Brazil's evangelical churches rewrite the rules of politics
Vincent Bevins ("Los Angeles Times," October 21, 2012)
Sao Paulo, Brazil - As euphoric rock music played, dozens of men in suits
swarmed the aisles with hand-held credit card machines to take donations
from the faithful.
The pastor smiled at the crowd in the downtown headquarters of the
mega-church and, as cameras rolled, belted out: "We all voted already, right?
Who
voted today?"
In the spotlight, he made no mention of whom he hoped his flock had cast
ballots for. But for most in the crowd, and those watching the election for
the mayor of Latin America's largest city, it was clear which candidate
Brazil's increasingly influential evangelical churches were throwing their
weight behind.
Television personality Celso Russomanno took Brazil's political
establishment by surprise when he shot to the top of the polls in the run-up
to the
election. Although he is Roman Catholic, his relatively new Brazilian
Republican Party is backed by the powerful Igreja Universal do Reino de Deus,
or
Universal Church of the Kingdom of God.
In the world's largest Catholic country, a group of well-organized
evangelical churches is rewriting the rules of politics here. In the process,
the
evangelicals have dismayed Brazilians uneasy with such blatant mixing of
religion and politics.
Amid a surge in Latin America in recent years, more than 20% of Brazilians
are now evangelical Christian. Followers make up one of the largest voting
blocs in Congress, and use their money, influence and media power to press
a small set of socially conservative issues, as well as to maintain
favorable conditions for their often very profitable enterprises.
"They don't yet have quite as unified an agenda as the evangelical movement
in the U.S.," said David Fleischer, a political scientist at the
University of Brasilia. "But they are growing, and are far more effective than
the
Catholic Church at convincing people to vote one way or another."
Since colonial times, the Roman Catholic Church has been the dominant
religious force in Brazil, though in practice it has often been mixed with
indigenous and African traditions. Still, not only did the constitution
establish separation of church and state, but voters and the church also tend
to
abhor any direct religious endorsements in elections.
Russomanno's position in the polls shocked the elites into action here and,
after attacks from all sides — from the left, the right, the Catholic
Church — he ended up finishing third.
But his movement made its mark. The candidate from the ruling left-leaning
Workers' Party, Fernando Haddad, immediately sought his backing in the
runoff Sunday.
Nationally, President Dilma Rousseff maintains an uneasy alliance with the
evangelical bloc, which makes up about 10% of the Brazilian equivalent of
the House of Representatives. The group flexed its political muscle in a big
way last year when it killed Rousseff's plan to supply Brazilian schools
with anti-homophobia educational materials.
On the Friday before the first round of voting early this month, a group of
artistic and cultural activists mounted a large protest against
Russomanno's sudden rise, using social media to organize a group of rock,
funk,
hip-hop and traditional Brazilian forro concerts. Some revelers wore shirts
proclaiming "Not Serra, not Russomanno," with Jose Serra, the center-right
candidate, portrayed as Mr. Burns, the character on "The Simpsons" (he does
bear a resemblance), and Russomanno as fellow character Ned Flanders.
But evangelical politics isn't just about traditional conservative issues
such as morality or abortion, which is illegal in Brazil. Elected officials
at the local level also push for favorable zoning and municipal rulings
that allow them to easily develop new churches. And then there is the more
subtle use of political power, Fleischer said.
"The larger churches face frequent accusations of income tax evasion, money
laundering and all sorts of other fraudulent activity. Edir Macedo, the
head of Igreja Universal, also owns the second-largest TV network in the
country, which should technically be unconstitutional," Fleischer said,
because
he is a religious figure operating on public airwaves. "But the state
looks the other way."
Macedo's Universal Church has branches in Africa and is successful
throughout Latin America. In California, the local branches, which attract
large
numbers of Spanish speakers, are often recognizable by the slogan "Pare de
sufrir," or "Stop suffering," a subtle dig at Catholic cultural traditions.
In Sao Paulo, many were puzzled as to why Russomanno denied he was backed
by the evangelicals. Macedo also denied strong links, despite his pastors
calling on worshipers to vote for him and a blog he published (anonymously)
listing reasons to vote for him.
"I don't like who is paying" for Russomanno, Sueli Machado, a 65-year-old
retiree, said after voting in Penha, a poor neighborhood on the outskirts of
Sao Paulo. "I don't have anything against any religion, but the men who
run those churches are millionaires rich off of donations. If he can't admit
they are behind him, how can I trust him?"
Later that week in Penha, a Universal Church pastor gave a small
congregation bars of green soap that would "wash not just your body, but your
soul."
Then he led the screaming crowd in a ceremony to expel demons from a
middle-aged woman, who writhed at his touch.
Before ending the ceremony, he asked the parishioners to give themselves a
round of applause: "Look at all the people we got voted onto the City
Council!"
--
Centroids: The Center of the Radical Centrist Community
<[email protected]>
Google Group: http://groups.google.com/group/RadicalCentrism
Radical Centrism website and blog: http://RadicalCentrism.org
