Ancestrofuturism: Enchantment, Confluence, Vital Energy and Living Writing

Introduction

This Case Study examines Afro-Brazilian oral and literary traditions, with a focus on their translation into English for an academic audience.¹Raisa Inocêncio Ferreira Lima received her PhD in Philosophy from the University of Toulouse, France, for her first book on the history of violence against women. Currently, her research focuses on the literary techniques of the future of ancestrality. In Brazil and Argentina, Raísa Inocêncio is affiliated with the research groups Carolina Maria de Jesus, Lélia Gonzalez Network, and Escuela Artivismos del Sur. In 2024 she was a researcher at the Cluster Temporal Communities at Freie Universität Berlin. She also conducts Bath workshops as art-healing practices.This text may seem intricate, as it weaves together many Brazilian words and elements of philosophical tradition, interlacing them in various contexts. The italicised words are Brazilian terms and/or conceptual expressions that demand a sense of poetry and enchantment. Afro-Brazilian people’s oral and literary tradition are presented to an English-speaking audience through the lens of ancestrofuturism—a framework that bridges ancestral wisdom and future. It argues that Afro-Indigenous cosmologies resist necropolitical violence by redefining temporality, culture, and identity. In analysing Ailton Krenak’s critique of competitive futurism, the film Bacurau (2019), and key concepts in Brazilian literature, I highlight how storytelling embodies resistance. This Case Study further introduces Yorubá-Nagô concepts such as Axé (vital force), Conceição Evaristo’s escrevivência (writing-living), Luiz Rufino’s notion of enchantment, and the ginga in Lia de Itamaracá’s music. It stresses the importance of cultural memory as a tool to reclaim the present. In summary, I argue that ancestral knowledge, which is constantly evolving, transforms future generations through collective enchantment and critical awareness.

Framed by the concept of ancestrofuturism—a term that fuses ancestral wisdom with visions of the future—Ailton Krenak emphasises that the future of ancestrality lies in recognising the interconnectedness between humanity and the natural world. He writes:

This evocation of ancestry is educational. (…) Firstly, the future is non-existent; we only imagine it. To say that something will happen in the future requires nothing of us, because it’s an illusion. You can put anything you want in there, like with a game of dice. Unfortunately, since modern times, we have been encouraged to enter the world competitively. Over time, this competitive spirit has evolved into a culture of risk-takers, where everyone is gambling on their fate. If everything goes according to plan: ‘Bingo!’ However, the truth is that we increasingly live in the projection of very unlikely futures, even if we prefer this lie to reality.²All translations are my own unless stated otherwise. Original text from Full reference in Zotero Library: ‘Essa invocação de ancestralidade é educativa. (…) Para começar, o futuro não existe—nós apenas o imaginamos. Dizer que alguma coisa vai acontecer no futuro não exige nada de nós, pois ele é uma ilusão. Então, pode-se depositar tudo ali, como em um jogo de dados. Infelizmente, desde a modernidade, fomos provocados a nos inserir no mundo de maneira competitiva. E essa competitividade, estimulada durante séculos, acabou formando um mundo de jogadores. Se o futuro der certo: “Bingo!”. Mas a verdade é que estamos vivendo cada vez mais a projeção de futuros muito improváveis, embora continuemos preferindo essa mentira ao presente’.

Krenak stresses the challenge of imagining the future without forgetting the colonial past, a system built on the erasure of entire worlds, where regimes of death destroyed entire ways of life. Imagining differently requires more than recalling past events; it requires deconstructing the very foundations of thought that perpetuate or conceal such acts of violence. In Brazil, the legacy of slavery and the persecution of Afro-Indigenous cultures have made orality a vital tool for preserving and transmitting knowledge. Storytelling became a strategy for preserving cultural memory, deeply influencing Brazilian literature and its engagement with existential questions about time, space, and being.

I use these traditions as a point of entry to demonstrate how Afro-Ameridian-Brazilian thought engages with temporalities, memories, and presence in order to imagine alternative futures—specifically, the Afro-Amerindian and Afro-diasporic Yorubá-Nagô cosmogony of Axé, understood as both a vital force and a guiding principle of existence.³In José Beniste’s dictionary, Axé in Yoruba means: ‘Strength, power, the element that structures a society, law, order and also a word used to define respect for the power of God, through the belief that it is He who allows everything and gives due approval. Let it be so (lit. the power is in God’s hands)’ Full reference in Zotero Library. Concerning Axé in schools of pedagogy in Brazil, see Full reference in Zotero Library.

I introduce the notions of existential practice and vital force, Axé, because they have emerged from resilience and been preserved through a way of life that endured slavery and colonialism. These concepts can be understood in relation to necropolitics, a framework that illuminates how Afro-Brazilian cosmologies resist systems of domination by affirming life and ancestral continuity. Necropolitics, a concept coined by Achille Mbembe, captures the reality faced by the poor, the exiled, and the Other.⁴Achille Mbembe’s notion explores how political power decides who should live and who should die. Unlike Michel Foucault’s “biopower”, which regulates life, necropolitics emphasises control over death and unworthy living conditions. It manifests itself in practices such as genocide, war, imprisonment, and social exclusion, especially in colonial and post-colonial contexts, where certain groups are dehumanised and placed in situations of extreme vulnerability. It is a tool for understanding how the state and other political forces govern through violence and death. See Full reference in Zotero Library. I would like to emphasise the hypothesis that, even under the conditions of necropolitics, the experiences of the marginalised in Brazil reveal that the Afro-Indigenous spirit creates spaces of resistance and redefines social identity, transcending the reach of those who—consciously or unconsciously—prioritise death above all else. These necropolitical forces, structurally rooted in hierarchies that dictate who has the right to live and who must die Full reference in Zotero Library, and shaped by an intersectionality of race, class, and gender Full reference in Zotero Library, recognise themselves as adversaries of life-affirming politics. That is, they actively work to uphold death as their central agenda.

However, the principal challenge of this study has been to distill a complex and syncretic cultural heritage into a scholarly framework that could resonate with European audiences unfamiliar with the lived experiences of coloniality and slavery. To address this, the film Bacurau by Kleber Mendonça Filho and Juliano Dornelles serves as an effective means of quickly and intensively conveying the central theme of a culture which embodies a powerful, life-affirming energy and a joyful celebration of existence. The film provides a thought-provoking vision of a future society while drawing on the fundamental principles of Afro-Indigenous philosophy: enchantment, learning, encounter, confluence, and critical awareness.

Although this Case Study does not claim to be exhaustive, the film depicts a vision of a future society founded on Afro-Indigenous values, including enchantment, education, interaction, fusion, and self-awareness. I use the film to approach the Afro-Brazilian culture of Axé in a manner that is accessible and understandable to a wide audience. Alongside the film Bacurau and the notion of Axé, the discussion introduces key concepts, such as enchantment, confluence, and escrevivência (a fusion of ‘writing’ and ‘living experience’), which is a literary concept developed by the renowned author Conceição Evaristo Full reference in Zotero Library. These terms anchor the analysis in cultural memory and reflect a dedication to the transformative potential of language.

The second challenge requires careful reflection in order to recognise that these terms, shaped and enriched by their specific cultural and contextual origins, carry profound, multilayered meanings that resist simple definitions. They assume different names and nuances across various discourses, often necessitating sensitivity in both translation and interpretation. As I have argued in previous articles discussing the concepts of Axé in the Amefrican ladino subject,⁵Améfrica Ladina is the term Lélia Gonzalez uses to replace what was previously referred to as Latin America. For Gonzalez, this neologism emphasises the Afro-diasporic and Amerindian cultural and historical contributions that are often erased in the colonial narrative of “Latin America”. It underscores a decolonial perspective, centering the lived experiences, languages, and epistemologies of those historically marginalised in the construction of this region Full reference in Zotero Library. See also Full reference in Zotero Library. the notions of crossroads, and oraliture,⁶See Full reference in Zotero Library. these terms do not represent static ideas but rather dynamic, living vocabularies of resilience, memory, and creativity.

For this second challenge, and by way of conclusion, this Case Study turns to music—culminating in a poetic choreography, a ginga—which examines Lia de Itamaracá’s music ciranda and her symbolic presence in Bacurau. In the film, she portrays a wise elder, embodying justice and ancestral wisdom. Her portrayal transcends her identity as a singer, becoming a metaphor for cultural continuity and collective resistance. This analysis is complemented by a contextual playlist and glossary that illuminate the key terms and ideas informing this inquiry. Framed as a poetic homage, this Case Study draws on literary works, lived experiences, and cultural practices from Afro-Indigenous Brazilian culture. It posits that imagining the future necessitates constructing the present through the remembrance and transmission of ancestral knowledge.

This research was also inspired by fieldwork at the Ilê Obá Sileke Candomblé temple,⁷For more information, see Ilê Obá Sileké – Candomblé Berlin. Date of access: 07 Jan. 2025. as well as through informal and formal conversations, oral narratives, and cosmological accounts. These encounters provide fertile ground to reimagine the relationship between past, present, and future.

Bacurau

In the style of science fiction, the film Bacurau portrays Brazil in a dystopian future. The opening scene shows the map of Brazil engulfed in flames—a striking image of a nation seemingly without law or state. The film is rich with symbols that resonate deeply for those familiar with the culture of fear, violence, and dehumanisation. Its success—garnering over one and a half million viewers and earning a prize at Cannes—lies in its ability to harness art’s and religion’s shared power: enchantment. At the same time, it cultivates a political consciousness, teaching us about the violence we endure without allowing it to overpower us. Communication in Bacurau becomes an act of collective awareness, protection, defence, and, ultimately, the construction of a collective identity. The film offers a utopian dream of a Brazil that already exists.

The story begins with the funeral of Carmelita, the village elder, played by singer Lia de Itamaracá, to whom I will return again at the end of this Case Study. I interpret this opening as a portent of what is to come: the first battle is for a good death. Carmelita’s passing is marked by a ritual in which the entire village gathers to bid farewell to the elder who has “enchanted” (a popular expression meaning someone has passed away).

From this point, the plot unfolds: the corrupt town mayor exploits the chaotic situation and is depicted as a political figure who seeks to ‘dispose of’ the local population by ‘renting’ Bacurau to a group of Americans for a human safari. This grotesque game pits participants against one another in a contest to kill the most ‘Latinos’, transforming the village into a site of necropolitical tourism. This horrifying spectacle reflects a narcissistic and dehumanised society.

As the massacre looms, the film delves into the way of life within this microcosm of Brazilian society. On one hand, there are Brazilians who collaborate with the human safari, deluded by ‘white masks’ (in the Fanonian sense), imagining themselves as part of the ruling class.⁸In the Fanonian sense, ‘white masks’ symbolise the internalisation of colonial oppression, where the colonised subject adopts the cultural, linguistic, and psychological framework of the coloniser, often at the cost of their own identity Full reference in Zotero Library. These so-called ‘heirs’, who claim proximity to their oppressors (‘we are closer to you’), pay the price for their denial of their own non-whiteness and are ultimately ‘punished’ for attempting to participate in the safari.

On the other hand, the villagers demonstrate resilience and direct reparations, depicted in scenes bathed in violet lighting and underscored by a soundtrack that refuses to victimise their situation, despite the imminent attack. The film portrays Bacurau as a collective, vibrant community: a capoeira dance and game, free expressions of sexuality, lively festivities, community meetings with the doctor Domingas (played by Sônia Braga), care for children, and education. One of the film’s most symbolic moments is the literal disappearance of Bacurau from the map—a powerful metaphor for erasure and resistance.

The allusion to resistance in the film arises from the struggle to maintain memory. Bacurau contains scenes imbued with subtle ethical and sensitive undertones. One particularly moving scene highlights this theme, depicting how the villagers carefully preserve their weapons in the museum, which has previously been attacked.

Another remarkable aspect of Bacurau is its vivid evocation of Amefrican orality, exemplified in the scene where villagers call out to warn each other about two strangers on motorcycles. The interplay of music and candid conversations—such as Teresa (Bárbara Colen) flirting with Capote (Thomas Aquino) in front of her family—adds layers of existential love and resistance that enrich the film’s narrative. This is further deepened by the heartwarming reunion of two long-separated lovers: Teresa, who left to study and now returns to her hometown carrying vaccines, embodying both care and continuity. The unique architecture of the northeastern hinterland, shaped by its desert mysticism and the intoxicating heat, provides a vivid backdrop for these stories. Elderly women chatting on sidewalks, the libertine cabaret, and other fragments of everyday life further enrich the cultural fabric of Bacurau, grounding its fantastical elements in the rhythms and textures of lived experience.

One final detail that compelled me to write about Bacurau is the dialogue between Michael (Udo Kier), the American leader of the human safari, and Domingas (Sônia Braga), a brown, mixed-race woman who defends love and, in this case, serves as the community’s doctor. This happy end does not dehumanise the American, who is explicit in his choice to live in the form of erotic satisfaction in war—or necropolitical jouissance—while simultaneously demonstrating in situ a portrayal of the real and daily confrontation between violence and resilience, fear and reparation, and other such dualities that characterise the experience of territorial domination.

Beginning with Bacurau allows me to translate the untranslatable, the lived experience mediated by orality, embodied in dance, and the choreography of being. It rejects the authoritarian logic of universalism and embraces our next subject, which Nego Bispo terms “confluence”: to live, to feel, and to be enchanted.

Finally, in the film Bacurau, we find an example of alterity in “confluence” and “enchantment”—concepts that allow us to unpack what enchantment entails and how fictional literature can transform it into an escrevivência rooted in Axé. This perspective invites us to engage with Afro-Amerindian Brazilian enchantment as an epistemology—an ethical way of knowing. Within this framework, the state of dreaming induced by enchantment does not belong to any single individual but rather to everyone.

This is why Bacurau can be read as an instance of critical fabulation (a term coined by Saidiya Hartman), offering a lens through which to view the film as more than an object of aesthetic consumption or mere entertainment.⁹Critical fabulation, as proposed by Saidiya Hartman in Venus in Two Acts Full reference in Zotero Library, is a methodological and narrative strategy that combines historical research and creative storytelling to address the silences and erasures in the archives of enslaved peoples. It seeks to reimagine and give voice to lives that were marginalised or rendered invisible by dominant historical records. By weaving together fragments of historical evidence with speculative imagination, Hartman challenges the limits of traditional historiography, creating space for the lived experiences, agency, and humanity of those often excluded from history Full reference in Zotero Library. It becomes a Bacurau methodology—a way of writing and thinking about existence that embodies the Brazilian Afro-Indigenous modus operandi.

Encantamento and Confluência

To understand the enchantment that the film Bacurau seeks to convey—and to introduce the Yoruba/Nagô culture of Axé—it is necessary to delve deeper into the concept of encantamento (enchantment). This concept, which features prominently in the work of Luiz Ruffino, resonates with what Nego Bispo terms confluência (confluence). In this Case Study, these two concepts will be read in dialogue.

We begin with Luiz Rufino, whose incisive reflections present enchantment as an active process of struggle, resistance, and continual reparation. Enchantment fosters collective being, fortifies community, and renews human relationships by emphasising attentiveness and human relationality.

Enchantment, as proposed here, becomes an epistemology, a shared dream state that resists both ownership and exclusion. With this enchantment, this Case Study positions the act of imagination as a meeting point between the abstract and the real, between self-awareness and the recognition of the other’s irreducible différence. It is a transformative force of life that invites us to reimagine humanity itself.  Rufino writes:

We won’t leave the bush; the lies told by rogue mouths don’t seduce us. We are capoeiras (undergrowth); our wisdoms arise from the cracks. We are bodies that rise from the wreckage, from shattered pieces, inventing other possibilities in the unimaginable movement of ginga (art of going). From this perspective, the invention of a poetic, political, and ethical project that works to unburden us from colonial heritage and misfortune must be carefully woven here as a guerrilla tactic of knowledge. The main goal of this struggle is to dismantle the supremacy of white reason, expose its privileges and weaknesses, and propose alternative paths rooted in subaltern references intersecting with historically dominant ones.¹⁰Original quotation: ‘Não sairemos do mato, as mentiras contadas pelas bocas malfeitoras não nos seduzem, somos capoeiras (mato rasteiro), as nossas sabedorias são de fresta, somos corpos que se erguem dos destroços, dos cacos despedaçados e inventam outras possibilidades no movimento inapreensível da ginga. Nessa perspectiva, a invenção de um projeto poético/político/ético que opere no despacho do carrego colonial (obra e herança  colonial) e na desobsessão de toda sua má sorte será aqui cuidadosamente tecida como uma tática de guerrilha do conhecimento. Essa estratégia de luta tem como principal meta atacar a supremacia das razões brancas e denunciar seus privilégios, fragilidades e apresentar outros caminhos a partir de referenciais subalternos e do cruzo desses com os historicamente dominantes’ Full reference in Zotero Library.

This notion of epistemic guerrilla warfare —a mode of resisting, knowing, and teaching—emerges as a vital counterpoint to colonial systems of thought. Rufino redefines philosophy as a love of knowledge that is grounded in Afro-Indigenous Brazilian references. Through encantamento, learning, relating, and being enchanted become paths to healing within the ultra-competitive, individualistic logic of modern subjectivity. In this sense, ancestry is not merely about remembering the past; it is an ongoing, vital force that resists erasure and disenchantment. As Rufino asserts: ‘Ancestry, in this sense, emerges as a continuum, a vital strength, and an enchanting effect that counters the scarcity instilled by forgetfulness’.¹¹Original quotation: ‘Ancestralidade, nesse sentido, emerge como um contínuo, uma pujança vital e um efeito de encantamento contrário à escassez incutida pelo esquecimento’ Full reference in Zotero Library.

In other words, when we discuss this enchantment, it is fundamentally an enchantment of encounters and openness to difference. The act of imagining enchantment manifests at the intersection of the abstract and the real, encompassing both the individual dimension—reflexive, empathetic, and self-aware—and the recognition of the Other in their incomprehensible difference. This encounter strengthens the community, the collective being, and the being in the world, enriching, inspiring, and enchanting us through shared experiences that mirror society. Consequently, this perspective proposes a reoxygenation of affective relationships, suggesting and establishing forms of humanity that are attentive, relational, and grounded in alterity. Enchantment, in this sense, becomes a transformative force of life.

We then move to Antonio Bispo dos Santos, or Nego Bispo, whose notion of confluência complements and expands Rufino’s encantamento. Nego Bispo, a philosopher rooted in the lived experience of Quilombola communities, bridges the gap between orality and writing.¹²A Quilombola is a descendant of African people who escaped slavery in Brazil and formed independent communities known as quilombos. These communities, historically established as spaces of resistance, preserve Afro-Brazilian cultural, social, and spiritual traditions while advocating for land rights and social justice today. His poetic reflections challenge the totalitarianism of being and open space for multiple realities to coexist. This is essential to understanding the resilience of Axé culture, which thrives in opposition to the politics of death.

This spiritual openness is evident in its practices—eating, dancing, listening, loving—which manifest a methodology of blending and interpreting the world through feeling and being. In Nego Bispo’s conception, confluência is the meeting of different streams of knowledge that retain their distinctiveness while enriching one another. It is the fluid intersection of tributaries that converge to create something more robust and expansive. Bispo writes:

Confluence is the energy that moves us toward sharing, recognition, and respect. A river doesn’t stop being a river when it flows into another river; on the contrary, it becomes itself and other rivers—it becomes stronger. When we confluence, we don’t stop being who we are; we become ourselves and others—we yield. Confluence is a force that yields, increases, and expands. That’s the measure. In fact, this germinating word, confluência, came to me when our ancestry was holding me in its arms. It still holds me! I feel embraced by ancestry, and I want to share that embrace.¹³Original quotation: ‘Confluência é a energia que está nos movendo para o compartilhamento, para o reconhecimento, para o respeito. Um rio não deixa de ser um rio porque conflui com outro rio, ao contrário, ele passa a ser ele mesmo e outros rios, ele se fortalece. Quando a gente confluência, a gente não deixa de ser a gente, a gente passa a ser a gente e outra gente—a gente rende. A confluência é uma força que rende, que aumenta, que amplia. Essa é a medida. De fato, a confluência, essa palavra germinante, me veio em um momento em que a nossa ancestralidade me segurava no colo. Na verdade, ela ainda me segura! Ando me sentindo no colo da ancestralidade e quero compartilhar isso’ Full reference in Zotero Library.

This idea of confluência resonates with the spiritual activism of Afro-Indigenous communities, whose collective way of life emerges as an enduring act of resistance against colonial modernity. Living collectively—building futures by remembering and honouring the past—becomes the foundation for a shared knowledge of the good living (bem viver).

In summary, encantamento and confluência reveal ways of being and knowing that resist colonial erasure and foster resilience. They challenge the logic of domination and universalism, inviting us to engage in an intellectual and spiritual choreography that celebrates vitality, connection, and joy. These concepts, which are central to Brazilian Afro-Indigenous philosophies, offer powerful frameworks for understanding the enchantment that emanates from Bacurau.

Confluence is an act of sharing, and together with Nego Bispo, we partake in a festive joy when it occurs collectively. I quote two scenes that Nego Bispo presents as examples of pedagogy in confluence:

The scene is: suddenly, in one of our people’s homes, comes in a well-educated person, of these erudite people, and at the wall there was a picture with the photograph of a donkey. The person comes to our people and asks: ‘Is this a photograph of a donkey?’ And our people say: ‘No, this is a mirror’. This is one of the scenes that we like because it uses the image in an educational way, without needing to attack. There’s another scene that happened to me, very strong, but I think it is wonderful. Between 2005 and 2006, I contributed to the creation of articulation coordination of the quilombola communities in the state of Sergipe. I arrived in a room full of teenage girls, all with their straightened hair, and when I looked at that image of the black girls with straightened hair I said: ‘Look, these girls who had straightened their hair (…)’ So I saw the faces get angry in my direction and I thought that if I finished the sentence as they possibly were expecting, they would probably beat me up. Then I ended with: ‘Look, these girls who had straightened their hair, they are mistaken if they think that they did it in order to look like white women, they came today to pay homage to brazilian indigenous women’. They all celebrated and I partied together, because I got away from a spanking. I came out good, but it bothered me. Full reference in Zotero Library

Building on the concepts of enchantment and confluence, and their resonance within the encounter between academic European thought and Afro-diasporic philosophies, I want to introduce a passage I discovered in a book on ethnopsychiatry. The authors, Tobie Nathan and Lucien Hounkpatin, describe the meeting of Western and non-Western epistemologies with a precision that feels almost surgical. Their analysis highlights how, for a Westerner steeped in a disenchanted and often individualistic worldview—one that I would argue aligns closely with capitalist logic—the experience of confluence and enchantment can be perceived as a loss of reason or an unsettling departure from rationality. However, within this “loss” lies the potential for healing, a healing found in the practice of translating and integrating these concepts into the fabric of everyday life. This perspective is beautifully articulated in their book La Parole de la Forêt Initiale:

Ethnopsychiatry develops in places where one usually encounters war, colonisation, and the disqualification of one by the other. Ethnopsychiatry aims to provide an alternative to the attitude that comes so easily to Westerners: reducing the other to being nothing more than a copy of oneself. Because, as we know: the claim to universality is always the justification for conquest. And to compel us to discussion and deeper engagement—diplomacy, therefore—we have found no better solution than friendship.¹⁴Original text from Full reference in Zotero Library: ‘Elle (l’ethnopsychiatrie) se développe là où, habituellement, on rencontre la guerre, la colonisation, la disqualification de l’un par l’autre. L’ethnopsychiatrie se veut une alternative à cette attitude qui vient si facilement aux Occidentaux: celle de réduire l’autre à n’être qu’une copie de soi-même. Car, nous le savons: la prétention à l’universel est toujours la justification de la conquête. Et pour nous contraindre à la discussion et à l’approfondissement—à la diplomatie, donc—nous n’avons trouvé d’autre solution que l’amitié’.

Let us remember the etymology of the word ‘philosophy’: a love for or friendship with knowledge. Friendship and enchantment offer ways of thinking about worlds and of partaking in an enchanted humanity. The refusal to acknowledge enchantment within what we term reason is, indeed, part of the problem. The formulation of ethical judgements can and should encompass both affections and the empirical capacity for sensation. Friendship and confluence allow us to seek shared terms between these two worlds, so that we might understand each other and reflect on the future of our past. I assert my place within academic writing as an act of healing the postcolonial wound—even if it sometimes seems poetic, it is a claim for belonging. In my case, it is philosophy and my path: one that traverses both philosophy and lived experience.¹⁵On the irreconcilable tension between modern philosophy and its relationship with Blackness, and how this article seeks to amplify Afro-Brazilian thought, I reference two essential works on the subject: Full reference in Zotero Library and Full reference in Zotero Library.

These worlds of thought can converge, even if only briefly, in the space of an encounter—a fleeting glance. Such moments provoke a lived experience, a description of the fictional real that becomes, in itself, a pedagogical model and a testament to a life deeply and meaningfully lived. Reflecting on the movie Bacurau, I recall the scene where the doctor, played by Sônia Braga, during a community meeting, describes the medicine distributed by the mayor as a potent anxiolytic, an antidote to enchantment, designed to numb and disorient, rendering one disenchanted.

Every word has the potential to be either medicine or poison.

Yet, within the framework of Axé, there is no place for poisoning, erasure, or forgetting.

Here, the word becomes exaltation, presence, sharing, and love.¹⁶bell hooks has published powerful work on love as a militant practice: see Full reference in Zotero Library and Full reference in Zotero Library. It transforms into a force of collective affirmation, a celebration of life and being. These are writings of being-in-the-world, an embodiment of Axé, writing infused with vitality, connection, and purpose.

Escrevivência and Axé

As we contemplate the future of ancestrality, translate and interpret Afro-Brazilian literature, we look to the rich cultural heritage of Axé, which is firmly embedded in the Yoruba-Nagô cosmogony. Taking cues from how Bacurau portrays true-to-life Brazil, with its blend of Afro-Indigenous influences, wisdom traditions, and philosophies, two key concepts emerge: escrevivência and Axé.

In contemporary Brazil, these two words resonate profoundly, standing at the crossroads of academia, thought, and lived experience. Escrevivência (writing-living), a term that inaugurates a literary genre, not only facilitates the emergence of critical thought around itself but also bridges the gap between academic discourse and oral traditions that have existed since the era of slavery. It reclaims a collective, embodied memory, connecting to ancestral storytelling practices that academia has only recently begun to name and recognise.

As I have argued elsewhere, this literary and philosophical movement goes beyond the simple act of writing. It is an act of survival, resistance, and affirmation. In my article ‘Reading Listening: A Prelude to the God Exu and Orality in Afro-Brazilian Expression’ Full reference in Zotero Library, I examined how Axé functions as a spiritual and epistemological driving force in this discourse. Together, escrevivência and Axé express a distinctly Afro-Brazilian way of knowing, being, and envisioning the world. This approach defies the detached logic of modernity and reclaims joy, remembrance, and vigour as acts of resistance:

I would like to introduce the idea of escrevivência, a literary genre rooted in the lived experiences of the Black community. Escrevivência is deeply influenced by oral storytelling traditions. The term, which was coined by the author Conceição Evaristo, fuses the Portuguese words for writing (escrever) and lived experience (vivência), since the literary style gives voice to Black experiences, particularly those of Black women, in a fictionalised form. According to Evaristo, escrevivência captures their pain, hardships, and resistance, transforming their experiences into narratives to preserve memories and enhance identities. Reading escrevivência becomes an act that requires us to imagine life in its raw historical context: slavery, the social chasms it created, and the racism that continues to kill based on skin colour. Escrevivência is thus grounded in oral forms of storytelling, using techniques such as rhythm and communal voice, which echo the oral transmission of knowledge in the midst of terror. To survive and create their own culture, Black people had to navigate linguistic barriers and transmit knowledge orally and secretly—an act of resistance against colonial prohibitions. By writing down these narratives, escrevivência carries on this tradition of defiance. Full reference in Zotero Library

Axé, on the other hand, represents life itself; without it, there is no culture, memory, nourishment, desire, or existence. The vital force embodied in the term Axé, originating from Yoruba, highlights a central dimension within the vast non-Western traditions that were systematically targeted during colonisation—namely, the Nagô/Yoruba cosmogony. Through the lens of the Orixás one encounters a perception of enchantment intertwined with choreographic practices of the body, thought, and ecology, reflecting the intricate relationship between humans and nature.¹⁷Orixás is, according to Beniste Full reference in Zotero Library: ‘Deities represented by the energies of nature, forces that nourish life on earth, acting as intermediaries between God and people, from whom they receive forms of worship and offerings’. It is worth adding that Axé, as a principle, belongs to African traditions, especially Ketu, Jeje, and Yoruba-Nagô, with references to the Orixás, the deities, and the religion of Ifá. For more on this, see the seminal work by Nigerian philosopher Abimbola Full reference in Zotero Library, or in Brazil, Prandi Full reference in Zotero Library, as well as the writings of Muniz Sodré, Helena Theodoro, Lélia Gonzalez, and José Beniste himself, and others not yet translated into English. This cosmogony introduces a ginga art-of-being-in-movement, a state of continuous flow and confluence, where existence unfolds in harmony with nature’s rhythms. It seamlessly integrates human and natural relationships, imbuing Axé with profound metaphysical and practical significance within Afro-Brazilian spiritual traditions. Axé permeates daily life and spiritual practices, appearing in greetings exchanged during meetings and rituals, as well as in Candomblé and other Afro-Brazilian spiritualities like Umbanda.

Beyond its spiritual significance, in Resolution 715, dated July 20, 2023, the National Health Council (CNS) recognised Afro-Brazilian faiths as complementary therapies. This resolution emphasises the importance of respecting the inherent complexities of African-matrix cultures and traditional peoples. Specifically, it identifies terreiros, barracões, and spiritual centres as ‘primary points of entry’ for those seeking help, offering holistic support to address mental, psychological, social, and nutritional imbalances. Axé is also recognised by Brazil’s public health system (SUS) as a therapeutic practice that integrates the principles of food sovereignty and rest, which are considered fundamental human rights. This recognition highlights the vital role of Afro-Brazilian spiritual spaces in promoting well-being and community care.¹⁸Resolution 715 of the National Health Council (CNS), 20 july 2023. Date of access: 14 Nov. 2024. See also Full reference in Zotero Library As I mention in my upcoming chapter dedicated to Lélia Gonzalez:

“Axé”, meaning “life force” in Yoruba, is one of the central terms in Afro-Brazilian spiritual practices, and it holds a definitive place in the Brazilian lexicon. In the context of carrying words with and through grace, Axé signifies that, whether we accept it or not, it is a word actively used by both those who seek to capitalise on and appropriate it, and by the diverse Afro-Amerindian, or Amefrican, ancestries—as Lélia Gonzalez puts it—against the backdrop of a long history of racism, persecution, and criminalisation.¹⁹Original text from the National Health Council: ‘“Força vital” em iorubá, Axé é uma das palavras centrais das práticas espirituais afro-brasileiras, sendo definitiva no vocabulário brasileiro. No sentido de carregar as palavras com e pela graça, o Axé faz com que, quer se queira ou não, seja uma palavra efetivamente utilizada tanto por aqueles que a capitalizam e se apropriam dela quanto por diversas ancestralidades afro-ameríndias, ou amefricanas, como Lélia Gonzalez diz, a contragosto de uma tradição secular de racismo, perseguição e criminalização’. Concerning Lélia Gonzalez, see Full reference in Zotero Library. [forthcoming].

Coming back to the movie Bacurau, we encounter alterity in confluence—a representation of a society where difference is celebrated, and where fiction becomes a form of escrevivência infused with Axé. Bacurau represents the convergence of futuristic art and resistance that continually heals and endures, despite ongoing attacks. Art is one of the ways we express ourselves, revealing invisible affection, warmth, and care.

To translate these words is both to introduce and enchant. This is why I would like to close this text by discussing music and a particularly enchanting character from Bacurau: Lia de Itamaracá.

To Finish: Music and Ginga

In my research, I have emphasised the importance of hearing the knowledge that was suppressed during colonisation. Cultural expressions, especially those of Afro-Brazilian heritage, have become crucial sources of research and epistemology, shaping real political discourse that fosters both individual and collective identities. Among these expressions, music stands out as one of the most potent forms of communication. For example, samba, a genre known for its colourful carnival-inspired imagery, is a pivotal force in the cultural fabric. Furthermore, the concept of Axé is also a musical style that emerged in Bahia, and embodies this dynamic of Afro-Diasporic heritage.²⁰I have made examples of axé music, samba, and carnival schools available for listening via a Spotify playlist.

Music mobilises the body; the body mobilises memory; memory, in turn, mobilises self-awareness and the negotiation of space, time, and relationships. These relationships extend not only to others but also to the past, to the elders, and to the forces of nature, forces that are invincible and inevitable.

I would like to emphasise the significance of music from the perspective of Black women who, within the hierarchy of oppression during slavery, were among the most affected. One such figure is Lia de Itamaracá, whose songs honour Iemanjá, the orixá of the sea and motherhood.²¹Lia de Itamaracá. Meu São Jorge [Video]. YouTube. Iemanjá embodies the nurturing of our Orí (heads), just as a mother cherishes her child/people every day.²²In his collection of Orixá myths, Reginaldo Prandi describes the Orí as the orixá of the Head (a kind of psyche or subjectivity) and for this reason a principle of individuation. The orí with a lower-case ‘o’ is destiny and, according to José Beniste in the Yorubá-Portuguese dictionary, a greeting to a person with a good head, who is lucky (Full reference in Zotero Library; Full reference in Zotero Library). Her music highlights the connection between music, culture, and resistance. When we exalt Iemanjá as the queen of the sea, we do more than merely honour her; we embrace the dual possibility she represents between violence and peace, serenading ourselves into rest and reflection, finding solace in the warmth that life offers. We could also mention other songs, like Olodum’s Goddess of Love,²³Olodum. Deusa do Amor [Video]. YouTube. which honours the orixá Oxum, the force of the rivers, beauty, and fertility.

It is important to remember the context in which the people who dance Lia’s ciranda find themselves. When outside, there is terror and chaos; within, there is faith, community, and the knife—a symbol of both protection and resistance.²⁴Milton Nascimento and Beto Guedes. Fé Cega, Faca Amolada [Video]. YouTube. Lia de Itamaracá’s ciranda brings together instruments in harmonious peace, with rhythmic influences that reflect a collective spirit. As she sings, ‘my ciranda is not mine alone; it belongs to all of us (…)’.²⁵Lia de Itamaracá. Eu Sou Lia, Minha Ciranda e Preta Cira. [Video]. YouTube. This profound sense of unity transcends individual ownership and speaks to the communal nature of Afro-Brazilian music and culture.

Conclusion

Why translate a culture of “enchantment”, “confluence”, “escrevivência”, and “Axé”—rooted in Afro-Indigenous Brazilian experiences of orality, literature, and art—into English for a global audience?

This Case Study, through an analysis of selected texts, music, and the film Bacurau (2019), has examined how cultural memory and tradition shape alternative worldviews. These works challenge dominant narratives of progress, offering unique perspectives rooted in Afro-Brazilian experiences, while exploring how writing bridges different time periods, including the present, across diverse global contexts.

For in the place from which I come, we are unaware of the names of our ancestors; our legacy has been, and continues to be, under constant assault through policies of terror and genocide. This is what we refer to as slavery and colonisation. This is why my focus lies on those figures who were persecuted in the past yet persist in their struggle for existence, striving for harmony and peace while generating wisdom. This Case Study is significant because it addresses both existential and political issues. It follows a mode of writing that presents engaged artistic practices, which I research as artivism.²⁶See the Summer School coordinated by Karina Bidaseca. During the program, we engaged in artistic and activist practices. In my case, I conducted workshops on sensory bathing rituals (Atelier de Banhos). For more information, visit Escuela d’Artivismos del Sur, UNSAM research group Epistemologias del Sur.

As a philosopher, I can assert one conclusion that the awareness of existence is not divided into an isolated “Ego” opposed to a dominant “Self”. Instead, it forms a collective “We”, coexisting in harmony with life. This Case Study has sought to bring to English-speaking readers—and European academic audiences—a dialogue that reoxygenates social relationships. Of course, we find ourselves in the tension between limits and the infinite possibilities of encounters, contradictions, and unexpected connections. For a friendship to exist, we may not recognise the importance of enchantment (as a first principle to “confluence”, “escrevivência” and “Axé”) until we realise that it is present.

In any case, this text is an ‘epistemological ebó’, one practice and effect of enchantment Full reference in Zotero Library. The term ebó originates from the Yoruba tradition and holds deep spiritual significance in Afro-Brazilian religions like Candomblé and Umbanda. It refers to a ritual offering or sacrifice made to the orixás, ancestors, or spiritual entities to seek blessings, protection, balance, or resolution of specific issues. Translated, it becomes a work, an offering of knowledge, not merely rhetoric, but an attempt to give voice and space to a thought rooted in joy. Indeed, our resistance is sustained by joy. In healing an epistemology that separates body from spirit, we propose ginga as a consciousness-of-self, a movement, a sway, that integrates balance, rhythm, and transformation. These reflections organically culminate in a prise de conscience, a transformative awareness that unfolds as self-healing, and ultimately, as collective political healing and defence against the wounds of domination.

Finally, this text ends by beginning again, as a circular rather than linear offering. It is intended as an introduction and a pathway that highlights works of art, words, concepts, and expressions that collectively embody the vital force and social reoxygenation we so urgently need in times of struggle. And yet, as in Bacurau, also a happy ending.