The Politician in Carnival

The Politician in Carnival

16 February 2026

Carnival as we know it today began in 1970, in the aftermath of 30 May 1969. It formed part of a broader effort to strengthen social cohesion. In that sense, it succeeded. Carnival became a space where differences temporarily faded and the community could celebrate itself.

In the early years, politics kept its distance. As far as I recall, Mrs. Lucina DaCosta Gomez was among the first to participate visibly in the mid-1970s. She stood high on a float, dignified and stately. Mrs. Maria Liberia-Peters later followed in the same vein. The message was clear: presence without sacrificing the dignity of public office.

It was only toward the late 1980s that more politicians began to take part actively. Initially, the Minister or Commissioner of Culture would walk in plain clothes alongside the Rey di Tumba or the carnival board. Occasionally, a politician participated in the Tumba Festival. Later, politicians stepped down from the float and joined the crowd in costume. Political marketing undoubtedly played a role, but so did the genuine joy of participation. We also saw carnival board members later becoming politicians. The lines between celebration and politics grew thinner. The same tendency can be observed during the harvest festival Seú.

But in 2026, we seem to be testing another boundary. Sometimes the need for visibility appears to outweigh the awareness of exemplary responsibility. When elected representatives focus primarily on standing out during the parade, something fundamental shifts. Not because a politician should not celebrate, but because public office always carries public meaning.

Carnival belongs to the people. Politics may be part of it, but it should not dominate it. The question, therefore, is not whether politicians may participate. The question is: what norm do we uphold? What do we expect from those who represent us — even when the music plays and the rum flows?

What do we want?

Miguel Goede