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𝓐 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪 𝓪𝓿𝓸́ 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓪 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓾 𝓱𝓪́ 𝟐𝟓𝟒 𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓼. 𝓕𝓮𝔃 𝓭𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓪𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓬̧𝓪̃𝓸 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓪 𝓵𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓪𝓻 𝓸 𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓬̧𝓸 𝓮 𝓪𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓻-𝓶𝓮, 𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓸 𝓪𝓽𝓮́ 𝓮𝓾 𝓼𝓪𝓲𝓻 𝓭𝓸 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓸. 𝓣𝓮𝓷𝓱𝓸 𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓪 𝓶𝓮𝓶𝓸́𝓻𝓲𝓪 𝓬𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓪 𝓷𝓪 𝓪𝓵𝓶𝓪 𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓼𝓸𝓾𝓫𝓮, 𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮, 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓷𝓪̃𝓸 𝓿𝓸𝓵𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓪 𝓪 𝓿𝓮̂-𝓵𝓪. 𝓐𝓸𝓼 𝟖𝟔 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓼, 𝓷𝓪̃𝓸 𝓮𝓻𝓪 “𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪”. 𝓗𝓪́ 𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓯𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓲𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓪 𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓪 𝓪𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓸 𝓭𝓮 𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓹𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓻𝓪 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓪𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓬̧𝓪 𝓽𝓸𝓭𝓪 𝓪 𝓭𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓬̧𝓪 𝓭𝓸 𝓜𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓸. 𝓢𝓮𝓻 𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓱𝓸 𝓮́ 𝓽𝓪̃𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓸𝓼. 𝓡𝓮𝓬𝓾𝓼𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓾𝓲́-𝓵𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝓹𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓻𝓪𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓪 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓪 𝓮𝓻𝓪 𝓾𝓶 “𝓽𝓪𝓷𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓭𝓮 𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓪”. 𝓛𝓮𝓿𝓪𝓿𝓪 𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓸 𝓪̀ 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮, 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓬̧𝓪𝓿𝓪 𝓼𝓪𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓰𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓮 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓭𝓮́𝓬𝓪𝓭𝓪𝓼 𝓭𝓮 𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸́𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓼, 𝓫𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝓸 𝓹𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸 𝓷𝓪 𝓶𝓮𝓼𝓪 𝓮 𝓪𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓬̧𝓪𝓿𝓪, 𝓻𝓲𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓿𝓪, 𝓮𝓻𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓪. 𝓐 𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓪.

𝓟𝓮𝓻𝓭𝓮𝓾 𝓪 𝓶𝓪̃𝓮 𝓪𝓸𝓼 𝟏𝟔 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓼, 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓸𝓾 𝓾𝓶 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝔃 𝓮 𝓾𝓶 𝓬𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓻𝓸 𝓭𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓶𝓪, 𝓶𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓾𝓷𝓬𝓪 𝓯𝓸𝓲 𝓪𝓶𝓪𝓻𝓰𝓪. 𝓟𝓮𝓵𝓸 𝓬𝓸𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓪́𝓻𝓲𝓸. 𝓔𝓻𝓪 𝓭𝓸𝓬𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓸 𝓸 𝓪𝓵𝓰𝓸𝓭𝓪̃𝓸 𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓯𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓪 𝓲𝓷𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓵, 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓪 – 𝓳𝓪́ 𝓵𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓲 𝓪𝓼 𝓶𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓼 𝓷𝓪𝓼 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓬𝓱𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓱𝓸𝓷𝓬𝓱𝓾𝓭𝓪𝓼 𝓮 𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪𝓼 – 𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓪 𝓭𝓮 𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓷𝓪𝓼 𝓹𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓿𝓻𝓪𝓼 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓶𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓪. 𝓟𝓸𝓻 𝓪𝓵𝓰𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓻𝓪𝔃𝓪̃𝓸, 𝓸 “𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓶𝓪!” 𝓭𝓪 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓪 𝓮𝓻𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓸 𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓼𝓪 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓪 𝓷𝓾𝓶 𝓭𝓲𝓪 𝓭𝓮 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓸. 𝓔 𝓪 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓬̧𝓪 𝓭𝓪 𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓮, 𝓪𝓸𝓼 𝓶𝓮𝓾𝓼 𝓸𝓵𝓱𝓸𝓼, 𝓹𝓻𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓰𝓲𝓪-𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓮́𝓬𝓲𝓮 𝓭𝓮 𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓮 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓹𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓸, 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓼𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓿𝓪-𝓪 𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓯𝓲𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓪 𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓷𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮, 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓪, 𝓼𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓻𝓪 𝓭𝓮 𝓼𝓲. 𝓐 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪 𝓪𝓿𝓸́ (𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓪 𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓸 𝓹𝓪𝓰𝓪𝓿𝓪 𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪 𝓭𝓮 𝟏𝟑𝟎 𝓮𝓾𝓻𝓸𝓼 𝓷𝓾𝓶𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓪 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓽𝓻𝓸 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓸𝓼, 𝓳𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓶 𝓮 𝓰𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓰𝓮𝓶) 𝓯𝓸𝓲 𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓸 𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓶𝓮 “𝓜𝓾́𝓼𝓲𝓬𝓪 𝓷𝓸 𝓒𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓬̧𝓪̃𝓸”, 𝓭𝓮 𝟏𝟗𝟔𝟔, 𝓪𝓸 𝓬𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓶𝓪, 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓹𝓸𝓾 𝓷𝓸𝓼 𝓫𝓪𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓘𝓷𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮 𝓢𝓪𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓼, 𝓷𝓸𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓼 𝟓𝟎, 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝓿𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓲𝓭𝓸𝓼 𝓯𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝓪𝓼 𝓹𝓻𝓸́𝓹𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓼 𝓶𝓪̃𝓸𝓼 𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓲𝓾 𝓷𝓸 𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓸̂𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓸 𝓸𝓼 𝓮𝓯𝓮𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓮 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓲𝓭𝓪 𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓸 𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓸 𝓔𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓭𝓸 𝓝𝓸𝓿𝓸 𝓭𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓽𝓮 𝓪 𝓘𝓘 𝓖𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓪 𝓜𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓵.

𝓞𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓱𝓸𝓼 𝓼𝓪̃𝓸 𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓸 𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓾𝓮, 𝓪 𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮, 𝓪 𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓪 𝓱𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓸́𝓻𝓲𝓪. 𝓝𝓪̃𝓸 𝓼𝓪̃𝓸 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓼 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓶𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓲𝔁𝓪𝓻 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪́𝓼. 𝓔 𝓷𝓪𝓭𝓪 𝓶𝓮 𝓮𝓷𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓰𝓸𝓷𝓱𝓪 𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝓭𝓸 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓿𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻 𝓷𝓾𝓶 𝓹𝓪𝓲́𝓼 𝓸𝓷𝓭𝓮, 𝓷𝓸 𝓪𝓷𝓸 𝓹𝓪𝓼𝓼𝓪𝓭𝓸, 𝟏𝟔𝟕𝟏 𝓹𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓪𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓶 𝟔𝟓 𝓸𝓾 𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓪𝓶 𝓭𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓻 𝓪𝓳𝓾𝓭𝓪 𝓪̀ 𝓐𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓬̧𝓪̃𝓸 𝓟𝓸𝓻𝓽𝓾𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓪 𝓭𝓮 𝓐𝓹𝓸𝓲𝓸 𝓪̀ 𝓥𝓲́𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓪 (𝓐𝓟𝓐𝓥) 𝓹𝓸𝓻 𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓶 𝓪𝓵𝓿𝓸 𝓭𝓮 𝓼𝓲𝓽𝓾𝓪𝓬̧𝓸̃𝓮𝓼 𝓭𝓮 𝓿𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓮̂𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓪. 𝓣𝓸𝓭𝓸𝓼 𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓼 – 𝓣𝓞𝓓𝓞𝓢 – 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓽𝓻𝓸 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓮 𝓲𝓭𝓸𝓼𝓸𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓽𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓶 𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓾𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓼 (𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓼 𝟗,𝟒% 𝓯𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓪 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟐) 𝓮 𝓪𝓻𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓲𝓪-𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓪𝓻 𝓷𝓪𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓮𝓶 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓮 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓽𝓻𝓸 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓮𝓼. 𝓠𝓾𝓪𝓵 𝓼𝓮𝓻𝓪́ 𝓸 𝓷𝓾́𝓶𝓮𝓻𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓵? 𝓞 𝓾́𝓵𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓸 𝓻𝓮𝓵𝓪𝓽𝓸́𝓻𝓲𝓸 𝓭𝓪 𝓐𝓟𝓐𝓥 𝓻𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓪 𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓭𝓪 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓺𝓾𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝟕𝟕% 𝓭𝓪𝓼 𝓿𝓲́𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓼 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓪𝓶 𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓮 𝓸𝓼 𝟔𝟓 𝓮 𝓸𝓼 𝟕𝟒 𝓪𝓷𝓸𝓼, 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓸 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓸𝓼 𝓪𝓰𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓼𝓸𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓼𝓪̃𝓸 𝓶𝓪𝓲𝓸𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮 𝓸𝓼 𝓯𝓲𝓵𝓱𝓸𝓼 (𝟑𝟐,𝟐%).

𝓙𝓪́ 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓪 𝓷𝓪̃𝓸 𝓯𝓪𝓵𝓪𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝓼 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓮 𝓪𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓷𝓸: 𝓱𝓪́ 𝓶𝓾𝓲𝓽𝓸𝓼 𝓲𝓭𝓸𝓼𝓸𝓼 𝓭𝓮𝓲𝔁𝓪𝓭𝓸𝓼 𝓷𝓪𝓼 𝓾𝓻𝓰𝓮̂𝓷𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓼 𝓹𝓸𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓪𝓻𝓮𝓼 𝓺𝓾𝓮 𝓼𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓮𝓶 𝓬𝓪𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓸 𝓼𝓮𝓶 𝓸𝓵𝓱𝓪𝓻 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓪 𝓽𝓻𝓪́𝓼. 𝓘𝓼𝓽𝓸 𝓭𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓻𝓸́𝓲-𝓶𝓮 𝓹𝓸𝓻 𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓻𝓸, 𝓼𝓸𝓫𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓾𝓭𝓸 𝓹𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓫𝓮𝓶 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓮 𝓪 𝓯𝓮𝓵𝓲𝓬𝓲𝓭𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓭𝓮, 𝓷𝓪 𝓻𝓮𝓽𝓪 𝓯𝓲𝓷𝓪𝓵, 𝓪 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓱𝓪 𝓒𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓵𝓲𝓷𝓪 𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓲𝓭𝓸 𝓪𝓵𝓽𝓪 𝓷𝓸 𝓭𝓲𝓪 𝟐𝟒 𝓭𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝔃𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓻𝓸 𝓮 𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓶𝓸𝓼 𝓽𝓲𝓭𝓸 𝓪 𝓷𝓸𝓼𝓼𝓪 “𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓪” 𝓮𝓶 𝓬𝓪𝓼𝓪 𝓷𝓸 𝓝𝓪𝓽𝓪𝓵. 𝓠𝓾𝓮𝓻𝓲𝓭𝓪 𝓪𝓿𝓸́, 𝓮𝓾 𝓼𝓮𝓲, 𝓸𝓼 𝓿𝓮𝓵𝓱𝓸𝓼 𝓷𝓪̃𝓸 𝓼𝓪̃𝓸 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓹𝓸𝓼.

* Jornalista

IN "JORNAL DE NOTÍCIAS" - 16/12/24 .