The Untouchable: How Alexandre de Moraes and the System Shield Themselves While Targeting the Right
By Hotspotnews
In Brazil today, one man stands above the law, the Constitution, and the will of half the population. Alexandre de Moraes, the bald-headed minister of the Supreme Federal Court, has turned the highest court in the land into a personal fortress. From his chambers he issues orders that silence critics, freeze bank accounts, ban social media accounts, and place political opponents under house arrest. And when the people or their elected representatives dare to push back, the system closes ranks around him.
Moraes is not merely a judge. He has become the central enforcer of a new political order—one that treats conservative voices, Bolsonaro supporters, and anyone who questions the 2022 election or the January 8 events as enemies of the state. The more the right complains, the harder he strikes. Critics call it revenge. Supporters call it “defending democracy.” The difference is that only one side faces the full force of the state.
Look at who protects him. It is not the street. Public opinion is split almost down the middle: roughly half the country views him negatively. The real protection comes from the system itself. Fellow justices, key congressional leaders, and the current government form a quiet alliance that keeps him untouchable. Impeachment requests pile up in the Senate. They go nowhere.
The gatekeeper is Senate President Davi Alcolumbre. This is the same Alcolumbre who dines privately with Moraes, hosts or attends closed-door meetings, and has repeatedly refused to put any impeachment process against the minister on the agenda. Recent reports of dinners at Moraes’s own residence—sometimes with Lula present—only confirm what many already suspected: power in Brasília is still decided in secret rooms, far from the cameras and the public. Alcolumbre calls some of these encounters “secret.” That word should alarm every Brazilian who still believes in republican transparency.
This is not neutral institutional cooperation. It is mutual protection. Moraes needs the Senate president to block accountability. Alcolumbre, a classic Centrão operator, benefits from the stability and leverage that relationship provides. Ordinary conservatives, meanwhile, watch as their leaders are investigated, their speech restricted, and their political future constrained by a single unelected minister.
The pattern is clear. When the right organizes, Moraes acts. When the left celebrates him as “Xandão,” the savior of democracy, the system applauds. When polls show nearly half the country wants him removed or views his methods as political persecution, nothing happens. The machinery of the state—court, Congress leadership, and executive—closes around its own.
Brazil did not invent judicial overreach, but under Moraes it has perfected a particularly Brazilian version: legal forms used for political ends, protected by institutional loyalty and private deals. The Constitution is cited selectively. Due process becomes optional when the target is on the right. And the man who decides who may speak and who may not remains beyond the reach of the people he rules.
A healthy republic requires judges who apply the law equally and politicians who answer to voters. What Brazil has instead is a powerful minister insulated by the very system that should check him, while half the country is told their concerns are threats to democracy. That is not stability. It is the quiet consolidation of power. And as long as the secret meetings continue and the Senate calendar stays locked, the imbalance will only grow.