The sad Christmas of a country that wants to be happy.

By Fernando Brito, from brick

Paulo Honório, a character from Graciliano Ramos' classic novel, says at one point, "I never knew anymore which of my actions were good and which were bad. I did good things that brought me harm; I did bad things that brought profit. And since I always intended to own the lands of São Bernardo, I considered the actions that led me to obtain them."

Because the Brazilian right wing donned the guise of Paulo Honório and transformed this country, which had rediscovered its pride, confidence, and the idea that it could be and would be a great nation, into a country of hatred, insults, and rejection of differences and the ballot box, and which, ruined, now faces a Christmas of sadness.

Whether tacky or not, there are almost no lights on the facades, many trees remain in their dusty boxes, there are few people on the streets, and almost no one is in the shops.

Of course, we all had our share of the blame.

From those who went into government in the name of the people and, once there, began to behave like those whom the people removed, to our delusion of not understanding that, like Paulo Honório, everyone is driven by interests and a few by ideas and feelings. And that ideas and feelings, as we do with children, only take root if we repeat them, repeat them, repeat them. And practice them, too.

We were stingy in making our people feel, rather than understand, the extent of the battle that was being fought.

But that's a small amount, far too small, compared to the vested interests that have arisen to turn Brazil back into what it always was: a shoddy and wicked country.

A country of people who, if not aggressive, are sad.

Last week, on the way back to his mother's house, the car radio was reporting that the shopping streets were (as they are) empty and people couldn't buy their holiday gifts, and my young son told me: Dad, I'm going to say something I shouldn't say, but I'm going to say it anyway.

-Speak, son…

Dad, couldn't we cancel Christmas this year so nobody would be sad?

It was very difficult for me to try to convince him – and I tried – that we could be happy just being together. I preferred to use the logic trick that children always understand.

But how could we skip the 25th, go from the 24th to the 26th without the 25th?

It's impossible to make the difficult date disappear, but it's possible to remember that tomorrow is another day, a day to build and rise.

We may have learned something: that when we stop having dreams, all we have left are nightmares.

Whoever has seen the face of hope will never forget it.