I.2.5 DIGITAL ARCHIVE 807815
Brazilian poet, novelist, and art historian Mário de Andrade (1893–1945) critiques André Siegfried’s Amérique latine in this early review. By the 1930s, de Andrade wielded considerable influence within the literary and art milieu in his native country, and he did not shy away from challenging what he considered to be an unsatisfactory analysis of South America’s so-called “primitivism.” Armed with an understanding of the interests driving this reductive approach, de Andrade’s goal is to expose what he sees as superficial, worn-out formulas and biases that underscore perspectives on Latin America in the tradition of Siegfried. The author published this article in the journal Boletim de Ariel: mensário crítico-bibliográfico. letras, artes, ciências [(Rio de Janeiro), vol. 4, no. 1 (October 1934)], one of the most noteworthy platforms for the Brazilian avant-garde of the 1930s. This translation is based on the version published in an anthology of Andrade’s work [Raul Antelo, ed., Na ilha de Marapatá (São Paulo: HUCITEC, MEC /Pró-Memória, INL, 1986), 191–93].
IF THERE IS A FORMULA for writing insightful books about faraway landscapes, it seems to me that the book by André Siegfried [SEE DOCUMENT I.2.4] (Amérique latine, Paris: Librairie Armand Colin, 1934) does not stray very far from it. It entails a thorough examination of its subject, [and reflects] attentive listening and the taking of copious notes. [In this formula, it] is not necessary to scrutinize or to make a great effort to fully understand—just listening and taking notes suffices. Next you summarize what you have heard; collect the notes into a somewhat simplified, general statistical form that not only disregards variations but, because of the need to generalize, also does not delve too deeply. Depth is imitated by a schematic approach, resulting in a touch of the mystical—of the occult. When it is all done, you rub your hands together and, if you wish, declare “heureux qui, comme Ulysse . . .” [Happy are those, who like Ulysses . . .].
I am not at all trying to diminish the writer of Tableau des partis en France [A Tableau of Political Parties in France]. Neither do I deny that Amérique latine, given the truths it contains, could be quite useful to certain people from the Americas who live for the literature produced beyond our continent. Those truths, however, are mere reprints of things already firmly declared by men here, in our America. There was undoubtedly a great deal of goodwill in how André Siegfried tried to understand and, indeed, to love us. There was also gratitude for those who spoke of many things with him and greeted him with open arms. I believe there was even a great enthusiasm that tapped into patriotic Latin pride. But was it all this that led to the haste with which this sociologist reduced everything to simplistic syntheses and schematics?
It is surely incredible that André Siegfried—while making the essential distinction among the three South Americas (the native-born, the white, and the Afro-Negro)—still maintained the notion of “Latin America,” a notion that does not correspond to any South American identity whatsoever. It is also unbelievable that after having designated the natural spirit of the Americas—that “americanismo” which distinguishes us from Mediterranean “Latinism,”—he conceived that americanismo only facilely with reference to yankismo [Yankeeism], the americanismo [Americanism] of North America. Moreover, he differentiates ours from americanismo of the Yankees, only to revert back to the latinismo [Latinism] of Portugal and Spain, even though our psychology, our ethics, our religion—our essence if you will—distinguish us from those countries which are actually Iberian, not Latin. Their Moorish influence should also be considered. Even if he did not want to articulate the characteristics that so profoundly set a Bolivian apart from a Peruvian, a gaúcho [from Southern Brazil] from a carioca [native of Rio de Janeiro], a Minas Gerais inhabitant from someone from Northeastern Brazil, it would still have been easy for André Siegfried to note that other “americanismos” exist within South America and that they differ from utilitarian yankismo. There are other more optimistic outlooks than those found in [Sinclair Lewis’s] Babbitt and closer to ours, such as those found in Asia and North Africa. If our economy—seen from a European economic and psychological perspective—can only be misinterpreted— then is it not possible to perceive our fatalism more than our optimism? And above all [to recognize] the irresponsible [stereotype] that is quite mystical and shamelessly sensual? With regard to our ethics—which he tries to excuse, considering the political embarrassments of South America—is it not possible to see how they differ profoundly from Christian morality in their appearance of laxity, shamelessness, lack of commitment, heroic fits and starts, [and] arrogant disloyalty, all in the name of a damp and exhausted tropicalismo?
Is it yet possible to understand the shameless policies of the South American nations as a trait specific to us? The cinema of the United States is tired of portraying the base deeds of their politics and justice. What is on display in today’s world is merely a gradation of disguises or—my God!—a purity of customs that from time to time leads France to allow a [scandalous] Stavisky “affair.”1 The United States conceals itself less, and Argentina and Uruguay even less so, and Brazil further less, and other republics almost not at all. It is funny, but in this case I believe this “purity of customs” is more closely related to these last republics! Time goes by and it becomes no longer possible to differentiate between vile policies, or between false freedoms. Today, Venezuela, Germany, Italy, and Cuba are becoming equivalent. Either this synthesis will encompass the extremely abusive spirit of the times and thus be useful and expressive, or it will have to differentiate among the republics. As such, it would no longer be a synthesis, but an analysis. André Siegfried intended to arrive at a happy medium through the creation of an artificial entity called Latin America, but I believe this is no longer possible. These phenomena are too vast as well as distinctly regional.
The qualities of André Siegfried and those of his book—extreme clarity, ability to synthesize (which by the way might have stemmed from a dictatorial dogmatism. . . born of dealing with these unprecedented and complex problems) do not actually belong to Siegfried or to his book; they are French traits. One is always tempted to assert that France, because of her apparent equilibrium, is now the last bastion of bourgeois civilization. And if it is not the last, then it is likely the most perfect and attractive. The Republic of France is a model of simplicity; it possesses the same slightly simpleminded perfection of any of [André] Maurois’s books. André Siegfried, in turn, recognizes in us the permanence of an essential-ist quality he reasonably calls “savage.” South America certainly has much of the primitive, the untamed. But there is nothing more complicated than this primitivism. There is nothing more chaotic and unsolvable than the primitive. Civilizations exchange influences without disappearing. The historical exchange of influences between England and France, between France and Germany, similarly occurred here between the Incan, Iberian, and even Congolese civilizations. Nevertheless, the very primitive Amerindian, being most complex and chaotic, did not exercise any influence of his own: he disappeared through racial intermingling. We are not simple at all, much less simplistic. It is in the eyes of France that we seem to be clear, uncomplicated, and reducible to formulas, like an ancient dream. André Siegfried’s misfortune is that he is writing about a ghost, one who haunts a civilization that is no more. . . .
1
The Stavisky “affair” was a large-scale embezzlement scandal perpetrated in France in 1934 by Alexandre Stavisky. When the scheme and Stavisky’s ties to French officials, including Camille Chautemps (the prime minister) and Jean Chiappe (the police prefect), were exposed, they indirectly led to the anti-parliamentary street demonstrations of the so-called 6 February 1934 crisis, which marked the first time since the days of the Third Republic that pressure from protestors led to toppling the governing party in France. —Ed.