Creating and Opposing Empire

Focusing on the Portuguese empire, this book examines colonial press issued
in “metropolitan” spaces and in colonies, disclosing dissonant narratives and
problematizations of colonial empires.
This book is a venture of the International Group for Studies of Colonial Periodical
Press of the Portuguese Empire (IGSCP-PE), which also invests in comparative
studies and conceptual discussions. This book analyses representations of the empire
at colonial press published in “metropolitan” spaces and in colonies. By joining
these spaces in the same analytic look, it explores different problematizations of
colonial empires. The diversity of angles discloses why a decolonized, democratic
understanding of the world modulated by modern colonial empires needs to navigate
the seas of dissonant narratives of community, nation, and empire. The book deals
with the ideas that in their complexity and dynamism, until late in the twentieth
century, were moulded in the game between the cultural context of representations
and the universality of concepts. The studies range from approaches to international
exhibitions, metropolitan press, colonial models, missionary press, literary discourses,
colonial and postcolonial press, constructing the “Others”, anticolonial press,
democracy, dictatorship, censorship, colonial prison’s press, among other themes. Its
primordial focus on the Portuguese empire introduces perspectives rarely included in
international discussions on colonial and imperial press histories.
This book is essential for scholars and students in media studies, modern history,
cultural studies, literary studies, and political science.

Adelaide Vieira Machado is Researcher at CHAM, FCSH, Universidade NOVA de

Lisboa. A PhD in history and theory of ideas, she has co-promoted the birth of
IGSCP-PE. She has published several books, chapters, and articles on contemporary
history and press studies and is currently focused on colonial intellectual and
liberation movements’ press.

Isadora de Ataíde Fonesca is Assistant Professor and Researcher at the Faculty of

Human Sciences, Universidade Católica Portuguesa, and Member of IGSCP-PE. Her
main areas of study are press and media studies; the relations between popular culture
and ideology; the dynamics between journalism and political regimes in Europe and
Portuguese-speaking countries.

Robert S. Newman has taught anthropology and education in Australia, at La Trobe

University among other institutions. He has published extensively on Goa and worked
as an independent scholar since leaving Australia. He sees Goa as an intrinsic part of
Indian civilization with a unique past.

Sandra Ataíde Lobo is Researcher at CHAM, FCSH, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa,

and has a PhD in history and theory of ideas. She has co-promoted the birth of
IGSCP-PE. Among other interests, she works on press and intellectual histories with
particular focus in Goa and Portugal, colonialism and anti-colonialism, literature and
politics, internationalism, cosmopolitan historiography.
Routledge Studies in Cultural History

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Creating and Opposing Empire

The Role of the Colonial

Periodical Press

Edited by
Adelaide Vieira Machado,
Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca,
Robert S. Newman and
Sandra Ataíde Lobo
First published 2023
by Routledge
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and by Routledge
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Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2023 Taylor & Francis
The right of Adelaide Vieira Machado, Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca,
Robert S. Newman and Sandra Ataíde Lobo to be identified as the
authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual
chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the
Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced
or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other
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or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and
explanation without intent to infringe.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Machado, Adelaide Vieira, editor. | Fonesca, Isadora De Ataíde,
editor. | Newman, R. S. (Robert Samuel), 1943– editor. | Lobo, Sandra
Ataíde, editor. | International Group for Studies of Colonial Periodical
Press of the Portuguese Empire sponsoring body.
Title: Creating and opposing empire : the role of the colonial periodical
press / edited by Adelaide Vieira Machado, Isadora de Ataíde Fonesca,
Robert S. Newman, Sandra Ataíde Lobo.
Description: New York : Routledge, 2023. | Series: Routledge studies in
cultural history | Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2022013340 (print) | LCCN 2022013341 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780367244040 (hardback) | ISBN 9781032335612 (paperback) |
ISBN 9780429282270 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Portugal—Colonies—Press coverage. | Portuguese—
Foreign countries—Press coverage. | National characteristics,
Portuguese—Press coverage. | Portugal—Colonies—History—
19th century. | Portugal—Colonies—History—20th century. |
Imperialism—Press coverage.
Classification: LCC JV4211 C74 2023 (print) | LCC JV4211 (ebook) |
DDC 325.3469—dc23/eng/20220602
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022013340
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022013341
ISBN: 978-0-367-24404-0 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-1-032-33561-2 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-0-429-28227-0 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270
Typeset in Sabon
by Apex CoVantage, LLC
Contents

List of figures vii

List of tables viii
Preface ix
Acknowledgements xvi

Introduction 1
A D E L A I D E V I E IRA MACH A DO, ISADO RA DE ATAÍDE FONSECA,
RO B E RT S . N E WMAN A N D SAN DRA ATAÍDE L OBO

I
Creating 17

1 The international exhibitions of Antwerp (1885) and

Paris (1889) in the magazine A Ilustração (1884–1892) 19
TA N I A R E G I N A DE L UCA

2 Representations of Africa and Africans in the magazine

Portugal em África (1894–1910) 47
J O S E N I L D O D E JE SUS P E RE IRA

3 The press of the Methodist Episcopal Church (MEC)

in Mozambique and its colonization of African minds
(1890–1968) 63
S I M ÃO J A I M E

4 Literary discourses in the Portuguese colonial press 79

SA N D R A S O U SA

5 The official press in Equatorial Guinea: tracing colonial and

postcolonial governance in Ébano 97
S U SA N A CA S TIL L O - RO DRÍGUE Z
vi Contents
II

Debating 119

6 Portuguese public opinion at the time of the Boletim e

Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino 121

S Ó N I A P E R EIRA H E N RIQUE

7 The Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 139

CÉLIA REIS

8 Portuguese colonial agents and models: metropolitan colonial

periodicals (1912–1937) 158

A D E L A I D E VIE IRA MACH A DO

9 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 186

S É R G I O N E TO

III

Opposing 203

10 Anticolonial struggles and resistance in the African press

(1870–1926) 205

I SA D O R A D E ATAÍDE FO N SE CA

11 African press censorship in Mozambique: the case study

of Brado Africano in the twentieth century 221

O L G A I G L É SIA S N E VE S

12 ‘Reaching the hearts of the sons of Portugal with the longings

and aspirations of the sons of India’ 239

F I L I PA S O U SA L O P E S

13 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi or how to circumvent

political censorship at the end of Portuguese colonialism 251

DA N I E L M EL O

14 The press and the colonial war/liberation struggle in Mozambique:

the case of the newspaper RESSURGIMENTO, 1968–1973 270

A L DA SA Í D E

Bibliography 286

Contributors’ biographies 303

Index 306

Figures

1.1 Princess of Wales 21

1.2 Façade of the Portuguese Pavilion 24

1.3 Interior of the Portuguese Pavilion 25

1.4 Brazilian Coffee’s Pavilion 26

1.5 Interior of the Brazilian Pavilion 26

1.6 Engravings representing the Kabyle people, a Berber

ethnic group from the north of Algeria 28

1.7 Belle dance in an Egyptian café 29

1.8 The Kanak people, the original inhabitants of

New Caledonia 30

1.9 Building project for the Brazilin Pavilion in Paris 34

1.10 Exterior view of Portuguese pavilion in Paris 35

1.11 Interior of the Portuguese pavilion in Paris 36

11.1 The Editors and Board of the Brado 222

11.2 Building of the Associação Africana de Moçambique 224

11.3 The Albasini Family 225

11.4 Among the first students of the Lyceum is Rui de

Noronha, the second from the right last row 226

11.5 João Dias, writer and student of Coimbra University 227

Tables

11.1 Press list in Mozambique, 1936. (a) Insignificant number

of copies; (b) Small number of copies 228

Preface

This book is a collective venture of the International Group for Studies of

Colonial Periodical Press of the Portuguese Empire (IGSCP-PE), the output
of which includes an agreement with Routledge to publish, as part of its
Cultural History Series, four books dedicated to colonial press studies. The
titles are indicative of their scope: Creating and Opposing Empire: The Role
of the Colonial Periodical Press, The Built Environment Through the Prism
of Colonial Periodical Press, The Colonial Periodical Press in the Indian and
Pacific Ocean Regions, and The Colonial Periodical Press in the Portuguese
Empire: Theorizing Approaches. A common preface for the four books can
be justified by their being related but independently readable.
The IGSCP-PE is an informal international network of researchers,
research and archival projects, research centres, public and private archives,
libraries, and documentation centres. Its informality has so far helped the
growth of adherence to principles and aims, while leaving to individuals and
institutions decisions on initiative, commitment, and involvement.1 Launched
by the initiative of three scholars based in Portugal in mid-2015, the concep­
tual frame and aims of the group have been developed through discussions,
workshops, and projects involving researchers and institutions from different
countries. Efforts to decentralize action through the creation of local groups
have been made, as in the cases of Goa, Mozambique, and Portugal.
The group aims, with an internationalist, multidisciplinary, and pluralistic
perspective, to develop colonial press studies with a focus on titles published
within the Portuguese colonial empire and by its expatriates in different
languages and scripts. This goal articulates concerns regarding international
democratic access to sources and tools for scientific development and societal
outreach. Discussions around the transnational character of the colonial
press, and its present internationally shared inheritance, contributed to a
consensus around a collective call for action to overcome difficulties con­
cerning policies for the gathering, preservation, and access of collections to
overcome vivid asymmetries.
The choice to focus on the colonial periodical press, rather than widening
the scope to other media, relies on its specificities, including its centenary
existence, its contribution to the spread of print cultures, and its role in the
x Preface
diversification of public spheres that acquired growing global expression
between the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Their histories are intimately
linked with the birth and evolution of modern liberal and democratic ide­
als and political practices and the way they forced, namely due to criticism
and resistance, the successive reconfigurations of colonial empires since the
late eighteenth century, both in terms of governance and of their ideological
foundations.
It is worth recovering the coeval classifications of the colonial press associ­
ated with the senses of the word “colonial” and the reasons to approach it by
linking spaces in a project through empire. As a substantive, the designation
was applied to the press contributed by specialists in the “realities” of the
colonies or in colonial “sciences”. Being dedicated to colonialism as a proj­
ect and reality, they often aimed to push its agenda of national and Western
designs, through the discussions of “colonial matters”, including knowledge,
policies, and mission. It was a press typically written in the language of the
colonizing power, mostly published in the colonizing countries, and also
mostly, but not exclusively, initiated and contributed to by their natives, who
often had careers or interests in the colonies. In a different sense, it referred
to press published in the colonies, thus respecting their condition of colonial
subjection, and tending to be used irrespectively of initiative, typology, aims,
or languages of communication. These different assumptions call attention to
the enduring imaginary of the colonizing countries, balancing between his­
torical autonomy and dependency on their role as colonial settlers by which
they integrated the colonial world in the position of imperial metropoles.
Moving to the perspective of liberated postcolonial countries, the designa­
tion convokes time, the period when national histories were marked by the
domain of one or more European countries.
It is important to incorporate these distinctions, but adopting one assump­
tion to the detriment of the others overlooks their porosities, relations, and
complementary roles in the processes of discursive rebuilding, discussion,
and negotiation, and dismantling of the colonial world since the late eigh­
teenth century. Such processes dynamically contributed to shape and turn
hegemonic narratives of modernity and backwardness in the different spaces
involved. Under such a perspective, those assumptions are yet insufficient, for
they ignore other presses that are equally important to our present under­
standing of such processes. We refer to the press published in the European
metropolitan centres by the colonized, of which the cultural and political
press promoted by students and migrant communities are the most well-
known cases. Other cases are that of the exile press that aimed at resistance
to the colonial status quo, or had liberating purposes, and that of migrant
communities outside the boundaries of their imperial contexts, which still
maintained or even gained new interest and social power to discuss the situ­
ation in their homelands. As the present books evidence, revisiting the spe­
cialized European press in order to study its role in colonial discussions and
the constitution of alterity among the colonized has accompanied expanding
 Preface xi
interest in looking at the past involvement of different “Western” sciences,
arts, and political and cultural movements in colonial discussions. Likewise,
historians in the fields of intellectual history and history of ideas are increas­
ingly interested in the participation of intellectuals from the colonies in the
discussions mobilized by such movements, namely in magazines and news­
papers; and in mapping the intellectual life of some European metropoles
like Paris, London, or Berlin, which, by becoming cosmopolitan spaces of
confluence, helped intra- and inter-imperial conviviality and anti-colonial
awareness. These research trends direct our attention to a variety of press
published in these centres and in the colonies, to the point of becoming dif­
ficult to exclude any typology from the analysis of colonial dynamics.
It is thus by moving to the conceptual discussion of the meaning of “colo­
nial”, opening the perspectives of its understanding, that the idea of the
colonial press gains particular interest, without contradicting, but rather
incorporating and contributing to reflections on patrimonial claims and the
classifications and typologies that any periodical may integrate. Such an
approach is less preoccupied with demarcating frontiers and more interested
in the perspectives that the press opens to our perception of colonial dynam­
ics and of public discussions within such dynamics. Analysis of the colonial
press evidences why the idea of the public sphere needs to be enriched and
pluralized by the consideration of the social, local, national, imperial, and
international public spheres, offering historical support to the discussions
around the concept, as those recently summarized by France Aubin.2 Simul­
taneously, they evidence that public discussions are not reducible to that
political concept, notwithstanding their political implications. In fact, in its
whole, the press soon became a privileged vehicle for the expression of other
varied disputes, social, cultural, scientific, or religious and for the creative
(re)configuration of ideas, tastes, and movements by different actors, includ­
ing the state. Technological developments allowed for the creation of huge
private enterprises, frequently protected by colonial states, in which the idea
of mass media finds anchor, helping the creation of dominant discourses, yet
simultaneously allowed the expansion of a low-budget press that, profiting
from the greater accessibility of rudimentary print machinery, helped the
democratization of initiatives. The conditions in which democratic access to
the press flourished, succumbed, or even never emerged, varied immensely
in space and time and were dependent on a multiplicity of factors, amongst
the most powerful being the hierarchies between colonies within imperial
agendas, laws and other conditioning practices, local activism, and different
resistance movements.
Allowing a pluralized, complex, and layered cultural–political understand­
ing of these connected discussions in the colonial world requires the revisit­
ing, carrying out necessary work to recover accessibility of the variety of
press published in different languages and spaces, with different agendas
and foci, by different actors or by the same actors viewing different publics,
attending to the circulatory character of discussions and to the different
xii Preface
perspectives by which they were moulded. Such an approach may not work
without academic dialogues that open gates to enriched views of those
dynamics. On the other hand, this pluralizing move gains from approaching
such processes within different empires. It is the interest of developing these
and other lines of research that nourishes the group for studies. Connecting
these press histories reveals common features and shared histories, as well
as differences and tensions. It allows us to look at the two-sided relations
between the local and the imperial, while also shedding light on how these
relations incorporate contact zones and circulations between empires, as well
as regional and local logics that dialogue with the colonial situation. No less
importantly, it allows us to think about the role of comparativism with a
focus on its coeval importance within public discussions, both in substantial
and in rhetorical terms. In fact, comparativist approaches to colonial mod­
els and the mind-sets that informed the relations established by them were
constant in discussions of colonial policies, as well as in the colonial propa­
ganda of the civilizing mission and in the concurrent marketing of imperial
nations. They were also constant in the identifications, criticisms, and images
elaborated by the colonized regarding the colonial powers and internal social
and cultural–political positioning or even regarding other colonial spaces.
They were no less relevant in the increasing global awareness and critique of
colonial imperialism and of the forms of material, cultural, and intellectual
dominance carried by it.
These books address some of these issues, with thematic coherence but
from different standpoints that open to different perspectives from which they
may be viewed. These titles are a direct result of the International Congress
Politics and Culture in Colonial Periodical Press (Lisbon, 22–25 May 2017),
an event promoted by the IGSCP-PE with one of its partners, the research
project Pensando Goa (Thinking Goa).3 The gathering had three main initia­
tives: Politics and Culture in Colonial Periodical Press, a three-day multidisci­
plinary scientific encounter; Encounter Libraries, Archives and Researchers, a
one-day meeting hosted by the Portuguese National Library viewing archival
and access policies and collaborative action between researchers and dedi­
cated institutions; and a Common Virtual Exhibition of colonial periodicals,
a joint venture between researchers and the guest institutions.
Scholars from 19 countries and a large number of other persons, institu­
tions, and projects made possible that gathering, the organizing commission
of which was formed by most editors of the present books.4 For different
reasons, including topic adequacy and involvement in other projects, not
all participants’ contributions were integrated into the present publications,
but all contributed through a wide variety of thematic, disciplinary, and
geographic foci to the quality and vivacity of the gathering, without which
the idea of furthering its results would not be born.
The weight of contributions focused on the spaces previously integrated
into the Portuguese empire reflects their actual weight in the 2017 congress,
reminding us of how much postcolonial academic links are marked by the
 Preface xiii
present impact of former imperial links. Such links include common lan­
guages, shared centres of academic circulation and of building of scientific
agendas. On the other hand, the unbalanced geographic origin of such con­
tributions recall asymmetric academic dynamisms and different weights of
historiographical studies, not rarely also dictated by availability of sources.
Thus, to a certain degree, they also call attention to the provincial character
of the building of academic internationalism and to the difficulties to over­
come asymmetries.
A large number of people and institutions were more directly involved in
funding, publicizing, and organizing the different initiatives of IGSCP-PE,
and we thank them all, even if it is only possible to give special acknowledge­
ment to some. The high institutional support offered by CPLP – Comunidade
dos Países de Língua Oficial Portuguesa – was very significant for public and
institutional recognition of the event within the involved countries. The net­
works of scholars of the international projects that link with the IGSCP-PE
played decisive roles by both participating in and promoting the initiative.
We refer specifically to Pensando Goa, coordinated by Helder Garmes (USP,
BR); Portuguese Orientalism, coordinated by Everton V. Machado (CEC­
FLUL, PT); Press and Circulation of Ideas, coordinated by Tania Regina de
Luca and Isabel Lustosa (USP and Fundação Casa de Rui Barbosa, BR); and
NILUS, coordinated by Ana Mafalda Leite (CEsA-ISEG, PT).
Funding was assisted by the Fundação para a Ciência e Tecnologia, by
the Fundação Oriente thanks to the immediate decision of its director, João
Amorim, and by the Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian thanks to Guilherme
d’Oliveira Martins, executive administrator, and Rui Vieira Nery, director
of the Program for Portuguese Language and Culture. The commitment of
the host institutions, CHAM – Centre for the Humanities, Faculdade de
Ciências Sociais e Humanas, NOVA University, was crucial in all moments,
working closely with its partners CEI-IUL – Centro de Estudos Internacio­
nais, ISCTE-Instituto Universitário de Lisboa and CEC – Centro de Estudos
Comparatistas, Universidade de Lisboa, to ensure both logistics and budget.
CesA – Centro de Estudos sobre África, Ásia e América Latina, Instituto
Superior de Economia e Gestão – sponsored the travel of Jeanne Penvenne,
who delivered the opening keynote speech. The Real Gabinete Português de
Leitura do Rio de Janeiro sponsored the travel of its vice-president, Gilda
Santos, our guest at the meeting. The daily newspaper Público offered its
pages to promote the event in Portugal. The designer Álvaro Sousa has gener­
ously offered the logos of the congress and the IGSCP-PE. The effort of other
researchers that even without institutional support invested in participating
in the meeting was also very important. Many other agencies and institutions
from different countries helped the international profile of the congress by
funding other scholars.
Inês Cordeiro, head of the Portuguese National Library (BNP), Alfredo
Caldeira, head of the project Casa Comum of Fundação Mário Soares (FMS),
and Joaquim Pinto from Universidade de Aveiro, representing the portal
xiv Preface
Memórias de África e do Oriente, of Fundação Portugal África, were funda­
mental to the planning and networking of the Encounter and of the Exhibi­
tion. The concept of the press Exhibition also benefitted significantly from
the inputs of Luís Sá (BNP) and João Carlos Oliveira (Hemeroteca de Lisboa,
Lisbon press library), and its set-up was due to Paulo Andringa (FMS). None
of these initiatives would have happened without the active involvement
of other institutions, with their teams working to overcome all kinds of
difficulties. We refer to different national and state archives and libraries –
Angola, Cape Verde, Goa, Guinea-Bissau, Mozambique, Portugal, São Tomé
and Príncipe, and East Timor – private libraries and documentation centres
(Portugal, Brazil, and Goa), press libraries and archival projects (Portugal,
Brazil, UK), and university libraries (Portugal), a list of which is accessible
at the website of the congress.5
During the Encounter, alongside good experiences, stories very impor­
tant to the development of the IGSCP-PE’s agenda emerged about the poor
local positive impact of interesting projects, namely in African countries, as
shared by Alexandra Aparício (National Archive of Angola) and Joel Tembe
(National Archive of Mozambique), for failing to make their outcome acces­
sible, as local constraints regarding human resources, infrastructure, and
facilities were not taken into account. Horácio Marques (National Archive
of Timor) also introduced the discussion on language barriers. Fast-changing
technologies and tools, while creating new possibilities, also tend to aggra­
vate inequalities, for their accompanying need for specific infrastructures,
skills, and other resources. Scepticism is also helped by what experience
teaches about lack of power to ensure that fruition is freely open to all on a
permanent basis. The way out demands empowering democratic participa­
tion in the management of the projects and of their outcomes and working
for realistic solutions to ensure equitable distribution of benefits.
We dedicate these books to two colleagues who contributed significantly
to the congress and to the think tank who helped to shape the concerns
of the IGSCP-PE. The Indian sociologist Alito Siqueira (1955–2019), based
in Goa, was a thought provoker to many scholars linked with the birth
of IGSCP-PE and with Pensando Goa. Alito’s most impactful action in the
last decades was undoubtedly his dedication to inclusive pedagogy.6 Also,
the historian, teacher, and journalist from Guinea-Bissau, Leopoldo Amado
(1960–2020), was an activist against fatalism, namely regarding the security
of the basic human right to decent living and self-accomplishment, hav­
ing collaborated with numerous local and global institutions in that ambit.
Leopoldo leaves behind an important contribution to African studies and to
the building up of INEP, the organization in Guinea-Bissau responsible for
research development.
We are immensely grateful to Routledge editors Robert Langham and
Max Novick. We thank Robert Langham for his interest in the project and
his immediate openness to have the book projects evaluated. Such a proposal
was certainly not on his mind when he manifested Routledge’s interest in the
 Preface xv
results of the congress. We are no less indebted to Max Novick for the way
he accompanied the submissions, the peer evaluation processes, and decision-
making. Equally important, he afterwards disclosed his art of balancing the
interest in accompanying progress with the total liberty given to the slow
editing process. Over the years, Max became a friend, prompt in clearing
doubts, calming anxieties, and helping solutions.
Finally, we thank the several colleagues who accepted the challenge of peer
reviewing the chapters of the four books for their openness and constructive
criticism, an approach that was undoubtedly an important contribution to
the overall quality of the texts.
Like most editors of these books, the other authors invited to write the
chapters contributed in different manners to the 2017 congress. All disclosed
a decisive openness to further their previous work, or draw new studies,
having engaged, within the limits of academic freedom, in collaborative dis­
cussions with the editors, in addition to benefitting from the reviewers’ com­
ments. The outcome reflects the immense investment and patience of all the
people involved in the process.
The Editors, on behalf of the IGSCP-PE
Acknowledgements

Our special thanks to the scholars who generously offered valuable com­
ments and suggestions in blind peer reviews of earlier versions of the chapters
here presented, thus contributing significantly to improve this book:

Ana Canas Delgado Martins (Centro de História, Universidade de

Lisboa and Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino)
Caio Simões de Araújo (Wits Institute for Social & Economic Research)
Dorothy Odartey-Wellington (College of Arts School of Languages &
Literatures, University of Guelph)
Ernesto Castro Leal (Centro de História, Universidade de Lisboa)
João Miguel Almeida (Instituto de História Contemporânea, Faculdade
de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, Universidade NOVA)
José Luís Garcia (Instituto de Ciências Sociais, Universidade de
Lisboa)
Júlia Leitão de Barros (Escola Superior de Comunicação Social and
Instituto de História Contemporânea, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais
e Humanas, Universidade NOVA)
Luís Trindade (Faculdade de Letras, Universidade de Coimbra)
Marisa Ramos Gonçalves (Centro de Estudos Sociais, Universidade de
Coimbra)
Nelson Sanjad (Universidade Federal do Pará and Museu Paraense
Emilio Goeldi)
Nuno Domingos (Instituto de Ciências Sociais, Universidade de
Lisboa)
Pamila Gupta (Wits Institute for Social and Economic Research)
Sandra Cunha Pires (Arquivo Municipal de Lisboa)
Valdemir Zamparoni (Centro de Estudos Afro-Orientais, Universidade
Federal da Baía)

Notes
1. https://giepcip.wordpress.com/.
2. France Aubin, “Between Public Space(s) and Public Sphere(s): An Assessment of
Francophone Contributions,” Canadian Journal of Communication, 39, no. 1
(2014): 89–110.
 Acknowledgements xvii
3. https://goa.fflch.usp.br/.
4. https://congressoimprensacolonial.wordpress.com/.
5. https://congressoimprensacolonialuk.wordpress.com/international-congress/
invited-speakers/.
6. https://hanvkonn.wordpress.com/.
Introduction
Adelaide Vieira Machado, Isadora de
Ataíde Fonseca, Robert S. Newman and
Sandra Ataíde Lobo*

Stemming from a selection of panels at the IGSCP-PE 2017 congress, the

project of this book, mostly focused on case studies within the Portuguese
colonial empire, found coherence and raison d’être in the important task of
revealing a more complex look at different representations of the empire
as found in the colonial periodical press. Even if it seems to depart from a
single vantage point, the aim is to join the metropole and the colonies in the
same analytic look, in which converge different problematizations of impe­
rial dynamics.1 As the diversity of angles offered by the contributors reflects,
the editors consider that a decolonized, democratic understanding of the
world modulated by modern colonial empires needs to navigate the seas of
dissonant narratives of community, nation, and empire. This is a precondi­
tion to overcome binary mind-sets, to integrate in us (our history, identity,
and thinking) those traditionally viewed as the “others” and to reach the
intellectual dynamism of modern history of ideas.
Thus, in a historical perspective, this book deals with the ideas, which, in
their complexity and dynamism, were being moulded in the game between
the cultural context of representations and the universality of concepts. It
proceeds not only through a simplified approach evidenced in the distance
between colonial practices and the universal values propagated by the liberal
colonial discourse but, above all, by looking at the pressures created by the
continuous change in both as a result of the challenges posed by the colonized
in debates held and declarations made when the division of powers allowed,
or in silences and heavy confrontations when violent repression occurred. In
reality, the discourses and debates that accompanied the evolution and fall of
empires were equally (re)produced in the metropoles and in the colonies. As
Frederick Cooper says,

The binaries of colonizer/colonized,Western/non-Western, and domination/

resistance begin as useful devices for opening up questions of power
but end up constraining the search for precise ways in which power is
deployed and the ways in which power is engaged, contested, deflected,
and appropriated.2

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-1

2 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.

We recognize the difficult task of simultaneously keeping in mind the dynam­
ics of the visions generated by the colonized and the colonizers in the differ­
ent parts of the world that composed the imperial space. Yet, it will not be
possible to reach a historical understanding of colonialism without research
that does not remain on the frontier between the two categories, but sepa­
rately reveals how both were moulded in the colonizing processes, making
them more complex when unfolding in other categories that may lie between
connections and subalternities.3 Conversely, we underscore that other con­
cepts, like democracy, equality, or citizenship, accompanied the processes
of colonization. The globalization they provoked was appropriated and
reformed universally along with the processes of cultural mobilization and
political liberation on the different continents.
If former European empires gave way to nation-states, the truth is
that the latter did not abstain from their so-called expansion through
the domain of non-European spaces and peoples, creating new forms of
empire – commercial, colonial, or both – without requiring the traditional
figure of the emperor. Starting from the dialogue between traditional
imperial practices and the different types of nationalism referred to by
Burbank and Cooper, 4 we are interested in the late European empires.
From the nineteenth century, they were built on the model of the nation-
state, structured around the concept of sovereignty and its readings by
liberalism, paving the way to the colonial empires in two simultaneous
ways, that of free commerce and the possibility of territorial domain in
other continents.
The complex process – initiated between the fifteenth and sixteenth centu­
ries with the Portuguese and the Spanish empires – that led to these imperial
configurations, with identical results but at differentiated rhythms, created
diverse types of political organizations of the same era, some in decadency
like several dynastic empires, others flourishing as cultural and political
structures – the colonial empires and the different forms of political and
economic domination by globalized imperialism.
According to George Steinmetz,

The concept of empire encompasses colonialism and imperialism.

Empires are political organizations that are expansive, militarized, and
multinational, and that place limits on the sovereignty of the polities in
their periphery. In colonialism, the conquered polities or populations are
not just ruled over by foreign conquerors but are configured as inferior
to their occupiers – inferior in legal, administrative, social, and cultural
terms. Imperialism involves political control over foreign lands without
the annexation of land or sovereignty.5

In the effort to overcome or enrich such a definition, endowing it with greater

dynamic rapport with the different representations of empire, António
Duarte Silva states that,
 Introduction 3
The politico-juridical originality of the form Colonial Empire would
reside mainly in this duality (when breaking the identification nation-
State), since in the imperial phenomenon the State overcomes the nation,
which only exists in the metropole.6

This unequal and combined movement between the different parts of the
globe is the driver of the interconnections and of the dynamics of change
that characterizes contemporary history. Its analysis and synthesis require a
critical position regarding the application of universal categories, not as such
but the way traditional historiography has used them – as a mirror of the
East – to evaluate the histories of other peoples. As Frederick Cooper says,
after the statements of Chatterjee and Chakrabarty,

[W]e should move beyond treating modernity, liberalism, citizenship,

or bourgeois equality as if they were fixed and self-contained doctrines
unaffected by the appropriations and reformulations given to them by
processes of political mobilization in Asia, Africa, or Europe itself.7

The colonial periodical press, the main source of information for and object
of analysis in this book, was the privileged stage of all the discursive dynamics
and complexity of the colonial world from the nineteenth century onwards.
As in other colonizing countries, the Portuguese colonial press, state-owned
or independent, was formed in the metropole and in the colonies, in connec­
tion and incorporating an ideological and programmatic discourse, which
tried to gift the colonial idea and its implications, of a cultural and political
theoretical knowledge, autonomous and credible.
Either when approaching periodicals exclusively focused on colonial
matters or editorials or news in other categories of press, a systematic and
profound study of the colonial press requires more than an inventory of
the idiosyncratic and propagandistic discourse that has been always pres­
ent, even if it does not dispense with such an approach. Also, it requires
interrogating the web of organizations and agents involved: intellectuals,
writers and journalists, politicians, businessmen, public servants, military
people, and clergy.8 These elites, who were interested and had thought about
the colonial problem in both the metropole and the colonies, often worked
against the solutions that were proposed and, if allowed by the political
environment, nourished the creation of a public space of debate through its
main vehicle, the periodical press.
Within this rubric, the colonialist press aimed to transmit the colonial
models at hand, trying to implement or modify them and win over followers,
in a constant pattern of change and validation with the colonial elites at each
stage of the debate. Thus, the ideas of metropole, colony, and empire changed
according to these models that were being theorized, creating a public sphere
of opinion, a place for the renovation of ideas, creation of new sociabilities,
and reconstruction of identities that came close, distanced, or opposed the
4 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.
official discourse. In such a role, the colonial press worked as a space for the
propaganda of colonialism, as an ideological prop of the different forms of
turning the “others” into subalterns, and, based on that, of establishing the
different representations of the colonial world that were perpetuated.
The colonial press also served as a space for other cultural and political
imaginaries, creating public and allowing the creation of a public sphere
in which the colonial question was discussed. In periods when the idea of
democracy was a permitted topic, the press opened space to consensus and
ruptures around the different concepts of metropole and colony, of autono­
mies in self-government and of federal empires that could allow more equal
relations between the geographies and peoples involved.
Simultaneously, the press during the twentieth century started to foment
and consolidate the creation of anticolonial nets of opposition and resis­
tance, with all the concomitant cultural, identity, and intellectual impact.
Circumventing censorship and repression in the process of liberation helped
to establish and fortify such nets, with profound political consequences in
all the involved places.
Among the discourses and the silences that in many cases coexisted in
the same newspaper or magazine, revealing and helping to complexify the
different contextualities in which the metropole and the colonies moved in
the imperial whole, we chose to stress three themes. The book is therefore
divided among them: creating, debating, and opposing empire. Far from
being tight, they should be understood for their functional purpose in the
presentation of the studies that, in reality, dialogue among each other at dif­
ferent levels.
To a great extent, the Portuguese colonial empire (re)structured itself after
the nineteenth century and with small temporal gaps, by imitation and,
simultaneously, in concurrence with the other European colonial powers.9
As several studies in this book highlight, the 1884–1885 Berlin Conference
became a decisive marker as it founded the contemporary colonial model,
creating a kind of pact, in the form of an international law, which consensu­
ally recognized the right of imperial nations to possess territories in Africa.
To maintain a civilizing mission was presented as a duty of the colonizers
towards the colonized. Such an assumption had several consequences to
those involved in the distribution of the African cake, sometimes called the
Scramble for Africa. Berlin also opened the doors to non-European powers,
the centuries-old Ottoman Empire that would disappear after the First World
War, and the USA, representing a new kind of imperialism that was interested
in the discussions of free commerce and areas of influence. From this confer­
ence, which legitimized the colonial and imperialist forms in international
law, only their victims, the Africans, were absent.
As cumulative knowledge, culture and its history intrinsically carry the
possibility of innovation in the legitimation of continuity or rupture at the
individual scale and at the collective scale. The tension between these two
scales, that culture tends to represent in the interpretation of the world,10
 Introduction 5
may only start to dissipate if the adoption of only one of the perspectives is
avoided, which necessarily implies the capacity to complement the situations
under analysis, through the contemplation of the diversity of visions of the
other. Taking this into consideration, we can easily understand the concept
of culture proposed here, which encompasses the tension and the dynamic
relation between unity and diversity, in the crossing between pluralities and
singularities, and above all, does not hierarchize the different cultures that
constitute this idea of culture.

Creating
The colonial press, official or private, was primarily a support for the dif­
fering models of colonization in vogue between the nineteenth century and
the first half of the twentieth century. One of the forms recurrently used
for the propaganda of the new colonial philosophies and knowledge was
the exhibitions placed in the pavilions of the different colonial countries at
large international fairs. As Tania de Luca’s study evidences, these exhibi­
tions were closely accompanied by the press from their preparation until
the actual event. Through the Portuguese-Brazilian magazine A Ilustração
(1884–1892), published in Paris, De Luca critically analyses not only the role
of the illustrated press in providing what nowadays newer forms of media
present but also in divulging the vision of the world that informed these
so-called universal exhibitions, which aimed to guide the spectators in the
comparison of different cultures, economies, and knowledge. In those spaces,
built from scenarios in which imagination was sustained by an ideology of
progress, Difference and those who were Different were presented as prob­
lems, reflecting different inferiorities, a situation that required intervention.
Thus, there, through the unequal comparison between times and modes of
being, the white man’s burden was enunciated and exposed.
In regard to the Portuguese crusade to make the colonized spaces cultur­
ally and politically uniform, Josenildo Pereira presents the example of the
Catholic press associated with the missions in Africa, by particularly focus­
ing on the magazine Portugal em África (1894–1910), edited by Quirino de
Jesus (1865–1935). It is relevant to know that the editor of this magazine
that contributed significantly to a political project that associated Catholic
spirituality, a strong state, and colonial imperialism would become one of
the ideologues of the first period of the Salazar dictatorship (1926–1974),
namely by shaping the Acto Colonial (Colonial Act) in 1930 and its aggra­
vated version when incorporated in the 1933 Constitution.
Christian missions had been precisely charged to educate Africans by the
Berlin Conference, politicizing even more the cultural–political role that
Catholic missionary efforts already played in the Portuguese empire. As in
other empires, these missions, either Catholic or Protestant, notwithstand­
ing their differences and the disfavour that in general the latter were held by
the Portuguese state, coincided in promoting, by emphasizing their civilizing
6 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.
role, the colonial model defined internationally and nationally accepted.
Simão Jaime shows such compliance by describing its expression in publi­
cations of the Methodist Episcopal Church (1890–1968) in Mozambique,
namely the magazine Mahlahle in the last period of Portuguese colonialism.
Jaime acknowledges the role, highlighted by most studies, of Protestant
missions and their press in helping give birth to a native cultural and politi­
cal consciousness,11 which in time materialized in anticolonial organization
and in the creation of local written literatures and literary cultures in African
languages. But the author recalls that these results were mostly achieved
through the subalternization of African ancestral beliefs, knowledge systems,
and cultural identities, in approaches that closed the possibility of imagining
alternative paths.
Notwithstanding the differences in political environment during the three
periods of Portuguese colonialism since the nineteenth century – constitutional
monarchy, republic, and the Estado Novo – and the differences of approach
among missions, religious missionary work, by emphasizing morals, twisted
the line that separated the public from the private to mould African indi­
vidual, family, and community life to patterns and habits designed in Europe
or America.
Propaganda in the service of the Portuguese colonial empire reached a high
moment during the Estado Novo. Sandra Sousa presents a chapter on the
Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias (Bulletin of the General Agency of
the Colonies, 1925–1974), which started a year before the military coup that
originated the dictatorship, under the direction of Armando Cortesão, who
in 1932 would be exiled due to his opposition to the dictatorship.
We use the changes in its title to unveil those that occurred in the Portu­
guese colonial model after the foundation of the bulletin. From 1925 to 1932
the name stayed unchanged, during which time the dictatorship was born
and underwent a process of stabilization that culminated in the proclama­
tion of the Estado Novo in the 1933 Constitution. In 1935, this constitution
incorporated the law that announced the colonial fundamentals and moti­
vations of the new regime, the Acto Colonial, which constitutionalized the
colonial empire and the Portuguese historical mission to possess colonies and
civilize their native peoples.
The bulletin linked to a metropolitan information service, the Agência
Geral das Colónias, anticipated, in its title and spirit, the reforms that would
follow the Acto Colonial. The new constitutional architecture entrusted the
colonial governors with the exclusion of all intermediation and representa­
tions, with the power to represent the metropole in the colonies according to
its governing model and goals, reporting directly to the central government.
Such centralized architecture was mirrored in the bulletin that, after 1932,
became the Boletim Geral das Colónias (General Bulletin of the Colonies).
After that followed the golden times of the Portuguese colonial empire, which
had its apogee in the 1940 Exposição do Mundo Português (Exhibition of
the Portuguese World) and continued until the end of the Second World War.
 Introduction 7
Sousa critically analyses the link between this official press, imperial men­
tality propaganda and the power structure instituted by the dictatorship. The
official colonial press disseminated the advantages of the system, trying to
mobilize the populations to actively support the colonizing process. Individ­
ual visions of the colonial conditions were transmitted – in a more seductive
and convincing manner than the “manifest” of ideological intention – through
the literature, of descriptive or documental travel, romanced, adventurous,
or literary chronicles, moralized by the missionary spirit that imbued the
whole imperial panoply. The cultural route turned into an excellent medium
for the moulding of an imperial mentality. With such purpose, the Boletim
frequently used the literary vehicle to seduce the metropolitans to become
colonizers in Africa. Its most important initiatives included an annual literary
contest that viewed the creation of a Portuguese colonial literature guided
by the wish to defend its empire. The winners saw their work published and
amply promoted by the periodical press. During the period between 1926
and 1967, the contest gave birth to hundreds of books. Following this pro­
pagandistic and patriotic ploy, the Boletim created the section Artes e Letras
Coloniais (Colonial Arts and Letters) that combined laudatory chronicles of
Estado Novo’s imperial ideology with adequately framed artistic and literary
presentations.
In 1951, the last change into Boletim Geral do Ultramar (General Bulletin
of the Overseas) reflected the cosmetic revision of the constitution by substi­
tuting the concepts of “colony” and “colonial empire” by that of “overseas
provinces”. By doing so, the Estado Novo was resuming the Portuguese
tradition dating from the first liberal constitution of 1822, by which the
revolutionaries had tried to make liberal ideals compatible with colonial
domination.
In a regime dominated by competent jurists headed by the former Coimbra
University professor, Salazar, words were duly measured. The revised consti­
tution did not refrain from expressing that it was within “the organic essence
of the Portuguese Nation to perform the historical function of colonizing”
and spreading “the benefits of its civilization”12 but reformed the juridical
language and the more disputed dispositions of the colonial act. The aim
was to present to the world a unitary, unbreakable Portuguese country while
being highly ambiguous about the status of the populations in the colonies,
where the non-“assimilated” parts continued to carry subaltern status and
the constraints of being classified as indigenous. The fall of the concepts of
“colony” and “empire” was fundamental to fight, internally at the ideologi­
cal level and internationally at the juridical level, the battle started with India
about the future of the Estado da Índia and to anticipate a response to the
predictable growth of liberation movements in the African colonies.
After the Second World War when some European empires started to be
dismantled or to reinvent themselves, others were already working out dif­
ferent neocolonial strategies. In such circumstances, the dictatorship headed
by Salazar adapted its colonial discourse in three ways: (1) by refurbishing
8 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.
the empire with the concept of “pluri-continental” country; (2) by benefit­
ting from Gilberto Freire’s Lusotropicalist ideas but also resuming older
discourses, insisting on Portuguese exceptionality – assimilationist, egalitar­
ian, and non-racist – in their relations with the non-European populations;
(3) and, not the least, by claiming these populations’ consequent Portuguese
identity and sentiments. With such logic, the dictatorship felt prepared to
affirm there was not a colonial problem and to deny the existence of separat­
ist ideas in the “Portuguese world”, any such claims being fuelled by agents
of foreign neocolonial and neo-imperial ambitions.
Susana Castillo’s study of the newspaper Ébano is particularly relevant,
as it facilitates a comparison with what was happening with the manage­
ment and propaganda around the surviving colonial territories of the former
global Spanish empire at the time of General Franco’s dictatorship. This
official newspaper published in Equatorial Guinea from 1939, after Franco
had won the Spanish Civil War, evidences a certain parallelism with the
Portuguese dictatorship, namely the racial segregation preached by the Acto
Colonial and the nationalist Catholicism that we saw personified in Quirino
de Jesus’s Portugal em África.
In 1959, a little later than in Portugal, Ébano changed its colonial dis­
course and the colonies started to be mentioned in terms of equality with the
provinces in Spain. The view offered of the life of this newspaper, after the
independence of Equatorial Guinea in 1968, is important for the research
possibilities it opens, as it discloses how it continued to perform the role
of state-owned newspaper until it ended, succumbing to the vicissitudes of
a censorship that invested in disinformation. When it reappeared in 1980,
after a coup d’état supported by the new Equatorial president, this title
came accompanied by the subtitle, Organo Informativo Nacional, resuming
its ideological function at the service of the power elite in their ambition to
control public opinion.

Debating
As mentioned, certain periods in the history of empires happen when the dis­
cussion around several colonial models becomes possible. In Portugal, such a
period extended from the liberal revolution until the fall of the First Republic
(1820–1926). The participation of the colonial elites in such discussions was
facilitated by the right granted to the colonies to elect representatives to the
national parliament. In such an ambience, the periodical press became a main
facilitator of the enlargement and propagation of such debates, turning into
the stage of those who took decisions in their role as members of the colonial
public sphere. Concomitantly, the press also turned into the mouthpiece of
the supporters and opponents of the chosen paths, that is, of public opinion.
Sónia Henriques, in her approach to the Boletim e Annaes do Con­
selho Ultramarino (1854–1867), offers a study theoretically grounded in
the junction of archive and communication studies, accompanying the will
 Introduction 9
and organization of powers regarding the colonial question. With such an
approach it becomes possible to travel a large part of the nineteenth century
through the perspective of the relations between the Portuguese empire and
the structuring of an imperial public sphere with sufficient strength to influ­
ence state decisions.
The periodical was published by the Conselho Ultramarino (Overseas
Council), a specialized organization with secular traditions in the support of
governmental action in all overseas affairs. Reborn in 1851, it maintained
ample administrative, financial, and juridical jurisdiction that extended to
directing Portuguese emigration to the colonies to ensure European occu­
pation. The decision of attributing to this organ the task of publishing a
periodical corresponds to the liberal spirit of making all legislation and acts
that regulated people’s lives transparent while its profile reinforced the will
to rally public opinion to the cause of colonization. Through this means the
technical credibility of this periodical was hopefully strengthened by becom­
ing a truly informative service about imperial matters.
The periodical covered two functions; first by publicizing in the bulletin
legislation, administrative acts and other documentation issued by the differ­
ent institutions involved in the management of colonial matters, namely the
opinions and decisions of the Conselho Ultramarino and second by divulging
in the annals, colonial studies, and opinion articles, many aiming to make the
choice of embracing a career at the colonial civil service attractive because
people were needed to nourish the administrative machinery of the empire.
As Henrique points out, since the independence of Brazil (1822), with its
significant economic impact on Portugal, the need for effective colonization
and economic exploitation of the hinterland of the African territories vaguely
recognized as being under Portuguese domain, started to be discussed and
projected by the sectors in the country involved with colonial affairs, while
the political instability faced until the mid-nineteenth-century made the pri­
oritization of such an agenda difficult. By the end of the century, the Berlin
Conference made urgent placing of such projects in motion. The national
agenda called for action, given the Portuguese incapacity to impose its his­
torical argument, expressed in the so-called Pink map, to claim the right
to possession and exploitation of vast territories in Africa, from Angola to
Mozambique; at a moment when other, stronger powers in the European
chess game, namely Britain and Germany, negotiated between them the own­
ership of that region.
The humiliation caused by the British Ultimatum in 1890, by which Por­
tugal was forced to give up its claims to much territory, was exhaustively
exploited by the Portuguese Republican Party to lead and appropriate a
patriotic movement in defence of the Portuguese colonial empire. The accu­
sation of the ruling monarchy’s incompetence in protecting Portuguese inter­
ests became a major argument in the republican discourse, until it finally
achieved power with the 1910 revolution. Thus, the empire changed from
being monarchic to republican. With the republican regime, notwithstanding
10 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.
the violent means by which it repressed any revolt in the colonies, began the
richest period for colonial discussion, namely in the periodical press where
it gained significant space. In the range of positions, dominated those that
associated local development with growing autonomy in the administra­
tive, economic, and political management of the colonies. Such perspective
opened space for the then-considered marginal radicals discussing future
horizons of independence.
Célia Reis presents a study about the republican A Capital, published in
Lisbon, which targeted the Portuguese capital’s public and had the generalist
profile adequate to a daily. Examining the newspaper issues during the First
Republic (1910–1926), Reis tries to understand the extent of the interest that
colonial matters raised in the public opinion, by choosing to focus on the
attention paid to the margins of the empire: Goa, Daman and Diu in India,
Timor in Oceania, and Macau in China. The importance of these tiny regions
lay precisely in their geographic distance and dispersion, helping to cement
the idea of a vast empire spread across continents.
Reis not only demonstrates the newspaper’s interest in the colonial mat­
ters, starting with the parliamentary debates around the 1911 Constitu­
tion, she demonstrates its interest in bringing to the metropolitan public the
opinions, discussions, and events from the colonies, without hiding tensions,
divergence of opinion, and revolts. By doing so, this republican newspaper
manifested its commitment to articulating the defence of the Republic with
the idea of a unitary state-empire; the integrity of even its most remote ter­
ritories was therefore to be preserved.
Adelaide Machado presents a comparison between the First Republic and
the dictatorship through the analysis of several colonial intellectual maga­
zines published in the metropole with the collaboration of writers from the
different colonies. Machado discloses a network of colonial interests in the
metropolitan public sphere, with several projects relevant to both cultural
and political fields. A network that acted in different fronts such as the par­
liament, magazines and newspapers, conferences, books, and higher educa­
tion in “colonial studies”. The author closes by examining a magazine with
a similar intellectual profile but, in this case, a supporter of the dictatorship
in its beginnings. The characterization of the variety of proposals at the
magazines and other sites of colonial concern demonstrates the existence of
a group or colonial party that mobilized the different forces and cultural and
political institutions towards the primacy of the colonial question.
Machado’s study may be paired with that of Sérgio Neto who, adding
to the inventory of the colonial magazines published in the metropole dur­
ing the first half of the twentieth century, presents the case of a magazine
that existed during the two regimes: the Jornal da Europa (Newspaper from
Europe) that unveils the metropolitan vision present in the late republican
colonial debates (1920–1926) and during the first years of the dictatorship
when its colonial model started to be imposed by means of propaganda
(1926–1929).
 Introduction 11
In the 1930s, the government consistently financed the development of
an official and officious press, a situation that, added to broad, systematic
censorship, led to the disappearance of the private metropolitan press dealing
with colonial issues, the only one that still invested in opening its pages to a
degree of diversity in public opinion.

Opposing
The 1930s and 1940s, between the Great Depression and the Second World
War that involved the empires and imperialisms, were turning points in the
mobilization towards the use of colonial resources and development of the
colonies. During this period the link between power and knowledge was
clearly reaffirmed to strengthen the capacity to intervene and control, for
the benefit of the metropolitan powers, the destinies of other peoples. This
period of war and crisis of the system also set in motion several national­
ist movements of resistance, starting the liberation processes. This phase of
advances and setbacks, on both sides, had important consequences in the
fall of the empires and in the complex structuring of the postcolonial world.
As we saw, Portugal participated in this phase of European colonialism
and world imperialism under the dictatorship, by constitutionalizing the
idea of colonial empire with the Acto Colonial that distinguished two units,
Portugal and its colonial empire, with permanent, hierarchic relations. The
act stated Portuguese identity in timeless and messianic terms, by affirm­
ing that the mission of colonizing overseas domains and civilizing their
indigenous populations was part of the Portuguese “organic essence”. It
furthermore referred the Portuguese duty of exercising the moral influence
of Catholicism near these populations, as imposed by the responsibilities
inherent to the country’s Padroado do Oriente. Not least, it established a
double citizenship status, open to distinct rights and guarantees: the met­
ropolitan citizen with full Portuguese citizenship and the citizen from the
empire, a second-class citizen.
The Acto Colonial worsened with its incorporation in the 1933 Con­
stitution. Together with other legislation that followed, establishing racial
and civilizational distinctions within and between the colonies, it pro­
voked a wave of discontent, particularly among the native elites from these
colonies. Cries of anguish rose as they viewed the discriminatory disposi­
tions and even more their essentialist tune that made any negotiation for
change through public pressure impossible. Such dissenting voices were
soon repressed, namely by a wave of persecution of all the opposition press
throughout the empire.
Such a path is well illustrated by the chapters that follow. Isadora Fonseca
presents a global vision of the African press in Portuguese colonies from the
late decades of the constitutional monarchy until the fall of the republic. The
author looks at the intellectuals among the Creole African elites and the jour­
nalism of advocacy they produced in protest and resistance to the colonial
12 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.
policies drawn up in the metropole. At the same time, they published on the
newspapers’ pages their criticism of colonialism and their claims to equal
rights or their vindication of autonomy or independence. What particularly
interests Fonseca is to theorize, in the footsteps of Arendt, Elias, Anderson,
and Berlin, about the emergence and role of press published by African elites
in dialogue with the ambivalent impact of colonial imperialism on the Afri­
can stage. Fonseca namely looks at colonialism as a regime of oppression
that unavoidably provoked resistance and political activism since early times,
a legacy that would afterwards be claimed by the liberation movements that
emerged in the 1950s.
It is precisely colonialism as a system of oppression and the reaction that
it provoked, in an ambience where censorship became instrumental to con­
trol “inconvenient” voices, that interests Olga Iglésias in her study of the
Mozambican African press, with particular focus on the Brado Africano, the
most important opposition newspaper published in Mozambique between
1919 and 1974. The author approaches the conditions in which activist
journalism operated to understand the history of Brado Africano under such
system, from the emergence of the dictatorship until the eve of the fight for
Mozambican liberation. It is relevant to disclose in this introduction that
Iglésias was actively involved in such a fight, as a young militant of the Afri­
can cause that united Mozambican native and a sector of Lusodescendant
intellectuals, in the common aspiration for justice and freedom. Iglésias’s
interest in historicizing Mozambican nationalism introduces us to the topic
of the intellectual legacies claimed by the first generations of Mozambican
academics, who started writing a history of the country from an African
perspective.
Filipa Lopes moves to Goa after the Second World War, thus introducing
the reader to a local reality marked by a native press with strong traditions
since the nineteenth century. Notwithstanding the apparent marginal posi­
tion of Goa within the Portuguese empire, Goan press had an important role
in the creation of “transversalities” across it, often serving as a guide for the
expansion and debate of ideas in the imperial whole. This role stemmed from
the important migration, across the empire, of Goan civil servants, judges,
doctors, businessmen, and workers, many Goan intellectuals having also
contributed to the press dynamics in those spaces, particularly in Mozam­
bique, where their presence was more significant.
Through the case of the newspaper Bharat (1912–1949), started by a
republican Hindu intellectual, complemented by archival and other print
sources, Lopes introduces the political awareness created by the dictator­
ship’s repressive and segregating policies, which led to the birth of opposition
movements in the metropole and in the colonies. The study adopts a com­
parative approach to the metropolitan and Goan oppositions’ positioning
during the campaign for the national assembly after the Second World War,
when the colonies regained the right of representation in elections whose
results were strictly controlled by the regime. Lopes’s study allows a better
 Introduction 13
understanding of these oppositions’ confluences and distances regarding the
democratic defiance of the dictatorship and its colonial policies.
It is also in a comparative mode that Daniel Melo studies the reception
of Gandhi’s work in the metropolitan and Goan press during the twentieth
century, but paying particular attention to the last phase of the dictator­
ship. Melo’s intention is to understand how, following Chartier’s proposal
about the “multiple uses” and “appropriations” of “printed objects of great
circulation”, we can read the reception and impact of this major figure in
India’s liberation movement, in different contexts and by different actors,
taking into account the Portuguese situation, after 1926, of strict censor­
ship and monitoring of print media. Speaking about Gandhi could result in
exalting Indian nationalism, highlighting the leader’s ideals and methods or
countering Western orientalist discourses. Under the dictatorship such dia­
logue could constitute a disguised form of speaking about Portuguese India’s
liberation and the will to reunite with Mother-India.
Notwithstanding the 1951 constitutional changes and the associated
developments in the regime’s colonial discourse, the violence of censorship
and intolerance of any opposition, far from decreasing, tightened, making
impossible any discussion around the colonial problem. In early 1961, the
first liberation wars in Portuguese African colonies started and, in Decem­
ber, India ended 450 years of Portuguese domain in the small enclaves that
formed the Estado da Índia. In the years that followed, war extended to
other colonies in Africa. In this phase, insistent speeches about unbreakable
bonds of affection and of common Portuguese sentiments, lived together
with stringent repressive practices. Both approaches aimed at guaranteeing
the empire’s continuation with its linked economic interests.
In the new circumstances, the military techniques of psychological war
were developed by the regime. Alda Saide presents the case study of the
prison newspaper Ressurgimento (Resurgence), printed between 1968 and
1973. Her work demonstrates well the complexity of human choices in
the face of the cruelty of the dictatorship’s modus operandi close to its fall
and confirms the sophistication of the propaganda instruments used by the
regime at this point. Saide recalls that notwithstanding the short period of
the so-called Marcelo’s Spring, one of the first acts of Marcelo Caetano,
when raising to the head of the dictatorship’s government in late 1968, was
to reaffirm the national commitment to the defence of its colonies. Written
by prisoners, Ressurgimento was in fact a newspaper created within the
realm of psychological war to demoralize the “enemy”, as in its pages pres­
ent and former political prisoners were led to confess repentance, or at least
sign repentance statements, about their past and to contribute to the pro­
paganda against FRELIMO, namely by exploring the internal crisis faced
by the movement that had led to several desertions to the Portuguese side.
Saide reviews the memory of these persons tormented by the constant
double threat of torture and death within the repressive system and accusa­
tions of betrayal on the insurgent side, not only against themselves but also
14 Adelaide Vieira Machado et al.
against their families, a situation that in postcolonial times turned them into
prisoners of shame and victims of incomprehension. Even in such adverse
circumstances the prisoners occasionally managed to circumvent censorship
and share histories of pain. As the historian states, this newspaper is an
impressive historical document of the extremes reached by the propaganda
of the regime. Thus, its texts need to be read and revised keeping in mind
that they were produced in a context of coercion with an unfettered power
that had left humanity behind.
This book arises from a particular form of approaching contemporary
colonial history and of understanding the postcolonial world. The complex­
ity of all the processes, which in the Portuguese case lasted for several cen­
turies, is here narrated and analysed through the unique multifaceted space
that allows a global cross reading, decoder of the world we inherited – the
colonial periodical press. Several decades have passed since the fall of the last
European colonial empire. It is not by chance that the present work has its
roots in a congress in Lisbon, where the histories of different empires were
approached through a focus on the colonial press. During the days of the
congress, a wide variety of approaches allowed to introduce and debate con­
nected histories that are still relevant to our lives.
Creating and Opposing Empire is a contribution to a joint disclosure
of these histories, narrated in a different mode, seen from different angles
and geographies, interchanging places and perspectives. By denaturalizing
stereotypes of otherness and paying equal attention to different narra­
tors of histories, we have tried to give sense to new forms of sharing our
pasts in the present. It is a dialogical essay around potentially conflicting
memories, as much as a praise of difference and diversity in our common
humanity.

Notes
* Researcher at CHAM – Centro de Humanidades, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e
Humanas, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa, 1069–061 Lisboa, funded by national
funds through the FCT – Fundação para a Ciência e a Tecnologia, I.P., under the
Norma Transitória DL 57/2016/CP1453/CT0027.
1. Frederick Cooper and Ana Stoler, “Tensions of Empire: Colonial Control and
Visions of Rule,” American Ethnologist 16, no. 4 (1989): 609–621.
2. Frederick Cooper, “Conflict and Connexion: Rethinking Colonial African His­
tory,” The American Historical Review, 99, no. 5 (December 1994): 1517.
3. Niraja Gopal Jayal, Citizenship and Its Discontents: An Indian History (Cam­
bridge and London: Harvard Press University, 2013); Leela Gandhi, The
Common Cause: Post-Colonial Ethics and the Practice of Democracy, 1900–
1955 (Chicago: University of Chicago, Permanent Black, 2014).
4. Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper, “Império, Direitos e Cidadania, de 212 a
1946,” in O Governo dos Outros – Poder e Diferença no Império Português
(Lisbon: ICS, 2016).
5. George Steinmetz, “Empire and Colonialism,” in Oxford Bibliographies in Soci­
ology, ed. Jeff Manza (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). DOI: 10.1093/
OBO/9780199756384-0090.
 Introduction 15
6. António Duarte Silva, O Império e a Constituição Colonial Portuguesa (1914–
1974) (Lisbon: Imprensa de História Contemporânea, 2019), xxiii.
7. Cooper, “Conflict and Connexion,” 1517.
8. Romain Bertrand, Jean Chesnaux, and Michel Giraud in an interview organized
by Thomas Loué, “Les temps de la mémoire coloniale: entre production d’un
savoir scientifique et espace public de la controverse,” Temporalités, 5 (2006).
9. Valentim Alexandre, “Ideologia, economia e política: a questão colonial na
implantação do Estado Novo,” Análise Social, 28, nos. 123–124 (1993):
1117–1136.
10. Sylvia Gemignani Garcia, “Antropologia, modernidade, identidade: notas sobre
a tensão entre o geral e o particular,” Tempo Social – Revista de Sociologia da
USP, São Paulo, 5, nos. 1–2 (1993): 123–143; Roger Chartier, A mão do autor
e a mente do editor (São Paulo: Editora Unesp, 2014).
11. Severino Ngoenha has an interesting essay that discusses linear readings of such
relations. See Severino Elias Ngoenha, “Os missionários suíços face ao nacional­
ismo moçambicano. Entre a tsonganidade e a moçambicanidade,”Lusotopie, no. 6
(1999): 425–437. www.persee.fr/doc/luso_1257-0273_1999_num_6_1_1282.
12. “Lei n.º 2048” Diário do Governo, n.º 117/1951, 1º Suplemento, Série I (11 June
1951). https://data.dre.pt/eli/lei/2048/1951/06/11/p/dre/pt/htm.
I

Creating

1 The international exhibitions of

Antwerp (1885) and Paris (1889)
in the magazine A Ilustração
(1884–1892)
Tania Regina de Luca

This chapter analyses the debates around Portugal’s participation in the

international exhibitions that took place in Antwerp (1885) and especially
in Paris (1889). In order to do so, the source is the magazine A Ilustração
(1884–1892), which was a type of periodical whose origin dates back to the
middle of the second half of the 1800s. Printed in Paris, the magazine arrived
fortnightly in the ports of Lisbon and Rio de Janeiro, connecting the two
shores of the Atlantic Ocean. The periodical contributed to disseminate the
ideals of colonialism and notions of barbarism and civilization, the last one
considered as inherent to the West.
It is certain that, from the historiographic point of view, the production
dedicated to reflecting on colonialism as a system of economic, political and
sociocultural exploitation and domination is very broad, a system that has
engendered perceptions crossed by hierarchical classifications among human
beings. Thus, the notions of otherness and identity were instituted from dis­
courses and practices that justified the attribution of values according to a
scale that separated colonizers and colonized into antagonistic categories.1
The naturalization of this way of reading the world found in the press
one of the most significant allies, especially the illustrated magazines, which,
thanks to advances in printing processes, seduced their readers with beauti­
ful images that reaffirmed the distance between dominators and dominated.
This macrodivision was matched by others that ran the Western nations
according to their degree of industrialization and military power, expressed
in the very distribution of the planet among the imperialist powers, but also
in fairs and exhibitions, whether local, national, international or universal,
which celebrated the capitalist order. Holding the event already constituted
a demonstration of strength, which unfolded in the different forms of rep­
resentation of the national states. This is exactly the aspect that is intended
to be analysed from the magazine A Ilustração, which circulated between
1884 and 1892, that is, in a period characterized by European domination
of vast areas in Africa and in Asia. The publication did not fail to register
such a presence when describing the not-Westerns and to point out their
exoticism and inferiority. Thus, although the periodical dealt with multiple
subjects, A Ilustração worked to spread the alleged superiority of European
DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-3
20 Tania Regina de Luca
culture and to share the same readings and interpretations diffused by the
colonial press. We intend to emphasize this aspect because, during the period
in which the magazine circulated, it was able to document the presence of
the colonies in two universal exhibitions, one in 1885 and the other in 1889.
Such large events provided opportunities to compare the different ‘stages of
civilization’, reaffirm derogatory views on non-European peoples and also
celebrate the achievements of the industrial world, achieved rather unevenly
within Europe itself.2

Illustrations: the origin

The so-called A Ilustração became a rather specific kind of journal, the
origin of which goes back to the middle of the second half of the nineteenth
century. The innovation did not lie in the fact that this publication included
illustrations, as they were already found in magazines launched in previous
decades, but in the disregard for the concern with ‘useful knowledge’ in
order to report the contemporaneous events, the alleged current issues, the
interest on which has been leveraged by the development of transportation,
the increase in the circulation of information and the growing urbaniza­
tion process in the large European capitals, made the news a valuable and
necessary asset.
Even if mechanical means to capture images were available, the technol­
ogy for direct reproduction of photographs in periodicals was largely spread
only in the second half of the 1900s, what presented several challenges for
the production of beautiful prints which took up about half the 16 pages
that constituted these publications, which had in The Illustrated London
News (1842) its matrix model, copied throughout the world, starting with
the French L’ Illustration (1843), soon followed by others, including in
Brazil and Portugal. These luxurious and relatively expensive periodicals
strived to provide a splendid product from the graphic point of view, with
‘artistic finish’ images, retrieving a term recurrently used, which made ref­
erence to the then-facts of the moment, with special emphasis on political
and cultural issues.3

A Ilustração: a Portuguese-Brazilian project

Portugal and Brazil were facing difficulties to produce, with the same qual­
ity standard and competitive prices, this kind of printed material, and it
was precisely the creation of safe transatlantic routes, the low printing costs
in France and the existence of a market of already-used matrices, sold at
reasonable prices, that made businessman Elísio Mendes, a Portuguese man
who lived between Lisbon and Rio de Janeiro, familiar with the world of
printed material, one of the owners of the morning newspaper Gazeta de
Notícias (Rio de Janeiro, 1875–1942) and of the printing office that printed
the newspaper, to notice a business opportunity.
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 21
Being aware of the activity mechanisms, David Corazzi’s friend Elísio was
not however a man concerned about letters, so he put the correspondent of
his newspaper in Paris, the Portuguese young man Mariano Pina (1860–
1899), in charge of the editorial staff of the magazine. In May 1884, the first
issue of the fortnightly periodical A Ilustração was published, distributed in
Portugal by Corazzi and in Brazil by Gazeta de Notícias (see Figure 1.1). It
is interesting to notice that, in the pages of the magazine, the participation of
Elísio Mendes was never mentioned, that is, he remained as a silent investor.

Figure 1.1 Princess of Wales. It is worth noting the quality of the image and the print
Source: A Ilustração, 5 May 1884, cover.
22 Tania Regina de Luca
Only in the 1884 catalogue of Casa Editora Horas Românticas his name was
evoked to attest the integrity of the venture while the advertisement made in
Gazeta insisted on assigning all the responsibility only to Pina. It was only
in December 1885 that the latter went from being a director to becoming
director-owner, a status maintained until the closing of the magazine, in
January 1892, after 183 issues, without any interruption in the publication.
Thanks to Augusto and Mariano Pina brothers’ estate entrusted to the
National Library of Portugal, it is possible to know details of the internal
operation of the fortnightly periodical through the correspondence of its
director and other preserved documents, such as some printing agreements
with Société Anonyme de Publications Périodiques (Limited Company of
Periodic Publications), an important French company which, among sev­
eral other titles, was responsible for Le Monde Illustré (Paris, 1857–1940).
Almost all prints included in the Portuguese-Brazilian magazine came from
the collection of this publication, more precisely 77.5% of the 1,693 prints
published during the circulation period, since they offered at a small price,
contrary to what occurred when the material was specially produced to A
Ilustração which, not by chance, totalized only 12.9% of what was pub­
lished in its pages.4 This aspect is essential as the choices made by Pina were
dependent on those which had already been made by the French periodical, a
factor that cannot but be taken into account in the analysis. Each one of the
prints was commented in the section As Nossas Gravuras (Our Engravings),
the purpose of which was to contextualize the visual material, justify choices
and, in a work that seems redundant to the contemporary observer, describe
it. Sometimes, the origin and authorship were mentioned, always bringing
the reader’s attention to the artistic quality of what was being offered. It
must be noted that the explanations were at the service of iconography, and
the creation of a textual and iconic system as per the photographic reports,
which would be imposed in the twentieth century, could not still be seen.
Regarding the texts, of which the other half of the magazine was com­
prised, there were sundry texts and fixed sections, among them Crônica
(Chronicle), written by Pina and which took the place of the editorial. As a
whole, literary productions and discussions prevailed, aligned with the direc­
tor’s performance in the cultural field.

Portugal and Brazil in Le Monde Illustré

Portugal and Brazil did not have a prominent place in the French maga­
zine, and the iconographic material related to these countries found in Le
Monde Illustré was diminutive. The exception was the events with interna­
tional repercussion, which referred to occurrences connected to the field of
authority: deaths and proclamation of kings, weddings such as that of Dom
Fernando and Dona Amélia, the 1890 Ultimatum, the 1891 Porto rebellion,
in the case of Portugal; while in the small portion dedicated to Brazil, the
undisputable domination went to D. Pedro II and his family, portrayed when
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 23
travelling to Europe and at the time of the Proclamation of the Republic,
the royal family’s visit to Rio de Janeiro and the palaces of Petrópolis and
São Cristóvão shared the space with the new ministers and the republican
flag. In those situations, the contents included in Le Monde Illustré were
immediately replicated in A Ilustração which, in order to deal with other
aspects of the daily life that interested their readers, had to bear the costs of
the print’s production.
Thus, it was not possible to count on the French matrices when one wanted
to highlight some personality of the world of politics, arts, journalism or
liberal arts; refer to locally important facts or occurrences; feature events,
aspects of the city, buildings, historical monuments or theatre performances;
reproduce autographs, manuscripts or production in the field of plastic arts;
or any situation or character specifically related to one of the countries.

Exhibitions of Antwerp (1885) and Paris (1889)

During the period the magazine was published, the Exposition Universelle
d’Anvers (International Exhibition of Antwerp) was held in Belgium (from
May to November 1885), while the Exposition Universelle de Paris (Inter­
national Exhibition of Paris) was held in 1889 (from May to October) to
celebrate the centennial of the French revolution. These events attracted the
attention of the world press and were unavoidable themes, as Portugal and
Brazil were represented in both occasions. They did not only celebrate the
industry but also exerted every effort to present the colonies, then at the core
of the disputes among the European powers. Exhibiting the domination over
different regions of the world was a way of demonstrating strength and power.
Mariano Pina visited the first event, so the Ilustração issue published on
5 August 1885 included a set of seven images, distributed throughout three
pages, showing the entrance of the exhibition, the Portuguese pavilion and its
inner area, in addition to the bust of the then-Minister of Navy and Colonies,
Manuel Joaquim Pinheiro Chagas (1842–1895), whose newspapers Pina had
worked in the beginning of his career and to whom he owed his appointment
to the position of correspondent in Paris of Gazeta de Notícias. It was a hom­
age to the politician and man of liberal arts who supported the Geography
Society of Lisbon, the entity that had organized the country’s participation.
The chronicler spared no praise to what was displayed by his country and
took the opportunity to criticize the pessimists who, in his opinion, did not
trust Portugal and did everything to denigrate it. An extreme patriotism may
have led Pina to state that:

Portugal shows in the Antwerp exhibition a section of colonial products

that is ahead the French and the Belgian sectors. What Belgium displays
under the title of Congo are only objects it exports to be commercial­
ized with the black people. . . . And only Portugal shows us the wealth
related to coffee, cotton, cane spirits, wood. Only Portugal shows Europe
24 Tania Regina de Luca
what Africa is, the preciousness that can be extracted from that soil, the
treasures the continent to where all the attention of the civilized world
is directed to has.5

It must be noted that the emphasis of the praise falls upon the colonial prod­
ucts, which were more efficiently displayed by Portugal than by the other
imperialist powers. In fact, the aim of the Lisbon Geographical Society was
to organize a colonial exhibition,6 which took place a few months after the
end of the Berlin Conference, held between November 1884 and February
1885, which recognized Belgian King Léopold II (1835–1909) as sovereign
owner of the Congo.7 The comments in favour of the Portuguese participa­
tion continued in the section Nossas Gravuras, in which it is explained that,
in order to prepare the exhibit, Pinheiro Chagas entrusted Antonio de Cas­
tilho, former secretary-general in Goa and Cabo Verde, to visit S. Vicente, São
Tiago, Guinea, Príncipe, São Tomé, Ambriz, Loanda, Barra do Bengó, Barra
do Dande, Quanza, Benguela, Catumbella, Novo Redondo and Mossamedes,
where he had received the support of local farmers and authorities and con­
cluded: ‘It involved great responsibility and a small budget – and it was not
of little importance to install an African colonial section in Belgium, at a time
when the famous Congo issues were being discussed’ (see Figures 1.2, 1.3).8

Figure 1.2 Façade of the Portuguese Pavilion

Source: A Ilustração, 5 August 1885, p. 233
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 25

Figure 1.3 Interior of the Portuguese Pavilion

Source: A Ilustração, 5 August 1885, p. 228.

If Portugal stood out by exhibiting the African possessions of wealth, there­

fore in a record far away from the industrial area, which was the flagship of
other countries, Brazil’s pavilion did not go beyond coffee, tobacco, wood,
minerals and extractivism, especially rubber. In September 1885, A Ilustração
published two prints about the Brazilian presence: one of the pavilions where
visitors could taste the Brazilian coffee and another of the room where the
products of the country were displayed both commented on in the section As
Nossas Gravuras, which, as always, had no signature. However, it is certain
that the author was Mariano Pina, who highlighted the quality of the prod­
ucts exhibited but regretted that the show was ready only in June and left
much to be desired from the aesthetic point of view (see Figures 1.4, 1.5).9
It is worth mentioning that Mariano Pina did not dwell on the intricacies
of Portugal’s unofficial participation in the event, which, as it was seen, took
place under the exclusive responsibility of the Geographical Society, awarded
with a government grant. It should not be forgotten that Pina lived in Paris
and, besides directing A Ilustração, acted as a correspondent for the Brazilian
26 Tania Regina de Luca

Figure 1.4 Brazilian Coffee’s Pavilion

Source: A Ilustração, 5 September, 1885, p. 264.

Figure 1.5 Interior of the Brazilian Pavilion

Source: A Ilustração, 5 September, 1885, p. 264.

 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 27

newspaper Gazeta de Notícias, thus not having any direct involvement with
the exhibition. A Ilustração guided the theme in only two editions (August
and September 1885), which brought the impressions gathered by the direc­
tor as a simple visitor. Although the event started in May 1885, it was only
after the director’s return that the theme was approached and that too briefly.
It is instructive to contrast the treatment given to the Antwerp exhibition by
the direct competitor of A Ilustração in Portugal, the periodical O Ocidente.
Revista Ilustrada para Portugal e o Estrangeiro (Lisbon, 1878–1909). The pri­
macy of the latter was incontestable, once, already on 21 May 1885, the cover
of the publication was dedicated to the general view of the building that hosted
the exhibition. In the same edition, the magazine published a note reporting the
success of the band of the Police of São Tomé, constituted of its inhabitants.
O Ocidente highlighted that the band presented itself ‘perfectly disciplined
and mastered, coming from the Portuguese possessions that were, by chance,
considered as lands of savages, where not the slightest light of civilization
had entered yet’.10 The long article written by Luciano Cordeiro, member of
the executive committee responsible for the Portuguese participation, deserves
special mention. The author has occupied the pages of O Ocidente throughout
several issues with the aim of detailing the efforts of the Geographical Society
to prepare the show, as well as the results obtained in Belgium.11
The images concerning the presence of Portugal in Antwerp (four prints,
in addition to a photograph of Pinheiro Chagas) were practically identical in
the two magazines, with small differences due to the production process of
the prints. The images related to Brazil (two prints), in turn, appeared only
in the Ilustração.12 The presence of Mariano Pina in the exhibition gave him
the possibility of obtaining the material thanks to the direct contact with the
Brazilian and Portuguese delegations, as he declared. The example provides
clues on the standards of image circulation and the dispute for the photo­
graphic records. O Ocidente, which stood out for trying to publish the first­
hand prints, offered its readers, in September 1885, prints almost identical to
those published in Pina’s magazine in the previous month, without specifying
their origin, which allows one to think that the publication was inspired
by the material already printed in Ilustração or that it had access to the same
sources as Pina’s, even if in a later moment.
The Exhibition of the Centenary of the French Revolution received much
more attention from the magazine for its size and efforts of the hosting coun­
try to celebrate the event with pomp and circumstance, as well as for the fact
that this time Mariano Pina was not a mere visitor but was directly involved
in the Portuguese representation. The economic advantages that justified
the production of Ilustração in Paris became clear due to an event that took
place in the city, which moved the world press and attracted the attention of
wide social sectors. The fact that it was held in the site of the events and that
had the material of Le Monde Illustré gave the magazine the opportunity to
overtake its competitors, since it had at its disposal a rather diversified menu
of images at a low cost. So much so that the exhibition was the main subject
28 Tania Regina de Luca
of the 1889 issues, being necessary to emphasize that the French, Portuguese
and Brazilian readers had simultaneous access to the prints regarding the
exhibition.
In addition to takes of the Eiffel Tower, the greatest star of the event,
and the descriptions about the climb up the tower, characterized as a jour­
ney through the skies of Paris, the magazine published an extensive mate­
rial, which included two one-metre sized pictures, of the colonial exhibition
located at Les Invalides. One of them was described as ‘one of the most
brilliant and busiest, due to the picturesqueness and the nature of the con­
structions, and to the wealth accumulated there’, and the other was related
to the colonies’ procession, which occurred twice a week, with ‘all the exotic
people that came to Paris, with their picturesque types and costumes’, to the
sound of ‘extravagant music’, in a kind of parade where the people under
the domination of France and other powers were exhibited.13 Side by side
with these large sets, the pages of Ilustração added scenes from inside of the
huts, takes of working or resting moments, religious ceremonies, Melanesian
masks, musical instruments, Java dancers, indigenous soldiers, that is, an
abundance of situations, creating an attractive ethnographic kaleidoscope,
descriptions which made every effort to establish an unusual, eccentric or
curious tone, in a mixture of fascination and horror, and which justify, now
from a space–time point of view, the idea that, in a few hours, the visitor
would go through the history of humanity in its different stages, to the taste
of the evolutionist anthropological approach that dominated at that time
(see Figures 1.6, 1.7, 1.8).14

Figure 1.6 Engravings representing the Kabyle people, a Berber ethnic group from
the north of Algeria
Source: A Ilustração, 20 July 1889, p. 266.
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 29

Figure 1.7 Belle dance in an Egyptian café

Source: A Ilustração, 20 August 1889, p. 248

30 Tania Regina de Luca

Figure 1.8 The Kanak people, the original inhabitants of New Caledonia. The Colo­
nial Exhibition ensures the European superiority
Source: A Ilustração, 20 August 1889, p. 253
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 31
The famous company Decauville installed a railroad with five stations
throughout the exhibition, allowing passengers to go from the modern
wonders gathered in the Machines Gallery to the hidden regions of the
planet, with their inhabitants, outfits, habits and uses coming from the
dawn of time, which made real a past that Europe had left behind many
centuries ago, forming a structured picture around the opposition between
civilization and barbarism. The magazine provides an extensive material
to reflect on the perception of non-European cultures and the domination
hierarchy, reaffirmed through the contact with reconstruction of spaces
marked by different types of exoticism. It is important to insist that in
international exhibitions effective contact was made with remote peo­
ples in view of the meticulous scenographic spaces, which reproduced
prevailing conditions in remote areas for the delight of visitors in a didactic-
pedagogical record that showed the distance justifying the hierarchies in
evidence.15
For those who were not fortunate enough to go through the exhibitions,
A Ilustração, a sophisticated publication from the graphic point of view
and which intertwined readers from Brazil and Portugal from iconographic
material produced in Paris, was in charge of documenting the Luso-Brazilian
presence while emphasizing peculiarities and exoticism present in the sector
dedicated to the colonies. Many other periodicals were added to Pina’s maga­
zine in the process of building imaginary shared by broad social segments
and not only on the European continent but also in Brazil, in view of the
wide circulation on an international scale of this material, whose existence
was not restricted to moments of major international events.16 The empirical
evidence, materialized in the images that documented the life and habits of
other peoples, ended up justifying and legitimating the Western domination,
which presented itself as evident, besides finding support in the precepts then
considered scientific.

Portugal in Paris
The pages of A Ilustração supported a true campaign initially for the Portu­
guese participation and then, in relation to the terms under which it should
be assumed, acting as a channel to express personal projects and interests of
its director. It was not by chance that the first of its two chronicles to deal
with the subject Paris Exhibition was published in the issue of 5 May 1888,
which was not fortuitous, as it remained exactly one year until the opening
of the celebrations of the centenary. In the section As Nossas Gravuras, the
meaning of the two published images, which showed the construction of the
Eiffel Tower was explained in detail, attesting the possibilities of the industry
and the domination of technology over nature. In turn, Crônica reproduced
a text of Mariano Pina, published three months before in Lisbon newspaper
O Século (Lisbon, 1880–1977), where he rose against the position of the
then-Ministry of Finance, Mariano de Carvalho, who found support in the
Portuguese political environment and according to which ‘the exhibitions
32 Tania Regina de Luca
were useful only to the countries that held it and to the delegates of the
government that attended it’.
In addition to refuting the statement based on economic data, he argued
that

[A] country that conceals itself, a country that hides itself, is a dead
country – it is a country that shows through its absence that it produces
nothing, that it does not have a life of its own . . . that it is not included
in the number of nations!

Nor did he refrain from facing the uncomfortable issue of the participation
of a monarchic government in the republican festivity, striving to show the
difference between 1789 and 1793, ensuring that they were celebrating the
liberal achievements and not the murder of Louis XVI. In a jocular manner,
he concluded by stating that Portugal would not be present in the exhibition
because ‘the Portuguese congressmen have never read, or pretend having
never read, the history of the French Revolution’.17
The contrast between the development of the work at Champ de Mars and
the lack of definition on the Portuguese participation was rather evident. The
decision to publish again what had already been said in February increased
the sense of urgency of the issue, since, while the iron tower was taking
shape and moving towards the sky, the Portuguese presence in Paris was still
unknown. Finally, the issue of 20 September 1888 brought the good news:
the country would be represented, even if not by the government, a decision
that was enthusiastically received. As in 1885, the country would again be
represented, without the government officially presenting itself at the event.
At this moment, A Ilustração reproduced an article by Pina, published on
1 June at the Porto newspaper Comércio Português (Porto, 1876–?), when
the subject was still unresolved.
One may ask what the reason was for giving publicity to an article in
favour of a cause already won. A possible answer is associated with the fact
that Pina promoted, in the article, the adoption of a compromising solution,
which did not hurt the susceptibility of the crowned heads: to create an unof­
ficial commission, which had the economic support of the state and was in
charge of organizing the participation of the country in the exhibition, which
was not exactly an original idea, since Brazil and other European monarchic
regimes had already followed that path.18 In his view, the absence of Portugal
was absolutely unjustified, especially if the intense economic and cultural
exchanges with France were taken into account. Such position was not only
‘a homemade mistake and loss’ but also an ‘enormous lack of consideration
towards a country with which we have had an ongoing moral and material
relationship’.19 Thus, the position presented months before was ultimately
adopted, and the purpose of republishing the text, at the exact moment when
the decision was announced, may have been to make evident the correctness
of his analysis.
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 33
However, this was not only about the satisfaction of having his ideas con­
firmed. In the explanation that preceded the article, Pina informed that the
direction of the work was in the hands of the president of the Associação
Industrial Portuguesa (Portuguese Industrial Association), responsible for
the organization of the Industrial Exhibition of Lisbon of 1888 and director
of Comércio de Portugal (Lisbon, 1879–1897), João Crisóstomo Melício
(1836–1899), assisted by a committee of Portuguese citizens residing in Paris,
which he participated as a secretary. It is not too much to assume that the
choice was a result of this involvement with the matter, as, by the way, he
himself, without any concession to modesty, was keen to emphasize:

I had the honor in this campaign to find myself in the forefront of the
shooters. In Ilustração, in Lisbon’s Repórter (Lisbon, 1887–1890), in
Porto’s Comércio Português, I defended and promoted the idea of the
absolute necessity of Portugal being part of the Exhibition.20

If the first stage had been won – Portugal was going to Paris – it was still
necessary to ensure funds to consummate the venture.
In this same issue of A Ilustração, an entire page was reserved to the future
Pavilion of Brazil, located at Champ de Mars, at the foot of the Eiffel Tower,
a project of the French architect Louis Dauvergne.21 As far as it can be ascer­
tained, this image was not published in Le Monde Illustré, that is, contrary to
the usually adopted practice, it is a stereotype expressly made to Ilustração,
a clear indication of the interest in the subject rose. In As Nossas Gravuras,
the reader could find a detailed description of the building; its size and inter­
nal division of the space, the gardens and its greenhouse, in addition to the
minutiae on costs and time of execution (see Figure 1.9). Several paragraphs
were dedicated to the activities of those responsible for the Brazilian repre­
sentation, which also included a committee formed by Brazilians who lived in
France, the members of which were duly identified in their titles and positions,
with particular emphasis on senator Viscount of Cavalcante (1829–1899),
special delegate, Eduardo Prado (1860–1901) and the correspondent in Paris
of Jornal do Comércio (RJ, 1827–2016), Santa-Anna Nery (1848–1901). Nor
was there any lack of praise for the imperial government, which was ‘prepared
to assist in any possible manner the private initiative’. The contrast between
Portugal and Brazil was evident and maybe that was precisely the purpose of
the report built in the issue – to challenge the pride of the Portuguese to the
extent that the former colony clearly took the lead. After all, it was expected
that the government supported the recently created Portuguese commission,
so much so that As Nossas Gravuras ended with the following prediction:

Let us hope that we will soon be equally busy with the Portuguese
section, and that the Paris committee .  .  . be met by the Portuguese
government with the same reception and good will that the Brazilian
commission was met with by the Empire government!.22
34 Tania Regina de Luca

Figure 1.9 Building project for the Brazilin Pavilion in Paris

Source: A Ilustração, 20 September 1888, p. 280.

While the section As Nossas Gravuras continued publishing takes of the

works now in its final stage, it was difficult to get the Portuguese pavilion off
the ground.23 The last two chronicles related to March 1889, that is, when
only two months remained until the opening of the exhibition, the increasing
disagreements between the Parisian commission, of which Pina was the secre­
tary, and Viscount of Melício became explicit, and ended up in rupture, with
accusations, answers and replies to liven up the pages of Lisbon’s and Porto’s
newspapers.24 Between February and March 1889, Rafael Bordallo Pinheiro
(1846–1905) and Pina started a relentless campaign against the director of
Comércio de Portugal in the weekly Pontos nos ii (Lisbon, 1885–1891), full
of humour thanks to the irreverent pen of its owner. The cause of disagree­
ment was the emphasis that the Viscount intended to put on the industry,
leaving the wines and agricultural and colonial products in the background,
in addition to disputes on the project of the Portuguese pavilion.25 It is very
likely that Pina was aiming at the example of the Antwerp exhibition, which
left a positive impression on him and where the adopted standard was pre­
cisely the one he was now vehemently defending.
In the issue of 5 April 1889, the cover of A Ilustração showed the now
former Minister of Finance, Mariano de Carvalho (1836–1905), repeat­
ing the practice of paying homage, through the publication of portraits, to
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 35
personalities who were aligned with Pina’s interests and ideals, followed by a
long editor’s note greeting his appointment to the position of representative
of the government to deal with matters related to the exhibition, without
any mention to the fact that the choice fell precisely on a person who was
sceptical regarding the efficiency of that kind of event.26 The outcome repre­
sented the defeat of the positions defended by the president of the Industrial
Association, so acidly criticized by Pina and Bordallo. On 18 March, Carv­
alho went to Paris and, checking in loco the state of the works, once again
appointed a commission of residents in Paris that, as expected, included the
director of A Ilustração.27
Thus, when the April issue was published, the situation was widely favour-
able to Pina and Bordallo, what explains the satisfaction tone of his Crônica,
which evoked the high interests of the country to justify his passionate inter­
vention in the subject.28 The Portuguese representation was divided into two
sections: the industrial section, under the responsibility of Melício and located
at the Other Exhibitions Palace, and the other, in charge of the Royal Portu­
guese Agriculture Association, led by Pinto Coelho and Geraldo Pery, occupy­
ing a pavilion at Quai d’Orsay, decorated with faience from Bordallo’s factory
and devoted to wine and agricultural and colonial products, being the general
supervision incumbent upon Mariano de Carvalho (see Figures 1.10, 1.11).

Figure 1.10 Exterior view of Portuguese pavilion in Paris

Source: A Ilustração, 5 August 1889, p. 232.
36 Tania Regina de Luca

Figure 1.11 Interior of the Portuguese pavilion in Paris where visitors could taste
Portuguese wines such as Port and Madeira
Source: A Ilustração, 5 August 1889, p. 237.
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 37
The importance must be stressed of the Portuguese participation to the strat­
egy adopted by Mariano Pina, who made the international exhibition the
core subject of the 1889 issues. One can imagine which details on the Brazil­
ian and Portuguese presence would particularly interest the readers, and the
absence of one of the countries would leave significant consequences on the
demand of the periodical, putting at risk the tactic adopted.29
The Portuguese representation was a recurring subject in the magazine,
aligned with the interests of its director-owner, who was personally involved
in this matter. So much so that, between 1888 and 1889, the exhibition had
the theme of twelve chronicles, of which eight – that is, almost 70% – focused
on Portugal. Still in 1888, he defended the presence of the country in Paris, fol­
lowed by the actions as secretary of the Parisian committee, the disagreements
with Melício and the appearance of Mariano de Carvalho, what ensured
Pina’s active collaboration, maintained as secretary, and Bordallo Pinheiro’s
participation, who assumed the decoration of the building in Quai d’Orsay.
On 10 July 1889, therefore after a delay of two months regarding the
start of the exhibition, the pavilion was opened to the public, constituting
the country’s individualized presence, which was the object of comments in
two of Pina’s consecutive chronicles. The first one was published in the issue
immediately subsequent to the opening (July 20) and praised the building
and the accuracy of its presentation, without losing the opportunity to exalt
the faience of Caldas da Rainha’s factory, relive details of the previous dis­
agreements and attack, in a rather incisive manner, the positions and propos­
als of Viscount of Melício. The theme of the next issue (5 August), in turn,
was the importance of small nations such as Portugal receiving the support
and appreciation of the public opinion, for which the participation in an
event as that of 1889 was essential. Demonstrating to be a good analyst of
the European situation, he warned, a few months before the Ultimatum, that
the country’s political future,

even its independence, depends on its colonial greatness. It is not neces­

sary to think of the public opinion in England, which is clearly hostile
toward us. We must have France’s opinion at our side – and also Ger­
many’s, if this assistance will not be costly to us in the future.30

It was precisely in the issue of 5 August that the Portuguese participation

received special attention, both in terms of texts and images, constituting the
main subject, as the editor’s note of the previous issue warned:

We wanted in this issue to present a print that represents the façade of

the Portuguese Pavilion. . . . However, our designer did not have time
enough to finish another page representing the rooms of our pavilion. . . .
And, wishing to give full prints – in one single issue – of the brilliant
Portuguese exhibition, we have saved for the next issue the publication
of these curious prints.
38 Tania Regina de Luca
In addition, just not to lose the habit, the note ended with the director’s tele­
gram reproduction of the Lisbon newspaper O Tempo, which stated: ‘Our
industrial exhibition is much less than mediocre’.31
In addition to the section Crônica, a long non-signed text titled Por­
tugal em Paris (Portugal in Paris), very likely written by Pina, informed
about the content and decoration of each one of the rooms of the palace
and its annex, explaining who were those responsible for what was being
displayed (institutions, associations, individuals) and taking the time to
describe the opening party, regarding which 3,000 invitations were sent and
which had the illustrious presence of the president of the French Republic,
of important names of the Portuguese literary world, all collaborators of
A Ilustração – Eça de Queirós, Ramalho Ortigão, Batalha Reis, Count of
Ficalho, for instance – in addition to Eduardo Prado, Santa-Anna Nery,
Domício da Gama and an extensive list the magazine insisted on mention­
ing. Evidence that the disputes were still alive were the less than flattering
comments directed at the Viscount of Melício, presented as an opportunist,
who had the ‘impertinence’ of ‘daring to go to the Pavilion of Quai d’Orsay,
where he had never set foot’ to seek compliments and recognition to which
he was not entitled. It warned the reader not to take this building for ‘the
ridiculous exhibition of the Portuguese industries’ installed by the Viscount
in Champ de Mars.32
To attest the excellence of the work executed by the committee of which
Pina was secretary, the always complimentary statements, which invari­
ably mentioned the ‘distinguished’ and ‘illustrious’ colleague, director of
Ilustração, were transcribed from several organs of the press that were
published in Paris (Soleil, Matin, Gazette Diplomatique, Brésil, Améri­
que), in addition to Los Negocios (Barcelona) and O Tempo (Lisbon),
which referred to the ‘sad industrial exhibition’. The use of the magazine
as a vehicle for the dissemination of Pina’s ideas and actions was evident,
an aspect that becomes relevant when the part regarding the images is
observed.33
Three whole pages were dedicated to the Portuguese representation: one
devoted to the building, another with sketches of aspects of its internal area
and the third one with busts of nine commissioners who answered for the
works at Quai d’Orsay, among them Mariano de Carvalho, Mariano Pina
and Bordallo Pinheiro. The comparison with the material published at Le
Monde Illustré reveals that only the take related to the building was printed
in the French magazine, but it did so much later than A Ilustração, only in the
issue of 5 October, and it is clear that it comes from different matrices, even
if the photograph that was the base for the preparations was most probably
the same. It is therefore another case of production of the visual material to
be printed exclusively in the magazine, which leaves no doubt regarding the
centrality that the subject had to Pina.34
The Portuguese participation found space in other sections rather than in
Crônica. Thus, in the issue of 5 September, As Nossas Gravuras detailed the
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 39
homages that Rafael Bordallo received from Rodolphe Salis (1851–1897),
Le Chat Noir’s owner, meeting point of the Parisian intellectual bohemia
and famous for its shadow theatre. As informed in the magazine, Salis visited
the Portuguese pavilion and was delighted with the pieces manufactured by
the caricaturist, who was invited to visit Le Chat. The reception to Bordallo
and his friends, among which Mariano Pina was included, was described in
detail, which was not produced by A Ilustração but transcribed from the
magazine Novidades (Lisbon, 1885–1964) and from the literary and satiri­
cal periodical of Salis himself, Le Chat Noir (1882–1895), a strategy that, in
addition to sparing the work of producing the text, ended up by giving the
note an apparent impartiality. By giving publicity to the recognition of his
friend, Pina ended up by legitimizing, through other ways, the entire battle
around the exhibition.
It was also Bordallo who enabled him to return to the subject in December
1889, when the exhibition had already closed, and this was thanks to the
publication of the special issue of Pontos nos ii, dedicated to the Portuguese
presence at Quai d’Orsay. The section As Nossas Gravuras saluted the vol­
ume and took from it the image of the bar where the visitors could taste the
Portuguese wine.35
Despite all efforts to salute the Portuguese performance and to emphasize
its operation in the African continent, sometimes laments slipped, such as
the one registered in As Nossas Gravuras, a section under the responsibility
of the editorial staff – that is, Mariano Pina – where frequent comparisons
between the exuberant wealth and the colonial ‘wonders’ that France exhib­
ited at Les Invalides and the situation of Portugal were made:

[W]e, Portuguese citizens, know nothing about showing the wealth nor
the picturesqueness we have in Africa – indeed, our heart is tormented,
fearing for the day when we will be expelled from our colonies, if an
energetic man does not appear in Portugal to fully transform our colo­
nial systems,

which makes evident the natural manner as the domination of other people
and culture was understood. What was questioned, therefore, was the insuf­
ficient exploitation of the wealth, a fact that could threaten the possession
of this valuable good.
It is not surprising that the readers of A Ilustração had much news of
what was happening in the Quai d’Orsay pavilion, always in a praise­
worthy record, which is not observed in relation to the show organized
by Melício, invariably evoked from an unfavourable perspective. In fact,
what was at stake, besides the personal interests of Pina and Bordallo,
was the debate about how the country should be represented in an inter­
national event of this magnitude. Should colonial wealth and agricultural
production be highlighted, or should the results achieved in the industrial
field be emphasized? The disputes pointed to the tensions surrounding
40 Tania Regina de Luca
the imaginary about the nation, its role on the international scene, its
economic vocation and the bets made regarding the future. The impossi­
bility of establishing a consensus attests to the fact that the disagreements
were profound, so much so that the Portuguese representation ended up
splitting in two.
In the Brazilian case, the division was not so explicit. It is certain that
on the shelves of the exhibition rooms, samples of coffee, cocoa, mate,
wood, minerals, rubber and medicinal plants predominated in an effort to
highlight the advances achieved in agriculture and extractivism. It was nec­
essary to show the potential and resources of the country, which urgently
needed to promote European immigration in view of the scenario marked
by the recent end of the slave regime (13 May 1888). The visitors interested
in getting more information about the country had the excited volume Le
Brésil en 1889, printed especially for the event and organized by Santa-
Anna Nery. In the introduction, the journalist compared Brazil of 1867,
the year in which the empire was represented in another exhibition held
in the French capital, with the situation in 1889. He explained that his
objective was

d’enregistrer ici quelques généralités sur ses progrès récents, et dresser

l’inventaire de ce qui a été fait dans ces dernières années. C’est à l’œuvre
seulement que l’on doit connaitre l’ouvrier. Nous espérons, cependant,
que de tout ce qu’on va lire il résultera la conviction pour tous que le
Brésil a beaucoup travaillé depuis vingt-cinq ans, qu’il s’est élevé peu
à peu, sans secousses violentes et aussi sans orgueilleux transports de
triomphe, et qu’il peut aspirer à de hautes destinées. Ces destinées, il
les atteindra sûrement s’il persiste dans la même voie. Nous avons fait
beaucoup déjà; il nous reste encore plus à faire. Il nous est impossible
de nous arrêter sans compromettre tout ce qui a été tenté jusqu’ici. En
avant donc! Et pour le progrès!36

Even if the country could not align itself among the industrialized nations,
it was a matter of showing how much had already been done in the most
different sectors, which is why the opposition between the before (1867)
and the now (1889) was a strategy to endorse the country’s entry into the
concert of civilized nations. Exoticism was not absent either because of the
presence of Brazilian flora in the greenhouse attached to the pavilion or
because of the exhibition dedicated to the Indians of the Amazon, prepared
by the director of the National Museum, Ladislau Neto (1838–1894), which
was part of the retrospective of human habitation, organized by Charles
Garnier (1825–1898).37 It is worth noting, however, that these were not two
rival exhibitions, so much so that Ladislau Neto wrote the chapter dedicated
to science in Le Brésil en 1889. In the magazine A Ilustração, these aspects
did not deserve systematic treatment, since Pina’s attention was especially
focused on the Portuguese presence.
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 41
Conclusion
During the circulation of A Ilustração magazine, two international exhibi­
tions took place. The first one, held in Antwerp in 1885, deserved only brief
mentions in the publication, even though Portugal and Brazil had partici­
pated in it. A different situation can be observed in relation to the event held
in Paris in 1889, since the magazine dedicated, already from the previous
year, a privileged space for the event. In fact, this time, Mariano Pina enjoyed
a privileged position, since A Ilustração could count on the vast material pro­
duced by the weekly newspaper Le Monde Illustré, paying for it very modest
prices. To evaluate the importance of the illustrated magazines, it is good to
remember that at that time, the cinema was not a reality, and the use of the
portable camera was a not common practice, since the most successful model
was launched at the end of the 1800s by Kodak. Thus, the prints produced
in France, and which were quickly replicated in the Luso-Brazilian magazine,
contributed to create sensibilities, to prepare the eye and the taste, to spread
values and imaginary, outlining a shared universe of references, for reason­
able prices and which did not necessarily require the domain of writing, after
all at least half the pages of A Ilustração were taken by prints.
Besides the advantage of being printed in Paris and being able to count
on the set of images published in Le Monde Illustré, Mariano Pina became
directly involved with the Portuguese representation of 1889, which did not
occur in 1885, when he was no more than a simple visitor. This direct par­
ticipation in Paris allowed him privileged access to the materials produced
by the commissions of Portugal, Brazil and also France, as he emphasized
before, during and after the event. It must also be considered that the celebra­
tion of the centenary of the French revolution gave rise to an exhibition of
a much wider scope than that held in Antwerp, which helps to understand
the heightened mood surrounding the way in which to behave at the event,
a fact observed in 1885.38
Thus, in relation to the disagreements over Portuguese representation, if
the personal interests of Pina and his friend Bordallo Pinheiro are evident,
they also warn of different apprehensions over the national interest. In the
pages of the Ilustração, the disagreements became explicit and ended up
being expressed in a way that was not always elegant. Brazil, for its part,
appeared in the magazine in a much paler way than Portugal, and the exam­
ple of the country was used, throughout 1888, less for effective interest in
the preparations made by the empire than to attack what was considered
Portuguese inertia.
Although the emphasis has fallen on the Luso-Brazilian presence, we
must not lose sight of the fact that A Ilustração has brought a lot of mate­
rial about the exhibition as a whole. It was a generalist magazine, which
dealt with different subjects and always had artistic concerns. The colo­
nial question, if it was present in its pages, gained particular prominence
during the 1889 exhibition, whether to deal with Portuguese possessions
42 Tania Regina de Luca
or other powers. The material published on the European domination in
other continents contributed to the composition of a discourse where the
domination was part of the natural order and justified the supremacy over
other cultures.

Notes
1. See, for example, Homi K. Bhabha, The Location of Culture (London/New York:
Routledge, 1994); Frederick Cooper and Ann Laura Stoler (eds.), Tensions of
Empire: Colonial Cultures in a Bourgeois World (Berkeley/Los Angeles/London:
University of California Press, 1997) and the books of Edward W. Said, Oriental-
ism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978) and Culture and imperialism (New York:
Knopf, 1993).
2. Regarding the universal exhibitions, see Brigitte Schroeder-Gudehus and Anne
Rasmussen, Les fastes du progrès: le guide des expositions universelles 1851–1992
(Paris: Flammarion, 1992); Lina Aimone and Carlo Olmo, Les expositions uni­
verselles 1851–1900 (Paris: Belin, 1993) and Werner Plum, Exposições no século
XIX: espetáculos da transformação sociocultural (Bom: Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung,
1979).
3. About L’Illustration, published on 3 April 1843, it is known that

L’abonnement annuel coûte 30 puis 36 francs à partir de 1848 pour Paris, et

32 puis 36 francs pour la province. Relativement, il n’est donc guère moins
cher de s’abonner à L’Illustration qu’à un quotidien (40 francs) qui paraît
sept fois plus. . . . Un abonnement représente 210 heures de travail pour
un ouvrier manouvre de province. Par ailleurs, une livraison du Magasin
pittoresque coûte 10 centimes, alors que l’exemplaire de L’Illustration est
vendu 75 centimes. Se lancer dans le projet d’un hebdomadaire d’actualité
en 1843, c’est compter sur un accueil favorable des classes bourgeoises aux
revenus certains.
Thierry Gervais, “D’après photographie. Premiers usages de la
photographie dans le journal L’Illustration (1843–1859),”
Études Photographiques, no. 13 (juillet 2003): 58

4. Regarding the little less than 10% that remains, 4% were not found and the oth­
ers came from different illustrated periodicals. Tania Regina de Luca, A Ilustração
(1884–1892) e a circulação de textos e imagens entre Paris, Lisboa e Rio de Janeiro
(São Paulo: Unesp: FAPESP, 2018). It is interesting to note that, due to the reuse
of French clichés, the cost of the magazine, in Portugal and Brazil, was lower than
that in France.
5. Mariano Pina, “Portugal em Anvers,” A Ilustração, 8 May 1885, 226.
6. For details on the Portuguese presence, see the work organized and translated
into French by Antonio de Castilho, Catalogue Officiel. Exposition Colonial du
Portugal. Société de Géographie de Lisbonne (Anvers: Établissement Kockx & Co,
1885). The title leaves no room for doubt: it was about the Portuguese colonies.
On p. 175, we read:
Le gouvernement portugais n’ayant pas reçu des Cortès l’autorisation pour
subsidier l’Exposition d’Amsterdam, n’en a non plus demandé de subside
pour l’Exposition d’Anvers. Mais dès que la Société de Géographie de Lis­
bonne, d’accord avec la Banque Coloniale Portugaise (Banco Nacional
Ultramarino), a pris l’initiative d’une Exposition Coloniale, le Ministre de la
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 43
Marine et des Colonies, Monsieur Manoel Pinheiro Chagas, leur a prêté tout
le concours de son dévouement, des ressources de son département, ainsi que
l’appui des autorités des colonies. Mais quant aux produits du Portugal en
Europe, ou dans les îles des Açores ou de Madeira, aucun subside matériel n’a
été accordé. Voilà pourquoi seulement quelques exposants se sont présentés,
à leurs frais, devant ce concours. Et cependant le Portugal, un pays vignoble,
pourrait fournir des milliers d’exposants dans cette spécialité.

See also: Editor’s note, “A Ilustração e a Exposição de Paris,” A Ilustração, 5

June 1889, 163 and Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. As festas coloniais,” A
Ilustração, 20 October 1889, 310, respectively. The latter was 58.5 cm wide by
80.9 cm height. At the three times that the magazine published large pictures, the
reader’s attention was directed to the fact that the efforts spent and the expenses
with the “extraordinary” stereotype and the printing did not increase the price
of the individual issue or the subscription.
7. Regarding the conference, see Henri Wesseling, Le partage de l’Afrique (Paris:
Denoël, 1996).
8. Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. Exposição portuguesa em Anvers,” A Ilus-
tração, 5 August 1885, 227. It should be noted that Pina presents Antonio de
Castilho as an envoy of the Minister of Navy and Colonies, Pinheiro Chagas,
not to mention that Castilho was the frst secretary of the executive committee
in charge of work in Antwerp.
9. Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. O Brasil em Anvers,” A Ilustração, 5 Septem-
ber 1885, 262.
10. Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. Exposição Universal de Anvers,” O Ocidente,
1 September 1885, cover and 196. The frst reference to the subject is in O Oci-
dente, 21 May 1885, cover and 116.
11. Luciano Cordeiro, “Exposição da Sociedade de Geografa de Lisboa em Antuér-
pia,” O Ocidente, 1 September 1885, 195–196; 21 September 1885, 211 and
214; 21 October 1885, 235; 1 November 1885, 246; 1 December 1885, 267–270
and 21 December 1885, 287.
12. The comparison with Le Monde Illustré indicated that the prints relating to the
presence of Portugal and Brazil at the event were not published in the French
magazine, that is, it was commissioned especially for A Ilustração, which is
understandable given the interest of the theme for the Luso-Brazilian public.
The example indicates, once again, the policy of print products adopted by
the magazine, which had to satisfy specifc interests of the countries to which
it was intended, not always coinciding with those privileged by Le Monde
Illustré.
13. Editor’s note, “A Ilustração e a Exposição de Paris,” A Ilustração, 5 June 1889,
163 and Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. As festas coloniais,” A Ilustração,
20 October 1889, 310, respectively. The latter was 58.5 cm wide by 80.9 cm
height. At the three times that the magazine published large pictures, the reader’s
attention was directed to the fact that the efforts spent and the expenses with
the ‘extraordinary’ stereotype and the printing did not increase the price of the
individual issue or the subscription.
14. Regarding the second aspect, it is worth following the description of the religious
mystic order of the Aissaouas, originated in Morocco and spread through several
northern African countries, which in Les Invalides

played their uncouth and savage games in which they are specialized, licking
hot iron, burning their arms with torches, putting hot coins in their mouths,
thrusting needles and nails into their bodies, passing a needle through their
44 Tania Regina de Luca
tongues, causing their eyes to come out of the socket, balancing on sharpened
edges of swords, etc.
Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. A dança dos Aiassaouas,”
A Ilustração, 20 December 1889, 359

15. In 2018, French filmmaker Michel Ocelot’s drawing Dilili in Paris came to public
view about the adventure of a young cane girl in the Paris of the Belle Époque.
The girl was part of a small village, installed in a public garden of the city and
that reproduced, for observations of the inhabitants of the French capital, the
daily life of the inhabitants of New Caledonia, in accordance with practices then
in force and that were not restricted to exhibitions.
16. For the specific case of Portugal, see Leonor Pires Martins, Um império de papel.
Imagens do colonialismo português na imprensa periódica ilustrada, 1875–1940
(Lisboa: Edições 70, 2012), which does not include among its sources the maga­
zine of Mariano Pina.
17. Mariano Pina, “Crônica. 1789–1889,” A Ilustração, 5 May 1889, 130–131.
18. Brazil participated in the event through a Franco-Brazilian committee, which was
supported by the emperor.
19. Mariano Pina, “Crônica. Portugal na exposição de Paris,” A Ilustração, 20 Sep­
tember 1888, 274.
20. Ibid. The other members were Visconde de Azevedo Ferreira, Camilo de Moraes
and Domingos de Oliveira. On the initial plans of the committee, see Mariano
Pina, “Crônica. Portugal na Exposição de Paris,” A Ilustração, 5 October 1888,
290, which reproduces an open letter on the subject, first published in Lisbon’s
press.
21. On Brazil’s participation, see Heloisa Barbuy, “O Brasil vai a Paris em 1889: um
lugar na museografia da Exposição Universal,” Anais do Museu Paulista: História
e Cultura Material, Nova Série, no 4 (January/December 1996): 211–261.
22. Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. O Brasil na Exposição de Paris,” A Ilustra­
ção, 20 Septembre 1888, 275 and 280, text and image, respectively.
23. See Anonymous engravings, “Aspecto da grande galeria das máquinas,” A Ilus­
tração, 25 Mars 1889, 93, which devoted an entire page to the machines gal­
lery, and the subsequent issue, Anonymous engraving, “Palácio de Belas Artes,
Pavilhão Boliviano e Trabalhos no campo de Marte,” A Ilustração, 5 April 1889,
108, which brought engravings of the Fine Arts Palace and the Bolivian Pavilion,
and in page 109, works at Champ de Mars, seen through the arches of the Eiffel
Tower, all of them recently published in Le Monde Illustré.
24. Mariano Pina, “Crônica. Portugal em Paris,” A Ilustração, 5 Mars 1889, 66
and, with the same title, the section of the next issue, Mariano Pina, “Crônica.
Portugal em Paris,” A Ilustração, 20 Mars 1889, 82–83 and 86. In both cases,
it is a reproduction of texts already published in the Lisbon newspaper O
Século.
25. About the clash on the building at Quai d’Orsay and on what to
exhibit there, see the special issue dedicated to the exhibition, Pontos
nos ii, December 1889, http://hemerotecadigital.cm-lisboa.pt/OBRAS/
PONTOSNOSII/1889/N_especial/N_especial_item1/P1.html.
26. Contrary to the practice of the magazine, the covers of which were taken by
one single image, this cover put together, under the title Portugal in Paris, the
bust of the commissioner of the Portuguese government, alongside an editor’s
note which rejoiced in attacking Melício and reporting on the creation of a new
Parisian commission and on the choice of Bordado Pinheiro to decorate the
controversial pavilion, a project of the French M. Hermant. A Ilustração, 5 April
1889, cover.
 The exhibitions of Antwerp and Paris 45
27. The information is in Paulo Jorge Fernandes, Mariano Cirilo de Carvalho. O
“poder oculto” do liberalismo progressista (Lisboa: Texto Editores, 2010), 309.
The connections between Lisbon and Paris were made by the Sud-Express, a
luxury train opened in 1887. In the next year, the line Porto–Paris started to oper­
ate. The first-class fares for the exhibition were expected to be five or six pounds,
as informed by Mariano Pina, “Crônica. Portugal na Exposição de Paris,” A
Ilustração, 20 September 1888, 274.
28. Mariano Pina, “Crônica,” A Ilustração,” 5 April 1889, 98–99.
29. The editor’s notes undertook to warn the reader and create an expectation on
the next issues. In January, it was already announced for the next issue

a print representing the Monumental Fountain which will be built in the

center of the gardens of the International Exhibition of Paris and which is
the work of the French distinct sculptor Saint-Vidal. A Ilustração warns its
readers that soon a series of large prints on this extraordinary Exhibition
will start.
Editor’s note, “No title,” A Ilustração, 20 January 1889, 19.

30. Mariano Pina, “Crônica. O Pavilhão Português,” A Ilustração, 20 July 1889,

212, and Mariano Pina, “Crônica. Pró-Pátria,” A Ilustração, 5 August 1889, 226,
source of the quotation.
31. Editor’s note, “A Ilustração e a Exposição de Paris,” A Ilustração, 20 July 1889, 231.
32. Anonymous, “Portugal em Paris,” A Ilustração, 5 August 1889, 227 and 230.
33. Editor’s note, “A Exposição portuguesa julgada pela imprensa,” A Ilustração, 5
August 1889, 230–231 and 234.
34. The Portuguese Pavilion is found at Le Monde Illustré, 5 Octobre 1889, 220.
35. Anonymous, “As Nossas Gravuras. Pontos nos ii,” A Ilustração, 20 December
1889, 371, engraving on 384.
36. Frederico José de Santa-Anna Nery (dir.), “Introduction,” in Le Brésil en 1889
(Paris: Charles Delagrave, 1889), XVIII, www2.senado.leg.br/bdsf/handle/
id/518666. Regarding other Brazilian participation in this kind of exhibition, see
Francisco Foot Hardman, Trem fantasma. A modernidade na selva (São Paulo:
Companhia das Letras, 1988), 49–97. Translation:

to record here some generalities on its recent progress, and to establish an

inventories of what has been done in recent years. It is only at work that
one must know the worker. We hope, however, that from everything we are
about to read there will be the conviction that Brazil has worked a lot during
the last twenty-five years, it has risen little by little, without violent shocks.
The country also carries its triumph without a pride attitude and can aspire
to high destinies that Brazil will surely reach if he persists in the same way.
We have already done a lot and we still have more to do. It is impossible for
us to stop without compromising everything that has been tried so far. So
forward! And for progress!

37. Barbuy, “O Brasil vai a Paris em 1889,” explains that while the French organizers
use the term Casa Inca (Inca House) for the exhibition on the history of housing
dedicated to the indigenous populations of the Americas, including the Amazon
Indians, the Brazilian officials referred to it as the Pavilhão do Amazonas (Ama­
zon Pavilion).
38. The classification of international events, which multiplied rapidly from the
mid-nineteenth century onwards, is quite controversial. It was only in 1928 that
the first attempt at standardization was registered. In the case of the Antwerp
46 Tania Regina de Luca
exhibition, despite its organizers calling it the Universal Exhibition, it was not
always classified in this way. See Catalogue Officiel de l’Exposition Universel
d’Anvers, 1885 (Anvers: Imprimerie E. Storksmaus & Co, 1885), https://archive.
org/details/expositionuniver00expo_0/page/n1/mode/2up. For a detailed analy­
sis of classification problems, see Nelson Sanjad, “Exposições internacionais:
uma abordagem historiográfica a partir da América Latina,” História, Ciência,
Saúde, Manguinhos, no. 3 (July/September 2007): 785–826, www.scielo.br/scielo.
php?script=sci_arttext&pid=S0104-59702017000300785&lng=en&nrm=iso.
2 Representations of Africa and
Africans in the magazine Portugal
em África (1894–1910)*
Josenildo de Jesus Pereira

The magazine Portugal em África

The ‘Third Portuguese Empire’1 was shaped in the context of the late nine­
teenth-century scramble for Africa by several European countries. This
intervention incorporated the appropriation of land and the project of trans­
forming the new African subjects in both the physical (the body) and cultural
(the mind) dimensions. To fulfil this goal, the Portuguese colonial state pro­
moted countless military campaigns,2 scientific journeys3 and protected the
missionary action of numerous Catholic organizations.4
In 1894, four new periodicals were created in the Portuguese Catholic
press: the newspaper A Patria (Lisbon, 8 February 1894); the scientific maga­
zine Portugal em África (1894–1973), directed by Quirino Avelino de Jesus;
the Revista contemporanea de questões religiosas, scientificas, philosophicas,
historicas e sociaes (Coimbra, 1894–1896), directed by Father Fortunato de
Almeida and the seminal newspaper Voz da Verdade, official organ of the
Braga Archbishop (Braga, 1894–1917).5
Through these periodicals, the Portuguese Catholic clergy conveyed their
perceptions and preferred forms of intervention in the history of their times
as well as explaining their choice of action. The selection of the magazine
Portugal em África for this study was justified by the volume and content of
its articles that allow us to better understand the relationship between Portu­
guese Catholic nationalism and Portuguese colonial policy in relation to the
African continent. It was also partly due to the context of the international
events touched off by the Berlin Conference (1884–1885) and above all to
the effect of the English Ultimatum of 1890 on the Portuguese political and
social imagination.6
Overseas possessions were of common interest to the liberal monarchy and
the Portuguese Catholic Church. First, because maintaining their overseas
possessions in the face of foreign assaults could have been a solution to pos­
sible internal problems in Portugal, and second, for the Catholic Church at
that juncture to secure a space for its various missionary organizations vis-à­
vis the Protestant advance since the arrival of the French, Belgians, Germans
and British in the African continent.7

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-4

48 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira

Among the missionary orders, the Congregation of the Holy Spirit stands
out. The order was founded in 1703 by Claude Poullart des Places, and in
1848, it merged with the Congregation of the Immaculate Heart of Mary
founded by Father Francois Libermann in 1841.8
Almost 20 years later, the General Council of the Congregation of the
Holy Spirit in Paris founded this order in Portugal by the decree of 31 August
1867. On 3 November 1867, the first community of the Congregation was
inaugurated in Santarém.9 Yet, due to

the lack of resources, the scant results in the recruitment of students

and the difficulties and obstacles of all kinds that arose in Portugal
against the establishment of religious congregations; [such things]
facilitated the decision to close the seminar and the Spiritan experi­
ence ended.10

After another failed attempt in Gibraltar under the direction of Colégio S.

Bernardo, the city of Braga offered favourable conditions for the installation
of the Congregation of the Holy Spirit at the College of S. Geraldo. The col­
lege was renamed Colégio do Espírito Santo and, on 8 October 1872, Father
P. Eigenmann installed there accompanied by the first Portuguese Spiritan,
Father Policarpo dos Santos, plus three auxiliary brothers.11
From then on, the Congregation of the Holy Spirit could carry out its mis­
sion, that is, to recruit missionaries for the evangelization of the Portuguese
colonies in Africa. After the republican revolution of 1910, the Congregation
of the Spiritans had its activities suspended, for reasons explained by Toni
Neves:

With the Republican Revolution of 5 October 1910, one of the first mea­
sures adopted was the extinction of religious orders. In Angola alone,
the Spiritans had founded thirty-one missions. All the assets of the Con­
gregations were confiscated by the State.12

In 1919, at a more favourable juncture, the Superior General instructed

Fr. Móises Alves de Pinho, the future Bishop of Angola and Congo, to begin
restoring the congregation in Portugal, starting from Braga.13
In the context of Portuguese colonial politics, at the end of the nineteenth
century, among other acts, the congregation set up the magazine – Portugal
em África (PA) – and began to publish it monthly from 1894. This periodical
had two series, the first published from January 1894 to October 1910 with
the subtitle revista científica (scientific magazine) and the second from Janu­
ary 1944 until December 1973, which adopted the subtitle revista de cultura
missionária (magazine of missionary culture). The first series corresponds to
the colonial phase and the second to the theological phase.
This chapter is focused on the first series, printed in Lisbon. During that
time the editors released 204 issues, amounting to 1,424 articles, on average
 Representations of Africa and Africans 49
60 articles per year. Its first and most eminent director was Quirino Avelino
de Jesus from Funchal, who had settled in Lisbon by the end of 1892 and
after that, according to Ernesto Castro Leal, influenced

in a persistent and continuous way, the area of public opinion that

proposed the practice of a political mindset based on the principles of
Catholic Spirituality, an organized Nation, a strong State and a revi­
talized colonial empire, stating, for public governance, the inevitable
positive sequence of four priorities (financial, economic, social and
political-constitutional).14

Complying with the colonial project, the themes approached in the magazine
were primarily related to Portuguese history, including mission histories from
the conquests of the fifteenth century to the new colonial actions. Other
themes included commercial activities; the military colonies; maps concern­
ing Portuguese African territories with their probable mineral resources;
slavery; Portuguese colonization of Africa and the political organization of
the colonies; the characteristics of local botany and other themes connected
to Portuguese colonization in Africa.
The first issue came to the public at a very unfavourable time for Portu­
gal, due to threats to Portuguese possessions in Africa and Asia from the
Belgians, the British, Germans and the French. But such threats proved
to have a positive effect on missionary work as they stimulated Catholic
nationalism and forced Portuguese politics to react to the deliberations of
the Berlin Conference and the English Ultimatum which concerned inter­
national law on the question of the borders of European possessions in the
African continent.
Regarding European possessions in Africa, the Berlin Conference (1884–
1885) established a principle for colonial claims based on the ‘effective occu­
pation’ of the territory to the detriment of the principle of ‘historical rights’
on which Portugal relied.15 In turn, the British Ultimatum of 11 November
1890 imposed limits on Portuguese claims in Africa expressed on its ‘Pink
Colour Map’, demonstrating how fragile Portugal’s condition was in inter­
national geopolitics by that time.16 From the analysis of this troubled context
for Portugal, Brandão points out that

[I]n the second half of the nineteenth century, pressured by the expan­
sionist ambitions of other powers and by the political decisions of inter­
national forums, Portugal found itself forced to invest in the ‘scientific
occupation’ of its overseas possessions.17

The editors of the magazine declared that although the existence of Portugal
was not due to colonial rule, ‘the resurrection of a part of its greatness and
glories’ would only be ‘possible by the creation of a new Lusitanian empire
in the Black Continent’.18 With this purpose, they highlighted that
50 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
If, on the one hand, subordinating our spirit to this ideal, we want this
magazine, which was instituted for it, to be scientific, it is because this
aim can only be reached through studies and applications of science,
in most of its immense ramifications. And if we finally put our humble
cooperation at the service of such great work, we can see that patriotism
can encourage us and guide us to this task that is opening before us.19

The editors also pointed out that politics, religion, morality, law, administra­
tion, economy, history, geography, geology, zoology, botany, climatology, eth­
nology and other branches of human knowledge would serve as fields for their
mental elaborations for their ‘the intimate relation . . . with the foundation of
an Afro-Lusitanian empire’. The readers were informed that the magazine was
‘eminently practical’, therefore, whether in the field of religion or in sociology
or in the field of natural sciences, would focus on ‘disseminating principles
and elements’ that could ‘be used for education, agriculture, industry, com­
merce, navigation, art, domestic economy and, mainly, for colonisation’.20
So, based on this perspective of Catholic nationalism, and reflecting the mag­
azine’s commitment to Portuguese interests, the editors defended the religious
missions, especially those formed by regular congregations as they were ‘the
first, most effective and most economic factor of overseas colonial civilisation’.
After all, Christianity, the ‘religion of humanity’, made them ‘see that all modern
scientific and material advances . . . were providentially destined to facilitate
the widespread and intense fruitfulness of the divine principles of the Gospel’.21
Finally, in an advanced notice to the readers, the editors of Portugal em
África highlighted the scientific and social quality of the individuals who
were prepared to collaborate with the publication.
Looking at the objectives announced by the editors, it is not excessive to
argue that the articles published in their magazine are an excellent source for
colonial historiography, since the production of its contents openly articu­
lated the Portuguese colonial project in Africa, in its concrete historical con­
text and dynamics.
Thus, the analysis of its contents related to economics, religion, adminis­
tration, geography, botany and ethnography can contribute to a better under­
standing of the discursive foundations of the third Portuguese empire and,
by extension, the logic of the representation of Africa and African peoples
in the Portuguese colonial discourse at that time and, in the long run, the
terms of the racial issue still extant in the contemporary Western world. We
are interested in dealing with these last issues/problems without disregarding
their dialectic nexus with the previous ones.
The analytical perspective used here – concerning the logic of the repre­
sentations of Africa and Africans in the discursive context of this journal – is
supported by the formulations of Marx and Engels when considering that,

The production of ideas, representations, consciousness, is directly

intertwined with material activity and the material exchange of men, as
 Representations of Africa and Africans 51
the language of real life. The representations, the thinking, the spiritual
interchange among men are expressed as the direct emanation of their
material behaviour. The same is true of spiritual production, as it appears
in a people’s language of politics, laws, morality, religion, metaphysics,
and so on. Men are producers of their representations, their ideas, etc.,
but we refer to real and active men, as they are conditioned by a certain
development of their productive forces and by the exchange that cor­
responds to them until they reach their broader formations.22

In this sense, it should be remembered that the history of that time was
marked by economic, political and ideological developments connected with
the expansion of European capitalism, among which it is important to men­
tion the second colonial wave aimed at the territories of Africa and Asia.23

The third Portuguese empire: the foundations

Around 1894, the editors of Portugal em África, in an atmosphere of uncer­
tainty and supported by strong political–ideological convictions, made an effort
to encourage the spirit of the Portuguese political and economic elites. In 44
articles, various authors talked about the new Portuguese colonial enterprise
in West Africa, justifying it and pointing out how to achieve its goals, thus con­
firming this magazine’s commitment to such economic and cultural enterprise.
In the first issue of the magazine, Quirino Avelino de Jesus, in the article
Angola and Congo or the third Lusitanian empire, put forth the thesis that
the project of constructing the third Portuguese empire would accomplish
the ‘manifest destiny’ of Portugal as a nation.24
Referring to the Portuguese possessions in the world, he emphasized that
their conquest became possible after the battle of Aljubarrota in 1385, which
ended the attempt to unify Portugal and Castile and opened the way for the
Portuguese second dynasty, for, after this event, ‘Lusitanian people threw
themselves’, with the same ‘manly vigour’ of as those of the first dynasty, into
‘the struggles with the sea, finding the way to the south, and into the enter­
prises of navigation and trade’. Thereafter, ‘breaking the walls of the horizon,
to the South and the West’, they had send ‘warriors to northern Africa, in
search of victories’; ‘sailors to the wide ocean searching for discoveries’; and
missionaries, merchants and adventurers ‘to the new lands, in the pursuit of
souls and martyrdoms, of producers and wealth, of vassals and glories’.25
According to Jesus, it had been in this period that the civilizing mission of
Portugal started its service to humankind:

Here, among the regular spiritual, mercantile and political commitments

of a farming people, as they were already constituted in an organised
state, on a blessed and fecund territory, the remote origins of our civi­
lizing life emerged, presaging us as a useful nation to humanity, and in
these first ordinations of our history, as a wise master of our future.26
52 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
Following this line of argument, Jesus pointed out that the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries represented the golden period of the Portuguese nation,
as ‘while tearing unknown veils’ had opened up ‘paths to new worlds’ thus
expanding the ‘highest expressions’ of ‘national individuality, for the benefit
of religion, homeland and humanity’. He continued,

New territories were added to Portugal, vassals were added from all
sides, all around the globe colonies were sowed, and distant places were
embroidered with their trading posts; their ships sailed throughout all
seas, and colossal wealth arrived on their beaches; their ideas, beliefs,
customs flourished and were reproduced everywhere.27

But since Quirino Avelino de Jesus wanted to assist with the process of
Portuguese recovery, he acknowledged that Portugal’s triumphalist path
had its mishaps due to ‘errors and bewilderments, setbacks and misfor­
tunes, weaknesses and cataclysms’.28 The results of these ‘errors’ were two
specific situations – the Spanish domination (1580–1640) and the English
domination respectively referred to as ‘the captivity of sixty years’ and
‘a predatory British suzerainty of more than two centuries’. For Quirino,
these events caused ‘the decrease of agriculture, the death of industry, the
decline of shipping, the weakening of commerce, the overthrow of power,
the embezzlement of dominion, the eclipse of the name and the decline of
Portuguese glory’.29
After outlining this dramatic picture, the director of the magazine resumed
his triumphalist and messianic narrative, emphasizing that ‘in spite of all this,
this illustrious people did not abandon the path marked by its star’. After
all, they still had ‘a respectable armada and a good mercantile navy’, as well
as ‘bold ship-owners and merchants’, ‘heroic missionaries and adventurers’
capable of carrying out ‘the expressions of the national spirit and the com­
plex works of the most original colonisation’. He carried on:

There, in these overseas worlds, tribes were still being organized into vil­
lages, savages were Christianized, mines were exploited, land properties
were used for agriculture, dams were built, wealth was unravelled, cities
were established, and as a supreme revelation of our creative power,
Brazil was being populated and enhanced soon to become an auspicious
and colossal Empire.30

But, similarly to the ‘empire of the East’, this auspicious and colossal Luso-
Brazilian empire also collapsed with the emancipation of Brazil in 1822. In
view of this, Quirino, from his place of Catholic authority, supported by
the strength of millennialism in the Portuguese culture, criticized the past
political authorities in order to guide the contemporary ones. His point was
that the fate of Portuguese glory had been mostly abandoned during the
nineteenth century, when ‘instead of polarizing our civilising energies in
 Representations of Africa and Africans 53
the remaining and still enormous possessions, we paralysed our colonising
movement, abandoning the path traced by our history’.31
The Portuguese nineteenth century, which was mostly a century of liberal
monarchy, had been the ‘saddest, unhappiest and most disappointing period
of the country’s premature decadence’ because the Portuguese ‘almost com­
pletely ceased the centenary works’ of expansion of race, language, religion,
morality, law and Portugal’s ‘own nationality’,32 ‘with dangerous and adverse
effects for the generations to come’.

When a dark and penitential period came, in which Brazil did not send
us any treasure because of its own upheavals, and the foreign exchanges
refused to give us further advances due to our near bankruptcy, an aston­
ishing collapse due to the accumulated conditions took place.33

In the face of this discouraging picture, Quirino Avelino de Jesus called the
attention of authorities and businessmen to the following scenario.

And in the background of this whole picture, overseas, there are colossal
Lusitanian possessions, true promising worlds which, however, we have
neglected. They could be a splendid emporium today, but they are still
burdensome for the metropole that day by day has been experiencing vio­
lent losses; possessions which today only represent immense and defence­
less fields over which the greed of some powerful states intersects.34

Therefore, he stressed, ‘it is necessary for us to re-enter our natural orbit, to

follow our destiny again, to resume the thread of our history’.35 Under the
ideology of ‘manifest destiny’, he exalted Portugal as ‘a useful nation for
humanity’, which was to wield its ‘sceptre of universal influence’, increasing
its sovereignty and starting international relations with other regions outside
the ‘European environment’.36
According to Jesus, Portugal’s new colonial empire should centre in its
possessions in Africa, above all, the territories of Angola and Congo for they
were ‘a giant embryo of cosmic and anthropological energies still almost
virgin’, thus, fit for ‘a new colonial epic’. In other words, ‘an auspicious and
perhaps the last great ideal of our nationality’.37 He further pointed out that
in India it was impossible for Portugal to create a new empire due to its lim­
ited political influence at that international juncture and because India was
under British rule. Nor could Mozambique be considered as it was basically
a British colony.38 Hence,

[I]t is mainly for our West Africa, and, above all, for our continental
hinterland beyond the Zaire, that attentions, commitments, efforts, hero­
ism and eloquently demanded sacrifices must now come together as one
objective to affirm our remaining vitality, by the highest principles and
interests of religion, politics, administration, morals, and economics.39
54 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
Consequently, he recommended that ‘all possible religious, political, adminis­
trative, moral and economic efforts’ be employed in the action to reconstitute
the ‘social body of the metropolis’ in its spiritual and material dimension, as
well as the interests of the Church, homeland and humanity.40 From this per­
spective, he proposed a strategic plan of colonization to expand the Lusita­
nian family all over the vast overseas territories, through the emigration of
the proletariat to the possessions; the settlement of ‘savage tribes’, as well as
‘the systematic fusion of indigenous and metropolitan elements’.41
The aim of such an action being the spread of Portuguese spirit, lan­
guage and nationality based on ‘heroic and most faithful tenacity’ would
additionally reproduce their ‘hieratic, moral and legal ideas and obser­
vances’ and also the ‘economic and financial organism, through mercantile
impulses and prodigies of technology principally in mining and agricultural
industries’ to the far ends of these remote regions. Such enterprise required ‘a
wise administration of factories, farms, scientific expeditions, martial occu­
pations and, above all, regular Catholic missions’; and the complete aban­
donment of the ‘ominous suzerainty of Great Britain’ the ‘traditional and
frustrating enemy of all overseas commitments’.42
The proposal was no less than to resume the course of the Portuguese
historical vocation

If for seventy or eighty years we have abandoned this blessed path with
detriment, let us take advantage of the painful lesson, let us exchange the
winding paths for the monumental road, in the name of reason, common
sense, experience, honour, and usefulness.43

Naming this Angolan and Congolese territory an ‘auspicious and beautiful

Portuguese possession’, he pointed out that its surface was equivalent to that
of Portugal with Spain, France, Switzerland, Belgium and the Netherlands,
since it spread from the fourth parallel to Cunene and from the Atlantic
Ocean to the watershed of Zaire and Zambezi Rivers, thus offering Portugal
three regions: the Coast, the Sierras and the Plateaus whose weather and
climatic conditions made possible the ‘cautious adaptation by Europeans’.44
At this juncture, it is assumed that these arguments were proposed in the
form of an antidote to the psychological effects of the crisis through which
the economy was going. Colonialism had sustained the Portuguese state for
some time; after all, many people still lived on the memories of the golden
ages of the Luso-Brazilian empire that came to an end with the political
independence of Brazil in 1822.
In March 1894, the editors published the piece, The Infante D. Henrique,
where on the topic, The Nautical Epic, they pointed out that,

The fate of the Infante was, however, to enlarge the homeland. He had
been born to begin the epic of modern navigation, which gave the Lusita­
nian people greatness and immortality. And could this genius guess that,
 Representations of Africa and Africans 55
at the end of his life, a new hero would have to go after his expeditionary
forces, an Albuquerque, another D. Henrique, or Alexander, to subjugate
to Portugal all the vast Orient?45

The year 1894 was the fifth birth centenary of Infante D. Henrique, who
has a unique place in the Portuguese social imagination associated with
the early history of the Portuguese discoveries and expansionism, the first
phase of which started with the conquest of Ceuta in 1415 and closed
with the  prince’s death in 1460. For his involvement in the venture, as
underlined by Milton da Aparecida e Silva, the Infante D. Henrique was
turned into an icon of that phase, expressed in the cognomen ‘the Naviga­
tor’, idealized as individuality that conjugated entrepreneurship, capacity
to agglutinate wills, the crusaders’ spirit, and political skills.46 Silva points
out that,

The African expansionist policy personified by Infante D. Henrique was

a warmongering policy that promoted the interests of the nobility, aim­
ing to obtain wealth through looting, annexation of territories and the
slave trade. The chronicles of the time, written by Gomes Eanes Zurara,
created an ideal image of the Infante, which was transported to our
times, giving rise to the myth of the ‘Navigator’.47

In the sub-topic, ‘D. Henrique Before History’, the editors of PA, with
the purpose of reaffirming this ideal, linked, in the form of a metaphor, the
results of the achievements of this Portuguese prince to the effect produced
by a stone when thrown into a lake, causing ‘circular displacements that
advance to the extremities’. Similarly, they refer to the impact of

the conquest of Ceuta in the ocean of time. The ripples it caused will go
to the end of time. As a Portuguese sword marked this point, the spirit
of the Infante was lifted up and enlightened, to carry the country and
humanity on a new path with such fire and light.48

Finally, it was asked rhetorically – ‘what would Portugal have become if it

were not for the discoveries? Would it live independently, small, between Spain
and the sea? Would it be absorbed by Spain as Aragon was by Castile?’ – to
conclude that ‘in any case it would not have been crowned with glory nor
would it have played an important role in the history of humanity’.49
In the long run, the myth of D. Henrique was crystallized in the popular
imagination and in certain academic circles,

more sensitive to the weight of tradition than to the reality of archival

documentation, especially in the nineteenth century with the national­
ism represented by Oliveira Martins (1845–1894) and the middle of the
twentieth century, during the Estado Novo (1933–1975).50
56 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
It is not too much to point out that the most notable Portuguese poet in
the early twentieth century, Fernando Pessoa, in his own terms a defender of
Portuguese civilizational messianism, contributed to the mythical representa­
tion of D. Henrique by highlighting him as ‘The only emperor who truly had
the globe in his hand’.51
Among the essayists who published in this magazine, it is worth referring
to Julio Augusto Henriques (Cabeceiras de Basto, 1838–Coimbra, 1928), a
professor of botany at the University of Coimbra for 52 years and director
of the Botanical Garden of Coimbra for 45 years. When, in 1918, he retired,
at the age of 80, the University of Coimbra honoured him, recognizing his
intense scientific contributions to botany through teaching, the administra­
tion of the botanical garden, the library, the creation of the herbarium, the
botanical museum and the foundation, in 1880, the first scientific society
dedicated to botany in Portugal – the Sociedade Broteriana.52 The achieve­
ments of this scientist in the field of Portuguese natural history gave him
prominence in the process of building colonial knowledge.
In The Scientific Exploration of the Colonies, written in Coimbra on
the premises of the botanic garden, Henriques notices that the press was
celebrating D. Henrique’s birthday, stressing that it was one of ‘the most
remarkable birthdays not only for Portugal, but also for the whole world’,
especially because ‘to celebrate past glories is to give reason to seek new
glories’. Conversely, ‘not to celebrate the anniversary of notable events is
to confess an inability to appreciate their value and practice similar acts’.53
As can be seen, this was not a simple celebration, rather its aim was to
turn that date into an icon of the glorious and ‘manifest destiny’ of Portugal,
which, in those circumstances, needed not only to be remembered but above
all to be recovered. However, Henriques referred to what happened in other
colonizing countries such as England, France and Germany, where the inter­
relations between colonization and science were cherished, which, in the
field of botany, caused scientific knowledge of plants to be developed for
their effective utility. Differently, Portugal continued to neglect knowledge
about its own colonies, with significant losses. For this reason, he pointed
out that ‘the brilliant parties with which the city of Porto’ where the prince
was born, and the whole nation, celebrated D. Henrique should be taken as
an incitement for Portugal ‘to enter on a new path’ of scientific studies across
the empire, where could be found ‘very competent doctors, agronomists,
pharmacists to undertake scientific explorations’.54
In another article, ‘Colonial Agriculture’, when referring to Africa, Hen­
riques highlighted that:

The settler, upon entering possession of any land, should not ignore the
research, the study of the nature of the region he has chosen for the field
of his activity . . . Africa is likely to produce excellent wood construction
and joinery, as it already produces gums, cuttings, and rubber. As soon
as the railways make it easy to transport all these products to seaports,
the trade will earn a large amount for these products.55
 Representations of Africa and Africans 57
A little earlier, with the same perspective, Francisco Xavier Silva Teles, in
‘Colonialism and Colonial Politics’, criticized those who understood the
colonization concept as,

A set of commercial, agricultural, and industrial results, obtained by a

dominating nation, in a country or a region that belongs to it, and that
such results tended to increase the economic power of the exploiting
nation, albeit often to the detriment of the exploited region.56

Scientific colonization was the new byword in the context of the journal’s
discourse and the precondition for more profitable and skilled economic
exploitation.
The arguments of Francisco Xavier da Silva Teles concerning Portuguese
colonialism and colonial policy in Africa have much to do with his own his­
tory. Silva Teles was born in 1860, in the Portuguese colony of Goa, India, ‘in
a large European family of few possessions, which his father, administrator
of the state forests, directed in the old patriarchal way’. Thus, he belonged
to the group locally designated as ‘descendants’ of ‘Portuguese lineage’.57
The financial difficulties of his family did not prevent him from graduating
in medicine in the Metropole (Porto and Lisbon), after which he entered the
Portuguese navy as a doctor.58
In relation to Silva Teles, Ramiro José Pimenta points out that:

[I]t is very likely that the Ultimatum crisis not only made a strong impres­
sion on his pro-overseas spirit, but also strengthened his determination
to devote part of his intellectual, pedagogical and institutional effort to
the civilising mission of Portugal in tropical regions, especially in the
colonies of Africa.59

His innumerable work trips revealed the African colonial world to him. His
management experience at the Inhambane Hospital in Mozambique (1886)
awakened him to colonial politics and, by extension, to the studies of anthro­
pology, geography, climatology and hygiene.60
In 1924, he presented the Rapport sur la Climatologie Intertropicale et les
Climats des Colonies Portugais at the Congress of the International Colonial
Institute in Rome. According to Orlando Ribeiro, it is a most extensive, origi­
nal work of climatology,61 where Silva Teles pointed out that,

[W]e understand the extreme importance of the scientific documenta­

tion that climatology collects gradually on the diversity of inter-tropical
climates. The African continent, where Europe’s most energetic activities
are headed, is hostile or hospitable to European settlement depending
on the region immigrants want to colonise. The problem of colonisation
requires, beforehand, a knowledge of the local or regional climates. The
principles of modern climatology show us the direction of our stud­
ies. We must put aside the old ideas that portrayed tropical Africa as a
58 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
burning hot region. Much work has been done in all the colonies, but it
is absolutely essential to tighten the weather network further.62

The logic of representations

According to the editors and other authors published by this magazine, the
new Portuguese colonial project in Africa should be an economic, cultural
and scientific enterprise to recover Portugal’s glory, as its history warranted.
But it is not too much for us to point out that every colonial action almost
always implied the use of physical, symbolic and epistemic violence.
Physical violence was evident in the wars to conquer the territory and
the bodies of the colonized. Symbolic and epistemic violence, in turn, meant
the reinvention of the latter through stereotypes, disqualifying their ways of
material and spiritual self-construction as well as reproduction and justifying
their subordinate condition.63
The representations of Africa and Africans appearing in the discourse of
this magazine may be understood through the printed descriptions of sym­
bolic and epistemic violence, in consonance with the interests that guided the
new colonial project. If, on the one hand, the territory was seen as something
positive due to its mineral wealth and other things, its people with their cul­
tural repertoire were not. The sense of journalistic representations depended
on the logic of these interests and on the way Africans reacted.
In the context of West Africa, the territories of Angola and Congo were
considered to be historic ‘Portuguese possessions’. Thus, a first representation
of this territory is that it was an empty land, without anyone; even though
it was considered a ‘nursery of blacks’.64 Then, due to ‘the natural riches,
manifested or ignored in that thriving soil’, this territory would be the solu­
tion of the economic crisis that had befallen Portugal, above all, because of
the end of the Portuguese-Brazilian empire. After all, mineralogy, botany and
zoology were vital fields of knowledge as, according to Quirino de Jesus,

Each day we discover new wonders amidst the opulence of nature; where
the rocks contain so much precious gold, as well as iron, copper, char­
coal, sulphur, and rock salt, and the flora consists of prodigious plants,
and the fauna presents a big variety of animals, and so the vivifying
potentiality of heaven and earth reaches truly colossal proportions.65

Similarly, he drew attention to ‘the ease with which cotton, coffee, jinguba
[kind of peanut, Angola], sugar cane, rubber, copal gum, tobacco, ivory, cere­
als and the vegetables are produced at those surprising sites’.66
But what about the people of these territories and their cultures as they
are represented in this magazine?
Quirino Avelino de Jesus mentioned that they were a ‘youthful race’ com­
posed of conguezes, cafres and hotentotes, with their ramifications of cassa­
gens, va-nano, ganguelas, amboelas and others. Those in contact with Aryans
 Representations of Africa and Africans 59
or the mestizos of the outposts and prisons could promote ‘the beginning of
an ethnological transformation’ and become useful if they were benefitted ‘by
faith, science and civilization’.67 To the term ‘youthful race’, the contributors
of the magazine frequently added other stereotypes, such as savages, heathen,
uncultured and barbarians.
The new terms of international law defined at the Berlin Conference
(1884–1885) in relation to European possessions in Africa and, above all,
the British Ultimatum (1890) stimulated the formation of a political and
Catholic nationalism in Portugal. In view of these, and aligning with the
proposals of Quirino Avelino de Jesus, the Portuguese state encouraged the
creation of Catholic missions with schools of instruction, agriculture, arts
and craft in Luanda, Benguela and Mossamedes, increasing the number of
those that already existed in Landana, Luali, Cabinda, Loanda, Malange,
Caconda, Bihé, Cassinga, Huilla, Jau, Thyvinguiro and Libollo.68
In his report about the Angolan missions, Jose Pereira do Nascimento
emphasized the effectiveness of the ‘Civilizing Missions’ and proposed: ‘let us
encourage this complex vitality, enlarge this gigantic work and in the spirit
of evolution carry out an immense transformation in this blackish Angola’.69
Africans being classified as ‘savages’, African forms of social organization
were described as tribal and their cultural rites associated with practices of
cannibalism, as was attested by Pereira do Nascimento’s descriptions of the
residents of Libollo.70 By contrast, the missionaries were considered coura­
geous to enter into the midst of the ‘fierce Gentiles’.71 Moving from cultural
practices to labour relations, the terms used also changed, as in the case of
the porters who carried the settlers’ luggage and goods.72

Final considerations
The magazine Portugal em África fulfilled an important political–cultural
and pedagogical role in the context of this new Portuguese colonial enter­
prise, as its editors and collaborators introduced themselves as defenders of
the history and the pride of the Portuguese nation; also recommending why
and how this new colonial project should be done, while criticizing previous
experiences so that this one could be successful. They argued that it should
be not only an economic enterprise but cultural and scientific as well.
In relation to Africa, in a conjuncture of uncertainties, they emphasized
Portugal’s past glory by focusing on the ‘Manifest Destiny’ thesis and the
400 years of colonization. Therefore, the magazine Portugal em África ful­
filled a double ideological function for the same purpose, that is, the suc­
cess of the new Portuguese colonial enterprise. On the one hand, committed
to a historiographic messianic discourse about Portuguese colonialism and
identity and, on the other hand, by investing in the positive representations
of self – ‘white race’, ‘Aryans’, ‘civilized’, ‘Christians’ – and the negative rep­
resentations of the other, that is, African peoples and cultures – ‘savages’,
‘barbarians’, ‘uncultured’, ‘tribal’, encapsulated the material determinations
60 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
and class interests of this new colonial project, which were also hidden in the
so-called Civilizing Mission carried out by the Catholic missions.
In these terms, the arguments of the editors and collaborators of this jour­
nal served as support both for the consolidation of scientific knowledge
about the colonies and for the construction of an official historiography in
the twentieth century, characterized by a close connection between politics
and colonial history.
In relation to scientific knowledge, the editors and collaborators of this
magazine, that is, Quirino Avelino de Jesus, Julio Augusto Henriques, Fran­
cisco Xavier Silva Teles, Jose Pereira do Nascimento and others from their
scientific missions to Angola, Mozambique, Cape Verde and Guinea Bissau;
their studies, the practice of teaching their subjects, their publications in the
fields of geography, anthropology, mineralogy, geology, zoology, palaeontol­
ogy and the direction of institutions such as the Museums of Mineralogy and
Geology (Porto and Lisbon) and the National Museum of Natural History,
contributed much to the consolidation of scientific knowledge about the
colonies in the twentieth century, a process that was already underway from
the second half of the nineteenth century.
The latter-day Portuguese colonial project in Africa fits into Valentim Alex­
andre’s formulation – ‘Old Brazil, New Africas’.73 In the long run, the new
African identities became a product of the relationship between colonialism,
racism and capitalism, an association for which deconstruction is a current
imperative.

Notes
* Access to this journal was possible only through the mediation of Prof. Carlos
Figueiredo, Coordinator of the Libolo Project, who introduced me to Fr. João
Mônico, director of the Archives of the Congregation of the Spiritans in the city
of Lisbon, who, thanks to his generosity, allowed me to scan the issues related to
the colonial phase of the magazine. I express my deepest gratitude to both, and,
in the same way, to my students of scientific initiation – Ana Carolina, Karol
Freire and Liandra Bruna – for their relevant contribution to the cut and synthe­
sis of arguments related to the objects of analysis of this text. Finally, I also thank
Sandra Ataíde Lobo and the other reviewers of the text for the generous reading
and suggestions, which I hope to have absorbed so that this chapter would be
better presented and understood.
1. Alexandre Valentim, “A questão colonial no Portugal oitocentista,” in Nova
História da Expansão portuguesa. Volume 9. O Império Africano (1825–1890),
Coord. Valentim Alexandre and Jill Dias (Lisboa: Editorial Estampa, 1998).
2. René Pelissier, As campanhas Coloniais de Portugal (1844–1941) (Lisboa: Edito­
rial Estampa, 2006).
3. Cristiana Bastos, “Das viagens científicas aos manuais de colonos: a Sociedade
de Geografia e o conhecimento de África,” in O colonialismo português – novos
rumos da historiografia dos PALOP, org. Centro de Estudos Africanos da Uni­
versidade do Porto e Instituto de Investigação Científica Tropical, 1ª Edição
(Porto: Humus, 2013).
4. Miguel Bandeira Jerónimo, Org. O Império colonial em questão: poderes,
saberes e instituições (sécs. XIX – XX) (Lisboa: Edições 70, 2013).
 Representations of Africa and Africans 61
5. Joaquim Azevedo and José Ramos, “Inventario da imprensa católica entre 1820 e
1910,” Lusitania Sacra, 2 série, 3 (1991): 215–264. The authors also refer to the
weekly A Religião e o Operário (Covilhã), but the collection at the Portuguese
National Library points that this periodical started in 1893.
6. Antonio Matos Ferreira, “Repercussões do Ultimatum no meio católico (Notas
acerca do Nacionalismo Católico),” Lusitania Sacra, 2ª série, 6 (1994): 31–45.
7. Nuno Severiano Teixeira, “O Ultimatum Inglês: política externa e política interna
no Portugal de 1890,” Análise Social, 23, no. 98, 4º (1987): 687–719.
8. Espiritanos: testemunhos alegres, missionário feliz. Província do Brasil. São
Paulo. https://espiritanosbrasil.org.br/ (Accessed 4 October 2020).
9. A. Torres Neiva, “A Congregação do Espírito Santo em Braga,” Missão Espiri­
tana, 4, no. 4 (2003): 32. https://dsc.duq.edu/missao-espiritana/vol4/iss4/5
(Accessed 31 May 2020).
10. Ibid., 33.
11. Ibid., 37.
12. Tony Neves CSSp, Superior provincial da Congregação dos Missionários do
Espírito Santo [talk]. www.snpcultura.org/espiritanos_em_portugal_150_anos_
ao_servico_da_cultura.html (Accessed 26 June 2020).
13. Neiva, “A Congregação do Espírito Santo em Braga,” 40–41.
14. Ernesto Castro Leal, “Quirino Avelino de Jesus, um católico ‘Pragmático’: notas
para o estudo crítico da relação existente entre publicismo e política (1894–
1926),” Lusitania Sacra, 2ª série, 6 (1994): 355–389.
15. Teixeira, “O Ultimatum Inglês.”
16. Ferreira, “Repercussões do Ultimatum no meio católico.”
17. José Manuel Brandão, Liana Póvoas and César Lopes, “Geologia colonial: o pro­
tagonismo do museu da ‘Politécnica de Lisboa’,” MIDAS, 5 (2015). http://jour­
nals.Openedition.org/midas/804. DOI: 10.4000/midas.804 (Accessed 3 October
2020).
18. A Redação, “Advertência Preliminar,” Revista Portugal em África, no. 1 (January
1894): 1.
19. Ibid.
20. Ibid., 2.
21. Ibid.
22. Karl Marx, A Ideologia Alemã (São Paulo: Hucitec, 1986), 20.
23. Eric J. Hobsbawm, A era dos Impérios (1875–1914), 3rd ed. (Rio de Janeiro: Paz
e Terra, 1988).
24. Quirino Avelino de Jesus, “Angola e Congo ou o terceiro império lusitano,”
Revista Portugal em África, no. 1 (January 1894): 3–14.
25. Ibid., 4.
26. Ibid.
27. Ibid., 4–5.
28. Ibid., 5.
29. Ibid.
30. Ibid.
31. Ibid., 6.
32. Ibid.
33. Ibid., 7.
34. Ibid.
35. Ibid.
36. Ibid., 4.
37. Ibid., 3.
38. Ibid., 9.
39. Ibid., 3.
40. Ibid.
62 Josenildo de Jesus Pereira
41. Ibid., 7–8.
42. Ibid., 8.
43. Ibid.
44. Ibid., 9.
45. A Redação, “O Infante D. Henrique,” Revista Portugal em África, no. 3 (March
1894): 65–80.
46. Milton da Aparecida e Silva, “D. Henrique, O Navegador (1394–1460): entre
a memória e a história” (Dissertation, Alfenas-MG: Universidade Federal de
Alfenas/UFA, 2016), 14.
47. Ibid., 26.
48. A Redação, “O Infante D. Henrique,” 65–80.
49. Ibid., 79.
50. Silva, “D. Henrique, O Navegador (1394–1460),” 17.
51. Ibid., 14.
52. Colóquio Exposição, Centenário da Jubilação de Júlio Henriques: recordar o
homem, relebrar a obra (1918–2018). Programa e resumos, 29 de Setembro de
2018, org. Ana Luísa Santos et al. (Coimbra: Sociedade Broteriana, 2018).
53. Júlio A. Henriques, “A exploração Scientifica das Colônias,” Revista Portugal em
África, no, 3 (March 1894): 91–95, 91.
54. Henriques, “A exploração Scientifica das Colônias,” 94.
55. Júlio A. Henriques, Agricultura colonial. Separata da Revista Portugueza Colo­
nial e Maritima. Vols 1 (1898) – 8(1901) (Lisboa: Livraria Ferin, 1901), 3.
56. Silva Teles, “Colonisação scientífica e politica colonial,” Revista Portugal em
África, no. 2 (February 1894): 49–52.
57. Orlando Ribeiro, “Silva Telles, introdutor do ensino da Geografia em Portu­
gal,” Finisterra, 11, no. 21 (1976): 12–36. https://doi.org/10.18055/Finis2304
(Accessed 31 May 2020).
58. José Ramiro Pimenta, “Teles, Francisco Xavier Da Silva (Pondá, 1860 – Lisboa,
1930),” in Dicionário De Historiadores Portugueses – Da Academia De Ciên­
cias Ao Final Do Estado Novo. Http://Dichp.Bnportugal.Pt/. (Accessed 31 May
2020).
59. Pimenta, “Teles, Francisco Xavier Da Silva (Pondá, 1860 – Lisboa, 1930),” 1.
60. Ribeiro, “Silva Telles, introdutor do ensino da Geografia em Portugal.”
61. Ibid., 24.
62. APUD. Ribeiro, “Silva Telles, introdutor do ensino da Geografia em Portugal,”
27.
63. Ângela Barreto Xavier and Cristina Nogueira da Silva (Orgs), O governo dos
outros: poder e diferença no Império Português (Lisboa: ICS. Imprensa de Ciên­
cias Sociais, 2016).
64. José Pereira de Nascimento, “Cronica das Missões. Missões de Loanda. Missões
de Benguella. Missões de Mossamedes,” Revista Portugal em África, no. 1 (Janu­
ary 1894): 11.
65. Quirino Avelino de Jesus, “Angola e Congo ou o terceiro império lusitano,” 10.
66. Ibid.
67. Ibid.
68. Nascimento, “Cronica das Missões.”
69. Ibid., 13.
70. Ibid., 15.
71. Ibid., 16.
72. Ibid., 17.
73. Valentim Alexandre, Velho Brasil, novas áfricas. Portugal e o Império (1808–
1975) (Porto: Edições Afrontamento, 2000).
3 The press of the Methodist
Episcopal Church (MEC) in
Mozambique and its colonization
of African minds (1890–1968)
Simão Jaime

Introduction
The Methodist Episcopal Church (MEC) established itself in Mozambique in
1890, anticipating conversion of its population to Christianity. In their evan­
gelizing campaigns, MEC’s missionaries preached against local cultural prac­
tices, looking to eradicate them. To serve such an aim, the Church founded a
printing press for purposes of liturgical services, including newspapers. This
study analyses some of the MEC publications, namely the A Tisimu ta Ivan­
geli, A Wurimo, Zeladoras do Lar and Mahlahle Journal released during the
period 1890–1968. My argument is that they overlooked African culture and
viewed the ‘colonisation’ of African minds as strategic to successful conver­
sions. The MEC officially settled in the district of Inhambane in 1890, and in
1968, it joined with the Evangelical Church of the United Brothers, changing
its name to United Methodist Church.
The small number of newspapers I analyse results from the difficulties I had
in accessing them. The Historical Archives of Mozambique has 140 newspaper
titles that include the colonial periodical press, but unfortunately it does not
have the Mahlahle. The United Methodist Church Archive in Mozambique is
not organized, much documentation was destroyed during the civil war between
RENAMO and the government forces, possibly including the Mahlahle copies.
In the General Archives of the Methodist Church in New Jersey, there is much
documentation such as the Episcopal Methodist Church’s Expansion Plan for
Africa; the Annual Conference Reports of the MEC in Mozambique for the
periods between 1900 and 1960; correspondence between the missionaries and
the headquarters of the MEC in New York; the photographic albums of mis­
sionary work in Africa from 1890 to 1960, but unfortunately Mahlahle is not
there. The few numbers that I analyse from Mahlahle are part of a personal file
of one of the believers who worked as secretary at the MEC Office.

The context of installation of the MEC in Mozambique

The Berlin Conference held in 1885 marked the beginning of a new era for
the African continent, in which colonizing powers divided Africa between
themselves.1 One of the slogans to justify the occupation of African countries
DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-5
64 Simão Jaime
was to save Africa from savagery, the slave trade and ignorance, legitimizing
the right of Christian missions to develop their civilizing activities in Africa,
with missionaries as agents of their countries.2 From the perspective of the
missionaries of the London Missionary Society (LMS), for example, Africa
was a virgin land which had to be explored. For those missionaries, it was
not just a matter of dominating the land, it was also necessary to win the
hearts and minds of its inhabitants in their wild state, awaken them and
cultivate their self-awareness. Only then could they reach true understand­
ing and assume a position as obedient children of God.3 Notwithstanding
the dominance of Catholic missionary work within the Portuguese empire,
protected by the state which held the right and duty of the Padroado, the
new environment created by the Berlin Conference created the conditions
for the establishment of Protestant missions in its African territories, namely
in Mozambique.4
The colonial order introduced new institutions and cultural perceptions
in Africa: new technologies and their organizations; new social relations and
their ideologies, colonial administrators, police, missionaries, traders, indus­
trialists and other agents of modernization that represented the new order.5
Despite the restrictions imposed by the Portuguese colonial state, some Prot­
estant missions, such as the Swiss or Presbyterian Mission, American Board,
Methodist Episcopal, or Anglican, settled in the Portuguese colonies.6 It was
in this context that MEC missionaries arrived.7
The establishment of the MEC in Africa took place in Liberia, Angola,
Mozambique, Rhodesia and the Belgian Congo. Its initial station was in
Liberia, installed by Melville B. Cox in 1883.8 In Mozambique, work began
in Inhambane in 1890, carried out by Erwin Richards, and was extended by
Bishop Hartzell in 1897.9 The district of Inhambane, currently a province, is
located in the southern region of Mozambique, on the shores of the Indian
Ocean and borders the provinces of Sofala and Manica to the north and the
province of Gaza to the south and the west.
The presence and establishment of Protestant missions worried the Portu­
guese colonial administration, which sought to control their activities. Thus,
in 1907, the General Government of the province of Mozambique legislated
on teaching (one of the conversion strategies used by MEC missionaries)
by issuing three ordinances with such intentions.10 Ordinance No. 731, of
4 December 1907, determined that the creation of any religious press in
Mozambique would need prior authorization of the administrative author­
ities and that the requests should declare where they were to be opened
and name the respective indigenous chief there. Furthermore, the request­
ers should commit to using the Portuguese language in religious education.
The licence would not be granted for a new establishment in an area close
to another already established Catholic mission.11 These constraints were
intended to discourage the propagation of Protestant missions, being evident
that the obligation of using only the Portuguese language, for example, cre­
ated great difficulties as most missionaries did not know Portuguese.
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 65
Issued on that same day, Ordinance No. 730 determined that no school
could be established without prior written authorization from the admin­
istrative authorities of the respective territory; in the first three years
the teaching would be done in Portuguese or in the local language and
then it would be only in Portuguese, using books that had been officially
approved; a white or black individual who did not speak Portuguese well
would not be allowed to teach in provincial schools; the use of foreign
languages would not be allowed either in teaching ‘indigenous people’ or
in religious education; no individual would be allowed to open a school
without having been subjected to an examination by local administra­
tive authorities to prove that they knew the local and the Portuguese
languages well.12 The ordinance also determined that school buildings
needed to satisfy the health and hygiene standards established by the
health authorities.13

Beliefs and the doctrine of MEC

In southern Africa and specifically South Africa, Protestant churches, in an
attempt to convert the natives, sought to erase the distinctions on which
colonialism was based, by recognizing the vitality of African Christianity,
namely when it incorporated in the new creed many local ancestral beliefs
and rituals. For example, American evangelists believed in the establishment
of a universal creed in Tswana (a group of people in South Africa), for exam­
ple, mixed with local practices. Hence, they stressed a cultural fusion that
dictated the emergence of a new society.14 The process of ‘civilising’ Africans
started by removing daily practices through ‘rational’ theology to guide the
indigenous towards acting on the basis of imitation and innocent belief in
God. In Comaroff’s words:

Raising the population from the barbaric state to the highest level of
civilisation presupposes a revolution in their habits which requires more
time and many operations to do so. Revolution must be methodical,
systematic and total, it must run everywhere and at the same time.15

As a second plan, evangelists preached and prayed for conversion. In the third
place, the promises of peace and freedom in a capitalist economy guided its
preaching with a clear promise of a material revolution. In short, the recon­
struction of Tswana society in South Africa should be systematic, concep­
tual, material, cultural and agricultural. From the perspective of American
evangelists, Africans who lacked the capacity for reflection would not resist
the benefits of civilization.16 In Mozambique, the Protestant churches were
regarded as spreading anti-colonial propaganda contrary to the Portuguese
assimilationist and ‘civilising’ colonial political ideology. The discrimination
to which they were subjected helped the creation of local political awareness
and criticism of colonialism.17 As Cruz e Silva says,
66 Simão Jaime
Protestant churches and missions in Mozambique encouraged the cre­
ation of basic conditions for the development of political awareness.
Discriminated against by the colonial state, they created a space for
reflection and criticism of colonialism itself. Of particular note in this
process are the ideology they conveyed; their concern to give evangelical
and formal education at various levels; the formation of leaders for evan­
gelical leadership and for the project of Africanization of the churches.
Their teaching methods allowed a broad cultural and professional for­
mation with organisational and leadership knowledge.18

Swiss missionaries, for example, introduced the system of Minthlawas, 19

the purpose of which was to provide a Christian education with a spirit
of responsibility and solidarity among young people. This experience was
extended to the MEC.20
On the other hand, the intervention of Europe for the ‘implementation
of progress’ in Africa, from 1885, was based on the destruction of African
culture that was linked to religion. With this intervention, the traditional
African religions found themselves up against a constant challenge to sur­
vival and strengthening. Missionaries had always been clear about African
religion, intending to convert Africans to Christianity and Western culture.21
Protestant churches, particularly those active in rural areas, always stirred
up this cultural clash. The MEC was no exception, as we can see from the
opening statements of the missionaries’ conferences, alluding to the cultural
values of rural communities:

The war was hard and strong. The war was not easy against danger­
ous enemies who spread their destruction. Undeclared war against the
horrors of prehistoric ignorance, superstition, and savagery, and against
other ways of seeing what marked the time.22

Most missionaries believed that these practices endangered missionary activ­

ity, considering that their survival would undermine the ‘coherence’ of the
Christian message. Yet, some defended the importance of becoming familiar
with this culture so as to search for positive aspects. Such was the case of
Henri Junod, who later wrote Usos e Costumes dos Bantu (Uses and habits
of the Bantu).23
The conversion was neither total nor peaceful because it was about dis­
connecting communities from their beliefs.24 The Anglican Church, another
Protestant Church that had one of its missions in Maciene, in present-day
Gaza province faced many problems with community conversion. Alda
Romão Saúte points out, for example, the conflicts between missionaries
and teachers, catechists, priests and community members over lobolo prac­
tices, polygamy, ancestor spirit worship, alcohol consumption and the use
of the local language. While missionaries sought to eradicate these practices
at all costs, the Mozambican teachers, catechists, priests and members of the
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 67
community of Maciene (Gaza) sought to preserve and fit them into the work
system of the Anglican Church.25
Protestant churches on their arrival in Africa, and Mozambique in par­
ticular, were carriers of new values, contained in the doctrine and gospel to
replace African ones. In their conversion task the missionaries taught that
life could be divided into two spheres, spiritual and secular. This was an idea
that contradicted the basis of African culture, which conceived the unity
of religion and life. Thus, the mission attacked the basic premise that sus­
tained cohesion among Africans. They preached against the belief in spirits,
supernatural forces and gods in witchcraft, sacrifices, rituals, taboos and
the veneration of ancestors.26 They promulgated the idea of one God whose
existence was revealed by the Bible; the dissemination of the personality of
Jesus Christ as the supreme revelation as the one saviour of mankind; and
the Church as the only institution that could dispense divine grace, without
which there was no salvation. Their teachings included the condemnation
of all that was ‘pagan’; preaching against all ‘traditional’ practices, such as
pouring libations, the celebration of pomp ceremonies, drumming and danc­
ing and the rites linked to deaths and burials. Such were the doctrinal bases
of the missionaries in their evangelization campaign. Opoku mentions that,

In general, becoming a Christian meant largely to cease to be African

and take European culture as a point of reference. Christianity exerted
therefore a disruptive force on African culture.27

The MEC had similar effects, its preaching was based on the belief of the exis­
tence of one God Almighty, maker of heaven and earth and supreme judge of
human actions; belief in the resurrection; preaching against polygamy, bride
price, belief and worship of spirits of the ancestors or healers.We see a clear trend
that pointed to the eradication of the cultural values of converted people. Prob­
ably, as happened with other missions that used direct evangelization through
Sunday schools, the means of conversion comprised provision of social services
such as education and health to attract people and popularize conversions.28

The press and religious missions in Portuguese colonies

The introduction of the press linked to religious missions in Portuguese colo­
nies dates back to the nineteenth century. However, it was only after the
nineteenth century that it became widespread, as a result of technical devel­
opment. The first presses in the Portuguese African colonies were installed
in compliance with Decree 7 December 1836, which introduced the printing
of an official bulletin in each province.
To fulfil this objective, official presses were established in Cape Verde
(1842), Angola (1845), Mozambique (1854), S. Tomé (1857), and Guinea
(1880). Since then, private presses have been established in all provinces. In
this way, the first periodicals edited by the missionaries appear.29
68 Simão Jaime
It was in this context that in Mozambique newspapers appeared, such as
O Almanach Civil Ecclesiástico Histórico-Administrativo da Província de
Moçambique (1859), Santo António (1895), Diário de Notícias (Lourenço
Marques, 1905 -1907), O Oriente (Lourenço Marques, 1919), O Evangelho
(Lourenço Marques, 1927), Missão Africana (Beira, 1931), O Africano:
Religião, instrução e moralidade, (Quelimane, 1877–1881) and some others.
Protestant mission publications such as A Trompeta dos Bathongas, (weekly
newspaper), Boletim da Missão Romande, Mahlahle and Estandarte began to
be produced in 1880 in several African languages, such as Ronga or Tonga,
as well as in Portuguese and French.30
For the success of the evangelization work, the MEC installed a press in
1916 at the Cambine Mission headquarters of this church located in the
district of Inhambane. This press guaranteed the translation, reproduction
and printing of liturgical materials such as hymn books, the Bible, newspa­
pers, pamphlets and reports. Directed by missionary J. A. Person with the
help of some natives, it gained new vitality in 1920, with the acquisition of
a modern, high-speed machine capable of printing clearly in three colours.
With such instruments, the press was able to print about 200,000 pages
more than it had during the previous years, namely by editing the Xithswa
language hymnal, the Mahlahle newspaper, Inhambane Christian Advocacy
and annual conference reports.31
The foundation and publication of periodicals in the Portuguese colonies
had to observe many formalities that included the authorization to publish,
dependent on proof of the moral and intellectual integrity of those respon­
sible, the financial capacity of the company and the obligation to use Por­
tuguese language exclusively. In addition to these requirements, newspapers
were subjected to prior censorship to verify the content to be published. To
that end, the colonial government produced several legal instruments, with
emphasis on the following: Decree No. 22469/1933 of 11 April on prior
censorship and Decree No. 27495/1937 of 27 January on freedom of press.32
Now, the owners and/or editors of Mahlahle were missionaries from the
MEC, of American nationality (in legal terms, the director of the publica­
tion had to be a Portuguese citizen), who were considered ‘missionaries of
crime’ by (Policia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado) PIDE (International
Police and of the State Defence).33 This newspaper used, in addition to the
Portuguese language, African languages in its writing, which made the work
of censorship more difficult. These and other aspects may be the reason for
the production of this newspaper outside Mozambique, and this allowed its
‘survival’, for some time.

The Tisimu ta Ivangeli

Among the various means and methods of evangelization that Protestants
used in the Portuguese colonies, which included the use of the press, medical
work, education and training and the direct action of missionaries, José Júlio
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 69
Gonçalves (1960) highlights the use of music, especially singing, which was
cherished by black Africans:

Well, taking advantage of this circumstance, missionary societies tried

to maintain someone who knew music in every missionary centre. Some
branches of Protestantism went even further: they created choral groups,
musical groups, music commissions or music departments . . . During
the brief research carried out in Angola and Mozambique, in order to
be able to precisely interpret the documentation from different sources
that we were able to gather about the Protestant presence in those prov­
inces, we could see with what interest the catechists, students and other
Protestants dedicated themselves to music and singing, especially choral
singing, extending – on both coasts – to holding hymn and song competi­
tions, in which boys’ choirs, girls’ choirs and mixed choirs participated.34

Also in the MEC, music occupied a prominent role. If we look carefully, we

will see that all activities carried out by the missionaries were stimulated
and interspersed with music. In schools, hospitals and religious services, this
element was always present. To use music to the fullest extent, like the press,
the MEC initially went through the process of learning the local language,
for example, Xithswa.
Besides providing education and health services – their main conversion
strategies – the MEC missionaries strongly relied on the engaging power of
choral music. To accomplish their aim they translated the Methodist hymn
book from English to Xithswa, adapting it to their needs. Interestingly,
there is no record of any Xithswa translation into English. The mere fact of
that translation from English to Xithswa already demonstrated an imperial
position in relation not only to language but above all to ancestral communi­
ties that would consume the end product.35
The Tisimu ta Ivangeli is the title of the MEC hymnal translated from the
original title, Songs of the Gospel. Its first edition in Xithswa dates from
1908, being revised in 1931. The translation of the Bible and other texts cor­
responded to the Protestant principle that the only authority to be followed
was the word of God found in the Bible, therefore all the faithful should
have access to these texts.36 The missionaries translated this hymnal, trying
to integrate it into the life of ancient communities.37 The adapted version of
the Church’s hymnal evidences the fact that missionaries cared to produce a
hymnal suitable for evangelizing the Mozambican population.
The choice of Xithswa to become the language of evangelization itself
excluded a range of identity values of the other groups.38 Even for Mathswas,
the language carries a series of cultural values, phenomena and untranslat­
able words, a problem that the 1931 edition tried to address. For it was
found that there were many songs that once translated ceased to have syn­
chronization between harmony and lyrics, and also the way of singing did
not match the Xithswa vocabulary.39
70 Simão Jaime
Evangelization and conversion of Africans to Christianity was justified
by the aim of saving them from savagery, idolatry, paganism, ignorance and
other nouns that the mission of the MEC used to characterize the black
populations in Inhambane.40 The hymnal songs in Tisimu ta Ivangeli aimed
to convey a message for conversion, namely by calling to the house of the
Almighty Lord for salvation and access to eternal life, as well as to combat
the allegedly harmful nature of worldly life and practices such as alcohol­
ism and polygamy. The message of the song had a global dimension, that is,
it had the power to reach from literate individuals to the non-literate who
constituted the majority and the most targeted contingent.

A Wurimo
Agriculture was the basis for the survival of Africans, long before the arrival
of the MEC missionaries in 1890. There were in the practices of these same
Africans typical rituals and songs for the rain ceremonies in periods of
drought. These fell into three categories: the first was linked to the religious
rites that had a relation to the cult of the ancestors including the sacrifice of
animals and visits to the sacred woods singing chants appropriate for such
rites; the second category was linked to the purification rites of the territory,
starting from the idea that drought is a calamity comparable to death and
so to contamination; the third and last was linked to magical rites, in which
marine witches performed the main function.41
One of the great concerns of the MEC missionaries was to educate men to
work. This concern was evident in the curriculum of their schools, particu­
larly the Cambine School in Inhambane District, with carpentry, metalwork,
weaving, tailoring, shoe making and agriculture as fundamental curriculum
components.42 With industrial work, the MEC missionaries introduced new
technologies and new agricultural equipment, as a way of eradicating ‘native’
forms of production and forcing ‘natives’ to work, on the one hand, and
promoting a relationship with colonial administrative authorities, on the
other. In their 1911 report they stressed the importance of industrial work
in the following terms:

Our goal is to teach boys not only how to work, but also the value of
work . . . We are grateful to Mr. Bodine [Bodine was the missionary
whose name was later assigned to the Cambine Boys School] for donat­
ing $350 which paid for the latest inputs for agriculture, including the
complete supply of iron tools. With this new equipment we can eradi­
cate the native methods. It was through this industrial department that
we ensured cooperation with the government, and it is very important
that we do our work well.43

The campaign to instil Africans with the value of work and, particularly,
in the practice of agriculture, was so strong and vital that Julian S. Rea,
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 71
the missionary responsible for this area in Cambine, published in Xitshwa
the book A Wurimo on agriculture. The book dealt fundamentally with the
planting seasons, describing in detail the type of products that could be pro­
duced each month and their cultivation techniques. But before giving this
description, Rea made a list of what he called the zikatekiso za tiko ga hina
(blessings of our land), including in such a list the permission by the govern­
ment to explore the land, the existence of ample forests, the absence of cycli­
cal droughts and occurrence of regular rainfall, the fertility of the land and
facilities for the practice of agriculture and finally the favourable conditions
for the practice of animal husbandry and livestock. These blessings were a
short version of the lyrics of a song that the people sang before starting their
agricultural activities.
In the last part of the book, the author presents some recommendations
on how a good farmer could contribute to the Church, among which he
stresses that there could never be a good farmer who did not observe such
recommendations. The book clearly presented Africans as inferior and asso­
ciated poverty with the lack of belief in Christianity. Paying attention to
the blessings functioned as a kind of lever to promote the value of work
particularly in agriculture. Additionally, Rea called attention to the benefits
of saving, introducing the reader to the ideas of ‘a product’ and creation of
surplus production, to meet the times of drought and famine. Another aspect
emphasized in Rea’s recommendations is that the believer should bear in
mind that all products resulting from agriculture, livestock and even money,
were divine gifts. So, for the success of agricultural production, the start of
any activity should be marked by a prayer. All detailed recommendations
were primarily intended to enable the believer to work, save for their own
support and tithe to the church.44
As already mentioned, one of the MEC missionaries’ long-standing aims
was educating men for work, a goal shared by the colonial government. In
1909, the Indigenous Labour Regulation in the district of Inhambane came
into effect:

Labour regulations – Seeing what the lack of labour regulations gave

rise to . . . . the governor of Inhambane appointed a committee of four
administrators and four farmers charged with drafting the regulations
that are nowadays in force, and although they are not the last word in
the genre, they have filled an important gap.45

The 1930 Colonial Act reinforced the official relationship between the
Catholic Church and the Portuguese colonial state. In effect, the state began
to protect and financially support Catholic missions as educational institu­
tions.46 This protection allowed the expansion of Catholic missions between
1930 and 1940. In 1940, the memorandum of understanding between Por­
tugal and the Holy See clearly stressed that Catholic evangelization should
submit to the political objectives of Estado Novo, allowing the Portuguese
72 Simão Jaime
state to control the missionaries’ political positions, the curricula taught in
schools and the profile of teacher training, which was supposed to take place
in institutions whose staff would be of Portuguese nationality.47
Still in terms of industrial labour, the action of the missionaries coincided
with the interests of the colonial government, in the sense that their action
tended to coerce the indigenous to work. This was corroborated by both
institutions.

Zeladoras do lar
There were three social organizations in the structure of the MEC directed to
women, men and youth. The women’s organization mainly aimed at equip­
ping them with basic knowledge of home management, including home
economy. The organization that targeted male adults put a lot of emphasis
on South Africa and the purchase of goods needed in Mozambique, such as
building materials and utensils, among other things.48 The boy’s organiza­
tion, as it developed in Cambine, was divided into the so-called patrulhas
(patrols), also called Procuradores do Caminho (searchers of the path).49
As for girls, they were organized in Minthlawas (‘groups’ in Tsonga)
developed in Chicuque. Coincidentally, the type of education that should be
allocated to ‘indigenous’ women was a matter that concerned the colonial
authorities.
Women should be educated in the rudimentary principles of the Christian
religion to replace ‘the beliefs and savage customs’, which prevented them
from ‘entering the conviviality of civilization’ and instructed in the duties of
a good stay-at-home, equipped for cutting and sewing work, which would
make it easy for her and the children to dress as ‘Europeans’.50
In their conversion strategies through health and education services, the
MEC also resorted to the creation of non-formal education with the practice
of Minthlawas for both boys and girls in Cambine and Chicuque, respec­
tively.51 Interestingly, the conservative conception of the subordinate role of
women was also strengthened in the programme for Minthlawas girls. The
Minthlawas appear, therefore, as a second stage and a kind of more struc­
tured instruction via extracurricular activities from an early age, especially in
manners for girls. These activities were aimed at educating girls to be good
and submissive wives and keepers of Christian homes in future. Given the
importance that was attributed to Minthlawas, the Commission of MEC
Education, in its report to the annual conference in 1945, asked the Hartzell
School to prepare a book that would facilitate their teaching.52 This request
was satisfied with the production of a small, unpublished manual, titled
Zeladoras do Lar (Home Caretakers).
The girls’ Minthlawas was composed of teenagers between the ages of 12
and 18. There were three levels of study, defined according to the age and
educational level of the members of each group, namely beginners, members
who had passed three grades, chiefs and instructors. Each subgroup had
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 73
specific study plans, and all were based on Bible verses, with the respective
manual titled Zeladoras do Lar.

Mahlahle
Mahlahle: estrela da Manhã (Morning Star) was the title of a newspaper
published by the MEC in Mozambique on a monthly basis from around
1910 until 1970. It was a multilingual newspaper that published articles
in Portuguese, Xitshwa, Xangana and Ronga. Its contents included news
of the events held by the Church, domestic economy, lessons adapted from
the Sunday School curriculum about the meaning of conversion, the fight
against alcoholism (temperance), Christian marriages, combating African
practices and beliefs, combating African medicine and spreading Western
medicine. In this section, I will focus on some articles that were published
in this newspaper whose contents coincide with those of the other publica­
tions mentioned earlier, namely combating polygamy, raising African aware­
ness of the practice of agriculture and establishing and fostering Christian
marriages and families.
One of the conditions that was required by the MEC for conversion to
Christianity was the abandonment of polygamy. This subject was widely
preached at Sunday School services and was part of the Tisimu ta Ivangeli.
An article in Xitshwa published in Mahlahle with the title A tshengo ga ala
kufuva (Polygamy has not disappeared) illustrated the concern that the MEC
and other Protestant churches had about this practice. From 16 to 18 May
1967, a meeting was held in Lourenço Marques, attended by delegates
from the Methodist Episcopal Church, the Free Methodist Church, Wes­
leyan Methodist Church, Presbyterian Church of Mozambique, Portuguese
Evangelical, Scandinavian Baptist, Nazarene Church, Anglican Church, Con­
gregational Church and others. The agenda for this meeting included the
following question for discussion: What should we do with those people we
evangelize, if they convert while having more than one wife? Can we wel­
come someone with many wives? Can we exclude them because they have
many wives? Can we make them leave other wives and keep only one? Does
the Gospel of Christ say anything about the wickedness of polygamy?53 The
report on this meeting published by Mahlahle clearly shows the role of this
newspaper as one of the MEC Press vehicles for evangelization and conver­
sion, aiming at the colonization of African minds. This goal was contrary to
the practices of the ancestral communities and coincided with the obligations
imposed by the Portuguese colonial state when it came to canonical and or
official marriage. Despite strong propaganda and combat by the MEC and
other Protestant Churches, polygamy has not been eradicated within African
communities.
Regarding African mobilization for the practice of modern agriculture,
Rea’s central argument regarding the roots of poverty in Africa was taken
up by the Mahlahle. The article Xini xi vangako ndlala tikweni ga hina?
74 Simão Jaime
(Title in Xitshwa language, ‘What is it that causes hunger in our country?’)
published in January 1966, pointed out that hunger in Mozambique was
caused by the laziness of the population and the lack of rain caused by God
to punish their paganism.54 These same arguments were present in the hymns
Tisimu ta Ivangeli.
If we analyse these discourses, we reach the perception of shared language
and images that characterize the so-called natives of Inhambane district as
lazy, barbaric and piggish, we can conclude that the tensions between them
largely reflected a dispute over the same space and the same unarmed vic­
tim.55 The repeated dissemination of these images in Mahlahle again confirms
its role in the colonization of African minds.
One of the aims of the Zeladoras do Lar manual, as mentioned earlier, was
to educate and prepare girls for Christian marriages at the expense of tra­
ditional marriages and to raise Christian families. This teaching was widely
circulated in the Gonziselelo (Teaching), a Xitshwa section of the Mahlahle.
An article titled Kutilongisela ka wukati ga wucristu (Get ready for a Chris­
tian wedding) was published in two lessons.56 This article contained all the
teachings that characterized a Christian family on the assumption that mar­
riage was a gift from God, so that its fulfilment needed also to be in confor­
mity with Christian norms. The teaching ended with a series of questions
that would allow the lesson to be recapitulated and learned.57
From the analysis of 15 issues published between 1966 and 1969, we can
conclude that their linguistic diversity (see Note 38) had to do with the origin
of the articles, in this case the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Presby­
terian Church of Mozambique. The contents were also different but always
focused on evangelization and the consequent conversion of populations. Its
target audience was essentially the believers of the two churches.
Despite its main concerns and its agenda to spread Christianity, the
Mahlahle also played an important role in recording the history of the MEC
and, above all, in disseminating and stimulating writing. In fact, some of its
contributors would become notable in Mozambican literature. Such were
the cases, in November 1968, of the Xitswa writers Gabriel Macavi, with
the article Magovela ya vatirhi va swibedhlela ka Xikhumbane (The retreat
of hospital workers in Xikhumbane); Bento T. Navess, with A vana vahina
vaya kwihi (What is the destiny of our children?) and Zedequias Mangan­
hela, with the obituary titled Kufa ka Thixa Ezequiel Mulambo (The death
of Professor Ezequiel Mulambo). These articles provide clear evidence that,
at least in its later period, Mahlahle contributed to the creation of some
Mozambican authors. Therefore, there is no doubt that, like other Swiss Mis­
sion journals, specifically Mission Romande Bulletin (1898–1929), Mission
Suisse Bulletin (1929–1955) and Actualité Missionnaire (1956–1978), the
evolution of the Mahlahle paralleled the society for which it was intended,
thus becoming an important source for the history of Mozambique.58
It is not necessary to undermine the positive contribution of missionar­
ies’ work in Africa in the areas of education, health and even literature.
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 75
Considering the role of the vernacular press in the production of African
literature, the role of Christian missionaries in establishing the foundations
for the emergence of modern African literature is evident.59 What should be
clear is that this contribution was made at the expense of the former identity
of Africans.60

Conclusion
Missionaries were agents of their countries in the campaigns of ‘civilizing’
Africa with the main objective of converting their people to Christianity.
Conversion presupposed acculturated Africans, another of the components
of colonialism. The establishment of the Press, associated with translation
and subsequent publication of books and magazines, was intended to spread
Christianity, opposing African religion. The contents of the three printed
sources referenced herein demonstrate a clear intention of educating Africans
in order to get them to abandon their religion and follow Christianity. The
Mahlahle played a key role in the colonization of African minds. The con­
tents of Tisimu ta Ivangeli, Zeladoras do Lar and A Wurimo, for example,
were republished by this newspaper. Yet, this newspaper also contributed to
the founding of African literature through the initiation of some outstand­
ing authors into the leadership of the Protestant Church. This was a shrewd
colonialism that attempted to influence the minds of Africans. The proof is
the similar tack that characterized the discourse found in the MEC’s publica­
tions. Yet, despite many campaigns, people did not completely abandon their
ancestral beliefs and customs.

Notes
1. Alf Helgesson, Church, State and People in Mozambique: An Historical Study
with Special Emphasis on Methodist Development in the Inhambane Region
(Uppsala: Studia Missionalia Upsaliensia LIV, 1994), 51.
2. Kofi Asare Opoku, “A religião na África durante a época colonial,” in História
Geral da África, VII: A África sob dominação colonial, 1800–1935, ed. A. Ada
Boahen (São Paulo: Ática/UNESCO, 1991), 523.
3. John L. Comaroff and Jean Comaroff, Of Revelation and Revolution: The Dia­
lectics of Modernity on a South Afriican Frontier, vol. 2 (Chicago: The University
of Chicago Press, 1991), 170.
4. Helgesson, Church, State and People in Mozambique, 53.
5. Gloria Waite, “Public Health in Pre-Colonial East-Central África,” in The Social
Basis of Health and Healing in África, ed. Steven Feierman and John M. Janzen
(Berkeley: Univ. Califórnia Press, 1992), 228.
6. Joel das Neves Tembe, “A American Board Mission e os desafios do protestant­
ismo em Manica e Sofala (Moçambique), ca. 1900–1950,” Lusotopie (1998):
338.
7. For the study of Protestant churches in southern Mozambique, see also Teresa
Cruz e Silva, Igrejas Protestantes e consciência política no sul de Moçambique:
O caso da Missão Suíça 1930–1974 (Maputo: Promédia, 2001); Patrick Har­
ries, Junod e as sociedades africanas: Impacto dos missionários suíços na África
76 Simão Jaime
Austral (Maputo: Paulinas, 2007); David Hedges, “Educação, Missões e a ideo­
logia política de assimilação, 1930–60,” Cadernos de História, nr. 1 (1985):
7–18; Helgesson, Church, State and People in Mozambique; Eduardo Moreira,
Portuguese East Africa: A Study of Its Religious Needs (London: World Domin­
ion Press, 1936); Alda Romão Saúte, O intercâmbio entre os moçambicanos e
as Missões Cristãs e a educação em Moçambique: A Missão Anglicana de Santo
Agostinho-Maciene, 1926/8–1974 (Maputo: Promédia, 2006).
8. Methodist Episcopal Church, Annual Report of the Board of Foreign Missions
of the Methodist Episcopal Church (New York: Missionary Society of the Meth­
odist Episcopal Church, 1922), 420. On the establishment of the Methodist
Episcopal Church in Africa, see also J. Tremayne Copplestone, Twentieth Cen­
tury Perspectives: The Methodist Episcopal Church, 1896–1939 (New York: The
Board of Global Ministries, The United Methodist Church, 1973).
9. Methodist Episcopal Church, Seventy-Eighth Annual Report of the Missionary
Society of the Methodist Episcopal Church (New York: Missionary Society of
the Methodist Episcopal Church, 1896), 440.
10. Valdemir Zamparoni, “Gênero e trabalho doméstico numa sociedade colo­
nial: Lourenço Marques, Moçambique, c. 1900–1940,” Afro-Ásia, 23 (2000):
147–174.
11. Boletim Oficial do Governo Geral da Província de Moçambique, 50, 14 de
Dezembro de 1907, 550.
12. Ibid., 549, 550.
13. Ibid., 550.
14. Comaroff, Of Revelation and Revolution, 7–13.
15. Ibid., 119.
16. Ibid., 120–121.
17. Teresa Cruz e Silva, “Igrejas Protestantes no sul de Moçambique e nacionalismo:
o Caso da Missão Suíça,” Estudos Moçambicanos (1991): 30.
18. Silva, “Igrejas Protestantes no sul de Moçambique e nacionalismo,” 21.
19. Mintlawa is a Tsonga word meaning ‘groups’. Initially inspired by Swiss youth
‘patrols’, Swiss missionaries and cadres of the Presbyterian Church of Mozam­
bique were able to create a youth education system tailored to Mozambique
and inspired by the ‘traditional’ values of small pastors and country children,
plus other educational values. The term ‘patrols’ or ‘youth’ was often used to
designate the same groups. Teresa Cruz e Silva, “A missão Suíça e o Sistema de
Educação não Formal para as Raparigas: As experiências de Maússe e Chicum­
bane (1930–19740),” Arquivo, 18 (1995): 30–31.
20. Marcos Nhantumbo interviewed by Simão Jaime in Chicuque, 10 December
2006.
21. Opoku, “A religião na África durante a época colonial,” 524.
22. Methodist Episcopal Church, Official Journal of the East Central Africa Mission
Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church: Ninth Session (1912).
23. Henri A. Junod, Usos e costumes dos Bantu: Tomo I: Vida social (Maputo:
Arquivo Histórico de Moçambique, 1996).
24. Harries, Junod e as sociedades africanas, 94.
25. Saúte, O intercâmbio entre os moçambicanos e as Missões Cristãs e a educação
em Moçambique, 245.
26. Opoku, “A religião na África durante a época colonial,” 524.
27. Ibid., 536.
28. Sunday schools were once-weekly sessions in which Bible texts were given. These
sessions were held at all IME stations.
29. Sandra Cunha Pires, “A Imprensa periódica missionaria no período do Estado
Novo, 1926–1974” (Dissertação de Mestrado, Lisboa: ISTEC-Instituto Univer­
sitario de Lisboa, 2010), 28.
 The press of the MEC in Mozambique 77
30. Ibid.
31. Methodist Episcopal Church, Official Journal of the Southeast Africa Mission
Conference (Formely Inhambane Mission Conference) of the Methodist Episcopal
Church: Held in Gikuki, Inhambane, E. Africa, 9–16 (November 1920): 40 e 41.
32. Pires, “A Imprensa periódica missionaria,” 58, 59.
33. “Missionaries of Crime” was the name given to Protestant missionaries and
appears in the reports included in the GNP documentation. AHU/GNP/MU/099/
Pt. 1; Pires, “A Imprensa periódica missionaria,” 60, 210.
34. José Júlio Gonçalves, Protestantismo em África: Contribuição para o estudo do
protestantismo na África Portuguesa (Lisboa: Junta de investigações do Ultramar.
Centro de Estudos Políticos e Sociais, 1960), 262.
35. Gonçalves, Protestantismo em África, 262.
36. Carlos Guilherme Mota, História Moderna e Contemporânea (São Paulo: Edi­
tora Moderna, 1986), 39.
37. Alf Helgesson, “The Tshwa Response to Christianity: A Study of the Reli­
gions and Cultural Impact of Protestant Christianity on the Tshwa of Southern
Mozambique” (Master Dissertation, Johannesburg: The University of Witwa­
tersrand, 1971), 99.
38. Mozambique is a country whose linguistic diversity is one of its main character­
istics and whose orthography is not completely standardized. The 1980 census
identified about 23 Mozambican languages considered to be mother tongue for
most Mozambicans up to that time. Laurinda Moises, Elsa Cande and Jorgete de
Jesus, “Geografia Linguística de Moçambique,” in Padronização da Ortografia
de Línguas Moçambicanas: Relatório do III Seminário, ed. Armindo Nunga
and Osvaldo G. Faquir (Maputo: Centro de Estudos Africanos (CEA) – UEM,
2011), 283. However, various efforts and academic work have been done to
achieve this standardization, notably the work done by the Faculty of Arts of
the Eduardo Mondlane University which began in the late 1970s. As a result
of this work, the proposed orthography of 17 languages grouped into six sets
has already been presented, namely: Group I – Kimwane, Shimakonde, Ciyawo;
Group  II – Emakhuwa, Echuabu; Group III – Cinyanja, Cinyungwe, Swan,
Cibalke; Group IV – Cimanyika, Cindau, Ciwute; Group V (Gitonga, Cicopi);
Group VI – Xichanga, Citswa, Xirhonra. Armindo Nunga and Osvaldo G. Faquir
(eds.), Padronização da Ortografia de Línguas Moçambicanas: Relatório do III
Seminário (Maputo: Centro de Estudos Africanos – UEM, 2011).
39. Methodist Episcopal Church, A Tisimu Ta Ivangeli (Burgersfort: Sasavona Pub­
lishers & Booksellers), 2.
40. Journal of the Inhambane Mission Conference of the Methodist Episcopal
Church. Held at Kambini, Inhambane, E. África, 14–20 June 1917, 20.
41. Henrique Junod, Usos e Costumes dos Bantos. A vida de uma tribo sul-africana:
Tomo II: Vida Mental (Lourenço Marques: Imprensa de Moçambique, 1964).
42. Simão Jaime, “Igreja Metodista Episcopal, Formação e Educação nas Circun­
scrições de Morrumbene e Homoine, no Distrito de Inhambane, 1890 à 1968”,
Dissertação de Mestrado (Salvador: Universidade Federal da Bahia, 2010).
43. Methodist Episcopal Church, Annual Report of the Board of Foreign Missions of
the Methodist Episcopal Church (New York: Missionary Society of the Method­
ist Episcopal Church, 1911).
44. Julian S. Rea, A wurimo: Zileletelo zo vunetela a Varimi va le Muhuma-gambo
wa Afrika (Cleveland, Transvaal: The Central Mission Press, 1967), 77–78.
45. Augusto Cabral, Raças, Usos e Costumes dos Indígenas do Distrito de Inham­
bane: Acompanhado de um vocabulário em Shitsua, Guitonga e Shishope (Lou­
renço Marques: Imprensa Nacional, 1910), 130.
46. Portugal e a Santa Sé, Concordata e Acordo Missionário de 7 de Maio de 1940
(Lisboa: Secretariado da Propaganda Nacional, 1943), 13.
78 Simão Jaime
47. Ibid., 120.
48. Feliciano Jetimane, “Ntiro wa bandla ga Metodista Episcopal,” in Relatório
Oficial da Conferência Anual da Igreja Metodista Unida em Moçambique, Sud­
este da África (Inhambane: Igreja Metodista Unida em Moçambique, 1990),
137–141.
49. For the activities of this organization, see the book Procuradores do Caminho,
production of which was requested by the Board of Education during the Annual
Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church in 1945. Official Journal of the
Southeast Africa Provisional Annual Conference of the Methodist Church, 1954,
28.
50. Zamparoni, “Gênero e trabalho doméstico numa sociedade colonial,” 159.
51. Minthlawas is a Tsonga word that in Portuguese means “groups”.
52. Official Journal of the Southeast Africa Provisional Annual Conference of the
Methodist Church (1945), 28.
53. Mahlahle: Estrela da Manhã: Jornal da Igreja de Cristo em Moçambique, 20, nr.
1, Julho de 1967, 1, 10.
54. Mahlahle, 19, nr. 6, Janeiro 1966, 1.
55. Simão Jaime, Entreter para Converter: A Música Coral na Igreja Metodista Epis­
copal (1890 a 1968) (Maputo: Kulungwana, 2017).
56. Gonziselelo is a phrase in Xitshwa language that literally translated means
teaching.
57. Mahlahle, 21, nr. 5, Novembro 1968, 3, 6.
58. Silva, Igrejas Protestantes e consciência política no sul de Moçambique.
59. Ntongela Masilela, The vernacular press and African literature (Untitled Docu­
ment (pitzer.edu)).
60. Paulina Chiziane and Mariana Martins, Ngoma Yethu: O Curandeiro e o Novo
Testamento (Maputo: Indico, 2015).
4 Literary discourses in the
Portuguese colonial press
Sandra Sousa

Creation of a Portuguese imperial mentality through the

colonial press
The presence of a colonial press in Portuguese has a long tradition, mainly
since the last third of the nineteenth century. Nonetheless, the periodical
under discussion here distinguishes itself from other colonial press publica­
tions since it was officially connected to state power. In an effort to stimulate
its colonial project, the Portuguese state created the Boletim da Agência
Geral das Colónias (Bulletin of the General Agency of the Colonies), whose
first issue came out in July 1925. The creation of the Boletim resulted –
according to Armando Zuzarte Cortesão, General Agent of the Colonies and
the director of the Boletim – in the evolution of the colonial idea that has
‘from twenty years ago until now, influenced the guidelines to be followed
by the colonizers in such a way that the orientation and mainly the processes
that are used are today absolutely diverse from what they used to be’.1 A
monthly publication, the Boletim acquired several designations throughout
time: from 1925 to 1935, it was called Boletim da Agência Geral das Coló­
nias, from 1935 to 1951, Boletim Geral das Colónias (General Bulletin of
the Colonies) and from 1951 to 1974, Boletim Geral do Ultramar (Gen­
eral Bulletin of the Overseas). These changes of name reflect the systematic
alterations in the colonial policy of the Portuguese state, also reflected in the
establishing of the 28 May 1926 Revolution. The Boletim became the

official organ of Portuguese colonial activity [proposing] to make pro­

paganda which would boost our colonial patrimony, contributing by all
means for its aggrandizement and defence, to study its richness and dem­
onstrate the aptitude and colonizing capacity of the Portuguese people.2

If we take into account the cultural, literary and artistic fields, one of the
first measures used to promote the Portuguese version of the ‘colonial idea’
was the creation of a Colonial Literary Contest, promoted and initiated
by the Agência Geral das Colónias (General Agency of the Colonies) and
spread through its Boletim.3 The use of literature – of a certain nature, it’s

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-6

80 Sandra Sousa
true, assured through the awarding of prizes – as a vehicle that conveyed
a specific colonialist ideology intended to be inculcated in the Portuguese
population, was mainly accomplished through this annual contest started
in 1926 and which lasted until 1968. Nonetheless, the investment of the
government didn’t stop there.
The Portuguese Estado Novo continued to invest in its colonial press,
emphasizing more and more art and literature as a way to keep its colonial
empire secure at a moment when after the Second World War the process of
decolonization began across other European empires. Almost 20 years after
the beginning of the Colonial Literary Contest, in April 1945 (issue 238), the
Boletim Geral das Colónias started publishing a section titled Artes e Letras
Coloniais (Colonial Arts and Letters). The person responsible for this sec­
tion was Augusto da Costa, a writer and researcher on Portuguese literature
and culture. According to him, the introduction in the Boletim of a rubric
dedicated to arts and letters was something to be praised. The reason for this,
in his own words, was that:

[M]ore books are being published, both of fiction and of studies, having
as a goal to portray landscapes or customs, the policies in, or the econ­
omy of, our overseas lands, and such works deserve to be mentioned,
at a higher or lower level, in a publication which is intended to give a
regular account of our colonial life.4

During the several years that he authored the Crónica Colonial (Colonial
Chronicle), colonial culture was the theme which was given importance and
which subsequently, according to Costa, should not have been forgotten by
a country that considered its colonies to be a missionary vocation.
In fact, there was a shift in the way Portuguese authors wrote about Africa
after the 25 April 1974 revolution, which brought with it the independence
of the Portuguese colonies and the end of the colonial era. New names on
the literary scene, such as António Lobo Antunes or Lídia Jorge, no longer
wrote propaganda for a political regime, one of the aspects that characterize
colonial literature. In this sense, the books that previously depicted colonial
culture were stored on the shelves of forgetfulness. As we will further see,
not even the Portuguese population of colonial times was very interested in
reading the colonial literature. It thus becomes a necessity to examine the
way in which artistic culture in general and literature in particular were
instrumentalized by the colonial project during the Estado Novo. We need to
understand the mechanisms by which Portugal imposed its colonial domina­
tion in Africa. That interest transcends the purely historical and resonates in
contemporary Portuguese society, for instance, in novels that express a long­
ing for the colonial past. Examples of such resonance would be found in nov­
els such as Manuel Arouca’s Deixei o meu Coração em África (2005), Júlio
de Magalhães’ Os Retornados (2008), Tiago Rebelo’s O Último Ano em
Luanda (2008) and Manuel Acácio’s A Balada do Ultramar (2009), which
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 81
focus on the colonial past and present several aspects of Luso-tropicalism,
a doctrine adopted in the 1950s to support a regime increasingly opposed
from within and questioned by international organizations.5 The use of artis­
tic culture was indeed important in the sense of consolidating support in
the political and economic domains during the colonizing process. Today,
understanding how creative work was used in the service of the state opens
a unique window not only into the historical colonial process but also into
its variant neo- or postcolonial impacts in contemporary society. An analysis
of the section Artes e Letras Coloniais allows us to discuss the importance of
a space dedicated to the literary and cultural role of the Boletim Geral das
Colónias (Ultramar) in the overall colonial project and to evaluate the way
in which this role was conveyed to the public. Also, it facilitates an under­
standing of the advantages of this type of propagandistic dissemination in
the Portuguese colonial space as well as of the dynamics between the centre
and the periphery. Lastly, and in a broader framework, we can develop a
better sense of how this space contributed to the construction of a cultural
imagination about the colonies and the colonization in Portugal.
Turning to Augusto da Costa and his first comment about the insertion of
the column Artes e Letras Colonias in the Boletim, it’s worth noting the com­
plaint about the general Portuguese tendency not only to copy foreign litera­
ture but also to buy it and consume it. This observation immediately reveals
the utilitarian sense of literature as a form of construction of a national
identity that has the colonizing mission as its central core. According to
him, there is ‘a fever [in Portugal] for foreign literature, in often malicious
translations’.6 He does not explain what he means by a ‘malicious transla­
tions’. Nonetheless, Costa believed that, ‘it should not be too much to ask
the same audience to read Portuguese literature with colonial themes’, since
it is this literature that can serve some ideological purpose for the govern­
ment.7 His critique continues, focusing on the presupposed complacent spirit
of the Portuguese:

being technical works – politics, administration or economy – they

should be introduced to the knowledge of the new generations, who in
the superior schools search for their future directions, opening to them
more shining perspectives – from the individual point of view, and more
useful from the national point of view – than a simple job of officer in
the secretariat of Terreiro do Paço, with hours to spare to spend at the
Rossio coffee shops.8

In any case, it is absolutely urgent and necessary that these works are not
consigned to the shelves of forgotten books or are never read, since they
‘bring a valuable contribution to the formation of a Portuguese imperial
mentality’.9 Augusto da Costa is thus concerned with what is defined as colo­
nialist literature, that is, ‘that which was specifically concerned with colonial
expansion. . . . it was literature written by and for colonizing Europeans
82 Sandra Sousa
about non-Europeans lands dominated by them. It embodied the imperialist
point of view’.10 It was also ‘informed by theories concerning the superiority
of European culture and the rightness of the empire. Its distinctive stereo­
typed language was geared to mediating the white man’s relationship with
colonized peoples’.11 Costa does not seem so attentive to colonial literature,
or said in another way, the part of colonial literature written by Creoles and
indigenes, if by ‘colonial literature’ we mean the literature that deals

with the colonial perceptions and experience, written mainly by metro­

politans, but also by creoles and indigenes, during colonial times. Contro­
versially perhaps, colonial literature therefore includes literature written in
[Portugal] as well as in the rest of the empire during the colonial period.12

In a phase that Augusto da Costa classifies as a ‘rebirth of letters and

arts’ in Portugal, it was important that the citizens of the country did not
confuse values. The question that he poses is of essential importance for our
study, in that it helps to understand the core of the issue and to evaluate
the decision to insert a column dedicated to arts and letters in the Boletim
Geral das Colónias: ‘to what extent does that rebirth of the arts and letters
contribute to the formation of a truly national culture?’.13 The point here is
to separate the wheat from the chaff in literary terms, or even better, to fill
the bag with the same type of cereal. Augusto da Costa’s answer will help to
clarify my last comment:

Books are not always masterpieces; and the masterpieces – even when they
can be called that – do not always correspond to the needs of the national
culture. Not just for individuals, not for the peoples, culture constitutes an
end in itself; it is a means to the service of an end. There is a subordinated
element, therefore, a finality that surpasses it, which is the spiritual eleva­
tion of the individuals and, through it, the valorisation of the conscience of
the peoples. It is up to writers to write works that increase the patrimony
of the national culture; it is up to the critic to appreciate them; it is up to
the press – journal or newspaper – to publicize them.14

In other words, what Costa is implying is that the art of writing and the art
of creation and representation are part of a cultural process in all its modes
and diverse sectors and they contribute to the effectiveness of the dominant
culture, being one of its central articulations.
It is interesting to discover that the first work that Augusto da Costa
chooses to speak about is a thesis (and not a novel or a book of poetry) and
that the intention of this choice is indeed not innocent. We are in the after­
math of the Second World War, and we can infer from Costa’s words that
literature is only a means to reach other ends. The topic of the chosen thesis
is the Colonização Étnica da África Portuguesa (Ethnic Colonization of Por­
tuguese Africa), presented in 1944 at the II Congress of the União Nacional
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 83
(National Union) by Vicente Ferreira, engineer and colonialist. In this thesis,
the author argues that, due to world circumstances, it is extremely necessary
to relocate the surplus of the metropolitan population to Africa. At stake are
not only economic and social interests but mainly political ones. Augusto da
Costa seizes the opportunity to emphasize that what was at stake was not to
know if the world of tomorrow would be more democratic or totalitarian,
but ‘the defence of some peoples against the hegemony of others, and that
defence takes either the active form of attack or the passive form of resis­
tance’.15 It is evident from his words that he does not want to see the end of
Portuguese presence in Africa. For Costa, what is important is to take away
the claws of some hegemonic countries so that Portugal would not lose its
hegemony in its own African colonies. Please note Augusto da Costa’s words:

In the scheme of principles, we desire that after the war the right of the
peoples to dispose freely of their destinies should become uppermost, in
collaboration, yes, but not with subordination to the strongest or richest
peoples; in the scheme of realities, we should take care of what belongs
to us, improving all the time; and the best way, for a colonial people, of
caring for what belongs to them is to populate its territories and develop
its economic potential to ensure, on one hand, the elevation of its level
of life and, on the other hand, to not attract the greed of others, under
the easy pretext that they are incapable of self-government.16

He is naturally referring to the post-war threats to the Portuguese empire,

that is, from the Cold War superpowers. According to Ana Mónica Fonseca
and Daniel Marcos,

The transformation that occurred in the international system after World

War II forced the Portuguese regime to make some changes in the way
Portugal presented its colonial policies to foreign countries. Salazar’s
ingrained distrust of US power, due especially to US anti-colonial posi­
tions, made him anticipate that an attack on the colonial empires was
imminent.17

They further conclude that,

[F]rom the end of the 1940s the Estado Novo regime tried to frame
Portuguese resistance to decolonisation as a Cold War issue. In the devel­
opments in the Dutch and French empires in Asia, Salazar saw the perni­
cious hand of the Soviets. According to Portuguese diplomatic rhetoric,
it could be expected that the same Soviet strategy would be extended to
Africa too: in Salazar’s own words, the Soviet Union was preparing to
‘set fire to the African continent’. In his opinion, the only way to avoid
such an event was through the establishment of European – African
cooperation, with the support of the United States.18
84 Sandra Sousa
There was then an urgency to sending white families to Africa in order to
solve one of the biggest problems of Portuguese colonization – and the one
that was the cause of the lack of respect and almost contempt from other
countries, namely economic development. It is only in this way that Portugal
would save itself from the attempts ‘of appropriation by foreign elements’.19
Succinctly put, in this first column on arts and letters, the author speaks about
almost everything except art, going on for several pages in a declaration (or
speculation) concerning the several ways and most favourable processes for
an effective colonization by the Portuguese of their African territories.
The article ‘Artes e Letras Coloniais’ of June 1945 is interesting in the sense
that it sheds some light on the cultural and literary dynamics between the
metropolis and its colonies. Augusto da Costa mentions several books on a
variety of subjects, from poetry to administration. Nevertheless, they are also
all ‘oriented in the same imperial sense, animated by the same desire of bring­
ing together the Portuguese people with their overseas empire’.20 Augusto da
Costa decided to give priority to José Osório de Oliveira’s brochure titled Poe­
sia de Cabo Verde (Poetry of Cape Verde). He justified that decision by writing
that, while people cannot live without administration, they also cannot live
without the enchantment of poetry. He then asks if there is such a thing as a
Cape Verdean literature. Quoting Osório de Oliveira, there is in Cape Verde
‘humanistic knowledge and a fondness for the fine arts that isolation was not
able to erase; rather it seems to have stimulated them’.21
However, the core question remains the following: ‘Do we know, in the
Metropolis, the literature of Cape Verde?’.22 Apparently, and according to
the lament of Augusto da Costa, the answer is ‘no’. In the critic’s words, this

is a very Portuguese flaw – mainly the modern Portuguese, who by force

of wanting to belong to their time, forget that which belongs before
anything else to his Motherland – it is a very general flaw – us knowing
more what’s foreign than what is national.23

Regarding the Portuguese unawareness of what a ‘national of the colonies’

is like, he provides the example of morna, which despite dominating ‘with
its music and lyrics, all the other popular, artistic manifestations of the Cape
Verdean people, is less known in Portugal than the Brazilian samba or Ameri­
can swing’.24 The problem of this Portuguese ‘ignorance’ is what creates this
gap, or even a void, in the relations between the Portuguese and the supposedly
‘also Portuguese’ inhabitants of the colonies. If one intends an effective coloni­
zation that justifies the grandeur of the empire and keeps it out of foreign claws,
a cultural exchange is required that makes all the citizens spread across the dif­
ferent colonies feel part of the same national entity. Quoting Osório de Oliveira,

[t]he Cape Verdeans need to feel that in the country to which they
belong, or better: in the nation that they are part of, that they love and
serve, even or mainly when they do poetry, there are hearts capable of
understanding their nostalgic sobs and their shouting of anxiety.25
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 85
Changing colony, this time to the notes of General Henrique de Carvalho
about Guinea, Augusto da Costa is once again peremptory in relation to the
attitude of the Portuguese. He mentions that

[T]he Portuguese resident of Lisbon knows very well that he possesses

overseas territories, but barely knows where they are located and how
much they are worth. It would not be so bad, therefore, if he peruses books
like this one, infinitely more beneficial for his culture and patriotism than
the brochures of foreign propaganda and coffee-shop conversations.26

This type of book, therefore, can provide the Portuguese citizen a feeling
of admiration for everything that his heroic ancestors did throughout that
‘world that the Portuguese created’, and at the same time urge upon him the
necessity of not losing the overseas patrimony.27
Augusto da Costa ends his column, once more, speaking more about poli­
tics than books, or maybe instead, about the politics of books. And once
more he criticizes the Portuguese people. According to him, there existed a
plan, a course and a command in Portuguese colonial policy. These are ‘in
the conscience and in the intelligence of the governors; are they also in the
intelligence and conscience of the governed?’ he asks. The answer is that

[W]e would lie if we said that the Nation, as a whole, doesn’t vibrate
in face of the offenses committed by third parties against our historic
rights: but, in this case, sensibility intervenes more than reason (without,
evidently, incompatibility between both); now, we need to detach the
question from the level of sensibility to the level of intelligence, supple­
menting the instinctive reasons of one with the rationalized reasons of
the other. It is not enough to react against the offenses to our rights; it
is necessary that we have a clear understanding of those rights and the
knowledge of the necessary means to their preservation. In other words:
a retrospective patrimony is not enough, we need rather a prospective
patrimony, one that sees our overseas domains more at the level of the
future than at the level of the past.28

In February 1948, in issue 272, Augusto da Costa writes a critical review –

that he calls a ‘notation’ – of Gastão de Sousa Dias’s book, Como Serpa
Pinto Atravessou a África (How Serpa Pinto Crossed Africa). The reasoning
behind the choice of this book comes not only from the fact that the editor
had sent him a copy, but ‘because all the pretexts should be availed of to
praise the publication of books like this one, live lessons in patriotism, faith­
ful mirrors of the Portuguese heroism in the service of the Motherland’.29 It is
noteworthy that Augusto da Costa confesses to worrying much more about
the substance of the works than with the style of the authors. He points out:

I mean: taking into account to the main objective of the works, the pos­
sible slips that the authors reveal in their style is of little importance, so
86 Sandra Sousa
much more because the purpose of the authors is not to write pieces of
art, but only to divulge some of the most glorious pages of our colonial
epic.30

Regarding style he states that it is clear, simple and direct, ‘as it is convenient
to the nature of the narrative and to the public for whom it is destined’.31
Costa does not spend much time on any kind of analysis of Gastão de Sousa
Dias’s book; his main concern is essentially one of a literary propagandist,
whose mission is to change the mentality and the reading and writing habits
in colonial Portugal. He follows with a lament: ‘How many books could be
written for the youth of the schools, who deceive their necessities with despi­
cable detective stories, if we searched the adventurous and romantic depth in
our colonial history, so rich and so beautiful’.32 After all, Portuguese colonial
history is a bottomless source of ‘themes capable of dazzling the imagina­
tion of our boys and of channelling their interest in colonial life’.33 From
the scientific exploration of Brazil to the bellicose feats in which Mouzinho
‘features as an invincible semi-god, Portuguese writers seem to have more
bark than bite in this Portugal that intends to reign in Africa’.34 Augusto da
Costa proceeds with the complaint:

It is a pity, actually, to admit that a country that possesses an unequalled

colonial history, and that needs by all means to channel its excessive
population to its overseas domains, is not able to create a literature that
knows how to take advantage of that gold lode, in which the marvellous
future offers itself so spontaneously to the vibrant hands that want and
know how to mould it.35

The intention, therefore, is once more, as with the Colonial Literature Con­
test, to encourage the Portuguese people to emigrate to Africa and embrace
with their bodies and souls the Portuguese colonial project.
The already much debated problem, which apparently lacks a solution,
has to do with the disinterest in that kind of book that, according to Costa,
‘should be in the hands of all the boys’.36 Obviously, the girls are not men­
tioned since there was a distinction of genders within the ideology of Estado
Novo. As Anne Cova and António Costa Pinto state,

Salazarism was deeply rooted in the traditional idea that women were
situated on the side of ‘nature’ while men were on the side of culture. In
this way, Salazar’s New State remained faithful to the messages repeated
by the Catholic Church in the encyclicals Rerum Novarum (1891) and
Quadragesimo Anno (1931), which claimed that ‘nature’ intended women
to stay at home, bear children and devote themselves to housework.37

Despite that fact, they are arguably included in the designation ‘new genera­
tions’ to whom it should be explained ‘who were the heroes of our past, both
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 87
distant and immediate’, so that in the future complete ignorance would not
prevail, since ‘the colonial culture elevates itself on a daily basis, enriching
the cultural patrimony of the nation’.38
It is worth observing that Augusto da Costa refers, with the intention
to compare, to what was happening in Guinea. Alluding to Commandant
Sarmento Rodrigues, Guinea’s governor, he states that in this colonial space,
suddenly there was a concern with ‘the things of the spirit’ and that they had
started to study its environment. The Boletim Cultural (Cultural Bulletin)
produced in Guinea, ‘having started by being a magazine of colonial cul­
ture, . . . matches with the best that are edited around the world’.39 Augusto
da Costa asks: ‘why don’t they do as much, why don’t our other colonies and
overseas provinces follow the example of Guinea?’.40
The answer was perhaps emptiness and silence. Costa’s struggle continued.
His column of Artes e Letras Coloniais was oriented in the same imperial
sense every month, animated by the same desire of bringing Portuguese citi­
zens closer to the overseas empire to which they belonged and to which they
seemed oblivious.

Consolidation of the imperial mentality

In the year 1951,

a revision of the Constitution substituted the imperial idea typical of the

period between the two World Wars, stated in the Colonial Act, with a
new concept of assimilation, in which the colonies transformed them­
selves into ‘overseas provinces’, forming with the metropolis a united
nation.41

In August of that same year, in issue 314, the Boletim changed its name once
again to Boletim Geral do Ultramar. At the same time, the column Artes e
Letras Coloniais is newly designated Artes e Letras do Ultramar (Overseas
Arts and Letters). In 1950, in issue 305, this column starts to be signed
by António Alberto de Andrade, a historian and university professor. Two
aspects deserve to be highlighted in relation to his debut. First of all, the first
book that António Alberto Andrade chose to review was the Documentação
para a História das Missões do Padroado Português do Oriente (Documents
for the History of the Missions of Padroado Português do Oriente), collected
and annotated by Father António da Silva Rego. Given his career as a histo­
rian, this choice might not come as a surprise; nonetheless, the choice of this
type of work can point towards a stronger role of professional historians
in the works about the Portuguese empire. Even if the choice of phrasing in
the reviews of this book remains biased in favour of preserving the impor­
tance of the empire, one should keep in mind that during the Estado Novo,
historiographic work could go hand in hand with nationalism. Words such
as ‘patriotic’, ‘motherland glories’, ‘epic’ have the flavour of the centuries of
88 Sandra Sousa
the Discoveries.42 Moreover, it is worth mentioning that António Alberto
de Andrade ends this column with praise for the benefits that result from
the publication of scientific studies – even though this space is titled ‘arts
and letters’ – and he evokes one in particular. According to him, the work
titled Medições de inteligência de algumas tribus indígenas da Zambézia e do
Niassa (Moçambique) (Measurements of the intelligence of some indigenous
tribes of Zambezia and Niassa)

is one of those that should be noted, at least at the universities, national

and foreign, that study psychology. It is a curious observation about the
reaction to several tests, of individuals of black race, which will contrib­
ute a lot to the most complete knowledge of the African psyche.43

In the first Artes e Letras Coloniais column, António Alberto de Andrade

decides to speak about poetry and music. If the reaction to what was pro­
duced in foreign countries had already been evident in Augusto da Costa’s
reviews, here the tone continues the same. Despite proclaiming that ‘cultural
life in several of our overseas possessions is a tangible reality’, although
modest, the author emphasizes that this ‘modesty of achievements stands out
when we compare it, for example, with the intellectual activity in the Belgian
Congo’.44 And he proceeds by praising the work done by the African Union
of Arts and Letters, founded in 1946 in Elisabethville. According to António
de Andrade, this Union

is able to coordinate the letters and arts of the Belgian Congo, providing
to the white people the spiritual and artistic environment to which they
were accustomed on the white continent, at the same time that it creates
a richer sensibility amongst the blacks, making them appreciate better
and develop their art harmonically, with new acquisitions provided by
white art.45

The exchange here, if we can call it that, has only one direction, a presupposi­
tion of the superiority of white art. Throughout the bulletin there is a lack of
interest in indigenous arts and cultures as well as few mentions of works of
anthropology. There is, however, a reference in 1958 to the creation of a Centre
of Studies of Portuguese Guinea where it was possible to publish some volumes
about history, geography, ethnography, folklore, economy and sciences.46
Despite lamenting that in the overseas provinces there is ‘no similar institu­
tion which develops such intense activity’, he comments on the existence of
‘a series of good-will nuclei’.47 This explains the success of, and the award of
the Cidade de Paris (City of Paris) prize to the Mozambican pianist (or bet­
ter, Portuguese, born in Luanda), Sequeira Costa in the international contest
named for Marguerite Long-Jacques Thibaud.
Regarding the poetry of the overseas provinces, he states that ‘without
reaching a common characteristic, not even within each one of them, they do
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 89
manifest the shared generic trait of being small lyric poems that literary jour­
nals or small volumes bring us once in a while’.48 From his perspective, the
poetry of the overseas provinces was still in the crib of childhood, not touch­
ing ‘the vigorous conscience of adulthood, the perfection of rhythm, the rap­
ture of forms or the poetic perfume of the compositions by Camões, João de
Deus, Augusto Gil, António Nobre, Florbela Espanca, or Fernando Pessoa’.49
He also refers to the poetry of Fonseca do Amaral, Manuel Aranda, Rui de
Noronha, Noémia de Sousa and Tomás Vieira da Cruz. The appreciation of
these ‘overseas’ names is done in a perceptive way: on the one hand, valuing
them; on the other, devaluing them, not without a tone of irony. In António
Alberto de Andrade’s words:

The scenery is exuberant, the life of the jungle or of the African city has
dramatic expression and awakens equally strong sensations as in Euro­
pean, Asian or American life. The environment, while it is not impreg­
nated with the artistic effluvia that usually are an important part in the
poetic elaboration, is what can prevent the blooming of true poets. In
the felicitous phrase of Rabindranath Tagore, it keeps carelessly playing
with bracelets, instead of filling the ewer and returning home.50

He ends in an abrupt way, stating that there is hope and then switching to
a completely different subject: the history of overseas medicine, the impor­
tance of which to him, needless to say, is great and implicitly superior to the
topic of humanities. Works on the role of religious missions in the colonies,
on geography, geology, morphology, hydrography and medicine, are usually
mentioned in the column, making the definition of ‘arts and letters’ in this
period a wide one.
In the following month, António Alberto de Andrade dedicated himself to
making a list of the publications of the Agência Geral do Ultramar (General
Agency of the Overseas, formerly General Agency of the Colonies), empha­
sizing the monthly publication of the Boletim which ‘is already, and will be
mainly in the future, with the passing of years, the best repository of the most
varied subjects of interest to the colonies, either through studies or the by
facet of brief news’.51

‘Winds of (little) change’

A few years later, we find praise for a Mozambican painter, António Man­
uel Calçada Bastos Aires, on his early death at age 22. António Alberto de
Andrade states that ‘Mozambique can be proud of António Aires, who knew
how to leave a valuable contribution for the artistic aggrandizement of his
beautiful land’.52
This is a fascinating chronicle in the sense that Andrade dedicates several
pages to a ‘small booklet’ on the subject of colonial literature that Rodrigues
Júnior, arguably the most prolific colonial writer who lived in Mozambique,
90 Sandra Sousa
sent him. Andrade asserts that to Rodrigues Júnior it is basic – and nobody
will contest it – that ‘one can only produce colonial literature if one knows
the black man’s soul and the conditions in which he lives’.53 Andrade admits
that the knowledge of visu is essential for writing this type of literature,
which is certainly a difficult task but one which nonetheless should not pre­
vent those who have never set foot in Africa from writing. He claims: ‘also
from far away we will be able to attain a more or less perfect knowledge of
the idiosyncrasies of the non-white’.54 He tries mainly to salvage the role of
the literary critic who, according to his view, ‘maybe is the one, nevertheless,
who resents less the lack of direct knowledge, when he doesn’t want to dive
into details that are harder to reach’.55 Andrade proceeds, ‘Africa is not so
hermetic today that we don’t know about the psychology of its people, its
folklore, or that we ignore the conditions of African life. There’s much yet
to be revealed. But the general features are defined’.56 And if he excuses, on
the one hand, the role of the literary critic, he attacks, on the other, the role
of every Portuguese who,

at the present moment has the obligation to know the overseas provinces
as he knows the metropolitan provinces. If he cannot visit them, he
should try to inform himself from those who have walked all over with
seeing eyes, and only then speak, write or criticize.57

There is hope that the day ‘will come in which direct observation will
be possible for all of those who need to speak or write about the Over­
seas’.58 This was one of the great objectives of the current policy in which
Freyre’s doctrine began to have a substantial impact, leaving the intel­
lectual field to be appropriated by the institutions of power. During the
1950s, the New State’s ideology started to instrumentalize the doctrines
of Luso-tropicalism in an attempt to justify and legitimize the existence
and continuity of the empire. According to Cláudia Castelo, ‘In the 1950s,
given the need  to affirm the unified character of a nation spread over
three continents, the New State takes an assimilationist, ethnocentric path,
close to the one defended by Norton de Matos’.59 It is also in this decade
that one sees the restructuring and organization of the Colonial Litera­
ture Contest under the initiative of the new Overseas Minister Sarmento
Rodrigues. In the bulletin dated January 1954, one can read that new
measures need to be taken due to the passage of time which had brought
new problems and ‘introduced unpredictable elements which profoundly
affected the environment and ideas’.60
It is noticeable in the literary topics chosen by Augusto da Costa and
Alberto de Andrade that a change in perspective had occurred, linked never­
theless to the Estado Novo’s new approach towards its colonies. For Andrade,
the notion of colonial literature appears to have expanded to include colonial
perceptions and experience, written about mainly by metropolitans but also
by Creoles and indigenes.
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 91
Alberto de Andrade further states that the money that the Overseas Min­
ister Sarmento Rodrigues had been spending on cultural exchange had been
a blessing. This money had facilitated ‘personal trips in both directions –
by journalists, – by men of science, art technicians, university professors,
and boys and girls of the Portuguese Youth’.61 According to Andrade, ‘only
in this way could a conscience of national unity come into existence, one
which would end racial differences, even though the rivalries found in the
Metropolis could persist from province to province’.62 This was Rodrigues
Júnior’s ideal, as well as the government’s – to use all possible means to
justify the Portuguese presence in Africa. As historian Yves Léonard states,
‘it was, besides anything else, to establish a tone of unity and fraternity that
would bring together all Portuguese from different parts of the empire’.63
For such a purpose, the Agência Geral do Ultramar had as a goal to ‘search
in Portugal for those who could write about colonial problems and then
subsequently edit their books’.64 The agency was to publish books by over­
seas writers, ‘meaning by that, writers that live or have lived in the overseas
colonies’.65 Complying with a desire apparently formulated by Rodrigues
Júnior, the agency had been ‘stimulating writers with literary prizes’ which,
however, would ‘never be considered a reward of their work, nor even a
direct allowance to support the expenses of publication’.66
In a third section of this long column, António Alberto de Andrade reflects
on the negritude movement, a new movement, he tells us, that ‘has spread
around the world, . . . a coming to consciousness, an awakening’.67 After
stating the differences between blacks and whites, such as the inherent psy­
chology of the first, he states that ‘the inferiority of the blacks, as men specifi­
cally, never found a favourable environment in our ideas of colonization’.68
As such, the literary movement – negritude – to which Andrade refers would
not embody an intention to act against the Portuguese way of colonizing.
Proclaiming the opposite would be to go against the new colonial policies.
What Andrade is implying here is that the negritude movement, which was
created as a framework of critique and literary theory that aimed at raising
and cultivating ‘black consciousness’ across Africa and its diaspora, would
not have a place in the Portuguese colonies since Portuguese colonization
lacked racism and discrimination. According to the new colonial policies
everyone in every corner of the Portuguese empire was a Portuguese citizen
equal before the law. To justify his argument, he mentions the notebook Poe­
sia negra de expressão portuguesa (black poetry of Portuguese expression)
and ends with a vain hope:

We hope that the movement proceeds with its program, setting aside
the ‘political factions and patriotisms of the ‘mal du poète’, but without
forgetting that the black person of Portuguese Africa is truly the new
Portuguese, and that circumstance will bring him new particular features
that will distinguish him from foreigners, allowing the pride of being
Portuguese to emerge.69
92 Sandra Sousa
We now come to 1953, the year in which the organic law of the Overseas
Provinces was enacted. That meant that each territory was governed by a
special legislation designed to fit its ‘state of civilisation’. This law was sup­
posed to unify the metropolis and the overseas provinces. The Statute of
the Indigenous People was a later addition (1954) to the organic law that
regulated the special status enjoyed by the indigenous population of all the
Portuguese colonies ‘which in practice removed Portuguese citizenship from
the majority of the African population’.70 It was rescinded in São Tomé e
Príncipe and Timor, but continued to be in practice in Angola, Guinea and
Mozambique. According to Valentim Alexandre, ‘only the “assimilated”’
escaped from that situation – those whose integration into the lifestyle and
values of European civilization was expressly recognized – ones who were no
more than an infamous minority (0.8% in 1961, when the status was finally
abolished).71 In 1954, a new Statute of the Indigenous of the Provinces of
Guinea, Angola and Mozambique was enacted. According to Yves Léonard,
‘theoretically, this had as an ultimate goal to favour, by stages, total assimila­
tion and the achievement of Portuguese citizenship’.72 The historian further
states that in the second article of this statute the indigenous were defined as

[T]hose individuals of black race, or their descendants, who, having

been born and lived habitually in Guinea, Angola, or Mozambique, still
did not possess the education and the personal and social habits con­
sidered necessary to acquire the public and private rights of Portuguese
citizens.73

In 1961, the artistic situation does not seem to have changed in relation
to the inaugural column of Artes e Letras Coloniais/Ultramarinas. António
Alberto de Andrade laments that ‘Africa, land of life and colour, still [hasn’t
seduced] enough poets, in such a way to inspire in them the great poem that
it deserves’.74 Nonetheless, he praises the poet António Sousa Freitas, who
collected a small volume of some poems inspired by the theme of Africa. The
fact, more than probable, that the poet had never set foot in Africa stands
out. But, precisely because of that fact, the critic declares, the poet’s effort
‘is laudable, by trying to feel the strong life that throbs in that portion of
Portuguese land’.75 It is obvious that the critic considers the best poems of
the aforementioned poet to be those of historic features that sing the deeds
of Infant Dom Henrique, Bartolomeu Dias, Vasco da Gama, Honório Bar­
reto and so forth.
If we take into account the efforts of the Agência Geral das Colónias/do
Ultramar in functioning as an encouraging medium of the literary, cultural
and artistic fields in Portugal – both through the launching of the Contest of
Colonial Literature in 1926 and the launching of a section of Artes e Letras
Coloniais/Ultramarinas in 1945 – we can say that those efforts, in a restricted
sense, were not in vain. The proof of that is the quantity of books on colonial
themes printed and sponsored by the agency. As Francisco Noa states,
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 93
The number of editions and re-editions of works of an author such as
Eduardo Paixão, for example, proves that, in particular in an ex-colony,
in that small group of literates (much less than 10% of the population)
which included Portuguese settlers and educated, assimilated Mozam­
bicans (few), colonial literature, in particular, the colonial novel, had an
enormous circulation.76

It is also necessary to hold in consideration that this type of initiative did

not limit itself to Portugal; it is included in the wider system of European
colonization of African territories.77 Ideas and strategies were shared, bor­
rowed and circulated among the different empires during their phase of
intense imperial expansion. In reality, Portugal was at the tail end of the other
colonial empires in relation to its cultural project.
If we take into account the extensive period from the 1920s to the 1960s,
public support seems to fall short of desired expectations. This space of
literary and artistic criticism, which intended to emphasize, reinforce and
invigorate legitimizing discourses of the Portuguese presence in Africa, ends
up being a space essentially for the voicing of frustrations. This is obvious
when one observes the usually disappointed tone of the critics writing the
monthly column, a tone expressing their ill-fated attempt to ‘open the eyes’ of
the Portuguese audience to the national works that seem to excite much less
interest than the foreign ones. The admonishing tone, together with the tone
of national glorification and colonial pride, is characteristic of the way in
which this column was written and transmitted to the readers of the Boletim.
In that sense, the reaction of the public did not correspond to the committed
effort of the authors of the column Artes e Letras Coloniais/Ultramarinas.
That patriotic stimulus, both from the state and its loyal followers, failed
when confronted with a population whose majority was alienated from the
African colonial question and, consequently, more interested in a European
cultural perspective.
Even though there had been an attempt to promote a literary and cultural
exchange between the metropolis and its colonies by some of the Estado
Novo ideologists, this turned out to be a frustrated one. Obviously, the sup­
posedly cultural superiority of the centre could not be called into question,
and perhaps, a larger exchange was impaired for that reason. The cultural
dynamic could never be satisfactory if there was a discourse that legitimized
the hegemonic presence of the Portuguese. Francisco Noa’s words help us to
understand other justifications such as the illiteracy that the critic attributes
to Mozambicans – and here we can extend that to the colonial population
in general. Illiteracy, of course, was also equally pernicious among the Portu­
guese but more so was the general ignorance and rejection of art in Portugal:

If in relation to the Mozambicans, the ignorance can be explained by

the fact that, in the period that this literature was mostly produced and
circulated (1930–1974), the population was illiterate, as far as what
94 Sandra Sousa
concerns the Portuguese [who were] the main recipients of this litera­
ture, . . . it is revealing that both ignorance and a process of rejection
persisted.78

The works that are published – the books which are mentioned and valued,
a large number of which cannot even be classified as ‘literature’ – are usually
books that engage in propaganda for the empire and not in its critique. Thus,
it is not surprising that the Boletim can be considered as part of the vast
array of imperialistic discourse created during the New State, a discourse
whose traces are still visible in the Portuguese cultural imagination: the glory
of the Discoveries, the idea of the differences between the black population
of Portuguese Africa and those of other regions, and, as a consequence, the
difference between Portuguese colonization and the other European empires.
All of these ideologemes are part of today’s Portugal, a nation that titles itself
as ‘post-colonial’.
Although it could be argued from an innocent point of view that the
commitment of the agents of the state in promoting reading, circulation and
transmission of art and culture might have resulted in something positive –
as it would have been in the case of respect and appreciation of the other’s
culture – it was, however, intrinsic to colonialism to regulate unequal power
relations between Europeans and Africans. Thus, the promotion of literary
and cultural equality was a mere façade used by the New State to justify
internationally the continuation of its presence in Africa. When we read
the section Colonial/Overseas Arts and Letters, we realize that the colonial
discourse present within it is overlaid with several specific political goals:
culturally unifying the population; winning the ‘hearts and minds’ of the
colonized populations and implementing a cultural norm to be followed.
The articles of Augusto Costa and António Alberto de Andrade show the
instrumentalization by the state of the cultural institutions and apparatuses
of the artistic community both in the metropolis and in the colonies. The
winds of change that were sweeping the African continent were being barred
by the Portuguese empire.

Notes
1. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, July 1925, 4.
2. Boletim da Agência Geral das Colónias, January 1926, s/p.
3. On the Colonial Literature Contest, see Francisco Noa, Império, Mito e Mio­
pia. Moçambique como invenção literária (Lisboa: Caminho, 2002) and Sandra
Sousa, Ficções do Outro: Império, Raça e Subjectividade no Moçambique Colo­
nial (Lisboa: Esfera do Caos, 2015).
4. Boletim Geral das Colónias, April 1945, 94.
5. Luso-tropicalism is a term coined by Gilberto Freyre in his work and that
has been employed to analyse racial and cultural mixing in the wider Por­
tuguese-speaking context. One of the main ideas behind Freyre’s work on
Luso-tropicalism was the appreciation and normalization of miscegenation.
As Riesz comments, Luso-tropicalism is a ‘rehabilitation and appreciation
 Literary discourses in the colonial press 95
of the indigenous and African contribution to the Brazilian nation and cul­
ture’, in what could be seen as a ‘contraposition to a colonial way of writ­
ing history which highlights the white and European contribution’: J. Riesz,
“Raças, Miscigenação e o Futuro do País: Relatos Franceses de Viagens no
Brasil em Meados do século XI,” in Luso-tropicalismo: uma teoria social em
questão, ed. A. Moreira and J.C. Venâncio (Lisboa: Vega, 2000), 104–128.
For more information on Luso-tropicalism, see, for example, Cláudia Castelo,
O Modo Português de Estar no Mundo: O Luso-Tropicalismo e a Ideolo­
gia Colonial Portuguesa (1933–1961) (Lisboa: Edições Afrontamento, 1998);
Warwick Anderson, Ricardo Roque and Ricardo Ventura Santos (eds.), Luso-
Tropicalism and Its Discontents: The Making and Unmaking of Racial Excep­
tionalism, (New York: Berghahn Books, 2019).
6. Boletim Geral das Colónias, April 1945, 95.
7. Ibid.
8. Ibid.
9. Ibid.
10. Elleke Boehmer, Empire Writing: An Anthology of Colonial Literature 1870–
1918 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), 16.
11. Ibid.
12. Ibid., 15.
13. Boletim Geral das Colónias, April 1945, 95.
14. Ibid., 95–96.
15. Ibid., 97.
16. Ibid.
17. Ana Mónica Fonseca and Daniel Marcos, “Cold War Constraints: France, West
Germany and Portuguese Decolonization,” Portuguese Studies, 29, no. 2 (2013):
209–226.
18. Ibid., 213.
19. Boletim Geral das Colónias, April 1945, 101.
20. Boletim Geral das Colónias, July 1945, 306–307.
21. Ibid., 308.
22. Ibid.
23. Ibid.
24. Ibid.
25. Ibid.
26. Ibid., 309.
27. Note here the influence of Gilberto Freyre who published two of his works
considered ‘foundational’ of Luso-tropicalism before the 1950s: Casa Grande
& Senzala in 1933 and O mundo que o português criou (aspectos das relações
sociais e de cultura do Brasil com Portugal e as colónias portuguesas) in 1940.
28. Boletim Geral das Colónias, June 1945, 311–112.
29. Boletim Geral das Colónias, February 1948, 52–56.
30. Ibid., 53.
31. Ibid.
32. Ibid., 54.
33. Ibid.
34. Ibid.
35. Ibid.
36. Ibid., 55.
37. Anne Cova and António Costa Pinto, “Women Under Salazar’s Dictatorship,”
Portuguese Journal of Social Science, 1, no. 2 (2002): 129–146.
38. Boletim Geral das Colónias, February 1948, 55.
39. Ibid., 56.
40. Ibid.
96 Sandra Sousa
41. Valentim Alexandre, Velho Brasil, Novas Áfricas. Portugal e o Império (1808–
1975) (Porto: Edições Afrontamento, 2000), 195.
42. Boletim Geral das Colónias, November 1950, 43–48.
43. Ibid., 48.
44. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, August 1951, 99.
45. Ibid., 100.
46. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, April 1958, 79–88.
47. Ibid., 100.
48. Ibid., 100–101.
49. Ibid., 101.
50. Ibid.
51. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, September–October 1951, 111–122.
52. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, August 1953, 60.
53. Ibid., 61.
54. Ibid., 60.
55. Ibid., 61.
56. Ibid.
57. Ibid.
58. Ibid.
59. Cláudia Castelo, O Modo Português de Estar no Mundo, 95.
60. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, January 1954, 111–117.
61. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, August 1953, 62.
62. Ibid.
63. Yves Léonard, “O Ultramar Português,” in História da Expansão Portuguesa,
vol. 5, ed. Franscisco Bethencourt and K. Chaudhuri (Lisboa: Círculo de Leitores,
1999), 31–50.
64. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, August 1953, 62.
65. Ibid., 63.
66. Ibid., 63–64.
67. Ibid., 64.
68. Ibid., 65.
69. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, August 1953, 66.
70. Alexandre, Velho Brasil, Novas Áfricas, 195.
71. Ibid.
72. Léonard, “O Ultramar Português,” 31–50.
73. Ibid.
74. Boletim Geral do Ultramar, January–February 1961, 283.
75. Ibid., 233–238.
76. Francisco Noa, Império, Mito e Miopia, 20.
77. On other imperial literatures and their application on the colonial context, see,
for instance, Boehmer. Empire Writing; E. M. Beekman, An Anthology of Dutch
Colonial Literature (Amherst: The University of Massachusetts Press, 1988);
J. Warmbold, Germania in Africa: Germany’s Colonial Literature (Peter Lang:
New York, 1989).
78. Francisco Noa, Império, Mito e Miopia, 20.
5 The official press in Equatorial
Guinea
Tracing colonial and postcolonial

governance in Ébano*

Susana Castillo-Rodríguez

Introduction
The newspaper Ébano was launched in 1939, in what is today the Republic
of Equatorial Guinea, in the same year as Franco’s victory, which ended
the civil war in Spain. Its debut coincided with a rise in the exploitation
of Spain’s African territory in order to alleviate the devastated post-war
economy in the metropole. In contrast to administrative practices in prior
years, which were characterized by neglect and erratic practices,1 Franco
reinvigorated Spanish governance in Equatorial Guinea, and Ébano was its
pipeline. At the time of Ébano’s inception, the press was oriented towards
propagating and legitimizing in the Spanish colony the Falangist ideology of
Franco’s government on the peninsula. Ébano had a pivotal role in reaffirm­
ing Spanish national Catholicism and espoused the views of this ideology
regarding the education of ‘natives’ in morals and values through the use of
the colonizers’ language.
Ébano’s role transformed over decades of shifting colonial policy. In the
mid-1950s, Ébano devoted most of its articles to defending a different kind
of relationship between Spain and the colony, one centred on the interde­
pendence of the people (los pueblos) of all Spanish territories. In a new
political turn in 1959, the territories of the Spanish Equatorial Region (Rio
Muni and Fernando Po) were organized as provinces of Spain.2 To respond
to concerns aired in United Nations debates about the Spanish occupation of
the African territories, Spanish policies needed an ideological coat to dispel
concerns about any sort of economic and human exploitation inflicted on the
local population. Although Equatorial Guinea would go on to gain autono­
mous status in 1963, Spain – urged by the United Nations and the currents
of independence that were spreading through Africa – soon after initiated
further negotiations over the colony, signalling its intent to call for a vote
on the independence of La Guinea Española (the Spanish Guinea) and to
organize free elections.3 This move was, of course, a contradiction in terms,
as the dictator Francisco Franco prohibited multipartyism in the metropole.
When Equatorial Guinea gained its independence in 1968, Ébano adopted
a central role in domestic politics. The newspaper covered President Francisco

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-7

98 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
Macías Nguema’s speeches, orders and agenda, thereby demonstrating its
conscious intention to raise Spaniards’ awareness of the president’s direc­
tion.4 However, Macías increasingly ruled the country with an iron fist which
resulted in a censored press, including Ébano. The newspaper ebbed and
flowed like a tide and finally disappeared. After Teodoro Obiang Nguema
Mbasogo’s 1979 coup d’état El Golpe de Libertad, Ébano reappeared in
1980. Soon after, Órgano Informativo Nacional was added to its title, which
accounted for its function as the state newspaper from colonization until the
present. Throughout its active years, Ébano’s publication schedule was very
inconsistent. It was published daily or three to four times per week between
1939 and 1969, followed by long intervals between issues during the regimes
of Macías Nguema and Obiang Nguema Mbasogo.
Based on critical discourse analysis I consider Ébano articles, slogans,
editorials and other sections of the newspaper as units of analysis (texts) that
inform us about relations of power and social practices in relevant geograph­
ical and historical spaces and among different agents.5 I consider the fol­
lowing dyads: metropole–colony, Equatorial Guinea–Spain, colonists–locals,
Franco–Macías Nguema, Macías Nguema–Hispanidad, Obiang Nguema–
Latin America, African nationalism–Spanishness and Spanish legislators–
Ébano’s editors. I will start with an overview of the newspaper and then
launch into a chronological retelling of its history.6 Next, I will examine how
Ébano’s discursivity regulated colonists’ morals, faith, and language use in a
manner consistent with the Proyecto de Estado (Project of State) conceived
for Spain upon Franco’s victory. Transitioning into Equatorial Guinea’s inde­
pendence, I will finish with an analysis of Ébano as the site of production and
discourse legitimation on colonial and postcolonial governance. The corpus
referred to here is composed of all the issues held at the National Libraries
in Madrid, Spain (BNE) and Malabo, Equatorial Guinea.

The newspaper and its context

Equatorial Guinea amassed a vast press and many periodicals during Span­
ish colonization. The most important press items were official bulletins;
however, some cultural magazines and newspapers also rose and fell as the
colonial regime evolved.7 One of the oldest colonial periodicals in Equatorial
Guinea was La Guinea Española, a magazine published by Claretian mis­
sionaries in Fernando Po (now Bioko). The first issue was released in April
1903, thanks to a printing press brought to Banapá by Father Armengol
Coll. As the Claretian missionaries were an official branch of the colonial
administration, this magazine served the purpose of spreading their civilizing
project, which was synonymous with the ‘Spanishness’ of the ‘natives.’8 La
Guinea Española’s motto was ‘God, country, colony’. Forty years later, these
same ideals were embedded into, and embraced by, the newspaper Ébano.
Other printing shops were also opened in Banapá, including the arts and
crafts shops of the Delegation on Indigenous Affairs in Bata, and Maximiliano
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 99
Jones’s printing business in Santa Isabel (today Malabo) – where Ébano was
printed and also where the Falange’s headquarters was located. Because of
the growing business in agricultural imports and the trading of cocoa, lum­
ber, and rubber between Fernando Po and Catalonia, the monthly journal
Fernando Póo y Guinea Española also was printed in Barcelona. In addi­
tion, Julio Arija, the author of the book La Guinea Española y sus riquezas
(1930), published the newspaper El Heraldo Colonial. In 1901, a biweekly
periodical called El Eco de Fernando Po was founded by Governor José de
Ibarra and Enrique López Perea, although there were only seven issues of
it published.9 Today, the newspaper El Imparcial and magazines such as La
Gaceta de Guinea and Atanga are published in the country.10
Ébano itself was launched on 29 October 1939, although BNE-Madrid’s
catalog starts on 7 November 1939. There are 289 issues digitalized in
the BNE-Madrid dated from 1939 to 1968, and 75 issues in paper at the
National Library of Guinea Equatorial, Malabo, from 2002 to 2013.11 The
periodical’s iconography reflects Spain’s historical moments. The shield of
Spain from the Francoist period adorns the left side of the front page. This
shield is composed of the traditional escutcheon (the coat of arms of Cas­
tile, León, Aragon, Navarre, and Granada), the two pillars of Hercules with
the words Plus Ultra (a symbol of the imperial expansion in Ultramar), the
arrows of the Catholic Monarchs, and the Francoist motto Una, Grande,
Libre (United, Big, Free) with the Eagle of Saint John. This nationalist ico­
nography imitated that of the metropole, where the new political order was
capitalizing on this new nationalist imagery alongside its new flag, national
anthem, and the Francoist emblem, issued after the Spanish Civil War. These
symbols embodied the new regime.12 The only difference between colonial
and metropolitan press was the exoticism represented by a few coconut trees
that adorned the masthead of Ébano, which was published in Santa Isabel
with the subtitle Semanario de la Guinea Española. The design of Ébano’s
front page evolved alongside new political and historical events. Similarly,
the newspaper’s editorials changed during the tenure of different directors.
Heriberto Ramón Álvarez was the first director in 1939, followed by Ángel
García Margallo in 1940.13
The newspaper was oriented toward a minority audience composed of
white Spanish colonizers. Catalan families moved to Fernando Po for the
exploitation of cocoa, coffee, and lumber. They had an active presence in
Santa Isabel’s social life and created strong bonds with Krio families, called
Fernandinos.14 Economic benefits ruled hand in hand with a paternalist and
assimilationist practice that led, in practice, to a strict separation between
Spaniards and locals.15 More or less assimilated to European customs, Fer­
nandinos met at the Baptist church in Clarence (now Malabo), where the
Methodist church is today. As they became the elite class – most of them
emancipados (emancipated) after 1928 – they enjoyed some privileges such
as access to higher education in both the colony and the metropole.16 Rep­
licating colonization elsewhere, a segregated society emerged in Equatorial
100 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
Guinea,17 with clear social delineations within housing, class, and social
life:18 Casino de Santa Isabel for whites, Club Fernandino for blacks; Ébano
for whites, a Fernandino magazine for blacks.19 Spaniards who used to con­
tribute to Ébano sometimes wrote for the Fernandino magazine, whereas no
one from the Fernandino magazine would have been invited to participate
in Ébano.20
Because Ébano’s first director, Heriberto R. Álvarez, was a great proponent
of a language policy of correctness, prescriptivism, and the spread of Castil­
lian Spanish, he created the section of the newspaper known as Cuestiones
trascendentales (Transcendental Questions). Broadly speaking, this editorial
focused on the implementation of the Spanish language, monolingualism,
and the education of ‘natives’. The section Ecos de la Colonia contained
information on who visited Santa Isabel and the frequency of ships to the
Spanish Peninsula. The newspaper also published a column from the Falange
Española Tradicionalista y de las J.O.N.S. with the names and shifts of the
reserve guards (imaginarias). Advertisements announced hotels in Gran
Canarias (a port of embarkation for ships travelling to the Spanish Guinea),
the Spanish national lottery (Montepío de Funcionarios), local shops in Santa
Isabel (Casa Amilivia Ltda), and the calendar of saints’ days. The theatre sec­
tion advertised movies at Cine Ideal and Cine Jardin, classifying the cinema
as being ‘only for Europeans’.21 There were also job announcements (for
domestic help) and television programming (T.G.E.; added in 1969). War
reports occupied a large part of Ébano’s front page between 1939 and 1942.
The newspaper also became the site of production for circulares from the
Falange Española and rules for colonists to follow.22 Because Ébano repro­
duced the official propaganda of the colonial administration, edicts and laws
were published in esoteric, high legislative language. As a result, only people
who had access to a Spanish language education – like the aforementioned
Fernandinos – were able to understand these regulations. Other highlights
included domestic and international news featuring articles on how to define
colonialism;23 the educational system;24 negotiations on the independence
of Equatorial Guinea;25 the Constitution of Equatorial Guinea;26 the ref­
erendum on 4 August 1968; the independence of Equatorial Guinea,27 and
Macías’s declaration of a state of emergency in the country.28
When Fernando Po and Rio Muni became provinces of Spain in 1959 –
henceforth regulated under the same judicial and administrative regime as
other Spanish provinces – Ébano added Diario de la Región Ecuatorial to
its title. The exotic coconut trees were removed from the front page and the
Eagle of Saint John was added. On 20 September 1967, Ébano announced
the date for the Constitutional Conference. The unfolding of these events
yielded changes in Ébano’s front page: on 11 October 1968, the Spanish
national coat of arms was deleted, and the newspaper was renamed Ébano,
Diario de la Guinea Ecuatorial. Upon the proclamation of independence on
12 October 1968, Macías’s portrait occupied the front page – a symbolic
gesture that mimicked Franco’s photograph published after the end of the
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 101
Guerra Civil in the Spanish right-wing newspaper ABC with the title Un
hombre (A Man). Equatorial Guinea’s coat of arms now appeared on the
front page with a ceiba (the national tree), six stars (representing its territory
comprising five islands and the continental part of Rio Muni), and the motto
Unidad, Paz, Justicia (Unity, Peace, Justice).29
The newspaper presented a clear ideological discontinuity with colo­
nists and it afforded much attention to either national political issues (such as
agreements regarding the independence of Equatorial Guinea) or the person­
alist presidency of Francisco Macías. Ébano and Poto poto, the two news­
papers in existence during the Macías regime, did interfere with his politics
and were ultimately discontinued. In 1972, Severo Moto Nsá tookover as the
newspaper’s head.30 The following year, under the direction of Gabriel Tomo,
the subtitle of the newspaper was changed to Unidad de la Guinea Ecuatorial
and then its publication was suddenly stopped. It reappeared in 1980, under
the commission of Toribio Obiang Mba. The newspaper was later chaired
by Antonio Nandongo Nguema, a leading figure in the only political party in
the country, the Partido Democrático de Guinea Ecuatorial (PDGE).31 This
tendency of recruiting directors from PDGE’s affiliates is maintained today.
In 1990, with Spanish support, Equatorial Guinea’s government reacti­
vated a bimonthly publication of 1,000 copies of Ébano. In 2002, the subtitle
was changed yet again to Órgano informativo nacional, and the newspaper
was no longer printed in colour. Over time, the number of pages has gradu­
ally decreased, from 24 in 2002 to three pages in the last issue of May 2019.
Today, the newspaper has a section on national news (politics), local news
(society), sports (Nzalang, the national soccer team), and international news
with an emphasis on the African continent. The subscription rate changed
from 60 pesetas per year during the early years of colonization32 to 500
francs XFAS (CEMAC currency) in 2006, and it remains at this price today.
Because there are no printing presses in the country and the few existing
bookstores don’t distribute it,33 Ébano is sold at supermarkets in the cities
of Malabo and Bata. In more than eight years conducting fieldwork in the
country, I have never seen anyone buying the newspaper.34

Governance during Spanish colonization

Cultural assimilation, language prescriptivism, and press circulation

The strong presence of the Falange left its mark on Fernando Po: monu­
ments dedicated to José Antonio Primo de Rivera,35 a colonial adaptation of
the Spanish Falangist hymn Himno de los falangistas morenos, and repur­
posed images in documentary movies such as Lejos de África of Cecilia
Bartolomé (1996) and Memoria Negra of Xavier Montanyà (2006).36 As
the Francoist regime consolidated on the Peninsula, Ébano focused more
on Spanish national politics and Franco’s figure as el Caudillo, leader of the
Glorioso Movimiento Nacional (Glorious National Movement).37 Ébano
102 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
featured articles written by intellectuals sympathetic to Franco’s National
Catholic ideology such as Luis Fontán, provincial governor and the head of
JONS in Fernando Po, or Heriberto R. Álvarez, Inspector of Education and
Ébano’s director. The common theme in the newspaper was the praising of
Francisco Franco as the person who made the unity of Spain possible and
embodied the revitalization of the Hispanic empire. The rhetoric of Madre
Patria (motherland), Catholic faith, and Hispanism abounded. Especially
important in demonstrating how Franco drew together Spain’s imperial
past and present is the article Misión Histórica de la Hispanidad (Historical
Mission of Hispanidad) published in 1940 by José Luis Soraluce.38 Here,
Hispanidad is metonymically preferred to raza (race) and defines all ‘Iberian
brothers’ belonging to

this crown of Hispano-American nations for whom Spain will always

be the motherland . . . and other regions, like this exotic flower of the
Guinea which will also come in time to rub shoulders in a dignified way
with the larger regions.39

Hence, the destiny of Spain was summed up in ‘the moral and material
obligation to remain vigilant over this civilisation represented principally
by our Faith, our language and our History’.40 Franco’s words, written in a
larger font, invite the reader to understand and embrace Ébano’s focus on
language assimilation and monolingualism and to think about the history of
Equatorial Guinea in the following terms: ‘The character of each region will
be respected, but without prejudice to national unity, that we want it abso­
lute, with only one language, Spanish, and only one personality, Spanish’.41
The Spanish colonization of the continental part of Rio Muni began after
1924.42 Rio Muni was then a region dominated by the Fang language, except
along the coastline where a series of languages belonging to the Ndowé
family such as Kombe, Balengue, Bujeba, One, or Bisio (languages known
as playeros) were spoken. The active presence of the Presbyterian church –
situated on the border with Cameroon and in the region and islands of the
Muni Estuary, bordering Gabon – helped to maintain the use of Fang and
even to teach many local people to read and write in their vernacular. Span­
ish spread only in Fernando Po, mostly in Santa Isabel and nearby villages
such as San Carlos, where Claretians concentrated their efforts on converting
English-speaking Protestants back into Spanish Catholics. Therefore, as soon
as Ébano was launched, articles and messages written by Heriberto R. Álva­
rez advocating the use of Peninsular Spanish populated the newspaper. His
views of the colonized as inferiors and his self-proclaimed status as a devout
Catholic coincided with the mainstream traditionalist ideology at that time.43
He developed a new educational system in 1943, and the Escuela Superior
Indígena was his most influential legacy.44 Scholars argue that his ‘progres­
sive’ pedagogical goals were the cause of his departure from the newspaper
and ultimately his return to Spain in 1949.45
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 103
When Heriberto R. Álvarez launched Ébano, almost all of his articles were
informed by his opinion of language as the exemplary means to achieving
civilization.46 The newspaper served as a proxy for Álvarez’s National Catho­
lic ideology, transmitting to the public his ideas about the normalization of
Spanish as the language of instruction. Language was not only an issue in the
colony (especially because Spaniards couldn’t accept the widespread pres­
ence of Pidgin English) but was also at the centre of many political debates
in the metropole. The following passage from Cordero Torres demonstrates
his view on the ‘problem’ created by the presence of languages other than
Spanish in Equatorial Guinea:47

And examining now the indigenous policy and the problems that it
brings up, I consider (perhaps due to an excess of sentimentalism) that
the most urgent is the question of the quick and decisive need to His­
panicize the coloured masses. Of course, there are among the Spanish
businessmen those who, apart from party policy, have made policy that
weakly reflects the state of decay that has appeared in Spain in the past
century, and so it has been the case that the Companies and colonies in
certain regions, noted for their mercantile and industrial vigour in the
Peninsula, have taught their servants and workers peninsular languages
apart from the official one and they have indicated to them that there is
a difference between them and the other white Spaniards.48

Therefore, Cordero Torres advocated for the use of ‘Peninsular Spanish’ –

instead of other languages or dialects spoken in Spain – in order to avoid
the situation in Catalonia and the Basque Country, and to emulate Franco’s
political agenda.49
The same question resonated in Ébano’s editorials, resulting in a new
strategy of marketing the language policy. Slogans such as the following
were addressed to the readership from December 1939 until February 1940:

‘To think like Spain, without speaking like her? Impossible!’50

‘Never publicly speak another language or dialect than Spanish, with
this you will do for Spain the work that Spain needs’.51
‘Do you think that you can’t help us in our task of disseminating the
LANGUAGE? Very little is asked of you!: YOUR EXAMPLE’.52
‘Your subordinates don’t understand Spanish? Ah, but .  .  . have you
created the need for them to learn it?.53

Colonists had to deal with a multiglossic society featuring competition

between the official colonial language (Spanish), the vehicular trading lan­
guage (Pichi or Pidgin English), and the native languages (Bubi, Fang, Fá
d’ambó, Benga, Kombe, and Bisio). Vernacular languages were commonly
accepted as part of the native ‘nature’, but the same reasoning couldn’t be
accepted when it came to Pidgin English. This Creole – known as Pichi – was
104 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
the sword of Damocles when the British settled in Fernando Poo at the begin­
ning of the nineteenth century.54 The enduring presence of Pichi in the colony
was taken as an uncomfortable failure of Spanish administrators – one that
impeded the ‘españolización’ of ‘natives’ and, consequently, the expansion of
the colonial language. Slogans addressing this question recognized the diglos­
sic antagonism of Spanish versus vernaculars, yet left aside Pichi: ‘Native of
our territory! We don’t expect you to renounce your language; but we do
demand that you know and speak “Spanish”, which is your language of
civilisation and enhancement’.55
Therefore, there was a need to put into play hierarchical relations among
languages. Heriberto R. Álvarez applied metalinguistic categories of lan­
guage practices in non-Western societies to classify Pichi, the Fernandians’
Creole, as a dialect. The following quotes are examples of this hierarchy that
considered languages to be synonymous with degrees of civilization, wherein
the supposed complexity of thought in ‘advanced’ societies required expres­
sion in a more ‘fully developed’ language.56

Indígena, if you were able to understand and speak ‘Spanish’ you would
see how your thoughts would have had a proper expression in the real
world.
Indígena, the language that we teach you is the language in which the
best human book is written, the best book of the world.57

Nevertheless, the premise of monoculturalism under the Spanish national­

ist project could not be applied in Equatorial Guinea because an unequal,
hierarchical society of Spaniards and indígenas (indigenous) was necessary
in order for the imperial enterprise to succeed. The monocultural ideal that
dominated the metropole was only partially effective in Equatorial Guinea:
indígenas were compelled to assimilate to Spanish culture but without being
considered citizens with full rights or the ability to participate in the govern­
ment of their own territories. The semiotic process of iconization58 formed
part of the discourse in Ébano’s articles in order to stress linguistic, human,
and civil differentiation. ‘Natives’ were addressed with the non-territorial
category of indígenas, as opposed to Spaniards or Europeans.59 In Ébano’s
section Pinceladas impresionistas, landscape and people fused in a mono­
chromatic image of exoticism and primitivism, linguistically articulated as
‘islas de playas blancas’ (islands of white beaches), ‘cuerpos semidesnudos y
de cutis finísimo y delicado’(half-naked bodies of smooth and delicate skin),
‘brazos hercúleos y fuertes’ (strong, Herculean arms), ‘Uganda, el octoge­
nario popular jefe de la isla de los bengas . . . se halla entre nosotros grave
e infantil a la vez’ (Uganda, the popular, octogenarian chief of the island of
the Bengas . . . finds himself among us to be serious and child-like at the same
time). Ébano exemplified and enacted the colonizing discourse of power,
dismissing the language of the locals as infantile, primitive, and not suitable
for the expression of critical thinking. The media is the language, and in this
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 105
case, the language is also the media – a corollary that applies to Ébano and
its promulgation of a ‘Spanish only’ policy.

Re-semantization of colonialism
If Spanish language and cultural assimilation were preoccupations of the
colonists back in the metropole – despite the fact that colonization had
relative success, thanks to the economic support coming from Spain,60 it
was necessary to convince the Spanish Court as to why the small territory
of Equatorial Guinea still needed economic and human investment. 61 In an
article published in 1952, José Ruiz Fornells argued that colonialism was
grounded on the ‘interdependence’ of the colonizers and the colonized.62
‘Spain needs natives in the same way that they need us’, Ruiz wrote. The
displacement of braceros from the interior of Rio Muni and Nigeria to
work in the growing industry of cocoa in Santa Isabel raised concerns at
the international level because of the conditions of labor and the viola­
tion of human rights.63 Strangely, there were no articles in Ébano about
Spanish negotiations with the United Nations over Spain’s active colonial
exploitation and the status of the colonized territories, apart from news
on legislation regarding the legal status and organization of the African
provinces.64
To fight back at the international level against the reputation of exploiting
braceros under dehumanizing conditions, Ébano did choose to disseminate
selected ideological discourses on Spanish colonialism which avoided the
pejorative use of ‘colonisation’ with the suggestion that both culture and
cultivo (cultivation) were brought to Equatorial Guinea: ‘we the Spaniards
didn’t encounter any aboriginal culture; on the contrary we brought this
culture, beginning in its first sense, that is, we brought cultivation’.65 Thus,
Ébano praised the colonizing enterprise and promoted the beautiful bridges,
wonderful hospitals, and fantastic schools of the colonial topography. Simul­
taneously, in the metropole, Francisco Franco implemented the feverish activ­
ity of inaugurating dams, hydroelectrical power plants, and roads to glorify
his regime which was widely broadcasted via the NO-DO, a propagandistic
trailer played at theatres before the movie which aimed to ‘educate’ the Span­
ish people.
As we see, hints of colonialism as something desirable and beneficial for
Equatoguineans had populated newspaper columns since 1950. In 1955,
Spain became a full member of the United Nations, which placed its foreign
policy of exploitation and imperialistic intervention in Equatorial Guinea
under scrutiny. In 1956, Ébano published a bibliographical note in La
Memoria del Gobierno General de los Territorios Españoles del Golfo de
Guinea and reprinted the prologue written by Faustino Ruiz González, Gov­
ernor General of the Territories, based in Santa Isabel. His focus was solely
on demonstrating the economic boost experienced by the colony thanks to
private and public hands – mainly provided by the Sociedad Española de
106 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
Africanistas y Colonistas (Spanish Society of Africanists and Colonialists)
created in 1883.66 The governor’s grandiloquent article concluded with the
same erstwhile metaphor of Spanish ships ploughing through the water as
Spain advanced toward its destiny and the glory of the country.67 This glory
translated into a profitable commerce – regulated by the metropole, for the
metropole – as commodities such as cocoa, coffee, palm oil, and lumber sup­
plied the country’s needs after the Second World War.
In 1959, Fernando Po and Rio Muni were both recognized by Spain as
provinces with the same representative rights in the legislative body, known
as the Cortes Generales, held in Madrid.68 Yet, because of international pres­
sure from the United Nations and the independence movements sweeping the
surrounding African countries, Spain opened up the floor to a Constitutional
Conference in 1967. As a preamble, Borrás el español released an article in
Ébano titled ¿A dónde vas, Guinea?.69 Tomás Borrás Bermejo was a jour­
nalist, writer, translator, theatre director, and critic. He was also a Falangist
leader, opposed to the Constitutional Conference, who saw the question not
as one of sovereignty but rather as a ‘separatist act’ – more than decoloniza­
tion, it is a ‘denationalisation’, he said. According to Borrás, an independent
Equatorial Guinea would get ‘devoured’ by its neighbours, landing in the
hands of Cameroon, Nigeria, or Congo.
Ébano also reproduced articles from conservative newspapers in the
metropole, such as Ya, which further serves as evidence that it was an ideo­
logical pipeline from official Francoist newspapers to the colonial press.
Ébano moved to a different ideology after independence in 1968. Spain
did not foresee the way events would develop, nor did the newspaper
offer any foreshadowing of what would be described later as the dark­
est period of Equatorial Guinea’s history, characterized by persecution of
intellectuals, a strong anti-colonial discourse, and the impoverishment of
the people.

Ébano under Macías’ regime

At the end of 1967, the Constitutional Conference was held in Madrid.
Ébano writers were present and covered the inaugural speeches of the min­
ister of foreign affairs and President of the Inter-ministerial Commission,
Fernando María Castiella y Maíz. Three days later the speech by Federico
Ngomo, the president of the General Assembly for Equatorial Guinea, was
also published. These official speeches emphasized Spain’s goodwill in pro­
viding Equatorial Guinea with autonomous status and in working with
Equatoguineans to begin a debate on its independence. Finally, on 4 August
1968, the decree to call a referendum on independence was published. As
negotiations continued, the Spanish Guinea press reprinted articles from
the metropolitan newspapers Fuerza Nueva and Madrid. Not only was the
future of Equatorial Guinea being determined in the far-away heart of the
metropole, but the influence of the metropolitan press also set the tone for
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 107
the debate within the colony. One of the articles titled Fernando Po rechaza
la independencia (Fernando Po rejects independence) quoted the words of
Edmundo Bosio Dioko, President of the Chamber of Agriculture and Indus­
try in Fernando Po.70 The article had prominent headlines and showed only
part of the story:

We are children of Spain. If our coloured brothers, when asked by the

Mother, answer that they want to leave, we see it as logical to leave
the door open for them. But we, those of Fernando Po, don’t want
to leave, we don’t want to tie our fortune to those of our coloured
brother.71

The article continued with a eulogy for Spanish colonization – ‘not

exploitation’ – in Equatorial Guinea, claiming that the country did not pro­
vide revenue for Spain because of the amount of money Spain had to spend
to develop infrastructure and education there. Pervasive and recurrent, this
spirit of ‘debt’ and ‘gratitude’ toward Spain was embedded in Equatoguinean
political discourses even while Equatoguineans claimed their right to decide
their future. This is even clearer in the disputes among Equatoguineans
when it came to supporting candidates for the presidency of the indepen­
dent Republic of Equatorial Guinea and, therefore, the future of the country.
According to Álvarez Chillida and Nerín,

[M]any colonists in the island supported the emergent Bubi national­

ism, with the hope that Fernando Po, the richest part of the country,
would become a State that was nominally independent, separated
from the rest of the colony, and even in a State formally associated
with Spain.72

Ties of brotherhood with the Madre Patria were then adopted as part of
the philosophy of ‘the New State’ of the Republic of Equatorial Guinea by
Atanasio Ndong, future minister of foreign affairs. He reinforced rhetorical
links with the Madre Patria, saying that: ‘we are linked to a Spanish cul­
ture that does not allow assimilations or foreign interference’.73 In visiting
the United Nations a few weeks after the country’s independence, President
Macías addressed the audience in Spanish and reaffirmed his Hispanic lin­
eage (estirpe hispánica) by stating that his language allowed him to com­
municate with Puerto Ricans, Argentinians, and so on.74 Far from being
a colonial power, Macías called Spain ‘the administrative power’ because
Equatoguineans learned from the metropole to show respect toward His­
panic people, no matter their race.75
Such imperial continuities marked the official discourse in Ébano through
the end of 1968, when the United Nations congratulated Spain for assuring
peace and cooperation during the process of independence, and Francisco
Macías expressed his desire to work for world peace and the total liberation
108 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
of Africa. This last comment was probably a sign of his future ideological
orientation, which was not yet fully revealed at that time:

[T]he independence will be a familiar party between Guineans and Span­

iards; I would like to lead the mission of Equatorial Guinea in the United
Nations in order to provide evidence of the existence of a nation of
Hispanic lineage at the centre of Africa.76

Macías won the election in a sensational victory, and his words were scru­
tinized by Spaniards. In a special issue dedicated to him in 1968, Claretian
Father Amador Martín del Molino collected some of the most memorable
passages on the ideology of the New State. Regarding Equatorial Guinea’s
independence, Martín del Molino published excerpts from Macías’ speeches
titled Una nación de estirpe hispánica (A nation of Hispanic lineage):

Today’s date is duly symbolic. On 12 of October, five centuries ago, three

Spanish vessels discovered and bore for History an unknown continent:
America. Upon the birth, today of independent Guinea, it also takes form
as part of this vast world of Hispanism in which more than twenty peoples
worship the same God in the same language. We feel proud to belong to
this world and to have had our destiny united with that of the Spanish peo­
ple who throughout History have given abundant indications of generosity
and of their capacity to transmit their eternal values to other peoples.77

In turn, Macías sought inspiration from Ébano’s articles about the iconic
figure of Francisco Franco in Spain and his nationalist ideology. Every year
12 October is the national holiday in Spain known as Día de la Raza, Día
del Pilar, or Día de la Hispanidad78 and coincides with the declaration of
independence of the Republic of Equatorial Guinea. Spanish conservative
parties promoted an approach to Hispanism that accentuated the role of the
imperial Madre Patria in guiding ex-colonial countries with exemplary values
of Catholicism which evolved into two different approaches:

The conservative strain would, over time, develop into the famous doc­
trine of Hispanidad, whose emphasis on hierarchy, tradition and empire
would form the ideological backbone of the Spanish Falange, and later,
Francoism. However, to the left of the liberal strain they’ve evolved a
more truly progressive brand of hispanismo. Instead of the hierarchical
social structures of the right-wing version, this celebrated republicanism,
democracy, and social justice as the political expressions par excellence
of Hispanic ‘humanist’ spirituality.79

During the earliest days of Macias’s presidency, Ébano echoed discourses mir­
roring the Francoist version of Hispanidad. Later, however, editorials focused
on the evolving ideology of President Francisco Macías, who shifted from an
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 109
explicit brotherhood with Spain to an absolutist government based on his
megalomaniac mind, criminal methods, and a state of terror.80 Hispanidad
was washed away to give pre-eminence to African Nationalist Movements
of Liberation.81 In an editorial titled La Marcha de la Libertad en África
(1958–1968) (The March of Liberty in Africa), written by Antonio Ndeme­
sogo on 12 October 1969, the author argued that the country opposed the
white domination, rejected the neocolonialism of Spanish capitalism, and
would defend a new African nationalism for Equatorial Guinea. This clash
between Macías’s government and Spain was reflected in Ébano’s articles.
On 22 February 1969, Ébano published an article called El viaje triunfal de
Macías (The triumphant journey of Macías), praising the president’s words
as he condemned Spain for years of colonization.
Language was also one of Macías’s target issues. In November 1968,
Macías proclaimed a move to recover local languages and to encourage
people to maintain their vernaculars: Bubi should be spoken perfectly, as well
as Fang, Annobonés, Corisqueño, Bujeba, Kombe, and even, when economic
circumstances permit it, we will create a ministry for ‘African Traditions’.82
As populism was another ingredient of his political ideology that was dis­
seminated in Ébano, his public speeches in the local language (being Fang
himself) were more and more frequent.83
Macías’s isolation and delirium translated into a state of terror and a rejec­
tion of anything related to Spain. For him, Spaniards symbolized white domi­
nation and impeded the self-determination of Equatorial Guinea. Ébano
discontinued the rhetoric of communality with Spain and opened a new era
of adoration for the president. Mimicking Franco’s representation of, and
assimilation with, the whole power (God), Ébano again printed the patriotic
slogans that students had to memorize in schools:

God
Fatherland
Macías
Motto that should be engraved in the heart and soul of every Guinean.
Sixteen letters that should be engraved in golden letters.

The fear of a rebellion moved Macías to purge the country of intellectuals

and politicians, with all its concomitant fascist methods and control of the
press. With his opponents incarcerated and assassinated, he declared the
existence of a single party system in Equatorial Guinea. Press, education,
and public opinion were censured, leaving the country impoverished and in
the darkest days of its history.

Ébano after el golpe de libertad

Ébano was eventually halted under Macías’s dictatorship (1968–1979) and
later re-emerged under the Presidency of Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo
110 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
in the 1980s, under the umbrella of the Office of Information, Press, and
Radio. Its news sections include Society, National, International, and Sports.
Ébano’s loyalty to government policies and discourses positions it as the only
survivor on state funds to this day.84 Indeed, Ébano’s recent issue reproduces
the same personality cult of Equatorial Guinea’s president that dominates
the media at large. With the celebration of the fiftieth wedding anniversary
of Obiang Nguema Mbasogo and Constancia Mangue de Obiang, the news­
paper released a special 18-page issue in full colour on 18 December 2018.
In contrast, its latest edition is printed in black and white and is three-and­
a-half pages long.
In addition to reducing the number of pages, Ébano removed editorials
and opinions, instead prioritizing news coming directly from the informa­
tion office regarding the government’s initiatives, conferences, and agree­
ments with other countries. News on Francophone and Lusophone policies
increased as Hispanophilia diminished in the country.85 Relations with Spain
were hot and cold, alternating between Spain’s defamatory news stories and
denigrating campaigns against Equatorial Guinea’s government, all while
both countries agreed to strengthened cooperative relations.86 As this spirit
of cooperation changed over time, especially in observances on independence
day, the Madre Patria was blamed for the occupation of the territories as well
as the impediments to Equatorial Guinea becoming an independent nation:

The people lived a true holocaust in their own country during the years
of occupation characterized by the exploitation of Man by Man; the
compromise between political, economic, and cultural freedoms; the
persistent and systematic violation of human rights as well as the total
rejection of any idea of Equatorial Guinea as an internationally agreed-
upon State.87

However, Ébano’s official discourse reinforces Equatorial Guinea’s identity

as Afro-Ibero-American, in the hopes of strengthening transatlantic ties with
Latin America, including Brazil:

Hispanism is . . . an inalienable right for our country. Although we are

located like far-away orphans in the heart of Africa, we believe that a
political space exists where Equatorial Guinea has, and should have,
the task of playing an important role in the relations of friendship and
cooperation with the countries of Latin America.88

This new tack began in 2008, when Equatorial Guinea asked Portugal to
support its nomination as a member of the Comunidade dos Países de Lín­
gua Portuguesa (Community of Countries of Portuguese Language, CPLP).
Under the premise of sharing a common language – Fá d’ambô, a Portu­
guese-based Creole spoken in the island of Annobón – this new deal was
based on cultural, economic, political, and commercial interests.89
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 111
Regarding language, in the November 2008 edition of Ébano there is an
article written by a student journalist addressing the linguistic landscape in
Malabo. Mariano Nguema Esono regrets the ‘agrammaticality’ on street
signs and encourages people to write according to the rules shared by all
Spanish speakers: ‘many say that we speak and write in our own style, but
I disagree completely with them because Spanish is not only of Equatorial
Guinea, but of [all] the Hispanophone countries’.90 Attributing this practice
to a lack of information and education, the author proposes creating an
institution to write those signs correctly. Years of fieldwork in Equatorial
Guinea allow us to assert that this call for normativity and prescriptivism
is symptomatic of the deteriorating educational system and the absence of
input from the Peninsular Spanish standard in schools, a pervasive situation
that continues today.
Implicitly responding to this line of thinking (a direct connection seems
unlikely), in 2018, the Academia Ecuatoguineana de la Lengua Española
launched a campaign to teach the population orthographic norms using street
signs. Yet, the press and the mass media use a Spanish that itself contains
orthographical errors, deviates from standard grammatical rules, and also
contains some local idioms already accepted by the Royal Spanish Academy
as guineanismos. Because Ébano represents the state – and uses this language
in the Equatoguinean society – is it possible to convert this top-down lan­
guage into a bottom-up policy which could work as a model for the society?

Concluding remarks
By using critical analysis discourse to unveil ideologies and relations of power
embedded in semiotic texts presented here, I have attempted to highlight
semantic continuities and discontinuities in governance as seen in Ébano. As
an official government instrument, the periodical disseminated colonial poli­
cies on language, administration, international relations, and public opin­
ion. The early focus on the normalization of Peninsular Spanish amongst
locals led to heated debates about what colonialism was and about the colo­
nizing project that best suited the metropole’s needs. Texts on the Spanish
assimilation of the indígenas branched out into issues of human nature and
hierarchical language relations. Later, overtures of independence and the
United Nations’ call for the decolonization of the Spanish Guinea politicized
Ébano’s texts even more. The National Catholic ideology that permeated
Ébano for the first 25 years of the publication’s existence semanticized into
identity, belonging, and unity with the Madre Patria, while also maintain­
ing the African territory’s autonomy. During the few years that Ébano was
published under the regime of Macías Nguema, the loci of discourse changed
again to symbolically separate the Republic of Equatorial Guinea from Spain
and from associations with the Madre Patria, as well as cutting the country
off from foreign relations. Macías Nguema didn’t need Ébano to echo his
policies; in fact, the newspaper represented a threat to his presidency as
112 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
his goal was to keep people uninformed and to hide his maneuvers from
international observers. Obiang Nguema later revitalized the newspaper at
the beginning of his presidency, trying to reach out to foreign investors and
making clear to the former colonizer that the country played a central role
not only in the Afro-Hispanic space but also in the Pan-Hispanic strategy
developed by Spain.
The analysis of Ébano sheds light on life in the colony and how the coun­
try evolved since its independence. Sadly, neglect and censorship continue to
suffocate the Equatoguinean press in a society that is more preoccupied with
surviving economic constraints and a lack of education than with developing
a free press.

Notes
* My most sincere gratitude to Gonzalo Álvarez-Chillida and Benita Sampedro for
their helpful comments and careful revision of earlier versions of this chapter.
Any imprecisions or errors in this chapter are solely my responsibility.
1. The Republic of Equatorial Guinea was under Spanish colonial power from
1778 until 1968. Between its independence (in 1968) and 1979, former President
Francisco Macías Nguema put in place a state system of terror known as ‘la triste
memoria’. In 1979, the current President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo
ended Macía’s regime with a coup d’état, implementing an ethnocracy which
endures through the present day.
2. However, the Spanish governor held military and civil power. In 1959, procura­
dores were elected in the two Equatoguinean provinces, Fernando Po and Rio
Muni.
3. Known as the period for ‘La Conferencia constitucional’ (1967).
4. See D. Ndongo Bidyogo, Las tinieblas de tu memoria negra (Madrid: ed. Funda­
mentos, 1987).
5. Ruth Wodak, “Critical Discourse Analysis,” in Qualitative Research Practice,
ed. Clive Seale, David Silverman, Jaber F Gubrium and Giampietro Gobo. Con­
cise Paperback Edition (London: SAGE, 2006), 197–213; Ruth Wodak, “Critical
Discourse Analysis: History, Agenda, Theory, and Methodology,” in Methods
for Critical Discourse Analysis, ed. R. Wodak and M. Meyer, 2nd revised ed.
(London: Sage, 2009), 1–33.
6. Due to space constraints, only translations from original quotes will be provided.
All translations are mine.
7. The most detailed and documented article about colonial press was published
in memoriam by Itziar González, Carlos González Echegaray’s daughter: Carlos
González Echegaray, “History of the Press in Equatorial Guinea in the 20th Cen­
tury: Periodicals Published in Equatorial Guinea 1901–2000,” Africa Bibliogra­
phy (2014): vii–xxix. DOI: 10.1017/S026667311500001X. See also: Victoriano
Darias, “La Guinea Ecuatorial, a través de sus medios de comunicación,” Revista
Latina de Comunicación Social, 4, no. 43 (2001).
8. Fernando Po was the center of power for Spanish missionaries who adminis­
trated ‘reducciones’ (small villages around the Catholic church) to bring the Bubi
people closer for a more effective acculturation. Father Usera y Alarcón was
the first missionary to arrive in 1845; however, the most impactful assimilation
occurred with the massive settlement of the Claretian and Conceptionist missions
(1883 and 1885, respectively). See, Jacint Creus Boixadeiras, Action missionnaire
en Guinée Équatoriale (Paris: Editions L’Harmattan, 2014).
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 113
9. The Spanish Agency for International Development Cooperation (AECID)
promoted the publication of Africa 2000 and the foundation of Centro Cul­
tural Hispano-Guineano, where magazines such as El Patio, El árbol del centro
(Atanga’s predecessor) and Poto poto were also published. Until 2017, when
it was discontinued, Poto poto belonged to the Minister of Information, Press,
and Radio (www.guineaecuatorialpress.com). At present, the magazine Ekos del
Golfo maintains publication with economic support from the President of PDGE.
The newspaper El Imparcial has disappeared from supermarkets. For a detailed
list, see Darias, “La Guinea Ecuatorial”; Justo Bolekia Boleká and Trifonia Meli­
bea Obono Ntutumu, La edición en Guinea Ecuatorial. www.cervantesvirtual.
com/portales/editores_editoriales_iberoamericanos/edicion_en_guinea_ecu­
atorial/. Anita Brus, Equatorial Guinea. www.ascleiden.nl/content/webdossiers/
equatorial-guinea.
10. La Guinea Ecuatorial was founded in 1996 by Agustín Nzé Nfumu, President of
the Academia Ecuatoguineana de la Lengua Española (AEGLE). Atanga is pub­
lished by Centro Cultural de España en Malabo (CCEM). For a well-documented
and free-access website, visit: https://reinamares.hypotheses.org/25017. Vistas was
a flash-in-the-pan magazine created by East West Communications, LLC (USA)
in association with the Ministry of Missions of the Government of Equatorial
Guinea, when oil production was at its highest level and the country needed to
build its reputation (‘nation branding’ www.eastwestcoms.com/about.htm).
11. Ébano’s publications from 1939 and 1940 are accessible here: https://prensahistorica.
mcu.es/es/publicaciones/listar_numeros.do?tipo_busqueda=calendario&busq_
idPublicacion=9028. Issues between 2002 and 2012 were released as fol­
lows: 2 in 2002; 4 in 2003; 3 in 2005; 10 in 2006; 15 in 2008; 26 in 2010;
12 in 2012; and 3 in 2013. Ébano’s print office doesn’t have any issues prior to
2009. From 2009 on, only some issues are kept.
12. Zira Box, España año cero. La construcción simbólica del franquismo (Madrid:
Alianza editorial, 2010), 317.
13. Inquiries were made to obtain the required copyright permit to reproduce some
pages. Ébano is a newspaper with active copyrights that are not deposited in the
National Library in Spain (BNE), therefore, BNE could not authorize any public
use. Authorization must be requested from the copyright holders of the work,
which seems very unlikely to be obtained given the uncertainty of who would
need to be contacted.
14. Fernandinos were a black settler population composed of recaptured slaves
landed in the years 1827–1834, along with immigrant Creoles from Sierra Leone.
Sundiata, Ibrahim, “Prelude to Scandal: Liberia and Fernando Po, 1880–1930,”
The Journal of African History, 15, no. 1 (1974): 97–112.
15. There are cases of interracial marriages (few) and sexual relations between
Spaniards and native women. See Nerín on colonial sexual practices and racial
stereotypes: Gustau Nerín, Guinea Equatorial, història en blanc i negre.: Dones
negres i homes blancs a la Guinea Equatorial (1843–1968) (Barcelona: Biblio­
teca Universal Empúries, 1998). Archives at the Presbyterian Church. Reverend
Barleycorn in Malabo register marriages between Bubi and immigrants from
Liberia and Nigeria, which later became the Fernandino families.
16. Scholarships to study in Spain were available for colonists, while locals
(mainly Fernandinos) paid out of their own pocket to study abroad in Spain,
England, and the USA. Emancipado was a legal status granted by the colo­
nial power to natives under which they – theoretically – had the same rights.
Citizens of the colony, like in other colonial European systems implemented
in Africa, had considerably more limited rights than Europeans. See Agustín
Miranda Junco, Leyes coloniales (Madrid: Dirección General de Plazas y
Provincias Africanas, 1945).
114 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
17. In Equatorial Guinea, legislation such as the Ordenanza General de los Terri­
torios Españoles del Golfo de Guinea, Patronato de Indígenas’ reform, Justicia
Indígena, and territorial administration were implemented before the end of the
Spanish Civil War. On this subject, see Miranda Junco, Leyes coloniales. These
legislative corpora divided the social fabric, having a few locals who were ‘eman­
cipated’ with some rights and freedoms, and the rest who fell under the category
of ‘indigenes non-independent’.
18. For example, “Doctor Coloma, consulta de los ojos, indígenas de 4 a 6, europeos
de 7 a 9,” Ébano, 16 August 1957.
19. Menéndez Hernández doesn’t reveal the name of the Fernandian magazine when
he writes: ‘El Club Fernandino, con ocasión de las fiestas de San Fernando pub­
licaba una revista en la que nos solicitaban colaboraciones a los peninsulares
que escribíamos en Ébano. Había, pues, una cierta permeabilidad social’ José
Menéndez Hernández, Los últimos de Guinea. El fracaso de la descolonización
(Madrid: Sial, 2008), 21.
20. In Los últimos de Guinea, Menéndez Hernández focuses on segregation, sex­
ual permissiveness, and privileges among white colonists during the Francoist
regime. He also wrote articles for Ébano, Poto poto, was a radio speaker for
Radio Santa Isabel, and collaborated with the right-wing newspaper ABC in
Spain.
21. See also María Dolores Fernández-Figares Romero de la Cruz, La colonización
del imaginario: imágenes de África (Granada: Editorial Universidad de Granada,
2003).
22. Ébano, 7 January 1940.
23. Ébano, 5 June 1952.
24. Ébano, 3 December 1967.
25. “Constitutional Conference,” Ébano, 3 November 1967.
26. Ébano, 25 June 1968.
27. Ébano, 12 October 1968.
28. Ébano, 28 February 1969.
29. Ébano, 22 December 1968.
30. Severo Moto Nsá is the leader of el Partido del Progreso, an opposition politi­
cal party to the PDGE. He was in exile in Spain when he was named as a co­
plotter with Simon Mann, a British mercenary, in a plan to overthrow Equatorial
Guinea’s President Teodoro Obiang Nguema Mbasogo.
31. An article published in Ébano (18 December 2018) to commemorate its 79th
anniversary lists the following directors from 1990 to 2019: Pelayo Asama
Mangue, Abelardo Borilo Inta, Eloy Mbomio Ondo, Ramón Etobori Mbá, Gil
Obiang Ochaga, Laureano Nsue Nguema, and the current Head, Alberto Eló
Nsé. González Echegaray, “History of the Press in Equatorial Guinea in the 20th
Century.”
32. Spaniards in Equatorial Guinea could easily afford to buy Ébano, taking into
account that the salary at that time was even higher than in the metropole. In
addition, wages at least doubled during colonization because of inflation. For
example, a bracero earned a daily wage of 3.50 pesetas in 1939 and 6 pesetas in
1941. Roman Perpiña Grau, De colonización y economía en la Guinea Española:
investigación sobre el terreno de la estructura y sistema de Colonización en la
Guinea Española (1941) (Barcelona: Ed. Labor, 1945), 262. That was the norm,
even considering that a bracero received only 50% of his salary, having Curadu­
ría hold the rest until the end of the contract. Spaniards and civil workers would
make between 5,000 and 65,000 pesetas according to their position. See also
Gonzalo Álvarez-Chillida and Gustau Nerín, “Introduction: Equatorial Guinea:
The Legacy of Spanish colonization,” Dossier Spanish colonisation in the Gulf
of Guinea: A Social Perspective, Ayer, 109 (2018): 13–32.
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 115
33. The few exceptions include: La Casa Tomada (Malabo), a stand in Paseo Marí­
timo (Bata), and a room near the Centro Cultural Español in Bata.
34. Although this might be seen as an incredible statement, it should be considered
that the newspaper is funded by the government despite the lack of interest
amongst people taught literacy in a very dysfunctional system.
35. Jose Antonio Primo de Rivera was the eldest son of the dictator General Miguel
Primo de Rivera and the founder of the Spanish fascist party, the Falange.
36.
Grupo de flechas morenos, afecto a Falange Española Tradicionalista y de
las JONS, constituidos en Fernando Póo bajo la organización del capitán de
corbeta español don Ricardo Cañavate, que ha sabido inculcar a las masas
juveniles de raza negra el amor por España y por sus instituciones juveniles.
ABC, 29 September 1938

37. In the same manner, the main newspaper in the metropole also echoed events in
the colony, particularly when Franco’s ministers paid visits to inaugurate monu­
ments, construction sites, and civil engineering buildings in Santa Isabel.
38. Falange used Ébano to propagate the idea that the Spanish Guinea was also part
of la Hispanidad, a claim made clear with the publication of El Africanismo espa­
ñol (1941) by Saez de Govantes. He conceived of Spain as a natural geographical
and historical continuity from the Pyrenees to Africa. This idea, popular during
the reign of the Reyes Católicos, was later reinvigorated with Francoist’s motto,
Non Plus Ultra.
39. Ébano, 1 April 1940.
40. Ibid.
41. Ibid. This is a reproduction of the political culture in the metropole as Álvarez
Chillida and Nerín point out. Álvarez-Chillida and Nerín, “Introduction: Equa­
torial Guinea,” 20.
42. In 1885, Claretians established themselves in Cabo San Juan (Mbini) and pro­
gressively made inroads into the coast (1919) and the continental interior with
the Mission in Nkué (1924) and Evinayong (1930).
43. Far from homogeneity, the diverse political scenario comprised fascists from the
Falange, Catholics, Traditionalists, National Catholics, and CEDA.
44. The ideas that sustained his reform were ‘the integral incorporation of the indig­
enous to the [Catholic] Truth’ and to instill in them ‘a patriotic consciousness,
spreading the language and virtues of the Hispanic race’, thereby achieving their
‘perfect adhesion with Spain and with the ideals of Hispanism’. Gonzalo Álva­
rez Chillida, “Raza y pedagogía. El inspector Heriberto Ramón Álvarez y la
enseñanza colonial franquista en Guinea (1938–1949),” Spagna Contemporánea
(2017): 57–86.
45. The new Inspector de Enseñanza was Francisco Bartolomé Masia.
46. As Álvarez Chillida puts it,

Following the theories of the Belgian pedagogue Delcroly regarding the capi­
tal importance of language in education, [Heriberto R. Álvarez] insisted on
the necessity of good education in Castilian for scholarly success, and that
the one being imparted was highly lacking: ‘We proceed with indigenous
children as if they were Spanish’, using a lexicon taken from the daily life
of Spanish children, which is totally foreign to them. He urged the creation
of school notebooks that made reference to their daily surroundings, as was
done in other colonies.
Gonzalo, Álvarez Chillida, “Raza y pedagogia,” 6.

47. See note 30.

116 Susana Castillo-Rodríguez
48. José María Cordero Torres, Tratado elemental de Derecho Colonial Español.
Instituto de Estudios Políticos (Madrid: Ed. Nacional, 1941), 273.
49. The public use of regional languages in Spain was prohibited under Franco’s
regime; likewise, their use in the Spanish territories of Africa would similarly
breach this monoglossic policy.
50. Ébano, 25 January 1940.
51. Ébano, 24 December 1939.
52. Ébano, 14 January 1940.
53. Ibid.
54. In 1827, the British arrived on the coast of Fernando Po and founded the city
of Clarence as a naval station to control the commerce of slaves along the West
African coast.
55. Ébano, 23 January 1940. Italics are mine.
56. Claretian missionaries shared the same approach and disdain regarding local
languages and imposed Spanish as the only ‘elevated’ language to speak with
God.
57. Ébano, 28 January1940.
58. Irvine, Judith; Gal, Susan. Language ideology and linguistic differentiation. In P.
V. Kroskrity, Regimes of Language: Ideologies, Polities, and Identities (Santa Fe:
School of American Research Press, 2000), 35–84.
59. Put differently, territories were Spanish but their inhabitants were not.
60. Álvarez-Chillida and Nerín, “Introduction. Equatorial Guinea”.
61. Cordero Torres, attorney, Supreme Court judge, and writer for the Falangist sec­
tion of Instituto de Estudios Políticos (IEP) was a specialist on colonialism and
a leading figure in a belligerent defense of imperialism as Spain’s destiny.
62. “Detrás de los nombres. El colonialismo,” Ébano, 5 June 1952.
63. Enrique Martino, “Dash-Peonage: The Contradictions of Debt Bondage in the
Colonial Plantations of Fernando Pó,” Africa, 87, no. 1 (2017): 5378.
64. Ébano, 7 August 1959.
65. Ébano, 17 July 1956.
66. A. Pedraz Marcos, Quimeras de África: la Sociedad Española de Africanistas y
Colonialistas: el colonialismo español de finales del siglo XIX (Madrid: Polifemo,
2000).
67. Ébano, 7 March 1956.
68. In the metropole, conflicts were evident and two opposite views contributed to
the disastrous process of decolonization:

[T]he Francoist government, starting with the provincialisation in 1959, never

finished defining its policy, basically because of the tensions between the Sub-
secretary of the Presidency of the Government, in the hands of Luis Carrero
Blanco, supporter of maintaining the colonial dominion, and the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs, directed by Fernando María Castiella, who defended the
necessity of decolonizing the small Guinean territory in order to maintain
the best possible relations with the United Nations, United States, and other
‘friendly countries like the Arabs and the Latin Americans’.
Álvarez-Chillida and Nerín, “Introduction. Equatorial Guinea,” 24

69. Ébano, n/d 1967.

70. Bosio was the head of the Bubi Union party.
71. Ébano, 3 March 1968. Bubis from Fernando Po were in favor of maintaining ties
with the metropole in the form of a potential independent state and found sup­
port for this perspective among Spanish colonists living in Santa Isabel. Álvarez-
Chillida and Nerín, “Introduction: Equatorial Guinea,” 24.
 The official press in Equatorial Guinea 117
72. Ibid., 25.
73. Ébano, 28 July 1968.
74. Ébano, 4 November 1968.
75. Ébano, 22 November 1968.
76. Ébano, 5 October 1968.
77. Ébano, 13 November 1968.
78. Marcilhacy traces the history of these names in Latin America and Spain. See
David Marcilhacy, Raza hispana hispanoamericanismo e imaginario nacional en
la España de la Restauración (Madrid: Centro de Estudios Políticos y Constitu­
cionales, 2010).
79. Sebastiaan Faber, “La hora ha llegado: Hispanism, Pan- Americanism, and the
Hope of Spanish/American Glory (1938–1948),” in Ideologies of Hispanism, ed.
Mabel Moraña (Nashville: TN Vanderbilt University Press, 2005), 66.
80. For further reading, see the heart-breaking realism of the novel Las tinieblas de
tu memoria negra, Ndongo-Bidyogo, 1987.
81. Ébano, 13 October 1968.
82. Ébano, 18 November 1968.
83. Ébano, 22 February 1969.
84. Besides Equatorial Guinea’s Minister of Information, CCEI Bank GE is now
the only sponsor. Meager state economic support is justified by the president by
calling private hands to fund press in Equatorial Guinea to build a literate social
fabric (www.guineaecuatorialpress.com/noticia.php?id=2623). Over the years,
the education system has been abandoned to private entrepreneurs who run
schools like a business.
85. French and Portuguese, for geopolitical interests, were adopted as official lan­
guages in 1998 and 2007, respectively.
86. Ébano, 20 November 2006.
87. Ébano, 21 October 2008.
88. Next to this paragraph there is an image of the president and a footnote explain­
ing that he is a Doctor Honoris Causa at the Universities of Costa Rica, Russia,
and Yacambú (Venezuela). Ébano, special edition 12 October 2010.
89. These interests include economic agreements with Brazil (mainly in the oil indus­
try), personal ties of the president to Sao Tomé e Príncipe, and cultural support
from Portugal (who will open a branch of Instituto Camôes in Malabo and will
launch a new TV show called ‘Nossa Cultura’). Ébano, 4 March 2008.
90. Ébano, 12 March 2008.
II

Debating

6 Portuguese public opinion at the

time of the Boletim e Annaes do
Conselho Ultramarino
Sónia Pereira Henrique

Introduction
This chapter explores the impact of the official periodical Boletim e Annaes
do Conselho Ultramarino (Bulletin and Annals of the Overseas Council,
hereafter BACU) in Portuguese public opinion while it was published. This
was a specialized colonial periodical, edited in Lisbon by the Conselho
Ultramarino (hereafter CU) between 1854 and 1867 and distributed in
Portugal and overseas among the Portuguese-administrated territories. The
Portuguese Ministry of the Navy and Overseas annual budget covered its
editing costs.
To understand a society, the study of its press is a solid resource. The stud­
ied periodical dates to a time when Portugal did not have an information
agency able to satisfy the purpose of colonial propaganda. The periodical’s
content relied on colonial records.1 How could it affect public opinion at
that time? To research this topic, we took an archival approach. The avail­
able marketing metrics regarding this periodical are scarce, therefore, to sus­
tain a reasonable argument, a trans-disciplinary methodology was adopted.
Information science interacts with several scientific perspectives to enhance
documentary analysis from history, communication science, information
sociology, and administration.2
The BACU editorial contents resorted mainly to the official records pro­
duced by the Portuguese Colonial Administration Offices installed in Lisbon.
This periodical was prepared and printed also in Lisbon, but still it was
contemporary with the official press published overseas: the official bulletins.
These bulletins became extremely important, no law could be mandatory
overseas if not published in the correspondent official bulletin.3 Isadora Fon­
seca analyses in her PhD dissertation the press and journalism of Cape Verde,
Angola, S. Tomé and Principe, Guinea, and Mozambique from 1842 to 1974.
To examine that production the author researched several theories about
the press.4 Regarding the publication of Portuguese overseas official press,
in each province several trends can be identified. On 15 February 1855, the
Portuguese Minister of the Navy and Overseas Sá da Bandeira promulgated
an ordinance to assist that publication process. The ordinance explained

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-9

122 Sónia Pereira Henrique

those instruments’ relevance, pointing out what each bulletin should contain
and insisting that further delays were not recommendable.5
The BACU, one example of such official overseas publications, provided
access to a considerable number of public records. But why did the periodical
depend on the CU instead of depending on the Direção-Geral do Ultramar?
It seems safe to point out that it was related to public opinion. Both organiza­
tions had responsibilities regarding the administration of Portugal’s imperial
territories, but their organizational framework was distinct. The CU was a
centuries-old organization dating back to 1642 with broad competences,6
namely legislative, while the Direção-Geral do Ultramar was the executive
department of the Secretary of State of the Navy and Overseas, created in
1835, responsible for colonial affairs.7 This difference promoted a differ­
entiated organizational status. Regarding the periodical’s impact on public
opinion what could be thought to resemble a detail promoted a substantial
difference.
In the Portuguese Public Administration, no other organization had been
so resilient as the CU. From 1642 to 1975, it experienced multiple phases.
During the constitutional monarchy, it was responsible for overseas affairs
regarding Portugal’s interests in India, Angola, Guinea, the Islands of São
Tomé, Cape Verde, Mozambique, Macau, and Timor. Councillors were not
easily admitted to the CU.8 Having almost three centuries of existence and
a defined position in the Portuguese administration since 1642, throughout
the nineteenth century the CU suffered several setbacks. It was eliminated
in 1833, re-created in 1851, and re-eliminated in 1868. In 1833, the decree
of 30 August extinguished that council and transferred its activities to the
Secretary of State of the Navy and Overseas.9
The first ending of the CU in 1833 had its reasons. Portugal became a sin­
gle and indivisible nation according to the Constitutional Charter of 1826.
All territories under Portuguese administration, in and out of Portugal, were
considered “provinces of Portugal”. That statement announced the end of
bureaucratic organizations devoted to overseas affairs. If that is comprehen­
sible from a political, social, and historical standpoint, administratively it
was not. The production of colonial documents was distributed among as
many organizations as the affairs which they addressed: justice issues came
from the Justice Ministry and so forth. Creating an administrative overload
for the organizations that had to do that extra work, it also compromised
colonial administration by scattering official archives.
Realizing the administrative drawback that Portugal was suffering, the
Overseas Secretary of State was re-established in 1835, with it started the ini­
tiatives to bring back the CU. The first attempt to re-establish the CU failed.
Sá da Bandeira, former minister of the Navy and Overseas, promoted this
first initiative in 1840.10 To the Portuguese Senate, Sá da Bandeira declared
the council’s relevance, stressing that colonial administration could not be
at the mercy of decisions emanating from different branches.11 In 1851, the
decree of 23 September re-established the CU. Its functions were preserved,
 Portuguese public opinion 123
but its range altered. While until 1833, the CU was accountable for all the
overseas-related matters, this re-created council in 1851 was an advisory
board from the Overseas Secretary of State to those matters. The Decree
of 29 December 1852 enacted its regulation. The CU was responsible for
a legal opinion on several legislative, governance, and administration mat­
ters. Nevertheless, the legislation to apply overseas did not need to have its
stamp of approval. It had to provide a statement regarding the ecclesias­
tic nominations overseas. Apart from advisory functions, the CU had also
other responsibilities. It had to organize the general budgets of the overseas
provinces and organize and propose all sorts of legislation to apply to colo­
nial administration overseas. With a broader scope regarding function and
a modified structure, it became responsible for editing a periodical – an edi­
tion to inform citizens about colonial matters. A couple of years later, the
decree of 13 December 1853 regulated the periodical. It was released on the
fifteenth of each month, starting in February 1854.12 From February 1854
to May 1867, the CU published 156 numbers of the BACU.

Developing an overseas-related periodical

Information sociology explains that to resort to information is a natural
human need. Pursuing economic, cultural, and other interests, citizens search
several contents from weather to the stock market, trying to achieve comfort
or get a notion of safety. Apart from this aspect, another feature leads citizens
to search for political and economic information: the intent to achieve clar­
ity about the transmission of messages. Information is power.13 To inform
establishes a communication link but it can cumulatively persuade, influence,
or even control. This is related to the mechanisms implied in the process of
gathering the information to be transmitted.
António Mesquita noted how fragile the Portuguese administration became
after Brazil’s independence. From 1532 until 1822, Portuguese economic
interests in Brazil revolved around the exploration of natural resources. After
independence, the Portuguese nation was not generating enough currency. As
an alternative to Brazil in the imperial project, Portugal turned its attention
to the African continent.14 To promote activity, a communication channel
would be helpful. Without investors, the Portuguese government could not
succeed in exploring those territories. The BACU filled the need for that
communicational link. This austere periodical had two parts, as its name
indicates: a bulletin and the annals.15 The former used to publish legislation
while the latter published studies and news. Our analysis focuses on the
latter – the annals.
During the constitutional monarchy, the idea to standardize the Portu­
guese colonial administration developed.16 Cristina Nogueira da Silva states
that the foundation of colonial politics during the first era of Portuguese
liberalism had an assimilating principle.17 The metropolitan regulations
were operative overseas. The creation of an administrative code adjusted
124 Sónia Pereira Henrique
for overseas territories was seen as urgent,18 but it did not happen before
1842. In 1842, the Portuguese Administrative Code was approved replacing
the previous code of 1836.19 The first Portuguese Overseas Organic Charter
dates back to 1836.20 It was responsible for civil administration and deter­
mined the appearance of the first type of governmental periodicals overseas:
the official bulletins.21
Portugal, during the second half of the nineteenth century, evidenced an
unprecedented appreciation for archival records. With the end of the Ancien
Régime in 1833, and the extinction of its organizations,22 several collections
of records were transferred to the Portuguese National Archive. This mea­
sure strengthened the available documentation of patrimonial, historical,
and probatory values. During this process, the Portuguese National Archive,
Torre do Tombo, manifested great interest in colonial records. Unfortunately,
its space could not accommodate all records. Due to that, a part of the docu­
mentation regarding colonial affairs went to the National Library. During
the nineteenth century, Portugal did not have a specific holder to colonial
records, unlike Spain, for example.23 The Portuguese administration’s colo­
nials records were preserved, but separately. That documentary dispersion
jeopardized their unit as a basic archival source. That explains the creation
in 1931 of the Arquivo Histórico Colonial (Colonial Historical Archive) in
Lisbon.24 The Arquivo Histórico Colonial became the holder of the archival
colonial heritage, reuniting records kept in several locations: The National
Archive, the National Library, and the Ministry of the Navy and Overseas.25
The British Colonial Office, until the First World War, had no information
service. However, for colonial administrations to inform was a necessity. It
was a process with two goals: to inform individuals outside the territories
about the territories and to inform citizens on the territories about the world
outside.26 In a word, this was propaganda. Miguel Bandeira Jerónimo refer­
ring to the Portuguese colonies notes the absence of information services
before the twentieth century, mentioning some fragments published in daily
newspapers such as the Diário de Notícias and O Século.27 However, a dif­
ferent scenario evolved in the beginning of the twentieth century. The author
mentions several information services: the Instituto Colonial Internacional
(International Colonial Institute), the Arquivo Histórico Colonial, the Cen­
tro de Informações Coloniais (Centre for Colonial Information), and later
the Agência Geral das Colónial (General Agency of the Colonies).28
The BACU was a pioneer in this endeavour: resorting to colonial records
and archives the periodical produced information and propaganda in a
unique initiative. One of the intentions of the periodical had been precisely
to develop propaganda, which, as regarding other colonial nations, fulfilled
a nationalist objective. The Portuguese overseas administration did not have,
during the existence of the BACU, an information department. This fact
seems to clarify the reason why the contents were mainly official documents.
After its suspension, Portugal was not able to launch a similar project before
1924, when the newly constituted information service, the Agência Geral
 Portuguese public opinion 125
das Colónias, started publishing its bulletin, the Boletim da Agência Geral
das Colónias. Before that date, Portugal, like Britain, did not have a service
devoted to the overseas propaganda.29 From our research, we can say that
between 1854 and 1867 the overseas council remedied that absence.
The BACU published documents and overseas-related news. Each monthly
issue of the periodical comprised four distinct parts. The Boletim had two
segments: one to publish official data and another to publish unofficial data.
The bulletin presented two collections of legislation: concerning historic and
contemporary legislative acts.30 The official segment of the Annaes do Con­
selho Ultramarino published governmental and administration acts, the con­
sultations made with the CU, the resolutions of higher courts, and several
reports related to colonial affairs. The unofficial segment presented reports,
news, and studies.31
The publication was a showcase of the Portuguese colonial documentary
heritage. Overall, the periodical’s contents were mostly official documents.
Public employees at the colonial governments forwarded the published news.
It does not seem plausible that access to colonial records could have been
the purpose in its creation or its maintenance. Rather, that was a collateral
effect. Aspiring to attract investment, the original purpose of this periodi­
cal was to disseminate propaganda for the Portuguese empire. Information
sociology studies the effects of media through social theories. Using what
Harold Lasswell has labelled Lasswell’s Model of Communication, one can
try to delineate “who”, “says what”, “in which channel”, “to whom”, “with
what effect?” Such questions are a tool to explore and understand the politi­
cal component conveyed by the periodical and its effects. However, Lasswell
believed that political communication via propaganda was a powerful tool
with great effects on citizens. That theory suggested that readers and specta­
tors were kept in total submission by all kinds of transmissions.32 Scientific
investigation has proven that the total effects theory was limited.33 Imagery
or text can manipulate readers, but they cannot produce “total effects”.
In this periodical, readers and editors belonged to similar social groups.
But the positions held in the communication process and the tools at their
disposal had different effects on their mind-set. Roger Chartier was in favour
of this perspective. Based on the notion of public space presented by Haber­
mas, Chartier addressed reading strategies and the author’s intentions. He
investigated how the concept of public opinion was constructed in the eigh­
teenth century. Claiming that no text exists by itself, Chartier points that
no text could exist outside a creation medium, needing a trigger device to
perform its duties.34 The editorial team was discreet. This periodical was not
an example of the free press, but what kind of strategy led the editorial team
to publish official records? Intriguingly, the lack of an information service
did benefit the archive’s exposure. In contrast, this lack almost seemed like a
communication strategy, even though it is not easy to perceive it. To inform
someone about something (an event or a fact) implies providing the informa­
tion a context, such as in archival science. But that was not the case. Contents
126 Sónia Pereira Henrique
were published randomly: perhaps, the strategy was to inform about every­
thing, but from an editorial perspective that seems overwhelming.
The existence of the press, free or governmental, provided a channel for
rulers to communicate with citizens. The legal decree that determined the
creation of the periodical states as editorial purpose the will to inform read­
ers about the Portuguese overseas.35 On the back cover of the first issues, the
editorial team published the decree as a manifest. This publicity is relevant
because other than this, very few interventions from the editor are expressed
in the periodical. The editorial team appeared to believe that texts were
enough to fulfil a communicational purpose. This is still a topic unresolved
by communication science.
The problem regarding the question “do texts exist by themselves?” is
also an archival science topic. With postmodernism, other than the doubts
concerning the nature of texts, there occurred several classification prob­
lems. Nothing appeared to be neutral, impartial, or even objective and that
included archival records. The abandonment of the notions brought by the
Enlightenment (such as objective knowledge or universal truth) and the
embrace of new notions implied a paradigm shift. On matters of public
opinion, a periodical that published official records would not need further
contents to cause the desired effect on readers. The periodical covered his­
torical documents but also contemporary news.
The linguistic turn was a development in philosophy during the early twen­
tieth century which was said to stem from the relations between language,
language users, and the world. The term was popularized by Richard Rorty’s
1967 anthology The Linguistic Turn. In 1973, Hayden White published
Metahistory, arguing that there was a resemblance between historical text
and narrative fiction. Hayden White did not recognize that there was proper
truth in history, claiming that its discourse resembled literature. This led to
the opportunity to criticize the postcolonial theorists. In colonial history,
several theoretical perspectives exist that embody numerous abstractions.
Frederick Cooper named these narratives “ahistorical history”.36 Still, to sup­
port scientific investigation a researcher needs to consult primary sources
regardless of the narrative underlying its origin. To this debate, Enzo Tra­
verso emphasized the importance of textual dimension in historical knowl­
edge pointing out that archives are not an immediate or neutral reflection of
what the reality was.37 Which leads us to the theory of Terry Cook about this
matter. The renowned archivist stated that with the linguistic turn in archival
documents, context become more important than text.38
Discussing primary sources does not seem enough to prove that the con­
text is more important than the text. A historical scientific investigation
could be fragile if it tried to stand on this premise. Because, several records
are produced in the same context by one or many producers. If the context
is more important than the text itself, what place do archival documents
occupy in historiography? Researchers may use primary sources without
archival management and their research will be valuable. In fact, their work
 Portuguese public opinion 127
can help an archivist to contextualize archival records. It is a symbiotic
endeavour. All parts are relevant in an interpretative process, but all parts
must be cautiously addressed. To manage an archival source, the context of
its production is essential, still, is it more important than the text that the
documents do present? The documents’ context will give the researcher a
road to travel, but archival science’s itineraries are not made of single roads.
On another plane, an archival fonds or an archival collection is not always
available to readers, rather parts of an archival unit. To investigate part of
an archival source, the context of its origin will be critical, otherwise how
could one read the information properly? Still, is it more important than
text? According to my work experience and research so far, I cannot respond
to this question favourably.
All in all, if working with primary sources, it is advisable to read against
the grain,39 but it is also recommendable to avoid discussions that cannot
help science in general. Public administration documents are primary evi­
dence of administrative performance but can be more than that.
Nevertheless, archival science studies evidence no more. Regarding archi­
val records, to an archivist, an equation stands above all readings: “who”
(the producer) did “what” (the archival record) and “why” (the administra­
tive act).40 The first part of the equation establishes part of the information
system: identifying producers who could send messages describes how com­
munication circuits were designed. The second part provides hints on Dip­
lomatics, the archival records type that puts administrative acts into effect.
And the third part of the equation explains the competence employed to
perform those acts. The described trilogy seems simple because it is logi­
cal, but it is not always available in documental research. To examine the
press as a historic subject, such as we are engaged in concerning the BACU,
enhances the comprehension of a society and it is useful for comprehending
the periodical’s impact on public opinion at any one time.

Building a public opinion towards the Conselho Ultramarino

The concept of public opinion emerges in the second half of the eighteenth
century. It relates to an opinion that opposes the general opinion, and even
though it can be expressed in a public space it is not the opinion of the
people. Several authors such as Kant (1724–1804), Hegel (1770–1831), John
Stuart Mill (1806–1873), John Dewey (1859–1952), Joseph Schumpeter
(1883–1950), Carl Schmitt (1888–1985), Niklas Luhmann (1927–1998)
debated this concept. The Human Condition by Hannah Arendt’s (1906–
1975), for example, explored the concept of “in common” within the public
sphere inspiring Jürgen Habermas41 and Reinhart Koselleck42 to write about
the emergence of a bourgeois public sphere. José Julio Gonçalves stresses the
fact that in Portugal, especially in the nineteenth century and the beginning
of the twentieth century, the press was an instrument at the service of the
bourgeois.43 However, colonial affairs did not interest all citizens. Territories
128 Sónia Pereira Henrique
outside of Europe had an “inferior dignity”.44 At the time, the literature sus­
tained a notion of racial superiority.45
The Portuguese overseas possessions were spread around the world, dis­
tant from the metropolis and inhabited by natives that followed cultural
systems that did match European ones. In the second half of the nineteenth
century, the periodical of the CU intended to inform citizens about those
possessions. The circulation of news regarding the colonial project could
educate citizens. But how did the periodical operate?
Benedict Anderson, in his study Imagined communities, states that eigh­
teenth-century periodicals46 were a technical means to represent imagined
communities.47 Even though our periodical belongs to a later period, this
author’s research suits our argument. Benedict Anderson argues that an
imagined community defines a nation. In Portugal, periodicals’ impact on
readers can demonstrate the development of a liberal public space. Instru­
ments to produce an opinion were scarce in that period. In retrospective, it
is plausible to attribute value to the press in the genesis and affirmation of
public opinion. And that explains the reason why after the Portuguese revo­
lution of 1820, the press became a governmental concern.48
In Portugal, during the nineteenth century, printed words did impact the
public sphere. Public opinion could sustain contradictory speeches by politi­
cal, social, religious, cultural, and intellectual actors. Nevertheless, this plural
discursive exchange formed that imagined community because it was the
connection between the public sphere and political power manifested by
autonomous individuals.49 Resorting to nineteenth-century constitutional
law, Cristina Nogueira da Silva points out the difference between “active
citizens” and “passive citizens”. Active citizens developed psychological
conditions to establish a free and autonomous will, being able to elect and
to be elected. Passive citizens had their natural civil rights preserved but
could not vote or be elected. The ability to deduce whether a freewill existed
or not was literacy related.50 The press played a civilizing role during the
nineteenth century in the Portuguese nation. José Alves researched the exis­
tence of a public opinion between 1780 and 1820, and its possible effects
and consequences. The author pointed out that besides the bourgeoisie and
intellectuals, the participation of the urban and rural fringes in an imagined
public space seemed undeniable.51 Those autonomous individuals whom José
Alves mentions formed what Jürgen Habermas denominated a “bourgeois
public sphere”– a democratic space where freewill could develop. It could be
observed, for example, in France, Germany, and England from the eighteenth
and early nineteenth centuries.52
The creation of public opinion through an official colonial periodical was
contingent to readers’ interpretative function. To study it, we can resort to
the reflex theory of Hans Robert Jauss.53 The author explored how read­
ers respond to texts, enquiring if there existed a public opinion in the late
eighteenth and early nineteenth century, and if so, what were its effects and
consequences? Hans Robert Jauss proposed the reflex theory as an answer
 Portuguese public opinion 129
to this question. It described the exercise of reading as the result of double
rhetoric: the rhetoric of reading and the rhetoric of the reader.54 The dynamic
between “text” and “receiver” could provide answers about the emergence of
the liberal public space and its influence on the circulation of ideas.
The readers of the BACU were an elite. It is not believable that the peri­
odical could reach all Portuguese, rather it was only to a targeted audience:
public employees, settlers, and businessmen.55 In 1858, the list of public
employees who could receive the periodical in Mozambique was approved.
The list contemplated the general governors, the general government secre­
taries, the government secretariat, the prelacy administrator, the subaltern
governors, the provincial surgeon, the judge of law, the crown and trea­
sury prosecutor, the secretary of the finance board, members of the general
accounting office, the commander of the Praça de S. Sebastião, sea captains,
the administrator of the county of Mozambique, the city councils, judges,
and the subordinates of the Crown and Treasury Prosecutor.56
Non-free press publications were not only meant to perform as working
tools at the hands of public employees. As an example, the official bulletin
of S. Tomé and Principe had to publish, other than official documents, com­
merce news concerning the province and the establishment of European busi­
nesses in the Gulf of Guinea. It was an editorial measure intended to help
traders and businessmen.57 Those periodical readers constituted an informed
segment of society, being in fact autonomous individuals.
The printing and the distribution of this periodical contextualize the pub­
lic opinion building process. The decree of 13 December 1853 was the first
to mention the periodical. On 7 March 1854, an ordinance granted the CU
access to any requested book from the library of the Secretary of State of
the Navy and Overseas. The reason that this request was satisfied was not
explained.58 But it must have been related to the informational needs of the
editors of the BACU.59
After a few months, several measures were approved regarding the period­
ical’s distribution. The circular of 28 July 1854 informed about the periodi­
cal’s price and distribution. For an annual subscription, the periodical’s price
was 2$400 réis.60 A solo number of the BACU cost $240 réis.61 As presented
to the case of Mozambique, the periodical was heading several authorities
overseas: courts, public offices, and their staff.62 The circular was not clear
on the periodical’s internal distribution. Was it free of charge to public staff?
A year after the periodical’s release this point was cleared up. The periodi­
cal’s distribution among public authorities was free of charges but required
receivers to handover copies to their successors after retiring.63
In 1864, Portuguese private press welcomed a new daily newspaper: the
Diário de Notícias. The Diário de Notícias printed 9,600 copies daily, which
made it the most printed newspaper in Lisbon. It was also the cheapest Euro­
pean newspaper.64 At the time, among the private and government newspa­
pers in Lisbon, there were 64 newspapers and periodicals.65 The BACU was
a different case. It is estimated that it published in a year as many copies as
130 Sónia Pereira Henrique
the Diário de Notícias did daily. Considering whom the periodical readers
were, these numbers seem acceptable.
For the economical year of 1854–1855, the Portuguese government budget
allowed 12.663:392$327 réis for expenses. From this amount, 6.5% covered
the Ministry of the Navy and Overseas; 822:554$621, being around 75%
of that allotment, was spent on naval affairs.66 In the document, there is no
direct mention of the expenditure with the periodical of the CU. Expenses
are presented in a brief manner: secretary of state and offices; officers; naval
armament; the establishments, and diverse expenses. Consulting the annual
budget of the Overseas Affairs we can observe how many copies were sent
overseas during that economical year.67
Annually, 6,000 copies of the BACU were distributed overseas. Consid­
ering that in a year, 12 numbers of the periodical were printed, this meant
that it had a total of 500 readers. In total, from those 6,000 copies, 960
numbers were going to Cape Verde,68 600 to S. Tomé and Principe,69 1,440
to Angola,70 720 to Mozambique,71 1,800 to India,72 360 to Macau,73 and
120 to Timor.74 The distribution lists indicate that less than 10% of those
receivers headed public offices. For example, of the 600 sent annually to
S. Tomé and Principe, only 24 were sent to public employees. This meant
that in the Portuguese province, from a total of 50 readers only two persons
were accessing it inside the government.75 And that seems a good indicator of
the periodical’s overseas sales volume. It would be relevant for this study to
know how many numbers were distributed and commercialized in Portugal
itself. But we could not get that information.76
In the first number of the Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino the edi­
tor presented a preliminary warning. Explaining the contents of the peri­
odical’s non-official part he described it as “a vast collection of news, as
much as could be obtained”. Nevertheless, “the insertion of any opinion
in these Annals does not mean adherence to it”.77 This statement explained
why some published contents were not complimentary to the Portuguese
administration. The non-official part of the Annaes presented four sec­
tions: news,78 technology, bibliography, and varieties. The periodical was
charged with informing citizens about life overseas. The African posses­
sions along with India, Macau, and East Timor presented several cultural
and demographic differences that even by themselves would maintain
public interest.
News in the periodical covered distinct topics from scientific approaches
to colonial territorial studies. “Ancient news” comprised studies that men­
tioned several facts dating back to the fifteenth century,79 while the “recent
news” published brief notes about commerce and military affairs. In addi­
tion to news, it also featured a literary segment called “Bibliography”, a
technological segment named “Technology”, and a segment of “Varieties”.
The first one emphasized all sort of overseas-related monographic studies
while the second one promoted technology applied mostly to agriculture.80
The segment “Varieties” brought up diverse historical facts.81
 Portuguese public opinion 131
Yves Lavoinne states that periodicals during the nineteenth century were
austere, without much graphical content.82 It was through the information
gathered by overseas explorers that the empires gained real contours. 83
Regarding colonial imagery, maps were relevant. Still, this periodical of the
CU in a total of 154 published numbers displayed only six items which could
be called images. This must have been related to expenses because at that
time all printed imagery had large formats.84 The periodical was receptive to
publishing contents already published elsewhere.85 The will to inform was
evident; on the other hand, there was no clear editorial plan. Issues had no
common theme or structure.86 To this formal aspect Gina Rafael and Manu­
ela Santos argue that periodicals during the nineteenth century were major
“privileged fait-divers’ repositories”.87 In addition to this, all documents,
regardless of their extent, were published in full length.88
In the economical year of 1866–1867, the Portuguese state budget was
19.355:668$432 réis, from these 1.353:636$620 réis were available to the
Navy and Overseas.89 Nevertheless, the overseas affairs, on their own, pre­
sented an annual budget prediction of 1.216:785$018 réis for revenue and
1.450:677$712 to expenses.90 This indicates a deficit that the funds available
for overseas affairs could not support. Consequently, that year, there was a
severe decrease in the requests of the BACU from India. Between 1854 and
1864, India was receiving 1,800 numbers of that periodical, but in 1866
and 1867, it ordered merely 150 copies.91 Also, the requests from Timor had
decreased in those last years. With the distribution numbers so much low­
ered, it became the end of the periodical. Without enough sales, the periodical
could not persevere. Finally, it took short time to discontinue the CU. With­
out enough funds, the ministry could not afford to have that section active.92
The BACU had two distinct uses, one as a working tool and another as a
specialized publication. The bulletin was an instrument to publicize the legal
framework of the Portuguese state overseas. The annals published news and
studies regarding colonial possessions, both Portuguese, and others, aiming
to inform citizens in the metropolis and abroad about colonial matters. Out­
side public offices this periodical was a public opinion maker, but inside the
offices it was a working tool. The ordinance of 20 December 1856 confirms
it. In it the Secretary of State of the Navy and Overseas required the Portu­
guese Supreme Court of Justice to publish the decisions of overseas-related
cases in the periodical.93 That explains why the office copies were assigned
to the position held and not to the officer.94
In the first series, the editor provided context to the published documents
and news. From 1854 until 1858, the first series of the periodical was able
to publish 100 copies. During that period, the president of the CU was Sá
da Bandeira, one of the most enthusiastic activists in the Portuguese colonial
administration. His replacement in 1859 appeared to have an impact on
the CU’s periodical. From the second series on to the last one the periodical
changed: numbers were not so extensive, and matters were not so diverse.
Regarding the editor’s position, there is not much to explore. During the
132 Sónia Pereira Henrique
first series, he played a discreet role by providing some short notes. Still, his
participation in the periodical’s edition indicates a clear detachment regard­
ing the published contents.95
The editor’s deletion of responsibility could have two reasons: the issue
related to freedom of the press or to an editorial project. On 1 October 1856,
crimes regarding the abuse of freedom in the press were regulated, overseas.96
To avoid any sanction, the editor did not alter submitted works.97 Without an
information service, it was not easy to perform better. Looking at the budgets
of the overseas provinces of Portugal, there is a clear preference among the
requested official periodicals. For example, 960 copies of this periodical were
going to Cape Verde (80 annual subscriptions) but only ten subscriptions for
the Diário de Lisboa.98 The same was happening in the other possessions.
This fact predicts that most public offices would have the BACU.
The periodical’s last series was brief. The subjects published in those num­
bers contained mostly descriptions of endemic species in the various colonies.
It seems that the absence of editorial comments allowed readers to build their
own images about the overseas provinces. And with it formed an “imagined
community”. In this periodical, less was more. A discreet editorial policy
allowed archival documents to play their part in creating a public opinion.
The presentation of official documents could promote the development of a
relationship between the state and society. Periodicals of state sponsorship
like the Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino promoted the strengthening of
nationalism.
At the time, to inform readers about overseas possessions was to promote
the idea that Portugal was an empire, not a small European nation. Jane Bur-
bank and Frederick Cooper explain the difference between empires and other
political entities based on their aspiration to expand. The image of a nation
implies a horizontal community and the equivalence among all nationals.
The imperial image follows a vertical axis from the disparity among the
different lower parts to their convergence upwards to the governors.99 To
advertise an empire would attract overseas investment.
In 1868, the decree of 23 September abolished the CU.100 Its periodical
had been suspended in the previous year. With the suspension of the peri­
odical, all published numbers were compiled as a set. Eight series emerged
from the 156 published numbers. The first series included the numbers pub­
lished between 1854 and December 1858, while the second contained the
numbers published between January 1859 and December 1861. The third
to sixth series of the periodical gathered the numbers published between
January 1862 and December 1863, and the seventh and eighth series pre­
sented the last published numbers from January 1866 to May 1867.101 The
colonial administration promoted a stratified vision of the people. The effort
to unify imperial populations and to disseminate a colonial image, within
a bourgeois culture, worked in two ways: as propaganda and as an instru­
ment to produce a nationalist ideology. As Nuno Domingos states about
the growth of urban popular culture, the empire enabled the development
 Portuguese public opinion 133
of several interests linked to its advertising. Those interests were explored
by the culture industry and supported locally by publishers, bookshops, and
periodicals.102

Conclusion
It was our goal to understand the influence that the BACU had on Portuguese
public opinion between 1854 and 1867. This was a periodical that advertised
the Portuguese empire resorting to official records. Simultaneously, it created
a public opinion. From this study, there are two major conclusions.
First, the lack of an information service was evident, and it compromised
the periodical’s editorial policy. Records do not exist by themselves; to com­
municate a message, any medium needs to resort to additional devices. The
periodical’s readers were not naïve or helpless citizens, rather they were auton­
omous citizens. There is no doubt that the publication performed a nationalist
purpose. Providing information about what was happening overseas, it aimed
to encourage aid from outside its circle, whether attracting businessmen or
inspiring citizens to pursue a public career. It seemed that this was the biggest
impact the periodical had on Portuguese public opinion in that time frame.
The BACU was a successful periodical: sober, eclectic, but effective.
The other conclusion reached by this study is linked to the periodical’s
limitations because it depended on a public institution. Nevertheless, the
CU’s resilience favoured the periodical’s process of creating public opinion.
The CU was restored in 1851, after an interregnum of 17 years in which it
struggled to return to the Portuguese public arena. It had a background of
191 years performing public service that could not be easily dismissed and
an organizational status able to influence society. On the other hand, without
a budget to advance expenses, the periodical ended even before the council
itself. The BACU was a responsibility of an organization that represented
the long Portuguese presence overseas. To the Portuguese central and colo­
nial administration, that fact was something to cherish and to preserve. In
the mid-nineteenth century, Portugal aspired to be a colonial empire. The
Boletim e Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino was a firm reminder of that
Portuguese imperial project – developed with scarce resources, it advertised
a nation that fought to hold an empire.

Notes
1. Sónia Pereira Henrique, “O acesso ao arquivo colonial português na segunda
metade do século XIX: o Boletim e Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino,” Boletim
do Arquivo da Universidade de Coimbra, 32 (2019): 111–147.
2. Armando Malheiro da Silva and Fernanda Ribeiro, Das ‘ciências’ documentais à
ciência da informação. Ensaio epistemológico para um novo modelo curricular
(Oporto: Afrontamento, 2002), 80–84.
3. Roque da Silveira and Júlio Monteiro Júnior, Lições da Cadeira de Administra­
ção Colonial, segundo as prelecções do Exmo. Sr. Dr. J. Gonçalo de Santa Rita
134 Sónia Pereira Henrique
ao curso de 1931–1932 na Escola Superior Colonial (Famalicão: Tip. Minerva,
1931), 21–22.
4. Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca, “A imprensa e o império na África Portuguesa (1842–
1974)” (PhD. diss, Lisbon: Lisbon University, 2014), 23–39.
5. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856),
ed. Direção Geral do Ultramar (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1869), 610–612.
6. Marcello Caetano, Do Conselho Ultramarino ao Conselho do Império (Lisbon:
Agência Geral das Colónias, 1943).
7. Sónia Pereira Henrique, “Informar, administrar, conservar prova: circuitos e sig­
nificados da correspondência no Arquivo Colonial (Direção-Geral do Ultramar,
1835–1910)” (PhD diss, Lisbon: Nova University, 2019), 45–149.
8. Previous experience: three to eight years overseas. Specific areas of competence:
administration or jurisprudence. Vítor Manuel Braga Paixão, O Conselho Ultra­
marino restaurado pela Regeneração (Lisbon: Academia das Ciências de Lisboa,
1952), 40.
9. Marcello Caetano, O Conselho Ultramarino – esboço da sua história (Lisbon:
Agência Geral do Ultramar, 1967), 54.
10. Sá da Bandeira was a political figure of Setembrismo, the left current in the Portu­
guese Liberalism. Maria de Fátima Bonifácio, “Do Setembrismo ao Cabralismo,”
in O Século XIX Português, ed. Maria de Fátima Bonifácio (Lisbon: Imprensa
de Ciências Sociais, 2002), 31–44.
11. Paixão, O Conselho Ultramarino restaurado pela Regeneração.
12. Decree of 13 December 1853. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 320.
13. José Júlio Gonçalves, Sociologia da Informação. Volume I – Introdução (Lisbon:
Junta de Investigações do Ultramar. Centro de Estudos Políticos e Sociais, 1963),
23–24.
14. António Pedro Mesquita, O pensamento político português no século XIX. Uma
síntese histórico-crítica (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional Casa da Moeda, 2006), 14.
15. The Boletim e Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino contained no imagery in its
pages along the thirteen years of publication, apart from six maps. Henrique, “O
acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 142–145.
16. Ferreira do Amaral, “Organização política e administrativa das colónias portu­
guesas,” Portugal em África, 17 (1895): 593–607.
17. Cristina Nogueira da Silva, “Uma justiça ‘liberal’ para o Ultramar? Direito e
organização judiciária nas províncias ultramarinas portuguesas do século XIX,”
Revista do Ministério Público 103 (2006): 19–30.
18. J. C. Carvalho Pessoa, “A nossa legislação ultramarina – análise crítica” (Lisbon:
Imprensa Nacional, 1902).
19. The Administrative Code published by the decree of 18 March 1842 remained
in force until 1869. See Colleção Official da Legislação Portugueza, ed. Desem­
bargador António Delgado da Silva (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1842),
108–149.
20. The first Portuguese Overseas Organic Charter was approved by the decree of
7 December 1836. Regardless of the decrees that followed, this legislation was
totally reformed by the Charter of 1 December 1869, which remained in force
until the end of the Portuguese constitutional monarchy in 1910. Collecção de
Legislação Novíssima do Ultramar, vol. 7 (1868–1869), ed. Direção Geral do
Ultramar (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1896), 603–608.
21. Fonseca, “A imprensa e o império na África Portuguesa (1842–1974),” 42.
22. Medieval and modern registry offices. Fernanda Ribeiro mapped the incorpora­
tion of these archival fonds in the Portuguese National Archives from 1820 to
1910. Fernanda Ribeiro, O acesso à informação nos arquivos (Lisbon: FCG;
FCT, 2003), 121–156.
 Portuguese public opinion 135
23. The Archivo General de Indias (AGI) of Seville was created in 1785. Evoking the
creation of this historical colonial archive, Daniel Nemser states that the archive
was founded on eviction. Daniel Nemser, “Eviction and the Archive: Materials
for an Archaeology of the Archivo General de Indias,” Journal of Spanish Cul­
tural Studies 16 (2015): 124. Without space in the National Archives to stor­
age colonial records the creation of colonial archives became a necessity. This
was a common denominator in European records management policy. As an
example, from the British empire archives, most records went to The National
Archives while a part has been stored in the British Library. The National
Archives, “What We Hold and What We Don’t Hold,” The National Archives.
www.nationalarchives.gov.uk/help-with-your-research/research-guides/
colonies-dependencies-further-research/.
24. Created in 1931 after its discussion at the second “Congresso Nacional Colo­
nial” (Colonial National Congress) held at Lisbon in 1924. Henrique, “Informar,
administrar, conservar prova,” 166–175.
25. Ribeiro, O acesso à informação nos arquivos, 118–121.
26. Sir Charles Jeffries, “Information Services,” in The Colonial Office, ed. Sir
Charles Jeffries (London: George Allen & Unwin, Ltd, 1956), 182.
27. Miguel Bandeira Jerónimo, Livros brancos, almas negras: a ‘missão civilizadora’
do colonialismo português (c. 1870–1930) (Lisbon: Imprensa de Ciências Soci­
ais, 2010), 262.
28. Jerónimo, Livros brancos, almas negras, 251–268.
29. The Agência Geral das Colónias was created on 30 September 1924. Along with
the Secretariado da Propaganda Nacional (Secretariat for National Propaganda),
born in 1933, it had the mission to communicate and advertise the Portuguese
colonial empire. These organizations started to work together, acquiring infor­
mation based on statistics and news from other governments and colonies. In
2012, José Luís Lima Garcia mapped and characterized the overseas-related
periodicals published in the Portuguese metropolis and overseas from 1924 to
1974. José Luís Lima Garcia, “Ideologia e propaganda colonial no Estado Novo:
da Agência Geral das Colónias à Agência Geral do Ultramar 1924–1974” (PhD.
diss, Coimbra: Coimbra University, 2012), 215–230. In 2014, Isadora Fonseca
addressed the press dynamics in African colonies under Portuguese Administra­
tion dating back to 1842. Fonseca, “A imprensa e o império na África Portuguesa
(1842–1974)”.
30. Contemporary legislative acts from 19 September 1834 onwards and historic
acts prior to that date. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação Novíssima.
Vol. II (1852–1856), 319.
31. Henrique, “O acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 119–120.
32. Harold Lasswell, “A estrutura e a função da comunicação na sociedade,” in
Comunicação e sociedade, ed. João Pissarra Esteves (Lisbon: Livros Horizonte,
2002), 49–60.
33. Mauro Wolf, Teorias da comunicação (Lisbon: Editorial Presença, 2006), 29–33.
34. Roger Chartier, “Le monde comme représentation,” Annales ESC 6 (1989): 1513.
35. Conselho Ultramarino, Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino. Series I (Febru­
ary 1854 to December 1858). Non-Official Part (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional,
1867), 76.
36. Frederick Cooper, Colonialism in Question: Theory, Knowledge, History (Berke­
ley: University of California Press, 2005) apud Valentim Alexandre, “A História
e os estudos pós-coloniais,” in Itinerários. A investigação nos 25 anos do ICS, ed.
Manuel Villaverde Cabral et al. (Lisbon: Imprensa de Ciências Sociais, 2008), 697.
37. Enzo Traverso, O passado, modos de usar (Lisboa: Ed. Unipop, 2012), 92.
38. Terry Cook, “Archival Science and Postmodernism: New Formulations for Old
Concepts,” Archival Science 1 (2001): 5.
136 Sónia Pereira Henrique
39. Ann Laura Stoler, Along the Archival Grain: Epistemic Anxieties and Colonial
Common Sense (Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2009).
40. As I quoted from Lasswell,“A estrutura e a função da comunicação na sociedade”.
41. Jürgen Habermas, L’espace public – archéologie de la publicité comme dimen­
sion constitutive de la société bourgeoise (Paris: Payot, 1978); Jürgen Habermas,
Racionalidade e comunicação (Lisbon: Ed. 70, 1996); Jürgen Habermas, Historia
y crítica de la opinión pública. La transformación estrutural de la vida pública
(Barcelona: Graficas 92, 2002).
42. Reinhart Koselleck, Futuro pasado. Para una semántica de los tiempos históricos
(Barcelona: Paidós Ibérica, 1993); Reinhart Koselleck, Los extratos de tiempo.
Estúdios sobre la historia (Barcelona: Paidós Ibérica, 2001).
43. Gonçalves, Sociologia da Informação, 173–174.
44. Pedro Cardim and Susana Münch Miranda, “A expansão da coroa portuguesa
e o estatuto político dos territórios,” in O Brasil colonial, ed. João Fragoso and
Maria de Fátima Gouvêa (Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira, 2014), 78.
45. Jerónimo, Livros brancos, almas negras, 35.
46. And novels alike.
47. Benedict Anderson, Comunidades imaginadas: reflexões sobre a origem e expan­
são do nacionalismo (Lisbon: Ed. 70, 2005), 46.
48. José Miguel Sardica, “Imprensa e opinião pública na época de Hintze Ribeiro,” in
Portugal Contemporâneo. Estudos de História, ed. José Miguel Sardica (Lisbon:
Universidade Católica, 2013), 187–188.
49. Or able to construct their own opinion. José Augusto dos Santos Alves, O poder
da comunicação (Lisbon: Casa das Letras, 2005), 83–84.
50. Cristina Nogueira da Silva, “Conceitos oitocentistas de cidadania: liberalismo e
igualdade,” Análise Social 192 (2009): 548.
51. Ordinance of 7 March 1854. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 327–328.
52. Jürgen Habermas, L’espace public – archéologie de la publicité comme dimension
constitutive de la société bourgeoise (Paris: Payot, 1978), 24.
53. This process is generally referred to, in the analysis of communications models,
as audience reception. It was named by Hans Robert Jauss as “aesthetic of recep­
tion”. Hans Robert Jauss, A literatura como provocação (Lisbon: Vega, 2003),
55–59.
54. Ibid., 41.
55. Henrique, “O acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 116. Regarding colonial
public employees and their relationship with the Conselho Ultramarino, see
J. Russel-Wood, “Governantes e Agentes,” in O Brasil na balança do Império
(1697–1808), ed. Francisco Bethencourt and Kirti Chaudhuri (Lisbon: Círculo de
Leitores, 1998), 169–192; Joana Estorninho de Almeida, “A cultura burocrática
ministerial: repartições, empregados e quotidiano das Secretarias de Estado na
primeira metade do século XIX” (PhD. diss, Lisbon: Lisbon University, 2008),
321–341; Pedro Tavares de Almeida, “The Portuguese Administrative Elite,
1851–1890,” História das Ideias 26 (2005): 439–462.
56. Ordinance of 30 January 1858. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. III (1857–1862), ed. Direção Geral do Ultramar (Lisbon: Imp­
rensa Nacional, 1868), 185–186.
57. Ordinance of 21 December 1857. Ibid., 157.
58. Ordinance of 7 March 1854. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 327–328.
59. Ibid., 4.
60. Portuguese currency unit in 1854.
61. An annual subscription included 12 numbers. The Juntas de Fazenda, the orga­
nization responsible for Portuguese overseas accounting, had to pay to the Con­
selho Ultramarino the consigned numbers of the periodical.
 Portuguese public opinion 137
62. Circular of 28 July 1854. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação Novís­
sima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 345–346.
63. Ordinance of 24 August 1855. Ibid., 676.
64. While the Diário de Notícias had the price of $010 réis a day or $700 réis a
trimester which represented 2$100 réis a year, the Boletim e Annaes do Conselho
Ultramarino was 2$400 réis a year.
65. Paulo Freire mapped the periodicals published in Lisbon during 1864. João Paulo
Freire, O Diário de Notícias: da sua fundação às suas bodas de diamante (Lis­
bon: Ed. Comemorativa das Bodas de Diamante do Diário de Notícias, 1939),
25–29.
66. Law of 5 August 1854. Colleção Official da Legislação Portugueza. Anno de
1854, ed. José Máximo de Castro Netto Leite e Vasconcellos (Lisbon: Imprensa
Nacional, 1855), 218–224.
67. With a programmed expense of 921:937$421 réis. Each overseas province listed
the expenses regarding the periodical as “General expenses”. Decree of 1 Sep­
tember 1854. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação Novíssima. Vol. II
(1852–1856), 348–464.
68. This number included the periodical’s going to Guinea, still there is no reference
to how many were shipped to that province.
69. Ibid., 371.
70. Ibid., 390.
71. Ibid., 404.
72. Ibid., 436.
73. Ibid., 457.
74. Ibid., 464.
75. Ordinance of 9 November 1855. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 701–702.
76. In the following year, there were no major differences in the state government
budget approving 12.171:171$794 réis for expenses. From that amount, 6.7%
covered the Ministry of the Navy and Overseas expenses (821:937$421 réis).
Law of 17 July 1855. Colleção Official da Legislação Portugueza. Anno de 1855,
ed. José Máximo de Castro Netto Leite e Vasconcellos (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacio­
nal, 1856), 193.
77. Conselho Ultramarino, Series I, 9.
78. “Ancient news”, “recent news”, and “diverse news”.
79. Conselho Ultramarino, Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino. Series VII-VIII (Janu­
ary 1866 to May 1867). Non Official Part (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1869),
3–50.
80. Under the Portuguese administration or not.
81. Regarding the graphism and the news component in the periodical, see Henrique,
“O acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 120–128.
82. Yves Lavoinne, A imprensa (Lisbon: Vega, [198-]), 17.
83. Leonor Pires Martins, Um império de papel. Imagens do Colonialismo Português
na imprensa periódica ilustrada (1875–1940) (Lisbon: Ed. 70, 2012), 45.
84. Henrique, “O acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 121.
85. That was the case of the news published in the segment of bibliography.
86. Ibid., 124.
87. Gina Guedes Rafael and Manuela Santos, Jornais e revistas do século XIX (Lis­
bon: Biblioteca Nacional, 1998), 12.
88. One of the documents published in full was the report of Major António Candido
Pedroso Gamitto after a mission of 17 months in oriental Africa. An extensive
and critical document that has been published in three numbers from the first
series of the periodical. Conselho Ultramarino, Series I, 45–56; 57–68; 69–76.
At the Arquivo Histórico Ultramarino, Lisbon, the record has the reference code:
PT/AHU/ACL/SEMU/DGU/MoçambiqueSN/406.
138 Sónia Pereira Henrique
89. Decree of 19 June 1866. Collecção Official de Legislação Portugueza. Anno de
1866 (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1867), 234–239. The available budget to the
Navy and Overseas was 1.353:636$620 réis.
90. Decree of 8 September 1866. Collecção de Legislação Novíssima do Ultramar.
Vol. VII (1868–1869), 148–286.
91. Ibid., 265. Law of 2 July 1867, Collecção da Legislação Novíssima do Ultra-
mar. Vol. VI (1866–1867), ed. Direção Geral do Ultramar (Lisbon: Imprensa
Nacional, 1895), 592.
92. Decree of 23 December 1868. Collecção de Legislação Novíssima do Ultramar.
Vol. VII (1868–1869), 52–55.
93. Ordinance of 20 December 1856. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legisla­
ção Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 871.
94. Ordinance of 3 June 1857. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. III (1857–1862), 54.
95. In the second series, there can be found two notes from the editor. Conselho
Ultramarino, Annaes do Conselho Ultramarino. Series II (January 1859 to
December 1861) Non-Official Part (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1867).
96. Decree of 1 October 1856. Boletim do Conselho Ultramarino. Legislação
Novíssima. Vol. II (1852–1856), 819.
97. Henrique, “O acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 127.
98. The daily Portuguese state official periodical, published between 1 November
1859 and 31 December 1868. Ricardo Rocha, “Da Gazeta de Lisboa ao Diário
da República: o longo processo de afirmação do jornal oficial do Estado Por­
tuguês (1715–2006),” População e Sociedade 32 (2019): 17–19.
99. Jane Burbank and Frederick Cooper, “Império, direitos e cidadania, de 212 a
1946,” in O governo dos outros: poder e diferença no império português, ed.
Ângela Barreto Xavier and Cristina Nogueira da Silva (Lisbon: Imprensa de
Ciências Sociais, 2016), 546.
100. The diploma that extinguished the Conselho Ultramarino has also created the
Junta Consultiva do Ultramar. Collecção de Legislação Novíssima do Ultramar.
Vol. VII (1868–1869), 52–54.
101. Henrique, “O acesso ao arquivo colonial português,” 142–147.
102. Nuno Domingos, “Cultura popular urbana e configurações imperiais,” in O
Império Colonial em questão (sécs. XIX-XX). Poderes, saberes e instituições,
ed. Miguel Bandeira Jerónimo (Lisbon: Ed. 70, 2012), 419.
7 The Asian colonies in the
newspaper A Capital*
Célia Reis**

Introduction
The press is an essential source for historians, giving them access to events,
opinions, and trends. In addition, the press itself is also the object of study, due
to its own characteristics. The analysis of colonial issues through newspapers
is part of these varied approaches, considering that they allow an understand­
ing from different angles, not only for the notorious interests in their pages
but also for the considerations derived from the differing geography: the press
in the colonies and in the metropolis may also present diverging views.1
Focusing on the newspaper A Capital (The Capital), the objective of this
study is to contribute to the understanding of the place occupied by the
Portuguese empire in a newspaper which presented news and also a political
editorial line, published in the metropolis of the same empire, aiming mainly
at the readers who were living in Portugal and without focusing on colonial­
ism as its main theme. In addition, since this newspaper existed practically
throughout all of the First Republic (1910–1926), actually being one of the
most popular dailies at the time, A Capital is a simultaneous example of
the presence of the colonies in the Portuguese press throughout this regime
and of the role which the press played in public opinion. As a case study, I
chose to analyse the vision of three peripheral areas of the empire, the Asian
colonies: India (Goa, Daman and Diu), Macau, and Timor.2 This study hav­
ing been made, a first conclusion appears: the presence of the colonies in
the newspaper was substantial, the articles appearing in this study are only
a partial sample.
The colonial questions and foreign threats to the Portuguese territories
assumed an essential importance in the republican ideology, which made
them one of the battlefields against the monarchist regime, promising a
brighter future. However, after October 1910, when the Republic was pro­
claimed in Portugal, the colonial questions remained difficult to solve due to
such reasons as the political instability at the beginning of the new regime
or its intentions to reform many issues in a short time.3
The First World War coincided with the publication of new legislation,
allowing greater autonomy in the administration and finances of the colonies.

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-10

140 Célia Reis

However, the application of these laws implied the existence of organic let­
ters (statutes) for each of the colonies; their approval was delayed, and their
application was frozen due to the resolution of the new members of the
Portuguese government. It was only after conflict broke out that an admin­
istrative change took place, but there were still other difficulties arising from
the issues raised by the new legislation, or from foreign attacks on the Por­
tuguese colonies.4 This last phase was characterized, moreover, by instability
and by the great number of political parties in Portugal, with reflexes also in
the social unrest which appeared. All of this naturally conditioned the situ­
ation of the colonies, although the different political programmes ensured
a new path for them in a very general way, with more efficient and more
developed administrative structures.5 So, it was the Republican Party of the
Democratic Left, which emerged in 1926, with which A Capital was aligned.

A Capital: from information to intervention

The newspaper A Capital, with the subtitle Diário Republicano da Noite
(Republican Evening Daily), appeared on 1 July 1910. It remained closely
associated to the republican ideals, after the anxiety of the events that led to
the celebrated Republic regime, on 5 October 1910.6 During its existence,
it was an often-referred-to newspaper in the Portuguese context, reaching
a sales level of 48,000 copies.7 The contributions of notable persons in the
world of the Portuguese press appeared in its pages, their company being
considered an ‘amazing school of journalism’.8 Among them was Hermano
Neves.9 Conducting the newspaper was Manuel Guimarães, a well-known
journalist, supporting Afonso Costa, a republican leader previously linked
to O Século.10 At A Capital, he was editor and later, its owner and direc­
tor. He kept this position, despite his work in O Século, during the military
dictatorship (after 1926).11
The publication had minor interruptions, caused by political and social
instability, particularly in the years 1918, 1920, and 1921. On 1 March
1926, it changed the subtitle to Jornal da Política da Esquerda Democrática
(Newspaper of the Politics of the Democratic Left) because of its adherence
to this political party, which it was already supporting.12 It returned to the
original subtitle on 6 June 1926. This was when General Gomes da Costa
(1863–1929), who led a military movement which had begun in Braga on
28 May 1926, was approaching Lisbon. Already active in the vast field of
opposition to the government of the Democratic Party led by António Maria
da Silva, A Capital welcomed the new period which began with this coup,
which it considered to be the beginning of the ‘constructive period’ of life
in Portugal.13 However, things did not go according to its expectations. The
government was removed from office, Parliament was closed, and Portugal
entered a phase which corresponded to the beginning of the military dicta­
torship, replacing the republican regime that had been in power since 1910.
The repercussions were felt in the newspaper itself, which, some days after,
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 141
had already absorbed the unofficial tone of its party, drawing attention to
the movement against any possible fascist line.14 Its period of activity was
interrupted a little later, in August 1926. Until 1938, it had only one yearly
edition, simply to maintain its title. Later, in 1968, a new newspaper with the
same name was published again, one which assumed its place as a continu­
ation of the one we are studying here.
A Capital took on an essentially informative character; however, it was
also open to contents of an opinion-editorial nature, displayed by the inser­
tion of explanations, questions, arguments, like other newspapers that also
followed a political-party line.15 The colonial theme appeared frequently,
echoing the country’s difficulties, successes and hopes, political changes, criti­
cism of the political players and their options, etc. Despite the prominence
given to Africa, which since the nineteenth century was the centre of the
Portuguese empire, India, Macau and Timor were also present. These colo­
nies were referred to in the newspaper in different forms, sometimes in short,
informative lines, others with more developed and critical approaches. Occa­
sionally, A Capital assumed the character of a provocative media organism,
disclosing information which otherwise would not reach the public.
The revolt that took place in Timor in 1912, to which we will return later
on, is a case which illustrates the latter function. The information did not
start with any official communication but from the networks established in
the media.16 A friend drew the journalist’s attention to what was happening
in the colony and he deepened the information through letters received by
M. Montalvão.17 The trend continued in other numbers of the newspaper,
with the desire to ‘elucidate to the public serious events that are happening in
Portuguese territories’.18 This information priority was highlighted in other
numbers, serving as a way to ask the government to act – although the matter
had already been referred to Parliament.19
Indeed, in addition to its informative character, the newspaper sometimes
adopted a position of intervention, insisting on questions and solutions,
presenting alternatives and criticisms: what happened to the mission of
Eusébio da Fonseca in London and with the so-called Question of the Pata­
cas, expanded in another part, were two examples of these preoccupations.20
A Capital used various means of informing the public. In addition to
news without any reference to sources, those which came directly from
the Far East often arrived via telegrams. This means of communication
became an essential element not only in the history of colonialism but also
of journalistic content related to this subject, an object of analysis.21 These
telegrams often arrived through the official channels, with the dissemina­
tion of messages exchanged among local officials and the ministry, as usual
with other themes and even other newspapers; in other cases, they were
sent to other people or received indirectly in A Capital; by way of the news
agencies from Hong Kong or Bombay, the communications were sent by
telegraph to Reuters in London, and the Havas Agency retransmitted them
to Lisbon.22
142 Célia Reis
Letters were another way of finding out what was happening in the colo­
nies and were an important source for the newspaper, although they were not
always intended to be communications for the general public. For example,
the main source of what was written about the Timor Revolt is found in the
letters sent to M. Montalvão.23 In other cases, however, the intention was
precisely to inform the newspaper, reporting on various issues, although
the authors did not always appear and were not always identified, with
only abridged signatures or general descriptions such as ‘a Portuguese in the
Far East’.24 Correspondence from India certainly assumed this character. In
1912, for example, a missive was published with the indication that it came
from a ‘Person who deserves our full credit’ regarding the revolt in Satari
(which we shall analyse later on).25 The letters continued, with the signatures
A.M., C. and P.26 As of October, they began to appear as ‘Letters from India’,
although their appearance was irregular. From 1913 onwards, the signature
C.P. also appeared.27 There were fewer such examples regarding Timor and
Macau.28 The set of letters expressly intended to transmit local information,
although naturally conditioned by the writer, was added to those of a more
personal nature, in order to justify, defend, or attack certain figures.29
Rumours were also sources of information for the newspaper in which
‘they were essential sources.’30 In this case, it was customary to seek confir­
mation by resorting to those who should be closer to the fact: there were
several situations in which reporters interviewed people to gain greater clar­
ity and to continue divulging news.
In addition to the dissemination of communications sent by the colonial
authorities to the ministry, there were also situations in which the lack of offi­
cial information was highlighted. The importance that this newspaper gave
to the Timor revolt exemplified precisely the contrast between the silence or
the denial of the government and the concern to inform: after the publication
of the first news, the ministry issued an unofficial note trying to minimize
the impact of the events. However, for A Capital, no attempt was made to
amplify the facts but to only inform public opinion ‘on an issue that it has
the right to know and that no-one has the right to conceal’.31 For this reason,
in another number of the newspaper, mention was even made of lies and the
minister’s lack of ‘scruples’.32
This was not the only occasion on which this procedure took place, a
situation which seems to have persisted particularly when it came to the
relationship between Macau and China. As early as 1910, in connection with
an attack on pirates on the island of Coloane, ministerial secrecy was ques­
tioned, as it involved hiding official telegrams, and, unlike common practice
in other countries, making a ‘little box of secrets’ or ‘caixinha’ – in this
case, the head of government even hid information from the minister of the
Navy.33 The same expression was used in 1921, due to the lack of informa­
tion on the Washington Conference, where, in connection with Far Eastern
policy (particularly due to the Shandong concession, handed over to Japan
but sought by China), Portuguese diplomats considered the possibility of
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 143
introducing the negotiation of the delimitation of Macau’s borders.34 The
newspaper continued levelling similar accusations of secrecy on other occa­
sions, highlighting the contrast with the procedure of other countries, where
the dissemination of colonial issues contributed to the greater adhesion of
public opinion.35 Thus,

One could say that nothing belongs to Portugal anymore. The colonies
appear to be moving further and further away from us, at a time when
closer ties are the norm, in all countries which try to make national
homogeneity more solid.36

The questions of the Far East

The quantity of references to India, Macau and Timor between 1910 and
1926 was quite significant but not uniform in number among the colonies:
Timor deserved less analysis than the others, or else was described as a
colony ‘as unfortunate as it is distant’, relegated to political isolation by
the metropolis.37 In fact, the furthest of all colonies, it was generally seen
as a potentially exploitable space but of weak development.38 Macau was
undoubtedly the most prominent in references in A Capital, particularly due
to its problem relationship with China.
A significant part of this news, of whatever nature, was concerned with
information relating to the general movements inside the colonial organi­
zation: transferring officials, parliamentarians and ministers conferring on
various subjects, appointed, exonerated or displaced governors, dissolution/
organization of certain services, etc.
Cultural issues had little impact, especially those referring to schools.39
Besides other less prominent news, the lack of these Portuguese establish­
ments in India was highlighted by the Member of Parliament Prazeres da
Costa, a native of Goa, whose name was often present in this newspaper
during his first years in office and who also proposed to set up a law school
in Nova Goa.40
The Instituto Comercial da Índia (India Commercial Institute), set up
by a decree in November 1916, was given pride of place in the newspaper,
partly because of its financial obligations but mainly because of its possible
connection with the flow of emigrants to Bombay. While some opinions
considered this organization as being of great importance, other figures, such
as J. Benedito Gomes (1877–1941), questioned it because it did not meet
local needs.41
Without reaching a wide audience, the caste divisions in India were
revealed when a Shudra, José Baptista Caetano Vaz, came to Lisbon to try to
solve an issue related to how the communities functioned.42 He contacted the
newspaper asking for news about his cause and ended up helping A Capital
inform its readers about these castes. This newspaper’s concerned articles on
his explanation described a different society but also revealed the concern
144 Célia Reis
for a fairer way for people to live together, duly provided by the minister’s
decision to regulate on equal rights.43
The emigration of Goans to Bombay had already provided two diverg­
ing positions. A native of Goa, J. Benedito Gomes, justified it by the lack of
opportunities and the lack of measures that would channel this emigration
flow to the Novas Conquistas (New Conquests) or to the African colonies,
while the letter from P. analysed it in a critical tone, that it was those who did
not want to work in their birthplace who migrated, and where, when they
returned, they squandered the money that they had made.44
The newspaper treated the images of Indians in the same way, limiting
itself to only publishing the texts it had received. Its position in this case was
different from the opinions it expressed about the Timorese and the Chinese,
following the manner of thinking of the time and placing the Indians in a
position of inferiority compared to Europeans. The moments in which this
happened coincided with those in which a greater affirmation of Portuguese
sovereignty was needed. Thus, at the time of their revolt, the Timorese were
described as being different from the Africans: ‘In fact, the Timorese is not
the docile, ignorant and stupid black from Africa, rather, on the contrary, he
has personal qualities which make him fearsome’. As they were psychologi­
cally endowed with ‘a warlike and vengeful spirit, restless and turbulent’, as
evidenced by the fact that when they did not revolt against the Portuguese,
they fought among themselves, the Portuguese administration had to know
how to take advantage of their internal divisions. In the description of the
Timorese, reference is made to the fact that they cut off the heads of their
enemies, a local custom which made a great impression on the Portuguese.45
It was the incidents with China and the need for compromise by the Portu­
guese, interrupting their port works to avoid a confrontation, which led to a
criticism of Portuguese diplomacy which, contrary to what it had done previ­
ously, ‘subordinates us day by day to the semi-barbarian Eastern peoples, to
whom diplomacy is only the weapon of the weak and the small’. In fact, the
development of the Chinese was also recognized, that they were advancing
to more Western forms: they had stopped fighting ‘with paper dragons’, cut
off their pigtails, read the works of the French economists, and now posed a
threat to Macau and the ‘poor Europeans, who stubbornly live in the shadow
of the ruins of their past’. Despite civilizational changes, the Chinese contin­
ued to ‘see force as the only means’, and the Portuguese needed to respond in
the same way.46 Thus, if the Chinese were usually placed above the Africans
and Timorese because of their ancient history, here, on the contrary, when
they were a real threat, their progress was recognized but without reaching
the category of civilization.47
Despite the importance which the new administrative legislation had
among those dedicated to the colonies, it received slight mention in A Capi­
tal when the paper presented pieces about the Far East.48 Apart from refer­
ences to people or services, the issues which were most highlighted centred
around the intention of Alberto Xavier, as a candidate in the 1911 elections,
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 145
to present a proposal to change the relationship between the metropolis and
the colonies.49 In this first phase of the Republic and continuing what was
happening in the previous years, there was a renewed interest in change, this
same candidate having been the author of a previous project to this end.50
It was not until 1919 that these colonies were mentioned again, referring to
the protest of the inhabitants of India against the legislation introduced by
Sidónio Pais, which overturned the previous legislation, which had conceded
greater autonomy.51
In the general context, however, the most prominent issue was undoubt­
edly the Question of the Patacas – the moment when the newspaper started
to take a strong stand on issues related to colonial legislation despite its
financial impact. In several articles, where there is also a political position,
one clearly reads the opposition to the principles of financial autonomy that
were in force, in favour of a solidarity of the colonies with the metropolis
in moments of crisis.
The question arose in 1922 and began with information on the money
(between 15 and 20 million patacas) placed at the disposal of the Commis­
sion of Improvements of the port of Macau, for works to be carried out
and which, due to their interruption because of the conflict with China, was
placed in a bank. In answer to this situation, it was argued that the Minister
of the Colonies Alfredo Rodrigues Gaspar (1865–1938) was unaware of
what was happening and took up a clear position in opposition to the gov­
ernment of the Democratic Party, accusing it of inactivity, lack of solutions,
and incompetence. The interventionist character of A Capital went further,
arguing that such a situation could not continue at a moment of serious
financial crisis in Portugal, which had even forced an increase in taxes, with
serious consequences for the national economy. Because of this, the newspa­
per began to defend the application of that sum of money towards the reduc­
tion of the Portuguese deficit and for the economic expansion of the country.
This argument continued to be conveyed in several issues, showing how it
would be possible to circumvent the laws for the transfer of this money to
the metropolis. The occasion provided a broader political analysis, covering
the existing funds in other colonies, which they insisted should also be used
by the central government.
At the time when these statements were made, the journalist already knew
that the solution was contrary to the basic laws in force but continued to
call for the intervention of parliament to pass new legislation imposing the
obligation to convert unused colonial funds into Portuguese public funds.
This issue was kept alive in the following developments, in a continuous
criticism of the government.52
It was not by chance that this question was posed in Macau, because,
unlike the other papers, what A Capital showed to Portuguese public opinion
was above all the existence of a prosperous colony. As early as 1913, when
an opium exploitation contract was signed in the same colony with a higher
value than the previous ones, the writer of the article took advantage of this
146 Célia Reis
situation to show how strange it was not to take advantage of the colonies
that made a profit.53
This special position of Macau was based on the exploitation of ‘exclu­
sives’ (monopolies), particularly the opium trade and the exploitation of
gambling. This last activity merited other small references: a little piece of
news about the proposal of exclusivity, income insecurity, and the report
from a British newspaper in which a traveller, who even praised the Portu­
guese, referred to the colony as ‘the Monte Carlo of the Far East’.54 Although
the designation was quite old, it disturbed the authorities because of the
negative character it entailed, conveying an image of addiction to gambling.55
The exploitation of the opium trade, one of Macau’s most important
sources of income, was at a time when it was facing growing abolitionist
campaigns, but these were not the subject of great relevance in the newspa­
per.56 What stood out here was, above all, information which covered the
revenues and the apprehension caused by the changes that were taking place
in the opium trade. In this way, the interviews with Governor Álvaro de Melo
Machado and Secretary-General Manuel de Mansilha (1875–1956) on the
financial situation of the colony gained relevance.57 At other times, the rise
in the value of the monopoly was highlighted.58
This commerce was inserted in a broader geographical context, in which
Macau and Hong Kong had common interests. After the International Con­
ference of The Hague, on trade control, an agreement covering the two colo­
nies was necessary. This was negotiated by Eusébio da Fonseca in London
during a mission which began with a question concerning the economy of
Portuguese India and which occupied significant space in A Capital.59
In November 1912, a telegram from Reuters announced the departure of
Finance Colonial General Director Eusébio da Fonseca as Plenipotentiary
Minister for London to negotiate an agreement for the production of alco­
holic beverages – native spirits – in India, involving the colonies of the two
countries there.60 Then the newspaper adopted an educational tone, explain­
ing what abkári was, involving the production and trade of these beverages.
Into this discussion came accusations of the smuggling of alcohol from Por­
tuguese India to British India; the import of the mhowra flower, one of the
main raw materials for production in Daman; and the ban on the export of
this flower by the British governor of Bombay. The need to guarantee the
supply of this material justified Eusebio da Fonseca’s trip to London, seeking
an agreement at the Colonial Office or the India Office.
A Capital moved to a more political area, following the debates in Parlia­
ment, contesting the trip and, above all, the salary earned by the negotia­
tor. This aspect gained prominence in A Capital, which also reported that,
despite the suspension of this negotiation – since the British government had
to contact the authorities of its colony – Eusébio da Fonseca had begun to
arrange for another agreement on the sale of opium in Macau and Hong
Kong. In spite of the importance of this subject, the most important question
for the newspaper was the expenses associated with the trip.61 It was not
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 147
until later in April that the Macau opium issue was explained to the readers.
However, once again the paper adopted a position challenging the mission,
especially since such decisions did not belong to those responsible in London,
but to the colonial governments. In the case of opium, the newspaper ran into
some confusion by referring the question to British India.62
Far less space was given to all other stories about economic affairs. The
Indian economy was limited to a few notes, essentially focused on the need
for developing things such as irrigation – a theme frequently repeated in
relation to India – building a quay, the food crisis, or other news stories
about diverse subjects.63 The port of Macau, which had long been in need
of construction work, gained importance in the 1920s, when, highlighting
the potentialities that could change the situation of the colony, a new infra­
structure, the exterior port, was approved and then built. However, most of
the news was restricted to short pieces essentially about how the structure
was exploited.64 Timor was even less represented in the field of economics,
despite the governor’s hopes of seeing the colony thrive, a common theme
in his speeches.65
The most consistent issue, arising here and there, was the possibility of
establishing a navigation route between the metropolis and the colonies of
the East. There was constant reference to the difficulties and expectations
regarding this route.66 References to budgets were sometimes associated with
loans and requests for credit, or the need for money, especially in India and
Timor, and their excessive expenses.67
The images conveyed thus reveal different aspects: India and Timor pre­
sented themselves in a more critical economic or financial state, unlike
Macau, whose frequent presence in the news showed a more prosperous
colony. However, without any doubt, the main themes in the pages of this
newspaper were concerned with domestic and external politics.
Within the scope of what we may consider domestic affairs, brief ref­
erences (17 January 1914); Questão Antiga (Old Question, published on
9 December 1916; India, Macau, Timor (11 November 1916; and the section
Navegação para o Extremo that described displacements, possibilities, and
appointments of governors, exonerations, or negotiations with ministers.
At times articles discussed elections and their candidates, usually briefly,
other articles were about the presentations of some candidates, some election
results, or even how the election process was run.68 In this brief overview,
which was mainly related to the initial phase of the Republic, there were
other more controversial situations, such as the proclamation of a member
of parliament for Timor, against the wishes of the local republicans, who at
a time of political transition wanted to gain prominence and also launched
attacks against the governor.69 Due to the lack of direct telegraphic connec­
tions, communications were slow, which created some problems in the orga­
nization of the elections.70 Added to this backdrop came the news about the
intention of Prazeres da Costa to propose the reformulation of the electoral
constituencies in India, creating better representation.71
148 Célia Reis
However, in the initial period of the Republic, the three colonies were
very often present in this newspaper for another reason: revolt. In Macau,
in November 1910, a movement took place that led to the expulsion of
religious orders and a subsequent attack in A Capital on the colonial govern­
ment, led by the most radical republicans.72 These events involved the Portu­
guese born in Macau or from Portugal itself, but soon afterwards there were
fears of greater problems created by the many Chinese people of the colony
against Portuguese sovereignty, part of the more general upheaval in China
following that country’s change to a Republic. In this context, some reports
spoke about the departure of troops to Macau.73
Internal revolts broke out in India and Timor, and these were covered in
the newspaper. The one in Timor, as we have seen, saw A Capital taking
up the story between February and June 1912, following the events as they
took place, the revolt starting in Manufai and expanding throughout the
colony, with the involvement of several indigenous chiefs. The coverage of
the story began with the news about the killing of a number of soldiers and
other officials and continued with sporadic attacks and the reaction of the
authorities, including the sending of military reinforcements, until the revolt
was put down.74
In India, beginning with attacks by robbers, Prazeres da Costa, in an inter­
view carried out in early April, denied that a revolt was taking place and
praised the governor for not opting for a repressive approach. This Member
of Parliament took the opportunity to reinforce his opposition to the exces­
sive weight of the army in the colony and to indirectly accuse it of causing the
previous revolts: ‘After 5 October – there is nothing to justify the existence
of heroes and our colonies must stop creating them because they cost our
country very dearly’.75
However, in the same month, an article mentioned the ‘Satary rebellion’,
from the part of the colony which the Portuguese associated closely with
the Ranes, a social group which had carried out a number of uprisings. In
the beginning of June, a letter from Panjim was published which connected
attacks by bandits and the revolt against Portuguese rule, aspects which con­
tinued to be mentioned in the newspaper. This revolt was met with further
military actions to stifle it, which led to different positions, against and in
favour of the governor.76
The coincidence of these revolts justified a more reflective article: the
events in the three colonies were integrated in a more general context, along
with Mozambique, forcing the country to defend itself. Hence, a problem
associated with this need was also greatly highlighted: the lack of transporta­
tion between the metropolis and the colonies.77
Internal issues, experienced locally, also acquired prominence in political
life in Portugal, in party politics and personal rivalries. In addition to these
events, the decade of the 1920s gave rise to several smaller but no less impor­
tant references to the reasons: the constant postponement of the departure
of Domingos Frias, the governor appointed for Timor, and then his refusal
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 149
to accept the position; the unsuccessful appointment of Gomes da Costa to
the government of the same colony in 1922; the proposal of several names
for the government of Macau; the replacement of the governor in India and
lack of unanimity over the choice; and the disagreement between the Minis­
ter of the Colonies and the Governor of Macau Rodrigo Rodrigues.78 Equal
importance was given to the appointment of the chief of police in Bicholim,
in Goa, involving complaints against the power of Afonso Costa (Democratic
Party), who had interfered, placing a protégé of his in the position, favouring
him over someone who was better prepared for the job.79
Domestic and external politics were intermingled in Macau, because the
majority of its inhabitants were Chinese. Without definition of the Portu­
guese frontiers, incidents took place from time to time, involving movements
from within the colony and outside it. In 1910, shortly after the newspaper
was launched, Portugal took military action against pirates in Coloane, as
mentioned earlier, imposing its sovereignty. A Capital presented this news
story and took the position of criticizing the monarchical regime, then in
force, for the Portuguese position against China.80 However, far more impor­
tant than this, and an issue which remained in the following years, was the
danger of an uprising by the local Chinese inhabitants associated with the
political issues of China itself. As far as this was concerned, the different
news items in the newspaper identified the government of Canton as the
main source of danger for the continuation of the Portuguese presence due to
the pressure it exerted which caused frequent incidents.81 After the turbulent
times of agitation in Macau, during the process of change to the Republic,
which motivated the sending of reinforcements for defence, there were also
some references to piracy.82
After 1918, news covering this area increased significantly, reporting work
in the port of Macau, which served as a reason for the dispute and incidents
caused by China.83 At the beginning of the following decade, the difficulties
in the relationship with Canton gained renewed importance, with the former
problems resurfacing. In 1921, in a moment of deep nationalist upheaval
in China, that country flexed its military muscle around Macau and some
Chinese ships entered the port due to a disagreement on the dredging works.
These works, on the advice of the British authorities, had to be discontinued,
as we have said, incurring great opposition in the colony, which, however,
was unaware of the scale of the problems which led to the decision.84 The
newspaper similarly remained unaware of the problems and continued to
dispute the governor and, in general, with Portuguese diplomacy.85 However,
the despatch of troops by Lisbon, facing a situation of a possible war, gave
rise to remarks by journalists about the need for a diplomatic resolution of
the dispute.86
The situation in Macau became even more serious in May 1922 when, once
again, with a revolutionary situation raging throughout the whole of southern
China, there were riots and a general strike in a direct confrontation between
the Chinese and the Portuguese authorities.87 However, once again there was a
150 Célia Reis
lack of concrete information due to the silence of the government; it took the
newspaper to demonstrate the importance of such a small colony to Portugal,
as an essential landmark in a moment of national fragility:

The province of Macau has for us, as a people who claims its rights to be
an independent nation, an unforgettable importance. That province, one
of the smallest of our overseas possessions, . . . is also one of the most
important, for it will remain through the ages a milestone to witness the
passage through the Far East of a people, the only one that rivalled the
Phoenicians of furthest antiquity, in navigation and colonisation.88

The historical relevance of ownership was then emphasized because the ter­
ritory was given to Portugal and not conquered, justifying the position that
‘Portugal should continue to maintain its glorious traditions if it wants to
win in the struggle of the nationalities’.89 The use of the history of Macau
also appeared on other occasions, leading to the publication of a novel titled
Macau. The Little Sentinel of the Race – the events of the fifteenth century
evoked a whole epic of glorious heroes, who were remembered over the
centuries, as was shown in the end by the common reference to the Infante
(Crown Prince) of Sagres [D. Henrique], to Ferreira do Amaral and Nico­
lau de Mesquita, who had contributed to the colony’s prominence in this
decade.90 This was indeed a moment of Portuguese glory through the first
air connection between Portugal and Macau, by Sarmento de Beires (1893–
1974) e Brito Pais (1884–1934), who enjoyed so much space and support
in the newspaper.91
In another context, continuing an earlier situation, the beginning of the
Portuguese Republic was marked by fears about the greed of foreign powers
in relation to the Portuguese colonies. The possibility of losing them, par­
ticularly Timor and, to a lesser extent, Macau, was registered in the pages of
this newspaper. In February 1912, A Capital quoted and denied the rumour
in foreign publications that the Portuguese government was willing to sur­
render its part of the island of Timor to Germany. This news spread to the
Netherlands, and, echoing the official sources, the newspaper reported Dutch
support for the native revolts and an incident between the soldiers of the two
countries. The government of the Netherlands contradicted the Portuguese
accusations and supported the idea of arbitration to define the borders, but
mainly its press developed a campaign showing how the Netherlands had
interest in the purchase of this area and that only the unification in its own
hands would guarantee peace among the Timorese. The reproduction of the
successive editions of a Dutch newspaper alerted Portuguese public opinion.
However, concern derived from claims by other countries, such as Australia
and Japan, was also evident.92
It was also in the field of external relations that the Padroado (an agreement
with the Holy See) in the East was included. This corresponded to the old right
that the Portuguese government had to present nominations for the bishops,
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 151
but also to provide the financial backing in terms of delivering religious ser­
vices and the upkeep of religious institutions.93 Despite a policy of separa­
tion of Church and state, the republican governors maintained the Padroado
as a form of Portuguese domination in territories that extended beyond the
colonial borders.94 The references in the newspaper to this issue came mainly
during the 1920s, when the attention to defence was intensified. There were
interviews with the bishops of Macau and Meliapor plus news about the posi­
tion of the governor of Macau which was totally favourable to his remaining
in office. The registration of budgetary needs was also covered.95

Conclusion
Although A Capital included news that, according to Júlia Leitão de Barros,
could be informative, it assumed a more political character, highlighting
facts, commenting and expressing opinions.96 It was in this line that the three
colonies appeared in the paper.
The presence of India, Macau and Timor in the pages of A Capital was
part of Portuguese global politics: far from the size of the African colonies,
these three areas were nevertheless present in its pages as part of the Portu­
guese empire, important enough to be revealed to the readers, in line with
the positions taken by the newspaper in total defence of that same empire.
Despite being mentioned mainly in the form of news bulletins, the colonies in
Asia also became a reason to criticize the authorities at the time and served
as a means for incitement to active intervention.
The integration of these territories in the colonial space also motivated
the newspaper’s concern with their defence. It did so by references to events,
by clarification of what was different (e.g., abkári, Goan society), linking
the informational and educational dimensions, to broaden the readers’
perspectives.
It was especially in the field of foreign policy that the concern for defence
was more apparent, according to the geographical location of the colonies:
Timor was in a more worrisome situation before the First World War, while
Macau assumed a more constant presence in the newspaper, due to it being
part of the more turbulent Chinese context.
To sum up, the three colonies were in general a part of the news reports
in A Capital as a whole and were presented to public opinion from different
angles, their defence always being implicit. In a republican newspaper, the
colonies were also viewed from the perspective of their continuing to be a
part of Portuguese territory.

Notes
* This paper was produced with the support of the FCT, through the IHC strategic
funding UID/04209/2019.
** HTC – History, Territories, Communities, FCSH, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa.
152 Célia Reis
1. Isadora de A. Fonseca, A Imprensa e o Império na África Portuguesa, 1842–1974
(Lisboa: Edições 70, 2019).
2. Also known as the Far Eastern colonies, according to Célia Maria Ferreira Reis,
“O Poder entre Lisboa e o Oriente – Persistências e Mudanças na Administração,
do Ultimato ao Ato Colonial” (PhD diss., Lisbon: Universidade Nova de Lisboa,
2018), 5–7.
3. Ibid.
4. Ibid., 98–148.
5. For example, Ernesto C. Leal, Partidos e Programas. O Campo Partidário Repub­
licano Português (1910–1926) (S.l.: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra,
2008), 157–158, 171–172, 181, 186–187, 193–194, 223–226, 242, 251–252,
255, 274, 281, 292–293, 305–306, 314–315, 326, 332–333.
6. Jorge de Abreu, Boémia Jornalística (Lisboa: Livraria Guimarães, S.d.), 139–140.
7. João P. Freire, Pela República. Dois Anos de Luta ao Parapeito do Diário da
Noite (Lisboa: Livraria Central Editora, 1934), 165.
8. Ibid.
9. Hermano Neves [1884–1929] studied medicine in Germany and was a reporter
and journalist, very known for the boldness of his reports. His career spanned
the newspapers O Dia, O Mundo and O Século, continued in A Capital, where
he stayed for about a decade and where he constituted his ‘individualization’,
as Artur Portela wrote, Os Mortos Falam (Lisboa: Editorial Inquérito, 1943),
82. Among the episodes of his career in this newspaper are the trips he made
through the Portuguese colonies and the reports he made at the front during the
Great War. After having already published Fora da Lei, against the dictatorship of
Pimenta de Castro, in 1915, in the post-war period he left A Capital to dedicate
himself to a new project, A Vitória, which he founded with Herculano Nunes. In
the political field, he also accompanied High Commissioner Norton de Matos
during his government in Angola. Portela, Os Mortos Falam, 78–87; Norberto
Lopes, Hermano Neves: A Grande Reportagem (Venda Nova: Bertrand, imp.
1985); Carla Baptista, “Heramano Neves, Jornalista, Republicano e Moderno,”
in Comunicación y Espectáculo. Actas del XV Congreso de la Associación de
Historiadores de la Comunicación, coord. de Helena Lima, Ana Isabel Reis e
Pedro Costa (Porto: Universidade do Porto. Reitoria, 2018), 498–510. For the
contexto, Júlia Teresa Pinto de Sousa Leitão de Barros, “O Jornalismo Político
Republicano Radical. O Mundo (1900–1907)” (PhD diss., Lisbon: Universidade
Nova de Lisboa, 2014); about the war, Noémia da Encarnação Padilha Malva
Novais, A Imprensa Portuguesa e a Guerra. 1914–1918. Os Jornais Interven­
cionistas e Anti-intervencionistas. A acção da Censura e da Propaganda (PhD
diss., Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2013), 187–189, 233.
10. Afonso Costa (1871–1937) was a republican leader. In the republican regime he
was the main person of the Democratic Party until the end of the Great War. He
was a minister and the chief of several governments. He was in representation
of Portugal in the Peace Conference, and, after this, in the Portuguese legation
in League of Nations.
11. Rafael Ferreira, Nos Bastidores do Jornalismo. Memórias (Lisboa: Edição
Romano Torres, 1945), 74–75; Albino Forjaz de Sampaio, “Prefácio,” in
Memórias do “Esculápio”. Das mãos da Parteira ao ano da República, Eduardo
Fernandes (Esculápio) (Lisboa: Parceria António Maria Pereira, 1940); Mário
Matos Lemos, Jornais diários portugueses do século XX. Um Dicionário (Coim­
bra; Ariadne: CEIS20, 2006), 158–159; Orlando Raimundo, António Ferro. O
Inventor do Salazarismo (Lisboa: D. Quixote, 2015), 30–31.
12. Leal, Partidos e Programas, 337–338; António José Queirós, A Esquerda
Democrática e o Final da Primeira República (Lisboa: Livros Horizonte, 2008),
64, 74, 142–143, 152–153.
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 153
13. “O Futuro,” A Capital, 6 June 1926. From here on, in all the references to this
newspaper, we shall mention only the article and the date, together with the
author’s name, when this is given.
14. “Uma nota oficiosa da Esquerda Democrática,” Jan. July 1926.
15. Barros, “O Jornalismo Político Republicano Radical,” 8.
16. Júlia Leitão de Barros, “Redações abertas: Fontes Informativas e Terreno de
Implantação dos Jornais Políticos,” in Espaços, Redes e Sociabilidades, Cultura
Política no associativismo contemporâneo, coord. Joana D. Pereira, Maria Alice
Samara and Paula Godinho (Lisboa: IHC, FCSH, 2016), 187–205.
17. He was a lawyer in Lisbon, according to Edmundo Porto, “Timor Revoltada,”
January 4 February 1912. Lúcio Sousa, “A Revolta De Manufahi De 1911–1912.
Testemunhos e a Imprensa Diária da Época,” in Timor-Leste Colonialismo,
Descolonização, Lusutopia (Porto: Afrontamento, 2016), 110, thought he was
Júlio Montalvão da Silva. However, I think he may be Manuel Celestino de
Montalvão e Silva (mentioned by Lúcio Sousa, p. 105).
18. Edmundo Porto, “Timor Revoltada,” January 4 February 1912.
19. “A Situação em Timor,” 8 March 1912. “A Situação em Timor,” ibid.; Diário da
Câmara dos Deputados 9 February 1912, 7.
20. Pataca was the currency used in Macau.
21. Daniel R. Headrick, The Tools of Empire: Technology and European Imperialism
in the Nineteenth Century (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981). Chandrika
Kaul. Reporting the Raj: The British Press and India. C. 1880–1922 (Manchester,
New York: Manchester University Press, 2010). Lemos, Jornais diários portu­
gueses do século XX, 38–39. Reis, “O Poder entre Lisboa e o Oriente,” January,
80–183.
22. However, this was not the situation in Timor, because there was no telegraph
system there. Célia Reis, “As eleições de 1911 em Timor” (paper, III Congresso
República e Republicanismo, Lisbon. Portugal, October 21–23, 2015). Barros,
“O Jornalismo Político Republicano Radical,” 9. For example, “Combate em
Macau,” January 3 July 1910; “Macau em guerra,” January 4 July 1910.
23. Edmundo Porto, “Timor Revoltada,” January 4 February 1912; “A Situação em
Timor,” 8 March 1912 e 3/22/1912.
24. “Coisas d”Além-Mar,” 24 December 1910.
25. “Notícias da Índia,” 3 June 1912.
26. Authorship unknown but decidedly Christian and maybe of Portuguese ori­
gin due to the way in which the ‘Goan Indian’ an emigrant in Bombay is
criticized.
27. “Notícias da Índia,” 9 June 1912 (A.M.); “A Questão de Satary,” January 7
June 1912 (C.); “Cartas da India,” January 5 October 1912 (P.); 4 August 1913
(without signature); 30 November 1913, 9 January 1915, 25 July 1915 (C.P.).
28. “Carta de Macau,” January 2 January 1911 (C. J. Machado); “Orçamento da
província de Macau,” February 21/1913 (letter from Manuel de Mansilha);
“Macau,” January 4 November 1921 (from “Um oficial da Marinha”).
29. “Registo civil na Índia,” 15 November 1911 (from Manuel Henriques de Brito
Santos, to the director of the newspaper O Século, who had not wanted to pub­
lish the letter); “A eleição por Mapuçá,” 21 November 1911 (from Astolpho de
Gouvea Pinto, on his brother”s application as candidate); “Pelas colonias,” 31
February 1911 (summary of letters from Júlio Celestino Montalvão Silva and
António da Camara Mello Cabral); “Pelas Colonias,” 6 January 1912 (from J.
J. Pereira); “Pelas colonias,” 8 January 1912 (from Júlio Celestino Montalvão
Silva); “A situação em Timor,” 16 March 1912 (from António Paiva Gomes).
30. Barros, “O Jornalismo Político Republicano Radical,” 257, 259–295.
31. “Timor Revoltada,” 15 February 1912.
32. “Poeira da Arcada,” 17 February1912.
154 Célia Reis
33. This popular expression means to keep a secret until the right moment. “O que
se passa em Macau,” 15 July 1910.
34. “Que é isto?,” 16 May 1922. About the Portuguese presence in this Conference,
António Vasconcelos de Saldanha, Estudos sobre as Relações Luso-Chinesas
(Lisboa: Instituto Superior de Ciências Sociais e Políticas e Instituto Cultural de
Macau, 1996), 613–645.
35. John M. MacKenzie (ed.), European Empires and the People: Popular Responses
to Imperialism in France, Britain, the Netherlands, Belgium, Germany and Italy
(Manchester: New York, Manchester University Press, 2011).
36. “Nas colónias,” 31 May 1922.
37. “Que é isto?,” 16 May 1922.
38. Among others, Célia Reis, “As Colónias Portuguesas do Oriente na Literatura
Colonial – do Ultimatum ao fim da República,” in Encontro Europa-Oriente, Ori­
ente-Europa. Perspectivas Coloniais dos Séculos XIX e XX, ed. Maria Fernanda
Rollo et alia (Lisboa: Instituto de História Contemporânea (IHC) Faculdade de
Ciências Sociais e Humanas da Universidade Nova de Lisboa e Rede de História
Contemporânea, 2014). https://Run.unl.pt/Handle/10362/13719, 24–43; “Timor
Português: produção e mercados na década de 1920,” Revista Portuguesa de
História, no. 47 (2016): 419–442. http://hdl.handle.net/10316.2/40700.
39. “Notas diversas,” November /4/1912; “Em Nova-Goa,” 28 August 1913 and
26 October 1913.
40. Also J. Benedito Gomes, “Interesses da India,” 2 January 1917. “A India Por­
tugueza é sempre esquecida,” 4 April 1912. José Miguel Lamartine Prazeres da
Costa, born in Portuguese India, member of parliament and senator in several
governments, was an official in the ministry of the colonies, becoming general
auditor of finances. He occupied other positions, such as member of the colonial
council and Chief of Staff of the Minister of the Colonies, in 1920. “Melhora­
mentos para a India,” 14 May 1912.
41. Born in India, he was a doctor, teacher, and journalist, frequently writing in the
newspapers in India, but also in those of Lisbon. “No Oriente Portuguez,” 1 June
1917; J. Benedito Gomes, “Interesses da India,” 24 December 1916, 2 January
1917 e 11 January 1917.
42. Collective property systems. This Shudra also published a pamphlet on the same
subject. The setting of this question can be found in Rochelle Pinto, “A Time to
Publish: Pamphlets and Politics in Colonial Goa,” Economic and Political Weekly
40, no. 9 (26 February–4 March 2005): 877–885, mainly p. 878.
43. “Lucta de Castas,” 29 January 1911; “Sudras contra brahamanes,” 6 February
1911.
44. Part of the district of Goa which was integrated in the Portuguese colony in the
eighteenth century. J. Benedito Gomes, “Interesses da India,” 24 December 1916
and 2 January 1917. “Cartas da India” (carta de P.); 15 October 1912.
45. “A situação em Timor,” 20 April 1912. On this question, Headhunting and Colo­
nialism: Anthropology and the Circulation of Human Skulls in the Portuguese
Empire, 1870–1930 (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010).
46. “As informações de ‘A Capital’,” 2 January 1921.
47. For all, Reis, “O Poder entre Lisboa e o Oriente,” 68–70.
48. Ibid.
49. Alberto Xavier [1881-?] was born in Goa. He was a lawyer in Lisbon, also being
active in journalism and politics.
50. “Propaganda eleitoral,” 7 June 1911. Reis, “O Poder entre Lisboa e o Oriente,”
mainly 91–97.
51. Reference to the government of Sidónio Pais, December 1917–December 1918.
Events in “India Portugueza (Portuguese India),” 4 May 1919. On the context of
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 155
this representation, Reis, “O Poder entre Lisboa e o Oriente,” 268–271; Sandra
Ataíde Lobo, “O Desassossego Goês. Cultura e Política em Goa do Liberalismo
ao Acto Colonial,” (PhD diss., Lisbon: Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2013),
325–333.
52. “Os 15 milhões de patacas,” 3 July 1922; “As patacas de Macau,” 12 July; “Os
recursos do governo,” Ibid.; “De Macau para a Metrópole,” 13 July; “Os vinte
milhões de patacas,” 14 July 1922; “A operação das patacas,” 15 July; “Os fun­
dos disponíveis das colónias,” 17 July; “As sempre patacas,” 18 July; “Macau e
as patacas,” 20 July and 21 July; “O celebre caso das patacas de Macau,” 25 July.
53. “Nas colonias,” 18 July 1913.
54. “Exclusivo do jogo em Macau,” 10 February 1911; “Pelas colonias,” 30 January
1912; “Macau é o Monte Carlo do Extremo Oriente,” 13 January 1922 (tele­
gram from London).
55. Célia Reis, “Propostas Turísticas em Macau no primeiro quarto do século XX,”
in Império e Turismo. Antologia de Ensaios, coord. Maria João Castro (Lis­
boa: ArTravel, 2019), 27–33. https://run.unl.pt/bitstream/10362/61873/1/Impe_
rio_e_Turismo_MIOLO.pdf.
56. Alfredo Gomes Dias, Portugal, Macau e a Internacionalização da Questão do
Ópio (1909–1925) (Macau: Livros do Oriente, 2004). Célia Reis, “As colónias
portuguesas do Oriente e do ópio no contexto da Liga das Nações” (Paper, Con­
ference Lisboa Pedro Hispano, Lisbon, Portugal, 13–16 September 2013).
57. “Pelas colonias,” 30 January 1912. Álvaro de Melo Machado (1883–1970) was
an official in the Portuguese Navy. He governed Macau from 1910 to 1913.
“Pelas colonias,” 19 and 21 January 1913.
58. For example, “Poeira da Arcada,” 4 January 1913; “Mais um inquerito,” 2 July
1913; “Gloria ao genio!,” 17 July 1913; “Nas colonias,” 18 July 1913; “Confer­
encia internacional do opio,” 20 June 1924.
59. Célia Reis, “A missão de Eusébio da Fonseca a Londres (1912–1913) e a Econo­
mia da Índia e Macau” (in publication).
60. “Negociações anglo-portuguezas,” 21 November 1912.
61. “Uma interpellação,” 22 February 1913.
62. “Um abuso a que urge por termo,” 11 and 12 April 1913, 12/4/1912; “O Abkari
e o Opio,” 23 April 1913.
63. Alice S. Faria, “Projetos de Hidráulica Agrícola em Goa nos Primeiros Anos
do Século XX,” Engenharia Civil 48 (2014). www.academia.edu/9627081/Pro­
jetos_de_Hidráulica_Agrícola_em_Goa_nos_Primeiros_Anos_do_Século_XX.
“Ultima hora,” 18 November 1912; “Obras hydraulicas na India,” 4 February
1912; “Interesses coloniaes,” 22 September 1913; “A crise alimenticia na India
portugueza,” 4 August 1918.
64. “Nas colonias,” January 0/22/1920; “Obras no porto de Macau,” 29 July 1921;
“Notícias ultramarinas,” 10 August 1921; “Cousas,” 18 January 1922; “Tarde
politica,” 6 January and 1 April 1925; “Governo de Macau,” 30 May 1925; “A
questão do porto de Macau” and “Parlamento,” 3 Junuary 1925.
65. “Terra distante,” 18 October 1913. Reis, “As Colónias Portuguesas do Oriente
na Literatura Colonial”.
66. Among others, “Navegação colonial,” 15 July 1911; “Melhoramentos para a
India,” 14 May 1912; “Ultima hora,” 27 1913; “A Navegação entre Lisboa e
Macau,” 4 February 1913; “Navegação directa entre Lisboa e Macau,” 24 March
1913; “A navegação de Lisboa para Macau,” 19 November 1913; “A navegação
para Macau,” Oriente,” 17 December 1916; “Poeira da Arcada,” 19 May 1920.
67. “Províncias ultramarinas,” 19 September 1921; “A India Portugueza é sempre
esquecida,” 4 April 1912; “Poeira da Arcada,” 18 and 20 June 1920; “Pelas
colonias,” 1 August 1921; “Provincias ultramarinas,” 14 and 19 September 1921;
156 Célia Reis
“Tarde politica,” 2 May 1924; “Camara dos Deputados,” 21 and 22 July; “Tarde
politica,” 21 February 1925.
68. “Poeira da Arcada,” 29 June 1911; “Ultimas noticias,” 18 and 26 July 18/1911;
“Eleições no Ultramar,” 31 July 1911; “A eleição por Mapuçá,” 21 November
1911 (letter from Astolpho de Gouvêa Pinto); “Notas diversas,” 3 December 1913;
“As eleições,” 21 April 1918; “A questão Prazeres da Costa,” 29 March 1922.
69. “Pelas colonias,” 28 December 1911; “Por causa da eleição de Timor há, na
Camara, mosquitos por cordas,” 29 December 1911; “Pelas colonias,” 30 May
1912; Victor Falcão, “Pelas colonias,” 28 December 1912; “Pelas colonias,”
31 December 1912 and 8 January 1912 (letters from Julio Celestino Montalvão
e Silva e de António da Camara Mello Cabral).
70. “Duas eleições em Timor,” 1 June 1915; “Ultimas noticias,” 26 July 1915. Célia
Reis, “As eleições de 1911 em Timor”.
71. “Notas Diversas,” 4 November 1912.
72. “Alteração da ordem em Macau,” 30 November 1911; “Cousas d”Alem-Mar,”
24 December 1910; “Em Macau é suspensa ‘A Verdade’,” 26 June 1911. Sobre
este assunto, Célia Reis, “Um novo Regime em Macau: A Passagem à República,”
in Os Fundamentos da Amizade. Cinco Séculos de Relações Culturais e Artísti­
cas Luso-Chinesas (Lisboa: Centro Científico e Cultural de Macau e Fundação
para a Cooperação e Desenvolvimento de Macau, 1999), 178–183; O Padroado
Português no Extremo Oriente na Primeira República (Lisboa: Livros Horizonte,
2007), 106–108.
73. “Contingente para Macau,” 7 April 1911; “Nada se produziu de anormal em
Macau,” 19 November 1911; “Tripulação para ‘A Patria’,” 17 February 1911.
74. “Timor revoltada,” 4 and 15 February 1912; “Poeira da Arcada,” 12 February
1912; “Congresso Nacional,” 15 February 1912; “A situação em Timor,” 8, 12,
17, 22 March and 20 April 1912; “Notas diversas,” 2 April and 4 June 1912;
“Em Timor,” 28 May 1912. About this revolt, among others, Gonçalo Pimenta
de Castro, Timor (Subsídios para a sua História) (Lisboa: Agência Geral das
Colónias, 1944), 316–324. Jaime do Inso, Timor 1912 (Lisboa: Cosmos, 1939).
Fernando Augusto de Figueiredo, Timor. A Presença Portuguesa (1769–1945)
(Lisboa: Centro de Estudos Históricos, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2011), 75.
Lúcio Sousa, op. cit.
75. “A India Portugueza é sempre esquecida,” 4 April 1912.
76. “As sublevações nas colónias,” 21 April 1912; “Noticias da India,” 3 and 9 June
1912; “A questão de Satary,” 7 June 1912; “Governador da India,” 20 June 1912;
“A situação na India,” 8 July 1912. About this, Célia Reis, “A Soberania na Índia.
A Revolta dos Ranes em 1912,” in República e Republicanismo, ed. Maria Fer­
nanda Rollo e António Rafael Amaro (Casal de Cambra: Caleidoscópio e Centro
República, 2015), 311–319.
77. “As sublevações nas colonias,” 21 April 1912.
78. Rodrigo José Rodrigues (1879–1963) was a military doctor and republican poli­
tician. He governed Macau from 1922 to 1924.
79. For example, “Pelas colonias,” 1 August 1921; “Que é isto?,” 16 May 1922;
“General Gomes da Costa” 5 August 1922; “O que ha em Macau,” 29 Septem­
ber 1922; “Por ordem,” 6 August 1923; “O caso de Bicholim,” 8 August 1923;
“Dr. Rodrigo Rodrigues,” 27 October 1924; “Henrique Correia da Silva,” 1
November 1924; “Tarde politica,” 2 January 1924, 1 and 10 April, 28 May, 2
and 6 June 1925.
80. “Em Macau,” 25 July 1910.
81. “Pelas colonias,” 30 October 1912.
82. “Ultima hora,” 27 August 1912; “Pelas colonias,” 30 October 1912; “Os piratas
do mar da China,” 20 January 1914; “Bandidos seculares,” 14 January 1915;
“Os piratas chinezes,” 8 September 1916.
 Asian colonies in the newspaper A Capital 157
83. For example, “As obras de Macau,” 19 and 20 September 1918.
84. Later, as minister, his image was positive (“Tarde politica,” 25, 29 and 30 May
1925).
85. “As informações de ‘A Capital’,” 2 January 1921; “O que se está passando na
provincia de Macau,” 22 September 1921.
86. “Ultima hora,” 2 February 1920; “acontecimentos de Macau,” 1 March 1920;
“O incidente de Macau,” 2 March 1920; “Poeira da Arcada,” 26 September
1921, “Notas politicas,” 7 October 1921; “Portugal no Oriente,” 8 October
1921; “Poeira da Arcada,” 10 October 1921; “Portugal no Oriente,” 14 October
1921; “Os acontecimentos,” 26 October 1921; “As informações de ‘A Capital’,”
2 January 1921; “Macau,” 14 November 1921.
87. “Graves acontecimentos em Macau,” 30 May 1922; “Na Camara dos Depu­
tados,” 31 May 1922; Ultima hora,” 31 May 1922; “A situação em Macau,”
1  June 1922; “A situação em Macau,” 7 June 1922; “A teoria do silencio,” 12
June 1922. Mainly, Alfredo Gomes Dias, “As Neutralidades de Macau (1839–
1927),” in Portugal e a China. Conferências no II Curso livre de História das
Relações entre Portugal e a China (séculos XVI-XIX), ed. Jorge M. dos Santos
Alves (Lisboa: Fundação Oriente, 2001), 377–394. Célia Reis, “Conjuntura e
Vida Política,” in História dos Portugueses no Extremo Oriente: Macau e Timor
no Período Republicano, IV, ed. A. H. de Oliveira Marques (Lisboa: Fundação
Oriente, 2003), 13–174.
88. “O que se está passando na província de Macau,” 22 September 1921.
89. Ibid.
90. Infante D. Henrique (1394–1460) was the driving force behind trips to discover
new lands. João Maria Ferreira do Amaral (1803–1846) was a Portuguese mili­
tary and politician. He governed Macau after 1846 and sought to impose Portu­
guese rule there. Because of that he was murdered. Vicente Nicolau de Mesquita
(1818–1880) was a Portuguese military man in Macau. He became known for
the taking over of Passaleão Fort, in August 1849, in which, commanding a small
force of Portuguese soldiers, he overcame the Chinese forces that surrounded
Macau. Authorship unknown. “A Capital,” 11, 12, 14 and 15 1924.
91. “Os aviadores portugueses em Hong-Kong,” 11 July 1924. Many articles after
29 June 1923.
92. “Ainda o caso de Timor,” 7 December 1911; “Questão de Fronteiras,” 12 August
1911; “Colonias portuguezas,” 4 February 1912; “Poeira da Arcada,” 5 Febru­
ary 1912; “Colonias portuguezas,” 2 June 1912; “Os hollandezes perguntam: –
Devemos comprar Timor? Os portuguezes refeltem: – Acceitamos a proposta?,”
18 May 1912; “A Questão de Timor,” 30 May 1912; “Uma ambição como mui­
tas,” 11 June 1912; “As pretenções da Hollanda,” 14 June 1912; “A missão d”um
diplomata,” 17 July 1912.
93. Bruno C. Reis, “Portugal e a Santa Sé no Sistema internacional (1910–1970),”
Análise Social, 34, no. 161 (2001): 1019–1059. Célia Reis, O Padroado Portu­
guês no Extremo Oriente na Primeira República.
94. Which it was intended to apply also in the other colonies by a decree law of 1913.
95. “Ultima hora,” 29 September 1921 and 18 February 1922; “Uma entrevista,”
5 June 1923; “Tarde politica,” 27 April 1925.
96. Barros, “O Jornalismo Político Republicano Radical,” 90–191.
8 Portuguese colonial agents and
models
Metropolitan colonial periodicals

(1912–1937)

Adelaide Vieira Machado*

Introduction
The First Portuguese Republic was established by the revolution of 5 Octo­
ber 1910. Its strong ideological foundations were firmly based in the fact that
Portugal was a colonial nation. In 1910, the principal opposition to the mon­
archy was the Partido Republicano Português (Portuguese Republican Party),
and in fact, all the parties that eventually emerged from this anti-monarchical
movement included in their manifestos details of the colonial model that they
favoured.1 As early as 1890, and as a consequence of the decisions of the
Berlin Conference which had established the principle of effective occupa­
tion/colonisation of the so-called overseas territories, Portugal had lost to the
United Kingdom some of the land in Africa to which it had laid claim.2 The
Pink Map and the British Ultimatum, as the episode came to be known in
Portugal, led to the strengthening of the position of the Partido Republicano
Português by means of its intransigent defence of the colonies, which in turn
was expressed through concerted attacks in the press, in parliament, and in
street demonstrations against the British and against the shortcomings of the
Portuguese monarchy, which was accused of being incapable of defending
the empire. In the 20 years that followed, that opposition won the popular
support necessary to install a republican regime, first at the ballot box, and
eventually, with a military coup that was backed by public support. In this
way, the republic was born, not only with the promise that it would establish
a genuine parliamentary democracy but above all with the promise that it
would maintain and develop a federation spread across the world by means
of a policy that would be adjusted according to local, colonial knowledge
and with a particular focus on the African continent.3
Between the inauguration of the so-called Scramble for Africa, or wide­
spread interest in Africa on the part of the European powers, which was
formalised through the approval of the General Act of the Berlin Confer­
ence of 1884–1885, and the Paris Peace Conference that gave rise to the
Treaty of Versailles in 1919, a world war had taken place involving peoples,
colonies, and colonising powers and which, as a consequence of the Ger­
man defeat, had led to a readjustment of colonial interests. Portugal took

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-11

 Portuguese colonial agents and models 159

part in the Great War (1914–1918) and after it in the newly created League
of Nations, where it unsuccessfully demanded the right to third position in
the ranking of colonial powers. The 1919 treaty restated the principle of
effective occupation that had been established in the 1885 General Act but
with a reinforced emphasis on the relationship between the metropolis and
its colonies through the promotion of the civilisation and economic and
social development of the colonies as a condition of sovereign possession by
the powers involved. The socialist Left, in collaboration with the European
liberal republican movements, including the direct and indirect consequences
of the Russian revolution of October 1917, introduced a new perspective
on the processes of colonisation. Beyond the occupation of territories and
the exploitation of natural resources, they argued that it was necessary to
interact with the natives of the colonies and to promote the civilisation of
those people through education, who, as a consequence, would assimilate
the civilising values of the colonising countries. From that point, a route
was opened leading towards the autonomy of the colonies, which would
be followed by the possible independence of colonised peoples, and it was
up to the colonial powers to maintain this route under constant review and
development.
Directly in relation to the colonial question, it may be stated that Portu­
guese public opinion was formed by various economic pressure groups and
associations acting in the public space, as well as by individuals who, inde­
pendently or in connection with those associations and lobby groups, made
contributions to the debate both in the press and in parliament: politicians
and parliamentarians, intellectuals and general publicists, all sought to shape
public discussion of colonial interests and were generically known as colo­
niais (colonialists) or the Partido Colonial (Colonial Party). It is important
to note, however, that the classifications outlined here are revealed to be far
from watertight when applied to individuals. A politician could equally be –
and often was – also an intellectual, a publicist, and a businessman. Although
there are certain advantages to the simplification of categories as a means of
facilitating our understanding of the specific cultural and political scenarios
in question, it is crucial nonetheless to bear in mind the complex and fluid
reality to which they refer and from which they emerged.
With the abolition of the monarchy in 1910, the new regime sought to
reconcile the idea of a democratic republic with that of a colonial empire.
Parliamentary debates on the colonial problem4 demonstrated points of
continuity and rupture, the principal political currents involved, and the
existence of certain common interests that united supporters from across
the various parliamentary groupings or divided members of the same party.
The term ‘party,’ at that time, generally, although not always, meant politi­
cal forces that, for the most part, were formed and disbanded without ever
reaching a level of national organisation outside parliament.5 Furthermore,
and because of the level of importance to the national interest that was
attributed to it by all parties, beginning in the 1920s, the recurrent theme
160 Adelaide Vieira Machado
of the colonial question and agreements in relation to it came to form the
basis of Regime Pacts.6 The main political debate that was in the background
throughout the First Republic (1910–1926) was the question of decentralisa­
tion, or rather, of how to decentralise in order to democratise while optimis­
ing the exercising of unified power. To return to the central question of this
chapter: What was the degree of decentralisation and power that should be
offered to the colonies in their relationship with the metropolis, and what
were the objectives of this colonial policy? If, on the one hand, the historical
republican model that was based on the 1891 programme for a republican
federation was to include each of the colonies, on the other, that programme
had at its core the liberal idea of the individuality of each colony. As such,
whether from the perspective of a unified yet decentralised state, or from
the perspective of a more or less centralised federative model, the idea that
was common to all political forces during the First Republic was this:7 the
assertion that each colony had its own trajectory and individuality that was
separate from the metropolis, whether or not it was able to constitute along
with the metropolis an aggregated group of autonomous or independent
nationalities. The idea of an organic empire gained strength among Catholic
integralists, but it was only with the Estado Novo (New State) dictatorship
and the Acto Colonial (Colonial Act) of 1930 that it gained a brutal reality,
bringing together the worst of each of the perspectives in its affirmation of
an essential or organic link between metropolis and colonies at the same
time as it individualised them hierarchically and permanently in relation
to the powerful centre, thus creating opposition and resistance that would
become generalised throughout the empire.8
It took three years before a law was debated in parliament that derived
from the wording of the 1911 constitution relating to the decentralisation
of the public administration of the overseas provinces. In other words, it
was only in 1914 that a bill was brought before the chamber for a specific
legal framework or statute for the colonies. This statute was predicated on
the principle of a unified and non-federative state but with administrative
and economic decentralisation that would be established according to the
level of autonomy allowed to each colony, which in turn would be fixed
in accordance with the differing levels of development of civilisation in
each of the colonies. The bill also proposed the creation of fully or partially
elected government councils, which would have the functions of delibera­
tion and consultation. These councils would be subject to the same ranking
of development in relation to their civilisation, both in terms of their exis­
tence, and in terms of the powers afforded to them. In terms of citizenship,
the definition of people as ‘indigenous’ and ‘non-indigenous’ as assimila­
dos (Europeanized) that the government wanted to introduce, was rejected
by the parliamentary commission. In light of the autonomy that was being
proposed, the commission believed that it ought to be the responsibility of
each colonial administration to determine who would be disenfranchised
from political consultation and decision-making, and that this should not be
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 161
dictated by a central document that aimed to establish principles of equality
and autonomy, in which, therefore, the term ‘indigenous’ would not be justi­
fied. The establishment of general commissions in place of a single governor
was approved, albeit with some opposition, which highlighted as problem­
atic the notion of administrative decentralisation when all the power of the
metropolis were simply to be shifted to the hands of one man – even if
he were to be supported by government councils. The process of debate in the
parliamentary chamber and in the colonial commissions was interminable.
Parliamentary approval was held up by successive crises of government,
and the proposal never progressed much beyond the initial phase of debate.
Although parliament did vote on some laws, it would be impossible to say
that the First Republic managed to implement a colonial model in the period
from the First World War to the early 1920s.
The various groups of so-called coloniais or the Partido Colonial acted
independently or within various parties and associations. They created agree­
ments that cut across party or political loyalties, and it was not uncommon
for these alliances and consensuses to contribute to the formation of new
partisan or parliamentary groupings. The general goal was the expansion of
public interest in the colonial question across the whole nation and the mass
popularisation of the topic. Their objective was to achieve both intellectual
and popular engagement with the debate, which would be conducive to the
continued colonial efforts of the Portuguese in Africa. Colonial propaganda,
as it was termed, became commonplace in the metropolitan public sphere.
This propaganda brought colonial knowledge up to date and transmitted
it in both erudite and lowbrow form at various levels and to all sections
of society. In conjunction with societies and associations that functioned
as repositories for this knowledge that was aimed at producing action, the
colonial press was the principal vehicle for such propaganda. It not only
enabled various planes of reading, but also, from a democratic perspective,
it created the space for multiple readings at diverse levels. Much research
remains to be done in this area in order to expand our understanding of the
metropolitan public sphere of the colonial era.
From the turn of the century, periodicals were used to express the perspec­
tives of groups and movements. They promoted common civic and political
values. They disseminated ideas and opinions, and at the same time they
demonstrated the existence of the group to their audience, which of course
they sought to enlarge as widely as possible. We can identify two types of
periodicals that were linked to groups or intellectual movements that came
together around a manifesto, an idea, or a programme: the journal per se,
which was usually published monthly and, in a book-type format; and fort­
nightly or weekly magazines, which were fora for intellectual action and
had a slightly different aim. Articles in the journals provided in-depth analy­
sis, and these publications provided a forum for the continual updating of
knowledge and debate. As a result, and as a vehicle for the dissemination of
in-depth theorisation with real-life practical application, the journal had an
162 Adelaide Vieira Machado
intermediary role in constructing and representing both aspects. Weekly and
fortnightly magazines, by contrast, followed existing conditions more closely,
and their principles and interventions were based on it in a much more
immediate way. In short, they worked less with research into the debates that
sought to structure the future and more with the application of a framework
that could be used to judge and guide actions in the present moment.9
These periodicals incorporated and reflected the autonomy of the various
groups. However, they were sometimes, and at some level, influenced by
political parties and implied a desire to adopt a more explicit political posi­
tion, albeit without forgoing the possibility of deeper political debate within
the publication. As such, they enabled intellectuals to remain close to the
political action without losing their autonomy as a group. Their intention
was to be the conscience and memory of civil society, a constant check on
political manoeuvrings and deviations. They were not interested in taking
power directly. Rather, they desired to have a positive influence on power
and to steer it in moral terms. They acted as pressure and opinion groups
which, because of their social breadth, constituted a point of contact with,
and a bridge to consensus with, public opinion. They sought to consolidate
and expand that contact, whether as spokespeople or as organisers and pro­
viders of new fora for discussion and learning. These actions of propaganda
were executed by the independent press and were often complemented by
the publication of books, as well as by the organisation of public lectures
and courses that were aimed at a wide and varied audience.

Journals and magazines, colonial thought and knowledge:

features of the colonial models
The debate that formed the basis for the construction of colonial thought
in Portugal was in large part mediated and disseminated through the inde­
pendent, intellectual, colonial press. The importance of the contribution of
that debate to the categorisation of the press and its agents is reflected in my
selection of four metropolitan titles for this study: Revista Colonial (Colo­
nial Review) (1912), Revista Colonial (1913–1923), Gazeta das Colónias
(Gazette of the Colonies) (1924–1926), and Portugal Colonial (Colonial
Portugal) (1931–1937). These publications form the basis of the following
assessment of the complexities of some key moments in a period that was far
from uniform. As such, they enable a greater understanding of that period
at the same time as they facilitate the establishment of clear objectives and
parameters for this study.
Whether they were published monthly or fortnightly, these periodicals
all emerged from a manifesto and sought to reach a broad public and gain
new followers. They had a clear programme, which varied according to the
specific ideological position of the publication’s management and their level
of desire for a democratic opening up of public space for reflection and par­
ticipatory discussion. They were subsidised by independent interest groups,
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 163
and thus were under no obligation to support specific political parties or
public figures. As such, they took on a cultural role as the moral overseers of
politics, seeking to correct deviations and so-called politicking. In the case
studies presented here, the publications proposed a variety of solutions and
routes to the edification of a Portuguese colonial empire, all based within the
idea of modernity that had come to dominate European thought.
From 1912 to 1933, these periodicals covered the major questions of the
republican colonial moment. The need for an up-to-date debate gave rise to
their appearance and accounts for their importance and the length of time
for which they were published. Furthermore, it justifies the prominence given
to them within this study as examples of a much more expansive reality.
Behind each of these publications were specific groups and associations, as
I have explained earlier. Those groups took it upon themselves to promote
their doctrines and ideas with a view to providing instruction, and they used
these periodicals to do so, both in the publications themselves and through
the public events that they organised regularly and advertised in these maga­
zines and journals. In the context of this chapter, I do not intend to offer
a complete analysis of each of these publications; rather, I will present an
overview of the principal agents who were involved in them and the key ideas
contained in their manifestos and which define them as colonial models.
The União Colonial (Colonial Union) supported six issues of the Revista
Colonial in 1912. The union was led by José de Macedo10 and Norton de
Matos.11 Along with the editor Figueiredo Lopes and other contributors,
Matos had a clear idea about what was needed in order to create and con­
solidate the Portuguese colonial empire. To summarise the broader context:
in 1912, the new Partido Republicano Português had emerged from the
previous party of the same name. It was known popularly as the Partido
Democrático (Democratic Party) due to the name adopted in parliament by
its members and senators: Grupo Parlamentar Democrático (Democratic
Parliamentary Group). Within the party, there was a Colonial Studies Com­
mission, which brought together intellectuals who were renowned for their
colonial knowledge and experience. One of these was Norton de Matos. He
published in the Revista Colonial the text of a lecture that formed part of
a series of public talks promoted by that commission. In it, he defined the
target audience for these actions of propaganda relating to the colonial ques­
tion, which was presented as the major national issue:

The Board of the Partido Republicano, in further proof of its great

patriotism and the care with which it addresses all questions of funda­
mental interest to the Portuguese nation, have resolved that its Colonial
Studies Commission will promote a series of lectures about our colo­
nies, with the aim of drawing public attention to them, embedding and
ever further consolidating in public consciousness the importance of this
issue – our principle raison d’être as a [powerful] nation, in view of the
vast overseas territories, the brilliant colonial empire that they can and
164 Adelaide Vieira Machado
must constitute. I chose as the topic of my own lecture an analysis of
the relationships that must link the metropolis to its colonies. . . . These
lectures, these talks, are directed principally to the great majority of
Portuguese citizens.12

The publication of this lecture achieved the twofold aim of presenting a colo­
nial line of thought both within and beyond the Partido Republicano Portu­
guês, and at the same time, setting out for the wider public the colonial model
that was defended by the recently created Revista Colonial and the União
Colonial. The author had some innovative ideas that moved away from the
idea of a unified state; that is, a state in which the degree of autonomy and
decentralisation is always and only dependent on central government. As an
alternative, he proposed new kinds of relationship between the metropolis
and the colonies, arguing that only by such means would it be possible to
promote and develop the autonomy of the overseas territories.

The colonies are considered by some to be territories and peoples that

serve to facilitate the export of agricultural and industrial products from
the metropolis: as markets for national products. Others consider them
to be suitable places to receive the excess populations that make life in
some European nations difficult, awkward, and congested. Others still
desire the colonies in order to produce in them the primary materials
upon which metropolitan industry relies. From these purely utilitarian,
colonial criteria, considered separately and together, we might move
to a more elevated goal, which consists in thinking of the colonies as
an expansion of the national territory, as an extension of the nation,
that forms, or should form, a harmonious whole, a single nation, linked
together and to the country to which they belong as though they were
merely provinces or administrative districts. This point of view, attrac­
tive though it may be for the national aggrandisement that it implies,
is no more than the utopia of dreamers, and because of that it is more
damaging, in my opinion, than the utilitarian conceptions of the colonies
that I have just outlined. In large part, the main flaws and disadvantages
of our colonial administration result from this idea.13

This philosophy was dominant not only in the Treaty of Versailles but also
among the major European colonial powers. In particular, France supported
this conception of colonisation, pointing to the British example as a model.14
Against the idea of central state governance, the editorial line of the maga­
zine favoured a process of phased autonomy,15 although without supporting
the type of federative decentralisation that had underpinned the policies of
the Partido Republicano Português from 1891 up to the 1911 constitution.
This process was based on a federal empire that would be guided through
gradual steps to autonomy by the metropolitan centre. As such, a third way,
or middle ground, was created, which argued for a model of colonialism that
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 165
was based on the idea of a mirror to Western civilisation: each colony would
be measured according to how well it reflected the metropolis. In addition,
the colonial mission also had the moral duty to promote the civilisation
of colonised peoples. In other words, the notion of an empire for which
the emblem of unity was its permanent transformation into a federation
cast into the distant future the ideas of complete autonomy and particularly
independence.

As a colonial nation, we must become accustomed to thinking of our

colonies as diverse elements of our own country, for in times gone by we
took upon ourselves the great responsibility of joining them to us in the
hope that we would gain advantages, riches, and national aggrandise­
ment, but also with the establishment, as a consequence of this, of duties
that we must inevitably fulfil. And the principal duty, which one might
say encompasses all of the others, is that of transforming the colonies,
under our rigorous tutelage, gradually and successively, from primitive
civilisations into autonomous nations, characterised by their own civili­
sations, although those cultures will remain closely connected with ours
because of the social principles that will permeate them, our blood, our
language, the sacrifices which we have made, our ceaseless battle against
illness and barbarism, and, above all, by the interest in one another that
will be created and carefully maintained.16

In this new kind of relationship between the metropolis and the colonies,
Matos included the separation of cultural and political entities that had
historically overlapped. The exchange that resulted from that meeting, far
from cancelling one another out, would supposedly lead to autonomous
nationalities within their own cultures, although they would be linked inti­
mately to the shared interests that would be established in this new process.
There would also be the possibility of obtaining an education at all levels
and especially a primary education;17 and there would be a genuine policy of
economic development aimed at reinforcing and expanding the colonial elite.
Although he envisaged a new era in colonial relations, Matos continued to
make a connection to the history of Portuguese colonisation, which brought
with it the moral weight of past errors and the concomitant acceptance of
the responsibility to correct those errors for the future.

The direction that we will take in our relations with the colonies results
from the recognition of this duty. However, there will be interested par­
ties residing in the metropolis who, for myriad reasons, may well slow
down and obstruct the solution to this problem. Without doubt, the
colonies must constitute markets for the placement of products from the
metropolis; but the colonies wish for that placement to be done in such
a way that their vital interests are not damaged, and their progress and
development are not hindered.18
166 Adelaide Vieira Machado
Studies relating to geographical themes or spaces were presented. These
dealt with the administrative situation, the financial framework, and the
possibilities for economic development within a system of so-called decen­
tralising unity. These studies were reinforced by the periodic organisation of
lecture series and conferences on the colonial question. The opposition of
the Metropolitan bourgeoisie was anticipated, as was the unitary and politi­
cal vision that had come to dominate the republican political spectrum in
the metropolis. That opposition had no sympathy with the consensus and
balances that Matos pursued in the name of his conception of empire19 – a
conception which, at that time, was also espoused by the Partido Republi­
cano Português (Partido Democrático) to which the author belonged as an
intellectual and as a politician. In fact, his position was shared by the major­
ity of those in the party, which had participated actively in the debate in the
national constituent assembly in 1911. That debate had concluded with the
approval of a unitary parliamentary republic, which would include and be
united with an empire that – although dependent on the metropolis – would
have the design of a centralised federation more closely resembling the USA
than Switzerland.20

How can such apparently antagonistic interests be harmonised? By

means of a wise and prudent colonial policy along the lines I have just
indicated, which will successively, with slow but firm steps, transform
the colonies from mere dependencies into genuine Portuguese nations,
permitting the organisation of a federation for which common defence
and shared interests will comprise the principal ties.21

By means of economic stimulation, colonial legislation, and widespread edu­

cation, this conception of empire sought to create real autonomy for the
colonies and as a consequence also to create participatory citizenships. Yet,
it is also necessary to remember that this model was predicated on white
colonisation guided by the metropolis and which would lead the process of
native evolution.

Finally, the metropolis must become the supervisor of indigenous policy

in the colonies. In colonial life, when we are faced with contact with dif­
ferent elements of the most diverse civilisations, it is easy for abuses to be
committed, for violence to be practised, but in addition to being contrary
to the laws of humanity, such behaviour is anti-economic. Therefore,
Portugal must be a protector, we must respect the habits and customs
of the indigenous peoples, we must be guided by the principle that all
African races should evolve within the frameworks of their own civili­
sations towards a more perfect civilisation, and it will be necessary to
establish between the black and white races mutual trust and recipro­
cal esteem – and this approach must make itself felt constantly, clearly,
positively, and with energy.22
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 167
This would be the first of two attempts by Norton de Matos to apply his
theory directly to the territory of Angola. Neither attempt went particularly
well, but nevertheless this was considered to be the most consistently asserted
colonial philosophy throughout the First Portuguese Republic. Carneiro
de Moura,23 a teacher at the Escola Superior Colonial (Colonial Training
School) and a contributor to the Revista Colonial, was well regarded for
his opinions on colonial questions. In 1911, he had prepared the inaugural
pamphlet for the União Colonial. Earlier, in 1910, he had written along the
same lines about the Portuguese colonial administration, arguing – after the
French school of thought of the time – that it was necessary for the pur­
poses of development and taking account of the degree of progress reached
by each colony to blend the principles of paternalistic subjection, assimila­
tion, autonomy, and independence.24 Although it was short-lived, the Revista
Colonial of 1912 represented above all a call for the expansion of knowledge
about Portuguese colonial conditions. Furthermore, it was a powerful tool
of propaganda in the sense that it gave theoretical and practical support to a
model of colonisation that sought to be socially and economically modernis­
ing, based on the tenet of an empire of autonomous regions. According to
the proponents of the Revista Colonial, this was the mission of not only the
journal but also the nation. When Norton de Matos left to become Governor
General of Angola, the publication folded with the expectation that he would
put into practice all of the theories that it had expounded.
The Revista Colonial that emerged in 1913 had much in common with this
earlier line of thought. This new journal was published monthly from 1913
to 1923.25 By contrast with the earlier publication of the same name, the new
title moved away from party politics and opened up its pages to all those
who were concerned with the colonial problem, across the different parties
and independently of them. This new Revista Colonial was owned by the
Agência Colonial (Colonial Agency), which, much like the União Colonial
before it, claimed to be an association for the promotion of colonial, legal,
and political knowledge. The Agência Colonial supplied a range of support
services, especially in terms of its understanding of legislation relating to
colonial stimulation and development. As a guarantee of its good practices,
the Agência was endorsed by the National Overseas Bank:

We seek, then, to disseminate knowledge about our colonies and Banco

Nacional Ultramarino their resources, calling to them the attention of
the Portuguese public; to foment public opinion by means of the Press
and Lectures on all of the topics of interest; to assist, as far as possible,
the variety of efforts of individuals working across the colonies, in order
to facilitate the success that they so desire, and to attract to them both
human and financial investment – these, in broad terms, are the ends to
which the Agência Colonial will dedicate its efforts, in the firm belief that
it is fulfilling a useful and deeply patriotic mission . . . With the intention
of popularising works of pressing interest for the colonies, the colonial
168 Adelaide Vieira Machado
agency will republish some of the work of our most eminent colonial­
ists, as well as publishing a special edition of the Anuário das Colónias
(Yearbook of the Colonies).26

This was also an association of intellectuals who represented a movement

that was interested in colonial development, which was sustained through
propaganda and the sharing and promotion of both theoretical and prac­
tical knowledge of colonial conditions. Colonial development, it asserted,
was indispensable to the nation as a whole. These intellectuals placed at the
service of a patriotic idea not only the intellectual preparation that they pos­
sessed in connection with the Escola Superior Colonial but also their capacity
to popularise that knowledge and make it accessible to the general public.
For the colonial cause, the fight to win over public opinion and create public
pressure within the public space of discourse, including the space of repre­
sentative power, had started in the nineteenth century. The British Ultimatum
had revealed the scale of mobilisation that it was possible to achieve within
the framework of defending the national territory, comprising Portugal and
its colonies. Those popular uprisings ultimately led to the fall of the last
monarchist governments, and to the fall of the regime, making the republic
the great defender of Portuguese territorial integrity. The popular response
to the colonial question was inconsistent, and the coloniais commonly com­
plained about general public indifference to the issue; nevertheless, the idea
of a unified empire, whether decentralised or organicist, had been taught
from primary school up for generations, and it would come to motivate
popular mobilisation whenever the panic button signalling the loss of ter­
ritories to other colonial powers was pressed. The Revista Colonial emerged
as the defender of Portuguese sovereignty stretched across territories. The
journal sought to cover multiple debates and discourses under the umbrella
of democracy, which allowed for a diverse range of content and different lev­
els of reading. Furthermore, the distance that the editorial team maintained
between the publication and partisan forces enabled the longevity of the
journal, as well as ensuring that it reached a broad audience. The manifesto
was presented in the editorial of the first issue of the review. It conformed
to the same high-minded political principles that have already been outlined
earlier, and it, too, undertook to fulfil its capacity to shape public opinion
and promote active support for the colonial model that it favoured by means
of studies and the sharing of acquired knowledge.

Work – This is the word that synthesises our manifesto and guides our
humble efforts. Modest, yet full of goodwill, we present to the Portu­
guese general public our Revista Colonial; and we will always use clear
language to discuss issues of the greatest concern to us, systematically
leaving aside all those pointless discussions of politics or religion, self-
indulgent ramblings or laudatory digressions. We will be frank in our
columns, and accessible to all who wish to dedicate themselves to the
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 169
study and utilisation of our overseas territories, and we hope to con­
tribute in our modest way to the constructive work that is so necessary
to the Portuguese Fatherland . . . And that explains the exclusion [of
partisan politics] that we have chosen, because our labour requires calm,
reflection, and study, which are almost always incompatible with the agi­
tation of passions and follies to which those [considerations] give way.27

The colonial question was considered of the utmost national importance,

and it was dealt with ahead of party-political interests. The journal sought
to provide a space for reflection and dissemination of political projects and
those promoting colonialism. In its first issue, the publication promised that
it would have sections in French and English, and these appeared between
1915 and 1917, demonstrating to the world at large the important role
of Portuguese colonisation and the efforts that the country was making to
improve the lot of the native populations. Suggestions were made regarding
how to legislate for the colonies and these were in favour of the liberal-
democratic, republican model. Such suggestions departed from the presump­
tion that the underdevelopment of the colonies was the result of inadequate
legislation, demonstrating in the process the ramifications of the model that
was outlined earlier. The moderate republican Eduardo Sousa Monteiro was
a contributor to the Revista Colonial and a member of the non-partisan
governments led by Bernardino Machado.28 He presented his theoretical pro­
posal for colonial legislation and explained clearly his view that each colony
should have its own specific legislation, which should be developed in that
territory and therefore would be appropriate for it. He examined first the
spirit and universality of laws in general, before offering a detailed reading
of what distinguished colony from metropolis, the elites from the masses:

The first requirement to which the legislator must attend is that the
law must convey the feelings of the great majority of the population to
which it will apply, on pain of being immediately and constantly trans­
gressed, if not forgotten. It is known that ideas only have power when
they are transformed into sentiment, and known also is the extent to
which this transformation happens slowly. However worthy the ideas
are, only after such a transformation will they truly impel the masses.
And although laws that ignore these principles, even though they may
contain these wonderful ideas, can at best satisfy a small elite, the ideas
and feelings behind them will only very slowly infiltrate the masses over
whom that same elite soars.29

The idea of legislating for the masses implied the acknowledgement of a

separation between the small intellectual elite, which was ready to produce
and understand laws, and the large majority of the population, which had
a low level of academic training. Education was connected to the desire to
intervene in political and cultural affairs, and this led the author to highlight
170 Adelaide Vieira Machado
the importance of civic education, whether in the metropolis or in the colo­
nies. Laws alone did not make it possible to achieve significant advances; in
other words, civic education was linked closely to the construction of the
citizen. The republican ideal worked on the promise of equality and citizen­
ship by means of education and not only academic but also civic education
in the sense that it attributed importance to the notion of the collective and
the consciousness of that notion in individual decision-making. This view
implied that a moral and political path had to be followed by all those
involved, and that path would be longer or shorter depending on the posi­
tion of each person along it. While it did not explicitly exclude anyone from
citizenship,30 some were considered to be closer to achieving it than others,
and laws would need to convey that reality and reflect knowledge of the
spectrum and of the place of each person within what was considered to be
the national whole.

So, considering on the one hand what I have just set out in summary, and
on the other, the variety of ethnicities, languages, habits, and customs of
the peoples of our colonies – that we know only imperfectly – we might
easily understand what difficulty must be overcome in order not to make
abhorrent any laws that may be applied to them. If the perfect feeling
of the masses is already an uneasy problem in the metropolis, despite its
homogeneity, it is of extreme difficulty when dealing with the colonies.
And, unfortunately, at the end of several centuries of occupation – albeit
not always, nor in every colony, effective – , we must admit the lack of
rigorous scientific studies on the myriad problems, and particularly those
of an ethnographic nature!31

Finally, the author presented his assumptions and solutions for a colonial
model, which corresponded with the editorial leaning of the journal. He
concluded first that it was

absolutely indispensable that there be a difference between colonial and

metropolitan legislation, owing to the fact that it can be observed, not
only from colony to colony, but even within some colonies, there are
certain particular circumstances that demand this.32

According to this logic, the bills for colonial laws should be elaborated and
discussed within the colonies themselves, ‘and then seek higher approval,
given that this is indispensable, as stipulated in the Constitution.’33 The uni­
fied character of the Portuguese state, combined with regimes of progressive
autonomy, had become a constant feature of the main republican colonial
models. This unity meant that the central state had the ultimate authority;
however, it was accompanied by a relative opening up, which meant that there
were agreements and negotiations within each of the colonies and between
the colonies and the metropolis. In this line of thought, the author argued that
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 171
bills should be developed with the collaboration of persons qualified in the
respective areas, and that they should then be presented in the official bulletin
for discussion by all interested parties and public entities. The passage of the
bill would be completed at the government council of each colony. In order
to guarantee the wide circulation of the bills in the official bulletins, it was
proposed that ‘the price of the Official Bulletins be made as cheap as possible,
and that all of the bills in them be translated into the language or languages
of the colony.’34 Sousa Monteiro was conscious of what was considered to be
the civic underdevelopment of the majority of the population and its leaders,
and he concluded: ‘above all – and forgive my irreverence – we must start to
educate the people, commencing with their leaders.’35
The Revista Colonial of 1913 had two series during the course of its run.
The first lasted from 1913 to 1920. During this time, the editorial team and
the majority of the contributors remained practically an unchanged group.
Names of particular note were Alfredo Augusto Lisboa de Lima, J. Vicente
Lopes, Joaquim José Machado, Jorge de Castilho, Augusto Fernandes
Panão, Jaime Augusto da Graça Falcão, Ernesto Vieira da Rocha, Álvaro
de Mello Machado, Alberto Osório de Castro, José Pereira do Nascimento,
and Thomaz d’Aquino. The majority of these men were in the military and/
or were colonial functionaries, and many were teachers or former students
of the Escola Superior Colonial. Their familiarity with colonial conditions
came from their own experience; they had contact with local elites, and they
favoured progressive autonomy for the colonies. They may be considered a
central nucleus of the metropolitan colonial elite. The first issue informed
readers that the publication accepted articles from all of the colonies and
that a network of agencies in the Portuguese overseas domains was being
created in order to distribute and publicise the journal. It folded in 1923,
with no reason given.
The period in which the Revista Colonial was published saw several
attempts at republican political (re)union debated and put into practice.
These included the governments of the republican Bernardino Machado,
which were constituted mainly of independent republicans, and the União
Sagrada (Sacred Union) government, which brought together ministers from
the Partido Republicano Português (democrats) and the Partido Republicano
Evolucionista (Evolutionist Republican Party: evolutionists). There was also
the Ação Republicana (Republican Action), a separate parliamentary group
that sought to unite republicans. This was a period of reconfiguration of
the political forces that had emerged from the historical Partido Republi­
cano Português. The recompositing of political groups also affected the large
fringe of republicans who could be considered independents, in that they
moved between the various political forces according to their own plans and
ideas. The mobility and transversality of independents and partisan repub­
licans alike characterised the bulk of the coloniais. They believed that solu­
tions for the advancement and prosperity of the Republic lay in the colonies,
within a framework of federal or confederate autonomous regions.
172 Adelaide Vieira Machado
The first issue of the Gazeta das Colónias came out on 19 June 1924,
and the publication ended with number 41 on 25 November 1926. It
was owned by the Empresa de Publicidade Colonial (Colonial Advertis­
ing Company). The magazine was first published as a weekly and later
moved to fortnightly production, although in practice its publication was
irregular. The magazine reaffirmed the aim of promoting propaganda
and advocating for the colonies a sentiment that was reinforced with
the slogan lifted from Camões´s epic poem Os Lusíadas (The Lusiads):
‘the whole earth is the fatherland of the mighty.’ The editorial team
comprised a director and editor, who changed over the duration of the
publication, but who were always drawn from the military and senior
colonial administration. When the Gazeta launched, its director was
Oliveira Tavares and Maximino Abranches was the editor; Abranches
later tookover as director. From issue 21, António Leite Magalhães
became director, with Joaquim Araújo as editor. Araújo remained in
this role until the publication closed, with José Veloso de Castro taking
over as director from issue 37. The formation of the editorial team was
organised in this way throughout the two years of the magazine’s exis­
tence, during which time the editors printed various editorials on behalf
of the publication, arguing sometimes against and sometimes in favour
of government measures. They were often critical of the excessive party
politicisation of colonial administration and life. In the very first issue,
the magazine published its manifesto in which it explained the aims and
areas of its activity:

Complex and numerous are the colonial problems in need of an urgent

solution. The promotion of the study and calm discussion of these
problems, guided solely by the national interest, is another aspect of
the purpose of the Gazeta das Colónias. With the mission outlined in
this way, which the magazine will seek to realise for the good not only
of our territorial domains, but also of our colonial populations, this
Gazette emerges, modest, as indeed it must be, but also strong in the
goodwill that is united around it, and imbued with faith in the destiny
of Portugal.36

Along similar lines to the earlier publications that have been discussed, the
Gazeta das Colónias asserted an editorial vision that was framed by the
implementation of a specific colonial model, the promulgation of which was
reinforced by a programme of publications and lectures. The publication
was organised by colonial territory. It had sections dedicated to colonial
history, health, and ethnology. They also considered making available an
educational section to offer a form of initiation for new colonisers. The edito­
rial teams sought to popularise colonial knowledge as a means of preparing
future colonists and supporting those already in the colonies. This notion
of creating local elites from within a population of European colonisers
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 173
and assimilated natives was based on the argument in favour of colonial
autonomy or independence that would be compensated for by privileged
financial and economic relations with the metropolis.
Following these principles, the magazine promised issues dedicated
to each of the colonies, with local contributors. A commemorative issue
on the centenary of Vasco da Gama’s voyage was published with the
participation of several Goan intellectuals. At the same time, and in a
move that reinforced the vision of earlier publications, the editorial team
of the Gazeta promised an extensive register of correspondents from the
metropolis and the colonies37 and stated an intention to promote the shar­
ing of ideas:

In order to open up a broader discussion of the varied and complex colo­

nial questions, and to stimulate strong currents of opinion favourable
to colonial interests of great import, the Gazeta das Colónias aims to
ensure a wide range of contributions, from the metropolis and from the
overseas provinces alike, and from all entities, and by all those entities
that best know the colonial issues and, for that reason, are best placed
to contribute to the study of them.38

The directors of the Gazeta considered it to be the best repository of

knowledge about the Portuguese overseas territories. As a consequence
of its rich human capital, they asserted that the magazine was the best-
placed organ for divulging that knowledge, as a means of ‘promoting our
colonisation, which is constantly being perfected, through the introduc­
tion of a greater scientific spirit in every area of colonial activity, whether
collective or individual.’39 Their propaganda was based on the various
doctrinal premises of the colonial models they defended, which cut across
all republican partisan groupings and which the promoters of the Gazeta
wanted to see debated. Their view was that democracy, far from signifying
stagnation, needed continual contestation and exchange of ideas in order
to grow and mature.

Only in this way, setting aside any dogmatic tendency that would impede
the selection of ideas and the diffusion of colonial knowledge that this
magazine aims to achieve, only by opening up issues to all manner of
discussion, debating them in as broad terms as are possible, and calmly
and with the sole intention of benefitting everybody, might strong cur­
rents of opinion be formed and judgments be reached, and as far as this
task falls to us, we will press for its realisation.40

An article by Barros Queirós41 on colonial debt, and which was published

in the first issue, provoked a response from Leite de Magalhães42 in the next
number. This exposition of divergent views achieved the desires of the edi­
torial team, which was quick to point out to readers that the first dialogue
174 Adelaide Vieira Machado
between opposing views had been established, thus providing democratic
debate:

In the previous issue, a discussion was started on some interesting prob­

lems, and that being done, as it was, with impeccable elevation and the
polished level of knowledge that are guaranteed by sincerity of inten­
tions and superior competence of our illustrious contributors, it must
lead to some useful conclusion.43

This exchange of ideas is of great importance for this discussion, because

between them, these two authors would shape the main colonial model that
was present in the Gazeta. Barros Queirós argued explicitly in favour of a
phased pathway to independence in the colonies. This would not be a federal
empire but rather independence with a continuing relationship based on
commercial and financial exchange: a commonwealth of reciprocal interests.

Every manifestation of progress in the civilisation and economy of the

colonies always provides further support for the basic idea of emancipa­
tion. The aspiration to emancipation from tutelage and to independence
constitutes an innate feeling in men, as it does also in communities. Only
morally degraded or physically and intellectually incapable men and
communities do not press for their political emancipation.44

Once this aspiration was accepted as a natural path, all that remained to be
explained was the route that it would take. The colony represented human­
ity in its infancy, and its objective would be to reach adulthood with its
concomitant maturity. The idea of continual progress that shaped positivist
philosophy of the epoch was applied to the history of the colony as a com­
munity, and the same perspective was applied to the differentiated levels of
its inhabitants, native or otherwise:

A colony, for a people worthy of this name, must be treated as children

are treated; it must be raised, educated, taught, its character shaped.
When the colonies, as our children, start to feel that they exist in their
own right; when they believe that they are capable of realising their
objective by their own efforts, they begin to think about and prepare
for their emancipation. At first, timidly, they demand the right to con­
tribute to the administration; when this first step is won, they demand
administrative autonomy; once that is achieved, they prepare for their
emancipation, their political freedom, their complete independence.45

These were the steps that had been taken by the colonial administration:
the promotion of social and economic development of the colonies and of
colonised peoples in order that they might gain their independence. From the
point of view of this republican line of thought with its basic infantilisation of
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 175
those who were colonised, it was hoped that the example and support of the
metropolis would enable the colonies to reach the level of maturity deemed
necessary by the colonisers for them to obtain, in the first instance, various
degrees of autonomy and eventually, complete political emancipation.

It is a social phenomenon that is often repeated and that will be repeated

for as long as there are people subjugated by others. As such, it is logical,
human, right, and inevitable that our great colonies, sooner or later, will
demand and obtain their independence. We need not be surprised by this
just ambition; we should expect it. It falls to us, then, to drive events
not only so that we may be the judges of when that aspiration is ready
to be realised, but so that it may be done under conditions that enable
the most cordial and friendly relations between the old metropolis and
the new country.46

They explicitly acknowledged the existence of subaltern peoples and, as a

natural consequence, the desire of those peoples for their freedom from a
situation of repression. On the other hand, the requirement that the metropo­
lis should decide on when and how that freedom would come about was reit­
erated. The author went further, requiring that there be an account of what
had been invested in the development of the colonies and that this be brought
to bear on all future relations, which in practice would create a situation of
unlimited dependency, and would aim to privilege the old metropolis in any
future, post-colonial economic relations. It would create an eternal debt.
The future director of the Gazeta, António Leite de Magalhães, who had
been formerly posted in Goa and afterwards governed Cuanza Sul (Angola),
wrote an open letter to the director which was published in the second issue
of the magazine. In it, he presented his rebuttal of these proposals:

Mr Barros Queirós starts by establishing the principle that nobody sen­

sible could overlook: the future emancipation of our great colonies as
a logical and inevitable consequence of their development and of their
rights. And, from this base, he suggests that there be a rigorous study
undertaken to determine what part of the Portuguese debt was used for
the benefit of the colonies in order that this may constitute the colonial
debt . . . In the illustrious author´s opinion, it is illogical that the hefty
expenses incurred by the metropolis in the colonies for works that pro­
duce riches be supported by us and the works used by them. This is a
problem that, I suppose, is entirely new, for I have never seen it debated
in the books on the issue that I read for my leisure, and as such it merits
a wide-ranging and profound discussion in order that its feasibility and
the advantages (or disadvantages) of its acceptance may be assessed.47

In the first instance, he employed the authority of Roberto Bruto da Costa,48

a Goan contributor to the magazine and Portuguese-Indian delegate to the
176 Adelaide Vieira Machado
Colonial Congress. In the debut of the periodical, this politician and journal­
ist had published an article explaining his position on the question of colo­
nial economic development policy.49 This post-colonial policy of maintaining
a relationship of external debt was not new, and as is well known, it was used
by all of the old colonial empires as a means of structuring a new type of
imperialism (neocolonialism) based on economic and financial dependency.
The former North-American colony would become the leader in using this
model after the two world wars.

There are weighty considerations which need to be brought to bear on

the doctrine of Mr. Barros Queirós, and several of these have already
been presented most intelligently, in the magazine Época (Epoch), on
the 23rd of the present month, by my friend the distinguished Indian
delegate to the Colonial Congress Mr Roberto Bruto da Costa, who
leapt to the defence of the colonies. And well do they merit his inter­
est, for, like the drover´s mules, there is no beast of burden onto which
the metropolis places its load without first taking into account the real
services that the mules offer. If only God would ordain those rigorous
accounts might be raised between Portugal and its domains, so that they
could serve as a useful lesson to all of us. As such it will be seen, then,
how our disgrace was the result exclusively of our follies. And perhaps
the colonies were the biggest victims of the madness in which, for many
centuries, we have been digging our own grave.50

He could not be clearer in defending the view that shared interests among
the colonial elite in both the metropolis and the colonies were necessary.
Furthermore, the historical arguments that generally served as evidence for
the international community in disputes over influential territories were
deployed here with a double meaning: first, as proof of the abuse inflicted
by the metropolitan economy through its protectionist laws and of the injus­
tices that those laws caused in colonial societies, contributing to the delayed
development towards political autonomy in the colonies; second, they pro­
vided evidence that a small number of parties always had to contend with
the mercantile interests of others. He identified A. Bordier´s Colonisation
Scientifique (Scientific Colonisation) as the true doctrine and one which he
could accept in good conscience:

It costs a lot to educate a child, and it brings little benefit; and the only
advantages which the father may expect from his son are the indirect
benefits that come to be felt when the child is grown, of his free develop­
ment and his free love.51

Such paternalism was at the root of every stage of growth that colonised
peoples had to go through. It was directly linked to a world view that under­
stood civilisation and progress as something continuous that would lead to
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 177
happiness. This paternalism was also the irrefutable basis of the superior­
ity of those who had achieved the highest level of development, according
to their self-defined criteria: ‘we must follow the constant flux of life, and
because that movement is one of progress we must move forward.’52
The Gazeta das Colónias emerged during the thirty-ninth constitutional
republican government, which was headed by Álvaro de Castro. Castro had
been a leader of the Partido Republicano Nacionalista (Nationalist Repub­
lican Party) until 15 December 1924. That party had been the result of a
merger of the Partido Republicano Liberal (Liberal Republican Party) with
the Partido Republicano de Reconstituição Nacional (Republican Party of
National Reconstitution). By the time he directed the government, Castro
was leader of the Grupo Parlamentar de Acção Republicana (Parliamentary
Group for Republican Action), a dissident group of members of parliament
and senators from the Partido Republicano Nacionalista. The first issue of
the Gazeta paid homage to President Manuel Teixeira Gomes, a moderate
from the Partido Republicano Democrático (Democratic Republican Party).
This issue also included a text by the Minister for the Colonies Mariano
Martins, who praised the appearance of the publication, which represented
the corresponding liberal and decentralising colonial model favoured by the
moderate wing of the political spectrum of the First Republic.
During the two years in which the magazine ran, there was great political
instability. The period saw nine different governments. There were successive
attempted coups by authoritarians, moderates, and radicals, demonstrat­
ing also that the Partido Republicano Português (Democrático) contained
numerous various factions, which in turn enabled a large number of alli­
ances and the constant presence of that party within all forms of power
during the Republic. The Gazeta das Colónias, in common with many repub­
licans, welcomed the military coup of 28 May 1926, and saw it as a sign
of hope for political peace in the country. The publication lasted for a few
months beyond the coup before it folded without explanation. With the end
of democracy, a deathly peace had truly arrived.
It was in the context of the final years of the military dictatorship and the
early years of the Estado Novo that the journal Portugal Colonial (Colo­
nial Portugal) was published between 1931 and 1937. This publication was
directed by Henrique Galvão53 and owned by the Empresa Portugal Colonial
(Colonial Portugal Company). Its subtitle was ‘monthly review of colonial
expansion and propaganda.’ Fonseca Ferreira was the editor-in-chief, and
António Pedro Muralha was the editor. It was pre-approved by the censors.
The manifesto written by Henrique Galvão was aligned to the new regime
and its colonial policy and called for national participation in, and propa­
ganda on, the colonial question.

Portugal Colonial is born, then, from this thought: to contribute as far

as it is able to do so, and with pure intentions, as far as they can be
realised, to the reestablishment of a colonial spirit. . . . In order to do so,
178 Adelaide Vieira Machado
it will seek to publicise the colonies, far from all inferior politics . . . and
to encourage the younger generations to meet the urgent need to recruit
colonial elites, rouse discussion and study the issues that are of interest
to the colonies, and to welcome and guide all sincere enthusiasm and all
good will committed . . . to our imperial mission.54

In September/October 1931, numbers 7 and 8 were published in French

to commemorate the colonial exhibition in Paris. This was an intellectual
journal with an ideological position, which disseminated and stimulated the
production of colonial literature. In that sense, it had abundant collabora­
tion from the political and literary intelligentsia who supported the regime.
The editorial team praised all legislation for the empire, which was brought
together in the Acto Colonial of 1930 and further formalised in the 1933
constitution (Article 132 of Section VII: The Portuguese Colonial Empire).
The publication also supported all of the centralising, hierarchising, and
segregating initiatives of the Reforma Administrativa Colonial (Colonial
Administrative Reform) and the Carta Orgânica Imperial (Imperial Organic
Charter) of 1933, which made all of the colonies subordinate to the eco­
nomic and political interests of the metropolis.

We would never be able to resolve entirely our economic problems, nor

frame them within the organisation that is imposed by the global crisis,
unless a higher superior organisation of the political and administrative
order establishes a mechanism such as that which the Carta Orgânica
and the Reforma Administrativa Ultramarina will put into practice.55

Armindo Monteiro is considered to have been one of the architects of the

Colonial Act. He gave his first interview as Minister for the Colonies to
Portugal Colonial. In 1934, Henrique Galvão left the management of the
periodical to take up a position of leadership in the ministry for the colonies
and to take charge of the organisation of the Colonial Exhibition in Oporto
in 1934. He was replaced on the journal by Álvaro dos Santos, although he
continued to participate in the publication with his monthly column, Crónica
do Mês, until it folded.
In the following section, I will contextualise the journal and the colonial
model that it favoured, which was framed within an idea of a centralised
authoritarian empire. The successive repetition of the initial manifesto in
Portugal Colonial provides a source and basis for an understanding of the
colonial model that is present throughout the publication.

Portugal, the fourth greatest colonial power in the world, and the first
in the richness of its colonial traditions, is a pioneer among colonisers,
the most perfect and balanced precursor to modern colonisation, and
the nation which has the purest and indisputable right to be at the head
of a great Empire with global borders, yet it strayed from the colonial
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 179
path in around 1820 with the first fevers of liberalism. All of the strong
connections that encouraged the small metropolitan territory and held
it together with its vast overseas possessions as the arteries and limbs of
a single body, began to be weakened.56

By situating the onset of the country’s moral and political decadence in the
liberal revolution, or rather, in the parliamentary system and the democratic
principle that the revolution installed, the editorial team and the journal’s
patrons aligned themselves with European political positions that favoured
authoritarian, anti-liberal, and anti-democratic regimes such as integralism,
fascism, and Nazism. The application of an exclusivist and authoritarian
nationalism to the colonial empire would result in a kind of mission, which,
after all, had always been the mission of the Portuguese people up to the
progressive perversion of that ideal under liberalism and democracy.

And the nation, almost disjointed, has forgotten that there was an aban­
doned continental territory, an even more abandoned extra-continental
empire immersed in African stagnation, a glorious past of liberating
and civilising heroism to be honoured, a notable spiritual heritage of
language, culture, and Christian wisdom to defend and to maintain, and
above all, it forgot that there were six million men – six million souls
who needed to live, not demeaned to a servile condition in a colony of
half-castes, but brought up again to the normal level of European men.57

He could not have been more explicit about who should assume leadership
of the colonies: the non-miscegenated, European population. Colonisation
formed part of Western cultural and political heritage: the only heritage
capable of perpetuating the principles that should rule and steer the Por­
tuguese empire, now free of the regime that had led it to ideals that were
incompatible with the new order. The coloniais of the era of liberalism had
failed to execute their mission of uniting the nation in defence of its empire.58
By contrast, the Acto Colonial established colonisation as part of the essence
of the Portuguese people, giving them an existential purpose that maintained
the nation as a single whole, indivisible from its overseas territories. In his
view, only the Estado Novo could fulfil this mission.

So, we do not believe, nor do we judge it possible, that Portugal will

realise the great colonial undertaking that constitutes its highest mission
among the peoples of the world, unless the impulse that must produce
it has a solid foundation in a national consciousness that is certain of its
necessity, its importance, and its great interest for all the Portuguese. In
a word: it is necessary for Portugal to take up once more, in the realms
of politics, morals, and economics, that which it so brilliantly resumed
in military terms, the colonial spirit, which was lost with the dawning
of the last century. There cannot be a mere group of coloniais. Rather,
180 Adelaide Vieira Machado
all Portuguese must be colonialists, fully aware of the mission that their
country has to accomplish. And those who are in the colonies must be
so just as much as those who live their lives in the metropolis!59

The empire and the dictatorship that intended to sustain it were defined in
these terms in Portugal Colonial. The journal closed with number 72 of Janu­
ary/February 1937, with no formal explanation. However, the publication
had served to support the ministry for the colonies, and in 1937, Salazar
distanced the Anglophile Armindo Monteiro from government, appointing
him as the Ambassador in London in the period that saw the onset of events
that would lead to the Second World War. In the editorial of the final issue,
we read:

This was the work that we achieved in six years – our modest contribu­
tion to the common good. And although others may come to destroy
what we sought to build, that will not efface the influence we have had
up to now.

O Mundo Português (The Portuguese World), a state publication financed by

the Agência Geral das Colónias (General Agency of the Colonies) remained
as the sole defender of the empire.

Conclusion
In the period discussed in this article, the work of groups and movements and
of the intellectuals attached to them, as presented in manifestos, periodicals,
and editorial policies, defined a new means of engagement with politics by
non-partisan groups. In these publications, a panoply of perspectives was laid
bare which enabled this investigation of the principal features of a republican
democratic model that sought to be a part of Portuguese colonial spaces and
enrich them with ongoing debate. The attempt at democracy in the early
twentieth century brought with it two foundational features that did not
only define it but also emanated from it, thus legitimising political power: the
sovereignty of the people and equality, in all of their necessary articulations
that nevertheless were capable of provoking tension in relation to race, class,
and gender. The absence of democracy in the period that followed further
heightened those tensions, creating opposition and resistance that, ultimately,
led to the questioning and rejection of previous colonial models.
The analysis of the four cases chosen here has revealed the existence of
the so-called colonial group or party, which addressed the colonial ques­
tion in a manner that cut across partisan and independent lines. As such, it
enabled certain improbable alliances around a question that was deemed to
be in the national interest. This group was composed of state politicians and
parliamentarians, military officers, colonial functionaries, and some capital­
ists and businessmen, who came together around these periodicals along
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 181
with associations such as the União Colonial, the Agência Colonial, and the
Empresa Portugal Colonial and the Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa (Lis­
bon Society of Geography) and the Escola Superior Colonial. The intellectual
position was one of political intervention through lectures, essays, and colo­
nial literature, in which, on the one hand, they argued for the dissemination
of colonial knowledge and its popularisation among possible future colonial­
ists with a view to increasing the number of Europeans in the colonies; on
the other, they aspired to direct information outlets and partnerships with
the target audience of the colonial elite in order to construct a unified public
sphere. The defence of the benevolence of Portuguese colonisation in the face
of foreign colonial powers and empires was another constant feature that the
magazines selected had in common.
There is a significant difference between the first three periodicals and
the last one in terms of the context in which they were published and the
colonial models that they favoured. While they all worked within a different
framework, the publications of the First Republic all had as their starting
point the view that civilisation and progress would inevitably lead to federal
situations of autonomy, with varying degrees of dependency or supported
independence. The existence of a colonial elite constituted by Europeans
and natives was a precondition for the progress of each colony towards
its phased autonomy and independence. Paradoxically, the protective figure
of the high commissioner was another attempt at phased decentralisation.
The speaker embodied metropolitan power and was intended to speed up
the decisions taken in each colony without the need for them to be passed
by the metropolitan centre of power. I have sought in this chapter to avoid
presenting rigid categories that, while they may help, can never represent
fully the rich complexity of the period. Nonetheless, this chapter makes clear
that the unified, decentralising model of state power gained support from the
majority of republicans, who tended to favour this colonial model of liberal
democracy. That model, however, would be viable only if administrative and
financial autonomy would also lead to political and economic autonomy.
If open debate and freedom of expression were the driving force behind a
democracy that would otherwise stagnate, then the political instability of the
First Republic, stoked as it was by power games and successive coups d’état,
demonstrates that this field remains significantly under-researched. Through
this study of periodicals and the governmental contexts in which they were
published, it has been possible to identify several attempts to forge alle­
giances between independents and partisans. On the other hand, the appar­
ent political hegemony of the Partido Republicano Português (Democrático)
ultimately reveals a party at the forefront of politics yet with diverse internal
wings, each one radical or moderate to a different degree. These factions
justify and reveal their substantial ability to create multiple alliances and for
the party to remain always close to power, although it should be clear that
it was not always the same Partido Republicano Português that occupied or
shared that space.
182 Adelaide Vieira Machado
It is no less important for the study of the colonial question in this period
that these publications remained silent on a series of events that established
several alternatives to the dominant colonial model: Pan-Africanism, the
1923 Congress, and Afro-Asian solidarities that also touched Lisbon. Some
members of the native colonial elite, who studied and worked in the metrop­
olis, produced their own press vehicle that existed at least until the start
of the 1930s. A study by Ângela Coutinho60 reveals sympathies in those
publications for all of the aforementioned movements that press dialogued
more easily with newspapers such as the anarcho-syndicalist A Batalha (The
Battle),61 with its class-based perspective than with the representatives and
agents of the republican colonial magazines.
Finally, the support of Portugal Colonial for the military dictatorship and
the Estado Novo and for the legislation that these regimes brought in, reflected
the journal’s defence of an organic, centralised, and segregating empire in
which the colonies and colonised peoples were permanently subordinated to
the metropolis and its people. The administrative and military reform gave
preference to functionaries from Europe and put an end to officials from the
colonies themselves. The closure of spaces for debate between the centre and
periphery that had been opened up by localised power and the end of the free
press that had enabled the colonial elites to participate critically in political
decision-making would lead progressively to the creation of a network of
opposition and resistance that would cut across the whole empire.

Notes
* Researcher at CHAM – Centro de Humanidades, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais
e Humanas, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa, 1069–061 Lisboa.
1. Manifestos, Estatutos e Programas Republicanos Portugueses (1873–1926),
coord. by Ernesto Castro Leal (Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional-Casa da Moeda,
2014).
2. The region that linked Angola on the west coast with Mozambique on the east
coast of the continent, equivalent today to Zambia, Zimbabwe, and Malawi.
3. On the nature and context of the idea of colonial federations, see Frederick Coo­
per, Citizenship between Empire and Nation (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton
University Press, 2014), 1–26.
4. Maria Cândida Proença, A Questão Colonial no Parlamento (1910–1926) (Lis­
bon: Assembleia da República, Dom Quixote, 2008).
5. Ernesto Castro Leal, Partidos e Programas: o campo partidário republicano por­
tuguês (1910–1926) (Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2008).
http://dx.doi.org/10.14195/978-989-26-0458-9
6.
The Government understands that it is necessary to define colonial policy in
such a way that it produces a harmonious whole. The colonies cannot live
apart from the metropolis. But evidently, in order to fulfil this function, the
Government must define a colonial policy that cannot be the policy of any
one party, but rather a policy of the regime in relation to the colonies, and
until now, such a policy has not been defined.
Discourse of Ginestal Machado at the Parliament, on 20 November 1923,
apud Proença, A Questão Colonial no Parlamento (1910–1926), 12.
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 183
7. Ernesto Castro Leal, “A Ideia Federal no Republicanismo Português (1910–
1926),” Revista de História das Ideias, 27 (2006): 251–291.
8. Adelaide Vieira Machado, “A Goan Reading of the Cultural Impact of the Colo­
nial Act: Introducing Intellectuals and Periodic Press through the Anglo-Lusitano
of July 7 1934,” Revista de História das Ideias, 38 (2020): 119–153.
9. Adelaide Vieira Machado, “Os Intelectuais e a cultura democrática: A Vida Por­
tuguesa (1912–1915),” in Suportes e Mediadores: A Circulação Transatlântica
dos Impressos (1789–1914), vol. 2 (Campinas: Unicamp, 2018), 201–236.
10. José Pinto de Macedo (1878–1948) had just founded the Partido Republicano
Radical (Radical Republican Party). He sat on the Colonial Commission of the
Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa (Lisbon Geographic Society) and in 1911, he
was a founding member of the União Colonial, along with Freire d’Andrade,
Norton de Matos, Leote do Rego, Ernesto Vilhena, Pires Avelanoso, and Loureiro
da Fonseca, among others.
11. José Norton de Matos (1867–1955), republican, democrat, and opposer of the
dictatorial Estado Novo regime.
12. Norton de Matos, “Política Colonial,” Revista Colonial, no. 1, 15 April 1912, 6.
13. Ibid.
14. ‘Léon Archimbaud, who, in June 1928, wrote La Plus Grande France in order
‘to place within reach of all the French the knowledge necessary to form a
mentality, a mindset of the type that made the British Empire great,’ affirmed
with much optimism on 31 July 1929: ‘We are starting, like England two cen­
turies before us, to think imperially.’ Charles-Robert Ageron, “Les colonies
devant l’opinion publique française (1919–1939),” Revue française d’histoire
d’outremer, 77, no. 286, 1st trimester (1990): 31–73. www.persee.fr/doc/
outre_0300-9513_1990_num_77_286_2759.
15. Immediately after the installation of the republic, the Republican Centre of
Luanda was approved, transposing the previous debate, which had led to the
aforementioned Partido Republicano Português’ manifesto and which united
federalist and socialist republicans in their support for autonomies and for the
construction of a federation with a democratic structure and way of working.
A pamphlet for the party’s political programme observed that the proclamation
of the existence of a Partido Colonial Republicano (Republican Colonial Party)
was ‘read, discussed, and approved in the federal assembly of members of the
Eduardo da Costa Military Centre, on the night of 23 December 1910’ and
that the autonomy of the African colony was declared: ‘the supreme aspiration
of this party is that the Portuguese Republic, in accordance with its manifesto,
decrees that the province of Angola shall have its own government, modelled on
the present programme’ (Programa do Partido Republicano Colonial – Hem­
eroteca Digital – Programa do Partido Republicano Colonial (cm-lisboa.pt)). A
manifesto and autonomous government structure followed, which caused great
consternation and indignation among metropolitan republicans, who responded
by making an alternative constitutional solution that was better adapted to the
international context and to the empire as a whole and that was formalised in
the constitution of 1911.
16. Matos, “Política Colonial”.
17.
The problem of education has not been forgotten either, the government has
granted free passage for students on the railways and will establish a school
in the region as long as there are at least 15 children within a radius of two
or three miles. The cost per child of education is 4.10 pounds per year, and
where one or two families, or three that are close together and out of the
catchment area of a school get together and present a group of ten children,
the schools department must provide an official teacher . . . There is a great
184 Adelaide Vieira Machado
deal that is of interest in what we have stated here. Well might we establish
between us propaganda agencies, with minimal expense, by drawing on the
services of primary teachers and mobile schools, in order methodically to
prepare nucleuses of colonisation in the different colonies, according to the
principles of scientific colonisation.
J. Montalvão Silva, “A colonização nos tempos modernos,”
Revista Colonial, no. 1, 15 April 1912, 3.

18. Matos, “Política Colonial”.

19. 1910 Manifesto of the Partido Republicano Colonial in Luanda http://
hemerotecadigital.cm-lisboa.pt/RaridadesBibliograficas/ProgramaPRC/Programa
PRC_item1/index.html.
20. Leal, “A Ideia Federal no Republicanismo Português (1910–1926)”.
21. Matos, “Política Colonial”.
22. Ibid., 7.
23. João Lopes Carneiro de Moura (1868–1944), lawyer, historian, publicist, and
teacher.
24.
Proper nations have colonies, as naturally as individuals are subject to the
law of the propagation of the species through parenthood. The old notion
of the colonial system of subjection is finished. The colonies are not made
‘by the metropolis and for the metropolis,’ as they used to say. The colonies
are the daughters of the motherland, and as such, they have the right to the
protection of the metropolis as a means of providing them with civilisation,
grandeur and independence.
Carneiro de Moura, A Administração Colonial Portuguesa
(Lisbon: Imprensa Nacional, 1910), 10.

25. With an interruption of nine months in 1920–21.

26. “Agência Colonial,” Revista Colonial, no. 1, 25 January 1913, 37 (1).
27. “Trabalho-editorial,” Revista Colonial, no. 1, 25 January 1913, 1.
28. Sixth and Seventh Republican Governments, February to December 1914.
29. E. de Sousa Monteiro, “Legislação Colonial,” Revista Colonial, no. 1, 25 January
1913, 2.
30. In practice, all of the so-called indígenas (native people) who were not Europe­
anised would be excluded. Nevertheless, the republican parliament had refused
to include in the text of the constitution and in legislation even the mention of
the figure of the indigenous person. Proença, A Questão Colonial no Parlamento
(1910–1926).
31. Monteiro, “Legislação Colonial”.
32. Ibid., 3.
33. Ibid.
34. Ibid.
35. Ibid.
36. “A Missão Que Nos Impomos-Editorial,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 1, 19 June
1924, 4.
37. Ibid.
38. “Colaboração,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 1, 19 June 1924, 2.
39. “Secções,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 1, 19 June 1924, 3.
40. “A Caminho . . .-editorial,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 3, 17 July 1924, 3.
41. Tomé de Barros Queirós (1872–1926), businessman, capitalist, politician, and
statesman of the First Republic.
42. António Leite de Magalhães, army Major, journalist, Governor of Guinea-Bissau
(1927–31).
 Portuguese colonial agents and models 185
43. “A Caminho . . .-editorial”.
44. “A Missão Que Nos Impomos-editorial,” 4.
45. Ibid.
46. Barros Queirós, “Dívidas Coloniais,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 1, 19 June 1924, 5.
47. A. Leite de Magalhães, “Dívidas coloniais,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 2, 10 July
1924, 4.
48. Roberto Bruto da Costa and Luís Bragança Meneses were Goan intellectuals and
writers, who came to Lisbon as representatives of Goa at the Colonial Congress
and were on the list of contributors to the Gazeta. Both participated actively and
critically as journalists in the republican debate on the autonomy of the colonies.
They opposed the Estado Novo dictatorship and fought against the stipula­
tions in the Colonial Act, which put an end to the discussion and possibility of
autonomy and independence for the colonies.
49. Roberto Bruto da Costa, “A Rupia e o Escudo: prejuízos para o tesouro da Índia
consequentes da fixação arbitrária do valor real da rupia – Funcionários na
miséria,” Gazeta das Colónias, no. 1, 19 June 1924, 20–21.
50. Ibid.
51. Magalhães, “Dívidas coloniais”.
52. “A Missão Que Nos Impomos-Editorial”.
53. Henrique Galvão (1895–1970), army official, journalist, and writer. He initially
supported the Estado Novo and later joined the opposition.
54. Henrique Galvão, “Uma Apresentação-editorial,” Portugal Colonial, no. 1,
March 1931, 1.
55. “Dois diplomas importantíssimos: A Carta Orgânica do Império, A Reforma
Administrativa Ultramarina,” Portugal Colonial, no. 33, November 1933, 3.
56. Galvão, “Uma Apresentação-editorial”.
57. Ibid.
58.
And all it did was form yet another class – that of the coloniais – in this group,
composed not only of those who could understand the idea and feeling that
circumstances had led them to embody, but also everyone and anyone who
had been to Africa and back, so that there remained a very limited section of
the population, in formless and miscellaneous walks of life, who were entirely
devoid of a colonial mind-set.
Ibid., 2.

59. Ibid.
60. Ângela Coutinho, Os Dirigentes do PAIGC (Lisbon: Universidade de Coimbra,
2017). Mário Pinto de Andrade was the first to make a survey of this press in
the work. Origens do Nacionalismo Africano: continuidade e rutura nos movi­
mentos unitários emergentes da luta contra a dominação colonial portuguesa:
1911–1961 (Lisbon: D. Quixote, 1997). See also Pedro Varela and José Augusto
Pereira, “As Origens do Movimento Negro em Portugal (1911–1933): uma gera­
ção Pan-africanista e antirracista,” Revista de História (São Paulo) n. 179 (2020):
1–36.
61. Leal, “A Ideia Federal no Republicanismo Português (1910–1926)”.
9 Africa in the Jornal da Europa*
Sérgio Neto

Introduction
Despite its ideals of freedom and equality, the First Republic (1910–1926)
let down the black and mixed-race colonial elites, who expected to be more
involved in governing the affairs of their birthplace. The republican attempt
to decentralise and develop the colonies was also affected by the First World
War and by the lack of investment capital. Moreover, colonial landowners
reacted against the attempts made by José Norton de Matos (1867–1955),
governor of Angola between 1912 and 1915, to ‘effectively abolish slavery’,
that is, to end forced labour.1
Having returned to Angola after the war as high commissioner, Norton de
Matos launched an ambitious development project (1921–1924), which pro­
vided for the expansion of the road and rail networks and for accommodat­
ing the settlers from Portuguese villages. At the same time, the construction
of schools and the aim to extend education to the Angolan natives should
have laid the foundations for a capitalist economy. The ‘native’ would move
on from being ‘a recruited worker to being a landowner and rural farmer’.
In his own words, ‘agriculture would lead to industry; the increase in agri­
cultural products would lead to industrial production and would increase
and strengthen trade’.2
Yet, Norton de Matos’s project failed, with much criticism falling on his
spending. The military dictatorship (1926–1932) gave rise to the authoritar­
ian and nationalist Estado Novo (New State) regime (1933–1974), which
imposed tight control on investments at least until the 1960s, averse to bor­
rowing from overseas in the name of economic nationalism. Moreover, it
put much emphasis on a centralising governance model and well-structured
propaganda machine.3
The periodical publications from the mid-1920s to the early 1930s are a
useful source on the confrontation between the reality and myth. Informative
and militant, these newspapers and magazines strove to broaden the limited
space often given to the news about the colonies in the general Portuguese
press. There was little innovation as to how they conveyed their purposes. In
general, they were aimed at a very specific audience: businessmen, colonial

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-12

 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 187

officials, settlers and potential settlers and the authorities. While they pub­
lished tables and data on the economic wealth of the overseas territories
and tried to attract the potential settler and businessman, they nevertheless
neglected the art of attraction through culture and literature, despite a few
pages on literary and cultural themes.
The second series of the newspaper Jornal da Europa (Newspaper of
Europe) was an exception. In its first phase (1920–1926), the Jornal da
Europa had a column called O Problema Colonial (The Colonial Problem).
In 1923–1924, during the crisis that drove Norton de Matos away from
Angola, this newspaper supported him and the number of articles on colonial
subjects increased. But, in general, from 1922, the newspaper highlighted
articles on the cities and regions of mainland Portugal, almost forgetting the
colonial issue.
Jornal da Europa began a new phase (second series) in December 1927.
Although its articles on the economy took up a lot of pages, other topics such
as the culture of the ‘natives’, the scenic beauty of the territories, travel expe­
riences and the romanticised everyday hardships endured by settlers tended
to take up a significant share thereof. This approach anticipated what the
Estado Novo would promote in publications such as O Mundo Português
(The Portuguese World). In fact, Jornal da Europa combined literature and
propaganda to attract readers. Using beautiful photographs and expressive
illustrations, it tried to portray a visual image close to that of commemora­
tive events and cultural exhibitions of the Estado Novo.4
With this in mind, this chapter will seek to outline the path and describe
the role of the newspaper Jornal da Europa in Portuguese colonial journalism
and propaganda as a case study (comparing the first and second series) of
a newspaper soon co-opted by the Estado Novo and its mechanisms linked
to the Agência Geral das Colónias (General Agency of the Colonies, hereaf­
ter AGC) and to the Secretariado da Propaganda Nacional (Secretariat for
National Propaganda). In addition, it will also try to find some ideological
nuances among its collaborators and understand the features that defined
its original twist from the first to the second series. Finally, this chapter will
underline the major issues that defined the colonial debate of those years.

The press at the service of the Portuguese colonial cause

Especially in the last 20 years, a series of works has attempted to study and
chart the Portuguese periodicals of the twentieth century. For instance, in
2006, the researcher Mário Matos e Lemos drew up a dictionary with a
brief description of all the daily newspapers, although he did not include the
colonies’ newspapers. On his part, in 1998, João Nobre de Oliveira analysed
all the press in Cape Verde until the independence of that archipelago in
1975. In his words, it was to create ‘a list of existing periodicals . . . to put
the reader in touch with the problems of the time, as well as the journalists
who addressed the most worrying issues of their time’.5 Also, Ilídio Rocha,
188 Sérgio Neto
who in the 1980s had already written about journalism in Mozambique
from colonial times, published a study on the same subject in 2000. Finally,
in 2019, Isadora de Ataíde Oliveira made a long-term analysis of the press
in Portuguese Africa, highlighting all the territories then colonized by the
Lisbon government. The state of the press outlined by this author in the first
part of the book is particularly interesting and detailed.6
According to these authors, it can be said that the establishment of the
Republic encouraged the local elites, not least because almost all the repub­
lican parties advocated decentralisation. Obviously, the journalistic picture
differed in each of the African colonies. For instance, in the archipelago of
Cape Verde, where there was a mixed population with a strong civic involve­
ment dating back to the second half of the nineteenth century, the ideal of
freedom of the Republic encouraged the emergence of more newspapers. The
debate about Portugal’s hypothetical concession of the adjacency (decen­
tralisation), as well as blaming the colonial authorities for the archipelago’s
economic difficulties, was notorious.
In Guinea, where the elites were weaker and the number of settlers less,
the press was scarce and ephemeral. The cases of Angola and Mozambique
are more complex. Let us look at Angola, where two groups, local elites
and white landlords, owned newspapers. Although both advocated greater
autonomy, the truth is that they had different world views. The local elites
lost importance throughout the 1920s. Norton de Matos, suspecting sedi­
tion, closed Angola’s newspapers.
As for the colonial newspapers published in Portugal, which included the
Jornal da Europa, a more detailed analysis must be made. Although a wealth
of periodical information on colonial affairs was published in the late years
of the First Republic and during the military dictatorship period, almost all
were ephemeral. The specific nature of the editorial line of these newspapers
and magazines is likely to have curbed their survival. In a country marked
by illiteracy and the physical and ‘psychological’ distance of the colonies,
it is clear that one of the main challenges lay in the lack of readers. These
periodicals, therefore, chose to either target the readers of a specific colony –
usually Angola or Mozambique – , or highlighted colonial commemorations,
exhibitions and trade fairs, whilst at the same time they published photos,
images and eye-catching designs. A third alternative was to combine these
two editorial lines or include articles on other topics. Almost all these pub­
lications were born in connection with colonial associations of merchants,
farmers or colonialist politicians.
In fact, in the early twentieth century the Boletim do Centro Colonial de
Lisboa (Bulletin of the Colonial Centre of Lisbon, 1909–1919) adopted the
first approach, which was to defend the ‘interests related to the farming,
commercial and industrial activities of the Portuguese colonies’, especially
of the archipelago of S. Tomé e Príncipe and of Angola. This is understand­
able, seeing that the main source of bickering at the Centro Colonial de
Lisboa – founded in 1899 by ‘West-African farmers, landowners, tradesmen
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 189
and industrialists’7 – were the English accusations regarding the near-slave
labour allowed on the cocoa plantations of S. Tomé e Príncipe. The situation
had been investigated by the chocolatier William Cadbury (1867–1957) in
response to the claim that he purchased cocoa from Portuguese cocoa planta­
tion owners whose workers laboured under such conditions. Cadbury took
it upon himself to visit Angola and S. Tomé e Príncipe in October 1908, on
behalf of the other British chocolate industrialists, at the end of which visit
he drafted a report that was translated into Portuguese in 1910. It should
be added that the companies and the British public opinion had, since 1901,
already been putting pressure on the Portuguese government to change ‘the
unsatisfactory labour conditions on the cocoa plantations in the Portuguese
African colonies, as there were some vague rumours going around’.8 One
of the main people involved in this bickering, plantation owner Francisco
Mantero (1853–1928), tried to refute the accusations made by Cadbury, stat­
ing that the British humanitarian concerns were masking the real reason –
commercial advantage. Some of the articles he published in the Boletim do
Centro Colonial de Lisboa were later collected in a book.9
Other periodicals of associations, such as the Liga Naval Portuguesa (Por­
tuguese Naval League) and the Associação Colonial (Colonial Association),
flourished in the first decades of the twentieth century. The Boletim Ofi­
cial da Liga Naval Portuguesa (Official Bulletin of the Portuguese Naval
League, 1902–1904), later renamed Boletim Marítimo da Liga Naval Por­
tuguesa (Maritime Bulletin of the Portuguese Naval League, 1905–1913),
was directed by the former governor of Mozambique Jaime Serpa Pimentel
(1855–1923) and promoted the maritime interests of the colonies. But, as
could be expected, it put greater emphasis on the navy rather than on the
colonies, with a view to comparing it with other European navies, underlin­
ing the difficulties of the Portuguese navy guaranteeing the protection of and
connection to the overseas territories.
The Associação Colonial, in turn, tried to make a ‘patriotic attempt’ to
‘fill a gap’,10 from early 1911 onwards, writing about ‘colonisation in mod­
ern times’. Norton de Matos was the Colonial Association’s vice-president.
However, this association was hardly relevant, having published no more
than six issues of Revista Colonial (Colonial Magazine) between April and
July 1912. The latter date coincided with the departure of Norton de Matos
to Angola, which would have certainly left its magazine and the association
itself without its most enthusiastic collaborator, even though the association’s
activities continued. On the other hand, the last issue of the magazine, as the
editorial board itself admitted, ‘although the colonies accepted the magazine
in a somewhat flattering way, the magazine does not yet meet the purposes
originally proposed’.11
Norton de Matos was a member of the editorial board and set the theme
and the programme which aimed to show the ‘territorial area of our over­
seas domains’ in the best possible light. That is, ‘constantly harping on the
same idea in many ways’ – in what was a concise example of propaganda.
190 Sérgio Neto
In general, the arguments given were not far from what he had already
written in this respect, with the emphasis on an imperialistic faith and the
‘trust in the fate of the nation’, predestined to perform ‘a great mission’ in
‘contemporary history’.12
In 1913, under the direction of Sousa Ribeiro (1855–1923), a new Revista
Colonial appeared, edited by the Agência Colonial (Colonial Agency) with,
among others, mining interests. Until its closing, the magazine discussed the
German interest in Portuguese colonies, the First World War, companies and
economy, health and transportation, some ethnographic impressions and
the ‘natives’ education, with a social darwinist approach.13 This monthly
magazine, considering the relevance of the news, kept chronicles about each
one of the colonies.
In 1924, the ministry of the colonies created the Agência Geral das Coló­
nias, mirroring the French Agence Générale des Colonies, an organisation
that transitioned to control by the military dictatorship and the New State
regime. Its initial activity comprised four sectors: legal and commercial
representation of the government and other colonial entities; news agency;
propaganda and publicity and publication of a bulletin, the Boletim da
Agência-Geral das Colónias. In the words of the agricultural engineer and
historian Armando Cortesão (1891–1977), its first director, the AGC should
promote the ‘propaganda of our actions and value as a colonising people
with vast resources of energy, skills and progressive spirit combined in an
effective manner’.14 From 1926 until 1974, the year of Estado Novo’s fall,
the AGC organised a colonial literature contest that we will discuss later.
The strategy of other periodicals, for example, Luso Colonial (1927–
1929), was to combine news about daily life in the colonies, some apologetic
articles and, from time to time, cultural news, such as the travels to Asia
of the sixteenth-century poet Luís Vaz de Camões (c. 1524–1580) or the
complex issue of the Portuguese relations with the Holy See in the East. It
should be added that this newspaper was directed by José Frederico Ferreira
Martins (1874–1960), a Lusodescendant from Goa, with significant intellec­
tual intervention, inside and outside Goa. In its opening lines, after extolling
the supposedly benevolent relations of the Portuguese with the ‘natives’, a
decisive element in the propaganda of Portuguese colonialism, it cautioned
against ‘the formidable greed’ and ‘endless ambitions’ of foreign powers ‘con­
cerning the heritage that is our duty to transmit to our children’.15 That is,
these words echoed the fears felt since the late nineteenth century and also
the negotiations between Germany and England before the First World War
broke out, which aimed at seizing the Portuguese colonies. An article by
Alfredo Freire de Andrade (1859–1929), former governor of Mozambique,
discussed decentralisation. He stated that ‘our experience of colonial decen­
tralisation has already given clear evidence of the results and advantages that
its application brings. But no one can deny the evidence that the experience
has cost the mainland huge amounts of money’.16 In this sense, even without
mentioning it, his words were critical of Norton de Matos.
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 191
The periodical Portugal Colonial (Colonial Portugal) was launched in
1931, directed by Henrique Galvão (1895–1970) and was published until
1936. It received input from colonial individuals who supported the military
dictatorship and, later, Estado Novo. Committed to addressing ‘economic,
commercial, agricultural, industrial and financial affairs . . . in the entire
colonial world’,17 the periodical remained faithful to the ideals of its director
and gave priority to the social and economic problems in Angola. Henrique
Galvão, who became from the 1950s one of the main opponents of Salazar’s
regime, was appointed director of the magazine Ultramar in 1934, the offi­
cial mouthpiece of the Exposição Colonial Portuguesa (Portuguese Colonial
Exhibition) in Porto, which was probably the first major propagandistic
presentation of the Estado Novo regime.
Finally, we should mention the magazine O Mundo Português, which was
first published in 1934, the year of the Exposição Colonial Portuguesa, and
continued to be published until 1947. One of its preferred target audiences
was young people; it was distributed in schools and promoted literature
competitions and trips to the colonies. It also featured in-depth doctrinaire
articles aimed at the colonial elite and short stories and novels, literature
compilations from each of the colonies, poems and ethnographic essays, in
what seemed to be a continuation of the Jornal da Europa’s editorial line.
The hundreds of pages published by O Mundo Português between 1934 and
1947 illustrate the ‘imperial mystique’, one of the topical points of Salazar’s
regime during the 1930s and 1940s. Moreover, they make up a full demon­
stration of the ‘policy of the spirit’ initiated by the recently created Secretari­
ado da Propaganda Nacional, another backbone of Estado Novo.18
Regarding the expression of ‘imperial mystique’, this was defined in a book
with the same name, by Alves de Azevedo, as: ‘a heroic appetite for action . . .
that, above all, requires that everything that has been done or achieved must
be wholly maintained’.19 The concept, which brings together two words that
bear considerable emotion – one from the religious lexicon and the other that
suggests a hypothetical political and territorial supremacy – , confirmed the
new mind-set of the ruling power in relation to its overseas assets, concerning
the increasing administrative centralisation and the strengthening of imperial
economic integration.
In any case, O Mundo Português sought to create a paternalistic literature.
On the one hand, most of the narratives were aimed at young people, so
they evoked the achievements of national ‘heroes’ who could serve as mod­
els. The exalted ‘virtues’ were humility, courage, determination and a spirit
of sacrifice. They were, therefore, qualities necessary, in the present, for the
potential settler who wished to succeed in the overseas territories. In short,
the white man’s burden.
However, O Mundo Português published another type of text, then mar­
ginal in the atmosphere of social darwinism in the 1930s and 1940s, but
which from the 1950s would become the trademark of colonial propaganda.
Most of these texts belonged to José Osório de Oliveira (1900–1964), a
192 Sérgio Neto
Luso-Brazilian writer who began to spread the Brazilian sociologist Gil­
berto Freyre’s (1900–1987) praiseworthy ideas about Portuguese colonisa­
tion in Brazil, with great emphasis on miscegenation. Ultimately, it was in
this melting pot of ideas, apparently contrary to each other, that the literary
style of Osório de Oliveira, Gilberto Freyre, Julião Quintinha, Carlos Selva­
gem (1890–1973) and Augusto Casimiro (1889–1967) outlined a transition
between the propaganda of the First Republic and that of the Estado Novo
regime.

The first phase of Jornal da Europa

The Jornal da Europa appeared in April 1920 with the subtitle Portugal,
Colónias e Brasil. At the top of the first page an illustration symbolised the
past and the present of this Atlantic connection: two modern ships were
shown sailing between the allegories of Portugal and Brazil and sailors from
the Age of the Discoveries. The newspaper was a fortnightly publication.
Its first director was the writer and journalist Armando Ferreira (1893–
1968). The playwriter Júlio Dantas (1876–1962), the economist and writer
Anselmo de Andrade (1844–1928), the poet and pedagogue João de Bar­
ros (1881–1960) and the vice-admiral and explorer Ernesto de Vasconcelos
(1852–1930) were announced as collaborators. However, as was usual at
the time, these important figures were used to attract readers, but they rarely
participated in the newspaper.
In fact, of these, only Vice-Admiral Ernesto de Vasconcelos, secretary of
the Lisbon Geographical Society, had the column Problema Colonial in the
early years of the newspaper. In accordance with republican principles, Vas­
concelos argued for decentralisation. Not only did he welcome the creation,
after the First World War, of the high commissioner’s office to rapidly develop
Angola and Mozambique20 as ‘new Lusitânias’,21 but he also supported some
views of the high commissioner of Angola Norton de Matos, that is, the
‘the colonisation with colonists’ through land concessions.22 However, Vas­
concelos disagreed with Norton on an essential matter, since he rejected the
centralisation of everything in the figure of the high commissioner.23
In 1922, the editor and publicist Estêvão de Carvalho (1881–1935) became
director of Jornal da Europa. In 1923, direction was to be transferred to
Mário Monteiro. As might be expected, these changes affected the editorial
line, especially at the expense of the colonial themes. The exception was the
subject of Norton de Matos in mid- and late 1923. In fact, his development
policy, supported by loans, had been dividing settlers, trade associations and
political parties. Jornal da Europa supported the high commissioner, praising
the ‘colonial rebirth’ as well as the ‘Angola achievements’ (construction of
ports, public buildings, train stations, roads, schools, houses and incentives
in livestock and agriculture). In October 1923, Norton de Matos himself
was interviewed and stated that he was carving out a ‘New Angola’ as ‘an
extension of the country’s territory’.24
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 193
The removal of Angola’s high commissioner, during a serious financial
crisis, launched an intense debate on the Portuguese colonial approach. The
new political parties which were born after the war had a different point
of view on the colonial project especially on the powers of the high com­
missioners and on decentralisation. For instance, the right-wing Nationalist
Republican Party, founded in 1924, stated that ‘the regime of administrative
autonomy granted to the Overseas Provinces must be modified in order to
make more effective the control exercised over the administrative acts of
local authorities’.25 The II Colonial Congress (1924), promoted by the Lisbon
Geographical Society, prominently discussed those subjects.
The first phase of Jornal da Europa ended in August 1926 for financial rea­
sons. But from 1924 onwards, its pages were increasingly filled with articles
for tourists and a few references to Africa. But even in 1920, in a special issue
on Belgium’s involvement in the First World War, there was no reference to
the colonial question.26
However, on 24 May 1926, a few days before the military coup that would
establish the dictatorship, the paper wrote that it would be an error to send
more ‘secular missions’ to Africa. These missions had been a hallmark of
the Norton de Matos project. According to the newspaper, the contempt of
the republicans for religious missions had opened the way for the presence
of foreign missions that apparently ‘denationalised’ the Portuguese overseas
territories.27

The second phase of Jornal da Europa – the special issues

In December 1926, the newspaper started a new and decisive phase. It main­
tained its fortnightly periodicity, but its subtitle was changed to Colonial
and Maritime Information for Portugal, Colonies, Islands, Brazil and North
America. Portugal Ultramar Editions had become its owner. The newspaper
had sales agents in seven cities in Angola and nine cities in Mozambique, as
well as one agent in the S. Tomé and Príncipe archipelago, two in Guinea
and two in the Cape Verde archipelago.
Guilherme de Ayala Monteiro (1896–1973) became its director and Julião
Quintinha (1886–1968) its editor. The first, a former diplomat in Johan­
nesburg, was chief editor of the Diário de Notícias (News Daily), one of the
main Portuguese newspapers. Later, he directed the international services
of the Calouste Gulbenkian Foundation. Also, he wrote the novel A Con­
quista do Sertão (The Conquest of the Hinterland). Quintinha was also a
remarkable journalist. This is a curious case, since he was linked to anarcho­
syndicalism, becoming between the late 1920s and 1930s a colonial writer
and being awarded a prize in a literature contest promoted by the General
Agency of the Colonies for his novels and travel chronicles mainly on the
African continent. Later, he was a well-known opponent of the Estado Novo
regime. We must understand that in Portugal, at least during the first half of
the twentieth century, the colonial question was almost untouchable for all
194 Sérgio Neto
the political parties and movements, from right-wing to left-wing. For exam­
ple, Norton de Matos, who opposed the Estado Novo’s policy of centralisa­
tion and financial restraint, when visiting the 1934 Colonial Exposition (of
that regime), wrote about ‘the deep impression it caused me in conjunction
with the greatness of the empire’.28 In this sense, even with the censorship of
the dictatorship, colonial periodicals continue to publish texts by opponents
of centralisation.
The newspaper Jornal da Europa from the second phase made its pages
more dynamic in offering a broad perspective of the problems. The idea was
to attract a wide range of readers, so much so that the editorial board itself
called it an ‘expensive newspaper’. The quality of its paper, the abundance of
pictures and the quality of the collaborators involved (one of them doing a
long journalist story on Africa) certainly explain its high price. In this regard,
many companies based in Portugal, in the Portuguese colonies and other neigh­
bouring colonies funded the issues. For instance, several special issues aimed at
publicising each one of the African colonies in all their aspects. The first one to
be covered was Mozambique, with a description of the large industrial com­
panies and services offered in Lourenço Marques (now Maputo). In fact, this
issue was co-sponsored by the Transvaal Coal Owners Association, the Dela­
goa Bay Development Corporation, the Beira Tobacco Company, the Overseas
National Bank, the National Shipping Company, importers of telegraphic and
railway equipment, other import and export agencies, bookstores and hotels.
It should be stressed that the involvement of these companies is not always
properly appreciated by historians. It seems that Richard Hammond’s old
thesis on the ‘uneconomic imperialism’ of Portugal continues to endure.29
This thesis held that the empire was an ideological and symbolic construc­
tion, a survival of the Age of Discoveries, without great economic value,
based on nationalist pride and on British geostrategic interest. Hence, per­
haps, the reason why many studies focus on propagandistic/ideological issues
and less on the economy. In any case, the following special issues about the
other African colonies were also sponsored by companies and corporations,
some of which were local.
The most interesting article was signed by Julião Quintinha, who went
on a two-year trip to the African continent. His description of the landscape
and the people gave this issue on Mozambique a much-appreciated literary
dimension.30
In this same issue on Mozambique, note should also be made of the text
‘Three Leaders’, where the nationalist tone of its heading conveyed the
renewed interest in some individuals: the former royal commissioner António
Enes (1848–1901), for his ‘vision’; Mouzinho de Albuquerque (1855–1902),
the soldier most praised as a hero by the propaganda; and the governor
of Mozambique, Freire de Andrade (1859–1929), ‘the patient builder; the
assembler of the machine’.31
In 1929, the issue 17 of Jornal da Europa, still imprinted with a nation­
alist tone, featured on its cover page a nau (carrack), symbolising the
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 195
sixteenth-century expansion period, while the first pages also featured three
representatives of the ‘Portuguese genius’: Prince Henry, the Navigator
(1394–1460), the ‘initiator of the Portuguese maritime discoveries, founder
of the mythical Sagres nautical school’; Vasco da Gama (1469–1524), ‘the
first seafarer who came to India . . . and put Western and Eastern civilisation
in contact’; and Admiral Gago Coutinho (1869–1959), ‘the first pilot to fly
across the South Atlantic’32 in 1922.
For its part, the special issue about Angola also included other articles.
Besides the usual articles by Quintinha, the Angolan issue not only high­
lighted some agricultural (Cazengo and Amboim) and diamond (Diamang)
undertakings but also addressed other different problems, such as the ‘relief
to the natives’ and the need to improve health services for the settlers in
Luanda. According to the article, these measures were the basic requirements
for ‘honouring Portuguese colonisation’.33 From a cultural viewpoint, the
portrait of Angola was richer than the one of Mozambique, as evidenced
in the references to the ‘native art’ in the European counterpart and in two
‘colonial literature’ short stories, one of which was by the writer and journal­
ist Ferreira de Castro (1898–1974),34 who was later proposed several times
for the Nobel Prize for his novels Emigrantes (Emigrants, 1928) and A Selva
(The Jungle, 1930).
A closer look at the staff working on this issue allows us a conclusion that
can be extrapolated to the newspaper’s editorial line. It concerns the fact that
among the staff were people from the most diverse political and ideological
affiliations, despite their fundamental belief in the colonial system about
which they still had different opinions.
For instance, when the Acto Colonial (Colonial Act) was promulgated
in 1930, initiating Salazar’s colonial policy, director Ayala Monteiro wrote
a review praising the end of the office of high commissioner and the ‘strict
delimitation of the powers of the governors-general’ while noting that
these were ‘conclusions which the dispassionate examination of the colo­
nial administration in recent years imposes without reservation’. In fact, in
the very first issue, in 1927, of the second phase, Ayala Monteiro had even
seemed to predict its appearance:

[it is necessary] that a state of national spirit, of enthusiasm and faith

is able to bring together all Portuguese of good will on the issues of the
colonies, so that, in the near future, the Portuguese Colonial Empire,
in all its greatness, can be shown to the world, governed by a statute, a
political organisation that ensures the effectiveness of its action in the
colonial policy.35

The following special issue, however, on the archipelago of Cape Verde,

was even more prophetic, in that it announced what would be the true ral­
lying cry of Salazar’s overseas propaganda. Indeed, ‘if Mozambique comes
first among the Portuguese colonies for the undeniable progress in all areas
196 Sérgio Neto
of activity’ and Angola, due to the ‘never-ending treasures hidden in its soil
and sub-soil’, is then the ‘crown jewel’, Cape Verde is, ‘in Africa, the guardian
of the symbols of Portuguese culture’.36
Although the newspaper did not hide the fact that the territory was ‘gen­
erally considered as belonging to the group of our poor colonies’ or that
‘there may be some Portuguese that have no idea where the archipelago is
situated. . ., but every single one of them is aware of the hungry people of
Cape Verde’, it nevertheless predicted the ‘great future of Cape Verde’. In fact,
in addition to ‘its strategic position’ in the South Atlantic, the population of
the archipelago was ‘rich in intelligence’37 and inclined to engage in civilised
cultural pursuits like the ones in mainland Portugal.
As full citizens and not ‘natives’, due to the miscegenation and the higher
literacy rate, the Cape Verdeans had a place of their own in Portuguese
Africa. Better knowledge of its literate elites and of their literary productions
would soon be made known, revealing a place where many found similari­
ties with Brazil, or even a slightly Africanised version of Portuguese cultural
elements deposited there since the fifteenth century.38
The Estado Novo used the multicultural and multiracial image of the
archipelago in an effort to stop anti-colonial criticism by the international
community in the aftermath of the 1939–1945 conflict. The role of the news­
paper Jornal da Europa in pursuit of this idea must not be underestimated.
Of a total of 28 articles in the aforementioned special issue, 50% addressed
economic–social problems, of which 21% referred to Porto Grande, on the
island of São Vicente (in the city of Mindelo), while the remainder were
about general topics (21%) and reviews of each island (44%), as well as
interviews and statements by governors (14%). The cultural issues, on the
other hand, which formed the other half of all the articles, were distributed
among travel experiences (37%), sports and education (14%), literary works
by Cape Verdean authors in prose and poetry (14%), the traditional expres­
sion of the morna music (7%) and other subjects (14%).39 Having half of
the articles dealing with cultural matters, the periodical set the tone for many
of the subsequent interpretations of Cape Verde: a drought-ridden territory,
prey to starvation but blessed by the cultural force of the elites and the
people. José Osório de Oliveira and Julião Quintinha, who were represented
therein, were, in fact, two of the most important authors who wrote about
the archipelago in later years and established from then on the pattern of
gauging Cape Verde according to the ‘soul of a people’, rather than on the
‘element of economics’.40
Finally, an issue dedicated to Guinea and São Tomé e Príncipe prioritised
the economic–financial situation, with some historical information and lists
of rulers.41 References to the enclave where the São João Baptista de Ajudá
fortress was situated (today in Benin), some refutations regarding the exis­
tence of slave labour on the São Tomé plantations, a study of the ‘races’ of
Guinea, and a Mandinga (Guinean ethnic group) short story continued the
newspaper’s holistic approach. This tone would be pursued in the following
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 197
issues, which covered the colonies that showed little or no profit and fell,
therefore, in the category of the ‘imaginary empire’ created by the historian
Adelino Torres. These were, for instance, Timor Leste and the Estado da
Índia (Portuguese State of India), the latter formed by Goa, Daman and Diu,
and by the enclaves in British territory, Dadrá and Nagar Haveli. Some of
the greatest Portuguese literary figures of the second half of the nineteenth
century had already made some pessimistic remarks about these territories.
As the historian and later Minister of Finance Oliveira Martins (1845–1894)
commented about Timor: ‘it is nothing; it would be better to abandon this
piece of island with no connexions, traditions or interests once and for all,
at any price’.42 The novelist and diplomat Eça de Queirós (1845–1900) com­
mented about India as follows:

[I]t is of no good to us and only gives us heartbreaks. It is a piece of land

so small that it takes one day to ride across it. . ., something else comes
to mind when we speak of India – and that is to give it away.43

The Jornal da Europa, however, tried to counter those opinions. Although

issue 18 was not exclusively dedicated to Timor and India, it nevertheless
highlighted the colonies in the East. It listed the schools found in Goa, the
port activity and emphasised the ‘wealth of Timor, its agricultural potential
is only just taking its first steps’. This latter article described, in detail, each
of the crops: coffee, copra, rubber, cocoa, sandalwood, cinchona (or quinine),
vanilla, tobacco and cotton.44
The non-special issues of this newspaper maintained the editorial line
highlighted by the director. In addition to Quintinha’s articles, the newspaper
had a ‘colonial’ column, where some of the most important Cape Verdean
poets of the time collaborated, such as Eugénio Tavares (1867–1930), José
Lopes da Silva (1872–1962), Pedro Monteiro Cardoso (1883–1942) and the
still young Jorge Barbosa (1902–1971).

Between propaganda and literature

The aforementioned Agência Geral das Colónias (AGC) played an impor­
tant role in reviving a kind of travel literature. This is rather paradoxical,
especially if we recall how most of the pages of its bulletin discussed social
and economic matters, contained statistical tables, official discourses and
gave useful tips to settlers, for example, the dates of arrival and departure
of transportation to various overseas cities. In any case, the AGC organised,
from 192645 on, an annual colonial literature competition.46
This competition stimulated many authors. Some, for instance, Henrique
Galvão and Julião Quintinha, won the competition more than once. The
latter published his articles as a reporter of the Jornal da Europa in three
volumes.47 Undoubtedly, his greatest success was his first volume of chron­
icles, África Misteriosa (Mysterious Africa), a true bestseller of Portuguese
198 Sérgio Neto
overseas literature. In this volume, Quintinha collected some of the articles
already published in Jornal da Europa. To publicise this planned book Julião
Quintinha at some point began to sign those articles as ‘a page of Mysterious
Africa’. The introduction to the book, suggestively titled ‘the Black Sphinx’,
narrating the author’s departure from the Tagus River, not only recalled the
travels during the age of discoveries but also established the pattern of the
vocabulary used: refined, luxuriant, capable of describing the ‘red-black’ and
‘barbaric beauty’, the exotic nature of ‘legendary Africa’. In the second issue,
recalling his anarcho-syndicalist past, Quintinha explained that although this
was a ‘simple book of impressions’, he had also wanted to call the readers’
attention to the ‘labour system’ (concerning the natives), which he considered
to be ‘inconsistent with the legitimate and humanitarian social aspirations’
defended by the Europeans: ‘if this book managed to at least draw the atten­
tion of some Europeans to the places where these men endure their obscure
social drama, I might even be forgiven for draping it in a cloak of mystery
and fantasy’.48
In any case, ‘mystery and fantasy’ were, in fact, the watchwords.
Quintinha used the chapters on Cape Verde and São Tomé e Príncipe to
explore these dimensions to the full, even though always fraught with a
critical sense of local realities. In respect of Cape Verde, which he called the
‘archipelago of melancholy’, the journalist noted that, although the ‘highest
representatives’ of the archipelago are well aware of the socio-economic
measures that need to be implemented, ‘what I fail to understand . . . is
why the competent powers do not listen to such insightful words and clear
suggestions’.49
There have been arguments over the possible influence of Julião Quintinha’s
text – and, especially, his vivid description of Porto Grande on the island
of São Vicente – on the young Cape Verdeans who founded the magazine
Claridade (Clarity, 1936–1960),50 a periodical that played a great role in
(re)creating the regional and even national identity of the archipelago. In any
case, in response to a text by Quintinha, the Cape Verdean intellectual Pedro
Monteiro Cardoso (1890–1942) published a text defending the ‘Creole dia­
lect’ in Jornal da Europa. This speaks volumes of the newspaper’s widespread
circulation. As he stated: ‘the Creole dialect spoken in Cape Verde is not a
Babel-like mixture of several languages, but only an uncontroversial trans­
formation of the popular Portuguese of the sixteenth century’.51
The journalist Julião Quintinha was undoubtedly an important influ­
ence for many of those who chose Africa as the object of their fables.
However, this was more than just the thriving of such a substitute for
travel literature. This was an explosion of short articles under the (sub)
title of ‘impressions’. While it is true that many essays and even albums
had been written about the ‘peacekeeping campaigns’ and the ethnography
of the colonised people, it was left to Jornal da Europa to emphasise the
cultural aspect. One of its usual columns was Literatura Colonial. Thus,
all the usual stereotypes and generalisations about Africa and the Africans
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 199
shifted from sociological and ethnographic essays to short stories or nov­
els, descriptive texts and poems:

Why do you paint your skin, my savage little girl? . . .

Your brown skin is more prized.52

Conclusion
As mentioned earlier, the Exposição Colonial Portuguesa in Porto was held
in 1934, followed by the even more affirmative Exposição do Mundo Portu­
guês (Exhibition of the Portuguese World) in 1940, which featured ‘human
zoos’ and pavilions for each of the colonies with symbols of the Discover­
ies, parades, concerts and conferences. Some of the Jornal da Europa staff,
such as Henrique Galvão, actively participated in the exhibitions and in
the work published in this regard. So, while some of the Jornal da Europa
members opposed the Estado Novo regime, the newspaper anticipated some
of Salazar’s propaganda strategies, in particular, a mediated knowledge of
local cultures, obviously with Eurocentric stereotypes, true to the principle
of ‘knowing in order to dominate’ and the effort to create a literature that
romanticised the hardships endured by the settlers while they familiarised
themselves with the new territories. They accomplished this by emphasis­
ing the ‘exotic and mysterious’. The main idea was to spread the message
of imperialism that had weakened since the nineteenth century due to the
limited political weight of Portugal in Europe. Hence the only partial success
of all these initiatives.
Despite its subtitle, the first phase of the Jornal da Europa soon stopped
publishing on Africa. It was the second phase that innovated, with Quintinha’s
trip to the African continent, publishing the special numbers on each of the
colonies, the photographs, the literary tone and the wide sponsorship of com­
panies and colonial entities. The creation of the AGC and its literary contest
also changed the approach to propaganda, which began to value literary
enticements. In this sense, it is possible to perceive the Jornal da Europa as a
moment of transition from colonial propaganda. In fact, the texts by Julião
Quintinha, first published in this journal, won the literary contest of AGC,
influenced the development of Cape Verdean literature and were a reference
for Portuguese colonial literature until 1974.
The newspaper Jornal da Europa closed for financial reasons. O Mundo
Português did not survive Salazar’s new post-Second World War strategy,
which began to disseminate the Lusotropical theory of the Brazilian sociolo­
gist Gilberto Freyre. The latter defended racial mixing, racial harmony and
the peculiarity of the Portuguese colonisation, inviting the colonial elites, at
least in theory, to abandon social darwinism. On the other hand, paradoxi­
cally, most of the Portuguese population, crushed by the dictatorship that
favoured low levels of education and maintained a precarious economic
situation, remained ignorant about their colonies. For example, the Cape
200 Sérgio Neto
Verdean writer Maria Helena Spencer noted in 1955 that the young girl who
lived at the house where she had worked once commented, in a frightened
tone: ‘my boyfriend is going to Africa . . . Cape Verde, or whatever’.53

Notes
* This work is funded by national funds through the FCT – Fundação para a
Ciência e a Tecnologia, I.P., in the scope of the project UIDB/00460/2020.
1. Born in Ponte de Lima, in the north of the country, Norton de Matos studied
mathematics at the University of Coimbra and completed the General Staff
Course in the Military Academy. After minor assignments, he became the
head of the Department of Surveying of Portuguese India (1898–1908). In
1911, he joined the Democratic Party. Between 1916 and 1917, he was min­
ister of war and the main organizer of Portuguese participation in the First
World War.
2. Sérgio Neto, Do Minho ao Mandovi. Um estudo sobre o pensamento colonial
de Norton de Matos (Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2014),
413.
3. José Luís Lima Garcia, “A ideia de Império na propaganda do Estado Novo,”
Revista de História das Ideias, no. 14 (1992): 411–424.
4. Maria Isabel Simão, Memória e Império. Comemorações em Portugal (1880–
1960) (Lisboa: Fundação Calouste Gulbenkian, 2003).
5. João Nobre de Oliveira, A Imprensa Cabo-Verdiana (1820–1975) (Macau:
Fundação Macau, 1998), 10.
6. Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca, A Imprensa e o Império na África Portuguesa (1842–
1974) (Lisboa: Edições 70, 2019), 41–51.
7. João de África, “O Boletim do Centro Colonial,” Boletim do Centro Colonial de
Lisboa, no. 1, ano I, April 1909, 3.
8. William Cadbury, Os Serviçais de S. Tomé – relatório de uma visita às ilhas de S.
Tomé e Príncipe e a Angola, feita em 1908, para observar as condições da mão de
obra empregada nas roças de cacau da África Portuguesa (Lisboa/Porto: Livraria
Bertrand/Livraria Chardron, 1910), 2.
9. Francisco Mantero, A mão d’obra em S. Tomé e Príncipe (Lisboa: Author’s Edi­
tion, 1910).
10. José Norton de Matos, “Uma lacuna a preencher,” Revista Colonial, no. 1, April
1912, 1.
11. José Norton de Matos, “Declaração,” Revista Colonial, no. 6, July 1912, 1.
12. Matos, “Uma lacuna a preencher.”
13. António Farinha, “A mentalidade do preto,” Revista Colonial, no. 54, June 1917,
134–135.
14. Armando Cortesão, “O Boletim da Agência-Geral das Colónias,” Boletim da
Agência-Geral das Colónias, no. 1, July 1925, 7–8.
15. “Duas palavras,” Luso Colonial. Revista de defeza e propaganda, no. 1, Decem­
ber 1927, 1.
16. Alfredo Augusto Freire de Andrade, “Descentralização Colonial,” Luso Colonial.
Revista de defeza e propaganda, no. 1, December 1927, 2.
17. Henrique Galvão, “Portugal Colonial. Uma apresentação,” Portugal Colonial.
Revista de propaganda e expansão colonial, no. 1, March 1931, 1–2.
18. Jorge Ramos do Ó, Os Anos de Ferro. O dispositivo cultural durante a Política
do Espírito (1933–1949) (Lisboa: Estampa, 1999).
19. Fernando Alves de Azevedo, Mística Imperial (Lisboa: Editorial Cosmos, 1935), 4.
20. Ernesto de Vasconcelos, “Colónias – a propósito dos altos-comissários,” Jornal
da Europa. Portugal, Colónias e Brasil, no. 5, June 1920, 2.
 Africa in the Jornal da Europa 201
21. Ernesto de Vasconcelos, “Colónias – Administração central,” Jornal da Europa.
Portugal, Colónias e Brasil, no. 12, September 1920, 2.
22. Ernesto de Vasconcelos, “Colónias – a corrente de colonização que se esboça,”
Jornal da Europa. Portugal, Colónias e Brasil, no. 7, July 1920, 2.
23. Ernesto de Vasconcelos, “Colónias – carreiras de navegação,” Jornal da Europa.
Portugal, Colónias e Brasil, no. 8, August 1920, 2.
24. “Ressurgimento Colonial – Entrevista a Norton de Matos,” Jornal da Europa.
Portugal, Colónias e Brasil, no. 120, October 1923, 1.
25. Ernesto Castro Leal, Partidos e Programas. O campo partidário republicano
português (1910–1926) (Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade, 2008), 171.
26. Jornal da Europa. Portugal, Colónias e Brasil, no. 10, September 1920.
27. “Missões Laicas Coloniais,” Jornal da Europa. Portugal, Colónias e Brasil,
no. 154, May 1926, 1. Significantly, another article of that number was titled
“Fatima, the Portuguese Lourdes”.
28. José Norton de Matos, “Sursum Corda,” O Primeiro de Janeiro, Agosto 1934, 1.
29. Richard Hammond, Portugal and Africa (1815–1910): A Study in Uneconomic
Imperialism (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1966).
30. Julião Quintinha, “Do Atlântico ao Índico. Na África Oriental,” Jornal da
Europa. Special Issue Moçambique, December 1927, 15–17.
31. Francisco Veloso, “Três chefes,” Jornal da Europa. Número Especial Moçam­
bique, December 1927, 12–14.
32. “Infante D. Henrique, Vasco da Gama, Gago Coutinho,” Jornal da Europa, no.
17, September 1929, 1.
33. “A assistência ao indígena,” Jornal da Europa, March 1928, 34.
34. Ferreira de Castro, “O navio que chega de África,” Jornal da Europa. Special
Issue Angola (March 1928): 23.
35. Guilherme de Ayala Monteiro, “Ressurgimento Colonial,” Jornal da Europa.
Special Issue Moçambique (December 1927): 1.
36. José Osório de Oliveira, “A alma cabo-verdiana. Impressões do escritor José
Osório de Oliveira,” Jornal da Europa. Special Issue Cabo Verde (April 1928): 18.
37. Guilherme de Ayala Monteiro, “O grande futuro de Cabo Verde,” Jornal da
Europa. Special Issue Cabo Verde (April 1928): 7.
38. Sérgio Neto, Colónia Mártir, Colónia Modelo. Cabo Verde no pensamento ultra­
marino português (1925–1965) (Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coim­
bra, 2009), 142–147.
39. Jornal da Europa. Special Issue Cabo Verde (April 1928).
40. Neto, Colónia Mártir, Colónia Modelo, 122–141.
41. Jornal da Europa. Número Especial Guiné-Bissau e São Tomé e Príncipe, July
1928.
42. J. P. Oliveira Martins, O Brasil e as Colónias Portuguesas (Lisboa: Guimarães e
C.ª Editores, 1978), 164.
43. Eça de Queirós, As Farpas (Cascais: Princípia, 2004), 186–197.
44. Silva Viana, “A riqueza de Timor,” Jornal da Europa, no. 18, October 1930, 17.
45. Conde de Penha Garcia, “Semana das Colónias de 1934,” Boletim da Sociedade
de Geografia de Lisboa, no. 5–6, May/June 1934, 216.
46. Alberto Oliveira Pinto, “O Concurso de Literatura Colonial da Agência Geral
das Colónias (1926–1951). Colonialismo e Propaganda,” Clio. Revista do Cen­
tro de História da Universidade de Lisboa, 7 (2002): 191–256.
47. Together with Francisco Toscano (1873–1943) he wrote the book A Derrocada
do Império Vátua e Mouzinho de Albuquerque (1930) (The Downfall of the
Vátua Empire and Mouzinho de Albuquerque).
48. Julião Quintinha, África Misteriosa. Crónicas e impressões duma viagem jor­
nalística nas Colónias da África Portuguesa (Lisboa: Nunes de Carvalho, 1931), 23.
49. Ibid., 57.
202 Sérgio Neto
50. Pedro da Silveira, “Um escritor que continua vivo,” Seara Nova. Revista de
Doutrina e Crítica, no. 1476, October 1968, 340.
51. Pedro Monteiro Cardoso, “Crónica de Cabo Verde,” Jornal da Europa. Número
Especial Cabo Verde, April 1928, 12.
52. Rafael Ribas, “Morena,” Jornal da Europa. Número Especial Guiné-Bissau e São
Tomé e Príncipe, July 1928, 13.
53. Maria Helena Spencer, “Aqui Cabo Verde,” Revista d’Aquém e d’Além Mar,
no. 60, ano V, 1955, 12.
III

Opposing

10 Anticolonial struggles and

resistance in the African
press (1870–1926)
Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca

The African press in Portuguese colonies

The main goal of this chapter is to discuss and reflect on the press as a privi­
leged field of resistance and struggle on behalf of African native elites against
the colonial project in the territories under Portuguese domination. The Afri­
can press, along with a journalism of advocacy, protest, demand and resis­
tance developed in the Portuguese colonies throughout the monarchy and the
republican period (1870–1926). In Angola and Cape Verde, the African press
operated mainly between 1870 and the early years of the 1920s. In Mozam­
bique and São Tomé and Príncipe, African journalism gained prominence in
the republican period. In Guinea, the African press did not emerge at all. 1
The main issues on the agenda of African journalism included the demand
for equal rights for Africans and Europeans; the struggle for improvements
of living conditions of African people; the discussion regarding the indepen­
dence of the colonies; criticism of colonialism and its political programme.
Regarding the role performed by the African press in Portuguese colonies,
this chapter points out four main ideas. First, colonial imperialism led to the
awakening of national consciousness and the desire for sovereignty, which,
as Hannah Arendt suggested, became an obstacle to the construction of the
empire.2 Second, the spread of Western civilization has an ambivalent nature
because to the same extent to which the colonizer propagates its social forms,
behaviours and institutions, it contributes to the reduction of differences
amongst social forces, as Norbert Elias noted.3 Third, as demonstrated by
Benedict Anderson, the situation of native elites combined with liberal ideas,
new printing technologies and the development of capitalism were decisive
elements in the emergence of ‘imagined communities’, constituting an essen­
tial step in the process of modernization.4 Furthermore, as a result of the
combination of such factors, African elites used the press as a platform of
resistance to disseminate claims and to fight. Finally, in his study on intelli­
gentsias, Isaiah Berlin points out their role as based on ‘the idea of a rational
and permanent opposition to a status quo’. The philosopher notes that the
existence of intelligentsias requires ‘a mix of belief in reason and progress;
along with a deep moral concern for society . . . being the feature of the

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-14

206 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca

political militancy an integral part of its essence’. Still, the intelligentsia is
‘engendered by oppressive regimes’.5 In this sense, the colonial oppression
led to the emergence of journalists such as Eugénio Tavares in Cape Verde;
José Fontes Pereira in Angola; João Albasini in Mozambique; and Augustus
Gamboa in São Tomé and Príncipe. These African intellectuals made journal­
ism a weapon of resistance, intervention and political activism.
The argumentation of resistance in African journalism between 1870 and
1926 is debated through these four theoretical perspectives. Although this
explanation applies to the role played by the African press in Angola, Cape
Verde, Mozambique and São Tomé and Príncipe, we will discuss each con­
text in a specific case study. From a conceptual point of view, it is crucial
to emphasize that in this study the expression ‘Portuguese Africa’ refers to
the five African colonies under formal Portuguese rule until 1974: Cape
Verde, Angola, Mozambique, São Tomé and Príncipe and Guinea Bissau. It is
equally relevant to mention that during the colonial rule, the Portuguese lan­
guage established itself and dominated, although there are records of some
newspapers published in African languages and of others being bilingual
in Portuguese and English. Moreover, the theory by Margarido on African
literature in Portuguese-speaking countries as belonging to the ‘history of
Portuguese culture and language’ may be applied in similar ways in the con­
text of press. This is because during the colonial period, press and journalism
in Africa were related to Portugal in what concerns their context, contents,
forms and practices. It is worth stressing that by the expression ‘Portuguese
Africa’ I by no means support a neocolonial perspective or practice, in which,
according to Margarido, ‘the Portuguese appear as the only actors in the
political process’ in the colonial period, at the time of decolonization and in
the post-colonial phase.6
In this chapter it is essential to clarify the definition of ‘native African
elites’. From the 1850s onwards, the Afro-Portuguese elites who had partici­
pated in slave trafficking and had a great influence on the colonial admin­
istration started to decay. Nevertheless, African elites (also referred to as
‘native’, ‘Creole’, forras or filhos do país) reorganized, held civil servant posi­
tions, were active in trade and were landowners. This provided these groups
with economic power and with a potential for political intervention. Such
elites differed from the indigenous population because of their double ori­
gin, African and Portuguese, as well as because of their education, obtained
either in Portugal or Brazil, or as autodidacts. From the 1870s onwards, these
groups led the questioning of mainland policies and opposed the colonial
project, mainly through the press and journalism.
It is crucial to understand the emergence of the periodic press in Portu­
guese Africa, and in particular of African journalism. The press arises in
the process of reconfiguration of the Portuguese colonial empire starting
from 1830, when Portugal reformulated its projects, policies, directives and
institutions in its African colonies. Territories acquired a new statute and
were expected to provide the mainland with material wealth, as well as to
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 207
refresh the reputation of the Portuguese empire amongst European powers.7
This resulted in the development of an official press in the mid-nineteenth
century, with the aim of publishing the official gazettes and spreading the
political and economic guidelines for the territories, supporting in this way
the colonial administration.
The establishment of a government press was followed, starting from the
1860s, by an independent press led by elites of European, colonial (mainly
civil servants, traders and farmers) and African origin. At this stage, colo­
nies were entering the debates and challenges of modernity: political parties
and social movements were emerging, and European and African groups
seized upon the press and journalism to promote the questioning of main­
land policies and the colonial project. The social conflict issues that led to
the emergence of the press and originated headlines and debates on news­
papers included demands of autonomy and independence for colonies, the
promotion of republicanism, the precarious social and economic situation
and conflicts in electoral processes.8
Native African elites promoted radical journalism in Angola and Cape
Verde. Such a press defended the interests of the Afro-Portuguese elites but
also the rights of the African population. It also promoted the questioning of
the colonial project and demanded autonomy and independence for the ter­
ritories. It was in 1909 that the African press emerged in Mozambique, and
it gained prominence only in the republican period. The factors that contrib­
uted to the late emergence of an African press in Mozambique, if compared
to Cape Verde and Angola, include the dispersion of Afro-Portuguese elites
in the inner territories rather than in urban centres; the control of commerce
by the community of Asian origin (while in Cape Verde and Angola it was the
African elites who had power over this sector); the concession of territories
to the administration of private enterprises financed by foreign capital (con­
tributing to the weakening of Afro-Portuguese elites) and the scarce influence
of African elites in the administration and in civil servant positions. In São
Tomé and Príncipe, the unavailability of primary sources hinders the analysis
of the participation of African elites during the monarchic period, although
our research shows they became central actors in the republican period.
Radical journalism by native African elites stood out during the repub­
lican period (1910–1926), in Cape Verde, Mozambique and São Tomé and
Principe.9 African newspapers, or those associated with them, were the key
players in a press advocating structural transformations in indigenous poli­
cies, for citizenship for Africans and for their economic and sociopolitical
inclusion. The independence of the territories, the end and/or the reorienta­
tion of colonialism, demands for freedom of African people, pan-Africanism
and socialism were all issues propagated through journalism. In the context
of the colonial project, both the topics and the agenda of press reveal the
radicalization of journalism. In Angola, radical journalism was occasional
and incipient because of the government persecution of native groups and
their consequent weakness and disarray. In Guinea, there was no display of
208 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
radical journalism and there was no African press due to the weakness of
native elites and the banning of the Liga Guineense (Guinean League) by
the government.10
This chapter is divided into six sections. In the first section, based on an
Angolan case study, I will demonstrate the emergence of ‘African awareness’
and the desire for sovereignty of the colonized people. In the second section,
based on a Cape Verde case study, I will discuss the process of appropria­
tion of the press by elites, who aimed to promote political struggles against
the colonial empire. In the third section, I will analyse African journalism in
Mozambique as a platform to ‘imagine’ a free and equal society. The fourth
section will discuss African intelligentsias, with references to a São Tomé
and Príncipe case study. The fifth section will explain the obstacles faced by
African native elites and the press in Guinea Bissau. Lastly, the epilogue will
show the political and cultural legacy of African journalism between 1870
and 1926 to the liberation struggles and movements which occurred from
the 1950s onwards. The conclusion of the chapter argues that the press in
African colonies needs to be discussed as a colonial public sphere, in which
the empire was discussed, questioned and resisted.

The struggle for independence

To illustrate the first main idea, regarding the awakening of national con­
sciousness and the desire for sovereignty, I look at the case of Angola. Over
the decades of 1870–1890, the African press emerged and progressively
strengthened. This press supported a republican regime, advocated the inde­
pendence of Angola and fought for the rights of Africans and their equal
status in relation to Europeans.11
O Cruzeiro do Sul, Órgão dos Interesses das Províncias Ultramarinas,
(The Southern Cross, Organ for the Interests of the Overseas Provinces),
circulating between 1873 and 1878, was the first newspaper to defend Afri­
can interests. This weekly paper had its own typography, and its owners
were the filho do país (son of the country) Lino Maria de Sousa Araújo, civil
servant, and the Portuguese Francisco António Pinheiro Bayão, a captain
in the army. José Fontes Pereira, an Afro-Portuguese lawyer, was a frequent
collaborator of the paper, which had correspondents in the countryside of
Angola. The Cruzeiro do Sul attacked the governor of the colony and the
mainland policies of Angola; denounced forced labour in São Tomé and
Príncipe and the continuity of the practices of slavery; criticized the absence
of schools and social services and promoted Africans’ rights, contributing to
their social inclusion.12 The critical positions of the paper led to the suspen­
sion of Lino Araújo from his position in the customs service and a trial for
abuse of press freedom in 1876. Another important newspaper was the Echo
de Angola (Echo of Angola), a republican weekly that appeared in Luanda
on 5 November 1881, owned by the native Innocêncio Mattoso da Câmara,
former deputy mayor of the city of Luanda. The first issue presented the
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 209
objectives of the newspaper: ‘advocate for the cause, look after the interests
of this unhappy province, so disregarded, so forgotten by the Metropolis’.
O Futuro de Angola (The Future of Angola), first issue in March 1882,
was also a model of resistance journalism. The newspaper promoted the
republican regime; protected the interests of Afro-Portuguese elites, including
in trade; denounced racial discrimination; demanded schools for Africans;
pointed out the illegitimacy of local electoral processes and criticized impe­
rial policies in Angola. The newspaper’s critical positions resulted in the
prosecution of their journalists.13
Another example of the resistance found in the press in this period was
the newspaper O Pharol do Povo (The People’s Lighthouse), 1883–1885, in
which the activist and intellectual José Fontes Pereira wrote. In the edito­
rial of its first issue, 10 February 1883, the newspaper established itself as
‘authentically African’ and meant to ‘illuminate the spirit of the people, elu­
cidate them regarding their rights and duties; assume the role of propagating
ideas and thoughts, so as to enable the natural independence of the African
race’.14 The paper advocated a republican regime and the independence of
Angola, and it denounced the corruption of local imperial governments and
the wars fought against African populations. Moreover, it supported the
Afro-Portuguese elites and also the natives of Angola. Similarly, it bolstered
the republican forces and candidates in parliamentary elections. The paper’s
reports, in particular regarding electoral fraud and the slave trade, resulted in
lawsuits against its journalists.15 The prosecution of African newspapers and
journalists on behalf of the government led to the weakening of the press and
the disruption of the publication schedule during the decade of the 1880s.16
In the meanwhile, new titles appeared, such as O Desastre: órgão político­
noticioso (The Disaster: Politics and News), issued in September 1889. It
was proposed as a biweekly issue, but its issues were irregular due to politi­
cal reasons, as well as because it lacked its own typography and underwent
financial difficulties. Owned by the filho do país Mamede de Sant’anna e
Palma – a civil servant who resigned before founding the journal – the paper
was republican and promoted the independence of Angola and African rights.
O Angolense (The Angolan), weekly and edited by the native Euzébio
Velasco Galiano, emerged and circulated between 1907 and 1911. The first
issue, on 10 September 1907, presented its mission: ‘to fight for the interests
of Angola and its offspring, inculcating in them healthy principles, is our
mission, which we declare we will pursue until the end, with complete seren­
ity and truthfulness, but also with full intransigence’.17 The same edition
defended Angola’s autonomy, as well as the constitution of a legislative coun­
cil for the provinces. With the establishment of the Grémio Africano (Afri­
can Guild) and the Liga Angolana (Angolan League) in 1912, O Angolense
reappeared in 1917, maintaining its support of native causes and struggles.
However, in 1922, the growing political prominence of African elites led to
the closure of their associations and newspapers by the colonial governor
Norton de Matos.18
210 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
The African intelligentsia was also connected with inland districts and,
in 1912, in Malange the review Era Nova (New Era) circulated, owned by
the native civil servant António Joaquim de Miranda. The first issue, on
1 March 1912, hailed the republic and the equality between the Africans
and the Europeans, underlining that ‘the plan of assimilation will make
Angola resurge’ through the education of the natives. The 15 September
1912 issue noted how the ‘main issue’ was to ‘make Portugal bigger, hav­
ing on one side the Portuguese people and on the other side the Ango­
lans, linked by symbols of freedom, equality and brotherhood’.19 As well
as denouncing the mistreatment of the African population, the articles
published in Era Nova criticized the imposto da cubata (hut tax). These
factors led to the suspension of the journal and of Miranda’s activities in
the public service. The director of the review was also accused of leading
a native conspiracy in Malange and of heading a ‘white-killers’ associa­
tion. In Luanda, Miranda had promoted the Associação da Educação
do Povo, Socorros Mútuos (Association for the People’s Education and
Mutual Aid), which in 1910 had gathered 2,000 natives to approve the
organization’s statute for the governor and had published the O Aposto­
lado do Bem, em defesa da educação dos indígenas (Apostolate for Good,
in favour of education for indigenous people).20 Issue 10, on 5 October
1912, is the last known number of the review, reporting about a meeting
in which natives proposed to found the ‘combat’ paper O Nativista (The
Nativist). As described, the African press in Angola pioneered the resis­
tance to Portuguese colonialism, as well as promoting justice and African
independence struggles.

The press as a weapon

The case of Cape Verde is illustrative of the notion that the spread of Western
civilization contributed to the reduction of differences between social groups.
During the monarchic period, native groups came to use the press that had
originally appeared as an initiative of the European elites. For instance, in
1899, through the Revista de Cabo Verde (Magazine of Cape Verde), these
groups resisted the colonial project.21 Among the main issues championed
by the newspaper were, first, the transference of the capital from Praia to
São Vicente, a political and economic issue; second, a complaint about the
proposal to sell the archipelago for the advantage of the imperial power;
third, advocacy for the independence of Cape Verde. Other topics were com­
plaints regarding irregularities in colonial administration; the uncovering
of discrimination between Europeans and natives; and the demand for the
establishment of professional schools for natives. Last of all, the paper called
for the adoption of measures to eliminate hunger and for the development of
agriculture, commerce and industry, as well as pointing out the need to tackle
the huge topic of local elections. Eugénio Tavares, an intellectual militating
for the African cause, was one of the most influential voices of the review.
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 211
At the turn of the century, republican ideas coalesced in Cape Verde. In
this context, the biweekly A Liberdade (Freedom) first appeared in 1902 on
the island of São Vicente. This periodical was critical of the local and met­
ropolitan government and a propeller of nativist causes. In the same year,
the paper A Opinião (São Vicente de Cabo Verde, 1902) (Opinion) started
to circulate on the island, attacking European privileges in land ownership
rights as well as the censorship imposed on the press.
The absence of indigenous policies in Cape Verde, differentiating between
Europeans and Africans, did not ward off discriminatory practices. The
duality of the colonial project in Cape Verde reinforced cabo-verdianidade
and nativism, which had used radical journalism to defend their claims.22 In
such a context, the nativist intellectuals of Cape Verde connected with Pan-
African organizations and reproduced their ideals in the local press, using
journalism as a weapon against colonialism. The newspapers’ themes and
causes are regarded as the proto-nationalism of Cape Verde.23
A Voz de Cabo Verde (The Voice of Cape Verde), a weekly paper directed
by Gustavo Carlos da Fonseca and printed at the government press, was
issued in Praia in March 1911. The paper hailed the regime shift and declared
itself to be republican and anticlerical. Its political topics included the report
of the local administration’s irregularities, as well as of the inequalities
between European and Cape Verdean civil servants. The weekly called for
support to nativism, demanded autonomy for the archipelago, as well as
equality between Africans and Europeans. It also demanded municipal elec­
tions, which had been discontinued in most of the councils at the end of the
nineteenth century and in Praia in 1911. Even in its first year, the paper was
suspended for months by the governor, who impeded its production at the
national press. The weekly came back into circulation after six months with
its own printing press and was published until 1919.24 Meanwhile, with the
change of governor in the province in 1915, the paper shifted from a criti­
cal role to a supporting role towards the local government. At this stage,
the direction of the weekly was transferred to Eugénio Tavares, who had
previously been a great contributor but had stopped writing for the weekly
because of disagreements.
In Cape Verde, there was no association for the defence of indigenous
rights, although A Voz de Cabo Verde took the initiative of founding the
Liga Cabo-Verdeana (Cape Verdean League) in 1913. Even though the
league did not develop or declare itself, intellectuals, civil servants and
farmers joined the Junta de Defesa dos Direitos de África (Council for the
Defence of African Rights) and the Liga Africana (African League), both
based in Lisbon.
Moreover, it is relevant to mention that the printing of A Voz de Cabo
Verde was crucial for the publication of newspapers on other islands of the
archipelago. Amongst these was O Mindelense, a student paper published
in 1913 on the island of São Vicente, which had started off as handwritten
and had turned to a printed version from its fourth issue onwards. A Tribuna
212 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
(The Tribune), a monthly paper, circulated on Brava Island from 1913 to
1914 was directed by a civil servant. It was also printed at the same press.
A Defesa (The Defense), nativist and republican, was published on Fogo
Island between 1913 and 1915, directed by Manuel Dias da Cunha Ribeiro.
O Popular (The People’s), focussing on politics and news, was republican
and nativist and appeared on São Vicente Island in October 1914. Censor­
ship established during the First World War led the editors of the paper to
suspend it in April 1916. The literary review, A Esperança (Hope), emerged
on São Nicolau Island in 1915.
The republican period was the peak of native resistance in Cape Verde,
expressed mainly in a press that was radical in its demands and struggles.25
The topics and causes of newspapers are seen as Cape Verdean proto­
nationalism, gaining expression and prominence in the last decades of the
nineteenth century and during the First Republic. The ideal of the proto­
nationalists was to become fully Portuguese, and their integration struggle
expressed itself in their demands of adjacency and equality.26 African journal­
ism in Cape Verde illustrates how native elites appropriated European techni­
cal skills and political and cultural tools to confront and resist colonialism,
contributing to the reduction of inequalities between social groups and to
the emancipation of African people.

Imagining another world

The African press in Mozambique can illustrate the third idea that I discuss,
underlining that the situation of native elites in colonialism, the development
of capitalism and the use of the press were decisive elements in the emer­
gence of ‘imagined communities’. The creation of the Grémio Africano de
Lourenço Marques (African Guild of Lourenço Marques, GALM), in 1908,
was a reaction of Africans to colonial duality in Mozambique. The origins
of native resistance in the territory overlapped and blended with the appear­
ance of an African press, as shown by Mondlane (1975).27 Together with
the GALM, the newspaper O Africano (The African) was created by João
Albasini, an intellectual and militant for the African cause.28 The first issue
of the paper, on 25 December 1908, announced its purposes: ‘to remind the
black peoples of this vast African territory that we are approaching the end
of the year 1908, and we need to pursue another path’. For the journalist,
the end of the year resembled the ‘end of the world . . . a cruel lesson for the
excessive ambition of many, who with no scruples extorted land from black
people baffled by such villainy’.29 The paper was critical of the Portuguese
colonial system and fought for social improvements for Africans. Among
the top issues of the newspaper were corruption in colonial administration;
bad conditions for African labourers; the alienation of lands belonging to
Africans; the lack of schools; the problem of colonial wine [a special high-
alcohol volume wine made for Africans] and the living conditions of women
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 213
and children.30 The paper even gave space to international events, such as
the Russian revolution.
O Africano established itself as independent from political parties and
upheld the struggle for unity among the social groups opposing colonial
power due to its ‘inefficacy in “civilization” and administration, to colo­
nial and capitalist exploitation, and to the abuse and corruption of the
colonial and metropolitan public administration’. 31 The principles and
forms adopted by Portuguese colonialism were constantly questioned
and criticized in the news and opinions of O Africano. According to Pen­
venne, the work of Albasini was on two fronts: ‘he promoted, interpreted
and communicated ideas within the local community, in particular devel­
oping the political energy of the nascent black petite bourgeoisie, and he
worked to ensure that the Portuguese colonial administration practiced
the ideals it espoused in policy’.32 Moreira argues that the struggles of
assimilated elites in Mozambique focused on ‘recognition’ as a social
group, and that the most immediate struggle was economic and politi­
cal integration in the context of Mozambique. Thus, a group of Africans
used a political channel – through its intervention in press, the connec­
tion with socialists, and participation in elections – to obtain equality
of rights and to guarantee their economic status. The group sometimes
fought specific aspects of the colonial state and in some other cases asked
for protection against their ‘main enemy’, the settlers. 33 Although censor­
ship affected O Africano during the most active phases of the First World
War, in this period the paper shifted to two numbers a week and then
three. In 1919, José Vicente do Sacramento obtained the lottery conces­
sion and the paper started to incline towards supporting the colonial
bourgeoisie and claiming autonomy for Mozambique. The paper stopped
publication in 1920.
Later, in 1918, the brothers Albasini created the paper O Brado Afri­
cano (The African Cry). Until 1926, the paper played the role of resistance
against the colonial administration and advocated the interests of Africans.
This paper gave continuity to the causes of O Africano and maintained the
issues faced by Africans as central topics. In its first editorial, it stated ‘Who
does not fight for his rights condemns himself voluntarily to be the other’s
doormat. To stop is to die’. O Brado Africano was an important ally for
the labourer papers of the time, which promoted the demands of the white
labourers of Lourenço Marques. Until 1926, the paper criticized the colo­
nial administration and defended the rights of Africans. The African press
in Mozambique demonstrates the relevance of journalism in this period in
the conception and propagation of an image that contained a community
free from colonial domination, in which Africans might achieve autonomy
as humans, as well as sovereignty in their nation. It should be noted that the
ideas and causes of the African press were taken over by nationalist groups
starting from the 1950s.34
214 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
The African Intelligentsia
Starting from the second half of the nineteenth century, Europeans (property
owners and public leaders) started to impose their rule on São Tomé and
Principe and its natives through political and economic power. The pro­
ductive system of the archipelago depended on forced indigenous labour
from Mozambique, Angola, and Guiné. Farms (roças) alienated Africans,
withdrew their rights and left them immobilized in terms of any potential
for resistance.35 Thus, it’s not surprising that São Tomean native elites were
prominent in political struggles during the republican period. Conflicts
between groups had a political, economic and social nature. These conflicts
took up space in newspapers and the local administration and the colonial
government were at its epicentre. Africans in São Tomé and Príncipe declared
themselves to be ‘natives’, defended pan-Africanism and demanded the ter­
ritory’s independence.
The case of São Tomé and Príncipe is typical of the phenomenon of intel­
ligentsias promoting a rational and permanent opposition to the status quo.
‘The natives of this island have no ambition other than that of struggling for
freedom, equality, fraternity, and for the moral and material interest of the
land in which they were born’, stated the Folha de Annuncios: Semanário
Político, Literário e Noticioso (Bulletin of Adverts: Political, Literary and
News Weekly) in its first issue on 1 July 1911. In the third issue, the Folha
de Annuncios changed name to be called A Verdade, Semanário Democrático
Independente para a Defesa dos Interesses da Província (The Truth: Inde­
pendent Democratic Weekly for the Defence of the Interests of the Province).
The journal was directed and owned by the native activist Ezequiel Pires dos
Santos Ramos. The subjects of the journal were primarily political, such as
the debate on the economic future of the province and the demands for the
rights of the native population, referred on 5 August 1911: ‘the economic
crisis in São Tomé and Príncipe derives from administrative mistakes . . . the
native population is reduced to misery . . . trade is paralyzed and agriculture
is numb, public revenue grows but private wealth diminishes’.36
A further emblematic case is constituted by A Liberdade (Freedom), a
leading African paper. Among the main themes of the weekly paper were the
rights of Africans, in particular cocoa labourers, and the political struggle
against the local administration. In this context, the issue of land stood out.
The journal declared angrily on 1 December 1920, that ‘the expansion of
lands was the most common method of stealing land from indigenous people
and Angolans. Monarchic influences were handed on to the republic and
nothing was done to solve the land theft and to rebalance the situation’.37
The paper reflected the emergence of Pan-African ideals in São Tomé and
Príncipe, for instance, agreeing with and publicizing the goals of the Pan-
African Congress which met in London in 1921. A Liberdade asked for the
nationalization of the colonies; called for the rejection of the laws of excep­
tion; demanded the freedom of cocoa labourers and the abolition of forced
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 215
labour/slavery. It propagated the demand for native education; the need for
assistance to women and, based on criticism towards the local administra­
tion, demanded elections.38
Moreover, in 1925, the ephemeral and vociferous O Combate. Jornal
semanal defensor dos interesses públicos da província, dos oprimidos,
sem distinção de cor, raça ou hierarquia (The Struggle. Weekly newspaper
defender of the public interests of the province, of the oppressed with no
distinction as to colour, race or hierarchy) started to circulate, although
it lasted only six editions. The editor was the native intellectual Augusto
Gamboa, an advocate of African interests and a sharp critic of the colonial
administration. The first issue on 21 March 1925 stated that ‘O Combate
was born to fight: an unrelenting fight against despotism, against tyranny. . . .
We will defend reason, rights and justice with all our strength’.39 The paper
denounced the colonial administration as unable to rule: ‘it is this that gov­
ernors were unable to do. [They are] dishonest and surrounded by cronies,
for whom money is never enough’.40 Calling for local elections, denouncing
corruption and the need for African activism in São Tomé were amongst the
main themes of the paper.
The persecution of native intellectuals and of the African press character­
ized the republican period. Censorship was implemented in São Tomé during
the First World War and continued after the end of the war to control the
critical voices of the native press. For instance, A Verdade had its printing
press destroyed and was suspended in 1912. A Liberdade denounced its per­
secution on 15 September 1920: ‘After amputating our arms and cutting our
tongues out, finally they can rest, because all of Europe and America won’t
find out about your slavery’.41 A Desafronta reported the abuses against the
press on 20 November 1924: ‘Although we are not at war and guarantees of
rights have not been suspended, a priori censorship has been re-established
in the Province’.42 Eventually, O Combate was suspended. It should be noted
that only African newspapers were shut down, demonstrating the persecu­
tion on behalf of the government towards that sector of the press that held
critical views on the colonial project and its directives and defended African
interests.43
The story of the African press in São Tomé and Principe is paradigmatic
in terms of the role played by African elites against colonialism. Journalism
was the arm of African intelligentsias: in a context of social, political and
economic inequality with Europeans, native elites resisted colonialism and
fought for freedom, equality and emancipation.

Guinea Bissau
During the constitutional monarchy, the Boletim Oficial (Official Gazette)
was the only information channel in Guinea and played a supportive role by
sustaining the government in the execution of its plans. Twenty years after the
gazette’s establishment, the first non-official paper appeared in Guinea – Ecos
216 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
da Guiné (Echoes from Guinea) that was an initiative by European settlers.
At that time, in Guinea, both European and African press had emerged but
did not act as channels of information. They were very ephemeral due to
state intervention. There was no variety in terms of political orientation as
occurred in other Portuguese colonies in Africa. The factors that inhibited
the development of a political press representing the different, conflicting
social groups in the colony included the weakness of Guinean elites, the
lack of economic and social development in the colony and the extension of
‘pacification’ wars during the republican period. During the republic there
was no African newspaper in Guinea which advocated the interests of native
people, as happened in other Portuguese colonies in Africa. The relationship
of the Liga Guineense to the government and its premature dissolution hin­
dered the organization’s prominence. The development of an African elite
had hardly begun in Guinea, and, as we have seen, it was this group – gener­
ally educated, holding positions in the public administration and commer­
cial and agricultural properties and articulating with African and republican
organization – which promoted African papers playing a radical journalistic
role in the other colonies throughout the periods of the monarchy and the
republic.44
In the perspective of the historian António Silva the factors that character­
ized the political status of Guinea in the nineteenth century were the absence
of Portuguese authority over the native population, the system of indirect
administration, the multiplicity of native political units and the impossibility
of enforcing administrative reforms. The existence of these conditions helps
us to understand the absence of either an independent press or an African
press in Guinea during both the period of the monarchy and the republican
period.45 The political and economic weakness of the Portuguese presence in
Guinea also resulted in its marginal position in the context of the empire and
in low expectations concerning the territory in Lisbon.46 We can say that in
Guinea the existence of the press was not a priority for the Afro-Portuguese
and African elites, who were concerned with the occupation of the territory
by Europeans.47
Despite the differing case of Guinea, we can conclude that the role per­
formed by the African press in Portuguese colonies between the late nine­
teenth and early twentieth centuries was essential in the resistance and
struggles of native elites against colonialism and empire. Through press
and journalism, African elites gave continuity to the struggles promoted by
natives against European occupation.

The legacy of the African press to the liberation struggles

The ideas and causes of African intellectuals in the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries were taken up by the following generations, aiming at promoting
independence in Portuguese colonies. In order to understand that process,
we will present an epilogue of the history of the press during the colonial
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 217
period and also state the main hypothesis. It was followed by an authoritar­
ian period, the Estado Novo (New State), which stretched out until 1974.
Starting from 1926, the control of state and local governments over the press
in Portuguese Africa increased. Although until the mid-1930s, journalism
had played a moderate monitoring role, from then onwards until the end
of the regime the press was forced to support the colonial programme and
policies to sustain local governments as well as to enhance the authoritarian
regime.48 Although Mozambique and Angola maintained a range of papers,
these expressed a consistent pro-government orientation. Notwithstanding
frequent attempts to establish an independent and critical press, these efforts
were soon silenced by the authoritarian practices of the Estado Novo. In
São Tomé and Príncipe, Cape Verde and Guinea, through the last decades of
Portuguese colonialism (1933–1974) a single newspaper circulated in each
territory, with the function of spreading government and regime views.49
Despite this record, we may highlight some initiatives of young critics of
the regime. Namely, some Africans and descendants of European settlers
criticized the authoritarian regime and colonialism through literary and artis­
tic messages. An example of this is the Cape Verdean magazine Claridade
(Clarity), created by an intellectual elite working within the state apparatus.50
Claridade was a literary magazine of great impact in the Cape Verdean soci­
ety, and even though it issued only nine numbers over the course of 24 years,
it gave rise to an intellectual movement known as the Claridosos. The articles
and poems were written in Creole, and their main themes/topics included
drought, hunger and isolation in the archipelago. Migration was featured
as the only way to escape economic privation. Claridade’s most determined
political contribution consisted of the use of literature to express regional
consciousness, which turned into nationalism from the 1950s onwards.
In Angola, the magazine Mensagem (Message) was an initiative of the cul­
tural department of the Association of Angola Natives. In 1951, it published
two numbers and had as its main goal the spreading of ‘literary, aesthetic
and ideological’ messages. Mensagem included among its writers Agostinho
Neto (the first president of Angola), Mário Pinto de Andrade (an important
intellectual and scholar) and Viriato da Cruz (a writer and political leader of
independence), among other critics of the regime and colonialism.51
The Jornal da Mocidade Portuguesa em Moçambique (Newspaper of Por­
tuguese Youth in Mozambique) appeared in Mozambique in 1947, com­
prising articles by critics of the regime, who became prominent names in
Portuguese literature, such as Rui Knopfli and Noêmia de Sousa. Other
young activists and future political leaders of Mozambique, such as José
Craveirinha (writer and journalist) and Marcelino dos Santos (political
leader of the independence), wrote in Itinerário (Itinerary), a monthly pub­
lication devoted to literature and art. The magazine stopped being published
when their editor was forced into exile, in 1955.52 Lastly, in Guinea, as
usual, there were no signs of criticism or resistance in the press during the
authoritarian period.
218 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
In essence, from the 1940s, critics of colonialism found refuge in litera­
ture, poetry and art to express their opposition to the authoritarian regime
and imperialism, contributing in this way to the first steps in the libera­
tion and independence wars. Throughout the studied period, the nineteenth
and twentieth centuries, several similarities stand out in the performance of
press in the Portuguese colonies. Moreover, the press in the colonies always
maintained interaction and dialogue with the social and political dynamics
of the metropolis, as well as between the different countries. With this view,
I conclude with this chapter’s main hypothesis: if journalism and press were
privileged tools in the resistance to colonialism, and critics, claims and ideas
disseminated by the press came out simultaneously in different colonies, we
should therefore reformulate our ideas of the press in the colonial territories
of the Portuguese empire in terms of a single public sphere and research the
press over its long course in such terms.

Notes
1. On the African press in Portuguese colonies, see Mário P. de Andrade, Origens
do Nacionalismo Africano (Lisboa: Publicações Dom Quixote, 1998).
2. Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarism (Ohio: Meridian Book, 1958
[1951]), 133.
3. Norbert Elias, The Civilizing Process (New York: Urizen Books, 1978 [1939]).
4. Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, Reflections on the Origin and
Spread of Nationalism (London: Verso, 2006).
5. Isaiah Berlin, The Power of Ideas (Princeton: University Press, 2000).
6. Alfredo Margarido, Estudos sobre Literaturas das Nações Africanas de Língua
Portuguesa (Lisboa: A Regra do Jogo, 1980), 7.
7. Valentim Alexandre, “A questão colonial no Portugal oitocentista,” in Nova
História da Expansão Portuguesa. Vol. X, O Império Africano 1825–1890,
coord. by Valentim Alexandre e Jill Dias (Lisboa: Editorial Estampa, 1998),
21–132.
8. On the history of press in African colonies, see Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca, A
Imprensa e o Império na África Portuguesa, 1842–1974 (Lisboa: Edições 70,
Almedina, 2019).
9. While playing a radical role in journalism, ‘The media enact this role when they
provide a platform for views and voices that are critical of authority and the
established order. They give support for drastic change and reform’, Glifford C.
Christians, Theodore L. Glasser, Dennis McQuail, Karl Nordenstreng and Robert
A. White, Normative Theories of the Media: Journalism in Democratic Societies
(Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2009), 30.
10. In a brief comparative analysis on journalism and literature in Angola, Cape
Verde and Mozambique, Macêdo argues that journalism, literature and politics
‘constituted the opposition front to Portuguese colonialism during the nineteenth
century and at the beginning of the twentieth century in the Portuguese colonies
in Africa of that time (keeping in mind the different time frames for each terri­
tory)’. T. Macêdo, “As literaturas africanas e o jornalismo no período colonial,”
Maka – Revista de Literatura & Artes, 1, ano I, no. 1 (2010): 71–83.
11. On native elites and the press in Angola, see Aida Freudenthal, “A Utopia Ango­
lense (1880–1915),” in África e a Instalação do Sistema Colonial: III Reunião
de História de África: actas, ed. Emília M. dos Santos (Lisboa: CEHCA, 2000),
561–572.
 Anticolonial struggles in African press 219
12. Douglas Wheeler, “Origins of African Nationalism in Angola: Assimilado Pro­
test Writings, 1859–1929,” in Protest and Resistance in Angola and Brazil, ed.
Ronald H. Chilcote (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1972), 67–87.
13. Maria C. P. Ribeiro, “Ideias republicanas na consolidação de um pensamento
angolano urbano (1880 c.-1910 c.): convergência e autonomia” (Master diss. in
History of Africa, Lisboa: Faculdade de Letras, Universidade de Lisboa, 2012),
63–70.
14. O Pharol do Povo, nº 1, 10 February 1883.
15. Rosa C. e Silva, “O nacionalismo angolano: um projecto em construção no
século XIX?,” in Mário Pinto de Andrade: um intelectual na política, ed. Inocên­
cia da Mata (Lisboa: Colibri, 2000), 231–284.
16. On the downfall of nativism in Angola and Cape Verde, see José M. Guimarães,
A Difusão do Nativismo em África, Cabo Verde e Angola, Séculos XIX e XX
(Lisboa: África Debate, 2006).
17. O Angolense, nº 1, 10 September 1907.
18. Concerning the african press in Angola, see also Marcelo Bittencourt, Dos Jor­
nais às Armas: Trajectórias da Contestação Angolana (Lisboa: Vega Editora,
1999).
19. Era Nova, nº 9, 15 September 1912.
20. Mário Pinto de Andrade, Origens do Nacionalismo Africano (Lisboa: Publica­
ções Dom Quixote, 1998).
21. About the history of the press in Cape Verde, see José N. de Oliveira, A Imprensa
Cabo-Verdiana (Macau: Fundação Macau e Direcção dos Serviços de Educação
e Juventude, 2000).
22. For a discussion on the duality of the colonial project, see, for instance, Mah­
mood Mamdani, Citizen and Subject: Contemporary Africa and the Legacy of
Late Colonialism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996).
23. Mário Brito-Semedo, “Cabo Verde: A Construção da Identidade Nacional,
Análise da Imprensa entre 1877 e 1975” (PhD Thesis, Lisboa: Faculdade de
Letras e Ciências Sociais da Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2003).
24. Oliveira, “A Imprensa Cabo-Verdiana,” 250–262.
25. José M. Guimarães, A Difusão do Nativismo em África, Cabo Verde e Angola,
Séculos XIX e XX (Lisboa: África Debate, 2006), 160–161.
26. Aristides Pereira, Guiné-Bissau e Cabo Verde: Uma luta, um partido, dois países
(Lisboa: Editorial Notícias, 2002).
27. Eduardo Mondlane, Lutar por Moçambique (Maputo: Terceiro Mundo, 1975
[1969]).
28. Regarding João Albasini, journalism and politics in Mozambique, I underline the
book of César Braga-Pinto and Fátima Mendonça, João Albasini e as Luzes de
Nwandzengele (Maputo: Alcance Editores, 2014).
29. O Africano, nº 1, 25 December 1908.
30. Colonial wine was a huge problem for African people: throughout the colonial
period Portuguese producers made a specific wine for ‘blacks’, with high levels of
alcohol. Regarding colonial wine, see José Capela, O vinho para o preto: notas e
textos sobre a exportação do vinho para a África (Porto: Afrontamento, 1973).
31. Valdemir D. Zamparoni, “A Imprensa Negra em Moçambique: A Trajetória de
‘O Africano’ – 1908–1920,” África, 11, no. 1 (1988): 73–86.
32. Jeanne M. Penvenne, “João dos Santos Albasini (1876–1922): The Contradic­
tions of Politics and Identity in Colonial Mozambique,” The Journal of African
History, 37, no. 3 (1996): 419–464.
33. José Moreira, Os Assimilados: João Albasini e as Eleições, 1900–1922 (Maputo:
Arquivo Histórico de Moçambique, 1997), 192–193.
34. On African press in Mozambique during the Estado Novo, we suggest the study
by José Capela, Moçambique pelo seu povo (Porto: Afrontamento, 1971).
220 Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca
35. Gerhard Seibert, Camaradas, Clientes e Compadres: Colonialismo, Socialismo e
Democratização em São Tomé e Príncipe (Lisboa: Veja, 2002).
36. A Verdade, nº 6, 5 August 1911.
37. A Liberdade, nº 22, 1 December 1922.
38. Isadora de A. Fonseca, “A imprensa e o império colonial em São Tomé e Príncipe
(1857–1974),” Comunicação Pública, 9, no. 16 (2014). DOI: 10.4000/cp.842.
39. O Combate, nº 1, 21 March 1925.
40. Ibid.
41. A Liberdade, nº 21, 15 September 1920.
42. A Desafronta, nº 40, 20 November 1924.
43. Regarding the republic in São Tomé and Principe and the political intervention
of natives through press, see also Augusto Nascimento, “A República em São
Tomé e Príncipe: os escolhos à afirmação da elite são-tomense,” in Em Torno de
Duas Repúblicas, 15 de Novembro de 1889–5 de Outubro de 1910, org. by L.
da C. Pinheiro e M. M. M. Rodrigues (Lisboa: Centro de Literaturas e Culturas
Lusófonas e Europeias, Faculdade de Letras da Universidade de Lisboa, 2012),
115–147.
44. On Guinea in this phase, see Réne Pélissier, História da Guiné – portugueses e
africanos na senegâmbia, 1841–1936 (Lisboa: Imprensa Universitária, 1989).
45. António E. D. Silva, Invenção e Construção da Guiné-Bissau (Lisboa: Almedina,
2010), 34.
46. Valentim Alexandre, “Configurações Políticas,” in História da Expansão Por­
tuguesa. Vol. IV, Do Brasil para África (1808–1930) (Navarra: Círculo dos
Leitores, 1998), 89–211.
47. Isadora de A. Fonseca, “Dilatando a fé e o império: A Imprensa na Guiné no
colonialismo (1880–1973),” Revista Media & Jornalismo, 16, no. 29 (October
2016): 119–138.
48. Concerning the roles performed by thepress in Africa at this time, see Helen
Kitchen, The Press in Africa (Washington: Ruth Sloan Associates, inc., 1956);
and Frank Barton, The Press in Africa: Persecution and Perseverance (Londres:
The Macmillan Press, 1979).
49. Isadora de A. Fonseca, “The Press and the Empire in Portuguese Africa, 1842–
1926,” in Media and the Portuguese Empire, ed. José L. Garcia et al. (Gewer­
bestrasse: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017), 145–159.
50. On resistance and fight against colonialism in Cape Verde during the Estado
Novo, see Sandra I. Cruz, “A quase-informação na Literatura de Cabo Verde em
tempo de censura (1926–1975)” (Master diss., Coimbra: Faculdade de Letras,
Universidade de Coimbra, 2009). See also Sérgio Neto, Colónia Mártir, Coló­
nia Modelo: Cabo Verde no pensamento ultramarino português (1925–1965)
(Coimbra: Imprensa da Universidade de Coimbra, 2009).
51. On the history of the press in Angola throughout the Estado Novo, see, for
instance, António B. Melo, História da Imprensa de Angola (Queimados: Semana
Ilustrada, 1993).
52. On the history of the press in Mozambique, see Ilídio Rocha, A Imprensa de
Moçambique (Lisboa: Edição Livros do Brasil, 2000).
11 African press censorship
in Mozambique: The case
study of Brado Africano in
the twentieth century
Olga Iglésias Neves

Introduction
The pleasure of studying and writing history, answering the problems of the
present, discovering unfinished explanations and always asking new ques­
tions from sources in the past led me to search for what Mozambican women
and men wrote, felt and thought in order to influence the Portuguese colonial
regime. The range and depth of topics to be studied was limited because bib­
liographic research demonstrated the scarcity of historical reflections about
the Portuguese colony of Mozambique. This chapter aims to contribute
understanding of a subject so little explored in Portuguese academia – the
power of the African press, problematizing the role of censorship, studying
the case of the Brado Africano during the twentieth century.
Why is it so important to study the African periodical press? I was moti­
vated to focus on this source when I started studying the African associa­
tions as pressure groups inside Mozambican urban society and realized that
the newspapers were representatives of African demands and showed their
interests.
Other reasons justify the importance of the press. The newspaper contains,
or it is possible to find, relevant information to the social history of the group
that published it. The Brado Africano not only expressed its opinion but also
contributed to the formation of a public opinion, criticizing the colonial
administration’s excesses, especially violence and racial discrimination. On
the other hand, as the newspaper’s subtitle proclaimed, it intended to defend
the interests of the indigenous population, in the colonial context, where the
majority were illiterate.
The study of the role of the African press allows us to deconstruct Por­
tuguese imperial discourse, drawing attention to reality through an antico­
lonial discourse, cautiously pronounced in journalistic prose as if it were
constructed from poetry. The main problem presented by the theme, the
censorship of the African press, makes it possible, through the combination
of qualitative, deductive and comparative methods, to know how to read the
written discourse, how to deduce what is implied therein. How to find what
was censored? It was easier to evade censorship if criticism were written in

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-15

222 Olga Iglésias Neves

Figure 11.1 The Editors and Board of the Brado in 1935. Sitting, from left to right
in the 1st row: Francisco de Haan, João Carlos dos Santos, Estácio
Dias, Joaquim Dourado and Eugénio da Silva Júnior. Standing, from
left to right in the 2nd row: Miguel da Mata, Raul de Oliveira, Rui de
Noronha, Manuel de Menezes and Bandeira de Castro
Source: In: AHM, Fototeca, nº. 331. The Board of the Arquivo Histórico de Moçambique, with
permission.

poetry rather than in journalistic prose. Such criticism appeared not only
in the Brado Africano but in other newspapers and magazines published in
Lourenço Marques, capital of Mozambique.
Research about African press censorship allows us to deduce that there
was repression in the whole colonial territory of Mozambique and to find out
what kind of impact it had on political, social, economic and cultural life as
Daniel Melo did.1 He established that censorship was a politically – and ideo­
logically – relevant instrument for controlling information and knowledge.
In order to highlight the scope of our insights and the methodology used
to develop this research, it is important to mention the supervision of Por­
tuguese professors such as Oliveira Marques, Joel Serrão, Fernando Rosas,
Jill R. Dias, Valentim Alexandre and Nuno Júdice.2 The research at Mozam­
bican National Archive had the support of Inês Nogueira da Costa, Manuel
Lemos and António Sopa.3 It was very important to exchange opinions
with teachers Valdemir Zamparoni, José Moreira, Fátima Mendonça, José
Capela and an old friend Ilídio Rocha. But the reading of Jeanne-Marie
Penvenne’s work was decisive to understand the colonial context.4
 African press censorship in Mozambique 223
Based on the fruitful research at the Mozambique Historical Archive, senior
historians such as João P. B. Coelho, Teresa C. e Silva, Amélia Souto, David
Hedge, Gerhard Liesegang, Joel Tembe and Alda Saúte pursued important
studies, revealing new data, elaborating syntheses with a clear pedagogical and
methodological intention. Such works embody two publications of reference,
which stand out for exploring the sources of history. They are the Arquivo, the
bulletin of the Mozambique Historical Archive and Cadernos de História, the
bulletin of the history department at Eduardo Mondlane University.
One of my wise colleagues, Alfredo Margarido, suggested that I study the
Africans’ initiatives, namely the newspapers:

The press must have posed the problem of colonization of Mozambique

and its specific consequences for the country. Study of the newspaper
Brado Africano published at Lourenço Marques, will then assists in
understanding the objectives of black, mestizo, sometimes Indian, and
a few white people.5

Apart from the official Mozambican historiography, I would like to con­

tribute – integrated in the international research network on the periodical
press in the Portuguese colonial empire – IGSCP-PE – to the understanding
of the Portuguese colonization of Mozambique.
In my PhD thesis, I tried to demonstrate that the nature of the Portuguese
colonial empire was created not only by the colonizers but also by the colo­
nized people, who developed important campaigns of resistance from the
beginning, expressed in Mozambique in the twentieth century by the Filhos
da Terra (The sons of the land, the Afro-Portuguese) using the power of the
written word in the periodical press.
Who were those Afro-Portuguese? We may focus our attention on the
movement of the Filhos da Terra from their first association in Lourenço
Marques in 1908, when a small group of black men decided to organize
the Grémio Africano de Lourenço Marques (African Guild of Lourenço
Marques, GALM), which later developed into the Associação Africana de
Moçambique (African Association of Mozambique), existing from 1938 to
1974, with branches all over the colony (Figure 11.2).
This movement brought together the cream of the assimilated urban petty
bourgeoisie who claimed for themselves the status of civilized colonists, and
as such, criticized without pity or mercy the misdeeds of the Portuguese
colonial administration. Let’s name two such people:
First, an old journalist at the Brado Africano and public employee at Lou­
renço Marques’s port and railway, João Albasini (Figure 11.3).
The second example is a young student and writer, Rui de Noronha (Fig­
ure 11.4).
What kind of characteristics did the periodical press in the Mozambique
colony have? To answer this question, I have chosen the period from 1926
to 1962 to illustrate the impact of repressive measures, namely the prior
censorship of the African press, the subject of our study.
224 Olga Iglésias Neves

Figure 11.2 Building of the Associação Africana de Moçambique. Now it is a space

for commercial companies
Source: (Author’s Collection, 2018); Credit: Olga Iglésias.

Analysing the press during that era, it is possible to divide the different
periods as follows:

First phase – Since the special issue Lourenço Marques Press (Imprensa
de Lourenço Marques) published on 16 October 1926 to protest
against the law of João Belo, Portuguese Minister for Colonies. This
phase includes the instauration of censorship in 1934. This phase
ends with the suspension of the Emancipator (Emancipador) in
1937, accused of subversive communist ideas.
Second phase – Literary circles in the 1940s–1950s, in which Mozam­
bican students such as João Dias (Figure 11.5), intellectuals, take
refuge in literary publications such as the Awakening (Despertar)
and Itinerary (Itinerário), Mirage (Miragem), Theater Programs (Pro­
grama de Teatros) magazines and the foundation of the New Cultural
Center and NESAM, lambasting politics in poetry.6
Third phase – Marked by underground and exile activism along the
1960s, taken over and continued by young students abroad, which
had its highest point in 1965 with the publication of Voz da Rev­
olução (Voice of Revolution), the magazine of FRELIMO, the voice
of those who fought for independence in Mozambique.7
 African press censorship in Mozambique 225

Figure 11.3 The Albasini Family - On the top, João Albasini flanked by his family.
In: AHM, Fototeca, w/d, nº. 326.
Source: The Board of the Arquivo Histórico de Moçambique, with permission.
226 Olga Iglésias Neves

Figure 11.4 Among the first students of the Lyceum is Rui de Noronha, the second
from the right last row.
Source: In José dos Santos Rufino, Albuns fotográficos e descritivos da Colónia de Moçambique.
Vol. II. Lourenço Marques. Printed in Hamburgo, Broschek&Co., 1929, 49.

In order to present the body of data collected we built a chart that lists the
newspapers and magazines published in the colony of Mozambique in 1936,
in the period of the Estado Novo.8 We have tried to systematize the existing
information about the title, periodicity, name of director, place and some
observation on the trend followed.9

Governing rule and practice

Ever since the press appeared in Mozambique,10 there had been different
forms of censorship. But in this chapter, we will not make reference to legisla­
tion prior to the Estado Novo, rather we will take the Decree nº. 12:271 of
3 September 1926, signed by Minister of Colonies João Belo, as the founda­
tional legislation on press freedom during the dictatorship.11
 African press censorship in Mozambique 227

Figure 11.5 João Dias, writer and student of Coimbra University, second from the
left in the photo.
Source: In AHM, Fototeca, w/d, nº. 310. The Board of the Arquivo Histórico de Moçambique,
with permission.
Table 11.1 Press list in Mozambique, 1936

228
Title Periodicity Director Place Print Observations

Olga Iglésias Neves

Notícias Daily Dr. A. Alves Palma Calado Lourenço Marques 3.800/4.300
1926–News
Jornal Daily Dr. A. Neves Anacleto Lourenço Marques 900/1.100
1936–1937 Republican
L. M. Guardian Triweekly Fausto Guimarães Lourenço Marques 750/950
1905–1952 English/News
Emancipador Weekly Manuel Alves Cardiga Lourenço Marques 1.300
1919–1937 Factor worker
Brado Africano Weekly Estácio Dias Lourenço Marques 1.100
1918–1974 African Guild of LM/African
Mozambican Colony Association (Figure 11.2)
Oriente Biweekly Luís Vicente Álvares Lourenço Marques A) 1919–1948 and 1948–1964 (L. M. Archbishopric)
Moçambique Weekly Acácio Silva Lourenço Marques 1.200/1.500 1931–1946 (Defence League and Advertising of
Mozambique Province)
União Weekly Cap. Artur de Jesus Fontes Lourenço Marques 1.000/1.100 1933–1958 From The National Union Party
Evangelho Weekly Priest Luís F. Santos Lourenço Marques B) 1927–1949 St. Joseph of Lhanguene Mission
Lusitânia Monthly José Perdigão Lourenço Marques B) LM Association of Employees of Trade and Industry
Rádio Moçambique Monthly Caetano Campo Lourenço Marques B) 1935–1973 Radio Club from Mozambique
Norte Monthly João Ribeiro de Paiva Moçambique B) 1933–1937 Publishing Company
Distrito Biweekly Lieutenant Colonel Viriato Moçambique B) 1932–1938
Monthly Lopes Ramos da Silva
Notícias da Beira Biweekly Victor Gomes Beira B) 1922–1975 at 1966 from Jorge Jardim
Missão Africana Weekly Priest Martinho Barbosa Beira B) 1931–1942 Na. Sa. Rosário Mission
Comércio da Beira Weekly Gabriel M. Camacho Beira B) 1928–1929; 32–37 Maçonaria, the Chapter 19 June
Voz Africana Biweekly José António da Trindade Beira B) 1932–1974 African Center of Manica and Sofala
Piririsca Monthly Eduardo Simões Pinho Beira B) 1933–1942 Company

Source: Compiled by author using data from Official Letter N° 530/C/16, from the Staff’s Chief of the Governor General to the Staff’s Chief of the Minister of Colonies,
Lourenço Marques, 16.09.1936. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.

(A) Insignificant number of copies; (B) Small number of copies.

 African press censorship in Mozambique 229
In 1927, the Governor General asked the Minister of Colonies for greater
control of the newspaper directors. From the study of official correspon­
dence it seems that the colonial authorities at various levels took advantage
of measures relating to prior censorship to strengthen their power, targeting
anyone who dared to think of writing about colonial conditions. Such targets
of repression included journalists, editor-in-chiefs, directors and publishers
of newspapers who were uncomfortable with the Portuguese colonial regime.
The purpose of prior censorship for the regime was the formation of a
public opinion favorable to the government. Among its objectives were to
prevent the spreading of ‘false and dangerous news’; to form and influence
public opinion and to inform and counter-inform through legal maneuvers
used by various individuals who were above all suspicion and were inte­
grated in the censorship committees.
Following the installation of censorship in 1934, Governor General José
Cabral in Lourenço Marques signed Ordinance nº. 2:211 on 4 April 1934
providing the considerable amount of $1,800 monthly to each person in the
commission appointed to exercise press censorship.12 The censors gathered
outside normal working hours, as most of them were bureaucrats or military
staff, usually members of the National Union Party. They received the printed
material to censor or they went to a place in order to see a show, a movie
or a play, in short, any artistic or cultural activity that had to be checked.
How did this system work? After normal editing at a newspaper, a copy
was sent to the Censorship Commission. They analysed it. If approved, it
would be returned to the source finally printed with the stamp: ‘Authorized
by Censorship’.13 If something wasn’t acceptable, according to the censors,
the text would be cut and generally replaced by a photograph.
All these repressive, preventive measures caused numerous problems in
society, being a permanent focus of tensions and conflicts. This is what we
will present, the impact of censorship in the case of the Brado Africano,
within the artificial environment created by the Estado Novo, leading to
skepticism, violence and revolt.

Impact of repressive measures

The supervisory role of the colonial administration was also strengthened, as
we can see through study of the documentation in the Mozambique National
Archive of the Directorate of Indigenous Business Services. By order of the
Governor General in February 1927, this Directorate should ‘ensure that
the Landina section of the newspaper Brado Africano was always translated
from African languages, and the translations of the articles sent to the Public
Prosecutor’s Office to ensure that the press law was not transgressed’.14
The directors of the newspapers published in Lourenço Marques were
ordered to report to the civil police corps in an intimidating way, according
to orders from the public prosecutor’s office, for trying to gather informa­
tion about educational qualifications.15 Concerning the newspaper Brado
230 Olga Iglésias Neves
Africano and its director Francisco Boavida, the lack of information was
justified as follows:

The director of this newspaper didn’t appear before me because he can­

not be summoned as he doesn’t reside in this municipality. The only
information I found is that he is a farmer and lives on a farm near the
district.

A sequence of angry articles from the newspaper Brado Africano put the
colonial authorities on alert, and the mechanisms of repression were immedi­
ately activated. The articles in question, titled Basta (Enough), Continuando
(Following) and Tenham Paciência (Have Patience)

were addressed to the Portuguese administration in general, and in par­

ticular to the social assistance services, in aggressive, sometimes even
pornographic language. They contained such appraisals of and refer­
ences to conditions that His Excellency, the person in charge of the Gov­
ernment, considered that they should come under article 14 of the law
regulating freedom of the press.

This would be the reason why the Chief of Staff of the Governor General
called the attorney of the republic’s attention to the articles ‘in order that you
should arrange for the appropriate criminal procedure against the aforemen­
tioned periodical to be brought by your delegate’.16
The impact of some of these articles crossed the border of the colony,
as the Portuguese consul in Cape Town, South Africa zealously informed
his superiors, by sending a clipping from the newspaper Brado Africano,
with the title Colonization and the subtitle To colonize or to explore?.17
It was necessary to take care, therefore, ‘for the possibility of such articles
being exploited by the South African press in general, because according to
him, they were hostile and unscrupulous in matters related to Portuguese
colonisation’. Immediately, Minister of Colonies Armindo Monteiro fired
a broadside over the case of the offending newspaper: ‘Send a letter to the
Governor-General of Mozambique, asking him to draw the attention of the
censors to cases like this one, which unfortunately are repeated with regret­
table frequency’.
The attack on the regime was intolerable for them, especially when behind
it lay the fear of communism in Africa. From the Secretariado da Propa­
ganda Nacional (Secretariat for National Propaganda), a complaint about
the performance of the newspaper O Emancipador arrived in the hands of
the Minister of Colonies.18
The Governor General’s response was unflinching. ‘Establish censorship
of the press’. This meant the tightening of the siege, the hand of censorship
would be heavier and heavier from 1934 onwards. Instructions were soon
given in this direction. The telegram sent from the Office of the Governor
 African press censorship in Mozambique 231
General to the governor of Mozambique on 20 January 1934 has been deci­
phered, it expressly said:

I communicate a General Order to your Excellence Censorship of the

press was established today in terms decrees 22.469 and 22.756 and
your Excellence should appoint the respective commission this district
point General whishes keep freedom criticism administraction acts colo­
nial authorities only limitation be made correction without personal
offenses respect truth asks your Excellence give instructions commission
in this sense.19

Let us look at the various cases analysed, according to the attorney of the
republic in July 1935. Let us observe, above all, his arguments against the
granting of amnesty, suggested by the metropolis.20
Among the various trials for the crime of abuse of freedom of the press
that run under the terms of the criminal court in the district of Lourenço
Marques, there are some of importance for their severity and for the quality
and high category of the offended people, these being the instances I will
mention here in chronological order:

• Defamation and injury proceedings by Brado Africano newspaper in

which Ricardo Vaz Monteiro, Governor of the Colony of S. Tomé is
offended and defendant Salustiano da Graça do Espírito Santo;
• Defamation and injury proceedings against the Brado Africano, in
which the civil police corporation and defendant José Gonçalves da
Costa Júnior are offended.

A letter from the General Director of Political and Civil Administration,

dated 23 March 1936, explained the impact of the articles in the newspaper
Brado Africano, aimed at the governor of São Tomé, which he classified as
‘discreditable to that Governor and the local authorities, with serious conse­
quences for public order and our prestige abroad’.21
Criticism of the colonial administration was therefore a taboo subject.
Hence, the Governor General’s order to the Censorship Commission: to
‘avoid this and similar cases, which are only intended to launch disturbances
and disorder in our colonial administration’. The role of the Censorship
Commission, zealous, foresightful and vigilant, is highlighted numerous times
in the official correspondence. The calls for attention follow the Censorship
Commissions, ‘whose action must be taken with the greatest care, in order to
avoid the publication of articles, however they are presented, contrary to the
interests of the State’.22 But, with several commissions, how to standardize
criteria among themselves? And between local and metropolitan?
In a letter from 1936, classified as confidential, the Governor General pro­
vided the following clarification to the Minister of the Colonies in Portugal,
‘that censorship only began to be exercised in this colony on 1 February
232 Olga Iglésias Neves
1934, so it had been impossible to prevent the publication of the two articles
from Brado Africano’. And, again, it asked for a rule on how censorship
ought to be performed

[A]lthough it is necessary to standardize the criteria of the local and

metropolitan commissions, I would be very grateful if you could send
written instructions . . . as has already been requested by this Govern­
ment, in telegram nº 31 and 198, of 29 January and 4 June 1934.23

In addition to the banning of an article by the censorship commission, it is

known that the colonial authorities would then trigger a process that went
through a series of investigations, more to find out the author’s identity
and to punish him with severity than to look into any allegations. This
happened to an indigenous teacher who wrote in the newspaper Brado
Africano but under a pseudonym. They banned his articles, the Governor
General’s order was peremptory – ‘dismiss him .  .  . once the identity of
“A Son of Niassa” has been proven, which is what the indigenous Carlos
Manuel is supposed to call himself’. The civil police commissioner con­
firmed the identification.24
The war situation in the world after 1939 further aggravated social ten­
sions in Mozambique, increasing the caution of the censors and, conse­
quently, repression. Neutrality and the old alliance with England, as essential
positions of Portuguese foreign policy, were constantly reaffirmed in calls for
attention by the censorship commissions, so that their activities would not
provoke the belligerents. To prevent problems in future, restrictive instruc­
tions were sent in a circular from May 1941 to all newspaper directors:

Due to strict orders from the Censorship Commission, we inform you

immediately that in the future no publications will be allowed that,
clearly stated or veiled, have the character of criticism, appreciation
or propaganda for military operations and war policy in favour of or
against any of the belligerent countries, without exceptions of any kind.25

In the post-war period, the accumulated experience of censorship was

put at the service of the fight against communism, trying to isolate the
so-called Red Danger, subversive of the values of bourgeois society. Any
indication or sign of contact with the USSR was immediately analysed
and, of course, prohibited. Thus, in a letter from the Chief of Staff of the
Governor General to the president of the Censorship Commission of Lou­
renço Marques, he was asked to analyse a list of books, with provocative
titles, such as:

The Real Soviet Russia, by David J. Dallin;

Reflections on the Revolution of Our Time, by Harold Lasky;
Marxist Pedagogy Problems, by S. Fridman;
 African press censorship in Mozambique 233
Forensic Sexology, by Afrânio Peixoto;
Marxist Dissemination, Brazilian periodical;
Fundamentals of Soviet Power, by Edgar Snow.26

In the 1950s, through the analysis of the correspondence between the censor­
ship commissions and the newspapers’ directorates, it seems to us that the
impact of the repressive measures went through a bureaucratic phase, trying
to strengthen the colonial regime and pressuring the press. In order to limit
the work of censorship, by concentrating on the ideological sphere and to
relieve the work of zealous public officials, a subsequent circular, dated 5
June 1953, contained a list of the materials exempted from prior censorship,
as determined by the Governor General, namely:

(A) news of a military nature emanating from the general government or

the military command of the province;
(B) simple chronological news that does not involve political and social issues;
(C) simple news about religious, artistic, intellectual, mundane, associative,
commercial and industrial life;
(D) information that may be included in the designation of ‘bulletin of the
day’, such as radio programs, exchange and stock exchange section,
tides, maritime movement, hospital movement, movement of hotels
and pensions, service pharmacies, weather report, religious days, depar­
tures and arrivals;
(E) news about the granting of appropriations for public improvements
and their inauguration;
(F) news from the Mocidade Portuguesa (Portuguese Youth, an organiza­
tion associated with the regime);
(G) legislation already published in the government gazette or in official
bulletins;
(H) news and reports of sporting events provided they do not involve
conflict or comparison of races, nor comparisons of the metropolis
and the overseas provinces;
(I) simple current news of disasters and thefts when provided by the police
force command;
(J) deeds of incorporation of commercial and industrial companies, as
well as their reports and accounts;
(K) official announcements;
(L) advertisements for provincial firms and their products;
(M) announcements about liberal professions, as well as lessons and
explanations.27

He ended the circular, recalling that: ‘All the matter not covered by the previ­
ous paragraphs, remains subject to prior censorship under the terms of the
press law, to be carried out by this Censorship Commission’. Now, the matter
considered most sensitive lay in the sphere of politics.
234 Olga Iglésias Neves
In January 1961, news escaped which greatly disturbed the colonial
authorities. Thus, a letter nº. 5/C/961 from the Censorship Commission of
Beira to the director of Diário de Moçambique demanded that he ‘explain
the reasons for the posting of news about the assault on the Portuguese boat
Santa Maria’ on the placards of Capri Cafe, without submitting it to the
scrutiny of this Censorship Commission.28 Such a shameful demand could
not pass unopposed. In the history of opposition to the colonial regime, this
was one of many events which caused Mozambicans to fight for freedom
of the press.

Conclusion
In the wide range of African initiatives for independence, especially in the
political and social sphere, we investigated the Mozambican movement to
elucidate a history of nationalism in Mozambique, seeking to characterize
its specificities. Following its trajectory, from protest to armed action, we
stopped at this particular point, to study the censorship of the press, and
above all, the phenomena of African resistance and clandestinity.
Despite the need to continue to investigate political parties and pressure
groups in Mozambique, it is possible to systematize some ideas and present
new clues for future work, in the particular area of political and social his­
tory. The first conclusion we reached was that the resistance movement was
an urban phenomenon. As we have seen, that movement concentrated on
the urban space of Lourenço Marques, from the time immediately following
the implantation of the republic but was actually a long time in preparation
since the end of the nineteenth century, testifying to the organizing capacity
of the men of that time. It expanded with the growth of cities through­
out Mozambique during the Estado Novo and reached the villages in the
late 1950s, following the economic development of certain areas, such as
Chókwe (Gaza), Manica and Moatize (Tete).
The second conclusion is that African initiatives, within the framework of
the movement, were carried out by petty-bourgeois elite, the ‘intelligentsia’
of the Filhos da Terra. On the one hand, we noted the existence of organized
activity, carried out by this intellectual elite, which manifested itself in opin­
ion journalism in reaction to the colonial regime. On the other hand, we
verified their literary and artistic creativity within a longing for acceptance.
Another conclusion focuses on the defence of the ‘African cause’: pres­
sure that was exerted on the colonial regime by African groups. We studied
the 36-year course (1926–1962) of African associations, analysing the vicis­
situdes experienced by black men, who initially wanted to found a school
using the Portuguese language, in the midst of the majority of the population,
the ‘indigenous’. Soon, after the school project, others followed, the most
relevant being the maintenance of weekly newspapers: O Africano and the
Brado Africano, spokesmen of the ideals spread by the republicans, of ‘Jus­
tice, Equality and Fraternity’ and, echoing the aspirations of Pan-Africanism,
 African press censorship in Mozambique 235
of elevating the ‘Black Race’. The denunciation of cases of injustice seems
to be one of the most solid aspects of the action and the one that allows
us to view their role as pressure groups. The hottest debate focused on the
question of assimilados, those Africans who had adopted Portuguese cul­
ture that is, assimilated. In the most severe cases, where dissenters were not
exiled, they did not fail to make their voice heard. We mentioned its most
illustrious creators of public opinion – João Albasini, representative of the
Grémio Africano in the decade of 1910–1920, Rui de Noronha, in the fol­
lowing decade, as well as the magnificent editorials of the newspaper Brado
Africano and José Craveirinha, illustrious poet, one of the new generation
in the fifty decades.
Text analysis of publications issued during the phase of the Grémio
Africano shows the permanent division of two basic elements of proto­
nationalism – the black, associated with the image of the race, with all its
strength, beauty and tradition and the Portuguese African (assimilated),
associated with the idea of civilization and citizenship under Portuguese
sovereignty. The dismantling and melding of these two elements in reac­
tion to the regime would lead to the category known at the time as nativ­
ism. Behind the discourse of a romantic nativism, there were signs of an
unchallenged revolt, of a moderate opposition, which intended to correct,
more than to annul, the colonial regime, more concerned with preserving the
crumbs of power, than destroying it.
We have shown the struggle for freedom of the press. The thesis that we
defend, of the existence of African intervention political journalism, seems
to be proven by the opinions that came to light, despite grievances and
appeals, in a relentless struggle for the freedom to be, to think and to act. The
Filhos da Terra in the colonial context were no exception to a rule found in
many parts of the world. Like other intellectuals, officials, military, traders,
urban and rural landowners, teachers, assistants in religious missions and
employees of commerce and industry, they soon discovered in the press an
instrument of pressure and, became journalists with sharp pens.29 However,
the fact that they asserted themselves as defenders of the majority of the
population, ‘the indigenous’ led them to a more direct confrontation with the
regime, under the motto surge et ambula (raise and walk).30 Nothing could
have been more threatening to Portuguese colonialism. If the First Republic
tolerated a constant criticism of the colonial administration’s excesses on the
part of the African elite, the military dictatorship, and the Estado Novo that
followed it, introduced repressive measures, curbing the boldness of thought.
How did African intellectuals react to prior censorship? The answer can be
perceived in a collective manner, so we analysed it using the overall frame­
work of the opposition which saw the struggle consisting of seven stages. The
first step was a protest in 1926.31 The second, denouncing the press situation
as ‘depressing and vexing’ in 1931.32 The third, a direct attack on the censor­
ship commissions in 1941.33 The fourth, an open war on censorship after a
great deal of provocation in 1945.34 The fifth, an impassioned strike against
236 Olga Iglésias Neves
the established bureaucracy in 1951.35 The sixth, a fight and subsequent
escape in 1961.36 And the seventh, demanding the end or the abolition of
prior censorship, both in the metropolis and in Mozambique.37
Finally, it is important to state that the simple word: basta (enough), inspir­
ing in the 1920s of the last century, fell asleep in the first decades of Estado
Novo but was recovered later by the anti-government discourse, proposing
a more just society, without poverty and disease, developing in peace.

Notes
1. Olga I. Neves, “Social and Cultural Life in Lourenço Marques, 1908–1938”
(International Congress Africa’s Urban Past, London, 1996); Daniel Melo,
“A censura salazarista e as colónias,” Revista de História de Sociedade
e Cultura, 16 (2016): 475–496 (Accessed 10 March 2020). https://doi.
org/10.14195/1645_2259_16_21.
2. All of them from FCSH/ Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas, NOVA Uni­
versity, where I was a graduate with a master’s degree and PhD. See Olga Iglé­
sias Neves, “Moçambique,” in Nova História da Expansão Portuguesa. Vol. 11.
O Império Africano, coord. A. H. de Oliveira Marques (Lisbon: Ed. Estampa,
2001), 469–584.
3. António J. D. Sopa, Catálogo dos Periódicos Moçambicanos, precedido de uma
pequena notícia histórica, 1854–1984 (Maputo: UEM, Arquivo Histórico de
Moçambique, 1985).
4. Valdemir Zamparoni, “A Imprensa negra em Moçambique: A trajectória de O
Africano, 1908–1920,” África, 11 (1988): 73–86; José Capela, “A Imprensa de
Moçambique até à independência,” 140 anos de imprensa em Moçambique, ed.
Fátima Ribeiro and António Sopa (Maputo: AMLP, 1996), 11–27; Jeanne-Marie
Penvenne, African Workers and Colonial Racism: Mozambican Strategies and
Struggles in Lourenço Marques, 1877–1962 (London: James Currey, 1994).
5. Alfredo Margarido, Estudos sobre literaturas das nações africanas de língua
portuguesa (Lisboa: Ed. Regra do Jogo, 1980), 67.
6. This center was founded by the Mozambican poet Rui de Noronha.
7. See the Revolution Bulletin of the FRELIMO Representation in Algiers,
September 1970. Valeriano Ferrão, Embaixador nos USA (Maputo: Ndjira,
2007), 39.
8. See official letter nº 530/C/16 from the Staff’s Chief of the Governor General to
the Staff’s Chief of the Minister of Colonies, Lourenço Marques, 16.09.1936.
In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936. The Estado Novo was the designation
of the Portuguese regime during the period of Salazar and Marcello Caetano
(1933–1974).
9. Ilídio Rocha, Catálogo dos Periódicos e Principais Seriados de Moçambique (Lis­
boa: Ed. 70, 1985), 52–53; Ilídio Rocha, A Imprensa de Moçambique (Lisboa:
Edição “Livros do Brasil”, 2000), 233–379; António Sopa, Breves Notas sobre
a História da Imprensa (Maputo: U.E.M., 1985), 7–11.
10. The first official bulletin was printed at Quelimane, 1854.
11. Boletim oficial da Colónia de Moçambique. I Série, nº. 40, 2 October 1926,
281–286; Rectification in Decree nº. 13:841, which modifies and perfects the
Decree nº. 12:721. In: Official Bulletin, nº. 35, Ist series, 27.08.1927, 263.
12. Boletim oficial da Colónia de Moçambique. I Série, nº. 14, 4 April 1934,
123–124.
13. With the stamp: “Visado pela Censura”.
 African press censorship in Mozambique 237
14. This section was written in Xi-Ronga language. Craft nº. 104/13/3 from the
Chief of Staff to the Public Prosecutor, 28.02.1927. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1,
1926–1936.
15. Copy nº. 129 from the Civil Police Corps Criminal Investigation, third section,
Lourenço Marques, 29.03.1927. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
16. Office no. 129/C-16, from the Chief of Staff to the Attorney of the Republic,
Lourenço Marques, 17.03.1932. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
17. Office no. 392, by the Secretary General of M.N.E. to the Chief of Staff of the
Minister for the Colonies, Lisbon, 20.12.1933. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1,
1926–1936.
18. Office no. 561, from the Secretary of National Propaganda to the Minister of
Colonies, Lisbon, December 19, 1933. See the order of Governor General of
Mozambique José Cabral. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
19. Deciphering the telegram sent from the Office to the Governor General of
Mozambique, 29.01.1934. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
20. Office no. 298/N 2, from the Attorney of the Republic to the Governor General,
01.07.1935. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
21. Office no. 414, from the Director General of Political and Civil Administration of
the Ministry of Colonies to the Governor General of Mozambique, 23.03.1936.
In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
22. Office no. 546, Confidential, from the Chief of Staff of the Minister of Colo­
nies to the Governor General, Lisbon, 05.05.1936. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1,
1926–1936.
23. Office no. 903/C-16, Confidential, from the Governor General to the Minister
of the Colonies, Lourenço Marques, April 29, 1936. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1,
1926–1936.
24. Office no. 528/1/25, from the Governor of Niassa to the Head of the Bureau
of the Office of the Governor General, Nampula, 27.03.1936; Office no. 1,157,
confidential, from the Governor of the Southern Province of Save to the
Head of Office, Lourenço Marques, 16.04.1936. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1,
1926–1936.
25. Case C/16 – press – censorship, Circular nº. 67, from the President of the
Press Censorship Commission to the Newspaper Director, Lourenço Marques,
22.05.1941. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 3, 1940–1941.
26. Office no. 172/C-16, from the Chief of Staff to the President of the Censorship
Commission, Lourenço Marques, March 11, 1947. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 6,
1944–1947.
27. Official letter from the Censorship Commission for the Director of the newspa­
per Diário de Moçambique, 08.06.1953. In: AHM, GG, Diário de Moçambique/
Censorship Commission, 1950–1960.
28. Office no. 5/C/961, from the President of the Censorship Commission to the
Director of Diário de Moçambique, Beira, January 1961. In: AHM, GG, Diário
de Moçambique/Censorship Commission, 1950–1960.
29. António Sopa,“Alguns Aspectos do Regime de Censura Prévia em Moçambique,”
in 140 Anos de Imprensa em Moçambique, coord. Fátima Ribeiro and António
Sopa (Maputo: AMOLP, 1996), 89–120; Olga Iglésias Neves, “Em Defesa da
Causa Africana: Intervenção do Grémio Africano na Sociedade de Lourenço
Marques (1908–1938)” (Masters Dissertation, Lisboa: Faculdade de Ciências
Sociais e Humanas, Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 1989), 177–181.
30. Rui de Noronha, “Surge et ambula,” poem by Rui de Noronha, in Sonetos, p. 69
and in África, n. 1, 08.02.1936, p. 12. Olga Iglésias Neves, “Rui de Noronha,
Sonetos. Methodology for a critical text” (Lisbon, UNL, 1986). Work presented
to Nuno Júdice, within the scope of the masters in history of the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries.
238 Olga Iglésias Neves
31. Telegram nº. 551, from the Governor General to the Minister of Colonies, Lou­
renço Marques, 10.19.1926. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 1, 1926–1936.
32. Representation of Lourenço Marques newspapers to the Minister of the Colo­
nies, on the Press Law, 01.07.1931; Request from the Lourenço Marques Press
Representatives to the Governor General of an audience, Lourenço Marques,
07.10.1931. In: AHM, Lourenço Marques City Hall Archive.
33. Office no. 60, from the Press Censorship Commission to the Head of Office of
the Office of the Governor General, Lourenço Marques, 04.04.1941; Letter from
the Lourenço Marques Guardian newspaper to the Head of Office of the Office
of the Governor General, Lourenço Marques, 06.26.1941; Office no. 800/C-16,
from the Chief of Staff to the journalist E. Bayly, Lourenço Marques, 28.11.1941.
In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 3, 1940–1941.
34. Office no. 3/945, from the President of the Censorship Committee to the Head
of Office of the Office of the Governor General, Lourenço Marques, 10.01.1945;
Telegram nº. 12,173, from the Presidents of the Chamber of Commerce, the
Commercial Association, the Agricultural Promotion Association, the Associa­
tion of Owners and the National Union of Employees of Commerce and Industry
to the Governor General of the Colony of Mozambique and the Minister of the
Colonies, 16.04.1945. In: AHM, GG, C/16, Vol. 6, 1944–1947.
35. Office no. 5/51, Member of the Censorship Commission of Beira for the Direc­
tor of the newspaper Diário de Moçambique, 03.12.1951; Office no. 6/51, of
the Member of the Censorship Commission for the Director of the newspaper
Diário de Moçambique, 06.12.1951; Letter w/no., from the Editor in Chief of
the newspaper Diário de Moçambique, to the Member of the Censorship Com­
mission of Beira, 12.07.1951. In: AHM, GG, Diário de Moçambique/Censorship
Commission, 1950–1960.
36. See the censored proof of the article: “O Ultramar nas Contas Gerais do Estado,”
Diário de Moçambique, Beira, 19.04.1960 – with the stamp “Authorized”, of
the Censorship Commission; Office no. 258/61, from the Editor-in-Chief of the
newspaper Diário de Moçambique to the President of the Press Censorship Com­
mission, Beira, 27.01.1961. In: AHM, GG, Diário de Moçambique/Censorship
Commission, 1950–1960.
37. See “O Problema da Censura à Imprensa em Moçambique e o Ministro do Ultra-
mar,” Notícias, Lourenço Marques, Year XXXVI, nº. 11.465, 10.01.1961. (Rep­
resentation by “Comrades of the Press and Radio of Beira” to Adriano Moreira).
12 ‘Reaching the hearts of the sons
of Portugal with the longings and
aspirations of the sons of India’*
Filipa Sousa Lopes

In the context of reflecting on the importance of the colonial periodical

press in the construction of the political debate on the future of the Estado
da Índia, we aim through discourse analysis of the Goan newspaper Bharat
(India) to understand its contribution to the construction of political con­
sciousness concerning the Portuguese dictatorial regime. Thus, seeking to fill
a gap in studies about the opposition to the Estado Novo within the Por­
tuguese imperial space, we have developed a study comparing the political
actions of the metropolitan and Goan oppositions during the elections for
the national assembly after the Second World War. Later, we will evaluate
the impact of the unusual Goan electoral process as covered in the metro­
politan press.
After nearly two decades of Portuguese dictatorship, 8 May 1945 marked
the end of the European war. At the time no one believed that the head of the
Portuguese government, António Oliveira Salazar, a friend of Franco – both
committed supporters of the Axis Powers – could withstand the downfall
of Nazi fascism. In Lisbon, an impatient crowd gathered in front of the
embassies of the allied countries, hailing ‘Victory! Victory! Freedom! De­
mo-cra-cy’ and the Portuguese opposition, placing great hopes on the victory
of democracy, believed that the necessary conditions were in place for the
birth of a new era, the era of freedom.1 But, on the other hand, while Salazar
welcomed the end of hostilities in Europe, speaking at the national assem­
bly on 18 May, he recalled that ‘everywhere, the war was conducted under
limited freedom and the necessary authority’, and the same would happen
with peace.2 In such a context, the head of government considered it neces­
sary that the electoral law be changed. Introducing some amendments to the
constitution regarding the national assembly, the state council supported the
government’s proposal for its dissolution by the president of the republic,
and the elections were scheduled for 18 November.
Aware of the winds of change that blew across Europe, the new electoral
law was aimed at creating the apparatus of free elections, according to Sala­
zar ‘as free as in free England’.3 The single national circle was substituted for
by several electoral circles where lists of candidates contested the assigned
number of seats, the winners having to top the list. Yet, Salazar warned those
DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-16
240 Filipa Sousa Lopes
whom he called for the sake of convenience, ‘the opposition’, about the spirit
in which he was taking such a step:

[L]et go of your partisanship, if you have it, your spirit of partisanship,

if you hold on to it, because none of that is in the interest of the country,
or, better yet, the country doesn’t really need that to emerge.4

The various sections of the opposition authorized by the government to

hold a public meeting organized themselves into a unified movement against
the regime, giving birth to the completely spontaneous Movimento de Uni­
dade Democrática (Movement of Democratic Unity), better known as MUD.5
Even though the government immediately rejected the claims formulated at
the meeting, the movement quickly expanded throughout the country, receiv­
ing thousands of subscriptions for membership. Lisbon alone contributed
50,154 signatures.
The course of events led people to believe in a gradual and peaceful liber­
alization of the regime, as the regime’s União Nacional (National Union) was
no longer the only political force able to dispute the election.6 Therefore, in
the short time of period allowed, it was possible for opposition candidates
to compete against the União Nacional lists in the constituencies of Vila
Real, Lisbon, Portalegre, and the Azores (Horta), as well as in the colonies,
including Cape Verde, Guinea, Angola, Mozambique, and the Estado da
Índia (State of India).7 But, if in most constituencies, the candidates of the
opposition were nominated by the united opposition, on the MUD-related
lists, it is interesting to note that this did not happen in the case of Portalegre
or the Estado da Índia.
Putting the democratic intentions of the government to test, the Goans
organized themselves, intending to be again represented politically in the
national assembly, resuming the long tradition that went back to the con­
stitutional monarchy instituted by the Portuguese 1820 liberal revolution
and continued during the 16-years long First Republic (1910–1926). On the
contrary, the dictatorship, established in 1926, had ended colonial represen­
tation in the national assembly. This impact of the dictatorship on colonial
policy had immediately raised concerns in Goa, namely at the newspapers
Heraldo, O Ultramar, and Bharat.8 Already in July 1926, Luís de Menezes
Bragança denounced the leaders of the military coup for ‘not seeking a simple
violent change of Government, but the end of the Republic, for which reason
they could not receive Republican support’.9 In 1930, the Acto Colonial
(Colonial Act), which would be incorporated into the 1933 Estado Novo’s
constitution, laid the foundations of the regime’s colonial policy.10 The act
constitutionalized the concept of the Portuguese colonial empire, increased
Lisbon’s powers over the colonies and colonial authorities, and confirmed
Portuguese identity in terms of Portugal’s historical right to own colonies
because of its civilizing mission. The reform of the colonial political and
economic administration, to strengthen the control of the metropolis over
 Reaching the hearts of sons of Portugal 241
the colonies, put an end to the slight autonomy of the republican period and
provoked the most violent of speeches. Speaking on 4 July 1930 at Estado da
Índia’s government council, Menezes Bragança pointed out that if the previ­
ous political statutes claimed the political unity of the Portuguese nation, the
Acto Colonial had broken such unity, forming ‘two perfectly distinct political
units, unequal in value. One, the sovereign metropolis, ordering and domi­
nating, the other, totally submissive to it, making it part of the Portuguese
Colonial Empire and forever subjected to the first’, for which reason ‘India
shall never accept it’.11
The Goans’ reaction to these political changes and the transformations
produced in the political and administrative organization of the Estado
da Índia strengthened their protest against Portuguese colonial policy and
heightened the political debate on the future of Goa. Equal constitutional
rights for all citizens, both metropolitans and colonials, and the restitution
of civil liberties denied by the Salazar regime became the cause of many
Goans. The regime responded with persecution, arrests and dismissals from
public office, forcing many Goans into exile, from where they continued to
contest the Portuguese imperial project. In 1933, the Goan community of
Bombay gathered in a rally convened by The Goan Union and sent, through
the president of the rally, Vicente de Bragança Cunha, a motion to the Min­
ister of Colonies, Armindo Monteiro, repudiating the principles of the Acto
Colonial, which not only affronted the civic dignity of the children of Portu­
guese India but also placed ‘the Goan emigrants in British India, in a difficult
situation that, for Portuguese India, [could] bring serious consequences’.12 It
was also due to a group of Goans based in Bombay, through a network of
clandestine support in the territory of Portuguese India, that the circulation
of markedly anti-colonialist newspapers became possible. With limited runs
and irregular periodicity, clandestine leaflets and newspapers had greater
freedom in Bombay, as they were not coerced by the hands of the censors and
their ‘blue pencils’.13 Amongst the exiles, Julião Menezes played a significant
role.14 After he graduated in medicine from the University of Berlin, where
he met Ram Manohar Lohia, and participated in the Berlin Indian Students’
Union, he returned to Goa. But disappointed with the political situation,
Julião Menezes fled to Bombay after the closing by the authorities of the
Clube Juvenil de Assolna (Youth Club of Assolna) led by him, where he had
also founded a bookstore that clandestinely distributed nationalist publica­
tions. In 1939, he launched the nationalist organization Gomantak Praja
Mandal (Committee of the people of Goa/Gomantak), which until 1949
published the weekly Gomantak to circulate clandestinely in Goa.
Although press freedom was restrained by censorship and by strong pro­
paganda, some of Goa’s legal press indirectly criticized the regime’s colonial
policy. The possibility of changing the regime by democratic means was
significant in motivating the Goans to present lists for the election of two
members from the Estado da Índia, of the 13 elected members in the eight
colonial constituencies. Unique in the entire Portuguese territories, the list
242 Filipa Sousa Lopes
proposed by the regime was opposed by four other lists with names that
ranged from ‘leftist’, ‘popular’, and ‘independent’, to ‘Indian nationalist’.15
Restricted by what newspapers could write, the campaign started with sev­
eral news items aimed at reawakening the political consciousness of the
Goan people.16
The newspaper Bharat, published in Quepém, founded in 1913 by Hegdó
Dessai, without deviating from its editorial line of an ‘independent and lib­
eral newspaper’ sought to circumvent censorship in such a way that through
its pages readers would find a space for political reflection.17 In such a spirit,
Hegdó Dessai started covering the campaign. On 25 October, he dedicated a
few preliminary words to inform the Goan people about the moment and the
newspaper’s position.18 He made public his hope for the holding of genuine
elections and not just ‘mere fiction’. Fearing unequal treatment throughout
the electoral campaign contest between candidates, he emphasized that no
pressure should be imposed on any faction.19 Facing a public detached from
politics, it was important for the Bharat to clarify to the population that the
União Nacional was not ‘a single political party’. For that reason, voters
should vote for the candidates who best ‘defend their freedom and other
rights recognized by Europe’s militant democracies’.20 Following that logic
and according to the newspaper, to give the same opportunity to all national
assembly candidates, it was urgent to publish all the manifestoes and respec­
tive programmes, so that voters could be better guided in the exercise of
their right.21
Considering that a free vote was sacred, Bharat, with the political straight­
forwardness that had always characterized it, expressed its impartiality
regarding the União Nacional and other political groups. It also recalled
that caste, colour, or religion should not influence public life, clarifying that
for such a reason, the newspaper would support the candidates who best rep­
resented the interests of the Estado da Índia.22 A week later, on 1 November,
the readers were informed that the newspaper had not yet defined its posi­
tion towards the upcoming election, but to assist the voters it would publish
Froilano de Melo’s manifesto.23 In this manifesto, the candidate who sup­
ported free elections as announced by Salazar, stated that the voters had the
duty to exercise ‘their free, clear, dispassionate consciousness [judgement],
above any commitments or pressures other than those dictated by their con­
viction as Citizens’.24 So the population should express their true national
will and vote for the candidates who best fought for their rights and those
of future generations.
Froilano de Melo and Luís da Cunha Gonçalves, both candidates from
the União Nacional’s list, were two eminent personalities in Goan society,
prestigious in their specialities, Cunha Gonçalves as a jurist, and Froilano de
Mello, as a physician and researcher. However, soon Bharat demonstrated
its reluctance to support the União Nacional’s list. The newspaper claimed
that these would not be the candidates who would best represent the aspi­
rations of the Goans in the national assembly. Without mentioning their
 Reaching the hearts of sons of Portugal 243
disagreement with the colonial policy that they would represent and to influ­
ence its readers, the newspaper warned that direct or indirect contribution
to the victory of these candidates would be committing ‘a crime against the
nation’. Explaining that the voters would be contributing to their distrac­
tion from their necessary and precious scientific work: ‘trusting them with
the mandate of members was the same as depriving the advancement of
jurisprudence and medicine’.25
Of the four opposition lists presented for the constituency of India against
Salazar’s União Nacional, the Bharat newspaper published the composition
of each list: the list of José Paulo Teles and Vinaeca Coissoró (Teles-Coissoró);
the list of Adolfo Costa and António do Carmo Azevedo (Costa-Azevedo);
the list of José Inácio de Loyola and Vicente João de Figueiredo (Loyola-
Figueiredo); and the list of Poi and Francisco Xavier Furtado (Poi-Furtado).
Regarding the first two lists, it only informed the readers of their withdrawal.
As for the two remaining lists, a series of news articles would be published,
guiding voters on the best way to exercise their right to vote.
From the list composed by Loyola-Figueiredo, the candidate José Iná­
cio de Loyola, popularly known as Fanchú, represented the fight against
the colonial regime, with a political statement in favour of creating greater
administrative and financial autonomy by granting a new political status
for the Estado da Índia.26 A lawyer by profession, he worked together with
several newspapers, becoming part of their management. He wrote articles
attacking Salazar, and we must underline his famous speech given in 1932
next to the statue of Afonso de Albuquerque, saying that,

[O]ur country should be given a political status according to the reali­

ties of its historical past rather than being treated as a colony, which
she never has been, in the strictest sense of the term. We never accepted
and will never accept being placed in the same category as the people of
Mozambique or Angola.27

There was among Goan elites a strong current to assume power: they felt
ready to govern. With a deep connection to Portugal, they still expressly
rejected the central government’s policy since the Acto Colonial had assigned
them equal status with the Portuguese colonies in Africa, whereas the Goans
placed India on top of the civilizational hierarchy. This attitude reflected the
legacy of liberal politics before 28 May 1926, that in the ‘context of Portu­
guese colonialism in the Indian Ocean seems to have provided Goans with
a privileged racial and political space’, thus prompting the rejection of the
uniformization of the colonial empire.28 Evading arrest after that speech,
Loyola left for Bombay, where he later published a weekly newspaper, Por­
tugal e Colónias (Portugal and the Colonies, 1937–1938). Returning to Goa
after some time, his position against Portuguese colonialism in India led
him to mishap, due to his claim for a regime of freedoms and rights in Por­
tuguese India. He was arrested on 11 October 1946, serving a sentence in
244 Filipa Sousa Lopes
the Portuguese prison of Peniche, being released in January 1950, but under
parole for two years.29 After his arrest, he went to India (Bombay) only in
1958, but soon after he returned to Portugal, where he died in 1973.
The other candidate on the list was Vicente João de Figueiredo, lawyer by
profession.30 He held the position of Pondá municipal judge until his retire­
ment in 1943, was a member of the legislative council and the provincial
congresses of Portuguese India. He was principal editor and owner of the
newspaper A Voz da Índia (The Voice of India, 1946–1959). In 1947, dur­
ing the discussion of a proposal for a new political status for the Estado da
Índia, he published a text called Ainda o Estatuto Político (Still the Political
Status) in a leaflet titled Nacionalismo.31
In the 1945 elections, Vicente João de Figueiredo along with José Inácio de
Loyola presented the so-called Popular list. During the election campaign, his
ideas reflected the need for political change in the Estado da Índia. Although
Figueiredo recognized he did not have the best oratorical skills to ‘thrill the
National Assembly’, he promised to put himself at the service of the coun­
try in the national assembly, to fulfil people’s aspirations and monitor the
colonial legislation that the post-war period would necessarily bring.32 The
manifesto To Portuguese India, published by Bharat, signed by him on 27
October 1945 – three days after the official coming into force of the United
Nations Charter – , reflected the candidate’s conviction of the necessity for
a change of colonial law in the post-war period. As perceived by the public,
the Second World War was a war for the freedom of nations. A concept had
developed based on the principle of self-determination and independence,
which did not apply only to European countries that had been under the
rule of Nazi Germany, but, on the contrary, had a universal reach, that is,
people felt it should be extended to all territories under the colonial rule.
The emancipation movements that had been emerging since the creation of
the League of Nations (LN), after the First World War in which the colonies
were involved, not only increased in strength but also received a legal frame­
work provided by international law, with the principle of self-determination
enshrined in Article 73 of the United Nations (UN) Charter, under the title of
Declaration on Non-Self-Governing Territories. As Aurora Almada e Santos
wrote, ‘In succumbing to evolving interpretations of the document, the UN
has become an anti-colonial forum, leaving behind its original conception as
an instrument for the defence of empires’.33
Hoping that the new international paradigm would be reflected in the
Portuguese colonial policy and with the signs of a possible political change
in the Estado da Índia, the candidate Vicente João de Figueiredo appealed
for the votes of Goans. The nomination of Paulo Bernard Guedes, after the
Second World War, as governor of the State of Portuguese India, was indica­
tive of possible transformation. The British consul in Goa, Ali Baig,

believed in the hope of change through the appointment of this new gov­
ernor, which led him to think that the allied victory would lead Salazar
 Reaching the hearts of sons of Portugal 245
to release the reins of centralization and to grant a certain political
autonomy to the colony.34

The Poi-Furtado list also presented a manifesto, signed by Francisco

Xavier Furtado, highlighting the fact that over the last 20 years, voices from
Goa had not been heard in the national assembly. For the candidate, it was
urgent to ‘reach the hearts of the sons of Portugal with the longings and
aspirations of the sons of India’. The candidate presented himself as a man of
the people, whose only inheritance was work. He considered himself capable
of expressing the voters’ feelings and wishes, as he knew the effects of the
laws that ruled them, was aware of their living conditions from his own
experience, and knew how to ‘remedy’ their problems. Taking on a populist
cast, he claimed that it was not the eloquent speeches in the House but his
contact with the people that gave him true knowledge of the local situation.35
However, Bharat, aiming at influencing the votes of its readers, warned that
the list of Poi-Furtado did not have sufficient elements to convince voters that
they would know how to implement what they proposed in their manifesto,
and for that reason, they could not ‘inspire confidence in this electorate’ for
‘they had not proven their parliamentary tenacity’.36
As the Poi-Furtado list withdrew, only two lists remained: the list of Cunha
Gonçalves-Melo, for the regime, and the list of Loyola-Figueiredo, for the
opposition. Conditioned by the limitations imposed by the dictatorial regime,
Bharat, without referring to its disagreement with the colonial policy of the
regime, pointed out that the only list which candidates met the requirements
to ‘properly’ exercise the role of deputies – ‘interpreting the feelings and
needs of the people of this land’ – was the list of Loyola-Figueiredo. Thus,
the newspaper denied its support to the União Nacional list led by Cunha
Gonçalves-Melo.37
The elections for the national assembly were held on 18 November 1945.
Separate from what happened in the metropolis and other colonies, where
the opposition, united around the MUD, dropped out of the election calling
on voters to abstain, in Estado da Índia, a unique situation occurred. The
opposition list disputed the polls. The election was held, and for the very
first time, in almost two decades of dictatorship, the opposition list led by
Loyola-Figueiredo did not drop out of the race and went to the polls, reach­
ing, according to official results, 2,493 votes of the approximately 9,387
votes cast, whereas the winning list obtained 6,892 votes.38
The announcement of the victory of the União Nacional candidates raised
immediate doubts and distrust on the electoral process, being questioned
its legitimacy. According to P. P. Shirodkar, ‘it was an election which was
manoeuvred and manipulated by the government with the help of a few busi­
nessmen, the landlords and the members of legal and medical professions’.39
In December 1945, José Inácio de Loyola and Vicente João de Figueiredo
sent a telegram to the Ministry of the Colonies in protest against the outcome
of the election. The telegram reported several irregularities that took place
246 Filipa Sousa Lopes
during the electoral process, such as the fact that in some polling stations
there had been a change of ballot papers and voters connected with the oppo­
sition were prevented from voting.40 The protests were considered unfounded
and so Froiliano de Melo and Luís da Cunha Gonçalves were recognized as
the legitimate representatives of the Estado da Índia at the national assembly.
For José Inácio de Loyola, ‘the electoral farce of 18 November took away the
last hopes that the people of this land had in democracy’.41
The effects of the political struggle would still be felt when José Silvestre
Ferreira Bossa, the new General Governor of the Estado da Índia (1946–
1947), arrived in Goa, on 27 May 1946. In his first report to Lisbon, in
1947, he mentioned that although the União Nacional had won the elec­
tion, ‘the aftermath brought resentment and hatred, which were taken to the
courts’.42 Noting that a government that legitimately represented the popular
will would not be listening to them, on 18 June 1946, the Goans expressed
their disagreement with colonial policy at a meeting in Margão, carried out
by Ram Manohar Lohia, member of the Congress Socialist Party in India and
an important activist in India’s independence movement. His arrest marked
the beginning of a set of arrests and judgements by the Territorial Military
Court during the year of 1946, and it was the spark that in the future would
cause division among the movements concerned with the struggle for democ­
racy in Goa, by transforming the civil disobedience movement in Goa into
a struggle for liberation.
In Goa, the population was deprived of access to a wide range of news,
indispensable for a critical analysis of the political and economic situation
because the press was censored as to what could be ‘legally’ claimed. In
this context, if the media were often used to perform an orchestrated act
of political propaganda, metamorphosing reality so that everyone would
accept it as the ‘national truth’, alienating the population from public life,
Bharat strengthened its status as a newspaper that opposed and challenged
the imperial project. Arguing that an informed vote was only possible with­
out any sort of pressure, and the União Nacional was not the only politi­
cal force in Portuguese India, it warned the population about the need for
political consciousness. While the opposition list in the Estado da Índia did
not obtain a high number of votes, according to official results, the British
Consul in Goa expressed the displeasure of the Goans with the Portuguese
government’s policy and suggested that the voters were mostly ‘anti-Salazar’
and ‘anti-Government’.43
The 1945 election played a fundamental role in ‘rekindling’ the public
debate on the future of the Estado da Índia. These elections were marked by
characteristics unique in Portuguese political history as the opposition claims
were not limited to the restoration of democracy but demanded a different
status for Goa, establishing its administrative and financial autonomy. How­
ever, there was complete silence about the process in the metropolitan press.
Although studies on the opposition to the Estado Novo occupy a significant
place in Portuguese historiography, more than seven decades later, a vacuum
 Reaching the hearts of sons of Portugal 247
remains in all the works, even in the most recent ones, such as that of Mário
Matos Lemos and Luís Reis Torgal, as to what lay behind the contest under­
taken in the Estado da Índia to fight against the Salazar dictatorship.44 As
such, the study of the local press reveals it to be of fundamental importance
for the knowledge not only of the historical Goan fight for democratic rights
but also for the history of Portuguese democracy.

Notes
* This work is funded by national funds through FCT – Fundação para a Ciência
e a Tecnologia under the project UID/HIS/04209/2013.
1. Bernardo D. Nosty, Mário Soares – Um Combatente do Socialismo, trans. by
Jorge Correia (Lisbon: Lisgráfica, 1988), 28–29.
2. António Oliveira Salazar, Discursos e Notas Políticas (1943–50), vol. 4 (Coim­
bra: Coimbra Editora Limitada, 1951), 113 (original in italics).
3. Titles of interviews with Salazar to the newspapers Diário de Notícias and
O Século, 14 November 1945.
4. Salazar, Discursos, 185.
5. The legal existence of MUD was tolerated by the regime until its final ban in
1948. With the main objective of ensuring the seriousness of the electoral pro­
cess, a set of claims was presented at that meeting, which included the post­
ponement of the elections up to six months, the conduction of a new electoral
registration with the supervision of the opposition, to the guarantee of a set of
freedoms.
6. The União Nacional was a political organization in support of the Estado Novo
government, created on 30 July 1930 by the military dictatorship, after the mili­
tary coup of 28 May 1926, shortly afterwards it became the single party of the
regime.
7. Formed by the remainder of the former Eastern Portuguese empire established in
the nineteenth century in the Indian peninsula, the Portuguese State of India was
made up of the territories of Goa, Daman and Diu, and the enclaves of Dadrá
and Nagar-Haveli.
8. In 1901, with the departure of Messias Gomes to Lisbon, director and owner of
the newspaper O Heraldo, António Maria da Cunha, tookover the direction of
the newspaper until 1908, when he founded his newspaper Heraldo.
9. Luís de Menezes Bragança (1878–1938) was born in Chandor, Salsete. In 1911,
he founded O Debate and was contributor of the Pracasha (The Light), a weekly
newspaper published in Portuguese with articles
about the freedom of thought, freedom of expression and the fight against
oppression. His writings were important sources of information for the
Goan public, particularly on the Indian emancipation movement, providing
an important link to what was happening in the rest of India,
In, Clement Vaz, Profiles of Eminent Goans, Past and Present
(New Delhi: Concept Publishing Company, 1997), 180–181.
Sandra Ataíde Lobo, “O Desassossego Goês: Cultura e Política em Goa do Lib­
eralismo ao Acto Colonial” (PhD diss., Lisbon: Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e
Humanas da Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2013), 477.
10. Months later, on 15 November 1933, the promulgation of the Organic Charter
of the Portuguese Colonial Empire, by Decree-Law No. 23.228 and the approval
of the Overseas Administrative Reform, by Decree-Law No. 23.229, reorganized
the administration of the colonies, with greater centralization and strengthening
248 Filipa Sousa Lopes
of the powers of the Minister of Colonies, in Valentim Alexandre, “Política Colo­
nial,” in Dicionário de História do Estado Novo, dir. Fernando Rosas and J. M.
Brandão Brito, vol. 2 (Lisbon: Círculo de Leitores, 1996), 754–757.
11. Menezes Bragança, “[Speech],” in República Portuguesa – Conselho do Governo
do Estado da Índia, Actas, no. 19, 4 July 1930, 275–276.
12. “The Goan Union – Moção, 30 de julho de 1933,” in ANTT/AOS/CO/UL 10A,
98–99.
13. In 1944, fearing the circulation of ideas in which the regime was severely crit­
icized, the Portuguese government obtained at the request of the Portuguese
consul in Bombay that the text The denationalisation of Goans, by Tristão de
Bragança Cunha be banned in British India, the copies were seized and the pub­
lisher fined, but in September 1945, the High Court of Bombay (Justice Chagla)
revoked the order from the Bombay government. In this text, Tristão de Bragança
Cunha considered that the intolerant and tyrannical path of the Portuguese had
destroyed and disfigured the national character of the people of Goa.
14. Julião Menezes was born on 7 August 1909 in Assolna, Province of Salsete,
Goa, and died on 2 July 1980, in Bombay. At the end of high school in Goa, he
attended the University of Berlin where he graduated in medicine. After finish­
ing the course, he returned to Goa but he left for Bombay, where he met Ram
Manohar Lohia, who after his release from prison visited Julião Menezes for a
medical examination in Bombay. Ram Manohar Lohia, an activist for the Indian
independence movement and a socialist political leader, was invited to spend
some days resting in his house in Assolna. Lohia arrived in Goa on the 10 June
1946 and the news of his presence spread throughout Goa. The house of Julião
Menezes became a compulsory stopover for the Goans who lived in an area
where freedoms were limited. They wanted to know more and planned a meeting
for 18 June. From this began the first civil disobedience movement against more
than 400 years of Portuguese rule.
15. José Bossa, Estado da Índia: Relatório do Governador-Geral – 28 de Maio de
1946 a 12 de Agosto de 1947 (Lisbon: Agência Geral do Ultramar, 1965), 399.
16. With the first law dated from 22 June 1926, censorship would be extended
to the colonies after three months, fearing that ‘the colonies could establish a
press that is not worthy of their high mission, and might constitute a real dan­
ger’, in the Diário do Governo, Série I, No. 197, Decreto 12.271, 6 September
1926, 1267–1271. If in the early days in Goa, as Sandra Lobo points out, ‘there
was relative freedom of expression, exercising control mainly by self-censorship
mechanisms to avoid the accumulation of quarrels’, it was after the publication
of the constitution of 1933 that censorship would be definitely restored (Lobo,
“O Desassossego Goês,” 479). The Decree-Law 22.469, of 11 April 1933, day
of entry into force of the Political Constitution, reorganized censorship includ­
ing press and all brochures covering political or social subjects, which would be
subject to the government’s criteria with regard to truth, justice, and morality.
17. Hedgó Dessai, a native of Margão, was born on 7 November 1885. In 1913, one
year after his degree in pharmacy from the Medical School of Goa, he founded
and wrote the weekly Bharat, which continued publication until 1949, the year
of his death. A newspaper with sections in Portuguese and Marathi, he was the
first to give a nationalist speech in the 1920s (Lobo, ‘O Desassossego Goês’, 424).
18. Hedgó Dessai, “Acto Eleitoral – Palavras Prévias,” Bharat, 25 October 1945, 1.
19. Idem, “Verdade, verdadeira,” Bharat, 25 October 1945, 1.
20. Idem, “Voto,” Bharat, 25 October 1945, 1.
21. Idem, “Manifestos,” Bharat, 25 October 1945, 1.
22. Idem, “Acto Eleitoral – Palavras Prévias,” 1.
23. Froilano de Mello (1887–1955) was born in Benaulim, Goa, the eldest son of
lawyer Constancio Francisco de Mello and Delfina Rodrigues. He graduated
 Reaching the hearts of sons of Portugal 249
in Panjim as a medical doctor, completed his doctorate in medicine in Oporto.
He was appointed as professor at the Escola Médico-Cirúrgica de Goa in 1910,
and its Director and Chief of Public Health for Portuguese India from 1927 to
1947. Despite being elected in 1925 as a Member of Parliament to represent Goa
in Lisbon, he never took his seat. Elected in 1945, his speeches in the national
assembly showed a great concern for the need to eliminate the discriminatory
Colonial Act of 1930, reminding people of the urgency of publishing a politi­
cal statute that gave India a position of perfect equality with the metropolitan
provinces. He returned to Goa after the IV legislature in the national assembly
(1945–1949) and disappointed, emigrated to Brazil in 1951.
24. Froilano de Melo, “Acto Eleitoral – Palavras Oportunas,” Bharat, 1 November
1945, 1.
25. Hedgó Dessai, “Acto Eleitoral – Palavras Claras e Sinceras,” Bharat, 8 November
1945, 1.
26. José Inácio Francisco Xavier Cândido de Loyola (1891–1973) was born in the
village of Orlim, Salsete, Goa, son of Maria Angelica Conceição Gomes and
Avertano Loyola, nephew of José de Loyola, leader of the Indian Party. Accord­
ing to Joseph Barros, Inácio Loyola never challenged Portuguese sovereignty in
his political statements:
[I]n the first instance, he only claimed civil liberties and civil rights for the
local people which was, of course, a very legitimate demand, viewed from the
point of international law and natural justice. He only aspired for economic,
social and political autonomy for the Portuguese territories in India. This was
the gist of his political credo,
In, Charles J. Borges, Goa’s foremost nationalist: José Inácio
Candido de Loyola (the man and his writings), XCHR Studies
Series No. 9 (Nova Delhi: Concept Publishing
Company, 2000), xliv–xlv.
For more details about his political activities during the First Republic, see Lobo,
“O Desassossego Goês”.
27. José Inácio de Loyola, “The Art of Governing,” in Goa’s foremost nationalist,
99.
28. Rochelle Pinto, “Race and Imperial Loss: Accounts of East Africa in Goa,” South
African Historical Journal, 57 (2007): 87–88.
29. ANTT/PIDE- DGS – Purushotham Kakodkar – SC/PC 25/47 – NP 4911.
30. Vicente João de Figueiredo (1892–1959) was born in Loutulim, son of Matilde
da Costa and Caetano de Figueiredo.
31. Aleixo Manuel da Costa, Dicionário de literatura (Instituto Cultural de Macau:
Fundação Oriente, 1997), 411–412 (1 vol.); 337 (3 vol.).
32. Vicente J. de Figueiredo, “À Índia Portuguesa – Aos Excelentíssimos Eleitores,”
Bharat, 8 November 1945, 1.
33. Aurora Almada e Santos, A Organização das Nações Unidas e a Questão Colo­
nial Portuguesa: 1960–1974 (Lisbon: Instituto da Defesa Nacional, 2017), 27.
34. Sandrine Bègue, La fin de Goa et de l’Estado da Índia: décolonisation et guerre
froide dans le sous-continent indien (1945–1962 (Lisbon: Ministério dos Negó­
cios Estrangeiros, 2007), 157.
35. Francisco X. Furtado, “Ao Povo de Goa – Ao Eleitorado da Índia Portuguesa [?]
da minha Terra,” O Heraldo, 10 November 1945, 1–2.
36. Hedgó Dessai, “Acto Eleitoral – Palavras Finais,” Bharat, 15 November 1945, 1
(original in italics).
37. Ibid.
38. Acta do apuramento geral da eleição de deputados à Assembleia Nacional pelo
Círculo do Estado da Índia, in AHP-Section XXX-Box 7–No. 108, 56–59. It is
250 Filipa Sousa Lopes
worth underlining that the opposition list obtained close to 25% of the votes at
a time when, in addition to a quite restrictive law regulating voting rights, which
allowed the vote of only a small portion of the population, on the other hand,
many of those who met the law requirements were not registered because for sev­
eral years there was only one list to vote on the list for the União Nacional. When
Salazar announced the amendment of the Electoral Law, it was already too late
for voters to register, as the deadline had expired and the voter registers for 1945
had already been made. For that reason, the November election voters would not
be entirely those who believed that, with the end of the Second World War, the
regime could be overthrown following the new law. Although the members were
elected, they continued representing a very small number of the population due
to the existing disparity between the number of inhabitants and the number of
voters. It is obvious that the use of censuses as a term of comparison is abusive;
however, they serve as a frame of reference to determine the distance between
the resident population and the population that could vote. For more details,
please see, Chapter II in Filipa Sousa Lopes, “As vozes da oposição ao Estado
Novo e a questão de Goa (1950–1961)” (PhD diss., Porto: Faculdade de Letras
da Universidade do Porto, 2017), 80–88.
39. Prakashchandra P. Shirodkar, Goa’s Struggle for Freedom (Jawahar Nagar:
Ajanta Publications, 1988), 36.
40. Telegram sent by Vicente João Filomeno de Figueiredo and José Inácio de Loyola,
from Belgaum, on 1 December 1945, in AHU-584–1H-MU.
41. Prakashchandra P. Shirodkar, Trial of José Inácio de Loyola: Source Material
for the History of the Freedom Movement of Goa-Collected from Goa Archives
(Panaji-Goa: Government of Goa-Goa Gazetteer Department, 1994), 1.
42. Bossa, Estado da Índia, 399–400.
43. Letter from Major M. O. A. Baig, in New Goa, to the Assistant Secretary of
the Government of India in the Department of Foreign Affairs, in New Delhi,
1 November 1945, in Pedro Aires de Oliveira, “Os despojos da Aliança. A Grã-
Bretanha e a questão colonial portuguesa, 1945–197” (PhD diss., Lisbon: Fac­
uldade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas Universidade Nova de Lisboa, 2006), 82.
44. Mário M. Lemos and Luís R. Torgal (coord.), Candidatos da Oposição à Assem­
bleia Nacional do Estado Novo (1945–1973). Um Dicionário (Lisbon: Divisão
de Edições da Assembleia da República e Texto Editores, 2009), 20–23 and
Mário M. Lemos and Luís R. Torgal (coord.), Oposição e Eleições no Estado
Novo (Lisbon: Divisão de Edições da Assembleia da República, 2012), 87–90.
13 Speaking critically of Goa
through Gandhi or how to
circumvent political censorship at
the end of Portuguese colonialism
Daniel Melo*

Gandhi was one of the most outstanding leaders of British India’s indepen­
dence movement in 1947. That independence also foretold the end of the
Portuguese dominion over its Indian territories within a short period. In fact,
it occurred in December 1961, with the entrance of the Indian army into
these territories. Considering its pertinence to Indian and Portuguese history,
this chapter maps and analyses the reception of Gandhi’s work, during the
twentieth century, in the Portuguese colonial press, both metropolitan and
Goan. We will pay special attention to the 1950–1974 period, to understand
if and how such reception survived the deepening of censorship under Sala­
zar’s dictatorship and the diplomatic conflict between Portugal and India at
that time.
The idea is to study the reception linked to the idea of ‘multiple uses’ and
‘appropriations’ of the ‘printed objects of great circulation’ as was proposed
by Chartier.1 It is about mapping and analysing certain writers’ explicit inten­
tions. It also stresses that certain details, themes or biographical influences
could have had the surreptitious purpose of speaking of other issues, given
the political context of strict censorship and heavy monitoring of printed
media inside the Portuguese dictatorship (1926–1974).
In the early days of Salazar’s dictatorship, the independence of European
colonies was not on the international agenda. Although the First World War
imploded continental Europe’s great empires and shook the ‘white man’s
civilizing mission’, colonial empires had survived intact, including the Portu­
guese. However, in Portugal there were pioneer political currents criticizing
that status quo, mostly from left-wing and/or Goan activists.2
Only the Second World War would shake the planetary colonial order.
The independence of colonial possessions in Asia started in 1946 with the
Philippines, continued with India and Pakistan (1947) and within a few
years spread throughout that continent, an unstoppable phenomenon. This
background context helps us understand why the first pro-decolonization
pressures in the Portuguese empire happened in its eastern colonies of Macau
and Goa.3
In this chapter, Gandhi’s figure is approached as a symbol, an indica­
tor of the influence of political ideals across different national and imperial
DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-17
252 Daniel Melo
contexts. He was a personality that groups of intellectuals and activists used
for public debate with a double purpose, that is, to speak about Portuguese
India’s independence while avoiding being silenced by the political censor­
ship in the vast Portuguese territories, which spread over three continents.

Gandhi’s reception: the inaugural post First World War debates

In the autonomous Goan press of the 1920s, during a phase of official repub­
licanism in Portugal, Gandhi was pictured in a contrasting manner. On the
one hand, the Hindu Portuguese–Marathi newspaper Bharat supported the
non-cooperation movement led by Gandhi and stressed that Goan aspira­
tions for autonomy needed leaders who learned unselfish service to the cause
from Gandhi and his companions.4 On the other hand, the lay republican
newspaper O Debate, through the restless quill of its director, Luís de Mene­
zes Bragança (Chandor, 1878 – Chandor, 1938), criticized the counterpro­
ductive (and anti-modern) mix of spirituality and patriotism implicit in the
non-cooperation movement’s dedication to the principle of satyagraha (or
the incessant quest for truth). It also condemned Gandhi’s appeal to boycott
British schools.5 However, Menezes Bragança supported the modern and
secularist wing of the Indian National Congress, of which Gandhi was a
conspicuous leader.
In 1921, the Bharat denounced the action of the Portuguese authorities
censoring Gandhism in Goa: first, by banning references to him at an anti-
alcoholism conference, then agreeing with the prohibition, by the conser­
vative professoriate, of the students’ use of the Gandhi cap, which was a
symbol of the economic nationalism advocated by Gandhi.6 I will take up
these subjects in conjunction with discussion of later historical periods, with
their relevance being linked to the economic autonomy and emancipation
campaign of the Indians against English authority.
The political disinformation disseminated by the British about the Moplah
peasant rebellion (August 1921) to discredit Indian nationalism was rejected
by the Goan polygraph António Aleixo Santana Rodrigues (Goa, 1887–Lis­
bon, 1966) in the metropolitan press. He resorted to a republican journal of
political import at the time, Imprensa da Manhã, a mouthpiece for a pro-
regime military faction. Later, the Bharat reproduced an interview about
the issue that Santana Rodrigues offered to the same newspaper, replying
to an article published in the influential Diário de Notícias by a British
colonel. In those pieces, Gandhi emerges as a peace-maker in the Moplah
conflict, (at the request of the British authorities, alongside Mohamed Ali),
and as an outstanding heir of the early Indian national movement, now
improved by conquering the ‘people’s hearts’.7 Such change, enabled by the
movement’s unifying force at a territorial and social level, was possible only
due to Gandhi’s ‘unique apostolate and high political sense’ that allowed
him to mobilize the general adherence of Indians to the practice of peace­
ful non-cooperation (boycott of institutions, products and jobs given by
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 253
the English, from factories to courts8). Gandhi’s pacifism had already been
proposed as a civilizational contribution by India. The controversy would
be brought up again in a bilingual book authored by Santana Rodrigues,
probably propelled by the Indian national movement.9 During that decade
he would continue to intervene in the press to criticize English colonial­
ism, dismantle the orientalist discourse on India and advocate a democrati­
cally based Indian federation,10 having collected in a book his articles in the
newspapers Diário de Lisbon and O Dia.11 That book had an impressive
reception, reaching Indianists like Romain Rolland and 2,000 copies were
produced in the following year. The 1924 articles in the daily conservative O
Dia aimed at informing readers about contemporary Indian society and its
emancipation movement and was republished in the daily Heraldo in Goa.
At that time, a group of autonomist Goans sought to combat, in the press,
the colonial anti-autonomy offensive. Their position was made clear in the
Second Colonial Congress.12
Gandhian non-cooperation is also in the heart of a coeval article published
in the influential republican magazine Seara Nova by the Goan physician and
researcher Constâncio Mascarenhas (Calangute, Goa, 1898–1978). There
he outlined the reasons for Gandhi’s outrage at British injustice and briefly
presents his movement, concluding that Gandhi was a worthy successor to
the abolitionist Abraham Lincoln in the ‘great struggles of mankind’.13

Tagore and Gandhi’s ‘orientalism’ – pros and cons

One of the most delicate issues brought up by Indian modern nationalism
regards the legacies and the complex relations between Eastern and West­
ern civilizations, to use catchphrases. The crux of the argument depended
on how to make an apology for the Indian (or Eastern, in general) cultural
(or civilizational) legacy without falling into a Manichaeism similar to one
of the Western colonial perspectives they rejected. This latter perspective
created a pro-colonialist ‘orientalism’, a stereotyped and Manichean way
in which Westerners perceived the ‘Eastern Other’, which they soon spread
throughout the world.14 The idea was, instead, to avoid the creation of a
new ‘orientalism’. This tension is evidenced in Goan activist writings. It has
been excellently summarized by Santana Rodrigues, who was committed to
disassembling the image of India and Indians in the West and its nexus with
‘academic Orientalism’ and the English empire.15 Such work was also done
by Adeodato Barreto (as will be shown later).
This debate also echoed in the work of Indian nationalist exponents such
as Gandhi and the poet Rabindranath Tagore, the first non-Western Nobel
Prize winner, among others.
Thus, for the then-libertarian intellectual Ferreira de Castro (Ossela, 1898 –
Porto, 1974), Gandhi joined Tagore as a source of human affection and
fraternity.16 In an extended review of Gandhi’s biography by Romain Rol­
land, he is seen as a libertarian icon who could be considered an advanced
254 Daniel Melo
revolutionary in India, once it was free of religious and colonial oppression,
but he did not serve as a model in Europe, where social gains had progressed
more.17 Gandhi’s lesson was universal, according to Rolland, due to his sow­
ing of the will to freedom and perfection in the souls of Indians. In another
related text, Castro praised Tagore’s desire for freedom from colonialism,
identical to Gandhi’s, repeating the idea that the oriental revolutionaries
had an authentic will, but it was still less than the West’s.18 In the anarchist
magazine Renovação, Castro depreciated Jiddu Krishnamurti in favour of
Gandhi, portraying the latter as a political liberator and the former as an
apostle unable to liberate India from the colonial domination, given that his
theosophical beliefs implicitly appealed to resignation. In this Renovação
text, Gandhi emerges as the great apostle of insurgent India, and Tagore as its
inspiring prophet, who sought to free India from its own evils, from the caste
system and resigned subjugation. The anarchist cause of self-determination
of the peoples found there an inspiring source.
Perhaps, the most important text from this time is Índia antiga e moderna,
by Fernando da Costa,19 a lecture that the author had given at Lisbon’s Uni­
versidade Livre (Free University of Lisbon) in 1925. The lecture was first
published in several issues of the newspaper A Batalha20 and then in Bharat
and finally in a booklet.21 Costa praised India’s contributions to the advance­
ment of different sciences, letters, arts and religious thought and pointed out
that certain modern Indian authors were acknowledged in the West for their
scientific, philosophical and political–ideological work. More than oppos­
ing East and West (although praising the nationalism of the first as opposed
to that of the latter, which confused nation with family), he intended to
demonstrate that the East had universalist lessons to offer and that to do
so it needed to break the moorings of the West, such as colonialism. Tagore
was presented as an Indian nationalist hero who alerted the world to the
eclipse of ‘Asia’s civilisational gift’. Gandhi was called the guide of the new
‘Peaceful Revolution’.22 The Indian national movement under their leader­
ship overtook the French revolution and others in importance because it had
the ‘support of the people’ not being restricted to ‘intellectuals’.23
Despite its pro-independence content – ‘We have no illusions! We trust
in ourselves to achieve independence!’ – , the booklet version contained a
preface by his friend Coelho de Carvalho, who presented Costa’s work as
not being against Portuguese authority, which was why he supported it. He
suggested that Hindus could live in different political states. The text itself
was not explicitly pro-secession of Portuguese India, but Costa implicitly
took that position in Lisbon in the beginning of 1926, as he had done in Goa
in 1925 during the Sixth Provincial Congress of Portuguese India, although
he prioritized convergence of efforts towards autonomy for Goa. This text-
conference by Costa generated criticism24 and counter-criticism25 (see the
following section).
Costa was thus very active in creating propaganda for the cause of inde­
pendence.26 Whatever the case, he also unequivocally defended the need for
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 255
civilizational interchange: ‘The future India will be free and therefore pro­
gressive! We will adopt from the West everything that is useful and with that
we will only respect our tradition because India has always promoted the
exchange between East and West’. Only then could India have a wholly uni­
versal ‘mission’ and spread the ‘agreement between reason and moral’ which
only she had known how to establish, the articulation between ‘intellectual
progress’ and ‘moral progress’, achieving therefore ‘Peace in the world’.27
Two of his companions in the cause would reinforce the goal of civiliza­
tional cross-fertilization, although historically it had been meagre in India in
material and political terms. The first of these was Adeodato Barreto, who
said: ‘In the cultural sphere, the European coefficient in Hindu civilization
has (as well demonstrated by Dr. Santana Rodrigues in his book Contempo­
rary India) its equivalent in the Indian coefficient in European civilisation’.28
But there were those who were disappointed with Europe’s course since
the First World War, especially as concerned the English attitude towards
India, and proposed a ground-breaking idea, that the great nationalist lead­
ers (namely Tagore and Gandhi) gave a civilizational example, not only for
India but for all.29 Adeodato Barreto would also make a disenchanted sum­
mary of the Portuguese presence, only excluding the times of the Viceroy
Afonso de Albuquerque, who represented, in his opinion, a parenthesis in
Indo-Portuguese relations because he actually promoted ‘Portuguese-Indian
cooperation’.30 In this much-needed framework of interchange, the Indian
Institute, which Barreto had helped create in Coimbra, was understood as
‘indispensable for considering a “Portuguese” University complete’.31 Barreto
and the newspaper Índia Nova connected to that institute, considered Indian
nationalism, even if of Universalist tone, in terms of the renaissance of the
Orient which would radiate a cultural light on the West that would overcome
even the latest revolutionary eruptions, replacing Lenin with Gandhi.32
As an antidote against discontent and the fear of nationalism, António
Sérgio proposed ‘ecumenism’ as universal path for all (‘those from there and
from here’), a ‘new synthesis’ overcoming the ‘east-west antithesis’.33 In that
‘special issue on the East’ by Seara Nova other contributors appeared.
In a text by a North-American physician, Victor Heiser, translated by Seara
Nova in 1945, Tagore and Gandhi are connected again due to their sup­
port of the Indian medical system (Ayurveda) which he sees as a detriment
to ‘modern medicine’ – the latter being considered ‘witchcraft’ by Gandhi,
according to Heiser.34 However, the same author highlights the fact that, after
meeting with Tagore and having proposed the support of the Rockefeller
Foundation to the public health system in India, his Indian partner accepted
the idea and stopped criticizing ‘western medicine’, revealing that this type
of opinion had a biased side and was not inflexible.35
Salazar would enter this debate in late 1947 claiming that, ‘if geographi­
cally Goa is India, socially, religiously, culturally, Goa is Europe’.36 With this
argument, the Portuguese dictator intended to deny an Indian identity to Goa
and at the same time delegitimize the claim of Indian nationalists.
256 Daniel Melo
Except for the Portuguese nationalist audience, however, no one else
seemed to believe that, even if Nehru (but not Gandhi) said that Goa had
distinctive cultural features, although surely not exclusively European. Influ­
ential intellectuals such as Orlando Ribeiro, who in 1956 delivered a clas­
sified report to the Portuguese government, revealed much scepticism as to
the future of Goa.37 According to this Portuguese scholar and geographer,
late Portuguese colonialism was compromising a secular heritage of healthy
coexistence, exchange and miscegenation between Goans, Portuguese, Indi­
ans and Luso-Africans in Mozambique, embodied in a society marked by the
extensive migrations that connected the Portuguese and the British colonies
in Asia and Africa. This was because society had been allowed to fracture
between Christians and Hindus, moreover, separated by class and caste, with
only a small group speaking Portuguese. Indirectly, this had allowed the
political legitimacy of Indian nationalism to neutralize Goa’s autonomous
cultural identity and thus deny the legitimacy of the Portuguese presence in
Goa. Even Gilberto Freyre, who created the Luso-tropicalism theory, only
glimpsed a Portuguese Indian achievement of identity, that is, mixed.38 Fur­
thermore, the decisive debate (in strictly political terms) would have to ulti­
mately be made between a ‘Goan identity of Indian nationality’ or an Indian
identity tout court but plural in other domains.39
Gandhi, in this regard, envisioned an Indian Goa, albeit with regional
(though not ethnic–cultural) particularisms. However, in certain formula­
tions of his thinking, he was ambivalent or contradictory on this issue, even­
tually limiting the political autonomy of Goans to some extent. Deepening
his perspective, his concept of swaraj must first be re-evaluated as ‘self-rule
as tied to self-control’.40 Pamila Gupta said,

It is individual agency and the tolerance of difference against larger

colonial forces that is articulated, irrespective of one’s religious
position . . . and regardless of one’s colonial subjectivity or location in
a larger Hind as well.41

Consistent with this, Gandhi formulated a famous expression: ‘What hap­

pens to Goa is a matter for the Goans themselves to decide’.42 However, in
another statement he also proposed India as a multinational state for all the
‘sons of the soil’, adding:

Why should they even call themselves ‘Goans’ when they are born in
India? India will not always remain vivisected into British, Portuguese,
French, etc., but will be one country although its parts may be under
different systems of government.43

In two speeches in 1946, he even said that Goa should wait for the inde­
pendence of British India, thereby dropping the exercise of swaraj by
Goans.44 As we can see, Gandhi himself contradicted his more integrative
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 257
and emancipatory perspective at a politically tense conjuncture, which was
an additional indicator of his difficulty in relating to the specificities of the
Goan case.
Regarding identification between Goans and Indians, one can trace three
distinct positions.
One defended Portuguese India subordinated to the colonial metropo­
lis and, therefore, a subordinate Luso-Goan identity within the Portuguese
empire, this group being linked to the Portuguese authorities in India and
spreading its ideas through the majority of the metropolitan press. It included
local governors such as José Ferreira Bossa, who embarked on a discussion
with Gandhi published in the Goan press in 1946. As a part of this he con­
sidered that there was no oppression in Goa, but that a break had been
made with the Indian caste system, which Gandhi disagreed with, although
he agreed that this system was wicked.45
A second group advocated a united India, that is, political integration
in the ‘Indian Union’, and considered that there was no identity difference
between Goans and Indians, even if they could protect certain historical or
cultural specificities of Goans vis-à-vis the Indians (in line with Nehru) or
even a hybridism, as advocated by T. B. Cunha.46 This group was linked
to most of the independence forces and extended from the group of Índia
Nova to Telo de Mascarenhas’s newspaper Resurge Gôa!, to many writers
from Bharat, Hindu, Heraldo47 and other Goan publications, such as the
Free Goa, successively directed by António Furtado, T. B. Cunha and Berta
de Menezes Bragança.
The last group, linked to the ‘Margão Circle’, was assumed by one of its
mentors to be a ‘third force’.48 It claimed an intermediate position, that is,
the political autonomy of Goa, or better, the self-determination of the Goan
people, and the existence of an Indo-Portuguese identity, that is, a culture of
its own although close to the Indian and Portuguese cultures. In an interview
to the newspaper O Século in 1947, lawyer A. A. Bruto da Costa publicly
stated in Lisbon:

The people of the Estado da India insist that they do not give up the
fundamental prerogatives of their freedom to think and act, the responsi­
bility and privileges inherent in their characteristic, unmistakable moral
personality, amidst the congérie of peoples around them.49

Other apologists were António Colaço and Roldão Anton Souza. In parallel,
some disillusioned guerrillas like Francis Mascarenhas and Waman Desai
advocated for an autonomous state within India after having left the Con­
gress Party and created the United Goan Front in 1950.
The critical review of these contributions enables us to verify that not all
Indian nationalist discourses (in this case, Goan), believed that Indian (and
oriental) culture was based on an ancient and eternal cultural nationalism
(therefore a-historical) which had been destroyed by European colonialism
258 Daniel Melo
(regardless of Indians’ consensual condemnation, implicit or explicit). The
issue was more complex, culture and civilization (both terms arise and not
always with different meanings) have been seen as resulting from dynamic
and open processes, implying a desirable interchange of the best in each
culture, that is, cooperation.

In defence of India and Indians (1926–1932)

The establishment of a military dictatorship in 1926 led to an imperialist hard­
ening. Against this tide, the Goan group in the metropolis managed to raise
the approval – ‘sympathy and moral support to the cause of independence’ –
of a set of metropolitan intellectuals for both the Indian and Goan causes,
moulded in an enquiry that was published in the Bharat. The group also col­
lected favourable testimonies by Sebastião Magalhães Lima, drafter of the
1911 republican constitution and founder of the Portuguese League of Human
Rights, and Coelho de Carvalho, former president of the Lisbon Academy
of Sciences and former rector of the University of Coimbra. This testimonial
series was later used to support Telo de Mascarenhas’s Goan nationalism. He
had been prosecuted for writing the article, published in Bharat, Os ídolos de
barro (clay idols).50
In this context, and until 1932, Adeodato Barreto would write at least a
dozen replies against writers who published in several periodicals, mostly
from the metropole, which almost always countered prejudice and criticism
of Indian nationalism.
From those articles, I highlight the ones regarding the ‘Asian issue’, pub­
lished after 1928, referring to the debate around the condition (or politi­
cal–social status) of Asians in Africa, particularly Muslims. Shortly after the
establishment of the military dictatorship, the Indo-Portuguese and Indians
from Mozambique were criticized and discriminated against in the press:
first, through the support of the official decision to reject their presence in
the colony under the pretext of protecting local health;51 second, by accusing
them of monopoly of the average local businesses. Barreto defended them
publicly against several writers, clearly in tune with the South African cases
fought by Gandhi.52 He also denounced an article attacking Gandhi pub­
lished by the ultranationalist royalist Alfredo Pimenta in the Catholic news­
paper A Voz in 1930. Opposing Pimenta, Barreto praised Gandhi’s ‘great
practical spirit’, for ‘fighting against a nation of merchants’ attacking it ‘in
their own element: the market’.53 The Indian nationalist movement had then
some key moments: in 1928, it acknowledged the Goa Committee led by
Tristão B. da Cunha as a branch of the Indian National Congress, definitive
proof of the desired unity of Indian independence movements; in 1930, the
Salazarist Acto Colonial (Colonial Act) had imposed a devaluation of the
civic and legal status of natives in the Portuguese colonies, received by many
Goans with acrimony and proof of the impossibility of negotiating with the
regime.54
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 259
Pacifism, religious tolerance, purification, emancipation
and the caste system (1930–1933)
Seara Nova returned to Gandhi’s India via the republican and anti-Salaz­
arist Augusto Casimiro (Amarante, 1899–Lisbon, 1967), one of its most
prominent members (who were called seareiros), who dedicated a vast
amount of reflection to the colonial issue. He had been a member of the
Angolan colonial administration in the 1920s. In a brief article, he made
a pacifist apology, listing quotes from thinkers such as Tolstoi (Gandhi’s
inspirer), Romain Rolland, Christ and Indian authors regarding the sub­
ject of ‘non-resistance’ or ‘non-participation in violence’ (in the words of
Tolstoi), which to Gandhi meant also non-cooperation and civil disobe­
dience. In the end, he added a specific bibliography ‘on the movement
that is culminating in India around Mahatma Gandhi’s pure figure’. 55
The former military and pioneer aviator Sarmento de Beires (Lisbon,
1892–Porto, 1974) endorsed Gandhi in his praise of pacifism and for his
‘uncontested moral stature’, resulting from ‘prestige’ that the author was
able to testify to in 1924 during a four-month journey in India. However,
Sarmento de Beires estimated that his ‘rebellion’ would fail, because it
needed to be accompanied by ‘social democratization’ through the aboli­
tion of caste.56
In 1932, the new Catholic periodical Era Nova: Semanário de Doutrina
e Defeza Social praised Gandhi for his defence of his humbler compatriots
(first in South Africa and then in India), of the charkha and Gandhi cap as
a means of Indians’ economic and cultural emancipation, for his religious
and cultural tolerance, ‘enabling him to see that the Roman Catholic religion
would be convenient for India’. The author of this article, probably Santana
Rodrigues, endorsed Gandhi in the fight against imports, the imposition
of English alcoholic beverages and the investment deficit in English India’s
public education.57 That text would be commented on in Seara Nova by a
Goan Lusodescendant lawyer trained in London and friend of the seareiros,
Constantino José dos Santos.58 Apart from highlighting factual errors and the
complexity of the alcoholism issue, Constantino dos Santos also endorsed the
‘Mahatma’s ideal’, referring to a common friend who, like Gandhi, was also
imprisoned (Sarojini Naidu) and appealed for an India with a ‘full regime of
autonomy and peace, as soon as possible’.59
Santana Rodrigues would resume his concern for the religious issue, refer­
ring to the recent confrontation between Hindus and Muslims, which he
thought was due to the divisive tactics used by the English since 1903, and
that Gandhi achieved an alliance with many Muslim Indians due to the
efforts towards agreement which occurred due to G. K. Gokhale’s interven­
tion.60 This shows that the disagreement between East and West was also a
Western fabrication, in the case of the English (and their accomplices), he
explained the cultural and political smear of Indians in the book Mother
India, by the North-American historian Katherine Mayo, which had led to
260 Daniel Melo
the murder of one of her critics, the martyr Lala Lajpat Rai, by the British
police.61 Then another new Catholic periodical, this time put out by a Goan
missionary, the Índia: suplemento português quinzenal, praised the Poona
Pact giving more rights to Untouchables/Dalits and joining them to the over­
all voting rolls of the Hindus and thanked Gandhi, especially for removing
social and religious interdictions regarding the ‘Untouchables’ and for the
subsequent beneficial political and social effect which extended to the Chris­
tian presence in India.62
Seara Nova now took up the subject of asceticism/purification (prior to
this, it was involved in anti-alcoholism) via the reprint of a French aca­
demic’s text, which had been published in the demo-republican and pro-
Hindu biweekly Pracasha.63 The author supported Gandhi in his ascetic
ideal (compared to Franciscanism) but not in the criticism of modern
industrialism, because André Philip thought that industrialism could act
in favour of the ‘eruption of an intellectual and moral personality’ cover­
ing all citizens.

Indian pacific universalism (1930–1940)

In May 1936, the group Seara Nova gathered a series of articles by Adeo­
dato Barreto into a book. They had been published in the magazine between
1934 and 1936. In this compilation, Civilização hindu, Barreto commends
the pacifism and ecumenism present in Gandhi’s example, who he praises as
one of the great examples of Indian wisdom. He declares that the West was
missing the ‘unity in plurality’ (or ‘harmony in plurality’) inscribed in orien­
tal humanism.64 The humanist mission entrusted to ‘New India’ should thus
be revealed (and expanded) urbi et orbi. This was considered as a reference
work by seareiros and their colleagues,65 being a work recently rediscovered
by the academy.
In the midst of the Second World War, Constâncio Mascarenhas resumed
his meditations on Gandhi, invited by the Instituto Vasco da Gama, an
important Goan academy founded in 1871 to promote Portuguese sciences
and letters in Goa. At a lecture, given by the end of 1941, he revealed himself
as a defender of the ideal of ‘universal fraternity’, as the ‘wider embrace’ left
by Christ for mankind.66 He believed that such an aim would be achieved
in the world through ‘movements of passive resistance’ and described some
past landmarks of such a movement until it reached its current great heir
and prophet, Gandhi, whose doctrine was ‘non-violence’, subject only to
‘strength of spirit’.67 The text, a complete pacifist programme, was timely,
given the current war situation and aimed at post-war society, mostly in
India. In the bibliography, among works of Bart de Ligt, Marx, Engels, Sorel,
etc., there is La jeune Inde (Young India) by Gandhi.68 Telo de Mascarenhas
took advantage of this growing visibility of the Indian question to advance
his Portuguese translation of Gandhi’s autobiography69 without an immedi­
ate echo in the press.
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 261
Gandhi in the seareiro debate of the immediate
post-war period
The seareiro group resumed reflection on Gandhi’s political position after
the Second World War with different points of view. The first of those texts is
signed by the influential republican thinker and ex-minister of Public Instruc­
tion António Sérgio (Damão, India, 1883–Lisbon, 1969). It is a scathing
criticism of Gandhi’s non-violence doctrine, which led Gandhi to defend
the non-demonization of the Axis countries in public, appealing to people
to refuse belligerence and ‘turn the other cheek’ like Christ.70 The article
ends mercilessly, condemning Gandhi’s political incongruence and unrealistic
views. It was probably written thinking about the consequences of Indian
independence for Goa, Damão and Diu, which would remain undamaged
trusting in Gandhi’s pacifist posture.
An article by A. Lobo Vilela, a long-time seareiro, can be read as an indi­
rect response to the previous article, although the independence of India
and Pakistan and Gandhi’s assassination had already occurred. Lobo Vilela
critically contextualizes Gandhi’s position in the long run, explaining the
historical evolution of the tense relationship between dharma and Islam in
India. He draws attention to the unity between doctrine and non-violent
political praxis adopted by Gandhi throughout his life (inspired by Christi­
anity, among other sources) and argues that his enemy was always violence
and not the allies themselves, not even their violent actions during the war
(Gandhi announced, during the war, his support for England and France).
To violence he opposed persuasion, through ‘strength of truth and sacri­
fice’ (Satyagraha), thus balancing civic and moral duty.71 He historicizes the
Satyagraha movement, focusing on the stage that began in 1920, with non­
cooperation with the British occupiers, civil disobedience and boycott, still
trusting the British tradition of law. He ends by labelling Gandhi as more a
spiritual than a political leader, persistent conciliator between Muslims and
Hindus until his last drop of blood.
The third and final text of this round, authored by Humberto Lopes, is
a Marxist-inclined analysis of the political–social evolution in 1946–1948
India, focusing on factors determining the national division between Hindus
and Muslims (India vs. Pakistan) and the action of social forces commanding
the state in the transition and the immediate post-transition. He accuses the
‘Hindu reactionaries’ of betraying the ‘popular line’, the united tradition of
religious concord kept by Gandhi and Nehru (despite errors and gaps) and
of having fuelled hatred and violence.72

Post-war and the 1950s: silencing, solidarity and outcome

With the end of the Second World War, separatist Goan activists started mov­
ing, foreseeing the independence of India and the integration of Portuguese
India, but Salazar’s government did not agree and started a strong selective
262 Daniel Melo
repression.73 Coverage of Gandhi stopped in the metropolitan press and
in other publications and started to get support (manifestos, open letters,
clandestine papers), spokespersons (political leaders of the anti-fascist or
African anti-colonialist opposition, etc.) at other sites (France, United King­
dom, India, etc.).
Gandhi was at this time trying to make the priority be the struggle for
civil liberties and only afterwards integration, so that India would be able to
prepare for independence.74 With the endorsement by Goan political parties
of the independence appeal of Quit India made to the Portuguese govern­
ment in 1947, secession in Goa became inevitable. Up to 1957, there were
2,000 arrests of Goan pro-India nationalists, including 13 political leaders,
some of whom were deported to the metropole, which, involuntarily, allowed
them to cement bonds with Goan students in Lisbon and Coimbra.75 There
are evidences of contacts between the nationalist organizations and the Goan
students at Casa dos Estudantes do Império (House of the Students of the
Empire, CEI, 1944) originally promoted by the colonial state as a centre for
future colonial elites, which after a time had been transformed into a hang­
out for African and Indian independence supporters. Many of those Goans
also adhered to pacifist and opposition front organizations, such as the Mov­
imento de Unidade Democrática Juvenil (Youth Movement of Democratic
Unity, MUDJ), which, aside from being anti-fascist were also anti-colonialist,
reinforcing political awareness and promoting action for independence. The
actions of the insurgent Goans inside and outside CEI was of such distur­
bance to the dictatorship that some76 consider that to be the determining
cause for the nomination of an official administrative commission in 1952,
and the forced closing of the centre by the political police in 1955.
As a presidential candidate for the opposition in 1951, the then-leader of
the opposition front Movimento de Unidade Democrática (MUD – MUDJ’s
‘head-office’) and of the Movimento Nacional Democrático (National Dem­
ocratic Movement), Ruy Luís Gomes, advocated the beginning of peaceful
negotiations between Portugal and India to solve the Goa problem.77 In
official retaliation, his candidacy was refused by the state council and he was
arrested on the charge of treason alongside other activists.78
Since 1954, at least, the Portuguese Communist Party’s periodicals, such
as Avante! and Juventude, urged peaceful negotiation with India.79
By the end of 1954, ‘an [anonymous] group of Goans in the Metropo­
lis’ distributed an openly separatist letter named A Verdade sobre Goa,
Damão e Diu (The truth about Goa, Damão and Diu), declaring that
‘Goans want to live their own lives, reintegrated in their Mother India;
which is the way . . . to have a personality that the interminable colonial
situation has denied them for so many years’.80
At the beginning of 1955, 39 anti-Salazarist youngsters were arrested in
Lisbon and Porto, for advocating direct negotiations between Portugal and
India regarding Goa. This group was part of MUDJ. The strong repression
they were subjected to sparked off an international solidarity movement,
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 263
appealing for their release by the authorities, which brought together famous
intellectuals such as Jean Cocteau, Louis Aragon, Sartre, Simone Beauvoir,
Nicolas Guillén, Diego Rivera and François Mauriac, among others.81 On
19 January 1956, the newspaper Deccan Chronicle, from New Delhi, echoed
one of the appeals (subscribed to by 55 French writers and artists) and on 19
May, The Indian Express reported that six protesters were still imprisoned
in a ‘concentration camp’.82
The Non-Aligned Movement created at the famous Bandung Conference
(18–24 April 1955) was important for the Goan issue because it considered
as its priority assisting non-independent peoples to reach national sover­
eignty. Henceforth, Goans counted upon international solidarity and sup­
port, mostly from Africans in Portuguese colonies. They used international
alliances and the need for internationalization of the Goan issue to create
a platform in London – the Goa League. It gathered the resident Goans
there and issued three resolutions (regarding the release of political prisoners,
exiled leaders and withdrawal of the Portuguese army from Goa), a formula
then used to raise international public opinion and UN awareness of their
cause.83
After fruitless conversations extending over 14 years, India decided to
militarily annex Portuguese India at the end of 1961. It was the abrupt and
armed end of a decade of hidden discussions, diplomatic backstage conversa­
tions, clandestine manoeuvres and appeals to free political prisoners.

The beginning of the colonial war: repression and a more

complex perception of the Indian reality
As a result of these changes, the dominant political environment in Portugal
remained unfavourable to an open public debate, but there were nuances. At
the beginning of 1960, the International Court of Justice recognized Portu­
gal’s ‘right of passage’ through Indian territory to ensure movement between
the enclaves that constituted the Estado da Índia (Portuguese State of India).
Portuguese liberal opposition persisted in aligning with the dictatorship in
this matter. Far-sighted participants such as the liberal-republican and ex-
prime minister Cunha Leal (Pedrógão de São Pedro, 1888–Lisbon, 1970)
publicly differentiated Gandhi’s pacifism and Indian practice. In parallel,
it was known that several pro-Gandhi Indian leaders opposed the annex­
ation of Portuguese India (and/or Indian militarism in the feud), another
proof of the diversity of positions, in this case inside the Indian nationalist
movement.84
Speaking about the Indian issue (and decolonization) became more sen­
sitive. Political censorship was reinforced even before the outbreak of the
colonial war in 1960–1961, due to pressure from the Goan issue and the
oppositionist campaign around the 1958 presidential election. Thus, censor­
ship of the periodical press was perfected prior to the Goa takeover, both
in the metropolis and in the colonies. With the eruption of the colonial war,
264 Daniel Melo
censorship descended on a new taboo subject.85 Hence, the scarcity of news
and the feeble critical reflection on the ‘Indian issue’ in Portuguese territory
during the 1960s are not strange. One of the resources used to try to pre­
serve a minimum presence of this issue was book publishing, stressing two
biographies of Gandhi.86

Final remarks
Gandhi’s image in twentieth-century colonial Portugal was basically formed
by progressive intellectuals from Goa, first, and from the metropolis, after­
wards. Many Indian nationalists are included in the Goans, a group that
stimulated the newspaper Índia Nova (inspired by Young India, founded
by Gandhi in 1919) and who wrote abundantly in several newspapers in
India and in the metropole, among other initiatives. They were connected to
the libertarian groups (from the periodicals A Batalha and Renovação) and
demo-republican (from Seara Nova), writing in the respective presses about
Goa, India and the dialogue of civilizations, even coming out with a book
edition.87 These connections among different groups and the connections
among several Goans themselves – using a platform they created or synchro­
nized interventions in the same periodicals or in the reception of colleagues’
work – , support Lobo’s thesis88 that the emancipatory political–cultural
intervention of a certain group of Goan intellectuals was pioneering and
conducted in a network.
Apart from the libertarian and Seara Nova presses, in the 1920s and
1930s, there were also interesting contributions in influential republican
newspapers and some Catholic presses (mostly missionary), opposing Sala­
zar’s nationalist groups. Then came contributions highlighting peaceful non­
cooperation, ecumenism and Gandhi’s pacifism, afterwards considered as
key features which stressed his personal relevance and became subjects of
intense and more complex debates on dialogue and cultural legacies among
India, Europe, and the East–West divide. Public discussion mingled structural
issues and different cyclical concerns. For some, a pro-Gandhi posture was in
defence against public attacks on Indian nationalism and the anti-colonialist
struggle. In parallel, the influential Seara Nova magazine dedicated a special
number to the ‘Orient’ (in 1926) and included a prescient debate immediately
after the Second World War on the future scenarios in India.
Of Goan circles and their thought about Goa, India, and Gandhi, it is
important to stress the articulation and flow between oral and written
speeches and between several printed supports, with relevant ideas of inte­
gration in lectures, books, interviews and/or article sets,89 in which they took
up inconvenient subjects. Neither should we forget new critical revisions (by
the press) and enlargement of the circle of listeners/readers.
The image of Gandhi and contemporary India was mostly established in
the press (both metropolitan and Goan), with the international circulation
of books regarding Gandhi which were published somewhat late – between
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 265
1940 and 1960 – , but especially during the feud period between India and
colonial Portugal. Moreover, the various publishers concentrated on booklets
defending Indian nationalism, its qualities and figures, almost all from Goa
or India.90 There were other books, such as that of Leal, questioning people
involved in Indian nationalism other than Gandhi.91
The anti-colonial post-war storm and the independence of British India
rendered the secessionist movement and integration into India unstoppable.
The movement was long heavily repressed by Salazar, who was inflexible as
to negotiations or decolonization. Only the Goan issue’s internationaliza­
tion (and the Goan exile press) broke the siege, allowing information to
flow in leaflets, open letters, political meetings and the Indian press. The
specific debate in the metropolitan and Goan press, which had begun long
before (after the terrible ‘Great War’), was a relevant contribution to the
consolidation of anti-colonial awareness and seems to be one more indicator
confirming the pioneer spirit of the anti-colonial fight in Portuguese India
within the Portuguese colonial empire. Another indicator which heralded
the independence movement was the Goan ‘forefront’ at the Casa dos Estu­
dantes do Império.
Some tried to disconnect British and Portuguese colonialisms in India, but
it was not always possible. When parallelisms were clear, Gandhi served as
an antidote to the legitimacy and persistence of the colonial yoke in Portu­
guese India.

Notes
* This work is financed by Portuguese funds through FCT – Fundação para a Ciên­
cia e a Tecnologia, I.P., within the scope of the Norma Transitória – DL57/2016/
CP1453/CT0062, and had also the support of CHAM (NOVA FCSH/UAc),
through the strategic project sponsored by FCT (UID/HIS/04666/2013 and UID/
HIS/04666/2019).
1. Roger Chartier, ed., As utilizações do objecto impresso (séculos XV-XIX) (Lis­
bon: Difel, 1998), 10.
2. Maria Manuel Stocker, Xeque-mate a Goa (Lisbon: Texto Editores, 2011),
37–55.
3. Valentim Alexandre, Contra o vento (Lisbon: Temas & Debates, 2017), 123–197.
4. Hegdó Dessai, “Avante,” Bharat [Nova Goa], August 12, 1920; Idem, “Gan­
dhismo,” Bharat, December 30, 1920; Esvonta Butò S. Regó, “Não-cooperação,”
Bharat, 11 November 1920.
5. Menezes Bragança, “Ingenuidade,” O Debate [Nova Goa], 27 August 1920;
Idem, “O óbice,” O Debate, 4 September 1920.
6. Sandra Ataíde Lobo, “O desassossego goês” (PhD diss., Lisbon: Universidade
NOVA de Lisbon, 2013), 436–437.
7. Ibid., 415.
8. Ibid.
9. Santana Rodrigues, The Indian National Movement (Lisbon: N. G. R. I., 1923).
10. Patrícia Marmelada, “As dinâmicas culturais em Adeodato Barreto” (Master
diss., Lisbon: Universidade NOVA de Lisboa, 2015), 39; Lobo, “Desassossego
goês,” 217.
11. Santana Rodrigues, A Índia contemporânea (Lisbon: J. Rodrigues & C.A., 1926).
266 Daniel Melo
12. Lobo, “Desassossego goês,” 416–417.
13. Constâncio Mascarenhas, “Mahatma Gandhi,” Seara Nova [Lisbon], 67, 1926,
137.
14. Edward W. Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978).
15. Lobo, “Desassossego goês,” 418–420.
16. Ferreira de Castro, “Sobre um livro de Romain Rolland: Gandhi, o revolu­
cionário indiano,” A Batalha: suplemento semanal ilustrado [Lisbon], 3 March
1924. This author was an influential Portuguese writer who based part of his
work on his working-class youth experience in Brazil, especially in the Amazon,
such as in the novel The Jungle (1930), which earned him international notoriety
and a nomination for the Nobel Prize for Literature.
17. This book benefitted from many notes given to Rolland by his friend Tristão
B. da Cunha (Chandor, 1891–Bombay, 1958), considered “the most influential
intellectual of the Goan movement for liberation from Portuguese colonialism” –
Sandra Ataíde Lobo, “Educating Opinion, Invigorating Intellectual Links, Pro­
moting International Solidarity: T. B. Cunha’s Anticolonial Nationalism,” Inter-
DISCIPLINARY Journal of Portuguese Diaspora Studies, 7, no. 8 (2019): 149,
cit. 137.
18. Ferreira de Castro, “Rabindranath Tagore: o poeta e a selva perante a revolução
social,” A Batalha: suplemento semanal ilustrado, 21 July 1924.
19. Born in Curtorim, Salsete, in 1904, he graduated in Germany in chemical–indus­
trial engineering and worked in Angola and Portugal.
20. Fernando da Costa, “Índia antiga e moderna,” A Batalha: suplemento semanal
ilustrado, December 28, 1925; Idem, “O berço da liberdade,” A Batalha: suple­
mento semanal ilustrado, 15 February 1926; Idem, “O actual movimento político
da Índia,” A Batalha: suplemento semanal ilustrado, 10 and 17 May 1926; Idem,
“A crença da Índia Nova,” A Batalha: suplemento semanal ilustrado, 28 July
1926.
21. Fernando da Costa, Conferencia – India antiga e moderna (Lisbon: Tip. da Ass.
dos Comp. Tipograficos, 1926).
22. Idem, “Índia antiga e moderna”.
23. Idem, “O berço da liberdade”.
24. Álvaro Maia, “Livros e escritores,” Ilustração [Lisbon], 1 October 1926.
25. António Furtado, “A propósito de uma crítica,” A Batalha: suplemento literário
ilustrado, 25 October 1926; Adeodato Barreto, “A propósito duma crítica,” A
Batalha: suplemento literário ilustrado, 15 November 1926.
26. Fernando da Costa, “Depois da vitoria do inimigo” A Batalha: suplemento
semanal ilustrado, 21 June 1926; Lobo, “Desassossego goês,” 465.
27. Costa, “O actual movimento político da India.”
28. Barreto, “A propósito duma crítica.” Adeodato Barreto (Margão, Goa, 1905–
Coimbra, 1937) was an influential Goan intellectual who wrote reference works
reflecting on the archetypes and paradigms of Hindu civilization and their influ­
ence on Goan culture.
29. Cordato de Noronha, “Movimento de ideas na moderna Índia (conclusão),”
Seara Nova, 89, 1926, 334–335.
30. Adeodato Barreto, “O Instituto Indiano, da F[aculdade] de Letras de Coimbra,”
Seara Nova, 99, 1927, 54–55.
31. Ibid., 56.
32. See analysis in Joana Passos, Literatura goesa em português nos séculos XIX e
XX (Braga: Universidade do Minho, 2012), 185–187.
33. António Sérgio, “O Oriente, o Ocidente e a nova civilização ecuménica,” Seara
Nova, 99, 1927, 46.
34. Victor Heiser, “Gandhi, Tagore e a medicina ocidental,” Seara Nova, 916, 1945,
157.
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 267
35. Ibid., 158.
36. Franco Nogueira, Salazar, vol. 4 (Coimbra: Atlântida, 1980), 80.
37. Stocker, Xeque-mate a Goa.; Lucas Mestrinelli, “Às vésperas do fim” (Master
diss., Campinas: UNICAMP, 2017), 18–19.
38. Cláudia Castelo, “O modo português de estar no mundo”: luso-tropicalismo
e ideologia colonial portuguesa (1933–1961) (Porto: Edições Afrontamento,
1998); Arlindo Souza, “O orientalismo no (luso)trópico americano” (Master
diss., Rio de Janeiro: Universidade Federal Fluminense, 2011); Mestrinelli, “Às
vésperas do fim,” 54.
39. Mestrinelli, “Às vésperas do fim,” 79.
40. Apud Pamila Gupta, “Gandhi and the Goa Question,” Public Culture [New
York], 23, no. 2 (2011): 323.
41. Ibid., 324.
42. Apud Roldão Anton Souza, What about Goa?, 2nd ed. (Lisbon: s.n., 1957), 11.
43. Apud Gupta, “Gandhi and the Goa Question,” (from Young India, 26 December
1929).
44. Apud Ibid., 327.
45. V.g., José Bossa, “Carta do sr. dr. José Ferreira Bossa a Mahatma Gandhi,” A
Vida. Diário Católico de Interesse Geral de Informação e de Doutrina, [Margão],
2271, 25 July 25 1946, 1 (I would like to thank Marcello Assunção, research
fellow at the University of São Paulo, for making this text available).
46. See Tristão Bragança da Cunha, Goa”s freedom struggle (selected writings of T.
B. Cunha) (Bombay: Dr. T. B. Cunha Memorial Committee, 1961) and Marcello
Felisberto Morais de Assunção, “Uma analítica goesa da colonialidade no ensaio
The denationalisation of goans (1944) de Tristão Bragança Cunha,” in Histo­
riografia Crítica: Ensaios, analítica e hermenêutica da História, ed. Bento Luiz
Carlos, Godoi Rodrigo Tavares and Antônio Passos (Vitória: Editora Milfontes,
2020), 303–330, 335.
47. Especially since the radicalization of the autonomisms in 1922–24. Ibid., 334.
48. António Anastácio Bruto da Costa, Goa: a terceira corrente (Mumbai: ed. Isabel
Bruto da Costa, 2013).
49. Ibid., 377.
50. Druston Rodrigues, “Quando os estudantes goeses residentes em Lisboa solicita­
ram a anexação de Goa à India,” The Sunday Standard [New Delhi], 17 February
1957.
51. Cordato de Noronha, “Por Índia e por Portugal,” Seara Nova, 84, 1926.
52. Adeodato Barreto, “A propósito da questão asiática em Lourenço Marques,”
Seara Nova, 126, 1928; Lúcio de Miranda, Adeodato Barreto (ensaio biográfi
co e crítico) (Bastorá: Tip. Rangel, 1940), 23 and 63–65.
53. Adeodato Barreto, “A vitória da Índia,” Mundo Novo [Coimbra], 4 February
1931.
54. P. D. Gaitonde, The liberation of Goa (London: C. Hurst & Co., 1987), 20–25;
Stocker, Xeque-mate a Goa, 161–162.
55. A[ugusto] C[asimiro], “De Tolstoi a Gandhi,” Seara Nova, 204, 1930, 184–186.
56. Sarmento de Beires, “O problema da Índia inglêsa,” Seara Nova, 210, 1930, 283.
57. S. R., “Gandhi,” Era Nova [Lisbon], 7 May 1932; Idem, “Coisas da Índia,” Era
Nova, 9 July 1932.
58. Naroah, 1876–?. A law graduate in London, he practised law in Hyderabad for
some years and was Chief of Staff of several foreign ministers. In early 1921, he
was appointed Consul General of Portugal in Bombay (Lobo, “O desassossego
goês,” 233). The Goan Lusodescendants are the equivalent of the Anglo-Indians.
59. Constantino dos Santos, “Gandhi,” Seara Nova, 302, 1932, 211–212.
60. S. R., “Os hindus e os maometanos,” Era Nova, 28 May 1932. Gopal
Krishna Gokhale (Kotluk, 1866–Bombay, 1915), called “Sir Gokale” in the
268 Daniel Melo
aforementioned source, was a mediator of the conflict that arose between Mus­
lims and Hindus concerning the partition of Bengal, dictated in 1905 by Lord
Curzon, the then-Viceroy of India, and planned since 1903. Hermanne Kulke
and Dietmar Rothermund, A History of India, 4th ed. (London/New York:
Routledge, 2004), 290.
61. S. R., “Coisas da Índia/ Eles não têm culpa nenhuma,” Era Nova, 18 June 1932.
62. Rev. A. F. Lopes, “Gandhi e as missões,” Índia: suplemento português quinze­
nal [Nova Goa], 5, 1932, 5. The 1932 Poona Pact was a compromise by
Bhimrao Ambedkar, the most prominent Dalit leader, for the political repre­
sentation of the Untouchable castes in the general electoral representation of
the Hindus (and not in a separate electoral college as intended), thus ending
Gandhi’s hunger strike.
63. André Philip, “A Índia industrial e o gandhismo,” Seara Nova, 331, 1933,
302–303.
64. Adeodato Barreto, Civilização hindu (Lisbon: Seara Nova, 1935–36), 292.
65. Miranda, “Adeodato Barreto,” 22.
66. Constâncio Mascarenhas, “O conflito,” Boletim do Instituto Vasco da Gama, 52,
1942, 68.
67. Ibid., 69–70.
68. Ibid., 74.
69. Mahatma Gandhi, História da minha vida (ou das minhas experiências com a
verdade) (Lisbon: Edições Atlante, 1943).
70. A[ntónio] S[érgio], “Gandhi, o inimigo da violência,” Seara Nova, 992 (1946):
252–254.
71. A. Lobo Vilela, “O “idealismo prático” de Gandhi,” Seara Nova, 1073 (1948):
83.
72. Humberto Lopes, “Breves notas sobre Gandhi e o movimento nacional indiano,”
Seara Nova, 1085 (1948): 34–35.
73. Gaitonde, The liberation of Goa, 26–40; Stocker, Xeque-mate a Goa, 75–81; Ber­
nardo Futscher Pereira, Crepúsculo do colonialismo (Lisbon: Publicações Dom
Quixote, 2017).
74. Gaitonde, The liberation of Goa, 38.
75. Ibid., 37–38; Aida Freudenthal, “Estudantes goeses na Casa dos Estudantes do
Império entre Salazar e Nehru,” in Casa dos Estudantes do Império, ed. Cláudia
Castelo and Miguel Jerónimo (Lisbon: Edições 70, 2017), 89–113.
76. Ibid.
77. Rodrigues, “Quando os estudantes goeses.”
78. Stocker, Xeque-mate a Goa, 138–139.
79. Freudenthal, “Estudantes goeses.”
80. Apud. Ibid.
81. Maria Eugénia Neto and Irene Neto, Agostinho Neto e a libertação de Angola,
1949–1974 (Luanda: Fundação Dr. António Agostinho Neto, 2011), 82–85,
575–576, 594 and 654.
82. Ibid., 589 and 594, respectively.
83. Freudenthal, “Estudantes goeses.”
84. Diogo Moço, “Prisioneiros na Índia, 1961–1962” (Master diss, Lisbon: Univer­
sidade de Lisboa, 2012), 34–64.
85. Daniel Melo, “Imperial taboos: Salazarist censorship in the Portuguese colonies,”
in Media and the Portuguese empire, ed. José Luís Garcia et al. (London: Palgrave
MacMillan, 2017).
86. Louis Fischer, Gandhi (Lisbon: Editorial Aster, 1960); Camille Drevet, Gandhi
(Lisbon: União Gráfica, 1969).
87. Barreto, Civilização hindu.
 Speaking critically of Goa through Gandhi 269
88. Lobo, “O desassossego goês,” 13–30.
89. See Costa, “O actual movimento político da India”; Rodrigues, The Indian
National Movement and Rodrigues, A Índia Contemporânea; Barreto, Civiliza­
ção hindu; Mascarenhas, “O conflito”.
90. Rodrigues, The Indian National Movement; Tristão B. da Cunha, Denationalisa­
tion of the Goans (Bombay: Padma Publications, 1944).
91. Cunha Leal, O colonialismo dos anticolonialistas (Lisbon: author edition, 1961).
14 The press and the colonial war/
liberation struggle in Mozambique
The case of the newspaper
RESSURGIMENTO, 1968–1973
Alda Saíde

Introduction
Marcelo Caetano became the president of the Council of Ministers of Por­
tugal and the Overseas on 26 September 1968, when Portugal was deeply
embroiled in wars with the independence movements of the Portuguese
colonies (Angola, Cape Verde, Guinea Bissau, Mozambique, and São Tome
and Principe). Immediately upon taking power, Caetano strengthened the
overseas defence policy in the colonies. In his speech of 6 October 1969, he
categorically stated that: ‘the defence of the Portuguese Overseas would not
be diminished on the diplomatic or internal level’.1 Furthermore, he consid­
ered any negotiations with what the regime deemed as ‘terrorist movements’,
the liberation movements in Angola, Mozambique, and Guinea-Bissau,
impossible.
In the Portuguese colonies, considering the worsening of the political–
military situation, Caetano made some cosmetic changes. He transformed
the Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado (International Police and
of the State Defence, PIDE) into the Direcção-Geral de Segurança (Security
Directorate-General, DGS) and gave responsibility to the Secretariado-Geral
da Defesa Nacional (General Secretariat for National Defence, SGDN) for
psychological action within the armed forces and the psychological prepara­
tion of the metropolitan and overseas public. In Mozambique, the prisons
where the DGS tortured and executed inmates, he introduced a comprehen­
sive psychosocial programme for political prisoners that included, among
other features, a newspaper, called RESSURGIMENTO (Resurgence), where
political prisoners had to confess repentance and claim to be Portuguese
patriots.
This chapter analyses the contents of the RESSURGIMENTO newspaper.
It considers it as a historical document, testimony of a past that one wants
to understand and interrogate its role as an instrument of propaganda of
the colonial regime, especially its role as a document for the information it
contains and the multiplicity of readings/understandings that may go beyond
the colonial context.

DOI: 10.4324/9780429282270-18

 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 271

The chapter presents a brief account of colonial fascism in 1960s to1970s
Portuguese Mozambique, followed by the struggle of the Portuguese regime
against the resistance of the Frente de Libertação de Moçambique (Front for
the Liberation of Mozambique, FRELIMO), an analysis of the newspaper
RESSURGIMENTO and the conclusion.

Portuguese fascism in Mozambique, 1960s–1970s

Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique was characterized by strong exploi­
tation of Mozambicans and their natural resources. Through laws and dis­
criminatory practices, the Portuguese regime developed measures designed to
benefit the metropole and the colonialists (Portuguese bourgeoisie), intensify­
ing violence and exploitation of the colonized (Mozambicans), while denying
them civil and political rights.
After the Second World War, Salazar enacted the Capitalisation Law, which
stated that benefits stemming from public services and other activities funda­
mental to the defence of the state or the economy would be allowed to only
Portuguese companies. Mozambique had two separate administrative codes,
one for Mozambicans and the other for Portuguese. Portuguese areas were
administered according to the metropolitan model through councils. The coun­
cils were subdivided into freguesias (parishes); the Mozambican administrative
areas were named circunscrições (circumscriptions) and were ruled by the heads
of posts (chefe do posto) and other administrators and subdivided into regedo­
rias or chiefdoms, where the Mozambican chief (appointed by the Portuguese
administration) followed the instructions of the colonial administrators.2
Simultaneously, the Portuguese state strengthened the Indigenato regime that
ensured that the majority of Mozambicans were legally held in subordinate
positions according to race, class, and culture. The Mozambican population
was divided into two distinct categories.3 The first were Indígenas (indigenous) –
non-assimilated Mozambicans. They had no citizenship; they were required
to carry a passbook (identity card) and subjected to all regulations of the indi­
genato regime. That regime imposed obligations of work, denied access to cer­
tain areas of the cities after dark, denied the right of assembly and association,
and restricted the indígenas to limited places of entertainment or gathering.
The second were não-indígenas (non-indigenous) white Portuguese, Pakistanis,
Indians, and mulatos (creoule) who enjoyed full Portuguese citizenship, includ­
ing the assimilated Mozambicans, although in practice the latter remained
third-class citizens.4 According to the law, the non-indigenous had all the
privileges of Portuguese citizenship but in practice not. Up to 1961, less than
1% of the Mozambican population was legally assimilated.5 Therefore, these
were measures that clearly distinguished the citizen from the ‘indigenous’ that
were reinforced and which obliged each ‘indigenous person’ moving from the
circumscription to the village and/or town to bring his passbook with him.
272 Alda Saíde
In terms of education, the fascist Salazar regime established two types
of education system in Mozambique: (a) the Indigenous Education System
for the majority of the Mozambican children – made up of three years of
rudimentary teaching, later called Adaptation Teaching, Vocational Educa­
tion and Normal/Official Education and (b) the Official Education System
for whites, mulattos, and assimilated blacks – characterized by a four-
year primary education, secondary/technical education, and pre-university
education.6
Rudimentary teaching aimed at ‘gradually leading the indigenous from a
jungle/bush life to a civilised life’ and was mostly provided by the Roman
Catholic missions, and where it was not possible, by Protestant missions
or the government. From 1940 onwards, with the signing of the Mission­
ary Agreement and the Missionary Statute between the Holy See and the
Portuguese government, the Roman Catholic Church officially assumed the
task of preparing curricular programmes, examinations, and the issuing and
distribution of diplomas.7 Thus, the Archbishopric of Lourenço Marques was
the central authority for indigenous education in Mozambique.
The curricula and textbooks of the official system of education were
the same as those used in Portugal, with some modifications to meet local
requirements and were controlled by the government.8
In short, the barriers imposed by the Indigenato Regime and the Indig­
enous Education System remained an insurmountable obstacle to effec­
tive education and the social and economic mobility of Mozambicans. The
majority of the Mozambicans just constituted a source of cheap labour for
the Portuguese colonial economy.
The Mozambican economy was shaped by the Acto Colonial (Colonial
Act).9 That Act intensified the measures of exploitation of the Mozambican
population by coercing them to supply forced and/or cheap labour. By 1926,
the Portuguese government promulgated Decree 11.994 on cotton produc­
tion which shifted the risks of production from the European investors to the
African producers. Peasants were forced to produce, harvest, and sell the cot­
ton to companies based on a low fixed price determined by the government.
In 1938, the Portuguese government created the Colonial Cotton Board –
JEAC which established vast zones where peasants were forced to cultivate
cotton; fixed mandatory dates by which the peasants had to plant, reseed,
and harvest their cotton; determined the number of times fields should be
weeded, defined the type of cotton produced, and set the prices to be paid
to peasants.10 It was a highly repressive and exploitative system of cotton
production and marketing.
Taking advantage of its neutrality in the Second World War from 1940
onwards, Portugal intensified the arbitrary exploitation of human and mate­
rial resources. It introduced forced production, processing, purchasing, and
marketing of rice through the Division of Rice Promotion, increased control
of the Mozambican labour force, replaced the hut tax by the head tax. Thus,
even disabled men and women owed taxes, and Mozambicans in cities had
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 273
to have a work permit and carry the previously mentioned identification
booklet.11
The withdrawal of much of the labour force due to forced production,
contract work in the plantations, and forced work (Chibalo)12 reduced the
capacity of peasant households to produce their food and consequently,
seriously impoverished the Mozambican majority. Open and direct colonial
fascist repression was the regime’s central policy. Laws and regulations det­
rimental to the vast majority of the Mozambicans included denying them
civil and political rights. However, opposition by the Mozambicans to these
repressive policies was active and manifested itself in various forms: prison
escapes, strikes, riots, burning seeds instead of planting them, subversive
songs, art, writing, and other forms of protest.13
To prevent political ‘subversion’, the colonial government established the
Public Security Council with strict surveillance rules for offenders. The Public
Security Council launched the PIDE later PIDE/DGS throughout the empire,
including Portugal. The PIDE/DGS, in view of the political and military situ­
ation of the colonies and regardless of the administrative structure and often
of the law itself, had virtually unlimited powers in terms of imprisonment,
detention, expulsion, and even secret trials carried out by its own agents.
All these actions occurred without any control of the courts. For example,
in 1954, with Decree-Law 39749, on 9 August, a staff of overseas officials
(27 in Mozambique) was set up. The same decree reorganized the structure
and powers of the PIDE and assigned judicial powers to the director, deputy
director, inspector in charge, and possibly to deputy inspectors, sub-inspec­
tors, and brigade chiefs in the preparatory investigation of the proceedings,
in relation to keeping the accused under arrest and provisional application
of security measures. These powers granted to PIDE generated, in 1954, a
controversy between the minister of justice and his colleague from the Inte­
rior ministry.14
The Decree-Law 49401 of 24 November 1969 established in the Ministry
of the Interior the DGS with the aim of collecting and researching, centraliz­
ing, coordinating and studying information useful to the security services, as
well as maintaining relations with national and foreign police organizations
and similar services, for reciprocal exchange of information.15 It further­
more established cooperation agreements with South Africa, Southern Rho­
desia, and Malawi to ensure police support in the pursuit and prosecution
of Mozambican nationalist militants or FRELIMO guerrillas.16

The struggle against ‘subversion’

In the late 1950s and early 1960s, Mozambique experienced the growth of
nationalist consciousness, where groups of organized militants developed
a clandestine insurgence/underground political work. Three Mozambican
political movements were formed against Portuguese fascism abroad: União
Democrática Nacional de Moçambique (National Democratic Union of
274 Alda Saíde
Mozambique, UDENAMO) in Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), 1960;
Mozambique African National Union (MANU) in Tanganyika (now Tan­
zania), 1961; and União Nacional Africana de Moçambique Independente
(National Union of Mozambique Independent, UNAMI) in Nyasaland
(now Malawi), 1961. In 1962, the FRELIMO was formed in Dar-es-Salaam
Tanganyika from the fusion of the three movements. Two years later, on
25 September 1964, the armed struggle for liberation started in northern
Mozambique. Hence, the Portuguese government began to worry about the
type of information it should make available to the public of the metropole
and the colonies. On the one hand, the Ministry for National Defence tried
to suppress the spread of information within the colony, but, on the other
hand, it was responsible for coordinating information for the ministries for
national defence, foreign affairs, and the overseas regarding armed actions in
Mozambique. Subsequently, the ministry developed a strategy both to con­
trol information and eliminate subversion through the following measures:
1. The creation in 1961 of the Psychosocial Services with the responsibil­
ity to strengthen national cohesion by spiritual, social, and material means.
They sought to prepare people’s moral defence and strengthen their vitality
and stamina. Regarding those who had already turned away from national
cause the idea was to recover and redirect them towards the cause.
The technical side of the Psychosocial Services included general studies,
educational and cultural action, and coordination of operational activities.17
While the oversight of this service was within the jurisdiction of the gov­
ernor general, the Division of Information was in the hands of the Chief
of the Serviços de Centralização e Coordenação de Informações (Services
of Centralization and Coordination of Information, SCCI), responsible for
providing all information necessary to the Psychosocial Services.
The SCCI of Mozambique (SCCIM) were established in 1961 under the
Overseas Ministry to control and coordinate information on Mozambique’s
police, administration, and defence. The SCCIM comprised the directorate,
the technical office, the centres, the administrative bureau, and the councils
delegations of Tete, Niassa, Mozambique, Cabo Delgado, Zambézia, Vila
Pery (currently Chimoio), Lourenço Marques (Maputo), Inhambane, Gaza,
and Beira. It also included a documentation centre, a centre for publications
and translation, and a dissemination centre.18
The documentation centre, which operated under the direct management
of the board, was considered the backbone of the services, as it relied on the
use of collected and centralized information. The publications and transla­
tions centre was responsible for the reception, registration, and reading of
the national and foreign press, the selection and classification of news, as
well as the organization of the library, the censorship of foreign language
publications circulating in Mozambique, as well as translation and retrover­
sion. The dissemination centre was responsible for preparing the weekly
information review, which was distributed, inter alia, among the Federal
Intelligence Security Bureau of the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland,
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 275
and the Centre for Special Activities, which directed, coordinated, and orga­
nized news and information research, internally and externally, and prepared
its personnel. In addition, the SCCIM established a network of informants
who, from Mocímboa da Praia and Palma and Macondes, reached Tangan­
yika and Zanzibar. At the same time, a network covering the territories of
Nyasaland and Northern Rhodesia was being considered.19
Over the course of the liberation struggle led by FRELIMO, the Portuguese
government thought it essential to capture the so-called hearts and minds
of the Mozambican people because without popular support FRELIMO’s
guerrilla war tactics would fail.
2. Ordinance No. 18773, 17 July 1965 set forth the general rules govern­
ing the various information services: Serviços de Informação Civil (Civil
Information Services, SIC), Serviços de Informação Militar (Military Infor­
mation Services, SIM), Serviços de Informação (Information Services, SI) of
PIDE and SCCIM. The Governor General was responsible for seeing that
the information policy was followed, establishing standards and increasing
the efficiency of the civil information services. The commander-in-chief of the
armed forces was responsible for implementing the policy in his sector and
coordinating the action of the SIM. The SCCIM and PIDE’s Serviços de
Informação could be used in specific matters of military interest but in such
cases had to follow their respective rules.
Despite the existence of rules of operation for the various information
services in the province, articulation and cooperation among the several
branches were not always smooth, especially regarding the circulation
of documents and the processing and dissemination of information by
districts. The problems were compounded by the dual subordination of
the SCCIM to the Governor General and the commander-in-chief and by
the interference of the PIDE/DGS in all matters, including civil, military,
religious, administrative, and judiciary. Questions of authority and infor­
mation flows created serious conflicts and difficult relationships with other
services.

Psychosocial action: the newspaper RESSURGIMENTO,

1968–1973
As mentioned, psychosocial/psychological action combined counter-sub­
versive action aimed to promote the Portuguese fascist cause among the
Mozambican population and an attempt to demoralize FRELIMO combat­
ants by promoting insecurity and doubt regarding their ability to succeed in
their goals. To those ends it structured specific psychological action services
for the Portuguese army, the majority population, and political prisoners.
They developed posters, flyers, newspapers, and broadcasting in Mozambi­
can languages targeting FRELIMO and seeking to undermine its struggle.
Eventually, it organized regular village meetings (banjas) around strategies
for self-defence.
276 Alda Saíde
The Portuguese military psychological action was directed from the top of
the military hierarchy to the local army branches in a starkly top-down fash­
ion. Each branch of the Portuguese army in Mozambique could draft direc­
tives that reflected the concrete conditions in their locale, but the directives
could be adopted only if examined and approved from up in the hierarchy.
The material was designed to instil faith in victory, win the population to the
national cause, that is, to honour the Portuguese civil and military authori­
ties and to discredit the subversive movements, especially FRELIMO.20 From
1971 to 1972, as the war situation deteriorated, the Army’s psychological
action took on a higher profile in response to growing fear, insecurity, dis­
couragement, and desertion among the troops.
The psychological action aimed at civilians targeted areas where the war/
armed struggle for liberation existed, beginning in Cabo Delgado and Niassa,
and later in Tete, Zambézia, Manica, and Sofala. The administrative and
military authorities in charge of the psychological action again developed
and disseminated their strategies in a top-down fashion. Through pamphlets,
radio material, improvement in the standard of living and assistance to the
population, characterized by housing (villages), health support, access to
education and economic activity, military presence to ensure security and
control of population, as well as influencing the international press, the psy­
chological action programme encouraged the population and the guerril­
las to abandon FRELIMO and surrender to the authorities.21 Although the
psychological action apparatus did develop a ‘hearts and minds’ strategy in
southern Mozambique, PIDE/DGS still worked directly in the south, where
clandestine fighters joined the front and afterwards some other political
minor groups as well. As the Portuguese authorities learned more about
popular support for FRELIMO, in 1968, with the liberation war in Mozam­
bique picking up, Marcelo Caetano, the president of the Council of Ministers
of Portugal and Overseas, carried out cosmetic prison reforms (especially at
Machava prison) and a vast psychosocial programme for political prisoners.
The reforms included: (i) drastic reduction of the confinement of prisoners to
their cells, allowing them to spend the days in the courtyards and returning
to their cells for only their last meal and to sleep; (ii) recreational and sport­
ing activities such as choirs, tribal dancing, football, and education (mainly
primary); (iii) productive activities such as crafts (Makonde sculpture) and
employment outside the jail; (iv) direct recruitment of political prisoners
for the armed forces and psychological integration in companies acting in
Cabo Delgado, Niassa, Tete, and Manica and Sofala provinces; (v) isolation
of the so-called dangerous political prisoners in death rows; (vi) creation of
a newspaper (the so-called RESSURGIMENTO) where political prisoners
were forced to repent and claim now to be patriots.22
The newspaper RESSURGIMENTO, produced by ‘repentant’ political
prisoners was not actually intended for the prisoners but for the Mozambican
communities in the districts most affected by the ‘subversion’, for neighbour­
ing countries, and for FRELIMO headquarters in Dar-es-Salaam (including
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 277
the residence of the President of FRELIMO, Samora Moisés Machel). For
example, in an interview with Dalila Mateus, Albino Magaia, a journalist
and former political prisoner at Machava prison, categorically stated that
the newspaper was for those outside the prison, not inside. ‘No one [in the
prison read it]. The paper was for outside. No prisoner within had access to
it. The paper was not even posted [within the prison walls]’.23
The newspaper RESSURGIMENTO produced at the Machava prison
from July 1968 to 1973, was a monthly periodical with some special edi­
tions. The paper averaged 25 pages and had a set format: editorial note;
notes of a convict; chatting with colleagues; the Portuguese world; a literary
section; brief considerations of pedagogical issues/teaching; an interview;
news from our correspondent; health and hygiene; various news; sports, and
a humour page. Each issue featured the text of one named political prisoner
who, under the guidance of the psychosocial programme, had repented of
his involvement in subversive activities. About 150 prisoners participated in
this newspaper throughout the years.
Most of the political prisoners involved in producing this newspaper
belonged to a group of 75 political activists (14 women, 6 children, and
57 men), who were captured in Middelburg (South Africa) and transferred
to Mozambique in a joint operation of the PIDE/DGS and South Africa in
May 1965.24 It was a heterogeneous group composed mostly of secondary
school students belonging to the Núcleo dos Estudantes Secundários Afri­
canos de Moçambique (Mozambican High School Nucleus, NESAM) run
by Armando Guebuza and Ângelo Chichava, but also of workers in vari­
ous professions and even businessmen. Some of them were militant political
activists and other FRELIMO supporters fleeing persecution and repression
by PIDE. The whole group was incarcerated in the Mabalane prison camp
where all of them were interrogated, and the men were also tortured. Two
months later, they were transferred to Lourenço Marques, where the men
were jailed in the Machava penitentiary and the women and children in the
civil jail of Sommerschield. These and other political prisoners of the 1960s
were arrested, interrogated, subjected to physical and psychological torture,
and imprisoned without trial.25
An analysis of the newspaper content reveals that it featured texts by
political prisoners demonstrating their repentance and recovery by the colo­
nial regime; the regime’s counter-subversion to erode FRELIMO morale and
fuel unrest, disorder, chaos, and consequently surrender; charges of commu­
nist interference in FRELIMO’s struggle; statements about the tolerance and
justice of the colonial system; and the strength and bravery of the Portuguese
army. For example, an editorial in RESSURGIMENTO read in part:

For those who, enticed by false ads, let themselves be dragged onto the
wrong path, but who, after a time of meditation or an examination of
conscience, returned again, in a supreme effort of will, to the service of
the motherland one and indivisible: Portugal.26
278 Alda Saíde
This text, if read linearly, gives an image of a ‘subversive terrorist’, who now
loves Portugal, having been made to repent and so recovered by the regime.
Although the Portuguese government and authorities had developed
a series of strategies and took some measures to undermine FRELIMO’s
resolve to conquer the hearts and souls of the Mozambicans against the
oppressive regime, FRELIMO on its own had also serious internal problems
as can be attested in the following. These problems could have been helping
the Portuguese goals in some ways.
In 1968, FRELIMO experienced an internal political crisis resulting from
different perspectives and conceptions of the objectives and strategies to be
adopted in the fight against Portuguese colonialism. Two lines of struggle
opposed each other: one that advocated the elimination of the Portuguese
colonial regime led by Eduardo Mondlane (FRELIMO’s president) and
the other which opted for reforms within the Portuguese regime led by
Mzee Lázaro Kavandame (chairman of Cabo Delgado and member of the
central committee of FRELIMO) and Padre Mateus Gwendjere, a Roman
Catholic priest and Portuguese language teacher at the Mozambican Insti­
tute in Dar-es-Salaam. Based on race and ethnicity, some white militants
were ‘expelled’ from FRELIMO in an action led by Kavandame (himself a
Makonde) while ethnic Makonde militants who did not identify with his
principles were savagely murdered, and vandalism took place at the Mozam­
bican Institute and FRELIMO headquarters. Eduardo Mondlane’s opponents,
defeated at the FRELIMO’s Second Congress (July 1968), defected to the
Portuguese side. Kavandame and other deserters were welcomed by the Portu­
guese as key figures of the movement and examples of Mozambicans deceived
by FRELIMO and repentant. FRELIMO’s internal crisis culminated with the
assassination of Eduardo Mondlane on 3 February 1969 in Dar-es-Salaam.
In order to discredit and weaken FRELIMO, the regime took advantage
of the desertions that followed FRELIMO’s internal contradictions (1968–
1969). Many of the texts claimed that FRELIMO was disorganized, full
of tribal divisions, without objectives, and essentially already defeated. The
paper featured interviews and testimonies from FRELIMO defectors, mili­
tants, and fugitives. For example, Lázaro Kavandame interviewed by Jorge
Mucuanda Rimbana in RESSURGIMENTO stated that ‘the problems that
concern the Mozambican populations and, in particular, the people of the
Makonde ethnic group have no possibility of adequate solution other than
in the shadow of the Portuguese flag’.27
Similarly, in an interview conducted by the editor of RESSURGIMENTO,
Eduardo Chacha, a FRELIMO squad leader who deserted with 77 of his
companions in May 1969, stated the following:

There, in that terrorist organization called FRELIMO, they only intend

to throw dust in the eyes of the world by talking of alleged associations
based on war, hatred, false publicity and on the goals of various orders
given by the leadership. And that’s why they take any opportunity to
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 279
fight and riot. And that’s why they have no authority to rule this people
whose lives would be turned into a bloody Biafra or a hellish, nonde­
script Congo! And their evil is the evil of all those who are seeking to
separate Mozambique from Portugal. . . . Only Portugal can solve the
problems of Mozambique, we do not need Beijing, Chinese nor FRE­
LIMO leaders to resolve them. . . . Yes, FRELIMO is sunk in a deep cri­
sis. This crisis is not temporary or trivial. It is serious for the organisation
because it is incurable and hopeless. Because there is evil at the root of its
principles which seek to solve the problems of Mozambique by allying
itself to foreigners; by seeding divisions among tribes; generating distinc­
tions among people; searching for privileges and disguised supremacies
under the name of ‘Union’, ‘Progress’ and ‘Freedom’.28

These statements ‘intended to lead’ the reader to believe that FRELIMO

was inept, incompetent, could not even hold together a small insurgency, so
they would obviously never be able to run a government. They portrayed a
movement about to fall apart and turn (again) into chaos. The intent of the
writings was to make the readers believe that FRELIMO was manipulated by
communist China – and that it was a pawn for foreign interests that would
‘steal’ Mozambique’s land. In the same line of reasoning, the newspaper
promoted the idea that China, not Portugal, was the ‘colonial’ force – an
outsider stealing resources, lands, etc., and that Portugal was the ‘rightful
protector and ruler’ of Mozambique.
In fact, Portugal was the colonial power that exploited human and mate­
rial resources in Mozambique, as well as repressed every Mozambican who
was against the colonial government. The messages passed through the RES­
SURGIMENTO became, effectively, part of a broader political strategy to
counter the internal confidence in and support of FRELIMO’s struggle as
well as decrease the international pressure against Portuguese colonialism.
Echoing South Africa’s propaganda of the time, the newspaper alleged that
tribalism galvanized violence, the consequence being that the whites came to
Africa to stop blacks from killing each other and if whites left, there would
be chaos.
In September 1970, Armando Pedro Muiane, a political prisoner recently
‘amnestied and released’ from the Machava jail, wrote in the newspaper
RESSURGIMENTO a letter of ‘thanks’ to the Honourable Head of the
Machava Recovery Centre:

I beg to apologize for the fact that I only now remember to write to
you. Better late than never. And don’t be surprised, Your Honour, that
I apologize. It is because, since I left, it has always been my thought to
write to you one day in order to testify to my recognition for all that
you have done for the benefit of all the deviant inmates who were in
your hands. And I am one of them. My life was black and my reputation
was tarnished, but you gave me confidence, gave joy again to my loved
280 Alda Saíde
ones. I was returned to freedom before my time under security measures
ended. Thanks to the protective hand of the police through the Honour­
able Deputy Inspector who guaranteed me a job that allows me to earn
for my family. . . . it is certain that the communist countries will, sooner
or later, recognize that Portugal was right after all. . . . Now that I have
written this to you, I can say that I feel relieved, because I have already
fulfilled a moral duty, an imperative of conscience.29

From this extract can be understood that even after being released, the
political prisoners had to maintain their repentance and gratitude before
the Portuguese authorities, producing texts to feed the RESSURGIMENTO
newspaper or even sign texts supposedly theirs but produced by the authori­
ties. Indeed, the colonial-fascist regime tried to prove that even political pris­
oners ‘freed’ from jail and at liberty remained sorry for what they had done
and that they also expressed their deep gratitude for all that the regime (those
responsible for the Machava jail) did and were doing for their reintegration.
Therefore, when cross-checking such texts with the information presented
here, thanks to the methodology followed in this study – using archives,
secondary sources, and oral histories with former political prisoners from
this group – the texts must be interpreted rather than read literally. Did
the political prisoners write these texts spontaneously and freely? If they
had been convicted for subversive activities and were imprisoned, where did
they get that information about the war and conflicts within FRELIMO, if
that information was secret? Doubts emerge on the ability of the so-called
authors to write these texts when analysing the format of the texts (language
structure, coherence, and logic).
In fact, testimonies by Cadmiel Filiano Mutemba, Fernando Andrade
Fazenda Mbeve, Ângelo Azarias Chichava, and Albino Fragoso Magaia con­
firmed that prisoners were forced to participate, and their participation gen­
erated a lot of discussion among prisoners in the cells because some advised
them to refuse.30 As Ângelo said, ‘in prison we had to write in the journal
RESSURGIMENTO. Now what we wrote didn’t come out spontaneously,
our words were selected with the clear and expressed intention to humiliate
the prisoners. That was the psychological “game” of PIDE’.31 Albino shared
that what ‘was impressive about the RESSURGIMENTO was that people
survived despite the hypocrisy. If people did not write, they knew they would
die!’.32
Condemned, tortured, and threatened with death, the political prisoners
learned and developed a form of resisting the prison oppression that allowed
them to write the ideas imposed by the regime while remaining true to their
ideals. Their testimonies enable historians to unravel the truth of what hap­
pened in those jails and to unmask the false messages that have been repeated
over the years as authentic.
However, the researcher is aware of the difficulties involved in conducting
oral history where memories can exaggerate suffering, forget, and/or distort
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 281
facts as well as soften joys. In these testimonies there must be omissions, self-
censorship, and even embellishment. To minimize such possible limitations
when studying memoires, analysis and cross-referencing were used, first on
the interview information and second, between oral sources and primary and
secondary written sources.
In general, the testimonies of these political prisoners made it possible to
break the silence about the crimes of the political police (PIDE-DGS) in the
colonial wars and to deepen the history of violence, cruelty, intimidation,
torture, banishment, and death of the political prisoners of the Portuguese
colonial empire in Mozambique.
Much of the evidence provided by analysis of these texts and cross-
referencing with other oral and written sources suggests that some of the
texts were prepared by the regime and given to the prisoners to sign. A
careful reading of Eduardo Chacha’s – a black Mozambican from Moamba
administrative post of district of Lourenço Marques, a tractor driver with
rudimentary education – interview suggests it was a template, because given
his educational level and position within FRELIMO, he would hardly have
the skills to craft it. Furthermore, the way the text was written, it seemed
not to be a faithful transcription of an interview text but rather to have
been reworked. Other corroborating evidence includes the close similarity of
prisoner testimonies. The prisoner answers were so similar you’d think they
shared the answers before their individual interviews.
The texts published in RESSURGIMENTO were, thus, deployed as part
of Portugal’s counter-insurgency strategy. PIDE used political prisoners as
‘authors’ to legitimate their efforts to undermine and discredit FRELIMO.
After independence, in March 1978, the FRELIMO Political Commission
considered them ‘enemies’ and, or ‘compromised’ (about 300 prisoners in the
Machava jail) and some were tried and sentenced to prison in Machava jail
(ironically, the same where they had been Portuguese prisoners) and others
taken to military training.33
These texts provide primary source documentation suggesting that Por­
tugal’s strategy was intended much more to win the Mozambican popula­
tion’s ‘hearts and minds’ than to frighten and intimidate people in an effort
to undermine FRELIMO’s credibility and its ability to recruit people to the
struggle.
Despite tight police censorship, prisoners were sometimes able to pass
information through RESSURGIMENTO about the terror and humiliation
suffered by prisoners and their efforts to resist poor conditions and sustain
their struggle. Henrique C. Jorge wrote, for example:

Looking around we know that families constantly cry in anguish and

shed tears, suffering from the absence of their loved ones. Some of these
loved ones have disappeared forever, from this to the other world and
won’t be seen ever again. Others are stranded here, deprived of freedom
as they serve their prison sentences. They are in a world with no contact
282 Alda Saíde
with the outside, where everything happens without their participation.
They are rendered useless beings – useless to society and to themselves.34

In a similar vein, in the A Voz de São Nicolau, a prisoners’ biweekly bulletin

from Angola, edition of 15 August 1971, the prisoner João Mateus da Con­
ceição rebelled against the considerable number of children in the camp and
asked where the school garden was. Still in the same issue, another prisoner
made a memorial drawing on the cover of the newspaper with the following
message ‘To those who suffered and died here honouring their homeland’.35
As can be inferred from the text, contrary to the government’s intentions,
the biweekly bulletin – A Voz de São Nicolau – had been transformed by the
prisoners into an instrument of resistance.

Conclusion
This chapter does not intend to take a comprehensive approach to the many
different ways of considering the role of the newspaper RESSURGIMENTO
in the colonial context and its current use as a historical document; rather,
it contributes only a reflection on some of the specific issues that this theme
raises.
In the case of the texts analysed in RESSURGIMENTO, the context of
their production can provide us with denser understanding than what we
perceive from the content they purport to convey. Thus, in order to gain some
deep knowledge from these texts, it was important to take into account the
period/moment in which they were written (the period of armed liberation
struggle), plus ask who was the promoter and financier of the newspaper
(Portuguese government and Portuguese politicians), who were the col­
laborators/authors of the writings (political prisoners and former political
prisoners), and who received the texts (regions considered under subversive
influence and FRELIMO offices). Therefore, these texts are a useful source
of Mozambican history because they allow us to understand the character­
istics and vicissitudes of the colonial state. Also, these texts give rise to the
memories of a distant past, thus building a new memory.
Indeed, the RESSURGIMENTO provides a window into Portuguese
counter-insurgency strategies and coerced witness/testimony. It shows the
ability of prisoners in reinventing life when death was a constant threat and
hence bringing another reading of the concept of ‘political prisoner’ that
departs from the general idea of the prisoner as a victim.
The texts of the RESSURGIMENTO demonstrate, above all, the inten­
tion to defend an integrated plan for the continuity and maintenance of
Portuguese colonialism in Mozambique. From this point of view, they are
texts with a strong anti-FRELIMO message, emphasizing Portugal’s great­
ness and fair policies towards the colonies and recording the regrets of those
deceived by FRELIMO. The newspaper was at the service of a concrete
political strategy: to counter and dissuade the international and internal
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 283
pressure against its latter-day colonialism. However, it was on the wrong
side of history because the unfolding of the war from 1968 to 1969 in the
Portuguese colonies, especially in Guinea-Bissau and Mozambique, showed
signs of weakness in combat on the part of the Portuguese forces and conse­
quent worsening, leading the Portuguese government to other solutions – a
coup d’état in Portugal on 25 April 1974 and, later against the will of the
metropolis, negotiations for the self-determination of the peoples colonized
by Portugal.
As a historical document it represents a concrete colonial reality with its
related struggle to win the ‘hearts and minds’ of the people of Mozambique
during the colonial war/Mozambican liberation struggle. It was a funda­
mental propaganda instrument for the Portuguese colonial-fascist regime in
Mozambique, as envisioned in the psychosocial programme. The texts of the
RESSURGIMENTO should be read and understood from that perspective.

Notes
1. Marcello Caetano, Mandato indeclinável (Lisboa: Verbo, 1970), 26.
2. Freguesia corresponding to white households that carry out a common social
action through their own governing bodies. Circunscrições – regions where ade­
quate economic and social development had not been achieved, according to the
Portuguese code.
3. “Diploma Legislativo Nº 162,” Boletim Oficial de Moçambique, 1ª série, 22, 1
de Junho de 1929. The Indigenato regime functioned in the Portuguese colonies
of Guinea, Angola, and Mozambique. This legislation would be amended in
certain respects by the Indigenous Statute of the Portuguese Provinces of Guinea,
Angola, and Mozambique, Decreto nº 39666 de 1954.
4. The indigenous and assimilated concept comes from the Native Assistance Code
of 1921. This code created the Assimilate System, in which the Mozambican
population was divided into assimilates, a small minority who had supposedly
adopted an essentially Portuguese way of life, and indigenous people, which
made up the vast majority of the Mozambican population. To achieve this new
status, the Mozambican had to meet the following conditions: to know how
to read, write, and speak Portuguese fluently; have sufficient means to support
their family; be of good conduct; have the necessary education and personal and
social habits in order to make possible the application of public and private law
in force in Portugal; they had to request the administrative authority of his/her
area, which in turn will send it to the district governor for approval. Eduardo
Mondlane, Lutar por Moçambique (Maputo: Colecção ‘Nosso Chão’, 1995), 43,
47 and 48.
5. Allen Isaacman and Barbara Isaacman, Mozambique: From Colonialism to Rev­
olution (Colorado: Westview Press, Inc, 1983), 40.
6. The Indigenous Education System consisted of (i) rudimentary teaching, later
adaptation teaching which was theoretically three years of schooling and com­
pulsory for all Mozambican children between the ages of seven and ten liv­
ing within a radius of up to three kilometres from the school; (ii) vocational
education which consisted of manual instruction in carpentry, tailoring, shoe,
and agriculture for men up to 18 years old; and (iii) normal/official education
for Mozambican children who completed rudimentary education at the age
of 13 who could enrol in official education. For this purpose, the School of
284 Alda Saíde
Qualification of Indigenous Teachers was created. The official education system
was characterized by four-year primary education (a fifth year was added in
1952) and compulsory for white, mulatto, and assimilated children aged 7–11;
secondary/technical education in high schools or commercial and industrial
schools located in urban areas and open to children in official primary schools;
and pre-university education for those preparing to enter Portuguese universi­
ties. Boletim Oficial, 1ª Série, 20 (17 de Maio de 1930), 225. Alda Romão Saúte,
O Intercâmbio entre os Moçambicanos e as Missões Cristãs e a Educacção em
Moçambique: A Missão Santo Agostinho de Maciene, 1926/8–1974 (Maputo:
PROMÉDIA, 2005), 159–160.
7. Constiuição Política e Acto Colonial (Lourenço Marques, 1938), 37.
8. Eduardo Mondlane, Lutar por Moçambique, 64.
9. Acto Colonial approved by Decreto nº 18570 de 8 de Julho, 1930 (Lourenço
Marques, 1930). It was the guiding principles for the Portuguese colonies.
10. Allen Isaacman, Cotton Is the Mother of Poverty: Peasants, Work, and Rural
Struggle in Colonial Mozambique, 1938–1961 (London: James Currey, 1996),
30, 35.
11. David Hedges and Aurélio Rocha, “A Reestruturação da sociedade moçambi­
cana, 1938–1944,” in História de Moçambique: Moçambique no auge do colo­
nialismo, 1930–1961, coord. David Hedges (Maputo: Depertamento de História,
1993), 93–99.
12. A system of forced labour by which the colonial regime furnished cheap (native)
work hands to colonists who had big properties and for the construction of
colonial public infrastructure projects.
13. Eduardo Mondlane, Lutar por Moçambique, 107–130; David Hedges and
Arlindo Chilundo, “A Contestação da situação colonial, 1945–1961,” in História
de Moçambique: Moçambique no auge do colonialismo, 1930–1961, coord.
David Hedges (Maputo: Depertamento de História, 1993), 197–247; Amélia
Neves de Souto, Caetano e o caso do “Império”: Administração e Guerra Colo­
nial em Moçambique durante o Marcelismo, 1968–1974 (Porto: Edições Afron­
tamento, 2007), 359–414.
14. Irene Flunser Pimentel, Os cinco Pilares da PIDE: Uma história da polícia
política portuguesa a partir da biografia dos seus mais conhecidos elementos
(Lisboa: A Esfera dos Livros, 2018), 113.
15. D. C. Mateus, A PIDE/DGS na Guerra colonial 1961–1974 (Lisboa: Terramar,
2004), 32–33.
16. Departamento de História, História: Manual da 10a. classe (Maputo: UEM,
1980), 147; A. Urnov, África do Sul contra África, 1966–1986 (Moscow: Prog­
ress Publishers, 1988), 35; Fernando Amado Couto, Moçambique 1974: O fim
do Império e o nascimento da Nação (Maputo: Sociedade Editorial Ndjira, Ltda,
2011), 236–246.
17. “Diploma Legislativo Ministerial nº 28, de 19 de Outubro de 1961,” Boletim
Oficial de Moçambique, 1ª série, nº 41 (5º Suplemento), 1360–1361.
18. www.aatt.org/site/index.php?op=Nucleo&id=1533; “Decreto-Lei nº 43 761, de
29 de Junho de 1961,” Boletim Oficial de Moçambique, I série, nº 28, 15 July
1961, 895–896.
19. Ibid.
20. Amélia N. de Souto, Caetano e o caso do “Império”: Administração e Guerra
Colonial em Moçambique durante o Marcelismo, 1968–1974 (Porto: Edições
Afrontamento, 2007), 188–191.
21. It is important to note that the psychological action service was created in the
army in 1965, depending on the 2nd Bureau (Information) of the General Staff of
the Army. In the headquarters of the military regions of Angola, Mozambique, as
 The press & the colonial war in Mozambique 285
well as in the Independent Territorial command of Guinea, the responsibility was
for the 2nd offices. After 1968–1969 in Angola and Mozambique, the responsi­
bility passed to the headquarters. The aims, structure, and forms of actions were
the same in the three colonies. Ibid., 197–201; Aniceto Afonso and Carlos de
Matos Gomes, Guerra Colonial (Portugal: Editorial Notícias, 2000), 70; Ani­
ceto Afonso and Carlos de Matos Gomes, “As conquistas das Almas – Acção
Psicológica na guerra colonial,” in: https://miandica.blogspot.com/2018/05/a­
conquista-das-almas-3-parte.html.
22. Albino Magaia, Moçambique: Raízes, Identidade, Unidade Nacional (Maputo:
Ndjira, 2010), 167–171.
23. D. C. Mateus, A PIDE/DGS na Guerra colonial 1961–1974, 142–143; Dalila
Cabrita Mateus, Memórias do Colonialismo e da Guerra (Porto: ASA Editores,
2006), 47.
24. D. C. Mateus, A PIDE/DGS na Guerra colonial 1961–1974, 149; Armando
Pedro Muiuane, Datas e Documentos da História da FRELIMO (Maputo:
CIEDIMA, Sarl, 2006), 64; Interview, Cadmiel Filiano Muthemba, Maputo, 22
January 2016; Interview, Fernando Andrade Fazenda Mbeve, Maputo, 19 May
2016; Interview, Juvenália Abiatar Muthemba, Maputo, 15 January 2016; Inter­
view, Virgínia Tembe, Maputo, 4 March 2016.
25. Alda R. S. Saíde, Rethinking the Role of the Underground Political Work in the
Struggle for the Liberation of Mozambique, Late 1950s to 1970s (unpublished
paper, History Workshop held at the University of Witwatersrand, Nairobi, 22
May 2016).
26. Editorial that appeared on the front page of all the monthly and special issues of
RESSURGIMENTO, from July 1968 to 1973.
27. Jorge M. Rimbane, “Regresso: Atanásio Afonso e Lázaro Kavandame regressa­
dos à sua Mãe Pátria! . . . outros lhe seguirão o exemplo,” RESSURGIMENTO,
31 May 1969, 1.
28. José Joaquim Osório de Miranda, “Cai a Máscara da FRELIMO: Deserção
em massa dos elementos duma companhia da FRELIMO infiltrada no ter­
ritório da província,” RESSURGIMENTO, 30 June 1969, 7–15. José Joaquim
Osório Miranda was a political prisoner at Machava jail and editor of the
RESSURGIMENTO.
29. Armando P. Muiane, “Carta ao exmo. Sr. Armando da Costa Gonçalves, Dignís­
simo Chefe do Centro de Recuperação da Machava,” RESSURGIMENTO, 30
September 1970, 12.
30. Interview, Cadmiel Filiano Muthemba, Maputo, 22 de Janeiro de 2016; Inter­
view, Fernando Andrade Fazenda Mbeve, Maputo, 19 de Maio de 2016; Dalila
Cabrita Mateus, Memórias do Colonialismo e da Guerra.
31. Ibid., 123.
32. Ibid., 46.
33. Ibid., 643; Dalila Cabrita Mateus and Álvaro Mateus, Nacionalistas de Moçam­
bique: da Luta armada à Independência (Portugal: Textos Editores, Lda, 2010),
80; Interview, Armando Pedro Muiuane, Maputo, 8 and 12 January 2016; Inter­
view, Maria Chissano Vilankulos, Maputo, 19 May 2007 and 4 February 2016.
34. Henrique C. Jorge, “Usurpadores da paz e tranquilidade, e semeadores de con­
fusões, anarquismo e miséria,” RESSURGIMENTO, 31 de Maio de 1969, 16.
35. A voz de São Nicolau was a biweekly ten-page bulletin ‘authored’ by prisoners in
the São Nicolau concentration camp in Angola. Dalila Cabrita Mateus, A PIDE/
DGS na Guerra colonial 1961–1974, 134.
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Contributors’ biographies

Adelaide Vieira Machado Researcher at CHAM, FCSH, Universidade NOVA

de Lisboa. A PhD in history and theory of ideas. Co-promoted the birth of
IGSCP-PE. Published several books, chapters and articles on contemporary
history and press studies. Currently focused on colonial intellectual and
liberation movements’ press. https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3702-0569
Alda Saíde Full Professor at the Universidade Pedagógica, Maputo, where
she trains undergraduate and graduate students in African history. Associ­
ate researcher at CAP-UEM and member of the IGSCP-PE. PhD in African
history from the University of Minnesota, USA. Published several books
and articles on history of education, Christian missions and colonialism.
www.cienciavitae.pt/portal/CE19-BBF5-C93F
Célia Reis Researcher at HTC – History,Territories, Communities, FCSH, Uni­
versidade NOVA de Lisboa. PhD in history, specialisation in contemporary
politics, economic and social history. Author of several books and scientific
papers, mainly on colonialism in Portuguese colonies in Asia in the nine­
teenth and twentieth centuries. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-6650-2909
Daniel Melo Researcher at CHAM, Faculdade de Ciências Sociais e Humanas,
FCSH, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa, and member of the IGSCP-PE. Coor­
dinates the Portuguese section of EDI-RED (www.cervantesvirtual.com/
portales/editores_editoriales_iberoamericanos/). Currently working on a
research project about printed history, cultural heritage and sociocultural
dynamics in the Atlantic world. https://orcid.org/0000-0003-4573-3497
Filipa Sousa Lopes Researcher at IHC – Institute of Contemporary History,
FCSH, Universidade NOVA de Lisboa. PhD in history at the Faculdade
de Letras, Universidade do Porto. Thesis As vozes da oposição ao Estado
Novo e a questão de Goa (1950–1961). Member of IGSCP-PE. Research
interests: Portuguese dictatorship, decolonization, liberation struggles.
https://orcid.org/0000-0003-1151-4843
304 Contributors’ biographies
Isadora de Ataíde Fonseca Assistant Professor and Researcher at the Fac­
ulty of Human Sciences, Universidade Católica Portuguesa. Member of
IGSCP-PE. Main areas of study: press and media studies; the relations
between popular culture and ideology; the dynamics between journalism
and political regimes in Europe and Portuguese-speaking countries. https://
orcid.org/0000-0001-9019-9794
Josenildo de Jesus Pereira Teaches at the history department of Universidade
Federal do Maranhão. Doctor in history, Universidade de São Paulo, 2006.
Post-doctorate from ICS, Universidade de Lisboa (2017). Member of the
IGSCP-PE. Published on history of Brazil and Africa under Portuguese
colonialism; modern slavery; Afro-Brazilian culture; education, racism,
and ethnic relations. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-5327-3879
Olga Iglésias Neves Researcher at IHC, FCSH, Universidade NOVA de
Lisboa and CEsA, ISEG, Universidade de Lisboa. PhD in economic and
social history. Numerous studies on Mozambique and African colo­
nial and post-colonial realities, namely regarding social and economic
realities, associative movements, press history, resistance and anti­
colonialism, Islamism, literature, urbanism and architecture. https://orcid.
org/0000-0002-3495-4959
Robert S. Newman Has taught anthropology and education in Australia at
La Trobe University, among other places. Has published extensively on
Goa and has worked as an independent scholar since leaving Australia.
Sees Goa as an intrinsic part of Indian civilization with a unique past.
Sandra Ataíde Lobo Researcher at CHAM, FCSH, Universidade NOVA de
Lisboa. PhD in history and theory of ideas. Co-promoted the birth of
IGSCP-PE. Among other interests, works on press and intellectual histories
with particular focus on Goa and Portugal, colonialism and anti-colonialism,
literature and politics, internationalism, cosmopolitan historiography.
https://orcid.org/0000-0003-3263-836X
Sandra Sousa Associate Professor in the modern languages and literatures
department, University of Central Florida, teaches Portuguese language,
Lusophone, and Latin American studies. PhD in Portuguese and Brazilian
Studies (Brown University). Author of Ficções do Outro: Império, Raça e
Subjectividade no Moçambique Colonial (Esfera do Caos, 2015). https://
orcid.org/0000-0003-1571-0323
Sérgio Neto Researcher at CEIS20, Universidade de Coimbra. PhD in con­
temporary history and international comparative studies, University of
Coimbra. First book, Martyr colony, model colony: Cape Verde in Por­
tuguese colonial thinking (1925–1965) (2008), received an honourable
mention (Victor de Sá Award). Contributes regularly to national and inter­
national journals. https://orcid.org/0000-0002-9737-0029
 Contributors’ biographies 305
Simão Jaime Researcher at Historical Archive of Mozambique, Mondlane
University (AHM-UEM). PhD in ethnic and African studies (UFB, Brazil,
2015). Publications focus on Mozambique’s past and present realities,
reflect his wide academic interests, namely oral, labour, and social history,
liberation movements, archives, religion and colonialism, education and
health. www.cienciavitae.pt/portal/481F-DE0F-4503
Sónia Pereira Henrique Researcher at DINÂMIA’CET-IUL (ISCTE-IUL) and
IHC – FCSH/NOVA, in Lisbon. PhD in historical archival science. Member
of the DINÂMIA’CET-IUL project Dominance and mass-violence through
housing and architecture during colonial wars. The Portuguese case
(Guinea-Bissau, Angola, Mozambique): colonial documentation and post-
independence critical assessment (PTDC/ART-DAQ/0592/2020) financed
by national funds through FCT. https://orcid.org/0000-0001-8374-8919
Susana Castillo-Rodríguez Assistant Professor of Spanish linguistics at
SUNY Geneseo (USA). PhD in anthropology (UCM-Spain) and Hispanic
linguistics (CUNY, USA). Research focus: colonial linguistics, language
policy and planning, and multilingualism in Equatorial Guinea. Published
recently with Alba Valenciano Mañé, “Women in Equatorial Guinea”, in
The Oxford Research Encyclopedia of African History (2020). https://
orcid.org/0000-0002-7560-1551
Tania Regina de Luca History Department, São Paulo State University
(UNESP). Researcher with scientific productivity grants from the Brazil­
ian National Research Council. Published books and articles on the his­
tory of the press. Vice-chair of the research group Press and circulation of
ideas: the role of periodicals in the 19th and 20th centuries. https://orcid.
org/0000-0002-8942-5237
Index
Note: Page numbers in italics indicate a figure and page numbers in bold indicate a
table on the corresponding page.
II Colonial Congress 193 see Second
Colonial Congress
Abranches, Maximino 172
abstention 2, 245
Acácio, Manuel 80; A Balada do
Ultramar 80
Academia Ecuatoguineana de la Lengua
Española 111, 113n10
Ação Republicana (Republican Action)
171
acculturation 75, 112n8; see also
assimilation
Acto Colonial (Colonial Act) 5–6, 11,
71, 160, 178–179, 195, 240–241,
243, 258, 272, 284n9
adjacency 188, 212
Africa 3–5, 7, 9, 13, 19, 24, 39, 42n5,
48–51, 53, 56–57, 59, 63–67,
73–75, 76n8, 80, 83–84, 86, 90–94,
97, 108, 110, 113n16, 115n38,
116n49, 141, 144, 158, 161, 185n58,
186–200, 206, 216, 220n48, 230,
256, 279; in arts and letters 7, 80,
82, 84, 87–89, 94; oriental 137n88;
Portuguese 13, 49, 67, 91, 94, 188,
206, 217, 218n10, 235, 243, 258;
representations of 47–60; see also
African countries by name; ‘African
awareness’; ‘African cause’; African
culture; African elites; Africanization;
African journalism; African press;
Africans; scramble for Africa; West
Africa
‘African awareness’ 73, 208
‘African cause’ 12, 210, 212, 234
African culture 63, 67
African elites 11–12, 205–207, 209,
215–216; see also Creoles; filhos do
país; forras; native elites
Africanization 66
African journalism 205–206, 208, 212
African press 11–12, 205–218; and
African Intelligentsia 214–215;
censorship 221–236; in Guinea
Bissau 215–216; legacy of 216–218;
in Mozambique 207, 212, 219n34,
221–236; in Portuguese colonies
205–208, 218n1, 219n18, 219n34;
and struggle for independence
208–210; as weapon 210–212;
see also African journalism
Africans 4–5, 65–67, 70–71, 75, 94,
144, 198, 205, 207–214, 217, 223,
235, 263; black 69; Luso- 256;
representations of 47–60
African Union of Arts and Letters
(Union Africaine des Arts et des
Lettres) 88
Afro-Asian solidarities 182
Agence Générale des Colonies 190
Agência Colonial (Colonial Agency)
167, 181, 190
Agência Geral das Colónias (General
Agency of the Colonies; AGC) [aka
Agência Geral do Ultramar (General
Agency of the Overseas)] 79, 89,
91–92, 124–125, 135n29, 180, 187,
190, 197, 199
Agency for International Development
Cooperation (AECID) 113n9
Age of Discoveries 192, 194, 198
 Index 307
agriculture 40, 50, 52, 56, 59, 70–73, 107,
Anuário das Colónias (Yearbook of the

130, 186, 192, 210, 214, 283–284n6;

Colonies) 168

A Wurimo 63, 70–72, 75

Aragon, Louis 263

“ahistorical history” 126

Aranda, Manuel 89

Aires, António Manuel Calçada Bastos

Archivo General de Indias (AGI)
89 135n23
Aissaouas 43n14
areas of influence 4

Albasini, João 206, 212–213, 219n28,

Arendt, Hannah 12, 127, 205; The

223, 225, 235

Human Condition 127

Albasini Family 213, 225

Arouca, Manuel 80; Deixei o meu

Albuquerque, Afonso de 55, 243, 255

Coração em África 80

Albuquerque, Joaquim Augusto

Arquivo Histórico Colonial (Colonial

Mouzinho de 194
Historical Archive) 124

alcohol consumption 66
Aryans 58–59
alcoholism 70, 73, 252, 259–260
asceticism/purification 260; rites 70

Algeria 28
Asia 3, 19, 49, 51, 83, 151, 190, 251,

Ali, Mohamed 252

256

Aljubarrota, battle of 51
As Nossas Gravuras section (A

Álvarez, Heriberto Ramón 99–100,

Ilustração) 22, 31, 33–34, 38–39,

102–104, 107, 115n46

44n14; see also engravings

Amaral, João da Costa Fonseca 89

assimilados 160, 235

Amaral, João Maria Ferreira do 150,

Assimilate System 283n4
157n90
assimilating principle see assimilation
Amazonian Indians 40, 45n37
assimilation 7–8, 65, 87, 90, 92–93, 99,

anarcho-syndicalism 182, 193, 198

107, 109, 111, 112n8, 159, 167, 173,

ancestor spirit worship 66–67, 70

210, 213, 223, 235, 271–272, 281n4,

Andrade, Alfredo Freire de 183n10,

283–284n6; cultural 101–105;

190, 194
principle 123

Andrade, Anselmo de 192

Associação Africana de Moçambique

Andrade, António Alberto de 87–92, 94

(African Association of Mozambique)

Andrade, Mário Pinto de 185n60, 217

223, 224

Anglican Church 64, 66–67, 73

Associação Colonial (Colonial

Angola 9, 48, 53–54, 58–60, 64, 67,

Association) 189

69, 92, 121–122, 130, 152n9, 167,

Associação da Educação do Povo,

175, 182n2, 183n15, 186–189,

Socorros Mútuos (Association for the

191–193, 195–196, 205–210, 214,

People’s Education and Mutual Aid)

217, 218n10, 218n11, 219n18,

210

220n51, 240, 243, 259, 266n19, 270,

Associação Industrial Portuguesa
282, 283n3, 284–285n21, 285n35;
(Portuguese Industrial Association)
Luanda 59, 88, 183n15, 195, 208,
33, 35

210; press in 206, 210, 218n11,

Association of Angola Natives 217

219n18, 220n51
associations see names of individual
anthropology 57, 60, 88
associations
anticolonial: discourse 221; nets Australia 150

of opposition 4; organization 6; autonomy 10, 12, 111, 139, 145,

struggles 205–218; see also civil 159–162, 164–167, 170–171, 173–176,

disobedience; liberation struggles; 181, 183n15, 185n48, 188, 193, 207,

passive resistance; resistance; revolts 209, 211, 213, 241, 243, 245–246,

Antunes, António Lobo 80

249n26, 252–254, 256–257, 259

Antwerp exhibition see Exposition Ayala Monteiro, Guilherme de 193, 195

Universelle d’Anvers (International Ayurveda 255

Exhibition of Antwerp; 1885) Azores 240

308 Index
Banco Nacional Ultramarino (National
Overseas Bank) 42–43n6, 167
Bandeira, Sá da 121–122, 131, 134n10
Bandung Conference 263
barbarism 19, 31, 165
Barbosa, Jorge 197
Barreto, Adeodato 253, 255, 258, 260
Barreto, Honório 92
Beauvoir, Simone 263
Beires, Sarmento de 150, 259
Belgian Congo 64, 88
Belgium 23–24, 27, 42n5, 54, 193
belle dance 29
Belo, João 224, 226
Berbers 28
Berlin Conference 4–5, 24, 47, 49, 59,
63–64, 158; General Act of 158–159
Bible 67–69, 73, 76n28
‘Black Race’ 88, 92, 235
Boavida, Francisco 230
Borrás Bermejo, Tomás 106
Bossa, José Silvestre Ferreira 246, 257
bourgeoisie 128; black petite 213;
colonial 213; metropolitan 166; petty
223; Portuguese 271
boycott 252, 261
Bragança, Luís de Meneses 185n48,
240–241, 247n9, 252
Brazil 5, 20–23, 31–32, 40–41, 42n4,
43n12, 52–54, 58, 60, 84, 86, 94–
95n5, 110, 117n89, 123, 192–193,
196, 199, 206, 233, 248–249n23,
266n16; at Antwerp exhibition 25,
26, 27–28; independence 9, 52, 54,
123; at Paris exhibition 33, 34, 37,
44n18, 44n21, 45n36, 45n37; Rio de
Janeiro 19–20, 23; see also Luso-
Brazilian empire
Brazilian Coffee 25; Pavilion 26
Brazilian Pavilion 26; in Paris 34
Britain 9, 125; see also England; Great
Britain
British Colonial Office 124
British India 146–147, 241, 248n13,
251, 256, 265
British Ultimatum see British
Ultimatum to Portugal (1890)
British Ultimatum to Portugal (1890) 9,
49, 59, 158, 168
businessmen 3, 12, 53, 103, 129, 133,
180, 186, 245, 277
cabo-verdianidade 211
Cabral, José 229
Cadbury, William 189
Caetano, Marcelo 13, 236n8, 270, 276
Cameroon 102, 106
Camões, Luís Vas de 89, 172, 190; Os
Lusíadas (The Lusiads) 172
Cape Verde 60, 67, 84, 121–122,
130, 132, 187–188, 193, 195–200,
206–208, 210–212, 217, 219n16,
220n50, 240, 270; Brava Island 212;
Fogo Island 212; Praia 210–211;
press 187, 205, 211–212, 219n21;
São Nicolau Island 212; São Vicente
Island 196, 198, 210–212
Capitalisation Law 271
capitalism 51, 60, 109, 205, 212
Cardoso, Pedro Monteiro 197–198
Carneiro de Moura, João Lopes 167,
184n23, 184n24
Carta Orgânica Imperial (Imperial
Organic Charter; 1933) 178
Carvalho, Coelho de 254, 258
Carvalho, Estêvão de 192
Carvalho, Henrique de 85
Carvalho, Mariano de 31, 34–35,
37–38
Casa dos Estudantes do Império
(House of the Students of the Empire;
CEI) 262, 265
Casimiro, Augusto 192, 259
caste system 143, 254, 257, 259–260,
268n62; conflicts 154n43; see also
Untouchables/Dalits
Castro, Alberto Osório 171
Castro, Álvaro de 177
Castro, Ferreira de 195, 253–254,
266n16
Castro, José Veloso de 172
Castro, Pimenta de 152n9
Catholic Church 47, 71, 86, 112n8;
Portuguese 47; see also culture;
missions
Catholic nationalism: Portuguese 47,
49–50, 59
censorship 4, 8, 11–14, 68, 112, 194,
211–213, 215, 221–236, 241–242,
248n16, 274, 281; in Mozambique
221–236; press 222, 229; self-
248n16, 281; see also political
censorship
centralisation 191, 194; see also
decentralisation
centralised federation 166
Centro de Informações Coloniais (Centre
for Colonial Information) 124

Ceuta 55
Champ de Mars 32–33, 38, 44n23
Chartier, Roger 13, 125, 251
Chichava, Ângelo 277, 280
China 10, 142–145, 148–149, 151,
157n90, 279; Beijing 279; Canton
149; see also Hong Kong; Macau
Christ 67, 73, 259–261
Christianity 50, 63, 65–67, 70–71,
73–75, 261
Christianization 52
Christians 59, 256
chronicles 7, 31, 34, 37, 55, 190, 193,
197
circulation: of books 264; of documents
275; of ideas 129, 248n13; of images
13, 251; of intellectuals 163; of news
128; of newspapers 198, 241; of
periodicals 211
citizens 104, 113n16, 123–128,
130–131, 133, 196, 241, 260; active
128; autonomous 133; passive 128;
Portuguese 33, 39, 82, 84, 87, 164;
third-class 271
citizenship 2–3, 11, 92, 160, 166, 170,
207, 235, 271; Portuguese 11, 92,
271; see also citizens
civil disobedience 246, 248n14, 259,
261
civilisation 65, 92, 102, 104, 159–160,
165–166, 174, 176, 181, 184n24;
African 166; Asian 254; colonial 50;
Eastern 195; European 255; Western
165, 195
civilising mission 4, 57
civilizational cross-fertilization 255
civil rights 128, 249n26, 273
Claretian missionaries 98, 102, 108,
112n8, 115n42, 116n56
Claridosos 217
clergy 3, 47
Clube Juvenil de Assolna (Youth Club
of Assolna) 241
Cocteau, Jean 263
Coimbra University 227
Cold War 83
colonial (concept) ix–xii, 4, 7, 57, 164,
240
coloniais (colonialists/colonials) 124,
159, 161, 168, 171, 179–181,
185n58, 201n27, 241, 271
Colonial Act see Acto Colonial
colonial agents 158–182
colonial archive 135n23
Index 309
colonial civil service 9
Colonial Empire 1, 3–4, 6, 9, 11, 14,
49, 53, 133, 135n29, 159, 163, 179,
195, 206, 208, 223, 240– 241, 243,
247–248n10, 265, 281
colonial empires 1–2, 83, 93, 176, 251
colonial exhibitions 24, 30; in Oporto
(1934) 178, 194; Paris (1889)
28, 178
colonial imperialism xii, 5, 12, 205
colonialism 2, 4, 12, 19, 54, 57, 60,
65–66, 75, 94, 100, 111, 116n61,
139, 141, 164–165, 169, 205, 207,
211–212, 215–218, 220n50, 254,
283; British 265; English 253;
European 11, 257–258; neo- 109,
176; Portuguese 6, 59, 190, 210, 213,
217, 218n10, 235, 243, 251–265,
266n17, 271, 278–279, 282;
re-semantization of 105–106;
Spanish 105
colonial knowledge 56, 158, 161, 163,
172–173, 181
Colonial Literary (Literature) Contest
79–80, 86, 90, 92, 190, 197, 199
colonial literature 80, 82, 89–90, 93,
178, 181, 195; Portuguese 7, 199;
see also Colonial Literary (Literature)
Contest
colonial models 4, 6, 8, 10, 158–182
colonial press 3–5, 7, 14, 20, 106,
112n7, 161–162; Portuguese 3,
79–94, 251
colonial products 23–24, 34–35, 42n5
colonial war 263–264; in Mozambique
270–283
colonial wine 212, 219n30
colonies: administration of 139,
247–248n10; African 7, 13, 67, 83,
135n29, 144, 151, 188–189, 194,
206, 208, 218n8; Asian 139–151;
autonomy of 159, 171, 185n48;
British 146, 256; defence of 158,
176; development of 159, 174–175,
186; finance of 139; independence of
174, 185n48, 205; inhabitants of 84;
maritime interests of 189; metropole
and 1, 3–4; metropolis and 147–148,
165, 173, 176; nationalization
of 214; natives of 159; political
management of 10; political
organization of 49; populations in 7;
Portuguese 11, 42–43n6, 57, 64, 67–68,
80, 91–92, 124, 140, 146–147, 150,
310 Index
152n9, 188, 190, 194–195, 205–208,
216, 218, 218n1, 218n10, 243, 251,
258, 263, 270, 283, 283n3, 284n9;
Portuguese African 13, 57, 67, 216,
243; Portuguese emigration to 9,
54, 248–249n23; press in 139, 218;
religious missions in 89; revolt in 10;
underdevelopment of 169
colonisation 50, 52, 57, 63, 105, 150,
158–159, 164–167, 169, 173, 178–179,
181, 183–184n17, 189, 192, 195,
199, 230; emigration to Africa 86,
144; ethnic 82–83; of minds 75;
Portuguese 165, 169, 181, 192, 195,
199; scientific 183–184n17; see also
colonies; decolonisation
Colonisation Scientifique (Scientific
Colonisation) 176
colonised 2, 159, 165, 174–176,
182, 198
colonisers 2, 172, 175, 178
communism 224, 230, 232, 277,
279–280
Comunidade dos Países de Língua
Portuguesa (Community of Countries
of Portuguese Language, CPLP) 110
Congo 23–24, 42n5, 48, 53–54, 58,
106, 279; see also Belgian Congo
Congregational Church 73
Congregation of the Holy Spirit 48
Congregation of the Immaculate Heart
of Mary 48
Conselho Ultramarino (CU; Overseas
Council) 9, 121–123, 136n55,
136n61, 138n100; public opinion
toward 127–133
constituency 243
conversion strategies 64, 72; education
69, 71–72; health services 69
Cook, Terry 126
Cooper, Frederick 1–3, 126, 132, 182n3
Corazzi, David 21
Cordero Torres, José María 103,
116n61
Cortesão, Armando 6, 79, 190
Costa, Afonso 140, 149, 152n10
Costa, Augusto da 80–88, 90
Costa, Fernando da 254
Costa, Gomes da 140, 149
Costa, José Miguel Lamartine Prazeres
da 143, 147–148, 154n40
Costa, Roberto Bruto da 175–176,
185n48
Costa, Sequeira 88
Council of Ministers of Portugal and
the Overseas 270, 276
counter-insurgency 281–282
Coutinho, Gago 195
Craveirinha, José 217, 235
Creoles 82, 90, 113n14
Cruz, Tomás Vieira da 89
Cruz, Viriato da 217
cultural assimilation 101–105; see also
assimilation
cultural fusion 65
culture 4–5, 39, 42, 58–59, 66, 85–88,
94, 105, 165, 179, 187, 258, 271;
aboriginal 105; artistic 80–81;
bourgeois 132; Brazilian 94–95n5;
colonial 80, 81, 87; dominant 82;
European 19–20, 67, 82; Goan
266n28; Indian 257; industry 133;
literary 6; local 199; missionary
48; national 82; native 187; non-
European 31; political 115n41;
popular 132; Portuguese 52, 80, 196,
206, 235, 257; Spanish 104, 106–
107; urban popular 132; Western 66;
see also African culture
Cunha, António Maria da 247n8
Cunha, Tristão de Bragança 248n13,
257–258, 266n17
Cunha, Vicente de Bragança 241
Dadrá 197, 247n7
Daman 10, 139, 146, 197, 247n7
Dauvergne, Louis 33
decentralisation 160–161, 164, 181,
188, 190, 192–193
decolonisation 1, 80, 83, 106, 111,
116n68, 206, 252, 263, 265
democracy 2, 4, 108, 168, 173, 177,
179–181, 239, 246–247;
liberal 181; parliamentary 158;
Portuguese 247
Dessai, Hegdó 242, 248n17
Deus, João de 89
Dewey, John 127
dharma 261
Dias, Bartolomeu 92
Dias, Gastão de Sousa 85–86; Como
Serpa Pinto Atravessou a África
(How Serpa Pinto Crossed Africa)
85–86
Dias, João 224, 227
dictatorial regime 239, 245
Difference 5, 14, 256
Direção-Geral do Ultramar 122

Direcção-Geral de Segurança (Security
Directorate-General; DGS) 270, 273,
275–277, 281
discrimination 65, 91, 209–210, 221
Diu 10, 139, 197, 247n7, 261–262
domination: colonial 80, 213, 254;
English 52; European 19, 42;
Portuguese 151, 205; Spanish 52;
Western 31
Dutch empire 83
East, the 52, 147, 150, 190, 197,
254–255, 264; see also Far East
‘Eastern Other’ 253
East Timor see Timor-Leste
economic nationalism 186, 252
‘ecumenism’ 255, 260, 264
education 50, 67–69, 71–72, 74, 92,
97, 100, 102, 107, 109, 111–112,
115n46, 117n84, 159, 165–166,
169–170, 172, 183–184n17, 186,
190, 196, 199, 206, 210, 272, 276,
281, 283n4; Christian 66; civic 170;
formal 66; higher 10, 99; indigenous
272, 283–284n6; language 100;
native 215; non-formal 72; official
272, 283–284n6; pre-university
283–284n6; primary 165, 272,
283–284n6; public 259; religious
64–65; secondary/technical 272,
283–284n6; youth 76n19
effective occupation, principle of 49,
158–159
Egypt 29
elections 12, 97, 144, 147, 209–211,
213, 215, 239, 242, 244–246, 247n5
electoral campaign 242
electoral farce 246
electoral law 239, 249–250n38
electoral manifestos 158, 161–163, 168,
172, 177–178, 180, 183n15, 242,
244–245, 262
elites 3, 169, 196; Afro-Portuguese 207,
209; assimilated 213; colonial 3, 8,
178, 182, 186, 199, 262; economic
51; European 207, 210; Goan 243;
Guinean 216; literate 196; local
171–172, 188; political 51; Portuguese
206; see also African elites; Creoles;
filhos do país; forras; native elites
emancipado 99, 113n16
Empresa de Publicidade Colonial
(Colonial Advertising
Company) 172
Index 311
Empresa Portugal Colonial (Colonial
Portugal Company) 177, 181
Enes, António 194
Engels 50, 260
England 37, 56, 113n16, 128, 183n14,
190, 232, 239, 261
English colonialism 253
engravings 22, 28, 44n23
Enlightenment 126; objective
knowledge 126; universal truth 126
equality 2–3, 8, 94, 161, 170, 180, 186,
210–215, 234, 248–249n23; in- 215
equal rights 144, 205
Equatorial Guinea (Republic of) 8,
97–112, 112n1, 114n17, 114n32,
117n84; 1979 coup d’état 98; Bata
98, 101, 115n33; constitution 100;
Constitutional Conference 100; El
Golpe de Libertad 98, 109–111;
Fernando Po 97–102, 104, 106–107,
112n2, 112n8, 115n36, 116n54,
116n71; governance during Spanish
colonization 101–106; independence
97, 100; Macías’ regime 100,
106–109; Malabo 98–99, 101, 111,
113n15, 115n33, 117n89; official
press in 97–112; Rio Muni 100–102,
105–106; Santa Isabel 99–100,
102, 105, 115n37, 116n71; state of
emergency 100
Escola Superior Colonial (Colonial
Training School) 167–168, 171, 181
Escuela Superior Indígena 102
Espanca, Florbela 89
Estado da Índia (Portuguese State of
India) 7, 13, 197, 240–247, 257, 263
Estado Novo 6–7, 55, 71, 80, 83, 87,
90, 160, 177, 179, 182, 183n11,
185n48, 185n53, 186–187, 190–194,
196, 199, 217, 219n34, 220n51, 226,
229, 234–235, 236n8, 239–240, 246,
247n6
ethnocracy 112n1
ethnographic kaleidoscope 28
Europe 3, 6, 20, 23, 31, 42n5, 42–43n6,
66, 128, 182, 199, 215, 239, 254,
264
European colonial possessions 131, 251
European colonial powers 4, 164
evangelization 48, 63, 67–71, 73–74;
see also conversion strategies
events 10, 20, 22–23, 27, 52, 56, 73,
100, 106, 115n37, 139–142, 148,
150–151, 163, 175, 180, 182, 187,
312 Index
234, 240; historical 99; international
France 20, 28, 32–33, 37, 39, 41, 42n4,

31, 45n38, 47, 213; political 99;

54, 56, 128, 164, 261–262; see also

sporting 233
French empire; French Republic;

evolutionism 28, 171

French Revolution

evolutionist anthropological approach Franco, Francisco 8, 28, 97–103,

see anthropology 105–106, 108–109, 114n20, 115n37,

exceptionality 8
115n38, 116n49, 116n68, 128, 239

exoticism 19, 31, 40, 99, 104

Francoism 108

Exposição Colonial Portuguesa free commerce 2, 4

(Portuguese Colonial Exhibition, freedom(s) 12, 65, 114n17, 175, 181,

Oporto, 1934) 178, 191, 194, 199

186, 188, 207, 210, 214–215, 231,

Exposição do Mundo Português

235, 239, 241–243, 247n5, 247n9,

(Exhibition of the Portuguese World;

248n14, 254, 257, 279–281; to act

1940) 6, 199
257; cultural 110; economic 110; of

Exposition Universelle d’Anvers expression 247n9, 248n16; of nations

(International Exhibition of Antwerp; 244; political 110, 174; of press 68,

1885) 19–42, 42n5, 42–43n6, 43n8, 132, 208, 226, 230–231, 234–235,

46n38 241; of thought 247n9, 257

Exposition Universelle de Paris

Free Methodist Church 73

(International Exhibition of Paris;

Freire, Paulo 137n65
1889) 19–42, 28, 29, 30, 45n29;
Freitas, António Sousa 92

Eiffel Tower 28, 31, 33, 44n23

FRELIMO see Frente de Libertação de
Moçambique
Falange 99–101, 108, 115n35, 115n38, French empire 83

115n43, 116n61 French Republic 38

Falange Española 100–101, 106,

French Revolution 32, 254; Centenary

115n36
of 23, 27, 41

Falangist ideology 97
Frente de Libertação de Moçambique

Far East 141–151, 152n2 (Front for the Liberation of

fascism 109, 115n43, 141, 179; anti-

Mozambique; FRELIMO) 13, 224,

262; colonial 271, 273, 280, 283;

271, 273–282

Nazi 239; Portuguese 271–273, 275,

Freyre, Gilberto 90, 94–95n5, 95n27,

283; Spanish 115n35

192, 199, 256

federation model 158, 160, 165–166,

183n15; colonial 182n3; Indian 253

Gabon 102

Fernandinos 99–100, 113n14, 113n16 Galvão, Henrique 177–178, 185n53,

Ferreira, Armando 192

191, 197, 199

Figueiredo, Vicente João de 243–245, Gama, Vasco da 92, 173, 195

249n30 gambling 146

Filhos da Terra (sons of the land, the Gamboa, Augustus 206, 215

Afro-Portuguese) 223, 234–235 Gandhi, Mohandas Karamchand 13,

filhos do país 206, 208–209 251–265; assassination 261; debates

First Republic (Portuguese) 8, 10, 139,

about 252–253; emancipation

160–161, 177, 181, 184n41, 186,

259–260; non-cooperation movement

188, 192, 212, 235, 240, 249n26

252; Orientalism of 253–258;

First World War 4, 124, 139, 151, 161,

pacifism 259–260; purification

190, 192–193, 212, 215, 244,

259–260; religious tolerance 259–260;

251, 255
in seareiro debate 261; silencing

Fonseca, Eusébio da 141, 146

261–263; solidarity 261–263

Fonseca do Amaral see Amaral, João García Margallo, Ángel 99

da Costa Fonseca Gaspar, Alfredo Rodrigues 145

forced labour 186, 208, 214–215,

Geography Society of Lisbon 23–24
284n12
Germany 9, 37, 56, 128, 150, 152n9,

forras 206
190, 266n19; Nazi 244

 Index 313
Gil, Augusto 89
205, 207, 217, 220n44, 240, 283n3,

globalization 2
284–285n21

Glorioso Movimiento Nacional

Guinea Bissau 60, 206, 270; press 208,

(Glorious National Movement) 101

215–216

Goa 10, 12, 24, 57, 139, 143–144, 149,

Guinea Española, La (Spanish Guinea)
154n24, 154n49, 175, 185n48, 190,
97–99; see also Equatorial Guinea
197, 239–241, 243–246, 247n7,
guineanismos 111

248n13, 248n14, 248n16, 248n17,

Gwendjere, Mateus 278

248–249n23, 249n26, 251–265,

266n28; culture 262n28; elites 243;

Habermas, Jürgen 125, 127–128
nationalism 258; press 12–13, 252,
Havas Agency 141

257, 265; see also Goa Committee;

Hegel 127

Goa League; Goan press; Goan

Henrique, Infante D. 54–56, 92, 157n90
Union, The; Satari/y revolt/rebellion;
Henriques, Julio Augusto 56, 60

United Goan Front

Henry (Prince), the Navigator 55, 195

Goa Committee 258

Hindus 254, 256, 259–261, 267–268n60,

Goa League 263

268n62

Goan press 12–13, 252, 257, 265

Hispanidad 98, 102, 108–109, 115n38

Goan Union, The 241

Hispanism 102, 108, 110, 115n44

Gomantak Praja Mandal (Committee of

Holy See 71, 150, 190, 272

the people of Goa/Gomantak) 241

Hong Kong 141, 146

Gomes, José Benedito 143–144 human rights 105, 110

Gomes, Manuel Teixeira 177

Gomes, Messias 247n8 identity 1, 4, 19, 75, 111, 232,

Gomes, Ruy Luís 262

256–257; cards 271; cultural 256;

Gomes, Victor 228 Equatorial Guinea’s 110; Goan 256;

Gonçalves, Luís da Cunha 242,

Indian 255–256; Indo-Portuguese

245–246
257; Luso-Goan 257; national 81,

González, Faustino Ruiz 105

198; Portuguese 8, 11, 59, 240;

governance 49, 123, 164, 186; colonial

values 69

97–112; postcolonial 97–112;

idolatry 70

Spanish 97
image circulation 27

Great Britain 54
‘imagined communities’ 128, 205, 212

Great Depression 11
imperialism 2, 4, 11, 176, 199, 218;

Great War 152n9, 152n10, 159, 265;

colonial 5, 12, 205; globalized 2;

see also First World War

Spanish 116n61; uneconomic 194;

Grémio Africano (African Guild)

world 11

209, 235
imperial mentality 7, 79–89
Grémio Africano de Lourenço Marques
imperial mystique 191

(African Guild of Lourenço Marques,

imperial project 123, 133, 241, 246

GALM) 212, 223

India 7, 10, 13, 53, 57, 122, 130–131,

Grupo Parlamentar de Acção

139, 141–143, 145–149, 151,

Republicana (Parliamentary Group

154n41, 195, 197, 239–247,

for Republican Action) 177

247n9, 248–249n23, 249n26, 251,

Grupo Parlamentar Democrático

253–265, 267–268n60; annexation

(Democratic Parliamentary Group)

of Portuguese India 262–263;

163
Bombay 141, 143–144, 146, 153n26,

Guebuza, Armando 277

241, 243–244, 248n13, 248n14,

Guillén, Nicolas 263

266n17, 267n58; caste system 143,

Guimarães, Fausto 228 254, 257, 259–260, 268n62; New

Guimarães, Manuel 140

Delhi 263; see also British India;

Guiné 214
Daman; Diu; Estado da Índia; Goa;

Guinea 24, 60, 67, 85, 87–88, 92,

Hindus; Indian National Congress;

121–122, 137n68, 188, 193, 196,

Indian nationalism; India pacific

314 Index
universalism; Indians; Moslems;
Portuguese Empire (IGSCP-PE) 1,
Mother India; Portuguese India
223
Indian National Congress 252, 258
Indian nationalism 13, 252, 256, 258,
264–265
Indian Ocean 243
Indian pacific universalism 260
Indians 144, 252–254, 256–259, 271
indígenas 104, 111, 184n30, 271
indigenes 82, 90, 114n70; see also
indígenas
indigenous: affairs 98; arts 88; Brazilian
94–95n5; chiefs 64, 148; children
115n46; culture 88; education 272;
elements 54; forced labour 72, 214;
people 65, 92, 115n44, 166, 184n30,
210, 214, 235, 283n4; policies 103,
166, 207, 211; populations 11,
45n37, 92, 206, 221; rights 211;
soldiers 28; status 7, 160–161, 232,
234, 271, 283n4; tribes 88; women
72; see also indígenas; indigenes;
Indigenous Education System;
Statute of the Indigenous of the
Provinces of Guinea, Angola and
Mozambique
Indigenous Education System 272,
283–284n6
industrialism 260
infantilisation 104, 174
Instituto Colonial Internacional
(International Colonial Institute) 124
Instituto Comercial da Índia (India
Commercial Institute) 143
integralism 179
intellectual movements 161, 217
intellectuals ix, 3, 11–12, 102, 106, 109,
128, 159, 162–163, 168, 173, 180,
185n48, 206, 211, 215–216, 224,
235, 252, 254, 256, 258, 263–264
International Conference of The Hague
146
International Court of Justice 263
international exhibitions 31, 37, 41;
Exhibition of the Centenary of the
French Revolution 27; Industrial
Exhibition of Lisbon (1888) 33,
38; see also Exposition Universelle
d’Anvers (International Exhibition
of Antwerp; 1885); Exposition
Universelle de Paris (International
Exhibition of Paris; 1889)
International Group for Studies of
Colonial Periodical Press of the
international law 4, 49, 59, 244,
249n26
Islam 261
Japan 142, 150
Jauss, Hans Robert 128–129, 136n53;
see also reflex theory
J. Benedito Gomes see Gomes, José
Benedito
Jesus, Quirino Avelino de 5, 8, 47, 49,
51–53, 58–60
Jesus Christ 67
Jorge, Lídia 80
journalism 23, 121, 140, 154n49, 188,
205–207, 211, 213, 215–218, 218n9,
218n10, 219n28; activist 12; of
advocacy 11, 205; African 205–206,
208, 212; opinion 234; political 235;
Portuguese colonial 187; radical
207–208, 211; resistance 209
journalists 3, 91, 149, 185n48, 187,
206, 209, 229, 235
Junta Consultiva do Ultramar 138n100
Junta de Defesa dos Direitos de África
(Council for the Defence of African
Rights) 211
Kabyle people 28
Kanak people 30
Kant 127
Knopfli, Rui 217
Kodak 41
Koselleck, Reinhart 127
Krishnamurti, Jiddu 254
language(s): Annobonés 109;
assimilation 102; Balengue 102;
Benga 103; bilingualism 206, 253;
Bisio 102–103; Bubi 103, 109;
Bujeba 102, 109; Castillian Spanish
100; colonial 103–104; Corisqueño
109; correctness 100; Creole dialect
198, 217; diglossic antagonism 104;
English 169; of evangelization 69;
Fá d’ambó 103, 110; Fang 102–103,
109; French 68, 117n85, 169, 178;
Kombe 102–103, 109; local 65–66,
69, 109; monolingualism 100, 102;
multiglossic society 103; Ndowé
family 102; One 102; Peninsular
Spanish 102–103, 111; Pichi 103–104;
Pidgin English 103; playeros 102;
 Index 315
Portuguese 64, 68, 73, 117n85, 206,
living conditions 205, 212, 245

234, 278; prescriptivism 100–105,

lobolo practices 66

111; regional 116n49; Ronga 68,

Lobo’s thesis 264

73; Spanish 100, 105; Tonga 68;

Lohia, Ram Manohar 241, 246,

Tsonga 72, 76n19, 78n51; vernacular

248n14
75, 102–104, 109; Xangana 73;
London Missionary Society (LMS)
Xi-Ronga 237n14; Xithswa 68–69;
64

Xitshwa 71, 73–74, 78n56

Lopes, Alfredo Figueiredo 163

Lasswell, Harold 125; Lasswell’s Model

Louis XVI 32

of Communication 125
Loyola, José Inácio de (Fanchú)

Latin America 98, 110, 116n68,

243–246, 249n26

117n78
Luhmann, Niklas 127

Lázaro Kavandame, Mzee 278

Lusitanian empire 49–51; see also

League of Human Rights 258

Portuguese Empire

League of Nations 152n10, 244

Luso-Brazilian empire 54

Leal, Cunha 263

Luso-tropicalism 81, 90, 94–95n5,

Leite de Magalhães see Magalhães,

95n27, 256

António Leite de
Lyceum 226

Lenin 255

Léopold II, King (Belgium) 24

Macau 10, 122, 130, 139, 141–151,

Les Invalides 28, 39, 43n14

153n20, 154n33, 157n90, 251;

liberalism 2–3, 123, 134n10, 179

Coloane 142, 149; pirates 142, 149

liberal monarchy 47, 53

Macavi, Gabriel 74

liberation: process 11; wars 13, 276;

Macedo, José Pinto de 163, 183n10

see also liberation movements;

Machado, Álvaro de Melo 146,

liberation struggles
155n57, 171

liberation movements 7, 12–13, 208,

Machado, Bernardino 169, 171

270
Machava jail 276–281, 285n28

liberation struggles 208, 216–218; in

Machel, Samora Moisés 277

Mozambique 270–283
Macías Nguema, Francisco 97–98,

Liberia 64, 113n15

111, 112n1; Ébano under 106–109;
Liga Africana (African League) 211
regime of 106–109
Liga Angolana (Angolan League) 209
Madre Patria 107–108, 110–111
Liga Cabo-Verdeana (Cape Verdean
Magalhães, António Leite de 172–173,
League) 211
175, 184n42
Liga Guineense (Guinean League) 208,
Magalhães, Júlio de 80; Os
216
Retornados 80

Liga Naval Portuguesa (Portuguese

Makonde 276, 278

Naval League) 189

Malawi 182n2, 273–274

Lima, Sebastião Magalhães 258

Manganhela, Zedequias 74

Lincoln, Abraham 253

Manichaeism 253

linguistic turn 126

manifestos see electoral manifestos

literature 79–80, 82, 86, 93–94, 126,

Mansilha, Manuel de 146

128, 187, 191, 199, 217–218,

Marcelo’s Spring 13

218n10; African 75; Cape Verdean

‘Margão Circle’ 257

84, 199; foreign 81; imperial 96n77;

marriages: canonical 73; Christian

local 6; Mozambican 75Nobel

73–74; interracial 113n15; official
Prize for 195, 253, 266n16;
73; traditional 74

paternalistic 191; Portuguese 80–81,

Martins, José Frederico Ferreira 190

217; Portuguese colonial 7, 199;

Martins, Mariano 177

Portuguese overseas 197–198;

Martins, Oliveira 55, 197

travel 7, 197–198; see also Colonial

Marx, Karl 50, 260

Literary (Literature) Contest; colonial

Mascarenhas, Telo de 257–258,

literature 260

316 Index
Matos, José Norton de 90, 152n9, 163,
165–166, 167, 183n10, 183n11,
186–190, 192–194, 200n1, 209
Mauriac, François 263
Mba, Toribio Obiang 101
Melício, João Crisostomo 33–35,
37–39, 44n26
Melo, Froilano de 242, 248–249n23
Mendes, Elísio 20–21
Menezes, Julião 241, 248n14
Mesquita, António Pedro 123, 134n14
Mesquita, Vicente Nicolau de 150,
157n90
messianism 11, 52, 56, 59
mestizos 59
Methodist Episcopal Church (MEC) 6,
63–75, 76n8, 78n49; A Wurimo 63,
70–72, 75; beliefs and doctrine of
65–68; installation in Mozambique
63–65; Mahlahle 6, 63, 68, 73–75;
Minthlawas 66, 72–73, 78n51;
Tisimu ta Ivangeli 63, 68–70, 73–75;
Zeladoras do Lar 63, 72–75
metropoles 1, 3–4, 6, 10, 12, 53, 57,
97–99, 103–107, 111, 114n32,
115n37, 115n41, 116n68, 116n71,
258, 262, 264, 271, 274
metropolis 54, 84, 87, 91–94, 128, 131,
135n29, 139, 143, 145, 147–148,
159–161, 164–166, 169–170, 173,
175–176, 178, 180, 182, 182n6,
184n24, 209, 218, 231, 233, 236,
240–241, 245, 257–258, 262–264,
283
metropolitan colonial periodicals
158–182
military dictatorship 140, 177, 182,
186, 188, 190, 235, 247n6, 258
Mill, John Stuart 127
miscegenation 94–95n5, 192, 196, 256
missionaries 48, 51–52, 59, 66–69,
72; Christian 75, 98; “of Crime”
77n33; MEC 63–64, 69–71, 74–75;
Protestant 77n33; Spanish 112n8;
Swiss 66, 76n19; see also Claretian
missionaries; Congregation of
the Holy Spirit; Congregation of
the Immaculate Heart of Mary;
Missionary Agreement; Missionary
Statute; missions
Missionary Agreement 272
Missionary Statute 272
missions 5–6, 48, 67; Angolan 59;
Christian 5, 64; “civilizing” 59;
Claretian 112n8; Conceptionist
112n8; foreign 193; Protestant 6, 64,
66, 272; religious 50, 67–68, 89, 193,
235; Roman Catholic 48, 54, 59–60,
71, 272; scientific 60; secular 193
Mocidade Portuguesa (Portuguese
Youth) 233
modernity 3, 163, 207
Mondlane, Eduardo 212, 223, 278,
283n4
monoculturalism 104
Monteiro, Armindo 178, 180, 230, 241
Monteiro, Eduardo Sousa 169, 171
Monteiro, Ricardo Vaz 231
Moplah peasant rebellion 252
morna music 84, 196
Morocco 43n14
Mother India 262
Mouzinho see Albuquerque, Joaquim
Augusto Mouzinho de
Movimento de Unidade Democrática
(Movement of Democratic Unity;
MUD) 240, 245, 247n5, 262
Movimento de Unidade Democrática
Juvenil (Youth Movement of
Democratic Unity; MUDJ) 262
Movimento Nacional Democrático
(National Democratic Movement)
262
Mozambique 6, 9, 12, 53, 57, 60,
63–75, 75–76n7, 76n19, 77n38, 89,
92, 121–122, 129–130, 148, 182n2,
188–190, 192–195, 205–208, 212–214,
217, 218n10, 240, 243, 256, 258,
283n3, 284–285n21; African press
censorship in 221–236; African
press in 207, 212, 219n34, 221–236;
Censorship Commission 229, 231–235;
censorship in 221–236; Colonial
Cotton Board–JEAC 272; colonial
war in 270–283; Decree nº. 12:271
(3 September 1926) 226; Directorate
of Indigenous Business Services 229;
indigenato regime 271–272, 283n3;
Indigenous Education System 272,
283–284n6; liberation struggles
in 270–283; linguistic diversity of
77n38; Lourenço Marques (now
Maputo) 68, 73, 194, 213, 222–224,
228, 232, 234, 272, 274, 277, 281;
Methodist Episcopal Church (MEC)
in 63–65; nationalism in 12, 234–235;
Official Education System 272,
283–284n6; Ordinance nº. 2:211

(4 April 1934) 229; press in 63–75,
207, 212–213, 219n34, 220n52,
270–283; press list 228; RENAMO
63; see also Mozambique African
National Union (MANU); Statute of
the Indigenous of the Provinces of
Guinea, Angola and Mozambique
Mozambique African National Union
(MANU) 274
mulatos (creoule) 271
multipartyism 97
music 28, 69, 84, 88; see also morna
music
Muslims 258–259, 261, 267–268n60
Nagar Haveli 197
não-indígenas (non-indigenous) 271
Nascimento, Jose Pereira do 59–60, 171
National Assembly 12, 239–240, 242,
244–246, 248–249n23
National Catholic ideology 103, 111
national consciousness 179, 205, 208
nationalism 2, 55, 87, 132, 179, 217;
African 98, 109; authoritarian
179; Bubi 107; Cape Verdean
proto- 211–212; cultural 257; of
the East 254; economic 186, 252;
exclusivist 179; Goan 258; Indian 13,
252–253, 255–256, 258, 264–265; in
Mozambique 12, 234–235; of the West
254; see also Catholic nationalism
nationalist movements 11; African 109;
Indian 258
National Union Party 228, 229
nation-states 2
Native Assistance Code (1921) 283n4
native elites 11, 205, 208, 212, 214–216,
218n11
natives 65, 68, 70, 74, 97–98, 100,
104–105, 113n16, 128, 159, 173,
181, 186–187, 190, 195–196, 198,
209–210, 214, 216–217, 220n43,
258
nativism 211, 219n16, 235
Navess, Bento T. 74
Nazarene Church 73
Nazi Germany 244
Nazism 179, 239
Négritude 91
negritude movement 91
Nehru 256–257, 261
neocolonialism 7–8, 109, 176, 206
Nery, Frederico José de Santa-Anna 33,
38, 40, 45n36
Index 317
Netherlands, the 54, 150
Neto, Agostinho 217
Neto, Ladislau 40
Neves, Hermano 140, 152n9
New Caledonia 30, 44n15
New Cultural Center 224
news 20, 137n81, 137n85, 147–148,
151, 186, 190, 213, 248n14; agencies
141, 190; “ancient” 130, 137n78;
“diverse” 137n78; “recent” 130,
137n78
newspaper(s) 10, 12, 23, 34, 63, 68,
98, 106, 124, 129, 139, 141, 152n9,
154n41, 182, 186–188, 206–207,
209, 211–212, 214, 221–223, 226,
229, 233, 240–243, 253, 264,
275; African 207, 209, 215–216;
anti-colonialist 241; colonial 188;
conservative 106; daily 129, 187;
government 129; metropolitan
106; Portuguese 193; private 129;
republican 10, 151, 264; state-owned
8; weekly 234
Ngomo, Federico 106
Nguema, Antonio Nandongo 101
Nigeria 105–106, 113n15
Nobre, António 89
Non-Aligned Movement 263
non-violence 260–261
Noronha, Rui de 89, 223, 226, 235,
236n6
Northern Rhodesia 275
Norton de Matos see Matos, José
Norton de
Novas Conquistas (New Conquests)
144
Nsá, Severo Moto 101, 114n30
Núcleo dos Estudantes Secundários
Africanos de Moçambique
(Mozambican High School Nucleus;
NESAM) 224, 277
Nyasaland (now Malawi) 274–275
Obiang Nguema Mbasogo, Teodoro 98,
109–110, 112, 112n1, 114n30
Oceania 10
Oliveira, José Osório de 84, 191–192,
196; Poesia de Cabo Verde (Poetry of
Cape Verde) 84
opium trade 145–147
opposition 4, 6, 11–13, 31, 40, 114n30,
140, 145, 148–149, 158, 160–161,
166, 180, 182, 185n53, 205, 214,
218, 218n10, 234–235, 239–240,
318 Index
243, 245–246, 247n5, 249–250n38,
262–263, 273
organic letters (statutes) 140
oriental humanism 260
Orientalism 253–258
otherness 14, 19; see also ‘Eastern
Other’
“others” 1, 4
Ottoman Empire 4
overseas provinces 7, 87–90, 92, 132,
137n67, 160, 173, 193, 233
Padroado 64, 150–151
paganism 70, 74
painters: Mozambican 89
Pais, Brito 150
Paixão, Eduardo 93
Pakistan 251, 261, 271
Pan-African Congress (London, 1921)
214; (Lisbon, 1923) 182
Pan-Africanism 182, 207, 214, 234
Paris Peace Conference 158
Partido Colonial (Colonial Party) 159,
161
Partido Colonial Republicano
(Republican Colonial Party) 183n15
Partido del Progreso 114n30
Partido Democrático (Democratic
Party) 140, 145, 152n10, 163, 200n1
Partido Democrático de Guinea
Ecuatorial (PDGE) 101, 113n9,
114n30
Partido Republicano Democrático
(Democratic Republican Party) 177
Partido Republicano de Reconstituição
Nacional (Republican Party of
National Reconstitution) 177
Partido Republicano Evolucionista
(Evolutionist Republican Party) 171
Partido Republicano Liberal (Liberal
Republican Party) 177
Partido Republicano Nacionalista
(Nationalist Republican Party) 177
Partido Republicano Português
(Portuguese Republican Party)
158, 163–164, 166, 171, 177, 181,
183n15
passive resistance 260
paternalism 176–177
peaceful non-cooperation 252–253, 264
Pereira, José Fontes 206, 208–209
periodical press 3, 7–8, 10, 223, 263;
African 221; colonial 1, 3, 14, 63;
see also periodicals
periodicals: A Batalha (Lisbon,
1919–1927, 1974–1998) 182, 254,
264; ABC 101, 114n20, 115n36; A
Capital (Lisbon, 1910–1926) 10,
139–151, 152n9; Actualité
Missionnaire (1956–1978) 74; A
Defesa (The Defense; Ilha do Fogo,
1913–1915) 212; A Desafronta (São
Tomé, 1924–1925) 215; A Esperança
(Hope; São Nicolau, 1915) 212; A
Ilustração (Paris, 1884–1892) 5,
19–42, 21, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 34,
35, 36, 42n5, 43n12, 44n14, 45n29;
A Liberdade (São Tomé, 1919–1923)
214–215; A Liberdade (São Vicente
de Cabo Verde, 1902) 211; Amérique
(Paris, 1889) 38; Annaes do Conselho
Ultramarino 8, 125, 130, 132–133,
134n15, 137n64; A Patria (Lisbon,
1894) 47; Atanga (Bata, 2010–) 99,
113n9, 113n10; A Tribuna (The
Tribune; Ilha Brava, 1913–1914)
211–212; A Trompeta dos Bathongas
(Moçambique) 68; Avante! 262; A
Verdade (São Tomé, 1911–1912)
214–215; A Voz (Lisbon, 1927–1974)
258; A Voz da Índia (The Voice of
India, 1946–1959) 244; A Voz de
Cabo Verde (The Voice of Cape
Verde; Cidade da Praia, 1911–1919)
211; A Voz de São Nicolau (São
Nicolau, c. 1971) 282, 285n35;
Bharat (Nova Goa, Quepém,
1915–1949) 12, 239–240, 242–246,
248n17, 252, 254, 257–258; Boletim
Cultural (Cultural Bulletin) 87;
Boletim da Agência Geral das
Colónias (Bulletin of the General
Agency of the Colonies; Lisbon,
1925–1935) [aka Boletim Geral das
Colónias (General Bulletin of the
Colonies) and Boletim Geral do
Ultramar (General Bulletin of the
Overseas)] 6, 79, 125, 190; Boletim
da Missão Romande, Mahlahle and
Estandarte (Moçambique, c. 1880)
68; Boletim do Centro Colonial de
Lisboa (Lisbon, 1909–1919) 188;
Boletim e Annaes do Conselho
Ultramarino (Lisbon, 1854–1867) 8,
121–133, 134n15, 137n64; Boletim
Geral das Colónias (General Bulletin
of the Colonies; Lisbon, 1935–1951)
6, 79–80; Boletim Geral do Ultramar

(Lisbon, 1951–1974) 7, 79, 87;
Boletim Marítimo da Liga Naval
Portuguesa (Lisbon, 1905–1913) 189;
Boletim Oficial da Guiné Portuguesa
(Official Gazette; Bolama, 1892–
1898) 215; Boletim Oficial da Liga
Naval Portuguesa (Lisbon, 1902–
1904) 189; Brado Africano
(Lourenço Marques, 1918–1974) 12,
221–236, 222, 228; Brésil (Paris,
1881–1922) 38; Claridade (Clarity;
Mindelo, 1936–1960) 198, 217;
Comércio de Portugal (Lisbon,
1879–1897) 33–34; Comércio
Português (Lisbon, 1876–1887)
32–33; Crónica Colonial (Colonial
Chronicle) 80; Deccan Chronicle
(Hyderabad, c. 1930–continues) 263;
Despertar (Awakening; Lourenço
Marques) 224; Diário (Lourenço
Marques, 1905) 68; Diário de Lisboa
(Lisbon, 1859–1868) 132; Diário de
Lisbon (Lisbon, 1921–1996, 2004–
2015) 253; Diário de Moçambique
(Beira, 1951–1974) 234; Diário de
Notícias (Lisbon, 1864–continues)
124, 129–130, 137n64, 137n65, 193,
252; Ébano (Santa Isabel/Malabo,
1939–) 8, 97–112, 113n11, 113n13,
114n20, 114n31, 114n32, 115n38;
Echo de Angola (Echo of Angola)
208–209; Ecos da Guiné (Echoes
from Guinea; Bolama, 1920)
215–216; Ekos del Golfo (Malabo,
2010–) 113n9; El árbol del centro
(Malabo, 2005–2008) 113n9; El Eco
de Fernando Po (Santa Isabel, 1901)
99; El Heraldo Colonial (Santa
Isabel, 1924-1927) 99; El Imparcial
(Malabo) 99, 113n9; El Patio
(Malabo, 1990–2002) 113n9;
Emancipador (Emancipator) 224,
228; Era Nova (Lisbon, 1932) 259;
Era Nova (New Era; Malange, 1912)
210; Estandarte (Luanda, 1933–c.
1961) 68; Fernando Póo y Guinea
Española (Barcelona, 1924) 99; Folha
de Annuncios: Semanário Político,
Literário e Noticioso (Bulletin of
Adverts: Political, Literary and News
Weekly; São Tomé, 1911) [later A
Verdade, Semanário Democrático
Independente para a Defesa dos
Interesses da Província (The Truth:
Index 319
Independent Democratic Weekly for
the Defence of the Interests of the
Province)] 214; Free Goa (Belgaum,
Bombay, 1953–1962) 257; Fuerza
Nueva 106; Gazeta das Colónias
(Gazette of the Colonies; Lisbon,
1924–1926) 162, 172–173, 177;
Gazeta de Notícias (Rio de Janeiro,
1875–1942) 20–21, 23, 27; Gazette
Diplomatique (Paris, 1883–1890) 38;
Gomantak 241; Heraldo (Nova
Goa-Pangim, 1908–1962) 240,
247n8, 253, 257; Hindu (Margão,
1924–1930) 257; Illustrated London
News, The (London, 1842–2003) 20;
Imprensa da Manhã (Lisboa,
1921–1924) 252; Índia Nova
(Coimbra, Lisbon, 1928–1929) 255,
264; Índia: suplemento português
quinzenal 260; Indian Express, The
(Bombay, 1932–continues) 263;
Itinerário (Itinerary; Lourenço
Marques, 1941–1955) 217, 224;
Jornal da Europa (Newspaper from
Europe; Lisbon, 1920–1931) 10,
186–200; Jornal da Mocidade
Portuguesa em Moçambique
(Newspaper of Portuguese Youth in
Mozambique; Lourenço Marques,
1947–1955) 217; Jornal do Comércio
33; Juventude 262; La Gaceta de
Guinea (Malabo, 1997–) 99; La
Guinea Española 98; Le Chat Noir
(Paris, 1882–1899) 39; Le Monde
Illustré (Paris, 1857–1948) 22–23,
27, 33, 41, 43n12, 44n23;
L’Illustration (Paris, 1843–1944)
42n3; Los Negocios (Barcelona,
1880–1928) 38; Luso Colonial
(Lisbon, 1927–1929) 190; Madrid
106; Mahlahle (Cleveland-Lourenço
Marques, 1890–1968) 6, 63, 68,
73–75; Matin (Paris, 1884–1944) 38;
Mensagem (Message; Luanda,
1951–1952) 217; metropolitan
colonial 158–182; Miragem (Mirage;
Lourenço Marques, 1930–1932) 224;
Missão Africana (Beira, 1931) 68,
228; Mission Romande Bulletin
(1898–1929) 74; Mission Suisse
Bulletin (1929–1955) 74; Novidades
(Lisbon, 1885–1964) 39; O Africano
(Lourenço Marques, 1908–1920)
212–213, 234; O Africano: Religião,
320 Index
instrução e moralidade (The African; 33; Ressurge Goa (Bombay, 1950–
Quelimane, 1877–1881) 68; O 1955) 257; RESSURGIMENTO
Almanach Civil Ecclesiástico (Resurgence; Machava, 1968–1973)
Histórico-Administrativo da 13, 270–283, 285n26; Resurge Gôa!
Província de Moçambique (1859) 68; 257; Revista Colonial (Lisbon, 1912)
O Angolense (The Angolan; Luanda, 162–164, 167–169, 183–184n17,
1907–1911, 1917–1922) 209; O 189; Revista Colonial (Lisbon,
Brado Africano (The African Cry) 1913–1923) 162, 171; Revista
213; O Combate (The Struggle; São contemporanea de questões religiosas,
Tomé, 1925) 215; O Cruzeiro do Sul, scientificas, philosophicas, historicas
Órgão dos Interesses das Províncias e sociaes (Coimbra, 1894–1896) 47;
Ultramarinas (The Southern Cross, Revista de Cabo Verde (Magazine of
Organ for the Interests of the Cape Verde; São Vicente de Cabo
Overseas Provinces; Luanda, Verde, 1899) 210; Santo António
1873–1878) 208; O Debate (Nova (Moçambique, 1895) 68; Seara Nova
Goa, 1911–1921) 247n9, 252; O (Lisbon, 1921–continues) 253, 255,
Desastre: órgão politico-noticioso 259–260, 264; Soleil (Paris, 1873–
(The Disaster: Politics and News;
1922) 38; Ultramar 191; Voz da
Luanda, 1889–1893) 209; O Dia
Revolução (Voice of Revolution;
(Lisbon, 1887–1941) 152n9, 253; O
Moçambique, 1965–1981) 224; Voz
Emancipador (Lourenço Marques,
da Verdade (Braga, 1894–1917) 47;
1919–1937) 230; O Evangelho
Ya 106; Young India 264; see also
(Lourenço Marques, 1927) 68; O
periodical press
Futuro de Angola (The Future of
Pessoa, Fernando 56, 89

Angola; Luanda, 1882–1894) 209; O

Philippines, the 251

Mindelense (São Vicente de Cabo

photography 20, 22, 27, 38, 63, 100,

Verde, 1913) 211; O Mundo 152n9;

187, 199, 229

O Mundo Português (Lisbon,

pictures 28, 39, 43n6, 43n13, 194

1934–1947) 180, 187, 191; O

Pimentel, Jaime Serpa 189

Nativista (The Nativist) 210; O

Pina, Mariano 21–23, 25, 27, 31–35,

Ocidente (Lisboa, 1878–1915) 27; O

37–41, 42n5, 43n8, 44n16, 45n27

Oriente (Lourenço Marques, 1919)

Pinheiro Chagas, Manuel Joaquim
68; O Pharol do Povo (The People’s
23–24, 27, 42–43n6, 43n8
Lighthouse; Luanda, 1883–1885)
Pinheiro, Rafael Bordallo 34–35,

209; A Opinião (Opinion) 211; O

37–38, 41

Popular (The People’s; São Vicente de

Pink map 9, 158

Cabo Verde, 1914–1916) 212; O

“pluri-continental” country 8

Século (Lisbon, 1880–1977) 31, 124,

poetry 82, 84, 88–89, 196, 218, 221–222,

140, 152n9, 153n29, 257; O Tempo

224; Black poetry of Portuguese

(Lisboa, 1889–1904) 38; O Ultramar

expression 91

240; Pontos nos ii (Lisboa, 1885–

poets 92, 190, 192, 253; Mozambican

1905) 34, 39; Portugal Colonial

236n6; Portuguese 56; see also names

(Lisbon, 1931-1937) 162, 177–178,

of individual poets

180–182, 191; Portugal e Colónias

Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do

(Portugal and the Colonies, 1937–

Estado (International Police and of

1938) 243; Portugal em África

the State Defence; PIDE) 68, 270,

(Lisboa, 1894–1973) 5, 8, 47–60;

273, 275–277, 280–281

Poto poto (Malabo, –2017) 101,

political censorship 251–265
113n9, 114n20; Pracasha (Nova
political parties 101, 114n30, 140,

Goa, 1928–1937) 247n9, 260;

162–163, 192–194, 207, 213,

Programa de Teatros (Theater

234, 242, 262; see also names of

Programs; Lourenço Marques) 224;

individual parties

Renovação (Lisbon, 1925–1926) 254,

political police 262, 281; see also

264; Repórter (Lisbon, 1887–1890)

Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do


Estado (International Police and of
the State Defence; PIDE)
political rights 271, 273
politicians 3, 109, 159, 180, 188, 282
polygamy 66–67, 70, 73
Poona Pact 260, 268n62
populism 109
Portugal: 1820 revolution 128; 1826
Constitutional Charter 122; 1891
Porto rebellion 22; 1910 revolution
9, 48; 1911 Constitution 10, 160,
164; 1933 Constitution 5–6, 11; 25
April 1974 revolution 80, 283; 28
May 1926 Revolution 79, 140, 177,
243, 247n6; Ancien Régime 124; at
Antwerp exhibition 23, 24, 25, 27,
41; Braga 47–48, 140; constitutional
monarchy 11, 122–123, 134n20,
215, 240; historic alliance with
England 232; Lisbon 10, 14, 19–20,
27, 31, 33–34, 38–39, 44n20, 44n24,
45n27, 47–49, 57, 60, 85, 121, 124,
129, 135n24, 137n65, 140–141, 143,
149, 153n17, 154n41, 154n49, 182,
185n48, 188, 211, 216, 239–240,
246, 247n8, 248–249n23, 252, 254,
257, 259, 261–263; Minister of Navy
and Colonies 23, 43n8; Minister
of the Colonies 149, 154n40, 231;
Minister of the Navy 142; Minister
of the Navy and Overseas 121–122;
Ministry for National Defence 274;
Ministry of the Navy and Overseas
121, 124, 130–131, 137n76, 138n89;
national assembly 12, 239–240, 242,
244–246, 248–249n23; Navy 52,
57, 155n57, 189; neutrality during
world wars 232, 272; organic law of
the Overseas Provinces 92; at Paris
exhibition 31–40, 35, 36; Parliament
8, 10, 140–141, 143, 145–146, 148,
154n40, 158–161, 163, 177, 182n6,
184n30, 248–249n23; republican
period 205, 207, 212, 214–216, 241;
Secretariado da Propaganda Nacional
(Secretariat for National Propaganda)
135n29, 187, 191, 230; Secretary
of State of the Navy and Overseas
122, 129, 131; Supreme Court of
Justice 131; see also Acto Colonial;
British Ultimatum to Portugal (1890);
Estado Novo; First Republic; military
dictatorship; Portuguese Empire;
Salazar dictatorship; Statute of
Index 321
the Indigenous of the Provinces of
Guinea, Angola and Mozambique
Portugal Ultramar Editions 193
Portuguese Administrative Code 124
Portuguese Africa see Africa; Portuguese
colonies in Africa
Portuguese-Brazilian empire 58
Portuguese Colonial Administration 64,
123, 167, 213; Offices 121
Portuguese colonialism 6, 59, 190, 210,
213, 217, 218n10, 235, 243, 251–265,
266n17, 271, 278–279, 282
Portuguese colonial press 3, 79–94,
251; consolidation of Portuguese
imperial mentality through 87–89;
creation of a Portuguese imperial
mentality through 79–87; literary
discourses in 79–94
Portuguese colonies 11, 42–43n6, 57,
64, 67–68, 80, 91–92, 124, 140,
146–147, 150, 152n9, 188, 190,
194–195, 205–208, 216, 218, 218n1,
218n10, 243, 251, 258, 263, 270,
283, 283n3, 284n9; Portuguese
African 13, 57, 67, 216, 243; press
and religious missions in 67–68
Portuguese colonies in Africa 13, 57,
67, 216, 243
Portuguese Communist Party 262
Portuguese Empire 5, 9, 12, 64, 83,
87, 91, 94, 125, 133, 139, 141, 151,
179, 207, 218, 251; Eastern 247n7;
Third 47, 50–58; see also imperial
mentality; imperial mystique;
imperial project; Portuguese-Brazilian
empire
Portuguese Evangelical Church 73
Portuguese India 13, 146, 154n40,
200n1, 241, 243–244, 246,
248–249n23, 254, 256–257, 263,
265; annexation by India 262–263;
see also Daman; Diu; Estado da
Índia; Goa
Portuguese National Archive 124,
134n22
Portuguese Overseas Organic Charter
(1836) 124, 134n20
Portuguese Padroado see Padroado
Portuguese parties see names of
individual parties
Portuguese Pavilion: in Antwerp 23, 24,
25; in Paris 34, 35, 36, 37, 39, 45n34
Portuguese regimes 83, 236n8, 271,
278; liberal monarchy 47; see also
322 Index
Estado Novo; First Republic; military
dictatorship; Portuguese Empire;
Salazar dictatorship
Portuguese State of India see Estado da
Índia
postmodernism 126
power(s): administrative 107; Cold War
super- 83; colonial 4, 107, 112n1,
113n16, 159, 164, 168, 178, 181,
279; colonising 63, 158; European
23, 158, 207; foreign 150, 190; game
181; imperialist 19, 24; judicial 273;
metropolitan 11; military 19; non-
European 4; relations 94, 98, 111;
ruling 191; unequal 94; unlimited 273
Prazeres da Costa see Costa, José
South Africa 65; see also conversion
Miguel Lamartine Prazeres da
strategies; education; evangelization;
Presbyterian Church 102, 113n15
missions; press; Protestantism
Presbyterian Church of Mozambique
73–74, 76n19
press: in Angola 206, 210, 218n11,
219n18, 220n51; audience 74, 81,
93, 99, 129, 136n53, 143, 161–163,
168, 181, 186, 191, 256; bilingual
206, 253; censorship 221–236;
circulation 13, 20, 22, 27, 31, 41,
93–94, 101–105, 128–129, 171,
198, 211, 241, 248n13, 251, 264,
275; colonialist 3; critical 217;
distribution 21, 101, 121–122,
129–130, 171, 191, 196, 241, 262,
274; Equatoguinean 97–112; free
112, 125–126; freedom of 68,
132, 208, 226, 230–231, 234–235,
241; Goan 12–13, 252, 257, 265;
government 207, 211; governmental
126; illustrated 5; independent 162,
207, 216–217; intellectual 162;
of Methodist Episcopal Church
(MEC) 63–75; metropolitan 11, 99,
106, 239, 246, 252, 257, 262; in
Mozambique 63–75, 207, 212–213,
219n34, 220n52, 228, 270–283;
multilingual 73; nativist 210–212;
non-free 129; official 7, 67, 11, 97–112,
121, 207; officious 11; political
216; Portuguese 139–140; private
11, 67, 129; Republican 10, 151;
religious 64; sales 130–131, 140,
193; in São Tomé e Príncipe 67, 121,
129–130, 193, 214–215; vernacular
75; see also African press; colonial
press; electoral manifestos; periodical
press; periodicals
pressure groups 159, 221, 235
primitivism 104
Princess of Wales 21
prints 20, 22, 25, 27–28, 37, 41, 43n12,
45n29
propaganda 124, 132, 161; agencies
183–184n17; anti-colonial 65;
colonial 121, 161, 191, 199, 270;
of colonialism 4–5, 279; of Estado
Novo 192; of First Republic 192;
official 100; overseas 125, 195;
of Portuguese colonialism 190;
strategies 199
Protestant churches 66–67, 73, 75; in
Mozambique 65–66, 73, 75n7; in
Protestantism 69
Provincial Congresses of Portuguese
India 244; Sixth 254
psychological war 13
Psychosocial Services 274
public opinion 8–11, 37, 49, 109,
111, 128, 139, 142–143, 151, 162,
167–168, 221, 229, 235; British
189; toward Conselho Ultramarino
(CU) 127–133; international 263;
Portuguese 121–133, 145, 150, 159
Public Security Council 273; PIDE
68, 273, 275, 277, 281; PIDE/DGS
273, 275–276, 277; see also Polícia
Internacional e de Defesa do Estado
public servants 3
public space 3, 125, 127, 159, 162, 168;
imagined 128; liberal 128–129
public sphere 3–4, 128, 218; bourgeois
127–128; colonial 8, 208; imperial 9;
metropolitan 10, 161
Quadragesimo Anno 86
Quai d’Orsay 35, 37–39, 44n25
Queirós, Eça de 38, 197
Question of the Patacas 141, 145
Quintinha, Julião 192–199; África
Misteriosa (Mysterious Africa)
197–198
racial discrimination 209, 221
racial superiority 128
racism 60, 91
Ranes 148
Rebelo, Tiago 80; O Último Ano em
Luanda 80
 Index 323
Red Danger 232
Royal Spanish Academy 111

reflex theory 128–129

Russian revolution 159, 213

Reforma Administrativa Colonial

(Colonial Administrative Reform; Salazar, António Oliveira 7, 83, 86, 180,

1933) 178
191, 195, 199, 236n8, 239, 241–244,

Reforma Administrativa Ultramarina

246–247, 247n2, 249–250n38, 255,

178
259, 261–262, 264–265, 271–272;

Regime Pacts 160

see also Salazar dictatorship

religion 50–53, 66–67, 75, 168, 242;

Salazar dictatorship 5, 247

African 66, 75; Christian 72; Roman

Salazarist Acto Colonial see Acto
Catholic 259; see also Christianity;
Colonial (Colonial Act)
Islam; Protestantism
Salis, Rodolphe 39

representations: of Africa and Africans Santa-Anna Nery see Nery, Frederico

47–60; of colonial world 4, 6; of José de Santa-Anna
empire 1–2; logic of 58–59 Santos, Marcelino dos 217

repression 1, 4, 175, 222, 229–230,

São Tomé e Príncipe 24, 27, 67, 92,

232, 262, 273, 277

117n89, 188–189, 196, 198, 205–208,

republicanism 108, 207, 252

214–215, 217, 220n43, 231, 270; press

Republican Party of the Democratic

in 67, 121, 129–130, 193, 214–215

Left 140
Sarmento Rodrigues see Rodrigues,
Rerum Novarum 86
Manuel Maria Sarmento
resistance 1, 4, 11–12, 83, 160, 180,
Sartre 263

182, 205–218, 220n50, 223, 234,

Satari/y revolt/rebellion 142, 148

271, 282; non- 259; see also passive

satyagraha 252, 261

resistance
savagery 64, 66, 70

Reuters 141, 146

Scandinavian Baptist 73

revolts 10, 144, 148, 150, 229, 235;

SCCI of Mozambique (SCCIM)
Manufai (Timor) 141–142, 148;
274–275
Satari/y revolt/rebellion (Goa) 142,
Schmitt, Carl 127

148
Schumpeter, Joseph 127

Rhodesia 64, 274; see also Northern

Scramble for Africa 4, 47, 158

Rhodesia; Rhodesia and Nyasaland,

secessionist movement 265

Federation of; Southern Rhodesia

Second Colonial Congress 253

Rhodesia and Nyasaland, Federation

Second World War 5–7, 12, 80, 82, 106,

of 274–275; Federal Intelligence

180, 199, 239, 244, 249–250n38,

Security Bureau 274

251, 260–261, 264, 271–272

Ribeiro, Manuel Dias da Cunha 212

Secretariado da Propaganda Nacional

Ribeiro, Sousa 190

(Secretariat for National Propaganda)

‘right of passage’ 263

135n29, 187, 191, 230

Rivera, Diego 263

Secretariado-Geral da Defesa Nacional

Rivera, José Antonio Primo de 101,

(General Secretariat for National

115n35
Defence; SGDN) 270

Rodrigues, António Aleixo Santana

self-determination 109, 244, 254, 257,

252–253, 255, 259

283

Rodrigues, Manuel Maria Sarmento self-government 4, 83

87, 90–91 Selvagem, Carlos 192

Rodrigues, Rodrigo José 156n78 Sequeira Costa see Costa, José Carlos
Rodrigues Júnior, José 89–91 Sequeira
Rolland, Romain 253–254, 259,
Sérgio, António 255, 261

266n17
Serviços de Centralização e
Roman Catholic Church 259, 272;
Coordenação de Informações
see also Catholic Church
(Services of Centralization and
Rorty, Richard 126; The Linguistic Coordination of Information; SCCI)
Turn 126 274

324 Index
Serviços de Informação (Information
Statute of the Indigenous of the

Services; SI) 275

Provinces of Guinea, Angola and

Serviços de Informação Civil (Civil

Mozambique 92

Information Services; SIC) 275

subaltern status 2, 4, 6–7, 175

Serviços de Informação Militar swaraj 256

(Military Information Services; Switzerland 54, 166

SIM) 275

Shandong concession 142

Tagore, Rabindranath 89; Orientalism
Sierra Leone 113n14 of 253–258
Silva, António Maria da 87, 140
Tanganyika (now Tanzania) 274–275;
Silva, José Lopes da 197
Dar-es-Salaam 274, 276, 278

slavery 49, 113n14, 186, 208, 215;

Tavares, Eugénio 197, 206, 210–211

see also forced labour; slave trade

Tavares, Oliveira 172

slave trade 55, 64, 116n54, 209

telegrams 38, 141–142, 146, 230, 232,

social Darwinism 190–191, 199

245

socialism 159, 183n15, 207, 213,

Teles, Francisco Xavier da Silva 57, 60

248n14
Third Portuguese Empire 47, 50–58

Sociedade de Geografia de Lisboa Timor 10, 92, 122, 130–131, 139,

(Lisbon Society of Geography) 181,

141–144, 147–148, 150–151,
183n10 153n22, 197; see also Timor-Leste

Sociedad Española de Africanistas Timorese 144, 150

y Colonistas (Spanish Society of Timor-Leste 130, 197

Africanists and Colonialists) 105–106 Timor revolt (1912) 141–142, 148

Société Anonyme de Publications

Tolstoi, Leo 259

Périodiques (Limited Company of

Tomo, Gabriel 101

Periodic Publications) 22
total effects theory 125

Sousa, Noêmia de 89, 217

transversalities 12, 171

South Africa 65, 72, 230, 258–259,

Traverso, Enzo 126

273, 277, 279; Cape Town 230

Treaty of Versailles 158, 164

South Atlantic 195–196 tribalism 279

Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe)

273–274 Ultimatum see British Ultimatum to

sovereignty 2, 53, 106, 180, 205, 208,

Portugal (1890)

213, 263; Portuguese 144, 148–149,

União Colonial (Colonial Union)

168, 235, 249n26

163–164, 167, 181, 183n10

Soviet Union 83, 232

União Democrática Nacional de
Spain 8, 54–55, 97–100, 102–103,
Moçambique (National Democratic
105–112, 113n13, 113n16, 114n20,
Union of Mozambique; UDENAMO)
114n30, 115n38, 115n44, 116n49,
273–274
116n61, 117n78, 124; 12 October
União Nacional (National Union)
national holiday 100, 108–109;
82–83, 240, 242–243, 245–246
Aragon 55, 99; Basque Country 103;
União Nacional Africana de

Castile 51, 55, 99; Catalonia 99,

Moçambique Independente (National

103; Cortes Generales 106; Granada

Union of Mozambique Independent;

99; León 99; Madrid 98–99, 106;

UNAMI) 274

Navarre 99; Proyecto de Estado

União Sagrada (Sacred Union) 171

(Project of State) 98; see also Spanish

unitary parliamentary republic 166

Civil War (Guerra Civil); Spanishness

United Goan Front 257

Spanish Civil War (Guerra Civil) 8, 97,

United Kingdom 158, 262

99–101, 114n17
United Methodist Church 63

Spanish domination 52
United Nations 97, 105–107, 111,

Spanish Equatorial Region (Rio Muni

116n68; Charter 244; Declaration

and Fernando Po) 97

on Non-Self-Governing Territories 244

Spanishness 98
United States 4, 83, 113n16, 116n68, 166


universal exhibitions 5, 20, 42n2,
46n38
Untouchables/Dalits 260, 268n62
USA see United States
USSR see Soviet Union
Vasconcelos, Ernesto de 192
violence 13, 58, 166, 221, 229,
259, 261, 271, 279, 281; see also
non-violence
Viscount of Melício see Melício, João
Crisostomo
vote 97, 128, 161, 242–246,
249–250n38
Washington Conference 142
Wesleyan Methodist Church 73
Index 325
West, the 19, 253–255, 260
West Africa 51, 53, 58, 116n54
Western civilization 205, 253
White, Hayden 126; Metahistory 126
white man’s burden 5, 191; civilizing
mission 251
women 72, 221; assistance to 215;
disabled 272; education 72;
indigenous 72; living conditions
of 212; native 113n15; political
prisoners 277; traditional view of
72, 86
writers 3, 10, 74, 82, 86, 91, 106,
185n48, 217, 251, 257–258,
263
Zanzibar 275