One of the biggest blows caused by the murder of journalist Vladimir Herzog by , in the view of Ivo Herzog, his eldest son, is the fact that the crime could have happened to “anyone”.
Ivo, 59, still demands justice for the crime that turns 50 on October 25th. Herzog, director of TV Cultura, spontaneously attended the Army meeting in São Paulo to explain his relations with the PCB, the country’s main left-wing organization – and against .
He died there after intense sessions of torture and his death was declared a suicide by the regime, provoking public outrage in various sectors of society.
Those responsible were never tried and the legal proceedings over the case were overturned based on the 1979 Amnesty Law, which granted pardons to soldiers who committed crimes during the dictatorship.
Upon receiving the Sheet last Monday (13), at the headquarters of the Vladimir Herzog Institute, of which he chairs the board, Ivo said that the (Supreme Federal Court) delay in reviewing the Amnesty Law, which has been suspended in court since 2014, opens up opportunities for new coup attempts – a reference to the process that led to the ex-president (PL) being sentenced to more.
At the head of the institute, Ivo is dedicated to preserving the legacy of Vlado, as Herzog was known: a man “of flesh and blood” who spoke his mother tongue with his mother – he was Yugoslav, born in a city that is now in Croatia –, liked electric trains and who was killed for living his own life, “in line with what he believed to be right”, in his son’s words.
Why are dead and missing people important during the dictatorship?
The certificate is necessary to deal with bank accounts and sell a property. Having a document that is an accomplice to the crime that occurred is almost a process of continued torture, causing a lot of suffering to families. It is not justice yet, but it is a formal, institutional step in the search for it.
What does justice mean to you?
Investigate the circumstances of each of the deaths and disappearances, who were the perpetrators, and bring them to justice, even if they have already died.
What remains to be elucidated about your father’s murder?
It’s not exactly elucidation, it’s the question, using a fashionable term, of due legal process being carried out by public bodies. Complaints are made by the Public Prosecutor’s Office, cases are brought to trial and defendants are judged.
Is there no indication of when the STF will review the Amnesty Law?
Last year, the minister [relator do caso no STF] that the topic would be taken to the plenary, there would be public hearings, and that did not happen. I see it as an attitude that is complicit in the culture of impunity of public agents in Brazil. Which, ultimately, is a free access passport for coup attempts.
And the recent requests for amnesty to Bolsonaro and the 8th of January?
They are similar proposals, that anyone who attacks the State must be forgiven. Brazil’s republican history has had dozens of coup attempts, some successful, always with two points in common: the participation of military personnel and the fact that no one has ever been punished. The first time we have someone punished is in 2022 and January 8th, and we hope that this will be decisive in preventing further attempts.
Do you find it exhausting to demand justice from the State?
It’s not exhausting, it’s painful. But we won’t get tired of this fight. For me, my mother’s illness [Alzheimer] It has to do with this suffering, with this years-long struggle seeking justice, all the wear and tear and emotional stress.
In 1975, an artist stamped the phrase “who killed Herzog?” em money bills. Are there similar actions missing today?
I don’t know the exact number, but at least two thirds of Brazilians weren’t born when the dictatorship ended. It’s difficult to demand understanding from someone who hasn’t lived it.
The great value of the film “”, by , is to feel a little of what it was like to live at that time. It’s not just telling the story of a missing person or what Eunice Paiva did, but it’s the ringing of the doorbell, the telephone, being arrested with your son, hearing screams of torture, all this anguish that we suffered. Now, you can never have too much memory and we don’t have a good tradition with public memory instruments.
Was there any event that was most important in understanding the extent of your father’s death?
I don’t think so, because things of different natures come together. There was , in 2012, and the number of people who were present was impressive. On a visit to the Vladimir Herzog state school, where there was a cultural installation about Vlado, the students told his entire story, in a very well done research, and cried saying that he was a hero, who overthrew the government. It’s a strong imaginary. At the launch of the institute [em 2009]2,000 people went and we thought people would forget at some point.
That still gives you surprising?
Yes, it surprises. Last week I went to the pharmacy to buy a medicine that required a prescription and the attendant saw the name Ivo Herzog: “What do you have to do with Vladimir Herzog, journalist?” There has been more happening, in fact, because there is a lot of publicity now.
It wasn’t worth losing my father, it will never be worth losing my father, but his legacy makes us very happy. They speak very positively about him. It brings an important realization that we take good care of this legacy, that it really isn’t just in the family’s mind that he was a good person.
This is a public sentiment. When the agreement came out, comments on social media were very positive. In general, the family is treated with great affection by the public. This affects us.
What is it like to experience your private grief within a collective grief?
In 2019, Itaú Cultural promoted an exhibition about my father’s life and I didn’t know more than half of the material. When people talk about his death, there is an imaginary surrounding the mystical figure of the journalist.
The exhibition showed that he was a man of flesh and blood, one who was simply living his life, based on what he believed to be right, and that was enough for them to kill him. A 1.68m tall, bald, slightly slight man who liked fishing, cinema, photography, animals and who never got a driver’s license. It could be any of us. Maybe that’s the danger of the crime that was committed: it could be any of us.
Do you have any memories you never shared about him?
During a time when he had a beard, I remember one day coming into the bathroom and finding some hairs in the sink, because he had trimmed it. I was traumatized [risos]. He had a beard for a short period of time, so much so that there are few photos of him like that, but I have that memory.
Another very strong, very pleasant emotional memory is when he used to talk to my grandmother in Yugoslavian. You didn’t understand any words, but in the middle of the sentence there was a “né?”, an “então”, something in Portuguese in the middle of that strange language.
He had hobbies too. I have a little electric train in my house that has parts that were bought by my father and other parts that I bought with my son, who also likes it. We continue to invest in this hobby. We are a little of what our parents are, we develop some of the same habits. My brother really likes fishing, I don’t. They both like photography and animals, I think this has a lot to do with him, because my mother was never that interested in these things, she was very focused on her work and really liked reading.
You mentioned the film “I’m Still Here”. Respecting the proportions, did you identify anything about your mother in Eunice Paiva?
For sure. They are very different women, both in age and economic class, Eunice had five children, my mother only had two. But they fought against the system, they understood the importance of not only knowing what happened, but of proving, with an official public document, what happened. The scenes of Eunice driving the car, taking the family here and there, managing the situation, that was my total mother.
Why did they decide [previsto para o próximo sábado, dia 25] in honor of your father, like in 1975?
We want to show that the search for peace, justice and democracy is a common value, regardless of religion. It is an instrument of memory: a turning point took place 50 years ago in that cathedral, the beginning of the end of the dictatorship, which took another ten years. There is also the defense of democracy: if it was a given thing, suddenly we discover that it is fragile and that we are barely returning to a new period of authoritarianism. We have to leave our comfort zone of thinking that everything is resolved and always reaffirming the defense of democracy.
What is the biggest democratic advance in these 50 years?
I’m not forgetting the past, but from a recent point of view, a historic change is having military personnel arrested. As I said, there have been attempts and coups in our history, always with the presence of the military and with total impunity. We are breaking this cycle. This gives another intensity to that light at the end of the tunnel and makes us believe that we are living in a different country.
RAIO IVO HERZOG, 59
Son of Vladimir and Clarice Herzog, he was born in London and moved to Brazil with his parents and brother when he was two years old. An engineer, he chairs the board of the Vladimir Herzog Institute, created to preserve his father’s legacy and promote democracy and human rights.
