The non-existent minister

My government sticker album is worse than a World Cup sticker album. The championship has barely started and the starting lineup doesn't match the team that takes the field. Palocci's chrome sticker has become one of those relics that aren't worth trying to win. Then Alfredo Nascimento, Nelson Jobim, and Wagner Rossi fell. All duplicate stickers, but they left the field due to injury and will enter the history of Dilma's government through the official photo from the beginning of her term. "Do you remember the lineup of that 2011 ministerial team? Who was the coach again? Lula or Dilma?", we'll ask ourselves, in a while, without finding the answer in the palace records.

So many heads of ministries are falling that it seemed legitimate to me to question: is it possible for an honest minister to exist in Brazil? That is, would the vices and weaknesses that define a man be obstacles to the correct and exemplary work of the increasingly numerous assistants to the Presidency? Furthermore, would a mere mortal be noble enough to resist the seduction of the easy life that insinuates itself in the Esplanade of Ministries and which, moreover, is encouraged by his party? Look, I'm not trying to whitewash anyone; it's just that the political-partisan-existential doubt struck hard the moment I remembered the noble Agilulfo Emo Bertrandino of the Guildiverni and the Altri of Corbentraz and Sura, knight of Selimpa Citeriore and Fez, paladin of France.

The knight Agilulfo is a character created by Italo Calvino, and he doesn't exist. He's part of the French army, commanded by Charlemagne, but he's nothing more than an impeccable suit of white armor. Inside, there's nothing. But Agilulfo speaks and moves; in fact, he moves much better than his companions. The Non-existent Knight is the most diligent among his colleagues and wields the sword and bow like none of them, all without allowing the slightest scratch or stain on his armor. And Agilulfo's advantage over his companions lies precisely in not existing, or rather, in existing only as armor, that is, only as a knight.

You'll forgive me if I go into too much detail about the book's plot, but it's worth it: Calvino's knight doesn't need to rest, doesn't need to eat, doesn't need to sleep, and isn't drawn to any vice. He lives for training, for service in the camp, for study, for battle, and is always ready for work. Like his colleagues, he is admirable during combat, but, unlike them, he doesn't lose his charm when he removes his armor – he can't do that.

I'll say it again: far be it from me to absolve those who traffic in influence and embezzle money. But, considering the interests upon which our Republic has been constituted since redemocratization, aren't we demanding too much from our leaders when we expect impeccable work? Would they be capable of governing the country responsibly and without ulterior motives from a government divided up and marked by political patronage, despite being weak and highly corruptible? Believe me, yes, if they can manage it, but if our next ministers were just suits, with no one inside, I wouldn't mind.