On March 4, Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva sent an ambitious bill to the National Congress, aiming to regulate work carried out via ride-hailing apps. Among other provisions, the bill contains stipulations on minimum pay and working hours as well as unionization for drivers and compulsory pension contributions. While announcing the bill, Labor Minister Luiz Marinho—who declared that he had worn a pink shirt “in honor of” Women’s History Month—stated that drivers had so far been suffering from a “false sense of freedom,” since “workers were being enslaved by long working hours and low pay.”
On March 4, Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva sent an ambitious bill to the National Congress, aiming to regulate work carried out via ride-hailing apps. Among other provisions, the bill contains stipulations on minimum pay and working hours as well as unionization for drivers and compulsory pension contributions. While announcing the bill, Labor Minister Luiz Marinho—who declared that he had worn a pink shirt “in honor of” Women’s History Month—stated that drivers had so far been suffering from a “false sense of freedom,” since “workers were being enslaved by long working hours and low pay.”
But the public response to the proposed law portrays a more complicated reality. Drivers have staged protests throughout the country, and the bill faces an uphill battle in Congress. The new measures, protesters claim, are unhelpful and potentially damaging. As one driver pointed out quite simply, she makes her money based on the kilometers driven, not the hours worked. While certainly not denying that they face tough working conditions, drivers are highly skeptical of what they feel are government-imposed regulations that may affect their earnings.
Beyond mere antiquated and condescending paternalism, the ride-hailing app bill reflects the deep-rooted convictions of the—mostly older and male—leaders of Lula’s Workers’ Party (PT). The PT was forged in the crucible of the massive metalworkers’ strikes in the late 1970s, as the country’s military regime was loosening restrictions on popular mobilization and factory workers in São Paulo began to flex their muscles. Those successful experiences also firmly established one of the key forms of mediation between PT leaders and supporters, even as the party grew far beyond the São Paulo metropolitan area: the traditional factory union.
The problem is that neither the PT nor its allies on the left seem to have fully understood the momentous demographic shifts that have been taking place over the past two decades. As former President Jair Bolsonaro picked up on some years ago, in addition to its strong conservative vein, Brazil is an increasingly lower-middle-class country, disillusioned with corruption, the state of public services, and the overall business environment. If it is to prevail—both now and in the long run—then political messaging from the left will have to be adjusted to appeal to the almost 100 million people who fall in that bracket. Unlike Bolsonaro and other leaders on the right who increasingly thrive in gaining support from that group, Lula has struggled to shore up its support.
To some degree, Lula’s victory in 2022 was a result of voters rejecting Bolsonaro more than actually embracing Lula. It was an incredibly marginal win. With a slightly less confrontational and seemingly more managerially competent candidate, such as São Paulo Gov. (and ex-Bolsonaro minister) Tarcísio de Freitas, the far right could very well defeat the progressive left again. The PT is well aware of this: The poorly devised app-hailing bill was in fact meant to entice the country’s 1.5 million “platform workers”—people whose income comes primarily from services facilitated by digital platforms. The problem is that the PT—and its associated unions—are unable to see these workers as anything other than exploited labor, even though they prize their autonomy, earning 5.4 percent more on average than the national average for other types of workers. One may even wonder who the bill was truly designed to benefit: the drivers or PT-friendly unions.
Ironically, it was Lula himself, during his first two terms as president, who can largely be credited with creating this new, electorally vital lower-middle class. The success of Lula’s economic and social policies resulted in extraordinary growth rates and a reduction of economic inequality between 2003 and 2010.
The right says that Lula was merely lucky: He happened to lead the country at a time when emerging markets produced a global commodities boom that Brazil was ready to exploit, selling goods such as grain and iron ore to a fast-growing Asia. When the boom subsided, Brazil’s economy crashed. Lula’s hand-picked successor—President Dilma Rousseff, also of the PT—was unable to revert the downward spiral, providing proof, allegedly, of the PT’s economic incompetence.
But if his detractors are right and all Lula did was ride a wave of global demand—without establishing the foundations of sustained growth—then at least he rode it spectacularly well. Lula and his PT administration elevated 20 million people out of destitution. The administration brought electricity to remote locations for the first time, built millions of homes, and put cash into people’s hands so they could buy household appliances that were previously unthinkable. It became easier to access public health services, go to school, and earn a university degree. Health outcomes improved dramatically. Internet access became widespread. Many people traveled abroad for the first time.
The hallmark of that success, in fact, was Bolsa Família, a much-lauded conditional cash-transfer program that was founded essentially on the premise that poor people needed support, and that they—and not party bigwigs—knew best what to do with it.
But far beyond poverty reduction, the result of these policies was the expansion of a middle class of go-getting small entrepreneurs and young professionals. Previously relegated to the informal economy, small businesses have now had a taste of prosperity. It took a Colombian entrepreneur, David Vélez, to recognize the unmet demand for financial products, and his branchless, tech-centered, and Generation Z-focused Nubank, established in 2013, is now worth $44 billion, having completely upended Brazil’s heavily concentrated and unimaginative banking system. Among the financially savvy youth, trading on the stock market has become so popular that YouTube investment influencers now have millions of followers. These are people who now want a better business environment, lower taxes, and improved public security.
But the left, having created this budding middle class, has largely abandoned it. The PT has been unable to address the conundrum that many former beneficiaries of progressive social policies are people with relatively conservative values. They attend church, work two to three shifts each day, and often study for a degree in the evening. They see themselves as strivers who don’t need a leg up so much as they need the path in front of them to be cleared. They do not feel represented by the PT’s long-standing dual strategy of strong social policies for the poorest segments combined with lavish subsidies and interventions in sacred cow industries. They also feel personally attacked and patronized when left-wing intellectuals berate right-wing politicians and church leaders for their conservative worldviews. Somewhere along the way, the middle ground was lost.
It does not have to be this way. It is not that the left should abandon its necessary condemnation of populist hate speech. Neither should the left quit supporting those who need help the most. The Bolsonaro years were atrocious for Indigenous people, especially in Yanomami territory, where thousands of children became malnourished and deaths of children under the age of 5 jumped 29 percent. Violence against the LGBTQ community remains chronically and alarmingly elevated, and Brazil has the highest incidence of transgender and queer murders globally. Not only has the right failed to halt this, they have emboldened the perpetrators. Freitas, the aforementioned governor of São Paulo, has overseen an explosion in killings carried out by police officers, a chilling presage of what could happen should he win the next presidential election, in 2026.
However, if it is to remain electorally dominant, the left should also come up with a program for the new middle class. What will the PT do for small businesses owners who are depleted by urban violence and protection rackets? Will it manage to improve access to credit, allowing small businesses to keep borrowing and growing? Will red tape be cut, or will Lula maintain his bloated, overpaid, and often inefficient public sector? Will the PT address corruption seriously, or merely sweep it under the rug?
So far, beyond a promising but still unproven tax reform plan passed by Congress in December, Lula has provided few answers to these questions. Though Bolsonaro, for his part, also failed to deliver on these demands, the right has at least made consistent reference to them in recent years.
The PT is skillful at courting Faria Lima—São Paulo’s Wall Street. Top bankers and pro-market economists declared support for Lula in the second round of the 2022 elections. But these elite figures, while important, do not carry sufficient electoral weight. It is the millions of disenfranchised, lower-middle-class voters that Lula needs to win back.
Otherwise, they will fall into a far-right opponent’s arms. Smart economic measures would go a long way toward healing the country’s growing polarization.
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