In the 60s, my mother, a countryside primary education school teacher, who little or nothing knew about politics, burned not few of my books, as well as some articles. Not for censorship, but out of fear and love for her son.

Mrs. Clotilde was no exception. In those tumultuous days, many mothers took similar measures. The political police, at the time, adopted the stupid strategy to search for books that preached or suggested socialism or communism.

And whoever had them would be submitted to trying moments until they could explain the reason for their possession. Back then, even The Red and the Black, by Stendhal, had been apprehended.

Had the title any trace of red, it certainly was subversive. Left-wingers had a ball with such illiterate zeal and began labeling the military as troglodytes. In large part, they were correct.

When I started my daily column in Porto Alegre, I got Mrs. Clotilde a subscription of my newspaper, so that she could stay current on her son's goings-on. One instance, frightened, she wrote me: "Son, why don't you speak of flowers? There are beautiful flowers in Brazil."

It just so happened that mine was not a botanic column. To this day, my mom's naïve - but well-intended - concern moves me. Yet, the naïveté of the Supreme Ignoramus - ignoramus, yet very cunning - does not move me.

Recently, President Lula had been complaining that television only reports on national disgraces. According to the newspaper Folha de S. Paulo, he said that Brazilians have the habit of only showing the country's tragedies.

"We allow that only disgraces be shown and don't display the virtues, without denying the existence of adversities," he stated.

Once again, he was stricken by providential amnesia: he seems to have forgotten that - during his opposition days - all he could see were disgraces within the administrations in power, and no virtues.

According to the President, violence "plays against Brazil" when it comes to marketing the country abroad. "That cannot be denied, but we must also expose the good things as well."

Will he revisit the military days, when only the very good things were put on display, so nicely as a matter of fact, at embassies and consulates all over the world?

Gorgeous mulattas, with generous gluteus, Christ The Redeemer, Sugar Loaf, mulattas again, soccer and vitórias-régias (native plants with large leaves), Pelé-Garrincha, more mulattas, coconut trees, shadows, fresh water, the Seven Falls (waterfall), and finally more mulattas.

Back then, it was the best of Brazil, under the perspective of the military and the Itamaraty (Exterior Ministry).

President Lula also criticized the TV networks: "If a person only watches television, he/she will get the idea that the Northeast is nothing but drought, that there's widespread violence in Rio, and São Paulo is all about kidnappings. Then, the person stays home and travels the entire country via television. We must show off our good things."

It would be nice to resuscitate the documentaries by Jean Manzon, who when filming the "caatinga" (region of extremely dry vegetation in the Northeast) was even able to transplant a cactus to the cracks of a dried-out muddy dam, in order to better put together his footage of Brazil.

Next, Lula went back to citing the Northeast, region where he was born. "The only way people see news of the Northeast is through the misery: when there's overwhelming drought, then they see cattle dying and people carrying water buckets on their heads, or when there's flooding, they watch people die from drowning.

"In summary, between drought and flooding nothings exists. But indeed there are beautiful beaches, historical sites, and wonderful cities. And that's what we have to spread to the world."

I don't know whether the Supreme Ignoramus read count Affonso Celso. If he didn't read the classic handbook "Because I take pride in my country" (Porque me ufano de meu país), despite not taking notice of it, the President now wants to bring it back to life.

In an era when there was no television to reveal the horrors that horrify the President, land invasions, favela shootings, abandoned children out on the streets, deteriorated capital cities as a result of administrators' disregard, Affonso Celso could afford the luxury of praising the Amazon, "one of nature's wonder, the greatest river in the world. One of its islands, Marajó, in size, exceeds Switzerland. The river fights against the ocean: beats it."

Or the Paulo Affonso Falls: "Americans have immense pride in their Niagara Falls, which Chateaubriand (the mega-media entrepreneur of the mid-20th century) called - a water column of the deluge. Brazil has an equal wonder, if not greater - the Paulo Affonso Falls. All the enchantment, fear, and wonder found in the former is present in the latter.

Or our celebrated rain forests: "In Brazil's virgin woods - that take up as much space as large States, lie one of creation's most sumptuous spectacles. It outshines the ocean in mystery, environmental diversity, abundance of life, in magnificence, it humbles and strips away human intelligence, bringing to light the notion of a superior force that reigns over our planet (...)

"All senses are then in ecstasy. It brings joy to all our artistic instincts. In effect, Brazilian jungles bring us masterpieces in architecture, sculpture, music, painting, and, above all, divine poetry."

And not to mention our noble national predicates, for the record: sentiment of independence, hospitality, affection for peace, order, and betterment, patience and resignation, sweetness, magnanimity, scruples in executing obligations at hand.

"On the nation's countryside, one would be considered irrational to suggest defaulting on debts." Honor in conducting private and public affairs. And on and on.

Brazilian television is stepping away from these poetic divine instances, in order to put on view Indians raping women and "bugres" (a pejorative reference to native feisty Indians) trouncing gold miners.

In lieu of magnificent waterfalls bestowed on us by God, television speaks of rivers that in fifteen minutes of rain, similarly to the oueds in the Sahara, turn São Paulo into a tropical Venice.

Rather than the "noble national predicates", crook senators, venal judges and house representatives, employees diverting state funds to tax havens, corrupt police, mafias in control of cities, kidnappers abducting children and the elderly, Church and NGOs defending criminals.

The neo-Affonso Celso, comfortably settled in on Fantasy Island, certainly has not witnessed any of that. His paper shufflers probably provide him, every morning, with clippings ad usum delphim.

Insofar as to, recently, having said we are living in a sea of roses. Why disturb the Supreme Mandatory with this national day-to-day minutia?

Why in the world, then, doesn't TV show us flowers? Because our journalists aren't inspired by that nostalgic Chinese and Soviet press of the last century, which would only put on display great feats, impressive numbers, superb speeches by the authorities, and news of "mornings that hum"?

There's something wrong in our press - and toward that our President is pointing. He's pressed to leading it in the right direction, making it more sensitive to the roses that ornate our seas.

As Mrs. Clotilde would say: Why don't you speak of flowers? If on that small island called Cuba journalists have already discovered this task assignment, why would their Brazilian colleagues not do the same, in this blessed nation, where reasons to be proud are aplenty?

Janer Cristaldo - he holds a PhD from University of Paris, Sorbonne - is an author, translator, lawyer, philosopher and journalist and lives in São Paulo. His e-mail address is janercr@terra.com.br.

Translated from the Portuguese by Eduardo Assumpção de Queiroz. He is a freelance translator, with a degree in Business and almost 20 years of experience working in the fields of economics, communications, social and political sciences, and sports. He lives in São Paulo, Brazil. His email: eaqus@terra.com.br.

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