Brazil under scrutiny.

We are on the verge of suffering a military, technological, and institutional blackout—orchestrated by those who control our defense, communication, and surveillance systems. Raytheon, Elbit, Palantir, NATO, Trump. The threats have already begun. The sabotage is already underway. The country that does not control its own radars, satellites, software, and data will be transformed into an armed colony—or a battlefield.

The US-Israel axis and the siege of Brazilian sovereignty. Brazil is being suffocated by a silent but brutal siege that goes far beyond the trade war announced by Trump or the secondary sanctions threatened by NATO. It is a multidimensional strategic siege conducted by two deeply intertwined power centers: the United States and the State of Israel. Together, they form the operational axis of the new global offensive against countries of the Global South that have dared to build sovereignty, articulate regional integration, or confront the interests of informational-military capitalism.

The diplomatic crisis triggered by President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva's statements against the genocide of the Palestinian people acted as a catalyst for a coordinated retaliatory movement. The global Zionist lobby, supported by ultraconservative sectors in Brazil and linked to far-right think tanks in the US and Europe, intensified pressure on sensitive Brazilian state institutions, contracts, and systems. This process is not new. What is new is the degree of Brazil's vulnerability to it—a direct result of decades of technological dependence, doctrinal subservience, and institutional surrender promoted by sectors of the Armed Forces, police, and political elites.

Since the return to democracy, Brazil has become one of the world's largest consumers of Israeli and American technologies geared towards surveillance, social control, and visible policing. This includes everything from facial interception and mapping software—such as those provided by companies like Cellebrite, Cognyte, Elbit Systems, and Palantir—to radars, missiles, unmanned aerial vehicles, and electronic warfare systems supplied by giants like Raytheon, Lockheed Martin, and Rafael Advanced Defense. Brazil is currently a vulnerable client of a defense system it does not control and which, in the event of a conflict with its suppliers, could be deliberately disrupted, sabotaged, or used against its own population.

The Bolsonaro core within the security forces—military, police, and paramilitary groups—constitutes the internal ideological arm of this axis of submission. These are the same individuals who venerate Israel as a civilizational model, aspire to an armed theocracy of a Christian-fascist nature, and advocate automatic alignment with the US in all spheres: military, economic, digital, and cultural. The symbols are everywhere: Israeli flags in coup camps, training of military police in Israeli counterterrorism centers, ABIN (Brazilian Intelligence Agency) and military police agents in courses offered by private companies with direct ties to the Israeli army.

Meanwhile, the Lula government is attempting—amidst internal contradictions and institutional resistance—to establish a sovereign line in diplomacy, especially by denouncing the genocide in Gaza and supporting Palestine's entry into the UN. But this line is under heavy attack. Brazil has simultaneously become a thorn in the side of Western powers and an experimental laboratory for new destabilization techniques: selective tariffs, espionage, lawfare, software-based logistical control, and long-term digital culture warfare.

What is at stake is not just Brazil's international standing—it is the possibility of existing as an autonomous country. The siege is not expressed with tanks on the borders, but with signed contracts, firmware updates, modulated sanctions, and programmed dependence. A country that does not control its own defense, communication, and intelligence systems is a country that can be shut down. A country that trains its security forces with its tormentors is a country at war with its own people.

The US-Israel axis no longer hides its influence over Brazil. It acts as a structure—economic, ideological, technological, and symbolic. Meanwhile, part of the political system and local elites act as a Trojan horse, supporting the discourse that the country “needs to modernize” by adopting “cutting-edge technologies,” even if it means abandoning its sovereign defense capabilities. In the name of security, security is destroyed. In the name of freedom, sovereignty is annulled. In the name of “cooperation,” Brazil is sold off piecemeal.

The siege is underway. And if it is not confronted now, it could close in completely before the country realizes it is already on the battlefield — only on the wrong side of the crosshairs.

Lawfare, Lava Jato, and the destruction of national strategic capacity. Few recent episodes in Brazilian history condense the intersection of economic sabotage, institutional dismantling, and attacks on sovereignty as clearly as Operation Lava Jato. Disguised as an anti-corruption crusade and sold as a symbol of moral regeneration of politics, it was, in fact, one of the most effective tools of the hybrid war waged against Brazil. And it wasn't just about destabilizing the political system—its target was also the strategic heart of the country: its capacity to build technological, industrial, and military autonomy.

At the heart of this scorched-earth operation was Odebrecht Defense, the military technology arm of the largest heavy engineering company in Latin America. Founded on the expertise of Mectron—a leading Brazilian company in missile guidance and military electronic systems—Odebrecht Defense had transformed itself, between 2011 and 2015, into one of the most promising centers in the Global South for the autonomous production of highly complex weaponry. Its portfolio included the fifth-generation A-Darter air-to-air missile, developed in partnership with South Africa; the MAR-1 anti-radiation missile, designed to disable enemy radars; and the ASTROS 2020 system, one of the world's most advanced saturation artillery platforms, used by the Brazilian Army and considered a cornerstone of national deterrence. These projects were not merely weapons—they were instruments of sovereignty. They were the result of South-South partnerships, national engineering, public universities, and research institutions integrated into the country's defense strategy.

This is precisely why Odebrecht Defense became a target. Operation Lava Jato, in collusion with sectors of the Judiciary, the media, and the United States Department of Justice, destroyed in record time the industrial and technological base that supported the possibility of a sovereign Brazil in the area of ​​defense. Under the pretext of fighting corruption, the operation criminalized strategic contracts, interrupted decades-old projects, dismantled research centers, and paralyzed the defense production chain. Without the right to reconstruction, without institutional protection, Odebrecht Defense was sold—practically liquidated—to the Israeli company Elbit Systems, one of the largest global suppliers of repression technology, surveillance, lethal weapons, and cyber systems for authoritarian regimes and occupying forces.

The acquisition of Odebrecht Defense by Elbit was not merely a commercial purchase. It was the appropriation of technical expertise, accumulated knowledge, production processes, and strategic partnerships built over decades. Through Elbit, Israel incorporated into its assets Brazil's capacity to produce missiles, air defense systems, command and control devices, and autonomous solutions that Brazil had been developing as part of an independence strategy. This episode adds to the scandal of the SIVAM project, in which Raytheon—a US giant in the arms industry—fraudulently won a billion-dollar bid with the support of the CIA, diplomatic espionage, and bribery of Brazilian authorities to control surveillance systems in the Amazon. Since then, the pattern has repeated itself: Brazilian technological sovereignty being dismantled, blocked, or bought at a paltry price by foreign powers with clear geopolitical interests.

The Lava Jato operation, with broad support from the elite and the media, destroyed the backbone of the national defense industry. And more than that: it destroyed the State's confidence in its own capacity to project power. After the fall of Odebrecht, universities were defunded, the DCTA (Department of Aerospace Science and Technology) lost operational capacity, Avibras (Brazilian Air Force Aviation Company) entered a crisis, and a large part of military engineering began to operate with low innovation capacity, confined to the logic of outsourcing and external dependence. Critical defense, surveillance, and communication systems—including radars, avionics, command algorithms, and optical sensors—began to be imported from the United States, Israel, and European consortia aligned with NATO. Brazil, which previously projected independence and became a reference in the Global South, became a subordinate and weakened client.

Today, there is no national security without risk. Brazil operates systems it does not control. The source code of defense software is kept secret by foreign companies. Updates depend on political agreements. Technical maintenance of critical equipment is carried out outside the country. The logistics chain is vulnerable to any sanction, interruption, or sabotage. In the event of a diplomatic rupture with the US or Israel—an increasingly plausible scenario given Brazil's position on the Palestinian issue and its role in the BRICS—the country could suffer a total technological blackout in sectors such as air defense, border surveillance, strategic telecommunications, and cybersecurity.

Operation Lava Jato was more than a judicial operation. It was a coordinated action to dismantle national sovereignty. A hybrid warfare offensive operated by the judiciary, media, international agencies, and think tanks of foreign capital. Its victim was the country's future. And its direct consequence was the handover of strategic sectors to the same powers that today threaten sanctions, tariffs, and isolation. Brazil lost the capacity to defend itself because it allowed its instruments of defense to be dismantled from within. And worse: with applause.

Critical technologies in enemy hands — a map of lethal dependence — Brazil is today a strategically gagged country. Although it possesses continental territory, unparalleled biodiversity, vital mineral reserves, and one of the largest connected populations on the planet, its defense, surveillance, and communication infrastructure operates under the partial—and, in many cases, complete—control of foreign companies aligned with the strategic interests of the United States, Israel, and the NATO Atlantic axis. The country has been induced to relinquish its technological autonomy in the name of an "off-the-shelf" modernization, based on imported solutions, closed packages, and shielded contracts that hand over the keys to the sensitive systems of the Brazilian state to transnational private enterprise.

Ironically, the most critical areas of this dependency are those that should uphold sovereignty. Let's begin with territorial surveillance and monitoring. The SIVAM project, transformed into the current CENSIPAM, should have been the core of a sovereign system for controlling the Amazon. However, from its inception, it was captured by Raytheon, which, with CIA support, won the bid through espionage and influence peddling, as demonstrated in historical investigations and reports. The result is that a large part of the electronic surveillance of the Amazon, one of the most coveted regions on the planet, operates with infrastructure dependent on foreign software, hardware, and protocols. The American company, in addition to supplying the radars and sensors, has privileged access to the operating systems and, according to documented allegations, even shared generated data with US intelligence agencies—without any sovereign control from the Brazilian State.

In the field of air defense and electronic warfare, the scenario is even more worrying. Brazil imports its main radar systems, passive sensors, guidance systems, jamming pods, and onboard electronic control platforms for aircraft, vessels, and ground units from Raytheon, Elbit Systems, and European NATO consortia. Many of these systems operate under foreign licenses, with encrypted components inaccessible to national control. Any contractual breach or political instability could lead to the suspension of critical upgrades, the shutdown of surveillance systems, or the simple remote deactivation of strategic capabilities.

The Brazilian Armed Forces operate fighter jets with avionics, radios, mission systems, and navigation software that rely on unauditable source code. The Army uses armored vehicles equipped with imported sensors and command systems. The Navy, in turn, relies on Israeli and American components in naval radars and guided torpedoes. Military communication systems—including dual-use satellites, protected fiber optic networks, and interoperability platforms between forces—are largely acquired abroad or operated in partnership with companies that do not serve Brazilian interests, but rather foreign shareholders and governments.

In the realm of public security and internal intelligence, the situation is even more dramatic. Military police, civil police, the Federal Police, and ABIN (Brazilian Intelligence Agency) utilize facial recognition systems, wiretapping, interception of communications, and analysis of data acquired from companies such as Cellebrite, Palantir, NSO Group, and other Israeli and American developers involved in global scandals of espionage, repression, and political sabotage. Brazilian state databases—which include biometrics, voice patterns, bank transaction records, mobility logs, and data from the Federal Revenue Service—are partially integrated with private platforms, and there are indications that this data circulates through servers outside the country, making Brazil vulnerable to leaks, blackmail, and manipulation.

In cybersecurity terms, Brazil finds itself in an extremely fragile position. It lacks a sovereign national firewall infrastructure. Large-scale security protocols depend on companies like Microsoft, Oracle, Amazon AWS, and Google Cloud, whose data centers and privacy policies adhere to the laws and interests of the U.S. State Department. The absence of a sovereign national cyber defense hub makes the country an easy target for strategic sabotage, whether through viruses introduced in firmware updates, logistical blockades during crises, or mass disinformation operations coordinated by third-party intelligence agencies contracted abroad.

Brazilian technological dependence is not an abstraction—it is the central link in the chain of domination. Every radar operated by a foreign company is an open window to enemy surveillance. Every contract signed without clauses for technological nationalization is a noose around sovereignty. Every urban surveillance system managed by corporations aligned with colonial regimes is a threat to the people. Sovereignty today is not just about what is seen or touched—it is about what happens in the background, what is recorded in real time, what is automatically updated by invisible servers.

In a scenario of increasing tension—like the one we are experiencing in July 2025—any geopolitical instability can be used as a trigger for the digital, tactical, and institutional destabilization of Brazil. A simple suspension of technical support, a blocking of chips, a cut-off of access to firmware updates, or silent interference with an orbiting satellite is enough to plunge us into a defense and intelligence blackout. A country that surrenders its critical technologies to hostile agents is no longer sovereign—it is a hostage.

Outdated doctrines and subservient generals — the doctrinal collapse of the Armed Forces The crisis within the Brazilian Armed Forces is not merely a crisis of command, reputation, or political alignment—it is, above all, a profound doctrinal crisis. Brazil, as a continental, biodiverse, multicultural power in a crucial geostrategic position in the 21st century, should possess a sophisticated defense doctrine anchored in its historical, territorial, and civilizational reality. But what we have is the opposite: a fragmented, outdated, colonized doctrinal framework, often ridiculously subservient to war manuals produced in Washington, Tel Aviv, and Brussels.

During the Cold War decades, the Brazilian Armed Forces were shaped by an anti-communist matrix that transformed the Army into an instrument of internal repression, operating more against its own people than against any real external threat. This ethos was never truly dismantled. On the contrary, it was recycled and sophisticated under the guise of "doctrinal modernization" in the 1990s and 2000s, when military sectors began to uncritically adopt so-called NATO-compatible doctrines. This is how the so-called Delta Doctrine was introduced in Brazil, inspired by Gulf War tactics and centered on the idea of ​​a rapid reaction force, technological symmetry, and decisive air power. A model that has nothing to do with the Amazonian, border, urban, and geographical reality of Brazil.

Even with its formal revocation in 2014, the spirit of the Delta Doctrine remains alive, recoded in the so-called "full spectrum operations," copied directly from US manuals on asymmetric warfare, counterterrorism, and peacekeeping. The Army began preparing for wars it will never fight, and forgot to plan for the wars it already faces: information warfare, psychological warfare, digital warfare, the war against hunger, deforestation, transnational organized crime, and industrial sabotage. In the name of interoperability with NATO, Brazil has become operationally incapable of thinking for itself. We adopted foreign jargon—"full spectrum dominance," "network-centric warfare," "smart power," "joint readiness"—but we are incapable of designing an autonomous defense satellite or protecting our cyber infrastructure.

This doctrinal dependence is, in practice, a strategic crime. While countries like China, India, Iran, and even Turkey build their doctrines based on their own history, geography, culture, and interests, Brazil trains its military leaders based on courses offered at academies in the United States, guided visits to NATO bases, and poorly digested translations of Pentagon documents. It is a uniformed elite that thinks with the mind of the colonizer, speaks the language of the occupier, and dreams of the weapons of the oppressor.

This doctrinal emptying is visible in the structures of strategic training. The Superior War College (ESG), which should be a center of autonomous thought on national defense, has become for decades a bureaucratic institution, captured by low-density intellectual thinking and held hostage by anachronistic geopolitical visions. Instead of training personnel capable of thinking about Brazil in the 21st century, the ESG trains officers who repeat diagnoses from the RAND Corporation, the Atlantic Council, and private foundations of US origin.

The result is a dangerous strategic vacuum. Currently, the Brazilian Armed Forces lack a genuine doctrine of cyber warfare. They lack a doctrine of informational sovereignty. They lack an integrated territorial defense plan based on national technology. They lack a policy of coordination with countries of the Global South regarding intelligence. What exists are peripheral adaptations of foreign manuals, disguised as innovation, but which, in practice, perpetuate dependence.

This subservient way of thinking is functional to the project of the global far-right. It creates military personnel who are not citizens of a Latin American homeland, but servants of a worldview hostile to Brazil. The normalization of alignment with the United States and Israel—disguised as a “strategic partnership”—not only compromises Brazilian sovereignty but also forms an ideological basis for the neocolonial project of the new pro-gun, submissive, and anti-national right.

Today, the Brazilian Armed Forces lack the real capacity to resist high-intensity external aggression, nor to protect Brazil in a sophisticated hybrid warfare scenario. They are forces operating under doctrines that do not prepare them for contemporary challenges, using technologies they do not master, training personnel who do not view the country as a sovereign project. And most seriously: they do so with pride. Pride in submission, pride in dependence, pride in strategic servitude. This is the doctrinal collapse. And everything else stems from it.

Security forces as Trojan horses for the far right. Brazil is currently experiencing a dangerous institutional paradox: while the federal government attempts to rebuild national sovereignty in the face of a volatile geopolitical landscape, the main internal power structures—the Armed Forces, military police, intelligence, and surveillance systems—remain dominated by an ideological culture hostile to the democratic-popular project itself. These institutions are largely captured by an anti-popular, techno-fascist, reactionary mentality, deeply aligned with the neocolonial agenda of the US-Israel axis. This is not a one-off deviation or an opportunistic infiltration—it is a structural re-engineering of institutional subjectivity, forged over decades of indoctrination and brutally accelerated in recent years by Bolsonaro's policies, the digital culture war, and the new merchants of global security.

State military police, special forces, institutional security offices, and intelligence departments operate today as direct vectors of the cultural and informational war against the people. There is an almost religious symbiosis between the Brazilian repressive apparatus and the far-right messianic project that venerates Israel as a model of a militarized state, idolizes civilian armament as an extension of individual sovereignty (as long as it is white, conservative, and Christian), and sees in digital control tools a new form of "moral cleansing" of the public space. It is no coincidence that Israeli flags were raised in the coup camps of 2023, alongside Bibles, uniforms, and automatic weapons. Militarized Zionism has become an ideological fetish of the new Brazilian far-right, with the explicit support of retired generals, pastors, pro-gun congressmen, and active-duty officers.

This symbolic capture, however, does not exist without a material basis. Brazil's security forces—from favelas to borders, from prisons to ports—are progressively integrated into a complex of technologies developed, managed, and controlled by foreign companies, many of them Israeli or American. Facial recognition systems, urban patrol drones, message interception software, integrated databases, and command and control platforms are purchased with public funds and implemented without transparency, legislative debate, or technological sovereignty clauses. The supplier companies—such as Cellebrite, Elbit Systems, Cognyte, Palantir, Rafael Advanced Defense Systems, and others—are directly associated with regimes of occupation, political repression, and ongoing genocide, such as in Palestine. These are companies that treat Brazilian favelas, peripheries, and urban areas as "theaters of operation," importing the logic of permanent exception into the national territory.

As a result, the bodies of the working classes, indigenous peoples, Black youth, and left-wing political leaders become direct targets of a security policy based on total surveillance, punitive anticipation, and programmed lethality. This is a system that sees the citizen not as a subject of rights, but as a risk to be neutralized by algorithms. A model that replaces public policies with intelligent policing, abandoning social mediation in favor of preventive warfare. And all this with the acquiescence and enthusiasm of armed sectors of the Brazilian state that no longer see themselves as part of a national project, but as moral militias in service of a global civilizing crusade.

Militant armamentism is the visible face of this radicalization. The culture of gun violence, fueled by gun deregulation decrees, evangelical shooting clubs, and far-right digital influencers, today constitutes an ecosystem that unites the military, arms industry entrepreneurs, legalized arms traffickers, police officers trained in Israel, and political evangelists who preach hatred as a form of national purification. This culture is not restricted to barracks or battalions. It has already contaminated a significant part of civil society, which identifies more with the aesthetics of repression than with the values ​​of democratic citizenship.

Behind this armed radicalization lies a business model. The security market in Brazil moves tens of billions a year—and is increasingly concentrated in the hands of foreign companies that operate with war-like logic. The militarization of daily life—whether in schools with armed police officers, in cameras that track children in real time, in drones that fly over quilombos (settlements founded by escaped slaves), or in the “predictive security solutions” sold to municipalities—is, above all, an economic project. A project that transforms fear into profit, the exception into the norm, sovereignty into a contract.

The most serious issue, however, is that these forces, which should protect the people, are being prepared to act against them. In a scenario of political instability, technological blackout, informational sabotage, or international crisis provoked by US and NATO sanctions, these institutions can be activated as internal instruments of repression, disruption, and destabilization. This is not speculation. This is a calculated risk. A police force trained by Israel, equipped by companies of the US military-industrial complex, and ideologically captured by the far-right Bolsonaro supporters will not be loyal to the Democratic Rule of Law in moments of disruption. It will be loyal to its true commander: the global civil-military project that has transformed Brazil into a laboratory.

In short, Brazilian security forces are not neutral. They are contested structures. And today, most of them operate like Trojan horses in the heart of the State, ready to be activated as agents of institutional destruction, should that be the order from external command. To ignore this is naive. To allow it to continue is suicide.

The blackout scenario — cyber warfare and induced collapse — Brazil is currently sitting on an invisible time bomb. A bomb that doesn't explode with gunpowder, but with lines of code. It doesn't bring down buildings with missiles, but disables radars with a remote command. It doesn't need to invade with tanks, because it's already implanted within the systems, networks, chips, satellites, and software that make up the critical infrastructure of the Brazilian state. This is the new theater of war: the cybernetic, the informational, the invisible—and Brazil, on this chessboard, occupies the most dangerous position of all: that of the hostage shielded with bubble wrap.

A scenario of cybersecurity blackout and induced operational collapse is not only possible—it is foreseeable based on the dependencies already identified. A large part of the country's defense, surveillance, logistics, and telecommunications systems operate with proprietary software, closed protocols, and shielded contracts with foreign companies—mostly from the United States and Israel. These systems, ranging from Amazonian radar systems to Air Force command centers, from Federal Revenue Service data centers to Navy radio communication networks, are not under full national control. They are sophisticated machines that function as long as their external owners allow them to. And if the owners become enemies, or simply decide to punish Brazil for its geopolitical stance—as Trump has already threatened and NATO has already signaled—all it takes is a switch being flipped.

What happens if, amidst an international escalation, Raytheon suspends radar updates for the Amazon region? What happens if Elbit's software operating on the Federal Police's drones and sensors is deactivated for contractual security reasons? What happens if the cloud computing infrastructure that stores the country's fiscal, electoral, and judicial data is unilaterally blocked under the pretext of "international compliance"? What happens if the Defense's command and control systems are the target of a silent cyberattack, leaving no visible trace, but with devastating effects?

The answer is clear: collapse. A collapse that doesn't need tanks in the streets, because it manifests itself with paralysis of systems, loss of communication between strategic sectors, regional blackouts, data instability, massive disinformation, and operational panic. It's war without noise, but with more lethal consequences than any bombing.

This type of attack—and it should be called an attack—would not be spontaneous, nor accidental. It would be strategically activated as an instrument of geopolitical pressure or punishment against a country that dared not align itself with the unipolar logic of the West. And Brazil, by positioning itself within the BRICS, by supporting Palestine, by attempting to regulate big tech, by investing in transoceanic integration without US approval, has become a foreign body within the system. A body that the system needs to neutralize—and, if necessary, shut down.

The greatest risk, however, is not just the technical collapse. It is the subsequent institutional collapse. A technological blackout in critical areas (defense, communications, data) would provoke social panic, political disorganization, erosion of state authority, and open space for coup narratives, internal interventions, and large-scale algorithmic manipulations. The discourse of "inevitable chaos" is already prepared: it will be transmitted by the same networks that helped finance the attacks on institutions on January 8th. The same networks that orchestrate digital militias, religious disinformation, and permanent culture warfare. A country weakened on the outside and in turmoil on the inside becomes easy prey for the installation of regimes of exception—civilian, military, technocratic, or hybrid.

Hybrid warfare, at this point, ceases to be merely a metaphor. It becomes a real-time collapse of sovereignty. And Brazil, unlike other regional powers, currently lacks doctrinal backup, a technological contingency plan, or institutional protection to react. We depend on suppliers who threaten us. We train our forces with the same people who spy on us. And we place our most sensitive information in the custody of companies that answer to orders from an imperial center in open war with the Global South.

If NATO wants to punish us, it won't need to launch a missile. It will only need to press a button. And if that happens, the same security forces that today use Israeli drones and American software will be ready to act against the people. Not out of loyalty to the Constitution, but out of ideological fidelity to a transnational authoritarian project. The risk, therefore, is not merely technical. It is systemic, psychological, and institutional. And it is already being rehearsed.

It must be said clearly: Brazil can be deliberately destabilized through a national defense blackout. And this blackout will not be a consequence—it will be a strategy.

Towards a New Defense Doctrine — Information, Sovereignty, and the People — No nation survives the 21st century without informational sovereignty. No democracy withstands hybrid attacks without strategic intelligence. No state truly exists if it is not capable of defending itself with its own means, its own thinking, and its own people. Brazil needs a new defense doctrine. And it needs it now.

What we have today is a doctrinal mess shaped by external interests, colonized mentalities, and outdated structures that don't even recognize the contemporary battlefield. We live under the illusion that we are still preparing for conventional wars, when we have already been attacked for two decades by strategies of disinformation, economic sabotage, lawfare, digital espionage, and algorithmic control. The war has already begun. And Brazil, so far, responds with outdated protocols, anachronistic military training, and technological submission.

A break is necessary. But a methodical break. What is at stake is not just changing weapons or contracts. It is changing the mindset that thinks about defense. It is about refounding the very concept of sovereignty in light of the historical time we live in. A new defense doctrine needs to be built upon three inseparable pillars: informational sovereignty, autonomous techno-scientific capacity, and the centrality of the people as the strategic subject of the country's protection.

Information sovereignty is not a side issue—it is the foundation of modern defense. It means full control over the data flows that cross national territory, over the systems that capture, store, process, and decide on behalf of the State. It means having autonomy over networks, satellites, command and control systems, critical programming languages, and artificial intelligence platforms. It also means knowing how to protect oneself from cognitive warfare, false narratives, manipulative algorithms, and digital structures that operate as weapons. National defense in the 21st century is fought with megabytes, not just machine guns.

The second axis is autonomous techno-scientific capacity. It's not enough to have tanks, drones, or missiles. It's necessary to know how to design, update, and audit them. And this requires rebuilding the strategic link between public universities, military research institutes, civilian technological centers, and national companies committed to the country. It means rebuilding national engineering—sabotaged by Lava Jato—and protecting Brazil's brains from forced migration, precarious employment, or capture by the foreign market. Every engineer trained at ITA (Instituto Tecnológico de Aeronáutica) who goes to work at Raytheon represents a loss of sovereignty. Every national patent bought by Israeli funds is a strategic amputation. We need to break with this.

But all of this only makes sense if the people are the central subject of the defense project. Not as a mass to be monitored or repressed, but as the living foundation of sovereignty. The new defense doctrine must be popular, democratic, and national. It must be based on the protection of indigenous territories, the defense of biodiversity, and food, energy, cultural, and digital sovereignty. Schools, universities, quilombos (settlements founded by escaped slaves), cooperatives, free communication networks, and social movements must be shielded as part of the expanded defense system. The homeland is the people. And the enemy is whoever attacks them—whether with weapons or with data.

This means, for example, creating information defense zones where social networks cannot operate without transparency, where strategic data is stored on auditable public servers, where foreign platforms are regulated with a firm hand, and where any digital security contract is first subject to sovereign scrutiny. It also means developing a national public cyber defense program, with rapid response centers for digital attacks, South-South cooperation in algorithmic security, and the training of popular leaders capable of understanding and acting in this new battlefield.

The new defense doctrine must also recognize communication as a dimension of the battle. It's not just about censorship or disinformation, but about protecting the collective psyche from the continuous manipulation promoted by foreign think tanks, mercenary media, and cultural warfare strategies. A national policy of critical thinking, media literacy, algorithmic literacy, and narrative sovereignty is needed. We need to contest the collective imagination. We need to see ourselves with our own eyes—and defend ourselves from the inside out.

Finally, this doctrine will only be viable if the symbiosis between the armed forces and the far-right is broken. It is time to refound the national military pact based on three principles: loyalty to the Brazilian civilizing project, subordination to progressive civilian power, and commitment to the self-determination of peoples. No military personnel should serve foreign interests. No general can be the nation's tutor. No weapon can be used against the people.

Brazil needs a defense doctrine that is more than just military. It needs to be epistemological, technological, popular, and anti-colonial. And it needs to be built now—before the next blackout comes as the final sentence. This is not paranoia. It's about survival.

Conclusion — will Brazil be sovereign or will it be an armed colony? There is no more time for half-measures. Brazil is at the center of a war it did not declare, but of which it has been a target since the moment it dared to assert its sovereignty. We are being surrounded. Not by conventional armies, but by poisoned technological contracts, veiled sanctions, colonized doctrines, insecure software, leaked data, imported weapons, and alliances that bind us like vassals amidst the geopolitical storm of the 21st century.

The recent threats made by the United States and NATO, Trump's tariff blockades, informational blackmail, diplomatic sabotage, and the constant monitoring carried out by companies like Raytheon, Elbit, Palantir, and Cellebrite are not isolated cases—they are manifestations of a broader strategy: to prevent Brazil from ceasing to be a zone of influence and becoming a center of sovereign power. And this strategy does not only operate from the outside in. It relies on internal operators: subservient military personnel, colonized politicians, subservient judges, bought journalists, and executives who trade the country's future for multi-million dollar contracts.

Today, the risk is not just external occupation. The risk is internal disabling. A carefully induced blackout of the structures that underpin our defense, our intelligence, our economy, our social cohesion. A silent cut that disconnects radars, shuts down databases, blocks satellites, paralyzes commands, neutralizes servers, corrupts systems, and paralyzes the state apparatus. All this is possible due to a simple fact: we do not control our tools. And those who do not control their own means are one step away from being erased.

Even more serious is the role of the security forces, increasingly ideologically captured by a fascist, militia-based, racist, armed, patriarchal, and neoliberal civilizing project. A project that uses the image of Israel as a model, Pentagon manuals as doctrine, the Bible as a shield, and the people as a target. If we do not break this perverse symbiosis between internal repression and external dependence now, we run the real risk that the Brazilian armed forces and police will not defend Brazil in a scenario of collapse—but act against it, as a force containing national sovereignty itself.

What is at stake, therefore, is a historical crossroads: either we rebuild our defense doctrine based on the people, science, sovereignty, national technology, and self-determination—or we will be an armed, surveilled, indebted, colonized state, constantly threatened with disengagement. A state where the people will be kept under control, but never safe. Where the Amazon will be monitored, but not protected. Where data will circulate, but will not belong to us. Where democracy will be celebrated, but never guaranteed.

It is no longer enough to denounce. Action is needed. This article is not just a text—it is a strategic document, a warning, a call to action. It should be read by parliamentarians, by officers who still have a sense of patriotism, by teachers, by engineers, by communicators, by social leaders, by union members, by diplomats, and by all those who understand that sovereignty cannot be outsourced, rented, or negotiated. Sovereignty is built, defended, and lived.

Brazil will either be sovereign or an armed colony. That is the choice. And the time for that choice is now.