It was just a simple family Sunday lunch.
Sausages on the plate, meat on the grill, beer coming out of the glass, and those strange chats about politics, travel and football.
I was the guest there, and requests emphasized that I should not talk about politics at all.
You know how it is, don’t you?
Well, this electoral period in Brazil was troubled. Families and friendships were decimated, differences were brought to the surface, not for a constructive debate, but for a discourse of hatred and prejudice.
Therefore, I promised to behave.
Between one bite and another, I would swallow strange opinions, but I pushed them in with sips of a cheap beer.
Everything was going well, at least to the speakers. Within me there was a clash of common sense, empathy, and my promise.
I could not disappoint them, but more than anything else, I knew I could not change or understand them properly.
It was flowing orderly, until a question was directed to me:
– Since you lived a long time in Germany, you face the” invasion “of the refugees there, right? What do the Germans think of it? They work, build everything, give a damn hard effort on it, and suddenly people come from abroad and have everything handed to them on a plate.
I took a deep breath.
The question already came with an answer, and it was flawed and wrong.
I thought about looking sideways.
I thought I’d forgive myself even before I broke the promise, but it never crossed my mind to be quiet.
I calmly turned the guts of the story.
Allow me to introduce myself again.
My name is Guilherme Eisfeld. Born in Brazil, in Curitiba, but as you may realize, my last name is not very trivial.
Eisfeld. “Ice Field” in English. “Campo de Gelo” in Portuguese.
A name with Germanic roots.
A name also of a small village in central Germany.
A name of a family that immigrated to Brazil in the early twentieth century.
Before you start with conspiracy theories, I already say: No!
They did not come from the atrocities of the World Wars.
They were just fucked up.
Obviously “fucked up”.
Who would get out of a good place, to sail on an unhealthy vessel, heading for a land completely unknown, with all the belongings and relatives, if he/she was not a “fucked up” person?
Hunger, diseases, lack of opportunity, the coming wars and destruction. There are many reasons for a mass exodus, but without fear of making mistakes, I say: they are all bad.
No migration takes place if conditions are favorable.
And that’s how I broke my promise and the argument of that person who became speechless.
– We’re all relatives of fucked up immigrants, uncle!
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