A news organization made that choice for him, and set in motion the sequence of events that ended his time in the legislature.
In the early days of March 2022, a phone call from a journalist became the moment a Brazilian politician's private words collided with public consequence. Arthur do Val, a state deputy in São Paulo known as Mamãe Falei, learned through Brasil 247's reporting that audio recordings of his derogatory remarks about Ukrainian war refugees had been obtained and verified. The Ethics Council of the São Paulo legislature ultimately voted to cassate his mandate — a reminder that in the age of recorded speech, the distance between private contempt and public accountability can collapse in a single call.
- A journalist's courtesy call on March 4th became the moment do Val's political career began to unravel, as Brasil 247 sought his response before publishing damaging audio recordings.
- Do Val deflected rather than confronted — citing poor signal and travel fatigue — buying himself only the time it took to board a plane and hear his own voice condemning him.
- Brasil 247 did not rely on do Val's cooperation; forensic verification of all four recordings proceeded independently, transforming raw audio into documented fact.
- The recordings spread rapidly, and the São Paulo Ethics Council moved to formally strip do Val of his legislative mandate before he had fully reckoned with what he had said.
- At the center of the scandal were Ukrainian refugees — people displaced by war — reduced to dehumanizing characterizations by a public official whose words now carry lasting institutional consequence.
Arthur do Val did not discover the recordings that would end his political career on his own terms. On March 4th, a journalist from Brasil 247 reached him by phone to ask about audio files the outlet had obtained — recordings in which do Val, a São Paulo state deputy, had made crude and dehumanizing remarks about Ukrainian refugees fleeing the war.
He did not engage directly. He was traveling, he said. The signal was poor. He asked that the files be sent to him. Two of the four recordings arrived before the connection dropped. Later, on a plane in days-old clothes, he listened and recognized his own voice without hesitation.
What do Val did not know in that moment was that Brasil 247 had already subjected each recording to forensic analysis. The journalist's call had been a professional courtesy — an opportunity to respond before publication. Instead, nervous laughter filled the line, and the call ended without a substantive reply.
The recordings circulated. By the time do Val recounted the episode on a podcast weeks later, the São Paulo Ethics Council had already voted to cassate his mandate — formally removing him from office. The account he offered was strikingly passive: a man learning, through a stranger's phone call, that words spoken in private had become an irreversible public record, and that there was nothing left to walk back.
Arthur do Val found out about the recordings that would end his political career the same way the rest of São Paulo did—through a phone call from a journalist. It was March 4th when Brasil 247 reached him to ask about audio files the outlet had obtained. In those recordings, do Val, known by his online handle Mamãe Falei, had made crude remarks about Ukrainian refugees fleeing the war, describing them in dehumanizing terms tied to their poverty.
Do Val, a state deputy in the São Paulo legislature, didn't immediately own the words. When the reporter called to verify the authenticity of the audios, he deflected. He was traveling, he said. His signal was bad. He asked the journalist to send him the files so he could listen for himself. Two of the four recordings came through before his connection dropped.
Later, sitting on an airplane in clothes he'd worn for four days straight, do Val listened to what Brasil 247 had found. His response, recounted weeks afterward on a podcast with fellow influencer Monark, was a simple exclamation of recognition. He knew the voice was his. He knew what he'd said.
What do Val didn't know at that moment was that Brasil 247 had already begun the work of verification. The outlet subjected each audio to forensic analysis, confirming their authenticity piece by piece. The journalist's call wasn't a fishing expedition—it was a courtesy before publication, a chance for do Val to respond. He chose not to engage substantively. Instead, according to the account that emerged, nervous laughter filled the phone line. Then the call ended.
The recordings circulated. The damage accumulated. By the time do Val appeared on the Monark Talks podcast to discuss what had happened, the São Paulo Ethics Council had already voted to strip him of his mandate. The cassation—the formal removal of his right to hold office—was approved. The words he'd spoken about vulnerable people fleeing violence had consequences that extended far beyond the moment he'd spoken them.
What's striking about do Val's account is how passive it frames his own discovery. He didn't uncover the recordings himself. He didn't choose when or how to address them. A news organization made that choice for him, and in doing so, set in motion the sequence of events that ended his time in the legislature. The story he tells on the podcast—the confusion, the bad signal, the nervous laughter—is the story of a man learning that his private words had become public liability, and that there was no way to walk it back.
Citas Notables
When the journalist told me about the audios, I thought: 'Did I really send that? Did I actually say that?' I was traveling, hadn't changed clothes in four days, and lost my signal on the plane.— Arthur do Val, on the Monark Talks podcast
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
So he genuinely didn't know Brasil 247 had the recordings until they called him?
That's what he claimed. He was traveling, said his signal was spotty. The journalist had to send him the files.
And when he listened?
He recognized his own voice immediately. But by then, Brasil 247 had already verified everything. The call wasn't a negotiation—it was a heads-up before they published.
Did he try to deny it?
Not directly. He laughed nervously during the call, then hung up. Later, on the podcast, he acknowledged it was him.
What strikes you most about how this unfolded?
That he had no control over the narrative. A news organization found the evidence, verified it, and presented it to him as a fait accompli. By the time he understood what was happening, the Ethics Council was already moving.
And the cassation—that was inevitable after that?
Once the recordings were authenticated and public, yes. The council voted to remove his mandate. The words had consequences he couldn't escape.