Brazil is finally freed from the chains of Bolsonaro, and I now weep with happiness

On the morning of Halloween, I made my way to the pharmacy to get eye drops. It was a grey, autumn day and, yet, I could smell spring in the air. My eyes, it turned out, were bruised by hours and hours of uninterrupted, ecstatic crying.

The tears came as a release, trapped within for a long four years.

In October 2018, Brazil elected Jair Messias Bolsonaro. From the gutter that is his mouth, words spewed like toxins, aimed to hurt and harm all minorities alike.

It would take a few entire editions of the newspaper you hold in your hands to dig into the historical and sociopolitical tides that allowed for a man like Bolsonaro to be elected. But, on a larger scale, the choice reflected a global shift to right-wing politics that threatened to send time back a century.

Bolsonaro’s campaign was built on hatred disguised as economical concerns, and flattery aimed at those easily swayed into believing the socioeconomic ascension of the poor was an active threat.

Tragically, the Covid-19 pandemic coincided with Bolsonaro’s mandate. As thousands struggled to breathe, amid cemeteries overwhelmed by demand, the president made light of the virus, mocking victims and families alike.

During those long months, I woke up every morning thinking of my immunosuppressed dad, locked in a small apartment, living in dread as Bolsonaro refused to roll out a vaccine campaign.

From almost 2,000 miles away, I ached, my joints stiff with anger, my body heavy with helplessness.

It was my dad who instilled in me an early love of politics and a desire to better society through the ordered hands of democracy. My education was rooted in empathy and a firm belief that the only way forward is through equality and widespread access to health, education and culture.

I was only seven when my dad took me by the hand and walked me to the polls, where he proudly voted for Lula in the 2002 presidential elections.

I could feel his hand in mine again as I walked to the pharmacy to fetch eye drops. Just a few hours prior, Lula had, once again, been elected president of Brazil: his third mandate after years of judicial turmoil aimed at turning him into a pariah.

As the final votes were counted, ending a tensely tight race, I wept as I had never wept before.

I wept for the years my dad spent in fear, for the 700,000 lives lost, for those who were brutalised.

For the country I love – at last freed to find its way back to hope.

What a beautiful thing: hope. My eyes swell at the thought. Good thing I have eye drops at hand.