Vade Mecum, part 1

When he finally made it to university, he chose to study engineering, to be as close as possible to what he considered a "blue-collar worker" with a higher education. A worker.

There was a certain political aspect to this choice, because his schoolmates came from a higher socioeconomic background than his own, and he perceived a kind of proselytism in the "sermons" they delivered in favor of the proletariat, of the so-called "underprivileged."

The more his classmates claimed to defend position A, the more they behaved like B, yet with a clear conscience thanks to the speeches-prayers they made. The idea of the "intellectual worker" sounded false to him and conflicted with their discourse in favor of agricultural and industrial workers, of the sickle and the hammer—those who sweated and got their hands and feet dirty.

Deep down, what they really wanted was to make a living through bureaucracy and planning, in air-conditioned office buildings here and buildings with fireplaces during the winter elsewhere, where they would carry out endless studies financed either by their families or by scholarships obtained through fraternities or institutions where millionaires deducted their supposedly "redistributive" donations from their income taxes. Since he believed these, let us say, "aristocratic" attitudes, behaviors, and choices were not even conscious, he got along with them quite well.

Life went on, and about ten years after graduating as an engineer, he met some of those former classmates again. He did not like what he saw or heard. They had become increasingly alienated and militant, increasingly convinced that they were defenders of the poor and the oppressed, increasingly convinced they possessed the solutions to society's problems, without realizing the hypocrisy and utopian nature of what they were saying.

He realized that something was missing from his cultural background if he was even to understand and express himself in that environment, because by taking refuge in the productive side of society, he had become a producer, subordinate to the "new foremen," now called administrators, economists, and sociologists.

One day, a newly hired lawyer at the company where he worked, having run out of better arguments, told him that he could not be right because he knew nothing about "law." He did not like that.

Although he understood that society requires a dura lex sed lex, he believed that justice is one thing, while laws and procedures are another. He liked to point out that, according to the law, women once could not vote, and slavery was perfectly "legal." In fact, unfortunately, this is still the case in some countries and cultures. Such is so-called "customary law," characteristic of primitive societies, of people with simpler ways of thinking, or of those most vulnerable to indoctrination.

He decided to take the university entrance examination again and study either History or Law, trying to better understand the process by which "those who organize themselves rule," while those devoted to production have no time for anything beyond producing and paying taxes.

Since he enjoyed reading and general culture, it seemed like a good idea. He took the entrance exam and was admitted to his first choice: the best law school in his city. As he needed to work, the only time available to him was at night, so he enrolled in the evening program.

It was 1979. The new president, inaugurated on March 15, 1979, was General Figueiredo, whose Chief of Staff was General Golbery do Couto e Silva (who had already held that office during the previous administration of President General Geisel). Golbery was regarded as the great strategist behind Brazilian politics and the military regime, earning the nickname "the Wizard."

Among the approximately forty classmates in the evening program, his age was somewhere in the middle. Broadly speaking, the evening class consisted of young men and women who needed to work for a living, many people who had decided later in life to pursue higher education in order to advance their careers, and others whose sole interest was to increase their retirement benefits when employed by the State, whether civilians or military personnel.

Those studying law out of a genuine calling to become lawyers were few. Judicial careers, besides offering power and prestige, already paid above the market average. Therefore, there were also those preparing for competitive examinations to become prosecutors, public defenders, judges—in short, future bureaucrats.

The class soon realized that he was, and intended to remain, an engineer. He was studying law for intellectual pleasure and general culture. He would be neither a competitor nor an adversary. He integrated easily into the group, delighted with half the professors and horrified by the other half. He often said that, in that school, he had found both the best and the worst professors he had ever known.

At the beginning of the second year (third semester), the class had already realized that some professors would tolerate neither dialogue nor disagreement and would "persecute" anyone who dared challenge them. They had to be confronted. On a day when he happened to be absent, he was elected class representative, despite the protest of another student who wanted the position—a matter that was quickly settled. Naturally, he had been chosen because, as a dilettante student, he could afford to expose himself more.

That is exactly what happened. He had to confront the regrettable professors of "Sociology of Law" and "Political Law." Yet he retains only fond memories of that class of fellow students.

In some important subjects, the professors left no lasting impression on him—for example, "General Theory of the State." However, three professors profoundly influenced him, partly because of the subjects they taught, partly because of their broad culture, partly because of the knowledge and experience they conveyed, and all three because of their dedication: Maurice Assuf (a private attorney), who taught History of National Law; Celso Albuquerque Melo (judge of the Maritime Court), who taught Public International Law and authored an excellent textbook on the subject; and Antonio Vicente da Costa Jr. (a police officer and, at the time, Director of DESIPE, the state prison system), who taught Criminal Law. All three appeared to be between fifty and sixty years old. He recalls one anecdote about each of them, told in other chronicles under the same caput: Vade Mecum (Parts 2, 3, and 4).

He left law school at the beginning of the fourth year (today the seventh semester), once he realized that Procedural Law had come to dominate the curriculum. For someone seeking culture, it had become uninteresting.

From the three years he spent in law school, he reached the following conclusions:

Ø In law, what is truly interesting is Substantive Law, but it rarely works, rarely makes money, and is rarely recognized (and when it is, recognition usually comes posthumously—or almost).

Ø Any branch of knowledge can become interesting and eventually easy.

Ø When there are inspiring people genuinely willing to teach for reasons beyond the paycheck at the end of the month, it is easier and quicker to develop an interest.

Ø Everything is interesting. To sail is necessary; to know is necessary as well.

Acknowledgments to colleague Paulo Ramalho for helping recover some memories; fond remembrance of Guido, Onésimo, Clara, Solange, Edgar, Elaine, Joanes, and Último. Let this stand as a record.

Miguel Fernández y Fernández, engineer, chronicler, and columnist, member of the National Academy of Engineering and the Engineering Institute # written in 2024Nov/Dec R2025DecRd, 6,470 characters