King of Brazil

Posted on Fri Jan 27th, 2023 @ 7:39pm by President Tomás Garcia Cardoso

Mission: September, 2022
Location: Reboucas Convention Center, Sao Paolo
Timeline: Date 2022-09-02 at 1800

Reboucas Avenue was busy at this time of day as many Brazilians returned home from work. Though the typical work day ended at 6:00pm, many people were out and about doing chores and visiting family and friends. Despite the liveliness outside, the inside of the armored black Jaguar XJ car was mostly quiet. The back seat was filled with smoke as two maduro cigars billowed white. In the front seat, the driver and a woman in her late 20s with fair skin and an asymmetrical haircut didn’t even bother to wave the air clean around her. Spending time with these men, she often went home smelling of cigars, cologne, and incense. Such was the life of an aide in Brazil’s Catholic Solidarity Movement, one of the largest parties now represented in Congress.

“I tell you, Tom, those polls are looking fantastic.” said the man on the left. His silver hair had come early and made him look sharp in his blue suit and light blue button-up. He went tieless as always. “Bolsonaro has to see them and fold like a book.”

“Well, I’m not so sure.” the man on the right side, his speech moving his salt & pepper beard as he held his cigar in his teeth. He was the same age as the other man, but he somehow seemed younger. “Bolsonaro isn’t known for his humility. Bowing down for an up-and-comer on his side of the isle isn’t exactly his style. I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you.”

The other man sighed, seeming annoyed at Tom’s lack of optimism. He was a man who wanted everything to go right, and Tom was a man who wanted everything to happen as it should. That tension between them had always made them a great team, and they would be so in the future as well.

Tomás Garcia Cardoso, member of the Chamber of Deputies and former Naval Officer, founded the CSM almost seven years ago based on principles of National Catholicism, economic neo-corporatism, and distributism. Their fierce anti-socialist message had taken away the thunder of many of the right-leaning parties in the country and their religious dedication was both believed and valued as a contrast to modern corruption and empty promises. Tom had been their figurehead since the party’s start and he considered its building his life’s work. He expected, however, to make something of their newfound popularity and hoped, in one month, to win the election for President of Brazil. He looked to his best friend and campaign manager, Leonel Vargas and smiled.

“We are on God’s side, my frined. Win or lose, we’ve done the right thing.” he said calmly; kindly. “And you’ve done an excellent job with the campaign.”

Leo gave a pleased expression and puffed on his cigar. He believed in Tom and what they were planning to do. Brazil needed them, and they would deliver on all of their promises.

“It’s just up here, Mr. Cardoso.” The woman in the first seat said as she turned her eyes to the documents in the binder sitting on her lap. Desiree Bianco had served Tom as his aide for almost eight years in one form or another. She kept his schedule and, in coordination with his party members and his wife, made sure he was ready for anything and was wearing a clean shirt. It had not been an easy job for her, considering he was scatter-brained and rather forgetful, but she had never imagined she’d ever have a boss more kind and loving. She was a moderate when she joined his staff in 2015, but since then, he’d made a believer out of her in more than one way. Still, she kept her convictions to her chest. She’d always been that way.

Tom and Leonel both unhooked their seatbelts together, but neither of them moved to extinguish their cigars right away, instead opting to enjoy a few more puffs before the car came to a stop and they saw various security and campaign staff from other vehicles begin to scurry and scatter. Tom put his out first and watched as a guard opened his door. He stepped out and offered a smile to the man who had done so.

“Thank you, my friend.” he said, chucking him in the belly lightly with his knuckles. He stood quite a bit taller than the man, which was normal for him. His charisma was obvious but quiet and his smile was deep and genuine. Tomas had a unique charity in his heart for people, and it had been easy to see how much he loved even when he was a boy sweltering in the favela of Rio de Janeiro. Beating the odds, he and Leonel had made it out, and he had no intention of proceeding without gratitude.

Desiree stood beside him, her eyes on her iphone screen. She fielded a message from a man who approached her and then turned to Leonel.

“They’re almost ready for us.” she said.

“Then let’s get in there.” Leonel said, stepping forward with interest and clearing a path quickly for Tom. He bid his friend with a smile, but nothing more. The three of them proceeded through the staffers who formed up after them and made their way into the convention center. The audience in this room would be young people hoping to become the leaders of tomorrow. It would be recorded, of course, but the purpose was to inspire them to invest in their coalition with their time, and energy, and money, and votes.

As they enter the convention center, Tom allowed his staff to walk slightly in front of him, leading him on the way he needed to go to find the room where he would prepare to go on. They had learned long ago, not to burden him with many details, but only told him what he needed to know to be successful in the moment. In the planning stages and an emergency situation, it was different. But now, when all the details were known, he preferred to let his aides aid him And focus on what only he could do. Reporters gathered along their path, of course, taking pictures and trying to flag him down for questions, but Tom merely waved at them and kept moving. There would be time for that later.

Leonel led the team through a set of doors near the room where the crowd was gathered. It had clearly been well prepared for them. Tom had never gotten used to having nice things, and he felt more than a bit out of place. He sat and began looking over his speech one more time before the signal was given that it was time to go out.

“Remember, don’t joke too much. It makes you look silly to some people.” Desiree said, straightening her boss’s tie. They had become very close over the years, but he was always very kind and professional.

“Only for the people with big sticks shoved up where the sun doesn’t shine.” Tom replied with a grin, then he nodded. “I understand.”

Then he turned and made his way for the door. When he emerged from behind a curtain, a round of applause echoed through the room. Tom looked out at the sea of young faces and smiled charmingly, waving at them and making his way to the podium.

“Thank you.” He said several times until the talking and cheering died down. It was a very favorable welcome. “Thank you. If this campaign is any indicator of the desires of average Brazilians, and it certainly is, then it’s clear that Brazil wants Jesus Christ.”

The cheers were even louder this time. Overt evangelicalism had been common and popular with Bolsonaro, but overt Catholicism was rare. The CSM was bringing it back, and he could see so many becoming serious about their faith and their country again.

“Christ must be King of Brazil. He must be King all the way. He must be crowned immediately. Because, right now, our King is money. We know our King is money because our politicians spend most of their time stealing it from you instead of protecting you from those who wish to steal it. We know that our King is money because, every day, charity grows colder and people no longer do things for the good, but want to be paid or to pay. That which is free is despised. I say this to you, young people of Brazil, because you are the future: unless we crown Christ with many crowns in this country, you will lose Brazil and everything else.”

The cheering died down and a more somber mood fell over the crowd.

“The world is getting worse day by day. Certain special interests have been at work to coordinate the destruction of the Church, the destruction of the family, and the destruction of Liberty. They change our words, they ban prayer in our schools, and they promote the murder of children in the womb of their mothers. All of this must stop, and we must make it stop. Human trafficking, gay marriage, transgender ideology, cronyism in business and government, abortion, and the rejection of God from the marketplace of ideas proves that the seeds the enemy has sown in this world are sprouting into weeds and chocking the faithful grain.”

He changed his standing position a bit, adding to his height and lifting his head. His black suit and blue tie complimented his graying dark hair.

“I am running for President to stem the tide of this radical change designed to break the human prison and make us slaves. I am running for President to oppose the World Economic Forum’s plan to deprive us of our property and force us to rent and work from home. I will not allow Brazilians to be made slaves again.”

The clapping resumed now, as it was clear that many backed his vision, though some others seemed uncomfortable with what he was saying. He was used to this.

“When Christ is recognized as King of Brazil, we will strengthen the family and the civil society, we will empower employers and workers to cooperate instead of compete, we will put an end to predatory social organizations, we will build private schooling, we will reinstate the sacredness of Sunday and the feast day, we will break the power of national debt, we will stand in the way of media that makes our people obscene and sinful, and we will protect your right to own.”

He paused then, smiling brightly at the clapping. With Bolsonaro, the far-right candidate, and Lula da Silva, people felt they had to choose between a madman and a crook. But Tomás Garcia Cardoso was different. He made them feel hope again.

“Now, let me tell you a story about a little boy from a Favela, once forgotten, now known.”