An irreplaceable friend and an exceptional man

The death of Francisco Pinto Balsemão means an irreparable loss not only for his family but for the whole of Portugal and, for me, the end of a charming friendship that lasted more than half a century. I clearly remember the day of our first meeting at the International School of Journalism in Strasbourg, at the beginning of May 1968, when students fought against the Gaullist police in the streets. We both attended a course on “Concentration of Journalistic Companies and Writing Societies”.

We both occupied positions of responsibility in our newspapers — “Diário Popular” in Lisbon and “Informaciones” in Madrid — and we shared the same anti-fascist and liberal feeling, in the broadest and noblest sense of this word, against which all the political manipulations in the world could do nothing. There, one of my few friendships began to be consolidated, which has survived the traps of time and the wear and tear of distance. Because it was based on affection, and mutual appreciation, on the communion of concerns and ideas about our countries: firstly, the duty to contribute, to the extent of our modest strengths, to the subsequent reestablishment of the balance between a policy of realities and another of dreams. Only in this way would we ask to see Iberian democracies of a young age and with a still uncertain future consolidated in full development.

These words that I now write, between pain and recognition, appeared, to a large extent, in the prologue of a book that was published about him during the period in which he headed the Portuguese Government. Rereading them made me understand again the straightforward and admirable professional and human trajectory of someone I admired and liked like few other people in my life.

Francisco always seemed to me to be a man of deep moral convictions and an undoubted penchant for politics. And it was the latter that also helped us identify with each other. At that time, we both viewed politics with the natural skepticism of those who, for one reason or another, were always close to it, and never within it, but always with the passion of those who believed it was necessary to do something that would facilitate, in some way, the democratic path from the dictatorship to a regime of freedom in our two countries. That is why he succumbed to the two-sided mirror to which “Caetanism” and the “Twelfth of February” of Arias Navarro, in Spain, subjected our countries.

Francisco accepted to be a deputy of an honest dissent, whom the power paid with contempt and ignorance. I took over the management of Franco’s television information services, where I was only eight months, until I resigned, with the wrong but sincere commitment of someone who believes in the possibility of an “opening”.

However, if my time at TVE proved to be completely sterile, I think that that group of “liberal” deputies from “Caetanism”, among whom were also Sá Carneiro and some of the notable representatives of social-democratic moderation in Portugal, had the potential to shine a light in the darkness and demonstrate the ineffectiveness of any solution to reform a totalitarian regime, unless this solution came from a rupture of the structures of the power.

I was at Francisco’s side when the voracity of a bank and the miserable revenge of right-wing politicians came together in the effort to wrest from him the podium of the “Diário Popular”. I was able to prove his spirit of decision and his professional value when he preferred to found ‘Expresso” as a newspaper to fight for freedoms and risk, in that company, his personal assets, instead of abandoning himself to rest or to enjoy a stable economic situation, collecting and developing the income of a prestigious law firm. The reason for everything was very simple: Francisco was, first and foremost, a journalist and an intellectual, a rare condition among politicians from the Iberian Peninsula.

I also accompanied him during the long nights that preceded the “closing” of the weekly newspaper, fighting against the imbecile censorship of a group of colonels in the pay of the dictatorship who dedicated themselves, in the early hours of Saturday morning, to drawing out exquisitely, with colored pencils, the creative and reflective efforts of a considerable number of people, a thousand times more respectable than them, both for their level of knowledge and their desire to serving citizens, as well as for their professional dedication.

When the revolution arrived — in which, in fact, the paranoia of a Francoist official at the Embassy in Lisbon wanted to involve me, given my close friendship with Balsemão in Madrid —, from Fraga to the right, I was considered by everyone an “infiltrated communist”, or even a “freemason” (what daydreams!) and, as always, a fellow traveler of communism. I attended, side by side with the unforgettable Dionisio Ridruejo, the 1st Congress of the PPD, and followed the contradictions of the Portuguese revolution, which sometimes decorated its heroes, and sometimes put them in prison. This, after all, seems to be the fate of all revolutions.

Francisco would also be a victim of such contradictions during his term as prime minister, beset by the intolerance of some and others, intolerance that is always dangerous, but much more so when he dedicates himself to throwing bombs. On his trips to Madrid, on my short trips to Lisbon, we spoke dozens of times, many of them in the company of the late Sá Carneiro, about our countries’ problems and possible solutions.

We both admired the personal and political strength that the failed leader of the AD made visible to our eyes. And I was worried, given Balsemão’s silence, about what I considered to be a marked radicalization of Sá Carneiro, often for more personal than ideological reasons. I thought that Balsemão was a man with a greater dose of prudence. And that the path taken by Sá Carneiro, especially in his confrontation with Eanes, could put the fabric of the complicated Portuguese political fabric into anguish imbalance. However, I was also able to observe the mutual trust and undoubted friendship between Sá Carneiro and Pinto Balsemão. Trust and friendship were definitely the main reasons for the latter not to succumb to tiredness or boredom with his position in the Government.

Some, when reading these lines, will think that I have been tempted to imitate Plutarch, describing two parallel lives, now between Lisbon and Madrid. Nothing further from the truth.

The circumstances, and a certain type of ideological discrepancy, may allow me to assume that, in any case, Francisco and I would be, respectively, on the right and left wings of that political party that the whole world has dreamed of since the day that Ortega and Gasset described it as the party of decent people.

By this I mean that, based on our liberal conception of things and life, he always seemed to me to be moderately more conservative than I, who suffer from a strange admiration for the subversive, within an order. In saying this, perhaps I am benefiting from the advantage of having stayed away from the galas of power.

He too, Francisco, was willing to move away from them. A tragic accident and an undeniable sense of responsibility led him to take on the rather thankless task of running the country. And Portugal was very lucky to have at the head of its Executive, with Balsemão, a man who thought — and this is a luxury that, from the United States to the Iran of the ayatollahs, very few countries can afford.

After his period as Prime Minister ended, our relationship became even closer, which allowed me to deepen his knowledge and enjoy his wisdom. We both participated for many years in Bilderberg club meetings and we both contributed extensively to creating the Ibero-American Forum, which was born at the beginning of this century, sponsored by Gabriel García Márquez and Carlos Fuentes, with the political impulse of Felipe González, Fernando Henrique Cardoso and Ricardo Lagos, among many other Ibero-American leaders and intellectuals. In all these meetings, Francisco’s leadership stood out, his ability to dialogue and understand those with whom he disagreed.

For the rest, ours was the simple story of a friendship that it would be unthinkable to write about while silencing the existence of Tita, whose intellectual finesse and human sensitivity, soulful strength and dedication to her family do not go unnoticed wherever she goes. At this sad time, I can only remember the happy moments we experienced, Francisco’s passion and struggle to build a better world, his loyalty and his moral commitment. With him I experienced many of the best moments of my life. His loss goes beyond borders, but his example will endure over time.