In 2018, I thought I had seen the worst of Brazil’s polarization. I never imagined the divide could deepen further. Yet here we are, a country split almost exactly in half.
Brazil’s first election round ended on October 4 with the far-right candidate Flávio Bolsonaro narrowly ahead of President Lula, and a runoff set for October 25. Three days later, thousands of students marched through downtown Rio de Janeiro against the possibility of another Bolsonaro presidency. The march was organized by student groups in defense of public education and democracy and against the rise of the far right. Many marchers wore red in support of Lula’s Workers’ Party, but many young people present said they were fighting for Brazil, not for a candidate, and that there was no time to be sad, only time to occupy the streets, organize and try to convince people.
It was also not a one-day event. Since then, many demonstrations have happened with millions of people taking the streets across different state capitals. The national student union (UNE) has declared a permanent state of mobilization and promised not to leave the streets, and organizers say they want to widen the movement to workers, popular movements and residents of peripheral neighborhoods.
However, none of this happens only on the street. Brazil is one of the most connected societies on the planet, behind only India and Indonesia. So in a country like this, the public square is also a feed, a WhatsApp group and a comment thread. This year we have seen a different kind of organizing: people asking influencers to stop staying neutral. The argument behind this pressure is that when you hold the attention of millions of young people, you carry a civic responsibility, and silence is also a message. Our democracy is young, and it has already been attacked: in January 2023, supporters of Jair Bolsonaro (current candidate Flavio’s father) stormed Congress, the presidential palace and the Supreme Court, and Bolsonaro was later sentenced to more than 27 years in prison for the attempted coup. Asking those with big audiences to encourage people to vote and to help defend democracy is a form of nonviolent pressure.
Another form of organizing is coming from Brazilians who live abroad. Overseas voting happens only in cities where the Electoral Court sets up polling stations, usually capitals, and because those locations are limited, some voters must travel for hours to reach one, which causes the abstention rates to be very high, sometimes around 40-50%. Initiatives such as Voto Lá Fora, (Voting Abroad) and Votos sem Fronteira (Voting Without Borders) have been created, that connect people who need a ride to vote with those who can offer one, along with places to stay, to reduce abstention in the runoff. It is mutual aid in its simplest form: a spare couch or a seat in the car, a practical act of solidarity that helps ensure distance and cost do not become barriers to democratic participation.
Last week, on October 12, Brazil celebrated Children’s Day. A friend of mine held an event in a favela in Rio, one of the gatherings we have always organized together through Esperança Solidária (Hope in Solidarity), the organization we founded during the pandemic. Now that I am far from Rio, I found myself remembering what it felt like to be there. The children were funny, curious and full of ideas, and they already knew things no child should have to know. Many had grown up around violence so constant that it had become part of the scenery. During our events, men would ride past on motorcycles carrying enormous guns, and the ones who were shocked were us, not the children.
That is what frightens me most about Brazil’s current political climate: the normalization of violence also in our politics. When Flávio Bolsonaro and his supporters defend or excuse aggression, glorify force, or treat cruelty as a sign of strength, they help sustain a culture in which violence becomes acceptable. The consequences extend far beyond elections and political disputes. Children are watching. They see what adults applaud, what leaders get away with, and whose suffering is dismissed. They learn from what we tolerate, celebrate, and reward. If we want our children to grow up believing that conflicts can be resolved without intimidation, humiliation, or force, we must be willing to challenge those who normalize violence, including the political leaders we elect and the behavior we reward with our support. Our children deserve better role models, and we all have a responsibility to be them.
I do not know what result the runoff will bring. But democracy should also not be defended only during election periods, and it is not defended alone. Young Brazilians are showing, in the streets, online and from outside the country, that nonviolent action can be organized, creative and deeply practical.
Whatever happens on October 25, our children will remember how the adults around them behaved. In a country where so many people have stopped believing in politics, and in the possibility of change, the example worth leaving them is a different one: we kept believing, showing up, organizing peacefully, protecting each other, and refusing to normalize hatred.
