I'm writing to you in English because apparently, when criticism comes from the New York Times the United States, in English, Brazil is more likely to pay attention. It's possible you, too were alfabetizado em inglês, so vamos lá.
You are an embarrassment to your country and an international pariah. There's no point in going into the details of just how deeply corrupt you are; it's well documented everywhere, no matter how much you try to cover it up. Sadly, you've also managed to taint President Lula's international reputation and national legacy with your childish and hard-headed refusal to step down, after he's achieved a great deal for Brazil. It's a real shame.
It's time to go, Sarney. The world is watching, and it is exceedingly difficult to take Brazil seriously when a person like you is at the helm of the federal government. I certainly can't.
(Oh, and don't even get me started on Sean Goldman. Besides being a criminal yourself, you told the world with this little article that you also defend criminals and support international child abduction.)
That's why I'm opening a space here on the blog for gringos (and Brazilians) who support the Fora Sarney Movement in Brazil, in favor of your immediate resignation from the Brazilian Senate. Oh, I know what you're going to say; you did, after all, support the dictatorship. Gringos can't get involved in Brazilian politics. I hardly think a small-time blogger like me will have an effect on the disaster you've managed to get yourself into, and the purpose of this is to show solidarity to the wonderful movement currently taking place in Brazil. I simply would like to demonstrate that it's not just Brazilians who want to see you gone. We all do, all over the world. Plus, I live in a country where the freedom of speech is a a sacred right, a country I'm currently writing from and where the Typepad server is located. So don't even try to censure me.
There are many of us foreigners invested in Brazil for one reason or another, be it a spouse, a child, a business, or a simple love for its people. And we want the best for Brazil, and you are the worst. Fora, Sarney.
Sincerely,
Rio Gringa
If you are in favor of Sarney's immediate resignation, please leave a comment here.
My first professionally published story was an op-ed piece I wrote as a senior in high school. It was published in the New York Times in January 2003.
Soapbox: The Dreaded Season
THESE cold January days mark the start of a dreaded season: College Limbo of the High School Senior. From January through April, high school seniors like me suffer from a common ailment, which causes confusion, anxiety and frustration. It is a malady called College Decision Disorder, which a majority of American high school seniors will go through this winter -- nearly three million of us, according to the National Center for Education Statistics. We will endure three interminable months, waiting for the letters that will decide our fate.
Under a great deal of pressure in stress during my job hunt, I've found myself reverting to another point of reference about pleasing others in the hopes that they'll take you: the ballet audition.
I've danced ever since I was three. Since I was nine until I graduated from high school, I took around 5-6 classes a week, including jazz and modern. I took summer intensives at a local arts school, and auditioned for several professional schools, and was accepted to two (I picked the Rock School, which was a big mistake, but that's another story for another day). I auditioned for a prestigious production of the Nutcracker, where I danced in the corps. In college, upon discovering a dance program heavily skewed toward neo-modern dance, I helped found student-run ballet group that provides ballet classes and performances, which involved many other auditions over the years.
And now, as I brace myself for job interviews, I can't help but imagine them as auditions.
Like ballet auditions, interviews are nerve-wracking even before they begin. Though thankfully, I haven't had to face competitors face to face yet, like the ballerinas who use intimidation by show offing and stretching and pirouetting before the audition begins, I can still imagine them there, hovering in the back of my mind. Like eying the dancers around me at an audition, I wonder what the other candidates have got on me. Are they smarter? Do they have a Masters? Are they 35 and got laid off, but have 10 years experience in the field? And like a good dancer, I try to warm myself up (mentally), preparing myself for the worst, trying to recall the answers I've prepared for more commonly asked questions, and trying to calm my brain to sound as articulate as possible.
When the interview begins, it's much like an audition. Faced with one or more people judging you, and one person directing you, you're expected to be at your very best, trying to stand out, to be the one that catches their eye. While in an audition, you have to pay close attention to the teacher and the steps he/she gives, you must also keep an eye on the judges, in the hopes they noticed you. You have to make sure you're doing the right combinations, but doing them with perfect technique and some sort of emotion, too. In an interview, in the meantime, you have to make eye contact with everyone in the room, and make sure you're not just directing yourself toward the person who asked the last question. You have to answer the questions adequately but also use body language, eye contact, hand shakes, and enthusiasm.
If, for whatever reason, you mess up, or fall, or stub your toe, you have to keep going, to pull yourself together and hope that no one noticed or that your technique will be impressive enough to overcome your mistake. Similarly, in an interview, if you find you've made a gaff or misspoken or gave a really silly answer, you have to battle on and pick yourself up.
Some auditions leave you in less suspense: you're told immediately if you made it to the next round or if you've been accepted. Others are not so kind: you have to wait to be contacted (back in the day, by snail mail). In interviews, you usually have to wait to find out, though you'll often have an inkling to how you did. Like at a ballet audition, I find myself wondering, "Will I get a call-back?" For the life of me, I cannot bring myself to visualize a second interview as a second interview. Inevitably, I'll pray for that call or email telling me I have a call back.
And finally, I find myself in the battle between hubris and humiliation, depending on whether I get that call-back. So far in my job hunt since I've been back in the US, I haven't made it past the last round, and find myself wallowing in the same self-pity and sadness that I'd find myself in after not making it in an audition.
But I have to dust myself off, strap my pointe shoes back on (or in the case of interviews, pointy-toed black heels), and get back out there.
For a long time, I've been contemplating why it is that corruption has flourished with relative or extreme impunity in the Brazilian government and in American corporations. Why is it that corruption has long blossomed in the opposite sectors of society in both countries? And why, after all this time and so many scandals, are the same crimes perpetuated?
And the best conclusion I came to was the same for both: history.
Now, this generalization isn't based on the fact that corruption doesn't occur in Brazilian corporations or American government; quite clearly, it sometimes does. But it's no coincidence that each country's most famous documentarians (Michael Moore and Jose Padilha) are currently working on films about business and political corruption, respectively. And unfortunately, impunity is a widespread problem in all sectors in Brazil, but it is most apparent in the political realm. And luckily, sometimes, there are exceptions, like in the case of US business corruption, the harsh (and just) sentencing of Bernie Madoff.
So here's my theory.
In Brazil, in its early colonial days, the country was ruled by coronéis, local strongmen with land, money, and political power. These were sometimes also slave owners, who had an even more iron grip on the populace. They also were backed by military support, armed men loyal to the local leader. Indeed, it was a feudal system. As Brazil was transformed from a colony to an independent monarchy to an independent nation, this system evolved into a modern federalist government in most of the country. But in the Northeast, including the Amazon and sertão (a desert-like region), some of the most inhospitable, poorest, and in some cases less populated areas of the country, the old system persisted. To this day, some of the country's most corrupt politicans come from the Northeast. Like in the days of yore, these men still have an inordinate amount of power--sometimes even in Brasilia--and most of all, inspire fear through intimidation.
Unfortunately, political corruption is so widespread that being a politician has practically become synonymous with becoming a businessman (a salient example is that of former Minas governor Newton Cardoso, who is accused of accumulating billions of reais through illicit means). Also, a legal stipulation gives immunity to members of the Brazilian Congress, allowing them to remain free of criminal charges. And often, when the extent of a politician's corruption is revealed, the media is intimidated or censored (usually on the state and city level, though more recently on the national level), and the accused goes unpunished, keeping his stolen money and status. Worst of all, some of the worst offenders are even re-elected, or go on to different posts within the government. Impunity is driven by fear.
Meanwhile, in the US, our revolution was inspired on the basis of taxation. The country started off with a dislike for British bureaucracy and "big" government. As a result, the government was founded on the idea that government itself was a necessary evil. While federalism was cobbled together, business became something of a sanctified realm, something not to be tampered with in order for it to grow and function well. As the economy thrived, American economic power helped build the government's military power, and this only helped justify the previous theory.
After the Great Depression, there was recognition that government should take on a bigger role in the economy, but business was still treated with a special sacredness. Many Americans believe the government should be small and do less (one of the most irritating parts of the health care reform debate today), and that business must remain separate from government and that it should have its own set of rules.
As a result, we have had generations of infamous corrupt businessmen, from the gangsters of the 1930s to the Italian mobsters to Enron to Bernie Madoff. Again and again, businessmen cheat in order to make the most amount of money in the shortest amount of time, and often, they get away with a slap on the wrist. But in my opinion, it's not just the high-profile executives who get caught and sentenced who are the criminals. Some businesses themselves cheat Americans and get away with it scot free, since a good portion of the country subscribes to the sacred economy theory. There are thousands of scams that continue unabated with executives unpunished, despite watchdog groups and websites, leaving gullible Americans in debt. There are companies and indeed entire sectors of the business world that operate on the notion of providing the least amount of benefit to the customer and the most amount of profit to the company (case in point, health insurance companies). A lack of stricter laws and enforcement allow dirty businesses to get away with some truly terrible things.
Here's hoping that eventually, both types of institutionalized corruption will be where they belong: in the past.
When you move to a country where the official language is different from your own, you will inevitably face challenges with your name. In Brazil, I told most people to call me Raquel, which just made things easier, and anytime I needed to use my last name, I would have to spell it out letter by letter several times.
Eli has faced similar issues in the US, where he his name is very difficult for English speakers. Some people have tried to pronounce his name right and have managed to quite well, but he mostly tells people to call him Eli (eh-lee) or Eli (ee-lie). He also has to spell out his last name letter by letter.
Unfortunately, he's run into some issues with his name when dealing with bureaucratic paperwork. We went to open a joint bank account, where he was asked to write out his name for how it should appear on the account and his debit card. He wrote it out clearly and showed the bank employee. Then, when we got the debit cards and other information from the bank in the mail, his middle name appeared instead of his last name. We called the bank helpline, and later went into a branch and spoke to a manager. As it turns out, the bank has a rigid policy about last names, in particular one regarding Latin last names (I somehow doubt they know the difference between Spanish and Portuguese ones). It turns out it's a real hassle to change it, since they also have to change it within the system and have this "policy." It's been several weeks and we still haven't managed to resolve the problem.
Also, in the latest correspondence we've received from US immigration, his name was spelled "Eliseo," the Spanish version of his name. He sent them two letters asking them to change it, and on the most recent notification, his name was in fact spelled correctly. Throughout the immigration process, there had never been a problem with the spelling of his name, but I suspect that somewhere along the line, perhaps in an automated part of the process, spellcheck may have actually changed his name to the more commonly known spelling in the US.
In the meantime, the bartending school he attended had no problem in writing out his entire name correctly on his certificate.
Every writer knows that rejection comes with the territory, and though I haven't quite tried to make a life-long career of writing, I've had my fair share of rejection. Here's one of those rejected pieces, an op-ed story I submitted to several newspapers back in 2007 while I was living in Brazil, though sadly, it was never published. Study Abroad Op-Ed: Get out of here
It’s the most wonderful time of the year: December is when thousands of college students across the country are deserting their campuses and flooding airport terminals across the country, Ipods and passports in hand. They are leaving the comfort of Starbucks’ sofas, central heating and in some cases, the English language, to study abroad. Sadly, fewer than two percent of American college students will do so, according to the most recent figures gathered by the Institute of International Education, a nonprofit group dedicated to international education based in New York City.
This is a disgrace.
Every college student in the country should be required to spend at least one semester abroad. While some will use it as a five- or six-month break from competitive classes, a chance to legally binge drink, and an excuse to post exotic pictures on Facebook, for many it will be a life-altering experience as it was for me.
Two Decembers ago, I was a college student, leaving home to study in Buenos Aires, Argentina, after spending first semester in the Dominican Republic. Going away my junior year made me who I am today: an American who speaks two foreign languages, an American who has lived in the developing world, and a person who has gained a true appreciation for American middle-class comforts and opportunities.
Just like me, young Americans who study abroad will learn about the rest of the world by immersing themselves in a language, culture, and place that are altogether alien. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity for students to gain invaluable knowledge of another country and to become global citizens. It also offers a unique, if challenging opportunity for college students to become cultural diplomats at a moment when our country has a unsavory reputation abroad. When I was in the Dominican Republic, I volunteered at a school in a rural slum to show my solidarity with those who had less, showing locals that Americans aren’t just drunken, selfish sunbathers. While living in Argentina, I studied hard and participated in class with Argentine students, to prove that Americans too, are interested in learning about Argentine culture and history. And now I’m living in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, discussing politics and social conflicts in Portuguese with locals, and teaching at a dance school for impoverished children.
Just like me, students who study abroad will be forced to learn another language, the gateway to understanding different peoples and culture. Becoming fluent in Spanish, I grew close to my Dominican host family and was able to share their day-to-day lives, their history and triumphs and even their secrets, such as the intense feud the younger women were having with the eldest son’s fiancé. In Argentina, I learned how being middle class in Latin America often means feeling constant insecurity, paying endless bills, and sharing beds, and as a result, how many young people my age choose to leave the country.
Living abroad made me appreciate our reliable electrical supply, our clean water, our sanitation system, our job market, the relative stability of the dollar, and the financial safety net we provide to those living below the poverty line, however imperfect it may be.
Just like me, students who study abroad will return home as permanent global citizens. They will have conquered a language, learned a new social and political reality, and had the opportunity to see life through foreign eyes. As global citizens, they will contribute to international understanding, no matter what career they choose. Some will even take the extra step, and share their experiences with their family, friends, and colleagues, by inviting them to visit while abroad, starting blogs detailing their experiences, and sharing their experiences when they come home. Students who go abroad also become reverse ambassadors, spreading the news about other places back home.
In this way, study abroad has a multiplying effect, helping other Americans understand other countries and cultures, and even inspiring them to explore the world. I taught my family and friends about life in Latin America; I shared my experiences at home, in class, and as a volunteer peer counselor at my university’s study abroad office, where students’ most common anxiety was whether they’d be able to get used to living in a totally foreign place.
Finally, just like me, students who study abroad have a unique chance to become unofficial diplomats for the United States. As our government continues its invasion of Iraq, maintains its truculent foreign policy, and our leaders continue to show their lacking knowledge of world geography, we must become informal youth ambassadors to the world. We must use this opportunity to show the rest of the world that our government is not us. We can show them that we know the difference between Australians and Austrians, that we know how to speak the local language, and that we are aware of realities other than our own. We are the best new ambassadors the United States has.
It’s our turn to show the rest of the world that we are Americans, but we aren’t ignorant ego-maniacs. So lay down the lattes, turn off the laptops, and get out of the padded swivel chairs. It's our turn to be the diplomats.
This month, a new documentary called O Milagre de Santa Luzia is coming out in Brazil about accordion music and the accordion tradition from the Northeast. To those unfamiliar with Brazilian music, this might sound like a pretty painfully boring topic to make an entire movie out of. But to those who know just how vast and rich the Brazilian music scene is, it is definitely a film to see. If anything, the cinematography looks pretty great in the trailer.
Until I can get my hands on it, I'll just have to get a kick out of this hilarious scene from the film, below, which just might be my favorite gringo music-meets-Brazilian-music since Donald Duck.
