Travelling postcolonialism: the case of the Portuguese ‘literatura de retornados’

Travelling postcolonialism: the case of the Portuguese ‘literatura de retornados’

Doris Salcedo, Shibboleth, © Tate Modern, London

Doris Salcedo, Shibboleth, © Tate Modern, London

‘It represents borders, the experience of immigrants, the experience of segregation, the experience of racial hatred. It is the experience of a Third World person coming into the heart of Europe. For example, the space which illegal immigrants occupy is a negative space. And so this piece is a negative space.’ Doris Salcedo in interview Alberge, Dalya. ‘Welcome to Tate Modern’s floor show – it’s 548 foot long and is called Shibboleth’, The Times, 9 October 2007.

‘soft borders are part of the “hardness’’ of borders in the sense that the symbolic power inherent in soft borders helps to “naturalize” hard borders, to produce the effect of taking borders for granted.’

Eder, Klaus (2006) ‘Europe’s Borders: The Narrative Construction of the Boundaries of Europe’. European Journal of Social Theory 9:2: 255–271.

Nuno Coelho, Fortaleza Europa, © Nuno Coelho 2008

Nuno Coelho, Fortaleza Europa, © Nuno Coelho 2008

Nuno Coelho, Fortaleza Europa, © Nuno Coelho 2008

Eduardo Lourenço

19.06.2015

Boaventura Sousa Santos

Dulce Maria Cardoso

‘When I was writing I realized that Rui is the imperative of the verb collapse [‘ruir’]. That was the right name. Because what I saw was the empire collapsing. I watched the monster in its final downfall movement.’ Dulce Maria Cardoso in interview (my translation; Velasco 2012)

‘Portuguese colonialism was the result both of a deficit of colonization-Portugal’s incapacity to colonize efficiently-and an excess of colonization-the fact that the Portuguese colonies were submitted to a double colonization: Portugal’s colonization and, indirectly, the colonization of the core countries (particularly England) of which Portugal was dependent (often in a near colonial way).’ Sousa Santos, Boaventura (2002) ‘Between Prospero and Caliban: Colonialism, Postcolonialism, and Inter-Identity’. Luso-Brazilian Review 2: 9– 43.

Império encaixotado (Boxed Empire), Alfredo Cunha (1974)

‘So the metropolis is this after all’ ‘We went down the stairs of the plane and my sister said, we are in the metropolis. (...) It was weird stepping in the metropolis, it was as if we were entering the map that hung in the classroom. There were places where the map was torn and you could see a dark or dirty fabric behind, a stiff fabric that kept the map whole and taut. (…) it was as if we were entering the torn map, or the photographs in the magazines, the stories mother was always telling, the hymns we sang on Saturday morning in the schoolyard.’ (Cardoso 76-77; my translation) Original version: ‘Descemos as escadas do avião e a minha irmã disse, estamos na metrópole. (…) Foi esquisito pisar na metrópole, era como se estivéssemos a entrar no mapa que estava pendurado na sala de aula. Havia sítios onde o mapa estava rasgado e via-se um tecido escuro ou sujo por trás, um tecido rijo que mantinha o mapa inteiro e teso. (…) era como se estivéssemos a entrar no mapa rasgado, ou então nas fotografias das revistas, nas histórias que a mãe estava sempre a contar, nos hinos que cantávamos aos sábados de manhã no pátio do colégio.’

‘But in the metropolis there are cherries. Large and gleaming cherries girls put on their ears as if they were earrings.’ (Cardoso 7; my translation)

Original version: ‘Mas na metrópole há cerejas. Cerejas grandes e luzidias que as raparigas põem nas orelhas a fazer de brincos.’

‘In the photographs the winter was beautiful, with snow on the eaves, families around the fireplaces, cats playing with wool skeins and children in the parks with colourful hats and gloves. After all the cold is nothing like that, it is people huddled rubbing their hands, people stomping their feet to keep them warm, sad people with pilling sweaters.’ (Cardoso 142; my translation) Original version: ‘Nas fotografias o inverno era bonito, com neve nos beirais dos telhados, famílias à volta das lareiras, gatos a brincarem com novelos de lã e crianças nos parques com gorros e luvas coloridas. Afinal o frio não é nada disso, é gente encolhida a esfregar as mãos, gente a bater com os pés no chão para os aquecer, gente triste com camisolas de borboto.’