‘It’s a weird feeling, isn’t it? Feeling relief at a death certificate.’ This must be one of the most powerful phrases in the Brazilian film ‘I’m Still Here’, which everyone seems to be talking about lately – and rightly so. The film tells the story of Eunice Paiva, whose husband, the left-wing politician Rubens Paiva, was arbitrarily arrested during the military dictatorship in Brazil. Now, this is not a review of the film (which is absolutely incredible though, and you should definitely go watch it). Consider this text instead as an introduction to the history behind the film. Were people really ‘disappearing’ in the 1970s? What was going on in Brazil at the time? Let’s talk about the military dictatorship in Brazil, the resistance, and why this history still matters today.
Setting the Scene
In the 1960s, the Cold War was in full swing. It was a a time of global ideological and political struggle between the United States and the Soviet Union, which sought to expand their influence on other countries. The United States were paying close attention to Latin America, and the fear of communist expansion was at the origin of many military coups in the area. In Brazil’s case, the military dictatorship lasted from 1964 to 1985, and was one of the longest such regimes in the continent. As in Argentina, Chile, and Uruguay, Brazil’s military government justified its authoritarian rule as a means of maintaining national security and fighting subversion, using communism as a looming threat. However, this came at the cost of severe political repression, censorship, and human rights violations, which, at the time, were surrounded in secrecy. This is what the film I’m Still Here shows so well. But how did things get there?
In the early 1960s, Brazilian culture was in full swing: think of bossa nova and cinema novo – new cinema -, and modern art. But the country was also facing economic instability, rising inflation, and social unrest, and these cultural movements denounced social inequalities. The government of President João Goulart (1961–1964) attempted to implement progressive reforms, including land redistribution and the nationalisation of key industries, plus giving people who couldn’t read the right to vote. Sounds good, doesn’t it? Well, not everyone thought so. These policies alarmed conservative sectors of Brazilian society, including business elites, the Catholic Church, and the military, who feared that Goulart’s policies signalled a shift toward socialism.
At the same time, the United States, driven by Cold War anxieties, was actively involved in Latin America through initiatives like the Alliance for Progress, which sought to increase the economic collaboration between the US and Latin American countries. But of course politics were a big part of the story, too. After the Cuban Revolution in 1959, the US hoped to prevent further leftist governments from taking hold in the region. As in Chile, where the US supported the 1973 coup against Salvador Allende, Washington indirectly supported Brazil’s military in their efforts to remove Goulart. So, on 31 March 1964, the military launched a coup d’état, forcing Goulart into exile in Uruguay, accusing him of being a communist. General Humberto de Alencar Castelo Branco was installed as president. The military dictatorship had begun.
The Military Dictatorship Years
We can divide the period between 1964 and 1985 into three main phases. Stick with me on this, I’ll be brief.
1. The Initial Years (1964–1968)
The first phase were ‘the initial years’. This was the time when the government was institutionalising authoritarianism. The military sought to legitimise their rule through a series of Institutional Acts, dissolving political parties and restricting civil liberties and human rights. While some opposition was tolerated, critics of the regime faced censorship, exile, or imprisonment. Repression intensified in the late 1960s as opposition grew.
2. The “Years of Lead” (1968–1974)
The second phase of this regime became known as the ‘years of lead’. This was the peak of repression, and that’s when the story of Eunice and Rubens Paiva depicted in the film I’m Still Here takes place.In 1968, Institutional Act No. 5 (AI-5) was introduced, and it granted the government powers to shut down Congress, censor the media, and arrest political dissidents. This period saw the widespread use of torture and extrajudicial killings. Many opposition figures were forced into exile, and militant leftist groups took up armed resistance, leading to brutal crackdowns by the military. Despite the repression, Brazil’s economy apparently experienced rapid growth and modernisation in the early 1970s, a period referred to as the “Brazilian Miracle.” However, that’s a misleading term. Economic benefits were not evenly distributed, of course, and the costs of growth—such as rising foreign debt and worsening inequality—became clear in the following decade. Still, the government worked hard to create an image of development and stability. The 1970 World Cup in particular was used to boost this nationalist euphoria, as the Brazilian team won and footballers like Pele became national icons.
3. The Gradual Opening (1974–1985)
That leads us to the third phase. By the mid-1970s, international and domestic pressure forced the military to consider a transition to democracy. The new president, General Ernesto Geisel (1974–1979), initiated a process of political liberalisation known as abertura (or ‘opening’), a slow and gradual ‘reopening’ of the country. The Amnesty Law of 1979 allowed exiled dissidents to return, but, crucially, it also protected military officials from prosecution for human rights abuses. Civil movements demanding democratic reforms gained momentum in the 1980s, culminating in the Diretas Já movement, which called for direct presidential elections. In 1985, civilian leadership was restored with the election of Tancredo Neves, marking the official end of military rule.
Resistance Against the Regime
This, to me, is the most interesting and inspiring part of studying the history of this period. While the military sought to suppress dissent, resistance took many forms, ranging from armed insurgencies to political resistance and cultural movements. Take the case of Rubens and Eunice Paiva. Rubens was a civil engineer and a former left-wing politician, who had denounced the military government as a fascist, illegitimate regime and was actively helping people persecuted by the regime. He became a victim of state repression when he was arrested in 1971. He was brutally tortured and killed, his body never recovered. His wife, Eunice Paiva, was also detained and interrogated, along with their 15-year-old daughter, but both survived. Eunice fought to learn what had happened to her husband. As their son, Marcelo Rubens Paiva, recently mentioned in an interview, this was a time in which very little was known about the people who were disappearing; not even friends and families knew what was happening to their loved ones, nor how many people were being targeted. Eunice eventually decided to study law, later becoming a prominent human rights lawyer, advocating for justice for victims of the dictatorship and indigenous peoples. Her story is full of strength and bravery, and I think the film, and the book which inspired it, do a great job at depicting this.
But perhaps one of the most well-known forms of resistance came through culture. A year after the military coup, in 1965, a play called ‘Liberdade, Liberdade’, or ‘Freedom, Freedom’, openly discussed authoritarianism and criticised the government. It was a huge success, and it was quickly censored. Still, it was hard to keep artists quiet. Music festivals were very popular in Brazil, and some of the most beloved Brazilian musicians, such as Caetano Veloso and Chico Buarque, used their songs to protest and criticise the regime. ‘E proibido proibir’, or it’s forbidden to forbid, is an example of this. These artists also used metaphor and allegory to evade censorship. Chico Buarque’s song Apesar de Voce (In Spite of You) is perhaps the best example of this, and it was banned upon its release. Another of his songs, Calice, was a clever play on words, as calice means chalice, but it also sounds exactly like ‘cale-se’, or ‘shut up’, denouncing the censorship people were facing. Many of these artists were exiled, too. Both Caetano Veloso and Gilberto Gil, who were key figures of the Tropicália movement, were arrested in 1969 and forced into exile. Their fusion of Brazilian and international musical styles became anthems of defiance.
This text could go on forever with endless examples of resistence and courage, but I just need to include Zuzu Angel here, a fashion designer who, just like Eunice Paiva, became an activist because of personal tragedy and loss. Her son, Stuart Angel, was also tortured and killed by the military in 1971. She used her international connections to denounce the dictatorship, even incorporating political messages into her fashion shows. She died in a suspicious car accident in 1976, widely believed to have been orchestrated by the regime. And if you’d like to learn more about her, her story was also made into a movie in 2006, and it’s well worth a watch.
The Legacy of the Military Dictatorship
The years between 1964 and 1985 remain a subject of debate in Brazil. While some remember the period for economic development and national security, which are very debatable, through rose-coloured glasses, many others highlight the widespread human rights abuses and the suppression of civil liberties. Just imagine it: it wasn’t until 26 years after her husband’s death that the truth was finally acknowledged and Eunice received his death certificate which, for her, represented closure and even relief in a way.
The 2014 National Truth Commission investigated state crimes committed during the dictatorship, revealing systematic torture and killings. According to their reports, there were over 400 confirmed ‘political disappearances’ and around 1800 people who had been tortured by the regime. As it is often the case, marginalised and racialised communities were disproportionately impacted by this. However, unlike Argentina or Chile, Brazil has not prosecuted those responsible for past abuses, due to the controversial 1979 Amnesty Law. Contemporary political movements continue to grapple with the dictatorship’s legacy, with many of us demanding greater accountability for past crimes.
Brazil’s military dictatorship was a defining period in the country’s history, shaped by Cold War geopolitics, internal conflicts, and economic transformations. While it left deep scars on Brazilian society, it also inspired powerful acts of resistance, from political activism to artistic expression. The growing recognition of stories like that of Rubens and Eunice Paiva, the music of Chico Buarque and Caetano Veloso, and the activism of people like Zuzu Angel ensures that the memory of this period remains alive. That’s the hope, anyway. I believe it is our responsibility to remember and celebrate these stories. Many people are credited as having said that those who don’t know their history are bound to repeat it; it’s become a cliche. But it is also true. Having said that, I personally think that knowing or understanding the past isn’t enough; you have to feel history in your bones, too. It’s part of us. The writer Marcelo Rubens Paiva, the son of Eunice and Rubens, whose book inspired the movie, said that, as Eunice was losing her memory as she aged, in a way, so was Brazil, too. And that’s why he wrote this story, in which his mother appears as the unsung hero of resistance. It’s impossible not to care about what happened to this family when you learn their story. And that can help us connect with history in a deeply human and real way. So, if you haven’t watched the movie yet, please do.
Final Thoughts
The military dictatorship in Brazil is a huge subject, and I’ve barely scratched the surface here in this introduction. I hope you’ll see this text as an invitation to learn more; please make sure you check out the resources below. With the rise in far-right movements throughout the world, this feels more urgent than ever. As for the film I’m Still Here, I’m keeping my fingers crossed for the Oscars… I imagine an Oscar would look fabulous next to her Golden Globe in Fernanda Torres’ sitting room! Muito obrigada e tchau-tchau!
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References and Further Reading
Juliana Bezerra, Ditadura Militar no Brasil (1964-1985), Toda Materia.
Christopher Dunn, Brutality Garden: Tropicalia and the Emergence of a Brazilian Counterculture (2001).
Millôr Fernandes e Flávio Rangel, Liberdade, Liberdade (1977).
Elio Gaspari, A Ditadura Escancarada (2002).
Maria Aparecida Rocha Gouvea, Música de Protesto e Ethos Discursivo no Período da Ditadura Militar. A Arte de Dizer o Proibido (2013).
Marcos Napolitano, 1964: História do Regime Militar Brasileiro (2014).
Marcelo Rubens Paiva, Ainda Estou Aqui (2015).
Virginia Valli, “Eu, Zuzu Angel, procuro meu filho” (1997).
Caetano Veloso, Tropical Truth (1997).
Haydê Costa Vieira e Wagner Corsino Enedino, Teatro e Sociedade: Uma Abordagem de Liberdade, Liberdade, de Millôr Fernandes e Flávio Rangel, Literatura e Autoritarismo (2010).
Film Recommendations
I’m Still Here (2024).
Zuzu Angel (2006).
Dossiê Jango (2014).
