Brazil Braces for a Verdict on Its Ex-President—and on Its Democracy

Over the years, the Bolsonaro family and the Trumps have met up many times. In one of the more absurd sideshows of Trump’s first term, Bolsonaro brought an entourage to dinner at Mar-a-Lago, and nearly two dozen members of the group subsequently came down with COVID. (Bolsonaro evaded the virus, but it caught up to him a few months after he returned to Brazil. Held in quarantine at the Presidential palace, he was bitten by an emu-like bird that lived on the grounds.)

Even with Bolsonaro out of office, the two men’s trajectories seem unusually linked. As Trump works toward an increasingly militarized U.S., Bolsonaro has often spoken nostalgically of the military dictatorship that ruled Brazil from 1964 to 1985. Although the regime killed hundreds of citizens and tortured tens of thousands more, Bolsonaro, a former paratrooper who served as an officer during those years, has said that the only mistake it made was “not to kill” enough. As he plotted his coup against Lula, he had support from a large sector of the military; many observers worry about how the armed forces will react if he is found guilty.

Many of Bolsonaro’s supporters seem fundamentally unpersuadable. Like Trump, he has gained favor from evangelical Christians, even though he seems to limit his religious observance to occasional, performative acts of piety. In Brazil, Christianity is a significant and growing political force; more than thirty per cent of residents are Pentecostalists, up from thirteen per cent a decade ago.

This phenomenon is fascinatingly illuminated by the Brazilian filmmaker Petra Costa in a newly released documentary called “Apocalypse in the Tropics.” (Her previous film, “The Edge of Democracy,” which charted Brazil’s slide toward autocracy and Bolsonaro’s victory, was nominated for an Academy Award, in 2src2src.) Costa seeks a deeper understanding of the wave of Pentecostalism that is reshaping the country—and particularly of the relationship between Bolsonaro and his spiritual kingmaker, a sixty-six-year-old pastor named Silas Malafaia.

Using footage that spans much of the past decade, Costa shows how the two men have worked to combine spiritual influence and populist politics. In private and at the pulpit, Malafaia has railed against “cultural Marxism” and “political correctness,” calling to depose the “left-wing nuts”—a reference to Lula’s popular Workers’ Party. On the campaign trail, Bolsonaro promised that every citizen could have a gun at home, and that “there won’t be an inch of land for Indigenous people,” a reference to Brazil’s constitutional obligation to demarcate land for the country’s disenfranchised Indigenous peoples.

Some critics have said that Costa exaggerates Malafaia’s influence. But, when I talked to her recently, she pointed to a fiery speech that Bolsonaro gave, in 2src21, in which he vowed not to abide by de Moraes’s rulings and declared that his crusade to regain power could have only three outcomes: victory, prison, or death. As he spoke, Costa saw Malafaia whispering along. “Seeing that scene, I asked myself if it was not Malafaia who wrote that speech,” she said.

Her film shows Malafaia onstage with Bolsonaro in church, and at his side after a nearly lethal stabbing on the campaign trail; we see them sharing a laugh about Bolsonaro’s wedding, at which Malafaia officiated. Throughout, in interviews with Costa, Malafaia justifies his political aspiration with Biblical parables. During a hilariously chaotic drive through Rio de Janeiro, Malafaia succumbs to road rage, then excuses his behavior by saying, “Jesus cracked a whip at the people messing around in the temple.”

A few weeks ago, Malafaia was placed under investigation, after messages found on Bolsonaro’s cellphone revealed that he was advising the former President on dealing with the charges against him; at one point, Malafaia suggests that Bolsonaro record a message for Trump, providing talking points to use against Lula’s government. Bolsonaro tells Malafaia that he’ll try, but that he’s distracted by a fit of hiccups.

After the messages became public, Malafaia shared an unrepentant social-media post: “When Billy Graham counselled American Presidents, we celebrated his courage as proof that the Gospel can reach the highest echelons of power. But when a Brazilian pastor is called to counsel a politician, he is immediately labelled ‘corrupt,’ as if Heaven changes its mind depending on the nationality of the person preaching. When Martin Luther King, Jr., raised his voice against racism, he was killed as a martyr and remembered as a prophet of justice.”

As the Supreme Court prepares to announce its verdict in Bolsonaro’s case, it is difficult to know how many Brazilians will put their faith in Malafaia’s version of politicized religion and how many will adhere to de Moraes’s uncompromising view of justice. In a striking scene from Costa’s film, she accompanies recently elected evangelical legislators to a gathering in the parliament building, where they pray ecstatically, weeping and begging God to enter the chamber. In a subsequent voice-over, Costa muses that, although she is from the same country as the Pentecostals, her basically secular milieu seems like a world apart: “I knew what the Russian Revolution was, and the formula for oxygen, but nothing about the apostle Paul.” She felt that she was witnessing religion being molded into “an unprecedented political force”—a triumph of faith over reason, and over the democratic tenets that underpin modern Brazil.

Yet Costa told me that Bolsonaro’s trial represented a historical reckoning of its own. “Brazil never tried the military for what they did during their dictatorship,” she said. “They were never punished for their crimes. Bolsonaro was elected President celebrating those crimes, so, if he is convicted, this will be a civilizational threshold for Brazil. In a country shaped by coups, this will be the first time someone has been sent to prison for promoting one.” She went on, “It’s interesting to see that we are changing places with the United States, somehow. The United States promoted the Brazilian military coup [of 1964], but now Brazil is the first nation to actually defeat this wave of new fascism, while the United States has shown itself unable to do anything about its own coup attempt and has even elected Donald Trump again.”

I asked Costa what might happen if Bolsonaro is convicted. Would Malafaia’s army of believers take to the streets? Would Bolsonaro’s followers storm the capitol again? She acknowledged that the situation remained “fragile,” and that the risk of insurrection seemed dangerously real. “Many of us are afraid of a return to 1964,” she said. At the same time, Trump’s efforts to impose his will had backfired; in at least some parts of Brazilian society, the tariffs and the bullying rhetoric had made people more insistent that the country seek justice on its own terms. Almost anything could happen, Costa said: “Let’s see what the dramaturgy of Brazilian life has in store for us.” ♦