The pandemic militias

By Miguel Paiva, for Journalists for Democracy 

They had been hiding in that old, abandoned garage for over a month. The carcasses of abandoned cars served as a living quarters for those inside. At night, the silence was only broken by the engines of the militiamen's pickup trucks patrolling in search of the fleeing workers. Luckily, that garage didn't attract attention. It was located beneath an old government building that had closed at the beginning of the pandemic. The employees who worked there were all summarily dismissed and forced to find jobs in companies that had broken the quarantine. 

Some managed to escape not only work but also death. The turnover rate in the private sector was enormous. Those who died were immediately replaced by the next worker waiting in special prisons set up in stadiums, where field hospitals had previously been located. Militias rounded up citizens who refused to work and there they awaited the first available position. Families were separated. Women and children were taken to hotels and dormitories where, along with the elderly and other at-risk individuals, they resided indefinitely. 

But the economy couldn't stop. A state of siege had been declared in some parts of Brazil. Government militias had seized power with the agreement of the president and some ministers. They occupied Brasília and spread throughout the country, taking over the government wherever they won the dispute. Some states resisted and closed their borders.

There in that garage were informal workers, technicians, street vendors, and freelancers fleeing the pandemic. Families tried to stay together, and at night some of them organized themselves to go out in search of food. It was a difficult task: finding something to eat and also escaping the militias that roamed the city.

And that night was particularly difficult. They were caught sneaking into a supermarket. It was 2 a.m. and the establishment was open. There were few employees, but the manager ended up raising the alarm after recognizing the "Isolated" group. They tried to run, but a pickup truck drove onto the sidewalk and blocked their escape route. The militiamen got out and, shouting, pushed the new prisoners into the back of the vehicle. Some resisted and were badly beaten. One of them ran and was hit by a gunshot. He fell in the dark street, to the astonishment of a hungry dog ​​that was passing by. A window lit up high in the building. 

The beleaguered population of that place had returned to work, placing their fate in God's hands. Some fled to the rebel states, but those who couldn't prayed every day. From the window, someone shouted: "Stay home!" One of the militiamen fired a shot, and the apartment light went out.

The prisoners were lined up side by side and waited for the driver-gunner to take his position. He reached the vehicle's door and hesitated. He dropped his weapon and put his hand to his forehead.

I think I have a fever. I can't stand up.

The other two who were with him didn't seem scared. One of them took the gun, put it on his back, helped his friend lean against the building wall, and called someone. He listened to instructions while the other threatened the fugitives in the pickup truck.

Anyone who tries to be funny dies right here.

The militiaman who was talking on his cell phone and who had helped his partner lean against the wall came towards the car. He also hesitated and staggered.

I think I drank too much today. I'm dizzy and have a headache.

- It's just a little drink. Do you want me to drive?

I don't know. You'd better call for reinforcements. There are only two of us and five of them.

The militiaman took out his cell phone to call for reinforcements and ended up getting distracted. He was also a bit dazed. He walked away to make the call while the fugitives, realizing the situation, got up and left the vehicle. One of them had lost the protective mask he was wearing. He put his own jacket around his face and the five of them walked away. 

On the street, one could see that black pickup truck with its headlights on, and one of the militiamen, sitting on the curb, was trying to talk to someone. The other two seemed to be sleeping, leaning against the wall. The five fugitives moved away and continued down the deserted street. At the top of the building, another light came on. Someone waved from up there and threw a package of food. In the distance, an ambulance siren announced that the number of sick people was constantly rising. The light at the top of the building went out, and everything returned to silence and darkness. Staying isolated, even hidden and despite everything, was still the only remedy.