We need to be seen and represented in power, not just in policy
In the wake of Lula's 2022 electoral victory, Rene Silva — community leader, journalist, and son of Complexo do Alemão — stepped forward not to celebrate, but to demand. Having witnessed firsthand how PT policies opened university doors for Black Brazilians, Silva now insists those same Brazilians must be trusted with the keys to ministries, not as symbols, but as a long-overdue reckoning with what representation truly means. His voice carries the weight of a generation that was helped to rise, and now asks to be seen leading.
- A generation of Black Brazilians educated through PT quota programs now stands ready for executive power — and Silva argues the moment to place them there is now, not someday.
- The left's historic failure to appoint Black ministers created a visibility gap that policies alone could never fill, sending a quiet message that Black leadership was welcome in classrooms but not in cabinet rooms.
- A campaign hat bearing 'CPX' became a weapon in Bolsonaro's hands, dragging Silva's name into accusations of criminal ties and exposing how quickly favela stigma can be weaponized against those who live there.
- Silva warns that the left's contempt for evangelical and poor voters — calling them fascists for their 2018 choices — fractured a coalition that cannot be taken for granted, even in victory.
- The real test of Lula's second era, Silva argues, is not the election won but the appointments made: whether representation becomes concrete power or remains a promise deferred.
Rene Silva was born in Morro do Adeus, one of thirteen favelas forming Complexo do Alemão in Rio's North Zone, home to roughly 200,000 people. At eleven, he founded Voz das Comunidades, a community newspaper that found its footing in 2010 as pacification police units arrived ahead of the World Cup. By twenty-nine, he had spent nearly two decades building something real from the ground up — and when Lula came to campaign in the second round of Brazil's 2022 election, Silva helped organize the visit.
With the election secured, Silva sat for an interview on the podcast 2+1 and made a direct demand: Black Brazilians must occupy ministerial positions in the incoming government — not symbolic roles confined to racial equality portfolios, but seats at the table of economics, health, education, and infrastructure. His reasoning was pointed: the very people lifted out of poverty by PT quota programs, who had gone to university because of those policies, were now prepared to lead. The party had done real good, but had never placed a Black minister in a previous administration. The message to Brazilian society — that Black people could be trusted with serious executive responsibility — had never been sent.
The campaign visit itself became a flashpoint. Bolsonaro's team seized on a cap Lula wore bearing the letters "CPX," claiming it linked the former president to drug trafficking. Silva pushed back: a volunteer from his organization had simply given Lula the hat. The event ran along Estrada do Itararé, a main thoroughfare — not deep inside the complex, not a space requiring negotiation with traffickers. But favela stigma meant outsiders assumed the worst, and Silva's name became entangled in accusations of criminality.
He also identified a longer fracture within the left itself. In 2018, evangelicals in poor communities had been dismissed as fascists for voting Bolsonaro. That contempt had costs. The 2022 victory was real, but the work ahead — rebuilding trust with working-class and evangelical constituencies, making representation mean something concrete — had only just begun.
Rene Silva stood in the streets of Complexo do Alemão on the day Lula came to campaign in the second round of Brazil's 2022 election. The community leader, who had organized the visit, watched the former president move through the neighborhood in Bonsucesso—a place Silva knows intimately. He was born and raised in Morro do Adeus, one of thirteen favelas that make up this sprawling complex in Rio's North Zone, home to roughly 200,000 people. At twenty-nine, Silva had already spent nearly two decades building something from nothing: a community newspaper called Voz das Comunidades, started when he was eleven years old, which gained real traction in 2010 as the state installed its pacification police units ahead of the World Cup and Olympics.
Now, with Lula's election secured, Silva was thinking about what came next. He sat down for an interview on the podcast 2+1 and made a direct demand: Black Brazilians needed to occupy ministerial positions in the incoming government. Not as a symbolic gesture. Not confined to portfolios about racial equality. Across the full spectrum of power—economics, health, education, infrastructure. The reasoning was simple and urgent: people like him, people who had been lifted out of poverty by PT policies like quota systems, who had gone to university and earned advanced degrees because of those programs, were now ready to lead. They needed to be seen. They needed to be represented.
Silva acknowledged the PT's track record. The party had genuinely helped poor and Black Brazilians. The quota system was real. The benefits were measurable. But representation in government had lagged far behind. There had been no Black ministers in previous PT administrations. The visibility was missing. The message sent to Brazilian society—that Black people could be trusted with serious executive responsibility—had never been clearly made. Silva framed it as a moment of reckoning: just as the left had once fought to get poor Brazilians into universities, now came the time to place them visibly in government.
The conversation took a sharper turn when Silva addressed the backlash from the campaign itself. Bolsonaro's team had seized on a cap Lula wore during the Complexo visit, claiming the "CPX" logo connected the former president to drug trafficking. The accusation was absurd—Silva explained that a volunteer from Voz das Comunidades had simply given Lula the hat—but the damage was done. Silva's own name became entangled with criminality in the eyes of people who didn't live in the favela. He pushed back hard. The route of the campaign event, he said, ran along Estrada do Itararé, a main thoroughfare in Bonsucesso that connected several neighborhoods. It wasn't deep inside the complex. It wasn't a space that required permission from traffickers. Yes, everyone knew it was happening. That was the point. But the stigma attached to favelas meant outsiders immediately assumed the worst. Silva noted that his organization regularly held public events without incident or conflict.
Beyond the immediate controversy, Silva identified a deeper political problem. The left had drifted away from its base. In the context of evangelical churches' deep roots in poor communities, he recalled how in 2018 evangelicals had been called fascists simply for voting for Bolsonaro. That kind of contempt had consequences. The party needed to rebuild trust, not just with Black voters but with the broader poor and working-class constituencies that had once been its foundation. The 2022 election had been won, but the real work—making good on promises, placing people in positions of actual power, showing that representation meant something concrete—was just beginning.
Notable Quotes
We were very benefited by the PT government in past elections, that's a fact. But we weren't represented, we weren't there with positions. There was no Black minister. There was no representation. Today, in 2022, many of these people who graduated, went to college, got advanced degrees through Lula's government need to be taking positions in government, because we need to be seen and represented.— Rene Silva
It will be very easy to put a Black woman minister, a Black man minister in the Racial Equality portfolio. But in what other portfolios can we place Black people? In Economics, Health, Education. What other areas can we work in to have a broader debate?— Rene Silva
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
When you say Black Brazilians need to occupy ministerial positions across all sectors, not just racial equality, what changes if a Black economist runs the Finance Ministry instead of a Black minister of racial affairs?
Everything. If you only put Black people in the racial equality portfolio, you're saying that's the only place we're qualified to lead. You're containing us. But if we're running health, education, the economy—then you're saying we can think about the whole country, not just our own issues. Society sees us differently.
The PT did create quota systems that got people like you into universities. Why isn't that enough?
Because quotas got us the education. But the government never showed what we could do with it. We graduated. We got our degrees. We're ready. But if we're not visible in power, people don't believe it. They don't see that we can lead.
You mentioned the left has disconnected from its base. What does that look like in Complexo do Alemão?
The churches are everywhere here. Evangelical churches. In 2018, the left called evangelicals fascists for voting for Bolsonaro. You don't insult people's faith and expect them to come back to you. The left stopped listening. It started judging.
The cap incident during Lula's visit—how much did that actually hurt?
It was a gift from one of our volunteers. But Bolsonaro's campaign used it to say Lula was connected to trafficking. For people who don't live here, that's all they heard. It's the stigma of the favela. But it also showed something: people in the community who were undecided, they saw the attack on their neighborhood and voted for Lula anyway. That's real support.
What do you need to see from the new government in the first hundred days?
Names. Black ministers in major portfolios. Not just one or two. Enough that it's clear this isn't tokenism. Enough that a kid growing up here sees someone who looks like them running something important.