Brazil 101 - understanding a problem

Today I saw a video about the awful penitentiary system in Brazil where were two people per square meter and people were commenting that they can put more people in there. This makes me sad because it shows that some Brazilians really don't understand the problem behind it and just don't consider human rights.

For understanding the problem is necessary to listen their voice. I translated and made some changes for easier interpretation of one song that explains a lot about the favela's life and I'm sure can make people open their eyes for a problem bigger than it looks.

This song called "Homem na estrada" (A man on the road)- 1993, composed by Mano Brown from Racionais MC's, a hip-hop group based in São Paulo. It is maybe the most important group for Brazilian rap.

Homem na estrada

A man on the road restarts his life. His purpose and freedom were lost, taken away. He wants to prove to himself that he has really changed. He is recovered and he wants to live in peace, never looking back, say to crime: never again.
Because his childhood was not pleasant, no. In Febem [institution for reforming teenagers between 12-18 yo], painful memories.

Yes, make money, get rich finally.

Many has died dreaming high like this. Tell me who can be happy, who doesn't lose hope, seeing his/her son born in the cradle of the poverty.

A place where the only attractions were: the bar and the Candomblé [ Afro-American religious tradition, practiced mainly in Brazil by the people of the saint] for the blessing.

This is where the history I’m about to tell goes: A man on the road.

A room badly finished and dirt, balanced in an uncomfortable ravine. However, It is his only home, his property and refuge. A horrible smell comes from the sewer in the backyard, on top or underneath, if it rains it will be fatal. Here where I am is a piece of hell. Even the IBGE [Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics] came here but never returned. They numbered the houses, made a lot of questions. Soon after they forgot it, sons of a bitch!

They found a dead girl murdered and raped. He (the killer) should have been very angry. “dude, so many thwacks”. She was unrecognizable, the face deformed. At midnight the body was still there. Covered with a bed sheet and dried out by the sun, dumped. The IML [Institute of Forensic Medicine] was just 10 hours late.

Yes, make money, get rich finally.

I want that my son never remember of here and have a safe life. I don't want him to grow with a 38 [gun] on the waist and a PT [gun] aimed to his head.
At the rest of the dawn, sleepless, he wonders: “What can I do to overcome this situation?” - Unemployed, with a bad reputation, ex-prisoner, nobody trusts him. This man’s life had been forever damaged.

A man on the road.

A new day rises, everything is exactly the same. Unbearable hot weather, 28°C (82,4°F). No water, it is already routine, monotony, no schedule for returning, It’s been 5 five days.

It is 10 o’clock, the street is busy, an ambulance was called with extreme urgency. Madness. Exaggerating violence. He blew up his own mother, he was drunk. But right before the hangover he was judged. Dragged through street the poor element, the inevitable lynching. Imagine this. He got really bad, they didn't have pity.

The rich people makes campaign against the drugs and they talk about its destructive power. On the other hand they promote themselves and make a lot of money with the alcohol sold at the favela.

Bored, he goes out for a walk. He can’t believe on what he sees, not in that way. Children, cats, dogs dispute their breakfast on the side of the market. Kids without a future, I can already see it. They only go to school to eat and nothing more. How can they learn without someone’s incentive? No pride, no respect, co care, no peace.

A friend of mine was earning some money. He bought a car, he had even a Rolex. He was shot at close range at school, supplying cocaine for the rich kids. He got famous, became news. He provided money to the newspaper and cards to the police. 20 years old and he has reached the top: Superstar at the popular News.

After a week the crack arrives. Rich people is behind it, managing. Here in the slums there is more than enough poverty. A daily wage guarantee the labor. The clients have money and buy a lot [no worries due to the safe network] The rich junkies are high as a kite. Selling drugs here: great business.

Yes, make money, get rich finally.

I want a better future, I don’t want to die like this, in any ordinary morgue, an indigent, nameless, with nothing.

A man on the road.

Assaults on the surroundings made suspicions. Favela was quickly charged as usual. The rumor that runs is that this man is on the suspects' list nailed on the wall of the bar. The night came with a weird feeling in the air. He distrust less go sleep relaxed. But someone has quietly betrayed him. As an incurable disease. On his arm a tattoo DVC [prison tattoo], 157 article [theft] Nobody is on his side anymore.

The Criminal Justice is implacable. They take away your freedom, family and moral. Even far away from prison they will always call you an ex-convict. I don’t trust the police, cursed race! If they find me wounded by a shot on the sidewalk, they kick my face and they spit on me. I will bleed until my death. That is why I make my own security.

It’s dawn, everything seems normal. But that man wakes up predicting the evil. He listens to many dogs barking, car sounds and backyards steps. The neighborhood is quiet and insecure, premeditating the end that they know well. There is no law in the favela’s dawn. Maybe the silence or the evil’s law.

They will invade your house: “It is the police!” They came to fuck it up full of hate and malice, motherfuckers, carrion’s eaters! They already gave my sentence I wasn’t even there. They are not a few and they are very crazy. To kill with cruelty they don’t waste time. 15 men are outside, many weapons and I only have a “13 shots” automatic. It is me, myself, my god and my Orishá [a spirit who reflects one of the manifestations of the supreme divinity in African religion] I will shoot at the first noise. If they catch me, my son is alone in the world. What do they want? Another nigger at FEBEM.

Yes, make money, get rich finally. We dream the whole life and we just wake up at the end. My true is another true, there is no time anymore... [gun shots]

Broadcaster - “A black man looking between twenty-five and thirty years is found dead on the road of the M'Boi Mirim without number. Everything indicates it settlement of scores between rival gangs. According to the police, the victim had vast criminal record."