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March of the Family: How the 1964 Rally Cleared the Path for the Military Coup
- Paulo Pereira de Araujo
- 9 de dez.
- 4 min de leitura
The Discourses, Symbols and Strategies Behind the Biggest Conservative Demonstration of 1964
Saying that March 19, 1964 was a classic match in which half the city wore the wrong jersey is no exaggeration. São Paulo turned into a sold-out stadium. Five hundred thousand people marched from Praça da República to Praça da Sé like supporters after a tight victory, even though the own goal had already flashed on the scoreboard.
The signs, fan-club banners with no poetry, were blunt, “Green and yellow”, “democracy”, “communism”. The crowd came rehearsed, tuned, and summoned like a secret training session before a final.
Senator Benedito Mário Calazans climbed to the microphone like a coach riling up his locker room, invoking St. Joseph as captain of the conservative team, and claiming that Fidel Castro, Leonel Brizola, João Goulart (Jango) and “the communists” formed the opposing side. He pointed at the public like someone adjusting the defensive wall before the free kick. He said the people were there, ready to defend democracy from the “red tyranny.”
The city took on the air of a holiday, shops closed early, factories released workers, delegations from ten states reinforced the stands. Cunha Bueno played the role of club director, Ademar de Barros, handing out support like VIP tickets, while women’s groups, industrial associations and rural elites choreographed the whole thing.
On the streets, women prayed, clergy looked like linesmen, and the military strolled around as calmly as those who already knew the final score. Newspapers praised the “civic” character of the day, confusing civic duty with asking the opposing goalkeeper to kick the ball into his own net.
The goal was to turn public opinion against Jango’s reforms, treated by conservatives as dribbles far too risky. Communism became the phantom striker no one had ever seen play, but everyone swore they feared. God, liberty, and family formed the attacking trio, with the military intervention warming up on the bench, ready to step in and “clean up” the field.
The March Became a Synonym for Popular Support of the 1964 Coup
Days later, the 1964 coup would slide in with studs up. The March of the Family helped pave that pitch victory that only seemed like victory to those who confuse noise with consensus. And as I tell to my dog, Botox, who does not understand dictatorship but recognizes a foul smell, when the stands turn into a platoon, the game does not get pretty, it gets dangerous. Growing old is good for at least one thing, you learn to spot a rehearsed play from afar.
Cyro Albuquerque came on like a number 10 improvising a supporters’ chant, “free flag,” “respect for the institutions.” He asked for peace, but his tone sounded like a coach pleading for calm right after telling his team to “hit hard” on the opposing midfielder.
Auro de Moura Andrade spoke like a commentator enamored with the sound of his own metaphors. He said it was a historic day, that the people were there to defend democracy and avoid “the communists.” He invited everyone to place blind trust in the Armed Forces, like a fan swearing his team never commits a dirty foul.
Plínio Salgado, leader of the integralists, delivered a speech worthy of a defender aiming his studs at someone’s shin. He called on soldiers, sailors and aviators like an ultras section and asked whether they were prepared to raise their weapons, almost an invitation to a tunnel brawl. He spoke of subversion, anarchy, Moscow, and broken homes, all wrapped in green and yellow.
In the crowd, Geraldo Goulart compared everything to the 1932 Revolution, a Paulista habit of recalling old finals when the current match stalls. Leonel Brizola became the opposing playmaker, target of boots and waving handkerchiefs. The march ended with a mass and with the “Manifesto to the People of Brazil,” a leaflet urging everyone to “turn the score around” against Jango.
Historians leave no doubt, the March of the Family with God for Liberty was the “go get it!” that legitimized the 1964 military coup. Its defenders insist on its “spontaneous” nature, as if half a million people simply materialized, without coordination by industrialists, elite women, and influential politicians. On the stage stood Leonor Mendes de Barros, Carlos Lacerda, and a line of names who would never turn down a camera.
In the end, it was not a match, nor a celebration, nor civics. It was political strategy, a tactical drill so that when the coup came, no one could pretend to be surprised. And as I tell Botox, who has a sharp nose for coups, when you hear boots in perfect unison, it is because the score was already fixed before kickoff. And none of that, absolutely none of it, smells like democracy.
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