While waiting to complete paperwork at a notary’s office, Ms. Ivone Souza Silva, 64, who has deep-set circles under her eyes and shoulder-length hair, smiles as she recalls a childhood anecdote: “At school, the surname of half the class or almost half was Silva, like me… And like Ayrton Senna.” And so, unexpectedly, this housewife mentions a fact many of her fellow Brazilians do not know about the Formula 1 champion whose death behind the wheel at the peak of his career in 1994 shocked the sporting world. On Wednesday morning she learned that his full name was Ayrton Senna da Silva.
Although in Brazil the second surname, the paternal one, is the main one, the driver — like many other Brazilians — chose instead to use his first surname, the one with an Italian ring to in, instead of the surname shared by more Brazilians. No fewer than 34 million, according to the 2022 census. In other words, almost one in six citizens bears this surname, which means ‘forest’.
It’s rare to go a day without encountering several people with that surname on the street or on the news. The best known is undoubtedly Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, the president of the republic. No surprise — just like one in three people in his home state of Pernambuco. Lula was still taking his first steps in politics in 1982 when, shrewdly, he went to the notary to add his lifelong nickname to his official name. That is how the seasoned trade-unionist and budding politician ensured he appeared on ballots simply as Lula. Those four letters, which mean ‘squid’ in Portuguese, and the little finger he lost to a lathe at 19 are his electoral brand. Six decades later, he hopes to crown his political career with a fourth presidential term.
His wife, now Janja Lula da Silva, also belongs to the large Silva family by birth and by marriage. And so does one of the most emblematic ministers: environmentalist Marina Silva, who was born on a rubber plantation in the Amazon, managed to succeed in politics — even to dream of the presidency — without ever giving up the name, although in this country she is known simply as Marina, with that typically Brazilian familiarity. Another member of this big club is the country’s most controversial and admired footballer on his way to the World Cup, Neymar da Silva Santos Júnior.
The surname Silva arrived in Brazil with the Portuguese colonizers starting in the 1500s. Many adopted it to bury their past. Among those who settled inland, Silvas proliferated. Coastal residents preferred Costa. Forced to take Catholic baptisms, enslaved people were given only first names. But after abolition, they needed surnames for life in freedom. Many received their owners’ names, often with a preposition — da Silva, de Souza — to make ownership clear.
While some exalted Silva as a surname of the people, many born with it tucked it away on identity cards in order to shine in life under a less common name. “He was just another Silva (…) a star that doesn’t shine,” goes the chorus of a rap by MC Bob Rum (or Moysés Osmar da Silva) that was a hit in the 1990s. It told the story of an ordinary poor man, a family father who goes to a funk dance in a neighborhood and is shot dead for no apparent reason.
In recent years, just as pride in growing up in a favela has grown, more people have embraced surnames that were once considered ordinary. In that context, the television series Not just another Silva was launched a couple of years ago, featuring interviews with famous and anonymous people united by those five letters. “We want to reclaim the name, which many associate with poor people, but today belongs to powerful people,” said the show’s presenter, another Silva named René, at the premiere.
“When we were teenagers, we all wanted foreign surnames,” recalls the notary’s client in central São Paulo. Her attitude changed with age. Married to an Italian, she started a life in Palermo. And she decided to keep her very Brazilian surnames. “I did not give up my surnames; I remained Souza Silva, although that wasn’t the custom there. Unfortunately, when I lived in Italy there was no option for children to take the mother’s surname. I would have liked that,” she admits. “Now you can,” she adds with a triumphant smile just as her number appears on the screen. It’s her turn.
Sign up for our weekly newsletter to get more English-language news coverage from EL PAÍS USA Edition
