Brazil has experienced two important moments of anticommunist mobilization. The first took place in the 1930s and culminated in the creation of the Estado Novo. The second, in the early 1960s, prompted the coup of 1964. Scholars have examined these events and the principal movements behind them but have not compared them in detail. Rodrigo Patto Sá Motta explores the history of Brazilian anticommunism in these two periods, analyzing the motives, ideas, and actions of groups and individuals, as well as the rhetorical and iconographic representations of communism they produced, to reveal both continuity and change over time.Not long after the Bolshevik Revolution, criticisms of communism appeared infrequently in the local press. The political flux that accompanied the revolution of 1930, however, sparked considerable fear that this leftist tendency might spread through Brazil. The Catholic Church, the military, and business circles became the main exponents of such concerns. These institutions helped spawn a host of ephemeral groups, such as the Liga da Defesa Nacional of the 1930s and Cruzada Brasileira Anticomunista of the 1950s and 1960s (both tied to the military), as well as the longer-lasting ultra-Catholic Tradição, Família e Propriedade, founded in 1960. The diverse roots of anticommunism sparked an imagery incorporating Catholic, nationalistic, and liberal elements. Yet the Catholic ingredients predominated, especially in the 1930s, when the church propaganda depicted a demonic communist menace—at times hideously ugly, at times seductively immoral. Such notions led newspapers in this era to post news on communists in the crime section. Communists were partly responsible for sparking negative images; down to the 1960s their enemies exploited the memory of the failed rebellion of 1935 to remind Brazilians of the communist threat. Opposition to communism transformed itself into an industry of fear that whipped up publicity, votes, and power for its cunning engineers. However exaggerated their claims, these activists laid the groundwork for two dramatic ruptures in Brazilian political life.By the 1960s, anticommunism had changed. The church’s impact declined, while that of business groups increased. Anticommunism became less anti-Semitic in character; in fact, rabbis (and Protestant ministers) joined priests in demonstrations. Civilian groups were more numerous and active than in the 1930s, and women seemingly played more visible roles. Motta, however, underestimates women’s participation in the fascist Ação Integralista Brasileira (AIB) of the earlier period.This points to a larger problem. Motta did not analyze the AIB in his chapter on anticommunist organizations, because the AIB did not concentrate exclusively on this mission. Nor did he treat the business-oriented Instituto Brasileiro de Ação Democrática (IBAD) and Instituto de Pesquisas e Estudos Sociais (IPES) of the 1960s, preferring to discuss lesser-known groups. Motta’s choices are understandable, and he addresses these movements later in the book. Still, these were the most influential anticommunist organizations, and one feels their absence. This gap leads to the questionable conclusion that groups of the 1930s generally were tied to the government and had little interest in attracting a broad base. Neither statement applies to the AIB.Motta groups together all anticommunist images, organizations, and fear-mongering tactics of 1930–64 and discusses each topic as a whole. Separate chapters explore the two periods in detail. A purely chronological approach might have clarified the distinctions between the 1930s and the 1960s, as well as change over time. The author goes to extraordinary lengths to examine anticommunist activity in an evenhanded manner. While admirable, this effort led to some debatable judgments. He believes that the vigor of anticommunism reflected the vitality of local communism, but this seems unconvincing. Although anticommunism was strongest in the mid-1930s and early 1960s, repression after 1935 destroyed the party itself, which also was tiny in the early 1960s. Motta concluded that anticommunists had some reason to fear their opponents in the 1930s, given the seriousness of the communist-led uprising of 1935. As he himself pointed out, however, most of the casualties were on the rebel side. Motta also insisted that president Getúlio Vargas was not as anticommunist as other voices. In the wake of the Intentona, for example, the press pressured the government to treat the rebels even more harshly than it was already doing. Yet one wonders how independent the press was during this period of censorship and to what extent it attempted to curry official favor.Still, Motta provides a fresh and bold look at opposition to the Left. He has combed a large number of archives, periodicals, and other sources, and his focus on representation and memory is unique. The book also adds to our knowledge of Catholic Church activity on the right, a critical topic neglected by historians.
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Jan 1, 2016
Salvatore Butticè + 5
Open Access
