Is It Mine or Ours?
I'm back. It's true that I've been away from this page for a while, but that time was enough to reevaluate some of my thoughts about the country where I live. Here I'm sometimes optimistic, sometimes pessimistic. Crazy! And I didn't understand why.
In the last two weeks, I've managed to zoom out from my intense immersion in the mundane issues of my daily life and look at Brazil through the eyes of a foreigner. I've read international newspapers and read reports from third parties, less emotional and more pragmatic about the world. I chose publications aimed at a diverse audience, made up of travelers, who don't have Brazilians as their main readership.
I also noticed something curious: finding news about Brazil was not an easy task. Perhaps we naturally believe that we have much greater relevance than we actually do. Even so, it was enough for me, during a solitary breakfast, to turn the last page of one of the newspapers I was reading, for a mental vision to hit me like a bolt of lightning.
On the verge of an anxiety attack, caused both by the news I was reading and by the strong espresso I was drinking, I imagined the world as a large hospital, where countries were the patients, divided into three categories.
In the first wing were the terminally ill, those beyond salvation — at least not in this incarnation. Among them, Syria, which seems to have no hope.
In the second category, the seriously ill, but with a good chance of recovery and discharge. Here would be some European countries, going through hard times, but being treated with effective medicines.
And finally, the third wing: the chronically ill. Those who will survive, but who will always bear the symptoms of the disease. Sometimes, it will be under control; at other times, acute and unbearable outbreaks will affect them.
This is where I see Brazil. Yes, we suffer from a chronic disease, one that has no cure, but that we have learned to bear as best we can.
According to the dictionary, a chronic disease is one that has lasted for a long time, is persistent and inveterate. In our case, however, it is worse. Our disease is congenital, rooted in our cultural DNA and, even worse, hereditary. It is transmitted from generation to generation, running through the central veins of our society and spreading through the blood vessels of institutions.
This disease has a name: corruption.
Corruption in Brazil is not only a systemic problem; it is an element rooted in the collective unconscious. It is present in major political scandals, yes, but also in small everyday acts: the “Brazilian way”, fraud in priority queues, bribery to avoid a fine, tax evasion. Each of these gestures reinforces the idea that the rule is breakable and that individual benefit is worth more than the collective good.
And where do we go so wrong? In the inability to make the moral and ethical distinction between the public and the private. This is one of the fundamental pillars of any society that seeks social justice: understanding that what is public belongs to everyone and must be managed with transparency and responsibility; while what is private is what belongs to the individual sphere, protected but limited by collective interests.
In Brazil, this dividing line has historically been blurred. Since colonial times, we have inherited patrimonialism, where public power was treated as an extension of the private privileges of those who occupied it. It is morally wrong to use what belongs to everyone for one's own benefit, but this has been normalized in our culture. A public office, for example, should mean serving the population, not serving oneself. This inversion of values, which places individual interest above collective interest, is the basis of our chronic illness.
When we stop valuing what is morally right, we lose the notion that public institutions exist for everyone, and not to serve private interests. Thus, we perpetuate inequality and discredit institutions. This affects everything: from the disregard for public funds to corruption in small, everyday acts that seem harmless to us but erode the ethical foundations of society.
The good news, if there is any, is that this disease does not kill. From time to time, we see outbreaks of indignation and protests that act as temporary anti-inflammatories, relieving the pain for a period. But, as with any chronic disease, the crises returns and the cycle begins again.
How can I describe this condition? I don't need to. Everyone knows it and lives with it every day. No one understands a chronic disease better than those who experience it firsthand.
I'm going to take my anti-inflammatory. I'll be back soon...
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