Music has always been a powerful form of protest. This is especially true of Tropicália – a Brazilian artistic movement, beginning in the 1960s, that served as a form of joy and resistance against an oppressive military dictatorship. Ana Leorne shares how this vibrant genre is as relevant today as it was over half a century ago.
Check out our author Q&A with Ana Leorne to find out more about how she came to write Tropicália.
By Ana Leorne
One of the most remarkable traits of humanity is its inability to learn from past mistakes. Though the idea that history repeats itself is now largely regarded as an outdated premise, it’s obvious that we as a civilization tend to remain in our very own hamster wheel which prevents us from breaking a pattern while still giving us an illusion of movement forward. Yet the thing we often forget is, in order to move forward, we always need to look back.
Tropicália happened over half a century ago during a particularly tough chapter of the history of Brazil, birthing out of stubborn resistance to a military dictatorship that ended up lasting two decades. A first look at its context could make you wonder what makes the movement matter so much today. It was a different time, a different place—for many of us, even a different hemisphere. And yet, taking a page from Tropicália is perhaps more urgent now than ever.
It goes without saying that the sociopolitical perspectives for our immediate future aren’t the best. With generalized oppression and reactionary tendencies characterizing almost every new policy in what has become a surreal global scenario, you begin to get the impression that not only can it definitely happen here, but also that victories are susceptible to being easily reversed.
But understanding Tropicália also leads to a more comprehensive perception of history, notably regarding the role played by the United States in the politics of other countries, often supporting (or even enabling, as was the case of Brazil) totalitarian regimes for its own commercial benefit—or due to simple anti-socialist paranoia. As Fernanda Torres told Vogue when she was promoting I’m Still Here, “Dictatorships of South America were not a banana republic matter. They were part of the macro politics of the time. […] People treat the dictatorships in South America like something that happened on that faraway continent. But it’s all part of the same story.”
This ties in with another important trait of Tropicália, which is its contribution to the decentralization of the countercultural discourse. When we think about the sixties, we have a tendency to look almost exclusively at Anglo-American artistic productions. However, there was plenty of interesting stuff being done in other places, often adapting foreign expressions to different geographical realities.
As Tropicália reshaped the language of rock’n’roll to fit Brazil’s specific circumstances, it intertwined local with global references to address issues pertinent to both their country (post-colonial identity, consequences of imperialism, lack of access to basic education) and the world (dangers of consumerism, dissatisfaction with a conservative system, need for emancipatory gestures in racial, gender, and other terms).
So what can Tropicália teach us about resistance in 2025? First, it shows how you can take the tools your enemies used to oppress you and turn them against the system. When the movement integrated international pop codes into Brazil’s own vernacular (a strategy borrowed from Oswald de Andrade’s Anthropophagic Manifesto), it ended up neutralizing artistic expansionism through a sort of reversed cultural appropriation.
Second, Tropicália warns that things can escalate quickly and unexpectedly. Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil never knew exactly what they were being accused of when they were arrested and eventually sent to exile. Your rights don’t exist under a dictatorship, and assuming you are immune to tyrannical law enforcement and censorship is naive. Moreover, cultural production under imperialism is not only frustrating at times but also confusing: You want to give up, give in to despair, stop being creative altogether. Tropicália is an example of why you shouldn’t do so—in fact, you need to fight doom with joy and discouragement with colourful enthusiasm.
Finally, Tropicália comes as a reminder that despite lessons never being properly learned, if we manage to remain curious, inquisitive, culturally aware, and community-driven we might just get enough strength to hang in there until we come out the other end. And, of course, that the relief of knowing that nothing ever lasts forever is best assimilated with the aid of a decent soundtrack.
Ana Leorne
is a writer, artist, musician and researcher based in Paris, France. She holds a BA in Fine Arts, an MA in Film Studies and a PhD in Visual Cultures. Formerly an associate editor at The 405 and digital media executive at MTV Portugal, her work has appeared in Bandcamp, Grammys, SFGate, SPIN, The Guardian and many others. She’s also the author of This is the Strangest Life I’ve Ever Known: A Psychological Portrait of Jim Morrison (2023).
Tropicália is available to buy in bookshops and online, including at Bloomsbury.com.
