“I need more hours in the day,” Brazilian congresswoman Benedita da Silva says as she sits in her tiny office. A huge pile of papers is on Da Silva’s desk; a constant stream of aides and family members comes and goes. One gets the idea something important is happening here.
Da Silva, 51, is Brazil’s first black congresswoman, who last year narrowly lost her bid to become Rio’s first black mayor. She is preparing to launch her 1994 Senate campaign. At every turn in her political career, Da Silva is breaking through centuries-old barriers in Brazilian politics that have resulted in racial and sexual inequality.
Born and raised in a Rio slum, or favela, Da Silva began to organize women in her neighborhood into a community association in the late 1960s.
“Our group started teaching women skills that would help them be more than a maid or cook in someone else’s home,” Da Silva says. “Still today, there are sewing classes, art classes, all types of education classes aimed at improving the situation of the people. We want to teach them they have choices.”
In 1982 Da Silva entered politics, becoming the first black woman elected to Rio’s city council. In 1988 she won a seat in Brazil’s Congress, winning re-election ever since and remaining the only black congresswoman in the 584-seat Congress, which has only 10 members who consider themselves Afro-Brazilian.
Despite her success, Da Silva says, “I face racial and sexual bias every day. Unfortunately, this is part of Brazil.”
Da Silva was one of 13 children, six of whom survived to adulthood. Today there remain Da Silva and her four sisters, all of whom work as domestics. But Da Silva waves off any hint that she is different: “Quite simply, our community association always was a political group with political goals. When we decided to send a candidate out, I suppose I was the one chosen because I had the highest degree of formal education.
“Many of the women were illiterate, and those who could read and write often had only basic skills. So, it was because I had managed to get a university degree, which at least gave me a fighting chance to be taken seriously, that it was decided I would run for public office.
“I was lucky in that my mother always stressed education, but it was more than that. I knew school was the key to a better life. However, in those days, an education was not always available to those of us in the favelas. Often the schools had no room. Those conditions continue to exist today.
“I always had faith I could be something more. My faith in God was and still is a big part of my life. It was very hard when I was young. I had to grow up so fast. As a child, I was very angry about being black and having to suffer the injustices of not having what the white kids had-dolls, a nanny, even staight hair.
“As I grew up, though, I began to see my self-worth and the beauty of the Afro-Brazilan woman. This is an important part of my work, the validation of black women.”
Da Silva worked as a street vendor, maid and school janitor while getting her education, eventually earning a university degree in social work.
“While I was trying to get my education, I also had a family and worked,” she says. “I married at 16 and had five children in five years. Three died while they were very young.”
With pride, Da Silva says, “Today I have my two sons, and believe it or not, I am the grandmother of four.
“Some may ask why I married so young, but that is part of the favela culture, the idea being that there will be one less mouth to feed at home, but then children come, so that theory doesn’t really work.”
Widowed twice, Da Silva took her third trip down the aisle in late 1993 with Antonio Pitanga, an actor. Although Pitanga has a home in a nice neighborhood outside Rio, Da Silva divides her time between there and her home in Chapeu Mangueira, a favela overlooking Copacabana Beach that does not appear on Rio city maps.
When asked why she still lives in the favela when she could be living much more comfortably, Da Silva says, “I just don’t feel I can leave yet. Maybe one day I will, but I don’t feel ready yet. My roots are there.
“There are people who think I am like a demagogue sitting up there in my house, surrounded by family and friends, getting special treatment. It is not so. When the water pipes coming up to the favela go dry, I have no water. When the police raid the neighborood, they raid my house too. They have been through my place saying they are looking for kidnappers or drug traffickers.
“I may be a congresswoman, but I am first a favelada. Coming from the slum is part of my blood. I may not always be a politician, but I will always be from the shantytown, even if one day I move away.”
Asked if she feels she is living in two worlds, that of the white politicians and that of the slums, Da Silva responds, “I live in one world that just happens to have different realities. I don’t feel torn between the two or like I have to be one way with one group and another with another group. I am always Benedita.”
When she speaks in front of Congress or a group of supporters, Da Silva, who is 6 feet tall, is spirited and exuberant. One on one, she is friendly, often humorous and only a bit more reserved.
Her political agenda is drawn from her experiences as a poor black woman in a country where blacks perform most of the menial labor and make up the majority of the slum-dwelling population.
Since first winning her congressional seat, Da Silva has headed an investigation into the mass sterilization of women in Brazil. She is preparing for a pending inquiry into the disappearance of children in connection with organ trafficking and black-market adoption.
Da Silva questions why there are few black television reporters, doctors or lawyers in Brazil.
“Go to any fine restaurant in Rio, blacks are nowhere to be seen, not as patrons or even waiters,” she says. “Afro-Brazilians who have achieved success have mostly done it through the entertainment field, such as soccer and music. I want to change that.
“I see there are race problems in the United States and other countries as well, but they are nothing compared to what we have here in Brazil. The majority of Brazilians are black and poor because generations ago Africans were brought over as slaves and missed out on education and opportunity.
“Apartheid as we have seen in South Africa exists right here in Brazil. We have or own apartheid, racial and social, and we have a long way to go to improve things.”
Aside from its racial problems, the largest nation in Latin America still caters to a macho mentality that presents towering obstacles to women in every sector of society: home life, business and politics.
“I remember when we were trying to get our community association started,” Da Silva says. “What resistence we faced! You have to remember this was not allowed for women. Back then, men were the leaders. Women were prohibited from organizing and engaging in political activism. So this was not only a fight for the poor in the slums, it was a fight for women’s rights.”
Da Silva sees herself as a “reference point for a population that needs to be stirred up.” She says, “I feel it is my job to show the poor they have a chance for a better life, for success, and to show the elite the human face behind poverty and struggle.”
Da Silva’s desire to better the lives of Brazil’s poor is made all the more difficult by inflation, escalating crime and endless corruption scandals that involve politicians at the highest level.
“One of the biggest problems facing Brazilians is their own passivity,” Da Silva says. “They are docile and do not react to what is going on. I mean that for the rich as well as the poor. If they would take to the streets to rally against corruption, inflation and poverty, things might change, but I don’t see them doing that.”
An example of this kind of passivity, particularly among the poor, is evident in most of Brazil’s elections. Last year’s mayoral race in Rio appears to have been no exception.
During her campaign, Da Silva said, “In this election it is important that for the first time Brazilian have the choice voting for an Afro-Brazilian woman from a poor background. For years, Brazilian politicians have always been white and male.”
Da Silva placed first, but it was by too small a margin under Brazilian law and she was forced into a run-off with the second place candidate, Cesar Maia, a congressman. Da Silva lost by 100,000 votes.
Knowing the majority of Rio’s population is black and poor, the obvious question is how could Da Silva, one of their own, lose?
In Brazil, votes are routinely bought and the candidate with the deepest pockets usually wins. However, Da Silva does not throw accusations at anyone, saying: “We are trying to teach the people their souls should not be for sale. On the other hand, we cannot blame them.”
“It is clear the white elite are not the only ones responsible for electing white elite politicians. They are the minority. How could they? Obviously the people in the favelas are helping them win. They are selling their votes for food, a job, a wood shack or maybe a small amount of money. They are trying to survive, that’s all.”
Da Silva has taken her political agenda outside Brazil. She has traveled to the United States several times to speak on college campuses and last July met with Jesse Jackson in Washington. Da Silva says of their meeting, “He spoke of the importance for Rio to have a person with a history of life and of struggle like mine in public office.”
Perhaps the best-known story about Da Silva and one that illustrates how far she has come involves her first day in Congress. During a conversation with fellow freshman, Marcia Kubitschek, the daughter of a former Brazilian president, Da Silva asked her colleague, “Remember me?” As shock appeared on the woman’s face, Da Silva reminded her she was the daughter of the laundress who used to deliver clothes to the Kubitschek apartment in Rio 25 years earlier.
As for her plans, Da Silva says, “I will keep moving forward. In 1994 I will run for the national Senate and then, who knows? Anything is possible. I am a daring woman.”
