10 Jun 22 | Brazil, News and features
Supporters at a vigil outside the Brazilian embassy in London for Dom Phillips and Bruno Araujo Pereira. Credit: Victoria Jones/PA Images
Another day in Brazil without any news of British journalist Dom Phillips and Bruno Araújo Pereira. The pair have been missing in the Vale do Javari region, in the Brazilian Amazon, since 6 June. They were last seen as they left the São Rafael riverside community, on their way to the city of Atalaia do Norte.
Phillips, a journalist who writes for the Guardian, has lived in Brazil for almost 15 years. Passionate about the Amazon, the largest rainforest in the world, he has travelled extensively in the region, covering, among other subjects, the environmental crisis in Brazil and issues that plague indigenous communities. At the time of his disappearance he was working on a book about the environment, with support from the Alicia Patterson Foundation. Pereira, a long time official of Brazil’s Indigenous rights organisation, is a former employee of the National Foundation for the Indian (FUNAI), an agency of the Brazilian government.
Both were travelling by boat on the Itaquaí River, in the Vale do Javari region, which is close to the border with Peru. Index spoke to Paulo Marubo, executive director of the Union of Indigenous Organizations of the Javari Valley (Univaja), who was one of the last people to see the pair. He said they were there visiting Univaja’s team on the border of the indigenous reserve. On Saturday, they were all threatened by a group of miners and developers, carrying guns.
“Dom even took a photo of these gangs (showing their guns), which got lost with his disappearance, and they left indignant about it. On Sunday they went out and stopped at a village called São Rafael, where they looked for a man called Churrasco to deal with a lake management project. But he wasn’t there. After they left, we didn’t hear from them anymore,” Marubo told Index.
Marubo said that those at the forefront of indigenous movements often receive threats. He added that the developers feel supported by the current Brazilian president, Jair Bolsonaro, who does not help the indigenous population or protect the lands that are being destroyed. Thus, they operate in a situation where Univaja constantly fight with the state, not just criminal gangs.
“An example of this is Bruno himself, who asked for a license from the current government, which is anti-indigenous,” he said.
In a statement from Tuesday, Bolsonaro, who has not hidden his support of development projects in the Amazon, blamed the missing men rather than the gangs that operate out of the Amazon and make it so dangerous.
“Two people in a boat, in a completely wild region like this, is an adventure that isn’t recommendable for one to do,” he said. “Anything could happen — an accident could happen, they could have been executed — anything.”
The executive coordinator of Univaja has also been targeted by a fisherman, known as Nei, who was interrogated and released by the police after the disappearance of Phillips and Pereira.
In the region where they disappeared, many riverside peoples live, in places that are difficult to access. These areas are rife with crime, such as drug trafficking and illegal deforestation, commanded not only by Brazilians but also by Peruvians and Colombians. All these groups seek absolute control of the region, so the risk to the lives of those who speak out against them or fight for the preservation of the Amazon is high. In Pereira’s case, he had already been threatened by loggers and even fishermen.
There are many examples that show the difficulties and dangers that plague the Amazon region. One of the most famous to date is the murder of the activist Chico Mendes, on 22 December, 1988. An active voice in the struggle to preserve the Amazon, Mendes was frequently threatened by powerful local landowners. Three days before Christmas in 1988, when he was getting ready to take a shower at his home in Xapuri, Acre, he was murdered by Darci Alves, who shot him in the chest. Alves was the son of an influential developer in the region.
The murder of indigenous people has sadly become a devastating trend in Brazil recently. In April, the Pastoral Land Commission released a report revealing that 109 indigenous murders were registered in the country in 2021.
At the same time, the situation for journalists is deteriorating. According to the Brazilian Association of Investigative Journalism (Abraji), from 2019 to May 2022 attacks against press professionals grew by 248%. In 2021, 453 attacks were counted, with Bolsonaro being accountable for 89 verbal insults to journalists.
“The situation is worsening. In 2018, when I was reporting on the elections for governor in Rio Grande do Sul (in Brazil’s south) with two other female journalists from a traditional left-wing paper, some Bolsonaro’s supporters approached us trying to see what we were writing, trying to get my badge to look for me on social media, a very hostile atmosphere,” said Filipe Strazzer, a journalist who at the time was working for the newspaper O Estado de São Paulo, one of the most important in Brazil.
“About environmental issues, I wouldn’t be brave enough to report on that. The Amazon is a lawless land, too many risks involved, powerful people who absolutely control it, so it makes me fearful, and you can’t really develop your work,” he said, remembering the famous case of the missionary Dorothy Stang. Born in the United States and with Brazilian citizenship, she was an environmental activist who was murdered in the Amazon, in the state of Pará, in February 2005. At the time, she was being threatened by rich farmers, landowners and loggers.
In the case of the disappearance of Phillips and Pereira, a search is underway. Around 250 people, mostly military personnel with experience in operations in a jungle environment, are participating in the search. Two aircraft, three drones and 20 vehicles are being used, according to Globo’s website.
But Marubo believes that this effort will not be enough to find them and that more needs to be done. The area is dense, difficult terrain and so they need to go into the lakes, into the forests, and not just stick to the main rivers, he said.
“I have asked the federal police to carry out the investigation in this way and not give up because otherwise these bandits will laugh in our face,” said Marubo.
In an open letter initiated by The Guardian and Washington Post, editors from around the world asked that the search be intensified and that the Brazilian government give more priority to the case.
“We ask that you urgently step up and fully resource the effort to locate Dom and Bruno, and that you provide all possible support to their families and friends,” the letter said.
We support this letter. The entire Index on Censorship team is hoping that Dom Phillips and Bruno Araújo Pereira will be found alive and that more priority will be given to promoting and protecting those defending land, and those reporting on it.
10 Jun 22 | Belarus, Brazil, China, Hong Kong, Opinion, Philippines, Russia, Ruth's blog, Ukraine, United Kingdom, United States
This week has been awful.
The news has been devastating and all consuming. But that feels like it’s becoming the norm.
In Belarus, our friends remain under attack – Andrei and Irina’s trial began on Monday. We have no idea of the outcome.
In Brazil, Dom Phillips and his colleague Bruno Araújo Pereira remain missing – but with reports of fresh blood being found, our hearts break for their loved ones.
In Ukraine, we see daily the death and destruction caused by the Russian invasion, up to 200 Ukrainian soldiers killed a day. And the reports of cholera in Mariupol are beyond my comprehension in the twenty-first century.
In Russia, the crackdown against dissidents continues unabated – with limited coverage. 160 people are currently defending criminal cases for anti-war statements and this week a close associate of Alexei Navalny was tried in absentia and placed on the international wanted list.
In the Philippines, Ferdinand Marcos Jr has been elected as the next President and made his first visit to the US as President-Elect – seemingly the legacy of his parents no longer an electoral or diplomatic issue.
In Hong Kong, six brave democracy protesters were arrested for the temerity of marking the anniversary of Tiananmen Square.
In the US – the inquiry into the Capitol Riot is officially underway – highlighting just how fragile our collective democracy is and how desperately we need to cherish and protect it.
And that’s before I even touch on what is happening in the UK, the ongoing political crises, and the ideologically incoherent approach to freedom of expression protections.
And in too many countries this is now framed through the prism of a cost-of-living crisis as a scale that we haven’t seen for a generation.
My only comfort is that we know what is happening. In a digital age it is very difficult for any leader, however repressive, to completely silence dissent about their domestic actions. The joy of a free press in democratic countries is that it enables us to be informed and to demand more and better – from our own leaders and from those that claim a global role. It enables us to analyse the scale of the threat and to try and prioritise our efforts in assisting those brave enough to stand against tyranny.
Index exists to provide a platform for the persecuted. We work every day with those who refuse to be silenced. The least we can do is listen to them and then join their fight.
17 Mar 22 | 50 years of Index, Afghanistan, Africa, Americas, Asia and Pacific, Bosnia, Brazil, China, Greece, Hong Kong, India, Iran, Magazine, Magazine Contents, Mexico, Nigeria, Northern Ireland, Philippines, Russia, Rwanda, South Africa, Turkey, Uganda, Ukraine, United Kingdom, United States, Volume 51.01 Spring 2022 Extras
The spring issue of Index magazine is special. We are celebrating 50 years of history and to such a milestone we’ve decided to look back at the thorny path that brought us here.
Editors from our five decades of life have accepted our invitation to think over their time at Index, while we’ve chosen pieces from important moments that truly tell our diverse and abundant trajectory.
Susan McKay has revisited an article about the contentious role of the BBC in Northern Ireland published in our first issue, and compares it to today’s reality.
Martin Bright does a brilliant job and reveals fascinating details on Index origin story, which you shouldn’t miss.
Index at 50, by Jemimah Steinfeld: How Index has lived up to Stephen Spender’s founding manifesto over five decades of the magazine.
The Index: Free expression around the world today: the inspiring voices, the people who have been imprisoned and the trends, legislation and technology which are causing concern.
“Special report: Index on Censorship at 50”][vc_column_text]Dissidents, spies and the lies that came in from the cold, by Martin Bright: The story of Index’s origins is caught up in the Cold War – and as exciting
Sound and fury at BBC ‘bias’, by Susan McKay: The way Northern Ireland is reported continues to divide, 50 years on.
How do you find 50 years of censorship, by Htein Lin: The distinguished artist from Myanmar paints a canvas exclusively for our anniversary.
Humpty Dumpty has maybe had the last word, by Sir Tom Stoppard: Identity politics has thrown up a new phenonemon, an intolerance between individuals.
The article that tore Turkey apart, by Kaya Genç: Elif Shafak and Ece Temulkuran reflect on an Index article that the nation.
Of course it’s not appropriate – it’s satire, by Natasha Joseph: The Dame Edna of South Africa on beating apartheid’s censors.
The staged suicided that haunts Brazil, by Guilherme Osinski: Vladimir Herzog was murdered in 1975. Years on his family await answers – and an apology.
Greece haunted by spectre of the past, by Tony Rigopoulos: Decades after the colonels, Greece’s media is under attack.
Ugandans still wait for life to turn sweet, by Issa Sikiti da Silva: Hopes were high after Idi Amin. Then came Museveni …People in Kampala talk about their
problems with the regime.
How much distance from Mao? By Rana Mitter: The Cultural Revolution ended; censorship did not.
Climate science is still being silenced, by Margaret Atwood: The acclaimed writer on the fiercest free speech battle of the day.
God’s gift to who? By Charlie Smith: A 2006 prediction that the internet would change China for the better has come to pass.
50 tech milestones of the past 50 years, by Mark Frary: Expert voices and a long-view of the innovations that changed the free speech landscape.
Censoring the net is not the answer, but… By Vint Cerf: One of the godfathers of the internet reflects on what went right and what went wrong.[/vc_column_text][vc_custom_heading text=”Five decades in review”][vc_column_text]An arresting start, by Michael Scammell: The first editor of Index recounts being detained in Moscow.
The clockwork show: Under the Greek colonels, being out of jail didn’t mean being free.
Two letters, by Kurt Vonnegut: His books were banned and burned.
Winning friends, making enemies, influencing people, by Philip Spender: Index found its stride in the 1980s. Governments took note.
The nurse and the poet, by Karel Kyncl: An English nurse and the first Czech ‘non-person’.
Tuning in to revolution, by Jane McIntosh: In revolutionary Latin America, radio set the rules.
‘Animal can’t dash me human rights’, by Fela Kuti: Why the king of Afrobeat scared Nigeria’s regime.
Why should music be censorable, by Yehudi Menuhin: The violinist laid down his own rules – about muzak.
The snake sheds its skin, by Judith Vidal-Hall: A post-USSR world order didn’t bring desired freedoms.
Close-up of death, by Slavenka Drakulic: We said ‘never again’ but didn’t live up to it in Bosnia. Instead we just filmed it.
Bosnia on my mind, by Salman Rushdie: Did the world look away because it was Muslims?
Laughing in Rwanda, by François Vinsot: After the genocide, laughter was the tonic.
The fatwa made publishers lose their nerve, by Jo Glanville: Long after the Rushdie aff air, Index’s editor felt the pinch.
Standing alone, by Anna Politkovskaya: Chechnya by the fearless journalist later murdered.
Fortress America, by Rubén Martínez: A report from the Mexican border in a post 9/11 USA.
Stripsearch, by Martin Rowson: The thing about the Human Rights Act …
Conspiracy of silence, by Al Weiwei: Saying the devastation of the Sichuan earthquake was partly manmade was not welcome.
To better days, by Rachael Jolley: The hope that kept the light burning during her editorship.
Plays, protests and the censor’s pencil, by Simon Callow: How Shakespeare fell foul of dictators and monarchs. Plus: Katherine E McClusky.
The enemies of those people, by Nina Khrushcheva: Khrushchev’s greatgranddaughter on growing up in the Soviet Union and her fears for the US press.
We’re not scared of these things, by Miriam Grace A Go: Trouble for Philippine
journalists.
Windows on the world, by Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe and Golrokh Ebrahimi Iraee: Poems from Iran by two political prisoners.
Beijing’s fearless foe with God on his side, by Jimmy Lai: Letters from prison by the Hong Kong publisher and activist.
We should not be put up for sale, by Aishwarya Jagani: Two Muslim women in India on being ‘auctioned’ online.
Cartoon, by Ben Jennings: Liberty for who?
Amin’s awful story is much more than popcorn for the eyes, by Jemimah Steinfeld: Interview with the director of Flee, a film about an Afghan refugee’s flight and exile.
Women defy gunmen in fight for justice, by Témoris Grecko: Relatives of murdered Mexican journalist in brave campaign.
Chaos censorship, by John Sweeney: Putin’s war on truth, from the Ukraine frontline.
In defence of the unreasonable, by Ziyad Marar: The reasons behind the need
to be unreasonable.
We walk a very thin line when we report ‘us and them’, by Emily Couch: Reverting to stereotypes when reporting on non-Western countries merely aids dictators.
It’s time to put down the detached watchdog, by Fréderike Geerdink: Western newsrooms are failing to hold power to account.
A light in the dark, by Trevor Philips: Index’s Chair reflects on some of the magazine’s achievements.
Our work here is far from done, by Ruth Smeeth: Our CEO says Index will carry on fighting for the next 50 years.
In vodka veritas, by Nick Harkaway and Jemimah Steinfeld: The author talks about Anya’s Bible, his new story inspired by early Index and Moscow bars.
A ghost-written tale of love, by Ariel Dorfman and Jemimah Steinfeld: The novelist tells the editor of Index about his new short story, Mumtaz, which we publish.
‘Threats will not silence me’, by Bilal Ahmad Pandow and Madhosh Balhami: A Kashmiri poet talks about his 30 years of resistance.
A classic case of cancel culture, by Marc Nash: Remember Socrates’ downfall.
19 Nov 21 | Brazil, News and features
There is a highly symbolic scene in Marighella, a Brazilian film that has only reached movie theatres now, even though it has been ready for release since 2019. An American agent (Charles Paraventi) praises Police Chief Lúcio (Bruno Gagliasso) for the inventiveness with which the revolutionary group Ação Libertadora Nacional (ALN) infiltrated radio stations, broadcasting a subversive message using only a tape recorder and circumventing the censorship. The sequence fulfils at least two functions: to reinforce the deep ties between the brutality of the Brazilian military dictatorship and North American imperialist interests; and reinforcing political and social resistance through creativity, a typically Brazilian trait often described as jeitinho or malandragem – a way of circumventing the bureaucratic norms.
I evoke this idea of trickery because it is at the centre of the imbroglio involving the release of Marighella, a political biopic of Carlos Marighella, a Brazilian Marxist-Leninist communist, politician and writer.
Marighella, born in 1911, was regularly in and out of jail between the 1930s and 1950s for criticising the Brazilian government as an active member of the Communist Party.
In 1966, he published The Brazilian Crisis, which argued for an armed struggle against Brazil’s military dictatorship which had been installed as a result of the 1964 coup in the country. Two years later, Marighella was expelled from the Communist Party and he went on to found the ALN, which became involved in robbing banks to finance guerilla warfare and the kidnapping of high profile individuals to win the release of political prisoners.
After the ALN’s involvement in the kidnapping of US Ambassador Charles Burke Elbrick, Marighella became a target. On 4 November 1969, he was ambushed by the police in São Paulo and shot dead.
The release of the biopic during the presidency of Jair Bolsonaro, an apologist of Latin American military dictatorships and nostalgic for the bloodthirsty Brazilian regime that acts as the de facto villain of the film, is timely.
Marighella was supposed to be released in early 2020 but Ancine, the government agency that works to promote national cinema in Brazil, withheld funding of R$1 million (roughly £134,000) for its distribution, alleging a problem in the accounts for another production by O2 Filmes, the film’s producer.
Celebrated actor Wagner Moura, who debuts here as the director, had no doubt that the film was censored.
“It was a time when Bolsonaro was talking about filtering and regulating Ancine,” Moura said at a press event about the movie.
Brazil hasn’t had a censorship department since the end of the military dictatorship, which ended with popular elections in the mid-1980s. The constitution that was enacted at that time was so influenced by the “years of lead” (as the times under the regime are known) that censorship was expressly prohibited by the law.
There are, of course, age rating systems and, with the justification of “protecting the innocence of children”, certain films, events or exhibitions are only released for certain ages, and/or with parents’ authorisation, very much alike the ratings systems in the US or the UK. That’s why, as long as it feels the need to comply with the Constitution, the current far-right Brazilian government needs to be at least as creative as the speeches it seeks to curb.
Hence Moura’s revolt, saying that there would be “veiled censorship”, different than what happened during the dictatorship, applied as a state policy.
“Today they infiltrate people in these agencies, and they make anything impossible to happen. That’s what they did with Marighella. They found a way to make the release impossible, from a bureaucratic point of view,” he said in an interview with Veja magazine.
Without this being state policy, made official by documents, it is difficult to say that there is de facto censorship. Carlos Marighella symbolises much of what the radical wing of the government despises, finding it absurd that public money is used to finance “non-aligned” works.
Bolsonaro himself has even threatened Ancine with extinction because the productions it finances are no longer “aligned” with the government. His government’s special secretary of culture, former actor Mário Frias has even tweeted a response to Moura’s statements: “Did you think I was going to get public funds for this pamphlet garbage?”
This type of declaration by a state representative helps to understand the Brazilian Government’s relationship with culture. Its origin lies in one of the ideological consequences of the end of the military dictatorship, in which some far-right intellectuals and disgraced military personnel came to the conclusion that the left had “won” the “cultural war”, infiltrating universities and fostering ideologically aligned artistic production .
This conclusion was, in part, a reaction to the establishment of the National Truth Commission, dedicated to revealing and documenting the crimes against humanity committed by the dictatorship, and the result of a bad reading (and also in bad faith, it should be said) of the theories of Antonio Gramsci, an Italian Marxist intellectual.
The rise and permanence of the extreme right in power, they think, would be conditioned to the dismantling of an apparatus of cultural incentive and promotion, developed over the years of redemocratisation. This explains the presence of someone like Frias in charge of culture and the use of jeitinho to impede the exhibition of “misaligned” films such as Marighella.
This institutional trickery, in this case at least, has backfired, since a work is not an isolated object of its historical context. Since release – without the benefit of government funding – Marighella has become the most watched Brazilian production of the last two years, with 100,000 spectators in 300 theatres across the country. This is low in a historic context, as the screen quota which usually ensures that cinemas show a certain amount of locally produced content to counter the influx of foreign films is currently suspended while a new proposal, suggest by Brazil’s opposition parties, is considered.
Despite its success, the film has problems – from the annoying overacting to the lack of real interest in its main character – and it perhaps wouldn’t be so celebrated in another time. In Brazil at the end of 2021, with all the absurdities committed by action or inaction of the Bolsonaro government, Marighella has become the film to be seen.
