Towards the end of “I’m Still Here”, a Brazilian film set during the country’s military dictatorship, a photographer tells his subjects—a woman and her five children—not to smile. The father of the family, Rubens Paiva, has been “disappeared” by the dictatorship, and the photographer’s editor wants a suitably sad image. They defy the editor and flash toothy grins.
The scene captures Brazil’s approach to the legacy of its dictatorship, which ruled from 1964 to 1985. Unlike in Argentina, Chile and Uruguay, no one has been sent to jail for crimes committed by the regime. Brazil has, so far, been content to move on in the name of stability and democracy.
“I’m Still Here” came out in November and is already one of the most-watched films in Brazilian history. It is also the first South American film to be nominated for best picture at the Oscars. Fernanda Torres, who plays the stoical lead, is in the running for best actress. Walter Salles, the director, says he wanted to “tell a story that felt essential” at a time of democratic backsliding, to bring Brazil out of its “amnesia”. It seems to be working; the film is spurring a new reckoning with Brazil’s violent past.
The film follows Paiva’s family as they deal with his disappearance. The left-wing congressman was ousted after the coup in 1964. In 1971 regime thugs hauled him away from his home in Rio de Janeiro for questioning. He never came back. For decades the army pushed a story that Paiva had escaped them and joined a guerrilla group. In 2014 a national truth commission published evidence that he had been tortured to death under interrogation. Five retired officers were charged with killing him and hiding his body. None of the officers have been tried. Three have died of old age.
Across South America, military leaders accepted the transition to democracy only after securing amnesties for themselves, amnesties which also protected their often-violent opponents. In Argentina, Chile and Uruguay pardons for the dictatorship were eventually annulled, or exceptions made to try the worst offenders. Brazil’s Supreme Court upheld its amnesty in 2010.
The differences, says Marina Franco of the National University of San Martín in Buenos Aires, are down to the relative brutality of the regimes, and their power at the point of transition to democracy. Argentina’s dictatorship was particularly violent and disorderly; over seven years the junta “disappeared” as many as 30,000 people, oversaw economic chaos and lost the Falklands war. This spurred Argentina’s human-rights movement, the region’s strongest. Over 1,000 people have been sentenced for the junta’s crimes.
Chile’s regime was also bloody, but the success of Augusto Pinochet’s economic reforms helped him keep power for 17 years and shape the constitution. Justice there has been slower. Uruguayans have rejected referendums on overturning their amnesty, but the courts have sent those involved in the worst crimes to jail.
Brazil’s regime was the least savage, though at least 434 people were killed and thousands tortured. After 1985 the army let a budding left-wing movement thrive. Winning the football World Cup in 1970 boosted the mood of the country overall, as did the booming economy in that decade. For years, civil society accepted the amnesty.
Justice revisited
The success of “I’m Still Here” is leading Brazilians to rethink their clemency. Registry offices have begun updating death certificates for those disappeared by the state to reflect the real causes of their death. On February 14th the official commission which looks into political killings and disappearances said it might re-examine the death of Juscelino Kubitschek, a former president who died in suspicious circumstances in 1976. On the same day, Brazil’s Supreme Court started deliberating on whether the amnesty should apply in Paiva’s case and that of two other disappeared dissidents, or whether this conflicts with human-rights treaties Brazil has signed.
Brazil’s attitude to dictatorship is newly relevant. On January 8th 2023 supporters of Jair Bolsonaro, then Brazil’s outgoing president, attacked government buildings in an attempt to keep him in power after he lost an election that he falsely claimed was rigged against him. Mr Bolsonaro’s allies in Congress are now trying to pass an amnesty for all involved. Police reports released in November describe alleged plans by confidants of Mr Bolsonaro to murder the current president and vice-president before they could assume office, plus a Supreme Court judge. The reports state that Mr Bolsonaro, who has long praised the dictatorship, edited a draft decree declaring a state of emergency and annulling the election. The effort failed after two of the armed forces’ three commanders rejected it. On February 18th Brazil’s attorney-general officially charged Mr Bolsonaro with plotting a coup to remain in power. Mr Bolsonaro denies wrongdoing and says he is suffering political persecution.
Mr Bolsonaro also has personal beef with the Paiva family (pictured). He grew up in the same town as Paiva, whose father was a wealthy landowner. When a bust of Paiva was installed in Congress in 2014, Mr Bolsonaro, then a representative, spat on it in front of the family. Marcelo Rubens Paiva, Paiva’s son, claims the resentment stems from “class hatred”. A biography of Mr Bolsonaro written by one of his children lists grudges against the family, such as never being invited to swim in their pool and that the children ate expensive ice lollies. “I’m Still Here” is a rebuke not only to Brazil’s past, but also to the leading demagogue of its present. ■
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