India, Nov. 4 -- On October 25, 2026, Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva made history - since the Redemocratization of Brazil, never has a presidential candidate in the country turned a first-round defeat into a win in the second. And rarely has voting in the country felt so consequential. In a polarised society, people vote not only for candidates but also to protect their values and ways of life. Political disagreement in Brazil is no longer "I like tea, and you like coffee." It is now "I like tea; so, you should no longer be allowed to drink coffee." Compare this with the US, going for the midterm polls today, where everyday issues such as cost-of-living matter for the electorate, but so do ideological hardlines. When politics becomes like this, fear and negative campaigning play anoutsized role. Bolsonarismo haslong mobilised support by stoking moral panic, portraying the centre-Left as a threat, and harvesting anxieties about losing status. There was plenty to criticise after years of the Workers' Party government (led by Lula) being in power- corruption scandals, controversies involving Banco Master (a Brazilian financial institution) and political connections, accusations of judicial overreach, and middle-class insecurity. Rising living costs and uncertain professional opportunities have challenged the promise that education and hard work would leave the next generation better-off. Lula's warnings about losing democracy would not have found the competition with fears of losing purchasing power, security, family values, or status, very easy. Democratic erosion is consequential but less immediately tangible. So, how did he turn theelection around? Notprimarily through policy, but through mobilisation. The Brazilian Right had a powerful grievance agenda, amplified by social media. Its grassroots strength also draws on something older: evangelical communities, politically active long before today's polarisation. Churches have institutional interests, from broadcasting concessions to tax exemptions and property. But defending tax privileges for wealthy institutions hardly inspires ordinary members. Defending the family does. So, churches celebrate weddings, baptisms, and heteronormative family life. They should, of course, defend families. But who is attacking families, to start with? When expanding LGBT+ rights is portrayed as taking rights away from others, the defence of the heteronormative family becomes a political cause. Moral panic around anything beyond the heteronormative family gives churches a public justification for political engagement, and the Right gains grassroots networks. These networks extend into Bible groups in homes, schools, and friendships. Political messages travel through relationships of trust, mutual support, and shared identity. Right-wingactivism creates bonds. The Left faced a different challenge. After so long in power, it could not easily mobilise, and warnings about democratic erosion felt less immediate. But it did learn from the Right's capacity to create belonging. Three weeks (between the first and second rounds of the polls) was little time. But social media pulled down the financial costs of mobilisation. With Andre Janones being the most prominent figure of the mobilisation efforts, the Left organised WhatsApp networks that reached millions. "Cancel your date." "Share this message." "Wear this colour." "Spread this video." These were more than instructions. Acting together created bonds. Politics moved into everyday relationships. People offered neighbours lifts to vote, checked grandparents' transport, postponed holidays, and travelled to distant constituencies. Some Brazilians living abroad flew home to vote. Mobilisation became participation. Meanwhile, the Right largely stuck to its existing strategy. Some supporters who had missed the first round because of work, travel, or childcare had little reason to change their arrangements. Meanwhile, the Left was stretching every possibility. Eventually, Lula won. What does that mean beyond Brazil? It shows that panic does not always win. Yet, the grievances that fuel it are real. Rising food and fuel costs squeeze households. Graduates face uncertain careers, now complicated by AI. People who once expected upward mobility fear their children will have less. In this climate, extending social benefits may feel threatening to those worried about their own position. As we say in Brazil, when the flour is running out, I bake my bread first. Far-Right movements differ on religion, militarism, and migration, but often promise protection for those deemed deserving. The political question is who gets included. The Left promises inclusion, while some voters want to defend, or recover, privileges. Can equality appeal to someone who believes another person's gain is their loss? Simply warning about democracy, or promising more benefits, cannot resolve that tension. Brazil suggests a more concrete answer. Lula's campaign gave people something to do together, not merely something to believe in. Governing, however, is harder than campaigning. A lift to the polling station creates solidarity for a day; affordable housing, reliable services, safer streets, and credible opportunities for the next generation must sustain it. Lula must also reach out to those who did not vote for him. That means recognising their economic anxieties and showing through public policy that greater inclusion need not mean someone else's decline. To the world, more particularly to the US where the Trump administration and the Republicans are relying on fear and moral panic to mobilise, Brazil offers key lessons for those who are mounting the counter-campaign: Belonging can be more powerful than fear, and low costs of mobilisation can change perceptions drastically. Participation can turn political spectators into people with a stake in a shared future. Brazil also faces challenges: Lula needs to make a shared future credible, including for those who voted against him and who are not in his WhatsApp groups. This is where the real test of the mandate for Lula will be....