Betrayal and love between Soledad Barrett and Corporal Anselmo during the Brazilian dictatorship

Soledad Barrett

By Urariano Mota

These days, when the right comes back to power in several countries wearing its modern mask for fascismo, it's worth sharing a message I received about my books.

A teacher and researcher, after reading “Soledad no Recife”, my book that tells the last days of the guerrilla Soledad Barrett in Recife, sent me this message on Instagram this week:

"Hello, good afternoon. What can you tell me about the narrator's alienated love for Soledad? And what Soledad felt for Anselmo/Daniel, in her view, was 'love'? I read the book and wanted to know from you about these discussions the book presents, regarding the contradictions between love and violence”

Surprised, I realised that these were legitimate questions and doubts. So I replied shortly:

The narrator did not have nor does he have an “alienated love” for Soledad. It was a relationship with no future of a poet to his muse. As far as I know, Soledad had an affectionate relationship with Anselmo, which, if not a deep love, was an affectionate respect. This ultimately turned out to be a tragedy.

To which the reader and teacher replied:

“It was a concern of mine, as he embraces an 'idealised love'”

Previously, in a brief and quick manner, I could not tell the researcher what would take hours of reflection. Now, I am trying to resume. Besides “Soledad no Recife” (Soledad in Recife), the recreation of her last days before the guerrilla fighter's death, when later writing the novel “A mais longa duração da juventude” (translated into English with the title “Never-Ending Youth”), this is how I saw the relationship between the warrior and the repression agent Corporal Anselmo. Here, in Peter Lownds' beautiful translation of the novel into English:

“This is very upsetting to all her admirers—not only were we bested by a conservative snitch but the reason Soledad focused her hunger for love on an artless turncoat and killer who never appreciated or desired her as anything but an informant, a shield, and an alibi remains a painful mystery. Although it pisses me off to say so, he must have been or done something special for her to want to bear his child. I am convinced that their relationship had nothing to do with Anselmo’s unique qualities or Soledad’s mediocre needs. He conquered her because he had no scruples. He bamboozled her in ways that had nothing to do with desire. Namely, with heroic stories of his having been part of the 1964 Brazilian Navy rebellion, his enduring militance and in-depth knowledge of guerrilla tactics, his artistic accomplishments as a painter, photographer and tapestry maker and the purloined funds he donated to the socialist cause as an expert safe-cracker—all bullshit!

He had been a spy for the military since before the 1964 coup. He beguiled her, used her and destroyed her. He did not need to declare his love. Instead, he proposed that they work together on a number of projects in a free and open relationship. For Soledad, this proved irresistible. How could she fall for this con, this two-bit swindler? When it came to love, she had democratic or populist leanings that reflected her political credo. In the years of the dictatorship, the most ardent militants wanted to impress the immediacy of their partisan convictions on others’ hearts. Sometimes it was not even necessary to mimeograph the words of a pamphlet, because it had already been emotionally inculcated. Socialist militancy was a bubbling stew of sentiment, from the most pious Christian precepts to the sternest orders and commands.

Years later, a reporter interviewed him:

“But did you love Soledad?”

“Love is complicated”, he replied, and carried on: “Soledad was a lovely person, a poet, she spoke many languages. What happened to her was not my fault. She came to Brazil to create another Cuba in the Brazilian Northeast.”

“Why didn’t you warn her that her life was in danger?”

“I would have been killed if I told her what I knew.”

“By whom?”

“By her! Soledad was capable of violence and cruelty, despite her little saint’s face.”

“She was cruel?” The woman reporter has seen a photograph of Soledad in the morgue. “Cruel to whom?”

“She was a communist, a killer!”

“You’re still alive.”

“I was fortunate.”

“Yet you say you loved her?”

“I felt affectionate toward her. But she was a romantic. My view of life is more practical”

“So you would never sacrifice yourself for someone you love.”

“That is a romantic concept”.

That's how it really was. That's how I wrote it in the novel about the betrayal of love between Soledad Barrett and Corporal Anselmo.

Urariano Mota is a writer and journalist, author of the novels "Soledad in Recife" and "Never-Ending Youth" which narrate the Brazilian dictatorship.