Fogy’s Unflinching Gaze: The True Face of Brazilian “Democracy”.*
With a lot of help from my AI friends
Brazil’s democracy, since the 1985 transition, stands as a towering edifice built on a shaky, uneven foundation. It is a democracy of chronic contradictions, where formal institutional strength coexists with deep social and political fragility.
Its flaws are not new; they are structural inheritances from a transition that never fully broke with the past. Unlike Argentina’s post-Malvinas reckoning, Brazil’s move away from military rule was a slow and managed opening — the abertura — orchestrated by the generals themselves. The old guard was never purged, and the architects of repression were neither tried nor disgraced. What emerged was not a clean slate but a rebranded continuation, with authoritarian reflexes still woven into the democratic fabric. Even today, the military’s influence, though often dormant, remains a latent presence in political life.
This fragile architecture rests atop one of the most unequal societies on earth. Brazil’s staggering social and economic inequality, a direct legacy of slavery and exclusion, has created a democracy of formal rights but unequal realities. Political representation is theoretically universal, yet in practice distorted by disparities in education, income, and access to justice. The promise of citizenship collides daily with the persistence of privilege. The Brazilian state, too, mirrors this imbalance — powerful at the center, but weak and often absent at the margins. Across the Amazon, in the vast interior, and in the favelas of its major cities, the state’s presence is intermittent, sometimes replaced altogether by militias and criminal groups. In these territories, democracy is not simply fragile; it is conditional.
The political machinery that should sustain this democracy often clogs under the weight of its own design. Brazil’s system combines an overwhelming proliferation of political parties with a presidency endowed with near-imperial powers. Governing requires constant negotiation — a relentless exchange of ministries, favors, and budgetary concessions in return for congressional support. This system of presidencialismo de coalizão has been described, not unfairly, as the art of organized horse-trading. It is an arrangement that rewards opportunism, blurs accountability, and transforms politics into a market of influence. Parties, rather than acting as ideological vehicles, frequently operate as franchises — rentable structures serving local patrons and business interests.
Corruption, in this context, is not an aberration but a structural feature. The great scandals — Mensalão, Petrolão, and the epic saga of Lava Jato — revealed the same pattern repeated at scale: the diversion of public funds through state enterprises to finance campaigns and personal fortunes alike. These revelations confirmed what many Brazilians already believed — that politics itself had been monetized. The result has been a profound corrosion of public trust. When all parties appear complicit, cynicism replaces conviction, and voters become susceptible to those who promise to burn down the system entirely. It was precisely this exhaustion that opened the door to the populist wave of recent years.
What began as a judicial crusade against graft soon hardened into a political weapon. The moral fury that once targeted systemic corruption became entangled with ideological battles, deepening polarization. From the protests of 2013 to the turmoil of impeachment and pandemic politics, Brazil’s public sphere has been saturated with mutual suspicion. The debate shifted from policy to purity — from the complex art of governance to the simplistic duel between “the corrupt” and “the righteous.”
And yet, despite it all, the structure holds. Elections remain fiercely contested and largely credible. Institutions, though battered, have withstood populist assaults. Civil society and the press remain vigilant, and the 1988 Constitution — an imperfect but vital framework — continues to serve as a bulwark against collapse.
Brazil’s democracy endures less because of flawless design than through the sheer persistence of its people. It votes, it protests, it adapts. But it does so against the undertow of inequality, institutional frailty, and a political culture addicted to transactional survival. The republic’s survival is proof of vitality; its malaise, proof that the work of true democratization is far from finished.
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