The People’s Game Part Two: Brazil Rejects Neo-Liberal Soccer
Posted on Jun 17, 2014
By Alan Minsky and Meleiza Figueroa
This is the second of a three-part series on the political, economic and athletic struggles of the 2014 World Cup. The first installment, which can be read here, dealt with the history of global soccer. This piece addresses the social and political upheaval in Brazil prompted by the outrageous cost of putting on such a grand global show. Part three has just been published here.
Copa pra quem? Contesting the spectacle in the land of the ‘beautiful game’
Perhaps nowhere else is the bitter pill of neoliberal soccer’s political economy harder to swallow than in this year’s World Cup host country. In a land full of contradictions, the protests that rocked Brazil during the Confederations Cup tournament in 2013, and continue into the 2014 World Cup, dramatically express how the longstanding fractures and fault lines in Brazilian society have been brought to the breaking point.
To the international observer, the protests most obviously illustrate an extreme disconnect between the internal problems of what is still one of the most unequal societies on the planet, and Brazil’s external projections to the outside world. Following the lead of fellow BRICS powers (Russia, India, China and South Africa), Brazil’s hosting of mega-sports events such as the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics is intended to herald its arrival as a major economic power on the international scene. Its gleaming new stadiums and elaborate urban infrastructure projects are meant as prime showpieces of what, as they say in Brazil, is para o inglés ver (literally, “for the English-speakers to see”). Behind the stage curtain—as in so many places around the world—are crumbling schools and hospitals, worker deaths, mass displacements, and a level of police violence and militarization that would turn any 1970s Latin American dictatorship green with envy.
Square, Site wide
But this is not the simple neoliberal story of a national government held captive to the dictates of international financial institutions. It is perhaps no accident that the choice of World Cup host cities—such as Manaus, the center of Brazil’s 19th century rubber boom, or Cuiabá, the seat of its contemporary soy empire—parallel sites of the nationalist “poles of development” strategies espoused by Brazil’s ruling generals in the 1970s. Likewise, within these cities, the stadiums themselves serve as poles for massive urban gentrification schemes that have displaced hundreds of thousands of poor residents, and threaten the livelihoods of thousands more.
While the PT’s social policies have indeed lifted millions out of absolute poverty (solidifying party loyalty from the PT’s popular base of slum dwellers and the rural poor), it has come not at the expense of capital and the Brazilian oligarchy, but from factions of the middle class who have fallen through the economic and political cracks between the government’s two primary constituencies. Thus, the 2013 protests have been characterized as a revolt not primarily of poor people (although they are a significant force, especially in areas where they are being violently displaced for World Cup projects), but of the urban middle class—especially the precarious lower strata of students and workers who find themselves increasingly squeezed by the PT’s economic orientations and, as Brazil’s spectacular growth has slowed, its recent turn to austerity. For some sectors of Brazilian society, the fight is not simply against an inept or corrupt government, but to deepen the social revolution envisioned by the workers, peasants, environmentalists, indigenous communities and other movements that formed the Workers’ Party in the first place.
Given all these tensions, it is still quite an incredible thing to hear, within Brazil, the phrase coming out of so many mouths: “não vai ter copa” (“there will be no Cup”). The awe-inspiring passion and quasi-religious fervor with which Brazilians are so stereotypically associated with soccer have real roots that run as thick and deep as blood. Even the most rabid, car-flipping sports riot in the U.S. is no match for the generalized, absolutely electric atmosphere that envelops Brazilian cities when the jogão, or “big game,” is on. In the arenas, plastic bags full of confetti and toilet paper rolls circulate among the crowd, creating its own grass-roots spectacle at key moments in the game; and the deafening roar from the stands after a goal is as loud as the air is thick with sweat, song and flare smoke. Outside, one can’t help but be swept up in the ecstatic carnival that erupts throughout the bairros when the favored team wins: street corners awash in exuberant cheers, spontaneous samba circles and free-flowing Skol beer; whole busloads of people literally rocking the buses with songs, chants and dancing in the aisles; and the ubiquitous pop-pop-pop of fireworks in the favelas, going late into the night.
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