Nowhere People

In Porto Alegre there’s a traffic jam on Lucas de Oliveira. He’s nearly fifty minutes late. He goes into the hall, where there must be about a hundred people. A fellow party member from São Paulo who has come especially to contribute to the discussions around public policy in the multi-year plan (the city’s main piece of budgetary planning, which is due to be passed through to the Council Chamber shortly) gestures for him to come sit next to her, as she’s alone on a cushion for two. ‘Did I miss much?’ Paulo asks. ‘They’ve been rehashing that crazy argument about which journalist will take over the communications office … and’ — she whispers even more quietly — ‘they talked about the net that’s starting to close around the mayor.’ He settles as best he can, listens to the introductory remarks and, as soon as the opportunity arises, he asks to speak. The chair of the meeting replies that as soon as comrade Zezinho has finished reading the new framework for assigning senior roles between the different movements and the group of independents, he will have three minutes to do so. It’s the independents who are the real headache in this process of forming a government: they are militants who aren’t part of any party movement and as a result, when they get together, it takes them longer than any of the other groups to deliberate (on top of this, there’s the fact that the candidates they name are not accountable to anyone, since they don’t really have anyone above them). Twenty minutes go by, Paulo’s turn comes. He gets up, walks over to the table, hands the chair of the meeting a three-page document. He runs his hand over his head. ‘Comrades, the document I have just handed to comrade Alfredo is my statement of separation from the movement. Out of respect for some of you, I would like to take two minutes here to present its contents and the reasons for my leaving.’ Some were surprised but most already knew that Paulo was there to leave the organisation. ‘I am alarmed and … ’ — he takes on an expression of ecclesiastical seriousness — ‘even as an atypical militant, who has always needed the understanding of those who work with me, because I’m vain, I’ll admit, and hasty, I’ll admit, because I’m not the best example of determination and discipline, I’m truly concerned about the irrational ways in which the factions that dominate the party leadership have shown contempt for democratic debate, replicating the most odious practices of Stalinism. I want to make it absolutely clear to you: I don’t intend to repeat today that old lament of someone who has no idea of how difficult it is, the argument with the right, with the social democrats, with the media bosses, bankers, contractors, ruralists … I do know, however, that we can take a wrong turn at any moment, just as we’ve gone wrong before, and I think we need to acknowledge these mistakes … If we speak so much about freedom and the internationalisation of socialism and the emancipation of mankind, about the dignity of humanity, we should be guaranteeing the inclusion, the participation of all those who work, who make sacrifices for this, in our own decision-making processes. These decisions, the decisions we make that are the party’s decisions, have taken place behind closed doors, they have come about through manipulation, through intimidation, by patrolling the party conventions at voting time. I don’t see any sign of democracy, of the democracy that ought to be the foundation of what we do, at the root of everything. I’m troubled, ashamed, by our alliances, by the concessions, by all the turning a blind eye, that we’re establishing as standard practices of the Workers’ Party. And this is only one of the eight points in my document. Is this the politics of party building that we wanted? I say again: I’m ashamed of what we are becoming. Honestly, I do believe that some of us, some comrades who are in this room, feel like they own this party, they think they’re the enlightened masters of the party, behaving like great feudal overlords, like proper gang leaders. Our party wasn’t born to be like this. I’ve seen resentment, vindictiveness. I don’t like it, I don’t want to be a part of this process of division that is excluding the best in the militant movement, the most critical, those who are technically the most able, just the way Stalin did. Those who are in charge in the movement, and I’m fortunate that you are all here today, you ought to be behaving very differently from São Paulo, where those guys ram whatever they want down people’s throats; you ought to be behaving differently from the groups who do nothing but cheapen our arguments.’ He looks at his watch, concerned for his two allotted minutes. ‘To bring about revolution in the world we need to bring about a revolution in ourselves. It sounds naive, I know.’ He takes a deep breath, readying himself for his conclusion (and loses his thread just a little). ‘I say again. I look around me and I see people who should never have been part of the Workers’ Party, and not only are they in the Party but they’ve been calling the shots here ever since our win in the municipal elections. We were better off four years ago. I’m sorry, but that’s the way I see it. I hesitated about coming today, about being here, standing in front of you. I was afraid of being taken for a coward and even that I myself might judge myself weak, incapable of understanding the big picture, or history, weak for giving up on the struggle, but I want you to know, I’m not giving up, just the opposite … I wish you all luck.’ One of the two state deputies gets to his feet and suggests that Paulo, ‘as a vital partner in the strengthening of the Workers’ Party,’ might reconsider his position and first have a discussion with the members of his unit. Paulo thanks the chair, tells the deputy he has made his decision and sits back down next to the militant who’s come from São Paulo. The interventions continue as though the meeting had never been interrupted by Paulo’s speech. He feels relieved, believing he has spoken some truth, something that can move everyone present. After the excitement, they get caught up in a discussion of the agenda, and as the debates and speeches progress he is overtaken by a devastating feeling of not having the stomach to argue with them. Before the final decision is voted upon, without any gesture of goodbye to the woman sitting next to him, he stands up, and with his head lowered, his voice almost silent, he excuses himself again to anyone who might happen to be able to hear him and leaves the room with a strong sensation of having been discarded.