Silvio Tendler, if he could, would be shouting today: No amnesty!

Dark winds are swirling around the talents of media and audiovisual arts. They took Jaguar, Mino Carta, and now our Silvio Tendler. I go back in time to remember how we met, and it couldn't have been in any other situation than the one that brought us together.

It was 1980. A shopkeeper on Rua Francisco Otaviano, in Posto Seis, Copacabana, had told me that a group of boys, aged 8 to 14, had made the storm drains their home. Every weekend, after a bath, dressed in clothes reasonable for minors living on the streets, they would head, led by the older ones, to Tivoli Park – a chic hangout on the banks of the Rodrigo de Freitas Lagoon. There, they would have fun, eat popcorn, and return to their "hideout" to begin their "work" again. Yes, they mugged tourists, fishing for gold chains and watches on the boardwalk (before the era of cell phones).

I went there and the oldest of the group confirmed everything to me. They lived far from their families, sometimes washing cars to earn a little money, or simply doing "extra work" when the situation was "tough".

I imagined documenting the group in a short film titled "Republic of the Boys." They agreed – duly censored – that they would let themselves be filmed. Talking to our editor at the time, at O ​​Globo, Milton Temer, he told me: "But that's just like Silvio Tendler. Call him." I called. Silvio, although he didn't know me, was super friendly and receptive and immediately wanted to arrange a trip to the "hole." We made plans and off we went, on a Saturday morning, in pursuit of our dream and a reality that unfortunately persists, now with even more brutal elements.

To our disappointment, the shopkeeper who had told me the story informed us that the police had taken the group's leader away, while the minors had scattered, running through the neighborhood. They managed to escape, but the "republic" had broken up.

We talked about our distress and walked to a nearby kiosk. While drinking coconut water, the conversation flowed as if we were lifelong friends. At the beginning of the conversation, Silvio confessed that he had accepted the invitation and the conversation about the boys, but that he would never make a short film out of it: "Those who make short films are afraid!", he joked. His idea was to use this group as a starting point to make a documentary about the reality of street children. 

From then on, we kept in touch as life allowed. And one of the funny stories he always made a point of remembering whenever we saw each other was about the farewell party for journalist and city councilwoman Andrea Gouvea Vieira, who had married economist Edmar Bacha and was leaving Brazil to live in the United States. The party, at the Clube dos Macacos, was in full swing. The entire newsroom of O Globo, where we worked, was there. 

At some point, Silvio asked me to dance. Of course, let's go to the dance floor. And Silvio, who never missed an opportunity, at the time a very forward bachelor, asked me if I wouldn't like to go to his apartment, where we could have dinner, because he was hungry. I, laughing, stepped away and showed off my little belly, which was just over five months pregnant. 

We hadn't spoken in a while, and he didn't know the news. "I think the baby's father won't be too happy to hear about this conversation," I commented, laughing. And he, super embarrassed, also laughing a lot, apologized profusely, but hadn't realized. "And you think everyone has your belly, Silvio Tendler?" I added. We had a lot of fun with the situation and, from then on, every time he saw me he would ask: "So, how's that belly doing?" And I would give him news about my son, João.

We never lost sight of each other throughout our lives. He would attend my book launches, when I had one, and I would go to his lectures and film screenings. We were there, on the same left, in the same struggle, in the same actions. Silvio with his momentous past of resistance, me with my trajectory in journalism, focused on that past, making the link with the present compromised and entangled by the impunity of those terrible events. We followed each other. 

The last time we were together was during the run of his play, Olga. Silvio was radiant, the house was full, and his head was also brimming with plans. Silvio accomplished them. Silvio documented them, Silvio dreamed of a decent Brazil. He couldn't wait for next week's outcome, but he contributed so much to getting us to this point that he can continue his journey in peace. He did so much for our memory and added precious moments to our struggle. If he could still speak today, I'm sure he would be shouting: "No amnesty!"