In the United States and especially in Canada, there are countless categories for referring to a property. In Brazil, people simply say they live in a “house” or an “apartment,” and that’s it—no further variations unless someone resides on a farm or a ranch, which is another matter entirely. It doesn’t matter whether the apartment is rented or owned, whether it’s a studio or not, or if the house is attached to another. These are mere details, similar to the concept of “toppings,” which are also very common in the U.S. and Canada: you order one thing, the main course, and—if you wish—add more information as extras.
During the first 25 years of my life, I lived in a building. It just so happened that this building belonged to my family—specifically, my mother. This building offered only basic conveniences: a small “futsal” court, a playground, and a spacious party hall. Yet, what always stood out to me most was the number of employees working there. We had a caretaker who lived in the building; his children often became our friends. There were doormen on the ground floor, dressed in formal attire, who managed the gates and organized the mail. The building also had garage attendants—men who opened and closed the garage doors and maneuvered the cars, as there were more cars than available parking spaces. Finally, there were the cleaning staff.
These cleaning workers not only spent eight hours a day scrubbing and tidying every corner of the building but also collected our trash directly from our doors. It didn’t matter what was in those trash bags—plastic, food scraps, batteries, paper—they took it all. And, believe it or not, in Brazil, there isn’t—or wasn’t—a culture of flushing toilet paper down the toilet. Shocking as it may seem, we threw it in the very trash bins collected by these men.
Brazil is a poor country, just like much of Latin America.
These are regions where people so often need work to survive that a uniquely Brazilian scale of tolerance for labor has emerged. We have cleaners of all types: those who sweep our homes, those who sweep the streets. Then there are the garbage collectors who spend their nights hoisting trash bags and tossing them into the back of a truck. Did I mention that Brazil is a poor country? Well, let me amend that: Brazil is wealthier than Australia, Mexico, Spain, Saudi Arabia, or even Switzerland!
Brazil is one of the richest countries on this planet! Its GDP in 2023 exceeded $2 trillion, with further growth expected in 2024. Brazil rivals Canada in GDP figures. However, Brazil has a population of 215 million, while Canada recently surpassed just 40 million. Roughly speaking, it’s like having the same $2 trillion GDP shared between the two countries, but Brazil’s population divisor is more than five times larger.
If that were all, fine. But things are even more convoluted. There are gross and egocentric considerations in this distribution. Brazil’s wealth distribution ranks among the worst on the planet! While we generate more wealth than Switzerland, Brazil’s per capita income is disgraceful—lower than that of countries like the Dominican Republic, Mauritius, Turkmenistan, and Malaysia, among others that are considered far poorer.
And that’s precisely why we have so many services: When income doesn’t reach people evenly, Brazilians must fend for themselves. Of course, some thrive—they create businesses, innovate, and succeed! Yet, to sustain such advancements, one either needs a solid, reasonably deep education or must be a visionary of great magnitude.
The state doesn’t help much with education. Brazil’s education levels are as dismal as its income distribution. In 2022, Brazil barely surpassed the overall PISA score by two points, ranking behind countries like Colombia, Cyprus, Peru, Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Uruguay, Chile, the UAE, Romania, Montenegro, Costa Rica, Brunei, Ukraine, Greece, Malta, and many others.
And then there’s security—but imagine how lengthy this lament would become. How heavy it would be for any reader to wade through even more lines detailing Brazil’s countless woes. Why does all of this exist? Because there are beneficiaries of this filthy wealth division. There are twenty families who profit off Brazil and its people, caring little for the parents scavenging through waste at a hundred doors just to afford a carton of milk for their children. And I say this confidently because I’ve read Laurentino Gomes and the entire history of Brazil—a nation suffocated by a few families whose sole intention has always been to preserve their privileges.
Reflection and Closure
This is a journey through the stark contrasts of wealth, work, and opportunity in a nation brimming with potential yet shackled by inequality. Despite the weight of these truths, one thing remains certain: hope resides in understanding and transformation. Recognizing the struggles is the first step toward changing them. Brazil, rich in culture, resources, and resilience, holds within it the seeds of its own renewal. With a mature heart and a lucid mind, we can envision a better path forward, guided by fairness, education, and shared prosperity.
LF