On August 22, 1944, Osvaldo Aranha sat hunched over his handcrafted desk at the Itamaraty Palace, signing one personalized letter after another. All of them were addressed to foreign diplomats in Rio, and all of them reflected on the massive political upheaval that had recently shaken the Brazilian capital.
The past few days had been filled with drama, both in Brazil and overseas, but the previous day had been particularly consequential. On August 21, Allied forces had reached the outskirts of Nazi-occupied Paris, sparking the liberation of the French capital. And that same day, thousands of miles away in Rio, Aranha had resigned as foreign minister of Brazil.
Aranha was tired, angry, and hurt by the events that had led him to resign, and he wanted nothing more than to quietly depart to his farm without further delay.1 His one last self-imposed duty was to write to the relevant Rio-based Allied ambassadors, in order to try to reassure them and their governments, that his departure from office was caused solely by internal Brazilian political intrigues and did not represent any redirection of his nation’s foreign policy.2
Aranha regarded many of these ambassadors as personal friends, and though he was trying his best to put on a brave face, the tone of his letters was almost funereal.3 Several aides were in the room with Aranha as he worked; he barely acknowledged their presence, and nobody spoke for fear of breaking the stony silence.
The downturn in Aranha’s fortunes had been swift and, to most, unexpected. Just months earlier he had seemed to be at the height of his power. His year had started with an address to an adoring crowd of his fellow Brazilians in front of the Municipal Theater. Now he found himself ingloriously shunted from the foreign ministry, watching from the sidelines as Brazilian troops prepared to join the fighting in Europe and bring to its culmination his policy of allying Brazil with the United States.4
According to British sources in Rio, the catalyst for Aranha’s downfall was his support of Brazil’s recognition of the Soviet Union and the two countries’ exchange of diplomatic representatives. Minister of War Dutra, on the other hand, strongly opposed these decisions. Dutra, after all, had started the anticommunist campaign in Brazil, and had a hard enough time stomaching Brazil’s alliance with the United States; strengthening Brazil’s relationship with the Soviet Union, the bastion of international socialism, was, for Dutra, simply too much to bear.5
In moving Brazil closer to the Soviet Union, Aranha displayed a lapse in his famously razor-sharp judgment. For much of the year, Aranha had pushed for closer ties with the Soviet Union on the grounds that it was a partner in the war against the Axis powers, and that it was likely to play an important role in the postwar order. Aranha did not foresee a potential cold war between the west and the east. Rather, he viewed the Soviet Union as a potential trading partner for Brazil—a nation to be courted, not kept at arm’s length.
Yet this misstep was only the tip of the iceberg. The reasons for Aranha’s ouster were, in reality, much more complex. Dutra was not the only Brazilian official with whom Aranha had bad blood—and while he had historically been able to rely on President Vargas for support, this time he discovered that nobody had his back.
Aranha’s downfall was triggered by what amounted to a power struggle with the chief of police. It was a contest in which President Vargas had, ultimately, chosen not to intervene—essentially abandoning Aranha to his fate.6 And it was a clash, moreover, in which one could detect the shadowy hand of Dutra, who at last seemed to have succeeded in planting a dagger in his archenemy’s back.
Speaking with his British counterpart at a drinks reception at the US embassy on August 23, two days after Aranha’s resignation, Jefferson Caffery outlined his understanding of the political undercurrents that had led to Aranha’s resignation. The US ambassador spoke in hushed tones, as if he was imparting top secret information (which he was not), pausing from time to time or clearing his throat for dramatic effect. Caffery obviously still took immense pleasure in being privy to knowledge that the British ambassador lacked.
“In recent months,” Caffery told the British ambassador conspiratorially, “when I have met with the minister, he has complained that he was more and more being edged out of everything, especially internal affairs, by a group who were determined to get rid of him.”7 When the British ambassador quizzed him about the names of the ministers, Caffery replied, “the minister of war, the president’s brother, the minister of labor, and the new chief of police.” It was a powerful list of Dutra and his allies in the government, prime among them the police chief, who enjoyed immense national power.8 The British ambassador may well have rolled his eyes at the mention of Benjamin Vargas—the embassy had for some time characterized the president’s brother as being “little more than a high class gangster.” Unbeknownst to the British, Caffery had a similar assessment of Benjamin.
Caffery continued, “the matter came to a head last week when [Aranha] was asked to assume office as the vice president of the Society of Friends of America.”9 That society, Caffery explained, was under a cloud of suspicion in Rio and was being investigated, so it was rather surprising that Aranha chose to accept the invitation. On learning that he had done so, the chief of police ordered a search of the organization’s premises, and then had the place locked in order to prevent Aranha from being ceremonially installed as its vice president. “The minister of foreign affairs naturally regarded this as a deliberate insult to himself,” Caffery noted, “and appealed to the president. The president, however, took the matter lightly and told the minister of foreign affairs to forget about it.”10
Aranha chose not to forget about the chief of police’s slight. He demanded that the meeting at the Society of Friends of America be allowed to go ahead as planned, a demand to which President Vargas was apparently prepared to agree. But Aranha also demanded that Vargas insist on the resignation of the chief of police—and this, the president refused to do.11
This was the breaking point. Aranha notified the president that he could no longer continue serving as his minister of foreign affairs. He submitted his resignation on August 21. But Aranha didn’t stop there. According to Caffery, Aranha also started telling his friends that “the president has been taken over by fascist elements in the government.”12 Aranha surely understood that making such claims—especially at a time of war—amounted to high treason, and that it would be difficult for anyone, even a close ally of Vargas’s, to get away with such treachery. Still, his anger at the chief of police appears to have gotten the better of him, for these comments were only the beginning of a long and bitter smear campaign he began waging against his old friend.
In the days and weeks after he submitted his resignation, Aranha made ever more personal—and painful—attacks against his fellow gaúcho. Caffery later reported to Washington that during the mounting political crisis, Aranha appeared to be baiting President Vargas, who needless to say was displeased when news of his foreign minister’s malicious backbiting reached his office. The comments quickly devolved into ad hominem invective; “Ever since Getúlio has been dying his hair he has been gaga” was one remark that Caffery related to his superiors in Washington. “Getúlio has become so conceited that he now believes he is tall and handsome” was another.13 The truth, as Aranha well knew, was that the president did touch up his hair color a bit, and that he was small and rather portly—especially following his car accident in May 1942. Sniping of this sort was intended to wound Vargas, and it inexorably widened the gulf between the two men.
Aranha’s comments were a sign of his deep frustration at breaking with the president and leaving the Itamaraty Palace—but they also reflected his growing anger over Vargas’s response to his departure. Like most political events in Brazil at the time, this one unfolded agonizingly slowly, and the period of time between Aranha’s offering of his resignation and the president’s eventual acceptance of it was anything but short. What perhaps hurt Aranha the most—apart, of course, from Vargas’s refusal to support him against the chief of police—was the silence from the Guanabara Palace in the weeks following his letter of resignation. This time, there was no repeat of the political crisis of 1938: Darci Vargas delivered no olive branches to the Aranha family. There were no quiet admonishments that “the two gaúchos should stick together.” On the contrary, the silence from the Guanabara Palace was deafening.
While Aranha stewed, the Allies fretted over what this development could mean for the war effort. In explaining Aranha’s resignation to his bosses in Washington, Caffery argued that it was a purely Brazilian political affair and had no connection with Brazil’s foreign policy orientation.14 His assessment was based on inside information he had gleaned from several sources—from the letter he had received from Aranha, of course, but also from conversations he had had with Aranha himself.
During the crisis, Aranha naturally discussed developments with Caffery, who took careful note of what the Brazilian told him while also attempting to steer him back onto a stable track—before, that is, it became clear the foreign minister had derailed himself completely. Aranha, after all, had been one of the greatest advocates for the United States within the Estado Novo, and there was no telling how his departure from the regime might affect Brazil’s international alignment. Frantically, and with the help of the State Department, Caffery arranged for Aranha to visit Washington to meet with key officials in the Roosevelt administration, including the president. Caffery wagered that by the time Aranha returned to Brazil, the crisis would have blown over and Aranha would be able to continue on in his role as foreign minister.15 Aranha rejected the offer of a state visit, however, on the grounds that he would be representing a government in which he no longer believed.16
Caffery was forced to concede that his efforts to prevent his friend’s resignation were not going to work. Behind the closed doors of the US embassy, there was a feeling that, on this occasion, Aranha might have overplayed his hand with President Vargas. Yet as much as they were afraid of what this rupture could mean for US-Brazilian relations, the Americans also remained cautiously optimistic about Brazil’s commitment to the Allied cause. Caffery assured the British ambassador, “I do not anticipate any change in [Brazilian] foreign policy as long as the war lasts, since the policy is, in effect, prosecution of the war in cooperation with the United States.”17
Both Washington and London soon received the reassurance they craved. On September 7, to mark Brazilian Independence Day, President Vargas delivered a speech in Rio de Janeiro pertaining to Brazil’s foreign policy. It was clear that the speech was intended largely to reassure the Allies. During the course of his remarks, Vargas said:
The moment is opportune to reaffirm our acts and principles in view of World War II. We engaged in and continue to be engaged in efforts of all sorts—economic, military, and political—to help our Allies with the maximum power and efficiency. And it is not too much to say that our direct intervention in the military sector does not date from the victorious days of 1944. We began with the exclusive furnishing of strategic materials, continued with the equipping and use of maritime and air bases, developed into the arduous service of escort duty and defense of the convoys, and culminated with the incorporation of the expeditionary force into the glorious armies, which are fighting for the liberation of Europe.18
Having thus recapped Brazil’s contributions to the war effort, Vargas went on to promise Brazilian support for the United States in the transition to the postwar era. He avowed:
We are rigorously and enthusiastically fulfilling our commitments, and, conscious of our responsibilities, we will carry on with our aid in the war and our diplomatic collaboration necessary for the adjustments of peace.19
Vargas’s speech did the trick. The Americans were no longer worried that Aranha’s resignation signaled any sort of immediate change in Brazilian policy, although they continued to feel that it might set back their relations with Brazil in the long run. Caffery sensed that Brazil was increasingly looking to the future, and that Aranha’s departure represented the starting gunshot in the struggle for the nation’s postwar soul.
For his part, Dutra emerged from the crisis with his authority intact and even strengthened. He was far too clever to allow himself to be seen as the political assassin; the chief villains were regarded to be the chief of police and Benjamin Vargas. With the FEB going into action in Italy, Dutra’s visit to the Italian front had put him in the news on a regular basis. Usually dour and poker-faced, the minister of war now allowed himself an occasional smile. He was slowly, and in a highly calculated manner, edging toward the center of the stage.
From Dutra’s perspective, Aranha’s departure caused just one complication: it had brought General Góes Monteiro back to Rio de Janeiro. After the chief of staff’s falling out with Dutra and subsequent resignation, Aranha had invited Góes Monteiro to become a special ambassador to the Emergency Advisory Committee for Political Defense of the Americas. Góes Monteiro had been ensconced in Montevideo, Uruguay—where the committee was headquartered—ever since. And given the favor Aranha had shown him, it was entirely possible that Góes Monteiro would throw his support behind the fallen foreign minister.
One of the letters that Aranha had signed on August 22 had been addressed to Góes Monteiro. When the letter arrived in Montevideo, Góes Monteiro announced his intention to resign as well. President Vargas hurriedly cabled Montevideo and demanded that the former chief of staff return immediately to Rio for consultations. The prospect of Góes Monteiro joining the opposition with Aranha was something the president wished to avoid at all costs.
Góes Monteiro’s allegiance to the Brazilian military, it seems, trumped his allegiance to Aranha; once he returned to Rio, he sought out Aranha’s archrival Dutra in order to update him on the sentiments of the Brazilian officer corps. As Góes Monteiro had made his way by train from Montevideo to Rio, he had met with—and taken the political temperature of—senior officers in the Brazilian armed forces stationed in the country’s southern states. Now back in Rio, Góes Monteiro explained to Dutra that the generals were in favor of democratic reform, and they wanted to end the Estado Novo and replace it with some form of constitutional regime. Dutra suggested that if that were truly the case, it would be prudent to find out what vision President Vargas had for Brazil’s political future. Vargas’s public assurances about postwar reform had failed to convince either Dutra or Góes Monteiro; Dutra pointed out that he couldn’t recall the president discussing the subject in private, let alone making a formal commitment to democratic politics.
As Góes Monteiro was leaving his meeting with Dutra, the minister of war instructed him to “go and find out what are the intentions of the president.”20 So, on November 1, 1944, when Góes Monteiro headed out for his meeting with Vargas, he found himself representing not only his own interests, but also those of the entire Brazilian military.
Working away in his office at the Guanabara Palace as he awaited his former chief of staff, President Vargas understood that Góes Monteiro would, in all likelihood, not be bringing good news. Both men understood that while the war was just starting for Brazil, it would probably be over at some point the following year. The months ahead would be decisive: for the Allies, for Brazil, for the Estado Novo, and for Vargas himself.
When Góes Monteiro arrived at the Guanabara Palace, it quickly became clear to Vargas what the future likely held for the Estado Novo. Góes Monteiro started by telling the president of his trip through southern Brazil and his meetings with senior military officers there and in Rio. Then, in dramatic fashion, he proclaimed, “I am here to end the Estado Novo.” President Vargas asked him if Dutra supported this position, to which Góes Monteiro replied that he did. The two main military mainstays of the Estado Novo were firmly in the camp of the democrats.
Góes Monteiro’s declaration was enough to convince President Vargas of what he already felt in his gut: the Estado Novo would not survive the war. Yet the president’s own political future was far from clear. Would he accept an orderly transition to some form of democracy? If so, what particular format would he accept? Would Vargas himself try to remain in office? If not, who were his likely successors? Vargas had led Brazil for over a decade, and under his leadership the country had already been transformed from a fractious tropical hinterland to a strong and relatively unified player in global geopolitics. Without him at the helm, what would become of Brazil?
There is little evidence that Vargas had given much thought to any of these issues prior to the end of 1944. He appeared to be locked in the present tense, fixated on his effort to—as the British put it—“get as much bounty as possible out of the United States before the war ended.”21 Now his closest advisors attempted to help him think about his own salvation as well as Brazil’s.
The legal architect of the Estado Novo and former minister of justice, Francisco Campos, was a regular visitor to the Guanabara Palace during the months that followed. Meeting with Vargas to advise him on the framing of a new constitution, Campos pulled no punches. “You need to adapt,” he told Vargas, “and you will be lost unless you immediately embrace democracy and freedom of the press.”22
Vargas hesitated, seeming paralyzed by the enormity of the choice confronting him. He refused to formally commit himself, but suggested that Campos write a memorandum outlining his plans for constitutional change. When Campos presented the completed memorandum to the president, its recommendations were radical. He suggested that Vargas either agree to changes to the 1937 constitution that had ushered in the Estado Novo, or that he allow a new constitution to be framed. If Vargas chose the former option, Campos suggested that a constitutional assembly approve the changes.
Vargas promised to show the memorandum to Dutra. He need not have bothered, however; Dutra already knew its contents. When the minister of war reported back to the president, he confirmed that he fully supported Campos’s proposals.
Aranha’s resignation and the Vargas administration’s pivot from present-day planning to strategizing for Brazil’s postwar order was the talk of café society in Rio. While the press was still restricted in what it could print, Cariocas were well versed at connecting the dots. Few Brazilians believed that Vargas would cede power without a fight, and fewer still took at face value the pleasant public exchange of letters by Vargas and Aranha on the departure of the foreign minister, in which Vargas thanked his old friend for his help over nearly three decades. Aranha’s departure to his farm for an extended period of time added to the intrigue. Few Brazilians thought that they had heard the last of Aranha, but Góes Monteiro’s return to local political life added to the sense of uncertainty and reinforced Brazilians’ sense that major developments were about to take place in the Guanabara Palace.
With the holiday season approaching, Brazilians also had cause to speculate about whether Carnaval would take place in February 1945. The cost of living increases were getting out of hand. Despite the government’s promises that Brazilian workers would eventually become rich from the US aid and Brazil’s war-driven economy, it was clear that most Brazilians were worse off than they had been at the start of the war. And though the newspapers were full of stories about the FEB’s exploits in Italy, the conflict seemed distant to most Brazilians.
The Vargas regime’s popularity had slumped during 1944, and it showed no signs of recovering. The president’s opponents circulated rumors that some of his entourage, including his younger brother, Benjamin, were using the wartime economy to exploit the masses and make themselves rich. Alzira did her best to keep certain unsavory people away from her father, but with Aranha gone this task proved harder than ever. The British noted that the “forces of darkness” were coming to dominate the president’s circle of friends and advisors. The British ambassador put it this way:
The unscrupulous and evil band of self-enriching satellites which gather inevitably round a dictator were assuring their master that all was well and that he had never been so firmly established. Perhaps deluded by these assurances, perhaps with one eye to the now inevitable victory for the Allies, President Vargas finally made up his mind (with the obvious and necessary reservation that he must remain in power) that the time had come for at least the shadow of democratic representation to be given to the populace.23
The role of these internal enemies was complex, but if the British were right, they were stoppering Vargas’s ears against the voices of the Brazilian people and assuring him that he would be able to hold on to power as long as he acceded to some of their demands for democratic reforms.
Vargas was indeed falling into the orbit of certain powerful political players in Brazil. He gave no indication that he was listening to the opposition (which he categorized as either communists or fascists), let alone the powerful Catholic Church (which he didn’t trust) or the more liberal members of his own regime (whom he believed were still allied with Aranha). The one group he came to rely on during 1945 was the armed forces. Vargas felt that Dutra, for all his careful plotting, remained loyal, and he did not feel that the minister of war represented a potential rival for the presidency.
The British government shared President Vargas’s rather limited opinion of Dutra’s political abilities. In an attempt to get to know the minister of war better, Winston Churchill had invited Dutra to visit London after he toured the FEB lines in Italy in September 1944. Once in London, Dutra appeared to have given a good account of himself in meetings with British officials, who concluded that he was firmly in the Allied camp. Still, the British described Dutra rather unflatteringly as:
Small in stature and with no personal appeal. He is a born soldier and a good administrator of limited outlook and intelligence, conservative rather than reactionary in his general political tendencies. He is little acquainted with the rough and tumble of politics and has few personal friends among the politicians. But he is a man of considerable determination and even obstinacy.24
While admiring of the minister of war’s military abilities, it was clear that the British, at least, did not consider him a threat to Vargas.
President Vargas, in fact, thought of Dutra as the exact opposite of a rival for power. In the back of his mind, Vargas was already considering using Dutra as a sacrificial lamb in any democratic election that might take place in Brazil. Vargas would allow Dutra to run for president, with the expectation that the Brazilian public would reject his candidacy and demand that Vargas put his own name on the ballot. This way, Vargas could promise that he would not run for the presidency, thus depriving the opposition of a rallying point in advance of an election. It was pure Machiavellian politics, but a brand that Vargas was particularly apt at employing against both his political friends and foes alike.
Vargas understood that Dutra would be eager to throw his hat into the ring—especially if Vargas appeared to support his candidacy. On top of that, it was widely acknowledged in Rio’s political circles that Dutra’s wife, Santinha, was the most ambitious lady in Rio. The British perspective on Santinha perhaps summed her up best—“an enormous lady with a passionate hatred of communism” and “a determined and ambitious woman.”25
But Vargas may have underestimated his minister of war. Together, Mr. and Mrs. Dutra formed one of the most important and powerful couples in Rio. Santinha was an astute networker, making sure that her rather dour and boring husband was meeting all the right people at official and private events. What the minister of war lacked in political ability, his wife more than made up for with her famed pushiness. Vargas’s plans for manipulating the general discounted the influence of Santinha—and were therefore far riskier than the president appeared to understand.