The best way to forget something is to avoid putting a face to it. Dates, numbers, and mere objects are cold; we do not empathise with them. Instead, they are like boring history lessons based on repeating the dates of wars and peace treaties: they are learned by rote and then forgotten. Such were my thoughts when I visited the Army Museum in Lisbon and toured the area dedicated to the Overseas War—the war that Portugal waged against the independence movements in Angola, Guinea-Bissau, and Mozambique from 1961 to 1974. There were flags and weapons, but no pictures—nor was there any mention of Portugal’s most decorated soldier in history, Lieutenant Colonel Marcelino da Mata, nicknamed “the Rambo of Guinea.”
Born in Portuguese Guinea, da Mata became famous for his heroism during the Overseas War, and he was decorated with five war crosses before being knighted in 1969 in the Order of the Tower and Sword (Portugal’s most important honorary order). The founder of the commando unit, he took part in 2,412 missions, including the Green Sea operation (the release of 400 political prisoners and 26 Portuguese soldiers from the prisons of Guinean President Sékou Touré) and the Trident operation (the rescue of more than 100 Portuguese soldiers in Senegal). During the Carnation Revolution, he was persecuted and tortured by leftist military, and he had to take refuge in Spain to save his life. He was a patriot who never disowned his participation in the war, and the Left never forgave him for it. He died on 11 February 2021, and his funeral was attended by the president of the republic, Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, representatives of Chega and the CDS-Partido Popular, as well as his comrades-in-arms. There was no representative of the socialist government at the funeral of Portugal’s most decorated soldier.
It is bad enough when Portugal wants to forget its heroes, but it is even worse when it forgets those who were killed simply because they were Portuguese. On a day like any other in 1961, the coffee plantations of northern Angola became the macabre scene of a massacre. Hundreds of UPA (União das Populações de Angola, Union of the Peoples of Angola) guerrillas armed with machetes and homemade weapons stormed the coffee plantations, brutally torturing and murdering men, women, and children. The carnage was indescribable, as attested by photographs and films of the looted and burnt villages and plantations: corpses dismembered with machetes or wood saws, heads nailed to stakes, women raped by dozens of guerrillas and then disemboweled, and children—including babies—smashed against walls. 7,000 Portuguese, European, and African citizens were brutally killed between 15 and 16 March.
The crime was so savage that, at the UN headquarters, Holden Roberto, the leader of the UPA, did not at first acknowledge responsibility for the massacre. But everything was permitted in the ‘anti-colonialist’ struggle, and terror was just another weapon. In fact, while the UPA guerrillas were savagely murdering thousands of civilians, the UN Security Council passed a motion condemning the political situation in Angola, which was voted for by both the United States and the Soviet Union. On 23 March, the 3rd All-African Peoples’ Conference in Cairo approved the “use of force to liquidate imperialism,” specifically mentioning Angola, Guinea, and Mozambique. On 4 April, when the atrocity was already known, the UN General Assembly nevertheless passed a motion in favour of Angolan self-determination. When Portugal went to war, the world sided with the murderers of 15 March.
In 1974, the Carnation Revolution brought the war to an end and Portugal withdrew from its overseas territories. For the Third Republic that was born then and is still in force today, the deaths of 15 March were an uncomfortable memory that was best forgotten. The passing of the years has not been enough to amend this selective memory. In fact, with the growing influence of political correctness, the narrative of the “fighters against colonial oppression” has proliferated in the media and in politics, as has the idea that Portugal’s history (like that of all European nations) is racist and that it must apologise for the events of the past. This revisionist wave has gone so far as to call for the demolition of the Padrão dos Descobrimentos (Monument to the Discoveries) in Lisbon.
Three years ago, on the 60th anniversary of the massacre, only two Portuguese media outlets mentioned what happened in Angola: an article by Frederico Nunes da Silva—which is how I first learned of the events—and another in the magazine Sábado, under the rather confusing title “Massacres in Angola. The white vigilante militias.” There was nothing more. There is no monument in Portugal to remember the innocent victims killed on that infamous 15 March, nor anything to celebrate a hero like Marcelino da Mata.
On 8 March 2024, another such hero died: the pilot António Lobato. Captured in 1963, Lobato was held prisoner for seven and a half years, escaping from prison three times only to be captured again and again. Guerrillas first offered him freedom and a safe haven in a socialist country, and later in Algeria, if he would betray his country and denounce the “atrocities of the Portuguese army,” but Lobato always refused. He was rescued in the Green Sea operation, in which, as previously mentioned, Marcelino da Mata took part.
A memorial to overseas combatants was erected in 1994. It includes the names of 10,000 soldiers who died in the war, to which have been added the names of other soldiers who have died on international missions. But so far, the Overseas Veterans’ greatest victory was the Assembly of the Republic’s approval, in 2020, of a statute that granted symbolic recognition and additional pension payments for ex-combatants. However, according to the Liga dos Combatentes (League of Combatants), in many cases it has meant a pension increase of “only 56 euros per year.”
In Italy, it took more than 60 years for a centre-right government, led by Silvio Berlusconi, to have the courage to recover the memory of the thousands of Italians killed in the foibe and to make reparations for an immense historical debt. After the elections held on 10 March, the only option to break with the socialism that has plunged Portugal into a pit of corruption is the formation of a government between the centre-Right Democratic Alliance and Chega’s pro-sovereignty Right. André Ventura’s party takes unabashed pride in Portugal’s history, and only such an unabashed government can free history from the clutches of political correctness. Perhaps the time has finally come for Portugal to recover its lost memory, to restore dignity to thousands of forgotten victims, and to honour its heroes. They, and the Portuguese nation, deserve nothing less.
The Forgotten Memory of 15 March
Memorial Monument of the Overseas Fallen Soldiers in Lisbon, Portugal
The best way to forget something is to avoid putting a face to it. Dates, numbers, and mere objects are cold; we do not empathise with them. Instead, they are like boring history lessons based on repeating the dates of wars and peace treaties: they are learned by rote and then forgotten. Such were my thoughts when I visited the Army Museum in Lisbon and toured the area dedicated to the Overseas War—the war that Portugal waged against the independence movements in Angola, Guinea-Bissau, and Mozambique from 1961 to 1974. There were flags and weapons, but no pictures—nor was there any mention of Portugal’s most decorated soldier in history, Lieutenant Colonel Marcelino da Mata, nicknamed “the Rambo of Guinea.”
Born in Portuguese Guinea, da Mata became famous for his heroism during the Overseas War, and he was decorated with five war crosses before being knighted in 1969 in the Order of the Tower and Sword (Portugal’s most important honorary order). The founder of the commando unit, he took part in 2,412 missions, including the Green Sea operation (the release of 400 political prisoners and 26 Portuguese soldiers from the prisons of Guinean President Sékou Touré) and the Trident operation (the rescue of more than 100 Portuguese soldiers in Senegal). During the Carnation Revolution, he was persecuted and tortured by leftist military, and he had to take refuge in Spain to save his life. He was a patriot who never disowned his participation in the war, and the Left never forgave him for it. He died on 11 February 2021, and his funeral was attended by the president of the republic, Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, representatives of Chega and the CDS-Partido Popular, as well as his comrades-in-arms. There was no representative of the socialist government at the funeral of Portugal’s most decorated soldier.
It is bad enough when Portugal wants to forget its heroes, but it is even worse when it forgets those who were killed simply because they were Portuguese. On a day like any other in 1961, the coffee plantations of northern Angola became the macabre scene of a massacre. Hundreds of UPA (União das Populações de Angola, Union of the Peoples of Angola) guerrillas armed with machetes and homemade weapons stormed the coffee plantations, brutally torturing and murdering men, women, and children. The carnage was indescribable, as attested by photographs and films of the looted and burnt villages and plantations: corpses dismembered with machetes or wood saws, heads nailed to stakes, women raped by dozens of guerrillas and then disemboweled, and children—including babies—smashed against walls. 7,000 Portuguese, European, and African citizens were brutally killed between 15 and 16 March.
The crime was so savage that, at the UN headquarters, Holden Roberto, the leader of the UPA, did not at first acknowledge responsibility for the massacre. But everything was permitted in the ‘anti-colonialist’ struggle, and terror was just another weapon. In fact, while the UPA guerrillas were savagely murdering thousands of civilians, the UN Security Council passed a motion condemning the political situation in Angola, which was voted for by both the United States and the Soviet Union. On 23 March, the 3rd All-African Peoples’ Conference in Cairo approved the “use of force to liquidate imperialism,” specifically mentioning Angola, Guinea, and Mozambique. On 4 April, when the atrocity was already known, the UN General Assembly nevertheless passed a motion in favour of Angolan self-determination. When Portugal went to war, the world sided with the murderers of 15 March.
In 1974, the Carnation Revolution brought the war to an end and Portugal withdrew from its overseas territories. For the Third Republic that was born then and is still in force today, the deaths of 15 March were an uncomfortable memory that was best forgotten. The passing of the years has not been enough to amend this selective memory. In fact, with the growing influence of political correctness, the narrative of the “fighters against colonial oppression” has proliferated in the media and in politics, as has the idea that Portugal’s history (like that of all European nations) is racist and that it must apologise for the events of the past. This revisionist wave has gone so far as to call for the demolition of the Padrão dos Descobrimentos (Monument to the Discoveries) in Lisbon.
Three years ago, on the 60th anniversary of the massacre, only two Portuguese media outlets mentioned what happened in Angola: an article by Frederico Nunes da Silva—which is how I first learned of the events—and another in the magazine Sábado, under the rather confusing title “Massacres in Angola. The white vigilante militias.” There was nothing more. There is no monument in Portugal to remember the innocent victims killed on that infamous 15 March, nor anything to celebrate a hero like Marcelino da Mata.
On 8 March 2024, another such hero died: the pilot António Lobato. Captured in 1963, Lobato was held prisoner for seven and a half years, escaping from prison three times only to be captured again and again. Guerrillas first offered him freedom and a safe haven in a socialist country, and later in Algeria, if he would betray his country and denounce the “atrocities of the Portuguese army,” but Lobato always refused. He was rescued in the Green Sea operation, in which, as previously mentioned, Marcelino da Mata took part.
A memorial to overseas combatants was erected in 1994. It includes the names of 10,000 soldiers who died in the war, to which have been added the names of other soldiers who have died on international missions. But so far, the Overseas Veterans’ greatest victory was the Assembly of the Republic’s approval, in 2020, of a statute that granted symbolic recognition and additional pension payments for ex-combatants. However, according to the Liga dos Combatentes (League of Combatants), in many cases it has meant a pension increase of “only 56 euros per year.”
In Italy, it took more than 60 years for a centre-right government, led by Silvio Berlusconi, to have the courage to recover the memory of the thousands of Italians killed in the foibe and to make reparations for an immense historical debt. After the elections held on 10 March, the only option to break with the socialism that has plunged Portugal into a pit of corruption is the formation of a government between the centre-Right Democratic Alliance and Chega’s pro-sovereignty Right. André Ventura’s party takes unabashed pride in Portugal’s history, and only such an unabashed government can free history from the clutches of political correctness. Perhaps the time has finally come for Portugal to recover its lost memory, to restore dignity to thousands of forgotten victims, and to honour its heroes. They, and the Portuguese nation, deserve nothing less.
READ NEXT
Guarantee of Unhappiness
Are Net Zero’s Days Numbered?
Erdogan’s Hour of Triumph