When “The Future Was Now”

The translation of this article by Raquel Varela and Roberto della Santa began as a collaboration between Posle and LeftEast in 2024, a year marking the 50th anniversary of the Carnation Revolution. We are publishing it now, in 2025, the year honoring the 50th anniversary of the hard fought independence of Cape Verde and Guinea Bissau. This year also marks the end of the Carnation Revolution, or, as the authors argue, an interruption of the revolutionary change that remained incomplete and awaits fulfillment.

“When ‘the future was now’: Prefigurative Politics and the Carnation Revolution” gives us insight into the workings of a revolution, recognizing the 25th of April 1974 as the culmination of a number of processes, most significantly, the anticolonial wars that were shaking the Portuguese empire, as well as global struggles around decolonization. In addition, it illustrates how the revolution was brought about by citizens of Portugal through prefigurative processes despite the lack of significant organizations of and for the workers. Finally, the authors offer a cautionary tale about how the quest for direct democracy from below was substituted by liberal parliamentarism — a story well familiar to Eastern Europe. 

Introduction

The Portuguese Revolution remains the most significant social revolution in post-war Europe to date. The military coup in Lisbon on April 25^th began with events in Africa that didn’t immediately reach Lisbon. The Carnation Revolution, understood more broadly, would have a profound impact, contributing to the fall of the Greek dictatorship of colonels, the end of Franco’s regime in Spain, and, eventually, the Portuguese democratic counterrevolution. Occurring in Portugal after November 25^th, this counterrevolution served as a precedent for the recovery of the alliance of labor and capital which later influenced the 1980’s normalization policies of the Carter administration in Latin America following the military dictatorships that had taken hold in the region.

Never before in Portugal’s history had so many people been involved in shaping the country’s future as between 1974 and 1975. This period stands as a clear example of revolutionary democratic transformation, highlighting the need for a detailed understanding of its dynamics to address the contemporary crisis of representative democracy across the globe.

The Revolution initially began in Africa with the rise of the anti-colonial movement beginning in late 1960. The first major event was a strike by workers in Angola organized by laborers at the Cotonang firm, whose brutal repression resulted in over 5,000 estimated deaths. In 1961, in response, the Union of Peoples of Angola (UPA) guerrilla organization launched attacks on white settlers on March 15th, 1961. The attacks had been preceded by uprisings in  prisons by the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA) on February 4th^,. While the Portuguese Empire continued to extract forced labor for a time, anti-colonial resistance persisted. Successful anti-colonial revolutions in Mozambique, Angola, São Tomé, Guinea, and Cape Verde unfolding from 1961 to 1974 ultimately led to the downfall of the political regime in April 1974. In Portugal, the revolution led to the most radical post-war social change in Europe, marked by widespread participatory democracy through the formation of workers’, people’s, and soldiers’ committees.

The nineteen-month Carnation Revolution, throughout which a large number of people actively participated in decision-making, stands as a prime example of effective prefigurative politics. This approach involved both reflective and concrete changes that people envisioned to genuinely transform Portugal. It remains, to this day, the most significant social revolution in Europe since 1945. To reduce the Carnation Revolution, especially on its 50th anniversary, to the mere success of a military coup on April 25, 1974, or dismissing it as ‘chaos’ caused by the ongoing revolutionary process (PREC: Portuguese Processo Revolucionário em Curso) [1], is a purely ideological move. As we will explore further, such a reduction is neither scientifically nor politically defensible.

At first glance, the Carnation Revolution might seem paradoxical—an ultra-modern revolution unfolding in a hyper-backward country. Yet, it was precisely this context that allowed for the interplay of various social dynamics. The revolution involved a diverse cross-section of society, including forced laborers from the colonies and free workers; men and women; soldiers and civilians; and intellectual and manual laborers, from the countryside and from the cities. From a political perspective, the African anti-colonial revolution, the Portuguese anti-fascist revolution, the political revolution, and the social revolution were deeply intertwined. Understanding the Carnation Revolution can help us imagine the social revolution in the 21st-century.

48 Years of Dictatorship

The Portuguese Revolution began with the defeat of the regular army in the colonies. In 1974, the anti-colonial guerrilla movements, actively supported by peasants in Guinea-Bissau, Angola and Mozambique, finally prevailed. The dictatorship did not fall until April 25, 1974,  the result of a coup organized by mid-level military officers,who realized that it was not possible to quell the anti-colonial struggle, and that to end the war in the colonies they first had to put an end to the regime. 

The Armed Forces Movement carried out a coup d'état that ended the longest dictatorship in twentieth-century Europe. This dictatorship had emerged on May 28, 1926, itself a result of a military coup aimed at defeating one of Europe’s most powerful labor movements, exemplified by the fact that the Portuguese anarcho-syndicalist newspaper A Batalha alone had a daily circulation of 25,000 copies. Salazar’s dictatorship should be understood as a preventive counter-revolution against anarcho-syndicalism which originated in the political family of European fascisms and strengthened against the background of the worldwide influence of the Spanish social revolution of the 1930s.

The Portuguese dictatorship lasted so long that millions of people were born and died before they knew what it meant to live in freedom. This long night of national military dictatorship lasted for almost half-a-century, spanning the period from 1926 to 1974. Fascism tried to overcome the contradictions of its time—guaranteeing the Portuguese bourgeoisie a place in the imperialist world market while maintaining a backward rural society, banning trade unions and parties, legalizing forced labor in the colonies—but it only made things worse, eventually leading to a deep and widespread social revolution.

The revolution ushered a significant portion of the country into a new democratic era, where grassroots organizations, or “soviets,” flourished, bringing political socialization into workplaces. This shift affected everyone from labourers to doctors, peasants to white-collar workers. The revolution also opened the door to a profound social and political transformation, marking it as a 20th-century revolution that foreshadowed the depth and breadth of those in the 21st century. As the engaged singer Sérgio Godinho poignantly put it: “You can only want everything when you’ve had nothing / The one who has lived a confined life, desires a full one.”

The Genesis of the Carnation Revolution in Anti-Colonial Struggle

South African singer and trumpeter Hugh Masekela composed one of the most powerful songs of African resistance, “Coal Train / Stimela,” which vividly depicts the recruitment of forced laborers from Mozambique and other African countries to work in South African mines under the Apartheid regime. The song evokes the arduous journeys and miserable lives of migrant workers compelled to toil in the mines of Johannesburg and Kimberley. The term “stimela” comes from the Zulu word “isitimela,” meaning “steam train.” The song is just as relevant to the context of Portuguese colonialism.

For decades the assault on Luanda’s prisons by the Popular Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA) and the massacre carried out by the Union of Peoples of Angola (UPA) on February 4th, 1961, were seen as marking the beginning of the colonial war. It is important to see the 1974–1975 Portuguese Revolution in the context of the revolutionary synergy between the colonized and the population of the metropole. Historian Dalila Cabrita Mateus has shown that the storming of the prisons was a response to the massacre of cotton workers employed by the Portuguese-Belgian cotton plantation company Cotonang, who had initiated strikes in December 1960 and January and February 1961 [2]. The revolt began openly on January 4th, when Cotonang’s squad leaders were captured at the Soba Quivota farm, about ten miles from Milando station. The local population threatened to resist anyone who attempted to enslave them, force them to work in the cotton fields, or impose taxes on them. In February 1961, the Portuguese army responded to the cotton workers’ strike in Baixa do Cassange by bombing civilians with napalm. 

For a month, production came to a halt: “Large groups of rebels formed, storming public and private facilities, damaging vehicles, rafts, and bridges. The Portuguese flag was removed, but no Europeans were killed [3].” In remote areas like Luremo, Cuango, and Longo, the rebels burned masses of cotton seeds and tore up native identity booklets, among other acts of defiance. Mass gatherings became frequent and increasingly menacing, further escalating the tension and hostility in the region.

Resistance against the Portuguese Empire had already been building steadily over time. In 1953 the people of São Tomé had revolted against the possibility of becoming forced laborers on their own land. The colonial administration brought Angolans and Cape Verdeans as contract laborers to cocoa and coffee farms where workers were poorly paid or not paid at all, and beatings were commonplace. The rumors that São Tomean farmers might lose their land to the migrant workers and be forcibly turned into contract laborers led to the uprising. The Portuguese state responded with the Batepá massacre—a pivotal moment in the rise of São Tomean nationalism still commemorated annually as a national holiday on February 3^rd.

The revolt was brutally crushed using grenades and machine guns, as people fled to the countryside or sought refuge in the forests. “The colonial authorities armed prisoners and farm servants, and dismissed the national police, hiring white militias instead. What followed was a ‘black hunt,’ resulting in horrific consequences: extrajudicial killings, homes burned, women raped, and masses of São Tomean people imprisoned and tortured. Many were killed, and almost all were sent to forced labour camps [4].” Hundreds of thousands of victims may have died in this event.

On August 3rd, 1959, a pivotal event led to a strategic shift enacted by the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (PAIGC) in Guinea-Bissau, marking the beginning of their armed struggle. The Portuguese colonial authorities had responded to a peaceful strike by workers at the Pidjiguiti port that demanded a wage increase with brutal repression, resulting in the deaths of more than a dozen people [5]. In response, according to Amílcar Cabral, “in September 1959, a month after the Pidjiguiti massacre, a clandestine meeting was held in Bissau, and the nature of our struggle changed entirely. It was at that time that we took up arms and moved into the countryside [6].” 

From 1963 onward,  the PAIGC transitioned to armed struggle, with remarkable military successes. By 1970, the party controlled more than two-thirds of Guinea-Bissau. Guinea (“Portugese Guinea,” what would become Guinea-Bissau) posed a significant challenge to the Portuguese colonial army, leading to the creation of the Captains’ Movement in Portugal which ultimately declared an end to the war and played a crucial role in the Portuguese Revolution.

In Mozambique, another front of the anti-colonial struggle emerged. On June 11th, 1960, a revolt of forced labour workers in Mozambique was smashed in the “Mueda Massacre” that occurred in response to the Makondé people’s demands. An official report stated that 14 people were killed, while the Mozambique Liberation Front (FRELIMO) estimated the death toll at 150. From then on,  beginning on September 25th, 1964, the Makondé people took up arms and were ready to follow FRELIMO whenever it was prepared to act[7].

The colonial war had tragic outcomes. Over 1.2 million people were mobilized. Up to 100,000 Portuguese, including locally recruited soldiers, were killed, and between 45,000 and 100,000 members of the liberation movements are estimated to have lost their lives. The war consumed a staggering 30% to 40% of the Portuguese state’s budget over the thirteen-year conflict. These highlight the immense human and economic toll of maintaining the armed forces.

The “colonial question” was simultaneously gaining traction in international public opinion. During John F. Kennedy’s presidency (1961-1963), American pressure intensified as part of the “African strategy,” aimed at eliminating Soviet influence in Africa by selectively supporting certain liberation movements. The Cuban revolutionary regime was established in 1959 and solidified its alliance with the USSR. This global rivalry of the Cold War extended beyond the Earth, symbolized by the Soviet Union’s April 1961 achievement when cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin  became the first human to journey into space. The Algerian Revolution was a significant success, and once having gained independence in 1962, Algeria would become a strong supporter of freedom movements and the Portuguese opposition. Although U.S. influence waned after the Kennedy era, Portugal managed to secure favorable votes, or at least abstentions, from its NATO partners at the UN Assembly. The diplomatic successes of the freedom movements, particularly those of the PAIGC, were nevertheless substantial.

In response to the PAIGC’s successes, Portuguese General António de Spínola adopted brutal tactics. He ordered entire villages burned, the use of napalm, and the indiscriminate arrest of anyone suspected of collaborating with the PAIGC. Forced displacements were also organized to disrupt the movement’s support base. At the same time, he employed a “divide and rule” strategy, granting privileges, distributing citizenship cards, and promoting policies to win over parts of the population. This approach yielded some results, particularly among the Fulani chiefs, making it more difficult for PAIGC members to operate in the eastern regions of Guinea-Bissau, where Fulani held significant influence.

By 1968 the PAIGC had gained an advantage following the arrival of Soviet Strela surface-to-air missiles. Acknowledging the impasse, Spínola proposed that Portuguese Prime Minister Marcello Caetano enter negotiations to end the conflict. President Léopold Sédar Senghor of Senegal was invited to mediate. This was part of Spínola’s strategy to resolve the situation in the Portuguese colonies through a federalist framework. Concerned that Guinea-Bissau’s independence would have immediate and destabilizing effects on the ongoing conflicts in Mozambique and Angola, Caetano rejected any negotiations, believing that a military defeat in Guinea-Bissau was preferable to the potentially greater risks of defeat in Mozambique and Angola.

Yet, gradually the PAIGC movement earned broad international recognition, with Pope Paul VI receiving Cabral on July 1, 1970 at the International Conference of Solidarity with the People of the Portuguese Colonies in Rome. This was followed by Cabral’s remarkable success in 1972: the  recognition of the PAIGC as the legitimate representative of the Guinean people at the United Nations. As Cabral would write: “1972 was a year of definitive victories for the Party and for the people on the international scale [8].”

Amílcar Cabral was one of the most influential socialist and internationalist leaders of the 20th century alongside figures like Che Guevara and Ben Barka, and a key figure in the Tricontinental movement, which later led to the establishment of the Organization of Solidarity with the People of Africa, Asia, and Latin America in 1966. These leaders opposed a nationalist and essentialist vision, particularly regarding race, advocating instead for a class-based, revolutionary, anti-imperialist, and anti-colonialist perspective. Tragically, all three were assassinated at different times.

During the 1960s, various oppositional sectors had emerged globally. Workers’ strikes, particularly in the service sector, were widespread, alongside intense student protests, such as the university crises of 1962 and 1969. These movements were part of a broader wave of activism that characterized the decade, reflecting a growing dissatisfaction with existing social and political structures. The Vietnamese Revolution catalysed the global wave of mass protests in the 1960s, as well as movements such as the U.S. civil rights struggle, the French May protests, the 1968 Prague Spring, and Italy’s 1969 “Hot Autumn.” These events influenced the political landscape in Portugal, Spain, Greece, and Chile, as well as more broadly in the countries of the center where leaders like De Gaulle and Nixon were forced to resign. Additionally, the success of the French Left-wing program, the significant electoral gains of the Italian Communist Party (the largest communist party in Western Europe with over 2 million members) in 1976, and the English miner strikes from 1972 to 1974 all contributed to the broader political upheaval and change during this era.

From coup to social revolution

In 1974, the last anachronistic colonial empire fell. On April 25th, Otelo Saraiva de Carvalho took power through a military coup in key Portuguese cities, including Lisbon, Porto, and Santarém, backed by a group of 200 men from the Armed Forces Movement (MFA). The coup was seen as the catalyst for a social revolution, ushering in a new era of social relations and ending the dictatorship. Poet Sophia de Mello Breyner celebrated this “original and pure day” as the opening of a new chapter.

The Carnation Revolution was a historic process spanning nearly two years on the continent, born of thirteen years of liberation struggles in the colonies. Erupting in 1974, it quickly became one of the most significant democratic and revolutionary periods in Portugal’s history. This era of participatory democracy, established by force, was grounded in workplace and community-based decision-making. Over three million people were involved in this process, making daily decisions about how society should be organized and governed without delegating power to any single authority.

On May 1st, 1974, the headline of a Lisbon newspaper reading “People Are No Longer Afraid” pointed to a profound shift. It marked the moment, a century and a half after Portugal’s first liberal revolution, when the struggle against intolerable injustices made bourgeois social and political rights not just an aspiration but an achievable reality. For the first time, there was a universal vision for the country, reflecting the transformative nature of the April Revolution and its emphasis on social self-determination.

Several factors lay behind this social revolution: the resistance of colonized peoples against metropole elites, the struggles of labourers against capital, the fight waged by emancipated women against Iberian patriarchy, and the broader conflict between democratic ideals and fascist dictatorship. Driven by a new ethos rejecting Dictator António de Oliveira Salazar’s phrase “If you knew how much it costs to command, you would probably prefer to obey all your life,” students and workers took over the PIDE [Polícia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado] headquarters, with the state institutions falling within twenty-four hours. The prison assault cost João Arruda, Fernando Gesteira, Fernando dos Reis, and José Barneto their lives.

During its forty-eight-year dictatorship, the Estado Novo regime had failed to establish any representative bodies for the population. This absence of democratic institutions, coupled with the severe capitalist economic crisis that began in 1973, created both opportunities and challenges. In fact, the absence of free workers’ organisations, trade unions, and political parties during the dictatorship and the Estado Novo era (1926-1974), contributed to the radicalisation of the social revolution over time. Revolutionaries, facing this vacuum left by the state, spontaneously established their own forms of governance. Among them were committees formed by soldiers, workers, and residents reminiscent of the Soviets emerging from the Russian Revolutions. In other words: where the state had failed, people organized themselves autonomously.

When work becomes political: memories of an ongoing revolution

An evocative photograph captures a working man, clad only in shorts and holding a cigarette tearing down a wall with his tools. The image frames the man through the newly created crack in the wall. The photographer, positioned on the other side, uses this gap as a framing device, while the man remains oblivious to the camera’s presence. We can interpret the photo as symbolizing the emergence of people’s power from the rubble of the state. The social revolution left nothing untouched. Let’s revisit memories of the revolutionary actors to understand the impact more deeply.

Barronhos, a slum located just three kilometers from Lisbon’s middle-class summer residential area along the Tagus River, faced a stark absence of essential services. The community faced severe shortages: no access to water or medical care. In the place of brick walls, shelters were improvised with wood and recycled materials, as the National Republican Guard would demolish any brick structures it encountered. The neighbourhood had only one school, and children who wished to continue education beyond the fourth grade had to navigate busy highways to reach other schools.

Vitória Vera, a textile worker and resident of Barronhos, recalls that the community took matters into its own hands when the government did not approve an expansion of the school. “The residents gathered materials and built two additional classrooms themselves. By the time the government finally authorized the expansion, the classrooms were ready; the school was constructed within two months [9].”

Father Martins Júnior, from Madeira, championed the land occupation against the insular “colonial regime” and supported workers’ struggles. He recalls the revolution through a poignant anecdote: “After April 25th, a poor peasant came to me carrying wood on his shoulders. Upon seeing me, he dropped the wood, opened his arms, and exclaimed: ‘Oh, old father, now we can take a breather! [10]’”

The birth of the Alcácer do Sal High School, which still exists today, is illustrative too. Filomena Oliveira, a teacher assigned to the Alentejo region in January 1975, recalls with emotion: 

“In Alcácer, where I had been placed, there was a city hall with a garden used by children from the surrounding hills. These children lived in small houses far from the city. Their greatest desire was to receive an education, and that’s what the revolution provided—they wanted to educate the country.” We couldn’t have stayed there without understanding the situation in the country. I was part of the Faculty of Arts and Humanities, and we were well aware of everything happening. I taught Portuguese and social sciences, though I hadn’t yet completed my studies. 

Our approach was collaborative. Teachers, physicians, and other professionals came together to make decisions about the country’s future…

The occupation of the school in Alcácer was a powerful example of grassroots activism. Despite the excitement and energy surrounding these protests, a significant issue persisted: there were no schools available for students beyond the sixth grade. Many families could not afford to send their children to the seventh, eighth, or ninth grades, and thus education beyond this level was out of reach for most. Our goal was to address the educational disparity and ensure that every child had access to secondary education. The solution we devised involved a collective action: occupying the school. One evening, we convened with both students and teachers to plan the occupation. We decided that the only way to force a change was to take direct action. A strategic plan was formulated where one boy and one girl would stay inside the school overnight. They would inform their parents that they were staying at friends’ houses to study, thus avoiding suspicion. Early the next morning, they would open the doors to allow the other students to enter and occupy the school before the teachers arrived.

We were to accompany the primary school students in a demonstration in front of the private school—our students outside, theirs inside. Parental approval was required, and some parents even joined us outside the school. I led about fifty students carrying posters that read, “The school belongs to the people,” as we chanted through the streets of Alcácer.

When we arrived at the school gate, we found many parents and farmers gathered at the entrance to defend the school. The priest was also opposed to the school’s closure. Some parents approached me with sticks, ready to assault me. At that moment, all the children gathered around me in defense. I was silenced by the children’s reaction, and we proceeded to calmly enter the school, joining those inside. This is how Alcácer do Sal High School was born [11].”

In its archives, RTP (Rádio e Televisão de Portugal), also occupied and democratically managed by workers since April, holds traces of dozens of assemblies, from the north to the south of the country, where hundreds of health professionals gathered to elect a management committee.  RTP’s National Journal, the most important news bulletin, reported on the state of insalubrity and the diseases proliferating as a result of the country’s backwardness, as well as on the dozens of assemblies of doctors, nurses and technicians, broadcast on prime time television.

The hospitals offer another example of this revolutionary process. On May 1st, physicians at the São João hospital met to discuss the events occurring after the 25th April Revolution, and a proposal for the hospital’s management structure. On May 3rd, physicians at Dona Estefânia Hospital held a plenary session to discuss the democratization of the establishment’s structure. On May 5th, a general assembly of Setúbal hospital nurses took place, and on May 6th, physicians at São João hospital in Porto attended a plenary session. The final assembly occurred on May 16th, with Guimarães hospital clerks in attendance.

Doctor Vasco Trancoso recalls working in the Peripheral Medicine Department that was established as a result of the struggles of medical students during that period: 

“Several opportunities emerged from examining how care asymmetries could be addressed. A sense of freedom and hope marked this period just after April 25^th, contributing to development in remote areas and increased awareness of health rights. Meeting with poor people across the country presented a significant opportunity to enhance skills related to health education and strengthen paths to solidarity among the poorest Portuguese people. We also gained valuable insights into the doctor-patient relationship. The unforgettable trip in late 1975 took us to the deepest, poorest, and most isolated regions of Portugal. During this time, a great number of physicians mobilized to provide care. I take pride in being part of this remarkable moment when I felt truly fulfilled in my work. I still cherish the memories of the people I met during that period [12].”

In 1974, Vitória Vera remarked that “socialism” was just a vague term. According to her, the revolution truly began when committees of neighbourhood inhabitants in Carnaxide took action, expanding the school system and contributing to the development of public transportation:

 “I was involved in the Bus 14 diversion since there were no connections to Lisbon. Over a period of several days, the workers and I decided on the location of the stops, painting a sign at each point to mark them, deciding on the basis of demands, workplace locations and timetables, connection with other transport, etc. It was exhilarating for me to participate in this collective effort [13].”

A physician who worked in Évora after the revolution, Bernardino Páscoa, encapsulates this sentiment about Portuguese society at this moment: “People became aware of needs they didn’t know existed [14].”

“The future was now”: Prefigurative politics in action

On the twentieth anniversary of the Carnation Revolution, Francisco Martins Rodrigues, a leading figure of the Maoist currents in Portugal and a key player in the break with the PCP left in the early 1960s, published “O Futuro Era Agora” (The Future Was Now) through his publishing house, Dinossauro. Asking what inspired thousands of activists to dive into a wave of intense criticism, transformation, new principles, and self-organization, all fuelled by a shared sense of enthusiasm [15], the book compiles fifty testimonies from the 580 days of the “people power takeover.” 

But just how did prefigurative politics make the future now? Prefigurative politics, projections of the future, were at the heart of the Portuguese Revolution, which involved “forms of social relations, decision-making processes, [political] culture and human experience as [its] true goal [16].” Such prefiguration is a conscious and deliberate action aimed at transforming social relations, decision-making processes, political culture, and human experience as its true goals.

These ideals are exemplified by figures like Professor Filomena Oliveira, Father Martins, and the man pictured above tearing down a wall symbolizing State power in order to expand a school. The question of prefigurative politics touches on a range of forms and meanings, including the international associations of  left-wing labour, grassroots popular education, and the revolutionary syndicalist tradition.

A key example is the public debate on the PREC (the revolutionary period between April 25th, 1974, and the coup d'état on November 25th, 1975). In other words, making transformative politics a reality is not simply an intellectual exercise, but a historical act. Research on the Carnation Revolution distinguishes between workers’ control and self-management. Workers’ control involves a dual power process, represented by the political organizations of production workers—whether formal or informal. This concept of dual power is central to the revolutionary process and does not refer to any specific structure or institution.

It thus differs from self-management, where workers become their own bosses, as indeed happened in more than three hundred companies in Portugal during the revolution. It is also distinct from co-management, where workers are organized into unions or committees to manage companies and factories, sometimes in partnership with owners and/or the State. These approaches represent potential models for the future, even though at times one “does not know what he is doing but does it anyhow.”

In her research on workers’ control, Fátima Patriarca presents several statements from factory and company assemblies where productivism was rejected [17]. Workers’ control was seen as a means of countering capitalist exploitation and as a way for the working class to establish leadership and raise awareness, ultimately aiming to dismantle the capitalist production system. It is a political and not just “management” attitude. 

Workers exerted pressure on companies to reorganize management, driven by democratic principles that underpin basic freedoms. They spontaneously formed workers’ committees with the aim of achieving meaningful transformations. These committees enabled workers to prioritize their economic needs by uniting everyone involved in improving the social and material conditions of the working class. This coming together of social subjects now unified through this shared commission would determine (with the help of the influence of young radical left-wing cadres along with the regime's inability to prevent rising unemployment) an evolution in political consciousness. The struggle for these specific demands tended to be transformed into a political struggle—which appeared to be a means of guaranteeing economic claims.

The revolutionary struggle enabled workers to secure a broad range of political and social rights. The rights to assembly and expression were assured as early as April 25th, possibly even before the laws were officially enacted. The struggle also led to the most significant erosion of capital ever seen in Portugal, and the accomplishment of the greatest balance between labour’s income and capital yet. Similar to the other social struggles during the PREC, the workers’ struggle culminated in impactful intervention in factories, leading to losses to capital through wage payments and reduced investments. Direct wages and social benefits—such as the state welfare system—were secured, along with subsidized housing and price freezes. While in 1973, 50% of the GDP was allocated to workers through wages and social security measures, with 50% going to capital interests, profits, and rates, by 1975, this ratio had shifted dramatically, with around 70% going to laborers and only 30% to capital. 

Among other improvements, workers secured better wages and working conditions, paid overtime, regulation of night shifts, and price controls for basic necessities. A higher minimum wage was established that exceeded the cost of labor force reproduction, and additional benefits included overtime for childcare workers, the elimination of limits on bathroom breaks, equal pay for equal work, and more workplace nurseries. Housing quality also improved significantly.

Moreover, women gained seven weeks of rest before and after childbirth, along with guaranteed medical care from doctors or midwives during pregnancy, reversing the dire maternal and child health conditions of the time. The Divorce Act was repealed, and from 1975, women were allowed to work in foreign service. In response to social pressure, family benefits were increased in May 1974 to 240 escudos per child per household. Additionally, nurseries and schools for children with special needs were opened, and local training opportunities were made available. In 1975, banks were nationalized by the State without compensation, and control was handed over to the employees to prevent any capital outflow. The Portuguese constitution enshrined leisure activities as essential, ensured by requirements that municipalities provide access to theatre, music, and sports.

While the National Health System (SNS) was formally introduced only in 1979, Portugal’s universal healthcare system began taking shape right after April 25th, 1974. This fact is often omitted in the narrative of the dominant social class, which typically credits the establishment of the SNS solely to the 1979 law. It was the workers’ movement—led by physicians fighting for medical positions through initiatives like the Serviço Médico à Periferia during the pivotal years of 1974-1975,—that played a central role in this transformation. Workers were sometimes supported by citizens’ committees, or organized themselves.

The Vila Real Hospital exemplifies the creation of a public cardiac hospital through the occupation of the São Lucas clinic. Occupied houses were converted into health centers such as the Seixal Hospital. General assemblies in large hospitals worked to democratically reorganize healthcare institutions, and exploitative practices like “blood for money” exchanges were banned. Private clinics were expropriated, and essential medical services were extended to areas where residents had never seen a doctor before. The centrality of training and excellence in care in medical careers is a significant achievement of the Carnation Revolution.

More than 4,000 democratic workers’ committees were established, encompassing 360 firms. The primary goal of the agrarian reform was achieved: cultivated lands tripled as people took possession of them to ensure a decent existence for everyone. Bus routes in Lisbon and Oeiras were redesigned based on so-called “diversions,” ensuring that remote neighborhoods once overlooked by the public transportation system, had connections. A revolution stands apart from other phenomena because it involves people actively taking control of their lives. For nineteen months, three million people—workers, residents, and soldiers—came together to make daily decisions following extensive discussions on various issues.

From Lisbon to Moncloa: From Revolution to Counter-Revolution (1975-1986)

On November 25, 1975, a right-wing military coup led by Ramalho Eanes, and in the civilian sphere, by the Socialist Party (with the support of the right, the Church, NATO and the Group of Nine—the reformist wing of the MFA) arrested over 100 revolutionary officers, and transferred soldiers to the reserves.from units where dual power had been expressed. Restoring discipline to the armed forces, the coup also ensured the stabilization of institutions, maintaining the rule of law, a parliament, free elections and citizens’ rights, freedoms and guarantees.

Significantly, the revolution ended with an innovative formula that would be applied in Latin America in the 1980s. Socialist Mário Soares led the civil counter-revolution on November 25, 1975, with no deaths and major social concessions with regard to state welfare. The PCP, which had played a heroic role against the dictatorship, agreed not to resist on November 25, publicly indicating through its leader Álvaro Cunhal, that the military left— the revolutionary soldiers and officers in the barracks whose uprising the coup had squashed—had  become a burden for the PCP because its actions jeopardized the balance of forces with the Nine and the agreements on peaceful coexistence between the USA, Western Europe and the USSR [18]. The revolution thus did not end in a fascist coup, but in a military coup with little violence and little resistance.

The Iberian transitions to democratic regimes between 1975 and 1978 were mutually consolidated after November 25, 1975. Just days before the coup, on November 20, the face of Spain’s dictatorial regime, General Francisco Franco, had died. At the end of 1976, Spaniards were called to the polls for the first free elections since 1939. The vast majority of Spanish historians suggest that the democratization of Spain only began after Franco’s death, and had nothing to do with events in Portugal. Historiography has shown, on the contrary, that from the start of the Portuguese Revolution, the Spanish bourgeoisie, although divided, began to open up the regime, fearing that a revolutionary situation could emerge in Spain [19]. Following Otelo’s electoral defeat (1976), the Moncloa Pacts (1978)—a transitional agreement negotiated between Francoism, the socialists (PSOE), and communists (PCE)—and the failure of the Lisnave workers in Portugal and the navy and steel workers in Spain after 1984–1986 [20], the process culminated in both countries joining the European Economic Community (EEC ) in 1986.

The term we use here, “counter-revolution,” is often immediately criticized as being more ideological than historical. Yet the vision of “democratic normalization,” in addition to qualifying “normality,” is profoundly ideological, and obscures the existence of a situation of dual power and participatory democracy. The bourgeoisie, which had established the Estado Novo dictatorship to complete its own bourgeois revolution, and had been defeated in 1974-1975, was partially victorious after November 25, 1975. There was a return to the discipline of production with a view to capital accumulation. This was publicly acknowledged in the speech by the military leader of the coup, Eanes, at celebrations marking the second anniversary of November 25: “The challenges facing the institutions and organs of power have changed. A year ago, the problems to be resolved immediately were the reconstruction of the state, the authority of the government, the coexistence of political and social forces and the strengthening of the nation’s unity. Today, the dominant collective preoccupations are different: the indispensable advances must be the re-establishment of a workforce and an economic base that enable a sharp increase in production and the accelerated creation of wealth (...) It is no longer enough to arbitrate conflicts. It will be necessary to introduce into everyday collective life the rules of economic behavior and political action that enable and promote greater production [21].”

This model of counter-revolution (today encompassed by the teleological concept of “transitions to democracy”) would be adopted by the United States for policies applied by the Carter administration to Latin America that encouraged the gradual replacement of dictatorships by democratic regimes. This model centered on putting an end to revolutions and avoiding them by creating a social electoral base within the framework of a representative democratic regime; a transition to a liberal democracy that avoids revolutionary ruptures.

Regarding this question of revolution and counter-revolution, we disagree with the theses of Boaventura de Sousa Santos, Fernando Rosas, and António Costa Pinto. Santos argues in his pioneering work that the Portuguese revolution demonstrated significant social advancements due to direct state intervention [22]. Rosas contends that the April Revolution serves as the genetic marker of Portuguese democracy and that representative democracy was a result of containing the social revolution [23]. Costa Pinto suggests that it was a historical transition enabled by a “political rupture” [24]. In contrast with all three thinkers, Raquel Varela argues in História do Povo na Revolução dos Cravos, that the capitalist state and liberal democracy, established through the 1976 Constitutional social pact, represented a break with the revolution. 

Contrary to what de Sousa Santos maintains, the social revolution was not characterized by the strength of the workers within the State, because what they achieved was against the State, and based on the duality of powers, the new organs of popular power. Liberal democracy is not the continuation of revolution, as Rosas claims, but its brutal interruption; its defeat. Revolution and counter-revolution are two distinct moments. Costa Pinto’s term “transition by rupture” is also not able to describe this whole process, since there were two very distinct ruptures in terms of political orientation and organization of the armed forces in Portugal: the military coup of April 25, 1974, which triggered the revolution, and the military coup of November 25, 1975, which triggered the counter-revolution. The liberal democratic regime was based on two radically different assumptions from those of the revolutionary period: representative democracy (rather than direct democracy) and respect for private ownership of the means of production.

The only unclear boundary in the changes brought about on November 25th lies precisely in the field of social struggle (land occupations, for example, which continued beyond November 1975). Just as revolution is not a simple declaration, counter-revolution is neither of a single type (actions of the military), nor a simple coup d'état. It was a process: it took more than ten years for the revolution to be defeated, for the workforce to be “flexibilized” (from 1986 to 1989), for the agrarian counter-reform (1982) to be implemented, and for the progressive erosion of the welfare state with privatizations (1989).

But from the point of view of the political regime, the change was indeed clear-cut, with the end of dual power (described as “indiscipline”) in the barracks as early as November 25, 1975, and the holding of legislative elections in April 1976, which consolidated parliamentary-representative democracy, distorting the direct democracy in the world of work, disdainfully referred to as “assemblyism,” “roaring twenties” or “chaos.”

CONCLUSION: 50 Years on, Still Lessons to Learn

Although it is often overlooked, Portugal played a crucial role in global revolutionary movements. The Portuguese revolution was not only an anti-colonial struggle—driven by forced labourers and proletarians—but also a modern European social revolution. This dual nature of the revolution was rooted in the industrial workers’ movement and extended to the proletarianized intermediate social classes, such as the service sector workers, including teachers, physicians, and technical staff. Collectively, this unorthodox movement represented a strategic option that resonated beyond Portugal, influencing Southern Europe, Latin America, and South Africa.

Understanding world history would require recognising that both the Carnation Revolution of 1974 and the Vietnamese Revolution were pivotal for American and European diplomacy. These events had a profound impact on French and Italian politics, influencing initiatives such as France’s Common Program and Italy’s Historical Compromise. They also marked crucial moments in the decline of Southern European dictatorships—evidenced by the fall of the Greek military junta in July 1974 and the beginning of Spain’s democratic transition. The Portuguese Revolution was such a dramatic upheaval that U.S. President Gerald Ford feared it could make a “Red Sea” out of the Mediterranean, causing a domino effect across Southern Europe [25].

Meanwhile, the anticolonial movements continued in Africa. During the Revolution, the white elite in Mozambique, led by Jorge Jardim, attempted unsuccessfully to impose apartheid. However, the anti-colonial and Portuguese revolutions significantly influenced the fight against such measures. In 1976, the student uprising in Soweto drew global attention to the police brutality of South Africa’s apartheid regime, leading to a surge in transnational activism aimed at ending apartheid. Following Angola's independence, Rhodesia’s segregationist regime ended in 1980. The Angolan civil war also experienced a significant setback with the eventual end of apartheid in the 1990s.

In our view, the Carnation Revolution, alongside the global wave of protests in May 1968, symbolizes a significant instance of social and political transnational resistance in Southern Europe. It played a crucial role in postponing the neoliberal offensive already planned by Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher in 1973 as she attempted to defeat the miners. From 1986 onward, the European bourgeoisie was finally able to proceed with its plans for restructuring production without fear of revolutionary upheaval.

Why, then, is the Carnation Revolution, a recent, foundational, and transformative event, so little known? Why is there no film about Lisbon in 1974 equivalent to Ken Loach’s Land and Freedom, about Barcelona in 1936? Why are Portugal’s popular revolutionary songs not as well-known as those from Cuba, Spain, or Italy? And why is the violent coup against Salvador Allende in Chile remembered with such prominence, when no one knows of the “original and pure day” praised by Sophia de Mello Breyner in her  poem “25 de Abril”? Despite its growing influence and the significant numbers of speakers, the Portuguese language remains peripheral in “The World Republic of Letters,” and Portugal today sits in a semi-peripheral position in the world system. Even so, there seems to be no adequate explanation for why the Portuguese Revolution is not as extensively covered in literature as the Russian, Spanish, or Cuban revolutions.

The 50th anniversary of the 25th of April gives us an opportunity to reflect on the Carnation Revolution’s profound social and political impact. It represents an historical process marked by the transformation of a democratic revolution into a socialist one, as well as an incontainability within “national” borders—revealed by the connections with the African anti-colonial revolutions and the Spanish political transition, not to mention the popular revolution in Greece. The Carnation Revolution prefigured social relations across a spectrum of areas from politics to culture, from  daily life to history; from the workplace to the home, from public space to the private sphere. 

The Portuguese social revolution was one of the most significant of the second half of the twentieth century in terms of its historical and political effects. It engaged hundreds of thousands of people across all levels of society, from the top to the bottom of the social ladder.  Over many long hours, they participated in active debate, direct voting and other collective decision-making processes in workplace committees, neighbourhood associations and other self-management organizations. The revolution serves as a vivid example that an alternative way of living and working together is possible. And it is indeed dangerous:  a seed can grow into an immense garden. Those five hundred and eighty vibrant days of people power—when “the future was now” —tells us precisely this. We can live and work differently.

Footnotes

This article is a highly edited translation of the French article Quand “le futur était maintenant”: révolution portugaise et préfiguration politique? published in Cahiers d’histoire. Revue d’histoire critique 160 (2024), itself translated from the Portuguese. Emanuele Achino, Ana Daglish de Almeida, Anna Yegorova and Mary N. Taylor made the translation and Mary N. Taylor and Anna Yegorova edited it. It is based on Breve História de Portugal (RV e RS) and História do Povo na Revolução Portuguesa (both published by Bertrand Editora, Lisbon) as well as other publications by Raquel Varela.

[1] PREC (the Ongoing Revolutionary Process, from Portuguese Processo Revolucionário em Curso) is the period between the revolution of April 25, 1974 and the counter-revolutionary coup of November 25, 1975. This abbreviation is used to refer to the actions of a wide range of leftist forces aimed at bringing about a socialist revolution in the country.

[2] Mateus D. C. “Conflitos Sociais na Base da Eclosão das Guerras Coloniais” //Varela R., Noronha R., Pereira J. D., eds. Greves e conflitos sociais em Portugal no século XX. Lisboa: Colibri, 2012. P. 185.

[3] Freudenthal A. “A Baixa de Cassanje: algodão e revolta” // Revista Internacional de Estudos Africanos 18–22, 1995–1999. P. 260.

[4] Seibert G. “O Massacre de Batepá. Em Fevereiro de 1953, o governador de São Tomé, Carlos Gorgulho, pôs a ilha a ferro e fogo” //Paço A. S. d., ed. Os Anos de Salazar (1952–1953). Vol. 10. Lisboa: Planeta DeAgostini, 2008. P. 64–73.

[5] Rema H. P. História das missões católicas da Guiné. Braga: Franciscana, 1982. P. 856; in Dalila Cabrita Mateus, “Conflitos …”, op. cit. P. 180.

[6] Cabral A. Textos políticos. Porto: Afrontamento, 1974. P. 11.

[7] Mateus D. C. “Conflitos Sociais…”. P. 183.

[8] Cabral A. Textos políticos. P. 47.

[9] Cited in Varela R. A Revolução dos Cravos em Oeiras. Lisboa: Parsifal, 2019. P. 77.

[10] Cited in Varela R., Pereira L. B. História do Povo da Madeira no 25 de Abril. Lisboa: Parsifal, 2017.

[11] Cited in De Pé Sobre a História: O Mundo do Trabalho RTP. URL: https://www.rtp.pt/programa/tv/p45602.

[12] Cited in Varela R. Uma Revolução na Saúde: História do Serviço Médico à Periferia, 1974–1982. Vila Nova de Famalicão: Húmus, 2020.

[13] Cited in Varela R. A Revolução dos Cravos…

[14]Cited in Varela R. Uma Revolução na Saúde…

[15] Rodrigues F. M., ed. O futuro era agora… [Prefacio].

[16] Boggs C. “Marxism, Prefigurative Communism, and the Problem of Workers’ Control”// Radical America 11.6. P. 99–122; Idem. “Revolutionary Process, Political Strategy, and the Dilemma of Power” // Theory & Society 4.3. P. 359–393.

[17] Patriarca F. “Controlo operário em Portugal (I)” // Análise social 12.47, 1976. P. 765–816; Eadem. “Controlo operário em Portugal (II)” //Análise social 12.48, 1976. P. 1049–1146.

[18] Cunhal Á. A Verdade e a Mentira na Revolução de Abril (a contra-revolução confessa-se). Lisboa: Edições “Avante!”, 1999; “Uma curva difícil e perigosa” // Jornal “Avante!”, 30 novembro 1975.

[19] Sánchez Cervelló J. A revolução portuguesa e a sua influência na transição espanhola (1961–1976). Lisboa: Assirio & Alvim, 1993; Carrilo-Linares A. Subversivos y malditos en la Universidad de Sevilla (1965–1971). Sevilla: Centro de Estudios Andaluces, 2008.

[20] Goldner L. Ubu Saved from Drowning: Class Struggle and Statist Containment in Portugal and Spain, 1974–1977. Cambridge: Queequeg Publications, 2000; Arcary V. “Quando o futuro era agora. Trinta anos da revolução portuguesa” // Revista Outubro 11, 2004. P. 71–92.

[21] Eanes A. R. No 2.º aniversário do 25 de Novembro: discurso proferido em Tancos pelo Presidente da República, general Ramalho Eanes, ao comemorar-se aquela efeméride. Lisboa: Secretaria de Estado da Comunicação Social, Direcção-Geral da Divulgação, 1978. P. 10.

[22] Souza Santos B. d. “A Crise e a Reconstituição do Estado em Portugal (1974–1984)” //Revista Crítica de Ciências Sociais 14, 1984. P. 7–29.

[23] Rosas F. Pensamento e acção política: Portugal século XX (1890–1976). Lisboa: Editorial Notícias, 2004.

[24] Pinto A. C. “Political Purges and State Crisis in Portugal’s Transition to Democracy 1975–1976” // Journal of Contemporary History 43.2, 2008. P. 305–332; Idem. “Abril e o Futuro” // Diário de Notícias, abril 2004.

[25] Varela R. “O impacto da revolução portuguesa de 1974–1975 no PSOE visto através de ‘El Socialista’” //Ler História 57, 2009. P. 111–124.

‍