Bolsonaro is not a fascist, he is a dangerous psychopath, says author of a report on torture - 10/12/2021 - Karla Monteiro

Two or three weeks ago I went to see “Marighella”. I left home determined to love Wagner Moura’s film, with Seu Jorge in the role of the “guerrilla who set the world on fire”, according to the portentous biography written by Mário Magalhães. That day, a Thursday, everything felt special. Just going to the movies, after so long abstinence, was revolutionary.

In times of automatic alignments and prejudgments, it’s difficult to confess: I liked, but I didn’t love “Marighella”. The movie didn’t give me the character I met in the pages of the book. Above all, it didn’t give me the context I needed to understand it. Maybe too much action and too little substance.

Why did that man, who we only know was a deputy because someone called him that, en passant, pushed young people so young to commit suicide? Did the Brazilian dictatorship exist only to fight communists? How did Marighella become Marighella? How long did you have to live?

Thinking about the film, I remembered a book I read not long ago and I reread it now, “Os Carbonarios”, by Alfredo Sirkis, Jabuti Prize 1981. What a book! An autobiographical account, the work is a trillher, which enters the head, the soul of the young man of 1968, the generation of springtime. One of the chapters was even entitled “I Support Marig…she”.

In 1968, Sirkis was an upper-middle class boy from Rio de Janeiro, who studied at Colégio de Application, at Faculdade Nacional de Filosofia. An elite college, famous for its rigorous entrance exam. Son of a Lacerdista father, he was also a devotee of the former governor of Guanabara, the UDN megaphone, one of the main articulators of the 1964 coup.

Indeed, the conservatism of the Sirkis family had its roots in Russia. A Polish Jew, the father had escaped to the neighboring country during the Nazi occupation. There, he had worked in the construction of railroads, had starved, had caught malaria. Contact with the Soviet peasants who were facing the collectivization decreed by Stalin and the compulsive indoctrination in the forced labor camps did not convince him of the benefits of the system.

“The beginning of the war between Germany and the USSR saved his life,” said Sirkis. “My father was already starving to death when he was taken to a barracks, fed, cured of malaria and incorporated into the Red Army. He ended the war as an armored captain and returned to devastated Poland. In 1946 he chose freedom, fleeing to Brazil.”

Despite training, at age 17, Alfredo Sirkis became a guerrilla. The option for armed struggle had been, above all, a call of time. More than overthrowing the dictatorship, implanting socialist ideas in the country or following leaders like Marighella and Lamarca, he obeyed the world order: “It was worth it, because the revolution was the great adventure of life”.

In his book, Sirkis transports us to a context influenced by the Cuban Revolution, the Vietnam War, the guerrilla movements that sprang up throughout Latin America, the student uprising in Paris, the Black Panthers. Taking up arms against oppression seemed to be the way forward. Anyway, it could work.

“Converted to the Viet Cong cause, I was electrified to follow the siege of Khe San and the Battle of Hué. The radio news, on the bucolic balcony, was like World Cup finals. Dad rooting for the Marines, I for the Viet Cong.”

For Sirkis’s group, the most vivid example, however, was Che Guevara. After all, Cuba was right there. “Our consensus at meetings and in bar chats: guerrilla warfare had to be in the countryside. A noble thing, like Che did,” he wrote, recalling the beginnings of urban guerrilla warfare. “There were at least four distinct groups. One was from Marigela. A split in the PCB that had opted for the Che line. It did most of the bank robberies in São Paulo. It was raising funds to finance the rural guerrillas.”

When I finished rereading “Os Carbonários”, I found my discomfort with Wagner Moura’s film. The book took me by the hand and led me along the path that led to armed struggle in Brazil. Page by page, I got to know and fell in love with the protagonist. When he left for bank robberies and kidnappings, I was already at his side. On the contrary — this was my impression when I left the cinema, the film threw me into the middle of the shooting.

LINK PRESENT: Did you like this text? Subscriber can release five free hits of any link per day. Just click on the blue F below.

Leave a Reply