Brazil’s most effective anti-fascist strategy
In my view, Africana womanism has been the most effective anti-fascist strategy Brazil has ever seen, tackling all realms of oppression from self-esteem to material conditions, infrastructure, community development, and, most importantly, survival. Unlike Western patriarchy, which feeds competition, individualism, and authority through the use of violence or force, the ‘matricommunity’ guarantees all the basic spiritual and practical needs [1] that a fascist government not only fails to provide, but systematically deprives in order to marginalize and exterminate an unwanted contingent of the population.
“Models of matriarchal and community societies embarked on the memories of the youth of enslaved black women and existential baggage deposited on their bodies endured all the massacre and the pain and restored strength so as to guarantee the commitment to reorganize the civilization trail of the dispersed black people, outside Africa. [...] [R]ecreating links with communities, the vast majority of whom are black, a population that is shattered by colonialist and Judeo-Christian logic.” [2]
Candomblé and Umbanda, as unique expressions of this matriarchal ‘ancestrality’, lay out how women and natural forces can (and should also) be Deities. To reject “God” for its association with a (Christian) State is similar to the rejection of race for its association with racism. There are many other Deities, and to reject all is to give way to a similarly pervasive secular Westernness. Moreover, these religions of the African Diaspora show how Black culture is Brazilian culture, no matter how hard Brazilian ‘fascists’ try to shun it. That is the heart of the matter when speaking of what fascism looks like in this country – There are White-passing Brazilians who do not want people who are Black, Indigenous, and poor to exist within the national milieu.
In the Brazilian context, where miscegenation existed in place of segregation, the concepts of ‘white-passing’ and ‘colorism’ are present in everyone’s lives, whether acknowledged or not. Passing for White relates to colorism in the sense that although Brazilians are not White as a people, this society has a structure which rewards the ability to assimilate into Whiteness. In this case, assimilation means entering a room and not having Blackness make someone stand out. There are several ways to tone down Blackness, whether it is through changing one’s hair, clothes, behavior, or even body and facial features. The effectiveness of these attempts, and the extent to which each person is able or willing to go, informs a person’s level of passability and privilege.
“Colorism means, in a simplified way, that discrimination also depends on a person’s skin tone and pigmentation. Even among black people or people of African descent, there are differences in treatment, experiences and opportunities, depending on how dark your skin is.”[3]
The differences in treatment and opportunities that Santana describes above can be seen as an aspect of privilege. Having a chance to dial a racial identity up or down, depending on not only convenience but often survival, is an advantage. And when it involves a survival-mechanism in the face of White Supremacy, it is not quite the same as dialing up a non-existent marginalized racial identity as entertainment – as is the case of cultural appropriation. Therefore, this issue is not binary – Black or White, privileged or not-privileged. We can simply acknowledge there is a wide range of experiences, approaches toward identity, and personal choices. The choice to access African ancestralidade spiritually, through Brazilian religions of the African Diaspora, is to undermine the societal structure which marginally rewards those who bow to White Supremacist values.
“Umbanda, like Candomblé, is a religion African origin. And, considering the assumption of the black race and racism, it is the target, or rather, the enemy of fascism. Any work that seeks to value ancestrality can be of great importance for strengthening the fight against fascism insofar as it does not induce the hierarchy of cultural values over the other. Self-respecting work must denounce the historical processes in which there was an attempt to eliminate or discriminate against the other in their cultural existence.” (Karina Ramos, Head Chef and PhD student of History, specialist in Angolan Food.)
Although I’m not black, my dedication to decolonial studies has led me to learn a bit about Orixás. As I learned, I couldn’t help but incorporate beliefs. In Bahia, a northeastern Brazilian state known as the epicenter of the African Diaspora, the colloquialism for this is “botar fé”, to “to put faith” in something. This term is used not only in spiritual contexts, but also in routine conversations. You may say, “Yesterday, I was so tired after working 12 hours straight, I slept as soon as I got home”, and my response would be “boto fé”. Meaning: I have complete faith in everything you just said, I believe, understand and relate to you.
Spiritually, botar fé, to me, is to know a certain power and meaning in my heart. That a swim in the salty waters of the ocean or sweet waters of a river, with intention, can clean my mind, body and soul of a myriad of things. That a tree is communicating with everything else around it, including me. That the moon has moods, my blood nourishes, a leaf may have healing properties, and a candle can send a message. I choose to put faith in all that, and more. Eu boto fé.
In a world where politicians lie constantly, companies continue to wreck the Earth and our food is processed with things we can’t pronounce, we ought to think carefully about who has our faith. The recent revelation that the Paris Agreement was a sham should be enough to make us re-think where lies our belief. Botar fé in the words of institutional speeches, ingredient lists, brands, bank statements, graph curves, diplomas, signed documents… these are spiritual choices we make day after day. Many of us put faith in a system that often disappoints and annihilates, while plenty is being neglected – The living beings around us, as well as unstoppable forces of nature. We need to give them faith back.
Footnotes
Marcel Heusinger, “Practical Challenges of Sustainable Human Development: Community-driven Development as Response,” Human Development and Capability Association's Annual International Conference: 'Human Development: Vulnerability, Inclusion and Wellbeing’ (Managua, 2013).
Katiúscia Ribeiro, “Mulheres negras e a força matricomunitária,” Revista Cult 254, February 2020, 38-40.
Bianca Santana, “Quem é mulher negra no Brasil? Colorismo e o mito da democracia racial,” Revista Cult, May 8, 2018. Santana is also the author of the book Quando Me Descobri Negra (‘When I Discovered Myself as Black’).
MIRNA WABI-SABI
is a writer, political theorist, editor, teacher and translator. She’s site editor at Gods and Radicals, and managing editor at PLATAFORMA9.