The courts were organized within the black confraternities (irmandades), particularly the confraternity of Our Lady of the Rosary. In the colonial period, religious confraternities were the dominant institutions linking church and society, and their main activities involved charity work, but they also promoted religious and social activities.6 Most irmandades were organized along racial lines, with separate associations for whites, pardos (colored people) and blacks, and each confraternity promoted an annual festival on the feast of its patron saint. Patron saint festivals were the focus of colonial religious life. On the one hand, they stimulated competition amongst irmandades, each striving to out-do its rivals in its display of ostentation (Priore 1994, 25); on the other, they were one of the few “opportunities for the mingling of all classes on terms approximating equality” (Boxer 1964, 134). Throughout Brazil, the irmandade most commonly associated with blacks, both slaves and freed slaves (forros), was the confraternity of Our Lady of the Rosary, and the festival of Our Lady of the Rosary became the most important date on the black calendar.
The organization of slaves into confraternities was encouraged by the colonial officials, who often also had a hand in the selection of the members of their courts. It has been claimed that the King of the Congo had the political role of mediating between the black population and the local officials (Bastide 1959, 19); thus, Tinhorão (1975, 44) has argued that, through their confraternities, blacks had a means of participating, albeit from a marginal position, in the wider colonial society. Others, however, contend that the courts had a fundamentally compensatory role, providing slaves with an illusion of autonomy (Scarano 1976). Regardless of how effective they may have been as political organizations, the black confraternities engaged actively in raising funds to buy the freedom of their members (Boxer 1964, 177) and to finance their burials (Bastide 1985 [1960], 167–68).
They also served as a focus for black recreational activities, and on Sundays and free days slaves and forros gathered in the churchyard to sing and dance.
In the mining regions of southeastern Brazil, congados first emerged in Ouro Preto and São João del Rei, and then diffused throughout the region, wherever there was a large concentration of slaves (Almeida Barbosa 1965, Corrêa Giffoni 1989). The wealth of the mines allowed the irmandades in Minas Gerais to flourish, and religious festivals were staged very ostentatiously. Even the festivals organized by blacks could be extremely lavish, serving as a legitimate context in which slaves would publicly display their organizational potential and numerical strength (Priore 1994, 83). For each festival a couple was elected, generally from the white population, and they acted as patrons for the festival under the title of King and Queen of the Year. Their primary obligation was to raise funds to provide food for the attendants.
The legacy of the black colonial courts is still evident in contemporary festivals in honour of Our Lady of the Rosary. In some areas of Minas Gerais, all of the congados in a particular town form the local congada, an institution which unites the congados into a federation, or kingdom. This is the case in Itapecerica, Minas Gerais (Giffoni 1989). Some congadas have quite elaborate courts, including a Perpetual King and Queen, who are almost always black; a King and Queen of the Year, who are generally white; a specific king and queen for each congado, judges, ambassadors, masters of the festival poles and so on, all roles that are generally held by blacks or poor whites. Royal insignia, in the form of crowns, scepters, and capes, are very visible within the congado tradition. In Campanha the congados do not form a congada, but they are all united under a Perpetual King and a Queen of the Congo.
Although the colonial courts may have had a distinct political role, contemporary courts are entirely symbolic; as Carlos Rodrigues Brandão (1985, 41) has put it, they rule over an “empty kingdom.” The royal symbols have persisted, however, because they ennoble those who wear them and dignify the culture they represent. Furthermore, as Travassos Lins (1992, 226) has pointed out, “[r]itualized inversions focus attention on social hierarchies.”
There were two black dance associations at the time, one made up of urban slaves and the other of rural slaves; the two groups competed with one another for the attention of the attendants at the festival.
Woven between their musical performances there was the enactment of the “embassy” (embaixada), representing a battle between Christians and Moors The main event of the festival was the Ascent of the Rosary, in which the King and Queen of the Year were accompanied by the musicians from their homes to the Church of the Rosary, located on the highest peak of the town. He described this procession in the following terms: As negras iam vestidas com o que elas tinham de melhor ou que podiam arranjar emprestado; e como, de ordinário, aquilo que mais se aprecia é justamente aquilo de que menos precisamos; muito raro era a negra, que embora não houvesse sol nem chuva, não subisse de chapéu de sol aberto. Os pretos faziam também o que podiam para bem aparecer naquele dia; e muitos havia que tudo quanto ajuntavam durante o ano, nesta festa o consumiam. (author emphasis)
Black women went [to the festival] dressed in the best clothes they owned or were able to borrow; and since that which we most treasure is that which we need the least, it was very rare for black women not to be wearing wide brimmed hats even if it was neither raining nor excessively sunny. The blacks also did what they could to be seen on that day, and there were many who spent everything they had saved over the year during the festival. (Rezende 1987, 192; author emphasis and translation)
It seems that the basic template of the festival remained fairly stable until 1950, when the old Church of the Rosary was demolished, allegedly because its roof was caving in. The local historian, Vinícius de Vilhena de Morais (1988, 47), however, claims that it was in “perfect health” when it was torn down, lending credence to local gossip suggesting that the town priests had it demolished in the hope of curtailing the activities of the local congados. It was not until 1975 that a new chapel in honour of the Rosary was built on the outskirts of the town, and this is where the festival is currently held. Despite the absence of a fixed location for the festival before the new church was built, the congados continued promoting their festival in a vacant lot, and those that lived through the trauma of this period were proud to say that there was not a single year in which the festival failed to take place.
Even though the local congadeiros resisted the eradication of their tradition, the structure of their celebration changed significantly during this vacuum. First, the “embassy” stopped being staged some time during the early 1950s, and now many local congadeiros are convinced that “the book” containing the script of the enactment has been lost and fear that it will never be reconstructed again. Despite these claims, there are copies of the script to be found in Campanha, as I was able to locate two of them, and on several occasions congadeiros recited sections they could still remember.7 It would seem, therefore, that the congadeiros’ resistance toward the revival of the embassy rests upon their awareness that to stage the play again they would have to call upon the assistance of a literate member of the local elite, thereby losing a degree of autonomy over their activities.
Indeed, the past rehearsals were conducted under the supervision of a local school teacher, whose rehearsal techniques were described as strict and demanding.
The demolition of the original church also had a strong impact on the organization of the patronage system of the festival, for it was during this period that the congados found it increasingly difficult to engage the wealthier members of society in the roles of Kings and Queens of the Year. Thus, unlike festivals in neighboring towns, the festival in Campanha has become a “festival without an owner,” to use Roberto daMatta’s (1991 [1975], 87) phrase, so there is no distribution of food to all participants, a veritable anomaly for a Brazilian popular Catholic festival.
It was during this period that the municipal government first began providing financial assistance to the festival, justifying the action in terms of the folkloric value of the congados to local heritage. Even though this intervention has not provided an incentive for the local elite to begin re-investing in the festival and the congados, it has created the infrastructure to attract peripatetic vendors to the town during the festival, and the stalls (barracas) they set up attract large numbers of people to the church grounds.
In other towns in the region, there are still members of the white social sectors willing to take the crown for a year. However, the Festival of the Rosary in Campanha represents an extreme example of the general folklorizing trend of this celebration in southern Minas Gerais. With the exception perhaps of Monsenhor Paulo, where the festival is subsidized annually by a local coffee baron with considerable national political clout, in most other towns the courts are shrinking and elite interest focuses almost exclusively on the commercial enterprises surrounding the festival. Even during the Ascent of the Rosary, the most important event of the festival, in which the congados process through the town on their way to the church with the sound of their drums completely dominating the soundscape, the ensembles attract limited attention outside their own communities.
As the congadeiros themselves concede, once one ensemble added a tremeterra, other groups were compelled to follow suit, so as not to be drowned out by the louder groups during festivals. Thus, competition between ensembles has been a major force propelling these changes. But the desire to attract the attention of the wider community has also played a significant part in instigating them. While through the pageantry of their performances congados demand to be seen, as Ferreira de Rezende so appositely noted, through the volume of their music-making they now also demand to be heard.
Social Memory
Social memory and historical reconstruction can, at times, cross paths, particularly in relation to eyewitness testimonies, as in the congadeiros’ recollection of the changes that took place within the festival and the congados after the demolition of the local Church of the Rosary. Other aspects of social memory, however, stand in direct opposition to historical “fact.” With regard to the congados, this is made especially clear in relation to the widespread notion amongst congadeiros that the tradition emerged to celebrate the abolition of slavery, an idea which is demonstrably inaccurate when viewed in relation to historical documentation. In fact, the local historian, Roberto Jefferson in a personal communication, claimed that there were only six slaves left in Campanha on the day of abolition; anticipating its declaration, most slave owners had already freed their slaves, switching to share-cropping systems and indentured labor.
Regardless of whether the recollections of social memory are congruent with or opposed to versions of the past which might be acceptable to an academic historian, their significance resides in the manner in which images of the past impact upon understandings of the present. By establishing a relationship between the congado tradition and abolition, blacks in southern Minas Gerais have constructed a forum for collectively negotiating the past as a means of constructing critiques of their present experience.
The events and images of the past that make up the black social memory of the region of Campanha are transmitted through countless narratives circulating within congado communities. These stories often begin with stock phrases, such as: “the congado comes from Africa”; “the congado is from the time of the ancient ones”; “the congo was the dance of the slaves”; or “we dance the congo to remember captivity.” In some cases congadeiros expound further, and provide origin myths similar to the narrative with which this paper begins. In many such narratives a contrast is drawn between the covert activities of blacks during slavery and the freedom of expression following abolition. One such version is told by Seu Paulo, the Perpetual King of the Congo of Cordislândia, a small town situated 30 kilometers from Campanha:
O congo é uma coisa que os pretos não tinha condições de se adivertir, é uma coisa inventada por eles. . . . Então eles mesmo fazia os instrumento deles: reco-reco de bamboo, . . . e ali à noite, depois que os senhores deles se deitavam, . . . eles ia fazer a festa deles, porque a senzala era no terreiro, no curral, assim. Ali eles ia dançar. Eles fazia o batuque deles lá, dançava. Depois que eles terminava a dança deles tudo, eles pegava aquilo ali, . . . fazia um fogo ali, queimava, . . . que se não, no outro dia, que o patrão visse aquilo ali, eles apanhava. . . . Então eles fazia aquilo tudo escondido. . . . Aí quando eles foi libertado, . . . não precisaram mais queimar os instrumento, e sairam tocando pra todo mundo vê.
The congo is something for blacks who had no means of amusing themselves, it’s a thing they invented. . . . So they made their instruments themselves: bamboo scrapers, . . . and at night, after their owners had gone to bed, . . . they would have a party, because the slave quarters were in the yard, in the corral, like that. There they went to dance. They played their rhythms there, danced. After they had finished their dance, they collected everything, . . . they made a fire, burned [everything], . . . because if they didn’t, the next day, if the owner saw it, they were beaten. . . . So they did everything secretly. . . . Then when they were freed, . . . they didn’t need to burn the instruments, and they played for everyone to see. (author’s translation)Some variants of this story integrate elements of divine intervention, thereby establishing the sacredness of the dance and of the divine provenance of the truths it embodies. One congadeiro claimed that on the day of abolition, the slaves made their flimsy bamboo instruments as usual, but when they went out into the streets to play them, Our Lady of the Rosary appeared and miraculously transformed them into the sturdier instruments used in the ensemble today. Some narratives attribute the invention of the tradition to the miraculous power of Saint Benedict the Moor, as in the story told by Seu João Osarias, from Monsenhor Paulo, Minas Gerais:
O São Benedito, ele era cozinheiro, escravo do senhor. Ele já batia a caixa dele, né? A turma pensava que ele tava cantando, né, ele tava rezando. . . . Até pra fazer macumba é preciso ter a caixa, não é? Ele pegou a caixa, ele era criança. . . . No dia que morreu a filha do rei ele já era mocinho. O rei chorando, triste, reclamando. E ele foi batendo a caixinha dele, batendo a caixinha dele em roda. Quando foi meia noite, ela buliu com os braço. Próximo da meia noite, ela buliu com o corpo, sentou. Ele deu a mão pra ela, levou, entregou ela lá ao pai dela. Bom, aí já conheceram que ele tinha poder. . . . Dispois da caixinha dele foi tirada estas caixa tudo, que tá aí. . . . Nasceu o congo dele.
Saint Benedict was a cook, slave of the lord. He already played his drum, right? People thought he was singing, right, but he was praying. . . . Even to make black magic you need a drum, isn’t that right? He took up the drum, he was a child. . . . On the day that the kings’ daughter died he was already a young man. The king was crying, sad, complaining. And he started playing his drum, playing his drum in a circle. At midnight she moved her arms. Around midnight she moved her body, sat up. He gave her his hand, took her, presented her to her father. Well, that’s when they recognized that he had power. . . . Afterwards from his drum all the other drums that are here emerged. . . . His congo was born. (author’s translation)
In some narratives divine intervention promotes an inversion of the social order, re-dressing the balance in class and race relations. This is the case in another narrative complex which is widely diffused throughout southeastern and central Brazil. In this story an image of Our Lady of the Rosary is discovered in some remote place, and efforts are made to transfer it to a more central location. It is ultimately through the performance of a congado that the divinity agrees to be moved. A version of this story was told by Seu Paulo, from Cordislâbdia:
Então a senhora vai ver, eles foram tão simples, então a simplicidade deles era tanto que quando achou a Nossa Senhora do Rosário, foram muitas coisas importante lá pra tirar ela, buscar ela, sabe? Ela não saiu. Foi a banda de música, tocou. Foi isso, foi mais aquilo outro, aquilo outro. Ia lá pra ver se ia agradar ela. Que nada. Chegou o coitadinho dos preto lá tocando aquela violinha deles lá, aquela coisinha deles: chim chim, chinhinhim. Pela simplicidade deles, ela acompanhou eles.
So you see, they were so simple, so their simplicity was such that when they found Our Lady of the Rosary, many important things went to get her, you know? She didn’t come out. The music band went, played. This went, and that went, and that. They went to see if they could please her. But nothing. The poor blacks arrived there playing their little violas, their little things: ching, ching, chinginging. Because of their simplicity, she followed them. (author’s translation)Such narratives of symbolic inversion undoubtedly embody subaltern fantasies, but they also articulate a moral code premised on the proclamation of a divine immutable truth: the essential equality of all humans in the eyes of God. By invoking divine intervention in the re-arrangement of the social order, the narratives mark a distinction between the saints’ vision for the world and that of humans. In a world governed by the divine will of God, the “simple” congadeiros are the ones who please the saints.
The congado tradition does not, however, rely entirely upon divine intervention to engineer the re-ordering of the social sphere. Even though some narratives attribute the invention of the tradition to the saints, the vast majority of them claim that it was the slaves themselves who invented it. In a story narrated by Jair Filipino, a congadeiro from São Gonçalo, Minas Gerais, the slaves use their drums to exact their revenge on their owners:
Quando a Princesa Isabel libertou os escravos, os escravos queriam matar o rei, porque o rei era ruim. . . . Ele judiava; a escravidão era por causa do rei. Mas a rainha, ela era pura. Ela adorava o povo. Então quando libertou, os escravos queria matar o rei, mas como não conseguiram, então eles juntaram todos os instrumento e foram pra porta do palácio pra poder enlouquecer o rei, porque entrar no palácio, eles não podiam, porque tinha a guarda real. Então eles bateram três noite e três dia na porta do palácio, até que o rei enlouqueceu. . . . Então na libertação dos escravo surgiu . . . a congada. Que nem tanto, pode ver, que se ficar fazendo barulho, isso aqui a noite inteira no ouvido, não há que ‘güenta. Então essa maravilha aqui significa a libertação dos escravos.
When Princess Isabel liberated the slaves, the slaves wanted to kill the king, because he was evil. . . . He mistreated; slavery was because of the king. But the queen, she was pure. She loved the people. So when they were freed, the slaves wanted to kill the king, but they couldn’t, so they got their instruments together and went to the palace door to make the king go mad, because they couldn’t enter the palace because of the royal guard. So they played for three days and three nights at the door of the palace, until the king went mad. . . . So when the slaves were freed, the congada emerged. So you see, if one keeps making noise like this all night long in someone’s ear, no one can stand it. This wonderful thing here means the liberation of the slaves. (author’s translation)
The narrative repertoire of the congados evinces a number of oppositions which re-emerge in different contexts from one story to another. Many stories mark a distinction between two historical periods: a period under slavery, governed by white kings and queens, in which black culture is suppressed, and the post-slavery era, in which blacks are able to openly express their cultural legacy. Many stories also distinguish between an evil powerholder, whose actions are governed by his personal interests, and a benevolent, charitable figure, who acts for the benefit of others. These oppositions are mediated by the drum; the drum embodies black culture and it is the medium for instating divine will on earth. When the slaves are freed and finally able to express their heritage in public, they play their drums; the drums are played for the saints, and their appreciation of the music bestows legitimacy upon black culture.
It is the sound of the drum which heals the princess, and out of gratitude—or fear—the king liberates the slaves; alternatively, the intense sound of the drum drives the king mad, ending his reign. The drum, therefore, is both a means of healing physical and social ills which affect the whole of society as well as of marking cultural difference; it denounces inequality, which is predicated upon a moral code of universal validity, and it proclaims black identity, which presupposes cultural difference. By establishing the drum as the central symbol of the tradition, congado communities denounce the use of human difference as the basis for social stratification. The tradition is able, therefore, to envisage a society in which distinct cultural identities are reconciled with a concept of essential human equality.
The verses of the songs used to accompany the dance are generally structured around a single quatrain, which is repeated continuously for several minutes. The themes used in these verses are so varied—and even arbitrary—that, at first glance, it would appear that they are little more than structural frames for maintaining the unity of the ensemble during performance. This is perhaps the case for some verses, but many of them make telegraphic references to images which resonate with themes in the narratives.
According to Rosaldo (1986, 104–9), telegraphic imagery can communicate a rich body of narrative detail through the allusions it makes to a shared repertoire. For an audience familiar with this repertoire, the motifs in the quatrains function as “metonyms of narrative” (Smith 1975, 97–100), invoking the wider picture. Take, for instance, the following verse, which is sung by practically every congado in the Campanha region:
Vamos dançar congo, ai ai. (Let’s dance congo, ai ai).Congo vem da Angola, ai ai. (Congo comes from Angola, ai ai).Quem gosta de congo, ai ai, (Those who like congo, ai ai),Nesta terra chora, ai ai. (Cry on this earth, ai ai). (author’s translation)For congadeiros, this verse is pregnant with meaning: by proclaiming the African origins of the dance, it is defined as an integral part of the black heritage. The legacy of blacks is further established as one of continuous suffering. The experience of the ancestors, therefore, is brought to bear on contemporary experience. The miraculous powers of Our Lady of the Rosary are invoked in the following verse:
Ô Senhora do Rosário, (Oh Lady of the Rosary),Seu mistério não tem fim. (Your mystery has no end).Ô Senhora do Rosário, (Oh Lady of the Rosary),Vai contar tudo pra mim. (You are going to tell me everything). (author’s translation)This verse makes reference to an extensive repertoire of miracles performed by the saint in “mythic” time, but it also invokes memories of the devotees’ personal experiences of her miraculous powers, achieved primarily through “promises.”10 Once again the past is made to resonate with the present, and just as the slaves, in their powerlessness, required the assistance of the saint, so too do the congadeiros of today. Many congado verses are specifically concerned with the present, their texts announcing what the group is doing as they sing. In this way the congadeiros affirm the relevance of their activities in sustaining their collective identity. This is the case, for example, in the following verse, which is commonly sung when two congados meet during a festival:
Ai, que encontro bonito (Oh, what a beautiful encounter)Nós fizemos nesta hora: (We made at this hour):Encontrou dois congadeiro, (Two congadeiros met),Empregados de Nossa Senhora. (Employees of Our Lady). (author’s translation)Animals and natural elements feature prominently in many of the verses. Frequently the songs refer to small harmless animals, which could be read as an allusion to the powerlessness of the members of congado communities:
Nós estamos chegando, (We are arriving),Chegando devagarinho. (Arriving slowly).Chora, canário, (Cry, canary),Chora, canarinho. (Cry, little canary). (author’s translation)
In some verses small, powerless animals are juxtaposed to large, powerful ones in an allusion to class relations in the wider society:
Eu sou um lambarizinho (I am a little fish)Que nestas águas já nadou. (Who swam in these waters).A baleia quer subir, (The whale wants to come up),Mas a água já secou. (But the water dried up). (author’s translation)
Other verses make references to the sources of power available to the powerless. In the verse below, for example, an insignificant river becomes a powerful waterfall:
Eu moro lá na mata, (I live in the wilderness),Encostado na pedreira. (Near the quarry).Eu me chamo Rio Pequeno, (My name is Little River),Despejou na cachoeira. (I flow into the waterfall). (author’s translation)The animals referred to in congado verses are often small wild animals of the sort that invoke reactions of revulsion and fear, such as snakes, frogs, rodents, and spiders. The following verse is structured around the common house mouse.
Camundongo, sai do caminho. (Mouse, get out of the way).Camundongo, eu quero passar. (Mouse, I want to pass).Camundongo é um bicho brabo; (Mouse is a mean animal);É capaz de querer me pegar. (He may want to get me). (author’s translation)
By identifying with such animals in their verses, congadeiros appropriate their power to generate feelings of fear and revulsion amongst the powerholders, despite their small size. References to macumba are also common in congado verses, reminding participants of this powerful weapon in their arsenal:
Eu mando, eu mando, eu mando, (I command, I command, I command),Eu agora estou mandando. (I am now commanding).Por causa deste mando, (Because of this command0,Eu agora estou girando. (I am now turning) (author’s translation)The term “mando” is commonly used in the Campanha region to refer to an act of black magic. While the narratives associated with the congado tradition focus upon events that took place in a mythic past, the verses used in performance bring the themes of the past to bear upon the here and now. This juxtaposition creates a heightened awareness of the contrasts between the congadeiros social vision and their everyday experience in a stratified society, which can, at times, be explicitly articulated. To greet a visiting ensemble, Dona Dosinha, the leader of a congado, made the following declaration:
Nós ainda somos escravos aqui na Campanha. Tem outro nome que eles dão, né, mas é igual escravidão. . . . Nossos antepassados era tudo escravo, então nós também somos escravo. Por isso a gente tem que ficar batendo essas caixa nossa aqui, até liberar. . . . E mesmo quando a gente tiver livre, a gente vai contiuar com o congo, que é pra lembrar do sacrifício deles, os escravos, nossos antepassados.
We are still slaves here in Campanha; there’s another name that they give it, right, but it’s just like slavery. . . Our ancestors were all slaves, so we too are slaves. That’s why we have to keep beating our drums here, until we are freed. . . . And even when we are free, we will continue with the congo, in order to remember their sacrifice, the slaves, our ancestors. (author’s translation)By Suzel Ana Reily in 'To Remember Captivity: The Congados of Southern Minas Gerais' (31 p.) published by Latin American Music Review, Volume 22, Number 1, Spring/Summer 2001- University of Texas Press, Austin, p.10-21. Adapted to be posted by Leopoldo Costa.
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