If I Give My Soul: Pentecostalism Inside of Prison in Rio De Janeiro
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If I Give My Soul: Pentecostalism inside of Prison in Rio de Janeiro. A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE FACULTY OF THE GRADUATE SCHOOL OF THE UNIVERSITY OF MINNESOTA BY Andrew Reine Johnson IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY Dr. Penny Edgell, Adviser August 2012 Copyright © 2012 Andrew Reine Johnson All rights reserved Acknowledgments First, I would like to thank my parents, Gordon and Hope, my brother Peter and fiancé Rosane. I am so grateful for each one of them and thankful for their unwavering love. I would also like to thank my adviser Penny Edgell for the mentoring, guidance and persistent support she has provided over the last five years. I want to thank the other members of my dissertation committee, Chris Uggen, Joshua Page and Curtiss DeYoung, for the substantial contributions each one has made to this project. I thank Elizabeth Sussekind for sponsoring my research in Rio de Janeiro and for her insights on the Brazilian Criminal Justice system. I could not have gained access to the prisons and jails without the help and friendship of Antonio Carlos Costa, president of Rio de Paz, and I admire his work and vision for those on the margins of Rio de Janeiro. I also want to thank Darin Mather and Arturo Baiocchi for their friendship as well as their sociological and grammatical insights. I would like to thank Noah Day for his generosity during tight times and Valdeci Ferreira for allowing me to stay in the APAC prison system. Finally, I would like to thank the inmates, ex-prisoners and detainees who participated in this project for the hospitality and trust they showed me during the fieldwork for the project. i Abstract One of the most dynamic and unique manifestations of global Pentecostalism has been inside of Brazilian prisons. This dissertation examines Pentecostalism inside of the jails and prisons of Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and engages with the following three research questions: Why is Pentecostalism so successful in the prisons and jails of Rio de Janeiro, how is the faith practiced by inmates, and what impact does prison Pentecostalism have on the streets and surrounding communities outside of prison? To address these questions, the author collected qualitative data inside of the prisons and jails in Rio, over twelve months. The dissertation argues that Pentecostalism is strong inside of prison partly because it is the dominant faith in the neighborhoods where the vast majority of inmates lived before they were incarcerated. Another component of the faith’s success is the inmate-led Pentecostal churches that operate inside of prisons in Rio de Janeiro. These churches rely on the charismatic leadership of an inmate pastor and replicate the organizational model of Pentecostal churches on the streets. Their legitimacy as a autonomous force inside of prison is reinforced by the criminal gangs who do not subject the Pentecostal inmates to their rules. Pentecostal practice offers more than simply a means for inmates to escape the pains of imprisonment. It offers a counter-cultural identity and corresponding dignity to people who have been historically marginalized, treated as less than full citizens by the state, and who larger society views as expendable. The songs, rituals and communal practices of Pentecostalism offer inmates an opportunity to live dignified lives in the context of an extremely difficult situation. Though Pentecostalism in Rio lacks an explicit, coherent political agenda, the consistent presence of Pentecostals inside of prison is a political act that has material consequences. Pentecostals have achieved an elevated position in prison by providing for the material needs of inmates and directly intervening on their behalf during life threatening crises. The unique space Pentecostals occupy also exposes the problematic nature of their intimate involvement with the inmate population as accusations of illicit financial relationships between some Pentecostal pastors and prisoners have cast a shadow of doubt over the motives of visiting Pentecostal groups. ii Table of Contents Acknowledgments i Abstract ii Table of Contents iii List of Tables iv Chapters Introduction 1 1. Being There: Getting into the “Belly of the Beast” 19 2. Pentecostalism: The Faith of the Killable People 50 3. A Gang of Pentecostals 89 4. The Politics of Presence 118 Conclusion 161 References 189 iii List of Tables Figure 1.1 Qualitative Data Chart 49 iv Introduction After more than a decade behind bars, Carlos knew the drill. He heard the singing and rhythmic clapping of a group of inmates who were beginning their daily worship service on the patio in a maximum-security prison in Rio de Janeiro. He had seen hundreds, likely thousands, of these Pentecostal services start with the musical call to worship, but he had never been moved to join them. He told me that when he was growing up in a hillside favela (slum) on the edge of Rio de Janeiro, “There were four or five churches, even an Assembly of God in my community, but to be honest I didn’t even like crentes [Portuguese for believers]. I thought they were crazy. I thought they were psychos because they walked around in the hot sun dressed just like I am right now,” pointing down to his full gray suit and blue tie pinned to a freshly pressed white shirt. But for some reason on that particular afternoon, Carlos decided to put out his cigarette, jump down from his bunk, and stand toward the back of the thirty or so Pentecostal inmates in the worship service. He remembers the sermon like it was yesterday, specifically when the pastor, an inmate himself, read the following Bible verse from the book of John: “Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” The message of redemption and personal salvation resonated with Carlos, and when the inmate pastor gave the call, he lifted his hand as an affirmative response. The pastor made his way toward the raised hand through the crowd of fellow inmates and when he arrived, he placed his hand on Carlos’s head and began a fervent prayer in a staccato cadence until Carlos fell to the ground in a lifeless heap. Carlos told me, “When I finally got up, I felt really light. I stood up as if I 1 were another person. I believe that the legion of demons that was in me all left on that day…I started to praise the name of Jesus Christ my savior right there in prison, you know. I stopped with all that smoking and snorting cocaine. I used to use prostitutes, but I stopped that, too.” Carlos hugged the pastor and as he walked back to his cell, he reached into his pocket, grabbed his pack of cigarettes, and handed them to one of his friends. Crentes do not smoke. Carlos, like the vast majority of inmates in Rio de Janeiro, was born into an impoverished household, but unlike most, he left for the streets at seven years old when the alcohol-fueled beatings from his parents began to increase in both frequency and intensity. He spent the next six years living with a group of homeless youth who slept on the steps of the Candelaria Church 1 in the heart of the city’s center. He supported himself by begging for money and by committing petty theft. He chuckled when reminiscing, “I used to go to the beach, Copacabana and Ipanema and rob gringos like you.” Worn down by six hard years on the streets, Carlos returned to his neighborhood, joined the Comando Vermelho (Red Command), and worked in the local drug trade. He rose quickly in the gang, but problems came soon after his most successful armed robbery, which netted nearly US$20,000. He kept the stolen cash on his body at all times, but it is hard to keep that sort of money secret. A neighbor tipped off a couple of police officers about the cash. The officers ambushed Carlos outside of a motel; they never planned on arresting him, but they did want his money. It was the second time in less than a week that those bills had changed hands under the shadow of a gun. The 1 The site of the 1993 Candelaria massacre where seven street children were gunned down in cold blood by off-duty police officers. 2 informant likely got a cut of the police’s haul for the information, but the neighborhood tipster had violated the Comando Vermelho’s law against speaking to the police, and as Carlos said, “In the world of crime, the law is that if you commit an act like this, if you ‘rat’ on your comrade, your sentence is death.” The people in Carlos’s community knew who had told and brought him to Carlos for retribution. “So he came, and me, possessed by demons, took the life of that young man. I just came and took the life of that young man.” Two months later he started serving the first days of what would end up being a fifteen-year stint in prison. Carlos left prison with a Bible under his arm, a new identity as a Pentecostal, but with nowhere to go. All of his family members had died, he had cut ties with his gang after his prison-yard conversion, and he was facing a city that had changed a lot since he was arrested. Rio de Janeiro’s economy is booming, propelled by the emerging Brazilian economy, the discovery of one of the region’s largest petroleum deposits off the coast, and a palpable optimism generated from the city’s winning bids to host both the 2014 World Cup and the 2016 Olympic Games.