Chico Buarque, in Geni and the Zeppelin, tells the story of a young woman who gives her life to the one-armed, the one-eyed, the wanderers, the vagrants, and the emigrants: those who own nothing. She has always been in love with the slums; she is queen of prisoners, the insane, beggars, the terminally ill, lepers, widows without a future, and orphans, whom she cares for with great devotion. Nevertheless, society despises her and attacks her daily with a chant that condemns her to be stoned and spat upon: “Throw stones at Geni! She’s here to take it…! Damn Geni!”
The town's routine is disrupted by the arrival of an imposing silver zeppelin firing a thousand cannons. Its feared commander threatens to blow up the town, deeming it corrupt, but upon seeing Geni, he is captivated by her and makes the town's salvation contingent on the beautiful lady spending the night with him. Geni is disgusted by the powerful military man and rejects his offer. Faced with her refusal, the representatives of local power—the prefect on his knees, the bishop in secret, and the humiliated banker—beg her to save them, while the same crowd that had previously rejected her now flatters her as their blessed savior, the one who can save and redeem them.
Moved by his pleas, Geni overcame her disgust and, as if going to the scaffold, surrendered herself to her lover that harrowing night. At dawn, the officer departed in his zeppelin. The girl, somewhat relieved, tried to smile and sleep. But, as the danger passed, she was interrupted by the shouts of the crowd cursing her and inciting them to stone and spit on her, as was their custom.
Chico Buarque demonstrates that the oppressive totality cannot be redeemed by love or sacrifice. The system consumes the victim's praxis and surrender, and then discards them. Geni could have left with the commander; he is an agent who chose not to destroy; boarding the zeppelin would have meant becoming complicit in the imperial war machine and abandoning those he loved. He despises the aesthetics of opulence and opts for the poetics of marginality. He saves the city, disarms the threat, and suffers the violence in his own body, preventing the massacre. He rejects despotic power and chooses to stand with the vulnerable.
It is the suffering poetic reason that sacrifices itself for the community and performs an act of pure ethical surrender. As Paul of Tarsus would say: “God chooses the weak to shame the strong.”
