Copavi, Paranacity: Seja Bem Vindo!

Jackson, leading me on an agroeco adventure. 

What am I doing here in COPAVI? I am starting a participatory photography project with the youth group, and trying to de-imagine gerontocracy. 

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MST-Agrarian Reform, for a Brazil without the Latifundio

In 1988, 252 unproductive hectares of the Usina Terezinha were expropriated, and still the land sat vacant.  To pressure the state to make some changes, on the 19 of January, 1993, twenty-five landless families of the Movimento dos Trabalhadores Rurais Sem Terra (MST) occupied the still abandoned site.  They originated from the South and West of Paraná, and Rio Grande do Sul.  This was one of the more quiet conquests of the MST, there was no violence, no eviction.  In July of the same year, the settlement was legalized for 16 families, who faced a dilemma.  What to do with this land?  The iron-rich, redish soil was sandy, and semi-sterile—exhausted from decades of sugarcane monocultivation.  Well, the families could have struggled against the odds, heroically and individually, each with her own piece of the pie—but no.  They opted for another route that deviated from the standard MST model at the time, of individual, family-farmed lots.  Since then, COPAVI’s cooperative structure has made it a national place of reference for the MST, as it points to alternatives ways of staying on the land.

The organization of the community is different, and ideal for a financially strapped, carless ethnographer.  It is only 600 meters from the urban perimeter of Paranacity. All the homes are clustered in an agrovila, with front and back yards, if there was asphalt it would almost feel like I was in suburbia in the states. 
At the moment, there are twenty families living in COPAVI, which totals about 70 people.  The principle of polyculture, or the diversification of production, has helped to minimize the exposure of cooperative farm families to fluctuating market prices.  At the same time, it has changed the division of labor within families.  In contrast with agrarian capitalism’s logic of specialization, such diverse forms of production create a socioecological safety net of sorts—families here produce most of what they need, which insulates them from complete cash dependence.  Unlike their urban counterparts, who pay dearly for almost everything (all is expensive in Brazil), the folks here satisfy most of their needs through self-provisioning (an estimated 50%).  But, the folks here are working class, they are cash poor, in absolute terms.  All workers are renumerated based on the numbers of hours worked.  Now, there is a bit of variation in terms of the valorization of labor—in terms of physical force, unpleasant work conditions, and so on.  However, the differences are quite small, considering that the objective is to maintain equality between the workers. 

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Alicindo at the Agroindustry. 

Of the various sectors, the sugarcane sector is most lucrative and most demanding in terms of labor. Here, 80 hectares of sugarcane is planted, harvested, and processed into molasses, brown sugar, cachaça, and melado.  Unlike COPAVI's neighbors, plantations that span the horizon in every direction, here, all the sugar is organic—without the use of any chemicals whatsoever. Products, like cachaça, (moonshine) are exported to Europe (primarily France and Germany), and circulate as an always appreciated gift through the MST network.  

Cana de Açucár

There are 60 hectares of pastures, with 100 cattle and some 62 in lactation.  The settlers produce mozzarella cheese, milk, yogurt, doce de leite, and so on.  These products are in high demand at the schools in Paranacity and Cruzeiro do Sul (purchased via PAA).  Others are sold through networks of friendship, clients, small businesses, grocers, and bakeries.  The cooperative also delivers products to residences. How has COPAVI managed to avoid the strangle-hold of the dairy industry? Perhaps this deserves a bit more explanation.  In dairy production, the forces of industrial capital are particularly predatory, because pasteurization equipment is quite expensive.  While the Brazilian state maintained price controls on this for some 45 years, the liberalization of agriculture, which accelerated post-1991, eliminated such safeguards for farming families whose incomes plummeted in the aftermath. 

Dominic

But, lest we forget, Brazilian peasants are somewhat famous for being creative resisters to the power of capital, that seeks to ever steal portions of their tiny incomes—and so, COPAVI’s people have almost quit selling to dairy firms.  They tend to sell only to clients and the state, as a matter of political-economic principle.  Dairy tends to be a guarantee of cash flow, which guarantees that personnel can be paid. Products are also consumed by families. 

In terms of the garden activities, this is basically an anti-capitalist space.  The garden’s produce is for the self-consumption of families, for the collective kitchen, and a little bit for sale at the farmer’s market on Saturday mornings.  Similarly, the folks at COPAVI don’t sell their animals, the chickens or pigs—that often run freely and gorge themselves on the leftovers from our collective meals.

 The community-center doubles as a collective kitchen, which serves meals for the entire community, and often busloads of guests, each day.  The point here is to reinforce sociability, and importantly, to allow women to fully participate in productive activities.   Most of the ingredients are produced here, but things like oil, salt, spices, and so on are not, and must be bought.  The price of these external goods is used to calculate the cost of food, which all pay, by the kilogram.  It is very minimal.  For instance, today, I ate a heaping plate of rice, beans, salad, watermelon, squash, onion salad, and vegetable/ground beef lasagna.  What was the price?  1.40 (roughly 0.70 USD).  While not everyone in the community comes down to the center to eat, the grand majority do, which could lead one to suggest that social reproduction, i.e., via food rituals, is primarily a communal, and not strictly familial, affair.  In this “family,” everyone washes their own dishes.

Yet, there is a zombie workforce that doesn’t sit with the folks of COPAVI, round the community dining tables. Levi told me that during his three-year stint at COPAVI, the settlers cut cane by hand, today, this difficult task is done by contracted laborers who are bussed in.  They eat under lone deciduous trees, crouched on the ground, with gas-can “thermoses” full of water.  God…The task of handcutting, planting, clearing land, and so on… I can’t even imagine it.  It is fucking enormous.

So at COPAVI, they can basically self-provision their consumption needs, but they can’t supply enough labor force to produce at the same scale. 

Luana's feet.... 

Now, there is a bit of the replication of the division between mental and manual labor in the COPAVI.  There are agroecological tech’s, contractor’s via universities, agronomists, administrators, and accountants who manage the commercial activities and business end of things.  Here we see a form of specialization, between the people who slave at the machines, over the stoves, near the steaming vats, with the tractors, against the pests, and those who stare into their telescreens for hours on end, and manage the endless spreadsheets, organize production, and so on.  Importantly, no one is salaried, and no one is boss.  They all earn basically very little, 500 reais, but they are guaranteed two meals per day, a home to live in, free water and electricity, and afforded a “reasonable life.” 

Youth group