“I'm still here” – the candidate for the killing of Brazilian lawmakers by the country's military dictatorship, the best photo candidate for Oscar – closes with a single sentence that brings a gut punch to historical reality.
Now, the film may help change that.
This month, the Brazilian Supreme Court decided to unanimously consider whether the pardon of an army officer accused of killing lawmakers, Rubens Paiva and two others should be revoked. It followed a December decision by one justice to encourage the removal of pardon protections in cases during another dictatorial era. In his ruling, Justice explicitly cited “I'm still here.”
The sudden, extraordinary judicial calculations that the film incites could be legal implications. Does Brazil's amnesty law continue to protect those who committed atrocities during the dictatorship for almost half a century?
The fact that the question is being raised indicates that “I'm still here” – in addition to its amazing commercial and critical success, it also had a major political influence in Brazil.
And since the film was released in November, authorities have reopened the cold case to amend the victim's death certificates to make it clear that he had died at the hands of the military and to see if they were involved in the military regime.
“There are still many open wounds in Brazil,” said Marcelo Rubens Paiva, Paiva's son. “I think the whole movement reflects the type of country that society, especially young people, is what they want.”
Through a personal story of a family trial at the hands of a dictatorship, the film succeeded in ralizing Brazilians across political boundaries around the general idea of ​​justice, and for his portrayal of Paiva, which is Unis' portrayal of Waides and the acclaimed academy of Sunday's Academy Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash Ash
“It didn't happen for a long time. The cultural phenomenon agrees that it's not fair and that this family doesn't deserve it. This father didn't deserve its fate,” Torres said in an interview. “We are truly living in a revolutionary moment,” she added. “Cultural has a great power.”
The film's message was particularly sober as it arrived amid a new allegation of a modern threat to Brazilian young democracy from former President Jea Bolsonaro, who was charged this month with overseeing a coup and overseeing a plot to kill rival president Louise Inacio Lula da Silva after losing the 2022 election.
It helped to broaden the call for justice. Caeta No Veloso, one of Brazil's most prolific singers and songwriters, said in an interview that at his recent concert, the huge crowd decided to chant “no amnesty.”
“I've never seen it,” said Veroso, who was imprisoned and exiled during the dictatorship.
Human rights groups estimate that over 400 people were forced to disappear in Brazil during the dictatorship, and about 20,000 were tortured. However, unlike Chile and Argentina, where many crimes committed under military dictatorships have brought trials and punishments, and death tolls are much higher, Brazil is not pursuing accountability for Army atrocities.
Left House Representative Paiba, who was expelled from office by a dictatorship, was accused of continuing to resist the administration and exiled opposition.
In Brazil, the transition to democracy was primarily shaped by the junta itself, and in 1979 passed an amnesty law protecting both opposition and military authorities from prosecution.
“Amnesty, the way that was done in Brazil, erased the past,” said Nirmario Miranda, a special advisor on memory and truth to Brazil's Ministry of Human Rights, who said he was a victim of torture. “It treated the assailant like a victim, and the torturer like a torturer.”
The long-standing attempt to take charge of crime during the dictatorship faced solid resistance from the military, which continued to sway politically, even after Brazil returned to democracy.
But now, the film has helped the military launch the most important threat to its granted immunity.
In December, Judge Flavio Dino quoted the film in his ruling to revoke the pardon given to two colonels accused of murdering political activists during dictatorship. “I'm still here,” he wrote. “The story of Rubens Paiva's loss of the story of the body not being found or given a proper burial highlights the enduring pain of countless families.”
Judge Dino approved the legal argument that if the body is still missing, it is a “permanent crime” open to prosecution until the body is found.
Earlier this month, the Supreme Court also decided to consider whether the pardon should be revoked in Paiba's case. In 2014, Brazilian authorities accused five men of torture and death. They never confessed to the crime. Two of them were still alive and they were mostly silent, and one informed him that he was on leave during Mr Paiva's custody.
The Supreme Court's decision in this case could set legal precedents that could affect at least 41 other dictatorial cases.
In a symbolic gesture, federal groups ordered revisions to 434 death certificates for those killed or disappeared during the dictatorship. Paiva was the first record to be revised, from not listing the causes of death to cite the causes as “unnatural and violent caused by the Brazilian state.”
Believing in this film, the Special Government Commission also resumed an investigation into the death of former President Juscelino Kubitschek in 1976 in the car accident.
“The roles in the film were extraordinary,” Miranda said. “Art has that power,” he added, “make sure history is not forgotten and never happens again.”
Bolsonaro, a retired army captain who often spoke lovingly about dictatorship, repeatedly attacked, “I'm still here,” demonizing it as a political film that demonizes the army and only shows “one side” of the story.
“I'm not going to watch her movie,” he said in an interview with the New York Times last month.
Several of Bolsonaro's supporters similarly boycotted “I'm still here” and opposed efforts to put the military on trial for past crimes.
Meanwhile, Lula praised the film, calling it a “source of national pride” and won an award in honor of Eunice Paiva. This week, the Brazilian president gathered the government ministers and parliamentary leaders at the presidential palace for a special screening, and two Paiba's grandchildren at the presidential palace.
But even if Brazil considers its gloomy past, some people worry that justice may be too late. In the decades since Brazil returned to democracy, many who committed crimes during the dictatorship, including most of Paiba's torturers – died without explanation.
“It's never too late,” Marcelo Rubens Paiva said. “But why did it take so long?”
Flavia Mill Hollance Contributed research.
