The Seduction of Scoundrels
The Grandiose Funeral of Guarapari
In 1906, the mayor of Guarapari at the time, João Batista de Almeida, popularly known as Juca Brandão, ordered the construction of São João Batista Cemetery. The construction was completed, but an unforeseen problem emerged, one that no public administrator had anticipated: nobody was dying. For approximately ten years, the cemetery remained empty, becoming the subject of gossip, ridicule, and even suspicions concerning the public money spent on its construction.
The mayor needed a funeral to justify the existence of the cemetery. The opportunity finally came in 1916, when a homeless woman died in Benevente, now known as Anchieta. With no relatives coming forward to claim her remains, her body was made available so that Guarapari could hold its first burial and finally inaugurate the cemetery.
The ceremony was attended by local authorities and became part of capixaba folklore ("Capixaba is the term used for people and things from the Brazilian state of Espírito Santo"). The event became particularly memorable because of a councilman's grandiloquent speech, in which he praised Guarapari as such a healthy place that practically nobody ever died there.
The story was so extraordinary that it survived across generations and would eventually inspire playwright Dias Gomes to create the fictional universe of O Bem-Amado ("The Beloved Man"), one of Brazil's most celebrated political satires, later adapted into a hugely popular television series.
The story sounds like something invented by a playwright, but it actually happened. Decades later, Dias Gomes would transform this episode into fiction and immortalize Odorico Paraguaçu, the mayor who desperately needed a corpse to justify his cemetery project.
Yet Dias Gomes's genius lay in more than his ability to turn unusual historical episodes into fiction. He understood profound aspects of the Brazilian soul.
Odorico was vain, demagogic, theatrical, manipulative, and frequently ridiculous. And yet he became one of the most beloved characters in Brazilian television drama. This contradiction is revealing.
Nobody admired Odorico for his administrative competence. Nobody watched the series to evaluate his ability to manage public resources or improve the lives of his constituents. The fascination came precisely from his flaws. His exaggerated rhetoric, his ability to construct narratives to justify failures, and his almost artistic talent for turning problems into spectacles made him unforgettable.
Looking retrospectively at Brazilian television history, from the 1960s through the mid-2010s, it becomes difficult to ignore a recurring pattern. We have produced an extraordinary gallery of characters whose defining quality was not virtue, but magnetism.
Brazilian popular culture has consistently been populated by figures who, to varying degrees, resemble the archetype of Macunaíma ("The legendary antihero of Brazilian modernist literature, created by Mário de Andrade in 1928, who embodies a morally ambiguous, resourceful, opportunistic, and often contradictory Brazilian character").
These are morally ambiguous characters: opportunists, manipulators, and frequently unscrupulous individuals who nevertheless manage to win the public's admiration.
Many were not heroes. Nor were they conventional antiheroes.
They were simply fascinating scoundrels.
Among them, several stand out:
1. Sinhozinho Malta, brilliantly portrayed by Lima Duarte in Roque Santeiro ("A landmark Brazilian television series, widely regarded as one of the country's greatest soap operas, featuring a satirical portrayal of power, religion, and local politics").
He did not need to justify his power. He displayed it. His authority came from wealth, influence, and the absolute conviction that he had been born to command.
Arrogant, possessive, and frequently authoritarian, Sinhozinho fascinated audiences because he seemed to embody the man who never had to ask anyone's permission.
His famous catchphrase, "Tô certo ou tô errado?" ("Am I right or am I wrong?"), was not really a question. It was a demonstration of strength.
The audience knew his flaws, but could not ignore his charisma.
2. Florindo Abelha, known as Seu Flô, played by Ary Fontoura in the same series.
Unlike Sinhozinho, Seu Flô had the office but not the power. He was the perfect portrait of a public official whose formal authority had become hostage to the forces operating behind the scenes.
His political weakness provided comic relief, but also served as a social commentary on the difference between holding public office and actually governing.
3. In Gabriela, Paulo Gracindo brought Colonel Ramiro Bastos to life, creating one of the most sophisticated portrayals of oligarchic power ever shown on Brazilian television.
Ramiro barely needed to impose his authority. His influence was so old and so deeply established that it seemed almost like a law of nature.
His character embodied traditional Brazilian mandonismo ("A historical system of local political domination in which wealthy landowners and influential families exercise personal authority over communities, often independently of democratic institutions").
His power rested not on democratic legitimacy, but on the collective conviction that certain people were simply born to rule.
4. Ary Fontoura would later return in A Indomada to play Pitágoras William Mackenzie, perhaps one of the most brilliant caricatures of a politician in love with his own power.
Vain, histrionic, and obsessed with his public image, Pitágoras systematically confused the public interest with his personal wishes.
In his world, the government no longer serves the state. The state exists to serve the government official.
5. In Vale Tudo, Reginaldo Faria created one of Brazil's most enduring symbols of impunity: Marco Aurélio.
His famous helicopter escape remains etched in the collective memory, not merely because it represented an injustice, but because it represented a fantasy.
Marco Aurélio embodied the individual clever enough to escape the consequences of his own actions. Dishonest, opportunistic, and contemptuous of institutions, he nevertheless commanded everyone's attention whenever he appeared on screen.
6. A similar phenomenon can be seen in Romildo Rosa, played by Milton Gonçalves in A Favorita, and Reginaldo Ferreira da Silva, played by Eduardo Moscovis in Senhora do Destino.
Both represent the politician for whom constructing a public image matters more than actually governing.
They are characters who perfectly understand the mechanics of political spectacle and know how to exploit them for personal advantage.
7. Not even antagonists outside the political arena escape this pattern.
Carminha, masterfully brought to life by Adriana Esteves in Avenida Brasil ("One of Brazil's most internationally successful television dramas"), transformed manipulation, lies, and opportunism into one of the most popular characters in the history of Brazilian television.
Likewise, Félix Khoury, played by Mateus Solano in Amor à Vida, turned sarcasm, cynicism, and cruelty into such a brilliantly executed performance that he eventually became one of the most beloved characters of his generation.
8. The Father.
Perhaps, however, no character reveals more about our relationship with power than O Pai ("The Father"), played by José de Abreu.
There is something deeply unsettling about the strength of this character.
Unlike Odorico, whose theatricality makes us laugh, or Sinhozinho Malta, whose influence belongs to an almost folkloric universe, O Pai inhabits a territory much closer to everyday reality.
He does not seem like a caricature. He seems like someone we might actually encounter.
Perhaps a political leader. Perhaps a businessman. Perhaps a party official. Perhaps a religious leader. Perhaps a family patriarch.
His strength comes precisely from this realism.
O Pai does not need public office or elaborate ceremonies to exercise authority. His power derives from a profound understanding of human nature.
He understands ambition, resentment, insecurity, desire, and emotional vulnerability. He knows exactly when to offer protection. He knows exactly when to demand loyalty.
He knows how to turn favors into dependency, dependency into gratitude, and gratitude into submission.
His authority is not based on explicit coercion, but on the far more sophisticated ability to shape people's behavior without their realizing that they are being led.
José de Abreu's extraordinary talent amplifies this phenomenon even further.
The actor does not portray an ordinary villain. He portrays an intelligent man. An articulate man. A man capable of inspiring trust. A man whom many people would willingly follow.
And that is precisely where the danger lies.
The most dangerous individuals in history have rarely presented themselves as monsters. More often, they have appeared as confident, visionary, and charismatic leaders.
O Pai forces us to confront an uncomfortable truth.
We often admire people not despite their power, but because of it.
We are attracted to strategic competence, leadership ability, intelligence, and the capacity to dominate a situation.
The problem is that none of these qualities comes with an automatic commitment to ethics.
Human history is full of brilliant individuals who used their talents for destructive purposes.
If, over the decades, we have continued producing characters such as Odorico Paraguaçu, Sinhozinho Malta, Ramiro Bastos, Pitágoras Mackenzie, Marco Aurélio, Romildo Rosa, Reginaldo Ferreira da Silva, Carminha, Félix Khoury, and O Pai, it is because there was an audience for them.
There was demand. There was fascination. There was identification.
These characters survived in the national imagination because they touched something deep within the human condition.
They represent our attraction to the audacious, the transgressive, the skillful manipulator, and the leader who defies the rules and seems capable of bending reality to his own will.
Perhaps the relevant question is not why these characters were created.
Perhaps the question is why we continue to like them so much.
And perhaps the most important question is something else entirely.
If we have spent decades admiring figures who turn power into spectacle, how can we be certain that we do not apply those same criteria when choosing the people who govern us?
Science Fiction Understood the Problem
Fiction has the power to let us observe human nature from a distance, often anticipating questions that academia itself would take decades to formulate. A brilliant example is Space Seed, one of the most celebrated episodes of Star Trek. In it, the crew of the Enterprise encounters Khan Noonien Singh, one of the products of the so-called Eugenics Wars. Khan is neither a grotesque tyrant nor an irrational fanatic. He is intelligent, cultured, disciplined, courageous, and endowed with extraordinary leadership abilities. He inspires confidence, commands respect, and sincerely believes that exceptional people are born to rule over others. The episode is brilliant precisely because it does not portray a dangerous leader as someone mediocre, but as someone exceptional. His qualities are real; the problem lies in what he believes he has the right to do with them.
Kirk respects his intelligence, Spock recognizes his abilities, and no one denies his greatness. Even so, the Enterprise understands that admiring someone does not mean entrusting them with power. Khan is neither humiliated nor executed, but his ambition proves incompatible with the safety of the community. This is a fundamental distinction: intelligence is not wisdom, eloquence is not responsibility, courage is not prudence, and charisma is not virtue. A mature society must learn to distinguish admiration from the ability to govern — something we often forget when we allow ourselves to be fascinated by figures such as Odorico Paraguaçu, Sinhozinho Malta, Marco Aurélio, or O Pai — characters from Brazilian television whose authority, theatricality, and larger-than-life personalities make them captivating. They all command the stage, capture attention, and stir emotions. But fascination and the ability to govern have never been the same thing.
After all, is admiration a sufficient criterion for entrusting someone with power? If the answer is no, we need to reconsider the qualities that guide our collective choices. And this is precisely where a figure very different from Khan, Odorico, or O Pai comes into view: someone unlikely to dominate social media, deliver fiery speeches, or become an audience sensation, but who may represent a model of leadership far more compatible with a truly prosperous future.
It Is Time to Talk About Clarêncio
Clarêncio and the Problem of Good Leadership
Before we go any further, an important clarification is in order. Many readers regard Clarêncio, from the works of André Luiz, particularly Nosso Lar, as a fictional character. Followers of Spiritism, on the other hand, tend to consider him a real individual whose personality was described through the mediumship of Chico Xavier. This essay does not seek to debate that question. Spiritism has historically presented itself as a doctrine that seeks to reconcile faith and reason, and Spiritists themselves often use the expression “reasoned faith” to describe their approach. Regardless of the reader’s position, our concern here is a different one: Clarêncio represents an archetype of leadership whose relevance extends beyond the debate over his objective existence.
What is most intriguing about Clarêncio is that he seems incompatible with the logic of spectacle that dominates much of contemporary public life. He does not humiliate his opponents. He does not deliver catchy sound bites. He does not turn disagreements into moral wars. He does not need permanent enemies to justify his authority. Nor does he show any desire to monopolize attention. His influence emerges from qualities that are far less dramatic and, for that very reason, far less appealing to a culture accustomed to entertainment. Clarêncio listens before he speaks. He guides before he commands. He teaches before he punishes. He seeks to develop people rather than make them dependent on him. When André Luiz arrives at Nosso Lar emotionally distressed, Clarêncio takes the time to listen to him. When he recognizes someone's potential, he does not draw that person into his own sphere of power; instead, he seeks to create the conditions for that person to grow independently. His authority derives from the trust he inspires, not from the fear he creates.
This is precisely why Clarêncio inspires less immediate fascination than characters such as Odorico Paraguaçu, Sinhozinho Malta, Khan Noonien Singh, or O Pai. Human beings tend to notice authority that asserts itself more readily than authority that serves. Theatrical power attracts attention. Quiet power requires observation. Manipulation is dramatic. Responsibility is discreet. Conflict makes headlines. Competence creates routines. As a result, we have learned to admire those who command the stage while often overlooking those who actually build the conditions that allow a community to function.
This observation leads us to a question far broader than a simple comparison between fictional characters.
Why Does This Matter for the Advent of Post-Scarcity?
Because the greatest challenge of Post-Scarcity will probably not be technological. It will be civilizational.
Much of today's debate about the future focuses on artificial intelligence, automation, biotechnology, clean energy, robotics, and production systems capable of exponentially increasing the supply of goods and services. All of this matters. Yet such discussions often rest on an implicit assumption: that material abundance will automatically solve humanity's most important problems. It is an appealing hypothesis, but one that is difficult to sustain.
History shows that prosperity and good governance are not synonymous. A society can be wealthy and profoundly disorganized. It can possess abundant resources and still waste them. It can have advanced technology and remain trapped in artificial conflicts. It can achieve extraordinary levels of productivity and still be unable to foster social cohesion, institutional trust, and political stability. The disappearance of material scarcity does not automatically eliminate the problems associated with human nature.
The central question, therefore, is not simply how to produce abundance. It is how to manage it. Who will coordinate increasingly complex systems? Who will make decisions about shared resources? Who will mediate conflicts in a context where basic survival is no longer the community's primary concern? Who will set priorities? Who will ensure the maintenance of the structures that make abundance itself possible?
These are cultural and moral questions before they are technological ones.
When we look at imaginary societies with high levels of development, we realize that what makes them appealing is not merely their wealth. It is the quality of their institutions, the maturity of their inhabitants, and their ability to cooperate. In this sense, regardless of each reader's beliefs, the society portrayed in Nosso Lar offers elements worthy of reflection. What stands out is not the absence of problems, but the presence of a culture committed to continuously improving its collective environment. Cleanliness, organization, harmonious urban planning, respect for shared spaces, and a commitment to education, work, and moral development appear as shared values. There is no perfection. There is effort. It is no paradise. It is a collective discipline directed toward building a better place to live.
This point is particularly important because Post-Scarcity requires more than new machines. It requires new ways of thinking. It requires citizens who value competence over performance, responsibility over theatrics, solutions over conflict, and cooperation over spectacle. A civilization surrounded by abundance will remain vulnerable if it continues to be fascinated by leaders who thrive on permanent polarization. No amount of technology can indefinitely compensate for a culture that rewards political showmanship at the expense of good governance.
Perhaps this is precisely where Clarêncio becomes relevant. Not because he represents perfection, but because he symbolizes a form of leadership devoted to building collective capabilities. His authority does not seek to create dependence. It seeks to foster autonomy. He does not turn followers into admirers. He seeks to turn them into collaborators. He does not concentrate his energy on his own image. He directs it toward the maintenance and improvement of the community.
And perhaps this is the fundamental difference between a technologically advanced society and one that is truly prepared for Post-Scarcity. The first merely produces abundance. The second learns how to govern it.
Because, ultimately, abundance does not eliminate the need for leadership. It simply makes the choice of which kind of leadership we choose to reward all the more important.
Bibliographical References
Foundational Works for the Thesis
BOOKCHIN, Murray. Post-Scarcity Anarchism. Oakland: AK Press, 2004.
BOOKCHIN, Murray. The Ecology of Freedom: The Emergence and Dissolution of Hierarchy. Palo Alto: Cheshire Books, 1982.
MCKEE, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting. New York: HarperCollins, 1997.
PAGANO, Luiz. Prospenomia: O Caminho para a Pós-Escassez ("Prospenomics: The Path to Post-Scarcity"). Available at: https://prospenomics.blogspot.com. Accessed November 8, 2026.
Politics, Power, Leadership, and Society
ARENDT, Hannah. The Human Condition.
ARENDT, Hannah. Between Past and Future.
DEBORD, Guy. The Society of the Spectacle.
LASCH, Christopher. The Culture of Narcissism.
ORTEGA Y GASSET, José. The Revolt of the Masses.
POPPER, Karl. The Open Society and Its Enemies.
TOCQUEVILLE, Alexis de. Democracy in America.
WEBER, Max. Economy and Society.
WEBER, Max. Politics as a Vocation.
Spiritism and Leadership Archetypes
KARDEC, Allan. The Spirits' Book. Brasília: FEB.
KARDEC, Allan. Genesis. Brasília: FEB.
XAVIER, Francisco Cândido. Nosso Lar ("Our Home"). Dictated by the spirit André Luiz. Rio de Janeiro: FEB.
XAVIER, Francisco Cândido. Os Mensageiros ("The Messengers"). Dictated by the spirit André Luiz. Rio de Janeiro: FEB.
Fiction, Narrative, and Popular Culture
ANDRADE, Mário de. Macunaíma: The Hero with No Character. São Paulo: Livraria Martins Editora, 1928.
MILTON, John. Paradise Lost. London, 1667.
Audiovisual Works Analyzed
O Bem-Amado ("The Beloved Man"). Created by Dias Gomes. Rede Globo, 1973.
Roque Santeiro. Created by Dias Gomes and Aguinaldo Silva. Rede Globo, 1985.
Gabriela. Adaptation of the novel by Jorge Amado. Rede Globo, 1975.
A Indomada. Created by Aguinaldo Silva and Ricardo Linhares. Rede Globo, 1997.
Vale Tudo. Created by Gilberto Braga, Aguinaldo Silva, and Leonor Bassères. Rede Globo, 1988.
Senhora do Destino. Created by Aguinaldo Silva. Rede Globo, 2004.
A Favorita. Created by João Emanuel Carneiro. Rede Globo, 2008.
Avenida Brasil. Created by João Emanuel Carneiro. Rede Globo, 2012.
Amor à Vida. Created by Walcyr Carrasco. Rede Globo, 2013.
Star Trek: The Original Series. Episode "Space Seed." NBC Television, 1967.
Methodological Note
This essay incorporates concepts originally developed by the author, particularly:
Prospenomics (or Prospenomia);
Populist Pantomime;
The distinction between "audience-driven leadership" and "governance-driven leadership";
The fictional concepts of NEMKÁ and NEMLÁ, featured in the work Heróis da Bruzundanga ("Heroes of Bruzundanga").
Its theoretical foundations, however, engage primarily with Murray Bookchin's concept of Post-Scarcity, Robert McKee's narrative theory, Guy Debord's analysis of the society of the spectacle, Hannah Arendt's reflections on power and political action, and the leadership models found in the Spiritist literature of André Luiz.
Indeed, if I had to summarize the intellectual argument of this essay in a single academic sentence, it would be:
"This work applies Robert McKee's narrative theory to explain the human attraction to performative leaders, draws on Murray Bookchin to frame the civilizational challenges of Post-Scarcity, and proposes, through Prospenomics, that the cultural maturity required to manage abundance demands that we overcome our traditional fascination with populist pantomimes."
Editorial note: I have retained the Brazilian titles of the television productions and literary works wherever possible, while providing English explanations at their first mention. This allows international readers to understand the cultural references without losing the original identity of the works.
The English editions and translated titles of the Spiritist works vary by publisher. For an academic version, it is preferable to retain the original Portuguese titles alongside the specific edition consulted.
