Brazilian protest songs: “Peace without a voice is no peace but fear”

I was born a year after the military coup in Brazil. The dictatorship that followed lasted from 1964 until 1985 - all my childhood and teenage years. But until I was 13 or 14 years old, I had no clue of what was going on in my country. I lived in a small town and my parents were not involved in politics. We listened to the radio, watched the news on TV and had a subscription to a national newspaper, but all the media were completely censored at that time. The fact that the newspaper was sometimes printed with a blank space or a cake recipe in the middle of the news never really caught my attention. It was always like that and I didn’t know any better.

I had my first glimpse of what it really meant to have a military government and what kind of things were going on through songs. There was a song that I liked a lot, O bêbado e a equilibrista, although the lyrics didn’t make much sense to me: “My Brazil… / that dreams of the return / of Henfil’s brother / and so many people that left / on rocket fins”. Henfil was a famous cartoonist, but who was his brother? Who were the people who left? What were they singing about? This was in 1979 and I was 13.

Thanks to this song by João Bosco and Aldir Blanc (sung by Elis Regina) and the questions I started to ask, I heard for the first time about all the artists, journalists and activists that had been persecuted, imprisoned, tortured and exiled. Many had disappeared or been killed by the military regime. This song became an anthem for the amnesty of political prisoners and activists in exile, which was announced later in that same year.

In fact, due to the extreme censorship during the period of military dictatorship in Brazil, songs were one of the few ways to send political messages. Despite the tight surveillance of the censors, they flourished, giving a voice to the resistance movement. Like Para não dizer que não falei das flores, by Geraldo Vandré, which was interpreted as a call for armed struggle.

Words and phrases with double meanings were used to escape censorship and persecution. The greatest master in this art was Chico Buarque de Holanda. His clever lyrics were often approved by the censors, who would only later realise what the songs were really about. But then, of course, it was too late. That was the case with Apesar de você, which was censored only after it had already become an anthem on the streets. At first sight, it appears to be a samba about a lover’s quarrel. Actually, it was a sharp critique of the authoritarian regime and an act of direct defiance aimed at the dictators.

With the advent of democracy and the new freedom of expression in the late 1980s, protest songs played less of a role in Brazil for a while, but in the 1990s they once again became a powerful channel to voice social discontent. One of bands active in this period was O Rappa, with the song A paz que eu não quero. The fight against social inequality, urban and police violence and racial discrimination are the most common themes. Nowadays, the lyrics are explicit and the messages are clear.

Mariângela Guimarães rnw.nl

Brazilian protest songs: “Peace without a voice is no peace but fear”

I was born a year after the military coup in Brazil. The dictatorship that followed lasted from 1964 until 1985 - all my childhood and teenage years. But until I was 13 or 14 years old, I had no clue of what was going on in my country. I lived in a small town and my parents were not involved in politics. We listened to the radio, watched the news on TV and had a subscription to a national newspaper, but all the media were completely censored at that time. The fact that the newspaper was sometimes printed with a blank space or a cake recipe in the middle of the news never really caught my attention. It was always like that and I didn’t know any better.

I had my first glimpse of what it really meant to have a military government and what kind of things were going on through songs. There was a song that I liked a lot, O bêbado e a equilibrista, although the lyrics didn’t make much sense to me: “My Brazil… / that dreams of the return / of Henfil’s brother / and so many people that left / on rocket fins”. Henfil was a famous cartoonist, but who was his brother? Who were the people who left? What were they singing about? This was in 1979 and I was 13.

Thanks to this song by João Bosco and Aldir Blanc (sung by Elis Regina) and the questions I started to ask, I heard for the first time about all the artists, journalists and activists that had been persecuted, imprisoned, tortured and exiled. Many had disappeared or been killed by the military regime. This song became an anthem for the amnesty of political prisoners and activists in exile, which was announced later in that same year.

In fact, due to the extreme censorship during the period of military dictatorship in Brazil, songs were one of the few ways to send political messages. Despite the tight surveillance of the censors, they flourished, giving a voice to the resistance movement. Like Para não dizer que não falei das flores, by Geraldo Vandré, which was interpreted as a call for armed struggle.

Words and phrases with double meanings were used to escape censorship and persecution. The greatest master in this art was Chico Buarque de Holanda. His clever lyrics were often approved by the censors, who would only later realise what the songs were really about. But then, of course, it was too late. That was the case with Apesar de você, which was censored only after it had already become an anthem on the streets. At first sight, it appears to be a samba about a lover’s quarrel. Actually, it was a sharp critique of the authoritarian regime and an act of direct defiance aimed at the dictators.

With the advent of democracy and the new freedom of expression in the late 1980s, protest songs played less of a role in Brazil for a while, but in the 1990s they once again became a powerful channel to voice social discontent. One of bands active in this period was O Rappa, with the song A paz que eu não quero. The fight against social inequality, urban and police violence and racial discrimination are the most common themes. Nowadays, the lyrics are explicit and the messages are clear.

Mariângela Guimarães rnw.nl

Os usos da casimira inglesa

Estou lhe escrevendo, Matilda, para lhe transmitir aquilo que a contrariedade (para não falar indignação) me impediu de dizer de viva voz. Note, é a primeira vez que isso acontece nos nossos 35 anos de casados, mas é primeira vez que pode também ser a última. Não é ameaça. É constatação. Estou profundamente magoado com sua atitude e não sei se me recuperarei.

Tudo por causa de sua teimosia. Você insiste, contra todas as minhas ponderações, em dar a seu pai um corte de casimira inglesa como presente de aniversário. Eu já sei o que você vai me dizer: é seu pai, você gosta dele, quer homenageá-lo. Mas, com casimira, Matilda. Com casimira inglesa, Matilda. Que horror, Matilda.

Raciocinemos, Matilda. Casimira inglesa, você sabe o que é isso? A lã dos melhores ovinos, Matilda. A tecnologia de um país que, afinal, deu ao mundo a Revolução Industrial. O trabalho de competentes funcionários. E sobretudo tradição, a qualidade. Esse é o tecido que está em questão, Matilda. A casimira inglesa.

(...)

Isso, a casimira inglesa. Agora, seu pai.

Ele está fazendo noventa anos. É uma idade respeitável, e não são muitos que chegam lá, mas − quanto tempo ele pode ainda viver? (...) mesmo que ele viva dez anos, mesmo que ele viva vinte anos, a casimira sem dúvida durará mais. Aí, depois que o sepultarmos, depois que voltarmos do cemitério, depois que recebermos os pêsames dos parentes, e dos amigos, e dos conhecidos, teremos de decidir o que fazer com as coisas dele, que são poucas e sem valor − à exceção de um casaco confeccionado com o corte de casimira que você pretende lhe dar. Você, em lágrimas, dirá que não quer discutir o assunto, mas eu terei que insistir, até para o seu bem, Matilda; os mortos estão mortos, os vivos precisam continuar a viver, eu direi. Algumas hipóteses serão levantadas. Vender? Você dirá que não; seu pai, o velho fazendeiro, verdade que arruinado, despreza coisas como comprar e vender, ele acha que ser lojista, como eu, é a suprema degradação. Dar? A quem? A um pobre? Mas não, ele sempre detestou pobres, Matilda, você lembra a frase característica de seu pai: tem que matar esses vagabundos. O casaco ficaria pendurado em nosso roupeiro, Matilda. Ficaria pendurado muito tempo lá. A não ser, Matilda, que seu pai dure mais tempo que o casaco. Não apenas isso é impossível, como remete a uma outra interrogação: e o seguro de vida dele, Matilda? E as joias de sua mãe, que ele guarda debaixo do colchão? Quanto tempo ainda terei de esperar?

Estou partindo Matilda. Deixo o meu endereço. Como você vê, estou indo para longe, para uma pequena praia da Bahia. Trópico, Matilda. Lá ninguém usa casimira.

Moacyr Scliar Contos reunidos . São Paulo: Cia. das Letras, 995.

L’engagement politique des musiciens rock

Dans le roman Le portrait de Dorian Gray, publié en 1891, Oscar Wilde rappelle la distinction entre l’esthétique et l’éthique qu’il considère comme fondamentale. La forme prédomine sur le fond, et l’art n’a pas lieu de traiter de la réalité. Cet article-ci part d’une conception toute opposée, celle de l’artiste engagé et plus particulièrement des artistes rock, eux qui ont pourtant repris à maintes reprises cette philosophie wildienne.

L’engagement politique peut se définir par une forme de militantisme chez l’individu. Il ne faut pas oublier que les musiciens rock se placent eux-mêmes en marge de la société et des bornes que celle-ci impose. L’engagement politique ne fait dès lors plus qu’un avec sa soeur jumelle: la subversion, qui vise à décrier et déstabiliser les institutions en place.

Pour l’essentiel, il faudra se fonder sur ce simple constat: l’Etat repose sur un imaginaire commun aux individus qui le composent et celui-ci explique la souveraineté de l’Etat sur eux, une croyance commune. Or, l’imaginaire individuel reste la seule échappatoire face à l’appareil d’Etat institué, cette même machine qui cherche à encadrer son imaginaire. De fait, l’artiste constitue une menace pour l’Etat de par sa capacité à créer un nouvel imaginaire et à le propager. Ce phénomène est d’autant plus dérangeant pour l’Etat vis-à-vis de la subversion inhérente à l’engagement politique dans la musique rock. Marginale, contestataire et subversive, tels sont les maîtres mots qui définissent cette musique. Contestataire, la musique rock l’est dans ses racines. On ne saurait en effet oublier que cette musique découle en partie du blues, une musique qui était à l’origine jouée par les esclaves noirs en dehors de leur labeur avant de se populariser telle que l’on la connaît aujourd’hui. Ces esclaves jouaient donc pour s’évader.

On peut, à juste titre, évoquer la beat generation, qui a regroupé, dans les années 1950, les principales thématiques de la subversion rock: libération sexuelle, critique de la politique et des institutions en vigueur, drogues... Avec le Festival de Woodstock, en août 1969, apparaît un élément nouveau, on retourne l’imaginaire commun de l’Etat contre lui-même. La référence est ici la reprise de l’hymne américain teinté de psychédélisme par Jimi Hendrix, qui visait à dénoncer l’action militaire des Etats-Unis au Vietnam. Au sujet de la guerre s’ajoutent nombre d’autres sujets récurrents de l’engagement politique des musiciens rock sur le sol américain: la religion, les inégalités sociales en tête.

Après avoir dressé ce bref tableau des divers fronts d’engagement du registre rock, force est de constater que la société a cherché à en absorber les codes car elle ne pouvait pas lutter contre cette subversion grandissante. On assiste à une “banalisation” de l’attitude rock, que cela soit au travers de sa popularisation par des “magazines people“ qui mettent hebdomadairement en exergue les déviances ou, tout simplement, d’une provocation qui pourrait sembler peiner à se renouveler après le coup porté par la popularisation du genre par MTV dans les années 1990.

Sur ce semblant d’essoufflement, qu’en est-il de l’emprise des rockeurs sur l’imaginaire collectif ces dernières années? Si la société semble assimiler les codes de la subversion rock, force est de constater la persistance des thématiques de révolte et, de plus, la période postérieure au 11 septembre ainsi que la prédominance d’internet, qui constituent un vivier non négligeable pour les artistes.

Louis Allées certap.fr

Brazilian protest songs: “Peace without a voice is no peace but fear”

I was born a year after the military coup in Brazil.^A) The dictatorship that followed lasted from 1964 until 1985 - all my childhood and teenage years. But until I was 13 or 14 years old, I had no clue of what was going on in my country.^B) I lived in a small town and my parents were not involved in politics. We listened to the radio, watched the news on TV and had a subscription to a national newspaper, but all the media were completely censored at that time.^C) The fact that the newspaper was sometimes printed with a blank space or a cake recipe in the middle of the news never really caught my attention.^D) It was always like that and I didn’t know any better.

I had my first glimpse of what it really meant to have a military government and what kind of things were going on through songs. There was a song that I liked a lot, O bêbado e a equilibrista, although the lyrics didn’t make much sense to me: “My Brazil… / that dreams of the return / of Henfil’s brother / and so many people that left / on rocket fins”. Henfil was a famous cartoonist, but who was his brother? Who were the people who left? What were they singing about? This was in 1979 and I was 13.

Thanks to this song by João Bosco and Aldir Blanc (sung by Elis Regina) and the questions I started to ask, I heard for the first time about all the artists, journalists and activists that had been persecuted, imprisoned, tortured and exiled. Many had disappeared or been killed by the military regime. This song became an anthem for the amnesty of political prisoners and activists in exile, which was announced later in that same year.

In fact, due to the extreme censorship during the period of military dictatorship in Brazil, songs were one of the few ways to send political messages. Despite the tight surveillance of the censors, they flourished, giving a voice to the resistance movement. Like Para não dizer que não falei das flores, by Geraldo Vandré, which was interpreted as a call for armed struggle.

Words and phrases with double meanings were used to escape censorship and persecution. The greatest master in this art was Chico Buarque de Holanda. His clever lyrics were often approved by the censors, who would only later realise what the songs were really about. But then, of course, it was too late. That was the case with Apesar de você, which was censored only after it had already become an anthem on the streets. At first sight, it appears to be a samba about a lover’s quarrel. Actually, it was a sharp critique of the authoritarian regime and an act of direct defiance aimed at the dictators.

With the advent of democracy and the new freedom of expression in the late 1980s, protest songs played less of a role in Brazil for a while, but in the 1990s they once again became a powerful channel to voice social discontent. One of bands active in this period was O Rappa, with the song A paz que eu não quero. The fight against social inequality, urban and police violence and racial discrimination are the most common themes. Nowadays, the lyrics are explicit and the messages are clear.

Mariângela Guimarães rnw.nl