Love in These Days of Struggle
By Urariano Mota
Amid the current efforts to secure Lula’s reelection, I have noticed a phenomenon that had previously lain dormant. These days, in the courageous takeovers of Brazil’s streets and squares—in legitimate occupations aimed at making a political statement against barbarism—the first thing one notices is the voice of outrage. The righteous anger that drives protesters to flip off posters in a building window that read “Lula Out.” That’s how it’s been. At mass rallies, fingers are raised toward the window: “This one’s for you!” The raised middle finger is like a prayer, a call to arms for the best fighting forces on the front lines.
Even though the fascists respond with terror—by setting university buildings on fire, pointing guns at democrats, and arbitrarily arresting young students participating in peaceful marches—people still do not back down. In other words, if I may put it more plainly: outrage overcomes the fear of terror. In fact, for those of us with the greatest sense of outrage, fear doesn’t even exist. If they drop a bomb, the survivors will pounce on the terrorists. For we are many, vast, and strong. Just like in the song by Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil, immortalized by Gal Costa:
“Attention
Everything is dangerous
Everything is divinely wonderful
Attention to the chorus
We must stay alert and strong
We don’t have time to fear death
We must stay alert and strong
We don’t have time to fear death”
In this vein, I now consider what gives rise to this phenomenon: if Lula had not been defeated in the first round, and if there were no threat of darkness returning to Brazil, we would not be witnessing this rebirth of consciousness. Our best spirit—that is to say, our best enthusiasm—was sluggish and dormant. It was as if the victory were permanent. As if they were connected, but without passion.
So I’ll move on to what I see and have seen up close, away from the street protests. Look at this beautiful snapshot, captured by Francêsca Calado in Olinda: the affection shown by the owner of Bar do Peneira toward Luciana Santos, former mayor of Olinda, now Brazil’s Minister of Science and Technology. Understand and realize that this affection is not directed at her position as minister. It is genuine and selfless, just as it has been in Peneira’s heart and memory since the very beginning, when an overwhelming sense of modesty prevented him from expressing it:
And so I come to the most eloquent expression of love, which is conveyed in a statement I had never heard before these past few days.
- He was the first man in my life.
So says a socialist activist. Sitting at a table on Rio Branco Avenue in Recife, we listen, blink, and pretend we didn’t hear her. We must have looked like idiots, because the activist goes even further:
- He was my first love.
Ah, could she be referring to “First Love”, Turgenev’s beautiful novella? No, she’s talking about another kind of beauty—a feeling experienced by a comrade who has since passed away. So, on that Sunday afternoon, as the voices and chants grow louder and ring out along Rio Branco Avenue, we pull the silliest faces in the world. I mean, we don’t want to show any emotion; we don’t want to cry when we hear this woman say that she’s being reborn in her generous heart through the movement in support of Lula.
- He was my first love.
Why don’t we have the dignity to raise a toast to the grandeur of such a profound feeling? The author of these lines, who used to give the fascists the finger, lacks the dignity to shout:
- Long live love! Long live the rebirth of the heart!
We sat there quietly, thinking. Looking at it from a distance, we realized that it doesn’t matter that our friend wasn’t a man who respected the person standing before us at the bar. It doesn’t matter. Are we the judges of the heart? Are we immune from committing a similar mistake? So, from a distance, we are inclined to reflect on the dignified woman: she does not see—or does not want to see—what her partner has done to her. There is a popular saying in Brazil that goes, “Love is blind.” But this saying, in its oversimplification, turns its accusation back on itself. The woman, the lover, does not want to stir up or delve into what is intertwined with her feelings. Doesn’t she know? Didn’t she see that her partner had moved on? She saw it, but did she choose to hold on to a “good friendship”? She knows and understands. But her heart is wiser in its memories. She cherishes the good times they shared; she cherishes something more valuable than sex in bed. She cherishes a greater pleasure from that relationship:
- Thanks to him, I learned to appreciate literature.
So we got up from the table feeling stronger. What I didn’t tell you then, I’m telling you now, my friend: your love has made you great. What you’ve achieved is yours to keep: a love of great literature. Such generosity: your presence during our comrade’s most difficult moments, right until the end. Instead of sorrow, a sweet and tender affection.
And we walked through Old Recife, smiling deep inside, happy. How could we have gone through life before without realizing the love that returns through the struggle?
Urariano Mota is a Brazilian writer and journalist, born in Recife on September 29, 1950. He is the author of novels about the horrors of the Brazilian dictatorship, such as “Soledad no Recife” and “Never-Ending Youth”
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