At 45 years old, Carlos Dias was elected president of the Parish Council of Rabo de Peixe last October. A native son of the village, long connected to cultural and church movements, he knows its streets, its tensions, and its quiet solidarities. Speaking with Diário da Lagoa, he reflects on why he ran, what he found upon taking office, and why governing a place like Rabo de Peixe demands conscience before spectacle.

DL: What led you to accept the invitation to run for president of the Parish Council of Rabo de Peixe, as an independent supported by the Socialist Party?

It’s actually a funny story. Back in 2013, I was number two on the list led by the current mayor of Ribeira Grande. I served one term and developed a taste for public life. This time, some people challenged me to lead a civic movement. I began looking into what that would require—the costs, the logistics. I had strong support, but I realized that in Rabo de Peixe, a civic movement with all its implications might not be properly understood or embraced. And frankly, I wasn’t in a position to finance it myself.

During the Easter school break, Lurdes Alfinete came to my home. Knowing my interest, she challenged me to run as an independent with the support of the Socialist Party of the Azores. After discussing it with my family, I accepted.

DL: And you don’t regret it?

No. But the first months were particularly hard. I brought home many of the community’s problems with me. In the first week alone, I received families facing eviction—families with children.

DL: Who is issuing these eviction notices?

In many cases, rental contracts are ending and landlords are not renewing them. Some want to sell. Others are settling inheritances. Still others want to convert properties into short-term tourist rentals.

DL: How did people react to your transition—from appearing on a PSD list to running as an independent supported by the Socialists?

There were the usual comments online. But in both cases, I ran as an independent. And when I was invited to head the list for the Parish Council, I made one condition: I would build the list myself. I chose number two; together we chose number three, and so on. Interestingly, many who joined our list had previously appeared on PSD lists. But they identify with our way of doing things, with our ideas. And for a parish council, proximity to people matters more than party labels.

I’ve always felt supported in the street. I’m from here. I live here, I work here. I was a Scout. I’m active in church movements. People responded to that.

DL: Did you believe you could win?

At first, I was cautious. I was running against strong opponents. But as we went door to door, I felt momentum building.

Then, suddenly, near the end of the first campaign week, I sensed something shifting. People stopped walking with us. There were no party flags in the windows. The kids disappeared from the streets. It felt like distance.

But at the ballot box, it wasn’t like that.

DL: Why do you think people pulled back?

Fear. People would tell me privately: “I’m on another list, but I’ll vote for you.” Or, “I can’t be seen with you, but I’ll vote for you.” I felt it strongly. It almost felt like a dictatorship atmosphere. That’s the truth.

DL: What was your reaction when you learned you had won?

Election day was tense. I would actually like to see voting moved away from that location. It’s close to cafés and alcohol, and the atmosphere was charged.

Someone threw a stone at my car. Later, when I brought my mother to vote, I didn’t even get out. I left that afternoon convinced I had lost.

But as results came in, we were leading by 200 votes per table. My initial sadness turned into immense joy. And later that night, at home, came the weight of responsibility.

DL: What did you find when you took office?

We arrived together as a team. There were eight women waiting at the door, convinced we were going to “give away houses.” That says a lot.

We found a parish council with very limited staff. And now we have even fewer. Some employees returned to the municipal government. Others were on temporary employment programs and also left.

We once had four street sweepers, a gardener, and a groundskeeper. Now we have two sweepers, one gardener, and one groundskeeper.

Administratively, the parish once had eight staff members. Now there are three.

DL: Was there resentment behind those changes?

I don’t know. We finished the official transition after business hours, when staff were gone. The next morning, fewer employees were there. Some say they were called back. Others say they left voluntarily. Was it retaliation? I don’t know. What I do know is that when I leave, I will not leave this house the way I found it.

DL: And financially?

Funding arrives monthly. On November 5, we had cents left for fuel and a few euros for social support. Money would come in and immediately be allocated.

That’s why we chose not to invest heavily in Christmas and New Year celebrations. The little money we had went to food assistance.

Supermarket managers were calling me saying, “You need to help this family—they’re buying chicken necks for Christmas dinner.” I could not invest in New Year’s fireworks knowing there were people going hungry. I know I won’t end hunger. But with what little we had, we put food on some tables.

The parish budget is about €800,000. That’s significant. But half of that is pending transfers from contracts with the government and municipality. We had roughly €300,000 in outstanding receivables.

DL: What are your immediate priorities?

Cleanliness was our first signal. In one week alone, we removed 35 truckloads of waste—over 40 including green waste. In two months, we surpassed the environmental performance levels of the previous ten years.

But cleaning is not enough. We must invest heavily in education and pedagogy.

Housing is another critical concern. The parish council alone cannot solve it. We need support from the municipality and the regional government. There’s a €35,000 housing assistance measure announced during the campaign. I hope it moves forward.

There are urgent infrastructure issues: rehabilitating the bandstand, resolving a ten-year-old religious processional structure issue, clarifying the status of a protective wall, and addressing the controversial public restrooms built on a cliff in front of the church. A two-year-old building already suffering leaks and accessibility flaws—this is not the dignity Rabo de Peixe deserves.

We also want to begin identifying a site for a “House of Associations,” a space to host pilgrims, cultural exchanges, scouts, and visiting bands. People ask: doesn’t a large village have space for pilgrims? The truth is, many homes are overcrowded—four or five families sharing one house.

Parking is another daily challenge. The Rosário Street corridor is chronically congested. Lots without surveillance remain empty because people fear vandalism. A bypass may be a solution—but that depends on the regional government.

Carlos Dias speaks not as an ideologue, but as a son of the village navigating its contradictions—between festivity and hardship, infrastructure and dignity, fear and hope. His governing philosophy may be summed up in one stark sentence: You cannot light fireworks while your neighbor is hungry.