Politicize

It's important to understand a political moment. It's important that we think soberly about events, especially when there's a catharsis, a movement of people against an idea that seems to emerge from nowhere. Sobriety is necessary so as not to confuse signs with solutions, nor vitality with a project. What we saw on Sunday, on Paulista Avenue and in other cities in Brazil, can and should be celebrated, but it cannot be seen as the result of magic.

The scene was vibrant. There was diversity in the audience, faces not usually seen at demonstrations. That vitality, in itself, is significant. What worries me is the excessive excitement. But we must resist the temptation of easy comparisons, such as placing this episode alongside the Diretas Já movement and other vigorous moments in Brazilian history. There was political, social, and cultural accumulation there; no instantaneous explosion can equal that.

When one insists on this parallel, one ends up reducing both the density of the past and the complexity of the present. The gesture, which could be analyzed in its own terms, is wrapped in myth. And myth, in politics, always has two sides: it inspires for a moment, but disarms the next day.

What emerged most clearly was weariness. A diffuse, social weariness that pushed people into the streets. This weariness cannot be ignored: it is real, it mobilizes. But neither can it be romanticized. Without a plan, it becomes merely collective exhaustion, incapable of sustaining transformations and often swallowed up by treacherous solutions.

The lesson of 2013 already made this clear. The diffuse energy was powerful, but it was lost in dispersion, contradiction, and capture. Spontaneity can ignite, but without organization it is quickly diverted to serve the same operators who fuel the crisis. This is the trap that surrounds any social catharsis.

It's true that the parties haven't lived up to expectations. Weak projects, leadership falling short of what society demands. But the conclusion cannot be the demonization of politics. It is with more politics that solutions are built, not with less. The void will always be filled—and, without popular organization, it will be filled by the perpetuation of what is harmful.

Magical realism does indeed exist, and it is necessary, in the works of Maria Luisa Bombal, García Márquez, and our own Murilo Rubião. They are the ones who transform the improbable into the commonplace, allowing magic to permeate ordinary life. Some preferred to interpret Paulista Avenue as a spectacle, but what was seen there was not a celebration: it was a social weariness attempting to take shape and direction in search of a political solution.

And so Rubião helps us understand, in his classic short story "The Ex-Magician of the Minho Tavern": "Suddenly, I felt tired and old. My power was meaningless: it was useless, without purpose. Disenchanted, I decided to abandon magic." The magic of literature reminds us of the limits of enchantment—and forces us to keep our feet on the ground with the magic of everyday life.