A majority of justices on a five-member panel of Brazil’s Supreme Court on Thursday found former President Jair Bolsonaro and seven associates guilty of plotting a coup, sentencing Bolsonaro to 27 years in prison. The defendants were convicted of five charges, including armed criminal conspiracy and attempting to abolish the democratic rule of law by violent means.

Bolsonaro tried to cling to office after losing his 2022 reelection bid. He sought to undermine public trust in the electoral system and developed of a detailed strategy to stay in power. Prosecutors argued that his plot included plans to assassinate the election’s victor, President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. Bolsonaro supporters also violently stormed government buildings in Brasília on Jan. 8, 2023.

The historic weight of Bolsonaro’s conviction cannot be overstated. Throughout Brazilian history, coup-plotters—successful or not—have almost never been punished. Those who failed—such as in 1831, 1842, 1932, 1935, and 1955—were usually pardoned or quickly reintegrated into politics. Those who succeeded—in 1889, 1930, 1937, and 1964—consolidated power and often governed for years without consequence.

Brazil has now accomplished something radically different: holding an ex-president accountable in court for an attempted disruption of constitutional order. When justifying his vote to convict the former president on Tuesday, Supreme Court Justice Alexandre de Moraes—the most prominent figure in the trial and another intended target of the alleged assassination plot—said that he hopes Bolsonaro’s case creates a precedent that deters future leaders from such adventurism.

This should be welcome news for Brazilian democracy, but the story is far from over. Bolsonaro’s conviction raises major domestic and foreign-policy challenges for the country.

On the foreign-policy front, the United States looks set to continue its retaliation campaign against Brazil. Immediately after Bolsonaro’s conviction, U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio criticized the “political persecutions by sanctioned human rights abuser Alexandre de Moraes” and announced that the United States would “respond accordingly to this witch hunt,” without giving specifics.

U.S. President Donald Trump considers Bolsonaro to be a close political ally and has already meted out punishments against the country for its treatment of the former leader. Two months ago, Trump imposed steep tariffs on Brazilian goods; canceled visas for most of Brazil’s Supreme Court justices, including Moraes; and invoked the Magnitsky Act against officials involved in Bolsonaro’s prosecution. More could follow.

Brazilian institutions may also struggle to adapt to a post-Bolsonaro landscape. The Supreme Court must itself return to institutional normality after years of wielding exceptional powers to protect democracy. And it is unclear whether Bolsonaro’s right-wing allies, many of whom continue to flirt with amnesty bills for the former president, will even accept the panel’s verdict.

Bolsonaro continues to deny wrongdoing; his lawyers have said that they will try to appeal the ruling to the full 11-member Supreme Court.

The bilateral fallout between Brazil and the United States began on July 9, when Trump announced 50 percent tariffs on the country and decried the supposed “witch hunt” against Bolsonaro. While Trump and Rubio have not yet provided details about how they will react to the guilty verdict, Brazil is preparing for further retaliation: Last week, the Brazilian attorney general’s office hired a Washington-based law firm to defend the country against U.S. sanctions.

Trump sees Bolsonaro’s trial not as an independent judiciary enforcing the law, but as Lula and his allies pursuing a political vendetta. In Trump’s eyes, Lula and Moraes, the most prominent figure in the trial, are part of the same unit, regardless of Brazil’s separation of powers—and the fact that Moraes is a former conservative politician who was appointed to the court by a right-wing president. That conflation leaves Lula with little room to negotiate with Trump; the Brazilian president has no authority over judicial proceedings.

Brazil’s best hope for relief lies with U.S. stakeholders outside the White House. Congress, governors of states where trade with Brazil creates jobs—such as Florida, which relies on Brazilian oranges and aircraft components for local industry—and business associations that represent U.S. importers of Brazilian goods, such as the National Coffee Association, have all lobbied against Trump’s tariffs. The United States runs a trade surplus with Brazil but nonetheless relies on Brazilian imports for several products, such as beef, seafood, iron, and steel.

Trump’s measures have already raised prices for U.S. importers of coffee, orange juice, and beef, and will likely continue to do so. But under enough pressure from U.S. industry, the White House could back down on some levies. On Sept. 5, Trump lifted the 10 percent tariff on Brazilian cellulose after complaints from U.S. manufacturers that rely on it to make toilet paper, diapers, and tissues. Brazil supplies nearly 80 percent of imported U.S. demand in this sector.

Still, Trump seems committed to portraying Brazil’s judiciary as authoritarian. Normalized bilateral ties seem unlikely—especially because Brazil’s economy can withstand U.S. tariffs far better than many other countries, such as Colombia, which had little choice but to fall in line with Trump after he pressured the government of President Gustavo Petro to accept deportation flights earlier this year.

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  Inside a courtroom, former Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro, shown from behind, faces off with Brazilian Supreme Federal Court Justice Alexandre de Moraes, who is facing the camera. Moraes is wearing judicial robes and is seated at the center of a tribunal with colleagues on either side. A Brazilian flag and seal are behind Moraes.

  Inside a courtroom, former Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro, shown from behind, faces off with Brazilian Supreme Federal Court Justice Alexandre de Moraes, who is facing the camera. Moraes is wearing judicial robes and is seated at the center of a tribunal with colleagues on either side. A Brazilian flag and seal are behind Moraes.

  Bolsonaro Convicted of Attempting Coup

  The ruling is a watershed moment in Brazilian history—and one that could further upend relations with the United States.

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  U.S. President Donald Trump speaks with reporters alongside Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro at Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, on March 7, 2020.

  U.S. President Donald Trump speaks with reporters alongside Brazilian President Jair Bolsonaro at Mar-a-Lago in Palm Beach, Florida, on March 7, 2020.

  What America Can Learn From an Attempted Assassination in Brazil

  Leaders must push back against the curtailment of political debate in the wake of tragedy.

To build support against U.S. encroachment, Lula has leaned into a narrative of sovereignty and independence from foreign meddling that often resonates in Latin America. At a press conference on July 17, Lula declared that “no gringo will dictate to this president.” His government has even distributed blue baseball caps emblazoned with slogans defending Brazilian autonomy, a tongue-in-cheek nod to Trump’s red “Make America Great Again” gear. This symbolism undercuts Bolsonaro’s claim to represent Brazil’s “true patriots”—and exposes contradictions within his right-wing movement.

Eduardo Bolsonaro, the former president’s son and a Brazilian congressman, now resides in the United States, where he is actively lobbying for higher tariffs on Brazilian goods. At pro-Bolsonaro rallies in Brazil, some flags merge the U.S. stars and stripes (and at times the Israeli flag) with the Brazilian flag—an incongruous image for a movement that claims to defend national sovereignty. On Sunday, Sept. 7, Brazil’s Independence Day, Bolsonaro supporters unfurled a massive American flag, intended as an expression of gratitude to Trump. Lula has been quick to highlight this irony, framing his government as the true champion of Brazilian self-rule.

Brazil’s broader diplomatic response to U.S. pressure has been to diversify its economic relations. Lula’s foreign-policy team is working to deepen ties with the European Union, China, and even Mexico, which some in Brasília view as a potential stopgap for some of the losses from the U.S. market.

But there are clear limits of this strategy: No single market can replace access to the United States, and Brazil’s dependence on U.S. buyers for key exports remains significant.

While economic diversification will not fully compensate for U.S. tariffs, it is widely expected to attenuate their negative impact on Brazil enough for Lula to go into the 2026 presidential elections as a slight favorite. Even if the economy slows more than expected under the weight of U.S. levies, Lula can easily frame the slump as a consequence of foreign intimidation—and position himself as the only leader capable of helping Brazil resist outside coercion. This would turn the election into a referendum of sorts on Brazilian sovereignty.

Brazil’s judiciary deserves credit for pushing the coup case against Bolsonaro forward. Yet some right-wing concerns about courts’ overreach are legitimate.

Over the past three years, the Supreme Court under Moraes has adopted extraordinary measures to combat fake news, such as suspending social media accounts and ordering platforms to censor misinformation. It is incorrect to argue, as Bolsonaro supporters often do, that the Supreme Court extinguished free speech in Brazil. But many of Moraes’s moves did stretch the country’s legal framework, justified as they might have been by the extraordinary threat of democratic collapse.

Today, Brazil’s Supreme Court is the source of intense political polarization. According to a recent poll by Atlas Intel, 51 percent of Brazilians do not trust the Supreme Court. Unsurprisingly, 98 percent of those who voted for Bolsonaro distrust the courts, while 95 percent of Lula voters trust the justices.

Now that Brazilian democracy has survived its most acute stress test, the court must step back. A judiciary that remains in the political spotlight risks undermining its own legitimacy and feeding the narrative of its critics. Brazil’s democracy will be stronger if, after executing Bolsonaro’s punishment, the court can embrace restraint—returning to the institutional modesty that the judiciary is meant to embody. (The Brazilian Congress—which has often failed to proactively combat key challenges associated with democratic erosion, such as the spread of fake news—must urgently step up.)

Brazil’s democracy cannot stabilize if a large portion of its political class continues to regard the judiciary’s rulings as illegitimate. Already, influential conservatives are pushing amnesty bills that would allow Bolsonaro to walk free and run for president next year. Others, aware that such efforts are likely to be declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court, call for “light amnesty,” which would grant Bolsonaro freedom, albeit stripped of political rights. A further group of conservatives has suggested lesser sentences or house arrest. However legally questionable these proposals may be, they signal a refusal to accept judicial accountability.

It is unlikely that mainstream right-wing leaders, including governors and congressional heavyweights, will decide to accept Bolsonaro’s conviction, as too many fear the wrath of the former president’s loyal supporters. As long as the right continues to frame the trial as an act of persecution, Brazil will remain locked in a cycle of destructive polarization. Only once the Brazilian right turns the page—acknowledging Bolsonaro’s crimes while articulating a democratic conservative platform to take on Lula in 2026—can the country can move toward stability.

Bolsonaro’s conviction is a turning point for Brazil. The country has an opportunity to break with a long tradition of impunity for coup-plotters, reaffirm the independence of its judiciary, and resist foreign pressure designed to destabilize its institutions.

But the judicial process has also exposed the fragility of Brazilian democracy. Trump’s retaliation against the country will test Brasília’s resilience to foreign threats. The Supreme Court’s ability to return to institutional sobriety will shape public trust. And the right’s willingness to move on from Bolsonaro will determine whether the country can finally escape its cycle of destructive polarization.

Ultimately, the question is whether Brazil can do two things at once: hold a president accountable at home while resisting intimidation from abroad. It is an open experiment, one that could set a precedent for other democracies confronting authoritarian threats. The stakes are enormous—for Brazil, for Latin America, and for the world.