Below is an interesting paper I just found online
http://socialsciences.scielo.org/scielo ... ci_arttext
Part I
ABSTRACT
In this work, I analyze the relations of proximity and antagonism between neo-Pentecostalism and Afro-Brazilian religions, and their consequences for the transformation of the Brazilian social imaginary constructed on the basis of values derived from these two fields.
Key words: Candomblé, Umbanda, Neo-Pentecostalism, Religious Conflict, African Symbols
RESUMO
Neste trabalho, pretendo analisar as relações de proximidade e antagonismo existentes entre o neopentecostalismo e as religiões afro-brasileiras, e suas conseqüências na transformação do imaginário social brasileiro construído a partir dos valores existentes nesses dois campos.
Palavras-chave: Candomblé, Umbanda, Neopentecostalismo, Conflito Religioso, Símbolos Africanos.
Introduction
Neo-Pentecostalism, due to its belief in the need to eliminate the presence and action of the devil in the world, tends to classify other religious denominations as little engaged in this battle, or even as spaces rife with the action of demons, which 'disguise' themselves as the divinities worshiped in these systems. This is especially the case of Afro-Brazilian religions, whose gods, principally the exus and pombagiras, are seen to be manifestations of demons. Another aspect of this process is, paradoxically, the 'incorporation' of the Afro-Brazilian liturgy into the neo-Pentecostal practices of some churches. In this work, I intend to analyze the relations of proximity and antagonism existing between the neo-Pentecostal and Afro-Brazilian religions, and their consequences in terms of the transformation of a particular image of Brazil.
First of all, it should be observed that the neo-Pentecostal view of Afro-Brazilian religions can be traced to the development of the theological and doctrinal system of Pentecostalism, especially from the 1950s and 60s onwards, though it first arrived in Brazil at the start of the 20th century. During this period, the religious movement assumed new dimensions, expanding its base of churches, multiplying the number of denominations and acquiring greater visibility. Setting itself apart by the emphasis on the gift of the divine cure (leading to them being called 'healing churches') and by the strategies of mass proselytism and conversion, this second wave1 of Pentecostalism preserved the basic features of the movement, which was already 40 years old, such as the doctrine of the charismatic gifts (faith, prophecy, discerning of spirits, healing, speaking in tongues, etc.), sectarianism and asceticism (Mariano 1999:31).
The third phase of the Pentecostal movement, initiated in the 1970s and displaying rapid growth in the subsequent two decades, involved some important differences in terms of the profile of the churches that emerged and the practices adopted, leading to its classification as 'neo-Pentecostalism.' The addition of the Latin prefix 'neo' was intended to express some of the new emphases that these churches identified as part of this phase, differentiating them within the Pentecostal movement as a whole: the abandonment (or moderation) of asceticism, the valorization of pragmatism, the use of business management techniques in running churches, emphasis on the theology of prosperity, the use of the media for the work of mass proselytism and religious advertising (leading to the name 'electronic churches') and the centrality of the theology of the spiritual battle against other religious denominations, especially the Afro-Brazilian religions and spiritism.
But why choose the latter religions as their main target? Would a church as well organized and interested in mass conversion as the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God (UCKG),2 the main representative of the neo-Pentecostal sector, really be bothered by religions (candomblé, umbanda and spiritism) that together, according to the IBGE's 2000 Demographic Census, add up to just 1.7 % of the population? Although we can consider this figure an underestimate due to the historical motives leading people to be adherents of both Afro-Brazilian religions and Catholicism, it is tempting to ask whether the Neo-Pentecostal attack is not a case of, as the Brazilian saying goes, "a lot of gunpowder for a handful of birds"? Or in other words, would the 'good fight' not be better waged against Catholicism, which, despite the fall in its number of followers over the last two decades, still represents 73.7 % of the population (according to IBGE)? But how to declare open war on this religious monopoly intimately connected with diverse spheres of Brazilian society? The 'kicking the saint' incident and its negative repercussions (Mariano 1999:81) are a good example of the difficulty of open confrontation.
The attack on Afro-Brazilian religions, rather than being a strategy for proselytizing among the country's low income populations, potential consumers of Afro-Brazilian and neo-Pentecostal religions, appears to stem from the role that magical practices and the experience of religious trance play in the very dynamic of the neo-Pentecostal system in its contact with the Afro-Brazilian repertoire. The recent development of charismatic Catholicism attests to the growing demand for these kind of practices in the mainstream religious sector too. In Brazil, while mainstream Christian sectors (Catholicism, traditional Protestantism, etc.) where heavily affected by the processes of secularization and rationalization, Pentecostalism emerged as an alternative; still timid in its first and second phases, but very strong in its third phase with the valorization of the experience of religious renewal. In neo-Pentecostalism, this characteristic is radicalized to the extent of transforming it into a religion in which renewal is experienced in the body itself – a feature traditionally monopolized by Afro-Brazilian religions and Kardecist spiritism. Combating these religions may be, therefore, less a proselytizing strategy designed to recruit converts from their congregations – though it indeed has this effect – and more a form of attracting believers eager for the experience of ecstatic religions with a strong magical appeal, combined with the advantage of the social legitimacy enjoyed by Christianity in general.
Although there are many differences, therefore, between neo-Pentecostalism and Afro-Brazilian religions, this article looks to analyze the similarities between them. In other words, I think it is possible to understand various dimensions of Pentecostalism's antagonistic view of Afro-Brazilian denominations (very often expressed through symbolic and even physical violence) by analyzing the flow of certain 'terms' between the religious systems in conflict. This flow has been subject to a number of recent studies, which I use here as a basis for systemizing my arguments, alongside data from field observation and the religious literature produced by the neo-Pentecostal media.
The 'devil' in the books
The demoniac view of Afro-Brazilian religions propagated by neo-Pentecostalism was already present in earlier phases of the Pentecostal movement as one element of the theology of divine healing. The cure – one of the constitutive parts of the ritual of blessing the sick – served to show God's victory over the devil, generally identified with umbanda and candomblé (Rolim 1990:49). During this period, though, the 'armies of Christ' were not urged to take to the streets and disrupt Afro-Brazilian rituals or to try to close down terreiros, as has occurred over the last two decades.
One of the signs of the intensification of this antagonism against Afro-Brazilian religions can be identified in the publication of the book Mãe-de-santo (1968), by the Canadian missionary Walter Robert McAlister, founder of the New Life Pentecostal Church in Rio de Janeiro in 1960. According to the book's preface:
This is the incredible story of a Bahian woman whose knife scar on her right arm predestined her from birth to be a saint-mother [mãe-de-santo], serving the orixás and sacrificing to the exus since she was nine years old. In this re-edited fourth edition of the book, you will feel the repugnance experienced by Georgina Aragão dos Santos Franco on being imprisoned in a room fetid with the smell of dry blood, blood with which they had covered her entire body in 'making the saint.' You will later divine her overwhelming joy and euphoria when she finally discovered that her soul no longer belonged to the devil, since the blood of Jesus Christ became stronger and more powerful in her life than any offerings, trances or obligations. I am sure you will read this book many times, and that it will be passed on to friends, relatives or acquaintances who follow Afro-Brazilian sects. In fact, this is a book every Brazilian should read (1983 [1968]:5).3
Here the central themes of this antagonism are set out: 1. Identification of the divinities from the Afro-Brazilian pantheon with the devil; 2. Spiritual release through the (greater) power of the living blood of Jesus (in opposition to the 'dry' or 'fetid' blood of initiation or the offerings); 3. As a consequence of spiritual release, conversion. McAlister writes that on coming into contact in Brazil with 'macumba,' he initially thought it was no more than 'folklore.' Later, after curing a woman whose leg had been paralyzed ever since she had kicked a despacho (ritual offering), he realized the extent to which these 'superstitions' were real and harmful.
From then on, I began to have direct contact with the victims of Candomblé and Umbanda, who told me the terrible drama involved in submitting oneself to the influences of the exus and orixás. In this way I passed from a certain incredulity to an awareness that these narratives were not merely the result of imagination, and that despite the superstitious roots, their effects were very real (1983 [1968]:10).
This, then, was the fourth important characteristic of this 'spiritual battle:' rather than seeing the Afro-Brazilian religions as folklore, popular belief, ignorance or imagination, it was essential to recognize that their divinities 'exist,' although 'in truth' they are 'demonic spirits' that trick and threaten the Brazilian people.
I believe that Brazil must free itself from this evil that already dominates – according to some authorities – more than a third of the population, who bow down before saint-father and mothers and obey the laws and orders of the orixás. I dedicate this book, therefore, to the victims of the diabolical power of Candomblé and Umbanda (1983 [1968]:11).
As we can observe, the invitation to spiritual release is made at national level, another key feature of neo-Pentecostalism's evangelism.
I have no intention of examining McAlister's book in depth here. Suffice to say that the saint-mother Georgina can be seen as a Weberian ideal type insofar as through her we can perceive the profile of the development of candomblé in the Southeast region of Brazil. Georgina is black, born in Bahia, "the centre of this religion in Brazil," and predestined to belong to candomblé in the double function of heiress of her grandmother's orixás and a priestess. She moves to Rio de Janeiro, where she frequents candomblé and umbanda terreiros, attends a sermon given by Pastor McAlister and for a year shuttles between the church and the terreiro, revealing just how difficult it was for her to abandon her earlier religious practice. Finally, she accepts the 'Lord's supper' and dedicates herself to preaching the new truth to her former brothers and sisters from the 'spirit faith.' In describing Georgina's point of view, the book appears to reach a climax when the heroin, at the request of another recently converted saint-mother, impiously destroys the peji (altar) of her terreiro.
In this book, McAlister describes the sources of spiritism4 in Brazil and cites passages in the Bible that lend support to his condemnation. Curiously, he alleges that certain candomblé ceremonies – such as ossé (a rite involving purification by water) and the sacrifice of animals on a stone (otá) – were 'stolen' from the ancient laws of God found in Old Testament books such as Leviticus. These laws were, however, reformulated by Jesus Christ, whose final sacrifice signalled the salvation and purification of all those who believe in him. In the two central chapters of the book, the narration passes to Georgina herself, who reveals the rituals of her former religion to which she was submitted or which she conducted, such as initiation (rituals involving shaving her head for Oxum, including herbal baths mixed with blood), the 'trabalhos' (spells) undertaken in cemeteries, despachos using bull brains, dolls for love spells and so on. At the end of her account, she reveals that [
] the people of candomblé believe that the power of the 'trabalhos' resides in the secrets that the saint-mother learns through her vows to the orixás. Today I know perfectly well what these 'secrets' are and where they come from [...]: behind the bloody sacrifices, the offerings, foods and herbal baths; in sum, behind all the 'obligations' there is a malignant and diabolical power at work. The people believe that the orixás are gods, but do not understand that in reality they are forces of evil striving to enter their lives in order to control and later destroy them (1983 [1968]:93).
In this excerpt, Georgina, a kind of alter ego to McAlister, reproduces the logic of candomblé itself in which the ebômis (more long-term members of the cult) are the ones who possess the cult's secrets and slowly reveal them according to the seniority of their interlocutors and the power relations within the religious community itself. However, being a 'converted saint-mother,' the legitimacy of her radical revelation (the 'secret of the secrets') is simultaneously bolstered by two systems of legitimation: Afro-Brazilian and Pentecostal. Because of this, the book comprises a kind of dialogic overlapping of these two religious systems: in the central chapters, Georgina appears in her 'journey towards God' described in the first person; in the initial and final chapters, we read McAlister's account of his journey to the hideaways of the Devil (candomblé and umbanda) to condemn them and invite their practitioners to free themselves.
As well as a pioneer in this type of literary production,5 McAlister seems to have been the first to use the 'live' possession of believers during his evangelical sermons as a public confrontation of the demons supposedly originating from the Afro-Brazilian cults. According to Ricardo Mariano (1999:131), the pastor at the time "already forced the demons to reveal their presence in the church services, talked to them, discovered their names and identified them with the Afro-Brazilian and spiritist cults."
However, the impact of the practices of the New Life Church on the development of this antagonism against the Afro-Brazilian religions was limited. Despite using radio broadcasts and later being one of the frontrunners in the use of television to transmit its evangelical message, the Church never underwent any significant expansion and survived modestly after the death of its founder in 1993. Its biggest contribution was the training of prominent leaders, such as Edir Macedo and Romildo Ribeiro Soares, who later founded their own churches and gained fame by employing the premises of evangelization in relation to the Afro-Brazilian religions learnt from McAlister.
Edir Macedo, Catholic in background with later experience in umbanda, converted to the New Life Church with which he stayed for more than a decade (Freston 1994:131; Mariano 1999:54). As a dissident of this church, he later founded the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God, in 1977, along with Romildo Soares and Roberto Lopes. However, internal power disputes led to the dissolution of the triumvirate, leaving the church under the exclusive command of Edir Macedo. In the following decades, combining an aggressive tactic of proselytism, investment in televisual media and the intensification of the spiritual war against rival denominations, the Universal Church became the neo-Pentecostal movements best known and most influential church. In the print media, the attack began from the Church's very first publications. As Ronaldo Almeida (1996:38) mentions:
The Universal Church's first publication was the magazine Plenitude, created shortly after the church's foundation and, since its first issue, the attacks on Umbanda and Candomblé have been prevalent among the main topics. The Folha Universal, which later replaced the magazine, every week includes reports on the harm caused by these religions.
Edir Macedo is also the author of the most widely known and hard-hitting book opposing Afro-Brazilian cults: Orixás, caboclos & guias. Deuses ou demônios? (Orixás, caboclos and guides. Gods or demons?).6 Published in 1988, this book, whose sales have already exceeded three million copies,7 was subject to a legal challenge before being "finally freed by the courts," as the cover declares. A summary of the author's profile and the book is provided in the preface by J. Cabral:
Through the media outlets and churches that have set up in the nooks and crannies of our homeland and abroad, Bishop Macedo has launched a full-scale holy war against all the devil's works. In this book he denounces the satanic manoeuvres behind Kardecism, Umbanda, Candomblé and other similar sects; he exposes the true intentions of the demons that disguise themselves as orixás, exus, erês, and teaches the formula for the possessed person to become free of their control (apud Macedo 1996 [1988]:20).
Orixás, caboclos & guias. Deuses ou demônios? reworks the structure and central themes of Mãe-de-santo. However, keen to ensure there is no doubt over the 'correct answer' to the title's question, it presents more detailed arguments in a much more aggressive tone of condemnation and warns of the dangers faced by those who worship the pantheon in question.
According to the biblical exegesis pursued in Macedo's book, demons exist and are creatures of God who, envious of their creator, fell into disgrace and have disputed the celestial throne ever since. As disembodied spirits, they try to take over people's bodies to inflict them with sickness and misfortune, and distance them from God. The fight of humans against demons is, therefore, a result of the war waged by these demons against God. In addition, for humans, any victory over the devil means recognizing the sacrifice made by Jesus in the name of all humanity – hence it is in his name (his sacrificial blood) that the victory over evil and the attainment of eternal salvation is invoked.
Macedo claims that it is especially easy for demons can take over humans when the latter frequent candomblé, umbanda and spiritist terreiros or perform magical practices (such as trabalhos and despachos); have, or once had, family members or close friends involved in such practices (in the case of relatives, the devil can attack their kin even after they are dead; in this case, people are said to possess a 'hereditary demon'); eat food offered to the orixás and, in sum, fail to accept Jesus fully into their hearts – that is, lack the Holy Spirit in their lives. However, even when these factors are absent, demonic possession can still occur simply through the "evilness of the demon itself." The 'evidence' that Afro-Brazilian religions are diabolical comes from their performance of animal sacrifices, the trances caused by spirit possession, worshipping of the dead, the use of magic to cause harm, etc.
Following the example of the book Mãe-de-santo, Macedo's work provides a supposedly 'objective' description of these religions, based on numerous testimonies from former members of Afro-Brazilian cults who converted to the UCKG,8 as well as on the experience of the author himself as a former participant of umbanda and on a handwritten notebook of 'fundaments' ('secret knowledge') given to the author by a former saint-mother.9
Aside from the similarities existing between the books of McAlister and Macedo,10 what makes the publication of the latter more convincing in terms of its intended objectives is the use of abundant illustrations that exploit the rich aesthetic and ritualistic dimension of Afro-Brazilian religions in order to condemn them as demonic. On the cover, a photo of the orixá Oxalá (dressed in white) is reproduced on a red and black background (the colours of Exu),11 with a statue of a caboclo and Saint George in front of him, with strings of beads, small jars and so on. At the centre, a skull is surrounded by a circle of lit candles. Obviously, it depicts an assembly of elements in the stylized form of a 'despacho' (ritual offering) and, for this very reason, produces a powerful and highly suggestive image, especially given the associations that it induces through its combination of the funereal (the skull), the threatening (the caboclo with his club raised ready for combat) and the mysterious (the liturgical elements).
Inside the book, the captions accompanying the photos claim to disclose their 'true meanings.' At the start of the book, for example, the reproduction of an invite to a candomblé festival, featuring a trident as an emblem, carries the following caption: "The devil's trident reveals the purpose of this ritual" (:27). A photo of an image of a pombagira is followed by the phrases: "In many women, the pombagira causes cancer of the uterus and ovaries, sexual frigidity and other diseases. Her actions are held responsible for behaviours linked to illicit sexual practices and other situations involving sinful sensuality" (:36).12 But the biggest impact comes from the photographic reproduction of countless scenes of secret initiation rituals, such as the orô (the moment when the animal is sacrificed over the initiate's head). These scenes are, indeed, the 'Achilles heel' of the Afro-Brazilian cults, especially when taken out of context, looking to portray these religions as 'bloody,' 'savage' or 'primitive.' The photos of an animal sacrifice performed over the head of a female initiate and of followers kneeling before a congá (altar) bear the following captions: "The making of the head! At this stage the follower has already made a pact with the demons. Only Jesus can free him" (Macedo 1996:77); "Graduation party, where the followers are presented with a legion of demons to work with them" (:65).
However, according to the book the biggest 'evidence' for the action of the devil resides in the murder of people in Afro-Brazilian rituals, reported by the press under headlines of the kind reproduced in the book: "They killed a young woman to make a despacho" (:46); "The police found brains and other human organs, among them a heart, at the site of the despacho" (:56); "Baby victim of Satanism" (:109); "Man knifed to death in umbanda ritual" (:109). Although these facts occurred as the reports attest, they are clearly not practices typical of Afro-Brazilian religious systems. Nonetheless, the book's author is convinced that these religions are behind all these events, hence photos of people killed like animals in rituals (with their bodies covered in blood) are placed side-by-side with people lying down in an initiation room (with their bodies covered in the ritual blood of animals). The purpose of this sequence of images seems to be to express a logic prescribing that where animals are killed over humans, humans may be killed like animals.13
Captions to photos of children taking part in the rituals also reinforce the negative stereotype of the religion: "These children, having been involved with the orixás, are certain to receive poor grades at school and will become problem teenagers" (:50).
According to the book, the references to Afro-Brazilian religions found in public spaces also demonstrate the expansion of the devil's action beyond the walls of the terreiros. Beneath the photo of the statue of Iemanjá, located on the São Paulo coast, we read: "Iemanjá, in Umbanda, is the same Virgin Mary of the Catholic religion. Many other saints are associated with demons" (:53). Photos of the nameplates of commercial establishments bearing the names of orixás (Gráfica Oxum, Restaurante Xangô etc.) or sculptures of orixás, very common in Salvador, are also subject to criticism (:80,153).
Following the path opened by Mãe-de-santo, as well as Orixás, caboclos & guias. Deuses ou demônios?, many other books written by neo-Pentecostal pastors have helped delimit an area of growing interest in the religious literature. Another such case is the book Espiritismo, a magia do engano ('Spiritism, the magic of the swindle'), whose author, the missionary Romildo Ribeiro Soares (or R.R. Soares), severed ties with Edir Macedo and founded the International Church of the Grace of God, in 1980. From the pulpit of this church, he also roused the faithful to combat the 'Afro-Brazilian devils,' without, however, ever threatening to supplant the leading role played by Macedo in this area.14 The literature in question has also diversified and extended its focus of attack to other religions considered 'heresies' or 'sects.'15
While the cited books provide an introduction to the promotional literature grounding the "theology of the spiritual battle,"16 it is primarily on the level of ritual acts that its message has been the most effective and has acquired greater visibility, both inside the Pentecostal churches and beyond. Below I examine some examples of Pentecostal actions against the presence of the devil associated with Afro-Brazilian religions.
The 'devil' in practice
For us to be able to gain a better understanding of the nature and extent of the instances of neo-Pentecostal attacks17 on Afro-Brazilian religions, I have collected information on these incidents published in the printed press and in the academic literature over the past few years and classified them according to a number of criteria: 1. Attacks made within the space of neo-Pentecostal church services and through their channels of divulgation and proselytism; 2. Physical aggressions against terreiros and their members; 3. Attacks on Afro-Brazilian religious ceremonies perpetrated in public locations or on symbols of these religions found in such spaces; 4. Attacks on other symbols of African heritage in Brazil that have some connection to Afro-Brazilian religions; 5. Attacks arising from alliances between Evangelical churches and politicians; and, finally, 6. Public responses (political and judicial) from the adherents of Afro-Brazilian religions. I turn to some representative cases from each group.
1. As we have seen above, the attacks made in the context of the ritual practices of neo-Pentecostal churches and their channels of divulgation and proselytism stem from a theology grounded in the idea that the cause of most of the world's ills can be attributed to the presence of the devil, who is generally associated with the gods of other religious denominations. According to this view, the faithful must continue the work of fighting these demons first begun by Jesus Christ: "For this purpose the Son of God was manifested, that he might destroy the works of the devil" (1 John 3:8). The Afro-Brazilian pantheon in particular is a target of this attack, especially the category of exu, which was initially associated with the Christian devil and later accepted as such by a large portion of the povo-de-santo, especially adherents of umbanda.
Inside the Neo-Pentecostal churches, sessions are frequently held to exorcise (or 'unload,' in the UCKG's terminology) these entities, which are called upon to incorporate the person before being disqualified or expelled as a form of spiritual release of the believer. From the pulpits, this attack is extended to religious television programs (Fala que eu te escuto, Ponto de luz, Pare de sofrer, Show da fé etc.) transmitted by the Rede Record network (owned by the UCKG) and by other TV networks with time slots bought by the neo-Pentecostal churches. Many of these programs show "reconstructions of real cases" or dramatizations in which symbols and elements from Afro-Brazilian religions are depicted as spiritual means for obtaining malefic results only: the death of enemies, the spread of disease, the separation of couples or love tangles, family disagreements, etc. Such programs also commonly include testimonies of conversion from people claiming to be past frequenters of terreiros, who are interviewed by the pastor and 'confess' the harm they inflicted with the help of Afro-Brazilian entities (referred to as encostos, 'props,' 'supports'). The most heavily exploited testimonies are from those claiming to be former priests of Afro-Brazilian religions, called ex-pais-de-encosto, 'ex-prop-fathers,' who explain in detail how they made despachos and the malevolent intentions behind them.
The vast communication network developed by these churches also includes radio programs, internet sites and religious promotional material (books, newspapers, magazines and leaflets), such as the Folha Universal and the magazine Plenitude, both published by the UCKG. The best-sellers already mentioned, Orixás, caboclos e guias. Deuses ou demônios and Espiritismo. A magia do engano, are evidently among the most widely known.
2. Incited by this belief, members of neo-Pentecostal churches very often invade terreiros with the intent of destroying altars, smashing images and 'exorcising' their frequenters, actions which usually end in physical aggression. In the Abolição district of Rio de Janeiro, umbanda followers from the Frei da Luz Brothers Spiritist Centre were attacked with stones by members of an UCKG church located nearby.18 A follower of the Antônio de Angola Spiritist Tent, in the district of Irajá, was held captive for two days in an Evangelical church in Duque de Caxias, with the objective of getting her to renounce her belief and convert to Evangelism.19
In Salvador, described as the "capital of macumbaria" or the "Sodom and Gomorrah of black magic" by neo-Pentecostals, the house of a candomblé initiate in the Tancredo Neves district was invaded by 30 followers of the International Church of the Grace of God, who hurled coarse salt and sulphur at the people gathered there for a religious ceremony.20 These substances are also frequently thrown at cars with bead necklaces (guias) hanging from their rear-view mirrors.21
In São Luís, the capital of Maranhão state, leaders of the Terreiro do Justino, located in Vila Embratel, were accused by members of the local Assembly of God of kidnapping a baby, the child of a couple belonging to this church who lived nearby. They believed that the baby had been taken to be sacrificed during the terreiro's rites.22 They called the police, who, despite lacking a search warrant, rifled the temple's premises, including the sacred rooms barred to non-initiates. Even the house's fridge and the cars parked in the yard were subject to the police search. The investigation was only halted when the real kidnappers of the child were captured. The terreiro, founded in 1896, is one of the oldest in the city and has been facing pressure from Evangelicals in the district for it to be shut down and relocated elsewhere.23 In fact, this is a strategy adopted by pastors who after setting up in the districts, identify the region's terreiros and establish deadlines for closing them.24
In the Engenho Velho da Federação district of Salvador, where around 19 candomblé terreiros exist (famous for their tradition, such as Casa Branca and Gantois), the confrontations have been intensifying. In a demonstration of their strength, the Evangelical churches organized a march to intimidate the followers of 'demons' in the neighbourhood. In response, the 'povo-de-santo' (adherents of Afro-Brazilian religions) took to the streets dressed in white, a colour associated with peace and Oxalá, the orixá of creation within the candomblé cosmology.25 Other examples of this kind of attack include disrupting the terreiros' ritual activities through a variety of means. A saint-mother from Cidade Tiradentes, in São Paulo, complained that a loudspeaker car, hired by a nearby neo-Pentecostal church, was circling endlessly and sometimes stopping in front of her terreiro to announce the 'unloading sessions' held at the church over its blaring loudspeakers.26
3. When the religious activities (orixá festivals, offerings, processions, etc.) are performed in public places (beaches, forests, waterfalls, roads, squares and schools), the followers are more exposed to these attacks; these may range from the simple distribution of leaflets with propaganda against these cults to direct attempts to disrupt rituals. During a festival for Iemanjá on Leme beach, Rio de Janeiro, Neo-Pentecostals preached against this ceremony with the help of loudspeakers and destroyed the presents offered to this entity associated with the sea. The same happened during a festival of erês (child entities) held in Quinta da Boa Vista, when neo-Pentecostals smashed images and burnt candomblé clothing.27
Symbols of Afro-Brazilian religions placed in public spaces may also be attacked. The revitalization of the Dique do Tororó artificial lake, including the installation of sculptures of orixás by the Salvador city council, provoked a wave of protest from Evangelical churches condemning this act of "exalting a diabolic religion," "associated with evil." From their viewpoint, the latter should be 'exorcised' rather than honoured by the local public authority. The latter justified its action by arguing that rather than being specific religious symbols, the images of the orixás comprise part of Bahian culture. In fact, sculptures and images depicting Afro-Brazilian gods are dispersed across many other parts of the Bahian capital, such as streets, squares and buildings, with their names being used, including officially, to identify some of these places and commercial and cultural establishments. There is strong opposition to this practice, though. The director of one school, in the Stella Maris district, had to order the removal of a picture of the orixá Ogum included on a mural at the school following pressure from Evangelical parents.28