| RIO DE JANEIRO
RIO DE JANEIRO Oct 20 Investors who bet on Eike
Batista have lost billions over the past year as the Brazilian's
ephemeral business empire imploded.
But they haven't been the only losers - the onetime Amazon
gold trader and former speedboat racer's hometown of Rio de
Janeiro has also been shaken by his rapid decline.
Beginning in 2006, Batista floated a series of mining,
energy and shipping companies through share offers that by 2012
made him the world's seventh richest man, valued by Forbes
magazine at $30 billion. All the companies' names, including
that of his EBX conglomerate, ended in X, a letter he said
symbolized the multiplication of wealth.
With the same verve he used to woo investors, Batista also
became the biggest booster of a hoped-for revival in Rio, the
verdant, seaside metropolis whose glorious past as Brazil's
capital and cultural center had in recent decades given way to
crime, violence and the unfettered sprawl of slums.
At his peak, Eike, as the 56-year-old is known locally,
bankrolled the campaign that lured the 2016 Olympics to Rio. He
paid for police vehicles in poor neighborhoods and partially
decontaminated a popular local lagoon.
He bought a landmark waterfront hotel and nearby marina and
vowed to make natives of rival São Paulo, the country's business
capital, "die with envy." Along with some progress by local
officials against crime, litter and other urban blight,
Batista's efforts helped fuel a sense that a rebound was indeed
underway, at least in wealthier parts of town.
"I don't know where we would be without him," says Rosa
Celia Barbosa, a Rio cardiologist who received a 30 million real
($13.9 million) donation from Batista in 2011 for a charity
hospital for children. After struggling for more than a decade
with funding, she finally had enough to pay for final
construction and equipment costs.
But now, as creditors pick over what's left of Batista's
holdings, his dream for Rio is all but bankrupt.
His star is burning out just as the city readies for the
Olympics and next year's World Cup soccer tournament, two events
he hoped would showcase his role as Rio's self-styled
"People here believed in this patron, this tycoon who would
finance a transformation that not even the government could,"
says Fernando Gabeira, a former national Congressman and mayoral
and gubernatorial candidate. "He meant well, but reality took
Batista, through a spokeswoman, declined to comment on his
derailed Rio plans.
It's too early to say what the ultimate economic toll of
Batista's downfall might be on Rio's economy.
As headquarters for a group that attracted tens of billions
of reais through stock offerings and credit, there is the
unknown cost of what might have been had his vision worked out.
But most of the companies were still new, didn't make money
and didn't represent significant sources of tax revenue.
Employees and suppliers still hope that the ventures, some of
them under new ownership, might still prove profitable. And the
investors who lost money were not concentrated in Rio.
Some of the impact, though, is already apparent in a city
where his can-do spirit, while it worked, manifested itself all
The logos of Batista's various companies, once emblazoned
everywhere from beachside volleyball nets to scaffoldings in
Rio's run-down center, have vanished almost as quickly as they
appeared. And gone with them is the largesse.
Consider the 351 vehicles he donated to police forces now
deployed in Rio's favelas, notorious shantytowns long dominated
by drug gangs. The pickups, vans and motorcycles were part of a
multi-year partnership Batista struck with the state government
to contribute 20 million reais annually, starting in 2010, to an
ongoing effort to "pacify" the slums.
In August, though, he pulled the plug on the partnership.
Now, many of the vehicles sit unused and in disrepair
because the state had not included them in an insurance contract
that covers the rest of its fleet. A September report by Extra,
a Rio newspaper, revealed that some police officers, many of
whom are paid little more than the minimum wage, have been
footing the bills for repairs.
A spokesman for the state government said it is working to
remedy the problem and that the donation, while welcome, was a
small part of a total budget of more than 3 billion reais for
the "pacification units," as the slum patrols are known. As
such, the spokesman added, no crime or other security
consequences are expected because of the ruptured agreement.
During his ascent, Batista eagerly cast himself as Rio's
sugar daddy - employer to thousands, but also the visionary who
could reverse a half-century of decline during which Brazil
moved its capital to Brasília and São Paulo eclipsed it as an
industrial and financial hub.
His local efforts began in 2008, when he started a project,
in conjunction with the city and state governments, to clean up
a briny lagoon nestled between some of Rio's best-known
neighborhoods. Despite years of pollution, the lagoon remained a
popular destination for boaters and joggers.
Batista pledged 28 million reais to dredge it, insulate it
from sewerage and other pollutants and study proposals to
augment the natural flow of seawater into the lagoon, necessary
for a sustainable balance of nutrients. When finished, Batista
boasted, Rio would see him swimming there.
That same year, Batista paid a reported 80 million reais for
the Hotel Gloria, an aging landmark that once hosted presidents
and foreign dignitaries in an opulent, city-block sized palace
on a bend in the Rio shoreline. He would invest another 80
million reais, Batista said, and restore the grandeur of a
neighborhood by then better known for transvestite prostitutes.
In 2009, he won a concession to manage and modernize a
nearby marina, a circular harbor a stone's throw from the art
deco skyscraper where he would soon be moving his headquarters.
Batista said he would connect the marina and hotel with an
ambitious shopping, entertainment and conference complex.
Meanwhile, he kept cutting checks for charity and other
causes. He sponsored a volleyball team. He donated funds for a
project that would re-plant Atlantic rainforest, the native
woodland, in southeastern Brazil.
Skeptics questioned the motives for Batista's generosity,
especially because at times it extended to politicians and
government leaders charged with regulating some of his
businesses - from the local marina, licensed by the city, to a
massive port complex he was building north of Rio, where the
state government has authority.
In 2009, for instance, he lent a private jet to Rio's
governor and mayor so they could attend an Olympic event in
Copenhagen as part of their bid for the 2016 games. Batista had
already provided 23 million reais in funding for the campaign -
more than any other company or private individual.
Batista, the governor and the mayor all repeatedly dismissed
suggestions of any conflict of interest in comments at the time.
The donations were to the Olympic campaign and not to the
politicians, and was permitted under Brazilian law.
By 2010, some of his Rio plans, much like his oil and port
projects, began suffering setbacks - from licensing delays to
Refurbishment at the Hotel Gloria, originally scheduled to
be completed by 2011, was repeatedly, and for undisclosed
reasons, postponed until after the World Cup. Some marina users
began pushing back against the plan to turn the harbor into
something other than a boating facility.
"It was not a marina project," says Alexandre Antunes, a
fishing boat captain who opposed the proposal.
Last year, when investors en masse lost faith in his ability
to deliver profits, Batista's business and other interests were
so entwined that they all began crumbling together.
The hotel, now for sale, remains an empty shell behind
scaffolds and sooty canvases. Instead of revitalizing commerce
on the decrepit streets around it, the abandoned job site draws
homeless people and pigeons.
"We were supposed to be busy with cab drivers and hotel
guests by now," says Manuel Gonçalves, a bar owner one block
away. Instead, "it's just a few old locals."
At the marina, manager Ricardo Passos says he's getting
ready to pack up as soon as Batista sells the concession. "I
don't know when, but we are on the way out," Passos says.
The lagoon, meanwhile, looks much like it did before the
dredging. Almost no one, Batista included, regularly swims
"I catch even fewer fish than I used to," says Walter
Marins, a 66-year-old who is one of about 30 fishermen
authorized to catch snook, shrimp, crabs and other marine life
there. The dredging, he says, disturbed the habitat.
A full cleanup would require building underground ducts that
could ferry more seawater into the lagoon. Though Batista
himself never promised to pay for their construction, he did
finance a study that proposed the ducts to the local government
and his once-contagious boosterism was expected to help it
"It's a shame he hit hard times," says Paulo Rosman, an
engineer at the Federal University of Rio de Janeiro who
authored the study and says local authorities have been slow to
act on it. "It won't be long before the lagoon is dirty again."