When hundreds of street children stormed the Brazilian Congress in 1987, they didn't know that their actions would make a difference.

Three years later, Brazil enacted the Child and Adolescent Statute guaranteeing that the state, the family and society would provide Brazil's children with full human rights of life and health, while safeguarding them from discrimination and abuse.

But when Y-Press went to Brazil this summer, it found that the law was more paper than practice. Youth rights are hard to guarantee amid widespread poverty. The majority of the 173 million people make only $60 per month.

"The right to eat, the right to have health services, the right to be free -- all children should have those rights. And Brazilian kids have it more or less, but it depends on their situation, what their living conditions are," said Rosineide Jesus, 12, from Projeto AxO, an arts-based career program for at-risk youths.

Like many poor children, Rosineide has not been able to take advantage of these rights; she fled home because of abuse and lived on the streets until a Projeto AxOoutreach worker found her and introduced her to the program.

Ruth Cardoso, first lady of Brazil and a social anthropologist, admits that most Brazilian children don't enjoy the rights guaranteed in the statute.

"It's really a very good law. Of course, the difficulty is to make this law a reality. We have made the first step -- to have the instruments for the improvement of children's situations. I think we are improving in Brazil," she said.

Since 1995, Cardoso has served as chairwoman of Comunidade Solidaria, a program that works to end social injustice and poverty in Brazil through partnerships between governmental and grass-roots organizations.

Economic disparities date to Portuguese colonization during the 16th century. Brazil's governance has been based on feudalism -- those closest to the monarch were rewarded with land and political power, and everyone else was under their control.

After the deposal of the monarchy in 1889, Brazil's government evolved into a democracy, dictatorship and military rule. Each form of government did little to assist the country's poor, and people with connections to power continued to be favored with political influence.

The current government, a republic, was established with the signing of a constitution in the mid-1980s. But the old way of governing still persists.

"The whole system of favoring your political cronies, which began when the kings started doling out huge parcels of land to his favorites, is still in place. And it's going to take a long time to change that," said Sabrina Gledhill, the English-born president of Ibeji, which works with young offenders.

Brazil's teen-age democracy has had little time to mature.

"I think it needs to change completely from the bottom up. People still have to understand that there (had) been 21 years of dictatorship that ended in 1986. Historically speaking, (that) is not even a blink of the eye," Gledhill said.

"You have an entire generation that's grown up without any political rights whatsoever, with a completely fatalistic attitude. . . . People need to have a sense of citizenship and empowerment."

One government program designed to battle the country's oppressive poverty is Crianca Canabrava, located near a trash dump. The purpose of the program is to rehabilitate children who used to help support their families by scrounging through the huge trash heaps.

With the help of donations from companies and foundations, Crianca Canabrava pays parents what their children would have earned in the trash dump so that the youths can attend school.

Debora Cristina, a 16-year-old who has been in the program since it was founded in 1997, described her former life in the trash dump.

"It was a terrible world; every time we got sick with trash. We don't know if we might get hurt with glass or trash. There were always fights between us," she said, adding that trucks would dump their loads on children.

"There was hospital trash, and sometimes we saw the children, little children, babies that died, in the trash. We saw a hand, arms of a little child. (There were) needles."

Ledielson Jesus, 15, thought at the time that the money was worth the risk.

"We didn't know that the trash was a bad thing. We were thinking it was cool. Every day we had money. We were finding little plastic things that we could sell again. We gained about 10 reals a day," he said.

Both agree that their lives have improved significantly since joining the program.

"Before, I didn't know what education (was). We never went to school before. And now we know what school is. We are starting to have some planning. Our lives are so much better than before," said Debora, who says she will be a journalist.

Adriano Santo Silva, 13, spends his days washing car windows for money to buy food and ward off his constant hunger. He says the promises of the Cardoso government haven't arrived.

"I would ask the president to work out some projects so that I could go to school and also be at home playing, because right now, I have no choice but to be here working. And this is not a good life, especially for kids. But we have no choice. And the worst is that all (people) think that we're thieves. We're not thieves," he said.

For Maria, a 12-year-old girl in rural Retirolandia, the statute offers no protection from violence and exploitation.

"My father blames me when I don't have any food in the house. . . . When he locks me inside, I want to get out, but I don't have anywhere to go. . . . And that's why my father and my mother fight each other, because she tries to protect me," said Maria, whose name has been changed for this story.

Maria works harvesting sisal, a strong fiber used to make rope and rugs.

"My friends used to get me to school, but my parents didn't have the money, so I did work. . . . When I first arrived here, I used to put the fiber in the machines, but it used to cut a lot of my fingers, so I stopped doing that. I have some scars on my hands," she said.

"I think that the kids should go to school, because work is not good for children," she continued. "If I had one wish, it would be to stay alive. I would like to be a doctor."

ASSISTANT EDITORS: Clay Smith, 14; Emily Jacobi, 18; Laurann Brown, 16; and Stephanie Hull, 16.

REPORTER: Maria Srour, 13.