A migration policy with memory and humanity

The government appears determined to put its house in order with changes to immigration and nationality laws, but it's important to exercise caution to avoid throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

Firstly, it is good to put the house in order because the country has long demanded concrete and structural solutions to the improvised and easy-going policies promoted by successive socialist governments.

Secondly, it is also good because it takes away space from Chega's inflammatory narrative, which insists on exploiting this issue in a demagogic and even histrionic way, to the point of contradicting itself. It is no longer clear whether its agenda on this issue reflects an actual concern for the immigration problem or whether it merely seeks to opportunistically exploit the impact this issue has on people's concerns.

Let's take this one step at a time. It's unjustifiable that parties that claim to be "patriotic" ignore Portugal's history for the supposed benefit of a populist rhetoric they believe is more profitable. This isn't how politics should be done. And those who follow this path will sooner or later regret it. I believe there's still time to shift gears and embrace effectiveness and coherence, leaving aside the facile rhetoric. After all, true national sentiment shouldn't be built on fear, exclusion, or the denial of our historical identity. It's built with memory, responsibility, and informed pride—not with slogans of the moment.

We mustn't forget that just a few years ago, at the height of the Troika crisis, with the country on the brink of bankruptcy—once again the result of poor political decisions by socialist governments—it was Portuguese-speaking African countries, and Angola in particular, that welcomed thousands of Portuguese workers and national companies. This wasn't a symbolic gesture. It was concrete assistance, with a real impact on the lives of thousands of families.

At that time, many Portuguese found in the PALOP countries what their own country could not offer: work, dignity, and stability. Professionals from various fields—from construction to healthcare, from education to the business sector—were welcomed with open arms by countries that share centuries of history, a common language, and deep cultural ties. This welcome was not only generous. It was fraternal. And at a time when Portugal was fragile, these countries demonstrated a solidarity that will hardly be forgotten by those who experienced it.

Therefore, today, when we see political forces waving banners of closure, distrust, and exclusion—often precisely against citizens from these same countries—it is impossible to remain silent.

It's an inversion of what the true patriotic spirit should be: giving back, recognizing, respecting. Ignoring this collective memory and instrumentalizing the issue of immigration for political purposes is not only ethically wrong but also strategically shortsighted. It cynically erases the recent history of a country that once needed—and will need again—bridges, not walls, between Portuguese speakers.

I'm against the "open bar" policy. I support rules, quotas, control mechanisms, and integration, but this can't mean closing the doors to everything and everyone.

There must be exceptions that respect our history, our ties, and our collective memory. I speak from experience: I lived in Angola, and that connection gives me not only memory but also responsibility. Migration policy cannot be dictated by fear or convenience. It must be based on principles—and among those principles are gratitude, historical justice, and recognition of the deep ties that unite us to many of the people who seek a better life here today.

The government seems intent on demonstrating its determination and sense of purpose. And it's a good thing it does—because it doesn't govern with indifference and "let things go," nor does it lead out of fear of displeasing. Portugal needs firm, clear, and structured responses in an area as sensitive and complex as migration policy. But it's essential that the government resist the temptation to go from one thing to another, avoiding the blind hardening or the logic of shouting, so in vogue in more radical political discourse. Noise doesn't replace thought, nor does hostility solve the challenges of integration, social cohesion, or demographic sustainability. A migration policy modeled on fear or media pressure doesn't serve the country. It serves only the short term—and, often, the worst instincts.

The right balance lies neither in opening everything nor in closing everything. It lies in doing things differently: intelligently, justly, and humanely. We need a migration policy that protects borders, but also the values ​​that define us as a society: human dignity, solidarity, respect for historical commitments, and diversity. An immigration policy that serves the needs of the economy must also serve the goal of prosperity and social cohesion, which involves the successful social integration of immigrants. Now, does anyone ignore the fact that, generally speaking, Portuguese speakers of Portuguese-speaking African-speaking African countries have, from the outset, better prospects for integration than anyone else? So, if that's the case, wouldn't it make sense that they should be treated differently from everyone else?

Being firm means saying "yes" to those who comply and want to contribute, and saying "no" to abuses and schemes. But being fair means understanding that not all cases fit into grids or forms. That there are lives that cannot be summarized in a document, and stories that deserve to be heard with more than a bureaucratic eye. Portugal is a country of emigrants, and we must never forget that. We were—and are—welcomed by many peoples. Therefore, we have a moral obligation to know how to welcome them as well.

To do things differently is, therefore, to govern with lucidity and courage, but also with awareness and compassion. And this is the true test of a state policy: not only its effectiveness, but its humanity.