By Diego Viana
The southernmost state in Brazil, Rio Grande do Sul, was under heavy rain and flooding for several weeks in May. The Guaíba, the most important river in the region, which flows through the capital city of Porto Alegre is usually about two meters deep. It went over five meters. More than 400 cities (out of about 480) were hit by this climate catastrophe, with over 2.1 million people affected and over 170 casualties so far. Material losses are hard to calculate at this point, but insurance companies already consider this the "worst event in our history" and the government estimates that reconstructing the Rio Grande do Sul will take several years.
The connection between the climate catastrophe and the rise of a suicidal far Right immediately becomes evident as social media in Brazil is overrun with swarms of outright lies, political accusations, and fraud. Meanwhile, intellectuals get stuck in a somewhat sterile discussion about whether one may refer to the people who have lost their homes and belongings as “climate refugees” — because it is shocking to realize that this term may refer to people other than the poorest among the poor.
Horrifying events like this have been occurring at increasingly shorter intervals, as we all know. Simultaneously with Porto Alegre, parts of Afghanistan, Kenya, Texas, the United Arab Emirates, Italy, Germany and California have also been under water. Not to mention droughts, wildfires and hurricanes. But in the midst of this chaos, two lessons about our shared future stand out, which may be helpful beyond the regions directly struck, giving us a preview of how to build a future that would be different from what is being prepared right now.
Postponing an exam
The first lesson regards the possibility and requirements of large-scale planning. It so happens that the Brazilian federal government was planning a massive recruitment exam for the public service, which has been anemic after almost a decade of neoliberal rule. The tests were to take place on Sunday, May 5th, in more than 200 cities across the nation with 2.14 million candidates competing for 6,640 jobs. But then the rain came, and it turned everything upside down: how can you administer such an enormous test when many contesting for those public jobs are isolated, stranded, and homeless?
After a week of hesitation, and just two days before the tests, the government finally convened a press conference to announce what was obvious to all: the "National Unified Recruitment" was postponed and later rescheduled to August. Maybe it is just a predisposition on my part, but while I watched the conference I felt that the officials, ministers Esther Dweck (Public Management) and Paulo Pimenta (Communication), seemed somewhat astonished, maybe dismayed. Even among the journalists, there was, or so I felt, an atmosphere of disbelief.
This discomfort is not entirely surprising, though. For someone who had been planning an ambitious, country-wide operation, involving logistics, security forces, and millions of people, I can imagine that the idea of having to postpone the tests didn't even cross the organizers' minds. In fact, a reporter did ask about provisions for an eventual postponement of the exam. There were none.
The federal government placed this initiative at the top of its priorities. It is boasted as an innovation in public sector recruitment, which it is indeed. But it is also an expensive and risky undertaking that had to be stopped in a hurry because nobody considered the intervention of natural forces. Even the decision-making process hints at the impasse the authorities were put in due to the floods. When the press was summoned, dozens of lives had already been lost, and entire municipalities were almost unreachable. It was clear that the "gaucho" (residents of Rio Grande do Sul) candidates were excluded from the test. If communication to the general public only occurred on Friday afternoon, it is because demobilizing this colossal apparatus is almost as hard as assembling it. I suppose that even the budget law will need to be amended.
The postponement made painfully and pathetically clear that in times of global connectivity and interdependence, an episode such as a natural disaster is never “only itself.” It is not limited to its immediate causes and direct effects, where it happens, nor is it limited to its own regime of existence. In a world of complexity, every system and every event spreads and contaminates other aspects of reality, other systems. The eruption of the concrete, palpable, real, into the universe of planning, abstraction and bureaucracy perfectly illustrates the reality we are entering.
I want to draw attention to the meaningful difference between this catastrophe's domino effect and two other consequences of the flooding. First: Rio Grande do Sul is an important producer of rice, wheat and cattle. It is clear by now that the output of these commodities will be compromised, putting pressure on prices. This has led the federal government to announce that it will resort to the international market. Shock waves can also reach interest rate decisions and, with a spike in inflation, unpleasant political consequences are not out of sight, with the far right constantly on stakeout.
Second: the fact that, per the insurance companies, the destruction of cities and plantations in Rio Grande do Sul is the “worst event in the history of Brazil.” The costs incurred could sap some of these institutions and is likely to lead to a significant reallocation of resources, which would weaken other public policies. As for insurance, as has been predicted for some time, we can expect a progressive and heavy increase in premiums, making investments of all types more expensive, especially the most ambitious and expensive ones, such as infrastructure.
In both cases, we are dealing with long-term issues, but mostly already advanced and priced. It is common to hear from economists and managers, but also from some scientists dedicated to complex systems, that the global interconnection of logistical, financial and economic systems makes it possible to overcome ruptures and failures that eventually appear in some part, guaranteeing the stability of the whole. The reference usually evoked is the initial 1966 Arpanet project, the embryo of the internet: decentralized and increasingly numerous connections are almost impossible to take down.
Nonetheless, other scientists linked to complexity also warn that these ultra-complex systems, although resilient, are vulnerable. This means that they can resist deformation and remain stable, but if a particular disturbance, small as it may be, turns out to be capable of compromising the system, it will collapse completely and suddenly. In a dangerous but not absurd analogy: this is what happens in the death of an organism, for example, or the collapse of an ecosystem. To return to the Arpanet reference: the problem is not always in preventing transmissions from being interrupted. It may lie in the transmission itself. This is what Edgar Morin had in mind back in the 1990s, when he coined the term “polycrisis,” now taken up by historian Adam Tooze and theorized by the Canadian think tank Cascade Institute.
The postponed exam is suggestive of the increasing difficulty we will have in planning and articulating large-scale projects and programs. Without taking into account the climate factor, which is less and less “imponderable,” the government wanted to carry out a broad and solid initiative — and discovered that it was fragile. It won't be the last time something like this happens. This is at the core of what we have come to call "the new normal": from now on, the norm will be that all planning will be subject to failure for reasons that will fall from the sky or emerge from the depths, not without warning, far from it, but with warnings we may not be able or willing to hear.
Solidarity, distribution and economy
What then? — I thought, as I completed the previous section. Do we simply sit and cry, waiting for the moment when a calamity reaches us too? What does all this, the coming crisis of planning, imply for workers, proletarians, the wretched of the earth, and international solidarity in general?
This brings me to my second point. There has been a remarkable outpouring of solidarity in Brazil since the magnitude of the catastrophe became clear. Of course solidarity always emerges when one of these disasters occurs, and there have been many in various regions of the country: landslides in the Southwest, droughts in the North, fires in the Amazon and the Pantanal region, floods all over. But this time there is something different due to the sheer magnitude of the event.
No previous environmental disaster affected the infrastructure of modern life so deeply in Brazil. Airports closed, with runways sometimes inaccessible even for the planes carrying vital aid. There are broken dams, isolated cities and neighborhoods, roads cut, and power, telephone and internet networks down. The distribution of food, medicines and clothing in this scenario can be a daunting challenge. And it has indeed mobilized organizations from all around the country, in the form of donations, logistic networks and information centers.
While this parallel economy was taking shape, representatives of the private sector and the State governor Eduardo Leite himself were more preoccupied with the possibility that donations would have a deleterious impact on local commerce. I mention this not because I want to smear Mr. Leite as someone insensitive to his people's suffering — though one must admit he is indeed responsible for withholding funds marked for preventing floods — but because it presents us with a pulsating contrast between different kinds of economic logic. And this contrast is likely to intensify in the near future, suggesting what may amount to a paradigm shift.
I am thinking about a distinction that Karl Polanyi, the Austrian-Hungarian socialist political economist, makes in his masterpiece The Great Transformation, published in 1944. According to Polanyi, in the history of human societies, there have been three major principles of economic practice, in the sense of the production and distribution of the means of livelihood. These are: householding, which accounts for a mostly autarkic existence; redistribution, in which a central instance, such as the Mesopotamian empires, amasses the goods produced by the collective as a whole and redistributes them according to its own criteria; and reciprocity, of which trade is a particular case, and designates a system where different parties exchange their productions either through a price mechanism or a gift system.
Polanyi argues that a central element in the emergence of capitalism is the dominance of market exchanges over all the other systems. He says the market economy is disembedded from society in general. There is still some room for householding, as the nuclear family is responsible for many activities that are crucial for economic life, particularly the reproductive and unpaid labor ascribed to women. From the institutionalist perspective, the capitalist firm also absorbs a chunk of what would fall into the category of householding. Redistribution still exists too, especially under the form of grants, by both the state and the corporate sector. And non-market forms of reciprocity can be found all over, including gifts, favors, and the occasional barter. But they are all subjected to the general logic of monetary trade, their worth is calculated according to their link to markets, their position in economic life is below secondary.
Very well, what does this have to do with the disaster in Brazil and the solidarity that has been manifested since it began? The answer is, I believe, that the initiative to organize donations, which will become progressively more common as the climate crisis unfolds, contains the seed of a future recomposition of the three economic logics. When a breach in the regular market distribution of goods and services leads to a surge of solidarity, alternative economic circuits emerge spontaneously, simply because they must. This has been the case in emergency situations that had nothing to do with the climate, such as the Argentinian collapse in 2001, wartime scenarios, and the fall of the Soviet Union. Forms of householding, with families tending to their own needs; redistribution, with central committees organizing rations; and forms of non-monetary reciprocity, or alternatively monetary reciprocity, such as the “trueque,” came to life.
In all of these cases, the relative stabilization that succeeded the trauma reestablished the market mechanisms, and these other forms died down. The same happens with every environmental calamity in Brazil and elsewhere: circuits of donations and redistribution arise and dissolve just as quickly. But this time the scale is much higher, the needs more urgent, and the response is proportionally more ostensible. Makeshift centers for collection, transportation and distribution of aid packages are set up overnight, with a remarkable capacity of coordination. Online platforms dedicated to identifying particular needs and connecting them to donors have been created. Volunteers flock to the affected areas, but given the magnitude of the destruction, can only actually act when coordinated with other groups with better knowledge of the region.
Of course these initiatives also tend to wane as the situation improves. But we must take some things into account. To begin with, we are so used, at least since the Communist Manifesto, to think of capitalism as infinitely resourceful, ruthless, and awe-inspiring, that we can forget it has its own internal fragilities. While it may be easier to imagine an end to the world than to capitalism, as Fredric Jameson once said, capitalism still needs the world to be in place, and relatively stable. Disaster capitalism, in Naomi Klein's words, may bloom with the occasional landslide or earthquake, but if people lose the capacity to sell their workforce and purchase their livelihood, the market becomes groundless.
Also, the experience of those who engage in these distributive acts of solidarity represents a valuable acquisition of knowhow and habit. In time, the practice of non-market economic logics may very well solidify, at least from the side of distribution, if not production. As the environmental calamities unfold, as they are expected to do, on the one hand the capacity for large scale planning, corporate or governmental, will be shaken. But on the other hand, it is predictable that the recourse to alternative arrangements will lose its alternative character and constitute a permanent response. Of course, this will require further learning and the development of intellectual tools and strategies.
It is obviously sad to realize that the perspective of non-capitalist arrangements becomes realistic due to the accelerated degradation of the conditions of life on Earth as we know it. The mere fact that we have reached such a stage is a testimony to our incapacity to build large-scale and long-lasting alternatives to the radical capitalism of the last half-century. We should be clear about the fact that the environmental crisis is not an opportunity for change; instead, change is the only way out of the calamities that come with the degraded environment. But it requires careful work of construction, from the ground up. And this is why we can look for inspiration in the spontaneous emergence of solidary economic arrangements in Southern Brazil.
Diego Viana is a Brazilian economic journalist. He earned his PhD in political philosophy from the University of São Paulo and covers Brazilian politics, economy, and social conflict.
