I have always believed that to speak of the Azores is to talk not only of nine islands in the middle of the Atlantic, but also of the thousands of islands created wherever an Azorean lives. Our history is of movement—of looking beyond the horizon, toward Brazil, the United States, Canada, Bermuda, and elsewhere. Since the 18th century, we’ve cast our lives outward, not seeking escape, but out of necessity and hope. In doing so, we planted ourselves in new soils. And from that dispersal, a rich, complex, and transgenerational identity was born.

Our diaspora doesn’t merely extend the Azores—it expands them. It amplifies and reshapes our region. Açorianidade—cultural citizenship that lives in language, memory, and gesture—is not bound by geography. It crosses generations, languages, and nationalities. As Rui Faria, director of the Azorean Emigrant Museum, put it, wherever an Azorean or their descendant lives, there lies an island, not one of isolation but of exchange and connection.

To speak of Azoreans today is to speak of those who left, often with heavy hearts, in search of a better life. Many left behind everything they held dear and, with courage and labor, built new lives in foreign lands. Their contributions can be traced across North and South America—in working-class neighborhoods and academic institutions, politics and poetry, dairy farms and concert halls. It is nearly impossible to travel across the United States or Canada without encountering the footprint of Azorean presence, or to speak with an Azorean back home who does not have a relative “in the Americas.”

Fortunately, we’ve moved beyond the era when the islands’ economy depended heavily on remittances from abroad, when letters stuffed with dollar bills from New England or California sustained our families. Today, the Azores are becoming a destination, welcoming newcomers from different cultures and backgrounds. I want to believe that the new Azores fully understand their migratory past and how much the centennial experience of emigration shaped us. Without that experience, we would not be the same people or culture.

Therefore, we must see the Azores not only as a peaceful space—a rare treasure in an increasingly aggressive and fractured world—but as a region whose cultural identity has been profoundly marked by the journeys of its children to distant lands. Our literature, music, theater, and visual arts are all infused with diasporic echoes. We are Azoreans in Terceira, Faial, Turlock, Fall River, and Mississauga. We know how to be in the world as if it were our backyard.

Today, Azorean-American communities are no longer defined by longing alone. They are not static places of saudade, but living cultural spaces shaped by resilience, integration, and reinvention. Our diaspora is not a hollow term but a force, a presence. But it must be nurtured, not preserved like a museum relic. We must think about it, invest in it, and build bridges connecting memory to the future.

Across the diaspora, I have witnessed men and women, descendants of volcanic soil, who have contributed enormously to their societies. Alongside the thousands of honest, hardworking laborers who once defined us, we now have artists, professors, doctors, journalists, lawyers, musicians, entrepreneurs, and elected officials who insist on living their Azorean identity every single day. President José Manuel Bolieiro stated during his visit to New England: “We want to develop an ever-stronger relationship with our diaspora.” I deeply believe in this vision—a relationship that acknowledges the richness and diversity of Azorean identity in America, builds on existing momentum, and listens to multiple generations’ voices.

Nearly five decades ago, Onésimo Teotónio Almeida wrote that the Azores are our land in the heart, but our body is here and hurts. That essay remains as timely today as when it was written. We still have taboos to break. In the corridors of government, academic, and cultural institutions, we often default to the familiar, folkloric, and safe. We continue to support the same organizations, events, and paradigms—many of which have lost their resonance.

We must go further if we are serious about redefining the Azorean-diaspora relationship. I have long proposed the creation of a Global Azorean Diaspora Forum—a true think tank with international reach and regional grounding. It should be a space for research, dialogue, creativity, and strategic vision. It should include multiple hubs, including one or more in the Azores. From there, we could pursue many long-discussed goals:

• Develop communication platforms connecting Azoreans globally through panels, debates, and bilingual content.
• Forge stronger partnerships between diaspora associations and academic institutions.
• Promote contemporary Azorean culture through English-subtitled media for younger generations.
• Produce bilingual educational resources on Azorean heritage for North American schools.
• Invest in new technologies and formats to engage second, third, and fourth-generation Azoreans,
• Encourage educational exchanges and city twinnings that link Azorean students with their counterparts abroad,
• Create small-scale investment pathways for Azorean-descended families.
• Launch a transatlantic alliance of writers, poets, and translators to deepen literary exchange.
• Urge elected Azorean-descended officials to advocate for Portuguese programs, community partnerships, and youth opportunities.
• Increase cultural reporting in Azorean and diaspora media that moves beyond stereotypes and nostalgia.
• Establish mentorship networks across professions to help young Azoreans succeed.

These are not magic solutions. As President Bolieiro said, there is no wand. But there are ideas, will, voices, and work. The time for excuses has passed.

Let us be honest: some prefer the comfort of the status quo—a community that sings softly in a minor key. But the next step requires boldness. We need fresh models, new tools, and, above all, a shared commitment. The açorianidade of our time cannot remain frozen in dances and dinners. It must be dynamic, intellectual, and profoundly inclusive.

The Azorean identity lived by descendants in America is real. It is alive, even when distant. It contributes to the new Azores every day. And yet, we continue to miss opportunities to strengthen that connection. Many young Azoreans live outside traditional community structures. They know their roots matter, but need better tools, access, and imaginative pathways.

That is why I continue to advocate for a reinvention—not only in name, but in spirit. If we do not act, we may one day gather for a festa, eat malassadas, and speak wistfully of saudade as if it were something we understood, rather than something we once embodied. Let us work together. Let us roll up our sleeves. The Azores are more Azorean when in dialogue with their diaspora. If we are to be a people that endures—not only in memory, but in relevance—then we must build that future, side by side.

Because in the end, we are a people of both lava and longing—born of mist-covered hills and Atlantic winds, shaped by journeys both literal and interior. Our voices stretch across oceans, carried in lullabies, in the scent of soup simmering on American stoves, in the quiet dignity of grandparents who never forgot how to say obrigado. The Azores are not just coordinates on a map—they are carried in the marrow of our bones, whispered in our vowels, stirred in the old stories we tell our children. To build the future we dream of, we must do more than remember—imagine an archipelago that includes all its scattered islands, from São Miguel to San Diego, Terceira to Tulare, Pico to Providence, Flores to Fresno. Only then will açorianidade not be a relic of the past, but the poetry of our shared becoming.