A dream called Chapecoense
In those fearful times, under the nascent dictatorship, we had few reasons to dream. One of those dreams went by the name of Chapecoense.
2016 is definitely not an easy year.
The plane crash in Medellín killed not only 76 people who carried with them their dreams, desires, frustrations, and stories.
The tragedy that cut short Chapecoense's victorious run was the final chapter of a year in which everything turned upside down.
It was the year that marked the end of democracy and responsible journalism.
It was the year of the triumph of iniquity. Whether here, with palace coups, or there, with histrionic magnates made presidents.
It was the year we had no say, no voice. The protests against the lies, the deceit, and the coup were and are silenced by sticks, stones, beatings, bombs, and censorship.
In those fearful times, during the nascent dictatorship, we had little reason to dream.
One of those dreams went by the name of Chapecoense.
It was a green valley of joy flooding the Arena Condá. A football team, embraced by its city. A squad that represented, more than a club, a people.
From the obscure Série D to the elite of national football. From a so-called "small" club to the final of the Copa Sudamericana.
A journey interrupted by a decision from ANAC (Brazilian Civil Aviation Authority) that is still not fully clear. A laconic decision by the Brazilian civil aviation authority covered the green valley of joy that was Chapecoense with the black of mourning.
In this immense country that still sees football as a reason to smile, in these fearful times, we all cry.
Fans of the tricolor, black and white, red and black, blue, red, and coral colors are crying.
Athletes, coaches, fans, journalists, teammates, and rivals alike are crying.
Black people, white people, Asian people, Indigenous people, mixed-race people... cry.
We all cry, we Brazilians continuously massacred, day after day, by lies, deceit, coups, and hypocrisy.
Chapecoense, however, will be immortalized. Just looking at the pitch before a game is enough to remind us of the green valley of joy that was that victorious team.
The tears that bathe the grieving Brazilian soil may, perhaps, cause this nation to bloom again, be an antidote to our devastated and continually plundered land.
Who knows, one day, in this devastated land, the green valley of joy and the beauty of a dream may reign once more.
A dream that, until the early hours of Tuesday morning, went by the name of Chapecoense.
* This is an opinion article, the responsibility of the author, and does not reflect the opinion of Brasil 247.