I Respect Your Amen Do You Respect My Axe An Ethno
I Respect Your Amen Do You Respect My Axe An Ethno
Abstract
This article aims to understand how candomblé terreiros organize themselves as resistance to religious racism. Therefore, we developed an
ethnographic research in a Candomblé Center of the Ketu Axé Oxumaré nation, located in Belo Horizonte (MG). Data from the interviews
were submitted to narrative analysis. The results suggest that candomblé is perceived by the members of the casa de santo as a strategy, an
organization for not only physical survival but also for subaltern lifestyles. It is about the resistance of Afro-Brazilian culture, an anti-colonial
resistance that promotes, through religion, the political belonging of affirmation of blackness. It is a decolonial organization of survival,
maintenance, and, above all, the perpetuation of traditions and ways of life in neglected, debased, denied, and subalternized terreiros
by coloniality.
Keywords: Decoloniality. Resistance. Candomblé. Ethnography. Religious racism.
“Eu Respeito seu amém, você respeita meu axé?”: um estudo etnográfico sobre terreiros de candomblé como
organizações de resistência à luz de um olhar decolonial
Resumo
Este artigo tem como objetivo compreender como os terreiros de candomblé se organizam como resistência perante o racismo religioso. Para
tanto, desenvolvemos uma pesquisa etnográfica em um centro de candomblé da nação Ketu Axé Oxumaré, localizado em Belo Horizonte (MG).
Os dados das entrevistas foram submetidos à análise de narrativas. Os resultados sugerem que o candomblé é percebido pelos integrantes da
casa de santo como uma estratégia, uma organização de sobrevivência não só física, mas também de estilos de vida subalternos. Trata-se
da resistência da cultura afro-brasileira, uma resistência anticolonial que promove, por meio da religião, a pertença política de afirmação da
negritude; de uma organização decolonial de sobrevivência, de manutenção e, sobretudo, de perpetuação de tradições e modos de vida nos
terreiros negligenciados, aviltados, negados e subalternizados pela colonialidade.
Palavras-chave: Decolonialidade. Resistência. Candomblé. Etnografia. Racismo religioso.
“¿Yo respeto tu amén, tú respetas mi axé?”: un estudio etnográfico sobre los terreros de candomblé como
organizaciones de resistencia a la luz de una perspectiva decolonial
Resumen
Este artículo tiene como objetivo comprender cómo los terreros de candomblé se organizan como resistencia al racismo religioso. Para ello,
desarrollamos una investigación etnográfica en un centro de candomblé de la nación Ketu Axé Oxumaré, ubicado en Belo Horizonte (MG).
Los datos de las entrevistas se sometieron al análisis narrativo. Los resultados sugieren que el candomblé es percibido por los miembros de
la casa de santo como una estrategia, una organización no solo para la supervivencia física, sino también para los estilos de vida subalternos.
Se trata de la resistencia de la cultura afrobrasileña, una resistencia anticolonial que promueve, a través de la religión, la pertenencia política
de afirmación de la negritud. Es una organización decolonial de sobrevivencia, mantenimiento y, sobre todo, perpetuación de tradiciones y
modos de vida en terreros desatendidos, envilecidos, negados y subalternizados por la colonialidad.
Palabras clave: Decolonialidad. Resistencia. Candomblé. Etnografía. Racismo religioso.
1
Article submitted on June 10, 2022 and accepted for publication on October 07, 2022.
[Translated version] Note: All quotes in English translated by this article’s translator.
DOI: https://doi.org/10.1590/1679-395120220149x
Cad. EBAPE.BR, v. 21, nº 4, Rio de Janeiro, e2022-0149, 2023 ISSN 1679-3951 1-18
“I respect your amen, do you respect my axé?”: an ethnographic study on candomblé Jefferson Rodrigues Pereira
terreiros as resistance organizations in the light of a decolonial perspective José Vitor Palhares dos Santos
Alice de Freitas Oleto
INTRODUCTION
The marginalization of Afro-Brazilian matrix religions is still quite evident in Brazil, where a high degree of violence persists
against their followers, symbols, and institutions through acts perpetrated by the general population and the State. Aggressions,
attacks, and vandalization of places of worship associated with these religions and symbols occur on a daily basis. Although
religious intolerance has been outlawed in Brazil since the second half of the 20th century (Lei nº 9.459, de 13 de maio de 1997),
the number of reports and notifications at police stations has increased exponentially in recent years, even if considering the
underreporting and the challenges of recording such claims, which are often typified as “vandalism” (Fonseca & Adad, 2016).
For example, in the state of São Paulo, reports of religious intolerance have tripled in the last five years. Among the victims,
62% claim to profess Afro-Brazilian matrix religions, such as Umbanda or Candomblé (Preite, 2022).
The Afro-Brazilian religions terreiros (places of worship) are perceived as marginal spaces integrating marginalized
bodies. Therefore, they are typically built and managed far from urban centers since they are still regarded as a threat or
nuisance to Brazilian society. Indeed, the historical processes of arrival, existence, and permanence of certain religions in
Brazilian territory still influence the spaces belonging to different religious groups in society to this very day, in a scenario where
Christian religions enjoy great visibility in urban areas, materialized by the monumentality of their temples and buildings.
In contrast, Afro-Brazilian matrix religions remain hidden or discretely characterized in Brazilian cities (T. F. Nascimento &
Costa, 2019). That is, unlike Christian churches, for example, which occupy prominent spots in urban geography, the
Candomblé terreiros are marginalized, which is compatible with the social place occupied by these faiths in this society.
Furthermore, established in the scope of a certain matrix of knowledge and a civilizing paradigm, the Afro-Brazilian religions
are part of a tradition of local and subaltern knowledge, which have coexisted and resisted the imposition of a Christian
Eurocentric culture. As the decolonial perspective points out, these religions deeply question the white Western epistemological
framework in which the theories and concepts of gender, race, sexuality, economy, and humanity have been grounded (Torres,
2021), as will be explained later. Indeed, this is the same understanding of Quijano (2005, p. 118) since, according to the
author, “in America, the idea of race was a way of granting legitimacy to the relations of domination imposed by the conquest.”
The fact is that the pattern of Eurocentric capitalist modernity, founded on the imposition of a racial/ethnic/gender/economic/
political/cultural hierarchization of the population on a global level, has continued to deem those who are allegedly outside
this center as inferior (Grosfoguel, 2008). For example, Candomblé, due to its African roots, constitutes itself as alternative
knowledge to the colonial matrix. The transmission of knowledge within its terreiros produces yet another form of sociability,
and this religion constitutes an alternative to the colonial matrix of power (Nunes, 2018).
Furthermore, Candomblé goes against the long-standing patriarchal, class, and racial structures that constitute capitalist
modernity and resists and confronts privileged agents by revealing an increasingly stratified reality. That is, it tries to create
counterrevolutionary dynamics contrary to a field engaged by the majority (Faria, Abdalla, & Guedes, 2021).
Thus, the history of the terreiro peoples in Brazil shows that they need to permanently preserve certain conditions of resistance
and survival, whether in the face of State attacks or those resulting from conservatism, prejudice, and religious racism cultivated
by part of Brazilian society. Indeed, to be a follower of an Afro-Brazilian religion in Brazil is an act of resistance. The terreiros
are where the predominantly Black communities organize themselves, propose local actions and improvements, and build a
solid cooperation network. The possibility of continuation of these spaces is housed in the resistance of their groups so that
one can seek alternatives that contribute to tackling the racism and conventionalisms that revolve around these religions,
especially in the space of the terreiros (T. F. Nascimento & Costa, 2019).
These processes and the increasingly prominent need to problematize the organizational context of religions in management
and organizational studies are considered here since this theme has still been sparsely discussed in the area (Enoque, A. F.
Borges, & J. F. Borges, 2016; Flausino, Medeiros, & Valadão, 2018; Tracey, Phillips, & Lounsbury, 2014). Therefore, this study
aims to understand how Candomblé terreiros are organized as centers of resistance against religious racism. To this end, we
developed ethnographic research in a Candomblé center of the Ketu Axé Oxumaré nation, located in Belo Horizonte, Minas
Gerais, Brazil, based on different field research techniques, such as participant observation, photos, videos, participation in
WhatsApp groups, interviews, and embodied practices. Additionally, an ethnographic diary and a logbook of impressions were
prepared, with entries written after each day spent by one of the authors on-site. Additionally, meetings and events held by
the Candomblé center were recorded and logged, along with 30 in-person interviews conducted with other members of the
terreiro. Interview data were subsequently subjected to narrative analysis (Bastos & Biar, 2015).
In recent years, despite the growing academic interest in decolonial theories, their concrete relationship to religious
organizations and their formative role in constituting the modernity/coloniality system have yet to be systematically theorized
(Yountae, 2020). Initially, it is worth noting the differences in meaning between the terms “colonization,” “colonialism,” and
“coloniality.” Despite the intrinsic relationship between such processes, colonization and colonialism are dated historical
phenomena manifested in various territories during imperial expansions. Coloniality, on the other hand, can be understood,
in the scope of this article, as the underlying logic of the foundation and unfolding of Western civilization that goes beyond the
particularities of historical colonialism while seeking to explain the continuity of colonial forms of domination and exploitation
since they do not disappear following independence movements or the end of colonialism (Mignolo, 2017; Quijano, 2005).
Instead, it has to do with what was established by colonial violence, which continues until today, as religious racism will be
characterized throughout this section.
The concept of coloniality refers to the ideas of Peruvian sociologist Anibal Quijano (2005), who developed it to understand the
historical context of inequality in Latin America based on three axes: power, knowledge, and being. Coloniality of power
can be understood as a process that has structured the modern/colonial world system that translates the power dynamics
employed in the organization, division, and hierarchization of societies, aiding the interpretation of different colonial forms
of domination and exploitation beyond colonization (Quijano, 2005, 2013). In this context, crucial in Quijano’s (2005, 2013)
analysis is the colonial use or invention of race as a category of social classification and racial hierarchization of peoples into
inferior/superior to maintain domination through the control of the labor of subaltern peoples. Race, therefore, operates as
the primary tool for demarcating colonial differences.
In the context of the coloniality of power, the dominated and subaltern populations have their identity submitted to the
Eurocentric hegemony, which ultimately defines what knowledge is. Thus, the coloniality of knowledge (Lander, 2005) is
articulated in the axis of the coloniality of power and refers to the hegemonic domination of Eurocentric thinking, which
implies epistemological mutilation by denying and invalidating non-Eurocentric knowledge.
In turn, the coloniality of being can be understood as “the lived experience of colonization and its impact on language”
(Maldonado-Torres, 2007, p. 130). That is, it denotes the internalization of the subalternity and inferiority of the non-European
subject. Accordingly, with the colonization of America and the Caribbean, social classifications were imposed whose racial
identity was associated with hierarchies, places, and social roles that responded to a pattern of domination of the colonized
ones on behalf of the Western man, in which the European identity – specifically the heterosexual/white/patriarchal/ Christian/
military/capitalist/European man – is regarded as superior to that of non-European peoples and cultures (perceived as the
“others”), hence consolidating the hegemonic European culture (Grosfoguel, 2008). Moreover, the construction of a view of
hierarchization and superiority of Europe and Europeans guarantees and legitimates several types of violence, such as racism,
imperialism, and dogmatic views of the other (Said, 2007), especially those situated at the opposite end of this representation
of being, in the colonial exteriority, who have been rendered silenced and subaltern.
For Dussel (2000), Mignolo (2000), and Maldonado-Torres (2014a, 2014b), in addition to race as a fundamental constitutive
element of coloniality that shapes social relations, the emergence of the modern/colonial imaginary of Europe must be
articulated to the notion of religion, especially since both were formative elements in the invention of the Americas as Europe’s
“other.” In this sense, the impact of religion in colonial Americas stretches far beyond the well-known history of Christianity’s
missionary activities. As pointed out by Yountae (2020, p. 3), “since the first colonial encounter, religion has served as the
metaphysical backbone of colonial governance, which was not a mere imposition of political structures and cultural norms,
but a cosmological one.”
Therefore, coloniality implies not only sacrificing and denying others based on categories such as race, gender, and sex, for
example, but also for being non-Christian. According to Lundell (2020), to understand religious racism in contemporary Brazil
and the notion of the country as a Catholic nation, it is vital to address the colonial heritage and long-standing historical
prejudices in the country, legitimized by eugenics, which adopted Catholic Christianity as the crown of religious evolution.
The author also highlights that intolerance and violence against Afro-Brazilian religions have occurred in Brazil since colonial
times when enslaved Africans did not enjoy the right to worship their deities and traditions while being forced to learn the
Portuguese language, European customs, and adhere to Catholicism, which was the only officially accepted religion at
the time. In that period, all religious expressions of various African origins were repressed and forbidden, although they were
cultivated and hidden under the umbrella of Catholicism. Even after the abolition of slavery and the declaration of Brazil as
a secular state by the new constitution in the 1890s, Afro-Brazilian religious remained criminalized and persecuted by the
police until the mid-1960s (Lundell, 2020; Silva, 2014).
Thus, coloniality, in its various axes, materializes in the social imaginary, establishing a hierarchization also of religious
expressions, in which Christian ones – such as Catholicism, which is officially recognized and legitimated in Brazil – are regarded
as superior, while it demeans and subordinates other religions, especially those of the Afro-Brazilian matrix (Lundell, 2020;
W. F. Nascimento, 2017), as is the case of Candomblé. In this sense, Franco and Dias (2021) state that we can consider religion
as an intersectional marker that, while legitimizing and reproducing forms of oppression, establishes itself, in the context of
intersectionalities, as a locus in which subalternity markers are manifested, interrelated to elements such as race, gender,
class, nationality, among others, and is a fertile ground for the proliferation of counter-hegemonic insurgencies.
For W. F. Nascimento (2017), the subalternization and demeaning of Afro-Brazilian matrix religions occur because these
fail to correspond to the Euro-ethnocentric status of Christianity through the violent attempt to extirpate what is different
(the “others”) from social coexistence and even as a punishment to submit the other to the values and beliefs imposed
by the hegemonic social contexts. In other words, besides being regarded as inferior, Afro-Brazilian religions have also been
exoticized and demonized for holding non-Christian beliefs or dissociating from European culture, which somewhat served
and still serves as a “divine” justification to persecute, violate, and annihilate such religious expressions in Brazil.
The author also adds that the demeaning and violence against certain expressions and people linked to Afro-Brazilian religions
also stem from racism since these cults are predominantly attended by Black people and incorporate African and indigenous
elements and symbols. According to W. F. Nascimento (2017) and Nogueira (2020), much of the physical and symbolic violence
against people of Afro-Brazilian religions should not be typified as religious intolerance but as manifestations of religious
racism since it is grounded in coloniality, which has racialized and hierarchized people, knowledge, beliefs, regions, and ways
of life. Indeed, the very exoticization and demonization of Afro-Brazilian religions often derive from racism under coloniality.
That is, religious racism is grounded in the colonial creation of the race category on the American continent as a strategy
for the domination of enslaved peoples, as seen much in Brazilian slaveholding. Moreover, by creating a world duality consisting
of two distinct poles, namely civilization (the Europeans) versus barbarism (the colonized peoples), Eurocentrism imprinted
several characteristics in the Brazilian social imaginary, which until today labels beliefs of people of African origin as inferior
and barbaric (N. V. E. Fernandes, 2017).
Thus, religious racism characterizes the actions of discrimination/intolerance against Afro-Brazilian religions since the
Africanness of the practices associated with the racist colonial historical context is one of the primary motivations of
the perpetrated actions (Sanz, 2012).
Grosfoguel (2016) points out that religious racism was the first racist component of the patriarchal, Eurocentric, Christian,
modern, and colonialist world system, constituted during the 16th century and even before “color racism” emerged. According
to the author, upon the conquest of the Americas, the colonized peoples were already classified and hierarchized by the
European colonizers as “people with or without religion” or “people with or without a soul.” Indeed, those who did not adhere
to any religion were considered soulless and inhuman, that is, animals. As a result, the Church and the Spanish imperialist
State enslaved various Indigenous peoples since they assumed they were soulless and, therefore, should be Christianized
by the Church. Later, starting with the enslavement of African peoples, color racism complemented – or slowly replaced –
religious racism (Grosfoguel, 2016).
Religious racism is understood in this paper as the projection of the “color racism” dynamics to African and indigenous
expressions present in Afro-Brazilian matrix religions. Indeed, through this process, certain religions are discriminated against
(W. F. Nascimento, 2017). According to Nogueira (2020, p. 123), “religious racism wants to kill existences, eliminate beliefs,
erase memories, and render origins silent.”
Several studies have denounced religious racism and different forms of violence against Afro-Brazilian religions in
contemporary Brazil (see Cerqueira & Boaz, 2021; F. B. M. Fernandes, 2013; W. F. Nascimento, 2017; Lui, 2008; Lundell, 2020;
Miranda, 2020; Santos, 2009; Sousa, 2021). F. B. M. Fernandes (2013) points to lethal violence perpetrated against transvestites
and homosexual men associated with Afro-Brazilian religions in Brazil. Lui (2008), Lundell (2020), and Miranda (2020) describe
the sharp increase in discrimination against followers of Afro-Brazilian religions promoted by Neo-Pentecostal churches,
such as the Universal Church of the Kingdom of God. Sousa (2021) points out how a Candomblé terreiro in Salvador (BA) was
harassed by a neighboring resident, who filed fictitious or exaggerated complaints to the authorities, using the State’s power
to support his religious racism. W. F. Nascimento (2017) also revealed prejudiced attitudes, murders, invasion, depredation,
and arson of terreiros, physical and psychological harassment, and the destruction of divinized symbols. Indeed, the author
states that religious racism is the primary cause of the increase in violence against Afro-Brazilian religions in Brazil.
This is why Afro-Brazilian religions, such as Candomblé and Umbanda, can be considered a form of anticolonial resistance of
religious communities in Latin America (Nunes, 2018; Sansi & Parés, 2012; Santos, 2009; Yountae, 2020). After all, they resist
coloniality culturally and politically, as the latter continues to silence, stigmatize, and render them subaltern. W. F. Nascimento
(2017) states that not only the problem of racism but also the character of resistance – to racism, coloniality, and chauvinism –
are vital to understanding the violence against territories and people associated with Afro-Brazilian matrix religions.
In another study, W. F. Nascimento (2016) points out how traditions and way of life in terreiros linked to Afro-Brazilian religions
have resisted by maintaining and rebuilding a corpus of spiritualities inherited from African peoples allied to indigenous
elements. The author also points out how the “market” understanding in Candomblé terreiros – constituted by experiences
of caring and solidary community relations, not as a place of accumulation that often involves expropriation and exploitation –
is distinguished while resisting the competitive ideas of capitalist markets. Along these lines, Nunes (2018) describes Candomblé
as anticolonial resistance:
In a Candomblé terreiro, we can find, besides religion, a worldview, values, practices, and ways of
relating to what is sacred and to nature. These are different from Christianity and the Western matrix
because Candomblé perceives other human beings as part of a great living organism, a network of
correspondence between the orixás, nature, and humans, building itself out of the binarism involving
mind/body, reason/emotion, individual/nature, and sacred/everyday. Thus, it presents possibilities to
think about the construction and transmission of knowledge as another epistemology, which resists
the Western way of thinking, a stance towards life, an immanent mode that does not situate the being
outside nature and considers a network of relationships between beings and nature (Nunes, 2018, p. 217).
In this study, resistance is closely related to the notion of “decolonial turn,” which refers to the theoretical, practical, political,
and epistemological resistance movement against the logic of modernity/coloniality (Ballestrin, 2013). Therefore, to resist
neocolonial forms of domination and violence is to create or enable something improper to the modern/colonial world system
to be created or r-exist. Thus, “more than resistance, what we have is r-existence, since one does not simply react to another’s
action, but rather, something pre-exists, and it is from this existence that one r-exists. I exist; therefore, I resist. I r-exist”
(Porto-Gonçalves, 2010, p. 51). Mignolo (2007) and Grosfoguel and Mignolo (2008) corroborate the idea of a decolonial
resistance that goes beyond mere resistance as r-existence; that is, critical and creative action taken together with the ongoing
global processes of decoloniality.
To achieve the primary objective of this study, we conducted qualitative empirical research since this design allows us to
understand the subjectivities in the researched space, which encompasses beliefs, symbols, values, and meanings behind
the subjects’ actions. Ethnography (Burawoy, 1979) was chosen to support the qualitative research. Indeed, the emphasis
here is on understanding the behaviors, beliefs, customs, and other characteristics of specific social groups since it is a way
of seeing (Wolcott, 1999) that requires sustained immersion in a given community. This implies conducting in-depth research
very closely to the reality of those being addressed.
The ethnographic work was conducted in a Candomblé center of the Ketu Axé Oxumaré nation, in the city of Belo Horizonte,
Minas Gerais, Brazil, where one of the authors of this article took the role of observer/participant since he is a member and
novice practitioner of this religion himself. It is worth pointing out that the name of the terreiro and its specific location in
the city have been omitted in this paper, not only to preserve the confidentiality of the data and the research subjects but
also because we understand that disclosing its name and more precise location may give room for new acts of violence to be
perpetrated against the center and its members.
The choice for conducting this research in this terreiro was supported by the accessibility to the place and the fact that the
researcher would have the freedom to move around and make the necessary observations in this environment. When
the ethnographic process began, all the members of the casa de santo (“the house of the saint”) were aware of the research,
a fact that was well accepted and praised by them, given the need to expose the reality inside a Candomblé terreiro to shed
light to practices that remain marginalized and subordinated both in academia and in society itself, as emphasized by some
respondents. The field research involved multiple and varied materials, such as photos, videos, participation in a WhatsApp
group, interviews with members of the terreiro, participant observation, and embodied practices.
Thus, in early January 2020, one of the authors went to the field and began participant observation, which lasted until
mid-January 2022. This data collection method was selected because it is a field strategy that simultaneously combines
document analysis, informant interviews, participation, direct observation, and introspection (Denzin, 1989).
Clifford and Gonçalves (2011) state that the ethnographer’s participation in the researched community’s activities allows
the researcher to achieve a better understanding and be accepted into the group. Furthermore, such participation offers the
researcher the opportunity to understand the language of the researched community, assimilate to it, and then translate
it into scientific terms. During data collection, interaction with the members of the terreiro was gradual, according to the
participation and follow-up by those responsible for the group’s main activities. The researcher was also added to the Candomblé
center’s WhatsApp group, slept on-site, and participated in all processes conducted during the terreiro’s meetings and rites,
also known as funções (“functions”). In addition to understanding the ways of organizing the terreiro and its socio-affective
and spiritual dynamics, the researcher was able to get to know better all the members who were actively involved in them.
During fieldwork, the researcher kept an ethnographic diary and a logbook of impressions with entries written after each
day spent at the research site. Based on Van Maanen’s (1988) recommendations, these notes reflected an attempt to record
immediate observations and insights on noteworthy events and everyday conversations, issues, experiences, emotions, or
passing exchanges, both regarding the center’s everyday activities, ways of organizing, and forms of resistance.
In addition, meetings and events held at the Candomblé center were recorded, and 30 in-person interviews were conducted
with 20 yaôs (people who had gone through the initiation ceremonies, referred to as feitura (“deed”) in Candomblé) and
10 abiãs (people who had not been initiated until the time of the research). Of the 20 initiates, 13 were babalorixás (pais de
santo, “fathers of the saint,” or the male priests) and ialorixás (mães de santo, “mothers of the saint,” or the female priests).
The interviews were conducted gradually, five months after the beginning of the observation, without a predefined script,
so that the conversations with the respondents were based on data emerging during the ethnography. Furthermore, it is
important to highlight that during the ethnographic process, the interviews were conducted at different times, considering the
observations made, as well as the ceremonies, events, and festivities held throughout the observation period. The respondents
were identified according to the orixás to which they were initiated to preserve the research subjects’ identity and the data’s
confidentiality. All participants verbally authorized the recording of the interviews by signing an Informed Consent Form (ICF).
The data obtained from the interviews were transcribed verbatim and analyzed through Narrative Analysis (Bastos &
Biar, 2015) so that the researched subjects could transmit life experiences based on constructed meanings about themselves,
their religion, and their forms of resistance. Furthermore, the stories narrated by the subjects allow us to understand events
in their social and personal lives. Accordingly, both ethnography and interviews were employed to contextualize the ways of
organizing Candomblé as an organization of resistance, and the narratives represent the way to access the stories of those
who attend the terreiro.
All the data were read separately, and another reading was integrated after the first to identify significant aspects and events
that meet the objective proposed in this article. Finally, these aspects and events were signaled and named, respecting the
words and expressions used by the respondents themselves.
Also, during the data analysis process, we selected some photographs taken during the field research that we identified as
alluding to the objective proposed in this article, and that came to compose and enrich the presentation and discussion section
of the results. Thus, these photos were interpreted considering the context or narrative excerpts linked to them.
The data collected from the observation, the field diaries, the logbook of impressions, the photos, the videos, and the
interviews were analyzed, first and foremost, by the researcher conducting the ethnography, who is the lead author of
this article. Afterward, the other authors interacted with the field data, read the analyses prepared by this researcher, and
offered secondary analyses based on the theoretical framework. We opted for this form of data analysis because we understand
that, although ethnographic work is the result of an individual effort, the production of theoretical reflections on field data
can be enriched by collective work. Therefore, in the next section, the account of the field experience follows the logic of
shared authorship assumed in this article, complemented by the adoption of the first-person plural as the pronoun of choice
in the presentation and discussion of the data.
In January 2020, when we entered a Candomblé terreiro to start this study, we sought to understand the reality lived there
based on a decolonial perspective. To do so, as emphasized by Yountae (2020), we consider that religion and religiosity
have been used for years as part of a colonial structure of being, thinking, knowing, and acting. Thus, as complex as it may
be, we seek to strip ourselves of preconceptions formed about “reality” since this would possibly reflect a colonial heritage.
Accordingly, we chose to begin the construction of this study after 24 months of ethnographic insertion in the field because,
according to ethnographers, the long and continuous involvement with the organization object of analysis allows the separation
between fiction and fact, the specific and the general, and the common and the extraordinary (Van Maanen, 1979).
For the organization of this study, we separated the presentation and discussion of the data into two parts: the first one
presents the impressions of those who were entering the field, as well as their philosophy of life, valuation, and reproduction
of values; the second reports the discrimination and religious racism that Candomblé suffers in the Brazilian context.
I spent three months sleeping on a mat, in the shack, during my initiation, and at home, during my
precept. As I say this, you may think, [...] “Wow, how uncomfortable is that? That mat is so hard and
uncomfortable. But for me, that was such a beautiful thing, [...] it was like I was lying down in a sacred
place; you know, it was like... No, it was a sacred place. When I slept, I felt like I was waking up in mom’s
arms [referring to her orixá, Oxum].
As one looks at the walls surrounding the Candomblé grounds, one can identify a series of rites and symbols typically associated
with prosperity and protection for those there.
Figure 1
Mariuô and the offerings to Oxaguian and Yemanjá
The mariuô (highlighted in Figure 1 with a red circle), also called igi opê by the povo do santo1, is made by shredding a palm
leaf and consecrated to Ogum and commonly placed on the windows and doors of the Candomblé centers to bring protection
and scare away negative energies and disturbing spirits. Above the mariuô are some offerings to the orixás Oxaguian and
Iemanjá to bring balance and harmony to the casa de santo. Besides these, several other symbols and offerings are arranged
throughout the Candomblé, demarcating that it is a sacred ground in which logic is thought based on a Black perspective,
which sometimes clashes with the neoliberal capitalist logic of Western societies.
Not only is Candomblé an African matrix religion, but it’s also imbued with the resistance of the Afro-
Brazilian culture. Besides this political sense of resistance, there is also, in my view, the importance of
reconnecting with nature and the orixás because the forces we worship are ancestral forces connected
to nature. And we are now witnessing human and economic values [gaining importance], [whereas] the
values related to nature are being lost, right? So, I think there are two important things in Candomblé:
the cult of ancestry and ancestry linked to nature as vital forces, and another related to political belonging
and affirmation of Blackness (Ogum).
Our experience in Candomblé allowed us to identify that, based on daily practices linked to a Black matrix, its followers, in
addition to being an act of political resistance, characterize this religion as a form of decolonial resistance directly related
to the r-existence in the face of neoliberal power matrices (Grosfoguel & Mignolo, 2008; Mignolo, 2007). Thus, in a context
in which the matrix of power is coloniality (Quijano, 2005), to r-exist is to decolonize, based on the perspective of others,
the subaltern, such as the Afro-Brazilian religions. This points to the construction of alternative and decolonial horizons of
meaning (Quijano, 2013); it is to reveal past and present thoughts, practices, and experiences that challenge the colonial matrix
of power and domination, existing despite it, inside and outside its borders (Walsh, 2010). This study contributes to the
critical-theoretical debate about resistance and subalternity according to the decolonial option by questioning coloniality and
1
A term commonly used to refer to Candomblé practitioners.
its forms of violence that still prevail in large centers. Meanwhile, it tries to reposition the voices and places of those silenced
and demeaned by hegemonic power, having Candomblé and its policy of affirmation of Blackness as a backdrop.
The reflections in this preamble led us to the fact that to enter the world of Candomblé, one must strip oneself of neoliberal
values and be re-socialized into a community whose values are crystallized under a view that sometimes antagonizes a society
structured beyond the walls of this religion. It is a community with specific norms and rules.
[When you are] outside, you can be a doctor, judge, politician, or whatever you want. But when you
cross that gate, you’re either an abiã or a yaô, and, just like everyone else, you must bow your head,
wear your attire, ask for the blessing, bless your brothers, and walk barefoot. If you don’t want to follow
these rules, you’ve come to the wrong place. [When you are] outside, you can be whatever you want,
but when you’re in here, you must follow the rules (Oxóssi).
Interestingly, the values of Candomblé have their specific power matrix that, on certain levels, rescues values from
African culture, especially those related to senses of community and belonging. Indeed, we can identify in Candomblé the
materialization of the “decolonial turn” as a practical, political resistance movement against the logic of modern coloniality
(Ballestrin, 2013).
Reflecting on the field research in the Candomblé terreiro in question, we can observe the valorization and reproduction of
principles that we often heard our parents and grandparents pass on to us but that, little by little, were lost under the aegis
of a capitalist society. Thus, Candomblé seeks to deconstruct Western colonial values linked to capital; it resists and r-exists
in a logic based on family, community, cooperation, and simplicity, as observed in the excerpt below.
Simplicity is worth much more than any temple luxury or the ideas one holds about Candomblé or
religion. I learned this from my father, who is already a pai de santo, the greatest authority here. He
never lost the humility and simplicity of having his feet on the ground and not worrying too much
about what he is wearing because he knows what is inside him. Not that clothes are unimportant;
they are very important, but what matters the most is the light of the orixá, which can only shine
from the inside out. You can be wearing your worst clothes, barefoot, but look beautiful anyway
because there is something that transcends all this and charms the eyes of those who see it. I learned
this from my father, and I try to pass it on every day to my filhos de santo (“children of the saint”),
simplicity, and truth (Oyá).
The notion of simplicity and equality is one of the key values disseminated during the months we have been attending and
participating in the daily life of the casa de santo. Interestingly, we have found that these values are practiced every day by
the members of the center, as depicted in Figure 2 below:
Figure 2
Walking barefoot in the ceremonial dress (ração).
The photo in Figure 2 was taken during a yaô departure ceremony and three-year feitura obligation (a ceremony celebrating
initiation into the life dedicated to the orixá, as those who have gone through the recolhimento (“retreat”) and feitura
are referred to). This pompous celebration symbolizes the introduction of a new initiate to society. In this ceremony, the
so-called yaôs and abiãs wear the so-called roupas de ração (“ration clothes”), consisting of white fabric clothing stripped
of adornments, and remain bare feet, to try to portray values associated with humility and equality among all the members of
the house. Such practices refer to Nunes (2018), according to which Candomblé presents knowledge possibilities with a
different epistemology from the Western way of thinking and is, due to its very nature, a way of decolonizing (as a verb).
That is, it is a way of confronting a colonial logic with discourse structured based on the competitiveness of differentiation
between subjects (W. F. Nascimento, 2016).
Candomblé changed me dramatically. Before Candomblé, I had been corrupted by neoliberal values,
you know? That is [...] [this idea of] detachment, the loss of any sense of collectivity, this worldview
marked by a will to succeed, the overvaluation of oneself, these values that are too contemporary.
And in the casa de santo, we see ourselves as part of a bigger nucleus, you know? [We are] part of
a community, a house where you always breathe collectivity. Of course, there is uniqueness in each
one, but the uniqueness crosses what is common, which is the dynamics of the casa de santo and
the family (Xangô).
As can be observed in the excerpt above, this religion directly related to a philosophy of life in which values suppressed by the
colonial logic are rescued and put into practice. Indeed, throughout the field research experience, we witnessed an attempt
to bring these values back to life, and the words and the notion of what a family is are perhaps the cornerstones of this type
of organization. In all the interviews, the centrality of the idea of family in the narratives was confirmed.
However, a point worth mentioning is that this is a “big family,” which sometimes is not composed of members of the respondents’
biological family nucleus but of another group of people, many of whom have already been victims of discrimination and
marginalization in society, primarily because of their sexuality, as we can see in the narratives below:
They say Candomblé is the religion of whores, transvestites, and faggots. To be honest, maybe it is indeed,
do you know why? Because here, the whores, the transvestites, and the faggots can be whatever they
want because nobody has anything to do with it. Nobody will discriminate against them for this reason.
They will not suffer any violence for what they do in their private life. Outside here, that’s nobody’s
business. Look: the pai de santo here is a gay man. In many houses, the pai de santo is a transvestite
or the mãe de santo is a lesbian, and this interferes with absolutely nothing in the everyday of the
Candomblé worship place. Out there, people and society kind of force people to [adhere to] a model,
to what they determine as good, right, or divine. Here you can be whatever you want, and you will be
respected and even loved the same way (Logun Edé).
Transvestites don’t have much choice, do they? When I started my transition process, I was kicked out
of my house, and fell into prostitution. In a certain way, the casa de santo and the Candomblé were
the only places that opened doors for me and helped me to see that it wasn’t my fault, I wasn’t doing
anything wrong. So, here I found a new family. I have various fathers, mothers, and brothers [...] And
for those who never had anyone, who had always been alone, this is such a beautiful thing (Airá).
Still, others found in Candomblé a refuge from family tragedies and the loss of loved ones.
My parents died when I was still very young. So, I came to this place to try and make up for how much
I missed them, and, in a way, I was able to have a family again (Obaluaê).
I’ve been a member of Candomblé for more than 30 years and came here for the lack of other
people I could call “family.” Here I am a mother, and I can help my children and my brothers. You know,
I look around, and I can say that I have a family and someone to fight for. And everything I have of most
dear, everything I know, I learned here, in this simple house (Oxum Opará).
Such narratives are in line with the etymology of the word “Candomblé,” which means dança de roda (“a dance in honor of
the gods”). That is, it is a religion that seeks to connect people. It is permeated with spiritual and affective traits that aggregate
and welcome everyone regardless of their behavior outside the walls of the casa de santo. However, it is important to point
out that, as one moves forward as a follower of this religion, the need to correct certain mistakes and attitudes in personal life
comes naturally. In short, during these two years in the casa de santo, we realized that Candomblé is metaphorically related
to an extended family, mostly composed of marginalized and socially demeaned people, regarded as subalterns. This is why
Afro-Brazilian matrix religions can be considered communities of anticolonial resistance (Sansi & Parés, 2012; Santos, 2009;
Yountae, 2020), given that the daily life of these houses reflects structures of political and cultural r-existence of a colonial
hegemonic matrix that insists on stigmatizing and silencing them.
We are talking about the organization of resistance/r-existence of a world in which leaves have blood, animals are sacred, and
using a razor blade, one can create life, be reborn, and raise a family; bowing down is a great honor and demonstration of
humility; and the link between the subject and nature is remade through deities, the orixás (ori – head, mind; xá – expansion;
that is, “the expansion of the mind”).
Here in the Candomblé center, I manage to make up a little bit for the lack of a family. I feel somewhat
inserted again in [...] a group of people I can count on, just like a family (Oxalufã).
While in colonial Brazil, the Candomblé dance was perceived by white Europeans as a harmful process to the senzala, since
it reconnected the Black individuals to their dreams and homeland, what is clear now is that present day’s Candomblé can
still be seen as a threat to the historically inherited colonial structure. Thus, it suffers from marginalization and violence on
a daily basis.
I respect your amen, and you respect my axé. But you know what happens? The macumba drums
bother people [because] it’s a way of resisting, and it creates meaning for us. The atabaque echoes. For
us, it is sacred and alive. Its sound means so much to me. It puts me in a trance and moves me (Oyá).
It is funny, isn’t it? Everyone speaks ill of Candomblé. They demonize us. In evangelical churches, we
are the very incarnation of evil. But none of this bothers me too much. Society still has its eyes closed.
They still haven’t realized that this is not connected to spirituality but to the Black people, enslaved
people, the senzalas, and all the blood white people have shed on this Earth (Nanã).
For me, this is a State agenda, a silent holocaust, out of the mainstream media’s focus. The idea is to
remove Black people, and everything related to them. Perhaps this is why the atabaque bothers so
many people. It is a way of saying, “We are here, and we shall remain” (Xangô).
Notably, such narratives corroborate that religious racism is no more than a projection of the “color racism” dynamic,”
which dates back to the marginalization of Indigenous and Black people or the so-called subaltern peoples in colonial Brazil
(W. F. Nascimento, 2017). Along these lines, the concept of religious racism opens important paths for the antiracist struggle
in the country. Therefore, it becomes evident that coloniality not only operates by limiting the egalitarian positioning of
religious identities and institutions in Brazil while reproducing and legitimizing the inferiority of Afro-Brazilian religions; it also
reproduces physical and symbolic violence against others by dehumanizing, subjugating, and even annihilating the followers
of Afro-Brazilian religions (Lundell, 2020).
As pointed out by Franco and Dias (2021), these narratives show how religion can be understood as an intersectional marker
that legitimizes and reproduces forms of exclusion and violence against subjects of other religions, especially those of
Afro-Brazilian origin, while also establishing itself, in the case of Candomblé, in the context of intersectionalities, a locus in
which subalternity markers are manifested with interrelated elements such as race, class, gender, and sexuality. By “subaltern”
or “subalternized,” we mean marginalized groups that are neither heard nor legally and politically represented precisely
because of attributes in terms of race, class, gender, and sexuality, among others (Spivak, 2010).
According to the previous narratives, it is notable how the violence imposed on Candomblé practitioners is associated with
oppressive historical issues of race and geography. This happens because the Candomblé terreiros consist not only of a policy
of affirmation of Blackness but also other marginalized social groups, such as “whores, transvestites, and faggots,” who are
welcomed into these places of worship without discrimination, so that they can behave the way they really are, according
to the account of Logun Edé. In other words, the sacred place in society reserved for these subaltern and marginalized
groups are the Candomblé terreiros, which are not central places either but peripheral and marginalized loci in the context
of colonial production dominated by Christian religions. In short, they are subject to suffering several types of violence
perpetrated by society.
We must emphasize that the terreiro where this study was conducted has not suffered any depredation or explicit violence.
However, religious racism is present in everyday life of Candomblé practitioners and was highlighted by all respondents as
an almost naturalized violence.
Sometimes, when we are doing some ritual here, someone stops the car on the corner and preaches
evangelical sermons. [Eventually] I got used to this and don’t even care anymore (Oxóssi).
Every time we go out on the street wearing African or white clothing, we hear comments such as
“Check out the macumbeira, Jesus’ blood is powerful, go on and kick that macumba gift, God forbid!.”
I used to react, but not anymore. This never changes. We shouldn’t waste a minute with people like
that (Iansã Topé).
The naturalization of religious racism against Candomblé practitioners can be perceived as a result of the moment when
racism in Brazilian society was legitimized and became a liturgy in Christian matrix religions, especially Neo-Pentecostal ones.
In this field, hate speech and the demonization of deities and Black roots have taken over the scene as a result of a colonial
matrix. The stigmas attached with Candomblé in Brazil result from the historical persecution by a Christian-European
colonial system that has marginalized and silenced African matrix religions (Santos, 2013), and even led several members to
hide their religiosity from society to avoid demeaning. This is why religions such as Candomblé sometimes seek invisibility
before lay eyes, as Birman (1983) points out.
Finally, after two years of ethnographic insertion, the logic of work and the dynamics of Candomblé made us realize that the
decolonial r-existence that we have mentioned repeatedly in this article is intimately related to the meaning things take on
in this universe through the connection with the sacred and simple gestures such as sweeping a terreiro, picking up some
leaves, or taking a cold bath can incorporate.
The world has lost its connection to the sacred. This is exactly what we do in Candomblé. We reconnect
people to their essence, to the sacred (Oxumaré).
I don’t see any other meaning in Candomblé than to [acquire] an ethical consciousness of work, which
we have lost throughout this century. Work is no longer a force that gives us a parameter of identity
or a parameter of existence. It has become a process that makes us lose ourselves. We lose the sense of
who we are, we lose the sense of what we produce, and we find no meaning in what we produce.
Therefore, the expansion of consciousness (“ori-xá”), the trance, the feasts and ceremonies held at the terreiro, the drumming
of the atabaques, the white attires, and the ornate clothes of the orixás would be the materialization of a decolonial r-existence,
an act of decolonizing, of being present even when the hegemonic matrix tries to suppress the existence of this way of
organizing and its relationship with the world and nature, as represented in Figures 3 and 4 below.
Figure 3 Figure 4
Ogunhê Eparrey Iansã
As we return to the senzalas, this study revealed something related to the idea of liberation that Candomblé brings to the
casa de santo participants. For most respondents, the greatest expression of this liberation comes with the trance process
achieved during some rituals, as expressed in Figures 3 and 4 above. Accordingly, we found that Candomblé, in the view of
several members of the casa de santo, emerged, as it did in the past, from the enslaved people’s conditions, as an urge to
engage not only in physical survival strategies but those relating to subaltern lifestyles as well. Therefore, neglecting the
knowledge and ways of organizing produced by Afro-Brazilian matrix religions would deny the “pluriversality” of knowledge
that can and does extend beyond colonial borders.
I can say that there is a lot in this logic, the Afrocentric logic. Generally and broadly, we suffer from a
loss of meaning and direction in Western culture. And all the systems, whether political, epistemic,
evaluative, or economic, even now, during the pandemic, we see the urgency to revisit our values, to
rethink our path of humanity, and there is a lot [going on] in the traditional terreiro communities. We
need many values to face the dehumanization we have been going through. We need to overcome,
first of all, religious racism and then understand that there is subjectivity, that there is production, that
there is importance inside this place that are the traditional terreiro communities and try to understand
beyond our specific beliefs because I can be a Christian and understand that certain values inside the
traditional terreiro communities can be brought to the political sphere. So, I think we have a lot to teach
to a society that has failed in its values until now, to show them that there is another way of doing
things, and it is also our job to resist and stay alive to teach what we know (Ogum).
In this scenario, we saw Candomblé as a strategy in itself, as a decolonial organization of survival, maintenance, and, above all,
the perpetuation of ways of life that have been neglected, demeaned, denied, and rendered subaltern by the colonial matrix.
FINAL REMARKS
This paper aimed to understand how Candomblé terreiros organize themselves as resistance against religious racism. To do so,
we developed an ethnographic work in a Candomblé center of the Nação Ketu Axé Oxumaré, located in Belo Horizonte, Minas
Gerais, Brazil, by employing different fieldwork techniques, such as participant observation, photos, videos, participation in
a WhatsApp group, interviews, and embodied practices. We prepared an ethnographic diary and a logbook of impressions,
with entries written after each day that one of the authors spent at the research site. Additionally, meetings and events at
the Candomblé center were recorded, along with 30 in-person interviews with other members of the terreiro. Interview data
were subsequently subjected to narrative analysis.
Thus, we can see that the organization of Candomblé is permeated by offerings, rituals, and particular symbols, in which magic
and sacredness are intertwined. Moreover, Candomblé is perceived by the members of the casa de santo as a strategy, an
organization of not only physical survival but subaltern lifestyles especially cultivated by intersectional subjects and crossed
by different social markers that operate in combination, such as race, class, gender, and sexuality. However, precisely because
they involve sacred rites regarded as “non-traditional,” not typically seen in the daily life of society, in the hegemonic media
and other spaces, and because of how terreiros are organized according to a Black perspective, these symbols, terreiros, and
their members regularly suffer from attacks perpetrated by the population in general and even by the State.
This violence results in religious racism, a historical process of persecution of a European Christian colonial system that has
hierarchized, marginalized, and silenced religions of Afro-Brazilian origin and is sanctioned by it. Therefore, Candomblé is
perceived by some as a threat to the historically inherited colonial structure and, therefore, it suffers daily with marginalization
and violence in an attempt to extirpate what is different from social coexistence and even as a form of punishment to try to
submit others to the values and beliefs imposed by the hegemonic social context. This causes the terreiros to be located far
away from urban centers, so as not to attract attention and even so that many Candomblé practitioners hide their religiosity
from society to avoid demeaning.
Therefore, the orixás, the feasts and ceremonies held in the terreiro, the beat of the atabaques, the white attire, the
ornate clothes of the orixás, the other rituals and symbols, and the Candomblé terreiros themselves can be considered
the materialization of a decolonial resistance/r-existence; that is, a way of being present even when the hegemonic
matrix of power tries to suppress the existence of this way of organizing. It is the resistance of the Afro-Brazilian culture,
a form of anticolonial resistance that promotes the political belonging of affirmation of Blackness through religion. It is a
decolonial organization of survival, maintenance, and, above all, the perpetuation of traditions and ways of life in the
terreiros that are neglected, demeaned, denied, and rendered subaltern by coloniality. Candomblé exists; therefore, it
resists. It r-exists.
Thus, what we seek with this study is to deepen the discussion in the field of management and organizational studies by
casting a decolonial look at Candomblé, on how Candomblé terreiros find several ways to r-exist neocolonial dynamics such
as the Western way of viewing the world and the violence arising from religious racism that crosses it. In this sense, the
decolonial critique and struggle in this work are not only meant to challenge the hegemonic conception of the normative
human but also the intensified systems of oppression, especially through the demonization and trivialization of Afro-Brazilian
knowledge and beliefs.
The implications and contributions of this research for management and organizational studies are many. First, we must
appreciate research addressing organizational forms other than those consolidated in the mainstream. In the case of this
paper, it is about the ways of organizing Candomblé and how it is constituted as an organization of resistance. In addition, we
were able to reflect on what voices, perspectives, and ways of organizing have been neglected and silenced in management
and organizational studies. From this point, we can also examine how researchers in the field can change these neocolonial
dynamics. Therefore, answers are many and we have no intention of exhausting them. However, one of the paths would be
to denaturalize these neocolonial dynamics and give more attention and visibility to the issues related to the Afro-Brazilian
matrix religions in the environments where we are inserted, especially in academia, by promoting debates, workshops, and
antiracist behaviors that may contribute to the recognition of the relevance of these cultural and religious manifestations in
this country.
For future research, we suggest that other researchers investigate the organizational context of Umbanda based on the
evidence and valorization of its rites, symbols, knowledge, and ways of organizing since this religion also struggles against
physical and symbolic violence in Brazil, arising from religious racism. In addition, we recommend conducting studies addressing
intersectionalities since the violence imposed on the practitioners of this religion relates to historical issues, ignorance, race,
and oppressed geographies.
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AUTHOR’S CONTRIBUTION
Jefferson Rodrigues Pereira: Conceptualization (Equal); Data curation (Lead); Formal Analysis (Lead); Investigation (Lead); Methodology (Supporting); Project
administration (Equal); Resources (Equal); Software (Lead); Supervision (Equal); Validation (Equal); Visualization (Equal); Writing- original draft (Equal); Writing
- review & editing (Supporting).
José Vitor Palhares dos Santos: Conceptualization (Equal); Formal Analysis (Equal); Investigation (Supporting); Methodology (Supporting); Project
administration (Equal); Supervision (Equal); Validation (Equal); Visualization (Equal); Writing - original draft (Equal); Writing - review & editing (Equal).
Alice de Freitas Oleto: Conceptualization (Equal); Formal Analysis (Equal); Investigation (Supporting); Methodology (Lead); Project administration (Equal);
Supervision (Equal); Validation (Equal); Visualization (Supporting); Writing - original draft (Equal); Writing - review & editing (Lead).