Brazilian jiu-jitsu had one of those moments where the sport's internal machinery finally breaks down in public. Melqui Galvão was arrested on April 28, and by the next day, both the IBJJF and CBJJ had issued permanent bans. But what happened in the immediate aftermath was worth paying attention to: Brenda Larissa, a BJJ world champion from Manaus, sat down and released a video statement describing what she says was more than a decade of sexual abuse at the hands of that same coach. She became the second named world champion to formally go on record in this case.

This wasn't a white belt who trained for six months and quit. Not someone on the periphery of a gym. Two world champions. Both from the same coach. Both pointing at the same person. The specificity of that fact mattered.

When Larissa released her statement in late May 2026, nearly a month after the arrest, she didn't hold back. "I want to tell you that these past 14 years have been filled with great fear," she said in the video, which was covered by BJJ media outlets across Brazil and internationally. She detailed how Galvão had found her through youth competitions when she was still young, recruiting her with promises of competitive opportunity and financial support for her family. He positioned himself as a father figure. The dynamic was crafted with care: he made clear what obedience looked like, what compliance meant. "I paid in the worst way possible," she said. "He abused me."

Photo: Photo via IBJJF / FloGrappling
Photo via IBJJF / FloGrappling

Then Larissa did something remarkable. She got on the mat and competed anyway.

This is the part that separates Larissa's account from a typical abuse narrative in any other industry. She didn't just survive the alleged abuse in silence. She trained under Galvão. She traveled internationally for competitions. She won titles. While allegedly being victimized by the same person who was standing in her corner, taking credit for her wins. He taught her. She won. He collected the acclaim. For fourteen years, this was her routine.

According to Larissa's account, which has been corroborated by the arrest, multiple accusers, and an audio recording that surfaced later, Galvão allegedly instructed her to date another gym member specifically to conceal the situation from his wife. This wasn't a power dynamic that evolved into something unhealthy over time. If her account holds — and the evidence available suggests it does — this was deliberate, calculated control, built and maintained over years with specific tactics designed to ensure silence and obedience.

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The arrest on April 28, 2026, happened in Manaus under a temporary warrant as Brazilian authorities investigated allegations that included rape of a vulnerable person, sexual harassment, threats, and attempted bribery. Prosecutors alleged Galvão faced over 15 years in prison if convicted on the charges under investigation. Multiple alleged victims were identified across several Brazilian states during the inquiry. An audio recording surfaced in which Galvão allegedly admitted to inappropriate conduct and then, crucially, offered a victim's father a series of inducements in exchange for silence: a black belt promotion, a gym partnership, and a jiu-jitsu school in Orlando, Florida.

Think about what that bribe was made of. A black belt. A partnership. Real estate in one of America's jiu-jitsu hubs. The bribe was denominated entirely in the sport's own currency — rank, business opportunity, geographic expansion. That tells you something about how he understood the institution he operated inside. He knew what the jiu-jitsu world cared about. He knew what would persuade people within that world. He was making an offer in a language that only made sense to someone inside the sport.

The IBJJF and CBJJ issued their joint permanent ban the day after the arrest, April 29. Their statement called his conduct a violation of "the most fundamental ethical principles" of jiu-jitsu. It was a formality at that point, but it was necessary. His son, Mica Galvão, a two-time ADCC champion, left BJJ College and started a new team, issuing a statement saying he repudiates all forms of harassment and violence against women and children. ADCC world champion Diogo Reis, known as "Baby Shark," departed the academy as well. By late May, everyone from that gym who had any profile or mobility was trying to get out from under the name. The association had become toxic, and people understood it immediately.

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After Larissa finally moved away and cut ties in August 2023 — almost three years before the arrest — the contact didn't stop. Galvão sent her a childhood photo. The message that accompanied it read: "I'm sorry for my past mistakes. I'm sorry I wasn't the father you should have had."

She said it triggered a panic attack.

The "father figure" framing runs through this entire case like a thread connecting every account. You recruit the kid young, before they have much judgment or support system. You promise the family financial security and competitive opportunity. You tie your approval to their future in the sport, making it clear that disappointing you has consequences. In a martial art where the instructor's authority is treated as close to absolute and the oversight is almost entirely informal and peer-based, that kind of hold is extraordinarily hard to break. Especially when the person on the receiving end is twelve years old and the man with institutional power over her is telling her this is what love looks like.

Larissa said after releasing her statement that she wants other victims to come forward and described opening channels for people to report their own experiences. Her sister also filed a formal complaint as an alleged victim. By early June 2026, the investigation was ongoing, with Brazilian authorities and the jiu-jitsu organizations both involved in some capacity.

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Melqui Galvão's gym produced world champions. That's what the sport knew him for, and it's what would have been written in the historical record if none of this had come out. It's technically still true — the academy did produce world-level competitors. Mica Galvão is a two-time ADCC champion. Other athletes from the team reached high levels of competition.

But "world champions" is a more complicated phrase now. Because the women who won those titles are also the women describing what the cost of winning them actually was. The scoreboard results don't disappear just because the circumstances change. Larissa won those matches. Her achievement is hers. The medals exist. But what's no longer Galvão's to claim is the credit for building her, or the moral authority to sit in her corner, or the right to benefit from her success.

Two named world champions are on record as of June 2026. Larissa's sister is on record. Multiple other alleged victims are working through the legal process in Brazil. And there is an audio recording of the man at the center of all this attempting to make it go away with a black belt, a business partnership, and a gym in Orlando.

Brenda Larissa put fourteen years into a twenty-minute video. She trained, she won matches, she traveled, she built a career, and then she went public and named him anyway. That took the kind of decision-making that jiu-jitsu doesn't teach you on the mat. That's something else entirely.

This post was generated by AI. Sources are linked below. Follow @bjj-problems on YouTube for the weekly video digest.

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