Polarization: so NOT Brazil
When I first traveled to Brazil in the 1970s, I was struck by the warmth of the people. Nearly everyone I came in contact with had a friendly word: good morning, good afternoon, tudo bem (how are you)? It didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t speak Portuguese, people smiled at me and did their best to help me when I asked questions with the few words I knew. And when I began to speak in faltering phrases, people were absolutely thrilled and encouraging. This kind acceptance made it easier to try to converse with people. I really believe I persisted with the language because no one made me feel awkward.
My traveling companion from the US and I made friends with a couple of Brazilians guys and traveled with them throughout the Northeast, from Belem at the mouth of the Amazon to Salvador, Bahia. They routinely went up to complete strangers and asked for directions, hotel recommendations, tips on the best bus routes, where to eat. I never saw a single person refuse or act coldly toward us, and we looked like scruffy hippies; the guys had long hair and beards, which was frowned upon in some quarters.
One time we were waiting at a local bus stop, I think it was in Fortaleza, Ceará, and the guys struck up a conversation with a young man. It was lunch time and we were hungry, so no doubt the question was where we could get a decent “prato comercial,” a cheap blue plate special. The young man said he lived nearby with his family and invited all four of us to lunch. We walked a few blocks to a simple, tidy house on a side street. His mom and dad weren’t the least bit taken aback by the unexpected lunch guests, and we sat in the living room while his mom no doubt scrambled in the kitchen to make enough food for four more people. When we sat down to eat, the featured dish was Spam, the pressed meat from a can that was common in the US in the 1950s. My companion was vegetarian and aghast at the prospect of eating such a thing, but I was pretty sure it was a special treat they were generously sharing with us. When our hosts looked away I swooped in with my fork and took her Spam and ate it. Coffee and fruit completed the meal, and we exchanged hugs and kisses as we thanked them for their hospitality and went on our way.
The warmth and openness of Brazilians has been a constant joy through my years of living and visiting here. People joke with each other routinely, and smiles and friendly banter abound. Forms of address that would sound false and strained in the US are naturally woven into the culture. On any given day, I hear people addressing each other as:
· Querido or querida: dear
· Amigo or amiga: friend
· Amigão: big friend
· Meu amor: my love
· Meu caro: my dear, said by a man to a man
· Colega: colleague, in the sense of friend
I never cease to marvel at the camaraderie of complete strangers as people greet one another in passing. Street vendors are everywhere, hustling to make money selling any variety of items. My Brazilian friends don’t dismiss them, they don’t intend to buy but they show respect by engaging in pleasantries. A lady with a display board of earrings passes us and differentiates her product from others on the street:
“Oh look how beautiful these earrings are. My own design, I make them myself. No one else sells these.”
My friend Cristina stops and looks. “So these are very unique. Very pretty.” She smiles and walks on. The vendor lady wishes Cristina a nice day.
Chit chat with shopkeepers, asking for directions, passing people on the street and saying good morning with a smile, all these elements are still here. But there has been a growing shadow I’ve witnessed chilling Brazilian warmth this year: political polarization.
Families have members that no longer talk with each other. People unfriend their Facebook friends. Some people are directing vitriol at people who disagree with them politically. The level of snark and odium in Instagram postings is attention-grabbing. I won’t say that followers of Lula don’t hurl invective, but the lion’s share of hatred being spewed is coming from Bolsonaro supporters, especially since Bolsonaro lost the election. Predictably, some of Bolsonaro’s supporters are promoting a Brazilian version of the Big Lie: the election was stolen (there is no evidence to support this).
A taxi driver told me that a couple of days after Lula’s victory in the runoff election he had two occasions one afternoon where people berated him for wearing a red sweater, calling him a Communist. He told me it upset him so badly he went home and changed clothes. I told him I found it all stunning, given my love of Brazil’s friendly culture. He said emphatically, “I know! I can’t believe this is my country.”
Polarization and hatred toward others with different beliefs is a global phenomenon, but it feels like Bolsonaro imported the worst aspects of Trumpism and White Nationalism from the US. I hope that Brazil’s extreme right is relegated to the fringes soon, and warmth and kindness once again rule the day.