The structural violence of Brazilian society

Michael Rothenstein, Violence II, c.1973–4.
Whatsapp
Facebook
Twitter
Instagram
Telegram

By DENIS RIZZO MORAIS*

The fear of a Haiti-like uprising shaped Brazilian political organization, consolidating elitist control and the exclusion of the majority

Brazilian society, since its foundation, has carried an inescapable trait in its social, political and cultural relations: violence. Naturalized over the centuries, this violence is rarely recognized by society itself, which, while perpetuating structures of exploitation and exclusion, projects an image of cordiality and tolerance.

Marcos Napolitano observes that the country is marked by narratives of trivialized violence, which obscure its structural origins. The rise of police programs, the alarming rate of violence against women and transgender people and, above all, the persistence of structural slavery are some of the contemporary manifestations of this historical legacy.

One of the historical roots of structural violence in Brazilian society dates back to the emergence of the group called Chimangos (Ximangos). In Tupi, “ximango” means bird of prey, a metaphor for voracity and the use of force as instruments of power.

This group, which would later give rise to the Liberals and Conservatives, is commonly associated with political moderation (in elementary schools the word “moderates” is emphasized, perhaps a diplomatic extenuation), but its true nature is predatory, as its own symbolic roots indicate. Compared to the Caramurus (Restorers) and Jurujubas (Federalists – Exalted), the Chimangos could be considered relatively more moderate, but their nickname – birds of prey – reveals the relentless use of violence, whether physical or symbolic.

The maintenance of slavery is a clear reflection of this practice. This period was marked by violence, creating a political culture in which conflict and domination were naturalized as forms of mediation.

The Chimangos symbolize not only the struggle for power, but also the systematic exclusion of large segments of the population. By concentrating power in the hands of the elite, they marginalized enslaved people, indigenous peoples, and women, perpetuating structural violence. This dynamic continued in subsequent political structures, cementing a tradition of violence in power relations.

A comparison with the United States can help us understand the hidden violence of Brazilian society, especially in the elaboration of its constitutional bases. Unlike the United States, which, in the preliminary work for its Constitution, defined the representation of states by “things” and not “people”, considering the enslaved person as 3/5 of a white person (Tâmis Parron), Brazil avoided a civil war to preserve slavery, without the same clarity – although the American clarity is brutally tragic.

The premeditated Brazilian indecision between representing “things” or “people” reveals a latent fear: Haitianism. As Ilmar Rohloff de Mattos and Luiz Felipe de Alencastro argue, the fear of a Haiti-like revolt shaped Brazilian political organization, consolidating elitist control and the exclusion of the majority. The institutionalized instrumentalization of violence was made possible by the bachelor’s knowledge acquired in Coimbra, in what José Murilo de Carvalho calls the homogeneity of the elites.

This fear, based on the idea that recognizing the humanity of enslaved people could destabilize the social order, solidified a culture of violence and repression. The debate between Visconde de Cairu and José Severiano Maciel da Costa, in the Constituent Assembly of 1824, about recognizing citizenship for foreign slaves, exemplifies the attempt to avoid a social revolution and guarantee the status quo, perpetuating the domination of the elites and the exploitation of the majority.

Violence in Brazil is not restricted to the political and economic spheres, but is also reflected in the way society communicates and perceives itself. Language, as a tool of expression and identity, bears the marks of a past of domination and exclusion. Paraphrasing William Shakespeare, who asks whether a rose would be less pink if it had another name, we can ask ourselves: would we be less violent if we recognized that we are children of birds of prey, children of violence? The answer, from our perspective, is yes. Recognizing our violent history is the first step towards transformation.

In line with this recognition, some legislative initiatives, such as Law No. 10.639/2003, which makes the teaching of African History and Afro-Brazilian Culture mandatory, and Law No. 11.645/2008, which includes teaching about indigenous peoples, represent significant steps, at least in theory, towards repairing historical injustices.

Furthermore, the implementation of racial quotas, the equating of racial insults with the crime of racism, and the Maria da Penha Law are important advances, although Brazil is still far from overcoming these issues. To this end, it is essential that basic education effectively understands these transformations, creating a critical mass that understands the role of structural violence in the formation of society.

Language, as a reflection of our identity and means of expression, continues to carry the legacy of a past marked by domination. The use of terms that naturalize violence reinforces this culture, making it difficult to recognize its origins and consequences. By understanding the roots of this violence, we can begin a process of redefinition and work towards building a more just and egalitarian society.

*Denis Rizzo Morais has a master's degree in Economic History from USP.


the earth is round there is thanks to our readers and supporters.
Help us keep this idea going.
CONTRIBUTE