My condo WhatsApp group and "the bandit Lula"

"My Lord Jesus, are they seriously adding me to a WhatsApp group?" Suzane lamented upon seeing the notification that she was included in the "friends of the Solar dos Torres condominium" group.

Yes, Suzane would savor the unpleasantness of the "good morning" messages, the six-minute audio messages from the lady complaining about her next-door neighbor's dog. The outdated Veja magazine. The smell of marijuana wafting through Maria das Dores' window. Laziness.

Suzane had no idea that this was nothing compared to what she would face, poor thing.

The house next to the Torres building was rented. An NGO was set up there to house young people who have committed offenses, with the intention of reintegrating them into society. To live there, they need to work and be under the supervision of professionals.

Young black people from the outskirts of the city, who probably wouldn't have settled on Rua dos Rouxinóis if it weren't for the NGO.

Suzane, every time she returned from her evening chores, would find these young people outside her house, sitting on the sidewalk, chatting and smoking cigarettes. Yes, nicotine cigarettes, not marijuana. They seemed happy to be there, healthy. "Many times they spoke loudly, yes, but nothing that couldn't be resolved with a conversation," the resident reflected.

Then the chaos began in the condo group chat:

Maria Aparecida says: Do you see those delinquents who are shouting in the street at dawn?

Hélio (the Bolsonaro policeman) says: Yes, they must use all kinds of drugs, I bet.

Clenilda says: "My goodness, our street is turning into a slum with these kids here."

Hélio says: Yes! Our street will become devalued, property prices will fall.

Maria Aparecida says: I'm very afraid of being robbed; they look at us with a threatening expression.

Murilo says: It's a tragedy waiting to happen!

Hélio says: Yes, they're definitely small-time drug dealers. Soon our charming street will turn into Crackland. That's what happened downtown.

Suzane took a deep breath and left the group. She felt a heavenly relief, but was shocked by so much hatred and prejudice.

The building's superintendent, a nice guy, contacted the people in charge of the NGO to complain about the noise. A simple conversation was all it took for the boys to stop their racket. Silence fell.

And what does Lula have to do with this?

Do you think only rich people don't like sharing airplane seats and classrooms? The middle class, with their Starbucks selfies and 12-month installment plans at CVC for Orlando, is the same way.

They're mired in debt, they believe Brazil is a mess, but they keep repeating the unbearable: "But those who voted for Dilma, voted for Temer, right?"

They want Lula imprisoned by all means, because, as Danuza Leão once said, "What's the point of going to Paris if your doorman can go too?"

He can't afford college because he's drowning in debt, he'll probably drop out, but he posts memes of Lula as illiterate in the family group chat. 

You are not imprisoned for your mistakes, Lula, but for your successes. And your main success was to bother those people who, as Cazuza said, "are prudish and cowardly."

From the respectable man of the past who had the church's approval to whip his slave, to the respectable man of the present who cheers for the death of Marisa Letícia and shouts from the window, "shut up, slum dweller," as happened in Suzane's building. Our colonial, patriarchal, and slave-owning past, coupled with an elite always tied to international interests, explains well the extent of the hatred that many feel against Lula. 

There are deep wounds in Brazil, and the man who used a bandage and antiseptic to soothe that pain is now in jail. As Aloizio Mercadante rightly pointed out, "Tiradentes, Mandela, and Getúlio were also victims of their time."