Mothers recount despair and loss after Rio's deadliest operation.
Mothers from Alemão and Penha speak about the pain of identifying their children's bodies.
247 - In interviews with the newspaper The GlobeMothers speak about the drama they are experiencing to identify the bodies of their children, victims of the mega police operation that left 121 dead, the deadliest in the state's history. The IML in Rio de Janeiro, since last Wednesday (30), has become the scene of accounts of pain, mourning and guilt.
For many of these women, the feeling is one of powerlessness in the face of a system that offers few opportunities and still lures young people into trafficking and violence. Among the accounts, the trajectory of boys and young men who studied, worked, and dreamed of a better future contrasts sharply with the reality of communities marked by state abandonment and the parallel power of crime.
"Eight years without seeing my son, and now I only recognize him in a photo," said the mother of Thiago Ribeiro Pareto Barbosa, 28.
“Since he was 20, he chose this life. He said he didn't want anyone in the family to know about this life of crime, so it wouldn't affect us,” she said. Thiago had finished high school, completed a technical course, and worked as a young apprentice before getting involved with drug trafficking. “I gave him an education and a home where he never lacked anything. But he wanted to go down a different path. I'm sure it was the influence of his friends and this illusion of an easy life, of money and power, which in the end is nothing but a deception,” she lamented.
The confirmation of his death came through a photo sent by an acquaintance: “Eight years without seeing my son — and now I only recognize him in a photo of him dead. A mother never stops hoping. But even so, she never stops being a mother,” she said.
Kauan de Souza's foster mother, 18, recounted the desperation of searching for her son during the operation in Penha. "When they released him, I went into the woods looking for him, shouting: 'Kauan! You can come out of the woods, Mommy's here!'. Every time I saw a body I thought it could be him," she reported.
Raised by her since he was little, Kauan worked with his father at a junkyard and dreamed of being a firefighter. “He started to distance himself from home when the boys in the community found out he knew how to drive. They would call him to do errands. He thought it was cool to be among them, to arrive at parties in the nicest clothes with the prettiest girl by his side,” she recounted.
The mother believes that if her son had been imprisoned, he might have had a second chance: "My son could be paying for his mistakes, but he should be alive."
Micro-entrepreneur Taua Brito, mother of 20-year-old Wellington Brito, relives the moment she tried to prevent her son's death in Mata da Vacaria, in Penha. “He texted me asking for help: 'Mom, come get me.' I left home with his documents and shouted: 'I'm his mother! I'm here to get my son! If you have to take him to jail, take him, but don't kill him!'” she recalled.
When she managed to climb the hill, Wellington was already dead, with a gunshot wound to the head. “I am a Black, single mother who sells cakes and sweets to raise my children. I thought that, seeing my struggle, he wouldn't follow that path. But in the favela, we don't have many opportunities,” she said.
