November 1999

Dear Friends,

We've been silent (at least in terms of newsletters) since we left the States and returned to Brazil in late February. It's more than time to tell you how much we enjoyed seeing (and sometimes, meeting) you and how much we appreciate your warm support of our work—work that, because of the church's support, is also in an important sense, your work..

We returned to a Brazil that is obviously poorer than the one we left: more stores are closed, more apartments and business locations are available to rent, the unemployment statistics are frightening—more than 23 percent in São Paulo—and there are horrifying stories of violence in the schools and in the city as a whole, though it's difficult to tell whether the violence is actually worse or the campaign to "do something" has increased. There are also repeated exposés of the government's making horrendous cuts in social spending that would seem to condemn the victims to slow deaths by starvation or total lack of health care services. We are told that the cuts are in response to the demands of the International Monetary Fund, to pay the foreign debt.

In this bleak picture, how do I tell you about how God works in Brazil? Sometimes, I confess, it is hard to discern. But let me tell you about some special moments in my work that convince me of a divine presence here. I'm remembering now the 65-year-old woman who earns a living selling evangelical music tapes on the "evangelical street" in center city. She travels five hours per day by bus between her work and her apartment on the periphery of the city. The bus is crowded, so she usually stands. She supports herself and her unwell husband with this work, and she managed to "finish" that is, tile, the apartment that she won after a long struggle with the state that demolished her old, delapidated apartment in center city. She plans to sell (actually, since she isn't the legal owner, she will be selling certain rights) the new apartment and move back, but she'll have a bit more money to rent a better one when she does. Her win was a result of "my" Center's (the Gaspar Garcia Center for Human Rights) work; but now we know that our work must be redoubled because a real victory will be to have substitute housing in the center of the city, and not two-and-a-half hours away.

My work seems recently to involve a growing number of elderly people. Guseppi, a 75-year-old son of Italian immigrants, has a physical handicap that prevents a great deal of mobility. He is about to lose his housing, a miserable room in a hardly-standing cortiço (the "ç" is pronounced as an "s"). A cortiço is basically an urban slum that isn't a shanty town. About seven other families will be evicted, too, but they seem less concerned about their futures. His seemed particularly bleak. He says he was cheated out of most of his retirement benefits, a common complaint. He is very intelligent, and had quite a career, so I believe him. The benefits that he has (about $75 a month) will not be sufficient to rent another apartment. I took him to the only city-provided alternative housing available (a bunk bed, plus two meals a day), but he wasn't interested when we learned that the only possessions he would be allowed to keep would be his clothes. That means he would lose, or have to find storage for, his guitar, typewriter and special bed. He explained rather apologetically that he composes and can't exist without his music and guitar. Since he earned his living with his typewriter, he is loath to part with it too.
I was stymied. The eviction is imminent and he can't keep those items and live on the street. This old man deserves much better than society is providing.

Last night he met a leader of one of the housing movements in the city. The movements occupy abandoned public buildings (there are many) to pressure the government to activate the housing programs that are unveiled with regular pomp and seem never to result in housing for the poor. Now Guseppi has an invitation to move in with the movement in an occupied building—and with his personal possessions. His knowledge of history will contribute to the movement if he accepts the invitation. I'm rejoicing that he has this opportunity.

The Gaspar Garcia Center for Human Rights, where I work, provides legal support for several of the movements because we believe that this admittedly drastic activity is absolutely necessary if a great many Brazilians are ever to be able to live in decent housing.

Last month our Center had a special reason to celebrate. Our coordinator Luiz, who is an engineer, defended his master's thesis at a prestigious university. The thesis showed that per square foot, the rent for a room in a cortiço is more expensive than on São Paulo's "Wall Street." It is a fascinating thesis, but even better (for me) was the "audience" at the defense. It was surely unique in the history of the university. Besides family and friends—usual at such events—Luiz was supported by leaders in three (competing!) housing movements and people who actually live in cortiços who had probably never been near the university before.

Just a year ago our Center received a sizeable grant from a British organization called War on Want, which funds pilot projects for poor people around the world. We created an association of recyclers that will become a cooperative when it is a bit bigger. Right now there are 15 associates who are earning a fairly decent income while they acquire citizenship and job skills and just incidentally contribute substantially to bettering the environment by their recycling. "Coorpel's" vision is obviously much more than supplying a decent income. The three coordinators (one is a psychologist, and all are young, dynamic and committed) arrange meetings for the women recyclers, for the group as a whole, and provide literacy classes and various other kinds of social support. For example, with hard work, they succeeded in opening a bank account for one or two of the recyclers. This is quite a feat because here banks are not interested in providing services to the poor. Coorpel's impact is not restricted to the 15 associates. Non-associates can sell their collected materials there and receive substantially higher prices for their labors than they can get from profit-making recycling businesses. About a hundred
people a week take advantage of this. Some of these people will become associates when Coorpel is able to expand into larger quarters.

The three coordinators attend the Center's weekly staff meetings and report on their successes and failures. It is always thrilling to hear how these very poor people are beginning to take pride in their work, are learning to work with others, and are actually earning a minimally decent income. Some still live in the streets, others live in cortiços or occupations, but their lives are better. Someone recently asked how they are moving into "regular" jobs. Our reply was that we hope that recycling will soon be recognized as a regular job and
that it will generate sufficient income to justify the workers' growing pride in it.

Amid the terrible and inexplicable suffering, I'm sure I perceive God's work in Brazil—it's in these improbable, tiny steps that are all the more extraordinary because the context is so bleak. Only the divine presence and inspiration can explain their existence at all. I am grateful to you and to the Church to be a witness.

Peace and Justice,

Linnis Cook