O
ne week ago today, I was sitting at the end of a beautifully laid table surrounded by good friends and equally good food. On my plate was a second helping of turkey and on the tv were images of tanks rolling through streets. Happy Thanksgiving from Rio de Janeiro!
Most people, even in the US, have at this point heard that Rio was the scene of a violent showdown between drug gangs and police last week. Fortunately, the city has calmed since last Sunday when police and military invaded and secured one of the most violent slums in the city, Complexo Alemão.
Despite questions and comments from friends in the US, I haven’t written about it because I don’t really understand my own reaction. My rational brain failing to sway my gut reaction. What finally prompted me to write something even if its contradictory and lacks a conclusion, was a facebook post by a family friend and Georgia state legislator that linked to coverage of the violence and asked “How did Rio get the Olympics?”
Well, I can’t answer how Rio secured the Olympics although I suspect it has something to do with its fabulous location, vibrant sports-crazy population, huge federal support, and the fact South America was long overdue to host the Games. What I can say for certain is that no one needs to be afraid to come to Rio for the Games. Last week was the most violent week in recent Rio history and, to be perfectly honest, I never felt afraid.
It was fluke that my husband and I were even in Rio when the violence broke out. We flew from Vitoria specifically to celebrate Thanksgiving with good friends. By the time we arrived in the city Wednesday afternoon gangs had been burning cars and buses around Rio for a couple of days.
My husband and I spent Wednesday afternoon running errands, buying Christmas presents and visiting my in-laws. For dinner everyone, including my 1 year-old nephew, walked to the mall for pizza. The next morning someone came to look at our apartment, more errands and packing. It wasn’t until my husband and I went to the mall for lunch that I realized how bad things were.
The tv in the food court was showing tanks in the streets of Rio. I had heard that gangs were burning buses and causing huge traffic jams but I never thought it was bad enough to call the military. From what I saw around me everyone was going about their day as usual. When my husband mentioned the bus burnings I asked, “Did they let the people off the bus before they burned it?” He told me they did and I promptly forgot about it. My only concern was getting caught in one of the resulting traffic jams.
Should I have been afraid? I’ve been asking myself that question. I don’t think so. In a metropolitan area of over 10 million people the odds my husband and I would be in the car selected for burning were minuscule, made even smaller by the area of the city live in.
In our neighborhood the streets were busy. The coconut water vendor was on the corner and the weekly vegetable market was set up like any Thursday. Taxis were lined up outside the mall and we grabbed one to head to our friend’s apartment for Thanksgiving dinner.
Throughout the afternoon while prepping for dinner, our host had the tv on. Globo news replayed images of more than a hundred drug dealers fleeing through the bushes into another slum as the police moved in. Our host, a native of Rio, had a very clear opinion on how to deal with the gangs; bring in the helicopters and launch some missiles. In his opinion, the gangs were armed militias and they were waging war against the government.
I was sitting next to him watching the same reports but I couldn’t muster the same anger. I saw a group of armed (yes, heavily) but often shirtless and shoeless young men and teenagers running from one neglected part of the city to another. The news was running shots of gang members burning tires. While my host called for missile strikes a voice in my head cried “Oh God, shirtless teenagers are burning tires! Quick call the marines!”
I know those teens had guns. I know they were actively using them. Many people in Rio were justifiably afraid for their lives. Just not any of the people in the neighborhood where I was.
I didn’t understand the ferocity and panic that some of the other dinner guests had. Their day had not ben impacted in any way by the violence. As for the chance of this “war” spreading to other areas…To my eyes the “war” was over before the second bus finished burning.
The gangs had pistols and some automatic rifles. The police had bullet proof vests, pistols, rifles, scopes, years of training, overwhelming numbers, helicopters and did I mention the army was called in? This was the most one sided war in the history of military engagements.
I’ve read back over this post and I’m aware of how bizarrely pro-drug dealer it sounds. Let me assure you, I think everyone of them should be arrested, sent to trial and then to jail on what is probably overwhelming evidence. They have broken the law, disrupted the entire city and started a gun battle that hurt many and even killed some. And yet…
Images are powerful things. The image I remember most vividly from all of the news reports that Thursday was not the scene of a hundred armed men running from the police. It was of a group of armed and uniformed police officers dragging a shirtless, handcuffed teenager (he was 19 at the most) in front of reporters. One of the officers grabbed the teen’s chin and jerked his face up so all the cameras could see. The police displayed their human trophy and it made my stomach turn.
I was the only one who saw that scene. We were having dinner but from my chair at the end of the table I could still see the tv. My reaction was physical. My stomach clenched and could feel my face flush. The crawl along the screen told me this was a captured drug dealer but all I saw was a half-naked kid being treated like a prized animal pelt by forces infinitely more powerful than he had ever been or could hope to be. It broke my heart.
Of course I want the police to be able to defend themselves from people perfectly willing to use violence, but I expect the people society allows to carry weapons and use them to have respect for every human being. That is why they are the “good guys.” The good guys know that human life has value simply by being human. If you can treat someone like an animal without a second thought, in my book, you’re a bad guy.
I don’t think that young drug dealer was born evil. His government failed him at every turn, health care, education, even basic sanitation. It’s certainly not an excuse given the thousands of people living in the slums who don’t turn to crime, but so many legitimate options were closed to him because of where he was born.
It’s funny. I’ve been reading comment streams and blog posts about the violence. The majority seem to agree with my host. Kill the drug dealers. They’re the bad guys. I’m truly amazed by the fact I haven’t jumped on that band wagon. I’m no pacifist. I do moral outrage and righteous indignation really well.
I’m sure it all it would take is for me to have a gun put in my face. It’s not been tested, but my compassion is probably only around when the weather is fair. I finally decided to stop trying to convince myself to hate them. A few people reminding everyone that even drug dealers are people who deserve a trial before being convicted is not a bad thing. Why would I want to talk myself into hating and fearing people anyway? If I can be aware of the situation and go on about my day, then yay for me.
And you can go about your day in Rio too! That was the point of this entire post. The world doesn’t need to fear coming to Rio for the Olympics. I was in Rio during a week of violence and I still got all my Christmas shopping done. The chances of you being assaulted are minimal. You’re far more likely to get run over by a bus.
So buy your tickets early! Beach volleyball is going to be right on Copacabana!
