A moment that should be sublime becomes a calvary of suffering
Em novembro de 2019, uma mulher grávida foi dispensada de um hospital em Três Lagoas sem o monitoramento adequado e deu à luz sozinha em casa, com apenas o marido e um amigo ao lado. Mais de cinco anos depois, um tribunal reconheceu o ocorrido como violência obstétrica — não com base em uma lei brasileira específica, pois ela ainda não existe, mas por meio de protocolos internacionais de direitos humanos. A decisão, que condenou o município e o hospital ao pagamento de R$ 30 mil, revela tanto a vulnerabilidade das mulheres diante de um sistema que ainda não as protege formalmente quanto a capacidade do direito de alcançar, mesmo que a passos lentos, aquilo que a legislação ainda não nomeou.
- Uma mulher em trabalho de parto foi dispensada do hospital e pariu o filho na própria cama, sem assistência médica — um desfecho que poderia ter sido fatal.
- O Brasil segue sem lei específica que criminalize a violência obstétrica, deixando juízes sem amparo doméstico claro para julgar casos como esse.
- O tribunal de Três Lagoas recorreu ao Protocolo para Julgamento com Perspectiva de Gênero da Corte Interamericana de Direitos Humanos para fundamentar a condenação.
- Pesquisadoras alertam que mulheres negras, indígenas e periféricas são as mais afetadas, vítimas de estereótipos que minimizam sua dor e reduzem seu acesso a cuidados.
- Dois projetos de lei tramitam no Congresso Nacional — um para criminalizar a violência obstétrica, outro para enquadrá-la na Lei Maria da Penha — e a decisão judicial pode pressionar por sua aprovação.
Em novembro de 2019, uma mulher chegou ao Hospital Nossa Senhora Auxiliadora em Três Lagoas, Mato Grosso do Sul, com fortes dores de trabalho de parto. O médico que a atendeu disse que ela não estava em trabalho de parto e lhe ofereceu duas opções: ir para casa ou aguardar no saguão do hospital. Assinou a alta. Noventa minutos depois, ela deu à luz o filho em sua própria cama, assistida apenas pelo marido e por um amigo da família.
Mais de cinco anos depois, um tribunal reconheceu o episódio como violência obstétrica e condenou o município e o hospital ao pagamento de R$ 30 mil em indenização. A decisão tem peso especial porque o Brasil ainda não possui legislação específica sobre o tema. A juíza Janine Rodrigues de Oliveira Trindade recorreu ao Protocolo para Julgamento com Perspectiva de Gênero, desenvolvido pela Corte Interamericana de Direitos Humanos e adotado pelo Conselho Nacional de Justiça como referência para casos de violência de gênero. Com base nesse protocolo, o tribunal concluiu que a mulher foi privada de monitoramento adequado, de suporte físico e emocional e de informações sobre opções de alívio da dor.
A violência obstétrica, conforme definida pela Comissão Interamericana de Direitos Humanos, abrange qualquer tratamento desrespeitoso, abusivo ou negligente durante a gestação, o parto ou o pós-parto. Inclui a negação de informações, a recusa de analgesia e a administração de medicamentos desnecessários. A juíza e pesquisadora Adriana Ramos de Mello descreve o fenômeno como capaz de transformar o nascimento em "um verdadeiro calvário" — e aponta que o peso recai de forma desproporcional sobre mulheres pobres, negras e indígenas, frequentemente submetidas a menos anestesia por conta de estereótipos que as associam a uma suposta maior tolerância à dor.
O Brasil começa a se mover. O Distrito Federal aprovou legislação em 2024 com diretrizes para prevenir e combater a violência obstétrica. No Congresso, dois projetos aguardam votação: um para criminalizar a conduta, outro para enquadrá-la na Lei Maria da Penha. A decisão de Três Lagoas, embora ancorada em normas internacionais, sinaliza que os tribunais estão dispostos a agir — e pode ser o impulso que falta para que o legislativo finalmente acompanhe.
On a November afternoon in 2019, a pregnant woman arrived at Hospital Nossa Senhora Auxiliadora in Três Lagoas, a city in Mato Grosso do Sul state, gripped by intense labor pains. The doctor who examined her told her she was not actually in labor. He offered her a choice: go home, or wait in the hospital lobby for her cervix to dilate further. Then he signed her discharge papers. She went home. Ninety minutes later, she gave birth to her son on her own bed, with only her husband and a family friend present to help.
More than five years after that night, a court in Três Lagoas has recognized what happened as obstetric violence—a ruling that carries particular weight because Brazil has no specific law criminalizing such violence. The judge, Janine Rodrigues de Oliveira Trindade, ordered the municipality and the hospital to pay the woman 30,000 reais in damages. The decision matters not because it is unique, but because it is rare, and because it signals how courts are beginning to address a gap in Brazilian law by reaching for international frameworks.
The absence of domestic legislation on obstetric violence has forced judges to improvise. The National Council of Justice, Brazil's judicial oversight body, has directed courts to apply the Protocol for Judgment with a Gender Perspective, developed by the Inter-American Court of Human Rights. This protocol asks judges to examine cases through the lens of gender-based harm, to avoid reinforcing stereotypes, and to break cycles of discrimination. In the Três Lagoas case, the judge applied this framework, finding that the woman had been denied proper monitoring before discharge, denied adequate physical and emotional support, and denied information about pain relief options. The court noted, with some relief, that neither mother nor newborn suffered lasting harm—a detail that underscores how easily the outcome could have been catastrophic.
The Inter-American Commission on Human Rights defines obstetric violence broadly: any disrespectful, abusive, or negligent treatment during pregnancy, labor, or the postpartum period, whether in public or private health facilities. It includes denying information about a woman's health, withholding appropriate care, refusing pain management, and administering unnecessary medications. These are not rare occurrences. Adriana Ramos de Mello, a judge and gender researcher at Rio de Janeiro's judicial academy, describes obstetric violence as creating "a context of profound sadness about birth"—transforming what should be a moment of joy into what she calls "a true calvary, a torture of suffering" that falls disproportionately on poor women, women on the periphery, Black women, and Indigenous women.
The problem crosses class lines. In 2022, digital influencer Shantal Verdelho's experience with obstetric violence gained media attention. In 2023, an anesthesiologist was prosecuted for raping a patient immediately after she gave birth. Yet the burden falls heaviest on those with the least recourse. Ramos de Mello points to a documented pattern: Black women are stereotyped as having higher pain tolerance, and as a result receive less anesthesia. These biases are embedded in the system, shaping every interaction between a woman and the healthcare workers attending her most vulnerable moment.
Brazil has begun to move, slowly. The Federal District passed legislation in 2024 establishing guidelines to prevent and combat obstetric violence. Two bills pending in Congress would go further: one would criminalize obstetric violence outright; the other would classify it as violence against women under the Maria da Penha law, which carries its own enforcement mechanisms. The Três Lagoas ruling, though it rests on an international protocol rather than domestic law, may accelerate that momentum. It establishes that courts can and will recognize obstetric violence as a violation of fundamental human rights, even in the absence of a specific statute. The question now is whether legislators will catch up.
Notable Quotes
The moment that should be sublime, that should be joyful for this woman, often becomes a true calvary, a torture of suffering that women—especially poor, peripheral, Black, and Indigenous women—endure when giving birth in public maternity wards— Adriana Ramos de Mello, judge and gender researcher
Healthcare professionals can exercise control over women's bodies during labor in ways that undermine their autonomy, desires, and real needs— Adriana Ramos de Mello
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it matter that this court applied an international protocol instead of a Brazilian law?
Because it shows the judiciary is willing to name something as harm even when the legislature hasn't. It creates a legal foothold. Once courts start recognizing these cases, legislators face pressure to codify what judges are already saying is wrong.
But couldn't a hospital argue that the protocol is just a guideline, not binding law?
That's the vulnerability. The CNJ recommends the protocol, but without a specific statute, there's no teeth. Each case depends on a judge's willingness to apply it. That's why the pending bills matter—they would remove the ambiguity.
The woman in this case was lucky. What if the birth had gone badly?
Then we'd be talking about a very different kind of case. The judge actually noted that the lack of serious harm limited the damages awarded. If the child or mother had been injured or died, the legal and moral weight would have been immense. But that's precisely the problem—obstetric violence is often invisible until something catastrophic happens.
Why do you think this happens more to poor and Black women?
It's not accidental. There are documented biases in how pain is perceived and treated. Black women are assumed to tolerate pain better, so they're given less anesthesia. Poor women are seen as less deserving of time and attention. These aren't individual failings—they're systemic patterns baked into medical culture.
What would a real law actually change?
It would give prosecutors a tool to pursue cases without relying on judges to improvise. It would create a clear standard for what constitutes violation. And it would signal to hospitals and doctors that this conduct has consequences. Right now, the message is muddled.