Millions of Brazilians have serious housing problems. The Movimiento Sin Techo (Homeless Movement) seeks to organize them, and to occupy abandoned properties and land on the outskirts of the city to pressure the government. When they get settled, even temporarily, they try to transform social relations based on their dreams of a different world.
In a clear spot in the Quilombo de Escada, one of three camps that we visited on a sunny and humid evening in Salvador, Pedro Cardoso handed out beers while explaining the history of each occupation. The words slip languidly, cutting through the sticky heat in an area of wooden, cardboard, metal, and plastic shacks, a mix of materials that shows that the settlers had meager means to obtain permanent housing.
Of Bantu origin, the quilombo (brothel) was a sheltered
space where slaves ran away from plantations. Almost all of the
inhabitants were blacks, although there were Indians and even some
whites, perhaps because the quilombos were spaces of freedom and resistance to oppression. The most famous, the Quilombo de Palmares,
survived for more than a century (1600-1710) and became an emblem of
resistance that Afro-Brazilian social movements claim today.(1)
The Movimiento Sin Techo Bahia camps (MSTB) are almost all on the outskirts of Salvador, 17 in total, and five of them in other municipalities in the state. There are nearly 5,000 families, including the 1,500 that already have permanent housing. To get to Cidade de Plástico, the most emblematic of the settlements with 228 families living in camps, people must travel nearly 20 kilometers from the Pelourinho, the historic center where tourists gather from around the world.
Six Decades and Seven Years
In the 1940s Salvador grew massively when it began to develop as a petrochemical hub. It had only 290,000 inhabitants and was an agro-export state that was industrialized around the 1950s, bringing the population to 420,000. Thirty years later, in 1980, Salvador's population had increased four-fold, reaching 1.5 million. In 2010 they were already three million. Not surprisingly, then, it was in the 40s when the first occupations began. "In the 80s there were more than 500 occupations," says Pedro. (2)
Such a demographic shift resulted in a schizophrenic urban pattern. The ocean shore, with its long beaches lined with palm trees and endless rows of buildings, hosts tourists from around the world as well as the middle and upper class of Salvador. On this beautiful coastline resides the white elite, just 15% of the population, segregated from the slaves' descendants. According to the official data, 55% are black and 26% mestizo. When we leave the center to the avenue Suburbana, the face of the city becomes African and a world of favelas and instability appears. Wealth and poverty, as in many parts of the world, are inseparable from the skin color.
"Those occupations of the 80s became regular neighborhoods today, i.e. the favelas on the outskirts. They were spontaneous and not coordinated, although a movement emerged to defend the favela residents that was short-lived," says Pedro. According to various accounts, the housing deficit in the 1990s was estimated to be 200,000, but Pedro believes that today "only" 80,000 homes are needed. The MSTB (Homeless Movement) was officially born on July 20, 2003, following the first organized occupation, 12 kilometers from downtown, on the way to the airport.
At that time there was a wave of urban and rural occupations throughout the country. In Salvador, considered the unemployment capital, the election of Lula "favored the emergence of social movements, as it was believed that there would be less police repression." (3) The land had been occupied on July 2 in an action driven by "mothers and women" that, in a few days, comprised 700 people. After being evicted by the police, they kept vigil in the area and organized numerous assemblies in which the movement was born.
In the
following months they were joined by several thousand families, people
living under bridges, sleeping on beaches, living with relatives, and
those who pay rent that is too costly. Some families occupying empty
buildings downtown were included to pressure the municipal and state
governments. From the beginning, they had the support of the Justice
and Peace Commission of the Salvador Archdiocese and the Center for
Studies and Social Action promoted by the Jesuits. During the first weeks, the most difficult time to consolidate the
occupation, they marched to the prefecture to demand the expropriation
of the land, water, and other services. One of the most important steps
is to build a community: to raise awareness about forming a group,
establish rules of conduct, and make decisions in assemblies, which
would be key for the camp to overcome difficulties. That is not easy,
as it involves creating new relationships and cultural patterns among
people that used to decide individually. In January 2005, when they had done around 50 occupations, the
first Congress was convened. They enacted internal rules that, among
other things, prohibit the sale of land, domestic violence, and drug
trafficking, and create an organizational structure. Among its
principles, it states that the members are considered heirs to the
traditions of black resistance in the Brazilian Northeast, and they see
themselves in the vein of leaders like Zumbí dos Palmares and Zeferina, (4) and in movements like the Quilombos and the "Guerra de Canudos."(5) The organizational structure involves the coordination of state,
municipal, and local groups, assemblies, and brigades. Ana, who works
with women in the movement, highlights that the Bahia's homeless
movements did not begin at the behest of the Sin Tierra movement, like
other urban movements, and they are inspired by horizontal
relationships; therefore, "the groups are open and the members rotate
frequently."(6)
The brigades are groups of families who are responsible for the
cleanliness and health of the settlements as well as setting up and
coordinating meetings, and these are rotated weekly. "It's very
difficult to make it all work," confesses Pedro. The bases are grouped into three broad areas: core, settlement, and communities.(7)
The core are groups that are responsible for discussing, registering
the homeless in the area, finding properties or vacant lots, organizing
the families to occupy the properties, and organizing marches and other
street actions. In Salvador the movement has half a dozen core groups
that have registered about 36,000 homeless people, which ensures that
the movement will keep growing.
The occupations can be land where they camp in barracos
(unstable constructions made of plastic and wood) or unoccupied land.
They occupy two closed factories, unused government buildings, a sports
club, and several private and municipal buildings. On the unoccupied
area, a few dozen of families live, but there are hundreds of
occupiers. Ultimately, the communities are the conquerors of houses
that give rise to new neighborhoods, like in Valeria, where 150 houses
were built with the state support and mutual aid. "Building communities for good living, that's our goal," says
Pedro, not knowing that the Aymara and Quechua are based on the same
principle, though they are called sumak kawsay or sum qamaña
(good life or good living). In his desires, two apparently
complementary inspirations converge: the tradition of black resistance
and liberation theology. Pedro became involved in the resistance to the
dictatorship in 1979, in basic church communities, that were gathered
opposite the Quilombo, in the vast favela area of Periperi where he has been living for many years. Now he is one of the coordinators of this movement. About 70% of the MSTB members are women, "the most dynamic sector
of the movement," says Ana, the majority being single mothers. Almost
all are unemployed, or trash collectors, newspaper vendors, or
cleaners, from the entire range of services that characterizes the
informal urban sector. According to Pedro, the average income of the
homeless movement is 300 reales per month per family (just over $150)
and only 10% receive the family allowance benefit. "It amounts to
scraps," says Ana, because only families with incomes less than 70
reales per person receive 68 reales, which is not as much as two daily
bus fares. (8) "For every 50 families," explains Pedro, "a brigade is formed of 10
people who are in charge of managing the camp for a week, responsible
for ensuring hygiene and cleanliness, coordinating meetings, and
resolving minor conflicts. For collective tasks mutiroes (community
work) are organized, but in reality we have failed to form brigades in
all camps." The idea was copied from the brigades of the Sin Tierra
movement, which inspires all grassroots movements in Brazil as well as
in a significant part of Latin America. But urban work is far more
complex than rural work. A few miles more and we came to a hill called Monte Sagrado, on the summit of which the Quilombo do Paraíso operates. It seems like another world. Unlike Cidade de Plástico,
where the "barracos" are stacked one on top of the other next to the
polluted bay, here the camp stands on a beautiful view that dominates
all the bay, the houses have a lot of land, and are separated by 10-20
meter spaces. The only common point is the inevitable football pitch at
the middle of the Quilombo, the exclusive territory of young men. Pedro explains the reasons why all houses are built of bricks, but
the camp is more recent. "In the older settlements they don't build and
expect solutions from the government, but here an assembly decided to
start building because they are tired of the unfulfilled promises from
the government and they are not willing to wait. Here there is good
land, although it is farther from the center, and people know that the
state builds houses of 32 square meters and here they are building them
in their own way, slowly but with more alternatives." As in all the camps, water and electricity connections are obtained
illegally but tolerated by the companies. At some point we asked about
drug trafficking. Pedro and Ana are honest and straightforward. "In
every camp there is trafficking. In the lands it is more difficult
because the spaces are closed. But when the occupation is open, like in
the camps, trafficking is a reality." Like many Brazilians who work in
the favelas and poor neighborhoods, the military police are seen as the main problem, an overly corrupted and cruel force. They say that trafficking is a problem for the movement, because it
encourages violence, police presence, and breaks social networks. "The
method we use," says Pedro, "is to make a pact. We say that if people
traffic they will put all of us at risk because the police will enter
the camp. But the dealers often have very fluid relationships with the
police. The agreement is not to do anything to criminalize the camp,
but we have to be careful because they will not hesitate to get rid of
you, so we need to avoid violent situations. So far no leader has been
killed as has occured in other cities." Ana explains that trafficking promotes sexism and violence against
women, and recalls the case of a colleague, a camp leader, who had to
go to Sao Paulo because she confronted them and nearly got killed.
However, the relationship with the community dealers is strange. "With
them, the robberies are cut out because they do not want the police to
come or other problems that may jeopardize the trafficking; therefore
the community suffers less now than before," concludes Pedro, nearly
exhausted. "The men were besieging me until they learned that I am Pedro's
friend," Ana states angrily, unable to hide her annoyance. For black
and poor women, all oppressions seem like the same thing. To tackle the
subject of gender is to go through one of the toughest doors: women,
especially female leaders who are confrontational, suffer violently at
the hands of dealers, who see them merely as sex objects. Building organization and awareness about gender is almost a feat
in these conditions, in areas that are not ventured into by state
officials (and even less by deputies and councilors) or members of NGOs
that request funds, and salaries, to help the poor. They are alone to
face the armed men, be they from the military police or organized
crime, a difference that most of the time is reduced to the uniform
they wear. One of the greatest achievements of the movement is to have created a women's organization, the Guerreras Sin Techo
(Homeless Female Warriors), on March 8, 2005. They did it "to denounce
and combat the racism and sexism that exists within the MSTB and
society," because it pained them to discover that the same thing
occurred inside the movement as outside. Although women make up 70% of
the organization, at the state coordination level there are only a few.
Today, with pride, they said that at the managerial level, 60% are
women. In a public document they noted: "We suffer domestic violence, the
death of our black children who are killed by the police or the drug
war. We suffer the lack of freedom for our daughters who are
increasingly victims of sexual violence in the barracos." (9)
In each job and each core group they attempt to create a group of
women. "We are inspired by each other, we rely on each other, trying to
create a network of solidarity between women," says Ana. In Cidade de Plástico the efforts of the homeless have borne
fruit through the construction of a communal dining hall where 20 women
daily serve over a hundred dishes at two reales each day. "Guerreiras de Zeferina,"
says the mural at the entrance of the camp that is hailed for its
cleanliness. "The movement has managed to make the role of women
visible, whereas they were previously invisible, to the extent that
they are now the ones that have taken more positions of
responsibility," Ana says with pride. In 2008, the movement managed to set up training centers that
included gender modules with 40 militants. Perhaps the role of women is
one aspect in which the activity of the homeless has the most notable
results. It is true that when compared with the landless, where there
is a strong pressure for gender equality, there is still a long way to
go here. However, they have configured an emancipatory space from which
they dispute the hegemony in public life. They are integrated into the
collective work of building housing, to the self-management co-ops, to
the discussion venues and public spheres of social policy discussion. (10) Six years is little time for any movement. Looking at the camps at Cidade de Plástico and Escada,
there is the feeling that social change from the margins is almost
impossible because of the traumas that overcrowding, appalling poverty,
and deprivation cause. Conversely, if we look at the rows of houses in
the community of Valencia, each with two bedrooms, living room,
kitchen, bathroom, and backyard, where the women set up a food
cooperative, then hope returns. Ana, however, goes beyond optimism. Despite her meager income as a
teacher, just 600 reales ($300), she devotes most of her free time to
the movement. She is responsible for maintaining connections with the
urban communities of Brazil, a situation that is growing and that
allowed her to found the Urban Resistance Front a couple of years ago,
a convergence of 14 movements from a dozen cities. The Front began to
be develop in 2006 at a meeting in Sao Paulo, based on four themes:
urban reform, right to housing, right to work, and against the
criminalization of poverty. "Every movement maintains its autonomy and operates by consensus,
which involves time for discussion, and patience because it is building
trust," says Ana. "The movements that come together in the Front
already have a tradition of autonomy and horizontality and we function
with great flexibility." Sin Tierra has been promoting the creation of
urban movements for over a decade, but only now do they seem to be
organizing themselves. According to the data provided by Ana, the urban movements are more
synthesized with youth culture than with the union and leftist parties.
A powerful presence, besides the homeless, is the hip-hop and the black
movement, giving it a very different profile from formal and structured
movements: "We are very similar in the ways we work, including the fact
that there is no struggle for hegemony." The "alliance" between the
homeless and young hip-hop followers was a natural fit, since they live
in the favelas, suffer police harassment, and share the same
rebellion against poverty and a system that marginalizes them. Homeless
people believe that rap and hip-hop stimulate change in values and
social, cultural, and community practices. Ana argues that because Lula's government did not go forward with
the land reform, and the land is being used for agribusinesses (soybean
and sugarcane for biofuels), more and more young people come to the
cities. At some point, urban movements are likely to displace the rural
ones as a reference point for social change. In any case, the homeless
and the Urban Resistance Front launched the campaign "My house, my
struggle" to denounce the wave of evictions by property speculators
because of the 2014 World Cup and the 2016 Olympics.
Raúl Zibechi is an international analyst for Brecha of Montevideo,
Uruguay, lecturer and researcher on social movements at the
Multiversidad Franciscana de América Latina, and adviser to several
social groups. He writes the monthly "Zibechi Report" for the Americas
Program (www.americasprogram.org). Translated for the Americas Program by Carolina Sternberg.Fragile Organization, Heavy Trafficking
The Homeless Female Warriors
Urban Resistance
End Notes