How a Mob Tried to Oust Brazil’s Lula

The chaotic attack bore an unsettling resemblance to the Jan. 6, 2021 storming of the U.S. Capitol: Hundreds of right-wing protesters, claiming an election was rigged, stomping through the halls of power.

Each episode rattled one of the world’s largest democracies, and almost two years to the day after the U.S. attack, last Sunday’s assault showed that far-right extremism, inspired by antidemocratic leaders and fed by conspiracy theories, remains a grave threat.

Mr. Lula and judicial authorities have moved swiftly to reassert control, arresting more than 1,150 rioters, clearing the encampments that gave them refuge, searching for their funders and organizers and, on Friday, opening an investigation into how Mr. Bolsonaro may have inspired them.

But questions continue to swirl about how a relatively small band of unarmed protesters, who had largely publicized their plans, were able so easily to storm the country’s most important government buildings.

It also shows that some officers not only failed to take any action against rioters, but they also appeared to be sympathetic, snapping photos as the mob tore through Congress. One man who came to see what was going on said the police simply waved him on toward the riot.

The imbalance between protesters and the police remains a central focus of the authorities’ investigation, and interviews with security officials yielded accusations of gross negligence and even active complicity in the mayhem. After the riot, federal authorities suspended the governor responsible for protecting the buildings and arrested two top security officials who worked for him.

Many of those who carried out the assault on Brazil’s democratic institutions plotted in broad daylight, announcing their plans on social media. But intelligence officials issued warnings that went unheeded.

And as federal investigators follow money trails around Brazil, it is becoming clear that business elites and Bolsonaro allies were instrumental in financing the protests that eventually turned violent.

While Brazil’s institutions formed a united front against any attempt by Mr. Bolsonaro to challenge the election’s results — the former president has absconded to a rental home near Disney World — his false claims about voter fraud have festered and spread across Latin America’s largest nation.

The morning after the riot, interviews with a dozen protesters showed that they were far from giving up and were even moving past the man who had once led them.

“We are not here for President Bolsonaro anymore. We are here for our nation, our freedom,” said Nathanael S. Viera, 51, who had driven 900 miles to fight against what he said was a Communist plot. “Our future is being stolen. You understand?”

‘It Didn’t Seem Serious’

For roughly half the country, it was the welcome end to four years of tumult under Mr. Bolsonaro. But for millions of other Brazilians, it was the completion of an elaborate crime — a stolen election that they had been begging the military to overturn for two months.

Days later, calls went out across pro-Bolsonaro corners of the internet — in tweets, TikTok videos, Telegram channels and WhatsApp groups — for an enormous Sunday demonstration in the capital, right where Mr. Lula’s supporters had celebrated a week before.

Some digital fliers promised a party, while others called for something far more serious. There were messages that demanded blocked highways and oil refineries, and others that took aim at the heart of government.

“The plan is to surround Brasília,” one person wrote in a Telegram group, attaching an aerial image of Congress, the Supreme Court and the Planalto Palace, headquarters of the presidency, with each building circled.

“We need journalists from around the world to report on this moment,” another person responded, “so it will become marked in Brazil’s history.”

Yet the plans did not appear to overly alarm authorities.

Ricardo Cappelli, the No. 2 official at Brazil’s justice ministry, said that pro-Bolsonaro rallies had long taken on conspiratorial tones but had remained largely nonviolent. “It didn’t seem serious,” he said, “and it wasn’t big enough to be serious.”

The federal government pays the district $2 billion each year to provide security, and had been satisfied with the results. The 2022 election was tense but every gathering in Brasília was peaceful.

Mr. Torres quickly replaced much of his department’s senior staff.

On Jan. 6, two days before the planned protest, the district held a meeting that yielded a four-page plan placing much of the security responsibility on the district police, according to a copy obtained by The Times. The police would stop protesters before they reached Congress, the plan said, and would consider closing the esplanade.

Flávio Dino, Brazil’s new justice minister, said that the next day, the district governor, Ibaneis Rocha, told him the esplanade would be kept off limits. Then, shortly before the protest, Mr. Dino learned from a news article that, in fact, Mr. Rocha had decided to open it to demonstrators.

The number of police officers, Mr. Dino later told reporters, was woefully inadequate “to let them go down the esplanade.”

Mr. Rocha has said the size of the force was Mr. Torres’s responsibility.

By early afternoon, protesters were reaching the end of the esplanade and the start of Congress’s front yard — the perimeter the police were supposed to protect. Two rows of temporary metal fencing, about 200 yards wide, marked the barrier. On the two streets flanking the front yard, there were movable roadblocks. Scattered along the front line were just a few dozen police officers.

The Modernist buildings they were protecting were largely empty, with Congress adjourned and Mr. Lula in São Paulo. But by 2:30 p.m., a crowd was collecting outside.

“People are still arriving,” Bruno Gomides, a former candidate for state representative, said in a Facebook livestream. “Let’s see what develops.” The atmosphere was relatively tranquil.

Then, at 2:42 p.m., a surge of protesters reached one of the roadblocks. One group of protesters pulled the metal railing back, while another group pushed through the roadblock. A few police officers sprayed a chemical agent, but resistance was minimal.

Within seconds, the security line had fallen. The invasion had begun.

During their inaugurations, new presidents ascend that ramp and another at the Planalto, making it a symbol of taking power. Within minutes, it was crowded with protesters.

The police immediately launched tear-gas canisters, with the explosions and smoke transforming the atmosphere. On their way to Congress, protesters dipped their bandannas in a reflecting pool and put them over their faces to ward off the effects of the gas.

“I got used to the burning,” Ana Carolina Isique Guardieri, a veterinarian, said into her phone, adding that she had helped pull down the barrier. “This here is ours.”

As approaching protesters spotted the crowds atop Congress, they, too, began storming ahead.

The mood was pure euphoria. Ms. Azevedo, the internet influencer, filmed herself celebrating on the ramp with a group of men. “Mission accomplished!” they shouted in unison.

The authorities arrested 210 people on the scene, many led back down the ramps in handcuffs.

That night, the Supreme Court suspended Mr. Rocha for 90 days. Later the court approved a federal police request for arrest warrants against Mr. Torres and the district police chief.

During a search of Mr. Torres’s home, the authorities found a draft of a presidential decree that sought to effectively overturn the election. Mr. Torres has suggested he received the document from a third party and planned to throw it away.

The morning after the riot, authorities swept a long-running protest camp outside the Army headquarters, detaining 1,200 people.