This Tuesday (17), Vinicius Jr. had to go through yet another test on how far his patience, his greatness and his desire to play football go. This time it came from the field of play and the Brazilian had to continue sharing space with his attacker. Giuliano Prestianni is a coward who throws the stone and hides his hand. Speaking while putting the t-shirt in your mouth is also a confession of guilt.
Here we are to learn, as a society, from Vinicius’ example. Since he decided not to lower his head and denounce the constant insults, Vini has shown that the black man who rebels and raises his voice is insolent and a generator of problems. Yes, the logic is the opposite and the victim is the one who creates the turmoil, in the head of a society in which the dominant voices are white.
This time, the lesson seems very clear to me: Vini —and black people— are alone when it comes to denouncing. In a football game broadcast across the planet, one of the most popular players of his generation finds himself powerless when trying to denounce the aggression when he encounters the barrier of “one word against another”.
If this happens with Vinicius and a multitude of cameras around him, it is not difficult to imagine what happens on the outskirts, in work environments, in traffic or during police approaches. It’s impossible for a white person like me to imagine how much explicit or structural violence is swept under the rug because it would all come down to the “alleged victim” version versus the “alleged aggressor.”
Football is this great metaphor for the world and the planet saw this week that the aggressor continues in the same environment as the victim, unpunished and cynical, working normally.
What are the chances of Prestianni paying for what (we need to put it this way) he “supposedly” did? Players who witnessed the scene must report it. Killyan Mbappé went to the microphones after the game to say that he heard the “monkey” insult five times. Benfica teammates should also speak out. When the others remain silent, they leave Vinicius alone and his voice loses strength.
The same happens outside a football field. If we witness it and pretend we didn’t hear it, if we don’t report it, if we don’t endorse the defense, it becomes very difficult for an aggressor to pay for what he did. Because, at the end of the day, the vast majority of the time, it will be one person’s word against another’s.
The next step is to understand what Benfica will do. For now, he defends his player and says that Vinicius misunderstood what was said (according to Tchouameni, from Real Madrid, Prestianni claimed to call Vinicius a “maricon”). Will the club continue casting him as if nothing had happened? In the next game, will the fans sing your name? Will the black players in the locker room consider the case a big misunderstanding?
This situation is also analogous to others that we experience outside the four lines. A relative, a work companion, a childhood friend. Is it easier to act when we are close to the victim than the aggressor?
A football game can teach us many things. When Vinicius Jr. is on the field, much more. We have to learn that a player capable of scoring a great goal and deciding a match is also capable of remaining on the field fighting even though he knows that the most cruel enemy is on the other side, with the cruel coldness of the law on his side. Just like black people do in Brazil and around the world, every day.
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