Shortly before his death, José Saramago gave an interview in which he spoke of an incident that may have inspired the final novel he began but never lived to complete. The episode took place during the Spanish Civil War, when a mortar shell landed on Spanish soil but failed to explode. From that moment, an entire imaginary world was born around what appeared to be a simple act. For the Nobel laureate, one of the towering figures of Portuguese literature, the bomb had failed to fulfill its deadly purpose because, somewhere along the assembly line, a worker had fulfilled a different kind of duty: he had refused to feed the machinery of war. Instead, he had left a note, written in Portuguese, bearing these words: “This bomb will not explode.”
For Saramago, it was a fascinating act of defiance, one that led him toward a novel about the arms industry, the afflictions of contemporary life in the twenty-first century, and the quiet stirrings of new revolutions—revolutions without bloodshed, yet sustained by resistance. Saramago embarked upon a literary journey through our bloodstained connection to the Spanish Civil War, a journey that led him to the celebrated Braço de Prata Factory, now transformed into a multicultural space in a revitalized district of Lisbon, where a glass of beer is sold at a price measured against the wages once earned by the laborers who worked within those walls.
The story of the “bomb that will not explode” is told through the figure of an anonymous worker who, mysteriously, refused to carry out his assigned task of filling a projectile with the poison of death. Today, Generation Z might call it “quiet quitting.” These are small acts of revolution, carried out by countless individuals in their workplaces, acts of resistance against the sinister figures who wield power over our lives. Individual revolutions, so often silent and unrecognized, that help introduce the necessary grains of sand into the gears of the machine.
In countries where a new fascism has already taken hold, as is the case in the United States, we encounter such acts of resistance. The powerful lords of feudal technocracy desperately seek ways to corner these champions of justice, whose only rebellion is to refrain from performing work that would bring harm to the world. And they are succeeding, even as Trump’s shock troops march through the streets, secret police pursue email accounts and cellphone communications, and the old, effective networks of informers continue their work—a reflection of that part of humanity whose existence we would rather not acknowledge when we look into the mirror.
Thanks to certain heroines and heroes, we know, for example, that the United States is enslaving its soldiers on the front lines of its manufactured war with Iran. Thanks to these individuals, who continue to rise in quiet rebellion, we have learned of many bombs that have yet to explode. And we urge them to persevere.
Here, too, we know people who engage in such acts. Naturally, I will not list their names or professions. But I can say that I know individuals who have prevented certain bombs from exploding. And I know others who continue, within our own community, to labor in defense of the one thing that may yet save us: the human connections we build each day, with tenderness, affection, and mutual regard.
Such is the work of Ana Rita Rosa, in the mission she has now undertaken through the project “Àquela Uh,” a movement devoted to bringing women together, opening doors within the community, and strengthening the bonds of solidarity and shared experience. It is a project that reflects an extraordinarily generous heart, that of a young woman who sees the world as it is and possesses an unwavering determination to do more, and to do better.
Let these words stand as my testimony of support for Ritinha and for everything she hopes to accomplish on our behalf. And let them also be my message to those whom I know are sitting in their offices, quietly possessing the power to prevent the next bomb from exploding.
Carry on. Keep fighting so that these fascist torches never shine, however dark the night may become. May journalism endure!
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) .