Inside Rio’s Gang Controlled Favelas

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This is part two, Pavelo Government,

episode one.

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Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

I'm stood at the bottom of a long, winding road that leads uphill into the maze of Fallette Fogutero, a sprawling favela under the control of Brazil's oldest gang.

In the near distance I can see the shanty town built up on top of itself.

The tropical backdrop of the nearby mountains and valleys is peppered with misshapen blocks of DIY housing.

Edges and right angles are bent skew-with like a Dr.

Zeus illustration.

Each building is linked by a spider's web of illegal power lines, all maintained by favela residents without permits.

Here, at the bottom of the hill, there's a crossroads where favela motorbike taxis hang out.

There are around two dozen young lads ready to take who or whatever they're told to up into the favela.

They wear a mix of football shirts, flip-flops and basketball shorts.

They're looking at me as if to say what the fuck are you doing here?

This area is a Norgo zone for tourists, the government and the police.

The whole area is run by a criminal organization known as Red Command, or in Portuguese, Commando Faumelo, CV.

After months of negotiation between myself, a friend and a photographer originally from the favelas, one of the big CV bosses has given us permission to enter Falat Fogatero.

Once you're up the hill and in the neighbourhood, CV is the de facto leadership in every way possible.

We're here to make a documentary to show what life is like in the favela when a gang takes on the role of a government.

A local lad is assisting us with a blessing from the gang.

I dare say if he wasn't with us, we'd be robbed and sent on our way home already.

But CV's word is solid here, so we're left alone.

The local, who we'll call Carlos, hands a few notes to one of the motorbike riders and tells him something in Portuguese.

The rider nods at me and pulls his bike up to the bottom of the hill.

The other taxis watch on grinning and whispering to each other.

By now they're all sat on the seats of their bikes and chatting about the gringos, me and my team.

It's humid, noisy and everything smells like gasoline.

Carlos signals to me, we're ready to go.

I approach the motorbike and climb on the back.

The rider is perched over it and leans on the handlebars naturally as if they're part of his extended anatomy.

He's made this trip a thousand times before, but probably never for some journalist from the UK.

Fallet Fogatero is not one of those media friendly favelas that YouTubers pay to create danger slop content inside of.

This is the wild west when it comes to rules, regulations, laws or safety.

Carlos tells me the last time someone tried to film up there without permission, they were shot dead by the gang.

He says it was a couple riding through on bikes with GoPros attached.

This place is no joke.

I let the rider know I'm ready and he pushes off the kickstand and revs the bike up the hill, moving fast through a series of alleyways, winding roads and half-built streets.

As we move up higher into the favela a blur of residents and gangbangers whiz past.

The road is battered with potholes and uneven tarmac.

The bike bounces every few feet.

There are no helmets for passengers, at least not for me, so I'm held on tight hoping we don't crash into the 101 different obstacles and sharp angles we zip past.

After about five minutes we're fully up the hills and on an even plateau where the favela branches off into all different directions.

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We're high up now inside the favela.

I can see see the city's tall buildings of the metro area in the distance from here, all glass and metal.

Down there Brazilians work their 9 to 5s, pay their bills and hang out on the beaches.

Up here it's illicit firearms, bricks of heroin and regular gang shootouts.

A short motorbike taxi has transported me from one world to another.

This is the favela.

Carlos arrives on the back of another motorbike and guides us through a series of narrow alleyways.

Here the only thing you need to start building is cement.

Over the years this has created a ghetto metropolis with random drain pipes, satellite dishes and stairs that lead to nowhere.

Vavela construction is unlike anything else.

We move through to a small corner with three alleyways leading in all directions up a slope.

CV graffiti is sprayed red on the walls.

Piles of rubbish are gathered up along the side of the road.

There's a small benched benched off area made of bricks and concrete.

Here, three young men armed with semi-automatic rifles are posted up chatting into their walkie-talkies.

The static melts in and out with indecipherable Portuguese chirping from the other end.

The gang has this whole place on lock.

An intricate system of radio signals and constant patrols has them in charge of all entrances to the neighbourhoods they control.

The young gunmen seem pretty chilled out considering.

We shake hands, and one of them seems eager to chat.

His name is Chico.

He's maybe 20 years old.

He stood in a pair of flip-flops, a red basketball jersey, and a camouflage balaclava.

He's also holding a rifle almost as big as he is.

Carlos explains to me that exactly where we're currently standing is nicknamed the place where bullets fly.

He could have told us this beforehand.

Basically, this is a very hot intersection where gun battles regularly regularly break out between either rival gangs or the police.

Chico walks out into the junction and points to a large white building at the top of a hill in the distance.

A huge blue wall protects it.

It's surrounded by jungle foliage and what looks like a little tram moving in and out.

Chico explains what it is.

Snipers.

Up there, there are police snipers, and from this direction, rival gangs come down to confront us.

At all times, day or night, these areas are guarded by men like Chico.

We move off through the alleyways to find a safer place to talk.

As we do, young children randomly show up to see why the gringos are here.

They seem completely unfazed at the masked men with rifles hanging out on their corners.

We climb over a small wall and into a sheltered alleyway that doubles as someone's outside patio.

People look out from their windows, not really alarmed, just seeing what's going on.

Chico seems as relaxed here as he did in the place where bullets fly.

Me, I'm much happier to have some concrete between us and the police snipers with their barrels aimed over this neighborhood.

Do you see yourselves as like the security of this favela?

Yeah,

I think so.

We're here to protect each other.

We stop residents getting scammed by the government.

If we're not in the community, the community is finished.

We're out here.

It's our choice.

We stay strong, you know.

Us drug dealers are the ones who help, because the government is shit.

Straight up, they steal everything.

They're bad.

We're not good, but we only kill our enemies.

The media says we kill civilians, but we don't.

We only kill other criminals.

Criminals against criminals.

CV isn't destroying anything in Rio de Janeiro.

If CV didn't exist, what would happen to the favela residents?

The police would come here, charge protection fees, humiliate people, disappear people, make curfews.

Not us.

We leave them be.

We even hold parties for the community.

What's it like living here?

What's it like growing up here?

It looks to me like there's no presence from the government at all.

What's it like?

When I was young, all I did was play football.

I followed a different path.

But when the police entered the community here, a lot of things went to ruin.

My brother entered the gang life, so I followed.

Back then, I had a dream to get out of this place, but the police destroyed my life when they killed my brother.

he was shot in the back then the cops executed him close up from then on I said to myself they'll only get rid of me by death

so after that I fought and fought I'm sorry to hear that bro

none of this will change our lives any day we could die if God puts it in my heart to leave then I'll leave

As nice as that sentiment is very rarely does anyone exit the life of a favela gang member by anything other than death.

CV's presence is felt far and wide across Brazil.

The gang has gained over 25,000 members in the 40 years they've been active.

It all began in Brazil in the 1970s.

A US-backed military dictatorship controlled the country with an iron fist.

Extrajudicial killings, forced disappearances, mass censorship.

Armed rebels rose up and began fighting back.

Police were killed and riots broke out.

Before long, Rio's prisons were full of battle-hardened leftist guerrillas, specifically at the Candido Mendez penal colony.

There, militants shared cells with local criminals who'd also been locked up by the junta, all under the same roof, all facing abuse in the prison.

The two groups joined forces to protect themselves.

Rebel fighters in league with street criminals.

It was an effective alliance that gave birth to CV.

Brazil's military junta ruled from 1964 to 1985.

In that time, CV spread like wildfire.

They were highly active inside and outside prison.

They got into drug trafficking and became a highly violent organisation.

By the end of the dictatorship, CV controlled around 70% of the drug trade in Rio and became a serious problem for the state.

In the favelas though, CV became the state.

These shanty towns, initially built by former slaves in the 1800s, have long been abandoned by the government and so a mix of violence, intimidation and genuine community support led CV to become the de facto authority of their favelas.

This meant they had to keep the police out.

In Brazil, the security forces have been corrupt for a long time.

They're often involved in organised crime themselves and are the natural enemy of the countless different gangs of Brazil.

Now in 2025, CV is a huge international criminal enterprise.

They're involved in drug trafficking, weapons dealing, armed robbery, kidnap to order, murder for hire, money laundering, you name it.

Carlos takes us deeper into the favela.

We move sideways through an alleyway so narrow I think I'd almost get stuck if I walked forwards.

The walls are sloped at different angles the further we move along.

CV graffiti is sprayed up every six feet or so.

Eventually we emerge at another intersection where a dozen or so C V gang members are gathered on a corner.

They're all armed with a mix of long barrel rifles, Uzis and pistols.

They move in and out of the area on motorbikes a lot nicer than the ones we rode up in with the taxi.

Due to the layout of the favela and CV's control of it, the gang is able to do business completely out in the open.

They're all cutting up weed into small cling film squares and combining blocks of what I think is wrapped coke into kilos with duct tape.

The boss of this group, a guy nicknamed, no joke, fat sexy, is watching over the operation with an M16 rifle slinged over his shoulder.

He's on his phone organising.

Music is playing from a Bluetooth speaker and the gang members are pouring out drinks for each other.

It's just business as usual.

About 10 feet across the road from the open-air drug emporium is a small local butcher's.

A few residents are queued up waiting to buy meat.

Children move in and out of the area.

I head over to the gang and Carlos introduces me to everyone.

I shake hands with the gunmen and drug manufacturers and whilst they seem a little confused, they're generally pretty friendly.

They seem baffled as to why we'd come all the way from England to Falat Fogatero, even when we explained that we're making a documentary.

We hang out for a while and the gangbangers start to show off their guns.

These are heavy duty firearms either stolen from rival gangs and police or smuggled into Brazil from the US, Paraguay and Venezuela.

Randomly one of the gang members puts an M16 rifle in my hands.

Whilst generally I believe in gun rights and I'm definitely pro-firearm, I am not comfortable holding a gun whilst out in the field reporting.

That's not my role.

I'm a journalist and never a combatant.

I look around for someone to hand the firearm off to as the CV gang members laugh at my awkwardness.

So we've turned up at a seller spot where they're all selling various drugs.

For some reason I've just been handed this rifle.

I don't really know what to do now.

You want this?

Quickly one of the guys takes the gun away from me and I thank him.

He hands me a little plastic cup and pours me a drink of sprite.

At At his feet he has a bag of drugs the size of a pillow, all wrapped in tape and plastic.

If I had to guess I'd say it's some kind of heroin precursor or just a huge sack of opium even.

Organised into semi-autonomous cells, CV is active in drug trafficking all over the place, from here in Rio to the Paraguay border, the Amazon region and beyond.

They're constantly fighting rival gangs for control of the drug trade.

As we sit around drinking Sprite, watching gang members compare guns, I noticed two young boys across the street.

They both leaned up against the wall intently watching the scene in front of them.

Drugs, guns, gang life.

They look not even 10 years old yet.

Before I can think about it too much, the sound of a gunshot in the near distance breaks the glovial atmosphere.

Then another and another.

There's some kind of shootout.

The ringleader, fat sexy, quickly jumps on his motorbike and zooms off down the road with a walkie-talkie.

The others wrap up the drugs and a Jeep arrives out of nowhere.

Fat Sexy returns and starts telling the others to go get the rifles.

Three or four of the CB foot soldiers hop on bikes and race off, presumably to get the other rifles.

The scene is tense and erratic, but at the same time somehow controlled.

It's clear that the gang members deal with this regularly and know what to do.

For the past year, CB has been moving on the turf of their rivals.

Gun battles break out often.

Just as I'm sat on a wall observing the madness, wondering if we'll have to run for cover soon, a CV foot soldier in a Balaklava moves next to me and loads up his Klashnikov with a DIY extended magazine.

Two mags welded together at each end.

If it doesn't jam, he can probably shoot 60 rounds without having to reload.

He gestures for me to follow him, ushering us away from what looks to be a mobilization of CV versus whoever it is shooting nearby.

They don't want us getting in the way of a gang shootout.

Rio de Janeiro is gripped by a violent struggle between many different gangs.

Each of them fights for control of drug routes and territory in the city's sprawling favelas.

In Rio, CV is the most notorious and most powerful.

The gang controls the majority of the drug trade here.

Recently, a serious conflict broke out between them and another gang called First Capital Command or PCC.

PCC's main turf is the city of Sao Paulo over 200 miles away from Rio.

Much like CV though they're active all over the country.

CV and PCC had a truce recently but it's fallen apart spectacularly in a storm of deadly violence.

Another major criminal faction in Brazil is Pure Third Command or TCP.

Relatively they're a lot newer than CV, forming in the early 2000s after splitting from a previous larger criminal group over various disagreements.

TCP is a whole other story in itself.

They've fused brutal gang violence with extreme religious Pentecostalism.

Perhaps an away days for another time.

Another serious gang in the Rio area is Friends of Friends or Amigos dos Amigos, ADA.

These guys formed in 1998 coming together as defectors of CV.

They split off and formed their own gang.

ADA has carved out its own territory in parts of the north and west zones of Rio, including Roquina, one of Rio's most famous favelas.

ADA is enemies with both CV and TCP.

The three gangs are all sporadically at war with each other.

Complicating this situation even further are are the criminal militias.

They're different to the gangs in that they're paramilitary groups made up of ex-police, soldiers, and even firefighters.

We'll talk about them a lot more later on.

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The CV gang member with the two welded together magazines quickly brings us up a hill out the way of where the gunshots were ringing out.

He tells us he goes by the name FT.

Simple.

We pass through a small neighborhood where four young girls are hanging out, sat on a step as if nothing has happened.

They're all dressed in different pink outfits and probably range in age from 7 to about 10.

They're incredibly cute.

As we move past them, they seem totally oblivious to FT who is casually walking by holding his rifle and wearing a dark balaclava.

It's midday.

I wave at the young girls and they wave back and begin to giggle.

They remind me of some of my own family back home.

They're all smiles.

The sadness of this of course is that they're completely used to gun battles and gang members.

There's no way they didn't hear the commotion down the road, but for them, I guess it's just another day.

As with the rest of the poverty in the favela, the children here are hit hard.

Due to decades of inequality, neglect from the government and constant violence, the situation has become an ongoing crisis.

Amongst the children here there's malnutrition, poor sanitation, unlimited access to healthcare and education.

Schooling in the favelas is very sporadic to say the least.

They have barely any money and very high dropout rates.

Some kids are pulled into gang activity simply to survive.

Gangs offer money, food, and a sense of belonging.

Others are sadly victims of violent police raids or crossfire when gang battles break out like we just saw.

What's more, basic services like clean water, rubbish collection, and even electricity are often inconsistent.

This instability has severe impact on mental health and development.

Those most ill-equipped to deal with such hardships are of course the children.

Wow.

FT leads us to a high point where there's an open square, two concrete benches and a concrete table that has a chessboard crudely built into it.

This area offers an incredible view of the sprawling favelas all around us.

As far as the eye can see, there are makeshift buildings that are meant to last forever.

The shanty towns cover every hill and valley for miles and miles around.

It hits me.

This is what the gangs are fighting for.

control of a never-ending concrete fortress.

FT watches over it like a proud homeowner.

Whilst it might seem seem ridiculous to some, if you grow up here and you're in a gang, controlling your turf is everything.

Dozens and dozens of these young gang members are killed every month trying to maintain their monopoly.

To do so gives you the spoiled fruits the domination of the favela has to offer.

Like some kind of favela real estate agent, FT proudly describes the demographic of the area.

Here it is the same gang as over there.

Here we are CV.

Over there is the same faction but another favela.

Over there they have a different boss to us.

It's divided.

Here is Farat Fogatero, where we are.

Over there is Moro dos Prazeres.

And down there is the border.

One street divides the two favelas.

This is yours?

Yes, this is Farat.

What's it like living here and growing up all in this favela?

Do you ever get to leave or are you just here all the time?

Man, I stay in the favela a lot.

I moved here very young.

Those of us raised here have few opportunities in life.

That's why I started doing all this.

It's normal for us seeing all this since a young age in the favela.

Even if I'm not on lookout or not working,

I'm always with my friends.

24-7 on our spot.

We're always waiting for the unexpected to happen.

We're always ready, always waiting for it.

It's our life day today.

If you didn't have to be here doing this, what would you prefer to do?

Oh, I'd be a musician.

A musician.

I tried in a different moment in my life.

I dedicated myself to it.

I left crime for a while to apply myself.

I didn't get far.

Maybe I wasn't patient enough.

The M's came back.

Ended up here.

As FT explains his lost dreams of becoming a musician, I can see a deep sadness in his eyes, albeit through the slit of his balaclava.

He's in his 20s and has been been a member of CV for a long time.

Unfortunately, FT is no doubt a killer and I'm not excusing random acts of gang violence but for a moment you can almost see an innocent side of FT deep down in his soul when he talks about his forgotten ambitions.

Just like anyone else, he once had dreams and desires far bigger than the life he's living now.

And to make it out of the favela as a famous musician is in no way a pipe dream in Brazil either.

Many have done so.

Brazil has produced a wave of talented rappers who came up amongst the brutality of the favelas.

One of the most famous is Sabotage, a São Paulo-born rapper who grew up in the harsh gang communities of Zona Sul.

His songs talk about favela life and social inequality.

Sadly, he was murdered in 2003.

Another major name is Emesida, who also grew up on the fringes of São Paulo.

He's built his own record label and gained international recognition performing in Europe and the US.

His music tackles racism, poverty and Brazil's huge class divide.

There are many other examples.

It's definitely possible to get out of the favela using music as the vessel.

It is though incredibly unlikely and very hard.

For FT though, he didn't quite make it.

He's now stuck as a drug dealer in the trenches of Falat Fogatero.

There's no doubt a lot of lost talent in Brazil's favelas.

Eventually we say our goodbyes to FT and wander off through the favela.

One thing that strikes me is the huge number of children running around, playing and having fun.

The contrast is impossible not to notice.

For every CV gang member posted up with a rifle, there seems to be a dozen or so children running past him on the way to play out with their friends.

There's something beautiful about the innocence of the children growing up amidst the chaos of Falat Fogatero.

No doubt more than a few times they've been kept up at night to the sound of gunfire.

Clashes here can last for hours with back and forth shootings between CV and police or rival gangs.

If it's not that it might be military helicopters overhead gathering intel for an upcoming raid.

There's even been explosive used in favela battles.

This is in no way a safe environment environment for a child, but it's their reality.

The government does almost nothing to provide for the families here.

Most of the safeguarding, if any, is done by NGOs who are allowed in by the gangs.

It's a serious problem.

There is however another outlet for the children of Falet Fogatero.

One that was actually built by the gangs and is run by a man whose own father was killed by them.

Next week we'll hear about Boa Safra Team Gym, a place worth its weight in gold.

You've been listening to the Away Days podcast.

Next week it's part two, episode two.

To watch independent away days documentaries, subscribe to our channel at youtube.com slash at awaydays TV.

The Away Days podcast is a production of H11 Studio for CoolZone Media.

Reporting, producing, writing, editing, and research by me, Jake Hanrahan.

Co-producing by Sophie Lichterman.

Music by Sam Black and in this episode, Diamondstein.

Sound mixed by Splicing Block.

Photography by Johnny Pickup and Louis Hollis.

Graphic design by Laura Adamson and Casey Highfield.

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But hurry, these great offers end November 3rd.

Toyota Certified Used Vehicles Sales Event, where every surprise is a great one.

Inventory may vary by dealer, participating dealers only, comprehensive and powertrain or limited warranties.

See TCU V warranty supplement, Toyotacertified.com, or your Toyota dealer for details.

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