Anne Barton-Veenkant on Religion and Divides in Brazilian Society

By: Anne Barton-Veenkant

June 29, 2007

Religion in Brazil, as in every other place on Earth, plays a central role in shaping the morals and ideals of society, but what we often forget is that the relationship is reciprocal, and that religion itself can also be formed by the characteristics of society.
For 400 years Brazil was an officially Catholic country, during which time all other religions were made illegal (ending with the Empire in 1889), and the Catholic church attempted to keep the country devout and pure. This, however, is difficult when there is one parish only every 1,000 kilometer squared, one priest serving 14,036 people (as compared to France, where there was one every 15 kilometer squared, serving only 1,283 people). This would be even more difficult when the population is made up of hundreds of religious backgrounds, including South American indigenous tribes and African slaves from a number of countries besides the Portuguese and other Europeans who immigrated.

Illegality of any non-Catholic religion was especially dangerous for slaves, who remained under close watch of masters and overseers, living at the mercy of their level of either humanity or brutality. In order to continue praying to and worshipping their own traditional gods and goddesses—or orixás—the slaves paired them up with Catholic saints. Doing so allowed them to pray in code, so to speak. Through the years, however, it became natural to pray to both Catholic and African religious figures, and the two religions became intertwined. Besides with African religions, a similar fusion occurred between Catholicism and indigenous religions, pairing saints with gods and goddesses of the rivers, lakes, and vegetation of the Amazon.

This history was first told to me by my Brazilian boyfriend during my six months in Rio—himself a reflection of the ethnic and religious vuco-vuco, or mix-up, that is characteristic of Brazil, being of mostly African descent with some French and indigenous blood as well, and religiously self-described as Catholic, Spiritualist (coming from Christianity, distinguished by communication with souls), and Umbanda (of African origins, turned uniquely Brazilian).

With this apparent openness of both race and religion that so obviously characterizes Brazil, after a couple months of studying in Rio de Janeiro, I began to become puzzled over the overt racism I was witness to every day, and in many of the people I was closest to. I have become a careful observer of the attitudes I have around me, and have come to the opinion that no matter the amount of mixing that has occurred biologically and culturally in Brazil, Western (or white) ideals are still the standard by which society judges. It is why my white host-mom would not allow my black boyfriend in the house. It is why one friend of mine, tracing her lineage back to the three ethnic lines, whispered to me on the bus, “"But none of us want to say we have black in our blood." It is like admitting you are a maid.” Lucky for her her skin came out white. It is why Umbanda, also called Macumba, is referred to derogatorily by non-practicers as black witchcraft. This especially struck me. On the one hand, I had my host-mother in Copacabana telling me that Macumba is “the worst thing that ever happened to this country,” that they brainwash members and sacrifice children, and on the other hand, I had my boyfriend telling me of the old woman from a slave family, who gifted him with a special prayer—yet would never refer to her by the word “macumbeira,” or even telling me he had black blood until he was fairly sure I wouldn’'t hold it against him. Was it because I am white—part of society that fears? Or perhaps because he knew I would have been warned against it by his fellow Brazilians.

I often felt as if I navigated two worlds within one city. The world where I lived and studied, the Southern Zone of Rio—this is the Rio you hear about in songs, where tourists bring their dollars and euros, where celebrities, artists, and intellectuals reside. The other is that of the “perifery,” the part you don'’t hear about except in a passing reference, or perhaps a contemptuous inquiry “"What is there to do there?"” or the claim, said in a very special tone of voice, that "the people there are simple and poor, and that “all they want is to eat, sleep, and have women"” by people who admittedly had never been there. I found that all people I met were simple, whether poor or rich, and that in the end they all want the same things.

For all the professions of the perfect racial paradise, where is the amazing grace? Did the non-legitimacy of non-white religion in the beginning set the stage for current discrimination? Or was it the egotistical discrimination, as old as history, that defined the religious values from the beginning and relegated the “uncivilized” beliefs to the margins of society? This is, of course, not to make any of the religions wrong or to claim that every individual I encountered was racist. This is merely an account of an everyday reality in my particular study abroad experience, involving divides in society I have never before had to so overtly navigate. I also wish to make no comparison between the racial harmony of Brazil with that of the United States, home of Amazing Grace, yet where race is still a very touchy subject, as made apparent by the recent Supreme Court decision limiting the use of race as a tool for school admissions.

Beliefs about God, gods and goddesses, saints, orixás, bodiless spirits, or all of the above guide Brazilians’ relationship with the Divine. How do they guide their relationships with each other? Or is that left up to human folly? As Hoyas and humans from all walks of life, all parts of the world, this is a question we must ask ourselves as well. How can we grow to be truer to the Divine creations we are through the ordinary actions and decisions of our human lives? How can we relate to our fellow human beings from the heart rather than from the rules of the institutions, perceptions of society, or the fears we can guard within us?
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