The Unsettling and Unsettled Monument Against Torture in Rio De Janeiro, Brazil by Ann M

The Unsettling and Unsettled Monument against Torture in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil by Ann M. Schneider This article examines the history of the Torture Never Again monument, which was proposed by Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais (Torture Never Again Group) and designed by Oscar Niemeyer for the city of Rio de Janeiro in the months following the transition from military to civilian government in Brazil in 1985. The prospect of the installation of the monument, although intended to denounce the human rights violations committed by the military government, evoked unexpected challenges and criticisms. Nonetheless, it was approved for installation and a foundation was put in place. Yet, the monument has yet to be erected. As a case study, this article shows the ways in which memorial projects must answer to multiple and often conflicting demands. It argues that the formidable opposition was not directed toward a project to memorialize the victims of torture, but rather toward the specific project proposed. Discussed primarily in terms of propriety and taste, the critiques effectively directed debates about the monument away from a denunciation of the military regime and toward other concerns. Oscar Niemeyer, the world-renowned Brazilian architect, agreed in 1985 to design a monument condemning torture for the city of Rio de Janeiro. His acceptance lent undeniable gravitas to the project, proposed by the recently founded activist group, Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais, during the first months of civilian governance following twenty- one years of military dictatorship in Brazil (1964–1985). Niemeyer explained that ‘‘inspired by the theme of ‘Torture Never Again!,’’’ his Arco de Maldade (Arc of Malice) ‘‘would show in a clear way the cli- mate of terror and death that surrounded our most revolutionary brothers and sisters…with the human figure pierced by the forces of evil, helpless in the face of organized hate.’’1 For the group, whose PEACE & CHANGE, Vol. 37, No. 4, October 2012 Ó 2012 Peace History Society and Wiley Periodicals, Inc. 489 490 PEACE & CHANGE / October 2012 members were overwhelmingly torture victims themselves and ⁄ or fam- ily members of victims, the monument’s concrete and steel aptly evoked the shock and scandal of torture. Inscribed on the cityscape of Rio de Janeiro, they hoped it would bring public scrutiny to what had happened in secret detention centers during the dictatorship in Brazil.2 Yet, wanting it to stand as well as a symbol against torture every- where and throughout time, the group also endeavored to internation- alize the monument with an additional installation in Geneva, Switzerland.3 In spite of these plans, the monument has yet to be installed in Rio or elsewhere.4 Initially approved by all necessary bureaucratic offi- ces and passed by the city council in 1986, the monument project was twice vetoed by the newly elected mayor of Rio and was the object of stinging disapproval from a vocal sector of the artistic community. What appealed to Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais about the monument was precisely what most concerned its unlikely opponents. These crit- ics—artists, journalists, city council representatives, and the mayor, among others—in principle supported the idea of just such a denunciation of the outgoing military regime but opposed either the proposed location or the particular monument itself. Nonetheless, two long years after its initial approval and in spite of the criticisms, the city council overrode the mayor’s vetoes thereby granting final municipal approval to install the monument in 1988. Immediately, the foundation was laid. To date, however, no further progress has been made to install the monument on its foundation (Figure 1). Notably, there was no overt military opposition to the project. Such an absence stands out in light of the earliest canon of scholarship Figure 1. Postcard announcing ‘‘Oscar Niemeyer’s First Sculpture, Tortura Nunca Mais.’’5 Reproduced with permission from Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais and the Oscar Niemeyer Foundation. Monument against Torture in Rio de Janeiro 491 on the ‘‘third-wave’’ democratizations, which emphasized how the looming power of the militaries made those transitions especially frag- ile and precarious.6 Rather than risk provoking the military, the architects of these transitions, as a general rule, treaded cautiously in addressing the legacy of human rights abuses.7 Thus, official truth- telling largely replaced judicial accountability, and scholars and practi- tioners spoke in terms of ‘‘remembering’’ versus ‘‘forgetting.’’8 In Brazil, however, rigid constraints held throughout the transition. There would neither be trials nor an official truth-telling commission about the human rights abuses committed by state agents.9 This airtight impunity left the military’s laudatory narrative about its 1964 coup and subsequent dictatorship as ‘‘the revolution’’ largely unchallenged by the new civilian government, if no less jealously guarded by the military. Yet, the proposal to install a monument condemning torture in Rio did not raise in any obvious way the ire of the military. Instead, it faced friendlier fire. A far cry from what Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais and Niemeyer had hoped the monument would evoke in Rio and beyond, comments in newspaper editorials and city council meetings narrowed the con- tours of the debate to matters of the proper use of particular public spaces and the artistic merit of Niemeyer’s representational monument. There was little discussion of the historic legacy of the military regime or of the civic duty to memorialize its victims. In fact, there was not much conversation at all. The matter never resonated broadly in Rio, and the limited debate that did occur centered not on a dichot- omous choice of whether to remember or to forget, but rather on the finer-grained details about where and how to remember. While the proponents made a larger case for the monument in terms of account- ing for, or at least acknowledging, past human rights abuses in the new democracy, the detractors questioned the tastefulness of the project and the appropriateness of its designated location. The ambivalence shown by the erstwhile allies of the monument in Rio de Janeiro reflects the multiplicity of concerns and demands, many ostensibly unrelated to any position toward the outgoing military regime, which nonetheless weighed on the process and ultimately the outcome of the monument project. Although similar projects were later realized in other Brazilian cities, the history of the project in Rio de Janeiro—an early one in the industry of commemoration that has since developed—shows how long-standing norms and other social values created new and perhaps unexpected conflicts. In particular, 492 PEACE & CHANGE / October 2012 notions about city life and leisure, as well as related narratives about local histories, provoked opposition that re-directed the debate about the monument away from a denunciation of the military regime to alternate considerations. In many ways, the case of this unrealized monument project brings to the fore the very real limits on capital and resources that human rights groups and other activists face when confronting not only larger institutional resistance but also more subtle and nuanced criticisms. Those opposed to Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais’s monument project did not say ‘‘no,’’ but rather ‘‘not this’’ and ‘‘not here.’’ Any costs incurred by the group to respond to such opposition are difficult to measure with precision. What is certain, however, is that even though the monument was ultimately approved for installation, Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais was unable to raise sufficient funds to pay for more than the foundation. 10 ‘‘WHO WOULD REMEMBER THE 70S?’’ Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais and Niemeyer had hoped that the monument would accomplish a number of aims and reach varying audiences over time. One of the key aims of the project was to expose aspects of the dark, hidden history of the dictatorship and thus to erode the tidy trope that had been propagated by the regime about the regime. Grupo Tortura Nunca Mais and Niemeyer also hoped that the monument would in some way console victims and their families and otherwise inspire and inform conversation about the recent history of Brazil for generations to come. In striking ways, Elizabeth Jelin frames such efforts to denounce and to memorialize in capitalist terms, categorizing them as ‘‘labor’’ and the architects as ‘‘memory entrepreneurs.’’ She describes how these entrepreneurs must vigilantly compete for social recognition and political legitimacy of their ‘‘memory enterprise.’’ Often, they compete not just with the political opposition but also with other entrepreneur- ial interests. She refers to market-minded memory projects that ‘‘com- bine the lucrative and the moral in different ways,’’ and explains that many have been an affront to victims.11 The tensions that arise often have to do with perceptions about the moral authority of victims and other survivors to dictate what, where, and how to memorialize. James Young’s analysis of Holocaust memorials in Europe like- wise notes that competing interests are typically at play. He argues Monument against Torture in Rio de Janeiro 493 that the designers of monuments and memorials have had to answer to the often-incongruent demands of ‘‘art and memory.’’ For example, Young explains that abstract memorials in Europe have generally been applauded by artists and curators but have been met with outrage by survivors, for whom ‘‘the searing reality of their experiences demands as literal a memorial expression as possible.’’12 His observations bring to the fore the ways in which monuments can be subject to a broad range of expectations, some of which may seem quite beside the point to victims and their families. Nonetheless, there are examples in Latin American cities, and even elsewhere in Rio, where the more privileged position of the vic- tim held some sway.

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