Carlos R. S. Milani on President Dilma Rousseff at UC Berkeley

Dilma Rousseff (President of Brazil, 2011-16) gave a talk at UC Berkeley on April 16, 2018 titled “Challenges for Democracy in Brazil”. The event was organized by the Center for Latin American Studies (CLAS) and cosponsored by the Department of Sociology and the Charles and Louise Travers Department of Political Science. In this series, various scholars from diverse disciplines respond to the talk.

President Dilma Rousseff greets the audience before her talk at UC Berkeley. (Photo by Tom Levy.)

During her talk on Challenges for Democracy in Brazil, Dilma Rousseff gave a detailed explanation of the economic, political, and institutional dilemmas that Brazil has confronted with since her re-election in November 2014, emphasizing the different steps between her ousting in April 2016 and Lula’s imprisonment two years later. She meticulously reminded the audience of several moments of this long-standing crisis undermining Brazil’s democratic development, and three of them have particularly captured my attention.

First, she recalled the crucial role of the Workers’ Party (Partido dos Trabalhadores, or PT), and the coalition in power between 2003 and 2016, in fighting against poverty, promoting more inclusive social policies, and upholding an autonomous foreign policy both in hemispheric and international settings.

As a party in government, the PT was able to lead a center-left coalition that executed a series of important public policies attempting to deal with deep-rooted inequalities related both to redistribution and recognition in the country. Nevertheless, as a party in society, after some years in power PT was not able to play the critical role of monitoring governmental policies and their results from the non-governmental perspective. Neither was it able to maintain a continuous political dialogue with grassroots organizations. If we consider the state as both an object and instrument, we could say that PT was able to use the state as an instrument to provide better welfare policies to traditionally neglected segments of Brazil’s society and to guarantee impartial and free elections. In a nutshell, for a long time PT was able to govern according to progressive banners, even if governability meant building broad -perhaps too broad- coalitions that also implied some sacrifice in cultural, communication, land-reform and fiscal policies. However, PT lacked the political intelligence to use the state as an object, and in the long-run it was not able to balance the way political power and access to office were distributed based on criteria of social and environmental justice.

Second, Dilma Rousseff notably reaffirmed that the crisis that started immediately after her re-election must be understood as a series of different steps. What was at the beginning an economic crisis, according to her, evolved to a political crisis, then to an institutional crisis. Congress, the justice system, media outlets, and segments of the middle class (among other actors) played a significant role in this escalation, and contributed to legitimate, on behalf of a national and international crusade against corruption, the current upsurge of violent extreme-right movements and leaders in Brazil. Her attempt to fight against high-level interest rates, her reaction to the June 2013 demonstrations (focused in the health sector), the symbolically violent electoral campaign in 2014, the reaction of the main opposition party to her re-election, the coup of her impeachment, the military intervention in Rio de Janeiro, Marielle Franco’s execution in March 2018 and Lula’s incarceration the following month are all part of the same process aiming to denationalize the economy, increase gains for the financial sector in detriment of social policies, reduce access to rights, and change the country’s foreign policy and development model.

President Dilma Rousseff answers questions from the audience during her talk at UC Berkeley. (Photo by Tom Levy.)

Finally, Dilma Rousseff presented a clear picture of macro and structural interests and domestic factors restraining Brazil’s capabilities in continuing its recent relatively successful trajectory in promoting inclusion and development. However, she avoided developing her analysis and presenting her perceptions on decision-making, and her key role as president, in promoting an open political dialogue on unavoidable and somehow contradictory policy issues such as social communication rights, economic development and socioenvironmental protection in the Amazonia, fiscal exemption policies to businesses, her support of austerity in 2015 as well as her previous selection and the appointment of key ministers. As a progressive scholar committed to democratic values and social justice I would have liked to hear Dilma Rousseff on those issues, too.



CARLOS R. S. MILANI was a visiting scholar at the Center for Latin American Studies at UC Berkeley and is an Associate Professor at the Rio de Janeiro State University’s Institute for Social and Political Studies (IESP-UERJ). He is also a Senior Research Fellow with Brazil’s National Research Council (CNPq) and the Rio de Janeiro State Research Foundation (FAPERJ), and the Associate Editor of the Brazilian Political Science Review. His research agenda focuses on Brazilian foreign policy, international development politics, and comparative foreign policy.  More information on his research, teaching and publications can be found at


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Programming a Better World


Mentoring young women in STEM disciplines. (Photo courtesy of Carolina Hadad.)

By Carolina Hadad

A wide gender gap has persisted over the years at all levels of STEM disciplines throughout the world. Although the participation of women in higher education has increased, they are still underrepresented. Latin America is no exception.

A workforce skilled in science, technology, engineering and math (STEM) is crucial to Latin America innovative capacity and global competitiveness. Shortages in the supply of trained professionals in STEM disciplines weaken the innovation potential of a society. This leaves an untapped opportunity to expand STEM employment.

In Argentina, women represent only 18% of the graduates in tech careers.1 This creates inequalities in income distribution and intellectual capital, and deprives the tech sector away from the vision of half of the population.

There are many possible factors contributing to the discrepancy of women and men in STEM jobs, including: gender stereotyping, a lack of female role models, and less family-friendly flexibility in the STEM fields. Regardless of the causes, we have a need to encourage and support women in STEM. We also have to transform the way technology and engineers are seen, engaging more girls into tech careers at an early age.


Young women work on a technology project. (Photo courtesy of Carolina Hadad.)

Chicas en Tecnología2 is an Argentinian non-governmental organization working to do this. We have a two-pronged approach that simultaneously builds programs and a support networks that motivate, educate and inspire girls aged 13 to 16 to become involved in STEM, while at the same time we work to develop the pipeline that will bring gender parity to tech fields. With a focus on gender equity and diversity, our curriculum is focused on education, technology, entrepreneurship and innovation.

Programando Un Mundo Mejor (PUMM)3 is one of the projects of Chicas en Tecnología. PUMM is an intensive project-based program, pairing instruction in app development with social impact education, mentorship and exposure to real-world technology companies. With the help of Chicas en Tecnologia, the students identify, design, develop and pitch a mobile app to solve a social problem.

The results speak for themselves. The participants have developed apps for to stop bullying,4 set up book share school books,5 and map incidences of sexual harassment,6 and many more. More than 100 girls have finished Programando un Mundo Mejor (#PUMM) and created 35 prototypes of apps with social impact. All the projects can be found at this link.7

Chicas en Tecnologia is committed to giving voice to marginalized groups. We want to inspire others to continue working together as a country, as a region, and as a world to ensure that everyone has the same opportunities – not only to use technology, but to create it.

Carolina Hadad is the co-founder of Chicas en Tecnología. She graduated from the Universidad de Buenos Aires with a degree in Computer Science. She is currently a fellow with Innovation for Equality, a program created by Prospera and supported by CLAS.8


Members of Chicas en Tecnología. Author Carolina Hadad is on the right. (Photos courtesy of Carolina Hadad.)



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Brazil’s Electoral Reform: The More Things Change, The More They Stay The Same

By Liz McKenna
November 4, 2017

This article was originally published in Portuguese by Nexo.

In the stream of sensationalist stories coming out of Brazil, electoral reform seems among the least newsworthy. The updated rules of the political game, however, reveal exactly how the deck gets stacked against democracy—and how incumbent elites tinker with institutions to consolidate power over the long term.

Late in the afternoon on Friday, October 6, Brazil’s senate ratified Projeto de Lei da Câmara nº 110. PL 110 was a ticking time bomb: to take effect before voters next go to the polls, both chambers of Congress and the president had to sanction the reforms at least a year in advance of next October’s presidential election.

Among the many changes to existing electoral rules are: the time window in which candidates who are victims of online hate speech or fake news must be allowed to post their rebuttal on the offending outlet (48 hours), the date at which fundraising can begin (May 15), the exact volume permitted for campaign sound cars (80 decibels), the number of minutes TV stations must reserve for daily campaign commercials in the event of a runoff election (30 minutes), and the maximum size of campaign stickers (half a meter squared).

Far more revealing of Brazil’s underlying political power structures are Articles 16 and 23, which regulate campaign finance. In contrast to the United States—whose Supreme Court authorized corporate political giving in their infamous “money is speech” ruling—Brazil’s Supreme Court outlawed business donations in a 2015 decision. Given the taken-for-granted nature of the aptly named second cash register (caixa dois), Brazilians have no reason to believe this de jure ruling will be respected de facto. Nevertheless, at a time of heightened scrutiny toward corruption, Congress needed an above-board alternative to corporate giving. As a result, PL 110 established a nearly BRL$ 2 billion public fund, the Fundo Especial de Financiamento de Campanha (FEFC), known colloquially as the Fundão.

The law specifies that monies from this public fund will be allocated as follows:

  • 2 percent will be divided equally among each of Brazil’s 35 formally registered political parties;
  • 37 percent will be distributed in proportion of the number of votes each elected congressman earned in the last election;
  • 48 percent in accordance with the size of the party caucuses (as declared at the close of the last parliamentary session); and
  • The remaining 15 percent apportioned by party representation in the senate.

The house (almost) always wins 

Simple math shows who benefits from this arrangement (Figure 1).[i] Color coding in the graph indicates how each party voted in two recent, pivotal votes. Blue indicates that the majority of party members voted in favor of the impeachment of Workers Party president Dilma Rousseff and last April’s labor reform—unpopular among the working masses and favored by business elite and international investors. Purple shows the opposite, and grey denotes internal inconsistency on these votes. The preponderance of grey on the long tail of the graph accentuates how Brazil’s party system encourages opportunism (fisiologismo), whereby elected officials offer votes in quid pro quo exchanges rather than as a result of a coherent political ideology.

Figure 1: Estimated Distribution of the FEFC


As political scientist André Singer observed, the fund distribution is ironic, given that it was intended to correct the distortions of corporate giving. In effect, the law privileges exactly those candidates and parties who benefited from such giving in the previous election. Moreover, as the number and size of blue bars indicate, all but two of the ten parties who will receive the greatest windfall from the Fundão in the next election voted in favor of Rousseff’s impeachment and the labor reforms, further indication of the once-and-future ideological composition of the most important deliberative body in the country.

The devil is in the details

Publicly funded elections are an attempt to mitigate undue private influence on politicians, replacing individual campaign contributions with government money. Further clauses in the law that open the door for self-financing mean that the law fails spectacularly in this regard. Michel Temer’s last-minute veto on a cap intended to limit the amount of money candidates can spend from their own pocket undermines the very purpose of establishing the FEFC. Independently wealthy candidates will rely on their own privately amassed fortunes, public fund be damned.

Although Temer abolished self-financing limits, the law retained language on campaign spending caps. The limit of BRL$70 million in spending for each presidential candidate (and an additional BRL$35 million in the event of a run-off) is a surprisingly austere figure for an electoral terrain that is continental in size. According to Brazil’s elections court, in 2014, Dilma Rousseff’s campaign spent BRL$ 350.5 million reais on both rounds, and Aécio Neves BRL$ 223.4 million. Adjusting for inflation, the new decree means that presidential hopefuls will have to officially declare that they spent, at most, 25 percent of what was spent by the winning campaign in the last election. Will this regulation be enforced or will it only apply selectively?

A new way of doing politics?

If the campaign spending cap has teeth, candidates may need to look for alternate way of persuading voters. As Adam Sheingate documents in his book on the business of politics, the only way to rein in the pernicious effects of money-in-politics is to impose supply-side restrictions: that is, limit the amount of money that campaigns can spend. As a result of the restrictions imposed by PL 110, Brazilian presidential hopefuls may be forced to look to other approaches to campaigning, as for example, Barack Obama and Bernie Sanders did in the US and Emmanuel Macron did in France. In contrast to Brazil’s traditional model of relying solely on marketeiros, who treat voters as passive recipients of electoral propaganda, an ancillary benefit to the volunteer-centric method of campaigning is that newly built grassroots capacity can outlast a 45-day election cycle.

The invisible machinations of power

Volumes of research demonstrates that those who control procedures—what Bachrach and Bartz call the rules of the game—are able to systematically benefit certain groups at the expense of others. Therefore, opponents of PMDB-style politics would do well to take this less obvious view of political power to examine just how the kingmaker party achieved so much capillarity. For example, PMDB boasts 817,657 more party affiliates than its nearest competitor, PT. A simple univariate regression shows the relationship between the number of party affiliates and the size of the party’s congressional caucus (Figure 2). In other words, it is not only money that makes the political machine whir—base-building work also matters.

Figure 2: Number of party affiliates in relation to party representation in Brazil’s congress, 2014


Power operates in subterranean ways, frequently through unobservable decisions and non-decisions.  In other words, it is often in the quieter, behind-the-scenes fights like those that led to PL 110 that reveal how the party of Eduardo Cunha and Michel Temer—a president with one of the lowest approval ratings in Brazil’s history—will likely continue to wield power for many years to come.



Liz McKenna is a Ph.D. candidate in sociology at UC Berkeley. She is currently on a Fulbright fellowship conducting a comparative study of left and right-wing political movements in Brazil.




[i] Technical notes: Although the math is simple, disentangling the denominators—the units of Brazil’s party system—is not. Figure 1 makes five assumptions:

  • The value of the FEFC is 1.7 billion reais, as discussed in senate proceedings and as reported by most news outlets. The variable costs written into the law may well mean that the value of the fund will be greater;
  • As one long-time political reporter remarked in a personal interview, “Brazilian politicians change parties like they change underpants.” Indeed, in the past six weeks alone, five congressmen have switched parties. To calculate the third allocation clause (48 percent distributed to the party caucuses as of August 28, 2017), I used the Internet Wayback machine, which captures webpages no longer online for certain dates, for July 18, 2017. Politicians who switched parties in this window are therefore not reflected in this calculation;
  • In the time since the 2014 election on which the second allocation clause is based, several parties have changed names (PTdoB, for example, rebranded to become AVANTE, and PODE became PTN). Because each of these parties were formerly part of a parliamentary bloc and their membership has morphed, the estimated amount they are to receive from the fund are also subject to change;
  • PL 110 specifies that the fund calculations only take into account elected members of congress. This estimate does not discount for suplentes and other sitting representatives who are unelected;
  • Two senators do not have a party affiliation and one (Aécio Neves) was suspended at the time I collected this data. As a result, the fourth allocation clause only takes into account 78, rather than 81, senators.
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The Topography of Violence

by Franklin Moreno

In approximately two months there will be general elections in Honduras—a country where much of the population live in difficult living conditions. I’ve spoken to youth and adults in the city of San Pedro Sula about the elections and have been told the same thing numerous times: the elections are rigged and nothing will change. The running joke seems to be, “even dead people vote here.” More important is what people think about their living conditions. In a survey conducted by the Instituto Universitario en Democracia, Paz y Seguridad (IUDPAS) of the Universidad Autonóma de Honduras (UNAH) in 2016, 61% of the participants identified insecurity to be the primary concern they face in the country. Although the percentage had dropped 9% from a 2014 survey, this fear of insecurity remains evident in various ways, impacting many facets of life for the younger and older generations.


Playing Mortal Combat with friends. (Photo courtesy of Franklin Moreno.)

These past few years, I’ve conversed with children, adolescents and adults about violence in a city whose general public image is synonymous with homicide rates and gang conflict. My research focuses on children’s and adolescents’ moral evaluations and understanding about gang-related violence. What I’ve learned thus far is that the dimensions of violence extend beyond any particular gang border, extortion or neighborhood. The youth I’ve spoken to carry a burden of being branded as violent delinquent offenders by an anxious society. They are conscious that their existential being has been stigmatized as the source of society’s ills and potential hostility. And that comes with a high price. Time and time again I have listened to adolescents and young adults express their frustration about the discrimination they face at job interviews because of where they live. At a recent Día de los Niños celebration in the sector of Chamelecón in San Pedro Sula, a young man said he struggled with making a decision about whether to migrate north or stay in his neighborhood. His dream is to establish an organization to work with kids who live on the streets but he doesn’t know how to even begin. The staff at Fundación Nacional para el Desarrollo de Honduras (FUNADEH), the foundation I am collaborating with, has confirmed this widespread practice of employer discrimination and has been working to change such beliefs, fears, and practices. According to certain foundation staff, there has been slight progress, but it is far from any adequate change for social amelioration.


Día de los Niños in Chamelecón. (Photo courtesy of Franklin Moreno.)

All this is to say that the sense of political apathy, outrage, or defeat regarding the upcoming elections reflects the daily burdens and constraints people live in. As one social psychologist expressed it to me the other day, I have come to study violence in the place where all the ingredients are combined into a perfect soup. There are overt forms of violence rendered invisible while other criminal forms involving adolescents and young adults are consistently etched into the public’s mind. There is much attention focusing on changing the attitudes and behavior of youth through prevention and de-escalation programs, but the inverse is less discussed: how to modify the attitudes and behaviors of a discriminating and marginalizing broader society. While FUNADEH and other organizations have been conducting workshops to teach children and adolescents certain social-moral values on conflict resolution, virtues and forgiveness, there are fewer public examinations on the values promoted, contradicted, and embodied by social institutions that wield great power.


Hanging out with friends in Chamelecón. (Photo courtesy of Franklin Moreno.)

For instance, which values or constitutional rights did congress protect from or subordinate to state violence when recently modifying the Honduran Penal Code with article 590, giving the judicial branch the ability to classify public protests as ‘acts of terror’ against the State? No clear measures of interpretation are provided in the bill nor were they stated in a September 19th congressional debate about how the constitutional right to public protests would be safeguarded from being classified as acts terror. Instead only vague phrases or references to acts of grave violence such as the 9/11 attacks in New York City were used to evoke the notion of terrorism. This legal, strategic maneuver anticipates the potential public unrest directed at the current President’s pursuit of a second-term given the contested nature of the Constitution that makes illegal any president from being reelected. The danger of such a general anti-terror law is compounded by the fact that people have expressed a low level of confidence in institutions of justice. In the same IUDPAS 2016 survey, 44% of respondents didn’t have confidence in the Military Police, 59% in the National Police, 56% Supreme Court/Judges, and 69% in Congress. The percentages in public belief about police and military corruption in the survey were even greater.



A house abandoned by a family due to violence and lack of opportunity in Chamelecón. (Photo courtesy of Franklin Moreno.)

The veil is temporarily lifted with every conversation I have with staff members of organizations and foundations, youth, and acquaintances. These invisible forms of violence begin to reveal themselves. But these visible and recondite forms of violence are not inherent to Honduras ‘culture’. Valuing and obscuring such violence is reflected in foreign and domestic policies of other countries to the point that conceptions of ‘Western/non-Western’ or ‘modern/traditional’ dichotomies evoked in certain social science research circles are rendered into platitudes. For instance, we can see plenty of examples of this segmentation in public and research discussions on violence in society that focus on particular forms of criminal violence or violent video games in the United States. Yet such discussions exclude the fact that celebrating military power and dominance is demanded of the public as much in politics as it is in Hollywood films. We lose sight of the accepted institutional forms of violence when there is fierce debate in congress and in major news media channels about funding the U.S. health care or education system while remaining almost silent on military spending or gagged on the topic of gun regulations. Consider that the 2016 proposal for providing free public college education at a cost of $47 billion per year was publicly castigated in the U.S. by both major political parties and the media as an absurd idea likely to bankrupt the country, or that Congress allowed the $14 billion Children’s Health Insurance Program to expire. Meanwhile there was near political unanimity for increasing the U.S. military budget by $80 billion without any public or political scrutiny of its costs or merit. The annual public military budget is now close to $700 billion.

In both Honduras and the United States, examination of factors related to health, employment or educational opportunities is critical in understanding why certain individuals feel whether or not they have a choice to participate in dangerous and violent activities. In deepening our understanding of the root causes of unrest and violence however, other factors such as discrimination, impunity, corruption, structural poverty, or celebrating legal forms of mass violence must also be examined. And one way to gain a better understanding is to ask those who are typically spoken to or spoken for (i.e., children and adolescents) on what they think about these contradictory societal practices and values impacting their lives.

Franklin Moreno is a Ph.D. candidate in Human Development and Education at U.C. Berkeley. His current research in Honduras and Nicaragua focuses on children and adolescent moral evaluations and psychological explanations about violence in the contexts of gang conflict.


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Legal Representation for Refugees in Argentina

By Sabrina Vecchioni

Granting protection for refugees is a historical and current issue that concerns individual states and the broader international community. In the last two decades, the global displaced population has grown from 33.9 million in 1997 to 65.6 million in 2016, due to armed conflicts in Syria, Iraq, Yemen, Burundi, Central African Republic, Democratic Republic of Congo, South Sudan, and Sudan. Natural disasters and extreme poverty also contribute to the forced displacement of people in what the United Nations Commissioner for Refugees calls ‘mixed migratory flows.’

In some countries, these massive population movements are seen as matters of internal security.  However, in Argentina, they are understood as an obligation to provide legal and social assistance to every person who seeks the international protection of the State, following the provisions of the General Law of Recognition and Protection to Refugees.

In Europe and Australia, these services are provided by non-governmental organizations, are supported through State resources, and are narrowly focused on assisting asylum seekers who enter the country with a visa. However, the Argentinean government has prioritized international obligations based on of the International Convention of Refugees Status of 1951, the Additional Protocol of 1967 and theCartagena Declaration of 1984. In 2007, the Argentinean Ministry of Public Defense created a Commission that specializes in providing legal and social assistance to unaccompanied minors who enter the country.


The Touma family (Taufic, 40, Ani Habad, 29, Kristel, 12, and Mari, 10) left Syria and settled in Cordoba, Argentina. (Photo courtesy of Noticias Perfil.)

Furthermore, in 2011 with a Cooperation Agreement between the Argentina National Commission for Refugees, the Argentinean Ministry of Public Defense and the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees took a step forward in granting the right to legal defense by creating a special program that ensures free access to representation and social aid to every person who seeks asylum in Argentina. This program has been implemented throughout the provinces with the full cooperation of the regional offices of the Ministry.

Through this law, Argentina became the first country in the region to give full comprehensive access to defense for refugees and asylum seekers. More importantly, this service has no limitations: legal representation is granted starting the moment the foreigner communicates a request for international protection to any public authority figure, and continues through every stage of the administrative and judicial proceedings. Furthermore, the program authorizes lawyers to provide advice on migration and citizenship, regardless of the legal or criminal status of the individual.

It is also important to mention that the lawyers involved in the program work as public servants in a public institution and are selected after passing technical exams in English and French on International Refugee Law. This demonstrates Argentina’s commitment to providing a strong defense in accordance with the international and internal standards applicable to every proceeding – administrative or judicial. In recognition of this effort, the UNHCR gave a special mention to the work of the Program.


Nowadays, protection should be seen as a given asylum seekers and refugees. The State should welcome them and is obliged to grant legal representation. This should not be seen as a secondary concern – rather, it is necessary to ensure that refugees can integrate successfully into society.



Sabrina P. Vecchioni is an Attorney at the Assistance and Legal Representation Program for Refugees and Asylum Seekers of the Argentinean Ministry of Public Defense. Professor of International Public Law and International Humanitarian Law at the University of Buenos Aires.

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History, Education, and “Mapuche Terrorist Conflict” in Chile

by Cristobal Madero and Daniel Cano

In August 2015, a telephone rings in the history department of an elite high school in Santiago, Chile. After several unanswered calls, Marcela, one of the history teachers, finally picks up the phone. It only takes us a few minutes to convince her to participate in a program on conflict resolution that the authors of this article designed to educate the misinformed Chilean upper class about the so-called “Mapuche terrorist conflict” in the Araucanía Region of southern Chile.

We named the program Kuykuitin, which means “building bridges” in Mapudungun, the language of the Mapuche people. Kuykuitin is a pilot project to provide history teachers from the wealthiest 5 percent of the country with a cross-cultural learning experience at a school inside the conflict zone. “An intercultural experience with the Mapuche for history teachers?” Marcela asked from the other side of the phone. “Where do I sign up?”

The Conflict

Today, the Mapuche people are fighting to recover their territorial rights in the Araucanía Region. In these efforts, they confront forestry companies as well as the military. The consequences of the conflict are dramatic. Levels of poverty, unemployment, domestic violence, and illiteracy in this region are the highest in the country.

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The Quebrada de Cura coastline in Southern Chile. (Photo by Cristobal Madero.)

Moreover, the mass media labels Mapuche protests as “terrorist,” misleading the general public and encouraging the spread of violence. The economic consortiums that control the forestry industry in the region also own the national mass media. This relationship fuels the conflict, protects specific economic interests, and validates military intervention against the Mapuche.

The roots of this problem run much deeper, however. Experts in the social sciences agree that the current conflict in the Araucanía Region is an expression of ongoing colonialism that favors national development over indigenous rights, thereby increasing violence in Mapuche territory.

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Mapuche ritual tools. (Photo by Sebastian Tuma.)

 The Project

Against this backdrop, we considered how Chilean history is taught and the role the Mapuche people play as “invisible actors.” We questioned history teachers’ relevance in the public debate as vectors of national narratives that fail to explain the historic roots of the current Mapuche conflict. We also reflected on the fact that young students from the Chilean elite have the limited exposure to the conflict in their day-to-day lives.

Based on these questions, we designed Kuykuitin to bring history teachers from elite high schools together with their teaching peers in areas of the Araucanía Region affected by the violence. The teachers from Santiago also lived with Mapuche families who hosted them during the seven-day program.

Thanks to support from the Center for Latin American Studies at UC Berkeley and a grant from the Tinker Foundation, as well as the enthusiastic participation of families from the Mapuche communities of Ranquilhue, Ponotro, and Primer Agua, the schools in the Municipality of Tirúa, and Jesuit missionaries working in the region, we invited more than 10 elite high schools from Santiago to participate in the Kuykuitin program. In the end, we selected six teachers from four different schools.

The participating teachers shared “as equals” with the Mapuche families who hosted them. The families’ composition varied: some families were entirely Mapuche, while others were not. They also held diverse opinions about the political situation of their people: some maintained close connections with more radical groups, and others were critical about these groups. Likewise, some of the Mapuche families sought to preserve and honor indigenous values and ways of life, while others rejected tradition. The participating teachers reflected on these differences in our daily debrief meetings, but they agreed unanimously that these encounters had made them truly mindful of the complexity of the so-called “Mapuche conflict” that exists today in our country.


The town of Tirua, in the Bío Bío Region of Chile. (Photo by Sebastian Tuma.)

The experience of sharing every school day with peers and students for an entire week expanded the visiting teachers’ vision of the conflict. Like the host families, the school settings also varied: some of the schools were large, others were small; a few of the schools were in rural environments and others were in the heart of the village. Some of the staff and students welcomed the teachers from Santiago with open arms, while others were more reluctant. At the end of the week, the teachers in the program agreed that the experience had helped them to better understand the importance of their role as educators. They viewed themselves as potential channels to transmit a more nuanced understanding of the Chilean–Mapuche conflict to their students, from the perspective of history as well as their personal experiences as participants in the Kuykuitin program.

Outside the classrooms, we held meetings with different parties who have some relation to the conflict in the local territory. They included Mapuche staff working in the municipal government of Tirúa, beginning with the indigenous mayor, Adolfo Millabur. We also introduced the teachers to Mapuche intellectuals, like Juanita Paillalef, a Mapuche activist and director of the Mapuche Museum in the town of Cañete, the historian Fernando Pairican, and the poet Leonel Lienlaf. We also met with Relmu Witral, the Mapuche Association of Artisan Weavers, and with Jesuit priests who have worked in Tirúa for 20 years. These encounters took the form of intensive conversations — nutram in Mapudungun — that encouraged the teachers to collaborate with those communities, thereby offering various perspectives on the ongoing conflict. As Marcela (our original contact who became a Kuykuitin participant) explained, the nutram gave the teachers an opportunity to engage with the Mapuche communities in a “less paternalistic and more horizontal fashion.”

The participating teachers all taught students belonging to a specific population, both in terms of their age and socioeconomic status: 10th-grade students attending elite high schools whose families belong to the country’s top 5-percent income group. In Chile, 10th-grade history curriculum includes the most material on Mapuche culture and society, yet their proximity to economic and cultural power is likely to expose these young people to a one-dimensional view of the conflict. In addition, students of this social class tend to have more negative perceptions about the Mapuche people. A 2014 study from the Instituto Nacional de la Juventud (INJUV, National Youth Institute) entitled “Percepciones de un Conflicto” (Perceptions of a Conflict) shows that young people from the highest socioeconomic level consider the conflict as less relevant compared to those from lower socioeconomic levels. Our own data reveals that upper-class students associate the Mapuche people first with the concept of “conflict” (37 percent), followed by “our origins” (35 percent), and “discrimination” (15 percent). Twenty percent say that they have discriminated against Mapuche people, but 29 percent disagree or strongly disagree with the assertion that the Mapuche are violent people.


The school Escuela Pichi Lafquenche. (Photo by Sebastian Tuma.)

 The Impact

The impact of the program can be measured in many ways. Here, we present an impact assessment that looks at the perception of the conflict held by elite high school students of the participating teachers. Under the supervision of a teacher, 601 students answered a self-administered survey that was given twice: first in March 2016 (Sample 1) and then in November 2016 (Sample 2), immediately before and after we implemented Kuykuitin in April 2016. We divided the group in two sub-groups: a test group made up of students of the teachers participating in Kuykuitin (54 percent of the total sample) and a control group of students from the same high schools whose teachers did not participate in Kuykuitin (46 percent of the sample).

We asked all the students about their opinions and perceptions concerning different elements of the conflict. The evidence of our study revealed statistically significant changes in the opinions and perceptions of the students in three areas before and after Kuykuitin: 1) the relationship between the Mapuche people and the Chilean government; 2) the Mapuche people; and 3) history classes and their importance for reflecting on the conflict.

Regarding the relationship between the Mapuche people and the Chilean government, 43 percent of the test group agreed or strongly agreed with the statement “The Mapuche people deserve to be acknowledged in a special way by the Chilean government” in Sample 1 (see Figure 1). This percentage increased to 50 percent in Sample 2. More interestingly, when we compared the test group with the control group, the significance of the change was greater. In other words, when we compared the group with itself and with the control group, the results showed that Kuykuitin could have been the key element producing the change in the students’ opinions and perceptions. This trend applies for all the findings that follow.

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Three statements were related to opinions about the Mapuche people (see Figure 2). One reads “The Mapuche people are responsible for the conflict.” Students in the treatment group who agreed or strongly agreed with the statement decreased from 32 percent to 24 percent between the intervals. With regards to the statement “The Mapuche people take advantage of the Chilean government,” students showed an almost 50-percent decrease in agreement before and after Kuykuitin (from 22 percent to 12 percent). Finally, 50-percent fewer students in the treatment group agreed or strongly agreed with the statement “The Mapuche people are, generally speaking, a violent people,” (from 29 percent to 15 percent) from Sample 1 to Sample 2.

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We stated earlier that history classes, curriculum, and teachers are all essential for transferring knowledge of history from one generation to another. For this reason, we included a question in the survey about how much students valued their history classes as a means of reflecting on the conflict in the south of Chile. Students in the test group showed an increase of 150 percent (24 percent to 67 percent) from Sample 1 to Sample 2, with regards to their opinion about how much their history classes helped them reflect on the conflict (see Figure 3).

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The Future

Chile can certainly develop first-rate plans in favor of intercultural education. It can even design the best public policies for teaching history at the high school level or a curriculum that addresses the Chilean–Mapuche conflict in detail. These are all worthwhile, and indeed urgent, goals. Yet nothing can replace what a history teacher can gain through an immersion experience like Kuykuitin, which allows teachers to understand firsthand the complexity of the Chilean­–Mapuche conflict.

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Marcela Salazar, a teacher from Santiago (center), with a student group in Tirua. (Photo by Sebastian Tuma.)

When the classroom door closes and instruction begins, only the students and their teachers remain inside. In the hands of these teachers lies the future of the next generations of students. If these students become wise, empowered citizens, it will be thanks, in part, to the encouragement of wise, empowered teachers. Kuykuitin seeks to promote opportunities of empowerment for those teachers and through them, their students. Therefore, we believe that Kuykuitin might be a way to change the course of the Chilean–Mapuche conflict.

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Cristobal Madero is a Ph.D. candidate in Education Policy and Organizations at UC Berkeley. He researches the changing meaning and possibilities of the teaching profession at the secondary level. Cristobal received a 2016 Tinker Summer Research Grant, awarded by the Center for Latin American Studies. 


Daniel Cano photo

Daniel Cano is a Ph.D. candidate in History at Georgetown University. His research has focused in the history of Latin America and indigenous communities.

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Doctor Atl’s Olinka

By Alfonso Fierro

The story of Doctor Atl’s Olinka is the story of a failure. Olinka was meant to be a city for artists, intellectuals, and scientists – a place where they could work independently and collectively, in a space detached from the modern world. Dr. Atl was a disenchanted revolutionary and a landscape painter. He became well-known for his “aeropaisajes” (landscapes from the perspective of the sky) that express the telluric force he found in nature, as well as for his harsh criticism of Mexico’s transition to capitalist modernization after the Revolution. Olinka is a direct product of these times. It is also the project that occupied Atl during the last decade of his life (1952-1962). He worked relentlessly, perhaps in vain, trying to find a place for his utopian city. From Chiapas to Jalisco, from the Santa Catarina range to Tepoztlán and finally to the “Cerro de la Estrella” close to Mexico City, Atl was never able to muster the support necessary for his project.

I received a Tinker Grant from CLAS to travel to Mexico to research Dr. Atl’s Olinka. During the last few days, I have visited his personal archive in the incredible brutalist building of the Biblioteca Nacional at UNAM (National Autonomous University of Mexico), submerging myself in the notes, memos, schemes, diagrams, letters, and every other document related to this project. In this process, it is impossible not to ask oneself what exactly leads a man of eighty-something years of age to devote such energy to building of a utopian city. Was it an urge to leave a legacy? Was it part of the post-revolutionary impulse to construct and erect? Was it a tantrum, an obsession? Or perhaps it was an unmovable conviction, like those that no longer seem to really exist anymore.


The entry to the archive collections in the Biblioteca Nacional at UNAM. (Photo by Alfonso Fierro.)

According to Atl’s own words, the idea of Olinka first came to him in Paris during the 1910s, when he belonged to the avant-garde movement behind the publication Action d’Art. However, it did not crystallize fully until the 1950s in Mexico. Crear la fuerza (Create the force), a 1952 publication written by Atl and signed by the people he united under the Consejo Nacional de la Cultura, is the utopian manifesto and key to understanding Olinka. Both in this and in later texts, Atl described a city that would have buildings dedicated to the arts and sciences, housing facilities, an open-air theatre, an archaeological pre-hispanic museum, a “Temple for Men,” and a “Temple for Women”. The idea behind the project was to create a “movement” of such force that the utilitarian modernity he despised could finally be overcome.

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“Crear la Fuerza”, the program/manifesto for the utopian city of Olinka. (Photo by Alfonso Fierro.)

Ironically enough, over the years, after failure upon failure, Doctor Atl became increasingly more pragmatic. In some later texts, the temples begin to disappear, followed by the arts buildings, and even the open-air theatre. By the time Atl attempted to build Olinka in the Cerro de la Estrella during the early sixties, he speaks only of the archaeological museum and the institute for “outer space” investigations.

But perhaps even this idea was a failure. It seems that every time Doctor Atl attempted to do science he ended up doing science fiction. That was the case of his understanding of Atlantis (he was certain it had been a pre-hispanic city on a sunken island). And indeed, Olinka resembles his own 1935 science fiction novel Un hombre más allá del universo (A man beyond the universe), an epistemological journey to outer space that is depicted as the reencounter of men with the cosmic forces that moved the universe. Once more, the idea was to overcome a fallen, alienated modernity, albeit through scientific knowledge and material progress, that is, through modernity itself. This explains why in Olinka Atl put such high hopes behind the possibility of space traveling, considering it the first step toward the evolution of mankind, as well as the utopian resolution of the modern alienation that asphyxiated him.

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A sketch of Olinka by Doctor Atl. Possibly the so called “Temple for Men”. (Photo by Alfonso Fierro.)

Several people expressed support for Atl’s utopian city, including ex-president Lázaro Cárdenas, but Atl never received the official support that was necessary for success. The archives I have been exploring are full of letters, memos, telegrams, and legal papers that testify to Atl’s relentless insistence, but also to the silence with which he was met. In a country that during those same years was very busy building a huge “Ciudad Universitaria” as the central campus for UNAM and a monumental archaeological museum in Chapultepec, it is no wonder that Olinka was sidelined. Today, one can visit the Museo Nacional de Antropología and the Ciudad Universitaria of UNAM, both key sites of postrevolutionary modernity in Mexico. But Olinka, which Atl envisioned built on the crater of one of those Mexican volcanoes he loved to paint, is now only accessible through the documents kept in two plastic boxes of his personal archive.

IMG_1071Alfonso Fierro is a PhD student at the University of California Berkeley, in the Department of Spanish and Portuguese. He studies modern literature, architecture, and culture in Latin America. His research currently focuses on urban utopias in post-revolutionary Mexico. The project on Doctor Atl’s Olinka was possible thanks to a 2017 Tinker Summer Research Grant. 



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Turning the Devil into an Angel

By Michael Mitchell

I came to Tabasco, Mexico with a Fulbright research grant in August 2014 to study the socio-economic impact of small-scale fish farming in rural communities.  Nestled between Chiapas and Campeche, Tabasco shares a southern border with Guatemala and is one of the primary transit points for Central American refugees and migrants into Mexico.  Over 13,000 families in the state depend on the expansive network of rivers and lagoons to sustain themselves through fishing.  Though Tabasco was the epicenter of the Mexican oil boom of the 1980s through the mid 2000s that brought significant wealth to the Mexican economy, Tabasco has remained one of the poorest states in the country.

I landed in Tabasco with high expectations to study fish farmers.  However, once I started visited fishing communities to execute pre-survey interviews, a completely unexpected issue came up repeatedly – the “pez diablo”.  The “pez diablo” or devil fish was ruining the livelihoods of the fish farmers.  “There’s no longer any other fish, just this useless trash fish,” they would say.  Not having a clue as to what they were talking about, I began asking around at the university where I worked, seeing what could be done with this ‘devil fish’.  I soon realized that it’s a common aquarium fish!  In fact, I had dozens of them growing up – these odd-looking ‘cleaner fish’ that spent its days vacuuming up algae, in turn cleaning fish tanks.


The ‘devil fish’ or armored catfish has wreaked havoc on fisheries in Southern Mexico. (Photo by Michael Mitchell.)

The ‘devil fish’, also known as the suckermouth or armored catfish in English, had first been found in Mexico about 15 years ago. Many estimates calculate that 70%-80% of the wild capture today is comprised of the suckermouth catfish. This has been devastating to the thousands of Mexican families that depend on fishing as their primary economic activity.  Because of its ugly appearance, as well as the stigma and lack of information, people have generally refused to consume the suckermouth, often believing it to be poisonous. However, it is completely edible and is commonly consumed in its native Amazon region of Brazil, Colombia and Ecuador.  I learned that it is even sold in the markets in those countries!

To demystify this foreign creature I began giving informal community presentations to share the information I had learned at the university.  After witnessing the success of these workshops I asked myself, “Well heck, what if we just change the name and start selling the fillet?”  I’d seen this done with other fish before – the Chilean Sea Bass, Swai, Orange Roughy – all these fish had terrible names and reputations before getting a “makeover”.  So I started to ask around and talk to different restaurants in the capital Villahermosa.  After being laughed out of several meetings, a friend put me in touch with Chef Lupita Vidal from La Cevichería.


The author (in blue) working with the Red Cross to give devil fish workshops in rural communities. (Photo by Michael Mitchell.)

With Lupita’s help, we soon created the “Pez diablo burger” and began marketing the fish as “Acarí”.  Lupita took the plunge and included the burger on her menu, which was met with a sharply divided response.  Many applauded her efforts though many more responded with repugnance – one woman even said she’d never return to her restaurant again!


Chef Lupita Vidal teaching a woman how to prepare a dish using the devil fish. (Photo by Michael Mitchell.)


The Pez Diablo Burger. (Photo by Michael Mitchell.)

Through our persistence and guerrilla marketing, we’ve started a company named Acarí that has sold hundreds of pounds of suckermouth fillet across the country. Lupita’s burger has become a hit in her restaurant.  Most importantly, the fish farmers we partner with have found a new source of income.  As I am writing this article, they are currently filleting over 200kg of fish that would have previously been thrown to the riverbank.  The end product will net them around 700 pesos, about half of their monthly salaries before Acarí.


Team photo with fisher men and women from the pilot community, Simón Sarlat, in Tabasco. (Photo by Michael Mitchell.)

During my first year in the Berkeley MDP program, I worked to further develop Acarí in several of my classes including the Food Venture Lab.  I also had the opportunity to participate in Innovation for Equality, which spurred me to explore other markets or innovations.  Thinking about the relationship between social necessity and profit, I began to think about who could benefit the most from our products in Southern Mexico.  What, I wondered, was being done for the hundreds of thousands of immigrants and refugees crossing Mexico each year?  It turns out that many of these folks lean heavily on a network of NGOs and nonprofits like La 72 Immigrant and Refugee Shelter across Mexico.  These organizations depend on donations and are often only able to provide basic staples like rice, beans and some vegetables to these people.  Among the people fleeing rampant violence and poverty in Central America include an increasing number of women and young children.  I knew we had an opportunity to do something.


Donating fish croquettes to La 72 Immigrant and Refugee Shelter in Tenosique, Tabasco. (Photo by Michael Mitchell.)

Through Lupita’s guidance, we’ve developed an Acarí croquette with chaya that’s packed full of essential vitamins and nutrients.  We’re rolling out the croquettes in July under the slogan “turning the devil into an angel”.  For every croquette we sell in Mexico and the United States, we’ll donate one to the immigrant shelter La 72 located in Tabasco.  Our hope is that as we expand sales, we’ll able to expand our network of shelters, eventually providing vital nutrition to these vulnerable populations from Tapachula to Tijuana.  

Picture1Michael Mitchell is MA student at University of Calfiornia, Berkeley, in Master of Development Practice program. His academic focus is Mexico and Central America.  He is currently working in Tabasco, Mexico with his company Acarí. 

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One Year Post-Temer: A Conservative Shift, the Left Response, and an Uncertain Brazilian Future

June 12, 2017

By Rebecca Tarlau

It has been one year since the first female President of Brazil, Dilma Rousseff, was removed from office and her Vice President, Michel Temer, took power. I have spent most of the past year in Brazil, observing the tumultuous events unfold. In this short blog post, I recount some of the most important developments that have taken place under Temer’s new administration. I highlight three overarching takeaways from Temer’s year in office: 1) Temer’s administration is a radical ideological break with the previous, left-leaning Workers’ Party’s (PT) administration, and represents a coherent and coordinated attempt to shift the country in a more conservative political and economic direction; 2) Brazilians have broadly rejected Temer’s proposed austerity reforms, in particular the reform of the public pension system; and, 3) The organized left is divided about how to harness this discontent and collectively act to stop these reforms from being implemented.

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March 15 National day of Action calling for “Fora Temer!” (Out with Temer!) (Photo by Rebecca Tarlau.)

When Dilma Rousseff was forced to step down from the presidency on June 12, 2016 due to allegedly manipulating budget accounts, her Vice President, Michel Temer, immediately fired her entire cabinet and appointed in its place a cabinet of his political allies—all of whom were white males. Although it was still several months until Rousseff would be tried for impeachment, Temer was already playing his political cards and pushing forward a series of economic reforms as quickly as possible. Why would a Vice President represent such a different policy paradigm than the President? Unlike the United States, Brazil uses a system of coalition politics, in which more than 35 political parties make alliances each election to win enough votes to take office. It is common practice for parties to shift alliances every few years, more often based on opportunism than ideological coherence. This is what happened when Michel Temer’s center-right Brazilian Democratic Movement Party (PMDB) aligned with the left-leaning Brazilian Workers’ Party (PT). The PMDB, linked to one of two legal parties during the dictatorship, was infamous for being the “chameleon” of Brazilian politics, i.e., shifting alliances based on the political tide. The PT, known as a “social movement party,” was founded by grassroots movements and oppositional labor unions during the democratic transition, and has generally promoted progressive social and political policies. In 2006, in order to maintain power after Lula’s first term in office, the PT made an official political alliance with the PMDB, despite the PMDB’s drastically different origins and shaky ideological positions.

Fast forward a decade later. In 2016 it became clear that the PT’s popularity was faltering throughout the country (see previous CLAS blog post). In a strategic move to remain aligned with the most powerful forces in Brazil, the PMDB dramatically broke with the PT, despite Temer’s Vice Presidential status. The PMDB formed a new alliance with a much more ideologically coherent party, the center-right Brazilian Social Democratic Party (PSDB), which was the PT’s major rival in the political scene. The PSDB supported fiscal austerity, cuts to government spending, and restrictions on the power of labor unions, all with the hope of reviving the economy and increasing international financial investment. The reforms that Temer began to push forward in 2016 were straight out of the PSDB economic playbook. The most important of these initiatives was a freeze on public spending for public education and health for twenty years (known as the “ceiling reform”), a restructuring of the high school system to support more vocational offerings, a change in workers’ rights legislation to allow contracts to trump workers’ rights laws, the elimination of automatic union dues, a law that makes the outsourcing of workers easier for employers, and most polemically, a major transformation of the public pension system.

Since these reforms have been rolled out there has been an increasing wave of discontent and unrest. The organized left, of course, has been furious since 2015, when the calls for Rousseff’s impeachment first began, describing the process as political coup d’état: using the rallying call of “corruption” to overthrow a legitimately elected government (again, for more on these corruption allegations see previous CLAS blog post). Nonetheless, as the agenda of the Temer administration became increasingly clear, the idea of an unfolding coup began to take on more meaning in the lives of working-class populations across the country. I was doing field work with teachers unions in São Paulo when Temer announced the specifics of the pension reforms. I went to dozens of schools and saw as teachers’ jaws dropped when they were told that they would have to work 49 years to receive their pension benefits—a huge increase from the current 25-year requirement for women and 30-year requirement for men. Although unionists and social movement activists had been trying to mobilize workers to take to the streets for months, their calls of emergency were finally being heard. On March 8, International Women’s Day, there was a huge national mobilization involving hundreds of thousands of people. On March 15, over a million workers participated in a national day of protest and mobilization, largely due to the teacher unions that instigated these protests.

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Participant in the March 15 National Day of Action holding up a sign that says “retired” with a grave, critiquing the new public pension reforms. (Photo by Rebecca Tarlau.)

Then, on April 28, all of the union confederations in the country—deeply divided politically and ideologically—called for a general strike and 35 million workers shut down many parts of Brazil for 24 hours. Finally, just a few weeks later, it seemed as though Temer’s fall had finally come, as the all-powerful TV network Globo, traditionally a strong ally of the Temer administration, released tapes that implicated the President in a corruption scandal that involved payments to a prominent politician in exchange for his silence. To keep up the pressure, on May 24, tens of thousands of people travelled to the capital city of Brasília, to call for Fora Temer! (Out with Temer!) and Diretas Já (Immediate Direct Elections!). Temer deployed federal troop to crackdown on the protesters, an extreme measure that many interpreted as a signal of an increasingly precarious grip on power.

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Union organizers up early in the morning on April 28 to shut down a factory. (Photo by Rebecca Tarlau.)

But Temer did not fall. And direct elections have not been called. Temer claims that the tapes were manipulated and he has refused to resign; instead, he has committed to pushing forward what he acknowledges as “highly unpopular” but “essential” reforms to restore the economic stability of the country. The organized left, which up until this point has succeeded in coordinating several significant national actions to contest these reforms, seems divided about next steps. The union centrals have called for another general strike on June 30. The Workers’ Party (PT) is still calling for immediate direct elections but is also looking ahead to the 2018 election cycle, placing their bets on ex-President Luis Inácio “Lula” da Silva’s ability to win the presidency again and reverse many of these reforms. There are dozens of other political groups, social movements, and unions that support this strategy, most of which participate in the broad national coalition “Brazil Popular Front.” These groups have invested a lot of energy into mobilizing against the attempts to implicate Lula in the ongoing corruption scandals. On May 29, the Brazil Popular Front also launched an “Grassroots Emergency Plan,” with 76 proposals concerning the democratization of the state, employment, agrarian reform, tax reform, workers’ rights, health, education, culture, housing, public security, human rights, environment, and international politics and national sovereignty.

Photo 4Large Assembly of teachers participating in a National Day of Action in Brazil. (Photo by Rebecca Tarlau).

The other major left-coalition is the “People without Fear,” which also includes several grassroots social movements, as well as many other political groups that have broken with the PT over the previous two decades. Many of these organizations dismiss the Lula-as-savior strategy and are attempting to organize what they refer to as a “left front” that will promote a more radical transformation of the capitalist system, not a series of reforms through political alliances. What exactly this would look like is unclear. Some of the groups in the “People without Fear” front have been organizing “grassroots neighborhood advisory councils” that they hope can take on the role of governing local neighborhoods if there is a full collapse of the state. As of now, the biggest question is whether any of these groups will be able to continue mobilizing the unorganized popular masses, i.e., the millions of workers who do not participate in parties, movements, or unions, but who are worried about living in a country without pensions, without workers’ rights, and without job stability. There is clearly momentum, but the big question is how to keep this momentum going and in what direction. The general strike called for June 30th will be an important litmus test of whether workers are willing to take to the streets again to protect their rights, or whether other organizing strategies are necessary. What we can be sure of is that Temer represents a stark break with the social and economic policies of Brazil’s previous decade. People did not vote for this new economic and political paradigm and the majority of the country does not seem to accept the reforms as legitimate. With decades of hard-earned workers’ rights at stake, the organized left has to think hard about the most appropriate political strategy to take as Temer enters his second year in office.

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Rebecca Tarlau is a Postdoctoral Scholar at the Stanford University Graduate School of Education. Her current research project examines teacher organizing in Brazil, Mexico, and the United States. Some of Tarlau’s recent publications include “How Do New Critical Pedagogies Develop? Educational Innovation, Social Change, and Landless Workers in Brazil” (Teachers College Record); “Not-So-Public Contention: Movement Strategies, Regimes, and the Transformation of Public Institutions in Brazil” (Mobilization); “From a Language to a Theory of Resistance: Critical Pedagogy, the Limits of ‘Framing,’ and Social Change” (Educational Theory).

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The Bitter Side of Sweet: Peru’s Nutrition Transition

By Shane Fallon

As a 2016 recipient of the Tinker Summer Research Grant from the Center for Latin American Studies, as well as the recipient of UC Berkeley’s Center for Global Public Health Reporting Fellowship, my summer research project took me south of the hemisphere to Peru. My photojournalism project in the coastal, urban city of Trujillo captured how dietary changes have created a public health crisis by contributing to the rise of noncommunicable diseases such as obesity and Type II diabetes. A meta-analysis conducted by the World Health Organization showed that 58.2% of adults over 18 years of age in Peru are overweight or obese; that is well over half of the population.1 No one is immune from obesity and for various reasons, and women and children are at greatest risk.2 Thus, this is a public health issue that requires urgent attention, action, and programs with accountability.


There are many “scale vendors” throughout Peru, in part because the majority of people do not have access to a scale. These scales are a positive shift towards weight consciousness, however just knowing one’s weight is unlikely to change lifestyle habits such as modifying one’s diet or exercising more. (Photo by Shane Fallon.)

As is the case with nearly all cities around the world, the population of Trujillo is growing. Many of Trujillo’s new residents have migrated from more rural parts of Peru, such as the highlands of Huaraz. Upon moving to the urban core, people tend to shift away from an agrarian lifestyle, which consists of doing hard manual labor on a daily basis, to a more sedentary lifestyle. While caloric output radically decreases, caloric input remains high. Oftentimes, caloric intake is even higher in urban settings due to ample access to processed foods and fast food. Fast food chains have yet to infiltrate Huaraz, but they claim prominent real estate on Trujillo’s Plaza de Armas (the city center). Residents in Trujillo are bombarded with an overwhelming excess of food. Food vendors are stacked in a line along the street and offer up sweet treats such as mazamorra morada (Peruvian purple corn pudding) or variations of fried dough. The food is seductive and inexpensive.


Similar in price to a bottle of water, which needs to be purchased because tap water is not potable, people generally prefer sweetened drinks to unadulterated water. Discussions on the deleterious effects of sugar sweetened beverages are essentially nonexistent. In fact, advertisements for brand names encourage consumption, particularly amongst impoverished communities. (Photo by Shane Fallon.)

My adventure to the city and province of Huaraz began upon repeatedly hearing that Trujillo’s most at risk populations for noncommunicable diseases, such as obesity and diabetes, are indigenous groups who have moved into the urban core. I find this hypothesis plausible since socioeconomic status is the most potent predictor for the risk of noncommunicable diseases.3 Even though Peru is considered an upper-middle income country, many regions, such as Huaraz, have large communities of indigenous populations that live well below the national poverty line.4 Consequently, many people are moving to urban cities such as Trujillo in search of better economic opportunities.


No Peruvian meal is complete without a starch. Though famous for the hundreds of potato varietals, many other starchy items such as corn, wheat, rice, and pasta, have become a fixated part of the Peruvian diet. Oftentimes, a typical dish will serve two starches such as this dish of white rice with white pasta. (Photo by Shane Fallon.)

Huaraz is the capital of the Ancash region and home to the snow and glacier-capped Cordilleras mountain range. Presently, the people of Huaraz are in the middle stages of Peru’s nutrition transition, meaning that they are facing a double burden of malnutrition.5 The nutrition transition refers to changes in diet and physical activity patterns that are changing body composition at a population level. The double burden refers to high rates of both undernourished and over-nourished (overweight and obese) people – both of which are forms of malnutrition. Though the prevalence of noncommunicable diseases is generally higher in upper income countries, the rate is growing much more quickly in lower and middle income countries such as Peru.5


Trujillo’s most at risk populations for non-communicable diseases, such as obesity and diabetes, are indigenous groups who have moved into the urban core. However, even in the highlands of Huaraz, sugary drinks are a part of everyday life. (Photo by Shane Fallon.)

Coming to Peru has given me a new perspective on the meaning of diversity. Driving through Huaraz, villages just a 30 minutes combi (public van ride) apart from each other celebrate different cuisines, garb, and dialects. Furthermore, the contrast between city life in Trujillo and rural life in Huaraz gives insight into the complexity of creating a national strategy to address salient public health issues in Peru. My observations suggest that a singular national policy to address obesity in Peru would be an ineffective use of resources. Instead, nutrition interventions that are individually tailored to these diverse groups of people are more likely to have an impressionable impact. Thus, the next obstacle is designing a regional policy to create healthier communities within Trujillo’s morphing urban center.


  1. “WHO | World Health Organization.” WHO | World Health Organization. World Health Organization, 2015. Web. 10 Feb. 2016.
  2. “Obesity and Overweight.” WHO. World Health Organization, 2016. Web. 10 Feb. 2016.
  3. Claire Conway. “Poor Health: When Poverty Becomes Disease.” UC San Francisco, 06 Jan. 2016. Web. 25 June 2016.
  4. “Peru Data.” World Bank, 2016. Web. 25 June 2016.
  5. Chaparro, M. Pia, and Leobardo Estrada. “Mapping the Nutrition Transition in Peru: Evidence for Decentralized Nutrition Policies.” Rev Panam Salud Publica Revista Panamericana De Salud Pública 32.3 (2012): 241-44. Rev Panam Salud Publica, 2012. Web. 25 June 2016.


Ceviche is a refreshing departure from much of the fried food of Peru. The fish is eaten raw but preserved in a robust bath of acidic lime juice, salt, ricotto (a type of Peruvian chili pepper) and garlic. The vendors at the markets in Trujillo will cut the fish into the bite sized pieces desired, making the final preparation process less than ten minutes. Ceviche can be eaten just minutes after all of the ingredients are added together. However, the longer the ingredients mingle, the more juice the fish will absorb. On our plate of ceviche, we added the cooked choclo (big boiled corn kernals), yucca, and seaweed. (Photo by Shane Fallon.)


Living in Trujillo, I gathered an appreciation for Peruvian food from the jungle, desert, highlands, and coast. Though Central, ranked the best restaurant in South America and located in Lima, draws from these same environments, the food was nothing like I had ever tasted before. I have eaten potatoes nearly every day in Peru, but tasting the dozens of potato varietals at Central challenged my notion of how a Peruvian potato could look and taste. (Photo by Shane Fallon.)



Shane Fallon is a graduate student in the School of Public Health at UC Berkeley. Shane received a 2016 Tinker Summer Research Grant, awarded by the Center for Latin American Studies. 

To read more about Shane’s travel and research visit her blog at


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