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By REESE ERLICH
© St. Petersburg Times, published August 16, 2000
MONTEVIDEO, Uruguay -- Four men pound out a pulsating rhythm on their tambores, drums that look like potbellied congas. Then 20 women singers join the musical fray, their voices perfectly matching the syncopated rhythm.
The audience members, more than 150 white and black Uruguayans, take up every inch of space in the small Mundo Afro cultural center as they clap hands and groove to the infectious beat.
The drummers and singers are performing candombe, the most popular music in Uruguay. But for white Uruguayans accustomed to a single performer with a guitar playing a less rambunctious candombe, this performance reflects a distinctly black sensibility.
It's as if after years of Pat Boone, they've suddenly discovered Little Richard.
The show typifies a growing interest in the African roots of candombe, part of a nascent effort to promote black pride and political empowerment. A disproportionate number of black Uruguayans live in poverty, and none have reached the upper levels of business or government. Blacks receive 20 percent less pay for similar work.
Still, most whites in Uruguay deny that racism exists.
Blacks "haven't been allowed to develop socially, economically or politically," said Beatriz Ramirez, a co-founder of Mundo Afro and the first black member of Montevideo's City Council. "We have become an excluded minority."
Activists at Mundo Afro, Uruguay's leading black political and cultural organization, are hoping to ignite a movement to politically empower blacks. Earlier this year, they helped elect both Ramirez and the country's first black national legislator. While the political organizing is proceeding slowly, Mundo Afro is having greater success with educating Uruguayans about black culture, particularly its music.
Candombe originated during the colonial era with African slaves' religious drumming, singing and dancing. For much of this century, candombe was only performed during Carnival and at black family events. Uruguay's white elite shunned the African-based music, similar to what happened during the early days of samba in Brazil and jazz in the United States.
"A lot of Uruguayans saw candombe as a music of poor people, of barefoot people and children begging in the streets," says candombe musician Eduardo Da Luz. "It took a long time for candombe to win acceptance here."
Over the years, musicians combined candombe rhythms with tango, mambo and even rock 'n' roll. But the music only became more widely known in the late 1960s when musicians fused it with Canto Popular, the "Popular Song" style that featured singers with guitars.
In 1973 the military overthrew Uruguay's parliamentary government and established a brutal dictatorship. Candombe emerged as the music of resistance.
Because the military banned public demonstrations, democracy activists transformed a Carnival day traditionally devoted to candombe music and dance into a day of protest. Thousands of people could gather and express opposition to the military without getting arrested.
"It became a day of rebellion, of resistance," said council member Ramirez, "and helped us change to a democratic government."
By the time the military regime fell in 1984, candombe had fully emerged as Uruguay's national music. Blacks were pleased with the newfound legitimacy of candombe but still felt the sting of discrimination.
"Whenever artists were sent abroad to represent Uruguay, they never sent black people," says Ruben Rada, one of the country's most famous musicians. "Not many people in the world, including Latin Americans, know Uruguay has black people."
That's slowly changing as black musicians become more prominent and more Uruguayans seek out the roots of candombe.
Every Sunday in various Montevideo neighborhoods, young people gather around open fires to tune the skins on their tambores. Sparks fly as they throw balled-up newspapers onto the fire, lending an eerie light to the frigid air. Then 50 or 60 people strap on their drums and march down the street.
At these domingueras, or Sunday jams, no one sings or plays other instruments. Drummers pound out a pulsating beat by striking the tambores with both the open hand and a drumstick.
Musician Da Luz said the domingueras attract young people interested in playing African-based candombe. "Teenagers are building their first weapons of candombe," he said. "It's a good path for this new blood."
Da Luz and other musicians incorporate messages of black pride into their music. They hope that Uruguayans will look more closely at the problem of racism.
Council member Ramirez said some musicians and activists share common goals.
"We're arriving at the same starting point to discover exactly who we are," she said. "Artists and political activists together are struggling for social, economic and political rights."