Launched in 2016, the Samba Abstrato (Abstract Samba) Facebook page was created to document the appropriation and whitening of Brazilian carnival samba schools, as well as to confront the invasion of the so-called “abstract muses,” a phenomenon it criticizes for distorting the essence of carnival—a celebration rooted in Black favela culture.
Whether in Rio’s, São Paulo’s, or other carnival celebrations across Brazil, these aptly-named abstract muses are following the money and taking away spaces traditionally held by Black beauties raised within the culture of their local samba schools. It is no coincidence that abstract muses are predominantly white, while “concrete muses”—women dancers raised within a local samba community—are increasingly displaced. Indeed, it is the Black female samba dancer who has become most invisible as the so-called “land of abstraction” continues its invasion.
However, it is important to understand that abstract muses are merely the most visible symptom of the colonization of Carnival, which, unfortunately, seeps into various aspects of samba schools. This process increasingly distances samba schools from their communities-of-origin, turning modern-day quilombos into mere businesses. The invitations samba schools extend to abstract muses culminate in major deals with white celebrities, meticulously crafted marketing strategies, and the pursuit of profit rather than prioritizing the skilled footwork of “concrete” samba dancers and the love for the school’s colors and flag.
The Dynamics of Activism Against the ‘Land of Abstraction’ on Social Media
Since its creation in 2016, the Samba Abstrato page quickly gained a strong following. Today, the community has 112,000 followers on Facebook. On Instagram, where the current account is only nine months old, it has 4,389 followers. The previous account was taken down, forcing the group to start over.
For years, the Samba Abstrato community remained anonymous on social media, presenting itself to the carnival public without revealing its members. This was a strategic choice “for safety reasons and to avoid personifying the struggle.” However, in 2025, as others began facing threats and even physical assaults, the page’s directors decided it was necessary to step forward, face the spotlight, and confront the lawsuits.
It became essential to publicly state that criticism of the abstract muses should not be understood as encouraging violence. On the flip side, Samba Abstrato expects the “abstract muses” to recognize their white privilege and to refrain from making unfounded accusations against Black individuals. Therefore, in response to the attacks targeting Black members of the samba community over alleged connections to Samba Abstrato, its founder decided to step out from behind the scenes.
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Tit for Tat: Subverting Racist Humor Through Art
A few carnivals ago, the founder of Samba Abstrato served as a “horse”—a medium through which the spiritual world communicates with the earthly world in the Afro-Brazilian religions of Candomblé and Umbanda—to embody a satire that denounced and fought against the “Nega Maluca” costumes [a racist trope meaning “crazy Black woman,” which sadly serve as the country’s version of blackface during carnival]. On the streets of São Paulo, she took on the persona of “Lolo, The Pot-Banging Protester,” a reference to the pot-and-pan-banging demonstrations that gained prominence during Dilma Rousseff’s presidency and peaked amid president Jair Bolsonaro’s gross mismanagement of the coronavirus pandemic.
Luanna Teófilo, who dressed up as “Lolo, The Pot-Banging Protester,” holds a law degree from Mackenzie University in São Paulo and a master’s in Linguistics from Sorbonne University in France. As the founder of the Samba Abstrato community, she remained anonymous behind the scenes of the page for nearly ten years. Today, however, even AI identifies the São Paulo-based entrepreneur as its founder.
The character created by Teófilo is “Lolo, Heloisa Clarice Figueiroa dos Santos, a true-blood São Paulo native and a representative of the traditional Brazilian family. A pot-banging protester who rallies against ‘everything that’s out there,’ though she isn’t quite sure what that everything is. She is ‘Branca Maluca,’” or “Crazy White Woman.”
Exposed by Samba Abstrato, “Carnival Villains” Turn to the Courts
O Primeiro Livro, Samba Abstrato’s first book, has been available for pre-order since 2024, though its delivery has been delayed due to compensation paid to a white dancer who sued the page. The podcast The Abstract Process is also currently unavailable on digital platforms due to bureaucratic and legal issues.
Three years ago, Samba Abstrato began selecting a “book of the season.” The first was Black Samba, White Exploitation by Ana Maria Rodrigues. Originally published in 1984, the book was based on the author’s master’s thesis at the University of São Paulo in 1981. According to Teófilo, “She didn’t include [the figure] of the Abstract Muse at the time, but she talks about how whiteness will appropriate the economic value [generated by Blackness].”
In 2024, the book of the season was Since Samba’s Been Samba by Paulo Lins, “a deep dive into the cardinal points of samba, such as Largo do Estácio, Praça Onze, sacred sites of Candomblé and Umbanda worship, or the gatherings at Tia Ciata’s house and Mangueira’s Buraco Quente… an incredible cartography of [Rio’s] malandragem,” as stated by essayist Heloísa Buarque de Hollanda.
Now, in 2025, the book of the season is At the Samba Circle by Francisco Guimarães, better known as Vagalume (Firefly), originally published in 1933. Guimarães is considered a pioneer for being the first to document carnival in the print newspapers of his time. Moreover, he was also the first to criticize the “sambestros”—figures who did not belong to the samba circles but took advantage of samba without any true commitment, buying partnerships instead. In other words, what Samba Abstrato now denounces as a Carnival Villain or an Abstract Muse, Vagalume called a “Sambestro” 92 years ago.
In Brazil, whiteness has been infiltrating samba culture in a process that has been consolidating itself for a century, driven by an elite apparently unwilling to reflect on its privileges—privileges generated on the backs of those who suffered bondage within the world’s largest slave-owning economy—now using their privilege to buy access to Black cultural spaces and expressions generated post-emancipation. Meanwhile, the people who create this culture remain, for the most part, marginalized, underfunded, and unrecognized for their enormous contribution to the country.
In the 1990s, another historical samba figure spoke out against the invasion of the samba stage by white women. Dona Ivone Lara, the First Lady of Samba, openly opposed white Rainhas de Bateria, the “queens” who lead the rhythm section during carnival and help rouse the audience. Around the same time, another outspoken figure in the samba world was carnival designer Joãosinho Trinta, who, in an interview on the TV program Roda Viva, revealed that he had devised strategies to protect Beija-Flor—2025’s carnival champion—against what he called “the infiltration of samba ETs.”
“Today, samba schools are entirely white… high-society people people who don’t belong to the world of samba. Not that white people don’t have the right to dance samba. I have a little girl there [in Beija Flor], the daughter of Portuguese parents, who is an extraordinary samba dancer. [But] when you have this whole invasion of high society people, of foreigners who have no connection with samba…” — Joãosinho Trinta
Recently, after watching the 2025 Royal Carnival Court contest, organized by the Rio de Janeiro City Hall—which selects the King Momo, Queen, princesses, and muses, with prizes ranging from R$32,500 to R$45,500 (US$5,570 to US$7,800)—Luiz Antonio Marcondes, son of samba singer and composer Neguinho da Beija-Flor [who famously celebrated (and retired at) his 50th carnival this year at that winning parade], took to social media to vent. The video in which Marcondes expresses his frustration with the carnival villains in the competition went viral. His indignation echoed that of many samba veterans and masters, raised in samba school compounds and workshops: there were contestants who didn’t even know how to dance samba.
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As can be observed, the infiltration persists, weakening the heritage and legacy of the Black men and women who founded these samba schools in the favelas—those who embroidered their flags in the alleyways and sacred grounds of their communities. Just before carnival, journalist Mônica Bergamo revealed in her column in Folha de São Paulo a statement by carnival designer Paulo Barros: “There are 12 samba schools. You’ll probably see ten identical parades… Most of this year’s themes are Afrocentric… I can guarantee that 90% of the audience won’t understand a thing.” It’s ironic that Barros, currently with Unidos de Vila Isabel, would make such a statement while working for a samba school internationally renowned for an Afro-themed parade: Kizomba, Festa da Raça, the 1988 samba that celebrated the centennial of the formal abolition of slavery in Brazil.
One of the most striking examples of the abstraction of Rio’s Carnival was this year’s relegation of Unidos de Padre Miguel. The Vila Vintém samba school delivered a parade praised for its grandeur, the engagement of the community, and a samba that left its mark on Carnival 2025. None of this, however, was enough to impress the judges. With scores shockingly inconsistent with the performance, all the school and its community could do was wait for the judges’ explanations to understand what had happened. But upon reading the justifications, the reason for the relegation became clear: judge Ana Paula Fernandes stated that she deducted points from the school due to the “excessive use of Yoruba terms” in the samba.*
Unfortunately, examples like these are not isolated cases. It is essential to respect the very foundation of the samba schools, their roots, and the Black and favela-born people who organize and gift Brazil with the world’s greatest popular celebration.
*Unidos de Padre Miguel has since contested the decision on the grounds of religious racism, and the appeal has been accepted and supported by the president of LIESA, Rio’s League of Samba Schools. The final decision is yet to be determined by a plenary meeting with all 12 Special Group schools.
About the author: Paulo Mileno, born and raised in Taquara, in Rio de Janeiro’s West Zone, is an actor, filmmaker, cultural producer, and writer. He is also an editorial board member of Revista África e Africanidades and was a researcher at the Philosophy Center of the Rio de Janeiro State University (UERJ). Mileno contributes to Observatório da Imprensa, Brasil de Fato, Jornal do Brasil, Black History Month, Ufahamu: A Journal of Black Studies at the University of California, Los Angeles, San Francisco National Black Newspaper, Black Star News, Amsterdam News and Africa Business.