Brazil Sentenced a Woman to 14 Years for Lipstick Graffiti
Débora Albuquerque scrawled “You lost, dude” on a statue. Now she’s being treated like a national security threat.
On January 8, 2023—on what has been called Brazil's own January 6—chaos, vandalism, and authoritarian overreach were prominently on display in Brasília following the defeat of President Jair Bolsonaro. But few could have expected that two years later, someone would be sentenced to 14 years in prison for writing "Perdeu, mané" ("You lost, dude") on a statue—in lipstick.
Débora Albuquerque—infamous now as "Débora do Perdeu, Mané"—was convicted of armed criminal association, violent abolition of the democratic rule of law, attempted coup, and defacing protected property. Yet she was not armed, didn't lead anyone, and never breached a government building. Her entire contribution to Brazil's so-called coup attempt amounted to scrawling a message in red lipstick on the statue of The Justice outside the Supreme Federal Court.
Vandalizing public monuments may not be an ideal mode of protest. But graffiti—or pichação—has long been a form of political expression. Until recently, nobody thought it the act of a dangerous insurrectionist.
In fact, the same statue was previously defaced during a pro-choice protest, and those responsible faced no serious legal consequences. (As a vocal pro-choice advocate, I found the symbolism of the statue having a miscarriage striking. Still, I don't necessarily support that kind of protest.)
But what's far worse than the act itself is the selective application of the law, punishing dissent based on political ideology rather than principle. If Albuquerque had stolen billions in a corruption scandal, she'd probably qualify for the Brazilian presidency. Instead, she's confined with limited visitation for a nonviolent, symbolic act of protest.
This isn't about defending Bolsonaro or pretending the January 8 riots weren't reckless and counterproductive. It's about a fundamental principle: The government shouldn't wield its power to crush individuals simply because their politics are inconvenient.
Using red lipstick to write on a statue does not make someone a militia leader. Albuquerque is not George Washington leading a revolution. She's a 40-year-old mother of two with no criminal record. Yet she's being treated as if she led an armed insurgency against the Brazilian state.
Her real crime was not what she did—it was who she opposed.
The judge behind this political theater is Supreme Federal Court Justice Alexandre de Moraes, the architect behind Brazil's sprawling "Fake News Operation." Originally created to investigate online disinformation, the operation has morphed into a blunt instrument for silencing dissent, jailing political opponents, and censoring journalists and tech platforms. Moraes presents himself as a defender of democracy. However, his methods—secret arrests, media blackouts, and now, a 14-year sentence for a single act of nonviolent protest—are indistinguishable from an authoritarian regime.
It's easy to roll your eyes at Albuquerque's lipstick protest. It's much harder to justify locking her away for over a decade because of it. Authoritarianism rarely announces itself with tanks in the streets. More often, it creeps in wearing judicial robes, promising to protect democracy while quietly criminalizing dissent.
Freedom of speech and freedom of association mean nothing if they only apply to those who align with the ones in power.
Albuquerque's message was unserious, but so what? Democracies aren't supposed to punish bad taste with a decade of incarceration. "You lost, dude" is hardly a political manifesto, but it was enough to get her treated like a national security threat. That should worry all of us.
