Capoeira, Mobility and Tourism
Capoeira, Mobility and Tourism
Capoeira, Mobility and Tourism
CAPOEIRA, MOBILITY,
VARELA
Series: The Anthropology of Tourism: Heritage, Mobility, and Society
Series Editor: Michael A. Di Giovine, West Chester University of Pennsylvania
AND TOURISM
“Capoeira, Mobility, and Tourism: Preserving an Afro-Brazilian Tradition in PRESERVING AN AFRO-BRAZILIAN TRADITION
a Globalized World is a tour de force in every sense. Varela’s deep and
IN A GLOBALIZED WORLD
LEXINGTON BOOKS
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Rowman & Littlefield
Series Editor
Michael A. Di Giovine (West Chester University of Pennsylvania)
Mission Statement
The Anthropology of Tourism: Heritage, Mobility, and Society series provides anthro-
pologists and others in the social sciences and humanities with cutting-edge and engaging
research on the culture(s) of tourism. This series embraces anthropology’s holistic and
comprehensive approach to scholarship, and is sensitive to the complex diversity of human
expression. Books in this series particularly examine tourism’s relationship with cultural
heritage and mobility and its impact on society. Contributions are transdisciplinary in nature,
and either look at a particular country, region, or population, or take a more global approach.
Including monographs and edited collections, this series is a valuable resource to scholars
and students alike who are interested in the various manifestations of tourism and its role as
the world’s largest and fastest-growing source of sociocultural and economic activity.
Books in Series
Capoeira, Mobility, and Tourism: Preserving an Afro-Brazilian Tradition in a Globalized
World, by Sergio González Varela
Rethinking the Anthropology of Love and Tourism, by Sagar Singh
Tourism and Wellness: Travel for the Good of All?, edited by Bryan S. R. Grimwood,
Heather Mair, Kellee Caton, and Meghan Muldoon
Bourbon Street, B-Drinking and the Sexual Economy of Tourism, by Angela Demovic
Anthropology of Tourism in Central and Eastern Europe: Bridging Worlds, edited by
Sabina Owsianowska and Magdalena Banaskiewicz
Apprenticeship Pilgrimage: Developing Expertise through Travel and Training, by Lauren
M. Griffith and Jonathan S. Marion
Cosmopolitanism and Tourism: Rethinking Theory and Practice, edited by Robert Shepherd
Tourism and Language in Vieques: An Ethnography of the Post-Navy Period, by Luis
Galanes Valldejuli
Tourism and Prosperity in Miao Land: Power and Inequality in Rural Ethnic China, by
Xianghong Feng
Alternative Tourism in Budapest: Class, Culture, and Identity in a Postsocialist City, by
Susan E. Hill
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List of Figures ix
Acknowledgments xi
Introduction 1
Conclusion 145
Bibliography 151
Index 163
About the Author 171
vii
ix
This book could not have been completed without the generous support of
the Facultad de Ciencias Sociales y Humanidades (Faculty of Social Science
and Humanities) at the Universidad Autónoma de San Luis Potosí, México,
my academic home. I thank my undergraduate and postgraduate students for
their questions and comments about the ideas that appear in these pages. I
also thank Michael Di Giovine for his support and encouragement to write a
book about capoeira, mobility, and tourism while I was on sabbatical leave
as a visiting professor at West Chester University, Pennsylvania. His sugges-
tions and comments along the way were of much help in shaping the book’s
general argument. I extend my gratitude to Noel Salazar, who also provided
me with excellent comments related to the anthropology of mobility. The
influence of Bruce Kapferer resounds throughout the book, and his work on
ritual and globalization remains a source of inspiration.
I want to highlight the importance that capoeira mestres (leaders) and
practitioners all over the world have had in the development of the main
ideas that appear here. In their relentless role as global missionaries of Afro-
Brazilian culture, mestres have contributed to a better understanding between
people of diverging origins, and this book is dedicated to them. In particular,
I thank Mestres Boca do Rio, Carlão, Valmir Damasceno, the late Bigodinho,
Pedrinho de Caxias, Cobra Mansa, and Renê Bittencourt for sharing their
experiences and capoeira teachings with me.
Global practitioners are redefining the meaning of tradition in capoeira
circles today; their passion, their commitment, and the value they give to
capoeira is a lesson that goes beyond words—thanks to all of them. In specific,
I thank Adriana Albert Dias, Alejandro Ruiz, Celso de Brito, Contramestre
Pintado, Contramestre Marcelo Peçanha, Christine Zonzon, Jagad, Lauren
xi
transit around the world. This task is not easy, as it questions conventional
knowledge about methodology, data collection, practical experience, and an-
thropology. It constitutes another way of framing a traditional query related
to identity, power relations, religion, and politics. In sum, this book is not
located ethnographically in one place; it moves comparatively through differ-
ent cities, countries, and continents. I delineate the path that capoeira Angola
leaders have taken in the last twenty years as part of their missionary work
around the world. I describe why capoeira leaders decided to become cultural
missionaries, what they think about their role as caretakers of Afro-Brazilian
tradition, and how they interact in a globalized world.
Mobility has been inherent to the practice, theory, and method of social an-
thropology since its inception. Mobility and its opposite, immobility, are two
sides of the social configuration of humanity. They are concepts that define
the epistemological and ontological realms of anthropological discourse and
method. Human collective life depends on the dynamics of culture and the
uses of metaphor to talk about social change, migration, innovation, and
movement. Mobility also implies people who do not move, who refuse to
migrate and stay behind in the same place for an entire life. The concept of
mobility appears in sociology, urban studies, geography, art, international
relations, and other disciplines—it is not exclusive to anthropological inquiry.
This book takes its inspiration from the new mobilities paradigm that Mimi
Sheller, John Urry, and others proposed in the first decade of the twenty-first
century (Sheller and Urry 2006, Elliott and Urry 2010, Urry 2007). The ap-
proach has had a strong influence in social anthropology and in the way we
perceive social movement and the dynamic flow of people and culture today.
The new mobilities paradigm does not mean a further radical disruption of
current theories. Following the work of Mimi Sheller and John Urry, Jillian
Rickly, Kevin Hannam, and Mary Mostafanezhad (2017: 1) argue that the
mobilities paradigm is “an approach that helped to frame the ways in which
people’s daily lives are spatially interconnected.” This new way of seeing the
dynamics of culture requires attending to this spatial and interlinked process
where humans and objects flow constantly.
Anthropologist Noel Salazar (2014: 55) mentions that “mobility captures
the common impression that our lifeworld is in constant flux.” This concept
challenges many of the assumptions that academics have had about social
life, such as homogeneity, stability, boundaries, belonging, and the control
of social fluidity. Initially thought of as the realm of nomadic cultures such
THE RESIGNIFICATION OF
FIELDWORK IN A CHANGING WORLD
Anthropologists have been debating for the last thirty years the transforma-
tion of the meaning of “fieldwork” and “participant observation,” and the
purpose of ethnography (Amit 2000, Davies and Spencer 2010, Hastrup and
Hervik 1994, Lareau and Shultz 1996, Van Maanen 2011, Taussig 2011).
The practice of anthropology today is very different from what Malinowski
had in mind in the first decades of the twentieth century. The effects of glo-
GLOBALIZATION
Throughout the years I have been interested in the way capoeira practitio-
ners travel around the world. My first experiences of capoeira in the late
1990s and early 2000s happened not in Brazil but in Mexico, Sweden, and
England. As I got to know more groups and decided to take capoeira as an
anthropological research topic, I realized that the complexities of mobility
and global expansion demanded a different kind of anthropological ap-
proach. However, pushed by my supervisors’ suggestions, I decided that
I had to know the meaning of capoeira in Brazil before I could study the
problem of globalization and migration among capoeira Angola practitio-
ners. In the end, I decided to follow the traditional path of anthropological
initiation, and I spent almost two years in Salvador, Bahia, in the North-
east Region of Brazil doing fieldwork. That invaluable experience, which
formed the core of my monograph on power relations among practitio-
ners and the role that leaders play in the transmission of knowledge (see
González Varela 2017), served as a platform to undertake the study of the
globalization of capoeira, mobility, and tourism that appears in these pages.
HERITAGE
In recent years, the national and global status of capoeira has transformed
substantially. During the first half the twentieth century Brazilian authori-
ties considered it to be a violent practice associated with criminality and
marginal people, and today participation in capoeira is seen as prestigious.
This radical change did not happen from one day to the next. It took many
years for society to accept this martial art. It started with the formalization of
capoeira Regional in the 1930s and continued with the institutionalization of
the practice into academies and with the emergence of capoeira Angola and
Contemporânea. As capoeira became, in part, an art taught in enclosed places,
it came to represent the powerful appeal of Afro-Brazilian culture. However,
although all styles fought for social recognition, practitioners felt that the
Brazilian government did not acknowledge capoeira as a valuable cultural
practice, and mestres got little or no support from the government.
This dismissive situation changed in 2008. In July of that year, the Brazil-
ian government, through the Instituto do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico
Nacional (IPHAN, National Historic and Artistic Heritage Institute), reg-
istered the capoeira roda in its Book of Expression Forms and recognized
the role of the mestre in its Book of Knowledge (Fonseca and Vieira 2014).
This recognition means the government finally understood both the value of
capoeira as part of Brazil’s intangible cultural heritage and the importance of
the caretakers of tradition in the dissemination of knowledge.
This national recognition set up the most important cultural achievement
of capoeira to the present day, its registration in UNESCO’s Representative
List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity in November 2014. This
international recognition allows capoeira to access a broader audience from a
position of prestige. The UNESCO recognition has given capoeira an author-
ity not seen before; it constitutes an Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD), to
use the concept developed by Laurajane Smith (2006). For Smith (2006: 29),
the AHD “defines who the legitimate spokespersons for the past are.” Both
the IPHAN and UNESCO recognitions highlight the importance of the mestre
The book is organized into six chapters. Each chapter focuses on the role that
globalization and mobility have had in the lives of capoeira Angola leaders
and advanced students. My objective is to analyze capoeira from a leader’s
point of view, exploring how these leaders negotiate their local and global
relations in a changing world. To understand capoeira at multiple scales, we
need to follow the mestres and their views about tradition, tourism, religion,
and politics. By “anchoring” my description on these charismatic leaders, I
describe the global development of capoeira, focusing primarily on their mo-
bility, which parallels that of celebrities, athletes, and businesspeople.
Chapter 1 describes the oral tradition of capoeira Angola about its African
origins. I contend that these narratives offer a glimpse of the local imaginar-
ies surrounding the mythical past of capoeira. The intertwining of history
and mythology plays a vital role in the constitution of the Angola style as
a traditional practice. Here I describe how the “imaginaries” of the African
origins of capoeira appeared in the narratives of Angola leaders and how
academics promoted capoeira Angola as the “mother of all capoeiras.” I do
not view these imaginaries as false or misleading representations of reality.
What I consider relevant is how mestres see these mythical narratives as real
and how these narratives help leaders add new meanings to their origins and,
above all, to their ancestry in their global itineraries. What we call imaginar-
ies are virtual potencies, latent possibilities that constitute a world in itself.
By analyzing the mythical past of capoeira, the Angola style becomes a ho-
listic practice in its own right.
Chapter 2 depicts the global expansion of capoeira of all styles. This
Afro-Brazilian martial art became popular in Brazil in the 1960s, and this
unprecedented popularity drew the attention of artists, intellectuals, and activ-
ists and eventually led to capoeira becoming a global practice. The concept
of mobility is, I argue, essential for understanding globalization. I describe
two different tales of mobility of capoeira Angola practitioners in Europe: I
discuss how capoeira developed in London and how a famous capoeira leader
found himself living as an immigrant in Spain.
Chapter 3 is about the mestre-student relationship in the age of tourism.
I describe how mobility and globalization are changing the way leaders
interact with their disciples. My focus is on the role that tourism has played
in the modification of this apprenticeship relation in Brazil and abroad, and
what mestres of the Angola style think about tourism. The chapter details the
emotions and feelings that emanate from the mestre-student relationship over
short, medium, and long periods of interaction. My argument is that the emo-
tional consequences of the apprenticeship depend on the time that mestres
and students commit to spending together. What interests me here is the vari-
able that tourism brings to the reconstitution of this Afro-Brazilian tradition.
Chapter 4 describes the religious foundations of capoeira Angola seen as
a way of preserving an Afro-Brazilian tradition. My argument follows the
FINAL REMARKS
NOTES
sabbatical. For those who do not have tenure, the situation is even harsher, and bring-
ing food to the table, paying the rent, and finding the next job are of more immediate
and pressing importance than useless meditations about the purpose of fieldwork. For
those lucky ones with tenure, the opportunity to do extended field research is lim-
ited, so other methodologies must be implemented. This book emerges in the current
context of precarity where extensive fieldwork is challenging to do, and new meth-
odological resources are desperately needed in academia if we want to make sense of
mobility, migration, and tourism. The new academic and bureaucratic environment in
which people undertake anthropological research demands that we pursue alternatives
to the classic fieldwork approach.
4. Many Angola leaders did not want to settle down abroad in the decade of 1980
because of their focus on strengthening local academies and their commitment to
educating a new generation of Brazilian practitioners who would lose hope if their
mentors decided to leave Brazil.
There is no topic more passionately debated in capoeira circles than its past.
Since people began studying capoeira informally and professionally in the first
decades of the twentieth century, the often-opposite stories about its origins and
heritage have puzzled practitioners, historians, and artists. Some, guided by a
nationalistic agenda, tried to define capoeira as an exclusive Brazilian martial
art, a practice institutionalized in the 1930s. Others, following the approach of
professional academics, considered it a martial art with clear Afro-Brazilian
origins. With the advent of the style called Angola in the 1940s, discourses
about authenticity became prominent among academics and expert practitio-
ners. In another book, I have briefly told the history of capoeira Angola in
Bahia in an effort to make sense of its historical development and its focus on
the epic stories of powerful persons (González Varela 2017). I do not want to
repeat myself here, so what I address in this chapter are those other narratives
about capoeira that fuse historical data with a “mythical” oral tradition of the
Afro-Brazilian art. My intention is not to dismiss these other narratives as false
or untrue, but to position them at the same level of importance as the official
historical accounts. By using the term “mythical,” I am not saying the descrip-
tions made by capoeira leaders are lies or fabrications. As I do not have another
word at hand, I will continue using the concept “mythical” as a heuristic for
addressing these alternative stories about the origins and practices of capoeira.
The relationship that capoeira has with its past is a creative product of its ritual
potentiality. Here I follow Bruce Kapferer (2007), who sees the efficacy of
15
the possibility that other entities, beings, and potentialities may appear during
a ritual as part of people’s experience. Ritual experience, analyzed and dis-
cussed in detail by anthropologists such as Victor Turner (1987) and Edward
Schieffelin (2005), refers to what is possible in practice. Understood in these
terms, ritual practices such as the capoeira roda configure a particular world
that intends to keep at bay the forces affecting daily life. A movement occurs
that goes in the other direction, from ritual to everyday life; through rituals
like capoeira individuals transform the meaning of their world. Through the
virtual possibilities of capoeira, practitioners turn their art into cosmological
guidance about the sense of Afro-Brazilian culture.
In the following sections I show the realm of virtual possibilities that
capoeira can bring into practice. I shed light on that “phantasmagoric space”
(Kapferer 2006: 673) where reality stops meaning what common sense and
evidence tell us, when it becomes an open space where things we did not
consider possible suddenly take place. The uncanny, the ominous, and the
secret open a door so we can see things from a different perspective. These
imaginaries, as I show in later chapters, define the terms of the debates on
mobility, globalization, and the religious foundations of capoeira Angola.
When Mestre Pastinha codified the Angola style in the 1940s, he envisioned
it as close to its Afro-Brazilian values, which, he said, had been inherited
from slavery. Pastinha was motivated to reform the practice of capoeira
Angola in reaction to the other dominant capoeira style of the time, the
Luta Regional Baiana, created by Manoel Dos Reis Machado, known as
Mestre Bimba. Bimba, an exceptional capoeira mestre, wanted to profes-
sionalize the practice of capoeira by creating a rigorous method of fighting.
Bimba wanted an “authentic” Brazilian martial art. In the 1930s, drawing
on his knowledge of Asian martial arts and thanks to his view of capoeira
as a competitive practice in the ring, Bimba moved capoeira away from the
streets, where it had been traditionally played for decades, and located it in
enclosed places known as academies. The move brought the martial art to
new practitioners who until then knew little or nothing about capoeira. Bim-
ba’s students were mostly white and educated middle-class persons—the
complete opposite of the practitioners one could find in the streets. Some
intellectuals viewed Bimba’s project as a “whitening” attempt to sanitize
capoeira of its Afro-Brazilian roots (see Rego 1968). In the 1930s in Bahia,
there was a political movement to bring to light the struggles and discrimi-
nation faced by Afro-Brazilians; those in the movement saw the capoeira
The most important connection made between capoeira and Africa appeared
in the 1960s in the work of Angolan artist Álbano Neves e Souza. Accord-
ing to Assunção (2005: 23), Neves e Souza in his visit to Brazil in 1965
wanted to establish explicit connections between Brazil and Africa: “Neves
e Souza aimed to document the multiple links between popular cultures of
the Portuguese colonies in Africa and Brazil, anticipating thus the idea of a
N’golo, the Zebra Dance, is possibly the origin of the Capoeira, the fighting
dance of Brazil. It is danced at the time of the “Mufico,” a puberty rite for the
girls of the Mucope and Mulondo regions. The object of the dance is to hit
your opponent’s face with your foot. A rhythm for the dance is beaten by clap-
ping hands, and anyone who attempts a [b]low while outside the marked arena
is disqualified. The “Angolan Capoeira” in Brazil also has its special rhythm,
which is one more reason to believe that it originates with the N’golo. N’golo
means “zebra,” and to a certain extent the dance originates from the leaps and
battles of the zebra; the blow with the feet while the hands are touching the
ground is certainly reminiscent of the zebra’s kick. (Neves e Souza cited in
Assunção 2005: 49)
a tribal tradition became a defensive and offensive weapon for survival in a hos-
tile environment. . . . Another reason that convinces me that capoeira originated
in Angola is that hoodlums in Brazil play an instrument called the berimbau,
which we call n’bolumbumba or hungu, depending on the place, which is played
[in Africa] by the herdsmen. (Cascudo cited in Talmon-Chvaicer 2008: 154–55)
Although these narratives about the N’golo fall into an Afrocentric ideologi-
cal frame, they have been used by adepts of capoeira Angola and intellectuals
to confirm the authentic African heritage of the martial art. Some authors,
such as Desch-Obi, have elaborated more fully on the relationship between
African rituals and dances and the practice of capoeira in Brazil. Talmon-
Chvaicer (2008: 29) mentions, for instance: “Desch-Obi argues that capoeira
originated in the Imbangala tribe of southern Angola, where boys practiced
the engolo to improve their physical fitness, to prepare for battle. And to
acquire high status among men, as well as courtship.” As emphatic as it may
sound, the problem with this and other similar affirmations is the lack of em-
pirical evidence to sustain them. For instance, Cascudo went to Angola and
could not find the N’golo or some of Neves e Souza’s other ritual references.
Nevertheless, these views have an impact on the way capoeira leaders con-
ceive their practice and their ancestry, and therefore we cannot dismiss them
as pure fantasy or as imaginary projections.
Anthropologist Lowell Lewis, who wrote one of the most significant books
on capoeira in English, also mentions the reference to the N’golo as the origin
of capoeira. However, he is skeptical about the hypothesis of Neves e Souza
and does not take it for granted: “Thus far I have found no reference to the
Mucope in the anthropological literature, but Loeb . . . discusses an efundula
ritual, also a female initiation, among the Kuanayama Ambo in an area (now
Namibia) considerably south of the Angolan port of Luanda” (Lewis 1992:
25). Although Lewis views with suspicion the argument about the N’golo
as the origin of capoeira, he acknowledges that there are fighting dances in
other parts of Africa that resemble capoeira, and some words and references
in capoeira music use African names in African languages (Lewis 1992: 26;
see also Downey 2005: 64–65).
Be that as it may, the support given by some respected intellectuals to
Neves e Souza’s hypothesis that the N’golo was the ancestor of capoeira
provided legitimacy to the continuity of essentialist traits in capoeira. Angola
mestres used this affirmation of the African ancestry of the martial art to in-
stitute it as part of a particular cosmology. This descent explains why many
Angola academies have logos with zebras (Talmon-Chvaicer 2008: 155), ref-
erences to the drawings of Neves e Souza, and the Angolan national flag. By
bringing together Afro-Brazilian references like orixás (Candomblé deities)
Generally speaking, people are inquisitive about the religiosity of capoeira and
ask: “is there any connection between capoeira and religion?” It is very difficult
to answer this question, but it is possible when we situate capoeira as a cultural
manifestation inherited from Africans. Capoeira as a practice of the African
Man, based on an African Ancestry becomes part of that religiosity. Capoeira
songs are full of praying and askance made to that sacred world beyond the
roda. . . . [C]apoeira has its origins in an African initiation ritual for women. It
is an unquestionable thesis, that capoeira has its origins in Africa, specifically
in Angola. Therefore, capoeira is not a manifestation of Brazilian culture. But
then it comes the question “Why there is no capoeira in Angola?.” One of the
most researched questions that the Grupo de Capoeira Angola Pelourinho has
undertaken is precisely about these origins. We discover that the N’GOLO is
an initiation cultural manifestation from southern Angola, which has physical
movements very similar to those of traditional capoeira Angola. In Africa, there
is a marriage tradition requesting a dowry, and the N’GOLO was a way of ex-
empting the groom from the dowry. The groom, in fact, would be the one who
could show a better physical performance during the ceremony of the N’GOLO.
(Moraes, quoted in Grupo de Capoeira Angola Pelourinho and Associação de
Capoeira Navio Negreiro 1989: 34–35)
This quote indicates that Moraes was acquainted with Neves e Souza’s nar-
rative, perhaps via Cascudo. Moraes adds a more stylized story that merges
the African connection with a particular form of religiosity as part of the
foundational myth of capoeira. In chapter 4 I address the religious founda-
tions of capoeira Angola in detail. For the time being, I am interested in
showing how the fascination for the origins of capoeira finds its best answer
in the hypothesis of the N’golo. Although one can dismiss this association
as lacking evidence, it serves to bring an “authentic” African legitimacy
to capoeira Angola. However, not all mestres of capoeira Angola have
the certainty that Moraes professes about the movement’s African origins.
Mestre Renê Bittencourt, for instance, remains slightly skeptical about di-
rect transplantation of capoeira into Brazil via the survivals of the N’golo.
For him, the connection to Brazilian slavery is as important as the connec-
tion to Africa (pers. comm.). It is on this ignominious Brazilian past that we
focus now, as I follow the role discourses on slavery have had in the social
imaginaries of capoeira Angola academies.
goes. Within this diversity of histories, the foundational myth of the N’golo
and the reference to slavery and emancipation serve as unifiers that bring new
meanings to an art that has changed dramatically in the last twenty years as
a result of globalization. My interest is describing how capoeira leaders and
some academics refer to the slavery past of Brazil and the emancipation that
capoeira supposedly provoked.
One such narrative is from Mestre João Pequeno (João Pereira dos San-
tos), who died in 2011 and was a disciple of Mestre Pastinha. João Pequeno
was until his death one of the most famous and respected capoeira leaders of
capoeira Angola. In 2000, professor Luis Augusto Normanha Lima published
a book with fragments of interviews with João Pequeno over the years. Here
is how the old mestre referred to the past and the origins of capoeira in Brazil:
I am not a History professor, but I know from people who know . . . [that] after
Pastinha returned from Africa, he brought a painting with two figures playing
capoeira, and he said that its name in Africa was “the zebra dance.” . . . Pastinha
told me that the name capoeira happened in Brazil because Capoeira here in Bra-
zil means bushes, and the bushes were the places where people trained Capoeira.
Maroons ran away to the bushes to practice capoeira, and they fought with slave
hunters, who looked into the bushes and tried to capture the ran away slaves, so
black people defended themselves with capoeira. (Santos 2000: 29–30)
Mestre João Pequeno here follows a recurrent theme among mestres that
capoeira as we know it was started in sugarcane plantations by Maroons,
who used it to fight against slave owners and slave hunters. Daily oppression
gave few moments of respite to slaves, so in the short periods of rest they
had, they planned rebellions while pretending to play and dance. Through this
pretending, capoeira slowly formed as an art of deception and cunning. These
deeds supposedly happened in the state of Bahia. Mestre Pastinha (1988: 24)
addresses the importance of deception in capoeira’s past: “Black Africans in
Colonial Brazil were slaves, and in this inhuman condition they were not al-
lowed to use weapons or any means of self-defense, which could put at risk
the safety of their masters. In these circumstances, capoeira couldn’t develop,
so it was practiced hidden or disguised carefully as a dance and music from
their places of origin.”
The narratives of capoeira as a form of Black resistance take multiple
forms. Mestre Carlos Senna (1994: 12), a student of Mestre Bimba, says,
for instance: “The bellicosity of capoeira developed as a slave’s craving for
freedom, who through batuque—an African rhythm—developed his physical
conditioning (prowess and balance), accepting rationally, the particular irra-
tionality of the monkey, jaguar, fox, and spider’s self-defense.” The link be-
tween capoeira and animals is well-known in capoeira circles, and in another
place I have written in detail about it (González Varela 2016). Here, Senna
wants to connect the idea of fighting with the imitation of animal movements
as one of the natural origins of capoeira.
The practitioners of the Angola style have elaborated on the themes of
ancestry, Black culture, and slavery. Mestre Pastinha talks briefly about the
past in these terms:
Among African slaves who came to Bahia, the number of capoeiristas couldn’t
be small, but to reveal this attack and defense knowledge to their masters, obvi-
ously, would have brought them only disgrace. They would have been subject
to more surveillance. So, one of the oldest capoeira mestres was the Portuguese,
José Alves, a disciple of Africans, who led a group of capoeira practitioner in
the War of Palmares. The history of Capoeira begins with the arrival of the first
African slaves to Brazil. (Pastinha 1988: 24–25)
and questionable historical material to sustain the possibility that Zumbi used
and knew the martial art back in the seventeenth century. This romantic idea,
false from a historical perspective, does not diminish its importance as a
foundational narrative about the development of capoeira in Brazil. Today, in
capoeira Angola academies, the image of Zumbi as a man who knew capoeira
is unquestionable and taken for granted. Groups, songs, and stories refer to
Zumbi as a man who fought against oppression using the skills of capoeira.
While the N’golo provided a foundational narrative about the African
character of capoeira, the association with Brazil’s slavery past and the he-
roics of Zumbi brought a specific Afro-Brazilian connotation to the martial
art—one marked by the ideas of freedom, resistance, and rebellion. Finally,
the emphasis on deception and cunning as fighting strategies exemplifies the
hidden and subversive character of capoeira as a fighting art practiced by
slaves during their scant free time. These elements have become parts of a
general social imaginary of capoeira’s distant past, and today the narratives
are fundamental to the traditional Afro-Brazilian discourses found in Angola
academies and beyond.
The story of Besouro, the flying beetle, represents a third mythological nar-
rative of capoeira’s past. This tale is part of the local imaginaries of capoeira
that explains cunning and bodily closure from a religious point of view.
Bodily closure refers here to the ability that capoeira leaders have to remain
physically closed to any form of vulnerability in a roda and in their daily
lives. The narrative of Besouro is also one of the most popular descriptions
that relate humans and animals. I base my account on the oral and written tra-
dition of Angola mestres that I have collected through the years. I also draw
on a book by Antônio Liberac Pires in which he discusses the historicity of
Besouro and on a master’s thesis by Jonalva Da Silva in which she analyzes
the representation of Besouro in popular culture.
The legend of Besouro is part of the traditions of the Northeast and has
appeared in short stories, art, and recently a film under his name (Da Silva
2010). Mestres narrate the tale of Besouro in the following manner. At the
end of the nineteenth century and the beginning of the twentieth century,
there was a bandit, a marginal character who embodied the arts of cunning
and trickery; his name was Besouro. He knew capoeira and had problems
with the police, whose efforts to arrest him always failed spectacularly. Be-
souro was a practitioner of the religion of Candomblé, and people feared him
because they thought he had special magic powers that protected him from
danger. Among these forces were the capacity to close his body (as capoeira
players do in their performances) and the ability to transform into a flying
beetle. By closing his body, Besouro appeared invulnerable to gunshots,
stabbings, and injuries. Any time he faced the police and was on the verge of
being captured, he was able to escape by disappearing into thin air (in fact, he
turned into a beetle and flew away), leaving the police perplexed and flum-
moxed. His magic protection, however, brought him many enemies. In the
narrative that Mestre João Pequeno (who said that Besouro was his father’s
cousin) told me during my fieldwork, Besouro appears as a fearsome pres-
ence in capoeira performances, where even the most dangerous troublemak-
ers had respect for him.
Multiple versions of Besouro’s death abound in the oral tradition of the
Northeast. Some mention his death by a farmer who ordered his assassina-
tion in an ambush, using the same cunning techniques of the flying beetle.
The farmer in question gives a piece of paper to Besouro, instructing him to
deliver it to another farmer in another town. The second farmer welcomes
Besouro and reads the message, which contains the instructions for getting
rid of Besouro once and for all. In this version Besouro is illiterate, so he is
unaware of the farmer’s plans to kill him. The next day, a woman seduces
Besouro, and they have sexual relations. Through sexual intercourse, Besouro
remains exposed, vulnerable, open to attacks, and unable to use his power to
turn himself into a beetle. That same night, the woman stabs Besouro in the
heart with a knife made of ticum—a type of wood extracted from a palm tree
core, hard as steel (Cruz 2006: 195–96).
Antônio Liberac Pires offers more formal historical accounts about the real
existence of Besouro. In his book Bimba, Pastinha e Besouro de Mangangá,
Pires embarks on a search for evidence about the legendary figure of Besouro
in the city of Santo Amaro, in the interior of the state of Bahia, where people
said he was born. Pires compiled a list of oral testimonies that old people
there gave about Besouro in the 1990s. From these statements, Pires discov-
ers that social memory about the flying beetle is still present and strong in
Santo Amaro. According to Pires, Besouro’s real name was Manoel Henrique
Pereira, and he was born in 1885 (Pires 2002: 17–18). The people Pires inter-
viewed called him “Besouro de Mangangá” and “Besouro Cordão de Oro.”
The oral testimonies that Pires collected mention that Besouro worked
on the docks, was a cooper, and was an excellent capoeira player. One of
the people providing a testimony even claims to have learned capoeira from
Besouro. Pires, however, tells us that there is no information about anyone
named Manoel Henrique Pereira in the police or birth records in Santo
Amaro. This situation disheartens Pires, who decides to go to Salvador to
continue his search. There, he finally gets hold of police records that men-
tion the name of Pereira as a second sergeant of a battalion. The name is
associated with conflicts between the local police and the battalion led by
Henrique Pereira. In a couple of other written police records, Pereira appears
as a troublemaker who had conflicts with police; the documents indicate that
Pereira was dismissed from the army because of his problems with the local
authorities (Pires 2002: 28–29).
What is interesting about the accounts described by Pires is the brief part
related to Besouro’s death. Pires found Besouro’s 1924 obituary and other
contentious versions of his death. In one case, the oral tradition says that one
of his friends who had invited him to dance samba betrayed him; in another
version, the police kill him (Pires 2002: 29). One source mentioned that
Besouro was accused of attempted murder in 1921. What is striking about
the related police records is that Pereira’s nickname “Besouro” is printed
on some of the official documents. This certifies Besouro as a real human
being. The Pereira’s obituary, written in 1924, is motivated by the desire to
close the prosecution’s attempted murder file, and it reads like this: “Manuel
Henrique, dark mulatto, single, 24 years old, born in Urupy, resident of Usina
Maracangalha, profession cowboy, entered here on the 8 July 1924 at 10:30
am, having died [later] at 7 pm from a stab wound in the abdomen” (obituary
reproduced in Pires 2002: 32; see also Da Silva 2010: 17).
For Pires, the coincidences between the oral mythological narrative and
documented written history are remarkable. Although the fantastic transfor-
mation into a flying beetle is absent from the written records, his actual death
due to a stab wound resembles the narrative of the knife attack in an ambush
(see also Da Silva 2010: 82). The secrecy surrounding the real circumstance
of Besouro’s death is another marker of his mysterious and elusive character.
As little is known about his death, people have created all sorts of theories
about why, where, and how Besouro was fatally wounded. The social imagi-
nary of the “real” Besouro falls into the standard narrative we find about
the lives and deeds of capoeira practitioners in the early twentieth century.
These were individuals who belonged to the margins of Bahian society, who
frequented or inhabited the underworld of crime and illegality and were in
constant conflict with the authorities (Dias 2006). Most of these players were
Afro-Brazilians, although immigrants, mestizos, and white people took part
in the social environment of capoeira too.
Anthropologically speaking, Besouro’s narrative is a tale about the corpo
fechado (closed body), an essential element in the cosmology of capoeira
and Candomblé (Da Silva 2010: 41). This cosmological principle states that
persons can close their bodies spiritually and physically against misfortune,
danger, and death. Mestres of capoeira Angola become experts not only in
the arts of deception but also in remaining closed against attacks by rivals
and enemies inside and outside capoeira performances. The animal references
to Besouro evoke human feats of prowess, cunning, and invulnerability. As
part of the social projections that capoeira mestres create about the past, the
story of Besouro is also a metaphor of specific material properties of beetles,
such as the hardness of their exoskeletons and their capacity to fly away
from danger. In this way, human and animal properties provoke the desire
of humans to transcend their physical constraints and become one with the
animal. This identification does not come from a real encounter between hu-
mans and beetles but from a mode of identification that projects conceptually
the animal shape with human attributes. The intensity with which capoeira
practitioners identify with beetles and with the story of Besouro depends on
the level of knowledge that these practitioners have about capoeira and their
experience in the rodas.
Besouro’s narrative is as important as the African and slavery references.
Besouro is alive in the memory that capoeira mestres preserve about their his-
tory. It is understandable then that old capoeira mestres want to claim a direct
connection with the flying beetle. As I have shown briefly at the beginning of
this section, Mestre João Pequeno said that Besouro was his father’s cousin.
In the same vein, Mestre Cobrinha Verde, a contemporary of João Pequeno
and native from Santo Amaro, also tells us that he learned capoeira from
Besouro; Besouro was his mestre and was related to him:
Besouro, my mestre, began teaching me capoeira when I was four years old. His
dad’s name was João, his last name Grosso, his mom Maria Haifa. Maria Haifa
was my aunt. Besouro was my carnal cousin and my brother. My mom raised
him. . . . At the time, Besouro taught capoeira to his students hidden from po-
lice, because they harassed him a lot. When he was agitated because the police
arrived to arrest him, he rebelled, told his students to run away, and fought the
police all by himself. (Santos 1991: 12)
The fourth type of narrative that complements references to the African and
Afro-Brazilian origins of capoeira relates to ideas about capoeira’s violent
past. As practitioners conceive the martial art in Bahia as a form of resistance
used to fight against the oppressors of slaves, violence is constantly evoked.
Many mestres, who experienced the violent period of capoeira in the first de-
cades of the twentieth century, mentioned that the Afro-Brazilian art played
in the streets before the reformation of Bimba and Pastinha was extremely
violent. They said that performances happened mainly during carnival and
other local celebrations. Therefore, anybody could show up and participate.
Many did so under the influence of alcohol; others came as members of gangs
and armed with knives or even guns. Mestres often said that the self-orga-
nization of capoeira gatherings was precarious, and there were no rules for
avoiding open fights. Infamous troublemakers and marginal characters did
not always respect the art of deception and feigning attacks and saw capoeira
as a weapon to solve personal disputes and vendettas.
Mestre Pastinha, in the opening words of his book, warns the reader that
the capoeira players at the beginning of the twentieth century were violent
troublemakers who terrorized the streets of Salvador. He lamented that this
infamous reputation still permeated the general public’s perception about
capoeira in the 1940s (Pastinha 1988: 17–18). As I mentioned earlier, many
of the efforts to reform capoeira stem from the desire to formalize it as a pro-
fession with particular rules, styles, and codes of discipline. These attempts
sought to eradicate the associations of capoeira with marginality, criminality,
and gang culture. Although Pastinha’s and Bimba’s projects did not promote
violence, they referred to the violent past of capoeira as a reminder of the
dangerous possibilities of the martial art. In this section, I describe the dif-
ferent ways mestres and academics talk about the violent past of capoeira as
another type of mythological narrative surrounding capoeira.
At the core of my discussion is the concept of possible or latent violence.
Capoeira privileges deception and cunning as fighting strategies and does
not incite direct blows or feats of open force. Whatever happens in per-
formance, particularly of capoeira Angola, must occur using artful bodily
skills to defeat an adversary. Therefore, violence remains always a potential
that rarely materializes. Violence creates a tension that characterizes the
protective strategies of the closed body. As capoeira sometimes uses spiri-
tual means to attack an opponent, people need to be prepared to face poten-
tial aggression and use the same spirituality as a means of defense. The idea
that violence is an integral part of capoeira, although one that rarely occurs
today in Angola circles, is still present among practitioners. Thus, the nar-
ratives about the violent past are often romanticized, creating an image of
dangerousness that is part of capoeira’s local imaginaries. Greg Downey
(2005: 103) characterizes the feeling of dangerousness in capoeira’s history
as part of its “sinister” past: “Historical references to violent events, and the
sinister sense of foreboding that they summon, help maintain the delicate
balance between creative playfulness and mortal seriousness that makes the
game at once so ambiguous and compelling.”
This romantic view of violence appears in mestres’ narratives. For in-
stance, when discussing whether violence was necessary or not in capoeira,
Mestre Canjiquinha, one of the most famous capoeira Angola teachers of all
time, mentioned that everything depended on the context. Inside the acad-
emy, there was no violence because there was control. In the streets, it was
another story: anyone could play capoeira, and adversaries could come with
evil intentions and use force as a strategy. Thus, one had to be smart to avoid
violence in a street performance (Silva 1989: 32). Canjiquinha confesses that
he never saw or heard of a person being killed with capoeira moves but that
his Mestre Aberrê died in a roda after he overate rice and beans and choked
when doing a cartwheel (Silva 1989: 27–28).
Canjiquinha, who did not like the differentiation between Angola and
Regional, considered that those close to the Regional variant tended to have
more violent encounters. He complained that violence sometimes eclipsed
cunning and shrewdness, and he did not like that kind of competitive
capoeira. Today, from what I have seen, open violence happens more in street
rodas1 and Regional or Contemporary performances than in Angola ones. Be
that as it may, violence as a possibility remains an integral part of the local
imaginaries about the dangerousness of capoeira.
Adriana Albert Dias argues that the meaning of violence in the early twen-
tieth century depended on the distinction between social order and life in
the streets. The opposition between an ideal society and the street culture of
Salvador produced a struggle that politicians at the time tried to sort out by
eliminating those they considered troublesome individuals (Dias 2006: 26).
Those individuals who made their lives in the streets, did not have formal
jobs, and took part in public disputes threatened the “peace” of the elites.
Therefore, politicians initiated “cleansing” campaigns to get rid of disor-
deiros (troublemakers), valentões (tough guys), and vagabundos (vagrants).
Through written testimonies such as those of Pastinha and Mestre Noronha,
people got to know some of the most infamous and violent capoeira players
of the beginning of the twentieth century. Most of the conflicts among capoei-
ristas happened in the streets, during or after performances. At the time, Dias
explains, the word “capoeira” referred to something very different from what
people practice today. In a personal communication before his death in 2013,
Frederico de Abreu told me that the differentiation and stylization of capoeira
took decades to develop, so we should be aware that the capoeira played in
the early twentieth century was utterly distinct from what we see in the pres-
ent. According to Greg Downey, the evocation of a violent past reminisced
in songs, rituals, and the dynamics of the game brings an intense temporal
experience that reminds people capoeira is not only a game but also a fight
with severe consequences (Downey 2005: 113).
The stories shared in Angola groups about violence activate the virtual
potential of its emergence in practice. I have seen many capoeira encounters
that seemed to be on the verge of ending in a fight. However, opponents man-
aged to control their bodies and tempers and ended their interaction under
the rules of deception and cunning. This control does not mean that violence
never occurs; there are instances where violence ends a game, particularly in
the streets. In capoeira Regional and Contemporânea, the situation is slightly
different. Because of the focus on competition and physical skill, violence
may become a real problem in these rodas, whether in closed spaces or on
the streets. I have seen videos on YouTube in which performances ended in
brawls and with people injured. In these cases, violence passed from virtual
The passion for origins, the N’golo, Zumbi dos Palmares and slavery, the tale
of Besouro, and the evocation of violence are local forms of capoeira imaginar-
ies. As I describe in chapter 3, social imaginaries emerge as a combination of
collective conventions and individual creations and should not be considered
falsehoods (see Wagner 1981). In the examples shown above, local imaginar-
ies are latent narratives in a world of possibilities, of potencies that may appear
in a capoeira performance. These local imaginaries are part of the culture of
capoeira, and their true or false status is irrelevant for their virtual character.
In this sense, these imaginaries have agency. They are not only representations
but also techniques that may appear in the world. As Bruce Kapferer (2006:
674) states: “I stress virtuality as a direct and immediate entrance into the
processes of reality and their formation. Reality is not set apart, as it were, or
re-presented so that it might be reflexively explored. Rather, the virtuality of
ritual, and ritual as a technology of the virtual, descends into the very reality
it appears to represent, the very representations it engages being a technology
for doing so.” Virtuality as a set of coordinates for understanding the reality
of ritual practices produces capoeira’s local imaginaries, which infiltrate the
frame of reference for a discussion about tradition and cosmology. As I show
in chapters 4 and 5, these narratives form part of the religious foundations of
capoeira Angola and the worshipping of the ancestors. They do not model
reality; they set the possibilities for engagement with it (Kapferer 2006: 676).
My use of the concept of local imaginaries discussed in this chapter is
slightly different from the “tourism imaginaries” that I refer to in chapter
3, where I use the concept to frame the relationship between a student and
a teacher in capoeira groups. Here, the local imaginaries are narratives that
provide a virtual configuration of the potentialities of capoeira through time
and space. When I say that these stories have agency I mean that they affect
practice directly. They create beings that may or may not appear in perfor-
mance and are not illusory; they are concrete elements that provide help and
protection to a practitioner in certain circumstances.
A couple of examples will illustrate my point. The academy of Mestre Renê
Bittencourt, Academia de Capoeira Angola Navio Negreiro (ACANNE), in
the Rua de Sodré in the center of Salvador, Bahia, has a wall adorned with im-
ages of orixás, the Candomblé deities that offer protection to their disciples.
On the opposite wall, there is a mural of Renê’s mestre Paulo dos Anjos, who
died in 1999. This mural lies exactly behind the music ensemble that hosts
the roda, giving the impression that Mestre Paulo dos Anjos is looking at the
roda from a higher vantage point. When I asked Renê about these images, he
said that the orixás were there to offer him spiritual protection. The mural of
Paulo dos Anjos, however, had a more personal meaning. Paulo was there as
a witness of the roda, as a symbol of Renê’s ancestry and a reminder of his
debt to his lineage of knowledge. Orixás and the mural of Paulo dos Anjos
are images evoking capoeira’s past. They are virtual imaginaries that have
agency in performance and affect the dynamics of practice.
A second similar example comes from a description of the FICA Bahia
headquarters found in Lauren Griffith’s book In Search of Legitimacy:
The personality of this group is instantly evident upon stepping out of the eleva-
tor. The bright yellow columns have been painted with black patterns: serpents
on one, perhaps a nod to Mestre Cobra Mansa’s name sake, and zebra stripes
on another, the zebra being a legendary animal in the origin myths of capoeira
and a nod to the group’s Africanist orientation. . . . The left wall has been nearly
covered in a giant mural of the orixás, Candomblé deities, surrounding a wa-
terfall. In the far right corner of the room is a large framed chart that traces the
lineage of selected capoeira mestres. All other open spaces have been covered
with framed photographs of current capoeira mestres, as well as historical pho-
tographs and documents. (Griffith 2016: 9)
Here again, we have a description that stresses visual imagery, where al-
lusions to deities and spiritual beings coexist with the local imaginaries of
capoeira’s ancestry, lineages, and history. These images constitute visual
narratives that evoke the virtual effect of capoeira as a ritual practice. They
signal the cosmology of capoeira and part of its spiritual substance. The
lyrics in which we find descriptions of capoeira’s historical epic past, the
poetics of social memory, and the tragedy of slavery are also elements that
have agency. Songs are virtual possibilities that actualize the past in the
present of capoeira performances.
Local imaginaries are a byproduct of the virtual possibilities of ritual. They
emerge and take shape as narratives that concretize the power of African and
Afro-Brazilian images as expressive forms of preserving a tradition. Besouro
and Zumbi, for instance, live in the way of capoeira lyrics, in the oral tradi-
tion of cunning, trickery, and malice. They are images that motivate people to
continue practicing capoeira and to connect to a distant past. The local imagi-
naries of capoeira are also parts of a social memory that refuses to disappear
in Bahia. They influence the way practitioners remember and commemorate
the lives and deeds of dead leaders. When mestres die, they become ancestral
beings whose spirits hover over the capoeira rodas. They become spectators
and may affect the development of a performance by altering their disciples
emotionally. We turn next to how these local imaginaries translate today in a
global context marked by constant mobility.
NOTE
Global Expansion:
Making Sense of Mobility
better life and an improvement of their economic and social status; they may
become “cosmopolitans,” as Ulf Hannerz (2006) says.
Hannerz argues that the discussion of cosmopolitanism is intrinsic to
the problem of voluntary mobility and tourism for work and leisure. He
reminds us of the two facets of cosmopolitanism: cultural and political.
For him, both fronts played a significant role in the years after the fall of
the Berlin Wall and the end of the Soviet Union (Hannerz 2006: 8–9). An
emerging new process that became known in intellectual circles as global-
ization gave origin to cosmopolitan citizens and their itinerant predisposi-
tions. Concomitant to a positive and homogenizing response to the effects
of these global forces, cosmopolitanism became associated with values like
multiculturalism and respect for cultural diversity; it turned into a political
alternative to nationalism and patriotism. In this sense, Hannerz (2006: 11)
mentions an elective affinity between cultural and political cosmopolitan-
ism. Those professing a cosmopolitan cultural attitude would be more open
to experiencing cultural diversity and would create mechanisms of inclusiv-
ity and tolerance. Hannerz (2006: 14) contrasts these two types of cosmo-
politanisms as expressing different feelings: “Political cosmopolitanism is
often a cosmopolitanism with a worried face, trying to come to grips with
very large problems. But cosmopolitanism in its cultural dimension may
be a cosmopolitanism with a happy face, enjoying new sights, sounds and
tastes, new people. And in combination, and merging with one another, they
may be that thick form of cosmopolitanism, where experience and symbol-
ism can motivate identification and a will to action.” Cosmopolitanism and
mobility go hand in hand. These two concepts appear as consequences of
globalization and the free flow of cultural goods, people, and traits. Ini-
tially, the fascination with globalization led anthropologists to focus on its
external features, which enhanced a romantic view of cultural homogeneity
that shrank time and space as organizational principles. Marc Augé was one
of the first anthropologists to hold a relatively positive view of globaliza-
tion. He saw it as a sign of contemporary life that marked the acceleration
of history, the proliferation of information, and the exchange of dominant
cultural features (Augé 1998a). All this happened before the rise of the
Internet and the turn of the new millennium. For Augé, one of the external
signs of globalization in the early 1990s was the intensification of mobility
and the emergence of a new kind of cosmopolitan social actor who transited
through contexts devoid of meaning. He called these areas “nonplaces,”
anonymous zones of transit where people rejected specific forms of belong-
ing and attachment (Augé 1995). Augé viewed the nonplaces of mobility
as characteristic of what he called “supermodernity,” an early synonym for
globalization. Nonplaces became an index of an excess of modernity and
its immediate effects (Augé 1995: 29). Nonplaces were an example of the
“spatial overabundance of the present” (Augé 1995: 34).
Augé talked more deeply about the anthropology of mobility about a de-
cade after his writings on nonplaces and supermodernity (Augé 2007). In a
small book published in Spanish, he returns to the problems of mobility as
characteristic of supermodernity. He explicitly says that “it is necessary to add
that supermodern mobility is a consequence of the ideology of the system of
globalization: an ideology of appearance, of evidence and the present” (Augé
2007: 16). This thinking relates to concepts Augé considers essential to the
definition of mobility, such as borders, migration, travel, and utopia. Each of
these components sets up the machinations and trajectories of movement.
Borders signify zones of transit (Augé 2007: 21), liminal spaces that
confront the traveler with the Other (human, nonhuman, or imaginary). For
Augé, borders are temporal, open-ended projects that change meaning histori-
cally. They are markers that divide centers and peripheries in culture. For the
French anthropologist, boundaries do not always mean the deployment of
physical barriers that separate people. On the contrary, they indicate zones
of possibility, transgression, and intense experience. In essence, we could
interpret Augé’s concept of borders as contexts of possible intelligibility, of
trajectories of meaning.
Migration, the second characteristic of mobility, responds to the contextual
dimension of the present, of people living in urban agglomeration, where
individuals migrated from rural areas or other countries. Augé mentions that
the attraction of the city is vital for those who migrate; it is part of people’s
cosmopolitan endeavors to find a sense of belonging to a modernity that
could offer economic possibilities and personal advantages (Augé 2007:
38–39). The final destination of many migrants is a city where they have
relatives or personal connections. However, Augé warns the reader that cities
have divisions; they have internal frontiers, barriers that segregate people and
that become a microcosm for all the existing cultural and social problems of
exclusion and discrimination. The sharp divisions in a city expose the peril-
ous logic of mobility and serve as a reminder that not all types of mobility
are equally valuable.
The third characteristic of modern mobility is tourism. For Augé, tourism
is a negative consequence of supermodernity, an example of the excesses of
mobility (see also Augé 1998b, 2003). He highlights sightseeing as a super-
ficial and grotesque spectacle: “Our times are characterized by a contrast as
surprising as it is terrible, because tourists tend to visit the countries from
where immigrants are forced to leave, in difficult conditions and, sometimes,
risking their lives” (Augé 2007: 62). There are several prejudices in Augé’s
perception of tourism that need further discussion and that represent an
The changes brought by globalization, I suggest, are re-framing this cultural chro-
notope as one of “synchronic pluralism,” in which there is neither a direction of
historical time towards the creation of culturally homogeneous national societies
nor states identified as unique centers of sovereignty. This is the chronotope as-
sociated with the new social movements based on ethnicity, feminism and mul-
ticulturalism. Among these new movements, the world-wide surge of indigenous
struggles for cultural and social autonomy, political recognition and territorial
rights since the end of the 1960s has played a prominent part. (Turner 2006: 17)
For Turner, the active role of the anthropologist as a social agent is funda-
mental for bringing visibility to emerging minority subjects. Making others
equally visible, exhibiting those who are at odds with the values of a hege-
monic nation-state, became an imperative within an anthropological cause
that demanded a plurality of voices. In his view, the anthropologist must ad-
dress the effects of mobility by participating in the causes of minorities and
by being critical of the concept of globalization itself.
Bruce Kapferer (1988, 2004, 2010) has also highlighted the contradic-
tions of modernity and the emergence of violent nationalism and terrorism.
Kapferer (2004: 68) describes how corporate power and the new global order
have weakened the power of the state in recent decades: “The global situation
is a context of distributed sovereignties, corporations are in many respects
state-like structures.” Sovereignties became deterritorialized; corporations
acted together within the state and exerted their influence on it. For Kapferer,
globalization means a new imperial control different from the one that existed
in the past, displaying a strategic form of warfare. Siding with Deleuze and
Guattari, Kapferer (2010: 132) talks about a war machine within the modern
state, “The modern state, its agents, and its institutions became consciously
oriented to the creation or production of the very society in which its sover-
eignty was defined and, furthermore, engaged the citizenry to perform this
task through a variety of discursive practices. Power and control became an
effect of social production in line with state interests.” For the Australian an-
thropologist, however, the state is in a current crisis exacerbated by the global
effect of modernity. As globalization dictates looser control of territorialities
and international forms of ascription, transnational values, mobility, and the
decentering of the state as a keeper of social control, many ethnic minorities
have claimed what Kapferer (2010: 138) calls “wild sovereignties” through
microwarfare against the state. Finally, he acknowledges the power of cyber-
connections in the dissemination of a social message among minorities that
brings international visibility.
The weakening of the state as a center of control and the growing influence
of corporations are a consequence of the power of globalization and deterrito-
rialization. In the development of an anthropology of mobility, it is necessary
to pay attention to these disruptive forces. The adverse effects of globaliza-
tion and mobility should be taken into account when discussing cosmopoli-
tanism and voluntary migration. Cultural movement and displacement are not
always cause for celebration, as Turner and Friedman remind us. Although
the transit that capoeira leaders engage with is not violent, it involves a dis-
placement of “small numbers” of the sort mentioned by Appadurai. Having in
mind both the positive and the adverse effects of mobility and globalization,
we turn now to address the specific methodological problems of mobility
from an anthropological perspective.
METHODOLOGICAL CHALLENGES
changes, oscillating between micro and macro settings. The problem of scale
implies different descriptive methodological tools to make sense of mobility.
It is necessary to delineate trajectories that transcend regional boundaries
when tracing the movement of capoeira leaders. The leaders I worked with
and know travel every year to places, regions, and countries including Japan,
the Middle East, Europe, Latin America, and the United States. Other lead-
ers spend extended periods living abroad or have settled in Brazil after ten
or twenty years living in other countries. Leaders are cultural missionaries
whose work is to spread the word of capoeira to any person willing to listen.
To make sense of mobility and its relationship to tourism in capoeira requires
addressing the methodological challenges of dealing with the accelerated
dynamics of social life.
In a recent book called Mega-Event Mobilities, the editors tackle the an-
thropological problem of dealing with massive events, large-scale spectacles
that agglomerate an enormous number of people for a brief period (Salazar
et al. 2017). One of the editors, Noel Salazar (2017: 3), characterizes mega-
events such as the World Cup, the Olympic Games, and concerts as places of
the imaginary. He says that “the construction of a mega-event indeed starts
with an imaginary, often utopian idea. This is then translated into a concrete
proposal, which needs to be approved . . . before it can be properly planned
and designed, procured and built” (Salazar 2017: 4). A mega-event is a com-
plex phenomenon, a total social fact as Marcel Mauss (2004) would say; it
involves money, culture, music, dance, politics, religion, and social imaginar-
ies. I am interested in the fleeting character of mega-events, their power to
mobilize crowds, and the difficulty of analyzing them ethnographically.
Salazar has described mobility as containing a plurality of meanings,
reminding us that it is not always about people—it has to do with imaginar-
ies, materials, and ideas too. He says, “Mobility—a complex assemblage of
movement, imaginaries and experience—is not only an object of study but
also an analytical lens, promoted among others by those who talk about a
‘mobility turn’ in social theory and who have proposed a ‘new mobilities par-
adigm’ to reorient the ways in which we think about society” (Salazar 2017:
6). Although I frame this book within the new mobilities paradigm, I am still
hesitant about the declaration of a new mobility turn in anthropology that is
radically changing the discipline. Yet, I acknowledge that the importance of
movement as an analytical way of seeing life and culture forces us to expand
our creativity and the way we do anthropology.
The study of mobility demands a redefinition of ethnography. I agree with
Salazar and Graburn (2014: 6), who say that the anthropology of mobility
sometimes makes it impossible to undertake a description that shows the in-
depth knowledge of our interlocutors because they are always on the move.
How can one narrate a decent life story with a visitor who will leave the set-
ting in two hours? How can one build rapport with people on the move? The
anthropology of mobility must face its problem of scale. It has to recognize
its position within a global context of positive and negative values, which I
have discussed previously. Besides, it has to connect this global context to
a microsetting where mobility happens empirically. Technological tools are
essential in tracking down the flow of “mobile” citizens and cultural prac-
tices. Virtual ethnography helps us connect with people on the move. The
anthropologist must be creative in finding ways to follow people through all
means available and to trace the connections they make and how they refer
to their experiences online. The Internet is not a substitute for ethnographic
fieldwork, but it is helpful in tracing social connections.
The methodological challenge of mobility is an effect of people’s displace-
ment and its implicit neo-nomadism (see Maffesoli 2005), which stands in
dialogue with sedentary cultural patterns. As Mari Korpela (2016: 123) men-
tions, mobility and its multiple meanings evidence its contrary—sedentary
life—but as a complement to mobility, not as a separate entry. It is in the
dialogue between the metaphors of mobility that we anthropologists need to
choose the best method to capture the sense of nomadism.
In a first attempt to figure out how to deal with the movement of capoeira
practitioners, I made use of some of the principles of actor-network theory
(ANT). I wanted to trace mobility connections by paying attention to the dif-
ferent networks that capoeira leaders created and how they visualized their
travel trajectories. I tried to lay out the horizontal relations around the globe
that mestres created in their trips. I followed Latour’s (2005) idea of assem-
blage and connections to reveal the content of the social. In this chapter, I
expand the framework of ANT by using the anthropology of mobility.
The idea of the “single starting point” or the line of departure must be
discarded as the primordial notion of displacement. In the anthropology of
mobility, there is no initial line; there are only multiplicities that coexist and
whose patterns outline a movement of life that lacks clear directionality. In
my view, this is one of the most significant challenges in the anthropology of
mobility. There is no intrinsic rationality behind the multiple movements of
people. This lack of rationality does not mean, however, that people do not
think or plan when they move.
On the contrary, they have a real or vague idea about when, how, and
where to move. What I mean by lack of deliberate intention concerns the
initial motivation and trajectory of mobility. The unpredictability of life
plays a role in sabotaging the clear intentions of people’s movement. An
individual makes her plan and decides to move away from where she is. As
soon as that person begins her trajectory, the imponderables of life define
those movements. In the making of her road ahead, many variables guide
her decisions. So, the trajectory reveals itself as a series of imponderables
and accidental circumstances in life. They can be minimal or foundational,
full of expectations, fears, and dreams. What is important are the relation-
ships this person is making on the road. From my perspective, the making of
unforeseen relationships is one of the most important methodological values
that we can gain from the anthropology of mobility.
The idea of unpredictability is similar to the process of making things and
performing actions that Tim Ingold has described as part of the human en-
deavor of living and producing one’s life. He says, “Making is a journey; the
maker a journeyman” (Ingold 2013: 45). What is important methodologically
is the journey itself and not the outcome. We may explore ethnographically
how a person lives her life after she reaches her destination, of course, but
what is more relevant is how the trajectory unfolds a life’s journey.
This phenomenological approach to mobility prioritizes the unfolding of
multiple relations without considering if the path traversed is short or long.
Ingold (2013: 70) considers the nomadic trajectory as an open-ended project
in a world in constant motion where planning and making, as activities, are
almost synonymous. This sense of open project is relevant to my narration of
the haphazard history of the global mobility of capoeira practitioners.
The global history of mobility of capoeira practitioners has its origins in the
1930s and 1940s as styles were formalized. What we know so far of this
history comes from narratives by capoeira leaders (Almeida 1986, Capoeira
2002, 2003, and Vieira 1996) and from academic works that have discussed
the global expansion of capoeira in the twenty-first century (Assunção 2005,
Brito 2017, Delamont, Stephens, and Campos 2017, Guizardi 2017).
It is impossible to detail the scale of the current global mobility of capoeira
practitioners. Instead, here I outline some of the general causes of this move-
ment, independently of capoeira styles. What I describe here is a process that
began when Mestre Bimba, the great reformer and inventor of the Luta Re-
gional Baiana in the 1930s (known now in capoeira circles simply as capoeira
Regional), decided to codify a capoeira style based on competition, effective-
ness, athleticism, and combat dexterity.
As I mentioned in chapter 1, Bimba was one of the first mestres who
fought for the recognition of capoeira as a legitimate social practice. He
wanted to distance his capoeira style from its marginal associations, and
Janeiro. Mestre Moraes was one of the players responsible for the revival
of capoeira Angola in the 1980s, as I have mentioned elsewhere (González
Varela 2017). His role in the preservation of the Angola tradition is as signifi-
cant as some of his mentors, such as Mestre João Grande, João Pequeno, and
even the mythical Mestre Pastinha (see also Brito 2017: 57–63). However,
capoeira Angola expanded slowly in Rio de Janeiro during the 1970s. Moraes
taught a new generation of students in Rio, and years later they would become
the bearers of the Angola tradition in the south of Brazil and abroad.
In São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro during the 1970s and early 1980s, in addi-
tion to the capoeira taught by Bahian migrants who followed mainly the Re-
gional style, capoeira existed in the streets. This capoeira did not care about
labels and did not want to get involved in the historic rivalries and politics of
Bahia. The constant interaction of local players and migrants helped define
a capoeira practice different from that of the Northeast. Today, one can see
this distinctive type of capoeira in two of the most famous street gatherings,
the Roda de Caxias in Rio de Janeiro and the Roda of Mestre Ananias in São
Paulo. Both street rodas have traditions with a history more than forty years
long. They attract not only people from other cities and regions of Brazil but
also foreigners who want to see firsthand these important gatherings and, if
they are lucky, take part of them. Both rodas are prestigious, and players who
go need to know what they are doing—there are no concessions for beginners
or advanced students.
Mestre Nestor Capoeira (2003: 17), one of the most prominent figures of
the Senzala group in the 1970s, ponders the situation of capoeira’s practice
at the time: “In the 1970s and 1980s, capoeira experienced great growth
throughout Brazil and for the first time began expanding beyond Brazil’s
borders. Salvador lost its hegemony or, more accurately, began to share it
with Rio and São Paulo due to the migration of its elite young capoeiristas
[capoeira players] to these two capital cities and the development of strong
local capoeira groups there.”
Expansion brought visibility to capoeira in Brazil, and after the 1970s it
consolidated its presence and status as one the most important martial art in the
country. From the 1970s onward, capoeira practitioners appeared in TV com-
mercials and films and took part in dance companies and art performances.
GLOBAL EXPANSION
Through dance companies, players had the opportunity to show their art to a
broader audience and to travel not only to other cities in Brazil but to other
countries, reaching a public that until then was inaccessible.
It was in the United States, thanks mainly to the work of Jelon Vieira and
Loremil Machado, that capoeira established itself outside Brazil (Assunção
2005:190). They were two of the first mestres to settle abroad. Both were
part of a dance company that toured the United States with success in 1975.
Mestre Acordeon says that after the tour, Jelon and Loremil decided to stay
(Almeida 1986). Jelon settled in New York, where he has spent most of his
life engaged in the diffusion and practice of capoeira. Loremil worked as a
professional choreographer and performer of capoeira in Manhattan until his
premature death in 1994.
Bira Almeida (Mestre Acordeon) became part of the global mobility scene
of capoeira practitioners too. As Assunção (2005: 190) mentions, “Bira Al-
meida, another student of M. Bimba, settled down on the West Coast of the
United States. M. Acordeon—as he is known among capoeiristas—started
teaching upper-middle class students at Stanford University in 1979. He soon
extended his teachings to poorer neighborhoods and the Latin community of
San Francisco and finally opened his own school Capoeira-Bahia.” Bira Al-
meida is without question one of the most important proponents of capoeira
abroad. He has worked for more than thirty years in the United States, and he
has graduated many professors and mestres during that period. Bira Almeida
is also a skilled musician who has recorded capoeira music CDs and DVDs
with the content of his teachings. He has also promoted gender equality in
capoeira circles. He has graduated qualified female teachers who are among
the best in the world, and his capoeira lessons extend beyond the United
States to several countries in Latin America.
The slow rebirth of capoeira Angola in Brazil affected its national and
global expansion. Thanks to the work of some of Mestre Moraes’s students
from Rio de Janeiro, the practice of capoeira Angola became more visible
not only in Rio but also in other cities such as São Paulo and Belo Horizonte.
Moraes returned to Salvador in 1982 and convinced the old guard of retired
Angola mestres to teach again, and by organizing workshops he brought
famous mestres back to the classroom. Supported by Mestre João Pequeno
and Mestre João Grande, Moraes opened his academy, Grupo de Capoeira
Angola Pelourinho (GCAP) in the Forte Santo Antônio Além do Carmo in
1982. Slowly, the so-called mother of all capoeiras took over the largest cit-
ies in Brazil in the 1980s and by the end of the decade had expanded abroad.
In 1989 Mestre Moraes and some members of GCAP traveled to Lagos,
Nigeria, to participate in the International Festival of African Arts. Upon his
return, Moraes’s popularity grew significantly, and he received numerous
Mexico, Israel, and Japan. Some mestres who initially intended to leave Bra-
zil for good have also reconsidered their decision and have opted to move
seasonally between Brazil and other countries. As I show later in the chapter,
seasonal mobility has grown in the past ten years among capoeira Angola
mestres. Though there are leaders who have their homes permanently abroad,
they are constantly moving around the world.
The global expansion of capoeira in all its variants has democratized the
possibilities of becoming a mestre. Today, obtaining a title in capoeira does
not depend on being Brazilian or on living in Brazil (although this is more
common in capoeira Contemporânea and Regional groups). Numerous
mestres are foreigners or learned their craft abroad. Although I do not have
estimates, I personally know at least three mestres in London and Mexico
City who are not Brazilian. For instance, Adolfo Flores (Mestre Cigano)
and his wife Rosita (Mestra Rosita) are two of the most famous capoeira
Contemporânea practitioners in Mexico and have the largest group in the
country, Longe Do Mar. They received their titles from Mestre Acordeon
in 2013 and 2017 respectively.
The international proliferation of capoeira Regional and Contemporânea
groups has created an uncontrolled chart of academies, mestres, and ascrip-
tions, making it complicated to trace connections directly to a particular Bra-
zilian mestre. The meaning of capoeira in these two styles changes depend-
ing on the artistic or sportive motivation of Brazilian or foreign leaders (see
Delamont, Stephens, and Campos 2017). In some places, the practice that ad-
vertises itself as “capoeira” may not resemble the Regional or Contemporary
traditions found in Brazil at all. Because of the explosion of groups abroad,
foreign groups sometimes attempt to build a genuine connection with a fa-
mous Brazilian mestre or a prominent group branch to become “legitimate”
bearers of a tradition (see Griffith 2016: 41–47). In other cases, although
these groups may seek the blessing of a great mestre, they may want to
remain independent and free from the restrictions imposed by a strong com-
mitment to a leader. Forming a Regional or Contemporânea academy abroad
is more flexible than forming an Angola academy, and it gives practitioners
more freedom about the kind of capoeira they want to pursue.
Capoeira Angola groups deal with the same issues that affect Regional and
Contemporânea groups abroad, but with more control. As the Angola style
since its inception has claimed to be the most traditional capoeira and the one
closest to its African roots, innovation and departure from tradition are not
desirable. Therefore, foreign mestres are less common than in the other two
styles. It is not impossible to become a mestre if one is a non-Brazilian; it
is only more difficult. Lauren Griffith (2016: 47) points out that “nationality
is more entwined with legitimacy for foreigners who want to teach capoeira
versus those who simply want to play capoeira.” I agree with her in the sense
that Brazilians put more pressure on non-Brazilians when recognizing the
ascension of these individuals in the hierarchy of knowledge. However, de-
spite the inherent obstacles, there are Angola mestres from the United States,
European countries, and even Japan whom Brazilian mestres consider to be
true bearers of an Afro-Brazilian tradition.
Someone practicing capoeira Angola abroad needs a link with a mestre to
become a “real” player. However, sustained connections are not easily kept,
and groups abroad often change their adherence to Brazilian groups. Mem-
bers may start working with a prominent mestre just to abandon that relation-
ship after one or two years because the mestre in question lost interest and
faith in the group. Mestres have the desire to work with groups abroad, but
they try to be selective and choose academies that can bring some advantage
to them. For instance, some Angola groups in Mexico have changed adher-
ence and stopped working with a particular mestre because of money issues
or disagreements over the meaning of tradition and the way of teaching. In
London, groups have experienced similar transformations through time.
The inconstant dependence that a group abroad has with a mestre is a typi-
cal pattern of the social relations that exist among capoeira Angola academies
in the world. For foreigners, being part of a tradition abroad sometimes means
accepting the mentorship of a mestre who they do not know very well. For
mestres, giving their name to a group they do not fully trust is not an easy
matter, as status and prestige are at stake. Therefore, time plays a significant
role in building a consistent relationship between Brazilian mestres and inter-
national disciples. The value that capoeira Angola deposits in the figure of the
mestre as representative of knowledge and expertise makes travel and mobil-
ity indispensable. Leaders are missionaries and need to spread their message
internationally. In many cases, such a missionary enterprise culminates with
a mestre living abroad for either a short or an extended period.
Multiple histories of capoeira expansion exist, and it is not possible to de-
scribe them all here. The situations described above exemplify just a few rep-
resentative cases of global itineraries in the United States. Many other mestres
of all styles settled abroad or began visiting capoeira groups not only in the
United States but also elsewhere in the Americas. Simultaneously, migration
of capoeira practitioners in Europe commenced in the 1980s, intensified in the
1990s, and exploded in the first decade of the twenty-first century. Today, the
mobility of capoeira practitioners around the globe is very dynamic; it defies
our capacity to portray it, and its tourism mobilities cross the boundaries be-
tween Western regions and emergent regions (Cohen and Cohen 2015a). The
movement of practitioners does not flow only to the First World; it circulates
through many venues and unpredictable channels. Capoeira groups of all styles
proliferate in places such as Palestine, Cuba, India, and the countries of West
Africa. It moves between Brazil and the rest of the world.
For every mestre or advanced student who settles down temporarily or
indefinitely abroad, there is probably an academy or group of practitioners
willing to receive and host the leader. Therefore, mestres often take up the
challenge of leaving Brazil to migrate and adapt to a new culture only to find
themselves at the same time influencing the local milieu with their capoeira
knowledge and skills. In some instances, mestres master the local language
and integrate into a new cultural context. In others, the process is more
complicated because of mestres’ constant interaction with people who speak
Portuguese. Mestres have the privilege of living abroad but continuing to
use their mother tongue regularly without being forced to speak another one
at work; sometimes mestres even impose Portuguese as a lingua franca in
capoeira classes and social relations. I will return to this issue of adaptation in
the next chapter; for the moment I want to highlight the complicated situation
that mestres face in their missionary path.
Figure 2.1. Mestre Carlão doing a one-hand aú (cartwheel) during his visit to San Luis
Potosí, Mexico.
Photo: Sergio González Varela. Date: September 28, 2018.
One of the first Angola mestres who settled down temporarily in London
was Carlo Alexandre Teixeira, known as Mestre Carlão. Carlão has a long
history in the Brazilian capoeira Angola scene. Born and raised in Rio de
Janeiro, he began training capoeira in 1982 with Mestre Marco Aurelio and
later with Mestre Armando and Mestre Jose Carlos in Niteroi. These three
mestres were direct disciples of Mestre Moraes, the leader of the GCAP in
Salvador, and with these outstanding teachers Carlão learned the core of
the Angola fundaments while he also trained as a musician. He founded his
group, Kabula Capoeira Angola, in Rio de Janeiro in 2000. Carlão came to
London for the first time in 1996 to do a master’s degree in performance arts
at the Queen Mary and Westfield College in the Mile End. He stayed for
eleven months, then for personal reasons dropped the master’s program and
went instead to New York to train with Mestre João Grande for two months
before returning to Rio de Janeiro.
Carlão considers that he founded the first capoeira Angola group in the
United Kingdom, Brincadeira de Angola, which was at the time part of the
GCAP led by Mestre Moraes. Initially, Carlão moved seasonally between
London and Brazil due to immigration laws, which allowed him to reside
only as a tourist or a student for a determinate period. After some years, he
settled down in the UK in 2009 with his wife and daughter, but returned to
Brazil in 2012 for personal reasons. During his time living in London, he was
an active participant in the cultural life of the city, combining his capoeira
expertise with his musical and performative proficiency. He took part in a
diversity of events in the UK and European cities, contributing significantly
to the presence of capoeira Angola in Europe. He participated in festivals
such as the Thames Major Festival in 2005, the Carnaval Del Pueblo, the Not-
ting Hill Carnival, and the prestigious South Bank Brazil Festival where he
presented two performances called “Capoeira Extravaganza” and “Capoeira
into Shakespeare.”
Carlão also created a unique project in 2010 that combined capoeira with
theater in a play called In Blood: The Bacchae, a story based on the Greek
tragedy of Euripides and adapted to the Brazilian mythical narrative of Be-
souro, the flying beetle. Mestre Carlão has become perhaps one of the most
prominent figures of capoeira not only in London but also globally. His work
and his artistic interests have contributed to the production of new meanings
and possibilities for the Afro-Brazilian art. On his return to Brazil, Carlão
continued combining his work on capoeira with art through his group, which
is now called Kabula Arte e Projetos. He was responsible for the traditional
Roda do Cais do Valongo (Valongo Wharf Gathering), held in 2012, which
brought together prominent figures of the Afro-Brazilian culture with local
artists (see chapter 6). Since 2012, Cais do Valongo has become an important
cultural center for exhibitions, lectures, films, music concerts, and dance per-
formances. Carlão continues traveling to London regularly.
A second capoeira academy worth mentioning is the East London Capoeira
Group, founded in 1997 by Simon Atkinson, known as Mestre Fantasma.
Since 1993, Simon has been one of the pioneers of capoeira in the United
Kingdom. In 1997, he became associated with Mestre Marrom from Rio de
Janeiro and adopted the style and philosophy of capoeira Angola. His academy
has become one of the most common places for mestres traveling abroad to
visit. Every year Simon invites Mestre Marrom (who lives in Rio de Janeiro)
to London to give classes and to be present in the activities of the group.
The commitment of Simon’s students, like those in any other group in
London, changes over time. However, he has managed to consolidate around
ten to fifteen practitioners who train regularly with him. Most of them are of
European background, though he has students from other parts of the world.
He holds rodas every weekend, and he teaches at least three times a week in
the borough of Hackney in northeast London.
Simon is a foreign-born mestre, exemplifying the power that globaliza-
tion has in the practice of capoeira. Without the constant flow of people and
cultural traditions, he would never have been able to learn capoeira. Simon
was there when capoeira first arrived in London in the early 1990s and has
seen it grow, first slowly and then more rapidly in the new millennium. He
often travels to Brazil, and the connection he has made with his mestre has
endured for more than twenty years. Some of Simon’s students have become
professors in their own right or have become part of the hierarchy of power
in the academy of Mestre Marrom.
Another leader, Mestre Joãozinho da Figueira, came to London in 2004;
he founded the group Mar Azul that same year. Originally from São Paulo,
he has a long trajectory in capoeira Angola. Joãozinho was one of the found-
ers of Mar Azul in 1983 in his home city; he moved to Manaus in 1985 to
form a second branch of his academy. In 2003, Joãozinho lived for a year in
Mozambique, where he opened the third branch of Mar Azul. He is a traveler,
an adventurer that likes to explore different cultures, and enjoys teaching
capoeira wherever he goes. He is a genuinely cosmopolitan citizen. With
over thirty years of experience teaching capoeira, Joãozinho has contributed
substantially to the consolidation of the Angola style in London. He regularly
gives workshops to different sectors of society such as children and immi-
grants; as far as I know, he holds a weekly roda on Friday where practitioners
of all styles and backgrounds come together to participate and commune in
the capoeira circle. Joãozinho has hosted many capoeira events in London,
and any respectable mestre who passes through London ends up visiting the
roda at Mar Azul.
The three groups described above are the most representative academies of
the Angola style in London. However, other groups are also important, such
as the FICA group in London, Aprendendo Angola, Angoleiros do Mar, and
Filhos de Angola. Although there is no space to make a detailed description
of these groups here, they have contributed enormously to the development of
capoeira in London, mainly by hosting workshops with famous mestres. The
capoeira Angola groups described in this section also set up the platform that
other mestres who do not live in London will use to create new social net-
works. In this sense, it is right to talk about the creation of threads or lines that
mestres trace when they come to London. What demands attention, therefore,
is the description of relations that have been established rather than the simple
contextualization of a general pattern of mobility. Tracing the connections of
mobility offers itself as the only alternative for representing the constantly
moving context of capoeira Angola expansion worldwide.
The Angola groups constitute the horizontal platform on which multiple
lines of mobility appear. Kabula, Mar Azul, Filhos de Angola, and other
academies are exemplars of possible paths for mestres to exploit. In recent
times, the proliferation of trajectories often overlap. As the demand for
mestres increases, it is possible that the schedule of some classes organized
by a mestre in transit will clash with the agendas of other groups that have
also invited mestres to give workshops. Paradoxically, what happens in
London is that sometimes an excess of high-level visitors arrive in the city
all at once. As prestigious mestres such as Carlão and Joãozinho or long-
standing practitioners such as Simon lead the local academies in London,
then, it is easier to contact and arrange classes with Brazilian mestres who
are already in Europe or intend to go to Europe. As the market expands,
mestres use London as a platform for earning a substantial amount of
money in a short period. However, they have to face the challenge posed by
the Home Office, which often refuses them entrance on security grounds.
Notwithstanding the stringent migration rules, mestres continue to visit
London, and their visits are unlikely to abate.
one of the most talented practitioners of his generation, and I have described
his story elsewhere (González Varela 2017). He trained in the 1980s with
the GCAP under the guidance of Mestre Moraes and Cobra Mansa. In the
mid-1990s, he created his own group, Grupo Zimba, in Salvador. During
the most important part of my field research in 2005 and 2006, I practiced
capoeira with Boca and his group, and I learned his view on capoeira from
interacting on a daily basis with him. At the time, Boca complained that few
people recognized his role as a mestre and educator of capoeira Angola. He
explained that some of his current students did not even value the importance
of training daily with him, and it was hard to get them committed to the
demanding principles of the Angola style. Not only did Boca teach capoeira
in the neighborhood of Pituaçu, but he also worked at a middle-class school
teaching capoeira for kids, and at least twice a week he worked in an orphan-
age sharing his knowledge of capoeira with troubled teenagers. His life was
tough, as is the case for most people who want to make a living only by teach-
ing capoeira in Salvador.
At the end of my fieldwork, Boca told me that he wanted to travel around
the world, just like his mestres did. He had left Brazil only three times, to Eu-
rope in 2002, to Nigeria with the group that made the trip with Mestre Moraes
to Lagos in 1989, and to the United States once to visit Mestre João Grande.
He felt that the time had come to travel and to make connections abroad. I left
the field in October 2006, but I kept in touch with Boca. I followed his work
through social media, and I learned about his plans to leave Brazil for Spain.
In 2007, after saving most of their salaries, Boca, his then wife Cristina, and
their family made the big leap to Santiago de Compostela, Spain. They chose
that location because Cristina had capoeira contacts there. Finally, he had
made it to Europe with the plan of settling there permanently.
Things were not easy. Boca, his daughter and son, his wife, and her daugh-
ter had some troubles adjusting to Spain, particularly to the rainy weather
and the local culture. His wife did not have any issues with Spanish because
it was her mother language. In the beginning, however, Boca struggled with
Spanish. It took him many months to master the language, and he had to do
all kinds of odd jobs that were not related to capoeira at all to sustain his fam-
ily, such as working in restaurants and bars or selling things. As with many
immigrants, the first months were also complicated by visa issues. I do not
precisely know how Boca and his family became legal residents in Spain. I
do know that by the end of their stay they did not have any problems travel-
ing in the Eurozone.
I know firsthand about the first months of Boca’s life in Europe because
I helped him come to London for a short visit. After many problems with
the Home Office, Boca visited for the first time in 2007. He came for one
week, and he taught capoeira at some of the groups I mentioned in the pre-
vious section. The mestre liked London, and he was very impressed by the
quality of playing and the level of the local capoeira Angola practitioners
that lived in the city. Boca returned to Santiago, but to avoid being picked
up by immigration authorities while his legal situation was still unclear, he
did not travel much outside Spain.
Step by step, his project of teaching capoeira Angola became a reality. He
opened his own group together with the help of his wife and some friends. As
soon as he sorted out his legal residence, Boca began traveling more regularly
to other countries. His name resounded among Angola academies in Europe
because of his status as one of the most distinguished capoeira mestres in
Bahia. His prestige helped open doors in the global Angola scene. He had
the opportunity to meet mestres from other styles and famous Angola teach-
ers from different regions of Brazil. Slowly, he began creating connections
that gave him exposure among people who had heard of him but had not had
the opportunity to see him in person. After a few years living in Spain, he
returned to London for a visit in 2009. Sadly, he managed to stay only two
days before the Home Office forced him to return to Santiago.
Although Boca felt happy in Santiago, he missed Bahia; he had not re-
turned to his home city for a while. It was not until he sorted out his migra-
tory status that he went back to Salvador to visit Grupo Zimba. In Bahia, he
realized how difficult it was to lead a group without a leader there to provide
guidance. Grupo Zimba survived Boca’s absence, but it made Boca aware
that a group depends on a mestre. Based on this experience and subsequent
visits to his hometown, he planned to return to live in Bahia. This project
would take some time to accomplish.
After some years living in Santiago de Compostela, Boca decided to re-
turn to Salvador in 2013. He made this decision not only because he missed
the Northeast of Brazil but also because he needed to reconnect with his
Brazilian roots. He said that it was not right to be away from Salvador for
too long because he would lose some of his ways of moving and being a
capoeira player; he would also forget the importance of the Afro-Brazilian
religion of Candomblé in his life. He said that the return to Bahia was
planned as a strategy to continue teaching capoeira locally but with the
advantage of knowing a lot of people in other countries who could invite
him to teach in their academies. Through his time living in Spain Boca do
Rio consolidated a robust social network with foreign groups that allowed
him to travel regularly to Europe and Latin America to teach capoeira in the
years after his return to Salvador.
Like other famous Angola mestres, Boca fulfilled his dream of being
rooted in Bahia while being in high demand from groups abroad. He joined
the same path as other Bahian mestres who have returned in recent years to
Salvador after living abroad. Most of these leaders have become central in
the development of the local capoeira milieu of Salvador, but with an inter-
national agenda that keep them on the road for long spells. At the same time,
their fame gained abroad has intensified the number of visits from interna-
tional practitioners to their Brazilian headquarters. In a sense, the free path of
capoeira Angola mestres such as Boca do Rio has paid off. Global exposure,
together with the help of social networks like Facebook and YouTube, has
helped mestres spread their missionary work internationally as caretakers of
tradition; this has contributed to the intensification of tourism and the redefi-
nition of the mestre-student relationship in recent years. However, before de-
scribing the new social relations that exist between teachers and disciples, it
is necessary to summarize the ethnographic effect that capoeira leaders have
in the context of the anthropology of mobility.
NOTE
In the world of capoeira Angola the relationship between mestres and stu-
dents is vital for the transmission of knowledge. It does not matter if an
Angola academy is in Brazil, the United States, Japan, or Russia, members
have to build a relationship with a known mestre, so it is common for famous
leaders to lend their names to international groups—and the same is true with
academies in Brazil. Of course, many Angola groups in the world exist with-
out a direct association with a single mestre. There are cases where interna-
tional members prefer to stay independent, working with many leaders at the
same time without committing to one. In other instances, infighting between
leaders and students can lead to separations and disappointments. Although
the relationships between mestres and their groups vary, what is constant is
the requirement that any student who aspires to become a true angoleiro work
with an influential figure at some point.
The mestre-student pair is, in this sense, indissoluble. It is a dialogic and
almost symbiotic relationship. Sometimes it is full of friction, enmity, and
mistrust; other times it is sustained through mutual admiration, loyalty,
fraternity, and guidance. The connection is complicated, involving contra-
dictions and moral dilemmas. What I analyze here is how this relationship
has changed as a consequence of the global mobility of capoeira leaders
described in the previous chapter. My interest centers on the characteriza-
tion of tourism that happens among capoeira Angola academies in Bahia,
Brazil, and groups in other cities abroad. The objective is to portray the
perception that mestres have about tourism and mobile citizens, and the way
these leaders negotiate the dictates of belonging to a tradition and making
money at the same time by showing capoeira internationally. The chapter
also addresses the point of view of those whom capoeira mestres consider
to be “apprenticeship pilgrims,” to borrow Griffith’s concept, and how
63
TOURISM AS AN INSTANCE OF
THE INVENTION OF CULTURE
Anthropology and tourism have had a strained relationship. I have not titled this
section “anthropology of tourism” because what interests me here are the chal-
lenges that tourism poses for anthropology, not just tourism as a topic of anthro-
pological research. In recent decades, the anthropology and history of tourism
have increased in the most unexpected ways (see, for instance, Guichard-An-
guis and Moon 2009, Jolliffe 2007, Richards and Wilson 2004, Staples 2002,
and Smith 1989). Tourist guides have become professional scholars, bringing a
view of their industry from the inside (Picard and Di Giovine 2014). They have
confronted the maligned interpretation of tourism held by many anthropologists
and have contested the prejudiced perception of tourism as a banal, superficial
cultural expression. At the same time, tourism has become more important
economically and culturally for many people and for the development of cities
and countries (Scranton and Davidson 2007, Souther 2006).
The effects of tourism on societies all over the world is unmissable; we
cannot ignore it. Condemnation has not led to a better understanding of how
people relate to a mobile life imposed by tourism. The experts in the field,
following the pioneering work of Dean MacCannell (1999), have deepened
our understanding of what apparently would be the banality of culture, the
simulacra of the real as Jean Baudrillard (1983) would say, the process of
endless simulation. But there is no banality in tourism: it affects people, its
impact is real, and its consequences could be a matter of life and death. In
sum, tourism is a symptom of capitalism (Merrill 2009).
My objective in this section is to think through tourism anthropologically
by reflecting on alterity and the power of otherness (Picard and Di Giovine
2014). Today, everybody is a tourist; if you have the fortune to take holidays
and travel, you qualify as a member of this category. Roy Wagner (1981:
36) mentions in The Invention of Culture that all human beings are potential
anthropologists, inventors of culture. In the same vein, all humans are or have
been at least once in their lives “tourists” in the sense of seeing or visiting
something not restricted to working activities. You may work in the tourist
industry, but you can still become a tourist when you travel or when you take
someone for a tour of your hometown.
When Mestre Pastinha codified the Angola style in the 1940s, he put the
value of Afro-Brazilian tradition on the figure of the mestre. For him, mestres
symbolized the real knowledge of capoeira; they embodied all the desirable
attributes that a player had to cultivate to become a genuine practitioner.
Pastinha made the mestre the pivot on which all teaching, rules, and deci-
sion-making turned. By placing everything necessary on the will of a single
person, Pastinha transformed the mestre into more than just an educator. For
him, a mestre had to be a leader, a moral guide, capable of managing the
positive and negative sides of capoeira, willing to sacrifice his life for the
well-being of his students. He had to be a paternal figure for his disciples.
The hopes that Pastinha pinned on mestres set the bar too high for other
practitioners. Some mestres criticized Pastinha’s view as too demanding and
overbearing. They negotiated and did what they could to assume their new
role as moral figures of authority. Their main complaint had to do with the
deceptive nature of capoeira Angola itself; How could one become an ethical
guide when the core practices of the Afro-Brazilian martial art prioritized
feigning, cheating, and taking advantage of others by simulating attacks,
friendship, and solidarity and by using underhand tricks? To become a moral
authority contradicted the essence of being a capoeira player, a rogue-like
figure and a deceptive being capable of misleading an opponent; it also went
against the background of most Angola mestres at the time.
Some of these individuals played between the limits of legality and illegal-
ity, either forming criminal gangs or being troublemakers. They liked fight-
ing the police, as Mestre Cobrinha Verde mentions in his memoir: “When I
turned seventeen I went to fight the police. To the point that with seventeen
years old I got into a huge brawl with it. Police hated me because I always
resisted arrest” (Santos 1991: 12). Because of his problems with police, Co-
brinha Verde had to flee from his hometown of Santo Amaro after injuring
a couple of officers in a brawl. Mestre Caiçara, another infamous capoeira
player, was also involved in illegal activities and was known among prac-
titioners for having troubles with the police in Salvador. Many mestres did
not have formal jobs and had to deal with a hostile and violent environment
where being streetwise was not only a virtue but also a strategy for survival.
It is understandable, then, that many mestres had difficulty adjusting to the
new vision implemented by Pastinha. However, some of his fellow mestres
saw in Pastinha’s teaching an opportunity to break with the notorious reputa-
tion that capoeira had in society at the time, and most of his students, over the
years, would accept their role as moral guides in their academies. The idea of
pect a lot from their disciples. However, as in any ritual activity, hierarchies
determine how mestres classify their students. Advanced students with titles
or with a long commitment to the Angola cause get the sympathy and relative
trust of mestres who value the time they have invested and the experience
gained through practicing capoeira. This situation applies not only to groups
in Brazil but also abroad. Mestres expect that international students could
make it to Brazil one day to practice capoeira there, and, most importantly,
they want individuals to move from being casual students to become real
adepts of the Angola style.
When Pastinha codified capoeira Angola, he envisioned the mestre-student
relationship as a close and daily interaction between individuals. This rela-
tionship between students and mestres was stable throughout the revival of
capoeira Angola. During the 1980s and the early 1990s, it was still possible to
follow the ideal of Mestre Pastinha. Students and mestres interacted closely;
they reinvented the notion of tradition, explored new movements, revised
sequences of attacks and counterattacks, and studied more deeply the mean-
ing of songs. More important, young students learned the politics of capoeira
in a general social environment where local authorities excluded them and
discriminated against them openly. For mestres, being at home regularly
developed ideas about the meaning of capoeira as an Afro-Brazilian practice.
This traditional and idealized image of the mestre-student relationship
remained relatively unchanged until leaders began their international mis-
sionary work in the late 1990s. Before that global exposure, the dictates of
tradition stipulated that students should follow without question the lessons
taught by their mestres. Mestres were also responsible for students in a roda,
giving advice and protection if something went wrong or out of control in
the performances. During the 1980s and 1990s, mestres and students worked
more closely together, and hierarchies in the groups remained established
with relatively few changes. The global expansion of capoeira has shattered
this image. Today, the mestre-student relationship is very different; leaders
and students travel more than ever before, and there are new social relations.
From the late 1990s onward, the interactions between mestres and students
took on a new meaning.
TOURISM SUBVERSIONS
Concerning capoeira, if things did not go like in a dream, it was not completely
disastrous. It is clear that there were groups of capoeiristas and academies that
yield to pressures and economic temptations, devaluating themselves com-
pletely. But in reality, the majority remained away from those influences and
more importantly, capoeira took out from tourism what it was more convenient
of it, which was the international and national promotion and diffusion [of
capoeira]. Seen as an exotic thing, the capoeira from Bahia, together with can-
domblé, was sought after by all kind of tourists, ethnographers, artists, writers
and filmmakers. (Rego 1968: 318–19)
Rego mentions that the tourism industry raised capoeira’s visibility in other
sectors of society and in other areas such as painting, performing arts, poetry,
cinema, and music. However, tourism also made capoeira more mainstream
and detached it from its Afro-Brazilian roots. Rego (1968: 43) notes, for
instance, that the changes in academy dress codes in the 1960s were a conse-
quence of the tourism industry, which had devalued local customs. For him,
tourism was the opposite of tradition. Tourism was a subversion of the patterns
of cultural stability that existed among different ritual and religious practices
in Bahia. The economy of tourism focused on the display of art as spectacle.
For Rego, the advent of tourism “cheapened” the essence of capoeira.
This conflict is similar to the one mentioned by Dean MacCannell (1999:
91–198) about the staging of authenticity and the opposition between “true”
and “false” representation of local cultures. He explains, “The current struc-
tural development of society is marked by the appearance everywhere of
touristic space. This space can be called a stage set, a tourist setting, or sim-
ply, a set depending on how purposefully worked up for tourists the display
is” (MacCannell 1999: 100). The creation of a tourist setting related to ritual
or traditional practices creates an artificial stage designed for purposes other
than those dictated by the members who perform on that stage.
In the late 1960s, famous capoeira Angola mestres such as Pastinha and
Canjiquinha used to their advantage the interest that local authorities had in
showing capoeira for tourists. Rego cites a variety of places where Mestre
Canjiquinha presented capoeira as a spectacle in Brazil; Rego (1968: 276–78)
divides the exhibitions into categories: “official,” “In the State of Bahia,”
“Outside Bahia,” “During Carnival,” “In Cinema,” “Social Clubs,” “Public
Squares,” and “Various.” For Rego (1968: 276), Canjiquinha used the tour-
ism industry to his advantage more effectively than other mestres: “From all
Bahian capoeiristas, he [Canjiquinha] was the one who was invited most to
exhibitions, traveling around Bahia and outside the state, he was also the one
who acted most in cinema, short and long productions.”
Since the 1960s the use of Afro-Brazilian culture for economic develop-
ment and tourism has marked the local policies concerning many Afro-
Brazilian practices. This continues today, and it is impossible to dismiss the
power that the tourism industry has in shaping the perception that Angola
mestres have about their art. Although Rego’s opinion of the use of tourism
by local mestres could look outdated, it serves as a reminder today of how
leaders deal with contextual circumstances when tradition and the preserva-
tion of Afro-Brazilian values are at stake.
Another important (although short) narrative about tourism and mobility
appears in a footnote of Greg Downey’s Learning Capoeira, where we find a
casual but revealing description of capoeira tourism in the 1990s:
Black North Americans once traveled to Brazil to experience what they saw
as a society free of prejudice. . . . [N]ow many make a pilgrimage to Salva-
dor to experience the city’s Afro-Brazilian heritage. While I was in GCAP,
a constant complement of foreign capoeiristas was in residence, some for
months at a time. This intimate, long-term contact between Bahian and foreign
capoeiristas, especially African Americans, left a deep imprint on everyone
involved. (Downey 2005: 214)
This note, made during Downey’s intense fieldwork between 1993 and 1995,
offers a view of the situation within GCAP (Mestre Moraes’s group) and of
the intentions and motives of American capoeira practitioners who had trav-
eled to Bahia. These players did not come for just a few days but for months,
in a pattern that will become the norm in subsequent years. Unfortunately,
Downey does not offer more information about who these African Americans
are and why they consider their visits to Bahia a sort of pilgrimage. We can
speculate that if this interaction between local and foreign practitioners was
already taking place in the 1990s, then it is possible that the influx was a con-
sequence of the early impact that mestres such as João Grande, Cobra Mansa,
and Jelon Vieira already had in the United States.
The beginning of new relations and the emergence of new actors in the
capoeira scene in Salvador led mestres to ponder their heritage and their role
as caretakers of Afro-Brazilian culture. From the broad scope of influences
that the tourism industry brought to Salvador in the new millennium, what in-
terests me here are the destabilizing forces that tourism brought and how they
affected the traditional mestre-student relationship in the practice of capoeira
Angola. With the promotion of capoeira as a tourist attraction and its insertion
in the general context of Bahian society since the 1970s, practitioners began
their global itineraries searching for new economic and social opportunities.
By making travel their primary focus, mestres transformed their local rela-
tions with their students at the same time that they created new connections
with practitioners abroad.
Traveling fractured forever the traditional relationship between mestres
and students. Pastinha’s idea of mestres’ daily interaction with and commit-
ment to students changed; students had to adapt to a new set of relations that
included the prolonged absence of their mentors. At the same time, mestres
gained new paths of apprenticeship with international students. The mestre-
student connection adapted to a mobile reality where both mestres and stu-
dents had to build a new meaning of tradition and knowledge transmission.
Tourism and mobility also changed the role that women play today in the
development of capoeira. As part of the transnationality of the Afro-Bra-
zilian art, women have sought equal treatment within the hierarchies of the
groups, both within Brazil and in other countries. The #MeToo movement,
for example, has brought a reckoning about the violence and abuse against
women in capoeira, where men dominate the structures of power. In Sal-
vador, a courageous group of women has taken up the task of denouncing
on social media acts of violence and harassment against them by prominent
figures of the capoeira scene. The initial act of condemning violence and
abuse has mutated into a new and exciting social movement of feminist
capoeira practitioners, whose members, among them researchers Christine
Zonzón and Adriana Albert Dias, condemn any act of misogyny and fight
for gender equality and the visibility of women in Bahian capoeira. The
initial movement has gained national and international attention, expanding
in 2018 to other regions in Brazil and gaining support from international
practitioners in other cities across the globe.
In an environment marked by male-centric power and authority, the influ-
ence of female students and the achievement of women recognized as group
leaders have contributed to a more balanced relation between leaders and
Days later I talked to Valmir about the exhibition. He told me that he did
not do such shows very often; in this case he did it as a favor for a friend and
because of the money and opportunity to show capoeira Angola to travelers.
He said that many mestres were conflicted about using capoeira Angola as
a show because it did not have the same acrobatic and spectacular appeal
as capoeira Regional or Contemporânea. He also mentioned that using
capoeira as a performance for tourists gave a false impression about Afro-
Brazilian traditions. In the end, Valmir had to negotiate his commitment to
tradition within an environment of increasing tourism. He was more open to
engaging with shows than other mestres because he was an avid traveler. He
understood the curiosity that tourists had about capoeira and how different
people around the world interpreted capoeira in their own terms. Although
Valmir acknowledged this conflict between tradition and spectacle, he had
learned how to separate both contexts and use his capoeira skills to negoti-
ate its diverse expressions.
The mestre-student relationship in all its variability fluctuates based on the
mobility of leaders and advanced students and the subversion that tourism
and global exposure generates. An increasing number of avid participants
want to learn the “true” meaning of capoeira from a great mestre. In the next
section, we explore what happens when mestres and students meet in concrete
situations and “controlled equivocations,” to use Eduardo Viveiros de Cas-
tro’s (2004) expression, to establish apprenticeships.
WONDERMENT
when Angola members perform for tourists, as in the case described with
Valmir, mestres do not have time to go beyond the tourist setting. So, instill-
ing the feeling of wonderment in beginners is the initial step that mestres
take as a strategy to move beyond the constraints of tourism. These casual
students who came for a diversity of reasons to take a lesson with a mestre in
an Angola academy need to feel an initial wonderment about capoeira even if
they never return or never see capoeira again.
Sometimes, the feeling of wonderment occurs also with advanced students
who meet a famous mestre for the first time. I remember a couple of occa-
sions when I had the fortune to meet mestres such as João Grande, Moraes,
Cobra Mansa, Bigodinho, and Virgilio da Fazenda Grande for the first time.
Although I was not a neophyte when I met these mestres, my feeling of won-
derment was strong enough that I chose to dedicate part of my life to train
capoeira and also convinced myself that the intricacy of the Angola style
would be worth studying anthropologically.
Personal power appears seductively. As Luke Freeman (2007: 286) notes,
“Power is about gathering followers by communicating an aura of unusual
efficacy as a person and of natural authority as a ruler.” This unique aura
is what I consider the feeling of wonderment experienced by students who
meet a mestre for the first time. I remember how I felt when I got to know
Mestre Moraes during his first trip to Stockholm in 2002. I had met other
famous leaders before, yet seeing Moraes was a life-changing experience. He
was in Stockholm just for a couple of days, but during that time participants
understood his greatness as a capoeira leader. The way he played music, how
he moved in the roda, and his singing and personal engagement with students
were things I had never seen before in capoeira. Moraes was different, and
his body irradiated the aura that Freeman describes. People who attended
that workshop with Moraes knew he was powerful. He represented the char-
ismatic figure Max Weber refers to (1947: 358–63). His personality showed
his power in practice.
The feeling of wonderment is part of the charisma that radiates from a mes-
tres’s inner spiritual force. Through wonderment, a leader builds a different
sort of connection with people, especially when he knows he will not be stay-
ing in one place for long. This seductive first encounter aims to create an in-
tense and durable experience for students, one that lasts long enough to keep
students motivated to continue practicing capoeira. It is irrelevant whether
mestres are successful in their missionary path to overcome the superficiality
of casual and ephemeral experiences of capoeira. What remains important is
that mestres act with their bodies to transcend the barriers imposed by tourism
mobilities in order to show an “authentic” form of tradition.
EXPECTATIONS
imaginaries that capoeira Angola creates vary widely. These imaginaries are
a by-product of the expectations built around a leader. Mestres are aware that
something is expected from them, that students, as they become more and
more involved in capoeira, want to learn the fundaments of tradition. At the
same time, mestres expect a lot from students; they demand loyalty, defer-
ence, and respect for the right way of performing capoeira. Disciples then cre-
ate a set of “tourism imaginaries” about their mentors that focus on the role
of mestres as caretakers of Afro-Brazilian tradition. Students, in many cases,
follow what their leaders say without question. Mestres, on the other hand,
use the expectations of students to maintain student interest in the fundaments
of capoeira Angola without revealing too much. They try to keep the image
they are presenting within that realm of deference and relative sacredness
while maintaining secrecy.
One example of the tourism imaginaries that mestres inadvertently project
has to do with how they speak about their places of origin. The importance
leaders give to their home cities and how they talk about them always sur-
prises me. I remember, for instance, how Mestre Pedrinho, leader of Terreiro
Mandinga de Angola (TMA), spoke with his students in Mexico City about
his hometown of Duque de Caxias in Rio de Janeiro. The way he described
different aspects of Caxias, its violence, its “dangerousness,” the people who
inhabit it, and the stories of his childhood and teenage years there gave stu-
dents a sense of the meaning of capoeira in that social context. His capoeira
stories about the famous Roda de Caxias transported disciples on an imagi-
nary journey about Caxias, Rio, and Brazil. It made students hopeful about
one day visiting Caxias to see capoeira there and meet the people Pedrinho
mentioned. Unintentionally, Pedrinho was building a connection between his
Mexican students and Brazil. Years later, that relationship brought Mexican
students to Caxias; they had the opportunity to know firsthand the capoeira
scene there, and, in turn, capoeira people in Caxias were able to meet the dis-
ciples Pedrinho talked so much about when he visited his old neighborhood.
Through this dialogical exchange, imaginaries in capoeira operated in the
same fashion as imaginaries in tourism. In this way, seductive and fantastic
projections of otherness surrounded places, people, narratives, and images.
Globalization and the mobile nature of tourism make possible exchanges
between leaders of capoeira Angola and academies all over the world. In the
example cited above, imaginaries also operate with capoeira players from
Caxias, who understand and represent the presence of international practitio-
ners, who visit the Roda de Caxias all year-round, in their own imaginative
ways. They, the people from Caxias, built imaginary projections about the
otherness of tourism, and they also fall “prey” to the images that itinerant
Figure 3.1. Capoeira music orchestra minutes before the beginning of a roda at Ter-
reiro Mandinga de Angola academy, Mexico City.
Photo: José Luis Pérez Flores. Date: November 19, 2011.
mestres display about other Brazilian cities with strong capoeira traditions
like Bahia.
The social imaginaries produced by the mestre-student relationship could
multiply ad nauseam. They appear as moments of expectation with students
who are neither beginners nor exclusively casual practitioners. In this sense,
imaginaries extend to other disciples who have trained capoeira for many
years. Relevant to the discussion here is the content of the imaginaries about
capoeira that students create, and, recursively, the meaning that mestres give
to their contact and interactions with people in capoeira settings. In other
words, what is at stake here is how mestres imagine students, how they lo-
cate them in a hierarchy of power and knowledge that extends globally. This
inquiry leads us to the third moment of the mestre-student relationship.
DISAPPOINTMENT
passed, and mestres are often disappointed when their disciples do not con-
form to their high expectations.
It takes time for some students to feel disappointed about their mentors.
The initial fascination with all things associated with capoeira Angola can
last many years; practitioners adapt to the nomadic life of their leaders and
get used to seeing them sporadically. Sometimes, however, disciples’ percep-
tion of their mestres undergoes an abrupt change. It is common, particularly
outside Brazil, to wrap the figure of the mestre in a semisacred aura. Inter-
national students of capoeira Angola—whether beginners, advanced players,
or those positions of authority and responsibility within an academy—tend to
take their leaders too seriously. Students often forget that these leaders live a
missionary life and cannot pay attention to everyone they meet. More impor-
tantly, they change their views about the meaning of capoeira with time; they
must embody the art of deception as a game strategy and a form of establish-
ing power relations too.
International students get caught in a web of misunderstandings when they
give high moral value to interactions with their mestres. Just because mestres
hold power does not mean that they will act automatically according to par-
ticular values. Students sometimes demand that mestres behave morally, and
more often than not such demands contradict the dictates of deception as the
primary strategy of capoeira.
Mestres use the new moral status they have gained for missionary purposes.
They play along with students’ demands, but they cannot always be seen as
moral beings—they must also embody deception and trickery. They know
that it is part of their lives to be malandros (rogues), fluctuating between or-
der and disorder, disruption and continuity, legality and illegality, and “good”
and “evil” (Downey 2005: 153–68). So, at some stage in their lives, mestres
face the same dilemma that Pastinha confronted when he realized that becom-
ing a moral guide and quasi-religious leader often contradicted the essence
of capoeira. Deception is one of the lessons that capoeira gives students,
and leaders must demonstrate that lesson at some point in their lives to their
disciples. As I have shown (González Varela 2017), stories of “betrayal” by
mestres who take economic advantage of students are common, as are stories
of students betraying mestres. The relationship between leaders and disciples
is a risky one. If capoeira’s practice is about simulation and feigning attacks
to catch your opponent off guard and win, the same situation may happen out
in the world, in the roda of life.
Students must be prepared to confront their leaders’ deception when the
time comes and must decide what to do about it. International students have
to face the reality that the moral status they have given to their mentors is not
the ideal behavior they should expect. Instead, they should embrace the art
of deception and recognize its value when embodied and performed by the
leaders of capoeira. However, many mestres could change their attitudes and
become moral guides for their disciples around the world. As far as I know,
leaders are assuming more and more their role as moral guides, even if this
attitude contradicts the art of deception as a virtue. Of course, these new pat-
terns may be part of innovative deceptive strategies employed to hide and
protect mestres’ power and knowledge. I am not sure how widespread the
status of mestres as moral figures is among capoeira academies worldwide,
but the tension between what students imagine about their leaders and what
leaders do is a cause of conflict and disappointment.
If students feel disillusioned with their mentors, the reverse is also true.
Mestres have high expectations of students, and when they think that stu-
dents’ commitment is not strong, they may feel extremely disappointed and
annoyed. Leaders expects blind deference from advanced students, who
should, in theory, be committed to capoeira full-time. As students struggle
to keep these high standards, mestres could consider them not to be true
“capoeiristas.” I remember how a leader in Mexico mocked a student because
of his lack of commitment to capoeira. The mestre said that the student had
not embraced the Afro-Brazilian art because he would train intensively for
two months and then stop completely for another four months; the student
in question would come to many rodas and then suddenly disappear for
extended periods. This inconstancy made the mestre furious; he berated the
student and often told him that he was a “capoeira tourist,” someone who did
not believe in discipline or responsibility. Another Bahian mestre also felt an-
noyed with international students who focused only on physical movements.
He said that these students did not want to listen to a mestre; they did not want
to learn the Portuguese language, music, or lyrics; and, worse, they did not
want to know anything about capoeira’s history or the tales of his ancestors.
The mestre said that these were not capoeira practitioners but lame players,
capengas, incomplete persons.
These are just two examples of the disappointment in their students that
mestres sometimes experience. There are other situations when leaders feel
that their disciples do not understand capoeira as they should, including the
choice of international practitioners to become independent, rejecting an
association with a single mestre, switching loyalties from mestre to mestre,
challenging the authority of a leader, banning people because of race, and
failing to make the visit of a mestre profitable. Mestres try to keep control
of their groups and the people they meet during their trips, but they face a
changing landscape that seems to create constant tensions related to tradi-
tion and what is allowed or not allowed in capoeira Angola performances.
Paradoxically, the more a mestre’s missionary work intensifies, the more the
warn students of the consequences that will occur if the students start calling
themselves “mestre” or “professor” without their mestre’s consent.
Mobility, globalization, and the effects of tourism are changing the
structure and emotional tenor of the mestre-student relationship in capoeira
Angola today. Transformations in the way practitioners define concepts
such as “tradition,” “power,” and “Afro-Brazilian” are visible more than
ever, and leaders face the challenge of controlling innovation and change
in capoeira Angola and the commodification of Blackness for consumption
by tourists (Hedegard 2013). In the next chapter, I describe how mestres
set up limits to innovation in the face of these challenges. The process of
innovation depends on religious and spiritual principles that need to remain
relatively untouched in order for leaders to preserve and transmit the “true”
meaning of capoeira Angola.
Religious Foundations
85
capoeira Angola have become more important as a way of affirming that this
practice belongs to an Afro-Brazilian tradition.
The first part of the chapter describes the complexity of defining capoeira.
I analyze the efforts that capoeira teachers have made to characterize their
practice as ambiguous and why they consider it ontologically “elusive” and
“indeterminate.” I further discuss how a problem of definition becomes at the
same time an issue about inherent values and meanings that encompass dif-
ferent attitudes toward the logic of practice, such as deception, betrayal, play,
and embodiment. Here I address some of the common assumptions made by
anthropologists (for example, Downey 2008, Lewis 1992, Reis 2000), who
often argue that although capoeira involves a form of spirituality, it is in
essence “nonreligious,” and I examine why this has become the misguided
solution to the definitional problem.
The second part moves from a discussion of the problem of definition to a
description of the practice and its political meaning. I describe the substance
of politics ethnographically by focusing on the expression of individual
power and its links to magic and spirituality in capoeira. I argue that the
sociality of capoeira stems from a set of hierarchical relations imposed by
powerful, charismatic leaders.
The third section returns to the definitional problem, but from a perspective
that highlights the religious foundations of capoeira Angola. These foundations
combine elements of the Afro-Brazilian formal religions such as Candomblé
and Umbanda with a set of ontological presences that emerge from the practice
of capoeira Angola itself. Finally, in the conclusion I describe capoeira as a
practice that mestres preserve through the continual transformation and innova-
tion of its religious foundations—what I call “foundations in motion.”
Rector 2008, Soares 1993). What is capoeira? Where did it originate? Who
invented it and why? Is it authentically African or is it Brazilian? Is it a sport?
A dance? A fight? Who practiced it before its formalization in the 1940s?
I do not have definitive answers to all of these questions, and I doubt I
ever will. In previous chapters I have portrayed the passion for origins and
the mythological narratives about the African and Afro-Brazilian past as ele-
ments of the virtual possibilities that capoeira offers to practitioners and as
local imaginaries. What interests me here is how this uncertainty about the
definition of capoeira has motivated all these queries on so many levels: ety-
mological, historical, sociological, psychological, and anthropological. For
those who have practiced capoeira for an extended period, it is common to
feel puzzled by the indeterminacy of an art form that is not strictly “art” but
also a ritual, a dance, a fight, a martial art, and much more.
The definitional problem I would like to address in this section relates to
the ontological status of capoeira Angola as a traditional practice.2 Briefly,
capoeira consists of an interaction between two players (as practitioners refer
to themselves) within a circle called a roda (Lewis 1992). Other capoeira
players typically help the audience form the circle, and advanced practitio-
ners are the ones in charge of playing the live music that accompanies the
performance. Depending on the style, different instruments are used in the
music ensemble, although invariably the berimbau, a resonance “bow,” is
the most prominent (Fryer 2000, Graham 1991, Shaffer 1977). In essence,
capoeira is a performance between two individuals moving to musical pat-
terns and specific songs in a combat ring.
The logic of the practice, at least in capoeira Angola, depends on avoiding
open violence. The two players interact but must do so through deceptive
means. Leaders often state that there are no losers or winners in capoeira but
only astute players who can deceive adversaries at will. It is a game of ques-
tions and answers expressing a form of symbolic violence.
The meaning of capoeira goes beyond the realm of performance. For ad-
vanced practitioners and leaders, capoeira is considered a way of life, some-
thing that pervades all aspects of their existence. It affects their perception of
space, their social relations, and their attitudes toward the world (Abib 2004,
2006, Downey 2005, 2008). It is this sense of totality that makes this art form
fascinating but at the same time puzzling. In many sports, dances, rituals, and
fighting practices there is a holism similar to the one found in capoeira. Asian
martial arts practitioners, athletes, and participants in rituals all give a holistic
meaning to their activities (see Besnier and Brownell 2012, Dyck and Archetti
2003, Zarrilli 1984, 2000). In some cases these meanings relate to specific
forms of spirituality, in others to personal emotional attachments. Capoeira is
not foreign to these kinds of holistic expressions. In what follows I summarize
abroad, leaders insist that what one thinks about capoeira is a personal mat-
ter, and they have stressed that to become an apprentice you do not need to
believe in a particular kind of religion. However, most of the time this is said
as a matter of political correctness to keep capoeira inclusive.
In other situations, particularly with advanced students, mestres may of-
fer a different meaning. I have seen mestres emphasizing the importance
of Afro-Brazilian religions like Candomblé to those practitioners who wish
to ascend in the hierarchy of power in capoeira Angola academies, so this
religious association should not be ignored. In making this religious and
spiritual relation explicit, mestres have created a “standard” interpretation
that affirms that capoeira borrows its spirituality from the religiosity of
Afro-Brazilian Candomblé (Abib 2006, Parés 2006). One wonders if this is
all there is to the religious foundations of capoeira Angola. In the third part
of this chapter, I discuss in more detail the multiple connections between
Candomblé and capoeira Angola. For now, I want to show how the standard
religious narrative serves the purpose of framing capoeira as democratically
open to all people, while at the same time giving individuals who seek to
ascend the hierarchy of power the option to become more involved in the
knowledge of Candomblé.
Unfortunately, conceiving of capoeira Angola exclusively as nonreligious
has diminished the potential of research focused on spirits, energies, and
supernatural beings. Academics have often come to conclusions too quickly
without having thoroughly investigated the religious foundations of capoeira.
Because this art form is connected very closely with Candomblé in Salvador
and with Umbanda in Rio de Janeiro, any discussion of religion ends up de-
priving capoeira itself of spiritual potentiality. It is always either dissociated
from or complementary to a wider worldview.
The relation between capoeira and the Afro-Brazilian religions is not
superfluous. On the contrary, Candomblé has an important influence in the
lives of the mestres with whom I interacted in Bahia. Images of orixás (Can-
domblé deities) and other elements related to this religion adorn the walls of
the capoeira Angola precincts I visited regularly. Leaders dress up on many
occasions according to the religious calendar of Candomblé and impose food
and drinking restrictions on themselves. Abroad, I have seen the importance
of the Afro-Brazilian religion for advanced capoeira Angola students and
those in charge of branches from Bahian groups. With the influx of inter-
national capoeira practitioners to Brazilian cities and the constant travel of
mestres abroad, a new, more complex meaning of capoeira is emerging, one
that strives to create new spiritual ascriptions while stressing the importance
of an Afro-Brazilian heritage as a form of traditional belonging.
are no set rules concerning the acknowledgment of a title, it appears that the
decision depends exclusively on the student’s mestre and on the approval
of other mestres. However, the real validation of a new mestre comes from
proficiency in mastering the most important aspects of capoeira Angola and
in nurturing the development of deceptive skills in the roda.
A mestre is a person who embodies charismatic power. In every academy
I visited in Salvador and elsewhere, I was always surprised by the astound-
ing qualities that the mestres possessed and how people regarded them with
marked deference. Not only are they masters of the practice, but their lead-
ership also extends to other areas of their lives. In the way they move, talk,
and address their students and foreigners alike, they enact their role in practi-
cally every social circumstance. If they do not consider themselves religious
leaders, they closely resemble that status in their behavior. Students affirm
that there is something mystical surrounding the mestres, and I concur. As I
described in chapter 3, the relationship between mestre and students is vital
for capoeira Angola. It is, in essence, a social bond that creates mixed feel-
ings in the students, ranging from respect and admiration to fear and caution.
It is a bond sometimes broken by unexpected situations in life. For instance,
students who become mestres and need to pave the way for their own life
projects sometimes have to terminate their relationship with their teacher in
order to become more independent.
As Max Weber (1978) reminds us, charismatic power is seductive but
always fragile. It is unstable by nature because it depends on the personal
efforts of an individual. Institutions or bureaucratic systems do not sustain
it, and thus continuity is not guaranteed. Capoeira Angola academies depend
on charismatic power whereby the transmission of knowledge to subsequent
generations rarely operates systematically. Some mestres who regularly
travel abroad have been able to maintain their academies over the last twenty
years by delegating authority to their sons and other relatives. The practice of
using blood ties as a way to continue tradition is still a recent phenomenon.
More long-term fieldwork is needed to provide evidence about the extent of
this practice in Salvador and elsewhere.
Having depicted the organization of hierarchies and the institution of char-
ismatic power, I now describe what I consider to be the substance of poli-
tics in capoeira and the sense in which charismatic power relates to magic,
spirituality, and religion. Mestres have power. But what kind of power? In
my research, I have concluded that this power has to do with the apprehen-
sion of an energy sometimes called mandinga or malandragem (roguery).
Capoeira mestres consider the former to be the secret of capoeira, the latter to
be the possession of deceptive skills used to mislead and negotiate the world
(DaMatta 1991). One relates to an inner power accumulated during years of
training, while the other is seen as a skill developed through life and also
found in other Brazilian social contexts. Both mandinga and malandragem
appear at the core of political power. In capoeira circles, both concepts are
valuable, and they have positive connotations. For example, a good capoeira
practitioner is one who can deceive an opponent during an interaction in the
roda. The strategies of deception may vary, but they are physical techniques
that a practitioner learns in order to make an opponent vulnerable to attack.
To expose the vulnerability of an opponent is one of the most important at-
tributes that a skilled practitioner can have. The mestres I trained with empha-
sized that through acts of malandragem, one learns to play along with what is
allowed and what is forbidden during a capoeira attack. They explained that
their inner power is responsible for opening an opponent’s body to attack. In
sum, their power exudes through a combination of physical skills and magic
acts, making a capoeira practitioner a dangerous being.
Greg Downey (2005) and Lowell Lewis (1992) have talked at length
about the symbolic and phenomenological importance of cunning and de-
ception. Both have stressed the importance of the body and language in de-
veloping proper skills. In Brazil, Letícia Vidor de Souza Reis (2000), Pedro
Abib (2004), Luiz Renato Vieira (1996), and Paulo Magalhães (2012) have
stressed the role played by deception in the preservation of capoeira’s tradi-
tions. All of these authors consider the concepts of malandragem, malicia
(slyness), and trickery to be paramount. Nevertheless, the idea of mandinga
has not been the object of attention by scholars, though it is regularly men-
tioned among capoeira practitioners. In another context I have talked about
mandinga in detail (González Varela 2017). Here I would only like to stress
that mandinga conceived as the secret of capoeira connects power with
magic, constituting a unique form of spirituality enacted through the body in
performance.
Both mandinga and malandragem are evidence that magical power embod-
ies the substance of politics in capoeira Angola. If hierarchies, vertical rela-
tions, and reassurances of authority through practice are the expressions of po-
litical action, their substance has its origins in a spiritual or magical form. The
best way to make mandinga and malandragem self-evident is for mestres to
interact in a roda. When they perform, when they play one another, something
changes. A game becomes more than a game. It becomes a fight where status
and prestige are at stake. When mestres perform, members of the public under-
stand immediately that these individuals have power—that they become power.
For this reason, it is not always desirable for mestres to get into confrontations,
so they try as much as possible to avoid regular interactions, particularly with
mestres whom they do not know or with whom they have quarreled in the past.
Some practitioners and scholars think that the spiritual and religious sides
of capoeira come exclusively from Afro-Brazilian religions. In part, this is
true, as many mestres and advanced students of the Angola style in Salvador
are members of these faiths. But in another sense, the politics I am discussing
may complement the classic relation made between capoeira and Candomblé,
and may help establish more sophisticated religious foundations for capoeira.
The Afro-Brazilian religions support the power that a mestre holds, but
they do not define it completely. The easiest way to confirm that capoeira
creates a more complex set of religious foundations is that some leaders do
not subscribe to the Afro-Brazilian religions but still retain all the elements
related to mandinga and malandragem. These mestres do not believe in
orixás. Rather, they venerate the dead mestres as if they were individual sup-
portive beings. For such mestres, deception is of paramount importance, and
mandinga is seen as a form of strange power.
In this way, magical power transforms and confirms a mestre as a char-
ismatic leader. Power forms hierarchies that separate, divide, and classify
capoeira groups according to an opposition between the collective and the
individual (Dumont 1999). In the next section, I address the role of this power
in the elements that form the religious foundations of capoeira Angola.
What are the religious foundations of capoeira Angola? The answer to this
question depends on one’s definition of the word “religion.” There has been
a lengthy, ongoing discussion in anthropology about the concept of religion,
making it difficult to arrive at a unanimous consensus (Bloch 2008, Boyer
2001, Durkheim 1995, Geertz 2000, Southwold 1978, Sperber 1985). I do
not intend to get involved in an anthropological discussion about the limits
of the notion of religion per se. For the purposes of this chapter, I will use a
straightforward and preliminary definition of religion, heuristically defined as
the existence of spiritual and supernatural beings in social practice. What in-
terests me here goes beyond the definition of religion. I want to describe how
some elements of capoeira Angola help leaders create religious foundations
that become malleable and fluid depending on the context and the people with
whom they are interacting, whether in a roda or a classroom.
My argument is similar to the critique of the essentialism of Afro-Atlantic
religions that Stephan Palmié (2013) recently developed. Palmié argues that
there is a common misconception that has taken for granted many aspects of
the “diasporic” cultures involved in the formation of the Black Atlantic. He
This chapter has described capoeira Angola’s spiritual and religious do-
main, something often neglected or dismissed in academic research. My
aim is to highlight the potential that a discussion about the religious founda-
tions of an apparently nonreligious practice could bring to the study of ritual
and performance. To conclude, I would like to describe how the elements I
have defined as part of the religious foundations of capoeira Angola work
in particular situations.
The religious foundations of capoeira Angola form a dynamic matrix in
which the aspects belonging to the Afro-Brazilian religions and the entities
Dead mestres, ancestors, and orixás are also active political agents that
may determine the performance intensity of a roda. They help mestres keep
control of their academies, provide protection and legitimation, and add
power to the magical force contained in the body of living mestres. In all
these ways, they play a significant role in the configuration of the substance
of politics and the social relations that mestres have among themselves.
In the end, the religious foundations of capoeira Angola explored in these
pages are just the outline of a more general sense of spirituality and transcen-
dental belonging that seems to be always one step ahead of the understanding
of anthropologists and practitioners alike. Ongoing long-term research with
mestres is needed to provide more information in the future.
NOTES
Mestres of capoeira are powerful beings. They stand for the knowledge and
tradition of Afro-Brazilian capoeira. Their power signifies a connection with
their ancestors, those beings that appear as virtual potencies reminiscent of
the past. The religious foundations of capoeira Angola described in the previ-
ous chapter frame the way the spiritual power of a mestre is shown in prac-
tice. In another book, I have discussed the meaning of power and its social
implications (González Varela 2017). I mentioned how the concept of man-
dinga represents a local form of control and how it affects music lessons, the
teaching of bodily movements, and the dynamics of play. Here I would like
to return to ancestor worship as a form of spiritual power. Because capoeira
mestres represent a direct link with tradition and the past, their role as power-
ful subjects resides in their capacity to transcend the restrictions of lost time,
therefore gaining access to the power of their ancestors. In a sense, mestres
become the ancestors, and they embody the substance of ancestral legitimacy.
Though there is no spirit possession in capoeira, there is a form of semi-
possession that happens when a mestre plays in a roda or when he sings and
plays the berimbau. It is in these instances that we can talk about a person
becoming an ancestor or embodying the force of the ancestors. The object of
this chapter is to describe the different forms in which mestres show their cos-
mological power as a form of seduction and proof of their capacities to affect
others. In this quest, the spiritual power of a mestre plays a fundamental role
in the preservation of an Afro-Brazilian tradition. The academic and practitio-
ner Pedro Abib (2015: 14) summarizes the unavoidable transformative power
that capoeira has when he reflects on his life in the world of this Afro-Brazil-
ian practice: “Capoeira has this power of transformation, it conducts people
on a path of no return; one that makes people learn without hurry; a way that
teaches you the value of many things that you cannot learn with words; a path
103
that takes you to experience another relationship with time, with the elders,
with memory, with the sacred. It is a path where you learn to let yourself
go wherever life takes you.” Capoeira seen as a path confirms what Mestre
Cobra Mansa has told me about the essence of capoeira, which he conceives
as a form of life, a lifelong quest for knowledge, and an endless attempt to
understand the core values of the tradition. For many practitioners around the
world, capoeira is becoming a way of life, a way of connecting with ances-
tors. Therefore, in this chapter, I also show how other capoeira practitioners
interpret and are affected by the cosmological power of a mestre and why
they end up worshipping the ancestors through the bodies and discourses of
the mestres. Finally, I argue that for national and international practitioners,
the global expansion of capoeira has become a quest for knowledge, identity,
and spiritual awakening.
Tradition among capoeira Angola practitioners can mean many things. That
is why in this section I summarize the main aspects of tradition for capoeira
practitioners. The use of tradition as a form of identity among capoeira practi-
tioners began with the formalization of the Angola style in the 1940s. Vicente
Ferreira Pastinha, the leading reformer of capoeira Angola, systematized the
practice of this style and highlighted the ethical, philosophical, and spiritual
dimension of this practice. After his death in 1981, subsequent groups linked
to his heritage in Salvador followed his steps and reproduced his teachings in
classes, as I have shown in chapter 3. Other academies not directly associated
with the great mestre also reproduced the discourses about the tradition that
Pastinha professed throughout his life, and these discourses became part of
the daily talks between leaders and students.
To differentiate the practice of capoeira Angola from other styles, leaders
emphasize the role of tradition as part of the reproduction of practice and
make it the cornerstone of movements, music, and philosophy. Pastinha,
together with other intellectuals such as writer Jorge Amado and ethnologist
Edison Carneiro, reacted against the sportive characterization of capoeira de-
veloped by Mestre Bimba, the creator of the Regional style. Carneiro (1977:
14), in particular, denounced the lack of commitment to Afro-Brazilian
causes in Bimba’s approach: “Bimba, a virtuous of the berimbau, became
famous since in the 1930s he created a school that trained athletes in what he
called Luta Regional Baiana, a mixture of capoeira, jiu-jitsu, box, and catch
[catch wrestling]. Folkloric, popular capoeira, the legacy of Angola, has
nothing to do with Bimba’s school.” Here, Carneiro is reproducing a division
that has predominated in capoeira circles until the present day. This division
states that capoeira Angola practitioners associate their craft with tradition,
and their Regional and Contemporânea counterparts with sport and spectacle.
This great divide is one of the reasons their aims, purposes, and philosophy
differ radically. Some academics and practitioners have tried to attenuate this
polarization by appealing to common objectives and a shared history of op-
pression. As I show in the next chapter, the primary way of framing a discus-
sion on capoeira in general terms independently of styles has been through its
inclusion in definitions of heritage. Yet, disagreements persist, and capoeira
Angola continues to stress its distinctiveness by anchoring its practice under
the rubric of tradition and rejecting any reference to sport or spectacle.
The concept of tradition refers to four elements. The first has to do with the
practitioner’s awareness that the origins of capoeira are in Africa, along the
coast of Benin and in Angola, and in the practice of the N’golo or zebra dance
that I described in chapter 1. The second element relates to the deference
and respect that students must always profess to the mestre as the possessor
of knowledge and caretaker of capoeira’s ancestral past. The third element
dictates that students need to understand and follow the rules of playful inter-
action in training and the roda; this includes knowing how to play music cor-
rectly, how to sing and accompany the songs with movements, and when to
stop the interaction. The fourth and last element prescribes that practitioners
must show respect to individuals with more experience in capoeira; age plays
a part but does not determine this behavior of deference—what is important
is the time invested in learning capoeira. Practitioners in their twenties or
thirties but who recently started capoeira must behave respectfully to younger
individuals who started capoeira when they were kids under the tutelage of
their parents (some of whom are famous mestres). Showing respect means be-
ing aware of the outstanding skills of seasoned capoeira players and playing
with caution and good intentions in the roda to avoid violence.
Failing to follow these four dictates is going against tradition. When a
beginner plays capoeira for the first time, the mestre or person in charge tells
the player that capoeira has its origins in Africa and was brought to Brazil by
slaves. Tradition, in this case, means an essential connection with Africa and
slavery in Brazil; it builds a mythical bridge with Afro-Brazilian ancestry.
Although this may not happen in every Angola academy in the world, this
essentialist discourse about the past is widespread.
Mestres expect their students to follow their commands and orders; this
is how tradition should work. Students could protest and disagree with their
mentors, but not about the foundations of tradition. Paradoxically, tradition
means following the mestres’ orders without questioning their authority.
The extent of a mestre’s authority is a matter of debate and discussion, both
in Brazil and globally. The issue of power constitutes a dilemma that may
cause tensions and discord in a group that does not have daily contact with
its mestre. For many people, capoeira Angola is about freedom and resistance
against oppression, so how can one be free and liberated while showing defer-
ence to a leader? Not an easy question to answer, I dare say. This element of
tradition is in many ways nonnegotiable, and practitioners must understand
that respecting the authority of a mestre is at the core of capoeira’s teachings.
In the logic of practice, students need to follow the dictates of tradition too.
They must follow the rules of the game. These rules relate to the proper way
of playing capoeira and how to behave in a roda. Some of these rules imply
a negotiation between playful action and possible violence, a negotiation that
takes place accompanied by music and through a combination of attacks and
defenses. In the circle, two opponents face each other in a narrow ring to test
their mutual vulnerabilities. Through time, the attacks and defensive move-
ments have changed, according to José Luiz Oliveira Cruz, known as Mestre
Bola Sete, one of the disciples of Mestre Pastinha. He said that the name of
the physical movements in capoeira varies greatly among academies: “Today,
every capoeira school uses a limited number of movements chosen by the
mestres, with names that vary from one school to another” (Cruz 1989: 43).
Bola Sete identifies thirty-three different movements in capoeira Angola, and
he concedes that his list is not exhaustive (Cruz 1989: 43–48). Despite this
variation, all practitioners identify a core of seven to ten physical movements
as essential for the practice of capoeira Angola. These movements include
the basic swinging move, called ginga, some of the kicks such as rabo de ar-
raia (stingray’s tail kick) and meia lua de frente (front half-moon kick), and
acrobatic moves like aú (cartwheel) and bananeira (handstand).
Learning capoeira, as Greg Downey (2005) states, it is to internalize the
contradictions between playfulness and symbolic violence; to become a mal-
andro, a rogue that plays with good and evil, is a consequence of living a
life of deception, malice, and trickery. Deception as a principle of interaction
transforms individuals into cautious people who try to live by that precept.
Tradition at this level means learning how to keep others at bay, to be close
but distant at the same time, to open yourself and to be vulnerable while being
aware that openness invites deception and counterattacks too. As I mentioned
in chapter 3, the mestre-student relationship is complicated as it embodies the
precepts of deceit and mistrust as traditional values. This situation makes the
mestre an ambiguous moral being, a person that others respect but fear, one
whose real intentions seem always shrouded in secrecy.
The fourth element of tradition, respecting people with more experience,
comes together with the development of skills in the logic of practice. Re-
spect means to play in a roda with care and without trying to challenge a more
of colonialism by placing the researcher and the Other in the same contem-
poraneous time (Fabian 1983: 34–35).
I agree in principle with Fabian when he says that the anthropologist
needs to stand in the same contemporaneous time as the subjects of study.
This claim is similar to what Latour (1993) has called the principle of sym-
metrical anthropology, where the differences between the analyst and the
Other are not incommensurable or insurmountable. The anthropologist and
the Other share a common humanity, which implies a shared time. Kevin
Birth (2008) considers Fabian’s call for coevalness under the concept of
homochronism, or the sharing of the same time between the anthropolo-
gist and the Other. Birth argues that anthropologists face a problem when
interacting with Others who assume they belong to another time. Often,
other people negate coevalness and mark a power or religious separation as
a fundamental cultural distinction; in these cases, homochronism crumbles
and the anthropologists must acknowledge that the ideal of coevalness only
goes so far. Birth (2008: 16) describes four challenges that the appeal to
coevalness must confront when dealing with radical alterity: “the split be-
tween the ethnographer’s experience of time and the tropes for representing
the ethnographer; the existence of multiple histories; the diversity of ways
in which the relationship of the past and future shape the phenomenological
present; and the diversity of ethno-ontologies.”
For Birth, the solution is to think of other ways of conceiving the temporal
relations between the anthropologist and the Other. He argues that “to cre-
ate coevalness, it is crucial to adopt the local conceptions that organize the
past and relate them to ‘general social reality.’ This is not homochronism,
but since it is grounded in local temporalities, it is not European-derived
allochronism, either” (Birth 2008: 16–17). Birth’s criticism is essential for
the present discussion because, in capoeira Angola, the existence of differ-
ent temporalities is vital in the constitution of an Afro-Brazilian heritage. As
I have mentioned before, mestres are the caretakers of tradition, and their
role represents a temporal connection with a lost past. They also embody
the lineages of power and the oral transmission of knowledge from genera-
tion to generation. Therefore, time plays a critical role in the constitution of
capoeira Angola groups. It is not by chance that capoeira academies contain
images that evoke an epic past, some depicting the ancestor and orixás, others
showing photographs of dead mestres or images of prominent figures such as
Zumbi dos Palmares or Besouro. Songs are reminiscent of a violent past, and
practitioners see physical movements as implicitly referring to their ancestry;
music also represents a connection with slavery and the fight for freedom.
The origin of the ancestors is placed in “Africa.” Africa here is an empty
sign that stands for the local imaginary of ancestry and mythical time. The
between a mestre and the rest of practitioners is that the mestre establishes
a temporal distancing in the middle of the relationship. Leaders assume that
they are caretakers of an ancestral tradition and that they are the only ones
who can communicate with the ancestors. In some cases, they affirm that they
embody the power of dead mestres and other figures of the ancestral past such
as Besouro, Zumbi dos Palmares, and African slaves.
Capoeira leaders do not only talk about belonging to another time; they also
demonstrate it through capoeira, singing and composing songs, playing the
berimbau, and performing. Pragmatically, they pass from discourse into action.
In this process, mestres try to make of capoeira’s practice a mythical represen-
tation of the past in the present. In their bodies, leaders offer the ultimate proof
that they are worshipping their ancestors through capoeira, and even embody-
ing their ancestral power. We now turn to this dynamic, pragmatic process.
In a roda, mestres show their power and authority. To see them play is, for
many, a privilege worth watching. A mestre playing with an advanced student
raises expectations and excitement; two mestres playing together is the quint-
essential act that embodies the ethos of capoeira Angola. To see three or four
generations of mestres playing music together feels like grasping the magic
and spiritual essence of this Afro-Brazilian art. On such special occasions
an audience can perceive something mysterious, something magical in the
roda of capoeira. The fascination of seeing mestres interacting together has
captured the imagination of countless practitioners, including me. The aura
that surrounds these powerful persons and their effect on the audience stand
as proof of their connection with an ancestral past.
Mestres manipulate the ancestral beings that surround them in the roda
and bring them into the performance. For instance, Mestre C, one of my
informants in Salvador, mentioned that he only made chamadas (callings)
in particular situations, and his motivations were mostly spiritual. He used
the chamadas when he wanted to assess the strength and state of mind of his
opponent; when something was wrong in a roda, such as a rival mestre enter-
ing his academy; or when he wanted to test an opponent spiritually. In these
cases, the C’s body became more than a physical body; it transformed into a
vehicle of spiritual and ancestral forces that took control of him.1
For mestres, the roda is a sacred place where mythical forces appear as
agents. The ancestral beings are close and familiar to the perception of lead-
ers, and they manifest themselves in the dynamics of interaction. Kenneth
Prior to their saida [beginning of the game], players sing invocations, and make
symbols on the ground and their bodies as a form of protection. From placing
one’s hands on the ground energy is received and contact is made with the world
of the ancestors, those who danced the N’golo, those who used capoeira as a
means of liberation, as well as the spirit of mestres who are now in the other
world. In doing this Capoeiristas tie into epic myths.
real with the knives. The audience thought for a moment that they were
going to hurt themselves or that some unfortunate accident would happen.
C and D continued playing the berimbaus, and because they were guests in
the roda, they could not intervene. Their faces showed that they were not
very happy with the performance they were witnessing. A and B kept good
control of the game, although they managed to cut themselves slightly. A
was very skillful at controlling the knife. Finally, he made a chamada and
caught B by surprise with a rasteira (leg-sweep), knocking him down and
causing him to lose his knife in the fall.
A concluded the roda with a loud shout, the music stopped, and the mes-
tres from Santo Amaro explained the performance. A said that the fight with
knives is something that he and B have practiced for many years. He said that
by playing with knives, they were enacting the violent past of capoeira during
the early twentieth century. B added that they performed games with knives
because it was an almost lost tradition that people needed to preserve. Both
mestres felt that it was their responsibility to share this knowledge with other
practitioners. Finally, they said that players today must remember that in the
past capoeira was a lethal weapon and played in the streets by dangerous
men; so, by playing with knives, A and B connected with their ancestral past
and brought into the present the power of their forefathers.
This ethnographic example shows how leaders enact the past in the roda.
A and B came from Santo Amaro, so their performance turned into a more
meaningful display as they wanted to show to their guests, including Mestres
C and D, that their traditional heritage was unique. It is not by chance that C
and D were unimpressed by the game with knives. For them, it was a display
that questioned their place in the hierarchy of knowledge. Initially, because
they were playing the berimbaus, they did not have the chance to play with
either B or A. When they could, they did not want to do it. They preferred to
follow the dictates of deception and simulation, and stayed neutral, invent-
ing excuses to avoid playing with the Santo Amaro mestres. They said later
on the way back to Salvador that they had a good time in Capão and did not
want to ruin everything by challenging B and A in the roda and destroying the
harmony of the event. C, in particular, stressed the importance of not losing
control even in situations when his status was at stake.
The game with real knives between A and B is not exceptional. A famous
researcher once told me that he was sure that many old mestres in Bahia still
showed up in a roda armed with pocket knives. He said that although this
practice was unusual today, it was part of capoeira circles, and he mentioned
that it is not by chance that in capoeira Angola you see players simulate with
their hands the use of knives to attack an opponent. This set of imitative skills
is more commonly found among mestres, so it is essential to clarify that this
Practitioners, like academics, treat the roda as a historical artifact. They suggest
that elements of its rituals survive from bygone days: a hand gesture is a legacy
of knife fighting, a song recalls slavery, a strategy was developed by maroons,
an instrument came from Africa. When I asked veteran players to explain the
musical or ritual dimensions of the roda, they inevitably turned to history. In
contrast, practitioners tended to explain attacks and defenses pragmatically; an
evasive dodge, for example, was useful to avoid certain sorts of kicks or sweeps.
far away from their academies. They are present and sentient beings that sur-
round the rodas and the Angola academies, and they are always close.
There are plenty of reasons for international practitioners to make a
capoeira trip to Brazil. Lauren Griffith offers very interesting examples in
her research, and they are by no means exhaustive. Therefore, to think about
the notion of ancestor worship on a global scale demands tracing connections
that link countries of origin and Brazilian cities. Brazilian anthropologist
Celso de Brito describes how even before the idea of a pilgrimage to Brazil
comes to the mind of an international capoeira practitioner, there is already
a religious meaning of capoeira related to the worship of ancestors. When
Brito (2017: 151) discussed the significance of capoeira Angola for a group
of practitioners in Lyon, France, he discovered that there was a connection
between the sense of community among the French practitioners and a form
of religiosity. Because some of the members of the group in Lyon were artists
and academics, with an anthropologist in their ranks who wrote a thesis about
the connection between capoeira and Candomblé in Brazil, the participants
saw capoeira Angola as eminently religious. Brito describes how the roda and
the group’s classes took on a spiritual and ritual meaning. Most of the songs
came from Candomblé, and the use of the instruments and the rules of the
game followed the dictates of tradition more strictly than in many Brazilian
groups (Brito 2017: 181–87). Brito (2017: 193–94) points out that the mem-
bers of the group in Lyon value traveling as a form of apprenticeship and a
vital element in their social identity. Finally, he mentions that belonging to
a particular lineage of capoeira becomes predominant for people in the Lyon
group. In this case, identifying the different lineages of capoeira Angola that
exist in Lyon and other French cities is a way of establishing the mobile con-
nection between groups in Europe and Brazil.
The rich ethnographic description that Brito gives of capoeira Angola
groups in France, to which I cannot give justice here, shows the relevance that
tradition, ritual, and ancestry have in the configuration of groups abroad. For
French capoeira leaders, lineages are a form of ancestor worship in that refer-
ring to a particular line of knowledge evokes a reminiscence of the dead mes-
tres. Although perspectives on lineages vary, in France groups have a strong
allegiance to specific lines, and these lines determine the social relationships
that practitioners have among themselves. For these people, the construction
of identity happens by referring to an ancestral lineage. In their daily prac-
tice, their focus on ancestry is a form of worship that elevates a mestre (dead
and alive) to a semidivine mythical status that blends the past in the present
and, recursively, the present in the past. In the next section, I address another
ethnographic example of ancestor worship that combines the Afro-Brazilian
tradition of capoeira with other local forms of spirituality and religion.
Mexican groups was that, with the exceptions of the groups led by Pedrinho
and Rogerio Teber, they operated intermittently without the constant pres-
ence of their mestres. When Pedrinho and Rogerio left Mexico, there were no
more Angola mestres permanently residing in the country. Mexican groups
ended up being led exclusively by Mexican nationals or permanent residents
of Mexico. There are more capoeira Angola groups today than ten years ago;
new ones have emerged, others have merged, and some finished their associa-
tions with Brazilian mestres.
The lack of Brazilian leaders residing either permanently or for long peri-
ods in Mexico has had an impact on the development of ancestor worship and
the spirituality of capoeira Angola practitioners in Mexico. In the beginning,
when Mariano Andrade and others began their association with traditional
Brazilian mestres, they followed as much as they could the precepts of tra-
dition, just like the groups in France described by Brito. Some radicalized
their views and became strict adepts of the teachings of their mestres. They
devoted their lives to capoeira Angola. Those practitioners who had their
leaders around, such as the members of FICA and Pedrinho’s group, became
more connected with the headquarter groups in Brazil. Many converted to
Candomblé and tried to adapt the discourses about Afro-Brazilian culture and
Blackness to their groups, even though Mexico had just a small percentage
of native Afro-descendants. The linguistic closeness between Spanish and
Figure 5.1. Images of orixás at the Terreiro Mandinga de Angola academy, Mexico City.
Photo: José Luis Pérez Flores. Date: November 19, 2011.
Portuguese and the cultural similarities between the two countries facilitated
the cultural understanding of Brazilian capoeira.
For the first decade of the twenty-first century, groups in Mexico worked
like other capoeira Angola groups around the world and tried to keep close
connections with their mestres. Nevertheless, groups in Mexico became more
independent over time. As mestres visited Mexico less often, either because
Mexico did not offer the same economic gains or because of the difficulties
local groups had raising the funds to pay for a leader’s trip, local practitio-
ners took the initiative to give capoeira Angola a Mexican touch. In the last
couple of years, some leaders of Mexican groups have stopped their associa-
tions with Brazilian mestres or, having grown disillusioned with them, have
formed fully independent capoeira groups. These groups may invite a famous
leader to give a workshop but have refused to work under the tutelage of a
specific lineage or tradition. Some of the most experienced practitioners in
Mexico are beginning to integrate a political tone in the tradition and have
added elements of their local spirituality.
I know at least three or four members of Angola groups that have incorpo-
rated into capoeira their beliefs from Cuban Santería, which is very popular
in Mexico. Independent groups follow the precepts of Afro-Brazilian tradi-
tion rigorously but have added elements of Mexican history and mythology
to their songs, not only evoking the memory of African slaves, freedom, and
Zumbi dos Palmares but also calling to mind Emiliano Zapata, one of the
heroes of the Mexican Revolution and the emblem of indigenous rights and
the Zapatista movement in Chiapas. For Mexicans, both Zumbi and Zapata
are symbols of freedom and justice and pertain to the same mythological
pantheon of capoeira spirits.
On other occasions, without the restraints of a mestre, capoeira Angola
groups include in their workshops not only capoeira but also yoga retreats,
temazcal (sweat lodge) immersions, neo-shamanic trance ceremonies, and
neo-Aztec Concheros dance (see De la Torre and Gutiérrez 2017, González
Torres, 2005, and Rostas 2009). Some practitioners are followers of this neo-
Aztec tradition, which tries to execute the dances, religion, and cultural prac-
tices of pre-Hispanic times and brings these ancestral deities and practices in
dialogue with their Afro-Brazilian counterparts. This form of ancestor wor-
ship works like a bricolage in the manner described by Claude Lévi-Strauss
(1997), where people select a set of available cultural references in a coherent
semimythical discourse with an inner logic.3
Both independent Mexican groups and academies that still work under the
tutelage of a Brazilian leader bring this kind of local spirituality to the practice
of capoeira. The reaction of traditional mestres to such innovation is interest-
ing to analyze. Many do not approve of the integration of Mexican references
into capoeira and criticize the local groups, trying to convince them to stop
making these references. Other mestres are more open and receptive. Because
local groups treat them as guests, they feel they do not have a say about how
the groups should work or interpret capoeira in Mexico. Independent groups
are trying to keep some essential elements of tradition—such as the rules of
the game, deception, the proper way of performing music, and lyrics that men-
tion the ancestors of capoeira—and join them with elements from Mexican
culture. Many of the leaders in Mexico are well-versed capoeira practitioners
with more than fifteen years of experience, so what they add to capoeira is not
improvised or opposed to the basic rules of the game. They are giving a new
sense of spiritual meaning to the Afro-Brazilian practice without distancing it
too much from what Angola mestres profess.
CONCLUSION
magic with more intensity the more they delve into the intricacies of its prac-
tice. Capoeira is not for everyone, so time is crucial and social relationships
between mestres and students change over the years. The logic of deception
plays a huge role in the complex cosmological landscape of capoeira’s inter-
actions, which define the relationship between mentors and disciples.
The ancestors have agency. As virtual entities they participate in the roda
and are alive in the academies; they appear in stories, paintings, T-shirts,
murals, music, lineages, and performance. Mestres embody this ancestry, and
they are the links between the past, the present, and the future of capoeira.
Leaders and students form an indissoluble binary compound that defines the
foundations of tradition and ancestor worship. In a global landscape, tradi-
tion motivates mestres to become itinerant missionaries of Afro-Brazilian
culture; it also fosters the curiosity of national and international practitioners
to become apprenticeship pilgrims and visit the big centers of capoeira in
Brazil. Abroad, capoeira Angola groups depend on the recognition and as-
sociation with traditional mestres to create an ancestral and spiritual connec-
tion. Depending on the country, capoeira Angola and its form of worshipping
the ancestors follow the dictates of tradition, though in some cases, such as
Mexico, it blends with local forms of worship and spirituality. Without the
desire of mestres to become global itinerants, none of this ancestral worship
would have been possible. The power of mobility, in this case, is the power
of leaders to disseminate the message of an Afro-Brazilian tradition.
NOTES
Capoeira as Intangible
Cultural Heritage
123
ANTHROPOLOGY AND
INTANGIBLE CULTURAL HERITAGE
Anthropology is not the only discipline that studies intangible cultural heritage
(ICH). Today, the discussions of ICH include social scientists, policy makers,
critical heritage studies scholars, governmental agencies, NGOs, consultants,
and UNESCO itself. Every discipline has a particular approach to intangible
cultural heritage, and there are diverging perspectives about it. Anthropolo-
gists have often been critical of how governmental and nongovernmental
institutions represent culture in their discussions of heritage. From the wide
range of sources, I would like to highlight the work of Lourdes Arizpe, one
of the most famous anthropologists working on intangible cultural heritage
in Latin America. She mentions that UNESCO has devised its Representative
List based on a distinction between singularity and plurality (Arizpe 2013).
She says that “singularity, as dealt with in anthropological literature, has to
do with the originality and uniqueness of a cultural practice” (Arizpe 2013:
19). This uniqueness, however, depends on a variety of cultural forms that
cannot be overlooked by those who create UNESCO’s Representative List.
Singularity, Arizpe argues, has to do with authenticity and variability at the
same time. A ritual, for instance, appears in different regions with different
themes, narratives, and practices. Each place claiming an authentic expres-
sion of a particular ritual faces a challenge about belonging and appropriation
as many other places make the same claim.
Arizpe describes the dilemma that members of UNESCO and policy
makers face when dealing with the contrasts between singularity and plural-
ity. In her example, two dances from Mexico—the Dance of the Malinches
in Yautepec, Guerrero, and the Dance of the Chinelos in Morelos—claim
to be authentic in those regions but are part of a variety of regional dance
expressions. Here, we have the contrast between singularity and plurality.
How can these dances be safeguarded as parts of the UNESCO’s Represen-
tative List without overlooking the point of view of those who created and
performed them? This question is not easy to answer, and it relates to the
situation of capoeira today.
The safeguarding of cultural heritage depends on the anthropological dis-
tinction that Arizpe describes between singularity and plurality and on how
UNESCO policy makers recognize these contrasts. Anthropology provides
expertise about the importance of the cultural expression of minorities,
groups facing global problems, and vulnerable people in general (Arizpe
2013: 21). These distinctions led UNESCO to divide the list in two: the Rep-
resentative List of the Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity and the List
of Intangible Cultural Heritage in Need of Urgent Safeguarding.
In their historical analysis, Ruggles and Silverman (2009: 3) show how the
concept of the intangible took form in a discussion among architects in Spain
at the beginning of the twentieth century about the preservation of monu-
ments and heritage. The definition of “world heritage” in the 1970s incorpo-
rated this move from tangible to intangible and began to recognize traditional
local perspectives. The agency of local people and their views about what
could be considered a world heritage monument or site rapidly expanded
the ideas about definition of what preservation and conservation entailed.
Ruggles and Silverman (2009: 9) argue that in a painstaking effort to clarify
and refine concepts, the concept of “intangible cultural heritage” replaced
“traditional cultures” or folklore in world conventions. This shift signaled a
new appreciation of heritage as a concept that could include not only material
objects but also cultural traditions, artifacts, and practices that did not have
an exclusive material expression. The definition of what constitutes ICH has
expanded rapidly, Ruggles and Silverman argue (2013: 11), and includes a
long list of embodied cultural practices.
Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett offers an important insight about intangible
cultural heritage when she signals that in addition to traditions, artifacts, and
social practices, heritage must include creators. She says, “There has been an
important shift in the concept of intangible heritage to include not only the
masterpieces, but also the masters” (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett 2004: 53). This is
essential because it recognizes the process by which knowledge is transmitted
and people’s performative agency. She provides an example of ICH in Japan
in which people continually build, dismantle, and rebuilt a sanctuary in a dem-
onstration of permanence and evanescence. This ancestral tradition depends
on the transmission of knowledge from an older generation of carpenters to a
new one, and its intangible value resides in the performative knowledge that
these carpenters have and not in the sanctuary itself (Kirshenblatt-Gimblett
2004: 59). An anthropological perspective on ICH, therefore, needs to focus,
on the one hand, on the intersection between local and national politics, public
policies, tourism expertise, and the aims of UNESCO, and, on the other hand,
on the consequences that heritage discussions carry for the local people in-
volved and their agency in the preservation of a particular tradition, in what
Kirshenblatt-Gimblett (2004: 60) calls “the social worlds of persons.”
Anthropologists can use their ethnographic expertise to attest to the efficacy
of cultural concepts projected from the outside to the inside of culture. As
Regina Bendix (2009: 255) points out, “Cultural heritage does not exist, it is
made.” By this, she means that heritage is a category that local people and out-
siders consider instrumental for a discussion of the public dimension of culture.
It is in the interaction between local and external views of traditions that
the concept of heritage takes form. Heritage is an explanatory concept in the
realms of public policy, instrumental politics, and economic interests. Rec-
ognizing and valorizing the past in the present is a social, political strategy.
Bendix (2009: 257) says, “Thus, one task cultural anthropologists face is
research on how the social and temporal axes of heritagisation move ever
closer together, choosing present-day cases as well as selected cases from the
past. . . . From such a present, we might take a look at places and moments in
time where there were different, or perhaps no, regimes of comparative cul-
tural (e-)valuation.” Heritage is also a form of appropriation of authenticity;
it can be locally apprehended or externally defined. What is important in this
dialogue is the distinction between the material and immaterial connotations
of heritage found in the divide between tangible and intangible forms.
Laurajane Smith and Natsuko Akagawa (2009: 1) point out that the appre-
ciation and recognition of intangible cultural heritage stem from a discomfort
with the Eurocentric perspective given to the notion of world heritage.1 The
transition from tangible to intangible, proposed and celebrated by anthropolo-
gists, constitutes a win for the respect of traditional cultures that lie in the
periphery of cultural relevance compared to the central and hegemonic forces
of Western culture. The distinction is not without problems and controversies.
One has to do with the legitimacy granted to UNESCO to determine what
constitutes a representative of intangible cultural heritage and what does not.
Furthermore, the relative vagueness of the definition of intangibility rein-
forces the unequal power relations between local cultures and international
institutions in charge of granting a universal recognition.
A second point relates to the apparent objectification of culture found at the
epistemological base of the notion of heritage. Lourdes Arizpe affirms that
the idea of intangible cultural heritage clarifies the vitality and ongoing trans-
formational dynamics of culture by appealing to a sense of connectedness
between groups. She says, “The sense of flow inherent to intangible cultural
heritage is the best representation of the interrelatedness of cultures around
the world” (Arizpe 2004: 131). For her, ICH discussions need to account
for cultural diversity and consider the constant global interaction between
humans in different cultural settings. She explains, “Conserving intangible
cultural heritage and cultural diversity implies preserving a certain harmony,
a kind of ‘golden cultural proportion’ whereby people safeguard intimate
cultural roots, whether originally ascribed or adopted, while feeling free to
embrace whatever they have reasons to value from other cultures” (Arizpe
2004: 133). Thus, the self-determinacy of particular cultures concerning the
limits and scope of intangible cultural heritage depends on appropriate diplo-
macy between policy makers, international institutions, and intermediaries of
the cultures in question.
In a global landscape where individuals are “cosmopolitan citizens”
(Hannerz 2006), paying attention to the dynamic flow of cultural traits and
the political uses of terms like tradition, folklore, and heritage is essential.
Arizpe (2004: 134) considers the role of UNESCO as an enabler of new
policy models based on the development of cultural freedom rather than as a
promoter of cultural orthodoxy.
Closely related to the notion of ICH is the anthropological category of
identity, which Smith and Akagawa (2009: 7) argue implies situations of
inclusion and exclusion. Inclusion and exclusion run parallel to what Arizpe
means by singularity and plurality. Questions about effective policy making
arise in the tension between what ICH includes and incorporates as authen-
tic and legitimate and what it leaves aside as inauthentic. UNESCO, in this
sense, cannot be impartial and is complicit in exacerbating this tension. An-
thropologist Chiara Bartolotto (2010: 99), for instance, affirms that the poli-
cies of UNESCO and other international organizations may unwittingly try
to impose a universal and global uniformity on local cultures: “International
cultural policies or global heritage programs are not considered (only) as
unbiased actions aimed at diffusing knowledge and education or concerted
efforts made by nations to protect what is assumed to be a ‘common heritage,’
but (also) as a means for international players to export cultural models via
the global transposition of the founding principles of their national heritage
protection systems.” Bartolotto is right to highlight the complexity of the
uses and meaning of heritage. This tension between outside and inside per-
spectives concerning capoeira as part of the intangible cultural heritage of
humanity brings into light the politics and power relations that exist among
capoeira practitioners and experts, and the diverging definitions and aims of
the Afro-Brazilian art. My long-term commitment to the study of just one
capoeira variant, Angola, has taught me that those distinctions are essential
for grasping what capoeira means for different people around the world.
Capoeira as intangible cultural heritage does not consider this plurality of
meanings and prioritizes homogeneity over heterogeneity. In other words, it
The concept of intangible cultural heritage has an elusive and abstract char-
acter. As I mentioned in the previous section, there is no consensus about the
definition, uses, or interpretations of ICH among anthropologists and other
academics. In the middle of this discussion stand policy makers, international
organizations such as UNESCO, local people, and even lawyers. This con-
fluence of perspectives has made a positive solution regarding the meaning
of ICH more problematic. Some authors, for instance, also question the util-
ity of concepts such as “traditional cultural expression” or “folklore” when
talking about intellectual property and rights (Antons 2009). In Brazil, the
discussions about ICH and heritage, in general, face the same challenges and
involve actors in a diversity of levels and scales. Unfortunately, I do not have
space here to describe in detail the history of intangible cultural heritage in
Brazil, so I focus only on the intangible cultural practice of capoeira.
The debates about capoeira as intangible cultural heritage are relatively
recent and are made mostly by Brazilian academics. Vivian Luiz Fonseca,
a historian who has studied the development of heritage policies in Brazil,
and Luiz Renato Vieira, a sociologist and renowned capoeira mestre, argue
that the discussions on intangible—or, to use the local word, immaterial—
heritage in Brazil are nothing new. They mention that these discussions ap-
peared in intellectual circles beginning in the 1930s with the creation of the
Instituto do Patrimônio Histórico e Artístico Nacional (IPHAN, National His-
torical and Artistic Heritage Institute) (Fonseca and Vieira 2014: 1303). Al-
though there were attempts to debate policies related to immaterial heritage in
Brazil, it was not until the late 1980s that Brazilian policy makers, influenced
by UNESCO’s deliberate efforts to safeguard traditional cultures, decided to
discuss the issue in detail (Fonseca and Vieira 2014: 1304).
Conferences, panels, and symposia in Brazil started talking about ex-
emplary cases of immaterial heritage. After many proposals to consider
AN INVENTORY OF CULTURE
was arduous and faced many dilemmas. One had to do with the plurality of
perspectives about the Afro-Brazilian martial art and the conflicts and dis-
putes among practitioners and between styles. The main idea of the inventory
was to safeguard the continuity and practice of capoeira not only in Brazil but
also in the rest of the world. Many of the elements that appeared in the inven-
tory served years later as the basis on which the Brazilian authorities would
propose capoeira before UNESCO. The creation of the inventory prompted
discussions about social memory, preservation of tradition, and cultural iden-
tity in Brazil. These themes were already present in Brazil but did not extend
beyond the confines of capoeira groups. The research that generated the
inventory brought a deep self-reflection among capoeira practitioners about
their art and affected the way they presented capoeira to an audience.
The IPHAN document detailing the organization of the inventory struc-
tures the dossier in three levels (Barbosa 2007). The first focuses on the his-
tory of capoeira, the second on the teaching methods and process of knowl-
edge transmission, and the third on the ethnographic description of the roda
of capoeira.2 The dossier, compiled by a group of researchers and mestres in
Recife, Rio de Janeiro, and Salvador, was perhaps the first official collabora-
tive document that exhaustively details the history, ethnography, music, and
knowledge of capoeira (Barbosa 2007). It was also a political document that
brought some representative mestres and academics together in a joint fight
for social and cultural recognition in Brazil. What I consider more reveal-
ing in the inventory are the demands put forward to safeguard capoeira and
promote its global diffusion. These demands are the following: the recogni-
tion by the minister of education of the remarkable knowledge of a capoeira
mestre, financial support for old mestres, a national program to incentivize
capoeira globally, the creation of the National Center for Capoeira Stud-
ies, a plan to manage the resources needed to produce musical instruments,
capoeira forums, the creation of a repository of oral histories of capoeira
mestres, and an inventory of capoeira in Pernambuco (Barbosa 2007: 94–96).
This agenda set the platform for discussion of the immaterial patrimony of
capoeira and its safeguarding. The role of the mestre as a living cultural heri-
tage is one of the stronger elements in the IPHAN registration. The mestre’s
knowledge, stressed over and over again in the dossier, shows the political
agenda forwarded by academics and practitioners to recognize the mestre as
the pivot of knowledge transmission and preservation of tradition. It is not a
coincidence that this effort in recent years has been used by leaders to em-
phasize their relevance for the global expansion of capoeira, as I have shown
in chapters 2 and 3.
The recognition by IPHAN signified an achievement for capoeira adepts
and slowly advanced discussions about the heritage, cultural preservation,
Heritage of Humanity is the divide that exists between capoeira styles; fac-
tions and power struggles have existed for many years among practitioners,
and the UNESCO recognition has just exacerbated them. In the next two
sections, I describe how the acceptance of capoeira by UNESCO, and a
few years earlier by IPHAN in Brazil, has influenced two very different
projects. One, the Red Bull Paranauê, focused on competition and sport; the
other, Roda dos Saberes do Cais do Valongo, focused on art and heritage.
These two projects represent two radically opposite views about capoeira,
and they show the problems that emerge when contrasting perspectives
about the Afro-Brazilian martial art use the public recognition of capoeira
as intangible cultural heritage for different purposes.
The popularity of capoeira grew substantially after its brief appearance in the
closing ceremonies of the 2012 London Olympics, through the UNESCO rec-
ognition in 2014, and during the opening ceremony of the FIFA World Cup
in 2016. Major transnational companies have shown a renewed interest in
capoeira and have tried different strategies to work together with practitioners
and leaders of the Afro-Brazilian martial art. This interest is nothing new.
Back in 2002, the BBC1 Ident series on Rhythm and Movement featured two
practitioners performing capoeira on the top of a London building. Nokia had
an advertisement of one of its cellular phones in 2006 showing two capoeira
players. Yamaha also had a TV ad with capoeira players, and the Spanish
watchmaker Potens featured capoeira performers in one if its commercials
of 2007. These are just a few examples of the way commercial brands have
worked together with members of the capoeira community.
Although some members have been more open to establishing commercial
deals with national and international brands than others, there has been noth-
ing like the partnership between the capoeira community and the energy drink
giant Red Bull. The objective of the Red Bull Paranauê (RBP), part of the
Red Bull sports sponsorship program, is to find the “most complete capoeira
player in the world” through competition. Both seasons of the competition,
2017 and 2018, were a commercial success. Red Bull, in partnership with the
Prefeitura do Salvador (Salvador Municipality) and the Empresa Salvador
Turismo (Salvador Tourism Enterprise), developed a business model for
capoeira that emphasized its competitive side. It works like a minitourna-
ment in which capoeira players compete in three modalities: capoeira Angola,
capoeira Contemporânea, and capoeira Regional. The selection of the best
players happens regionally, with major Brazilian cities choosing the best in
all categories. The purpose is to find the most accomplished capoeira player
that can perform the three styles during a roda. The final is held at the Farol
da Barra in Salvador, Bahia.
The first tournament, in 2017, did not separate women from men, and they
competed together. One woman went all the way to the final sixteen. For the
2018 installment, the RBP divided men and women into separate categories.
A select group of mestres served as judges. They sat behind the live orches-
tra, observing two practitioners playing together, and decided who was the
most accomplished, using flags of different colors to indicate their votes.
The mestres judged skill, dexterity, playfulness, and how the players execute
movements according to specific capoeira music rhythms. The RBP’s web-
site explains how to play capoeira; contains photos of the 2017 and 2018
tournaments; describes the rules of the competition, the registration process,
the event logistics, and the expenses RBP will cover; and features interviews
with the finalists, biographies of the judging mestres, and the social projects
that Red Bull Paranauê is promoting.4
The RBP aims to show capoeira to a broader national and international
audience via TV and the Red Bull channel on the Internet. The selection of
participants always happens in the roda with mestres choosing the students
who perform best. The participants turn a kind of roulette, which has the three
capoeira styles identified with three different colors and with specific music
rhythms. The interactions are brief and intended to select sixteen finalists—
eight men and eight women—for each region. The finalists then go to the
final in Salvador; the selection in RBP 2018 included the players who came
in first and second place during the first RBP competition.
The mestres in the RBP are mainly leaders related to the Contemporary and
Regional variants; one of the most prominent promoters and creators of the
RBP is Mestre Sabiá, a famous capoeira Contemporânea mestre from Ilheus,
Bahia. On the RBP website, Sabiá gives his opinion about the Red Bull initia-
tive, which I reproduce here in its entirety:
I was very happy with the concept we created. We think about the future, but
without leaving the past aside. I was afraid of losing the purpose [conceito] be-
cause capoeira is a vast universe, a bigger flag, which is the flag of resistance,
the history of success. And today, it is a vehicle for social transformation. It
is difficult to make people understand this fact because it has a history, it has
culture on its back. We managed to take all these elements to the event: the
sportive side, the competitive side, adding all the segments of capoeira, Angola,
Regional, Contemporânea. I am very happy. Capoeira has a beautiful history; it
informally conquered the world, so to do an event with this social contribution
is amazing. (Faria 2017)
Sabiá and the other mestres stress the importance of promoting capoeira
through competition without losing sight of its traditional elements. The
judges are mestres of prominence such as Mestre Nenél (Mestre Bimba’s
son), Mestre Itapuão, and Mestre Capixaba. Most of these mestres agree with
Sabiá’s statement that RBP is helping promote capoeira. The few representa-
tive Angola leaders, such as like João Grande, Virgilio, and Jogo de Dentro,
do not seem to have any conflict with this initiative, though it is curious that
there are no statements made by these mestres on the RBP website.
It is undeniable that the RBP has promoted the practice of capoeira in a
way never seen before, and Red Bull uses the status of capoeira as Intangible
Cultural Heritage of Humanity to affirm that its initiative is not only an at-
tempt to profit but also an effort to preserve the traditional elements of the
Afro-Brazilian martial art.
As attractive as it sounds, not all capoeira practitioners have seen the RBP
positively. Many detractors and critics have denounced the banality of the
initiative on social media, particularly on Facebook, and have even called for
a boycott. These critics, mostly coming from the Angola variant, consider the
RBP an affront to anything that has to do with tradition and the rebellious
character of capoeira itself. It is no coincidence that very few capoeira Angola
practitioners participate in the RBP. Just a handful of famous Angola leaders
have given their approval or have taken part in the event. However, Angola
players have featured in the competition and have even been in the finals.
On March 4, 2018, the day of the RBP final, Sinesio Peçanha Filho, better
known as Mestre Cobra Mansa, made available through a post to his personal
Facebook profile his opinion about the initiative sponsored by Red Bull.
Here, I reproduce part of the post, which was translated into English by a
capoeira player from the Nzinga Group, Miryan, on March 5:
Has the colonial mentality become so inbuilt within us that we can’t reflect who
we were any more, or what we are or what we are doing for future generations?
Are we simply replicating oppressive thinking? How can we fight for decoloni-
zation of the mind, body and society when we convert our symbols of resistance
into simple events, spectacles? When this happens, you take something that was
originally dangerous and turn it into something clean safe and tamed, because
we withdraw its power of rebellion. . . . The aesthetic dimension of capoeira
when it is appropriated and controlled by the mass cultural industry leads us to
a process of alienation from our own ancestral culture. So, this aesthetic/cultural
recognition reduced to spectacular exoticism really interests us? . . . I believe
that Red Bull offers a platform for those who want to make a show. The ques-
tion that I would like to reflect with the organizers is how long we will continue
to make spectacles only to entertain without conscience? Why do we have to
continue with these competitions in which we are forced to compete among our-
selves simply to amuse others and distract attention to the real social problems
that affect capoeira and our current society? (Peçanha 2018)
Cobra Mansa’s position is clear and summarizes the concern that many
Angola practitioners have about the RBP and the commercialization of
capoeira. If capoeira is a weapon against oppression, an act of resistance and
a practice that fights for freedom, then to become part of an international
commercial enterprise associated with the giant Red Bull is to be co-opted
by the system, to betray the cause and ideals of a capoeira style, and to lack
respect for capoeira’s legacy. It is, in sum, to go against tradition. We have
seen this discomfort of Angola mestres with formal institutions in the exist-
ing tensions between insiders and outsiders regarding the heritage discus-
sion of capoeira. The recognition, first by IPHAN and later by UNESCO,
signified in some sense a structuring of capoeira that constrained its multiple
meanings and, borrowing Cobra Mansa’s expression, “tamed” it, making it
part of a status quo. However, in this case, many Angola mestres took part
in the IPHAN and UNESCO processes of recognition because they thought
capoeira would benefit from it, something that did not happen with the
RBP. For these mestres, the RBP initiative is for the benefit of only a few;
moreover, it is business oriented and goes against the dictates of tradition
that, at least in Angola circles, condemn competition and spectacle as driv-
ing forces. Angola practitioners agree that it is essential to bring visibility to
capoeira, but without sacrificing its integrity.
The RBP may polarize even further the different views about capoeira,
dividing rather than uniting a community of participants. The RBP also ac-
centuates the differences between styles and may transform the meaning of
capoeira for a new generation of participants.
As a contrast to the Red Bull Paranauê initiative, I address another project that
relates to the new cultural heritage status of capoeira. The Roda dos Saberes
do Cais do Valongo (RSCV, Roda of Knowledge of the Valongo Wharf) is
a cultural project initiated by Carlo Alexander Teixeira, a Brazilian mestre
from Rio de Janeiro known as Mestre Carlão, and his group Kabula, Arts and
Projects. I have discussed his life and work briefly in chapter 2, where I men-
tioned his cultural initiatives using capoeira as a form of social and artistic
resistance. His most ambitious project is the RSCV, which started in 2012.
The accompanying book, Roda dos Saberes do Cais do Valongo, details
the cultural heritage of the Cais do Valongo. It was the first product of the
project and constitutes a homage to the Afro-Brazilian culture and heritage
of Rio de Janeiro (Teixeira 2015). Carlão, who organized and coordinated
the book, puts together a variety of academics and cultural representatives of
Afro-Brazilian culture to talk about slavery, memory, religion, and art. My
analysis of RSCV here is based on the book and interviews with Carlão. I do
not describe in detail all the elements of the project; rather, I want to show
the role that capoeira played in the recognition of the Cais do Valongo as a
valuable place for Afro-Brazilians.
The Cais do Valongo was a wharf that the Portuguese empire used to
introduce slaves into the territory from 1774 to 1831 (Assunção 2015: 8). It
is a historical and archeological site, which for many years remained forgot-
ten by local authorities and the Brazilian government, buried under the old
seaport of Rio de Janeiro. It was not until the recent development project of
Porto Maravilha (Port Marvel) started that workers rediscovered the Cais do
Valongo. In 2010, during the excavation for the new seaport, archaeologists
identified the material remains of the old Cais do Valongo (Teixeira 2015:
13). Historian Matthias Assunção mentions in the preface to the RSCV book
that the wharf was of great importance for the Portuguese during the first
decades of the nineteenth century. The city of Rio de Janeiro, according to
Assunção (2015: 8–9), was for many decades the main port of entrance for
slaves in the Americas and the second-largest such port in the world, after
Liverpool. The Valongo Wharf was a place where life, death, misery, and
tragedy but also miracle and hope happened daily. The wharf was a place
where slaves waited for weeks to be disembarked. It was also a place of ini-
tial contact between poor people and Africans; thus, it was a place of cultural
creation, transmission, and creolization (Assunção 2015: 9).
Falling into disuse after the prohibition of the slave trade in the 1830s, the
Cais do Valongo was renovated in the following decades and renamed as the
Cais da Emperatriz (Empress Wharf). Both the remains of the Valongo and
the Empress wharves were buried under urbanization efforts carried out by
the Brazilian government in the first decade of the twentieth century. In 2011,
a year after its rediscovery, the archeological site became part of the Circuito
Histórico e Arqueológico da Celebração Africana (Historical and Archaeo-
logical Tour of African Celebration) (Teixeira 2015: 13).5
The Roda dos Saberes do Cais do Valongo project organized by Mestre
Carlão used capoeira Angola as a mode of social and cultural intervention in
the Cais do Valongo to promote the Afro-Brazilian heritage of Brazil. Carlão
held capoeira rodas once a month; prominent mestres came with their stu-
dents not only to perform but also to listen to what other representatives of the
Afro-Brazilian traditions of Rio de Janeiro had to say about their experiences
as artists, writers, and intellectuals. The RSCV originated first as the Roda of
Capoeira in Cais do Valongo on July 14, 2012, and later transformed into the
Roda of Knowledge (Teixeira 2015: 13). Carlão wanted to use capoeira as a
public performance to occupy urban spaces valuable for Afro-Brazilians. The
products that resulted from the RSCV included a book, a photography exhibi-
tion, and a video documentary. The name of the general project changed to O
Porto Importa: Memórias do Cais do Valongo (The Port Matters: Memories
of the Valongo Wharf) in 2013, and it won the Prêmio Porto Maravilha Cul-
tural (Port Maravilha Cultural Award) (Teixeira 2015: 15).
The book produced as part of the project is a testimony of the different
voices that participated. It includes impressive photographs of capoeira rodas
by the photographer Maria Buzanovsky and video footage by Guilherme Be-
gué (in the digital edition); contributions by historians Martha Abreu, Hebe
Mattos, Matthias Assunção, Maurício Barros de Castro, Luiz Antônio Simas,
Cláudio de Paula Honorato, and Denise Vieira Demétrio; texts by anthropolo-
gists Milton Guran and Wallace de Deus; and contributions by musician MC
Leonardo, writers Délcio Teobaldo and Amir Haddad, and famous mestre of
capoeira Angola Neco Pelourinho.
RSCV aimed to preserve the memory of slavery and the African heritage of
Brazil. Every author in the book presented testimonies about the importance
of the Cais do Valongo, the value of capoeira’s ancestry, and innovative ways
to promote Afro-Brazilian traditions as cultural tourism. RSCV is relevant
because it gained momentum through the development of the Port Maravilha,
and its success brought the attention of local cultural authorities and govern-
ment agencies. In the end, the collaborative effort took capoeira into the arena
of public policy.
The promotion of the Cais do Valongo and the Empress (the official name
of the Valongo Wharf) by Carlão and his Kabula Artes e Projetos definitely
had an impact on the decision that UNESCO made on July 9, 2017, to register
the Valongo Wharf Archeological Site in its World Heritage List. The RSCV
is an example of how practitioners and intellectuals can use capoeira Angola
as a weapon for the promotion of culture. It shows that the status of capoeira
as Intangible Cultural Heritage of Humanity has power to preserve and dif-
fuse Afro-Brazilian traditions.
FINAL REMARKS
The examples described above show two different uses of capoeira. The RBP
focuses on competition and the sportive side of the martial art. The RSCV
emphasizes its cultural side. Red Bull Paranauê exemplifies the perspective
NOTES
For some time, I have been wondering what is in store for capoeira in the
coming years. The martial art is in the process of unprecedented global ex-
pansion. Many things in the new millennium have altered the way people per-
ceive capoeira. A belated recognition by Brazilian authorities that capoeira is
a valuable cultural practice and its new status of Intangible Cultural Heritage
of Humanity by UNESCO signify, from my point of view, a new beginning
for all capoeira styles. Using the new mobilities paradigm, with an emphasis
on tourism mobilities, I have focused primarily on the mobility of capoeira
Angola practitioners, describing the intersection of two types of mobile ac-
tors: leaders of capoeira Angola and practitioners from Brazil and other coun-
tries. On the one hand, I focused on capoeira mestres, who see themselves as
missionaries, embodying tradition, ancestry, power, and knowledge. On the
other hand, I also analyze capoeira practitioners, who have different degrees
of commitment to the practice of capoeira, whether casual observers, avid
apprenticeship pilgrims (Griffith 2016), or those who have taken capoeira as
a transformative spiritual and religious path.
II
and a particular mestre. If we project a set of networks and traces that leaders
in their endless missionary pursuit leave behind, what we have is something
close to the classic and overused image of the rhizome described by Gilles
Deleuze and Felix Guattari (2005: 3–25). With no beginning and no end, with
no linearity or clear direction, the rhizome extends horizontally through inter-
twined vines that connect, separate, fold, and unfold relations. This metaphor
is appropriate for depicting capoeira Angola’s mobility in the world.
Unfortunately, the anthropologist cannot hold a view of capoeira in all its
ramifications, and I have not discussed the global development of all capoeira
styles, the way leaders of capoeira Regional or Contemporânea connect with
their disciples abroad, or their views about tradition, competition, skill, art,
and business. This immense task shows the need for more ethnographic re-
search related to these themes for every style in particular places with specific
stories and new perspectives.
To use a culinary metaphor developed by anthropologist Stephan Palmié
(2013), the melting pot that is capoeira, cooked slowly or rapidly depending
on who is talking, represents a process of endless innovation, even within the
realms of orthodoxy. There is no escape from the ongoing development and
invention of culture. In its dynamics, the capoeira Angola culture represents
an instance of invention and resistance in a world that seems to privilege
uniformity, reproduction, spectacle, and comfortable and rapid progress. The
way capoeira Angola works, how mestres transmit their knowledge, how
people learn to play, and the slow road to self-realization subvert the premises
of easy economic gain.
Learning capoeira Angola is physically challenging and spiritually discon-
certing, as it involves more than a bodily transformation of the individual,
who endures demoralizing lessons of betrayal and violence as part of the ap-
prenticeship process. It takes many years of practice to understand capoeira’s
holistic appeal. It is difficult to learn how to play, how to become deceptive,
how to deal with powerful figures such as the mestres. Similarly, it is not
easy to be a mestre, as it requires accepting a form of authority that demands
constant innovation, deception, and tolerance. It must be hard to sacrifice
easy money in exchange for remaining loyal to your traditional principles
and a set of religious foundations. The tragic story of Mestre Pastinha and
other mestres who died in abject poverty, alone, forgotten by a society who
“squeezed” their knowledge and then discarded them like a used wipe, is a
reminder to any Angola mestre about the stakes and the risks they take when
they decide to dedicate their lives to capoeira. Who knows who will end up
like the famous mestres or who will live a dignified life? The UNESCO rec-
ognition has brought awareness about the value of a capoeira mestre, and it
provides additional support to his missionary cause. However, there are no
III
while capoeira Angola will go the way of tradition, appealing to the ancestry
of its Afro-Brazilian heritage.
The divergence between styles was already in place with the Red Bull Pa-
ranauê initiative and other world competitions, which were rejected by many
Angola leaders. In the end, capoeira Angola mestres perform not only for
other players but also for the ancestors, the dead mestres, and their protective
spirits and deities. We must remember that these entities are very demanding,
they sanction whatever goes against traditional principles, and they will never
be easy to convince otherwise. In the end, I believe the religious foundations
of capoeira Angola will put a limit on the practices mestres will allow and
forbid . These foundations will be, as they are now, the channels to preserve
an Afro-Brazilian tradition for future generations.
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163
Arizpe, Lourdes, 124, 126, 135, 142 Brazil, 1, 3–9, 11–14, 18–21, 23–26,
Assunção, Matthias, 18–20, 25, 46–48, 31, 38, 44, 47–52, 54–57, 59, 60,
50, 62, 85, 140, 141 62–63, 68–69, 71–72, 75, 77, 78, 80,
Atkinson, Simon, 56–58. See also 82, 85–86, 90, 92, 95, 97–99, 103,
Fantasma, Mestre 105–106, 114–116, 118, 121–22,
Aú (cartwheel), 55, 106 128–133, 136, 140, 141–143, 145,
Augé, Marc, 39–41 148
Aurelio, Marco, Mestre, 55 Brito, Celso de, 46, 49, 116, 118, 121
authenticity, 6, 10, 15, 19, 70, 115, 124, Buenos Aires, 117
126, 130 Buzanovsky, Maria, 141
authority, 33, 62, 67, 68, 94, 95, 105,
107, 109, 147; figures of, 67, 97; Caiçara, Mestre, 67
moral, 67; natural, 76; of a leader, Cais da Emperatriz, 140
81; of a mestre, 99, 102, 106; Cais do Valongo. See Roda dos Saberes
positions of, 80, 148; power and, 72, do Cais do Valongo
74, 110, 142 Candomblé, 12, 28, 60, 86, 91–92,
Authorized Heritage Discourse (AHD), 96–99, 101, 109, 116, 118, 121–22;
9–10 deities, 21, 34; religion of, 12, 26,
60, 90, 97, 101
Bahia, 1, 7, 15, 17, 18, 20, 22–25, Canjiquinha, Mestre, 31–32, 68, 71, 109
27–28, 30–31, 33–35, 37, 47–51, 58, Capenga, 81
60–61, 63, 68–73, 79, 81, 85, 90–91, capoeira Angola, 1–13, 15–24, 26, 28,
97 30–31, 33, 34, 38, 47–63, 67–74,
Bahian society, 28, 72 77–78, 80–83, 85–111, 113–119,
Bananeira (handstand), 106 121–22, 129–30, 133–136, 138,
Banda do Saci, 117 140–142, 145–149; academies, 23,
Bastide, Roger, 98 26, 51, 53, 63, 82, 91, 92, 94; as
Begué, Guilherme, 141 a philosophy of life, 89; as a way
Berimbau, 21, 87, 88, 97, 99, 103–104, of life, 87, 89, 104; culture, 147;
110, 112–13, 121 groups, 12, 52, 57, 85, 98, 108, 116,
Besouro, 26–29, 33, 35, 98, 108, 110, 118–19, 122, 135; history of, 15,
112. See also flying beetle 54, 119; mestres, 10, 22, 28, 51–52,
betrayal, 80, 86, 147 54, 61, 71, 101, 130, 133, 142, 149;
Bigodinho, Mestre, 76 players, 38; practitioners, 11, 20, 38,
Bimba, Mestre, 17, 18, 24, 27, 30, 60, 70, 100, 104–105, 107, 109, 118,
46–48, 50, 104, 109, 138 138, 145; tradition, 73
Birth, Kevin, 108 capoeira Angola community, 68
Black Awareness Day, 25 Capoeira Contemporânea, 1, 5, 8,
Black resistance, 22, 24–25 9, 32, 48, 52, 62, 74, 105, 117,
Blackness, 83, 118 133, 136, 137, 147, 148. See also
Bloch, Maurice, 7, 96, 100 contemporary, capoeira
Boca do Rio, Mestre, 58–61, 89 capoeira music, 21, 50, 79, 137
Bola Sete, Mestre, 106 capoeira, Nestor, Mestre, 49, 130, 135
Book of Expression Forms, 9, 129–30, capoeira practitioners, 1, 3–6, 18–19,
133 25, 28–29, 37–38, 45, 47–53, 61, 68,
70–72, 81, 91, 93, 95, 99, 102, 121, cosmopolitan citizen(s), 39, 41, 57,
127, 131, 133–34, 138, 142, 145–46 61–62, 127
capoeira performance(s), 27, 29, 33, 35, cosmopolitanism, 38–39
97–98 creativity, 44, 62; human, 65
Capoeira Regional, 6, 8–9, 19, 32, 46, criminality, 9, 30
48, 52, 74, 133, 136, 147, 148. See cultural recognition of capoeira, 10,
also Luta Regional Baiana 128, 131, 138, 142
capoeira students, 80 cultural intermediaries, 142
Capoeira Viva, 129 cultural missionaries, 2, 44
capoeirista(s), 25, 48–50, 68, 70–71, 81, culture(s), 2, 37, 40–41, 44, 57, 65–66,
111 73, 107, 124, 126–27, 132–33, 135;
Carneiro, Edison, 25, 86, 104, 143 of capoeira Angola, 9, 33
carnival, 30, 71; Notting Hill, 56 character of, 19; diasporic, 96; dynamics
Carlão, Mestre, 55–56, 58, 121, 139– of, 2; gang, 30; inside of, 126,
141 134–35, 142; invention of, 64–65,
Carlos, Jose, Mestre, 55 147; inventory of, 130; local, 59, 61,
Cascudo, Luís da Câmara, 20–22 70, 126–27; Mexican, 121; minister
Caxias, Roda de 49, 78 of, 129, 132; new, 54; nomadic, 2;
Centro Esportivo de Capoeira Angola outside of, 134–35, 142; popular,
(CECA), 18 26; producing, 8; promotion of, 141;
chamada, 110, 113, 122n1 street, 32. See also Afro-Brazilian
closed body, 28, 30 culture, black culture, capoeira
Cobra Mansa, Mestre, 34, 51, 59, 72, Angola culture, intangible cultural
76, 89–90, 93, 104, 115, 138–39 heritage, traditional culture
Cobrinha Verde, Mestre, 29, 67 cunning, 24, 26, 27, 29, 30, 32, 35, 95,
coevalness, 108; denial of, 107 97
Cohen, Erik, 3, 5, 41, 53, 145 Curió, Mestre, 117
Cohen, Scott, 3, 5, 41, 53, 145
Collective conventions, 33, 65, 66 DaMatta, Roberto, 94
competition 1, 12, 32–33, 46, 68, 135– danger, 27–29
39, 141, 147–48 dangerous, 18, 27, 30, 95, 113
contemporary, capoeira, 6 dead mestres, 8, 12, 77, 96–101, 108,
contemporary mestres, 6 110–11, 115, 149
contemporary performances, 32 Decanio, Mestre, 47, 89, 97
contemporary traditions, 52 ceception, 24, 26, 29–30, 32–33, 75, 77,
contemporary variants, 73, 137 80–81, 86, 89–90, 95–96, 101–102,
contramestre, 102, 117 106, 113, 121–122, 147
Corpo fechado. See closed body Deleuze, Gilles, 16, 43, 147
cosmological forces, 100 Dias, Adriana Albert, 28, 32, 72
cosmological guidance, 17 Di Giovine, Michael, 4, 64–65
cosmological power, 104 disappointment(s), 63, 75, 79, 81
cosmological principle, 28 discrimination, 40, 133; against capoeira
cosmological landscape, 115, 122 practitioners, 132
cosmology, 21, 33; of capoeira, 28, 34, disordeiros (troublemakers), 28, 30, 32,
98 67
ontological beings, 97, 101 Red Bull Paranauê (RBP), 12, 136–37,
ontological presences, 98, 100 139, 141, 143n3
opponent(s), 30, 67, 80, 95, 100, 110, Rego, Waldeloir, 17, 70, 71, 86
113 Reis, Letícia Vidor, 6, 17, 23, 86, 95
orixá(s), 21, 34, 91, 96–101, 108, 118, religious foundations of capoeira
120 Angola, 11–12, 17, 33, 85–86,
Otherness, 62, 64, 78, 146 91–92, 96–97, 99, 100–103, 121,
123, 134–35, 142, 147, 149
Palmié, Stephan, 96–97, 109, 147 Renê, Mestre, 22–23, 33–34, 68, 109,
Pastinha, Mestre, 17, 18, 20, 24, 27, 133
29–30, 32, 47, 49, 51, 62, 67–69, resistance, 23, 25–26, 30, 98, 106–7,
71–72, 80, 89–90, 93, 99, 101, 104, 135, 137–39, 147; cultural, 13n1. See
106, 109, 117, 135, 147 also Black resistance
patrimony, 129–131, 135 Rio de Janeiro, 23, 47–51, 55–56, 69,
Pedrinho, Mestre, 78, 117–18 78, 91, 115, 117, 121, 130–31, 133,
Pelé da Pomba, Mestre, 133 139, 140
Pelourinho, 115 Risério, Antonio, 25
Pequeno, João, Mestre, 24, 27, 29, ritual, 1, 15–17, 19–22, 33–35, 69–71,
49–50, 99 73, 87, 98, 100, 114–16, 124, 146;
performance(s), 4, 16, 27, 29–35, 55, experience, 17; initiation, 20, 115;
73–74, 87, 93, 95, 97, 99, 100–101, practice(s), 15–17, 19, 33–34,
110–11, 113, 122, 141; public, 141. 70–71, 98
See also capoeira performance(s) rivalries, 10, 13, 33, 49, 129, 133
Pires, Antônio Liberac, 26–28, 85 roda, 1, 9, 12–13, 17, 22, 26, 31, 34–35,
Porto Maravilha, 140–41, 143 49, 56–57, 69, 75–76, 78–80, 82, 87,
possession, 94 90, 93–97, 99–100, 103, 105–7, 109–
power, 2, 5, 7, 9–10, 12–13, 15, 27, 35, 16, 121–22, 130–34, 137; of life, 13,
43–44, 56–57, 64–65, 68, 71–73, 76, 80; street, 35
79, 80–83, 86, 91–10, 113, 121–26, Roda dos Saberes do Cais do Valongo
127, 129, 136, 138, 141–42, 145, (RSCV), 12, 136, 139–42
147; charismatic, 94, 101; individual, rogue, 67. See also malandro
86; in capoeira, 13, 91; in practice, roguery. See malandragem
76; of mobility, 122; personal, 76; Rosita, Mestra, 52
relations, 2, 7, 12, 80, 123, 126,
127. See also cosmological power, Sabiá, Mestre, 137–38
hierarchy of power, mandinga, Sahlins, Marshall, 66
magical power Salazar, Noel, 2–3, 38, 44, 77
powerful individuals, 5 Salvador, 1, 7, 20, 27, 30, 32, 34,
powerful persons, 15, 110 37–38, 47, 49, 50–51, 55, 59–61,
pragmatic force, 16 72–73, 85, 89–94, 96, 98, 101, 104,
public policy, 10, 12, 126, 141 110, 112–13, 115, 130–31, 133,
136–37, 148
Quilombo dos Palmares, 25 Santo Amaro da Purificação, 27, 29, 67,
112–13
Rabo de Arraia, 106 São Paulo, 47–50, 57, 69
Recife, 130–31 Schieffelin, Edward, 17
secrecy, 28, 78, 97, 106 125, 130. See also Afro–Brazilian
semiotic experience of art, 75 tradition, capoeira Angola tradition,
Senna, Carlos, Mestre, 24 contemporary traditions, embodiment
skills, 4, 26, 30, 35, 54, 74, 94–95, 98, of tradition, memory of Bantu and
105–6, 112–15, 146; bodily, 30; Yoruba traditions
capoeira, 74, 114–15; deceptive, 94; treacherous world, 148
physical, 95 Treinel, 102, 117
slavery, 12, 16, 17, 23–26, 29, 33–34, trust, 53, 69
77, 98, 105, 108, 112, 114, 140–41; Turner, Terence, 41–43
slavery past, 23–24, 26 Turner, Victor, 17
Soares, Eugenio, 23, 87
social relations, 37–38, 53–54, 61–62, Umbanda, 86, 91, 97, 109
68–69, 85, 102 UNESCO, 9–10, 12, 23, 123–36, 139,
spirits, 35, 91, 100, 109, 119, 146, 149; 141–43, 145, 147
spirit possession, 97, 102n4–103; Urry, John, 2–3; nomination, 133;
spiritual connection, 111; spiritual recognition of capoeira, 9, 123, 134,
meaning, 100, 121; spirituality, 1, 136; representative list, 129. See also
18, 30, 86–87, 90–91, 94, 100–102, intangible cultural heritage
116, 119, 121–22, 146 United States, 41–42, 44, 50–51, 53, 59,
sports, 4, 87, 136, 148 63, 72, 77, 85, 114, 117
Sheller, Mimi, 2
Stockholm, 7, 76 Vagabundos (vagrants), 32
Stoller, Paul, 7 Valentões (tough guys), 32
symbolic violence, 87, 106 Vassallo, Simone Pondé, 23, 129, 132
Valmir, Mestre, 51, 73–74, 76, 93
Talmon–Chvaicer, Maya, 20–21, 111 Vieira, Jelon, 50, 72
Teber, Rogerio, contramestre, 117–18 Vieira, Luiz Renato, 6, 9, 46, 95, 128–
Terreiro Mandinga de Angola (TMA), 29, 133, 141
78, 117, 118, 120 violence, 30–33, 42, 72, 78, 87, 89, 105–
tourism, 1–9, 11, 13–14, 33, 39–40, 6, 147. See also symbolic violence
44, 53, 61, 63–67, 69–79, 81–83, virtuality, 16, 33
85, 123, 126, 135–36, 141, 145–46, virtual possibilities,17, 35, 87, 101, 123
148; anthropology of, 4, 64, Viveiros de Castro, Eduardo, 74
145; imaginaries, 33, 66, 77–78; vulnerability, 26, 29, 95, 98
mobilities, 4, 53, 75–76, 145
tourist(s), 3, 55, 64–65, 70–72, 76, Wagner, Roy, 33, 64–66
81, 143, 145; attraction, 72, 143n5; Waldemar, Mestre, 99
setting, 70–71, 76; subversion, 70, Weber, Max, 76, 94
73–74 wonderment, 74–77, 79
tradition, 1–2, 4, 6, 8–13, 15–16, 18, World Festival of Black Arts, 47
20–22, 27–29, 33, 35, 38, 47–49, worshipping the ancestor, 33, 103, 104,
51–53, 61–64, 66–74, 76, 78, 82, 86, 110, 122
92, 94, 99–16, 119, 121–23, 125–31,
134–35, 138–39, 145–49; caretakers Zebra Dance. See N’golo
of, 9, 61–62, 108, 115, 135; oral, 11, Zumbi dos Palmares, 23, 25–26, 33, 35,
15, 18, 27–29.; traditional culture, 98, 108, 110–11, 119
171