Photo Essay: How the Right-Wing Attack in Brazil Looked on the Ground

BRASILIA, Brazil—Despite hoping for change under the new Brazilian government, Marize Guarani remembers unfulfilled promises from Lula’s first term in office.

“One thing you can be sure of is that over the next four years, we will be on the streets demanding our rights,” said Guarani, a history professor and president of Aldeia Maracanã, an Indigenous collective based in Rio de Janeiro. (In Brazil, Indigenous people take the name of their people as their surname.)

The victory of Luiz Inácio “Lula” da Silva during the presidential run-off election on October 30 has inspired many sectors of Brazilian society. The sentiment is mirrored internationally, with expectations that Lula’s plan will reverse four years of devastating Amazon deforestation that took place under former President Jair Bolsonaro. According to the Inpe (National Institute for Space Research), during Bolsonaro’s term, the annual average of deforestation was 11,500 square kilometers—or the size of the country of Qatar—in comparison to 7,500 square kilometers under his predecessor.

However, for the first time in Brazilian history, representatives of Indigenous communities have been placed in positions of state power. Brazil will not only have a ministry of Indigenous affairs, but that government body will be led by an Indigenous leader, Sonia Guajajara.

“Today, the Indigenous protagonism within Lula’s government is completely different to his first term in office,” said Elaine Moreira, anthropologist professor and coordinator of the Observatory of Indigenist Rights and Politics project at the University of Brasilia. “Today, it is not possible to govern the country without [Indigenous peoples].”

Joy on Inauguration Day

Among the thousands of people who traveled hundreds of kilometers to support Lula during his January 1 inauguration were Indigenous leaders and representatives of communities from all over the country. Hundreds of tents were pitched on December 31 in the Mané Garrincha Stadium in Brasilia, where they celebrated New Year’s Eve. The following day, an estimated 160,000 people mostly dressed in red shirts—the color of Lula’s Workers’ Party—attended the Festival do Futuro (Future Festival). The event was organized to commemorate the shift in power.

“For me, it is priceless to be here,” Vice-Chief Sarapó told Toward Freedom. His name means “Defender of Nature.”

During the celebration, people watched on screens as Lula took the helm. Thousands of Lula supporters danced as a variety of Brazilian artists performed on stage.

“After so much persecution of President Lula, we won the election. That is why Lula is like our Indigenous brother,” added Sarapó, who represented more than 5,000 Pankararú people, who live in the northeastern state of Pernambuco.

In 2017, Lula was convicted of corruption charges and spent 18 months in prison before a Supreme Court judge annulled the charges, clearing him to run for office.

After Bolsonaro fled the country in what many have seen as an attempt to avoid prosecution for violations during his term, 77-year-old Lula received the inaugural sash from a group of people representing the diversity of Brazilian society. Environmental activist and Indigenous leader Raoni Metuktire of the Kayapo people walked by his side during the symbolic act. Raoni is internationally known for his life-long defense of the Amazon, as well as for his distinctive yellow feather headdress and lip plate. He is one of the last members of his community to use the lip accessory.

Restructuring Institutions with the Participation of Indigenous Peoples

On January 3, Indigenous leaders and government representatives took part in a symbolic takeover of the Foundation of Indigenous Peoples (Funai). For the first time since the body was created in 1967, an Indigenous person will serve as its president. The Funai’s main responsibilities are defending Indigenous rights, demarcating their territories and protecting the environment within Indigenous lands.

Guajajara, plus Joenia Wapichana as president of the Funai, Célia Xakriabá as federal deputy for the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais and Weibe Tapeba as head of the Special Secretariat for Indigenous Health (SESAI) said they constitute a solid bloc to defend the rights of Indigenous peoples.

“We three seated at this table, occupying strategic places in the institutional politics of the Brazilian state, represent the unity within the Indigenous movement,” Tapeda said at the event.

The room filled with mixed emotion as Indigenous leaders took turns speaking. At times, people hugged and celebrated a hopeful future. At other moments, they shed tears over what they see as four years of anti-Indigenous policy that led to the suffering and deaths of their peoples.

Some, including Lula, have accused Bolsonaro of genocide against the Yanomami people, who are experiencing a malnutrition and malaria crisis that has been linked to the former president’s pro-mining policy and a lack of healthcare.

“We had never suffered as much persecution as in the last four years,” Guajajara said during the event. “A persecution that, on top of everything, came from the same institution that was supposed to protect us.”

Ensuring Environmental Protection

Lula’s government will face many obstacles with a congress in which the opposition is in the majority. Agribusiness and mining are key industries in Brazil and remain an important lobby in Congress.

Yet, Lula’s promises to center impacted people in his cabinet already have born fruit in the form of a social budget for 2023 that amounts to 145 billion reais ($27.9 billion). This would enable the government to comply with programs, such as subsidies for the most vulnerable sectors of society, increasing the minimum wage, and improving education and the healthcare system. However, questions have arisen about guaranteeing sufficient resources for all departments. Brazil’s economy faces high inflation and interest rates.

Lula’s government has planned to move toward a zero-deforestation economy.

“A solution to climate change does not exist without understanding the contribution that we Indigenous peoples make,” Xakriabá told Toward Freedom.

The Ministry of Environment has agreed to create trans-institutional mechanisms that communicate with the Ministry of Indigenous Affairs and all sectors.

“The fact that we have today a Ministry of Indigenous Affairs will affect directly the Ministry of Environment,” said anthropologist Moreira. “Especially in connection to recovering degraded lands invaded by illegal logging, but particularly by illegal mining.”

Gold mining increased 3,350 percent in the last four years, according to “Yanomami Under Attack,” a report that social services organization Hutukara Associação Yanomami released. That spike has been attributed to Bolsonaro’s decree to stimulate gold mining in the Amazon.

Bolsonaro also dismantled and militarized the Funai and other institutions that protected Indigenous communities and the environment. For example, he promoted deforestation to benefit agribusiness. In December, deforestation in the Brazilian Amazon was 150 percent higher than the previous year, according to the national space research agency, INPE. According to a report that environmental-news portal Mongabay cited, 250,000 hectares (620,000 acres) have been lost to private companies. Plus, Bolsonaro stopped Indigenous land demarcation.

However, under Lula, decrees that allowed “artisanal” gold mining on Indigenous land as well as the sale of Indigenous lands farmers had invaded, already have been revoked. The federal police and the Brazilian Institute of Environment (Ibama) will remove illegal gold miners from the Yanomami territories in the Amazonian region, Guajajara was quoted as saying to the journal, Estadão.

Confidence in Lula

Chief Merong Kamacã Mongoió, who made a 12-hour journey from the Brazilian state of Minas Gerais to commemorate Lula’s inauguration, said he is confident the Ministry of Indigenous Affairs will defend the interest of Indigenous communities over big industries.

“We also contribute to the country. We have family agriculture and agroforestry plantations,” said Chief Merong, whose community is in a land dispute with the mining giant, Vale. “What we do not want is mining, soya expansion, or transgenic plantations in our country.”

Indigenous leaders see land titling as the basis for ending the environmental crisis.

“The struggle to defend Mother Earth is the mother of all struggles,” Tapeda said during the event at the Funai. “We need to restart territorial demarcation now.”

Chief Junior of the Xuhurú people traveled from the state of Pernambuco, almost 2,000 kilometers from the capital. Like many others, he camped out.

“The most important matter at the moment for Indigenous peoples in Brazil is the need for land demarcation. To end logging and mining in our territories, and to expel the settlers that are there today usurping our land and washing it with Indigenous blood.”

Wapichana, Funai’s new president, asked in an interview with Toward Freedom for the public to be patient as the new group of Indigenous officials reorganize the institution.

“Through this union, we will demonstrate how it is to administer from an Indigenous vision.”

Editor’s Note: This podcast was originally published by MintPress News.

The MintPress podcast “The Watchdog,” hosted by British-Iraqi hip hop artist Lowkey, closely examines organizations about which it is in the public interest to know – including intelligence, lobby, and special interest groups influencing policies that infringe on free speech and target dissent. The Watchdog goes against the grain by casting a light on stories largely ignored by the mainstream, corporate media.

On May 24, an 18-year-old gunman fatally shot 22 people at Robb Elementary School in Uvalde, Texas. Police reportedly refused to confront the killer, locked him in a room full of children, physically prevented parents from getting involved, and even allegedly rescued their own children first.

The massacre has once again brought the United States’ unique obsession with firearms to the fore, with renewed calls to ban assault rifles. But even among gun-control advocates, few realize the connections between the Second Amendment and white supremacy.

Today’s guest is Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz. Originally from Oklahoma, Dunbar-Ortiz is a writer, historian and activist, possibly best known for her 2014 classic book, “An Indigenous Peoples’ History of the United States.” She argues that the context behind the Second Amendment is that the newly-independent United States needed “well-regulated militias” of white men to “kill Indians and take their land,” or to form slave patrols that would hunt down Black people fleeing their captivity. It was out of these slave patrols that the first police departments were formed.

 

Ultimately, she argues, the need for such armed militias arose from the fact that the white colonists were on recently stolen land, surrounded by hostile groups who were trying to get their land back. As she notes, it was a crime to give or sell a gun to a Native American.

An activist for over 50 years, Dunbar-Ortiz has argued that for any progress to be made, Americans must stop worshiping a 234-year-old document written by slaveholders. Today with Lowkey, she also discussed how it was that the National Rifle Association was taken over by reactionary political actors and how it came to be that the United States is a country with 4% of the world’s population but half of the world’s guns.

“The Constitution is so embedded in white supremacy that there is no way to amend it to change that. It is everywhere…This is so obvious if you just face what U.S. history is and not leave so much out,” she told Lowkey.

A revolutionary and a feminist, Dunbar-Ortiz’s life’s work has taken her across the world, including to Mexico, Cuba and Nicaragua, where she documented the U.S.-sponsored Contra War against indigenous groups. She is Professor Emerita of Ethnic Studies at California State University, East Bay. Among her other notable books include, “Loaded: A Disarming History of the Second Amendment”; “The Great Sioux Nation: Sitting in Judgment on America”; and “Not ‘a Nation of Immigrants’: Settler Colonialism, White Supremacy, and a History of Erasure and Exclusion.”

Lowkey is a British-Iraqi hip-hop artist, academic and political campaigner. As a musician, he has collaborated with the Arctic Monkeys, Wretch 32, Immortal Technique and Akala. He is a patron of Stop The War Coalition, Palestine Solidarity Campaign, the Racial Justice Network and The Peace and Justice Project, founded by Jeremy Corbyn. He has spoken and performed on platforms from the Oxford Union to the Royal Albert Hall and Glastonbury. His latest album, Soundtrack To The Struggle 2, featured Noam Chomsky and Frankie Boyle and has been streamed millions of times.

“The Prison Within” (2021) is a provocative and intriguing documentary produced by Katherin Hervey, a former public defender and prison instructor. Provocative, because we are presented with adult male inmates in San Quentin Prison in northern California struggling with unidentified and untreated multi-generational trauma. Intriguing because the documentary presents a compelling argument for restorative justice, yet it stops short of sparking a larger conversation about what to do about prisons in a truly civilized society.

The documentary focuses on the Victim Offender Education Group (VOEG) program conducted by the Insight Prison Project (IPP) at San Quentin Prison. The IPP describes the VOEG program on their website as

“…an intensive 18-month group program for incarcerated people who wish to understand themselves better, how their life experiences and decisions led them to prison and how their crimes have impacted their victim(s). The purpose of the training is to help incarcerated people understand and take responsibility for the impact of the crime(s) they have committed. The class culminates with participants meeting with victims for a healing dialogue.”

Though this is not highlighted in the documentary quite as clearly as the purpose of the program, it does give some insight into why the documentary deals with restorative justice within the prison system, as opposed to a society-wide imperative.

The documentary provides quite an extensive discussion into how unaddressed and unresolved trauma helps affect the way victims see the world around them, and how they see and feel about themselves and others. It presents this idea largely through the stories of several men who are in the VOEG program, as they recount the paths that led them to prison.

We are presented with the real-life cause-and-effects of neglect, abuse and generational trauma, and how they all can turn inward into self-doubt, self-hate and fear, eventually compelling anti-social behavior that inflicts trauma onto others. Unresolved anger at the person or persons who inflicted the trauma was a common theme.

A promising discussion was raised by one man about how he served time in the military, which led him to more violence. But this time, it was state-sanctioned violence. However, the discussion did not expand into how the military reinforces violence as a solution to problems, while also exposing millions of traumatized people to more violence, which produces even more trauma in the form of disorders such as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). That is then not treated by the very military that trains people to commit barbarous acts against other human beings. This documentary on justice feels like a lost opportunity to connect militarism with the devaluation of human life and U.S. imperialism.

However, one imprisoned man seems to conflate the systemic racism with the inward and outward expressions of unresolved trauma that his father and even he experienced because of racism. I think that is where the documentary misplaces forgiveness as a response to systemic racism. Racism is based on irrational, illogical fears and emotions based on stereotypes, lies, and propaganda against a group of people that is used to deny them human rights. Trauma is the result of real and tangible abuses, emotions, and fears. Yes, trauma can result because of racism, but can it be said that racism happens because racists are traumatized, as it seems the documentary is attempting to suggest? I think this is the danger in relating to racism, and especially racist violence, as another expression of unresolved trauma.

The documentary presents a difficult-to-sit-with conversation about the ways race and ethnicity shield some people from scrutiny and prosecution while they commit crimes, while others face the brunt of the state. This discussion is difficult because it shows how messy it is to try to put people into “good/bad” categories. Is someone who is the victim of sexual abuse and other traumas a “bad” person if they act violently toward others? If we believe that “hurt people hurt people,” why do we not believe this for people in prison, who are mostly poor and predominantly people of color? And if we do not, why do we condemn and throw away one, but not the other? For many people, confronting these questions can be difficult, and the documentary does a good job of helping viewers think about class and race biases in these matters.

Another very important issue raised in the documentary is fathers not expressing love and acceptance with their boys. The lack of affection and protection from their fathers—even if they were present—while receiving hostility or outright abuse is a recurring theme in many of the stories imprisoned men told. Society so easily falls back on the trope that so many men—especially Black men—turn to crime because they had no fathers or father figures in their early lives. Yet, we hear from these men that emotionally distant or abusive fathers—who often acted that way because they were acting out the trauma they experienced in their youth—that exposed these imprisoned men to their first and lasting traumas.

Yet another issue discussed is male children who are artistic or creative not being accepted because they are not expressing their “maleness” in traditional ways or in ways that are acceptable to the older men in the family. This drives them to seek acceptance by acting in destructive and risky ways that may also be outside of their nature. Further, the documentary explores how rejection teaches young boys to suppress their natural, normal emotions, and conditions them to view others who express those emotions as weak, too.

A very interesting twist on the “hurt people hurt people” idea is presented when the widow of a murdered cop comes to terms with her role in advocating for the death sentence for her husband’s murderer. This aspect of the documentary provides insight into one person’s journey toward peace, but should it be an instructive for how millions in this society view the death penalty as a just form of punishment? Are they all “hurt people” who support the death penalty and even may relish in it in some regards out of unresolved pain and trauma? The documentary does touch on how people in the United States are convinced—basically indoctrinated—to believe the death penalty is not only reasonable, but necessary. Perhaps focusing on an individual journey of healing as a reflection of or as a potential remedy for systemic human-rights violations via the death penalty is a deeply flawed and potentially dangerous premise. Especially considering the work the widow in question is revealed as pursuing or, more precisely, who she serves in her work, as we learn at the documentary’s end.

The film lays out in clear, concise and emotionally compelling ways both the cycle of unaddressed and untreated trauma that leads people to prison—an environment that thrives off and perpetuates more trauma—is unaddressed in prison, and that communities have no tools to address the issue with released prisoners.

But an opportunity to discuss prison’s utility in the just and supportive society we claim to be fighting for—as well as with what to replace prisons—is not present in this documentary.

Surely, abolition cannot be achieved without an agreed-upon alternative to prisons. But if the goal is to not just reform prisons to make them “better,” but to create a society in which prisons are obsolete, the following must be discussed: 1) Methods of accountability and restoration for individuals who commit acts that break the social contract and 2) the state’s responsibility in its part of the social contract to ensure every person’s human rights are respected in the provision of housing, education, jobs that pay a living wage, comprehensive healthcare, etc., so traumas are not systematically inflicted on people as an inherent aspect of the system, but also so individual traumas are addressed as an inherent aspect of the system.

Prison reform is certainly needed to immediately stop the cycle of trauma the prison-industrial complex and the penchant for retribution indoctrinated into the American psyche creates. But any effort at prison reform that doesn’t involve dismantling capitalism, white supremacy and classism will only uphold the system. Although “The Prison Within” makes a few fleeting mentions of expanding treatment and mitigation programs to keep traumatized people from going to prison in the first place, restorative justice is presented inside the narrow construct of reforming prisons to make them “better.” That all makes sense when the discussion is not intended to be about replacing prisons with humane and truly restorative systems.

Jacqueline Luqman is a radical activist based in Washington, D.C.; as well as co-founder of Luqman Nation, an independent Black media outlet that can be found on YouTube (here and here) and on Facebook; and co-host of Radio Sputnik’s “By Any Means Necessary.”