Portugal’s ‘liberalism’ hype is a perfect irony: in a country that can’t even decide what to have for dinner, we’ve suddenly decide to embrace the ideology of individual choice. When examined closely, our version of freedom breaks down into three stages of decay.
First, we have the Freedom to Forget: this is the most common form, and consists of the talent for looking the other way when it comes to the past, and treat history as a fine that has already expired.
Next up is our Freedom to Consume: the ability to trade the country’s future for a television bought in installments, where democracy is measured by screen size rather than by depth of thought.
Finally, we have the Freedom to Give Up. It is the purest and most heartwarming freedom we possess. It’s the right to sit by the sea watching the country melt away, with the dignity of those who no longer expect anything from anyone.
It’s not a surrender; it’s a luxury. It’s the freedom of someone who has realised that, once the cage door has been opened, the little bird prefers to stay inside gazing at the sky, just so it doesn’t have to learn to fly all over again.