At the beginning of the 2025 academic year, I had a class in my master's program that deeply impacted me. We discussed the book Silent Spring by Rachel Carson, a work that lays bare the devastating impacts of human action on the environment. Coincidentally, that same week I taught a class on Plato at the Carolina Maria de Jesus popular prep course. And it was impossible not to draw a connection between those two moments.
In the classroom, we talked about the Allegory of the Cave. For Plato, we live trapped in a world of shadows—illusions we mistake for reality. But there is always the possibility of leaving the cave, of breaking free from these chains and seeing the world as it truly is. This process, however, is not easy—the first contact with the light is painful. The man who leaves the cave feels fear, confusion, and anguish.
At that moment, I thought: isn’t that exactly what we feel when we begin to study ecology in depth? When we truly dive into the data, the projections, the scientific and popular reports on the state of the planet? It’s as if, upon leaving the cave of ignorance or alienation, the light that hits us is too harsh: climate collapse, biodiversity loss, the advance of predatory agribusiness...
“If agribusiness doesn’t plant, the city doesn’t eat.” That’s a fallacy. The ones who truly feed the Brazilian people are smallholder and family farmers. Lumping large-scale producers into the same category and calling it all "agribusiness" is a discursive strategy to blur the line between those who profit from monocultures and exports and those who resist with diversity and food sovereignty. It’s a maneuver to erase identities and eliminate class distinctions. After all, when the enslaved fight among themselves, it’s the slave master who lives free.
Agro is not pop, it’s not tech, it’s not everything. Agro kills, pollutes, and destroys. This marketing campaign is yet another expression of what Marx called the fetishism of commodities—when the real history of production, its relationships of exploitation and violence, is erased and replaced with a clean, modern, and desirable image. The Frankfurt School had already warned us about how the culture industry manipulates the masses, manufacturing consent and naturalizing oppressive systems. Agribusiness has become a marketing product, and the forest has been turned into the enemy.
The main and essential tool of capitalism is exploitation. When someone is profiting, someone else is being exploited—and someone is losing. When agribusiness is winning, nature is being exploited, and the whole world is losing. The same agribusiness that claims it needs to expand agricultural frontiers to feed 8 billion people is the one that discards tons of food to raise market prices, while “small” farmers and popular movements like the MST donate tons of food to those in need.
At this rate, we don’t need to worry about feeding a population of 10 billion people by 2050—because if we continue exploiting nature as violently as we do today, there won’t be a world left for us to live in. Or rather: the world will still be here; we are the ones who will disappear. Ironically, even those who most fiercely oppose the movement will end up, one way or another, "Earth"less.
Seeing and understanding this reality can be overwhelming—but then comes the question: how do we move forward from here?
We must have faith in a better world. But faith alone is not enough. We need hope—but, as Paulo Freire teaches us, we cannot simply wait. We must hope through action. Active, not passive, hope. To "esperançar" is to act with our feet on the ground and our eyes on the horizon. It is to build, step by step, collectively, a future different from the one sold to us as inevitable.
“Ecology without class struggle is just gardening.” The ecological crisis will not be solved without confronting the structures of domination that created it. Let this eco-anxiety not become a paralyzing, suffocating fear—but rather an urgency in the truest sense: a deep yearning for a better world. May it push us toward collective, conscious, and sustainable action. Because we don’t just want to resist—we want to live. And to live, to hope, and to yearn today is a profoundly revolutionary act.