It’s a Sunday in Rio’s south zone, home to the famed beaches of Ipanema and Copacabana. Families, couples, and teenagers who dream of the weekend flock to find refuge on the city’s shores, bringing with them picnics, boomboxes, soccer balls, and beer. It’s a time of leisure and rest, a day or two off from the grind of the workweek. As usual on these weekend days, the southern zone is packed. With the temperatures rising and the coming of spring, more and more people are planning their outings at the beach.
I am standing in line at the supermarket in Copacabana, two avocados in hand, waiting patiently to check out in the 15 items and under line. A commotion arises, causing everyone to peer outside of the grocery store’s windows onto the street. “It’s a robbery! someone shouts, which is followed by gasps, women firmly clutching their purses, and, in true carioca fashion, a slew of racist commentary. Suspicions as to “who” and “from where” these supposed thieves might be coming from began to surface.
I am standing in line at the supermarket in Copacabana, two avocados in hand, waiting patiently to check out in the 15 items and under line. A commotion arises, causing everyone to peer outside of the grocery store’s windows onto the street. “It’s a robbery! someone shouts, which is followed by gasps, women firmly clutching their purses, and, in true carioca fashion, a slew of racist commentary. Suspicions as to “who” and “from where” these supposed thieves might be coming from began to surface.
So here I am, standing in the supermarket line, two avocados in hand, when the middle-aged man in front of me starts going off. “Those people,” he says. “Those favela-dwellers,” he says. “What a disgrace,” he says to the cashier, waiting for her to confirm his bigoted comments…waiting to be reaffirmed so that he may go on believing that crimes are committed by “those people”…that this commotion could not possibly be due to good, ‘white’ residents of the south zone. But the cashier does not corroborate. The cashier responds, politely. After all, this is her job. She is at work. “It is prejudice to assume that all people who live in favelas are criminals,” she says. “I live in the favela and I am not a criminal,” she says, again, politely.
After all, this is her job. She is at work. She, like many who work in Rio’s middle and upper class neighborhoods, commutes to work from her home. Each day, she may get on one or several buses, bike, or walk down a hill only to be treated like a criminal in her own city, by residents who claim they “don’t see race,” the same residents who don’t see a need for reparations, criticize the country’s affirmative action initiatives, and call the bolsa familia program a “government handout”.
After all, this is her job. She is at work. She, like many who work in Rio’s middle and upper class neighborhoods, commutes to work from her home. Each day, she may get on one or several buses, bike, or walk down a hill only to be treated like a criminal in her own city, by residents who claim they “don’t see race,” the same residents who don’t see a need for reparations, criticize the country’s affirmative action initiatives, and call the bolsa familia program a “government handout”.

Image of gym rats attacking bus from Anonymous Rio's Facebook Page. Caption reads- "Quick test. Why didn't the police arrest the vandals who destroyed the bus? Answer: (A) They were middle-class, white, and lived in the south zone. (B) They were not protesting for a social right. (C) They were not black. (D) All of the above."
Leaving the supermarket, I step out onto a street swarmed by police. Dozens and dozens, as far as the eye can see. Police, standing there, waiting to strike the next group of black youth in sight because they, just as the middle-aged man in the supermarket, hold black bodies accountable for systemic problems. Because when things go wrong, what do they do? Blame the victim. As W.E.B. Du Bois once said “How does it feel to be a problem?”
Ignoring the historical implications of these events will not move us towards an equal society. But perhaps this is exactly where many of those in power wish for us to stay, right here, where race isn’t an issue, where slavery was a “thing of the past”. Perhaps their version of moving forward wants us to forget about our white supremacist foundations. Because if we continue to look back, we might see that history is repeating itself. We might see that the parts of our history that bring us shame are mirror images of our present, our future.
Ignoring the historical implications of these events will not move us towards an equal society. But perhaps this is exactly where many of those in power wish for us to stay, right here, where race isn’t an issue, where slavery was a “thing of the past”. Perhaps their version of moving forward wants us to forget about our white supremacist foundations. Because if we continue to look back, we might see that history is repeating itself. We might see that the parts of our history that bring us shame are mirror images of our present, our future.
I arrive home. My roommate says to me. “I really wanted to ride my bike along the beach today.” “Why can’t you?” I respond. “Because of the ‘organized robberies,’” she says. “I don’t want to get my bike stolen,” she says. On the television, Globo News warns her, along with millions of other Brazilians, that Rio’s beaches are not safe…that the police are handling it. Fast-paced, quick cutting images flash across the screen of police running after groups of black and brown youth with batons, patrolling the beaches with machine guns pointing out of their squad cars. Next weekend we will be prepared, they say. We have made arrests, they say.
Meanwhile, a few blocks down the road, a group of gym rats in their late-twenties decide to take matters into their own hands and go after groups of black and brown youth themselves. They begin attacking a bus filled with beachgoers on their way home while the police stand there. Of course, it is later revealed one of them is an off-duty cop. Meanwhile, Globo News interviews frightened residents of the south zone. Meanwhile, the pack of gym rats gets off scot-free.
Meanwhile, the city is cutting 35% of the bus lines coming from the city’s north zone to the beaches of the south zone. There are too many buses, they say. Meanwhile, the city is sending 700 military police and 300 civil police to patrol the south zone’s bus stops. Meanwhile, Globo News tells us the beaches are ‘safe’ again due to a heightened security presence.
Meanwhile, a few blocks down the road, a group of gym rats in their late-twenties decide to take matters into their own hands and go after groups of black and brown youth themselves. They begin attacking a bus filled with beachgoers on their way home while the police stand there. Of course, it is later revealed one of them is an off-duty cop. Meanwhile, Globo News interviews frightened residents of the south zone. Meanwhile, the pack of gym rats gets off scot-free.
Meanwhile, the city is cutting 35% of the bus lines coming from the city’s north zone to the beaches of the south zone. There are too many buses, they say. Meanwhile, the city is sending 700 military police and 300 civil police to patrol the south zone’s bus stops. Meanwhile, Globo News tells us the beaches are ‘safe’ again due to a heightened security presence.
In his book Racism Without Racists, sociologist Eduardo Bonilla-Silva writes about what he calls racial story lines, which he defines as “socially shared tales that are fable-like because they are often based on impersonal, generic arguments with little narrative content.” He uses the example of the racial story line often employed by whites, “my best friend lost a job to a black man”, to exemplify their opposition to affirmative action programs. In the retelling of these racial story lines, much like the one employed in this beach robbery scenario, we only contribute to the white supremacist system that created these narratives in the first place. They are simple stories, stories that are then perpetuated and accepted as facts.
If we are to move toward a more just society, we have to start owning up to the racist structures under which these events operate. We have to look at who's controlling the narrative and what that narrative is telling us. Is it telling us that the people are indeed the problem? Is it considering the historical context of its parts? Is it functioning through the lens of the post-racial, the colorblind? Is it substantiated by true facts? Are those facts presented within their social context?
As a media-maker, I believe these questions are important in the telling of stories that challenge our white supremacist society. Looking back to my first blog post, I believe that the telling of complex stories must be filtered through questions such as these. We must do the necessary work to avoid essentializing and simplifying history or we risk further contributing to the racist system of which these narratives were born.
If we are to move toward a more just society, we have to start owning up to the racist structures under which these events operate. We have to look at who's controlling the narrative and what that narrative is telling us. Is it telling us that the people are indeed the problem? Is it considering the historical context of its parts? Is it functioning through the lens of the post-racial, the colorblind? Is it substantiated by true facts? Are those facts presented within their social context?
As a media-maker, I believe these questions are important in the telling of stories that challenge our white supremacist society. Looking back to my first blog post, I believe that the telling of complex stories must be filtered through questions such as these. We must do the necessary work to avoid essentializing and simplifying history or we risk further contributing to the racist system of which these narratives were born.