critique of anthropology (1)

7/27/2019 Critique of Anthropology (1)

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/critique-of-anthropology-1 1/25

http://coa.sagepub.com

Critique of Anthropology

DOI: 10.1177/0308275X081010282009; 29; 81Critique of Anthropology

Martijn OosterbaanJaneiro

Sonic Supremacy: Sound, Space and Charisma in a Favela in Rio de

http://coa.sagepub.com/cgi/content/abstract/29/1/81 The online version of this article can be found at:

Published by:

http://www.sagepublications.com

can be found at:Critique of Anthropology Additional services and information for

http://coa.sagepub.com/cgi/alertsEmail Alerts:

http://coa.sagepub.com/subscriptionsSubscriptions:

http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.navReprints:

http://www.sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.navPermissions:

http://coa.sagepub.com/cgi/content/refs/29/1/81Citations

at University of Groningen on March 27, 2009http://coa.sagepub.comDownloaded from

http://coa.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts


http://coa.sagepub.com/subscriptions



http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav


http://www.sagepub.co.uk/journalsPermissions.nav


http://coa.sagepub.com/cgi/content/refs/29/1/81

http://coa.sagepub.com/




http://coa.sagepub.com/cgi/content/refs/29/1/81







Sonic Supremacy Sound, Space and Charisma in a Favela in

Rio de Janeiro

Martijn Oosterbaan

University of Groningen/Utrecht University, The Netherlands

Abstract I

This article discusses the soundscape of a favela in Rio de Janeiro. It argues that sounds, and music in particular, play an important part in thecreation and maintenance of boundaries between groups in the dense urbanspace of the favela. The politics of presence excercised by different groupsconstitutes the sonic charisma of the favela. Especially in relation to Pentecostalfaith, it becomes obvious how the charisma of the city and in the city are related.

A focus on the soundscape of the favela highlights the fact that electronic mediaare woven into the fabric of its social life and are part and parcel of the produc-tion of locality. Yet the mass-mediated sounds, employed to mark space andidentity also demonstrate that identity is not produced either locally or supra-locally, but rather trans-locally and that electro-acoustic technology is essential

to the deterritorialization and reterritorialization of religion.Keywords I Brazil I Christianity I city I media I music I religion

For the first few nights in my small apartment in the favela ,1 I could hardly sleep at all. It was very hot and humid but what mostly kept me awake thosenights was the loud music and the noises coming from the festivities in thefavela. I had moved to the favela during the week and the first Friday evening I saw and heard the many different celebrations that mark thebeginning of the weekend. The different Pentecostal churches of the

Assembléia de Deus (Assemblies of God) had their doors open and I could

hear their music and songs clearly. The little shop on the only paved roadbroad enough for cars and trucks had been playing pagode 2 music since theafternoon, while owners of the bars in the main street were playing mostly forró.3 That Friday night I could hear the sounds of funk 4 music all night long. The funk music was so loud one could hear its intrusive beat down inCopacabana. Tired as I was that Saturday, I was also quite excited: it appeared to me that life in the favela never stopped for one moment andthat people celebrated the end of the work week together.

I was soon disabused about the togetherness. The different music andsounds audible in the favela embodied an assertive identity politics and thepreference for certain music was often indistinguishable from the music’sability to epitomize the socio-political position of the enthusiasts. Forró wascommonly thought to belong to the nordestinos – immigrants from the

Article

Vol 29(1) 81–104 [DOI:10.1177/0308275X08101028]Copyright 2009 © SAGE Publications (London, Los Angeles, New Delhi,Singapore and Washington DC) www.sagepublications.com








north-east of Brazil who had recently migrated, pagode to the so-called‘authentic’ inhabitants. Funk belonged to the youth, while gospelbelonged to the evangélicos (evangelicals).5 Most people who frequented

the Pentecostal churches were very keen to stay away from the little bar where the pagode music was playing, nor would they dance to that or otherkinds of music in public. Conversely, the open doors of the Assembléia deDeus did not signify the great love of gospel music of a large proportion of the inhabitants.6

In this article I will relate the two modes of urban charisma that Hansenand Verkaaik have put forward in their introduction to the urban environ-ment of the favela of my research.7 As Hansen and Verkaaik argue, one candistinguish between the charisma of the city and charisma in the city. Thecharisma of the city is co-produced by the rich sensory effect that architec-ture, technology and human behaviour create in its inhabitants and visitors,

while charisma in the city deals with those people who seem best able tochannel this energy, to reinforce and redirect it for different purposes. Inthis article I will relate the sonic charisma of the favela to the charisma of several prominent evangelicals in the favela, and show how the amplifi-cation of sound produces opportunities for specific religious styles andperformances to blossom.

This article starts with the premise that sound and music are essentialto the constitution of identities, and powerful tools to exercise a politics of

presence in the favela. In the density of the favela, different groups try toexercise a politics of presence through the sounds they produce. Theattempt to conquer one’s place in the urban setting by means of the(re)production of sound call for a better understanding of the relationbetween ‘sensing’ and ‘knowing’ the city – as Blom Hansen and Verkaaikalso argue in the introduction to this issue – and urge us to pay attentionto the relation between sound, territoriality, architecture and charisma.

In the perspective of the adherents of the Pentecostal churches, their‘Godly’ sound and gospel music contrasts with the ‘worldly’ sounds of theirneighbours. One of the important counterpoints of gospel music in the

ears of many evangélicos is the popular funk music that is played at partiesin the favela. For the evangélicos, the association between the funk partiesand the drug-trading gang enhances the experience that funk is incited by the devil. An analysis of the opposition between funk and gospel music –as it is perceived by the evangélicos – demonstrates the entanglement between territorial and ideological struggles, and exemplifies the soniccharisma of the city.

The sonic battles that are audible in the favela are also related to thecharisma in the city in several ways. In this article I focus on pastors andmusicians who preach and perform in the favela, and derive their status asimportant mediators of the powers of the Holy Spirit, among other ways,through their recorded and amplified prayer and music. Given the fact that church doors remain open during the loudly amplified services, pastors

82

Critique of Anthropology 29(1)








and musicians are audible beyond the confines of the church buildings.This enhances the possibilities of attaining charisma through performance

within and beyond the church community, and thus directs our attention

to the nexus between religion, technology and charisma at the grassrootslevel.

The favelas of Rio de Janeiro

The city of Rio de Janeiro has roughly 6 million inhabitants (Leal deOliveira and Cavallieri, 2008). There are two important distinctions that form part of the cityscape of the cariocas ,8 both of which are related to thesocial segregation in the city. The first is the distinction between zona norte and zona sul , the North zone and the South zone. Zona sul, with its famousbeaches and middle-class apartments, is generally considered the affluent part of town in comparison to zona norte, which largely consist of industry and large lower-class neighbourhoods. The second important social-geographical dichotomy that cariocas use is the distinction morro (hill) andasfalto (asphalt). While both zona norte and zona sul have many favelas, thefavelas of zona sul are built mostly on the hills in the city and they are there-fore commonly referred to as morros.9

The favela of my research is located in zona sul and is surrounded by

high-rise flats. There is only one paved road that enters the morro, the rest are small pathways springing up behind the high-rise apartment buildings. All entrances are guarded either by the police or by the traficantes , membersof the gang of drug traffickers. At first sight the favela appears to be alabyrinth. It is a complex of narrow alleys and small, concrete stairs leadingto houses that are built close to or on top of each other. Although the infra-structure is not totally ‘planned’, the favela, like many of the favelas in zonasul, does have rudimentary sewers, running water, electricity and phonelines. In many cases the inhabitants have planned and built these facilitiesthemselves, sometimes with the help of government institutions or private

companies.10

The morro/asfalto dichotomy clearly entails much more than ageographical distinction between different areas in city. It is also an indi-cator of the socio-economic differences in the city and the ways in whichpeople narrate these differences to one another.11 Such narratives are not devoid of fear, disgust and discrimination. Inhabitants of the favelas areoften described as marginals by the well-to-do inhabitants of the city,despite the history of social scientific studies that prove otherwise.12 Thestigmatization of favelados (favela inhabitants)13 is tightly connected to theexistence of drug gangs and the crime rates in the city.14 The image of Riode Janeiro as one of the most violent cities in the world is primarily relatedto the drugs traffic. The favelas of zona sul and zona norte in Rio de Janeiroare widely known for the violence that takes place as a result of their

83

Oosterbaan: Sonic Supremacy








function as local centres of narco-tráfico , the sale of cocaine and marihuana.In many favelas, traficantes police their territory thoroughly to defend it incase of an attack by the police or other gangs. The threat of armed violence

puts a great strain on the inhabitants, who unfortunately do not have many possibilities to move to safer places in the city.

The work of several scholars has contributed to a shift in the character-ization of favelas as enclosed, homogeneous communities. Favelas display internal forms of order and government that are entwined with supra-localstructures and institutions, as amply described in the work of Marcus Alvito(2001), Desmond Arias (2006), Donna Goldstein (2003) and Alba Zaluar(1998). In general, the inhabitants earn considerably less than the peoplein the surrounding neighbourhoods, and they often have to deal with thepresence of the drug gangs and police brutality. The number of Pentecostalchurches has grown substantially in the last decades, but specifically in thefavelas they have claimed more space alongside other popular religiousinstitutions such as Catholic parishes and temples for Afro-Brazilianreligious worship.15

Sound, space and identification

One of the questions most inhabitants asked me when I had just moved in

was if I had heard gunshots and if so, was I scared? After some time I beganto understand the question as an introduction to the place. Living in themorro meant being confronted with the sound of shootings, understand-ing the background and coping with the danger involved. Sometimes Ithought I had heard gunshots, but when I asked others they would assureme that what I had heard were fireworks. Fireworks were often used by olheiros (watchers) to warn other traficantes that policemen were enteringparticular parts of the morro and signalled that it was wise to be cautious.These are important experiences that inhabitants of the morro share withone another.

My focus on the soundscape (see Schäfer, 1994) of the morro is strongly related to a growing body of literature that aims to complement theoccularcentric representation of place with a description of sounds. Soundis an important indicator of place, as Steven Feld has forcefully argued(1996: 97).16 According to Feld, the rich and multi-sensory experience of place should lead us to formulate a multi-sensory conceptualization of place.This article is an attempt to contribute to such a conceptualization.

The soundscape of the favela acquires its distinctive character inrelation to its architecture and social geography. The favela consists of smallhouses with poorly insulated walls that are built on top of one another. Thehouses are often populated by many people who thus have to share very little space. As a result, social life in the morro could well be characterizedby the tension between proximity and the search for (dis)sociation. On the

84









one hand, people live close to each other and are often dependent on thesolidarity of their relatives and neighbours. On the other hand, many takegreat care with whom they engage in public and try hard to remain inde-

pendent. To be identified as member of a certain group can often result instrong moral judgements from the neighbours. Some people feel severely criticized by the crentes (believers) next door, who claim they are livingimmorally because they like to listen to pagode and drink a beer or two inthe evening.17

Sound is part and parcel of the consolidation of social categories,especially in the dense social space of the favela. People know exactly what others listen to because they are often confronted with their music. Whilethe meaning of music cannot be taken at face value, the ability of sound totraverse space does indicate its unique capability to establish the presenceof certain groups in the maze-like architecture of the favela. As such, thesoundscape forms an important element of the public space of the favelaand reveals many of its power relations. This is in accordance with the workof Jacques Attali, who stresses the dialectical relation between sound andpower. According to him, sound – and music in particular – is ‘a tool forthe creation or consolidation of a community, of a totality, it is what linksa power center to its subjects, and thus, more generally, it is an attribute of power in all its forms’ (1985: 6).18

In this article I am mostly concerned with the ability of music to

communicate group identity and to reproduce boundaries between differ-ent groups in relation to the cityscape of the favela.19 In another article Ihave demonstrated more specifically how electro-acoustic technology andPentecostalism influence each other by discussing the place of evangelicalradio in the favela (Oosterbaan, 2008). Nevertheless, to explain how electro-acoustic technology is related to the production of locality and tourban charisma I will repeat some of what I have written on the importanceof style and the opposition between funk and gospel music.

As several scholars have shown, preferences for certain music styles canbe crucial to identity politics and the creation and maintenance of bound-

aries between groups (Keil and Feld, 1994; Stokes, 1997).20 Style can bedefined as ‘a deeply satisfying distillation of the way a very well integratedhuman group likes to do things’ (Keil and Feld, 1994: 202). According toKeil and Feld, music style can create such an intense sociability within acommunity over time that any innovation has to be made in accordance

with ‘that shaping continuum and no other’ (1994: 202).In the morro, social categories were often based upon the differences

between certain music styles. According to their taste, people were ident-ified as pagodeiro, sambista or funkeiro , for example (see also Sansone,2001).21 Similarly, crentes and nordestinos22 were often recognized by themusic they played in public.23 While in many instances the inhabitantstreated such identities as essentially different, it is clear that these groupidentities, mediated by electro-acoustic technology, involve contextual

85









identity performances that imply multiple parties in a field of powerrelations.24 Clearly, some of these group identities overlap and/or portray both dominant and demotic discourses of and within communities

(Baumann, 1996). Following the work of Bruno Latour (2005), amongothers, I am thus interested in understanding how these groups are formedperformatively, in this particular case in relation to both the urban andtechnological environment. This allows us to see in what ways architectureand media contribute to the creation (and dissolution) of groups andcommunities in different spaces on a permanent basis.

Besides enhancing feelings of unity among the admirers of certainmusic, electro-acoustic technology also allows for the representatives of these groups to claim space in the urban density of the morro.25 As peopleloudly amplified their own music, they temporarily seized hold of thesoundscape of the entire favela. Such a seizure of the soundscape demon-strates how electro-acoustic technology can be used to privatize publicspace in (and beyond) an urban context like that of a favela .26 Further-more, it also demonstrates what I would here like to refer to as the soniccharisma of the city.

Though sound is part and parcel of the material surroundings of theinhabitants of the favela, it has a fleeting nature. It echoes, reverberates anddisappears. As such, it not only marks the fluidity of social boundaries, it also forms part of the sensual knowledge of the city that is much more diffi-

cult to grasp and ‘fix’ than those visual, symbolic representations of the city that we are accustomed to.27 Nevertheless, particular urban sounds have arhythm of their own, a way of repeating and attaching themselves to specificmoments of the day or the week, fusing temporal notions and bodily sensations. One could think of Christian church bells (Corbin, 2000) or theIslamic call to prayer. In the case of the morro, the funk and pagode partieson Fridays marked the end of the working week, the way the amplifiednightly church service marked the end of the working day. This soniccharisma of the city, co-produced by the nexus of (mediated) sounds andthe architexture of the built environment, leaves its ‘traces on human

bodies’, as Hansen and Verkaaik argue in the introduction to this volume.In the following section, we will take a closer look at the sonic charisma

of morro through a discussion of the way in which the adherents of thePentecostal churches generally conceptualized funk music. Within thePentecostal discourse, gospel and funk were often presented as opposites.The Christian division between worldly and Godly music, which the adher-ents employ, allows for a particular understanding of the soundscape of themorro and the place of gospel music in it.

The sound of funk versus the sound of gospel

Funk was definitively the loudest music in the soundscape of the morro.28

When the parties began, the electronic beat of the music was heard inside

86









each and every house in the entire favela. Mostly on Fridays, two enormous walls of professional loudspeakers were set up in one of the squares in themorro and the first sounds usually roared through the community around

midnight.29 During the parties, armed men of the Comando Vermelho(Red Command) would patrol the vicinity of the baile in order to protect it against invasions of the police or other gangs. As such, the sound of thebaile reflected and constituted the power relations in the morro.30 ThoughI agree with Sansone, who warns us about ‘an a priori direct link betweenrage, revolt, violence, gangs and funk’ (2001: 143) – because many youngpeople he interviewed in the favela loved funk and did not identify them-selves as funkeiro nor were they associated with the tráfico – the funkparties I visited in the morro were related to the local drug gang. This doesnot imply that all the attendees approved or supported the power of thetráfico, rather that the message of funk is polyvalent and intricately relatedto socio-economic inequality and power. The contradiction between thecritical lyrics of some funk songs, in which police violence and injustice isnarrated, and the violence employed by the gangs themselves, demon-strates but one of the ambiguities of life in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro.

The sound of the bailes was not entirely uncontested. The funk partiesin the morro could be heard in the adjacent neighbourhoods as well. Thesound not only transcended the different areas within the favela but alsothe socio-geographical distinction between morro and asfalto. One inhabi-

tant told me that the residents of the neighbourhoods had demanded that the municipal government end their disturbance and, as a result, the policehad forbidden the bailes. Nonetheless, during the period of my researchthe bailes thrived. Only once I was also told that traficantes had pressuredpeople of the local government to convince the police that a party shouldcontinue after the police had ended it.

During the parties that I frequented, armed men entered the dancefloor and paraded through the dancing crowd with their firearms heldhigh. Songs that praised the power of the Comando Vermelho accom-panied their entrance and were often met with cheers. In general, the lyrics

recount the lives of bandidos in the favelas of Rio de Janeiro and often they confirm the status of traficantes. Take, for example these lyrics that comefrom a tape of funk recordings I copied from a girl in the morro:

Agora é chapa quente The heat is oneu vou no bonde I am part of the gang

ja tó bolado tó maluco tó chapado I am loaded, I am crazy, I am stonedo maluco vem neste bonde The crazy man is part of this gangguerreiros estão voltando The warriors are returningser bandido é facil To be a bandit is easy dificil é ser do Comando To be of the Comando, that’s difficult

These lyrics celebrate the warrior status of the traficantes of the Comando Vermelho. Many of the funk lyrics are a reflection of the violent livingconditions experienced by the young people who are involved in the tráficoin the favelas, as well as a demonstration of the territorial power of the

87









tráfico. Take, for example, the lyrics below that were a parody of a very popular song performed by the Brazilian singer/celebrity Ivete Sangolo.The original text was:

Avisou, Avisou, Avisou, Avisou They have warned, they have warned,they have warned

Que vai rolar a festa The party will beginVai rolar It will beginO povo do gueto The people of the ghettoMandou avisar They have called for a warning

Instead of an upcoming party, the tráfico version warns of the war that isabout to commence. This version I heard often during the bailes in themorro, and also on other occasions, for example, when people played the

tapes at home. The song starts with the sound of shots from an automaticrifle after which the following lyrics are sung:

É uniao todas (que) mandam estavam la It is union, everyone who rules wasthere

É Comando é Comando It’s Comando it’s Comando[Vermelho]

nao podemos estranhar We cannot estrange ourselvesO pt do Vidigal, da Jacare, da It is the pt 31 from Vidigal, of Jacaré,Mangueira etc . etc. [all favelas of the Comando

Vermelho]

esse bonde faz amor e fé This gang brings love and faithAvisou, Avisou, Avisou, Avisou They have warned, they have warned,they have warned

Que vai rolar a guerra War will comeO bonde do B mandou avisar The gang of B has called for a

warning32

As the lyrics also confirm, traficantes used the parties to communicate that this morro, like other morros, was controlled by the Comando Vermelho.The extremely loud music verified the power of the traficantes to challengethe police and the other drug gangs in Rio de Janeiro.

Even though many young people loved the bailes and explained methey were accustomed to the rifles and guns on the dance floor, most of my evangelical friends did not go to the bailes in the morro and some also

warned me of the dangers involved. Roberto, a young man who hadrecently converted to a local Assembléia de Deus, told me he had been at a baile once when the police came and started shooting. Several peoplecontinued dancing while the police was shooting at the traficantes and vice

versa. Another friend of mine tried to prevent me from going to a baile.Her best friend had been shot when she was in the line of fire, and the

father of one of her children had been killed near a baile during aconfrontation between traficantes and the police.33

The Pentecostal adherents strongly disliked the baile funk parties. Forthem, going to a baile was seen as walking the caminho errado (wrong way),

88









leading one straight into the arms of the devil. Many crentes told me thelyrics of the funk music exhibited too much palavrão (profanity) and only told of prostitution, drug abuse and violence. This does not necessarily

mean these people never went to bailes. Many of the young people whohad joined the Assembléia de Deus had been to the bailes prior to theirconversion, including one pastor who grew up in the morro. Some of themstill went occasionally. The first time I went to take a look at a baile, I didso against the advice of one of my friends of the Assembléia de Deus. She

warned me that if I kept attending the funk parties, the members of thesmall church where I was playing the drums in the church band wouldbegin to doubt my spiritual state of mind and surely would not allow me toplay any more.

The oppositions between crentes and funkeiros which play themselvesout in the daily life of the morro should be seen as attempts to demarcateclear lines between moral and immoral behaviour from the perspectiveof the people who attend Pentecostal churches. In the media of the

Assembléia de Deus the lifestyle of the pagodeiros and funkeiros ispresented as irreconcilable with an evangelical lifestyle. In these media,samba, pagode and funk were almost invariably associated with the for-bidden fruits of carnal pleasure. The music and lifestyle therefore func-tioned as an important counterpoint to the gospel music, which most evangélicos experience as a pure and Godly force that confirms their

separate position in the morro (Oosterbaan, 2008).34

Beside the numerous doctrines and practices, music is a very import-ant aspect of Pentecostalism in the morro and in Brazil at large. Most, if not all, of the church services start with music. The hymns (louvores )35 areaccompanied by music from a tape recording or a single synthesizer, but many churches also have their own band of musicians. Occasionally, churchleaders invite guest musicians. The popularity of the Pentecostal musicmust be understood against the background of the strict (discursive) separ-ation between musica do mundo (music of the world) and musica evangélica (evangelical music). By and large, people criticized popular Brazilian music

on the basis of its lyrics. Many people explained me that if the lyricscontained non-biblical, blasphemous or heretical content, the songs shouldnot be listened to, let alone be played. It was very clear to most evangélicosthat one should not listen to ordinary funk music voluntarily because it wasso closely associated to the immoral lifestyle of the baile funk participants.

For some people, conversion to Pentecostalism implied an alterationof their music taste. Consider the words of Paula, a young woman, who had

joined the local Assembléia de Deus not long before the interview:

Your vision changes after you are in the church. You look at things differently,

you see the world in a different light, totally different, from one minute to theother you change your personality. I adored funk, I loved funk, pagode all thesethings, I did not miss one baile funk, I adored it. I lost the desire, I can’t evensing the music, many things I did, I don’t do any more.

89









Paula’s words indicate that the distinction between the old and new self, asmany attendees of Pentecostal churches call it, is strongly related to thepersonal experience of music. Yet, in the morro, the significance of the

gospel music in opposition to funk is not only formed by the discursiveseparation between musica do mundo and musica evangélica, but also by their amplified presence in the public domain.

On most nights of the week, I could hear the loud amplified voice of pastor Marcus of the Assembléia de Deus during the culto (church service).

At first, when I heard him shout the word ‘satanás ’ (Satan) with enormousenthusiasm, I often looked out my window to see what was happening.Later, I became used to the screams and the shouting coming from thechurch. The church of the Assembléia de Deus was built strategically at thecorner of the paved road, opposite the samba school, where many funkparties were held. Because of its central location, the church was very visibleand extremely audible to many people living in that part of the morro. Theloud, amplified voice of the pastor, alternated with shouts of the audience,followed by the music and the singing that mark the particular style of Pentecostalism. In one of my interviews, one of the elder congregants,Linda (a woman of 60 years) remembered what it was like when the churchhad been recently established, approximately 40 years before.

I was not a crente, I was of the escola de samba, a sambista. . . . When we passedthe church on our way to the samba practice, João, the doorman of the church

stood in the threshold and said to us ‘Jesus loves you and calls for you’ andinvited us to come in. I replied: ‘João, one of these days I will enter and see thisshouting of yours.’ The Pentecostals in these days were ‘Gloria, Gloria ’ [imitatesthe sound of high-pitched screaming people], that noise, it was louder thantoday. It was a kind of shouting, so different from us Catholics, us Catholics [shestarts whispering] we would sit in church, in that silence, that reverence, even

when we prayed. In the Pentecostal church it was ‘Senhor Jesus, my Father,bless, do this . . . [she speaks out loud].’ So it was that noise, everyone prayingout loud, we in the morro had never seen before. So I said ‘João, one of thesedays I will enter and see what this shouting inside is about.’ He replied: ‘Comeand see.’ We had this concept that when these crentes began to shout, that

screaming, the praying, everything, the baptism in the Holy Spirit, us who werenot crente we said: ‘That is when the men are grabbing the women’, that is why they are screaming. . . . One day, I said, I will go in and you [her friends] haveto remain outside and wait for me. If they start to grab me or if I see the mengrab the women, I will call you and you will come and we will get him off.

As we see, the emotional shouting and praying formed part of theattraction for Linda to enter the church.36 As with the other churches of the Assembléia de Deus in the morro, the music and praying were loudly amplified so participants inside were firmly surrounded by the sound.37

Nevertheless, the amplification of sound carried the Pentecostal presence well beyond the church walls and most people were well aware of this.

As I have also described elsewhere (Oosterbaan, 2008), pastors andchurch musicians were aware of the fact that the sounds emanating from

90









their churches were audible by the other inhabitants and they perceivedthis as an important element of their evangelical efforts. Furthermore, theiradoption of electro-acoustic technology to spread the message allowed for

a particular conceptualization of the transmission of the Holy Spirit via andas amplified sound.38 As I have argued in relation to evangelical radioprogrammes, the elective affinity between Pentecostalism and electro-acoustic technology is sustained by the idea that the gifts of the Holy Spirit (charismata ) are conveyed directly to the believer without mediation, muchin the same way music – and sound in general – is experienced as animmediate force that touches us profoundly (Oosterbaan, 2008). We willreturn to the role of pastors and musicians in the mediation of thecharismata, and their relation to the (sonic) charisma in and of the city. At this point I would like to call attention to the (re)territorialization of religion in relation to electronic mass media and the effects it has onconceptualizations of locality.

Sound, space and religion in the morro

The Pentecostal presence in the soundscape of the morro and its part in thesonic charisma of the city prompt us to evaluate the relationship betweenreligion and territoriality in the age of electronic mass media. Danièle

Hervieu-Léger (2002) distinguishes three registers of religious territoriality in modernity: the territorial modalities of the communalization of religion;the geopolitics of the religious; and religious symbolizations of space.

Although Hervieu-Léger recognizes an in-built tension between the terri-torialization of religion – its embeddedness in local communities – and itsclaims to universal significance, she argues that modernity has brought asignificant shift in the relationship between religion and territoriality.

According to her, the ‘dismantling of traditional bonds of belief and belong-ing to a local community’, reinforced by the ‘intensive moving around of individuals and the explosion of various means of worldwide communi-

cation – is leading to the emergence, through novel forms of sociability, of new configurations of this tension’ between the deterritorialization andreterritorialization of religion (2002: 103).

Hervieu-Léger (2002) mentions three important dynamics in therelationship between religion and territoriality, which are fundamental to

what I think is happening in the morros of Rio de Janeiro at present. First,she mentions the particularity of a situation of denominational pluralism.In a situation of denominational pluralism different religious institutionsattempt to sacralize space in order to attract and retain believers, howevernone of them can claim a territory exclusively. Second, she mentions thecompetition for presence in space in situations in which pluralism is nolonger merely religious, but also ideological. Following Alain Corbin(2000), who demonstrated that the confrontation between the Roman

91









Catholic Church and the republic in 19th-century France was played out through sonic competition (‘the battle of the bells’), Hervieu-Léger arguesthat the struggles over mastery of space can also occur between religious

and ideological parties and often involve struggles for mastery of the sound-scape (2002: 101). Third, she mentions the importance of the mobilizationof the ‘most modern communication technologies . . . which is weaving new patterns of religion in space’ (2002: 104).39

While each of these three dynamics of religion and spatiality providesinsights regarding the current spatialization of religion, much more couldbe said about their interrelations.

In particular, the recognition of the importance of sound in relation toreligion and territory is important when discussing the morro. The struggleover the control over the morro and its inhabitants is played out both inthe landscape and the soundscape. Only by taking the three dynamicstogether is it possible to understand that, in the morro, territorial strugglesinvolve both denominational and ideological institutions that employ communication technologies in their politics of presence. The ideological/religious opposition between crentes and traficantes, and their quest forsonic supremacy through gospel and funk music, is especially indicative of the current situation.

Besides the amplified prayers originating from the churches, there were many biroshkas (little shops) owned by evangelicals, who played gospel

music or evangelical radio to accompany them during their work, to evan-gelize and to demonstrate their religious affiliation to their customers. Forobvious reasons, most biroshkas are located there where many people passby and consequently many people were confronted with the evangelicalpresence. In the case of the favela called Acari, Christina Cunha (2002)noted an increase in the number of local shops and biroshkas owned by evangélicos. This increase in churches and shops has led to what she calls‘the evangelical occupation of space’ in the favela:

The social space is permeated with their ever-growing presence. There are

many ‘crentes’ who circulate in the streets and alleys with their distinctiveclothes and their Bibles in their hands. They are easily identified in public by their clothing (above all the believers of the conservative churches such as the

Assembléia de Deus) and they move around in groups. They hold their feastsand cultos throughout the day and invite their neighbors to participate, not sparing them or passers-by from the religious proselytism which is so character-istic for believers of this religion, pronounced loud and clear. Some of theseencounters rely on speakers, microphones and musical instruments like theguitar and tambourine to encourage the cânticos. Concluding, the evangélicoshave infiltrated distinct spheres of ‘life’ in Acari and in this context, the ‘occu-pation’ of physical and social space is just one of the many facets of this

phenomenon. (Cunha, 2002: 92 [author’s translation])

This vivid description of the evangelical occupation of space in Acari is very similar to the situation in the favela of my research. Unfortunately, Cunha

92









does not further explore the importance of electro-acoustic technology, which allows for this idea of the spiritual occupation of space.

The Pentecostal appropriation of electro-acoustic media demands that

we rethink our conceptualizations of locality. As Arjun Appadurai hasargued strongly, the production of locality is heavily influenced by thecurrent ‘form and force of electronic mediation’ (1996: 189).40 Takingneighbourhood as the existing social form in which locality is realized,

Appadurai, underscores the current tensions between different forcesacting in and upon the life-world of the neighbourhood. One of theimportant struggles is shaped by the opposition between the neighbour-hood and the nation-state, the latter of which seeks to produce compliant national citizens, bypassing or, rather, overriding specific local forms of knowledge and subject positions. Another important tension is caused by the (global) flows of electronic media that present and sustain new ideasand experiences of community, often exceeding local forms of collectivity.

While Appadurai focuses mostly on visual media, I would like to take upsome his insights regarding the (global) production of locality in relationto electronic media, by focusing briefly on the electro-acoustic technology in the favela.

The morro is often described as one complexo (complex). Nevertheless,the inhabitants also make distinctions between many different smallerareas: Quebra Braço, Buraco Quente, Nova Brasilia or Igrejinha, to name

but a few. In much of the literature on favelas, scholars stress the tensionsbetween the internal and external boundaries of the favelas (Alvito, 2001;Zaluar, 1985). Though on the outside, the favelas are often represented asone bounded space, on the inside there are many very important divisions.Marcos Alvito (2001: 73), for example, describes the favela Acari in termsof a continuum from micro-areas to supra-local institutions. Likewise, AlbaZaluar, who did research in the favela Cidade de Deus41 in Rio de Janeiro,

writes:

The representation of locality is one of the most important in the ideology of

the poor urban [subject] in this city. And this locality has territorial divisionsand sub-divisions, and the more there are of these, the more there have to beorganizations that unite, mobilize and create the identity of the local people.(1985: 175 [author’s translation])

Locality is often defined by the relations people maintain with otherinhabitants. As both authors acknowledge, the proximity between theinhabitants calls for an understanding of the importance of ‘neighbourli-ness’ (vizinhança ). Neighbours who occupy the same little space ( pedaço ) inthe morro often form solidarity networks that strengthen their sense of locality, for example, their sense of territory.42 Yet, neighbourhood is not the sole determinant of identity in the morro nor is vizinhança the soledeterminant of sociability. Most inhabitants also identified themselves withsupra-territorial institutions that spoke in the name of a larger collective in

93









the morro, such as the associacão de moradores (association of inhabitants),the escola de samba (the samba school), the Assembléia de Deus or theComando Vermelho. In some cases, internal divisions and external unity

were not considered problematic. People in the morro could easily identify themselves with certain local and supra-local identities simultaneously, forexample, when they identified themselves as morador (inhabitant) andcarioca. However, in other instances, different identifications and soli-darities were not easily reconcilable, not even within a given micro-area.People who attended Pentecostal churches often expressed tension withnon-converted neighbours or with non-evangelical institutions, forexample.43

Since the sonic charisma of the morro exemplifies its internal divisions,as I have argued above, we are pressed to rethink our notions of locality inrelation to the macro- and the micro-level. The conceptualization of locality that Alvito presents, for example, has quite a strong visual component. Hedefines the micro-level mostly in terms of space and territory, and themacro-level as structures that are linked to that space, for example the state,the media or the churches. Supra-local institutions, such as the churchesor the state, are described as institutions that somehow stand above locality.In my opinion, such a description downplays the importance of sounds inthe movement between micro-area and the macro-level and underestimatesthe fact that many of the institutions can make themselves physically

‘present’ by means of electronic media, for example through sound.I think it is fruitful to describe the institutions as trans-local instead of supra-local. Many sounds of the morro represent and constitute groups that form part of larger imagined collectivities that transcend the limits of themorro. Both the local churches of the Assembléia de Deus and the localdrug gang are part of bigger networks and institutions that connect differ-ent neighbourhoods to each other. While the sound of these groups markstheir place in the favela, the sounds themselves were often transmitted fromother places, or came from discs or a cassettes that were produced some-

where else. People who turn up the volume of their radio and amplify

gospel music broadcast from somewhere else partake in a complex chainof re-mediations that connect people in different places to one another(often simultaneously).44 In the case of the morro, such a re-mediationexemplifies one particular form of the reterritorialization of religion.Furthermore, since the amplified sound transcends the limits of particularmicro-areas, it momentarily overcomes territorial divisions while enforcingreligious and ideological boundaries within the favela or between the favelaand the adjacent neighbourhoods.

Thus far I have focused mostly on the sound itself and less on thepeople who play an important part in its (re-)mediations. In the remainingsection of this article I want to devote attention to the charisma in the city and describe how we can relate the sonic charisma of the favela to thecharisma ascribed to Pentecostal pastors, missionaries and musicians.

94









Charisma in the city

Most of the pastors of the local churches of the Assembléia de Deus were

regarded as important leaders of the comunidade (the favela community).Some were directly involved in the association of inhabitants and othersoperated as part of the general liderança (leaders) of the favela. Thisauthority was clearly based on their exemplary lives as ‘good Christians’ andtheir abilities to direct the churches in such a way that their members

were satisfied. Yet most of the pastors and missionaries had also acquiredauthority because they were competent performers who could deliver apowerful sermon. A convincing sermon is not merely dependent on thechoice of the right topic, biblical reference or narrative frame. Equally important are the style, the force and timbre of the pastor. Furthermore,especially in local Pentecostal churches, the proof of one’s sanctified(charismatic) position is demonstrated when one starts to speak in tongues(glossalalia ) during a church service or sermon.

Quentin Schultze (1994) has argued that the popularity of Pentecostal-ism in Latin America cannot be explained merely in terms of economical orsociological factors, we should also include the cultural forces that re-assert orality as an important feature of religion. Pentecostalism is very successfulin Latin America, among other reasons, because it allows for an emphasison performance and playfulness, which many religious practices that are

highly text-centred lack (Schultze, 1994: 78). In Brazil, the emphasis on theoral communication of the message – and its truth that is demonstrated inglossalalia – produces an immediacy and ‘presentness’ that contemplativereligious practices, particularly those in mainstream Protestant churches, donot offer. In the morro, many people were more concerned with the direct experience of the divine through sound than with the rather abstract notions of the divine provided by literary practices.45

The status of the pastors and other people within the Assembléia deDeus depended by and large on their personal charisma. Personal charismacan best be understood as the common acceptance of the extraordinary

capabilities of specific people to mediate between supernatural powers andan audience as a result of the performances of these people, as ThomasCsordas (1997) has argued. While the possession of charisma is imaginedas something that is beyond human agency, such imagination is in fact theresult of a skilled performance. Where Csordas focuses on the rhetoricalfeatures and ritual language of such performances, Marleen de Witte(2008) convincingly demonstrates that charisma is often produced throughmass media and relies upon the carefully crafted (and edited) image of areligious leader/celebrity.46

Taking up her insightful claim that ‘charisma operates at the interfacebetween the technological and the religious’ (de Witte, 2008: 88), I thinkit is worthwhile to take a closer look at the nexus of electro-acoustic tech-nology and charisma at the grassroots level of the favela and to pay

95









attention to the way in which ‘small media’ can be used to co-producecharisma.47 Many people in the churches developed their skills as publicspeakers and performers gradually, from the first time they picked up a

microphone to address the audience to the moment they were invited asguest preachers or guest musicians by other congregations. Some of thepeople in the morro were even considered local celebrities, who travelledfrom congregation to congregation. Young people imitated famous gospelmusicians and pastors, knowing well that the ability to draw people to thechurches depended on the aesthetic dimensions of their performances

within the soundscape of the morro.Besides the noted value of amplifiers, I discovered the importance of

other small media when I was regularly asked to reproduce a copy of thetestimony or sermon that I had recorded on my mini-disc. Most people of the Assembléia de Deus exchanged tapes of recorded conversion testi-monies of preachers and missionaries and they were eager to hear theirown voice and style of preaching on disc so as to improve their skills orredistribute the disc to others. Testimonies often contained spectacularstories of violence in the city and the moments at which God had inter-

vened in a time of despair. As such, these testimonies connected the urbanexperiences of the inhabitants to a Pentecostal perception of the world, but also made it possible to develop and reproduce a charismatic style of preaching that was audible within and beyond the churches.

Conclusion

As I have tried to demonstrate, the cacophony in the favela is an essentialpart of the charisma of the city. This sonic charisma reflects and constitutesthe power struggles in the morro and the position that different groupsoccupy in it. Music plays an important part in the creation and mainten-ance of boundaries between groups. In the dense urban space, character-ized by proximity, it is not only through visual displays of style that groups

and individuals try to maintain their positions vis-a-vis each other, it is alsothrough sounds that people exercise a politics of presence. Especially infunk and gospel music one can discern an attempt to create a sense of belonging for the people who are attracted to these ideologies one the onehand, while on the other hand the music serves as a powerful instrument to privatize public space and to claim territory. The sonic battles betweenfunk and gospel music signal power struggles and are interwoven withlarger socio-economic inequalities in the urban context of Rio de Janeiro.

While funk music is a powerful instrument of the youthful inhabitants of the favela to demonstrate they have a voice and want to talk about insecurity and injustice, it is also used as a tool by the traficantes to exercise a politicsof presence both within the morro and in the wider urban domain. Simi-larly, evangélicos feel the need to let the world outside the morro hear that the favela is not made up of criminals, but of hard-working citizens who

96









follow the word of God, which, in their eyes and ears, offers the only solution to the violence and injustice (Oosterbaan, 2006). Many evangéli-cos also regard gospel music as an ideal medium to transmit the Holy Spirit

to non-converted neighbours. A focus on the soundscape of the morro also highlights the fact that

electronic media are woven into the fabric of its social life. Almost all thesounds that one hears in the morro are technically mediated in one way oranother. The sounds are picked up by microphone, recorded, transmitted,bought, copied and amplified. Mass-mediated sounds employed to markspace and identity also demonstrate that identity is not produced eitherlocally or supra-locally, but rather trans-locally. It is increasingly hard to pindown the production of identity in one specific place, as evangélicos definetheir local position in the morro through the amplification of broadcast music that is produced and transmitted somewhere else. And vice versa, thismusic can only attain its specific meaning in the local experience of otheramplified sounds, such as the funk music that is being taped, mixed andre-taped throughout favelas in Rio de Janeiro. This development indicatesthe complexity of life in favela-like neighbourhoods. While favela inhabi-tants are often described as one homogeneous group, they are is in fact made up of many different social groups. Though neighbourliness withincertain micro-areas is indeed very important, it is certainly not always abinding element. The music that people play, and reactions to it, are indica-

tive of both the solidarity and the tensions between next-door neighbours.The attention that people (have to) learn to give to certain sounds and thesonic struggles that take place, compels us to give more attention to thesensual characteristics of city life and their complex relation to knowledgeand power.

Notes

This article is based upon research conducted in Rio de Janeiro in 2002–3 as part

of the NWO/Pionier project: Modern Mass Media, Religion and the Imaginationof Communities. I wish to thank NWO (De Nederlandse Organisatie voor Weten-schappelijk Onderzoek/The Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research)and the ASSR (Amsterdam School for Social Science Research) for making thisresearch possible. I wish to thank the members of the project for their insights andinspiration, and Oskar Verkaaik for his comments on an early draft of this article.Parts of this article also appear in my article: ‘Spiritual Attunement: PentecostalRadio in the Soundscape of a Favela in Rio de Janeiro’ (Oosterbaan, 2008).

1 ‘Favelas’ can be translated as urban slums, shantytowns or squatter settlements,depending on the various discourses that are related to these mostly ‘illegally’

occupied areas. It is very hard to define these ‘settlements’ without associatingoneself with some kind of political position. Names such as: ‘aglomerado subnormal ’ (subnormal agglomerate), ‘comunidade carente ’ (destitute com-munity), ‘comunidade de baixa renda ’ (low-income community), ‘comunidade ’(community) or morro (hill), to name some examples, all point to different

97









positions that people and organizations take in the struggle over meaning andpower both inside and outside the favela.

2 Pagode is a type of popular music that developed from samba music.

3 Forró is a type of music that is popular in the north-east of Brazil.4 The carioca funk that I refer to here differs from the style commonly referredas funk in the Europe and in the United States. Carioca funk bears some simi-larities to electronic dance music and hip-hop music.

5 People who frequent Protestant and Pentecostal churches are often describedas evangélicos.

6 In the following months I learned that boundaries between different Pente-costal churches were drawn quite sharply at times, and one of the ways toaccomplish this was along the lines of musical preference. Many people fromthe Igreja Universal, a large Neo-Pentecostal church, said they preferred to play music from their own gospel-singing pastors than from the pastors of other

churches. This is confirmed by the quantitative research of Alexandre Fonseca(1997), who showed that the people from the Igreja Universal mostly tuned into the radio channel owned by their church, instead of those of others.

7 In my research I focused on the role of mass media in contemporary Pente-costal movements in Brazil. Since many adherents of the Pentecostal churchesin Rio de Janeiro live in favelas, I chose to live in a one for almost a year. Besidesanthropological research methods, such as participant observation and semi-structured interviewing, I analysed the form and content of the mass media with

which people engaged. Such an approach follows the work of Ginsburg et al.(2002), Birgit Meyer (2004) and Mattijs van de Port (2006), who have doneand/or advocated ethnographic research in relation to mass media.

8 Cariocas is the Brazilian term to describe the people of Rio de Janeiro. It is alsoused locally to describe Rio de Janeiro as place of birth or of identity vis-a-visother regions or cities in Brazil.

9 The census of 2000 showed that Rio de Janeiro had 513 favelas (Leal de Oliveiraand Cavallieri, 2008). It was also estimated that 18.7 percent of the populationof the city of Rio de Janeiro lives in favelas (O Globo , 28 April 2001).

10 This does not mean that these works are all completed – not to mention thelack of maintenance. While there are still many wooden shacks, the number of houses made of brick and cement keeps growing as does the number of in-habitants. The upshot is that more people are using the same facilities, whichis why repairs are necessary.

11 Unquestionably the relationship between the morro and the asfalto is muchmore complex than the rigid dichotomy seems to assume. Although thereseems to be a mutual construction of ‘otherness’ based on many categories,such as, wealth, religion, violence and security, civil rights and duties, inhabi-tants of morro and asfalto in fact share much more than they often presume.

Although the socio-economic differences between the asfalto and the morroare considerable, there is a risk of exaggerating the differences. This might not only give a wrong impression of the circumstances of the people who live infavelas, but also stigmatize them as one homogeneous group by continuously describing them in the same interconnected terms of underdevelopment,poverty, lack of education and so on – without demonstrating what daily life inthe favelas might actually look like, and to describe which social groups aredistinguished within the favela itself and how this is related to broader societaltransformations.

12 As early as 1977, for example, Janice Perlman published her influential study in which she dislodged many of the presuppositions that were used to explainthe relative poverty of favela inhabitants. Many theories were based upon

98









presupposed ‘cultural’ and ‘individual’ traits of the inhabitants, as well as on‘their’ presumed social behaviour. Perlman showed that, contrary to what most people thought, these people had work outside the favela, produced and

consumed at the same level as non-favelados, and participated in local andsupra-local organizations and associations (Perlman, 1977). Later, Perlmanherself wrote about her book:

The book argues that the existing ‘myths’ about the social, cultural, politi-cal and economic marginality were ‘empirically false, analytically wrong anddevastating in their implications for public policy directed at favelas’. Iconcluded that the favelados were not ‘economically or politically marginal,but exploited and repressed; were not socially or culturally marginal but stigmatized and excluded from a closed social system’. (2003: 2)

13 The inhabitants of the favelas are often pejoratively called favelados.

14 The statistics on crime and violence in Rio de Janeiro are terrifying. In a recent study, Luke Dowdney compared the homicides committed with firearmsbetween different urban regions worldwide. The index for 1999 showed that Rio de Janeiro suffered 41.5 homicides by firearms in a population of 100,000(the state of Rio de Janeiro 46.5), while the state of New York had 5.6 and thestate of Washington 10.2 in a population of 100,000. (Dowdney, 2003: 96). BothDowdney and Waiselfisz (2004) confirm that organized crime greatly affects

young people in the urban areas of Brazil. According to UNESCO, the indexof homicides among young people (Waiselfisz, 2004: 15–24) in Brazil rose from30 in a population of 100,000 in 1980 to 54.4 in 2002.

15 Extensive research done in Rio de Janeiro in 1994 showed that of all the people who frequented Protestant/Pentecostal churches in Rio de Janeiro, those whoattended the Pentecostal churches of the Assembléia de Deus and the IgrejaUniversal generally earned the lowest incomes in the city. Both of themattracted around 62 percent people whose families generally earned only twicethe minimum income and who had jobs with lowest incomes, for exampledomestic workers (see Fernandes et al., 1998).

16 Steven Feld argues for the use of ‘acoustemology’ in the description of place(1996: 97). In a broad sense, his arguments are in line with those of authorssuch as Veit Erlmann (2004), Steven Connor (2004) and Charles Hirschkind(2001), who all strive to pay more attention to sound and the faculty of hearing/listening in the constitution of modern subjectivity (Erlmann, 2004).

17 The term ‘crente’ is often used to (self-)describe adherents of the Pentecostalchurches.

18 Although Attali often equates sound with noise in order to stress the violenceof sound, I would like to maintain distinctions between sound, noise andmusic.

19 While music is a means of understanding people and behaviour, as AlanMerriam stated some time ago (1964: 13), the ethnomusicologist John Blackinghas argued forcefully that musical performance is only able to communicatemeaning because people have learned to make links between different kindsof knowledge and experience. Music has power in itself. It has ‘no conse-quences for social action unless it can be related to a coherent set of ideas about self and other bodily feelings’ (Blacking,, 1987: 35).

20 Sounds can evoke a sense of social boundaries that are not merely symbolic but also physical. Daniel Putman (1985) argued that touch, rather than sight, givesus insight into the specific way the musical experience teaches us something.

According to Putman, experience in life teaches us that tactile sensations of music are expressive of certain meanings (1985: 60; see also Oosterbaan, 2008).

99









21 A sambista is someone who is involved with others who like samba or are involvedin the samba school. A funkeiro is someone who is involved with the baile funkparties and a pagodeiro is someone who is a fan of pagode. These are all emic

categories employed in the day-to-day performance of identity in the morro.22 Nordestino, which means ‘north-easterner’, is a term many inhabitants use todescribe the group of people who have migrated to Rio de Janeiro from thenorth-east of Brazil. It is sometimes used scornfully.

23 Because music styles so often constitute strong feelings of communality and canexpress the uniqueness of a particular social group, they are often described asauthentic to such a group. However, to avoid essentialism, people’s presen-tations of so-called ‘authentic styles’ might better be described as performancesthat seek to create boundaries between groups. Following Stokes, we should not search for ‘the essential and “authentic” traces of identity “in” music’ (Stokes,1997: 6), but rather try to understand ‘how music is used by social actors in

specific local situations to erect boundaries, to maintain distinctions betweenus and them, and how terms such as “authenticity” are used to justify theseboundaries’ (1997: 6).

24 Such an approach is clearly indebted to the work of Judith Butler (1999[1990]). According to Butler, gender identity should not be regarded as theexpression of an inner truth, but rather as the appearance of substance, whichis the result of the performance of certain stylized acts (1999 [1990]: 173–80).Her approach owes much to the work of Michel Foucault, whose work I alsodiscuss in relation to evangelical conversions in my dissertation (Oosterbaan,2006). For a discussion on the relation between religion, media, style andembodiment see also the inaugural lecture of Birgit Meyer ‘ReligiousSensations: Why Media, Aesthetics and Power Matter in the Study of Con-temporary Religion’ (2006).

25 Such a claim is facilitated by the political structures in the morro. The localleaders of some groups can potentially participate in local governance whenthey are recognized as mediators between the members of the group and otherauthorities, such as the political representatives of the city council.

26 While Bull’s (2004: 181) discussion on mobile privatization focuses on theprivatization of space through ‘private’ electro-acoustic technology such asthe walkman, sound in the geography of the favela shows a different kind of transgression, namely the privatization of public space through public electro-acoustic technology, e.g. a sound-system with loudspeakers.

27 I owe this insight to the marvellous essay on ‘walking in the city’ by Michel deCerteau (1984).

28 This is not a recent phenomenon. Livio Sansone, who carried out research inthe favela in 1991 writes: ‘In this community it seemed that funk music had, asit were, saturated the soundscape, and that musical genres other than funk hada hard time finding their way into public spaces’ (Sansone, 2001: 140). Duringmy research, more than ten years later, funk was still very present, howeverpagode, samba and gospel also found their way in the public spaces quite easily.

29 In general, people showed diverse reactions to the parties. Some complained,damned or accepted them, while others simply enjoyed the parties very much.However, by and large, everyone acknowledged the powerful presence of thesound of the funk music, and the fact that most of the parties were organizedor supported by traficantes meant that the loud music had to be accepted.

30 The baile funk parties in the morro are typified as ‘baile de comunidade ’(community baile) in contrast to ‘baile de corredor ’ (gallery baile), at which gangsmeet each other in semi-organized fights (Cecchetto, 1998).

100









31 The ‘pt’ refers to the separate local gangs from each favela that form theComando Vermelho.

32 These lyrics appear in different versions. See also ‘Uma viagem ao inferno’ (‘A

Trip to Hell’) by Luiz Eduardo Soares (n.d.), who analysed several forbiddenfunk recordings. One told of the murder of Tim Lopes, a popular crime journalist, using the same popular rhythm/melody.

33 Both of them held ambivalent positions concerning the dangers and attractionsof the bailes. A couple of months after her warning she was dancing at the bailesand so was Roberto, not long after he had stopped attending church.

34 While I agree with Sansone that there is ‘circumstantial use of music as dividerand, occasionally, ethnic marker in particular moments’ and people indeedknow how to move across different styles and genres (2001: 150), the success-ful attempts to demonize lifestyles associated with pagode and funk by membersof the Pentecostal churches – especially by the elders – made certain

movements between styles and genres easier than others.35 Louvor could be translated as worship, musical praise of the Lord.36 Interestingly, Linda described herself as a sambista before her conversion to the

Assembléia de Deus and associates Catholicism with silence. Her self-describedtransformation from a sambista to a crente demonstrates the importance of music in the formation of identities.

37 In my dissertation I described the importance people ascribe to Pentecostalmusic for their individual sacred experiences (Oosterbaan, 2006).

38 My approach to the relation between religion and media, which is the result of the widespread adoption of communication technology by religiousmovements, is inspired by several authors who were affiliated to the researchprogramme of which I was part. See, for instance, the work of Birgit Meyer(2006), Jeremy Stolow (2005) and Charles Hirschkind (2001).

39 These sounds are in many ways related to global forms of technology and massmedia, or what Appadurai (1996) calls technoscape and mediascape.

40 Appadurai does not rigidly oppose current forms of locality to historical forms. According to Appadurai, the production of locality always involved certain‘technologies of localization’ – house building, garden cultivation. Further-more, a historical-anthropological view on the production of locality shows that it was never stable but involved constant struggles to define social, material andcosmological boundaries (Appadurai, 1996: 180).

41 Cidade de Deus can be translated as City of God. This is the favela, which is thelocation of the award-winning movie: City of God (2000), directed by FernandoMeirelles and Kátia Lund.

42 In the morro I often witnessed the interdependence of and care of neighbours.People would share food or lend each other certain appliances and as suchmaintain a minimum of internal solidarity.

43 For a more detailed discussion of the tensions between self-declared evangeli-cals and other inhabitants see Oosterbaan (2006).

44 Shaun Moores argues that he prefers to use the concept ‘trans-localized’ whenspeaking of the effects of broadcast media on our experiences of simultaneity and ‘immediacy’ (2004: 22).

45 For general discussions on the popularity of Protestant and Pentecostalchurches in Latin America see, for example, the work of Boudewijnse et al.(1998), Garrard-Burnett and Stoll (1993), Martin (1990) and Stoll (1990).

46 In another article I have focused on pastor-politicians and their visualrepresentation as charismatic leaders in churches and in politics (Oosterbaan,2005).

101









47 My insistence on the importance of the relations between funk and gospelstems from my conviction that so called religious and ‘secular’ styles co-constitute each other and are the result of the contextual reworking of bound-

aries between them (see Oosterbaan, 2006). Furthermore, I do not mean tolimit the use of personal charisma to the adherents of Pentecostal churches.

References

Alvito, Marcos (2001) As Cores de Acari, uma Favela Carioca . Rio de Janeiro: EditoraFGV.

Appadurai, Arjun (1996) Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization .Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Arias, Enrique Desmond (2006) Drugs and Democracy in Rio de Janeiro: Trafficking, Social Networks and Public Security . Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press.

Attali, Jacques (1985) Noise: The Political Economy of Music . Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Baumann, Gerd (1996) Contesting Culture: Discourses of Identity in Multi-ethnic London .Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Blacking, John (1987) A Commonsense View of All Music: Reflections on Percy Grainger’s Contribution to Ethnomusicology and Music Education . Cambridge: CambridgeUniversity Press.

Boudewijnse, Barbara, André Droogers and Frans Kamsteeg (eds) (1998) More than Opium: An Anthropological Approach to Latin American and Caribbean Pentecostal Praxis . Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press.

Bull, Michael (2004) ‘Thinking about Sound, Proximity, and Distance in WesternExperience: The Case of Odysseus’s Walkman’, in Veit Erlmann (ed.) Hearing Cultures: Essays on Sound, Listening and Modernity . Oxford: Berg.

Butler, Judith (1999) Gender Trouble . New York: Routledge.Cecchetto, Fátima Regina (1998) ‘Galeras Funk Cariocas: Os Bailes e a Constituição

do Ethos Guerreiro’, in Alba Zaluar and Marcus Alvito (eds) Um Século de Favela .Rio de Janeiro: Editora Fundação Getulio Vargas.

de Certeau, Michel (1984) The Practice of Everyday Life . Berkeley: University of California Press.

Connor, Steven (2004) ‘Edison’s Teeth: Touching Hearing’, in Veit Erlmann (ed.)Hearing Cultures: Essays on Sound, Listening and Modernity . Oxford: Berg.

Corbin, Alain (2000) Village Bells: Sound and Meaning in Nineteenth-century French Countryside . New York: Columbia University Press.

Csordas, Thomas J. (1997) Language, Charisma and Creativity: The Ritual Life of a Religious Movement . Berkeley: University of California Press.

Cunha, Christina Vital da (2002) ‘“Ocupação Evangélica”: Efeitos do CrescimentoPentecostal na Favela de Acari’, Masters dissertation, PPGSA/UFRJ, Rio de

Janeiro.Dowdney, Luke (2003) Crianças do Tráfico: Um Estudo de Caso de Crianças em Violência

Armada Organizada no Rio de Janeiro . Rio de Janeiro: 7 letras.Erlmann, Veit (2004) ‘But What of the Ethnographic Ear? Anthropology, Sound,

and the Senses’, in Veit Erlmann (ed.) Hearing Cultures: Essays on Sound,

Listening and Modernity . Oxford: Berg.Feld, Steven (1996) ‘Waterfalls of Song: An Acoustemology of Place Resounding in

Bosavi, Papua New Guinea’, in Steven Feld and Keith H. Basso (eds) Senses of Place . Santa Fe: School of American Research Press.

102









Fernandes, Rubem César, Pierre Sanchis, Otávio Guilherme Velho, Leandro Piquet Carneiro, Cecília Mariz and Clara Mafra (1998) Novo Nascimento: Os Evangélicos em Casa, na Igreja e na Política. Rio de Janeiro: Mauad.

Fonseca, Alexandre (1997) ‘Evangélicos e a Mídia no Brasil’, Masters dissertation,PPGSA/IFCS/UFRJ, Rio de Janeiro.Garrard-Burnett, Virginia and David Stoll (eds) (1993) Rethinking Protestantism in

Latin America. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press.Ginsburg, Faye D., Lila Abu-Lughod and Brian Larkin (eds) (2002) Media Worlds:

Anthropology on New Terrain. Berkeley: University of California Press.Goldstein, Donna (2003) Laughter Out of Place: Race, Class and Sexuality in a Rio

Shantytown. Berkeley: University of California Press.Hervieu-Leger, Daniele (2002) ‘Space and Religion: New Approaches to Religious

Spatiality in Modernity’, International Journal of Urban and Regional Research 26(1): 99–105.

Hirschkind, Charles (2001) ‘The Ethics of Cassette-sermon Audition in Contempor-ary Egypt’, American Ethnologist 28(3): 623–49.Keil, Charles and Steven Feld (1994) Music Grooves: Essays and Dialogues . Chicago:

University of Chicago Press.Latour, Bruno (2005) Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network Theory.

Oxford: Oxford University Press.Leal de Oliveira, Fabrício and Fernando Cavallieri (2008) Estimativas do IBGE

para a População do Rio de Janeiro em 2008 Nota Técnica . IPP/Prefeitura daCidade do Rio de Janeiro, URL (consulted December 2008): http://portalgeo.rio.rj.gov.br/amdados800.asp

Martin, David (1990) Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America .Oxford: Basil Blackwell.

Merriam, Alan P. (1964) The Anthropology of Music . Evanston, IL: NorthwesternUniversity Press.

Meyer, Birgit (2004) ‘“Praise the Lord . . .”: Popular Cinema and Pentecostalite Stylein Ghana’s New Public Sphere’, American Ethnologist 31: 92–110.

Meyer, Birgit (2006) ‘Religious Sensations: Why Media, Aesthetics and Power Matterin the Study of Contemporary Religion’, Inaugural Lecture in Cultural Anthro-pology, VU University, Amsterdam.

Moores, Shaun (2004) ‘The Doubling of Place: Electronic Media, Time-space Arrangements and Social Relationships’, in Nick Couldry and Anna McCarthy (eds) Mediaspace: Place, Scale and Culture in a Media Age , pp. 21–37. London:Routledge.

Oosterbaan, Martijn (2005) ‘Mass-mediating the Spiritual Battle: Pentecostal Appropriations of Mass Mediated Violence in Rio de Janeiro’, Material Religion 1(3): 358–85.

Oosterbaan, Martijn (2006) ‘Divine Mediations: Pentecostalism, Politics and MassMedia in a Favela in Rio de Janeiro’, PhD Dissertation, University of

Amsterdam.Oosterbaan, Martijn (2008) ‘Spiritual Attunement: Pentecostal Radio in the Sound-

scape of a Favela in Rio de Janeiro’, Social Text 26(3): 123–45.Perlman, Janice (1977) O Mito da Marginalidade . Rio de Janeiro: Editora Paz e Terra.Perlman, Janice (2003) ‘ Marginalidade: do Mito à Realidade nas Favelas do Rio de

Janeiro’. Rio Estudos 102, Coleção Estudos da Cidade, May. Prefeitura deCidade do Rio de Janeiro, URL (consulted December 2008): http://portalgeo.rio.rj.gov.br/amdados800.asp

Port, Mattijs van de (2006) ‘Visualizing the Sacred: Televisual Styles and theReligious Imagination in Bahian Candomblé’, American Ethnologist 33: 444–61.

103









Putman, Daniel A. (1985) ‘Music and the Metaphor of Touch’, Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism 44(1): 59–66.

Sansone, Livio (2001) ‘Não-trabalho, Consumo e Identidade Negra: Uma Com-

paração entre Rio e Salvador’, in Yvonne Maggie and Claudia BarcellosRezende (eds) Raça como Retórica. Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira.Schäfer, R. Murray (1994) The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the

World . Rochester, VT: Destiny Books.Schultze, Quentin J. (1994) ‘Orality and Power in Latin American Pentecostalism’,

in Daniel Miller (ed.) Coming of Age: Protestantism in Contemporary Latin America ,pp. 65–88. Washington, DC: University Press of America.

Soares, Luiz Eduardo (n.d.) ‘Uma Viagem ao Inferno’ (‘A Trip to Hell’), URL(consulted December 2008): http://www.luizeduardosoares.com.br/docs/uma_viagem_ao_inferno.doc

Stokes, Martin (1997) ‘Introduction: Ethnicity, Identity and Music’, in Martin Stokes

(ed.) Ethnicity, Identity and Music: The Musical Construction of Place . New York:Palgrave Macmillan.Stoll, David (1990) Is Latin America Turning Protestant? The Politics of Evangelical

Growth . Berkeley: University of California Press.Stolow, Jeremy (2005) ‘Religion and/as Media’, Theory, Culture & Society 22(2):

137–63. Waiselfisz, Julio Jacobo (2004) ‘Mapa da Violência IV: Os Jovens do Brasil’,

UNESCO Brazil, URL (consulted December 2008): hyyp://www.brasilia.unesco.org/pulicacoes/livros/mapaiv

Witte, Marleen de (2008) ‘Spirit Media: Charismatics, Traditionalists, and MediationPractices in Ghana’, PhD dissertation, University of Amsterdam.

Zaluar, Alba (1985) A Máquina e a Revolta: As Organizações Populares e o Significado da Pobreza . São Paulo: Brasiliense.

Zaluar, Alba (1998) ‘Para não Dizer que não Falei de Samba: Os Enigmas da Violência no Brasil’, in L. Schwarz (ed.) História da Vida Privada , vol. 4. SãoPaulo: Companhia das Letras.

I Martijn Oosterbaan studied Cultural Anthropology at the University of Amster-dam. From 2000 till 2005 he was PhD student at the Amsterdam School of SocialScience Research (ASSR), University of Amsterdam. His PhD dissertation titled:‘Divine Mediations: Pentecostalism, Politics and Mass Media in a Favela in Rio de

Janeiro’ formed part of the project ‘Modern Mass Media, Religion and the Imagin-ation of Communities. Different Postcolonial Trajectories in West Africa, Brazil, theCaribbean and India’, headed by Prof. dr. Birgit Meyer. Currently he is Assistant Professor of Cultural Anthropology at Utrecht University and Postdoc at the depart-ment of Practical Philosophy at the University of Groningen. He is a member of the research project ‘New Media, Public Sphere and Urban Culture’, headed by Prof. dr. René Boomkens. His current research, titled: ‘European Brazilians: adiasporic/virtual community’, examines the virtual networks of Brazilian migrantsin Amsterdam and Barcelona. He has published in Material Religion , Social Text andin Religião e Sociedade .

104


critique of anthropology (1)

Documents