The second time I was on Mars. Yes, why that suspicious cockatiel look? What's so strange? I've been to Mars countless times, as well as to other planets and moons in this system and so many other bodies orbiting stars. On my ninety-fourth visit, I stumbled upon an object sent from Earth, wandering across its surface, photographing desolate landscapes. I was saddened by what I saw, because of the memory of my seventh visit to Mars. What a marvel! An Edenic, indescribable landscape. Something similar to my fifteenth visit to Venus, because I didn't even want to return to that planet – the last time I visited, its surface had an average temperature nearing 500°C. Incidentally, I walked through its clouds outlined by sulfuric acid, whose droplets evaporated before reaching the ground.
I suggested this vision to the Florentine Dante Alighieri, so that he might describe his hell in this way. Intolerable. As unbearable as the Earth was on my eightieth visit, finding it almost uninhabited: dying rivers furrowing its face, semi-petrified trees exposed to the acidic wind. I found a mixture of Martian desert desolation with a toxic Venusian breeze. It wasn't difficult for Mars and Venus to surface, like decadent mythological lovers, and the Earth orbiting between the two. You see, the average temperature of the Earth's surface was, I don't know, between 17°C and 20°C, enough to have caused irreversible damage to the planet, such as the loss of glaciers in the Arctic Sea and the reduction of Antarctic sea ice.
What hurts the most is knowing that, on my seventy-ninth visit to Earth, the average surface temperature was around 15°C. A mere 7% increase in the greenhouse effect was enough to create that horrific scenario, where I observed the unchecked emission of gases from the burning of fossil fuels, such as carbon dioxide, impacting the chemical composition of the atmosphere and affecting the Earth's energy balance. The molecules of these gases retransmit the heat absorbed from the sun to the layers below the troposphere and then to the surface, enhancing the greenhouse effect and consequently impacting planetary climate change. I also witnessed the emission of sulfur dioxide from both volcanic eruptions and anthropogenic sources, resulting, above all and unsurprisingly, from the burning of fossil fuels.
When released into the atmosphere, sulfur dioxide forms sulfuric acid which, similar to what I found on Venus, is responsible for the formation of acid rain, causing lung damage, cancer, and premature death, as well as soil demineralization and acidification of lakes and waterfalls. Not to mention the corrosion of materials, affecting buildings, bridges, viaducts, and sculptures. Humans are strange creatures. They seek to immortalize themselves in their constructions, so they build pyramids, obelisks, and monuments.
It is said that time destroys things, eroding them through the action of water and wind, like sandcastles. In case you don't know, I sculpted a sandstone statue in 1702. I asked someone to place it on the gate of Herten Castle in Germany. A little over 200 years later, the passage of time hadn't even disarranged the locks of hair I carved; however, in 1969, when I saw it again, the statue was misshapen, concealing the apathetic smile of history. The deformation was not only due to natural causes, but also to human action, mainly the contribution of acid rain. Haven't human beings realized they are a threat to fundamental aspects of their development?
It's impossible not to recall the fortieth time I was on Earth, exchanging ideas with the Frenchman Jean-Baptiste Pierre Antoine de Monet, whom I came to call Lamarck. This intimacy stemmed from the fact that I whispered to him the creation of the term biology to define the set of life sciences. I don't know if the definition stuck or if his theory of evolution triggered any discussion. Never mind. But what Lamarck revealed to me, now in 1820, left me astonished: “Human beings, through their so clearly self-seeking selfishness in relation to their own interests, through their inclination to exploit everything at their disposal, seem to be working towards the annihilation of their means of preservation and the destruction of their own species. One could say that human beings are destined to exterminate themselves, after making the globe uninhabitable.” These words, witnessed and translated on-site by Luiz Marques, a professor at a certain State University of Campinas, echoed within me, no longer premonitory, but reflecting the scenario encountered on my eightieth visit to Earth. When Lamarck envisioned the Earth two centuries before its deterioration, the Industrial Revolution was in its infancy, and industrial economies began emitting increasing amounts of gases from the burning of oil, coal, and gas, resulting in sources of environmental problems such as the greenhouse effect, photochemical pollution, ozone layer depletion, and acid rain. Do human beings have any notion of the true condition of their environment?
On my seventy-ninth visit to Earth, in November 2025, I went to a city called Belém, in a vast country called Brazil. I participated in the 30th United Nations Climate Change Conference. Omnipresent, I disguised myself as a reporter, curious onlooker, and president. I listened to discussions about ecosystem restoration, the importance of sustainable management, carbon credits, the energy transition, green energy; the bravado of some and the faith of others. Of course, I decided to give a speech. The eyes of the planet turned to what I said, described here in this account. They laughed, obviously. Another lunatic, they said. I went out to the room next to that stage and, in my last act of my seventy-ninth visit to Earth, I transformed myself into a slum dweller from Vila da Barca, which houses countless families lacking basic sanitation and access to potable water. I walked proudly among the powerful, and no one saw me.
This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Unicamp.
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