Cemeteries are not the safest places, at least not in São Paulo. You can’t just go there on a “tour” as you would in countries where this tour is actually a tourist attraction. And the poorer the neighbourhood, the more dangerous it would be to place a foot there. It hasn’t always been like that, though. Thirty or forty years ago, to go for a walk in a cemetery during lunch break was a common activity - it was peaceful, and it was safe.

But in the 21st century, the only safest day for adventuring through the gates of this sacred place is November 2nd. They increase surveillance, like if it were a normal thing to protect, during one single day, those who pay their respect to the ones they once loved – apparently, being in pain is not enough punishment to those who are grieving, maybe they need to be mugged as well while trying to leave flowers to those who are not here anymore. 

Maybe, like myself, a ton of history enthusiasts take this opportunity as a chance to see with their own eyes a little of São Paulo’s memory hidden among the graves – not that I know anyone who enjoys doing so.

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2025 was the second year in a row that I spent walking through the cemetery in my neighbourhood. Last year I didn’t pay much attention because I had to be quick on my visit, but this year I took the time to really look at the graves and the names on them, if only there were names to be read. Remember how I said it was not safe to walk in cemeteries, even during daylight? There is a reason for that.

Criminals are running wild inside those walls, they steal everything that can be sold. Small plaques with individual names, big plaques with the name of the family. You know the little iron gates, through which we can see the coffins? Some of them are gone too, and since people don’t care much about fixing them, they are being replaced by a thick plastic bag or a cheap wooden square. The statues are being destroyed (not by the wind), there are no places to sit and reflect (not even the pictures of the deceased are being spared). The only good thing I can say is that the cemetery was clean – or maybe it was clean on November 2nd, whereas during the other 364 days of the year it remains under broken bottles of cheap wine, used syringes and cigarette butts.

Brazilians have many good qualities, but preserving history (or even liking its history) is not one of them – people here couldn't care less about their past. While I was walking in the cemetery, I noticed a person who was born a few months before the coup that overthrew the Brazilian monarchy and forced the Royal Family of Brazil into exile. I saw countless immigrants, most of them from Italy (the most beautiful graves belonged to immigrants, by the way), and some with surnames that I have never seen in my life. It breaks my heart to see Brazil’s memory becoming such a disposable asset, but what is left for me to do except write all of this?