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Business Innovator: Edivan Costa, Brazil "Don’t be afraid of bureaucracy. Turn it into an opportunity.” According to Brazilian entrepreneur Edivan Costa, that has been the guiding phrase of his life and career. But he is the first to admit that in his country, it’s easier said than done: Brazil ranks 126th out of 183 countries in ease of starting a new business, according to the World Bank/International Finance Corporation’s 2012 annual Doing Business report. That’s why Costa founded SEDI, a company dedicated to helping new businesses navigate Brazil’s often-frustrating bureaucracy. SEDI, the acronym for Serviços Especializados de Despachante Imobiliário (Specialized Forwarding Agent Services), offers one-stop shopping for businesses trying to obtain the federal, state and municipal licenses they need to operate. And that’s a significant service in a country where, according to the Doing Business report, it takes an average of 13 procedures and 119 days to register and license a business. Certain businesses, such as a gas station, can require 120 separate licenses. It’s one reason why 40 percent of Brazilian start-up businesses do not survive more than two years after opening, according to a 2011 report from Brazil’s national statistics agency, IBGE. SEDI began in 1992 as a small firm in Costa’s home town of Belo Horizonte, but the demand for its services helped it expand across Brazil. The company now has 80 employees and branches in 11 states, and serves major clients like Carrefour, Lojas Americanas and Grupo Pão de Açúcar, Latin America’s biggest retail company by revenue.1 Costa himself is the best advertisement for the success that comes to anyone who can find his or her way through Brazil’s bureaucratic maze. The youngest of six children and the son of a metallurgist and a domestic servant, Costa, 40, got his first real job at the age of seven—gathering paper and recyclables on the streets with a friend for extra money. “Where I grew up in the favela, property wasn’t legalized, commercial activity wasn’t legalized,” he recalls. “What does that create? A lack of opportunity. Imagine a seven-year-old kid in a favela trying to figure out how to help his parents pay for school. What’s he going to do? Go out on the streets and rob people—or work?” When Costa’s father suffered a stroke, he passed up the opportunity for a professional soccer career to stay closer to home. His business skills were recognized early. Costa rose from an office boy to become a partner in a local firm, helping to draw up legal contracts. By 1995, he had his own office and employees and was advising the Minerão supermarket chain, his first big client. SEDI’s client list now numbers over 70, and Costa’s achievements were recognized in 2009, when he was selected by the nonprofit organization Endeavor as a High-Impact Entrepreneur, making him eligible for mentorship and workshops with business leaders. Costa’s clients are also appreciative of his services. “It would be very difficult to stay on top of the rules in different states without SEDI’s help,” said Ricardo Caparica of Carrefour in a 2009 interview.2 Costa is resolved to use his skills for the benefit of Brazil’s larger business community. “Our big dream in the next year is to set up a training center,” Costa says. “I’d love to teach a class on bureaucracy in Brazil—how we can reduce bureaucracy.” If there are any roadblocks to setting up such a center, count on Costa to overcome them. View Endnotes Back to top Civic Innovator: Damián Osta, Uruguay Damián Osta doesn’t fit the profile of the region’s media tycoons, but he had a vision equal in ambition to any of them. “I wanted to create a newspaper that I would want to read,” says the 37-year-old Uruguayan entrepreneur. Osta, a native of Uruguay’s La Florida department, moved to Montevideo 18 years ago. But in the partisan world of the Uruguayan press, he was an outsider. He and a group of friends met over drinks in 2003 at a café called El Mincho to work on the outlines of a new media vehicle that was not tied to a political party or corporation. The result: la diaria—its name pointedly in lowercase because Osta says it is “less pretentious”—is now the second most-read daily newspaper in Uruguay, according to the firm Equipos Mori. Osta is not surprised by his success. “I knew that overall, society was ready for a change when we started,” he says. La diaria operates as a cooperative with controlling shares held by the 120-member staff. The paper was given a head start by a $5,000 donation from the Netherlands-based Transnational Institute, whom Osta met at the first World Social Forum in Porto Alegre, and Hjelpemiddelfondet, a Norwegian organization founded by Uruguayan Carlos Caballero, which donated used computers, telephones and other equipment to get the paper off the ground. La diaria’s commitment to complete economic independence started before the first edition hit newsstands in March 2006. Osta and his partners refused to accept the conditions of Montevideo’s powerful street vendors’ union, which demanded their traditional cut of half the newsstand price. Osta and his partners opted instead to distribute the paper themselves. But without street sales, they were forced to rely on subscriptions from readers in the capital. From just 1,200 subscribers, la diaria has grown its readership to a subscription base of 7,500 across the country, which funds 75 percent of the paper’s costs. While la diaria covers all political parties and views, it has editorially endorsed left-leaning policies and candidates. How does that jibe with Osta’s vow of non-partisanship? He’s unapologetic. “A newspaper is by nature an intellectual business,” he says, “and as such has some editorial orientation and a political vision of reality.” Next, Osta hopes to expand the paper and its ideals to different platforms, such as television. Osta and his partners have already created the café la diaria—a salon where readers can come together and discuss both current events and cultural interests. The café’s monthly calendar features performances by local musicians, as well as photography and art expositions. “It’s where our readers [can] experience the best cultural highlights the country has to offer,” says Osta. “It’s really become a central cultural meeting point in the city.” In Uruguay’s clubby media world, that’s a singular accomplishment. Back to top Politics Innovator: Marisela Morales, Mexico Marisela Morales Ibáñez, Mexico’s first female attorney general, has been fearless in battling corruption since she entered the Ministerio Público (Public Ministry) in 1993. As head of the Subprocuraduría de Investigación Especializada en Delincuencia Organizada (Sub-Office for Special Investigations on Organized Crime—SEIDO), one of her first cases was to prosecute her former boss in connection with a bribery and narcotrafficking scandal in 2009. Life repeated itself when she was appointed attorney general in March 2011 by President Felipe Calderón. Her predecessor, Arturo Chávez Chávez, was alleged to have been involved with a drug cartel as Chihuahua’s state attorney general—though the links were never confirmed. The 42-year-old attorney general and mother of two soon discovered that some of her most formidable opponents were in her own department. By August 2012, Morales had overseen the dismissal of 272 public servants who were declared no aptos (incompetent) or caught breaking the law, and conducted some 17,360 public confidence exams designed to evaluate and certify Procuraduría General de la República (Attorney General’s Office—PGR) staff. All of this has been part of her larger project: turning Mexico’s notoriously corrupt legal bureaucracy into a modern and efficient tool to restore public confidence in the nation’s judicial system. A year ago, Morales found herself broadsided by revelations to the north. Although she has signed important agreements with Washington, she was infuriated by the failure of the U.S. Department of Justice (DOJ) to inform her office about Operation Fast and Furious, which allowed illegal arms to fall into the hands of drug cartels. Morales believes that her efforts will help a new generation of public servants reinvigorate Mexico’s justice system. “With the passage of time, our efforts will bear fruit,” she says. One example she is especially proud of is Proyecto Diamante (Project Diamond)—a collaboration between the attorney general’s office and the DOJ to train Mexican prosecutors and investigators in investigative techniques. The goal is to help Mexico transition to an adversarial justice system that permits cross-examination before a judge and jury. “It’s going to generate a new culture with a new system of trust,” she predicts. Her stature and accomplishments have earned her global recognition. Soon after she was appointed, Morales travelled to Washington DC to receive the 2011 International Women of Courage Award from U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and First Lady Michelle Obama. The reward represented a double recognition—both for the work of her department and for the accomplishments of women in public life, she recalled, adding that meeting Clinton and Obama was an “unforgettable” moment: “They are two women I admire for their great intelligence, as well as for the quality of the work they carry out for their country.” Mexico’s national government will change hands on December 1 and 
a new attorney general is expected 
to take office. But few think it will 
be the last that Mexicans—and the rest of the world—will hear of Marisela Morales. Back to top Arts Innovator: Mati Zundel, Argentina When Mati Zundel visited Buenos Aires as a child growing up in rural Argentina, “even the music on the radio was a shock,” he recalls. Today, Zundel makes music that can challenge even the most jaded urban sophisticate. The 29-year-old musician, who trained as a recording engineer at the Universidad Nacional de Lanús, blends Indigenous and traditional influences with modern rock and electronica to make folk music more appealing to younger generations. His new album, Amazonico Gravitante (2012), is an eclectic mix of electronica, popular cumbia beats and traditional folklore from across Latin America. Shaman chants and charango guitar loops form the skeleton of the songs, and percussion and bass fill in the beats. Although he’s earned a following across the region, he has stuck close to his rural roots. Zundel continues to teach music to primary schoolchildren in his hometown of Dolores and has made it a personal goal to inspire passion for music and folklore among Argentine youth. “Many times, folklore becomes out of sync with society, but it should instead be evolving as society progresses,” he says. Zundel started playing bass in local bands at the age of 14 in Dolores, about 125 miles (200 kilometers) south of Buenos Aires, and then moved on to jazz and folk. He soon became indispensable to a variety of musicians, including cumbia and folk bands, and the exposure further enriched his music. But when Zundel began backpacking to other countries in the region, the exposure to other traditional music—sometimes, he admits, with the help of psychotropic experiences with peyote and ayahuasca—made a profound impression. Today, listeners can find influences from across Latin America in his work, ranging from the folk ballads of Mercedes Sosa to the Quechua sounds of Norte Potosí. Zundel’s first album, Neo Bailongo (2010), released under the pseudonym “Lagartijeando” (“acting like a lizard”), consisted mainly of computer-generated instrumental tracks meant for the dance floor. While traveling, though, Zundel realized that Neo Bailongo’s sound had little resonance in Latin America beyond Argentina, or even beyond Buenos Aires; so he set out to create a more accessible album. Amazonico Gravitante takes listeners on a journey through the musical traditions of Latin America, from Argentine charango and Andean wind instruments to Amazonian chants. It incorporates artists such as Miss Bolivia, Boogat, Vanessa Menéndez, and Marina Gasolina. For the first time, Zundel includes lyrics in his music. His song “La Montaña en el Medio del Mundo” highlights the experience of escaping the city for the tropics, and “El Alto de La Paz,” with references to “white flags” and “guerrilleros,” evokes the history of La Paz and the region’s struggles for independence. Zundel’s target audience includes people like him, who have moved from rural areas to major cities to make a living. He hopes to help urban dwellers “reevaluate” their lifestyle and reconnect with nature and with Latin America’s rich folk heritage. “Our future,” he says, “will be to look at the past.”