Striking a Balance: An Analysis of Portugal’s European and Lusophone Affiliations and Their Effect on the Evolution of Portuguese National Narratives

by

Sarah Hart Ashby

A dissertation submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Doctor of Philosophy

Department of Portuguese and Brazilian Studies Brown University Providence, Rhode Island

May 2015

© Copyright 2015 by Sarah H. Ashby

This dissertation by Sarah H. Ashby is accepted in its present form by the Department of Portuguese and Brazilian Studies as satisfying the dissertation requirement for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy.

Date ______Dr. Leonor Simas-Almeida, Advisor

Recommended to the Graduate Council

Date ______Dr. Onésimo Teotónio Almeida, Reader

Date ______Dr. Anani Dzidzienyo, Reader

Approved by the Graduate Council

Date ______Dr. Peter Weber, Dean of the Graduate School

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DEDICATION

This dissertation is dedicated to my father, Dr. Jerry W. Ashby, whose early inspiration, unwavering support, and loving encouragement enabled me to follow in his estimable footsteps.

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CURRICULUM VITAE

Sarah Hart Ashby was born in Rota, Spain. She attended primary and secondary schools in Italy, Texas, Spain, Germany, and Portugal before graduating as class valedictorian from Zama High School in Tokyo, Japan.

During her undergraduate degree program at Middlebury College, Sarah majored in International Studies with a minor in Portuguese. At Middlebury College, Sarah was able to pursue her interests in international politics as well as language pedagogy, ultimately editing the College’s Roosevelt Policy Journal and co-writing an ESL textbook. Sarah graduated summa cum laude from Middlebury College in 2010.

In 2011, Sarah entered Brown University’s combined master’s and doctoral program in the Department of Portuguese and Brazilian Studies. She remained at Brown University as a student and teaching assistant until December 2013, at which point she was awarded an in-program Master of Arts and relocated to Albania in order to further a professional interest in international development. Since June of 2014, Sarah has been researching, writing, and living in Lisbon.

After graduation from Brown University with a Doctor of Philosophy degree, Sarah intends to join the American Foreign Service as a Foreign Service Officer.

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PREFACE

This dissertation is submitted for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy at Brown University. The research described herein was conducted between June 2013 and May 2015 within the ambit of the Department of Portuguese and Brazilian Studies and under the supervision of Dr. Leonor Simas-Almeida, Dr. Onésimo Teotónio Almeida, and Dr. Anani Dzidzienyo.

This dissertation is an original and unpublished intellectual product of the author, Sarah H. Ashby. References to previous work and outside sources can be found throughout the text and in the bibliography.

ACHKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to thank my advisor Dr. Leonor Simas-Almeida for her pivotal role in helping this project come to fruition. I would also like to thank my readers, Dr. Onésimo Teotónio Almeida and Dr. Anani Dzidzienyo, for their commitment to my research and to my growth as a student, a social scientist, and an informed and conscious scholar. Without the endless guidance, enthusiasm, knowledge, and friendship of my dedicated committee, this dissertation would never have been possible.

I would also like to thank the faculty, staff, and students of Brown University’s Department of Portuguese Studies. The scholarly comradery of the Meiklejohn House continues to be a source of strength and inspiration to me.

I am grateful to the Luso-American Development Foundation and to the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs for providing me with the opportunity to mine the riches of the Portuguese diplomatic archives.

Finally, I take this opportunity to express my gratitude to my family for their love, unfailing encouragement, and support.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Dedication ...... iv

Curriculum Vitae ...... v

Preface and Acknowledgements ...... vi

Introduction ...... 1

Chapters:

Chapter I: Life on the European Periphery ...... 28

Chapter II: The Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries ...... 77

Chapter III: Portugal, Europe, and the Lusophone World: Points of Intersection ...... 131

Chapter IV: Portugal, Europe, and the Lusophone World: Points of Diversion ...... 168

Chapter V: Portuguese Discourses of Modernity: Living in the Future, Not the Past ...... 212

Conclusion ...... 264

Bibliography ...... 310

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INTRODUCTION

From a Portuguese perspective, Europe of the 1960s and 70s did not exist in geographic terms, nor could it be found on a map. “Europe” did not refer to the clearly delineated landmass stretching from Lapland to Aegean beaches, from the jagged

Atlantic coast to the broad Eurasian plains of central Russia. Rather, Europe was an idea; a concept; a figurative destination. Europe was epitomized by its enlightened core of

Marshall Plan reindustrialization and progressive social liberalism. Europe was a site of post-war optimism enshrined in the European Community of Steel and Coal, itself a belief that shared resources and free market ideals could bind together former staunch enemies. Europe was a rising middle-class standard of living accompanied by systems of multi-party parliamentary democracy. The anachronistic autocracies of Spain and

Portugal clearly did not fit this model, and so the Iberian Peninsula remained defiantly outside of the European club until the last decades of the 20st century.

Things would soon change, however. The scene would look very different in the middle of Portugal’s so-called European “honeymoon,” that heady decade-and-a-half following Portugal’s 1986 European Community (EC)1 accession when European coffers seemed endless and Portuguese optimism was at an all-time high. Average

1 The European Community would morph into the European Union (EU) in 1992, after the signing of the Treaty of Maastricht. This treaty, among other things, reinforced the EU with a Common Foreign and Security Policy, created the Justice and Home Affairs Department, and paved the way for the adoption of the single currency.

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unemployment rates in Portugal from 1993-2000 were a staggering low of 4.1%, lower than the unemployment rates of Germany, France, Spain, and the U.K., and only half that of the European Union aggregate (Baer and Leite 742). Eurobarometer polls from the late

1990s to the early 2000s show that Portuguese public opinion on the European Union was consistently higher than that of the EU average (Public Opinion: Standard Barometer).

The mainstream opinion in Portugal was that joining the European Community was akin to “joining the best country club in town.” Money was flowing into the country in the form of structural funds, or funds offered by the European Union to modernize

Portuguese infrastructure. Structural funds primarily financed the country’s express highway network, telecommunications system, educational facilities, and investments in new technologies, meaning that results were rapid and tangible (Baer and Leite, 746).

Fresh express highways suddenly stretched from Lisbon up to the northern industrial city of Oporto and back down to the sunny Algarve, and contented citizens cruised these roads in shiny new Renaults purchased on credit. The future looked undeniably positive:

Portugal’s GDP per capita had risen from 53% of the EU average in 1986 to 75% in 2002

(740), and exports of goods and services as a proportion of GDP rose from 23.8% in 1970 to a robust 34.5% in 2000 (741). Average yearly growth rates of GDP in the early half of the 1990s exceeded the EU average at 4.22% (Baer, Dias, and Duarte 346), and easy access to cheap credit combined with low risk of devaluation meant that standards of living rose sharply across classes (351).

Some twenty years earlier, Eduardo Lourenço, Portugal’s twentieth-century

“public intellectual” par excellence, had spoken of Portugal’s inclusion in the European

Community as a belated but inevitable return to the motherland. “After 800 years,”

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Lourenço wrote in This Little Lusitanian House: Essays on Portuguese Culture, “we are

‘here inside’ … in our own house” (“Portugal as Destiny” 65). As the first nation to set sail from the European dock and the last to return, Portugal’s destiny was seen by

Lourenço as firmly intertwined with and indeed inseparable from that of Europe. The centuries of Portuguese isolation from the European continent were, in Lourenço’s eyes, a historical aberration, for Portugal had entered the European milieu “as though we have always been there” (57).

Lourenço’s optimism regarding Portugal’s adhesion to the EC is characteristic of mainstream Portuguese sentiment throughout the decade of the 1990s and into the early twenty-first century. Europe, with its tantalizing free trade deals and seemingly endless supply of structural funds, appeared the perfect elixir for a country still struggling to come to terms with the loss of a 500-year-old empire. For a difficult decade, stretching from the Carnation Revolution and subsequent decolonization of 1974-75 to Portugal’s entrance into the European Community in 1986, Portugal had to acknowledge an enormous loss of territory to become just another small country: a seemingly implausible narrow strip of autonomous land clinging to the side of Spain. But with its entrance into

Europe, Portugal could once again be part of something bigger than itself: a new project, supranational instead of imperial, but aggrandizing all the same.

As synthesized by Sebastián Royo and Christopher Manuel in “Some Lessons from the Fifteenth Anniversary of the Accession of Portugal and Spain to the European

Union,” Portugal’s accession was largely politically symbolic. It was during this period that the country’s nascent democracy was consolidated and a newfound sense of collective security emerged:

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…the democratic ideal… was symbolized in the greater part by Europe… It gave territorial and geographic significance to the uncertain horizons of democracy. It was the real substitute for past glories. It was a home, where there was room for one more. Besides proximity, sympathy and affinity, Europe was security (10- 11).

Integration into the European Union additionally presented a moment of introspection as Portugal forged a new identity as the “good student” of European democracy. Buoyed by encouragement from the United States, itself keen to see Portugal kept out of the reaches of the Soviet Union, Portugal adhered wholeheartedly to the

European project, embracing the creation of a pluralistic and democratic society essential to the European agenda. As explained by Royo and Manuel:

From a cultural standpoint, the effects of [European] integration are also significant. As part of their democratic transitions, both [Spain and Portugal] embarked on new processes of self-discovery. They have attempted to come to terms with their own identities, while addressing issues such as culture, nationality, citizenship, ethnicity, and politics (5).

Portugal, it seemed, was finally on the European train.

Yet somewhere along the way, that train has stalled. The process of European integration has been weakened by fissures appearing in the single market and single currency projects. Now stretched thinly across the European continent and consisting of twenty-eight diverse member states, the European Union is lurching from crisis to crisis, desperately trying to save the embattled Euro currency and restore investor confidence in the European single market. New member states continue to join the union (Croatia

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became the 28th member on July 1, 2013 (“Croatia celebrates”)), putting further pressure on strained coffers and adding reams of legislation to the EU’s already bloated bureaucracy.

To make matters worse, member states in the rich core of the European Union are beginning to balk at talk of an ever-closer union, while some threaten to leave the EU altogether. David Cameron, the Conservative Party Prime Minister of the United

Kingdom, has promised British citizens a referendum on EU membership should his party triumph in the upcoming elections. Switzerland held a historic referendum on

February 9, 2014, in which a narrow majority of Swiss voters voted to invalidate the standing Swiss-EU agreement on freedom of movement. Although the reaction from

Brussels was swift and condemnatory, the vote set a dangerous precedent of European nations being able to opt out of select pieces of European policy (“EU Neighbors Regret

Swiss Vote”).

The Swiss vote evidences, among other trends, a rapid rise in the popularity of far right parties, whose anti-immigrant and xenophobic rhetoric harbors increasing appeal for anxious and jobless Europeans. The European Parliamentary elections held in May of

2014 shocked many when this trend translated into a convincing anti-EU vote in France and Britain, with 27% of British voters electing the right-wing Eurosceptic UK

Independence Party (UKIP) and 25% of French voters casting their vote for the similarly far-right National Front (“EU Election”). A triumphant Nikel Farange, leader of the

UKIP, concluded in his post-election remarks that “up until now European integration always seemed to be inevitable. I think that inevitability ended tonight” (qtd. in Price). At the core of the EU, the Franco-German engine is beginning to sputter and stall, with

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French voters, faced with mounting debt and untenable levels of national current account deficits, demanding a restructuring of the European Union. British support of the EU – a historically critical source of legitimacy – is growing ever-more cautious, as British leaders begin to call for devolution of powers from the European to the national level

(Price).

Perhaps most worrisome of all, however, is the growing north-south divide that is fracturing the European Union. Of the five European countries to require a bailout from the so-called “troika” of the International Monetary Fund (IMF), European Central Bank

(ECB), and European Commission, four were located in southern Europe. As reported by a regular European columnist writing for The Economist journal in 2010:

Today’s north-south divisions are sharper, more populist, and carry greater risks. It is no political mystery why the German chancellor, Angela Merkel, has taken such a hard line on a Greek bail-out and hinted that the worst-behaved countries should face expulsion from the euro. German voters are strongly opposed to paying for Greece to avoid default, and Germany’s constitution also sets legal hurdles to any bail-out that might threaten the euro’s stability (“Charlemagne”).

Portugal in particular suffered a blow in 2004, when ten new states, all of them located in Eastern Europe, were granted entrance to the union. Economic indicators for the newcomers were all lower than the EU average, which meant that structural funds previously earmarked for southern European member states were suddenly diverted east.

The combined GDP of these ten new EU members constituted a mere 5% of the existing

European Union GDP, but their population was equal to 20% of the EU population.

Salaries earned by citizens of these countries came to 40% of the EU average, and it was

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estimated that it would take 56 years for the newcomers to reach economic parity with the rest of the member states (“El difícil ‘puzzle’ de Europa”). In an effort to speed up integration, the EU sent euros immediately flowing east: 1 billion annually for structural reform and 500 million annually earmarked for agricultural modernization (Ahido 105).

Evidently, the honeymoon was just beginning for the ten newcomers, while Portugal had to sit by and watch the changing current. There was a sentiment that the southern

European countries had had their fair share of support, as chronicled by The Economist in

2010:

In Lisbon memories are fresh of how northerners were “surprised” when Spain, Italy and Portugal met entry conditions for the single currency. Antonio Vitorino, a minister at the time, recalls a Dutch colleague frostily saying: “well, now you’ve qualified for the euro, you don’t need cohesion funds [ie, EU regional help] anymore.” (“Charlemagne”)

Northern European ire, stoked by tales of southern fiscal profligacy and less than honest bookkeeping, only grew as debt contagion spread across southern Europe in the wake of the 2008 global financial crisis. The north and the south soon became (and some might argue remain) trapped in a vicious cycle and self-fulfilling prophecy: the more dire the economic scenario in southern European countries, the tighter the ECB drew the purse strings and the more austerity measures were imposed on ailing southern economies, resulting in further investor flight and diminishing growth.

What happens, then, when that new and aggrandizing project that Eduardo

Lourenço spoke so confidently about goes awry? What happens when European inclusion becomes European exclusion and the peripherality of Portugal – now a reluctant member

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of the “Club Med” group, a collection of southern European states also known by the unflattering monikers “PIIGS” and “GIPSI” – is once again emphasized? And perhaps most importantly of all, what happens when the El Dorado for Portugal, that elusive

European membership, fails to be the anticipated panacea for all national ills?

The answer may lie in renewed Portuguese efforts to deepen ties with Lusophone countries spread across the globe, which since 1996 have been organized into a supranational organization called the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries

(CPLP). While Portugal’s marginality in relation to Europe might be emphasized in the corridors of Brussels, within the realm of the CPLP Portugal can once again see itself as existing at the center – geographically and also from a historic-cultural perspective – of an extensive international milieu. This is because the CPLP is a supranational organization, headed by a rotating Executive Secretary, built on the skeleton of Portugal’s former colonial empire. Portuguese colonial heritage in the form of the official adoption of the Portuguese language earns member states a seat at the CPLP negotiating table, resulting in a diverse and rather motley aggregation of eight nations: Angola, Brazil,

Cape Verde, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique, Portugal, São Tomé and Príncipe, and Timor-

Leste. A page on the CPLP website detailing the history of the CPLP refers to the eight members as, “nações irmanadas por uma herança histórica, pelo idioma comum e por uma visão compartilhada do desenvolvimento e da democracia” (“Histórico – Como surgiu?”). [“Nations united by a historical heritage, by a common language, and by a shared vision of development and democracy.”]2

2 All translations in this text are original.

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This project is rooted in the conviction that at any given moment, a nation defines itself in opposition to the outside world – be it a broad conception of the external world or a precise “other”3 – and in opposition to a specific national past and an imagined national future. This national identification based on oppositions created in relation to space and time is essential to the formation of national narratives.4 Peter Goldie in his essay “Narrative Thinking, Emotion, and Planning” probes the presence in our lives of

“narrative thinking,” which Goldie defines as “thinking about our past, and how our lives might have gone differently, and about our plans for the future and how things might turn out” (15). Personal narratives require “seeing ourselves as agents who persist over time,” and a recognition of a degree of continuity between the agent that acts in the past, present, and future: we see our actions as “the action[s] of the same agent … who has acted in the past and (it is to be hoped) will act in the future” (29). Thus it is with national narratives as well: narratives are created that emphasize the agency of a certain nation, and that take for granted a degree of continuity between the actions of that agent in the past, present, and future. This point is important because the research conducted on the

CPLP has been structured around the role that the Community plays in Portugal’s

3 This notion borrows heavily from the theoretical formulations developed by Edward Said in his book Orientalism (1978). Said is the originator of a style of thought, “Orientalism,” which is “based upon the ontological and epistemological distinction between ‘the Orient’ and … ‘the Occident’” (Said 2). Said posits that the Occident has consistently defined itself by placing itself in opposition to the Orient – defined itself, that is, by first declaring what it is not. According to Said, this precise “other” represented by the Orient is habitually simplified and homogenized such that a clear and neat opposition (often accompanied by a perception of superiority) can more easily be established.

4 The term “national narratives” in this dissertation is synonymous with the term “traditions” as used by Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, co-editors of The Invention of Tradition. In their introduction to The Invention of Tradition, titled “Inventing Traditions,” Hobsbawm and Ranger argue that traditions are not always so rooted in antiquity as one might imagine, but rather aim to legitimize the modern nation by creating a thread of continuity between a national past, present, and future. Traditions, thus, validate nations by giving the impression that even the youngest nations are “rooted in remotest antiquity, and the opposite of constructed, namely human communities so ‘natural’ as to require no definition other than self- assertion” (Hobsbawm and Ranger 14).

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national narrative. How does this role dialogue with Portugal’s narrative of the past and of the future? What elements of history must be emphasized or eliminated in the construction of the evolving narrative of lusophonia?

One of the most compelling aspects of this project – what initially sparked attention and intrigue – is the way in which the current period in Portugal’s external relations has a post-historical feeling about it. In other words, European integration was a project with a strong teleological underpinning: reading through communications published during the 1990s about Portugal’s Europeanization is like reading Francis

Fukuyama’s “The End of History?,”5 substituting the words “liberal democracy” for

“European integration.” But what we are seeing now is proof that Portugal’s democratic transition and simultaneous entry into European common institutions did not mark an endpoint in the formation of the country’s national and political identity. This is because the European milieu itself continues to undergo significant alterations that exert pressure on every affiliated nation and because a changing domestic landscape affects the utility that Europe at any specific moment can offer to Portugal. Quite possibly, that utility was at its apex at the precise moment of Community accession. As emphasized by Nicolau

Andresen Leitão’s in the essay “O testemunho português: O passado,” the European

Community conveniently filled the immediate void left by decolonization in the early

1970s: “Se o passado era o ultramar, o futuro nacional passou a ser representado pela

Europa. A Europa permite que Portugal não passe por uma crise de identidade com a perda das colónias” (208). [“If the past was overseas, the national future began to be

5 Fukuyama’s influential essay “The End of History?” was published in 1989 in the American magazine National Interest. Inspired by the anti-communist movements that were sweeping across the former Soviet Union, Fukuyama, a political scientist, posited that ideological battles between the East and the West had resolutely come to an end, with liberal democracy emerging triumphant over communist and socialist ideologies. This triumph of liberal democracy signified, for Fukuyama, the “end of history.”

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represented by Europe. It is Europe which determines that Portugal does not suffer an identity crisis with the loss of its colonies.”]

It is the dialectic between Portugal’s sense of identity6 and belonging in the

European Union and the CPLP – periphery and center – that lies at the very crux of this dissertation’s scholarly inquiries. If the backdrop to the present research is an unstable

European Union identity increasingly splintered along regional and economic fractures, the dependent variable is Portugal’s role, affiliation, and agency in the Community of

Portuguese-Speaking Countries. Is there evidence of a linkage between the two identities, meaning that as one ebbs the other flows, and vice versa? How do the two identities complement – or contradict – one another? This dissertation will additionally explore how Portuguese national narratives have been rewritten to create a continuum between past, present, and future, in light of fluctuating international alliances and relations.

Examples of such national narratives would be discourses of belonging to and exclusion from the Portuguese nation, rhetoric about Portuguese exceptionality versus conformity, and the historic-social relevance of the colonial era. And finally, this dissertation will ask to what extent that elusive ideal of “modernity” for Portuguese intellectuals has been conflated with a European, or a Lusophone, identity.

6 When discussing Portugal’s “sense of identity” in this dissertation, the term “identity” is used in the sense of “collective identity,” or “national identity.” The definition of “national identity” employed here is predicated on the definition put forth by Benedict Anderson in Imagined Communities relating to the identity of a nation: “[the nation] is an imagined political community – and imagined as both inherently limited and sovereign. It is imagined because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, meet them, or even hear of them, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion…” In addition, use of the term “national identity” in this dissertation adheres largely to a moderate constructivist view that identity matters a great deal in international interactions, and that identity – as well as any order imposed on an otherwise anarchic international system – is largely socially constructed. This reasoning largely follows the theories of Alexander Wendt, who offered the following breakdown of his Constructivist structural theory in his seminal essay “Collective Identity Formation and the International State”: “(1) states are the principal units of analysis for international political theory; (2) the key structures in the states system are intersubjective rather than material; and (3) state identities and interests are an important part constructed by these social structures, rather than given exogenously to the system by human nature [as neorealists claim] or domestic politics [as neoliberal favour].”

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These are the primary questions and ideas that will be explored throughout the following five dissertation body chapters. Some questions posed in this text are intended to elicit responses that complicate and contradict conventional notions of post-colonial

Lusophone relations. Other questions posed have no straightforward response but rather serve to engage a lively debate about one nation’s vision of itself and of the outside world

– in a Heideggerian sense, Portugal’s being-in-the-world in relation to supranational organizations. The intention of this dissertation is not to compose a neat story culminating in a satisfactory and predictable conclusion, but rather to lay bare centuries of messy and at times contradictory colonial and post-colonial associations in order to better understand present-day political and social relations.

During the course of the pre-dissertation research, there emerged two gaps in the scholarship hitherto undertaken in the focus area. This dissertation intends to fill these gaps. The first is the need for greater dialogue between academic discussions on

Portugal’s affiliation with the European Union and academic perspectives on Portugal’s affiliation with the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries (CPLP). Scholarship in both areas has been characterized by a restrictive and thus myopic view of the subject, leaving the impression that such international engagement is unique and exclusive.

Significantly enough, this missing link was not evident during interviews conducted recently in the field both with Portuguese scholars of international relations and with

CPLP policy makers. These interviewees candidly discussed the double allegiance

Portugal maintains with Europe and the CPLP in terms of trade, immigration, and diplomacy. There was reference to both the benefits as well as the friction produced on account of these two allegiances and consequences for Portugal’s long-term ability to

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effectively participate in both. The apparent discrepancy between written sources and interview sources signals that the scholarship has yet to reflect present anecdotal evidence on the topic.

It is important to note and underscore the scholarship of two scholars who have begun to fill this aforementioned void. The first is Dr. José Filipe Pinto, whose two recent books Do império colonial à Comunidade dos Países de Língua Portuguesa: continuidades e descontinuidades and Estratégias da ou para a Lusofonia?: O futuro da língua portuguesa indicate an attempt to forge a fluid and descriptive chronology of

Portugal’s fluctuating international relationships. Where this dissertation differs from

Pinto’s work is that there is an expansion of the range and context of research questions beyond the level of formal state-to-state interactions and into the realm of political and social interactions on an associational and personal level. This dissertation will probe, for instance, the discourses and behaviors displayed in Portugal’s relationship with each international body, and how those very same discourses and behaviors are undergoing changes sparked by shifting identities.

The second scholar is Maria Regina Marchueta, author of A CPLP e seu enquadramento. While Marchueta notes the dialectic between Europeanism and

Atlanticism in Portuguese foreign policy, she envisages this dual allegiance as wholly

“complementary,” unproblematic, and stable. Such is a view that this dissertation challenges by calling into question Marchueta’s thesis and exploring the consequences of the sometimes contradictory and problematic nature of the “dual allegiance” for Portugal and for Portugal’s foreign policy conceptualization and execution.

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This dissertation will draw upon two very distinct sets of sources and attempt to establish a logical continuum between the two. The first set is represented by works of nonfiction by authors such Elsa Sertório (2001), Luís Batalha (2004), and Kesha Fikes

(2009); the novel Eva by Germano Almeida (2006); and the theoretical framework laid by Homi K. Bhabha (1990). The first four authors discuss the impact that European accession has had on the social fabric of Portugal and pay special attention to changes occurring in Portuguese discourses of inclusion and exclusion. The second set of sources to be drawn from discusses the social implications of an ever-closer Lusophone union, as explored by José Filipe Pinto (2009), Alfredo Margarido (2000), and Adriano Moreira

(2001). Placing these two groups of authors in dialogue with one another will allow for a better understanding of the fluidity and malleability of national narratives that might be written with the aim of providing coherence – and sometimes even justification – to a nation’s policy priorities and corresponding participation in supranational institutionalized milieus.

This dissertation will fill the second gap in the present scholarship by exploring the dynamics of the CPLP in a way that it has not been expressly explored before: first anchoring the organization within a solid historical foundation based on past Lusophone interactions and then analyzing the functionality and utility of the organization based on specific case studies.

To date, the most extensive corpus of work produced on the history of the CPLP remains official CPLP publications. While informative, such publications isolate the organization from a comprehensive historical chronology, giving the impression that few significant diplomatic interactions between Lusophone nations took place until the

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Lisbon summit in 1996.7 This being said, a few scholars have touched on the pre-history of the CPLP by way of discussions related to the politics of lusophonia (Onésimo

Almeida (2008); Margarido (2000); Moreira 2001; and J. Pinto (2004; 2009)). This dissertation’s research will build on these scholars’ work, illuminating the past negotiations and interactions that paved the way for the CPLP by establishing a tradition of dialogue and discourse between member states.

The literature on the triangle of informal exchanges and interfaces between

Portugal, Brazil, and Africa in the years preceding and following Portuguese decolonization is more extensive, comprising sources such as José Barroso (1990; 1995);

Batalha (2004); E.B. Burns (1967); Jerry Dávila (2010); Jaime Gama (1985; 2001; 2002);

Ana Paula Horta and Jorge Malheiros (2004); Sheila Khan (2006); Nicolau Leitão

(2007); Kenneth Maxwell (1997); Filipe Meneses (2010); António Pinto and Nuno

Teixeira (2002); Margarida Ribeiro (1970); José Honório Rodrigues (1964); Gerhard

Seibert (2011); and Thomas Skidmore (1967; 1988). This dissertation will contribute to the work already done in this area by synthesizing information collected about those historic precedents and patterns of interactions in the Lusophone world which shed light upon the present-day CPLP, especially power dynamics therein.

Finally, it bears noting that the CPLP is rarely referenced in discussions of post- colonial formalized networks. Whereas the British Commonwealth of Nations and the

Francophonie have attracted a fair amount of commentary (in November 2013, The

Economist magazine ran a significant article on the Commonwealth ("The

Commonwealth: What Is It For?")), the same cannot be said for the CPLP.

7 The Lisbon summit of 1996, as will be discussed in Chapter Two, marked the official founding of the CPLP.

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Notwithstanding the fact that the Commonwealth and Francophonie are larger and richer organizations, capable of sponsoring scholarships, large summits, and in the case of the former even quadrennial athletic games, the lack of commentary on the CPLP is still noteworthy.

Is such negligence merited? Interviews with Dr. Peter Mendy, Dr. Richard

Lobban, and CPLP policy makers, as well as news articles on moments of Lusophone diplomacy, provide insights into whether the CPLP has been able to translate treaties and summits into tangible action. Beyond the rhetoric of solidarity and brotherhood, what purpose does the CPLP serve for each member state in concrete terms? Are we witnessing a new chapter in cooperation and coordination in the ambit of Lusophone relations, or is this a project destined for irrelevance? And finally, where does the CPLP fit in to the landscape of post-independence multilateral organizations?

Chapter One will open with a discussion of the various factors implicated in

Portugal’s identity as a member of the European Union. Although Portugal’s inclusion in multiple European organizations is viewed today with a sense of teleological destiny, it is important to note that such inclusion could hardly have been predicted during the turbulent post-war years. As will be explained, the fact that Portugal did not become a pariah state on the European continent is a tribute to the nation’s geostrategic position, as well as to British and American Cold War considerations.

This chapter will then look at the social ramifications of the political processes associated with EU accession by asking questions such as: What were some of the effects of Portugal’s European accession on the social fabric of the nation? Also, how did accession impact what it meant to be Portuguese, laws of citizenship, and discourses of

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inclusion and exclusion? Particularly relevant for this chapter is an analysis of the discourse of multiculturalism that began to appear with regularity in Portuguese media and rhetoric in the early 1990s. (Later, in Chapter Two, this discourse of multiculturalism will be contrasted with the discourse of hybridity that has accompanied Portugal’s renewed allegiance to the CPLP network.)

Luís Batalha’s book The Cape Verdean Diaspora in Portugal is especially pertinent to this section, as Batalha traces legislative and normative changes in

Portuguese society that allowed for the official recognition of ethnic diversity and the institutionalization of multiculturalism. Both Batalha and Elsa Sertório (Livro negro do racismo em Portugal) argue that this concerted discourse of multiculturalism was instrumental in forging Portugal’s identity as a “modern” European nation grappling with questions of immigration, racism, and border controls (Sertório 95). Batalha further suggests a greater preoccupation with image over policy results when it comes to ethnic diversity and a lack of commitment to the institutionalization of multiculturalism:

“Portugal is just following the international main trend… proposed by multiculturalists in other European countries and in the United States” (202).

But is this discourse of multiculturalism at its heart a discourse of inclusion or of exclusion? Could it be an effort to deny Portugal’s lengthy and anachronistic colonial endeavors, long frowned upon by the EU founding states who had relinquished their own colonies some half-century prior to the end of Portuguese colonialism? By pledging allegiance to the European Union, Portugal became the westernmost gatekeeper to the continent, a role that carried with it a myriad of responsibilities and a set of criteria as to who should be granted access to the country. In this section, arguments by Alfredo

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Margarido and Kesha Fikes, both of whom analyze the effect of Portugal’s entrance into the Schengen Accord and harmonization of EU immigration laws on African migrants living and working in Portugal, will be considered.

The first fictional work to be analyzed in this dissertation8 will conclude this section of Chapter One. That work is Eva (2006) by Cape Verdean author Germano

Almeida, a novel that brings to light the Cape Verdean diaspora in Portugal as well as questions of displacement and immigration. An analysis of Eva will be used principally to explore the effects of Europeanization on hybrid Lusophone identities.

The essential theoretical underpinning to this analysis of discourses of belonging and exclusion will be the book Nation and Narration by Homi K. Bhabha. Bhabha theorizes in the introduction to his work about the seemingly transgressive nature of those

“in-between spaces,” or spaces at the margins of society that encompass groups which are difficult to define, to categorize, and ultimately to control. Bhabha’s scholarship is especially illuminating for understanding the manner in which the slippery identity of racially mixed and culturally hybrid Lusophones came to be seen as transgressors in the systematized milieu of the European Union.

In Chapter One’s concluding section the discussion will return to Eduardo

Lourenço by critically analyzing the claim he puts forth in his 1982 work O labirinto da

8 A note on the decision to incorporate works of fiction into this dissertation: from the very beginning, the intention behind this project has been to produce a piece of scholarship that is as interdisciplinary as the subject it proposes to study. Understanding the nuances of the CPLP and the relations that underpin the organization would be impossible without forays into the realm of economics, sociology, history, and, of course, politics. In this spirit, a conscious decision was made to incorporate select works of lusophone fiction into this dissertation. These works of fiction are considered an integral part of this project and critical in expanding this dissertation’s inquiries beyond the purely historical and political and into the realm of social interactions. The fictional sources analyzed are given equal weight vis-à-vis other sources, and serve to illustrate – as well as to complicate – this dissertation’s central arguments.

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saudade: Psicanálise mítica do destino português that Portugal has, once and for all, irreversibly lodged itself in the European milieu.

Chapter Two will provide an introduction to the Community of Portuguese-

Speaking Countries: the history of the Community, an explanation of how power-sharing occurs, and a discussion of the inner mechanisms of the organization.

The way power-sharing works within the administrative bodies of the CPLP is a particularly interesting theme that allows for substantial analysis of historical trends in

Afro-Luso-Brazilian relations. If political might within the CPLP were simply the result of power of the purse, then Brazil would emerge the unquestioned leader of the organization. It is curious to note, however, that this is not necessarily the case. Although the first successful push towards the institutionalization of the Lusophone community came from a Brazilian ambassador, José Aparecido de Oliveira, Brazil has since played a more passive role in the Community, even facing criticism from scholars such as CPLP researcher José Filipe Pinto, who charges Brazil with turning its back on the community it created: “Brasil, principal impulsionador da criação, deixou a mesma numa fase de limbo, já que os outros países lusófonos não dispunham de condições objectivas para desenvolver o projeto” (“Estratégias” 178). [“Brazil, the principal driver of [CPLP] creation, left [the CPLP] in a phase of limbo, seeing as the other Lusophone countries did not have at their disposal necessary conditions to develop the project.”] Explanations to this behavior with be explored by conducting a careful survey of the recent history of relations in the Brazil-Africa-Portugal triangle using as sources Dávila (2010), Marchueta

(2003), Rodrigues (1964), and Skidmore (1988), as well as diplomatic correspondence and historical newspaper sources.

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This section about the politics of agency and identity in the CPLP creates a bridge apropos to the next topic at hand: the discourse of hybridity that Portugal appears to have adopted within the space of the CPLP and which stands in contrast with the afore- explored discourse of multiculturalism. Whereas multiculturalism appears to be the leitmotiv of Portugal’s EU-based social policy, it is hybridity that has become the buzzword in official CPLP publications and communications (Tavares; CPLP Revista).

While multiculturalism stresses diversity within the population as a whole, hybridity assumes a micro-level vantage point to stress diversity (which can be interpreted as multiculturalism itself) within each citizen. This discourse of hybridity emphasizes the adaptability of the Portuguese to distinct cultures within the Lusophone sphere, as well as cultural and linguistic commonalities.

There are traces of Gilberto Freyre’s lusotropicalist theories9 (as expounded in

Freyre’s The Portuguese and the Tropics as well as Casa-Grande e Senzala) in this discourse: take, for instance, the emphasis placed on a common Lusophone spirit as well as notions of Lusophone adaptability. In this context, the “in-between” or hybrid identity is not eschewed as it is within the discourse of multiculturalism, but rather embraced. It is instructive to trace the lineage of this lusotropicalist discourse to the present-day, noting the periods in which this discourse has been shunned or boasted, and who has benefitted from it. Is there, for instance, evidence of the rhetoric of hybridity appearing cyclically in

Portugal at times when the nation wants to prove itself distinct from its European

9 Freyre and his lusotropicalist theories will be dealt with extensively later in Chapter Two. As a brief introduction: Gilberto Freyre was a Brazilian sociologist who gained most notoriety for his theory of Lusotropicalism, a theory which purported to describe the singularity of Portuguese colonialism by claiming that the Portuguese were more benevolent colonizers when compared with other European nations. Freyre’s theories would later be coopted and used as propaganda by the Salazar regime, in an attempt to justify anachronistic Portuguese colonialism.

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neighbors? And if so, what is to be made of the present rhetoric of hybridity? What could

Portugal stand to gain from imagining itself as the interlocutor between elements of the

Lusophone space, and also between that space and the outside world? And finally, does the present discourse of hybridity seek to fulfill the same end as Freyre’s lusotropicalist discourse?

Chapter Three will consist of a discussion about the ways in which

Portugal’s dual identities as a European Union member state and a CPLP member state complement one another. Overarching themes explored in this chapter are the politics of geo-cultural identification; the role of intermediaries in assisting dialogue between

Europe and the formerly colonized world; and the phenomenon of regionalism and its effect on geographically dispersed supranational organizations such as the CPLP, the

Commonwealth, or Francophonie.

Insofar as the identities complement one another in a geopolitical sense, it is important to note how Portugal has been successful in using its deepening ties with other

Lusophone nations as political leverage within the European Union, arguing that it can serve as the bridge supporting Afro-European and Brazilian-European dialogue and joint initiatives. Portugal has additionally been able to use the CPLP to its benefit in the larger international community; CPLP member-state backing, for instance, is often credited with being the deciding factor in Portugal’s securing a rotating seat on the United Nations

Security Council in 2010.

Not unexpectedly, the reverse also can be seen as holding true: Portuguese influence in the CPLP is largely contingent upon the extent to which Portugal can act as a

European portal. The EU development project “PIR-PALOP & Timor-Leste,” which

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channels development funds through Portugal to reach Portuguese-speaking African nations as well as Timor-Leste, is a prime example. As Dr. José Filipe Pinto concluded during a personal interview, “Portugal is only important to the European Union because it is Lusophone and, conversely, Portugal is only important to the CPLP because it is a member of the European Union” (J. Pinto, Personal Interview).

The final topics to be explored in this chapter regarding EU and CPLP compatibility include the enhanced platform that the CPLP has provided for the promotion of the Portuguese language, the utility of the CPLP network in providing immigration destinations and thus defusing frustrations in a time of high unemployment, and the potential of CPLP markets to act as an alternative to European markets for

Portuguese exports.

Chapter Four will look at the other side of the equation: how Portugal’s two allegiances have at times proved a source of friction. This will be examined through a set of questions: Can a widely geographically dispersed and functionally limited organization such as the CPLP exist in a world of increasing regionalisms? And what are the challenges that lie ahead for the CPLP as Brazil is progressively drawn into Mercosul,

Portugal remains dependent upon the European Union, and African regional communities are consolidated? The conflict between the CPLP and the powerful West-African regional organization Economic Community of West African States (ECOWAS) over the fate of the exiled Bissau Guinean government provides an interesting case study of such challenging issues for the CPLP and Portugal (Mendy).

This discussion about future challenges that lie in wait for the CPLP occasions an examination of what might be on the horizon for this nascent supranational organization:

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the possibility of expanding cooperation into the economic realm as well as questions of enlargement through the admission of Equatorial Guinea. In debating the candidacy of

Equatorial Guinea, the CPLP had to ask itself some basic existential questions: by what method does the CPLP define membership to the Community and what are the criteria for admission? How important is a common linguistic heritage or commonality of historical colonial relations? And does the CPLP assume responsibility to promote human rights, the rule of law, and democratic governance within membership-seeking countries?

(Rolim; Lobo, “Guiné Equatorial e CPLP”).

Finally, Chapter Four will consider the possibility of the CPLP ultimately constituting a liability to Portugal. This chapter will engage with a debate about the viability and utility of the CPLP by visiting some of the most common critiques of the organization emanating from sources such as Dr. Carlos Lopes (2006); Marchueta

(2003); Margarido (2000); and J. Pinto (2004). Accusations claiming the CPLP to be ineffective, unable to reconcile competing member state ambitions, lacking a clear roadmap for the future, and/or abusive of neocolonial power structures will be analyzed and dissected.10 A work of fiction by Portuguese author Lídia Jorge entitled A Costa dos

Murmúrios will allow for further exploration of the interrelated trifecta of colonial experience, human subjectivity, and the rewriting of history.

Chapter Five, the final chapter in the dissertation’s body, will explore the ways in which Portugal’s center-periphery identity dialogues with the country’s quest for

10 None of these accusations are unique to the CPLP. Indeed, it would be rare to find a large multinational organization that has not been accused at some time or other of inefficiency, lacking a clear vision for the future, or harmonious member state relations. In terms of other post-independence organizations, the Commonwealth often receives the same barrage of criticism (“The Commonwealth: What Is It For?”). Commonality of censure, however, does not necessarily equate commonality of underlying structural liabilities. For this reason the CPLP deserves to be analyzed on its own as an independent organization, as this dissertation proposes to do.

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modernity.11 Modernity, after all, is not a concrete state but rather a sliding measure of progress; a country’s ideal image of itself which is ultimately unattainable, for the closer that nation comes to its own ideal image the more that ideal image evolves into something different.

Beginning with a historical perspective, this chapter will provide an exploration of different voices which have lamented Portugal’s perceived decadence and proposed paths to modernity: the estrangeirados [Europeanized intellectuals], the geração de ‘70

[Generation of ‘70], and António Sérgio. Texts will be analyzed with the following questions in mind: to what extent has Portuguese modernity, for these different generations of intellectuals, been intertwined with a European project? Or with an expansionist project? Are the two concepts of modernity mutually exclusive?

It is argued earlier in this introductory chapter that for much of the twentieth century in Portugal, Europe was synonymous with modernity and with the concept of

“having arrived” into an age of post-dictatorial and free market prosperity. Of course, being part of the European club did not always aid the interests of decolonization and democratization. For much of the twentieth century, Portugal struggled to stay on par with Europe as a colonizer, devoting immense resources to the maintenance of a threadbare empire spread across several continents.

11 The definition of modernity that is consistently subscribed to throughout this dissertation is that offered by sociologist Anthony Giddens, as defined in Giddens’s The Consequences of Modernity. Giddens describes modernity as, “a shorthand term for modern society, or industrial civilization. Portrayed in more detail, it is associated with (1) a certain set of attitudes towards the world, the idea of the world as open to transformation, by human intervention; (2) a complex of economic institutions, especially industrial production and a market economy; (3) a certain range of political institutions, including the nation-state and mass democracy. Largely as a result of these characteristics, modernity is vastly more dynamic than any previous time of social order. It is a society – more technically, a complex of institutions – which, unlike any preceding culture, lives in the future, rather than in the past” (94).

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This struggle is evident in David Livingstone’s diary of his travels12 through

Lusophone Africa in the mid-nineteenth century, wherein Livingstone is appalled at the primitive condition of Portuguese colonial infrastructure (Livingstone). Ana Paula

Ferreira argues in “Specificity without Exceptionalism: Towards a Critical Lusophone

Postcoloniality” that Portugal as a colonial nation was never truly equivalent to more powerful colonizers such as England and France, and that its peripherality in relation to

Europe is a historical trend rather than a historical aberration. Boaventura de Sousa

Santos, writing in “Between Prospero and Caliban: Colonialism, Postcolonialism, and

Inter-identity” makes a similar argument, designating Portugal an “intermediary nation” fitting somewhere on the scale of modernity between the modern core of western

European colonizers and the colonized periphery. Indeed, the economic underdevelopment of Portugal in the colonial era is starkly evident in a fictionalized memoir Caderno de Memórias Coloniais written in 2010 by the Mozambican-born

Portuguese author Isabela Figueiredo. In this memoir, Figueiredo recounts the disillusion of the so-called retornados [returned colonizers] upon alighting in the Portuguese metropole and being confronted with a country both primitive and narrow-minded – far from the progressive European scene that was expected.

If modernity in Portugal was so long equated with being on equal footing with other European nations in a colonial setting, are we currently witnessing a moment when modernity means being on equal footing with other European nations in a post-colonial setting? In other words, to what extent can it be argued that the CPLP is a belated attempt

12 The travel journal of David Livingstone that will be analyzed in this dissertation is Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa, written in 1876. Livingstone was a British medical missionary who traveled extensively through sub-Saharan Africa, recording in travel journals his encounters with African peoples, native flora and fauna, and European colonizers who were laying claim to African territories.

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to imitate British and French colonial processes once again – this time in the construction of a post-colonial organization that works to maintain ties between member nations?

Taken together, it might be observed – and will be explored at length in this chapter – that something of a paradigm shift has occurred in Portugal regarding the nation’s aspirations for modernity. Do reanimated efforts to deepen ties with old colonial territories, through the institution of the CPLP, illustrate that indeed a hybrid self-image is beginning to advance rather than hinder Portugal’s quest for modernity? The “typical binarisms” of western modernity that Sousa Santos references still exist in European thinking: Portugal is presenting itself in Brussels as the communicator between Europe and the African/American/Asian periphery in the position of intermediary. The difference, however, is that this very position of intermediary is beginning to be seen as necessary and modern.

The conclusion to this dissertation will comment on recent developments within the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries that are bound to significantly alter both the character and priorities of the institution. Based on these developments, suggestions are advanced as to the unfolding of additional changes which might be in store for the CPLP in the foreseeable future and how these changes would affect

Portugal’s relations with the Lusophone milieu. Furthermore, certain thought-provoking questions will be posed with a view to pointing to future developments. Is, for instance, this current Portuguese embrace of hybridity and the role of intermediary a temporary pursuit, set to be abandoned during the next restructuring of geopolitical allegiances? Are the bonds of the CPLP at heart only based on convenience cloaked in a façade of historical brotherly rhetoric? It behooves the curious reader to keep in mind an

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observation by Eduardo Lourenço regarding the frequent impetus behind Portuguese allegiances: “Sempre no nosso horizonte de portugueses se perfilou como solução desesperada para obstáculos inexpugnáveis a fuga para céus mais propícios” (“O

Labarinto” 51). [“Always on our horizon as Portuguese citizens there has appeared as a desperate solution to inexpugnable obstacles the escape to more propitious skies.”] A critical question that merits further investigation is whether or not these more promising skies are indeed presently incarnated by the Community of Portuguese-Speaking

Countries.

While this dissertation cannot provide definitive answers to the above questions, it is hoped that it has opened up new areas of discussion and helped to point the way to understanding recent historical developments pertaining to Portugal at home and abroad.

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CHAPTER ONE

LIFE ON THE EUROPEAN PERIPHERY

“Talk of an ailing periphery has become so common in the EU that it takes a squint at a map to realise how odd (and revealing) it is … In practice, talk of peripheral Europe is, deep down, a way of staying something quite different. ‘Peripheral’ is not no longer a shorthand term, but a euphemism for ‘southern.’” – “Charlemagne,” The Economist

That Portugal would become the European Community’s eleventh sovereign member in the year 1986 was neither a foregone conclusion following the collapse of

Portugal’s dictatorial regime in 1974, nor was it an alignment that came entirely out of the blue; rather, in the decades that followed the end of World War Two, Portugal was slowly but steadily drawn closer to the core of western democratic European nations and integrated into western European trade unions, economic blocks, and social institutions.

Invitations extended to the dictatorial regime of António Salazar by western nations were hardly done so out of fondness for the stubborn and autocratic ruler, whose infuriating policy of “partial neutrality” during the Second World War had antagonized Allied and

Axis nations alike.13 Instead, these invitations were extended out of political expediency

13 An entertaining read on Portugal’s double-dealing during World War Two is Neill Lochery’s Lisbon: War in the Shadows of the City of Light 1939-1945.

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during a race between East and West to lay claim to the world’s remaining neutral nations that had not yet been drawn behind a side of the Iron Curtain.

Portugal, with its extensive Atlantic seaboard and easy access to the rest of the

European continent, was of particular concern to American and European policy makers as they debated how to bring a ravaged and battle-scarred Europe back to its feet. From the American camp, two distinct visions of a post-war Europe were put forth. The first was that of President Franklin Delano Roosevelt, who foresaw a radical reduction in the weight and power of Europe. Roosevelt suggested precipitating the “fractionalization” of

Europe, so as to create “a Europe composed of little states, disjoined, separated, and weak” (Harper 93). Such decentralization, thought Roosevelt, would make Europe more susceptible to outside powers, particularly to U.S. influence, and reduce the possibility of

Europe embroiling itself in another drawn-out conflict (92-94).

In opposition to Roosevelt’s vision was that of George Kennan, the influential

American diplomat who would ultimately become the author of the American Cold War policy of containment.14 Kennan wanted to restore an internal balance in Europe, strengthening the continent through generous development aid and encouraging European states to band together in economic, political, and social unions. It was only through the establishment of a sense of cultural community in Western Europe, opined Kennan, that wartime animosities could be overcome and prosperity returned to the continent (179).15

14 Although George Kennan is indisputably best known for advocating a containment policy of the Soviet Union, few know that Kennan cut his diplomatic teeth in Portugal, as chargé d’affaires of the American Embassy in Lisbon in the year 1943. It was Kennan who can be credited with successfully mediating the first round of negotiations between the Americans and Salazar regarding wartime use of air and naval bases in the Azores Islands. 15 It is a telling mark of Kennan’s character that his inclination to favor soft diplomacy and persuasion over brute force became a stalwart feature of his varied diplomatic career, from his first assignment in Portugal to his Soviet Union policy. Regarding the role of the United States in refashioning Europe, Kennan

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Indeed, Kennan can be considered an early visionary of the European Community, seeing as he later recalled that the principal question on his mind vis-à-vis the future of Europe was: “In what geographic area and in what framework of membership did we wish to see the movement toward European unification proceed, over the long term, and how far did we really wish it to go?” (qtd. in Harper 213).

Neither Roosevelt’s nor Kennan’s proposed policy framework for the post-war period was especially palatable to Salazar. If a fractionalized Europe came to being, with states carved up and balanced against one another, Portugal could potentially lose part of its territory or, even worse, be forced to surrender sovereignty altogether. Kennan’s ideal of a unified Europe, on the other hand, was an equally unattractive eventuality for Salazar to ponder. Salazar feared loss of Portuguese autonomy in a unified Europe, and knew that the tide quickly turning against European colonization would soon come to put pressure on his own colonies. Democratization and decolonization were the new buzzwords in

Western Europe, and Salazar was not keen on seeing either process come to fruition in his own small state.

It was Kennan’s vision of a post-war Europe that would eventually triumph, with the United States extending generous reconstruction funds through the framework of the much-lauded Marshall Plan. While most western European nations accepted reconstruction funds with gratitude and a pledge to proceed towards European unification, the two Iberian nations proved more cautious. George Kennan recalls in his

famously disputed what he considered heavy-handed American meddling in the old continent, emphasizing that Americans were not, “the ones to devise the readjustment … it runs counter to our own ideas, our own institutions. It demands far more than we could ever give in historical insight, in perspective. The worlds are so different [vive la différence!] that any projection of our own conception onto European problems is always found to be invidious” (qtd. in Harper 179).

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memoirs that the least enthusiasm for the unification in Europe could be found “in the countries of the Atlantic seaboard, with their strong traditional overseas involvements”

(Kennan 453).

Such reluctance was certainly obvious in 1949, when Portugal received its first significant invitation to join a European union – in this case a defense union called the

North American Treaty Organization, or NATO. Notwithstanding its early adhesion to

NATO, Portugal can hardly be considered a founding nation, seeing as the treaty was nearly finished, with negotiations concluded and the final draft pending, before the invitation arrived in Lisbon (N. Teixeira 65-67). If the event of a dictatorial regime being asked to join a democratic defense union seems implausible, it must be remembered that

Portugal occupies a vital geostrategic location for the defense of the North Atlantic.

Portugal’s territory, especially the mid-Atlantic Azores Islands, provides a crucial link between two defensive fronts: the first in Western Europe and the rear in North America

(N. Teixeira 64).

Whereas a contemporary perspective might consider the invitation for Portugal to join NATO a triumph for the isolated nation, at the time, Portuguese policy makers were less than enthusiastic about the prospect of joining the defense union. Nervous about the length of the treaty (twenty years), Salazar additionally protested Spain’s exclusion from the organization.16 But most threatening of all was evidence that the NATO Treaty would

16 The dynamic between Salazar and the Spanish dictator Francisco Franco during the immediate post-war period is interesting in that it evidences a rare moment when Portugal took the lead in external Iberian relations. Considered the more stable and trustworthy of the two dictators by Western powers, it was Salazar who ultimately dissuaded Great Britain from forcibly ousting Franco, arguing that without the authoritarian figure Spain could easily dissolve once more into civil war (Gómez 124-129). For a deeper look into the wartime relationship between the two Iberian rulers, Filipe Ribeiro de Meneses’s biography Salazar: A Political Biography is an instructive read. On the other hand, Hipólito de la Torre Gómez’s

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actively propel those parallel processes of democratization and decolonization that

Salazar so feared. The founding nations of NATO refused to include Portuguese colonial possessions in the sphere of NATO protection, implicitly rejecting Salazar’s contention that his colonies were mere “overseas provinces.” Furthermore, the NATO charter makes explicit reference to the charter of the United Nations – a body that Portugal did not belong to – which Salazar interpreted as a direct condemnation of authoritarian regimes

(N. Teixeira 68).

Notwithstanding the many doubts that Salazar harbored about the North Atlantic

Treaty, it was understood by all that Portugal had little choice but to accept the invitation to sign the Treaty. The increasing bipolarization of the world order had made refusal impossible, for Portuguese vulnerability vis-à-vis the Soviet Union was an eventuality that scared Salazar more than a Portuguese alliance with Western Europe (N. Teixeira 71-

72). A Portuguese deputy at the time remarked resignedly: “Sabemos que entrar no pacto do Atlântico não é inteiramente um bem que se apeteça – é um dever e uma necessidade”

(qtd. in N. Teixeira 80). [“We know that entering the Pact of the Atlantic is not exactly something good or appealing – it is a duty and it is a necessity.”]

Ultimately, NATO would strengthen Portugal’s hand internationally by reinforcing the Anglo-Portuguese Alliance,17 securing the modernization and

essay “Portugal y España en la reacomodación al orden de la segunda posguerra” provides a complete account of the post-war relationship. 17 Maintaining close ties with Great Britain was critical to Salazar, who was growing increasingly nervous at the transfer of power from Great Britain to the United States during the course of the Second World War. In Salazar’s opinion, if there had to be a global superpower, Great Britain was the lesser of two evils: the United States was viewed by the dictator as overly moralistic and interventionist in its foreign policy and excessively permissive and materialistic in its social mores. What’s more, difficult negotiations with the U.S. in regards to air and naval bases in the Azores Islands had left Salazar with a deep distrust of American diplomacy. A fascinating read on Anglo-Portuguese political relations is Glyn Stone’s The Oldest Ally: Britain and the Portuguese Connection 1936-1941.

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professionalization of the Portuguese armed forces, and buttressing Portuguese autonomy vis-à-vis Spain. Rather than place pressure on the Salazar government to conform to the processes of democratization and decolonization that other western European nations were undergoing at the time, Portuguese adhesion to NATO actually strengthened the

Salazar regime by signaling tacit international acceptance of the Portuguese government

(N. Teixeira 80). While Portugal’s colonial endeavors and autocratic government might have been viewed with condescension by other Atlantic powers, the nation simply was not enough of a threat or a bother to either American or European states to merit intervention. Thus, the Salazar regime was able to stay its course, and over the next few decades was slowly pulled closer into European institutional networks.

One of these networks was the Organization of European Economic Cooperation

(OEEC),18 an organization created in 1948 to supervise reconstruction funds associated with the Marshall Plan. Portugal joined seventeen other European nations as an OEEC member, benefitting greatly from commerce among OEEC member states. Trade between

Portugal and OEEC members, in fact, grew so quickly that within the space of a few years it came to eclipse Portuguese commerce with its colonies (J. Pinto, Do império colonial 30-31).

The third significant European organization that Portugal would be integrated into in the two decades following the conclusion of World War Two hostilities is the

European Free Trade Association (EFTA). This organization was initiated in Stockholm

18 Not to be confused with the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), which would supersede the OEEC in 1961. The OECD’s 34 member countries are the most developed in the world, earning this organization the somewhat critical nickname “the rich-country club.” The OECD maintains that its principal missions are the dissemination of free market ideals and the promotion of regulatory policies in trade and in international finance.

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in 1960 with the aim of creating a zone of liberalized trade to stimulate underperforming

European economies. Once again, Salazar proved wary of joining the new European club in town, harboring fears that Portugal would not be allowed to maintain preferential trading practices with its African colonies. Quickly though, EFTA proved to be a valuable network and creator of wealth, and Salazar was encouraged to submit an application for Portugal’s accession. In arguing his case for entrance, Salazar maintained that Portugal could act as a liaison between the developed (European) and the non- developed (formerly colonized) countries, as Portugal itself was in an intermediary process of development and thus perfectly positioned to understand the particular needs of both camps (J. Pinto, Do império colonial 35-36).19

In the end, EFTA would accept Portugal’s application for membership and would prove instrumental in binding Portugal closer to Europe in economic matters and in reducing the expediency of trade with the Portuguese colonies (J. Pinto, Do império colonial 36).

Of course, NATO, the OEEC, and EFTA would soon be considered but preludes for the most substantial European integration project in Portuguese history: accession to the European Community (EC) in 1986. While this is neither the time nor place for an extensive history of Portuguese EC/EU integration, a brief historical background is

19 Later, Chapters Two and Three of this dissertation will indicate how this very same argument resurfaces in present-day dialogue between Portugal and the European Union. Portugal as the intermediary between the European core and the formerly colonized periphery is a role that has been resuscitated and reasserted multiple times over the past century of Portuguese external relations.

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necessary to provide context for the overarching historical trajectory which this dissertation intends to illuminate.20

Portugal’s economic integration into the European Community began in March of

1977, when the country first applied for membership to the Community (Manuel and

Royo 11). This request was encouraged by a British government led by the Conservative

Party’s Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, but was opposed by the French who saw the

Portuguese as potential competitors in the textile market (Roy and Kanner 238). The

European Council responded to Portugal’s request, promising to begin accession negotiations, but only if Portugal could maintain a pluralist democracy in the interim period (A. Pinto and N. Teixeira 26). The European Council and Commission also agreed that the EC needed to strengthen its own house before enlarging. Thus, an agreement was signed on January 1, 1981, in which the EC promised to aid in the modernization of the

Portuguese economy so that the country might eventually meet EC entry criteria, and in

1985 the European Council decided to give Portugal, Spain, and Greece 6.6 billion

European Currency Units in grants and loans in order to effect the measures necessary for such modernization (Manuel and Royo 12-15).

Back in Portugal, the greatest degree of support for integration was found among the Socialist Party, the Social Democrat Party, and the Center Social Democrat Party.

Staunchly opposed to European integration was the Portuguese Communist Party, which feared that such integration would hasten the advent of monopolistic capitalism and diminish national sovereignty (Lobo, “Portuguese Attitudes” 107). Leading the Socialist

20 For readers who wish to probe this subject deeper, an excellent history of Portuguese European integration is the anthology Spain and Portugal in the European Union: The First Fifteen Years, edited by Sebastián Royo and Paul C. Manuel.

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Party in 1976 was Melo Antunes, who argued strongly for the adoption of the new

Portuguese Constitution of 1976 and European integration. In fact, the Socialist Party slogan from 1974-1976 was “A Europa connosco” [Europe is with us]. In 1983, Mario

Soares of the Socialist Party won the office of Prime Minister and declared his main objective to be the integration of Portugal into the European Community (Manuel and

Royo 10-13).

With regard to this period in Portuguese history, scholars usually agree on two essential points. The first is that the push towards European integration was a decision made almost exclusively by Portugal’s political elites (A. Pinto and N. Teixeira 34).21

The second is that political motivations were Portugal’s primary motivations behind its application to the EC. Portugal hoped that EC accession would consolidate the new democratic regime, end a long spell of isolationism, and serve as a safeguard against future authoritarian rule (Schmitter 316).

From 1976-1986, Portugal worked assiduously to practice fiscal austerity in order to join the EC, along with adopting a customs union, harmonizing legislation with EC standards, and developing a common tax system (Roy and Kanner 238). In 1986,

Portugal was finally granted entrance into the European Community, and in September of

1989 the Portuguese escudo, at a rate of 172, entered the European Currency Unit basket.

The Portuguese government supported the Maastricht Treaty of 199222 (creating the

21 For those interested in knowing exactly who Portugal’s political elites were, a good read is Quem Governa a Europa do Sul?: O Recrutamento Ministerial 1850-2000 written by Pedro Tavares de Almeida, António Costa Pinto, and Nancy Bermeo. This book looks at the role that ministerial elites have played in the development of Southern European political systems. 22 The Maastricht Treaty of 1992 earns its name from the city of Maastricht, Netherlands, where the treaty was signed by members of the European Community. The Maastricht Treaty laid the groundwork for the establishment of the euro currency as well as the three-pillar structure of the European Union.

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European Union as we know it today), and fared remarkably well in the convergence stage prescribed by the Treaty, in large part thanks to an administration that effectively performed financial moderation while diligently servicing external debts (Braga de

Macedo 172). By the time the euro currency was introduced to the markets in 1999,

Portugal was able to make the fiscal transition without great internal disruption (192).

Political and economic synchronization with the European Community, however, represent only one side of the coin – and arguably the most straightforward one. Far more complex are questions of cultural and psychological identification with the European project. Sebastián Royo, author of “From Authoritarianism to the European Union: The

Europeanization of Portugal,” uses historic Eurobarometer data to argue that the EU was originally principally viewed in Portugal as a politico-economic, rather than social, community. Royo concludes that, while the upper-class Portuguese felt the strongest link to other Europeans at the time of EU accession, even this segment of society was hesitant to affirm the existence of a shared “European culture” (Royo). How was it, then, that

Portuguese citizens justified to themselves and to their better-off European counterparts the benefits of a new continental identity?

In the initial period following decolonization, Portugal had scant reasons for optimism. The nation found itself bereft of its empire almost overnight and suddenly cast into a wholly unflattering comparison with “mainstream” Europe, against whose centripetal force the Portuguese administration had quietly chaffed since the end of the

Second World War. There was a particular historical process, however, upon which

Portugal could pride itself in the European milieu, and that was the peaceful transition to democracy that the country had effected in the years following the 1974 revolution. If

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there was one identity in Europe that Portugal wanted to capitalize on in the years leading up to and following its entry into the European Community, it was that of the new democracy exemplar of Europe, the good student of European parliamentarianism that had managed to overthrow an entrenched dictatorial regime without bloodshed and without causing an international stir. As Eduardo Lourenço writes in O labirinto da saudade: Psicanálise mítica do destino português, Portugal’s initial intention was to:

Instalar o país no lisonjeiro papel de país revolucionário exemplar, dotado de Forças Armadas essencialmente democráticas, considerando os cinquenta anos precedentes como um parêntesis lamentável, uma conta errada que se apagava no quadro histórico para recomeçar uma gesta perpétua no qual o salazarismo tinha sido uma nódoa indelével (63).

[Install the country in the flattering role of the exemplary revolutionary state, endowed with essentially democratic Armed Forces, and consider the preceding fifty years a lamentable digression, an error which was erased from history in order to begin anew a perpetual trajectory in which Salazarism had been an indelible blot.]

Cultural and psychological identification with the European Union also entailed revising national narratives related to what “being Portuguese” consisted of. As will be discussed in detail in this section, in the early 1990s in Portugal there emerged a concerted dialogue about Portuguese national identity that increasingly emphasized

Portugal’s character as a multicultural nation, with historical influence in other

Portuguese-speaking countries but, most importantly, as a home to a diverse population consisting primarily of white native Portuguese, with an ample sprinkling of multi-hued

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migrants added to the mix (Sieber 163). Lisbon’s International Expo of 199823 is a prime example of this dialogue: an event dominated by the showcasing of Portugal’s multiculturalism in the form of exhibitions and events that highlighted the far-reaching tentacles of Portuguese culture and stressed the exoticism of the diversity present on

Portuguese home soil (Sertório 70-71).

Indeed, if one focuses solely on the underlying narrative presented at Lisbon’s

International Expo of 1998, it becomes evident that this narrative is not completely dissimilar from that of Lisbon’s 1940 Exposition of the Portuguese World. The latter event collected people and artifacts from Portuguese territories around the world to present on the Lisbon stage, drawing awe-struck crowds to marvel with uncensored fascination at the novelty of the exhibitions (J. Pinto, Do império colonial 303).

Granted, these two events were staged for very different reasons. The primary aim of the 1940 Exposition of the Portuguese World was to reassure a worried populace as

Europe teetered on the brink of catastrophic World War and to convince the national population of the strength of the Portuguese empire and focus Portuguese attentions inward. Conversely, the International Expo of 1998 was intended to propel Portuguese influence outward by demonstrating to the world that this newly-minted modern democracy stood on par with the rest of Western Europe. Notwithstanding these disparate ends, the significant commonality that can be drawn between both events is the emphasis put on the distinction between the normalcy of the Portuguese metropole and the

23 The Lisbon Expo ’98 was programmed to coincide with the 500th anniversary of Vasco de Gama’s discovery of a sea route to India. This auspicious date clearly underlines the prevailing themes at the Expo: Portuguese discoveries, feats of sea-faring exploration, and influences that resulted from contact (and often conquest) of foreign peoples (Sertório 70-71).

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exoticism of the foreign cultures and specimens brought to stage. In this sense, the underlying narrative was one and the same.

Accompanying this discourse about the multicultural character of Portugal was a reformulation of what constituted citizenship in the Portuguese nation. During the period of rapid economic modernization of the late 1980s and 1990s, Portugal began to see itself as an immigrant – as opposed to an emigrant – nation (Fikes 18). The sudden influx of money from the European Union had created a steady stream of new jobs, many of them in sectors such as construction and household labor, which immigrants from Portugal’s former colonies readily filled. New lines of credit became available to Portuguese citizens, resulting in increased consumption and offering the growing Portuguese middle class the financial means to employ domestic workers, hitherto a luxury reserved for the upper class. Simultaneously, Portuguese women were progressively incorporated into the labor force in greater numbers than ever before, in large part due to new legislation oriented towards gender equality. Many of these newly employed women hired nannies, maids, and others forms of domestic help to carry out the everyday household chores (55-

57). The psychological and logistical impact of increased immigration to Portugal meant that Portuguese citizenship became more conservatively defined, as is evident in a series of legislative measures adopted during this period (44-45).24

24 Similar post-colonial legislative measures which incrementally restricted citizenship took place in other formerly colonial spheres. An instructive read on the gradual denial of citizenship to Great Britain’s former colonial subjects is Colour and Citizenship by E.J.B. Rose. Colour and Citizenship, published in 1969, is widely regarded as the first comprehensive study of race relations in Britain (Pinkney 1062). Rose describes how Great Britain, unlike Portugal, instituted for a time a “dual citizenship” whereby people living in Commonwealth countries were considered what the author terms “second class (but equal status) citizens” (22).

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A 1975 citizenship law passed shortly after the fall of the dictatorship had revoked

Portuguese citizenship of former Portuguese continental Africans, and legislation in the ensuing decades further restricted citizenship and increasingly criminalized non-citizens residing in Portugal. The 1981 law of nationality, for example, stipulated that anyone born in Portugal would only be granted Portuguese citizenship if that person’s parents had legally lived and worked in Portugal for at least six documented years (Fikes 44). In

1993, the Lei dos Estrangeiros ultimately regulated and set quotas for emigration from certain regions of the world, most notably Africa (Venâncio, Colonialismo 136). In addition, defined amnesty periods in 1992 and 1996 offered legalized status to certain undocumented migrants, with the result of criminalizing others (Fikes 45).25 Labor laws and urban regeneration campaigns further served to delegitimize migrants, many of them working as street vendors, who had previously occupied a tacitly accepted niche in

Portugal’s major cities. The anti-clandestine vending law, for instance, targeted in particular Cape Verdean women who worked in central Lisbon as peixeiras, or fresh fish vendors (156).

In short: the new ideal of multiculturalism in Portugal necessitated the creation of an “us/them” binary, which generated new formal and informal concepts of belonging and exclusion. Kesha Fikes explores this theme tirelessly through her book Managing

25 Curiously (but not entirely surprising), the largest period of amnesty in recent Portuguese immigration legislation occurred in 1996. This was largely the result of an increased demand for workers in preparation for the Expo ’98, most of whom were granted temporary work contracts. The Portuguese magazine Visão estimated that the Expo ’98 ultimately employed some 70,000 African immigrants in the construction sector alone. Although unpopular among ordinary citizens, Portuguese legislators were eventually able to convince the public of the utility of the amnesty legislation, additionally promising to crack down harder on those trying to enter the country clandestinely (Sertório 73-74, 113). Another similar liberalized period for emigration occurred in 2000, upon approval of the Autorização de Permanência, or legislation which permitted the granting of temporary work visas. Once again, the timing of this legislation was not arbitrary: Portuguese policymakers recognized that the country would be in need of a significant influx of workers employed in the construction and hospitality sectors in the years preceding the 2004 UEFA European Championship soccer tournament (80-82).

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African Portugal: The Citizen-Migrant Distinction, focusing on the way in which new concepts of citizenship, along with modernization, linked to the European Union, combined to entrench a citizen-migrant binary in Portugal. As Fikes explains:

Disparate procedures and events in direct dialogue with Portugal’s accession process – policies for the advancement of Portuguese women, new immigration and nationality laws, and state-sponsored anti-discrimination campaigns – culminated in effects that transformed citizens into migrants’ managers and migrants into citizen-dependents (xiv).

In many ways, this sudden emphasis on multiculturalism in the Portuguese state can be interpreted as an attempt to emulate the social phenomena affecting core European

Union nations at the time. Debates concerning citizenship and debates concerning multiculturalism had become linked in Western Europe since the end of the Second

World War. As the European Union knit its member states closer together in a political, economic, and cultural confederation, it also set clearer and more stringent guidelines as to who belonged to this elite European club and who did not. The result is that citizenship has, in the past three decades, generally become more strictly defined, tightly regulated, and uniform across the European continent. This tightening of citizenship has been accompanied by abundant rhetoric about the importance of recognizing multiculturalism and diversity within states – almost as a consolation prize to the darker skinned formerly colonized individuals who suddenly found their presence unwelcome on the continent.

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Elsa Sertório, writing in her book Livro Negro do Racismo em Portugal, is keen to point out the domino effect that increasing insularity and social patterns of inclusion and exclusion have had in Europe:

Contrariamente ao que é vulgar pensar-se, Portugal não escapa à tendência que se manifesta por toda a Europa de uma subida acelerada da discriminação racista e xenófoba ... Veremos ... que a situação portuguesa só difere da do resto da Europa ocidental num certo atraso, pois todas as leis e medidas aqui implementadas já o foram ou estão sendo nos outros países (9).

[Contrary to what one might ordinarily think, Portugal does not escape the tendency manifested throughout all of Europe of an accelerated rise in racist discrimination and xenophobia … We can see … that the Portuguese situation only differs from that of the rest of Western Europe in a certain delay, as all of the laws and measures implemented here were already implemented or being implemented in other countries.]

This domino effect that Sertório points out is in part the result of social pressures and converging social norms. But it is also the result of concrete political decisions that curtail Portugal’s autonomy when it comes to immigration legislation. The most significant of these political decisions took place on 14 June 1985, when Belgium,

France, West Germany, Luxembourg, and the Netherlands signed the Schengen

Agreement, in doing so initiating a process that would eventually lead to the abolition of internal border controls and harmonized immigration and visa legislation across a broad swath of Western Europe. Portugal implemented the Schengen Agreement in 1995, the same year in which the large borderless Schengen Area was announced (Sertório 70).

Although all Schengen treaties were initially independent from the European Union, they

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have since been incorporated into European Union law, rendering opting out of the

Schengen Area burdensome and costly for EU member states.26

Thus, it was also in the very middle of the decade of the 1990s that Portugal was officially assigned the role of westernmost gatekeeper of the European continent. That long Atlantic coastline that had guaranteed Portugal a seat at the NATO conference table in 1949 and kept the country out of the reaches of the Soviet sphere of influence during the Cold War could also prove to be a vulnerability and, moreover, a responsibility.

Portugal became one of the principal bearers of the shared obligation of monitoring who entered and who exited not only Portugal itself, but the whole of the European continent.

In sum, formal immigration restrictions – best exemplified by the Schengen

Agreement – and informal paradigm shifts related to Portuguese nationality combined to create an atmosphere that can only be described at best as discreet condescension, and at worst as increased intolerance, vis-à-vis the formerly colonized peoples of the Portuguese empire.

If an increased emphasis on multiculturalism came to be seen as necessary and

“modern” for Portugal in the two decades following EU accession, so did a simultaneous campaign to stamp out racism, focused primarily in the capital city of Lisbon. Legislation aimed at protecting minorities from discrimination opened a dialogue that surprised many

Portuguese by suggesting that racism was indeed present and persistent in the country. It suddenly became inappropriate to talk publicly about “race” – Portuguese citizens were encouraged instead to use the words “ethnicity” or “culture,” just as their northern

26 Currently, the United Kingdom and Ireland are the only two European Union member states who have chosen to opt out of the Schengen Agreement.

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European neighbors had been taught years before (Sertório 72). Thus, when it came to the anti-racism campaign of the 1990s, new laws precipitated new customary practices in

Portuguese society.

This new taboo contrasted sharply with exchanges that Kesha Fikes witnessed some years earlier between Cape Verdean peixeiras and white Portuguese fish wholesalers at the Docapesca fish yard on the outskirts of Lisbon. As recounted by Fikes, such exchanges more often than not included banter that made explicit reference to race, with each side teasingly playing up racial stereotypes in attempts to lighten the occasionally antagonistic mood that accompanied the barter and sale of the freshly- caught fish. As concludes Fikes:

I want to emphasize that these actors were not in fact living out a tropical legacy, but rather participating in a form of discourse that had been normative to the context. While each actor present was privy to the tropicalist narrative, there were practices in play that brokered racial information for immediate, profitable ends… In this sense, there was an element in this economic exchange that was experienced as equitable and that mirrors what can stand in as evidence for the application of Lusotropicalism to daily living (68).

There is good reason to be concerned with Fikes’s somewhat naïve applause of the “application of Lusotropicalism to daily living.” But such is not the question at hand at the moment: what the above excerpt is intended to emphasize are the explicit racial interplays that Fikes witnessed between Cape Verdeans and Portuguese in these

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interactions (all of which took place in the decade of the 1980s) at the Docapesca fish yard.27

Various anti-racism organizations sprang up in the 1990s to accompany legislation concerned with racial discrimination, such as the Movimento Anti-Racista,

SOS Racismo, Associação Olho Vivo, A Frente Anti-Racista, and A Rede Anti-Racista

(172-185). As Sertório concludes, “Assim, os anos 90 vêem um despertar da consciência anti-racista e o consequente aparecimento de várias organizações que têm por objetivo o combate ao racismo e a defesa dos direitos humanos” (172). [“Thus, the 1990s witnessed the awakening of an anti-racist conscience and the subsequent appearance of various organizations that had the objective of combating racism and defending human rights.”]

Ultimately, this anti-racism campaign would only further entrench the citizen-migrant dichotomy of the 1990s by lumping African migrants together into a single, non- discerning category of “black immigrants.”

But the most compelling aspect of the campaign against racism is the way that it was generally viewed as a tell-tale sign of modernization: an indication that Portugal now had the “privilege” to grapple with issues that other, advanced European democracies such as Germany, France, Belgium, and the Netherlands had been grappling with for years. In an odd manner, even policies dealing with disenfranchised African youth signaled Portugal’s entrance into the elite European club. In this way, “… disenfranchised youth became a sign of Lisbon’s urban development: racial crises and

27 For example, one such interplay that is transcribed word-for-word in Fikes’s book is a spirited exchange occurring between Portuguese “Mário” and Cape Verdean “Patrícia” during a morning’s work at the Docapesca. Throughout the exchange, Mário (who demonstrates respect by first acknowledging Patrícia’s seniority) makes use of ethnic and racialized references, such as a Cape Verdean stew known as katchupa and hip dancing. At the conclusion of the exchange, Patrícia whispers in confidence to Fikes, “Algum e sertu!” [“Some whites are good!”] (72-74).

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troubles with assimilation signaled modern problems of the sort that supposedly advanced capitalist nations have to manage and incorporate into their rehabilitative agendas” (Fikes 48).

In 1994, Lisbon was voted the European City of Culture, sparking a wave of massive construction projects such as the Cultural Center in Belém, extensions of the train and underground metro system, a new highway stretching along the coast from

Lisbon, and a massive development project along an eastern riverfront zone known as

Olivais, where dilapidated docks and warehouses would be transformed into shiny new

Expo buildings (Fikes 150; Cabral, Rato, and Reis).28 The rehabilitation of disenfranchised migrant youth came to be part and parcel of this massive urban regeneration campaign. Portugal – and Lisbon in particular – was beginning anew, sweeping a fresh layer of paint over a tired cityscape, evidently eager to show to the

European Union just how completely both city and citizen could be reformed.

There was undisputedly no group more affected by this crystallization of a citizen- migrant binary than the class of upwardly mobile Cape Verdeans. The Cape Verdean dilemma is compelling, for it illustrates perfectly the problematic meeting between an element in the Portuguese post-colonial milieu with a traditionally fluid and borderless identity, and the rule-governed, territorially bounded nature of Portugal’s new European character. But before that problematic meeting is further explored, it is necessary to

28 As a parallel has already been made between the Expo ’98 and the 1940 Exposition of the Portuguese World, it is curious to note that the run-up to both events marks the two most active periods in recent Portuguese history in terms of urban renewal projects. Back in 1940, the figure who spearheaded these projects was Duarte Pacheco, the powerful President of the Lisbon Municipality, described by one historian as “one of the most colorful characters in the regime … known to have great charm and [with] a reputation for being a man who got things done” (Lochery 33). Pacheco can be credited with supervising the construction of the Estrada Marginal motorway, Portela International Airport, ferry terminals along the Tejo, and the implementation of a new water supply method for the city of Lisbon (32-34).

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discuss the origins and characteristics of the unique socio-cultural-geographical Cape

Verdean setting.

According to Luís Batalha in The Cape Verdean Diaspora in Portugal, the Cape

Verdean islands experienced more miscegenation than any other Portuguese colony.

White land owners in the archipelago, often faced with a lack of Portuguese women, habitually took as their wives and concubines African slaves or offspring of African slaves who had been brought to the Cape Verdean islands from territories in West Africa

(Cape Verde is positioned 350 miles off the coast of Africa at a latitude of 15º N, or directly west of Senegal). Indeed, there was no shortage of slaves to bear mixed-blood children, as the archipelago had functioned since 1466 as a busy slave trading outpost between West Africa, Europe, and the Americas. As a result of decades of this demographic pattern, the minority of white families living in the archipelago were quickly diluted into the black mainstream, producing a population with an extremely varied range of skin tones (20-22).

This high degree of miscegenation in Cape Verde resulted in the possibility of a certain upward mobility among particular sectors of the Cape Verdean society. Although it would be misleading to suggest that Cape Verde is or was in any way a race-blind society, it can be asserted that skin color has traditionally not been the only determinant of social class in the archipelago. As summarized by Batalha: “Miscegenation did not mean the disappearance of the black-white social dichotomy. It meant that the divide had now to be traced upon factors other than simply physical traits” (48). Those factors were, more often than not, linked to education level and/or socioeconomic status. In fact, the

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very first petty bourgeoisie of Cape Verde were the mixed-blood lançados, or settlers and adventurers of West Africa, who earned their wealth through trade (22).

The class of upwardly mobile Cape Verdean elites was able to develop what Dr.

Richard Lobban terms a “situational identity,” or the ability to feel at home both within the ambit of the African archipelago as well as in the Portuguese metropole (Lobban). As concluded by Batalha: “The Portuguese Cape Verdeans had a double self-identification: with their island and with Portugal. Identification with the Portuguese metropolitan society conferred status to the Cape Verdean elite. They viewed themselves as not socially and culturally inferior to the Portuguese arrived from the metropole” (100).

Numerous benefits accompanied this situational identity, most notably an enhanced adaptability to various milieus and circumstances as dictated by convenience and context:

“In the colonies the Cape Verdean elite constructed their identity as white Portuguese; being Cape Verdean came second and only when it meant some advantage over being perceived as metropolitan Portuguese” (92).29 In the context of the Portuguese empire, the Cape Verdeans were veritable chameleons, effortlessly melting in to their surroundings so as to accrue the most benefits from both metropole and colony.

In order to assert the Portuguese aspect of their identity, the lighter-skinned and educated elite of Cape Verde often segregated themselves from their darker-skinned

29 Although Portuguese culture was undisputedly esteemed in Cape Verde, British culture was deemed the absolute pinnacle of high society. One informant of Batalha, from an elite family on the island of São Vicente, related his vivid childhood memories of the British habits his family cultivated: “In our home, my father used to drink his gin and tonic at about eleven o’clock in the morning. My mother and the other women drank tea and ate little cookies … There were other traces of the English influence in our lives, like the house’s furniture, which included a weight-driven clock bought from an English officer who worked for the English cable company, as well as the way we dressed. For example, I still remember wearing high socks and shorts like an English boy. We played golf, tennis and cricket, even though there was no grass and we had to play on arid land. We felt very English and superior compared to the barefooted rabble, or even to the elite of the other islands. Those families who exaggerated the imitation of British habits were said to have manias de ingles [English habits]” (qtd. in Batalha 110).

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compatriots, sending their children to private schools where the use of Creole language was discouraged (Batalha 115). Creole, a pidgin-derived tongue originating from the mixing of West African languages and Portuguese, was considered too “African” for this population; a hindrance to the necessary cultivation of proper European Portuguese.

Portuguese was the language in business and of high society, whereas Creole was only acceptable in the domestic sphere, such as when orders were relayed to household servants (109).

As a result of their greater adoption of the Portuguese language, relative ease of movement within the Lusophone world, and mulatto skin tone, the majority of Cape

Verdeans – and none so much as the Cape Verdean elites – came to see themselves as inherently distinct from continental Africans living under Portuguese colonialism.30 This identity apart was actually encouraged by the Portuguese colonial administration: “The

Cape Verdeans were encouraged by the colonial ideology to think that they had greater cultural similarity to the Portuguese and had little to gain in identifying with the African blacks of other colonies” (Batalha 51). This distinct identity that Cape Verdeans were encouraged to adopt did them no favors when it came to maintaining sympathetic relations with continental Africans living under Portuguese colonization; the latter came to resent Cape Verde’s air of superiority and would later be initially distrustful of Cape

Verdean commitment to independence struggles (27).

30 As E.J.B. Rose makes clear in Colour and Citizenship, the same can be said for Caribbean colonial subjects living under British and French colonial rule. Also employed as intermediaries in their respective colonial realms, Caribbean subjects tended to be lighter skinned and consequently suffered less racial prejudice. According to a report commissioned by the Race Relations Board and the National Committee for Commonwealth Immigrants and sourced by Rose for his book, even in the decade of the 1960s discrimination against former Commonwealth subjects in Great Britain was directly linked to skin tone, with darker skinned immigrants suffering the most acute racism (Rose 567).

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Salazar’s reasons for fostering a distinct “situational” identity among Cape

Verdeans arose from his need to use the Cape Verdean population as middlemen in the

Portuguese empire. Early on, Cape Verdeans gained a reputation in the Portuguese empire as conflict resolvers, for it was on Cape Verdean soil that Portuguese capitanias

(white land owners given land to cultivate on the islands by the Portuguese government) and Creole lançados (middlemen in the slave trade) often butted heads. The constant rivalry between these two groups had to be tamed on the archipelago’s soil, for the

Portuguese government was distant, poor at communication, and largely ineffective in such situations (Lobban).

It was that characteristic “flexibility” and “slipperiness” of the archipelago’s identity, cultivated by the Salazar regime, that earlier on had traditionally allowed Cape

Verdeans to move with ease as slave traders, businessmen, translators, and negotiators between the African continent and Europe, often carrying out the dangerous and dirty work that the Portuguese – with their susceptibility to tropical diseases and intolerance for the harsh African climate – were loath to take on. Their role as slave traders and the relative freedom they enjoyed in the metropole (all Cape Verdeans were considered assimilados, i.e. outsiders who had assimilated into Portuguese society, and were granted

Portuguese citizenship until the year 1981) often provoked ire among continental

Africans, who “would see the Cape Verdeans more as oppressors than oppressed”

(Batalha 27).

It is not difficult to imagine, then, the ambivalence and indeed distress experienced by elite Cape Verdeans when the archipelago achieved independence from the metropole in July of 1975. Independence from Portugal highlighted the divide in

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Cape Verdean society between the Europeanized elite and the less privileged classes, the latter of which did not enjoy the social mobility or educational opportunities of their better-off compatriots. Many in the upper classes of Cape Verdean society had been educated in Portugal, and had compromised with colonialism. Indeed, a significant proportion of this population had benefitted from colonialism, enjoying enhanced status in the stratified colonial hierarchy. Thus, not only did the elite of Cape Verde identify more as Portuguese than African, but their former allegiance to the colonial regime cast them as traitors in a post-independence Cape Verde. Their presence was no longer welcome in the liberated archipelago:

Cape Verde was now changing its identity from “Portuguese” to “African,” and the old elite of Cape Verdeans who had somehow been involved with colonialism felt the hostility of PAICG31 rule. Many had no choice but to leave the country… Moreover, independence brought to the surface matters of identity related to race. “White” Cape Verdeans were seen as too “Portuguese” to embrace the postcolonial political project… There was little room for “white” Cape Verdeans in the aftermath of independence, especially for those who had thrived under colonialism and not against it (Batalha 89).

Suddenly strangers in their native land, many of the Cape Verdean elite retreated into their Portuguese identity, often relocating to the former metropole. What many came to discover, however, was that the continuum between Portugal and Cape Verde had been broken, and they were as much outsiders in Portugal as they had become in their own archipelago. In this way, the middlemen found themselves in a context where the middle

31 African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape-Verde

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no longer existed: the latticework of ties stretching throughout and across the former

Portuguese imperial space was weakening by the year, being stretched thinner and thinner until some ties eventually snapped. This situation constitutes one of the main themes of the novel Eva by Cape Verdean author Germano Almeida,32 which will be discussed in the following pages.

The intention here is to indicate the way in which the whole myriad of phenomena associated with Portugal’s new European identity – explored above in this chapter from a political and institutional perspective – had a direct effect on the lives of a certain population in the Lusophone world: that class of Cape Verdeans who had hitherto moved with ease and confidence within the Portuguese empire.33

Portugal’s new European identity was contingent upon relinquishing formal ties with the former empire, that “indelible blot” which stained the Portuguese historical legacy with the blood of authoritarianism and colonization’s victims. This Portugal reborn – the democracy exemplar of Europe – was keen to shed the damning image of anachronistic colonizer, an image that embarrassed new generations who saw the ideal

32 Germano Almeida, arguably the premier contemporary Cape Verdean fictional author, is representative of a new wave of fiction from the archipelago which seeks to distance itself from the country’s first literary nativist movement, Claridade. Whereas literature from the Claridade movement relied heavily on geographic determinist factors such as drought and immigration for literary inspiration, this new wave of fiction explores the Cape Verdean identity in a larger, less restricted context. As the literary theorist David Brookshaw writes in The Postcolonial Literature of Lusophone Africa: “The upshot of this new literary spirit has been to try to throw off the superficial aspects of local colour, which make the islands unique, but nevertheless hedge them in, in order to universalize the Cape Verdean spirit” (189). 33 This analysis of Cape Verdean émigrés in the Portuguese metropole is limited to the upper and/or educated class, as that is the class that was most affected by Portugal’s tightened immigration laws and redefined notions of belonging and exclusion. The Cape Verdean immigrants from less privileged backgrounds did not harbor the illusion that they could “become Portuguese” with great ease. According to Batalha: “In contrast with the Cape Verdean Portuguese elite, these immigrants have not become invisible in postcolonial society but have instead gained a visibility that they have never experienced in Cape Verde … It is these immigrants that the white mainstream society has in mind when it comes to the social image of the ‘Cape Verdean community.’ In the eyes of the white mainstream they are ‘Cape Verdean,’ ‘black,’ or ‘African,’ but never ‘Portuguese’” (131).

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image of themselves reflected in the easy sophistication of avant-garde youth in Paris and in London.

It should be emphasized that the aim is not to suggest that in the space of a decade

Portugal could extricate itself economically, politically, and socially from all Lusophone commitments and allegiances. Such would have been an all but impossible feat. But little by little, these allegiances weakened as Portugal was drawn closer to the heart of Europe through institutions, common law, adopted norms and ideals, and a new self-image. And in no context were these shifting allegiances more evident than in the context of immigration, where social pressures combined with a new legislative framework to build a psychological as well as legal barrier between the metropole and its former colonies.

Such is the target of Alfredo Margarido’s criticism in A Lusofonia e os lusófonos: novos mitos portugueses:

E parecem de tal maneira esquecidos do peso do real que nem sequer estão em condições de se dar conta de que, a adesão ao Tratado de Schengen os transformou – nos transformou! – em guardas das fronteiras da Europa, encarregados de impedir que possam aceder à Europa, aqueles que consideramos como nossos irmãos, nossos filhos, nossos primos, em todo o caso nossos parentes amados e indispensáveis (78).

[And they [the Portuguese] seem in this way to have forgotten reality such that they are not even capable of realizing that, upon accession to the Schengen Treaty, they were transformed – we were transformed! – into the watchmen of European borders, charged with preventing access to Europe for those that we had considered our brothers, our children, our cousins, in any case our beloved and indispensable family members.]

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For the Cape Verdeans who relocated permanently to the former metropole in the years following decolonization – those who had not only considered themselves brethren of the Portuguese, but also citizens of equal standing – the black-white, citizen-migrant binary that solidified in the decade of the 1990s was a cause of humiliation and despair.34

Over the course of so many years, Cape Verdeans had enjoyed preferential treatment by playing up their status as intermediaries: “for a Portuguese Cape Verdean to escape being linked to Africa and blackness, he would bring out as much as he could the

Portugueseness of his Cape Verdean identity, which implied the rebuttal of stereotypes of

Africanness applied to Cape Verdeans and Cape Verde” (Batalha 107).

As this racial spectrum began to disappear in the 1990s, however, increasingly exacting lines were drawn between white Portuguese and “others.” One example of this would be the ethnic grid that appeared in Portuguese schools at the beginning of the decade. For the first time ever, Portuguese teachers were instructed to begin filing reports which classified students by nationality and ethnicity. According to Batalha:

This sort of ethnic grid was put into practice in 1991, the time when the government created the Coordination Secretariat for Multicultural Educational Programs … with the intention of gathering information on how the different ethnic minorities were

34 An interesting parallel can be drawn here between Cape Verdean émigrés in the Portuguese metropole and Caribbean immigrants in the British metropole in the 1940s and 1950s. Both groups, historically defining themselves as distinct from other African immigrants, despaired at a perceived loss of distinctiveness in the eyes of their respective host societies (Sutherland). As Marcia E. Sutherland argues in a Caribbean Quarterly article titled “African Caribbean Immigrants in the United Kingdom: A Legacy of Racial Disadvantages,” relocation to the United Kingdom was often a discouraging experience for Caribbean immigrants in the mid-twentieth century, for, “…not only their legal nationality but much of their identity depended on their Britishness … traveling to Britain constituted something of a homeward journey. This was not the perception of those awaiting them at ‘home,’ however, who believed generally in several definitions of Britishness and specifically in a West Indian Britishness located within an exterior, political community and best maintained at the periphery of the empire, not the core” (qtd. in Sutherland 27).

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faring in school. This project came up at a time when Portuguese immigration had begun to grow fast, and Portugal was turning quickly into an immigration country (197).

The three main divisions present on these ethnic reports were “European origin,”

“African origin,” and “Asiatic origin,” with no combination of two or three possible. A student born to a Cape Verdean mother and a Portuguese father, for example, would be automatically classified as of “African origin” (Batalha 196-197).

So what happened then, when the intermediary was no longer an acceptable role to inhabit in Portuguese society?

Such is the question that Luís Henriques, one of the principal characters in Eva, asked himself as he struggled to eke out a living in Lisbon, a perpetual outsider in

Portuguese society. Although Luís Henriques had not been born into a particularly privileged family in Cape Verde, he had achieved upward social mobility by receiving a

European education and relocating to the Portuguese metropole during his student years.

Luís Henriques additionally shunned the independence movement led by the revolutionary PAIGC party as irresponsible and ill-conceived. Cultured and with sophisticated tastes, Luís Henriques had come to consider himself as much a part of the

European environment as a Cape Verdean, an illusion that would be shattered during the latter part of his residence in Lisbon.

As it were, Luís Henriques found his existence in the Portuguese metropole in the years following Cape Verdean independence relegated to the life of a phantom:

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...[Luís Henriques] parecia viver na profunda angústia de estar fora do seu espaço natural, de permanecer em Portugal como mais um simples tolerado por força das vicissitudes das independências, e por isso os seus passos eram comedidos e inconscientemente curtos devido ao já nele entranhado medo de incomodar qualquer indígena, os seus gestos tímidos, mesmo as suas palavras eram acanhadas, como que ditas a medo e sempre à espera da censura de alguém a seu lado a lembrar-lhe que estava ali a ocupar um lugar que não era o seu nem nunca lhe pertenceria (66).

[…[Luís Henriques] seemed to live with the profound anguish of being outside of his natural space, of remaining in Portugal as simply a tolerated being under the vicissitudes of independence, and because of this his steps were measured and unconsciously short due to the fear instilled in him of bothering a native, his gestures were timid, and even his words were shy, as if spoken with fear and always awaiting censorship from someone beside him who would remind him that he was there occupying a space that was not his and that would never belong to him.]

Jobless and unable to return to Cape Verde as a matter of principle, Luís

Henriques’ integration into Portuguese society is hampered by the resentment he feels upon being treated as a second-class citizen. He is ultimately left to wander aimlessly in a gray space of alienation, paralyzed by feelings of detachment from the society he inhabits and estrangement from the people he lives among. This tragic existence is mocked in the novel by the voice of Reinaldo, a journalist and member of the Cape Verdean bourgeoisie who fails to comprehend the precarious dilemma of this denationalized Cape Verdean in the Portuguese metropole:

Ora não tendo querido regressar ao seu país, por razões que só você sabe, porque mesmo a Eva até hoje não conseguiu atinar com elas, facilmente podia ter obtido a nacionalidade portuguesa, integrar-se

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nesta sociedade como cidadão de pleno direito e viver nela com toda a dignidade, como milhares de patrícios nossos optaram por fazer. Mas não, não fez nada, absolutamente nada, nem partiu nem ficou, preferiu ir vivendo de biscates e trabalhos precários, sempre enganando-se a si próprio de que era uma questão de tempo, de meses, de anos, mais tarde ou mais cedo, e na sua cabeça mais para cedo do que para tarde, você acabaria por regressar à única parte do mundo onde finalmente se sentirá em casa (125).

[Now, not wanting to return to your country, for reasons that you can only guess, for even Eva to this day could not attain insight into your reasons, you could easily have obtained Portuguese nationality, integrated yourself into this society as a citizen of full rights and lived in the society with dignity, as millions of our countrymen have opted to do. But no, you didn’t do anything, absolutely nothing, you neither left nor stayed, but preferred to go on living by way of odd jobs and precarious work, always lying to yourself that it was a question of time, of months, of years, sooner or later, and in your head sooner rather than later, that you would return to the only part of this world where you would finally feel at home.]

Although Luis Henriques’ alienation is typical of that experienced by other Cape

Verdeans in Portugal, Luís Henriques differs from the typical Cape Verdean living in self-exile in that he arrived in Lisbon as a student during the pre-independence years and never returned to his birth land. A character in Eva who is more exemplary of the “typical

Cape Verdean” self-exiled in the Portuguese metropole is a character by the name of Dr.

Rocha. Dr. Rocha belongs to a class of Cape Verdean emigrants who left the African archipelago not as a result of economic necessity or circumstantial hardship, but rather propelled by the conviction that Cape Verde should never have proclaimed itself independent from Portugal. Reinaldo, the journalist who has traveled to Portugal explicitly to study this population in exile, feels pity for Dr. Rocha and his compatriots

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and believes that the émigrés deserve some sort of reparation for having been forced to leave their motherland and resettle in a country where they were treated with open suspicion and hostility.

Indeed, Dr. Rocha belongs to a class that could conceivably have benefitted from independence, a class that could have paid lip service to the rallying cries of pro- independence revolutionaries while focusing its attention on attaining a foothold in the new petty bourgeoisie that emerged in the archipelago or quickly filling the power vacuum created as the Portuguese vacated political offices. But no, this faction of Cape

Verdeans could not fathom a viable future for Cape Verde as an independent and autonomous nation and feared what might come of the archipelago as it extricated itself from the ties that bound it to its former colonizer. As a result of their convictions, these future émigrés became veritable pariahs in Cape Verde, forced to eventually take leave of the archipelago and attempt integration in Portuguese cities.

But such integration often proved impossible to achieve. The Cape Verdeans were lumped together with the large influx of retornados (former Portuguese colonizers returning to the metropole) and other African immigrants, more often than not treated with suspicion and jealousy by Portuguese citizens who feared increased competition in the labor market. One Cape Verdean informant related to Luís Batalha in The Cape

Verdean Diaspora in Portugal: “The Cape Verdeans had to be content with the farthest and the worst paid jobs … People from the metropole always took the best, even when they were less educated and more ignorant” (qtd. in Batalha 100).

Dr. Rocha and others like him would remain perpetual outsiders in Portuguese society because the group with which they identified – the Cape Verdean elite – could no

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longer move fluidly between colony and metropole, assimilating seamlessly into either.

What disadvantaged these characters was not the fact that Portugal’s processes of

Europeanization had imposed race-based categories on former colonial subjects; rather, it was the reformulation of Portugal’s race-based categories. To assert that the Portuguese colonial realm was race-blind is pure folly. But in the highly racially-stratified

Portuguese colonial realm, elite Cape Verdeans fared well because they were able to achieve upward mobility by distinguishing themselves from the colonized peoples of continental Africa. Indeed, elite Cape Verdeans worked explicitly to entrench the former hierarchy – from which they benefitted – and in doing so became complicit with the worst aspects of the colonial regime. Lighter skin and higher education level was a passport for this class of Cape Verdeans and they reciprocated their gratitude to the regime by playing out their traditional role of middlemen in the empire.

Processes put into place by Portugal’s Europeanization reshuffled the racial hierarchy in the now post-colonial world, and in doing so simplified it, in essence distilling the hierarchy down to a simple binary: on one side were the citizens (white

European), and on the other side the migrants (colored or mixed-race former colonial subjects). Discourses of multiculturalism feigned to recognize a spectrum of differences within this latter category, through the use of ethnic grids in schools and improved census techniques. But at its very core, multiculturalism was not so much “multi” as it was dichotomous. As asserted by Fikes:

Cape Verdeans became indistinguishable in popular representations from other African national groups. At the same time, the ideal of the Portuguese citizen became synonymous with a picture of

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middle-classness. The mutual effect of these perceptions –where the enactment of particular kinds of labor came to mediate the modernization trajectory—crystallized blackness and whiteness as separate social entities. In the process, Luso-tropical imaginaries of racial “in-betweenness” or miscegenation were effectively dispelled, losing coherence and social value (8).

As argued by Lawrence E. Harrison in his provocative essay entitled “The End of

Multiculturalism,” the ideal of multiculturalism rests on a problematic philosophy of cultural relativism; the certainty that cultures are not only all intrinsically equal, but that they can be treated as equals by any one host society (88-89). Both notions are severely unrealistic, but still serve as the basis for the ideal self-image that many modern Western nations hold of themselves.

In a model situation, the recognition of multiculturalism as witnessed in Portugal in the decade of the 1990s would advance this ideal of cultural equality by effectively replacing a class system, in its stead implementing a systematic categorization of the various cultures living in Portugal and redressing social inequalities to bring select underprivileged cultures, or those having suffered wrongs in the past, onto an even par with the rest. Multiculturalism is equated with advanced and enlightened societies because it implies harmonious cultural diversity and because it suggests nations wealthy enough to single out disadvantaged groups for special assistance (through social policies such as welfare, social security, universal healthcare, etc). Unfortunately, though, concerted efforts at achieving multiculturalism do not always live up to this ideal. As argued by Batalha:

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The institutionalization of “ethnic” labels of social differentiation may override the “class system,” which should be the backbone of the social structure in a democratic society, and chain the immigrant minorities to perpetual notions of “culture,” “race,” and “national origin.” The perpetuation of “cultural differences” proposed by multiculturalism may well be the perpetuation of second-class citizenship, discrimination, and social inequality (201).

Of course, there is no easy solution to this conundrum. The alternative to the institutionalization of ethnic labels has been tried in countries such as France and Japan, who staunchly refuse to factor ethnicity into official census data. The result, particularly in the case of France, is often disheartening: disadvantaged immigrant districts fail to receive the particularized support they need to effectively integrate into the labor market, resulting in entrenched cycles of poverty, sentiments of alienation from the host society, and high levels of tension which occasionally lead to violent clashes with host country law enforcement bodies.

What is perhaps the most edifying lesson from the Cape Verdean example is that the institutionalization of policies which support and promote multiculturalism is not a fix-all solution. Some groups may fare better and some groups may fare worse, due to the reshuffling of the demographic hierarchy. What is a predictable outcome of the institutionalization of multiculturalism in a state is the sudden and almost obsessive need for that state to define the ethnic demographics of its population. Censuses, records, data, statistics, predictions – counting and defining become existential safety blankets for states faced with an influx of immigrants whose presence has the potential to alter the racial makeup of the population.

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This explains why the worst enemy of a state actively pursuing a policy of institutionalized multiculturalism is those populations which prove most difficult to categorize, those unpredictable populations with slippery and “situational” identities.

These groups, best exemplified in the Portuguese example by the Cape Verdean population, pose a threat to a nation grappling with rapid demographic, economic, and social changes. This is because any authority wielded by a state is inherently antagonistic to these populations as the latter, by their very capacity to resist definition, and by their very ambiguity, present a defiant challenge to the normalizing tendencies of society. An extreme example of this would be the plight of the Roma diaspora found throughout the whole of Western Europe: the Roma population is perhaps the best modern example of a stateless ethnic group whose ambiguity and unpredictability are rooted in an ambulant lifestyle and a resistance to assimilation. As a result, Roma populations have traditionally been treated with suspicion by the states they inhabit; popular representations of the

Roma – or “gypsies” – portray them as thieves, crooks, and conjurers of black magic.

This framework proposed to help understand the relationship between the

Portuguese state and the Cape Verdean community is in line with the chief argument of social theorist Homi K. Bhabha’s introductory chapter to Nation and Narration. In his book, Bhabha argues that the in-between and difficult-to-categorize populations are most threatening to the modern state because it is the borders of a state which hold the power to ultimately determine what lies at the center of that territory. The characteristic and indeed inherent ambivalence of the modern state, according to Bhabha, is the product of constant redefinition and delimitation of the borders that encircle it. In this sense, Bhabha writes: “the margins of the nation displace the centre; the peoples of the periphery return

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to rewrite the history and fiction of the metropolis” (6). Bhabha concludes that the peripheral spaces of a state will invariably present a constant challenge to the normalizing center of that state, a challenge which has the capacity to propel paradigmatic changes in the nation as a whole.

Of course, Bhabha’s theory only makes sense if one departs from the premise that a national culture is not united, and in no place is this disunity more obvious than on the periphery of a state. This is to say, the ideal of the nation-state (two distinct elements that are commonly and erroneously assumed to be one and the same)35 is rarely realized; more often than not, nations will lack legitimate statehood, a state will contain more than one competing nations, or a nation will be divided and parceled into several states. The characteristic disunity of modern states is most acute on the periphery because the periphery is host to those “in-between spaces” where negotiations take place about who belongs and who should be excluded, which behaviors are permitted and which are repressed, and what is understood by “national culture.” By their very differentiated nature, these peripheral groups on the margins of any society defy the established order by clamoring for a redefinition of the state and of the dominant nation contained within it.

Bhabha goes on to explain his core thesis that nations are constructed through the process of narration; the boundaries of the nation and the boundaries of a national literary

35 The definition of a state used in this dissertation is that put forth by Max Weber in “Politics as a Vocation”: a state is any “human community that (successfully) claims the monopoly of the legitimate use of physical force within a given territory.” For the definition of nation, this dissertation employs the definition that Earnest Gellner supplies in his book Nations and Nationalism: “Two men are of the same nation if and only if they share the same culture, where culture in turn means a system of ideas and signs and associations and ways of behaving and communicating” (6-7). Gellner goes on to discuss the difference between state and nation: “Neither nations nor states exist at all times and in all circumstances. Moreover, nations and states are not the same contingency. Nationalism holds that they were destined for each other; that either without the other is incomplete, and constitutes a tragedy … The state has certainly emerged without the help of the nation. Some nations have certainly emerged without the blessings of their own state” (6).

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corpus are one and the same. In his own words: “...the ambivalent, antagonistic perspective of nation as narration will establish the cultural boundaries of the nation so that they may be acknowledged as ‘containing’ thresholds of meaning that must be crossed, erased, and translated in the process of cultural production” (Bhabha 4). In both ambits – political and literary – the goal is to control an area full of ambiguity and rife with contestation. Bhabha’s theory is particularly applicable when looking at the methods by which states attempt to control national languages. By discouraging the use of Creole among their children, for example, elite Cape Verdeans could “become” more

Portuguese, sliding from further from the periphery of the Portuguese nation-state and closer to the center.

This long exposition on the political and existential dilemma that elite Cape

Verdeans found themselves in during the decades following Cape Verdean independence and Portuguese Europeanization aims to inject a sense of palpable reality into a series of complex political, economic, and social policy decisions undertaken in the decades of the1980s and 1990s. The effects of Portugal’s turn to Europe are not always easy to understand through a perfunctory cataloguing of new legislation and redefinitions of citizenship. But the very real outcome that this legislation – itself often initiated by or followed with changing discourses of belonging and exclusion – becomes much clearer when individual and collective narratives are distilled down to evidence tangible impacts on singular lives.

The majority of this chapter details Portugal’s slow but steady embrace of

Western European institutions and values following the end of World War Two, an embrace that was cautious at first, then fervent after the fall of the Salazar/Caetano

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dictatorial regime and the collapse of the Portuguese Empire. Further, the chapter has explained how Portugal’s Europeanization was fully institutionalized in the latter part of the 1980s and the decade of the 1990s, following accession to the European Community and the piecemeal adoption of common European Community/Union legislation, particularly in the realm of immigration. Finally, the chapter draws the conclusion that such institutionalization had the effect of encouraging Portugal to turn its back on the former empire and its citizens, even those who had previously considered themselves

(and indeed been considered in legal terms) fully Portuguese and who had enjoyed a high degree of freedom of movement within the former empire.

But now it is time to shift this narrative to the present and to rejoin the thread of discussion woven throughout the introductory chapter. Portugal’s recent trajectory with the European Union contrasts sharply with that heady decade-and-a-half immediately following accession. A sharp global downturn in growth, faltering European financial institutions, unsustainable use of European Union structural funds, diminishing investor confidence in southern European markets, and the failure of levels of Portuguese production to keep pace with consumption created the perfect storm in the turbulent months that followed the global financial panic of 2008. Portuguese optimism vis-à-vis the European Union has transformed into pessimism, and though talk of a southern

European exit of the Eurozone has been staunched, the general pessimism remains. The good student of European democracy has been replaced with yet another financially

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insolvent member of Club Med; a precariously positioned nation seemingly relegated to life on the European periphery.36

One of the results of the current crisis of faith in the European Union has been a call by contemporary academics to rethink Portugal’s wholehearted allegiance to the processes of Europeanization. In 2013, João Vacas published an article in Globo entitled

“Portugal, a Europa, e a CPLP: Um caminho estreito das tormentas à boa esperança.” In his article, Vacas finds fault with the low level of discussion that accompanied European accession:

Sem presença político-militar no Atlântico Sul pela primeira vez em vários séculos, Portugal recentrou na parcela restante euro- norte-atlântica o seu posicionamento estratégico. Seguiu o trilho que lhe sobrou e integrou-se acriticamente nas comunidades europeias sem que tivesse debatido convenientemente o projecto europeu ou assimilado devidamente essa faceta da sua identidade. É imperioso que esse debate se dê (Vacas 23).

[Without a political-military presence in the South Atlantic for the first time in many centuries, Portugal reoriented itself and its strategic position in the North-European Atlantic. It followed the path laid for it and integrated itself non-critically in the European communities without having first debated the European Project and without assimilating this facet of its identity. It is imperious that this debate is had.]

36 Although there is not space in this dissertation to delve deeply into the historical role of Portugal as a bridge between North America and Europe, it is worth noting here that a proposed downsizing of Lajes Air Base – a joint Portuguese/American facility which since WWII has proffered to the Azores Islands a constant stream of investment and jobs, and to the Portuguese state political leverage – has taken a toll on the Portuguese psyche. The loss of primacy as the Atlantic bridge only deepens a sensation of being evermore on the “edge” of the European continent. For those interested in the historic role of Lajes Air Base, some recommended reads are José Medeiros Ferreira’s Os Açores na Política Internacional, or À Procura da Grande Estratégia, an anthology compiled by Mário Mesquita, Sara Pina, and Susana Neves.

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If Vacas’s argument sounds at all familiar, it is because he is essentially reiterating an argument made by Eduardo Lourenço some thirty years earlier. Lourenço might have been elated that Portugal had made a return to the “European house” that it so irresponsibly left in search of overseas spoils. But Lourenço could not condone the manner in which Portugal carried out this return. It is worthwhile to reflect a moment on

Lourenço’s arguments put forth in his 1982 work O labirinto da saudade: Psicanálise mítica do destino português.

According to Lourenço, the height of the colonial wars in Africa marked a moment of great existential crisis in Portugal which should have provoked a moment of national introspection. The acute traumas – both physical and psychological – suffered by the Portuguese on the battlefields and at home instead were outwardly covered up in an unspoken policy of what Lourenço terms “national unconsciousness.” Lourenço laments this general mood:

Treze anos de guerra colonial, derrocada abrupta desse Império, pareciam acontecimentos destinados não só a criar na nossa consciência um traumatismo profundo – análogo ao da perda da independência – mas a um repensamento em profundidade da totalidade da nossa imagem perante nós mesmos e no espelho do mundo. Contudo, todos nós assistimos a este espectáculo surpreendente: nem uma nem outra coisa tiveram lugar (40).

[Thirteen years of colonial wars, the abrupt collapse of this Empire, these seemed to be events destined to not only inflict a profound trauma on our conscience – analogous to the loss of independence – but also to evoke a deep rethinking of the totality of our image, both to ourselves and in the world’s mirror. However, as we all witnessed this spectacle we noticed with astonishment: neither one nor the other took place.]

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Spoken or unspoken, what is certain is that a great humiliation was wrought upon the nation following successive defeats in Africa and the Portuguese, for the first time in a long time, were bitterly and acutely cognizant of their image as second-class colonists with neither the means nor the desire to maintain their tattered empire.

The result of this moment of national turmoil and instability was a political revolution. But according to Lourenço, the revolution of April 25, 1974 was an incomplete revolution. This climactic moment which destroyed in one fell swoop the empire that Portugal had spent five hundred years building was accompanied by a surprising lack of participation and a sentiment of general disinterest; the revolution was not, “vivida em termos de autoconsciência e responsabilização cívica pela maioria dos portugueses” (47). [“experienced in terms of self-awareness or civic accountability by the majority of Portuguese.”] Instead, a strange sort of passivity characterized the mood of the masses at this pivotal moment in Portuguese history. As concluded by Lourenço:

“Num dos momentos de maior transcendência da história nacional, os portugueses estiveram ausentes de si mesmos, como fisicamente ausentes” (47). [“In one of the greatest moments of transcendence in our national history, the Portuguese were absent from themselves, as if physically absent.”]

Because there was no true moment of reckoning that accompanied the revolution, reasons Lourneço, there was also no true moment of reckoning – much less civic participation – accompanying the next phase in the Portuguese trajectory: coronation as the democracy exemplar of Europe. The revolution, painted as the desire of the masses, was curiously devoid of a strong ideological conviction by ordinary citizens. Joining

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Europe, concludes Lourenço, was carried out by the political elite as a kneejerk reaction to the traumas that accompanied the loss of wealth and land following decolonization:

O que perdíamos em espaço e em riqueza potencial (e real) era compensado pela exemplaridade revolucionária, ou, sobretudo, por uma exemplaridade democrática que tinha o condão de nos subtrair ao lote das nações retrógradas politicamente e nos conciliar a benevolência e a estima do universo (44).

[That which we lost in territory and in potential (and real) wealth was compensated by a revolutionary exemplarity, or, above all, by a democratic exemplarity which held the magic wand that could remove us from the batch of politically retrograde nations and provide us with the benevolence and esteem of the universe.]

The result of all of this would be the lack of a defined rupture between the Salazar epoch and the advent of democratization in Portugal. As explained by Lourenço:

Sem transição, o povo português passou da boa-consciência de um sistema semitotalitário ou mesmo totalitário, para a boa- consciência revolucionária, sem mesmo se interrogar sobre tão complexa e súbita conversão de Forças Armadas fiéis ao antigo regime em força democrática e vanguardista (63).

[Without a transition, the Portuguese people passed with good conscience from a semi totalitarian system, or just totalitarian, to a revolutionary conscience, without questioning the complex and sudden conversion of the Armed Forces formerly faithful to the old regime into a democratic and avant-garde force.]

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When analyzed through this lens, Portugal’s accession to the European

Community appears more a union of expediency; an attempt to avoid facing the harsh realities of a nation severely socially and economically underdeveloped with an implausibly high rate of illiteracy and dismal social services. The transition from an autocratic European colonizer to a pluralistic European democracy was carried out quickly and efficiently – however, according to Lourenço, this transition was also realized without an internalization of what belonging to the new European reality truly entailed.

Indeed, an interesting phenomenon has taken place in recent years in Portugal: the democratic transition and European accession – two processes that have always been inextricably linked – are becoming unlinked. This is perceptible in the recent annual anti-

Europe protests that have been staged on April 25 – the auspicious date of Portugal’s

Carnation Revolution. While applauding the revolution, large groups of protesters in

Lisbon have condemned choices made relating to Portugal’s role in the European Union.

For the third year in a row, influential coup leaders have boycotted the April 25th celebrations of 2014, instead voicing bitter critiques of Portugal’s current political and economic standing. Vasco Lourenço, one of the best-known junior officers who took part in the 1974 coup, publicly questioned whether Portugal should remain in the European

Union at all when speaking to reporters on April 25, 2014 (“Anger as Portugal Marks 40

Years of Democracy”).

Some might argue that, regardless of the degree of awareness or civic responsibility present at the moment of European Community accession, European Union institutions have since enveloped Portugal in their fold, conjuring an allegiance which,

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although perhaps not present from the start, has since been cultivated through common policy, shared legislation, and converging norms. After all, aren’t institutions the all- powerful shapers of modern society, quietly molding quotidian realities through forums, rules, and new legal paradigms?

This dissertation’s answer to this is: yes and no. Multilateral, multifaceted institutions are indeed powerful, but only when they are properly invested in. It is a fallacy to think that institutions have a magical power of their own; in reality, they are but a sum of their parts, and only so powerful as that sum of their parts.37 Institutions can neither determine the civic behavior of a people, nor encourage civic participation among a population.38

In saying this, the intention is not to contradict this dissertation’s earlier arguments about the influence that European norms and ideals related to citizenship and multiculturalism had in Portugal, principally in the decade of the 1990s. Such an influence was real and significant at that point in time, as Portugal had adhered

37 Perhaps the most convincing example of this is the fate of the post-WWI League of Nations, an international regime created by Woodrow Wilson that was doomed to failure from the outset due to a vague framework and lack of commitment from participating states. A clever analysis of the failure of the League of Nations is a book written by the renowned economist John Maynard Keyes titled Consequences of the Peace (Keynes). Another historical example of an instance when individual state goals came to override collective institutional goals would be the breakup of the Concert of Europe, a balance of power forged between five powerful European territories (Austria, Prussia, the Russian Empire, the United Kingdom, and France) in the period between the Napoleonic Wars and World War I. The Concert of Europe, originally considered infallible by its creators, ultimately eroded when the national interests and preoccupations of the European Great Powers (such as consolidating kingdoms into nation-states and gaining territory) began to override shared, collective interests (such as preventing another bellicose hegemon such as Napoleonic France) (Lauren, Craig, and George 24-46; Paul 6; Waltz 227). 38 Robert Putnam, a political scientist and professor at Harvard’s Kennedy School, published a book on this precise subject entitled Making Democracy Work. For the book, Putnam carried out a decade-long study of identical institutions (city governments) erected in every Italian administrative region. Putnam’s goal was to discern the degree to which institutions throughout a modern nation-state could shape civic culture and civic participation. Putnam eventually conceded that the answer to his query was: not at all.

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wholeheartedly to the European agenda and saw its future as inextricably linked to a positive relationship with the European Union. Institutions can be powerful shapers of norms, of notions of right-and-wrong, of standards and customs.39 But this influence can also fade, in the event that the ultimate interests of a state no longer coincide with the interests of the institution, the state sees the institution as somehow hampering its own development goals, or the state comes to feel alienated and perhaps even ostracized from the institution. When it comes to multilateral institutions, utility is everything.

Some interesting data from regular Eurobarometer polls seem to add weight to

Lourenço’s conclusions about the lack of an initial deep understanding of EU integration in Portugal. The Eurobarometer is an annual polling service of the European Union, which tracks national sentiments on the EU in and across member states. Data from these surveys reveal that the number of Portuguese who believe they benefitted from the EU rose to an all-time high of 82% in April of 1991, and since then has steadily decreased, averaging 67% in 1997 and 61% in 2002 (Lobo, “Portuguese Attitudes” 101-102; Magote

225). In the latest Eurobarometer, Portugal ranks the fourth most pessimistic EU member state (only slightly less pessimistic than the United Kingdom, Cyprus, and Greece) when it comes to the image of the EU: 22% of Portuguese have a positive image of the Union, whereas 39% reported a negative image (Standard Eurobarometer). Although a majority of Portuguese still believe that Portugal should stay the course of European Union membership, less than 40% of the population since 2002 has felt satisfied with the way

39 One of the most influential analyses of the utility of international regimes and international institutions is “Achieving Cooperation under Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions” by Robert Axelrod and Robert O. Keohane. Axelrod and Keohane conclude that institutions are ultimately capable of positively affecting intestate cooperation by three means: creating a mutuality of interests, forecasting the future benefits of present cooperation, and increasing the number of actors. The theoretical framework created by Axelrod and Keohane is now termed “Neo-Liberal Institutionalism” and is frequently employed to legitimize the creation and/or substance of multilateral regimes (Axelrod and Keohane).

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democracy works in the union (Lobo, “Portuguese Attitudes” 103). In fact, last year’s

Eurobarometer registered Portugal as the most dissatisfied country in the whole of the

European Union on this measure. Only 16% were “satisfied” with democratic processes, while a full 75% reported feeling “dissatisfied” (Standard Eurobarometer).

Eurobarometer polls have consistently noted a great deal of “don’t know / no answer” responses from the Portuguese (Lobo, “Portuguese Attitudes” 100), a phenomenon that most likely stems from the fact that many Portuguese appear to feel unsatisfactorily informed about the inner workings of the EU. In 1978, most Portuguese had no opinion regarding integration into the EU, and a full 60% stated that they didn’t know if the European Union was important for Portugal (A. Pinto and N. Teixeira 39).

This lack of information continued to persist even decades after integration: in 1998,

Portuguese knowledge on the EU was deemed lower than that of any other member state

(Magote 224), and in 1999 a mere 19% of those polled conceded to feeling “quite or very well informed” about the European Union (Lobo “Portuguese Attitudes” 103). In 2013, only 38% of Portuguese reported understanding how the EU works (Standard

Eurobarometer).

Most likely stemming from these sentiments of detachment (only 18% of

Portuguese feel their voices count in the EU (Standard Eurobarometer)), participation in

European Parliamentary elections has become extremely low in Portugal, lower than the

EU average. Voter turnout in 1987 registered at 72%, but as recently as 2009 has shrunk to a mere 36% (“Voter Turnout Data for Portugal”). Similarly, apathy concerning further integration remains high. According to last year’s Eurobarometer poll, 64% of the

Portuguese population is pessimistic about the future of the EU, and 25% report feeling

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indifference about the development of a stronger political union between European countries (Standard Eurobarometer).

This picture painted by the frank and in-depth Eurobarometer polls correlates with the themes explored more impressionistically through this chapter: an incomplete political revolution followed by a rapid accession to the European Union, a European honeymoon period during which common EU institutions held sway over Portuguese discourses of belonging and influenced a reformulation of national identity, and a rapid downturn in Portugal’s European fortunes which has led to disillusionment with and detachment from the Union.

These elements, when combined, form the backdrop for the narrative woven throughout this dissertation; the independent variables, one might say. These elements – albeit presented through the lens of this dissertation’s singular interpretation – are stable and somewhat predictable, viewed with the relative comfort of a historical vantage point.

They can be analyzed from an exhausting litany of perspectives: through facts and figures presented by EU statistical engines, through anecdotal evidence, through institutional histories, and so on. This chapter has attempted to incorporate a variety of these perspectives so as to present as clear a snapshot as possible of Portugal’s contemporary socio-institutional standing vis-à-vis Europe.

The conclusion to this chapter ultimately begs an essential question: so where does Portugal go from here? Indeed, this is the question that the remainder of the chapters herein will explore. In particular, this dissertation’s inquiries will focus on one singular organization that has sprung up as an alternative to the European Union in terms

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of trade, immigration, and diplomacy. The next chapter concerns itself with providing an introduction to and an exploration of this organization.

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CHAPTER TWO

THE COMMUNITY OF PORTUGUESE-SPEAKING COUNTRIES

José Aparecido de Oliveira was the sort of Brazilian statesman who would come to be associated with Brazil’s meteoric rise in the last three decades of the twentieth century, from a struggling South American powder keg to the economic and cultural powerhouse that it is today. Born in 1929 to working-class parents in the state of Minas

Gerais, Aparecido de Oliveira gained repute as an accomplished journalist before being invited in 1961 to serve as personal aide to Brazilian President Jânio Quadros.40 Stripped of his political rights during the Brazilian military dictatorship, Aparecido de Oliveira would return to public life in 1985, this time after being asked by President Tancredo

Neves41 to serve as Brazil’s Minister of Culture, a post he would hold twice. Between his

40 Jânio Quadros was elected President of Brazil in 1961. Portraying himself as the “anti-politican,” Quadros’s promise to break with the Brazilian political elite’s old-guard and provide opposition to the “system” (former President Getúlio Vargas’s legacy) appealed to middle and working-class voters and earned him broad-based support. Brazil historian Thomas Skidmore labels Quadros’s politics “populist.” (Skidmore, The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil 266). Regarding diplomatic relations with Portugal, Quadros’s initial goal was to keep Brazil out of Portuguese colonial struggles (Dávila 99-100). His original mandate to the new Foreign Minister Afonso Arinos, in 1961, was that “Brazil will not tie itself to Portugal’s colonial policies” (qtd. in Dávila 100). As this chapter will later explain, Quadros’s policies vis- à-vis Portuguese colonialism later proved more ambiguous. Quadros resigned as President in August of 1961 after a mere seven months in office. He was succeeded by João Goulart, his Vice-President and member of the Partido Trabalhista Brasileiro (PTB) [“Brazilian Working Party”] (Green, “Introduction”). 41 Tancredo Neves was an able Brazilian politician who, between the years 1953 – 1985, held the posts of minister of justice, interior minister, prime minister, finance minister, and state governor of Minas Gerais. In 1985 Neves was elected President of Brazil, but on the eve of his inauguration fell ill with a disease from which he would never recover. As Neves’s illness dragged on the Brazilian public became increasingly anxious, especially seeing as Neves was largely regarded as a political savior for the Brazilian nation. Neves ultimately died 38 days after his intended inauguration date, leaving José Sarney – Neves’s running

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two stints as Minister of Culture, Aparecido de Oliveira served as governor to Brazil’s nascent capital state, the “Federal District,” becoming known for his eco-friendly vision of urban planning and his success in registering Brasília as a UNESCO world heritage site. Aparecido de Oliveira’s last nomination to a government office came in 1992, when he was named Ambassador to Portugal by President Itamar Franco (Viggiano 13-14).

It was José Aparecido de Oliveira who, during his tenure as Brazilian

Minister of Culture under President José Sarney, pushed through the initiative that would eventually provide the foundation for the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries.

On March 3, 1989, representatives from the then-seven sovereign Lusophone countries met in São Luís de Maranhão, Brazil, and agreed upon the preliminary framework of the

International Portuguese Language Institute (IILP). Logistical complications and internal conflicts in Lusophone states would delay the official founding of the IILP for ten years; the constitutive act of the Institute was not signed until 2009, at the occasion of a CPLP meeting in São Tomé and Príncipe (Viggiano 17-29).42

The initiation rites for the International Portuguese Language Institute, however, served to set the ball rolling for deeper collaboration between Lusophone states, in the very least necessitating periodic summits and meetings between foreign ministers. In the years following the meeting in São Luís de Maranhão, José Aparecido de Oliveira mate on the opposition ticket – to be sworn in as president. Tancredo Neves remains one of the most popular and affectionately remembered figures in Brazilian politics. According to historian Thomas Skidmore, this is principally due to two circumstances: the fact that Neves was active in Brazilian politics around the time of the democratic transition, and the fact that he died before taking office, thus going down in history as a political martyr (Skidmore, The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil (257-267). 42 As a result of this delay, the IILP came to be nested under the umbrella structure of the CPLP, charged with spearheading initiatives related to the promotion and diffusion of the Portuguese language. (As well as, according to Aparecido, creating the first “vocabulário ortográfico pan-lusofônico” (qtd. in Viggiano 19) [“pan-Lusophone orthographic vocabulary”] ). Opinion on the IILP seems to be sharply divided: while some would like to see the IILP granted more sovereignty, others consider its stated objectives to be dated and even neocolonial.

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labored to establish a permanent working group which would debate the prospect of further official Lusophone collaboration (Viggiano 28-29). At last, during the 1996

Lusophone summit convened in the very middle of a Lisbon summer, the decision was made to bind the seven sovereign Lusophone states43 together in an organization which at the time amounted to nothing more than a promise of deeper future collaboration. This nascent organization was christened the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries

(Comunidade de Países de Língua Portuguesa) and a rudimentary constitution was drawn up to govern the processes and procedures of the organization (“Histórico – Como

Surgiu?”).

Some might at this point accuse this dissertation of attributing undue agency to

José Aparecido de Oliveira as the motor behind the institutionalization of Lusophone relations. Likewise, the dissertation might be reproached for turning a blind eye to the persistence of other figures, most notably Jaime Gama, Portuguese Minister of Foreign

Affairs from 1983-1985, who devotes a large part of his political memoirs Política

Externa Portuguesa 1983-1985 to detailing his attempts to create a Portuguese-speaking union. Indeed, Gama and other key figures such as José Manuel Durão Barroso and

Adriano Moreira (both to be discussed later in this chapter) did develop unique visions of a Lusophone community, even if those visions were never fully realized. For the sake of evenhandedness, therefore, it is worthwhile to reflect briefly on the content of Gama’s vision, as it was the most robust and plausible.

Jaime Gama served as Portugal’s chief diplomat in the government of Prime

Minister Mário Soares. Those who remember Soares from the previous chapter might

43 Timor-Leste, still under Indonesian occupation at the time, would only become a sovereign state and consequently a member of the CPLP in 2002.

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recall that the Socialist Party politician’s second term in office (1983-1985) is best remembered for a dogged push to integrate Portugal into the European Community.

Gama, however, envisioned Portugal’s foreign policy priorities as more closely linked to other continents. During a speech given on June 24, 1983, at a lunch with African

Ambassadors from Portuguese-speaking nations, Gama invited the gathered dignitaries to join him in a toast, pronouncing: “Peço-vos por isso me acompanheis num brinde ao futuro confiante das nossas relações, à amizade duradoura entre os que se exprimem numa mesma língua...” (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1983-1985 18). [“I invite you to join me in a toast to a secure future in our relations, and to a lasting friendship between those who express themselves in the same language…”].

Gama later recalls in his memoirs a speech that he gave during a visit to Cape

Verde on November 15th, 1983. Gama cites this speech as the first moment in which the idea for the creation of the CPLP was voiced, and contends that José Aparecido de

Oliveira simply revisited his vision in later years. In this address, Gama called upon Cape

Verde to take advantage of its position as a “non-aligned nation” and its geographic location to serve as a meeting point where Lusophone policy makers could assemble in sessions of institutionalized dialogue (Gama, Política Externa Portuguesa 50-51):44

‘Nesse sentido a minha reflexão leva-me à conclusão que o processo mais adequado para tornar consistente e descentralizar o diálogo tricontinental dos sete Países de língua portuguesa espalhados por África, Europa e América, seria realizar cimeiras

44 Note that, once again, Cape Verde is being projected as a neutral and intermediary space, which has the potential to serve as a hinge between metropole and former colonies. Gama also made explicit reference in this speech to the multiethnic nature of Cape Verde’s population, insinuating that this characteristic lent Cape Verde special abilities as interpreter between Europe and Africa.

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rotativas bienais de Chefes de Estado, de Governo, promover encontros anuais de Ministros de Negócios Estrangeiros, efectivar consultas políticas frequentes entre Directores Políticos de Ministérios de Estrangeiros...’ (50-51)

[‘In this manner my reflections lead me to conclude that the most adequate process by which we can substantiate and decentralize the tri-continental dialogue of the seven Lusophone countries spread across Africa, Europe, and America would be to hold biannual rotating summits between Heads of State, to promote annual meetings between Ministers of Foreign Affairs, and to organize frequent political consultations between directors of Foreign Ministries…’].

Gama would return to this theme several times during his first tenure as Minister of Foreign Affairs. Gama anticipated by about two decades the rhetoric that we currently hear from Portuguese statesmen about Portugal serving as the connection between the

Northern and the Southern hemispheres, making the argument for more diplomacy with

Africa at a time when all other eyes were focused on Europe. Gama argued that

Portugal’s foreign policy did not distill down to an either/or decision between Europe and the former empire: “No seu diálogo com o Sul, e em particular com África ou América

Latina, a Europa cometeria erro profundo se ignorasse o contributo específico de países como Portugal e a Espanha ... Em matéria de diálogo Norte-Sul, a Europa não procederia mal se começasse por dar o exemplo no seu próprio continente” (Gama, A Política

Externa Portuguesa 1983-1985 74). [“In its dialogue with the South, and in particular with Africa or Latin America, Europe would commit a profound error if it ignored the specific contribution of countries such as Portugal or Spain … When it comes to a North-

South dialogue, Europe would do well to lead by example on its own continent.”]

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Indeed, Gama seemed poised to become the credited visionary of a coherent

Lusophone community that José Aparecido de Oliveira would become. The fact that

Gama’s name is rarely mentioned in conjunction with the Community of Portuguese-

Speaking Countries is a reflection of the importance of propitious timing in international relations. At the very moment that Gama found himself at the helm of Portuguese foreign policy, Portugal was quickly advancing towards European membership. Mário Soares’s full attention was focused on clearing the final hurdles necessary for entrance into the

European Community, such that furthering Lusophone relations clearly became a second

– or even third – tier priority for the Socialist Party government. Gama’s subsequent suggestions to Visão magazine in 1985 that Portugal could be an asset to Brazil and to

Lusophone Africa by tying these countries to the European Community seems perfectly reasonable now – but at the time it was irrefutably premature (Gama, A Política Externa

Portuguesa 1983-1985 297). Portugal had yet to satisfy entry criteria for the EC, much less gain enough traction within the Community to be capable of linking other economies to Europe.

What’s more, at the time of Gama’s tenure as Minister of Foreign Affairs,

Portugal was still extremely cautious to become involved in internal affairs in its former

African colonies. The civil war in Angola was raging, with the international community increasingly intent upon brokering a peace process in the country. Initially ostracized by the international community – a significant portion of which blamed Portugal for the fractionalization of Angola – Portugal would not take a role in the Angolan peace process

(and later also in Mozambican peace discussions) until the very end of the 1980s. It was only after assuming this role that Portugal would be allowed to construct relationships

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with the former colonies on a new, post-colonial level (L.A. Santos 2). On the other side of the coin, certain circumstances in the late 1980s (in Angola a Soviet retreat from the country, an economic crisis, a desire to solidify relations with the EU and with the United

States; in Mozambique a series of devastating natural catastrophes and a civil war) transpired to render Angola and Mozambique less suspicious of Portugal’s approaches

(6).

Gama would initially be disappointed by his fruitless attempts to institutionalize a

Lusophone community. He would continue to report that small steps were being taken towards the creation of a tri-continental Lusophone organization, but conceded that those steps merely consisted of the promotion of the Portuguese language in international forums (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1983-1985 297-298). A decade later,

Gama would prove instrumental in the strengthening of the CPLP.45 But his name would not go down in the history books as the founding visionary, simply because he did not have the official support that he needed to initiate processes of diplomatic coordination.

Gama’s call for the establishment of Portugal as the fulcrum for a North-South dialogue, although later backed by then-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs and Cooperation José

Manuel Durão Barroso,46 would quietly be brushed aside and soon forgotten (Barroso,

Política de Cooperação 1987-1989 58).

45 Jaime Gama campaigned his whole career for a strengthening of Lusophone relations, most often arguing that the CPLP was necessary to act as a counterweight to the Commonwealth and Francophonie (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1995-1999 245). In his third stint as the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Gama petitioned Prime Minister António Guterres to bring African issues to the European negotiating table and was instrumental in organizing the 2000 Africa-EU Summit (Gama, A Polítical Externa Portuguesa 1999- 2002 288-289). 46 It must be mentioned here that José Manuel Durão Barroso, primarily during his tenure as Minister of Foreign Affairs (1992-1995), did occasionally rally behind the cause of lusophonia. In a speech given in 1993, Barroso stated: “Penso que a estreita colaboração entre os sete países que partilham a língua portuguesa, poderá desenvolver-se numa realidade político-diplomática original e exemplar. Estou certo de

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Certainly, there were other figures – from Portugal as well as from Lusophone

Africa – who have conceived of the idea of a community of Lusophone countries before

José Aparecido de Oliveira.47 But history is stubbornly guided by two overriding principles working in tandem: innovative ideas and circumstance.48 While the circumstances were not favorable for Jaime Gama’s vision of lusophonia in 1983, they were overwhelmingly favorable for Aparecido de Oliveira in 1989. Brazil had recently emerged from decades of authoritarian military rule and was eager to embed its nascent democratic regime in internationally-recognized bodies. What’s more, the Brazilian

President from 1985-1990, José Sarney, placed great trust in Aparecido de Oliveira, and threw his weight behind the Ambassador’s Lusophone community initiative.

And so it was that seven Lusophone statesmen convened in Lisbon in the summer of 199649 to compose a rudimentary constitution that established the framework for an

que não nos pouparemos a esforços com vista à institucionalização prática de uma comunidade de países de língua portuguesa” (Barroso, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1992-1998 108). [“I think that a close collaboration between the seven countries that share the Portuguese languages could develop into an original and exemplary political-diplomatic reality. I am certain that we shall spare no effort in the practical institutionalization of a community of Portuguese-speaking countries.”] Little came of Barroso’s rhetoric at the time, however, and he would later become known as the most prominent Portuguese diplomat working in the European Union (A Política Externa Portuguesa 1994-1995 223-238). 47 Two Lusophone communities actually came to fruition before the founding of the CPLP: the Union of Portuguese Culture Communities, and the Portuguese Culture International Academy. Both were the product of two Portuguese Culture Community Congresses organized by Adriano Moreira and both were metropolitan-centered. Neither would survive long past the founding of the CPLP (L.A. Santos 4; Tolentino). 48 Malcom Gladwell, in his creative and highly entertaining book The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference, argues that “epidemics” of thought, ideas, or trends come about when three factors work in tandem: “sticky” or successful ideas, people who are capable of finding and spreading those ideas, and propitious conditions or circumstances for those ideas to take hold. In the case of the CPLP, it can be argued that the latter condition was the missing piece of the puzzle and what allowed the idea of an institutionalized Lusophone community to finally take hold in 1989. 49 A little-known fact is that the constitutive summit of the CPLP was actually supposed to occur in 1994. The first scheduled summit (June 1994) was boycotted by the African nations, who felt snubbed by Brazilian President Itamar Franco’s last minute unavailability. The second scheduled summit (November 1994) was boycotted solely by Angola in protest of perceived excessive meddling by Lisbon in Angola’s internal affairs. Had it not been for intense diplomatic maneuvering and coaxing in the ensuing months, the CPLP might have been pronounced dead before its inaugural summit (L.A. Santos 3).

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environment of institutionalized cooperation between CPLP member states. The chief organ within the structure of the CPLP was determined to be the Conference of Heads of

State and Government, a summit held biennially. During these summits, the assembled heads of state define and orient the diplomatic efforts of the organization. All decisions at the biennial summits are reached by consensus. Beyond the Chiefs of State, there are other levels of CPLP organs that work to coordinate and supervise all CPLP initiatives, such as the Council of Ministers (wherein respective Ministers of Foreign Affairs meet annually) and the Permanent Steering Committee.

The founding statutes of the CPLP additionally defined three broad objectives for the organization. Firstly, the CPLP pronounced its determination to promote political and diplomatic cooperation between member states in order to strengthen member states’ presence on the international stage. Secondly, the CPLP declared itself committed to cooperation in the areas of education, public health, science and technology, defense, agriculture, public administration, communications, justice, security, culture, and sports.

And lastly, the CPLP – through the vehicle of the IILP – pledged to support projects aimed towards the promotion and diffusion of the Portuguese language, both within and without member states (“Histórico – Como Surgiu?”).

Although the CPLP body statutes give the indication that these three broad objectives will be given equal weight, both the founding declaration and the concluding communiqué of the inaugural summit clearly gave primacy to the third objective, the promotion and diffusion of Portuguese language and culture. The founding declaration, for example, begins with a lengthy exposé on the need to consolidate a common identity based on a common language with the objective of strengthening (and indeed forging)

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ties of solidarity and cooperation between member states. The declaration dedicates the majority of its content to an exaltation of the Portuguese language, referred to alternatively as a link, a cultural patrimony, and a shared cultural space. It is only at the end of the founding declaration that political and diplomatic coordination is mentioned, as something that will arise organically from the valorization of the common language

(Tolentino).

The organization created by the Lisbon summit of 1996 amounted to little more than a rudimentary framework. The newly-created organization lacked sufficient staff, coordinated and clear objectives, and adequate funds to be effective.50 No tangible policy measures emerged from the original summit. The Portuguese President Jorge Sampaio resorted to ambiguous, empty language when describing the conclusion of the summit:

“We thus actualise a secular familiarity … The rules are quite clear: equality, solidarity, mutual respect. Not forgetting that this community is marked by our own reading of universalism” (qtd. in L.A. Santos 9). This dearth of shared political and developmental objectives frustrated some member states, with Brazilian President Fernando Henrique

Cardoso arguing the need for “concrete cooperation projects” (qtd. in L.A. Santos 9) and the Angolan President José Eduardo dos Santos complaining of an excess of

“grandiloquence, and sentimental rhetoric” in the summit proceedings (qtd. in L.A.

Santos 9).

Perhaps the CPLP lacked definition at the outset because the Heads of State that gathered for the Lisbon summit ultimately – if not consensually – adopted a risk-

50 Originally, member states were to each contribute $30,000 annually to the CPLP. Any extra money was to come from member state donations – Brazil and Portugal initially contributed $100,000 each in donations and Angola contributed $50,000. Other cooperation activities had to be financed by a separate fund which depended entirely on additional voluntary member state contributions (L.A. Santos 10).

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avoidance strategy, setting their sights on the low-hanging fruit of the Lusophone agenda.

By avoiding difficult topics of discussion such as diplomatic coordination and the apportionment of developmental aid, they could ensure that the founding summit remained free of contention. In doing so, the gathered participants were actually setting a precedent: the tendency for CPLP coordinated action to center on the “soft” areas of cooperation – language and culture – and to avoid substantial discussion and intervention in member states in the areas of development, diplomacy, and economic collaboration.

This tendency most likely stemmed from the combination of meager resources, an untried and fragile institutional structure, and the afore-mentioned desire to keep initial negotiations civil and uncontentious. Such an initial tendency is not unusual for new institutions, especially those which begin with a modest size. But while many institutions later gain audacity in their policy areas as they strengthen and grow, the CPLP has remained principally focused on soft areas of cooperation.

One of the important features of the CPLP bylaws – a feature which certainly distinguishes the structure of the organization from the Commonwealth51 – was the concept of a rotating presidency. It was decided that at the top of the CPLP administrative pyramid would be an Executive Secretary, nominated by national governments and granted a two-year term, eligible once for reelection. So as to avoid any conflict related to the order of succession, Executive Secretaries would be nominated by the countries in alphabetical order, such that Angola was at the helm of the organization’s administration

51 Proponents of the CPLP argue that this feature creates a more democratic post-colonial community (in comparison with the Commonwealth and Francophonie), by generating a horizontal power structure. This point was argued by former CPLP Executive Secretary Dulce Maria Pereira. Indeed, no monarch presides over the CPLP, as is the case with the Commonwealth. Whether or not the power structure is truly horizontal will be explored in this dissertation’s following two chapters.

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from 1996-2000, followed by Brazil and Cape Verde thereafter. Angola nominated as the first-ever CPLP Executive Secretary Marcolino José Carlos Moco, a former Prime

Minister of Angola and eminent national political figure. Moco served a successful two- year term before being nominated for reelection in 1998. In 2000 it was Brazil’s turn to nominate its own Executive Secretary, and this is where the story becomes curious.

Considering the critical role that José Aparecido de Oliveira had played in the developments which culminated in the launching of the CPLP, it would not have been unreasonable for him to be Brazil’s candidate. By this point, the distinguished Brazilian political figure had enjoyed a long and productive career, culminating in the successful campaign to institutionalize Lusophone relations in a supranational community.

Aparecido de Oliveira’s nomination as Executive Secretary would have been a fitting gesture of recognition to the elder statesman; a distinguished but tranquil post to symbolically cap off a lifelong career of public service. Indeed, it was widely expected that Aparecido de Oliveira would be offered the post without so much as a need for deliberation in Brasília about the matter (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1995-

1999 246-247; J. Pinto, Personal Interview).

Surprisingly however, Brazil passed over Aparecido de Oliveira and nominated instead Dulce Maria Pereira, a former architect best known for her activism in campaigns for gender and race equality and for her tenure as President of the Fundação Cultural

Palmares [Palmares Cultural Foundation]. This turn of events startled even Jaime Gama, who later expresses his surprise at the nomination (and grudgingly admits the prominence that Aparecido de Oliveira’s person has come to enjoy within the CPLP):

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Muitas pessoas lançaram o projecto e falaram dele no passado. O Embaixador Aparecido tem o seu nome fortamente ligado, numa fase, à divulgação e é uma personalidade empenhada na ideia de comunidade. Com a escolha que foi feita em relação ao secretário executivo, não está em causa qualquer apreciação negativa sobre essa figura, mas o princípio que estabelecemos foi o de que os candidatos deveriam ser endossados pelos Governos dos respectivos países (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1995- 1999 247).

[Many people have talked about and been a part of the project. The Ambassador Aparecido has his name closely linked, during a certain phase, with the dissemination of the project, and he is someone very engaged with the idea of the Community. Regarding the decision made related to Executive Secretary, and there is no negative appraisal being made of this candidate, there still stands the principle that we established which was that candidates must be endorsed only by the governments of their respective countries.]

There is a certain defensiveness in this second political memoir of Gama’s and this leads to an impression that the inner circle of the CPLP was called upon to explain – and perhaps even convince Brazil to redress – the unexpected nomination.

What might be the logic behind Brazil’s decision? The answer to this question is long and requires a careful scrutiny of the idiosyncrasies of past Lusophone relations. To begin, this dissertation will peel back layers upon layers of “triangle history,” attempting to elucidate the complicated and at times contradictory relationships among Brazil,

Portugal, and Lusophone Africa. Understanding Brazil’s ambivalent relation to the

Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries provides a window into Portugal’s relation to the Community; it allows for an understanding of why Portugal has been permitted, almost by default, to adopt a dominant role in the organization. This is to say that, before one can begin to probe Portugal’s current role in the CPLP, it must be made

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clear why Brazil has been so often accused of snubbing the very community it once worked so assiduously to create.

To provide some documentary evidence of the accusations leveled at Brazil in this regard: Marchueta writes in A CPLP e seu enquadramento that Brazilian ambivalence vis-à-vis the CPLP has at times come close to paralyzing the community. Oscillating between enthusiasm for and reservation about the Community, Brazil’s support for the organization at any one moment is a clear litmus test for its assessment of its own positioning in the world (128). Marchueta also posits that Brazilian ambivalence with regard to the CPLP is a product of internal disagreement in Brazil: José Aparecido de

Oliveira and José Sarney belonged to a political class that defended the cultural and romantic aspect of Lusophone solidarity. This political class was soon replaced by another, the second more pragmatic and mercantilist, composed of figures such as

Fernando Henrique Cardoso and Luís Filipe Lampreia (Foreign Affairs Minister), who did not see the initial utility of the Community, and who were not willing to invest in the organization out of sheer sentimentalism or sense of duty (128). In fact, Luís Filipe

Lampreia commented a mere six months after the founding summit of the CPLP that he saw little value in the organization, that Brazil’s primary objective should be to strengthen ties with the European Union, and that Brazil could engage diplomatically and economically in Africa without the aid of the CPLP (L.A. Santos 9).

José Filipe Pinto agrees with this assessment, adding that Brazil retreated from the

CPLP as soon as President Sarney was replaced by President Fernando Collor de Mello.

Collor de Mello and his contemporary political elites were not “Europeanized” elites; rather, they had their eyes set on the United States and were determined to create a

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Brazilian sphere of influence in the southern hemisphere akin to that of the United States in the northern hemisphere (J. Pinto, Personal Interview). The government of Collor de

Mello was more audacious than its precursor, more cognizant of Brazil’s increased influence on the world’s stage, and more apt to replicate American ideals of free trade and privatization than be content with living in Europe’s shadow.52 As a result, Itamaraty purposefully left lusophonia off its agenda for several years (as early as 1997 the

Brazilian Ministry of Foreign Affairs demoted the CPLP as a foreign policy priority), at precisely the moment when the incipient community most needed Brazil’s support. Jaime

Gama subtly expresses his disappointment at this rebuff in his third political memoir, stopping short of directly condemning Brazil for negligence, while at the same time making clear that more Brazilian support of the organization would have been welcome:

Sabemos e reconhecemos que uma política de afirmação da lusofonia e da língua portuguesa à escala global só faz sentido, para não dizer só é possível, se desenvolvida em conjunto e em estreita aliança com o Brasil, grande país à escala do continente americano e da cena mundial e país com o maior número de falantes de língua portuguesa. A CPLP tem merecido um apoio incansável do Brasil. Contamos agora com uma Secretária Executiva brasileira que irá dar um novo impulso à Organização no quadro do mandato aprovado na Cimeira de Maputo (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1999-2002 353).

52 It is important to note the extent to which, up to this point, Brazil had looked to Europe for inspiration. José Honório Rodrigues wrote the following about this historic Brazilian Eurocentrism: “As elites cultivaram a Europa, não toda, porque, da Oriental, balcânica, e mesmo escandinava pouco cuidaram. Interessaram-se pela Ibéria, porque dela descendemos, mas o nosso espelho foi especialmente a França, e quando muito a Inglaterra ou a Alemanha” (J. Rodrigues, Vol I 6). [“The elites cultivated the image of Europe, not all of Europe, because they had little interest in the East, in the Balkans, even Scandinavia. They were interested in Iberia, because from there we were descended, but our mirror was overwhelmingly France, and also England or Germany.”]

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[We know and we recognize that an affirmative policy of lusophonia and of the Portuguese language on a global scale only makes sense, not to say is only possible, when developed in conjunction with and in close alliance with Brazil, important country on the American continent and on the world scene, which also holds the greatest number of Portuguese speakers. The CPLP has deserved the untiring support of Brazil. We have now a Brazilian Executive Secretary who will give new impulse to the organization in the framework of the mandate approved at the Summit of Maputo.]

Together, Marchueta and Pinto make a compelling case for the influence of

Brazilian political elite in deemphasizing Lusophone relations in Brazilian foreign policy in the decades surrounding the turn of the century. But this is only half of the story. The other half is related to Brazilian antagonism vis-à-vis Portugal when it comes to diplomatic and commercial relations with Lusophone Africa. The argument that this dissertation puts forth is fairly straightforward: in matters related to Lusophone Africa,

Brazil has traditionally seen Portugal more as a competitor than an ally. The two have jockeyed for power in Lusophone Africa, with Portugal historically wielding political and legal leverage over the region and Brazil exercising economic influence. Such a dynamic is inherently antagonistic to the ideals of the CPLP, which are grounded in multilateralism and pooled resources. This misalignment has in turn led to an impasse between the two nations, where only one (presumably the one that stands to gain the most from the CPLP) can be fully active in the Community. But lest this narrative get ahead of itself by jumping to conclusions before surveying the evidence at hand, it is necessary to begin with a careful look at historic Brazilian and Portuguese relations, as well as intentions, vis-à-vis Lusophone Africa. This dissertation will begin in middle of the

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twentieth century, the very same years that marked the beginning of Portugal’s

Europeanization.

José Honório Rodrigues writes that relations between Brazil and Portugal gained a new cordiality in the early 20th century, due in large part to the influence of Gilberto

Freyre. In 1953, Brazil and Portugal signed the Treaty of Friendship and Consultation – a treaty abundant in flowery rhetoric describing the brotherly nature of Luso-Brazilian relations (J. Rodrigues, Vol II 355-358). The informal and sentimental nature of the treaty was summed up in 1957 by an article published in the Brazilian journal O Globo entitled

“Por uma política luso-brasileira”:

A política com Portugal não chega a ser uma política. É um ato de família. Ninguém faz política com os pais e irmãos. Vive com eles, na intimidade do sangue e dos sentimentos. Nas horas difíceis, cada qual procura apoio e conselho nos seus. Sem regras. Sem tratados. Sem compensações. Pela força do sangue (qtd. in J. Rodrigues, Vol II 357).

[Foreign policy with Portugal is hardly a foreign policy. It is an act of family. Nobody makes policy with their parents or brothers. You live with them, in the intimacy of blood and of sentiments. In times of difficulty, everyone seeks support and council among his own. Without rules. Without treaties. Without reparations. By the power of blood.]

But beneath this rhetoric of excessive sentimentality, tensions were brewing between Brazil and Portugal. Indeed, treaties such as the Treaty of Friendship and

Consultation actually did a disservice to Luso-Brazilian relations by failing to ground these relations in concrete mutual interests and responsibilities. This emphasis on “soft”

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collaboration would persevere: forty years later, in 1993, Minister of Foreign Affairs José

Barroso gave a speech commemorating the anniversary of the Treaty of Friendship and

Consultation. In his speech, Barroso cited collaboration in the promotion of the

Portuguese language as the cornerstone of future Luso-Brazilian cooperation – hardly an ambitious program for a bilateral relation involving one of the globe’s emerging economic giants (Barroso, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1992-1998 108). In the very same year, Barroso marked the visit of the Brazilian Minister of Foreign Relations to

Lisbon with a speech in which he made reference to the “affectionate” relationship between the two countries, a relationship which – according to Barroso – lay outside the ambit of traditional politico-diplomatic bilateral relations (109).

In a world where realpolitik is the norm rather than the exception, alliances based on “the intimacy of blood and of sentiments” last only so long as no individual interests are infringed upon. Sentimentality ultimately proved to be no rival to real political maneuvering between Brazil and Portugal as the two nations jockeyed for a foothold in

Lusophone Africa, a region that both wanted to exploit for economic and symbolic ends.

Brazil’s strategic interests in Lusophone Africa were first noticeably piqued in the initial years of European integration – the decade of the 1960s. As Europe progressively organized itself in economic and trading blocs (most prominently, the European

Economic Community and the European Free Trade Association), Brazil came to feel increasingly insecure about its own peripherality in relation to the world economy.53

53 This insecurity would last up until the 1990s, a decade in which Brazil joined not only the CPLP but also Mercosul. In 1993, Brazilian writer Gerardo Mello Mourão argued in a journal article: “Nestes dias em que a política se funda e se funde em blocos de nações, como a comunidade europeia, a comunidade dos tigres asiáticos, e comunidade setentrional da América e assim por diante, devemos reconhecer que o Brasil tem estado à margem de qualquer ‘fraternity’ ou ‘sorority’ internacional” (qtd. in Viggiano 112). [“In this age where politics are founded and merged in blocks of nations, such as the European Community, the

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Brazilian products began to lose traction in European economies, as European commerce blocs tended to impose lower duties on African products as a result of old colonial allegiances (J. Rodrigues, Vol II 254-267).54

It was in this spirit of insecurity that, in 1972, Freitas Nobre, vice-leader of the opposition Movimento Democrático Brasileiro party, called attention to the way in which the world’s economic powers were progressively organizing themselves into commercial blocs. Nobre argued that a market alliance between Brazil and African states was imperative in face of the economic reorganization of the late twentieth century:

[A aliança é] uma imposição de sobrevivência diante das recentes e profundas transformações da economia mundial, resultantes do interesso da Inglaterra no Mercado Comum Europeu ... Brasil não pode, como não podem a Argentina, a Colômbia, o Chile, ou nenhum outro país da América Latina viver isoladamente, ilhado dentro de um continente que leva obrigatoriamente a composição de um bloco econômico (qtd. in “Frieitas Nobre”).

[[This alliance is] a method of survival in the face of the recent and profound transformations in the world economy, resulting from the interest of England in the Common European Market … Brazil, and similarly Argentina, Colombia, Chile, as well as any other Latin American country, cannot live in isolation, secluded in a continent that will eventually be necessarily drawn into the composition of an economic bloc.]

community of Asian Tigers, the Northern community of America, and so on, we must recognize that Brazil has remained at the margin of any international ‘fraternity’ or ‘sorority.’”] 54 Competition between African and Brazilian products was especially fierce in the coffee trade, with Europe increasingly turning to the import of African coffee, to the great detriment of the Brazilian crop (J. Rodrigues, Vol II 267).

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Compounding the pressure not to be left out of economic coalitions was the considerable stress of the 1973 OPEC oil crisis on Brazil, a country dependent on foreign oil imports for 80% of its energy needs (Skidmore, “Military Rule” 181). This crisis underscored for Brazil the growing interconnectivity of the world economy and the extent to which Brazil’s future growth depended on forging strategic alliances from a position of power.

Added to the equation would soon be the Brazilian “economic miracle” of the late

1960s and early 1970s, a decade of unparalleled expansion in the Brazilian economy that witnessed sustained growth rates of over 10% annually. This rapid growth brought new confidence to the country, which yearned to disengage itself from the rest of South

America (seen by Brazil as a mere satellite of Europe) and forge an independent path of foreign policy (Burns 205; Seibert 1-2) This mindset is evident in the writing of Brazilian diplomat and professor of foreign relations Adolpho Justo Bezerra de Menezes who in

1956 asserted: “We must, as the Americans say, ‘think big,’ to plan broadly … Our small-minded foreign policy that acts only in South America and passively follows the

United States in the world no longer fits us” (qtd. in Dávila 8).

Poised and ready to assert itself as an autonomous actor, Brazil sought out places to flex its newfound muscles and soon alighted upon Lusophone Africa. Portuguese- speaking Africa suited Brazil’s expansionist needs perfectly; not only did linguistic commonalities increase the ease of doing business, but the territories were rich sources of raw materials and contained large potential markets of consumers for Brazilian finished products. Lusophone Africa thus served two purposes: it could feed the rapidly expanding Brazilian economy, while allowing Brazil to assert autonomy in its own

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foreign policy. Brazilian Foreign Minister Azeredo da Silveira remarked on this second strategic interest in a speech given in 1975:

… if Latin America is the essential environment of our foreign policy, Africa is the screen upon which we project it, demonstrating the shape that our foreign relations will assume in the future … it is practically virgin territory for our diplomatic action. What we do today on the African continent models our relations for the next twenty or thirty years. We are not planning a foreign policy for the 1970s, we are planning for the year 2000 (qtd. in Dávila 4-5).

Granted, there was one considerable impediment for Brazil: Portugal still held de facto political and legal control over Lusophone Africa until the year 1974. In the years preceding Portuguese decolonization, Brazil found itself time and again stymied in its attempts to infiltrate Portugal’s African territories. José Honório Rodrigues voiced this frustration in his 1964 book Brasil e África: Outro Horizonte Vol. II: “Não podemos chegar à África de braço dado com Salazar ... pois se continuar o predomínio europeu, agora econômico, continuará a concorrência maio aos nossos produtos...” (367). [“We cannot arrive in Africa arm-in-arm with Salazar ... because if European predominance, currently economic, continues, then European competition with our products will also continue.”]

Putting aside concerns related to economic competition with Portugal, Brazil also had to grapple with the worry of being too closely associated with Portuguese colonialism. By this time, European colonialism in Asia and Africa was well on its way to becoming resoundingly delegitimized. Portugal’s singular breed of colonialism was

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conceived as the worst possible sort: not only had Portugal ruled its African colonies with little regard for the wellbeing of the colonies’ native inhabitants, but the inherent fragility of the Portuguese state had rendered Portugal unable to properly develop its colonies economically or socially. As other European colonizers successively decamped from

African territories, carving up the continent into illogically conceived but sovereign states

(between 1956 and 1960 alone, 22 new African states emerged (Matos 154)), Portugal’s stubborn resistance to decolonization grew more conspicuous. Even the United States, which had traditionally remained peripheral to European colonial disputes in Africa, joined the chorus criticizing Portugal. President Kennedy publicly called on Salazar to liberate Portugal’s African colonies,55 while Kennedy’s Under Secretary for Political

Affairs remarked in 1957 that, were it not for the lack of education and general misery experienced by inhabitants of Portuguese Africa, then the region would long have expelled its colonizers by force (J. Rodrigues, Vol II 330).

Not surprisingly, this was hardly a legacy that Brazil wanted to be tangled up in.

The South American giant had to walk a delicate line; it had to avoid becoming mired in

Portuguese colonial struggles, while attempting to keep relations cordial with Portugal.

This explains the rather ambiguous policy of President Jânio Quadros (whose brief spell in the Brazilian presidency began in 1961, at the start of the Portuguese colonial wars) vis-à-vis Portugal’s colonies: while publically proclaiming his support for decolonization

55 Later American presidents (such as Nixon) would be less outspoken in condemning Portuguese colonialism, apparently failing to reconcile their moral obligations with their fear of Soviet infiltration in African liberation movements. A report circulated internally by the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs in 1971 stated, “Por outro lado, muitos políticos e militares responsáveis da nação americana parecem compreender e reconhecer as vantagens da permanência de Portugal em África, como um dique à penetração russa e maoísta naquele continente” (Relações de Portugal com os Estados Unidos). [“On the other hand, many American political and military leaders seem to understand and recognize the advantages of a permanent Portuguese presence in Africa, which functions as a dyke against Russian and Maoist penetration on that continent.”]

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and “the self-determination of all peoples aspiring to independence” (qtd. in Dávila 101),

Quadros chose to abstain from votes at the United Nations that sought to place sanctions on Portugal (Dávila 106).56 Brazilian ambiguity on the colonial question was a cause of prolonged concern for Portugal. A letter sent from Portugal’s Embassy in Rio de Janeiro to the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs in August of 1968 expresses concern about an interview of ex-President Jânio Quadros by the Brazilian newspaper Tribuna da

Imprensa. In the interview, Quadros reveals the interrogation he faced during a recent trip through Lisbon about his view on the Portuguese colonies. Quadros also indicated to the

Tribuna de Imprensa that his refusal to directly respond to these questions was not well received in Portugal (Portuguese Embassy in Rio de Janeiro “Entrevista com o Senhor

Jânio Quadros”).

Two factors, however, would ultimately act in concert over the next decade to convince Brazil of the logic in pursuing a more aggressive foreign and economic policy in Lusophone Africa: the deepening of Cold War tensions and the weakening of

Portugal’s hold on its African colonies. With the entrenchment of Cold War bipolarity,

Brazil once again saw the world partitioning itself into blocs which could serve it no purpose.57 The country hoped that a foothold in Africa might help it retain sovereignty

56 The importance of these abstentions are evident in an “extremely urgent” telegraph wherein the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs instructs the Portuguese Embassy in Rio de Janeiro to give immediate and resounding thanks to Brazil for the “atitude brasileira à qual Governo e opinião pública portuguesa têm sido muito sensíveis” (Ministry of Foreign Affairs “Telegrama Expedido No. 497”). [“Brazilian attitude to which the government and Portuguese popular opinion have been very sensitive.”] 57 The Cold War situations of Portugal and Brazil were, at face value, strikingly similar: neither state was keen to stake out a decisive position in the bipolar conflict, and instead sought a “third way” rooted in nonalignment. That being said, these two “third ways” were inherently antagonistic: Portugal desired to retreat into a distinct imperial space strong enough to resist the centripetal pull of the superpowers, while Brazil aimed to bolster its status by exploiting raw materials and markets of sovereign Lusophone African states. Both countries would find the Cold War coming to them, most detrimentally for Portugal, who witnessed a Soviet infiltration of the African liberation movements. A 1971 report from the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs about the state of the colonial wars related that almost all arms used by the

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and avoid being pulled into the spheres of influence of either superpower. It was at this moment that, fortuitously for Brazil, the Portuguese colonial empire began irrevocably to unravel. Militant uprisings in Portugal’s African colonies gained strength as African liberation movements organized and armed themselves for what would be a decade of brutal guerilla warfare with Portugal. Brazil’s response to these colonial wars proved just how shallow its ultimate support for Portugal was: Brazil not only finally threw its weight behind the international bodies rallying for Portuguese decolonization, but it also stepped forward to declare itself the intermediary that would assist in softening the rupture between colonizer and colonized. Such a stance gave Brazil a head start in staking an influence in Lusophone Africa, as well as allowing the country to remain relatively removed from Cold War bipolarization (Dávila 4-10). As summed up by Jerry Dávila:

Decolonization … shaped the Brazilian state’s responses to the Cold War, creating room for Brazilian diplomats to propose an alternative to the logic of an ‘iron curtain’ dividing East and West … Brazil was on the moral side of the ‘racial curtain’: it was a natural leader of the developing world because its racial democracy was a positive response to Jim Crow and colonialism. Brazilian leaders used relations with Africa to assert autonomy from the United States and stake a claim as an emerging world power (4).

This sort of rhetoric espoused by Brazil certainly did not curry much favor in

Portugal. While Portugal was withstanding criticism and humiliation before international bodies such as the United Nations for its anachronistic colonialism, Brazil was branding

African fighters were of Soviet, Chinese, or Eastern European origin. The report states that a 1970 raid of Bissau Guinean troops revealed that 90% of the weapons recovered had been sent to Africa via the Soviet Union and that Soviet training camps were being established in the territory of Guinea Bissau (Situação Militar nas Províncias Ultramarinas Portuguesas).

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itself the special ally of Lusophone Africa, touting its history of miscegenation as proof of a certain national propensity for racial tolerance. Brazil was suddenly awash with political and diplomatic commentators who waxed romantic about Brazil’s kinship with

Africa. José Honório Rodrigues does not defy this trend, proclaiming:

Na verdade somos uma nação que deve pensar intercontinentalmente e o Atlântico Sul nos conduz à África, a que tudo nos liga, desde as similitudes da geografia (clima, solos, vegetação), até as forças étnicas, as precedências históricas e os interesses econômicos. O Atlântico Sul nos une a quase toda a África Ocidental e nos sugere uma política de esplanada, intercontinental, que melhore não somente nossas condições de proteção e segurança, mas nossas alianças econômicas e de amizade. Somos, assim, pela nossa própria extensão e posição no Atlântico Sul uma nação intercontinental e um protagonista das relações internacionais com o mundo africano (J. Rodrigues, Vol II 371).58

[In truth we are a nation that must think intercontinentally, and the South Atlantic leads us to Africa, to which everything binds us, from geographic similarities (climate, soil, vegetation), to ethnic forces, historical precedents, and economic interests. The South Atlantic unites us with almost all of Western Africa and suggests to us a policy of esplanade, intercontinental, which improves not only our own security, but our economic and friendly alliances. We are, therefore, by way of our own positioning in the South Atlantic, an intercontinental nation and a protagonist in international relations with the African world.]

58 Another scholar whose work on the African dimension to Brazilian foreign policy is worth reading is José Flávio Sombra Saraiva. Saraiva’s 1997 book O lugar da África: a dimensão atlântica da política externa brasileira (de 1946 a nossos dias) [The place for Africa: The Atlantic dimension of Brazilian foreign policy (from 1946 to present day)] complements José Honório Rodrigues’s scholarship by presenting a more contemporary view of Afro-Brazilian relations. Similar to Jerry Dávila, Saraiva argues that Brazil first became interested in sustained political relations with Africa during the years of rapid industrial development, when the country was in need of raw materials to feed economic growth. Only later, following the collapse of Portuguese colonialism in Africa and during the height of Cold War tensions, did Brazil use relations with Africa to assert political agency and autonomy (Saraiva).

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Based on the accounts of José Honório Rodrigues and Jerry Dávila, Brazil envisioned itself as replacing Portugal as the principal influence in Lusophone Africa. It appears that the pivotal turning point in this jockeying for power, or the point at which

Brazil decisively asserted itself in Africa with close to no regard for Portuguese opinion, occurred in 1971, when Brazilian Foreign Minister Mário Gibson Barboza conducted a one-month tour of nine African nations, opening a new page in Afro-Brazilian diplomatic relations and indicating an official rupture with Portugal. Before embarking on his diplomatic mission, Barboza penned the following thoughts in a personal journal:

[Visiting West Africa] will allow us to express our views on international affairs and will help generate a better understanding that can reduce or eliminate the climate of mistrust, coldness and even veiled hostility toward Brazil that could take root in Africa because of the position we have traditionally taken on the problem of Portugal’s territories (qtd. in Dávila 142).

One particular interview conducted with Barboza shortly after his African tour caused great controversy in Portugal. Barboza apparently expressed in the interview sentiments along the lines of, “que seu Governo se opõe racismo na África do Sul e que está pronto para ajudar a encontrar uma solução pacífica às aspirações de independência dos povos de Angola e Mozambique” (Portuguese Embassy in Rio de Janeiro "Telegrama

No. 429"). [“That his government is opposed to racism in South Africa and is ready to help find a peaceful solution to the aspirations of independence of the people of Angola and Mozambique.”] Needless to say, Barboza’s comments sparked a veritable diplomatic crisis and Barboza was forced later to recant his remarks, emphasizing that he had merely

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wished to communicate Brazil’s desire to see Portugal reach a peaceful solution in Africa

(“Gibson define linha política”; “Gibson admite comércio”).

Barboza’s ambitions reflect the sense of optimism that reigned in Itamaraty following the August 1968 stroke of Salazar and the subsequent oath of Marcelo Caetano to the office of Prime Minister. Caetano was seen by the Brazilians as a softer and less courageous leader than Salazar, and many thought he would not have the resolve to continue fighting the colonial wars (“PORTUGAL: Marcelo Caetano” 32-33; “Imprensa de Portugal”). On January 26, 1968, an article was published in the Jornal do Brasil with the self-explaining headline “Brasil deixará de apoiar Portugal em sua política de colônias ultramarinas” [“Brazil will cease to support Portugal in its overseas colonies”].

A month later, the Jornal da Bahia ran an article in which it reported that Itamaraty had decisively determined to change its policy vis-à-vis Portuguese colonialism. The article claimed that Brazil had decided it had a “moral and historical obligation” to support

African independence (“Itamaraty e Portugal”). Both articles precipitated a flurry of nervous correspondence between the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs and its embassy in Brazil. An article published in the Guatemalan Prensa Libre (and which caught the eye of the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs) sums up the general journalistic literature circulating at the time. As the article reports:

Una actitud más enérgica de Brasil hacia Portugal y sus colonias de ultramar es recomendada en un documento preparado por el ministerio de relaciones exteriores … Se dice que Brasil se inclina hacia las naciones del “tercer mundo”, que incluyen a los países africanos que se oponen al colonialismo. Hasta ahora, Brasil se ha abstenido en las votaciones en las Naciones Unidas sobre las

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colonias de Portugal, limitándose a expresiones contra posibles sanciones (“Brasil adoptara política dura hacia Portugal”).

[A more proactive attitude by Brazil towards Portugal and towards the Portuguese overseas colonies is recommended in a document prepared by the [Brazilian] Ministry of Foreign Affairs … The document says that Brazil is leaning towards the nations of the “third world,” which include the African countries opposed to colonialism. Until now, Brazil has abstained from votes at the United Nations pertaining to Portuguese colonies, limiting itself to comments about possible sanctions.]

Portuguese desperation to secure Brazilian support for its colonies grew parallel to Brazilian optimism that Portuguese colonialism was on its last breath. A telegram from the Portuguese Embassy in Rio de Janeiro to the Portuguese Ministry of Foreign Affairs in June of 1968 suggests that the Portuguese “renegotiate” the perfunctory Treaty of

Friendship and Consultation in order to rope Brazil in to supporting Portugal’s colonial policies (Ministry of Foreign Affairs “Telegrama No. 276).

Gibson Barboza, however, decided to bank on Portugal’s eventual determination that the colonial wars were too costly and damaging to maintain. He resolved to position

Brazil as the intermediary between Africa and Portugal when the inevitable break between the two occurred. To do this, Barboza decided that he needed to begin unapologetically working outside of Portuguese official channels to cultivate Brazilian bilateral relations with Lusophone African nations (Dávila 148).59 This diplomatic strategy did not go unnoticed by William Roundtree, American ambassador to Brazil at the time, who later recalled: “There were indications that both sides believe Brazil has a

59 Although it is difficult to confirm, the Portuguese have accused the Brazilians of dirty dealing during this period in order to garner African support. A telegram from the Portuguese Embassy in Rio de Janeiro in 1968 reports that Brazilian books (edited in Cuba!) filled with Communist propaganda were entering Angola (Portuguese Embassy in Rio de Janeiro “Telegrama No. 68”).

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role to play as an intermediary between Portugal and Black Africa. The Africans strongly urged Brazil to use its special relationship to Portugal to convince the latter to accept gradual independence for its African territories” (qtd. in Dávila 148).

What has been illustrated in the preceding pages, through a careful survey of the historical record of triangular relations in the Lusophone world, is the extent to which

Brazilian and Portuguese intentions in Lusophone Africa were at odds for the better part of the 20th century. Neither saw the other as an ally on the continent; rather, political maneuvering based on self-interest seems to be the single common denominator in all interactions.

With this relationship in mind, it is easier to understand why Brazil’s commitment to the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries appears to vacillate between overt disinterest to token gestures of support. The moment of inception for the CPLP, engendered as it was by a Brazilian Ambassador and a Brazilian President, was admittedly an aberration that strayed from this otherwise predictable pattern. Most likely, a number of external factors came together to create this aberration: a determined ambassador in Lisbon who chose to champion Lusophone relations; a president who placed great faith in this ambassador and believed in the romantic ideal of lusophonia; a country emerging from a military dictatorship, desperate for international allies; and a new democracy keen on demonstrating its ability to be a productive member of multilateral bodies.

No sooner was the CPLP created, however, than Brazil lost interest, its attention diverted to larger stages (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1999-2002 353; Marcheta

128; J. Pinto, Personal Interview; L.A. Santos 9). Portugal, on the other hand, thoroughly

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delegitimized on the African continent in the late-20th century as a result of its colonial legacy, has sought to institutionalize its relations with Lusophone Africa through the ambit of an international organization. This international organization – the CPLP – lends to Portugal a stamp of official legitimacy, especially as it appears to be following a trend begun in the Anglophone and Francophone worlds.

In order for the CPLP to be effective, however, the organization is badly in need of a Brazilian commitment. Brazil’s superior economic might and influence in the southern hemisphere has the potential to provide the CPLP with a much-needed base on which to stand.60 In 2004, the prominent Bissau Guinean diplomat and scholar Dr. Carlos

Lopes was quoted in Nação e Defesa arguing just how crucial the Brazilian purse continued to be for the evolution of the CPLP. In the words of Lopes, “qualquer política de expansão da língua portuguesa tem de ter uma razão e um substracto económico que só o Brasil está em condições para proporcionar ... O investimento nas novas tecnologias de comunicação é indispensável ... A força do Brasil é mais uma vez indispensável para tal investimento” (qtd. in V. Santos, “Lusofonia e Projecção Estratégica” 137).

[“Whatever expansionist policy for the Portuguese language must have an economic foundation that only Brazil has the conditions to provide … Investment in new communications technology is indispensable … The strength of Brazil is once again indispensable for that investment.”]

60 Some might make the argument here that Angola, with its rapidly growing petro-economy, could potentially contribute as much as Brazil to the CPLP. In terms of potential economic support, perhaps. But Angola lacks the legitimacy and the stability that Brazil enjoys, rendering it a less valuable contribution to the ultimate prestige of the Community.

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As argued by José Filipe Pinto in an article published in Negocios Estrangeiros,

Brazil’s outward support of the CPLP could additionally render the Community more palatable to critics who accuse the organization of recreating colonial power structures:

“O Brasil ... não assumiu a liderança do processo lusófono que ... só ele estava em condições de promover, até porque a sua anterior condição de colónia lhe concedia a autoridade suficiente e necessária para que à CPLP não se colocasse o anátema neocolonial” (“A Presidência Portuguesa” 62). [“Brazil … did not assume leadership in the Lusophone process which … only it was capable of promoting, because Brazil’s former condition as a colony granted it sufficient authority to ensure that the CPLP would not be branded a neocolonial anathema.”] Indeed, it is not only Brazil’s former status as a colony that enables it to provide legitimacy to the CPLP. Brazil’s intentional aloofness towards Portugal near the end of the Portuguese colonial struggles and immediate recognition of the African independences of 1974 additionally gave the country a moral upper hand when it came to relations with Lusophone Africa. Such was confirmed by

Portugal’s former President Mário Soares:

O impulso inicial... não podia deixar de partir do Brasil. Por várias razões: pelo seu peso demográfico e pelo seu imenso potencial económico; por ser uma antiga colônia, que nunca chegou a ter um contencioso grave com Portugal; e, sobretudo, porque um tal projecto, vindo do Brasil, não podia ser nunca entendido, pelos nossos irmãos africanos, como escondendo uma qualquer intenção neocolonialista (qtd. in L. Moreira 58).

[The initial impulse… had to have come from Brazil. For various reasons: for Brazil’s demographic weight and its immense economic potential; for having been a former colony, which never came to have a serious dispute with Portugal; and, above all,

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because such a project, coming from Brazil, would never be seen by our African brothers as hiding any neocolonial intention.]

This being said, Brazil, in contrast to Portugal, does not need the legitimizing framework of the CPLP in order to maintain its commercial and social relations with

Portuguese-speaking Africa. Indeed, Brazil has been cultivating these relations since before the end of Portuguese colonialism and has by now established strong bilateral ties in the region, principally with Angola and Mozambique. If these bilateral ties remain strong, Brazil might see little reason in multilateralizing its dealings on the continent. In

2003, for example, the Brazilian Minister of Culture Gilberto Gil gave an interview to the newspaper Público in which he stressed the importance of Brazil’s strategic relationship with Africa and emphasized his desire to see the enhanced promotion of the Portuguese language. Tellingly, Gil did not once mention the Community of Portuguese-Speaking

Countries once in his interview (V. Santos, “Lusofonia e Projecção Estratégica” 137). As reasoned by Maria Regina Marchueta, Brazil hardly appears eager to foster Afro-

Brazilian relations through the ambit of the CPLP:

A respeito do Brasil, não poderá deixar de se assinalar a sua vocação de afirmação regional e internacional, e de reforço da sua posição hemisférica, nomeadamente, no que concerne ao desenvolvimento de uma política própria e autónoma com os países africanos de língua portuguesa, sem ter que socorrer-se de uma triangulação com Portugal (132).

[As concerns Brazil, it will not fail to affirm its role in a regional and international context, or to reinforce its hemispheric position (namely in that which concerns the development of an autonomous foreign policy with Portuguese-speaking African countries), without having to depend on a triangulation with Portugal.]

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Might the CPLP contribute to a shift in Luso-Brazilian relations, by formalizing these relations and linking them to a common market space, common ideals, and a common set of stated objectives? The suggestion is worth entertaining. If the “privileged” relationship between Brazil and Portugal has been so long epitomized by documents consumed by romantic ideals of stately brotherhood but devoid of concrete measures, perhaps the CPLP might contribute to the development of a more mature relationship between the two countries. A strong partnership between Portugal and Brazil has the potential to present a rival to the dominance of hispanidad, as well as provide a solid link between Mercosul and the European Union, thus binding together the North and the

South Atlantic.

But in order for this to happen, both countries must invest equally in the institution. In Chapter One, the case was made that the bonds created by institutions are only so strong as the resolve of member nations to invest in those institutions. For Brazil and Portugal to be compelled to invest equally in the CPLP, the nations must be able to gain something through the channels of the institution that they cannot gain outside of those channels.61 In this dissertation’s next chapter, the future possibilities for the CPLP will be discussed and the likelihood of this occurring will be explored. But for the time being, it would suffice to note that there exists a stark contrast in the ways that Portugal

61 Axelrod and Keohane, in their aforementioned essay “Achieving Cooperation under Anarchy: Strategies and Institutions,” posit that states most often gain any one of three distinct benefits from participation in international regimes: the lowering of transaction costs related to political, social, or economic interstate cooperation; the allowance of small states into legitimized forums where they have a voice; or the ability to assert control over the international system by excluding – and thereby punishing – transgressor states.

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and Brazil approach and deal with what the CPLP should be, or should represent, for the membership.

At this point, the discussion will be moved to more contemporary years and will reconsider the topic of conversation advanced in the previous chapter. If, in fact, Brazil has taken a backseat in the CPLP and allowed Portugal to become the central actor in the

Community, then this is a role that Portugal has come to assume comfortably. As evidence of this, various Portuguese scholars have come to write of this arrangement as the “natural state of being” for the Community, often echoing the rhetoric of Maria

Regina Marchueta:

Pelo seu posicionamento geoestratégico, geopolítico e geoeconômico, e pela sua história e tradição, Portugal assume neste âmbito um papel de charneira entre os vários parceiros da CPLP, papel este que tem repercussão no plano mais vasto do relacionamento entre a Organização e a comunidade internacional (17).

[Due to its geostrategic, geopolitical e geo-economic positioning, and due to its history and traditions, Portugal has assumed in this context the role of pivot between the various partners in the CPLP, a role that has repercussions on the vaster scale of relationships between the Organization and the international community.]

To hear the story told by Adriano Moreira62, who wrote, edited, and introduced a collection of essays on the CPLP published in 2001, Portugal is not only the central actor

62 The fact that Adriano Moreira is being invited to edit and pen introductions for books on Portuguese foreign policy is curious in and of itself. Moreira is a figure who has tirelessly reinvented himself in Portuguese politics, perhaps to the extent that he has been able to disassociate himself from his prominent role in Salazar’s Estado Novo. Indeed, the once-Minister of the Overseas Provinces was often seen as

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in the Community, but also the initiator and singular force behind the whole initiative. It should go without saying that the history elucidated up to this point will hopefully generate a great deal of healthy skepticism for anybody who reads this account of the

CPLP by Moreira, which attributes undue unilateral agency to Portugal and includes passages such as:

Portugal, que abandonou por acto revolucionário o conceito que fizera do Brasil o paradigma do êxito da sua acção colonizadora no mundo, aderindo ao nativismo da ONU, procurou reencontrar-se com os povos das antigas colónias, agora independentes, segundo um reinventado modelo de cooperação. Por via destes conceitos convergiram ambas as soberanias, sem alterar a relação privilegiada, no projecto que tornou forma com a Comunidade dos Povo da Língua Portuguesa (CPLP)...” (18-9).

[Portugal, which abandoned by revolutionary act the concept that had made Brazil the paradigm of success for Portugal’s colonial endeavors in the world, and which adhered to the policy of nativism advocated by the UN, sought to reunite with the people of the former colonies, now independent, in accordance with a reinvented model of cooperation. By way of these concepts both sovereignties converged, without altering the privileged relationship, to become the project which took form as the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries (CPLP).]

That Portugal has come to see itself as the “pivot” point of the Community is beyond dispute. But the argument that this is the most natural arrangement for geostrategic, geopolitical, and geo-economic reasons comes across as a justification developed post-facto and intended to legitimize an already existing state of affairs.

Indeed, Portugal as the geographic center of the CPLP might appear to some as

Salazar’s right-hand man in colonial affairs and was one of the most fervent defenders of Portuguese colonialism up until his exile in Brazil in the year 1974.

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inherently unnatural, conjuring as it does images of the former colonial empire. And surely if one were to think in economic terms, then Brazil or Angola – even Mozambique

– would surely be the most logical seat of the Community, seeing as these three nations are hosts to rapidly growing economies, each one more dynamic than that of Portugal. Or if one were to think in purely geostrategic terms, then Cape Verde emerges the natural seat of the Community, enjoying as it does that infamous “intermediate” geographic position between Africa, Southern Europe, and South America.

Arguably, there is only one sense in which it can be argued that Portugal is the

“natural pivot” point of the CPLP: when one considers pure motivation to keep the

Community alive. This is the point at which the contextual material explored in the previous chapter ties in with the present reality of the CPLP in explaining just why

Portugal might be so keen on seeing the Community succeed and in staking a claim for the credit of that success. The CPLP has the potential to provide contemporary Portugal with some much needed leverage within the currently strained political and economic setting of the European Union. The CPLP, in the very most optimistic forecasts, could be an escape hatch for Portugal and provide the country with new markets, trading partners, and an invaluable coalition of supportive states. But perhaps most importantly, the CPLP could provide Portugal with a new self-image and sense of purpose in the international community. As well stated by Marchueta:

Esta vocação e o apelo à lusofonia traduzem-se numa procura de equilíbrio do próprio sistema das relações externas de Portugal e, bem assim, numa necessidade de afirmação e salvaguarda da identidade nacional, de reconciliação histórica e da sua credibilidade internacional (18).

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[This vocation and appeal to lusophonia translate into a search for balance in Portugal’s own system of external relations and, as such, into a need to affirm and safeguard the country’s national identity, to seek historical reconciliation, and to restore international credibility.]

Marchueta’s analysis is multi-faceted and needs to be dissected, one layer at a time. But that will have to wait for the next two chapters, which will discuss in depth the conciliatory and contradictory aspects of Portugal’s participation in both the European

Union and the CPLP. For now, it is enough to make note of the manner in which Portugal has embraced the CPLP with aplomb, even housing the headquarters of the Community in an eighteenth-century palace in downtown Lisbon.

Part and parcel of this recent embrace of lusophonia has been a revival of the dialogue concerning Portugal’s national identity. If Portugal’s identity within the

European Union is contingent upon living up to the ideal of the modern, multicultural society – whereby citizens and residents of different nationalities and hues are accepted, but only conditionally and always distinguished from the native population – then

Portugal’s identity within the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries is something quite different. Whereas Portugal lies at the periphery of Europe, it has positioned itself at the very center of the CPLP. Whereas the European Union milieu is highly regulated and controlled, the CPLP is yet a rather inchoate body, in large part due to a lack of coordination and direction.

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Because the CPLP as an institution still lacks a definite shape and because the

CPLP still lacks a definite purpose,63 it has come to fall back on that comfortable diplomatic crutch of meaningless rhetorical flourishes. Strikingly similar to the language used throughout the better half of the twentieth century to describe Luso-Brazilian relations, the CPLP has yet to grow out of its initial “romantic phase.” To elucidate further, it is instructive to again regard Marchueta’s insightful prose:

Todavia, e na falta de uma multilateralização consistente das relações entre os Estados-membros da Organização, considera-se imprescindível para um futuro prometedor, que a CPLP consiga ultrapassar a actual situação “romântica” de enaltecimento dos valores culturais da lusofonia, e que, para sua consolidação e eficácia, atente, também, a factores do quotidiano da vida das populações e dos Estados, onde as vertentes económica, social e institucional jogam um papel tão importante, quanto maiores são as carências, as desigualdades e as situações de injustiça (66).

[However, and in the absence of a consistent multilateralization of relations between member states in the Organization, it is indispensable for a promising future, that the CPLP is able to transcend the present “romantic” situation whereby cultural values of lusophonia are celebrated. For the sake of the Community’s consolidation and efficacy, it must be committed to factors related to the day-to-day life of member state populations, where economic, social, and institutional aspects play such an important role, especially in situations where deprivation, inequality, and injustice are common.]

What are some concrete discourses that have arisen to celebrate the “cultural values of lusophonia” that Marchueta refers to? The principal discourse, that which this

63 This assertion – which is not universally held but rather an opinion of this dissertation – will be explored further in Chapter Four. This dissertation will argue that the CPLP has yet to reach a firm consensus on the part of member states on issues such as institutional priorities, parameters, and policy areas. Lest this critique seem too harsh, it must be added that the CPLP, similar to many young institutions, is still in a moment of transition and of self-definition.

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dissertation will most closely engage with, is a discourse of hybridity as the new ideal within the Lusophone space.

The appropriation of the idea of Lusophone “hybridity” by Portuguese articulators and scholars has come to primarily emphasize the adaptability of the Portuguese people to different spaces within this community. Such appropriation is the direct result of the institutional weaknesses of the CPLP. Largely dependent as it is on idealized rhetoric about Lusophone brotherhood, Lusophone specificity, and common Lusophone cultural values, the Community has hitherto encouraged member states to interact with one another on an informal basis – on a basis of friendship and favors. In an institutional space that is not yet completely predicated on shared incentives and objectives but rather on “natural spaces,” or cultural unity as a result of a common history and language, member states are inclined to resort to sentimentality while seeking common ground.

When the cultural space under discussion is actually the space carved by a former empire, then that sentimentality hinges on rhetoric of sameness and centuries-old mutual understandings. We understand one another because the blood of your forbearers runs through our veins, and vice-versa. We understand one another because in the end we are all alike in our Lusophone-ness; we share an intangible but very real quality that allows us to transverse continents and yet feel at home, wherever we are, on Lusophone ground.

This is certainly the subtext in Adriano Moreira’s afore-quoted introductory chapter, where he refers to “a transnational conception of Lusophone culture” (13); a Lusophone specificity based on “syncretism” (13) and on a shared tongue.

Hybridity in the Portuguese context, then, is that ideal of Lusophone specificity predicated on syncretism and on adaptability. Hybridity is multiculturalism on a micro-

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scale: multiculturalism within a single human being as opposed to multiculturalism within a population. Hybridity encourages rather than discourages the in-between, because by embracing the in-between, hybrid citizens can cross borders within the

Lusophone world with ease, melting into each space. Hybridity greases the wheels for all sorts of transactions within the Lusophone world – economic, diplomatic, social – when formal channels for these transactions are lacking. José Aparecido de Oliveira himself heralded the “mobilidade, miscibilidade e aclimatabilidade” [“mobility, miscibility, and ease in acclimatization”] of the Lusophone citizen in an early interview with the Diário de Notícias (qtd. in Viggiano 131). Indeed, hybridity has been the underlying leitmotif of the CPLP since its initial conception by Lusophone idealists; in 1993 José Barroso suggested embarking upon a Lusophone project with “uma ponderação dos factores que permitam, com a indispensável flexibilidade, criar nos governos interessados uma

‘cultura’ política e diplomática propícia a um funcionamento eficaz da ‘comunidade de países de língua portuguesa’” (Barroso, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1992-1993 114).

[“A consideration of the factors that allow, along with an indispensable flexibility, the creation within associated governments of a political and diplomatic ‘culture’ favorable to the efficient operation of a ‘community of Portuguese-speaking countries’.”]

Hybridity – as an ideal that has of late emerged in Portugal in relation to the CPLP

– is all of this and more. But is hybridity a reformulation of some of the more prominent themes in the lusotropicalist discourse? To give a brief background: Lusotropicalism is a theory that has become synonymous with the persona of Gilberto Freyre. Freyre, a

Brazilian sociologist born in the Brazilian northeast, concentrated his scholarly efforts on an attempt to demonstrate the singularity of the Portuguese colonial space. Freyre’s most

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well-known piece of scholarship is Casa-Grande e Senzala [The Master and the Slaves], published in 1933. Another landmark book by Freyre, and the work most referenced in this dissertation, is O Luso e o Trópico [The Portuguese and the Tropics], which was not published until 1961, meaning that the book was inevitably conditioned by Freyre’s growing patronage by the Salazar regime. Nevertheless, the basic tenets of

Lusotropicalism as expressed in The Portuguese and the Tropics stray little from Freyre’s earlier work.

Freyre’s central lusotropicalist argument is related to Portuguese miscegenation.

According to Freyre, the Portuguese people enjoy a certain propensity for and easy adaptation to tropical locales, as well as an innate attraction to the tropical female, the latter of which resulted in a high degree of miscegenation in the population and culture in

Brazil (and nowhere so much as the Brazilian northeast, where African slaves were greater in number). This high degree of miscegenation in the population, Freyre hypothesizes, will one day come to be its own race:

With this cultural unity there will perhaps develop throughout the Luso-tropical world a type of man tending—I repeat—to be dark- skinned, and perhaps with physical characteristics like those of the Mediterranean Europeans, Arabs or Indians. Perhaps one day this will come to be called a ‘race’ –the Luso-tropical race…” (The Portuguese and the Tropics 72).

Freyre’s envisioned pax Lusitana, therefore, is conditional on a unique brand of

“benign colonialism” practiced by the Portuguese and on the creation of this new Luso- tropical race. The latter is described as a mixed-blood race sharing both characteristics of

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the Portuguese, and of what Freyre calls tropical races, or those indigenous to Brazil and

Africa who were brought into contact with the Portuguese through European exploration and slave networks. Thus, according to Freyre, the Portuguese contact with America and with indigenous Amerindians and Africans was an interaction that exceeded the merely economic, an interaction which resulted in a “socio-cultural or ethno-cultural simbiosis”

(The Portuguese and the Tropics 19).

To fully appreciate the motivations behind Freyre’s scholarship, one must take into account Freyre’s identity as a Brazilian scholar and writer, and what’s more, as a

Brazilian scholar intent upon reinforcing Brazil’s hegemony in the Lusophone world and positioning Brazil at the apex of a hierarchy of Lusophone nations. In this way, Portugal

– and by extension the white man of Portugal – represents in and of itself an incomplete project. The Portuguese were only “completed,” argues Freyre, upon their mixing with indigenous elements and upon the creation of a new race:

So we are watching—as it seems—the process of the formation of a third man or third culture—a symbiotically Luso-tropical man and culture—resulting in an as yet unfinished reality; a formation which started because the Portuguese went to the extreme to which no other European has yet gone, as a decisive point in his development, of renouncing his ethnic and cultural purity in favour of hybrid forms of men and culture… (The Portuguese and the Tropics 74).

According to Freyre, this “third culture” is to be found in its purest form in the

Brazilian nation. It is for this reason that Freyre posits Brazil as the natural leader to emerge among lusotropical civilizations, placing itself as the helm of a network of

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countries once part of the former Portuguese Empire in the very position that Portugal once inhabited. In the words of Gilberto Freyre as he pens the final chapter of The

Portuguese and the Tropics: “These ideas are persistently on the mind of any Brazilian scholar who considers the importance of the sociological study of the part of Africa marked by the presence of the Portuguese for purposes of the analysis … of the type of civilization of which Brazil is today a leader: Luso-tropical civilization” (188).

Freyre’s conclusions regarding the harmonious racial intermixing in Brazil have not been without their critics, both within and without of Brazil. Many of Freyre’s notions are today considered naïve, Eurocentric, and patronizing toward the indigenous elements of his lusotropicalist equation. But to debate the merit or lack thereof of

Freyre’s extensive body of work is beyond the scope of this dissertation. Rather, this dissertation’s more modest intention is to map Freyre’s central conclusions as related to

Lusotropicalism so as to ascertain whether the current discourse of hybridity is in any way a revisitation of any number of these conclusions.64

This analysis will begin by looking at the reasons why a lusotropicalist discourse might have been embraced in Portugal around the time of the publication of The

Portuguese and the Tropics in the early 1960s. As has been pointed out at various junctures in this dissertation thus far, the final decade of Portuguese colonialism was a tense and difficult time in the metropole, for Portugal was swimming upstream against the current of European decolonization. Salazar fully believed that without its colonies

64 As noted by David Cleary in his paper “Race, nationalism and social theory in Brazil: rethinking Gilberto Freyre,” while Freyre’s “reputation has fluctuated in political and scholarly circles in Brazil” (3), there has been a notable reappearance of debate related to Freyre’s social science theories in Brazilian academia. As Cleary remarks: “Freyre’s rehabilitation and the ubiquity of his influence among contemporary Brazilian (and Brazilianist) intellectuals and scholars is remarkable, and would have been unimaginable as little as twenty years ago” (18).

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Portugal would amount to nothing – and perhaps even suffer a loss of sovereignty altogether – but maintaining those colonies was becoming all but impossible for the struggling nation. Indeed, the obstinate dictator had ensnared himself in a quandary.

Salazar concluded that Portugal would only have influence in Europe if it could maintain its empire, but the very maintenance of that empire was increasingly isolating Portugal from the rest of the European continent at a crucial time for European integration. Filipe

Ribeiro de Meneses further explains Salazar’s colonial quandary in his book Salazar: A

Political Biography:

The end of World War II saw the appearance, and the growing acceptance by the West, of nationalist movements in Asian and African colonies. Salazar was horrified by this development. Rather than simply restating Portugal’s legal right to its colonial possessions, however, Salazar now adopted a two-prong strategy. On the one hand, he stressed the unique nature of Portuguese colonialism, highlighting the durability and results of the country’s colonizing mission. On the other hand, he noted the importance of the colonial world to the preservation of Europe’s (and the West’s) place in the world. Thus, while appealing to other colonizers not to forego what was legitimately theirs, Salazar also detached Portugal from its former colonial rivals. This approach would allow him to buy some time, but could never provide a permanent solution to the problem facing Portuguese colonialism, since the whole of the West, admittedly with significant stops and starts, was moving in a direction contrary to Portugal’s (358).

The rhetoric espoused by Salazar and by his like-minded associates at the time is startling in its apparent disregard for Portugal’s ensuing isolation from the rest of the

European continent. Consider, for instance, a speech delivered by Admiral Sarmento

Rodrigues at the start of the Portuguese colonial wars:

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A própria Europa se isola cada vez mais de nós. A Europa, praticamente toda a Europa, tinha o seu espírito empenhado na África; hoje tem-no em grande parte comprometido por abdicações ... movimento de retirada, por vezes de abdicação, mas sempre com precipitação. A Europa, portanto, está a perder África. Mas é evidente que nós não somos a Europa. Nem agora nem nunca, depois de Quinhentos. Não nos temos, logicamente, de considerar ligados à política da Europa. A Europa continua sendo para nós uma frente. Temos uma parte da nossa vida neste velho continente, é certo. Daqui levámos os valores morais que espalhámos pelo mundo, valores de que seremos, quero crer, os últimos guardiões ... Mas não somos uma Nação europeia. Somos igualmente africanos e também asiáticos. Nação essencialmente marítima, que foi sempre acrescentando valores de toda a ordem à herança que a Europa lhe legou (qtd. in Matos 164).

[Europe is increasingly isolating itself from us. Europe, practically the whole of Europe, had its spirit committed to Africa; today this spirit is largely compromised of abandonment … withdrawals, sometimes abandonment, but always with haste. Europe, therefore, is losing Africa. But it is evident that we are not Europe. Not now and not ever, after the sixteenth century. We do not need to consider ourselves tied to the policies of Europe. Europe continues to be, for us, a façade. We still maintain one part of our life on this old continent, it’s true. From there we obtain the moral values that we spread around the world, values of which we are, I want to believe, the last guardians … But we are not a European nation. We are equally African and also Asian. A nation essentially maritime, which was continually adding values of all kinds to the heritage that Europe bequeathed it.]

But beneath this outwardly self-assured rhetoric, there lies a fragility and an insecurity which reveal a nation that recognizes it is floundering, but is unable to rescue itself and has too much pride to call for help. Beneath an arrogant façade, Rodrigues’s words ring with a palpable defensiveness born of self-doubt.

Rodrigues’s speech also invokes what would become a familiar refrain in the defense of the Portuguese Empire: that the Portuguese nation was inherently distinct from

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other European nations because its people could effortlessly move between the European,

African, and Asian milieu, meaning that the nation was able to transcend its limited

European territory. Salazar wanted desperately to succeed in the creation of a strong and vibrant economic and cultural imperial space, such that Portugal would have an alternative to European integration and enough strength to resist American imperialism.

It is not difficult to conjecture just how eager Salazar was, then, to embrace the lusotropicalist discourse being promoted at the time by Gilberto Freyre. As noted by

Meneses in Salazar: A Political Biography:

Lusotropicalism was not particularly welcomed by Portuguese colonial circles before and during World War II, since it clashed with the notion of forceful empire which men like Armindo Monteiro had sought to popularize, but it was recognized as a powerful answer to critics of Portuguese colonialism once the war was over. Freyre began to be feted by the Portuguese State, something he did not seem to mind, and his views came to underpin the entire ideological edifice of Portuguese colonialism…” (359).

Freyre’s discourse suited Salazar’s purposes just fine; it argued the specificity and benign character of Portuguese colonialism, positing that Portuguese colonizers were unique in their special adaptability to tropical locales. It proposed that this colonial space was capable of fostering the population of the future (that mythical “third culture”), such that Portugal, instead of being hopelessly behind the European curve, was actually a member of the vanguard; a nation poised on the cusp of something new and promising. In sum, Freyre provided just the theoretical ammunition that Salazar needed to legitimize

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his empire, and the fact that Freyre was Brazilian only lent extra prestige to the discourse.65

Perhaps by this point, some parallels between past and present are becoming clearer. Though Portugal is not experiencing an isolation from Europe nearly as dramatic as that suffered during the final decades of Portuguese colonialism, impressionistic accounts and statistical data from the Eurobarometer (both of which were explored in the previous chapter) suggest that there persists a sense of isolation in Portugal. Concurrent with this growing isolation has been a renewed effort on Portugal’s part to intensify ties with the former colonies, through the ambit of the Community of Portuguese-Speaking

Countries. Once again, Portugal is looking to the former empire and striving to create an alternative economic and cultural space, albeit this time around the alternative space will complement rather than take the place of Europe.

Accompanying this turn to the former empire has been a new (or more accurately, recycled) discourse, grounded in the ideal of hybridity, or the special ability of

Portuguese to move within and adapt to disparate climes and locales within the empire.

The emphasis once again is on a supranational Lusophone community, this time one composed of sovereign states, but bound together nonetheless by cultural and linguistic likenesses. This space is seen as fluid, partially by accident and because institutional weaknesses have not yet formalized interactions between individual states. Marchueta comments on this “transcendent” dimension of the CPLP:

65 The success of Brazil by the 1960s and 1970s came to be a critical argument of the Portuguese in defending Portuguese colonialism. Salazar pointed out that Brazil too had once been a Portuguese colony, and had been “cut loose” when the territory proved capable to governing itself. (A comment on historical revisionism is hardly necessary here.) Salazar then argued that the Portuguese had the same trajectory in store for their African territories: that once the necessary developmental groundwork was laid, the territories would be allowed to govern themselves. The implicit conclusion of Salazar was that these African territories would have no trouble following in Brazil’s impressive footsteps.

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Desde sempre associado à identidade nacional, o conceito da lusofonia transcende a estrita dimensão nacional de Portugal, conferindo-lhe um alcance de âmbito universal, tantas vezes conotado com o Quinto Império, noção mítica do destino manifesto, que contraria o mito da decadência e encoraja os portugueses para a acção e conquista de um lugar digno da sua missão histórica” (117).

[From the very start associated with the national identity, the concept of lusophonia transcends the strict national dimensions of Portugal, endowing the country with a reach of universal scope. This reach of universal scope has been before linked to the idea of the Fifth Empire, a mythical notion of manifest destiny, which counters the myth of national decay and encourages the Portuguese to action and conquest and to fulfill their historical mission.]

The present discourse of hybridity differs from the discourse of Lusotropicalism in that it is not intended to justify colonial endeavors; as such, there is no emphasis placed on the singular, “benign” nature of Portuguese imperialism. Similarities between the two discourses center instead on an emphasis on the adaptability of the Lusophone citizen, the fluidity of the Lusophone space, and the sense of intrinsic sameness or brotherhood experienced between Lusophone nations.

Interestingly, the rhetoric of continuity and likeness in a shared Lusophone identity often appears easier to maintain when referring to a vague, overseas dominion rather than when addressing the dynamics of Portuguese society itself. It is notable that

Lusophone solidarity – which implicitly implies racial solidarity and a certain “color- blindness” – has not been so much of a rallying call for contemporary initiatives dealing solely with the Portuguese metropole as it has been for initiatives dealing with interstate relations within the Lusophone world (Fikes 100-156).

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This theme is explored in a recent novel published by Portuguese author António

Lobo Antunes and entitled O Meu Nome é Legião. The novel begins in the form of a police report, describing a series of heinous crimes committed in the Lisbon area by a small gang of youth aged 12-19. The youth are a racially diverse group, described by

Antunes as “um branco, um preto, e seis mestiços” (14) [“a white, a black, and six half- blacks”] and all hail from a downtrodden peripheral neighborhood of Lisbon referred to simply as “Bairro” [“Neighborhood”]. The purposeful genericization of the neighborhood’s name as given by Antunes serves to underscore the characterless nature of the zone; it is as if it could be a forgettable peripheral area of any large city.

The objectivity and technical language of the police report soon transforms into a fluid narrative with multiple voices and multiple narrators. The inner thoughts of the police officer writing the report, those close to the delinquents, and finally the juveniles themselves are revealed in a hodgepodge of flashbacks and revelations that lay bare the various narrators’ deepest fears and resentments. This multiplicity of voices and of viewpoints creates a veritable narrative mosaic that ultimately revolves around questions of racial and systematic societal injustice.

What O Meu Nome é Legião does best is to question the conception of violence as isolated acts committed by irrational perpetrators. By delving into the histories and minds of the eight young delinquents, Antunes – without justifying the atrocity of the crimes themselves – reveals the delinquents to be victims themselves of a subtler sort of violence. Antunes exposes a society that has systematically shunted a whole population to the margin and in doing so allowed for dangerous tendencies to develop among the most reactionary of that population, in this case, young and restless males. The violence

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in O Meu Nome é Legião is in fact not constrained to a certain social class or neighborhood at all, but rather serves as the trigger to spark other acts of violence that radiate throughout the society as a whole.

What Antunes divulges through O Meu Nome é Legião is a Portuguese metropole that has not even come close to internalizing the rhetoric of hybridity that so adorns talks about the CPLP. Antunes’s novel is a plea for the ideal of “one Lusophone citizen” to be practiced at home before it is exported. The rhetoric of intrinsic sameness or brotherhood that has become so fashionable now when produced in reference to the Community of

Portuguese-Speaking Countries is notably absent from the white/black and privileged/marginalized dichotomies that, according to Antunes, continue to plague

Portuguese society. Antunes’s novel is additionally a warning; a cautionary tale about the cycles of violence that can be produced when those unstable metropolitan peripheral regions (which, according to the logic of Homi K. Bhabha elucidated in the previous chapter, would classify as the unstable margins of the nation) are systematically disallowed a voice. Antunes himself made reference in a recent interview to the marginality and sense of hopelessness that his fictional characters experience:

O livro refere-se a um bairro em concreto, embora eu nunca lá tenho estado. Sempre me impressionou o facto de aqueles miúdos não terem raízes de espécie alguma. Não são portugueses, não são africanos, não são nada. Brincam com balas em vez de brincarem com bolas. E, no entanto, há neles uma sede de ternura, um desejo de amor absolutamente inextinguível. A morte e a vida não têm, para eles, qualquer significado ou, pelo menos, têm um significado muito diferente do que para nós. Na minha ideia, O Meu Nome é Legião era por isso um livro de amor. De amor por uma geração, por uma classe social sozinha e abandonada, por um grupo de pessoas desesperadamente à procura de uma razão de existir...

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Estão de tal maneira abandonados que matar pessoas é a única maneira que têm de pedir colo (qtd. in G. Monteiro et al.).

[The book refers to a concrete neighborhood, although I have never been there. I was always struck by the fact that those boys did not have any sort of roots. They are not Portuguese, they are not African, they are nothing. They play with bullets instead of playing with balls. However, they have in them a thirst for tenderness, a desire for love absolutely inextinguishable. Life and death don’t have any significance for them or, at least, have a very different significance than they have for us. For this reason, in my mind, O Meu Nome é Legião is a book about love. About love for a generation, for a lonely and abandoned social class, for a group of people desperately seeking a reason to exist… They are so abandoned that killing people is the only way they have to ask for love.]

Antunes’s remarks throw light upon the chosen title of the novel. O Meu Nome é

Legião – in English: My Name is Legion – is an oft-cited reference to a biblical story in which Jesus cures a madman who has been possessed by demons. Upon first asking the man his name, the man replies, “My name is Legion: for we are many.” Like the many demons inhabiting the body of the madman, Antunes’s title brings to mind a multitude of restless demons that supposedly inhabit the bodies of the young juveniles. The title also references the invisibility of the marginalized populations such as those living in

“Bairro”; the fact that many individual lives are contained within the image of one restless and discontented neighborhood.

Ultimately, in relation to the topic of this dissertation, Antunes’s novel sheds light on the central hypocrisy of the discourse of hybridity by demonstrating that the applicability of laudable ideals are sometimes forgotten in one’s own backyard.

Diminishing societal inequalities – so often based upon race – within CPLP nations is a

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debate that is rarely taken up for discussion; evidence that the micro is often overlooked in favor of the more dramatic macro perspective.

The potential for this discourse of hybridity to emerge as a cyclical phenomenon during periods of Portuguese alienation from the European continent is worth considering. History shows us that the Lusophone identity – as felt and promoted within

Portugal – is strongest when Portugal’s national identity is in crisis, as it was during the

Portuguese colonial wars and as it has again become during the worst of the recent

European Union drama. To ride out these difficult periods, Portugal has tended to revert to a historic-cultural past rooted in a nostalgic strain of lusophonia. The biggest difference between the 1960s return to this historic-cultural past and the present return is that the Lusophone space itself has undergone considerable changes, transitioning as it has from an empire to a coalition of sovereign states, a few of which now wield more economic power than the former metropole.

Nevertheless, in both instances the Lusophone identity and the Lusophone space are separate realities that Portugal can slip into when the going gets tough on the

European continent, just as a person might devote himself more to cultivating a certain secondary social circle (one based on family, work, a particular hobby, etc.) if their principal social circle becomes contentious. And if that same person begins to feel alienated from his principal social circle, then the secondary social circle becomes a refuge, a poultice for wounded pride, and even a potential status booster.

If this second social circle – or the Lusophone space, institutionalized in the

Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries – is indeed capable of fulfilling these three roles for Portugal depends a great deal on the direction that the Community is

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headed. A conversation that took place in July of 2013 with a senior policy advisor66 at the CPLP headquarters confirmed that the CPLP is currently in the process of redefining its purpose and objectives as an international organization. This push for a redefinition of purpose and objectives is driven by two factors: internal changes within individual member states that are altering the dynamics of the CPLP and the realization that the organization – having passed its initial honeymoon phase – is quickly losing relevance within the international community and can only survive if substantial changes are put in place.

The bulk of the debate within the CPLP headquarters is currently centered on what the CPLP can do to move beyond its initial limited objectives (chiefly, the diffusion of the Portuguese language and the celebration of shared Lusophone culture), to become more actively engaged in political diplomacy and economic development within member states – in sum, to become more relevant and useful. This dissertation’s next two chapters will engage closely with this debate, probing the various criticisms leveled at the CPLP and the roadmap for change that is being advanced by the CPLP administration. Chapters

Three and Four will contextualize this debate in a discussion of the pros and cons of

Portuguese investment in the Community, for quite logically, the utility of the CPLP vis-

à-vis Portugal is intrinsically linked to the direction that CPLP policy makers decide to take their organization.

As we approach the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the Community of

Portuguese-Speaking Countries, some daunting questions lie ahead for the organization.

What are the priorities of the Community, and how will the Community reconcile

66 For reasons of professional confidentiality, the advisor did not want to be directly cited or named. However, permission to use the topics that arose during our conversation was granted.

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member state priorities when they are at odds with one another? Is a policy of “widening”

(extending CPLP membership to other states or populations) or “deepening”

(consolidating already-existing networks and relationships) wisest for the CPLP at this juncture? How can the CPLP carve a niche for itself in a world of increasing regional allegiances, and how much value can it add to each of its disparate member states? The answers that will arise to meet each of these challenging questions are critical to the central topic of the next two chapters: whether, in the foreseeable future, Portugal will be able to forge a symbiotic relationship between the Community of Portuguese-Speaking

Countries and the European Union, or whether the intersection between the two organizations will become a source of friction for the country.

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CHAPTER THREE

PORTUGAL, EUROPE, AND THE LUSOPHONE WORLD: POINTS OF INTERSECTION

“O nosso futuro como cultura, nação, e Estado, está cada vez mais dependente da capacidade que demonstrarmos para gerirmos as interdependências no plano das Relações Internacionais.” – José Adelino Maltez, qtd. in V. Santos

[“Our future as a culture, a nation, and a state is increasingly dependent on the ability we demonstrate to manage interdependencies in the realm of International Relations.”]

On October 12, 2010, during the 65th session of the United Nations General

Assembly at the United Nations (UN) headquarters in New York City, Portugal surpassed

Canada to win a two-year appointment to the United Nations Security Council. The seat was secured after the second and decisive round of voting, which saw Portugal win 113 votes to Canada’s 78, precipitating an official withdrawal of candidacy by Canada

(Lederer).

This diplomatic accolade awarded to Portugal surprised many observers in the international community and the media (Lederer). How did Portugal manage to triumph over Canada, a state renowned for its impeccably sound democratic record and its laudable history of human rights activism, as well as for its handsome contribution to the

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UN annual budget?67 The defeat left the Canadian delegation reeling and precipitated a comprehensive post-facto analysis of the election by the state’s political establishment.

An issue brief of the situation, entitled Being Rejected in the United Nations: The Causes and Implications of Canada’s Failure to Win a Seat in the UN, was immediately commissioned by the Canadian Defence and Foreign Affairs Institute (Stairs). As reported by a November 2010 article in the Vancouver Sun, while some commentators blamed the Conservative Canadian government under Prime Minister Steven Harper for its recent reversal of some of Canada’s more progressive policies and its dismissive attitude towards the UN, others maintained that the win was based solely on Portugal’s successful line of argumentation before the United Nations (“Canada loses prestigious

UN spot”). What exactly did this line of argumentation consist of?

According to an analysis of Portugal’s UN Security Council campaign published by Lusa News Agency on October 16, 2010, Portugal essentially argued to the United

Nations its global reach; its ability to enter into dialogue and ultimately reach understandings with nations on the American, African, and Asian continents. Portugal stressed the global character of the Portuguese language and the growing economic influence of Lusophone states such as Brazil, Angola, and Mozambique (“Portugal elected to UN Security Council”). Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs João Gomes

Cravinho confirmed this interpretation of Portugal’s successful bid in comments to Lusa

News Agency, affirming, “We are a country that builds bridges, a country with the capacity to develop dialogue with the most varied parts of the world” (“Portugal elected

67 Canada’s budgetary contribution to the United Nations in 2009 was $72.5 million, an amount exceeded only by the United States, Japan, Germany, the United Kingdom, France, and Italy (Stairs 4-5).

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to UN Security Council”). In short, Portugal presented itself to the UN as the sum of the various Lusophone parts.

As voting for UN rotating seats is carried out on an anonymous basis, candidate states are responsible for campaigning and for gathering coalitions (Lederer). Portugal’s win, thus, was not only the result of successful campaigning – constructed largely on the argumentation outlined above – but also of successful coalition-building. The anonymity of the voting process ensures that the division of votes between Portugal and Canada will never be known for certain. But it has been speculated that Portugal’s allies in the CPLP worked to in turn gather their allies in support of Portugal’s bid, thus fanning out support across the globe in a show of Lusophone solidarity.68 A post-election analysis published by the Canadian Defence and Foreign Affairs Institute pointed out the substantial benefit that Portugal’s alliance with Brazil most likely afforded Portugal in securing votes from other Latin American states (Stairs 9). Dulce Maria Pereira, a former Executive Secretary of the CPLP, once made a pointed remark about this electoral success, saying: “If you want votes, it is interesting being in a diverse group of countries who can fight for your vote” (Pereira, Personal Interview).

Considering that there were only two seats allocated in the 2010 UN

Security Council elections for the regional block labeled “Western Europe and Others,”69

Portugal’s election was a major achievement for the nation. In winning a seat at the

68 Although the analysis in this chapter focuses on the benefits that CPLP alliances can bring to Portugal in Portugal’s other international relationships, the same analysis could be made for each and every CPLP member state. To give the example of Brazil, backing by CPLP members is thought to have been crucial to the election of Brazilian José Graziano as General Director of the Food and Agriculture Organization (FAO) of the United Nations, as well as to the election of Brazilian ambassador Roberto Azevedo as General Director of the World Trade Organization (WTO) (“CPLP para além da língua” 6). 69 The “Others” category is composed of four states that do not fall under any other regional block: Canada, Australia, New Zealand, and Israel.

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negotiating table of what is arguably the most influential international body of the 21st century; in receiving this honor alongside Germany, who handily won the first vacant seat in the initial round of voting; and in representing the whole of Europe in this international body, Portugal was punching well above its weight.

The successful 2010 UN Security Council election is a prime example of a moment when Portugal was able to leverage the multilateral relationships enshrined in the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries to boost its own visibility on the

European continent and ultimately in a broader international context. As such, the 2010 election was additionally a moment when Portugal’s roles in the CPLP and in the EU acted in concert, complementing one another to ultimately bolster Portugal’s influence in a large international body.

Using a series of brief case studies such as the one laid out above, the aim of

Chapters Three and Four is to engage in a balanced debate on the merits of Portugal’s participation in the CPLP. This chapter will consider additional instances when Portugal was able to leverage the CPLP in order to garner recognition, agency, and/or economic gain, principally within the European milieu. This dissertation’s next chapter, Chapter

Four, will look at the other side of the coin: the argument that the CPLP is a drain on

Portugal either as a result of institutional deficiencies in the CPLP itself, or due to the inability of Portugal to balance its responsibilities to the Lusophone network with other international responsibilities.

It is necessary to begin, then, with a look at how the CPLP has helped Portugal strengthen its hand in the European Union. It is notable that the overwhelming majority of sources making explicit reference to this convenient arrangement are contemporary

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sources, written in the span of the last decade. Literature with origin in Portugal’s

“European honeymoon phase” makes scant reference to ties with the rest of the

Lusophone world, much less to the eventuality of Portugal acting as a liaison between this world and Europe.

It must be mentioned, however, that the European Economic Community from the very beginning indicated to Portuguese policy makers that Portugal might be a more valuable member in the EEC if it were capable of maintaining symbiotic relations with

Lusophone African countries. Luís António Santos, writing in “Portugal and the CPLP:

Heightened Expectations, Unfounded Disillusions,” confirms that the EEC suggested at the very moment of Portugal’s official application to the Community that Portugal would be wise to position itself as a conduit through which the EEC could reach African markets (4).

According to a 2002 Janus article entitled “Atlanticismo ou europeismo,” this suggestion was given a moment’s reflection during the presidency of Ramalho Eanes

(1976-1986), at which time there appeared the faint murmur of speculation that Portugal should work to mend relations with its former African colonies in the hopes of becoming a more appealing EEC candidate. Proponents of this strategy – which was termed the espírito de Bissau [spirit of Bissau] – were often quoted as remarking that the road to

Brussels for Portugal led through Luanda and Maputo (Observatório de Relações

Exteriores).

By the time Eanes was replaced by Socialist President Mário Soares in 1986, however, the context was quite different. Portugal was at long last being initiated as a member of the EEC and no longer had to concern itself with the glamorization of its

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candidacy. Money from Brussels had already begun rolling into the country in considerable sums, and the future looked bright. From a Portuguese perspective, the future also looked inarguably European. What’s more, Angola and Mozambique were increasingly embroiled in their own domestic conflicts, in which Portugal was loath – if not wholly unable – to intervene (Observatório de Relações Exteriores).

The result was that the espírito de Bissau quietly lost momentum in Portugal, replaced with the Eurocentric efforts of the late eighties and nineties. As observed in the abovementioned Janus article “Atlantismo ou europeísmo?”: “Entretanto, a opção de alinhamento pelas instituições comunitárias impunha-se com peso crescente. Os fundos estruturais constituíam uma oportunidade única para apoiar o relançamento da sociedade e da economia portuguesas” (Observatório de Relações Exteriores). [“Meanwhile, the option of aligning with EEC institutions imposed itself with growing demand. The

[EEC’s] structural funds constituted a unique opportunity to support the revival of the

Portuguese society and economy.”]

Looking ahead a decade, to turn of the millennium, it is evident that the espírito de Bissau had returned to Portugal, this time with renewed vigor. Influential Portuguese politician Aníbal Cavaco Silva asserted in 1998 during an interview: “If we are ‘less important’ in Africa, then we will also be worth less in Europe. We cease to have something of our own” (qtd. in L.A. Santos 6). The global financial crisis and subsequent

Eurozone crisis which detonated later in the decade only fomented this sentiment, engendering evermore adamant appeals by the Portuguese intelligentsia to leverage

Portugal’s ties with Brazil, Lusophone Africa, and even parts of Asia as a bargaining chip to add value to its membership in the European Union. Leveraging each and every

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bilateral relationship with the former colonies, however, would prove a burdensome exercise. Much more convenient would be the promotion of the CPLP – which conveniently packaged the latticework of Lusophone networks together into one organization – as Portugal’s value-adding component to its EU membership.

This is a narrative where the timeline is crucial. The world’s financial crisis of

2008, which triggered the Eurozone financial crisis in 2009, which in turn precipitated the Portuguese financial crisis of 2010, rocked the Portuguese notion that Europe was the panacea for all national troubles. This awareness confirmed that Portugal would be best served by diversifying its international alliances, so as to gain distinct benefits from each alliance and ultimately use each to add value to Portugal’s participation in other relationships and milieus (J. Pinto, Personal Interview; L.A. Santos 6).

An interesting argument put forth by Dr. José Filipe Pinto is illustrative of this theory. According to Pinto, Portugal possesses four principal resources: sea, geostrategic location, human resources, and the Portuguese language. None of these resources can be fully exploited in the context of any one strategic international alliance, meaning that

Portugal must find a way to simultaneously engage these four resources to their full potential in the context of a multiplicity of international alliances. In Pinto’s view,

Portugal can best leverage these four resources through the forums of three distinct international bodies: the European Union, NATO, and the CPLP. If Portugal succeeds in maximizing, for instance, its language potentiality within the realm of the CPLP, then it will emerge a stronger partner in NATO and the European Union. Similarly, if Portugal can successfully maximize its geostrategic location within the context of NATO, then the country will prove a more valuable member to the CPLP and to the EU (J. Pinto, Personal

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Interview). Naturally, other observers of Portugal’s external relations will inevitably attach greater importance to alternative resources that differ from the four distinguished by Pinto. Similarly, other observers might choose to highlight alternative international alliances rather than the three highlighted by Pinto. Regardless of the particular assortment of resources and alliances chosen, however, the argument that no one strategic international alliance can develop Portugal’s unique resources to the country’s best advantage remains valid.

As Portugal finds itself increasingly pushed to the margins of Europe, then, it realizes that it must also become more creative about how it leverages Lusophone relationships forged within the CPLP. Can the peripherality that characterizes Portugal’s current status in the EU be counterbalanced by a perceived centrality in the CPLP?

According to João Vacas,

Dir-se-á que a Lusofonia é a narrativa-saída-horizonte – complementar à pertença e à presença actuante no seio da União Europeia – que mais convém a um povo periférico, pobre e temeroso dos tempos difíceis que hoje se vivem, órfão de centralidades reais e mesmo das imaginadas, que procura (re)conciliar-se com o seu passado depois de um breve período de (re)negação e de abjuração do mesmo (25).

[It seems that lusophonia is the future-escapist narrative – complementing Portugal’s belonging and present presence within the European Union – that most suits a peripheral population, one which is poor and fearful of the difficult times it is living, orphan of the real and imaginary centralities, and seeking to (re)concile itself with its past after a brief period of negation and abjuration of this past.]

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Maria Regina Marchueta is in agreement, writing that Portugal’s alliances with the CPLP and the EU complement one another: “Nesse sentido, o ‘atlantismo’ e o

‘europeísmo’, sem se negaram entre si, completam-se e acrescentam-se, reforçando uma dimensão política europeia mais ampla, aberta e interventora na nova ordem mundial...”

(61). [“In this regard, ‘Atlanticism’ and ‘Europeanism,’ rather than negating one another, complement one another and enhance one another, reinforcing a European political dimension that is broader, more open, and more interventionist in the new world order…”].

Marchueta argues that the special relationships Portugal boasts with Lusophone

Africa, Brazil and with Timor-Leste are what afford the nation a voice in the European

Union and allow Portugal to slow the rate at which it is being pushed into a group of

European underperformers in an organization increasingly moving at “two speeds”:

Uma relação privilegiada com África e com as Américas, nomeadamente, através do reforço das relações com os PALOP e com o Brasil, a que hoje se acrescenta, também, o novo Estado de Timor-Leste, servirá de esteio a uma afirmação sustentada na Europa, conferindo a Portugal um peso específico no quadro da construção europeia, como contrapeso às actuais tendências de excessiva continentalização da Europa ou de uma Europa a ‘duas velocidades’, que o processo de alargamento a Leste e a consolidação do eixo Paris-Berlim ou de um directório europeu anglo-franco-germânico, deixam entrever (60-61).

[A privileged relationship with Africa and with the Americas, namely, through the reinforcement of relations with PALOP states, with Brazil, and with the new states of Timor-Leste, will serve as the mainstay to Portugal’s sustained presence in Europe. These relationships will confer to Portugal a specific agency in the framework of European integration, serving as a counterweight to the current tendencies of an excessive continentalization of Europe and the creation of a Europe operation at ‘two speeds.’ This last

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tendency has been exacerbated by the enlargement process to the East, the consolidation of a Paris-Berlin axis, and the primacy given to the Anglo-Franco-German alliance.]

To use to its best advantage its relationship with Brazil in the European Union,

Portugal acted as intermediary in the EU-Brazil summit convened in Lisbon during the summer of 2007. During this historic summit – the first of its kind – the EU and Brazil

“exchanged views on a number of bilateral, regional and global issues. They agreed to enhance their longstanding bilateral relationship and in particular to reinforce the political dialogue at the highest political level” (EU-Brazil Summit Joint Statement 1). A particular emphasis was placed on reaffirming a joint commitment to the United Nations

Millennium Development Goals, as well as a commitment to strengthening the multilateral climate change regime (2-5). Notably, both parties also expressed an interest in reinforcing economic relations between the Eurozone and Mercosur (2). The fact that

Portugal hosted the summit emphasized that country’s role in facilitating what would become, to both parties, a crucial strategic relationship.70

But where Portugal seems to have invested most of its energy is in positioning itself as the “African liaison” for the European Union. The rhetoric of hybridity discussed in this dissertation’s previous chapter was perfectly suited to Portugal’s defense of this new, self-appointed position. And the EU was only too happy to accept a liaison, eager as it was to tap into the booming oil and gas markets of Western Africa71 and to wrest a

70 Portugal’s role in the facilitation of this summit was rewarded with a prominent seat at the negotiating table. Along with two Brazilian dignitaries and four representatives of the European Union, the summit was attended by the Portuguese Prime Minister José Socrates and the Portuguese Minister of State and of Foreign Affairs Luís Amado (EU-Brazil Summit Joint Statement 1). 71 In this regard, the EU feels the need to catch up with other regions of the world that have already forged petroleum import networks with Western Africa. The recent OPEC member Angola, for instance, currently

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foothold in other promising emerging PALOP (“Portuguese-speaking African countries”) economies (Berbém 6).

In this instance, the acquiescence went both ways. The collapse of the Soviet

Union drew Lusophone African nations – many of whom had previously received generous support from the Soviet Union and Socialist countries during the anti-colonial struggles72 and thus were often viewed as existing under the Soviet sphere of influence – closer into western networks (Bender 3-30; Marchueta 127). PALOP nations realized that they, too, needed to diversify their international partnerships and for a variety of reasons: to gain access to the international donor community, to increase their internal stability, to provide their governments with enhanced legitimacy, and to ensure territorial integrity

(Marchueta 134). Although the CPLP initially offered PALOP nations few tangible benefits (devoid as the organization was of funds or a coherent strategy), these nations were savvy enough to recognize in the CPLP a conduit for reaching Europe. The negotiations that PALOP nations commenced with Portugal were initiated less out of an interest in furthering the spirit of lusophonia and more out of an interest in using Portugal as a portal to EU markets and European developmental aid (127).

The importance that Portugal gives to its role as EU-Africa connector is most obvious when considering the agenda that the country tends to advance when it is at the

exports 70% of its petroleum to the United States and China, and only 11% to European Union member states (Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 36). 72 Arguably the most significant instance of Socialist influence in Lusophone Africa during the anti- colonial struggles was the substantial Cuban presence in Angola. As Gerald Bender writes in a 1978 Foreign Policy article entitled “Angola, the Cubans, and American Anxieties”: “Since achieving independence in November 1975, the government of the People’s Republic of Angola (RPA), led by Agostinho Neto, has relied heavily on Cuban troops to repel numerous military challenges to its regime...” (3). According to Bender, Cuban influence in Angola worried American policy makers to the extent that both the Ford and the Carter administration refused to establish diplomatic ties between the United States and Angola until the Cuban presence was either reduced or eliminated altogether (4).

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helm of the European Union. Portugal has held the rotating six-month presidency of the

European Council on three separate occasions: January-June of 1992 (under President

Aníbal Cavaco Silva), January-June of 2000 (under President António Gueterres), and

July-December of 2007 (under President José Socrates). On the second and third of these three occasions, Portugal took advantage of its enhanced capacity to shape the EU agenda by sponsoring two EU-Africa Summits (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1999-

2002 278-293).

The first summit, convened in Cairo in 2000, marked the first meeting at the continental level between European and African leaders. For the first time in EU history, in January of 2000 the European Union’s Council of Development dedicated itself to addressing EU-African relations (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1999-2002 288).

Shortly after the Cairo summit, the Portuguese Diplomatic Institute hosted an international seminar with the theme “Europe-Africa: Perspectives of a Relationship”

(191). At the time, the Minister of Foreign Affairs Jaime Gama unequivocally expressed his desire to see Portugal take the lead in fomenting a stronger relationship between the two continents, remarking:

Naturalmente não resolvemos tudo de um dia para o outro em relação ao continente africano, mas era preciso dar um passo, era preciso dar um passo para incluir África na agenda europeia. E era preciso realizar uma cimeira com este porte, esta dimensão e a apontar estes caminhos. Nós damos esse passo... É preciso que a União Europeia tenha uma agenda africana (289).

[Naturally, we did not decide everything related to the African continent overnight, but it was necessary to go a step further, it was necessary to go a step further to include Africa in the European agenda. And it was necessary to hold a summit with this objective,

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this dimension and to point out this new direction. We were the ones to take this step… It is necessary that the European Union have an African agenda.]

In 2007, during its third tenure in the rotating presidency of the European Council,

Portugal organized a second EU-Africa Summit. This summit was held in Lisbon and occasioned the adoption of three important agreements between the two continents: the

“Joint EU-Africa Strategy,” an “Action Plan,” and the “Lisbon Declaration” (Gama, A

Política Externa Portuguesa 1999-2002 278-293). At the time, Dr. José Filipe Pinto wrote an article in Negócios Estrangeiros entitled “A Presidência Portuguesa da UE e o

Desafio Lusófono” [“The Portuguese Presidency of the EU and the Lusophone

Challenge”], in which he argued that Portugal’s brief tenure as President of the European

Council provided the country with opportunities as well as responsibilities vis-à-vis the promotion of lusophonia. According to Pinto, if Portugal were to use its influence during this period to promote an African agenda in the EU, then it could potentially revolutionize its role in the European Union (60).

By the time the third Africa-EU Summit was convened in Libya in 2010, Portugal had cemented its role as interlocutor between the two continents. It is thus that Portugal was permitted by the European Union to orient a European development project by the name of “PIR-PALOP & Timor-Leste.” This initiative is one of the EU’s several

Regional Projects put into motion by the Lomé Convention,73 which provided a framework for states to be grouped – including by logic other than geographic contiguity

– and earmarked for particularized developmental aid. PIR-PALOP & Timor-Leste is the

73 The Lomé Convention was signed in 1975 with the objective of promoting trade and the distribution of developmental aid between the European Community and 71 countries located in African, Caribbean, and Pacific regions (Briosa e Gala 31).

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only European project to specifically target Lusophone countries as a coherent group for developmental aid and has relied heavily on Portugal’s role as the intermediary, making use of Portuguese channels of transportation and communications in the more remote

Lusophone locales (Briosa e Gala 31; “Programa Regional PALOP”).

What the above evidences is that the CPLP has proffered a valuable advantage to

Portugal: a specific international function which raises its profile in the European Union.

By positioning itself as point of articulation between Europe and Africa, as well as between Europe and South America, Portugal is attempting to regain some of the sovereignty and the prestige that it has lost by ceding powers to the European Union. An increasingly volatile South Atlantic region has only bolstered this role as point of articulation; with the rise of Brazil and of western and southern African nations such as

Angola, Nigeria, and South Africa, the South Atlantic has come to be a powerful as well as a vulnerable space. In particular, the two regional hegemons, Brazil and South Africa, are progressively jockeying for power over maritime resources and routes in the South

Atlantic (Marchueta 106). Dr. José Filipe Pinto spoke of a possible strategic Lusophone triangle in the South Atlantic that could stretch from Brazil to Angola and on to Cape

Verde.74 If such an eventuality came to fruition, Portugal could become an important interlocutor between this proposed “South Atlantic defense triangle” and the European

Union (J. Pinto, Personal Interview).

The question that begs to be asked is for how long Portugal will be able to maintain a position as interlocutor between the EU and its fellow Lusophone states in the

74 Dr. José Filipe Pinto has additionally proposed the creation of a South Atlantic Treaty Organization (SATO), a reference to the existing NATO. Pinto suggests that SATO will come to supplant NATO in importance, as regional superpowers in the South Atlantic region continue to grow and to foment a potentially volatile and competitive atmosphere in the region (J. Pinto, Personal Interview).

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CPLP. As discussed in the previous chapter, Brazil has already shown a proclivity towards developing bilateral relations outside of the ambit of the CPLP. Angola, as a rapidly rising regional hegemon in western Africa, might very well soon start to resent the fact that it presently has to go through Portugal to reach Europe. As Manuel Ennes

Ferreira has pointed out in an Expresso article, Angola is only beginning to realize and to capitalize on the influence that it wields in international forums. In the words of Ferreira,

“Mas o fim da guerra civil em 2002 e o boom económico associado ao petróleo vieram alterar alguns dados, políticos e geoestratégicos. Angola percebeu que a sua vontade de afirmação global passava por usar os fóruns onde tivesse algum protagonismo. E se possível, liderança.” [“The end of the civil war in 2002 and the petroleum-related economic boom altered the political and geostrategic landscape. Angola realized that its global ambitions were contingent upon the use of forums where it could exercise the role of protagonist. And, if possible, leadership.”] If there is one international organization where Angola could potentially exercise both the role of protagonist and leadership, it is the CPLP. Might Angola soon be motivated to stamp out the middleman and negotiate

EU-Africa relations on its own terms?

If the first manner in which the CPLP could benefit Portugal is by raising its profile in the European Union, the second manner in which the CPLP could benefit

Portugal concerns Portugal’s diplomatic standing on a broader international stage.

Notwithstanding Portugal’s intentions to cement its role as Europe’s “African translator,” from an outside perspective – an international standpoint – Portugal’s contribution to

European diplomacy remains minimal. Portugal has neither the power of the purse

(enjoyed by the “big players” such as the United Kingdom, Germany, and France) nor

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international repute as a peace-broker (as do the Scandinavian nations and Switzerland) to distinguish itself within the European pack. But within the realm of the CPLP, Portugal is a bigger fish in a smaller pond. Any reflected glory from the CPLP could potentially distinguish Portugal from other European states that exist perennially on the receiving end of European benefits; a position that engenders dependency and ultimately a loss of sovereignty.

Naturally, the inversion of the above assertion is also true: the CPLP itself stands to benefit from Portugal’s position and activities within Europe and within the larger international community. Portugal, as the CPLP’s sole European representative, anchors the institution to the EU, thus providing access to European Union funds, markets, and promotional abilities. It is reasonable to assume that PIR-PALOP & Timor-Leste might not even exist, had Portugal not helped to raise awareness within the EU about the particular needs of the Lusophone community and facilitated aid distribution.

Even if it were to stick to a limited development agenda focused solely on targeted areas of the Lusophone world, if the CPLP managed to produce a few unambiguously positive results in the areas of conflict resolution and post-conflict nation- building, then the organization could begin to build a reputation for itself. Half of the

CPLP member states are impoverished or unstable states to which more powerful international organizations are unlikely to devote individualized attention. By proving a positive force for change in these regions, the CPLP could relieve a burden from the case load of such international organizations and in doing so carve itself a convenient niche in the world of international development and conflict resolution. The reflected glory from

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such an achievement would benefit all CPLP members and allow Portugal a way to distinguish itself from the fiscally precarious Southern European periphery.

In this regard, there have been a few successes. Most significantly, the CPLP is credited with success in providing unbiased election observing missions for its member states. Thus far, the CPLP has sent missions to Mozambique, Guinea Bissau, São Tomé and Príncipe, and Timor-Leste. The missions integrated with local populations, training local citizens to aid as ballot counters and poll station observers. All missions were applauded by the United Nations for their diligence and professionalism (Ramos 70).

Outside of election observing, there have been two notable opportunities for the CPLP to prove its worth in conflict resolution and development initiatives in the Lusophone world.

The first opportunity came in 2002, when independence was finally formalized for the beleaguered Southeastern Asian island nation of Timor-Leste. The small nation emerged from three years of stewardship under a UN administration, itself put into place to restore order following a brutal campaign of violence led by Timorese pro-integration militia and elements of the Indonesian military. Upon the formalization of independence in 2002, Timor-Leste was immediately christened the eighth member of the CPLP and integrated into the CPLP administrative structure.

The role that the CPLP has played in Timor-Leste has been to provide stabilization assistance following independence rather than assist in conflict resolution in the tumultuous years preceding independence.75 Recognizing that its funds are

75 This being said, Lusophone countries have contributed to the independence process outside of the channels of the CPLP. Portugal entered into a UN-sponsored agreement with Indonesia in 1999, which allowed for the UN-supervised popular referendum in Timor-Leste. Following the referendum (which evidenced a resounding majority in favor of independence and precipitated a new wave of violence),

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insufficient to implement any substantial infrastructural programs in the country, the

CPLP has focused instead on providing Timor-Leste with professionals in the areas of medicine and law and with professional training courses for Timorese nationals (Médicis

17). Most of such initiatives have been funded under the CPLP’s “Special Fund,” which operates solely on member state voluntary donations. The Special Fund has underwritten the transfer of substantial numbers of primary and secondary school teachers, medical doctors, and judges to Timor-Leste in efforts to fortify the state’s woefully meager ranks of trained professionals (Pereira, “A falar (Português)”). Such a scheme is indeed a good use of CPLP resources in Timor-Leste; arguably the most potent tool that the CPLP wields in contributing to the development of the island nation is a shared language.76 By leveraging this advantage – and doing so requires little capital – the CPLP can contribute to an international effort in a unique and welcomed manner.

But perhaps the most important way in which the CPLP has backed the post- independence development and stabilization of Timor-Leste has simply been by expressing solidarity with the nation. Integrating Timor-Leste into international organizations and giving the nascent state a voice in those organizations (in July of 2014

Timor-Leste will assume the rotating presidency of the CPLP) has cemented Timorese independence vis-à-vis Indonesia and helped to reinforce the importance of good governance and transparent decision-making for a new generation of Timorese policy

Portugal, Mozambique, and Brazil deployed military personnel to a UN-led peacekeeping mission (Médicis 17).

76 It must be qualified here that Portuguese, although one of the official languages of Timor-Leste, is not spoken by all of the island nation’s inhabitants. Tetum is the most widely-spoken language in Timor-Leste, though there are a number of local languages and dialects spoken in the more remote parts of the island. Compounding the difficulties produced by the lack of a uniform language is an extraordinarily low literacy rate of only 58.3% (“At a glance: Timor-Leste”). Notwithstanding these statistics, the educated class of Timorese tends to be bilingual in Portuguese and Tetum, and thus able to attend the professional training courses sponsored by the CPLP.

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makers. The CPLP is scarcely as potent an organization as Timor Leste’s other international partners such as ASEAN or the UN, but its intimate size assures the

Timorese a louder voice and greater visibility at the negotiating table.

The second opportunity for the CPLP to intervene positively in an internal

Lusophone conflict occurred a mere two years ago. In April of 2012, a coup d’etat carried out by elements of the armed forces in the small West African nation of Guinea Bissau deposed Bissau Guinean President Domingos Simões Pereira and Prime Minister (and

Presidential candidate) Carlos Gomes Júnior.77 General António Indjai and other coup leaders formed a national unity government shortly thereafter, naming Raimundo Pereira as interim president (Mendy).

The CPLP immediately condemned the April 2012 coup in Guinea Bissau, calling for the reinstatement of Gomes Júnior and Simões Pereira and disallowing Bissau

Guinean presence at CPLP meetings and summits (“Guiné: CPLP pede sanções”). This initial condemnation was followed by two resolutions issued by the CPLP. The first resolution was a classic diplomatic declaration of a conflict situation. The second resolution designated Timorese Minister José Ramos-Horta as a special envoy to Guinea-

Bissau. Ramos-Horta, a former President of Timor-Leste and Nobel Peace Prize winner, was tasked with advancing a ceasefire and promoting the organization of free elections

(Médicis 17). Paulo Portas, the then-Portuguese Minister of Foreign Affairs, additionally

77 The fact that the 2012 coup was carried out by the Bissau Guinean military is not surprising. Due to the military’s success in leading the colonial independence movement against the Portuguese, it has traditionally enjoyed the role of “liberator” of the country. Indeed, the colonial war in Guinea Bissau was highly successful from the colonized point of view: Guinea Bissau was the only colony where the Portuguese were soundly defeated military, diplomatically, and politically. This success has lent the military a sense of power and of entitlement to continually intervene in national politics (Mendy).

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campaigned for the presence of the exiled Carlos Júnior and Simões Pereira at the July

2012 CPLP summit in Maputo (“Guinea Bissau: No Coup Leaders Welcome”).

This internal conflict in Guinea Bissau also caught the attention of the United

Nations and prompted a swift reaction. The UN worried that the Gulf of Guinea, potentially the second-largest petroleum-producing region in the world, could become a tinderbox for igniting other global rivalries (Mendy). Augusto Nascimento, a researcher at the Institute of Tropical Scientific Research in Lisbon, has called the Gulf of Guinea a crossroads for the “hegemonic impulses” of regional hegemons Angola and Nigeria, recognizing as well that the Gulf lies in a disputed zone of influence between the United

States, China, Brazil, and the European Union (Dias and Branco 17). Thus, determining the conflict to be of importance on a global scale, the UN immediately mandated a joint conflict resolution mission to the area. Two international entities were charged with carrying out this mission: the CPLP and the Economic Community of West African

States (ECOWAS) (Mendy; Tinto).

That the CPLP counts as one of its greatest achievements its work in mediating the conflict in Guinea Bissau is indicative of just how modest the organization’s achievements have been elsewhere. Here was an opportunity for the organization to enact change in a region of the world that it knew more intimately than anyone else, and with the blessing of the world’s most powerful conflict resolution international organization.

What the CPLP realized upon receiving the joint mission, however, was how very limited its own means were. From the start, the CPLP’s actions in Guinea Bissau were heavily dependent on the international community of donors and on the institutional structure of the United Nations (Médicis 17). As reported in a September 11, 2013 article published

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in Expresso news magazine, rather than use the mission to assert itself diplomatically, the

CPLP hastened to issue an SOS call to the UN, ECOWAS, and the African Union to form a broader coalition capable of exerting greater pressure on Guinea Bissau (“Guiné: CPLP pede sanções”). Although the CPLP continued to call for the reinstitution of President

Simões Pereira and Vice President Gomes Júnior, the organization had few rewards or punishments in its arsenal to alter the intentions of the military coup leaders.

The second difficulty that the CPLP experienced in Guinea Bissau was in collaborating with ECOWAS on the joint mission. Although the initial condemnatory reactions by the CPLP and ECOWAS to the coup were identical, ECOWAS quickly retracted its condemnation and entered into dialogue with the Bissau Guinean transitional government (Mendy). An insurmountable rift developed between the two organizations and their respective objectives; whereas the CPLP maintained that the exiled government was the only legitimate form of government, ECOWAS declared itself amenable to negotiations with the transitional government (“Guinea Bissau: No Coup Leaders

Welcome”).78 This led to CPLP president Murade Murargy criticizing the ECOWAS position for being “irreversible” and complaining that ECOWAS’s intransigence was rendering any concerted joint peace-building effort impossible (“Guiné-Bissau:

Inflexibilidade da CEDEAO”).

What was really being called into play in this disagreement was a long-standing rivalry between two regional hegemons. According to Dr. Peter Mendy, Nigeria, as the

78 Interestingly, the United States has also expressed its willingness to enter into negotiations with the Bissau Guinean interim government. Such a position has caused a small diplomatic rift between the United States and Portugal, with former Portuguese Minister of Foreign Affairs Paulo Portas announcing in 2013: “[We have] been very clear, from the first day of the coup, that [we] would show no tolerance for any coup d’etat or for coup leaders” (qtd in “Guinea Bissau: No Coup Leaders Welcome”). To make matters even more complicated, former President Domingos Simões Pereira and Prime Minister Carlos Gomes Júnior are currently residing in exile in an undisclosed Lisbon residence (Mendy).

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most prominent member of ECOWAS, had long resented Angolan influence in the small and troubled but oil-rich Guinea Bissau. Angola had had close ties with the former Bissau

Guinean government of Gomes Júnior and Simões Pereira, recently signing a defense accord with Simões Pereira and investing heavily through the company Angolabauxite in the extraction of bauxite from Bissau Guinean territory. When António Indjai and his collaborators came to power in 2012, Nigeria saw an opportunity to decrease and perhaps even replace Angolan influence in the state (Mendy).

The third manner in which the CPLP might elevate Portugal’s standing within the

European Union is related to the politics of language. It was argued in the opening paragraphs of this chapter that, in its successful bid for a UN Security Council rotating seat in 2010, Portugal emphasized the global character of the Lusophone network and of the Portuguese language. What’s more, Portugal was chosen as the portal for PIR PALOP

& Timor-Leste in part because the European Union recognized that Portugal could quite literally communicate more easily with PALOP nations and with Timor-Leste than could any other European nation. The fact that the Portuguese language is the sixth most- spoken language on the globe (the mother tongue of 230 million people worldwide) carries with it practical benefits, facilitating as it does Portugal’s role as inter-continental interlocutor (“II Conferência international sobre o futuro da língua portuguesa”; “Widely spoken but ‘minor’?”).

Aside from the practical and tangible benefits that the Portuguese language might offer Portugal in the European milieu, there are other, less tangible benefits that merit a mention. Language is an extremely political, highly charged subject. Political imperialism and linguistic imperialism frequently go hand-in-hand: the transfer of a

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dominant language to other peoples is often a demonstration of political power or military might. Superpowers are wont to impose their languages on the world. Languages can open doors, facilitate upward social mobility, grease social transactions, and establish power hierarchies. The language or languages adopted by international organizations for use in their day-to-day functions invariably indicates where power lies in those international organizations. While the European Union, for example, accepts twenty-four official languages as “working languages,” in practice only three are used most often:

English, French, and German.

The peripheral status of the Portuguese language in the European Union has been a source of quiet discontent among the Portuguese for quite a while. José Ribeiro e

Castro, a Portuguese politician and member of the European Parliament, expresses this sentiment patently in a 2013 interview with the Jornal de Letras: “Foi consagrado no registo europeu de patentes um regime privilegiado para três línguas: o Inglês, o Francês e o Alemão. Podemos chamar o regime de Munique. A Espanha e a Itália resistiram, levaram o caso a tribunal. Portugal abdicou...” (26). [“In the European registry of patents, a regime of privileged languages was consecrated: English, French, and German. We can call this the Munich regime. Spain and Italy resisted and brought the case to court.

Portugal abdicated…”] In the same interview, Ribeiro e Castro goes on to express his fear that Portuguese will lose even more traction in the European Union, as a result of inaction on the part of its standard-bearers:

...o Português corre o risco de deixar de ser língua de trabalho na União Europeia. Estamos completamente desatentos... onde nós estamos, fazemos tão pouco, somos tão medíocres no nosso desempenho, que corremos o risco de anular o Português na UE. E

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se os portugueses fraquejarem na Europa, podemos pôr em risco o estatuto universal da língua (26).

[... Portuguese runs the risk of ceasing to be a working language in the European Union. We are completely inattentive… we do so little, we are so mediocre in our performance, that we run the risk of annulling the Portuguese language in the EU. And if the Portuguese falter in Europe, we also jeopardize the universal status of the language.]

What Ribeiro e Castro’s interview highlights is the manner in which the prominence of a language is often seen as a litmus test for the influence of the nations which speak that language. If this theory holds true, then the increased prominence of the

Portuguese language in various forums around the globe could serve to bolster Portugal’s image as well as utility within the European Union. To this end, Portuguese lusophiles have worked tirelessly in recent years to publicly promote the Portuguese language. The

Second International Conference about the Future of the Portuguese Language in the

World System was convened at the University of Lisbon in October of 2013.79 The conference united academics from CPLP nations who held discussions revolving around the conference’s stated theme of “Global Portuguese Language – Internationalization,

Science, and Innovation” (“II Conferência international sobre o futuro da língua portuguesa”). Positioning Portuguese as a language on the vanguard of science and technology, reasoned the conference’s architects, would effectively brand it a language of the future rather than a language of the past.

79 The first International Conference about the Future of the Portuguese Language in the World System was held in Brasília in March of 2010. This conference culminated in the writing of a Plan of Action of Brasília for the Promotion, Diffusion, and Projection of the Portuguese Language which was later approved by the CPLP Council of Foreign Ministers and ratified during the CPLP’s Luanda summit (“II Conferência international sobre o futuro da língua portuguesa”).

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In order to promote the Portuguese language as a language of the future, Portugal will likely need to turn to Brazil and to PALOP nations to become the new face of the language. These are the countries with the positive demographic indicators and with the rapid economic growth who are capable of propelling the Portuguese language to a new level of respect worldwide. Such a dependence on Brazil and Africa has rankled Portugal.

As reported in an article titled “‘Brazilian’ is ascending and Lisbon is not amused” and published in the Canadian newspaper The Globe and Mail:

The Conference on Portuguese as a Language in the World System will enlist experts to draft an ‘action plan for the internationalization’ of Portuguese. But, in fact, Portuguese is doing just fine, internationally: The number of speakers is soaring. That ought to be heralded as good news in Lisbon, and yet the ascendance of Portuguese – this particular Portuguese – is causing a certain disquiet in the former colonial power. The reason? Brazil. This country’s economic and political rise has given a once-fading Old World language a new life, but on its own terms… (Nolen).

If Nolen’s central thesis is to be taken into account, then Portugal may face a setback in its promotion of the Portuguese language. In order to successfully leverage the

Portuguese language so as to enjoy greater prominence in the forums of the European

Union, then it is likely that Portugal will have to learn to accept Brazilian – and, to a lesser extent, African – hegemony in determining the new rules of the linguistic game, even if it means accepting without further complaint the Acordo Ortográfico

[Orthographic Accord] of 1990, which in large part reflects Brazilian usage of the language. For Portugal, allowing other CPLP nations to promote the Portuguese language

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on their own terms will necessitate the embrace of a far-sighted strategy of functionality and sensibility over a short-sighted nostalgic approach.

Within the realm of the CPLP, there remains a central incongruity to be solved in regard to the promotion of the Portuguese language. This incongruity is that there are two very different language promotion policies being practiced currently in the CPLP. The first policy is that which has been discussed above: Portugal, Brazil, and to a lesser extent

Angola and Mozambique’s push to promote Portuguese as a prestigious and vital global language. The second policy belongs to those nations and regions in the CPLP who live a very different reality, a reality characterized by low levels of literacy and tenuous or nonexistent systems of public education. For Guinea Bissau, São Tomé and Príncipe,

Timor-Leste, and, to a lesser extent, Cape Verde, the promotion of the Portuguese language has a very different meaning. The promotion of the Portuguese language

(which, it must be remembered, competes in many areas with other indigenous languages) hinges on allowing populations access to basic schooling and fighting to raise literacy levels.

When it comes to linguistic policies, then, is the CPLP’s emphasis misplaced?

While embarking on a tireless campaign to promote Portuguese on a global level, has the

CPLP turned a blind eye to the less glamorous, grassroots work that needs to be done to ensure that citizens of all CPLP nations can indeed read, write, and speak in this language that is being touted? A 2013 article published in Público answers this question in the affirmative, citing Amaral Lala of the Angolan Foreign Ministry:

“A língua pode ser um poderoso instrumento” de afirmação e influência dos países. Mas “para que a língua portuguesa seja

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exportada para fora do espaço da CPLP devem ser criadas as condições internas”, frisou Amaral Lala. E não estão. A escola, peça fundamental nesse processo, ainda é deficitária em muitos países da CPLP. “O acesso à escola é o acesso à língua portuguesa” em muitos países onde a população fala mais facilmente os idiomas locais e nacionais, acrescentou. Aí, ainda há populações analfabetas (Cordeiro).

[“Language can be a powerful instrument” of affirmation and influence for states. But “in order for the Portuguese language to be exported out of the CPLP space, certain internal conditions must be created,” stressed Amaral Lala. And this is not happening. Education, a fundamental part of this process, remains deficient in many CPLP countries. “Access to education is access to the Portuguese language” in many countries where the populations speak more easily local and national languages, Lala added. And in those countries, there are still illiterate populations.]

In other words, focusing solely on a policy of Portuguese language promotion outside of the CPLP might be premature. Not surprisingly, the promotion of the

Portuguese language within CPLP territories is something of a contentious issue. For some, the promotion of Portuguese – the former colonial language – is akin to a capitulation to neocolonial power structures. While it is not this dissertation’s intent to delve too deeply into this issue, the view expressed within is somewhat more pragmatic.

While neither discouraging nor passing judgment on the cultivation and maintenance of local indigenous languages, this dissertation holds that there do appear to be tangible benefits related to expanding the teaching of Portuguese in all CPLP states. As stated before, languages are powerful connectors of populations to the global economy and to the outside world. While languages are rich components of cultural patrimony, they are also, above all, functional tools. If the Portuguese language – or any other language, for that matter – has the ability to connect populations to greater global networks and

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markets, then its promotion and the promotion of literacy in general can only be applauded.

A final observation on the promotion of Portuguese within and without the CPLP is in order. In other passages of this dissertation, the CPLP is criticized for restricting itself to operating in the “soft” policy areas of language promotion and culture celebration, while failing to be effective in areas such as political and economic development. The arguments in this chapter about the utility of the Portuguese language, as a tool that Portugal could possibly exploit within the European Union, do not contradict these earlier criticisms. It is the view of this dissertation that promotion of the

Portuguese language in and of itself is not the problem. The problem, rather, resides in the CPLP restricting itself to language-promotion policies, for fear of treading in policy areas that carry greater risks or which require greater collective action. Granted, any critic of the CPLP must concede that the organization is not in a position to do all things; rather, it has to operate within structures not of its choosing and with fiscal and operational limitations.

The fourth positive consequence of the CPLP union for Portugal is related to

Portuguese emigration. Since the financial crisis hit Portugal with particular fury in 2010, the numbers of Portuguese leaving the country to find work abroad has increased substantially. Some estimates put the figure as high as 20,000 citizens relocating abroad every year – some hoping for short-term employment in order to weather out the storm abroad, others looking to resettle permanently (Akwagyiram).

This emigration is largely being driven by high unemployment rates in Portugal – some of the highest in the entire Eurozone. In mid-2013, the overall unemployment rate

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stood at 17% (Akwagyiram) while youth unemployment crept up to an untenable 37.7%

(Costa and Sereno, Personal Interview).80 The unemployment figures have been so worrying in recent years that emigration to more prosperous shores has become a policy explicitly supported by the Portuguese national government. In 2011, Portugal’s Prime

Minister Pedro Passos Coelho counseled unemployed teachers in Portugal to emigrate, encouraging them to look for jobs in CPLP countries such as Brazil and Angola

(Akwagyiram).

Many Portuguese have heeded this advice. An oil and gas boom in Mozambique and Angola, combined with rapid growth in these two countries’ urban areas, have propelled legions of young, educated Portuguese professionals to Africa in search of jobs in engineering, architecture, and even the tourist industry. The number of Portuguese immigrating to Angola alone has quadrupled since 2009, reaching a total of almost

200,000 by the end of 2013 (Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 36). Whereas formerly the

Portuguese who immigrated to PALOP nations tended to be manual laborers, the new emigrants are middle class and college-educated, who find their skills to be of little use to them in a stagnant Portuguese economy (Akwagyiram). In 2013, for the first time ever,

Eurostat statistics indicated that youth unemployment (with “youth” defined as those aged 15-24) among college graduates in Portugal was higher than unemployment among non-college graduates. Partly the result of modernization pains in a country where a mass-educated society was not always the norm, this phenomenon is shaking the

80 According to João Peixoto, a scholar of employment and migration trends in Portugal, the discrepancy between overall and youth unemployment rates is a common and old phenomenon in southern Europe. Rigid labor laws in southern European states remain in place for the public sector, which tends to employ an older workforce. These rigid labor laws are contrasted with a paucity of job security in other parts of the labor force. The result is that young workers are afforded little protection and often are forced to jump from one temporary work contract to another, plagued by low wages and few benefits (Peixoto).

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Portuguese’s former expectations of college education as a ticket to employment and a middle-class standard of living (Peixoto). Emigration is increasingly appearing the only way in which college-educated youth in Portugal are able to satisfy such expectations.

The case of Portuguese highway engineers is a good example of the recent trend of educated, highly-skilled Portuguese workers immigrating to PALOP countries in search of suitable employment. In April of 2013, the magazine Pontos de Vista published an interview conducted with Paulo Pereira, president of the Engineering School of the

University of the Minho. Pereira explained how Portugal, no longer in a state of growth, had stopped investing in new highway infrastructure and thus had ceased employing highway engineers. These engineers, many of whom cut their teeth in the trade during the highway-building boom which took place shortly after the initial influx of European

Union structural funds, have sought work in emerging countries where infrastructural investments are on an upswing. In 2012, the Congress of Portuguese Highways talked for the first time about offsetting sectorial unemployment nationally by sending highway engineers to Angola and Mozambique (“Em Portugal e no mundo há futuro” 30). Pereira observed that these two countries are developing their infrastructure at a faster rate than they are developing their human resources capacities, leaving them with a paucity of trained engineers to execute new infrastructural projects. As a temporary measure,

Angola and Mozambique are opening their borders to trained engineers, with Portuguese engineers especially preferred due to enhanced ease of communication (31).

Of course, Portuguese emigration is also prevalent in the more industrialized regions of western and central Europe, as well as to the North American continent. But emigration to CPLP countries has experienced the greatest rise in the past few years, as a

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result of two factors: rapidly expanding economies (primarily in Angola and

Mozambique), and ease of integration due to a shared language (Peixoto). It is for these two reasons that emigration to CPLP countries has come to be viewed as an “escape hatch” for pent-up youth frustrations in Portugal. João Peixoto, a professor of sociology and economics at the Instituto Superior de Economia e Gestão, has focused his research in recent years on a study of migration patterns from southern Europe. Peixoto concluded that the fact that Portugal shares a common language with countries who host rapidly expanding economies has served to ease frustrations among unemployed youth by offering these youth an alternative route to a suitable occupation and financial independence.81 Peixoto believes that this explains why Portugal has not witnessed the same levels of civil unrest as other southern European countries with similarly high youth unemployment rates, such as Spain and Greece.

That Portuguese emigration to CPLP countries has risen in past years has been confirmed by many reliable sources (Akwagyiram; Costa, Lopes, and Louçã; Peixoto).

That this represents a positive phenomenon for Portugal is also difficult to dispute. But is it accurate to say that the institution of the CPLP has, in any way, facilitated this emigration “escape hatch” for Portugal?

Although the extent to which the CPLP has fostered Portuguese emigration is not easily quantifiable, it can reasonably be determined that the organization has aided in the movement of peoples between Lusophone nations. This is because the CPLP has taken

81 Murade Murargy, current Executive Secretary of the CPLP, echoed Peixoto’s argument in a recent interview conducted with Portugal’s País Económico. In the interview, Murargy emphasized how the growth in Brazil, Angola, and Mozambique has been essential to combating worsening levels of unemployment in Portugal and to relieving pent-up youth frustrations related to this unemployment (Murargy, “A Língua Portuguesa” 8).

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various measures to improve circulation of people between member states, such as the more liberal provision of multiple-entry visas, distinct immigration counters at airports for CPLP citizens, the granting of temporary medical visas, the abolition of visa and residence fees for CPLP citizens, and special temporary visas for professionals working in certain sectors. Additionally, CPLP citizens often have an easier time acquiring residency in other Lusophone nations. In Portugal, for example, CPLP citizens are only required to reside in Portugal for five instead of the usual eight years before applying for official residency (J. Pinto, Do império colonial).

The final significant benefit of CPLP membership for Portugal hinges on trade, commerce, and foreign direct investment. The argument advanced in this dissertation is simple: Portugal has been able to leverage relationships with CPLP nations in order to seek alternate partners in business, commerce, and investment. These alternate partnerships have become crucial alliances for Portugal, as easy access to credit dries up in the European Union. Once again, the specific agency of the CPLP in this situation must be clarified. As will be argued later in the following chapter, the CPLP has yet to forge a coherent economic policy. As such, much of the business, commerce, and investment that takes place between Portugal and other Lusophone nations is carried out on a bilateral basis and not within the institutional framework of the CPLP. Nonetheless, the CPLP has aided in facilitating and formalizing relations between Lusophone nations in other spheres, by facilitating the movement of peoples and by assuring a certain modicum of inter-state trust. These political and social relations in turn reinforce economic relations, by providing the initial contact that later engenders commercial exchanges and foreign investment.

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Once again, it becomes evident how the privileged relations that Portugal enjoys with CPLP states, in this case in terms of business and commerce, can help Portugal to elevate its profile within the European Union. Credit and investments emanating from

CPLP member states – most notably Angola and Brazil – have been essential in helping

Portugal avoid even greater fallout from the 2010 financial crisis and from becoming an even bigger burden on the lenders of troika. Any extra economic reinforcement that

Portugal can receive outside of European channels can ultimately lessen Portuguese dependence on European bailout funds, thus simultaneously lessening Portuguese dependence on European demands that accompany the bailout funds. A Portuguese economy that is more independently robust will in turn foster more respect for Portugal within the European milieu.

As related in the recently published book Os Donos Angolanos de Portugal, the extent to which Portugal has relied upon foreign investment from CPLP nations in the past few years is considerable. In particular, investment originating in Angola has propped up the Portuguese economy and assured access to credit when credit was scarce on the European continent. Jorge Costa, João Teixeira Lopes, and Francisco Louçã note in Os Donos Angolanos de Portugal that economic relations between Portugal and

Angola began to pick up speed around the year 2007, intensifying in the build-up and the peak of the financial crisis. During these years Angola stepped in to ease Portugal’s credit crunch in the real estate and financial sectors, injecting capital into Portuguese real estate markets and banks when it was most needed. In many ways, it was the perfect match: the

Angolan economy was booming, with GDP growth at a robust 19.8% in 2007, whereas

Portugal was desperately seeking foreign investors to purchase its national assets and

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shares (Raposo 93). The cash flow came easily and quickly from the Angolan side, allowing Portugal to maintain a degree of liquidity at the height of the crisis (Costa,

Lopes, and Louçã 13-15).

Investing in Portugal was extremely beneficial for the Angolan elite; it enabled them to move money offshore and out of a politically unstable country while at the same time lessening the pressure that the ultra-wealthy Angolans receive from the international media for amassing fortunes in a country where two-thirds of the citizenry lives on less than $2 per day (Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 14). Additionally, the Angolans found the

Portuguese markets easy to penetrate. The Portuguese financial markets and firms were accessible, penetrable, and perhaps best of all, integrated into the global financial market.82 Portugal’s financial sector is also not as closely regulated as that of the United

States83 and fewer questions were asked about the origin of the funds that arrived (38).

Angolan direct investment in Portugal grew from 1.6 million euros in 2002 to a staggering 130 million in the first half of 2012 alone (Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 35). Half

82 Upon entering the Portuguese market, the Angolans ostensibly have access to European and even global financial markets. For a country looking to become more influential on a global scale, this is a handy arrangement. In particular, Angola is keen to become known in Europe as a powerful potential partner. In 2010, the Jornal de Angola published an article claiming Angola’s influence to be rising in Europe: “Na Europa temos o respeito dos países da União Europeia. Bruxelas faz tudo para criar relações privilegiadas com Angola. A crescente influência do nosso país na comunidade internacional levou a que o G-8, que reúne os países mais industrializados, convidasse José Eduardo dos Santos para a história cimeira de Áquila... O exemplo alemão contagiou franceses, espanhóis e portugueses, que apeasar da crise investem cada vez mais em Angola” (qtd. in Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 110). [“In Europe we have the respect of the countries of the European Union. Brussels is doing everything it can to develop a privileged relationship with Angola. The growing influence of our country in the international community led to the G-8, which unites the most industrialized countries, inviting [President] José Eduardo dos Santos to the historic summit in Áquilo… The German example has caught on in France, Spain, and Portugal, and notwithstanding the crisis, all are increasingly investing more in Angola.”] 83 The American Congress in fact looks warily at Angolan investors and has even recently led an investigation into the nefarious dealing of the Banco Angolano de Investimentos (BAI). This Angolan bank came to occupy an entire chapter in the 2010 US Senate report entitled “Keeping foreign corruption out of the United States” (Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 38).

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of the fortune of Isabel dos Santos, the billionaire daughter of Angolan President José

Eduardo dos Santos, is invested in Portuguese companies such as Unitel, BIC, Galf, and

Zon (38). Not surprisingly, Angolan investments have been heartily welcomed by

Portuguese policy makers. In 2009, in reference to Portuguese-Angolan relations, the

Portuguese Ambassador to France António Monteiro pronounced that, “uma parceria estratégica é o novo El Dorado para Portugal... Tem de ser agora, chegou o momento!”

(qtd. in Costa, Lopes, and Louçã 18). [“A strategic partnership is the new El Dorado for

Portugal. It has to happen now… the moment has arrived!”] This desire for greater intimacy between the two economies has been anything but subtle from the Portuguese side. In 2003, Durão Barroso attended the wedding of one of José Eduardo dos Santos’s daughters and took the opportunity to comment on the need for greater intimacy between

Portuguese and Angolan elites, as well as between their business ventures (18).

Aside from Angolan foreign direct investment in the Portuguese economy, economic relations with Angola have provided Portugal with a market for Portuguese exports. Angola is currently the largest destination for Portuguese exports outside of the

European Union, such that 17% of Angolan total imports originate in Portugal (Costa,

Lopes, and Louçã 36). This market has helped to alleviate Portugal’s export woes, which have been intensified by weak European demand and by cheaply-priced Eastern

European products which tend to undercut Southern European exports.

It is not only Portuguese products that are being drawn to PALOP markets;

Portuguese firms looking to expand and internationalize their operations are also increasingly seeking out these markets, turning their sights from the European continent to Africa. Telma Paz is the Assistant Director of F. Iniciativas Portugal, a small

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consulting company that teaches other Portuguese companies how to expand beyond

Portugal and enter new markets for their goods and services. Paz explained to Pontos de

Vista magazine in April of 2013 that her company is more and more counseling

Portuguese business owners to find strategic partnerships in PALOP countries (“Um aliado estratégico na internacionalização” 39). Weedsworth is one such business that has taken Paz’s advice to heart. Weedsworth, a Portuguese company that specializes in the technology and sale of highway-paving materials, has reoriented its marketing strategy to focus on partnerships with PALOP markets. The CEO of Weedsworth, Hugo Guimarães, notes that Angola and Mozambique in particular are among the preferred markets because demand for infrastructural materials often outstrips supply in these emerging countries (“Weedsworth conquista o mercado internacional” 28-29).

If the CPLP is capable of adding value and prestige to Portugal’s position in the

European Union by buttressing the country’s autonomy, diplomatic agency, and/or economic robustness, then the opposite must also hold true: the CPLP might conversely prove capable of doing a disservice to Portugal’s reputation. States are judged by their allies; how a nation chooses its friends is of vital importance to that nation’s image in the international community. If the CPLP fails to live up to expectations by showing internal fissures or misguided policies, then it could actually become a liability for Portugal, who will have to explain to its European associates why it became involved in the project of

Lusophone solidarity in the first place. Similarly, Portugal might find itself squandering valuable resources such as time or development funds on an organization that fails to put those resources to good use. And finally, any negative attention that the CPLP receives – be it related to corruption, allegiance to a neocolonial power structure, or simple

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ineffectualness – will reflect poorly on the Portuguese state. Examples of this sort of negative attention will be explored in the subsequent pages of this dissertation. Thus, the topic of the next chapter will be the various weaknesses of the CPLP which have the potential to undercut Portugal’s standing in the European Union and beyond.

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CHAPTER FOUR

PORTUGAL, EUROPE, AND THE LUSOPHONE WORLD: POINTS OF DIVERSION

In November of 2013, the Timorese Foreign Minister José Luís Guterres offered a public and condemnatory status report on the CPLP. Guterres chiefly criticized the CPLP for failing to produce concrete results: “Enquanto organização, nós precisamos explicar aos nossos povos o que nós queremos com a CPLP, se não a impressão que se tem é que

é mais uma reunião, onde se fala muito, se gasta muito dinheiro, mas não há resultados”

(qtd. in “Timor-Leste diz que a CPLP”). [“As an organization, we need to explain to our citizenries what we want from the CPLP. If not, they will have the impression that the

CPLP is but another meeting, where everyone talks a lot, where a lot of money is spent, but nothing comes of it.”]

The timing and the origin of this criticism held sobering implications for the institution. Timor-Leste is set to assume the rotating presidency of the CPLP in July of

2014, which will afford the diminutive nation greater control over the organization’s functions. To begin a stint in the presidency of the CPLP with so low an estimation of the institution is not a heartening situation. Secondly, the fact that the criticism came from

Timor-Leste is surprising in and of itself. The CPLP tends to see itself as the benevolent father figure to Timor-Leste; the organization who stepped in to offer a helping hand to the struggling incipient nation in the immediacy of Timorese independence. The fact that

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Timor-Leste finds itself in a position to criticize the CPLP indicates a certain vulnerability and lack of prestige within the Community itself.

Guterres’s condemnatory remarks are indicative of the principal accusation leveled at the CPLP: that the organization is simply ineffective. Such was the verdict issued by a panel of scholars united for a seminar marking the ten-year anniversary of the

CPLP and organized by the Institute of Strategic and International Studies in Portugal.

This seminar, titled The CPLP as a Component of Effective Multilateralism, concluded that the CPLP had been largely ineffective in bringing about any sort of positive change in the majority of its member states. The only real successes that the CPLP could claim, according to the seminar’s concluding statements, were the afore-mentioned political interventions in Timor-Leste and in Guinea Bissau (J. Braga de Macedo, “Segurança, desenvolvimento” 57).

A brief survey of some principal sources used here-in show this accusation repeated time and time again, albeit with varying conclusions regarding the causes and consequences of the institution’s ineffectiveness. Maria Regina Marchueta, for example, blames a lack of institutional coherence. In Marchueta’s view, the CPLP has remained excessively an “imagined community” without a coordinated agenda, the result being that:

Tem-lhe faltado... uma maior coerência política, diplomática, económica e cultural, susceptível de delinear um projecto comum, por forma a que, numa só voz, possa fazer face às pressões do processo de globalização e às estratégias de concorrência política, económica e cultural que se perfilam, quer a nível nacional, quer nos âmbitos regional e internacional (148).

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[[The CPLP] has lacked…any degree of political, diplomatic, economic, or cultural coherence, or the delineation of a common project. Achieving such would allow for the organization to face, with a single voice, the pressures of globalization and new forms of political, economic, and cultural competition that are emerging today on a national, regional, and international scale.]

Dr. Carlos Lopes, the Bissau Guinean former Sub-Secretary General of the United

Nations, has argued that the ineffectiveness of the CPLP stems from its inability to transform informal bonds of fraternity into concrete action. Dr. Lopes faults the initial founding statutes of the CPLP for neglecting to address the manner in which the

“privileged relationship” between Lusophone countries will be realized in concrete terms

– in other words, how mere rhetoric of a privileged relationship will be transcended and translated into tangible diplomatic action. In the words of Dr. Lopes,

Aprofundar a amizade é algo um pouco mais emotivo que racional. Amizade entre países é uma formulação diplomática desprovida de qualquer especificidade. É o que se coloca em qualquer documento ou comunicado, até com países com os quais se mantêm um intercâmbio cada dez anos. No entanto ao ser considerado privilegiado, espera-se algo mais... Nada nos estatutos ou na postura da criação da CPLP deixa transparecer como poderia ser lido tal hipotético desejo (139).

[The deepening of a friendship is more emotional than rational. Friendship between countries is a diplomatic formulation devoid of any specificity whatsoever. It is what is put on any document or formal communication, even between countries which interact only once every ten years. But when you talk about a privileged relationship you expect something more… There is nothing in the statutes or in the initial creation of the CPLP that makes obvious how such a hypothetical desire [of a privileged relationship] will be interpreted.]

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Dr. José Filipe Pinto concurs with Dr. Lopes’s assessment, adding that the CPLP has faced derision for hosting a plethora of summits and high-level meetings which ultimately result in little or no real action. Pinto largely blames this ineptitude on a lack of funds, reasoning that the quotas set by the Council of Ministers to determine member state contributions are woefully low, leaving the CPLP consistently short of cash (Do império colonial 354-364).

The research so far points in the direction of a preliminary conclusion that one of the root causes of the ineffectiveness of the CPLP is the tendency to consider the institution the embodiment of lusophonia, itself a vague concept rooted in the murky realm of sentimentality and nostalgia. Lusophonia, in the words of Cape Verdean ex- minister Corsino Tolentino, is akin to:

Uma espécie de capital social, que paira no ar e que a gente sente quando circula em qualquer dos nossos países ou em qualquer ambiente onde se fala a língua portuguesa, onde se veja um quadro de um dos nossos pintores ou se assista a um espectáculo em língua portuguesa ou em línguas parentes, esta reação quase instintiva que temos perante algo que nos pertence (qtd. in J. Pinto, “A Presidência Portuguesa’’ 61).

[A sort of social capital, which hovers in the air and which we feel when we travel through any one of our countries or through any environment where the Portuguese language is spoken, where we see a painting by one of our painters or we attend a show in Portuguese or in a similar language. [Lusophonia] is this almost instinctual reaction that we have when we are near something which belongs to us.]

Such a romantic description is perhaps befitting to lusophonia, but institutions cannot be founded on “social capital which hovers in the air” and “instinctual reactions”

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alone. Social capital is not what bonds disparate entities together in an institution; this is the work of shared goals and mutual incentives. Rather, social capital is the constructive by-product of successful institutions; the fortuitous consequence that greases the wheels of concerted action and ensures further cooperation.

Granted, the CPLP is not the only transnational, multinational institution whose rhetoric at times implies that positive member states relations will result from an abundance of pre-existing social capital, instead of the other way around. But the fact that the CPLP bases the source of its social capital on bonds of lusophonia – instead of shared global values, ideals, or goals – tends to dilute even further the institution’s stated purpose.

What will follow now is a discussion of the CPLP’s various existing and potential weaknesses – as brought to light by scholars and critics who have analyzed the institution

– all stemming from a central allegation of ineffectiveness. Each and every one of these weaknesses has the potential to turn the CPLP into a veritable liability for Portugal,84 either by highlighting the failings of the institution itself, or by highlighting the flaws in

Portugal’s to-date association with the institution.

The first weakness of the CPLP is that it lacks consensus over what the parameters of the Community are. Originally, the founders of the CPLP saw no qualms with establishing an entry criterion based entirely on use of the Portuguese language; all

84 Once again, the stillborn League of Nations provides an apt example of a weak institution that ultimately did a disservice to the nation – and the leader of that nation – who invested most energy into it. John Maynard Keynes, in The Economic Consequences of the Peace, details how Woodrow Wilson’s failed League of Nations diminished the economic and political power of the United States during the inter-war period. Keynes concludes that the League of Nations was eventually doomed as a result of Wilson’s excessive and abstract idealism, a lack of consensus about shared goals within the international community, and Wilson’s misconceived notion that institutions are capable of harmonizing identities.

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member states were thus required to designate Portuguese an official state language.

Other states that showed interest in the CPLP were allowed to achieve status as

“associated observers.”85 Soon, however, this seemingly simple entry criterion became complicated. What to do if a state’s government unilaterally declares Portuguese an official language, regardless of a scant tradition of the language in the country, in order to gain access to the Community? How important to the CPLP is a common linguistic heritage?86 And are Portuguese-speaking autonomous regions to be considered for membership?

The first question surfaced in 2010, when Equatorial Guinea’s application for full membership to the Community was put on the agenda of the 2010 CPLP summit in

Luanda. The summit nearly ended in political crisis; whereas seven of the eight member states voted to allow Equatorial Guinea entrance to the Community, Portugal maintained a stubborn opposition, refusing to capitulate even in the face of considerable pressure from Angola and Brazil (“Guiné Equatorial e CPLP”). The compromise forged in the wake of this political impasse was typical for such situations: the vote on Equatorial

Guinea’s accession was postponed, with summit leaders agreeing to revisit the application for membership during the 2012 summit. Discussions in the 2012 summit in

Mozambique proved equally unproductive, resulting in another two-year deferral of the

85 Currently, there are three associate observer states: Equatorial Guinea, Mauritius, and Senegal. The CPLP claims that thirteen additional states – including states as diverse as the Ukraine, Australia, Indonesia, and Luxembourg – are interested in becoming associated observers in the near future (M. Ferreira, “Malabo na CPLP”). 86 An interesting counterexample to the CPLP’s linguistic policy is the case of Mozambique and the British Commonwealth. Notwithstanding the fact that Mozambique was never a part of the British Empire and English is not widely spoken throughout the territory, the state became an official member of the Commonwealth in 1995. Mozambique is currently the only member of the Commonwealth that does not share a British colonial past. The Commonwealth argues that the state belongs in the organization because it is surrounded by Commonwealth members and has historically maintained strong economic relations with South Africa (V. Santos, “Portugal, a CPLP, e a Lusophonia” 76).

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decision on Equatorial Guinea’s candidacy. In the four-year interim period, the CPLP assigned two missions to Equatorial Guinea to monitor the progress of the country in areas such as freedom of speech and press, human rights, and use of the Portuguese language (“CPLP and Equatorial Guinea”).

If this last assignment of the CPLP mission to Equatorial Guinea seems rather odd, it must be explained that Portuguese has not historically been a language used in the

West African country. Due to a colonial history that involved Spain and, to a lesser extent

France, Equatorial Guinea’s official languages have long been Spanish and French.

Unofficial languages used throughout the country consist of a diverse mix of Bantu tongues. Portuguese was established as an official state language only by way of a unilateral executive decree issued by President Teodoro Obiang Nguema in 2007.

President Obiang took no pains at the time to disguise the underlying motivation of his executive decree, immediately thereafter announcing his intention to apply for full membership in the CPLP (“Guiné Equatorial e CPLP”). Notwithstanding its newfound official status, actual use of the Portuguese language remains all but nonexistent in the country.

Progress within Equatorial Guinea from 2010-2014 has been meager on all fronts.

In the realm of fair governance and human rights, Equatorial Guinea has promised a constitutional revision that will limit presidential terms and ensure frequent elections.

Regardless, the country still remains on Human Rights Watch “black list” and is cited by

Transparency International as one of the twelve most corrupt states on the globe (2011

Human Rights Reports: Equatorial Guinea). In the realm of linguistic policy, the only

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noticeable progress made was the recent announcement of the grand opening of a

Portuguese language center in the capital Malabo (“Guiné Equatorial e CPLP”).

The concern of the CPLP for Equatorial Guinea’s dismal record in human rights and political freedoms is appropriate. The concern of the CPLP about the quotidian use of the Portuguese language in the country is preposterous. It is hard to believe that CPLP policy makers truly believe a state can suddenly impose a hither-to unspoken language in its territory and expect for that state’s population to take to the language. Any “linguistic reforms” carried out by Equatorial Guinea will necessarily be limited to the realm of official communiqués and “para lusófono ver” [“superficial”] measures. Why, then, does the CPLP insist on cloaking Equatorial Guinea’s drawn-out application for membership in this façade of language-centric legitimacy?

The answer to this question, as all too often is the case, appears to involve oil wealth and natural resources. The seven CPLP member states who were in favor of

Equatorial Guinea’s entrance into the CPLP, out of whom Brazil and Angola emerged as the most vocal campaigners, are desperate to crown Equatorial Guinea a Lusophone nation in order to cash in on a share of the country’s abundant natural wealth. Since the mid-1990s, Equatorial Guinea has remained one of sub-Sahara’s biggest oil producers. In

2004 the country boasted the world’s fastest-growing economy, largely due to the discovery and exploitation of new oil deposits. According to the World Bank, Equatorial

Guinea’s Gross National Income is higher than any other sub-Saharan state (“Guinea

Equatorial e CPLP”). The nation is the poster child for a terrifically wealthy,

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tremendously corrupt autocracy in which natural resources have hindered both political modernization and economic diversification.87

Seeing as how the only explicit entry criterion outlined in 1996 by the founders of the CPLP was official use of the Portuguese language, it is this criterion that Brazil and

Angola are clinging to as they fight to declare Equatorial Guinea a new Community member. Brazilian foreign minister Antônio Patriota stubbornly stuck to this line of reasoning in 2013, when he publicly declared his support for the sub-Saharan nation during a meeting in Luanda. In Patriota’s view, “Equatorial Guinea has among its official languages Portuguese, so we will analyze with our CPLP partners a way of permitting the participation of Equatorial Guinea in this community” (“Angola: Brazil Pledges to

Support Equatorial Guinea”). CPLP Executive Secretary Murade Murargy expressed a similarly optimistic view, announcing in an April 2013 interview that a recent visit to

Equatorial Guinea evidenced, “...os avanços efetuados no domínio da Língua Portuguesa e da estruturação das instituições para a adequação aos objetivos da nossa comunidade”

(“Com a língua portuguesa somos globais” 25). [“… The progress made in the domain of the Portuguese language and the structuring of institutions to meet the objectives of our community.”]

Portugal, however, is still not convinced (“Adesão de Guiné-Equatorial à CPLP chumbada”; “Movimento contra a adesão”). It has fewer strategic interests in the Gulf of

Guinea than either Brazil or Angola. Portugal additionally has the European Union

87 A chapter in Fareed Zakaria’s recently published The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and Abroad takes a look at precisely this sort of state – the state in which abundance in natural wealth (usually from oil or gas resources) has ultimately hindered democratic or economic development. Fareed explains that such states are invariably led by autocratic rulers who “get fat on revenues from mineral or oil sales and don’t have to tackle the far more difficult task of creating a framework of laws and institutions that generate national wealth” (74).

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looking over its shoulder, and might fear a reprimand for sullying its reputation – and, by association, the reputation of the EU – by becoming too cozy with a veritable kleptocracy. But interestingly enough, the most fervent opposition to Equatorial Guinea’s entrance into the CPLP has not come from Portugal; it has come from a sector of the

CPLP that hitherto has seemed to not exist at all: civil society.88

For the first time in the history of the CPLP, civil societies across Lusophone countries have joined forces in a concerted campaign. The movement has called itself Por uma Comunidade de Valores [For a Community of Values] and incorporates hundreds of non-governmental organizations (NGOs) in the Lusophone world. The oppositional movement not only criticizes the paucity of Portuguese speakers in Equatorial Guinea, but also has mobilized around matters of democracy and civil rights, asserting that the

CPLP has a moral responsibility to promote these ideals within the Community and to ostracize states who flout their ethical obligations (“Movimento contra a adesão”). The climax of the movement coincided with the 2012 summit in Maputo, at which point an open letter opposing Equatorial Guinea’s adhesion was drafted, circulated widely within

Lusophone nations, and ultimately signed by notables such as Mia Couto, Eduardo

Lourenço, and Chico Buarque (“Adesão da Guiné-Equatorial à CPLP chumbada”).

88 “Civil society” is a term that is often overused and occasionally misused. This dissertation prefers to employ the definition of the term given by Jurgen Habermas, German sociologist and philosopher who wrote extensively about the foundations of social theory. According to Habermas: “Civil society is made up of more or less spontaneously created associations, organisations and movements, which find, take up, condense and amplify the resonance of social problems in private life, and pass it on to the political realm or public sphere” (Anheier). Civil societies can be formed in familiar settings or institutional settings, so long as the associations formed are voluntary and seek to further common interests and/or goals. The advantages that an engaged civil society can bring to a state are numerous. Civil societies can create political dialogue, check the power of the state, bridge the local and the international, aggregate and channel public opinion, and inform the government of societal priorities. Civil society can only flourish in democratic states; authoritarian regimes check its power, and under totalitarian regimes civil society is crushed altogether.

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The CPLP’s steering committee finds itself at a crucial crossroads in its history, and failure to make the right decision at this juncture could prove very costly indeed.

Should the CPLP shun its civil society, then it runs the grave risk of alienating the very populations that it seeks to represent. It additionally runs the risk of tarnishing its international reputation by proving susceptible to the seduction of easy oil money. In deciding whether or not Equatorial Guinea is a suitable candidate for the CPLP, the

Community needs to define just what its parameters are, and what it stands for. The rather hastily drawn entry requirements that revolve solely around official adoption of the

Portuguese language could be rewritten to be more nuanced. In redefining its parameters, the Community will have to decide whether it wants to evaluate potential members based on the utility and value that they can add to the Community (determined not only by economic power, but also geostrategic location, international alliances, etc) or whether it wants to stay true to its initial objective of deepening Lusophone solidarity, thus precluding the entrance of new full members.

Perhaps most importantly, the CPLP should determine just how serious it is about pledging itself to the promotion of democracy, human rights, and the rule of law within its member states. If these are indeed non-negotiable baselines for the CPLP, then

Equatorial Guinea’s application for membership can plausibly be considered only after major reforms are carried out in the country. It is true that not all of the CPLP’s member states have untarnished reputations – one need only look so far as Guinea Bissau for proof of this. But Guinea Bissau, as one of the original eight Lusophone states to constitute the CPLP, remains within the original scope of the CPLP project to work towards the betterment of all Lusophone states. To inaugurate a new state whose policies

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are antithetical to everything the institution stands for in terms of good governance and rule of law is a very different, and indeed a very worrisome, story.89

The second area where the Community lacks defined parameters is related to a current ambiguity as to whether the CPLP is a community of states or a community of peoples. Opinions on the matter are evenly split, with one camp advocating the former definition and arguing that statehood should be a basic requirement for any official member of the institution. Others, however, point to Portuguese-speaking or Portuguese- affiliated regions such as Macau in China and Galicia in Spain and argue that the CPLP is doing itself a disservice by denying membership to these regions.

Dr. José Filipe Pinto is one of the principal advocates of transforming the CPLP into a community of peoples. A people, argues Pinto, might not necessarily enjoy sovereignty in an autonomous nation, but that does not mean that it should be discouraged from realizing its spirit of fraternity with other Lusophone peoples and nations. Pinto referenced in particular the northwestern Spanish province of Galicia, a province which has historically enjoyed close bonds with Portugal and whose native tongue is phonetically and phonologically similar to both the Portuguese and the Spanish languages. Galicia has expressed considerable interest in the CPLP, but hitherto has been

89 Shortly after this chapter was written, a momentous and not entirely unexpected occurrence took place: Equatorial Guinea was admitted into the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries during the 2014 summit in Dili. No vote was taken on the admission, but rather the matter was decided by “general consensus” between member states (“Angola: Equatorial Guinea Admitted”). Although there were reports of intense debate occasioned by the Portuguese delegation related to the admission, only two preconditions were asked of Equatorial Guinea before it may claim its place at the CPLP round table: further promotion of the Portuguese language and the abolishment of the death penalty (“Guiné Equatorial já é membro”). Rather than amend what has been written in this chapter about the entrance of Equatorial Guinea into the CPLP, the decision was taken to leave this chapter unrevised so as to serve as a pre-warning, so to speak, of the events that unfolded this summer around the CPLP Dili summit. The immediate reaction to the entrance of Equatorial Guinea into the CPLP, as well as the foreseeable consequences of this decision, will be dealt with in this dissertation’s conclusion.

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unable to affiliate with the institution even as an associated observer. Pinto feels that the

CPLP might diversify its member base by embracing promising new member regions such as Galicia, Macau, and Goa (J. Pinto, Personal Interview).

Dr. Pinto’s idea is certainly original – some might say radical – in that neither the

British Commonwealth nor Francophonie currently allow regions to join their respective organizations as full-fledged members. Dr. Pinto’s idea is also not entirely elaborated. It raises concerns about feasibility: bearing in mind internal fluidity in states’ populations, who would decide which citizens are granted regional membership in affiliated regions?

Furthermore, how would the CPLP determine regional financial contributions, given that regions are rarely entirely fiscally autonomous?

Consistent with Dr. Pinto’s reasoning is a view of the CPLP more as a network than a state-centric institution. Envisioning the CPLP as a network provides for a looser institutional framework, one which captures the energy of Lusophone – or lusophile – societies around the globe who might not be citizens of an official Lusophone state. As argued by Rui Gomes in a recent Janus article,

A concepção da CPLP como uma “rede” permite mais facilmente, por exemplo, incluir pessoas e instituições de Galiza, de Macau e Goa, de várias comunidades existentes em países asiáticos onde a ligação com a língua portuguesa ainda é muito forte, bem como, naturalmente, com todos os emigrantes oriundos dos Estados membros radicados fora do espaço da Comunidade (161).

[The conception of the CPLP as a “network” more easily permits, for example, the inclusion of people and institutions from Galicia, from Macau and Goa, from various communities in Asian countries where there remains strong ties to the Portuguese languages, as well as, naturally, all of the emigrants originating from member states who reside outside of the Community space.]

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Not all stakeholders in the CPLP share Pinto and Gomes’s vision. In the course of a July 2013 interview with a senior policy advisor90 at the CPLP headquarters about the possibility of the CPLP admitting like-minded regions to the Community, the reaction received was swift and disapproving. Emphasis was placed on the multiple risks involved with such a policy, perhaps most notably the risk of alienating national governments under whose jurisdiction the Lusophone regions fall. The CPLP policy advisor did, however, offer an interesting counter proposal: that the CPLP come to exist on two tiers.

These would be an institutional tier composed of autonomous states and a civil society tier. The civil society tier would include regions that are not fully sovereign and its strength would be based on exchanges between associations and professionals in disparate Lusophone locales. According to the policy advisor, the ideal situation would be for the civil society tier to set the agenda of the institutional tier in an informal manner by initiating exchanges around pertinent issues that would then be taken to debate at the inter-governmental level.

The discussion above serves to introduce two important decisions that the CPLP would ideally make in the coming years regarding the establishment of the Community’s parameters: decisions about who potentially belongs to the Lusophone club and decisions about who is to be excluded. Both decisions revolve around a central question that any growing institution has to ask itself at some point during its lifespan: whether to follow a policy of deepening or a policy of widening. A policy of deepening entails focusing resources on the partnerships and alliances that already exist, thus fortifying the

90 The same policy advisor referenced in Chapter Two, who did not want to be named for reasons of professional confidentiality.

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institution and forging even stronger bonds between all member parties. A policy of widening, on the other hand, is a growth-oriented policy focused on the recruitment of new members so as to add breadth and/or diversity to the institution. More often than not, institutions only adopt a policy of widening when they are secure in their resources and in their autonomy. A hasty policy of widening could have the adverse effect of stretching already meager resources or bringing confusion to an institution that does not yet possess a stable identity or purpose. That being said, institutions that are too cautious and merely employ deepening policies might suffer stagnation or impede the advent of fresh ideas. In the case of the CPLP, it seems prudent that the organization should take caution lest it hasten into a policy of widening before it has a clear idea of its purpose and of its own internal parameters. If such a course is not followed, then the CPLP will run the risk of forever adapting its institutional structure to fit new members, rather than vice-versa.

The second weakness of the CPLP that will be highlighted is related to the institution’s weak performance in the area of economic cooperation. In the summer of

2013, the CPLP’s Executive Secretary Murade Murargy gave a lengthy interview to

Globo in which he offered a progress report on the performance of the institution.

Murargy began the interview by stressing the need for the CPLP to rethink its objectives and refocus its energies in new areas:

...Na minha primeira visita oficial a Cabo Verde, tive a possibilidade de proferir uma conferência sobre o tema “Repensar a CPLP”. Existe, na generalidade, uma situação nova que se apresenta à CPLP e nós temos que repensar, verificar se os mesmos objetivos de 1996 servem para esta era da globalização. A CPLP não pode confinar-se a uma Comunidade Linguística... O espaço CPLP insere diversos domínios dentro os quais pode-se destacar o potencial... na vertente económica e empresarial

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(Murargy, “A CPLP começa a buscar maior focalização económica” 15).

[During my first official visit to Cape Verde, I had the opportunity to deliver a conference speech about the theme “Rethinking the CPLP.” By and large, the CPLP has been presented with new circumstances and we need to rethink, we need to verify if the same objectives of 1996 suit our current era of globalization. The CPLP cannot confine itself to serving as a Linguistic Community… The CPLP space spans diverse domains, of which there is especial potential in the areas of economic cooperation and entrepreneurship.]

Murargy has indeed oriented his term as Executive Secretary around a campaign for greater economic integration and cooperation in the CPLP, arguing that the time has come for the institution to evolve from a mere cultural and linguistic community into a community boasting deep cooperation between member states in the areas of economic and entrepreneurial cooperation, finance, development, and communications (Murargy,

“A CPLP começa a buscar maior focalização económica” 7). The Executive Secretary has recently announced that the institution’s new strategic vision, to be unveiled at the

July 2014 summit in Dili, will be devoted to economic issues: “The economic and business aspect will be the main strand of the new strategic vision until 2025…”

(Murargy, “CPLP promotes economic and business aspects”). Murargy has cleverly pushed this vision without desecrating the CPLP’s devotion to the promotion of the

Portuguese language. He has done this by tying language and culture-centric policies into his own economy-centric agenda, arguing that the two approaches need not be at odds with one another and that promotion of the Portuguese language can indeed serve a strategic purpose. In the same Globo interview, Murargy explained his line of reasoning:

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É para todos importante defendermos um idioma que se fala em todos os continentes, que nos dá identidade, que nos abre as portas ao conhecimento e às atividades económicas. “A nossa língua é a nossa janela para o mundo”. [Porém], a língua não pode ser vista, meramente, como um valor cultural, a língua tem um valor geopolítico e geoeconômico (Murargy “A CPLP começa a buscar maior focalização económica” 15).

[It is important for all of us that we defend the language that is spoken on all continents, that gives us identity, and which provides us the opportunity to explore economic activities. “Our language is our window to the world.” [However], language cannot be seen merely as a cultural value. Rather, language has a geopolitical and a geo-economic value as well.]

Murargy’s interviews underscore what has until now been a central weakness of the CPLP: its inability to be consistently effective in areas that require economic cooperation, such as the dispersal of development aid, the creation of business and trade networks, and financial market stabilization.91 Although the previous chapter highlighted some areas in which Portugal has benefitted from economic collaboration with PALOP and Brazilian markets, this economic collaboration has arisen out of informal exchanges facilitated indirectly by CPLP ties, rather than being the result of concrete CPLP policies oriented towards the deepening of economic cooperation.

Meeting the aforementioned CPLP senior policy advisor underscored the extent to which the CPLP administration is concerned about a lack of initiatives in the economic realm. The advisor suggested that the time has come for the CPLP to ask itself some

91 It has not escaped the observation of the CPLP’s critics that the lack of economic cooperation in the Lusophone post-colonial realm is exactly comparable with the lack of economic cooperation in the Lusophone colonial realm. Portuguese colonialism was notorious for its weak economic component, which resulted in extreme underdevelopment of the territories ruled by Portugal. The expressed desire of Portugal to transform the CPLP into an institution akin to the Commonwealth or to Francophonie has been stymied time and again by this continued economic underdevelopment, itself an indication that some common histories cannot be erased altogether.

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crucial “existential questions,” among them if economic cooperation could potentially become the fourth pillar of CPLP policy. His rationale requires that, in order for the

CPLP to be effective in its other three pillars (political/diplomatic cooperation, development cooperation, and language promotion), it must necessarily develop appropriate mechanisms of economic cooperation. Dulce Maria Pereira has called attention to the difficulties of coordinating action in the pillar of development cooperation in light of the CPLP’s meager budgetary resources and the extreme underdevelopment of some CPLP member state economies (Pereira, Personal Interview). Indeed, the creation of an economic cooperation pillar might be an important step in the stabilization of the weakest CPLP economies – Guinea Bissau, Timor-Lest, and São Tomé and Príncipe – and might even come to take the place of certain developmental initiatives, with the added bonus of increasing self-sufficiency and reducing the incidence of one-off handouts to cash-strapped states. Jorge Braga de Macedo has argued that economic cooperation entailing the creation of a single economic policy will additionally bolster a sentiment of unity across the Lusophone world by guaranteeing each member state a minimum level of financial security and by synchronizing interests (J. Braga de Macedo,

“Segurança, desenvolvimento” 57).

Progress on the front of increased economic cooperation in the CPLP has been sclerotic, notwithstanding notable efforts by CPLP administration in this area. During the

Brasília summit of 2002, for instance, the CPLP created the Business Council, intended to unite entrepreneurs and businesses around the Lusophone world in a collaborative network. Since then, four Entrepreneurial Forums have been convened (J. Braga de

Macedo, “Segurança, desenvolvimento” 57; Neto 14-15). Perhaps the most promising

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step forward occurred in February of 2012, when a committee of experts including economists, investors, and academics representing major companies in all CPLP member states convened with the goal of creating a framework for stimulating economic and entrepreneurial exchanges between their respective countries (Murargy, “A CPLP começa a buscar maior focalização económica” 7-8).

The final recommendation issued by this committee of experts was at once creative and encouraging. The experts suggested the creation of “clusters of development” across the Lusophone world, keeping in mind the various regional trade blocks that each member state is engaged with and the benefits and drawbacks that such trade blocks present. These “clusters of development” would be broken down into

“clusters of businesses” and “clusters of production,” and would be positioned so as to make best use of each member state’s specific natural and human resources, value chains, and economies of scale. Each participating country would contribute to the clusters their greatest resources and would benefit from a share of the final value of the product produced.

What the experts suggested, then, is essentially the formalization and consolidation of a phenomenon that has already been occurring informally within the

Lusophone world. Can this suggestion be unraveled by applying it to a real-life situation, using the example of highway engineering and construction that was touched upon above in the previous chapter? It was reported in a 2013 edition of Pontos de Vista magazine that Weedsworth, the Portuguese company that has begun to expand into PALOP markets, has recently formed a promising partnership with a Mozambican company called Betumoc. Betumoc specializes in the production of bitumen (an essential

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component in the material used in highway paving), but has recently seen demand outstrip its supply (“Weedsworth conquista mercado internacional” 28-29).

Were Betumoc’s steering committee to pay heed to the suggestion of the committee of experts (to create “clusters of development”), then Betumoc could potentially partner not only with Weedsworth, but also with other companies across the

Lusophone world that specialize in the technology and sale of highway paving materials.

Increased transport costs related to receiving materials from the more distant Lusophone locales would be offset by incentives that Betumoc receives for partnering with CPLP- certified companies. Betumoc, having gained the materials that it needs to build

Mozambique’s new highways, would most likely still lack trained highway engineers. In such a situation, Portugal can be of use again; Portugal hosts a plethora of unemployed highway engineers who are looking for new markets of employment. These engineers could possibly relocate to Mozambique to assist in highway construction as well as to train local engineers in their art. This migration could be facilitated by special professional visas offered by the CPLP so that certain classes of in-demand professionals can enjoy freedom of movement within the Community.

In such a hypothetical situation Betumoc might soon realize, however, that

Mozambique’s building boom will not last forever, and begin to strategize about new markets of possible expansion. If appropriate financial incentives are offered by the

CPLP, these new markets could be Lusophone markets: Guinea Bissau, for instance, which is badly in need of highway infrastructure. Before long, a cluster based around highway engineering and construction could potentially be formed in the Lusophone world, with profits extending to all parties involved.

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Admittedly, the processes of economic and financial cooperation can be complicated. One need look only so far as the European Union’s problematical fiscal state to conclude that the harmonization of economic motivations and procedures across a group of diverse states can be a recipe for disaster. But the economic cooperation that this chapter suggests might benefit the CPLP is nowhere near as complicated or binding as that which the European Union has committed itself to. In any case, proposals of a banking or fiscal union would be off the table from the beginning, as the European Union and Mercosur would certainly disallow Portugal and Brazil from participating in such.

What are needed for the CPLP are creative, incremental solutions intended to harmonize community interests in the realm of economic cooperation and entrepreneurial action.

These solutions will often involve synergies created across the Community by bringing together dynamic businesses, CEOs, entrepreneurs, and government leaders to share best practices and to debate the merits of further cooperation.

Jorge Braga de Macedo, for example, has suggested the implementation of more public-private partnerships across the CPLP, arguing that such partnerships have enjoyed great success in development initiatives implemented in Cape Verde (“Melhorar o

Conhecimento Mútuo” 192). Public-private partnerships have the added bonus of offering the potential to transform formerly adversarial relations between government and private enterprise into a constructive, mutually beneficial relationship. Another reason why solutions to bolster economic cooperation in the CPLP will need to be creative is that the community does not enjoy geographic contiguity between member states, the result being increased costs of commerce. As argued by Bissau Guinean statesman Dr.

Carlos Lopes, it is this lack of geographic contiguity that actually renders the forging of a

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coherent economic policy all the more indispensable, for without a coherent economic policy the CPLP has no chance of having a real influence in member state polities: “Essa realidade empurra dos países membros da CPLP no sentido de privilegiarem, como é natural, as suas integrações regionais... A descontinuidade geográfica sem substracto económico continuará a ser um desafio que empurra a CPLP para as emoções e afetos”

(qtd. in V. Santos 139). [“This reality pushes the CPLP member states to privilege, as is natural, regional integration… Geographical discontinuity without an economic substrate will continue to prove a challenge which pushes the CPLP to rely on emotions and affections.”]

Time only will tell how far Murade Murargy is able to push his vision of economic cooperation. Murargy’s tenure as Executive Secretary will terminate mid-2016, leaving him with scant time left to set the institution’s agenda. But other sources indicate that there appears to be a consensus developing around the need for the CPLP to become more active in promoting economic exchanges between member states. A CPLP with a strong, unified, and dynamic economic policy could ultimately secure its own survival, both by attracting other partners for investment and commerce92 and by generating the capital and stability necessary in order to continue to pursue objectives in its three central policy pillars.

A strong common economic policy that accrues benefits for all member states has the possibility to ameliorate what this chapter proposes is the third large weakness facing the CPLP: lack of coordination in terms of member state objectives. This lack of

92 China is one such partner. Over the past decade, China has shown interest in collaborating with the CPLP, even organizing in Macau the first Forum for Economic Cooperation between China and the CPLP (V. Santos, “Lusofonia e Projecção Estratégica” 131).

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synchronized objectives has in turn facilitated a rather narrow utilitarian view of the

CPLP, whereby each member state seeks only to extract the greatest benefit from the organization while contributing the least in terms of effort and resources.93 Some critics charge that the CPLP has become a tool of self-interested governments bent only on their own aggrandizement. Former Portuguese Foreign Affairs Minister and European

Commissioner João de Deus Pinheiro, for example, laments how the CPLP has morphed into nothing more than a realm for political haggling and the trading of political favors between member state governments (L.A. Santos 11-12).

Could it be that this lack of shared long-term objectives, compounded by a degree of instability present in the domestic politics of many member states, is why the CPLP often appears unable to practice cooperation in realms outside of the soft policy areas of language and culture? Victor Marques dos Santos, writing in Nação e Defesa, corroborates this theory:

...verifica-se que o equilíbrio instável dos contextos domésticos, frequentemente determinado pela indução exógena da mudança, tem originado priorizações diferenciadas da CPLP, no âmbito das agendas de política externa e dos programas de governo dos estados membros, bem como em termos da percepção dos respectivos interesses nacionais. Este facto tem originado, por sua vez, processos de participação pouco consequentes, de intensidade e consistência variáveis ao longo do tempo, resultando numa consolidação diferenciada das relações sectoriais ao nível das dimensões objectivas que transcendem o plano linguístico-cultural (136).

93 It must be clarified here a utilitarian view of institutions need not be viewed as necessarily and inherently bad. Indeed, in Chapter One it was argued that, “…when it comes to multilateral institutions, utility is everything.” But now it is time to condition this dissertation’s initial argument slightly by positing that a utilitarian view is healthy only so long as there is consensus over the amount of time and resources that states invest in the institution and consensus in the overarching objectives of that institution. Should either be lacking, the institution runs the risk of being nothing more than a facilitator of a self-interested trading market of favors.

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[…it can be observed that the unstable equilibrium of domestic politics, which are frequently affected by changing exogenous factors, has often resulted in differing prioritizations in the CPLP, primarily in the realms of foreign policy, governmental programs, and the perception of national interests. This situation has in turn resulted in processes of institutional participation which show few tangible results and which vary greatly in intensity and consistency. The final outcome is a lack of cohesion when it comes to establishing objectives that transcend the linguistic-cultural level.]

Worse yet, CPLP member state aims often clash and compete with one another, with each state jockeying to squeeze the institution of its meager resources in the manner most beneficial to its particular needs. Every member state values certain types of cooperation over others: whereas Portugal and Brazil value most political and diplomatic cooperation (for the enhanced status it provides them in the larger international milieu),

Angola tends to value technical and cultural cooperation, and the nations with the least developed economies – Cape Verde, Guinea Bissau, Mozambique, Timor Leste, and São

Tomé and Príncipe – place most emphasis on the potentiality of developmental cooperation (J. Pinto, Do império colonial 353-354). Without a grand strategy or encompassing narrative,94 the CPLP will fall prey to these competing visions of where emphasis should be placed in the CPLP and could deteriorate into an institution that is at once schizophrenic and ineffective.

94 The notion of grounding institutions in encompassing narratives goes back to the discussion in this dissertation’s Introduction of Peter Goldie and his theories regarding narrative thinking. Just as people base their identities on personal narratives – which create a continuum between the person one was yesterday, the person one is today, and the person one might be tomorrow – institutions and nations base their identities on grand narratives. These narratives take into account the real and ideal self-image of a people. Astute politicians know how to mold their campaigns around the construction of narratives that point to certain policy agendas – their chosen policy agendas – as necessary to approximating the nation’s ideal image.

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Part of the problem is the extreme disparity in terms of standards for governance that characterizes the CPLP. While some member states enjoy stable, internationally legitimized governments, others struggle under the rule of corrupt kleptocrats. According to governance indicators published by the World Bank, the most stable and transparent government in the CPLP is Portugal, which ranks well above the global average on these two measures. The unenviable prize for the most unstable and corrupt government, on the other hand, falls to Guinea Bissau. The discrepancy between the two, in terms of stability and transparency and according to World Bank algorithms, is immense (J. Braga de

Macedo, “Segurança, desenvolvimento” 61). Naturally, not only the objectives, but the means that the governments choose to reach their stated objectives will differ greatly between these two states. Whereas Portugal might be seeking long-term institutional stability and credibility, Guinea Bissau’s autocratic political elite might be more focused on reaping short-term benefits and harbor little concern for international approval.

In terms of geography, size, style of governance, and economic development, the

CPLP member states are about as varied a group of nations as one could envisage. To use the terminology of Maria Regina Marchueta, each member state exists in its own

“reality” that encompasses geopolitical objectives as well as shifting international allegiances. Portugal is finding itself bound in an ever-tighter union with Brussels; Brazil is awakening to its strength and flexing its muscles as a regional hegemon with a confident independent foreign policy; Angola and Mozambique are watching their economies take off while the majority of their populations remain below the poverty line; other PALOP nations struggle to maintain democratic governments and to develop and diversify their economies; and Timor-Leste can still only dream of lessening its

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dependence on the international community for everything from political stability to the provision of basic commodities.

But diversity need not necessarily be equated with disunion for institutions.

Diversity indeed can be a great strength of institutions, by bringing together members whose combined resources and regional alliances cover broad territory. In order to combat the inconveniences which arise as a result of diversity, however, successful institutions must be capable of organizing concerted action around harmonized objectives. This requires a well-defined sense of identity for the institution, along with clear, concrete, and obtainable short and long-term objectives. The point made by

Vicente Pinto de Andrade, Angolan university professor and possible presidential candidate, in an article entitled “Uma Perspectiva Africana” [“An African Perspective”] is convincing:

Creio que toda [esta desunião] acontece porque não há um grande projeto que consubstancie os interesses de curto e longo prazo dos países de língua portuguesa. A criação e funcionamento de uma Comunidade dos Países de Língua Portuguesa, para vingar e frutificar, terá de envolver não só os políticos dos nossos países, mas também – e principalmente – as nossas sociedades civis. Temos que antes, de tudo, compreender essa necessidade e interioriza-la, a fim de servir de motor propulsor das nossas respectivas políticas nacionais em todos os domínios (qtd. in V. Santos 136).

[I think that this lack of unity arises because there is no great project that underpins the short and long-term interests of the Lusophone countries. The creation and the operation of a Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries, in order to bear fruit, must involve not only the political leaders of our countries, but also – and principally – our civil societies. We must, above all, understand this necessity and internalize it, in order for our civil

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societies to serve as the engine behind our respective national policies in all domains.]

The geographic diversity represented in CPLP member states brings about the next weakness of the institution will be discussed: the difficult balancing act that member states will have to assume between allegiance to the CPLP and allegiance to the various regional organizations in which they are embedded. This could only truly become a point of contention should the CPLP strengthen its own institutional structure and require greater commitment from member states, for as it is scant commitment has been required aside from the occasional presence of Lusophone heads of state and ministers of foreign affairs at Community summits.

It has been a curious phenomenon of the late 20th century and early 21st century that, as globalization proceeds at a more accelerated rate than ever before, linking disparate people and places through worldwide networks with a speed and an efficiency that would have been unfathomable a few decades ago, processes of regionalization have also accelerated. According to the August 9, 2014 issue of The Economist magazine, regional trade agreements have increased from approximately 20 in 1990 to more than

250 in 2014 (“Trade and Protectionism”). Some posit that the grouping of the world into regional blocks is in fact a deliberate reaction and a challenge to trends such as increasing competitiveness and diminished protectionism that accompany the entrenchment of globalization in the world economy (J. Pinto, “Estratégias” 184). Jorge Braga de Macedo explains how the hastening of these parallel processes has discredited the notion that globalization and regionalization are inherently antagonistic:

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Ao enquadramento oferecido pela Organização Mundial do Comércio (OMC), acrescem acordos regionais visando reforçar a capacidade comercial e o poder negocial dos países associados, tornando globalização e regionalização complementos e não substitutos. Isto ao contrário da teoria tradicional do comércio internacional, que interpreta a regionalização como potencialmente contrária ao livre-câmbio à escala mundial (“Segurança, desenvolvimento” 56).

[Based on the framework offered by the World Trade Organization (WTO), regional treaties aiming to reinforce the commercial capacity and the negotiation power of associated states are becoming more common, making globalization and regionalization complementary and not substitutionary. This contradicts the traditional theory about international commerce, which interprets regionalization as potentially contrary to free trade on a global level.]

The most prominent regional organizations that count CPLP states among their members are the European Union, Mercosur, the Economic Community of West African

States (ECOWAS), and the South African Development Community (SADC). Each of these regional organizations imposes upon its members certain regulations in terms of the movement of peoples and goods. The most lenient organization in this sense would be

ECOWAS, whereas the strictest would be the European Union. The EU’s Schengen

Agreement, which allows for the free movement of peoples between participating states, in particular poses a dilemma for the CPLP’s stated plans of increasing ease of movement between CPLP states. Seeing as persons who enter Portugal legally are automatically granted freedom of movement across borders in all European Schengen states, the EU is hardly prepared to allow Portugal to enter into another zone of free movement. Alfredo

Margarido points to the way that Portugal might become a major stumbling block for future initiatives of the CPLP:

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Pode... encarar-se a possibilidade de organizar outros espaços... cujas características não podem deixar de contrariar a “preferência europeia”? É evidente que não: as condições em que se constrói a Europa impedem a afirmação dos particularismos nacionais ou culturais... Só uma leitura mítica pode ainda pretender construir um “espaço lusófono” quando as regras europeias não preveem que basta falar português para se poder circular livremente [na Europa] (15).

[Is it possible… to envisage the possibility of organizing other spaces… whose characteristics will necessarily counter the “European preference”? Obviously not: the conditions upon which Europe was constructed impede the affirmation of national or cultural particularities… Only a mythical interpretation can still purport to construct a “Lusophone space” when the European rules do not anticipate that merely speaking Portuguese will allow people to circulate freely [within Europe].]

CPLP leaders speak eagerly about the promise of a future Lusophone

“citizenship.” But what benefits will this citizenship bring to Lusophone peoples if they are still met with the same barriers upon trying to cross borders within the Lusophone world?

In terms of the free movement of goods, the CPLP will only be able to compete with regional organizations should it offer monetary incentives for Lusophone states to prioritize trade with one another – something it currently has no means to do. Regional organizations will always come out stronger in terms of incentivizing liberalized trade, as transport costs are always lower between geographically contiguous states. And this does not even take into account the fact that some regional zones of liberalized trade (such as the EU again, and Mercosur to a lesser extent) place certain trade restrictions upon their members.

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Notwithstanding the foreseeable difficulties faced by the CPLP when trying to compete against stronger regional organizations for member state allegiance, there are those who remain optimistic about the situation. João Domingues, CPLP scholar, asserts that linguistic institutions will carve a niche for themselves in the world, positioning themselves as the bridge between the national and the global: “As novas comunidades linguísticas ... tem, no seio da globalização, o papel de moderadoras, de reconciliação entre o nacional e o mundial, ... de espaço de identificação e de convergência de ideais”

(qtd. in V. Santos “Portugal, a CPLP e a Lusofonia” 79-80). [“The new linguistic communities… will assume, in the heart of globalization, the role of moderators, reconciling the national and the global… they will be spaces of identification and where ideas converge.”]

Murade Murargy has argued that the CPLP can complement regional organizations and ultimately benefit from them. He asserts that regional organizations ultimately help, rather than hinder, the goals of the CPLP by expanding the economic potential of each member state. They do this by providing to Lusophone states new markets for their businesses and products (“A língua portuguesa” 9; “Com a língua portuguesa” 25). For example, Portugal and Brazil might conceivably be able to take advantage of the regional blocks in which Angola and Mozambique are integrated, using their CPLP ties as a conduit for Portuguese businesses that wish to expand to African markets. In the words of Murargy:

Estamos inseridos em blocos regionais. Se uma empresa, se um consórcio de empresas de língua portuguesa se instalar, por exemplo, em Moçambique ou em Angola, precisamente por causa da língua a sua produção terá um mercado vasto. Timor está

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situado na Ásia, que é um mercado muito grande (“CPLP para além da língua” “A língua portuguesa” 6).

[We are inserted in regional blocks. If a business, or a consortium of Lusophone businesses, installed itself in Angola or Mozambique, for example, then due to the common language its production would have a vast market to access. Timor is situated in Asia, which is a very big market.]

Others, including the policy advisor at the CPLP headquarters, adopt a different line of reasoning. They argue that the CPLP is unique in possessing a “loose” structure, which keeps it from entering into conflict with regional organizations. Rather than compete with the EU, Mercosur, ECOWAS or the SADC in terms of commerce and immigration policy, the CPLP has learned to restrict its activities to the “open spaces” which are not controlled directly by regional organizations.

This last argument is, in this dissertation’s view, lacking substantiation. Precisely due to its loose organization and precisely because it has thus far restricted its activities to the less controversial “open spaces” (primarily consisting of cultural and linguistic promotion), the CPLP has demonstrated limited effectiveness up until now. If it wishes to expand its capacity and create real lasting changes in member states through economic development, political reform, and the strengthening of civil societies, then the CPLP will need to learn how to engage with regional and global organizations and prove itself a willing and capable partner. The CPLP will not succeed by avoiding confrontation and playing safe; it will succeed by judiciously setting a realistic agenda of tangible reform in member states, collaborating modestly with regional and international organizations when necessary, and ultimately building itself a solid reputation as a small but capable institution.

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The last potential weakness of the CPLP that will be analyzed in this chapter is not related to a procedural or logistical shortcoming, but rather to the deeper, more dangerous failure of the institution to demonstrate to its own civil societies as well as to the outside world that it constitutes a clear rupture with the former Portuguese colonial power structure. This potential weakness is the last to be mentioned in this discussion as, although it is the vulnerability most often attacked by CPLP critics, it is also the most difficult to dissect because it necessitates forays into the murky realm of collective identity in the transition from a colonial to a post-colonial milieu.

It is befitting to begin with the most vocal critic of the CPLP in this regard,

Alfredo Margarido. Margarido minces no words in his book A Lusofonia e os lusófonos:

Novos mitos portugueses, itself a scathing critique of any and all attempts to unite the

Lusophone world through formal or informal means. Margarido characterizes the mission of the CPLP as an attempt to replicate the former colonial power structure:

O discurso “lusófono” actual limita-se a procurar dissimular, mas não a eliminar, os traços brutais do passado. O que se procura de facto é recuperar pelo menos uma fracção da antiga hegemonia portuguesa, de maneira a manter o domínio colonial, embora tendo renunciado à veemência ou à violência de qualquer discurso colonial (76).

[The current “Lusophone” discourse limits itself to an attempt to disguise, but not eliminate, the brutal features of the past. What the discourse in fact seeks is to recuperate at least a fraction of the former Portuguese hegemony, in order to maintain colonial domination, even after having vehemently renounced all colonial discourses.]

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The central thesis of Margarido’s argument is that the CPLP and the discourse that it adheres to amount to nothing more than a poorly veiled attempt by the Portuguese to maintain a semblance of power in the world by yet again subjugating former colonies, this time by asserting superiority of the Portuguese language and culture in the states that constituted the former Portuguese Empire. According to Margarido, each and every attempt to raise the profile of the Portuguese language or to bind together Lusophone states is nothing more than a self-serving initiative concocted by the Portuguese and rooted in a messianic desire to resuscitate a modicum of the former grandeur that characterized the ages when the Portuguese were at the apex of their colonial expansion.

This infatuation with the Portuguese language and culture, asserts Margarido, is contrasted with a disinterest in the reality of African, South American, and Asian affairs and the linguistic and cultural diversity present in other Lusophone locales.

Indeed, some critics see in the CPLP an attempt to legitimize a power structure that is intrinsically neocolonial in character. To these critics, the institutionalization of lusophonia in the form of the CPLP indicates that little has changed in the former

Portuguese imperial space since the collapse of Portuguese colonialism. Such critics further reason that it is no mere coincidence that Portugal’s interest in the CPLP was piqued at the precise moment of its greatest post-colonial existential crisis, for, as asserted by Mozambican author Filimone Meigos, “A country like Portugal, periphery of the periphery, now wants a leading role in a process already closed by History” (qtd. in

L.A. Santos 12).

CPLP detractors such as Margarido and Meigos draw their ammunition from unapprised Portuguese nationalists who conflate lusophonia with a defense of Portuguese

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national culture. Such nationalists wax sentimental about employing discourses of lusophonia as a tool to further national strategic interests. An article published in a 2005 edition of Portugal’s foreign policy journal Negócios Estrangeiros made just such an argument. This perspective merits quoting in full a key paragraph from the article:

É numa perspectiva de futuro, que se justifica pensar Portugal e a sua política externa. Mas, ao pensarmos Portugal numa dimensão de futuro, torna-se evidente que é também no plano da língua e da cultura que a projecção da lusofonia e da identidade cultural da nação portuguesa servirá a defesa dos interesses estratégicos nacionais, porque é também no “poder cultural que reside o nosso poder funcional.” Assim, perante as vicissitudes e as contingências, apesar das circunstâncias e das evoluções do ambiente internacional, “cumprir Portugal” significa assegurar, em permanência, as condições da existência e do pleno desenvolvimento de uma realidade identitária sócio-histórica e geocultural, que transcende a lógica territorial das fronteiras políticas convencionadas pelas sucessivas ordens internacionais (V. Santos “Portugal, a CPLP e a Lusofonia” 86-87).

[It is with a forward-looking perspective that we must analyze Portugal and its foreign affairs. However, when thinking about Portugal in the long-term, it becomes evident that on a cultural and linguistic plane the projection of lusophonia and the cultural identity of the Portuguese nation will serve to defend our national strategic interests, for it is true that “functional power resides in cultural power.” In this way, when faced with future vicissitudes and contingencies, and notwithstanding evolving circumstances in the international environment, “fulfilling Portugal” means to permanently ensure the conditions for the existence and for the development of a socio-historic and geo-cultural identity. This identity ultimately transcends the territorial logic of conventional political borders put into place by successive international orders.]

For those who wish to see the CPLP survive and evolve as an institution, the line of argumentation quoted above is poisonous. To conflate the “projection of lusophonia” with “the cultural identity of the Portuguese nation” while suggesting that both will serve

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to “[fulfill] Portugal” and ensure the continued existence of the Portuguese “socio- historic and geo-cultural identity” is indeed to reconstruct the center-periphery power formulation that lay at the heart of the old Portuguese Empire. Lusophonia, by definition, extends to all peoples who are or who were culturally or linguistically linked to the former Portuguese Empire and to the Portuguese language. Theoretically, the collapse of the Portuguese Empire should have occasioned a subsequent collapse – or leveling – of the hierarchy traditionally associated with lusophonia. Rather than signifying any and all culture that emanated from Portugal, lusophonia could signify the linguistic and cultural variations, manifestations, and transformations observed in all locales that were once formerly connected by imperial rule to Portugal. This proposal contains a subtle, but crucial, distinction. Failure to recognize this leveling of the hierarchy of cultural influence and failure to recognize a post-colonial two-way street in which Portugal can be a receptor as well as an emanatory of lusophonia is indeed exactly what perpetuates the notion of the CPLP as a neocolonial institution.

A misconceived notion about who has the privilege to be the originator of lusophonia is part of the dilemma. But – and at the risk of repeating what has become a common refrain throughout this dissertation – it might be suggested that the other half of the dilemma rests in the inability of the CPLP to divorce itself from tired, overwrought discourses of nostalgic lusophonia. Built as it is on the foundations of a colonial empire, the CPLP must prudently pick and choose the fragments of collective history that it embraces as its own.

The CPLP can choose those fragments of collective history that force it to live in a constant state of evocation of the past, clinging to an identity rooted in antiquated

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notions of cultural hegemony that serve little purpose in the present world. Alternatively, the CPLP can choose fragments of collective history that are more relevant to the present- day and that can be crafted into a narrative which argues for further cooperation in the areas of commerce, business, development, and communications.

As a simple illustration of these two options listed above, returning to Murade

Murargy, present Executive Secretary of the CPLP, and his emphasis on the practicality of the Portuguese language. Time and time again, proponents of the CPLP have rallied around policies encouraging the promotion of the Portuguese language, almost invariably couching their persuasive arguments in the need to preserve a common cultural patrimony and the historical richness of the Lusophone tongue. Such arguments are rooted in the past and not forward-looking; languages, like many things, survive as a result of their utility and not as a result of their intrinsic or historic value.95 Rhetoric concerning the historical richness of the Portuguese language, while romantic, is also largely superfluous. Rather than fall into this trap, Murargy has decidedly taken a different approach to promotion of the Portuguese language. Murargy takes pains to stress the historic as well as potential geopolitical and geo-economic value of the language, emphasizing the synergies that the language could create across the Lusophone world in business and entrepreneurial enterprises. Murargy has a proactive, enterprising view of the CPLP and is not afraid to modernize the outdated and staid vision of the institution.

95 In this way, languages are no different from words. The survival of any given word in a lexicon is directly related to its utility. Dictionaries are descriptive and not prescriptive; dictionaries merely document word usage as opposed to prescribing the vocabulary that should be used. It is as a result of this mutability that lexicons are often considered “living” components of a culture.

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Michel-Rolph Trouillot, a Haitian historian, has produced a powerful study on the formation of collective memory entitled Silencing the Past: Power and the Production of

History. Many of the assertions in this dissertation about the need for the CPLP to define its own collective history and to ensure that collective history is forward-thinking and productive have origin in a careful consideration of Trouillot’s ideas. Trouillot maintains that the history of a collective is strikingly similar to the history of an individual; in both cases, certain past events are remembered while others are forgotten, and all events are ranked in terms of perceived importance. Writes Trouillot: “The widespread notion of history as reminiscence of important past experiences is misleading. The model itself is well known: history is to a collectivity as remembrance is to an individual, the more or less conscious retrieval of past experiences stored in memory” (14). Naturally, collective memory is more complicated than individual memory because there is no clearly delineated beginning point to a collective history, and because forging a collective memory involves the synchronization of a multiplicity of variable “remembrances.” In

Trouillot’s words:

The problems of determining what belongs to the past multiply tenfold when that past is said to be collective… We may want to assume for purposes of description that the life history of an individual starts with birth. But when does the life of a collectivity start? At what point do we set the beginning of the past to be retrieved? How do we decide – and how does that collectivity decide – which events to include and which to exclude? (16).

Of course, when it comes to the creation of a collective memory, not everyone is afforded equal agency. There are certain elements of society that enjoy greater influence, most often those with political power or cultural prominence such as artists, writers, and

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historians. Literature in particular is a powerful molder of collective memory, which accounts for why literary works are apt to incite contention and generate controversy within a collectivity. A work of fiction entitled A Costa dos Murmúrios by Portuguese author Lídia Jorge explores the power that literature and narrative have in creating collective memory. A Costa dos Murmúrios is particularly relevant for this chapter’s discussion because it is essentially a study of the way that a distilled and censored version of Portuguese colonial history was crafted.

A Costa dos Murmúrios, published in 1988, is a provocative novel which invites a dialogue about the role of women in colonial wars and about the convoluted politics of post-colonial relations in the Portuguese-speaking world. Much of the novel is narrated by “Eva,” a young Portuguese woman who relocates temporarily to Mozambique in the early 1970s when her husband is stationed in the country as a Portuguese soldier. The book is divided into two sections: a short chapter inserted in the beginning titled Os

Gafanhotos [The Grasshoppers] and the rest of the narrative.

An analysis of the contrast established in the novel between Os Gafanhotos and the remainder of the text occasions a rich discussion about the relationship between collective memory, official discourse, and the written word. Os Gafanhotos is essentially a condensed and alternative version of the entire narrative, written in the third person wherein Eva is depicted as a character instead of as the narrator. Os Gafanhotos is a text constrained by a clearly delineated conclusion, where the reader is confronted with bold text announcing THE END, such that there is no ambiguity as to where this narrative ends and Eva’s narrative begins. In this sense, Os Gafanhotos is a handily pre-packaged narrative; a metaphoric “ready-made” from the literary world, ready to be consumed. It is

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also a deliberately exaggerated version of what Linda Hutcheon has called modernist literature, or that containing “[a] notion of the work of art as a closed, self-sufficient, autonomous object deriving its ultimate unity from the formal interrelations of its parts”

(“Intertextuality” 125).

Indeed, the story told in Os Gafanhotos is an artistic creation; a censured version of Eva’s ensuing narrative which is hardly plausible and which is devoid of substance.

According to Leonor Simas-Almeida, the narrator of the story “opta por uma focalização inteiramente externa, e pela renúncia total a aceder à vida íntima das personagens.

Practica-se de uma forma mais ou menos explícita a independência entre realidade histórica e ficção” (157). [“Opts for an entirely external focus, and for the complete renunciation of accessing the interior life of the characters. Interdependence between historical reality and fiction is practiced in a manner that is more or less explicit.”]

In accordance with this “complete renunciation of accessing the interior life of the characters,” the narrative of Os Gafanhotos is presented through a series of photographic angles, as if the reader were witnessing the scenes from behind the lens of a camera. In this manner, the reader of Os Gafanhotos¸ similar to the characters in the chapter themselves, is “conduzido pelo fotógrafo” (14) [“guided by the photographer.”] Scenes of a wedding party in Mozambique are revealed selectively to the reader according to the artistic vision of the photographer: “O fotógrafo aproveito o riso cúmplice dos noivos.

Era um homem sensível, o fotógrafo, e por isso agora já não queria apanhar a mesa nem o bolo. Se apanhasse, o bolo apareceria na fotografia com o aspecto crenado dum coliseu em ruína” (14). [“The photographer took advantage of the complicit laugh of the newlyweds. He was a sensible man, the photographer, and therefore did not want to catch

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either the table or the cake in his photos. If caught, the cake would appear in the photographs with the dilapidated look of the Coliseum in decay.”] In this passage there is a clear parallel established between the photographer and the narrative thread of Os

Gafanhotos: both present the scenes through a series of carefully selected angles which are deemed to present the most coherent and presentable image possible.

Above all else, Os Gafanhotos is a narrative filled with colors and sensorial images. The chapter opens with a line by a journalist in the novel, Álvaro Sabino: “Oh, como choviam esmeraldas voadoras! O céu incendiou-se de verde ontem nem era necessário—todas as fogueiras da costa tomaram essa cor, mesmo as que inchavam nos nossos corações” (9). [“Oh, how it rained flying emeralds! The sky lit up with green yesterday but it was hardly necessary – all of the bonfires on the coast turned this color, even those which swelled in our hearts.”] Later in the chapter, the commander of Eva’s husband’s unit, in a conversation with Eva, explains his version of the true character of

Africa: “África é amarela, minha senhora... As pessoas têm de África ideias loucas. As pessoas pensam, minha senhora, que África é uma floresta virgem... Mas é falso, minha senhora, África, como terá oportunidade de ver, é amarela. Amarela-clara, da cor do whisky!” (12). [“Africa is yellow, madam... People have crazy ideas about Africa. People think, madam, that that Africa is a virgin forest… But this is false, madam, Africa, as you will soon see, is yellow… Light yellow, the color of whisky!”] Even people are reduced to colors in this narrative. Helena, the wife of another military man, is solely described in terms of her: “cabeleira que era constituída por uma espécie de molho audaz de caracóis flutuantes que lhe caíam de todos os lados, como uma cascata cor de cenoura” (13).

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[“Hair which was a sort of bold current of undulating curls which fell from all sides, like a carrot-colored waterfall.”]

In many ways, Os Gafanhotos flees from the sort of difficult questions with which

Eva grapples throughout her own narrative. Presented with the objectivity of a camera lens, the narrative of Os Gafanhotos never assumes its own authorship and never admits subjectivity. The question of the reliability of memory is irrelevant for Os Gafanhotos.

The vocabulary used in the chapter lacks weight and determination; instead a sensorial and descriptive vocabulary prevails wherein the words carry little charge. For these reasons, Eva ridicules the chapter: “Esse é um relato encantador. Li-o com cuidado e concluí que tudo é exacto e verdade, sobretudo em matéria do cheiro e do som” (41).

[“This is an enchanting story. I read it carefully and concluded that everything is exactly true, especially in terms of smell and of sound.”] The irony in Eva’s analysis resides in the way she points to the “truth” of Os Gafanhotos as restricting itself to the realm of sensorial sensations and the aesthetic universe.

It is important to note that Eva criticizes Os Gafanhotos not solely for its lack of veridical rigor, but also for its lack of intention. The “truth” contained in Os Gafanhotos, according to Eva, is merely a brand and official version of “reality”: “Definitivamente, a verdade não é o real, e n’Os Gafanhotos só a verdade interessa” (85). [“Surely, the truth is not reality, and in Os Gafanhotos only the truth matters.”] Eva later clarifies what is the difference between the “truth” and “reality”: “A verdade deve estar unida e ser infragmentada, enquanto o real pode ser – tem de ser porque senão explodiria – disperso e irrelevante, escorregando, como sabe, literalmente para local nenhum” (85). [“The truth must be unified and not fragmented, whereas reality can be – and must be, because

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otherwise it would explode – dispersed and irrelevant, slipping, as you know, literally to nowhere.”] This “reality” is additionally intertextual; its fragmentation has origin in the multiplicity of sources on which it is based. In this way, the narrative of Eva herself, by way of its proper intertextuality and the way it dialogues with Os Gafanhotos, obscures the dividing line between fiction and history. In doing so, Eva sheds light upon the rituals and decisions implicit in the creation of an official collective narrative, inquiring as she does into what is left missing from these collective narratives. In the words of Linda

Hutcheon, Eva’s analysis of Os Gafanhotos ultimately “[puts] into question the authority of any act of writing by locating the discourses of both history and fiction within an ever- expanding intertextual network that mocks any notion of either single origin or simple causality” (“Intertextuality” 129).

In conclusion, the presence of the chapter Os Gafanhotos in Lídia Jorge’s book is a strong statement on the processes that go into determining which “facts” and impressions are allowed to be included in a certain collective memory and which are to be excluded. In this case, the collective memory is that belonging to a country and pertaining to the final strife-filled years of Portuguese colonialism. But the collective memory could just as easily be that of an ethnic group, society, or formal institution.

How can Trouillot’s notion of collective memory as a selective “retrieval of past experiences” serve in an analysis of the CPLP? And how does Eva’s critique of the official discourse in Os Gafanhotos relate to criticisms of the official discourse of the

CPLP? Or, perhaps more to the point, how can the themes evoked in Silencing the Past and A Costa dos Murmúrios be instructive for a post-colonial institution that is often accused of reverting to a culturally hegemonic, neocolonial power structure?

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In this dissertation’s view, the answer lies in the prudent and honest selection of events to be included in the CPLP’s own institutionalized collective memory. Too often, the CPLP opts to gloss over the more painful aspects of its collective history – those related to the crimes and abuses sanctioned by colonialism – to paint a picture of a harmonious community. The CPLP creates an official narrative akin to Os Gafanhotos, in which every angle is carefully chosen so as to create the most agreeable snapshot of the past possible. This is the import of the critique of “nostalgic lusophonia” so often ascribed to in CPLP publications and discourses. The CPLP glorifies a common language and a common culture while failing to remember the means by which that language and that culture were spread.

The suggestion here is not intended as a campaign of denigration against the

Portuguese for the colonialism conjured by their great-grandfathers and great-great grandfathers. Far from it. Rather, it is part of a reasoned dialogue about the origins of the

CPLP that does not gloss over the fact that lusophonia arose from the yoke of colonialism. Only when the CPLP confronts this past can it reasonably expect to move forward as a united community of states and of peoples. And move forward it must. The past should be examined, accepted, and employed in official discourse so as to present opportunities for future and productive changes to occur in the realm of Lusophone interactions. There is a divergence from Margarido in that this dissertation argues there should be no discomfiture in the promotion of the Portuguese language, itself formerly a tool of colonial domination. Once again, practicality prevails in this reasoning; the

Portuguese language, regardless of its mode of implantation, can be a useful tool for

CPLP communities in the future, allowing them to connect to global networks and

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leverage positive ties across the Lusophone world. The same goes for networks of commerce and exchange forged during the colonial era. The past cannot be altered, but it is worthwhile to turn these common structures into productive, proactive tools for the future.

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CHAPTER FIVE

PORTUGUESE DISCOURSES OF MODERNITY: LIVING IN THE FUTURE, NOT THE PAST

If there were one line that best summarizes the characteristic ambivalence of

Portugal’s relationship with Northern and Central Europe, it would be a line proffered by a fictional Antero de Quental in Onésimo Almeida’s three-act play No seio desse amargo mar. The context is a heated debate between Antero and his fellow Azorean luminaries – an eclectic assortment of Azorean notables who have been resurrected and brought to the contemporary in a daring act of narrative license by Almeida – regarding Portugal’s entrance into the European Union. At the climax of the debate, an agitated Antero cries out his approval for accession above the chorus of voices: “Mas ao menos Portugal será finalmente Europa. Ou melhor, regressará a ela” (131). [“But at least Portugal will finally be Europe. Or rather, will return to it.”]

This exclamation embodies with splendid succinctness the question that has plagued generations of Portuguese intellectuals: just how European is Portugal? Is it necessary for the nation to become European, or simply to return to Europe? Has

Portugal ever truly been a part of mainstream Europe, or has it always remained on the fringes of the continent; a mere spectator who must content itself with grasping the vestiges of each new current of inspiration and progress sweeping the European core?

Geographical considerations hold no weight in this debate; the question is purely based

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on a perceived cultural divide that has frequently partitioned the inhabitants of the Iberian

Peninsula from those belonging to the supposed “center” of European culture, characterized by the metropolitan sophistication of Paris, Berlin, and London.

Portugal has long been a second-hand recipient of European cultural influences.

The legacy of the Enlightenment period, wherein modern Western philosophy was born through a devout appeal to reason and an equating of reason with progress, cemented

France’s status as the epicenter of European intellectual influence. The period of

Romanticism that followed and dominated nineteenth-century intellectual thought in

Germany, England and France, as well as the smaller states of Northern Europe, sparked new paradigms of thought related to the nation, individual liberty, and market economies and furthered the divide that was partitioning the European continent between the

“enlightened core” and the “medieval periphery.”

It is no coincidence that, upon declaring independence from Spain in the late 18th and early 19th centuries, early Spanish American intellectuals such as Andres Bello and

Domingo Faustino Sarmiento turned to France for artistic and spiritual inspiration.

Indeed, intellectual and cultural emancipation in Latin America was closely tied with allegiance to movements originating in France, which was viewed by the nascent nations as infinitely more “European” and enlightened than either Spain or Portugal.96 This admiration for everything French infiltrated all aspects of Latin American life, from style of dress to cuisine and even to household décor and was a stark reminder for the citizens

96 Simon Bolívar, for example, the foremost political founder of Latin America’s new nations, borrowed most heavily from the French Enlightenment philosophers Montesquieu and Rousseau in his political writings. Bolívar eschewed Iberian culture and influence, evidencing the general belief that Latin America must at all costs avoid emulation of the cultural and political culture of their Iberian forbearers, which was itself considered stagnant, uninspired, and hopelessly backwards (Collier 37-64).

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of Iberia of the limits of their own cultural influence. For the inhabitants of the New

World, the future, Latin American autonomy, and modernity were all three rooted in casting off the dark cloak of an Iberian world view and professing their allegiance to currents of thought and influence emanating from the cities which, in their perspective, were at the heart of Europe.

It is true that French classicism, Enlightenment thought, and Romanticism all made an appearance in Portuguese literary culture. But these movements were often circumscribed and constrained by the prevailing absolutist and monarchical system of government which was itself largely dominated by the dogmatic Catholic Church. More often than not, Portuguese intellectuals in the 18th and 19th century found that their appeals to Enlightenment reforms – inspired by ventures to France and England – fell upon deaf ears in their home nation. Whilst abroad, they peered in at these teeming worlds of fervent intellectual curiosity as a child might peer through the windows of a candy store, full of desire to be on the other side of the glass. Such intellectuals often faced an unenviable decision: either reside in Portugal and remain forever passive spectators in a world in which they could not fully partake, or pack their bags for Paris or

London. Notwithstanding the dogged determination of Portuguese would-be reformers such as Luís António Verney, Alexandre de Gusmão, Francisco Xavier de Oliveira, and

António Ribeiro Sanches, Portuguese soil remained largely inhospitable to both

Enlightenment and Romantic ideals (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo).

The aim of this chapter is to analyze closely a thematic thread that has been woven throughout this dissertation. That thread is related to Portugal’s ambivalent relationship with the core of Europe, and the way in which the ebb and flow of this

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relationship – which is sometimes more imagined than actual – has greatly affected the

Portuguese psyche and sense of national well-being. Decades of political, economic, and intellectual approximation with the European core have been marked by a prevailing sense of optimism in Europe’s westernmost nation; whereas, periods of disengagement or alienation from Europe conversely have taken a negative toll on the national spirit.

As was written in this dissertation’s introductory chapter, the past decade has indicated that Portugal’s official entrance into the ultimate European club, the European

Union, and the ensuing honeymoon years did not mark the final marriage of Portugal to

Europe, but rather represented yet another crest in the relationship. That crest, as all that came before, was bound to ebb at some point, and that it did in the tumultuous years following the outset of the 2008 Eurozone crisis. That this crisis has been particularly unsettling for the Portuguese nation is in large part a result of the long and drawn-out candidacy process that accession to the European Community entailed. For the better part of a decade, reforms in all fields were geared towards a single teleological end: becoming a member of the prestigious European Community. The collective sigh of relief breathed in 1986 when membership was finally granted belied the fact that the relationship between Portugal and Europe was bound to ebb again at one point or another.

The nature of the discourses and dialogues that are produced during these ebbs in the Portugal/Europe relationship will be the theme for the first topic of discussion of this chapter. This chapter will tentatively posit that during these more tenuous periods in

Portuguese recent history, provoked by moments of national existential or economic crisis and a sense of general isolation, the solution offered by the nation’s leading minds

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was invariably – in the words of the fictional Antero de Quental – to become, or to return to, Europe.

This might, at first glance, seem an odd statement for the final body chapter in a dissertation which recounts Portugal’s current reinvestment in Lusophone relations. After all, hasn’t this dissertation argued previously that Portugal’s current existential and economic crisis has, in fact, been exacerbated by Portugal’s very relationship to a troubled Europe? Similarly, has this dissertation not maintained that, as a creative solution for its maladies, Portugal is turning to the countries of the former colonial empire? Yes and no. Hopefully this chapter will complicate somewhat the seemingly simple equation stating that Portugal, as a result of the current crisis, has prescribed a remedy involving less Europe and more lusophonia. The fact that Portugal is turning to its former colonies as alternate partners in trade, commerce, emigration, and development projects is thoroughly argued and well catalogued in this dissertation’s previous chapters.

But the proposition that this is indeed a “creative solution” that truly distinguishes and distances Portugal from its European counterparts will be challenged in the conclusion of this chapter.

In a fitting manner, this final dissertation body chapter will bring the discussion that begun in Chapter One full circle. Chapter One detailed Portugal’s rise and fall from

European grace; Chapter Two focused on the beginnings of the Community of

Portuguese-Speaking Countries; Chapters Three and Four discussed points of intersection and points of discord evident in Portugal’s center-periphery position between Europe and the former empire; and Chapter Five will question to what extent Portugal’s “move to the former empire” is in fact a departure from conventional European policy. This chapter

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poses the theory that rather than falling out of line with the European rank and file through resurrecting lusophonia, Portugal might indeed be riding a new wave of what it means to be modern in the European milieu.

A term that will be used extensively throughout this dissertation chapter is

“modernity.” Modernity is referred to in connection with the solutions offered by

Portugal’s leading minds for cultural and intellectual regeneration; in connection with

Portugal’s struggle during the colonial era to remain on equal footing with other

European colonizers; and in connection with a new-found Portuguese ideal in a current, postcolonial European context. As first iterated in the Introduction, when this dissertation references “modernity,” it subscribes to the definition given in Anthony Giddens’s The

Consequences of Modernity. According to Giddens, modernity is: “A shorthand term for modern society” that is associated with “(1) a certain set of attitudes towards the world, the idea of the world as open to transformation, by human intervention; (2) a complex of economic institutions, especially industrial production and a market economy; (3) a certain range of political institutions, including the nation-state and mass democracy”

(94).

Giddens’s definition of modernity, therefore, is contingent upon three principal factors: a set of attitudes about the world, industrial and market-based economic institutions, and certain political institutions. Giddens’s definition is concrete in that it pinpoints aspects of present-day advanced societies – market economies and mass democracy, for example – that have become global models for progress and therefore associated with modernity. But the true beauty of Giddens’s definition lies not in its concreteness, but in its flexibility. Giddens’s definition shows how modernity can truly

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be a sliding measure of progress prompting a constant march forward towards a society more open to transformation and human intervention, more economically liberal and open, and more politically advanced. Indeed, the key to Giddens’s definition of modernity lies in his final line: “It is a society… which, unlike any preceding culture, lives in the future, rather than in the past” (94).

Modernity, then, is associated with the aspiration to live in the future and not in the past. Keeping this in mind, the plan for the current chapter is as follows. It will open with a brief survey of Portuguese modern history to recount three pivotal moments in

Portuguese intellectual history – each one occasioned by a crisis of some breed, always economic or existential – during which a serious and concerted effort was extended by the nation’s foremost thinkers to diagnose and to remedy Portugal’s maladies. What did these thinkers have to say about Portugal’s relationship to Europe and to the empire? To what extent was modernity, or living in the future and not in the past, equated with a

European project?

The second section of this chapter will focus on the latter phase of Portuguese colonialism and analyze the degree to which modernity during this period was equated with emulating colonial practices originating in more prosperous European countries.

This section critically analyzes the reductionist tendencies of prevailing postcolonial discourses and points out the manner in which Portuguese colonialism has often been erroneously considered either indistinguishable from other colonial regimes or an inchoate form of these more advanced regimes. The work of contemporary Portuguese revisionist scholars will be used, as well as historical accounts and a fictionalized memoir

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to tease out details about the European hierarchy that imposed itself not only on the

European continent, but which also extended to European colonized territories.

The final discussion of this chapter will draw conclusions related to what modernity entails in a postcolonial milieu. An attempt will be made to proffer a cautious answer to the central question of this chapter: To what extent is Portuguese investment in the CPLP a mimesis of observed European postcolonial patterns of interaction?

The first generation to be analyzed is the group of so-called estrangeirados

[“imitative of foreigners”] whose zenith came during the mid-to-late eighteenth-century.

The estrangeirados were frequently called “Europeanized intellectuals” and played an important role in the diffusion of ideas, scientific practices, and technological advances that appeared in eighteenth and early-nineteenth century Europe.97 Many of the estrangeirados lived in a state of exile – either political or self-imposed – maintaining contact with their compatriots in Portugal through frequent missives (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 592).

The Portuguese estrangeirados heralded from a great variety of different disciplines, although almost all were members of an elite class who had been granted access to the nation’s best educational institutions. Many of the estrangeirados therefore

97 It is interesting to note that the role of the estrangeirados was not always as highly esteemed as it is today. In the nineteenth century, the term estrangeirado was in fact a pejorative term, used by Portuguese nationalists to describe traitors who had left Portugal in search of more prosperous lands and in doing so renounced any sense of belonging to their birth nation. It was not until António Sérgio, a 20th century Portuguese writer and public intellectual, revisited the history of the estrangeirados that their reputation was redeemed. Sérgio spoke and wrote highly of the estrangeirados, portraying them as a cultivated and curious group of men who had tried in vain to stimulate change in a stagnant Portuguese society. In the article “Enlightenment Science in Portugal: The Estrangeirados and their Communication Networks,” this revaluation of the term is explained in greater detail: “When the historian António Sérgio used the concept of estrangeirado as a tool for the analysis of Portuguese society at the turn of the 19th century, he kept its value-based dimension, but reversed its meaning. The Portuguese decline at the end of the 19th century and beginning of the 20th was rooted in cultural isolation. The estrangeirados were portrayed as a group of enlightened men despised and persecuted by an archaic and backward society” (Carneiro, Simões e Diogo 592).

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were clergymen, members of the aristocracy, diplomats, physicians, and military officers.

They were overwhelmingly Catholic, although they opposed the concentration of power in the Jesuits, especially when it came to control of Portugal’s educational system. All of the estrangeirados established networks of contacts outside of Portugal, most notably in

France, Great Britain, and Italy. They attended foreign universities and were members of intellectual societies in the core European states. Notwithstanding their geographic dispersion, this group of Portuguese intellectuals managed to forge a solid network amongst themselves, kept alive by the circulation of epistles and scholarly articles

(Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 593-597). The sense of comradery and the resilience that a life in exile provoked might actually have worked to the benefit of the estrangeirados:

Despite the persecution that many had to endure, the long periods of enforced or self-imposed exile in the end gave them the opportunity to establish deeper contact with other cultures and new scientific trends. Had they remained in their native country, their active participation in the process of internationalization of a scientific and technological culture would have been in considerable jeopardy (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 593).

The first wave of estrangeirados, those which appeared during the final years of the reign of the Portuguese king Dom João V (1707-1750), became the voice of a growing disquiet and spirit of criticism that festered within the Portuguese nation.

Although the early half of the eighteenth century was a prosperous period for Portugal, wherein spoils emanating from Portuguese lands in the New World appeared endless, the second half of the century witnessed a growing decline in Portugal’s strength and influence. This was largely due to the increased strain on Portuguese coffers occasioned by the mismanagement of colonial wealth, waning gold and mineral deposits in Brazil,

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and lavish spending by D. João V98 and his court (Senos 201-202). Lamenting Portugal’s deteriorating economic situation, the estrangeirados pointed to an unsustainable colonial policy of commerce whereby gold and other mineral riches obtained from Brazil were irresponsibly frittered away on extravagant royal purchases or used to pay the mounting debts incurred by Portugal’s Eastern Empire. These intellectuals firmly believed that the maintenance of Portugal’s far-flung empire was justified only so long as the nation’s imperial policy was balanced with a solid domestic policy favoring savvy investment and durable growth. The estrangeirados feared that an economic policy which prioritized short-term aggrandizement over long-term investment and planning would run the country into financial ruin no sooner than the New World gold supplies were exhausted

(Boxer 357-359). Indeed, the worst fears of the estrangeirados were realized around the turn of the nineteenth century:

… the illicit trade in Brazilian gold, the difficulty of keeping control over Atlantic routes, the problems arising from the management of the Oriental Portuguese Empire and the absence of an investment policy soon led to a to a situation in which the traditional economic weakness had to be confronted again (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 594).

Although economic insolvency was the primary concern of the estrangeirados, they also rallied around educational reforms. It was believed that only through modern

98 As written by Charles Boxer in his history The Portuguese Seaborne Empire 1415-1825, the estrangeirados ultimately held an ambivalent view of the reigning monarch Dom João V. Accounts by the estrangeirados portray a leader with some progressive tendencies but ultimately misguided and retrograde in his policies. On the positive side, D. João V advanced the mapping of the Brazilian interior and in 1720 founded the Royal Academy of History in Lisbon. He sent Luís António Verney (1713-1792) to Rome to create a plan for educational reforms in Portugal, resulting in Verney’s penning of Verdadeiro Método de Estudar (1746) [True Method of Study], an important critique of the Portuguese educational system. On the other hand, however, D. João V refused to support the publication of Verney’s landmark study and did little to foster a tolerant national climate for the estrangeirados (Boxer 357-359).

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systems of education could the nation produce leaders with the foresight to halt the impending social and economic deterioration. Ignorance about stable economic policies, insisted the estrangeirados, was damning evidence of a certain scholarly indolence in

Portugal and of a stubborn refusal to open the country to new liberal economic and political ideas that were appearing in the countries of Northern and Central Europe, principally France (Boxer 357-359; Carneiro, Simões and Diogo 591-619).

In Francisco de Melo Franco’s condemnatory poem “O reino da estupidez” (1785)

[“The kingdom of stupidity”], for example, the poet denounces the Portuguese educational system, comparing the nation to: “um homem sepultado nas trevas, no mais profundo somno; rodeavam-no por todos os lados mil precipícios e despenhadeiros...”

(74). [“A man buried in the darkness, in the most profound sleep; surrounded on all sides by a thousand precipices and cliffs…”] Such an educational system has failed to produce any professional class of merit, laments Melo Franco, who spares no words in lambasting

Portuguese judiciaries: “Enfarinhados unicamente em quatro petas (expressão deles) de

Direito Romano, não sabem nem o Direito Patrio, nem o Público, nem o das Gentes, nem

Política, nem Commercio, finalmente, nada útil” (75). [“Coated solely in the four lies

(their expression) of Roman Law, they do not know national Law, nor public Law, nor the Law of the people, nor politics, nor commerce, in the end, they know nothing useful.”] Melo Franco insists that the origin of the country’s ills is to be found in the stagnation of Portugal’s universities, which had been loath to implement educational reforms and to adopt new Enlightenment ideas that circulated among other European universities. Many Portuguese universities remained in the hands of Jesuit priests, a conservative assemblage who tended to favor rote memorization over self-directed study

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and inquiry. The few reform-minded professors that did exist in Portuguese universities, thought Melo Franco, were bullied by their more closed-minded colleagues into renouncing their liberal ideas (Melo Franco 74-76).

Another estrangeirado writing at the close of the eighteenth century, Ribeiro

Sanches, directs his critiques towards an antiquated and weak political system. In

Ribeiro’s 1777 essay “Dificuldades que tem hum reyno velho para emmendarse”

[“Difficulties of an old regime to amend itself”], the author highlights the urgent necessity for political reforms in Portugal. Sanches compares the construction of the

Portuguese state with a poorly-constructed city whose buildings are assembled to withstand only the present and not the future (Sanches 77-78). According to Sanches, even the laws upon which Portuguese society is built reflect this lack of forethought, as

Portuguese legislators are more often than not apt to institute “...leis sem serem fundadas na conservação e amor dos súbditos, leis sem objeto algum para aumentar a população, sem objeto para a defesa geral do Estado...” (78). [“Laws that are not founded in conservation or in the love of the country’s subjects, laws that do not look to augment the population, or to defend the State…”]

Once having diagnosed the nation’s maladies, the estrangeirados offered their prescriptions for the betterment of the Portuguese state and society. The underlying chorus in all solutions prescribed by this generation was the need to send Portuguese citizens abroad to the countries of Northern and Central Europe in order to learn new technological advances and soak in foreign cultural and intellectual movements. Once sufficient intellectual acculturation was achieved, these citizens were intended to return to

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Portugal where they could spread their newly-found insights among the population. In the words of Ribeiro Sanches:

Que para defender o pouco que lhe fica [Portugal], que não resta outro Poder, nem força, que mandar os súbditos capazes de saber por alguns anos, mesmo Eclesiásticos, a sua custa, a ver França, Holanda, Inglaterra, com instruções para o que deviam aplicar-se e aprender; e guardar os seus jornais que entregarão ao Governo; e tudo isto alternativamente, sem intervalos nem interrupção (79).

[In order to defend the little that Portugal has left, the only thing left to do is to send subjects capable of learning, even clerics, abroad for a few years, to see France, Holland, and England, with the instructions that they must apply themselves and learn, and save their journals which they can later submit to the government. And all of this must occur, without pauses or interruptions.]

Enthused by the Enlightenment-inspired appeals to reason that they heard outside of their country, the estrangeirados firmly believed that proper use of scientific methods held the key for the intellectual and economic resurrection of Portugal. In a typical positivist manner, estrangeirados sought “useful knowledge” and set about to study the shortcomings of the Portuguese state through systematic analysis and scientific interventions (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 605-606).

In line with their rather technical remedies for Portugal’s decadence, the estrangeirados also believed that the problem of scholastic lethargy in the country could be cured by the construction of better networks of information. If only a system were assembled whereby scientific bulletins, journals, and letters could be circulated between

Portugal and the core of Europe, the estrangeirados opined, then Portuguese citizens would be capable of shedding their cloaks of ignorance. In other words, content would

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follow form; adequate networks of communication and physical institutions would spark the production of inspired scholarly labor.

In terms of educational system reform, the estrangeirados determined that an emulation of the university systems observed in France, England, Germany, and Holland was necessary. They advocated hiring only professors who had been abroad and could transmit to pupils their foreign knowledge, as well as the construction of new structures to house schools, universities, and academic societies. Among the better-known educational reformers of the time were Manuel do Cenáculo, director of primary and secondary educational institutions who oversaw the construction of 800 schools, as well as Luís António Verney, author of Verdadeiro Método de Estudar [True Method of

Study] and ardent supporter of pedagogical reform in the areas of language, literature, and philosophy (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 593-601).

Thus, the underlying theme of the all solutions proposed by the estrangeirados was the unabashed retrieval of French, British, Dutch, and German methods of study and ideas. The discrepancy between the lively intellectual spirit enjoyed by intellectuals in

Northern and Central Europe and the stagnation of the Portuguese intellectual spirit was almost more than this generation of Portuguese literati could bear. The estrangeirados never expressed doubt that these methods and ideas would require adaptations once on the Portuguese soil; rather, their concerns were with the manner in which European influences could be captured and spirited back to Portugal. The estrangeirados saw modernity as closely linked to scientific progress, and as a result produced prescriptions for societal rejuvenation that were at once methodical, systematic, and full of unwavering optimism.

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The next generation to be analyzed here will be called the Generation of ’70, a direct translation of its Portuguese label geração de 70, indicating a group of intellectuals who reached the peak of their influence around the year 1870. The leaders of this group –

Antero de Quental, Eça de Queirós, and Oliveira Martins on a primary plane followed by a secondary cohort of Ramalho Ortigão, Teófilo Braga, Gomes Leal, and Guerra

Junqueiro – formed a quasi-mythical assemblage of headstrong and willful young writers and thinkers, most of whom had been educated at Portugal’s foremost universities. Well trained in the art of rhetoric, the Generation of ’70 was renowned for its fiery public speeches condemning the decline of Portugal which invariably drew large crowds

(Machado Pires 42-45). Antero de Quental, the indisputable luminary of the group, described his cohort as possessing: “[Um] espírito partilhado mais ou menos por quase todos os da minha geração, a primeira em Portugal que saiu decididamente e conscientemente da velha estrada da tradição” (qtd. in Machado Pires 38). [“[A] spirit shared by more or less the whole of my generation, which was the first in Portugal to depart decidedly and consciously from old traditions.”] Another prominent member of the group, the novelist Eça de Queirós, offered the following reflection on his compatriots:

[Éramos] uma geração desiludida por três revoluções... tomada da dúvida religiosa, geração que vê esvaecer-se Cristo, a quem tanto tempo amou, e não vê chegar a liberdade, por quem há bastante tempo espera... [Produzimos] criações febris, convulsões cerebrais, idealistas e doentias, todo um pesadelo moral (qtd. in Machado Pires 40-41).

[ [We were] a generation disappointed by three wars… full of religious doubt, a generation that saw Christ, whom we had loved for so long, fade away, and we did not see the advent of liberty, for

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which we had waited so long… [We produced] feverish creations, cerebral convulsions, idealistic and sick, it was all a moral nightmare.]

As underscored by Eça, the Generation of ’70, while arguably the most creative and literarily prolific generation in Portuguese history, was also a generation profoundly affected by historical events of the time. The Franco-Prussian war, the ensuing collapse of the Second French Empire and proclamation of the French Third Republic, and the advent of political unity in Italy that diminished the power of the Pope were three political ruptures which challenged the grip of traditional centralized power in Europe and in doing so shook the foundational world view of Eça and his contemporaries. It was a period in European history at once unstable and exhilarating, and by engaging with the movements of the era, the Generation of ’70 gathered inspiration for their art and for their political activism (Machado Pires 51-52).

This was also a period of rapid change in industry and technology. The decade of

1870 witnessed some of the greatest inventions of all time, such as the telephone, the light bulb, the phonograph, and the steam drill. Artists such as Monet, Renoir, Sisley and

Pisarro chronicled the rapid changes in society with a new artistic style, Impressionism, which strayed boldly from traditional realism by showcasing artistic subjectivity and individual perception. The Generation of ’70 held a quasi-messianic belief in industrialist progress and in positivist thought (in this way similar to the estrangeirados), affirming that by using their natural intellect, humans could dominate nature, transform their surroundings, and overcome natural barriers (Machado Pires 51-52).

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In summary, the best characterization of the Generation of ’70 is to quote the able historian Machado Pires from his book A Ideia de Decadência na Geração de 70 [The

Notion of Decline in the Generation of 70]:

A geração de 70, foi, pois, um grupo de homens, em vários momentos diversamente reunidos, para contestarem e discutirem valores culturais mais ou menos assentes, mas foi também uma problemática, uma atitude mental, uma interrogação sobre a identidade nacional; falar desta geração é também abstrair dos homens e das obras e encarar uma temática comum, uma enunciação de problemas, uma definição do pensamento nacional (53).

[The Generation of ’70 was, therefore, a group of men, at various moments gathered together to dispute and to discuss cultural values that previously had been more or less settled. The Generation, however, was also a problematic, a mental attitude, an interrogation about national identity; to speak of this generation is also to abstract from the men and their works a common theme, an enunciation of problems, a definition of national thought.]

When the Generation of ’70 set about diagnosing their nation’s maladies, it looked further back into history than the estrangeirados had, ultimately tracing the origins of Portugal’s decline to the High Middle Ages, or more specifically to the years in which wars of retaliation were fought on the Iberian Peninsula against the Moorish peoples. The Generation of ’70 viewed these wars as the beginning of a tradition whereby quick social ascension and the accumulation of great wealth could be won by citizens who readily answered the monarch’s call to arms. Portuguese agriculture suffered as a result and values such as rationality, common sense, and manual labor were superseded by the powerful heroic image of the Iberian warrior who, relying solely on his horse and his sword, survives as a result of courage, brute force, and audacity (Machado Pires 56-

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58). Influenced by the historian Alexandre Herculano, Antero cited the beginning of the

Middle Ages as the Iberian Peninsula’s golden age; a time when a special energy enlivened the municipalities and when Iberian territories were considered as, “uma ilha de homens livres na Europa feudal” (qtd. in Machado Pires 57). [“An island of free men in feudal Europe.”]

When the Iberian Peninsula was reconquered from the Moors and the enemy was no longer internal, the restless Portuguese crusaders, who would not be satiated with an agrarian life of humble domestic production, turned their sights to the conquest of new lands across the Atlantic. The extent to which Portugal allowed its resources to be consumed by the violent forging of an overseas empire, opined Antero de Quental, was the nation’s greatest mistake and the decision which ultimately allowed Portugal to fall so behind the European development curve (Machado Pires 56-58). In the analysis of

Onésimo Almeida:

Antero de Quental dá o tom a uma atitude de pró-modernidade, que significa nada mais nada menos do que a apologia do modelo cultural da Europa do Centro e do Norte. Para ele, isso representa sobretudo França e Alemanha. Segundo o filósofo, Portugal carregava às costas, por sua culpa, séculos de atraso, por ignorar o Velho do Restelo e se ter lançado para o Atlântico Sul a caminho da quimérica Índia. As luzes, essas vêm daquela Europa aberta, democrata e sempre na vanguarda da busca de Justiça e Liberdade, rasgada ao conhecimento e ao progresso. Como todos sabemos, o iberista salientou os contrastes entre o atraso peninsular e o avanço europeu (“Explicação Necessária” 18).

[Antero de Quental sets the tone for a pro-modern attitude, which means no more and no less than praise for the cultural model emanating from Central and Northern Europe. For him, this represents above all France and Germany. According to the philosopher, Portugal – by no fault other than its own – carries the

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burden of centuries of backwardness, for having ignored the Old Man of Restelo99 and thrown itself into the Atlantic Sea in search of the chimerical India. Enlightenment came from the open Europe, which was democratic and always on the vanguard of the search for Justice and Liberty; driven by knowledge and progress. As we all know, the Iberian [Antero] emphasized the contrast between peninsular backwardness and European progress.]

It was during a series of meetings in the house of Antero de Quental, which came to be known as “O Cenáculo,” that the Generation of ’70 began to piece together a latticework of solutions for the perceived decline of Portuguese society and intellectual life. From these meetings there emerged the Conferences of Casino, a sequence of five public conferences given in 1870. The Conferences of Casino were intended to create a forum whereby discontented Lisbonites could discuss national afflictions including the lack of economic capital, a weak education system, a frighteningly high sovereign debt, disappointing industrial progress, and, finally, the excessive concentration of power in the hands of the Catholic Church (Machado Pires 59-60). The Conferences, featuring keynote speeches by Antero de Quental, Augusto Seremenho, Eça de Queirós, and

Adolfo Coelho, called for a movement of national regeneration rooted in the creation of an autochthonous Portuguese literature and a reform of the nation’s uninspired educational system.

While the leading intellectuals of the Generation of ’70 clearly venerated the reformist ideas emanating from Northern and Central Europe, they did not go so far as the estrangeirados in advocating that Portuguese emissaries be tasked with the retrieval and simple regurgitation of these ideas. Rather, progressive European ideas and methods

99 The Old Man of Restelo is a character in Luís de Camões’s 16th century epic poem Os Lusíadas. This solemn figure cautions the Portuguese nation against devoting itself entirely to seaborne expeditions of discovery and conquest, warning that nothing good will come of the drive for fame, riches, and glory that often fueled the lavish overseas expeditions.

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had to be adapted to fit the Portuguese tastes and tendencies – they could be used as sources of inspiration, but nothing more. As an example, the Generation of ’70 placed great emphasis on the need to create a national literature; a literature which drew inspiration from literary movements arriving from France and England, but which remained solidly Portuguese in theme and character (Machado Pires 72).

What the Generation of ’70 most feared was the uninspired emulation of

European trends and movements in Portugal which might relegate Portugal to the role of mere puppet. Such a sentiment is starkly evident in Eça de Quierós’s 1888 novel Os

Maias. In a particularly revealing passage of the novel, the character named Ega, a hopeless romantic forever concerned with the malaises of Portuguese society, laments what he considers the unimaginative and fervent importation of the latest European trends in Lisbon, in this case a style of boot:

Ega esfregava as mãos. Sim, mas precioso! Porque essa simples forma de botas, explicava todo o Portugal contemporâneo. Via-se por ali como a coisa era. Tendo abandonado o seu feitio antigo, à D. João VI, que tão bem lhe ficava, este desgraçado Portugal decidira arranjar-se à moderna: mas sem originalidade, sem força, sem carácter para criar um feitio seu, um feitio próprio, manda vir modelos do estrangeiro – modelos de ideias, de calças, de costumes, de leis, de arte, de cozinha ... Somente, como lhe falta o sentimento da proporção, e ao mesmo tempo o domina a impaciência de parece muito moderno e muito civilizado – exagera o modelo, deforma-o, estraga-o até à caricatura (454).

[Ega wrung his hands. Yes, but adorable! Because this simple style of boot, it explained all of contemporary Portugal. You could see in it exactly what the situation was. Having abandoned its old personality, personified in king D. João VI, which fit the country very well, this wretched Portugal had decided to adorn itself in a modern style. But this modern style was without originality, without strength, and Portugal was without the character to create

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its own personality, so instead it sent for models from overseas – models of ideas, of pants, of dresses, of laws, of art, of cuisine… Only that, as the nation lacked a sense of proportion, and at the same time was dominated by the impatience to look very modern and very civilized – it exaggerated the models, deformed them, ruined them, until they became mere caricatures.]

In sum, at face value, the objective of the Generation of ’70 was identical to that of the estrangeirados: for Portugal to “become a part of Europe” by rising to the standard set in political, economic, and social thought by northern and central European states.

That said, this latter generation opined that Portugal could only do so after a thorough regeneration of Portuguese national culture and society and through a revaluation of the autochthonous. Imports from Europe had to be tailored to fit the specificities of this peninsular locale, lest they turn into mere farces or “caricatures,” in the words of Ega from Os Maias, of their original selves.

The final generation to be analyzed is in fact not a generation, but a single public intellectual whose writings have enjoyed lasting resonance in Portuguese thought.

António Sérgio belonged to the generation that followed the Generation of ’70. Greatly influenced by the works of historian Alexandre Herculano, Antero de Quental, and

Oliveira Martins, Sérgio devoted much of his attention to solving the very same problems that the Generation of ’70 had grappled with some decades earlier: how to breathe new life into Portugal’s educational system, revalue cultivation of the land so that the

Portuguese economy might gain a stable agricultural base, and eventually bring Portugal up to par with European political and social advances.

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António Sérgio came of age during the so-called Portuguese Renaissance of

1910,100 and therefore was a contemporary of Teixeira de Pascoaes, Jamie Cortesão,

Leonardo Coimbra, António Carneiro, and others who sought to imbue the new

Republican regime with a coherent national ideology. However, Sérgio saved his highest praise not for his contemporaries but for the estrangeirados, who he believed had taken a bold step in refusing to believe that deeper imperialism would prove the elixir for

Portugal’s ills and in drawing inspiration from European liberal and cosmopolitan thought (Carneiro, Simões, and Diogo 592).

In fact, Sérgio was not a fan in the least of his contemporary Teixeira de

Pascoaes’s tendency to invoke old myths of Sebastianism101 in attempts to provide the new regime with a noble raison d’être. Sebastianism, opined Sérgio, could only have the effect of turning the Portuguese into a victimized people forever awaiting the return of a redeeming savior (Sérgio, “Interpretação” 241). Sérgio concluded that the psychological state of the Portuguese after the disappearance of D. Sebastião – a notably traumatic event which left Portuguese sovereignty in the hands of the Spanish crown – was no

100 The Portuguese Renaissance was a movement sparked by the implantation of a Republic in Portugal in 1910. The movement sought to provide the new regime with a national doctrine and literature in the hopes of contributing to the reconstruction of Portuguese nationalism. The principal motor of the movement was Teixeira de Pascoaes, who espoused the theory that the Portuguese national character could best be defined by saudosismo, or a feeling of deep longing and nostalgia evoked by past and sometimes historical memories (Lourenço, O labarinto da saudade 28). 101 Sebastianism is the term used for a Portuguese quasi-messianic belief in national redemption. Sebastianism has origin in the mysterious conditions surrounding the 1580 death of King Dom Sebastião in Alcácer Quibir, in the North of Africa, during a religious crusade. The death of D. Sebastião left the Portuguese throne without an heir and transferred Portuguese sovereignty to the Spanish Phillipine throne, thus uniting the courts of the two Iberian countries. The desperation of the Portuguese people to maintain their nation’s autonomy, combined with the fact that the death of D. Sebastião on the battle field had been neither witnessed nor confirmed, led to a spate of rumors that the young king was still alive, and would return to claim his throne. The lingering hope for the return of their king – and in a metaphorical sense for the return of their country’s golden age – is the cornerstone of Sebastianism (Lourenço, O labarinto da saudade 24-25).

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different from that of the Jewish people: the situation was characterized by a throne without a successor, a threatening foreign power waiting in the wings, and few hopes of maintaining even a semblance of national autonomy (249). So disdainful was Sérgio for the cult of Sebastianism and so large his fears that it would be the ultimate ruin of the

Portuguese national spirit that Sérgio frequently issues vehement words of warning throughout his essays to the tune of: “Não senhores, não nascemos sebastianistas – e não queremos, positivamente não queremos, viver como se o fôssemos!” (250). [“No, gentlemen, we were not born Sebastianists – and we don’t want, we absolutely do not want, to live as if we had been!”]

Besides Sebastianism, Sérgio argued that the principal challenges facing Portugal were essentially a lack of intellectualism, of objectivity, and of scientific learning.

According to Sérgio, Portugal’s golden age was not the Middle Ages – as believed by the

Generation of ’70 – but rather the period of Portuguese maritime discoveries. It was during the years of discoveries, posits Sérgio, that scientific advances related to maritime navigation were first conjured by nimble Portuguese minds and a spirit of curiosity was awakened in the nation (Sérgio, “Conquista da Ceúta” 270). If only the Portuguese could return to the mindset that had fueled the great maritime voyages of the fourteenth century, then Portugal would be on a road of progress once more:

Andamos nós, elites de hoje, e por isso mesmo desacertamos e naufragamos continuamente; aventureiros, sonhadores e impulsivos; sebastianistas, subjectivos, intuicionistas, – somos nós, não eram eles, os do século XV: príncipes, pilotos, capitães e mercadores não foram tenazes por mero instinto nem navegantes por sentimentalismo, e nada se encontra nessa gente prática que se assemelhe à retórica dos intelectuais de agora; foram metódicos organizadores e diplomatas prudentíssimos, sensatos alunos da

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experiência amadurecidos na objectividade, aliando a grandeza das miras gerais às minúcias científicas da realização exacta (“Conquista da Ceúta” 270).

[Here we are, today’s elites, continuously making errors and shipwrecking; adventurers, dreamers and impulsive; Sebastianists, subjective, intuitive. This is us, but this is not how they were, those of the XV century: princes, pilots, captains, and merchants who were not tenacious thanks to mere instinct nor navigators due to sentimentality, and those practical people used none of the rhetoric that the intellectuals today use. They were methodical organizers and prudent diplomats, sensational students of experience hardened by objectivity, who allied the greatness of their telescopes with scientific minutia and exactitude.]

Aside from lacking the patience, scientific curiosity, and professional diligence of the former Portuguese explorers and navigators, Sérgio also criticizes his fellow countrymen for the disdain they show towards working the land. According to Sérgio,

Portugal has long had to choose between two development policies: a policy of transport and a policy of settlement. The policy of transport is characterized by maritime commerce wherein riches from the Eastern and Western Portuguese Empire passed through the Portuguese metropole to settle in the hands of wealthy merchants from

Northern and Central Europe. The policy of settlement, on the other hand, was associated with investment in the Portuguese land itself through agricultural pursuits, infrastructural projects, and industrialization (Sérgio, “Reino Cadaveroso” 67).

In Sérgio’s view, Portugal’s real decline was precipitated when a policy of transport came to form the base of the Portuguese economy during the sixteenth century.

Under this policy, spices and other valuable products from the Eastern Portuguese

Empire were transported to the ports of Lisbon, where they were then bought by Italians,

French, Flemish, and German merchants. The Portuguese, who were encumbered with

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the most dangerous work in ferrying the goods from India to Portugal (often avoiding passage through the Mediterranean Sea, which was plagued by Turkish piracy), ultimately gained little for their efforts and were transformed into “meros agentes de

Circulação” (Sérgio, “Reino Cadaveroso” 68-72). [“Mere agents of circulation.”]

At the heart of Sérgio’s concerns lies a growing divide between the role in international commerce played by Portugal and that played by the wealthier European nations. Sérgio admits that a policy of transport allowed for the rapid accumulation of wealth in Lisbon, but maintained that this accumulation was hardly sustainable because it was based on the ability to extract ever-greater amounts of raw and valuable materials from the Empire. Portugal was growing increasingly dependent upon its European clients for their desire to use the country as the middleman in trade, thus placing itself at the mercy of its clients’ demands and caprices (Sérgio, “Reino Cadavaresco” 69-72).

Furthermore, Sérgio worried that Portugal would never be able to catch up economically with the rest of Europe if it did not begin concentrating some of its wealth in its own countryside. Multitudes of unemployed peasants – who lacked the basic infrastructure and tools needed to farm the land – ensured that the Portuguese sea voyages were never lacking for manpower, but if these sea voyages began to diminish in number the country would be left with a restless and impoverished population. The lure of easy fortune based on trade in exotic items, warned Sérgio, would not provide lasting wealth for the country and would do little to ensure a stable economic base (78).

In conclusion, António Sérgio’s prescriptions for the rejuvenation of the

Portuguese society and state were quite similar in many ways to both the prescriptions offered by the estrangeirados and the Generation of ’70. Similar to the estrangeirados,

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Sérgio placed great emphasis on the need to understand new scientific technologies and methods, primarily in order to modernize Portuguese agriculture. Similar to the

Generation of ’70, Sérgio believed that Portugal was lacking a basic spirit of intellectual curiosity and intrepidness, and fretted about how to improve the nation’s educational system.

Unlike the two generations that came before him, however, Sérgio was more modest in how he proposed to go about implementing his reforms. He made no mention of bringing back technological expertise or intellectual trends from North and Central

Europe, as the former generations had. In fact, Sérgio’s comparisons of Portugal with progressive Europe served more as a benchmark than anything else. Sérgio’s reforms, rather than involving increased interconnectivity between Europe that lay to the east of the Iberian Peninsula and Portugal, sought instead to quietly develop Portuguese industry and agriculture – without seeking outside help and inspiration – until it could approximate the levels of the countries he most admired. An economic revolution was deemed necessary in Portugal, but this revolution could be sparked by a simple paradigm shift in the ways in which the country maintained and employed its wealth and by a new technological revolution akin to that enjoyed during the years of maritime discoveries.

Only once Portugal was truly economically self-sufficient could it hope to enjoy any sort of political or social autonomy. Modernity in Portugal, concluded Sérgio, had to start on the inside.

The estrangeirados, the Generation of ’70, and António Sérgio all offer their reasoned advice as to how Portugal might pull itself out of a tradition of intellectual languor and economic stagnation to join the ranks of “modern” Europe. Curiously

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enough, the overarching policy that Portugal embarked upon for much of the 20th century was precisely the one prescription not offered by these three generations of intellectuals.

Portugal opted to sacrifice national development for the development of an overseas empire, which by the turn of the 20th century was already starting to show telltale signs of overextension and fatigue. Even in the years of the mid-20th century, a period in which other European colonizers such as Britain, France, and Belgium were pulling out of their colonial possessions and instituting regimes of self-rule, Portugal tenaciously clung to its scattered African and Asian possessions. There was something desperate in Portugal’s anachronistic colonization – which lasted until the early 1970s – that evidenced the

Salazar regime’s greatest fears that, stripped of its overseas empire, Portugal would be relegated to a position as an insignificant and powerless protectorate on the edge of

Europe.

Even at the crest of Portugal’s imperial might, there were glaring differences between the economic and political potency of the Portuguese empire vis-à-vis other

European empires. Too often, these discrepancies are glossed over by modern histories, which tend to group European colonizers together as if to form one uniform entity. This tendency has been challenged by a recent group of Portuguese revisionist scholars, who seek to better understand postcolonial dynamics in and among Lusophone societies by pointing to the specificities of Portuguese colonialism. Ana Paula Ferreira, for instance, in her article “Specificity without Exceptionalism: Towards a Critical Lusophone

Postcoloniality,” argues that the last unexamined myth in postcolonial discourse is the supposition that there ever existed a “stable, uniform, and universally-construed Europe”

(21). Ferreira further contends that this mythical Europe based on stability, uniformity,

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and universality fails to take into account the more hybrid and less economically developed corners of the continent; the exemplary case in point being the nations comprising the Iberian Peninsula. According to Boaventura de Sousa Santos, another postcolonial revisionist scholar, Portugal has long been an “intermediary” European nation characterized by:

An intermediate economic development and a position of intermediation between the center and periphery of the world economy; a state which, being both product and producer of that intermediary position, never assumed fully the characteristics of the modern state of the core countries… and [does] not adjust well to the typical binarisms of western modernity – such as culture/nature, civilized/uncivilized, modern/traditional – and may therefore be considered originally hybrid… (“Between Prospero and Caliban” 9).

In sum, Ferreira and Santos criticize dominant postcolonial theory for ignoring the extent of heterogeneity which characterized colonizing Europe. In doing so, the dominant postcolonial theory additionally ignores the degree of heterogeneity existing in relations between the colonized and the colonizer. In other words: “While eager to criticize homogeneity and applaud fragmentation and difference, postcolonialism ended up homogenizing the colonial relation because of its total lack of historical and comparative perspective” (B. Santos 16).

Another prominent revisionist scholar, Miguel Vale de Almeida, makes a similar argument in his book An Earth-colored Sea: “Race,” Culture, and the Politics of Identity in the Postcolonial Portuguese-speaking World. Almeida proposes a new approach to the traditional postcolonial paradigm, or: “A cultural and social approach that denies both culturalism and materialist reductionism [and that] may allow us to accept the notion of

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diversity and specificity in colonial processes, thus enriching the postcolonial theory”

(46).

Ferreira, Santos, and Almeida ultimately fault the dominant postcolonial discourse for its hypocrisy: the fragmentation and difference so celebrated by the discourse in terms of the colonized peoples is not applied to the colonizers themselves. The result is that this postcolonial discourse ends up adopting the more sophisticated, best documented, and most readily available example of European colonialism as the “norm”: British colonialism. As stated by Ana Paula Ferreira, “The dominant discourse of postcolonialism in Anglo-American academia, is based, as is well known, in the history of the British empire and its aftermaths” (21).

As a result, Iberian colonialism often ends up either excluded entirely from the postcolonial discourse, or considered a sort of embryonic, incomplete colonialism. This discourse fails to recognize the extreme anachronism that characterizes the Portuguese colonial empire, due both to its paltry development and tardy disintegration. To conceive of the Portuguese Empire as a nascent, rudimentary, or incomplete version 20th century colonialism – or as a forerunner to the mightier British, French, and Dutch Empires – is to forget that the Portuguese implanted themselves more deliberately than ever before in

African territories during precisely the period that other Europeans were decamping from the continent.

Ana Paula Ferreira claims that Portuguese colonialism has been effectively “de- authorized,” and for two principal reasons. Firstly, Portuguese colonialism was quite literally de-authorized in that there was little written about the Portuguese Empire for posterity’s use: “As regards colonial discourses, the subalternity of Portuguese

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colonialism resides in the fact that, since the seventeenth century, the history of colonialism has been written in English, not in Portuguese. This means that the

Portuguese colonizer has a problem of self-representation…” (B. Santos 11). Secondly, the Portuguese colonial experience, constantly lagging behind British and French colonialism as it did and remarkably resistant to the processes of industrialization and capitalist development, was delegitimized by other colonial powers. To quote Ferreira:

Nor is the native African or native American – the indigenous, surely “under Western eyes” – the only peoples that European colonization dominated and whose culture and knowledges it de- authorized. In the mix there are also some fringes of continental Europe that did not quite assimilate or effectively put to work the rationality of the Enlightenment… the modernity emerging in the eighteenth century through processes of secularization, bureaucratization and industrialization or, more specifically, capitalist development constitutes “Occidental” Europe as the center of imperial culture and civilization (23).

Curiously, the myth of European colonizers as a homogenous group was not constructed solely by the peoples of the former metropoles, but also received reinforcement from the former colonies in their struggles for political and intellectual autonomy. As explained by Miguel Vale de Almeida in his aforementioned book, these struggles to regain political and symbolic control of formerly occupied territories often were consolidated in the form of socialist or communist movements. Such movements, intimately tied to nationalist projects, often ended up erroneously equating neocolonialism with neoliberalism and capitalism (which indeed are two very different

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systems, arguably both exploitative, but nevertheless possessing distinct methods and philosophies) (104).102

This visceral reaction of the former colonies against capitalism is to be expected, keeping in mind the necessarily universal character of the capitalist system. The interconnectivity advocated by capitalism seemingly poses an existential threat to a newly-independent nation, wherein the consolidation of national identity is more often than not promoted through protectionism. Capitalism survives through the liberalization of borders; nationalism survives by way of the reinforcement of these same borders. In nationalist rhetoric, therefore, the “enemy” is always outside and is often generalized or homogenized. The portrayal of this external enemy, which often takes the form of

“neocolonialism,” “capitalism,” or “the West,” greatly simplifies the heterogenetic reality and disguises the real differences that existed between the two colonial extremes – say, for instance, between British colonialism and Portuguese colonialism. In this manner, it is not a stretch to posit that the reductionist postcolonial discourse so critiqued by Ferreira,

Santos, and Almeida is not only a product of the dominant histories produced by the former colonizers.

102 The equation of neocolonialism with neoliberalism, as well as the tendency to embrace communist- inspired styles of reform, would ultimately lead these nationalist movements into a crisis of legitimacy. Upon the near-global delegitimization of communism succeeding the fall of the Soviet Union and the triumph of neoliberalism in rich Western economies, such movements have lost not only their internal cohesion but also their external enemy. As eloquently explained by Miguel Vale de Almeida: “The postcolonial problem is an outcome of the fall of socialism and the triumph of the neoliberal market economy at the planetary scale. The optimism of the anticolonial movement foundered with the shipwreck of communism, and with the feeling that the nationalist elites have betrayed the nationalistic and anticolonial cause in the former colonies” (104).

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Accepting the degree of heterogeneity that was present among the European colonizers is the first necessary step in ascertaining Portugal’s position in the European colonial hierarchy. Taking a closer look at this hierarchy will evidence how the struggle for modernity in Portugal (as characterized by European progress and development) was not always a struggle that took place on Portuguese soil; sometimes it was displaced to colonial soil, where colonizers sought to emulate other European colonial practices. Such emulation was certainly not without precedent in the history of modern empires.

European empires, in fact, often defined themselves precisely by reproducing or refuting other imperial practices. Their survival depended on inter-imperial competition, which often resulted in mimesis of observed repertoires of rule. Imperial models were thus copied and circulated by regimes. Oftentimes imperial practices cannibalized each other; a form of imperial Darwinism which assured that only the most able philosophies and mechanisms of rule would continue to survive in the imperial milieu.

Histories of colonialism and postcolonial discourses may generalize a high degree of uniformity among colonial spheres, but the reality on the ground could not have been more different. The British/Portuguese dichotomy proves an especially instructive example because of the substantial divergences between these two nation’s repertoires of colonial rule. To the exacting British, the lackadaisical Portuguese often proved as bewildering and foreign as the colonized African peoples. There is a poorly masked tone of alarm that pervades British imperial travel narratives as the authors comment on the darkness of the Portuguese skin hardened by the African sun, the abundance of half-breed children to be found in Portuguese settlements, and the practice of the midday siesta embraced by the Portuguese. The Protestant/Catholic and the North/South divide in

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Europe became glaringly obvious in these British travel narratives, and nowhere more so than in the diaries of David Livingstone.

David Livingstone, a medical missionary who later became a popular national hero in Victorian Great Britain, published Missionary Travels and Researches in South

Africa in the year 1876. This extensive travel journal reveals an inquisitive, indefatigable, and relentlessly ethnocentric author whose anthropological curiosities were as much piqued by the Portuguese colonizers who held territory in eastern and western South

Africa (the areas which now correspond to Angola and Mozambique) as by the native

African inhabitants of the region. To Livingstone, these Portuguese colonizers were a rare breed in and among themselves, and his tone when describing the colonizers ranges from bewildered to condescending and downright disdainful.

Livingstone’s accounts of the Portuguese that he comes into contact with in the southeastern territories of Southern Africa are replete with allusions to the Portuguese

“going native,” or adapting in an irreversible manner to their African surroundings.103

Indeed, Livingstone admits that he is often unable to distinguish between the mixed- blood natives and the Portuguese. When describing a visit undertaken to the Mambari tribe, Livingstone relates, “The half-castes, or native Portuguese, could all read and write, and the head of the party, if not a real Portuguese, had European hair…” (126). Beyond

103 Lest Livingstone’s comments about the Portuguese inclination to “go native” be interpreted in a modern sense as complimentary, it is wise to bear in mind the analyses put forth by Michael Adas in “Attributes of the Dominant: Scientific and Technological Foundations of the Civilizing Mission.” Adas writes: “Generalized assumptions about the correspondence between the mastery of nature and overall social development frequently influenced the judgments of European missionaries, travelers, and officials in the non-Western world” (216), indicating that the adoption of indigenous practices was not necessarily considered a laudable trait. Furthermore, “The degree to which a culture was able to control its environment was often decisive in determining its rank on the scale of savagery and civilization” (215). Thus, the Portuguese adoption of African crops, musical instruments, and even physical appearance would have placed them further from the ideal of civilization and closer to the extreme of savagery on the British scale of societal evolution.

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their physical appearance, the Portuguese were described by Livingstone as having adopted various native African customs. He comments about the way in which the

Portuguese living in present-day Angola used in their dances the marimba, an African instrument resembling the piano (165). The settlers’ diet was based on flour obtained from the cassava root, an indigenous staple food source that – according to Livingstone – continued to be a favorite of the Portuguese long after their return to the metropole (202).

Implicit in the various observations made by Livingstone about the appearance and customs of the Portuguese colonizers in South Africa is a characterization of the

Portuguese as hapless and incapable. Their cultural hybridity, concluded Livingstone, led to a strain of moral apathy which in turn provoked various vices, namely greed and idleness. At one point Livingstone writes, “Nothing great or useful will ever be effected

[in Portuguese Africa] so long as men come merely to get rich, and then return to

Portugal” (221). If this were not bad enough, Livingstone remarks that Portuguese greed in turn infects the African communities with whom the Portuguese have come into contact: “Like all the tribes near the Portuguese settlements, people here imagine that they have a right to demand payment from every one who passes through the country”

(193). Portuguese interactions with the Africans are often seen as opportunistic and corrupting, and Livingstone is disapproving of the alacrity with which the locals had acquired Portuguese arms, pointing in particular to the Mambari people who possessed “a number of old Portuguese guns marked ‘Legítimo de Braga’” (60).

Livingstone’s most damning critique of Portuguese imperial practices, however, is related to his assessment of the Portuguese slave trade. Livingstone is keen to point out that the slave trade is principally kept alive due to the activities of “half-castes,” or

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offspring produced by Portuguese amorous relations with local African women. This practice of interracial mixing is frowned upon by Livingstone, who proclaims that the

Portuguese will never be good colonists because “they seldom bring their wives with them to Africa” (204). The slave trade, then, is emblematic of the marriage of two principal Portuguese vices: greed and interracial mixing. Livingstone is convinced that the immoral enterprise will drive the Portuguese Empire into ruin: “Slavery and immorality have here done their work; nowhere else does the European name stand at so low an ebb; but what can be expected? Few Portuguese women are ever taken to the colonies…” (354).

The most caustic accounts of Livingstone’s encounters with Portuguese slave traders always involve individual Portuguese men, working outside of the official channels of the Portuguese government, representative of the so-called degradados

[degraded] or renegados [renegades] who escaped indentured servitude in Africa to make their fortune as independent actors in the slave trade. These men are portrayed by

Livingstone as hardly human; they are alternatively “beastly” and cruel; dangerous loners living outside of the established imperial space and norms. This being said, Livingstone places the bulk of his criticism vis-à-vis the slave trade on the Portuguese government, which, in its inability to pay due salaries and impose discipline among its overseas rank, had driven its colonizers to partake in the illicit trade. To this end, Livingstone remarks on: “The failure of the Portuguese laws for the entire suppression of the slave-trade. The

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officers ought to receive higher pay, if integrity is expected from them. At present, a captain’s pay for a year will only keep him in good uniform” (228).104

But what is most starkly evident throughout Livingstone’s account of his travels through Lusophone Africa is a constant comparison between the Portuguese practices of colonialism and his native British practices of colonialism. Invariably, the British practices emerge superior. Even critiques purportedly aimed at individuals and free radicals within the Portuguese colonial space – such as mixed-blood slave traders – are at heart a critique of the failure of the Portuguese state to maintain proper control over its overseas lands. 105

Livingstone’s diaries evidence a clear attempt to create a hierarchy between

European colonial spaces. In doing so, Livingstone is additionally forging a hierarchy between the European states themselves. In this way, European colonial spaces – the so- called peripheries of colonial systems – maintained their own agency when it came to defining and differentiating the metropoles. Mary Louise Pratt, in her book Travel

Writing and Transculturation, seeks to explain how: “Travel and exploration produced

‘the rest of the world’ for European readerships at particular points in Europe’s expansionist trajectory” (5). This is to say that Livingstone’s travel diaries, in

104 Indeed, Livingstone’s conclusions are remarkably accurate when compared with a contemporary assessment of the livelihoods of degredados, renegados, and ordinary underpaid soldiers. Timothy J. Coates writes in “Convicts, Renegades, and the Military” that: “It was in the best interest of soldiers not to depend exclusively on the Portuguese state to provide income. Instead, their interests were better served by generating additional funds through independent economic activity (such as trade or smuggling)…” (88). 105 Indeed, Livingstone appears to be rather fond of the Portuguese individuals – not including, of course, the slave traders – that he comes into contact with in Portuguese territory. Towards the ends of his travels Livingstone falls ill in a Portuguese colonial enclave in Western Africa, and is nursed back to health by a handful of Portuguese colonizers. Livingstone has nothing but glowing compliments to make about the hospitality and selflessness of his impromptu nurses. His criticisms, therefore, seem to be oriented more towards the whole of Portuguese colonial policy – which Livingstone saw as driving its colonizers to vice and to ruin – rather than Portuguese individuals themselves.

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representing the European peripheries, did much to define the character and the hierarchy of the European metropoles as well. To quote directly from Travel Writing and

Transculturation:

Borders and all, the entity called Europe was constructed from the outside in as much as from the inside out… While the imperial metropolis tends to understand itself as determining the periphery…, it habitually blinds itself to the ways in which the periphery determines the metropolis – beginning, perhaps, with the latter’s obsessive need to present and re-present its peripheries continually to itself (6).

Although Pratt is primarily concerned with European accounts of native peoples living in colonial spaces, her conclusions can just as convincingly be applied to British accounts of Portuguese colonial spaces. In representing the Portuguese periphery,

Livingstone was attempting to legitimize his nation’s own periphery; commenting on, critiquing, and even embracing Portuguese imperial practices in Africa gave British writers – and by association their readers at home – an air of superiority and of distinction. Not only could British readers be assured that they were not the only

European nation with the audacity to carve out an imperial space in the “dark continent,” but they could be certain that their imperial space was healthier, better ruled, and more coherent than that of another European nation. In this way, British travel writings (either wittingly or unwittingly) reinforced the hierarchy that existed within the European continent itself. Mary Louise Pratt offers the following insight into this process:

Readers of European travel books about Europe have pointed out that many of the conventions and writing strategies I associate here with imperial expansionism characterize travel writing about

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Europe as well. As I suggest at several points in the discussion, when that is so, related dynamics of power and appropriation are likely to be found at work as well… The eighteenth century has been identified as a period in which Northern Europe asserted itself as the center of civilization, claiming the legacy of the Mediterranean as its own. It is not surprising, then, to find German or British accounts of Italy sounding like German or British accounts of Brazil (10).

At no point in Portuguese colonial history did the fragility of the Portuguese imperial space become more evident than nearly a century after Livingstone’s travels, during the war-ridden disintegration of the empire in the late 1960s and early 1970s. It was during these years that the grandiose fiction construed by the Salazar regime that the

Portuguese Empire could bring Portugal to an equal footing with other European nations was revealed to be nothing but a fantasy. Salazar’s arguments for maintaining his overseas colonies had to be periodically adapted to fit the prevailing sentiment in the

Western world vis-à-vis colonial possessions, and by this point in time the autocrat found himself defending the maintenance of an increasingly anachronistic empire in an era characterized by European decolonization. In the latter half of the twentieth century, when European and North American governments began to cast increasingly condemnatory glances in the direction of Portugal’s obstinate empire and Salazar could no longer conceivably claim that Portuguese modernization was linked to the emulation of contemporary European practices of empire, the astute dictator began to quietly revise his arguments.

The official Portuguese legitimation for maintenance of the colonies soon became the purported need for the Portuguese Empire to advance to the point of development that

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British and French imperial possessions had reached before the advent of decolonization.

In other words, Salazar and his regime argued that Portuguese territories and indigenous peoples were not yet ready for self-rule; that Portuguese colonialism had not yet achieved a state of development akin to that of British and French colonialism in the 1950s and

1960s, and that the regime could not justly decamp from its colonized lands until such development and progress were achieved. This was a highly paternalistic argument that cloaked Salazar’s true self-regarding intentions of national aggrandizement in a rhetoric of protective stewardship.

Of course, Salazar’s new line of argumentation flew in the face of the facts on the ground in Portuguese-ruled African territories. Little “development modernization” was being achieved at all; instead, the territories were spiraling deeper into anarchy and evidencing worrisome internal splintering as resistance movements gained strength and clashed with both Portuguese settlers and soldiers alike.106 The depth of the regime’s deceit struck especially deep for the Portuguese colonizers, who in the latter years of colonialism had come to create a distinct identity, casting themselves apart from the peoples of the Portuguese metropole.107

106 This internal splintering – along with the power vacuum provoked by hasty Portuguese decampment from the territories – would ultimately sink Angola and Mozambique into decades-long brutal civil wars in the final decades of the twentieth century. The duration and viciousness that characterized the civil wars in both Angola and Mozambique were also results of the way in which both African territories were used as proxies for larger global conflicts of the late twentieth-century, witnessing massive foreign intervention in internal conflicts. Angola, for example, became a surrogate battleground during the Cold War for the Soviet Union and the United States. At one point, the Soviet Union, the United States, Cuba, and South Africa all were involved in the arming and financing of guerrilla warfare armies in Angola. 107 In saying this, the intention is not to excessively victimize the Portuguese colonizers in Africa. This was, after all, a population who in turn victimized and repressed the local African inhabitants of the territory on a daily basis. But perhaps it is fair to analyze the extent of the resentment which Portuguese colonizers harbored against the Salazar regime – a regime they felt had mishandled colonial administration, meddled excessively in their affairs, and ultimately treated them as nothing more than third-world refugees upon their return to the metropole.

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A fictionalized memoir written by Mozambican-born Portuguese author Isabela

Figueiredo entitled Cadernos de Memórias Coloniais recounts the turbulent years preceding and succeeding Portuguese decolonization in Africa. Figueiredo’s memoir is especially pertinent to the subject of this chapter because it recounts in vivid autobiographical form the disillusionment experienced by Portuguese colonizers upon becoming faced with the true lack of development which characterized their mother nation. When left to their own devices as small farmers, merchants, and tradesman in the

African territories, the colonists could be somewhat blissfully ignorant of the lagging development so evident in the Portuguese metropole. Few colonists traveled regularly to the metropole or to other colonies, so there was little basis for comparison. In their naiveté, the colonists imagined their leverage and privilege in Angolan and Mozambican territories akin to that enjoyed by white settlers in South Africa or Rhodesia.

Even throughout the worst of the Portuguese colonial wars, the colonists harbored a quiet hope that they would be successful in breaking free of the Portuguese metropole and creating an autonomous state of white rule similar to their southern neighbor South

Africa. Figueiredo recounts the general sentiment found among her fellow Mozambican colonizers upon learning of the 1974 revolution in the Portuguese metropole:

Tinha acontecido uma revolução na Metrópole... Era bom para nós?! Iam dar a independência às colónias? Ah, finalmente, África ia ser nossa! Finalmente, íamos deixar de pagar imposto aos cabrões da Metrópole! Agora, poderíamos prosperar e fazer da nossa terra uma Califórnia. Era isso que a nossa terra ia ser: a Califórnia. A Califórnia, mas como na África do Sul. Com os pretos debaixo da mão, controlados, ou não fariam nenhum. O 25 de Abril ia entregar África aos brancos, e depois íamos ser felizes (76-77).

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[A revolution had occurred in the metropole… Was it good for us?! Would they grant independence to the colonies? Ah, finally, Africa would be ours! Finally, we would be able to stop paying taxes to the thieves of the metropole! Now, we could prosper and turn our land into a California. This is what our land would become: California. California, but like South Africa. With the blacks in our grip, controlled. The 25th of April [revolution] would give Africa to the whites, and then we would be happy.]

When such independence was not achieved, and when Portuguese colonizers in

Mozambique and Angola were denied entry visas into their presumed “ally,” South

Africa, the extent of Portugal’s pariah status and underdevelopment in the international community finally became an unavoidable reality for the Portuguese colonizers.108 The only choice was to return to the Portuguese metropole, leaving behind a comparatively comfortable and privileged lifestyle and arriving in Lisbon empty-handed.

Perhaps some of the most significant accounts of Portugal’s lack of development in this period come from those offered by these ousted colonizers. It is telling that the former colonizers recount confronting a society much more conservative and less advanced than that left behind in the supposed “primitive” African continent. Isabela

Figueiredo, for example, recounts in her vivid narrative the culture shock she experienced upon alighting in Portugal for the first time as an adolescent.109 Figueiredo realized immediately that the metropole, far from being a driver of modernity, had fallen into a

108 Indeed, in terms of South Africa’s refusal to issue visas for Portuguese colonizers, underdevelopment – not high-minded morality – was the crux of the issue. South Africa worried little about the treatment of Africans under Salazar’s colonial regime, but did worry greatly about “importing” thousands of rural, impoverished Portuguese colonial refugees into its territory. 109 The fact that Figueiredo had never before set foot in the Portuguese metropole is not necessarily unusual. Although the Portuguese colonizers who returned to the metropole following decolonization are known as retornados [“returnees”], many did not so much return as they did discover Portugal for the first time. Notwithstanding hours spent in geography classes in African locales learning the rivers and the regions of Portugal, the real character and ambiance of the metropolis remained a mystery for many young colonists.

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state of economic, social, and political stagnation. Figueiredo describes her first reaction to the country:

A metrópole era suja, feia, pálida, gelada. Os portugueses da metrópole eram pequeninos de ideias, tão pequeninos e estúpidos e atrasados e alcoviteiros. Feios, cheios de cieiro, e pele de galinha, as extremidades do corpo rebentadas de frio e excesso de toucinho com couves. Que triste gente! (123).

[The metropole was dirty, ugly, pale, freezing. The Portuguese from the metropole were small-minded, so small-minded and stupid and backwards and meddlesome. Ugly, with cracked and sagging skin, with their bodies’ extremities gnarled from the cold and from an excess of lard with kale. What sad people!]

When recalling her first interactions with Portuguese people from the metropole,

Figueiredo is equally disparaging: “Tão feios, tão pobres de espírito esses portugueses que ficaram, esses portugueses de Portugal, curtidos de vinho do garrafão. Feios, sombrios, pobres, sem luz no rosto nem nas mãos. Pequenos” (123). [“So ugly, so poor in spirit were these Portuguese who stayed behind, these Portuguese from Portugal, who enjoyed wine straight from the jug. Ugly, somber, poor, never receiving light on their faces or their hands. Small.”]

Figueiredo’s narrative turns the stereotypical dichotomy of Europe as the

“enlightened continent” and Africa as the “dark continent” on its head. Indeed, her descriptions make frequent references to the paucity of light in the metropole, a literal observation but also a metaphorical allusion to the lack of erudition and sophistication encountered there. Figueiredo’s account of Portugal in the early 1970s reveals a country that has been bypassed by the age of enlightenment, left to fester in a squalid and

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illiterate darkness. The above-cited lines from Caderno de Memórias Coloniais are grim evidence of the way in which Portuguese anachronistic colonialism, supposedly maintained to aggrandize the metropole, in reality achieved precisely the opposite.

As has been chronicled in Chapter One, the Portuguese revolution of 1974 precipitated a democratic revolution which, after a decade of extreme political volatility, eventually set Portugal on track to become the eleventh member of the European

Community in 1986. Once again, sights were pinned to achieving modernization á la the

European standard, and once again that standard was subjectively crafted to fit the historical context and Portugal’s ambitions. Like a bad dream, the Portuguese administration wiped away memories of Portuguese colonialism and spoke of a new

Europe synonymous with democracy, the rule of law, and market liberalization. Europe, in sum, came to fill the void created upon the collapse of the former empire:

O nosso destino manifesto passou a ser oficialmente a EU, depois dos emigrantes portugueses terem apontado o caminho na década de 60. Se o passado era o ultramar, o futuro nacional passou a ser representado pela Europa. A Europa permite que Portugal não passe por uma crise de identidade com a perda das colónias (Leitão 208).

[Our manifest destiny officially became the EU, a path that the Portuguese emigrants had pointed to in the decade of the ‘60s. If the past was defined by the overseas territories, the future came to be represented by Europe. Europe is what ensures that Portugal does not experience an identity crisis upon losing its colonies.]

Thus, the existential crisis that followed the Portugal’s loss of its colonies in 1974 was once again solved by a turn to Europe for existential reassurance and for models of what the next phase in Portuguese domestic strategy should look like. By now, this has

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become a common refrain throughout this chapter. Reform-minded crusades occasioned by economic and existential crises and seeking to buttress development in Portugal have invariably looked to the near eastern and northern neighbors for inspiration.

The question that the preceding statement immediately provokes, then, is the following: Is Portugal’s current policy of reinvestment in Lusophone relations an exception to this rule?

Perhaps not as much as it might appear at first glance. Portugal is not unique in its desire to be proactive in the strengthening of a post-imperial network facilitating the movement of people, goods, and ideas between former metropole and former colonies.

The British former empire is now host to the Commonwealth;110 whereas, the institution of Francophonie has arisen from the ashes of the former French Empire. Indeed, seeing as the Commonwealth – an intergovernmental organization of 53 member states – was formally constituted in 1949, and modern Francophonie – integrating 57 member states – traces its origins to 1970, the Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries is a relative newcomer to the field of international networks built on the skeletons of former European empires.

Not only that, but the CPLP is a comparative lightweight in this field. Both the

Commonwealth and Francophonie are much larger, better integrated, and more powerful networks. The Commonwealth is host to a commanding trade association; it is estimated that “the cost of doing business within the Commonwealth is 20% lower than the cost

110 Mention of “the Commonwealth” in this dissertation is in reference to what is also known as the “Commonwealth of Nations,” or an aggregation of states – most of which were former territories of the British Empire – which have formed an intergovernmental consensus. This institution is not to be confused with the “Commonwealth realms,” or sixteen members of the Commonwealth who recognize the Queen of England as monarch. The majority of Commonwealth of Nations states have different persons as head of state, and thus have no legal obligation to Great Britain.

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outside” (“The Commonwealth: What Is It For?”). The Commonwealth and

Francophonie additionally both do much more than the CPLP in terms of promoting linguistic policies and development initiatives as well as incentivizing the movement of professionals through their networks. Granted, both the institutions frequently come under fire for inefficiency and disunity, and rightly so. Nonetheless, the argument still stands that, when compared with the CPLP, the Commonwealth and Francophonie are veritable models of good governance in international organizations.

It must also be mentioned that the Commonwealth and Francophonie enjoy much greater spending power than the CPLP: the Commonwealth’s 2012/2013 fiscal year budget was approximately 48.5 million pounds ($81 million) and Francophonie reported a budget of 81 million euros in 2010 ($108 million) (“Funding the CFTC”). Just the price tag of the 2014 Commonwealth Games held in Glasgow, for instance, came to over half a billion British pounds, an eye-watering amount for any international institution. By contrast, the CPLP had a budget of just over 2 million euros ($2.7 million) in 2012/2013, a 29% increase from the previous fiscal year (“Orçamento da CPLP vai subir em 29%”).

Because this discrepancy in budgetary robustness is so large, it is no great surprise that the CPLP is rarely mentioned in the same context as the Commonwealth and

Francophonie. Nevertheless, CPLP policy makers are keen on substantially augmenting the budget of the CPLP, and have asked the richer member states to increase their annual contributions such that individual member states contributions might begin to

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approximate those of the Commonwealth and Francophonie (J. Pinto, Personal

Interview).111

Perhaps, then, the CPLP is not such a departure from European models as might be previously assumed. Dr. Carlos Lopes, the prominent Bissau Guinean statesman who has been cited previously throughout this dissertation, is highly critical of all three postcolonial institutions. Dr. Lopes additionally asserts that Portugal’s actions within the

CPLP indicate a desire to emulate the roles that Britain and France exercise in their respective institutional spheres:

Portugal fica sempre marcado pelas associações de que quer fazer da CPLP o que a Grã-Bretanha, ou a França fizeram do Commonwealth ou a Francophonie. Em ambos os casos a liderança do país europeu âncora é indisputável, mas o mesmo é difícil de imaginar no espaço lusófono. A opinião pública portuguesa revela à luz do dia aspirações que ficam encobertas em negociações delicadas sobre protagonismos. Quer muitas vezes uma política de língua imperial, uma margem de influência que irrita muitos, por se tratar de uma lembrança do colonialismo tardio (140).

[Portugal is always influenced by the fact that it wishes to do with the CPLP what Britain, or France have done with the Commonwealth and with Francophonie. In both cases the leadership role undertaken by the European anchor is indisputable, but a similar configuration is difficult to imagine in the Lusophone space. Portuguese public opinion reveals aspirations which are often kept cloaked during delicate negotiations about protagonism [in the CPLP]. Portugal often desires an imperial language policy, a sort of influence that irritates many because it brings to mind memories of belated colonialism.]

111 Until now, the issue of the CPLP budget has been a delicate matter, as Portugal is loath to lose face in the organization when it emerges that the European nation has been eclipsed by Brazil and Angola in terms of financial contributions. An unwillingness to embarrass Portugal in this manner has led to a paucity of discussion around the need to canvas more funds for the CPLP general budget (J. Pinto, Personal Interview). Such delicacy will likely to come to an end if the CPLP wishes to increase its efficacy by any measure at all.

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Dr. Lopes’s assessment of the CPLP contains the rather uncomfortable suggestion that this post-imperial space might not differ terribly in some regards from the Portuguese imperial space. Both, suggests Dr. Lopes, were characterized by a certain tardy importation of popular European models. Once imported, these models are hastily tried on only to find that (much like the style of boot so criticized by Ega in Os Maias) the fit is not exactly as it should be. Are belatedness and underdevelopment forever destined to be concomitants of Lusophone relations?

In one regard, the answer may be yes. As mentioned previously in this dissertation, a lack of precedent in economic relations between Lusophone nations in the former Portuguese Empire has been carried over to the post-imperial sphere. The networks of trade and commerce that were set up by the British Empire, for example, are still being largely employed today for trade and commerce between Commonwealth countries. Clusters of development (such as those that Murade Murargy speaks about) that were forged under the yoke of British colonialism tend to still determine production nodes in former British territories, thus determining supply chains and transport routes as well. The same can be said for the former French Empire, albeit to a lesser degree. In this way, both the Commonwealth and Francophonie began with a head start when it came to creating networks and exchanges between the now-sovereign states. Underdevelopment of an economic network in the Lusophone sphere, on the other hand, has followed

Lusophone relations like a plague.

There is no denying that the CPLP feels somewhat threatened by the more imposing networks boasted by the Commonwealth and Francophonie. Indeed, providing a competitor to the two larger post-imperial linguistic communities was a rationale for

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creating the CPLP from the very beginning, as a 1996 interview given by Jamie Gama to

Diário de Notícias evidences. In the course of the interview, Gama remarked that a

Lusophone organization must come into existence for the mere reason that a counterweight was needed to balance the influence of the Commonwealth and

Francophonie (Gama, A Política Externa Portuguesa 1995-1999 245). Shortly after its founding, the CPLP made a notable effort to reach out and establish communications with its Anglophone and Francophone likenesses, most likely in an attempt to gain recognition (V. Santos, “Portugal, a CPLP e a Lusophonia” 76).

In some ways, relations between the three organizations suggest that imperial competition has been replaced by competition among post-imperial networks. As the weakest of the three, the CPLP struggles to maintain loyalty among a few of its members.

Mozambique, for example, is also a member of the Commonwealth, the result of a close historical bond with its neighbor to the south, South Africa.112 Cape Verde, and Guinea

Bissau, meanwhile, are members of Francophonie (V. Santos, “Portugal, a CPLP e a

Lusophonia” 76). In commenting on the competition that exists between the CPLP, the

Commonwealth, and Francophonie, Victor Marques dos Santos makes reference in an article published in Negócios Estrangeiros to what he terms the “Anglophone and

Francophone offensive” in Africa (“Portugal, a CPLP e a Lusofonia” 76). Santos claims that the CPLP has sought to stand its ground and combat this offensive by establishing a

Center for Portuguese Language and Lusophone Culture at the African Union headquarters in Addis Ababa (76).

112 Bilateral relations between Mozambique and South Africa have long been buttressed by the large number of Mozambican temporary and permanent workers who labor in South African mines. Relations gained a new formality in 2011, when a Bi-National Commission chaired by the respective Heads of State was created (“South Africa and Mozambique agree to elevate relations”).

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To a certain extent, this competitive spirit could be healthy for the CPLP, as it might force the institution to increase both its utility and internal cohesion in hopes of luring Mozambique, Cape Verde, and Guinea Bissau away from the grasp of its competitors. Indeed, the CPLP might even benefit from being the latest organization to join the trend of creating a post-imperial institutionalized network in that it has the luxury of learning from the mistakes already made by the Commonwealth and by Francophonie.

Tardiness to the club in this sense could be a bonus for the CPLP, but it will have to proceed judiciously and become a diligent student of practices and methods already tried by the other two institutions. Evidence, however, does not suggest that this is necessarily happening; the CPLP suffers the same woes that have plagued the Commonwealth for years. These woes primarily include, but are not limited to, an excess of sentimental rhetoric, a lack of real initiatives, and a tendency of the European state to assume an automatic position of authority. An inability to learn from the errors of its antecedents does not bode well for the future success of the CPLP, but it is never too late for a renewed evaluation of purpose and a fresh compilation of best practices.

The crux of this dissertation’s argument is that the mere fact that Portugal appears to be once again following a mainstream European trend is not problematic in and of itself. The problem would be for Portugal to fail to learn from the mistakes of those that came before it, or to import directly models from other post-imperial institutional networks without adapting them adequately to the specificities of the Lusophone realm.

There is no such thing as a one-size-fits-all solution when it comes to institutions and to international networks, for each linguistic community is ultimately as unique and specific as was its colonial predecessor.

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One principal distinguishing factor between the three networks, for example, is size and scope. Both the Commonwealth and Francophonie are stretched much thinner across the globe than the CPLP. This breadth has various benefits for the organizations – by providing for more robust budgets, for instance – but also has drawbacks. The mere size of the Commonwealth and Francophonie has tended to produce unwieldy institutions whose annual summits sometimes appear to be a large photo opportunity more than anything else. The more modest size of the CPLP allows for greater intimacy within the institution and for the smaller, less powerful states to exercise more agency.

CPLP administrators should bear in mind these crucial differences when assessing the merit of policies already tried by the Commonwealth and Francophonie, but these differences should not discourage them from importing the most successful – and conversely shunning the least successful – of these policies. Perhaps this is also a fitting interpretation of a comment made by a CPLP senior policy official that the CPLP should aim to “neither avoid nor exactly imitate” the Commonwealth and Francophonie. It might be suggested that all CPLP policy initiators would do well to clip a copy of the 2013 The

Economist article “The Commonwealth: What Is It For?” to their bulletin boards and internalize the critiques – as well as the select praises – aimed at the institution by the venerable current events magazine. Perhaps by undertaking such a method the CPLP could indeed progress beyond a mere imitator and become a model for success.

In one area, the CPLP has notably distinguished itself from its Anglophone and

Francophone cousins: no other post-imperial institutional network has worked quite so assiduously to brand itself the intermediary between Europe and the African, Asian, and

Latin American continents. Similarly, no other post-imperial institutional network has

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quite embraced a rhetoric of hybridity to the extent that the CPLP has. Britain and France are more content to rest on their laurels as European powerhouses; a privileged position that Portugal does not enjoy. As a result, and as discussed thoroughly in Chapter Three,

Portugal is attempting to carve out a niche for itself as an intercontinental interlocutor capable of initiating dialogue, orienting development initiatives, and generally facilitating constructive relations. In a curious manner, therefore, the hybrid self-image that Portugal has embraced of late seems to advance, not obstruct, Portugal’s quest for modernity.

This rhetoric of hybridity and self-professed position as intermediary might be nothing more than a passing trend. Indeed, nothing is more fashionable now in academic journals and social science disciplines than discussions about the growing importance of hybridity and malleability in an increasingly globalized world. But this rhetoric might also be evidence of a deeper understanding of the new tools needed to survive and prosper in an increasingly fragmented European Union. These new tools include an ability to interact and negotiate with the fastest growing regions of the world coupled with a flexible, quick-reacting, and outward-looking foreign policy. Additionally, this new rhetoric might signal a growing perception in Portugal that stature in the European

Union will increasingly depend upon each member state’s utility, tractability, and capacity to carve “niches” of expertise in the world, either in terms of policy area or regional influence.

Should it be true that a deeper understanding of the new tools required to survive and prosper in the European Union is indeed being explored by Portugal, and that furthermore this understanding is impacting Portugal’s relationship with the CPLP, then

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the future might be very bright indeed. Such a scenario would prove nothing less than the ideal union of Portugal’s European and Lusophone strategies.

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CONCLUSION

The contemporary nature of the subject of this dissertation has proved both challenging and stimulating. The institutions and the actors discussed throughout the last five chapters are not static; rather, they continue to forge new paths of diplomacy and self-realization as they navigate through a complex latticework of international relations and dependencies, and respond to external conditions. As this dissertation was being written, for example, historic events were underway at the 2014 CPLP summit held in

Dili, Timor-Leste. Observing that these events substantially altered the membership as well as the agenda of the institution, this dissertation will comment on them in this final chapter.

This concluding chapter will additionally contemplate and discuss some projections related to the future of the institution and to Portugal’s likely role in the CPLP in the coming years. This is a complicated task, as external circumstances are wont to change without forewarning and could precipitate unheralded changes in the CPLP itself.

The predictions made in this conclusion, however, are based upon a supposition that states are somewhat rational actors and therefore exhibit a degree of predictability in the choices they make when responding to challenges and opportunities.113 Hopefully, if

113 This supposition has origin in a strain of international theory branded “realism” and whose most notable theorists can be traced to Thucydides (History of the Peloponnesian War), Thomas Hobbes (Leviathan), Niccolò Machiavelli (The Prince), and, more recently, scholars such as Kenneth Waltz (Man, the State, and War) and John Mearsheimer (The Tragedy of Great Power Politics). Realism holds that, although the

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nothing else, this dissertation’s predictions will document a precise moment in the

CPLP’s historical trajectory and the options that were available during this singular snapshot in time.

The decision to focus on the CPLP and Portugal’s relationship with the CPLP in this conclusion is the result of two factors. First, significantly less scholarship is being produced on the CPLP than on the European Union. The EU’s every move is documented, analyzed, scrutinized, and dissected in the press and by political pundits and academics. In view of the existence of this volume of coverage and discussion, the decision was made to focus on a lesser-known organization, where material is still fresh and the ground untrammeled. The second rationale behind the focus of this conclusion is the simple fact that the CPLP is changing quickly, and substantially. Now is a fascinating time to engage with the institution and related literature in order to document these changes.

Ever-closer union

The first particularly pertinent question to be analyzed in this conclusion is as follows: is greater unification on the horizon for the Community of Portuguese-Speaking

Countries? The will is there on the part of CPLP policy makers, but the forging of an ever-closer union will also necessitate political cooperation on the part of heads of state and foreign ministers, smart policy choices, and greater involvement from respective

Lusophone civil societies. Only when the three levels of CPLP agents – CPLP policy

international system is intrinsically anarchic, states act rationally preferring some outcomes over others. In this way, states’ decisions are somewhat predictable at any given point, given enough contextual information is provided.

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makers, national government leaders, and civil societies – decide that it is time to strengthen the Community is it likely that a more unified union will become a reality.

One positive outcome of the 2014 Dili summit in this respect was that CPLP leaders took time to underscore the importance of the CPLP in supporting member states’ bids for positions within the United Nations, detailing each candidacy and drawing attention to the need for concerted campaigns of solidarity. Angola was mentioned as a potential rotating member of the UN Security Council; Portugal is placing a bid for a seat on the UN Human Rights Council; and Brazil is in the running for a remarkable five significant positions. These include the Economic and Social Council, the Organizational

Committee of the UN Peace Commission, the Commission for Women’s Rights, the

Human Rights Council, and re-election of José Graziano114 as Director-General of the

Food and Agriculture Organization (“X Conferência”).

If solidarity among Lusophone nations does indeed prove a consistently effective method for gaining seats in prestigious international bodies, then it will be much easier for CPLP policy makers to press the argument for a stronger Community. In such a scenario the desire of the minority (one state who wants to gain a seat in an international organization) will coincide with the desire of the majority (to create a more cohesive

Community capable of strong campaigning) and thus all parties involved will benefit from the results. Even states that are not in the running for an international position will

114 Unless a crisis or scandal transpires before the voting for FAO Director-General in July of 2015, José Graziano is likely to be re-elected. The American-born Brazilian agronomist first gained repute for his very successful oversight of President Lula’s Fome Zero [Zero Hunger] campaign, which aimed to reduce hunger and overall poverty in Brazil’s poorest regions. Graziano is the first Latin American ever to hold the position of Director-General of the FAO and enjoys widespread support for the direction in which he has taken the organization.

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see it in their best interest to support those who are, so as to be guaranteed reciprocal support in future nominations and future campaigns.

Increasing cooperation within the CPLP will require overcoming an old and familiar problem: Brazil’s nominal interest in the Community. Tragically, the Brazilian politician who appeared poised to become the CPLP’s greatest supporter was killed in the summer of 2014 while on the campaign trail. Eduardo Campos, ex-governor of the

Brazilian state of Pernambuco and presidential candidate for the PSB (Brazilian Socialist

Party), died suddenly and unexpectedly on August 13, 2014 when his small jet crashed during an attempted landing in Santos, Brazil.

In a personal interview given to Público newspaper in February of 2014, Campos iterated his vision of Portugal as an “open door” through which Brazil could reach the

European Union (Campos). A strong political and economic relationship with Europe was, for Campos, essential for Brazil’s continued growth: “Precisamos de uma maior integração com a EU e essa integração não se pode fazer por outra porta que não seja a porta que nos une à Europa, a porta histórica, a porta de uma relação muito querida pelos brasileiros que é a relação com Portugal” (Campos). [“We need greater integration with the EU and this integration cannot come about by way of any other portal than the portal that unites us with Europe, the historic portal, the portal of a relationship that is so dear to

Brazilians. This relationship is our relationship with Portugal.”]

In Campos’s eyes, a strengthened relationship with Portugal, however, needed to come about by way of a reinvigorated CPLP. He called upon both Brazil and Portugal to show a fresh commitment to the institution: “A CPLP precisa efetivamente de mais apoio. Precisa de Portugal e Brasil jogando juntos o jogo da integração desses países, na

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troca de experiências, no apoio multilateral, na troca de pesquisa (investigação científica) de formação de pessoas” (Campos). [“The CPLP needs more support. It needs Portugal and Brazil to combine forces to better integrate the two countries, trade experiences, work with multilateral partners, and share research (scientific investigations) and scholars.”]

The upcoming Brazilian presidential elections of October 2014 might be decisive in determining just how committed Brazil is to the CPLP over the course of the next few years. Eduardo Campos has been the only candidate to speak publicly while on the campaign trail about the Community. Campos’s replacement, Marina Silva, might very well choose to mirror her predecessor’s enthusiasm about strengthened Lusophone relations. On the other hand, should current Brazilian President Dilma Rousseff win re- election, Brazilian support for the CPLP most likely will not be so strong. It is a telling indication of President Rousseff’s lack of commitment to the institution that she opted not to attend the 2014 Dili Summit, even though summit organizers had taken pains to schedule the proceedings so as not to coincide with the 2014 World Cup held in Brazil.

Dilma’s absence – which, according to the Brazilian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, was due to a last-minute scheduling conflict – was a blow to the CPLP administration and placed in doubt Brazil’s commitment to the institution’s newest roadmap (N. Ribeiro, “Dilma

Rousseff ausente da cimeira”).

The central question that will demand the attention of the next Brazilian president

– whoever it may be – will be how to revive the Brazilian economy. Figures just released from the Instituto Brasileiro de Geografia e Estatística [Brazilian Institute of Geography and Statistics] show that the economy contracted by .6% in the last quarter and thus

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formally entered a recession (defined by two consecutive periods of economic retraction).

(“GDP falls (-0.6%)”). A BBC article commenting on the recent economic figures reports that the current economic data is more pessimistic than expected and will most likely be influential in the way voters cast their votes in the 2014 elections (“Brazil’s economy falls into recession”). Eduardo Velho, chief economist at investment firm INVX Global in São Paulo, is quoted as saying, “This recession shows the exhaustion of a growth model that has been centered on internal consumption” (qtd. in “Brazil’s economy falls into recession”). Should this be the case, then Brazil might soon look to energize its exports so as to be less dependent on internal consumers. Although it is too soon to guess which markets Brazil will elect for its exports, there is a good chance that some of those markets will be in Africa. This fact might lead Brazil to contemplate revitalizing relations within the CPLP and using the institution as a conduit to reach Angolan, Mozambican, and Equatorial Guinean markets. In this scenario, even President Rousseff would be pressured into investing more time and resources in the institution.

Political cooperation: Privileges, not rights

During the 2014 Dili summit, CPLP representatives applauded the positive steps towards the restitution of democracy taken in Guinea Bissau. The African state – whose suspension from CPLP meetings has formally ended – was commended for carrying out successful elections and beginning a tentative return to constitutional order. General elections were held in the country on April 13, 2014, followed by a second round of presidential elections on May 18, 2014. Notwithstanding the year-long postponement of the elections, they were remarkably peaceful and included notably high electoral

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participation by women and youth. José Mário Vaz from the political party PAIGC claimed victory, and the losing candidates gracefully stepped aside to allow President

Vaz to assume his rightful presidency (“X Conferência”).

The CPLP congratulated itself on contributing to the successful elections by providing Guinea Bissau with election observers, polling stations, and ballot counters.

Dr. Carlos de Alves Moura, the appointed CPLP Special Representative to Guinea Bissau who oversaw the election observation mission, was requested to stay an extra six months in-country to monitor a post-election stabilization period. This period will see the implementation of an Urgency Program devised by President Vaz and intended to normalize life in the beleaguered state as quickly as possible (“X Conferência”).

The agency that the CPLP ultimately wielded in bringing about the recent elections in Guinea Bissau is debatable. But the symbolic importance of the effort demonstrated by the CPLP and the show of solidarity extended to the new President and his cabinet following the elections is significant. The CPLP did well in using a seat at the negotiating table as both a stick and a carrot for Guinea Bissau; the Community suspended the country from attending meetings following the 2012 military-led coup, and only restored full privileges when it was clear that democratic elections were going to take place (“Guiné: CPLP pede sanções”).

This episode demonstrates how earning a seat at the CPLP negotiating table can potentially be viewed as a privilege, as opposed to a right, of Lusophone countries.

Similarly, campaigns of solidarity to support member states that look to occupy certain seats in international organizations should not be expected, but rather earned. The CPLP would do well to be adamant in the expectations it holds for member states in terms of

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transparent government, rule of law, and democratic elections. The higher the bar is set internally by the CPLP, the higher the Community will likely ultimately be regarded by other international bodies.

The most significant challenge the CPLP may face in terms of political and diplomatic cooperation in the coming years is likely to be posed by Timor-Leste. As reported in an article published on August 30, 2014 by The Economist magazine, although Timorese Prime Minister Xanana Gusmão initially expressed his intention to step down from his post in September of 2014, there are indications that he will remain in power for another term, meanwhile reshuffling and downsizing his large cabinet of ministers. Gusmão’s likely decision is in part a result of his popularity. The 68-year-old statesman was once a leader of the armed resistance against Indonesian occupation and remains a symbol for all Timorese of their bitterly-fought independence. Gusmão is also a unifying figure in the country. During his time in the Presidency, he was instrumental in restoring peace and unity to the country following a dangerous episode in 2006 when the island nation almost descended into civil war (“Banyan”).

But there is another reason why Xanana Gusmão might opt to stay in office until he reaches his term limit in 2017: there are indications that a change in government right now could be disastrous for the politically precarious nation. Timor-Leste is a complex nation marked by regional tension. Independence in 2002 provided for a semblance of unity in the country, but this was short-lived. Gusmão, as a father figure for the nation, is as important symbolically as he is strategically to Timor-Leste (“Banyan”). José Ramos

Horta, former President and Prime Minister of Timor-Leste, has admitted that the new generation of politicians “lack national authority,” partly the result of a culture where

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“age means wisdom” (qtd. in “Banyan”). Aside from the devotion showed towards

Gusmão, the Timorese public in general harbors a deep distrust of their politicians, who notably have a very poor record when it comes to corruption and embezzlement. In the aforementioned The Economist magazine article, it was estimated that roughly half of government spending in Timor-Leste disappears in graft (“Banyan”).

The CPLP could play a positive role in assuring the long-term political stability of

Timor-Leste. Inclusion of the island nation in the Community in 2002 was a notably pivotal moment in the nation’s history and Timor-Leste takes it duties in the institution very seriously. This country has displayed remarkable dedication to the CPLP’s campaign to restore democratic order to Guinea Bissau, even contributing from its meager resources to a special fund set up for the campaign (“CPLP, empenhada na estabilidade da Guiné-Bissau”). Successfully hosting the 2014 summit in Dili was another show of dedication by Timor-Leste, who prepared assiduously for the occasion.

Seeing as Timor-Leste takes its role in the CPLP so seriously, the CPLP owes it to the nation to lend as much support as it can to ensure a seamless transition when Gusmão does step down from his post as prime minister. It would be smart for the CPLP to begin preparations now for coordinating an election observation mission, as well bolstering development initiatives in the country. Playing a part in providing for economic growth, sound and steady development, and continued democratic governance in Timor-Leste would be a significant victory for the CPLP.

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Stronger economic policy

As the CPLP has hitherto employed a relatively disjointed strategy of policy prioritization and implementation, it is hard to distinguish overarching trends in terms of policy orientation for the institution. There is one significant trend, however, that can be singled out and is noticeably growing momentum in the CPLP: efforts to strengthen the

Community’s economic component. To do so, CPLP policy has become increasingly oriented towards collectively bolstering the private sector in national economies and increasing trade between member states. This has been a common refrain of Executive

Secretary Murade Murargy, who often speaks in interviews about the need focus commerce in clusters that bring together similar strategic sectors in CPLP member states

(Murargy, “Com a língua portuguesa” 25). At the 2014 Dili Summit, a substantial amount of conference time was dedicated to a discussion concerning the need for the CPLP to formulate a coherent strategy regarding economic and entrepreneurial cooperation. This strategy, agreed the summit attendees, would address how to facilitate business investment as well as how to render CPLP member states more competitive in a global environment (“X Conferência”).

There appears to be increased dialogue across the Lusophone world centered on the importance creating a strong economic base for the institution. One example would be

Salimo Abdula, Mozambican president of the Entrepreneurial Confederation of the

CPLP, who announced in February of 2014 that it was time for CPLP economic cooperation to draw abreast of the more dynamic political and diplomatic cooperation.

For this to happen, emphasized Salimo, CPLP member states need to forge a common economic policy that capitalizes on member states’ abundant natural resources while

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increasing communication between states to create production chains and take full advantage of regional market competitiveness (Baptista).

Meanwhile, Timorese Prime Minister Xanana Gusmão has pledged to keep economic and entrepreneurial cooperation the focus of his country’s two-year term in the

CPLP presidency. Gusmão has expressed particular interest in encouraging entrepreneurial projects between and in member states that stimulate the private sector

(“Xanana Gusmão quer maior dinamização económica”). Seeing as Timor-Leste has yet to assert true economic autonomy in the world, it is not surprising that Gusmão is hoping to capitalize on his nation’s stint in the Community’s presidency to jumpstart the enlargement of the private sector in Timor-Leste and bring attention to the need for dynamic economies in the CPLP’s weakest states.

CPLP Director-General Georgina Mello believes that a lagging economic policy has been the result of poor communication between member states and a lack of initial funding to get projects off the ground. As stated by Mello, “A comunicação entre a procura de um país e a oferta do outro é fundamental, porque há necessidades que são gritantes nuns sítios e noutro país que sabe disto há excedentes nessa área... é preciso é comunicarem uns com os outros” (qtd. in Baptista). [“Communication between demand in a country and supply in another is fundamental, because there are stark needs in some areas whereas in another country there might be excess in this same area… it is necessary that the states communicate with one another.”]

Both Salimo Abula and Georgina Mello agree that the free movement of peoples between CPLP nations would potentially give a common economic policy just the injection of energy and dynamism it needs. Both are also, however, notably vague when

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discussing just how the CPLP might manage to do away with immigration barriers without running afoul of the EU and Mercosul. Mello stated in a February 2014 interview that finding a way to circumvent the laws of regional organizations in this area was: “um desafio, não é um problema, e só depende da sensibilidade política” (qtd. in Baptista).

[“A challenge, it is not a problem, and it only depends on political sensibility.”] Such confidence is certainly appealing to Lusophone audiences, but the fact that neither Mello nor Abdula (nor any other senior CPLP policy maker, for that matter) has yet to come up with a concrete policy proposal that addresses the issue hints that allowing for the free movement of peoples within the CPLP may, in fact, be more difficult than anyone is willing to admit.

Mello is more realistic about the impossibility of competing with powerful regional organizations in terms of trade and industry. She speaks of avoiding direct confrontation with regional economies and instead forging a margin where a “parallel economy” can be construed; an economy which will: “Traz grandes oportunidades, porque, se se conseguir conciliar os dois espaços, cria-se uma ponte que permite às empresas da CPLP aceder a este espaço regional que não seria o seu espaço próprio...”

(qtd. in Baptista). [“Bring great opportunities, because, if CPLP states manage to reconcile these two spaces, they can create a bridge that will allow CPLP businesses access to alternate regional spaces that are not necessarily their own…”] Indeed, this is exactly what PALOP nations and Brazil are hoping to accomplish through the CPLP vis-

à-vis the European continent: use Portugal as a bridge by which they can access EU markets.

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Salimo Abdula, for his part, foresees a bright future for the economic integration of the CPLP. The young Mozambican entrepreneur is relentless in his optimistic predictions for the future of the institution:

Temos condições, fomos abençoados, temos recursos naturais de grande dimensão descobertos nos últimos dez anos, temos mão-de- obra jovem, e, se nos posicionarmos como deve ser, levando a tecnologia necessária para dar mais-valias às nossas riquezas naturais onde elas existem, podemos transformar a CPLP numa estrela a nível mundial, fazendo o nosso PIB subir para 10% do total mundial daqui a dez ou 15 anos” (qtd. in Baptista).

[We have the conditions, we were blessed, we have natural resources on a big scale that were discovered in the past ten years, we have a young workforce, and, if we position ourselves as we should, bringing the necessary technology to add value to our natural resources, we can transform the CPLP into a star on a global level. We can raise our GDP to 10% of the world’s total in ten or fifteen years.]

Salimo is correct in emphasizing the abundance of natural resources with which the majority of CPLP member states is blessed. Unfortunately, however, history has shown that natural resources – even those of the most profitable sort, as will be discussed shortly – do not in and of themselves guarantee a stable economic footing, sustained economic growth, or the equal distribution of national wealth within a given population.

Some of the world’s most economically depressed countries are rich in natural resources, and the opposite also holds true. Safely and sustainably exploiting and exporting natural resources takes careful government planning and high levels of internal organization. The safe and sustainable exploitation and exportation of natural resources additionally takes moderation; economic plans that are construed with an eye to long-term development and investment instead of for immediate gain.

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Unfortunately, many CPLP nations are lacking in this department. As explained by Fareed Zakaria in his book The Future of Freedom: Illiberal Democracy at Home and

Abroad, in states where there exists a democratic deficit or high levels of official corruption, governments do not worry unduly about re-election or about maintaining credibility, and thus are prone to approach economic development from a short-term perspective. Personal enrichment and kick-backs are rife in these environments, so there is a real and immediate incentive for undemocratic or corrupt leaders to gather as much wealth as quickly as possible through the exploitation of natural resources. In such situations, little heed is paid to the long-term health of the environment and society as a whole.

The result in these scenarios is that wealth generated by natural resources does not necessarily enrich a state as a whole, but instead lines the pockets of those in power.

While state GDP might rise in the aggregate, the wealth becomes less evenly distributed and living standards among the poorer sectors of society actually drop as a result of price increases. When this situation transpires, the “young workforce” that Abdula points to becomes a liability instead of an asset, for lagging economic growth, depressed wages, and a growing working-age population typically leads to higher unemployment and greater civil unrest (Zakaria).

The lesson to be learned here is that CPLP policies promoting economic growth and commerce by taking full advantage of member states’ natural resources must be coupled with CPLP policies promoting good governance. Incentives for trade and mutual cooperation should be coupled with requirements placed upon governments to reinvest a portion of accrued capital in programs benefitting civil society. For example, a certain

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percentage of wealth generated from trade between Lusophone countries could be earmarked for certain CPLP-created or CPLP-sanctioned initiatives that are geared towards the improvement of education, health care, job training, etc. Such a scheme would have the added benefit of raising awareness about the Community within

Lusophone nations and prove that the Community is, in fact, capable of producing tangible benefits for civil societies. On the flipside, the CPLP ought to come down hard on governments that are caught benefitting unduly from wealth created as a result of inter-CPLP commerce, trade, or industry. Governments lacking in transparency or who fail to maintain sound bookkeeping could be temporarily excluded from common economic initiatives.

Additionally, any public-sector initiative to stimulate economic growth within the

CPLP might be coupled with private-sector involvement. The surest way to permit a civil society to prosper and citizens to lead fulfilling, productive lives – even those civil societies living under less-than-transparent regimes – is to provide the conditions that allow for private sector development. Private sector development empowers citizens by allowing them a way to take control of their own employment and futures, circumventing burdensome or irrelevant governmental controls. The private sector is notoriously more flexible, dynamic, and efficient than the public sector. In this regard, Murade Murargy and Xanana Gusmão are right on track with their visions for stimulating entrepreneurial activity within CPLP member states. Both Murargy and Gusmão speak of constructing initiatives that connect entrepreneurs in the Lusophone world, allowing them to share best practices and create synergies amongst themselves.

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The vision of Murargy and Gusmão could hardly be more apropos for the

Community at this moment. The CPLP currently is a top-heavy institution that suffers from a lack of involvement from civil societies. Government-led initiatives will only reinforce this existing bias. What the CPLP could do instead is to inspire the most talented citizens within member states and provide them the means – through micro- grants, for instance, or small business investments – by which they can expand and exercise their ideas. Special attention could be paid to entrepreneurs whose work has the potential to benefit societies as a whole, especially in the areas of education and health.

Connecting the private sectors of Lusophone countries will do much more for Lusophone relations and the image of the CPLP than connecting the public sectors.

In order to emphasize that public-private business relations need not necessarily be adversarial, the CPLP could explore the promising field of public-private partnerships.

Public-private partnerships combine the ingenuity and flexibility of the private sector with the funding capabilities of the public sector, and have the added benefit of improving relations between the two. Development initiatives in Lusophone countries, for example, could be carried out through the marriage of public projects with private companies leading the way in project development and implementation. Such a scheme could potentially improve transparency and efficiency in the public sector while stimulating growth in the private sector.

When writing about the future of economic relations in the CPLP, it is impossible not to mention the elephant in the room: the growing wealth of many CPLP nations as a result of oil and natural gas resources. The sheer amount of money that revolves around

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the exploitation of oil and natural gas resources has the potential to dramatically alter the balance of power and outlook for the CPLP as it is currently understood.

The making of a petro-union

Expect for economic relations in the CPLP to revolve increasingly around the exploration and exploitation of petroleum and natural gas, both on-shore and off-shore.

The concentration of oil resources in CPLP member states is staggering: 50% of petroleum resources discovered in the world in the last decade were found in Lusophone states. Together, Angola, Brazil, Guinea Bissau, Mozambique, and São Tomé and

Príncipe produce 30% of the world’s stock of hydrocarbons, the same percentage produced by the entire Middle East region. These figures do not even take into account the oil and natural gas resources of Equatorial Guinea, the third-largest oil-producing state south of the Sahara (N. Ribeiro “O mundo mudou”).

Indeed, the entrance of Equatorial Guinea to the Community signifies a shifting of the make-up and of the priorities of the Community itself. As is argued later in this conclusion, the autocratic West African state with a dismal record in human rights would likely never have been admitted if it did not boast considerable petroleum resources.

António José Teixeira writes in a sarcastic Expresso op-ed published on July 25, 2014 that the entrance of this new member state changes the whole orientation of the

Community:

Já muito se escreveu em Portugal sobre a velha Comunidade de Países de Língua Portuguesa. Escreveu-se menos sobre a nova Comunidade de Países com Ligação ao Petróleo. Ambas

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respondem por CPLP. Um morreu ontem, depois de 18 anos de retórica. A outra está aí, prometendo muitos anos de mais-valias. Faz toda a diferença.

[Much has been written in Portugal about the old Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries. Less has been written about the new Community of Countries with Connections to Petroleum. Both go by CPLP. One died yesterday, after 18 years of rhetoric. The other is there, promising many more years of capital gain. It makes all the difference.]

All of the above means that future economic cooperation in the CPLP is likely to be closely linked to oil and gas extraction and exportation. Timor-Leste is spearheading efforts to unite member states in a petroleum consortium. The impoverished Asian nation is keen to capitalize on its potential as an oil-exporting nation, but does not currently have either the funds or the technical know-how to carry out oil extraction, principally in its potentially abundant but difficult-to-reach offshore fields (N. Ribeiro “O mundo mudou”). At the 2014 summit in Dili, Timor-Leste announced the creation of a technical group to study potential oil and gas exploitation in CPLP countries, beginning with the exploration of off-shore drilling in Timor-Leste (“X Conferência”). In February of 2014,

Timor-Leste and São Tomé and Príncipe entered into talks about the creation of consortium within the CPLP that would conduct feasibility studies related to on-shore oil exploitation in Timor-Leste (“São Tomé e Timor-Leste estudam criação de consórcio”).

This new economic dimension that has been added to the Community has the potential to drastically change the way the institution works and the balance of power that currently reigns. When the CPLP was founded in 1996, Portugal’s legitimacy was at an all-time high as a result of the end of the Cold War and the emerging strength of the

European Union as a political, economic, and moral global example. The CPLP was not

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built with a base of economic resources, but rather with a visionary and moralistic base: a community laboring to turn a (mostly negative) shared history into a (mostly positive) shared future.

But oil wealth has the power to change this orientation. Should CPLP member states decide it is in their best interest to form an oil-producing consortium, or to work in concert to promote the lucrative export of oil-derived products from their shores, then the money earned from this enterprise will trump all else in the Community. Curiously, two of the principal tendencies of the CPLP that have been thoroughly criticized throughout this dissertation – Portugal’s perceived “logical” role as leader of the Community and an exaggerated emphasis on brotherhood and historic solidarity – have the potential to be extinguished in one fell swoop.

Firstly, bereft of significant oil or natural gas resources, Portugal is bound to lose primacy in the organization. Nuno Ribeiro argues in a Público article entitled “O mundo mudou e a CPLP está a mudar” [“The world changed and the CPLP is changing”] that such a loss of primacy is already being witnessed. Ribeiro points to the fact that when

Equatorial Guinea’s President Obiang hired a private Portuguese language tutor, he chose a Brazilian for the task. Even Portugal’s moral legitimacy has suffered, victim of a crisis of faith in the model of the European Union. Secondly, when CPLP countries can be joined by common goals related to the export of the world’s most valuable commodity, what need is there to talk about brotherhood and historic solidarity? In the words of

Ribeiro as written in the aforementioned Público article:

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Os tempos de hoje são outros. A globalização desgastou a imagem atractiva de Portugal, a Europe está em crise e afirmaram-se novas dinâmicas regionais. A trajectória dos países da CPLP é disso prova inequívoca. Procuram o seu lugar em novos equilíbrios regionais... Os interesses em jogo ultrapassam a realidade de 1996 e introduzem uma dimensão económica nunca sonhada aquando da constituição da CPLP... Os antigos chefes da diplomacia portuguesa não desconhecem também o que implica este novo salto. A língua, o português, como único vector identitário, já não convencia os sete parceiros de Portugal. Do mesmo modo, era-lhes insuficiente, mesmo confuso e paternalista, o discurso nostálgico de uma certa saudade da relação metrópole/colónia (“O mundo mudou”).

[Today, the context is different. Globalization has corroded the attractive image of Portugal, Europe is in crisis, and new regional dynamics are asserting themselves… The interests in play today go beyond the reality of 1996 and introduce a new economic dimension that could not have been imagined at the time of the creation of the CPLP… The former leaders of Portuguese diplomacy are not unaware of what these new developments imply. The Portuguese language, as a sole vector of identity, no longer is convincing to Portugal’s seven partners. In the same way, the discourse about certain nostalgia for the relationship between metropole and colony seems insufficient, confusing, and paternalistic.]

Lamentably, oil wealth is not the precipitator for change in the CPLP that might have been optimistically envisioned. It is an undeniable certainty that the rapid accumulation of oil wealth does little to contribute to good democratic governance; in fact, it often leads in precisely the opposite direction by lining greedy autocrats’ pockets and ensuring corrupt government officials insulation from the needs and demands of their populaces. It is also an undeniable certainty that rapid accumulation of oil wealth does not lead to income equality in states. Many of the world’s largest oil-producing states –

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Nigeria, Angola, and Equatorial Guinea included – are also the most unequal. While oil revenues do benefit populations as a whole, they benefit a small segment of the population exponentially more than the vast remainder of the population, meaning that income inequalities actually grow larger as the state prospers (Zakaria). The result is that real developmental improvements in CPLP nations, or improvements in areas such as education, public health, agricultural modernization, economic diversification, and so on, will most likely be largely ignored in the years to come if economic cooperation comes to revolve around petroleum extraction and exportation.

There is no guarantee that economic cooperation will come to rest on the exploitation of oil and natural gas, but those who argue that petroleum resources will enjoy preeminence in the CPLP’s future have a solid argument in their favor: the recent accession of oil-rich Equatorial Guinea to the Community.

The newest member

On July 24, 2014, Guinea Equatorial was admitted by “general consensus” as the ninth member of the CPLP. The reaction to this development among member state civil societies has been mixed. Rui Machete, Portuguese Minister of Foreign Affairs, gave indications last winter that he knew the entrance of Equatorial Guinea into the CPLP would be highly unpopular in Portugal. During a parliamentary meeting of the

Portuguese Commission of Foreign Affairs in early February of 2014, Machete was challenged by Bloco da Esquerda (“Left Block”) deputy Pedro Filipe Soares to clarify what his vote on the entrance of Equatorial Guinea would be (“Machete sugere”).

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Machete’s response to Soares seemed to indicate that Portugal’s contrary position on Equatorial Guinea’s candidacy had not wavered. Machete admitted that it would be impossible for the West African state to substantially alter its language policy overnight.

Machete also commented on the substantial time any real governmental reforms would necessitate, saying: “Neste momento, está longe de obedecer aos parâmetros democráticos, todos sabemos isso” (“Machete sugere”). [“At this moment, it is far from obeying democratic parameters, we all know this.”]

Machete’s cautionary responses were perhaps playing up to a fresh wave of protest in Portugal against the admission of Equatorial Guinea to the CPLP. Portuguese

European Parliamentarian Ana Gomes had made a formal request on the very same day to the European Union to reject the 133.5 million euros that Equatorial Guinea was trying to inject into Banif, on the grounds that the country was trying to buy its way into the

CPLP.115 The previous day, a group of Portuguese researchers and associations submitted to Timorese Prime Minister Xanana Gusmão an open letter entreating the CPLP to firmly veto Equatorial Guinea’s petition for membership on the grounds of the state’s disrespect for democratic principles and human rights (“Machete sugere”).

Notwithstanding a desire to please his audience, Rui Machete ultimately held his cards close to his chest during the length of the Commission’s questioning. The Foreign

Minister refused to offer a concrete answer as to what his vote would be, instead insisting that the time had not yet come for Portugal to issue a firm decision. What’s more,

Machete emphasized the fact that the verdict on Equatorial Guinea would be collective

115 In the end, Equatorial Guinea was successful in injecting over 133 million euros (or 11% of the market value) in Banif, a state-owned Portuguese international financial services group, in February of 2014. The President of Banif is Luís Amado, former Minister of Foreign Affairs under the Socialist Party (PS) (“Bloco associa possível entrada da Guiné Equatorial”).

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and that Portugal would not dare to be “detentor de um direito de veto pelo absoluto”

(“Machete sugere”). [“Owner of the exclusive right to an absolute veto.”] These seemingly cautious phrases were forewarning of what would transpire over the coming months.

The upshot of Portugal’s eventual concession to the rest of the CPLP countries was that, on July 24, 2014, at the event of the biennial CPLP summit in Dili, the

Ministers of Foreign Affairs of CPLP nations handed a recommendation to the gathered heads of state supporting the entrance of Equatorial Guinea to the organization (“X

Conferência”). Although the heads of state still needed to reach consensus on the issue, the die was already cast. Any backtracking by a nation now would hint at internal dissension between a state’s foreign minister and head of state. There were initial reports of an “intense debate” on the issue being raised by Portugal, but the speed by which consensus was reached signifies that debate may have been merely procedural or ceremonial (“CPLP recomenda por unanimidade”).

It is interesting how the rhetoric used by the participants in the summit pointedly aims to stress the consensual nature of the decision and play down its controversial history. A source from the Brazilian delegation related to news agency Lusa that the member states of the CPLP “decidiram incorporar” [“decided to incorporate”] Equatorial

Guinea into the Community by way of “uma formação de uma opinião geral” [“the formulation of a general opinion”] (qtd. in “Guiné Equatorial já é membro”). Tellingly, the heads of state assembled at the summit opted not to take an official vote on the matter and instead reached what they deemed a verbal but binding “consensus” (“CPLP recomenda por unanimidade”). António José Teixeira, director of Portuguese news

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agency SIC Notícias, wrote a scathing op-ed in Expresso newspaper criticizing the way the “consensus” was downplayed. To quote Teixeira:

Afinal, havia consenso. Evitou-se assim a maçada de termos de votar a favor ou, quem sabe, de nos abstermos. Até o imprevisto de se chamar para a mesa quem ainda parecia não ter sido admitido foi bem pensado. Foi a prova provada de que não é preciso admitir quem já está admitido, não é preciso votar a admissão de quem já entrou em casa. Organização sofisticada, rápida e prática.

[In the end, there was a consensus reached. [Portugal] avoided thus the hassle of having to vote in favor of, or, who knows, abstain from voting. Even the unforeseen act of calling to the discussion [Equatorial Guinea], who seemed to not yet be admitted, was well thought out. It was proof that it is not necessary to admit who is already admitted, it is not necessary to vote on the admission of who is already in their own house. The organization is sophisticated, quick, and practical.]

Teixeira stops short of calling Portugal cowardly for tiptoeing around the official protocol typically associated with the entrance of a new member, but this is clearly the direction where his diatribe is headed. Following the summit, Portuguese leaders were notably taciturn and reluctant to talk in depth about the important decision made. Rui

Machete simply remarked blandly at the time that, “Portugal se sente à vontade com esta decisão” [“Portugal feels comfortable with this decision”], a sentiment that was clearly not shared by Portuguese civil society (N. Ribeiro, “Ministros dos Negócios

Estrangeiros”).

A closer look at the context of the decision, however, leads to doubt that the

Portuguese government felt entirely “comfortable” with its eventual acquiescence to the rest of the CPLP member states. Having resisted the entry of Equatorial Guinea into the

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institution since 2010, and with no real change in Equatorial Guinea’s government, human rights record, or status in the international community, it seems unlikely that

Portugal suddenly saw the country as fit to join the Community in the summer of 2014.

The reforms put into place by the dictatorial regime – and required as “entry criteria” to the CPLP – were, as explained below, merely ceremonial and without real substance.

What is more likely is that Portugal was worn down by institutional pressure and capitulated to the group. Perhaps there were incentives – or favors – for Portugal to do so, but such would be hard to concretely prove at such an early date.116 Even CPLP

Executive Secretary Murade Murargy appeared to place considerable pressure on

Portugal in the months preceding the Dili Summit. In an interview with Nuno Ribeiro and

João Manuel Rocha from Público newspaper in early July, Murargy asserted that continued Portuguese resistance to Equatorial Guinea’s accession would create general ill feelings in the Community (N. Ribeiro and Rocha). That Portugal was pressured into a

“yes” vote is the conclusion reached by Pedro Krupenski, president of the Platform for

Developmental NGOs, a consortium of NGOs based in Lisbon. In an interview given in

March of 2014, Krupenski stated:

A tendência geral era que todos eram favoráveis à entrada, incluindo Timor-Leste. Portugal manteve-se firme na defesa dos valores e ficou isolado mas Portugal já não tem o peso que teve na CPLP. Brasil e Angola são os países com que mais dinheiro contribuem para a CPLP. Esta decisão de aceitar a entrada de um novo membro tem de ser tomada por unanimidade, e Portugal estará numa posição em que tem que ceder. Além disso, acredito

116 The controversial timing of Equatorial Guinea’s investment in Banif – a bank in which the Portuguese government holds considerable shares – provides ammunition to those who claim that a favorable Portuguese vote was “bought” by the West African state (“Bloco associa possível entrada da Guiné Equatorial”).

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que Portugal estará a receber benefícios dessa cedência (Krupenski).

[The general tendency was for the states, including Timor-Leste, to react favorably towards Equatorial Guinea’s entrance. Only Portugal stayed firm in defending its values and thus remained isolated. Now, however, Portugal does not have the influence that it once had in the CPLP. Brazil and Angola are the biggest contributors to the CPLP. The decision to accept a new member must be made unanimously, and Portugal was put into a position wherein it had to yield. Moreover, I believe that Portugal will receive benefits as a result of its yielding.]

If Krupenski is correct in ascertaining that Portugal’s “yielding” is in part the result of declining influence within the CPLP, and in asserting that influence within the institution is largely tied to budgetary contributions, then the outlook is not rosy for

Portugal’s CPLP delegation. With Equatorial Guinea now an official member, Angola will have an ally in an oil-rich state with money to throw around. Moreover, the fact that the Portuguese economy has become extremely reliant on Angolan investment renders the nation very sensitive to Luanda’s whims and desires, even in the ambit of a larger international organization. A public disagreement between the Angolan administration and the Portuguese administration in the fall of 2013,117 which led to Angola’s President

José Eduardo dos Santos unilaterally proclaiming an end to Angola’s strategic partnership with Portugal, demonstrated to policymakers in Lisbon just how costly a

117 The disagreement was sparked when reports of Portuguese corruption investigations of high-level Angolan officials were made public in the Portuguese media. The administration in Luanda reacted with indignation and President José Eduardo dos Santos made a very public announcement stating that, “Só com Portugal, as coisas não estão bem. Têm surgido imcompreensões ao nível da cúpula e o clima político actual, reinante nessa relação, não aconselha à construção da parceira estratégica antes anunciada” (qtd. in Cordeiro, Henriques and Rodrigues). [“Only with Portugal, things are not going well. Misunderstandings on a summit level have arisen and the current political climate does not lend itself to the construction of the strategic partnership that was earlier announced.”] Such was the disquiet in Portugal following this statement that Foreign Affairs Minister Rui Machete immediately issued a prompt apology (apparently disregarding the fact that the investigations were entirely legitimate) in a live interview on the Angolan National Radio. Although Machete was criticized for his rapid surrender, the apology might well have saved Portugal great losses in the withdrawal of Angolan investments (“Jornal de Angola diz”)

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fallout with the West African oil-rich nation could be. Portugal’s “symbolic” centrality in the organization – best exemplified by the Lisbon headquarters – may not account for much when it comes to real policy decisions.

The benefits for Equatorial Guinea in joining the CPLP are evident: the country is badly in need of international legitimacy, if nothing else so that it might avoid costly sanctions against the export of its oil. A seat at the CPLP table would provide Equatorial

Guinea a pretense for the exact sort of “image laundering” that it currently seeks. Above all, international isolation is what Equatorial Guinea fears the most. Because of this, international isolation is plausibly the only situation which could bring about regime change in Equatorial Guinea, which since 1979 has been headed by the corrupt and abusive regime of the autocratic Teodoro Nguema Obiang. Isolation would cut off the only source of revenue that President Obiang has – profitable exports – and thus put extreme pressure on the regime. As little to none of the revenues garnered from petroleum exports finds its way back into the hands of the Equatorial Guinean populace as it is,118 such pressure from sanctions and imposed isolation would do little to increase the suffering of the population.

On the basis of the findings from the research discussed in this dissertation, therefore, it appears likely that the CPLP is in fact propping up a regime that it purports to censure. If Equatorial Guinea were indeed a historically Lusophone state then the issue would be different, and the state would most likely be treated in the same way as Guinea

Bissau was treated following the 2012 coup: an underlying current of Lusophone

118 Equatorial Guinea is the richest Sub-Saharan African nation, with an income per capita of $35,000, equal to that of Great Britain. Despite this fact, 78% of the population continues to live below the poverty line. Not surprisingly, income disparity in Equatorial Guinea is one of the largest in the world (N. Ribeiro, “O mundo mudou”).

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solidarity would render the state a development “project” of sorts for the CPLP, who could collaborate with international partners to sanction bad behavior while encouraging good behavior. But as neither a historically Lusophone state nor a state whose governmental and economic practices are considered laudable by international bodies or humanitarian watchdogs, Equatorial Guinea comes off as nothing more than an opportunist looking to capitalize on the frailty of the CPLP to gain a toehold in an international organization. That the CPLP should allow its stated values to be flaunted in such a way is disappointing.

It has been the consistent argument of the CPLP that its motive in accepting

Equatorial Guinea into the organization has been to promote reforms in that country. But the CPLP has set the bar for entry too low, and in doing so made a farce of this argument.

The supposed reforms carried out by Equatorial Guinea to gain entrance to the

Community have been superficial at best. The promotion of the Portuguese language has been effected in a series of hastily cobbled together executive reforms which basically force the language onto an unwilling populace. Equatorial Guinean diplomat Agapito

Mba Mokuy announced triumphantly in February of 2014 that the state’s Constitution would shortly be amended to declare Portuguese the third official national language (N.

Ribeiro, “Ministros dos Negócios Estrangeiros”).

If the CPLP wants to encourage promotion of the Portuguese language, there are perhaps more prudent ways to do this than to coerce an unwilling foreign population to suddenly adopt Portuguese as a second – or third – language. In the case of Equatorial

Guinea, the state was only accepted into the CPLP after showing that reforms had been taken to promote the diffusion of Portuguese as a national language. Such reforms

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included the introduction of Portuguese into national primary and secondary school curriculums, the creation of cultural centers working in Portuguese in national universities, and special Portuguese language training programs for diplomats and high government officials (N. Ribeiro, “CPLP decide”).

The absurdity of such measures hardly needs to be pointed out. Here is a foreign population with hither-to no exposure to the Portuguese language, suddenly expected to adopt the foreign tongue as its own so that its government may join a yet scarcely-known international organization. To the end of supporting policies that promote the diffusion of the Portuguese language worldwide, perhaps the CPLP could focus its energies in other areas. At the grassroots level, for example, the CPLP could devote more energy to literacy campaigns in its most impoverished member states (Timor-Leste had the lowest literacy rate in the CPLP, with a mere 58.3% of adults fully literate (“At a glance: Timor-

Leste”)). At a higher institutional level, the CPLP could redouble its efforts to make

Portuguese an official language of the United Nations,119 a campaign that was introduced by the Plano de Ação de Brasília para a Promoção, a Difusão e a Projeção da Língua

Portuguesa [Plan of Action of Brasilia for the Promotion, Diffusion, and Projection of the Portuguese Language] back in 2010, but which has seen few results.

In light of Equatorial Guinea’s unwillingness to outlaw the death penalty – a second fundamental and supposed iron-clad condition of the CPLP – the CPLP quickly relaxed the condition and decided to allow for the death penalty to continue to be practiced within the state’s military units (“Machete sugere”). What’s more, according to

119 Current official languages of the United Nations are Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian, and Spanish. These languages are considered “languages of documentation,” meaning all reports and official documents are translated into the languages. The two working languages of the United Nations are English and French.

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reporting by Nuno Ribeiro in a Público article published on February 20, 2014, the fine print of Equatorial Guinea’s reform states that the death penalty is merely suspended and not truly abolished (“Ministros dos Negócios Estrangeiros”).120 Rather than encourage real and lasting changes in Equatorial Guinea, the accession conditions instead evidence the desperation of CPLP member states to cloak Equatorial Guinea’s entrance in a shroud of legitimacy and usher in the oil-producing state as quickly as possible without causing too many waves among Lusophone civil societies. This is lamentable.

Might it have even been preferable for the CPLP to allow Equatorial Guinea entrance into the Community without imposing any preconditions? An answer in the affirmative is worth considering for, by choosing to establish a few supposedly non- negotiable preconditions and then falling over itself to applaud the rogue state when it goes through the motions of pretending to satisfy these preconditions, the CPLP has publicly allowed Equatorial Guinea to make a mockery of itself and of the values that it claims to uphold. Executive Secretary Murade Murargy doesn’t even try to defend

Equatorial Guinea’s record of poor governance and human rights abuses, instead contending that no CPLP country has the right to cast judgment upon the newest member, as “violações de direitos humanos há em todo o lado” (qtd. in N. Ribeiro and Rocha).

[“There are violations of human rights everywhere.”] Murargy lapses further into unhelpful relativity in a July 6, 2014 interview given to Público newspaper, asserting:

120 If the death penalty has really been suspended at all is actually up for debate. Ana Lúcia Sá, researcher in the center for African Studies at ISCTE-IUL (Social Sciences Institute at the University of Lisbon) reported that in the two weeks after the Ministers of Foreign Affairs formal recommendation of Equatorial Guinea for accession, nine civilians were “summarily executed” (qtd. in Rocha). This report was confirmed on March 27, 2014 by Amnesty International (“Passos Coelho: CPLP deve evitar”).

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Ninguém tem a folha limpa, ao fim e ao cabo. Todos nós estamos a construir a nossa democracia... Quando se fala de folha limpa não vamos esperar que todos os guineenses falem português. Há coisas que ainda têm de se aperfeiçoar na introdução do sistema democrático. O mesmo se passa connosco, os nossos países também estão em aprendizagem (qtd. in N. Ribeiro and Rocha).

In the end, nobody starts with a clean sheet. We are all constructing our democracies… When one speaks of a clean sheet we are not going to expect that all Equatorial Guineans speak Portuguese. There are things that still have to be perfected in the introduction of a democratic system. The same is true for us [the CPLP]; our countries are still learning.

When Murargy has exhausted his argument that Equatorial Guinea is no more tainted than any other nation in the CPLP – or the world, for that matter – he transitions into a tactic of responsibility avoidance. When questioned by reporters about the lack of contact between the CPLP and Equatorial Guinean civil society (and between Equatorial

Guinea’s leaders and civil society, for that matter), Murargy tersely responded that contact with civil society is not a part of the CPLP’s “roadmap” and branded the disconnect between rulers and ruled in the country an “internal problem” (N. Ribeiro and

Rocha).

Murargy’s logic is flawed in many ways. Equatorial Guinea does struggle, as other CPLP states have struggled and will continue to struggle, with good leadership. The state that Murargy most often equates Equatorial Guinea with is Guinea Bissau. But in the case of Guinea Bissau, the CPLP always worked actively with other international bodies to punish the coup leaders and to support elements of Bissau Guinean society who could restore democracy to the state. The CPLP immediately revoked the privilege to partake in CPLP summits and meetings from military coup leaders and insisted on a

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restoration to power of exiled Carlos Gomes Júnior and Raimundo Pereira (“Guiné:

CPLP pede sanções”). Such a position, it might be recalled, was the basis of the friction that arose between the CPLP and the Economic Community of West African States

(ECOWAS). In the case of Equatorial Guinea, on the other hand, the CPLP is deliberately supporting a brutal dictatorship.

Murargy is also incorrect in playing down the extent of the human rights violations reported in the West African state. A variety of human rights organizations have labeled President Obiang and his predecessor Francisco Macias Nguema two of the worst abusers of human rights on the African continent (“Equatorial Guinea profile”).

The United States’ Department of State produced a Human Rights Report in 2011 on

Equatorial Guinea, where it listed as the areas in which human rights abuses were significant:

… a disregard for the rule of law and due process; denial of basic political rights including freedom of speech and press; widespread official corruption; inability of citizens to change their government; arbitrary arrest, detention, and incommunicado detention; poor conditions in prisons and detention facilities; harassment and deportation of foreign residents with limited due process; constraints on judicial independence; official corruption at all levels of government; restrictions on the right to privacy; restrictions on freedoms of assembly, association, and movement; violence and discrimination against women; trafficking in persons; discrimination against ethnic minorities; and restrictions on labor rights (2011 Human Rights Reports: Equatorial Guinea).

The list is exhaustive. Worse yet, the report additionally concluded that, “The government does not take steps to prosecute or punish officials who committed human

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rights abuses and itself committed such acts with impunity” (2011 Human Rights

Reports: Equatorial Guinea).

Since seizing power in 1979 in a coup, President Obiang has yet to preside over a credible election (World Report 2014: Equatorial Guinea). According to BBC’s country profile of Equatorial Guinea, Transparency International has repeatedly placed the state among the top 12 most corrupt states in the past few years. Transparency in the state is nonexistent: President Obiang refuses to disclose oil revenues, deeming these figures a

“state secret.” Oil proceeds go only to the richest citizens. Despite having the fastest growing economy in the world in 2004, the country still ranks close to the bottom of the

UN human development index. According to the UN, 20% of children in the state die before reaching five years of age and less than half of the population lacks access to clean drinking water (“Equatorial Guinea profile”). Human Rights Watch concludes that the

“dictatorship under President Obiang has used an oil boom to entrench and enrich itself further at the expense of the country’s people” (qtd. in “Equatorial Guinea profile”).

As the ensuing discussion will suggest, the cost of allowing Equatorial Guinea to take a seat as the ninth member of the CPLP has been a hard blow to the legitimacy of the institution. Criticism from abroad and from inside Portugal began pouring in even before the summit in Dili was convened.121

In an infamous open letter to Portuguese Prime Minister Pedro Passos Coelho sent some five months before the Dili summit, exiled Equatorial Guinean politician Samuel

121 Not all of this criticism, it must be noted, is without hypocrisy. The United States in particular is guilty of coddling President Obiang and further propping up his regime. In 2004, it was revealed through a US Senate investigation that President Obiang’s family had received considerable sums from US oil companies including Exxon Mobil and Amerada Hess. Even American politicians pander to the dictator: in 2006, Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice called President Obiang a “good friend” and in 2013 President Barack Obama posed for an official photograph with the President (“Equatorial Guinea profile”).

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Mba Mombe122 warned of the repercussions that would accompany accession – such as a perceived “double morality” on the part of CPLP member states. Mombe’s letter accused

Portugal of helping to prop up a veritable tyrannical state: “Supreende que Portugal, que já sofreu na própria carne os impactos de uma ditadura e que recebeu o apoio e solidariedade de outros Estados, seja hoje o defensor de uma cruel ditadura que sequestra, assassina, prende, tortura” (qtd. in Rocha). [“It is surprising that Portugal, who already suffered in its own flesh the impacts of a dictatorship and which received the aid and solidarity of other states, should today be the defender of a cruel dictatorship which kidnaps, assassinates, detains, and tortures.”]

On the 25th of July, 2014, only one day after the official consensus was reached to allow Equatorial Guinea to join the CPLP, the Portuguese Platform for Development

Non-Governmental Organizations – a private non-profit association whose membership includes the vast majority of Portuguese development-related NGOs – announced that it was suspending its status as observer and consultant of the CPLP. In a letter addressed to the Executive Secretary of the institution, the Platform expressed its disappointment at the entry of Equatorial Guinea, a country which it believes regularly violates the founding principles and statutes of the CPLP, such as peace, democracy, rule of law, respect for human rights, and social justice. The letter from the Platform, which suggested that

Equatorial Guinea’s oil wealth was the determining factor in the consensus reached, concluded resolutely: “A CPLP não é – nem pode converter-se – num clube de negócios, em que os interesses estritamente económicos de uma elite se sobrepõem aos direitos humanos e à dignidade de muitos” (“ONG portuguesas”). [“The CPLP is not – nor can it

122 Samuel Mba Mombe formed part of the National Alliance for Democratic Restoration party, which constituted the principal opposition group during the reign of dictator Francisco Macías Nguema (1968- 1979) (Rocha).

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turn into – a business club wherein elite interests that are strictly economic trump human rights and the dignity of many.”]

This move by the Portuguese Platform for Development Non-Governmental

Organizations was met with immediate and resounding approval by the exiled Equatorial

Guinean opposition movement, the Coalition for the Restitution of a State of Law

(CORED). CORED labeled the Platform’s decision “brave” and called upon other states and civil society groups to join a movement of protest against Equatorial Guinea’s new seat (“Oposição da Guiné Equatorial no exílio”). Exactly what will transpire as a result of this call to protest is yet unknown.

Further expansion

There may very well be additional nations who seek to join the CPLP in the coming years, both as permanent members and observer states.123 This is especially likely if the CPLP is successful in implementing a promising trade policy between member states and further relaxing freedom of movement for member state citizens. These measures would encourage states that neighbor existing CPLP countries to seriously consider the benefits of linking themselves to the CPLP network. New member states could add significant value to the CPLP and enrich the institution by bringing diversified

123 Interest in aligning with the CPLP as an Associated Observer has certainly grown: at the Dili summit the countries of Georgia, Namibia, Turkey, and Japan were granted observer status (“X Conferência”). As related in Chapter Four, there were previously only three states with observer status in the CPLP: Equatorial Guinea, Mauritius, and Senegal. Associated observers do not have the right to a vote in CPLP decisions, but can attend summits and meetings. According to an article in ANGOP (Agência Angola Press), a source from the CPLP Executive Secretariat explained that Namibia was granted observer status due to the large Angolan community within the country. Turkey and Georgia, meanwhile, were allowed to join as observers due to their “interest to develop new cultures and existing similarities to some identity traces like the cuisine, particularly regarding Portugal” ("Portugal: Dili Summit to confirm new CPLP observers"). The last admitted observer state, Japan, justified its interest in the CPLP by alluding to the historical ties between Brazil and Japan ("Portugal: Dili Summit to confirm new CPLP observers").

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economies and resources, fresh allies, and new trade networks. By allowing Equatorial

Guinea to join as a member enjoying full rights and privileges in the institution only after the state established Portuguese as an official state language and drew up plans for the promotion and diffusion of the Portuguese language within the country, however, the

CPLP has set a dangerous precedent in relation to potential Community enlargement.

The precedent set with the accession of Equatorial Guinea shows that the CPLP will seriously consider states whose leaders are willing to pay lip service to internal reforms and take authoritative action to unilaterally establish a new official language in their state, regardless of whether or not that language has any historic precedent or apparent usefulness. The number of states who are willing to take such an authoritative action are limited; the number of appealing, democratically-governed, transparent states who are willing to follow suit is all but nonexistent. In admitting Equatorial Guinea, has the CPLP has proven that it is disposed to open its doors to states who have little regard for the rule of law and are willing to intervene in their national constitutions without consulting their citizenry? If so, this could be the beginning of an unattractive institutional precedent.

This fact seems to be overlooked by those who jubilantly welcomed Equatorial

Guinea to the club in July of 2014. Pedro Passos Coelho, current Portuguese Prime

Minister, defended the CPLP’s decision by insisting that the institution had to move beyond its “static vision” of its own identity and embrace other member states. According to a Público newspaper article, during an official dinner hosted on March 26, 2014 by the

Mozambican President Armando Guebuzo, Passos Coelho returned to this line of argumentation, explaining: “Não podemos ter uma visão estática dessa comunidade. Ela

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não pode ser uma comunidade voltada para o passado, tem de estar voltada para o futuro, e não pode, portanto, ficar centrada naqueles que a fundaram e constituíram” (qtd. in

“Passos Coelho: CPLP deve evitar”). [“We cannot have a static vision of this community.

It cannot be a community oriented towards the past. It must be oriented towards the future, and cannot, therefore, remain focused solely on those who founded it and currently constitute it.”]

Besides considerably restricting the entrance of new members, the CPLP has placed itself in another unenviable position as a result of the decisions taken during the

Dili summit. The fact that a state such as Equatorial Guinea now counts itself as a full

CPLP member renders the institution much less appealing to other more image-conscious states. It is possible that there will be few heads of state who will want to be photographed seated across the table from President Obiang in an intimate conference setting. States will justifiably be nervous about being accused of intending only to capitalize on Equatorial Guinea’s oil wealth, should they try to follow the state in applying for CPLP membership.

If Passos Coelho – among others such as Murade Murargy, Xanana Gusmão,

Salimo Abula and Georgina Mello, to name a few – are truly of the opinion that a new vision based on an expanding and dynamic community is needed, then the savviest choice to make would be to revise the CPLP founding statues which state that all community members must have Portuguese established as an official state language. This would avoid further confusion and superficial Portuguese language mandates in candidate states. It might not, for example, be a bad idea to selectively allow in new members based

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on historic social and economic ties (such is the reason why Mozambique was admitted into the Commonwealth) and value-adding potential.

Enlargement, however, should only take place after rigorous reforms are put into place in the CPLP in order to shore up political and economic cooperation, enhance institutional capacity, and increase inner stability of the organization. If the CPLP can follow a prescription of reforms first, enlargement later, then it can be assured to attract appealing candidate member states who will further boost the image of the institution.

Enlargement should be a positive by-product of successful reform, and not vice-versa.

Where Portugal stands

As this dissertation has primarily concerned itself with Portugal’s role in the middle of a complex nexus of European and Lusophone international relations, and as this conclusion is concerned with the future of the CPLP, it is apropos that the penultimate section of this conclusion should provide a few insights on what Portugal’s future vis-à-vis the CPLP might conceivably look like.

There are incentives for Portugal to encourage the strengthening of the CPLP in the coming decade. If the institution in the past decade and a half has played an important role in providing Portugal with an “escape hatch” through which Portuguese exports and migrants can pass, there are no signs that this role will be exhausted any time soon.

Although Portugal occupies a mere .86% of CPLP combined territory and houses

4% of the CPLP’s population (“Portugal é o mais integrado”), a recent set of data obtained by Público from the United Nations manifests that Portugal is the country most

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reliant on other CPLP member states for trade. Portuguese balance of trade with all CPLP countries except Brazil is positive, allowing Portugal to maintain an overall positive trade balance of .1%. Angola remains Portugal’s largest CPLP trading partner, receiving 4 billion dollars of Portuguese products every year and exporting only a little over 2 billion dollars of goods annually to Portugal (“Portugal é o mais integrado”).

What’s more, Portugal is also the only CPLP member state that has been for a few consecutive years in a recession and holds the largest amount of public debt – valued in

2013 at an untenable 127% of GDP (“Portugal é o mais integrado”). According to the

Central Intelligence Agency’s World Factbook (2013), this makes Portugal the sixth most publically indebted country in the world, preceded only by Japan, Zimbabwe, Greece,

Italy, and Iceland. By contrast, the United States’s public debt as a percentage of GDP stands at 71.8%, the United Kingdom at 91%, and Germany at 79.9% (“Country

Comparison: Public Debt”). Besides the implementation of ambitious reforms to increase competitively in the labor market and industrial productivity, Portugal is also in need of creditors, investors, and stable markets for exports.

It is becoming increasingly clear that the European Union is, for the time being, entirely unable to provide any of the above. In the second quarter of the 2014 fiscal year, the three biggest European economies appeared feeble at best. Italy’s economy fell into recession; French GDP was flat; and even Germany suffered decreasing output (“The euro zone”). The European Union is experiencing a veritable economic growth crisis that places once more the future of the euro currency in peril. This weakness at the center of the EU means that Southern European states who are emerging from devastating years of

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unemployment and European Central Bank-funded bailouts are unable to rely on a strong central European economy to fuel their own exports and growth.

What this situation reveals is that Portugal’s economic recovery is somewhat dependent on the strength of the relationships that it can maintain with other Lusophone nations. Angola, Brazil, and Mozambique in particular are key partners for Portugal and help alleviate financial woes by investing in Portuguese companies and providing jobs to

Portugal’s young and unemployed. Portugal is also wise to continue to look to alternative markets and partners in trade that are beyond the borders of Europe.

Of course, the fact that Portugal has much to gain from closer economic ties with a strong CPLP and conversely much to lose from weaker ties with a feeble CPLP places the country in a rather vulnerable position of dependence on the Community. This vulnerability was all too obvious during the discussions on Equatorial Guinean accession at the Dili summit. It is likely that similar shows of vulnerability and dependence will become more frequent over the coming years as Portugal’s financial contribution to the

CPLP pales in comparison with that of Angola, Brazil, Mozambique, and now Equatorial

Guinea.

Final observations

This dissertation is the product of a persisting scholarly curiosity about contemporary international relations as analyzed from a Portuguese perspective. In the great jigsaw puzzle that is today’s international system, it has continuously probed and queried where Portugal fits in the various networks of official and unofficial allegiances.

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Portugal is often overlooked by contemporary scholars of European relations, who tend to focus either on the “big players” of Europe such as Germany, Italy, France, the United

Kingdom, and even Spain (which attracts attention as a result of its contentious regionalism), or on fractious smaller states such as those to be found in the Balkan

Peninsula. Portugal, however, is a compelling object of study in its own sense: it is a country that truly lies at the crossroads of numerous regional spheres of interest and international alliances.

Two complimentary tracks have run throughout this dissertation: the literary track and the international relations track. As remarked on in the introduction to this work, the blending of these two angles was purposeful and intended to provide as well-rounded and comprehensive a view of the subject as possible. More often than not, an approximation of the “truth” (or “truths”) in any given situation requires a gradual chipping away at external layers of evidence and commentary from a variety of angles. This process might be likened to the practice of calculus: to approximate the area under a curve, a variety of

“integrals,” or rectangles, are first imagined under that curve. The more rectangles can be imagined and measured, the more accurate the final calculation. Theoretically, an infinite number of rectangles would produce a perfectly accurate answer. In the view of this dissertation, the literary works included only aid in approximating tentative conclusions to the principal questions asked by providing unique and differentiated perspectives to the topic at hand. Hopefully, future students of Lusophone relations might derive some benefit from the methodology adopted in this dissertation by exploring both literature and international relations as conduits to drawing conclusions.

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A long-standing fascination with that which is hard to define – by slippery, transgressive, hybrid entities that by their very nature elude categorization and evade classification – has further inspired the writing of this dissertation. Portugal, that diminutive seafaring nation which is firmly attached to the European continent and yet has never been quite European enough, enthralls with its ambiguity. Looking at a map, one notices that Portugal’s Atlantic coastline bears an uncanny resemblance to a human profile, turned not towards the European continent but instead out across the Atlantic

Ocean to rest its gaze upon foreign continents. This nation, which has for centuries fought to distinguish itself from Europe by declaring itself master of far-flung lands, remains at the same time fundamentally dependent upon the European continent and inherently in awe of European “modernity.” The ebb and flow of this dependence corresponds with the ebb and flow of confidence within the Portuguese nation related to overseas conquests and a distinct identity. Perhaps avowed renouncement and dependency, then, are in fact two sides of the very same coin.

This dissertation is also the product of another deep and abiding personal conviction: a conviction in the power of international institutions to unite disparate countries and ultimately aid in the deliverance of greater global peace and prosperity.

This analysis of international relations is partly inspired by a realist’s perspective: this dissertation embarks from the conviction that the international system is intrinsically anarchic. Unlike true realists, however, it does not hold that states are the only actors, that security need be every state’s principal goal, or that power and force are the only tools states can or do use to maintain security.

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A true realist’s perspective fails to take into account the power of institutions, which are as much individual actors in the international system as are states. In this sense, this dissertation adheres to the view put forth by theoreticians of political liberalism124: that cooperation in the otherwise anarchic international milieu can be forged by healthy, effective institutions. This is true even when dealing with states that might initially hold conflicting interests. Institutions have a few tools at their disposal when attempting to reconcile conflicting interests. They necessitate repeated interactions between states, enforcing present cooperation for the sake of future well-being. They additionally mandate communication between member states and instill a tradition of reciprocity.

And, finally, institutions have the means by which to punish defectors.

By using these various tools, institutions are able to elevate state goals beyond mere personal security. Institutions can establish common goals such as economic prosperity, human rights, environmental activism, public health, democratic governance, and so on. Indeed, it is through multilateral institutions that the greatest strides in all of the above-cited areas have been made in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. It is true that international institutions can be messy, fractious, and inefficient behemoths. But they are the only real solution that anyone has to collectively solving the globe’s greatest challenges. Without international institutions, the world would devolve into a realist’s

124 A further word on political liberalism: Political liberalism (not to be confused with classical liberalism) debates the basic assumptions of realism, contending that although the international system is anarchic, states are not the only actors in the system, but instead share influence with international organizations and institutions. Liberalists additionally assert that security is not necessarily every state’s main goal, and that force and power are not the sole tools used by states to achieve their national ends. Liberalists argue instead that cooperation is possible in the international arena through the skilled use of economic interdependence, reliance on the conciliatory abilities of international organizations, institutions, and treaties, and the increased use of soft power in solving international disputes. Contemporary influential political liberalists who have influenced this dissertation are: Bruce Russett (“A Community of Peace: Democracy, Interdependence, and International Organization”), Henry Farber and Joane Gowa (“Polities and Peace”), and Joseph Schumpeter (Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy).

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vision of a perennially conflictual milieu composed of defensive, self-interested individual states.

Although cooperation can be forged by international institutions – even when member states’ individual interests are not in complete harmony with one another – there is an important precondition to this statement: institutions must be sufficiently robust so as to provide incentives for states to declare their allegiance to them. In the end, states must feel as if the sum of benefits provided by an institution is greater than the sum of disadvantages or liabilities presented by that same institution. If this is true, then they will be willing to compromise on certain issues so as to remain a member in good standing. If this is not true, defection will occur.

All international institutions are created with the aspiration to eventually offer tangible benefits to their constituents. A leap of faith is required at the outset; without this leap of faith, some of today’s most venerable institutions – such as the United Nations, the International Monetary Fund, or the World Health Organization – would not be in existence. Once the initial leap of faith is taken, and once an institution proves itself worthy of committed membership, then the road ahead is much easier, because states have an underlying incentive to play by the rules established by the organization.

The Community of Portuguese-Speaking Countries has taken its leap of faith, but now it needs to stay true to its original promises. The institution has yet to prove itself an effective organization and its initial grace period wherein ineffectiveness was easily forgiven is coming to an end. Unless the CPLP can prove that it is capable of transforming itself into a robust institution and of providing tangible benefits, not just empty rhetoric, defection will be likely. And unless the Community of Portuguese-

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Speaking Countries can learn how to carve a niche for itself in the international community, abetting rather than antagonizing larger players such as the European Union, it will forever remain sidelined and insignificant. True cooperation between Lusophone countries will be hard to come by. But the dividends of effective cooperation will quickly outweigh the costs.

The intention of this dissertation was not to offer a comprehensive prescription for the CPLP as it continues to grow and to learn its place in the world as a multilateral institution. Neither was the intention to engage in prediction-making or a post-mortem regarding the future of the organization. Rather, this scholarly work has sought to elucidate the tangible and intangible benefits – as well as liabilities – that this single institution has produced and can produce for Portugal, and in doing so, has hinted at the optimum trajectory for the nascent Community. This dissertation has consistently probed the points of intersection between the CPLP and the EU in order to shed light upon how

Portugal might profit from these points of intersection.

In the end, this dissertation is essentially a case study that revolves around a single

European nation and its medley of overlapping international allegiances. This case study proves without a shadow of doubt that developments, discourses, and disputations in

Portugal show a dynamism and evidence that nothing has remained static, at least since

1974. If there is any concluding statement that might hopefully be ingrained in the minds of readers, it would be this dissertation’s belief that both the Community of Portuguese-

Speaking Countries and the European Union can prove valuable and indeed complementary companions to Portugal as the country continues to mature and realize itself in the twenty-first century. This will take dexterous diplomacy on the part of

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Portuguese statesmen to effectively balance Lusophone commitments with European commitments and to consistently focus on the long-term good of the nation. Portugal’s task is not, and has never been, to choose between Europeanism and lusophonia; rather,

Portugal’s task is to reconcile the two milieus, availing itself of the very best that both have to offer and casting itself bravely into the future as the paragon of an inclusive, savvy, and global-minded nation of the twenty-first century.

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