Former Brazilian President Dilma Rousseff will receive a monthly compensation of R$ 17,562.80—equivalent to approximately 3,200 US dollars—as financial reparation for the political persecution, illegal detentions, and physical and psychological torture she endured during Brazil’s military dictatorship, which lasted from 1964 to 1985.
The measure was published this Tuesday, October 27, in the Official Gazette of the Federal Government (in Portuguese Diario Oficial da União) and follows a final ruling by the Federal Regional Court of the 1st Region (TRF1).
The resolution was issued by Brazil’s Ministry of Human Rights and Citizenship. In addition to the permanent monthly payment, the ministry calculated retroactive payments totaling R$ 6,616,492.19 for the period recognized by the judiciary, with financial effects dating back to October 21, 1997. Any amounts previously received by Rousseff as reparation must be deducted from this total.
The monthly payment was calculated based on the salary scales for professionals at the former Foundation for Economics and Statistics of Rio Grande do Sul (FEE)—a state-linked institution where Rousseff worked as an economist prior to her arrest. The reparation acknowledges the loss of her employment with that foundation as a consequence of political persecution during the military regime.
This month marks 60 years since Brazil's military coup ushered in 21 years of US-backed, authoritarian dictatorship. This weekend people came out to protest the amnesty law which protects military torturers & murderers from prosecution. My story @telesurenglish#23MSemAnistiapic.twitter.com/cxISd0tpQi
The judicial decision, issued in December 2025, mandated that the former president receive a permanent, ongoing monthly allowance, based on the remuneration for the position she held before her arrest. This new resolution replaces a previous measure from August 2025, which had established a one-time compensation payment of R$ 100,000.
Dilma Rousseff was detained in 1970, at the age of 22, for her involvement in a resistance organization against the Brazilian military dictatorship. During her captivity, she was subjected to physical and psychological torture and spent nearly three years in prison. The judicial system acknowledged that she had been persecuted and prevented from working from the day of her arrest until October 21, 1997.
The former president was a member of the Armed Revolutionary Vanguard Palmares (Vanguardia Armada Revolucionaria Palmares), a group that opposed the military regime. Financial reparation is a measure provided for under Brazilian law for individuals recognized as victims of political persecution during that period.
Rousseff joined the Workers’ Party (PT) in 1999, and four years later, she was appointed as a minister by then-president Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva. In January 2011, Lula handed the presidential sash to her following her electoral victory with 56.01% of the vote, making her the first female president in the history of Brazil.
🇧🇷 Lula wins a fourth presidential term in Brazil!
Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva has secured a fourth term with 51.77% of the valid vote, marking a decisive moment in Brazil’s political landscape.
What does Lula’s victory mean for Brazil’s future and the region? Share your thoughts… pic.twitter.com/eLDPfkeg12
Villa Vie Residences' Odyssey cruise ship set sail from Belfast in September 2024.
PAUL FAITH/AFP via Getty Images
It was meant to be a never-ending residential cruise. Now, operations have halted.
Villa Vie Residences said it can no longer operate due to fuel expenses surging more than 300%.
The cruise line set sail in 2024 with the promise of a live-in, continuous voyage around the world.
A cruise ship selling the promise of a permanent life at sea has come to an abrupt stop.
Villa Vie Residences, which operates the residential cruise ship Villa Vie Odyssey, announced on Tuesday that it had suspended operations in Cambodia amid steep increases in fuel costs.
The company said its monthly fuel expenses per cabin, which had previously averaged about $1,800, had risen as much as 344% in parts of Asia, to an estimated $6,000 to $8,000.
The US-Israeli war with Iran began in February, and Iran's subsequent closure of the Strait of Hormuz — a vital chokepoint for global oil shipments — sent energy prices soaring around the world.
"Since the conflict began in late February, we have taken significant steps to reduce fuel consumption, including slowing the itinerary and spending more time in port," Villa Vie Residences said.
"Those measures have not been enough to offset the extraordinary increase in fuel costs, and we have been unable to continue carrying the resulting operating losses."
Villa Vie Residences sold permanent cabins on its 509-cabin ship, the Odyssey, ranging from $119,999 to $439,999. Its pitch to residents was a never-ending cruise around the world with stops at more than 400 ports of call and a global circumnavigation every three-and-a-half years.
The ship, which has a pool deck, spa, and a pickleball court, also offered five-year residencies, starting at $59,999.
The rising fuel costs put the company's operating model under unsustainable financial pressure, Villa Vie Residences said. The company added that it was evaluating options, but that no financing or transaction had been finalized.
"Passing the full increase on to residents is not a realistic solution," the company said. "Our focus now is on supporting residents, crew, and employees while we work toward restructuring and recapitalization over the next 60 days. That work is ongoing, and no outcome is assured."
The press release said the company was working with residents to coordinate disembarkation in Cambodia and to identify temporary living arrangements for them.
The article examines how editorial disputes, legal restrictions and institutional decisions shape the way Palestinian history, suffering and political expression are presented to the public.
"As far as startup cost, TikTok Shop has to be one of the most profitable business models I've ever seen," he told BI.
Krebs said beginners can get started with a phone, a few products, and an understanding of what makes people stop scrolling. He shares three steps to turn TikTok videos into a source of income.
1. Build an account and meet TikTok Shop's eligibility requirements
Anyone can open a TikTok account, but affiliates need an established following to join TikTok Shop.
TikTok offers multiple routes into its affiliate program, Krebs explained. Its pilot program requires 1,000 followers but limits participants to a handful of posts a week, while the main program, which gives affiliates more flexibility, requires at least 5,000 followers.
Krebs already had about 24,000 followers on a personal account when he got started. He said he built the audience by posting about sports, current events, and other subjects he liked: "I was just posting stuff I was interested in."
2. Start with products you already own or would buy anyway
Krebs said he spent $100 to $200 on a handful of products when he first started. He chose items he needed anyway, like hoodies.
Affiliates can search TikTok's product marketplace for brands and products to promote. Krebs said they don't need a direct relationship with a brand to start making videos, though successful affiliates may eventually negotiate higher commissions or paid content deals.
Krebs posts up to 30 videos a day.
Talon Krebs
For someone trying to keep costs close to zero, Krebs recommends looking around the house first. If an item you already own is listed on TikTok Shop, you can create a video about it rather than buying something new specifically to promote.
He also joined Media Labs, a community for affiliates that offered video feedback and weekly calls. He paid the $1,500 fee in six $250 monthly installments, putting his initial outlay — including products and his first community payment — at about $450.
Skip the community, use products you already own, and film with a phone and free editing tools, and Krebs said you could get started for essentially nothing.
3. Make videos that give people a reason to stop scrolling
A TikTok Shop video still has to work as a TikTok video. Krebs said the opening seconds matter most: The hook should get a viewer's attention, identify a pain point, or create enough curiosity to keep them watching.
In one of his most successful videos about a digital business card, he opens with: "Paper business cards are officially a thing of the past." The statement created some controversy, he said, but it got viewers' attention before he explained the product and how he used it as an entrepreneur.
Krebs tries to keep most videos between 30 and 50 seconds, though he said the right length depends on the product. Some products need more explanation, while others can be shown in a 10-second video.
He thinks of each video as a loop: The hook opens it, the middle explains or demonstrates the product, and the call to action closes it. Affiliates can tag a product directly in the video, allowing viewers to tap the orange shopping-cart icon, view the listing, and ultimately make a purchase.
GPTZero cofounder Edward Tian's last day at the GPTZero office before the team moved to the Superhuman offices.
Courtesy of Edward Tian
Edward Tian co-founded GPTZero in college, building it into a success before selling to Superhuman.
He said he thinks that creating 'artificial scarcity' for the product contributed to its success.
He said he'd major in the humanities, not computer science, if he went to college today.
This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Edward Tian, the 26-year-old cofounder of GPTZero, who's based in New York. His words have been edited for length and clarity.
I was never planning to go down the founder path straight out of college. I had a visual investigations fellowship lined up for after graduation and was ready to start a journalism career.
My cofounder Alex and I went to high school together. When ChatGPT came out, he was pursuing his Ph.D. in computer science at the University of Toronto, and I was in my senior year at Princeton. Over winter break, we built an AI detection tool and put it online. The success was almost overnight.
Three years later, we sold our company, GPTZero, to Superhuman, and have stayed on board to work with the team. Superhuman is a very pro-AI company, and I think it was an unexpected move for us as an AI detection company to join them.
We didn't build GPTZero to say there should be no AI on the internet. I think that's the biggest misunderstanding about why we started our company, but my feelings on AI have changed.
I had a different job lined up for after graduation
I studied computer science at Princeton and worked with a professor at the Princeton Natural Language Processing Lab on AI research. I also worked on a few other startup projects in school, but I was always hoping to work in journalism.
While in college, I became very involved in the open-source investigation community. I ended up working on open-source investigative projects with the BBC and Bellingcat, and had a visual investigations fellowship at The New York Times lined up after graduation, which I was excited about but ultimately didn't take.
After ChatGPT came out, I was inspired to investigate where and when AI was being used online. It took about a week over winter break to build the first version of our AI detection tool, and it was released in January 2023.
We created artificial scarcity to help grow the business
My cofounder Alex and I posted on social media to market the tool so people could try it, but we didn't view it as a business right away. However, it blew up online pretty quickly. After seeing the success, we wanted to double down on the opportunity and turn it into a legitimate site.
One piece of advice I have for founders is that using a waitlist is really helpful for generating hype and excitement. We put the first version of GPTZero on a waitlist because it had reached capacity. So I think that artificial scarcity was also very helpful in the success.
We had a lucky combination of very talented engineers and some traction and buzz, so we started reaching out to VCs. Many of our early VC partners went to my alma mater, and kind of all knew each other. Jack Altman is also an investor, and I remember we had a call where I was in my dorm room, and he was like, "Oh, I recognize that dorm room too."
For founders raising funding for the first time, my advice is not to optimize for the flashiest name or the biggest brand because you think it will attract future talent. Go for where there's familiarity and trust; trust is the most important thing when working with an investor.
We raised around $3.5 million in our first funding round. I stayed at Princeton to finish my senior year and graduate, and we kept growing the business. My cofounder Alex left his Ph.D. program to focus on the business.
It was bittersweet to sell the company
When Shishir, the new CEO of Superhuman, joined in 2025, we spoke with him about his broader platform vision for a suite of products. He thought we could be part of the authenticity suite he wanted to create.
It was bittersweet to think about giving up something that we started from scratch and put so much energy and care into. At the same time, it was a lot easier because the team stayed on. I'm now a director of product at Superhuman.
For company acquisitions, a lot of folks think the three most important things for a great fit are product match, people fit, and economic sense. We had similar people philosophies, and the deal made sense financially. Then, product-wise, we realized we're definitely not against AI use anywhere in education. We just want to make sure there's some authenticity and truth with that usage.
Over the next few years, we're going to take our shot at building a startup within a larger company. I've seen a lot of startup founders go to larger companies and start their moonshots from within.
The bigger mission we have is to take steps to ensure people are being respectful of the person who's on the receiving end of AI generations and productivity now. We want it to be that we're reaping the benefits of AI without making other people deal with more work.
I wouldn't major in computer science anymore
When we first started GPTZero, I think I was actually more pro-AI than I am now. I believe people should know when something is AI-generated, but I wasn't saying not to outsource anything at all.
In the past year, though, I've started to see an over-reliance on AI among people who finished university after ChatGPT was launched, especially with writing. If I went back to college right now, I wouldn't major in computer science. I'd probably major in journalism and get a minor in computer science. I'd get a humanities degree because those are the important skills now.
I've started to see a friction point at work when people can't write or edit, and everything they send reads like AI. Part of what I'm doing now at Superhuman is working on responsible AI usage policies and guidance.
People are allowed to use these tools however they see fit. At the same time, I feel a profound sadness for the internet at large.It's important to make sure we still have human-written content online.
Do you have a story to share about working on a tiny team? If so, please reach out to the reporter ataapplegate@businessinsider.com.
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