On the sun-drenched sands of Rio’s Copacabana, what began as a political protest quickly transformed into a cultural call to arms. On September 21, 2025, thousands gathered for a rally that doubled as a civic concert, headlined by some of Brazil’s most revered musicians—Caetano Veloso, Chico Buarque, Gilberto Gil, and Djavan. Their message was unmistakable: Brazilian democracy must not be papered over by a hasty amnesty bill, especially one that could shield former President Jair Bolsonaro and others involved in the storming of government buildings on January 8, 2021.
According to EFE, Caetano Veloso, now 83, was the first to address the crowd, arriving atop a trio elétrico and wrapped in a blaze of yellow. “No amnesty and with democracy—that is a beautiful Brazil,” he told the assembled throng, his words echoing above the Atlantic surf. The crowd, energized and resolute, chanted “sem anistia” (“no amnesty”) with a rhythmic persistence that seemed to set the very tempo of the evening.
The protest’s focal point was the amnesty bill, which the Chamber of Deputies had fast-tracked under an “urgency regime” just days earlier. This maneuver bypassed the usual committee scrutiny, sending the bill straight to the floor for a vote. On its face, the legislation would absolve those who participated in the January 8 storming of the Supreme Court, Congress, and the presidency. But, as Latin American Post reported, the reality is more complicated—and more troubling. Far-right leaders hope to stretch this legislative shield to cover coup plotters already convicted, including Bolsonaro himself, who faces a 27-year sentence.
“Up with our democracy. Let’s fight for it always,” Djavan urged, his voice carried by EFE. The musicians’ performance was more than a nostalgic setlist; it was a living lesson in resistance. Songs like “Alegria, alegria,” “Desde que o samba é samba,” and “Sina” were interspersed with political commentary. When Buarque and Gilberto Gil performed “Cálice”—a song that once defied Brazil’s dictatorship—the lyrics reverberated as a warning: attempts to silence dissent and rewrite history remain ever-present threats.
Inflatable caricatures of Bolsonaro in prison stripes floated above the crowd, while national flags waved side by side. The symbolism was impossible to miss. On this beach, memory is contested terrain. Just weeks before, Copacabana had hosted a rally aligned with Bolsonaro, the former president calling in via his son’s mobile phone. The very next day, the Supreme Court ordered Bolsonaro’s house arrest, underscoring the high stakes of the current political moment.
The urgency regime that propelled the amnesty bill forward is not a mere procedural quirk. As Latin American Post explained, it represents a decision to sidestep debate, muzzle public input, and trivialize the constitutional gravity of January 8. When legislators convert due process into a sprint, the result is not reconciliation but erasure. The crowd’s chants of “no amnesty” were not a rejection of forgiveness in principle, but a categorical refusal to allow the political laundering of an assault on democracy.
The protest in Copacabana was far from an isolated event. Demonstrations echoed through São Paulo, Brasília, Belo Horizonte, and even crossed continents, with smaller gatherings springing up in Lisbon, London, and Berlin. This groundswell of opposition signals that resistance to a blanket amnesty is not just a regional concern or a celebrity cause—it’s a national reckoning with Brazil’s democratic identity.
Brazil’s history with amnesty is fraught with pain and controversy. The 1979 law that shielded both torturers and the tortured remains a source of national trauma. To repeat that model now, critics argue, would be more than ironic—it would be a grave institutional error. As the Latin American Post observed, “Accountability after a democratic rupture is not a matter of vengeance. It is institutional self-respect.”
For many, the true test for Congress is not whether it can legislate forgiveness, but whether it can legislate truth, justice, and the strengthening of democratic institutions. If reconciliation is the goal, then lawmakers should consider measures that protect whistleblowers, fund deradicalization programs, and guarantee reparations for state failures. They should invest in civic education and shore up the very institutions that were attacked on January 8. But, as the rally’s leaders made clear, healing cannot be confused with forgetting, nor peace with permissiveness.
Meanwhile, the political and judicial drama in Brazil reached another turning point on September 26, 2025, with the departure of Rafael Henrique Window Tamai Rocha, auxiliary judge to Supreme Federal Court Minister Alexandre de Moraes. As reported by Folha de S.Paulo, Rocha had been a key figure in the investigation and prosecution of hundreds of cases linked to the January 8 events, overseeing statements from defendants and witnesses, especially those in the so-called coup plot nuclei. His resignation, confirmed by a Supreme Court directive on September 15 and coinciding with a management decision on September 22, leaves Moraes’s office with only one newly named auxiliary judge.
Rocha’s exit comes at a moment of heightened international tension. In a move that sent shockwaves through Brazil’s political elite, the Donald Trump administration announced a new wave of sanctions against Brazilian authorities in response to Bolsonaro’s conviction. The sanctions targeted not only Minister Moraes’s wife, Viviane Barci, but also former assistants including Rocha, revoking their visas. Others affected included Airton Vieira, Marco Antonio Vargas, José Levi (former Attorney General of the Union and former Secretary-General of the Superior Electoral Court), Jorge Messias (current Attorney General of the Union), Benedito Gonçalves (former Superior Electoral Court minister), and Cristina Yukiko Kusahara (Moraes’s chief of staff).
These sanctions highlight the international dimensions of Brazil’s ongoing struggle over accountability and the rule of law. The Trump administration’s move has been interpreted by some as an attempt to pressure Brazilian institutions and signal support for Bolsonaro’s allies, adding another layer of complexity to an already volatile situation.
As the amnesty bill moves forward and the judiciary faces internal and external pressures, the stakes for Brazilian democracy could hardly be higher. The events of January 8 are not just a matter for the courts or the legislature—they are a test of the nation’s collective memory and resolve. The musicians who took the stage at Copacabana, and the crowds who answered their call, insist that the rule of law must be more than a refrain. They remind the country that democracy, like music, requires both harmony and vigilance.
In the end, what played out on Rio’s beach was more than a concert or a protest. It was a vivid reminder that, in Brazil, culture and politics are inseparable—and that the fight for democracy is never truly over.
