Before the Debate Began

A visual chronicle of the hours before Brazil’s first presidential debate

My work is divided between assignments for international publications and long-term personal projects. When the opportunity came to attend the first presidential debate of this election, and the first confrontation between the two candidates who received the most votes, I felt it made sense to tell that day in a different way. I wanted to build a visual chronicle, following not only the debate itself, but what was taking shape around it.

​

After the first round, or perhaps long before that, São Paulo was already crossed by politics. That Sunday there were demonstrations and gatherings on both sides, but also concerts, cultural events, people working, moving through the city, meeting friends. On social media, it seemed there was no other subject but the debate. In the streets, it existed mixed with everything else. The election marked the city, but it did not suspend it.

​

I woke up early, prepared my equipment and crossed São Paulo by subway and bus to the Band studios. I have only been living in the city for a short time, and at one point I was almost taking the wrong bus when a couple who had previously worked at the studios told me where I should get off. As an educator, I often tell my students to arrive early, leave last, allow themselves to take the wrong route, get a little lost, and pay attention to what happens before, after and around what they think they are supposed to photograph. That day, I followed my own advice and had my own day as a student too.

​

I was the first photographer to arrive. I knew I would still have to wait a few hours before being allowed into the studios, and that did not bother me. I have always thought of photography as an art of waiting as well. Waiting itself allows you to notice things that disappear when all attention is focused on the main event.

​

It was my first presidential debate. From the experiences colleagues had shared with me, I already had some idea of how that kind of coverage worked, but being there had its own atmosphere, something between euphoria and concentration. When we were finally allowed into the studios, there were lights, structures, cables, technicians and people moving everywhere. For a few moments, it looked like the preparation for a major show.

​

The press that was not part of the Band group was placed inside a fenced-off area. From that point on, the scene was familiar: photographers looking for position, journalists trying to secure access, crews calculating the moment and the speed needed to produce and transmit their images. Once they had secured their places, many simply waited, some leaning on the barriers, others sitting on small stools they had brought precisely to gain a few extra centimeters when it was time to photograph.

​

The main expectation was the image of the two candidates together on stage. When it finally happened, the sound of the shutters around me left little doubt that the photograph had been made many times and, probably, with the technical and editorial precision the moment required. I photographed it too. But a question that often follows my work came back to me: what exists beyond the image everyone already expects to receive?

​

Throughout the day, I moved between photography and video, and I was able to move closer to and farther from situations with some freedom. It was not about rejecting the necessary image or trying to be different for its own sake. I wanted to understand what was happening around it and what might disappear when all attention was concentrated on that single moment.

​

At one point, there was an entire structure of cameras and microphones prepared to receive the candidates before they entered the studio. Journalists waited, photographers waited, the positions were taken. But because of the delay, the candidates followed the official protocol and went directly to the debate. The structure remained there, ready, but without the image everyone had been waiting for. What remained were the microphones, the cameras, the lights and the waiting.

​

That made me think again about the idea of spectacle. There was staging, expectation, performance and a huge structure set up to produce images. But there was also absence, unpredictability and long periods when almost nothing happened. That part of the process interested me as much as the central moment.

​

I met colleagues I had previously known only online, saw Lula from close range, and watched the atmosphere change as the time of the debate approached. The tension between the two sides grew. When the main cameras were finally switched on and the candidates entered, I had already spent the entire day moving toward that moment.

​

In the end, I was left with the feeling that I had gone there to photograph a debate and found something broader: a city marked by the election, a long wait, a structure prepared to produce images, and a series of situations that would hardly fit into the most expected photograph of the night. By the time I finally reached the stage, it felt as if the debate had already been happening for hours.