Causer Media.
You're listening to the Away Days podcast on the ground outside, reporting from the underbelly with me Jake Hanrahan. To watch Awaydays documentaries, go to YouTube dot com slash at away Days TV. This is part two for Velo Government, Episode one. The podcast is the production of H eleventh Studio and call Zone Media. Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. I'm stood at the bottom of a long winding road that leads uphill into the maze of Flete Fogutero, A sprawling fora Vella
under the control of Brazil's oldest gang. In the near distance, I can see the shanty town built up on top of itself. The tropical backdrop of the nearby mountains and valleys is peppered with misshapen blocks of di white housing. Edges and right angles are ben skewed with like a Doctor Zoos illustration. Each building is linked by a spider's web of illegal power lines, all maintained by Favela residents without permits. Here at the bottom of the hill there's
a crossroads where Foravella motorbike taxis hang out. There are around two dozen young lads ready to take who or whatever they're told to up into the forvela. They wear a mix of football shirts, flip flops, and basketball shorts. They're looking at me as if to say, what the fuck are you doing here? This area is anrgo zone for tourists, the government, and the police. The whole area is run by a criminal organization known as Red command
or in Portuguese Commando for Melo CV. Of negotiation between myself, a friend and a photographer originally from the favelas. One of the big CV bosses has given us permission to enter Fogutero. Once you're up the hill and in the neighborhood, CV is the de facto leadership in every way possible. We're here to make a documentary to show what life is like in the favela when a gang takes on the role of a government. You can watch the documentary now at YouTube dot com slash at Away Days TV.
A local lad is assisting us with a blessing from the gang. I dare say, if he wasn't with us, we'd be robbed and sent on our way home already. But Cev's word is solid here, so we're left alone. The local who will call Carlos hands a few notes to one of the motorbike riders and tells him something in Portuguese. The rider nods at me and pulls his bike up to the bottom of the hill. The other taxes watch on, grinning and whispering to each other. By now they're all sat on the seats of their bikes
and chatting about the gringos. Me and my team humid, noisy in everything smells like gasoline. Carlos signals to me, we're ready to go. Okay. I approach the motorbike and climb on the back. The rider is perched over it and leans on the handlebars naturally, as if they're part of his extended anatomy. He's made this trip a thousand times before, but probably never for some journalists from the UK.
Philip Fogatro is not one of those media friendly fora VELAs the YouTubers paid to create danger slop content inside of This is the Wild West when it comes to rules, regulations, laws or safety. Carlos tells me the last time someone tried to film up there without permission that was shot dead by the gang. He says it was a couple riding through on bikes with gold pros attached.
This place is no joke.
I let the rider know I'm ready, and he pushes off the kickstand and revs the bike up the hill, moving fast through a series of alleyways, winding roads, and half built streets. As we move up higher into the favela, a blur of residents and gangbangers was passed. The road is battered with potholes and uneven tarmac. The bike bounces
every few feet. There were no helmets for passengers, at least not for me, so I'm held on tight, hoping we don't crash into the one hundred and one different obstacles and sharp angles with zip passed.
After about five.
Minutes, we're fully up the hills and on an even plateau where the favela branches off into all different directions. We're high up now, inside the Favella. I can see the city's tall buildings of the metro area and the distance from here, all glass and metal. Down there, Brazilians work, they're nine to five's, pay their bills and hang out on the beaches up here, solicit firearms, bricks of heroin, and regular gang shootouts. Short motorbike taxi has transported me
from one world to another. This is the Favela. Carlos arrives on the back of another motorbike and guides us through a series of narrow alleyways. Here the only thing you need to start building is cement. Over the years, this has created a ghetto metropolis with random drainpipes, satellite dishes and stairs that lead to nowhere. Pavela construction is unlike anything else. We moved through to a small corner with three alleyways leading in all directions up a slope.
Cev graffiti is sprayed red on the walls. Piles of rubbish are gathered up along the side of the road. There's a small benched off area made of bricks and concrete. Here, three young men and with semi automatic rifles are posted up, chatting into their walky talkies. The static melts in and out, with inderside of Portuguese chirping from the other end.
The gang has this whole place on lock.
An intricate system of radio signals and constant patrols has them in charge of all entrances to the neighborhoods they control. The young gunmen seem pretty chilled out considering we shake hands, and one of them seems eager to chat. His name is Chico. He's maybe twenty years old. He stood in a pair of flip flops, a red basketball jersey, and a camouflage balaclava. He's also holding a rifle almost as
big as he is. Carlos explains to me that exactly where we're currently standing is nicknamed the Place where Bullets Fly. He could have told us this beforehand. Basically, this is a very hot intersection where gun battles regularly break out between either rival gangs or the police. Chico walks out into the junction and points to a large white building at the top of a hill in the distance, a huge blue wall protec exit. It's surrounded by jungle foliage on what looks like a little tram moving.
In and out. Chico explains what it is.
There is light snipers up there, there are police snipers, and from this direction ravel gangs come down to confront us.
At all times, day or night. These areas are guarded by men like Chico. We move off through the alleyways to find a safer place to talk. As we do, young children randomly show up to see why the gringlows are here. They seem completely unfazed at the masked men with rifles hanging out on their corners. We climb over a small wall and into a sheltered alleyway that doubles as someone's outside patio. People look out from their windows,
not really alarmed, just seeing what's going on. Chico seems as relaxed here as he did in the place where bullets fly.
Me.
I'm much happier to have some concrete between us and the police snipers with their barrels aimed over this neighborhood. Do you see yourselves as like the security of this fabella fun?
Just yeah, I think so. We're here to protect each other. We stop residents getting scammed by the government. If we're not in the community, the community is finished. We're out here. It's our choice. We stay strong.
You know.
Drug dealers are the ones who help because the government is shit, straight up. They steal everything. They're bad. We're not good, but we only kill our enemies. The media says we kill civilians, but we don't. We only kill other criminals, criminals against criminals. CV isn't destroying anything in Rio dejan Ero. If CV didn't exist, what would happen to the favela residence? The police would come here, charge protection fees, humiliate people, disappear, people make curfews, not us.
We leave them be.
We even hold parties for the community.
What's it like living here? What's it like growing up here? It looks to me like there's no presence from the government at all.
What's it What's it like?
When I was young, all I did was play football. I followed a different path. But when the police entered the community here, a lot of things went to ruin. My brother entered the gang life, so I followed back. Then I had a dream to get out of this place, but the police destroyed my life when they killed my brother. He was shot in the back. Then the cops executed him close up. From then on, I said to myself, they'll only get rid of me by death. So after that they fought and fought.
Fuck.
I'm sorry the ever, none of this will change our lives. Any day we could die. If God puts it in my heart to leave, then I'll leave.
As nice as that sentiment is, very rarely does anyone exit the life of a favela gang member by anything other than death. CV's presence is felt far and wide across Brazil. The gang has gained over twenty five thousand members in the forty years they've been active, so symbol as nasionaes. It all began in Brazil in the nineteen seventies. US backed military dictatorship controlled the country with an iron fist, extra judicial killings, force disappearances, mass censorship. Armed rebels rose
up and began fighting back. Police were killed and riots broke out. Before long, Rio's prisons were full of battle hard and leftist gorillas, specifically at the Candido Mendez penal colony. There, militants shared cells with local criminals who had also been locked up by the Junter, all under the same roof all facing abuse in the prison, the two groups joined forces to protect themselves, rebel fighters in league with street criminals. It was an effective alliance that gave birth to TV.
Brazil's military Junter ruled from nineteen sixty four to nineteen eighty five. In that time, CVS spread like wildfire. They were highly active inside and outside prison. They got into drug trafficking and became a highly violent organization. By the end of the dictatorship, CV controlled around seventy percent of the drug trade in Rio and became a serious problem
for the state and the favelas. Though CV became the state, these shanty towns, initially built by former slaves in the eighteen hundreds, have long been abandoned by the government, and so a mix of violence, intimidation, and genuine community support led CV to become the de facto authority of their favelas. This meant they had to keep the police out. In Brazil, the security forces have been corrupt for a long time. They're often involved in organized crime themselves and of the
natural enemy of the countless different gangs of Brazil. Now in twenty twenty five, CV is a huge international criminal enterprise involved in drug trafficking, weapons dealing, armed robbery, kidnapped to order murder, for higher money laundering, you name it. Curlos takes us deeper into the Favella. We move sideways through an alleyway so narrow I think I'd almost get stuck if I walked forwards. The walls are sloped at different angles. The further we move along, CEV graffiti is
sprayed up every six feet or so. Eventually we emerge another intersection where a dozen or so CV gang members are gathered on a corner. They're all armed with a mix of long barrel rifles, oozies and pistols. They move in and out of the area on motorbikes, a lot nicer than the ones we rolled up in with the taxi. Due to the layout of the favela and CV's control of it, the gang is able to do business completely
out in the open. They're all cutting up weed into small clingfilm squares and combining blocks of what I think is wrapped coke into with duct tape. The boss of this group, a guy nicknamed No Joke Fat Sexy, is watching over the operation with an M sixteen rifle slinked over his shoulder. He's on his phone organizing. Music is playing from a blue to the speaker, and the gang members are pouring out drinks for each other. It's just
business as usual. About ten feet across the road from the open air drug emporium is a small local butchers. A few residents are queued up waiting to buy meat. Children move in and out of the area. My head over to the gang and Carlos introduces me to everyone. I shake hands with the gunmen and drug manufacturers, and whilst they seem a little confused, they're generally pretty friendly. They seem baffled as to why we'd come all the way from England to philat Fogato, even when we explained
that we're making a documentary. We hang out for a while and the gang bangers start to show off their guns. These are heavy duty firearms, either stolen from rival gang and police, or smuggled into Brazil from the US, Paraguay and Venezuela. Randomly, one of the gang members puts an M sixteen rifle in my hands. Whilst generally I believe in gun rights and I'm definitely pro firearm, I am not comfortable holding a gun whilst out in the field reporting if that's not my role. I'm a journalist and
never a combatant. I look around for someone to hand the firearm off to, as the CV gang members laugh at my awkwardness. So if I'm not sell a spot where they're all selling various drugs for some reason, I've just been handing this rifle and I don't really know what to do.
Now you on this, someone take it man.
Quickly.
One of the guys takes the gun away from me and I thank him. He hands me a little plastic cup and pours me a drink. Of sprite at his feet. He has a bag of drugs the size of a pillow, all wrapped in tape and plastic. If I had to guess, I'd say it's some kind of heroine precursor or just a huge sack of opium. Even I into semi autonomous cells, CEV is active in drug trafficking all over the place, from here in Rio to the Paraguay border, the Amazon
region and beyond. They're constantly fighting rival gangs for control of the drug trade. As we sit around drinking sprite watching gang members compare guns, I noticed two young boys across the street. They're both leaned up against the wall, intently watching the scene in front of them. Drugs, guns, gang life. They look not even ten years old. Yet, before I can think about it too much, the sound of a gunshot and in the distance breaks the good
of your atmosphere. Then another and another. There's some kind of shoot out. The ringleader, Fat Sexy quickly jumps on his motorbike and zooms off down the road with a walkie talkie. The others wrap up the drugs and the jeep arrives out of nowhere. Fat Sexy returns and starts telling the others to go get the rifles.
Three or four of the CV footsole just.
Hop on bikes and race off, presumably to get the other rifles. The scene is tense and erratic, but at the same time somehow controlled. It's clear that the gang members deal with this regularly and know what to do. For the past year, CV has been moving on the turf of their rivals. Gun battles breakout, often just as I'm sat on the wall observing the madness, wondering if
we'll have to run for cover soon. A CV foot soldier in a balaklava moves next to me and loads up his klashnikov with a DIY extended magazine, two mags welded together at each end. If it doesn't jam, he can probably shoot sixty rounds without having to be low. He gestures for me to follow him, ushering us away from what looks to be a mobilization of CV versus whoever it is shooting nearby. They don't want us getting
in the way of a gang's shootout. Rio de Janeiro is gripped by a violent stre between many different gangs, each of them fights for control of drug routes and territory in the city's sprawling for VELAs. In Rio, CV is the most notorious and most powerful. The gang controls the majority of the drug trade here. Recently, a serious conflict broke out between them and another gang called First
Capital Command or PCC. PCC's main turf is the city of sal Paolo, over two hundred miles away from Rio, much like CV, though they're active all over the country. CV and PCC had a truce recently, but it's fallen apart spectacularly.
In a storm of deadly violence.
Another major criminal faction in Brazil is Pure Third Command or TCP. Relatively, they're a lot newer than CV, forming in the early two thousands after splitting from a previous a larger criminal group over various disagreements. TCP is a whole other story in itself. They've fused brutal gang violence with extreme religious Pentecostalism, perhaps and away.
Days for another time.
Another serious gang in the Rio area is Friends of Friends or Amigos dos Amigos ADA. These guys formed in nineteen ninety eight, coming together as defectors of CV. They split off and formed their own gang. ADA has carved out its own territory in parts of the North and West zones of Rio, including Rockina, one of Rio's most famous favelas. Ada is enemies with both CV and TCP. The three gangs are all sporadically at war with each other.
Complicating this situation even further are the criminal militias. They're different to the gangs in that they're paramilitary groups made up of ex police soldiers and even firefighters. Talk about them a lot more later on. The CV gang member with the two worlded together magazines, quickly brings us up a hill out the way of where the gunshots were ringing out. He tells us he goes by the name f T.
Simple.
We passed through a small neighborhood where four young girls are hanging out, sat on a step as if nothing has happened. They're all dressed in different pink outfits and probably range in age from seven to about ten. They're incredibly cute. As we moved past them, they seem totally oblivious to F. T, who is casually walking by, holding his rifle and wearing a dark balaklava.
It's midday.
The wave at the young girls and they wave back and begin to giggle. He They remind me of some of my own family back home. They're all smiles. The sadness of this, of course, is that they're completely used to gun battles and gang members. There's no way they didn't hear the commotion down the road. But for them, I guess it's just another day. As with the rest of the poverty and the favella, the children here are hit hard due to decades that inequality, neglect from the government,
and constant violence. The situation has become an ongoing crisis. Amongst the children here, there's malnutrition, poor sanitation, and limited access to health care and education. Schooling in the favelas is very sporadic, to say the least. They have barely any money and very high dropout rates. Some kids are pulled into gang activity simply to survive. Gangs offer money, food,
and a sense of belonging. Others are sadly victim teams of violent police raids or crossfire when gang battles break out like.
We just saw.
Much more basic services like clean water, rubbish collection, and even electricity are often inconsistent. This instability has severe impact on mental health and development. Those most ill equipped to deal with such hardships are, of course, the children wow CV two FT leads us to a high point where there's an open square, two concrete benches, and a concrete table that has a chessboard crudely built into it. This area offers an incredible view of the sprawling favelas all
around us. As far as the eye can see, there are makeshift buildings that are meant to last forever. The shanty towns cover every hill and valley for miles and miles around. It hits me, this is what the gangs are fighting for, control of a never ending concrete fortress. FT watches over it like a proud homeowner. Whilst it might seem ridiculous to some if you go up here and you're in a gang, controlling your turf is everything. Dozens and dozens of these young gang members are killed
every month trying to maintain their monopoly. To do so, it gives you the spoiled fruits the domination of the favella has to offer, like some kind of favella. Real estate agent FT proudly describes the demographic of the area.
Here is the same gangs over there. Here we are CV over there is the same faction, but another favella. Over there, they have a different boast to us. It's divided. Here is for the tales, where we are over there is moro dos prazers. I'm down. There is the border once to he divides the two favelas. Yes, this is for it.
What's it like living here and growing up all in this favella? Do you ever get to leave? Or you're just here all the time?
Man? I stay in the fabella a lot. I moved here very young. Those of us raised here have few opportunities in life. That's why I started doing all this. It's normal for us seeing all this since a young age in the foravela. Even if I'm not on lookout or not working, I'm always with my friends twenty four seven on hours foot. We're always waiting for the unexpected to happen. We're always ready, always waiting for it. That's our life day today.
If you didn't have to be here doing this, what would you prefer to do?
Oh, I'd be a musician. A musician I tried in a different moment in my life. I dedicated myself to it. I have crime for a while to apply myself. I didn't get far. Maybe I was impatient enough. In the end, I came back ended up here.
As Ft explains his lost dreams of becoming a musician, I can see a deep sadness in his eyes, albeit through the slit of his balaklava. He is in his twenties and has been a member of CV for a long time. Unfortunately, FT is no doubt a killer, and I'm not excusing random acts of gang violence. But for a moment you can almost see an innocent side of FT, deep down in his soul when he talks about his
forgotten ambitions. Just like anyone else, he once had dreams and desires far bigger than the life he's living now. And to make it out of the favella as a famous musician is in no way a pipe dream in Brazil either, many have done so. Brazil has produced a wave of talented rappers who came up amongst the brutality of the favelas. One of the most famous is Sabotage, a sau Paolo born rapper who grew up in the harsh gang communities of Zona Saul. His songs talk about
favella life and soul inequality. Sadly, he was murdered in two thousand and three. Another major name is Emesida, who also grew up on the fringes of suth Paolo. He's built is on record label and gained international recognition performing in Europe and the US. His music tackles racism, poverty, and Brazil's huge class divide. There are many other examples. It's definitely possible to get out of the favella using music as the vessel. It is, though incredibly unlikely and very hard.
For Ft, though he.
Didn't quite make it, He's now stock as a drug dealer in the trenches of Pallape Fogetero. There's no doubt a lot of lost talent in Brazil's favelas. Eventually we say our goodbye is to Ft and wander off through the favela. One thing that strikes me is the huge number of children running around, playing and having fun. The contrast is impossible not to notice. For every CV gang member posted up with a rifle, there seems to be a dozen or so children running past him on the
way to play out with their friends. There's something beautiful about the innocence of the children growing up amidst the chaos or Phalape Fogetero. No doubt more than a few times they've been kept up at night to the sound of gunfire. Flashes here can last for hours, with back and forth shootings between CV and police or rival gangs. But it's not that it might be military helicopters overhead gathering intel for an upcoming raid. There's even been explosive
used in favela battles. This is in no way a safe environment for a child, but it's their reality. The government does almost nothing to provide for the families here. Most of the safeguard in if any is done by NGOs are allowed in by the gangs. It's a serious problem. There is, however, another outlet for the children of Phalat Foggatar hero One that was actually built by the gangs and is run by a man whose own father was.
Killed by them.
Next week we'll hear about Boa Saffra Team Jim, a place worth its weight in gold. You've been listening to the Await Days podcast. Next week it's Part two, Episode two. To watch independent Away Days documentaries, subscribe to our channel at YouTube dot com slash at Await Days TV. The Await Days podcast is a production of H eleven Studio for Cool Zone Media, reporting, producing, writing, editing and research
by me Jake Hanrahan, co producing by Sophie Lichtman. Music by Sam Black and in this episode, Diamondstein sound mixed by Splicing Block. Photography by Johnny Pickup and Louis Hollis. Graphic design by Laura Adamson and Casey Highfield