We're on the second floor of a government building in a lush corner of Rio

de Janeiro, Brazil. About a dozen job candidates are waiting here in this

echoey hallway for their names to be called. Pedro Achila is the oldest of the

job seekers. He's 44 years old. Big guy. He tells me in my interpreter that he

needs this job to give him his life back. When you say that you'd have your

life back, what piece of your life would you change first?

I'll enjoy not having to wear a uniform when I go to work.

Pedro hates everything about his work uniform. He hates the blue stripes,

half the width of the white stripes, he hates the three black buttons to start

at the collar and then stop inexplicably at his sternum.

Pedro graduated a prestigious university, but that was 20 years ago and he's

got this nightmare that he'll bump into an old classmate, the classmate and the

tie or blouse driving a nice car. Pedro in his uniform.

No one in Flaumys. Pedro is here to change all that. Government jobs are big

deal in Brazil. They're jobs for life. He and the others have taken these day-long

examinations, beating out thousands of others. Though this final interview will

have nothing to do with their skills. What about you or you hoping they'll see?

Well, I hope that they see that. I'm not white, you know?

There is a new law in Brazil that gives more government jobs to black

Brazilians. The catch though is this. Anyone who wants one of these jobs has to

prove to a panel of judges that he or she qualifies and this is not so easy

to determine in Brazil. In fact, if you ask Pedro what color he is, how would

...