Film, Music, and Memory in the shadows of dictatorship

Brazil in the 70s, the 90s and now

Many countries around the world are experiencing massive shifts in political regimes, with some countries lurching to the right, like the US, and some, like Brazil, returning from extreme right governments. The Director of Ainda Estou Aqui / I’m Still Here, Walter Salles says that

"I bought the rights to Marcelo Paiva’s 2015 book Ainda Estou Aqui in 2017, but the film took 7 years to make because for 4 years (2019-2022), the country turned to the extreme-right and we would never have been able to film during this period. The film marks the return to democracy in Brazil.”

Ainda Estou Aqui / I’m Still Here is the story of the disappearance of Congressman Rubens Paiva in 1970 in Rio de Janeiro. The film relates the trauma of a family reeling from the disappearance of the father; the mother, Eunice Paiva attempts to gain information in the midst of a dictatorship and hold the family together, and the four children, one of whom is Marcelo Paiva, experience the traumatic loss of their father.

The Brazilian military regime (1964–1985) began with a US-backed coup overthrowing President João Goulart. The dictatorship imposed censorship, repression, and torture, targeting opposition groups. During the military regime inequality worsened. In 1979, an Amnesty Law protected perpetrators of state violence from prosecution (and despite calls from human rights organisations to repeal or amend the law, it has been upheld by Brazilian courts as recently as 2010). Widespread protests in the 1980s culminated in a return to civilian rule with the 1988 Constitution.

The film deals with the tragedy of the disappearance on the family, the importance of personal narrative as a form of resistance, and the passing of time and memory. Ainda Estou Aqui / I’m Still Here is a focal point for discussing dictatorship’s lingering impact in the context of contemporary events in Brazil, the US and around the world.

Narrating the disappearances – the importance of the details

During the military dictatorships in Brazil (1964-1985), Argentina (1976-1983) and Chile (1973 - 1990) thousands of opponents to the regimes were forcibly disappeared (400-500 in Brazil, 3,000 in Chile and 30,000 in Argentina). They were abducted by state security forces, taken to secret detention centres, tortured and often executed without trial. Their bodies were buried in unmarked graves or dumped in the sea to prevent their bodies being found.

Governments at the time denied involvement in the disappearances, or gave no information at all about the individuals. If families enquired, they were dismissed, mislead or threatened. Sometimes false death certificates were issued stating cause of death as ‘accident’ or ‘heart failure’ .

In the film, Eunice Paiva decides to move the family to Sao Paulo in the aftermath of the disappearance of Rubens; she goes to University to study law, and in 1996, she is interrupted at the faculty with the huge news that a death certificate has been issued. By this time Eunice has a platform and huge press interest in this significant step, however the death certificate did not state cause of death. In January 2025, coinciding with the release of this film, Rubens Paiva’s death certificate was amended to state that his death was ‘violent’ and ‘caused by the Brazilian state’.

In When the Dust Settles: Stories of Love, Loss and Hope, Lucy Easthope outlines, in loving and respectful detail, the steps disaster recovery experts take to honour the dignity of the dead in disasters because fragments of remains become precious symbols for steps towards integration and healing for family left behind. Similarly, a death certificate acknowledges a life lived and lost. An accurate death certificate acknowledges the cause of and responsibility for death.

My time in Brazil: Soma and Embodied Resistance

In 1997, the year after the first death certificate was issued, I moved to Rio de Janeiro and stayed there for 6 years, teaching English, and then later doing translation. I’m not sure there was a better place in the world for me to live in my twenties with Rio’s mix of art, music, carnaval, politics, humour, conviviality, beach and mountains. In 1999 I became part of a movement called Soma, which advocated open, clear communication, non-hierarchical organising, and the processing of our conditioned (power over/power under) responses. It was a perfect combination of politics and psychology, leaning into Wilhelm Reich, Gestalt therapy, anarchist principles and what is now called ‘embodiment’ before such a term became so widely known.

Soma was well ahead of its time, and for this reason. It came out of the Brazilian experience of military dictatorship and repression. The founder of Soma, psychologist, writer and activist, Roberto Freire, was tortured under the regime. Freire was no relation to Paulo but their work had overlaps. Both advocated the transformative potential of political consciousness and education; Paulo focussed on literacy, Roberto, on non-hierarchical organising and embodiment). Roberto Freire understood that state sponsored repression seeps into all areas of life; family relationships, work relationships and your relationship to your self. Authoritarianism conditions us to conform and retreat into safe silos; it operates through fear. Soma, although ultimately a product of its time (pre Black lives matter, pre #metoo, pre-widespread awareness of trauma) and was steeped in its own contradictions and reproduced some of the very things it intended to dismantle, such as asymmetric power dynamics where some leaders held and sometimes abused their power; but it was a response to authoritarianism, one that encouraged pleasurable and fun collaboration as a means of resistance.

Through authentic connections with Brazilians, young and old, I discovered how much the military dictatorship still cast a shadow in people’s lives, over 15 years after its end. I was an English woman living in Brazil, coming from a Global North country with my own internalised baggage around class, gender and race. The power analysis of Soma, while imperfect and with blindspots, helped us all to figure out a ‘gringa’s’ relationship to Brazilians and my relationship to myself. This time in my life set the seeds of my later work with communication and conflict.

I learnt Portuguese through the monumental group discussions called ‘Grupao’ (literally, ‘big group’) in the Soma process. They lasted hours and everyone got a turn to speak and hear reflections from the group on their issues.

Creativity Under Dictatorship – Songs That Defied Censorship

The other way I learnt Portuguese was through music. I was fascinated by Brazilian Popular Music (MPB) and particularly the songs that managed to, initially at least, defy censorship by speaking about the regime in metaphor, double meaning, poetic and even religious language.

One of my all time favourite songs is Apesar de Voce by Chico Buarque which is a triumphant samba with the message that ‘despite you, tomorrow will be another day’. Claiming to be a song about a lover, it became an anthem of resistance.

In Mosca na Sopa, Raul Seixas sings ‘I am the fly that lands in your soup’ in a bizarre, genre-blending riot of sound to suggest acts of resistance, we are going to ‘bother you’ and ‘perturb your sleep’.

In Calice, Chico Buarque and Gilberto Gil create a story in which a son is telling a father to take away this cup (calice) of red wine of blood (vinho tinto de sangue) in a supposed rejection of religious imagery. Calice can also be seen as meaning cale-se, which means ‘shut up’. The song is dramatic, punctuated by heavy, urgent expressions of the words Calice/Cale-se.

Like film, music allows for emotional expression and catharsis. It can be an expression of collective grief and anger. Protest songs served not only as expressions of defiance but as reminders of shared struggle and collective resilience. In these songs, collective memories and identities of resistance are preserved

From Trump to Bolsonaro, back to Trump

The first rise of Donald Trump in the U.S. emboldened the right in Brazil, making way for the election of Jair Bolsonaro in Brazil in 2019. There are many parallels between these leaders; their leaderships both had a hugely polarizing effect on their societies; they both attacked democratic institutions after losing an election. Trump famously attacked the US judiciary, media, and electoral process, culminating in the January 6 Capitol riot and after losing the 2022 election, Bolsonaro claimed, without evidence, that electronic voting was rigged. This led to the January 8 2023, Brasilia insurrection, where his supporters stormed government buildings.

When in power, Bolsonaro glorified the military regime. His rhetoric revived the trauma of the regime, as he openly praised torturers, such as Colonel Ustra, infamous for brutal repression; advocated for military intervention to control crime and protests and downplayed human rights abuses, dismissing the National Truth Commission’s findings on dictatorship-era crimes.

Bolsonaro is currently facing multiple legal challenges that could bar him from office or even result in criminal charges. Brazil’s Superior Electoral Court (TSE) ruled Bolsonaro ineligible for public office until 2030 due to his false claims about election fraud. Bolsonaro is also under investigation for inciting the insurrection in 2023, with evidence suggesting he encouraged supporters to reject the election results.

These cases matter in order to signal the democratic resilience of Brazil. They show that even powerful figures can be held accountable when they undermine democracy and they are an important part of demonstrating whether the country can fully move past its authoritarian shadows. As the US enters the second administration of Donald Trump, being steadfast and clear in the face of anti-democratic measures is going to be essential.

Centring survivors’ voices - Cinema as a tool for memory

The trauma of past dictatorships does not simply fade with time, the rise of Bolsonaro shows how the shadow of dictatorship can re-emerge, diminish trust in democracy, and create huge societal divisions. However, sensitive, trauma-informed approaches to cinema and storytelling that centre survivors’ voices, help to preserve collective memory, strengthen shared commitment to democracy and make accountability more likely, so that we can all be part of societies where authoritarianism is less likely to succeed and return.

More than 50 years pass in the trajectory of the film Ainda Estou Aqui / I’m still here and at the end Eunice Paiva is portrayed suffering from Alzheimers, sunk into the mysterious isolation of the illness at the end of her life. She is surrounded by her loving family. Popular Brazilian Music runs throughout the entire film.