Instead of protesting and communicating with the people, the intermediate classes of Brazil have preferred to say amen to the government so as not to look bad.
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In my previous article, I pointed out a certain Brazilian social conformism that sometimes prevents us from dealing with major national problems without foreign pressure. In this one, I want to nuance this issue a bit, showing the importance of the intermediate classes between the government and the people.
Let’s start with the conformist aspect: since the advent of republican propaganda, the Brazilian people, which lived under Monarchy, had a reputation for being passive. In theory, the Republic is the government of the People, while the Monarchy is the government of the nobility. With these definitions, the simple fact that the Brazilian people are not enthusiastic about the Republic already makes them foolish. And since Brazil was the only monarchy in the Americas, surrounded by Spanish-speaking republics founded on Masonic and Enlightenment ideals of freedom, the Brazilian people were especially foolish. Until the last decade, we Brazilians looked at our Argentine neighbors, who were always banging pots and pans in front of the Casa Rosada, and lamented our passivity – as if the Argentine “critical spirit” had given them a good destiny.
In 1889, with a clumsy military revolt led by a monarchist marshal, the Republic was proclaimed in Brazil in spite of the will of the people. A great Brazilian historian, José Murilo de Carvalho (1939 – 2023), used the memory of a republican militant to give a title to his book about the first years of the Republic: Os Bestializados [The Bestialized Crowd]. The people watched the proclamation of the Republic bewildered, without understanding what was happening, thinking it was a military parade. And the common people – the vagrants, the prostitutes, the capoeira fighters – were overwhelmingly monarchist in the decades following the implementation of the Republic. The Abolition of slavery made the deposed Emperor loved above all by the poor blacks of Brazil.
According to what was stated in books and pamphlets, the Republic was supposed to be the apotheosis of the People, but the people didn’t care at all. It then became usual for the journalistic class to complain about the passivity of the Brazilian people. There was a major event that made the Brazilian people show their worth – and the illiterate protesters interviewed by journalists expressed themselves in these terms. This event was the Vaccine Revolt, which took place in Rio de Janeiro in 1904.
As José Murilo de Carvalho explains, this revolt has social causes that are different from the vaccine itself, or its side effects. There is an institution that is said to be specifically Brazilian: that of the law that sticks or doesn’t stick. The government can pass a law and the law “doesn’t stick.” In the case of the slave trade, which we saw in the previous article text, the government can even pass a law with the purpose of not applying it – the law “so that the Englishman can see.” In the case of the law that doesn’t stick, there is a resistance to the government that is diffuse, tacit, and anonymous. No one openly confronts the authority, nor does anyone take responsibility. The law simply “didn’t stick,” as if it were a given of nature, a plant that could have sprouted but didn’t. Everyone says “okay” to the State, but nobody obeys. Or they only obey a bit, for five minutes, “so that the Englishman can see.” And the ruler does nothing, because he doesn’t want to become unpopular.
This explains a lot about Brazilian public life to this day: Brazilians are used to seeing the government pass crazy laws, but they don’t worry until they see that the law sticks. An example of Brazilian disregard for the law is that, from 1894 to 2025, the inhabitants of the municipality of Rio Claro, São Paulo, were illegally buying and selling watermelons. In 1894, sanitary physicians were certain that watermelon transmitted yellow fever and, in Rio Claro, they managed to pass a law prohibiting the sale of watermelon. The law was so rejected by the public that people forgot about it, and only in 2025 did a city councilor take the initiative to repeal it.
In the case of the Vaccine Revolt, the government insisted on radically imposing a law that didn’t stick at all. As José Murilo de Carvalho recounts in Os Bestializados, the Jenner vaccine, against smallpox, had been administered in Brazil since 1801. In 1831, the Empire of Brazil made it mandatory for children in its capital, Rio de Janeiro. In 1884, the vaccine became mandatory for everyone throughout the Empire; at the end of 1889, shortly after the proclamation of the Republic, the government made it mandatory for all children, and in 1903 a series of decrees expanded the vaccination requirement to a number of categories. In 1904, the sanitary physician Oswaldo Cruz drafted a bill, leaked to the press, which decreed what we called a vaccination passport during the pandemic. Even to stay in hotels or to work as a domestic employee, it would be necessary to present proof of vaccination.
There were other important social components. The people were already bothered by the intrusion of the government’s sanitary physicians. Since 1903, they had been organizing brigades to inspect the hygiene and sanitation of the homes of the poor. During the inspection, the resident was forced to wait outside and then received orders to put tiles in the kitchen, or other things. This was offensive to the people.
As the Republic was incipient and poorly organized, the positivists, who had many members in the Army, wanted to stage another coup d’état. Thus, through public speeches and newspapers, they fueled this discontent. The inviolability of the home was very important and popular. In this vein, a politician even gave a speech saying that only a Messalina would bare her arms to the health agent, never the wives and daughters of respectable people. (Brazilians are not special connoiseurs of Roman history; Messalina’s name just became a slur.) According to José Murilo de Carvalho, the opinion of the positivist newspapers even reached the old black ladies, who couldn’t read but said that it was in the newspaper that the vaccine was a naughtiness. During the revolt, the vaccination rate plummeted: the smallpox vaccine was known by the public for long, but, with its politicization and effective imposition, it began to be rejected by those who formerly took it. In the end, the popular rebels were victorious, as Oswaldo Cruz did not insist on the bill.
We can assume, then, that the greatest Brazilian popular revolt was due to a rare conjunction between popular sentiment and the instigation of powerful middle-class leaders against a government action. If the positivists had not made the issue a battle cry, it is quite possible that Oswaldo Cruz’s vaccination impetus would have had the same fate as the anti-watermelon fury in Rio Claro. Between public power and the Brazilian people, there is a dynamic reminiscent of that of the King in The Little Prince, who only gave reasonable orders: he ordered the sun to rise early in the morning and the sun to set in the evening. In the case of an unreasonable order, we have a law that does not stick.
Balance
The problem with this dynamic is that the people, in the face of the government, are always in a reactive position, never demanding anything. Public infrastructure is not delivered, public employees who don’t show up, drug trafficking dominating the cities: everything stays the same.
On the other hand, the Argentine example shows that rebelling is no guarantee of anything. To ascertain whether Brazilians are especially peaceful, José Murilo de Carvalho compared the numbers of dead and wounded in the French popular revolts to those of the Vaccine Revolt and concluded that the latter is small potatoes compared to the French ones. Now, the French still break things for more random reasons. If Brazil wins the World Cup, Brazilians celebrate. If France wins the World Cup, the French set fire to cars. Certainly, peoples have different collective psychologies, and the Brazilian people are of a much more peaceful nature than the French and Argentine people. We even tend towards conformism, except when it is within our reach to offer passive resistance.
Comparison with the Russians
A Brazilian might pick up a Soviet humor book and identify with jokes against the government, such as “they pretend to pay us, we pretend to work.” There’s so much in common in spirit that this same joke appears in the mouth of the soccer player Vampeta: “they pretend to pay me, I pretend to play.” Contrary to what the translators of the jokes intend, this doesn’t mean that Brazil lives under a regime similar to the Soviet one, but that Brazilians have a disposition similar to that of Russians when dealing with the state. After all, Russians made jokes against the Tsar before making jokes against the Soviets; they are just less well-known because there wasn’t a global anti-Tsarist propaganda, but rather an anti-communist propaganda willing to publish Soviet jokes in various languages. The anecdotes show that, instead of breaking everything like the French or banging pots and pans in the Kremlin like the Argentinians, Russians drag their feet and tell jokes, like Brazilians. I just don’t know if they have “laws that don’t stick.”
The Communist Revolution itself suggests a greater similarity between Russia and Brazil than between Russia and France. If Brazilian republicans were frustrated with the Proclamation because they had a romantic and Frenchified idea of the people, Lenin, in Russia, did not nurture such expectations: he created the theory of revolution carried out by a vanguard. In Italy, Mussolini created a right-wing Leninism and also had spectacular success. It would be easier to conclude that the idealization of the people is a particularity of peoples prone to romanticism (French and Germans) and should not be universalized.
The problem in Brazil is not that the people don’t break everything nor bang pots and pans. The problem in present-day Brazil is, firstly, the poor quality of its elites, and secondly, the omission of the intermediate classes. Let’s take a concrete case: mandatory Covid vaccination for children (and babies) from 6 months of age. This is a unique case in the whole world, and can only be explained by the absolute imbecility of the Brazilian political elites. Did this law stick? No. Most parents don’t want to give this vaccine to their kids; schools, even public ones, generally don’t require it; public health centers, due to lack of demand, don’t order more vaccines, so the crazy parent who wants to give this thing to his child can’t even get it – and the TV, aligned with the government, denounces it.
Instead of protesting and communicating with the people, the intermediate classes of Brazil have preferred to say amen to the government so as not to look bad (even if they don’t get the vaccine, nor give it to their children). That’s where the biggest problem lies.
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