In 1979, I was 11 years old and starting to realize that the Brazil I lived in carried a wound called the military dictatorship. I discovered there were exiles, political prisoners, men and women pursued and tortured for defending freedom and democracy. I cherish in my memory the comings and goings of Leonel Brizola, Miguel Arraes, Dulce Maia, the presence of Paulo Freire during this time of reconnection with the country, and stories like that of Sister Maurina Borges da Silveira, a religious figure imprisoned, tortured, and banished.
For that boy, words like dictatorship, exile, torture, amnesty, and democracy took on a face. Perhaps a conviction was born there that never left me: democracy is not a definitive gift, but a conquest that needs to be cared for every day.
In 1984, I was in Fortaleza with my twin brother, Fabiano Piúba, and I especially remember the square in front of the José de Alencar Theater taken by the Direct Elections movement. There were prominent figures from the democratic camp: Tancredo Neves, Ulysses Guimarães, Miguel Arraes, Leonel Brizola, Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, Luís Carlos Prestes, Dante de Oliveira, and Paes de Andrade. Artists, workers, students, and ordinary people filled the square. Brazil was learning to say out loud a word stifled for so many years: freedom.
After the defeat of the Dante de Oliveira Amendment, the election of Tancredo Neves by the Electoral College also had the contribution of the Liberal Front, with leaders like José Sarney, Marco Maciel, Aureliano Chaves, and Antônio Carlos Magalhães. It's important to remember this: Brazil's redemocratization also had the support of a democratic right, capable of prioritizing the defense of democracy over party differences. Later came the transition, the Constituent Assembly, and in 1988, the Citizen Constitution of Ulysses Guimarães.
Years later, as an adult, this memory gained even more faces and voices. Alongside Roberto Monte, at the Human Rights and Popular Memory Center in Natal, I was able to listen to and interview former political prisoners and exiles linked to the 1935 Uprising, the New State, and the military dictatorship that began in 1964. They were no longer just chapters in history books; they were people in front of me, recounting their experiences.
And why remember all this now? Because we are once again in an election year and we are living in a global context marked by the rise of the extreme right, authoritarian speeches, and forms of politics that turn opponents into enemies. And here I must make an indispensable reservation: I am not referring to the democratic right.
Being of the right does not mean being fascist, authoritarian, or intolerant. The democratic right rightfully belongs to the democratic camp, along with the left and the center. I believe in dialogue with those who think like me and those who think differently. My criticism is aimed at the extreme right, especially when it takes on neo-Nazi fascist characteristics: disregard for institutions, cult of force, fabrication of enemies, political violence, racism, misogyny, homophobia, religious intolerance, and hatred of the different.
There is also an economic choice. We can build a society where the market and private initiative serve life and the common good, preserving social and labor rights, fighting hunger and inequality, strengthening health, education, and social protection. Or we can accept exclusive and exclusionary economic ultraliberalism, where rights are seen as obstacles, and human dignity is submitted to the logic of profit. Economy should serve humanity, not the other way around.
When this economic logic meets the culture of hate, the result is even more severe. The poor are dismissed; women are diminished; Blacks are discriminated against; LGBTQ+ people are targeted; different religions are hostilely treated. Misogyny, machismo, racism, homophobia, and religious intolerance spread through social media and cross screens to harm real people. The dehumanizing word can prepare the ground for violence that injures.
The same logic extends to nature. When everything becomes a commodity, rivers, forests, seas, and territories are sacrificed in the name of unlimited greed. Social justice and care for the Common Home cannot be separated.
It is in this sense that I speak of civilization or barbarism. Not as an attack on democratic right or a partisan slogan, but as an ethical question. Civilization is to recognize the other as a person, ensure rights, preserve democracy, and put economics at the service of human dignity. Barbarism is to turn the different into an enemy, naturalize exclusion, feed hatred, and flirt with authoritarianism.
I am 58 years old today. The boy who saw the exiles return to Brazil still lives within me. And the teenager who, alongside Fabiano, saw a square in Fortaleza taken over by democratic hope, he too remains here.
After everything our generation has lived through, we cannot treat democracy with indifference. It is imperfect and needs to be deepened, but it is within it that we can fight for more justice, freedom, equality, rights, and dignity. Outside of it, the night grows darker.
In this election year, perhaps before asking who to vote for, we should ask: what Brazil do we want? A Brazil of fear or hope? Of hate or fraternity? Of exclusion or social justice? Of intolerance or dialogue? Of devastation or care? Of barbarism or civilization?
I make my choice: democracy, human dignity, social justice, freedom, dialogue, and fraternity. Always.