We Cannot Remain Silent is a book about ‘speaking truth to power’. It works simultaneously on several levels. The book informs us about the role of both US and Brazilian artists, clerics, academics, students and others based in the United States in the support and development of movements in opposition to the Brazilian dictatorship of 1964–85. It attempts to decentre historical narrative by enlarging the space occupied by the memories of participants in contrast to the author's voice, and by following a two-part chapter format in which the focus shifts from Brazil to the United States. Finally, given James Green's own involvement in the opposition struggle, the book seeks to consolidate the identity of Brazil's military regime as a dictatorship, condemn its legacy and reinforce the fight against authoritarianism by challenging readers to be vocal and active in denouncing illegitimate power.
In 2009 Green took the Brazilian history post at Brown University that had been occupied for many years by Thomas E. Skidmore. He continues the tradition of his predecessor in writing contemporary history, but while Skidmore's object was often the state and government policy, Green's is grassroots culture and movement politics. This book is a perfect example of the distinction. Whereas Skidmore's Politics of Military Rule in Brazil (Oxford University Press, 1988) examined the regime, Green's new volume is a richly documented transnational survey of resistance to it.
Green's larger argument is that the Brazilian experience established a formula for resistance that was to become a guide to those opposed to US support of the dictatorship of General Augusto Pinochet in Chile (1973–90), the contras in Nicaragua (1981–90), and right-wing regimes in El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras. At the time of writing this review, those opposed to US policy in Honduras have taken inspiration from We Cannot Remain Silent in their efforts to help restore the ousted president, Manuel Zelaya, to his full constitutional powers. It is difficult to think of a similar work; perhaps studies of the international abolitionist movement of the nineteenth century come closest.
A moral imperative was crucial to both movements. As Green demonstrates, the most important consistent organising tool at the disposal of the dictatorship's opponents was the torture practised by Brazilian authorities. Initially, the military-civilian golpe of 1964 faced almost no opposition in the United States. Even those who opposed escalation of the war in Vietnam congratulated President Lyndon Johnson for supporting the ‘democratic revolution’ in Brazil. Although the regime's use of torture was reported within a week of the golpe, the revelation of these facts was denied by US officials who, as Green documents, knew the truth all along. The tide began to turn only after 1968, when the dictatorship repressed Brazil's pro-democracy movement, closed Congress and hounded Brazilian dissidents such as a congressman, Márcio Moreira Alves, who had reported cases of torture as a journalist soon after the golpe, and was forced into exile. The military's tightening grip on power included aggressive ‘intelligence-gathering’ techniques, that is to say, the routine use of torture.
Torture allegations, including eyewitness and first-hand accounts, reports, articles and films, all fuelled the opposition in both Brazil and the United States. Living in exile in Chile, Alves soon joined with Brady Tyson in the United States to help give shape to this campaign. Tyson, a professor at American University at the time, had served as a Methodist minister for eight years in Brazil before being expelled by the dictatorship in 1966. In 1970 he was among the founders of the American Committee for Information on Brazil. The group organised tours for Alves to detail the existence of torture to the Washington press and on college campuses. Alves called the dictatorship ‘terrorist and repressive’ and documented the US government's role in supporting the golpe and sustaining the regime.
While academics, religious figures and Brazilian exiles formed organisations and developed strategies to alert the US public and pressure the US government to end its unconditional support of the military regime, artists and performers lost few opportunities to condemn the dictatorship and its practices. Torture, disappearances, censure, machismo and authoritarianism were all grist to the mill of musicians, poets, designers, playwrights, filmmakers, illustrators and painters.
The tragic story of the brutal murder of Stuart A. Jones, the handsome son of a US citizen and a Brazilian fashion designer, Zuleika ‘Zuzu’ Angel Jones, weaves through two or three chapters, mostly because Zuzu was relentless in her long quest to discover her son or confirm his death. She used fashion, most famously at a September 1971 show at the Brazilian consul-general's residence in New York, to criticise the regime dramatically. Zuzu appeared in a long black gown with a belt made of dozens of tiny silver crucifixes. Her daughter sang the samba, Tristeza (Sadness). Afterwards the press reported her declaration: ‘I shall continue to knock on all doors to let the world know – through my fashions, if necessary’. Consistently denied official knowledge of her son's nonsensical capture and sadistic interrogation by security forces, Zuzu was herself killed in a suspicious car crash in 1976.
Green shows how, in 1973, some US activists shifted their attention from Brazil to Chile when General Augusto Pinochet triggered a violent golpe that murdered President Salvador Allende. Soon afterwards, the democratic opposition in Brazil began to build momentum against the dictatorship internally. External pressure remained important, however, and the introduction of President Jimmy Carter's policy of a human rights test on foreign aid proved instrumental in bolstering resistance forces in Brazil.
Throughout the book we are invited to read transcripts of interviews from both Brazilian and US participants, lyrics from musicians such as Chico Buarque and scripts of plays from various authors. The book is thick, but diverse evidence and lively writing make it engaging to read. The double chapter format, pairing ‘chapters’ and capítulos, helps to highlight intriguing life histories, but also produces some chronological confusion and repetition. These problems might have been overcome by careful editing, something on which Duke University Press apparently decided to save money, as this otherwise superb book suffers from countless typographical and grammatical errors, an irritant calling out for denunciation.
