In the vibrant, complex social landscape of Brazil, few voices carry the weight of history and the spark of future possibility as clearly as that of Lúcia Xavier. A 66-year-old social worker and a titan of the grassroots movement, Xavier has spent more than three decades at the intersection of the most pressing human rights battles in South America. As the founder of Criola, an influential NGO based in Rio de Janeiro, she has spent her life dismantling the structures of systemic racism and sexism that have long defined the lives of Black women in the region. Since its inception in 1992, Criola has served as both a sanctuary and a political engine, advocating for a vision of feminism that is inextricably linked to racial justice, healthcare access, housing rights, and the protection of LGBTIQ+ communities.
For Xavier, the struggle is not merely a reaction to oppression, but a proactive pursuit of a better life. She rejects the narrative that Black women’s activism is fueled solely by their trauma. “These women don’t change the world because they suffer,” Xavier explains with the clarity of a veteran organizer. “They change it to create lives filled with more happiness, joy, and opportunities. That wisdom, that legacy, that way of thinking and living is incredibly inspiring.” This philosophy—that joy is a radical act of resistance—serves as the foundation for her work and provides what she describes as an “incredible sense of hope” in the face of daunting systemic challenges.
However, to understand the hope Xavier carries, one must also understand the gravity of the threats she fights against. In Brazil, the intersection of gender and race creates a unique and deadly vulnerability. Xavier identifies the pervasive, state-sanctioned violence against Black communities as the single greatest threat to the advancement of women’s rights. This violence is not an isolated phenomenon; it is a systemic erasure that ripples through generations. “It’s not just the woman who dies,” Xavier notes. “Her children, her family members, and her ability to survive and participate in society are also lost. Sometimes, so many people around her are killed that it feels like an endless war.”
The statistics supporting Xavier’s urgency are staggering. According to the Brazil Public Security Report, the country faces a crisis of police lethality that disproportionately targets its Black citizens. A harrowing 82.7 percent of individuals killed by police forces are Black. Within that demographic, the youth are the most targeted; Black young people between the ages of 12 and 29 account for 71.7 percent of victims. This demographic reality has transformed the nature of Brazilian activism. Over the last twenty years, a powerful movement led by grieving mothers has emerged from the peripheries of São Paulo and Rio de Janeiro. These women, many of whom have lost children to state violence, have become the vanguard of a new human rights movement, demanding not only justice and legal reparations but a fundamental restructuring of the state’s relationship with its marginalized citizens.
Criola has been a steadfast ally to these mothers, recently publishing a comprehensive report that documents the specific impacts of police violence on Black cisgender and transgender women. Xavier emphasizes that these movements are about more than just personal loss; they are a political indictment of the status quo. “These mothers want to expose the violence committed by the State and show that it is intrinsically linked to systemic racism in the country,” she asserts. By framing their grief as a public issue, these women are forcing Brazil to confront the colonial legacies that continue to dictate who is protected by the law and who is targeted by it.
Despite the shadow of violence, Xavier sees a profound transformation occurring in the political landscape. The Black women’s movement in Brazil is no longer relegated to the sidelines of political discourse; it is now recognized as a primary driver of democratic resilience. Xavier views representation not as a cosmetic goal, but as a survival strategy. Over the past several decades, Black women have moved from the grassroots to the halls of power, appearing at public hearings, leading massive street demonstrations, and running for public office in record numbers.
“Black women are powerful political actors, capable of transforming society and reshaping the norms and standards of this country,” Xavier says. She sees this as the culmination of a lifetime of effort. For many of these activists, the transition from victimhood to leadership is a natural progression of their daily survival. Xavier notes that for Black women in Brazil, resistance is a lifelong habit. “All of us have been doing this our entire lives—finding ways to resist. Many of these women say their pain has also driven them toward transforming society.” This transformation is not just about policy; it is about changing the very “standards” of what it means to be a Brazilian citizen.
Xavier’s perspective is informed by a long-term view of international and domestic policy shifts. She points to landmark events like the 1995 Fourth World Conference on Women in Beijing and the 2001 World Conference Against Racism in Durban as pivotal moments that helped the Brazilian feminist movement craft new frameworks for justice. These international dialogues provided the leverage needed to push for domestic changes, such as the historic Maria da Penha Law. Named after a bio-pharmacist who fought for justice after being left paraplegic by her husband’s domestic violence, the law revolutionized the Brazilian legal system by criminalizing domestic abuse and establishing specialized courts.
Yet, Xavier is quick to point out that progress is often uneven. While the Maria da Penha Law and other policy advances have saved countless lives, they have not reached all women with the same efficacy. Black and Indigenous women continue to face the widest disparities in healthcare, legal protection, and economic security. “When it comes to sexual and reproductive rights, we still face serious challenges,” Xavier admits. She also highlights that modern crises—such as the intensification of human trafficking, forced migration, and the precarious nature of sex work—have become more acute in the years following the Beijing Conference. These issues require a renewed, intersectional approach that accounts for the specific ways global economic shifts impact women of color.
As the global community reflects on the 30th anniversary of the Beijing Platform for Action, Xavier is looking toward the next generation to carry the torch. She believes that the future of the feminist and anti-racist movement lies in the hands of young people who are unburdened by the limitations of the past. For Xavier, the role of the youth is to reinvent the world. “Life can be imagined and lived differently; and only young people can do that,” she says. “Only young people can create new expectations and possibilities.”
The legacy of Lúcia Xavier and the women of Criola is one of stubborn optimism and rigorous intellectual work. They have proven that even in the face of systemic “warfare,” the pursuit of happiness and the demand for justice are two sides of the same coin. Her message to the young women stepping into the arena is simple yet profound: “Be brave.” In Xavier’s world, bravery is not just the absence of fear, but the presence of a vision—a vision where every girl and woman, regardless of her race or background, can live a life defined by her own potential rather than by the violence of the state.
