Pink hippocastanum flowers on mill game board.
While being at different stages in their artistic careers, Dandara Manoela and Maya Dourado share their respective life experiences as queer, black female artists in Brazil. In doing so, they powerfully speak up about the systemic racism and violence in the country.
In doing so, they draw their perspectives from the peripheries of the Brazilian music scene, as opposed to a centre where productions from São Paulo strongly dominate. The former is originally from Campinas, in the state of São Paulo, and now resides in São José, in the metropolitan area of Florianópolis, in the state of Santa Catarina, in the south of the country; while the latter is based in Rio Branco, in the state of Acre, in the north-west of Brazil.
We learn that Dandara’s Retrato Falado (2018) was made possible thanks to a crowdfunding campaign. Similarly, Maya was able to record and promote her work thanks to the public funding she received during the lockdown in Brazil. She was able to present her work on occasion of two online shows — in this context, O Canto da Bruxa was a production that she wrote completely on her own. Subsequently, she obtained the necessary funds for recording her first studio album, Migrando em Águas Profundas (2022), produced by Maiara Rio Branco. This economic support came from the emergency law for artists, the Lei Aldir Blanc (AKA Audiplan). Maya and her collective Planeta Elemental are very grateful, as they are extremely aware that similar opportunities are not common in the music sector, and especially in the north of Brazil.
Fighting racism on a daily basis
Dandara and Maya share stories from the ordinary living of the Afro-descendent community in Brazil. Maya writes about João Preto (in A Ganância Queima Como Fogo, 2020), a young boy that got killed by the police in Brazil. “Not another black guy/ Whether he’s a criminal or not” (“Mais um preto não/ Sendo bandido o não”). Racism represents a constant threat, that does not allow to live with tranquillity. Maya’s spoken word tells about the racist life experience: lack of respect, a feeling of fear and exhaustion.
Additionally, the artistic collective Planeta Elemental Maya belongs to, narrate the empowering account of Xica Da Silva, a freed Brazilian slave. Hernan's voice opens Mar de Xica (written by Hernan Castro), accompanied by the piano and the drums. Maya, Saliza and Andi (AKA Jair Leandro) eventually sing as a chorus.
In Salve Essa Tierra (written by the very Maya; closing poem by Hernan), she sings about her region of origin in the north of Brazil, telling about its ancestral connection to the natural elements — the river Rio Branco and the Amazon rainforest. Maya informs us know this is a land of fighters. The intonation “Save this honest land” (“Salve essa terra justa”) rises up like a prayer to God. The organ plays reminding of a gospel, to eventually let the drums played with brushes, smoothly settle in. While, the closing is characterised by more of an electronic vibe.
Poesia marginal that encourages to overcome painful experiences
Maya is very conscious of her capability of inspiring others, as she was in turn inspired by other black women who embraced their beauty and essence in the first place. She illustrates the intuition of the Banda Zingari, that she co-founded: “[W]e often think that it is not possible to make it through, that it is better to give up, stop, passively take it in, since it is going to hurt less. But we simply would like to have someone who tells us: Look, I passed through it before. These are experiences we go through, suffer from, that destroy us, that kill us on the inside, yet that we can overcome.” The cathartic process of making music and poetry allowed her to process personal life experiences of racism. She felt empowered by the very Poesia Marginal,¹ that offered her a channel to voice that anger, pain and sorrow, along with all the sentiments that accumulate in the heart of a black woman. In this way, she consciously embraced her personal mission as an artist.
As an educator, Maya contributed to a series of workshops by the association Escrevivências Libertacão and the Central de Slam do Acre. The initiative provided access to literature to the inmates of the Unidade Penitenciária Dr. Francisco de Oliveira Conde, in Rio Branco, and encouraged their self-expression through the media of poesia marginal and poetry slam. 27 black women participated in the first phase of the project, while 20 in the second.
Maya on giving herself permission
Maya tells about giving herself permission to express herself in the first place: “[M]y world too opened up to allow myself to experience things, to allow myself to feel things, to allow myself to be who I am, and to allow myself to say things that I want to say but that many people dictate that women should stay silent about and just be done with. […] I am who I am — I am a beautiful, black woman, and no patrão is going to either approve or disapprove my skin tone, or whether my mouth, my hair or my hair satisfy him. […] And it was art that gave me this empowerment. I used to think I was ugly — I realise today how I used to lie to myself looking in the mirror saying that I was ugly. I could only believe it [that I am beautiful] when I accepted myself.”
Through a process of self-acceptance and self-love, she finally voiced her stories and feelings as legitimate. In Espectral (lyrics by Saliza), Maya with Planeta Elemental, makes the self-affirmation: “Eu não sou aberração” (“I am not an aberration”). Electro sonorities and drums develop, and the words echo. To overcome racism is an act of rebellion.
Conversely, Dandara captures the moment when a black woman does not recognise herself or her own worth and beauty, yet wishes to change that. (“Fui ali me procurar, mas não encontrei/ Descobri: sou um segredo que nem eu mesma sei/ […] Quero em mim morar”).
Pink stained glass in Bruges, Belgium.
Dandara on healing the trauma of the women in her family
Dandara finds herself combatting the intergenerational, historical and cumulative trauma of violence and structural racism and discrimination against black women in her family. By acknowledging its existence, she initiates the process of healing this inherited PTSD as she consciously revisits the ancestral memories. While survival in scenarios of great adversities had long been the only priority, identifying and processing the painful experiences of the black community as legitimate, is the necessity nowadays.
“Learning about my story through my grandmother was liberating — it brought me indignation, but also the desire to rewrite it.” Dandara candidly appropriates her family narratives by letting us know that her mother once tried to commit suicide. Her re-telling of the story demonstrates how the same processes repeat over time, when it comes to the state of solitude and neglect black women are exposed to in Brazil, leaving permanent marks on their mental and physical health. The women of her family were made feel unworthy and robbed of any opportunities for self-determination.
In Dandara's own words: “When my maternal grandmother, here at the university, told me the whole story described in the song [Retrato Falado], from the beginning to the end, it was like a moment of healing, where I was able to understand more than I thought I already knew about the consequences of structural racism.”
Credits from Dandara Manoela's dissertation in Social Services.
The abuse of loneliness on black women in Brazil
Dandara recalls traumatic events in the lives of the women of her family, that she looks up to as her personal references: her great-grandma, grandma, mother, aunt. Through the album Retrato Falado, Dandara wishes to create a universal portrayal of the many black women in Brazilian society. In particular, the title track explores her family kinship.
Her voice is accompanied by the guitar and the cymbals. The drums kick in only towards the end of the song. Percussions cannot miss: after all, Dandara is a masterful percussionist (contributing to the Orquestra Manancial da Alvorada).
She sings about her great-grandmother, after her grandmother — Dandara’s main source of inspiration — had resolved to break the silence and speak up about domestic violence. A police officer raped Dandara’s grandmother Fátima, getting her pregnant when she went to the police station to give her testimony — Fátima was left alone to live in shame and ended up spending twelve years in a mental institution. Understandably, Dandara’s mother Elisângela considered abortion to avoid “One more generation of women to suffer the abuse of loneliness” (“Mais uma geração mulher, que sofre o abuso da solidão”).
Excruciating solidão is also experienced by the victim of rape in Denúncia. As a scared young woman, she is required to keep silent about the violence, otherwise she will repent (“E se eu contar, diz que vou me arrepender,/ Um acidente, um caos, vai acontecer,/ E a culpa de quem vai ser”). The singing and the music eventually gain force and rise up.
There is no solution to the torment, the wound and “the dirt” of the infeliz, who has to find a way to overcome this traumatic event on her own (“Quero ver quem vai tirar,/ a dor e a cicatriz/ Quero ver quem vai limpar,/ A sujeira do infeliz,/ Isso eu quero ver passar,/ Passar longe daqui,/ E tranquila respira,/ Força pra poder seguir”).
The potential of any Maria de luta to become a Maria de revolução
What kind of battles Dandara refers to? The fight against society’s structural inequalities — in terms of racism, the patriarchy, the social class struggle, the power abuse — that support violence. Dandara introduces the figure of “Maria, mulher de luta” (“Maria, woman of struggle”), who exemplifies the black woman’s experience in Brazil. The percussions, the piano and the guitar play a samba.
“Walking down the street, in the Sun, I saw you, Maria/ Your weathered face said it all/ What destiny is this? What word is this?/ What destiny has Maria who works, works, works/ But lives in uncertainty?” (“Andava na rua, debaixo de Sol, vi Maria/ Teu rosto marcado pelo tempo já dizia tudo/ Que destino é esse? Que palavra é essa?/ Que destino tem Maria que trabalha, trabalha, trabalha/ Mas não tem destino certo?”).
We hear the street noises, as the spoken word, alternated with the singing, continues: “And these Marias that are here?/ Poor, that practice abortions and whores” (“E essas Marias que cá estão?/ Pobres, aborteiras e putas”). Marginalised, without a support system, despite all the hard work, Maria de luta experiences a faulty public health sector.
And, again: “Ah, what if all these Marias got together/ Lesbians, trans, gays, black, white, yellow” (“Ah, se todas essas Marias se ajuntar/ Sapatão, trans, viadas, pretas, brancas, amarelas“); to be Marias de revolução?
Hortensias in autumn and fence, in Luxembourg.
We find the same Maria de luta in De Casa. The lead guitar is soon joined in by the rhythm guitar. In parallel, Dandara and Marissol Mwaba exquisitely sing as one. De Casa tells the story of the black woman that works in the house of a white family from the Brazilian elite.
The feeling of longing is prominent in the song: there is always time for the boss’ daughter, but never for Maria’s dreams or to stay with her very own children (“E tem guardado tanto amor pra dar/ Pra filha da patroa// E guarda e aguarda sua hora chegar/ Seus filhos tão em casa a esperar.”) The percussions swiftly emerge.
The system feeds on this cycle. “The years go by slowly,/ When she figures that out, her life is already done/ All this to support her offspring” (“Os anos vão passando devagar,/ quando vê, já foi a vida/ Tudo isso pra sua prole sustentar”).
Elza Soares’ Marias
Maria, being one of the most diffused names in Brazil, is a protagonist of some of Elza Soares’ music pieces too. As a former washerwoman in the favela da Moça Bonita in the west of Rio de Janeiro, who was forced into marriage at the age of twelve — Elza knows well the abuses suffered by black women in Brazil, and always uses her voice to fight against structural racism and discrimination.
The lyrics of Maria da Vila Matilde written by Douglas Germano, are a tribute to his mother. A resident of the aforementioned municipality in eastern São Paulo, Maria repeatedly suffered attacks from her husband. Elza, who in turn experienced domestic violence both during her first and second marriage, interprets the song in her album A Mulher do Fim do Mundo from 2015.
Tired of tolerating domestic violence, Maria affirms: “You'll regret raising your hand to me” (“Você vai se arrepender de levantar a mão pra mim”). The composition mentions the hotline Ligue 180, created for women to report their aggressors, following the Lei Maria da Penha, the 2006 law that aimed to prevent and punish domestic violence.
The Maria of Elza Soares' Maria, Maria, Maria (from Sambossa, 1963) finds a distinct way out thanks to whitening, allowed by money and success. She now sees a new life unveil ahed of her as a dancer of Portela samba school in Rio de Janeiro.Elza mocks the patroa lamenting that: “Maria has no more complexes or anything like that/ She's fulfilled and I don't have a maid/ She's just another black girl who's gone white” (“Maria não tem mais complexo nem nada/ Está realizada e eu sem empregada/ É mais uma escurinha que embranqueceu/ É mais um presuntinho que embranqueceu/ É mais uma escurinha que embranqueceu”).
Music for the local, black community
Through her artistic work, Dandara wishes to raise the visibility of the black community in Santa Catarina, where she has been living for the last ten years. Her activity is instrumental in the state with the lowest presence of black population in Brazil in 2022,² and yet with the highest rate of records of Racial Injury in 2020. This equally is the third state in terms of threats to women, with an average of over 150 cases per day.³
In comparison to the national average of 10,2%, the 2022 census shows that 4,07% (309,908 people) of the population self-declares black in the southern state. While the pardos — who, while being of African ancestry, do not identify as black (same as negros; NB: this is the word used by the IBGE, the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics) — account for the 19.2% of the population in the state. The anthropologist Messias Basques explains that: “The [term] pardo reveals a process of historical whitening that leads these individuals to forget who they are and not to understand their racial identity and the way they suffer long-lasting historical processes.”
Thus, through her music, Dandara wishes to turn the spotlight on the black community to challenge exactly the narrative of branquitude. Interestingly enough, Santa Catarina records an 88.6% increase in the number of people who identify themselves as pardos compared to the 2010 census. Self-declared negros have also been increasing by 68.6% in 2022. Nonetheless, it is worth remembering that Santa Catarina has experienced a considerable population growth throughout the last twelve years.
Closed pink peony flower.
Breaking the cycle, by giving a new meaning to love
Solitude and a lack of love (“Solidão, viver, crescer, sem ter amor”) characterise Retrato Falado. It is however possible to Ressignficar love. “No passo do coração, vou com pressa ser feliz,/ Nos teus braços respirar e o amor ressignificar/ Teu corpo é quente e com pontos sem nó/ Redesenha a história nossa” (“Like a heartbeat, I’m in a hurry to be happy,// In your arms I'll breathe and I'll give a new meaning to love/ Your body is warm and with knotless stitches/ It re-draws our story”). The rhythm becomes syncopated, as the trumpet beautifully plays, along with the percussions, the drums and the guitar.The same kind of love can be found in Peixe, where Dandara feels free to feel herself fully. The saxophone and the brushes on the drums create the intimacy and the warmth of a love relationship. Peixe is about Dandara’s love for her music producer and wife Renata Schlickmann — as if Dandara and Maya could naturally entrust their affection exclusively to another woman. “The poetry of the fingers plays in-between the lines/ It sang in my body, it painted wishes/ Smiling at me, with your water eyes/ Just like a fish, you swam freely, with your wings” (“Toque, poesia dos dedos entre linhas/ No corpo cantava, desejos pintava/ Sorrindo pra mim, com seus olhos de água/ Tão peixe, livre nadava, com asas, com asas”).
Consciously initiating the healing process
Younger generations can heal the trauma that has been haunting their lineage. According to Dr Joy DeGruy’s theorisation of PTSS (Post Traumatic Slave Syndrome), functional and dysfunctional attitudes and behaviours are being transmitted through multiple generations in the home, school, work environments, and in society at large. Dr DeGruy specifically refers to the set of adaptive behaviours that African Americans developed — whether positive or negative. It is necessary to develop skills aimed at transforming negative attitudes and behaviours into positive ones, that will promote healing.
Initiating healing when it comes to PSTD in the black community is not an easy or obvious process in Brazil. The systemic and structural nature of racism in the country invariably welcomes and encourages the mechanisms that perpetuate it. A busca do branqueamento⁴ did not do any good to the Brazilian racist culture, that neglected Afro-Brazilian culture and experience by making it perceive and internalise as inferior by the very Brazilian black community. Denise Ramos compared the feelings of self-esteem and identity between white and black primary and secondary school students (aged 11 to 18) in a public school in São Paulo, concluding that the cultural complex stems from the inherited trauma of slavery.
Pink peony in bloom.
As a black female artist, Maya decides to motivate others by letting them know that it is possible to process and overcome experiences of racism. Making music and poetry was Maya’s personal way to make this transformation take place and recognise her self-worth and beauty as a black woman. On the other hand, Dandara carries on her music journey in conjunction with her academic research in Social Services at the Universidade Federal de Santa Catarina (UFSC), in Florianópolis. She appropriates and retells the traumatic life stories in her lineage, celebrating her grandmother Fátima who found the courage to speak up. By giving a new meaning to love, she makes up for the lack of support and understanding experienced by the women in her family.
¹ Poesia Marginal: a Brazilian literary movement from the 1970’s, that claimed that poetry is present in the everyday lives of regular men and women in the centres as well as in the peripheries. It embraced noncommercial networks of poetry, functioning in opposition to the military dictatorship that ruled Brazil from 1964 to 1985. The literary movement is associated with the Geração Mimeógrafo, as its exponents used mimeographs and photocopiers to reproduce and distribute or sell their texts at a low price during cultural events.² According to the IBGE (Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics), black people make up 56% of the Brazilian population. This percentage includes both those who self-declare as negros and those who self-declare as pardos, where the term pretos encompasses both groups. Messias Basques reminds us that in the Brazilian context, racial prejudice is based more on visible characteristics, where the category of black people (negros) includes those with darker skin tones.³ The 2021 Brazilian Public Security Yearbook reports that Santa Catarina has the highest number of cases in Brazil in 2020, with 2,865 cases of violence — an average of 7.8 per day. The state accounts for 25.4 cases of racial injury per 100,000 inhabitants.⁴ A busca do branqueamento: “The quest for whitening”, considers skin colour as a marker of either inferiority or superiority. Following the abolition of slavery in Brazil (Lei do Ventre Livre, 28/10/1871; Lei Saraiva-Cotegipe, 1885), the Brazilian State naturalised inequality and put in place mechanisms of social marginalisation and exclusion to dispose of (through extermination), downgrade and whiten (through miscegenation) the black population.