Abstract
The purpose of this article is to analyse British media coverage of the Brazilian dictatorship. Specifically, we examine coverage by the weekly news magazine The Economist in the period from the promulgation of Institutional Act 5 in December 1968, to 1975, the second year of the Geisel administration. We compare its coverage with that of The Times and The Guardian in order to reach an understanding of its portrayal of Brazil in terms of two themes in particular: economic performance (notably the ‘Brazilian miracle’), and political repression. We relate the latter theme to the international condemnations of torture, and the disappearance of political prisoners. Furthermore, given that The Economist mainly covers issues from an economic perspective, we examine shifts in the frequency and content of articles about Brazil, and conclude that The Economist’s portrayal of Brazil in the period under review deviated from that of much of the rest of the British Press.
Keywords Brazilian dictatorship; Brazil’s foreign image; Brazil and England; torture in Brazil; Brazil in the British media
Resumo
O propósito deste artigo é analisar a cobertura da mídia britânica sobre a ditadura brasileira. Especificamente, examinamos a cobertura da revista semanal de notícias The Economist no período da promulgação do Ato Institucional 5 (AI-5) em dezembro de 1968 a 1975, o segundo ano do governo Geisel. Comparamos sua cobertura com a dos jornais The Times e The Guardian, a fim de alcançar uma compreensão de sua representação do Brasil em termos de dois temas em particular: desempenho econômico (notavelmente o “milagre brasileiro”) e repressão política. Relacionamos este último tema às condenações internacionais da tortura e ao desaparecimento de presos políticos. Além disso, dado que a The Economist cobre principalmente questões de uma perspectiva econômica, examinamos mudanças na frequência e no conteúdo de artigos sobre o Brasil, e concluímos que a retratação do Brasil feita pela The Economist no período em análise se desviou da de grande parte das demais coberturas da imprensa britânica.
Palavras-chave Brasil ditatorial; imagem externa do Brasil; Brasil e Inglaterra; Tortura no Brasil; Brasil na imprensa britânica
Introduction
From the late 1960s to the mid-1970s, foreign media played a crucial role in exposing human rights violations under the Brazilian military dictatorship (1964-85). In this period, Brazil garnered an international image as a country of torture, assassination, and the disappearance of militants who opposed the regime. European and North American media outlets publicised the denunciations by organisations such as Amnesty International, and in doing so, contributed to the visibility of political resistance in the country. Yet this was not the only image of Brazil projected by the foreign media. Almost simultaneously, high rates of economic growth also brought the nation into international focus. Reports and editorials devoted to Brazil fluctuated between economics and politics. The positive image created by the former was counterbalanced by criticisms of the latter. Furthermore, not all British publications shared the same view. Notably, while other newspapers and magazines gave extensive coverage to human rights violations in Brazil, The Economist gave far less attention to this issue, which hardly appeared on its pages between 1969 and 1975. Instead, in line with its title, it chose to highlight Brazil’s ‘economic miracle.’
We conclude that The Economist tended to subordinate politics to economics. In our understanding, The Economist hasaclearly defined and long-term ideological orientation, namely that of support for the free market. It upholds liberal economic values, grounding its perspective in political and economic liberalism, and assuming conservative positions on economic issues, including preserving property rights, minimising the role of the state, and encouraging free trade (Bobbio 2000; Locke 2001; Lipset 1989; Macpherson 1977, 1985; Nisbet 1996; Sartori 1994).
In order to gain a better understanding of the specificities of The Economist’s coverage of Brazil in the period under review, we compare its news articles and editorials to those in two leading British newspapers, The Times and The Guardian. The method used was that of content analysis. In building the corpus of our research, the initial step was to select texts, targeting as wide a sample as possible. We followed guidelines of 1) exhaustivity, meaning that once our selection criteria were defined, the entire corpus of collected material was analysed; 2) representivity, that is, ensuring that the selected texts were representative of the universe of our study; 3) homogeneity, meaning that the same principles were used for selecting all the texts; and 4) pertinence, that is, certifying that all the documents were relevant as a source of information (Bardin 2007). All the editorials that mentioned Brazil as well as all the articles in which the name of the country appeared in the title or as a key word were selected. Our goal has been to provide a general panorama of the themes covered by The Economist in order to assess the relative importance of the issue of the violation of human rights, and then to compare this treatment with those of The Times and The Guardian.
After selecting the texts and compiling the database, we drew up an inventory, and classified the items into general thematic units. During the reading stage, we chose the issues we considered to be most significant, enabling us to put together an initial tabulation based on themes, followed by a later division by sub-theme. Items were classified by identifying registry units, that is, through sets of words, expressions and phrases. Yet, despite our systematic data collection and exhaustive data analysis, we are conscious of the intrinsic limitations of this type of study. Conferring intelligibility on to discourses and classifying them by theme and subtheme is essentially a subjective enterprise, and invariably at least slightly arbitrary.
The relationship between the media and politics is dear to scholars in the fields of Political Science and Communication. Important contributions come from both disciplines, yet certain lacunae persist. Within Political Science, most studies of media influence over politics focus on electoral periods rather than on greater spans of time, other crucial moments in political life, or the centrality of mass media as mediators of the symbolic forms of modern life. However, the media have become vital, as they have become the most important channel for the circulation of information, just as communication has taken on a vital role in the development of modern societies (Thompson 1995). In the contemporary world, the media are constituted as a sphere of political representation which, notwithstanding the bias and limited diversity they often entail, can nonetheless be considered as voices of society (Miguel 2002). Although the media impact on politics and on the mechanisms of political representation has been studied for some time, generating a series of classical texts such as Pitkin (1967), Cohen (1983), Manin (1997), Cook (1998), Hallin and Mancini (2004), much research remains to be done.
We understand the media as a complex set of means of communication involving the emission and reception of messages, and therefore the manipulation of symbolic means. As a result, the media are configured as a form of power that influence the formation of political and governmental agendas (Fonseca 2011). Given this, Fausto Neto (1994: 175) has argued that the media not only mediate power, but also function as power-producing apparatuses that sometimes work in the same way as the political sphere: ‘journalistic enunciation itself constitutes a political event, in the sense that it not only mediatizes but also structures the functioning of other powers.’1
Specialised analysts argue that the media play a fundamental role in political life, not only by legitimating public opinion, but also by making events real. In other words, the media constitute a social space that endows public opinion with its existence. An event becomes socially real when it is discursively produced; in this process, it is the media that dictate what should be thought, what opinions should be held, and what issues are to be discussed (Fausto Neto 1994; Champagne 1998).
Therefore, we can say that the contemporary media tend to reflect a market-driven logic in which the media are increasingly concentrated and globalised. This is a consequence of the advance of communication and information technologies (Wolton 1995; Miguel 2002).
International actors are shaped by the means and vehicles in which they act. Therefore, the image of a country is also constituted by the way it is presented by and for other social actors. This is a complex process that contains endogenous constituting elements – in other words, the understanding that a country has of itself and of the world, as well as exogenous elements emerging from socialisation processes and the image that other actors have of it. This is what, in the constructivist approach, is referred to as the process of co-constitution, in which the profile of an actor depends on its recognition by others, as well as on the social, political and cultural context (Wendt 1999). Thus, the image of the State is not only constituted through the official discourse, but also through its representation by other actors. Among the latter, international media play a key role, that is, they are fundamental to constructing and galvanising images (Sales 2016).
The Economist and the 1964 Coup d’Etat
In Brazil, the first half of the 1960s was politically very turbulent. In August 1961, just a few months after his inauguration, President Jânio Quadros resigned, leaving his supporters, and the country as a whole, in a state of shock. Vice-president João Goulart was only able to take office after the resolution of the crisis caused by efforts to stop him from doing so by the three military ministers. They objected to his membership of the Brazilian Labour Party (Partido Trabalhista Brasileiro, or PTB),and his status as the political heir of former president Getúlio Vargas. Goulart was eventually able to take office thanks to resistance led by the governor of the state of Rio Grande do Sul, Leonel Brizola, and the support of the Commander-in-Chief of the Army in that state. This was made possible by a behind-the-scenes agreement that turned presidentialism into a parliamentary system, which was later revoked in a 1963 plebiscite. After the failed coup in 1961, the right-wingers began to garner social support for the campaign against Goulart, presenting him as a representative of a great threat of turning the country towards communism.
In the midst of an acute economic crisis, frustrated attempts on the part of the president to overcome it, and growing mobilisation by trade union and social movements, the unrest soon developed into a rally at the central train station in Rio de Janeiro (Comício da Central) which was closed by the president himself on 13 March 1964. Standing before a multitude that had been summoned by trade union confederations and the National Students Union (União Nacional dos Estudantes, or UNE), Goulart signed decrees on basic agrarian, fiscal, political and educational reforms. The participation of ‘Jango’ (as Goulart was affectionately known) in the rally and his attendance, at the end of the month, at a meeting of the Sergeants Association at the Automobile Club in the nation’s former capital provided conservative forces with the pretext they needed to launch a coup d’etat, which also permitted the unification of the Army in the face of a threat to its hierarchy (Santos 1978, 1986). On 1 April 1964, the Armed Forces, supported by the Catholic Church, much of the media, and various segments of civil society, took power (Toledo 2014).
After a short period under General Costa e Silva, and despite the fact that Goulart was still in the country, Congress declared the presidency vacant. The Speaker of the House, Ranieri Mazzili, remained at the helm of the government until General Humberto de Alencar Castelo Branco was elected indirectly as president. Regarding the ‘revolution’ as a legitimate constitutive power, the government adopted the first of numerous Institutional Acts which suspended individual human rights and allowed for the removal (cassação) of the civil and military leadership that was most known in the popular and nationalist field.
In October 1965, a new act extinguished political parties, including those that had supported the coup, and postponed presidential elections, which now became indirect. At the end of the Castelo Branco administration, a new constitution was adopted, accompanied by new national security and media laws. In March 1967, in the midst of hopes for redemocratisation, General Costa e Silva took office. Although he initially attempted to maintain an appearance of constitutional order, this changed radically after the adoption of Institutional Act 5 (Ato Institucional número Cinco, or AI-5) in December of 1968, which suspended the last remaining guarantees of individual rights written into the Constitution (Gaspari 2002b).
According to The Economist, blame for the military coup could be placed on Goulart, who was deemed incapable of resolving the political tensions and crises that loomed over his government. In the face of the coup, it said, resistance on the part of those who had supported the president had dwindled rapidly, against a background of rampant inflation as well as discontent that was stirring not only in the agrarian sector but among workers as well. Goulart’s demands for changes to the Constitution that would widen his powers, making him an eligible candidate in the 1965 elections, was identified as the immediate cause of the coup. This had paved the way for a conservative coalition that included the leadership of the nation’s most important states (The Economist 1964c, 1964d).
According to The Economist, the coup was triggered by the speech by Goulart at the central railway station in Rio de Janeiro in which – in a desperate attempt to overcome his political impotence – he defended the emancipation of the illiterate, the expropriation of land, and constitutional reform. Yet the magazine also described the military rise to power as a ‘coup d’état,’ the result of US scheming, which, it said, would have disastrous effects for Latin America. However, it soon abandoned ‘coup d’etat’ in favour of ‘revolution,’ the term adopted by the new regime.2 It also emphasised the role of Leonel Brizola in deepening the crisis faced by Goulart as a result of his attack on the nation’s Congress. Thus The Economist joined the chorus of conservative Brazilian media in favour of the supposedly temporary intervention of the military (The Economist 1964d).
In its second edition following the coup, The Economist reported the ‘favourable reaction of Brazilian society’ to the new situation, highlighting the enthusiasm of the middle classes and elites and respect and admiration for the Armed Forces referred to in major Brazilian newspapers. Given the demonstration in Rio de Janeiro in which more than a million people celebrated the end of communism, it said there seemed little doubt that the public’s expressed relief was spontaneous. It concluded that Goulart was largely responsible for his own fall, because of his extremism and his attempt to destroy military discipline. At the same time, it expressed qualms about certain attitudes that seemed to run counter to the defence of legality, such as the imprisonment of more than 3 000 people in the former federal district of Guanabara, the jailing of the governor of Pernambuco, Miguel Arraes, and the economist Celso Furtado’s dismissal from the North East Development Superintendency (Superintendência do Desenvolvimento do Nordeste, or SUDENE) (The Economist 1964f).3
The magazine concluded that the generals had mobilised to save the Constitution, and had revealed Goulart’s amateurism. It considered that the Institutional Act was necessary to end the communist threat, and clean up financial disarray (The Economist 1964g). Although it regarded the early period of the Castelo Branco regime with distrust, a change of perspective was evident in mid-1964. The formation of the Superintendency of Currency and Credit (Superintendência da Moeda e do Crédito, or SUMOC), which opened the country to the inflow of foreign capital, was portrayed in an encouraging light (The Economist 1964h).
As regards politics, The Economist criticised the suspension of the political rights of ex-president Juscelino Kubitschek, and central government intervention in the state of Goiás.4 While noting that the country needed to free itself from communism and restructure the economy, it did not fully agree with the suppression of political freedoms. From the moment when the Castelo Branco government began to take shape, however, criticism of the regime became ever more scanty (The Economist 1964b, 1964e).
In an editorial headlined ‘Back to almost normal’ (The Economist 1965b), the magazine praised austerity measures such as credit restrictions, fiscal adjustment, and stringent tax collection implemented by minister Roberto Campos. These measures included a more balanced budget, increasing exports, new rules on taxation, greater foreign reserves and the abolition of some subsidies. Furthermore, control over inflation had improved since the ‘demagogical chaos’ of the Goulart presidency. Another element that was considered important was the formation of the Central Bank in 1965, seen as an indication of monetary discipline and a new order within the financial system (The Economist 1966a, 1966b).5
In the process, The Economist subordinated politics to economics. From the moment when austerity measures were introduced, its critical positions vanished; praise originating within the economic field was extended to politics, as is evident in the following remarks about President Castelo Branco: ‘With caution and finesse, the president is trying to clean up the mess left by his predecessor and, even more difficult, to ensure that the “revolution against communism and corruption” continues after the promised elections in November 1966’ (The Economist 1965a: 230).
This flattening out of a critical perspective came to a head in an article entitled ‘How Undemocratic?’ (The Economist 1965d) in which the Castelo Branco regime was described as the wisest of all Latin American governments, and the notion that the president could postpone elections in order to finish up the period of his own mandate was portrayed as correct. Although it noted the further closing up of the regime through Institutional Act 2, Castelo Branco was portrayed as a moderate politician who was not making full use of the powers at his disposal (The Economist 1965c, 1966c).
Certain that Castelo Branco would be succeeded by Costa e Silva, the magazine identified the relaxation of austerity measures as economically risky: ‘And this, more than any political change, would mean an end to the revolution’ (The Economist 1966b). The idea that the economy was the motor of the administration was upheld. Yet, during the Costa e Silva administration, a new key figure emerged. The Economist lauded Delfim Netto for his role in continuing the activities of the economic team; thanks to him, it was argued, interest rates had fallen, and the economy had begun to recover (The Economist 1967).
From Institutional Act 5 to the Geisel government
In 1968, student protests erupted throughout the world. In Brazil, from March to October, there were dozens of demonstrations, set off by the death of a high school student, Edson Luís de Lima Souto, on 28 March during a confrontation with the police at the Calabouço Restaurant in Rio de Janeiro. Close to 50 000 people joined the funeral procession. This triggered many other demonstrations; the biggest, known as the March of the Hundred Thousand, or Passeata dos Cem Mil, took place on 26 June (Martins Filho 1987; Codato 2004).
Strikes in Contagem in Minas Gerais in April and Osasco in São Paulo in June further stirred up sentiment, and the military rulers moved increasingly towards closing up the regime. The final motivations were Congressional speeches by a member of the Brazilian Democratic Movement (Movimento Democrático Brasileiro, or MDB), Márcio Moreira Alves, in August and September. Although little attention was paid to them initially, these events were used to justify the introduction of Institutional Act 5. The crisis was exacerbated by articles written by Hermano Alves, another MDB member of Congress, published in the newspaper Correio da Manhã. The military asked Congress to remove both members, and to permit it to proceed with a lawsuit against Moreira Alves, but this was turned down (Skidmore 1988; D’Araújo n.d.). The background to these demonstrations of opposition were intra-military conflicts, and pressures to further harden up the regime (Martins Filho 1996).
On 13 December 1968, after a meeting with the National Security Council, the military regime announced the introduction of Institutional Act 5, which:
[...] gave the president of the Republic exceptional powers, which means without consideration by the judiciary, to: decree a congressional recess; interfere in states and municipalities, suspend any citizen’s political rights for ten years, decree the confiscation of property that is deemed illegal, and suspend the guarantee of habeas-corpus. In the preamble to the act, this was claimed to respond to the need to attain the objectives of the revolution, ‘meant to discover the indispensable means to the ends of economic, financial and moral reconstruction of the country. On that very day, a congressional recess for an indefinite period of time was decreed (D’Araújo n.d.).
The Act suspended the remaining individual rights and guarantees in the Constitution, and gave carte blanche to the spread of state violence. This led to a wave of removals, arrests, murders, disappearances, and incidents of torture – the most turbulent period of the military dictatorship.
On 31 August 1969, President Costa e Silva suffered a stroke. His constitutional successor, Vice-president Pedro Aleixo, was immediately dismissed, and a military junta assembled. Thus a trio made up of the ministers of the Army, Aurélio de Lira Tavares, the Navy, Augusto Rademaker, and the Air Force, Márcio de Sousa e Melo, assumed power until a successor of the indisposed president would be chosen (Martins Filho 1996; Gaspari 2002a).
It was in this tense climate that the US ambassador, Charles Burke Elbrick, was kidnapped. This unusual event triggered massive coverage in the international media. Orchestrated by militants of the Revolutionary Movement October 8 (Movimento Revolucionário 8 de Outubro, or MR-8) and National Liberation Action (Ação Libertadora Nacional, or ALN), the kidnapping ended rapidly following the release of 15 political prisoners, who went straight into exile in Mexico. Elbrick was freed unharmed (Gorender 1987).6
The military junta governed Brazil until October 1969, when the election of General Emílio Garrastazu Médici, head of the National Intelligence Service (Serviço Nacional de Inteligência, or SNI) consolidated the practice of military candidates chosen from a restricted circle of four-star Army generals. To approve him, the nation’s Congress was reopened, and Médici and his vice-president, Admiral Augusto Rademaker, took office. The future of the military dictatorship was now in the hands of Médici, who governed until March 1974. His administration was marked by the rise and fall of urban and rural armed struggles, with the government giving its repressive apparatus free rein to eliminate subversive threats, whatever the cost. Repressive military detachments such as the Detachments of Information Operations and the Centres for Internal Defence Operations (Destacamentos de Operações de Informações e os Centros de Operações de Defesa Interna, or DOI-CODIs), as well as political police departments in the states became responsible for torture and disappearances.
Open economy, closed regime
Outside the country, from late 1968 to the mid-1970s, the situation in Brazil was portrayed in terms of two metaphors: ‘economic miracle,’ and ‘years of lead’ (anos de chumbo). While imprecise, both expressions help us to understand the coverage of Brazil by The Economist as well by as other British media outlets at that time. One of these ideas, that of an ‘economic boom,’ was adopted wholeheartedly by the news weekly.
Brazil’s economic achievements led the magazine to laud Brazil as a model of free market economics and effective inflation control (The Economist 1972a, 1973b). Laissez faire economics and income concentration were portrayed as fundamental elements of economic growth: ‘The Brazilian formula, “to grow is to concentrate,” sums up a fundamental truth, namely that industrialization requires a concentration of capital and resources’ (The Economist 1973a: 12).
At the same time, economic growth occurred in a context of unbridled political repression, and a disregard for human rights and individual freedoms. In the early 1980s, Amnesty International stated that, for at least six years, sectors of the armed forces and the police had been free to treat members of the left with whatever degree of cruelty they deemed necessary (Power 1981).
Figure 1 reflects the main themes in Economist editorials about Brazil in the period under review. Until 1973, the emergence of Brazil’s potential as a nuclear power, other issues of international politics, and a golden economic age prevailed. Between 1972 and 1973, the ‘economic miracle’ dominated editorial treatment. During the entire period, not one of 50 editorials about Brazil mentioned the word ‘torture.’
Table 1 records the themes of news articles in The Economist in the same period. It shows that many reports portrayed Brazilian economic policy in a positive way, particularly during the period preceding the Geisel government. Criticisms of the regime and denunciations of repression were infrequent.
In The Economist’s view, the political situation in Brazil in 1968 was very bad. This was due to terrorist action, and confrontations between police and students. After the adoption of Institutional Act 5, and citing the Brazilian newspaper Jornal do Brasil, the magazine emphasised that the right to disorder was not included in human rights, and that the ongoing demonstrations did not have worker support (The Economist 1968a).
However, the magazine stated its clear disagreement with the censorship introduced by the regime. In December 1968, it stated that placing international correspondents under surveillance and only allowing them to publish news that favoured the government was an affront to the fundamental values of liberalism, and that attitudes such as these obscured the administrative and financial benefits of military governments (The Economist 1968b). And in early 1969, it wrote that these measures had returned the ‘revolution’ of 1964 to its authoritarian origins (The Economist 1969b).
But this was the last of the criticisms of the hardening of the regime. Once the initial impact of the censorship and torture enabled by Institutional Act 5 was over, The Economist’s coverage shifted. Like the coverage in the coup’s immediate aftermath, the consolidation of economic growth and the opening up of the economy eclipsed disagreements over political issues. News articles and editorials tended to use economic success to justify political strategies; it was not possible, according to the magazine, to ignore the ‘spectacular development’ that military governments were able to promote. High growth rates and low rates of inflation were regarded as fundamental, and had led to a situation in which 40% of new investments came from foreign capital (The Economist 1972d, 1973b, 1975a).
Furthermore, the word ‘dictatorship’was now used infrequently. It first appeared in the following passage: ‘Brazil is settling down after last month’s sudden return to dictatorship, when President Costa e Silva prorogued the National Congress indefinitely and returned to rule by decree’ (The Economist 1969a).7 This gave the impression that, prior to Institutional Act 5, the regime was not dictatorial. At any rate, the regime’s tightening up was given some justification in the following terms:
… since President Costa e Silva’s ‘humanization’ had been accompanied by growing unrest, student violence, attempted strikes, the emergence of left wing priests by the score, the revival of noisy political opposition and other signs of ‘indiscipline’, the radical military had become more and more certain that the revolution was being undermined (The Economist 1969b: 22).
During the Costa e Silva administration, the radicalisation of the regime and the suspension of the political rights of federal and state representatives, mayors, judges, Army reserve officers, and journalists were portrayed as a veering to the right, as was the imposition of indirect elections for governors and mayors (The Economist 1969a).
Regarding the kidnapping of the US ambassador, The Economist defended the Brazilian government with the argument that, despite the temporary victory of the revolutionaries, the latter were too weak to represent a real threat to the regime, and that violence was not on the rise: ‘After Stalin and Hitler, no Latin American strongman can fit the term “dictator”’ (The Economist 1969d: 16). Leftist groups were seen as small, incoherent, and poorly co-ordinated, and the reasons for their collapse as self-evident (The Economist 1971a). Nonetheless, Institutional Acts 13 and 14, decreed after the kidnapping, were proof of the regime’s tightening. Therefore, a few years later, the emergence of the guerrilla fighters of Araguaia took the news weekly by surprise; in its opinion, few strategists really believed in the possibility of guerrilla activities in the jungle, yet it turned out to be ‘[...] the only significant terrorist action in Brazil’ (The Economist 1972f).
The issue of human rights
The Médici ‘years of lead’were marked abroad by the denunciations of repressive violence in Brazil. According to Amnesty International, Brazil was a paradigmatic case of a government that violated human rights (Power 1981). The foreign media as well as non-government organisations focused increasing attention on the Brazilian dictatorship. However, although it had criticised the regime on several issues, The Economist chose not to give prominence to this theme. In order to place this in perspective, we contrast its coverage mainly with that of the conservative British newspaper The Times.
After the adoption of AI 5, the growth of armed left-wing activities in Brazil led to the formation, in the state of São Paulo, of Operation Bandeirantes (Operação Bandeirantes, or OB), which brought the military and the political police forces together under Armed Forces command to confront the emergence of ‘terrorist’ organisations. Torture became the major instrument of repressive organisations. The OB obtained financial support from members of the business sector who were frightened by the daring of the urban guerrillas. The situation worsened after the humiliation suffered by the military government over the kidnapping of the US ambassador. Organs such as the Navy Information Centre (Centro de Informação da Marinha, or CENIMAR) and the recently created Detachments of Information Operations (Destacamentos de Operações de Informações, or DOIs), in addition to the Department of Political and Social Order (Departamento de Ordem Política e Social, or DOPS) of São Paulo, headed by the infamous civilian torturer Sérgio Fleury, began the race to capture the kidnappers. In 1970, President Médici and the minister of the Army, Orlando Geisel, created the Internal Security System (Sistema de Segurança Interna, or Sissegint) (Gorender 1987). Years later, President Geisel admitted that ‘the regime made torture of its prisoners its primary tool of investigation, boasted about its results, and did not intend to change its position’ (Gaspari 2002a: 206).
The years under the Médici presidency were the most brutal. According to a report entitled Brasil Nunca Mais, the military itself registered 488 allegations of torture in 1964-1968, 1 027 in 1969, and 3 479 in 1970-1973 (see Brasil Nunca Mais 2016). According to the National Truth Commission (Comissão Nacional da Verdade, or CNV), there were 61 torture-related deaths between 1964 and the end of 1969, and 76 from 1970 until the end of 1973. The number of missing people also rose drastically, from 12 in 1964-1969, to 142 in 1970-1973, and 53 in 1974 (Arns 1985; Brasil 2014).8 The government argued that police action remained within the realm of what was necessary to put an end to terrorist activities.
Under the Geisel administration, the most notorious incident was the death of Vladimir Herzog, journalism director of the television channel TV Cultura in São Paulo, in the course of the repressive offensive against the peaceful Brazilian Communist Party (Partido Comunista Brasileiro, or PCB). It occurred in the context of the resistance, on the part of the torturers, to the president’s attempt to take over the apparatus of repression. When ordered to do so, Herzog presented himself voluntarily at the São Paulo DOI on Saturday 25 October 1975. The same night, the Department announced that he had hanged himself with his own belt (Alves 1989). Amnesty International described the episode as follows:
Vladimir Herzog was summoned to appear at the military intelligence headquarters in São Paulo. Within hours of presenting himself, he was dead. The official verdict was that he had taken his life by hanging. A death certificate gave the cause of death as suicide. Much later, the doctor who signed it admitted he had never seen the body. In October 1978 a São Paulo federal judge ruled that the Brazilian government was responsible for the death of Mr Herzog (Power 1981: 103).
In The Economist, the word ‘torture’ appeared for the first time at the end of 1969: ‘At last,’ it wrote, ‘there are signs that the as yet unmentioned subject, the torture of political prisoners, is getting under the uniformed skins of Brazil’s leaders’ (The Economist 1969c: 41). The same article quoted claims in the Brazilian news weekly Veja that Médici had ordered an end to violent methods of repression. Yet we now know that he never had any such intention.9
Both the Daily Telegraph and The Times had already noted that political prisoners were being tortured. The latter newspaper printed the testimony of Onofre Pinto in which he spoke of being beaten and given electric shocks (Wigg et al 1969).10 Yet The Economist reported that the government was defending itself against these accusations with the argument that correspondents were being manipulated by leftist militants. It added that news reports published in Europe were unlikely to lack veracity (The Economist 1969c). However, it did not believe that torture was a systematic practice. Even the harassment of clergy, which had attracted the magazine’s attention, was depicted as isolated incidents. The emblematic case of Mother Maurina, in the city of Ribeirão Preto, led to the first mention of torture in this publication:
In November the police announced the smashing of a plot in Ribeirão Prêto [...]. The most spectacular feature was the alleged involvement of a nun, Mother Maurina Borges, in the conspiracy. Church sources said that she had been tortured with electric shocks, whereupon the archbishop of Ribeirão Prêto excommunicated the city´s two senior police officers and denounced brutality towards other prisoners, including priests. This incident came closely after the sensational implication of Dominican friars in Sr Marighella’s murder (The Economist 1969c: 41).
In 1969, the torture of members of the Catholic Church was noted in other British media outlets. Yet The Economist only mentioned this in respect of Mother Maurina. The behaviour of The Times is different. After reporting on Onofre Pinto’s allegations, the newspaper also reported on the torture suffered by the students Luís Medeiros de Oliveira and Elenaldo Celso Teixeira in the city of Recife. It published their story of six days of torture in ten different police stations (The Times 1969). Bishop Dom Hélder Câmara paid a visit to Oliveira while the latter was in prison.11
The Times identified torture as a systematic practice. Although it also reported on Madre Maurina’s case, on more than one occasion it noted that the maltreatment of political prisoners was not restricted to isolated incidents:
By November 19, possibly 30 priests and other members of religious orders were detained. Although torture is a commonplace in Brazil and the torture of priests not exceptional, says Herder Correspondence, the torture of a nun apparently represents a new low; Sister Maurina Borges Silveira, charged with letting guerrillas use her convent, was given electrical shock torture. […] Informed Brazilians know that torture of political prisoners is used systematically by military police to obtain information (The Times 1970b).
It also reported that Médici had banned the use of torture. Yet it discussed leftist actions in a markedly different way from The Economist. According to The Times, it was in the name of social justice that lawyers, journalists, bank employees, priests, ex-Army officers, soldiers, and above all, students conspired – it was the only means left to them to oppose the military regime (Wigg 1970a).
In 1970, The Times ceased to refer to leftist militants as terrorists.12 In an editorial titled ‘Torture in Brazil,’ it noted that the murder of one of Dom Hélder Câmara’s assistants had been carried out by ‘right-wing terrorists,’ and added: ‘Torture has been used not merely against the violent urban guerrillas operating in cities such as Rio and São Paulo, but against all manner of intellectuals whose loyalty was at all suspect’ (The Times1970c).
The Economist(1970a) reported the kidnapping of the Consul-General of Japan in an article headlined ‘Balance of terror.’ In exchange for the diplomat, five political prisoners, including Madre Maurina, were freed. The magazine noted that violent methods of interrogation of common prisoners had been extended to political prisoners, but did not admit their systematic use.13
The growing focus on events in Brazil was not restricted to the foreign media. International organisations also turned to the theme of human rights. They included the International Jurists Commission, which published a report entitled ‘Police Repression and Tortures Inflicted upon Political Opponents and Prisoners in Brazil,’ based on the testimony of 40 prisoners who were freed following the kidnapping of the German ambassador.14
According to Green (2010), the report argued that the premeditated infliction of pain was ‘systematic and scientific.’ The document detailed how medical practitioners had collaborated in this effort: ‘By administering medicines and injections, they deprive the prisoner of the benefit of unconsciousness, and allow the torturers to go on for several consecutive hours’ (Green 2010: 208).
The report received prominent coverage in The Times. It quoted passages from that report stating that torture in Brazil was carried out systematically and scientifically. It emphasised that the report relied heavily on documents that had been taken from prisons and ‘concentration camps,’ visitors’ testimonies, and details supplied by the militants who had been released after the kidnapping of the West German ambassador (McGregor 1970).
The Times cited the participation of medical doctors in torture, and mentioned the major types of cruelty: the rape of women, the torture of children, and deprivation of water and sleep. It published a response from the Brazilian authorities the following day. The minister of justice, Alfredo Buzaid, denied the existence of political prisoners, and announced the formation of an agency tasked with counteracting international criticism (The Times 1970a).
The Economist referred to the report in only one article, but said it painted ‘a ghastly picture of torture as a political weapon in Brazil’ (The Economist 1970b: 34).
The theme of torture resurfaced in a news article on the rural worker movement in the North East (The Economist 1971c). From then on, the magazine concentrated on the attitudes of sections of the Catholic Church to human rights violations, and the crisis resulting from the death of the journalist Vladimir Herzog on 25 October 1975. In other words, it only raised the issue of torture in specific contexts.
Its first survey15 of Brazil was published in 1972, the same year in which Amnesty International published its report on allegations of torture.16 According to Green (2010), Amnesty International had already published two smaller reports. One of them cited the names of 1 081 victims of torture, and another provided a list of torturers. The Times reported on the latter report, citing the French lawyer M Georges Pinet as stating that: ‘In Brazil, torture is not the expression of a passing crisis or a single scandalous phenomenon, but it is an integral part of the political system which affects a growing proportion of the population’ (Clifford 1972: 6).
The Economist did not comment on any of the Amnesty International reports until 1974. By contrast, between 1973 and 1974, The Times carried almost two dozen reports and articles on human rights violations, and The Guardian also covered the theme extensively.17
A cogent example was the disappearance of a professor at the University of São Paulo, Ana Rosa Kucinski Silva, which provoked the interest of various international media outlets. The New York Times and the Washington Post carried reports on her disappearance, and The Guardian reported on the search carried out by Ana Rosa’s father and her brother, Bernardo Kucinski. It referred to disappearances in Brazil as an ‘epidemic.’ The Times also published a letter by Christopher Roper, written at Kucinski’s request, headlined ‘Life in Brazil,’ and signed by nine other people (Roper 1974, Roper et al 1975).
It took Vladimir Herzog’s death to resurrect the topic of human rights violations in The Economist. Herzog was presented as a well-known journalist, found hanging in a room at a Brazilian military installation in Sao Paulo, his feet still resting on the ground. Mention was made of the ‘official story,’ which claimed that he had committed suicide after confessing his communist affiliations (The Economist 1975b).
We conclude that it was the Herzog case that brought the magazine to its awakening. In an editorial entitled ‘Strange suicides’ (The Economist 1976c), it adopted a stronger critical tone, asserting that deaths by torture were usually disguised by allegations that the victim had been run over by a car or otherwise died during attempted escape. The publication drew attention to another case at the same place, and concluded: ‘The treatment of political prisoners, usually accused of links with the banned Communist party, remains the most conspicuous boil on Brazil’s body politic’ (The Economist 1976c: 53). However, it also praised the stance adopted by President Geisel, his concern with abuses within the Armed Forces (the Second Army), and the subsequent firing of General D’Ávila Melo.
The exceptional treatment given to the Herzog case becomes evident when we note that only one of 30 articles in a survey of Brazil published in 1976 spoke of disrespect for human rights.18 It described the Second Army as one of the major centres of torture, responsible for the deaths of Herzog and of Manoel Fiel Filho. About 1 000 political prisoners had been counted, and another 1 000 had not been officially accounted for. In the same article, the name of Sérgio Fleury appeared for the first time. It stated that torture centres had been moved out of major cities in an attempt to get around the president’s censure.19 This was another example of the discourse that torture was occurring beyond the boundaries of official sanction (The Economist 1976d).
In its 1979 survey of Brazil,20 The Economist mentioned cruelties as characteristic of the most severe years of the regime, during which the ‘pseudo student revolution’ and urban guerrillas had spread throughout Latin America. It used an ironic tone in referring to processes that took place in Brazil in the period 1968-1973 as:
[…] deterrent torture (putting students briefly into prison and given them a few weeks of a rather worse time than fags had in minor British public schools in the 1930s, so that Brazilian students then did not want to be imprisoned again) and […] much crueller investigative torture (so that those with information about urban guerrillas quickly squealed) (The Economist 1979d).21
Editorials only began to refer to torture in 1980. While this finally brought the issue into the most important section of the magazine, it was associated with the idea that the organisations that fought against the dictatorship in Brazil were engaged in terrorism:
Many Latin American countries (Uruguay, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil) have discovered that terrorism can be virtually stamped out if the security forces are given a free hand. When the police can control people’s movements, search buildings at will, round up suspects and torture them, and put pressure on their relatives and friends, fear soaks up terrorism support. But the price of a no-holds-barred struggle is large (The Economist 1980b).
In the course of our study, we expected to encounter more references to torture in news articles than in editorials, not only because the former outnumbered the latter, but also because their greater scope for dealing with a wider range of issues. Yet the editorial silence on this key issue in the period from 1964 to 1980 is conspicuous and noteworthy.
News articles in The Economist never carry by-lines, except in surveys. Therefore, it is more difficult to separate the opinion of the magazine from those of individual reporters. That said, it still remains evident that the criticism of torture never took precedence. The magazine did not refrain from commenting other issues, particularly economic ones, yet editorial opinions were infrequent when, during the same period, the issue was disrespect for human rights.
This stance is even more controversial when we contrast it with that of The Times, a traditionally conservative paper that nonetheless paid far more attention to human rights violations in Brazil. We therefore believe The Economist chosenot to provide coverage of these situations whenever this could be avoided, thereby helping to portray a more positive image of the country that would, in turn, be more attractive to foreign investors.
The Economist and human rights violations involving the Catholic Church
Relations between Church and State are relevant to our analysis, not only because the Catholic Church was always profoundly influential in Brazil – in 1964, it was largely supportive of the coup, but began to distance itself from the regime as repression intensified – but also because its connection to certain sectors of the resistance was important for The Economist itself. The link between the clergy and leftist organisations became so expressive that the CIA identified the Dominican Order as a support base for the Ação Popular (AP) movement, and an editorial in the daily newspaper O Estado de S. Paulo called for this religious order to be banished from the country (Serbin 2001).
The death of the student Edson Luiz in early 1968 may well have been the turning point for the stance of the Catholic Church. The social mobilisation following his murder, from his death until the Seventh Day Mass, was supported by various sectors of the clergy. As Gaspari (2002a: 226) has noted, ‘the erosion of the institutional structure of Brazilian society had gone so far that the Church was the only organized political force still capable of mobilizing itself in defence of human rights.’
Thus the Catholic Church and the military dictatorship was on a collision course. Members of the clergy were arrested and tortured, and were also attacked, as on 26 October 1968, when Dom Hélder Câmara’s house in Recife was raked with gunfire. Father Antônio Henrique Pereira Neto, the bishop’s assistant, was murdered on 27 May 1969 (Gaspari 2002a).
Also in 1968, Sérgio Fleury looked into linkages between Church members and the leftist leader Carlos Marighella. The Dominican friars Ivo and Fernando were arrested and taken to the CENIMAR in Rio de Janeiro. The police investigator awaited them there, and escorted them to the São Paulo DOPS the following day. Two days later, the Perdizes Convent was invaded. The final outcome of this episode was Marighella’s murder, which is widely regarded as the greatest victory of the repressive forces.
Reports of torture and police violence against members of the clergy in Brazil were beginning to spread outside the country. A letter signed in 1969 by 38 priests in the state of Minas Gerais was the first denunciation published abroad. In December, it made it to the pages of the French Catholic magazine, Politique d’Aujourd’hui. The letter listed the places in the city of Belo Horizonte where torture was taking place, and described the most commonly used techniques (Gaspari 2002a).
In 1970, there was a round of internationally disseminated denunciations. The Canadian cardinal Maurice Roy drew public attention to dossiers about torture in Brazil, and Pope Paul VI received Archbishop Dom Hélder Câmara in the Vatican. On 25 March, in a pronouncement at St Peter’s Basilica, the Pontiff publicly raised the question of torture in Brazil: ‘For the very honour of some nations that are dear to us,’ he declared, ‘we wish the facts of reported cases of police torture were not true’ (Gaspari 2002a: 279).
In November 1970, Dom Paulo Evaristo Arns was chosen to head the Archdiocese of São Paulo. There was a clear movement within the Church towards denouncing human rights violations, and this also mobilised the international media. The position taken by Evaristo Arns and by Bishops Ivo Lorscheider and Hélder Câmara was extremely important. They had an open channel to the foreign media, and their denunciations played a key role in alerting the international community to what was happening in Brazil. According to The Times, by November 1969, almost 30 members of the Church had been imprisoned (The Times 1970b). It also mentioned Paul VI’s pronouncement (Nichols 1970: 5; The Times 1970c).
This seemed to have little impact on the Brazilian authorities. In February 1970, Friar Tito de Alencar Lima was brutally tortured, in a case that provoked extensive coverage in Europe and the United States. The Times reported on the account of a worker who had been imprisoned at the same time and had heard the screaming of the clergyman, who was deprived of food, given electric shocks, and had his head held under water many times over a period of three days. He also disclosed that the priest had attempted to commit suicide with a razor blade (Wigg 1970b).
The US news magazine Look published an article about the case entitled ‘Brazil: Government by torture’ (Green 2010). The Times also carried a report on a speech by Bishop Hélder in Paris in which he stated that a member of the Dominican order had attempted suicide because he was unable to bear the suffering of torture, a situation that was becoming the rule for Brazilian political prisoners (Mortimer 1970). Four years later, in 1974, Friar Tito committed suicide in France.
By contrast, The Economist only mentioned a division within the general assembly of the National Conference of Brazilian Bishops (Conferência Nacional dos Bispos do Brasil, or CNBB) between Bishop Hélder Câmara, who criticized the government, and Cardinal Agnelo Rossi, who sought to discredit the foreign criticism of torture as a defamation campaign (The Economist 1971b).
In its 1972 survey of Brazil, The Economist analysed Bishop Hélder’s stance in an article on therole of the Church. It stated that, to the extent that the Bishop had aligned himself with the revolutionary left, he had lost his credibility and influence within the Church itself. It recognised that certain groups were critical of the military regime, but observed that some clergy, such as Bishop Eugênio Salles, preferred not to opine on torture, and maintained a friendly dialogue with the Armed Forces.
In 1973, Pope Paul VI referred publicly to disrespect for human rights. During a hearing with the Brazilian ambassador to the Vatican, Antônio Borges Leal Castelo Branco, he stated that the common good could only be achieved through full respect for human rights. The Pontiff’s appeal was reported in The Times (1973b).
The Economist again remained silent. Several years later, in an editorial written in 1979, it expressed approval of a statement by the conservative Pope John Paul II that while the Church in Latin America should stand up for human rights, it should not adopt explicitly political positions (The Economist 1979b).
Final remarks
We have sought to show that the treatment of human rights violations in Brazil in the British media had many faces. Although all three publications we studied condemned torture, this occurred at different moments, and to differing degrees. The structure of reporting also varied. Nonetheless, this issue did receive significant coverage in the British media which, added to coverage in the French and US media, helped to disseminate information about human rights violations in Brazil, and bolster an international campaign against them.
The Economist chose, for some time, not to give salience to denunciations of human rights violations in Brazil. In this regard, it is more important to examine what it chose not to publish, rather than what it did publish. Initially, it placed lesser emphasis on human rights issues, coinciding with the period in which favourable news about Brazil’s ‘economic miracle’ prevailed. It changed its stance, however, followed the Herzog murder in October 1975.
Contrasting coverage in The Economist with that in The Times and The Guardian has helped us to outline itssingular position on human rights violations. Unlike its position on other issues, it initially did not adopt a firm and clear stance. We believe it chose not to give salience to this issue precisely because it advocated an ideological position in which economics were elevated above politics, or politics were subordinated to economics. In short, human rights were, at the time, not an editorial priority.
Notes
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1
Unless otherwise noted, this and any other translations from Portuguese texts were made by the authors.
-
2
For constructivism, it is important to understand how meanings are shared socially. The magazine’s choice to stick to official terminology can be understood in terms of the type of image it wanted to pass on to its readers (Wendt 1999). In the early 1970s, the term ‘revolution’ prevails (The Economist 1972c, 1972e), and the term ‘coup’ is not used prior to 1976 (The Economist 1976a, 1976b, 1979a, 1979c, 1980c).
-
3
The causes of the coup were discussed in several academic papers in Brazil. On the idea that one of the fundamental elements of the coup was the decision-making paralysis of the Goulart government, see Santos (1986). The arrest of the economics professor Celso Furtado was regarded as unjustifiable, with The Economist noting ironically that he was ‘such a dangerous commuist’ that he had been offered a professorship at Yale University (The Economist 1964a: 936).
-
4
The Brazilian Supreme Court had conceded habeas corpus to Governor Mauro Borges. Since it was not possible to suspend him immediately, the Castelo Branco administration decided in November to autorise federal government intervention in the state of Goiás.
-
5
Inflation dropped from 90% in 1963, to 86% in 1964, 46% in 1965, and 29% in 1966.
-
6
The freed political prisoners were Agonalto Pacheco, Flávio Tavares, Gregório Bezerra, Ivens Marchetti, José Dirceu, José Ibrahim, Leonardo Rocha, Luís Travassos, Maria Augusta Carneiro, Mário Zanconato, Onofre Pinto, Ricardo Vilas Boas, Ricardo Zaratini, Rolando Fratti and Vladimir Palmeira.
-
7
This term did not appear again until 1976.
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8
There were six cases of missing people between 1971 and 1975 whom the CNV listed separately: Divo Fernandes D’Oliveira, Israel Tavares Roque, Boanerges de Souza Massa, Amaro Felix Pereira, Tobias Pereira Júnior, Líbero Giancarlo Castiglia, Orlando Momente and João Leonardo da Silva Rocha.
-
9
One of the first items in the foreign press which drew attention to torture in Brazil was a New York Times editorial on 4 January 1969, entitled ‘Latin America’s Jailed News.’
-
10
Onofre Pinto was an Army sergeant whose political rights were suspended under the Institutional Act of 1964. He was the founder and director of the Revolutionary Popular Vanguard (Vanguarda Popular Revolucionária, or VPR). Arrested in 1969, he was among the prisoners freed in exchange for the kidnapped US ambassador. After living in exile in México, Cuba, Chile and Argentina, he returned to Brazil in order to organise a guerrilla movement in the south of the country. He was arrested in an ambush in Iguaçu Falls on 13 July 1974, and died at the hands of his torturers. His body was never found (Brasil 2014).
-
11
On this occasion, the clergyman sent a letter to the governor of the state of Pernambuco, Nilo Coelho, entitled ‘In defense of the human person,’ in which he denounced the torture of students (Câmara and Lamartine, n.d.).
-
12
The word ‘terrorist’ was used in an article about the release of the kidnapped US ambassador Charles Burke Elbrick on 8 September 1969.
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13
The term ‘terrorism’ was used to designate leftist actions until 1980 (The Economist 1980a).
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14
The IJC is a non-government organisation based in Geneva. It consults with UNESCO (Green 2010).
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15
Surveys are special reports, often published as free-standing publications. The Moving Frontier – A Survey of Brazil published on 2 September 1972, consisted of 25 articles in an 80-page publication, which also carried advertisements by firms inviting foreign investment in Brazil. The editor was Robert Moss, a special correspondent of The Economist between 1970 and 1980.
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16
Amnesty International attempted to investigate human rights violations in Brazil from 1970s onwards. It sent a delegation to the Brazilian embassy in London, and expressed its concern over the constant denunciations of torture it was receiving. Its request for entry to Brazil in order to conduct an investigation was refused, with Ambassador Sérgio Corrêa Affonso da Costa stating that if Brazil were to give the international community access to its internal matters, this should be through the United Nations and not through Amnesty International. Nonetheless, investigations continued, based on information provided by those in exile as well as the Church (Power 1981).
-
17
Examples are: Stephens 1973; The Times 1973a, 1973b, 1974b, 1974a. In The Guardian: Roper 1973; The Guardian 1973; Keatley 1974.
-
18
Entitled Change in Direction: A Survey of Brazil, the survey comprised 64 pages, many of which were taken up by advertisements by Brazilian firms calling for foreign investment. The editor was Robert Harvey, assistant director of The Economist, and a member of the British Conservative Party.
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19
This is probably a reference to the clandestine centres in Petrópolis and Itapevi. Fleury was the São Paulo DOPS officer, and collaborated with the forces of repression in Rio de Janeiro, including the episode that led to the murder of Carlos Marighella. A judge ordered his preventive detention in 1973. In order to prevent this, the regime changed the Code of Criminal Processes (Código de Processo Penal, or CPP). As a result, Law 5.941, promulgated on 22 November 1973, and amending articles 408, 474, 594 and 596, became known as the Fleury Law (Lei Fleury).
-
20
Oh Brazil: A Survey, dated 4 August 1979. It consisted of 22 pages, nine of which were advertisements. Its editor was Norman Macrae, assistant editor of The Economist, and a staff member from 1949 to 1988.
-
21
The title of the news article was a wordplay on Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest (1895).
Acknowledgements
This article forms part of a doctoral research project funded by Coordenação de Aperfeiçoamento de Pessoal de Nível Superior (CAPES). The authors would like to thank Miriam Aldeman for translating it to English.
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Publication Dates
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Publication in this collection
Aug 2018
History
-
Received
27 Feb 2018 -
Accepted
13 June 2018