Make me itch with the wish to be a nationalist, Mr. President

Can the murders of Bruno and Dom be circumstantial? They can. Can the arrests be a farce of organized crime? They can. Everything “can,” has the potential to be. Even what we would not like. But, President Bolsonaro, we cannot instill cowardice in Brazilians.

I was appalled — and note that it takes a large dose of barbarity for me to be astonished, I am a “serene pessimist” — on hearing a little old lady who is all love and service ask herself: “but what did [the dead] have to do in the Amazon?” Which first, the egg or the hen?

I understand, from Bolsonarista friends (who are many and real friends), that the “average Brazilian,” in their interpretation, is the one who asks such things. But, Mr. President, you are not an average Brazilian. You are the President of the Republic. For four more years?

I am often skeptical of the common grudges against you — that is a fact. I do not hate you, I do not even have a reason to (I am an analyzed journalist), but I oppose any presidential action that is not in the direction of undoing closures with bloodshed.

Researchers cannot be blamed for researching. Indeed, it is “fair and necessary” that they do. I still do not understand why journalism (even if corroded by basic flaws, of lexical order, of syntactic order) cannot serve a government (even so).

The deaths of these men lead me to a scenario in which the lights go out, silence sets in, and a band of amputees comes to hold us by the shin to decide whether we will be devoured by their diseases. The wicked plant horrible warts on our faces.

Who will oppose a brilliant investigation? Who will oppose a rigorous penalty for the murderers or those who ordered it? Who will oppose a government that dismantles the incivility of human exploitation? Who will take offense at a “no!” to the market of souls?

President Bolsonaro, we have our differences, because I am much worse than you in practically any subject, but I invite you to give me governmental and social proof of what a “nation” is, after all. Make me itch with the wish to be a nationalist.