Shadows of the Past - OPINION - Brazil FEB 4, 2026

Photo of the Flamengo neighborhood by an unknown photographer

Shadows of the Past - OPINION - Brazil

By Luisa Maria Sarmento Soares

It's summer. The terrifying noise of chainsaws in action worries residents in the Flamengo neighborhood, in the southern zone of Rio de Janeiro. The sound was only interrupted after the execution of seventy-one death sentences. In the name of urban expansion, measured in new utilitarian areas of enormous concrete constructions. From one day to the next, the green of the once Bennett College became a void of life.

It was a silence felt on the skin, in the warm breath of the wind. In the heavy stillness where, before, there was the murmur of leaves and the laughter of birds.

The shade of the tree invites us to simply be there. A place where the city, for its intricate gears, pauses. It paralyzes the torrid sun that beats down in the summer. But how can we give them the deserved protagonism?

The trees, all of them, have their name. They are almond trees, jackfruit trees, ipê trees, ironwood trees, silk floss trees, palm trees, and so many others. They are not isolated—they form corridors of life. A pitanga tree, along with a guava tree and a pepper tree on the sidewalk, can feed thrushes, tanagers, and opossums. These animals, in turn, disperse seeds, pollinate flowers, and maintain an intricate living web functioning in the middle of the city. When a group of mature trees falls, it's not just the vegetation that is suppressed. Nests, environments, and a veritable "food court" are destroyed, breaking the network. And we need them too. Whether they are native or exotic, it doesn't matter. We are citizens of the world, too. They are the free therapy that calms, the air conditioning that doesn't weigh on the electricity bill. If not to maintain the mental sanity of those who wander along tree-lined paths, then to mitigate the effects of a warming planet.

And history repeats itself. On the other side of Guanabara Bay, the wooded grounds of the Miraflores school in the Icaraí neighborhood of neighboring Niterói were also condemned to become a high-rise building. I was born in Rio, in Tijuca, and I saw all this happen. But I will not remain silent.

Why is the destiny of cities in the gray of concrete? Can't 21st-century architects blend utilitarian and green structures at the same time? Rain gardens? Linear parks along the banks of streams? Like sponge cities, how about that?

The pain of losing the trees in Flamengo is real and necessary. It hurts a lot. But it will not be in vain. New public policies alluding to the rights of nature are already being designed. May the memory of this group of trees make us look with renewed gratitude and vigilance at the opportunities in our own neighborhood. And, above all, may it keep us attentive to demand and build new green spaces.

Because the true chronicle of the city is written in the roots that anchor the ground, in the branches that break the wind, in our steps on the soil of leaves and flowers, and above all in the shadows, always generous, that invite us to stop, breathe, and move on.