Brazil and the Transnational Human Rights Movement, 1964-1985

By Anna Grimaldi

Brazil and Transnational Human Rights Movement, 1964–1985 explores how solidarity for Brazil contributed to the global human rights movement of the 1970s. Through protests, petitions, posters, and numerous other cultural, artistic, and media-based campaigns, solidarity for Brazil popularised the language of human rights and prompted the international community to join the fight against the country’s military regime. But solidarity for Brazil also reframed the debate on human rights itself, stretching the concept beyond mainstream interpretations that emphasised the violation of ‘basic’ individual rights, such as the use of torture and political imprisonment, to also incorporate social and economic rights, inequality, indigenous minorities, and the human rights responsibilities of multinational companies and development projects. Crucial to this process were multiple networks of exiles, catholic activists, journalists, and academics between Brazil and Western Europe, who drew from the Latin American experience to challenge mainstream narratives of human rights from below.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anthem Press
• Release date: Feb 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9781839985515

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Brazil and the Transnational Human Rights Movement: 1964–1985

Brazil and the Transnational Human Rights Movement: 1964–1985

Anna Isabella Grimaldi

Anthem Press

An imprint of Wimbledon Publishing Company

www.anthempress.com

This edition first published in UK and USA 2023

by ANTHEM PRESS

75–76 Blackfriars Road, London SE1 8HA, UK

or PO Box 9779, London SW19 7ZG, UK

and

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© 2023 Anna Grimaldi

The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Library of Congress Control Number: 2022943648

A catalog record for this book has been requested.

ISBN-13: 978-1-83998-550-8 (Hbk)

ISBN-10: 1-83998-546-1 (Hbk)

Cover image: Archivio Storico Del Movimento Operaio Brasiliano Poster Collection, at the Centro de Documentação e Memória of the State University of São Paulo. The collector is José Luis Del Roio

This title is also available as an e-book.

Contents

Acronyms

Acknowledgements

Introduction

1 Foundations of Solidarity 1964–1969

Introduction

Western European Media Coverage of the Coup

Foundations for Solidarity

Revolutionary Tourism

A Latin American Theology of Liberation

The Rose of Paris

Conclusion

2 Exile, Torture and Disappearances 1969–1972

The International Youth Christian Workers

The Kidnappings

Frente Brasileira de Informações

Apolônio de Carvalho, Ladislau Dowbor and Jean Marc Von Der Weid

Amnesty International

Conclusion

3 Poverty, Inequality and Transnational Responsibility 1973–1975

Introduction

Dom Hélder Câmara and the Liberationists

The Brésil-Export Campaign

The Bertrand Russell Tribunal for Brazil and Latin America

Conclusion

4 A Struggle for the Many Brazils 1975–1985

Introduction

Brazil and Latin America; Brazil and the Third World

The Campaign for Indigenous Rights

Amnesty, Democracy and Workers

From Amnesty to the Partido dos Trabalhadores

Conclusion

Interlude

Conclusion

Bibliography

Index

Acronyms

to my grandmother, Elfriedeand Paco the bird

Acknowledgements

It is almost impossible to say where and when, exactly, this book began. But when I think about who and what to thank for its current existence, I am immediately cast back to the year abroad I spent in Mexico and Brazil as part of my undergraduate degree. It was during my first few weeks at the Universidad Nacional Autonoma de Mexico (UNAM) that I learned about the 1968 student massacre of Tlatelolco. I visited the Plaza de las Tres Culturas, where the massacre took place, and I was struck by how normal things seemed; as if nothing had happened. This apparent lack of memorialisation was almost more confounding than knowing what had happened where I was standing. I made it my mission to learn everything I could about the events of 1968, and found particular comfort in the survival of political posters produced by students at the time. When I went to Brazil, I studied at the Universidade Federal de Minas Gerais (UFMG). This was in 2013, when mass protests were breaking out across the country, most notably in Belo Horizonte where I was living. I followed my classmates through the city’s avenues and witnessed first-hand police violence. I ended up visiting a number of universities across the continent as I travelled in between my studies, and what struck me most was the unrelenting social and political dedication of students, who always managed to organise themselves in one way or another. My first thanks, therefore, go to a major part of the life and soul of Latin America’s struggles: its students.

My first real introduction to Brazil’s military dictatorship took place in a class taught by Rodrigo Patto Sá Motta. My Portuguese was awful, and I was so shy that I would barely ever speak up, but the patience and encouragement of Rodrigo and my classmates made this one of the most memorable courses I ever took. It was in the coffee stands outside those classrooms that I met Francisco Garcia Chicote, whose kindness and generosity taught me more about revolution in Latin America than all the books I have read combined. This year abroad led me into conversations with other fantastic scholars in the field, such as Denise Rollemberg, Marcos Napolitano, and James Green, who I must also thank for inspiring me and laying the groundwork for this book to be written.

Certainly, none of the research for this book would have been possible without the decades of hard work and care put into the curation of archival materials. My most heartfelt thanks go to Julio Cazzasa at the Special Collections of Senate House Library, who has guided me and this project before it even began. To the continued work carried out by José Luiz del Roio, and the teams behind Brazil’s National Truth Commission, the Memorial of Resistance and the online archives of Resistir é Preciso, who together have rescued and preserved a vital part of Brazil’s history. My appreciation extends to the staff of the National Archives of Brazil, National Archives of Belgium, The Edgard Leuenroth Archives and the archives of the World Council of Churches, The International Committee of the Red Cross, The Bibliothèque de Documentation Internationale Contemporaine, The Jeunesse Ouvrière Chrétien and The Centre d’Animation et de Recherche en Histoire Ouvrière et Populaire.

King’s College London has been my home for a very long time. It nurtured my love of Latin America over the years and provided me countless opportunities to continue immersing myself in that continent. I am most grateful to all of the teachers who inspired me at the Department of Spanish, Portuguese and Latin American Studies: Mariví Rodríguez-Quiñones, Antonia Moreira-Rodriguez, Maria-José Homem, Adriano Rabelo, David Treece, David Rojinski, Adrian Pearce, Catarina Fouto, Nagore Calvo Mendizabal, Catherine Boyle, Felipe Botelha, Toby Green and Abdoolkarim Vakil. It was at the King’s Brazil Institute that I met Vinicius Mariano de Carvalho and Anthony Pereira, who would later become my PhD supervisors. I wouldn’t be where I am today without the intellectual, professional and emotional support they have given to me over the years nor that of the Institute as a whole. Like many departments and institutes of Latin American and Caribbean Studies in the United Kingdom today, the Brazil Institute has faced a series of cruel obstacles and impossible demands that have threatened its survival. Yet it continues to exist, thanks to its small but resilient community of students, associates and alumni. In this vein, my thanks go to those who were the life of the Institute while I was studying there: Jeff Garmany, Christopher Barton, Thomas Frölich, Grace Iara Souza, Gisele Iecker de Almeida, Alexandre Pereira, Daniel Buarque and Maisa Edwards.

While I was finishing my PhD, I was fortunate to gain my first experience as a teacher at the Department of International Development and meet some of the kindest and coolest people I know – Sudhir Selvaraj, Ola Kubica, Luciana Zorzoli, Juan Grigera, Celal Özkizan, Camilo Caicedo and Luciano Ciravegna. I must also thank all those who saw me through my rampageous year of fieldwork in Brazil: Henrik Christensen, Carol Tiberio, Jimmy Cusick, Matthew Richmond, Fraser Robinson and Milton Ohata, thank you for keeping me focused and sane (well, almost). Such gratitude extends to all those who held my hand during the final stages of my PhD, especially Fiorenza Picozza.

I would also like to acknowledge the fantastic academic cohorts and communities I have been lucky enough to be part of over the past decade, including scholars of Latin America at King’s College London, the UCL Americas Research Network, the Radical Americas, the Society for Latin American Studies, Latin American solidarity groups, and everyone else I met during my PhD. In an increasingly competitive and alienating academic culture, the best minds have continued to produce some of the most progressive and inspiring work, with humility and conviction. This community has not only contributed to my professional progress with constructive feedback and heartfelt enthusiasm but constantly reminded me of the value and meaning of my work.

Vinicius de Carvalho and Ingrid Bleynat, my heroes and mentors, have been a lifeline throughout the process of writing this book, and much more. Thank you both for always being on the other end of the phone, for helping me navigate the labyrinth of academia, and for always believing in me and my abilities. Martyn Wemyss, Pablo Bradbury and Molly Avery were there to save me at the last hurdle with their ardent feedback and attention to detail. I have no idea what state this book would be in if it weren’t for you and your solidarity.

My immediate and extended family deserve special thanks for supporting me in pursuing my degrees, even though I am certain most of them still don’t know what it is that I do exactly. Thank you to my parents, Gina and Claudio, my sisters, Isabella and Gabriela, to Zia Joanna, Uncle Johnny, Cousin Gina, Patrick D’Arcy, Joe Morrison, Francis Bobson, Diego Abasolo, Moises Blanco Rios, Louise Jones, Emily Underwood, Christopher Metz, Sam Moodie, and Tish Hamilton. I imagine most of you may never read much of this book, but I hope some of you think to skip to the acknowledgements.

Introduction

While I was wrapping up my master’s in Brazilian Studies, I took up a voluntary post at Senate House Library. My job was to sift through the library’s collection of Latin American Political Pamphlets, which needed cataloguing, labelling and rescuing from their rusting steel paper clips, a task that ended up taking over a year. The boxes containing materials from Brazil had hardly ever been touched, and I was immediately drawn in. Without looking for anything in particular, I began piecing together remnants of social movements and resistance to the military dictatorship, which I was researching at the time. I became curious and descended into the rabbit-hole clues that the documents – which ranged from economic forecasts to solidarity posters – had left behind. Eventually, my curiosity evolved into a PhD project, and those clues led me to visit numerous other archives across Western Europe and Brazil. I learned that underneath the story of resistance to Brazil’s regime was a vast transnational network that had yet to be fully excavated and mapped.

Brazil and the Transnational Human Rights Movement explores how solidarity with victims of dictatorship contributed to the global human rights movement that emerged in the 1970s. Through a range of activities, solidarity for Brazil popularised the language of human rights and prompted the international community to join the fight against the military regime. They also reframed the debate on human rights, expanding beyond dominant interpretations that elevated the violation of ‘basic’ individual rights – such as the use of torture and political imprisonment – to also incorporate social and economic rights, inequality, indigenous minorities and the human rights responsibilities of multinational companies and development projects. Crucial to the very essence of solidarity for Brazil in Western Europe were pre-existing networks of exiles, Catholic activists, journalists and academics, which shaped the language and discourse of global human rights. This story challenges mainstream narratives and exposes the construction of human rights from below.

On 1 April 1964, the Brazilian government was overthrown by a military coup that would last for twenty-one years. Things happened slowly at first. Political opposition was disassembled through a series of constitutional amendments, while members of the military apparatus were woven into the organisational hierarchies of unions and universities. Soon, a series of armed resistance movements emerged, repression hardened and waves of exiles fled for the United States and Europe and, to a lesser extent, for the Soviet Union and Africa. Years of campaigning between 1975 and 1979 resulted in a reciprocal Amnesty Law which allowed exiles to return to Brazil without fear of imprisonment and, eventually, the country’s democratisation in 1985, a process that for many is still underway.

Methodologically nationalist historical narratives tend to divide Brazil’s period of military rule into four key phases. The first, running from the start of the military dictatorship until the instalment of Institutional Act Number 5 (AI-5) in 1968, saw the dismantling of democratic political institutions and ended with the establishment of longer-term hard-line measures that shattered any hopes that the regime would just be a short-term intervention. The years between 1968 and early-1974, constituting the second phase, are known as the ‘anos de chumbo’, or ‘years of lead’, which on the one hand saw the country’s most severe repression and civil–military confrontations, but on the other, the so-called ‘economic miracle’ that provided the regime a great deal of legitimacy. The third phase began with the inauguration of President General Ernesto Geisel in March 1974, which brought with it a gradual closure of the anos de chumbo and the easing of political restrictions. All of this paved the way for the fourth and final stage, which began and ended with the presidency of General Figueiredo, between 1979 and 1985, and which was characterised by a process of ‘abertura’, or political opening, with an eventual return to civilian rule.

The transnational history of these events, a view that Brazil and the Transnational Human Rights Movement captures through the lens of exile and solidarity, requires a reconsideration of this periodisation. It is important to distinguish transnational from international and global history. International history is an approach that remains faithful to the concept of the nation-state; it uses the political, social, economic and cultural relations between states to understand history, while also applying a historical lens to the study of international relations today. The distinction between transnational and global history is more complex. Global, or world, history tends to challenge euro- or ethnocentricity by considering globalised phenomena as drivers of historical transformation. While some consider transnational history to be a subcategory of global history, transnationalism takes a distinct focus on the development of movements and networks that cut across and exist beyond, or perhaps without, national boundaries.¹

From the perspective of solidarity actors in Western Europe, the transnational history of Brazil’s dictatorship was shaped not only by the actions of the military regime but also by a broader range of actors: the state, foreign affairs officials, journalists, academics, exiles and transnational networks and organisations of all of the above. Within the global human rights movement, the first phase of the dictatorship began, as it did for national history, in 1964, but extended into 1969. It was characterised by the formation of networks between Brazilians and Europeans along the lines of Left-wing radicalism, liberation theology and the first exiles arriving in Western Europe. This was also a time of uncertainty: for Brazilians and international audiences alike, it was unclear that the military regime was more than a temporary measure to bring about order and facilitate a return to democratic rule. The removal of political rights was not widely portrayed as a violation of fundamental human rights in the mainstream media of Europe, where Cold War tensions did not provoke the same anxieties as it did for Latin Americans. Official news, filtered by the regime,² firmly insisted that this was a fight against a serious internal security threat. Solidarity on a significant scale would not emerge until the middle of 1969.

In Brazil, politicians targeted by the regime believed it would soon be over. The military itself originally planned for presidential and state governor elections to be held shortly following the 1964 coup. Nonetheless, during the first month of military rule, between 3,000 and 5,000 individuals were stripped of their political rights and mandates, while many more were arrested.³ These were politicians and military personnel with ties to the previous government who the new military rulers perceived as a direct threat to their regime. The international support networks these individuals drew on were mostly regional. Famously, former president João Goulart and his brother-in-law Leonel Brizola, then-governor of Rio Grande do Sul, fled to Uruguay, where political activity continued for some years in collaboration with opposition groups still in Brazil. Around a thousand Brazilians followed Goulart to Uruguay, while others, already connected to Left-wing parties and organisations in places like Chile, Mexico, and Cuba, fled to those countries before the Chilean and Uruguayan coups of 1973 saw many resettle in Argentina.⁴ For these groups, global human rights advocacy networks were not of great concern. Not only did they still believe the regime would soon be over, but to much of the Left, human rights were a smoke screen for liberal and imperialist interests and were all too compatible with the economic, social and political alienation against which they were fighting. To engage in such debates would have been a betrayal of their political values.⁵

While politicians and military rebels prepared for a return to constitutional politics, a different group of actors had fixed their eyes on a more distant political horizon. Since before the coup, a progressive wing of the Catholic Church in Brazil had been concerned with the lack of social justice and increasingly unequal distribution of resources in Latin America. Following efforts to reconnect with the masses (a widespread concern for the Catholic Church since the late 1950s), Ecclesial Base Communities (CEBs) formed to connect pastoral agents with local communities. While their basis was religious, the rising influence of liberation theology in Latin America led to more systematic efforts to engage with marginalised populations – this is not a proper noun through social action.

This particular wing of the Brazilian Catholic Church has often been overlooked in terms of its relationship to human rights. Granted, even in the early 1970s, major publications of the liberationist school – notably Gustavo Gutiérrez’s A Theology of Liberation – were clear to avoid the concept of universal human rights. Although they had been a central feature of the 1963 Papal Encyclical Pacem in Terris, the mainstream universalist interpretation of rights could not be reconciled with liberationists’ distinct ‘preference for the poor’.⁶ Yet, within transnational networks of human rights advocates, the emergence of CEBs from the late 1960s came to occupy an important space within debates surrounding the meaning and practice of human rights. While political and military dissidents of the regime remained in the region and focused on domestic politics, liberationists were beginning to pave the way for important transnational human rights and solidarity action. During this first phase of 1964–1969, Christian and theologian networks in countries like Belgium, France, the UK and the Netherlands would start to provide some of the first platforms for human rights debates on Brazil.

The second phase, according to the transnational perspective proposed here, begins in mid-1969 and ends in mid-1972, aligning with the well-known anos de chumbo, the years of lead.⁷ These years are characterised by the emergence of solidarity and human rights advocacy around the political prisoner. It was not long after the instalment of AI-5 that rumours and accusations of torture began to reach mainstream audiences in Western Europe, particularly following the arrival of exiles and through journalists specialising in the region. During this phase, groups of academics, activists, Christian organisations and journalists increased their efforts to organise and collaborate on solidarity activities. This paved the way for some of the more noteworthy acts of solidarity that would take place later down the line. The majority of these groups, guided by international norms and opportunities, focused on matters of political imprisonment, torture and forced disappearance. Human rights advocates collected and disseminated testimonies of torture, analysed evidence and generated official reports to name and shame perpetrators. All the while, a growing number of global human rights organisations and solidarity movements institutionalised these practices.

The oft-cited Amnesty International is an excellent example of the larger organisations that emerged or revitalised their activities in the context of the global human rights movement of the 1970s. The group, which was founded in 1961 in London, began with the mission to protect what it deemed the ‘fundamental’ individual political freedoms enshrined in international laws