Election polls for what? (But the most important thing is not that)

In fact, this chronicle was born as a text of pure (very pure) gratitude. On the way between the mouthpiece and the paper, however, the text fell into a puddle of reality and was smeared all over by electoral polls and the very mundane attempt to invade a Mass. It’s the fault of the clumsy writer who is now here, scrubbing more than a washerwoman in boxer shorts, hoping to get to the last paragraph with the bright colors of his original intent.

The attempt to invade the Mass is heavy stain and, I suppose, will require a few good liters of your favorite stain remover and whose name I will not mention here because the manufacturer does not sponsor this space. The case happened just yesterday, on Sunday (21), and it was as quick as it was frightening: a boy dressed in varista clothes entered the Church of the Order during the Mass and tried to make some kind of political demonstration.

Are you sure it wasn’t a simple beggar looking for shelter or a crab lost in his chemical delusions? Well, at this time of the morning I’m not even sure of my own name, but I heard the militant tell the security guard that he “had the right”. In conversation with parishioners, I learned that this sort of thing has become commonplace in recent months. Will it be our destiny to transform ourselves into one of those very furrecas little Nicaraguans, ruled by a tyrant who could well be a character of Chico Anysio?

Less heavy, but more blatant, is the stain of electoral polls. Which I will focus on from now on. She washes clothes every day, what agony!… To talk about her without the tedious speech of technocrats, however, I’ll be forced to resort to a little story I read in a book or that I was told or that I invented without even realizing it.

The story is simple. It speaks of a submarine cable installed to enable communication between two peoples. A lot of money, technology and sweat were invested in this endeavor. That took months and months to complete. When, finally, the two peoples were able to communicate, the first thing they told each other was a dirty little joke, the kind that old Dercy Gonçalves liked.

On both sides of the line, everyone laughed and applauded the news. All but one bore who marveled at the human ability to invest so much knowledge and effort in technologies of questionable consequences. At the end of the day, it seems that we let ourselves be enchanted by our ability to achieve, to the point that we forget a fundamental question at the origin of all our actions: what for?

Whenever I see the polls, I remember that submarine cable there. After all, over decades we have employed thousands of experts, developed complex methodologies and built supercomputers capable of analyzing zillions of data. Great, but what is all this for if election polls are nothing more than numbers that insist on contradicting what our eyes see?

And here I’m not assuming the bad faith of research institutes or anything. That would reduce the discussion to an insult. What I am suggesting is that, nowadays, instead of informing, electoral polls only serve to confuse, awaken conspiracy theories and, above all, create an environment of collectivist thought in which the divergence, supposedly being outnumbered, , is wrong.

But the most important thing isn’t even that. The most important thing is that I finally managed to remove the stains from the chronicle. Now, yes, I can throw myself in the rocking chair, receive Catota in my lap, take a deep breath and thank you, my reader. Yes, you, among so many options right here at Gazeta do Povo, decided to dedicate a few minutes of your life to listen (read) what I have to say (write). It is a privilege to be able to write every day and an even greater privilege to be read every day. Thank you very much.

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