2009 in Brazil, and the future had arrived at last. After decades of being a country slouching toward an unfeasibly distant better tomorrow, the young democracy had got it right this time: the ruling Workers Party was both generous to the poor and friendly to the rich, capable of expanding welfare and following economic orthodoxy, pleasing both green activists and the country's agribusiness lobby. This was not simply an overeager prediction by enthusiastic business magazines, but something that even Obama could recognize, greeting the Brazilian President Lula da Silva with an effusive "I love this guy!" at a G20 summit.
One did not need to be a Lula partisan to feel, on some level, proud of Brazil’s new image on the world stage. In a way, Lula's performance was a manifestation of the Brazilian myth of the cordial man, the warm and kind hearted friend, always willing to talk or lend a helping hand if necessary.
This trait is perhaps the most shared feature in Brazilian culture. It is an act that every Brazilian child knows by heart: this country might not be better than other countries in anything else, but its people are more lovable, and for that they will inherit the world.
Ten years later, the cordial men have blood on their hands. The election of Jair Bolsonaro in 2018 shattered the myth of the sometimes scrappy, sometimes thriving country, filled with smiles despite adversity. Instead, Brazil is an axis of sadism. There was no foreign villain, no authoritarian break with democratic order, and above all there were no surprises; by its own choice and by its own decisions, knowing at every step of the way of what that would entail, the supposed loveable country chose a man who would praise torture and despise human rights.
Last week, the country learned that choosing that image has consequences. The scenes of the Amazon going up in flames might be many things, but they certainly are not unexpected. Bolsonaro does not believe in the urgency of the climate crisis; this is a man who takes advice from a flat earther. His administration is at best indifferent and at worst actively pleased to destroy the rainforest. In fact, possibly the only thing the president has shown more derision to than the forest itself is the indigenous people that live in it.
The issue for Bolsonaro is that between him and the destruction of the Amazon there is everyone else in the world. While it is true that the Amazon and its peoples had suffered under many governments, Bolsonaro has found himself in power at a point in history where the people who matter—which is to say, the people who choose governments in developed countries—suddenly care very deeply about environmental issues.
Attacking Brazilian policy is suddenly free political real estate for anyone who needs to endear themselves to the public, a fact that Emmanuel Macron was quick to realize. Bolsonaro has no constituency abroad; aside from Trump, who is mercurial in his friendships and hates associating himself with failure, few have shown any willingness to defend him.
If the idea of being used as a political football is uncomfortable for Brazil, it is only the beginning. Unlike other big polluters, Brazil is not a developed economy with a strong military force. It is not ready to start any kind of fight with stronger forces. Bolsonaro boasts and rants about Brazil's newfound strength under him, but he ignores what every other Brazilian president after redemocratization knew: being the loveable man is not simply about niceness; not being loveable often means being alone.
It is easy to underestimate how deeply every single aspect of our lives would be affected by Bolsonaro's environmental policy. The future would not forgive the damage done. Sao Paulo saw its skies darken in the middle of the afternoon as acid rain poured down on the city, yet even this will seem muted next to what is to come, both from nature itself and the world. And Brazilians themselves are at risk of hated by association. There is no nuance when it comes to choosing history’s villains; nobody will care if Brazilians really hated the Workers Party government when their major cities are under water.
The Brazilian cordial man was always capable of hurting others. Bolsonaro was elected by the same loveable Brazilians as ever. But there is also sincere affection and kindness in the country's soul.
To transform that kindness into practice, and defend that which Bolsonaro seeks to destroy, is the only option—before the only Brazilian legacy left to this world is hatred.
One did not need to be a Lula partisan to feel, on some level, proud of Brazil’s new image on the world stage. In a way, Lula's performance was a manifestation of the Brazilian myth of the cordial man, the warm and kind hearted friend, always willing to talk or lend a helping hand if necessary.
This trait is perhaps the most shared feature in Brazilian culture. It is an act that every Brazilian child knows by heart: this country might not be better than other countries in anything else, but its people are more lovable, and for that they will inherit the world.
Ten years later, the cordial men have blood on their hands. The election of Jair Bolsonaro in 2018 shattered the myth of the sometimes scrappy, sometimes thriving country, filled with smiles despite adversity. Instead, Brazil is an axis of sadism. There was no foreign villain, no authoritarian break with democratic order, and above all there were no surprises; by its own choice and by its own decisions, knowing at every step of the way of what that would entail, the supposed loveable country chose a man who would praise torture and despise human rights.
Last week, the country learned that choosing that image has consequences. The scenes of the Amazon going up in flames might be many things, but they certainly are not unexpected. Bolsonaro does not believe in the urgency of the climate crisis; this is a man who takes advice from a flat earther. His administration is at best indifferent and at worst actively pleased to destroy the rainforest. In fact, possibly the only thing the president has shown more derision to than the forest itself is the indigenous people that live in it.
The issue for Bolsonaro is that between him and the destruction of the Amazon there is everyone else in the world. While it is true that the Amazon and its peoples had suffered under many governments, Bolsonaro has found himself in power at a point in history where the people who matter—which is to say, the people who choose governments in developed countries—suddenly care very deeply about environmental issues.
Attacking Brazilian policy is suddenly free political real estate for anyone who needs to endear themselves to the public, a fact that Emmanuel Macron was quick to realize. Bolsonaro has no constituency abroad; aside from Trump, who is mercurial in his friendships and hates associating himself with failure, few have shown any willingness to defend him.
If the idea of being used as a political football is uncomfortable for Brazil, it is only the beginning. Unlike other big polluters, Brazil is not a developed economy with a strong military force. It is not ready to start any kind of fight with stronger forces. Bolsonaro boasts and rants about Brazil's newfound strength under him, but he ignores what every other Brazilian president after redemocratization knew: being the loveable man is not simply about niceness; not being loveable often means being alone.
It is easy to underestimate how deeply every single aspect of our lives would be affected by Bolsonaro's environmental policy. The future would not forgive the damage done. Sao Paulo saw its skies darken in the middle of the afternoon as acid rain poured down on the city, yet even this will seem muted next to what is to come, both from nature itself and the world. And Brazilians themselves are at risk of hated by association. There is no nuance when it comes to choosing history’s villains; nobody will care if Brazilians really hated the Workers Party government when their major cities are under water.
The Brazilian cordial man was always capable of hurting others. Bolsonaro was elected by the same loveable Brazilians as ever. But there is also sincere affection and kindness in the country's soul.
To transform that kindness into practice, and defend that which Bolsonaro seeks to destroy, is the only option—before the only Brazilian legacy left to this world is hatred.
