Operation Mud Jet

By Alex Solnik, columnist for 247 and member of Journalists for Democracy

There's far more corruption in the mining sector than our vain democracy imagines. The arrest of the five engineers yesterday, although carried out under the aegis of Lava Jato – arrest first, ask questions later – could reveal an underworld inhabited by delinquents and mobsters of various kinds. And where lives are worth very little. The sector deals with gold, precious stones, and rare minerals. It's the perfect place for those with the ambition to get rich and the courage to do what few are capable of. It's where the weak have no place, like in the Coen brothers' film.

In 2013, I met a former Bolivian senator named Andres Guzman. Friendly, elegant, about 45 years old. He worked in the office next to Olacyr Moraes, who was no longer the "king of soy," but was trying to become the "king of tantalum."

Tantalum is a rare mineral used in the aeronautical industry. Guzman, who presented himself as Olacyr's partner, had two tasks at that time: 1) to obtain the license for the exploration of the immense deposit in southern Bahia and 2) to negotiate a partnership with Russian businessmen.

As I was writing for the Russian Gazette, he contacted me, through the Russian consul in São Paulo, to discuss his intention to partner with the Russians in a venture valued at billions of dollars.

At the end of 2013, Guzman and Olacyr, accompanied by their respective partners, traveled to Russia to meet with prospective partners. It was a very fruitful trip, Guzman told me upon returning, showing me the activities they did in the Russian capital, including restaurants, theaters, operas, and sightseeing.

Guzman and Olacyr were very close. They had known each other for ten years. With the Bolivian's help, Olacyr had bought a mine in that country. And they never parted again. When Guzman became "persona non grata" in Bolivia, due to disagreements with President Evo Morales, his opponent, he moved to Brazil and to Olacyr's office.

"He's my older brother," Guzman would say about his "partner," thirty years his senior. He didn't hold back on praise and compliments. "He's everything I wanted to be," he said several times. "I'm doing everything I can to help him become the great Olacyr he always was again."

From there – from this idea of ​​rescuing the "king of soy" – came the invitation to write an authorized biography of Olacyr. By then, Guzman had become more than just an acquaintance. He was almost a friend. He readily recounted intimate scenes from the life of his "partner," whose house he frequented, introduced me to his wife, and we went out together, along with other friends of the couple, to dinner at a five-star restaurant in Itaim Bibi.

(Learn about and support the project) Journalists for Democracy)

In the various meetings we had to discuss details of the biography – which, according to him, had already been approved by Olacyr – he would say, off the record, that the talks with the Russians were progressing well, the problem was that he couldn't get the license for his future golden goose. "There are too many people to grease palms," he complained, although he never disapproved of the procedure. He considered it natural that it was so. The problem was that "there were too many people" and it was costing too much.

Since our conversations weren't between a source and a reporter, but between friends, I was never interested in knowing who he had to bribe. My focus was the book. There was a proposal on the table at Editora Record. The editor, Carlos Andreazza, sent me an email offering an advance and a contract template for Olacyr to sign.

To make a long story short, the book flopped and I distanced myself from the Bolivian in March 2014. I only heard from him again when websites on April 4th ran the headline "Former Bolivian senator assassinated in São Paulo".

The crime scene was witnessed by police officers in a patrol car passing by Morumbi Avenue. They saw a man with a revolver and a briefcase jump out of a car that had crashed into a lamppost. At the Morumbi police station, Miguel Garcia Ferreira stated that he had been employed by Olacyr Moraes for over 30 years.

That morning, according to him, the Bolivian, who was dead in the wrecked car, had gone to Olacyr to extort R$400, something he did frequently, taking advantage of the businessman's frailty, as he was weak and ill. Olacyr resisted the blackmail, but eventually gave in and instructed his employee to accompany the Bolivian to try to recover the money.

So, Olacyr's employee – driver? Security guard? – asked the Bolivian for a ride, which he agreed to, without suspecting anything. At the first traffic light, he demanded that the other man hand over the briefcase. Guzman refused and was immediately shot three times.

The murder was hushed up. I tried to interview Guzman's widow, whom I contacted using her ex-husband's cell phone number. She replied that she would ask Olacyr if she should. And she never got back to me.

If this investigation is reopened, it may be discovered that the R$400 was intended to bribe the many hands that were supposed to authorize the mine's licensing, according to the Bolivian, whom Olacyr already suspected: it wasn't the first time he had provided a bribe without receiving anything in return.

Before there are more deaths – whether due to dam collapses or corruption – a "Lama Lava" operation is needed.

(Learn about and support the project) Journalists for Democracy)