My African Friend
1995; Johns Hopkins University Press; Volume: 18; Issue: 4 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/cal.1995.0105
ISSN1080-6512
Autores Tópico(s)African cultural and philosophical studies
ResumoMy African Friend Paulo Colina (bio) I have an African friend who travels around the world. He’s a diplomat. He can discuss any issue that people do: politics, art, everything. He speaks five languages. Aside from his own. He is a great figure. But he has one defect: the vice of question. I don’t know if it’s from his native land or if he acquired it from the countries he’s been to. Here, we never question anything. He, meanwhile, is full of “whys”. It’s why this, why that—he never stops ! The other day, he asked me if I knew what democracy was. Obviously, yes! I cannot understand Greek (the origin of the Brazilian word democracia), but I know that democracy is the government of the people, by the people, for the people; I mean to say, it’s a political regime based on the principles of popular sovereignty. “Right,” he said, laughing. And then he came with another. Which was the actual Brazilian regime? Like this, nothing more, nothing less. “Listen, what a question! We live in a democracy,” I replied. “Ah, we don’t, no,” he provoked. And it was then added that, in a democracy, the laws that govern the relation between the state and the citizen begin always to affirm that all individuals have the right to . . . They never begin with the principle that the individual cannot. . . . That essential to democracy is the freedom of choice, of decision, of control and authority over one’s self. What liberty never can acknowledge is the word censorship. I hurried to explain that ours is a modern democracy. “A democracy doesn’t allow adjectives! It is a fact or it is not!” he shouted. Fine! It seems that my understandings weren’t so obvious, in the end. I tried to change the subject (politics aren’t my forté). My friend, however, had another question ready: “Consequently, there is also no racial democracy here, right?” “Calm down man”—this was all I could say. He continued: “In a racial democracy you can’t have discrimination, right? The Afonso Arinos Law punishes discriminatory acts, correct? Where there is smoke, there is fire. If there is an active law, it is because the crime exists, am I wrong? In a racial democracy, the individuals have to have common interests and equal opportunities, do they or do they not? How many Black ministers do you have? And Diplomats? Governors? Secretaries of State? Judges? And Generals? Cite the name of one. Just one. And Mayors? Bankers? Come on, Directors of banks. Or estates. Not even on TV? You’ve [End Page 739] observed the commercials on television? I turn on the apparatus and the impression is that I’m in a Nordic country. How many Blacks go to the schools, the colleges? What is the percentage of Blacks in the Brazilian population? “He looked at his watch, slapped his palm to his kinky brow and excused himself—another engagement. He was late already. I am Black. Not dark dye. But I am (Grammy Cota used to say past six in the afternoon, it’s night). Suddenly a memory came of my discussion with a census taker, months before. In the column for color, she wrote Moreno. I corrected the act: “Mam, the color is wrong. It’s Black.” And she, all delicately: “But Sir, you’re not Black. You’re Moreno.” And I, with a furious face: “Mrs., put it there: Black.” She corrected it. To her dislike, but she did it. It was incredible! If they rob me of color, I become invisible! My African friend went to his engagement. Even so, he still left me with a question ping-ponging in my head: What is it that is written on our brows? Of one thing I am sure: in this country everything ends up as Samba! Meu Amigo Africano Paulo Colina (bio) Translated by Po Kutchins Tenho um amigo africano que roda o mundo. É diplomata. Conversa sobre qualquer assunto que a gente puxar: política, artes, tudo. Fala cinco idiomas. Além do dele. É uma grande figura. Mas, tem um defeito: o vício da pergunta. N...
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