Torrential rains happened upon São Paulo yesterday. It was the perfect day to hide and
read, something this Arizonan is always wishing for. But as it often happens
with wishes, this one had a tragicomic way of coming true. Before I could curl
up with the book, I had to drive through flooded streets where the unlucky
pedestrians sunk their feet in calf-high muddy water and carried their shoes in
their hands. Afraid of getting stuck, I, like most drivers, did not venture to
drive into the lateral lanes, choosing instead the center one where it was
still possible to occasionally see the ground.
Except for the presence of motor vehicles, it could have
been 1808, which was the first year of the stay of D. João VI in Brazil after having
escaped from Napoleonic troops. 1808
also names the excellent book by Laurentino Gomes that I was hurrying home to
read.
But it was not 1808. It was 2012 in the largest metropolis
in South America, where the streets still flood when it rains and where stray
dogs are still emblematic of underdevelopment despite the recent economic
growth and the numerous skyscrapers constantly sprouting from the ground as if
nurtured by the rain.
1808 explains many
things as does 1822, the next book on
my list. With his knack for details and historical anecdotes, Gomes creates a
very clear picture of the cultural history of a period that once more paves the
way (or sometimes does not pave anything) to present day Brazil, a place full
of idiosyncrasies. From the unplanned development of megacities like São Paulo,
to a culture that at times promotes a take-what-you-can mentality toward the
land, the book delineated the historical roots of certain problems that seem to
never go away.
I love Brazil. Always have and always will. But the fact
that I left it gives me the sometimes-uncomfortable position of a
pseudo-outsider. If a geopolitical limbo exists, I inhabit it. In many circles,
critiquing any aspect of Brazil’s being is taboo; it is as if the act of
tolerating every-day injustices enhances and strengthens the Brazilian
spirit. Although I was born several
years after the slogan “Brasil, ame-o ou deixe-o” (Brazil, love it or leave it)
was made ubiquitous by the military government in 1964, its words still ring in
my ears, my personal actions (motivated by personal rather than political
reasons) assessed by the merciless message of that motto.
1808 entertains
while it educates. The roots of problems are often deep and well established,
and in the case of Brazil, it is no different. Brazil is an improvised nation,
put together ad hoc, like the great
works of engineering displayed in bridges and tunnels in São Paulo, built to
alleviate traffic but which, in the end, funnel it into one-lane streets unable
to accommodate the ant colony-like flood of cars. Gomes does not judge; he
simply tells of a country caught between being a colony and the center of an
empire, between greatness and mediocrity, between development and
underdevelopment. And in telling he says much more than political rhetorical
discourses or late night bar philosophies ever could.
