Hugo woke up and pulled open the blinds. A message from his boss was already waiting: that day he’d be working three extra hours, added to the company’s “time bank.” The year was nearing its end, and he still hadn’t fulfilled the 150 overtime hours the company had approved—without the workers’ explicit consent. Anyone who refuses already knows the answer: the door is always there.

Downstairs, Rosário had not slept at all. She chewed her nails to the skin, rehearsing what she might say in the job interview scheduled for two hours later. An opportunity—rare these days. A temporary contract, no benefits, and the possibility of being terminated halfway through, at the employer’s discretion. But Rosário was just entering the job market; her choices were limited to offers like this. That, or something close to servitude. And so she gnawed at her fingers, unsure which form of suffering was easier to endure.

Across the city, in a small house with a sagging roof and damp creeping down the walls, the Esteves couple argued loudly. Carla had just discovered that Luís had been fired—and had told her nothing. When confronted, he broke down. The company had changed its internal policy. He had been replaced by a computer. They even told him it was for “just cause.” Carla refused to believe it. This couldn’t be real. They didn’t live in a world this inhuman… did they?

That morning arrived in Portugal without subtlety. It came draped in gray clouds and wrapped in policy packages presented by Spinumviva, validated by allies who are no longer of the center—nor, it seems, of anything resembling Christian values. Not to mention the fervent followers of Milei-style economics, ready to reduce human lives to abstract numbers in order to justify exploitation. And, sitting quietly in the shadows, applauding, were the merchants of hate—the self-proclaimed strongmen who let the carnation loosen and wither in their hands.

They call it, euphemistically, a “labor package.” A marketing phrase, no doubt polished by consultants with future ambitions of power. In truth, it is a slow bleeding of the people. A final assault on rights won more than fifty years ago—won with struggle, with sacrifice, with fire. It is a trap, and a forewarning of what remains for Portugal’s working and middle classes. Prime Minister Montenegro appears ready to sign this agreement with the great powers of business—so long as it secures him a seat at their table in the years to come. A miserable pact, echoing the words of others who treat revolution as if it were a toy.

When we mark the anniversaries that come around this time of year, it is not about candles and empty smiles. To honor April 25—and above all, May 1—is to take the struggle to the streets. The country stands on the brink of waking up to longer working hours and fewer rights for its laboring class. Blindness now is a choice. They are using this moment to dismantle what remains of organized labor. And blindness persists in those who still refuse to see it.

We may be pushed to fall, but we are not obliged to stay down.

Stand together—this year, and whenever it is necessary. March to the doors of ministers. Do not fall silent before extremists or employers. We are human beings. Women and men with rights. Make them confront the truth they fear most: the people are sovereign.

And the people are hungry—to live.

Alexandra Manes is from Flores Island but lives on Terceira Island in the Azores. She is a regular contributor to several Azorean newspapers, a political and cultural activist, and has served in the Azorean Parliament.

NOVIDADES will feature occasional opinion pieces from leading thinkers and writers in the Azores, providing the diaspora and those interested in the current state of the Azores with a sense of the significant perspectives on some of the archipelago’s issues.

Translated to English as a community outreach program from the Portuguese Beyond Borders Institute (PBBI) and the Modern and Classical Languages and Literatures Department (MCLL).