I was interviewed on The Real News yesterday about Lava Jato and the political vaccum Brazil faces.
By 6 PM on the night of Tuesday 11 April, the plenaries of Brazil’s house and senate were empty. A long-promised political holocaust had arrived. Supreme Court Justice Edson Fachin had just authorised corruption investigations into nearly a third of interim president Temer’s cabinet, and a similar proportion of senators. The list to be investigated totals 108 leading politicians.
A question I’ve long pondered is whether the Lava Jato investigations will actual fulfil their ‘promise’ of taking down the bulk of the political class, or stop short for the sake of order (and partisan gain. Hiya toucans!).
My article published yesterday in Jacobin explores this in depth, looking at what ‘anti-corruption’ means today and examining the parallels offered by Italy in the early 90s.
The really preoccupying thing, though, is the absence of a credible democratic pole in the country today. As I suggest in the essay, Lula remains democracy and the Left’s best hope for 2018. That’s quite damning.
By coincidence, the excellent Gilberto Maringoni, PSOL member and IR Professor, posted some very useful reflections on this question on Facebook yesterday. I’ve translated them into English here below.
The List and the Chaos
Fachin’s list is devastating for one central reason: it’s ample and ecumenical enough to not be accused of being partial or unidirectional. At the same time, its destructive potential might put the kibosh on the whole political system. The list smacks us in the face, screaming, ‘Après moi, le déluge! Après moi, le déluge!’
And after the flood? Who will administer the waters?
The roll call of names contained in the list reaffirms something that was perceptible after the 2014 elections, when Dilma decided to dispense with the credibility of the popular vote that was invested in her: there is no vector in society with enough credibility to reorganise the system. The electoral fraud brought dismay, exacerbated anti-political sentiment, and unmasked the social fascism which had not dared speak its name.
In the 1980s, during the collapse of the dictatorship, the MDB (and afterwards the PMDB) trained itself through long years of democratic struggle to carry on through the rubble of the regime, holding up the Constituent Assembly as it’s North Star. That party became an important vector or political ballast. Around it, all political movements unveiled themselves.
The PMDB’s delegitimisation, at the end of the decade, together with the Sarney government, created four years of interregnum – the Collor and Itamar governments – until the PSDB solidly anchored itself in finance capital to impose a feasible political and economic project in an era of the reorganisation of the international division of labour. The PSDB became the second vector of redemocratisation.
The third parameter to guarantee continuity in the democratic contest was the PT, from the point at which the FHC government broke the country three times, onwards [a reference to IMF bailouts]. Without breaking totally with the administrations, the party showed extreme competence in its first years to piggyback on an external dynamism (China), raise real wages, with moderately redistributive taxes, and GDP growth. Life got noticeably better for the masses during the period.
Lula invested in the expansion of the internal market and had notable success in doing so. He did not take the next step, though, of using the public surplus to leverage state investment and reduce the impact of the external crisis. That would have implied a intensification of redistribution, which he opted against.
The PT’s collapse opened the doors to chaos. Neither the PMDB nor the PSDB has popular legitimacy, and the project they propose, of subordinate insertion [in the global division of labour] does not galvanise significant forces beyond those of finance capital. The coup project only works through the drastic reduction of real wages and the exponential increase of the base interest rate, which results, inter alia, in an overvalued exchange rate.
That is to say, if on one side the directive is to reduce the costs of production to attract capital, on the other, the discrepancy in the exchange rate objectively raises those very same internal costs. The accounts don’t square up – especially not in a depressed economy.
It is in this context that Fachin’s list comes to us. It’s good that it exists, but it is not a solution for anything. In the race against time, there is no serious competitor for the 2018 elections, with the exception of Lula.
But a Lula bereft of a national project (as during 2003-2010, despite the favourable winds from overseas) – even if it might be an important tonic in the fight against the reforms – will not reorganise the post-coup disorder. It may even reaffirm it.
Lula is decisive in this conjuncture – yes, in 2017! – for being the only glimmer of a future directions. He retains electoral density and an identifiability amongst the poor electorate that is unequaled by any other candidate.
But Lula – or any other Left force – needs a consistent macroeconomic development project. Whether he would want this or not, his positioning would represent a definite acceleration of class struggle. He has become unpalatable to those above, hence the effort to remove him from the contest altogether.
The road is difficult and complex. But it will not become clear without the accentuation of divisions in the dominant block, and without contestation from below.
Can there be a kind of conciliation? Yes, but it does not seem to be the dominant tendency in the political scene right now.
Fachin’s list seems to have the power to blow up all the ships.
Featured image is Comerre’s Le Déluge (1911)
The video of a debate I took part in on the Brazilian crisis back in late October in London has been posted on YouTube.
My introductory remarks start at 23:35, and my responses to questions are at 44:30, 58:05, and 1:07:00.
Featured image is Tarsila do Amaral’s ‘Operários’ (1933)
As I’ve argued since the beginning of the year, the Lava Jato investigation is one of two things: either a limited initiative that stops after ensnaring its primary targets, or a thoroughgoing campaign-cum-crusade that ends up eviscerating the whole political class. It’s hard to decide which would be preferable. The one would be, effectively, a highly partisan manoeuvre to deligitimise the Workers Party (PT), and by extension the left as a whole. The other would create a vacuum similar to Italy in 1994 and would result in Berlusconism – or worse.
At least since Dilma’s impeachment, it has looked to many that the former was in operation. Already Lula’s arrest without charge back in March 2016 raised the hackles of many for privileging spectacle over due process, and brought to the fore pre-existing doubts about the neutrality of the judges. A few weeks ago the conservative America’s Quarterly entered the fray with a widely shared and discussed article by its editor Brian Winter, asking, ‘tell me how this ends‘:
Will the case result in a substantial long-term improvement in Brazilian justice and institutions, as its supporters hope? Or will it fizzle out like the “Clean Hands” investigation in Italy of the 1990s, which resulted in more than 1,000 arrests but little decline in systemic corruption over time?
The extent of its follow-through is intimately tied up with the question of the investigation’s politicisation. If it stops now, it looks rather partisan. In March the distinguished legal scholar Boaventura da Sousa Santos strongly criticised Lava Jato:
Blatantly illegal and unconstitutional judicial measures, a crassly selective persecutory zeal, an aberrant promiscuity in which media outlets are at the service of the conservative political elites, and a seemingly anarchic judicial hyper-activism
Only in the space of the past month we have seen preventative arrests of two former finance ministers – Antonio Palocci and Guido Mantega – in separate incidents, the latter carried out in a hospital cancer ward as his wife was receiving treatment; investigator Dallagnol’s absurdly inflated charges against Lula; and then indication from the Federal Police that they would not be seeking any more plea bargains – key to Lava Jato’s progress from the start. Most problematically, this seems to have been urged by the Temer government itself, with a view to protecting PMDB politicians named by Oderbrecht, one of the construction companies at the heart of the Petrolão scandal.
So has it become politicised? Winter again:
Hell yes [… ] But out of necessity, rather than design. Indeed, I’d argue that the politicization of the case is exactly what has allowed it to progress this far without being shut down by its enemies.
Judicial proceedings should be politically independent. How is such politicisation justifiable? Winter continues:
[The prosecutors] bet – correctly, I think – that a robotic, faceless, by-the-book recitation of charges and sentences was not going to accomplish [its objectives] alone. To build a sufficiently high firewall, they’d have to play the game of public relations – which meant talking to journalists, speaking at conferences and setting up a user-friendly website about the case – with the ultimate goal of convincing Brazilians that the Car Wash probe, if allowed to do its job without interference, would lead to a less corrupt, more fair Brazil.
This all has a certain logic. Perhaps Lava Jato would never have got off the ground without public – and above all media – pressure. Taking this at face value, then, one would wish to see the job done and all those culpable, or at least the ringleaders, brought to justice. One would not want the judiciary to be compromised by appearing partisan in its targeting of PT, especially given evidence of wrongdoing across the spectrum. But apparently, Lava Jato cannot carry on much longer. According to Winter:
Once you start to play the political game, once you step on that field, a kind of countdown clock starts to go tick tick tick. Because by moving beyond pure jurisprudence, and including public relations in your focus, you become vulnerable to the inevitable ebbs and flows of public opinion.
As ‘public opinion’ (by which read elite opinion, mediated by the press and TV) seems to have had its fill, it is time for Lava Jato to wrap up. Italy’s Mani Pulite, on which Lava Jato was consciously modelled, was held to have sprawled, carrying on too long, eventually dissipating, and leaving much corruption intact. Already in May, as Dilma’s impeachment for unrelated ‘crimes’ was looking increasingly likely, Lava Jato seemed to be drawing to a close.
Why not carry on? One of the Lava Jato team claimed they “probably could put close to 100 percent of Congress in jail.” Brian Winter argues, consequently, that “in the real world, they know this is more than the system would bear.” Fine – that would result in the second concern I mentioned above. But is that fair? Winter’s answer?
No, it’s not. But it’s not even a political tactic – it’s a classic investigative one. It may also be the strategy that gives Car Wash the best odds of leaving a strong, intact legacy.
There is a deep perversity here. It is as follows: Mani Pulite is held to have gone on too long and dissipated. At the same time we know it exploded the party system and led to the end of the First Republic. It also failed to ‘end’ corruption. Consequently, Lava Jato is to stop early to avoid the same errors, but leave the system intact… but at the cost of delegitimising one party alone, while also comprising the judiciary’s commitment to order, independence, serenity and restraint. And also not ending corruption, thus leaving a prejudicial ‘legacy’.
Seems rather like the worst of both worlds.
You gotta keep ’em separated
Of course, it would be wrong to expect the judiciary to carry out the job of politics. The Brazilian party system is rotten and in need of serious democratising reform. That is at the root of a lot of corruption. At the same time, it is mistaken to believe one can ‘end’ corruption. Even the cleanest political systems in the world are corrupt, and often appear clean because their ‘corruption’ is legalised. This deserves further explanation.
The concept of corruption in the modern world is premised on the separation of public and private interests. Private interests in market society are not pathological. But the intrusion of private interests into the public realm of state and government is. This is called corruption. Yet in market society, it is impossible to create and protect a disinterested public realm, driven purely by republican virtue. Indeed, many of the business interests who cheerled Lava Jato would not tolerate such a set-up. Banning all forms of lobbying – if such a thing were possible – would be shrilly denounced. And who is to say business interests should not have a voice, alongside those of organised labour, NGOs, and other civil society organisations?
So it is perhaps right that Lava Jato should have aimed to be a discreet investigation, riding a wave of public intolerance for corruption until it could no longer. Strike while the iron is hot, right? But given the impossibility of protecting public interest from contamination by the private, what were the anti-corruption zealots – beyond the members of the police and judiciary involved – really hoping for?
It is important to understand that ‘anti-corruption’ has largely been superseded by the concept of transparency, led by the work of Transparency International and the IFIs. This concept signifies predictability, lower transaction costs for capital, and the elimination of all informality in regulation and rules. ‘Transparency‘ is hence not the protection of the public realm from private interests but the protection of specific private interests (especially international capital) from rent-seeking by public servants or other unpredictability related to clientelistic networks. One wouldn’t want to defend clientelism, but it should be clear that ‘transparency’ is intimately associated with neoliberal globalisation and the political priority that states be open to international capital.
In and of itself, one may still conclude that a partial Lava Jato is better than no Lava Jato; at least some of the responsible for the Petrolão are behind bars. It does send a powerful message about impunity… for some.
Italy, in toto. And so Brazil too.
Let’s detour to the hugely instructive Italian crisis of 1992-4. This crisis was not reducible to the impact of Tangentopoli and Mani Pulite. The crisis happened on several planes and lacked a single ‘key’ cause. The overarching international context was the end of the Cold War and the impact this had on the Italian Communist Party – and the end of anti-communism as a cohering strategy amongst the bourgeois parties. Equally important was Italy’s desire to meet the Maastricht criteria for European monetary union. As Paul Ginsborg explains in his excellent book on Italian history 1980-2001, there were also several national causes. On the institutional plane, we find the inefficiency of the Italian state, the degradation of party government, widespread corruption, and elite impunity. Additionally there were social actors which came to bear: a minority within the state, especially in the judiciary, with a sense of morality and fealty to the Republic, who had had enough; popular disgust with corruption and the failure of effective government; and finally the Mafia’s power and destabilising influence.
Enough of this should sound familiar to Brazilian ears. But let us unpick it further. The international context is vastly different, of course. There is neither a Communist threat, nor its defeat and the consequent end of elite consensus, to explain the Brazilian situation (as I explained here, if it is a ‘coup’, it was not to depose a left-wing regime). In the opening of the economy we do find a contextual similarity. In Italy, it was regional integration, while in Brazil there may be a confluence of the transparency agenda with international economic interests. Then domestically, leaving aside the question of the Mafia, the Brazilian crisis looks remarkably similar.
One additional conjunctural factor about Brazil must be noted, however. The raised expectations caused by a decade of economic growth, unmatched by improvements in public services or government. This is what exploded in June 2013. This inchoate, party-less wave of discontent was a crucial factor in the making of the crisis.
Thus when Lava Jato began rounding up the culprits behind one of the largest corruption schemes ever discovered, many rejoiced. Ginsborg noted the following about Mani Pulite:
A festive air pervaded many parts of Italy, as always happens when the habitual ordering of a society is suddenly brought into question.
But as in Italy, so in Brazil: behind the celebration were divergent motivations, reflecting differences of class and culture. For your average worker, seeing businessmen and politicians led away in handcuffs might look like the end of upper-class impunity and – finally! – the impartial application of the laws of the land. For the small businessman, it might signal the end of the use of political influence – denied to him, but available to the big businessman – for private gain. For the big bourgeois, it represents the downfall of an inconvenient political party and the ideology of ‘statism’.
But the celebration was less than universal in Brazil, because there was a pattern to the victimisation, and it seemed to only be helping the Right. Here is a crucial difference between the Italian and Brazilian investigations. I’ll call Boaventura de Sousa Santos to the witness stand again:
On the one hand, the Italian magistrates always kept a scrupulous respect for the criminal proceedings and, at most, did nothing but apply rules that had been strategically ignored by a judicial system that was not only conformist but also complicit with the privileges of the ruling political elites in Italy’s post-war politics. On the other hand, they sought to apply the same unvarying zeal in investigating the crimes committed by the leaders of the various governing political parties. They assumed a politically neutral position precisely to defend the judicial system from the attacks it would surely be subjected to by those targeted by their investigations and prosecutions. This is the very antithesis of the sad spectacle currently offered to the world by a sector of the Brazilian judicial system.
Moro may have self-consciously modelled his investigation on Mani Pulite, and took advantage of similar contexts. But if one articulates Lava Jato’s politicisation to the other factors which led to Dilma’s ouster, it all begins to look awfully conspiratorial. Indeed, since I posted my piece on whether it was a ‘coup’, Temer was caught on camera stating that Dilma was deposed because she failed to adopt the PMDB’s neoliberal ‘Bridge to the Future‘ plan. His government, which has scant legitimacy, has since tried to pass a constitutional amendment, PEC 241, which would freeze public spending for twenty years.
The crisis is real
It would be easy, then, to string the factors together – protest channelled rightwards by the media, a partisan Lava Jato investigation, the dodgy removal of the President, the implementation of neoliberal reforms – and conclude it was all one big conspiracy. But the crisis is real. And not just in its ‘objective’ economic dimension (though this too has been affected by an investment strike and the freezing of construction due to Lava Jato itself).
Popular frustration with a dysfunctional political system, an ineffective and extremely bureaucratic state, and poor public services is a fact, and legitimate. The severe recession, corruption revelations and street protests are a concatenation that led to a crisis of legitimacy. However much powerful interests have been able to swing matters in their favour, the Brazilian people have not been mere bystanders.
Here, another Italian parallel presents itself to us. In Italy, popular disgust at the political class was found amongst two sections of the broad middle class, what we might call – again following Ginsborg – the entrepreneurial and civic middle classes. The former bristled at high taxes and bureaucracy, and contrasted its own putative dynamism with a lethargic state. The latter held to republican virtues and sought to defend the public realm from its degradation by private interests. Anger would be directed at the coexistence of private wealth with public squalor. Blame for the situation, then, rested at the feet of the oligarchy, corrupting politics. For the entrepreneurial segment, culpability lay instead with politicians, whose corruption harmed those trying to get by. These social groups are present, mutatis mutandis, in Brazil today.
Just as the these fractions have divergent world-views and villains, so their political responses to the Brazil’s political denouement differ. The entrepreneurial middle class wishes to see reform and liberalisation. The civic middle class would also like reform, but without liberalisation. Both would like a ‘fairer’ Brazil in which ‘things work’.
What is emerging, however, is a situation of no reform and a lot of liberalisation. Those with most agency in the crisis will also be the big winners: the ‘external bourgeoisie’ (which political-economist Alfredo Saad-Filho defines as the owners of financial capital, transnational and internationally-integrated manufacturing capital, and the media, to be distinguished from the national bourgeoisie of domestic manufacturing and agriculture). The jewels in the crown for this narrow section of the population are the sell-off of rights to the pre-salt oil fields, the passing of PEC241, and the arrest and loss of political rights for Lula, probably the PT’s only chance in 2018.
This scenario explains why a section of the left – in part constituted by the ‘civic middle class’, and which has supported PT – have turned on the entrepreneurial middle class with fury. To the former, the latter were mere ‘useful idiots’ of the crisis. They may have succeeded in getting rid of PT, but they’ll have rid themselves of their social rights at the same time. “Just you wait”, they say, “until the cuts hit you”. Indeed, let us see.
For me, the left has failed – demonstrably – to make any hay from the crisis. The entrepreneurial middle class (composed of small business owners, the lesser traditional professions, and better-off workers) is still there to be won, and the spite is unhelpful. The left cannot be seen to be defending Brazilian business-as-usual. That’s best left to those who have most gained from the system. Thoroughgoing reform – but not the neoliberal recipe – is required, both to make the state less of a burden and to democratise society. In this, workers and the lower middle class have a common interest.
Unfortunately, as I’ve discussed before, the political victim of the crisis is not just PT (for which we should feel little pity – they made their bed…) but politics itself. In Italy, where the old parties were eviscerated, they suffered Berlusconi. As well as neoliberal reforms, Berlusconi also pioneered a style of politics, a unity of technocracy and populism, which emphasised practical business know-how instead of politicking, combined with astute use of the mass media – at the time referred to as ‘videocracy’. It was also a unity of old and new: traditional clientelism, but allied to a sense of modern entrepreneurialism, unconcerned with the fustiness of the public sector and comfortable old arrangements.
Perhaps in Brazil we are witnessing similar. São Paulo, the place with the most ‘modern’ politics in the country, just elected wealthy businessman João Dória Jr as mayor – a man who made every effort to present himself as a non-politician, but who has cultivated close relations with the PSDB for a long time and was rightly described by The Intercept “unscrupulous, superficial and sly”. Sound familiar?
Hopefully that is not the pattern of politics for the foreseeable. The crisis after all is not over; it is merely in a new phase. For now, it is unquestionable that Lava Jato has been a partisan crusade and not the political holocaust I feared. But anti-politics remains the major force. The saving grace is that while anti-politics can manifest as retreat and indifference, it can also be angry and engaged. That at least is a better platform for democracy – and democratisation.
Right-wing protests in 2015 loudly demanded Dilma’s ouster. The left consequently rallied around não vai ter golpe! – “there will be no coup!” With Dilma now impeached, protests resound to Fora Temer and Diretas Já! – “Temer Out” and “Direct Elections Now!” In turn, O Globo newspaper responded with an editorial Sunday (18/09) arguing that, in fact, new elections would be the real coup. Throwing around the word empties it of meaning. But the question remains, was it a coup?
O Globo‘s case rests on there being no legal provision for new elections. These would require a constitutional amendment, but since they would fall outside of the periodicity required for an election – “inscribed in stone” in Art. 60 of the 1988 Constitution – they would be illegitimate. New elections would require an institutional rupture – that is to say, a ‘coup’.
This is a transparent and facile attempt to appropriate a term used by the left. O Globo again: “They [the left] constructed the thesis of a ‘coup’ – a risible idea – but which ended up being treated abroad, as well as by PT sympathisers in the worlds of academia in the press, as something serious.” Clearly bitter at a less favourable international media narrative – which is to say, no longer reflexively echoing the domestic media – O Globo reached for inflated rhetoric to defend their fait accompli. It is worth noting here that defenders of the 1964 coup still refer to it as a ‘revolution’. So the Brazilian right has priors in appropriating left discourse to reactionary ends.
I personally have been reticent to use the term. This is partly because to do so invites unhelpful semantic debates. Does it matter if we call it a coup or something elese? ‘Coup’ serves a clear polemical purpose, constructing a line of continuity between ’64 and ’06, those dates signalling moments of elite revanchism following episodes of left-populist progress. But clearly they are different events in different historical contexts. As the right doesn’t tire of responding, “how can it be a coup: where are the tanks on the streets?”
Using the word golpe, absent military involvement, certainly has echoes of polemical use of ‘fascist’. Witness contemporary debates about the US Republican nominee: ‘Trump AND fascist’ returns over half-a-million results in 0.35s on Google. Does it matter? Either you agree with his politics or not, right? Well, the purpose of the term is to designate certain political acts or actors as beyond the pale. Unworthy of debating. Of course, appeals to fascism often function as a cynical appeal to lesser-evilism (Hillary Clinton, in this case). You should be wary of its use, even you don’t care about accuracy in political terminology. Moreover, the use of such political scare terms have a certain equivalence to the function of ‘evil’.
When we talk of an act as ‘evil’ we are not merely describing something particularly abhorrent or inhuman. We are making a claim about the boundaries of morality itself, trying to delineate the space within which it is possible to have a debate we can meaningfully define as about morality.
Calling Dilma’s impeachment a coup designates its active and tacit supporters both as beyond the realm of democratic acceptability. This relates to a third reason for reticence in its use: maybe we don’t know yet. What happens after the change in government will inform our view about the means used. Clearly, in this case, the means used were constitutional. How could that be outwith the boundaries of democratic legitimacy?
A coup d’etat is defined as a rapid change of government which removes one government by force and replaces it by another; it is usually carried out by a small number of people, who already have some power, such as army officers. However, the terms parliamentary coup or judicial coup – or juridical-mediatic coup as in Brazil – already have popular currency and social scientific legitimacy. This can be seen in the parliamentary or institutional coup of Fernando Lugo in Paraguay or the judicial coup in 2008 in Thailand. These are not unproblematic terms, but the concept is at least well-established.
But the lack of instantaneity to the Brazilian case makes it less self-evident. Coup in French, like golpe in Portuguese or Spanish, is best translated as a ‘blow’. But if it was a soft coup in Brazil, the case rests on it being a process. We must examine the sequence of events, not merely the legal detail or event of impeachment. Events must be reconstructed into a coherent narrative. It is only with the writing of history that a ‘soft coup’ can be established, precisely because it retains the accoutrements of legality and the absence of force. The left might have had sound propagandistic reasons for chanting não vai ter golpe as of March 2015, but the case had yet fully to reveal itself.
Prior to the right coalescing around impeachment as the best way to get rid of Dilma, there were proposals put to the TSE (Superior Electoral Tribunal) for cancelling the mandate of Dilma and Temer both, for falling afoul of campaign financing rules. This case was re-opened in October 2015.
The Monday night after Globo‘s editorial was published, the lower house was debating a bill regulating political campaigning, including criminalising so-called caixa dois practices. This refers to undeclared funds, often used for dodgy campaign financing. However, the first-secretary of the house, Beto Mansur, tried to modify the bill, granting amnesty to politicians from retroactive prosecution, effectively turning the bill into its opposite. The manoeuvre was quashed by deputies from left parties. But it’s worth remarking that Mansur was previously responsible for advancing the impeachment proceedings, including the use of tricks such as letting pro-impeachment deputies vote first, creating a critical mass in favour.
Whatever the legal arguments in any one of the cases against the deposed president, it’s clear those pursuing her were opportunist and hypocritical. The cancelling of the mandate due to irregularities in campaign finances would have been a juridical, as opposed to political, manoeuvre, because judged by a court. Impeachment, on the other hand would, only require congressional assent – hence being a political move. This proved the easier option, though in 2015 it was still unclear which tactic would be used.
Looking back from now to the moment Aécio Neves lost the presidential election in October 2014, it is apparent that the strategy would be the kitchen-sink approach. Rather than repeating here an account of the concatenation leading to impeachment, see Alfredo Saad-Filho’s essay in openDemocracy, which makes the intentionality and end-game apparent. In his view it was a coup: impeachment was just the means arrived at out of convenience.
In fact, given the ostensible coup’s legalistic integument, for it to warrant the term, it would require us to see the sequence of actions as regime change. Thus, to see successive PT governments as representing a regime. If not, then it is more of a changing of the guard. And however fishy the manoeuvring or flimsy the evidence, the whole affair would look more like court intrigue. British readers might profit from an analogy: is this the Parliamentary Labour Party trying to oust Corbyn by any means necessary, or is this more like the plotting undertaken by ‘Brownites’ against Blair? Questions of political substance matter.
Were the PT governments radical challenges to the oligarchy? Was the government intolerable to financial interests? Did it present a geopolitical challenge to hegemonic interests? Was ‘Lulismo’ a new regime in Brazil? The answer to these must be a (qualified) ‘no’. Lula implemented relatively orthodox macroeconomic management, surfing the commodity super-cycle and redistributing where possible. Dilma’s first administration was more interventionist, but still remained fairly orthodox. To take one example, Brazil’s current Finance Minster under Temer is Henrique Meirelles: he was appointed president of Brazil’s central bank by Lula, and headed up coordination of investment for the Olympics under Dilma until 2015. Even the idea of Brazil, along with the BRICS, as dangerous counterpole to the US feels less credible given the country’s economic situation in recent years.
So was the impeachment and Temer’s subsequent assumption of power merely an illegitimate power grab, a kind of court intrigue, rather than a ‘coup’? This wasn’t the old establishment deposing a radical left government, after all. But perhaps the question lies not with the (moderate) PT but with its (rightist) usurpers?
The Temer government has sought immediately to privatise industries, implement austerity and roll back civil liberties and social rights. Whatever you may think of any of of these policies, Temer is clearly implementing an agenda which has repeatedly been defeated at the ballot box since 2002, and as recently as 2014. More, it looks like attempting to revert to a status quo ante of oligarchical rule, reversing the limited gains of PT adminstrations. No matter that under the PT the rich were allowed to get richer. By 2014 the situation had become intolerable for capitalist interests and ‘their’ representatives in politics and the media.
The Temer government has also carried out actions which make the dodgy impeachment look even dodgier. For example, immediately after impeachment, the government legalised the innocuous fiscal manoeuvring for which Dilma was impeached. This, combined with evidence of plotting – to remove Dilma as a means of halting the Lava Jato anti-corruption investigations and satiating the baying crowd – makes the sequence of events undoubtedly look like an institutional coup. If you read Portuguese, it’s worth re-reading the transcripts of the recordings of Sérgio Machado with PMDB politicians. The plotting to use impeachment as a means to halt anti-corruption – including claims of guaranteed assent of the judiciary, media and armed forces – is truly flabbergasting.
One final objection to this conclusion: one could argue Dilma’s second government, in an attempt to appease her accusers, also began implementing an agenda not voted for. Fair enough. But this is a critique the left can make; it is unclear why conservatives or neoliberals should balk at Dilma’s tack to right, be it the anti-terrorism law or austerity measures. It is highly opportunist for it to be used by her right-wing and neoliberal accusers (not that this has stopped them before).
Let us then re-articulate the elements which, thus entrained, combine to make this a soft coup:
- The evident desire by the right to get Dilma out from the moment the 2014 election results came in
- The promiscuous use of any tactic or justification that might work: Lava Jato, street protests, violating campaign financing rules, illegal fiscal manoeuvres
- The foregrounded anti-corruption arguments, which were swiftly exposed post-impeachment as mere scheming to relieve popular and media pressure on the corrupt themselves
- Impeachment based on unsubstantiated claim of pedaladas, subsequently legalised by the new government once impeachment confirmed
- Impeachment proceedings citing the ‘sum of her works’ when that can only be done by the people, through the ballot box
- Implementation of neoliberal reforms rejected at ballot box post-impeachment
Ultimately, it is a parliamentary coup, for it uses formal, legalistic and and seemingly legitimate means for ends which are the opposite of that. It is the use of the tools of bourgeois democracy against democracy itself. What occurred, by hook and by crook, was the turning of the letter of the law against the spirit of the law. A constitutionally massaged anti-democratic rupture.
The demand now, for direct elections, is unlikely to succeed. It would require congressional turkeys to vote for Christmas. They have proved themselves well adept at avoiding the axe. But demands can serve purposes other than simply achieving aims. It is essential for the left in reclaiming the streets, divesting itself of any partisan defence of PT governments, and assuming the moral force of democracy.