The taxi driver who talked about bread

I arrived at the taxi stand very early. Leaning against the car, the taxi driver was eating a banana. I asked if he could take me to the airport. He promptly dropped the rest of the banana and opened the car door. 

"I didn't mean to interrupt your snack," I said.

I like to eat bananas because they are filling.

He was friendly and immediately struck up a conversation. I complimented Catete, saying I had enjoyed my stay there. He commented, somewhat displeased, 

that life used to be better there, that things got worse after the neighborhood was classified as part of Rio de Janeiro's South Zone.

Everything has become expensive. A small loaf of bread here costs R$ 2,00. In the outskirts where I live, you can buy six loaves of bread, enough for the whole family.

Then he started complaining about the oversight, saying that nobody monitors anything anymore. That in the old days women monitored price increases, and that it worked well because they spoke out loudly.

"I remember that," I replied, "I think it was the movement against the high cost of living."

"It was during Sarney's government," he said, "that every time inflation went up, there was a salary increase. After that, it was just a bunch of crappy governments."

The man was Black, old enough to be retired, his car was old and noisy (the likes of which I hadn't seen in a long time), he ate bananas for breakfast because "they provided sustenance," he talked about the price of bread, the movement against the high cost of living, he remembered the Sarney government because it gave salary increases when inflation rose, and he finished by saying that after that, "only crap came."

I don't know if he spoke that way because he suspected he was in the presence of a Bolsonaro supporter – because of my skin color and my southern Brazilian accent – ​​or if, in doubt, he wanted to call the current ruler a piece of shit without explicitly mentioning him, because that's how ordinary people have learned to voice their criticism without risking having their opinions attacked by someone they consider to be in a position of superiority.

I couldn't help but wonder: which presidential candidate would this man have voted for in last week's election?

As he let the ball bounce, I made the provocative statement:

I liked Lula's government; I think he did a lot for the people, and I believe he will do an even better job now.

When I said that, the man opened his heart.

"It's our hope," he said. 

If I hadn't provoked the man, I would certainly have been left with the impression that he was just another confused taxi driver. 

From there, the conversation turned to politics, in the strictest sense, since the price of bread is also political. The man was informed, in the best sense of the word. Informed above all about the part that interested his social class, which is the struggle for survival. 

He spoke of Lula's feat of rising from poverty to become president; he found it relevant to comment that Lula, convicted and imprisoned, endured everything calmly, never resorting to violence. 

He spoke of the Bolsonaro family's mansions; of Moro's dirty tricks, and opined that their time for justice would come, because "things have turned around."

I paid the R$20,00 fare by giving him a R$50,00 bill, asking him to give me back R$20,00. He gave me back R$30,00. I insisted: just give me back R$20,00, because I interrupted your breakfast and because you served me very well.

He thanked us and wished us good luck – I had come to be considered a partner, not just a passenger – with the sincerity of someone who was truly thinking beyond himself. He said goodbye with a smile.

- And let's see if we can eat our picanha again now.

I felt genuine joy at this event, so simple yet so crucial to the current historical moment.

The black taxi driver is part of that contingent of millions of Brazilians who have been reduced to anonymity. They have been subjugated economically and ideologically to the point of having to self-censor their thoughts and opinions at the risk of losing their precarious means of subsistence.

But it was this contingent of anonymous people that gave Lula the victory in the presidential election, because these millions are directly connected to the soul of the great popular leader who came from poverty, who suffered persecution of all kinds (as is common for the poorest), who never faltered, never despaired, and never gave up, because that is not allowed to the poor either; a leader who built a party that remained faithful in defending those who are neither heard nor seen by the other part of society that has rights and for whom institutions function properly.

These millions place their hopes in Lula because civil society, and the institutions as a whole, don't even guarantee them the right to express their thoughts; let alone guarantee their effective rights!

Without fanfare, these millions went to vote on Sunday, October 30th. Without needing to justify themselves to anyone, in the isolation of the voting booth they reconnected their lives with the life of the man they have known for a long time, who speaks to their hearts, whose words, when he speaks of poverty and hope, sound true and familiar to these disenfranchised people.

These millions of anonymous people saved our democracy and our future. 

Long live the Brazilian people! 

Celebrate your intelligence and your ability to resist and move forward in crucial moments!