On the morning of October 28, 2025, Rio de Janeiro awoke to the sounds of gunfire and chaos as one of the largest and deadliest police operations in the city’s history unfolded. The target: the notorious Red Command gang, a criminal organization with deep roots in Brazil’s underworld. What followed was a day of violence, loss, and controversy that has left the city—and indeed, the nation—reeling.
According to BBC Brazil, the operation was massive in scale, involving around 2,500 security forces, two helicopters, dozens of armored and demolition vehicles, and a host of drones. The raid focused mainly on the Alemao and Penha neighborhoods, both known strongholds for the Red Command. The police’s stated aim was to serve arrest warrants to key gang leaders and to prevent the group from expanding its territory—an ambition that has seen the Red Command become one of Brazil’s two largest criminal gangs, alongside the First Capital Command (PCC).
But the operation quickly spiraled out of control. Residents reported hearing heavy gunfire and explosions as police clashed with gang members, who fought back fiercely with gunfire, grenades, and even drones equipped with explosives. Barricades were set ablaze in the streets, and the air was thick with fear and confusion. Bruno Itan, a photographer who grew up in the area, told BBC Brazil, “They were just piling up bodies: 25, 30, 35, 40, 45... Among them were the bodies of police officers. One of the bodies was decapitated—the others were completely mutilated.”
As the day wore on, the true cost of the operation became apparent. The initial death toll, according to the Rio state government, was 60 suspects and four police officers. But as more bodies were discovered and counted, that number rose dramatically. The government’s preliminary count eventually reached 117 suspects killed, while the Rio Public Defender’s Office, which provides legal aid to the poor, estimated the total number of dead at 132. Police confirmed that four officers—Marcos Vinícius Cardoso de Carvalho, Rodrigo Velloso Cabral, Heber Carvalho da Fonseca, and Cleiton Serafim Gonçalves—lost their lives in the line of duty.
The aftermath was harrowing. Residents, many of whom had hidden in terror during the raid, emerged to search for missing relatives. They carried the bodies they found—many showing signs of mutilation, stab wounds, and even decapitation—to a local square. Itan’s photographs captured the raw grief and outrage of families: mothers fainting, pregnant women weeping, and parents crying out in anguish. “The brutality of it all hit me hard: the grief of the families, the mothers fainting, the pregnant women, the crying, the outraged parents,” Itan described to BBC Brazil.
Authorities claimed the operation was necessary to stem the tide of organized crime. Governor Cláudio Castro, a political ally of former President Jair Bolsonaro, defended the police, describing the Red Command as “narco-terrorists.” In a press conference, he stated, “It was not our intention to kill anyone. We wanted to arrest them all alive. It was a consequence of the retaliation they carried out and a response to the disproportionate use of force by those criminals.” Castro later posted on Facebook, “This is how Rio de Janeiro police are greeted by criminals: with bombs dropped by drones. This is the size of the challenge we are facing. It is no longer a common crime, it is drug-terrorism.”
Still, the operation drew immediate and widespread condemnation. The United Nations Human Rights Office said it was “horrified” by the scale of the bloodshed, stating, “This deadly operation furthers the trend of extreme lethal consequences of police operations in Brazil’s marginalized communities. We remind authorities of their obligations under international human rights law and urge prompt and effective investigations.” Human rights groups and activists echoed these concerns, with many calling for a full inquiry into the conduct of police and the circumstances of the deaths.
The controversy only deepened as details emerged. Police reported that some bodies had been stripped of camouflage clothing, allegedly to shift blame to law enforcement. Felipe Currie of Rio’s civilian police force showed video evidence of a man cutting camouflage clothing from a corpse. Meanwhile, the Supreme Court judge Alexandre de Moraes summoned Governor Castro to a hearing to explain the police actions in detail, an extraordinary move highlighting the gravity of the situation.
On October 31, just three days after the raid, hundreds of protesters marched through Vila Cruzeiro, part of the Penha complex, demanding Castro’s resignation. The crowd included locals, politicians, activists, and grieving mothers who had lost sons in prior police operations. Many wore white—a symbol of peace—while others donned shirts with red handprints or carried signs pleading, “stop killing us.” The anger was palpable. Anne Caroline Dos Santos, a resident of Rocinha, declared, “Coward, terrorist, assassin! His hands are dirty with blood.” Councilwoman Mônica Benício, widow of slain councilwoman Marielle Franco, added, “Assassinating young people in favelas isn’t public policy, it’s a massacre.”
Yet, not all voices were united in condemnation. Some in Brazil, particularly those aligned with right-wing politics, applauded the operation as a necessary step against heavily armed gangs. The state government asserted that those killed were criminals who had resisted arrest. On Friday, authorities stated that of the 99 suspects identified so far, 42 had outstanding arrest warrants and at least 78 had extensive criminal records. However, local newspaper O Globo reported that none of the 99 names were indicted by the Rio de Janeiro public prosecutor’s office prior to the operation—a fact that has fueled further debate about due process and the legitimacy of the raid’s targets.
Beyond the immediate tragedy, the raid has raised broader questions about Brazil’s approach to crime and policing. Police operations of this magnitude are not uncommon before major events, and with the UN climate summit COP30 and Prince William’s Earthshot Prize awards both scheduled in Brazil in early November, some speculate about the timing and motives behind the crackdown. Critics argue that such operations often result in high civilian casualties, especially in marginalized communities, and fail to address the root causes of organized crime.
As the city tries to recover, the scars of October 28 are everywhere: burned-out cars, shuttered shops, and the lingering grief of families who lost loved ones. The debate over how to balance security and human rights remains unresolved. As Adriana Miranda, a lawyer at the protest, put it, “Suspicions need to be investigated. There is a whole procedure established in the Penal Code and the Code of Criminal Procedure that must be followed. The constitution guarantees everyone’s rights.”
For now, Rio de Janeiro stands at a crossroads—caught between the urgent need to confront violent crime and the imperative to uphold justice, dignity, and the rule of law for all its citizens.
