Channel 4's documentary on Brazil's LGBT+ community completely ignored queer people of colour and their fight for racial equality

Intersectionality is about realising interlocking forms of oppressive power structures and dismantling them, which means having people from the communities actively contributing to, and leading, the conversations

On Friday night, Channel 4 aired “Carnival Wars”, part of its Unreported World series, which used Brazil’s infamous carnival as the backdrop to explore the intensification of homophobia in the country since the election of President Bolsonaro.

I attended a screening of the documentary last week, which featured a panel discussion including director Kate Hardie-Buckley and series editor Sue Turton.

Without a doubt, this work is necessary and timely. But tucked under a guise of genuine concern for human rights, the film’s lack of a critical, intersectional lens, as reflected in the way the event was handled, does a disservice to LGBT+ communities in Brazil.

The film clearly wants to show “both sides” to this story, as we witness scenes of Brazil’s LGBT+ community, interlaced with footage of the gun-wielding, proud homophobe, Sao Paulo state representative Gil Diniz.

But the problem with this framing is the suggestion of equal culpability, as well as the way in which it invokes a particular liberal response. For instance, during a Q&A portion of the panel, an audience member asked exactly why this was happening to LGBT+ people, and suggested that we are all equally at risk of being targets of far-right hate campaigns, with the LGBT+ community being the victims of this misfortune this time round.

Director Hardie-Buckley implied this was an inexplicable tragedy, a response which fails to recognise the systematic oppression at the heart of this story: repression against a historically and intentionally marginalised community made up of Brazil’s most vulnerable – indigenous, black and poor LGBT+ people, and women.

In a country like Brazil, with its legacy of slavery, indigenous dispossession and violence, we cannot ignore the link between conservative values of the pure family and whiteness.

It’s true that the main character in the film, Luana Hansen, is black, and so is the reporter, Seyi Rhodes. But we cannot assume that by featuring people of colour, all depictions of minorities are immune to criticism.

This is evident in the rhetoric surrounding the recent election of Lori Lightfoot in Chicago – the first black queer mayor to ever be elected in the US, which has been widely celebrated as a “victory for all queers”, without attention to her disturbing record when it comes to standing up for the marginalised communities she ostensibly represents.

Intersectionality is about realising interlocking forms of oppressive power structures and dismantling them, which means having people from the communities, not only on the screens or in the room, but actively contributing to, and leading, the conversations, in the lead up to, during, and after an event like the one I attended.

Hardie-Buckley struggled to answer the question I raised about the intersection between race and sexuality in the film and in the Brazilian context, and dismissed concerns by two Brazilian lesbian activists at the event that the film “reinforced stereotypes of the LGBTQI community who were mostly portrayed as hedonistic and promiscuous”.

When I spoke them later, they also criticised the representation of a “reporter playing mates with a far-right politician practising shooting in a country where there is a state-sponsored genocide of the poor, black population”.

Hardie-Buckley pointed to the limitations of her particular art form: a short documentary restricted her ability to talk about race, or touch on issues such as the assassination of Marielle Franco, who was killed for being an outspoken, black, lesbian woman, activist and politician.

Nor did the film or panellists touch upon the issue of gay politician Jean Wyllys – often compared to Harvey Milk for his crucial advocacy work – who had to resign from his congress seat due to the death threats he received.

The film could have talked about events organised by Brazilian Women Against Fascism, and the work of civil society organisations like Casa 1, Grupo Gay da Bahia, Articulacao dos Povos Indígenas do Brasil and Maes de Maio. Instead it seemed to ignore issues of intersectionality almost altogether.

Film can, and perhaps must, break boundaries, particularly when the subject matter is political. And while we might not always need the stark reflection of pain and suffering – the film is effective in its flashy, eye-capturing, glittery fun, and admittedly does provide an insight into the deadly intentions of Brazil’s far right, as we hear from the widow of a murdered black gay man.

I have no doubt that this film will galvanise people. But to what end? As an LGBT+ person of colour myself, I can say that I do not want your sympathy, pity, or to be the titillating subject to your dinner party musings. I want action.

Emmanuelle Andrews is research and policy coordinator at international LGBT rights organisation Kaleidoscope Trust