Portugal’s Carnation Revolution: a legacy to protect
The Guardian
Lisbon: Twentieth-century military coups tended to be accompanied by murder, torture and brutal repression, rather than flowers and gentle folk songs. As in Chile, for example, where the democratically elected government of Salvador Allende was violently overthrown in September 1973. Portugal’s Carnation Revolution, which took place the following spring, was a glorious exception to this dismal rule.
The playing of a popular ballad on a radio station was the arranged signal for dissidents in the armed forces to bring an end to Europe’s longest-lasting dictatorship. After an almost bloodless transition, a military junta promptly moved to abandon unpopular colonial wars in Africa, and pave the way for democracy at home. Red carnations found their way into the muzzles of rifles amid euphoria on the streets.
Fifty years on, revolutionary anthems will be sung again on 25 April at anniversary celebrations. But a shadow will be cast over proceedings by last month’s elections, which saw the far-right Chega party quadruple its number of parliamentarians. For decades, it was assumed that the grim experience of dictatorship had inoculated Portuguese politics against the authoritarian right. But as elsewhere in Europe, the reach of modern far-right populism is no longer being constrained by dark memories of the past.
Chega (which means Enough) was founded in 2019 and is led by André Ventura, a former football commentator. The party has become the third-biggest force in Portuguese politics by focusing on high-level corruption scandals, and targeting welfare recipients, immigrants and minorities such as the country’s Roma community. In last month’s vote, combined support for the traditional centre-left and centre-right dropped to its lowest level since the 1980s.
Portugal’s new prime minister, Luís Montenegro – whose Social Democratic party finished a whisker ahead of the Socialist party – has, to his credit, stuck to pre-election promises and refused to forge a coalition with Chega. Last week, Mr Montenegro formed a minority centre-right administration instead. He has accurately described Mr Ventura as “often xenophobic, racist, populist and excessively demagogic”. But while such clarity and moral consistency is admirable, minority governments in Portugal rarely last long.
The picture is a depressingly familiar one. Mainstream parties are grappling with a startup nativist movement that is successfully exploiting discontent with stagnating living standards. In Portugal, the sense of economic resentment has been deepened by an acute housing crisis, partly triggered by an influx of comfortably off expats attracted by tax concessions. Multiple corruption scandals have also played into Mr Ventura’s hands.
Important anniversaries inevitably serve as occasions for state-of-the-nation-style reflection. Ten years ago, former military personnel boycotted parliamentary celebrations of the 1974 revolution in protest at crushing austerity measures following the 2008 crash. This time round, the “values of April” are being challenged by the first extreme political force to get a proper foothold since the end of the dictatorship. Ominously, Mr Ventura has said he would like to introduce a more presidential system and slash the number of MPs. Fifty years after red carnations became the symbol of progressive hope in Portugal, the rights of minorities and the value of a plural, tolerant democracy need asserting and defending once again.
