A street called democracy and hope…
On Friday, hundreds of thousands of Brazilians went out on the streets to fight for democracy. They defied fear. They created hope. A report from the Ground Zero
In the morning, there is fear in the air.
The first bulletin of the morning tells you there could be blood on the street today. Just imagine beginning your day with the thought of the red liquid flowing into the gutters on the city’s main avenue. Then come more chilling warnings on social network: those going out in red may end up with bruised noses and broken bones. In hushed tones, they warn everyone: at the end of the day there could be a body on Avenida Paulista — a dead, rotting body. It may be yours if you go out in red.
Fear grows faster in minds than in the real world.
So does hope.
As the day turns hot with the blazing sun, cops arrive at the avenue firing their water jets at the small group of people in yellow and green jerseys and the national flag to cover their hate-filled speeches. They don’t want to leave. They want to stay till the evening. They want blood. The police splash them with water. So they start little fires on the road, and then they take selfies with rising smoke as the backdrop. It takes the police some time to clear the fires but smoke and hate still float about the place. There could be a body here by the end of the day.
The day crawls. The sun gets tepid. The fears grows and recedes. And it grows again. Rumours buzz on the social media. People in red, go not-so subtle warnings, watch your back. You could end as a body on Paulista.
Police sirens blare on streets through the day. There is a not a soul, another bulletin tells you, on the avenue. Only cops in battle fatigues and armed to the teeth. The fear grows again.
The sun loses its sting by 4 pm and Avenida Paulista begins to stir. Metro lines coming into the city centre from the periphery deliver people in red in dozens. Then in hundreds. Then in thousands. Then the number doesn’t matter. From a trickle of red, the avenue is turning into a sea. Fear has dissipated. Hope is taking ground. Slowly.
It’s not another day in the life of Brazil. The country is divided. It’s fighting, not for its survival, but for its soul. It’s fighting for democracy and all the beauty that comes with it.
A few days ago this same avenue was a sea of yellow and green and filled with hate — for the government, for the politicians, for all those who live on the wrong side of the tracks. Even politicians who thought it was their kind of crowd — white and upper crust — had to beat a hasty retreat in the face of flowing abuses. That crowd wanted the present regime to go — collapse and vanish. But it had no idea what to replace with it. There were no programme. Only angry slogans for change — whatever that means. And no threat of any person draped in yellow and green ending as a rotten corpse.
Today is a bit different. The crowd is different. It’s not all blue eyes. It has all skin tones: white, black and brown and all other shades one can imagine. It has all the dialects one can speak. It has all the optimism one can hope for in such depressing times. In the middle of the avenue, there is a huge bus parked across the lane. From the top of its, unions guys deliver fiery speeches — against the coup, against inequality, against attempts to impeach the democratically elected president. The crowd, now swelling and heaving, responds with “Nao vai ter golpe” (We will not have a coup). You get goosebumps.
The street today is a microcosm of Brazil. Middle-class and poor, black and white, men and women, straight and gay, moderate and radical, oragnised and unorganised, they are all here. The street is buzzing with that diversity. In front of a building that houses a business lobby that cares for nothing in the world but how to pay less taxes, a bunch of youngsters raise taunting slogans. On the other side, on a massive stage, black singers and dancers rock to funk music. “The majority comes from the periphery…” booms on big speakers as the crowd moves its feet to samba beats. The message is clear: the people on the margins have today arrived in the city centre.
The sun is now down and the air is cooler. People are still coming in. Every train arriving on four metro stations on this long avenue disgorges more people in red. They come singing songs — for democracy. They come raising slogans — against the coup. Many are late for the rally. They have been working whole day — in schools, in factories, in hospitals, in farms, in shops and on the road. They have come — from the periphery — after finishing a hard day’s work and changing trains and buses. They will go back the same way, reaching their homes by midnight. But they are smiling and laughing. They are fighting something much bigger than their daily travails.
Despite being a nascent democracy (the army went back to barracks in 1985 after running and ruining the country for 21 years) Brazil is not some banana republic. The fifth biggest country in the world is also the world’s seventh biggest economy. Always rich in natural resources, the country has been the playground of its rich elite whose money is parked in Miami and souls deposited in Paris. All that began to change in 2003, when the Workers Party led by a former motor mechanic and union leader Luis Inacio Lula de Silva became the country’s president. Brazil is not some socialist paradise today, but in the past 12 years, the country’s poor blacks and working class people has gained a lot: minimum wages, pensions, holidays, scholarships, quotas in education — and dignity.
Today, the poor walking on Avendia Paulista — the heart of Brazilian capitalism — in their red shirts and carrying flags with revolutionary slogans know what is at stake. They don’t lose time talking about big issues in big words. They tell you the truth in simple sentences. “This is not about Lula and Dilma. That’s only an excuse. The real attack is on us, on democracy. They want to take away everything we have got. They want our kids to work as maids in their houses and not go to universities,” says a woman who has travelled 60kms from an enclave of former slaves to take part in today’s rally. “I am fighting for democracy. I am also fighting for future of our children.”
That’s the sentiment rippling across the avenue on slogans being raised in support of democracy and against the coup.
Then a voice booms on the speaker: “Lula will be here soon.” The entire 4-km stretch of the road — by now packed to the capacity — beaks into “ole, ole, Lula, Lula” chants. The TV choppers and drones hovering in the sky for the past four hours lower their altitudes as if to catch the breathless chanting on their microphones.
The twilight has given way to darkness but the chanting for Lula is going on non stop. The crowd is eager to listen to him. The former president is having the toughest time of his life. He is being investigated by a judge in a corruption scandal. His return to government as Rousseff’s chief of Cabinet has been shot by another judge. Any other politician in such a position would be scared to go out on the street. But Lula is another story. Even the announcement about his arrival — uncertain through the day — has filled people with hope.
Brazil is in the middle of a gloom. There is little to cheer about in the middle of a shrinking economy, scandals and bitter political fights. But the mood here today is refreshingly cheerful — full of hope. The tone of slogans against the coup is not a desperate cry but a call of optimism. On the avenue, packed so tight that there is hardly any space to move, all people — young and old, black and white — talking in the same voice: save democracy, save the country.
Then Lula, dressed in red shirt, arrives and shiver passes through the 200,000 people on the avenue. His voice booms on the avenue, bouncing off the highrises which house the people who can barely stand him. “Brazil has no place for hate. We will not have hate even though I am being attacked 24 hours a day,” says Lula and the crowd goes berserk. Standing on the top of the bus parked across the avenue, he speaks for 20minutes. Every word is applauded. Every sentence is hung on to. Every other minute, his speech is interrupted with the chants of “Ola, ola, Lula…”
It’s a historic speech. Lula hits all the right notes: Democracy, diveristy, people’s will and no coup. “Nao vai ter golpe,”shouts Lula and thousands of voices join him. “Democracy is about the voice of the people, about the voice of the majority which elects the leaders,” says Lula, making am impassioned plea against attempts to subvert democracy in the country.
The mood is festive. People are happy. They have hear their leader. They have shouted slogans for democracy with him. It’s a historic day for many, especially who have many memories of Brazil’s brutal past — of army dictators, criminal level of inequality and no regard for any human rights and diversity. Today, they have seen history replaying itself.
Today, despite fear mongering and open threats, Avenida Paulista became a sea of red. They came in red and went back home in red, without a drop of blood being dropped.
Just like fear, hope is infectious too. Lula has left the scene but he has left people full of hope and dreams. “People united are never defeated” is ringing in the air as mass of people enter metro stations and slip in to the packed coaches. It’s a chock-a-bloc but few are complaining.
Avenida Paulista is still rocking with funk, pop and reggae. There is music in the air. People are moving together on the beats — all feet in perfect rhythm, all voices in same tone, all in the same red. The rumours about someone in red ending as a dead body on the avenue by the end of the day are not wrong after all. But no one has died. The mass of people on the road has turned into a one big body: red, raring and heaving from side to side to the beats and words of “the majority comes from the periphery…”
