A shorter and slightly different version of this academic obituary was published on the Developing Economics blog.
The first encounter with Jorge Miglioli: Strikes, capitalism, and a political awakening
I met Professor Jorge Miglioli in 2000, the year I started my undergraduate studies in Economics at São Paulo State University (UNESP) in Araraquara, Brazil, fully convinced it was the right path if you wanted to change the world.
Only a month into the course, I was caught in the middle of what became one of the longest national university strikes in Brazil.[1] That strike, so early in my academic journey, made me question whether I had chosen the right course. Most of my peers simply returned to their hometowns instead of staying and engaging with what was happening. It wouldn’t be fair to say they were against the strike; they just didn’t care. Many of them came from the Brazilian middle class or above, which reflects the schizophrenia of our tuition-free higher education system. They were on a clear path to join the elite, to work in banks, big corporations, and so on, and the strike had simply disrupted that trajectory. They just wanted to get back to their normal lives. Things were even worse in my department, Economics, where only two, maybe three professors supported the strike. The majority made clear they were against it, and disappeared for the entire strike, which lasted nearly four months.
On the bright side, that moment introduced me to Economics and Social Sciences students who stayed, supported the strike, and opened the door to an Economics that was political, critical, and alive; many of them would later become dear friends. It was through them that I began studying Karl Marx more seriously for the first time. I also met Renata Belzunces, then the campus director of the Central Student Directory and the student leading the strike on our campus, who was admired by many, including Professor Jorge Miglioli, and who would become one of the most inspiring role models I have ever had. [2] And it was in that very moment that I met Professor Jorge Miglioli as well.
Miglioli, who eventually became “Miglis” to me, a nickname he never fully liked but accepted nonetheless—I’m not sure I ever gave him much choice!—was different. There were no “buts” with Miglioli when it came to the strike. I remember him saying something like, “How else do you expect capitalists and the government to hear us?” But it wasn’t just what he said, it was how he said it. There was no attempt to convince, no rhetorical flourish. It was more like: “Why are we even debating this?” His tone carried a kind of quiet certainty, and beneath it, a deep frustration and disillusionment with the fact that this even needed to be explained.
Later on, I found out that back in 1962, almost forty years before these conversations were taking place, Miglioli had written a short book titled Como são feitas as greves no Brasil? (How are strikes carried out in Brazil?). He was in his late twenties at the time, and the book was part of the Cadernos do Povo Brasileiro (Notebooks of the Brazilian people) collection. The collection’s mission said it all:
The major problems facing our country are studied in this series clearly and without any sectarianism; its main objective is to inform. Only when well-informed can the people emancipate themselves. (my translation).[3]
That book was probably the first time I saw economics so clearly and eloquently interwoven with politics, social classes, and terms and concepts like capitalism and imperialism. I remember saying “yes!” out loud right at the beginning, when Miglioli wrote that strikes are meant to paralyse production, so if they don’t hurt capitalists, they serve no purpose; they’re not effective. And then I remember being puzzled, trying to process what came next: “Yet a strike is not carried out with the intention of hurting capitalists, but to benefit workers” (Miglioli, 1962, p. 11; my translation).
Later I also came to know that Miglioli’s distinguished academic trajectory was deeply intertwined with his commitment to the communist struggle. A longstanding member of the Brazilian Communist Party (PCB), he contributed to the Revista Estudos Sociais, a Party publication aimed at intervening in the discourse around Brazil’s most pressing issues. Within the PCB, Miglioli is recognised for advancing the Party’s understanding of class struggle, the dynamics of the capitalist economy, and the possibilities for building socialism in Brazil.
Miglioli had a profound knowledge of Karl Marx and Michał Kalecki, and was unapologetically anticapitalist, though not all Marxists in Brazil agreed with the latter (and the fact that he drove a Toyota Corolla didn’t play well with the left!). For Miglioli, Marxists had spent too much time studying the working class and not enough time studying the bourgeoisie. Yet social classes, labor, and workers’ struggles were always central to his work, his worldview, and his concerns. The fact that economists and economics as a discipline were increasingly moving away from these issues wasn’t just frustrating to him; it was defeating. And that defeat often turned into a deep sadness, a kind of quiet nostalgia that I only began to understand better as we became friends.
He had similar frustrations with sociologists. For Miglioli, the post–Berlin Wall era and the collapse of the Soviet Union ushered in a kind of triumphant haze: the idea that capitalism had won, definitively and heroically. This vibe didn’t just make the theme of “the end of capitalism” seem outdated, it also gave rise to an overwhelming body of literature celebrating the supposed merits of this socioeconomic system now liberalized and globalized, and apparently here to stay until the end of time (Miglioli, 2007, p. 97; my translation). Miglioli had little patience for this literature on “post-industrial societies,” “post-capitalist societies,” and “the end of labor.” For him,
Almost all of this literature does not actually deal with the end of capitalism as a socioeconomic system (or as a “mode of production,” in Marxist language), but only with changes, some more or less profound, that occurred within this system, and not infrequently, several of them are more imaginary than real (such as the “end of labor”). (Miglioli, 2007, p. 98; my translation)
In fact, much of this literature, he argued, simply repackaged contemporary capitalism under new names, presenting it as somehow better than the “old capitalism” studied by Marx. And “better” could mean anything: more efficient, more equitable, more emancipatory, whatever the author needed it to be (Miglioli, 2007, p. 98; my translation).[4]
A notebook and ten cigarettes: Macroeconomics without Keynes
When the strike ended, I realized I’d be seeing Miglioli every week for an entire semester, as he taught Introduction to Social Sciences to Economics students. (Yes, I did a BA in Economics where one of the courses was Introduction to Social Sciences!) My entire first year was actually quite amazing: I had Institutions of Law, History of Economic Thought, History of Political Thought, and even Accounting! But Miglioli’s course was, without question, the highlight. If anything, he’d walk into the classroom, sit down at the desk, open his notebook (its yellowed pages suggesting it had been with him for decades) and light a cigarette. He never stood up. And he smoked, well, at least ten cigarettes per lecture, I reckon. My memory of those classes is a rich mix of anecdotes from Miglioli’s life, which was basically a living history of Brazilian political and economic thought.
His lectures wove together the history of sociology as a bourgeois, anti-Marxist science, and a constant, sharp, and often poignant critique of the discipline of economics. It wasn’t just teaching, it was storytelling, political analysis, and a kind of intellectual resistance, all rolled into one. It was in one of those classes that Miglioli asked us: “Do you know what statistics is for economists?” The usual awkward silence followed. Miglioli waited and then said: “It’s a way to beat up the numbers until they say what you want.” That was Miglioli’s style: transmitting knowledge through sharp, witty anecdotes and jokes, always punctuated with porra, a swear word unacceptable to most Brazilians, except, of course, to cariocas.[5] His lectures were never conventional, and they were memorable. He taught with a kind of irreverent brilliance that made you laugh, think, and question everything you thought you knew about both the economy and economics.
After class, I would often chase after Miglioli under the pretext of asking a question about the lecture, when in truth I simply wanted to keep listening to him talk about economics. Soon, I learned from friends that Jorge Miglioli was the economist in Brazil. He had been a member of the Higher Institute of Brazilian Studies (ISEB), an institute founded in 1955 in Rio de Janeiro to engage critically with developmentalism, aiming to shape a national development strategy and construct an ideological framework capable of guiding the bourgeoisie to lead Brazil’s economic, social, and cultural transformation.[6] He had been exiled during the Brazilian military dictatorship. He had completed his PhD under Michał Kalecki in Poland and was the person who introduced Kalecki’s ideas and the concept of effective demand to Brazilian audiences. He had worked with Nelson Werneck Sodré and Álvaro Vieira Pinto, two towering Brazilian intellectuals of the last century in the field of economic and social development.
However, I never sensed any of that “grandiosity” from him—quite the opposite. He always made time for students, for me. Coming neither from an academic family nor the kind of well-educated, wealthy background that often dominates university spaces in Brazil, I have always found the academic environment unapproachable. But with Miglioli, I never had to worry about any of that. His lifestyle was simple, and talking to him was always fun, always encouraging, and I always left having learned something new, without feeling anxious about not being at the same level as my classmates.
It didn’t take long before I started wondering why Miglioli wasn’t teaching us macroeconomics. I never really found out why. When I asked him, he couldn’t care less, simply saying he wanted nothing to do with economics. Miglioli had earned a bachelor’s degree in Social Sciences, a master’s in Planning, and a PhD in Economics. And yes, he was indeed supervised by Michał Kalecki in Poland. Under Kalecki’s supervision at the Warsaw School of Statistics and Planning, he immersed himself in the study of socialist economic planning, a body of work that later became the book Introdução ao planejamento econômico (Introduction to economic planning), published in 1982. This contribution positioned him as a key figure in shaping the debate on economic planning in Brazil, bridging theory and practice in the pursuit of a more just economic order. His postdoctoral work, Acumulação de Capital e Demanda Efetiva (Capital accumulation and effective demand), was published as a book in 1981, and is considered a benchmark for the introduction of macroeconomics in Brazil.
Interestingly, Miglioli doesn’t really engage with Keynes in the book. Sure, there are references, but no real discussion. I never asked him why, and in our conversations, Keynes was never present. The big umbrella was always political economy, Marx, and Kalecki. And honestly, with what the book offers, it’s hard to feel like Keynes is missing. Part I deals with Say’s Law (the foundation of classical and neoclassical economics) and critiques from Thomas Malthus and J. C. L. Sismondi. Then there’s an entire section dedicated to Marx, deep dives into Russian Marxists like Mikhail Tugan-Baranovski, and a whole part on Rosa Luxemburg. It’s a rich, layered work that reflects Miglioli’s intellectual commitments, and his refusal to dilute them.
If Joan Robinson argued that it’s possible to see an incipient theory of effective demand in Marx (Robinson, 1966; Alves, 2022), Miglioli went further. Using of one his great strengths, didactic clarity, he exposed and explained Marx’s and Marxists’ theory of effective demand, known in a Marxist language as the theory of realization. In his own original way, he demonstrated how supply in capitalist economies always tends to exceed demand, pushing forward what Marx identified as one of the core contradictions of capitalism: production outpacing the monetary demand needed to absorb the output, leading to crises of overproduction, or, more broadly, disproportionality. In other words, the realization problem.
His engagement with the authors mentioned above was always guided by this problem, whether through the Russian Marxists and their debates on underconsumption, international trade, and unproductive labor, or through Rosa Luxemburg’s underconsumptionist approach. Miglioli took no prisoners when defending Luxemburg and Marx. He argued they were spot on in identifying underconsumption in the short run, rooted in the contradiction between growing productive capacity and the narrow limits of consumption (Miglioli, 1981). For him, this was the reason behind crises of disproportionality, and the fundamental problem of effective demand.
That was my introduction to macroeconomics: through Marx, Luxemburg, Kalecki, and economic planning! All thanks to Miglioli. By a twist of fate, in 2017–18 all of this came rushing back with great force when, in the Keynes’s own department, the Economics Department at the University of Cambridge, I would say I was a macroeconomist, only to be met with skepticism, because I couldn’t name the model I used. I felt intimidated, unsure how to respond, and thought it might be better to start calling myself a political economist instead. But today, as I write this text, I wish I could go back and tell myself at that moment: “Porra, Carolina, stop taking economists so seriously!”
Looking back, I now believe Miglioli’s decision to leave Keynes out was deliberate. He wanted to introduce the principle of effective demand through Marx, not through the mainstream macroeconomic canon. My understanding of macroeconomics was never shaped by the IS–LM–MP neoclassical synthesis, by DSGE models, or by equilibrium‑centered frameworks. It was shaped by development economists, dependency theorists, and Miglioli himself. His insistence on analyzing capitalism through the lens of surplus value, the determinants of profits and wages, capital accumulation, social classes, imperialism, and economic development, drawing on thinkers such as Rosa Luxemburg, provided me with an entirely different intellectual entry point. This is what macroeconomics means to me, even if the field around me often insists otherwise.
Friendship in the shadow of a shattered dream: How I will remember Jorge Miglioli
From that first encounter in 2000, still in my first year as an undergraduate, we eventually became friends. Miglioli also became my undergraduate dissertation supervisor. When I told him I wanted to study finance capital, he replied: “Before entering the world of finance, you need to understand that capital is, above all, a social relation.” A large part of my dissertation ended up revolving around that insight, something I still consider essential for my reading of Marx and for my critique of neoclassical economics. That first contact with research also awakened in me a deep passion for, and commitment to, theory—something I refuse to give up, even in an era dominated by data and evidence‑based policy.
As a student I struggled to read for long periods and to write in an academic style. Because of that, we would spend hours discussing each author he asked me to study, and he would insist that I sit at his desk and write. I simply would not exist as a researcher if it weren’t for him. Many others would have ignored me, because they do not see this extra work, the work of nurturing students who come “from behind,” without “culture” or an “academic background,” as part of their responsibilities. I was not the brightest student in the class. I did not resemble most academics in Brazil. I didn’t speak other languages, I wasn’t good at mathematics, I had never travelled abroad, and I didn’t carry that comfortable repertoire of “good” Brazilian music or of Brazilian and international literature. But Miglioli never judged my ability or my intelligence for any of that. He saw value in my perspective and supported me. He made me feel confident, and intelligent.
Our friendship didn’t end when I finished my undergraduate degree. Miglioli encouraged and supported my decision to pursue a master’s in sociology. While he was teaching in Araraquara, a city 181 kilometers from his home in Campinas, he began sharing a house with me and three dear friends. For my part, I wanted to keep him from staying alone in a hotel; but my official argument was different (if also true): with his help, we could take a small step forward and live in a place that felt a little less like student housing, better suited for preparing for the master’s entrance exams. (Real estate agencies in Araraquara offer far more options when the tenant is a university professor!) He would also give me rides to Campinas and opened his home to me when I audited graduate courses at the University of Campinas to prepare for my master’s. I would never have been able to afford those trips on my own. In Campinas, I met his family: his children, Rafael, Daniel, and Aline, and Marli, his ex‑wife. The care among them was unconditional; his fatherly concerns, tinged with certain regrets, were evident, as were his joys and the radiant pride he felt in being “daddy.”
He stood by my side throughout the two years of my master’s degree, even though he never stopped criticizing my theoretical choices: Marxism as interpreted by Georg Lukács and the Ontology of Social Being (Labor). Often, he displayed a quiet pride, almost a conspiratorial joy, at the fact that I was the first advisee of Professor Jesus José Ranieri, then the newly hired member of the department whose work focused on the relationship between Marx and Hegel, and someone about whom he had heard nothing but praise. Knowing that I was being supervised by him seemed, for Miglioli, like confirmation that I was on the right path, even when my theoretical preferences made him grumble.
Miglioli was also one of my MPhil examiners, and during my defense in 2007 he simply could not hold back: “Porra, Carolina, I told you all this Hegel stuff wasn’t going to help!” And yet, two years earlier, he had been the one to give me my first book on Hegel. And three years before that, he had encouraged me, with genuine enthusiasm, to speak with Maria Orlanda Pinassi, whose intellectual work is deeply influenced by Lukács, among others, and for whom he had enormous admiration. She was also one of the very few people whom he openly referred to as a friend.
He also supported me without hesitation when I decided to travel abroad for six months in 2007 to learn English, hoping to quickly reach the level of my peers, nearly all of whom spoke a second language. And when, in 2010, I told him I wanted to return to Brazil, he was categorical: “No. Things in Brazil are taking a very bad turn. This is not the moment to come back. Do your doctorate there.” He was absolutely convinced that I should not return, certain that Brazil was heading toward economic and political decline. He insisted that there would be nothing in Brazil for me. Today I ask myself: How did he know the country was on the verge of entering one of the most difficult periods in its modern history?
He was humble. Simple. Coming from São Carlos, a university town, my image of professors was shaped by those living in posh houses in rich neighborhoods—arrogant, distant, superior. But that was never the case with Miglioli or his family, whom I came to know well. His house felt like a cross between a laid-back beach house and a 1960s bungalow. No luxury, no etiquette. Just cozy. His home office/library, the first private library I ever stepped into, wasn’t intimidating at all, despite having what felt like zillions of books. It was simple, messy in its own organized way. Inviting. The kind of space that made you want to sit down, read, and stay for hours. It’s the office/library I dream of having in my own house one day.
He was never full of himself because of his past. He never brought up Kalecki unless someone asked. And even then, he’d always begin with “Kalecki was a gentleman.” At some point, he’d inevitably add, “I wasn’t the only one there. I wasn’t special.” I believe that for Miglioli, it felt important to remind us that Kalecki had welcomed many Brazilians fleeing the dictatorship. Names like Leandro Konder, one of Brazil’s most esteemed Marxist philosophers, would come up casually, almost offhandedly, as he reminisced about pre-coup Rio de Janeiro—a time that, in his telling, was not only politically vibrant but also full of long, sunny days at the beach with friends such as Leandro! It was the same with Nelson (Nelson Werneck Sodré). Miglioli would mostly mention him when complaining, jokingly, about how he wanted to sleep in the office after long nights out, but couldn’t because he shared the office with Nelson, who was always there, religiously, typing away at his perfectly organized desk. Clickety-clack, all day long.
Whenever Miglioli spoke about his role in founding what is now one of Brazil’s, and arguably the world’s, most important heterodox economics hubs, the Institute of Economics at UNICAMP (originally the Department of Economics and Economic Planning, DEPE), his words were often tinged with disappointment. You could hear in his voice both the hope he once had and the deep, poignant disillusionment with what the Institute, and economics more broadly, was becoming. Yet he would brighten when we visited the Institute. Old friends, administrative staff and academics alike, would embrace him warmly, and soon the stories, family updates, and laughter would begin to flow. Especially with Wilson Cano, another giant in the study of Brazilian economic development. Those two could talk for hours. Truly, no exaggeration! This same mixed reaction emerged whenever Caio Navarro de Toledo, a Marxist philosopher specializing in political democracy, coups d’état, and ideology, and a friend who, according to Miglioli, “never forgot him,” would call. From their conversations, there always surfaced a certain frustration, a kind of almost resigned sadness, tied to the feeling that they were still debating the very same issues they had grappled with decades earlier.
It was the same whenever he spoke about Brazil in the years leading up to the 1964 coup. The way he described the energy of that moment, the certainty of change, the belief in emancipation, in overcoming dependency and inequality, was striking. It was as if he were transmitting both a sense of life and a sense of loss at the same time. The impact of a shattered dream was so visible. Recently, while revisiting Celso Furtado’s work and reading Celso Furtado, Correspondência intelectual: 1949–2004, edited by Rosa Freire d’Aguiar, I recognized in Furtado for the first time the same poignant, defeated tone that had always been present in Miglioli. I wonder if this was the reason behind his choice to distance himself from his old friends and colleagues. I can only imagine what it must have felt like to stand on the threshold of genuine transformation, to believe that Brazil could finally become a developed and independent nation, and then to confront a coup d’état, go into exile, and return years later only to realize that it was impossible to pick up where one had left off. Worse still, to witness the corruption of friends and comrades. Miglioli spoke of this often, especially when reflecting on José Serra. Yet when his friend Tamás Szmrecsányi, a terrific Hungarian-born Brazilian economist and historian, passed away in 2009, that same defeated, poignant tone softened. For Miglioli, Tamás’s academic and political integrity stood in sharp contrast to the disillusionment he felt elsewhere.
The stories he told about what seemed to have been a “magical” period of his life in Rio de Janeiro were always accompanied by an immense affection for his mother. Many times, Miglioli recalled the episode in which, gripped by fear as rumors of the coup spread, his mum burned all his books in a desperate attempt to protect him. She saved only one, Marx’s Capital, because she thought that “capital” referred to the seat of government of a country, state, or province, and concluded that this book, of all of them, posed no threat whatsoever. He loved tango, samba, and Italian films, and he educated me on all three. (He put me through what I think was every film ever made by Vittorio De Sica). But more than that, he indirectly and unintentionally helped me rebuild my relationship with my own mum, due two reasons: his deep love and admiration for his mother, and the challenges he faced as a parent—challenges that mirrored my mum’s. With him, I could finally see the other side.
Whenever I visited Brazil and managed to see Miglioli, I’d leave with a heavy pain in my chest, thinking it might be the last time. And when his son, Rafael, told me he no longer remembered me, that same pain came rushing back. But today, it feels different. It’s not just the ache of goodbye, it’s the feeling that a light I didn’t even realize was on has been quietly turned off. His absence leaves a silence that is both personal and collective.
Rest in power, Miglioli.
Miglioli passed away peacefully at home on Sunday morning, 24 August 2025, at the age of eighty-nine. He is survived by his two sons, Rafael and Daniel, and his daughter, Aline.
Cambridge, August 25, 2025
Notes
[1] For context: Brazilian universities are publicly funded by both national and state governments, and higher education is tuition-free.
[2] Renata was pursuing degrees in both Economics and Sociology when she served as our campus director of the UNESP-FATEC ‘Helenira Resende’ Central Student Directory (DCE-HR or just DCE), the political body representing all UNESP and FATEC students. Named after Helenira Resende de Souza Nazareth, a guerrilla fighter, member of the Communist Party of Brazil (PCdoB) and member of the Araguaia Guerrilla, the DCE carries a powerful legacy of resistance. Helenira has been listed as a victim of political forced disappearance since 1972. You might call it our student union, but it’s more than that. The DCE is a space of genuine political engagement with Brazil socioeconomic issues, collective memory, and solidarity.
[3] “Os grandes problemas do nosso País são estudados nessa série com clareza e sem qualquer sectarismo; seu objetivo principal é o de informar. Somente quando bem informado é que o povo consegue emancipar-se.” My translation.
[4] “Mas quase toda essa literatura não trata efetivamente do fim do capitalismo como sistema socioeconômico (ou como “modo de produção”, na linguagem marxista), mas apenas de algumas mudanças mais ou menos profundas ocorridas dentro desse sistema, sendo que, não raramente, diversas são mais imaginárias do que reais (como o “fim do mundo do trabalho”) …. Na verdade, grande parte dessa literatura pretende apenas mostrar, sob diversificadas denominações, um capitalismo contemporâneo diferente do “velho capitalismo” estudado por Marx, introduzindo-lhe ou retirando-lhe certos elementos de maior ou menor relevância, às vezes com a finalidade de apresentar esse “novo capitalismo” (qualquer que seja o nome que se lhe dê) como um sistema melhor, e esse “melhor” pode significar mais eficiente, mais eqüitativo, mais libertário, ou mais qualquer outra coisa a gosto do autor.”
[5] Carioca refers to a person who was born in or who lives in Rio de Janeiro.
[6] According to Portuguese-language Wikipedia: “Linked to the Ministry of Education and Culture, the Higher Institute of Brazilian Studies (ISEB) operated with administrative autonomy and intellectual freedom. Its mission was to advance the social sciences—especially philosophy, sociology, economics, and politics—by applying their categories to the Brazilian context. ISEB was not just about academic inquiry; it was about shaping a framework for understanding and transforming Brazilian reality” (Wikipedia; my translation/paraphrase).
References
Alves, C. (2022). ‘Joan Robinson on Karl Marx: “His Sense of Reality Is Far Stronger”.’ Journal of Economic Perspectives 36 (2): 247–64.
D’Aguia, R. F. (2021). Celso Furtado, Correspondência intelectual: 1949–2004. São Paulo: Companhia das Letras.
Miglioli, J. 2004 [1981]. Acumulação de Capital e Demanda Efetiva. 2nd Edition. São Paulo: Hucitec.
Miglioli, J. (1982). Introdução ao planejamento econômico. São Paulo: Editorial Brasiliense.
Miglioli, J. (1962). Como são feitas as greves no Brasil? Rio de Janeiro: Editora Civilização Brasileira.
Miglioli, J. (2007) ‘Schumpeter e o perecimento do capitalismo e da burguesia’. Estudos de Sociologia, v. 7, n. 12.
Robinson, J. (1966) [1942] An Essay in Marxian Economics. 2nd ed. New York: Macmillan, St Martin’s Press.