One must admire, in a perverse sort of way, the consistent predictability of politicians when faced with an election. Like clockwork, as the polls tighten and the rhetoric heats up, some new societal malady is discovered, some existential threat to the collective good that only the benevolent hand of the state—and, crucially, the candidate currently campaigning for its highest office—can possibly remedy. Brazil’s Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, it appears, is merely the latest to dust off this venerable playbook, proclaiming online gambling a "cancer" that he, naturally, must "remove."
One might forgive a cynical observer for suspecting that the sudden diagnosis has less to do with the actual pathology of online poker and more to do with the pathology of competitive electoral politics. Lula, currently neck and neck with Flávio Bolsonaro, seems to have discovered a conveniently moralistic battle to wage, one that undoubtedly plays well with certain segments of the electorate. After all, what could be more appealing than a strongman promising to protect the populace from itself, especially when the "danger" involves something as deliciously taboo as wagering a few Reais on a virtual roulette wheel?
The language itself is tellingly grandiose. A "cancer." Not a nuisance, not a vice to be mitigated, but a disease requiring radical, surgical intervention. This isn't regulation; it's eradication. It’s the kind of hyperbole that should set off alarm bells for anyone who understands that the state’s self-appointed role as diagnostician-in-chief often precedes its transformation into an overbearing, paternalistic guardian. Suddenly, adult citizens capable of making their own choices about how to spend their leisure time and disposable income are infantilized, deemed incapable of navigating the perilous waters of the internet without the guiding hand of Big Brother.
One is reminded, perhaps, of F.A. Hayek’s astute observations on the slippery slope of interventionism. When the state begins to deem certain personal choices—even those that carry potential risks—as "cancers" requiring "removal," where does it stop? Today it's online gambling. Tomorrow, what other "unhealthy" pursuits might fall under the censorious gaze of the ruling class? Sugary drinks? Certain forms of entertainment? Books that challenge prevailing orthodoxies? The line, once crossed, becomes a mirage, perpetually receding as the state’s appetite for control grows.
The argument, of course, will be cloaked in the usual altruistic garb: "We're protecting the vulnerable." And while few would argue against measures to prevent exploitation or addiction, a blanket ban is rarely the scalpel of a surgeon; it’s the bludgeon of a nanny state. It punishes the responsible along with the irresponsible, stifles innovation, and, perhaps most ironically, often drives the activity underground, where it becomes *less* regulated and *more* dangerous. Prohibition, as history has repeatedly shown, is a fantastically inefficient means of control, creating black markets and empowering illicit actors, all while diminishing individual liberty.
It's a curious thing, this recurring governmental impulse to "save" people from themselves, especially when said impulse conveniently aligns with electoral ambitions. Rather than focusing on creating an economic environment where individuals are prosperous enough to not feel compelled to seek quick, risky thrills, or educating citizens on responsible choices, the default setting for many politicians is simply to outlaw the perceived problem. It’s an easier narrative, certainly, than tackling systemic economic issues or fostering true individual responsibility.
So, as Brazil inches closer to its presidential election, we watch another act in the age-old drama: the politician as savior, the public as patient, and personal liberty as the first casualty. Lula’s promise to "remove" this "cancer" might win him a few votes, but it exacts a far greater cost on the principles of individual autonomy and limited government. It's a reminder that even in democracies, the road to serfdom is often paved with the very best of intentions – or, at least, the most politically expedient ones.