The Black Wave at Carnival

Getting excited and dancing with the black is supposed to be something of an antidote to the naturalization of random discrimination and the criminalization of the black population. But Salvador is not, February 20, 2023.

Dozens of boys and young people are led by the police with their hands in chains, so that there is no attempt to escape. Everyone, absolutely everyone, is black and poor.

This scene, taken from a video that circulated about the Bahian Carnival, is not new in Salvador, the blackest capital of Brazil. In fact, this scene is nothing new in Brazil’s long history, forged by the sale of thousands of African slaves over more than 300 years. A trade that began precisely with the kidnapping and imprisonment of black men and women, chained by the hand, so that they would not escape until they reached the coastal cities, places where they would board slave ships.

It is true that a lot has changed since the effective end of transatlantic trade with Brazil (in 1850) and Carnival in 2023. We have had the abolition of slavery, the proclamation of the Republic and a series of black struggles for the end of inequality orchestrated by racism. But we still have a lot of perms. And the fear that the black wave causes in the bodies responsible for maintaining order in Brazil is absolutely shocking.

Many could argue that these young black men probably did something to find themselves in this situation. They have pickpocketed, stolen mobile phones or committed any other type of crime characteristic of large agglomerations. But would our police be so effective as to recognize 20 to 30 criminal suspects in the middle of Salvador’s Carnival? Or would the criterion for defining and apprehending these suspects be their black skin?

I don’t know if what I find most heartbreaking is the scene itself – which could happen, and does happen in other cities in Brazil -, or if the fact that this scene is recurring, almost “natural” during Carnival, the blackest party in the the world Brazil.

Although the Carnival has its origins in the Old Continent – there are those who claim that it is a Christian festival, even if some studies indicate its birth in Mesopotamia, during the celebrations of the spring equinox – here it has been literally reinvented by the population black, conquering other contours and meanings. And, for a long time, for the authorities in charge of “order and good governance”, the black wave of Carnival was synonymous with disorder, noise, ferocity.

But what would be the true meaning of this white fear of the black carnival wave?

Anyone who knows Brazilian history in detail knows that the Black Carnival has always been, and continues to be: resistance.

In Rio de Janeiro, for example, the cordons and blockades that arose in the late 19th century and proliferated in the early 20th century were directly linked to associations and associations of black workers, forming part of a very specific way of doing politics that these men and these women found in the midst of a Republic that wanted to be white.

The stories of samba schools (both in Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo) have these same black threads and associations in their respective DNA, making their samba plots real tools of negotiation and conflict with the Brazil desired by the white elites .

Negritude is not a mere carnival allegory

In Salvador, long before the micaretas and electric trios of recent years, there were afoxé blocks. The two best known, Ilê Aiyê and Olodum, were created in the 1970s, during the military dictatorship, with the aim of guaranteeing the possibility for the black population to play carnival, venerating their darkness and making it a space and a possibility to understand yourself in the world. An objective which, as one can imagine, is much greater than the four days of Carnival and which, not surprisingly, was frowned upon by the repressive organs of the dictatorship.

These examples – which actually concern two “flagships” of the Brazilian carnival – demonstrate that black is not a mere carnival allegory.

The historic bows to black (in its plurality) are a constitutive part of the Momesca festival, just look at the themes of the samba-plots of the samba schools of Rio de Janeiro in this 2023, the year of recovery.

For those who only had access to the so-called official history, Sapucaí this year was a real invitation to know other stories of Brazil. An invitation that is made every year by the blocks of afoxés.

Invitations welcomed by the majority of the population (which ends up at Carnival), but which are not always understood in its broadest dimension, even by those who have the task of judging samba schools – a position which, it should be said, continues to be occupied mainly by whites.

Getting excited and dancing with the dark should be something of an antidote to the naturalization of random discrimination and the criminalization of the black population. But it’s not… There are still few who really let themselves be learned from the black wave of the Carnival.

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Master and PhD in Social History at the USP, Ynaê Lopes dos Santos is Professor of History of the Americas at the UFF. She is the author of the books Além da Senzala. Slave Housing Arrangements in Rio de Janeiro (Hucitec 2010), History of Africa and Afro-descendant Brazil (Pallas, 2017), Juliano Moreira: black doctor in the foundation of psychiatry in Brazil (EDUFF, 2020) and Brazilian racism: A history of training from the country (However, 2022), and also responsible for the Instagram profile @nossos_passos_vem_de_longe.

Text reflects the author’s opinion, not necessarily DW’s.

Source: Terra

Rose

Rose James is a Gossipify movie and series reviewer known for her in-depth analysis and unique perspective on the latest releases. With a background in film studies, she provides engaging and informative reviews, and keeps readers up to date with industry trends and emerging talents.