“It all began with men and women who arrived carrying little more than longing and resilience.
A century later, their grandchildren continue to raise invisible bridges between oceans,
proving that certain homelands belong not merely to geography,
but to the persistence of human memory.”

There are geographic regions on maps. And there are geographies that exist in the soul of a people.

The southern San Joaquin Valley belongs to that second cartography — a landscape shaped not only by California’s fertile soil, but also by the Atlantic memory of men and women who began to arrive here in the final decades of the nineteenth century, carrying in their pockets little more than hope, resilience, and the ancient discipline of the sea. They came primarily from the Azores, though also from mainland Portugal and Madeira, crossing oceans to discover in this valley an improbable continuation of the islands they had left behind.

And what they built deserves, at long last, to be understood in its true dimension.  For this is not merely a story of immigration.  It is a story of communal civilization.

Over the course of more than a century, Portuguese immigrants and their descendants became an inseparable part of the agricultural, economic, social, and cultural structure of Central California. From dairies to vineyards, from orchards to livestock operations, from agricultural cooperatives to family-owned businesses, there exists a quiet, persistent, and deeply influential Portuguese presence in the making of what today feeds not only California or the United States, but much of the world itself.

There is something profoundly symbolic in the fact that descendants of humble Azorean farmers helped transform the San Joaquin Valley into one of the most productive agricultural regions on earth. Here, milk, cheese, almonds, citrus, grapes, olives, vegetables, and fruits are cultivated and shipped across continents. Here, the American table — and often the world’s table — continues to be sustained by the invisible labor of communities that learned early on that the land responds neither to pride nor vanity, but only to perseverance.

Yet perhaps the greatest monument to this Portuguese presence does not lie solely in the agricultural fields. It also lies in its institutions.

From Tulare to Visalia, from Hanford to Lemoore, from Stratford to Selma, from Tipton to Riverdale, Laton, Easton, and so many other communities throughout the southern Valley, century-old Portuguese organizations arose over generations, representing one of the most extraordinary examples of associative and communal construction within the contemporary Portuguese diaspora. And there is one essential detail that must never be forgotten: all of it was built without financial support from Portugal.

Halls, parks, social clubs, communal kitchens, philharmonic bands, cultural spaces, Holy Spirit societies, recreational centers, and religious and fraternal institutions were born from the calloused hands of agricultural laborers and their families. Men and women who worked endless days in the California fields and returned at night to organize festivals, cook sopas, sell raffle tickets, raise walls, purchase land, and build institutions intended not for themselves, but for generations yet unborn.

The SPDES – Sociedade Portuguesa do Divino Espírito Santo de Tipton, where we gather today, symbolizes precisely that human epic. More than a century old, it represents far more than a simple space for religious or cultural celebration. It stands as living proof that an immigrant community can build enduring, economically stable, and socially relevant institutions without losing its soul.

Here, tradition does not live imprisoned inside nostalgia.

Here, the Holy Spirit continues to function as a communal language capable of uniting generations profoundly different from one another: farmers, business owners, university professors, technology students, artists, local politicians, field workers, and young people who may already speak English as their first language, yet still recognize within that space something fundamentally their own.

And it is precisely here that Portugal must begin to look at its communities differently.

Today, much is said about a “new Portugal.” And it is true that Portugal has changed. It has become more urban, technological, cosmopolitan, European, digital, and globalized. Yet this new Portugal cannot be built while ignoring the new realities of its diaspora communities. It cannot continue viewing emigrants and their descendants merely as sentimental memories of a rural or folkloric past.  Because the communities themselves have also changed.

The Portuguese diaspora in the United States is no longer composed solely of a one-industry workforce. Today we find Portuguese descendants in universities, technology companies, media organizations, scientific research, public administration, the arts, entrepreneurship, cinema, literature, medicine, and digital innovation. There is an extraordinary economic, academic, technological, and cultural potential here that remains largely unknown in Portugal.

And perhaps that is what is most striking of all: the mutual unfamiliarity.

Portugal knows little of this reality. And many of these communities, in turn, grew up feeling that Portugal rarely listened to them in any meaningful way. For decades, the diaspora was spoken of almost exclusively in ceremonial, nostalgic, or electoral tones, but seldom as a genuine strategic partner in Portugal’s future.

The future demands another vision.

New technologies now offer instruments of connection that previous generations could never have imagined. Digital archives, bilingual cultural platforms, online literary journals, documentaries, podcasts, transatlantic academic projects, digitization of historical collections, and artificial intelligence applied to the preservation of communal memory — all of this has the power to radically transform the relationship between Portugal and its communities scattered across the world.

The heritage of this diaspora urgently needs to be archived, studied, and preserved. Old photographs, community newspapers, association records, oral histories, philharmonic bands, religious traditions, culinary practices, folk poetry, immigration stories, and agricultural experiences constitute a human and cultural heritage of infinite value.

And then there is the language.

The teaching of Portuguese within the American educational system cannot continue to depend exclusively on bureaucratic structures disconnected from local realities. In the American school system, a handful of determined parents can often transform an entire school district. Communities know the school boards, the administrators, the local challenges, and the possible paths forward.  Portugal must support — but not command.

It must be understood that these communities know the terrain far better than any temporary official sent from across the Atlantic. Portugal must learn to stand more often behind the scenes and less often at the center stage. Because the stage belongs to the communities who have lived here for more than a century — communities who know the audience, the streets, the fears, and the possibilities of American society.

That does not signify distance.  It signifies maturity.  It means recognizing that the relationship between Portugal and its diaspora must finally become a true two-way bridge.

Literary translation plays an absolutely essential role here. Many Portuguese descendants no longer fully command the Portuguese language. Yet they remain emotionally tied to their roots. To translate Portuguese and Azorean literature into English is to restore identity to generations that lost the language but never entirely lost their emotional memory. It is to allow young people to rediscover Portugal through literature, poetry, fiction, essays, and human experience, translated into the language of our daily lives in America.

It is this impulse that leads writers such as Sam Pereira, Lara Gularte, Millicent Borges Accardi, Sharon Coleman, Melissa Medeiros, and Melissa Jessen-Hiser , among others, to continue writing about the Portuguese experience that quietly permeates the contemporary American experience.

It is also what leads business leaders such as Randy Ataíde, who has Portuguese roots, to fund scholarships for university business majors who also take language and culture courses.

Almost all of this is born quietly. Without spectacle. Without grand public declarations. Because what these individuals feel is stronger than the vanity of our age.

And perhaps the finest explanation for all of this occurred this week.

One of my former high school students completed his degree in communications and technology at California State University. He bears a profoundly American name: Jones. He descends from Portuguese, Scottish, Irish, and other heritages that define contemporary America. His Portuguese world reaches him through his grandmother, who was born in the United States. Perhaps only twenty percent of his blood is Portuguese. Fourth generation. The Azorean emigrant ancestor arrived here more than a century ago.

Yet on the day of his graduation ceremony, among thousands of students, he chose to place a single symbol upon his academic sash. One flag. The Portuguese flag.  Not of any other country. Not any other ancestral heritage. Only the Portuguese flag.

And within that silent gesture lived a truth that Portugal has not yet fully understood: there exists a new Portuguese world here. Different. More American. At times reduced to a few words inherited from great-grandparents or learned in a brief university course.  But alive. Profoundly alive.

We are hopeful that this visit by Your Excellency, Mr. Secretary of State, will represent a truly historic moment for our diaspora in California and also for Portugal — not merely another ceremonial journey among so many others dissolved quickly by time, but the concrete beginning of a new approach by Portuguese political leadership toward this Pacific coast where, for more than a century, one of the oldest, most resilient, and most creative expressions of Portugueseness beyond the national borders continues to thrive.

We hope it represents precisely that: the beginning of a new chapter, of a genuine bridge through which Portugal finally enters the daily life of its communities and through which those communities themselves become part of Portugal’s daily imagination. A new phase marked by genuine listening, sincere recognition of who we are today, and a deeper understanding of how we may continue contributing to Portugal — economically, culturally, academically, technologically, entrepreneurially, and humanly — while Portugal, in turn, may contribute to the continuity and renewal of this Portuguese-American identity in the twenty-first century.

It is no longer enough to celebrate the past.  We must build the future together.  For the Portugueseness of the twenty-first century no longer fits solely within the geographic borders of Portugal.

It also lives here in the San Joaquin Valley. It lives inside the Holy Spirit halls. It lives within California universities. It lives in literary translations that return Portugal to young people who no longer fully speak the language of their grandparents or great-grandparents. It lives in Portuguese-American writers who continue transforming Azoreanness and Portugueseness into contemporary literature. It lives in entrepreneurs who create scholarships in the name of the Portuguese language. It lives in students who carry the Portuguese flag upon graduation day even when only twenty percent of their blood comes from Portugal.

All of this belongs to the Portuguese continuum.

And perhaps it is precisely for that reason that the words of José Saramago remain so profoundly relevant today when he wrote: “we are the memory we possess and the responsibility we assume.”

The memory exists. It was built by generations of emigrants who raised entire communities while asking for almost nothing in return. Who built churches, associations, halls, parks, and century-old institutions without meaningful financial assistance from Portugal. Who preserved a living cultural identity through faith, festivals, music, solidarity, and communal labor.

But now comes the moment of responsibility.

The responsibility to finally create a modern, mature, and visionary relationship between Portugal and its diaspora. A relationship rooted in genuine listening, intellectual cooperation, academic exchange, technological connection, business opportunities, cultural dialogue, and human recognition. For it would be profoundly tragic if Portugal were to let this historic opportunity slip away.

And because the present moment demands precisely what the generations who built this community always understood how to practice: vision, courage, persistence, and the ability to build lasting bridges across seemingly impossible oceans.

Mr. Secretary of State, welcome to the San Joaquin Valley. Welcome to the Tulare/Tipton area.  Welcome to the SPDES in Tipton.

Together, let us make this a truly historic visit. 

Diniz Borges