Vanessa Barbara is a contributing opinion writer for The New York Times, and the author of two novels and two nonfiction books in Portuguese. (June 2018)

Follow Vanessa Barbara on Twitter: @vmbarbara_.

NYR DAILY

Brazilians Die, Bolsonaro Shrugs

President Jair Bolsonaro during a press conference at Alvorada Palace, Brasilia, Brazil, June 5, 2020

By the end of May, Brazil had surpassed the half-million mark for coronavirus cases, becoming the world’s No. 2 hotspot for the disease, behind only the United States; 38,000 have now died here. Experts believe the outbreak has not yet reached a peak: according to one research institute, the virus is predicted to have killed more than 125,000 people by early August. Yet the president’s response remains insouciant: “I regret each of the deaths, but that’s everyone’s destiny.”

Pandemic Journal, March 17–22

Dispatches on the coronavirus outbreak from Madeleine Schwartz in Brooklyn, Anne Enright in Dublin, Joshua Hunt in Busan, Anna Badkhen in Lalibela, Lauren Groff in Gainesville, Christopher Robbins in New York, Elisa Gabbert in Denver, Ian Jack in London, Vanessa Barbara in São Paolo, Rachel Pearson in San Antonio, A.E. Stallings in Athens, Simon Callow in London, Mark Gevisser in Cape Town, Sarah Manguso in Los Angeles, Ruth Margalit in Tel Aviv, Miguel-Anxo Murado in Madrid, Tim Parks in Milan, Eduardo Halfon in Paris, Anastasia Edel in Oakland, and more.

World Cup 2018: Brazil’s Respite from Reality

A boy from Santa Marta favela with his Panini World Cup sticker book, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, 2014

For the first time in years, people are confident about the squad. Commentators love Brazil’s coach, Tite, as well as the team’s biggest star, Neymar. Besides, we can always count on Jesus—the forward Gabriel Jesus. There is a growing sense of the possibility of redemption by avenging that 7-1 home defeat against Germany in the semifinals of the last World Cup. But whether Brazil succeeds or fails in Russia, the outcome will be equally permeated with an old bittersweet flavor: the feeling that we are second-class citizens of the world trying to look the other way, in the hope that the euphoria of the next four weeks might extend to months or years, maybe a whole lifetime.