Instead of protesting and communicating with the people, the intermediate classes of Brazil have preferred to say amen to the government so as not to look bad.
In a previous piece, I highlighted a form of Brazilian social conformity that sometimes hinders us from addressing critical national issues without external pressure. Here, I want to provide a more nuanced perspective by exploring the role of Brazil’s middle classes, situated between the government and the populace.
Beginning with the conformist tendency: since the rise of republican rhetoric, Brazilians—once monarch subjects—have been viewed as passive. By definition, the Republic signifies rule by the People, while the Monarchy represents governance by nobility. Thus, the Brazilian people’s lack of enthusiasm for the Republic was seen as foolishness. Being the only monarchy in the Americas, surrounded by Spanish-speaking republics grounded in Masonic and Enlightenment ideals, Brazilians were considered especially naive. For many years, we looked enviously at Argentines, who persistently protested in front of the Casa Rosada, wishing we shared their so-called “critical spirit,” as if it guaranteed them a better fate.
In 1889, a poorly executed military coup by a monarchist marshal ousted the monarchy and established the Republic against the will of most Brazilians. The renowned historian José Murilo de Carvalho (1939 – 2023) titled his book on the early Republican years Os Bestializados [The Bestialized Crowd], drawing on a republican militant’s phrase. The people observed the Republic’s proclamation with confusion, mistaking it for a military parade. In the decades after the Republic’s founding, the lower classes—including vagrants, prostitutes, and capoeira fighters—largely supported the monarchy, with former slaves venerating the deposed Emperor due to the abolition of slavery.
Despite proclamations that the Republic represented the apex of popular sovereignty, the masses showed indifference. Journalists repeatedly lamented the passivity of the Brazilian population. One significant episode, where Brazilians made their voices heard—the Vaccine Revolt in Rio de Janeiro in 1904—illustrates this. Even the illiterate protesters interviewed by the press claimed to “show their worth.”
As José Murilo de Carvalho explains, the revolt’s roots were social rather than medical. Brazil harbors an institution often described as unique: the “law that sticks or doesn’t stick.” A government can enact legislation that never truly takes effect. For example, in the slave trade context, laws were passed mainly “so that the Englishman can see,” without intent to enforce them. This phenomenon reflects a widespread, unspoken resistance to authority where no one overtly opposes the government or assumes responsibility—laws simply fail to take hold as though by nature. People nominally accept the State’s authority yet commonly disregard its mandates or comply superficially—and rulers refrain from enforcing laws fully to maintain popularity.
This attitude still characterizes Brazilian public affairs: eccentric laws are passed frequently, but citizens only react if they experience tangible enforcement. An illustrative case is Rio Claro, São Paulo, where from 1894 to 2025 residents sold watermelons illegally. Believing watermelon spread yellow fever, sanitary officials banned its sale in 1894, but the prohibition was broadly ignored until 2025, when the city council formally repealed the outdated law after more than a century.
Regarding the Vaccine Revolt, the government’s attempt to strictly impose a law that the populace outright rejected fueled conflict. As recounted in Os Bestializados, smallpox vaccination had been practiced in Brazil since 1801, made mandatory for children in Rio de Janeiro by 1831, and nationally enforced by 1884 under the Empire. Following the Republic’s proclamation, the vaccination requirement expanded, and in 1904, sanitary physician Oswaldo Cruz proposed a decree akin to a vaccination passport, mandating proof of vaccination to work or stay in hotels.
Other social tensions contributed. Since 1903, government health inspectors had been invading poor homes to enforce hygiene standards, often requiring residents to make costly modifications. These intrusions offended citizens and stirred resentment.
The early, fragile Republic was marked by an Army with many positivist members eager for another coup. Through speeches and media, they stirred popular discontent. The sanctity of the home remained a widely embraced ideal. A politician even famously declared that only a Messalina would expose her arms to a health agent—never the wives or daughters of respectable families. (Brazilians are not expert connoisseurs of Roman history; Messalina’s name became a mere insult.) According to José Murilo de Carvalho, this antagonism reached illiterate elderly black women, who, though unable to read, knew from newspapers that vaccination was deemed troublesome. During the revolt, vaccination rates dropped sharply: smallpox immunization, previously accepted, became rejected as it became politicized and imposed. Ultimately, the popular insurgents prevailed as Oswaldo Cruz abandoned efforts to enforce the policy.
Thus, Brazil’s greatest popular upheaval emerged from a rare alignment of mass sentiment and mobilization by influential middle-class groups against a government mandate. Had the positivists not politicized the issue, Oswaldo Cruz’s campaign might have faded like the anti-watermelon law in Rio Claro. The relationship between authorities and the people resembles the King in The Little Prince, who only demanded reasonable orders—sunrise in the morning and sunset at night. Unreasonable commands correspond to laws that fail to stick.
Balance
This dynamic’s drawback is that the people remain passive before the government, never actively demanding change. Infrastructure deteriorates; public servants are often absent; criminal organizations dominate urban areas; yet nothing shifts.
Conversely, Argentina’s example reveals that dissent alone doesn’t guarantee progress. Comparing casualties from France’s popular revolts to Brazil’s Vaccine Revolt, José Murilo de Carvalho found the latter trivial. The French riot even over minor factors. Brazilians celebrate achievements, such as World Cup victories; the French might respond with car burnings. Collective mentalities vary greatly; Brazilians tend toward peace and conformity, unless passive resistance is feasible.
Comparison with the Russians
Brazilians might recognize Soviet humor poking fun at government inefficiency, such as “they pretend to pay us, we pretend to work.” This sentiment, echoed by soccer player Vampeta’s quip “they pretend to pay me, I pretend to play,” reflects a shared disposition toward state authority. This does not suggest Brazil parallels the Soviet regime, but reveals a similar attitude in dealing with government. Russians mock rulers, from Tsars to Soviets; their jokes are less globally known due to anti-communist propaganda promoting Soviet satire. Unlike the French who smash things or Argentines who protest openly, Russians—and Brazilians—prefer passive resistance and humor. Whether Russians have “laws that don’t stick” remains uncertain.
The Communist Revolution highlights a similarity between Russia and Brazil, more than between Russia and France. Brazilian republicans’ disappointment with the Proclamation arose from their idealized, French-influenced view of the people. Lenin, in contrast, advanced a vanguard revolution theory without such illusions. Mussolini’s fascism was a right-wing adaptation of Leninism. Idealizing the populace seems typical of romantically inclined peoples (French and Germans) and should not be generalized.
Brazil’s core issue is not a lack of protest or the failure to make noise but the mediocrity of its elites and the silence of its middle classes. For instance, mandatory Covid vaccination for children as young as six months is unique globally and can only be explained by the political class’s utter foolishness. Did this law take hold? No. Most parents refuse to vaccinate their children; even public schools usually don’t require it; health clinics, faced with minimal demand, don’t order more doses, leaving concerned parents unable to obtain it. The government-aligned television reports the shortage.
Rather than opposing or informing the public, Brazil’s intermediate classes have chosen to acquiesce to the government—to avoid appearing impolite—even though they themselves neither receive the vaccine nor vaccinate their children. This attitude represents the greatest challenge.
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