ABOUT THE TERRITORY AND FIELD ACTIVITIES

The study was conducted in the alto sertão region of the state of Alagoas. In general, the quilombola communities in this region of the state are still experiencing the impact of the historical processes of colonization and deterritorialization (^{Farias, Nascimento, and Botelho, 2007}) that affected their ancestors. This means that they are poor and working class communities that seek formal social recognition — the vast majority of communities in the region are not legally recognized as quilombos — and gain little attention from the state and a minimal provision of the basic services to which they are entitled.

The quilombola community Serra das Viúvas is a rural Black community (^{Souza, 2015}) located in the rural portion of the city of Água Branca, approximately 3 km from the urban area. Due to its location, in the hill region of the municipality, there is a certain difficulty of access (Figure 1), especially in rainy periods.

Source: Elaborated by the authors.

Figure 1 Children in the community of Serra das Viúvas. 

This community was certified and legally recognized by the federal government's Fundação Cultural Palmares as a quilombola community in 2009, and now has about 226 inhabitants, in 86 families (^{Souza, 2020}). The income of these families comes from the sale of products from family farming, animal husbandry, social programs that benefit the community, such as the Bolsa Família [Family Grant] Program and the National Program for Strengthening Family Farming (Pronaf), as well as the social security pensions of elderly residents (^{Alagoas, 2015}).

Many male youth and adults from the community migrate seasonally to the South and Southeast of the country in search of employment, mainly in construction, to provide income for their families. Another source of income in the community is related to handicrafts (Figure 2), an activity in which women are engaged to provide a source of non-fixed income (^{Pérez et al., 2020}).

Source: Elaborated by the authors.

Figure 2 Children and an older resident of the community making crafts with licuri. 

The handicrafts are made from raw material extracted from the community itself: the licuri (or ouricuri) thatch. The making and sale of handicraft products — hair bands, hats, bags, table decorations, puffs, napkin holders, among others — is managed by the Association of Quilombola Women Artisans of the Serra das Viúvas (AMAQUI), which was registered in 2010.

The children of Serra have access to a municipal school located in the community itself, which was inaugurated in 2002. The school is a multigrade elementary school, which requires children and adolescents to move to other schools in neighboring communities or to the urban area as they advance in their education. In the Serra region there is also a Catholic church, several fields for planting and two community manioc flour mills. According to the participating children and pre-teens, residents divide themselves geographically for the use of these flour mills. In addition, the community has several cisterns for capturing and storing rainwater. Since there was no piped water in the community until that moment, the water consumed came from the cisterns, water tankers and local springs (^{Vieira et al., 2019}).

The first formal contact of the research project with the community took place during an AMAQUI meeting. Our trip to the meeting was scheduled in advance with the community leaders. We took advantage of the date of the Association's regular meeting to present our objectives to the mothers and grandmothers responsible for the children and adolescents living there.

At the time, we observed a decision-making process by the women about the choice of color for the Association's new T-shirt. We noticed that the arguments presented were based on their skin colors, since the understanding was that the choice of color for the T-shirt should consider, in some way, the skin color of those who wore them. The yellow color, suggested during the meeting, was not well accepted by some members, who claimed it was not a color favorable to morena [brown] skin. Some of the women there felt certain colors would not be welcome because, when associated with their skin tone — some have dark black skin — they would not be appropriate and/or pretty; they would look good only when worn by white people. Other colors were suggested for the T-shirt, and the debate about its contrast with skin tones expanded beyond the initial task of choosing the color for the Association's new T-shirt.

In the dialog, some participants described themselves as morena [brown], negra [black], and white, among other terms, and this information was viewed as important for the aesthetic decision of the group. After some time in discussion about skin tone and what would or would not be pretty, it was very interesting to notice that the issue was concluded with an attitude of self-valorization by one of the members, who said that the color of the shirt was secondary, claiming that any color “would look beautiful” on her and minimizing the importance of the debate about skin color. She was applauded by her companions. This discussion was related to the tension that pervades the process of racial self-identification for Black people, including among adults — and how this can reverberate in the construction of children's racial identity.

In the remainder of the meeting, we suggested that the children be invited to participate in biweekly meetings in the form of group workshops, during which we would carry out activities that addressed the quilombo and specific aspects of childhood and adolescence in that community. We made the schedule considering available days and times to fulfill the formalities of the project.²

In addition to consent from the guardians, we were mainly concerned with the acceptance of the children and preadolescents themselves, and whether they would be interested and engaged in the proposed activities — as discussed by ^{Prado and Freitas (2020)}, who warn that their consent should be attained with care through the procedures adopted at the beginning of and throughout the intervention. When they were invited, they were duly informed about the objectives of the project, which were further detailed on our first day of group activity with them.

Children and pre-teens aged between four and 12 years participated in the 11 workshops, totaling 37 young people involved in the activities carried out, 25 girls and 12 boys. On average, 15 children and/or preadolescents participated regularly in each workshop. Irregularity in attendance was due to the times of the activities. Although the plans were based on the participants’ and project executors’ availability, our trip to Serra depended on transportation provided by the university, which limited the flexibility of scheduling.

Thus, depending on the time, some children and/or preadolescents could not participate, either because they were in class at school or because they were involved in personal demands. In addition, on the days when we held workshops in the morning, the community school teacher released the class to participate in our activities; at first, at the request of the community leadership, later, at the request of the children themselves — according to the teacher. Thus, the number of participants in the workshops varied. This data illustrates engagement in the workshops, although we know that the number of participants does not necessarily guarantee qualified participation.

The meetings took place at the AMAQUI office, a place provided by the community leaders. However, a few times we were invited by children and/or preadolescents to outdoor activities, such as walks (Figure 3), for example. We adopted a flexible approach to our planning and activities, so that the interests of the participants were given priority regarding games, customs, places where they wanted to be and/or show us, etc.

Source: Elaborated by the authors.

Figure 3 Walk through the community. 

The planning of each workshop was based on a written program. As mentioned, this planned script was always subject to changes and improvisations, depending on the demands raised by the participants. Each script addressed a central theme — the focus of the meeting — and suggested specific activities, a list of materials needed and the time allotted for each activity. Conversation circles, reading and textual production, drawing, and games were carried out and dialogues with the older subjects (initiated as interviews) were mediated by the children and preadolescent participants themselves. The type of focus group helped guide the workshops, with the aim of hearing and registering the participants’ views on the topics discussed. These activities are detailed in the following section, where we present them together with the participants’ discourses in these research contexts.

During the 11 meetings, the activities carried out in the workshops allowed us to:

The theme of Black/quilombola identity appeared specifically in the workshops where older residents were present. We noticed that their comments were directly related to the discourse of the young participants. Thus, the intergenerational character of the research grew in importance, so that the dialogue between generations revealed similarities and disparities between the perspectives of the elderly, the preadolescents and the children. Among the elders, two residents participated, a man and a woman, who were the grandparents of four children who were frequent participants in the workshops.

At the end of each workshop, we prepared a field report containing a detailed description of the activities conducted in the community and, mainly, of the participants’ voices and opinions on the topics covered.

In the following section we describe the most important situations that occurred in the group, either only with the children and/or preadolescents, or involving the elder participants. The most pertinent excerpts and situations presented in the reports were selected to promote a reflection on the construction of racial identity from a generational perspective.

DISCUSSING BLACK IDENTITY

In one of the workshops, aimed at discussing stories that thematize racial identity, we had the participants read the book A Cor de Coraline [Coraline's Color], by Alexandre Rampazo (2017). The book problematizes “skin-colored” pencils, while simultaneously reflecting on racial identity and representativeness. Using illustrations, the book's content the is presented by developing suspense around Coraline's true skin color. The suspense worked to our advantage. At a strategic moment in the narrative, we paused the reading and proposed that the children and pre-teens try to discover the protagonist's skin color. We provided each of the children with pictures of the character (without color), as found in the book, as well as coloring materials — colored pencils, crayons, felt-tip pens — and watched as the activity unfolded.

While conducting the task, we noticed that the children and/or preadolescents changed their minds and had doubts about which color to use. At one point, one of the older children looked at the book cover (Figure 4) and, seeing Coraline's curly hair, said that the character should be brown, because “look at her Black person's hair” (excerpt from authors’ fieldwork report, 6^th workshop).

Source: Rampazo (2017).

Figure 4 Cover of the book A Cor de Coraline. 

We did not necessarily perceive a negative tone in the way the statement was made. For the participant, thinking about Coraline's skin color triggered another phenotypic factor: hair texture. Most of the women with whom the participants interact with in the community are Black and have kinky or frizzy hair, causing not only this girl, but also others, to associate Coraline's hair texture with her skin tone — which is also related to the complex social processes of racial identification in Brazil, where color, other factors of appearance and social markers are considered, composing aspects of discrimination in the complex social dynamics of racism (^{Gomes, 2020}).

However, despite the association of hair and skin color, at the end of the activity we noticed that the children expected the protagonist to be white. We used guided drawing by the group to have them reveal what they believed to be the character's color: most painted Coraline with a very light skin tone (Figure 5). This may be due to the limited representation of Black people in children's books and stories (^{Sousa, 2001}), and to lack of access by these children to literary works with Black characters. In addition, in the audiovisual productions to which children have more access — telenovelas, films, cartoons — Black people are mostly portrayed as supporting or secondary characters.

Source: Elaborated by the authors.

Figure 5 Some of the assignments produced by the participating children and preadolescents. 

The common use of colored pencils also interfered considerably in the outcome of the activity: the choice of color used by the children to paint Coraline was affected by their daily habits. Most of the children used a beige crayon, claiming that it was the “skin-colored” crayon, as described in the following excerpt:

L.³ looked at all the other children's drawings and began to color his own, coloring Coraline's skin in beige (with what is better known as a “skin-colored” pencil, the one the children used most often to paint her). A member of the university team, thinking that he [L] was using that color because he saw the other children using it, said his was also pretty and asked if he thought that was Coraline's color. He said yes, “because that's the color of skin”. Even though his own color is Black, he said that the crayon's beige was the color of skin (excerpt from the authors’ fieldwork report, 6^th workshop).

We observed an absolute naturalization of the idea that there is only one skin color, and only one colored pencil to match it. This naturalization highlights the way whiteness came to be constituted in Brazil and how it continues to be represented and accepted socially as the standard of humanity (^{Bento, 2014}). As a result of this standardization, there are phenotypes that are more or less valued in our society (^{Oliveira, 2017}), so that whites enjoy the beneficial effects of the positive status associated with their color. This helps explain why, until recently, many Black Brazilians of different generations tried to neglect traits that showed their Blackness, so as to avoid the “other's” negative, racist gaze. ^{Paulino and Mattos (2021)} found similar results when conducting workshops at a school, where, in the context of a group of Black students, the “skin-colored” pencil was also more highly valued, as well as phenotypic traits, of the mouth, for example, associated with white people, who are seen to be “more beautiful”.

We believe that the school institution may be responsible for the understanding shared by children about the name and use of the “skin-colored” pencil. Many of us learned at school that the beige pencil refers to skin color, which shows that, although the school is a privileged environment where aspects related to racial identity can and should be discussed and problematized, it is possible to perceive that these same institutions often reproduce and highlight the valorization of a white, Eurocentric aesthetic standard (^{Cavalleiro, 2001}).

This valorization can be seen in the practices that are adopted, or not, in schools. ^{Romão (2001)} points to the way in which the participation of children in Afro-Brazilian culture is affected, given the choice of the institution not to include in its curriculum practices that provide this participation, such as capoeira and dancing in samba circles. Not being culturally represented in the school environment can make Black children more vulnerable to having greater difficulties in accepting themselves as Black.

This reality also influences affective relationships in the classroom. White children often receive more praise, incentives, affection, and hugs; the opposite occurs with Black children, for whom manifestations of affection are not shown in the same proportion so as to make them feel as loved, accepted, and welcomed in the school environment (^{Cavalleiro, 2001}). As a result of attitudes like this, the processes of self-acceptance, inclusion and, consequently, participation are more complex for Black children and/or adolescents, when compared to incentives and agency among whites (^{Abramowicz and Oliveira, 2012}).

In addition, there is a culture of silencing on the part of teachers and other education workers — administrators, coordinators, food workers, security guards, among others — regarding discriminatory practices against Black people. Many educators still carry the conception that racism is non-existent in the school environment (^{Santos, 2001}; ^{Cavalleiro, 2020}). Those educators who do consider it as a reality to be combated often reinforce the mistaken idea that racism is a problem that is exclusive to Black students. Thus, these young people are encouraged to be resistant to racism — which is important too — but not sufficient, nor effective in creating the means to combat racism and discriminatory practices in institutions (^{Santos, 2001}).

Returning to the activity, at the end of the reading session we showed the children the book with the illustration of Coraline with her real skin color (Figure 6). Upon seeing the image, some of the children and pre-teens were surprised. One of the girls even said there is no one with Coraline's color. However, in the community where they live, there are people — including the children themselves — with a black skin tone even darker than that of the character. The questioning reveals, in our view, a sense of unfamiliarity that is felt by the children when encountering a Black protagonist; which reinforces the importance of representativeness for racial affirmation processes among children (^{Sousa, 2001}).

Source: Rampazo (2017).

Figure 6 Coraline's true color. 

The discussion about skin color was also present in other workshops. To create a space for dialog between the youngest and the oldest residents, we proposed an activity in which the children and preadolescents portrayed their grandparents by making puppets. The moment of handing over the dolls to the respective grandparents provided an opportunity to invite them to participate in future workshops. Among the elders, the children chose to represent those who had the most grandchildren participating in the workshops. We identified four grandmothers and two grandfathers. To make the dolls, the children were divided into subgroups; each made two dolls. We explained that the dolls should be as similar as possible to the people they represent and distributed the materials we had brought with us: plastic bottles, crepe paper, A4 sheets of paper, felt pens, pencils, scissors, glue, adhesive tape, painting materials, and others.

In one of the subgroups, a discussion about race emerged during the initial choice of color to represent the skin color of the grandparents’ dolls, as described in the following excerpt:

The workshop facilitator asked about the color of the grandparents, and they were categorical in stating that A. and N. are brown [pardo]. At that same moment of making the doll, A. passed by the front of the Association building and was soon pointed out by the group. A. is black, has very dark skin, but the children chose to say it was brown. Regarding the choice of the color of representation of Mrs. N., one of her grandchildren took the lead of the group and made a series of proposals, among them: to use white paper for the color of his grandmother and paint her eyes blue (excerpt from the authors’ fieldwork report, 2^nd workshop).

Reflecting on what happened, we asked ourselves why the participants made such choices. The group represented the grandmother in a way that was clearly divergent from her real physical characteristics, portraying her with traits completely distant from a Black racial identity (similar to what occurred in the situation presented at the beginning of this article), always opting for light colors that do not correspond to reality, but to the socially valued whitening.

The same children and pre-teens represented the aforementioned grandfather with features that were faithful to his appearance. The puppet, in fact, represents the man who passed in front of the Association during the workshop. However, when naming the grandfather's color, the children used the term ‘brown’ [pardo]. They may not be aware of the formal categories used in Brazil to identify color, and used the terms embedded in the informal everyday discourses to which they have access. Moreover, because there are various racist terms that belittle Black racial identity, children and preadolescents may have used ‘pardo’ because they recognized it as an appropriate term to refer to Black people.

We noticed, at other times, that the children were careful not to express racist attitudes and speech, such as during the workshop in which we encouraged an exchange between them and children from a quilombola community located in Campos dos Goytacazes, Rio de Janeiro. They prepared a slide show for us with pictures of themselves and their community.

When the photo of some children from this community appeared on the slide, slightly positioned with their backs turned to the camera, one of the participants from Serra said with surprise: “Ohh, the hair…” (referring to the kinky hair of one of the girls in the photo), and did not finish the sentence, but we realized that she was going to say something negative about the girl's hair. The other children realized this and, when they heard their colleague, they immediately rebutted: “What prejudice!” (Field report no. 6). They spoke loudly, scolding her.

It was evident that the children were careful not to use pejorative terms when referring to Black people and/or Black phenotypic characteristics. This was either because they understood the negative and violent impact of racial discrimination, or because they were instructed in that sense by their school or family, or because they themselves had already experienced situations that placed them in a place of inferiority based on their color/race.

DISCUSSING QUILOMBOLA IDENTITY

Regarding quilombola identity, it was possible to perceive a disparity in the discourses of the different generations. The older residents were interviewed in the workshops by the younger ones and by us, the university team. These were the intergenerational dialogues that took place in person in the context of the project. The focus was on quilombola identity and the experience of childhood, past and present.

We asked them what ‘being quilombola’ meant. One interviewee said that “to be a quilombola is to be Black” (excerpt from the authors’ fieldwork report, 5^th workshop), revealing that she saw a great proximity between her racial identity and the quilombola identity. Another person related “being quilombola” to cultural elements, respect and traditions, not directly mentioning racial aspects.

B. stated that being quilombola is tradition, “it is having respect for what you are”, and that many people wanted to be quilombolas too, to also be respected. [He said] That only today does he recognize himself as such, because earlier he did not recognize himself in this way; today, with this culture, he affirms himself as a quilombola (excerpt from the authors’ fieldwork report, 7^th workshop).

In other workshops, when we proposed that children and pre-teens list aspects related to “being quilombola”, they pointed out actions that were strictly linked to community tasks and handicrafts. At the end of the activity, we obtained the following list:

It is to be recognized in places. People from outside come to know the community; it is to work with vines;

it is to work with thatch, to weave products, brooms, hats, bags, straw wallets; it is to be recognized by law;

it is to dance Afro-dance, capoeira; because you learn a lot;

it is to value yourself. (Excerpt from the authors’ fieldwork report, 4^th workshop)

Although the comments of the youngest participants refer to valorization and recognition, most of their responses are defined by what they do in the community. The discrepancy between these statements and those of older people may be due to the collective experiences of each generational group, among other factors.

The oldest participant shared with us his lifelong hesitation to call himself a quilombola. Having closely experienced their people's struggles and resistance — growth, the struggle for community recognition and subsequent access to specific public policies —, older people can more easily associate their quilombola identity with the local historical process, its advances and setbacks in recognition and access to public policies for quilombos. Although the children and preadolescents live with the consequences of these political struggles, and disputes in the territory are present today, they did not cite aspects of the collective struggle, but associated being a quilombola with the practical tasks they perform today in the community.

Meanwhile, we noticed from the list that, in some way, children and preadolescents also spoke of recognition, although they did not raise it as something to be sought. For them, recognition appears as something already given a priori. Similar results were found by ^{Valentim and Trindade (2011)}. Children and preadolescents evoked the idea of recognition associated with a duly formalized recognition (through laws that guarantee their rights as a traditional community), or recognition that comes from the other — quilombola or not — when perceiving their people as quilombola.

We thus note that recognition is qualified differently by subjects of the older and younger generations. Despite this, both identify it as a central aspect of the definition of quilombola identity.

With regard to the list produced by the children and preadolescents, the girls were the protagonists in its elaboration. In the community, they are strongly engaged in artisanal work, unlike boys. Thus, their definition of themselves as quilombolas was influenced by their daily chores, which are socially organized in the locality based on a gender division.

The relationship between quilombola and racial identities is also revealed by both generational groups. As described above, one of the older residents directly associated race and culture, although we know that not all older residents claim to be Black. In the discourse of the children and preadolescents, we identified this association when, at the opening of a workshop, we asked them, as we commonly did, to recall the previous meeting, in which we had met quilombola children from another community. When describing them, they incisively affirmed that “they were Blacks” (field report no. 7). When they recalled the children from another quilombo, this was the signifier evoked by the children and preadolescents from Serra. When referring to themselves, during the months of our coexistence they did not use any term that directly defined them as a racially delimited people, but, when talking about other children, this marker was present. This does not necessarily indicate an attempt to distance themselves from their Black identity. Because they had seen the children from the other quilombo only once, in the photos, their physical appearance and, therefore, their skin color was one of the few references they had to describe them, since all the children who appeared in the photos had dark black skin. On the other hand, very few children and preadolescents from Serra have this skin tone. Thus, given the non-homogenization of the skin color of its population, it was reasonable for the younger ones to characterize themselves based on community activities. We understand that this points to a sense of collectivity involved in quilombola identity, and simultaneously situates cultural practices as being more preponderant in quilombola self-affirmation in the sertão than racial belonging.