Questões de Inglês - Vocabulary - Social issues
Texto - Influence on Others - Part I
Not only was Pelé a symbol of Brazil, he was a symbol within the
structures of Brazilian society. At this time in Brazil as Galeano descri-
bes, “in the global social pyramid, blacks are at the bottom and whites
are at the top. In Brazil this 1s called “racial democracy” (1) This social
hierarchy was rigid in Brazil, like in so many countries, and few of those
born on the lower end of the chain were able to navigate their way to
the top. Some of the rare few who could climb the social ladder were
athletes who gained fame and status, both social and economic, through
their athletic prowess.
Clearly Pelé was such an athlete. Galeano comments: “With the
passage of time, the old soccer mutilated by racism gave way to splen-
dor of its diverse colors. And after so many years it is obvious that
Brazil's best players have always been blacks or mulattos. All of them
came up from poverty, soccer offers a shot at social mobility for a poor
child”(2) Pelé's ascent from birth into a poor Brazilian family to beco-
ming an international superstar was evidence of the socially-mobilizing
tool of football.
To other poor Brazilians, Pelé was a source of hope and confidence
that they too could overcome their hardships. Journalist Joao Luiz de
Albuquerque said of Pelé's impact: “He was the light at the end of the
tunnel. All the poor said, “hey, this guy made it, I can make it.” He
brought the rest of Brazil with him:”(3).
• (1) Galeano, Eduardo. Soccer in Sun and Shadow. London UK: Verso 1998. Page 43.
• (2) Galeano 43
• (3)Kirby espn.com. Also on this topic: Murray, Bill. The World's Game: A history of Soccer. University of Illinois Press: Chicago 1996. Page 120.
From: https://sites.duke.edu/wcwp/rescarch-projects/brazil/pele/influence-on-others/. Accessed on 01/11/2023
A rigidez da hierarquia social no Brasil tem feito com que:
TEXTO:
Bigger yet Better
On ‘magic island,’ a virtuous cycle began with a ban on heavy industry
One of the sad truths of the developing
world is that an urban population boom has
so often been bad news. From Jakarta to Rio
de Janeiro, more people have typically meant
[5] more ghettoes, more crime, and less economic
life. That’s one reason urbanites in big cities are
moving to places like Florianópolis, an island city 700
kilometers south of São Paulo, where bigger doesn’t
always mean worse.
[10] Between 1970 and 2004, Florianópolis’s
population tripled. So did the number of slums. But
the local economy grew fivefold, and incomes grew
in step. Opportunity seekers, urban and rural, white
collar and blue, arrived in large groups. With a hundred or so
[15] beaches lining the “magic island,” tourism is thriving.
And while many Brazilian cities are struggling to
graduate from smokestacks to services, Florianópolis
is succeeding. Thanks in part to a federal rule that for
decades barred heavy industry on the island, town
[20] officials promoted cleaner public works, and now it
has a network of public and private universities that
make this one of the most scholarly cities in Brazil.
To tend to the demanding academic crowd, the city
invested heavily in everything from roads to schools,
[25] and now Florianópolis ranks high on every development
measure, from literacy (97%) to electrification (near
100%). By the late 1990s, private companies were
flocking to the island, or emerging from a technology
“incubator” at the federal university. (Among its
[30] innovations: the computerized voting machines that
have made Brazilian elections fraud-free and efficient.)
Local officials now say their goal is to be the Silicon
Valley of Brazil, with beaches. Don’t count them out.
MARGOLIS, Mac. Newsweek, New York, p. 56July 3/10 s.d Adaptado.
When the author says, “Don’t count them out.” (l. 33), he conveys the idea of
TEXTO:
Bigger yet Better
On ‘magic island,’ a virtuous cycle began with a ban on heavy industry
One of the sad truths of the developing
world is that an urban population boom has
so often been bad news. From Jakarta to Rio
de Janeiro, more people have typically meant
[5] more ghettoes, more crime, and less economic
life. That’s one reason urbanites in big cities are
moving to places like Florianópolis, an island city 700
kilometers south of São Paulo, where bigger doesn’t
always mean worse.
[10] Between 1970 and 2004, Florianópolis’s
population tripled. So did the number of slums. But
the local economy grew fivefold, and incomes grew
in step. Opportunity seekers, urban and rural, white
collar and blue, arrived in large groups. With a hundred or so
[15] beaches lining the “magic island,” tourism is thriving.
And while many Brazilian cities are struggling to
graduate from smokestacks to services, Florianópolis
is succeeding. Thanks in part to a federal rule that for
decades barred heavy industry on the island, town
[20] officials promoted cleaner public works, and now it
has a network of public and private universities that
make this one of the most scholarly cities in Brazil.
To tend to the demanding academic crowd, the city
invested heavily in everything from roads to schools,
[25] and now Florianópolis ranks high on every development
measure, from literacy (97%) to electrification (near
100%). By the late 1990s, private companies were
flocking to the island, or emerging from a technology
“incubator” at the federal university. (Among its
[30] innovations: the computerized voting machines that
have made Brazilian elections fraud-free and efficient.)
Local officials now say their goal is to be the Silicon
Valley of Brazil, with beaches. Don’t count them out.
MARGOLIS, Mac. Newsweek, New York, p. 56July 3/10 s.d Adaptado.
The word “struggling” (l. 16) is closest in meaning to
Observe o contexto semântico das palavras a seguir, inseridas no texto, e assinale sua tradução, na ordem em que se apresentam.
Warming
Changes
Increased
Leia o texto para responder à questão.
Domestic violence victims denied justice: state of Roraima fails to investigate, prosecute abusers
June 21, 2017
The authorities in the Brazilian state of Roraima are failing to investigate or prosecute domestic violence cases, leaving women at further risk of abuse, Human Rights Watch said in a report released today. The serious problems in Roraima, the state with the highest rate of killings of women in Brazil, reflect nationwide failures to provide victims of domestic violence with access to justice and protection.
Killings of women rose 139 percent from 2010 to 2015 in Roraima, reaching 11.4 homicides per 100,000 women that year, the latest for which there is data available. The national average is 4.4 killings per 100,000 women—already one of the highest in the world. Studies in Brazil and worldwide estimate that a large percentage of women who suffer violent deaths are killed by partners or former partners.
Only a quarter of women who suffer violence in Brazil report it, according to a February 2017 survey that does not provide state-by-state data. Human Rights Watch found in Roraima that when women do call police they face considerable barriers to having their cases heard. Military police told Human Rights Watch that, for lack of personnel, they do not respond to all emergency calls from women who say they are experiencing domestic violence. Other women are turned away at police stations. Some civil police officers in Boa Vista, the state´s capital, decline to register domestic violence complaints or to request protection orders. Instead, they direct victims to the single “women’s police station” in the state – which specializes in crimes against women – even at times when that station is closed. Even when police receive their complaints, women must tell their story of abuse, including sexual abuse, in open reception areas, as there are no private rooms to take statements in any police station in the state.
Not a single civil police officer in Roraima receives training in how to handle domestic violence cases. Some police officers, when receiving women seeking protection orders, take statements so carelessly that judges lack the basic information they need to decide whether to issue the order. Civil police are unable to keep up with the volume of complaints they do receive. In Boa Vista, the police have failed to do investigative work on a backlog of 8,400 domestic violence complaints.
(Human Rights Watch. www.hrw.org/news/2017/06/21/ brazil-domestic-violence-victims-denied-justice. Adaptado)
No trecho do terceiro parágrafo “Even when police receive their complaints, women must tell their story of abuse, including sexual abuse, in open reception areas”, o termo em destaque pode ser substituído, sem alteração de sentido, por
[1] In the minds of many, the words Brazil and culture
conjure up images of beaches, footballers and dancers in
vivid carnival costumes. Filmmaking and cinema, on the
[4] other hand, haven’t always figured amongst Brazil’s cultural
staples.
Repressed and censored by a military dictatorship
[7] throughout much of the 1970s and 1980s, Brazilian
filmmakers struggled to make an impact on audiences abroad.
Shortly after the country’s return to democracy, the Ministry
[10] of Culture was closed and the state-supported film industry
crumbled almost overnight. The consequent lack of funding
caused Brazilian cinema to reach a low point in the early
[13] 1990s. Today, less than two decades after the collapse of the
industry, Brazilian cinema is enjoying a renaissance, wowing
audiences and critics alike.
[16] So, why all the excitement over Brazilian cinema now?
Since the start of 2008 Brazilian films have gone from
strength to strength on the festival circuit.
[19] In February 2008, director Jose Padilha’s controversial
drama about police violence and corruption, Elite Squad, took
Berlin Film Festival’s top award, the Golden Bear.
[22] Another triumph followed at Cannes Film Festival
in April. Sandra Corvelloni won the best actress award for
her role in Walter Salles’ Linha de Passe. She plays a
[25] heavily pregnant, chain-smoking mother of four boys who
are all in their own ways attempting to transcend their
working-class lives.
[28] Salles’ film was also nominated for the prestigious
Palme d’Or, as was Blindness, the latest offering from
fellow Brazilian and director of City of God, Fernando Meirelles.
[31] Brazilian films are all about favelas and violence, then?
Indeed, one of the most celebrated Brazilian releases of the
past years, 2003’s City of God, as well as this year’s Elite
[34] Squad, feature ultra-violent narratives set mainly in slums,
or favelas, as they are known in Brazil. Both of these films,
incidentally, were scripted by screenwriter Braulio Mantovani.
[37] Both films were widely acclaimed for their honesty and
gripping storytelling, but condemned by certain critics for
excessive depictions of violence.
[40] At the time of its release, City of God — which has
inspired a whole genre of imitators with its fast-paced editing
and bright colors — was accused of glamorizing cruelty.
[43] Similarly, Elite Squad has been said to promote
fascism, as it depicts the often-brutal methods employed by
Brazil’s special police force in the ongoing battle with drug
[46] gangs in the favelas. Variety magazine even dubbed
Padilha’s oeuvre “a recruitment film for fascist thugs”, with
Rambo style heroes.
[49] But Padilha defends the film’s violent tone, insisting
that it was necessary in order to drive home its message.
“The bottom line is we are trying to say that the whole
[52] violence that goes on in Rio is mainly caused by ourselves
and we can possibly undo that”, he told CNN.
Other Brazilian directors are taking a less bloody
[55] approach in telling the stories, of the working classes. Lucia
Murat’s Mare, Nossa História de Amor, for example, is a
musical adaptation of Romeo and Juliet set in one of Rio’s
[58] hillside shantytowns — a novelty in Brazilian cinema.
Internet: (adapted).
In the text,
“thugs” (l.47) is the same as criminals.
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