Brazil : The Fortunes of War (9780465080700)

by Lochery, Neill

  Müller’s arrest, however, became a bone of contention between Aranha and Dutra and their respective camps. Aranha supported Cunha, while Dutra strongly backed Müller. With the president still recovering and rumors of his ill health continuing to circulate in Rio, both camps saw the dispute as part of a potential succession struggle, and pressed their cases even more vigorously as a result. Eventually Vargas had to intervene from his sickbed, acting as both referee and judge. Afraid of alienating either side of the dispute, he took the middle ground, accepting the resignations of both Filinto Müller and Leitão de Cunha, along with those of the minister of justice, Francisco Campos, and the head of the DIP, Lourival Fontes.13 Vargas’s choice of replacements for two of the officials placated both Aranha and Dutra; an old friend of Aranha’s became chief of police, and an army officer was appointed head of the DIP. Neither of these appointees shone in their new roles, however. Later, when the new chief of police tried to break up a German spy ring, he discovered that police officers loyal to Muller had burned all the relevant papers and had wrecked police headquarters.14

  The local press took its lead from all the internal strife during the winter months of 1942, and made an attempt to assert its independence. The potential of a succession struggle presented publishers with an opportunity to throw their support behind one faction or another, in the hope of gaining greater freedom and access to the Brazilian leadership should their candidate triumph. Much of the press remembered the army’s recent attempt to shut down two Brazilian newspapers, and they did not think highly of Dutra, and so many of the publishers backed Aranha instead.

  José Eduardo de Machedo, the publisher of the Diário Carioca, tried another tactic in his attempt to win more freedom for the press: he began lobbying both the British and US embassies for support. The results were mixed. Jefferson Caffery suggested that the proprietor was more interested in seeing Vargas’s son-in-law replaced as governor of the state of Rio than in winning additional freedom for the press. While the British were more receptive to the press’s entreaties than the Americans, they made it clear that they were not interested in undercutting Vargas at this crucial juncture by backing the rebellious newspaper publishers. Caffery took a snide swipe at the British for toying with Machedo, suggesting that any good relationship between the local press and the British was based on the generous subsidies that London offered to much of the local press.15

  In subsidizing the Brazilian press, Great Britain conveniently ignored the growing number of anti-Semitic articles and cartoons in Brazilian newspapers. Gazetta was one of the country’s most notorious Jew-hating publications. As an official at the British consulate noted, “The newspaper is turning very chauvinistic. The other day it brought an article calling for the immediate dismissal of not only German and Italian professors, but also of all Frenchmen similarly employed. I gather that the Germans employed at this university are Jewish refugees.”16

  Like the Brazilian press, the Estado Novo had not been kind to the country’s Jewish population—though this was less an indication of institutionalized anti-Semitism than of a xenophobic streak within the Vargas regime. The ideology at the heart of the Estado Novo envisioned a more unified Brazil, and Jews were not the only group that didn’t fit into this vision. To be sure, many Brazilians strongly associated Judaism with communism, a common conception in the 1940s—and one that undoubtedly fueled the persecution of the country’s Jewish residents. But Japanese immigrants were also viewed with suspicion by the regime, as indeed were the large number of German immigrants living in the south of the country. Vargas mandated that all immigrants learn Portuguese, and declared that all official institutions were to operate in Portuguese only; Yiddish, Hebrew, Japanese, and German were to be stamped out in favor of a single, Brazilian tongue.

  Deep divisions, more often than not based on simple personality clashes or turf wars between key families, also weakened Rio’s Jewish community. There were major splits, too, between Rio’s Jews and those in Brazil’s second city, São Paulo.

  But the biggest challenge to Jews wishing to settle in Brazil came from travel and residency restrictions imposed by the Brazilian government. Official Brazilian policy was that no Jewish refugee qualified for the documents required to secure permanent residence in Brazil, and nobody was allowed to work unless they had permanent visas. This catch-22 situation made it almost impossible for Jews to legally enter or remain in Brazil. As the US embassy in Rio succinctly explained when Washington asked whether Brazil would open its doors to Jewish refugees fleeing Nazism, “With reference to the department’s airgram regarding the rescue and relief of Jews from Europe, it is apparent from Brazilian regulations that the Brazilian government does not want any more Jews.”17

  When Jewish refugees were prevented from entering Brazil, as many were, little mention was made of their religion. Brazil was closing its doors to all new immigration. The major piece of legislation that restricted Jewish immigration to Brazil was Decree-Law 3175 of April 7, 1941, which made it practically impossible for a European Jew to obtain a visa for Brazil. There were only two legal exceptions. For a temporary visa a person needed to show means of subsistence and ability to return to his or her country of origin within two years. For a permanent visa a person had to either be able to transfer from abroad the equivalent of 400 contos in foreign exchange, be an experienced technician whose services were clearly needed in Brazil, or be a famous person—that is, an internationally known figure rather than merely an icon in their country of origin.18 More specifically, Decree-Law 3175 gave responsibility for the application of immigration regulations to the ministry of justice, which at the time was headed by the legal architect of the Estado Novo, Francisco Campos. The Americans suspected, however, that Ernâni Reis, the secretary to the minister of justice, had the final word on all immigration issues—and that Reis was anti-Semitic. Yet the US consular section in Rio could find no specific case of discrimination authorized by the secretary.19 This, despite the fact that almost all applications to evoke the exemption clauses were turned down by the ministry.

  Yet many Jewish refugees did find a way to get into the country. Jews could secure visas by bribing a government official in Rio. Brazil also occasionally allowed Jewish converts to Catholicism to enter the country—most notably in 1940, when some three thousand German Jews who had tacitly converted were allowed to settle in the south of Brazil.20 The foreign ministry also quietly issued paperwork to “celebrity Jews,” such as the writer Stefan Zweig, as well as to Jews who had managed to escape Europe specifically through Lisbon—a reflection of the historic relationship between Brazil and Portugal. Albert Einstein also requested a number of visas for refugees, which Aranha eventually approved.21

  These refugees joined an already sizeable population of Brazilian Jews. Under orders from Washington, the US consulate in Rio tried to ascertain the exact number of Jews in the country. Given the lack of reliable statistics, this was no easy task. Jewish groups put the number at around 112,000, of which around fifty thousand had entered Brazil since 1925.22 During World War II, there were seventy thousand foreign-born Jews living in Brazil and thirty-two thousand of their children, as well as ten thousand Sephardic Jews (who had lived in Brazil for generations).23

  Many newly arrived Jews were living in the Copacabana Palace Hotel and in other luxury hotels across the city. Their presence became something of an irritant for the locals, who accused them of pushing up the prices of hotel rooms in the city. Many Cariocas regarded these and other first-generation Jewish immigrants as something of a security threat. As the country slid toward war with the Axis powers, it was not wise to speak German or Eastern European languages in public places in Rio. Very few of the refugees spoke any Portuguese at all, relying on the language of their respective country of origin or English.

  Brazil could not have been characterized as welcoming to Jews, yet those who were able to enter the country found a respite of sorts from the terro
rs of Europe. While overtly Jewish activities and institutions were banned—Jewish newspapers closed, Zionist groups prevented from meeting, and symbols of Jewish culture often defaced by graffiti—there was no deep Brazilian appetite for the pursuit of physical violence against Jews. Any abuse or violence that was directed against the refugees came from German nationals based in Rio, rather than from Brazilians. Brazil’s police force, however, largely ignored the verbal and physical assaults on the refugees, a fact that did not exactly cover the Estado Novo in glory.

  Though perhaps not representative of the Jewish experience in Brazil during World War II, Stefan Zweig left a telling remembrance of his time in the country. Zweig chose to commit suicide in Brazil, though not because of any anti-Semitic persecution he suffered there; rather, he had made a pact with his wife. The visa that the Brazilian authorities had granted Zweig had saved his life, and in his carefully written suicide note he paid tribute to the Brazilian people for the hospitality they had shown him during his period of exile in the country. Indeed, it has been suggested that Zweig chose to write his pro-Brazil book, Brazil: Land of the Future, to highlight his gratitude to the Brazilian authorities.

  While the US embassy highlighted the difficulty Jews faced in immigrating to Brazil as a result of Decree-Law 3175, it was also keen to mention other policies of legislation that were more favorable toward them. Central to this was a piece of legislation titled Portaria 4941. Issued on July 24, 1941, it granted anyone who had entered Brazil on a temporary visa permanent status for the duration of World War II.24 While the law was only for people who had left their respective country of origin before January 1, 1941, it did help some refugees gain employment in Brazil or to start up their own businesses.25 In other cases, Jews who had entered the country illegally were allowed to work, and on occasion they even set up their own small businesses using covers or fronts to help evade the law.

  Other members of the regime held seemingly contradictory views of Jews, claiming not to be against them but still refusing Jewish refugees entry into Brazil on nationalistic grounds that were often disguised as economic rationale. Even the pro-American Aranha was not immune to criticism from the Americans that he could have done more to help alleviate anti-Jewish sentiment in Brazil, or that he could have allowed more refugees to enter the country as the situation for European Jewry deteriorated. While Aranha did quietly authorize refugees to enter the country on certain occasions, without proper documentation it is difficult to know just how many Jews were allowed into Brazil unofficially. And Aranha’s ministry of foreign affairs was also hugely divided over the question of whether to allow Jewish refugees into Brazil. The Americans noted that the ministry had also had difficulty interesting President Vargas in the question of Jewish refugees.26 Vargas simply did not seem particularly interested in the matter. Many local Jewish leaders shared the appraisal of Marc Leitchic, one of the directors of the Jewish Colonization Organization in Brazil: “The high policy of the present regime here is not anti-Jewish, but that there are anti-Jewish influences at work in it in certain critical spots.”27

  One Brazilian official was notable for helping Jewish refugees escape from Europe: Brazil’s ambassador to France, Luis Martins de Souza Dantas.28 Within the diplomatic community, the ambassador was seen as something of a Parisian playboy. A lover of champagne, fine wine, and women of all nationalities, he did not seem exactly like the heroic type. Indeed, the ambassador was well liked by many officials from the Axis powers based in Paris. As a result, he learned of the mistreatment of Jews in German-occupied Europe very early in the war.

  Souza Dantas did what he could to aid European Jews. He tried to bring to Aranha’s attention the plight of European Jewry, specifically those Jews in occupied France, but his messages accomplished little.29 So Souza Dantas took matters into his own hands. He believed it was his duty to try to help any Jew who approached the embassy seeking to escape across the Atlantic. From the fall of France in the summer of 1940 until August 1942, Souza Dantas issued transit visas to Jews, helping them to get to Lisbon and, from there, to Brazil, the United States, or Palestine. He continued to issue visas despite warnings from Aranha that he would face disciplinary action if he continued to do so.30 In fact, Souza Dantas had been warned about the issuing of visas before the outbreak of World War II, which led the ministry of foreign affairs to strip him of any power related to issuing visas. Ignoring this, Souza Dantas continued to issue them and requested that other Brazilian delegations do the same if the visas he had issued expired due to the refugees’ travel being delayed.

  The case of the SS Cabo de Hornos, which carried some one hundred Jewish refugees from Lisbon to Brazil, came to symbolize the work of Souza Dantas. The passengers had been delayed in Europe while officials acting under orders from Souza Dantas hastily updated their paperwork so that they could leave. The ship arrived in Rio de Janeiro on October 16, 1941, but the Brazilian government denied the refugees entry into the country. Several of the passengers threatened to commit suicide rather than return to Europe. As the ship sailed south to Argentina, the Catholic Church in Brazil, Jewish rescue groups, the American embassy in Rio, and individual affluent Americans frantically lobbied President Vargas to reverse the decision and allow the refugees into Brazil. Alzira herself asked her father whether something couldn’t be done for the people aboard the ship. Vargas simply replied that the ministry of foreign affairs was not responsible for visas that were issued against their orders.31 Eventually, the Dutch colony of Curação took in the refugees, saving their lives.

  This was not an isolated incident. Later in 1941, the SS Alsina had left Marseilles with over five hundred passengers, around one hundred of whom were Jewish refugees with Brazilian entry visas issued in Paris by Souza Dantas. These passengers, however, were not allowed to disembark when the Alsina arrived in Rio. After other countries, including several British territories, also refused to let the refugees disembark, the United States took them in.32

  The cases of the Cabo de Hornos and Alsina did not cast Vargas or the Estado Novo in a positive light, and they reinforced the widely held perception that many of the regime’s senior members were anti-Jewish or at least—like Vargas—indifferent to the plight of the refugees. The regime’s reaction to Souza Dantas’s activism didn’t help its public image. He was eventually found guilty of issuing a number of visas against the orders of the ministry of foreign affairs.33 The number of illegal visas was never fully determined, but estimates suggest that Souza Dantas helped save the lives of between five hundred and eight hundred refugees.

  The ambassador managed to escape punishment because of his age—he was technically in retirement—but with his ouster, Brazil’s doors appeared to be firmly shut to European Jewry. The numbers make this painfully clear. In 1939 some four thousand Jews entered Brazil. By 1942 this number was only 108.34 In 1943 this figure fell to eleven, and in 1944 only six Jews were granted visas. The total number of Jews who entered Brazil between 1939 and 1947 was only 12,884. This figure represented only 1,159 more for the same period than Argentina, a country where there was much more systematic anti-Jewish sentiment than there was in Brazil. The United States during this time accepted 168,053 Jews into the country.35 Indeed, without the efforts of the United States, Brazil’s numbers would have been quite different; a large number of the Jews who were allowed to enter Brazil at the start of the war did so only after the United States applied strong diplomatic pressure to convince Brazil to take in more Jews.

  Ironically, the anti-Jewish sentiment of many Brazilian authorities markedly declined as Brazil shifted toward the Allied camp in 1942. This change was widely highlighted in the Brazilian press, which had previously been characterized by a distinctly anti-Semitic bent. As an editorial in the Diário de Notícias proclaimed: “The Jews who are today our guests prove to be determined to work with us: let us therefore accept them in our work. . . . The Jews who the tragedy of the war brought to the shores of Brazil merit
praise only for the way they are helping us. Intelligent, determined, hard working, and grateful for our hospitality, they can be most useful to the country.”36

  The reasons for Brazil’s growing tolerance for Jews were varied. This period coincided with a marked increase in British and American propaganda efforts in Brazil. The authorities started to clamp down on German propaganda activities as well, which had been full of overtly anti-Semitic messages. The entry of the Soviet Union into the war the previous year also removed some of the Bolshevik stigma that some Brazilians had previously attached to Jews of Eastern European origin living in the country.

  One other factor was especially significant: the resignation of the three men regarded as more pro-Nazi than anyone in the regime—the minister of justice, Campos, the man most responsible for the drafting of the anti-Jewish legislation; the chief of police, Muller; and the director of the DIP, Fontes. Their resignations had nothing to do with their alleged anti-Jewish sentiments, but the impact of their departures was nevertheless felt immediately in this regard. In a marked change, Jews came to be viewed in a more positive light, as an asset rather than a threat to the country. Sadly, however, Brazil still did not open its doors to Jewish refugees struggling to escape the horrors of Nazi-occupied Europe.

  President Vargas, meanwhile, remained a slightly disinterested spectator to the plight of European Jewry. Even when prompted by the United States to do more, he merely indicated a willingness to help, but never actually did so by ordering the country’s doors flung open to Jewish refugees.

  Brazil’s president had much to distract him. During the winter months of 1942 in Brazil, not only was Vargas coping with heightened squabbling within his regime, but he was also attempting to prepare himself, the government, and the Brazilian people for war against the Axis powers. While convalescing, he met frequently with Aranha and Alzira to weigh the perils that Brazil would face if it joined the Allied cause against the development opportunities that Brazil might encounter if it became involved in the war, specifically in regard to the country’s infrastructure and economy. It was clear that Brazil could expect even more in the way of military shipments and trade concessions if it joined the hostilities, and the prospect was significant enough to outweigh many of the risks of declaring war on the Axis.