Mothers-to-be betrayed as Trump of the Tropics cuts midwives’ support
Maria das Dores Marinho Gomes was born to be a midwife. Raised on an indigenous reservation in the heart of the Amazon, like her mother and grandmother before her, she was taught as a young girl to deliver babies.
Now aged 46, she travels by boat – sometimes for two days – to reach the Amazon’s most far-flung communities.
“The first time I cut an umbilical cord, I felt this incredible rush of emotion,” she said. “My father had been stabbed to death. And using the knife to bring forth life, rather than kill someone, was the most incredible experience. From then on, I knew what I had to do. My whole life, I’ve wanted to help people.”
But her continued freedom to follow her vocation could soon be curtailed.
Brazil’s president, Jair Bolsonaro, took office in January having been elected on a pledge to roll back protection of the Amazon rainforest and indigenous rights, and prioritise expansion of agriculture and business interests. Nicknamed the Trump of the Tropics, Mr Bolsonaro has given all his ministers orders to cut budgets. In April, the ministry of science, technology, innovation and communication, which partially funds Mrs Gomes’s work, had its budget halved.
In September 80,000 scholarships for researchers were abruptly halted, owing to a freezing of funds for the National Council for Scientific and Technological Development, and Latin America’s largest economy and most populous nation is suffering an exodus of scientists: visas granted to top researchers rose 159 per cent by April.
“He doesn’t care for us,” said Mrs Gomes, of the Algodao Roxo midwives association – named after the pink cotton plant whose leaves are made into infusions to soothe pregnant women. “I don’t know if he even knows of our work. But I do know that it’s much harder for us now to get funding.”
It was raining heavily when Mrs Gomes set off in a small boat for the riverside community of Bacuri, where, as in the whole of the region, fishing is the only occupation. By the time she arrived, 45 minutes after setting out from Tefe, she was soaked through.
Maria Jose da Silva Rodrigues, 68, who welcomed Mrs Gomes into her wooden shack home like an old friend, is one of the beneficiaries of Algodao Roxo’s work. Mrs Gomes arrived in Bacuri in 2010, and asked around if there were any midwives in the community. Since then she has invited
Mrs Rodrigues to workshops in Tefe, where best practices are shared, and regularly checks in on her.
“Before Dores taught us differently, we used to force a woman’s waters to break,” she explained, swinging in her hammock as she talked.
“We’d take a garlic clove, peel it, and then shove it inside. Another midwife even used scissors – one actually cut a baby. But we were taught that it wasn’t hygienic, so we stopped.
“Dores told us that we had to urge an expectant mother to go to Tefe for tests early on, to see if she has HIV. Because if she has, that means she will be classed as a complicated birth, and have to deliver in a hospital.
“We’ve also, through the association, improved the fires that we burn traditionally when a woman is about to give birth. We share knowledge about the best plants to use to keep the mosquitoes away, and provide a sweet smell. It’s calming for everyone, and helps.”
Mrs Gomes nodded. “Before, some women used to give the newborns tea. But we told them that breast milk is the best thing for the children,” Mrs Rodrigues continued. “Bolsonaro’s cuts are making the hospitals overcrowded, so lots of women are now choosing to
‘Bolsonaro’s cuts are making the hospitals overcrowded, so lots of women are now choosing to stay at home’
stay at home. It makes our work even more vital.”
The rain had stopped by the time Mrs Gomes climbed back in the boat, taking off her sandals to wade through the warm river. Chugging through densely lined inlets she arrived at the small homestead where Patricia Cavalcanti Pinheiro, 21, was eight months pregnant with her third child.
Mrs Rodrigues had delivered her; now she was supervising her pregnancy. “She’s a little anaemic,” Mrs Gomes reported back. “But the problem is that the iron tablets need to be taken with a lot of water, and they aren’t used to drinking that much. It takes quite a bit of explaining.”
Mother and unborn child, however, were doing well, she concluded.
Mrs Gomes’s work is carried out with Algodao Roxo and the Instituto Mamiraua – a research facility set up in 1996 in Tefe, with a mission to study and protect 300 communities in three million hectares of land across the Amazon basin. Since 2011, 150 midwives have been trained up, but many within the institute fear for the future of their work.
“We’re helping the Algodao Roxo women find funds, but it’s certainly not easy,” said Maria Cecilia Gomes, director of the quality of life programme. “We’re suggesting to them that they seek finance from local mayors, and state politicians, given that federal financing is now complicated.”
Tabita dos Santos Moraes, 46, is president of Algodao Roxo, and attempting to drum up funds in the face of a lack of federal support.
A survivor of 57 cases of malaria, she raised four children in her rural community, 12 hours by boat from Tefe, before following in her mother’s and great-grandmother’s footsteps to become a midwife. She does not scare easily, then, but she admits that Mr Bolsonaro has her worried.
“We need support from all levels of government,” she said.
Her fledgling organisation, only set up in July last year, is under threat. “We need more training, and financial support. We’re only at the beginning, but we already have more than 1,000 midwives wanting to learn more.
“Twenty years ago, I remember delivering a baby that was born almost dead. For hours we tried to save it – it was agonising, and we didn’t know what to do. Last year a baby was born with the same condition, but thanks to our training we revived it within minutes. That is what this is all about.”