We will not accept being treated like children or like a small republic
In the long and unresolved tension between national sovereignty and foreign influence, Brazilian President Lula drew a firm boundary this week, rejecting the United States' decision to classify two of Brazil's most powerful criminal factions as terrorist organizations. Speaking from Sergipe on May 29th, Lula insisted that only Brazilians hold the authority to define and combat crime within their own borders—and that to suggest otherwise is to treat a sovereign nation as something lesser. Behind the diplomatic dispute lies a more intimate wound: the belief that an opposition senator traveled to Washington not to serve Brazil, but to invite interference in it.
- The US designation of PCC and CV as terrorist organizations arrived with suspicious timing—just two days after opposition senator Flávio Bolsonaro met Trump, Vance, and Rubio in Washington to lobby for exactly that outcome.
- Lula's government responded with rare sharpness, invoking the word 'traitors' to describe those who seek foreign intervention in Brazilian political affairs.
- Beneath the legal dispute lies a concrete fear: that a terrorism label could create legal cover for unilateral American military operations on Brazilian soil.
- Lula turned the argument back on Washington, pointing to American-origin weapons smuggled into Brazil and alleged criminals sheltered in the US as evidence of where accountability should begin.
- Flávio Bolsonaro fired back, reframing the sovereignty argument around the fifty million Brazilians living under criminal control—and accusing Lula of protecting perpetrators over victims.
- With Brazil's 2026 presidential election approaching, the dispute has hardened into something larger: a contest over who—Brasília or Washington—gets to shape Brazil's political future.
On May 29th, President Lula stood in Sergipe and rejected what he saw as an affront to Brazilian dignity. The United States had just designated the Comando Vermelho and the Primeiro Comando da Capital as terrorist organizations—and Lula's response was immediate and unambiguous. Brazil, he said, would not be treated like a "small republic," nor spoken to like children. National sovereignty, his government declared, was non-negotiable.
The announcement felt orchestrated. Three days earlier, Senator Flávio Bolsonaro had visited Washington, meeting with Trump, Vance, and Rubio to press the case for the terrorist designation—a position his family had championed for over a year. Two days after he left, Secretary Rubio made it official. Lula read the sequence plainly: this was not policy, it was interference, and it was personal. His government used a word that would echo through the political moment—traitors—aimed at those who traveled to foreign capitals to invite American intervention in Brazilian affairs.
Lula did not deny the violence of the PCC and CV. To the communities they terrorize, he said, they are indeed terrorists. But they are criminal organizations, not ideological extremists, and Brazil has the laws and institutions to confront them. What troubled him was the implication that it did not—and the fear, far from abstract, that a terrorism designation could provide legal cover for unilateral American operations on Brazilian soil. He pointed to weapons smuggled from the US into Brazil, and to alleged criminals sheltered in America, and asked why accountability seemed to flow in only one direction.
Flávio Bolsonaro pushed back, reclaiming the language of sovereignty for himself—invoking the fifty million Brazilians living under narco-terrorist control and accusing Lula of defending criminals over victims. The two men were speaking past each other, each claiming to represent Brazil's true interests.
The confrontation had been building for over a year, surviving a near-miss in early 2026 when Brazilian officials mounted what they called an emergency operation to delay the designation. That reprieve ended with Bolsonaro's May visit to Washington. Now, with the 2026 presidential election on the horizon, the dispute had become something more than a classification dispute—it had become a question of who gets to decide Brazil's future, and whether Washington had already chosen a side.
On Friday, May 29th, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva stood in Sergipe and drew a line. The United States had just designated two of Brazil's most powerful criminal organizations—the Comando Vermelho and the Primeiro Comando da Capital—as terrorist entities. Lula's response was unambiguous: Brazil would not accept being treated as what he called a "small republic," nor would his government tolerate being spoken to "like children."
The decision stung partly because it felt orchestrated. Three days before the American announcement, Senator Flávio Bolsonaro, a potential presidential candidate from the opposition, had visited Washington. He met with President Trump, Vice President J.D. Vance, and Secretary of State Marco Rubio. In those meetings, Bolsonaro pressed the case for the terrorist designation—a position his family had championed for over a year. Two days after Bolsonaro left, Rubio announced the classification. Lula saw the sequence and drew his own conclusion: this was not policy; it was interference, and it was personal.
The Brazilian government's formal response, issued the same day, was sharp. National sovereignty, the statement read, was non-negotiable. "Only Brazilians," it declared, "define how crime is classified and combated within Brazil, through our institutions, our laws, and our security forces." The government also used a word that would echo through the political moment: traitors. It accused those who traveled to foreign capitals to invite American intervention in Brazilian affairs of betraying the nation.
Lula himself elaborated on this distinction in his remarks. Yes, he said, the PCC and the Comando Vermelho are terrorists—to the families and neighborhoods they terrorize, to the communities they rob of the right to live freely. But they are not the kind of terrorists Trump wants to fight. They are not ideological or religious extremists. They are criminal organizations, and Brazil has the capacity and the law to combat them domestically. What troubled Lula was the implication that Brazil could not be trusted to do so, that American military action might follow under the guise of counterterrorism.
This fear was not abstract. The Brazilian government had long worried that the designation would create legal cover for unilateral American operations on Brazilian soil. Lula pointed to a concrete example: weapons smuggled into Brazil from the United States. If America could intervene against terrorism, why not against the source of those weapons? He also raised the cases of Alexandre Ramagem, the former intelligence chief who fled to the U.S. during Bolsonaro's presidency, and Ricardo Magro, a businessman with alleged ties to the PCC and Brazil's largest tax evader. If the Americans were serious about fighting these organizations, Lula suggested, they could start by extraditing the criminals hiding in their own country.
Flávio Bolsonaro responded by posting a video of Lula's speech and offering his own rebuttal. The senator reframed the argument around sovereignty too—but the sovereignty of the Brazilian people, he said, the fifty million living under the control of what he called narco-terrorists. He accused Lula of defending criminals instead of their victims. The two men were now speaking past each other, each claiming to represent Brazil's true interests.
The battle over this designation had been building for more than a year. American officials had been studying the possibility since Trump's second term began in 2025. In May of that year, State Department assessors visited Brazil and met with prosecutors and, according to Bolsonaro, with his family. By July, when Trump imposed tariffs on Brazilian goods, the Brazilian government braced for the terrorist designation to follow—it did not come. Lula had tried to delegitimize the idea, arguing at the United Nations in September 2025 that equating criminality with terrorism was dangerous, that it could justify lethal force without due process. In March 2026, when news leaked that the designation was imminent, the Brazilian government mounted what officials called an emergency operation to stop it. For a moment, it seemed to work. The announcement was delayed. But the reprieve lasted only until Bolsonaro's May visit to Washington.
What remained unclear was whether this represented a genuine shift in American policy or a capitulation to political pressure from an opposition figure in a country where elections were coming. Lula's advisors believed that parts of the Trump administration preferred a Bolsonaro victory in Brazil's 2026 presidential race. If that was true, then the timing of the announcement—just months before Brazilians would vote—was itself a form of interference, a signal about which candidate Washington favored. The dispute was no longer simply about how to classify criminal organizations. It had become a referendum on who gets to decide Brazil's future.
Citas Notables
Only Brazilians define how crime is classified and combated within Brazil, through our institutions, our laws, and our security forces— Brazilian government statement
The PCC and CV are terrorists to Brazilian communities, but they are not the terrorists Trump wants. We will fight them here, within our borders— President Lula
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did Lula react so strongly to what seems like a technical classification decision?
Because it wasn't technical. The designation opens the door to American military action inside Brazil under the guise of counterterrorism. That's sovereignty being eroded, not crime being fought.
But aren't the PCC and CV genuinely dangerous?
Absolutely. Lula said so himself—they terrorize communities, steal people's freedom. The question is who gets to decide what to do about it. Brazil has laws, courts, police. The fear is that once America labels them terrorists, American soldiers might show up.
So why did Flávio Bolsonaro push for the designation if it's so problematic?
He sees it as a tool. His family has been fighting organized crime for years and believes American pressure could work where Brazilian institutions have struggled. But he's also positioning himself as tougher on crime than Lula ahead of the 2026 election.
Did the timing matter—Bolsonaro visiting Trump days before the announcement?
Everything about the timing mattered. Lula's government believed they had convinced Washington to hold off. Then Bolsonaro shows up, makes his pitch, and two days later it happens. That sequence looked like a deal, like foreign interference in Brazilian politics.
What does Lula want the U.S. to do instead?
Extradite the criminals hiding in America. Stop the weapons smuggling. Work with Brazil on its terms, not impose conditions that undermine Brazilian authority. He's saying: help us, but don't replace us.
Will this designation actually change how Brazil fights these organizations?
Probably not much operationally. But politically, it signals that Washington trusts Bolsonaro more than Lula, and that matters in an election year. It's a message to Brazilian voters about who America prefers.