The Subterranean Memory and the Criticism of Capitalism of the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu in the Newspaper “A Folha” (1972–1981)

Abstract

This article analyses underground memory and the critique of capitalism in the newspaper A Folha (1972–1981), which was associated with the diocese of Nova Iguaçu under the leadership of Dom Adriano Hypólito. In the midst of the authoritarian context of the military dictatorship and the social vulnerability of the Baixada Fluminense, the newspaper went beyond its liturgical function and took on a counter-hegemonic role by articulating a religious discourse that criticised the prevailing social and economic structures. By analysing selected sources from the journal and Michael Pollak’s theory of social memory, we examine how the newspaper constructed a counter-memory that challenged hegemonic narratives by mobilising critiques of capitalism. We also seek to understand how the diocese, guided by the principles of Liberation Christianity as articulated by Michael Löwy—as a movement emerging through grassroots pastoral practise—adopted a political stance aimed at overcoming inequality and defending human dignity.

1. Introduction

In the 1970s, a unique form of religious expression known as Liberation Theology1 developed in Latin America, committed to the liberation of its peoples (Gutiérrez 1986, p. 89; Sbardelotti et al. 2022). It was characterised by the process of ecclesial renewal that emanated from the Second Vatican Council. In Brazil, experiences such as the Grassroots Ecclesial Communities (CEBs), worker priests and the committed actions of lay Catholics became the subject of analysis by various intellectuals who sought to understand how the Catholic Church began to adopt a discourse centred on the popular classes from the 1970s onwards (Carvalhães and Py 2017; Míguez et al. 2009). This turn, which took place in the context of repression by the military dictatorship, revealed new forms of the Church’s presence in the public sphere that challenged both the authoritarian political structure of the regime and the limits of its own tradition (Löwy 2016, p. 77).

In this article, we analyse the “underground memories” (Pollak 1989) of the periphery of Rio de Janeiro through the newspaper A Folha of the diocese of Nova Iguaçu as an instrument of critique of the capitalist system in the context of the pastoral activity of the diocese between the years 1972 and 1981. According to Pollak (1989, p. 2), the memories of “minorities and dominated cultures” are underground because they resist the “official memory” and reveal perspectives that are silenced by the hegemonic narrative. In certain contexts, however, they emerge in the public sphere and highlight the fissures of a domination that “can never be fully controlled” (Pollak 1989, p. 3). To this end, we first carry out a historical contextualisation of Catholic lay movements in Brazil during the 20th century, highlighting their role in the internal changes in the Church and their interaction with the popular classes. We then recover the institutionalist approach that prevailed in studies of the Church and politics in the 1970s, which privileged the analysis of relations between the Catholic hierarchy and the State, sometimes neglecting the collective subjects that emerged on the margins of the institution. We interpret this period through the concept of Liberation Christianity proposed by Michael Löwy (2016), which defines the emergence of Liberation Theology as a movement that emerged through the practise of popular communities and various theological intellectuals mobilising in Latin America.

Next, we will present the emergence of Liberation Christianity in parallel with the inflexions caused by the Second Vatican Council and, above all, with the reinterpretations promoted at the episcopal conferences of CELAM, especially in Medellín in 1968 and Puebla in 1979. Within this framework, the preferential option for the poor takes on concrete theological and pastoral contours and consolidates itself as a structuring axis of evangelising action in Latin America (Löwy 2016, p. 76). We then contextualise the socio-spatial scenario of the Baixada Fluminense and the work of Dom Adriano Hypólito in the diocese of Nova Iguaçu and show how the conditions of a region characterised by precarious urbanisation and social exclusion promoted a pastoral commitment to the poor. In this scenario, the diocese of Nova Iguaçu becomes a concrete expression of Liberation Theology rooted in the realities of the people. The pastoral action developed under the leadership of the bishop realises the principles formulated in the ecclesial field of Latin America, combining faith, political commitment and the struggle for social justice. For this reason, Dom Adriano Hypólito was the target of a kidnapping attack during the military dictatorship in 1976, and the cathedral of the diocese was bombed in 1979. These episodes show how the diocese was part of a broad scenario of political conflict (Mainwaring 2004, pp. 213–14).

Finally, we analyse the newspaper A Folha. To this end, we take inspiration from de Luca’s (2008) contribution, which proposes an approach that considers journalistic discourse not only as a mirror of events, but as a situated discursive construction loaded with intentionalities and contestations. To understand why certain topics become visible on the front pages while others are relegated to the inside pages, one must recognise the power dynamics that permeate journalistic practise. The newspaper not only reports events but also constructs meanings that we want to hold on to. Using Michael Pollak’s theory of memory (1989) in dialogue with the analysis of the newspaper A Folha, we understand how the diocese of Nova Iguaçu, through the newspaper, participated in the construction of memories capable of challenging the hegemonic narratives of the dictatorship through its critique of capitalism. The newspaper elaborated meanings based on the experiences of the workers of the Baixada Fluminense and mobilised its language as a political instrument. In our analysis, we emphasise how the newspaper positioned itself as a counter-hegemon2 vis-à-vis the major press organs (Kucinsky 2001, p. 46), as it evoked the memory of the underground and claimed its place as a peripheral diocese (Pollak 1989).

2. Church and Politics in Brazil as Reflected in the Lay Movements

The 1970s were a time of profound changes in the Catholic Church in Latin America. The field of studies on politics and religion in political science grew, and the work Igreja e Estado no Brasil: sete monografias recentes sobre o Catolicismo brasileiro, 1916/1964 (Church and State in Brazil: Seven Recent Monographs on Brazilian Catholicism, 1916/1964) by Ralph Della Cava summarises the research of this period (Della Cava 1975). The author makes a critical assessment of the development of the Church in Brazil, paying attention to its relationship with the state and the gradual emergence of a new ecclesiology, which culminated in a reorganisation of its political and pastoral action. Della Cava (1975) identifies three structuring moments of Brazilian Catholicism in order to illustrate the changes in its social and political position over time.

The first period, which extends to the end of the 19th century, corresponds to the model of Christianity in which the church and the imperial state had a structural connection. Catholicism was the official religion of the empire, integrated into the state bureaucratic organisation and assumed public functions such as the registry office and responsibility for education. The Church therefore maintained a close relationship with the elites, legitimised the ruling order and acted as the guardian of public morality (Della Cava 1975, pp. 10–13).

The second period begins with the proclamation of the Republic and the subsequent formal separation between church and state, which is characterised by the secularisation of the state. With the loss of its institutional status, the Catholic Church was faced with the challenge of redefining its presence in the public sphere. At this point, it began to invest in the formation of a Catholicism capable of penetrating and influencing the public space, especially through the actions of lay movements that sought to Christianise civil society from the grassroots (Della Cava 1975, pp. 13–20).

In the 19th century, the Holy See realised that the working class had distanced itself from Christian practice. The encyclical Rerum Novarum (Pope Leo XIII 1891) marked a turning point, as it aimed to bring the Church closer to workers and propose solutions to the so-called “labour question”. One of the main obstacles to a broader project of engaging the Church with the working class was the strong attachment of the Brazilian clergy to the agricultural elites (Azzi and van der Grijp 2008, p. 104), which limited its presence and activity in urban areas. This was compounded by a lack of understanding of the dynamics of the world of work, especially among bishops and the higher clergy, who reproduced the official discourses of the Church, advocating the “re-Christianisation of the workers” and the elimination of their “materialistic spirit” (Azzi and van der Grijp 2008, p. 104).

As late as the 19th century, Pope Pius IX declared that the scandal of the century was the loss of faithful workers, and later Leo XIII’s encyclical Rerum Novarum positioned the Church regarding the situation of workers (Azzi and van der Grijp 2008, p. 102). On the 40th anniversary of Rerum Novarum, Pope Pius XI’s encyclical Quadragesimo Anno addressed the issue of work again and presented Christianisation as a solution for a world that had “almost relapsed into paganism”. As a strategy, the Church should use the “power of Christian education, teach the youth, found Catholic associations, [and] create circles” that could lead people to the principles of faith (Pius XI 1931).

In this sense, the diagnosis of the labour situation produced by the Vatican was adopted uncritically in Brazil, yet the first half of the 20th century was marked by an intense process of rapprochement between the Church and workers (Azzi and van der Grijp 2008, p. 102). In this context, the Catholic hierarchy began to encourage greater participation of the laity in public and political life, creating and promoting various Catholic initiatives to fill the gap left by the weakening of its institutional ties with the State (Azzi and van der Grijp 2008, p. 102). Among these were the Metropolitan Catholic Workers’ Centre, founded in 1907 in the Brás neighbourhood of São Paulo; the Catholic Workers’ Confederation, created in Belo Horizonte in 1919 by Dutch Redemptorist missionaries; the Ceará Workers’ Legion, which defended the rights of the urban proletariat of Ceará; the Maranhão Workers’ Legion, founded in 1936; the Workers’ Circles, whose reach and support from the Getúlio Vargas government led to more than 300,000 members nationwide; the Catholic Workers’ Youth (JOC), founded in 1931; the Brazilian Catholic Action (ACB), organised in 1920 by Dom Sebastião Leme; and various other lay associations (Azzi and van der Grijp 2008; Mainwaring 2004).

It was only in the third period, during the 1960s and 1970s, that the Catholic Church in Brazil began to undergo a profound change in its social and political behaviour. Influenced by the Second Vatican Council and the resolutions of the Bishops’ Conferences of Medellín and Puebla, some sectors of the Church—progressive bishops, working-class priests, committed lay people, and Grassroots Ecclesial Communities (CEBs)—began to position themselves as defenders of human rights, denouncing oppression and inequality while reshaping their mode of social integration by reaching out to the popular classes and valuing communal and participatory forms of faith life (Della Cava 1975, pp. 46–47).

This historical division into three phases by Ralph Della Cava (1975) is widely accepted by researchers analysing the relationship between religion and politics in Brazil. However, some of the intellectual output of the 1970s, including authors such as Thomas C. Bruneau (1982), Roberto Romano (1979) and Márcio Moreira Alves (1979), who adopt a more critical and institutionalist approach, question the supposedly emancipatory character of the Church’s progressive turn, when it began to express its discourse in favour of the popular classes. For these authors, the Church has historically tended to reorganise its pastoral and discursive means with the aim of institutional self-preservation, in order to maintain its influence and adapt to the political transformations of society (Löwy 2016, p. 83).

In his analysis, Roberto Romano, in the work Igreja contra Estado: crítica ao populismo católico (Church Against State: A Critique of Catholic Populism), argues that the Church’s adoption of a discourse oriented towards the defence of human rights intensified following the promulgation of Institutional Act No. 5 (AI-5) (Romano 1979, p. 183). The institutional acts were instruments used by the military to curtail constitutional rights that had previously been guaranteed before the 1964 dictatorship (Arquivo Nacional 2024, AI-5: Nunca mais). AI-5 conferred extraordinary powers on the State, as it permitted a series of measures that increased political repression, such as the closure of Congress, the annulment of mandates, the suspension of political rights, the suspension of the right to habeas corpus, among other measures (Arquivo Nacional 2024, AI-5: Nunca mais).

For Romano, this hardening triggered a general sense of insecurity among the social base, which began to distrust the State as a guarantor of order and stability. Within this logic, the Church strategically positions itself as the defender of human rights, “while recognising the function of the State in maintaining order” (Romano 1979, p. 183). From this perspective, the change in the Church’s stance does not necessarily represent a break with its past, but rather a reconfiguration of its “theological-political” discourse (Py 2020, 2021), which still aims to “pragmatically” conduct its “discourse against modern society” (Romano 1979, p. 62). That is, while the institution incorporates the agenda of social justice and human rights, the Church retains the role of cultural guide for the population and proposes to lead people within the limits it sets.

In this context, the CEBs are interpreted as a strategy to organise the impoverished classes, “educating them to participate in the national political process under ecclesiastical auspices” (Romano 1979, p. 189). Far from representing a space of institutional rupture, the Grassroots Ecclesial Communities are, according to Romano, “the means created by the Church to communicate its project of social reform and win back the public” (Romano 1979, p. 184). The proposal to delegate pastoral tasks to lay leaders was intended to break the rigidity that had existed until then and to improve “ecclesial functionalism” by placing the bishops at the centre of pastoral outreach (Romano 1979, p. 194).

The institutional perspective of Romano (1979, p. 21) foregrounds the official discourse of the Church and seeks to recognise the “politics of Catholicism” and “its movement of self-affirmation”. However, this perspective tends to underestimate the complexity of the Church’s internal dynamics and the processes generated by its social base and the daily practices of the faithful. In contrast, we adopt Mainwaring’s (2004, p. 25) analysis, which emphasises the reciprocal influence between society and the Church. The institutional changes in the Catholic Church in Brazil did not occur because of the new discursive tone of the Brazilian episcopate, but rather as a result of the social conflicts present in our society. In this sense, the discursive turn of the Church is seen as a response to the demands of the people and the tensions that already existed in Brazilian society.

Within the same context, Michael Löwy’s (2016) approach is also fundamentally important for understanding the new religious significance acquired after the ecclesial renewals that followed the Second Vatican Council in Latin America. His concept of Liberation Christianity provides an interpretative key that encompasses both institutional analysis and the processes emerging in urban peripheries, linked to the communal experience of faith. Above all, it is an experience that precedes formal theological systematisation and is realised in the practice of working-class priests, the pastoral action of Grassroots Ecclesial Communities (CEBs), and the daily struggle of Christians working on behalf of the poor. Löwy (2016) describes this concept as an alternative to “Liberation Theology”3 or “Church of the Poor” because, “as a movement it emerged many years before the new theology and most of its activists are certainly not theologians”, and he prefers to use a “broader term than ‘theology’ or ‘church’ and to include religious culture and social network as well as faith and practice” (Löwy 2016, p. 74).

Since the mid-20th century, lay movements have played a central role in the renewal of the Brazilian Catholic Church. Although the Catholic University Youth (JUC), Brazilian Catholic Action (ACB), and other lay movements originally emerged under the guidance of the Church hierarchy, the leaders of these movements began to clash with clerical authority by establishing links with other social organisations, trade unions, and communist movements (Mainwaring 2004, p. 84). The Catholic University Youth (JUC), for example, founded in 1930 within the Brazilian Catholic Action (ACB), followed a path of increasing political autonomy, especially after the reorganisation of the ACB between 1946 and 1950. In the late 1950s, the JUC became radicalised and explicitly adopted “political action as part of its evangelical commitment” (Mainwaring 2004, p. 84).

The CEBs, in turn, are among the most important fruits of the new pastoral perspective that emerged following the conciliar renewals. As Faustino Teixeira emphasises, there is no single definition of CEBs, but the experiences arising from these communities constitute a “popular space of religion” (Teixeira 2005). These communities offer a space for exchange among the poor, “where they gather to talk about the Bible and the teachings of God, where everyone has a place to express their word” (Teixeira 2005, ISER ASSESSORIA).

The first institutional reference to the term “Grassroots Ecclesial Communities” in Brazil appears in the CNBB’s Joint Pastoral Plan (Hypólito 1969, p. 29) Although this is the first institutional reference, prepared during the Second Vatican Council, Teixeira points to the possibility of earlier experiences already in the 1950s (Teixeira 2005). Amid the repression of the military dictatorship, the CEBs proposed a new way of living the faith, through “the participation of laypeople in the life of faith, in services and in the organisation of the community” (Teixeira 2005), also “emphasising as essential the link that connects following Jesus with the struggle for the transformation of society”. It was in the emergence of the CEBs that “a new biblical hermeneutics emerged, providing a liberating reading of the Word of God. It is an interpretation energised by the option in favour of the poor” (Teixeira 2005).

After the Second Vatican Council, the Catholic institution emphasised its social mission, developed the concept of the “Church as the People of God”, and made its liturgy more accessible (Mainwaring 2004, p. 62). This perspective enabled greater integration of the Catholic community into religious activities that had traditionally involved only the Catholic hierarchy. The main defence was of a divine salvation project based on collective, in which the community is responsible for “carrying forward God’s project for humanity, is responsible as the light of the world, leaven in the dough and salt of the earth, in transforming society into the family of God” (de França Miranda 2013, p. 31).

As previously indicated, it was within this Brazilian context—which, to a large extent, reflected similar experiences in various Latin American countries—that what Michael Löwy (2016) conceptualises as Liberation Christianity emerged. Far from being a movement originating in the central institutions of the Church, it is a process that arises from the margins: from lay movements active among popular sectors and student youth, from priests associated with progressive orders, from engaged Christian intellectuals, and from bishops sensitive to the misery and repression affecting their dioceses (Löwy 2016, p. 85). Liberation Theology, meanwhile, is a body of texts produced in the 1970s by Latin Americans such as Gustavo Gutiérrez, Hugo Assmann, Carlos Mesters, Leonardo and Clodovis Boff, Frei Betto, Enrique Dussel, among many others (Löwy 2016, p. 73). In addition to liberation theologians from the Catholic tradition, within Protestantism there is the figure of the Presbyterian theologian Richard Shaull and Rubem Alves, who developed the “Theology of Revolution” and is recognised for his contribution to the development of Liberation Theology. Shaull was American and served as a missionary in Latin America, especially in Colombia and Brazil, and developed a reflection rooted in the social and political issues of the Latin American context (Py and Pedlowski 2018, p. 242; Py and Pedlowski 2020).

Movements such as the Catholic University Youth (JUC), the Catholic Workers’ Youth (JOC), Catholic Action (AC), agrarian reform committees in Nicaragua, federations of Christian peasants in El Salvador, biblical circles, and especially the Grassroots Ecclesial Communities constituted the main spaces for the development of this new Christian sensibility. In these groups, the Bible was reinterpreted in light of the daily practice of the struggle against poverty, oppression, and state violence (Löwy 2016, p. 73). More than a simple opening to social issues, Liberation Christianity represented the construction of a religious form committed to the oppressed and rooted in the historical reality of the Latin American continent.

3. Liberation Christianity in Latin America

As recognised by authors such as Beozzo (2001), Mainwaring (2004), da Silva (2006), and Mendes (2011), the Second Vatican Council was a decisive milestone in the internal transformation of the Catholic Church. da Silva (2006, p. 31) describes it as a moment of “reconciliation with modernity”. For Beozzo (2001, p. 27), it was a true “watershed, the end of one era and the beginning of another”. Mendes (2011, p. 476) sees it as a moment that broke the “conservative mentality of the Christian tradition”, becoming, from Mainwaring’s (2004, p. 62) perspective, even among its critics, one of the most significant events in the history of modern Catholicism. By opening space for liturgical diversity and granting more autonomy to the laity, Vatican II allowed new theological perspectives to emerge, particularly in the local churches of Latin America, Africa, and Asia (Beozzo 2001, p. 27).

During this period, the continent had the Latin American Episcopal Council (CELAM), which had been founded in 1955 at the first General Conference of the Latin American Episcopate (Beozzo 1998). Thus, the end of the Council, as Beozzo (2001, p. 33) observes, signified a break with the idea of a monolithic stance within the Catholic Church. Latin America was the only region that already had an episcopal organisation based on “episcopal collegiality” (Lorscheider 2002), a form of ecclesiastical organisation that seeks to decentralise decision-making power from the Pope and promote the participation of bishops worldwide. The desire for a second conference arose from the assessment that the interests of Latin America were not addressed by the conciliar agenda. In the last session of the Council, Pope Paul VI convened the Second Conference of the Latin American Episcopate for 1968, held in Medellín, where the chosen theme was “The Church in the Transformation of Latin America in the Light of the Council” (Taborda 2019, p. 125).

The position adopted by the Latin American bishops at Medellín, particularly on pastoral and social issues, is consistent with the principles set out in the encyclical Populorum Progressio by Paul VI (26 March 1967). Addressing the theme of “the development of peoples”, the papal letter forms part of the Church’s tradition of social doctrine, demonstrating sensitivity to the contradictions created by global capitalism and the growing inequalities in the so-called Third World. The encyclical condemned the effects of income concentration, the unchecked expansion of monopolies, and the dominance of an economic logic centred on individual accumulation, which impeded collective development and perpetuated Latin America’s exclusion from the global economic sphere (Paganelli 2012, p. 89). According to Paganelli (2012, p. 90), a central aspect of the document is its critique of wealth accumulation as an obstacle to the development of other peoples. The “transition from less human conditions to more human conditions” involves not only overcoming economic problems but also ensuring human dignity (Populorum Progressio 1967).

The encyclical defines “less human conditions” as situations in which individuals are deprived of the minimum material means necessary for dignified survival, subjected to hunger, misery, endemic diseases, and oppression resulting from labour exploitation and abuses of power. In contrast, “more human conditions” are linked to the attainment of dignity, access to culture, overcoming misery, and the pursuit of social justice (Populorum Progressio 1967). In this context, the social doctrine proposed by Paul VI in this text offered a critical understanding of the structural inequalities present in the so-called Third World, a concept that includes countries with different political orientations whose common characteristic is their position on the periphery of the global south (Visentini 2015, p. 7).

The discourse on development, however, takes on a new dimension when reinterpreted by the Latin American bishops. One milestone in this reception was the Manifiesto de los Obispos del Tercer Mund (Manifesto of the Bishops of the Third World), written in 1967 by Dom Hélder Câmara, then Archbishop of Olinda and Recife. The document presents itself as a collective response to the appeal of the papal encyclical:

As bishops of some of the peoples who strive and struggle for their development, we join our voices to the anguished call of Pope Paul VI in the encyclical Populorum Progressio, in order to specify our duties to priests and faithful, and to address words of encouragement to all our brothers of the Third World.

(Manifiesto de los Obispos del Tercer Mundo 1967, §19)

By establishing dialogue with the Vatican, the bishops adopted Paul VI’s discourse against the “international imperialism of money” (Populorum Progressio 1967, §26) and, at the same time, radicalised it from a Latin American perspective. Recognising this region as a united bloc of exploited nations provided its Church with a theological and pastoral language deeply intertwined with the critique of global economic domination. Imperialism was no longer merely a moral problem but became an obstacle to development, as Latin America appeared to “still live under the tragic sign of underdevelopment” (Conclusões da Conferência de Medellín 1968, p. 68).

The search for solidarity among subalternised peoples was championed by leftist movements throughout the second half of the 20th century and found significant resonance in the discourse of Latin American prelates. With the Cuban Revolution in 1959 and the spread of emancipatory movements across the continent, the sentiment of Latin American unity, shaped by cultural, linguistic, and historical ties, grew stronger. This argument found political expression in the speech delivered by Che Guevara at the UN in 1964, asserting that the liberation of Latin America should take place under the principles of equality and self-determination of peoples against the yoke of North American colonialism (Contrapoder 2020).

In this context, Löwy (2016, p. 89) states that Liberation Christianity symbolises the process of theological and political radicalisation that affected various Christian circles in Latin America, among both clergy and laity. One of the most emblematic examples of this process is Camilo Torres, a Colombian priest who organised a popular militant movement in Colombia and later joined the National Liberation Army (ELN), which had a Castroist orientation. His death in 1966, during a confrontation with the Colombian army, gave him the status of martyr among some Catholic groups (Löwy 2016, p. 89).

Inspired by this legacy, groups of radicalised priests began to organise in various countries across the continent: Priests for the Third World in Argentina (1966), the National Organisation for Social Integration (ONIS) in Peru, and the Golconda Group in Colombia (1968), among others. They aimed to develop a politically committed pastoral practice for exploited sectors. Unsurprisingly, they incorporated elements of Marxism into their ideas (Löwy 2016, p. 89). However, it is important to note that Liberation Theology, although it gained prominence in Latin America, never represented the majority of the clergy within the Church. On the contrary, its spread faced strong internal resistance and took uneven forms across the countries and localities of the continent. It is, therefore, a localised phenomenon that gained centrality only in certain sectors of the clergy and lay militancy (Löwy 2016, p. 80).

In Brazil, Liberation Theology found greater sympathy, particularly within part of the CNBB, which stood out in the Latin American context for its relative autonomy from the Vatican and its refusal to condemn Liberation Theology in the 1990s, even under pressure from the Roman Curia. However, as Löwy (2016, p. 80) notes, the Latin American Church was far from homogeneous. Alongside Catholics engaged in popular struggles, there was also a range of competing tendencies. In Argentina, for example, during the military dictatorship, significant sectors of the episcopate remained silent in the face of severe human rights violations. In Colombia, a significant part of the Church remained committed to oligarchic interests. In Nicaragua, the division was internal: while many religious laypeople supported the Sandinista Revolution, a movement that fought against the Somoza dictatorship, the episcopate, for the most part, allied with the counter-revolutionaries.

It is understood that the Catholic Church cannot be regarded as a monolithic bloc. This influential institution encompasses multiple projects and theological conceptions that frequently clash (Gramsci 2023). In certain historical conjunctures, one current may gain greater prominence while others lose strength. According to Beozzo (2001), it is necessary to observe, even in the context of the Second Vatican Council, the existence of different positions adopted by the Brazilian episcopate, identifying three major groups. Among these, the group that would come to be recognised as the “Church of the Poor” stood out, whose ideas and pastoral practices would play a central role in the formation of Liberation Theology (Beozzo 2001, pp. 153–59).

This framework thus reveals a Church in conflict, whose institutional structure accommodated both the renewal efforts inspired by Vatican II and Medellín and the containment forces rooted in the conservative tradition. At the continental level, CELAM experienced a conservative shift in 1972 following the election of Dom Lopez Trujillo as Secretary-General (Brito 2010, p. 84), adopting an antagonistic stance towards Liberation Theology. In contrast, the Latin American Conference of Religious (CLAR), comprising religious orders such as the Jesuits, Dominicans, and Franciscans, remained sympathetic to the perspective of the progressive Church (Löwy 2016, pp. 80–81).

In this sense, Löwy (2016, p. 80) identifies at least four major internal trends within the Latin American Church: the most fundamentalist, Tradition, Family and Property (TFP); a more traditionalist conservative current associated with the elites and the Roman Curia; a reformist and moderate wing, such as the one that prevailed at the Puebla Conference (1979); and the radical minority sympathetic to Liberation Theology.

4. The Diocese of Nova Iguaçu, Liberation Christianity, and the Newspaper A Folha

Founded on 26 March 1960 by the Papal Bull Quandoquidem Verbis of Pope John XXIII (Diocese de Nova Iguaçu—Província Eclesiástica de São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro 2019), the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu emerged in the context of conciliar renewal. For twenty years, the Diocese included the municipalities of Itaguaí, Mangaratiba, São João de Meriti, Nilópolis, Nova Iguaçu, Paracambi, and the district of Conrado, which belongs to the municipality of Miguel Pereira (Serafim 2013, p. 63).

The Diocese of Nova Iguaçu is part of the Metropolitan Region of Rio de Janeiro, predominantly located in the Baixada Fluminense, except for the municipalities of Mangaratiba and Miguel Pereira (Figure 1). Its territory was divided in 1980. That year, the Diocese of Itaguaí was created, encompassing the municipalities of Itaguaí and Mangaratiba, and the Diocese of Duque de Caxias, which incorporated the municipality of São João de Meriti (Serafim 2013, p. 63). According to data from the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE 2022), the municipality of Nova Iguaçu currently has a territorial area of 520.581 km².

The municipality of Nova Iguaçu is one of the principal urban centres of Baixada Fluminense. According to data from the latest census conducted by the Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics (IBGE) in 2022, the municipality has a population of 785,867 and approximately 1509.60 inhabitants per square kilometre (IBGE 2022). The demographic explosion in Nova Iguaçu occurred between the 1920s and 1940s, with the population increasing from 33,396 to 105,809. By the 1980s, the municipality had reached approximately 1 million inhabitants, consolidating its position as one of the main urban hubs of Baixada Fluminense (de Lira 2015, p. 45). However, this growth was not accompanied by public policies for urbanisation or basic infrastructure. The urban fabric expanded informally and in a fragmented manner, with families gradually building their homes autonomously, supported by family and community networks (de Lira 2015, p. 45). de Lira (2015, p. 45) notes that the possibility of accessing cheap land and building one’s own home transformed Nova Iguaçu into a kind of “popular Eldorado” for the impoverished sectors of the population, offering hope of stability and belonging.

The presence of the railway, with affordable fares and a direct connection to the capital, Rio de Janeiro, reduced the physical distance from the state’s economic centre but did not compensate for the structural distance in terms of rights and services. The urban growth of Baixada Fluminense occurred without state planning or support, sustained almost exclusively by the labour of the residents themselves (de Lira 2015, p. 46). In 1980, only 37.7% of the population had access to piped water, and only 30.3% had a sewage system (Mainwaring 2004, p. 219). The disposal of waste in open channels, river pollution, and the absence of basic sanitation worsened sanitary conditions and compromised public health. Between 1968 and 1972, infant mortality reached alarming levels, with about 39% of children dying before the age of four (Mainwaring 2004, p. 219).

Founded during the conciliar renewals, the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu is historically linked to the ecclesial renewal movement promoted by Vatican II. Officially established on 26 March 1960 by the Papal Bull Quandoquidem Verbis of Pope John XXIII (Diocese de Nova Iguaçu—Província Eclesiástica de São Sebastião do Rio de Janeiro 2019), it consolidated its institutional and pastoral identity under the influence of the transformations that reshaped the Catholic Church from the 1960s onwards, particularly regarding the appreciation of local churches and the preferential option for the poor. This spirit was clearly embraced by the local episcopate, which, under the leadership of Dom Adriano Hypólito, directly incorporated the conciliar principles into pastoral practice in Baixada Fluminense. Hypólito was born in the municipality of Aracaju, in the state of Sergipe, in the northeastern region of Brazil. His parents were Nicolau and Isabel, descendants of Italian immigrants.

Before being called Adriano, his name was Nicolau. At the age of 11, he joined the group of altar boys, and at 13, he chose the priestly life, subsequently entering the Minor Franciscan Seminary of João Pessoa, located in Paraíba (Gomes 2012, p. 31). Hethen went to the Seminary of Rio Negro, in Paraná, and in 1937 became a Franciscan, assuming the name Adriano from that point onwards. In 1942, Dom Adriano was ordained a priest in Salvador, the capital of Bahia. After his ordination, he served as a professor at the Franciscan Seminary in Ipuarana, Campo Grande, in the state of Paraíba, from 1955 to 1958, was editor of the journal Mensageiro da Fé in Salvador between 1961 and 1963, and Spiritual Director of the Major Seminary of Bahia in 1961. He was finally appointed the third bishop of the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu in 1966, when he was still Auxiliary Bishop of Salvador (Gomes 2012, p. 32).

The administration of the first bishop of Nova Iguaçu, Dom Walmor Battú Wichrowski, was characterised by an administrative and methodical approach. Among his actions, the creation of catechist courses at the Rural University and the organisation of festivities in honour of Saint Anthony, the patron saint of the city, are notable. His episcopate prohibited the participation of people who were not fully committed to the Catholic faith in the patron saint’s festivities, especially Freemasons, which led to a series of conflicts within the diocese (dos Reis Quadros 2013, p. 56). With the arrival of the second bishop, Dom Honorato Piazera, in 1961, the diocese began a cautious transition towards the spirit of Vatican II. Dom Honorato, although still aligned with a traditional line, was more open to pastoral and social renewal. A notable aspect of his administration was the hiring of Friar Rolim, a sociologist and religious, to map the social and religious situation of Baixada Fluminense, concluding that the region was marked by social inequalities and the presence of other religious expressions, such as Candomblé, Spiritism, and Protestantism. He also provided assistance to the victims of the 1964 floods and promoted initiatives such as the Fraternity Campaign and the Youth Apostolate. Honorato participated in all the conciliar sessions of Vatican II; however, the implementation of the reforms in the diocese was cautious (dos Reis Quadros 2013, p. 58).

It was only with the arrival of Dom Adriano Hypólito that the diocese’s stance became systematically aligned with the proposals of Vatican II. One of the main initiatives was the introduction of the elected Presbyteral Council and the Diocesan Pastoral Council, aimed at promoting greater participation of laypeople, religious, and priests in diocesan decisions (dos Reis Quadros 2013, pp. 59–60). In this context, the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu underwent a reconfiguration that sought to incorporate the spirit and determinations of the council, characterising itself as a “Conciliar Diocese”, according to Peter Sana (2015) in his thesis entitled Entre Imagens, Catabis e Catacreses, Nasce a Diocese ‘Conciliar’ de Nova Iguaçu. To support this point, the author refers to the Diocesan Bulletin, through which the diocese disseminated its most internal official information. The bulletin was founded in January 1969, and on the cover of its first edition (Figure 2), one can perceive Hypólito’s interest in bringing the diocese closer to ecclesiastical renewals (CNBB 2004, edição 1).

This excerpt from the Diocesan Bulletin shows that the administration of Dom Adriano Hypólito was aware of the peripheral reality and the social contradictions that marked the Baixada Fluminense. The expression “problem area” (CNBB 2004, edição 1) highlights the bishop’s stance regarding the precarious conditions that characterised the region. The bulletin already indicates how the diocese intended to implement its pastoral action through the “service of charity” (CNBB 2004, edição 1). It then bases its intention on a passage from the Gospel of Matthew. In the renewed theological perspective of Vatican II, the “idea of a Church of service and not of power” (Gutiérrez 1986, p. 20) is privileged, founded on the ideal of charity as a central aspect of Christian life. For this, the words of Paul are relevant, in which faith is expressed through charity: given by “self-giving to others” and serving as the “foundation of Christian praxis” (Gutiérrez 1986, p. 19).

Within the CNBB, the Joint Pastoral Plan had already indicated the need for a profound restructuring of the Brazilian Church, committed to the country’s reality and guided by the principles of the Second Vatican Council. The appointment of Dom Adriano Hypólito as bishop of Nova Iguaçu in 1966 should be understood in this context (do Nascimento 2007, p. 47). The Diocese of Nova Iguaçu, under the administration of Dom Adriano Hypólito, aligned with the principles of Liberation Christianity as defined by Michael Löwy. Among these principles, the “preferential option for the poor” and “solidarity with their struggle for self-liberation” (Löwy 2016, p. 78) formed part of the pastoral guidelines that directed the Church’s actions towards the marginalised sectors of Baixada Fluminense.

In Nova Iguaçu, this commitment developed organically. Dom Adriano not only understood the social problems affecting the region but also explicitly identified himself as part of this reality. In his Easter message, the bishop described himself as a “brother who feels the problems of all the brothers of Baixada”, first embracing his social commitment as a “Brazilian citizen who is a Christian and a bishop” (Hypólito 1972). His vision of a Church close to the people was realised through active engagement with social movements, notably the Movimento de Amigos do Bairro (Neighbourhood Friends Movement—MAB). This movement originated from the efforts of two doctors employed by the Diocesan Caritas in 1975, a branch of Caritas Internationalis, an organisation dedicated to charity in the service of the poor. The MAB arose from the recognition that medical care for the poor population was inadequate in the face of the structures of misery afflicting Baixada Fluminense (Mainwaring 2004, p. 213). With the support of the Diocese, these professionals began to promote educational initiatives and collective mobilisation, which later led to the founding of the MAB in 1977. From then on, the movement sought to expand its activities beyond the boundaries of the Church, while maintaining a close political relationship with the institution, which provided infrastructure as well as political and moral support (Mainwaring 2004, p. 220).

The Church’s prominence among the popular classes did not escape the attention of the military dictatorship’s repressive apparatus. The Diocese of Nova Iguaçu, led by Dom Adriano Hypólito, became a target of persecution by local repressive sectors, particularly the death squad4. In 1976, Dom Adriano was kidnapped, stripped, tortured, and abandoned on a dirt road in Jacarepaguá. In 1979, the Diocesan Cathedral was the target of a bomb attack (Mainwaring 2004, pp. 213–14). It is clear that the actions of the Diocese under Hypólito’s leadership went beyond a simple local implementation of conciliar guidelines. Rather, they formed part of a broader process of transformation within the Latin American Church, which sought to reinterpret the evangelising mission in light of the continent’s social contradictions. Inspired by Conclusões da Conferência de Medellín (1968) and later by Puebla (de Souza, 1979), Dom Adriano recognised that evangelisation in Latin America could only be authentic if it was attuned to the conditions of exclusion and injustice that shaped the lives of oppressed peoples. In the Diocesan Bulletin of March 1979, Hypólito states:

Puebla must confirm Medellín and therefore give full importance to the socio-political and economic context of Latin America. Our people are on the margins of the social process. This creates major problems and represents a significant challenge to pastoral action.

(Hypólito 1979, p. 2)

He demonstrated full awareness of the directions of ongoing ecclesial renewal and the complex social, political, and economic context of Latin America. Under his leadership, the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu established itself as an expression of a Church rooted in the periphery of Rio de Janeiro, marked by profound structural inequalities and a lack of public policies. Amid the curtailment of freedoms imposed by the military dictatorship, the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu actively denounced injustices and promoted critical awareness, assuming the role of a mobiliser of an “underground memory” (Pollak 1989). It became notable for conceptualising the Church, in dialogue with reality, through channels of popular expression that confronted the tone of the hegemonic discourse. The diocese launched the newspaper A Folha as a weekly publication that became an alternative to the dominant communication vehicles, which did not represent the demands of the poor (do Nascimento 2007, p. 21). Therefore, the newspaper’s editorial (de Luca 2008) published memories for society from the perspective of a class society (Marx et al. 2017).

5. The Editorial Project of the Newspaper A Folha and Its Critique of Capitalism (1972–1981)

The newspaper A Folha is the central focus of this analysis, as it represents, under the leadership of Dom Adriano Hypólito, an example of “organically mobilised” Catholic press (de Luca 2008). At the height of the Brazilian military dictatorship, the periodical went beyond conventional liturgical and catechetical functions, becoming a privileged space for critical reflection on the social, economic, and political injustices affecting Baixada Fluminense (do Nascimento 2007). In a context marked by repression and the curtailment of civil liberties, A Folha established itself as a pastoral tool guided by the principles of social justice and a “counter-hegemonic focus” (Pollak 1989). Broadly speaking, this periodical has received little attention in the academic field; in this respect, do Nascimento’s (2007) research is fundamental for this article. His dissertation presents a series of sources from the newspaper on the critique of capital.

do Nascimento’s (2007, p. 16) research demonstrated how A Folha contributed to the “elaboration of a Catholic imaginary directed towards present conflicts” aligned with a “socio-liberating perspective”. The author views the newspaper’s political action as linked to the emergence of a “new left” that arose in Brazil after 1974, whose political struggle was conducted through newspapers, constituting a form of alternative press (do Nascimento 2007, p. 54). The Diocese of Nova Iguaçu, therefore, participated alongside other sectors of the Liberation Church and part of the left of the period, creating “alternative means of communication” in a context where political expression was limited (do Nascimento 2007, p. 54).

The concept of the alternative press, as used by do Nascimento, is that of Bernardo Kucinski. According to the author, the alternative press positioned itself “in contrast to the complacency of the mainstream press” that supported the hegemonic discourse of the military dictatorship (Kucinsky 2001, p. 5). This newspaper had an editorial line (de Luca 2008) aligned with the pastoral praxis of Dom Adriano, through which it conveyed denunciations of the structures of capitalism and their consequences for the marginalised. The nonconformity with the commercial press is highlighted on the front page of the newspaper in its first edition. More than reflecting the local tensions of Nova Iguaçu or Baixada Fluminense, the periodical articulates a broader theological and political horizon capable of reclaiming the centrality of life and human dignity in the face of the domination of capital. Its first edition deserves to be highlighted, as it declares its critical intentionality.

Our Diocesan Leaflet aims to be published weekly, serving as a liturgical aid for our Christian communities in the celebration of the Eucharist, and primarily to help open a window of reflection in our world of Baixada, where life is problematic and sometimes seems to have no way out. Our Leaflet is being launched with the intention of helping you, the reader, not simply to accept everything that a commercial and structured press presents to you. Perhaps such a Leaflet can help you discover that this old, chaotic life has meaning. This meaning may begin to be found when you learn to reflect, to form your own points of view, and not simply follow the direction set by others.

(A Folha 1972a, Editorial, 11 June 1972)

The passage shows that this periodical was established with the clear aim of serving as a “memory of contestation” (Pollak 1989), aligning with the concept of alternative press as defined by do Nascimento (2007, p. 57). The editorial demonstrates a commitment to social critique, the promotion of independent reflection, and the rejection of passivity towards the mainstream commercial press. However, in classifying the newspaper as an alternative communication vehicle, the author did not take into account its entire editorial trajectory, particularly its first year of publication. The dissertation, published in 2007, sets the initial temporal milestone as 1974, marking the start of a more intense period of political demands in Brazil and coinciding with the time when the newspaper began to be printed by Editora Vozes.

On the cover of the first edition, the intention to serve as a spokesperson for the “memory of the periphery” (Pollak 1989) of the “world of the Baixada” and to present itself as an alternative to the “commercial and biased press” (A Folha 1972a) is evident. During this period, widely circulated journalistic projects emerged, such as Jornal da Tarde and Revista Veja, whose editorial line aimed to promote the narrative of the “economic miracle” and prioritised leisure content; both belonged to the Roberto Marinho group (Kucinsky 2001, p. 45). The myth of the economic miracle arose in response to exponential growth in the Gross Domestic Product (GDP), which peaked in 1973. In this context, the idea of modernising the economy was the main argument of the military governments. Through its pages, the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu constructed a “counter-hegemonic memory” (Pollak 1989) that challenged the discourses disseminated by media aligned with the status quo, reaffirming its commitment to local workers and the transformation of reality.

In light of the above, do Nascimento (2007, p. 57) defines the Diocese newspaper as part of the alternative press movement that shaped the Brazilian political scene in the 1960s and 1970s. We support his view of this periodical as a model of alternative press, in contrast to media aligned with the regime. Three years before its creation, Dom Adriano Hypólito had already expressed his desire to “use information (...) to shape and update mindsets in accordance with the spirit of the Vatican Council, informing and educating (...)” (Hypólito 1969). The Folha fulfils an educational role among the popular classes by “opening a window of reflection” to help readers “learn to reflect” on “their points of view” (A Folha 1972a). In the face of the system’s oppressions, the publication helped readers to “discover that all this crazy old life” ultimately has a “meaning” (A Folha 1972a). This ‘meaning’ points to a horizon that emerges as a possibility for transformation and “translates into the socio-religious utopia of the ‘Kingdom of God’”, in the construction of a new society founded on justice and freedom (Löwy 2016, p. 227).

The newspaper A Folha, launched during the so-called “years of lead”, made every effort to denounce the ills of capitalism and, consequently, to dispel the myth of the economic miracle. To address the narrative and symbolic disputes surrounding the issue of capital, memory theory is an important tool for “thinking about the processes and actors that intervene in the work of constituting and formalising memories” (Pollak 1989, p. 2). While one of the main hallmarks of the Brazilian military dictatorship was the political persecution of those who opposed the regime, including “kidnapping of children, investigations with fabricated evidence, the imposition of fear and widespread censorship” (dos Santos 2020, p. 291), the diocesan newspaper of Nova Iguaçu, in Pollak’s terms (Pollak 1989, p. 2), privileged listening to an underground memory that, “as an integral part of minority and dominated cultures, opposes ‘Official Memory’”.

We understand memory as a “collective operation” of “past events and interpretations”, which has the power to mobilise identity boundaries and feelings, enabling the framing of political parties, churches, nations, and a wide variety of groups (Pollak 1989, p. 7). The parish of Nova Iguaçu, within a broader context of transformations and movements linked to Liberation Theology, represented the interests of workers in the Baixada Fluminense region through its criticism of capitalism in its newspaper. In this context, we selected four texts published in this newspaper as an analytical sample: Ambiguidade da riqueza (Ambiguity of wealth) (A Folha 1981, 1 March 1981), Só pelo caminho do dinheiro que se vai para o céu (Only through money can one go to heaven) (A Folha 1974, 22 December 1974), É preciso dividir o bolo, Severino (It is necessary to share the cake, Severino) (A Folha 1976, 28 March 1976), and Imagem somente imaginada (Image only imagined) (A Folha 1972b, 25 June 1972). This selection is justified by their anti-capitalist discourse, mobilised both through language endowed with “secularising elements” (Berger 2001, p. 65) and theological language.

From the perspective of the “aesthetic aspect of the newspaper” (de Luca 2008), it had a hybrid structure, combining liturgical and non-liturgical elements within the same editorial space. Visually, it included, in its central pages, the Sunday Mass leaflet, featuring biblical readings, psalms, and prayers, arranged in an orderly manner. This liturgical section coexisted with news and events from the ecclesiastical calendar, presented with highlighted titles and well-defined columns, reinforcing its role as a pastoral and community tool. In the non-liturgical sections, the layout was more textual and dense (de Luca 2008), but still organised in wide columns with emphatic headlines, often in upper case, drawing attention to the importance of the topic. Generally, broader editorial topics and chronicles appeared prominently on the cover, depending on the year of publication, revealing the intention to prompt the reader to critical reflection from the outset.

Some editions included a space reserved for the “Ask the Bishop” section, marked by its own header. This section aimed to highlight questions on a wide range of religious, political, or social topics, along with Dom Adriano’s answers. It engaged in direct dialogue with readers: the questions were emphasised, and the answers appeared immediately below. Another notable feature of the newspaper is the extensive use of verbal resources, with few graphic elements or illustrative images. The absence of photographs is compensated for by striking headlines and accessible language in various formats, such as chronicles, interviews, news, and songs. The graphic simplicity aligns with the newspaper’s commitment to critical and pastoral content, despite limited resources.

6. The Underground Memory of the Newspaper’s Editorial and Its Criticism of Capitalism (1972–1981)

The first source analysed is the text entitled Ambiguidade da riqueza (Ambiguity of Wealth) (A Folha 1981), which demonstrates how the diocese of Nova Iguaçu perceived the accumulation of wealth as a result of social inequalities. The second source, Só pelo caminho do dinheiro que se vai para o céu (Only Through Money Can One Go to Heaven) (A Folha 1974, p. 1), is a chronicle of the life of Narcísio dos Santos, a Catholic worker from Baixada Fluminense, whose moral precepts diverge from those propagated by capitalist ideology, representing a typical worker profile. Next is the chronicle É preciso dividir o bolo, Severino (You Have to Share the Cake, Severino) (A Folha 1976). It is a conversation between Severino and another character, explaining the effects of income concentration as one of the main contradictions of capitalist development. Finally, Imagem somente imaginada (Image Only Imagined) (A Folha 1972b) presents an ideal horizon in which the inequalities caused by capitalism are absent from the lives of workers in the Baixada Fluminense region.

The 1 March 1981 edition of A Folha (1981) newspaper features an article entitled Ambigüidade da riqueza (The Ambiguity of Wealth), which questions the values of the capitalist perspective by reiterating Christian teachings on the spiritual risk of enslavement to material goods. By stating that “material goods are transient and perishable” and that “many people place their hopes and meaning of life in them”, the article suggests that the accumulation of wealth becomes an existential goal. This serves as a criticism of market logic. As a result, there is a hardening of the heart, a lack of empathy for others, and enrichment at the expense of exploiting one’s neighbour (A Folha 1981). The diocese adopts the concept of a class society, in which the rich acquire their wealth through the exploitation of workers. Capitalist accumulation is achieved through the relationships established between the bourgeoisie and wage workers, who enable industrial growth with their labour (Marx et al. 2017, p. 51).

This criticism aligns with Franz Hinkelammert’s Marxist perspective on the theology of empire. According to the author, the market is presented as “the path to the absolute good of humanity, its fulminating utopia”, and this promise “is realised through the destruction and elimination of all resistance to it” (Assmann and Hinkelammert 1989, p. 105). Thus, the condemnation mentioned by Folha states that “it is not exactly being rich and having wealth: it is being slaves to material goods” (A Folha 1981). The problem highlighted is the accumulation of wealth: the loss of the “sense of brotherhood” and “sensitivity to the liberating message of Jesus Christ” (A Folha 1981).

At first glance, the presentation of the problem of wealth may mistakenly lead the reader to an individualistic understanding of the sin of greed. For example, one might think that a rich person, as long as they do not allow themselves to be “enslaved by material goods” and act in accordance with the principles of “fraternity”, would be in line with the message of Jesus Christ (A Folha 1981). However, this interpretation presents a contradiction that is only apparent when viewed through a reading dissociated from the historical processes of Latin America. This newspaper, as a product of a “conciliar diocese” (Sana 2015) and aware of the ecclesiastical movements in Latin America (Hypólito 1979, p. 2), adopts a view of liberation from a collective perspective, that is, of “everything that limits or prevents man from releasing himself” (Gutiérrez 1986, p. 34).

Capitalism is problematic insofar as its modus operandi is essentially dehumanising, characterised by the exploitation of the proletariat (Marx et al. 2017). The idolatry of the market “preserves no sense of human liberation”, and is, in fact, “the legitimisation of the most absolute domination over man” (Assmann and Hinkelammert 1989, p. 107). It is not only a matter of freeing oneself from the economic constraints that prevent workers from attaining a decent standard of living, but also of achieving the liberation of individual and collective desires concealed “behind an unjust structure” (Gutiérrez 1986, p. 43). The capitalist system not only exploits workers, but also shapes desires, affections, and senses of existence according to the logic of profit, competitiveness, and accumulation.

Our successful capitalist society injects, through the media, the anti-gospel into the soul of the people, enveloping them from morning to night with motivations and aspirations for greater profit as the sole purpose of life. And since ‘the ends justify the means’, according to the slogan of a financial group, they manipulate and exploit vices as the best means of communication: blessed are the rich, for theirs is the kingdom of Earth’ [...]. Anyone who takes the trouble to select the phrases repeated on the radio, television or disseminated in the daily press will find thoughts of this kind, which sum up the whole philosophy of capitalist society: [...]. ‘Do as the rich do: get richer and richer’. Capitalist society is violent: ‘Dial... to kill your competitor’

(A Folha 1974, p. 1)

do Nascimento (2007, p. 68), when analysing this fragment, highlights the expression ‘anti-gospel’ as part of the Church’s rhetoric, which perceived capitalist values as a form of social sin caused by the idolatry of the so-called “Modern God”, thus constituting a struggle against the “God of Capital”. The Folha editorial summarises the meritocratic discourse used to justify capitalism in the second half of the 20th century. The formula “do as the rich do” (A Folha 1974, p. 1) conceals the deeply unequal structure of access to opportunities in the distribution of resources. Criticism of capitalism recognises the erosion of solidarity, which undermines the possibility of a philosophy of life committed to the emancipation of the poor (Löwy 2016, p. 131). This interpretation aligns with what Hinkelammert defines as the “market god”, which functions in a “completely sacrificial” way (Assmann and Hinkelammert 1989, p. 107), the deification of the market as the supreme instance of modern rationality.

In addition to criticising capital, the quoted excerpt, taken from a chronicle, denounces the contradictions of capitalism in contrast to the trajectory of the character Narcísio dos Santos, who “got tired of cutting sugar cane in Pernambuco, 250 kilometres from Recife, where he knew neither asphalt nor electric light (...)”, and also worked as a “construction worker in São Paulo, a car washer in Rio, and ended up owning a bar in Baixada Fluminense”. Narcísio is a simple Catholic man, “convinced that envy, ambition, greed, pride (...)” are sins capable of leading man to hell (A Folha 1974, p. 1). Narcísio recalls the memory of workers from the Northeast who migrated to the Southeast in search of better living conditions, facing the consequences of precarious work and a system that relegated them to the margins (Pollak 1989). The Baixada Fluminense became the alternative for these workers who were unable to purchase housing in the more central regions of the state of Rio de Janeiro (de Lira 2015, p. 46). We understand Narcísio’s trajectory as an “underground memory” that emerged from the silence imposed by the dictatorship to invade the public space (Pollak 1989, p. 3).

Pollak (1989, p. 3), in developing the concept of contested memories, states that at certain moments a memory considered “clandestine” or “forbidden” bursts onto the public scene and comes to occupy central dimensions of culture, such as the publishing sector, the media, and cinema, countering the claims of a trend that seeks to be hegemonic. dos Santos (2020, p. 297) emphasises that in societies marked by violence that generates traumatic memories, such as military dictatorships, places of memory are not merely a matter of record; they also “play an important role in the fight against forgetting”. The newspaper A Folha is understood as a media outlet that contested the public space and memory surrounding narratives about capitalism, highlighting its position as a peripheral diocese. Its content asserted a history of struggles by the local Church alongside workers, in a context marked by constant attempts at silencing and retaliation. The Diocesan Curia of Nova Iguaçu stated that, on 29 May 1977, some people:

[..] they secretly distributed numerous copies of a clandestine edition of our liturgical weekly newspaper, A Folha, in various churches in the Dioceses of Nova Iguaçu and Rio de Janeiro. The header, format, and graphic presentation were designed to imitate our newspaper, but the content was entirely different. The intention of the authors of this clandestine edition is clear: to create confusion among the faithful and to defame the pastoral direction of our Diocese and our bishop.

(A Folha 1977, 12 June)

As the newspaper entered the public sphere, it disrupted the memory established by the hegemonic narrative (Pollak 1989, p. 7). While dominant publications such as O Globo and Estado de São Paulo published editions denying accusations of torture committed by the military (Kucinsky 2001, p. 46), Folha challenged the official discourse, encouraging reflection on the scenario of exclusion and inequality that shapes the lives of thousands of Narcísicos and Severinos:

‘Explain this matter of rich and poor to me’. The question came from Severino at the other end of the table. Severino was not someone you could deceive. He wanted to be informed about everything, but he could not accept that this division of people into rich and poor was not God’s doing. I did not remember the entire explanation, but in summary, it went something like this: ‘Think about it for a moment. Poverty is not the real problem. The world is rich. It is rich enough to feed and provide drink for everyone on earth. The problem is that some have more food than they can eat, more clothes than they can wear, more houses and flats than they can occupy, and so on, while others go hungry, lack clothing, and sleep under viaducts. The real issue is something else. Humanity has never had so many resources, but it has not used them for the good of all. On the contrary, unfortunately, it has often used them for harm. If the elite wants profit, it will have profit and, in addition, class struggle. If there is no profit in building low-income housing, it will not build low-income housing, hospitals, or schools, but it will find money for luxury apartments in São Conrado.”

(A Folha 1976, p. 1)

Through the chronicle É preciso dividir o bolo, Severino (You Have to Share the Cake, Severino), Folha challenges an explanation for the causes of social inequality, in which Severino, a clever man who did not allow himself to be “left behind”, rebelled against the division of classes in society because “it was not God’s will” (A Folha 1976, p. 1). This underground memory questions a theological perspective capable of confronting interpretations that, throughout the history of the Church, have legitimised social hierarchies and been structurally aligned with conservative sectors, as seen in the example of the Church of Christendom (Della Cava 1975, pp. 10–13). By stating that the division between rich and poor is not “God’s responsibility” but the result of a “humanity that has never had so many resources” yet does not use them “for the good of all” because the “elite wants profit” (A Folha 1976, p. 1), the newspaper contrasts with conservative sectors of the Church such as the Tradition, Family and Property (TFP) movement, which organised the “March of the Family with God for Freedom” on the eve of the 1964 military coup, calling for the overthrow of President João Goulart on charges of being a communist leader after his attempt to implement Basic Reforms5 in the country (Kacowicz 2025).

Despite its collaboration in the 1964 coup, we maintain that the TFP was directly religious and only indirectly political in nature (dos Reis Quadros 2013, p. 197). The lay movement relied heavily on the strong influence of Bishop Geraldo de Proença Sigaud and Bishop Antônio de Castro Mayer, both of whom were members of the Coetus Internationalis Patrum group, representing the most traditionalist wing that participated in the debates of Vatican II (Beozzo 2001, pp. 154–55). The movement, led by Marcel Lefebvre, reaffirmed the traditional doctrine of the Church while resisting the reforms proposed at Vatican II, refuting the progressive positions that were gaining ground. This group continued its activities even after the end of the council (Beozzo 2001, p. 156). In this context, we understand the diocese’s position as part of a “counter-hegemonic memory” that was contested within the religious sphere itself (Pollak 1989). It is no coincidence that when A Folha was the target of a clandestine edition distributed throughout the diocese, the text published was that of Dom Sigaud, a central figure in this traditionalist wing linked to the TFP. “Instead of our four-page text, as everyone knows, they printed the report by the Archbishop of Diamantina, D. Geraldo Proença Sigaud, published in Jornal do Brasil (4 May 1977)” (A Folha 1977, 12 June).

The texts analysed reveal a subversive memory with criticism of capitalism mobilised by the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu. Through this periodical, the diocese aligned itself with the impoverished classes in its region, under the leadership of Dom Adriano Hypólito, whose awareness of the local reality and commitment to “the preferential option for the poor and the struggle for self-liberation” (Löwy 2016, p. 77) guided his pastoral practice. The diocese mobilised a subversive memory critical of capital, starting from an ideal scenario to be achieved for the improvement of workers’ lives. For this reason, we selected as our final text for analysis the one entitled Imagem somente imaginada (Image Only Imagined) (A Folha 1972b), a chronicle that portrays the ideal routine of the ordinary worker, who does not suffer daily from the precariousness of public transport due to the neglect of the public authorities.

In the narrative under discussion, we observe a utopian depiction of the daily routine of a worker named “Zé da Silva”, a generic name representing a collective subject from the outskirts of Rio de Janeiro. The text portrays an ideal working day: clean and punctual trains, comfortable waiting rooms, efficient urban transport, and a decent wage. However, as the title indicates, this is an “imagined image” (a typical case of underground memory—Pollak 1989)—a fantasy that contrasts with the precarious daily reality of workers in the region:

Zé da Silva arrives at Nova Iguaçu station at 5:40 a.m. The station is clean and welcoming, with many people heading to work. Read below. In Rio, Zé da Silva, the nameless man of the masses, takes out his ticket and sits calmly in the waiting room, which is clean and welcoming. He picks up O DIA. An ordinary, simple man, he reads the union news on the third page, the sensational headlines, and occasionally the lengthy reports of absurd crimes in the Baixada, soap operas of lives lived well or badly. Then the train arrives triumphantly and shakes. At 5:45. Three-minute stop.

(A Folha 1972b)

Something similar to a well-known funk song released in 1996 by MC Bob Rum in the suburbs of Rio de Janeiro states, “He was just another Silva whose star did not shine, he was a funk singer but he was a family man” (Rum 1996). In the song, Silva “was a worker” who “took the crowded train”, like so many other workers relegated to the margins of capitalism (Rum 1996). He was just one among many others who have no right to a voice or recognition, and therefore their life stories go unnoticed. This is common language in the suburbs of Rio de Janeiro, where you can find someone with ‘Silva’ in their surname on every corner. It is a common name, but one marked by a collective past of erasure (Pollak 1989). According to a report in the newspaper O Globo (The New York Times 2024), titled “O que 5 milhões de brasileiros têm em comum? Um nome com um passado sombrio” (What do 5 million Brazilians have in common? A name with a dark past), more than five million Brazilians have the surname Silva, making it the most common in the country. However, this mark hides an origin: during slavery, many freed black people were given this name as a way of erasing their original African identities. It was a colonial convention imposed by the slave system, which saw the name as a marker of subjection and submission. “Silva” became synonymous with nobody; a generic identity applied to black bodies stripped of their history.

By recalling the memories of the Silvas, the newspaper recovers recollections that are “zealously guarded in informal communication structures” (Pollak 1989, p. 6). In the imagined scene, when “Zé da Silva” enters the Nova Iguaçu station—a clean and welcoming place (A Folha 1972b)—he represents the longing of all peripheral workers who face difficulties due to poor public transport conditions. In the 1980s, urban services in the city of Nova Iguaçu did not even reach half the population, in addition to the high illiteracy rates that afflicted the region (Mainwaring 2004, p. 210). Silva, in the imagined scene, is the “ordinary man” who has time to “read the union news” before arriving at work (A Folha 1972b) and is therefore engaged in social struggles and committed to “economic, social” and “political liberation” as “the agent of his own destiny” (Gutiérrez 1986, p. 34). The train is a place of memory (Nora 1993) for working people who spend much of each day commuting to their jobs, especially residents of the Baixada Fluminense region, who live far from the capital, Rio de Janeiro. Thus, in an ideal scenario:

At exactly 6:31, the train arrives at Central Station. As the general director has determined: ‘And mind you, the 6:31 train arrives at 6:31!’ Zé da Silva steps off the clean train into the clean and welcoming station. No rush or confusion. No delays or haste. He exits calmly. Nearby is the easy, clean, and welcoming bus that takes him to the construction site in Maracanã. He boards the bus, which is clean and comfortable. Another 15 min (or 16) and he arrives in time to change into his work clothes, clock in, and greet his fellow workers. Bricks. Humble bricks. Continuous bricks. And a fair wage. My God, why is this image only imagined? (A.H.)

(A Folha 1972b)

In describing this idealised daily life, the author not only denounces the ills of the present but also asserts the fundamental right of workers to decent living conditions. As noted, in 1972, the Brazilian military dictatorship was still experiencing the so-called “golden years”, 1969–1973, (Cordeiro 2009, p. 92), characterised by inflation control and the ideological construction of the “economic miracle”. However, the collective memory of the regime tends to focus on the so-called “years of lead”, a period of intensified political repression and institutionalised censorship (Cordeiro 2009, p. 92). In this context, the fragment asks whether “this image” is “only imagined?” (A Folha 1972b), situating itself within a space of contested narratives about the past. This question evokes the suppressed memories of peripheral workers in Nova Iguaçu, whose daily experiences were silenced by official memory and which, as Pollak (1989, p. 6) suggests, prompts reflection on the extent to which the present colours the past.

7. Conclusions

We have demonstrated the role of the newspaper A Folha as an instrument of criticism of the capitalist system within the context of the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu between 1972 and 1981. To this end, we have begun with a historical and social contextualisation of lay Catholic movements in Brazil from the early 20th century to the ecclesiastical reforms of Vatican II, showing how sociology addressed the subject in an institutionalist manner in the 1970s.

Next, we have used Michael Löwy’s (2016) conceptual proposal, employing the notion of Liberation Christianity as a movement that emerged from the grassroots. Secondly, we have reconstructed the path taken by the Latin American Church through the changes brought about by Vatican II and CELAM, contextualising the institutional contours of its commitment to the poor. We highlighted how Liberation Theology gained ground in Latin America and mobilised radical criticism of structures of domination, articulating faith, politics, and social justice. The experience of the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu, in this sense, proved exemplary in embodying these principles in its pastoral and communicative practice. We provided a socio-spatial contextualisation of the Baixada Fluminense region and the pastoral work of Dom Adriano Hypólito, showing how the diocesan experience fits into the broader horizon of the Liberation Christianity movement in Latin America. We emphasised that the territorial configuration and precarious urbanisation processes in the region contributed to the consolidation of a pastoral ministry focused on the peripheries, in line with the resolutions of the Second Vatican Council and the post-conciliar conferences.

Finally, we focused on analysing the newspaper A Folha, in light of Michael Pollak’s theory of memory (Pollak 1989), to understand how the Diocese of Nova Iguaçu represents an underground memory constructed on the basis of a peripheral diocese. In a context marked by the repression of the military dictatorship, it stood out as a counter-hegemonic force in opposition to media outlets, religious positions, and political narratives that reproduced the logic of the status quo. By mobilising the newspaper as an instrument of criticism of capitalism, the Diocese not only gave visibility to the silenced memories of the Baixada Fluminense (Pollak 1989) but also contested the narratives that sought to become hegemonic. The choice of the theme of criticism of capital in A Folha was intended to reveal the Diocese’s effort to affirm a political position committed to the struggle against exploitation and oppression that characterises the experience of Latin American peoples, thus aligning itself with the principles of the struggle for the liberation of oppressed peoples (Gutiérrez 1986).