Why are people calling for a return to Brazil’s dictatorship?

Thousands wearing Brazil's colours protest in Copacabana

Thousands wearing Brazil’s colours protest in Copacabana

I wasn’t here in June 2013, when protests took over Brazil. I remember being quite surprised by the scale of them, especially as Brazilian friends had often told me that the nation wasn’t really the protesting kind compared to neighbours such as Argentina.
This weekend, hundreds of thousands were on the streets again all over the country, but it appeared very different. While military police were criticised for their violence in the June 2013 protests, which were notably young and had an anti-establishment feel, they were cheered at the one I was at in Copacabana. This time, an older and more affluent crowd – predominantly white – were protesting against the government under President Dilma Rousseff, of the Workers’ Party (which I expect none of them voted for in any case).
Some, though not all, want the President impeached, though this will be a tall order seeing as there is no smoking gun linking her directly to the Petrobras graft scandal. The investigation is still ongoing, and the Worker’s Party’s treasurer has been implicated in it today. Nevertheless, even those calling for impeachment admit it is unlikely at this stage.
The most disturbing element I saw was the number of people calling for a military coup. Brazil’s military dictatorship lasted from 1964 to 1985, and while it is often viewed as being relatively benign in comparison to Argentina’s, for instance, the numbers of disappeared are almost certainly higher than the official figure from Brazil’s Truth Commission of 434 disappeared or killed. Sunday in fact marked 30 years since the country became a democracy, yet many want to go back to the past.
Rita Souza wants a military coup

Rita Souza wants a military coup


“We have to do what we can to get rid of this red wave,” Paulo Alberquerque, 48, told me. He was representing an organisation called Movimento Unificado and calling for a coup. “Just to clean it up. And clean is exactly the word. They are destroying Brazil, especially our organisations. Communism is not for Brazil.”
While the political scientist David Fleischer explained to me that this group is at best a fringe, mostly headed by retired military officers, there were also many individuals at the protest in Copacabana such as Rita Souza, 60, who saw military intervention as an effective interim measure to deal with Brazil’s persistent corruption problem.
“I’m here on my own,” she told me. “Impeachment won’t take out all the corrupt politicians for good. We need the military to take over for 90 days, then to hold another election.” Some I spoke to mentioned Fernando Collor, a former president impeached in 1992, who nevertheless returned to politics and has been implicated in the Petrobras corruption scandal recently.
Many have forgotten that as with other regimes, the promises of a temporary, provisional government and no restrictions on freedom of speech or the opposition were soon put aside the last time the military took over here. My initial reaction to these placards was shock, though a friend said perhaps it is a sign that Brazil’s democracy is in good health if people are able to take to the streets and openly ask for such a thing as a military coup. It seems as though often in Europe or the US, certain topics can’t be broached at all, which populist right wingers such as Nigel Farage take advantage of. Saying the unsayable has an appeal all of its own, and certain views have more power if they are seen as forbidden.
Across town, in the less affluent northern suburb of Meier, an “aulao” (big class) was held that night by history professor Wolney Malafaia. A group gathered in a circle to listen and debate the legacy of the military dictatorship. It was exactly the sort of gathering that a democracy allows you to have, which would not have been permitted under the military regime. I was reminded of how fragile this democracy is here, and how recently the reality was very different.
“We are not in a democracy, with the media, justice system and police that we have now,” Malafaia said. With institutions such as the military police still in existence, and Amnesty International’s recent finding that 82 young people are killed every day in Brazil (77% of whom are black), it is hard not to agree that the transition has been slow, and troubled. The impact of the dictatorship was felt more among favela residents, indigenous people and those in distant rural locations than the well-off, educated student protesters who everyone remembers, people at the gathering pointed out. These groups are still the ones who experience violence and discrimination today.
The plummeting Real, unemployment, deeply embedded corruption and the high cost of living here are all legitimate complaints, and it would be a deep disservice to describe everyone who took to the streets on Sunday as a far-right loon motivated by hate, or just rich people who don’t want to see concessions made to the poor. When the economy starts to crumble, people feel this in their pockets. A friend of mine who works for the federal health department is still waiting for her salary from three months ago. These are real issues, and it is no wonder people are unhappy with Rousseff (who has exacerbated matters by seeming distant and aloof in any public addresses she has made). I hope Brazil finds a path to political reform to address these issues, with or without Rousseff at the helm, starting with a clean-up of Petrobras. The worst thing that could happen would be to go backwards.

Surprising truths about drugs and life on the streets in Sao Paulo

cracolandia nov 14
I recently went to Sao Paulo to write for the BBC about a Facebook page, Sao Paulo Invisivel (Invisible Sao Paulo) which tells the stories of homeless people on the streets of Sao Paulo and photographs them. It has been a huge success, with some people reuniting with their families and moving into rented accommodation purely as a result of the page and its 140,000+ supporters.

While I was there, I also visited the area known as Cracolandia, Sao Paulo’s Crackland. I found out about it during my first stint in Brazil, during which a massive and violent operation cleared out the area. The resulting photographs on a US news site were like something from a film, crumbling buildings eerily lit by police lights, painfully thin people who looked like zombies scattering as the police descended. I went for the first time for an alternative football event held there during the World Cup, and then it was during the day, as well as the fact the area was swelled with people from various NGOs and the municipal authority. Hardly the zombie apocalypse I had been expecting, but perhaps not a normal day there (if such a thing exists). A visit on my own later on revealed some surprising facts about the place and its hundreds of inhabitants. This was after those inhabitants had been wheeled out for lurid World Cup reports on the dark side of Brazil that beamed out all over the world. Here are a few of those things, in random order, which I found surprising (but true) about the zone of Sao Paulo which has been taken over by drug users and their dealers.

They’re not zombies
alexandre cracolandia
Alexandre, 40, who has been in Cracolandia for half his life

I can’t pretend that what I saw there isn’t sad and shocking, because it is. People scrabble in the dust on the ground for bits of the crack rocks which might have broken off. This is in a place where a rock costs just R$5, or £1.25. Some are dressed bizarrely, or partially dressed, with the ravages of drug abuse clear on their bodies. However, like alcoholics, there are varying degrees of this ravagement, and just like alcoholics, some have jobs. I spoke to Alexandre, now 40, who has spent 20 years of his life in Cracolandia. He has now been off crack for four months, and participates in the De Bracos Abertos scheme (of Open Arms) which gives people living there some money in return for doing some work for the municipal authority. The work Alexandre is doing now is mainly street cleaning, but interestingly he worked almost all of the time he was in Cracolandia. I’ve worked with alcoholics and people with cocaine problems before (what journalist hasn’t), and while their work might be affected in some cases, many still function to some degree while some will ultimately be lost forever. Crack may appear a world away, but the same rule applies.
“My father kicked me out of the house because I’m gay,” Alexandre told me. He gravitated towards this cheap, transient part of the city firstly as an adolescent because he didn’t have anywhere to live. “The community is good here, I made friends. At first, I only smoked marijuana or drank pinga [pinga is a slang term for cachaca, the sugarcane spirit made in Brazil],” he said. After a while, he experimented with crack as the people around him were doing. He is under no illusions about the effect it had on him. “It was total degradation,” he said, as only a life without inhibitions, conducted entirely on the street, could be. Yet there is still always a person inside that zombie shell. “I lost my self-esteem. People treat you like an animal, but were are still humans,” he stressed.
Some people, whether under the influence or not (people who have been heavy users of any type of cocaine, of which crack is a byproduct, seem to have that fast, intense way of talking to you at all times, I’ve noticed) want to tell you about their previous lives. It is poignant, because they are often convinced they will go back tomorrow and leave Cracolandia behind, but in many cases that will never happen. A man approached me in Rio’s version of Cracolandia carrying a laptop bag, and gave me his email address, although there was no laptop inside, he was not working and was squatting in an abandoned, half-demolished house. These stories may be a form of drug users’ denial but they are also a reminder that family, love bonds, work and individual interests are inside us all. To have slipped into this twilight zone for a while does not mean they have been totally forgotten.

They’re not all on crack
rita roseane
Rita Rose, Cracolandia’s community leader, with police officer Roseane

During the day, behind the band of crack users and makeshift tents they have assembled, there are a team of NGOs and a community base where the police have a permanent presence. All of this means there are various people who are in the transitional stage of trying to leave the crack life, as well as all the workers there. The most incredible person I met was Rita Rose, 48, the community leader. Yes, Crackland has a community leader. Though not an addict herself, she arrived in this place in 2009 to find her husband, an addict. “I slept here at night on the floor with my arms round him, I took him to hotels when I could, I fed him,” she remembered. “I fought it all, but he’s in prison. It’s a strong love. I don’t want to lose him like I lost my first husband, because of crack. I have to believe we can win.”
Rita now mediates between fights – which have been known to end in the death of one or more of the participants – and speaks up on behalf of the residents to the authorities, among other tasks. She puts her ability to resist the bacchanalia all around her down to her strict upbringing. It’s hard not to imagine that she has seen and experienced the worst of drug addiction too, and that has put her off, but then again maybe such rationale has no place in this world. If it gets you it gets you. That’s true of any drug.
“This place has a name. Don’t call it Cracolandia, this area is Campos Eliseos,” she implored me. The area known as Cracolandia has moved over the years, but Campos Eliseos is the official name for where it now stands. Looking around, how could anyone see anything but a Crackland, I thought to myself. But Rita sees Campos Eliseos, and maybe I should try to do the same.

Government schemes have been a success – but that has not reduced the population
The de Bracos Abertos scheme is nearly a year old now, and it has been hailed as a success. Alexandre, the 40-year-old rejected by his homophobic father, was one of its success stories. It has been coupled with a police approach which has officially been softened. While notably brutal in the past, the policy is now to only arrest drug dealers, although this is sometimes a grey area in Cracolandia, where users will carry drugs or sell them in return for tiny amounts.
The problem is that this hasn’t reduced numbers, which can go up to about 1,500 people at night. Quite the contrary.
“I have realised that the population is getting bigger. People know that there is the opportunity for treatment here,” Sergeant Herrera told me. Another reason is that the users feel safer together, as well as the fact that they know they can buy drugs there. There is also speculation from the municipal authority that the homeless population in Sao Paulo is increasing generally.
As I was leaving, the NGOs working there were about to have a meeting to decide what to do about the increasing population. Maybe part of the problem is that the more enlightened policies of the past year or so are not being enacted in other parts of Sao Paulo state. A more joined-up approach would definitely seem a better idea. Sadly, Brazil’s healthcare system is ill-equipped to deal with all these addicts. These few islands of assistance, such as the Bracos Abertos scheme, are all they have, and that won’t help everyone.

Meet Rio’s new forensic police officers

graduation women

Today, I watched 100 new Civil Police forensic experts get sworn in for the first time, after training at the police academy. It’s a cliche to say that police are getting younger (when in reality, it’s me that’s getting older) but also I noted that so many of them are women. “The presence of women is increasing every time. We have no quota policy, but more women are entering every time there is a new course. The image of the police today is totally different to what it was before,” the Civil Police boss Fernando Veloso told me afterwards.

Brazil’s police force is made up of Federal Police, Civil Police and Military Police, which makes it sometimes complicated to understand who is responsible for what. Civil Police investigate crimes, while the Military Police are on the streets, and the Federal Police are responsible for things like policing borders, as a simple explanation. In general, the Civil Police in Rio are pretty well-represented when it comes to women. I’ve spent quite a bit of time on police operations and in police stations here, and while I was expecting a macho environment, it was good to see the respect for the female deputies and officers. One such deputy here in Rio was used as the inspiration for a novela character and has become semi-famous. She was referred to as the “poderosa chefona” (powerful female boss, is the best way I can translate that) by the mainly male officers in that station. There is even a Facebook page dedicated to women in the Civil Police. Its cover photo is a pair of high-heeled, crossed legs, with a pink handbag and its contents strewn around it, which include a pistol and a pair of handcuffs. “Far from being the fragile sex!” its strapline announces.

It’s a good thing to have more women in the police not just because it’s always good to have women in positions of power and responsibility. A survey in 2003 found that 70% cariocas, or residents of Rio, believed that having more females in the police would make them less violent and more respected overall. It has certainly been part of the policy for the police pacification units in the favelas of Rio. Privately, some cops have complained that women join and don’t want to act on the streets or even carry guns, but are attracted by the security of a government job. Change takes time.

At the graduation, both the Governor Luiz Fernando Pezao and Rio’s security boss Jose Beltrame spoke of the challenges ahead and the progress which has been made in terms of valuing the profession of police. In a city which has been so dogged by violence for many decades, and with the almost daily reports of police brutality or abuses of power, the profession itself had become somewhat denigrated. You have to hope that a new generation, one that is not exclusively male and macho, will ring in those changes. I really want to look at those fresh faces and believe in that.

“Public security is starting to be valued as a profession. Brazil is learning in the cruellest way possible, through loss of lives, but it is starting to wake up,” Beltrame told the expectant new recruits. “You will encounter difficulties in your work, you will find deficiencies. You will resolve these like the head of a family, working out your priorities at the end of each month, and solving one thing at a time.”

graduation pezao
Rio’s Governor Pezao gives a certificate to the one of the new female recruits

Pezao, who was re-elected at the beginning of this month, also stressed the challenges ahead. “I look at Rio de Janeiro eight years ago and I look at it now. We’ve got a lot to do still but we have achieved a lot so far,” he said.

Later today, across town in Rocinha, Rio’s largest favela, a vigil was held in memory of Hugo Leonardo Santos Silva, 33, who was shot by Military Police in 2012. His family said he was a builder who was shot when approached by police and searched, while the police at the time claimed he was involved in a shoot out with them. It was a reminder that the issue of policing here remains extremely contentious. Many of these protests are about the pacification units and the Military Police action in favelas, but in a country which had 56,000 murders in 2012 it is clear that violence is still a severe problem. That’s something these new recruits, male or female, will have to face on a daily basis. Good luck to them.

O menos mal

"Presidenta" Dilma, by Alexandre Vieira

“Presidenta” Dilma, by Alexandre Vieira

O menos mal means “the least bad.” It was a phrase I have heard a lot in the lead up to yesterday’s elections, as Brazilians told me they were voting not for their ideal candidate, but the one who wasn’t quite as bad as the others. That was especially true here in Rio, where they were voting for the governor between a powerful figure from the evangelical church and Pezao, who represents the previous hated governor Serge Cabral’s regime. In the end, Pezao won, another example of people voting for continuation rather than change.

In the case of the president Dilma Rousseff, 51 per cent of votes is hardly a resounding endorsement. After such a nasty campaign on both sides, that comes as no surprise. It wasn’t unusual to see fights and arguments in the streets here between fans of Dilma and her challenger, PSDB’s Aecio Neves. Television debates focused on character assassinations and generally inaccurate scaremongering rather than policy. Social media was full of vitriol from both sides, with Aecio supporters blaming voters in the poor north east for his defeat, even while the majority in Rio de Janeiro and Minas Gerais, the well-off state which Aecio is from, voted for the Workers’ Party and Dilma.

It is fair to say with an abstention rate of about 20%, in a country where voting is a legal obligation, that many were disillusioned. It is still quite difficult to believe that this is the country where millions took to the streets to protest in 2013. Many people I know who voted for more radical, left-wing candidates in the first round transferred their votes to Dilma for the second round, as the “menos mal” option. They saw Aecio as a step into the past, a representative of Brazil’s elite and a spoiled playboy. A cutting resurfaced of an interview from his student days in the United States, in which he said that all Brazilians had maids, and joked about never having made his own bed. The project of social inclusion which many see as beginning in earnest under President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva’s government was one they couldn’t turn their back on.

Critically, the economy boomed under Lula and it has stalled in recent years, leading many in the business community to back a change under Aecio. But it seems that Brazilians haven’t forgotten the advances of the Lula years. In case they were about to, Lula himself was a constant on the campaign trail, appearing in the TV propaganda and even on the Dilma stickers supporters wore. He was side by side with Dilma for her victory speech last night. Many think he will run again in 2018. People often talk about social issues as being totally separate to the success of the economy, but with inequality comes instability, and invariably crime and other issues. Having large numbers of people who are unable to participate in the market stalls growth, and when a small group of people run everything it is hardly an incentive to become more competitive and efficient. Perhaps voters recognised this.

Nevertheless, Brazil’s interminable bureaucracy is in dire need of sorting out, and people are tired of corruption scandals. Dilma said in her speech that she doesn’t believe Brazil is a divided nation, but the viciousness of this electoral campaign suggests otherwise. While 95 per cent of Brazilians own a TV, only 57 per cent have access to proper sewage. It is a country with one of the biggest rich poor gaps in the world, where those who enjoy its riches are impatient to see Brazil reach its promise, forgetting about those who are lagging behind. While the markets are already showing their disapproval of Dilma’s victory, the next four years will reveal if the choice was really the “menos mal” for Brazil and its citizens.

Something Brazil’s election candidates aren’t talking about

Jandira Magdalena dos SantosPicture: Jandira Magdalena dos Santos, 27

Today 57 people (so far) have been arrested for being part of a secret abortion gang in Rio de Janeiro. The police revealed they had performed abortions on girls as young as 13, one of many facts which was uncovered in a 15-month investigation in which 80 women gave evidence. It is a crime to have an abortion in Brazil, except in exceptional circumstances such as rape, if the mother’s life is in danger or if part of the foetus’ brain is missing. Yet it is hard to understand why a 13-year-old girl should have to resort to an illegal abortion clinic to get a termination. Police point out illegal abortions in Brazil are a moderate moneyspinner, with gangs making an average R$300,000 per month (that’s about £79,000, or $125,000). We don’t know what motivates each individual (including doctors and lawyers) to participate in such a scheme, but the scale of it inevitably points to a demand which is not being met legally.

Now we are in the second round of Brazil’s elections, it is worth remembering that the two presidential candidates are against changing abortion law. That includes the Workers’ Party incumbent, former guerrilla (and still a woman) Dilma Rousseff. In the last election in 2010, she actually denied being pro-choice when it comes to abortion. Her rival Aecio Neves has reiterated several times he will not change the law if elected. Other social issues have taken centre stage, including gay rights which I wrote about here. But despite two recent horrific deaths of women whose abortions went wrong, both of which have been major news here, the topic has not lit up electoral debates. I have read many impassioned editorials, even in the mainly conservative Brazilian mainstream press, asking for a change in the law, but the public has not got behind it as a cause. Why is that? Well, it could be something to do with the fact that a survey in 2010 found that 82% of Brazilians don’t believe abortion law here needs to be changed.

Brazil is famously the biggest Catholic country in the world, and even if that is gradually changing, no doubt those attitudes still have a strong influence, seeping into the culture over time and invisibly shaping morals and beliefs. The trouble with criminalising personal choices is that the wrong people can suffer as a result. Jandira Magdalena dos Santos was 27 when she disappeared in August. Four months’ pregnant and desperate, she had told her father she wanted to get an abortion. He talked to her on the phone, reassuring her, telling her that they would go together to find a clinic. That phonecall was the last time they ever spoke. The burnt remains of her body were found two days later, missing fingertips and teeth, inside a car. For whatever reason, Jandira went alone to the clinic, and something went wrong during the operation.  Those responsible, fearing repercussions for their involvement in an illegal business as well as her death, had done everything possible to disguise her identity. While police were able to make a genetic match on her body, Jandira was still buried without being officially identified due to the measures they took. “The worst thing is that they mutilated her,” her father said at the funeral.

Elizângela Barbosa already had three children when she fell pregnant, and decided not to have the fourth. Aged 32, she tried to take medication to end the pregnancy, but the attempts were not successful. It looked like the only option was to try a clandestine clinic. A driver admitted being told to take her to a nearby hospital after complications, though she did not make it there alive. She lost her life minutes before arriving at the hospital. An autopsy later found she still had a plastic tube in her uterus when she died.

Both deaths are horrific in their unique, separate ways. It would be impossible to say that the burnt and mutilated body, reminiscent of a drug gang murder, is any worse than the poignant image of a lifeless body arriving in a car driven by a stranger outside a hospital, too late to be saved. What is saddest of all is that they could have been prevented, always the worst thing to have to accept with any death. The huge police operation today will likely succeed in putting people behind bars who did indeed break the law; but even if 82% of people here disagree with me, I think it is high time that law was changed. What a pity there is no chance of that happening as a result of the elections on the 26th of this month.

The singing maids

It’s not too long before I’ll have been a year in the UK, but news from Brazil is never far from my mind. I noticed social media full of debate this week about new laws which are set to improve the working conditions of Brazil’s 6.7 million female maids (among many other things, as social media in Brazil is a big deal). According to some research that came out at the beginning of the year, Brazil has more maids than any other country in the world. It’s easy to believe. After getting kicked out of my flatshare, I found myself sleeping in the tiny bed (arms and legs lolling off the side) which had been built into my friend’s apartment for the maid. As many are typically from the north east of the country, they are small in stature, and this didn’t suit me greatly, as I once almost fell completely out of bed. Happy to have escaped to safety (and recovering from Dengue fever at one point) I slept in late, only to be woken by the maid. Although many families have moved away from having maids who live in the house, like a kind of slave, it is still the norm for those who can afford it to have someone who visits and not only cleans but radically tidies and often cooks. She seemed quite outraged to find me there, and virtually turfed me out of bed so she could get to the cupboard above my head where the cleaning products were. I suppose that after many years (and so many hours per week) of working in the same house, the maid can end up spending more time there than the working residents, and can feel a certain sense of propriety.

It wasn’t the first time I had found the whole thing quite disagreeable. One of the more sickening aspects of a culture which is heavily maided-up is that you will hear middle class and upper class ladies opine about how well they treat their maids – the Christmas bonuses, the gifts, sometimes even the children who are adopted or houses bought (frequently in favelas) for those who have finished their service. In fact, the maid I chatted to who worked another friend’s place in Barra de Tijuca, home of the Olympic games, said her half-brother had been adopted by the family where her mother worked, being as he was the product of a liason between the male owner and her mother as a employee. When I expressed surprise, a friend told me such stories are in fact common. There seems very little consciousness at times that it would be kinder not to have maids in the first place than to give them really nice chocolates at Christmas. It is certainly a very surreal sight to see those nannies and maids in the Praca Nossa Senhora de Paz, Ipanema, all dressed in white, in 40 degree heat, trying to supervise children while they played in sandpits and ate ice creams. Like some bizarre Gone With The Wind fantasy. I think in fact I’ve blogged before about that very sight.

It seems as if progress is being made however. I was always seeing stories in the Brazilian media about how the middle classes now struggle to find suitable maids, who are lured instead by other, better paid professions. Perhaps a good reflection of this shift can be seen on the soap operas. It is a well-known cliche that the whole of Brazil grinds to a halt for the finale of its novelas, mainly filmed in Rio de Janeiro. But while the subject of these has so often been upper class families, in grandiose settings such as the Roman Empire, the novela Cheias de Charme had roaring success last year and was a total departure. The story of three maids who form a band and find fame away from their evil employer, it is not light on escapism either (or high camp for that matter), but the choice of heroine/s was refreshing. I remember finding it odd, when watching the excellent movie Diva (starring the equally great Brazilian actress Lilia Cabral), that a pivotal scene where the protagonist tells her husband she doesn’t want to be with him anymore was conducted under the eyes and ears of the home help. That film was only made in 2009, so it can only be a good thing if maids are becoming visible at last. Change may take some time, but with this law limiting the hours of live-in maids to 44 per week among other benefits, it is definitely on its way.

British stereotypes

King Charles I as imagined by the Ilha do Governador samba school, 2012 (Rafael Moraes, Ascom Riotur)

After two years in Rio defending us Brits against various stereotypes, I must admit I’ve been reassessing after being back home in the UK for nearly six weeks. In no particular order…

We’re cold, and it’s not just the temperature

The first thing I noticed, somewhat in shock as I drove away from Heathrow, was the particular insipid blue that the sky was, and the worryingly pale skins of the people in the streets. It’s true that I was in Feltham, and its probably fair to say Feltham is not the UK’s answer to Rio de Janeiro in terms of glamour. Next I noticed that to add to this sombre pallette, most folks seem to wear dark colours, as if the lack of anything vivid in the natural world wasn’t grim enough. I went to see New Order that night which served as a kind of baptism of fire (of ice?) into Britishness, though brilliant. Electronic, industrial soundscapes filled the (cold) room, and everyone did that curious bodyless dancing they do to electronic music in this country. It’s not dancing with a partner, there is certainly no sexuality in it, or contact with other human beings whatsoever.

A couple of times, people I spoke to made it obvious (in that non-confrontational way that English people do) that it was time for me to go away. I was engaging everyone in conversation as Cariocas tend to do, but here in London folks are liable to call the police if you linger for a little too long. The sense of constantly having to defend my personal space was blessedly absent, but in its place there was no one near me at all. Which brings me to the next one…

We’re drunks

Everything changes when people have got a few drinks inside them. People even flirt with each other and talk to strangers, enthusiastically, but there is no danger of this happening at the beginning of the night. Admittedly its difficult to tell when Brazilians are drunk as they can be just as deafeningly loud without it, but flirting is a part of daily life in Rio in a way it just isn’t here. People react incredulously to the idea that Londoners resort to the internet to meet each other. It has taken off to a small extent in Rio, with sites like adultfriendfinder.com augmenting the sex lives of some; but this is a bit like the idea of John Terry taking Viagra – probably unnecessary, and a bit frightening. It seems to me that Londoners use the internet to schedule in a girlfriend or a boyfriend, like they would a meeting with their accountant, but then that person becomes a sort of buddy or flatmate, another sexless component of their lives. Of course there are commendable exceptions (and I’m not talking about John Terry) but in many cases, buying a house and ticking the next lifestyle box is deemed much more important than passion. Unless you’re drunk, when everything is permissable. And then never spoken about again.

The food is terrible

This one annoyed me the most in Rio; as much when it came from people who eat beans and rice for every meal as when it came, as it frequently does, from Americans (I am afraid it is unacceptable to claim the achievements of Mexicans as your own here). I thought of all the great meals I’d eaten over the years in London, roast dinners in Cotswold pubs, Indian food in Manchester’s curry mile (alright, I admit I’m doing the same thing as the yanks), oysters in Whitstable, etc, etc. But I do have to concede a little here, at least to Brazil.

People eat much, much more processed food here (since when is a “steamed meal” anything other than a microwaveable pile of processed junk?), and when they do eat well, it is always so damned pretentious. Scotch egg, anyone? Would that be a free-range egg wrapped in Tweeberry Farm organic pork, sprinkled with chopped flat leaf garden parsley? Fresh, simple food has been sold back to us as a branded, overpriced lifestyle choice, rather than being the normal and unfussy way to eat as it is in Brazil. With everything so stylised, it ceases to be pleasurable and becomes yet another miserable status symbol. Note the gastro pubs and new restaurants reviewed in the Sunday broadsheet supplements, the recipes full of fennel and langoustines, aspirational to the wood-fired, organic core and not actually cooked by anyone. Microwave meal and Ginsters scotch egg it is.

Complaining

Not sure I’d have the nerve to deny this one. There are few things as depressing in life as unrelenting positivity, especially in the face of a very negative reality, but the Brits do love a good moan in the face of a pretty decent reality. I’m torn here as they can be hilarious with it but ultimately I’m going to opt for the Brazilian approach: be sad, then move on, rather than wallow in misery day in day out. Or, as the Mangueira samba school says, agonizar não é morrer (to agonise is not to die).

I’ve got a few more but must sign off, I’m in a Starbucks and few things are more worth complaining about than that.

The waterfall of lies

London, that great sea, whose ebb and flow at once is deaf and loud, and on the shore… Vomits its wrecks and still howls on for more. Yet in its depth what treasures!

Watching over us? Cristo

After two years, I’m going back to London for the first time. That verse was written about London, and it used to resonate with me as a description of the overwhelming, ruthless and yet richly abundant city. However, it was written over a century ago, and it now seems to apply much more to a city like Rio, in the middle of a great transition and crowded with immigrants from the countryside trying to find their pot of gold, than staid old, dear old London.

Nevertheless, I listened to this yesterday and started to get a bit sad about leaving, as much as I can’t wait to see everyone I’ve missed. I remembered listening to this music the week when I arrived, totally seduced by the leafy Ipanema streets and the ridiculously beautiful people. I’m afraid of how prosaic London is going to turn out to be in comparison.

I’m leaving in the middle of a corruption scandal (although it would have been possible to have written that sentence at any time over my stay, to be fair). I will write about it here, if I can find the space and time to do it justice. It started with the uncovering of a scandal involving a bicheiro called Cachoeira (which means waterfall) paying politicians for influence and information. It is now engulfing everyone from the media to the company responsible for World Cup works at Maracana, and subject to a parliamentary inquiry.One Brazilian commentator delivered the scathing indictment that all we can expect from the Cachoeira inquiry is “a waterfall of lies”, in part because in Brazil, unlike the US, for example (where it has brought down presidents), lying under oath is not considered a particularly serious offence.

A European friend of mine living with a Brazilian man said she has come to identify with the autistic, since she is inclined to interpret his words prosaically, that is, to believe they mean what they appear to, yet frequently they have another meaning entirely and one which remains mysterious. I have long learned that here, “I’m on my way” can mean anything from “I’m still in bed, but will come, just three hours late” to “you will never see or hear from me again.” Still, in the UK “I’d love to” often means “I would rather gouge my eyes out, but feel obliged to come and so will be there, gritting my teeth.” Many is the night I have spent at Rio botequim tables laden with cachaca shots and watery, ice-cold beer, debating the relative merits of duty and obligation versus the Carioca, more free approach. There is no right answer, for our public or private lives. Which approach is actually more honest or truthful is not even clear sometimes. The only thing that’s certain is that searching for the truth is harsh on the individual, and tiring sometimes.

Ultimately there is room for both poetry and prose in the world, and it seems likely that for the next few years I will be dividing my time between Brazil and London and getting a balance of both. If I could, I would give a pinch of the British prosaic sense of reality to this country, and a little of the poetry here which is so sorely missing at home to the UK, but in the meantime, there is always TAM Airlines (don’t talk to me about Air France).

Drugs (narcotics and other kinds)

It’s interesting that Obama’s been having a bit of a rough time in Colombia, where he’s meeting heads of state from Latin American countries. One of his biggest headaches, apart from Cuba, has been calls to legalise drugs.

It’s one of those questions that seems hardly worth debating, so impossible would it be to get it past the Tea Party types, and anyone even moderately conservative. Talking about legalising drugs just makes me think of a birthday card someone got me from one of those shops in Hackney once with a big marijuana leaf on the front and the slogan “legalize it”. I think it’s fair to say it doesn’t get treated as a viable policy. But here, a letter appeared in the papers signed by what could be seen as conservative forces, including ex-President Fernando Henrique Cardoso (he presided over the privatisation of state assets in Brazil so is certainly no Hugo Chavez). It was calling for the decriminalisation of drug consumption, and the “opening of the debate” about models of regulating drugs, which could ultimately treat them similarly to alcohol and tobacco.

These recommendations came from the Commisao Latino-Americana sobre Drogas e Democracia, an organisation which has worked together for four years trying to find new solutions to this problem.

FHC is working with ex-presidents of Colombia and Mexico. Suddenly, I am reminded of an interview with Brazil’s last president, Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, who was asked what the secret to his eight-year run of success was. He said it was down to doing those things which were obvious, which everyone knew but somehow never did. It makes me wonder if it is easier for ex-presidents to both see and say the truth, that the “war on drugs” doesn’t work and another solution is necessary, now there is no electorate to offend.There are some things you just don’t seem to be able to get away with saying, no matter how obvious they are.

Of course, its easy to blame the United States, which initiated this policy, but while the US is indeed in the number one spot when it comes to consumption of cocaine, for instance, Brazil is now number two. At least when it comes to hypocrisy and a pressing need to recognise that violent crackdowns are not being effective, Brazil is right up there. Recent policies include re-doubling the federal police presence at the borders so there is no doubting the official line.

From arriving in Rio, it doesn’t take too long for the observant to see the ravages of the drugs trade, and the resultant war against it. The bullets on the walls of buildings in (and sometimes out) of any favela will tell you that, and any glance at the TV news reveals rolling footage of hauls of drugs and arms, fatal shootings, and the ongoing process of police attempting to enter these areas and station themselves there permanently, with varying degrees of success. Even before this process began, a friend who lives in a favela in the north told me he and his neighbours would be perplexed at the sight of these hauls from operations on TV, not having seen any police in the area that day, or heard sirens or seen anyone being arrested. Since the police had accepted large bribes to allow the drug dealing to continue, the operations were often simulated just to please the public or those politicians who had called for it. There was not even a genuine attempt to wipe out drugs, let alone one that had a chance of working.

Even without the spectre of corruption which will see to the success or failure of this current largescale operation, it’s a problem when you’ve got the demand for drugs that you have. I’m pretty sure that the guy who robbed me here at gunpoint was on crack; however, I also remember the girl at my university who was hospitalised after drinking games (organised by the halls of residence) such as yard of ale, etc. I still remember her lifeless body on the cold grass, and the ambulance, as the games continued and people laughed along. Drink as well as drugs causes social and health problems, but I can’t see Obama, or Dilma Rouseff for that matter, changing their policies any time soon.

Evicted

I am writing this from a balcony in the salubrious area of Rio called Leblon. If Mayfair was below the equator, it would be here, with improbable-sized butterflies floating past, and some of the most exclusive restaurants in the city located just below. However, it wasn’t always thus.

A stroke of fortune has brought me here, but only on Tuesday I was thrown out of my last place. In truth, it had been hell since I moved in, more or less, due to a parade of noisy flatmates and a series of unfortunate events (if it hadn’t already been used as a book title, I would be bagging A Series of Unfortunate Events as my autobiography title).

The landlady moved herself in on January, and proceeded to do works inside at all hours, including weekends, though somehow failed to replace the rusty, 12-year-old washing machine with anything that didn’t turn my white clothes yellow. Grey would have been ok, but yellow just looks unclean. Anyway. I finally complained about this last Saturday, when I awoke to find a fat man shouting into his phone on the balcony, various hoovering and drilling sounds reverberating around the flat, and the contents of the cupboards in my hallway all over the floor.

Due to my complaint, she sent me an email two days later ordering me to leave by the end of the month, as well as informing me that the British Empire was now over, as was my stay in the flat, and the insult that I have a temper “like the Iron Lady.” I managed to put myself up in this flat (courtesy of ex-pat friends) but returned last night to get some of my things, only to find she had put most of them out for rubbish, and to find her screaming at me some of the most colourful Portuguese I had yet heard spoken outside of the football grounds. The porter had been told not to let me in, and “get out of my house!” was the most repeatable thing she said, regardless of my having paid rent until the end of the month.

This series of unfortunate events was precipitated partly by the “mercado parallelo” that exists for renting out here. If a foreigner (or anyone) wants to go through the formal renting process, they must find a fiador, a kind of guarantor who will agree to pay your rent if for some reason you find yourself indisposed. As with many bureaucratic laws here, it is so cumbersome and impossible for many to fulfil, including many Brazilians themselves, that a large alternative market has sprung up, informal, and without any paperwork whatsoever.

The politicians in Brasilia have beavered away to create a mountain of laws which would have protected me as a tenant; but since I did not have a contract, that protection doesn’t exist. Similarly, the laws governing buying a kettle or mobile phone require the showing of identification so as to prevent the use of certainly mobile phones in prison (kettles maybe not so much) which has created a huge black market for electronic goods. Hop down to Uruguaiana market in the centre of town and you can buy kettles and phones to your heart’s content, using cash, no questions asked.

The housing market here, when it comes to renting, is complicated further by the fact that many Brazilians still live with family members regardless of age. I know of many people with good jobs in their 40s who live with their parents, usually having moved back there after getting divorced. There is certainly no shame in it as there would be at home, and this has the twin effect that there are less places available to share and less people used to doing so. Landlords themselves seem unaware of the rights and boundaries tenants might expect to enjoy; but then again, if your mother still lives with you aged 40, perhaps the concept of boundaries is somewhat different.

It is partly because of this that couples go to motels routinely to sleep together, since privacy at home is often not a realistic expectation. This is as much true for established couples as those having affairs or one-night stands.

The irony of my situation is that while my landlady was keen to throw all the exploitative deeds of my country in my face, but now Brazilians are in a position to exploit Europeans and Americans at will, knowing that we are frequently forced into this parallel market where we don’t have rights, if we even know what they are supposed to be. I am still smarting over being described as being like Margaret Thatcher, regardless of the other expletives she flung at me. Just as in this city, you can be in the midst of what seems like hell, guns, noise, violence, etc, then turn a corner into a gentile, bucolic neighbourhood, I have found myself out of hell and into a peaceful haven – for now. How long this calm will last nobody ever seems to know.