Address by the President of the Republic at the Solemn Session Commemorating the 52nd Anniversary of April 25, 1974
April 25, 2026

Freedom is as natural as our very lives.
Democracy, social justice, and equality are values that are part of our collective identity.

They are the bonds that give cohesion to our society, as if they were a second Mother Earth, our common ground.

The starting point—April 25, 1974—is of unquestionable value.
It commands overwhelming, intergenerational support and is so virtuous that we have come to take it for granted.
As natural as the air we breathe.

This solemn session is an example of that.
What we hear today in this Assembly is April.

Each and every one of us can express our opinions thanks to the freedom of thought and expression won in April.

Everyone can freely choose their representatives in the Assembly of the Republic, as happened exactly 50 years ago with the first legislative elections.

We are equal and free—in thought, in action, in creation, in being, and in loving.
This is the freedom that April 25 gave us.

I quote José Gil, who says that “the discourse that seeks to found equality refers to a universal event: birth,” with the principle that “all human beings are born free and equal.”

Or, in the words of Eugénio de Andrade, poet and voice of a generation that never gave up on freedom: “We were not born to be servants. We were born to be citizens.”

In a way, April 25, collectively, was that: a birth, the “initial day, whole and clean” of Sophia.
A moment in which we all felt free and equal.

There are not many moments like this in Portuguese history.

That is why it is never too much to remember and give thanks to the Captains of April, to whom I extend today an emotional salute and a recognition that can never be sufficient: they gave us more than the end of dictatorship. They gave us the freedom to be ourselves, to choose our own path.

Mr. President,
Ladies and Gentlemen Members of Parliament,

Isaiah Berlin reminded us that freedom has at least two dimensions: freedom “from”—the absence of coercion—and freedom “to”—the capacity of each person to realize their potential.

John Stuart Mill taught that “over himself, over his own body and mind, the individual is sovereign.” And Hannah Arendt saw freedom not only as an individual condition but as a collective practice: the capacity to act together in the public space.

Freedom, therefore, is more than an abstract concept.
It is the concrete possibility to choose, to speak, to create, to disagree—without fear.
It is the dignity of each person recognized and protected.

In a democracy, freedom is not an accessory—it is its foundation. Without freedom of expression, there is no debate; without freedom of the press, there is no scrutiny; without freedom of association, there is no participation.

And in each person’s life, freedom translates into real opportunities: to study, to work, to love, to think, to believe or not believe, to dream and to build.

But freedom does not live in isolation. It is deeply connected to peace.
In a time when we witness, with concern, wars that devastate countries and destroy lives, we understand this connection more clearly.

Freedom is also inseparable from culture.
A free society is a society that creates. Culture flourishes where there is freedom of thought and expression. Without freedom, culture withers; with freedom, it becomes a space of encounter, diversity, and imagination.

Freedom is equally indispensable for scientific progress.
Where there is no academic freedom, knowledge stagnates and innovation fades. Free societies are those that allow researchers to think without fear, to err, to test, and to discover—and that is how a country’s future is built.

We also live in an era in which algorithms and artificial intelligence systems increasingly influence our choices. Freedom, in this context, demands transparency, accountability, and democratic oversight over these technologies. We cannot accept that decisions affecting people’s lives are opaque or incomprehensible. Freedom means ensuring that technology serves the human being—not the other way around.

Freedom also requires responsibility and integrity in institutions.
There is no true freedom without transparency in public office. Citizens have the right to know how decisions that affect their lives are made.

Transparency in political donations is essential to ensure a healthy and fair democracy. When funding is clear and accessible, citizens can understand who supports whom—and with what interests. Making donations public is not merely administrative; it is a commitment to ethics and respect for the people.

Because where there is opacity, suspicion grows; where there is clarity, legitimacy is strengthened.

Freedom requires justice delivered in a timely manner.
When processes and trials drag on indefinitely, citizens’ trust erodes, and freedom itself is compromised.

The fight against corruption is another urgent priority.
Corruption distorts democratic will, diverts resources that belong to all, and undermines the foundations of the rule of law. Fighting corruption is defending equality, justice, and, ultimately, freedom.

And we must not forget: freedom is inseparable from people’s material dignity. Poverty limits choices, restricts opportunities, and often silences voices. Those who live in extreme precariousness are not fully free to decide their path. Combating poverty, reducing inequalities, and ensuring dignified living conditions are not just social goals—they are fundamental requirements of a truly free society.

Free and just. And I confess, once again, in this regard: I find it very difficult—indeed, very difficult—to understand that women earn less than men for performing the same work simply because they are women.

Mr. President,
Ladies and Gentlemen Members of Parliament,

I now address, in particular, the young people of Portugal.
I know that many of the challenges you face are difficult.

It is true that you are the generation with more tools, more knowledge, and more connections than any other in this country’s history.

Yet the present is mortgaging the future of the young.

It is neither fair nor acceptable that we continue to treat climate change as a problem of tomorrow. With the extreme weather that has struck various regions of Portugal, we have received a warning: tomorrow has already arrived.

The climate does not wait for the political calendar, for the selfish convenience of some generations, or for the interests of certain economic sectors.

And today’s youth are the ones who best understand this urgency and are most prepared to face it.

We all have the obligation to leave a legacy of quality of life to our children, and the State has the duty to meet the aspirations of new generations to confront climate change.

We must also not forget or silence other phenomena that are increasingly affecting younger generations, such as mental health.

A suffering of silences—in statistics, in classrooms, in the workplace, in families.
The suffering of a generation growing up amid the uncertainties of a pandemic, climate change, wars, and precarious work.

Governments cannot neglect new capacities within the National Health Service, and it is imperative to strengthen training and investment in mental health.

Freedom today, especially for the young, is also the freedom to have decent housing—without which life projects remain suspended.

Today, we have young people who work and, at 30 years old, still live in their parents’ homes because they cannot afford to buy or rent housing. This is not merely a market issue. It is a right that the State must safeguard. It is a demand of freedom.

We also have young graduates, with master’s degrees and doctorates, whose skills are valued worldwide but who earn salaries in Portugal that do not allow them even a minimally comfortable life.

When talent is not rewarded in Portugal, it is not only an economic injustice—it is an irreparable loss for the country.

No country is built this way.
And no President can accept this in silence. I do not accept it.

We must do everything so that young people find in Portugal the place where they want to build their lives.

If Portugal once gave new worlds to the world, today we have the obligation to give new worlds to the Portuguese—here in Portugal.

I do not come to ask you to love April 25.
I do not have that right.
No one loves by decree what they did not live.

I simply want to tell you, in a simple way:

When you no longer had to go to war—it was April.

When you drive a car without needing your husband’s or family’s permission—it was April.

When you are a woman and travel without needing authorization—it was April.

When you choose a career as a judge or diplomat as a woman—it was April.

When your parents went to the emergency room and were not asked to pay before being treated—it was April.

When your freedom allows you to propose, participate, or sign a petition—it was April.

When you read or shared a critical news story about those in power and no one knocked on your door—it was April.

When you voted, or chose not to vote, without fear of reprisal—it was April.

April lives in gestures. It is part of your life because you have freedom.

But there is one thing my generation learned: freedom does not disappear all at once.

It disappears gradually.
First, a law that seems reasonable.
Then an institution hollowed out from within.
Then a voice that is no longer heard.
Then another.

The danger to democracy rarely arrives like in the movies.
More often, it comes with arguments that seem harmless—and today, also with algorithms.

I know many of you distrust politics. I understand why.

Yes, democracy has flaws; sometimes it disappoints. But it is still the only place where our voice truly counts. Outside it, there is no more justice or freedom. There is silence, fear, and imposition.

If we want better politics, we will not achieve it by withdrawing from it—but by participating, with the courage to transform it from within.

So my appeal is this: be vigilant.

When you see a fundamental right being taken away, speak out loudly.

When intolerance crushes citizenship, spread the warning—because night quickly overtakes the day.

When you hear the word freedom being used to restrict it—defend it.

When insult replaces dialogue—continue to engage in dialogue.

When you feel your voice does not count—do not fall silent; speak louder.

April does not need solemn guardians.
It needs attentive, free citizens with critical capacity.

Mr. President,
Ladies and Gentlemen Members of Parliament,

Freedom is felt when you can speak without fear—but it is lost when silence takes hold out of convenience or indifference.

Freedom lives when you participate—but weakens when you withdraw.

Freedom is built when you choose—but disappears when others choose for you.

It is in your hands to defend it in everyday actions: when you reject disinformation and seek truth; when you confront hate speech with courage; when you participate in democratic life—voting, debating, demanding; when you refuse to accept corruption as inevitable; when you fight for equal opportunities—for yourselves and for others.

Do not be spectators of democracy. Be protagonists. Do not resign. Do not remain silent. Do not give up.

Each generation has its test. This is yours: to ensure that freedom does not weaken, does not retreat, does not disappear.

To care for freedom is to exercise it with courage. To defend it with determination. To pass it on—whole and stronger—to the next generation.

The freedom you live today was won with courage, sacrifice, and, in many cases, with lives cut short. Do not treat it as guaranteed. Do not accept it as something that “has always existed” and therefore always will. History teaches us otherwise—and the present, in many parts of the world, confirms it every day.

Today, when we see democracy being tested within and beyond our borders, we cannot hesitate: either we defend it with courage, or we risk losing it in silence.

Mr. President of the Assembly of the Republic,
Ladies and Gentlemen Members of Parliament,

I am 64 years old. I was 12 when April 25 happened.
I did not understand it that day. I came to understand it over the course of my life—in the utopias I embraced, in the rights I gained, in the battles I won and lost, in the people I saw suffer when the promises of April did not arrive in time.

I am President because that day existed.
I will exercise my powers and do everything so that it was worth it.

That is all I can promise you.
And that is all that April asks.

Thank you very much.

Photos from the Presidency of Portugal.