Brazzil

On July 17, 2005, dust clouds engulfed the former site of São Paulo's House of Detention, better known as Carandiru. Before its deactivation in 2002, Carandiru was the largest, and perhaps the most notorious detention center in all of Latin America. Originally built to accommodate 3,000 prisoners, Carandiru once teemed with more than 9,000.

Bursting at the seems, it is euphemistic to say that Carandiru was ever a correctional facility. For the thousands of men that sought survival inside its grey walls, Carandiru was a veritable inferno. Wretched living conditions made rehabilitation of the socioeconomically disadvantaged inmates a lost cause.

Those detained were instead hardened with deep-seated hatred for an unjust society. It was the inhumane treatment of prisoners that contributed largely to the infamous 1992 Carandiru riot. Military forces quelled this rebellion with brute force, massacring 111 inmates.

As dust settled from the July 17 implosions in São Paulo city, the last of the Carandiru Pavilions slated for demolishment stood no longer. In place of this prison complex the state government now has plans to erect a public park. It will take more than benches and trees though to mask the utter disrepair of Brazil's penitentiary system.

As Brazilians are all too often reminded by the media, Brazil's prisons remain dangerously overcrowded, underfunded, and understaffed. Just one month prior to the Carandiru implosions, several prison revolts concurrently made newspaper headlines throughout Brazil.

This human rights impact assessment singles out one of those uprisings for an up close review. Through a case study approach, this essay seeks to analyze the events leading up to the gruesome standoff between a prison gang and police forces at a security facility in São Paulo state.

Through deconstruction, this essay seeks to illuminate new pathways toward innovating public policy. If Brazil is ever to get a grip on the culture of violence that reins its inner-cities, it must first step out from underneath the shadows of Carandiru.

Revolt in Summary

On the morning of June 14, 2005 a violent revolt broke out at the Zwinglio Ferreira Prison in São Paulo state. Members of the gang First Capital Command (PCC) overpowered guards, invaded protected cells, and executed 5 faction gang members. These inmates were decapitated and their heads were flaunted on the prison's roof.

20 correctional officers were initially taken hostage, but several were able to escape, and 2 were later released. Police forces quickly mobilized in front of the prison, and a negotiating team established a line of communication with the hostage takers.

Negotiations were called off in the late afternoon, and were resumed the following morning. In the early afternoon of June 15 the revolt ended when the prisoners peacefully surrendered, and released the remaining hostages.

Revolt in Depth

The Zwinglio Ferreira Penitentiary, also known as Penitentiary 1 (P-I), is located in the town of Presidente Venceslau, (pop. 40,000) 385 miles northwest of São Paulo. This "maximum security" prison was inaugurated in 1961, ranking it amongst the state's oldest facilities.

Originally designed to house 680 prisoners, at the time of the revolt approximately 785 inmates were being detained in this four-wing facility, with the majority of the population affiliated with the organized crime group known as the First Capital Command (PCC). This was not the first instance of a major revolt at P-I. In 1986 a rebellion there resulted in the death of 14 people.

As hinted above, the PCC and other organized gangs are ubiquitous in Brazil's penitentiary system. It is therefore useful to profile the PCC. The PCC was formed by a group of high-risk criminals that were transferred from prisons throughout São Paulo state to the Taubaté Penitentiary during the early 1990s.

The PCC's genesis story cannot be told without mention of human rights. The PCC was formed largely in response to the abhorrent treatment Brazilian prisoners had been receiving for decades. Over the years the PCC has evolved into Brazil's most powerful crime ring, commanding a large share of the country's illicit drug market.

What is most disturbing about gangs like the PCC is that their leaders are able to conduct business as usual from behind bars. The advent of the cell phone has been a blessing to kingpins that manage rackets, order death hits, and terrorize society from the comfort of their cells. Most criminal experts agree now that the criminals run the prisons, not the authorities.

On Tuesday, June 15, 2005, things began to fall apart at P-I around 8:30 a.m. Soon after prisoner roll call was taken, a group of inmates from Wing 1 of the prison overpowered guards and invaded Wing 2, where death threat recipients were segregated. The revolting PCC inmates fatally attacked five of these prisoners.

At 10:00 a.m. inmates began congregating on the prison's roof where they were seen waving the decapitated heads of their victims on the end of long bamboo poles. Footage of this grisly scene was broadcast live on national television.

The PCC took 20 correction officers hostage. 6 officers escaped soon afterwards. Military Police Officers (PMs) attempted in vain to disperse the rioters by firing warning rounds in the air. Throughout the morning, prisoners paced the roof, while others razed the compound. At noon, the prisoners released one correction officer.

Reinforcements did not arrive at the prison until four hours after the revolt began. Upon arriving at the scene at 12:30 p.m., a Military Police Shock Troop set up position in front of the facility. The prison's warden and a regional prison coordinator led negotiations with the hostage takers, while a priest and the President of the District Bar Association observed.

Bowing to prisoner demands, a judge from the local Penal Execution District was brought in around 1:30 p.m. to join negotiations, and vet prisoners' complaints about living conditions. The prisoners reportedly demanded their transferal to other state facilities. It is uncertain if any of the negotiators were professionally trained to handle hostage situations. Nevertheless, the response team managed to get another hostage released at 2:00 p.m. At that point 12 correction officers remained held.

An hour later three of those captives were taken to the prison's roof and paraded around by hooded prisoners. As tension continued to mount, behind-the-scenes actions were taken to get bystanders clear of harm's way. At 4:00 p.m. 160 noncombatives were evacuated and transferred to nearby prison facilities. With little headway gained by late afternoon, negotiations were suspended at 6:00 p.m. Officials simultaneously moved to cut off the prison's water and electricity.

Negotiations resumed on Wednesday, June 16, 2005 at 9:00 a.m. The revolt came to a peaceful ending five hours later. After the 12 correction officers were released they were rushed to a local hospital and treated for cuts, bruises, and posttraumatic stress.

Once the hostages were in safety, the Military Policy sent in its Shock Troop to secure the complex. This operation lasted until 6:40 p.m. In the aftermath of the revolt P-I lay in ruin: the in-house school and library were set ablaze, sleeping cots and portions of the roof were also set aflame, the kitchen and infirmary were vandalized, and all the cell bars were ripped out.

Boiling Point

Readers may be curious by now as to what exactly sparked the events described above. We will now turn to the handful of theories that have been advanced.

First, it is thought that the PCC invaded Wing 2 and murdered 5 ex-gang members because they refused to pay extortionary rents.

Second, some believe that the revolt was staged to leverage prison officials to transfer a leading PCC member out of the Presidente Bernardes Prison, which is considered to be Brazil's securest facility.

Third, the revolt at P-I is theorized to have been part of an ongoing battle within the PCC for command of drug trafficking in the Baixada Santista area of Santos (this region of São Paulo is increasingly compared to the drug infested slums of Rio de Janeiro).

Fourth, there are those that suspect the rebellion was a vague "settling of accounts," or payback between feuding factions.

Fifth, according to criminal experts like Roberto Porto and Guaracy Mingardi, what the PCC did was meant as a show of force. In face of crackdowns from state officials, the PCC wanted to flex its muscles and prove that it is still a power to be reckoned with.

The sixth theory ultimately underlies all the other explanations. It deals directly with human rights and is generally downplayed by officials, as well as the media. As in most cases in Brazil, the revolt at P-I was indirectly caused by the terrible treatment of prisoners.

Policy Asunder

If loss of life had not been involved, then it could be convincingly argued that what happened in the weeks following the revolt was worse than the revolt itself. The measures introduced in the rebellion's wake reflected incompetent decision making, and reminded observers that Brazil lacks a serious commitment to prison reform policy.

It was estimated that 85% of P-I was destroyed in the revolt. Considering the amount of destruction leveled, most would logically assume that officials immediately shut down the prison, and transferred inmates to other facilities. Approximately three hundred inmates were in fact relocated, however, some 325 inmates were kept at P-I.

Because all the cell bars were ripped out of the walls during the revolt, remaining inmates were allowed to roam two prison wings freely. Representatives of the São Paulo Prison Workers' Union (Sifuspesp)(1) voiced concern about the prison chaos, and even warned that the only thing permitting these men from escaping en masse was a gate that had been welded shut.

This barrier had little effect on a group of inmates determined to break free. On June 20, less than a week after the P-I revolt had ended, 14 inmates absconded through a 23 foot tunnel burrowed underneath the prison.

Police immediately sent out search teams, but the public was merely advised to be on the alert for suspicious individuals. Detailed descriptions were not provided as no one knew exactly who was missing. Since the revolt correction officers had not been able to conduct a daily prisoner count.

Although the escapees were recaptured, it is telling that even this episode did not prompt the immediate rolling of heads. A whole week passed before Nagashi Furukawa, State Director of Prisons,(2) finally announced a reshuffle.

P-I's warden and the regional prison coordinator were put on administrative leave and replaced by colleagues. If these announcements sounded promising to members of Sifuspesp, they would be quickly disappointed to hear Furukawa's decision not to deactivate P-I during reconstruction.

Upon touring the prison on June 28 he deemed that the prison could safely house 350 inmates during the five month rebuilding process, which was scheduled to start the next day, with an estimated cost to Brazilian taxpayers of 2.7 million reais (US$ 1.25 million). This decision was made against warnings from Sifuspesp and legal appeals to close the prison, or to at least introduce additional safeguards to prevent another escape.

Tragicomical but true, four days before Furukawa's visit to P-I another tunnel was uncovered, and just a day before his visit a shock troop and a SWAT team had to be called in to prevent another revolt from occurring. Peace was restored hours later with the presence of military troops, and only after prisoner demands for cigarettes had been met.

What Learning Curve?

If one were to chart the learning curve of Brazil's penitentiary system, the line drawn would have a slope approaching zero. Since the Carandiru massacre 14 years ago, little has been done to improve Brazil's prisons.

Readers must be mindful that this case study presents only a single snapshot in time. Researchers would exhaust themselves attempting to catalogue and analyze every revolt that has occurred in the last decade and a half. There simply have been too many to mention.

Perhaps that is part of the problem though. In Brazil citizens have become desensitized to the chilling prison yard graphics that have become so commonplace on their television screens. But there is nothing common or normal about prisoners decapitating each other, and playing soccer with the heads of their enemies.

When Brazilians view these types of images on TV what most see are menaces to society, and not products of society's doing. In Brazil the stark paradox is that more violent criminals are bred in the prisons than on the streets. Ultimately, for there to be real prison reform in Brazil, there must be a paradigm shift to "human rights first."(3)

By this we mean that the first priority of state and federal governments should be to treat prisoners humanely: they should be fed three meals a day, they should be issued adequate clothing, they should be detained in safe and sanitary conditions, as well as in reasonable comfort, they should be provided medical treatment, they should be allowed to bathe and groom themselves on a daily basis, they should be given time to engage in outdoor recreational activities, and they should be furnished with opportunities to better themselves through education and vocational programs.

These and other basic elements of humane treatment are missing in the vast majority of Brazil's prisons where inmates are corralled into tiny cells, and treated worse than animals.

Picking Up the Pieces

In this section we introduce a few ideas on how to mend the broken pieces of Brazil's prison system. The following policy-strategy mix is predicated on the firm belief that systemic change can only be achieved through a "human rights first" approach. For far too long public policy makers have skirted around this commonsensical approach to reform. It is long past time for Brazil to learn from years of mistakes.

Good policy starts with sound leadership. As the very first order of business Nagashi Furukawa should be relieved of his duties as São Paulo state director of prisons. Since assuming this post in 1999, too much blood has been shed under his watch.

To be fair Furukawa is but one man charged with an enormous task, however, his bungling of the P-I revolt is testament to his professional incompetence. For the dangerous work that they do, prison guards deserve an administrator that listens to their concerns, and actually cares about their safety.

Administrative change in any politicized climate is no easy feat. But as political winds shift in this electoral year, perhaps now is the opportune moment to mobilize a changing of the guard. In terms of strategy, the São Paulo Prison Workers' Union (Sifuspesp) has two bargaining chips in hand: political support and the threat of strike.

Although late in the game, Sifuspesp could still decide to endorse a gubernatorial candidate that is sensitive to their claims. In the event that their candidate falls short of a win, or wins and changes policy midstream, Sifuspesp could always threaten work stoppage.

The prospect of prison guards walking off the job would jolt any lawmaker into sobriety. The appealing crux of this tactic is that guards would most likely not have to make good on their threat, and even if they did Military Police would stand by to prevent statewide pandemonium.

Through pacific or aggressive means, Sifuspesp does have the power to bring in fresh leadership at the top of São Paulo's prison chain of command. With better command Sifuspesp could effectively push for safer working conditions through facility upgrades.

Although these improvements would have positive externalities on prisoner safety, we are directly concerned with prisoner treatment. It is important to acknowledge that a Sifuspesp friendly governor and a director of prisons does not necessarily equate to better human rights for prisoners.

How then do we ensure that the human rights of employees and prisoners are equally preserved? There is no simple answer, but one line of strategy holds that human rights groups should begin to pay more attention to the well-being of prison staffers.

Intentionally or not, many groups have shown callousness toward the plight of these underpaid, overworked, and underappreciated public servants. Nearsightedly, groups have forgotten that the treatment of prisoners cannot be improved without the support of those that vigil over them. The promotion of human rights cannot be done alone.

"Human Rights First"

Critics will argue that this essay glosses over two major issues central to this debate. The author is cognizant that overhauling the Brazilian criminal justice system is part and parcel of prison reform.

One can only express contempt for a justice system in which have-nots like Angélica Aparecida de Souza Teodoro are jailed for months on end for shoplifting butter, all the while playboy politicians get a away with murder.

The author is likewise conscious that we are discussing a prison system whose strings are pulled by the Fernandinho Beira-Mars (Fernandinho Beira Mar is a notorious drug lord) of Brazil. There is no doubt that criminal gangs like the PCC have come to exert mind-blowing control over prisons, but we must not forget first, that these gangs were baptized in the fire of wanton prison cruelty, and second, that these gangs continue to consolidate their far-reaching power.

What policy makers have been doing to curb prison violence clearly has not been working. A new strategy needs to be launched immediately, because daily headlines are warning us that the problem is only getting worse.

During the week of March 20, 2006, seven inmates were killed in a riot at the Jundiaí prison in São Paulo state. This was São Paulo's sixth riot that week. The time has come for policy makers in São Paulo and throughout Brazil to reform the prison system through an approach that places "human rights first." How long must Brazil walk in the shadows of Carandiru?

(1) The official title of Sifuspesp is the São Paulo State Prison System Workers' Union.

(2) Nagashi Furukawa's official title is State Secretary of Penitentiary Administration.

(3) Phrase "human rights first" is borrowed from the name of a U.S. based advocacy organization.

Jean Marinho da Silva Pinner studies International Policy as a graduate student at the Monterey Institute of International Studies, in California. He earned his BA in International Studies and Portuguese from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. Jean may be contacted at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it .

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