Friday, July 11, 2014

Behind the Scenes at the World Cup

Anybody who has read this blog will know: I don’t get the whole thing about sports. As proof of this, I report my initial reaction to one of the first games of the FIFA World Cup, which I saw on Father’s Day at my in-law’s house:
“The problem could easily be solved—and it surprises me that no one has thought of it—if the two teams would just cooperate. Whoever happened to have the ball at the moment would be perfectly free to put it wherever they want, included in that little netted area. That done, they would give the ball quite courteously to the other team. That way, everybody would be happy, and the scores would be phenomenal—can you imagine it? You’d have games with scores of 333,633 versus 975,813—and the crowd would be delighted, because apparently the big deal is to shout “GOALLLLLLLLL!” So the entire country would get laryngitis and could stay home in bed sipping hot tea, and resting their vocal cords—a nice bit of secondary gain. So who wins? Well, we total up both scores, and if it’s larger than a set amount, both teams win!”
Guess what?
Liany, Raf’s sister and a Montessori teacher, absolutely loved it. But the rest of the family?
Well, they were acting a bit more like the crowd that—inexplicably—had gathered in the lobby of the Fine Arts Cinema, which has a little café and, more importantly, a large screen television. And it was standing room only—every chair was taken. By chance, just when we arrived there, the Argentinians scored a goal, and the crowd erupted. Given that we were there to watch an opera, it wasn’t necessarily a god sign.
“Marc,” says María, a 20-year old who works at the café, “do you ever get the feeling that it’s just too much, the world? The corporations and the news media control everything, and the little people of the world are forced to pay more and more and are being manipulated by the media into being silent and thinking they’re happy….”
Was it time to sneak in the backdoor of adulthood and tell her that every generation has felt that way, has wanted to change the world, has been idealistic, and when she was older….
No.
I had spent twenty minutes, you see, watching the goings on in the slum, or favela, of Maré, in Rio de Janeiro, which in fact is getting a little ethnic cleaning done to it while the rest of us are enjoying the World Cup. Consider this quote:
In a bid to try and make the country appear much more socially acceptable to the influx of oblivious visitors and dignitaries who will be flying to the country to watch the games, the Brazilian authorities have forcibly evicted thousands of people from their shanty towns and gunned down others on the streets indiscriminately.
It is estimated that at least 40,000 poor people have been gone (sic) missing from the militarized favelas; while kids were killed with impunity in the ghettos which were then occupied by the police, who, according to insiders, later bragged about the amount of people they murdered.  
Or consider this:
Some in the stands vented their frustration by cursing President Dilma Rousseff, whose government footed a good chunk of the tournament’s $11 billion cost. Rousseff, who’s seeking a second term in October, can at least boast that the event came off without a hitch, contrary to what many expected. “People will be in a bad mood for a few days, but the Cup won’t decide the elections,” says João Augusto de Castro Neves, an analyst with Eurasia Group, a political consulting firm that gives Rousseff a 70 percent chance of winning.
I consider María, sitting in front of me: she’s not sleeping well, she’s not eating well, she’s depressed and anxious and worrying about what will happen in Puerto Rico. The effect of the economic crisis is beginning to be felt: the electric company has until the end of the month to figure out a scheme to restructure its debt, and if it doesn’t? Will they start selected blackouts, as rumored? Cut payroll, as feared? Who doesn’t have a relative working for the government? She talks about her fears, and soon is in tears; I get up to get a napkin. Later, in gratitude, she’ll bring me coffee.
I consider the people of Maré, who are getting used to the police bursting into houses and shooting anybody who might be a drug dealer. The people who have been displaced in order to have the stadia for these games built. Oh, and was there a report that stray dogs had been killed because it would be unsightly for the tourists? Think I remember seeing that….
Being an adult gives you experience, so I can trot out the speech that my mother once gave, about seeing so much progress in her life. Especially in civil rights, and rights for LGBT people, we’ve made real progress, if looked at over the decades. So I tell María that, and she looks unconvinced.
I’m not convinced, either. Both of the young women who spoke with me today had the same desire: to change the world. That’s good—I felt that way too, and most days still do. Everybody should want to change the world, especially at age twenty. I did.
The difference?
I believed I could do it…. 

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