The killing of a homeless catador – an unofficial waste collector – has sparked fierce protests. For 20,000 marginalised workers with no rights, it may be pivotal

Shortly before 6pm on Wednesday 12 July, Ricardo Nascimento, a homeless man who made a living collecting recycling, got into a heated discussion with two military police officers outside a pizzeria. Nascimento, who was well-known to residents of the affluent São Paulo neighbourhood of Pinheiros, was holding a piece of wood; when he refused to drop it, the officers shot him twice in the chest. The 39-year-old died instantly.

It was still light and the roads were teeming with people. Locals and passersby began to shout “murderers” and “fascists” at the police. The officers packed the body into the trunk of a police car, and one witness, Gilvan Artur Leal, 53, said when he tried to help the prone man, he was told to stop – or else he would be “next”.

They picked up his body and threw it in the trunk of the car like it was a bag of rubbish Daniela Toledo, witness

“Ricardo was clearly afraid and he didn’t want to drop the wood but the police just wouldn’t let it go,” said Daniela Toledo, 46, a florist who watched the incident play out. “It was an execution. They picked up his body and threw it in the trunk of the car like it was a bag of rubbish.”



Q&A What is São Paulo live? Show Hide Guardian Cities is in São Paulo for a week of live reporting and special events, discussing every aspect of this fascinating Brazilian metropolis. While its flashy smaller sibling Rio De Janeiro does its best to hog the spotlight, it is São Paulo that has quietly become South America’s first true megacity – the engine of Brazil, home to incredible creativity and thriving commerce, but also some uniquely eye-opening social problems. Follow us on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram, contribute to the conversation using #guardiansaopaulo and email saopaulo.week@theguardian.com with your comments, criticisms or suggestions. Photograph: Nacho Doce/REUTERS

The shooting was captured on CCTV, and the officer has since claimed that he “was forced to fire” to defend himself. The Department of Public Security said the case was investigated internally by the military police, “concluding that the [officers] fulfilled their mission of support in an ethical and professional way”.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Protesters stage a die-in in Pinheiros, São Paulo. Photograph: Ignacio Aronovich

With that, Nascimento would likely have joined the ranks of the invisible dead – another young, poor, black man killed by police officers in São Paulo. Nearly all deaths caused by police in Brazil are registered as “self-defence”, and 99.2% of cases dismissed without charge. Last year 856 people were killed in police operations in the state.

This case, however, would prove slightly different. While most police killings occur in the poorer suburbs or periferia of São Paulo, Nascimento was killed in one of the richest neighbourhoods of the city.

He was particularly well-known to locals in Pinheiros: he was a catador (“picker”) – the name given to the 20,000 people in São Paulo who collect cans, bottles, cardboard and other materials and sell it to recycling companies for a modest price. Most of these men and women live extremely precarious lives; almost half sleep rough.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Protest leader … Graffiti artist Thiago Mundano at work. Photograph: Pimp My Carroça

Residents saw Nascimento daily on his rounds and speak of him as frank, friendly and hard-working. Outraged at his death, they took to the streets in protest; the Brazilian media jumped on the story.

One of the protest leaders was Thiago Mundano, a graffiti artist who has spent the last 10 years painting the catadores’ stories on their carts (carroças), a project he calls Pimp My Carroça (after the American TV show Pimp My Ride).

“Catadores tend to be seen as vagabonds and drug addicts,” Mundano says. “People turn their heads when they see one coming. Graffiti is a marginalised art, and catadores are a marginalised people. We met on the margins.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘My car does not pollute!’ … A carroça painted by Thiago Mundano. Photograph: Mundano

Indeed, catadores have held a curious position in Paulista society for decades. They collect 90% of the municipality’s recycling and work long days, hauling heavy carts full of material, but they are not municipal employees, and sell directly to private scrapyards.



Graffiti is a marginalised art, and catadores are a marginalised people. We met on the margins Thiago Mundano

Duacir Francisco da Silva, 52, commutes to Pinheiros from the north of the city every day. He earns between £5 and £12 a day; some days it doesn’t cover his bus fare. “Our mayor is shutting down scrapyards across the city, and one day nothing will be left,” he says. “What I want to see is the government investing in the work we do so that we can earn a decent living.”

The administration of mayor João Doria has done little to recognise the function of the catadores or to provide them with equipment and space to operate effectively. The mayor’s office said it aims to reduce solid waste shipped to landfills and the expansion of selective waste collection by 127%; but as it currently collects less than 2% of the city’s recycling, according to the Institute of Research and Applied Economics (IPEA), that target doesn’t mean much.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Miniature carroças sold in a crowdfunding campaign for a monument to catadores. Photograph: Paula Sacchetta

“Doria hasn’t used the word recycling in his life,” Mundano says. “He’s obsessed with ‘cleaning up’ the city – but to him, homeless people and catadores are the rubbish that needs to be cleaned away.”

“A lot of city governments treat catadores as a problem that needs to be dealt with by the police, through repressive measures, confiscating their work tools or restricting their ability to move around the city,” says Davi Amorim of the National Movement of Catadores. “Maybe Ricardo’s death will be a great watershed, changing the way catadores are perceived and treated in this city.”



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The day after Nascimento’s death, protesters painted his cart white and installed it on the spot where he died. They marched waving placards: “Murder”, “They killed our brother”, “It’s catadores that make this city beautiful”. Towards the end of the march, the demonstrators lay down on the asphalt, in homage to his fate.



Seven days later, a celebratory mass was held in Nascimento’s name at the Catedral da Sé, the most important church in São Paulo. It was the first time that a mass of that proportion had ever been held in the name of a homeless black man.

Pimp My Carroça has since worked with the NGO Minha Sampa to crowdfund £5,000 for a monument to catadores, to be constructed next year in the main square in Pinheiros; Mundano hopes this will help advance a bill soon to be voted on in congress, formalising the work of catadores by making them city employees with full benefits.

“This is not a memorial to Ricardo’s death,” says Mundano of the monument. “It’s a homage to the invisible heroes who work so hard for the city and have never had their work recognised.”

Guardian Cities is in São Paulo for a special series of in-depth reporting and live events. Share your experiences of the city in the comments below, on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram using #GuardianSaoPaulo, or by email to saopaulo.week@theguardian.com