) She is reading the Gazeta do Povo. Here’s what Constantino wrote, she tells me, showing her cell phone. I read and return the device without saying anything. Five minutes later, my wife tells me it’s not possible. And there’s another absurdity, I don’t know if involving the TSE or STF. My, I say, without much exclamation. It doesn’t take long and here comes another news. And again that mixture of revolt and impotence.
We stayed in this ritual for about ten minutes, until I turn to her and, in our exchange of glances, I realize we’ve reached an understanding without even opening our mouths. She discreetly shakes her head and I do the same. If I laugh it’s because I feel pleasure in that intimacy of thoughts. The charm is lost when my wife asks if I’m thinking the same thing as her. I am: let’s become PT members.
“It’s much easier!”, we say at the same time. And we started crafting. It is much easier, for example, to repeat the usual slogans instead of seeking some rationality in political demands. It’s much easier to call others fascists whenever they disagree with us. It is much easier to say that Lula is a saint than to say that Bolsonaro is not a villain in a James Bond movie.
It’s easier, ah, how it is, to defend science-science-science and call others denialists or flat earthers. It’s easier to stick with Malthusianism and talk about Gaia and blame it on plastic straws. It’s easier to close our eyes to objective reality and say if we’re just following our heart and doing this (“this” can mean anything) out of love for historically oppressed minorities. It’s easier to play the victim – and whoever disagrees will be offending me!
It is much easier to say “with a good heart” next to thieves. It is much easier to believe in an unrealizable utopia, without caring about redundancy, than to accept to contemplate, think and rationally and prudently transform reality. It is easier to write long theses and find guilty than to act and realize the sin within yourself. It’s much easier to solve all the problems in the world over a bottle of Romanée-Conti.
And happiness, then? Ah, how good it must be to watch the Jornal Nacional feeling that undeniable hypocritical indignation of the PT members. And the decisions of the Supreme Court? It must be delicious to feel that justice is being done and democracy is being protected by Alexandre de Moraes. PT, when electoral polls come out, he is happy. When he sees trans in the soap opera, he is happy. When he sees another PT on stage, he is happy. When he eats an organic strawberry produced on land occupied by the MST, he is happy. That is, PT is happy. Dishonestly happy, but happy.
Of course there is at least one big obstacle: to become PT members, we will have to go over all our principles. We will have to privilege the acceptance of others. We will have to seek applause for our catchphrases and our loyalty stances to the Great Nine-Finger Helmsman. We will have to ignore much of the knowledge we have accumulated over four decades – including knowledge about the millions killed by communism. We will have to repeat lies that we know are lies. We will have to close our ears to the truths screamed by experience.
Not to mention in the practical part of the thing. Because being a PT member is, above all, a lifestyle
. We would have to contribute to the financial health of the party. We would have to exchange the car for bicycles – and my wife doesn’t even know how to ride a bicycle. We would have to honor artists like Anitta and Pabllo Vittar. We would have to pass cloth (red, silk) to Zé de Abreu. We would have to attend soirees and applaud protest poetry. Even Catota would have to sacrifice itself and exchange the comfort of hygienic sand (which contributes to climate change) for uncomfortable biodegradable pieces of Yanomami wood.
With my stomach hurting from laughing so hard, we faced each other again. As if waking up from a trance, we realize the absurdity of our illusion and hurry to make the sign of the cross. “God forbid!” we say at the same time. Once the sudden temptation has been overcome, we return to entertaining ourselves: she with Gazeta do Povo , me with Candy Crush.