Linha do Inferno, Linha do Terror and 47-crack (a reference to the “quatro” sound) are just some of the expressions associated with the buses bearing the number 474 on the sign, which connect Jacare, a neighborhood in the north of Rio de Janeiro, to Copacabana in the south.
The path reveals a river of contradictions. During the week, the worker dominates the collective. The look changes on sunny weekends, when the crowd consists mostly of suburban youth and community dwellers heading to the beaches in the southern region.
The road, marked by traffic, fishing vessels, looting and even surfing on the roofs of vehicles, inspired architect and fellow rider Gabriel Weber, 28, to launch the book “474 Jacare/Copacabana.”
When contacted, the city council responsible for the service said that the safety of buses was the responsibility of the military police. The company also did not respond to the report’s questions.
Gabriel has been a calligraphy user since he was a teenager. On vacation, I would take the bus to the beach, and during school strikes, I would work as an office worker. Years later, as a student at UFRJ, calligraphy also became part of the routine of visits to colleagues living in the southern region.
Before the course was moved to the University of Porto, in Portugal, after a fire broke out on the UFRJ campus in 2016, it was common to hear the question “How do you get out of the 474 neighborhood?” says the former resident of the Riachuelo neighborhood next door to Jacare.
“It (the bus) has a reputation of being cursed, but my job as an architect was to analyze it spatially. The research led me to consider the 474 as an anti-hero.” This path has inspired the Rio native to prepare his master’s thesis on calligraphy, leading to the book’s release in October this year.
According to the author, the book provides what he calls a preliminary radiograph of social apartheid in Rio. When he returned to Rio to conduct research, Gabriel made several trips, recording the most diverse situations and interactions with passengers.
“I saw kids snorting glue, having funk parties with speakers, surfing the ceiling, and even girls bleaching their hair.” Other common situations in 474, especially in the summer, mentioned in the book were vandalism, theft, and riots.
Trader José Moreira, 45, a resident of Triagem, feels sad and needs to take the bus. “The fear is constant, even for those of us who live in the communities,” she said, who use the line to go to the beach.
Other bus lines in Rio have also gained national importance. In 2000, Sandro Barbosa do Nascimento, a survivor of the Candelaria massacre, took hostages on a bus on Line 174. He killed one hostage and suffocated to death inside a police car after surrendering.
In 2019, a hijacking of a bus carrying 38 passengers and the driver on the Rio-Niteroi Bridge ended with the death of the suspect, Willian Augusto da Silva. A police sniper shot him as he was getting out of the car and he died of his wounds. The result was celebrated by then-President Jair Bolsonaro (at that time in the PSL), and former Governor Wilson Wetzel (PSC).
The boundary between two parties
This line has been around since the 1950s, but the origins of the negative reputation go back to the 1980s, Gabriel says. In the book, instead of pictures of scenes, the author chose illustrations and posters that reflect the chaos that occurred in the year 474 during the summer.
For him, the graphics exclude judgments about events that occurred on transport, “especially since the 474 on the weekend is not the same as the one that runs from Monday to Friday,” he says.
Crossing the 22 kilometers that separate the two universes is seen as an act of determination on a hot summer afternoon.
The author believes that searches on fishing vessels are also a way to reinforce prejudices, as the targets are often shirtless black men who are searched outside the vehicle, whether they manage to continue their journey or not. It is also not uncommon for the line to be escorted to the final point, on the border between Copacabana and Ipanema on Arpoador Beach. The idea that the beach should be a place for everyone has been called into question, Gabriel says. “And to achieve that, you have to go through undemocratic experiences.”