RIO DE JANEIRO – At that time last year, the main stage of Rio de Janeiro’s carnival was a cauldron of glitter-stained and underdressed bodies, packed together, swaying to the beat of the drums.
But last weekend, the only trace of samba in the place, the Sambódromo parade grounds, were some melancholic verses that Hildemar Diniz, a composer and carnival aficionado known as Monarco, sang through his mask after he went there to get vaccinated against Covid19.
“There is great sadness,” said Diniz, 87, who was impeccably dressed in white. “But it is essential to save lives. People love to party, dance, but this year we are not going to make it. “
In good and bad times, Rio de Janeiro’s famous and turbulent carnival has endured, often thriving when things get particularly difficult.
People celebrated a lot during years of war, hyperinflation, repressive military regime, uncontrolled violence and even the Spanish flu in 1919, when carnival was considered one of the most decadent ever recorded. Official calls to postpone it in 1892 and 1912 – due to a garbage collection crisis and to mourn the death of a statesman – were largely ignored as people rushed into the streets in costume.
This year, however, the only thing that keeps the carnival spirit a little alive: online events produced by groups that traditionally make extravagant street performances.
“It is very sad for Rio not to have a carnival,” said Daniel Soranz, the city’s health secretary, last Saturday morning, standing in the middle of the Sambadrome while elderly residents were vaccinated under white tents. “This is a place to celebrate, to celebrate life.”
Gabriel Lins, a medical student who was among the dozens of vaccinators, recalled the two times he attended the Sambódromo, a parade route flanked by grandstands with capacity for 56,000 people, where samba schools held elaborate and obsessively choreographed shows. He also misses the street parties known as bloco, which run through virtually every neighborhood in the city while thousands of people throw drinks, kiss strangers and dance in minimalist costumes.
“This is very, very strange for those of us who are used to the carnival,” said Lins on a wet and rainy morning. “Carnival brings us joy.”
Around him, after almost a year of fear and suffering, Brazilians were finally armed against the virus. “But today it must also be seen as a day of joy,” he said, as people lined up for his photos.
Marcilia Lopes, 85, a regular at the Portela samba school who has not missed a carnival in decades, seemed more relieved than happy after receiving the first dose of the Chinese-made CoronaVac vaccine.
She was so afraid of getting the virus last year that she refused to leave the house for any reason. On her birthday, she asked her children not to even bother buying a cake – she was in no mood to celebrate. So Mrs. Lopes is missing her beloved carnival this year, but stoically.
“I’m at peace,” she said. “Many people are suffering.”
As a second wave has emerged in recent months, local authorities across the country have canceled traditional Carnival celebrations, which typically generate hundreds of millions of dollars in tourism revenue and create tens of thousands of temporary jobs.
Rio de Janeiro authorities hoped to be able to hold Carnival later this year if cases were reduced as enough people began to be vaccinated. But that prospect now seems unlikely, given Brazil’s limited supply of vaccines, which forced Rio de Janeiro to stop its vaccine campaign this week because the doses ran out. New variants of the virus that scientists believe may be accelerating contagion are also increasing uncertainty, as well as questions about the vaccine’s effectiveness.
Marcus Faustini, Secretary of Culture of Rio de Janeiro, said that as painful as it would be to spend the carnival without revelry, there was no responsible way to adapt the mega-party to this era of social detachment.
“It would not make sense to hold this party at this time and take the risk of generating a wave of cases,” he said. “The most vital thing now is to protect lives.”
Cariocas, as the residents of Rio de Janeiro are called, are not known as followers of rules. Therefore, the city has set up a task force of about 1,000 police officers charged with roaming the streets and social media in search of clandestine carnival bars.
Although the authorities have closed some clandestine meetings and boat parties, the vast majority of traditional carnival party organizers appear to be following the rules. Perhaps surprisingly, there are few official restrictions on bars and beaches, which have been crowded in recent days and where a city mask mandate is rarely applied.
City officials expect hotels, which are usually booked during Carnival, to have a 40% occupancy rate this week. The tourist destinations where people usually flock, including the statue of Christ the Redeemer and the Sugarloaf Mountain, are open and receive hundreds of visitors a day.
Leo Szel, a singer and visual artist, is among those who mourn a year without carnival, which is especially painful after months of sadness, isolation and dark news.
“For me, carnival means an interval, like a temporary autonomous zone that is almost anarchy, where there is freedom,” he said.
Although several popular street party groups have broadcast recorded events in the past few days, Szel said he and other leaders of the Guanabara Mermaid bloc, popular with LGBTQ revelers, have not raised money to produce an online event.
They are among the thousands who are suffering financially from the loss of street parties, which take months of planning and employ an army of choreographers, set designers, costume designers, performers and salespeople.
“It’s heartbreaking,” said Valmir Moratelli, a documentary filmmaker who recorded past carnivals, which were marked by economic recession, waves of crime in the streets and the city’s late evangelical mayor, who cut funds for the samba parade and did little to hide his disdain for the season of hedonism.
“People are penniless, without fantasies, miserable,” added Moratelli.
Diniz, the composer, said that all the repressed frustration and sadness that Brazilians are feeling will feed a carnival for the times when it is safe to celebrate again.
“It is so awaited,” he said. “People are thirsty for joy.”
Lis Moriconi contributed reporting.