When I started thinking about examining recent the Proposed Amendment to the Constitution (PEC) No. 45 of 2023 and the recent decriminalisation of cannabis in an article, a phrase by Sojourner Truth, a great African-American activist, came to mind. I decided to paraphrase it to give this text its title. As a young black woman from the favelas and a human rights defender, I often wonder if other human beings see me as an equal, a person who also deserves rights and needs them guaranteed.
Just some months ago, the Federal Supreme Court (STF) finally decided to alter Brazil’s cannabis law, decriminalising its possession for personal use. It took around nine years for this measure to be approved. Legally, this means that if you are caught carrying up to 40 grams of cannabis (or six female plants cultivated for your own use) you can still be taken to a police station, but it won’t be registered as your first (or as any) offence. But, crucially, other penalties continue to exist: you can still be fined, have a warning about the effects of drugs, do community service or attend an educational programme or course. This is because decriminalising is different from legalising. In the first case, the meaning is literal: possession is no longer considered a crime, so it can’t be dealt with the criminal sphere; but it’s not legalised like alcohol and nicotine, for example, with an industry for legal access, either through retail or home production.
Behind all this “legalese”, the central idea behind the move was to respond to social movements and activists’ efforts to differentiate between ‘consumers’ and ‘retailers’ – as the real traffickers are those in suits driving the drug market, not those living in the favelas. On top of all this, there is already the 2622/24 bill that aims to grant amnesty to people accused or convicted of possessing or cultivating cannabis in the amounts that are now decriminalised. This bill would ensure the release of people arrested today for what is no longer a crime. I hope they don’t have to wait another nine years for this measure to be approved.
Will Brazil’s cannabis law change put an end to our martyrdom?
Spoiler: No.
Without a doubt, the decriminalisation of cannabis is a big step; however, we still have a long way to go before we can proclaim it as a historic move towards reparation. There are still obstacles in the way. Two of them are very big: racism and social inequality.
Article 28 of the Brazilian drug law states that “in determining whether the drug was intended for personal consumption, the judge shall take into account the nature and quantity of the substance seized, the place and conditions in which the act took place, the social and personal circumstances, as well as the conduct and background of the perpetrator”. In a society as racist and punitive as Brazil is, where a large part of the population continues to play a supporting role in influencing public policies including those guaranteeing basic rights such as quality education, food and basic sanitation, there is no better excuse for criminalising a territory and its residents than this article. In Brazil, among those arrested for drug trafficking in police patrols, 46% are black and 21% per cent white. The majority are under 30 years old, have little schooling and are male. Within this number, more than half of the black people were approached on the basis of ‘suspicious behaviour’, certainly because they walked black and spoke black.
The reality of policing will not change for everyone
In August, the Maré favela complex, made up of 16 favelas in Rio de Janeiro, suffered from its 26th police operation. For those who don’t live this daily reality, I’ll set the scene: police operations in Maré usually take place at dawn, with no end defined time (potentially lasting several days). Schools, health and leisure facilities, shops and public services (such as rubbish collection) are interrupted. The police (military, civilian and/or federal) often roam the streets and alleys of the place where you live or even fly over it with helicopters (popularly called flying caveirão – referring to the skull of the special operations troops used in counter-narcotrafficking operations).
The confrontation between armed groups and state agents is unavoidable. While you lie on the ground and try to protect your head (with your hands) and your organs (with your bent legs) from stray bullets that might find you, you wonder who human rights were made for, and how you’re going to explain their absence to that teacher or boss who believes that favela dwellers are made of the same material as the iron man. These experiences, if they don’t kill us, are making us physically and mentally ill.
Currently, Brazil’s cannabis law reform will not change this reality, and many others of those living under the daily control of the state and the police. Yes, the recreational use of cannabis will now be protected, particularly for white, middle-class citizens; those without money, influence or contacts, will still struggle with much of the state violence used to control entire drug markets.
So, our black, favela and urban peripheral bodies continue the search to find new, more protected and guaranteed futures. So the next time you, as a black person, are reprimanded when you try to light up that little joint, ask yourself: am I not a citizen?
