Civil war is at the gates. It is encircling Portugal in a siege that may last some weeks or some months, nobody knows, and its avoidance is an enterprise in which nobody here believes any more. Chaos reigns unchecked, anarchy is complete, confusion endless. Every day, events take an unexpected turn, each one more senseless than the last. The only thing that shows some stability is the incapacity on all sides, nurtured on presumption, mental insecurity, ideological void, while power fritters away in the frightened hands that have seized it. The hands, usually, of whoever happens to be on the top at the moment or whoever is crazier than the others.
Feature, 7813 words
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