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The daily struggle against fascism *
by Urianian Mota
Few days ago. After Lula’s presidential victory, I received a shocking blow in my life; on the afternoon of August 7th, I was walking with my wife along the sidewalk in Olinda, when I heard a loud noise, infernal music. It was a Bolsonaro procession! What?! It was the man himself, followed by “patriots” wearing Brazil’s national team jerseys, shouting, shouting, shouting.
I had no choice. I couldn’t have had a choice. The most zen, the most thoughtful socialist, cannot walk by, immune, surprised, in the face of a fascist procession. You forgive me, but I lost my gentleness, my damn good education. And I responded to the sounds of the afternoon that thundered;
— You son of a…! (And louder) You son of a…!
This was the start of the conversation. Emotion was taking over me, a tremendous indignation, in the face of that invasion of the land of humanity. And I continued. And I shouted louder, when I passed by a squad of PM soldiers:
— This is Lula’s land! Fascist doesn’t belong here!
They threatened me with their eyes, with their aggressive faces, put their hands on their guns, but students saved me from a brutal attack. Young girls and boys, teenagers, from a college in front of the squad, applauded me. From them came a fraternal solidarity, until where fraternity can go. That calmed me down, but I didn’t realize I was also an aggression, wordless, to the procession. I didn’t realize I was wearing a Sport Club shirt, red, with stars in front and the name of the club behind. The stars are the Sport Club’s in the A series. But the ignorant, when they see it, immediately interpret it; it’s from the PT.
Then I was pursued by shouts:
— Thief! (I turned around) Lula thief! Lula thief!
You know that Bolsonarists don’t have arguments. They only have guts. They don’t reflect:
— Lula thief!
I don’t remember what I responded – who knows how I acted in a moment of passion? – but I must have responded:
— Bolsonaro is a murderer! He killed people during the pandemic. Genocidal!
Then the Bolsonarists, mostly elderly, but not respectable, responded in their own way. Clarifying, but never clarified:
— Lula is a terrorist!
This is a word that for me is a touchstone, clear and a call. I have written novels about the memory of the dictatorship, a denunciation of the crimes of the dictatorship, of its terror over young people in Brazil.
And I turned to those who were pursuing me:
— What?!?
And they continued:
— Lula is a terrorist!
And I prepared the boat:
— Lula is a terrorist?
— Yes!
My response was to raise my arms:
— Then long live terrorism!
My wife was trying to calm me down, an impossible task. Because she was also agitated. And she took my lead against the mob:
— Long live Lula!
And she made signs with the L of the Moon, a single finger, the middle finger, to Bolsonaro.
And she shouted:
— Lula is my president!
And they came at her. Then it was my turn to calm her down, to ask her to be calm, thoughtful, serene, I, the calm, serene, and powerful one. But to be calm, you have to breathe deeply first, not lose your breath. And I just wanted a shot of cachaça or a little water, at worst. It was incredible. I felt hurt in the domains of what I considered sacred. Olinda, what is this?! I needed to take a deep breath. But only after finishing that nightmare.
Now, on August 23rd, I’m trying to reflect. The first sensible thing is: every democratic militant, every socialist, has a personal case against fascists.
On the way back home, while I saw groups of gentlemen and ladies in yellow – what was that, were they all covered in baby poop? – I could feel that they were all good parents, grandparents, retired citizens of good standing. Now I understand them. And they’re not all fascists. Not all of them adore the swastika. Although there are some among them who are passionate right-wing assassins. But not all. The problem is that this good people, all good people, support an outdated moral code. They all say they defend the family. That traditional, father, mother, children, model of the sacred family that is in heaven.
Among them, there is a fossilized survival of moral values that goes against their own experience. Many of them have gay relatives, but they don’t see a light for diversity, for everything that is human. Many of them are descendants of blacks, are mixed-race, but they find natural racism against people with darker skin. They spit on the memory of their own origin.
I realize that their moralism is a rigorous and severe perversion. If they could, they would screw the Blessed Virgin Mary. But since that’s impossible, at least in flesh, they seek to satisfy their frustrated desire in purer, more innocent bodies. And they go as far as pedophilia, which they only understand as a perversion when sex is made in the bodies of babies. But children over 7 years old, no. “They already know what’s what”, they say. And they discourse in favor of the family, morality, and the homeland.
In everything, they smell of hypocrisy. A rigid hypocrisy, that speaks louder than it acts. But they are dangerous, because they kill and promote the destruction of lives, When you see the case of teachers in the great Recife, who forced a child, adopted by two mothers, to participate in a ceremony on Father’s Day, and they enjoyed seeing the girl cry, that revolts, that shows the urgency of civilization. When you see Pastor Collins presenting a bill against trans athletes, we know that our struggle today is without quarter and without truce. This horror of the right cannot and must not prosper. We must get out of our humanized ghettos.
That’s why our resistance must be a duty and a pleasure at the same time. We all have the obligation to spread civilization in all forms, in all ways, in art, with art, in science, with science, in politics, both party and non-party… Writers, artists, professors, scientists, unionized militants, journalists, musicians, and composers: we are all called. The struggle against fascism is continuous, without truce, because the plague of fascism has not died. If we can’t all write novels, reports, videos, music, posts, let’s write pamphlets. Let’s distribute our thought printed on banners, paper, images, and soul. The war doesn’t give us a minute of peace.
*Red https://vermelho.org.br/coluna/a-luta-contra-o-fascismo-de-todos-os-dias/
Urianian Mota is a writer and journalist. Author of “Dicionário Amoroso do Recife”, “Soledad no Recife”, “O filho renegado de Deus” and “A mais longa duração da juventude” (translated into English as “Never-Ending Youth”). Columnist for Vermelho and Brasil 247. Collaborator of Jornal GGN.
