Fernando Brito, a Dominican friar who was arrested and used as bait in the siege to kill Marighella, dies.

By Denise Assis, for the Journalists for Democracy - Dominican friar Fernando de Brito, born in 1936 in Visconde do Rio Branco (Zona da Mata, Minas Gerais), couldn't wait to see his portrayal on screen in the film "Marighella," a biopic of the ALN guerrilla leader, directed by Wagner Moura. A key figure in the death of Carlos Marighella, Fernando Brito died of cancer on Friday, March 15th, in the city of Conde, in the interior of Bahia, where he lived after a brief stay in Piraí, in the interior of Rio de Janeiro state. Fernando belonged to the group of Dominican friars persecuted for resisting the civil-military dictatorship (1964-1985) that took power in the country after the fall of President João Goulart.

Until mid-1986, he lived haunted by the ghosts of torture. The same ghosts that drove his colleague, Frei Tito, to suicide in a convent in the French countryside, after being exchanged, along with 69 other political prisoners, for the Swiss ambassador, Enrico Bucher.

To regain his balance and dispel the hazy memories, Fernando relied on the help of the psychoanalyst Hélio Pellegrino. It was to him that I turned, as a journalist, in 1986, after persistent requests for an interview with Fernando. There was no shortage of messengers conveying my plea to him. I desperately wanted to reach him because, until then, all that was being heard was that Marighella's downfall was attributed to a "snitch" by the Dominican. I didn't believe that version. I wanted to hear from him what had actually happened.

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Pellegrino would evade the subject. He promised to help, but at the same time remained hesitant, because above all he valued his relationship with the client. One day he was emphatic: "I don't think it's a good idea. It would subject him to suffering again. He doesn't want to talk about it."

I considered the argument reasonable, but not enough to convince me to abandon my purpose of seeking the news and stopping the comments that were tarnishing the image of someone who had endured the most barbaric tortures in prison. For three years I followed him closely, until a religious man from the parish of Volta Redonda gave me a precious tip. The Dominican friar was developing a project at the CPT – Pastoral Land Commission – on Rua Ipiranga, in Laranjeiras. Too good to be true. The address I was given was next to my house, and he would be there the next day at 10 am.

I informed my superiors at Jornal do Brasil that I would be staking out the place at that time and headed there. It wasn't long before I heard footsteps in the narrow hallway of the village where the cramped CPT office was located. The house was the last one, which gave my heart time to leap into my throat, and then I swallowed it again. We greeted each other, and I entered confidently:

I was expecting you.

"Shall we make some plans?" he asked, fixing his large, blue eyes—or were they green?—on me.

We haven't made plans, but I'd like to talk. May I?

"Of course, let's go in," he replied, already indicating one of the chairs at the round, dark wood table.

- And what do you want? How can I help you?

"I just need an answer." (Friar Fernando had both hands resting on the table). He was wearing a light-colored dress shirt. I grabbed both his hands, pressing them lightly against the table, and looking directly into his eyes, I asked: "How long are you going to want to be the son of a bitch in this story?"

I didn't need to say what we were talking about. The calm and helpful man in front of me broke down in convulsive sobs. I remained silent until he calmed down, which took a few minutes.

Fernando composed himself and, looking at me now with red but confident eyes, said:

- You're right. I'm fed up with all this. I think it's time to tell my side of the story. Meet me tomorrow at 19 pm at the Parish House in Piraí. We'll be having a procession, and then we can talk calmly.

-Can I order a car and a photographer? Is that all set? (I was afraid he would back out, having a night in between).

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The next day, since the time was past the daycare's and the nanny's (who was then three years old) schedule, we headed towards Piraí: me, João, Ferreirinha (the driver), and the photographer Aguinaldo Ramos – there's no way he remembers that he was the one who took the photo.

There, we found a beautiful scene. Fernando, in his brown habit, topped off with a white lace robe, led the procession, carrying a cross made of charred wood, crafted from tree branches. Beside him walked ladies with candles in their hands and baskets of produce. Everyone sang religious hymns. They reached the end of the route. Fernando made the sign of the cross, blessing everyone, and entered the rectory, where he would delve into a past of sorrows.

I asked if I could record it. He encouraged me. He considered it important that it be done this way. And for more than an hour he revisited the day of his arrest in Rio de Janeiro (November 2, 1969), when he got off a bus in Catete. The torture began right there, until he was taken to São Paulo, where it only intensified.

No. Fernando did not betray Marighella to the siege. It was the first time he spoke of this. His sentences were broken by emotion. We had to interrupt him at some points so that he could continue.

As I always believed, Fernando revealed that he worked at the Livraria das Cidades bookstore in downtown São Paulo and that he received calls from Marighella there. The police, who had been monitoring the Dominicans since Frei Tito's arrest, along with Frei Ratton Mascarenhas, tapped the line and followed the ALN's plans, which were discussed in the calls. They waited until Marighella finally set a meeting point in São Paulo. From there, it was just a matter of following them and raiding them all together in Rio de Janeiro. That day, Ivo, Fernando, and Frei Betto were killed.

Taken to São Paulo, they remained under police surveillance until the 4th, when a veritable macabre opera was staged to take down Marighella on Alameda Casa Branca. Delegate Fleury went to the trouble of drawing sketches (see reproduction below), bringing a policewoman to stage a romantic encounter in an unmarked police car, all to disguise the siege of the ALN leader.

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The Volkswagen Beetle in which the Dominicans Ivo and Fernando traveled to the "spot" was under heavy escort. Upon arriving at the agreed-upon location, the police officers unloaded their weapons on the vehicle's sole occupant at that moment. He had calmly crossed the street, observed by all the officers hidden under a tarp, and settled into the back seat, as he always did when he was patrolling. The shot that killed him was fired from the Winchester rifle of Officer João Carlos Tralli, who made a point of boasting about the feat and singing praises to his "Vilminha," as he called the weapon.

It was the end for Marighella, but not the end of Fernando Brito's martyrdom, which had barely begun. Upon returning to the Department of Political and Social Order (Deops), Fleury threw the Dominican friar into a cell for ALN prisoners, along with a box of guava paste (the prize), and announced: "The leader is dead. He's the one who betrayed us."

Outrage gripped everyone. Revolted, some even punched Fernando, who succumbed. "I started to believe their version. They recorded my conversation with Marighella. I listened to the recording during the torture," he reacted, still in great pain, that night in the parish house of Piraí.

But not content with making him believe he was a traitor and convincing his companions as well, Fleury passed this version on to the press, which supported it. As the GGN website recalled on August 10, 2014, "O Globo featured a photograph of the Dominican convent on its front page with the headline: 'Here is the stronghold of Brazil's terrorists.' And it published an editorial, 'The Kiss of Judas,' which does not honor the history of our press."

In its editorial, O Globo convinced public opinion that the Dominicans were responsible for the death of Carlos Marighella. Fernando de Brito took all the blame upon himself, even to the point of mourning it that night in Piraí.

Since we were still living through difficult times, the article with its revelations remained shelved until June 1988, when, after many insistent notes from me, it was finally published in the Caderno B Especial section of the Jornal do Brasil newspaper.

After this, his story was published as a book in 2009, thanks to the work of Frei Betto, who compiled the notes Brito made on tissue paper wrapped around the refill of his Bic pen and gave them to several of his visitors in prison. Rest in peace, Fernando de Brito. Your story was told in full during your lifetime, and we are grateful for your struggle.

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