Sunday, December 13, 2009

Goiâs and Brasilia

I recently spent about a week and a half in Goiâs and Brasilia, in Brazil's Midwest. While in Goiâs I had the opportunity to travel to some rural areas and talk with people who have immigrated from northeastern Brazil, the region where I am conducting my research, to work cutting sugarcane or laboring in other types of agriculture. I learned that since the US-Brazil Biofuels Agreement in 2007, ethanol producing companies have begun to lease land from small farmers in midwestern states such as Goiâs in droves. The landscape, local economy, and culture are changing rapidly as more diversified small-scale farms are converted to large-scale sugarcane monoculture. This phenomenon is also inspiring increased immigration from the Northeast, the country's poorest region, to these rural areas where thousands of people can work in the sugarcane plantations making minimum wages.

Up until this trip I had not realized just how much the sugarcane industry and other forms of large-scale agriculture throughout the Midwest, South, and Southeast (Brazil's more prosperous regions) depend on migrant labor from the Northeast. Apparently the majority of the unskilled labor on the monoculture plantations in fact comes from the Northeast. This would include laborers working as registered workers as well as clandestine and even slave labor, which is in fact increasing in southern Brazil. People migrate from the Northeast because in that region there is simply little work, and laborers tend to be paid less and have fewer rights. In fact, on several occasions in Pernambuco I have heard sugarcane cutters talking about wanting to head to other states where they can make more money, be treated better by employers, and in general have greater security. That is, of course, as long as they are not duped into slave-like or clandestine working conditions.

While in Goiâs I visited neighborhoods which are almost entirely occupied by people from the Northeast who have come to search for work. It was an excellent opportunity to see the impacts of Brazil's expanding ethanol industry on livelihoods in the Northeast from this perspective- migration in search of a better life. They are still cutting cane, as their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents probably did, but in a different part of the country where they feel there is more potential for a future. While doing my research in the Northeast I have met countless people who have tried living in other states, or whose family members have migrated to other states to try to find a better and easier life. On this trip I got to see how those people actually live once they make it down here. The people that I talked with all work long hours in hard labor, but expressed that they are happy to have made the move to Goiâs. This is because cutting cane pays better here, and workers receive far more benefits. In addition, there are other types of agriculture which employ the migrant laborers once the sugarcane harvest ends. This means that here in Goiâs there is no hungry season such as that experienced by sugarcane-dependent communities in the Northeast. All of the people I spoke with said that they feel they have a better chance at a future in Goiâs than in the Northeast, even if they continue only to work in agriculture there.



Here are some pictures of the communities of migrant laborers and the great people I met there:




 

 

 


After leaving Goiâs I hopped on a bus to nearby Brasilia, Brazil's capital since 1960. It is quite unfortunate that this entirely planned city was planned during an era when suburbia-style car dependence was all the rage. Trying to walk around this city is hell. I managed to do a bit of walking though, in addition to taking crowded buses and expensive cabs. I didn't get to see too much of the city while I was there. I had a good time, but have no huge desire to go back. The purpose of this trip was to interview the Ministries of Mines and Energy and Agriculture on Brazil's ethanol program. The interviews went fairly smoothly, and they while they did their best to blow me away with the success of Brazil's "green" ethanol industry, I did my best to get them to talk about things like the impact of the expanding ethanol industry on food security and agrarian reform, so desperately needed by millions of landless people in Brazil. They didn't blow me away, but merely told me what I expected to hear. They didn't do much as far as answering my questions either. The meetings were still worthwhile though. Brasilia was an interesting experience. 

In addition to my experience with the Ministries, I met some great folks working in agrarian reform and the landless movement while in Brasilia. These folks are always great to spend time with and learn from. They are passionate and driven, fighting relentlessly for social justice. Even if it is just from an office in Brasilia. Someone's gotta do it. They made for wonderful hosts during my time in the capital.




Brasilia's cathedral- interesting, huh?

 
Brasilia's version of the National Mall



Thursday, December 10, 2009

Olinda!

I have moved into my very own little apartment in the BEAUTIFUL town of Olinda. I live about three blocks from the beach (where I unfortunately can't swim because all of the urban beaches here are polluted and shark-infested) and a ten minute walk from the historic center, which is a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Here is a picture of the view from my living room window:




Link to my Picasa album with more photos of Olinda: http://picasaweb.google.com/lynn.m.schneider/OlindaBrazil#

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Inspiration for the Weary Traveler

Today, while attempting to read about methods for doing research on sustainable rural livelihoods, I found myself on an amazing website called Matador Network (http://matadornetwork.com/), an online community of travelers, adventurers and such. My kind of people. I managed to spend a good hour or two procrastinating by reading several interesting posts from other travelers. One of these was the humbly titled, "The 50 Most Inspiring Travel Quotes of all Time." It is always fun to read travel quotes that discuss the experience, the purpose, and the effects of a traveling/wandering/adventuring lifestyle. Especially when you're in a mid-trip mini existential crisis like I am (why I am here again? what am I doing? what about this research I have supposedly committed to doing?). So I picked out a few that really spoke to me and what I'm feeling on this trip, as well as what I've felt during and after other extended stints abroad. If you're traveling, you'll love them, and if you're stuck at home right now they might just induce some travel fever. I know its not just me that's addicted to the rawness of life abroad.

From:  http://www.bravenewtraveler.com/2008/03/07/50-most-inspiring-travel-quotes-of-all-time/

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese

“When we get out of the glass bottle of our ego and when we escape like the squirrels in the cage of our personality and get into the forest again, we shall shiver with cold and fright. But things will happen to us so that we don’t know ourselves. Cool, unlying life will rush in.” – D. H. Lawrence

“Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.” – Miriam Beard

“A journey is best measured in friends, rather than miles.” – Tim Cahill

“What you’ve done becomes the judge of what you’re going to do – especially in other people’s minds. When you’re traveling, you are what you are right there and then. People don’t have your past to hold against you. No yesterdays on the road.” – William Least Heat Moon

“The first condition of understanding a foreign country is to smell it.” – Rudyard Kipling


“Adventure is a path. Real adventure – self-determined, self-motivated, often risky – forces you to have firsthand encounters with the world. The world the way it is, not the way you imagine it. Your body will collide with the earth and you will bear witness. In this way you will be compelled to grapple with the limitless kindness and bottomless cruelty of humankind – and perhaps realize that you yourself are capable of both. This will change you. Nothing will ever again be black-and-white.” – Mark Jenkins

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” - Robert Louis Stevenson

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Thanksgiving in Goiânia...Alone

Written while drinking one large bottle of cerveja Skoll and eating a cheese "worm" pastry at a snackshop in downtown Goiânia in Brazil's mid-west, alone on Thanksgiving evening.


It's official: I'm addicted to being a gringa in Latin America. This life, as a traveler, as a foreigner, as someone who is more than a tourist but still always an outsider, has become my addiction. It is at times painful and humiliating, at other times liberating and exciting, and it always (as long as my eyes, mind, and heart are open to it) inspires personal growth, reflection, and- I like to think- wisdom. My world is turned upside down on a regular basis. I can be and do anything I want. I can go far beyond the boundaries of life, society, and self created by my culture.

I am an American girl, yes. Always will be. Many aspects of my culture are deeply ingrained in me (that's how culture works, after all), and I even have pride in certain aspects of my culture, despite the awkwardness and sometimes even shame that comes with having to explain that yes I am an American but don't eat hamburgers every day or any day at all, I didn't vote for Bush, I don't support the war, and the list goes on... Among the more radical of my new colleagues and friends in Brazil it has actually been extremely uncomfortable having to say where I'm from and answer questions about my culture and government. Usually when they talk to me for a while they say that I don't seem American. My accent sounds Spanish, I have a Brazilian face, and I don't eat hamburgers for crying out loud. But I am an American girl, and I am more acutely aware of it than usual today.

Here I am on Thanksgiving evening by myself, in a town where I have developed superficial relationships with a handful of friendly and generous people, drinking beer and eating a bad cheese pastry all by myself. And it's okay. I miss my family and all of my loved ones. I admit that I miss my culture and our celebration of this confused holiday that celebrates genocide, pretending (most of us very genuinely and with the best of intentions) that instead we are celebrating a sharing of cultures and the beginning of a peaceful alliance. All I can smell is the churrasco (barbecued meat) on the grill outside, and oh how I wish that I were instead smelling a pumpkin pie baking in the oven, and cranberries with a cinnamon and orange twist boiling on the stove top. My mouth is watering at the thought, and this cheese pastry just isn't cutting it. At least I have the beer to help numb the senses. It's not yet working though, and so I find myself longing for a house warm from the heat of bodies and the oven and stove going throughout the day.

As deeply as I am now craving that idealized Thanksgiving scene, I have desperately craved alone time for the past several weeks. Since arriving in Brazil two months ago most of my alone time has been while sleeping. Brazilians are such wonderful hosts, and due to this aspect of their culture and the fact that they hate being alone and therefore assume that all other sane people do too, I have been constantly surrounded by good intentioned Brazilian friends and colleagues since I arrived. Particularly since I arrived and started working on my research in Recife, where I have been extremely well received. The last time I had any alone time was on my weekend trip to Maceió five weeks ago. When I told my new friends in Recife about this trip, they were shocked to hear that I had gone to the beach town by myself. I think they pitied me more than anything. While in Maceió for a day and a half I received pitying looks from others as I ate lunch by myself, and more than once was invited to share a table, and even to share in food and beer. Brazilians never fail to impress me with their sense of community. They are so welcoming and so generous. Everywhere I have traveled, whether it has been for a few hours, days or weeks, they have taken me under their wings. This treatment has done wonders for my Portuguese and has truly enriched my Brazilian experience. At least 80% of the time I am ecstatic about how I have been received and treated in Brazil since arriving. There are other times that I feel stifled. When with Brazlians constantly, I must behave as a Brazilian. Or at least try. It is exhausting.

Today, however, I am free. It is Thanksgiving, and I have been left alone to wander the streets of Goiânia and wallow in my homesickness, enjoying every bit of it as only someone addicted to being an outsider can.


Monday, November 23, 2009

Camping in the backlands, researching in the sugarcane plantations, sambaing in Recife, loving the rain in Goiânia...

I awoke this morning to grey skies and pouring rain, and I felt at home in a borrowed bed in the city of Goiânia in Brazil's Mid-West. Such a relief from the past few weeks of scorching sun in Pernambuco, where I have spent the hot days traveling to the forest region, the backlands, and the highlands for various activities, some directly related to my research and others more with the goal of expanding my understanding of the realities of rural northeastern Brazil in general- the sugarcane plantations and beyond.
Two weeks ago I spent the weekend at a camp-out for rural youth in the sertão (translates to backlands, or hinterlands) of Pernambuco. Around 80 youth from landless settlements, rural communities, and small family farms gathered for this event which was meant to increase solidarity amongst youth in the region and provide a sort of political training. A number of NGOs and individuals that work in rural development, sustainable agriculture and forestry, and the promotion of the agrarian reform gave workshops and talks on everything from agroforestry, bee-keeping and youth-managed tree nurseries to the role of youth in the agrarian reform and the impacts of genetically modified seeds on food sovereignty.



Youth teaching youth about sustainable forestry in the semi-arid caatinga forests



Yes, food sovereignty. I rarely hear the term food security employed here, especially amongst the political groups that naturally opt for a more politicized and direct term. After all, wasn't one of the main lessons of my food security course that access to locally produced food constitutes the most important component of food security? From that perspective the term food sovereignty seems to make more sense. 



     The team of oxen that brought water to our camp every morning




The 80 or so youth, their organizers, and I all slept under lona preta for the weekend. Lona preta is the name of the black tarps used to construct camps during the years that landless people squat on unproductive land and battle with the National Institute of Colonization and Agrarian Reform to have that land ceded from its wealthy owner so that rural families can live and produce food on it. The term lona preta often refers to the camps themselves. Camping under lona preta at this event was therefore symbolic, representing our support for the landless movement and the people that suffer and yes, even die, for the cause. I could go on about the many martyrs of the landless movement, but I think I'll save that for another entry. Some of the youth at the camp-out had spent a part of their childhood in landless camps, or their parents or other relatives had. Sleeping on the ground, unprepared for the cold of the dry highlands of the sertão, I got a mini taste of the lona preta lifestyle.  



 The kids in group discussion; lona preta behind



At the event I attended and participated in the workshops and talks, I sang revolutionary and religious songs (most were a combination of the two- thank you liberation theology!), I answered a million questions about life in the States, including numerous questions about Michael Jackson and his oh so mysterious and tragic death (a few kids asked if I had attended his funeral or if I had ever been to his Never Never Land), and I had long conversations with both youth and adults about the culture and lifestyle of the sertão and the experience of the agrarian reform there. 

Time to sing!


I even managed to do some informal interviews with small farmers who produce mamona, an oil seed used for biodiesel. These experiences all helped me to understand the bigger picture beyond the sugarcane plantations in the forest region that I have spent most of my time in since arriving in Pernambuco. I learned that while land is highly concentrated everywhere in the state, numerous family farms have managed to survive in the backlands, independent from agribusiness, scraping by and sometimes thriving in spite of difficult conditions including drought, flooding, and a lack of financial resources and infrastructure. Until now, those conditions have largely prevented agribusiness from moving into the sertão and expelling rural families from the land in order to develop large-scale agriculture, such as is the reality of the cane-producing forest region. Still, as in most everywhere in Brazil, available land is hard to come by and costly to either purchase or win through the agrarian reform.

One of our cooks for the weekend preparing a big ol' pot of beans

 

On Saturday night the camp-out held a cultural night. A generator was brought in along with a band which played forró until 2 am. My new friends taught me the steps and together we danced under stars peeping through the branches of the caatinga forest to the tune of the accordion, triangle, and drum. 


 
 Me and the crew enjoying the noite cultural


Upon returning to Recife from the camp-out, I showered, rested, and headed out the next day with my digital voice recorder and lots of sunscreen to the southern forest region. The purpose of this two day trip was to visit numerous sugarcane plantations, accompanied by the local union representative, to conduct interviews with laborers. Needless to say, this experience was intense. On day one I met people living on a plantation in the tiny decrepit row houses built for plantation laborers. 

Children living in the middle of a sugarcane plantation, as children have done for over 500 years in Pernambuco



During the centuries of slavery in Brazil, the slaves lived inside the plantations in similar houses. The concentration of land and exploitation of slave labor turned Brazil into the world's largest sugar producer. Today slavery is prohibited, but slave-like conditions on plantations are all too frequent. In 2008, 44% of the thousands of slave laborers freed were working on sugarcane plantations, planting and cutting the sugarcane that would later be turned into sugar and ethanol. The plantation I visited this week was one of those cases in which slave-like labor conditions had existed until only four years ago. In 2005 an NGO promoting and defending rural peoples' rights discovered that dozens of families (men, women, and children) worked clandestinely cutting cane for the plantation owner, from whom they received no pay other than slips of paper that they had no value outside the plantation store. The store sold basic food items at inflated prices. The plantation owner did not allow the people to plant any crops for their subsistence. Armed guards stood at the entrance to the plantation, monitoring who went in and out. When someone suggested that these people go and report their situation to the authorities, they had no money for bus fare to Recife to do any such thing. Due to demands from the NGO, the Public Ministry of Labor eventually put enough pressure on the plantation owner that these practices were ended over 6 months after their discovery. The plantation owner faced no criminal charges. 

Homes in the middle of the plantation

 The plantation has since ceased to function, but the people still live in the middle of the plantation and are now part of the landless movement. They aim to have some of the plantation's now unproductive land ceded to them so that they might each have a parcel of around 30-40 acres upon which to plant crops to sell and consume. For now they sell their labor clandestinely to other plantation owners. As unregistered workers they have no rights and work long hours, without proper equipment, for well below minimum wage. They live in fear of violent eviction from the military police and armed plantation security. They fear planting so much as a few cassava plants, that the plantation owner will send someone to destroy it. 




On the next plantation I visited I interviewed three cane cutters who worked clandestinely. Some of their co-workers had no shoes, much less gloves, protective glasses, or any of the other safety equipment that plantation owners are legally required to provide their workers with. They worked around 10 hours per day, 6-7 days a week, for less than minimum wage. This situation has since been reported to the Public Ministry, who will likely come to investigate 6 months from now when the sugarcane harvest is over and no laborers are to be found. Thus the cycle of abuse continues...








Clandestine workers on the sugarcane plantation




That afternoon we drove on through the seemingly endless sea of sugarcane plantations to a landless settlement inside which we found Dom Pedro's farm. This jolly seventy-something man has established a true oasis inside the monocrop desert. With some technical assistance and financial support from a local NGO, Dom Pedro turned the 12 acre plot of land he received through the agrarian reform into an agroforestry system. When we stepped onto his property the temperature literally dropped by a few degrees and we felt an energy so different from that on those scorching and brutal plantations. 

 Fish pond and forest on Dom Pedro's farm

Dom Pedro gave us a tour of his diverse farm, where he grows dozens of varieties of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and flowers in and under the forest canopy, and also raises fish in shaded ponds. For the first time ANYWHERE in the forest region, I saw butterflies. Dozens of them. I also saw birds and bees. While I ate coconut and cashew fruit, mosquitoes feasted on me. I couldn't bring myself to complain because I was too grateful and joy-filled over the sight of LIFE. Simply recalling the scene now is filling me with a touch of that same energy. 
 

 

 

I have met many rural workers and small farmers in Pernambuco's forest region, but Dom Pedro has made by far the greatest positive impact on me as of yet. On this visit to his cool green farm, so full of life, I learned what is possible. In the middle of a monocrop desert here is this oasis with this joy-filled man who loves his life and work. Pedro spoke with such pride and happiness about his farm and about his work. He told me that before joining the landless movement and fighting for this small piece of land, he worked in an illegal sawmill, cutting up trees from the remnants of the Atlantic Forest. Pedro said that before winning this land, he worked in death. Now he works in life, and it is so much better. Those were literally his words. He reminded me somwhat of a born-again Christian; I guess I could call him a born again agro-forestry farmer, going from a life of unhappiness, destruction, and humiliation to one in which he works with nature, is independent of agribusiness, and lives with dignity, pride, and happiness. This was the way he described the change in his life. All with a big old smile on his face. What an amazing man! So it is possible to reverse the homogenizing and degrading trends of agribusiness...

 
Dom Pedro, smiling as always, on his farm            The edge of Pedro's farm, with sugarcane behind it

The next day I woke up at 3 am and headed to the streets of the sugarcane-dependent town of Agua Preta. Accompanied by a union representative and some of my colleagues, I sat at a bus stop with sugarcane cutters who were waiting for the sugar-ethanol factories' buses to pick them up and take them to the plantations for the day's work. 


 



 

After numerous interviews with them, we headed to some plantations to see the work of registered laborers. While watching the men- and some women- cut through the burnt cane on steep hills, it started to rain, and then the sun came out, and then the most beautiful rainbow appeared. It proceeded to turn into a double rainbow. And that lovely arco iris arched over the burnt hills of sugarcane. The color, the beauty, provided such a contrast to the monotonous burnt landscape and the toil of the laborers.

Husband and wife having breakfast together before starting in on the day's work; these two work together and she cuts just as much cane as he does.

 

 
 A few lucky workers who are employed year-round by one of the ethanol-sugar distilleries. These guys are decked out in all of the protective gear that the law requires workers to be provided with.






On Friday evening I arrived back in Recife just in time to shower and head out with my host sister Mariana to a Carnaval preview. The pre-Carnaval festivities have officially begun in Pernambuco. On Friday one of Olinda’s best blocos (groups that parade through the streets with music and dancing) was doing a fundraising performance. Three different samba bands played throughout the night and early morning. We danced samba for a good five hours. It was soooo much fun! I love samba! It is my new favorite music and dance EVER! All I want to do is dance samba and listen to samba. I love it even more than forró, partly because it’s so fast and lively, but mostly because it does not require a partner. This means that I can spend the entire night just enjoying dancing with friends without constantly being approached by men. It's wonderful.


Mariana and I took our tired feet home at 4:30 in the morning and had some breakfast. I went to bed around 5:30, and then got up at 9 to pack my bags and have breakfast number two. Ugh… Two hours later I was on a flight to Brasilia, and a few hours later on a bus to Goiânia. Once again, I was received by wonderful Brazilian hosts. They manage to make me feel so at home anywhere in Brazil. The grey skies and ongoing drizzle help. There is just something so comforting about this Pacific Northwest-like weather. Now I am off to a four day conference with the theme of redefining Brazil’s agrarian reform.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Jogging the Fetid Canals of Recife

A ritual in my new life here in Recife is an evening jog along the canal path just two blocks from my apartment building. This particular canal is one of a complex system of dozens of canals, rivers, and estuaries that cut through what was once a large mangrove forest and is now a paved urban ecosystem housing nearly two million people. This sprawling city full of islands, bridges, and waterways could theoretically be dubbed the Venice of Brazil. And Recife, which means reef, has the potential to be a beautiful gem of a city. All of the rivers flow into the Atlantic Ocean, whose white sand beaches and clear turquoise waters are stunning. Too bad the construction of a large port sealed off two significant estuaries, driving the local population of bull sharks to feed on surfers and swimmers at Recife’s beaches. After this alteration to the food chain, Recife’s beautiful- albeit somewhat crowded and garbage strewn- beaches must be enjoyed from the shore or by merely wading into the sea. With surfing and swimming prohibited, only the occasional drunk swims out beyond the reef after too many cervejas on a Sunday afternoon, tempting fate and the appetite of the bull sharks. The folks back on the beach must all be wondering, “Will he be the 48th victim?”

Luckily, while all of the smaller rivers and canals that I have seen here are nearly unmoving, algae-covered, and well, fetid, they are home to no dangerous predators that I know of. Whew! Don’t get me wrong though. This canal path jog is no walk in the woods. The obstacles I encounter on my thirty minute run are enough to keep me on my toes, running at a good clip, and constantly observing my surroundings. On the cracked and hole-filled sidewalk looping around the canal I often have to dodge the scrawny horses tied up to trees, always taking care to run beyond a horse leg’s distance away in order to avoid the kick that might result from startling the beast. The land mines the horses leave beyond are just as dangerous and require careful attention to evade. And then there are the stray dogs. Scraggly mutts of all sorts wander through the streets, expertly dodging traffic and finding their way to the canal where they might mark some trees or chase after a bitch in heat. So far I have seen none foaming at the mouth, but these dogs are not animals that I would want to stop and pet, or even brush up against accidentally.

The most dangerous of the beasts that I encounter on my canal jog is, of course, the Brazilian driver. There is no escaping traffic in this crowded crush of a city. Cars, motorcycles, and bicycles all swarm the roads and appear to have some set of rules all their own, impossible for a foreigner to decipher. Most pertinent to a pedestrian is the fact that a red light does not necessarily mean stop and wait for green. It usually serves more as a stop sign. Drivers slow down, hurriedly glance both ways for traffic, and if they decide there is enough of a break to make it through the intersection they speed across while giving the horn a honk-honk-honkity-honk. If they intend to make a turn there is no signal, just a honk that may be coded but to me sounds like every other honk from every other vehicle honking out a Morse code message of its intended path through the streets. Just imagine what this traffic is like for an urban jogger from a foreign land. When I come to either of the two intersections along my canal path I take the opportunity to intensify my work-out by breaking out into a full-out sprint to the other side once I see a slight break in traffic and work up the courage. Mine is a similar approach to that of the drivers at red lights.

Despite the stench of the canal and the above mentioned obstacles to be found in the one mile or so loop of the canal path, I am joined by dozens of other joggers and walkers every evening, looping around and around until it is so dark that that cracks in the unlit sidewalk pose a much more serious danger. From my experience in three Brazilian cities, urbanites love their exercise. Salvador, Maceió, and Recife all have numerous “urban gyms” or areas with a jogging path, bike path, exercise bars, and the like. Brazilians, mostly appearing to be a of a certain social class and age, love to take to these urban gyms with their friends and spend the few slightly cooler hours of the day getting fit. On my canal path, just before sunset (5:30), I am accompanied on my jog by just enough other walkers and runners to not feel either isolated or overcrowded.

The path is also used as a pedestrian thoroughfare through the neighborhood, meaning that every evening there might also be mothers with several children hanging onto her skirt, and grocery bags in her arms. Older folks from the neighborhood set up plastic chairs in the grass between the canal and sidewalk to enjoy the cool evening breeze. Barefooted and bare-chested boys race and ride their bikes along the bike path. All sorts of people seem to come out of the word-work during my evening jogs, showing me just what an interesting and diverse neighborhood I live in. It appears to be somewhat of a transitional neighborhood. The new eight-story apartment building that I live in is one of the only tall and recently built buildings in the area. It is mostly surrounded by smallish houses, stores, and warehouses. The street I live on, Shrimp Avenue (it probably got this name because it was once a mangrove forest with a shrimp farm), is paved in the section closest to the main road, but covered in sand in the section closest to the canal. I enjoy living in this interesting neighborhood, even if I haven’t quite figured it out yet. Is this an example of Brazilian gentrification? I would ask my host family about it, but they tend to give me short answers to such questions, either assuming that I wouldn’t understand, or that as a privileged foreigner I don’t really want to know (or can’t handle?) the truth.

The mysteries of my neighborhood, my neighbors, and the sand-covered road all make my jog that much more enjoyable. As I run my mind flows between meditation and reflection on everything that I’m seeing, learning, and experiencing here; the harsh realities; the beauty and inspiration; the day’s new Portuguese vocabulary; and wondering what this canal was like when it was not a fetid canal but part of a healthy mangrove ecosystem. Thirty years ago? Fifty? One hundred? Who knows.


 Big bad Recife

 
Recife and its bridges

Disclaimer: Photos poached from Wikipedia

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Two Days with the Women of the Landless Movement



November 2 -3, Rural Women's Movement (MMC) meeting for women in the settlements Nova Canaã and Chico Mendes

Renata and I made the trek (four buses plus a mile or so on foot) from Recife to Nova Canaã this morning, arriving at the Encontro de Mulheres just after lunch. We were both tired from the trip into the heart of the sugarcane covered Northern Forest Region of Pernambuco, but excited to participate in this event with the women in these settlements who had won the right to this land for their families after a six year struggle. After lunch in the community kitchen which women use to bake sweets to take to market or meals for events such as this, we joined in the meeting in the Association building next door. Renata and I were asked to introduce ourselves and explain why we were there. I was asked to give a special introduction, explaining my research project, my impressions so far of women in the settlements, and the women’s movement in the US. Whew!

After an introduction, I discussed my research project and how I hoped to speak with some of the women there about their lives as sugarcane cutters or with husbands, fathers, mothers, and siblings that were or are sugarcane cutters, in addition to their impressions of the sugarcane industry in their region in general. I said that I’d been impressed so far by all of the women I’d met in this and other settlements. Impressed by the fact that they’d lived through all those years of lona preta, that they’d struggled and fought for their cause, and that they now worked hard raising their families and working on their farms. It’s true. I find their stories impressive and inspiring. I cannot imagine how I would hold up under such hardship. Are these women so strong because they have no better option than to live in camps and face violence, threats, hunger, and possible eviction, torture, and arrest? Did they join the landless movement because they thought it a better option than living in squalor in the favela and selling their labor in the city? Or are they simply committed to the cause? I know it would take several years of research to really understand their motivations, but I hope to at least better understand them before I leave.

I went on to talk about the situation of women in the US. I assured them that many of the issues facing women in rural Brazil are not so different from those facing women in my country and around the world. I should have thought to prepare something before going to this meeting, but on the spot I discussed what came to my head. I said that I thought two of the biggest issues that the US women’s movement is confronting are violence against women and salary disparity. I explained these issues, and hopefully did them justice in Portuguese. I was somewhat embarrassed about discussing salary disparity in front of these women, realizing that it is a very urban and middle to upper class issue, mostly relating to white collar workers. Maybe that’s not entirely true though. I don’t really know enough about it. At this point in the meeting I was feeling ashamed for not knowing more about, much less not even being involved in, the women’s movement in my own country. Sure, it’s something that I have always supported, talked about, read about, and sent generic emails to my senators and representatives about. But I cannot say that I have ever sat in on a meeting for a women’s movement or marched with one. Sitting here with these women who face violence and discrimination every day, who are potentially putting themselves at risk of being resented, insulted, or physically hurt by their husbands simply for being there, I felt ashamed.

Some of the women, but mostly the meeting organizer, asked questions about the organization of the US women’s movement. I admitted to not knowing much. I said that I thought that the women’s movement had historically been more urban than rural, which I believe to be true, and which I believe to be the case for most countries. When they described police repression against protests by women’s groups, I said that I thought similar things, albeit less extreme, happened in my country. I tried to explain the Patriot Act and the turning political tide after 9/11, which had put radical groups and social movements, including some radical women’s groups, onto terrorist lists. Of course I found this quite difficult to explain in Portuguese, considering I don’t even fully understand it or know how to explain it well in English, but I think they got the idea. I at least succeeded in having them realize that while repression of the movement in Brazil is excessive and unjust, women around the world- yes, even in the United States, which they believe to be a just country simply because it is wealthy and powerful- face varying levels of institutional violence that perpetuates the structural violence holding us in an inferior position to the other half of the human race.


Other questions for me included inquiries about the options facing an American woman who is beaten by her husband, and if laws regarding violence against women in my country are effectively enforced. I answered these as best I could, and all of the women present listened attentively. I think many were surprised and maybe comforted (not sure if that’s the right word here…) to find out that women in my country also face violence, discrimination, and repression. That discussion established something of a bond between us, and even though my experience as a woman is so different from theirs, they at least knew that I had some inkling of an understanding of what they face in their daily lives.

Following this long introduction, the meeting continued on and we broke out into small groups to discuss different types of violence against women. In my group of about seven women we were assigned to discuss sexual violence and financial/economic violence (such as men stealing or demanding that their wives turn over any money they make to them, fathers not paying child support, etc.). It took a solid five minutes at least for anyone to start talking about examples of these types of violence in theirs of other rural communities. Once the ball got rolling, however, the stories flowed. Most of the women talked in terms of situations that their friends or distant family members had been in. Without going into detail, I will let it be known that marital rape and incest appear to be rather common, as well as all types of economic and financial abuse, particularly in the form of absent fathers failing to support their children. Back in the large group we all shared some of the stories and experiences related to the various types of violence. The idea behind this exercise was not just to have everyone talk about the difficult reality of women, but to show them that the abuses that they face are actually forms of violence, be it psychological, institutional, sexual, economic, or physical.

The meeting ended with dancing and singing while we held hands in a circle. Women and teenagers with their small children and babies together sang regional songs about the harvest, in addition to more militant songs of the landless movement praising the struggle and its martyrs. Hot and sticky from hours spent in wooden chairs in a small stuffy building, Renata and I joined three other girls on a walk to a spring. There we bathed under a flow of water that had been directed into a pipe so that it spilled down from about 10 feet up on a rock face. We bathed, laughed, played. The local girls found it hilarious that I, the internacional, had known what a bica (tap or spring) was while my urban Brazilian counterpart, Renata, had had no idea. That evening, under the light of a full moon, happy to have exchanged the aggravating racket of Recife’s streets for the chirps of crickets, I chatted with the girls about other local phenomenon such as tapioca, bola de rolo, and Pitú, in addition to a number of intimate female topics. Finding myself able to really contribute to the conversation, and even inspire laughter not just because of my lack of understanding or mispronunciation, I began to feel more comfortable in Portuguese than I had so far in my nearly five weeks in Brazil. Part of being comfortable in a language is being comfortable enough in the situation and with the people you are opening up to, so that the words flow without self-consciousness holding them back. Of course, beer can make this happen too.

Day two of the Encontro de Mulheres opened with skits representing the various forms of violence that we had discussed the day before. A skit involving a drunk father hitting and insulting his wife and daughter was so well acted out and dramatized that I found myself laughing out loud with the rest of the group while simultaneously fighting to hold back tears. The words the father used, the facial expressions, the body language, the submission, were all obviously very familiar to the actors and audience. I couldn’t help but think that they were just too good at that scene.

The skits were followed by a review of the Maria da Penha law, which criminalized violence against women and classified it as a human rights abuse in Brazil in 2002. We learned together the types of punishment that men theoretically receive for committing violence against women, and ways in which to report violence and navigate the legal system. Spreading this knowledge is of course a necessary component of educating and empowering women, but the stories they told later of women who had been repeatedly abused and had reported these abuses to police and lawyers with no repercussions, made the effort seem somewhat futile. Currently, this law exists on paper, but women die at the hands of their husbands every day in this country, like most places (every place?) in the world. Brazil’s fluffy discourse of human rights and social inclusion effectively excludes these women who, by fighting for the de-concentration of land under the Agrarian Reform, are seemingly doing more to work towards the democratization of their country than most others.

This final day ended with a long and lively discussion of recourses for women facing violence in isolated communities, and ways in which we as individual women, as an organized group of women, and as a society, can confront violence against women. We talked about things like the need to educate and concentizar men about women’s rights, and of course to continue educating women and girls. We discussed the need to connect with other women’s groups regionally, nationally, and even internationally to share resources and build strength. After a final round of singing while holding hands, we all went to lunch where we feasted on locally grown cassava and fruits in addition to rice, beans, and vegetables. I was stuffed before lunch was even served though, considering we had already had two snacks for the day and I had alone eaten the equivalent of half a pineapple, half a papaya, and at least three bananas. We feasted together, we hugged, and I was so happy to have been a part of this experience. Of course I was an outsider throughout the entire two days, but as a foreign woman amongst that group of women who were farmers, mothers, and warriors, I felt I could be more accepted and treated as one of them than among a group of men from the same community.

Two families invited me to return and spend a few days or more with them on the next visit. I plan to go back to Nova Canaã on Saturday and stay four to five days to continue getting to know that community, their twelve year struggle to win the right to their land and then build what they have there now, and to speak with them about their experiences cutting sugarcane, trying to make a living off of sugarcane, being kicked off of their land previously by the plantation owners, and struggling against the industry and its proponents to win the right to land upon which to grow food and live in the middle of that vast sugarcane desert.

Websites of interest (in Portuguese):

The Landless Worker's Movement (MST): http://www.mst.org.br/

The Rural Women's Movment (MMC): http://www.mmcbrasil.com.br/

Sunday, November 1, 2009

The Lost Land of Sugarcane

Today I am preparing to head into my third week in Pernambuco, or what I have dubbed the lost land of sugarcane in Northeast Brazil. Ask most biofuels experts (or even Brazil experts in general for that matter) where Brazil's sugarcane ethanol comes from, and most will say São Paulo, the large agricultural state in the south. However, much of the sugar and ethanol produced in Brazil also comes from the small state of Pernambuco, where large wealthy landowners have been converting the Atlantic Forest to sugarcane plantations for 500 years. In the hot and humid Forest Region of Pernambuco, there is less forest and fewer small farmers and fishermen every year due to the expansion of sugarcane plantations.

Over the past two weeks I have taken a number of trips out to the sugarcane producing region to witness how sugarcane is being produced. Below I have included some pictures from those trips with captions describing the reality of the production of sugarcane that is turned into sugar and ethanol for consumption within Brazil and for export to the world which has deemed Brazil's ethanol industry as "sustainable", carbon neutral, and good for the local economy. During these two weeks I have seen and heard enough already to fill several more pages of this blog with a strong argument against anyone who would make such claims about Brazil's ethanol production. I'll keep it simple for now and let these pictures and brief captions do the talking.


Stillage, a toxic liquid waste produced when sugarcane is 
turned into sugar or ethanol, being dumped into a ditch in 
the middle of a plantation. Some of this stillage will be dilluted 
with water and then sprayed onto the fields as fertilizer (as 
seen in the picture below), and some of it will end up in 
local waterways. How stillage is disposed of has huge consequences 
for local ecosystems and the people who depend on them for 
water and food. In some local rivers and estuaries fish 
are found poisoned and floating dead on the surface every day.

 
A sugarcane field after being burnt and harvested. In the 
background, a field being sprayed with stillage as fertilizer, 
and a mangrove forest. What you can't see in the picture is 
that there is a man made ditch between the mangrove and 
the sugarcane field, interrupting the flow of water into the 
mangrove, drying it out, and preparing it to be cut down 
and converted to a sugarcane field. This is part of a process of 
converting forests to agricultural land that has been going
on here for centuries.

 
  
Sugarcane cutters in the field. These men and women work 
long hours cutting cane and are paid by the ton of cane they cut

rather than an hourly wage. In Pernambuco's Forest Region 
cutting sugarcane is the principal economic activity for most
rural families. The concentration of land in the hands of 
the sugarcane plantation owners has left little land for small 
farmers to work in non-sugar agriculture or any other industry. Fishing 
communities are also suffering as mangroves are destroyed and rivers
and estuaries are polluted.


 
 Children and women bathing and washing clothes in a small river
on the edge of a sugarcane plantation. The fields are covered with
dilluted stillage and less than 500 feet from this spot there was an
overflowing tank of pure stillage. You can only imagine what the water
quality here must be like. For the people living on the edge of the
plantation- they were most likely driven there at some point in the past-
this is an important source of water. Hopefully it's just for bathing
and washing and not for drinking.

 
A man selling  fruit on market day in Sirinhaém. He is
someone who has been lucky enough to be able to hold onto
his land and family farm despite pressure from the constantly
expanding sugarcane plantations in the region. Families with small
farms that produce food for their own consumption and to take
to market tend to have a much higher quality of life than those who
rely solely on income from cutting sugarcane.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

First Four Weeks in Brazil

A trip to Brazil as a Boren Fellow had been in the works for over a year and half, and after a summer spent collecting data in urban forests, camping, climbing, canyoneering, visiting family and friends, and all around enjoying life with those I love in places that I love, I rushed to get a visa (first unsuccessfully and then successfully- long story), said my goodbyes, and then found myself hot and sticky in the airport in Salvador, Brazil three and a half weeks ago today. I chose Salvador as my first stop in this enormous and almost overwhelmingly diverse country in part because it has a couple of seemingly decent language schools, but mainly because I wanted to spend time just hanging out in this Afro-Brazilian coastal city, the site of Brazil´s original capital.

Salvador
Salvador is the home of capoeira and many of Brazil´s now most famous music and dance styles, all the result of an African population brought into the region against their will over the course of three centuries. They brought with them their rich culture and arts, which flourished in spite of oppression, as in every part of the world which has been touched by the African diaspora. Today, Salvador is a dynamic multicultural and multiracial city of more than four million inhabitants. The traffic and the crowds on the beaches and at concerts are often anxiety-inducing, but with the natural beauty of the location of the city on the Bay of All Saints, the 16th century forts and 18th century Pelourinho (a UNESCO World Heritage site), the divine cuisine, the live forró (a regional music played with accordions, drums, and triangles), and best of all the vivacious and gregarious people, it was hard for me to find Salvador anything less than exciting, stimulating, and just plain fun.


Cidade Baixa & Cidade Alta, Salvador da Bahia



Enjoying the tunes of my favorite forró band in the plaza in Rio Vermelho, Salvador on the night of my despedida

During my 3 weeks in Salvador I attended Portuguese classes for four hours each morning at IDIOMA Language School. I must admit that I spent nearly as many hours every afternoon on the beach. What a life, huh? At least all that time on the beach often allowed my to practice my Portuguese by turning down smoked cheese, shrimp, and necklace vendors, or on occassion accepting a cold beer or coconut. In the evening I would walk up hill from the beach to my host family´s house, where I would spend time chatting with them over coffee and cake, and cracking up over the jokes of my hilarious host father. Tânia and Nivaldo made for wonderful host parents.


 My Brazilian host family and me

Itsy Bitsy Brazilian Bikinis
After two weeks on the beach in my American bikini, which I had never previously considered to be particularly modest, I grew tired of feeling that all eyes were on me and my fabric covered bottom obviously belonging to a foreigner whenever I walked to the water. There is a myth in my country that all Brazilian women have gorgeous bodies, and that that explains why they wear scandalously skimpy bikinis. Well I am here to say that Brazilian women have bodies just like the rest of us. They come in all shapes and sizes, and all are barely covered by a few strings and strips of fabric when they hit the beach. So I decided to go native and purchase a somewhat less modest bikini, not quite as teeny tiny as most Brazilians use, but something less American looking. I chose a Barbie pink model, something I never would have worn at home, which made it feel right. I immediately began to feel less conspicuous on the beaches of Salvador, especially after I got some sun on body parts that had never before seen the light of day, and had the even tan of a brasileira. Sure, it might sound silly and vain, yet this was part of my adjustment to Brazlian culture. And, to be perfectly honest, I considered my 3 weeks in Salvador to be a time to soak up language, culture, and sun, without doing much of anything else.


Jumping for joy at Praia do Farol in my big old American bikini

Recife
It worked. I arrived in Recife, my field site and the city in which I´ll be located until April, with a nice tan, an advanced level of Portuguese, and a feeling of relative comfort with Brazilian culture. Of course here in Recife I´ll spend most of my time in front of a computer or out in the sugar cane fields for my research, and much of the culture and language differs from what I became familiar with in Salvador. I´m already beginning to adapt my accent to that of this far northeastern region. In some ways is easier because the sounds are closer to Spanish. I will miss the soft d and the ch sound of t that I learned in Salvador, but in Recife I am far too busy straining to understand the local accent and vocabulary to have any saudade for those sounds.

Here in Recife, a city famous for its crime and shark attacks, I am staying with the family of Renata, who works as a journalist for the NGO I´ll be working with/collaborating with on my research. Renata lives with her parents and two sisters in a beautiful apartment on the 8th floor of a tall modern building, located on Shrimp Avenue, in the Lamb neighborhood. Yum. Renata and her sisters are all in their 20s and extremely friendly and open. After just three days there I´m already feeling like another sister. Their parents are also as sweet as can be, and have invited me into their home with truly open arms, converting their office into my bedroom, making sure I´m comfortable at all times, and working to fatten me up by feeding me delicious home cooked vegetarian meals. I can´t believe my luck to have ended up with two wonderful host families. From what I know of Brazilians so far, most are open, friendly, and generous, but I can´t help but feel that these two families are exceptional.

Jumping into my Research
On day two in Recife I woke up at 5 am to go with Renata to the forest region of Pernambuco (Pernambuco is that state that Recife is located in, and the forest region is the area near the coast that was once covered by Atlantic forest but has been cleared since the 16th century to plant sugarcane for sugar and now for ethanol production ) to visit a settlement of squatters from the MST, Brazil´s famed landless movement. I have started a separate blog in which I am going to discuss my experiences and reflections on the visit to this settlement and others. That blog will be used as a forum for explaining the experiences of rural workers in Pernambuco´s forest region. As a brief explanation of the reality here, today rural people in this region have three options: 1) Work cutting cane, which is extremely strenous labor for which they are at best paid enough to not starve to death. 2) Abandon the rural life and move to the favelas in Recife, which are miserable overcrowded shantytowns built on hillsides or alongside the numerous rivers that run through the city. 3) Join the MST in the hope of eventually being granted the right to a piece of land upon which to make a decent and respectable living. This is the reality that I will be studying during the next 6 months, as this is the reality of a region dominated by the sugarcane industry and fueled by the global "green" fuels movement. If you are interested in reading more about the lives of the people here, and about the Brazilian ethanol industry from the perspective of the rural workers whom I will be visiting with and learning from, than please follow my other blog: http://ethanolproductioninnortheastbrazil.blogspot.com/



My first day in the field in Pernambuco, at a small river within an MST settlement. Looks like I need some sunglasses.

This blog will be dedicated to telling the lighter side of my life in Recife, less related to my research. I hope to do weekly posts on both blogs, so please follow and make comments. Pictures will also be coming soon!

Abraços!

Swimming hole

Swimming hole
Nate, David, and me at the local swimming hole

Climbing

Climbing
David climbing at the swimming hole near our house. This is the location of my first rock-climbing lesson.

Beautiful Miraflor

Beautiful Miraflor
a home in Miraflor with the nature reserve and mountains beyond

Waterfall jumping!

Waterfall jumping!
sweet swimming hole in Miraflor

Catching chicharras in Miraflor

Catching chicharras in Miraflor
We spent half the day in Miraflor catching bugs in the trees with this awesome kid

Parasite tree in Miraflor, Nicaragua

Parasite tree in Miraflor, Nicaragua
this parasite killed the tree inside it over 200 years ago, now you can climb it inside and out, as David and these Nicaraguan kids

Sunset

Sunset
sunset at Las Penitas, Nicaragua

Howler monkeys

Howler monkeys
a family of howler monkeys on Omotepe

Omotepe

Omotepe
Concepcion, one of the volcanos that makes up the island of Omotepe in Lake Nicaragua

In the jungle...

In the jungle...
with Nathan and Crystal (visiting from Michigan) in the jungles of Claudio Barillo National Park

Hammock time

Hammock time
Crazy photo of Andrea and me hanging out in the hammock at my house

Charging in Dominical

Charging in Dominical
After getting worked I went after some of these smaller waves which turned out to be a lot of fun

Gotta love waterproof cameras

Gotta love waterproof cameras
taking surfing pics in the water at Dominical

Attempting backside in Dominical

Attempting backside in Dominical
I'm attempting to work on my backside here in Costa Rica

The "Cool Bus"

The "Cool Bus"
Chilling in the Cool Bus in Dominical

La Selva Biological Station

La Selva Biological Station
Venturing into the jungle

Ladro Ladies!

Ladro Ladies!
In Manuel Antonio with Andrea and Sheena

David and Lynn Manuel Antonio

David and Lynn Manuel Antonio
David and me hiking (and swimming) though Manuel Antonio National Park

Volcan Poaz

Volcan Poaz
Posing with the smoking crater of the beautiful Poaz

Cute huh?

Cute huh?
David and me having a couple of beers at a surfers bar in Playa Hermosa

Surfing accident #1

Surfing accident #1
A minor bruise from getting Sheena's leash caught around my arm while she was learning to surf at Jaco

Surfing accident #2

Surfing accident #2
2 days after the incident in Jaco I broke my board in half trying to surf at low tide in Manuel Antonio

Surfing Playa Cocles

Surfing Playa Cocles
my first time out surfing in Costa Rica. I was pretty pumped