Brazilian Democracy in Peril

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GIANPAOLO BAIOCCHI, MARCELO K. SILVA

On March 14, Brazil was shaken by the killing of Marielle Franco in Rio de Janeiro, where Franco served as a leftist city councilor representing the favela community of Maré. Franco had recently been named to head a commission investigating military abuses during President Michel Temer’s February “anti-gang” deployment in Rio. A human rights activist beloved by her community, Franco was also one of the only black LGBT elected official in the country. She had just attended a roundtable discussion of Afrofeminist youth when unknown assassins opened fire on her car, using bullets traced back to the federal police.

Marielle Franco represented a progressive new left, built on advocating for Brazil’s most vulnerable citizens, making her murder doubly tragic.

Despite its unique horror, Franco’s murder can best be understood as the latest episode in the political crisis that has engulfed Brazil since the months before the 2016 impeachment of President Dilma Rousseff, a member of the center-left Workers’ Party. The appeal of far-right politics and a general distrust of democratic institutions is rising in worrying ways as the country faces its next scheduled elections in November. One of the fastest-rising candidates, riding the wave of this revanchism, is the ultra-right Jair Bolsonaro, “Brazil’s Trump,” an avowed fan of Brazil’s 1964–85 military junta who regularly serves as public apologist for police violence and torture, and who last year was censured in Congress for telling a leftist congresswoman that she was “too ugly to be raped.”

Every time there is political upheaval in Brazil, there is some talk of military intervention and a return to dictatorship, but it is usually limited to fringe figures and shadowy military generals. This time, though, things are different. From Facebook to talk radio, nostalgia for authoritarianism—and fret about the excesses of democracy—have become prevalent, and increasingly figures in the speeches of politicians such as Bolsonaro. Open expressions of homophobia, sexism, and racism are continuing to gain traction in response to the perceived overreach of political correctness under the previous dozen years of Workers’ Party rule. More broadly, there is a widely-held belief that democratic institutions have failed; that the courts are partial and political instruments; and that political parties are uniformly corrupt.

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It is worth remembering how we got here.

In late January, former president “Lula”—Workers’ Party’s Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, who held office from 2003 until 2011—faced an appeal hearing following his September conviction under Operação Lava Jato (Operation Carwash), a wide-ranging corruption investigation. The allegations revolved around an apartment Lula allegedly bartered in exchange for preferential treatment for government contracts. The original trial did not actually produce a single piece of documentary evidence, despite months of investigation and wiretaps. This however did not stop the judges, who were also the prosecutors, from finding Lula guilty. A second court affirmed the original conviction and lengthened the sentence to twelve years. Now Lula’s case is before the Supreme Court, where it seems unlikely that he will prevail or be permitted to continue his run for president.

If Operation Carwash was a hit job aimed at the Workers’ Party, its aim went wide, taking out nearly all other democratic institutions with the same spray.

Yet Lula remains an extremely popular figure in Brazil, particularly among the poor, and is currently leading the polls by a wide margin. He has declared he will not seek asylum elsewhere, and will instead stay and fight for his innocence, even if he must do so from prison.

A case of anti-corruption politics gone awry, Operation Carwash has implicated politicians from all major political parties and construction companies, as well as the state-owned oil company, Petrobrás, yet the operation has selectively prosecuted politicians from the Workers’ Party. For its part, Globo—the Brazilian media giant known for its anti-left bias—has been presenting Operation Carwash much like a round-the-clock soap opera, replete with a handsome protagonist, prosecuting judge Sérgio Moro, and a cast of unsavory villains such as Lula and Rousseff. This media circus has energized elite Brazilians who feel that they have been excluded during the three terms of Workers’ Party rule, which saw the enactment of affirmative action programs and cash transfers to the poor.

Michel Temer, who became president upon the impeached of Rousseff in 2016, is today often described as “the world’s least popular president”—and indeed, some polls have him pulling single-digit approval rating. Prior to her impeachement, Temer had been Rouseff’s coalition partner and vice president, a kind of Faustian bargain between the Workers’ Party and Temer’s right-leaning Brazilian Democratic Movement. But as political winds shifted, Temer (himself indicted by Operation Carwash) played no small part in orchestrating Rousseff’s ouster. Upon his swearing-in, he promised a program of clean government and market orthodoxy, his so-called “Bridge to the Future”: government austerity, loosened labor laws, reductions in pensions and taxes, and wide-ranging privatization.

Temer and his legislative allies actually managed to pull off some of this platform, notably passing a constitutional amendment that freezes social spending for the next twenty years. Temer has also overseen significant rollbacks in labor rights—but his political capital was quickly exhausted. Beginning in January 2017, a series of militant protests and strikes around the country opposed his proposed pension reforms. At the same time, very serious corruption allegations came to light involving Temer, including an attempt to buy the silence of a convicted politician. Temer soon faced the prospect of impeachment himself, and although he was able to kill it in Congress, the cost was huge, doling out favors left and right to buy the votes to save his neck. Even for elites who had supported the impeachment, the hypocrisy was too much. Since then even the right wing has been distancing itself from Temer, who now finds himself an isolated figure.

From Facebook to talk radio, nostalgia for authoritarianism—and fret about the excesses of democracy—have become prevalent.

The impeachment of 2016 left the country deeply polarized, and also established a set of terrible precedents: that unpopular presidents can be impeached simply for being unpopular; that laws matter less than popularity; that Congress is less a place for debate than for making deals; that political office can be openly used for individual gain; and that laws can be bent to suit the interests of the powerful. And all of these have been confirmed in the popular imagination by subsequent events.

And now both the left and right are in disarray. Lula is unlikely to be able to run for president, though he is still campaigning. From the progressive sector there is no agreement on what an alternative candidate or strategy might be. Social movement activists have managed to energize a base and coordinate across cities, successfully lighting revolt against Temer’s policies. But the energy of the streets is, as of yet, disconnected from the political parties. The Workers’ Party, for so long the traditional channel for social-movement energies, is seen by activists, particularly millennials, as too close to the establishment and status quo politics. There is agreement that neoliberal policies must be stopped. But there is little sense of what alternative routes might be. Franco was seen by some as representing a progressive new leftist politics, organized around advocating for the country’s most vulnerable citizens, making her murder doubly tragic.

Conservative forces, however, are faring badly too. Nearly all nationally prominent figures from right-of-center parties have now been linked to corruption. While most are at-large and continue to exercise their functions (nearly half of Congress is implicated in corruption investigations), so far no one has emerged who appears to be able to articulate a broader coalition, let alone negotiate with political opponents. If Operation Carwash was a political hit job aimed at the Workers’ Party, its aim went wide, taking out nearly all other parties and democratic institutions with the same spray.

And this is the worrisome scenario in which we find ourselves. Some pessimistic analysts are predicting elections will not take place in November, given the lack of viable options. Our worry is actually more immediate: calls for law and order, for military intervention, for a state of exception, and for criminalizing dissent are becoming more common and seem to gain currency every day. At the same time, wildcard political outsiders are giving voice to resentment and anger in ways that stoke the basest authoritarian instincts of the populace. The question now before the country is whether incidents such as the violence that took Franco’s life will spark outrage or simply be accepted, as so much else is, under this new dispensation.

 

Source: Brazilian Democracy in Peril

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Finally out: Beyond Civil Society

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Happy to report that Duke UP has released  Beyond Civil Society: Activism, Participation, and Protest in Latin America, edited by Sonia Alvarez, Millie Thayer, Jeff Rubin, Agustin Lao-Montes, and myself.   You can read the foreword and intro here.

The contributors to Beyond Civil Society argue that the conventional distinction between civic and uncivic protest, and between activism in institutions and in the streets, does not accurately describe the complex interactions of forms and locations of activism characteristic of twenty-first-century Latin America. They show that most contemporary political activism in the region relies upon both confrontational collective action and civic participation at different moments. Operating within fluid, dynamic, and heterogeneous fields of contestation, activists have not been contained by governments or conventional political categories, but rather have overflowed their boundaries, opening new democratic spaces or extending existing ones in the process. These essays offer fresh insight into how the politics of activism, participation, and protest are manifest in Latin America today while providing a new conceptual language and an interpretive framework for examining issues that are critical for the future of the region and beyond.

Contributors. Sonia E. Alvarez, Kiran Asher, Leonardo Avritzer, Gianpaolo Baiocchi, Andrea Cornwall, Graciela DiMarco, Arturo Escobar, Raphael Hoetmer, Benjamin Junge, Luis E. Lander, Agustín Laó-Montes, Margarita López Maya, José Antonio Lucero, Graciela Monteagudo, Amalia Pallares, Jeffrey W. Rubin, Ana Claudia Teixeira, Millie Thayer

New Piece with Benzecry on Political Ethnography as method

Despite recent interest in political ethnography, most of the reflection has been on the ethnographic aspect of the enterprise with much less emphasis on the question implicit in the first word of the couplet: What is actually political about political ethnography and how much should ethnographers pre-define it? The question is complicated because a central component of the definition of what is political is actually the struggle to define its jurisdiction and how it gets distinguished from what it is not. In this article we aim to show how ethnography can actually lead us out of this conundrum in which the political is paradoxically both predefined and, at the same time, the open question that leads the process of inquiry. We do so by advancing a formal and relational approach that provides us with procedural tools to define the nature and specificity of the political bond not ex ante, but rather during the process of research itself. In the first part of the article we historicize the development of political ethnography as a distinct avenue for inquiry and show what have been the challenges to its normalization. This is followed by the article’s main section, which focuses on the four ways in which what is political has been conceptualized in contemporary socio-ethnographical literature. In the conclusion of the article, we advance a lowest common denominator definition proposal, with examples from other scholars as well as from our own research to illustrate how this approach would work.

Keywords

Conceptualization Context of discovery Ethnography Politics Sociology of knowledge

 

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Review of Samuel Cohn Employment and Globalization

This review appears in Contemporary Sociology here

Employment and Development Under Globalization: State and Economy in Brazil, by Samuel Cohn.  2012. Palgrave McMillan.  236pp cloth.

 

Gianpaolo Baiocchi

NYU

 

Samuel Cohn’s latest book, Employment and Development under Globalization: State and Economy in Brazil, uses the case of Brazil to revisit some of the classic debates in development and make a case for the usefulness of “Palliative Development,” alongside the better-known strategies of “Transformative Development.”  Palliative development, for Cohn, “is concerned about the economic benefits of growth being widespread [and is] opposed to the benefits of development being limited to a select few.” (p. 2)  It emphasizes stimulating “small, labor intensive enterprises that provide services to the local population.” (p. 180)  This focus stands in sharp contrast to more common analyses of “economic miracles” and rapid social changes.

 

The book draws significant inspiration from O’Connor’s (1973) classic account of the fiscal crisis of the state and extends that argument to look at the developmental state.  As is well known, O’Connor argued that the state manages the externalities of capitalism, while assuring an environment propitious for profit.   It does so by different kinds of public spending, but is constantly in threat of fiscal crisis because of revolt by competitive sectors of capital that resist paying taxes.  Cohn, in extending this to development, argues for the centrality of state investments in public goods like infrastructure, as well as the constant threat of fiscal constraints that could disable those mechanisms.

 

Brazil, of course, is today both a marquee case of the possibilities and limits of BRICS countries, a symbol of the possibilities of the “Pink Tide,” and a traditional national case in development studies.   Cohn uses the case of Brazil in the last decades as a way to argue for a renewed look at the importance of state policies in reproducing capitalism, particularly in the post 1980s moment, when debt and the pressures of globalization made earlier strategies reliant on Import Substitution and heavy state investments unviable.  Like with other recent optimistic accounts of the Brazilian model (such as Montero’s Brazil: Reversal of Fortune), Cohn spends some time analyzing a number of successful, pro-poor, pro-development, creative, and efficient policies.   But unlike most other accounts, he does focus on headliner industries, like Brazilian aviation or auto, or even on well-known social policies, like Bolsa Familia.  He focuses instead on small, and relatively prosaic policies that exemplify palliative development.

 

With an admirable amount of empirical rigor, and based on a decade of research throughout the country, Cohn sets out to test the impact of these specific policies on employment using official data and econometric modeling.   He first explores the what-if scenario of no government intervention on employment through residuals analysis, finding, (perhaps not surprisingly), that intervention is impactful.  Much of the subsequent analysis delves into the outcomes of specific policies: he looks at the effect of vocational education, the creation of infrastructure, rent control of commercial spaces, tax reduction strategies, and the opening of frontiers.  He examines employment in “hotels, restaurants and barber and beauty shops in Brazil from 1940 to 2000.” (9)  The overall findings are that some of these policies, particularly the creation of airports, job training and vocational education, downtown rent control, and the opening of frontiers – have significant and positive outcomes in terms of employment.   Reducing taxes on employers, on the other hand, does not.  The book closes with a series of lessons from the Brazilian case for development policies elsewhere.

 

There is no doubt the book is an important account by a leading sociologist of development that calls for a recalibration of development studies in the current era.  It is precisely argued, brings a wealth of data to make its case, and fundamentally asks scholars to shift their gaze.   But perhaps because the book opens up new terrain, it also raises a number of questions.   Arguably, the book is less attentive to “politics” (either more formal or the social movement kind that has been so important in Brazil) than either O’Connor’s original account or other accounts of the Brazilian developmental state, such as Peter Evan’s 1979 classic Dependent Development.  It is not the book’s purpose to analyze these dimensions, but there are lots of specificities of Brazilian developmental state, and therefore, the conditions of possibility for the reproduction and applicability of these policies elsewhere.   Some of these policies begun in dictatorship-era Brazil, when there was a specific political calculus of the state vis a vis monopolistic and competitive sectors of capital that made some of these policies more likely in the first place.   There are other questions to be asked, too, of popular demand (or even tolerability) for certain policies or not in more democratic contexts.  “Frontier development” in Brazil dates back to dictatorship era “colonization” strategies that have often had disastrous socio-environmental impacts and worsened patterns of concentration of land (which Cohn briefly discusses).     These questions, of course, do not take away from the book’s very significant achievements, which are to put a number of new questions about policies that may be less glamorous, but ultimately more important, for development.

 

Evans, P. B. (1979). Dependent development: The alliance of multinational, state, and local capital in Brazil. Princeton, N.J: Princeton University Press.

O’Connor, J. (1973). The fiscal crisis of the state. New York: St. Martin’s Press.