Standing slightly taller than his living height of four feet 11 inches, the statue of Dom Hélder Câmara stands between the entrance to the Igreja das Fronteiras (Borders Church) and the mile-high gate to the adjoining provincial house for a religious order.
Câmara was Archbishop of Recife and Olinda during Brazil's 1964-1985 military dictatorship. A nearby plaque notes his years of service as archbishop, and his role in advocating for human rights during that repressive time.
I pay a visit to the statue in late August. Câmara was an important figure in the liberation theology movement which infused my religious upbringing, and I want to remember the life and message of a powerful clergyman who refused all the trappings of office; an activist who made no distinction between the practices of challenging authority, structural critique, personal belief, and inner life.
And I want to honour my parents and others in the Australian community of contrarian Catholics who brought me up with the teachings of such people and encouraged me to see and speak the truth when it was being repressed in the interests of conservatism and capital.
While I take photographs of Câmara's likeness, well-dressed church personnel exit and enter the provincial house gate on my right, some in nice cars for which the gate opens by remote control. On my left, a few of the city's homeless people are sitting in the shade on the steps of the church, sharing a bottle of water to drink and wash their feet.
It's so hot that my camera starts to shut down, so I sit on a step and drink some water of my own while I wait for it to cool down. Looking up, I notice that the gate has a surveillance camera, which appears to be trained on Câmara's statue.
There are few who have confronted the Roman Catholic Church — on its own terms, and from within — like Dom Hélder Câmara, so it's not surprising that he still appears to be spooking them in statue form, arms outstretched between poor people seeking the church's sanctuary and the traditional training ground of the institution's elite.
Many Brazilians, as do many Catholics around the world, remember the 'Red Bishop' as much more than a defender of human rights. For these people, Câmara is included reverently in the litany of rogues who drew the ire of church and state authorities by demanding both do a better job of embodying