Racism, which I witnessed in childhood, was the instigator of my lifelong examination of the ballyhooed Brazilian “racial democracy.” Along the way I won a scholarship to study in that country, where I wrote for United Press International; and now I have a book in progress.
Back in the day, I eagerly visited the upstairs apartment of my babysitter on Glendale in Highland Park. Among the attractions were, Sarah Smith’s stacks of black magazines. While perusing articles I felt the hatred my country held for me. The blow was emotional and physical, as I fixated on scenes of lynching, bombed black churches, German Shepherd dogs and hard-faced, white cops assaulting peaceful demonstrators.
Furthermore, during a bus trip to Pensacola, at a roadside shack of an eatery, a dingy, white woman with a southern snarl said, “Ya’ll go ‘round to the back.” I was following two middle-aged men, when my Alabama-raised mother violently snatched my arm and said, “Don’t you ever go to the back door.” Although we were hungry and thirsty, we sat on the ground in the sweltering heat waiting for the next bus. However, the driver refused to turn on the air. Of course, he suffered too, but imagine his glee at this demonstration of “white power.”
By the age of thirteen I happened upon an Ebony Magazine story about seemingly “mellow” racial attitudes in Brazil. There were examples of non-benign feelings, but to an unsophisticated youth, who had been traumatized, the atmosphere looked appealing. Also convinced were white social scientists, who praised the “racial paradise.”
Before long I located a white, pen pal, who lived in Rio de Janeiro. He wrote, “Brazilian people think everybody has the same rights; we don’t have racial troubles because of our felicity.” There seemed to be supporting evidence in the book, Brazil: People and Institutions, which revealed that, at some point, “my negro” became a term of endearment. Furthermore, in the 20th Century the words were being used by Caucasians when speaking to other whites. The expression came to represent, “um modo de tratar bem,” (a way of being nice). Researchers had even found letters from the colonial era which end with, “Saudoso primo e muito seu negro,” (Your affectionate cousin and very much your negro).
On the other hand, the author presented folklore from times past. For example:
The negro isn’t born, he appears. He doesn’t die, he disappears.
The negro doesn’t die; he comes to an end.
The negro doesn’t enter the church, he eavesdrops outside.
The negro doesn’t take part in the procession; he runs after it.
Yet the propaganda flourished in spite of inequality in education, employment, health services and housing. In 1980, Afro-Brazilians were insulted if referred to as, negro, preto (black) or mulatto, instead of moreno (mixed, dark-skinned white), or pardo (brown). I noticed that the street cleaners were dark-skinned with not a hint of white ancestry in their features. In addition, the hotel front desk agents were white. One man’s hair texture outed him, at least to me; and he would abandon his post whenever I approached. The housekeepers were light brown with straight hair.
Never the less, I was a Brazilianist, a person who knows much about Brazil, but loves the country anyway. In addition, I was aching for a career that combined writing and international travel. I wanted to be the next Era Bell Thompson, who was International Editor at Ebony.
Consequently, after five years reporting at the Jackson newspaper, I won an Inter-American Press Association Scholarship, which funds a year of study in Latin America. This was the perfect reason to phone Miss Thompson, whose article started my adventure.
The call led to a mind-boggling lunch in her Chicago apartment. Just imagine, my idol, the great Era Bell Thompson telling me about her numerous jaunts. I couldn’t stop giggling when she described a misadventure in a French hair salon. The beautician put a straightener on her tresses. “All my hair fell out in the shampoo bowl,” she said. I thought that was a hilarious story. Little did I know, the same thing would happen to me in Rio.
So far, I have visited Rio de Janeiro four times; Brazil’s former colonizer, Portugal, once. I have more than 300 Brazilian Facebook friends. Rounding out my knowledge was seven years of part-time study in the Michigan State University Department of Anthropology MA/PhD Program. Unavoidable racism started me on this journey.