Above: Two security guards escort a prisoner to his trial at Forum, the civil and criminal courthouse in Divinopolis, Brazil. He is accompanied by Alessandro Garcia Silva (last photo, second left), a criminal prosecutor at Forum. Prisoners at Forum usually come from Presidio Floramar, an adult prison depicted here. (Photos by Michelle Ferng) 

“There are no romantic crimes anymore, no more crimes of passion. Crime is now about drugs.”

Lawyer Antonio Ailton Rosa explained the changes taking place related to crime in Brazil.

“Over the past two months there has been a crime wave,” he nodded, which has resulted “in more homicides at this point than all of last year.” According to his knowledge, “all this new crime is related to drugs.” Ms. Cecilia Neves Silveira, IBJ’s in-country contact, showed us a book of Brazil’s criminal code at Antonio’s office that defines 24 ways to be a drug dealer. Drug trafficking is not actually a ‘permanent crime,’ such as kidnapping where a criminal is committing an on-going offense that permits police officers to search a house whenever they choose. Under Brazilian law, arrests for non-permanent crimes can only be made during daylight hours with a warrant from a judge.  However, Antonio taught us that the police behave as if drug trafficking was a ‘permanent crime’ and they invade houses in the middle of the night without judicial permission.

“This behavior,” he told us, “results in many innocents being arrested.”

What is most interesting to Antonio, amidst all this crime, is “witnessing the beginnings of a criminal mind.”

To explain what he meant, Antonio told us the story of a truck driver for CEASA, a fruit distributor. This man had been married. His wife left him. He came to Divinopolis to find her but instead found another woman addicted to drugs. He fell in love. Sold his truck. Bought drugs and became a dealer. Then, the woman left him for a man who recently got out of jail. When the other man got out of prison he found out about the former fruit truck driver who had since taken over his territory. Killed the truck driver. Now, the fruit truck driver’s son is accused of killing 13 other king pins in the area.

Switching gears, Antonio also explained the factors that make his job as a lawyer in Brazil difficult. First, he noted

“judges do not concede provisional measures.” What this means is that when a person asks for habeas corpus, for example, they are under Brazilian law supposed to be granted habeas corpus immediately. However, there are many cases where an accused man serves out his penalty before even being tried.

Antonio lamented the population doesn’t have the first idea on where they can go for more information regarding their legal rights such as habeas corpus. 2008 JusticeMaker Dr. Aziz Saliba is currently creating an educational DVD meant for the general public to instruct any individual how to write a habeas corpus and avoid illegal imprisonment in Brazil’s already overcrowded jails. Antonio noted that Aziz’s project was important and was sad to say that,

“stories I used to hear about a man writing his habeas corpus in blood and being released are Cinderella stories, they just don’t happen.”

He continued speaking about his desire to see “courses that teach judges about the problems lawyers have, to teach police about the problems judges have” and for all professions related to the justice system to be better integrated. Particularly, Antonio pointed out the problems of SETARIN, a database for arrest warrants that stops working after 5pm and is supposed to be integrating the justice centers of urban centers in and around Divinopolis. In addition to this problem Antonio noted that the Forum, a civil and criminal court here in Divinopolis, is only open from 12-5pm with all the lawyers and judges taking coffee breaks together in between.

Antonio looked to the future wishing for more “external judicial controls” such as a stronger Conselho Nacional de Justiça, which is a state organ to audit police and judiciary action. In the meantime, he is dealing with a crime wave and a slowdown in the economy which he said is often correlated with higher instances of sexual crime.

At the end of the day, Antonio puts his faith in family. He emphasized the fact that families teach children their morals and this has the biggest impact on limiting the potential for criminal behavior. In his opinion, the community must have common stories and myths to reinforce those morals.

“Decadence is related to a lack of myths,” he concluded. He held his head high and smiled, looking as if dignity itself were a myth worth posturing for.

– Bembem

(Photo by Michelle Ferng)

The police officers were too preoccupied with the dogs. They did not find the drugs. Bembem was allowed to walk out of the house with his life. Bembem is an older man who has been incarcerated so many times he lost count. He told his story of growing up in Brazil’s prison system:

“It doesn’t matter if you are in prison for one day, one week or one month, you are there one moment and you are part of the system for life.

Bembem was first arrested at age ten. His story began with his father leaving him in the trash at 6 months. Years later, he watched the same man beat his mother to death in front of him. His father sold everything in his house for drugs and alcohol. His daughter, who had frequented prisons to visit friends, was shot four times in the face in São Paulo.

Bembem described the prison environment by saying

“Rape in the cells is a big problem. Back in the military regime drugs were not a big problem. Now, do you know why more than 50% return to prison after their first offense? It is drugs. They can’t get drugs as good as they can in jail.”

For those looking for an introduction to the drug problem in Brazil’s jails, Ms. Cecilia Neves Silveira, IBJ’s in-country contact, recommended the popular film Carandiru which tells the story of drugs, sex and prisoner revolts in Brazil’s most infamous jail.

Bembem noted that young kids in the prisons come from a culture where “they kill at will.” He continued,  “Violence is scandalous. The kids come out of jail and must kill 3 in the street or be killed.”

Bembem revealed that in the jails he had to deal with sexual abuse from the other prisoners and the guards during the military regime. The guards could do anything they wanted. They were the law. Now only people who disrespect someone’s honor, or commit crimes against women and children are violated by the other prisoners.

In prison cleaning the jail cells was a daily chore. But Bembem noted,

“For some reason I never had to clean. People respected me. Wherever I walked in that prison I was respected. To this day I still don’t know why.”

Bembem now lives in Divinopolis and described his community as “very emotional. We are very attached to other people. We are very loyal.”

He now works a steady job training dogs in middle class neighborhoods. He thanks God for music saying “music was my redemption, if music didn’t enter my life I would have put a bullet in my head.”

Bembem left us with these words to describe how he felt about his community and his life:

“I hate the disloyal (…). I am a man with a heart, I don’t have time for this…You won’t understand. You’ll stay this way and never know my people. I know both sides of this city and I prefer them, my people on the street.”

The Civil Police in Brazil have different responsibilities under the Constitution from the Military Police and are responsible for conducting investigations. This station in Divinopolis has ten detectives. They receive approximately 80,000 cases a year.  (Photo by Michelle Ferng)

Over the past few days the IBJ team in Brazil has been conducting interviews with a number of judges, policemen and teachers. Each had a different area of expertise. Yet, when asked what would make their jobs a lot easier, all responded with the same answer, “better education” for their colleagues and the general public.

2008 JusticeMaker Dr. Aziz Saliba is creating two educational videos for Brazilians on the rights to habeas corpus and the Inter-American Court. We discussed Dr. Saliba’s project with Judge Dalton Soares of Divinopolis who told us “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a program like this in Brazil.” He agreed “Society must confront crime by not only focusing on repression, crime should also be faced with education.”

Dalton also commented on the practicality of programs like Dr. Aziz’s project. He instructed us, “When it comes to this country you must keep in mind the continental proportions of Brazil. The mere quantity of prisoners and cases to be solved.”

A new report in Veja this week noted that Brazil’s Supreme Federal Tribunal handles so many cases that in 2007 it was allowed just 15 minutes to judge a case. In 2009 the Tribunal is now allowed 27 minutes.

The Civil Police also must deal with more cases than their staff can handle. Carlos Roberto dos Santos, Sub Inspector of the Civil Police in Divinopolis, told us that he has a team of ten detectives investigating on average 80,000 criminal cases a year. When asked what would help them with their overwhelming workload he responded, “Education, more education for the people and the families.”

Ms. Jomara Ribeiro de Carvalho, a professor of International Law at Faculdade Pitágoras, envisioned for the IBJ team how educational programs on legal and human rights in Brazil might work. She agreed that education is important, however, “in Brazil’s case, education is most effective when it starts with children and youth.” She believes that an educational program related to legal advocacy would best be “channeled through television or religious institutions” as she noted that church groups and international media are already so active in family and individual education across Brazil.

Ms. Carvalho gave the IBJ team some closing words of advice, “Teaching human rights or legal rights in Brazil can be difficult” because “the first Brazilian commissions on human rights were always related to prisoners, criminals and those on the margins of society.”  On top of this ‘stigma,’ Ms. Carvalho noted that “most people when they see police in the street they ask themselves, ‘Am I safer with or without the Police here?’

She agreed that the troubled state-society relations and continued racial profiling can make people reluctant to learn about their legal rights. But she added,

“Yes, they might be reluctant to learn until they have a problem they can’t solve. Then everyone wants to learn.”

Dr. Aziz Saliba, a 2008 JusticeMaker’s Fellow in Brazil, is programming an educational video regarding rights to Habeas Corpus. The video shoot will begin on Tuesday, July 7th. Two days before filming begins, Dr. Saliba’s assistant, Cecilia Neves Silveira, gave the IBJ Journalists an introduction to the spirituality of these communities facing high incarceration rates. The spiritual ceremony we attended provided a more complete picture of the accused in Divinópolis by describing some of the religious beliefs of communities that IBJ’s Brazilian program will be assisting.

Adão, a spiritual leader practicing forms of healing similar to Umbanda, or White Magic, welcomed us to his house where he held a service praying to Nossa Senhora do Rosário. Adão lives in a community that has faced much racial discrimination and high incarceration rates. Fortunately, Adão says racial discrimination is declining and members of his community are less frequently arrested for racial profiling. Dr. Saliba’s assistant, Cecilia Neves, taught me that this discrimination happens because when slavery existed in Brazil the slaves were almost the only ones arrested, thus this culture continued to exist even when slavery had ended in Brazil.

Adão’s house contained a 300 year old painting of a king’s crown which he keeps as a token of the African tradition brought to Brazil known as Festa do Reinado, celebrating black saints and Nossa Senhora do Rosário, credited for victories of Christians over Ottoman Turks. The outpouring of love for Adão was touching. Many during the service were brought to tears. They lifted their hands to the sky in prayer and later danced Moçambique to the beat of drums stored in Adão’s bedroom.

Adão’s worship of Christ has gained popularity through his adaptations of African traditions and local beliefs since the time of his grandparents. This form of worship is also highly popular among the prison communities. Rather than say that these two traditions are at odds, Adão spoke how these religious customs validate one another. His argument is foreshadowed by those of Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa’s thesis in Three Books Concerning Occult Philosophy. Here, Agrippa argues Christianity and magic reinforce one another and, in some ways, always have. Professor Ralph Bauer at New York University introduced me to these arguments a few years ago and his concluding remarks on Agrippa immediately came to mind and were similar to what Adão said. The arguments claim that forms of spirituality like Umbanda are religious practices that can validate the Christian faith by tying individuals to the natural resources of the world around them.

Adão told us many communities facing high incarceration rates believe in Christ but come to him for advice in the arts of Umbanda. Many can be imprisoned for long periods of time before they even receive their sentence. This problem has motivated lawyers like Dr. Aziz Saliba to inform the public about habeas corpus to prevent the illegal detainment of the accused.

Adão also talked at length about the changes taking place in the religious customs of his community. People are moving away from larger community festivals toward the celebration of personal events such as birthdays and anniversaries. Many feel alone. He does not preach often but listens to people’s complaints regarding loneliness in their search for a higher power. Adão noted that some people might feel alone and scared when trying to treat an illness that standard medical practices are too expensive for their means to pay for. And so many turn to their faith or other traditional treatments.

We were very grateful to the IBJ team here in Brazil to give us this spiritual context of the accused in the communities that Dr. Saliba works in. Attendees at Adão’s service commented on these spiritual practices praising Adão’s pure heart and the healing qualities of his services.

Those attending Adão’s service continually hugged him and told us that he is a special man in their community. Adão is a modest man. Rebuffed the compliments. Prayed for his personal failures. He was passionate. Could hold his drink. He knew how to dance and pray crying on his knees. His humility and identification with his people would claim accolades given to other men who were great because of their personal failures. As Clive James once said, these kind of men who are full of love and love’s failures are warmly welcomed by the public, especially those like Adão,  a man who “seemed mainly in search of reassurance that he was not as unique as he felt.”

Adão is a great listener. He reminds people of their worth and helps them. As Stephano urged in Shakespeare’s The Tempest, a play dealing with spirituality in the New Word, let

Every man shift for all the rest, and
let no man take care for himself; for all is
but fortune

Dr. Saliba is hoping to send his educational DVDs on the right to habeas corpus to the same prisons and the communities from where the inmates come from.

Captions written by Danny Thiemann and Michelle Ferng

Guards are posted outside a workroom at Presídio Floramar where prisoners sew uniforms for inmates across Brazil. Half the wages they earn are pocketed and the other half go towards maintaining the prison.

On the other side of the bars, prisoners work together in a common room.

A defense lawyer meets with her client. Many of inmates in Brazil are unlawfully detained yet unaware of their rights to habeas corpus, a legal action deterring the illegal imprisonment of themselves or another person.

Upon arrival at Presídio Floramar in Divinópolis Brazil prisoners are given a standard set of clothes and personal items. Individuality is far from encouraged in the adult prison, in contrast to the prison system for adolescents, where inmates between 12-18 are allowed to wear their own clothes.

A small team of professionals designs educational courses for math, reading and writing at Floramar Prison. As the picture shows classes have spotty attendance and most educational materials are re-used donated materials.

Prisoners are given time during the day to sunbathe in a courtyard at Floramar Prison in Divinópolis, Brasil. After being counted, they are allowed to move freely about the courtyard. Some chant, sing to themselves or talk with the guards, but they are on the whole much quieter than the inmates at the adolescent jail next door.

A man guards the Director of Security as he gives the IBJ team a tour of Floramar Prison in Divinópolis Brazil.

Prisoners are allowed an conjugal visit from a legally registered wife or husband every fifteen days.

From left to right: Director of Security Cabo Eduardo, Prosecutor Alessandro Garcia Silva, Prosecutor Carlos José e Silva Fortes, and Ms. Vanda, a lawyer who was meeting with clients at Floramar. The team gave IBJ journalists a tour of Floramar Prison.

A woman stands guard at Floramar Prison in Divinópolis, Brazil that holds both male and female inmates and employs both male and female guards throughout the prison.

Prisoners hang their laundry at Presídio Floramar in Divinópolis.

A woman at Floramar Prison in Divinópolis, Brazil receives some time alone in the same courtyard pictured above.

A woman looks out of her cell in Floramar Prison located in Divinópolis, Brazil. 27 female inmates are included amongst 373 male prisoners in a facility that is twice over capacity.

An inmate washes dishes in the kitchen at Floramar Prison. Administrative staff, guards, and prisoners all eat the same meal, which is prepared daily.

Racial stereotypes and racial profiling have long been issues challenging the penal systems in Brazil. In this photo a handcuffed inmate consults with his lawyer beside Floramar’s open courtyard — a rare exception, noted Dr. Saliba’s assistant, Cecilia Neves Silveira, to the race relations observed in most prisons.

General Director (right) and the Director of Security (left) at Floramar Prison, accompanied by a guard, consult in the main courtyard.


Meanwhile, across the street at the adolescent prison, a woman watches the cameras in the facility. Here, the staff is keen to reduce the presence of guards and relies more on recorded video for supervision.

A basketball court also serves as a soccer field for inmates. Administrative staff note that every time a soccer ball is shot over the prison walls, the inmates immediately go to work repairing it once the ball is retrieved because the state does not have enough resources to send new recreational materials.

An art room at Centro Socio-educativo displays inmates’ artwork, showing a range of subjects and inspirations.

A security guard tours the cells. Guards at this youth detention center do not use guns and are restricted in their ability to use physical force when enforcing compliance.

Prosecutor Carlos José e Silva Fortes extends his hand to reassure a young client at Centro Socio-educativo.

Imprisonment does not dampen the youthful spirits of inmates, as one young man reaches out spontaneously to pose for the camera.