Since Unicamp implemented the quota policy for black, brown and indigenous people, I have proud of the transformations we have had in our university, in the classrooms, research groups, in the many paths of Unicamp. I wonder if they will be teachers like me, if they will be dentists or architects or poets or doctors... if they will play the trumpet in our orchestra.
But today, I want to say goodbye to a student who won't be coming. Young Apollo will never walk these sidewalks, and I don't know if he - as the name suggested - would like sports and be a great athlete... or if he would write funny stories, or make romantic songs, or be an engineer. Would he do biology? Or would he be a great physicist?
No, Apollo will not come! Apollo was forgotten in a van that should have taken him to school, where he began his formal learning path.
Apollo won't come. Apollo spent countless hours trapped in the heat, until he died; until a healthy child died. I have a granddaughter, exactly two years old, who is starting to go to school, too. For a few brief moments I put myself in the pain of these parents and grandparents and I feel it unbearable.
Forgetfulness? How do you forget a life — and a life in bloom — somewhere? How can we forget this happened? How can we forget Apollo?
May your death not be in vain, Apollo.
Our indignation and longing remains, as he will not come.
