War memory: A developing field

2In terms of studies concerning specific national contexts, the works of F. Lorenz and M. Evans, just to cite these examples, illuminate the difficult questions arising from armed conflicts which are not collectively recognised within their societies. Indeed, the deliberate use of forgetting and sometimes distorting is not exclusive to the Portuguese colonial conflict. The same applies, for instance, to the war fought by the British colonial state against the Mau Mau guerrillas of Kenya during 1952-60 (Kershaw 1997). Similarly, in writing about the Malvinas war (1982), F. Lorenz tells us about a nation which is not comfortable with its veterans (Lorenz 1999: 95-112, 2002, 2003). Likewise, M. Evans states that the Algerian War (1954-1962) “for many years has been a taboo subject in France”, thus stressing his wish as a historian to “recover a neglected history” (Alexander et al. 2002: 3; 12). Like in Portugal, in the French case the general memory of the colonial war is not positive and is profoundly divisive. Veterans” memories have not been systematically affirmed by public rituals of remembrance, with consequences for individual war memories and their expression.

3According to G. Dawson et al., in these societies “an attempt to come to terms with a traumatic past” (Dawson et al. 1999: 11) can be found regarding the colonial conflicts. Very often this process is accompanied by public and official amnesia. As K. Plummer stresses, memory starts to be seen much more as a “socially shared experience” (Plummer 2001: 235), and much less as an individual psychological phenomenon. Wars enter people”s cultural memory when those who have an individual memory of war want to pass it on to their society. Therefore, the political and socio-historical context where individual memories exist is instrumental in this process of integration. In this sense, public amnesia and official marginalisation can silence individual memory due to the fact that there is no environment favourable to remembering.

4In this context, oral history is a way of challenging and also explaining the silence, as well as of offering recognition. In my oral history practice, I aim at an explanation of this silence and its effects, whilst at the same time recovering taboo memories.

5In fact, many veterans still do not talk because their memories are traumatic, or are afraid of the possible repercussions of telling what they did in the past. In this sense, public silence is, in some instances, sustained by a psychological reluctance to talk on the part of some ex-combatants, and thus certain types of memories remain private and unassimilated. Breaking the silence, those who talk are in search of “a past… [they] can live with”, both individually and as members of a society, in a continual memory-making process of “composure”, as argued by A. Thomson (1994: 8-9). Therefore, both personal memories and personal narratives evolve over time as a result of composure, through which the veterans try to find memories they feel reasonably comfortable with, being aware of and affected by the public to whom the narratives are expressed (Roper 2000: 181-204). In this process, available cultural narratives – other veterans” memories, books, television, war veterans” campaigns, and similar – contribute to the personal narrative. These two postures adopted by the veterans – talking or remaining silent – symbolise a split between a desire to forget about a traumatic past and a necessity to link personal memory and historical memory.

The Public Memory of the Portuguese Colonial War (1961-1974)

7Despite the strong oppression felt under the dictatorial regime, considerably large sections of Portuguese society were against the colonial war. Although in the majority of cases this opposition was not clearly expressed, many individuals found ways of manifesting their disagreement with the conflict. This is noted by A. Pinto, who stresses that

“even though the social impact [of the war], which translated into an increasingly anti-war public opinion, is hard to reconstruct given the dictatorial nature of the political system in force in Portugal at the time, the war and its parade of violence marked Portuguese society in a long lasting way” (Pinto 2001: 48).

Initially, in 1961 when the conflict started in Angola, there was a widespread conception that accepted – although with some variation – that Portugal and its colonies formed a political unity: a common motherland. The regime amply used this notion in its propaganda in favour of an immediate armed action against the so-called “terrorists”. “Para Angola, rapidamente e em força” (“To Angola, quickly and massively”) was the motto, and brutal images of mutilated Portuguese settlers were shown in the Portuguese media. The initial reaction was one of defence of the colonial territories. In the words of one of my respondents:

• 12  L. José interviewed by Ângela Campos in Viana do Castelo, Portugal, July 2007.

“[…] people thought that we had, indeed, every right to our colonies […] and maybe we didn’t find it such an absurdity to go there and defend, sacrifice ourselves […] for the motherland. […] generally, people thought it was a fair war.”12

However, from the beginning of the war, and unlike what the official propaganda stated, anti-war positions were expressed in Portuguese society. The dissenting voice of the Portuguese Communist Party warned, as early as December 1961, that the colonial wars that would ensue would be a “national disaster for the Portuguese people” (Bebiano 2002 : 293-313). Besides this political party, which manifested its anti-war views from the first moment, the anti-colonial feeling was also significantly strong within University students. Indeed, after a number of student actions and strikes in 1962, the colonial cause rapidly began to lose adherents. The number of dead and wounded became more visible and many chose to leave the country before conscription. This is stressed by R. Bebiano:

• 13  Quoting Estado-Maior do Exército 1988: 254-270.

“The flux of youngsters fleeing incorporation in the army and mobilisation for the colonial war was indeed amazing, without any resemblance to what happened then in the other European states: in 1961 the percentage of absentees was 11.6%, in 62 it had already increased to 12.8%, in 1963 reached 15.6%, in 1964 had risen to 16.5%, between 1965 and 1968 was around 19%, and between 70 and 72 stayed very close to 21% ( Ibid.: 302).”13

Nonetheless, most young men of military age chose to comply with military service. There were some constraints to be taken into account:

• 14  B. António interviewed by Ângela Campos in Campo Maior, Portugal, July 2007.

“I thought of that [running away], but where would I go to ? I didn’t have anyone, didn’t have any money […] I risked it, like many others, in good faith, in defence of darling motherland […] people were afraid of taking chances at risk of being caught.”14

Those who refused to comply with military service, instead of deserting, would rather miss the inspection, a procedure associated with the authorities’ decision on whether an individual would or would not leave the country (Martelo 2001).

9Certain groups expressed these views in a more active and sometimes radical manner. Some examples, just to cite a few, were: FPLN, Frente Patriótica de Libertação Nacional (Patriotic Front of National Liberation) – created in 1962, one of the main aspects of its propaganda was the opposition to the war; LUAR, Liga de União e Acção Revolucionária (League of Revolutionary Unity and Action), was created in 1967; in 1970, emerged ARA, Acção Revolucionária Armada (Armed Revolutionary Action) – the Communist Party”s armed branch that supported the fight against fascism and the colonial war; MRPP, Movimento Reorganizativo do Partido do Proletariado (Reorganising Movement of the Labouring Class Party) appeared in 1970; the BR, Brigadas Revolucionárias (Revolutionary Brigades) arise in 1972, and in 1973 the CLAC, Comités de Luta Anticolonial e Anti-Imperialista (Committees of Anticolonial and Anti-Imperialistic Struggle).

10As R. Bebiano points out, some of the left-wing struggles also involved cultural tools like the literary production of the 1960s (Fernando Assis Pacheco and Manuel Alegre, for example) and the famous intervention songs about the war, which were powerful yet veiled weapons against the regime”s colonial policy. The songs of José Afonso, for instance, influenced anti-war positions both in the streets and in the barracks and became an icon of the resistance against the dictatorial regime. Indeed,

11All this approach of an important sector of Portuguese society to anti-war resistance and defence of independence conceptions was thus aroused and stimulated, in the domain of political practice and cultural activity, by the different oppositions to the left of the regime (Bebiano 2002: 47).

12Apart from the militant efforts of the left, some Catholic activists organised anti-war demonstrations, debates and vigils and seemed to become increasingly keen on mobilising people’s consciences against the colonial conflict. These pro-peace actions, although rather passive and careful not to politically provoke the regime in a direct way, were particularly effective in the late 60s and early 70s; the vigil of Capela do Rato, in Lisbon, on the 31^st December 1972 being a great example of protest against the war (ibid.: 40-47).

14Although the student actions and the Armed Forces’ dissatisfaction in the early 70s may, perhaps, be considered the most visible face of Portuguese society’s opposition, the variety of combined actions and manifested views mentioned above had a notable impact on the public opinion about the continuation of the colonial war. They encompassed geographic areas and social sectors that, although probably not supporting these movements actively, became more understanding of the reasons evoked by the latter and thus diverged more from the official propaganda concerning this matter.

• 22  T. José interviewed by Ângela Campos, in Porto, Portugal, July 2007.

“[…] politically, perhaps we were there because we were defending the motherland, because Salazar said so […] we knew little about what the colonial war was […] and I, to a certain extent, completely unaware of what was going on, was perhaps one of those who said ‘of course, we have to go’; later, after being there, I realised things were not quite like that.“22

• 23  F. António interviewed by Ângela Campos, in Valença, Portugal, July 2007.

“[…]we were aware that we were doing nothing there […] I never saw a soldier fighting with the aim of winning the war.“23

To a great extent, the feeling that this war had no purpose led to the 1974 revolution. In fact, on 25 April 1974 a democratic revolution put an end to almost fifty years of fascism, virtually incarnated in the figure of Oliveira Salazar (1889-1969), and to the colonial war. The Forças Armadas played the leading role in the revolution – the same armed forces that had been fighting in Africa until then. From 1974 on, their image is almost exclusively associated with the democratic revolution. About their participation in the colonial conflict there seems to be a persisting silence. In the words of an officer:

• 24  P. António interviewed by Ângela Campos in Paço de Arcos, Portugal, August 2007.

“[…] the military should acknowledge that they were the most responsible for maintaining that regime […] we should admit that we collaborated in a dictatorial process.24”

Indeed, according to one of the ex-combatants interviewed:

• 25  L. José interviewed by Ângela Campos in Viana do Castelo, Portugal, July 2007.

“So if the war happened at the time of fascism […] we can’t run away from it, we can’t run away from that reality – fascism, old regime, the war happened at that time.25”

16According to the principles of the old regime, the end of the war was a shameful betrayal and meant the loss of national territory. The new democratic Portugal accepted the right to independence of the former colonies, and presented the war as a waste of time, resources and human lives. The official post-1974 discourse tends to follow this last view and put the colonial war into the context of fascism, therefore placing a major emphasis on the democratic revolution.

17However, these two views are not clearly demarcated and tend to cohabit. They reveal divided individuals, and a divided society in which there is no real national unity around the cultural memory of the war. This is a personal, social and political scar. It is not comfortable to deal with Portugal’s dictatorial past and the collapse of its empire. In this context, the men who fought for it are a source of embarrassment. Quoting the words of M. Evans on the French Algerian war veterans, the ex-combatants “quickly became untidy reminders of outdated colonial values” (Evans et al. 1997: 75). They remind civilian society of that particular past.

18The fact that my research aims at an evaluation of the colonial wars in terms of its social memory places me, as a researcher, before an inescapable reality: this memory has been, for nearly three decades, either rejected or ignored in Portugal, both officially and individually. The representations of the conflict have been, especially in the immediate postwar period, very scarce, if not at all nonexistent. The country has been perhaps too committed to its democratic and European integration to reflect on its recent past. Indeed, the colonial wars have been a subject avoided by Portuguese contemporary history, something Portugal seems to be ashamed of and willing to forget. Quoting P. de Medeiros, one can even speak of a state of “collective amnesia”, an “inability to address the effects of the colonial war on the nation” (Medeiros 2000: 202).

• 32  S. Abílio interviewed by Ângela Campos in Pontinha, Portugal, in March 2006.

“History exists so that Humanity can see it, study it, rethink it so that later one can do better, differently, or even to do justice; not here […] here people try to forget, bury everything that happened in the colonial war, everything.”32

Nonetheless, a greater mobilisation of war veterans’ associations, a growing number of ex-combatants who have now retired and have initiated in many cases a life review process, and even some signs of governmental attention concerning these matters have recently contributed to a visible shift in terms of how the colonial conflict and its former combatants are perceived. Indeed, in a case like this, where a society has consistently refused to remember, many war veterans have been trying to bring their memories into the public domain and are creating a “listening space” (Dawson et al. 1999: 10) where the topic can be talked about more openly. For instance, 2004, the 30^th anniversary of the 1974 revolution, was a prolific year in terms of bringing the colonial war and the ex-combatants into the open. There was substantial news coverage of war veterans’ meetings and other activities, and the press manifested an interest in their stories. This supports the idea that, even if – quoting T. Ashplant et al.; – a community’s sense of shame can block “the transformation of individual into shared/common memories” (Ashplant et al. 2004: 19), it can also spur a remembering that is sectional or oppositional to silence. This is particularly true of the Portuguese case now that the activity of smaller groups and publics made it possible to reach a wider audience and gain some cultural and political visibility. Indeed, if some resent their absence from public remembrance but remain silent, others strive to find alternative forms of remembrance, just like in the case of French veterans described by M. Evans (1997: 75-76).

• 36  S. Carlos interviewed by Ângela Campos in Abrantes, Portugal, August 2007.

“They want to see us all dead to get rid of this […] so that they get rid of these burdens, we are the burdens for this country, this community […] within ten, fifteen, twenty years everything will be over.”36

• 37  O. Manuel interviewed by Ângela Campos in Costa de Caparica, Portugal, March 2006.

“[…] there was nothing, neither on the part of the State nor the military or social assistance, no one cared, no one called to ask how I was reacting, no one paid attention to the wives, nothing, nothing, it was over; it was over, we were used, the shirt is worn, throw it away […] I feel like a used part.”37

There seems to be a dual concept of “recognition”: a public acceptance of the ex-combatants” war experiences and the claim for material compensation. Although the two realities are strongly interrelated, this latter aspect of social justice is fundamental within the Portuguese context. These ex-combatants demand:

• 38  B. António interviewed by Ângela Campos in Campo Maior, Portugal, July 2007.

“that they should look at us through different eyes […] with humanity; they used us and threw us away as if we were something one throws in a rubbish bin […] the politicians should have the good judgement of looking at us with other dignity, with other insight that’s been lacking so far. For thirty long years I have been listening to very beautiful speeches […] was it worthwhile ? […] is that the compensation I receive?”38

27Relatives, comrades and veterans’ associations provide some kind of social support. Currently, there are over ten war veterans’ associations in Portugal, some of them operating locally. They organise meetings and other periodic activities. These gatherings are becoming more popular and better advertised since the last decade. In this particular public, the veterans are able to find recognition and affirmation.

28Nowadays, the war in itself is not the strict taboo it used to be, and the subject is mentioned much more often. Indeed, in the last five years there have been an increasing number of publications on the colonial war (including novels, war memories, autobiographies, magazines); the same applies to exhibitions, colloquiums, documentaries, TV programs, films, and other similar cultural forms, as stressed earlier. Likewise, the last few years witnessed the nationwide emergence of a profusion of monuments, memorials, plaques, and other commemorative events related to the colonial wars and their ex-combatants.

• 46  R. Bento interviewed by Ângela Campos in Lisbon, Portugal, March 2006.

“The fact is that I killed people, do you understand? I killed […] but I killed to avoid being killed and feel anguished about that, do you understand? I feel anguished […] I don’t feel at ease with myself. “46

30Oral history, being a method that creates its own documents, in the present, highlights the fact that the voices of those who are willing to speak about the past are vital to history (and to the community in general). In this context, the selective process of representation of the facts (at the same time individual and collective), and not the facts in themselves, is what really matters.

Interviewing War Veterans of the Portuguese Colonial War

31My sample of about seventy ex-combatants comprises veterans of different age and class groups, location, educational backgrounds, military rank, different areas of fighting and periods of conflict, and other situations. My research seeks a greater understanding of the ways in which the colonial war is remembered and understood by the ones who fought it, beyond any negative connotations attributed to the conflict. In cases like this, the importance of oral history resides in recovering hidden histories within a national history; and, in this context, creating new ways in which the colonial conflict is remembered and viewed, paving the way for historical reflection. Many of my respondents are aware of this situation, and express themselves in very clear terms, as can be seen from this example:

• 49  M. Alfredo interviewed by Ângela Campos in Porto, Portugal, December 2004.

“[…] as long as there is a shame of facing things straightforwardly – it’s almost as if we have committed a crime in having been in the Ultramar; then in that case, how is it like that 800,000 […] were so criminal to the point […] of being forgotten? […] the fact that we have been there, one can’t do anything about it; we were there, like it or not, want it or not; we were there […] fulfilling duty […] in truth, it would be a question […] of facing things, […] they exist and we can’t go on – denying them, isn’t it?“49

32Methodologically, this option poses the researcher a question related to interviewing individuals suffering from trauma. Often, rather difficult recollections come to the surface and, as an interviewer, I have to be prepared to deal with this kind of situation in an effective way. I must also be prepared to listen to – and respect – controversial opinions which do not coincide with my personal views (e.g. racist comments, defence of fascism, and so on). Above all, I believe that it is fundamental to maintain an impartial approach that will ensure the well-being and integrity of both interviewee and interviewer, and no research agenda is more important than that. This principle applies to the interview situation and to its future consequences for both participants, and psychological support must be sought whenever necessary. In effect, I already know how emphatic the relationship interviewer-interviewee may become, for instance in that I have recurrent nightmares of battlefields and violent war episodes profusely described to me by the interviewees.

33Another issue to be considered is the fact that in Portugal this topic is met with reticence by many ex-combatants, mainly due to its strong political implications. Thus, I have already encountered some reserve and cautiousness in the way my questions are answered – or not. Discontent and anger at the lack of public recognition, material claims and even personal issues are often expressed too. Of course, these aspects affect the testimonies collected. A great number of these ex-combatants are trying to come to terms with their past and prefer to remain silent about certain topics. Also, some respondents are not very familiar with the oral history approach to historical research and think they have nothing “important” to say. I have even been spoken to in insulting terms, learning that oral history is “useless talk” and I should be doing “real history” through reading “good” books and then listening to the advice of the “right” people.

• 53  F. Manuel interviewed by Ângela Campos in Caldas da Rainha, Portugal, August 2007.

“So far there hasn’t been a plausible explanation about what were effectively the motives of that war […] so far history of that period hasn’t been done and I think too much time is going by.”53

My research on this topic has been revealing a group – not just isolated individuals – in search of a space where memories can be told and acknowledged. Many of these men, mostly in their fifties and sixties, feeling that their war memories have not been affirmed by public rituals of remembrance, demand recognition. They want to speak, but, above all, they want society to speak to them, or at least admit their presence within itself. The need to tell the story is urgent – especially because the huge majority of them have never been granted that opportunity –, and gives voice to common concerns:

• 54  M. Alfredo interviewed by Ângela Campos in Porto, Portugal, December 2004.

“[…] what we were told was that we went to defend the motherland. […] why does the motherland today reject me, why does that same motherland that sent me to fight for her, today, thirty years later, say to me: “I don’t even know you, I don’t even want to speak about you […]”54

• 56  P. Eduardo interviewed by Ângela Campos in Seixal, Portugal, July 2007.

“horrible and unjust colonial war […] we should feel ashamed of having been in that war; not today […] with a greater distance in years […] I can’t think bad about a soldier who […] says he is proud of having served the motherland.“56

38Like many others, one of my interviewees summarises his position in this way:

• 70 L. José interviewed by Ângela Campos in Porto, Portugal, July 2007.

“I don’t feel honoured for having participated in a war like that, I don’t feel ashamed for having been there […] I acknowledge my presence in […] a war that I consider unfair, but in which I was forced to participate […] I was there because I was forced to.“70

39My training as a historian enables me to perceive silent gaps within Portuguese contemporary history, a reality I am well acquainted with. To a great extent, I feel identified with the questions affecting the interviewees. Not on a personal level, but as a member of that same society these ex-combatants are talking about.

40There certainly is in Portugal an unsolved trauma – contradictory, complex – surrounding the colonial war. The researcher is unable to solve a national trauma. However, this does not mean that the oral historian is doomed to the passive role of the observer. I thoroughly agree with F. Lorenz (in Dawson et al. 1999: 95-112) when he stresses the importance of oral history as a means to study and show the origins of individual and social traumas. In this sense, I consider that oral history may work as social therapy against forgetting. In fact, studying social myths through the collection and interpretation of personal testimonies is an important step towards awareness and remembrance.

41Apart from this aspect, I also believe it is a political statement. I agree with P. Thompson: all history has its social purpose and, thus, a political one (Thompson 2000). Indeed, I found myself making a political decision by choosing this research topic in the sense that I am acting as a mediator for a largely marginalized group’s history. In Portugal, this choice places me under a subtle political burden. Just like the ex-combatants who are willing to talk, I chose to challenge the official indifference. As an interviewer and researcher, I cannot help feeling somehow engaged in the ex-combatants’ fight for recognition. By listening to each ex-combatant’s story, I am in a way positioning myself on their side, there is almost an implicit complicity. In this process, together, in every interview, we are creating, to cite R. Grele, a “historical narrative” (Grele 1991: 213) with a given meaning. In every interview, a different voice speaks, and with each voice different perceptions arise: they stem from different experiences – both negative and positive –, backgrounds, geographical location, time period, personal sensitivity and such. These different voices create a rich composite portrait of the diversity of war memories – in other words, what that experience really meant for those who took part in it.

42Where overcoming silence may prove to be difficult or impossible, oral history can mean an alternative way in which history about the colonial conflict is written and learnt. When giving personal testimony its due importance, oral historians keep memory alive and enable dialogue. This is instrumental in the process of social exorcism: eventually, an integration of experience (individual and, consequently, also collective) occurs.

44September 2006, January 2008