work. But they would beg forgiveness of the friends and relatives they had loved. And left devastated — if not wounded or mutilated. Because many were imprisoned and tortured
simply for the sad privilege of knowing them
.”
“Max,” I tried to interject, “what about the military, responsible for everything that happened beforehand? Beginning withthe coup? And their accomplices and business backers, the team that covered for the torturers? And trained them? Or provided financial support?”
“They’re better off, relatively speaking.”
“How can that be?”
“Because they would only have to ask forgiveness of their victims. ‘Forgive me, my dear man, but we were at war, you were on one side, I was on the other. And I killed you. Because it was you or me …’ Much easier than asking their loved ones, right?”
Given my silence, he proceeded. “Think about facing your sister, who was raped and tortured for days
just because she happened to be your sister
, with absolutely no connection to the insurgents. And try to open your mouth. Let’s say you’re able to do so. Open your mouth. What words would come out? ‘Lenin and Guevara were right, the party was wrong’? It’s tricky, don’t you think?”
“Max!” I exclaimed, both awed and astonished. “
A world without victims or culprits …
What about Nuremberg? How would that fit?”
“No, my friend. It’s just the opposite: a cruel world in which all are to blame. By action or default. A world in which the borders between good and evil aren’t vague or inexact; they simply don’t exist. Or when they do exist, they shift easily, depending on what part of the globe you’re in.”
“
History as written by the victors
and so forth?”
“A lesser vision, that saying. Superficial, like everything that deals with subjects of this magnitude. But if you want to put it in those reductive terms, yes.”
“And where do notions of aggressor and defender, of victim and perpetrator, fit into these scenarios of yours, devoid of values?”
“Where they always were: in the minds of men.”
He looked straight at me for the first time. “Upon arriving in Paris and assuming my duties, I decided to reread the preambleof UNESCO’s charter. Do you remember the wording? Did you ever read it?”
“I must have. I don’t remember.”
“No, my friend. You
didn’t
read it.
Because if you had
,
you wouldn’t have forgotten
. It alone accounts for the existence of the United Nations. Poetically, I should add. And its simplicity is stirring, more so than the reams of reports that the UN has been churning out over the course of nearly four decades.”
True to form, he would keep me in suspense. Then, eyes on the stars, he quoted: “ ‘Since wars begin in the minds of men, it is in the minds of men that the defences of peace must be constructed.’ ” He took another puff of his cigar. “ ‘In the minds of men,’ ” he repeated. “According to which side they’re on, of course. What happened in Brazil and continues to happen in South America is a microcosm of what occurs in the world at large. Wherever there are conflicts. And, from the look of it, the universal trend will only get worse. Particularly because we’re talking about a cultural melting pot that thickens with hunger, poverty, and ignorance. And these three ingredients, as we know, are only going to increase.”
I decided to cut to the chase. “If that’s the case, why did you feel compelled to take a stand in 1964? To switch sides without even batting an eye? What happened in the mind of Marcílio Andrade Xavier?”
Unflappable as always, Max looked me head-on and asked, “Who told you I switched sides?”
17
I glanced around. Apart from a waiter, we were the only ones left in the garden. The other guests had disappeared into the house, from which muted voices, interspersed with laughter and the strains of a piano, drifted. Then I heard Max saying, “Convictions are a luxury,
simply for the sad privilege of knowing them
.”
“Max,” I tried to interject, “what about the military, responsible for everything that happened beforehand? Beginning withthe coup? And their accomplices and business backers, the team that covered for the torturers? And trained them? Or provided financial support?”
“They’re better off, relatively speaking.”
“How can that be?”
“Because they would only have to ask forgiveness of their victims. ‘Forgive me, my dear man, but we were at war, you were on one side, I was on the other. And I killed you. Because it was you or me …’ Much easier than asking their loved ones, right?”
Given my silence, he proceeded. “Think about facing your sister, who was raped and tortured for days
just because she happened to be your sister
, with absolutely no connection to the insurgents. And try to open your mouth. Let’s say you’re able to do so. Open your mouth. What words would come out? ‘Lenin and Guevara were right, the party was wrong’? It’s tricky, don’t you think?”
“Max!” I exclaimed, both awed and astonished. “
A world without victims or culprits …
What about Nuremberg? How would that fit?”
“No, my friend. It’s just the opposite: a cruel world in which all are to blame. By action or default. A world in which the borders between good and evil aren’t vague or inexact; they simply don’t exist. Or when they do exist, they shift easily, depending on what part of the globe you’re in.”
“
History as written by the victors
and so forth?”
“A lesser vision, that saying. Superficial, like everything that deals with subjects of this magnitude. But if you want to put it in those reductive terms, yes.”
“And where do notions of aggressor and defender, of victim and perpetrator, fit into these scenarios of yours, devoid of values?”
“Where they always were: in the minds of men.”
He looked straight at me for the first time. “Upon arriving in Paris and assuming my duties, I decided to reread the preambleof UNESCO’s charter. Do you remember the wording? Did you ever read it?”
“I must have. I don’t remember.”
“No, my friend. You
didn’t
read it.
Because if you had
,
you wouldn’t have forgotten
. It alone accounts for the existence of the United Nations. Poetically, I should add. And its simplicity is stirring, more so than the reams of reports that the UN has been churning out over the course of nearly four decades.”
True to form, he would keep me in suspense. Then, eyes on the stars, he quoted: “ ‘Since wars begin in the minds of men, it is in the minds of men that the defences of peace must be constructed.’ ” He took another puff of his cigar. “ ‘In the minds of men,’ ” he repeated. “According to which side they’re on, of course. What happened in Brazil and continues to happen in South America is a microcosm of what occurs in the world at large. Wherever there are conflicts. And, from the look of it, the universal trend will only get worse. Particularly because we’re talking about a cultural melting pot that thickens with hunger, poverty, and ignorance. And these three ingredients, as we know, are only going to increase.”
I decided to cut to the chase. “If that’s the case, why did you feel compelled to take a stand in 1964? To switch sides without even batting an eye? What happened in the mind of Marcílio Andrade Xavier?”
Unflappable as always, Max looked me head-on and asked, “Who told you I switched sides?”
17
I glanced around. Apart from a waiter, we were the only ones left in the garden. The other guests had disappeared into the house, from which muted voices, interspersed with laughter and the strains of a piano, drifted. Then I heard Max saying, “Convictions are a luxury,
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