By Silvana Melo.
Brazil is an icon in the world. It stands at the pinnacle of the richest. And sinks in hell of the most unjust. Poorest poverty, marginalization at the margins, the most violent death. The paraphernalia of carnival and samba carioca, joy overflowing with sweat and alcohol, cosmopolitan beach, rich tourists is embedded in the favelas brutally fed for three centuries of African slavery, his sons and successors, ie those who did not occur in the gear of unbridled capitalism. Lula tried that to make up a human face even knowing, because he knows or knew-that capitalism is evil at its core. And the mask does not pass the limits of the Sambadrome. The
mudslides and water were the villages settled in the hills did more than expected. Anyone know that in this area rain is angry and violent and that the workers' houses the disarmed just a sigh of wolf. Six hundred dead
be eight hundred or a thousand. Who knows. Eventually, as in Haiti, where no one else will. Or stop the count by decree as he did the unspeakable Alan Garcia in his own Pisco earthquake.
The perversity of systemic neglect calls into trouble with the nature and becomes complicit in the policies of removal of the teaser. In a dental mechanics, the poor start as the teeth that hurt. Otherwise Peacekeeping Police Unit-sad paradox if any: the police is the most carioca killer in the world, or army tanks and Luis Inacio Lula Da Silva in the Alemao, landslides do January. The atrocious floods ahead of the Waters of March at which they sang Jobim, writing word and note in the house of Poço Fundo. While it rained and rained.
Teresópolis or New Freiburg, cities within the state of Rio de Janeiro, flourished in industrial developments that led to internal migration of millions of poor and unemployed. Arming their houses were installed in the nose, and small favelas around plenty. The attempt to reconcile the working classes, I give you and you fit in exchange for media that exploit you, is the legitimization of inequality and is marked with blood and death. And the alluvial flood stripped him harshly.
With the inevitable ingredient of the absence state, men and women faint carry food and water on their backs to bring them closer to their children, thousands of orphans crying in hospitals, hundreds of coffins open pending those privileged to have body present, tens of refrigerated trucks are crowded with corpses and desperate to bury their dead in terror to their parents and their children back to life in uncontrollable pests.
The very name of Rio de Janeiro created a paradox. André Gonçalves reached a Guanabara Bay January 20, 1502, confused sweet salty waters and called the land put its foot River of January. The mixture between the Portuguese colonization and the slave trade monuments from the beginning put things in place: the oligarchy of planters and traders took the best and highest land and the rest were at his feet. In the eighteenth century dawns River flourished: the mineral wealth exploited and appeared cathedrals and opulent estates. In the lowlands, African slavery, mulattos, labor and illiterate brute who herded clubs exclusion. The Virgin and Jesus mingled with the Umbanda and Candomble and the worship of deities and syncretism was in faith and skin. But confined to lower down could never climb a few steps without social power concentrated the re-launch into the abyss. The Institute of Applied Economic Research (IPEA) plots the inequality in a bar chart: 75 percent of all the country's wealth is concentrated in the hands of the richest 10 percent.
Rocinha favela, the poorest and most violent-was a party, as the Sugar Loaf, the tours so that Europeans could appreciate and photograph a specific portrait of American poverty. When security was no longer guaranteed, the favela tour was over. And the deputy governor of Rio de Janeiro threatened to build a wall to isolate the most dangerous. Before the concrete, Lula commanded the army. Now
rains. And it rains. And the mud floor in collusion to take it all.
to the house of Tom Jobim, that somewhere will know humming-like Cariocas edge-that sorrow has no end. And happiness, yes.
www.pelotadetrapo.org.ar
to the house of Poço Fundo, where Tom Jobin was locked to compose, took the landslides. When he wakes up in his anger spasmodic nature destroys brake free from the side of the vulnerable. No more oil and accurate record of historical social distress that an outbreak of natural fury. Nobody could have still killed in Haiti when a year ago the earth swallowed a nation with feet of wet cardboard and millions of inhabitants of a former libertarian blackness, punished with eternal hunger for his daring.
Brazil is an icon in the world. It stands at the pinnacle of the richest. And sinks in hell of the most unjust. Poorest poverty, marginalization at the margins, the most violent death. The paraphernalia of carnival and samba carioca, joy overflowing with sweat and alcohol, cosmopolitan beach, rich tourists is embedded in the favelas brutally fed for three centuries of African slavery, his sons and successors, ie those who did not occur in the gear of unbridled capitalism. Lula tried that to make up a human face even knowing, because he knows or knew-that capitalism is evil at its core. And the mask does not pass the limits of the Sambadrome. The
mudslides and water were the villages settled in the hills did more than expected. Anyone know that in this area rain is angry and violent and that the workers' houses the disarmed just a sigh of wolf. Six hundred dead
be eight hundred or a thousand. Who knows. Eventually, as in Haiti, where no one else will. Or stop the count by decree as he did the unspeakable Alan Garcia in his own Pisco earthquake.
The perversity of systemic neglect calls into trouble with the nature and becomes complicit in the policies of removal of the teaser. In a dental mechanics, the poor start as the teeth that hurt. Otherwise Peacekeeping Police Unit-sad paradox if any: the police is the most carioca killer in the world, or army tanks and Luis Inacio Lula Da Silva in the Alemao, landslides do January. The atrocious floods ahead of the Waters of March at which they sang Jobim, writing word and note in the house of Poço Fundo. While it rained and rained.
Teresópolis or New Freiburg, cities within the state of Rio de Janeiro, flourished in industrial developments that led to internal migration of millions of poor and unemployed. Arming their houses were installed in the nose, and small favelas around plenty. The attempt to reconcile the working classes, I give you and you fit in exchange for media that exploit you, is the legitimization of inequality and is marked with blood and death. And the alluvial flood stripped him harshly.
With the inevitable ingredient of the absence state, men and women faint carry food and water on their backs to bring them closer to their children, thousands of orphans crying in hospitals, hundreds of coffins open pending those privileged to have body present, tens of refrigerated trucks are crowded with corpses and desperate to bury their dead in terror to their parents and their children back to life in uncontrollable pests.
The very name of Rio de Janeiro created a paradox. André Gonçalves reached a Guanabara Bay January 20, 1502, confused sweet salty waters and called the land put its foot River of January. The mixture between the Portuguese colonization and the slave trade monuments from the beginning put things in place: the oligarchy of planters and traders took the best and highest land and the rest were at his feet. In the eighteenth century dawns River flourished: the mineral wealth exploited and appeared cathedrals and opulent estates. In the lowlands, African slavery, mulattos, labor and illiterate brute who herded clubs exclusion. The Virgin and Jesus mingled with the Umbanda and Candomble and the worship of deities and syncretism was in faith and skin. But confined to lower down could never climb a few steps without social power concentrated the re-launch into the abyss. The Institute of Applied Economic Research (IPEA) plots the inequality in a bar chart: 75 percent of all the country's wealth is concentrated in the hands of the richest 10 percent.
Rocinha favela, the poorest and most violent-was a party, as the Sugar Loaf, the tours so that Europeans could appreciate and photograph a specific portrait of American poverty. When security was no longer guaranteed, the favela tour was over. And the deputy governor of Rio de Janeiro threatened to build a wall to isolate the most dangerous. Before the concrete, Lula commanded the army. Now
rains. And it rains. And the mud floor in collusion to take it all.
to the house of Tom Jobim, that somewhere will know humming-like Cariocas edge-that sorrow has no end. And happiness, yes.
www.pelotadetrapo.org.ar
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