Economy

Austerity Carnival: Brazil’s Economic Crisis Spoils Party Season

More than 50 cities have canceled or drastically cut traditional Carnival extravaganza due to public cutbacks. But some say killing the party will only make things worse.

Carnival dancers in Rio in 2015
Carnival dancers in Rio in 2015
Marcelo Toledo

JUIZ DE FORA â€" Everybody at the samba school Mocidade Alegre, in the southeastern Brazilian state of Minas Gerais, was looking forward to this year’s Carnival celebration. They'd worked hard to prepare the entire show, and everything, from choreography to costumes, was ready. Now it turns out they’ll have to wait until next year to don their duds and wow the crowd â€" if they're lucky.

Short on cash, the local authority suggested reducing by 70% the fees it pays the associations taking part in the celebrations, so Mocidade Alegre chose to cancel their participation instead. Juiz de Fora isn't the only town where this has happened. At least 53 other cities across nine states â€" including Maceió, the capital city of Alagoas â€" have canceled or drastically reduced the traditional extravaganza due to financial difficulties.

Instead of confetti, streamers, samba, multi-colored costumes and street parades, cities that can afford it have chosen to invest in ambulances, child care, classrooms and anti-flooding measures. Small towns that depend on state or federal transfers are particularly affected by the shortage of cash, especially in times of recession and high inflation.

Save the street parties

"To reduce the budget from 65,000 reais ($16,000) to 22,000 reais ($5,400), as we'd been advised, would mean putting on a poor-quality show," says publicist Henrique Araújo, director of Mocidade Alegre. "The fact that Carnival uses public money is already controversial, so if we presented something bad, it would only increase people's resentment."

Photo: Mocidade Alegre Facebook page

In the state of Minas Gerais alone, cancelations or cutbacks are affecting at least 26 towns. In São João del-Rei, the 350,000 reais ($86,000) initially allocated to the celebration will instead be used to cover health care costs and other basic expenses. Only the street parties will go ahead as planned.

In Mariana, where the collapse of a wastewater dam at an iron ore mine caused unprecedented destruction, the Carnival will go ahead. But it’ll be a much smaller party than usual, with artists from surrounding cities that have cancelled their own celebrations. Municipal authorities say the disaster will cost 70 million reais ($17 million) this year alone.

"We discussed this a lot, just as we did for the Christmas celebrations," says Mayor Duarte Júnior. "People are asking us not to let traditions die. The tragedy that took place here left an image of a devastated city, but the urban area was actually left untouched. If we don’t celebrate Christmas and Carnival, we’ll all die together."

Towns in the state of São Paulo have also had to cancel their plans, including Batatais, known for having one of the oldest parades, and Porto Ferreira, where authorities decided to invest the 150,000 reais ($37,000) to buy an ambulance instead. "The nine we have aren’t enough," Mayor Renata Braga says.

In Irati, in the southern Paraná state, the Carnival budget of 100,000 reais ($25,000) will help contain floods in the city center. In Rolim de Moura (in the western state of Rondônia), the 120,000 reais ($30,000) will be used to build three classrooms. The city of Cruz Alta in Rio Grande do Sul, in southern Brazil, will renovate a youth center.

Carnival specialist Zélia Lopes da Silva says that even in Brazil, Carnival celebrations "were never a priority." That may come as a surprise to outsiders. "But in times of crisis, no celebration is a priority," she says. "Carnival can only continue to exist where there’s a strong tradition. Without that, it just can’t."

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Green

Ecological Angst In India, A Mining Dumpsite As Neighbor

Local villagers in western India have been forced to live with a mining waste site on the edge of town. What happens when you wake up one day and the giant mound of industrial waste has imploded?

The mining dumpsite is situated just outside of the Badi village in the coastal state of Gujarat

Sukanya Shantha

BADI — Last week, when the men and women from the Bharwad community in this small village in western India stepped out for their daily work to herd livestock, they were greeted with a strange sight.

The 20-meter-high small hill that had formed at the open-cast mining dumpsite had suddenly sunk. Unsure of the reason behind the sudden caving-in, they immediately informed other villagers. In no time, word had traveled far, even drawing the attention of environment specialists and activists from outside town.

This mining dumpsite situated less than 500 meters outside of the Badi village in the coastal state of Gujarat has been a matter of serious concern ever since the Gujarat Power Corporation Limited began lignite mining work here in early 2017. The power plant is run by the Power Gujarat State Electricity Corporation Limited, which was previously known as the Bhavnagar Energy Company Ltd.

Vasudev Gohil, a 43-year-old resident of Badi village says that though the dumping site is technically situated outside the village, locals must pass the area on a daily basis.


"We are constantly on tenterhooks and looking for danger signs," he says. Indeed, their state of alert is how the sudden change in the shape of the dumpsite was noticed in the first place.

Can you trust environmental officials?

For someone visiting the place for the first time, the changes may not stand out. "But we have lived all our lives here, we know every little detail of this village. And when a 150-meter-long stretch cave-in by over 25-30 feet, the change can't be overlooked," Gohil adds.

This is not the first time that the dumpsite has worried local residents. Last November, a large part of the flattened part of the dumpsite had developed deep cracks and several flat areas had suddenly got elevated. While the officials had attributed this significant elevation to the high pressure of water in the upper strata of soil in the region, environment experts had pointed to seismic activities. The change is evident even today, nearly a year since it happened.

It could have sunk because of the rain.

After the recent incident, when the villagers raised an alarm and sent a written complaint to the regional Gujarat Pollution Control Board, an official visit to the site was arranged, along with the district administration and the mining department.

The regional pollution board officer Bhavnagar, A.G. Oza, insists the changes "aren't worrisome" and attributes it to the weather.

"The area received heavy rain this time. It is possible that the soil could have sunk in because of the rain," he tells The Wire. The Board, he says, along with the mining department, is now trying to assess if the caving-in had any impact on the ground surface.

"We visited the site as soon as a complaint was made. Samples have already been sent to the laboratory and we will have a clear idea only once the reports are made available," Oza adds.

Women from the Surkha village have to travel several kilometers to find potable water

Sukanya Shantha/The Wire

A questionable claim

That the dumpsite had sunk in was noticeable for at least three days between October 1 and 3, but Rohit Prajapati of an environmental watchdog group Paryavaran Suraksha Samiti, noted that it was not the first time.

"This is the third time in four years that something so strange is happening. It is a disaster in the making and the authorities ought to examine the root cause of the problem," Prajapati says, adding that the department has repeatedly failed to properly address the issue.

He also contests the GPCB's claim that excess rain could lead to something so drastic. "Then why was similar impact not seen on other dumping sites in the region? One cannot arrive at conclusions for geological changes without a deeper study of them," he says. "It can have deadly implications."

Living in pollution

The villagers have also accused the GPCB of overlooking their complaint of water pollution which has rendered a large part of the land, most importantly, the gauchar or grazing land, useless.

"In the absence of a wall or a barrier, the pollutant has freely mixed with the water bodies here and has slowly started polluting both our soil and water," complains 23- year-old Nikul Kantharia.

He says ever since the mining project took off in the region, he, like most other villagers has been forced to take his livestock farther away to graze. "Nothing grows on the grazing land anymore and the grass closer to the dumpsite makes our cattle ill," Kantharia claims.

The mining work should have been stopped long ago

Prajapati and Bharat Jambucha, a well-known environmental activist and proponent of organic farming from the region, both point to blatant violations of environmental laws in the execution of mining work, with at least 12 violations cited by local officials. "But nothing happened after that. Mining work has continued without any hassles," Jambucha says. Among some glaring violations include the absence of a boundary wall around the dumping site and proper disposal of mining effluents.

The mining work has also continued without a most basic requirement – effluent treatment plant and sewage treatment plant at the mining site, Prajapati points out. "The mining work should have been stopped long ago. And the company should have been levied a heavy fine. But no such thing happened," he adds.

In some villages, the groundwater level has depleted over the past few years and villagers attribute it to the mining project. Women from Surkha village travel several kilometers outside for potable water. "This is new. Until five years ago, we had some water in the village and did not have to lug water every day," says Shilaben Kantharia.

The mine has affected the landscape around the villages

Sukanya Shantha/The Wire

Resisting lignite mining

The lignite mining project has a long history of resistance. Agricultural land, along with grazing land were acquired from the cluster of 12 adjoining villages in the coastal Ghogha taluka between 1994 and 1997. The locals estimate that villagers here lost anything between 40-100% of their land to the project. "We were paid a standard Rs 40,000 per bigha," Narendra, a local photographer, says.

The money, Narendra says, felt decent in 1994 but for those who had been dependent on this land, the years to come proved very challenging. "Several villagers have now taken a small patch of land in the neighboring villages on lease and are cultivating cotton and groundnut there," Narendra says.

They were dependent on others' land for work.

Bharat Jambucha says things get further complicated for the communities which were historically landless. "Most families belonging to the Dalit or other marginalized populations in the region never owned any land. They were dependent on others' land for work. Once villagers lost their land to the project, the landless were pushed out of the village," he adds. His organization, Prakrutik Kheti Juth, has been at the forefront, fighting for the rights of the villages affected in the lignite mining project.

In 2017, when the mining project finally took off, villagers from across 12 villages protested. The demonstration was disrupted after police used force and beat many protesters. More than 350 of them were booked for rioting.

The villagers, however, did not give up. Protests and hunger strikes have continued from time to time. A few villagers even sent a letter to the President of India threatening that they would commit suicide if the government did not return their land.

"We let them have our land for over 20 years," says Gohil.

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