Canindezinho's main square was taken over by youth, students, community leaders, artists, and supporters in the afternoon of 18 April, 2013. ”How many youth will need to die before the society and the government take action?” one banner carried during the procession read.

Greater Bom Jardim, which is made up of five neighborhoods, has 491 deaths linked to violence between 2007 and 2010, according to the organizers of the march [pt]. The area counts a population of 204,281 throughout the five neighborhoods, of which 120,957 are between 0 and 29 years old, according to the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE) 2010 census.

Earlier in March 2013, local newspaper O Povo wrote about the rise of violence in Fortaleza [pt]: in February, 142 people were killed, 15 of which were in the neighborhoods of Greater Bom Jardim. Over the first 59 days of 2013, the Bom Jardim neighborhood leaded statistics [pt] with 22 guns seized by the police – in 2012, the neighborhood stood in third place, with 88 gunds seized.

Some people arrived early to prepare their posters on the benches, while others arrived with their designed banners: they wanted to talk about youth, peace and life. Some of them wore t-shirts with pictures of neighbors and relatives as a way to pay them honors.

A banner poses the question: “How many youth will need to die before the society and the government take action?”; the other banner says “Manifesto of peace”. Photo by Icaro Martins, published on Facebook.

The rally was organized by the Youth Agents of Peace group (Jovens Agentes de Paz [pt] – JAP), a project run by the Centro de Defesa da Vida Herbert de Souza [pt], in partnership with schools, community associations, non-governmental organizations, and artistic and religious groups.

Peace Rally in the Greater Bom Jardim. Image from the Facebook page of profile Jovens Agentes de Paz.

In the group's open letter for the protest, entitled “Against state violence and announced execution: we shout out for life!”, which may be read online [pt] on the website of Centro de Defesa da Vida Herbert de Souza, listed several struggles in the fight against violence, including illiteracy (the letter states more than 9,611 children, adolescents and youth, between 5 and 24 years old, are illiterate); diseases related to sanitary conditions and inadequate infrastructure; and the involvement of local boys and girls into routes of sexual exploitation.

The letter, which was handed in during the rally, was also critical to the current national debate on the age of criminal responsibility, which in Brazil is set at 18 years old:

Não bastasse esse cenário de horror, os jovens ainda têm que carregar a responsabilização da violência crescente no Brasil, em um processo de criminalização da juventude, que se articula com o consequente aumento do encarceramento de jovens e a batalha de setores reacionários pela redução da maioridade penal. Ou mesmo, têm que sofrer com a truculência de abordagens policiais diuturnamente, um tratamento igualmente prestado pelas emissoras que têm na sua programação os programas policiais, criminalizando pobres e estigmatizando bairros.

If this scenario of horror wasn't enough, youngsters now have to carry the burden of responsibility in regards to the growth of violence in Brazil, which is a process of criminalizing youth, interconnected to the rise of youth imprisonment and the battle of conservative sectors towards the reduction of the age of majority. Or they even have to suffer the daily truculence of police approach, which is equally provided by TV networks with their police programs, criminalizing the poor and stigmatizing neighborhoods.

Percussion band of Project Luthieria plays before the rally. Photo published on Facebook by Crítica Radical collective.

One of the young participants, Icaro Martins, followed the rally closely with a photo camera. He created a photo album on Facebook to spread the word about the event.

Citizens carry a banner that reads, “Youth who dare to fight, come rally with us – Youth have the right to live”. Photo published by Icaro Martins on Facebook.

Isabel Forte expressed her support [pt] to the rally on Facebook:

Esse é o Bom Jardim que vale a pena!!! E estas pessoas que se importam com o bem estar coletivo são mais que valiosas!!! Força, pessoas do bem!!!

This is the Bom Jardim I find worthwhile!!! People who care about the well being of others are very valuable!!! May you have the force, people of good!!!

Processions for peace

On 16 March, 2013, children and adolescents of the project Luthieria Cultural also took part in a procession for peace [pt] in Parque São Vicente, an area of the Canindezinho neighborhood. Luthieria is an “artistic, playful and educational initiative” with the intent to “reduce the situations of violence in the neighborhood” through percussive music and formation processes.

Girl paints a wall during the procession: “Let's get our hands together for peace”. Photo published by project Luthieria Cultural.

Project members play percussion in Parque São Vicente, in the Canindezinho neighborhood. Photo published by project Luthieria Cultural.

Seeking to address the situation of violence among youth, several projects are currently taking place in the Greater Bom Jardim area. Jair Soares, coordinator of project Luthieria [pt], believes cultural actions feature as an important path:

Nosso foco maior foi dizer que as ações culturais do bairro constituem-se como potencialidades frente as situações de desigualdade e violência enfrentadas nas periferias de Fortaleza.

Written by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · Translated by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · View original post [pt] · comments (2)
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Next post: Residents Displaced by Brazilian Power Plant Struggle to Earn Living

Sex and violence are a part of life in the small Brazilian fishing town of Jaci Parana, where police struggle to keep up with crime as a nearby hydroelectric construction project in the state of Rondonia pumps money into the local economy.

Michele (not her real name) is 20 years old. Four months before this interview, she left her hometown in the state of Pará and landed in the fishing town of Jaci Paraná, on the outskirts of Rondônia's capital city, Porto Velho. She found work and shelter in a “brega”, the local name for a brothel, where she began helping out in the cleaning. Two weeks later, she was prostituting, just as “almost all the girls are”:

Quando cheguei aqui, achei triste, chorava toda noite. Essa poeira, as ruas sem asfalto. Eu trabalhava lavando louça, não lembro como fui pela primeira vez. Ele era estranho, levou pó pra cheirar no quarto, queria beijar na boca, transar de novo. Depois chorei. Se fosse na minha cidade, ia ter vergonha, nojo. Aqui é normal, quase todas as meninas fazem. Eu mudei, não sou a mesma mulher.

When I first came here, it was depressing, and I cried every night. The dust, the streets without pavement… I worked washing dishes; can't remember how well I did it the first time. He was weird, took powder with him to sniff in the bedroom, wanted to kiss me on the mouth and have sex again. I cried later. If it had been in my hometown, I would be ashamed, disgusted. Here it is normal, almost all the girls are doing it. I changed, I'm not the same woman anymore.

Prostitute in a beauty parlor in Jaci Paraná, the closest town to the Jirau hydroelectric plant. Photo by Marcelo Min.

It's impossible to wander the streets of Jaci and not stumble upon bregas. They are open pubs, sometimes featuring plastic tables on the sidewalk. At night, they play loud music. During the day, it's normal for women to walk around town in shorts with their bellies exposed.

They are in Jaci to offer a service to the thousands of men who come in and out of town in shifts, at 7 a.m. and at 5 p.m. These are the hours when workers begin and finish their shifts at the Jirau hydroelectric plant construction site, one of the largest projects of the Growth Acceleration Program (Programa de Aceleração do Crescimento - PAC), currently being undertaken in Brazil. The plant is located on a dam in the Madeira river in the Amazon forest, and the town of Jaci 20 kilometers away is the nearest urban settlement.

At its peak, the construction boasted a workforce of 25,000 employees, more than double what the project expected. Some workers settled in town, while others just go there for their days off. The Public Ministry of Rondônia estimates the town's population has grown from 4,000 to 16,000 since 2009, when the Jirau hydroelectric construction began. Workers carry around their very own accent of Brazilian Portuguese, from the North, Northeast, South and Mid-West regions of Brazil. Some workers, such as Haitians and Bolivians, haven't mastered the Portuguese language yet.

The majority of workers travelled there alone. They remain away from their homes from three months to one year. “Some of them just want to party, others are sad. They say they cheat on their wives because they need to, but they don't like it”, Michele said:

É trabalho pesado. Quando acaba, eles querem se divertir, beber

It's heavy work. When it's over, they want to have fun, and drink

There are 68 houses of prostitution in Jaci. For Michele, the worst part about the work is when clients get aggressive after having too much alcohol or cocaine, which are supplied in excess at the bregas, or when they request to spend the night with her. “God forbid sleeping with them as if we were husband and wife”.

Women work as prostitutes in rooms located at the back of a brega, the local name for a brothel. Photo by Marcelo Min.

The fishing town became a place of transit. People are searching for money, not bonding. There is a constant tension in the air. Sexuality pulsates out from under the short clothes, which sometimes expose women's intimate parts. Stories of fights inside bregas are common – these occur between workers, or between prostitutes. There is a growing tension between Brazilian women and the Bolivian women who moved into town. Many fights end in stabbing, and some end in death.

Where the money goes, crime follows

When its pay day for Jirau plant workers, Jaci Paraná sizzles with their money.

First, at the brothels. Aside from local prostitutes, women from other Brazilian states travel to work only when the worders are paid. According to Michele, some of these women split their time between Jaci and Belo Monte, the hydroelectric plant under construction in the state of Pará. Their movements are guided by each plant's pay period.

During those days, the price of sexual services rises notoriously. The most experienced women negotiate up to 200 United States dollars for a half an hour with a high ranking-employee. As Michele has restrictions (she doesn't perform anal sex or group sex), the maximum she has made in a half an hour was 65 US dollars. During regular weeks, she charges 40 US dollars, of which ten belong to her procuress for using the room.

Shirley is one of several hairdressers who moved to Jaci to serve these women. She said:

Quem ganha mesmo são elas, as donas dos bregas, sempre prostitutas muito experientes,

They're the ones profiting, the brega owners. They're usually very experienced women prostitutes.

She doesn't want to make her name public. Shirley said procuresses earn money from room rental, plant workers’ drink consumption, and money loans to prostitutes.

As competition is rough, they offer help so their women may “invest in their beauty”. Michele was convinced by her procuress to abandon her curls for long and straight hair, so bought hair extensions for 575 US dollars. Now she is bound by debt to her procuress for buying the hair extensions and to their hairdresser for the labor. Since then, all of Michele's services go to her procuress, although her debt hasn't gone down at the pace it should:

É assim mesmo, elas mandam as meninas aqui e depois não passam o dinheiro do trabalho delas.

That's the way it is. They send girls here, and then they won't pass on the cash for their services.

Beside the bregas, beauty parlors are the second commercial activity to benefit from the flow of paychecks from the Jirau plant construction site. There's one beauty parlor on every corner of the town. Ever since she began doing hair extensions, Shirley has managed to earn more than her husband, who is in charge of building Jirau's hydroelectric turbines.

Jaci Paraná features 68 houses of prostitution and one beauty parlor on every corner. Photo by Marcelo Min.

It is dangerous, however, to accumulate goods in Jaci. Public security's fragile structure is powerless before the force of money circulating in town. Two weeks before this interview, Shirley's house was robbed, and her husband was held as hostage. The loss in money and electronic equipment exceeded 10,000 US dollars, but she won't complain to the police because everyone knows who the robbers are and what they do.

Police are powerless against local crime. Shopkeepers now pay a private company to drive around the town's three main streets with their well-identified cars and motorcycles. In September 2012, the military police chief of Jaci was murdered inside a police office. The same group responsible surrendered other police officers, who were forced to lie down on the street facing the pavement, while the robbers blew up the cash machines at the small Bradesco bank agency.

Written by Pública – Agência de jornalismo investigativo · Translated by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · View original post [pt] · comments (4)
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The construction of a cable car for tourists in preparation for 2014 FIFA World Cup in the Morro da Providência (Providence Hill) community in Rio de Janeiro is kicking residents out. Demolished houses are being traded for a stipend of 400 reais (200 US dollars), and many families have been unable find a place to live.

Neusimar is self-employed and lives with her family of seven in Morro da Providência. Her house has been painted with the acronym SMH (standing for ‘Municipal Housing Secretariat', in Portuguese). This means that it is going down. All houses and neighboring buildings have already been demolished as residents accepted the 400 reais offered by the city hall as rent assistance.

Photo by Agência Pública

The hill is set to host the Porto Maravilha (Marvelous Port) project [a reference to Rio's nickname, "Marvelous City"], comprised of a cable car and an inclined plane designed to attend to tourists visiting the city for the 2014 FIFA World Cup and the 2016 Olympics – as Pública wrote about in January [pt]. That's the reason behind the compulsory evictions that the community is facing.

“My grandparents and my parents used to play here. What about me? Will I have the right to do it?” Photo by Agência Pública

Neusimar resists because she doesn't want to leave the home where her mother was born and where she grew up with her entire family for an uncertain future:

Onde vamos achar uma casa para alugar por  400 reais? Quem vai querer alugar uma casa para mim? Estou desempregada, minha mãe é doente, temos uma família grande. Não estamos aqui por teimosia, mas não vamos sair para ficar como as pessoas que a gente vê sair e ficar na rua porque não conseguem alugar nada.

Where are we going to find a house to rent for 400 reais? Who is willing to rent me a house? I currently have no work, my mother is ill, and we are a big family. We don't remain here because of stubbornness, but we are not going to leave to become like the people we see ending up in the streets because they can't rent a place.

As days go by, she feels her situation getting more complicated:

Photo by Agência Pública

Está tudo no chão ao redor da minha casa, afetou a estrutura, agora estamos mesmo em situação de risco.

Everything is on the ground around my house, affecting its foundations, and now we are really at risk.

Similar stories are told in the video Morro da Providência, produced by the collective #EntreSemBater (Enter without knocking). The collective is made up of students from the Escola Popular de Comunicação Crítica (People's School of Critical Communication) [pt], a Observatório de Favelas (Slums’ Watchdog) project that offers community residents young and old access to different languages, concepts, and techniques in the field of communication. The short documentary was produced as a final course work, but its filmmakers decided to form a collective, which continues to research and document the evictions in Morro da Providência and in other places, as well.

The words “dignity” and “ball” are seen upside down. Photo by Agência Pública

In addition to the evictions, the video features preparations for the demolition of the hill's sports court, where community soccer championships and samba schools rehearsals were once held. Leo Lima is a photographer and member of the Entre Sem Bater collective. He says that soon after the film was completed, the sports court was torn down, leaving an open space for the construction of the car cable's tower.

Written by Pública – Agência de jornalismo investigativo · Translated by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · View original post [pt] · comments (0)
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Citizen journalists in a small Brazilian city ignored by the country's mainstream media have shed light on the failure of its local government, marred by a legacy of administrative wrongdoing and poor accountability, to complete public works projects on time.

Project Amigos de Januária [Friends of Januária], a 2011 Rising Voices grantee [en], has worked to keep the government of Januária [en], a city of 65,000 residents in the northern Brazilian state of Minas Gerais, honest since 2004. With a newly elected mayor and other local representatives assuming their roles on January 1, 2013, the citizen journalism outfit has recently reported on several city projects, including the construction of a sports complex, pavement repairs, and renovations to river docks, that the previous administration has left unfinished.

Construction of a sports complex in Januária. Photo by Amigos de Januária, under Creative Commons license.

In late December, days before the city's new political administration assumed power, the project visited the construction of a sports complex in the Novo Milênio neighborhood and said:

A obra possui apoio do Governo Federal e esta estimada em R$ 437.022,25. Acontece que na placa o prazo de execução é de 180 dias, mas não existe data de início da obra, o que dificulta o acompanhamento por parte da população em verificar se existe atraso na execução.

Members of the project promise to keep track of the sports complex construction, in order to push “the new political administration to resume it in 2013″.

Works left unfinished in the crossing of Leão XIII street with Brasil Avenue during a summer rain. Photo by reader Wellington Silva, published by Amigos de Januária.

The city's docks and several works of street pavement passed their deadlines and were left unfinished by the former political administration. The organization's post shares concern over the misuse of public taxes and reports about risks faced by the population, especially during the rainy season.

To celebrate 152 years since the founding of Januária, the local government began works to reform the city's docks on December 13, 2011, with an estimated date of conclusion set for May 8, 2012. However, the docks were not ready on time. As the city lies on the São Francisco river [en], the docks are its most important touristic attraction.

O ponto turístico da cidade rebebeu [sic] barras de segurança a sua volta, bancos de madeira no estilo clássico e calçamento plano adequado a deficientes visuais. Entretanto apenas uma parte do projeto esta pronto, a grande maioria da passarela não está calçada e os postes de iluminação mencionados na publicidade não foram feitos nem instalados.

Docks of Januária. Photo by Amigos de Januária, used under CC license.

The Getúlio Vargas Square was one of the few completed works.

Works at Getúlio Vargas Square were completed in the town of Januária, Minas Gerais state, Brazil. Photo by Amigos de Januária, under Creative Commons license.

All around the city, unfinished public works are a reminder of what the new political administration has inherited from the the city's previous leadership. Beyond stagnant constructions projects, the new administration must solve a budgetary mess leftover from before the transfer of power - civil servants’ pay for December has been delayed, and no estimate was given for January. Amigos de Januária reported that salaries had not yet been paid in early February.

Januária isn't, however, an isolated case in Brazil. The lack of payment to public officials and the unfinished state of public works are features of a fragile political commitment to the city. Issues of physical and services-based infrastructure often rise in political transition periods, affecting the population. Members of the Amigos de Januária project are addressing these issues in order to keep their city running.

Written by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · comments (1)
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GV: How does the dialogue between the business lobby and citizen lobby – which is also called activism – take place in regards to urban mobility?

RR: In the municipality of Salvador, we do find some councilors/representatives with sympathy towards the cause and we’ve succeeded to have approved, one or two years ago, the law of bicycle mobility in Salvador. However, even though there is some sort of sympathy towards the idea, things rarely go beyond a piece of paper [pt]. (…) At the executive level, there was the “Cidade Bicicleta” (Bicycle City program) [pt], which developed (and even produced a  detailed study) of a system of cycling mobility for the city of Salvador.

Cidade Bicicleta – Mobility for Everyone. Image by SecultBA, Secretariat of Culture of the state of Bahia, on Flickr (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

[The study] abandons the idea that bicycles are meant for leisure, and that bike lanes should be strictly located along the seashore, and moves ahead – at least in the project – to articulate connections among neighborhoods, from the suburbs to the downtown area. One can only consider bicycles as a means of transportation if one can actually see a system which coherently offers this kind of movement. If nowhere is connected to no place, of course nobody will use it. (…) That’s up to the State Government. The question is, however, that the State can only intervene with the Township’s backing. Although they have a very interesting project, I didn’t see any interest by Jacques Wagner [Governor of the state of Bahia] to implement it, plus there is no written agreement between the Township and the State Government on this.

When the international press arrives to cover the FIFA World Cup, it will say that Salvador has a bike lane. What you have at stake, and it also mobilizes the State sometimes, is the visibility: the construction of a city image, which is fake most of the times. (…) One of the main concerns during 2011 municipal elections in Brazil was the question of overcrowded towns, traffic jams, low quality of urban life, so the issue of urban mobility is fundamental these days. But, at the same time, we see the Federal Government giving full support for the production and sale of cars, all over the country. For example, over the past 10 years of the Lula administration and the current Dilma administration, we have witnessed the number of cars double in the city of Salvador.

Publicity video launched by the State Government of Bahia in 2010

GV: To what extent do cars remain a symbol of status and social upward mobility? How can public space be shared?

RR: Seven years ago, I didn’t have much hope that a transformation of spaces and that of the urban area could occur, due to society’s general lack of political interest. Why? Because that would require a restricted use of cars. This kind of transformation in Brazil doesn’t just lie on the space and physical order – instead it involves a social reorder, the social restructure.

“Respect one less car” – The “pedalada” event in São Paulo, 2010. Photo by Thiago Miranda dos Santos Moreira on Flickr (CC BY-NC-SA 2.0)

Three years ago, when the middle class began riding bicycles, these probable car owners who are actually choosing bikes as means of transport, I thought to myself: “could things change?”. There is a very strong discourse in favor of bikes. The bike used to be linked to the stigmatized class of the low income population, and now we see a new discourse being born, placing bikes on top of cars as an object of social status. The bicycle is thus associated with a more interesting contemporary lifestyle, together with sustainability and a way of rethinking the city and its social relations, which is so recent I can’t describe… But here’s a reminder. It’s not about possessing, and what a person has. It’s about someone who needs this vehicle to move through town. It’s about the need. The use we make of cars as means of mass transportation in Brazil is absolutely insane.

About the political will to create some kind of transformation, it’s worth mentioning (…) that bikers of São Paulo made all election candidates ride bikes, and succeeded in getting them to sign a letter committing to this model of bikes as means of transportation. I think that São Paulo and Curitiba are cities with social movements that are making a difference today in that regard. (…) And there is a very favorable conjuncture in Brazil’s most mediatized city, Rio de Janeiro, in regards to the interest for bicycles because of urban construction to host the 2014 World Cup games and the 2016 Olympics. Today Rio de Janeiro has the largest cycling infrastructure in Brazil.

GV: In general, many people say they don’t use bicycles as a means of transportation due to lack of safety, violence (robberies) or traffic accidents. How can that be changed?

RJ: The first thing is to make a distinction between perceived insecurity and real insecurity. It seems to me there is a generalized perception of insecurity which contaminates the public. The public space we live in is hierarchical, and, within street hierarchy, the car comes first, pedestrian come last, and the bicycle is sort of in the middle, closest to the pedestrian. One can realize that people feel this disrespect. They will experience this disrespect, or they will visualize it and disrespect, you see? So I believe this turns into a generalized perception, as you can see these situations and you can say “I don’t want to experience, imagine or go through that”. Another thing is generalized fear, which is independent from traffic and present in public spaces. Being in public spaces brings up a series of possibilities outside the realm of security. So there is a fear of conflict in traffic, and fear of robberies.

GV: Do you see a way to reverse this? Any alternatives?

RR: I don’t know about reversion, but I believe that it makes a difference to have an urban infrastructure dedicated to bicycle riders, that actually provides security to them, coherently designed so they can cycle all over town. Many people say “oh, there’s no need for that, only education is necessary, learning to share”. But infrastructure attracts people who would never have the required courage, malice, attention and presence of spirit to face urban traffic. Others say that bike lanes are not meant for those who already ride bikes. They’re not for the sportsperson either. They’re meant for grannies, for children, for a larger public who could be moving around but do not believe in their physical potential to perform such movement. As soon as they start doing it though, they realize it’s very easy. People are stronger than they think.

Written by Thiana Biondo · Translated by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · View original post [pt] · comments (0)
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Following a series of corruption scandals, participants monitor government activities to raise awareness and foster accountability. Their latest blog posts focus on health and public safety. On June 18, Loreci Farias, who is also a local schoolteacher, reported on an improvised public healthcare unit that makes patients uneasy in the district of São Joaquim. He writes [pt]:

Você já se consultou em uma cela de presídio? É isso mesmo, em São Joaquim os pacientes estão sendo atendidos em uma cela do prédio construído para sediar o Posto Policial do Distrito supracitado. Como o prédio da Unidade Básica de Saúde está caindo aos pedaços e para prevenir possíveis acidentes, o médico optou por mudar o atendimento para o prédio do Posto Policial.

Photo of the improvised healthcare unit, posted on the Amigos de Januária blog and used under a Creative Commons license.

The healthcare unit was transferred to a police station that was closed three years ago, and since then there has not been a government initiative to solve this. However, this transfer was made possible due to another problem: there are not enough police officers in town to reopen the police station. He adds the district is “very dangerous, with a high delinquency rate and intense drug use”.

On June 27, the anonymous profile Mídia Cidadã [Citizen Media] wrote [pt] about the renovation of the town's Farmácia Popular [People's Drugstore], which was financed by a federal program with over 66,000 Brazilian reais (approximately US$ 33,000). The construction was photographed 60 days before the post was published, and there was no progress since:

Por que as obras não estão em andamento? E se a reforma já foi concluída, por que o prédio não está sendo utilizado?
[...]
A expansão do Programa visa oferecer alternativas de acesso à assistência farmacêutica, com vistas à promoção da integralidade do atendimento à saúde.

Photo of the People's Drugstore posted on the Amigos de Januária blog and used under a Creative Commons license.

In front of the building, a billboard provides information about the construction company, cost, and the deadline of 120 days, although it leaves out mandatory information about when renovation works began.

Track of National Highway 479 leading to the Mountain of the Araras, distant 1 km from the district of São Joaquim. Photo posted on the Amigos de Januária blog and used under a Creative Commons license.

Members of Amigos de Januária also worry about the way residents dispose their trash and the potential health problems. Farias writes about a dumpsite[pt] located near a village just beside a national highway. He talked to a resident and quoted him:

É muito comum a gente matar cobras e ratos aqui por causa desse lixo ai, junta ratos dai vem as cobras por causa dos ratos.

Cattle on the dumpsite. Photo posted on the Amigos de Januária blog and used under Creative Commons license.

Besides, Farias reports that the dumpsite serves as an open “food court” for cattle. He comments:

[...] quem garante que estes bovinos não estão contaminados por alguma doença e ainda se você mesmo não já comeu carne de bovinos dos quais se alimentam daquele lixo.
[...]
Vamos ver quais providências serão tomadas pela adimistração municipal sobre determinado assunto ja que estamos em ano político [em referência às eleições municipais de outubro].

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In the letter, published [pt] on April 27 on the Facebook profile ‘Moçambicanos no Sudão’ (Mozambicans in Sudan), the students – sent abroad by Muslim charity organizations – requested their government's intervention for the resolution of a situation perceived as “extremely chaotic”:

falta de fundos para pagamento de vistos de estadia, propinas, material escolar, material de higiene individual, seguro de saúde, e não deixando de lado a falta da variação alimentar, visto que os estudantes têm único tipo de alimentação de um de Janeiro a trinta e um de Dezembro de cada ano, Arroz e um caril muito esquisito (batata doce e abóbora).

Khartoum University Library, Sudan. Photo by Book Aid International on Flickr (CC BY-NC-ND 2.0)

The students's complaint generated a stir [pt] in Mozambique's national press and social media, which made the University urge the students to write a new document [pt], denying their previous statements.

The students, who refused to give into Sudanese pressure, were expelled from the University and sent back to Mozambique on June 29.

After seven hours at Maputo's International Airport with nowhere to go, the students were welcomed and lodged by the Youth Parliament (PJ), a non-governmental organization which became their most visible supporting figure [pt]. During a press conference at the Youth Parliament headquarters, the students spoke about the conditions they had faced and a possible connection to Al-Qaeda in Sudan.

Students kicked out of Sudan. Photo by Víctor Bulande, used with permission.

Social media was full of criticism regarding the government of Mozambique and its distant attitude to the issue. Minister of Education Zeferino Martins [pt] stated the government “has no responsibility towards scholarship holders studying in Sudan, since those young Mozambican citizens went abroad financed by Muslim organizations to pursue religious education.”

Students go to Sudan intermediated by individuals linked to Muslim religious organizations based in Mozambique, mainly in the capital Maputo. According [pt] to the Ministry of Education, the students in question received symbolic support from the Sautul Islam organization.

Despite the minister's statement, the ‘Liga das ONGs de Moçambique’ (League of NGOs of Mozambique) published [pt] a note saying that the government should have taken a stand:

Admitindo que, eventualmente, os estudantes sejam vítimas das medidas de contenção de custos, seria importante [o Governo] ter um diálogo com eles e ajudá-los no desenho de cenários que possam mitigar o sofrimento dos estudantes.

And adds:

esta situação pode chamar a atenção para mudança ou revisão das políticas públicas com relação a atribuição das bolsas e as respectivas condições dai subjacentes.

Similar cases have occured before, as pointed out anonimously by a Mozambican student in Vietnam in a comment to the article on @Verdade Newspaper. He deplores the “situation of students in Sudan, Algeria and Russia”.

Carlos Cantinho comments [pt] in another article:

os bolseiros na Argélia exigiram o que lhes prometeram (recambiaram-nos para casa) estes no Sudão que decerto estará entre os mais pobres dos pobres,e dizem que não tem a ver com o ministério da educação mas sim com as tais organizações islamicas (madrassas). Nos países civilizados quando se fazem estes protocolos de cooperação no domínio da educação (cumpre-se). Pelos vistos neste caso ninguém se responsabiliza.

Written by Jornal @Verdade · Translated by João Miguel D. de A. Lima · View original post [pt] · comments (0)
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