SOCIAL MOVEMENTS in NEW DEMOCRACIES: SPECIALIZATION and OWNERSHIP a Dissertation Submitted to the Graduate School of the Univers

SOCIAL MOVEMENTS IN NEW DEMOCRACIES:

SPECIALIZATION AND OWNERSHIP

A Dissertation

Submitted to the Graduate School

of the University of Notre Dame

in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements

for the Degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

Cecilia Pe Lero

______

Michael Coppedge, Director

Graduate Program in Political Science

Notre Dame, Indiana

November 2018 Ó Copyright by

CECILIA PE LERO

2018

SPECIALIZATION AND OWNERSHIP

Abstract

Cecilia Pe Lero

The restoration of democratic regimes in the Philippines and Brazil in the 1980s provided an opportunity to redefine the relationship between the state and social movements. As movements carried their advocacies into the new democratic regimes, activism became about how movements could shape nascent democratic institutions to expand and regularize movement access, while simultaneously preparing the movement itself to take part in institutional decision-making. These new opportunities and institutions thus necessitated new repertoires of contention. This dissertation seeks to add to our understanding about these processes by answering two questions: How have social movements navigated the new democratic space? and, What determines the kinds of repertoires social movement actors adopted?

Through the in-depth process tracing of four social movement campaigns, which included my personal attendance at meetings, fora, and strategy sessions, as well as over eighty interviews, I make two arguments to explain how social movement actors in the

Philippines and Brazil chose their repertoires. First, social movement organizations Cecilia P. Lero working on a given issue carve out specialized niches for themselves in terms of skills, target sector, areas of influence, and political ideology. Thus, when social movement organizations work together on a particular issue or campaign, a division of labor develops that can allow the movement to approach the issue on a variety of strategic fronts.

Second, social movement organizations in democratic Philippines and Brazil emphasized framing their strategies and tactics in terms of sectoral ownership and decision via collective processes. Sectoral ownership, or framing a campaign or advocacy as being the demand of the affected sector itself, is important for social movement organizations to compete with both the state as well as other organizations as the

“legitimate” representative of the people. Relatedly, collective decision-making processes are emphasized in order to provide a quasi-formal veneer to this claim of legitimate representation, as well as to act as a parallel to the democratic processes that movements urge the state to follow. Thus, the hope is that internal processes both put pressure on the state to adopt democratic policy-making processes, while simultaneously preparing social movement members to eventually participate in such state processes. For my Daddy, to whom I promised I would be a doctor. He left us just a few months

before I got to fulfill that promise.

CONTENTS

FIGURES ...... v

ABBREVIATIONS ...... vi

CHAPTER 1: LITERATURE REVIEW AND THEORY ...... 1 1.1 Introduction ...... 1 1.2 Literature review ...... 9 1.2.1 What determines organizations’ repertoires of contention? ...... 9 1.2.2 External factors ...... 10 1.2.3 Internal factors ...... 14 1.2.4 Factors in the social movement field ...... 17 1.2.5 Social movements in Brazil’s and the Philippines’ transition to democracy 22 1.2.6 Context of mobilization and democratic transition ...... 23 1.3 Theory ...... 28 1.3.1 Specialization and mutualism among organizations ...... 29 1.3.2 Division of labor among social movements organizations ...... 37 1.3.3 Movements’ role in democratic consolidation and expansion ...... 43 1.4 Cases ...... 46 1.5 Conclusion ...... 55

CHAPTER 2: THE COCONUT LEVY ...... 57 2.1 Introduction ...... 57 2.2 History of the Coco Levy ...... 58 2.3 Pre-2012 mobilizations about the Coco Levy ...... 63 2.4 Philippine Coconut Producers Federation, Inc. (COCOFED), et al. vs. Republic of the Philippines and Ensuing Initiatives ...... 65 2.5 Formation of KILUS Magniniyog ...... 69 2.6 Designing the KM-71 campaign ...... 72 2.7 Mechanics of the KM-71 march ...... 77 2.8 The marchers reach Manila ...... 82 2.9 Analysis ...... 86 2.9.1 Division of labor ...... 86 2.9.2 Sectoral ownership ...... 91

CHAPTER 3: THE AMVACA PEOPLE’S PLAN ...... 93 3.1 Introduction ...... 93 3.2 History of the Philippine informal settler movement ...... 96 3.3 People’s plan as a framework ...... 100 3.4 The million dollar fund ...... 103

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3.5 Establishing Kilos Maralita and AMVACA ...... 104 3.6 Organizing AMVACA ...... 106 3.7 Getting the people’s plan approved ...... 111 3.8 Discussion ...... 114

CHAPTER 4: CABACEIRAS ...... 119 4.1 Introduction ...... 119 4.2 History of agrarian reform movement in Brazil ...... 122 4.3 The state of Pará as a location of conflict ...... 127 4.4 The occupation of Cabaceiras ...... 131 4.4.1 Stage 1: Beginning and early months of the Cabaceiras occupation ...... 132 4.4.2 Stage 2: Working with institutional actors ...... 138 4.4.3 Stage 3: Defending and implementing the dispropriation ...... 143 4.5 Discussion ...... 146

CHAPTER 5: APEOESP ...... 150 5.1 Introduction ...... 150 5.2 Labor movements and the history of teacher unions in Brazil ...... 152 5.3 Foundation of the APESNOESP ...... 154 5.4 First mobilizations ...... 156 5.5 APENOESP under dictatorship ...... 160 5.6 Restructuring the APEOESP from within ...... 162 5.7 Open command takes over ...... 166 5.8 Context leading to the 2015 strike ...... 169 5.9 Strategies during the strike ...... 174 5.10 Analysis ...... 178

CHAPTER 6: CONCLUSION ...... 187

WORKS CITED ...... 201

FIGURES

Figure 2.1: Value of crops produced (in 2000 Philippine pesos)...... 59

Figure 2.2: Poverty incidence in coconut areas as of 2011 ...... 60

Figure 3.1: Members of AMVACA overseeing construction of their housing project……………………………………………………………………………..94

Figure 3.2: Tullahan River ...... 107

Figure 4.1: Location of the 26th of March camp on the Cabaceiras estate ...... 120

Figure 4.2: Day 1 of the occupation on March 26, 1999 ...... 134

Figure 4.3: 1999 dispersal of fazenda Cabaceiras ...... 137

Figure 5.1: The president of APEOESP addresses the crowd at a general assembly at the Praça da República in the city of São Paulo ...... 151

Figure 5.2 The Brazilian Communist Party’s “Red Bulletin” expresses support for the strike while blaming President Rousseff for cuts to education spending ...... 181

Figure 5.3 An APEOESP pamphlet emphasizes the message that the strike was decided upon by the base and that the base has ownership...... 184

ABBREVIATIONS

ACP Ação Civil Pública, Civil Public Action. Brazilian legal proceeding intended for the defense of a group, similar to a class action proceeding.

AFARM Ateneans for Agrarian Reform Movement. Student group at Ateneo de Manila University in support of agrarian reform.

AFL-CIO American Federation of Labor and Congress of Industrial Organizations

ALAMIN Alyansa ng mga Magsasaka sa Industriya ng Niyog, Alliance of Coconut Industry Farmers. Farmers’ group that launched a campaign to end the Coco Levy Scam and recover the fund in 1979

AMMA- Association of Farmers, Fishers, and Agricultural Workers- KATIPUNAN KATIPUNAN. Farmers’ federation that came to be part of KILUS Magniniyog.

AMVACA Alyansa ng Mamamayan sa Valenzuela at Caloocan, Alliance of Citizens in Valenzuela and Caloocan Citizens. Informal settler family association created in 2012 out of 13 small associations in the cities of Caloocan and Valenzuela. Affiliated with KM.

APEOESP Sindicato dos Professores do Ensino Oficial do Estado de São Paulo, Union of Public School Teachers of São Paulo State

APIL Asosasyon Pagpanghikawas sa Industriya sa Lubi, Association for the Liberation of the Coconut Industry. Farmers’ group that launched a campaign to end the Coco Levy Scam and recover the fund in 1982.

CANVAS Centre for Applied Nonviolent Action and Strategies

CCS Center for Community Services

CEPASP Centro de Pesquisa e Assessoria Sindical e Popular, Center for Union and Popular Research and Advice

CIIF Coconut Industry Investment Fund

CNBB Conferência Nacional dos Bispos do Brasil, National Conference of Brazilian Bishops

COCOFED Philippine Coconut Producers’ Federation

CODE-NGO Caucus of Development NGO Networks

COIR Coconut Industry Reform Movement

Co-Multiversity Community Organizers Multiversity. NGO that focuses on research and alternative education for people’s organizations and NGO workers. It was established in 1994 as Community Organizers Training, Research, and Advocacy Institute (CO- TRAIN). It changed its name to Community Organizers Multiversity (CO Multiversity) in 1997.

CPI Comissão Parlamentar de Inquérito de Violência no Campo, Parliamentary Commission of Inquiry on Rural Violence

CONTAG Confederação Nacional dos Trabalhadores na Agricultura, National Confederation of Agricultural Workers

CPP Communist Party of the Philippines

CPT Comissão Pastoral da Terra, Pastoral Land Commission

CUT Central Única dos Trabalhadores, Workers’ Central

DA Department of Agriculture of the Philippines

DILG Department of Interior and Local Government of the Philippines

FETAGRI Federação dos Trabalhadores na Agricultura no Pará, Federation of Agricultural Workers in Pará

FLRW Farmers and Landless Rural Workers

FASE Federação de Órgãos para Assistência Social e Educacional, Federation of Organs for Social and Educational Assistence

FATA Fundação Agrária do Tocantins Araguaia, Agrarian Foundation of Tocatins Araguaia

GK Gawad Kalinga, Granting Care. Foundation that specializes

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in building homes for indigent communities.

HASIK Harnessing Self- Reliant Initiatives and Knowledge. NGO founded in 1988. One of the first organizations to experiment with resettlement via people’s plan.

HPFP Homeless People’s Federation of the Philippines. Federation of informal settler organizations. It was founded in 1998 by communities surrounding the Payatas landfill in Quezon City, Metro Manila. Within three years it had affiliates in eight cities nationwide

HUDCC Housing and Urban Development Coordinating Council. Umbrella agency in that coordinates the various public housing agencies of the Philippine government. Attached agency under the Office of the President of the Philippines.

IBAMA Instituto Brasileiro do Meio Ambiente e dos Recursos Naturais Renováveis, Brazilian Institute of Environment and Renewable Natural Resources. Attached to the Brazilian Ministry of Environment.

IML Instituto Médico Legal. Medico-Legal Institute. Sub-agency of Brazilian state ministries of public safety responsible for autopsies and other forensic sciences.

INCRA Instituto Nacional de Colonização e Reforma Agraria, Brazilian National Institute of Colonization and Agrarian Reform.

IPD Institute for Popular Democracy. NGO founded in 1986 out of an offshoot of the Communist Party of the Philippines. Focuses on integrating scholarly research with social movement activity.

IPSCED Institute for Philippine Cooperative & Social Enterprise. NGO founded in 2009. Focuses on training and developing cooperatives and NGO workers interested in cooperatives

KADAMAY Kalipunan ng Damayang Mahihirap, Federation of the Poor Helping Each Other. Informal settler federation founded in 1998 uniting various organizations allied with the Communist Party of the Philippines.

KAISAHAN KAISAHAN Tungo sa Kaunlaran ng Kanayunan at

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Repormang Pansakahan, Unity Towards Rural Development and Agrarian Reform

KASAMA-FPO Kalipunan ng mga Samahan ng Mamamayan-Federation of People’s Organizations

KM Kilos Maralita, Movement of the Poor. Federation of informal settler organizations formed in 2011 by NUPCO as a vehicle to engage the government and expand to new communities without strong ideological restrictions.

KILUS Kilusan para sa Ugnayan ng mga Samahang Magniniyog, Magniniyog Joint Movement of Coconut Farmer Associations.

LnM Laban ng Masa, Struggle of the Masses. Coalition of non- Maoist democratic socialist and communist parties and political blocs that unified in 2005 to oppose the presidency of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

MEB Movimento de Educação de Base, Movement for Basic Education. Organization linked to the CNBB that works with civil society and the private sector to reduce social inequality through popular education.

MNLF Moro National Liberation Front. Political group with the initial goal of Bangsamoro separation from the Philippines. Since the signing of several peace agreements with the government of the Philippines, the goal has been self- determination. Maintains an armed component.

MPF Ministério Público Federal, Federal Public Prosecutor. Autonomous agency of Brazilian government with the mandate to bring cases related to social and individual rights before the courts.

MST Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra, Movement of Landless Rural Workers

MTE Ministério do Trabalho e Emprego, Brazilian Ministry of Labor and Employment

NAACP National Association for the Advancement of Colored People

NACUPO National Congress for Urban Poor Organizations. Coalition comprised of ZOTO, KPML, the Coalition of Urban Poor Against Poverty (CUPAP), and the Pagkakaisa ng Mamamayan ng Navotas (PAMANA). It was formed in 1986 shortly after the EDSA People Power Revolution in order to

present the People’s Proposal to President Corazon Aquino. The People’s Proposal included research about the status of informal settlers and the shortcomings of existing government housing programs, demanded a moratorium on demolitions, and requested the establishment of a Presidential Commission on the Urban Poor wherein informal settler organizations could participate in crafting policy. NACUPO was disbanded in 1987 following disappointment over perceived unwillingness to implement the People’s Proposal and Aquino’s appointments to the PCUP.

NAJFD Nationalist Alliance for Justice, Freedom, and Democracy

NAPC National Anti-Poverty Commission. Agency attached to the Office of the President of the Philippines

NDF National Democratic Front. Network of legal political groups connected to the Communist Party of the Philippines

NEDA National Economic Development Agency. Philippine ministry responsible for economic planning

NHA National Housing Authority. One of the government agencies responsible for public housing in the Philippines. Managed as a government-controlled corporation under the HUDCC.

NHFC National Home Finance Corporation. Philippine government- controlled corporation that provides loans for affordable housing.

NPA New People’s Army. Armed wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines

NTWG National Technical Working Group

NUPCO National Urban Poor Coalition. Coalition of urban poor organizations and movements allied with the parties and blocs of LnM.

OAB Ordem dos Advogados do Brasil. Bar association of Brazil

OPAFSAM Office of the Presidential Assistant for Food Security and Agricultural Modernization. Cabinet-level position that reports to the Office of the President of the Philippines

ORD Organizing for Rural Development. Philippine rural NGO.

PAKISAMA Pambansang Kilusan ng mga Samahan ng Magsasaka,

National Movement of Farmer Associations

PASCRES People’s Alternative Study Center for Research and Education for Social Development

PhilCOA Philippine Coconut Administration. Also referred to as PCA

PNRA Programa Nacional de Reforma Agrária, National Plan for Agrarian Reform

PRRM Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement

PSDB Partido Social Democrático do Brasil, Social Democratic Party of Brazil

PSOL Partido Socialismo e Liberdade, Party of Socialism and Freedom

PT Partido dos Trabalhadores, Workers’ Party

SALIGAN Sentro ng Alternatibong Lingap Panlegal, Center for Alternative Legal Care

SAMASA Sandigan para sa Mag-aaral at Sambayanan, Support for Studying and for the Nation. Student political party and socio-civil group based at the University of the Philippines.

SECTAM Secretaria Executiva de Ciência, Tecnologia e Meio Ambiente, Executive Secretary of Science, Technology, and Environment. Brazilian state-level minister.

SCLC Southern Christian Leadership Conference

SENTRO Sentro ng mga Nagkakaisa at Progresibong Manggagawa, Central of United and Progressive Workers

SHFC Social Housing Finance Corporation. Philippine government- controlled corporation responsible for financing socialized housing programs

STR Sindicatos dos Trabalhadores Rurais, Rural Worker Unions

SNCC Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee

SPDDH Sociedade Paraense de Defesa dos Direitos Humanos, Paraense Society for the Defense of Human Rights

STF Supremo Tribunal Federal, Supreme Federal Court

UCPB United Coconut Planters Bank

UFW United Farm Workers

UDHA Urban Development and Housing Act

UP-ALL Urban Poor Alliance. Federation of informal settler organizations and NGOs. It was formed in 2005 as an alliance between HPFP, the National Congress of CMP Originators and Social Development Institutions for Low-income Housing (CMP Congress), Community Organization of the Philippine Enterprise (COPE), CO-Multiversity, Urban Poor Associates, and the Urban Land Reform Task-Force.

ZOTO Zone One Tondo Organization. An informal settler federation based in Tondo, Manila and the first federation in the Philippines. Founded in 1970.

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CHAPTER 1

LITERATURE REVIEW AND THEORY

1.1 Introduction

Ireneo “Ka Rene” Cerilla fondly reminisced about his days as a young activist, when he would leave his small rice and coconut farm to join marches to the capital demanding the end of the Marcos dictatorship and the installation of democratic elections. In those days, the state was the enemy and the enemy needed to be overthrown.

Over three decades later, Ka Rene would find himself sitting at a technical working group meeting at the Philippine House of Representatives hammering out the details of a Coco

Levy Trust fund bill together with members of the Committee on Agriculture. The intention of the bill was to create a mechanism whereby an approximately 71 billion peso fund (US$14 million) that had been collected through a tax on coconuts levied by the

Marcos dictatorship would be used to directly benefit small coconut farmers and develop the Philippine coconut industry. Despite having only a 1-year vocational degree from a small public university, Cerilla was one of the original drafters of the bill even before it was filed in congress, and knew its contents and technicalities in and out. At several intervals, landlord representatives also present at the meeting proposed amendments to the bill that would effectively revert the fund to landlord control. Like a well-rehearsed play, Representative Tomasito Villarin would object to the immediate inclusion of the amendment, asking that the committee first hear the opinion of the affected farmers, and

point to Cerilla. Cerilla would then explain why the committee should not accept the landlords’ motion. Meanwhile, a staff member of the Coconut Industry Reform NGO sitting in the gallery would live-tweet the exchange. When the working group session was over and the resource persons and congresspeople stood up to shake hands and exchange pleasantries, Villarin quietly said to Cerilla, “Meet me upstairs.” Twenty minutes later,

Cerilla and at least 8 other representatives from coconut farmer organizations and agricultural NGOs representatives were in Villarin’s office, exchanging notes on the bill’s status in the Senate, the executive’s attitude, and what should be done next.

During Brazil’s military dictatorship, Roberto Guido marched several times to the

São Paulo state legislature as part of a Trotskyist student formation. In 2015, however, he was going to the São Paulo legislative building in with the intention to hear presentations about proposed reforms to the public school system. A geography teacher by profession,

Guido was now the head of public outreach for the São Paulo state’s public teacher union, the APEOESP. He had made most of the calls that resulted in over 250 left-leaning students, teachers, unionists, rural workers, NGO workers, and alternative media platforms being present to debate and refine an alternative to the education package being pushed by the Brazilian Social Democratic Party (Partido Social Democrático do Brasil,

PSDB). As the speakers were taking their places on the panel, an aide to a lawmaker from the Workers’ Party (Partido dos Trabalhadores, PT) entered the room in a fluster and pulled aside the panelists and Guido. To the surprise of the minority legislators, the PSDB leadership of the Committee on Education was planning to vote on the package that very day, foregoing the required public consultations. The legislators from the Workers’ Party and Socialism and Liberty Party (Partido Socialismo e Liberdade, PSOL) rushed upstairs to sit in the committee. They would do their best to challenge and delay the proceedings

through questioning the quorum and appealing to reschedule the vote. If the committee leadership would not concede, they would send a message to Guido, who was then to usher the 250 or so attendees to the committee hearing room and orchestrate an occupation. The panel began as originally planned, with an overview of the different bills that had been filed. After about 40 minutes, however, Guido received the signal and people started moving to the hearing room. Upon entering the hearing room, the PT and

PSOL staff instructed the civil society members to occupy the entire room. The legislators themselves slyly signaled for civil society members to sit in the chairs usually reserved for legislators, a symbol of defiance of the body’s authority. These legislators also made formal motions that the civil society members present should be heard and their positions put on record, which the committee leadership denied. When it became clear that the committee leadership would not acquiesce to hearing the audience nor scheduling public consultations, the crowd began chanting “democracia” and the committee chair, now out of control, suspended the hearing. No voting took place.

Both Ka Rene and Guido became politicized and eventually became active members of broad social movements to overthrow dictatorship and restore democracy in the Philippines and Brazil, respectively. However, it was clear to both of them that democratic regime change was not an end in itself. Rather, they became democratic activists because they believed democracy would provide their sectors with the necessary space (in particular, less repression) and institutional access to meaningfully advocate for their substantive concerns. Thus, for these two activists and many like them, involvement in issue campaign advocacy was a natural continuation of the movement for democracy.

A generation later, I also became involved in social movements. After college in the United States, I became involved in NGO work in the Philippines, motivated by my

questions about what could make the Philippines and other developing countries into mature and functioning democracies. This NGO, the Institute for Popular Democracy, identified itself as unabashedly progressive, leftist, and democratic. It envisioned itself as a venue where ideas from various leftist tendencies could be valued, explored and tested.

IPD emphasized pluralism within the left, but it also adopted a mission of applying seeming out-of-touch intellectualism and data-driven social science for practical use in social movements.

IPD introduced me to the world of both Philippine social movements and political society. I became familiar and, in many cases, quite close with a dizzying array of political actors ranging from guerrilla soldiers to scions of landed elite families. I was later recruited to be a trainer for the Centre for Applied Nonviolent Action and Strategies

(CANVAS), an organization that trains social movement actors around the world.

Through CANVAS, I’ve worked with and trained activists from nearly twenty countries in Asia, the Middle East, and Africa. I also had a stint at an international NGO based in

Washington, D.C. supporting democracy promotion programs in seventy countries. I’ve faced riot police, braced the front lines of slum demolitions, and sat across the table from

Presidents. But more than anything else, I’ve spent lots of time in very long, not-so- interesting meetings in crummy offices trying to agree on what should be done next.

In every social movement situation I’ve been in non-democratic or newly democratized countries, I noticed a tension between the overwhelming flexibility provided by the lack of well-institutionalized rules, and the unwritten but nearly universally understood limits that movements put on their own actions. More often than not, the point was to challenge state institutions in order to expand them to be more open, inclusive, or less repressive. At the same time, movements, or rather, groups within

movements, had very specific notions about what they could and could not do in terms of what issues they could handle, what kinds of actions they should take, and which values and ideas should be emphasized or understated. These notions were heavily influenced by how they felt they would be perceived by other groups in the social movement. They also had very specific expectations about what other groups in their orbit would, or should, do. All this was determined through a seemingly never-ending set of internal processes of consultations, debates, and procedural tools.

For example, during my time at IPD, the institute was releasing various studies that criticized World Bank programs in the Philippines. Eventually, the World Bank offered IPD a grant to produce better data that could more definitively prove their programs were not optimal. The question of whether or not to accept the grant became a topic of heated debate among the staff and board of directors. Proponents argued that IPD would receive sizeable resources for our own programs, and that the institute could effectively resist World Bank interference in the design and implementation.

Furthermore, we could benefit from the World Bank’s expertise on data gathering and management while having the potential to change World Bank programs from within.

Opponents, however, argued that IPD would come under harsh suspicion from other groups and movements in the left community. We would risk being accused of working for the World Bank’s “neoliberal agenda.” Regardless of whether that was accurate or not, this perception could make certain groups apprehensive towards working with us, which would in turn jeopardize IPD’s core mission of being a resource to democratic leftist social movements broadly. The question of whether or not to accept the money was discussed extensively through both written and verbal debate, and the board eventually voted not to accept.

It was always curious to me why certain strategies (and resources, and relationships) were so easily accepted while others were not. As a relatively young person desperate to be creative, I wondered why we restricted ourselves as well as why we inflicted often annoyingly long internal processes on ourselves. I wondered why we insisted on conceptual discourses about democracy and participation when the communication tools the powerful used were much easier to understand and appeared to be much more effective. I was pushed into activism because of my questions about how countries could become successful democracies. I was pushed into the academe partially because of my questions about why I and the people around me understood and mobilized for democracy in the way that we did.

The restoration of democratic regimes in the Philippines and Brazil in the 1980s provided an opportunity to redefine the relationship between the state and social movements. As the movements to which Ka Rene, Guido, and I belonged carried their advocacies into the new democratic regimes, activism became about how movements could shape nascent democratic institutions to expand and regularize movement access, while simultaneously preparing the movement itself to take part in institutional decision- making. These new opportunities and institutions thus necessitated new strategies and tactics, or what Tilly (1975; 1995; 2008) calls “repertoires of contention,” to assert movements’ place in the new democratic regimes. The new repertoires also meant social movements had to develop new skills and resources, which also changed relationships within movements.

The question thus arises: How have social movements navigated the new democratic space? Tilly argues that repertoires of contention are constantly being

learned, innovated and improvised. In the context of new democracies, What determines the kinds of repertoires social movement actors adopt?

This study focuses on social movements in the Philippines and Brazil, two countries that democratized during the third wave, and generally considered to have among the world’s most dynamic and active social movements. In these two countries, movements rooted in class and sectoral formations, including but not limited to landless and small farmers, labor, and urban informal settlers, trace the height of their politicization and organization to the period of dictatorship. Movement organizations further proliferated in the post-authoritarian period (Franco 2001; Wampler and Avritzer

2004; Avritzer 2009; Lavalle and Bueno 2011). Philippine and Brazilian case studies fill the “best practice” manuals of international NGOs and development organizations. Yet, activists from both countries are quick to say that movement gains in the democratic period have been hard fought, with movement actors figuring out their new relationships with the state and each other as they went along, and facing many setbacks in the process.

Social movement organizations in both countries exhibit high levels of autonomy from the state and each other, and movement communities continue to be characterized by

“vibrant” discourse where there is active debate among social movement organizations about strategy and the role various organizations and institutions should play in democratic development (Silliman and Noble 1998).

I make two arguments to explain how social movement actors in the Philippines and Brazil have chosen their repertoires in the most recent democratic period. First, I argue that social movement organizations working on a given issue carve out specialized niches for themselves in terms of skills, target sector, areas of influence, and political ideology. Thus, when social movement organizations work together on a particular issue

or campaign, a division of labor develops that can allow the movement to approach the issue on a variety of strategic fronts. The division of labor may happen naturally as a result of specialization, but it can also happen purposively, as organizations develop and hone their skills, territorial presence, and communication lines based on the positions of similar organizations and where they perceive a lack.

Second, I argue that social movement organizations in democratic Philippines and

Brazil emphasized framing their strategies and tactics in terms of sectoral ownership and decision via collective processes. Sectoral ownership, or framing a campaign or advocacy as being the demand of the affected sector itself, is important for social movement organizations to compete with both the state as well as other organizations as the

“legitimate” representative of the people. This is especially important in contexts characterized by low-quality democracy where politicians claim to be the voice of their constituents, but in reality democratic processes do little to ensure popular accountability.

Relatedly, collective decision-making processes are emphasized in order to provide a quasi-formal veneer to this claim of legitimate representation, and in reaction to the legacies of democratic centralism that characterized clandestine movements (particularly those that followed Maoist and Leninist traditions) that dominated during dictatorship periods (Mische 2008). Processes are also emphasized in order to act as a parallel to the democratic processes that movements urge the state to follow. In addition to signaling to both the state and other social movement actors that organizations “walk the talk” of democracy, movement leaders often designed internal processes to get organization members (as well as themselves) accustomed to rule-based (as opposed to patron- or personality-dominated) decision-making. Thus, the hope is that internal processes both put pressure on the state to adopt democratic policy-making processes, while

simultaneously preparing social movement members to eventually participate in such state processes.

1.2 Literature review

Ask most people what comes to mind when they think of social movements, and particularly social movements in the context of democratization, and most will answer with dramatic forms of public protest like the million people who gathered in Tahrir square or the sea of umbrellas in Hong Kong. Inevitably, these dramatic events pit a seemingly a unified pro-democracy social movement against the state. Movements themselves have contributed to this perception, highlighting the role of active social movements and civil society as a necessary part of high-quality democracy, as well as the first line of defense against a backslide to authoritarianism (see, for example, Tilly 1993-

94; Kuhota and Sinpeng 2014; Friedman and Hochstetler 2002; Lewis 1992).

But, social movements are characterized by numerous, fluid, and interlocking organizations and individuals. While unified by particular identities and broad goals, these organizations and individuals employ a variety of strategies and tactics. This is particularly true in the Philippines and Brazil where the autonomy of social movements organizations from both the state and each other is highly prized and guarded (Clarke

2013; Avritzer 2009). Given this autonomy, how do SMOs relate to each other, if at all, when norms of engaging the state are in flux and when both state and social movement actors are looking for new norms of engagement?

1.2.1 What determines organizations’ repertoires of contention?

Tilly characterized the strategies and tactics employed by movements as

“repertoires of contention” (1975; 1995; 2008). Tilly’s notion of repertoires is that social

movements have an inventory of actions with which they are familiar. They can choose actions from this inventory to perform in particular situations. At the same time, repertoires are constantly learned, innovated, and improvised. Approaches to explain the choice of strategies and tactics can fall into three broad categories: 1) Approaches that highlight factors external to social movement organizations; 2) Approaches that highlight factors internal to social movement organizations; and 3) Approaches that highlight the characteristics of the social movement industry or field.

1.2.2 External factors

Various scholars have focused on macro-social and economic factors to explain social movement behavior. The prolific body of Marxist work and Marx-inspired work uses the production cycle to explain how groups in society are stratified (e.g. Manza and

Brooks 2008; DiMaggio 2012; Saad-Filho and Moraes 2018, as well as how they organize (e.g. Piven and Cloward 1979; Belkhir and Charlemaine 2007; Levi 2003;

Marin 2007), what they demand, and how they demand it (e.g. Tilly 1993-94; Leondar-

Wright 2014; Edelman 1987; Cameron 2009; Silva 1988). In a notable recent example,

Della Porta (2015; 2017) examines the rise of anti-austerity movements in advanced neoliberal democracies and argues that the “crisis of capitalism” is a driving force behind how these movements self-identified, perceived the state, and organized. Goldstone

(1991) argues that economic and demographic strains on state institutions can lead to popular mobilization and, eventually, revolution. Several authors have sought to explain the rise of “new” social movements, that is movements centered around issues of identity and post-materialist values as opposed to economic classes or the roles groups play in the production cycle through macro-processes such as the shift from industrial to post- industrial economies (Touraine 1987). Authors have pointed to the democratization of

communication and access to information (Melucci 1996), and the rise of the culture of individualism (Genov 2013; Beck and Beck-Gernscheim 2002; Hacker 2006). McAdam

(1999) argues that “innovative collective action” among both civil rights activists and white segregationists in the United States was the result of uncertainty about race relations following the American Civil War. Skocpol (1979) argues that foreign power intrusions and hasty and disorderly economic expansions leading to economic crisis can constitute shocks that mobilize popular sectors. Others investigate the effects of foreign intrusions not necessarily by a hostile army, but through foreign aid, with several authors arguing that the international development industry encourages SMOs to

“professionalize” according to Western standards of conduct (see Gereffi, Garcia-

Johnson, and Sasser 2009; Fernando 2011; Andrews 2011; Petras 1997), and forego grassroots organizing (Frank and Fuentes 2010; Piven and Cloward 1977; White 2010;

Karpf 2013; Manwaring 2014).1

Another oft-cited explanation for social movement behavior is regime type, especially as related to levels of repression. The presence and quality of democracy by definition indicate some degree of “openness,” that there are institutional remedies

1 Social and class structure has been broadly explored to explain mobilization, from , to Gurr's classic theory of relative deprivation which posits that the potential for rebellion and political violence in greatly influenced by perception of what people have versus what they think they deserve (1970).Numerous conflict scholars have tried to test Gurr’s theory with mixed results (e.g. Lichbach 1989; Lubker 2007; Fearon and Laitin 2003; Cramer 2005; Esteban and Rey 2011). Interestingly, while the empirical data has failed to show a consistent relationship between inequality or political grievances and mobilization, a number of scholars have treated this as a puzzle. Instead of negating the theory that grievances should lead to mobilization, scholars have sought to identify mediating factors that block the expected translation of grievances into mobilization. Cramer (2003), for example, finds that inequality can drive potential conflict, but whether or not conflict erupts depends strongly on a society's mechanisms for managing inequality. Genov (2013), Beck and Beck-Gernscheim (2002), and Hacker (2006) explain the lack of class-based mobilization despite rising inequality on an increased cultural emphasis on individualism. Snow (2013) argues that the reduction in class-based mobilization is a reflection of the rise of "new" social movements that emphasize issues of identity and acceptance, rather than resource distribution. Social movement scholars tend to take it as an assumption that movements form around perceived grievances. Snow and Owens (2014) write "almost all social movements, conservative and reactionary as well as progressive movements, are oriented, in one fashion or another, toward combating, constructing, or sustaining actual or perceived systems of inequality." However, beyond the mere existence of grievances, social movement studies has concerned itself with the conditions necessary to turn grievances into popular mobilization. 11

available for citizens to redress grievances that are not available under authoritarian regimes. Unsurprisingly, participatory and institutional means of redressing grievances have been found to effectively pre-empt protest and conflict (Eisinger 1973; also see

Cramer 2003). Movements tend to use a mix of institutional and extra-institutional tactics according to the levels of openness in their political context. Demonstrations, rallies, and other extra-institutional forms of mobilization are meant to display unity, numbers, and determination, but also to strengthen the bargaining position of political allies and those challenging through institutional means (Alimi 2015). Many movements that advocate for democracy do so not necessarily (nor solely) because of a normative belief in democracy, nor because they believe that material demands will be automatically addressed under a democratic regime, but in the hope that a democratic regime will afford them more space to advocate for their material demands with less repression.

Many authors have written about this connection between regime type, repression, and social movement behavior. Scholars have found varying results regarding the effect of state repression on the volume of movement activity, with some finding that movements retreat (White 1993), or fight harder (Lichbach 1987; Eckstein 1965;

Feirabend and Feirabend 1972; Gurr and Duvall 1973; Ziegenhagen 1986; Koran 1990;

Khawaja 1993; Francisco 1996) depending on economic and political contexts

(Danveport 2005). Gillham and Noakes (2007) argue that when security forces are perceived as tolerant, movement leaders try to negotiate and establish agreements about acceptable forms and locations of protest. Gupta, Singh and Sprague (1993) find that in democratic countries, more state repression leads to more mobilization, while in non- democratic countries, repression may lead to less activity. Goldstone (1980) and Linz and

Stepan (1996) argue that it is not only whether a regime is democratic that affects how

social movements react, and thus organize and mobilize, but different kinds of non- democratic regimes can cause movements to act in different ways. Some authors dispute the notion that movements demobilize in the face of repression, illustrating instead how movements become clandestine, moving at least some of their activity underground, and that scholars are simply not observing or measuring this kind of mobilization (Johnston and Mueller 2001; Johnston 2005; Jelin 1987). Still others, particularly those that take a more anthropological approach to studying movements, find that repression provides incentives for movements to find creative ways of expressing and mobilizing dissent

(Scott 1985; Kraidy 2016; O’Hearn 2009; Bhattacharya 2011). Part of this creativity is strategically using repression to invigorate movement members and elicit sympathy among audiences (Martin 2007; Popovic and Porell 2013). Groups facing high repression at home with little hope that institutional recourse will stop perpetrators are also likely to reach out to international solidarity networks and sympathetic foreign governments (Keck and Sikkink 1998; Tarrow 2005; Alimi 2015).

Periods of liberalization that anticipate transitions to democratic regimes tend to be characterized by high social movement activity in terms of both the creation of organizations and popular manifestations (Boschi 1987; Tilly 2004: 131; O’Donnell and

Schmitter 1986). Movements look to take advantage of the opening space to further push for their material demands, but they also take advantage of opening space to push for further opening. Finally, they also take advantage of splits within the elite (as O’Donnell,

Schmitter and Whitehead would say, between hardliners and softliners) to attempt to disrupt elite domination and possibly create alliances with an elite sect.

That social movements attempt to take advantage of splits, vulnerabilities, and interests in and among the elite is another recurring theme in the study of social

movement repertoires. McAdam’s classic “Tactical Innovation and the Pace of

Insurgency” (1983) introduces the concept of tactical innovation wherein relatively powerless challengers must devise techniques that offset their powerlessness and take advantage of elite vulnerabilities. As they do so, elites learn to neutralize challengers’ disruptive actions in a process McAdam calls tactical adaptation. The challengers then must innovate again, resulting in a dynamic cycle of tactical interaction (p. 736).

McAdam also raises the important insight that in situations with limited political openings, activists may choose certain tactics that then lead to new openings in the opportunity structure. Oberschall (1973: 268) and Oppenheimer (1963) share similar insights about the black civil rights movement, describing how activists strategically targeted vulnerable economic sectors and elites devised tactical responses in turn. Morris

(1993) demonstrates how black civil rights activists “targeted and directly confronted the economic and political elites” through diverse and carefully chosen tactics. O’Donnell and Schmitter suggest that social movements could take advantage of and exacerbate splits between regime “hardliners” and “softliners” (1986). Rucht also suggests that a movement’s actions take into account “context structure” – that is its access to the party system, “alliance structure” and “conflict structure.”

1.2.3 Internal factors

The repertoires social movements undertake are determined not only by the previously mentioned external factors, but also their interaction with movements’ internal capacities and identities. The resources available to a movement or any particular organization has a massive effect on how it organizes and mobilizes. Resource

Mobilization theory (RMT) directs scholars to examine social movements at the level of their various component organizations. It focuses on the internal characteristics and

structures of social movement organizations (SMOs), including membership, leadership, and internal rules and hierarchy, arguing that such characteristics determine the resources available to SMOs, as well as how effective SMOs are at converting resources into collective action (McCarthy and Zald 1977; Soule and King 2008; Edwards and

McCarthy 2004; DenHond et al 2015). Different kinds of organizations, for example community associations, membership-based organizations, professional non-government organizations (NGO), and foundations, have and seek access to different kinds of resources. A body of work focusing on the “professionalization” of social movement organizations argues that there is an important distinction between traditional movement activists, who can be thought of as direct stakeholders in any particular movement, and

“conscience constituents” who may provide resources to a movement but are not direct material beneficiaries of the movement’s advocacies (McCarthy and Zald 2015). The move towards professionalization has been criticized, with authors such as Alexander

(1998), Encarnación (2006), Kaldor (2003), and Yúdice (2004) arguing that professional

SMOs, especially those that depend on conscience constituent contributions or grants for financial viability, tend to engage in highly dramatic and visible activities. An unintended consequence of this emphasis is that it discourages grassroots organization and involvement, leading to a generation of professional NGO workers disconnected from communities. Staggenborg (1988) contributes to this notion, finding that professional

NGOs do not create new tactics, relying instead on proven, donor-acceptable tactics.

Leadership is also a key resource that can dramatically alter the kinds of repertoires social movement organizations employ. Ganz (2000) explains why the United

Farm Workers (UFW) was more successful and organizing and winning policy gains for

California farmworkers than the American Federation of Labor and Congress of

Industrial Organizations (AFL-CIO), despite the AFL-CIO’s better access to financial resources, through the UFW’s better leadership and strategy. He unpacks the black boxes of leadership and strategy in the concept of “strategic capacity,” or leaders’ access to salient information about the situation, how they used such information, and their motivations. Strategic capacity enables groups to draw on and develop a wider range of repertoires of action, employ them at more appropriate times, and use resources more efficiently. The development of strategic capacity, in turn, is highly dependent on leaders’ biographies, networks, and repertoires. Avritzer (2009) describes how differences in

Workers’ Party leadership, particularly in terms of their attitudes about popular participation, their internal unity, how they managed opposition political forces, and how they managed relationships with city councils resulted in the development of different institutional arrangements between civil society and local governments in three Brazilian cities.

Acting collectively also requires shared understandings of grievances, priorities, rights, ways to address such grievances, and belief that something can be done (See

Taylor and Van Dyke 2004). Framing refers to the processes by which movement actors create and negotiate meaning and collective identity (Melucci 1989; Gamson 1992;

Taylor and Whittier 1992; Jasper 1997; Klandermans and de Weerd 2000; Poletta and

Jasper 2001; Snow 2001; Williams 2004). Framing processes are important to movements’ tactical repertoires because they inform how particular SMOs understand and thus engage their contexts, opponents, and audiences; as well as how they strive to be understood from both within their own ranks and from the outside (Gamson et al 1982;

Snow et al 1986; Snow and Benford 1988; Benford and Snow 2000). Actions are not only about their substantive efficacy towards achieving a political goal, but rather, also about

the symbolic value of the action. Defining challengers versus status quo defenders is particularly important not only in order to maintain and drive motivation among activists, but also because many social movements rely on non-organized supporters to pressure elites and change the balance of power surrounding contentious issues. For example, several authors have argued that the dramatic murder of 15-year old Emmit Till in 1955 swayed public opinion, including among white populations in northern states, so much that government and cultural authorities that had previously vacillated on black Civil

Rights felt compelled to respond (McGuire 2004; Simien 2003). During my interviews with the labor sector in Brazil, several union veterans expressed how it was much easier to negotiate with even non-leftist politicians during the 1990s when it felt like left- leaning ideology held hegemony in terms of popular visions for national development. In my own experience training activists from various social movements, we usually have to remind activists to think about power and substantive efficacy at least as much as they already think about symbolism.

1.2.4 Factors in the social movement field

Occupying a level of action and interaction between those factors external to social movements and those internal to social movement organizations are factors characterizing the social movement field. The concept of Social Movement Industries

(SMIs) was first introduced by McCarthy and Zald and defines as “all SMOs that have as their goal the attainment of the broadest preferences of a social movement” (1977: 1219).

Just as a firm must respond to not only its own capabilities and the market at large, but also the other firms in its industry, so must SMOs respond to the structure of the SMI and the other organizations within it.

While the vast majority of social movement studies characterize tactical choices as being the result of either external shocks or an organization’s internal resources

(McAdam 1983; Tarrow 2011; Harlow 2012; Wang and Soule 2016; Voss 1993;

McCarthy et al. 1988; Rand 2013; Oh 2012),2 a recent surge of interest in field theory has also reinvigorated interest in the SMI. Bourdieu, arguably the most influential and foundational scholar of field theory’s applicability to the social sciences, argues that fields are a principle found in the natural sciences that can also explain the interactions and dynamics between actors in society. Bordieu argues that existence is marked by an actor’s relation to others. Actors operate in semi-autonomous and -specialized spheres of action called fields. Bourdieu’s “field” is “a field of forces within which agents occupy positions that statistically determine the positions they take with respect to the field, these positions-takings being aimed either at conserving or transforming the structure of relations of forces that is constitutive of the field” (2005). In addition to an actor’s position, that actor’s behavior is also partially determined by habitus, often used interchangeably with social capital. At the individual level, this refers to ingrained habits, skills, and preferences that are either inherited or obtained through life experience. The field is also mediated by doxa, or accepted rules and norms (Bourdieu and Waquant

1992).

Although Bourdieu does not deal explicitly with social movements, several authors have applied Bourdieu’s field theory to the study of social movements. Haluza-

DeLay (2008) applies Bourdieu’s theories to the environmentalist movement and urges environmental SMOs to create a habitus that underpins ecological lifestyles. Mische

2 Wang and Soule’s description is emblematic: “Social movement researchers argue that tactical innovation occurs as a response to changes external to movements, such as police repression and shifts in political authority, or is due to internal movement processes, such as the characteristics of movement organizations and actors” (517). 18

(2008) uses field theory to examine how political communication styles among Brazilian youth activists resulted from both intra-group relationships and the “positions of activists at the intersections of multiple types of organizations.” Landy (2014) discusses British

Jewish groups critical of Israel and how activists translate between the fields of British society and Palestinian rights groups. Husu (2012) applies Bourdieu’s field theory to identity-based social movements, arguing that perception and identity are defined in relation to other actors. In this author’s experience, social movement actors exhibit a strong tendency to prioritize what other social movement actors think, sometimes even to the detriment of effective strategy. Over the past decades, I have personally been involved in dozens of conferences, workshops and training events for social movement activists in

Asia, Africa, the Americas, and the Middle East. In nearly every instance, advice to activists to think outside the box and try to plan new tactics and strategies was met with incredible concern with how their fellow activists might react. This concern with other activists was nearly always more immediate or stronger than concern with how incumbents or the general public would react.

Fligstein and McAdam (2011; 2012) and Jasper (2004; 2015) have extended field theory as it specifically applies to social movements. Fligstein and McAdam (2012) present a theory of Strategic Action Fields (SAFs) that draws heavily on Bourdieu. The main differences are that while Bourdieu emphasizes power relations within fields, habitus, and doxa, Fligstein and McAdam focus on the relationships between incumbents and challengers, social skill, and governance units (Hess 2012). Whereas Bourdieu treated fields as increasingly autonomous, Fligstein and McAdam emphasize the interconnectivity of fields, likening them to a set of nesting dolls. Fligstein and McAdam distinguish between distant and proximate fields, the latter being those “with recurring

ties to, and whose actions routinely affect” one another (18). Borrowing from political opportunity and resource mobilization theory, Fligstein and McAdam also highlight external threats and opportunities as a mobilizing factor that can organize fields in previously unorganized spaces or mobilize actors within a previously stable field to challenge the “rules and power relations governing the field” (21). They use the African

American Civil Rights movement and the Mortgage Securitization industry as illustrative cases.

Jasper similarly advocates for an approach that gives equal weight to “protesters and to the other players whom they engage, and by focusing equally on players and the arenas in which they interact” (2004). Jasper defines players as “those who engage in strategic action with some goal in mind” (2014, 10). Like Fligstein and McAdam’s actors,

Jasper’s players may be individual or compound. They also can be formal or informal, porous, and overlapping, and may have multiple goals that are not necessarily transitive.

Arenas, like fields, are “sets of resources and rules that channel contention into certain kinds of actions and offer rewards and outcomes” (2004: 5). Arenas may interact with each other. Players bring skills and resources to arenas and players’ positions in arenas may bring particular advantages. Changes in the distribution of advantages among players in an arena are the result of strategic action.

Empirical studies of repertoires at the field/SMI level have yielded notable results.

Minkoff (1995), drawing on Hannan and Freeman (1989) and Hannan and Carroll (1992) finds that having more organizations in an SMI at least initially contributes to the legitimacy of SMOs within that SMI (Minkoff 1995; Olzak 1992; Tilly 1993), an insight drawn from organizational theory which has shown a curvilinear relationship (inverted-U shape) between organizational density and the entry rate of organizations (Davis,

McAdam and Scott 2005; Della Porta and Tarrow 2005; Clegg, Hardy and Lawrence

2006). Numerous scholars have found a direct diffusion effect, wherein the “use of a tactic by one organization promotes its use by others (Cunningham et al 2017; Bloom

2005; Cunningham, Bakke and Seymour 2012; Chabot 2012; Gallo-Cruz 2012; Gleditsch and Rivera 2015; Isaac et al 2012see also Tarrow 1994 and “demonstration effects”). In search of causal mechanisims for such diffusion, Minkoff (1997) finds that that organizational density accelerates such diffusion, Wang and Soule (2012) find that collaboration is an important channel for tactical diffusion among SMOs, and Bunce and

Wolchik document how the international democracy promotion industry and networks of international solidarity, proactively share strategies and tactics encouraging their adaptation and replication.

In addition to tactical diffusion, tactical diversification is a common theme of study at the field/SMI level. Cunningham et al (2017) find that organizations face strong incentives to diversify tactics, and not just copy other organizations (although diffusion and diversification are not mutually exclusive). Olzak and Ryo (2007) find that tactical diversity within an SMI is “largely a function of organizational density” and, furthermore, that tactical diversity is associated with policy success. Pearlman and

Cunningham (2012) also find that divisions within challenger groups are also associated with tactical diversity. Put together, Olzak and Ryo’s and Pearlman and Cunningham’s findings together suggest the counterintuitive and exceedingly interesting conclusion that if divisions within social movements lead to more tactical diversity and more tactical diversity leads to more desirable policy outcomes, divided movements may be more likely to achieve success.

Other authors, instead of taking a blanket look at tactics utilized by the SMI overall, focus on the different kinds of SMOs and the different roles they play within the

SMI. Social movement scholars have long recognized the role of intermediary actors to facilitate mobilization (Gurza Lavalle and Von Burlow 2015; Snow, Zurcher and Ekland-

Olson 1980; Klandermans and Oegema 1987; Fernandez and McAdam 1988). As social network analysis has developed, scholars have investigated brokerage, defined by

McAdam, Tarrow, and Tilly as “the linking of two or more currently unconnected social sites by a unit that mediates their relations with each other and/or with yet another site”

(2001: 26). Brokers may play the role of facilitating coalition-building and shared communication frames across groups, translating challenger demands to elites and vice- versa, mobilizing resources, and collecting and disseminating information (Gurza Lavalle and Von Burlow 2015; Mische 2008; Handlin and Kapiszewski 2008).

1.2.5 Social movements in Brazil’s and the Philippines’ transition to democracy

Both Brazil and the Philippines have gone through (or, arguably, are still going through) transitions from authoritarianism to democracy wherein multiple active and dynamic social movements struggled to renegotiate both their relationships with elites and state institutions, as well as their own purposes and identities. How have these processes of identifying and performing repertoires of contention play out as both social movements and elites found themselves trying to define a new institutional and cultural context?

1.2.6 Context of mobilization and democratic transition

The periods immediately preceding democratic regime change are often marked by a spike in mobilization among challengers3. O'Donnell and Schmitter (1986) famously point to "resurrections" of civil society pushing for democracy as diverse and disruptive.

They write,

"In some cases and at particular moments of the transition, many of these diverse layers of society may come together to form what we choose to call the popular upsurge. Trade unions, grass-roots movements, religious associations all support each others’ efforts toward democratization and coalesce into a greater whole which identifies itself as 'the people' " (1986: 55-6; see also Tarrow 1994).

O’Donnell and Schmitter, however, also describe these resurrections as always short- lived. The period immediately following democratic regime transition is often presumed to be marked by a decline in social movement activity as participation and the airing of grievances is channeled through institutional means.

However, Della Porta (2014) challenges this view, citing instances wherein democratic transition fueled even higher levels of mobilization, such as the shantytown dwellers' movement in Chile, the peasants' and labor movement in Brazil, and environmental movements in Europe (2014: 11). Drawing on Tilly (2004) and Linz and

Stepan (1996), Della Porta argues that social movements have a role to play in democratic consolidation. After democratic regime change brings basic formal rights such as basic guarantees of civil rights and civil liberties, social movements then act as watchdogs to pressure and ensure that government actually protects these rights, particularly among historically oppressed groups. In many cases movements also push

3 The effect, though, of social movements on bringing about regime change is contested. Authors such as Tilly tend to be optimistic about the impact of movements, saying that they inherently almost always contribute to democracy. Others such as (Nervo Codato 2006) see the observed increases in mobilization as more of a reflection of regime instability caused by structural factors, rather than a significant force on its own leading to regime breakdown. 23

the state to extend further positive rights such as the right to work, housing, and land reform (Fabre 2000; Foweraker and Landman 1999; Avritzer 2009; Nash 2012).

Both the Philippines and Brazil transitioned to formal democracy in the mid to late 1980s, as part of the third wave of democracy that swept through Southern Europe,

Latin America, and Asia. In both countries, social movements exhibited heightened mobilization and repertoire innovation in the period leading to the transition, as well as following the transition. In the Philippines, a visit by Pope John Paul II and a desire to improve relations with the Reagan administration pushed the Marcos regime to formally lift martial law in January 1981 (Kamm 1981). In order to secure presidential term extension without martial law (and to reassure the new Reagan administration that

Marcos still had popular support), the Marcos-controlled Congress passed a constitutional amendment in April of the same year changing the government from a parliamentary system to a semi-presidential system of government. Presidential elections were held in

March. Despite continuing state-sponsored violence and human rights violations, the

Marcos regime allowed the opposition and civil society some space to campaign. The elections provided an important mobilizing focal point and unity displayed among forces ranging from elite politicians in the opposition, to the rebel Communist Party of the

Philippines (CPP), was unprecedented (Hedman 2005: 90).

The lifting of formal martial law and subsequent elections were followed by a sharp economic decline in 1982 (see Parsa 2000; O’Solon 1993) and the assassination of leading elite opposition leader, Benigno Aquino, Jr., in 1983. These events invigorated elite and popular discontent, as well as international attention and solidarity, and social movement movements took advantage to organize and mobilize at an increasing rate. The

CPP, easily the group with the largest grassroots organization, took advantage of both the

space and tactical alliances with the opposition politicians to expand its urban above- ground presence by establishing allied student, urban poor, and labor organizations

(Hedman 2005; Abinales and Amoroso 2017). At the same time, moderate leftist organizations began receiving training in active nonviolence from international partners, which quickly and significantly expanded their repertoires. Furthermore, the Catholic

Church hierarchy4, which had previously been largely acquiescent to the Marcos regime, also began openly criticizing the dictatorship and supporting opposition figures

(Aguirre 2010).

The dictator Marcos and his family were evicted from the presidential palace following a dramatic four-day standoff wherein a million people occupied the main highway of Metro Manila. Corazon Aquino, who was widely perceived to have won the snap elections despite Marcos declaring victory (thus the standoff in the street), took over the presidency and declared a revolutionary government and the immediate drafting of a new constitution. The years of the first Aquino presidency were marked by turmoil. She governed with a haphazard and fragile elite coalition, and experienced no less than six coup attempts during her first 4 years in office.

Aquino initially attempted to reach out to social movements, including those that had openly challenged the dictatorship through armed struggle. Her regime freed leftist political prisoners and opened dialogue with the National Democratic Front (the political wing of the CPP), as well as the Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF), an armed group in the southern region of Mindanao fighting for ethnic self-determination and

4 Particular orders within the Catholic Church, however, had been longtime sources of opposition and recruitment for opposition political groups. The Society of the Divine Word (SVD) missionary group, for example, was the source of several guerilla leaders, including Fr. Ed De La Torre who went underground to eventually lead the Christians for National Liberation. Many Jesuits were also active and outspoken critics of martial law, and the many elite Jesuit-run schools were incubators for activists. 25

religious freedom. Aquino further appointed left-leaning and left-acceptable personalities to key government posts, notably human rights lawyers Augusto Sanchez, Joker Arroyo, and Jose “Ka Pepe” Diokno as Secretary of Labor, Adviser to the President, and head of the newly-created Presidential Commssion on Human Rights, respectively. These appointments were interpreted by social movements as indicating Aquino’s commitment to genuine reform. However, largely due to pressure from the military and the United

States, Aquino did a 180-degree turn. Within two years she dismissed progressives from her cabinet (each time following a coup attempt wherein the dismissal was expressly demanded), ceased negotiations with the CPP-NDF and MNLF, and declared “total war” on the New People’s Army, the armed wing of the CPP (Rocamora 1991; Villanueva

1992; Curaming 2013). During this turbulent time, social movements were trying to understand the supposed “democratic space.” Was it really democratic? Should social movements support the nascent democracy or did the disappointments of the Aquino regime demonstrate that this supposed democracy was merely predatory and oppressive elite rule under a different name? Internal tension on how to read the situation eventually led to a major split in the CPP in 1992/93 with the major division being between those who wanted to engage in institutional processes and substantive advocacies while simultaneously advocating to expand the democratic space, and those that believed state overthrow should still be the movement’s primary strategy.

Brazil experienced a top-down transition managed by the generals. In 1974, the

Geisel administration began the process of abertura, or the gradual opening or relaxation of authoritarian controls in 1974 wherein some liberal rights were reintroduced (Stepan

1989). This allowed an explosion in the organization of popular movements, including student groups, professional associations, organizations advocating for better public

service delivery, and movements advocating for urban and rural land redistribution

(Avritzer 2009). While these movements had specific material demands, such as improved housing or healthcare, their connection to pro-democracy forces was undeniable as they became the training and recruiting grounds for pro-democracy organizations. It was common for activists to hold multiple memberships in professional or sectoral organizations and political opposition parties or organizations (Mische 2008;

Atnunes, Santana, and Hernandez 2014; Teixeira 2014). Furthermore, many of these professional, sectoral, and service-oriented organizations themselves took on more explicit anti-dictatorship positions over time. For example, the Ordem dos Advogados do

Brasil (OAB), or Brazilian Bar Association initially supported the military regime following the 1964 coup. By the late 70s, however, the OAB had taken an active stance against the regime particularly in light of the latter’s human rights abuses (Skidmore

1990; Mattos 2012).

The Figuereido presidency, beginning in 1979, continued the relaxation process by granting some political rights, including granting amnesty to political exiles, releasing some political prisoners, legalizing parties other than the government party and the one government-sanctioned opposition party, and committing to hold indirect elections were held for state and municipal elections in 1982 and 1985. This restoration of political rights culminated in the election of a civilian president, Tancredo Neves, in 1985. The transition to formal democracy was reinforced by the first direct election of a civilian president in 1989 (Stepan 1989; Skidmore 1988; Nervo Codato 2006; Breneman 1995;

Alves 1985; Saad-Filho and Moraes 2018).

Social movements interacted with the changing institutional setting throughout the 1980s and 90s by innovating new ways to organize the public, relate to political elites

and try to hasten the expansion of democratic space. Notably, the lead-up to the 1985 elections saw immense social mobilizations demanding for direct elections. The Direitas

Já movement, although not successful in terms of securing direct elections, mobilized broad sectors of society in previously unforeseen ways and volume. On issues of both political processes and governance, movements experimented with “open meetings, public deliberations, and transparent implementation processes” in reaction to authoritarian legacies of closed, technocrat-centric decision-making (Wampler and

Avritzer 2004: 292). Movements emphasized both interaction with and autonomy from the state, largely in reaction to the legacy of corporatism (Wampler and Avritzer 2004;

Avritzer 2009; Gurza Lavalle 2015; Schmitter 1974; Wiarda 2016).

1.3 Theory

This dissertation examines the way social movements in democratic Brazil and the Philippines developed repertoires of contention. External factors, such as the macro- social and political context and elite vulnerabilities, and internal organizational factors such as resources and leadership, are not sufficient to explain how movements choose and implement their strategies and tactics. I offer two explanations to complement our existing knowledge about the social movement behavior and particularly that selection of social movement repertoires.

First, I argue that the relationships between social movement organizations working on a given issue were characterized by a division of labor that allows the movement to approach the issue on a variety of strategic fronts. Organizational ecology tells us that organizations in the same filed compete with each other. As organizations self-adjust to adapt to the competition, most will carve out specialized niches for themselves, resulting in mutualism. I find that social movement organizations in the

Philippines and Brazil specialized in terms of skills, sector, areas of territorial influence, and political ideology. This division of labor may happen naturally as a result of specialization, but it often happens purposefully, as organizations develop and hone their skills, territorial presence, and communication lines based on the positions of similar organizations and where they perceive a lack.

Second, I argue that social movement organizations in democratic Brazil and the

Philippines framed their identities, roles and purposes not only in terms of their substantive demands, but also in terms of their democratic consolidation and expansion.

As such, movements were particularly concerned with questions of legitimacy, and so emphasized inclusiveness, sectoral ownership, decision via collective processes, and movement autonomy as part of claiming democratic space.

1.3.1 Specialization and mutualism among organizations

In both the organizational ecology literature and the social movements literature, competition and cooperation or mutualism often occur hand in hand. A central theme of organizational ecology is how organizations change and adapt, with the central assumption that competition is a main feature of the relationships between organizations

(Carroll 1984, 71). Specialization is one way that organizations respond to competition by focusing on and developing niches in terms of both resources used and clients served so as to avoid direct competition with other organizations in the field. At the same time, organizations that specialize may (wittingly or unwittingly) contribute to each other’s success by adding to the overall legitimacy or value of the field (Hannan and Carroll

1992), collective learning processes (Miner and Anderson 1999; Miner and Haunschild

1995), and the creation of inter-organizational relationships that provide a buffer against resource shocks (Baum 2000; Miner, Amburgey and Stearns 1990; Gulati et al 2012;

Baker & Faulkner 1993). Thus, perhaps counterintuitively, competition often leads to mutualism and cooperation.

Drawing on organizational ecology, social movement scholars have also tended to emphasize competition between SMOs. Zald and McCarthy, who introduced the concept of the SMI, argue that SMOs naturally compete over legitimacy, financial resources, and the time, effort, and loyalty of volunteers and staff. According to Zald and McCarthy, there are limited instances when SMOs will cooperate, including when organizations agree to non-overlapping specializations, when several organizations are collectively threatened, and when leaders sit on the boards of multiple organizations (1979).

Subsequent work by Zald and McCarthy, as well as authors they have influenced, has also examined the effects of competition between SMOs (McAdam and Scott 2015;

Soule and Knight 2008, especially footnote 4). As organizational ecology argues that mutualism often results from competition, the social movements literature has also recognized mutualism among SMOs despite real, and often deep-cutting professional and personal rivalries that exist between social movement organizations and actors. Analyzing the peace, women’s, and environmental movements, Soule and King (2008) find that the link between competition and specialization established in organizational ecology is also applicable to social movements, as increased competition also leads to more specialized goals and tactics. Similarly, Minkoff (1993; 1994; 1995; 1997) also affirms the insight drawn from organizational ecology (namely Hannan and Freeman 1989 and Hannan and

Carroll 1992) that increased organizational density initially benefits the field overall by increasing the legitimacy of the field. Olzak and Ryo (2007) examine how competition between SMOs within an SMI affects the diversity of tactics utilized by those organizations, arguing that there is a nonlinear relationship wherein increased

competition initially leads to more diverse tactics, but that after a certain point tactical diversity declines, while Koopmans (1993) finds that competition leads to the radicalization of tactics. Wang and Soule’s (2012) study of the diffusion of tactics among organizations that attend the same events, Bunce and Wolchik’s (2010) book about how the “electoral model” of challenging authoritarian regimes has spread to multiple countries both through organic sharing between activists and targeted trainings, and the plethora of democracy promotion programs that center around “sharing best practices” demonstrate that collective learning processes are vibrant and commonplace as skills and tactics are transferred between SMOs with little resistance or attempt to protect “trade secrets”.

Similarly, the creation of inter-organizational relationships in organizational ecology is analogous to formal coalition-building among social movements. Social movements themselves can be thought of as “nested coalitions” wherein individuals create coalitions that become organizations, that then create coalitions with other individuals and organizations to form movement factions and tendencies, and so on until they constitute an entire movement (Della Porta and Diani 2015: 13). Similarly, Fligstein and McAdam (2012) liken strategic action fields to Russian nesting dolls, where each field can constitute an actor in a larger field, and so on.

Scholars have observed coalition-building in a wide variety of issue areas, including LGBT rights (D’Emilio 1983), women’s rights (Gilmore 2008; Goss and Henry

2010), environment (Lichterman 1995; Murphy 2005), civil rights (Mantler 2013), and labor rights (Williams 1999), as well as across issue areas (Dixon and Martin 2010;

Heery, Williams, and Abbott 2012; Luibheid and Khokha 2001; Beamish and Luebbers

2009; Ellingson, Woodley, and Paik 2012; see McCammon and Moon 2015 for an

overview). There is also a rich history of transnational coalitions, as illustrated by Keck and Sikkink (1998), Berrón and Freire (2004), Budini (2011), Kaldor (2003), as well as the existence of institutions such as La Via Campesina, the World Social Forum, and the various socialist and liberal internationals.

Scholars have argued that some organizational and contextual features can make

SMOs more or less likely to form. Some have argued that it is generally easier for coalitions to form among organizations that share ideologies and identities (Bandy and

Smith 2005; DiGregorio 2012; Park 2008), although, as described above, coalitions that transverse these lines are not uncommon. Distinct ideologies may impede coalition formation (Lichterman 1995, Roth 2010, Rohlinger and Quadagno 2009), while skills among leaders and members to behave as brokers between organizations may be able to supersede ideological and personalistic rivalries (Mische 2008; Diani 2003; Muñoz 2008;

Popovic et al. 2007). The abundance of manuals and tips for coalition-building indicates that social movement practitioners themselves believe that coalition-building skills are worth considerable investment.

Even when challengers in the same SMI are not apt to form coalitions or other modes of explicit cooperation, they often make decisions and pursue strategies based on how their peers would react so as to avoid competition. For example, as will be described in Chapter 4, when the Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra (MST) began organizing in the northern Brazilian state of Pará, the Comissão Pastoral da Terra (CPT) was initially wary of the MST’s presence. Accordingly, the MST was careful not to encroach on the territories where the CPT was present, until agreements and relationship could be properly established. In the Philippines, the Maoist left is a bitter rival of

practically all other left-leaning groups5. Nevertheless, when activities are scheduled around events or demands that both factions claim, such as Labor Day or the recent protests over transferring the remains of the former dictator, Ferdinand Marcos, to the national heroes’ cemetery, the Maoist group and the other left groups are careful to schedule their activities around each other so as to avoid competition. While direct confrontation has happened, it is the exception rather than the rule. Writing about the

Black Civil Rights movement in the United States, Polletta (2015) finds that despite the well-documented tension between the National Association for the Advancement of

Colored People (NAACP) and Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC), activists from both organizations were deferential to each other and used the media’s fascination with their rivalry to bring attention to the groups’ shared grievances.

A distinction, however, between mutualism and its mechanisms as thought of in organizational ecology and as it applies to social movements is that in the organizational ecology literature, mutualism develops exclusively as a response to competition as each individual organization primarily seeks its own survival. Social movement organizations, on the other hand, also specialize, engage in collective learning, and form coalitions in order to more effectively achieve their substantive goals. In other words, social movements engage in mutualism not only for the defensive purpose of guarding against failure, but also for the offensive purpose of being more effective challengers.

Specialization and coalition-building provide strategic advantages besides just protecting against organizational failure. The presence of multiple specialized organizations means that the social movement in general can attack an issue from

5 This is partially a result of the Maoist bloc’s ideology that they are the only vanguard party, and their subsequent targeting of other leftist orientation as being worse counterrevolutionaries than other political groups, as well as the personal baggage between Maoist and other leftist leaders. 33

multiple fronts. Social movement actors recognize that it is difficult to bring about change using a single approach or strategy, a notion that has also been supported by the scholarly literature (Andrews 2001; Ganz 2000; Cress and Snow 2000). Instead, engaging a powerful opponent efficiently and effectively requires a variety of advocacy strategies such as mass mobilizations, media pressure, legal strategies, and direct lobbying and negotiations. Specialization allows organizations to really concentrate on building expertise in particular strategies and tactics. Furthermore, carrying out such strategies also often requires appealing to a variety of different potential members and supporters, especially when the movement would benefit from swaying general public opinion, or when conflict in the particular field is seen as part of the conflict in a larger field to dominate political and cultural hegemony. Specialization also acts as a clear symbol to potential new recruits that about what an organization does, and sets clear limits on what is to be expected of supporters. Joining or volunteering for a small organization with clearly delimited activities is often more accessible than joining a large organization with a complicated bureaucracy and a variety of stances. This is especially important as movement supporters have varying levels of dedication and militancy. Someone just entering the world of activism may not be ready to commit to, for example, pushing for a comprehensive government-led agrarian reform program through what may include extralegal means, but she might believe that poor farmers deserve the right to be represented by a competent lawyer.

In contrast to firms, which seek to maximize individual profit, SMOs are oriented towards goals that they share with other SMOs in their imagined communities. When challenging incumbents, there is always more work to be done, and more avenues and strategies to explore. Times when resources are abundant are opportunities for social

movements to explore specializations and establish new organizations with the hope that these become self-sufficient in the long-term. In the cases presented in this dissertation,

SMOs are often born when more established SMOs with access to resources see an unmet need. For example, both Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement (PRRM) and COIR see establishing autonomous organizations, with whom they may be able to cooperate in the future, as part of their organizational missions. The formation of Alyansa ng

Mamamayan sa Valenzuela at Caloocan (AMVACA) Housing Cooperative was facilitated by Kilos Maralita, when the latter had access to funding for organizing urban informal settlers after convincing the Philippine government that there was an unmet need for organization and empowerment. In Brazil, the Pará branch of the MST was formed when members of the Central Única dos Trabalhadores (CUT) decided there was an unmet need for organizing workers in the rural sector that could not be addressed through the regular CUT systems. Thus, the proliferation of specialized SMOs is a direct result of existing organizations’ desire to broaden their reach and skills by creating new, autonomous, yet allied organizations. When resources are available, SMOs will take advantage and move forward with establishing these new organizations.

Furthermore, social movements in democratic Brazil and the Philippines faced further incentives for mutualism due to the roles they assumed in their countries’ democratization processes. Social movements self-identified as the legitimate representatives of the sectors excluded and marginalized by their respective authoritarian regimes. As a result, SMOs strove to work together with other groups, placing emphasis on internal procedures that would contribute to consensus-building, in order to reduce competition about the legitimate composition of policy stands of the sector. This theme will be explored more deeply later.

In addition to emphasizing claim-making as legitimate sectoral representatives, social movements faced incentives for mutualism because of the shared nature of resources (especially human resources), and the importance of gaining large numbers of supporters – what interviewees sometimes referred to as the “politics of addition.” SMOs do not necessarily compete over members and supporters. Social movements are characterized by the fluid and overlapping memberships their participants often have, leading to less competition over members (clients) than that which occurs among firms.

While financial resources are certainly limited, other important resources that volunteers provide, such as skills and knowledge and presence at mass actions, may be shared among organizations. Diani (2003) and Mische (2008) show how SMOs and individuals who are able to relate to many sectors of a movement, and activists who are members of many organizations, can be especially influential, as they are able to act as brokers that bridge across organizations and communicate with larger audiences. There are also important incentives for mass actions and direct lobbying efforts to be organized through the cooperation of several organizations. As a rule of thumb, large numbers are more likely to receive attention. Media coverage and reports about mass actions and advocacy campaigns almost never break down how many attendees each participating group claimed to mobilize. Thus, cooperating for mass actions gives smaller organizations a chance to expand their networks and over-present their own strength, thus adding to their perceived legitimacy. At the same time, it gives larger organizations the chance to add numbers, and thus additional impact and legitimacy to the issue or campaign at hand, while not incurring additional costs (see Gerhards and Rucht 1992; Luna 2010).

1.3.2 Division of labor among social movements organizations

In democratic Philippines and Brazil, this specialization and mutualism was not haphazard. Rather, organizations developed specializations largely in response to the SMI as a whole. Organizations went through a process of taking stock of the other organizations working in their SMI, ascertaining where gaps existed, and founding or developing and adapting already existing organizations accordingly. As such, a division of labor developed according to skills, sector, territorial influence, and ideology.

Other scholars have offered ways to categorize social movement organizations.

Gurza Lavalle and Bueno (2010; 2011) offer a categorization of SMOs based on extensive sampling in São Paulo and Mexico City centered around the relationship organizations have with their declared beneficiaries and the kind of activities they undertake. Accordingly, they divide SMOs into NGOs, coordinating bodies, popular organizations, service non-profits, community associations, neighborhood associations, pastoral organizations, fora, and other organizations as a residual category. They encourage more study into the “processes of functional differentiation” among different kinds of social movement actors that such actors use to augment the chances they will be able to impact policy. Handlin and Kapiszewski (2009) identify two types of

“coordinating associations” that is, “those for which coordinating other associations is a principal activity (231)”: nodal and flexible fronts. Differences between the two are related to organizational and financial resources, level of internal democracy, and links to other actors. Similarly, Gurza and Von Bülow (2014) identify three kinds of coordinating organizations: peak, associational hubs, and multisectoral bodies. Handlin and

Kapiszewski and Gurza and Von Bülow focus on coordinators/brokers – those organizations that do not necessarily directly represent popular sectors, but those whose

primary function is to solve problems of collective action and representation and translating. They do not address talk about specialized skills, concerted efforts at capacity building or providing specialized resources.

I offer a categorization of social movement organizations based on four dimensions: skills, sector, territorial influence, and ideology. Skills refers to the special tools and competencies organizations develop. Common examples include legal skills

(e.g. the ACLU in the U.S., Saligan in the Philippines, and Free Legal Assistance Group in the Philippines), media outreach (e.g. Reporter Brasil and Mídia Ninja in Brazil), policy research (e.g. Instituto Pólis in Brazil and the Institute for Popular Democracy in the Philippines), and community organizing and mobilization (e.g. most community- based organizations and unions like APEOESP in Brazil and SENTRO in the

Philippines). While similar to Gurza Lavalle and Bueno’s “actions,” I choose the term

“skills” because many different organizations participate in the same actions, but have different areas of core competencies. Sector refers to the audience that the organization claims to represent or for whom they claim to advocate. While related to “beneficiaries,” my concept is distinct from that of Gurza Lavalle and Bueno because while an organization may claim to be part of the broader housing movement, for example, their activities may only directly benefit a particular community. Territory refers to the physical area where an organization claims presence or influence. The final category, ideology, refers both to where organizations stand on an ideological plane, as well as alliances with political parties or blocs. It is especially important to take this last category into consideration as the line dividing social movements and political parties has become fuzzier in recent years, particularly in recently democratized countries. Organizations may belong to any combination of categories.

Gurza Lavalle and Bueno suggest that while this specialization among SMOs has a functional and complementary effect, it is primarily the result of the history of how social movements in Brazil and Mexico City developed, especially in reaction to corporatism, democratic opening, and cross-class alliances between the middle and working classes. However, I argue that when SMOs form, develop (largely through improving their specializations), and engage in strategic campaigns, they do so attuned to the categorization of others in the field, as well as categories that are not being covered by existing organizations. Taking again the illustrative example of the establishment of the MST-Pará, the founders saw that there was a lack of organizations with developed skills in mass organizing and dramatic mass actions. They sought to develop these skills and also project them as their primary repertoire, while seeking to form alliances with other groups with more technical specializations. The informal rural workers’ sector was not being addressed, and other organizations working on rural workers’ issues were mostly identified with communist political parties. Finally, the state of Pará had plenty of large estates with unorganized workers, and so the MST-Pará founders began organizing where no other organizations were present. When they did enter the territories (in this case, estates), where other organizations had presence, the MST tried to dialogue and demonstrate how their tasks would be complementary.

As several interviewees told me over the course of this research, “We know where our strengths lie.” Organizations tend to select strategies and develop capacities in accordance with their already developed skills. When the organizations studied perceived the need for strategies outside of their skill set, they tended to reach out and partner with other actors and organizations that already have developed expertise, rather than developing a new skill set to add to the organization’s repertoire. Furthermore, I also

often observed partnerships between community-based organizations that specialize in mass organizing, and organizations that specialize in technical skills. In the Philippine cases, the urban slum-dwellers association, AMVACA, and alliance of coconut farmer federations, Kilos Magniniyog, relied on policy-oriented NGOs6 to “translate” government laws and procedures. In the Brazilian cases, we observe that the rural workers movement, MST-Pará relied on the Commissão Pastoral da Terra (Pastoral Land

Commission, CPT) to create documentation and reports that government agencies could act upon, while the teachers’ union, APEOESP, relied on alternative media organization to popularize their demands and distribute their message.

The importance of the “translation” role of technical SMOs is especially important in countries emerging from authoritarianism and with weak institutions.

O’Donnell argues that bureaucratic authoritarianism governments in Latin America and

Asia7 were characterized by supposedly technocratic approaches to policy meant to depoliticize class- and sector-based appeals (1988). The emphasis on bureaucratic procedures often resulted in unclear and complicated processes that make it difficult for mass-based organizations to engage and pursue their demands on their own. This often leads to the further entrenchment of patronage as citizens and communities appeal to politicians, not only for services and jobs, but also for help navigating an intimidating and often inconsistent system. Technical SMOs, thus, replace the role of politicians and other

“fixers” by translating government procedures to movements and their mass-based

6 The Institute for Popular Democracy (IPD) and the Coconut Industry Reform Movement (COIR), respectively.

7 While O’Donnell 1988 applies bureaucratic authoritarianism exclusively to Latin America, various authors have demonstrated how the concept also applies to several Asian authoritarian regimes, including Heryanto and Mandal 2013, Im 1987, and Crowther 1986. 40

organizations, as well as translating movement demands to government and state institutions.

Even when SMOs do not intentionally work together, the specialized functions and audiences that NGOs develop do not need explicit coordination to complement each other. For example, it is common for NGOs at national and international levels to prepare technical policy reports and “toolkits” about pressing issues without direct coordination with grassroots organizations, in hopes that the latter can “translate” them for popular consumption and education. A common form of rivalry in social movements is among radical versus moderate organizations. The Philippine agrarian reform SMI, for example, can generally be divided into the democratic left groups and the Maoist groups.

All actors in the SMI generally know which organizations stand on either side, and organizations strive to present themselves as moderate and reasonable, or more militant and uncompromising, respectively. While direct confrontations between the moderates and radicals have been bitter and well-publicized, they have been rare8. The dynamic of rivalry between the two groups of SMOs, in a field that incentivizes cooperation, results in mobilizations that cover a wide and complementary array of tactics, in addition to moralistic and technical appeals. As a once-leader of the moderate group said in interview, while he unequivocally viewed the Maoists as rivals, he did not wish the

Maoists to fade into inexistence. He was able to use the fact that the Maoists existed to paint his own group as a safe alternative for both potential recruits and in negotiations

8 Prominent frontal clashes between democratic left and Maoist agrarian reform groups in the Philippines since democratization have been limited to the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program and the distribution of the Coconut Levy Fund. In the latter case, the Maoists held a handful of dramatic actions within a span of about 2 months, and then quickly dropped actively campaigning. By the time the KM-71 campaign described in Chapter 2 was formulated, the Maosists were no longer vocal on the issue. At the vast majority of other times when either group advocated for a law or the distribution of an estate, the other group either stayed silent or lent tacit support. This brings to mind the propensity of media to focus on factionalism within movements, as described by Polletta and Kretschmer 2015, and that, knowing this, actors from both the SNCC and SCLC hyped up factionalism to bring attention to the overall struggle. 41

with rightist forces. This is consistent with Polletta and Kretschmer’s (2014) observation that members of both the Southern Christian Leadership Conference (SCLC) and Student

Nonviolent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) in the U.S. Black Civil Rights Movement performed “factional differences in strategic bids for support” and “construct[ed] and use[d] oppositional identities and frames” (p.36). In the face of real personal and ideological rivalries, groups rarely seek the others’ destruction or failure, but instead use the differentiation to take advantage of as many resources and address chosen issues on as many tactical fronts as possible.

Social movements took advantage of the tactical variety made possible by the division of labor to interact with and shape new institutional arrangements, particularly through working simultaneously outside and inside the state. While movements continued advocating from the “parliament of the streets,” they also strove to work within the state through identifying allies that could be influenced, developing organic movement members who could serve in government positions, working closely with political parties, and insisting on instutionalized modes of sectoral participation. These findings support Andrews’ (2001) argument that instead of thinking of movements as exclusively “insiders” or “outsiders,”9 movements use a variety of institutional and extra-institutional tactics, and that utilizing both forms is more likely to result in success.

They also support Avritzer’s (2007; 2009) concept of the state as a permeable entity with actors often moving freely between state and civil society roles. Additionally, observing how movements interact with the state refines our understanding of cycles of contention.

Gaining institutional access does not mean the battle has been won or that contentious

9 For example, McAdam (1982) sees social movements as fundamentally bypassing institutionalized political channels. Piven and Cloward (1984) argue that social movements’ most powerful weapon is disruption, and thus movement organizations must maintain outsider status to achieve success. 42

collective action ceases. Rather, it provides another avenue through which movement goals are pursued, and can go hand in hand with both high and low levels of mobilization by challengers. Instead of being seen as the end of the cycle of mobilization, entering the state is closer to Gramsci’s notion of War of Position, or the strategic build-up of influence and power, while forces outside the state continue with the War of Maneuver, or open resistance.

1.3.3 Movements’ role in democratic consolidation and expansion

As previously mentioned, Philippine and Brazilian social movements assumed key roles for themselves in democratic consolidation. Movements fashioned themselves as the legitimate representatives of traditionally marginalized sectors. This assumed role in their respective countries’ democratization processes also played a major role in determining how SMOs acted, in terms of internal organization and strategy selection, how they relate to other organizations within their SMIs, and how they relate to the state and other elite actors. This role is characterized by concerns about legitimacy, sectoral ownership and participation, and autonomy.

Movements assumed the role of representatives of marginalized sectors with the purpose of pushing for the inclusion of those sectors in institutional arrangements as a fundamental part of the consolidation and expansion of democracy. Proving their legitimacy as representatives was incredibly important in order to give weight to their advocacies, especially given the resource disadvantage and competition from both politicians and government-controlled groups claiming that they were, in fact, the ones who knew what the sectors wanted and needed. In the Coco Levy campaign described in

Chapter 2, for example, Celso Lobregat, a politician from a long-time political family whose mother worked with the Marcos dictatorship to establish the system of revolving

funds that characterized the Coco Levy scam, continually insisted that COCOFED (a fraudulent organization of fake coconut farmers controlled by the Lobregat and

Cojuangco families) was the largest coconut farmers’ organization in the Philippines and should be the primary beneficiary of the fund. In the Cabaceiras case described in

Chapter 4, the Mutran family insisted that they were treating their farmer/employees well, and, in an often-heard sentiment from old landowner families, that generations-long relationship the landowners had with the tillers had built a relationship of trust where the landowners cared for the peasants (Rezende 2002).

As such, movements felt they could not assert that they had the legitimacy to represent the excluded sectors if they made decisions about demands, strategies, and tactics without the widespread participation of various groups within the field. As one peasant leader put it,

Of course, it cannot be just us claiming to be speak for all farm workers. We have to ask other farmer groups how they feel, too. If we have disagreements, we have to work them out and try as much as possible to come to a consensus. Imagine if we are pushing a message, and another group - a real group, not one of these captured ones - says ‘They never asked us, that’s not what we want at all.’ Well, wouldn’t the traditional politicians be happy about that? We don’t have money or an army. We have the truth that we really represent the sector. Without that truth, we wouldn’t have any right to demand this or that.

As a result, movements emphasized sector-wide participation and widespread coalition- and consensus-building. Within the movement, issue-specific coalitions were constantly created and re-negotiated. This allowed organizations to choose not to join particular campaigns and still maintain their status as part of the movement (see Mische

2008: 57).

Efforts to claim themselves as legitimate sectoral representatives and avoid internal dissension led movements to focus on ownership and internal participatory

processes. Although technical NGOs, brokers, and organizers had their ideas of the specific advocacies they would like to pursue for the benefit of the sector or strategies they thought would be effective, they too usually insisted on going through the process of participatory deliberation, criticism, and adjustment with sectoral representatives. Even if the ultimate decision was still mainly based on suggestions coming from the “technical experts,” the various organizations could collectively say that the proposal was created by the sector itself, instead of being directed by some small, elite technical group.

Furthermore, such processes help the popular sector to feel a sense of buy-in and ownership, thus giving them more motivation to participate in the advocacy process, which, given limited financial resources and state access, would benefit from mobilizing large numbers of people. Finally, the process of collective deliberation and decision- making itself was a method by which technical NGOs and popular organization leaders taught their members about democratic participation and claiming their rights as citizens.

An organizer for the Philippine National Anti-Poverty Commission described this in an interview about the agency’s engagement with informal settler groups:

We could have just hired an architect to make the most efficient housing designs. We could have leaned on the Secretary or Undersecretaries to schedule meetings with mayors to make sure the informal settler groups got all the approval and funding they needed. But, the process itself was very important. It was the first time a lot of them felt like they could take control of their own situation. And you can see the results. They know the law inside and out, and they know the designs better than I ever could because there is more at stake for them than for me. At first, when we would have meetings at City Hall you could see that they were ashamed of themselves, they would all just look at me and expect me to speak for them. Now, it’s usually the issue that everyone wants to speak to the mayor! Sometimes the meetings even become unruly because everyone is talking at the same time. That empowerment is what we were after.

Adopting these processes showed members what democracy should look like and thus encouraged them to hold the state to a similar minimum threshold of popular participation.

Sectoral ownership also functioned to reinforce autonomy. The movements viewed having an independent civil society that could make its own decisions and decide its own advocacies independent of the state and political parties as part and parcel of democracy. Furthermore, there arose in the Partido dos Trabalhadores in Brazil and the

Democratic Left in the Philippines (both those groups that had split from the Communist

Party of the Philippines and those that came from the social democratic tradition), political parties that willfully adopted the role of being driven by social movements, as opposed to parties that manufactured movements in order to serve party interests. In both countries this was a reaction to state corporatism, as their respective dictatorships created sectoral groups and mass movements in order to maintain a veneer of popular support, while simultaneously using the created groups to exercise control and extract state resources in the form of corruption. In the Philippines, furthermore, the emphasis on social movement autonomy was also a reaction to the Community Party of the

Philippines’ ideology of placing all sectoral demands secondary to the armed struggle, wherein sectoral demands and strategies had to be reviewed by and approved by the central committee.

1.4 Cases

The following four chapters will offer case studies to illustrate these arguments in practice. The unit of analysis is the campaign, which I define as an episode of contention linked to a well-defined demand. Social movements engage in many, often overlapping campaigns. I believe campaigns are the best periods to test my arguments because these

are periods when there is a high amount of focused attention on the part of the SMI, high interaction between SMOs, and the need to constantly strategize, act, and respond.

The cases take place in the Philippines and Brazil. The first case revolves around

Philippine farmers’ demands for the distribution of the Coco Levy, a tax on coconuts designed and implemented by the Marcos dictatorship supposedly for the benefit of the coconut industry and farmers, but that in reality was corrupted through a complex web of cronies and shell corporations. Assets acquired using the Coco Levy fund were sequestered by the government in 1987, but as of this writing have yet to be returned to the farmers or spent for their benefit. The second case revolves around the urban housing sector in the Philippines. Urban housing advocates in the Philippines had long advocated for a “people’s plan” approach to resettlement, that engages the beneficiary community in determining the location and design of resettlement sites. Working closely with an ally in government, housing advocates were able to successfully fight for a government funding window for housing based on the people’s plan approach. The Alyansa ng Mamamayan sa Valenzuela at Caloocan (Alliance of the Citizens of Valenzuela and Caloocan,

AMVACA) was the first homeowners’ association to form and take advantage of the program. The third case surrounds the expropriation of the Cabaceiras estate in the northern Brazilian state of Pará and its distribution to occupying rural workers. The fourth case is a teachers’ strike conducted by the Union of Public School Teachers in the

State of São Paulo (APEOESP) in Brazil, wherein teachers demanded salary and pension increases, smaller class sizes, and the hiring of more regular teachers. Each campaign is also of acute normative value to the actors in their respective SMIs. The Coco Levy fund is currently worth US$ 1.6 billion and its distribution would affect over 3.5 million mostly impoverished persons. AMVACA was the first instance of an implemented

people’s plan resettlement site with the national government as a partner in the

Philippines. Cabaceiras was the first time a parcel of land was expropriated for violating the constitutional ban on exhibiting conditions analogous to slavery in Brazil. At 92 days, the APEOESP strike was the longest in Brazil’s history.

The cases examined all occur after the two countries’ transitions to democracy, which can be characterized as elite-managed or top-down transitions (O’Donnell,

Schmitter and Whitehead 1989). In both countries, while the marginalized sectors and leftwing blocs and movements certainly contributed to the resistance effort against the dictatorship, they did not play meaningful roles in the ruling pacts that oversaw the early years of the transition. As a result, while their demands were legally codified in the countries’ respective constitutions, the social movements were generally unsatisfied with the new democratic governments’ commitment to actually recognize and address their demands.

Both the Philippines and Brazil saw authoritarian regimes that severely limited associational life, while officially recognizing non-government and sectoral organizations that were in actuality government-infiltrated or controlled. In both cases as well, sections of the Catholic Church were able to establish and maintain a level of organizational life at the community level despite the repression of other kinds of organizations. The late

1980s and 1990s saw an explosion of civil society organizations in both countries as the suppression of organizational life weakened, democratic space emerged, oppositional intellectuals and leaders returned from exile, and resources were made available. Many activists who, due to government repression, were limited to clandestine operations, could now come “above ground” and experiment with a variety of strategies and tactics.

The continuing engagement of social movement actors and ensuing mobilizations

reflected the role of social movements in compensating for weak formal representation institutions (Fung and Wright 2003), while they simultaneously tried to navigate dealing with the government and each other in a new environment (Avritzer 2009). During this time, Filipino and Brazilian activists were actively exchanging ideas and strategies with each other through mechanism such as the World Social Forum and other personal ties.

Despite these similarities, there are obvious differences between the two countries. The most obvious is that in the Philippines, a political party with organic ties to social movement has never controlled a majority of legislative seats or run a viable presidential candidate, let alone controlled the presidency, while in Brazil the Partido dos

Trabalhadores (PT), which claims organic ties to social movements, won the most seats in the Brazilian lower house in 2002, and had a viable presidential candidate as early as

1989, until it gained the presidency, again in 2002. The Philippines also experienced bouts of instability and popular uprisings following the fall of the Marcos dictatorship, including seven coup attempts that attempted to depose the succeeding president,

Corazon Aquino, the EDSA Dos revolution in 2001 which removed then-president Joseph

“Erap” Estrada amidst a corruption scandal, and a wave of instability during the term of president Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, including coup attempts in 2003 and 2007 and the temporary declaration of a national state of emergency in 2005.

There are also important differences between the individual cases. The tax on coconut farmers in the Philippines and the case of land expropriation in Brazil were both rural-focused campaigns that lasted decades, crossing times when national governments were and were not sympathetic to the sector. The housing settlement campaign in the

Philippines and the teachers’ strike in Brazil lasted a few years and a few months, respectively, and the beneficiaries were primarily urban dwellers. The Coco Levy

campaign was national in scope, and movement activists primarily had to deal with government officials at the national level for their demands. In the Cabaceiras and

AMVACA cases, activists had to deal with a mix of local and national levels of government. In the APEOESP case, the union dealt primarily with government at the state level. The four cases also exhibit a mix of success and failures. Based only on their primary stated demands10, the AMVACA and Cabaceiras campaigns were successful, the

APEOESP campaign was a failure, and the Coco Levy campaign continues.

While it is difficult to determine how representative these cases are of all social movement campaigns in new democracies (along what dimensions for example, should we rank campaigns in order to determine a median?), their similarities and differences have implications on my theory’s scope. I would expect to see similar patterns of division of labor and emphasis on sectoral ownership and participatory procedures in countries of the third wave of democratization or later, when there is significant international pressure for states to respect concepts of democracy and human rights (including economic and political rights), as well as resources available to organizations advocating for them. I also expect them to be more pronounced in new democracies where the previous dictatorship tried to limit the activities and autonomy of civil society. Establishing a distinction between technical allies and the sector itself, as well as emphasizing ownership and participation is an attempt to solve the crisis of legitimacy that arises when the state attempts to limit, co-opt, or speak on behalf of the sector. Relatedly, I expect to see these relationships play out more among pro-poor movements that claim to represent

10 Scholars and activists alike have discussed various ways to measure social movement success. In addition to the obvious question of whether or not stated demands have been met, success can also be thought of in terms of increased legitimacy for movements or organizations, more recruits, established relationships with influential individuals and other organizations, raising public awareness, and establishing precedence for future mobilizations (Amenta 2010). 50

historically marginalized populations with roots in pro-democracy activism. I would not expect the same emphasis on sectoral ownership and participation among pro-poor groups unconcerned with democracy or middle-class, business, or professional organizations that may have mobilized for democracy.

I would also expect specialization and an emphasis on sectoral ownership to be more likely in societies with a strong and autonomous associational culture, a facet that is especially helped in these cases by the existence of the Catholic Church. Despite both the

Brazilian and Philippine dictatorships’ attempts to dominate associational life (by, for example, placing strict limits on how many people could gather at any time without government permission), the Church’s authority prevented the state from totally controlling autonomous gatherings. This culture extended to the post-dictatorship period where autonomous civil society became seen as a valuable part of state-society relations.

I would not expect these same dynamics to play out in, for example, most Arab Spring countries where civil society is fragile and ties of kinship, clan, or tribe dominate over voluntary associations (Al-Azm 2014).

At the same time, the cases suggest that factors that one would typically think affect social movement strategies should not have an effect on social movements’ specialization or emphasis on sectoral ownership and participation. Political opportunity theory tells us that activist strategies are often a function of the access movements have to the state. Thus, one could expect that having a supposedly social movement-oriented political party control the presidency in the Brazilian cases would cause the Brazilian movements to develop differently than their Philippine counterparts. One might expect for example, more emphasis on institutional participation rather than the multi-front approach that necessitates a division of labor, and more deference to the government.

However, in all four cases in both countries we continue to observe specialization in both institutional and extra-institutional strategies, as well as the assertion of movements’ autonomy and ownership.

One might also suppose that there would be a different in how urban and rural movements communicate with their members and value democracy. Numerous authors refer to urban forces as central to democratization and urban centers as incubators of progressive ideas. Thus, some may think that messages centered around democracy and popular empowerment would be more likely to be employed among urban movements.

However, these cases demonstrate that both urban and rural movements employ and value such messages.

My primary method of investigation is in-depth process tracing. Process tracing is the best technique for explaining macrohistorical phenomena, such as the evolution of social movements’ choices and state responses (George and Bennett 2005, 206). It also allows me to develop “thick” description based on intimate familiarity with the cases, allowing me to accurately identify causal processes within each case leading to better theory development and refinement (Coppedge 2012). Comparing across countries, across very different kinds of movement campaigns in the same country, and especially in the same campaign over time allows me to test if my arguments hold up in both different and similar conditions.

I conducted over eighty interviews in English, Filipino, Cebuano, Spanish, and

Portuguese with movement leaders, rank-and file members, government officials, media practitioners, and scholars familiar with the cases. Additional evidence came from government documents, SMO internal documents and publications, and local media reports. Of the four cases, the Cabaceiras campaign is the only case wherein I was not

personally present at meetings among the leadership and meetings and mass actions with the broader membership and allies while the campaign was occurring. In the other three cases, my presence while the campaigns were unfolding allowed me to observe how movement actors regarded others within their own organizations, other organizations within the SMI, and state actors and institutions.

I tried to interview anyone who would speak with me. I prioritized organization leaders, as they would be more likely to be aware of other SMOs within their SMI, but made sure to also speak to rank-and-file activists to understand their awareness of and perception of other organizations. This entailed making lists of prominent individuals and organizations and scheduling interviews, asking them who else I should interview, and attending public events and trying to speak with as many people as possible about the campaign itself, their own organizations, and their knowledge and perceptions of other organizations involved.11 My original intention was to conduct network analysis to scrutinize the ties between various organizations involved in the campaign. It became apparent, however, that while such an approach is useful when dealing with the entire population of civil society organizations, or may even be useful when attempting to map out an entire SMI, it loses usefulness when the organizations one is interested in are limited to those involved in a particular campaign. I observed that the organizations active in campaigns were small communities where generally every organization knew each other and interacted directly. Attempts to ask organizations about other organizations they dealt with yielded the same answers and there was very little variation in the number of ties and organization had with others. While there were certainly clusters of

11 “The snowball is a modality of sampling that is particularly adequate to conduct network analyses when the universe of actors is unknown or inaccessible” (Lavalle and Bueno 2010, 10; see also Scott 1992; Atkinson and Flint 2003; Goodman 1961; and Sudman and Kalton 1986). 53

organizations and actors that were “closer” or more “like-minded” to each other, there was basically no instance of bridge structures wherein a couple organizations would not interact save for a connecting organization. Consistent with the existing literature on social movement membership, it was very common for the same individuals to carry several different affiliations into campaigns and interactions, making it difficult to ascertain the real strength of relationships between different organizations – interviewees would often confuse their personal relationships and interactions with organizational relationships and interactions leading to inconsistent answers. Furthermore, the creation

(or more accurately, labeling) of temporary coalitions could result in dramatic changes in network analysis metrics like density and cohesion, when in reality, nothing substantive about the actors’ or their relationships with each other changed.

It is important to note that in addition to studying these movements and organizations, I was personally involved with them. I was (am) particularly involved with the movements in the Philippines. In addition to being, as I have mentioned, a former staff member of IPD as well as a CANVAS trainer, I am also a member of the Akbayan political party and formerly served as a member of its National Council and consultant to its legislative offices. Some Brazilian contacts were also made available to me because of my history of activism in the Philippines, either because I had common friends with

Brazilian activists, or because I could easily speak the language of grassroots leftist politics with sincerity.

This closeness obviously introduces some bias into my work. I personally and deeply care about these movements and their outcomes, as well as many of the people I interviewed for this dissertation. My affiliation with Akbayan gave me more access to some organizations than others, and I can’t deny the possibility that some interviewees

responded to me in a certain way (perhaps, for example, some overemphasized the importance of legislative support or Manila-based mobilizations) because of my connection to Akbayan. I tried as much as possible to minimize this potential bias by speaking to a variety of people with a special effort to include people I had not already worked with or did not already know. If an interviewee mentioned some tension or disagreement her organization had with another, I made sure to get an interview with someone from that other organization.

I nevertheless believe the benefits of being an insider outweigh the potential for bias. Being “one of them” afforded me a level of access and candidness that would have been difficult for someone seen as a “non-activist” to achieve. Keeping the dizzying array of SMOs involved in any given campaign straight is something I think would be particularly difficult unless you have, over years, gotten used to thinking in terms of ideological blocs and tendencies, unofficially allied NGOs, and ad hoc coalitions. As

Ganz eloquently stated, “My experience has equipped me with a deep understanding of the context in which events unfolded, direct information as to what took place, and access to important research resources. It has infused my work with a deep desire to understand not only what happened, but why things happened as they did” (ix).

1.5 Conclusion

Democratic regime change in Brazil and the Philippines significantly expanded the public space in which social movements have to maneuver in order to advocate for their goals. At the same time, it presented a new plane of contention that forces movement to reconfigure their skills and strategies, as well as their very identities. The expansion of space also meant an expansion of the battlefield, and accordingly, the fronts movements had to address.

As movements adapted to the new institutional arrangements, they strove to not only configure themselves in a way so as to address these various fronts, but also shape the nascent institutions themselves. As such, competing organizations developed a division of labor that allowed each to specialize in terms of skill, sector, territory, and ideology in order to cover not only the variety of clients that needed to be served, but to engage the new institutions in a myriad of ways. This division of labor also functioned to reduce competition between social movement organizations, allowing the creation of common identities, goals, and community, despite inter-organizational rivalries.

These created identities were strongly linked to how movements saw themselves in the new democratic regimes. Movements took their assumed roles as the rightful representatives of marginalized sectors seriously. They were thus incredibly concerned with the legitimacy of their movements, emphasizing sectoral ownership, internal democratic and participatory processes, and autonomy.

CHAPTER 2

THE COCONUT LEVY

2.1 Introduction

The Coco Levy Fund is an issue spanning nearly four decades as multiple instances of concentrated advocacy. This chapter will introduce a history of the Coco

Levy issue and the various organizations and coalitions involved in advocating around the issue, and then focus on the activities in 2010-2015, leading up to the signing of

Executive Orders 179 and 180 mandating the immediate release of the Coco Levy Fund and the subsequent Supreme Court decision which halted their implementation upon congressional action.

The Coco Levy Fund is an interesting case because both the issue and movement to reclaim the fund for coconut farmers cut across the country’s periods of dictatorship and democracy. The case illustrates how social movement actors strove to understand the new institutional arrangements brought about by democracy, as well as their role in a democratic state that they felt still failed to deliver basic economic and property rights to their sector. Understanding and adapting to these new arrangements prompted SMOs to further specialize, especially in terms of technical skills and the ability to work with as well as from within government. The movement developed a repertoire that relied heavily on employing both institutional and extra-institutional tactics.

Activists viewed the movement to reclaim the Coco Levy Fund as part of shedding the vestiges of dictatorship, and thus intrinsically connected it to the struggle for

democratization. It was a manner of extending democracy’s supposed benefits to a historically marginalized sector of society. Accordingly, the movement focused not only on recuperating the money stolen through the Coco Levy Scam, but on securing the institutionalized participation of farmer organizations in determining how the money would be utilized. This emphasis on participation, however, was not limited to their demands. SMOs also insisted on implementing internal democracy and participatory decision-making in the planning and implementation of their campaigns. In this way, the movement treated the campaign itself as a training ground for democracy, holding themselves to the same standards of participation, representation, and deliberation they were demanding from the state.

2.2 History of the Coco Levy

The coconut industry began in the Philippines in 1641 when the Spanish colonial government compelled each indio to plant at least 200 coconut trees to produce coco fiber for galleon ropes and charcoal from the tree husks. By 1899, copra, the dried kernel of the nut from which coconut oil is extracted, was being exported to Europe to manufacture soap and margarine. Coconut continued to be second largest export to the United States

(after sugar) during the American colonial period. Coconut products accounted for 35% of the Philippines’ export earnings in the 1950s and 60s, and since the 1960s, coconut has been the Philippines’ largest economic sector by number of persons employed (Dayrit

2005). At over 3.1-3.5 million hectares planted, coconut continues to account for approximately one-third of the country’s agricultural land, and continues to fall within the country’s top four agricultural products by value of production (Figure 2.1). 3.5 million farmers and farmworkers are directly dependent, while an estimated 25 million Filipinos

58 are indirectly dependent on the coconut industry, comprising a total of nearly one-fourth of the entire Filipino population (NAPC 2011).

160,000

140,000

120,000

100,000 Rice 80,000 Corn Coconut 60,000 Banana 40,000

20,000

0 2000 2005 2010 2015

Figure 2.1: Value of Crops Produced (in 2000 Philippine Pesos). Source: Philippine Statistics Authority

The coconut sector, however, it is also the agricultural sector that features the country’s largest poverty instance, with an estimated 60% of coconut farmers living in poverty (CODE-NGO 2007). The 3.5 million coconut farmers make an average of 41

Pesos ($0.80) a day (NAPC 2013). As 70 out of 81 provinces and 1,261 of 1,490 municipalities are coconut areas, low development, incomes, and security in the coconut sector are directly related to rural poverty (Figure 2.2).

59 Figure 2.2: Poverty Incidence in Coconut Areas as of 2011. Source: NAPC 2011

In 1971, the year before then-President Ferdinand Marcos declared Martial Law,

Congress passed “An Act Instituting a Coconut Investment Fund” (Republic Act 6260) under the authorship of Marcos loyalist, Rep. Moises Escueta. The law placed a levy of

P0.55 for every 100 kilograms of copra (or its equivalent in terms of other coconut products) to be deposited in a “Coconut Investment Fund”. The law created the

Philippine Coconut Administration (PhilCOA) to act as a coconut investment company to administer the fund. The stated purpose of the levy was to: a) To fully tap the potential of 60 the coconut planters in order to maximize their production and give them greater

responsibility in directing and developing the coconut industry; b) To accelerate the

growth of the coconut industry and other related coconut products from the raw material

stage to the semi-finished and finally, the finished product stage; c) To improve, develop

and expand the marketing system; and, d) To ensure stable and better incomes for

coconut farmers. (RA 6260)

However, in practice, the law had the effect of further tightening the control of big

coconut landlords over the industry. The law gave PhilCOA the power to use the fund to provide medium and long term grants to “bonafide” coconut farmers or farmer associations. However, in the same year, the government recognized the Philippine

Coconut Producers’ Federation (COCOFED) as the sole “legitimate” coconut farmers’ organization. COCOFED was established in 1947 as an organization of large coconut landowners in Quezon and Laguna provinces in the country’s Southern Tagalog region.

By 1971, COCOFED was still dominated by these Southern Tagalog landlords, as well as

Maria Clara Lobregat of Zamboanga City in the far south. The levy was automatically deducted from the farm gate prices of coconut products, and coco fund receipts were issued to farmers to reflect their contributions to the levy. Farmers who received receipts automatically became members of COCOFED, and not by their own choice.12

Furthermore, the distribution of receipts and the amounts reflected therein were irregular

(Faustino 2003).

12 COCOFED was subsequently sequestered by the Aquino government following the fall of the Marcos dictatorship in accordance with allegations that Eduardo Cojuangco, Jr. had organized the corporation and had come to own shares therein in his own name or through employment of dummies, nominees or other fellow cronies (Civil Case No. 0033; G.R. 96073). 61 In 1972, Marcos declared Martial Law. Over the next thirteen years, he issued thirteen decrees and orders13 that effectively increased the amount the state could directly collect through the Coco Levy to P100 per 100 kilograms of copra, and monopolized the entire coconut industry (including milling, exporting, and credit) under crony businessmen through interlocking corporations and funds. It was also at this time that prominent Marcos crony, Eduardo “Danding” Cojuangco, Jr. entered the picture.

Throughout the Coco Levy saga, Cojuangco has played a key role as the mastermind behind the corporate layering and money laundering schemes. These decrees and orders placed the Coconut Industry Investment Fund (CIIF) established by RA 6260 into six oil mills and 14 holding companies administered primarily by Cojuanco, Jr. In

1983, the 14 holding companies took a loan from the Coco Levy Fund-purchased and

Cojuangco-controlled United Coconut Planters Bank (UCPB) money to buy 31% of San

Miguel Corporation, the nation’s oldest food, beverage, and packaging conglomerate. At the same time, Cojuangco bought 20% of the corporation in his own name, with money also believed to have been sourced from the Coco Levy Fund (Parreño 2003; Rappler

2012; Sadian 2012).

After the EDSA People Power Revolution deposed the Marcos dictatorship in

1986, the CIIF holding companies and their share in San Miguel Corporation were sequestered by the new government. The government filed a civil case in the anti- corruption court (known as the Sandiganbayan) in 1987 against Cojuangco and sixty other defendents, including the Marcoses, to recover the San Miguel Shares acquired with

13 Presidential Decree 276 (1973), Presidential Decree 414 (1974), Presidential Decree 582 (1974), Presidential Decree 755 (1975), Presidential Decree 961 (1976), Presidential Decree 1468 (1978), Letter of Instruction 926 (1979), Presidential Decree 1699 (1980), Presidential Decree 1841 (1981), Presidential Decree 1842 (1982), Executive Order 825 (1982), Administrative Order 002 (1983), Executive Order 1074 (1985) 62 the Coco Levy fund (Civil Case No. 0033). Due to the extremely slow court system, the intricacies of the case, and attorneys’ dilatory tactics, the case was tried for another 26 years before a final decision was to be reached.

2.3 Pre-2012 Mobilizations about the Coco Levy

Throughout this period, there were sporadic mobilizations about the Coco Levy issue, though a targeted campaign to distribute the fund would not be initiated until 2012.

In 1979, the Alliance of Coconut Industry Workers (Alyansa ng mga Magsasaka sa

Industriya ng Niyog, ALAMIN), a Communist Party of the Philippines (CPP)-allied group based in Southern Tagalog that focused on organizing coconut farmers, plantation workers, and their families, staged a 7,000 strong coconut farmer march in protest of the levy. The event became known as the “Ginayangan Massacre” when the military blocked the road and opened fire on the marchers. Three years later in 1982, another CPP-allied group, Association for the Liberation of the Coconut Industry (Asosasyon

Pagpanghikawas sa Industriya sa Lubi, APIL) began an information campaign in

Northern Mindanao about the Coco Levy. They relied on progressive church allies to organize fora while human rights lawyers from the Nationalist Alliance for Justice,

Freedom, and Democracy (NAJFD), also allied with the CPP, conducted human rights trainings. After a year of popular education work about the Coco Levy, APIL led a 2,000 person march from Surigao City to Cagayan de Oro City (Royandoyan 2012; Faustino

2003).

It is important to note that during the Marcos dictatorship, the CPP was easily the largest and most powerful opponent of the government. A major part of its strategy was organizing seemingly independent organizations around sectoral lines and issue-based campaigns, while following the ideological and political line of the party. Because of the

63 CPP’s belligerent status, which included the raising and maintenance of a guerrilla army

to overthrow the government though armed struggle,14 the government did not hesitate to violently repress these sectoral organizations. Moreover, both the CPP’s ideological line and the nature of the Marcos dictatorship provided no room for negotiation or accommodation as a strategy.

These Coco Levy-centered campaigns became subsumed under the larger movement to oust the Marcos dictatorship, and were not sustained in their own right.

After the fall of the dictatorship, various farmer groups continued conducting research and public education on the Coco Levy issue. However, tensions within the Communist

Party of the Philippines, eventually leading to a major split in 1992, and tensions between

CPP-affiliated15 and so-called “social democrat” farmer groups seen as strong supporters

of the first Aquino administration following the fall of Marcos, made coordinating a

national campaign difficult. Both the CPP affiliates and the social democrats looked at

farmers as among their core constituencies, and so jealously guarded their ranks.

Furthermore, with the referral of the Coco Levy issue to the Sandiganbayan, it was

thought that the Coco Levy issue now belonged to the realm of legal proceedings. So,

while the farmers’ organizations knew about and followed the cases closely, their actions

were largely limited to providing information when asked to help the government’s case

against Cojuangco et al, limited campaigns to pressure the judiciary at key decision

14 The CPP defines its ideology as “Maoist-Leninist.” It prescribes political revolution via armed struggle as the primary form of struggle. The CPP has participated in formal political institutions since redemocratization, notably beginning in 2001 when it began regularly fielding candidates and winning seats in the national legislature. However, this participation is still officially regarded as secondary to armed struggle and for the main purpose of supporting armed struggle. This commitment to armed struggle was one of the drivers of the CPP’s internal split in 1992.

15 The CPP has three official components: the Communist Party itself, which is a revolutionary party officially illegal in the country; the New People’s Army, its guerrilla force; and the National Democratic Front, which consists of the legal, above-ground organizations and popular movements. 64 points, and unsuccessful attempts by select groups to negotiate with Cojuangco et al for a compromise settlement (Faustino 2003; Rocamora 2016). In the meantime, the larger farmers’ movement was very actively advocating for other policy issues, including the implementation, and eventually extension and reform of the Comprehensive Agrarian

Reform Program, the distribution and protection of tracts of agrarian land, agrarian support programs, and justice for victims of land-related killings. Agrarian reform and unequal land ownership had been a major issue since the colonial period, affected most coconut farmers, and was an issue broad enough to mobilize farmers from different crop sectors.

2.4 Philippine Coconut Producers Federation, Inc. (COCOFED), et al. vs. Republic of the Philippines and Ensuing Initiatives

On September 4, 2012, after a 26-year long legal battle, the Supreme Court decided with finality that the San Miguel shares stemming from the Coco Levy belonged to the government and were to be used for the coconut sector. P71 billion (US$1.6 billion) was transferred to the government. In response to this decision, the National Anti-

Poverty Commission (NAPC) and the Coconut Industry Reform Movement (COIR) began parallel efforts to fast-track organizing related to the coconut levy and how government was to spend the fund. NAPC is a government agency under the Office of the

President whose official role is to act as a recommendatory body to line agencies about policies related to poverty reduction. Part of NAPC’s role is to consult with basic sectors

(including farmers, fisherfolk, urban poor, women, youth, senior citizens, cooperatives, and others) to arrive at policy recommendations. In previous administrations, NAPC had largely functioned as the place where presidents appointed their socialite friends to smile before media and give some handouts to the basic sectors to demonstrate the President’s

65 generosity. In 2010, however, President Aquino appointed Joel Rocamora, a longtime social movement activist and NGO leader to head the NAPC. Rocamora had a longtime interest in the coconut sector, and made focusing on the coconut sector one of the

NAPC’s priorities.

COIR was founded in 1994 as an alliance of three national peasant organizations and six NGOs16 with the goal of revitalizing the coconut industry with a bias towards improving the situations of small coconut farmers. Their work centered on national policy research and advocacy, as well as research generally about the coconut industry and technical design of farms and processing schemes. It also had, as a long-term goal, the build-up of other like-minded organizations, particularly at the grassroots level, that could undertake similar work. From its inception, the Coco Levy was a major issue for COIR.

Over the years its role has evolved from merely calling for returning the Coco Levy funds, to understanding the structure of the Coco Levy scam, its lasting impact on the structure of the coconut industry, and the effects thereof (Faustino 2016).

When the Supreme Court began signaling that it would soon reach a decision on the Coco Levy,17 NAPC’s Rocamora sought direction from the Department of

16 COIR Peasant Organizations: Kalipunan ng mga Samahan ng Mamamayan-Federation of People’s Organizations (KASAMA-FPO); Association of Farmers, Fishers, and Agricultural Workers- KATIPUNAN (Aniban ng mga Magsasaka, Mangingisda at Manggagawa sa Agrikultura-KATIPUNAN, AMMA-KATIPUNAN); National Movement of Farmer Associations (Pambansang Kilusan ng mga Samahan ng Magsasaka, PAKISAMA). NGOs: Center for Community Services (CCS); Unity Towards Rural Development and Agrarian Reform (KAISAHAN Tungo sa Kaunlaran ng Kanayunan at Repormang Pansakahan); Organizing for Rural Development (ORD); Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement (PRRM); People’s Alternative Study Center for Research and Education for Social Development (PASCRES); Center for Alternative Legal Care (Sentro ng Alternatibong Lingap Panlegal, SALIGAN)

17 The Presidential Commission on Good Government (PCGG), a body established during the first democratic government following Marcos’ ouster mandated to pursue and recover Marcos’ ill-gotten wealth, filed Civil Case No. 0033 before the Sandiganbayan (anti-corruption court) in 1986. Civil case No. 0033 case was subdivided into 8 cases covering different blocks of the Coco Levy fund. In 2007, the Sandiganbayan ruled that the Cojuangco’s 20% San Miguel shares were not acquired with Coco Levy Money, but that the 27% of San Miguel shares purchased by the CIIF holding companies were the property of the Philippine government. Both the PCGG and COCOFED together with the other holding companies, appealed the portions of the ruling adverse to them to the Supreme Court. In April 2011, the Supreme Court 66 Agriculture about what to do with the Coco Levy should the Supreme Court decide on it.

The Secretary of the Department of Agriculture replied that NAPC should make the plan.

Rocamora took this remark and ran with it (Rocamora 2016), organizing a coconut committee within its regular Farmers and Landless Rural Workers (FLRW) Council meetings to craft a Coconut Sector Roadmap. NAPC also engaged COIR, hiring COIR as a consultant to assist with the development of the roadmap and anticipate creating a network to campaign for the distribution of the Coco Levy and adoption of the Coconut

Roadmap. Although they were an arm of government, the NAPC leadership knew that they would still face strong resistance to the adoption of the roadmap from traditional landowning interests in other arms of government and, more importantly, in the

Congress.18 From Rocamora’s and his team’s experience in social movements, they believed that forming a broad-based advocacy coalition would increase the chances that the roadmap would be successfully adopted and implemented. At the same time, the

Philippine Coconut Authority (PCA), a sub-agency of the Department of Agriculture

(DA), began developing its own roadmap.

In practice, the NAPC, COIR, and PCA had parallel processes of designing coconut roadmaps. Although all the roadmaps centered on using the Coco Levy money to create a perpetual Coco Farmers’ Trust Fund, there were important differences that contributed to tension between the three organizations. The NAPC approach was to focus on and fast-track development in the most impoverished provinces. When NAPC

upheld the portion of the 2007 Sandiganbayan ruling declaring that Cojuangco’s 20% shares were not acquired with Coco Levy money.

18 Maria Lobregat’s (a former president of COCOFED and Marcos crony deeply involved in the Coco Levy Scam) son, Celso Lobregat, took over her political career. By the 2010s he had served three terms as both mayor and congressional representative of Zamboanga City. True to form, he presented among the strongest and most persistent opposition to attempts to legislate the Coconut Industry Roadmap. Jose Lobregat, another son of Maria, sits as treasurer of COCOFED as of this writing. 67

presented its proposed roadmap, COIR was upset that it had not been processed through them. The components of COIR’s plan were very similar, except its approach was to focus on establishing “coco hubs,” or areas where coconut replanting and fertilizing would be integrated with easy access to plants and equipment for coconut processing and manufacturing coconut-based products. Instead of provinces with the highest poverty instances being the main foci for intervention, COIR argued the focus should be on areas where local farmer organizations were most developed, as these areas would have the greatest ability to maintain coco hubs’ long-term stability while encouraging empowerment and autonomy from the state. At the same time, the Coco Levy should be used to enhance the capacities of less developed farmer organizations. COIR also strongly opposed NAPC’s proposal that the Coco Trust Fund could be used to build farm- to-market roads and fund conditional cash transfers in coconut communities. COIR argued that funding for these programs should be sourced from the government’s general budget. The PCA roadmap, quite starkly, was focused on development of the coconut industry in general and interventions were limited to coconut farmers that were also landowners.19

Partially a result of this tension, as well as fears that NAPC was trying to monopolize the Coco Levy issue through its FLWR Council meetings, COIR approached, and received support from the Department of Agriculture to organize a series of National

Coconut Farmers’ Conferences. The first one, in November 2012, was billed as a consultative event “focused on laying down the ground rules on the utilization of the coco levies” (COIR 2015). COCOFED, although invited, did not participate. Thus, in practice the conference became a venue for the mass-based farmer organizations to be transparent

19 According to NAPC, approximately twenty percent of the coconut land is worked by non- landowners (NAPC 2016). 68

with each other about their goals and capacities, as well as to establish bases of unity

regarding the Coco Levy (“Ka Rene”). The official resolutions resulting from the

conference reflect the focus on unity between the participating farmer organizations, as

well as their desire for participation in the decision-making process about how the Coco

Levy Fund was to be used: a) to lobby for the creation of a Coco Farmers’ Trust Fund to

govern the utilization, management and administration of recovered coco levy funds and

assets; b) to be treated as perpetual funds using only annual interest incomes to fund

programs that would directly benefit the impoverished coconut farmers and their

communities; and, c) to unite in a Coconut Farmers’ Platform to engage concerned

agencies and officials for the above mentioned specific purpose. (COIR 2015)

2.5 Formation of KILUS Magniniyog

FLWR Council meetings continued through 2012-2014. These meetings

continued the process of cementing unity between the farmer organizations, building

trust, gaining knowledge about each other’s capabilities, and expanding support for the

Coconut Roadmap, despite the tension between NAPC and COIR over what several of

the farmer organizations perceived to be petty technical details. The most important

principle for the farmer organizations was that the Coco Levy money would be placed

into a Coco Trust Fund, as opposed to being immediately distributed in cash to farmers,

as CPP-affiliated groups suggested20, or being used only for landowning coconut farmers

and industry development, as PCA proposed. The National Economic and Development

20 CPP-affiliated groups declared their position for immediate distribution to individual coconut farmers when the Supreme Court made its decision in 2012. On October 18, 2012 and January 13, 2013, they stormed the gates of NAPC, accusing Sec. Rocamora of “corruption etc.” and demanding for the fund’s immediate distribution. However, this position and activities are generally regarded as merely a propaganda line and stunt as these groups knew that the fund was not in the NAPC’s posession, never vocalized a mechanism for even determining who genuine coconut farmers are, nor did they engage in any notable campaigning around the Coco Levy issue during the period. 69

Authority (NEDA) eventually integrated the NAPC, COIR, and PCA roadmaps into the

Philippine Development Plan for 2011-2016 Midterm Update (NEDA 2014)21. While the

PCA’s mandate was to be concerned primarily with the development of the coconut industry rather than the well-being of coconut farmers, it was not opposed to poverty- targeting programs. Both COIR and NAPC, on the other hand, feared that the NEDA would adopt and entirely industry-centered approach, and were pleasantly relieved to see poverty-targeting integrated into the NEDA version of the roadmap. They were also eager to move on to what they expected to be the more challenging step without losing momentum: actually getting the roadmap adopted as policy and implemented. Thus, the integrated NEDA version of the roadmap was generally welcomed as a neutral compromise and was met with no significant protest.

COIR and the DA held the second National Coconut Farmers’ Conference on July

1, 2014, shortly after Francis “Kiko” Pangilinan, a former senator with some ties to social movements22, was appointed to be the new head of the Office of the Presidential Adviser on Food Security and Agricultural Modernization, under the Department of Agriculture.

Pangilinan was to directly oversee matters related to the coconut industry, including the

PCA. His appointment was perceived as an opportunity both because Pangilinan, unlike

Rocamora’s position at NAPC, had official authority over an implementing agency, and because Pangilinan’s appointment offered another direct line to the President for movements.

21 The NEDA is a government agency mandated to provide advice to government officials and on socioeconomic policy formation. Because NEDA is not a line agency and does not have the mandate or resources to implement policies, the Philippine Development Plans and other plans are merely recommendatory and still require executive or legislative action to become policy (neda.gov.ph).

22 As a college student, Pangilinan was a member of SAMASA, a student political party then associated with the national democrats. He was elected chair of the Student Council of the University of the Philippines Diliman, a hotbed of student activism, representing the SAMASA party in 1986, under a highly charged political climate. 70

The second conference focused on deciding an actual plan of action to get the

Coconut Roadmap adopted as government policy and implemented. The participants considered three fields of potential action: legislation, executive action, and judicial action. Given the inputs of COIR and other technical resource persons, including those from government, members agreed that legislation should be the primary vehicle by which the Coco Levy Fund could be distributed through the Coconut Roadmap. It was reasoned that legislation was needed to do away with the full gamut of Presidential

Decrees, Administrative Orders, and Letters of Intent that structured the entire Coco Levy scam, as well as to ensure the Coconut Roadmap would be followed even if a non- sympathetic administration were to be elected in the future. The technical work of crafting legislation in accordance with these principles was assigned to COIR in conjunction with the congressional offices of some friendly legislators (various left- leaning congressional representatives close to the sector had been submitting bills to convert the Coco Levy into a coconut farmer trust fund for several years). COIR and the farmer groups also called on allies in the House and Senate to help bring this draft bill to friendly legislators, and bills were eventually submitted in both the Lower House and the

Senate.

However, the farmer groups knew that the normal legislative process for a bill that would directly challenge the power of large landholders (including Danding

Cojuangco who was a major backer of at least six of the 24 Senators and the main force behind the 35-member Nationalist People’s Coalition, the second largest party in the lower house that also controlled the Committee on Agriculture) faced little chance through the normal legislative process. Thus, the farmers’ organizations decided they

71 needed a collective personality and campaign to dramatize the issue in order for the

President to deem the bill urgent and exact pressure on Congress.

Nine grassroots coconut farmer federations agreed to form the umbrella group,

the Joint Movement of Coconut Farmer Associations (Kilusan Para sa Ugnayagn ng mga

Samahang Magniniyog, KILUS Magniniyog).23 While the individual member farmer organizations were mostly dedicated to the development of their communities, KILUS

Magniniyog would exist solely for the purpose of national policy advocacy. In order to minimize tension and jealousy from competition between the groups, they agreed that chairmanship of KILUS Magniniyog would rotate among the member groups every three months and that all decisions would be made by consensus. The member organizations considered both COIR and PAKISAMA for secretarial duties, but PAKISAMA recognized that it could not handle the workload, and so COIR was chosen as the secretariat. This was also an important mechanism for minimizing conflict as none of the member groups would be in charge of holding or distributing funding and other resources. The Philippine Rural Reconstruction Movement (PRRM) and NAPC agreed to provide technical support and other resources.

2.6 Designing the KM-71 Campaign

Once the farmer federations agreed to form KILUS Magniniyog, they workshopped potential forms of direct action. They agreed that the action should dramatize the Coco Levy issue to the general public, as well as the new generation of

23 PAKISAMA, NIUGAN-Quezon, AMMA-KATIPUNAN, PKMP, KATARUNGAN, LAKAMBINI, PKMM, KAMMPIL, and BASULTA 72 coconut farmers that were not familiar with the history of the Levy and were not part of any federation, with the ultimate goal of getting presidential support.24

A few farmers, notably “Ka Oca Santos” of Katarungan and “Ka Rene” of

PAKISAMA raised the idea of a long-distance march. Marches had been part of the repertoire of land reform advocates in the Philippines since the Marcos dictatorship, but were viewed more optimistically since the “Sumilao Farmers” famously walked from

Mindanao to Manila in 2007 and, as a result, then-President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo awarded them 197 hectares of their ancestral land. After the Sumilao victory, marches became more regular activities for farmer groups advocating various ends. The challenge for KILUS Magniniyog, if they were to undertake a march, would be to make it more dramatic, meaning it would have to be longer and riskier, with some catchy gimmicks that would be appealing to the media and general public. The amount of the Coco Levy

San Miguel shares decided upon by the Supreme Court, P71 billion, coincidentally was the same number as the year Marcos declared martial law, 1971. Continuing the play on

24 It is important to note that this was not the first time the idea of a large-scale dramatic campaign on the Coco Levy issue had been suggested. For several years there had been isolated voices advocating a large campaign to dramatize the coconut farmer’s plight and the coco levy. Oscar “Ka Oca” Santos, chair of the Quezon Association for Local Development (a member of KILUS Magniniyog-member organization, Katarungan and simultaneously a board member of COIR), was especially and consistently vocal that the Coco Levy should be part of Katarungan’s advocacy agenda if not the center of its national policy agenda (Quezon is a major coconut-producing province). However, prior to 2010, Ka Oca was unable to convince most other Katarungan members. The sector had concentrated much effort on pushing the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program with Extension and Reforms through the legislature, which they successfully accomplished in 2008. Most member organizations took the time between 2008 and 2010 to rest from an arduous battle, and ensure that their own land claims were covered in the extended program. It is important to note that Ka Oca Santos recognized that the Quezon Association for Local Development, and even Katarungan, could not launch successful campaigns on their own. In late 2010, Katarungan decided that the strategy was to develop a local organization that would be the main pace-setter of the campaign, in hopes that other groups would see their activities and join. This organization was initially called COCOFARM. The different member organizations of Katarungan were responsible for talking to other agrarian SMOs in their own networks to gain support for COCOFARM and the Coco Levy campaign. All Katarungan members are also part of other farmer groups and federations, we see again the multiple, overlapping memberships so characteristic of social movements. At first, the reception of COCOFARM by other farmer organizations was cool and the process of forming strategic unity was slow-going. It had not prospered until various players in and outside government agreed on a reading of the situation and to work together. 73 the number 71, the idea arose to have 71 farmers march for 71 days, beginning on the anniversary of the declaration of martial law (September 21st). As the Sumilao marched from the southernmost island of Mindanao, the pro-marchers figured they would also have to begin in Mindanao. They decided on the City of Davao, the largest city in

Mindanao and a major media hub, that also happened to be approximately 1,750 kilometers from Manila. This amounts to walking approximately 24 km (15 miles) per day, an especially arduous undertaking over rural and mountainous terrain, with temperatures often over 30°C (86°F).

The decision to adopt the campaign strategy of a high-risk march was itself a process. Ka Oca’s proposal for a march was initially immediately supported by COIR and

PAKISAMA. They perceived a need to create a campaign that would dramatize the plight of the coconut farmers, attract media attention, create political pressure in favor of the coconut farmers, and connect all of this to a concrete and doable solution. PAKISAMA was an especially important ally. The group had been one of the key supporters of the

2007 Sumilao march. According to PAKISAMA leader “Ka Rene”, PAKISAMA had the

“technology” of how to successfully manage marches because of their experience. Their support and confidence were key to getting the other groups on board.

Other key members of KILUS Magniniyog, however, initially did not agree to the strategy of a long march. Although Katarungan was an early mover pushing for mass action, there was no consensus within the group that a long-distance march should be it.

In particular, Danilo Carranza of Katarungan tried to persuade the group to consider other actions first, arguing there were other ways to go about advocacy that they should try before subjecting the farmers to such a physically arduous form of campaigning.

74 In order to convince the rest of the group, the pro-marchers first had to convince the other core members of KILUS Magniniyog that the coalition would have the capacity to pull off the march. They began by mapping out the affiliates of the 9 farmer federations to see whether the geographic locations of the affiliates could support the farmers on their south-to-north walk. Essentially, this entailed seeing whether the location, number, and distance between affiliate communities would be sufficient to make sure that the marching farmers had, at a minimum, necessary access to food, water, sleeping accommodations, and security. The issue of security was especially salient because the farmers would be walking through areas where landlords had a propensity towards violence, as well as areas controlled by the Maoist New People’s Army, which was linked to rival farmer organizations.

This process of mapping KILUS Magniniyog affiliates revealed that there were holes in the possible routes. Ka Oca, Ka Rene, and the core members they had convinced began reaching out to their networks of allies. They began floating the idea of the march, without commitments, to see if these allies would be willing, in principle, to provide the marching farmers with their basic needs while walking through their areas. PAKISAMA, in particular, has close ties to the Jesuit order of the Catholic Church, including their network of schools. PAKISAMA was founded in 1986 in order to engage the new democratic government to pursue an agrarian reform program despite a legislature dominated by landlords. It traces its ideological roots to the Liberation

Theology/Christian Socialist movement in the Philippines. When PAKISAMA floated the idea to its Church contacts, the Jesuit priests responded with enthusiasm, offering not only to host the farmers but also to arrange fora with the farmers in Jesuit schools and assist in local and national media campaigns. This was enough for Ka Oca and his group

75 to convince the majority of the KILUS Magniniyog core that the coalition, together with

supporters in the Catholic Church, had well beyond the minimum capacity to pull off the

march.

Once there was a consensus among the core group, the next step was for each of

the federation representatives to go back to their federations and ask them if they would

be willing to take part in the march. While KILUS Magniniyog decisions had to be made

by consensus, the other federations had a variety of ways through which they came to

institutional decisions: some also required consensus among affiliated organizations,

some required only a supermajority and then all the affiliates are expected to carry the

federation line, while others required a supermajority but did not require affiliated

organizations who were not in agreement to carry the federation line.

None of the federation leaders faced staunch opposition from their affiliate

communities. It is important to note, and the federation leaders wished to highlight, that

this is a major reason why it is so important to have responsible leadership in social

movement organizations. In the words of a farmer leader who did not want to be named:

Our members trust us. They are willing to suffer and sacrifice for the battle, and that partially speaks to the trust we have built with them over the years after being together through so many battles. But, it also speaks to them, to their spirit and bravery, and how well they have been organized and internalized ideology. Most of the time, if we tell them ‘put your lives on the line, we fight now!’ they will do it with minimal questions. Some may even see asking questions as embarrassing. No one wants to be called a coward. But that is why the burden is on the leadership, because many leaders could abuse this power and in the past many leaders have. That is why the process of consultation and agreement is so important. Members need to feel that they have the right to question, to discuss, and to say no.

Importantly, this process of consultation with the members of the farmer federations and other potential allies altered decisions about particular tactics during the

76 march according to the capacity and willingness of the different organizations. For example, several of the KILUS Magniniyog member organizations wanted the marchers, as well as their home communities, to only consume coconut-derived food and drinks during the campaign. The purpose was to add further drama to the action by including a fasting element, while simultaneously highlighting the various ways coconut can be used and thus how worthy it is for investment (Fr. Jerry 2013). Eventually this idea was dropped over concerns about the ability of KILUS Magniniyog to address the potential health risks of the marchers, as well an unwillingness to place further burdens on external allies. In many areas, the marchers were to be housed and fed by churches and schools, and KILUS Magniniyog did not want to further burden them by placing requirements on the meals they were providing.

With the nine member-federations agreeing to fully support the now-dubbed KM-

71 march, KILUS Magniniyog went about the simultaneous processes of garnering support among other allies and sectors, and planning out the actual mechanics and logistics of the march, with much of the latter relying on the former.

2.7 Mechanics of the KM-71 March

Because there are several possible routes from Davao to Manila, KILUS

Magniniyog chose its final route based on areas where member organizations were strong, with extra consideration given to passing through local media centers where the farmers could get local television coverage, as well as areas where the Catholic Church allies and Church-affiliated schools could offer accommodation and food to the marchers.

KILUS Magniniyog reached out to progressive sectors of the Catholic Church early on. The Church had been an ally on the topic of agrarian reform, and had built a close relationship with many of the farmer groups during the campaign for the extension

of the Comprehensive Agarian Reform Program Law, which achieved an important legislative victory in 2008. PAKISAMA’s roots in the “social democratic”25 movement and close relationship with the Jesuits provided KILUS Magniniyog access to the Jesuits’ network of schools. Ateneans for Agrarian Reform Movement (AFARM), a student group supporting peasant movements based at Ateneo de Manila, connected KILUS Magniniyog to Buklod, the association of Ateneo student governments. As a result, KILUS

Magniniyog got access to a support network in all 5 of the Ateneo universities, including in Davao City where the KM-71 campaign kicked off.

KILUS Magniniyog also reached out directly to the Church for support. Individual pastors’ support relied primarily on the relationships they had with KILUS Magniniyog’s member organizations and particular priests and dioceses, such as Bishop Baylon from

Legaspi City, and Cardinal Quevedo from Cotabato City who were natural allies that had long been involved in advocating for rural issues. Additionally, KILUS Magniniyog also appealed to the Catholic heirarchy. In addition to throwing their own support behind the farmers, they also appealed to three important Catholic organizations to support the farmers: the Catholic Bishops’ Conference of the Philippines, which is the official

Vatican-sanctioned grouping of bishops that forms pastoral policy; the Bishops-

Businessmen Conference, which brings together bishops and influential individuals in the private sector to work together to formulate and promote social programs; and National

Secretariat for Social Action (NASSA), the CBCP’s social justice arm directed to get directly involved in the issues affecting the poor and marginalized. The CBCP and

25 Philippine social democrats, should not be confounded with the European social democratic movement. In the Philippines, so-called “soc-dems” range from economically social to liberal, and trace their history to a pro-poor church, especially progressive Jesuits. During the Marcos period, there were bitter rivalries between the CPP-allied national democrats, or “nat-dems”, and the soc-dems, even though they both worked against the dictatorship. The end of martial law and the 1992 CPP split saw increasing collaborations between leftist groups that had broken away from the CPP and soc-dems. 78

NASSA in particular had previously been deeply involved in advocating together with the farmers for the extension of the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program. Furthermore, the highest Catholic Church official at that time, Cardinal Luis Tagle, was himself a Jesuit with a history of involvement in social movements. As a young priest he organized and ministered to urban poor communities, and housed activists being pursued by the Marcos dictatorship. Both the CBCP and the BBC released statements in support of the KM farmers. Additionally, the CBCP released a pastoral letter to be read at Sunday mass and

NASSA released an appeal to pastors to welcome the marchers should they pass through a priest’s diocese. The pastors that responded positively influenced the route of the march.

For example, the marchers made sure that they passed through Legazpi City,

Albay, which, in addition to being the major media center for the second largest coconut- producing region in the country, is also the diocese of Bishop Joel Baylon. Previous to being appointed to Legazpi, Baylon was Bishop of the province of Masbate, a rural province known for having an extremely violent political culture. Baylon was an outspoken critic of the violence, especially the violence perpetrated against farmers.

Through this advocacy, Baylon had established relationships with Armed Forces commanders in the region, as well as local and national civil society. During their stay in

Legazpi, the farmers stayed in Albay Cathedral, which also served as the venue for media interviews and a mass held to honor slain coconut farmers.

While the march made its way south to north, KILUS Magniniyog and its allies simultaneously focused on building national attention and support. The different farmer federations also tapped into their networks of political parties and sectoral movements to widen support. Mainstream Philippine political parties are little more than rotating clubs

of elites that form and reform around particular candidates every election (Quimpo 2007).

While these mainstream parties have no significant ideologies, policy positions, or membership to speak of, there are some smaller (in the sense of the number of elected officials, though they have more membership), mass-based parties that participate in the proportional representation elections26 that are rooted in sectoral organizations and social movements. These social movement-derived parties can often be counted on to support and mobilize for sectoral concerns, such as those of the farmers. These parties also help bridge support from other sectors, such as organized labor, urban poor associations, fisherfolk, and partner NGOs. Parties that supported the KM-71 coalition included

Akbayan, Sanlakas, Partido Manggagawa, and AMIN. In addition to, in the case of

Akbayan, being the agents that pushed for KILUS Magniniyog’s legislation within the house, these parties also did their own media outreach in support of the farmers.

Additionally, they mobilized for mass events and, together with rural NGOs, provided housing, food, and medical attention to the farmers upon their arrival in Manila.

In addition to providing the venue in which the various rural SMOs could meet, dialogue, and plan together in the first place, government agencies like NAPC and the

OPAFSAM also played important roles in support of the march. During the march,

Rocamora of NAPC and Pangilinan of OPAFSAM were actively involved in direct negotiations with the President, the Secretary of the Department of Agriculture, the

Executive Secretary, and the Secretary of the Department of Budget and Management.

Rocamora and Pangilinan essentially used the KM-71 march, and the expected date of the farmers’ arrival in Manila, to try to pressure the President and the other line agencies to

26 The Philippine currently has a mixed system in the lower house of the legislature wherein most representatives are elected in geographic single member districts, but approximately 50 seats are elected in a single nationwide district through a “party list” system. 80

issue the requested Executive Orders adopting the Coconut Road Map and certify the

Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill (at the time pending in both Houses of Congress) as an

urgent legislative measure. The NAPC also spent its own staff resources to communicate

with the farmers, reach out to media, attend fora with students and Manila-based NGOs,

and the Secretary himself joined the final leg of the farmers’ march to the Presidential

palace and the Supreme Court. The OPAFSAM directed all PCA field officers to receive

and provide accommodation for the marching farmers if they came to their areas.

The final important block of SMO allies mobilized for national support were rural-focused NGOs. Much like the farmer federations, rural-focused NGOs provide technical expertise, research and information, lobbying efforts, media outreach, and often access to other potential allies to the farmer communities, although they do not have a membership or mass base themselves. Together with the national secretariats of the farmer federations, the rural NGOs also lobbied the Executive for the farmers’ demands.

Importantly, they also lobbied both houses of the legislature. While KILUS Magniniyog had organic allies in the lower house, the Senate at the time had no member coming from a social movement-based party. The rural NGOs and farmer federations directly lobbied the head of the Committee on Agriculture, as well as the senators where individual staff members had ties to the rural social movement.

In addition to appealing to a wide range of allies to secure external support and pressure policymakers, KILUS Magniniyog also made a special effort to maintain unity and good relationships between the member farmer federations during the KM-71 march.

According to Ka Rene, this was especially important because there were people coming from very different ideological traditions, ranging from those with strong upbringings in the Catholic Church to former members of the NPA who were atheists as a matter of

81 principle. Before the march began, everyone who was to participate underwent active

nonviolence training to ensure they were all in the same frame of mind and so that the

different marchers could come to common understandings about what the rules were,

what kind of discipline was required, and other details of their personal conduct.

Each of the KILUS Magniniyog member organizations was responsible for hosting the marchers whenever they went through at different legs, according to which organization was strong in the area. Hosting meant that that organization was responsible for producing and coordinating the food, accommodations, local media, and local events such as school lectures or community dialogues. There was one person, “Egay” who was always together with the marchers and was responsible for coordinating and communicating every step with the secretariat, housed at COIR. Egay would report if there were any emergencies along the way or if any of the marchers became sick and had to be replaced, and coordinate with the secretariat to ensure all the advance work was done for the next leg. Egay would call all the marchers together to have a joint assessment after each leg so that they could be aware of their own strengths and weaknesses and avoid potential mistakes in future legs. This was important for avoiding misunderstandings and personal tensions between the marchers and their organizations.

Egay also communicated the secretariat’s regular media monitoring to the marchers, which was a big morale booster.

2.8 The marchers reach Manila

The KM-71 marchers reached Manila on November 20th. They were received by

AFARM, as well as students from the nearby Miriam College and University of the

Philippines at Diliman. They were housed by Ateneo de Manila. On November 25th, the

head of the Senate Committee on Agriculture, Cynthia Villar, agreed to meet with the

82 farmers and on November 25th, released a statement wherein she committed to supporting the farmers’ advocacy (Office of Sen. Villar 2014).

On November 26, 2014, nearly two months after the farmers began their march,

President Aquino met the KM-71 farmers (Ranada 2014). The meeting came as a welcome surprise to KILUS Magniniyog and its allies, and was largely the result of mounting public pressure and internal lobbying, especially from Pangilinan. In the meeting, the President committed to issuing the Executive Orders as well as to certifying the Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill as urgent. However, he could not immediately issue the

Executive Orders due to a legal technicality: an “entry of judgment” had not yet been issued by the Clerk of Court regarding the 2012 Supreme Court decision that ordered the

Coco Levy’s distribution. This, supposedly an administrative “oversight,” meant that the

Supreme Court’s decision was technically not yet executory, and so the President was legally not supposed to act on it.

The government, through the Office of the Solicitor General, had urged the

Supreme Court to issue an entry of judgment through a motion on October 16, 2014.

After their meeting with the President, the coconut farmers, joined by the Manila-based political parties, other sectoral organizations, and the NAPC Secretary, marched to the

Supreme Court and held a manifestation. On December 20, the Court issued a partial entry of judgment. The entry was considered a victory by the coconut farmers. In the words of a woman farmer leader, “We were overjoyed. We thought, ‘our dream has been fulfilled.’”

The KM-71 campaign, however, had only planned to be active until the

Christmas holiday. Although the President did not immediately sign the executive order,

KILUS Magniniyog was underprepared to continue the pressure. Furthermore, KILUS

83 Magniniyog’s allies in the government were unable to convince the President to hasten issuing the Executive Orders and instead pleaded with the farmers to wait, assuring them that the Executive Orders would be issued. They were indeed issued, on March 18, 2016, and the Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill was also certified as urgent by the executive. This should have been the end to the coconut farmers’ saga.

However, in another move unforeseen by KILUS Magniniyog and allies,

COCOFED surfaced and petitioned the Supreme Court to rule the Coco Levy Executive

Orders unconstitutional, arguing that the President cannot allocate funds without the prior approval of the Congress in the form of legislation. On July 1, 2015, the Supreme Court acted on COCOFED’s petition and issued a Temporary Restraining Order on the Coco

Levy Executive Orders. On October 24, 2015, the House of Representatives passed the

Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill. However, despite the statement of support from Senator

Villar when she was in front of the KILUS Magniniyog farmers, the bill did not advance in the Senate. The passage of the Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill would have rendered

COCOFED’s petition moot and pave the way for the Supreme Court to lift its Temporary

Restraining Order. However, Congress entered recess and the country underwent presidential and legislative elections without the bill passing into law.

After the presidential and legislative elections of 2016, KILUS Magniniyog actively searched for a line to President Duterte to obtain his support, especially given candidate Duterte’s promise that poor farmers would benefit from the Coco Levy fund within the first one hundred days of his presidency. However, instead of fast-tracking legislation (by directing, for example, the allied Speaker of the House and Senate

President to rush the bills that committees in the previous congressional session had produced or an administration-prepared version of the bill), the executive only formed a

84 technical working group to begin studying legislation eight months into the

administration. The technical working group held several meetings bringing together

government agencies and farmer groups, including KILUS Magniniyog, COIR, and

COCOFED. However, tensions between different factions within the administration

resulted in delays in its work. The eventual disempowerment of the farmers’ closest ally

within the administration, Cabinet Secretary Leoncio Evasco, Jr., convinced most KILUS

Magniniyog members that relying on executive action was likely to be a dead end.

At the same time, KILUS Magniniyog continued to work with legislative allies.

After months of debate, a version of the bill to which KILUS Magniniyog had reservations but was amenable passed the lower house. The bill was generally based on the version that had passed the lower house in the previous congress, with several concessions made to COCOFED and landowners in order to expedite the process. The farmers hoped that the most egregious provisions would be replaced by the senate version of the bill during the bicameral conference that was to integrate the two bills. Pangilinan, the former OPAFSAM head and now newly reelected senator, was the primary author of the senate version, as well as chairman of the Committee on Agriculture. Accordingly, an acceptable version of the Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill quickly passed the committee level at the senate. However, less than one year after congress was convened, Pangilinan and other members of opposition parties in the senate were removed from their committee leadership positions. Cynthia Villar once again gained chairmanship of the committee. Although the senate bill had already passed the committee level under

Pangilinan’s tenure, Villar remanded the bill back to committee where it stayed for over one year.

85 Under Villar’s chairmanship, the Senate passed a bill that removed farmer groups from participating in determining how the trust fund is to be utilized, giving total control instead to the PCA. This provision – which struck directly at the heart of the farmers’ demands for not just the distribution of the levy fund, but also the extension of meaningful democratic participation – was retained in the version of the bill adopted by the bicameral committee in August 2018. In a press conference, KILUS Magniniyog called the law “empty.” As of this writing, they are conducting another round of stakeholder events (including issue briefings, consultations, local press events) in the regions before going back to the drawing board to strategize.

2.9 Analysis

The variety of strategies and tactics employed by the movement to reclaim the

Coco Levy Scam funds is illustrative of how social movements in the Philippines sought to understand their relationship with the state. That the issue existed through both dictatorship and democratization allows us to consider how the movement reimagined itself and adapted to new institutional arrangements.

2.9.1 Division of labor

According to the theory outlined in Chapter 1, social movement organizations can be categorized according to specialization among four dimensions: skills, sector, territorial influence, and ideology. We can already observe these specializations in the coco levy movement during the dictatorship period. In terms of skills, lawyers and human rights workers (notably, the NAJFD) provided consultations and trainings to communities and activists, while Catholic clergy and lay ministers provided spiritual guidance and sanctuary. Both the government as well as social movements recognized the importance

86 of organizing along sectoral lines, as the government took control of COCOFED and billeted it as the lone legitimate representative body for coconut farmers, while movement actors formed the agriculture- and coconut-specific mass organizations

ALAMIN and APIL. For the mass-based organizations, organizing focused on the heavy coconut-producing regions (particularly Southern Tagalog, Bicol, and Mindanao), and was particularly strong where there was a sympathetic parish priest or, in the case of the national democrats, a heavy New People’s Army presence. The different areas controlled by the national democrats and social democrats were also relatively well-defined.

Although the two ideological groups were bitter rivals and often came to blows in specific arenas, such as university councils, there was little overlap in mass organizing.

We observe this specialization to be more pronounced through the democratic period. There was initial optimism on the part of many movement actors when the first

Aquino government filed cases to recover the Coco Levy assets. Those involved broadly in agricultural movements placed more focus on the seemingly more difficult issue of land and asset reform. As the cases dragged on and decades passed without resolution to the Coco Levy issue, however, it became clear that waiting for institutional processes to take their course would not be sufficient. Advocacy in the democratic period brought new opportunities as well as requirements. As a result, specialization became more pronounced. A less repressive political system and free media allowed activists to take the advocacy above ground, instead of relying primarily on clandestine organizing and public demonstrations that directly challenged the state and access to information and records about the Marcos government’s and cronies’ dealings enabled research about the intricacies of the scam. New skills were required to make the legal and technical arguments to push the court, and later, the executive and legislature.

87 Accordingly, activists formed organizations such as COIR, PAKISAMA, and

PRRM to specialize in research, lobbying, and media work. The less restrictive political climate also meant that educational and Church-affiliated institutions like the Miriam

College, the Ateneo system of schools, and the Bishops-Businessmen Conference could openly offer legal, media, financial, and logistical assistance.

Perhaps the most different innovation in skill specialization, however, came from identifying and cultivating relationships with allies inside government, as well as supporting the placement of movement personalities in government. While the farmers’ organizations certainly relied on congressional representatives who had come from social-movement based parties, they also built relationships with and engaged in direct lobbying to representatives from mainstream parties. They did this by both lobbying at the capital as well as to the representatives in their districts, often with the help of local parishes. During the height of the KM march, NAPC Secretary Rocamora and

OPAFSAM head Pangilinan played especially important roles navigating various government agencies from within, acting as bridges between the farmer groups and more powerful government actors, and providing key clues to the farmers about what kinds of mobilizations and tactics were most likely to be effective, as well as resources therefore.

As such, the farmers were able to use a combination of complementary institutional and extra-institutional tactics.

The role of the SMO actors that worked inside the government cannot be downplayed. The movement-based political parties represented in the lower house, the

NAPC Secretary, the Presidential Assistant for Food Security and Agricultural

Modernization, and even particular staff members of executive agencies and legislators who had ties to the farmer organizations played extremely important roles lobbying

88 within their respective government organizations. These organizations and individuals cannot be considered separate from the coconut farmers’ social movement. In addition to being a part of the movement, their actions were closely coordinated with KILUS

Magniniyog and other related SMOs. Furthermore, those inside and outside government mutually benefitted from each other in order to advance their own positions. The NAPC

Secretary and Presidential Assistant for Food Security and Agricultural Modernization used the march and its timeline to give a sense of urgency to their negotiations with the

President and other agencies. Allies in the legislature invited the coconut farmers to attend hearings and meet with other legislators in order to show strength gain support for legislative action. The coconut farmers and allied mass-based organizations, in turn, were able to show their members that they had access to high-level policymakers and they were making incremental inroads, without sacrificing their position as actors outside the system free to agitate and criticize the government and its actions.

We observe specialization in terms of sector through the obvious focus KILUS

Magniniyog and its member organizations had on small coconut farmers. We also see, however, that through relationship-building with SMOs from other sectors, KILUS

Magniniyog was able to appeal to a larger base of support. The very idea of a long march came from the Sumilao farmers. This affinity, as well as vocal support from the Sumilao, helped the KM 71 campaign gain the backing of groups involved in other agricultural sectors besides coconut. Outside of agriculture, KILUS Magniniyog obtained the support of students, church-goers, and urban poor thorough their affiliation with cross-sectoral

SMOs and political parties.

The farmer federations and organizations also practiced specialization in terms of territorial influence. Each organization had territories in which it operates, and in which

89 no other organization attempts to encroach. Thus, the farmers’ organizations were given sole responsibility for mobilizing their members, taking care of the marching farmers when they passed through their areas, and, in some cases communicating with local stakeholders (such as the local priest or village captain).

There was a clear delineation between organizations representing different ideologies. KILUS Magniniyog members were organizations that had come from the social democratic tradition, or the national democratic tradition but had split from the

CPP. They were mass-based organizations and considered themselves democratic and leftist, but were not opposed to pragmatic concessions when negotiating with the state.

COCOFED advocated landholder interests. However, it was primarily controlled by the

Lobregat family and their associates and was not an organized, representative body of large landowners. Finally, groups affiliated with the CPP continued to hold their stand on immediate cash distribution of the fund to private farmers. However, beyond the initial press statements and mass actions directed at NAPC in 2012, the CPP groups did not conduct any notable campaigning, whether in support of or in opposition to the trust fund concept. While the congressional representative of the CPP-affiliated Anakpawis party took part in the House deliberations on the Coco Industry Trust Fund Bill, his interventions were mostly focused on changing some wording to conform to language commonly used in his party’s communications (particularly, inserting the word “genuine” and removing the word “privatization,” but without changing the substantive meaning of those clauses). He clearly had no intention to stall nor derail the implementation of the trust fund.

90 2.9.2 Sectoral Ownership

During the dictatorship period, the coco levy movement was subsumed under the broad movement for democracy and the Coco Levy was considered one of a number of scams perpetrated by the Marcos government. Nearly thirty years after the installation of a democratic regime, many of the activists viewed reclaiming the coco levy funds as an integral part of dealing with the legacy of dictatorship and realizing the gains of democracy in a tangible way. Additionally, exercising democracy required that the farmers had ownership not only over the struggle, but over how the fund was to be managed and distributed. Thus, there was an emphasis on internal democracy and participation in both how the campaign was organized, as well as the basic demands they made.

Among the member organizations of KILUS Magniniyog themselves, there were special efforts to institute rules that would ensure all members participated and that would avoid conflict. These included having a rotating chairmanship, an independent secretariat with full financial transparency, and requiring that all decisions had to be made by consensus. Regarding this last point, special attention was paid to making all planning processes participatory, even when joint workshops and planning sessions slowed things down. During the KM-71 campaign in particular, requiring all marchers to a joint training beforehand, having a point person assigned to mediate conflicts and enact any necessary discipline, and requiring that all member organizations should have a chance to speak at press conferences and events (even when this made press events drag on for hours), were all techniques designed to try to minimize competition and conflict and thus enable cooperation.

91 It should also be stressed that the non farmer-comprised organizations involved in

the campaign, including COIR, PRRM, NAPC, and OPASFM, also emphasized the

importance of sectoral ownership. Given the respect many farmers and farmer-leaders

had for Rocamora, Pangilinan, and the COIR and PRRM leadership (as well as the fact

that they provided many of the financial and logistical resources), any one of these

organizations would have been able to merely design the demands and the campaign, and

then imposed these decisions on the farmer groups. Instead, these organizations also went

through the often painstaking process of participatory consultation and joint decision-

making. Although there was palpable tension at times and, in particular, feelings of

competition between NAPC and COIR, they continued working together in recognition

that the farmers were the main stakeholders.

Similarly, the farmers’ demands also emphasized participation. Three basic principles underlaid the KILUS Magniniyog’s demands: that the fund should benefit poor coconut farmers, that a perpetual trust fund should be created, and that legitimate coconut farmer organizations should sit on the managing board of that fund. The farmers had seen enough examples of supposedly pro-poor government programs that had failed due to poor implementation, corruption, or capture. Furthermore, they believed that they had the right to make decisions regarding the utilization of a fund meant to benefit them, and they couched this right in terms of the extension of democratic participation to a historically marginalized sector of society. As a farmer leader explained,

What is democracy? That people in high positions pat me on the head and say, ‘here, this is good for you”? Or that I myself can say what happens with the money that is rightfully mine...that government actually has to act according to the people’s will? Democracy should mean that we all have a say on the things that affect us – not just the same families that have been there for centuries.

92 CHAPTER 3

THE AMVACA PEOPLE’S PLAN

3.1 Introduction

On March 24, 2015, three out of what was to be thirty buildings were turned over to the Alyansa ng Mamamayan sa Valenzuela at Caloocan (Alliance of Citizens in

Valenzuela and Caloocan Citizens – AMVACA). The completed thirty buildings would eventually house 1,440 informal settler families that were previously living in shanties in a danger zone at the edge of the Tullahan River in the cities of Valenzuela and Caloocan in the National Capital Region. The AMVACA project is the first resettlement site constructed via people’s plan in partnership with the national government, and physically marks the success of a long battle to make resettlement via people’s plan state policy.

93 Figure 3.1. Members of AMVACA overseeing construction of their housing project27

The movement that accomplished the AMVACA project was the result of a number of diverse organizations working together to create and adjust to changes in political opportunity in order to realize the institutionalization of housing resettlement via people’s plan. Over the years, organizations were formed, shifted, and evolved in order to meet evermore specific tasks. This diversity allowed the movement to engage the state on a variety of fronts, utilizing a variety of techniques according to context. Some organizations involved in the campaign concentrated on providing particular skills and expertise to the AMVACA members and residents. This was especially important given the need to translate complicated housing laws to both residents and, at times, low-level government officials, as well as the need to translate to policy-makers the real situation and needs of residents in informal settler areas. Much of the skills and knowledge these

27 SOURCE: Social Housing Finance Corporation 94 organizations and activists had developed was the result of specializing in issues

particular to the informal settler sector over many years. Organizations also had to be

formed and re-formed along territorial lines in order to avoid confrontation with rivals, as

well as to meaningfully represent the residents in a particular area. Finally, organizations

with different ideological leanings engaged in various forms of institutional participation

and advocacy, and extra-institutional pressure. Those that engaged in more radical, and

even violent tactics ultimately contributed to the success of the AMVACA case as government officials were more willing to work with moderate, non-violent groups.

The theme of institutionalized participation underlay the campaign for the

AMVACA project, from how the advocacy organizations were structure and managed, to the concept of the people’s plan itself, which advocates that organized urban slum- dwellers should be responsible for planning and enacting their own resettlements. This includes identifying and negotiating the acquisition of a parcel of land, designing the actual structure, identifying the families that qualify for resettlement, and sometimes even identifying and managing a business that would help the settlement site be sustainable in the long-term. For many social movement actors, the process of empowering poor communities to engage their governments was akin to enabling these people to claim their rights as citizens.

95 3.2 History of the Philippine informal settler movement28

Informal settlements and urban housing has been an enormous and controversial issue for the Philippines for over fifty years. Following World War II, war victims began flocking to Manila and began building shanties in the Tondo area, hoping for work in the ports. In 1946, there were an estimated 46,000 squatters in Manila and its suburbs. By

2010, there were an estimated 2.8 million informal settler residents in Metro Manila alone, comprising over one-fifth of the metro’s total population (PhilRights 2013).

Millions of informal settlers are also found in other medium and large cities around the country.

The informal settler sector has long been pandered to and disappointed by politicians and social movement organizations alike. Some isolated mobilizations and efforts at bargaining with the government resulted in the Tondo Foreshore Land Act of

1956 (Republic Act 1597), which permitted informal settlers in the Tondo area of Manila to purchase the land upon which they had settled for a maximum of 5 pesos per square meter. The law, however, was never implemented. In the wake of what was perceived as a victory, and then the ensuing disappointment, residents’ organizations began sprouting up, some growing out of Christian Base Communities associated with Liberation theology.

In 1970, the first urban poor federation was established, the Zone One Tondo

Organization (ZOTO). In 1972, inspired by a slew of successful land occupations in

Brazil, ZOTO organized the occupation of a parcel of land belonging to the national

28 Throughout the Philippines’ history, various terms have been used to refer to urban slum dwellers who do not own formal rights to their land or homes. Originally referred to as “squatters”, negative connotations with the term led to the adoption of “urban poor” in the 1980s and 1990s. Concerns that “urban poor” was disempowering have more recently led to the adoption of “informal settlers.” The three terms shall be used interchangeably throughout this chapter. In Tagalog/Filipino, the sector is generally referred to maralita (indigent) or maralitang tagalungsod (urban indigents). 96

government’s Department of Public Works and Highways (DPWH). Unsuspecting guards did not try to defend the compound from the thousands of invaders, flanked by Catholic priests. Denis Murphy, an American Jesuit working with the poor communities in Tondo, would later write that it was the first instance of a “people’s plan.” The invaders already had a plan for how to subdivide the land and each family was designated a 28-square- meter lot and responsible for building their own dwellings (Murphy 2014).

ZOTO continued to make a name for itself and by 1975, its number of member organizations ballooned from an original 20 to 113 (Karoas 2011). This momentum abruptly changed, however, in 1975 when the Marcos dictatorship declared squatting illegal. In the same year, Ferdinand Marcos named his wife, Imelda, governor of Metro

Manila. The government began cracking down on urban poor settlements to make way for large-scale infrastructure projects funded by international aid and debt, to weed out leftist insurgents who hid in shanty areas while trying to organize residents, and to address Imelda’s obsession with aesthetic beauty and her personal disgust with anything that hinted of squalor. Informal settler areas became the sites of numerous violent clashes between government security forces on one side, and residents and urban guerrillas on the other.

In 1977, the government adopted a policy of on-site relocation. The World Bank was funding several high-priority projects and was interested in residents’ participation in relocation policy. What seemed a victory, however, was largely an excuse for the Marcos dictatorship to build another, complicated, bureaucracy that it could use to funnel resources and exercise control. This bureaucratization was exemplified by Imelda being named Minister of Human Settlements (co-terminously as the Governor of Metro Manila) in 1978.

By 1982, an intensified demolition policy resumed. Urban poor communities had

been a target for organizing among the leftist opposition to the Marcos regime. The

widespread resumption of demolitions together with the reenergized anti-Marcos protests

following the assassination of opposition leader Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, Jr. in 1983

caused informal settler organizations to be drawn into the larger cross-sectoral and -

ideological coalitions working for the Marcos ouster, which culminated with the EDSA I

People Power Revolution in 1986. During this time, concerns of the sector became

secondary to mobilizing for democratic regime change.

The assumption of Corazon Aquino to the presidency and the new Constitution of

1987 saw, again, the formal recognition of informal settlers and their demands as a sector.

Article XIII, Sections 9 and 10 of the 1987 Constitution deal specifically with Urban

Land Reform and Housing, declaring that the state shall undertake an affordable housing

program and that demolitions shall not happen except in a “just and humane manner” and

in consultation with the communities to be relocated as well as the receiving

communities.29 In December 1987, acting upon the demands of the urban poor sector

(particularly the National Congress for Urban Poor Organizations, or NACUPO, which

was the largest federation at the time), Aquino issued an executive order creating the

Presidential Commission for the Urban Poor (PCUP), which was to act as a coordinating

29 The inclusion of Article XIII on Social Justice and Human Rights was primarily the handiwork of Constitutional Commission members connected to more progressive organs of the Catholic Church, particularly Teresa Nieva, a former director of the Catholic Bishops-Businessman’s conference, Good Shepherd Sister Christine Tan, and Jesuit priest Joaquin Bernas. Nieva, additionally, was appointed chairperson of the Social Justice Committee during the Constitutional Convention, and so had substantial control over the article. There was not much significant opposition to the inclusion of the article. Most significant and organized lobbying during the convention was related to limits on foreign ownership of land and business, abortion, language in education, nuclear policy, and rural landownership. It is important to note, however, that Article XIII on Social Justice and Human Rights are considered aspirational, and not a self-executory section of the constitution. Implementing laws are required. Thus, the stake surrounding the inclusion of the article were relatively low. Rather than push a self-implementing section on urban land reform, social movements at the time were more focused on negotiating with the Aquino government over physical settlements and the composition of the PCUP (Villacorta 1988; Karoas 2011). 98

body for the various government agencies involved in housing and development, as well as a direct link for the urban poor to the new government.

Once again, however, government action appeared to be more pandering in order to get the votes of the urban poor rather than committed to a program of decent urban housing. While Aquino was campaigning for the 1986 snap elections, NACUPO was able to elicit a promise that, as president, she would turn over 150 hectares of government property for a permanent settlement. Aquino fulfilled this promise in August of 1987.

However, the exceptionality of this resettlement highlights that the Aquino government had no national program for the urban poor, instead leaving the issue to the legislature and local governments (Karaoas 2011, 81; Villarin 2016). Furthermore, the Aquino regime privatized large swaths of government land, making it all the more difficult to identify available lots for potential relocation sites. Violent demolitions continued.

The informal settler movement, thus, continued advocating for and addressing the needs of individual communities while turning its attention to the legislature. In 1992,

Congress passed the Urban Development and Housing Act (UDHA, Republic Act 7279) amidst mobilizations by the urban poor, broader left, and Catholic Church, including direct support from Manila Archbishop Jaime Sin, who had been a pivotal figure during the People Power Revolution. The law was also passed shortly before the 1992 elections, signaling, again, the desire of politicians to gain the support of vote-rich urban poor communities. The UDHA was the most comprehensive codification of a housing policy to date. It mandated all local governments to inventory all idle, government-owned, and residential lands and submit such to the national government in order to identify sites for socialized housing; granted the national government the power to expropriate idle lands for socialized housing; required subdivision developers to set aside at least 20% of a

project’s land area or total cost for socialized housing; requiring that resettlement sites

have potable water, electricity, and sewage, and have access to transportation, health and

education facilities, and livelihood. The Act also encouraged on-site resettlement and the rehabilitation of slum areas, while discouraging forced evictions. Eviction could occur in certain cases (like in danger zones), but communities had to be consulted and relocation areas available.

Despite the principles and requirements laid out in UDHA, implementation was and has remained a major problem. Demolitions were vigorously resumed after the 1992 elections. Communities have regularly reported that there were no adequate consultations before they received notices of demolition and local governments continued using violent

tactics, including permitting private armed guards and security to participate in

demolitions. Inefficiencies and institutional corruption within the National Housing

Authority (NHA), the government agency primarily responsible for low-income housing,

means that relocation sites are often built to poor standards, located in far-flung places

without employment opportunities, and lack basic services like water and electricity.

Given the problems with UDHA’s implementation, problems in the ISF sector have

continued. As the urban population has continued to grow, slums have also continued to

grow, and subsequent governments and activists have struggled to find and implement

solutions.

3.3 People’s plan as a framework

The “people’s plan” as a framework for dealing with informal settlers’ issues

gained popularity in the 1990s. At the core of the approach is the idea that the settlers

would plan their own relocation sites in a way suited for their community’s needs, and

that communities would organize and be responsible for their own ranks, including

100 keeping out professional squatters, making sure monthly amortizations and other payments were collected on time, that disputes would be managed, and outside actors

(like government, funding agencies, etc.) would only have to respond to one group.

ZOTO’s 1972 occupation of and subsequent construction in the DPWH compound is regarded by some to be the first instance of a people’s plan, because ZOTO members identified the lot they wanted and then subdivided the lots among themselves and built their own dwellings. However, there was no push to have the government adopt such an approach as policy or to try to systematically apply the approach to other communities where ZOTO was not present.

During the martial law years, urban settlements and resettlements were conceptualized as large-scale, government-designed and -built housing projects whose primary beneficiary would be government employees, not already-existing informal setter communities. Informal settler communities and their advocates, however, focused on defending individual communities from demolition. Advancing an agenda for the urban poor sector as a whole became subsumed under the broader left agenda and opposition to the Marcos regime (Karaos 2011).

After the fall of martial law, some informal settler advocates became more open to negotiating with government. If the call of the urban poor movement during the Marcos period was characterized as “walang isquatter sa sariling bayan” (no one can be an illegal settler in his own country), the reintroduction of formal democracy came with calls for decent relocation and empowerment. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, Harnessing

Self Reliant Initiatives & Knowledge (HASIK), an NGO generally aligned with the

“social democratic” tradition that supported the new Aquino government, was among the first to establish successful resettlement communities that did not merely move people

101

into government-designed structures, but that included community-based livelihood and governance as part of the resettlement process (Villarin 2016).

The realization that UDHA was not sufficient to address the needs and demands of the informal settlers, combined with SMOs’ increasing emphasis on participatory mechanisms that more fundamentally change power relationships between these communities and the state, NGOs and urban poor community organizations began advocating for “people’s plans” as alternatives to state-determined relocation. Drawing on examples of community participation in urban planning from Latin America and

Brazil in particular, several urban poor NGOs and federations at the time, including the

Community Organizers Multiversity (CO Multiversity) and Homeless People’s

Federation of the Philippines (HPFP) pioneered the design of “people’s plans” wherein the community would organize itself, identify for itself a relocation site, work with architects and engineers to design the site and buildings and ensure the provision of amenities, and take on the responsibility of identifying beneficiaries and collecting payments. The organization would also negotiate with the developer or government to try to acquire financing for the community. Acquiring financing was not only the crucial step, but often the step where negotiations would fall apart.

Very few people’s plans were implemented in the 1990s and 2000s. However, the people’s plan approach spread throughout the urban poor SMI and calls to make people’s plans an institutionalized policy eventually became part of the movement’s major demands that cut across its component organizations, together with no demolition without decent relocation, and prioritizing on-site, in-city relocation.

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3.4 The million dollar fund

In the late 2000s, the Philippines government received two shocks that underlined

urgency of dealing with the informal settler problem. In 2008, the Supreme Court ruled

that informal settler families living along waterways in Metro Manila were the primary

source of water contamination. The decision required “concerned development agencies

to commence a large-scale clean-up operation of the Pasig River and its tributaries to

eliminate all sources of environmental contamination” (Metro Manila Development

Authority vs. Concerned Residents of Manila Bay et al., GR No. 171947–48). In

September 2009, supertyphoon Ketsana (known locally as Ondoy) hit Metro Manila, causing over US$ 200 million in damage, 464 deaths, 529 injuries, and affecting nearly 5 million people (Olan 2014). Entire shanty communities were wiped away by the flooding.

Furthermore, informal settlements were again blamed for supposedly clogging up drainage waterways with household garbage.

In 2010, Benigno Aquino, III was elected president. Like his mother, members of the Philippine social democratic tradition were part of his coalition, and figures that had a history of working with the informal settler sector were appointed to high-level positions, like Florencio “Butch” Abad who became Budget Secretary and Jesse Robredo, who became Secretary of the Interior. On July 1, 2010, the day after his inauguration, representatives from the two largest urban poor federations, the Urban Poor Alliance (UP-

All) and the National Urban Poor Coalition (NUPCO) were invited for a dialogue with

the President. The various representatives, despite being connected to different and, at

times, rival ideological traditions, tried to convince the president and his ministers to

allocate dedicated national funds for urban poor resettlements. Both NUPCO and UP-All

had experienced strong resistance from the local governments in Metro Manila over

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urban housing issues, especially when it came to budget allocations. Not only did they feel that they had a better chance to win a dedicated budget allocation from the national government, but it would be easier as a national federation to negotiate one time with the national government rather than negotiate with 17 different local governments. In 2011, the government announced it would allocate P50 billion (over US$1 million) for the resettlement of informal settler communities in danger zones in Metro Manila, and that the program would be managed by the Department of Interior and Local Government.

3.5 Establishing Kilos Maralita and AMVACA

AMVACA would eventually be organized by Kilos Maralita (KM) through combining various smaller urban poor organizations along the Tallahan River. KM traces its roots to NUPCO, a coalition of urban poor organizations allied with the “democratic left” political blocs, a term that generally refers to factions that left the Communist Party of the Philippines over disagreements about centralized decision-making within the CPP and the latter’s decision not to engage post-Marcos democratic governments. Although the various blocs had their own rivalries and disagreements, mostly over ideology and personal differences between leaders, they banded together in 2005 to form a coalition they named Laban ng Masa (struggle of the masses) in opposition to the presidency of

Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, who they considered an illegitimate president30. The urban poor groups associated with the Laban ng Masa blocs formed NUPCO in order to further the urban poor agenda within the broader anti-Arroyo movement, including supporting each other’s communities against demolition and advocating for the Magna Carta of the

30 The “Hello Garci” scandal revealed a recording of Arroyo’s telephone call with Commissioner Garcillano of the Commission on Elections essentially asking if the votes she paid for would be reflected in the official vote count. Arroyo forbade investigation of the incident in the House and Senate. Arroyo’s term was also marked by the further concentration of executive power and she was perceived to have a direct hand in widespread corruption. 104 urban poor, while opposing Arroyo’s aggressive privatization. As organizations aligned with political blocs, however, NUPCO was at the same time designed as a way to focus on urban poor organizing as a way to build a political base for the democratic left, and to recruit broad numbers that could be mobilized against the Arroyo regime. Again, the substantive urban poor agenda became subsumed into the larger left strategy as, similar to

Marcos times, the sector felt that meaningful policy change could not happen under the

Arroyo government and that there was no room for negotiation.

When the Aquino government announced the availability of the P50 billion informal settler fund, Interior Secretary Robredo invited NUPCO, together with UP-All, to be part of the National Technical Working Group to design the mechanism by which the fund would be allocated.31 By this time, UP-All and NUPCO represented the two largest groupings of informal settler organizations, albeit from competing ideological traditions, and both of them pushed to make people’s plans an integral part of the government’s resettlement program. NUPCO decided it wanted to work with the national government to design housing policy. At the same time, the actors within NUPCO did not think that NUPCO, as an organization, was the best vehicle to do so. NUPCO remained strongly tied to the leftist political blocs. Its leaders wanted to broaden and be able to be the bridge to the government for even non-ideological informal settlers and informal settler communities. Importantly, and knowing full well that some of the blocs were not supportive overall of the second Aquino presidency, NUPCO also wanted to be able to maintain the autonomy to be able to criticize the government in the future, without losing

31 NUPCO and UP-All were the only members of the Working Group that were not government line agencies or attached agencies of the Office of the President. Other members included the Department of Interior and Local Government, the Housing and Urban Development Council, The Department of Social Welfare and Development, the Metro manila Development Authority, the Department of Finance, the National Anti-Poverty Commission, the Presidential Commission on the Urban Poor, and the Department of Public Works and Highways. 105

their seat at the table when it came to designing housing policy or being able to communicate directly with national government officials.

As a result, the NUPCO leadership formed Kilos Maralita (Indigent Movement) as a federation of urban poor community organizations which would be dedicated solely to policy formulation, advocacy, and organizing around informal settler issues. NUPCO was not formally dissolved, but it eventually faded into inactivity as the blocs did not define a common political project during the Aquino administration and KM became the vehicle for sectoral advocacy. Thus, the members of KM simultaneously continue to belong to their political blocs (or none at all) as well as to KM as a sectoral formation.

3.6 Organizing AMVACA

As Kilos Maralita sat as a member of the National Technical Working group, the city of Valenzuela issued an order of demolition to informal settlers living along the

Tullahan River on July 11, 2012. This provided the immediate impetus for KM to test if the policy they were designing would actually be implemented. At the time, settlers along the Tullahan River, which traverses the cities of Valenzuela and Caloocan in Metro

Manila32, belonged to 13 different residents’ associations. One such association, simply named the Riverside Association, was already allied with KM. After the notice of demolition was received, KM invited all the other associations to a “Forum Laban sa

Demolisyon” (“Forum Against Demolition”) wherein they could collectively discuss their options with the purpose of deciding on a common strategy.

32 Metro Manila, also known as the National Capital Region, is comprised of 16 component cities (Manila, Quezon City, San Juan, Mandaluyong, Muntinlupa, Caloocan, Malabon, Navotas, Valenzuela, Taguig, Pasay, Pasig, Parañaque, Las Piñas, Marikina, and Makati) and one municipality (Pateros). 106

Figure 3.2 Tullahan River33

The residents wanted to avoid violent confrontation and so resisting without engaging government was not an option. The residents could challenge the demolition order in court, but they knew they were in a danger zone and so the case was unlikely to prosper. The residents were not optimistic about their chances negotiating with the local governments for several reasons, including the lack of allies at the local government level, and histories of violent demolitions carried out by the local governments in the past. Various associations also expressed reluctance to approach the National Housing

Authority (NHA) because the NHA resettlements were nearly always out-of-city and its head at that time, then-Vice President Jejomar Binay, had a reputation for pursuing violent demolitions during his nearly thirty years as mayor of Makati. KM described the

P50 billion program and the concept of a people’s plan. By the end of the forum, the

33 SOURCE: Diana Moraleda 107 organizations agreed that they would not oppose demolition per se, but that they would participate in the P50 billion program and demand that demolition would not occur until their resettlement sites were built.

The residents thus formed the Alyansa ng Mamamayan sa Valenzuela at Caloocan

(Alliance of Citizens in Valenzuela and Caloocan Citizens - AMVACA). AMVACA’s by- laws included requirements for the election of officers, budget transparency, and processes for filing and resolving grievances with officers. Notably, the by-laws also required that important decisions, particularly those related to the acquisition of land, the design and construction of housing, and the amortization schedule be discussed and voted on in general assembly. Officers and organization leaders could not make such decisions on their own. AMVACA also became a member of KM.

Figure 3.3 Process of AMVACA’s formation

The KM secretariat accompanied AMVACA leaders to negotiate directly with the city governments of Caloocan and Valenzuela. The city governments readily agreed for

108 several reasons. Through years of experience working on urban poor issues, KM and UP-

All knew that the most difficult obstacle in resettlement programs was often the local government. As a result, they tried to design the program in such a way as to minimize the contributions needed from local government, in terms of both technical and financial resources. Several interviewees concurred that it was easy to get the approval of the local governments because funding would be coming entirely from the national government, confirming KM’s and UP-All’s reasoning behind focusing on pushing for a program at the national level. Furthermore, local government officials in Metro Manila are notorious for the practice of bussing in residents who have been relocated outside of their cities and paying them to vote during election time. Crudely put, keeping the residents in the city would save various officials money during elections.

Finally, Valenzuela had recently been featured in national media for two controversial KADAMAY-led demolitions that resulted in deaths. The Kalipunan ng

Damayang Mahihirap (Federation of the Poor Helping Each Other, KADAMAY) is an informal settler organization allied with the Maoist Communist Party of the Philippines.

Throughout this time, KADAMAY did not actively push for people’s plan as state policy.

Rather, it continued the ideological line of “no one can be an illegal settler in his own country.” While it assisted communities in negotiations with local governments and other state agencies, it often encouraged communities where it had influence to physically block demolitions, often via violent means, when those negotiations stalled or fell through. The city government, seeking to avoid a repeat of the violence, eagerly facilitated AMVACA’s acquisition of land and necessary permits. According to Buboy

Magahis, then KM secretary-general,

We were even surprised that the papers were approved so fast. It was really much faster and less hassle than normal. They had just been

109

greatly embarrassed by two really chaotic demolitions and I think when they realized that we were a different group and that our approach was different, they decided to help us.34

While KM was principally tasked with guiding AMVACA leaders on strengthening the organization (including reaching out to those residents in the area who had not been a part of any organization) and negotiating with government officials, it reached out to other organizations for help with more technical tasks. The Institute for

Popular Democracy (IPD) is an NGO that had been working on urban poor issues since the 1990s and actively advocating for and helping communities draw up people’s plans since the mid 2000s. IPD was also one of the main drivers behind NUPCO’s establishment and had continued working with its members in the interim years. KM established a working relationship with IPD wherein IPD would be responsible for the more technical tasks, like ensuring that AMVACA’s registration as an organization, building permits and clearances, feasibility studies, checking land titles, and other more bureaucratic requirements were in order. KM also brought in the Institute for Philippine

Cooperative & Social Enterprise Development (IPSCED), an NGO which specializes in cooperatives, to train and guide AMVACA on how to build a sustainable housing cooperative in compliance with the law, as well as how to establish for-profit cooperative enterprises that would provide members with livelihood while generating income that

AMVACA could use for community services and operational expenses.

34 It should also be noted that Sherwin Gatchalian, the incumbent congressman from Valenzeula City’s first district, as well as the former mayor of Valenzuela City and brother of the incumbent mayor, was planning to run for the Senate in 2016. Several movement leaders speculated that the city wanted to produce good news that would bolster the image of Valenzuela City as well as the Gatchalian name ahead of the period of candidacy. 110

3.7 Getting the people’s plan approved

AMVACA located a parcel of idle land also spanning the border of Valenzuela and Caloocan. IPD researched its title and sent a letter to the owner asking if he would be amenable to selling, which he was. KM reached out to two NGOs that specialize in building homes for poor communities: Habitat for Humanity and Gawad Kalinga, and one private developer to meet with AMVACA to hear the community’s needs, and then propose designs. Both Habitat for Humanity and Gawad Kalinga’s designs had to be struck from consideration because their estimates were too expensive. However, other developers heard of the project and considered it attractive: it was a large project and payment was guaranteed up front by the national government. Eventually, KM and the

AMVACA leadership accepted proposals from three private developers and the

AMVACA membership voted on the one they would accept and submit to government to be financed.

According to the mechanism established by the NTWG, proposals were to be submitted to the NHA. Throughout 2012, AMVACA and KM kept the NHA apprised of, and sought the NHA’s approval and guidance over the process they were going through.

At twice-monthly meetings, AMVACA urged the NHA to formulate guidelines for the approval of people’s plans, which they did not do. By July/August 2013, AMVACA and

KM felt that their proposal was ready. Fearing that AMVACA members would lose faith in the people’s plan, they decided they would no longer wait for the NHA, which showed no signs of moving forward.

At the NTWG level, KM appealed to UP-All and allies from other agencies, particularly the National Anti-Poverty Commission, the DILG, and the DSWD to take authority over the approval of financing for people’s plans out of the NHA, and place it

111 with the Social Housing Finance Corporation (SHFC). The SHFC is a government- controlled corporation whose job it is to provide loans for low-income housing projects.

It was created in 2004 by executive order largely because the existing government- controlled corporation tasked with providing loans, the National Home Finance

Corporation (NHFC), had not recovered from its near-bankruptcy during the Asian financial crisis. The NTWG agreed to move the financing window to SHFC. It is important to also note how KM and UP-All were able to use political dynamics within the NTWG to get this change. Presidents and Vice Presidents in the Philippines are not elected on a single ticket, and Vice President Binay was perceived to be a rival of

President Aquino by several of the agencies that were members of the NTWG. Those agency heads were all too happy to have a legitimate excuse to take power away from the direct control of the NHA.

AMVACA thus pulled out its proposal from NHA and submitted it instead to

SHFC and the DILG. Approval of the AMVACA proposal was on the agenda for SHFC’s

October 2013 board meeting. Unfortunately for AMVACA and KM, Vice President

Binay, as head of NHA, also sat on the board of SHFC. He blocked approval of the proposal, using the same reasoning that he needed a legal opinion on the plan and a finalized Implementing Rules and Regulations from the agency. During the November board meeting, Binay again refused to approve the proposal, saying he needed another board meeting to approve the Implementing Rules and Regulations. There were no board meetings held in December and January of 2014. KM perceived this as an intentional delay and once more decided to act outside of the agreed-upon procedures. In December and January, KM organized two public demonstrations. The first was an occupation of the

SHFC building during its office hours wherein demonstrators occupied the first four

112 floors for the entire workday. The second time KM tried a mobilization tactic, SHFC

closed its office for the day, and so KM held its demonstration in front of the building, in

full view of the media. Following the demonstrations, however, SHFC announced that the

next board meeting would be held on February 7, 2014, and that it would include

unresolved items from the October agenda, which included the approval of the AMVACA

project.35

KM invested heavily in extra-institutional advocacy surrounding the February 7th board meeting. KM raised money to take out a full-page ad in the National Inquirer, the country’s biggest and most respected national daily newspaper, accusing Binay of delaying the people’s plan. Around noontime on the 6th, KM asked JV Bautista, a personality of one of the leftist blocs who was, at the time, the interim secretary general of Binay’s party to call Binay and ask him about the housing issue. Finally, KM secretary general, Buboy Magahis brought one of the most respected leaders of the left, Ana Maria

“Princess” Nemenzo to the Vice President’s office in the afternoon, hoping to catch Binay on his way out. They were gambling on the idea that Binay would be sure to recognize

Nemenzo, and that she would be able to speak with him for a few minutes.36 Binay did indeed recognize Nemenzo, and assured her that the AMVACA project was “99% approved.”

The next day, KM again staged a rally outside the Vice President’s office, where the board meeting was being held. This time, they secured approval and were cleared to begin building. AMVACA was the first housing project to gain approval under the P50

35 Official SHFC documents say that the AMVACA housing project received approval during the December 2013 board meeting. However, interviewees from KM and AMVACA insisted that there was no board meeting until February and that official records merely backdated the approval date.

36 Binay himself had a history with the leftist movement as an activist during martial law and a human rights lawyer who defended martial law victims. Binay was also active in the mobilizations against President Arroyo, which provided another occasion to work with the blocs in Laban ng Masa. 113

billion special resettlement fund. As of this writing, thirteen other people’s plans that will house approximately 15,000 families have been approved, while another 30 people’s plans serving 25,000 families are in the pipeline.

3.8 Discussion

As the institutional arrangements in the Philippines changed, so changed the kinds of organizations working on the issue. The onset of democracy resulted in organizations that concentrated on advocacy for a law that would officially recognize the right to housing and demand that the national and local governments take responsibility for identifying available land and relocating informal settler families in a dignified and sustainable manner. The passage of UDHA again resulted in organizations specializing in the legal intricacies, in organizing homeowner associations according to the law’s requisites, and in negotiating with government officials at various points in the resettlement process. A division of labor along the lines of skills, sector, territory, and ideology is apparent throughout the AMVACA case. There was a clear delineation among the tasks that each organization took on, based on their specialized skills. KM dealt with identifying and organizing informal settler communities, and really guiding them through the people’s plan process. IPD and IPSCED provided technical expertise on specific topics, such as bureaucratic and legal requirements and building cooperatives. At the same time, friendly government agencies, such as the NAPC and DILG were effective negotiators with other agencies perceived as not so friendly to the informal settler movement, such as the NHA and Department of Finance.

The ability to work with government should also be thought of as a kind of skill- based specialization. NUPCO began decidedly outside of government, with the explicit purpose of challenging the government’s legitimacy. Later, as KM it was able to

114 participate in government processes to design policy. Far from being token participants, or co-opted groups used to lend the government legitimacy, both KM and UP-All made meaningful policy contributions, so much so that the main thrust of the state’s program for resettlement was adopted from their programs. At the same time, they knew when to use extra-institutional tactics, such as the occupation of the SHFC building, when there were choke points that could not be overcome through official processes.

This influence would not have been possible without actors in key government position who, themselves, identified themselves as allies and members of the urban poor social movement. The Secretaries of Budget and the National Anti-Poor Commission themselves had histories of organizing informal settler communities and developing programs for the sector through NGOs. The Secretary of Interior had garnered the support of informal settler organizations and NGOs while he was mayor of Naga City, and so regularly took UP-All and KM’s side when there were disagreements with the

Finance Department and National Housing Administration. These actors were not mere targets of social movement mobilization, they themselves became part of the movement as “co-conspirators” as they actively strategized with the other SMOs outside of the state about how to deal with opponents and overcome implementation challenges.

The importance of sectoral specialization can be observed in the purposeful creation of organizations specific to, and comprised of, informal settler communities by different ideological organizations. Laban ng Masa created NUPCO in order to concentrate on the specific needs of and better appeal to informal settler communities.

Later, KM was created to absorb informal settler organizations without the confine of

Marxist ideologies. UP-All and KADAMAY were also created as informal settler-specific organizations linked to particular ideological tendencies. All of these organizations were

115 comprised of informal settlers themselves, as opposed to merely allies or experts in the

field. This afforded the movement and their demands, particularly the concept of a

people’s plan, a stronger perception of legitimacy.

Territorial delineations between organizations occur naturally in the informal settler sector because of the nature of the issue. Residents living in the same communities not only interact with each other more, but have to deal with the same issues like the same land titles, local government, and notices of demolition. In the informal settler movement, however, rival federations rarely actively compete for influence in particular territories. There were numerous interviews when, while speaking about known slums and danger zones, the interviewee would say, “that’s a KM area” or “that’s an UP-All

area.” This meant not only that the community organizations were already allied with one

of the big federations, but that another federation would not try to encroach on the area.

Leaders in the federations felt that there were more than enough communities in need of

help that it was senseless to compete in the same territories. Furthermore, they did not

want to unnecessarily antagonize rivals knowing that at some point they would have to

cooperate with these rivals against other policy enemies. There were instances when the community organizations themselves chose to stop working with a particular federation and reached out to another federation. In these cases, the federations generally accepted the will of the community organization.

Strong ideological differences between the various SMOs served more to contribute to the successful adoption of people’s plans more than they hurt it. UP-All appealed strongly to those who strongly supported the Aquino government and church- based organizations. KM saw itself as a more left-leaning group, and was able to appeal even to those who had serious reservations about the Aquino government. NUPCO was

116 retained as a political arm that could be utilized to sharply criticize the government along ideological and policy lines without damaging the name of KM or its ability to negotiate with the state. KADAMAY refused to engage the Aquino government or its urban resettlement program. Nevertheless, it did not encroach on areas affiliated with other federations, block negotiations with local governments, or try to openly malign or discredit UP-All’s and KM’s position on people’s plan nor their engagement with the

Aquino government and the P50 billion program. Unwittingly, KADAMAY’s hardline stance and reputation for violence may have even contributed to the success of

AMVACA’s people’s plan by making KM appear to be a more reasonable partner.

The ownership and empowerment of informal settler communities was a consistent theme throughout the Philippine housing movement, and particularly in the

AMVACA case. The development of and advocacy for people’s plans as a concept centered around the participation and ownership of affected communities in nearly every step of the resettlement process. Proponents argued that settlements constructed via people’s plan would be more sustainable. As the communities would choose their own resettlement sites and designs, residents would be more invested in the long-term success of the community and less likely to subsequently abandon the resettlement sites.

Allowing communities to oversee the construction process was also expected to reduce corruption: as opposed to government bureaucrats overseeing the construction of homes for other people, communities would be overseeing the construction of their own homes, and thus would be more likely to hold builders accountable for the quality of their work.

Furthermore, the very act of self-organizing and making the various collective decisions that are part of the people’s plan process emphasize ownership and participation.

Important, substantive decisions related to the relocation were required to be made

117 through open and participatory processes. KM, IPD, and IPSCED invested effort and resources to assisting and train AMVACA leaders and members, with the goal of enabling them to run the organization and engage the state as well as private sector effectively. At the same time, AMVACA always maintained autonomy from these other groups, with the

NGOs emphasizing that the informal settler families themselves had to be the main drivers.

118 CHAPTER 4

CABACEIRAS

4.1 Introduction

In December 2008, the Cabaceiras Estate in Pará, Brazil, was expropriated under agrarian reform after a 9-year struggle. It was the first estate expropriated for not fulfilling a “social function,” a rarely-utilized requirement that land reform and social equality advocates insisted be part of Brazil’s 1988 Constitution. The long process that led to the Cabaceiras Estate’s eventual dispropriation37 was a combination of non-state

SMOs employing disruptive, extra-institutional tactics, non-state SMOs employing

institutional means, state actors dealing and bargaining directly with the non-state SMOs,

and activist individuals within state agencies working towards the dispropriation.

37 MST activists distinguish between “dispropriation” and “expropriation.” Although most works on Brazilian land reform refer to the process as “expropriation,” the MST points out that despite what are often contentious processes, the state still pays landlords for the land, and so they insist on using “dispropriation” (Bechara 2015). 119 Figure 4.1 Location of the 26th of March Camp on the Cabaceiras Estate38

In Brazil and many other developing and recently democratic countries, land access and ownership remain the source of much political and economic inequality. Thus, many progressive social movements came to view land redistribution as an integral part of democratization, particularly in terms of making democracy meaningful to traditionally marginalized sectors of society. Redistributing land from economically and politically powerful landed families was furthermore a means to weaken rural bosses, and accordingly, their domination over local politics.

The campaign for the dispropriation of the Cabaceiras estate challenged the

Mutrans, a powerful family that leveraged its considerable landholdings to dominate agricultural (and thus, economic) activity, local governance, and political life. Moreover,

38 SOURCE: Castro and Watrin 2013 120 the Cabaceiras estate was the first to be distributed largely due to the existence of slavery- like conditions. Thus, Cabaceiras represented a victory in terms of land inequality, challenging local monopolies of power, and labor rights.

We observe specialization occur along dimensions of skills, sectors, territorial influence, and ideology. Different organizations concentrated on different functions, including organizing the occupation itself, research and data gathering and presentation, and relating with government officials. While the rural landless had their own organizations and drove the campaign, non-landless sectors, including student and urban worker groups, lent support by mobilizing their own constituents for mass actions. While the SMOs most responsible for the Cabaceiras campaign and its outcome, the MST and the CPT, are national organizations, the courses of action they followed in this case were determined by independent chapters with jurisdiction over the actions taken in Pará.

Finally, the MST and CPT also represented different positions along the ideological spectrum. While the MST preferred a hardline stance and disruptive tactics, the CPT tended to negotiate with government agencies.

Notably as well, people within government worked to move forward claims of slavery-like conditions and the legality of the occupation towards the eventual dispropriation. The Cabaceiras case highlights the permeable barrier between state and society. It also exemplifies how, particularly when government institutions are immature and characterized by a high level of discretion among individual officials, progressive officials and activists can have a symbiotic relationship with the former, often depending on the latter to realize written law and constitutional principles.

The Cabaceiras case also demonstrates the emphasis movements placed on sectoral ownership and internal participatory processes. The tactic of land occupation

121 requires high levels of dedication and discipline among participants with very little to no immediate material rewards, and so decision-making processes that involved participants functioned to maintain morale and buy-in. Moreover, given the sheer size of the encampment, which reached as many as 1,600 families, the MST organizers developed a way of organizing the families in a way that not only acted as a system of self- government, but also as a mechanism for widespread consultations and participatory decision-making. In this way, the MST was able to legitimately claim that the actions taken during the nearly decade-long campaign were decided upon by the residents themselves, and not merely by some rival landed elite family or outside “communist” opportunists. At the same time, the encampment became a working experiment of democracy.

4.2 History of agrarian reform movement in Brazil

The biggest country by land in the western hemisphere, Brazil is also one of the most unequal in terms of land ownership. Official agrarian census statistics from 1996 recorded that 1% of landholders controlled 45% of agrarian land, while 37% of small landholders controlled only 1% of land (IBGE 1996). The first organized movements advocating for agrarian reform spread around the Northeast of Brazil beginning around

1945. These activities primarily involved landless sugar workers, sharecroppers, and tenant farmers and were supported by the Communist Party of Brazil.

Unrest over land quickly spread to other parts of the country, particularly the

South. In January 1962, the southern state of Rio Grande do Sul witnessed the country’s first land occupation that resulted in the government expropriating an estate and redistributing vast tracts of it to landless workers. The Natalino’s Crossing campaign has

122

been compared to the Montgomery Bus Boycott in how it shocked public attention and brought the issue of agrarian reform to the national stage (Carter 2003).

These activities helped successfully make agrarian reform a central issue of the short-lived administration of João Goulart, who became president of Brazil in 1961, after the preceding president resigned. The Rural Worker Statute passed into law under Goulart in 1963, which theoretically gave landless rural workers the same rights as urban workers. Landlords, however, reacted to the Rural Worker Statute by dismissing workers en masse. In response to both the communist-linked organizing and the sudden influx of unemployed rural workers, Catholic Church leaders began organizing Rural Workers’

Unions (Sindicatos dos Trabalhadores Rurais, STR). However, organized advocacy by peasant groups, as well as Goulart’s proposed Bill of Agrarian Reform, were quickly halted with the Military Coup of 1964 (Sabourin 2008).

The military government passed its own Land Statute in 1964. On its face, the statute enabled the government to expropriate unproductive land for redistribution, while offering generous compensation to landowners. However, its key purpose was as part of the government’s plan for agricultural modernization, including the colonization of land in the Cerrados and Amazon regions for the purpose of large-volume agricultural production for export. There was no serious effort to redistribute land to rural workers or landless peasants, nor to raise rural incomes, and the power of legal expropriation was rarely used to halt violent land conflicts occurring throughout the nation (Rodriguez

2009, 87-88; Fernandes 1999, 33). The Land Statute essentially functioned to legitimize the existence of large rural landholdings (Wright and Wolford 2003).

The military government’s approach to agricultural modernization involved mechanization, land concentration, and the expulsion of rural poor from their households,

123 leaving thousands of small farmers poorer and out of work, and fueling widespread migration to the cities. Pockets of church- and nonchurch-aligned STRs existed around the country, although government repression and censorship of media made their activities largely invisible outside of activist circles. The growing frustrations of the poor rural sector publicly erupted in 1978, when over 1,100 people squatting on the Nonoai native reserve were violently expelled by the indigenous, legal owners of the land. The government sent half the families to relocate in the Amazon, while over 300 families occupied two government farms (Macali and Brilhante) that were remnants of the Sarandi estate, the object of victory of the Natalino’s Crossing movement a generation before.

Between 1979 and 1980, over 400 families joined the occupations, which, after much tension and violence, resulted in the release of the Macali estate to the peasants and the assurance of another homestead in Rio Grande do Sul. Yet, about 140 families were still without land (Carter 2003).

Between September and November 1980, peasant community leaders, the progressive priest of the local Catholic parish and other religious leaders, and general people of “good will” [including João Pedro Stédile who would later go on to be one of the founders of the Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra (Landless Rural

Workers’ Movement, MST)] began organizing a new landless mobilization. By July

1981, 600 families joined a new wave of occupation, again at Natalino’s Crossing. The

Natalino mobilizations again brought agrarian reform to the national stage. The drama between the activists and Catholic Church on one side, against the authoritarian government who, for a time, imposed a military takeover of the peasant camp, played out on national media, generating sympathy for the peasants. A mix of public pressure, direct lobbying and church purchase of private land resulted in 85% of the families receiving

124

land by November 1983 (Carter 2003, 42) and the remaining families settled by August

1984 (46). The prominence of the Natalino’s Crossing mobilizations and their relative success helped establish occupation as the primary repertoire of the landless movement.

The primacy of occupations as a strategy would be later reinforced by public opinion and

Brazilian law.

Natalino’s crossing was the most prominent of several successful land occupations in Southern Brazil. The tactic quickly spread to other regions of the country, encouraged by the establishment of the Landless Rural Workers’ Movement (Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra, MST), which was officially founded in 1984 and adopted land occupations as its official primary means of struggle (MST). In 1985, the government responded with the National Program for Agrarian Reform (Programa

Nacional de Reforma Agrária, PNRA), which promised to settle 1.4 million families in four years (Leite 2008). While the process of writing the Constitution of 1988 was dominated by elite rural interests, land reform proponents were able to include the requirement that the Brazilian government “expropriate for the purpose of agrarian reform, rural property that is not performing its social function” (Article 184).

The first PNRA ended in 1989 as an utter failure, only having settled about 6% of its target families (Ferreira 1994). In the early 1990s, Congress continued debating about how the constitutionally-mandated “social function” should be judged and measured in practice, and how the process of dispropriation should work. A new Agrarian Law was passed in February of 199339, which defined the “social function” requirement in the constitution as: (1) rational and adequate use; (2) adequate use of available natural

39 Left-wing lawmakers, particularly those from the Partido dos Trabalhadores (PT), met regularly with agrarian reform advocates, particularly from the MST, in order to craft their policy stances and arguments. 125 resources and preservation of the environment; (3) compliance with the provisions which regulate labor relations; and (4) exploitation which favors the well-being of the owners and workers. If the National Institute of Colonization and Agrarian Reform (Instituto

Nacional de Colonização e Reforma Agraria, INCRA) found at least 80% of a parcel of land under question was not found to be fulfilling its social function, it would declare the land unproductive and then direct the president to issue a dispropriation decree. The dispropriation process would have to be completed within two years.40 In addition to regulating the dispropriation process, the law prescribed that landless should be resettled in the same region where they lived (Nederveen Pieterse and Cardoso 1993, 109).

The adoption of the 1993 Agrarian Law was viewed as the legal legitimization of the agrarian struggle. Furthermore, the process it prescribed for enacting dispropriations functioned to encourage occupations. The state generally does not initiate dispropriations, but rather, responds to competing claims about land use. These claims are usually through direct action in the form of land occupation as the communities seeking dispropriation must be able to demonstrate that they are willing and capable to work the land in question in a manner acceptable under the Agrarian Law. In addition to the Agrarian Law, two high-profile massacres in landless occupations brought the question of land reform to the national stage in the mid 1990s. Then-President Cardoso also signaled that he would be more responsive to grassroots pressure for land reform compared to previous presidents, especially in the light of urban public opinion (Ondetti 2011; Hammond and Rossi 2013).

The period from 1995-1999 was characterized by a huge upsurge in land occupations

(2,209 occupations compared to 420 in the previous 4-year period, according to

Rodriguez 2009). The occupation of the Cabaceiras estate was planned and began at this

40 This gave the President great power over land dispropriation decisions. However, in practice, landlords have used judicial measures to delay the dispropriation procedures. 126 time of social movement activity and seeming government openness to dispropriation via

occupation.

4.3 The state of Pará as a location of conflict

The state of Pará lies in the central-northern part of Brazil, and is where one finds

the lower Amazon rainforest. It was one of the states most aggressively targeted for land

colonization and development by the Brazilian military dictatorship in the 1960s and 70s

and thousands of people flocked to southeast of Pará for work and a promise of their own

parcel of land. However, the government’s land policy favored large estates and

companies over small farmers, and Pará became a locus of dispute, characterized by land

occupations in protest of high levels of land concentration, summary executions of social

movement leaders, and the utilization of slavery-like conditions on large agribusiness

estates (Barros 2011, 25). Pará became the country’s most deadly state for agrarian

conflicts, witnessing 456 land-related killings between 1985 and 2010. The next deadliest

state, Maranhñao, placed a distant second with 124 killings (Zimerman 2012 and 2015).

The Cabaceiras estate is located in the city of Marabá, the fourth-largest city in

Pará. It was owned by the Mutran family, a powerful oligarchic family engaged in land- grabbing as early as 1936, when the then-governor of Pará permitted Nagib Mutran to seize a property inhabited by the Gavião indigenous group for the purposes of agricultural development. By the late 1980s, the Mutran family controlled over 131,000 hectares of land in Marabá and the neighboring municipality of São João do Araguaia

(Emmi 1999). In addition to land, the Mutran family had a virtual monopoly over the sale and transportation of Brazil nuts, the region’s major product in addition to rubber.

Economic power and political power were self-reinforcing as the Mutrans also came to hold public office. Members of the Mutran clan have rotated in and out of government

127 since the 1930s, at various times being state legislators, mayor of Marabá, and city

legislators (Sakamoto 2004). Accordingly, their connections and influence in the region

were intimidating.

The Mutrans also had a history of violence. The Pastoral Land Commission

(Commissão Pastoral da Terra, CPT) recorded that the Mutrans were involved in 5 of the

21 violent land conflicts in Marabá from 1976 to 1984. In 1991, Oswaldo “Vavá” Mutran, then a state legislator, and his son, Nagib Neto, were subjects of a Congressional

Commission of Inquiry on Rural Violence (Comissão Parlamentar de Inquérito de

Violência no Campo, CPI) for various alleged crimes, including eleven assassinations of rural workers, employing minors as street sweepers, and sexual abuse of minors. The CPI has no power to prosecute (only to suggest legislation), and no member of the Mutran family was convicted of the investigated crimes. A 1992 Human Rights Watch report indicated that the Mutran’s ties to the political and judicial worlds seemed to have afforded them impunity (Rone 1992).

At 774 hectares, the Cabaceiras estate was one of the Mutrans’ largest and most prized productive landholdings. Like other Mutran properties, it was also long-rumored to be the site of inhumane labor conditions, summary killings, and clandestine cemeteries for worker remains. As a result, in the 1980s and 90s, the Cabaceiras estate became a desired target of local agrarian reform advocates, including the Federation of Agricultural

Workers in Pará (Federação dos Trabalhadores na Agricultura no Pará, FETAGRI), and the Pastoral Land Commission (Comissão Pastoral da Terra, CPT). On their own, however, these groups felt they did not have the strength to mount a meaningful threat to the Mutrans. This calculation changed with the entrance of the MST.

128 FETAGRI,41 the federation of STRs in Pará, was founded in 1968 as an alliance of rural labor unions advocating for wage increases, job security, and worker benefits such as social security and healthcare (see Houtzager 1998). While FETAGRI had experience with worker strikes and other issue campaigns, sustained, large-scale occupations had not been a successful part of its repertoire. The CPT is an arm of the

National Catholic Bishops’ Conference of Brazil (Conferência Nacional dos Bispos do

Brasil, CNBB). Founded in 1975, the CPT was initially envisaged as a pastoral service to the struggling rural population. As such, the CPT focused on educating rural workers and developing “organic intellectuals” among their ranks. Among its goals were capacitating rural workers to design alternatives to the landlord-dominated economic structure and assisting rural workers in struggles for social and economic rights (see CEDIC; da Silva

2005; Cassia; Zimerman 2015). In addition to educating rural populations, the grassroots nature and wide coverage of the CPT also put it in an ideal position to document and record information about rural struggles. Its regular report, Conflitos no Campo, is generally considered the most reliable and comprehensive source for data on land-related violence, especially when many local courts and government agencies in conflict areas are susceptible to the influence of landlords. The CPT also lent an important voice in publicly advocating for workers’ rights and denouncing violence, amplified by the cultural and moral weight of the Catholic Church.

STRs in southeastern Pará, and across Brazil, had a long history of working with the CPT, the latter acting as a technical and moral resource for the former. CPT- influenced STRs had engaged in sporadic spontaneous occupations without achieving much success. The MST, however, distinguished itself from both the rural unions and the

41 Affiliated at the national level with the National Confederation of Agricultural Workers (Confederação Nacional dos Trabalhadores na Agricultura, CONTAG) and the CUT. 129 CPT in that it was an organization that specifically tasked itself with and specialized in

high-value occupations in highly contentious land conflicts.42 Whereas FETAGRI was a member-based organization exclusively for rural workers and the CPT did have organizing as one of its core functions, the MST recruited, trained, and organized almost anyone who was willing to participate in the land occupation in order to obtain land to live and work, including landless workers, children of poor workers who wanted land of their own, and others (Zimmerman 2015).

Founded in 1984 by veterans of Natalino’s Crossing and other highly-publicized occupations, the MST’s presence in Pará began in the late 1980s when some members of the rural workers’ section of the United Workers’ Central (Central Única dos

Trabalhadores, CUT) in the capital city of Belém in northern Pará learned about the MST and decided to break away from regular union work. They felt there was a need to pursue agrarian justice through direct action in the rural areas, and not just centered in Belém.

While the CUT leadership in Belém did not necessarily agree with the break, they also desired to expand the movement for workers’ rights to the rural areas of the south, and so helped facilitate the MST’s expansion (Gomes 67-68).

The MST-Pará founders began recruiting other labor leaders they knew from southeastern Pará and creating relationships with STRs in the area. While most STRs appeared to welcome their arrival, the CPT was initially wary that the MST would compete with them and encourage violence. The MST responded by focusing first on organizing areas where there was no CPT presence, so as to demonstrate respect and avoid conflict, while continuing to call for regular meetings between the MST core

42 While the MST engages in a range of advocacy strategies, including media outreach, negotiations with government officials, international solidarity, policy and economic research, and urban demonstrations, it maintains that its primary form of struggle is the land occupation (Cassia 2015). 130

organizers, CPT leadership, FETAGRI leaders, and like-minded NGOs to build unity around a unified vision and shared tasking43 (Gomes 71-72; Filho 2002).

By 1991, the MST had established a secretariat office in Marabá. In the next years the MST organized relatively small-scale occupations in estates in the region, the first one with just 35 families in the municipality of Xinguará, gaining a reputation despite a mixed record of success. In addition to actual rural occupations, the MST secretariat also organized regular education and advocacy activities in Marabá proper targeted towards urban workers, students, NGO workers, and left partisans.

4.4 The occupation of Cabaceiras

Like the STRs and the CPT, the MST also had Cabaceiras on its radar. The

Mutrans were a high-value target. Winning a victory against them would be highly symbolic and was predicted to have a ripple effect for other Mutran landholdings as well as on other oligarchs in southeastern Pará. Additionally, defeating the Mutrans would have ramifications on local government as a whole given the Mutrans’ grip on local electoral politics. With this target in mind, the MST built its strength, expertise, and sympathy form the general public and other civil organizations in Marabá in the period from 1991 to 1999.

The occupation of Cabaceiras, leading to its eventual dispropriation nine years later, can be analyzed in three stages. First, the buildup and early days of the occupation, characterized by tense conflict played out in the public eye. During this first stage, the

43 Groups targeted by the MST for cooperation included: CPT, STR de Marabá; Centro de Pesquisa e Assessoria Sindical e Popular (CEPASP); Sociedade Paraense de Defesa dos Direitos Humanos (SPDDH); Movimento de Educação de Base (MEB); Federação de órgãos para Assistência Social e Educacional (FASE); e Fundação Agrária do Tocantins Araguaia (FATA) (Filho 2002). The objective was to construct a mechanism for coordination based not just on ideology, but on concrete help and structural conditions to start base-building. 131

MST placed itself in direct conflict with not only the Mutran family, but with the state

apparatus, and relied on a non-government coalition participating in and supporting civil

disobedience to provide public pressure. The second stage saw the social movement

organizations working jointly with government agencies in the formal dispropriation

process. This stage is characterized by a learning process wherein the SMOs navigated

among government agencies that could be potential allies. The SMOs learned that they

were more likely to gain allies at federal government agencies rather than local levels,

that there more openness towards their cause in the Public Attorneys’ offices (responsible

for investigating and sanctioning inhumane working conditions) than in INCRA

(responsible for classifying land productivity), and that the social movement

organizations involved in the campaign were better able to demonstrate and rally

supporters around working conditions analogous to slavery than environmental or

economic justice concerns. In the third stage, social movement organizations worked with

select government institutions at the federal and state levels to defend and implement the

presidential expropriation order.

4.4.1 Stage 1: Beginning and early months of the Cabaceiras occupation

Two catalysts occurred on March 26, 1998. First, two MST activists were killed in

another land conflict in the nearby municipality of Parauapebas, enraging their comrades

and making them want to exact revenge on a high-level target. Second, the Mutrans made

their first formal move against the MST regarding Cabaceiras, filing for an act of

prohibitory interdiction44 in the civil court of Marabá. Their petition asked the court to

impose a R$50 per day fine for anyone that might trespass on the Cabaceiras property.

44 Prohibitory interdiction (ação de interdito proibitório) is a preventative judicial action meant to protect a party under threat from invasion of property.

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The petition argued this was necessary to thwart the “spark of occupation” after two MST coordinators told local journalists and a local television station that they were planning to enter Cabaceiras. The petition also asked the court that, should occupation occur, the prohibitory interdiction should automatically convert into a warrant for repossession. The next day, on March 27, the judge granted the expedition of the prohibitory interdiction, calling the MST “audacious and irresponsible”, and saying that local social movements did not behave as rural workers, but rather as “bands of barbarian invaders from the

Middle Ages” (Barros 2011, 159).

An emboldened MST gave itself one year to meet this challenge. The groundwork part of the preparation alone lasted three months and involved over fifty people from the MST and allied groups recruiting and training occupiers from 8 municipalities.45 On March 26, 1999, between 950 and 1,600 families set up camp in

Cabaceiras (Miranda; Gomes). Although this may appear to be a large number of families for the parcel of land in dispute (assuming all the families stayed, they could only receive a maximum of two acres each), the hope of land ownership and the independence it could afford was attractive to many families who owned no land or regular work. Moreover, by the mid 1990s, the MST was already experimenting with spreading agricultural technology to its areas and forming and managing for-profit cooperatives. Many families placed faith in the idea that eventually the land could become collectively profitable at a rate sufficient to sustain their basic needs. The police, overwhelmed by the number of occupants, did not serve warrants.

45 Marabá, Jacundá, Eldorado dos Carajás, Curionópolis, Serra Pelada, Parauapebas, São João do Araguaia, and Itupiranga. 133

Figure 4.2 Day 1 of the occupation on March 26, 199946

In April 1999, the Committee for the Mediation of Agrarian Conflicts (Comitê de

Mediação de Conflitos Agrários), a state-level agency, stepped in to mediate between the

MST and INCRA. INCRA agreed that it would begin the administrative process to dispropriate Cabaceiras, and that, as proof, it would have the first technical site visit within 30 days. In turn, the MST occupiers agreed to be temporarily resettled at a place outside of the estate, near Sororó River, with the wary acknowledgement that this could be a threat to disturb the momentum of the occupation. Inevitably, INCRA did not conduct the survey and the MST returned to Cabaceiras.

46 SOURCE: MST-Pará 134 The MST returned on June 10, 1999.47 This time, they occupied a place near the estate headquarters, which was also closer to highway BR 155 and thus offered them better visibility to the public (Zonta 2012). On the way back, some occupiers took what they thought to be scrap wood in order to rebuild camp. Twenty were arrested (4 were later released for being minors) and jailed in Marabá proper. The MST and the urban alliance it had developed, including progressive sections of the Catholic Church, STR members and their family members, and members and students aligned with the Workers’

Party and Communist Party of Brazil staged a street manifestation in downtown Marabá.

The prisoners were released after only 17 days, however, they were accompanied by 400 military police, supposedly with special instructions to guarantee that they returned without incident. Both the MST-led coalition and the state security apparatus were flexing their muscle in these early days.

In these early days, the MST also had a surprising ally. Ubiratan Cazetta was an attorney at the Ministério Público Federal (MPF) of Pará, a kind of federal prosecutor with autonomy from the state whose mandate is to protect social rights involving the public interest in federal cases. Cazetta had been with the MPF for three years, after completing his education at the University of São Paulo. The workers that had been at

Cabaceiras long before the MST arrived knew of the rumored clandestine cemetery where the Mutrans hid workers’ remains, and brought the MST leadership to it. The MST informed Cazetta, who, on July 7, 1999, requested the federal police to conduct a fact- finding mission. Five days later, on July 12th, a team from the Civil Police together with

the Medical Legal Institute (Instituto Médico Legal, IML), an attached agency of the state

47 During occupations, the MST provides some food and some tents or light building materials sourced primarily from donations. However, most families provide for their own material needs by continuing informal work they engaged in before joining the occupation. As these occupations often last years, they become functioning tent communities. 135

Department for Public Safety responsible for medical examinations related to police inquiries, arrived from Belém to analyze the human remains (O Liberal). The discovery gained national media attention, gaining sympathy for the MST and putting more pressure on the Mutran family. This also began closer coordination between Cazetta and the MST as the latter continued to provide witnesses to help build Cazetta’s case as well as guides for investigators.

The Marabá branch of INCRA attempted to dissipate the conflict. While none of the activists this author interviewed could point to direct collusion between the Mutran family and Marabá-based INCRA officials at the time, all interviewees seemed to take for granted that the Mutrans’ influence would extend to this office through money, the promise of future government appointments or sanctions, or other sources of pressure. In the activists’ view, INCRA already demonstrated that it was not an ally when it did not send a survey team as promised in April. On July 16, the Marabá INCRA branch tried again to broker a deoccupation by calling a meeting to offer the MST relocation in the

Gleba Carajás district of Marabá. The MST leadership declined, saying that Gleba

Carajás was an inhospitable environment that did not offer “the minimal conditions for survival” (Barros 2011, 163). Beyond that, however, the MST interpreted INCRA’s call to negotiate as a sign of weakness. They knew that the MPF was on its side and that public opinion would continue to be swayed to its side when more details about the clandestine cemetery became public. Furthermore, given that the goals of the occupation were not only to win land for the settlers, but also to break the Mutrans’ perceived invincibility, agreeing to an alternate settlement would be tantamount to a defeat that would alienate members as well as allies.

The MST’s refusal to leave the Cabaceiras campsite a second time was met with

136 the news that the police would force a relocation. Occupiers at the campsite responded by installing large wooden crosses symbolizing the 1996 Massacre at Eldorado dos Carajás, an instance when military police killed 19 MST members in a nearby municipality under orders to clear the occupation site. The Massacre had again brought the land reform question to the national stage and was considered a milestone for the MST’s public notoriety, as well as a wake-up call to the country about rural violence perpetrated by the state. Invoking the Christian symbolism as well as the Massacre at Eldorado dos Carajás dramatized the ensuing dispersal that turned violent.

Figure 4.3 1999 Dispersal of Fazenda Cabaceiras48

The violent dispersal was enough to convince many families to leave the occupation. Some of the remaining families occupied Mogno Plaza, directly in front of the INCRA office in Marabá, again with the support of urban sympathizers. These

48 SOURCE: J. Sobrinho 137 sympathizers were especially important because, away from land that enabled the care of

vegetables and livestock, the MST occupiers had no other means of accessing food and

potable water. After three days, with no progress in negotiations with INCRA, only about

400 families returned to Cabaceiras, this time occupying an area of 81 hectares near the

PA 150 highway.

The violent dispersal and resulting loss of families and its strategic camp

position near the BR 155 highway was a major setback for the MST. The fast-paced

events of the first few months of the occupation were a whirlwind that, at times, seemed

like momentum. The force of numbers was on the MST’s side, but the loss of numbers

following the violent dispersal eventually proved to be beyond the MST’s control without

the backing of allies from within the state apparatus.

During the period from 2000-2003, the MST was essentially in a defensive position, trying to protect its reputation in a publicity war against Mutran-backed accusations that the MST was inciting violence, damaging water systems, intimidating estate workers, and that leaders were corrupt and taking advantage of rank-and-file members, among other controversies. At the same time, the MST was striving to consolidate the families as a self-sustaining community with agriculture, basic education and health services, security, and social and ideological development. As this was going on, the formal fate of the encampment was being played out primarily by different government agencies with the support of non-government actors.

4.4.2 Stage 2: Working with institutional actors

In July 2000, approximately 14 months after INCRA began the administrative process to investigate dispropriating Cabaceiras, INCRA conducted its first preliminary site visit to determine if the estate was fulfilling its “social function” according to the

138 constitution and Agrarian Law. The preliminary visit had positive results for the MST.

The INCRA technical team categorized Cabaceiras as a “large unproductive property”

and estimated that 338 families could be installed. In November 2000, the joint technical

team of the federal- and state-level environment agencies (IBAMA and SECTAM,

respectively) found that Cabaceiras was not fulfilling its social function from an

environmental standpoint, and recommended the creation of a settlement to prevent the

continuation of uncontrolled illegal logging.49

In early 2001, the federal Ministry of Labor and Employment (Ministério do

Trabalho e Emprego, MTE), upon Cazetta’s recommendation, began to investigate working conditions at Cabaceiras. The MST and CPT played vital roles in what was to be a three-year-long investigation. Among those who had joined the MST encampment were workers who had long been employed at the Cabaceiras estate, and were thus familiar with its history, grounds, conditions, and others still working. As the MST encampment occupied less than 1% of the estate’s entire area, these workers were able to guide the

MTE team to witness actual incidences of slavery-like conditions in the functioning part of the estate still under the Mutran family’s control. The MTE team encountered their first labor violation as early as April 2001, when they found 16-year-old children in

dangerous working conditions.

49 Some have questioned an apparent tension between land being productive and protecting the environment. However, under Brazilian law, land must both be productive and comply with environmental and labor standards in order to qualify as fulfilling its “social function.” The Agrarian Law that stands as of this writing defines the “social function” requirement in the constitution as: (1) rational and adequate use; (2) adequate use of available natural resources and preservation of the environment; (3) compliance with the provisions which regulate labor relations; and (4) exploitation which favors the well-being of the owners and workers. Nevertheless, controversies over how to interpret this social function continue. For example, until 2018, the federal government encouraged the building of hydroelectric dams along the Amazon River, despite the resulting environmental degradation and forced relocation of indigenous communities, citing that the country needed a steady and cheap supply of electricity to develop. 139

After several months of attacking each other in the press and trying to convince various state institutions that they were the victims and the other side the oppressors, tensions between the MST and Mutrans came to another violent head in August 2001.

About 200 armed men came to the estate and detained MST activists, even mistaking some estate workers for MST members, for up to 10 hours. The MST claimed these were private thugs-for-hire under the employ of the Mutran family. The Mutrans claimed that the MST had committed various acts of destruction of property and menacing, and they had merely augmented their security accordingly. On August 23, the MST leaders and

Mutran family and business members were invited to a meeting together with members of the Catholic Church, the Public Attorney’s Office, Federal and Civil Police, and a national arbiter from the federal Department of Agrarian Development. The status of the officials at the meeting signaled how the tension had gotten out of hand. The meeting ended with a pact of non-aggression between MST and the Mutrans, wherein the MST agreed to turn over their members’ weapons. In return, the MST received a guarantee that they would not be ejected from their campsite until the process for dispropriation under

INCRA had been completed, whether it were to be resolved in favor of the MST or the

Mutrans.

This agreement, unsurprisingly, was not the end of the tension. Although sporadic threats and incidents of violence continued to occur, this meeting signaled to the Mutrans that they could not use brute force to eject the occupiers without unwanted attention by state and Church authorities. The Mutran family thus further pursued institutional means to delay, if not stop the land from being dispropriated. The family lodged a formal complaint about INCRA’s preliminary visit and its classification of Cabaceiras as a large unproductive property. In December 2001, INCRA agreed to review these findings,

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which meant they would conduct the preliminary site visit all over again. This second

investigation, conducted in January 2002, found that the estate qualified as productive50

and that labor condition requirements were being met, ignoring completely the MTE’s

findings earlier that year. Furthermore, the report blamed the MST for deforestation and

recommended that legal action be taken against the MST for environmental

degradation.51

This second report did not halt the dispropriation process, as it did not replace the

first report. Rather, both reports were referred to other government agencies, including

the Ministry on Agrarian Development, for resolution and action. However, this second

report created blatant contradictions that resulted in confusion within INCRA and among

other government agencies and provided justification that the Mutrans could use to paint

the MST as disrespectful of the law in their media outreach.

While the chances for dispropriation through the INCRA process appeared to be

becoming bleak, investigations by the MTE and MPF regarding labor conditions on the

estate continued52. There were no less than 4 instances when the MTE roving team discovered and/or rescued workers in slavery-like conditions from 2001-2004. As the occupation continued, the CPT was instrumental in documenting rights abuses, collecting

50 Whereas the first INCRA investigation found about 78% of the estate’s land area to be adequately utilized (with 80% utilization as the threshold to be classified as productive), the second investigation found 100% of the land area to be utilized.

51 While the MST did cut trees for the camp in in order to farm land, the report blamed the over 30% deforestation in the entire estate on the MST, while the MST only occupied about 1% of the estate land area.

52 During this time, the MPF and MTE continued investigating the working conditions on other Mutran-owned properties that were not Cabaceiras. In December 2001, the MTE rescued 54 workers from the Mutran-owned Peruano estate who has not received salaries for months, slept in precarious shelters, and consumed visibly dirty water from the ground (Sakamoto 2007, 24). 141 affidavits, creating a dossier against the Mutrans, providing investigators with leads, and

connecting the MTE and MPF to the victims themselves.

The first instance was the aforementioned discovery of underage workers in

dangerous conditions found in April and May of 2001, after which the Mutran family

agreed to ensure such practices would be stopped. In August 2002, the MTE again found

minors in similar conditions. This time however, the MPF filed a Civil Public Action

(Ação Civil Pública, ACP)53 against the Mutran holding company legally in control of the estate. The Mutrans opted for arbitration and signed a legal agreement with the MPF to correct and not repeat the violations.

However, abuses on the estate continued. In August 2003, three workers walked to the CPT office in downtown Marabá claiming they lived on the estate without clean drinking water or sanitary conditions, that they had been forced to work 27 days without rest, and that they had received no payment for their work. They also claimed there were at least 40 other workers in Cabaceiras in the same conditions. The CPT brought the three workers to the MTE, and convinced the latter to conduct another raid on Cabaceiras, which occurred in October 2003. The team documented 18 legal violations related to working conditions, confirming much of what had been reported to the CPT.

The MPF filed another ACP against the Mutrans in January 2004, asking the judge to fine the Mutrans R$1.35 million. As the case was being processed in the judiciary, however, the MTE’s mobile investigation team was again in Cabaceiras. In

February 2004 the team rescued another 28 workers in similar conditions, including

53 The Public Civil Action Law allows the MP, other government entities, and civil society organizations not directly damaged by the action in question, to bring an ação civil pública to assign civil liability for collective and diffuse offenses, including those related to environmental and social abuses. ACPs are a way to use law not as just an instrument between individuals, but for the collective interests of a society (McAllister 2008, 61).

142 minors (Agencia Brasil 2004). In July 2004, the Mutran family settled the case and

agreed to pay R$ 3.9 million to be deposited in the Workers’ Protection Fund (Fundo de

Amparo ao Trabalhador, FAT). A portion of the fine would be diverted for the direct care

of the rescued victims. This case broke new ground; it was the first successful request for

collective moral damages related to slavery-like conditions in Brazil (ILO 2007).

A breakthrough came on August 31, 2004. The conflicting INCRA reports had

been forwarded to the office of the Legal Advisor in the Department of Agricultural

Development. In a report authored by solicitor Valdez Adriani Farias, the agency pegged

the final utilized land area of the estate at 67%, well below the legally required 80%, and

reclassified the land as a large unproductive property. Relying on the discoveries of the

MTE’s mobile investigative team and the cases filed by the MPF, the report also

unequivocally stated that Cabaceiras had demonstrated working conditions analogous to

slavery and recommended that the Office of the President schedule Cabaceiras for

dispropriation. On October 18, 2004, President Lula da Silva issued a presidential decree

declaring the land as part of the social interest for agrarian reform.

4.4.3 Stage 3: Defending and implementing the dispropriation

The presidential decree was a major victory for the occupiers and their allies.

However, the decree had to be implemented by INCRA in a process that could take years.

INCRA would ultimately determine how much of the estate would be turned over to the

occupiers and transformed into a legal assentamento. An additional, though expected,

obstacle arose in February 2005, when the Mutran family filed a case54 against the government before the Supreme Federal Court (Supremo Tribunal Federal, STF) to stop

54 The motion filed was a mandado de segurança, which is used in cases of state abuse that are not subject to habeas corpus or habeas data. 143 the dispropriation of Cabaceiras. This temporarily halted the INCRA process until a

decision would be issued.

The MST ignited a new round of public protests along the highway and in

downtown Marabá in response to the case. The presidential decree gave the MST’s

messaging a new air of legality and helped leadership convince their own members, who

had now been occupying the area for seven years, that a decisive victory was on the

horizon. At the same time, the MST emphasized making the encampment feel like a

regular and permanent settlement. A major reason why the camp had already been able to

survive for seven years (despite hundreds of families abandoning the camp at various

junctures), was because of its high level of structure and organization. Families in the

camp were divided into 21 núcleos de base of 10 to 12 families each. At the same time,

individuals were organized among sectoral lines to ensure that particular interests were

discussed and represented. The sectoral formations included environment, education,

health, youth, women, and front/unity outreach. Every 5 or 6 núcleos formed a brigada.

The brigada were overseen by the direção coletiva, comprised of one representative for each 5 núcleos as well as two representatives from each sector. While the direção

colectiva formulated policy and tackled big issues, the coordenação da brigada dealt

with the regular coordination between the brigades and was comprised of two

coordinators from each núcleo de base, ten representatives from each sector, and 10

members from the direção da brigade (Gomes e Cunha 2009).

Social movement allies in the state and national legislatures, particularly from the

Workers’ Party, lobbied for and got government resources to establish roads and water

access for the occupiers (Glass 2005). On October 25, 2007, the Federal Agrotechnical

School of Marabá was established through federal law on the encampment premises. This

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was a way of not only making education more accessible to the occupying families, but it also symbolically legitimized the social movement and its advocacy for empowering rural workers and small farmers to engage in financially sustainable agriculture (as opposed to large land concentrations controlled by big agribusiness corporations). The bill to establish the public school in the encampment was filed in July 2006 by Antônio

Carlos Biffi, a Workers’ Party lawmaker from Mato Grosso do Sul, and was a joint project of the MST together with the Workers’ Party (which at the time controlled the presidency and the national congress) wherein the Workers’ Party wanted to expand federal schools and coordinated with the MST to identify target areas (Biifi 2006).

Additionally, as the ongoing court case prohibited INCRA from continuing with its surveying and valuation process, the occupiers procured, at their own expense, a topographer who would survey and valuate the land, as well as draw the boundaries of the lots. The occupiers dialogued with INCRA to make sure this tactic would work, and that the results of the survey would be acceptable to INCRA as soon as the latter was legally able to do so. In addition to expediting the dispropriation process, this was meant to further bolster the feelings of legitimacy and regularity in the camp.

March 26, 2008, the 9th anniversary of the Cabaceiras camp, was marked by protest-celebrations wherein the occupiers promulgated the message that the land was already functionally theirs – that they already had stable livelihoods, were building permanent homes in zoned lots, and were raising and educating their and families on the land with the implicit support of INCRA, the MPF, and the national government. On

April 1st, the Mutran family dropped its case at the Supreme Federal Court. According to

Evandro Mutran, nephew of Naguib and one of the formal owners of the holding company that claimed Cabaceiras, the family decided to drop the case because the estate

145 was no longer productive and instead of relying on the decision of a federal judge, they wanted to be paid the indemnization allowed to them under the law and move on

(Hashizume 2008). With the dropping of the mandando da segurança at the STF, the case went back to the federal court of Marabá, which confirmed the dispossession order on

November 26th. On December 19 2008, the campsite was formally turned over to the 206 families that had weathered the 9-year-long occupation and the Assentamento de 26 de

Março was officially recognized.

4.5 Discussion The process of land dispropriation in Brazil is a complicated one, usually requiring direct action, the mobilization of popular support, research skills, localized knowledge, and bureaucratic and legal know-how in order to be successful. As a result, land reform SMOs developed specializations that addressed these diverse needs and complemented other organizations’ efforts. This specialization was integral to the overall campaign because the different groups were able to appeal to multiple publics and involve different sectors in the struggle. As one MST activist put it, the MST has learned that outreach and partnership is necessary because “the battles happen in the countryside but are won in the cities.”

During the Cabaceiras campaign, various organizations specialized in the different necessary skills. The MST focused on direct organizing and management of the occupation site – a skill, it should be noted, that the MST practiced and purposefully refined over many years and occupations. The MST also performed highly visible mobilizations such as road blockages and urban camp-ins in order to dramatize the situation and gain public sympathy. The CPT was responsible for community consciousness, documentation, and education. It was also better able to dialogue with

146

government as illustrated by its being a part of several government negotiation and oversight boards. Meanwhile, groups based in urban Marabá, including basic Christian communities, organized labor, and student groups linked to leftist parties provided numbers and logistical support during urban mass actions. Actors from the MTE, MPF, and INCRA had the necessary skills and authority to see through legal and bureaucratic processes leading to the property’s dispropriation. Although, as government agencies, one could say the personnel from these agencies were merely doing their jobs, the highly subjective and often landlord-captured process of land dispropriation indicates that personnel acted with substantial discretion and drive in choosing to see this case through.

Specialization in terms of sector and territorial influence can be observed from the very establishment of an MST chapter in Marabá, which demonstrates the activists’ perceived need to concentrate specifically on landless rural workers as a sector in the state of Pará, as well as the establishment of the CPT as an arm of the National

Conference of Brazilian Bishops dedicated to issues facing rural workers. The MST was careful to focus early organizing efforts on areas where there was no CPT presence to avoid conflicts, while simultaneously building its relationship with the CPT and STRs.

Although the CPT had serious questions about the MST and was wary of potential ramifications of the latter’s entrance into the area, the CPT did not try to block the MST, but began working with them and figuring out how the groups could interface with each other towards a common goal. Eventually, niches of specialization developed, and the two organizations were able to occupy the same territorial space and service or relate to the same individuals in a complementary way.

In terms of ideology, we can visualize the various organizations involved along a continuum ranging from those who challenged status quo power arrangements through

147

primarily extra-institutional means to those who advocated primarily through institutional

means. The MST and allied urban-based mass groups would be at the extra-institutional

extreme, focusing primarily on occupation and mass mobilizations. These strategic

choices were also directly related to the MST’s ideology which called upon its members

to directly challenge the state and traditional elite power structures. The CPT would be in the middle, acting as a bridge between the community-based workers, popular movements and institutional actors. The CPT played this especially crucial role in the

MPF’s investigation of slavery-like working conditions by connecting the MPF to affected individuals and translating the experiences of workers into evidence useful for the legal arena. The MPF would be at the primarily institutional end of the spectrum, although the success of its own investigation relied heavily on the evidence provided by the CPT, as well as public support and pressure cultivated by the MST.

The themes of sectoral ownership and extending and institutionalizing democratic benefits to marginalized communities is also part and parcel of occupation as a strategy.

In order to even start the process of possible dispropriation, the landless must claim a parcel of land themselves through direct action. All the technical and legal assistance and interventions provided by the CPT, MTE, MPF, and organizations representing other sectors could not have had significant results without the presence and mobilization of the landless themselves, a point bolstered by the many years of research and exposes connected to Mutran family properties that failed prior to the Cabaceiras campaign.

Social movements had lobbied hard for the inclusion of the requirement of a “social function” for land in the constitution. It was a direct reaction to the military dictatorship’s aggressive land development policy and thus, for many, a necessary part of the struggle

for democracy. The definition of “social function” in the Agrarian Law of 1993 was seen

148 as another step in extending what should be the benefits of democracy to vast numbers of socially and economically marginalized Brazilians. A high-profile campaign against a high-value target would be a manner of finally seeing through the implementation of this policy.

Furthermore, the emphasis on internal communication, participation, and education, and self-governance made the encampment as well as the campaign an exercise in internal democracy itself. As one MST leader described, many of the seasoned organizers and leaders assigned to assist occupations and campaigns have strong ideas about how the campaign should be undertaken at every step. These ideas are usually formed by both personal experience, examples from other campaigns, and an advanced ideological grounding. Community leaders, on the other hand, often have other opinions about what they are prepared to do or what would be appropriate in their context.

Participatory decision-making processes that encouraged these community leaders to assert their points of view even to the contrary of friendly “experts” was part and parcel of getting people used to thinking independently and claiming their rights as citizens.

149 CHAPTER 5

APEOESP

5.1 Introduction

2015 was a tumultuous year for Brazil. The country was experiencing what would be the worst recession in its history, the president was under threat of impeachment, and the country was shocked and appalled by the biggest corruption scandal in the world. It was a time when social movement actors and sympathizers, as well as many rank-and-file members of the ruling Workers’ Party (PT) were highly critical of the party, and particularly the president’s performance. At the same time, however, it was a time when they felt progressive politics and democracy itself were under grave threat.

150 Figure 5.1 The president of APEOESP addresses the crowd at a general assembly at the Praça da República in the city of São Paulo

In this context, the Association of Public School Teachers of the State of São

Paulo (APEOESP), the largest teachers’ union in Brazil and one of the largest in the

Americas, held the longest strike in its history. The strike came to be a focal point for progressive movements in the state, and various other groups contributed their members, skills, and expertise to the APEOESP’s efforts. At the same time, the APEOESP relied on these groups to augment its own forces. In particular, social movement media practitioners and movement-affiliated and -sympathetic elected officials played roles that would have been very difficult for the APEOESP to fulfill alone, indicating a division of labor dynamic. Furthermore, the APEOESP, through a long process of internal challenges to union leadership, had come to envision itself as a democracy deliverer and defender.

For the organization’s leaders and dedicated members, the strike was not only about improving material working conditions, but also about mass education and member-level debates, participatory decision-making processes, and forging regular dialogue between the union and the state government. As a progressive workers’ organization with the

151 ability to mobilize a large mass base in the media and financial center of the country, the

APEOESP also took seriously its role defend democracy as they understood it for other sectors at a time when they interpreted democracy to be under grave threat.

5.2 Labor movements and the history of teacher unions in Brazil

Labor unions have a long and tumultuous history in Brazil. The first unions were founded in the late 1800s, mostly by European immigrants who had flocked to the industrial centers of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro for work, bringing with them socialist- anarchist ideas. While these early unions were able to perform a few strikes, there was little base-building or organizational activity between strikes, rendering the unions more ephemeral event planners than organization- and movement-builders. The 1920s witnessed a government crackdown on unions as the state, controlled itself by the traditional oligarchy, enacted violent repression and targeted legal efforts to deport labor leaders, who continued to be mostly European immigrants (Maram 1977).

The revolution of 1930 brought a populist government led by Getúlio Vargas who ran on a platform of challenging the oligarchies of the states of São Paulo and Minas

Gerais. In line with Vargas's populist image, labor gained formal recognition with the

Constitution of 1934, and unions were at the forefront of the new "modernizing" regime.

Despite these outward manifestations, however, labor was neither grassroots-based nor autonomous, but rather controlled by the government and/or political parties and dedicated towards corporatist bargaining rather than representing the interests of their membership55. Unions that were not allied with the government, and particularly those of

55 Although this is the prevailing view of the labor situation during the Vargas era (see Erickson 1979; Bak 1983; and Cardoso 2010), some authors have challenged this notion. Cardoso (2015) for example, argues that Vargas was the first to address the “social question” of the urban working classes as part of governance, and that his regime’s project was meant to include working classes in a capitalist 152 leftist persuasion, continued to be met with oppression. In particular, after an alliance of communists, socialists, workers, and leftwing intellectuals launched the National Alliance for Liberation (ANL), the government cracked down, prohibiting strikes, creating the

Commission for the Repression of Communism, and jailing and deporting ANL leaders

(Kapor 2012).

This pattern of recognizing as a sector and formally protecting labor, while simultaneously putting labor under strict control and regulation, continued with the adoption of the Consolidation of Labor Laws (CLT) in 1943. The CLT consolidated and rationalized the over 150 laws passed since 1930 related to collective and individual labor regulations. Inspired by Mussolini’s Labor Charter (Carta do Lavoro), it defined the rights of workers including minimum wage, daily work hours, acceptable causes for retrenchment, and required social security benefits. However, it also strongly restricted the organization and actions of labor unions. Unions were required to be recognized by the Labor Ministry, and had to comply with a strict set of requirements to obtain such recognition. They were forbidden from promoting any political or religious ideology; only one union for each industry was permitted, thus eliminating competition for representation; and unions were required to be hierarchically organized. Migrants were also forbidden from being members of union directorates. The union tax, wherein each worker pays a portion of his salary to the official union of the industry, whether or not the individual worker is affiliated with the union (and which existed until 2017), assured the survival of the union organization and leadership without providing leadership incentives to increase the numbers of or be accountable to their bases (Teixeira da Silva and Corrêa

2016; Cardoso 2015). The CLT, together with the system of labor courts it created, had dynamic, and that defining the working class and workers’ rights had the lasting effect of creating a class identity. 153 the overall goal of avoiding direct challenges to the state (such as strikes or other public action) and, instead, settling labor disputes through procedures of arbitration and mediation.

5.3 Foundation of the APESNOESP

It was in this context that the APEOESP, known initially as the APESNOESP

(Associação dos Professores do Ensino Secundário e Normal do Estado de São Paulo), was founded. It was founded, and continued for over thirty years, not from a framework of social inclusion and challenging state and capital, but rather one that generally worked within the procedural boundaries set by the state.

The Organic Law of Secondary Education (Lei 4.244/42) was decreed in 1942 during the authoritarian “New State” period of the Vargas government. Secondary education was designed around the class structure and intended as a way of preparing elite children for higher education and, subsequently, their future positions directing the country’s growth and modernization. At the same time, working class and poor children were to be prepared for their “role as the workers needed to utilize the nation’s potential riches” (Schwartzmann 2000: 205). Secondary school was divided into four years of basic (ginasial) and another three years of collegiate (colegial) courses. Working class children were not expected to continue beyond the basic level, while those who went on to the collegiate level studied a foundation of the classics and sciences; professional management courses in agriculture, industry, or commerce; and etiquette. Women also studied “feminine arts” (Paula 2007: 52; Bernardes 2010).

Secondary school teachers were supposed to be paid according to the number and kinds of classes. However, salary delays (due in part to the complicated course structure and classification) were frequent and common for a majority of the teachers. The delays,

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together with the implementation of qualifying exams to teach certain courses and inequalities in salary adjustments moved teachers from the municipality of São Carlos to schedule the First Congress of Secondary School Teachers (I Congresso de Professores do Ensino Secundário) in January 1945. Inviting teachers from around São Paulo state, as well as representatives from the state Ministry of Education, the congress had the goal of addressing the following issues: a) unity of the profession, b) the creation of a statewide council, c)The equalization of salaries and a solution to the problem of special classes and payment of the remuneration owed to those contracted to teach them, d) allowances for days not worked for those temporarily contracted and substitutes, e) that the most recent qualifying exam be honored (O Estado de São Paulo 1945: 6).

In the end, the Congress agreed to the creation of an association to work with the state to identify and address teachers’ issues, as well general issues related to secondary education, and to ask specifically for a raise in the basic pay (to a rate approximately 1/4 lower than that of secondary school teachers employed by the federal government), with a system of raises according to the number of years in service. They also agreed to forward a summary of the Congresses’ agreements and proposed salary schedule to the

Interventor Federal (state governor appointed by Vargas) and leadership of the state

Department of Education, as well as a letter to the Minister of War expressing support for

Brazilian involvement in the Second World War on the side of the Allies. The letter was presented at a meeting with the governor less than a month later, on February 8th.

On March 12th, an assembly was called to elect the leaders of the new statewide organization and finalize its internal statue. As state employees were banned from forming unions, the organization was to be an “association” capable of influencing government decisions that directly affect them. The approach, however, was to be

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collaborative with both the state and federal governments and to act as a consultative

body on education policies. Thus, the APENOESP was created not to challenge existing

power-relations between employers and employees, let alone the existing class system or regime type. Rather, it was created to act as a bridge by addressing teachers’ interests while working with the state.

5.4 First mobilizations

The end of the Estado Novo and the uptick in the pace of urbanization that

followed World War II changed the nature of secondary education in São Paulo.

Education came to be viewed not as a privilege of the elite classes alone, but a way that

the working class and expanding middle class could achieve social mobility. The sudden

influx of students resulted in more challenging working conditions for teachers, as they

dealt with larger class sizes and inadequate supplies and physical structure. The

APENOESP continued having annual congresses until 1953 wherein they would discuss

these issues and send a letter to the governor and ministry of education. Even as labor

mobilizations and strikes gained momentum in the early 1950s, the APENOESP

leadership refused to participate in the general labor movement. They opted instead for a

non-confrontational strategy, with the post-congress letters being the most direct form of

official engagement with the state. The issues and demands communicated in the letters,

however, continued unaddressed, and groups of teacher-members began to meet on their

own.

In 1954, groups of teachers from various schools demanded that the APENOESP

leadership directly engage the Governor and the Ministry of Education and that there be a

permanent assembly of teachers until the issue of delayed and irrational salaries was

resolved. The leadership held three meetings in May with state leadership, and created an

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assembly that was to be regular until a solution could be found. The meetings failed, however, to reach an agreement on the salary scale. In June through August of the same year, the APENOESP, together with primary school teachers and other workers in the education sector, organized mobilizations in front of the State Legislative Assembly and various other municipalities. It would be another three years before the state government and legislature would finally enact a new salary schedule that was in line with the teachers’ demands and contemporary cost of living.

The 11-year battle over teacher salaries was a period of growing pains for the

APENOESP. By the late 1950s, many in the organization came to realize that merely being available as a consultative body, even if it was the only group representing secondary school teachers, would not be adequate to change policy. The late 1950s and early 1960s were also a time when debates developed within the APENOESP about the very purpose of the organization. Members began to look at the organization not just as a vehicle to voice their material concerns, but as an entity with the responsibility to develop socially conscious teacher-citizens. They also utilized tactics that were increasingly more confrontational with the state.

The APENOESP learned through the 1954 mobilizations that it would be sometimes necessary to cooperate with other labor organizations and education-oriented groups. They cooperated with the Center of Paulista Teachers (Centro do Professorado

Paulista, the association of primary school teachers of São Paulo), the Association of

Industrial and Agricultural Teachers (Associação dos Docentes do Ensino Industrial e

Agrícola), the Union of Directors of Public Middle Education of the State of São Paulo

(União dos Diretores do Ensino Médio e Oficial do Estado de São Paulo), the

Association of Physical Education Teachers (Associação dos Professores de Educação

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Física), and the Association of Technicians in Education (Associação dos Técnicos em

Educação) in 1958 for the “More buildings for schools, better salaries for professors” campaign. The campaign included the APENOESP’s first strike, which lasted two days and gained substantial media attention. It resulted in the creation of the State Fund for

School Construction (Fundo Estadual de Construções Escolares), the first government agency dedicated to planning, protecting, constructing, and maintaining school buildings

(Mello 2012; Florentino de Souza 2011). Throughout the early 1960s, the APENOESP maintained complicated relationships with these other educational groups. There were often tensions between them because of the different interests they represented, stereotypes different teaching categories had about each other (primary school teachers, for example, tended to be more female and have less advanced degrees, and so were looked down upon by other groups), and personal rivalries between leaders. Nevertheless, the groups vacillated between publicly questioning each other and cooperating in various media, letter-writing campaigns, and strike threats. The late 1950s and also marked when

APENOESP began to take an active role in electoral politics, with the association membership often endorsing candidates to members. By 1963, three APENOESP directors had become state legislators.

Teacher mobilizations in pre-dictatorship São Paulo reached their climax in 1963, when the first profession-wide (including teachers of all levels in public and private schools) strike occurred. The APENOESP, CPP, and other teacher organizations had been in negotiations with the state government for approximately ten months over, again, the issue of salaries. When governor Ademar de Barros declared the new fee schedule in

September, the teachers reacted immediately and publicly. Around five thousand teachers, who had come to hear the governor’s announcement, booed him until he went back into

158 the governor’s palace (Estado de São Paulo September-12-1963). They accused the

governor of promising substantial increases, then retracting them at the last minute. The

APENOESP called for teachers to start wearing black armbands as a symbol of

indignation on October 15, Teachers’ Day. The CPP, however, decided during its October

7th assembly that it would give the government until October 15th to readjust the salaries to an acceptable level. Without an adjustment, the CPP would go on strike.

The CPP began distributing newsletters to teachers from other groups describing the governor’s proposal as an insult to the profession as a whole. The teachers had negotiated peacefully and patiently, while the government, all along, had been negotiating in bad faith. Facing pressure from their membership, other organizations, including the

APENOESP and UDEMO, decided to go on strike as well.

The government of São Paulo reacted by branding the teachers as law breakers and far right groups, energized from their own intense campaign against leftist President

João Goulart, accused them of being communists. The teachers were careful to represent themselves as peaceful professionals, and to distance themselves from other workers’ unions, which tended to be more ideologically leftist. The two most important newspapers at the time, O Estado de São Paulo and A Folha de São Paulo, contributed to this image, publishing articles and photos of the teachers that made them appear professional and orderly, while largely blaming the situation on the governor’s ineptitude

(Vincentini 2008). Nevertheless, while the teachers and media tried to distance them from other social movements, student and labor unions, including the São Paulo Union of

Secondary Students (União Paulista dos Estudantes Secundários, UPES), the State

Union of Students (União Estadual dos Estudantes,UEE), the Student Guild of the

Faculty of Philosophy, Sciences, and Letters of the University of São Paulo, the

159 Federation of Teachers and Workers in Education in São Paulo State (a Federação dos

Professores e Trabalhadores em Estabelecimentos de Ensino do Estado de São Paulo), the Association of Professional Drivers in Public Service in São Paulo State (a

Associação dos Motoristas Profissionais do Serviço Público do Estado de São Paulo), and the Union of Bank workers of the ABE (o Sindicato dos Bancários do ABC) expressed support for the strike. The strike also had the visible support of most students and parents (Sant’ Ana 1993).

After five days of total paralysis, negotiators from the APENOESP, CPP, and government announced they had come to an agreement to end the strike on October 21st.

The government agreed to meet the teachers’ salary demands, including to pay them for the five days they were on strike. The wave of popular support followed by the decisive victory for the teachers in the first ever strike of such scale was a demonstration of the potential power of the educational sector. Within the teachers’ organizations, even more intense debates about the possible relationship between the organizations and the states began to blossom. However, the military coup in April of 1964 and ensuing dictatorial regime would force the teachers to drastically adjust their strategies and relationship with the state.

5.5 APENOESP under dictatorship

The teachers’ unions, including the APENOESP, initially had a relationship of relatively peaceful coexistence with the new military regime. In 1964, the teachers again organized a mobilization in front of the Legislative Assembly to pressure the assembly for a law that would automatically adjust the salary rates they had won the year before for inflation. The legislature approved the measure, but by 1968, the governor still had not

160 signed said bill into law. In the meantime, the state had begun using violent repression against popular groups. Student unions had been banned. In 1966, the CPP mobilized

15,000 teachers to pressure the governor to implement a previously promised plan to restructure the roles and functions of teachers in primary education. As opposed to being outwardly antagonistic, as they had been with the previous government, CPP members brought flowers for the state First Lady to appear friendly and non-threatening. To their surprise, they were met with bayonets and tear gas.

In 1968, the APENOESP delivered a letter to the state Secretary of Education.

The letter asked for the approval of the law adjusting public sector salaries to inflation that had already passed by the legislature in 1964, and also communicated concerns about a recently passed law that restructured and strictly regulated teachers’ careers. The

Secretary refused to receive the letter, stating that it sounded like an ultimatum, and was thus obviously inappropriate. He furthermore stated that young people did not need bad teachers, but rather, needed examples of “dignity, love, and respect for authority” as well as “good Christian and patriotic values” (“Ulhôa devolve o ‘ultimato’”).

Following this episode, the relationship between the state government and the

APEOESP chilled considerably. In January 1969, the state government revoked the political rights of APEOESP president, Raul Schwinden, for ten years. The same order also revoked the rights of 23 state legislators and closed the Legislative Assembly until

July 1970 (Caliman 1998: 131). This attack made it clear that the government considered the APEOESP its political opposition. It was sufficient to accomplish a chilling effect on the organization. Faced with the real threat of government repression, for the next decade the APEOESP limited its strategies to institutional means, focusing mainly on bringing individual cases of precarious work through the court system. They achieved limited

161 success, including, notably, a decision that ruled precarious work should be regulated by

the CLT. As the APEOESP shied away from confrontation with the government, other

groups, including the Catholic Church, the Brazilian Bar Association (Ordem dos

Avogados Brasileiros, OAB), manufacturing-based unions, and leftist groups would take

on the role of direct opposition to the government.

5.6 Restructuring the APEOESP from within

APEOESP’s non-confrontational approach was directly challenged by the late

1970s. The abertura, or regime-managed “slow, gradual, and safe”56 loosening of political and civil rights coincided with increased political challenges from opposition politicians, as well as reinvigorated mass organizing and activities by ideological groups who wanted to push for more democracy faster. In 1976, teachers influenced by leftist movements, including some that had been part of the underground during more repressive years of the military dictatorship, formed the Movement for the Unity of Teachers

(Movimento pela União dos Profesores, MUP), and the Movement of Teachers’ Open

Opposition (Movimento de Oposição Aberto dos Profesores, MOAP). The MUP’s and

MOAP’s goal was to inject into the APEOESP an ideologically progressive and democratic character, in line with the wave of new union organizing that was occurring in other industries in greater São Paulo. Leading up to the APEOESP’s 1977 general assembly, the MUP and MOAP held discussions and distributed literature addressing the status of education in the state and attacking the Education Statute passed in 1974 without any input from the teachers. The May 1977 assembly itself was the first time that broad issues concerning the teachers and the state of education were discussed, as the MUP and

56 In 1974, President Ernest Geisel announced that the political project of his government would be the beginning of a “slow, gradual, and safe” (lento, gradual, e seguro) process of political opening, marking the beginning of the period commonly known as the abertura. 162 MOAP both openly criticized the state and confronted the then-APEOESP leadership’s manner of dealing with it. To the leadership’s chagrin, the assembly agreed to the MUP and MOAP’s proposal to organize a petition to be sent to State Secretary of Education demanding a new salary schedule, security for non-regular contracted teachers, and a total revision of the Education Statute, as well as letters distributed to the press and in schools criticizing education policies and calling for democratic opening. The assembly also agreed that the leadership could not overrule decisions made by the assembly. In perhaps the most direct challenge to the then-leadership, and in recognition of the

MUP/MOAP’s influence, the Assembly created the Open Commission (Comissão

Aberta) and put it in charge of all strategizing and activities related to the salary issue.

The Open Commission was effectively run by MUP/MOAP personalities. Thus, the

MUP/MOAP replaced the official leadership on the issue most important to APEOESP members.

In June, four hundred teachers participated in a meeting in front of the office of the State Secretary of Education in a demonstration of strength, as well as to finalize the main points of the petition. The Secretary of Education replied that he would speak to the governor. Unsatisfied with the Secretary’s response, the teachers decided to intensify the campaign, including meetings at the community level about the plight of teachers to drum up popular support. The Open Commission sent the “Petition of the Teachers of the

Public School Network of São Paulo” (“O Memorial dos Professores da Rede Oficial de

Ensino do Estado de São Paulo”) in October. Despite efforts by the leadership to derail the signature campaign (including instructing school administrators to impede signature- gathering as well as the then-president identifying and denouncing MUP and MOAP leaders to the military police), the petition had approximately ten thousand signatures. By

163 the end of 1977, members of the Open Commission met with various other progressive groups from different areas of the education sector, including the State University of São

Paulo (UNESP), groups from universities including the Pontifical Catholic University of

São Paulo (PUC), the State University of Campinas (UniCamp), and the Getúlio Vargas

Foundatino (FGV), and private school unions in order to discuss the possibility of creating a federation to unite movements working on the issue of teachers’ salaries at different levels. Although this federation did not form, the relationships forged at the meeting became the basis for support and solidarity during the 1978 strikes.

1978 was a critical year for new unionism. A wave of strikes began in the automotive companies of the ABC region of the greater São Paulo area (the manufacturing cities of Santo André, São Bernardo do Campo, and São Caetano do Sul) in May. These strikes were like an inauguration of the new union movement wherein the unions demanded a place in public and political life, and thus a redefined relationship with the state. Furthermore, they made it clear that they would not acquiesce total control over the process and pace of democratization to the military regime (Noronha 2009;

Barbosa de Macedo 2015). The Open Commission of the APEOESP held a general assembly in August of 1978. The assembly was attended by over two thousand teachers.

Salaries were again discussed, but other important issues included the status of precarious teachers, as well as the fact that the Education Statute had passed without input from the teachers themselves. This latter point demonstrates the shift the Open Commission was trying to instill from a union that merely made demands to a union that insisted to participate the policy-making process.

These frustrations, as well as Open Commission leaders’ ties to the ABC unions from leftist and clandestine groups, led the Commission to declare a strike commencing

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on the 19th of August. The official APEOESP leadership did not endorse the strike.

Nevertheless, four thousand schools were paralyzed, leaving four million students without classes. The Open Commission formed the General Strike Command (Comando

Geral de Greve) to coordinate activities. In addition to the strike itself, teachers distributed letters to students and parents explaining the reasons for the strike, and conducted some rallies in cities around São Paulo state. The strikes were supported by different groups within the education sector, including student groups, as well as the unions from the ABC region. Also, for the first time, Catholic bishops took a strong stand in favor of the strike and helped Open Command leadership negotiate with politicians and the police.The political opposition also took notice, and the Command also met with

MDB legislators to discuss alternatives to the Education Statute. Several mainstream media outlets also ran stories on the strike. A Folha de São Paulo, the most purchased newspaper in Brazil at this time (Vicentini 2008), initially positioned itself against the strike but eventually ran an editorial calling the strike a democratizing moment for the country (“Educação democrática” 1978).

The strike lasted 24 days. In the end, the teachers won an outright 20% salary increase and amendments to the Education Statute that were passed in October of the same year. In what was perceived as a victory for participatory democracy, the amendments were largely determined by the teachers and legislators, with minimal executive interference. Perhaps more importantly, however, the strike starkly defined the difference between the old APEOESP leadership, who wanted a friendly, non- confrontational relationship with the state, and the Open Command whose goal was to make teachers part of the burgeoning workers’ identity and movement, as well as the movement for democracy.

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5.7 Open command takes over

Elections for the leadership of the APEOESP were scheduled for January of 1979.

The slate put forth by the Open Command won readily with over four thousand votes - the second place slate only mustered over seven hundred. The sitting officials refused to hand over leadership and moved to nullify the vote. It was not until May when a civil judge ruled that the elections were valid that the new leadership took their posts. By that time, the APEOESP membership was already engaging in another strike not sanctioned by the leadership. The automotive workers of the ABC region had again erupted in strike in May. This time, the three largest automotive unions declared strike simultaneously. In

April, the Open Command followed suit and began what would be a 39-day strike. The strike was partially an act of solidarity with the metalworkers, and partially a show of force targeted at the new governor, Paulo Maluf. The strike would later be criticized as not well strategized nor thought-out, and as resulting in no significant benefits for the teachers.

The new APEOESP leadership coming from the Open Command made it clear right away that its agenda was to dramatically restructure the APEOESP. The new president, Eiko Shiraiwa Reis, declared that the association would be dedicated to defending teachers against the government, thus making it immediately clear that it considered the regime an enemy. Additionally, the new leadership prioritized reforms focused on democratizing internal processes. The assemblies were to be the main decision-making bodies and the board of directors would merely be the executors of the assemblies’ will. Among the most important reforms were: teachers employed in private and municipal schools would be permitted to become members, a reduction in the number of signatures requires to call for an assembly to one-third of the membership, and

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a reduction in the number of attendees necessary to achieve quorum in an assembly to two hundred.

The 1980s cemented the transformation of the APEOESP from an association strictly concerned with issues directly related to teachers’ working conditions and that sought to maintain a conciliatory relationship with the state government, to an association concerned with broader questions of democratization and workers’ rights, and that welcomed open confrontation with the state. Debates in internal congresses included not only issues regarding the teaching profession, but also bigger political issues including democracy, foreign debt, the nature of labor, and international solidarity with progressive social movements (De Paula 2007).

The late 1970s and 80s also established the relationship between the APEOESP and the Workers’ Party (PT). There was a deep relationship between the ABC unions and the Open Command tracing back to many individuals’ experience in clandestine socialist groups before the abertura, and developing through the strikes in 1978 and 79. When the

PT was founded in 1980, these same unions comprised much of its base. In 1983, the

ABC unions were again at the forefront of the creation of the Unified Workers’ Central

(Central Única dos Trabalhadores, CUT). The APEOESP became a formal affiliate of the

CUT in 1985. Although APEOESP members were free to affiliate with any party, the majority identified with the PT and internal elections were often reflections of competitions between different PT factions.

The APEOESP’s new understanding of itself as a democratizing force unafraid to engage in direct conflict with the state was reflected in the multiple campaigns in which it participated in the 1980s and 90s. This also meant that the APEOESP did not limit its campaigns and actions to issues within São Paulo state, but rather expanded to national

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issues. In 1981, the APEOESP organized caravans to Brasilia to pressure the national

legislature to pass the prevision of retirement benefits for public employees after twenty-

five years of service. In 1983 and 84 the Diretas Ja! movement calling for immediate

direct elections swept the country. Althought the APEOESP did not take a formal stand,

many of its members and leaders, as concurrent PT members and CUT sympathizers, took part, so much so that leaders mobilizing APEOESP rank and file for CUT mobilizations was questioned in internal elections. In 1987 and 88, the Association was deeply involved in debates and advocacy around the new Constitution, including, once again, caravans to Brasilia. Among the issues most intensely advocated by the association were earmarking percentages of the national and state budgets for education, the right for public employees to unionize, the right to strike, the right to collective bargaining, and

13th month pay.

Strikes also remained an important part of the Association’s repertoire. Strikes were undertaken in 1989, 1990, 1993, 1995, 2000, 2008, 2010, and 201357. Strikes tended to be the go-to tactic for issues involving salaries, particularly in the early 1990s when teachers’ salaries were not keeping up with the hyperinflation the country was experiencing. The APEOESP also continued to cooperate with other social movement groups, particularly the CUT and CNTE on national issues, including caravans to Brasilia to advocate for national legislation, a national strike in 2012 over minimum wages and including teacher preparation time and advising extracurricular activities as part of remuneration calculations, as well as state-wide and national forums and discussions about the value of public education, promoting women in public life, and discussing

57 It should be noted that although Lula Da Silva of the PT and CUT became president in 2003, this did not change much of the APEOESP’s combative character towards the state because the state of São Paulo was governed, without interruption, by center-right and right governors and legislative majorities. 168 racism in Brazilian society. Throughout the 1990s and 2000s, the APEOESP emphasized that it values centered not only around the situation and dignity of the teacher and teaching profession, but also as a main defender of public education (“APEOESP:

História”, n.d.).

5.8 Context leading to the 2015 strike

2015 was an extremely tense time in Brazilian politics. The country was experiencing the worst economic crisis in a century, losing over 1.5 million jobs in 2015 alone. Anger over the economic situation was fueled by the perception of wasteful spending and corruption in order to prepare for the 2014 World Cup and 2016 Olympics, as well as the Lava Jato corruption scandal that erupted in 2014 wherein an intricate web of overpriced public contracts and bribes to politicians and political parties amounting to over US$ 5 billion was discovered. Instead of acting as a release valve, the 2014 presidential elections appeared to flame these tensions. Sitting president Dilma Rousseff won re-election with 51.6% of the vote, the slimmest margin since redemocratization.

During the election’s second round, Rousseff’s discourse became increasingly left- leaning and focused on social services and state spending for the working and poor classes, which had the effect of further polarizing conservative and center-right elements in society while successfully riling up the PT’s social movement base. Many leftist and progressive movements, however, felt extreme disappointment following Rousseff’s victory when the Central Bank raised interest rates just three days after the election results were announced. The raise was perceived to have been done with Rousseff’s blessing, in an effort to reassure big investors. The appointments of Joaquim Levy, an aggressive fiscal conservative as finance minister, and Katia Abreu, a leader of the Senate bancada ruralista (the large landowners’ bloc) as minister of agriculture, as well as the

169 adoption of austerity measures to deal with the economic crisis, further contributed to the

disillusionment and widened the distance between the PT leadership and its movement

base and allies (Bello and Lero 2015).

This distance between the Rousseff administration and the PT’s traditional base

became critically tested as her impeachment became imminent. As the Lava Jato scandal

heated up and the economy continued its decline, calls for Rousseff’s resignation or

impeachment grew. Calls from the right were expected. An impeached Rosseff would

result in Michel Temer, from the catch-all Brazilian Democratic Movement Party

(PMDB),58 ascending to the presidency. The president of the lower house of the legislature, Eduardo Cunha, was instrumental in navigating the impeachment, and was also a member of the PMDB. Furthermore, a discredited and ultimately impeached PT president would be a huge setback for the party and increase the chances of another party gaining the presidency in the 2018 elections. Massive demonstrations took place on

March 15th and April 12th calling for Rousseff’s ouster.

At the same time, counter-moves from the left lacked energy. In addition to a

pervasive feeling of disappointment and distance from the Rousseff administration, the

left and social movements found themselves on the defensive in the face of surmounting

evidence that the PT had benefited from Lava Jato59. While the right was already

58 The PMDB is the successor of the Movement for a Democratic Brazil (MDB), the only opposition party allowed during the military dictatorship. It had no ideology, except to be against the domination of the state party, ARENA. Since redemocratization, the PMDB has remained a catch-all party without any stated ideology except democracy. However, the departure of many socialist and communist leaders upon the opening of the party system, and its evolution into a party mostly led by and a vehicle for the maintenance of local elites, means the party has taken on a more center-right character (Neto 2013; Melo 2010).

59 It can be noted that the Lava Jato investigation has implicated the PT, PSDB, PP, and PMDB, and, as of April 2018, has resulted in criminal charges against 305 persons connected to various political parties. However, the PT is popularly perceived to be the most guilty. This is largely because the PT controlled the presidency while the scandal was ongoing. However, it can also be partially attributed to Globo, the country’s most powerful media network boasting 99.5% market saturation. Globo has always actively opposed leftist politics. The network’s biased editing of presidential debates to favor Collor over 170 successfully mobilizing large numbers in March, social movements in São Paulo state did not create a front for the purposes of guarding against impeachment until May. When they did so, it was with the indirect theme of “defending democracy, Petrobras (the state petrol company against privatization), and fiscal austerity.”60

the PT’s Da Silva in 1989, as well as accusing the PT of being a tool of Soviet communists, remain well- known examples. In the wake of the Lava Jato scandal, Globo’s continuing bias against the PT was apparent. Street mobilizations calling for Rousseff’s ouster were well-covered, while mobilizations in her defense received little or no coverage. In the few times mobilizations in Rousseff’s defense did receive coverage, activists were portrayed as unruly or violent. Globo has also been criticized for exaggerating coverage of corruption allegations when PT members are involved and editing scandal and corruption coverage to imply the involvement of PT personalities without directly accusing them. Globo again came under ridicule for its coverage of carnival in Rio de Janeiro in 2018, when the Tuiuti samba school included clear condemnations of the impeachment in its parade, including caricatures of pro-impeachment protesters as marionettes, and Michel Temer portrayed as the “neoliberal vampire.” In its coverage of the parade, Globo announcers appeared vexed and provided superficial and nonsensical interpreations of the costumes. (See "O vexame da Globo no desfile da Tuiuti" 2018; ”Brazil: Media, monopolies and political manipulations” 2017; “Paraíso do Tuiuti faz desfile histórico” 2018; Miguel and Simoes 2000; and Flynn 2005).

60 The Forum of Social Movements of São Paulo State (Fórum dos Movimentos Sociais do Estado do São Paulo) was launched on May 13th and included the Union of Employees and Servers of Education of São Paulo (AFUSE), the APEOESP, the Academic Center of August XI , the Central of Popular Movements (CMP), the Collective of the Struggle for Water, the National Coordinating Body of Black Entities (CONEN), the Popular Council, the Pastoral Land Commission (CPT), the Council of Representatives of School Councils (CRECE), the CUT, the Central of Brazilian Workers - São Paulo (CTB), the Federation of Community Associations of São Paulo State (FACESP), the Federation of Family Agriculture of São Paulo State (FAF), the Federation of Municipal Administration and Public Service Workers of São Paulo State (FETAM), the Federation of Bank Workers of CUT (FETEC), the Feeration of Workers of the Chemical Branch of CUT in São Paulo State (FETQUIM), the Federation of Social Security Workers in São Paulo State (FETSS), Front of the Struggle for Housing (FLM), the National front for Environmental Health (FNSA), the National Federation of Urban Services Workers (FNU), the National Front Against the Reduction of the Penal Age, the National Federation of Urban Services Workers (FNU), the World March of Women, the Front of All for Democracy, the Popular Rise of Youth, the Movement of those Hit by Dams (MAB), the Movement of Housing for All (MMPT), the Movement of the Landless in Struggle (MSTL), the Movement of Small Farmers (MPA), the Landless Workers’ Movement (MST), the Movement of Unemployed Workers (MTD), Our Network São Paulo, the Union of Police Scribes in São Paulo State (SEPESP), the Union of Prison Workers of São Paulo State (SIFUSPESP), the Union of Bank Workers of São Paulo, the Union of Bank Workers of ABC, the Union of Metal Workers of Sorocaba, the Union of Metal Workers of Taubaté, the Union of Metal Wokers of ABC, the Union of Chemists of São Paulo, the Union of Water, Sewer, and Environment Workers (SINATEMA), the Union of São Paulo Woodworkers, the Union of Metal Workers of Jaguariúna, the Union of Municipal Servers of Ribeirão Preto, the Union of Mail and Telegraph Workers of São Paulo, the Unified Petrol Workers of São Paulo, the Union of Public Health Workers of São Paulo State (Sindsaúde-SP), the Union of Psychologists of São Paulo State, the Union of Professional Regulatory Body Employees of São Paulo State (SINSEXPRO), the Union of Works of the Paula Souza Center (SINTEPS), the Union of Education, Child, and Family Service Employees of São Paulo State (SITRAEMFA), the Brazilian Women’s Association (UBM), the Association of State Students of São Paulo (UEE), the Association of Socialist Youth (UJS), the Association of Housing Movements (UMM), the Association of Blacks for Equality (UNEGRO), and the São Paulo Association of High School Students (UPES). 171 The economic crisis and tension between left and right political blocs were

palpable in São Paulo’s education sector. The APEOESP did not have a congenial

relationship with the administration of São Paulo governor, Geraldo Alckmin of the

PSDB. In June 2014, the Federal Government passed the National Plan for Education

(PNE), which included among its goals a salary standard for teachers 75.33% above the

amount teachers in São Paulo were paid. Despite various reassurances from the state

Secretary of Education that a salary adjustment was impending, salaries did not increase.

To the contrary, the government passed a decree defining lower goals for spending on

public employees, including those in the education sector, that made salary adjustments

impossible (Decreto n° 61.132/15). The law also made regularization and providing

benefits - particuarly health benefits – impossible for the over 25,000 nonregular teachers, referred to as Category “O”. The state also introduced other spending cuts that it claimed were necessary in order to deal with the national economic crisis. The APEOESP, however, highlighted how these cuts made working conditions intolerable. At the end of

2014 and the beginning of 2015, the state closed approximately 3,400 classrooms in a consolidation scheme. This resulted in unemployment for over five thousand Category

“O” teachers and overcrowding in schools that remained open, with class sizes as high as

102 students. Schools lacked basic supplies like books, pens, soap, and toilet paper, which, coupled with São Paulo’s water crisis, led to extremely unhygienic conditions.

The state stopped downloading resources to schools on October 30th, and did not resume until the beginning of the next fiscal year in January. While the APOESP asked for more investment in schools, the annual state budget passed in December of 2014 reduced

spending on education by 44% (“Educação não é Prioridade” 2014; “Os Professores

Estão Realizando uma Greva Histórica” 2015).

172 On January 6th, the APEOESP President, Maria Izabel “Bebel” Azevedo Noronha,

first publicly announced the possibility of a strike during a radio interview. During the

month of January, the union leadership had no less than five meetings with the State

Secretary of Education to discuss the various issues facing the sector, including the

results of a survey conducted with the professional polling firm, Data Popular, which

asked teachers, parents and students about the most pressing issues affecting the quality

of education. These meetings, however, bore no results. On January 29th, approximately

five thousand teachers mobilized in front of the state Department of Education building

in the center of the city of São Paulo in a show of force to warn the government that if no

movement was made on salaries, school closings, and overcrowding, that the teachers

would begin a strike on March 13th. The mobilization was also joined by the Union of

State Students (UEE), the Union of Brazilian Secondary Students (UBES) two of the

oldest and left-leading student groups in the country.

Between January 29th and March 13th, the APEOESP leadership had the task of

making sure that its membership base supported and was prepared for the strikes. During

the first two weeks of February, the leadership focused on school visits to discuss the

salary demands and elect representatives to the general assembly called for March 13th.

On February 9th, the APEOESP formally transmitted the strike demands to the governor.

Local debates on strike as a form of campaigning for the salary demands and the first meeting of representatives occurred during the second half of February. During the first part of March, visits continued and chapters conducted local acts and mobilizations to raise awareness about the salary demands. Emphasis was also placed on scheduling meetings with parents to explain the union’s stand. Two days before the general assembly would vote on the strike, regional assemblies were held to form strike commands so that

173 action could begin immediately after the anticipated vote of approval. Throughout this

period, information produced by the APEOESP on the status of teachers and motivations

for the strike were also distributed through the CUT, UNE/UEE, UBES, and UJS.

On May 13th, approximately ten thousand APEOESP affiliates gathered on the main thoroughfare of Avenida Paulista to vote on the strike. The final list of demands approved by the assembly included policies directly related to the professional well-being of teachers and the education sector, as well as more general policy issues such as rejection of calls to lower the minimum penal age and ending criminalization of strikes and social movements.

5.9 Strategies during the strike

The APEOESP employed multiple strategies during the strike in order to try to pressure the state government to enter negotiations. According to the APEOESP’s head of communication, the union considered its foremost strength to be its numbers. Thus, the primary strategies involved not only withdrawing from work, but engaging members and sympathizers in public mass actions, including a encampment in the Republic Plaza in front of the Department of Education in the center of São Paulo, temporary occupations of the legislative building, and decentralized rallies in transport hubs around the state. Bi- weekly general assemblies served not only as the occasions in which members would vote whether or not to continue the strike (thus emphasizing the APEOESP’s internal democracy and participatory practices), but also as centralized mobilizations of their own.

In addition to public gatherings and showing numbers, much thought and resources were placed on alternative methods of communication. This was especially important as the Globo network did not carry any coverage of the strike. At the same

174 time, well-distributed right-leaning media, such as O Estado de São Paulo and self- identified liberal critic of the left, Reinaldo Azevedo of the Folha de São Paulo, presented the striking teachers as undisciplined, violent, and closed to negotiation61. The state government of São Paulo used its own communication engine to distribute information that APEOESP claimed was factually wrong. For instance, the state government claimed that the APEOESP was unwilling to negotiate, while the APEOESP claimed that the Secretary of Education was consistently canceling and rescheduling meetings and would not offer any salary proposals. The state government claimed that it had already implemented a 45% salary increase between 2011 and 2014, as well as R$ 1 million (approximately US$376,000) in bonuses to teachers, while the APEOESP claimed that such an increase was agreed to but never implemented. The state government also claimed that less than 3% of public school teachers were participating in the strike. The APEOESP, however, accused the government of deliberately manipulating the number of classes in session and how classes were counted.62 The union claimed that between 30% and a height of 82% of teachers participated throughout various points in the strike.

The APEOESP’s communication department produced numerous pamphlets, fliers, and internet publications explaining the strike. It also partnered readily with alternative media groups, such as Agência Brasil, Mídia Ninja, and Journalistas Livres, who had more professional journalistic expertise as well as more capability in audio- visual production and social media distribution. Additionally, various groups identified

61 There was an incident when a Globo reporter was verbally accosted and garbage was thrown at her, but the APEOESP sent out a statement saying they were not teachers, but black block infiltrators (“Black blocks agridem repórteres” 2015).

62 The APEOESP claimed that the state government, in addition to manipulating the class count outright, combined students into large groups and had them watch movies. 175 with the left used their own communication engines to lend support to and distribute the

teachers’ message, including student groups like UBES, UJS, and UNE; professional

groups like the Lawyers’ Collective for Democracy (O Coletivo Advogados para a

Democracia), the Forum of Public Employees (Fórum do Funcionalismo), and the CUT;

and individual university professors, particularly from the State University of São Paulo.

The APEOESP also sought and received endorsements and messages of support from

celebrities and public intellectuals, including soap opera actress, Letícia Sabatella,

liberation theology scholar, Leonardo Boff, and Gaviões da Fiel, the official fan club of

the state’s most popular soccer team.

Institutional strategies were limited and envisioned more to complement mass

actions than to actually effectively change policy. Noronha met twice with the College of

Leaders (Colégio de Líderes), the body composed of the leaders of all parties represented

in the state legislature, in order to seek their help to convince the state government to

enter into negotiations. With no progress after the meetings, and with the support of

legislators from the opposition bloc (PT, PSOL and PCdoB), the APEOESP again

adopted a tactic of mass concentration. On April 15th, approximately 1,000 teachers occupied an auditorium in the Legislative building, with the opposition legislators joining them. The teachers said they would not leave until the legislature intervened and facilitated negotiations with the government. After about 24 hours, the President of the

House, Fernando Capez, also a member of the governor’s PSDB, agreed to allow the union to have a public hearing in the legislature on April 22nd, as well as to facilitate a

meeting between the union and the Secretary of Education on April 23rd. The public

hearing was another opportunity for the APEOESP to mobilize numbers in a show of

strength (they mobilized approximately 500), as well as to communicate to the legislators

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their opposition to bills seeking the further privatization of public services. However, the union had no illusion that they would be able to sway the opinions of the majority of legislators. While the meeting with the Secretary of Education finally occurred on the

23rd, the parties could not agree on any proposal for a salary adjustment, and the strike continued.

The APEOESP also engaged the judicial branch. Again, this engagement was undertaken with the purpose of complementing mass actions. According to a member of the APEOESP leadership,

We don’t focus much on the courts because we don’t really trust them. But, we have staff lawyers and lawyers who voluntarily consult for us, so they advised us to file the case. But for the leadership and the organization, we are focused on membership and the people because numbers is what is more likely to bring us victory.

The APEOESP’s court engagement was initially a defensive one. The state government had begun docking striking teachers’ wages, a practice that obviously provided a strong disincentive for teachers to participate in the strike. The union challenged the practice in state court, which decided on May 7th that the strike was legal, and that deducting wages for days on strike was a violation of the fundamental right to strike. The APEOESP sent a letter to the state government asking for the immediate implementation of the decision. The state Public Prosecutor’s Office (Ministerio Público) also published its agreement with the decision and called on the state government to comply. The state government, however, appealed to the Superior Court of Justice (STJ) and successfully had the state court’s decision overturned. The APEOESP, in turn, appealed to the Supreme Federal Court (STF), Brazil’s court of last resort, which upheld the initial court’s decision saying that the right to strike was absolute and that the striking teachers’ pay could not be penalized. Ironically, this decision was handed down on July

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7th, over three weeks after the teachers ended their strike. Also, ironically given the

APEOESP’s apprehension towards the court system, it is perhaps the most important and concrete institutional victory to have resulted from the strike.

On June 7th, the teachers voted to end their strike. Despite the variety of tactics and sources of support, the government of the state of São Paulo showed no sign that it would be willing to negotiate and, without salary, it was exceedingly difficult for the union leadership to ask members to continue striking. Months into the strike, Governor

Alckmin continued to state publicly that the strike did not even exist. Furthermore, the

APEOESP leadership and membership became increasingly involved with other political issues. It again sent caravans to Brasilia to support the CUT’s campaign against a law that would have relaxed controls on contractualization (Projeto de Lei 4.330). It was gearing up for another major battle with the state government and its legislative allies in the form of a major overhaul to the structure and curriculum of public education, which the government was pushing to pass in the fall63. Furthermore, tension over the national situation and impending impeachment was intensifying. The APEOESP, due to a combination of the ideology of the organization, the proximity of much of the leadership and membership to the PT, and pressure from the community of social movements, saw itself on the frontlines of that fight.

5.10 Analysis

The way the APEOESP worked with other organizations during its 92-day strike reflects the union’s understanding of itself as well as the other groups in its orbit. The

63 Although it is beyond the scope of the strike and this chapter, the state government of São Paulo began closing over ninety schools in October of 2015, resulting in school occupations and tense standoffs between military police and the teachers and students. Many of the manifestations and occupations turned violent, with police physically attacking demonstrators and the state government shutting off water and electricity to occupied schools. 178 APEOESP continued to rely on mass actions because of its emphasis on numbers and participation – it believed its strength came from numbers and the discipline thereof. At the same time, it emphasized solidarity and cooperation with other organizations.

We observe mutualism among organizations differentiated by the four dimensions identified in the theory chapter of this dissertation: skills, sector, territorial influence, and ideology. While the APEOESP had its own communication group and distribution channels, it also worked with groups whose technical expertise centered around media and journalism such as Jornalistas Livres and Mídia Ninja. These groups also had more expertise and capability regarding social media, which the APEOESP recognized was particularly important given their lack of access to traditional broadcast and print media.

In terms of sector, the APEOESP also relied on solidarity from different sectors to add to numbers and pressure on the state. Cooperation and relationship-building with student groups such as the UNE/UEE, UBES, and UJS helped lend legitimacy to the strike as it helped the APEOESP frame its demands as good for quality of the education system as a whole, and not just teachers’ material or financial needs. Cooperation with other workers’ organizations, including the CUT and Fórum do Funcionalismo Público, helped frame the strike in general terms of workers’ rights. Additionally, it was not uncommon to see representatives from informal settler, black, and LGBT organizations at strike-related events. Speakers from these groups generally spoke about how their communities suffered disproportionately from the low quality of public education, hence their support for the strike.

While these organizations from other sectors contributed number through mobilizing their own memberships, they were also expected to be the main method of communication with other groups and unorganized individuals in their respective sectors.

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For example, the APEOESP would not hold a forum or information session about the strike targeted at youth without the involvement of one or more of the student groups. In this way, groups divided the work as each remained responsible for its respective sector.

At the same time, groups respected the autonomy of each of the individual sectors and the appropriate organizations’ ownership over representing, organizing, and mobilizing their respective sectors.

The APEOESP is the only officially recognized union for public secondary school teachers in the state of São Paulo. Its chapters are organized territorially and enjoy horizontal autonomy. The organization has no history of trying to expand its influence over other states nor does it engage in questioning or criticizing teacher unions in other states.

With respect to ideology, the APEOESP strike involved groups from several different ideological blocs and political parties. Although the APEOESP president,

Noronha, and the majority of the APEOESP leadership were vocal members of the PT64, groups that considered themselves to be the leftist opposition to the PT, such as the

Brazilian Communist Party (PCB) and Unified Party of Socialist Workers (PSTU) strongly supported the strike. At the same time, these groups took care in their literature and speeches to qualify that they also supported Rousseff’s impeachment. Similarly, the major student groups, the UJS, UBES, and UNE/UEE, were all dominated by leadership affiliated with the PCdoB. While the UJS is officially linked to the PC do B, in the UEE

64 Noronha, in particular, identifies with the Articulação Sindical tendency within the PT, founded by ex-president Lula da Silva.

180 and UBES, candidates affiliated with different parties competed for leadership positions, with the PCdoB winning in both groups at the time.65

Figure 5.2 The Brazilian Communist party’s “Red Bulletin” expresses support for the strike while blaming President Rousseff for cuts to education spending

65 It can be noted that while other left-identified parties, including the PSOL and PCdoB were critical of the PT, and PSOL was in the opposition to the PT coalition in the national legislation, both parties were allies of the PT in São Paulo state and did not support the impeachment proceedings against Rousseff. 181 Tensions between different ideological groups were not absent during meetings

and events. For example, in what became a common ritual at large assemblies, Noronha

would speak to the crowd about the issues the strike was attempting to address, followed

by speaking about the Alckmin administration’s response to the union’s demands,

followed by characterizing Alckmin, the PSDB, and the right in general as attacking

democracy in general. This inevitably led to characterizing attacks on President Rousseff

as an attack on democracy orchestrated by the right. When Noronha would begin

mentioning Rousseff, APEOESP members affiliated with the PSTU (who supported

Rousseff’s impeachment) would begin loudly singing and jeering. When they began,

Noronha would give a signal to a group of drummers, who would then play the beat to a

well-known chant or song to drown out the hecklers. Despite these instances, the different political/ideological blocs did not openly criticize each other’s participation in the strike.

Rather, they emphasized that the strike was an expression of the “broad left,” thus

opening the door for participation among varying levels of militancy.

This, of course, is not to say that all groups related to education or the teaching

profession participated and/or were supportive of the strike. There are innumerable

student and university-level organizations that took no stand. Also, notably, the CPP and

UDEMO did not join the strike despite the organizations’ early history together. The CPP

and UDEMO did not go through the same ideological transformation process as the

APEOESP. This is apparent by, among other measures, their lack of affiliation with any

of the ideological union centrals such as the CUT or CTB. Nevertheless, there were

minimal public attacks between them and the APEOESP (despite some passive references

to unnamed teachers’ groups working with the state), and the three groups participated in

joint advocacies in subsequent years.

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In addition to concerted efforts to work with and respect the autonomy of other groups, the APEOESP took much effort to associate their strike with democracy – both internal organizational democracy as well as the nation’s democratization process. The very decision to enter into a strike was made with intense consultation and debate with members at the local level. This was done not only to ensure the democratic legitimacy of the decision, but to ensure that once the question of whether or not to strike was put to a vote, that it would be sure to pass. Bi-weekly assemblies acted as a running renewal of the decision to strike, as well as mass actions within themselves. Furthermore, the very messages the APEOESP was putting out emphasized the internal democracy of the decisions undertaken. Press releases and literature frequently featured stories told from the point of view of rank and file members, while emphasizing that the decision to undertake and maintain the strike was one made democratically. As an illustration: widely-distributed newsletter produced by the union’s communication department to explain the strike dedicated about one-third of its space to describing the APEOESP as

“one of the most democratic institutions in Brazil” and the strike itself as “constructed by the base.”

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Figure 5.3 An APEOESP pamphlet emphasizes the message that the strike was decided upon by the base and that the base has ownership.

Messaging and framing of the strike itself also focused on external democracy.

The APEOESP presented quality education and decent working conditions as rights that should be part of a democratic society. The language, chants, and songs they used to refer to themselves and the strike was one purposely chosen to evoke the emotions of the country’s movement for democracy. Accordingly, the state government, and the PSDB administrations in particular, were repeatedly referred to as authoritarian or exhibiting authoritarian tendencies for refusing to be accountable to students and public employees, using state media to malign the striking teachers and misrepresent data, and engaging in general intimidation. Thus, the very act of challenging the abuse of state authority was framed as acting for democracy.

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5.11 Conclusion

The 2015 APEOESP strike was the longest and largest education sector strike in

Brazil’s history. The strike was the product of a process of organizational transformation wherein the union found itself re-imagining and reconstructing its relationship with the state and society according to the dramatic changes in Brazil’s political history. Initially conceived as a conciliatory bridge between teachers and the state government, the

APEOESP began experimenting with directly challenging the state in order to protect teachers’ well-being at the end of the Estado Novo with some success. Under the military dictatorship and its harsh controls on civil society, however, it reverted to a docile institution. As the dictatorship opened up and new social movement unionism swept São

Paulo, a new generation of ideological democratic and leftist leaders began challenging this docility from within, and eventually becoming the majority tendency within the

APEOESP. Since the late years of the dictatorship and through the democratic period, the

APEOESP has defined itself as an organization concerned not only with the material well-being of teachers, but also more generally concerned with solidarity among labor and extending democracy to the working class.

The strategies and framing that characterized 2015 strike reflected this identity and these values. The APEOESP readily sought to coordinate with other organizations in order to divide up the work and benefit from the expertise of others, but also to present its struggle as a struggle relevant and supported by various sectors and populations. At the same time, it framed the strike demands, as well as the strike itself, in terms of a democratic challenge to an abusive state government that was unwilling to extend the rights to quality education and decent and safe work to the majority of the population.

Although the APEOESP did not win the material demands it made in the strike, and the

185 situation for public education arguably worsened in the following year, it did gain an important institutional victory in the form of the Supreme Federal Court’s decision guaranteeing the right to strike and to be paid for days on strike.

186 CHAPTER 6

CONCLUSION

As I write this conclusion, the political situation in both the Philippines and Brazil is tense with multiple actors wondering about the future of democracy. In 2016, Rodrigo

Duterte was elected president the Philippines by plurality, running a populist campaign that emphasized action against crime and corruption, and taking power away from the so- called Manila elite. Upon taking office he declared a “war on drugs” wherein police and local officials were instructed to identify suspected drug users and sellers at the community level. A consortium of academics was recently able to confirm the identities of over 5,000 civilians killed related to the drug war. The police dispute the number placing it at just under 4,000, while other activist groups estimate total deaths to be closer to 12,000. The vast majority of those killed were poor slum-dwellers. In June 2018,

Duterte announced that another phase of his anti-crime drive would be to crack down on

“tambays” or street loiterers, an activity usually associated with poor slum-dwellers who have small homes and no air conditioning in the tropical city. Without any legislation passed, police arrested thousands of people, using the excuse that they were implementing local ordinances like bans on being shirtless and smoking in non- designated areas.

The executive overreach and state-sponsored human rights violations have been accompanied by attacks on the other branches of government as well. In May of 2018,

187 the Supreme Court voted to unseat Supreme Court Chief Justice Maria Lourdes Sereno, acting upon a petition filed by the Solicitor General, the official legal representative of the government. In addition to the Solicitor General’s petition, Sereno was undergoing impeachment proceedings in the legislature initiated by a government-backed NGO and ushered through by presidential allies. Sereno had tried to assert the independence of the judiciary vis-à-vis the executive. Less than two months after taking office, Duterte gave a speech accusing judges of being involved in the drug trade, specifically naming seven judges, and demanding that they turn themselves in. Sereno responded publicly by revealing that some of the judges named had already long been dismissed or were deceased, and further asserting that as an independent branch of government, judges would be investigated and disciplined by the judiciary, not the executive. She later went on to rule against the government on two cases generally considered a litmus test of loyalty to the president: the president’s decision to bury former dictator Ferdinand

Marcos in the national heroes’ cemetery and the declaration of martial law over the island group of Mindanao.

The legislature is also characterized by a lack of independence from the executive, although this is not new in Philippine politics. What is different from previous

Congresses, however, is that this Congress is controlled by a supermajority coalition of

260 out of 292 members. Furthermore, the officially recognized minority bloc, of only 18 representatives, was endorsed by the majority, votes with the majority on most administration-endorsed bills, and refrains from criticizing the majority or the president.

The independent minority, which openly criticizes the majority and the president, is only comprised of seven members. In recent days, former president Arroyo, currently an elected member of the chamber, orchestrated a vote that removed the sitting speaker and

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installed her in the speakership. It is inconceivable that this could have been done without

President Duterte’s approval. We are waiting to see the new party realignments, including whether Arroyo will begin to assert influence over Duterte’s party, PDP-Laban.

Progressive social movements have also generally not fared well under the current situation, particularly the movements examined in this dissertation. As described in

Chapter 2, despite then-candidate Duterte’s promise to distribute the Coco Levy within the first one hundred days of his administration, the administration placed no pressure nor offered any encouragement for either house of the legislature to pass the Coco Levy Trust

Fund Bill. Furthermore, a Senate realignment that stripped all minority bloc members of committee leadership positions put the Committee on Agriculture under the leadership of one country’s largest landowners and developers, Senator Villar. In an unprecedented legislative procedure, Villar remanded the bill, which had already passed committee deliberations, back to committee and removed the provision that guaranteed farmer participation in determining how the fund was to be utilized. The farmers are now mulling starting the legislative process from zero.

Early in his administration, Duterte also declared in his first State of the Nation

Address that there would be no demolition without decent relocation. This declaration, however, was not accompanied by official directives or implementing guidelines, and pre-demolition procedures for several communities continued. In the following March,

KADAMAY forcibly occupied several public housing projects just outside of Metro

Manila. The dramatic move by the CPP-affiliated group was interpreted as a method of political bargaining. At this time, the CPP was still allied with the Duterte administration and had been allocated cabinet-level positions in the Departments of Social Welfare,

Agrarian Reform, and the National Anti-Poverty Commission, as well as high-level

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positions in the Department of Labor and Presidential Commission on the Urban Poor.

The occupation was interpreted as a way for the CPP to demonstrate its strength in order

to improve its bargaining position within the administration rather than a good-faith

attempt to establish occupation as a viable and sustainable tactic to change housing

policies.

Duterte initially decried the occupation, calling it a display of anarchy and

ordering KADAMAY’s eviction. A month later, however, he announced that KADAMAY

could stay, and that NHA would process the turnover of the units as long as KADAMAY

did not try to occupy other sites. This apparent victory, however, was fleeting. The

housing project that KADAMAY occupied was built to provide affordable housing to

police and army officers. However, many units in the project had remained unoccupied

because of corruption in NHA – the project was substandard, made with flimsy materials

and had no water nor electricity. As a result, police and army officers rejected the units.

Once the KADAMAY occupiers became aware of the unlivable status of the units, they

not only ignored Duterte’s warning not to try to occupy other housing projects, but also

held rallies demanding water, electricity, and jobs in order to pay the NHA-required

amortization. This not only severely damaged KADAMAY’s reputation among the

general public and potential members, but also severely strained KADAMAY and the

CPP’s relationship with Duterte. In the coming months he would double down on his

accusations of anarchy and threaten KADAMAY with violent evictions and murder.

As tensions with KADAMAY continued, Kilos Maralita remained focused on ensuring that the people’s plans that had been approved during the Aquino administration were implemented without significant obstacles, while working with progressive legislators to push for a bill that would prioritize on-site and in-city relocations. They

190 have also appealed to the administration to finance another 22 people’s plans that they argue should have been financed under the P50 billion allocated by the Aquino administration. The Duterte administration, however, has thus far remained silent on its stand towards people’s plans as a housing policy. In the most recent fiscal year, the government slashed the budget of housing agencies from PhP 15.3 billion (US$ 285 million) in 2017 to PhP 4.5 billion (US$ 84 million). Furthermore, the government is undertaking an ambitious infrastructure program that will displace tens of thousands of informal settler families. While these projects do include substantial funding for informal settler relocation allocated through the Department of Transportation or the Department of Public Works and Highways, there are as of yet no indications that these agencies plan to conduct relocation through people’s plan instead of the usual off-site NHA housing.

Moreover, informal settler communities remain the main victims of police harassment and extrajudicial killings related to the “war on drugs.”

Brazil is also going through a tense period. Following the impeachment of former

President Dilma Rousseff, then-Vice-President Michel Temer was installed. Temer is extremely unpopular. He spent much of 2017 maneuvering to avoid being prosecuted for corruption and obstruction of justice charges. Polls in late 2017 and the first half of 2018 reported his approval as between three and five percent. Presidential elections are scheduled for October 2018. The disgraced PT was planning to field former president,

Lula Da Silva. As of April 2018, Da Silva was the clear front-runner in the polls.

However, in April he was jailed due to a corruption conviction. Under Brazilian law, the conviction makes Da Silva ineligible to run for public office for eight years. The PT and allies have consistently claimed that the charges against Da Silva are fabricated in an attempt to prevent him from running and winning the presidency again. Instead of

191 nominating another candidate early on and urging Da Silva’s supporters to support the replacement, the PT leadership declared that any election where Da Silva does not participate is illegitimate mounted a vigorous “Free Lula” campaign. Less than one month before the first round of the election, the PT named single-term São Paulo mayor,

Fernando Haddad as his endorsed candidate in the election. The late decision, however, seems to have left Haddad with an uphill battle as he has little time to make himself known outside of São Paulo. Two weeks before the first round, he is polling in second place, trailing the frontrunner by ten points.

Two weeks before the first round, the frontrunner is Jair Bolsonaro, a far right candidate and ex-military officer who has openly praised the military dictatorship, said he would allow police to shoot criminals, and is in favor of gay conversion therapy. He also has called agrarian reform obsolete and the MST a threat to the country’s order and prosperity, claiming that mechanization is the key to competitive agricultural production.

Bolsonaro was stabbed at a campaign rally in early September, dramatizing the intensity of political division and disillusionment with democratic processes.

Both the agrarian reform movement and the union movement, particularly

APEOESP, have made their opposition to the Temer government known. The MST invaded a number of landholdings controlled by the Temer family and prominent allies in

2017 and 2018. The MST alleged that the land was bought with corrupt funds and thus should be subject to dispropriation. While the Temer government claims they installed more agrarian reform beneficiaries in 2017 than any year during the Rousseff or Da Silva administrations, the MST alleges that the Temer government has merely released titles for families that were already installed during previous governments and has not installed a single agrarian reform beneficiary nor dispropriated any parcel of land in 2017.

192 The APEOESP finds itself in a stagnant position after the 2015 strike. São Paulo

Governor Alckmin stepped down in order to run for president, leaving Vice-Governor and

PSDB party-mate Márcio França to assume the position. The main demands of the 2015 strike remain unresolved: there has not been a substantial reduction in the number of

“Category O” professors, closed schools have not been reopened, and the union is still vigorously campaigning against the privatization of education. On a potentially positive note, the Supreme Federal Tribunal is, as of this writing, still arbitrating negotiations between the union and the state government about how to implement a 10.15% pay raise.

Since 2015, the union has mostly been in a defensive position and focused on national issues. It has been an outspoken voice in opposition to the Temer government’s proposed cuts to social spending, as well as on the front lines with other CUT-affiliated unions calling for Da Silva’s release from prison and demanding that he be permitted to run for president.

Over thirty years after their respective regime changes, Brazil and the Philippines, as well as many of their contemporaries in the third wave, are still in democratic transition. The very term “democratic transition” implies that they are moving towards more democracy. What we observe, however, both in these new democracies as well as some more established democracies is a wave of backsliding towards authoritarianism and political, social, and economic exclusion. Democratic backsliding is nothing new.

What perhaps is new is this most recent wave of backsliding through the strongman figure. He consolidates support while simultaneously distracting from policy-based criticism by dehumanizing and stoking anger at particular groups in society. Most notably for social movements, these strongmen thrive on popular demobilization and a lack of engagement with autonomous political organizations. They take advantage of

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polarization, and critical groups are treated as enemies to be demonized rather than compromised with. Though a thorough analysis of what brought these strongmen to power is beyond the scope of this dissertation, they can be at least partially explained as a reflection of people’s impatience with democracy to meet expectations about their quality of life and governance. The strongmen offer simple solutions to society’s ills through their sheer personal strength without all the complications of democratic processes or the effort and inconvenience that popular participation requires.

This dissertation has focused on social movements in Brazil and the Philippines that see themselves as players in the struggle to expand and improve democracy. I began by asking how movements in new democracies determine their repertoires of contention.

While other authors who have studied social movement repertoires mostly chose to focus their analyses at the level of the individual SMO or the movement as a whole, I chose to focus at the level of the SMI, or social movement industry. I have argued that movements developed organizational specialization in order to deal with the unprecedented needs brought about by the new and fluid institutional arrangements that accompanied democratic regime change. Drawing on organizational studies, this is similar to how firms adapt to respond to changes in the market or to enter emerging markets where the rules are often fluid and vaguely defined and/or poorly enforced. Democratic regime change often did not mean an immediate change in the material situation of social movements and their concerned populations. Rather, it meant new possibilities for engaging the state and conducting above-ground activities.

Additionally, social movements adapted not only response to changes in state institutions, but also in response to the organizational ecology of the SMI. Organizations were cognizant of who the other organizations in their SMI were, and how they

194

specialized. The organizations, in turn, used this information to determine their strategies

and tactics, as well as their general organizational development. Movement actors created

new organizations, spin-off organizations, and coalitions in order to fulfill specialized

roles according to skills, sector, territorial influence, and ideology to adapt to but also

mold institutions through engagement on multiple fronts.

Specialized technical skills became exceedingly important under the democratic regimes. Rather than just making issue-specific demands while standing in general opposition to the regime, democracy opened up the possibility of engaging the state and even educating government officials or becoming part of government. Movements suddenly found themselves in the position to not just oppose, but also propose. As such, there was a need for organizations that could “translate” ground-level demands to

policymakers as well as translate laws and government policies to the sectors affected.

Sometimes, state policies and processes themselves made special skills necessary. We see

this in the AMVACA case where the people’s plan process required informal settlers to

have a registered homeowners’ association, acquire bids from architects and contractors,

and get building permits from the local government. We also see this in the Cabaceiras

case where the land dispropriation process officially required physical surveys and proof

that the land was not adequately fulfilling a social function. Although government

agencies are supposed to be primarily responsible for collecting this information, they

ultimately relied heavily on the MST and CPT to guide their investigations and provide

the necessary data.

These often highly technical skill requirements reinforced specialization by sector.

The sheer breadth of knowing the ins and outs of, for example, the status of coconut

farmers, laws surrounding the coconut industry, and proposals and evolution in state

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policies, could make it difficult for an organization to focus on other topics. Moreover, sectoral specialization was related to sectoral ownership and the idea that campaign demands and conduct should be defined by the stakeholders most directly impacted, rather than imposed by outside “experts” or technocrats.

Similarly, specialization in terms of territorial influence is partially a logistical issue. It allows SMOs and their independent chapters to cater activities to their local needs and contexts. Territorial specialization was also a way to avoid conflict with other

SMOs in the same industry. Activists often delineated “areas” as under their or other groups’ influence, and very rarely tried to organize in another’s designated area. When they did enter another group’s area, they usually sought to recognize the other group and speak with their leadership as early as possible so as to avoid misunderstandings and unnecessary animosity.

Finally, the cases also demonstrate ideological specialization, or how radical organizations are willing to be in terms of the demands they make and the repertoires they are willing to employ to pursue said demands. In some cases, notably Cabaceiras and the Coco Levy, more moderate and extreme groups actively strategized together with the more extreme groups providing extra-institutional pressure while more moderate groups negotiated with government and allies within government pushed from within. In the AMVACA case, we see that although extreme and moderate groups did not actively collaborate, the threat of mass mobilizations leading to violence perpetrated by the extreme group was among the reasons why the local government was willing to work with the moderate group. It should be noted, though, that this dynamic is not characteristic of all housing campaigns in the Philippines. Finally, in some cases, including the Coco Levy and APEOESP, we see that social movement organizations are

196 not always limited to those challenging the state or existing power arrangements. The state can also create or co-opt SMOs and thus challenge the legitimacy of challenger organizations.

We observe in each of the four cases that because the individual organizations specialized, the movements as a while were able to work via both institutional and extra- institutional means in an effort to not only receive their material demands, but also shape the development of the institutions themselves. At the same time, movement actors and organizations placed strong emphasis on democratic discourse and participatory processes, both in the demands they made and the internal decision-making and management rules they adopted. This emphasis was largely a reaction to problems of legitimate representation - wherein the state and elite groups had long claimed to speak on behalf of the basic sectors without giving the sectors an actual voice - and a history of poor peoples’ marginalization from political power and social status. Being advocates not only for improvements in the material conditions of their sectors, but also the extension of democratic values became very important to the identities and inner workings of movements.

In addition to these main arguments of specialization and sectoral participation and ownership, other themes have become apparent across the cases. The presumption that social movement organizations, like firms, primarily compete with each other may be misplaced. Throughout the cases we observe many instances of purposeful and organized cooperation among SMOs. Specialization may be one explanation why cooperation seems to characterize SMO relationships more than relationship among firms. As SMOs serve different functions and populations, cooperation can help them strengthen each other and bring the SMI closer towards a shared campaign goal without the burden of

197

competing for resources or space. Similarly, we observe that the formation and re- formation of organizations and coalitions, even when the individual members are essentially the same population, can be a means of specialization. Creating new organizations provides vehicles for activists to pursue different goals within the same general issue area while minimizing the baggage or brand issues connected to old organizations, which in turn can allow them to attract new members and appear newer and more exciting in the media.

Finally, as other authors have emphasized (see, e.g. Avritzer 2009 and Borras

1999), we observe that the line between state and society is incredibly permeable. In the democratic period social movements have stuck to the extra-institutional repertoires they developed during their respective dictatorships, but also consciously and strategically attempted to identify and develop relationships with allies in government, and at times, sought to place activists from their own ranks in government positions. When successful, a symbiotic relationship develops where the movement provides the official with data and information as well as political support, while the official attempts to navigate from within the government to address the movement’s demands.

While this dissertation seeks to unpack how movements choose their repertoires of contention, other important questions beyond its scope arose during the research and writing processes, especially given the political context these countries find themselves in a few years later. An interesting area of research would be to investigate how conservative and state-sponsored social movements choose their repertoires. State- sponsored social movements and social movement organizations have a long history, especially in countries with corporatist histories, and strongman and repressive governments are increasingly using GoNGOs to prop up their own images of popularity

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and legitimacy. Yet, the vast majority of social movements literature, including this

dissertation, deal primarily with social movements that challenge the state and existing

economic and power relations. We have good reason to believe that movements that exist

to protect the government or strongman would not choose their repertoires with the same

concerns for sectoral ownership and participation, democracy, or even widespread appeal

as movements seeking to open democratic space and opportunity.

Perhaps the more obvious questions, however, have to do with social movement

repertoires, organizational forms, and success. Does all this organizational specialization

through creation, mergers, and off-shoots make movements more flexible and lead to

more success? Is the emphasis on sectoral ownership and participatory decision-making

enough to surmount generations of cognitive disempowerment, or do the rank-and-file

still follow their respective leaders with minimal criticism? Do all the internal discussions

and debates make organizations so inflexible so as to prevent them from adapting to fast-

changing political situations, or are they necessary for legitimacy, unity, and longevity?

This question of organizational form, flexibility, and effectiveness is one activists have

been all the more concerned with in a time when attacks on free speech seem to be as

much about drowning out the truth with fake news and social media bots as about state

censorship,

I have argued that SMOs were forced to developed specializations in response to

the changing institutional arrangements brought about by democratic regime change. As democracy is far from predictable or stable in these and many other third and later wave democracies, change will have to continue. Until the mid 2000s, the conventional thinking in organizational theory was that firm stability was generally desirable. Changes occurred in response to external shocks, and when a shock occurred, the tendency was for

199 firms to respond too slowly. In 2006, however, Lawler and Woorley argued that constant change was the key to sustained effectiveness and that organizations can and should be designed in a way to stimulate and facilitate change. For the social movements analyzed in this dissertation, democratic regime change was the shock that necessitated organizational change. In several of the cases, specific campaigns and coalitions were further triggered by an external change. However, activists could benefit from embracing this idea of constant change directed by strategy and not by events. This includes structuring our organizations to encourage and reward new ideas and creativity. It also involves actively looking for the gaps and needs of the SMI overall. I have personally attended and participated in innumerable planning and strategizing sessions that focus on one’s own organization, one’s goals, and the political context. We certainly look at other

SMOs as potential partners and resources for our own goals, but we almost never consider how the SMI could be more effective overall. Thinking about the kind of skills, areas, sectors, and ideas that will be needed, as well as regularly checking in with partners about their organizational directions, should more regularly become a part of long-term strategizing and purposeful organizational development.

I wrote this dissertation as both an academic trying to solve a theoretical puzzle as well as an activist trying to understand why we do the things we do. The role of social movements in democratization continues to evolve, and will continue to do so especially as the Philippines, Brazil, and others face a resurgence of threats to democracy. It is my hope that this dissertation has helped to unpack and understand some of our choices so that instead of just following tradition, we may be guided to make better choices in the long road ahead.

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