The Bloco That Refused to Bow: Cacique de Ramos, Where the Drum Never Dies

In the dusty streets of Rio de Janeiro’s North Zone, a movement once rose on the back of drums, sweat, and radical joy. That movement was called Cacique de Ramos, and at its heart stood a man whose laugh could quiet chaos and whose rhythm could move generations: Bira Presidente.

On June 14, 2025, Ubirajara Félix do Nascimento — Bira Presidente — passed away at the age of 88 in Rio de Janeiro. Hospitalized with prostate cancer and living with Alzheimer’s, he left the world quietly, but his cultural legacy will echo across Brazil for decades to come. The samba community, the pagode faithful, and every street that has ever danced to a tamborim mourns his loss.

A Sonic Quilombo in Ramos

Cacique de Ramos was born in 1961, not as an institution but as a communal dream. A carnival bloco formed by young men in the working-class neighborhood of Ramos, it quickly transformed into one of the most important cultural collectives of the Brazilian periphery.

What made Cacique different wasn’t just the music — it was the philosophy. Wearing elaborate Indigenous-inspired costumes and marching outside the logic of competition, they carved out a space for joy as resistance. By invoking Indigenous imagery and Afro-Brazilian rhythms, they created a visual and sonic language that reclaimed erased identities and questioned Brazil’s sanitized narratives.

Cacique de Ramos wasn’t just a bloco. It was — and still is — a sonic quilombo, a living archive of struggle and celebration.

Bira Presidente: The Cacique Himself

Described affectionately as “the Cacique himself,” Bira was not merely a figurehead — he was the soul of the movement. From 1961 until his final days, he presided over Cacique de Ramos, guiding it with patience, charisma, and an unshakable belief in the power of community.

In the late 1970s, Bira’s musical gatherings at the Cacique headquarters became legendary. They birthed the iconic samba group Fundo de Quintal, whose experimental use of instruments like the tantã, repique de mão, and banjo revolutionized traditional samba.

With songs like “A Amizade,” “O Show Tem Que Continuar,” and “Do Fundo do Nosso Quintal,” Bira didn’t just leave a musical legacy — he redefined the sound of Brazil’s streets, and opened the door for countless others to do the same.

The Street as Stage, the Parade as Protest

Every year, as Rio’s pre-carnival season begins, Cacique de Ramos marches not for judges, not for trophies, but for memory. Their processions down Avenida Rio Branco are not performances — they are acts of remembrance, an assertion that culture belongs to those who live it.

While other samba institutions became enmeshed in the politics of the Sambadrome, Cacique stayed rooted in the street. And in doing so, it held onto something purer: a sense of collective authorship, where rhythm, not hierarchy, leads.

A Legacy Without Expiry Date

Even after his passing, Bira Presidente’s influence reverberates through samba, funk, hip hop, and the new peripheric poetics of Brazil. Cacique de Ramos remains a living place — a school without walls, where elders, children, and outsiders all find a role in the rhythm.

To this day, its headquarters on Rua Uranos welcomes anyone who wishes to enter the roda. There's no barrier to entry — only the willingness to listen and be transformed.

Epilogue: The Drumbeat Continues

Bira Presidente may have left the stage, but his music — his way of being — does not fade. He taught Brazil that dignity can be sung, that memory can be danced, and that samba is not entertainment — it is resistance.

And so, the Cacique drums will keep beating — for Bira, for the people of Ramos, for every corner of Brazil that knows what it means to be heard through rhythm.

The show must go on. O show tem que continuar.