Adventures of a Gringa

Welcome to Adventures of a Gringa! I'm a 24 year-old New Yorker who just returned home after living in Brazil for about two years. To find out more about me and how I wound up in Brazil, see here. To find out how to contact me, see here. I like to make Top Ten lists; you find them under the Pages column on the right. And feel free to sign the guestbook! You can also find me on Facebook, Orkut, and Twitter.  Please make sure to read about my cause. 

So you applied for a visa

Last week, on my new visa series, I explained how to begin the K-1 visa process and the first set of paperwork you must fill out.

So, now you've arranged all of the documents for the I-129F package. You've probably filled out a couple of forms wrong several times and had to start over; had to re-write several documents; had to translate a lot of emails; endured several arguments along the way. You've gathered together every shred of physical evidence to prove your relationship. You've checked everything forty times. You've put everything in order. But you're done with this step! That's one hurdle down.

Next, you have to find which service center to send the package to. Visa Journey recommends you make two copies of the whole package, one for you, one for your fiance. If you live together, I think one is sufficient (considering how many pages you have to copy, it's already expensive enough with one.)

Now you go to the post office and send it off!

Prepare for the anti-climax.

You should receive your NOA-1 from USCIS about two weeks after they receive your application. That means they got your package and have begun to process the application. (If you don't get this within 3 weeks of when the package arrived at the service center, then you should get in touch with USCIS, because it probably means the package never arrived.)

The worst and longest part of the process comes now, even though it requires the least amount of work. This is when you wait. And wait some more. And wait, and wait, and hear nothing. You don't know what to tell people, since everything is in limbo. It creates tension and stress not knowing what's going on. I tried calling USCIS a couple of times and was never able to speak to an actual person, and I routinely harrassed the US consulate in Rio, with mixed results. I signed up for USCIS's online case system, so that I'd receive information as soon as it was released.

We sent our application in mid-December, and received our NOA-2, which is the notification that the I-129F application was approved, on April 2nd (by email), and a week or so later by snail mail. You can get an idea about processing times here, since it depends on the service center and the amount of applications they have.

Getting the NOA-2 is a huge victory, but it's really just the beginning of a whole other slew of paperwork and bureaucracy. But fear not! It's not nearly as bad as it may seem. It's straightfoward as long as you know what you need to do, and on the next K-1 post, I'll explain the I-134 package, and how your I-129F makes its way from the US service center to your fiance's local US consulate.

Complicado

Depois de morar no Brasil, eu me sinto brasileira.

Sei que os militantes vão pirar ao ler isto, mas é a verdade. Para qualquer expatriota que mora por bastante tempo em outro país, é facil chegar a sentir como um cidadão desse lugar. Mas é essencial ter uma experiência "normal," ou seja, viver como uma pessoa desse país vive.

Depois de morar como estudante em três outros países, não me sinto espanhola, nem dominicana, e especialmente não argentina. Mas o meu amor para esses três lugares é muito mais puro e simples do que meu amor para o Brasil. Morei na Espanha, na Republica Dominicana e na Argentina em uma situação privilegiada, em uma realidade suspensa, parecida com a vida de uma estudante local mas sem o peso da responsibilidade adulta, que é vital para entender um pais. É certo que minha experiência no Brasil não é completamente autêntica, mas ao viver as mesmas tramas no dia-a-dia (e as maiores e mais complexas), cheguei a ter um entendimento muito mais profundo dos brasileiros.

A minha relação com o Brasil é complicada, como a de uma brasileira nata. Não é que a minha identidade americana seja simples; e não é. Mas morar no Brasil me deu uma perspectiva muito mais clara de como é ser americana, enquanto aprendi como é ser brasileira.

Ser brasileira é ter uma linha muito fina entre o amor e o ódio pela pátria, sentir o puxão entre o patriotismo cego e a desilusão total. Ser brasileira é negar os males enquanto reclama deles. Ser brasileira é colocar mais fé no futebol do que na política. Ser brasileira é ficar acima do muro enquanto joga pedras. Ser brasileira é sempre ser e ter filha, tia, prima, sobrinha, mãe. Ser brasileira é amar sem fim, ainda se doer. Ser brasileira é nunca estar sozinha.

Ser brasileira é escolher entre tampando os olhos ou deixando-os bem abertos. Ser brasileira é encolher os ombros para o seu dia progredir, para você sobreviver. Ser brasileira é rir para não chorar. Ser brasileira é suprimir à vergonha para fortalecer o orgulho. Ser brasileira é ter felicidade na superficie para esmagar a tristeza, empurrar ela mais para dentro e tentar esquecer dela. Ser brasileira é convencer-se sentir livre de problemas, para ficar leve apesar de carregar um peso nos ombros. Ser brasileira é trabalhar para viver, para realizar a prazer e lazer de estar vivo. Ser brasileira é comemorar o grande presente da vida enquanto enfrenta às piores maldições dos homens.

Ser brasileira é uma contradição.

Trouble in the Amazon

Two news stories caught my eye this week, showing trouble brewing in the Amazon.

The first story isn't actually the Amazon, but rather the Pantanal, a swamp region in the southwestern part of Brazil. Three American graduate students were arrested there, accused of "crimes against the patrimony" by stealing minerals, as well as doing scientific research on tourist visas. The American and Brazilian coverage, as usual, differs considerably, in that the Brazilian coverage assumes the gringos are automatically guilty.

Here's an excerpt from the US Today story:

"University of Arizona geoscientists Michael McGlue, 31, and Mark Tress, 48, and University of Minnesota-Duluth student Kelly Wendt, 26, were arrested by federal police June 16 while working on a climate change project with the University of the State of Sao Paulo. The Americans spent eight nights in jail before being released on bail June 26. Police confiscated their passports as well as computers, research equipment, cellphones and cash.

Roberto Lins, the men's Brazilian lawyer, says the students may not go before a judge for six months and could face up to five years in prison if convicted of illegally prospecting for minerals."

Here's an excerpt from the Globo story:

"Segundo a polícia, o grupo fazia pesquisa sem autorização de nenhum órgão governamental brasileiro e sem comprovante de intercâmbio ou convênio com entidades de pesquisa do Brasil.

Ainda de acordo com a PF, eles faziam coleta de sedimentos, por meio de prospecção mineral. O material seria levado para os Estados Unidos, onde seriam analisados."

There are a couple of lessons to be gleaned from this story, and none of them are good. The first is that in rural areas like this one, you can get away with robbery, murder, and kidnapping, but not studying sand. And in this case, a study intended to do good, by monitoring climate change. The second is that this is yet one of several cases of foreigners being accused of scientific piracy and exploitation in Brazil, and it creates a major deterrent to scientific research and innovation there. The third is that Brazilian universities and scientific institutions need to be better prepared when working on projects like this, since the American students had trusted that USP had all of their permits in order and had followed their directions "just to apply for a tourist visa." If not, foreigners won't be able to trust these institutions and will go elsewhere to carry out similar projects. And finally, another lesson for foreigners in Brazil is to always, always have your paperwork in order. In the country of Great Bureaucracy, it's always better to be safe than sorry.

The second story takes place in Rondonia, the far northwest of Brazil. Ibama, the government agency responsible for protecting the environment, invaded a national park there. Though the land is supposed to be protected, 3,000 people live there raising 30,000 heads of cattle, and as a result, a quarter of the forest in the park has been destroyed. Ibama went in with 400 men to fine the cattle ranchers and to make them remove the cattle from the land immediately. However, the ranchers were angry, since the Minister of the Environment recently turned over part of the park land to the state to allow residents to stay on the destroyed part of the land.

So some ranchers decided to let Ibama have it. They set one of their cars on fire, and left this pathetically written threat:

It is in this note, I think, that the problem of environmental protection in Brazil becomes clear. The government and conservationists are up against uneducated, armed peons with few options for employment (and rich, well-connected businessmen who can get away with anything) amidst a sea of red tape and conflicting authorities and laws, none of which are effectively protecting the rainforest. This deadly combination spawns chaos, and so far, no solution has allowed the Brazilian government to figure out how to manage the delicate balance between development and conservation.

Brazil, Back in the Day

Ray sent me a video about Sao Paulo from Travel Film Archive on Youtube, and there I discovered a treasure trove of videos made about Latin America (and countries around the world) from the 1930s to the 1970s. I discovered two videos about Rio and one about Southern Brazil, so I'm posting them here, as well as an overview of Latin America from Pan Am Airways, which includes footage of Haiti, the Dominican Republic, Puerto Rico, the Dutch Caribbean, Trinidad, the Guyanas, and a long section on Brazil.

The American interpretation of Brazilian realities is worth a listen, since the films were an attempt to glorify and romanticize Brazil. (I found the racial democracy explanation in the first Rio video a bit odd, juxtaposed with another part of the video in which they talk about the "animals" at the market and show footage of small black children interspersed with footage of monkeys.) It is amazing to be able to see actual footage from the earlier videos in the 1930s, to see just how different (and in some cases, how similar) things were, back in the day.

Be sure to check out some of the other gems about Havana, La Paz, Argentina, and Iguacu Falls. Watch the other four Brazil videos after the jump.

So you fell in love with a Brazilian

I've found that a significant percentage of my readers, and a large number of Americans interested in Brazil, happen to be the significant other or spouse of a Brazilian. WIth increased contact between the two countries and Internet technology, American-Brazilian couples are likely to increase in number.

So with that in mind, I've decided to set aside a section for visa issues, specifically, a how-to guide on the K-1 visa to the US, which allows fiances of American citizens to emigrate to the US. It seems daunting at first, but as it turns out, it's an excellent and somewhat unique option for inter-national couples.

The first step is falling in love with a Brazilian. Not very difficult, actually. But this is an important step. Don't even think about trying to abuse this visa to get someone into the US for money or convenience; it only makes it harder for us legitimate couples to have a smoother, more fair process, and for Americans to exercise their rights to help family members emigrate. You also must be sure you want to invest in a long-term relationship with the person (and get married!) because not only must you marry once the fiance arrives in the US, but you must survive the visa and immigration process together without killing each other. (Also note--you must have met the person within two years of applying for the visa).

The next step is to familiarize yourself with the process. One of the best US visa websites out there is VisaJourney.com, which has been my "K-1 for Dummies" guide through the whole process. It has step-by-step guides, forums, timelines, US immigration forms, and pretty much everything you need to figure out how to do the K-1 and other immigration visas. Lots of people hire lawyers to do the K-1 for them, but the truth is, it's not necessary. Typically, this visa takes six months to get, which is better than the marriage visa, which can take between 6 and 18 months to get (I've heard various things).

Once you've taken a look at how the process works, you will probably feel somewhat frazzled and won't know exactly what to do next. But fear not! It seems complicated, but it's a lot more straightforward than it seems.

See BIG STEP #1 of the process after the jump.

Café com leite (água e azeite?)

As the simple but brilliant title implies, this thirty minute documentary, made at the University of Sao Paulo, discusses the politics of race in Brazil -- coffee and milk, or water and vinegar? Split up into six parts on Youtube, the documentary tries to debunk the notion of "racial democracy" in Brazil, as well as explaining concepts of race, racism, and identity. The truth is that it's difficult to cover such a complex topic in less than an hour, but there is a lot of valuable and valid information, and more importantly, different views and opinions on race in Brazil.

Thanks to Alexandra for the link!

Watch the rest of the documentary after the jump. (Sorry--no English subtitles!)

Why Americans will never embrace soccer

When Rodrigo over at Brasil Mundial FC wrote to me on Monday, I thought his question deserved a post. He wanted to know how Americans reacted to the historic U.S. vs. Brazil game on Sunday. He also asked, "Is soccer finally getting in the hearts of Americans?"

Officially, here is what happened. Soccer enthusiasts hoped that the surprising occasion would inspire more Americans to be interested in the game, and would attract new followers. The sports sections of the U.S. media widely covered the game, highlighting the big disappointment of the loss but also the hope inspired from getting so far. I watched the game with Eli, my brother, and my cousin, but I'm not sure I would have if Eli hadn't been here (let it be known that I don't follow any sports, but ever since I moved to Brazil and back, I've watched some of the important soccer games). ESPN reported that the game was the most-watched non-World Cup soccer game on cable TV [in American history?], with 3.9 million viewers in 2.6 million homes.

Now compare these ratings to the big U.S. sports, and 3.9 million is easily dwarfed. The 2009 Superbowl attracted a whopping 151.6 million American viewers, while the first game of the 2004 World Series was watched by 23 million viewers. The 2009 NBA Finals had 13.4 million viewers. Even the Stanley Cup, featuring America's less popular sport, hockey, brought in over 9 million viewers during the last game in 2009. The bigger question about Sunday's game was not how many Americans watched it, but how many Americans actually knew it was going on.

There are plenty of arguments as to why soccer has never become a popular spectator sport in the United States: it's too slow, it's too low-scoring, it has less action than say, American football.

But I would argue that three fundamental issues prevent soccer from taking its place in the ranks of American sports. The first is that we already have too many popular sports: football, baseball, basketball, hockey, even golf, tennis, and Nascar. The American appetite for sports is pretty much satiated, year round.

The second is that the real heart of any sport is regionalism. Even in Brazil, fans pour most of their energy into their city team (except during the World Cup), and those games are really some of the most exciting. Similarly, in the US, our most important games take place at the regional level in the domestic arena, rather than at the international level. (This is another strike against soccer, since some of the biggest games are international.) Also, regional US soccer teams have been written off, simply because so few people care. It would be difficult to have a genuine soccer movement without a serious popularization at the regional level.

The final issue is that there are certain sports that Americans follow, but only at very specific times, namely, during the Olympics. Since our major spectator sports are mostly domestic affairs, these sports are international, when we are given the chance to root for the US as a country, rather than a local team. While swimming, track and field, and gymnastics are huge draws during the Games, much fewer people care or watch them on a normal basis. We have a specific set of sports set aside to root for during the Olympics and to forget about for the next few years. So I have to disagree with this bit from the New York Times' June 28th article by William Rhoden, on Sunday's game and its impact on American soccer:

"The more difficult challenge is to cultivate a broader consumer appetite for soccer in the United States. Debates continue about changing the nature of the sport to fit the American mind-set.

Please, no.

Soccer does not need to be dumbed down to accommodate our Twittered attention span. The sport does not need more scoring or more commercial timeouts.

“People don’t need the sport to be different,” Garber said. “They just need a reason to believe, and every now and again, something happens where they have that reason.”

That’s the greatest misfortune of Sunday’s loss to Brazil. A victory would have been that reason."

It's possible that soccer could enter the pantheon of American spectator sports, but only in that special bracket of "once every four years" sports, like swimming. Instead of the Olympics, though, the big draw would be during the World Cup to root for the national team. Other than that, I don't anticipate soccer entering the ranks of football and baseball. It's just not our style.

The Puzzle of the Jewish Star

Before I moved to Brazil, I rarely saw this symbol used for anything other Jews and Judaism.

But once I was in Brazil, I saw it cropping up everywhere.

The Catholics use it...

The evangelicals use it...

Some say you can even find it on Brazilian currency...

And I've seen many Brazilians wear this on a chain, though they definitely were not all Jewish...

But one of the most puzzling uses is in Northeastern folk art, specifically with the figure of the cangaceiro:

Though I've found some clues as to why this symbol seems to have been appropriated by different parts of Brazilian culture, I can't quite figure out how it went beyond the religious realm.

Any symbologists out there?

Subway Tales: Part I

One of my favorite things to do in any city is to observe people and how they interact with each other, and in New York, there is no better place than on the subway.

1AM, on the uptown 5. Three teenagers sat across from me, making conversation slightly louder than necessary. One of the boys, tall with messy hair and dark track marks pocking both arms, leaned coolly against the pole, as a girl a few years his junior stared adoringly at him. A second boy, chubby and self-conscious, was seated next to the girl. They talked about getting drunk and getting high, about their plans for the next time they were planning on getting drunk and high, and drunken blather. I wondered if the girl was hiding track marks on her arms, and how old she was. I wanted to scream at her to get out, to get away from these useless people, that it wasn't worth it, that the boy's cold demeanor was obviously pointing to "he's-just-not-that-into-you" and a lot worse. But I bit my tongue, and watched her trail the boy off the train, lovingly clutching his bruised arm.

2PM, on the downtown 6. I clutched the pole, standing next to three Argentine girls excitedly chattering away. "Re bueno, che!" On my other side were a group of Latino kids and a teenager, who swatted at the children blocking the door, admonishing them in spitfire Dominican Spanish. Across from me, a man read a newspaper in Chinese, and two French tourists pored over a guidebook. "God, I love New York," I thought. The whole world is here.

10AM, on the crosstown shuttle. I stared into space at the ads across the top of the car, scenes from different cities, featuring Delta's new destinations. My heart skipped a beat and filled with saudades. [The photo below is the same ad, but Eli took it of a phone booth ad on the street]

 

7PM, on the Queens-bound N. A hugely tall man, around 6'7, white with messy hair, hauled four large garbage bags and a grocery cart onto the train. He wore dirty sneakers, cut-off sweatpants, and a grungy sweatshirt. He reeked. Once he managed to drag his stuff into a corner, he set off down the car, staring into people's faces to see who was alert and who might be willing to cough up some change. People busied themselves with their iPods and newspapers. He went one by one, leaning close into the passengers' faces: "Do you have a dollar?" It was somewhere between a plea and a statement, but with an aggressive edge, as if he didn't expect anything, despite the fact that mostly everyone did have a dollar to spare, but hoped to somehow intimidate people into giving him money. He returned to his corner empty-handed, and flopped onto the seat, expressionless.

Brazilian "Justice" Fails Yet Again

Sasha Zanger, an Austrian man, married Brazilian woman Maristela dos Santos after meeting in Brazil in 1993. They lived in Austria and had two children, Sophie, age 4, and a boy, age 12. But their marriage came to an end and they divorced. Mr. Zanger paid child support ($1300 euros a month) but his ex-wife failed to give him adequate shared custody.

Then, in January 2008, she disappeared. She had kidnapped her children and brought them to Brazil.

Sound familiar?

Mr. Zanger then began a legal battle to get his children back, using the Hague Convention as the legal basis for his plea. Under the convention, his children should have been sent to Austria within 6 weeks of the kidnapping. That didn't happen. He fought in the courts, went to Brazil four times and spent $100,000 euros on travel and legal fees. Despite the fact that children were kidnapped, he continued to pay child support, especially since the children were living in a favela in precarious conditions.

But it did no good. Though Maristela was located in March 2008 in Rio de Janeiro, the Brazilian courts granted custody to her sister, Geovana. Maristela suffers from mental illness, and her sister was given responsibility of the children in her stead. Maristela disappeared again in April 2009, and was only located on June 22nd.

Meanwhile, Mr. Zanger saw hope on the horizon: on June 17th, 2009 the Brazilian court granted a warrant for the search and seizure of the children. But the warrant was never put into effect, and law enforcement agents failed to act.

Just two days later, four year-old Sophie was pronounced dead at a hospital in Baixada Fluminense.

She had been severely beaten, with signs of cranial fracture, broken wrists, heavy bruising, and was also malnourished. Her legal guardian, her aunt Geovana, and her cousin, Geovana's daughter, are the prime suspects. They claim Sophie fell in the bathtub. In a TV interview, however, Sophie's brother claims he was the one who beat her, because his aunt told him to.

Mr. Zanger flew to Brazil this week and has refused to leave until he is given his son back, as well as his daughter's body. But after the murder, Maristela's adoptive mother was given custody of Mr. Zanger's son, and he must go back to the court to demand custody.

In the meantime, there is no indication the aunt and cousin were arrested, and Mr. Zanger's son remains in the custody of his ex-wife's adoptive mother.

Land of the Free

Anytime I tell someone I just moved back from Brazil, their immediate question is, "What were you doing there?" The answer is a little complicated, and every time I try to explain the set of circumstances that brought me there and that I didn't have an actual career there. That I came back so I could have one.

Since April, I've been searching for a job in New York, even before I came home. I've applied to maybe two dozen places, and got interviews at three. I've been applying mostly to non-profits and a few private companies that do philanthropy, in the hopes that I can find something that involves social development or research in Latin America. I had three first interviews and one second interview, and really convinced myself I was getting the job, in the last case. But with no Masters and two years of unusual non-office jobs, I still find myself unemployed.

Before I came home, my mom had warned me how bad things were, but I waved her off. It wasn't until I got a fresh dose of rejection that I saw how bad the job market really is. I'm competing with people with years of experience and advanced degrees, and despite speaking three languages and having spent a lot of time abroad, I still haven't made the cut.

Though I've been scouring the job boards daily and networking with friends and acquaintances, I've lost a lot of steam since I found out I didn't get the job I thought I would. I haven't heard back from anywhere since then, nor have I found any jobs that look appealing.

The problem is that I came back here with the purpose of doing something worthwhile in my field, to start building a career, and not to take whatever comes around just for the sake of having a job. Though I do need a job for practical reasons, like health coverage and being able to get a lease, I'm still hoping I can find something up my alley. I can't imagine anything worse than languishing at a job I hate just to get by.

But I'm not feeling optimistic. A lot of jobs in my field are in Washington, but for logistical reasons it would be really difficult to move there at this point. I wouldn't mind trying something new, but it's hard to start a career in something totally different. I like teaching, but with no certification and lots more competition with seasoned veterans and properly trained candidates, I don't think I'd have much of a chance. The kind of job I'd like is in short supply in New York, and I'm worried it may be a long time before another opportunity arises.

I definitely don't regret moving back when I did, but I am concerned about what I'm going to do. I can't make a living out of blogging (I'm no Dooce), and making one out of writing is something of a pipe dream. Though I'm overjoyed Eli is finally here, I am weighed down by the stress of not having a full time job, with seemingly no prospects on the horizon.

Credo!

I'm starting a new series called "Credo!" which is something of a mixture of funny or sad meets crazy and ridiculous. If you have submissions, please send them my way!

For today's post, we have two videos of evangelicals: a young girl preacher and a very, um, creative interpretation of the Bible. Or should I say, Brible.

Arrivals Gate

It's no secret I am a little obsessed with the arrivals gate at the airport.

But when a Brazilian flight arrives at JFK, the arrivals gate isn't quite as emotional or interesting as the one at Galeao. Nevertheless, it was a sight.

My parents and I arrived an hour after the plane had landed. The flight was around 90% Brazilian, from what I could tell. People were trickling out, first and business class passengers on their way to a shopping vacation in New York, winter jackets and leather boots in tow. Women teetered out precariously on stiletto heels, their swollen feet painfully stuffed into them. A doleful Brazilian cab driver called out to the arriving passengers, asking if they had a ride to the city.

There were a few people arriving, however, that were meeting their families. An exhausted single mom with a toddler and a five year-old boy tearfully embraced the woman meeting her, while her son chirped, "Tia!" with surprised delight.

I watched as couple after couple, family after family passed by, writhing with impatience. But another woman next to me was even more impatient. She paced anxiously, trying to find the best angle to see the people coming through the gate. She called someone, complaining that the person she was meeting hadn't come out yet. I wanted to talk to her, to tell her I was dying of impatience too, but I was so exhausted from so little sleep and so strung out that I just watched her as she fretted up and down the gate, finally stationing herself in the glass-walled baggage complaints area next to the doors.

More people came out, more women wincing in their heels, more excited kids. No Eliseu. I lay my head on the divider, refusing to budge in case he came out that very minute. But then there was a flurry of motion, as the anxious woman burst out of the hallway to the gate, where an older man had stopped, smiling. She burst into tears as he brought her into his arms saying, "Minha filha." And then, obviously, I started to cry, very awkwardly as the man caught my eye.

And then they were gone, and only a few stragglers were left, some chauffeurs and some guys from CVC. One by one, they met their clients, and soon, I was completely alone at the gate.

Since I am not particularly apt at hiding my feelings, a few people stopped and asked who I was waiting for, seeing the stricken look on my face. Some baggage handlers told me a few people from the flight hadn't come out yet; some immigration officers told me they'd seen him.

By then, an hour had passed, and no one had come out from the flight. Another immigration officer came out. "I started with him," he told me. "He's doing some standard paperwork. It should only be a few more minutes." Not entirely comforted, I lay my head on the pole again. An airport employee, an elderly man from somewhere in the Caribbean, saw my face. "Who are you waiting for? What does he look like? I'll see if he's in there." He disappeared behind the sliding doors. A few minutes later, he reappeared with a chair, and sat himself down next to another employee sitting inside the doors.

Then, finally, finally, nearly two and a half hours after the plane had landed, the old man cried, "He's coming, he's coming!" and I threw myself through the divider and unceremoniously leapt on the man (who is now officially my fiance) standing in between the sliding doors. "See, I told you he was coming!" the man grinned.

You have no idea, I wanted to say. But instead, I thanked him, and took Eliseu's hand.

Guest Post: Gay Pride in Sao Paulo

I met Luiza a few weeks ago when she was in New York for the weekend. A long time reader of mine, she quickly made me a fan of hers, since she is extremely smart and mature for her age and is clearly destined for great things. Plus, her English puts my Portuguese to shame, since she has never lived in an English-speaking country but sounds like a born and bred American (she in fact has spent her whole life in Brazil). She's passionate about human rights, and someday she will likely make a name for herself helping make Brazil and even the Americas a more just place.

She offered to write about her experience at Sao Paulo's Pride Parade, and I was happy to post it here.

It can be said that São Paulo is a ghost city during the holidays or long weekends For the stressful, hectic life the city provides its inhabitants, people can't help but skip town at every chance they get, looking for the sunny beaches of the coast, or the peaceful settings of the countryside. Like every rule, however, one fairly loud exception must be added: Pride.

São Paulo's Pride Parade takes place during the Corpus Christi holiday (celebrated every year on a Thursday) and the days that follow it. Since most people don't work on that particular Friday, there is a lot of traveling going around. This time, however, Brazilians are not after peace and quiet, but quite the opposite. The numbers speak for themselves: this year, over 400,000 tourists came to São Paulo on Corpus Christi to go to Pride, and over 3 million people attended the Parade.

Now, I've never been to Pride in the United States, so I can't really compare, say, New York's and São Paulo's Gay Parades. However, I have noticed that in the US the Pride Parades tend to be exactly what they're called: parades (with floats, people on the sidewalks watching and cheering, choreography, motorcycles, and the like). In Brazil, however, the Parade would be more accurately named if we called it a march (only with lots of music, people in drag, and half-naked men).

What we have here is about twenty "trios elétricos" (which are trucks equipped with huge sound systems, and with a space on top for people to stand and dance, sort of like on a float) blasting electro, house, techno and pop music as they are driven through the circuit of the Parade. The people, instead of mostly standing on the sidewalks to watch, gather around these "floats" as they half-walk, half-dance their way throughout the event, making the Parade look something like this.

In order to avoid ending the post on an unhappy note, I should probably mention the downsides of São Paulo's Parade before giving it all the compliments it deserves. First off, it's important to say that São Paulo is a very gay-friendly city (much, much friendlier than Rio), but, unfortunately, it's also a city that has few but very radical homophobes. I have friends who had to run on occasion from neo-Nazis and gay-haters. This year, to the horror and sadness of the gay community, a home-made bomb was thrown on a place some people were standing, celebrating the end of the Parade (more about it here), and a boy died in the hospital after being beat up by gay-bashers.

The main security problem regarding Pride remains the same: while the government deploys thousands of policemen to aid and protect people during Pride (and they actually do a pretty decent job), they seem to be sent home after the Parade is over, when there are drunken people all around, it's dark, and violent events tend to take place. Smart, huh?

Events like these sometimes make me think we haven't gotten anywhere since the Stonewall riots happened almost forty years ago. And then Pride comes along and shows me just how wrong I am.

The best thing about the Parade is the realisation that everyone around you —maybe for the first time— is free to be who they are. This is especially true when it comes to the more persecuted fraction of our little community: the transgender folk (and all the other people that don't consider themselves in the gender binary). They add such joy, colour and awesomeness to the Parade I'm pretty sure it couldn't be done without them. It kills me to look up to the floats, see those beautiful human beings and think they are also the ones that are more often killed by homophobes. However, I can't help but feel hopeful that the day will come when the Parade won't be the only day they'll be able to feel safe, free, and accepted by our society.

During the last six years, I have also noted that the Gay Parade is often the first event many closeted young LGBT people attend; the first opportunity they have to be out of the closet and to feel what it's like to be among others who face similar difficulties, and who take them for who they are. In other words, to feel authentically free for the very first time.

It is a lie universally repeated that there is no prejudice in Brazil. That here we don't care what you look like, because we have such an amazing mixture of different ethnic groups in our society.

Brazil is the country of the closeted racists and homophobes. Often I have heard from people that didn't consider themselves prejudiced that they didn't think there should be a Pride Parade. That they didn't understand why we were proud to be gay, if they weren't proud to be straight. After all, "there really isn't a Straight Pride Parade, is there?"

When faced with questions like these, I try to be polite and patiently explain that they don't have the need to say to the world they're proud to be straight because, well, the world doesn't persecute them because of it. LGBT people use the Parade as a political movement that shows the world just how many gay people there are out there, and how many people support us. To tell everyone it's not OK to beat us up or kill us just because we're different from them. To ask for the same basic rights everyone else takes for granted, like the rights to an identity and to family.

We have come a long way since the days the police used to beat us up on Christopher Street, New York. However, there is still a long road ahead. And taking this trip magnificently clad on top of a float with three million people all around us at Avenida Paulista, São Paulo, seems like a much better option than doing it alone.

For great pictures and a video of 2009's Parade, click here and here. 

-Luiza