The collection’s structure reveals the writers’ intentions, namely, to break with the historical, territorial, and thematic boundaries that limit understanding of the LGBTI+ (the acronym used to designate lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, transvestite, intersex, and others) experience in Brazil. These boundaries provide titles for the three sections in which the essays are arranged.<\/p>\n
The first section examines historic boundaries. The opening work in the anthology is by Mott himself, one of the principal names in Brazil’s gay movement and now a retired professor at the Federal University of Bahia (UFBA) where he currently advises graduate students at the State University of Bahia (UNEB). In his essay \u201cHist\u00f3ria cronol\u00f3gica da homofobia no Brasil: Das capitanias heredit\u00e1rias ao fim da Inquisi\u00e7\u00e3o (1532\u20131821)” (A chronological history of homophobia in Brazil: From the hereditary captaincies to the end of the Inquisition), the anthropologist pores over documents from the Tribunal of the Holy Office in Portugal, collected in the National Archive of Torre do Tombo, in order to recount the histories of the “sodomites,” as anyone who differed from the heterosexual norm was referred to at the time.<\/p>\n
\u201cMore than 500 lawsuits are there, all digitized. It is the world’s largest collection of the day-to-day life of this cohort from that period,\u201d says Mott. According to the researcher, although the Spanish Inquisition was more wide-reaching, with courts in Mexico, Peru, and Colombia (unlike the Portuguese Holy Office, which did not establish courts in Brazil), their historical accounts were not preserved in full. The Spanish, he observes, only summarized the lawsuits, while \u201cIn Portugal, I found actual love letters,\u201d he says. In his article, Mott lists the cases under four categories: sodomites from Brazil, Portuguese sodomites exiled to Brazil, colony residents who confessed or were accused of sodomy, and Brazilian defendants of the crime of sodomy imprisoned and sentenced in the court of Lisbon. The text also presents a chronology of the principal facts related to homosexuality and homophobia in Brazil during the Inquisition.<\/p>\n
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the lawsuit from the Tribunal of the Holy Office, studied by researcher Luiz Mott. The document deals with the conviction of Lu\u00eds Delgado of Portugal, living in Brazil, who was accused of sodomy and exiled to Angola in the seventeenth century<\/p><\/div>\n
Mott’s article does what the organizers requested, summarizing the results of his research in a way that is accessible to a broad audience. Souto Maior and Quinalha’s goal was to gather a collection that brings together the results from the growth and diversification of gender and sexuality research in Brazil, especially during the last 20 years. The editors say this increase accompanies the advances in the legal and judicial framework of what they call, in the book’s introduction, the \u201cprocess of civic inclusion of LGBTI+ people,\u201d which has taken place over the last decade.<\/p>\n
In the preface, Brazilianist James Green writes that the anthology is the realization of \u201ca dream since the early 2000s, to see dozens of books, hundreds of master’s dissertations and doctoral theses, and thousands of academics producing research\u201d in Brazil. Green, a historian who heads the Brazil Initiative at Brown University in the US and is a long-time LGBTI+ activist, lived in Brazil between 1976 and 1982. In the 1990s, he completed his doctorate at the University of California (UCLA), which provided the genesis for his book Al\u00e9m do Carnaval \u2013 A homossexualidade masculina no Brasil do s\u00e9culo XX <\/em>(Editora UNESP, 2000), originally published in English as Beyond Carnaval: Male Homosexuality in Twentieth-Century Brazil<\/em> (University of Chicago Press, 1999). At that time, as he recalls in the preface, \u201cthere was one article and three books\u201d that served as references for writing his thesis. Green was responsible for bringing to light a pioneering study in the area of social sciences, written by sociologist Jos\u00e9 F\u00e1bio Barbosa da Silva. The monograph, which profiled middle-class and elite male homosexuals in S\u00e3o Paulo in the 1950s, was defended in 1960 at the University of S\u00e3o Paulo (USP) for a panel composed of sociologists Fernando Henrique Cardoso, Octavio Ianni (1926\u20132004), and Florestan Fernandes (1920\u20131995), who supervised the research. In 2005, the work was published in the book Homossexualismo em S\u00e3o Paulo e outros escritos<\/em> (Homosexuality in S\u00e3o Paulo and other writings) (Editora UNESP), edited by Green and anthropologist Ronaldo Trindade.<\/p>\n The recent proliferation of academic works on the LGBTI+ community does not, as a matter of course, accurately reflect its social existence. For Remom Matheus Bortolozzi, from the Department of Psychology at the Pontifical Catholic University of Paran\u00e1 (PUC-PR), \u201cthe great irony of history is to say ‘in my time it didn’t exist.’\u201d Bortolozzi authored the article \u201cPor entre melindrosas, almofadinhas e transformistas do Tri\u00e2ngulo: Novos g\u00eaneros e sexualidades na Belle \u00c9poque paulistana do in\u00edcio do s\u00e9culo XX” (Among flappers, dandies, and cross-dressers of the Tri\u00e2ngulo: New genders and sexualities during the Belle \u00c9poque in S\u00e3o Paulo at the beginning of the twentieth century,\u201d which is also part of the anthology’s historical boundaries section.<\/p>\n Taking its source material from the pages of newspapers and other periodicals, the article deals primarily with the social reaction to women and men \u2014 the flappers and dandies of the title \u2014 whose social codes indicated a gender inversion. As the researcher writes, \u201cthe fashions of the 1920s, fundamental to the flapper culture, were marked by a slender, rectilinear silhouette… and by the influence of men’s clothing. The women of the period went for an androgyny or ‘masculinization’ in their clothing that was manifested by deemphasizing the bust and waist and wearing their hair cut short.\u201d In the case of the dandies, the publications of the period highlighted \u201cthe elegance of their clothing and the use of makeup such as lipstick, rouge, and rice powder, in addition to having manicured nails and pedicured feet,\u201d as well as the \u201cmannerisms of effeminacy and delicacy, being beautiful and charming, speaking in falsetto, refinement of education, and the appreciation they receive from women.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAt the beginning of the century, these identities were associated with the desire to be modern and European and nontraditional, at a time when S\u00e3o Paulo aspired to cosmopolitanism,\u201d Bortolozzi observes. These were cultural identities that were not necessarily linked to homosexuality. \u201cIn that historical moment, ‘social medicine’ was shaping the medical, legal, and police perspective, creating an opening for the institutional formation of LGBT-phobia,\u201d the researcher explains.<\/p>\n Brazilian National Library<\/span>Flappers and dandies in 1920s editions of the magazine Para Todos (For everyone)Brazilian National Library<\/span><\/p><\/div>\n In addition to being one of the book’s editors, Souto Maior is coauthor of an article in the second section titled \u201cFronteiras territoriais” (Territorial boundaries), dedicated to the LGBTI+ scene in places such as the states of Mato Grosso and Rond\u00f4nia. With coauthor Bruno Silva de Oliveira, who recently received a master’s degree in history from the Federal University of Sergipe (UFS), Souto Maior addresses the experiences of gay and trans men in the city of Campina Grande, Para\u00edba, during the 1970s and 1980s. \u201cOne recurrent theme in the LGBTI+ imagination is what the French philosopher Didier Eribon calls ‘escape to the city,’ and the anonymity of large urban centers that allows these people to live out and express their sexualities,\u201d Souto Maior says. This \u201cescape,\u201d he says, does not mean that there are no spaces in rural areas or in capitals outside the Southeast for experiencing this type of social interaction.<\/p>\n The article unearths the history of public and private spaces that served as gathering spots for these groups, such as Toca do Caranguejo, a bar in operation on the city’s outskirts from 1980 through 2004, where the annual “Miss Campina Grande Gay” contest was held. This social lifestyle was, however, impacted by the AIDS epidemic. The disease, which saw its first cases diagnosed in Brazil in 1983, was initially treated in the Campina Grande scene as a sickness imported by those who traveled outside the country. It was only beginning in 1985 that AIDS began to get coverage in the local press and became a source of panic and distrust in the city. The symptoms, as described by the press, came to \u201cact like a tattoo on someone who had the disease, almost automatically denouncing their sexuality,\u201d the authors write.<\/p>\n Among the first academic studies written about the homosexual scene in the city of Para\u00edba was a master\u2019s thesis by historian Kyara Maria de Almeida Vieira, defended at the Federal University of Campina Grande (UFCG), in 2006. With historian Rozeane Porto Diniz, Viera contributed one of the articles for the anthology’s third section, on thematic boundaries. The researchers trace a dialogue between their two doctoral theses, developed respectively at the Federal University of Pernambuco (UFPE), in 2014, and at the State University of Para\u00edba (UEPB), in 2017, in which they addressed literary representations of “lesbianisms.”<\/p>\n The article starts from the premise that \u201cwhat history does not mention, did not exist\u201d to analyze the cordels O homosexual<\/em> (2010), by Raimundo Nonato da Silva, and A confus\u00e3o da sapat\u00e3o com a ronda do quarteir\u00e3o <\/em>(The dyke in trouble with the beat cops) (2008), by Jair Moraes. (Cordels are traditional Brazilian publications in booklet or pamphlet formats.) They also analyze the novel Eu sou uma lesbica<\/em> (I am a lesbian) (1981), by Cassandra Rios (1932\u20132002), a writer with broad popular reach, who was able to live exclusively off the royalties from her books.<\/p>\n In Vieira’s opinion, although the cordels do not reflect “all the transformations that have occurred over the last 70 years” for the LGBTI+ population in Brazil, and use language stereotypes via terms such as “sapat\u00e3o” (akin to “dyke”), these popular literary works name and give visibility to the lesbian experience. \u201cThere is representation in them, but not representativeness,\u201d observes the researcher, who currently teaches at the Federal Rural University of the Semi-\u00c1rido Region (UFERSA).<\/p>\n Brazilian National Library<\/span>An article published in 1931, in the newspaper A esquerda, reports on a man in S\u00e3o Paulo who began dressing like a womanBrazilian National Library<\/span><\/p><\/div>\n On the other hand, the novel by Cassandra Rios questions moral codes and even scientific and religious precepts to talk about desire among women at the height of the military dictatorship (1964\u20131985), Vieira says. The story was originally published as a serial, in 1980, in a men’s magazine. The following year, the book \u2014 which narrates the main character Fl\u00e1via’s life and the blossoming of her sexuality during childhood \u2014 was published by Record. In 2006, it was reissued by Azougue Editorial. It is the only work by the S\u00e3o Paulo author to announce the sexual orientation of its protagonist in the title.<\/p>\n In another article published in the anthology’s thematic boundaries section, anthropologists Paulo Victor Leite Lopes and Silvia Agui\u00e3o discuss the issue of homosexuality in the favelas, based on their master’s dissertations, which focused on the scene in Rio. Agui\u00e3o, who defended her dissertation in public health at the State University of Rio de Janeiro (UERJ) in 2007, describes Rio das Pedras, a favela that emerged in the late 1960s in the capital of Rio de Janeiro that was marked by militia activities (at the time referred to as the \u201cpolicia mineira\u201d), which constrained the activities of armed drug traffickers in the area. \u201cThe absence of armed trafficking doesn’t guarantee the formation of a territory free of coercive powers, which, in this case, are exercised by the militia,\u201d the researcher says. \u201cThroughout the research it was possible to perceive there were places considered more or less comfortable for non-heterosexual people in Rio das Pedras. Showing ‘excessive’ sexual orientation was considered disrespectful and a type of behavior subject to sanctions by the militia.\u201d<\/p>\n The anthropologist began to investigate Rio das Pedras with a focus on homosexuality, race, and racial intermixing while still finishing her bachelor\u2019s degree in social sciences at UERJ, in 2003. While working on her master’s research she lived in the favela for four months in late 2006. During this time, she hung a poster in her rented studio that displayed the phrase \u201cDown with homophobia.\u201d \u201cMy closest contacts in Rio das Pedras were with non-heterosexual people, such as gays, lesbians, and trans people, and when they entered my house, they would usually ask me what homophobia meant.\u201d At the time, this was not a commonly used word, according to Agui\u00e3o, now a researcher at the Center for Research and Training in Race, Gender, and Racial Justice at the Brazilian Center for Analysis and Planning (AFRO-CEBRAP). She says that at that time, the debate on affirmative action and the defense of rights related to gender and sexuality were just emerging at universities. \u201cI was intrigued to know how the term arose in everyday life in the favela.\u201d<\/p>\n This question inspired the doctoral research she conducted from 2008 to 2013 at the University of Campinas (UNICAMP), with support from FAPESP. In her study, Agui\u00e3o investigated how the political processes underway in Brazil at the beginning of the twenty-first century made it possible to establish this population, which at that time was designated LGBT, as subjects with rights within the Brazilian government’s agenda. Two examples of initiatives along these lines were the creation of the National Council to Combat Discrimination, in 2001, and the launch of the federal program Brazil Without Homophobia, in 2005. \u201cIf we want to understand how subjects with rights are produced in this context, we need to look at the mutually productive and dependent relationship between these three spheres: social movements linked to the LGBTI+ cause, academic production, and the state,\u201d argues the anthropologist, whose thesis was published as a book by EDUERJ in 2018 and is available as a free download. \u201cAs a result of their participation in government discussions, social movements linked to the LGBTI+ cause have grown their contact base and expanded their activism networks. This way of doing politics, of organizing, is a legacy that won’t be lost, even in scenarios that are hostile to the cause.\u201d<\/p>\n The anthology’s editors also see a fundamental link between academic production and activism, with the results of research being translated into public policy for the LGBTI+ population. \u201cOur primary intention isn’t to simply tell the story out of a museological desire to preserve the past,\u201d says Quinalha. \u201cPublic policies need technical information, data, and analysis in order to be developed. In this sense, I think the book can contribute, for example, to anyone who is thinking about policy proposals in local and regional terms,\u201d he concludes.<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/revistapesquisa.fapesp.br\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/01\/rpf-fronteiras-lgbtq-revista-2023-07-site-1140.jpg\")
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