Retelling, half a century since the 25th of April and through the eyes of a black captain serving in the Portuguese military in Mozambique, what went on there, in that immense jungle where the metropolis imagined it was being defended and that Portugal would be able to claim the title of first and last European empire, still and always. Retelling the unbridled rush of those times of rebellion on both sides of the barricade: the rebellion of some for self-determination which just won’t come, and the rebellion of others against a war that just won’t go away, twin rebellions fed by bombs and propaganda, by inhumane massacres and collective oblivions. Retelling the events superimposed in Lisbon, where there is a promise of a “Marcelista” spring that never wished to bloom and was thus overtaken by tanks and carnations and chants and a dawn that is still celebrated today, but which, in its silences, perhaps abandoned, in the scrubland, a black captain, holding his G3, with no discerning country, now that one has become many. Did he win or lose the war? This is a Portuguese, Mozambican, European, African story, a tragedy whose retelling is beyond urgent.

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