A wise old man once said that “the world would not necessarily be a better place if I changed it to what I understand as better”. When asked about perfection, this same old sage – ok, not that old, despite the white beard and prominent belly – suggested to a young disciple: “Imagine how horrible the world would be as you imagine it perfect.”
I remembered the words of this wise old man the other day, when I watched the scene of disintelligence between deputy Douglas Garcia and journalist Vera Magalhães. Or maybe you prefer a different synopsis: it was the heroic scene of a damsel in distress being saved from a monster’s clutches by an unlikely knight.
Synapse goes, synapse comes. When I find myself, I’m thinking about all the decisions we make just because we imagine, for ourselves and for our fellow human beings, a perfect world that needs to be imposed on others. A world of extremely subjective and idiosyncratic perfection. And more: how many of the words we write and the attitudes we take are not contaminated by the very irrational certainty that my will, once realized, will change the world (or at least that specific circumstance) for the better?
Douglas Garcia, for example, probably imagines a perfect world of his own. A world where there is no space for journalists like Vera Magalhães. Which, in turn, imagines a perfect world of her own, where there is no room for bolsonaristas and where toucans sing as if they were thrush.