Acarajé, Coca-Cola and FIFA

Before about 2012, these three things didn't have much in common. However, planning for the World Cup 2014 in Brazil is in full swing, and competitions are springing up everywhere. From increased emphasis on English and tourism, new jobs, infrastructure, traffic and international attention--Brazil is a hot spot, and everybody wants a piece. To me, one of the most interesting cases in this process concerns a forming alliance between Coca-Cola and the Bahianas of acarjé, while Fifa alienates the Bahianas from reaping the benefits of the major tourist influx and foreign investment in preparation for the World Cup.

First, I will comment on the alliance between Coca-Cola and Acarajé. The Brazilian sector of the Coca-Cola Company has a huge presence in Brazil (as I assume many other countries in the world outside of the U.S.). They have strategically started forming relationships with the women who make the iconic cultural food of Bahia -- acarajé. Acarajé is considered the most unique food of Bahia - the ingredients and recipe come from an African ancestry-- some even associate the food with the Yoruban goddess Iansã. The women, "Bahianas of acarajé", sit on almost every main plaza or street corner in Bahia, selling their home-made acarajé for a very reasonable R$5. These women generally come from candomblé terreiros in peripheral communities, or learned how to make the food from family members associated with the religion. A recent study showed that "vender of acarajé" is the most common occupation amongst candomblé women in Salvador (Mapeamento dos Terreiros de Salvador, 2009).

I have quite a commute to arrive at my classes at the Center of Afro-Oriental Studies, UFBA in downtown Salvador. Along the way I see a broad array of billboards for products and happenings in the city. I also pass right by the new Nova Fonte Arena Stadium, which has been in construction for about 2 years. It is set to be completed by the end of March, to host the Confederation Cup 2013 before the main event, the 2014 World Cup. A few weeks ago on my commute I saw the following billboard and was very taken aback.

I was particularly struck by this image because a big part of my research has to do with the representation of Bahianas in the media and how they are employed in the "patrimonialization" of Afro-Brazilian Culture. This advertisement says it all. The ad calls acarajé the "imaterial patrimony of Bahian culture" and at the bottom in smaller print it says "preserve this culture".

I almost laugh at the implications of this last statement. It makes you wonder, do we need Coca-Cola to "preserve" a culture? Does slapping the Coca-Cola stamp on a cultural item like acarajé give it more importance, because of a certain visibility and capitalist privilege? Or, does this appropriation of Bahianas of acarajé change the very face of this cultural expression; does it alter it's value and purpose entirely? These questions intrigue me, and I find the whole situation very indicative of the use of Afro-Brazilian culture for tourism and international interests (a critique that is even attributed to Landes' international representation of candomblé women in 1938 as matriarchal fetish priestesses).

While Coca-Cola is happily holding hands with the "National Association of Bahianas of Acarajé", the partnership between McDonalds and FIFA is crushing the Bahiana venders and prohibiting them from selling their traditional food within 2 kilometers of the World Cup stadium (Bahia Notícias, 10/4/2012). As the official sponsor of the 2014 FIFA World Cup, McDonalds must secure a monopoly on food sales in and around the stadium to profit sufficiently from their contributions.

Also an official sponsor of the World Cup, Coca-Cola can happily support Bahianas, because Bahianas don't make their own sodas or refreshments to complement the food they sell. And trust me, in the hot muggy climate of Bahia, a cool refreshing beverage is essential while eating a hot acarajé rice cake. A Coke fits in perfectly to the mix. I even saw an official "Coca Cola Acarajé" stand at Carnaval in Salvador. They had a special price for an acarajé and a coke together-- it's a perfect combination!

Composition: David Mendes, Bahia Notícias

The National Association of Bahianas of Acarajé and their president, Rita Maria Ventura dos Santos, are continuing to fight for their space in the World Cup. Questions of sanitation, tourists preferences and safety codes are prohibiting Bahianas from competing with the behemoth of FIFA and McDonalds. Everybody wants a piece of the foreign investment and a rare opportunity to make extra bucks during this heightened season for Brazil. As a tourist, I sure as hell wouldn't travel all the way to Bahia to eat McDonalds in a stadium and watch a soccer game within a structure that could be replicated anywhere in the world. Why did FIFA choose Brazil in the first place? Isn't it the samba, the parties, and the colorful vibrance of the national culture? (Their slogan for Brazil after all is "all in one rhythm"). Well it doesn't take much to recognize that those elements are fundamentally related to the immense Afro-Brazilian presence throughout the history of Brazil. Erasing the Bahianas presence within 2 kilometers of the stadium just reinforces a socio-economic divide so characteristic of race relations and foreign relations in Brazil. It's disgusting. Almost as disgusting as paying 7 dollars (R$14) for an imported Big Mac. 

Sources:

http://www.bahiacomunicacao.com.br/news/veiculacao-coca-cola-e-abam-em-homenagem-as-baianas-de-acaraje.html

http://www.bahiacomunicacao.com.br/news/veiculacao-coca-cola-e-abam-em-homenagem-as-baianas-de-acaraje.html

Jocélio Teles dos Santos, Mapeamento dos Terreiros de Salvador. UFBA Editora, 2009. 

A Lavagem do Bonfim

Yesterday was the annual Lavagem do Bonfim, where Baianas of candomblé wash the steps of the famous Bonfim Church as a ritual for the spiritual cleansing of the New Year. Thousands of people do a 8 kilometer march (caminhada) through the lower city (cidade baixa) of Salvador, with bands, capoeira groups, samba circles and everything in between. The morning is a spiritual and family affair, but after the official "lavagem" or washing has ended, everything unravels into an aggressive, sexual carnaval-style party.

My photos are mostly from the beginning of the event, which was full of peace and positivity. It was very religious, and very crowded. The event is held in honor of Jesus, but for centuries members of candomblé have attributed it to Oxalá, the orixá deity that is syncretized with Jesus. But on this day, the Baianas rule the show. I saw no sign of Catholic priests or members of the church, but instead many Baianas performing cleansing "baths" of leaves and popcorn, of course for a small fee.

Participants fight their way to the gates of the church to tie on the ribbons of Bonfim, one of the iconic objects of cultural life in Bahia. Everybody makes wishes, or resolutions for the New Year.  It was quite a struggle to get to the front, but as Ruth Landes explained in her 1939 account of the event, it is a "bathing in the multitude" (a phrase by Baudelaire). The crowd kept growing and morphing as the day went along, as it continually became rowdier and drunker.

Much of Landes' account of the 1939 celebration has very little relation to the current one. Once you squeezed your way to the front and were pressed against the gate, the you could gaze over to see the baianas doing the washing. It was confusing, however, because maybe I got there too late, but there was little cleaning happening and the steps of the church really looked quite dirty. The church wasn't open, for obvious protective reasons, there were no speeches, but rather a huge speaker playing evangelic songs and repeating the anthem of the Bonfim Church. There were newscasters from the biggest national stations throughout Brazil, some foreigners, and many, many locals.

Up to this point I thoroughly enjoyed myself and felt connected to the event. But very quickly, everything turned. Instead of peace and love for Jesus, people were drinking, the crowd was swelling, libidos growing, and respect for others dwindling. Around 3 pm, the majority of the people there were Afro-Brazilian community members of the Lower City. In my life in Bahia, I spend most of my time in  in the downtown area or the "upper city" area of Salvador. These two designations of the city say just as much about the geographic space as the socio-economic division. It had been a while since I had seen the extent of the poverty of this city, and it was incredibly troubling. I wish I had a chance to take photos of this darker reality, but unfortunately those situations are also the most dangerous for me.

Children ages 4 and older, shoeless, with dirty ragged clothes, without parents, were picking up discarded beer cans and water bottles that the partiers throw on the ground because there are not nearly sufficient garbage cans (or bathrooms) to host the event. Disabled people in beat-up wheel chairs were begging for money. Men high on crack, were making advancements on young girls wearing barely any clothes.

I haven't been to carnaval in Salvador for 2 years, and I forgot the carnaval culture of Salvador. It is sexual beyond belief. The men value foreigners and white women, especially women with blue eyes, above all else. The ultimate prize is to win over a "gringa", and at this event, I felt like the only unaccompanied white woman, hunted by the masses. I usually go out in a group with men, which unfortunately in this culture is necessary protection. None of my male friends could go with me yesterday, my boyfriend was working, so I went with just another girlfriend. We were two single women, and we caught the attention of nearly every horny man in the crowd.

For some reason, these men at public parties assume the right to touch women's bodies without any permission. As I struggled to leave the crowd (about a mile long stretch to leave the Church site), men were constantly grabbing my arm, calling to me in horrible English, staring into my eyes and yelling things like "I want to steal your eyes" or "come here doll and kiss me". I tried to ignore them, but it was impossible. The lust for a white woman was a force so much greater than my own, and I was completely vulnerable and helpless in the situation. Beyond that, I was with a backpack, and my new camera, trying to desperately to protect them from pickpockets or thieves. There was absolutely nowhere for me to hide.

Luckily I got out of the crowd after about an hour of struggling and violation, and a lot of help from my friend. She is Bahian and black and understands these dynamics in a way I probably never will. It was one of the more difficult and traumatic experiences I've had in Salvador since arriving 2 years ago, and I learned many important lessons.

I will never go to a party without male accompaniment or my boyfriend again. No matter how much I resent that reality, it is simply not safe here. It was an intense reminder of the extent of my foreignness, and the fact that I absolutely do not belong in some situations here in Bahia. My body is an object of desire, descended from a historic social construction that no matter how hard I try, I still am subject to and must understand. Women don't have the rights in Bahia that I have the luxury of having in California, and that's the reality.

All in all I am thankful for the Lavagem, am happy I went, and that I got out without too much physical or emotional harm. Bahia is the land of parties, happiness, poverty and a culture I could try and study for my whole life and still be left with thousands of questions and contradictions.

Violent act of Homophobia

Last Sunday, my friend Bruno was robbed and beaten while walking home from a pagode party in Camaçari, Bahia. He's 20 years old, an actor, and was also titled the highest honor of "Queen" in a the LGBT Pride Parade in Rio Grande do Sul last year.

Bruno confirmed that the attacks were clearly because of his sexual orientation. The assaulters screamed offensive comments as they brutally beat his face, stole his cell phone, and left him on the street loosing 3 liters of blood. The police passed by several times, and didn't even stop to take him to the hospital. They called an ambulance, and left as passerby's tried to stop the bleeding.

I talked to Bruno today and luckily, he said he is recovering and is getting more news coverage every day. Groups are mobilizing to speak against this violent homophobia which is all too common in Brazil. In the county of Camaçari alone, there have been 4 violent attacks this year. Salvador has had many more, and most aren't even filed or counted by police departments. 

The movement for LGBT rights is certainly growing in Brazil, but it seems that popular consciousness is not growing with it. In such a violent society, where problems cannot be trusted in the hands of authorities (like the police), they are usually expressed violently in street confrontations, exasperated by alcohol and drugs. 

Black Awareness Day (Dia da Consciência Negra)

Today, November 20, is Black "Consciousness" Day in Brazil as part of the "Black November" (analogous to Black History Month in February in the United States). It is also a homage to Zumbi de Palmares, the famous warrior who defended the quilombo (escaped African slave society) in the 17th century from Portuguese colonization.

I have been very impressed by the amount of activities, debates, events and expositions occurring in the city of Salvador this month, but am a bit disappointed today is not an official holiday. I am most troubled by this because Brazil has a holiday for almost every catholic saint, family member (mother's, father's, children's, girlfriend's, grandparent's day), and local or national historical event, so I've gotten used to many days off of work for celebration. But today most people (including myself) still have to go to work, and can't attend or participate in all that is offered by the state and private organizations to explore this holiday.

Following are some of the highlight events I've encountered during Black November (which is not over yet!):

The main newspaper in Bahia, "A Tarde" had a special spread on the musicians of candomblés, explaining their lineages and nations deriving from Africa, their generations in Brazil, how the men construct the instruments and the women dance to the music to call the orixás into possession. (see http://atarde.uol.com.br/materias/1468123) In addition, the main mãe de santo of the big, famous, traditional terreiro in Salvador Ilê Axé Opô Afonjá welcomed a famous visitor from Nigeria, the first Black African Nobel Prize winner, Wole Soyinka. He had a book launch for the Portuguese translation of his book, The Lion and the Jewel (O Leão e a Joia). His presence was considered the highlight event for Black November.

A friend of mine who actively takes part in the Black Movement in Brazil created a video and posted it on youtube about the Quota System (or Affirmative Action) which has been recently instated and then challenged in Brazil. The video is entitled "Quotas: This Conversations is not about you" and openly confronts white students who criticize or complain about the quotas for supposedly "lazy" or "undeserving" black students. In just 5 days the video has gotten over 20,000 views and about 3,000 commentaries. Most of the comments are extremely racist, calling the actress a "monkey", "slut" or suggesting that "Queen Isabel should have never abolished slavery, because that's where you all belong". My friend published this video as a confrontation for Black Awareness Day, but had no idea it would stir up so many deep, racist feelings and resentment between black and white youth competing to get ahead in Brazilian society. I found the responses to be shocking, and indicative of the great divide that still exists, even in a supposedly harmonious, racially mixed country like Brazil.

The main black "blocos" of Carnaval including Ilê Ayé and Olodum are going out into the streets for two marches as a sort of mini-carnaval intended for a more political purpose. Of course, like most festive street events in Brazil, I am sure it will unwind into a big party.

The Public Library (Biblioteca Barris) has created various expositions using the original archives of the library to show black resistance, the history of terreiros in Salvador, as well as many children's events to encourage black consciousness at a young age.

Beyond this there are capoeira shows, book readings, plays, singers, film festivals and everything in between to celebrate the beauty that is black Brazil.

Entering the candomblés

Last year when I did my study abroad program in Salvador I learned a lot about how the candomblés of Salvador have been comodified and opened to tourists with the implication they were somehow less authentic or persecuted than in the past. However, as I've been pursuing my research and trying to get inside the candomblés, I've noticed this was somewhat of an exaggeration.

There are still many people in Salvador and Bahia who don't trust candomblés,who are afraid of the rituals, call it 'black magic', who refuse to go to the terreiros even for an open party. There's a huge antagonism between Evangelical Christians (an ever-growing portion of the Bahian population, and specifically the Afro-Bahian population) and people who practice candomblé. Many of the evangelicals believe that the candomblé gods represent the demons that Jesus and God are trying to save humans from.

I've had the pleasure of meeting several people who practice candomblé and participate in the biggest terreiros of Salvador, the ones most relevant to my research. They seem interested in my research and approach, but when I ask if they could invite me or take me into an appropriate space or event, they hesitate, close-up, or perhaps agree to take me reluctantly, but then never get back to me.

I respect the privacy of the terreiros and always recognize my foreignness, but I'm starting to get worried that if I don't find my own Edison Carneiro (the Brazilian Ethnologist who guided Ruth Landes into intimate spaces of candomblé), I won't be able to do the research I want to do. Sure, tourists can pay a guide to take them to an open candomblé party, but their presence is noted as foreign, as spectators, as people ignorant to the history and importance of this religion in Bahia. I can't get myself to join this group of people, because I know it's not my purpose, it's not my perspective.

Several candomblé practitioners promote their services in local newspapers, or with fliers on the street. They claim to help with romantic, health or family problems. The idea is to set your spirits straight (by communicating with the orixás), and therefore improve your luck and relationships.

Yet as I re-read City of Women I note that Ruth constantly paid her informants to gain access to the spaces, see the rituals and experience the details of the religious practice (in a time when the dollar was much, much stronger than Brazilian currency). I understand that the people of candomblé have to sustain themselves, but I wonder how far I will go to get what I want or what I need to complete this research.

In the main tourist center of Salvador, the Historic Center Pelourinho, there are always several "Bahianas" in their ceremonial dress to take pictures with tourists or to stand in front of stores/restaurants and encourage passerbys to stop in. It's obvious to me that their outfits in this context are used as a costume, and have little to do with the reality of candomblé. One day I asked a Bahiana if she practiced candomblé and if so, at what terreiro. She said she had worshiped at the big terreiro, Gantois, in Salvador for 20 years. When I asked about the relationship between her faith and this job in Pelourinho, she exclaimed that one had nothing to do with the other. Standing in Pelourinho was her job; a fairly dependable income for a woman in her socio-economic position. I was both relieved and intrigued by this response. I realized that the international notions of Bahia, especially the iconic image of the "Baiana", actually have very little to do with the reality of their lives. How and why did this idea become so appealing to tourists? I wonder if Ruth Landes and her colleagues had something to do with it...

Election Day in Brazil

After months and months of listening to political tunes passing non-stop on the streets, yesterday October 7th were the Brazilian Municipal elections. My following observations and analyses come from my experience living in Camaçari, Bahia during this election process, and it has been an interesting one. (Unfortunately I'm not a very good photographer, so I've tried to explain through writing what I've seen).

Camaçari is an industrial city, it has massive multinational factories including Ford, Bridgestone Tires, Continental, and the major Petrochemical Complex which creates the materials necessary for plastic products distributed throughout the entire Northeastern region of Brazil. Besides this major source of income and employment for Camaçari, the center of the city has little more than about 40,000 mainly lower middle class residents, as well as a few "favela" neighborhoods, one upper middle class neighborhood, and one big hotel for international bussinessmen passing through. Camaçari is also one of the biggest counties in Bahia. It has some of the state's best beaches, remaining Atlantic forests and clean rivers. While most of the attention in Bahia is on the capital city, Salvador, Camaçari's access to international capital and natural resources is a force to be reckoned with. The intense political campaigning during this election truly represented it's worth in a way I could have never predicted.

The loudest and most public form of campaigning in Bahia are the "carros de som" or cars with massive amplifiers that play a candidate's campaign song all day, every day throughout every street of Camaçari. This has been going on in Camaçari since the day I arrived on July 5. That's over 3 months of listening to the same tune promoting the candidates for the Mayor and the "vereadores" or City Council for the county. They serve as a sort of congress who work together to help Camaçari grow, develop and "serve the people". Initially there were 4-5 candidates for Major, but all joined together in opposition against the incumbent and ruling party, PT (Worker's Party). Ademar Delgado, the PT candidate for governor, clearly had the most support and resources as a candidate. Ademar continually came out with new political tunes in different Brazilian styles -- samba, forró, axé, and finally pagode. He used the pagode music as a way into the hearts of the peripheral neighborhoods, who even came up with an iconic dance to accompany his musical campaign.

For the first few months, these songs as the main method of political campaigning really confused and bothered me. I didn't understand how the people of Camaçari could take the non-stop noise and perturbation of these cars morning, noon and night. But everywhere I went, I saw people singing along or dancing to these songs. At the core, they liked them, and everybody I asked said this method really worked for the candidates. Hey, I guess that's why they do it.

But I just couldn't understand how what appeared to be such an absurd form of campaigning could possibly work. Over the past few months, I slowly put the pieces together.

1. Voting is obligatory in Brazil. Everybody has to vote whether or not they care about politics,  understand the issues, or can even read. 

2. Brazil, and especially Bahia is a very oral culture. The more I was forced to listen to these "carros de som" the more I realized that these cars aren't that different from a lot of other forms of expression and propaganda that occurs on the streets every day. Little ice cream, fruit or natural gas carts or handy-men constantly ride their bikes or motorcylces down the street playing a tune promoting their services. To create a street party in Bahia it only takes beer and a parked car with a good sound system playing the latest pagode songs. It made perfect sense that politicians would take advantage of these modes of public expression to promote their names.

3. Bahia has a very high illiteracy rate (an estimated 15% illiterate and many more semi-literate). The public educational system cannot even compare with that of a "first world" country (a term that many Bahians are quick to use when talking with me about the differences between the U.S. and Brazil, though I never choose to use it). As I'm following the presidential race in the U.S., I've noticed that although the bickering and campaigning can get childish at times, the debates and speeches are quite eloquent and intelligent. When I was watching Bill Clinton's speech at the Democratic Convention, I was astonished that I, as well as the entire convention and millions of Americans watching, could follow and understand his logical explanation for why the Democratic party and specifically Obama is the right choice for America. This sort of campaigning depends on a literate and well-educated public to follow the issues and debates and ultimately make their own, educated choice for the election. Of course this idealistic process I'm presenting could be debated for the U.S., but compared with the Brazilian elections, the differences demonstrate very clear distinctions between the two societies. At the election booth, Brazilians may remember their favorite campaign tune, or listen to a friend, and vote for that number just because they have to in the moment (as all the candidates are identified more by numbers then by names).

The other aspect of Brazilian politics that really strikes me is the dependence on bribery and tit-for-tat mentality which define so many people's political choices. People work for campaigns to be "taken care of" in the future. Their support for a candidate doesn't depend on an explicit political agenda or moral issues but rather a self-interested guarantee that in the future there will be some sort of benefit. This is publicly practiced and accepted. The return is usually in the form of money, or some sort of favor that will help them or their family. Somebody might vote for their "vereador" because he/she bought them a TV or helped get rid of a ticket, or because he/she helped a friend or family member in some way. 

In theory, Brazil is a multi-party system. I was excited about this because I thought it would be an opportunity to see a political system functioning outside of strict bi-partisan U.S. politics. However, as the race progressed, I saw that separate political parties form coalitions with many others and end up supporting the same few candidates. No matter what, the election for governor, in almost every Brazilian city, boiled down to two candidates running against each other. The multi-party system broke down throughout the competition and ended up being two-party like any I had ever known. However, separate parties did seem to make a difference for the race for City Council (vereador), as each candidate supports one of the candidates for Mayor, but remains loyal to and representative of their own party. 

So... the results on election night. I asked an older man how the results would be announced, and he replied "oh, on the internet, I think". But when the results were coming in, it became clear that the information would be announced like most things in Brazil, mouth to mouth in a street congregation. My boyfriend picked me up and brought me to the City Hall where a party scene unfolded around cars blasting radio announcements as well as the winning candidate's campaign songs. Most people were drinking beer and dancing, eating barbecue; it looked just like carnaval. I was laughing, taking it all in. Sure, when Obama won in 2008 I joined a street party in Berkeley and ran through the streets screaming and jumping. But there was no beer, I was a freshman in college, it was the first African-American president to be elected in the history of the U.S. It seemed exceptional. But while talking amongst my Bahian friends, they said "No, everything here is a Carnaval. Everything ends in cachaça. Whether you win or lose, everybody will celebrate or cry with cachaça tonight". And that's how it went down.

Ademar Delgado of the governing party, PT, won in Camaçari. However, in most of the other big cities in Brazil, PT lost to other political parties. Their prominence in Brazilian politics is questionable for Dilma's re-election in 2014. The PT headquarters in Camaçari were filled with dancing, screaming, drunk supporters celebrating their win. The streets were filled (and I mean FILLED) with leftover leaflets and fliers, used as confetti in the celebration. It was certainly fun, even though I don't support PT much more than the oppositional parties. I have little hope that either will do much to change the status-quo of Bahia or Camaçari. The most they'll see is a new public square, perhaps a small remodeling or new concert hall. Despite the growth of Brazil in the international marketplace, the wealthy remains with the wealthy politicians, factory owners and businessmen who seldom share or distribute with the majority, who end up partying in the streets anyway.

These past few months have been an extremely interesting experience for me. I've contemplated politics and culture in a way I never could have staying in the U.S. and following the Obama vs. Romney race (though I am participating as a spectator and absentee voter). I've been trying to discover how this could be relevant to my research. While it doesn't explicitly relate to Ruth Landes or Edison Carneiro, it's useful to understand how Brazilian politics function today and compare it historically within Brazil as well as with the U.S. model. Today conversations about candomblé are very open and expected. I would never get kicked out of the country for studying amongst the black populations like Ruth Landes was suspected of being a communist for doing so. In fact, most candidates put up huge plaques of themselves hugging marginalized community members, old black men or "baianas de acarajé". They want to prove that they can relate to the people, even if just for a bribery or photo opportunity.

Today the celebrations with the same songs for PT (the number 13 or "treze") and Ademar are loud and continuing. I am certainly looking forward to the end of this Brazilian election, and to send in my absentee ballot for the U.S. elections (where I feel like I actually belong). After all that, perhaps I'll buy an ice cream when the street car passes by with it's little music...

Maya Deren - The Divine Horsemen

Relevant clip discussing women as divine vessels

With the suggestion from Professor Zita Nunes (who taught during the Factory of Ideas Program), last night I checked out the biography and works of Maya Deren. I had never seen her work before and didn't realize her relevance to Landes' City of Women as a female artist with an ethnographic perspective in the 1940-50's (in the same field as Zora Neale Hurston, for example). Deren graduated from New York University a few years after Landes did, and later in her life made a film on Haitian Vodun, which provides similar proof to the role of females as divine vessels and authorities in the Afro-Haitain religion related to Candomblé in Brazil.

Of course, the medium of film through which Deren communicates this information provides a different perspective and experience than Landes' book. However, the informality and access to the intimate religious space facilitated by the medium appears quite similar. Deren's film and experience may provide a way for me to argue for the travel-style and narrative approach of Landes' City of Women as an art form. In Landes' case, she used it as a way to respect the people of candomblé by not distancing the work with difficult anthropological and academic jargan, but rather providing a timeless medium available to most everybody. Even today many people within candomblé in Bahia speak fondly of Landes' book and appreciate it as a historical telling of the candomblé they practice today.

I hope to go back to the Ruth Landes Papers at the National Anthropological Archives this December-January, and if/when I do I can see if there are any correspondences between the two. So far I haven't found anything linking them personally, though they are both heavily cited in works on the ethnography of Afro-American culture, religion, music and dance especially between Brazil, Haiti and Cuba (see search results from google books "Ruth Landes, Maya Deren").

P.S. It appears the Exposition at Gantois must be postponed because they need support from a private organization that doesn't receive government funding. So far they haven't been able to find any fitting group (which surprises and dissapoints me). So until then the exhibit of Landes' photos won't be happening in November.

Full version "The Divine Horsemen"