Rodrigo Pozzobon's smile is an expression of bewilderment, as if he is unable to comprehend his good fortune. It is the toothy, giddy expression of a man who has recently discovered treasure. In a sense, he has. The 35-year-old is currently experiencing a surge that has received minimal attention from his peers and even less from the global community, despite being located over 1,000 km west of Brazil's major coastal states and closer to the Pacific Ocean than Rio de Janeiro, as the crow flies. One of Brazil's soyabean leaders is Pozzobon. He could easily be mistaken for a Faria Limer, a member of the São Paulo affluent who resides, works, and plays in the city's financial district, as he was attired in crisp T-shirts and suede loafers. However, Pozzobon's origins are deeply rooted in the far-western state of Mato Grosso in Brazil. In the 1980s, his father was employed by a cooperative to work the property before establishing his own farm. Currently, Pozzobon junior possesses two properties and two residences. São Paulo is only beneficial for the occasional weekend excursion. "I am unable to envision residing in any other location," he states in English before transitioning to Portuguese as his enthusiasm surpasses his linguistic capabilities. "The profits in this location are excessive."
Mato Grosso, a state that spans nearly twice the size of Spain
Has emerged as one of the world's foremost producers of a commodity that is so profitable that the locals refer to it as "green gold" over the past two decades. It is a boom that has been fueled by the emergence of populist leaders, such as Brazilian president Jair Bolsonaro, who is revered by many in Mato Grosso, and the increasing demand for agricultural products in China.In recent years, Brazil's international reputation has been tarnished by the manner in which environmental destruction and resource exploitation have been conducted. Mato Grosso, which translates to "thick forest" in Portuguese, is currently characterized by expansive, level agricultural plantations that bear a striking resemblance to the American Midwest. Illicit deforestation has emerged as a hotspot in the state's northern regions, where this landscape intersects with the Amazon rainforest. These are not subjects that significantly influence Pozzobon's thoughts. Money and advancement are the norm, and he is optimistic. "They would continue to purchase our soybeans, as they have no alternative," he asserts, despite the fact that we could physically assault them. "There is no other place for them to purchase." For centuries, Brazil was dominated by coastal states, including Bahia and Rio de Janeiro. The focus of Latin America's largest nation was shifted inland during the 20th century as a result of the construction of Brasília as the political center and the development of industrial São Paulo. It is currently in the process of relocating, this time into previously inaccessible regions. Mato Grosso is a vast frontier territory that is playing a critical role in the nation's future, in stark contrast to the extended economic downturns that have drained the vitality of cities such as São Paulo and Rio.
The very concept of Brazil is also being transformed by its ascent
The euphoria of the first decade of the millennium, during which the country was transformed into an international darling as a result of the commodities boom's rapid development, has long since dissipated. Crime and destitution have skyrocketed. Democratic institutions are fragile, and corruption remains deeply ingrained. Bolsonaro, a former army commander who is frequently vulgar, enjoys substantial domestic support; however, his rhetoric regarding human rights and the environment is gradually but steadily transforming the nation into an international pariah. While the nation is grappling with an identity crisis, the residents and employees of Mato Grosso advocate for an alternative narrative. Their frontier land tells a tale of opportunity and faith. According to Francisco Olavo Pugliesi de Castro of Famato, a group that advocates for agricultural producers in the state, it is "a new Brazil that even Brazilians are unaware of."From south to north, the BR-163 bisects Brazil with minimal interruptions. The road in Mato Grosso is straight, which should make traveling a straightforward process. It is not. A fleet of white pickup trucks, a symbol of prosperity for the region's wealthy landowners, competes for automotive supremacy with an endless stream of articulated lorries. The vehicles are aware of the few speed cameras in the vicinity, and anything is permissible in the area between them. Visualize a form of agricultural Mad Max. Surprisingly, the noise subsides within minutes of the highway. If you deviate to the east or west, you will be enveloped by flat agriculture that extends for hundreds of kilometers. Indigenous communities reside in the most isolated regions of the state, where they inhabit demarcated territories that are eagerly pursued by individuals they refer to as "kajaiba" (the "white man”).
The single-carriageway road is a critical piece of infrastructure that enables Brazil's soy lords to transport their product to the global market, despite its creaky condition
It interconnects the growth cities of Mato Grosso, including Sinop, Sorriso, and Nova Mutum, with Cuiabá in the south and the Amazonian river arteries nearly 1,000 km to the north. I encounter Pozzobon in Lucas do Rio Verde, a meticulously organized growth town that is among the most advanced municipalities in Brazil. Lucas, as it is more commonly referred to by its residents, has effectively leveraged its rapid expansion in recent years to invest in municipal services and education. Keeping up with the rapid expansion of the population poses a challenge for local governments, as they must allocate tax revenues at a rapid tempo.
Pozzobon asserts that Mato Grosso is the sole state that has experienced growth during the coronavirus pandemic. Despite this, it is anticipated that the state will experience a 1% decrease in growth last year, which is still considered one of the finest performances among Brazil's 27 states. "It is another Brazil here," he adds. He explains that the reason is straightforward: "During the pandemic, you stopped doing a lot of things, but you did not stop eating." The success of agriculture, which accounts for 22% of the gross domestic product, is a rare bright point in a country whose industrial and services sectors are still struggling to recover from a devastating recession five years ago.
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