studying in one school-house, etc… The encampment, however, was a different story. Among sixty families (30 children), there was no house, no school, no potable water, and no electricity—only white rice to eat (the day we went), a small “lake” nearby for bathing, and wooden poles, black plastic, and other random scraps for shelter. Seeing what these people go through to obtain land was both moving and disturbing… Moving to see their courage, strength, desire and determination to fight for land. Disturbing to see and understand their living conditions, the bureaucratic loopholes they have to go through, the unequal distribution of land, the high number of landless, the malnutrition, and the children, among others. The entire weekend was a real eye-opener to the reality that these landless live, the work the MST does, and Brazil’s need for agrarian (and social) reform.

Projecto das Quatras Varas:
On September 30 we went to a community located within a poorer neighborhood (Cristo Rendentor) of Fortaleza. This community, called Quatras Varas, hosted us for lunch and for our end-of-the-month reflection/discussion. What I found interesting about this community is its “community healing” project—the herbal healing, the massage therapy, the community kitchen, the alternative education, the theater group, the arts and crafts to sell, and (most of all) the group therapy, or “community” sessions. I would have never thought to find a community such as Quatras Varas in this part of Fortaleza, let alone in Brazil. I was impressed by their finding a true sense of “community” and by the model of “community healing” that they managed to construct by their own efforts. (I'd thought about doing my independent research project on this community but ended up deciding not to... more will come on what i've decided to do, as soon as i have a clearer idea on what it is exactly.)

Umbanda: Oxum’s night:
After our group discussion in Quatras Varas, our Portuguese class went to an Umbanda celebration/service. Second to Candomblé, Umbanda is the Orisha tradition (or worship of African deities) with Catholic syncretism most common in Brazil. (I don’t know enough to attempt an explanation, so I will leave that up to you.)

Each orisha has its color, music, element and purpose… The night we went was Oxum’s night… The women participating (the filhas do santo) wore various, big, fat, red, and white/silver dresses; the men (the filhos do santo) wore red shirts and white pants. Neither wore shoes… To begin the ceremony, a pai do santo “blessed” the room and its people with an incense burner, exactly like that of the Catholic church, and prayed to the Crucifix at the head of the room, asking God, the Father, for a blessing.

While passive worshippers sat or stood to one side of the room, these women and men danced (in their own places), sang (in Portuguese) to the various African drum beats, and periodically approaching the mães do santo for a “blessing” (from what I could tell) for nearly 1 hour before they took a smoke break. (Don’t ask me why, but smoking tobacco and, later on, drinking beer has something to do with relating to spirits of the middle passage). Next, 3 women—wearing red garbs, a bronze crown and breastplate, and no shoes, and representing Oxum—entered the room in what seemed like a trance. For 15 minutes or so, they blindly shuffled around the room waving their bronze “swords,” one in each hand, between the two lines of dancers. Without opening their eyes, they never once bumped into each other. Whenever the music stopped, they stopped and, at times, yelled out… Eventually, they made their exit, and the filhos continued dancing and singing.

In the hour and a half before the end of the ceremony, there were 2 other “smoke breaks,” more singing, dancing, spiritual “possessions”, “blessings” by the mães do santo, “counseling” by other spiritual leaders (beer in hand), and so much more that I wasn’t able to observe or interpret… Overall, it was a very powerful and interesting cultural experience, to say the least.

Festival de São Francisco in Canindé:
October 5-7, we went (as field researchers) to a spiritual festival in Canindé (2 hours into the interior of Ceará). This religious movement attracts people from all over the Northeast (and beyond), many of whom come to “pay their promise (for being healed)” to or receive a blessing from São Francisco (Saint Francis of Assisi). Some people come to witness this spiritual spectacle, others to sell their merchandise, and still others to plea for alms. In just that one weekend, according to the Globo news, there were nearly 700,000 visitors in Canindé, a town of only 25,000 inhabitants.

So many poor, distraught, sickened, disabled, injured, hopeless, desperate, and spiritual folks come to Canindé looking for a miracle that a “House of Miracles” was built to accommodate all their photos, symbolic body parts, cut hair, old clothes, and other representative objects to be blessed. Someone from our group mentioned that the appearance and feel of the place reminded her somewhat of Nazi Germany and the Holocaust, except that people chose to bring their things to this place for spiritual cleansing.

One theory as to why so many poor people come to places like Canindé for spiritual revival is because the government lacks social institutions, like education, health systems, and other socio-economic assistance programs. Where the government doesn’t provide (which is the case for a majority of Brazilians), God does—thus, a religious festival for Saint Francis, a saint with a heart for the poor.

Lastly, I must mention the crazy contrasts between the wealth of the church and the poverty of the majority of “festival go-ers” and between the religious and the non-religious activities.
Visible from miles away, the town’s basilica lit up like a Christmas tree, or more like a Vegas casino. Surrounding this pristine church—its steeple, archways, stain-glass windows, bright lights, and evangelist-like stage in front (for outdoor Masses and contemporary worship)—sat hundreds of sick, tired, and desperate people who walked, biked, bussed, rode (truck beds), and did everything in their power to come from the far reaches of the Northeast for the church’s blessing… Is there a balance? Should there be?

While church Masses, personal confessions, and material blessings (i.e. water, merchandise to sell, and replicas of spiritual needs) took place on one side of town, people rode carnival amusement rides, drank beer, gambled, and bought without reserve in the markets on the other side of town. What does this say about the religious significance of Canindé? About the Brazilian culture? About Catholicism? About the people that come to Canindé?

So many questions left in my mind about each of these experiences… no time to flush them out or satisfy my curiosity. I must move on to my other preoccupations, like my independent research project (ISP), a mini-research project (all this next week), other journal writings and term papers, my final days with my host family and others in the group before I go to Salvador for the rest of the semester (for class and for my ISP), and my own “me” time (nearly never).