50 years later: Cabo Verdeans bask in hard-won independence

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Salah Matteos reclines in a large, gray, well-used chair under a watercolor portrait in his studio apartment at Atria, a senior housing facility. 

He is 93 and has one of the strongest local connections to the Cabo Verdean struggle for independence from Portugal. The portrait above him provides a clue as to what that connection is. 

The man in the painting is thin and Black, with a goatee and glasses, and a look of determination. His head is crowned with a Czech zmijovka, a symbol of revolution.

He is Amilcar Cabral, a leader of the Cabo Verdean independence movement, assassinated in an operation by Portuguese secret police in 1973. 

Now, as Cabo Verderans prepare to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the island nation’s independence on July 5, Matteos recalls the fallen leader, whom he personally met when Cabral spoke at Lincoln University, a historically Black university in Pennsylvania in 1972.

“They killed my God, my Jesus,” he said, the anger from that moment making itself fresh. “They killed one of the most honorable and brilliant men of our times.”

Run-up to rebellion

Amilcar Cabral first came in touch with the independence movement as an agronomy student in Lisbon in the 1940s. While at the Universidade Técnica de Lisboa, he engaged in ideological discussions about independence with students from Angola, Portuguese Guinea (modern Guinea-Bissau), and Mozambique.

“In Portugal, he found the adequate conditions for him to really get involved in claiming how he advanced the struggle for independence,” said Angelo Barbosa, director of the Pedro Pires Institute for Cape Verdean Studies at Bridgewater State University.

Although Cabral was born in Guinea-Bissau, both of his parents were from Cabo Verde. 

“He was very influenced by what he saw in Cabo Verde,” Barbosa said. “He could see the hardships that his sort of family in Cabo Verde [faced].”

The Republic of Cabo Verde — as it has insisted on being called since 2013 — consists of an archipelago of 10 islands off the coast of Senegal with a population of more than 522,000 people. Made arid by the Harmattan wind blowing in from the Sahara, the islands were uninhabited until the Portuguese arrived in 1460. The Iberian empire swiftly turned the islands into a colony that became a major stop for slaves trafficked to the Americas.  

“Cabo Verde was understood to be important because of the strategic location and because of what really started to be the main economic engine, which was the slave trade,” Barbosa said. 

Nonetheless, as nations abolished the slave trade — including Portugal’s abolition of the Atlantic slave trade in 1836 — and technology and trade relations developed, Cabo Verde’s economy lost steam, and its population — which included people of African, European, and Creole descent — became more impoverished. 

Through monarchy, republic, and dictatorship, Cabo Verde continued under the thumb of Portuguese rule. During the years of Portugal’s dictatorial Estado Novo regime of António de Oliveira Salazar and Marcelo Caetano, from 1933 to 1974, the islands became a destination for Portuguese political prisoners via the infamous concentration camp known as Tarrafal.

Among many other injustices, Cabo Verde became the site of multiple famines caused by droughts and amplified by Portuguese misgovernment.

“The responsibility of the colonial system was they didn’t bring enough [resources] to resolve the situation,” Barbosa said. “Our [post-independence] government has somehow managed to avoid that.”

Cabo Verdeans started to come to the U.S. as a result of the multimillion dollar whaling industry centered in New Bedford in the early 19th century. 

“The whaling connection was sort of the first connection between New Bedford and the islands,” said Naomi Slipp, chief curator at the New Bedford Whaling Museum.

She said the initial arrivals largely came from the islands of Brava and São Nicolau. The original, mostly male, immigrants viewed work on New Bedford-based ships that stopped for repairs as an opportunity to escape poverty in the islands. Most came of their own free will. Most.

Because of the history of famine in Cabo Verde, “the ships were viewed as an economic opportunity,” said Slipp. “But I’ve heard different family stories where people were coerced into the work. 

“Once you have those early generations settling in New Bedford,” she continued, “you have an immigration pathway.”

Gunga Tavares, the former cultural attaché for the Consulate General of Cabo Verde in Boston, said the whaling industry was another form of slavery because of the circumstances in which Cabo Verdeans entered the industry.

“You come from domination with [the] Portuguese to another domination,” Tavares said. “To kill animals like whales and make you look like monsters when you were just trying to survive and run away from something.” 

Slipp pointed out that as the whaling industry declined, Cabo Verdeans took on a more prominent role in the industry. 

Among the last of the whaling captains was an immigrant from the Cabo Verde island of Maio named Valentino Rosa. His last voyage took place around World War I, according to his descendant, Bernardino “Butch” Silva, whose family history almost mirrors that of Cabo Verdeans in the city.

“It’s like the base of our pyramid,” said Silva, 93. 

Though whaling was long gone by the time of Silva’s birth, package ships, like the Ernestina, were still very active along the port in his youth. People packed barrels — known as bidon — with food, clothing, and other goods to send back to their impoverished homeland.

“I remember when the boats used to come in,” Silva said. “Some [immigrants] would jump off the ship” and immediately start to set up a life.

Slipp reaffirmed that, saying that the package ships, much more than the whaling industry, led to the Cabo Verdean community we know today.

“The package ships are why people call New Bedford ‘Cape Verdean Ellis Island’ today,” she said. 

Indeed, in the eyes of one former president and leader of the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cabo Verde, immigration to the U.S. proved crucial in signaling that Cabo Verde was ready for independence. 

“Our struggle for independence started when people started to [emigrate] and find better conditions in the U.S.,” said Pedro Pires, who also served as prime minister of Cabo Verde from 1975 to 1991, during a panel celebrating the 50th anniversary of the nation’s independence at Bridgewater State University on June 20.

Speaking Portuguese, Pires stressed the importance of the connection between the Cabo Verdean community in the archipelago and the community in its diaspora because “Cabo Verde would not exist without its diaspora.”

“Global nation means Cabo Verde and all its diaspora, all over the world,” Pires said. “The idea of a nation is, it’s more than just a territory.” 

Agitation for independence 

Despite the large number of Cabo Verdeans emigrating from the islands — about 10% of New Bedford residents are of Cabo Verdean descent today — hundreds of thousands of people continued to live in the archipelago. There, colonial rule under the dictatorship continued to chip away at people’s liberties, quality of life and safety.

In 1956, Cabral and others, including Aristides Pereira — later Cabo Verde’s first president — started the Partido Africano para a Independência da Guiné e Cabo Verde (PAIGC) in Bissau, capital of modern-day Guinea-Bissau. Its goal was to campaign peacefully for the liberation of Cabo Verde and what was then called Portuguese Guinea.

But in 1959, Portuguese authorities fired on striking workers at the Pidjiguiti Docks of the Port of Bissau, killing about 50 people, and wounding 100. After what became known as the Pidjiguiti Massacre, Cabral understood that Portugal would not let go peacefully and prepared the group for armed insurrection. 

“[Cabral’s] purpose was really to make sure that his generation would be able to defeat a system that would alienate you at any level, any sort of social opportunities and economic opportunities,” Barbosa said. “Justice [was] not there. Discrimination [was] everywhere.” 

Though there was no fighting in Cabo Verde proper, there was plenty of fighting in Guinea-Bissau starting in 1963. Part of what is known from the Portuguese perspective as A Guerra Ultramar (The Overseas War), the fighting in Guinea-Bissau was part of a greater conflict that included the Portuguese colonies of Angola, Goa, and Mozambique and would consume hundreds of thousands of lives. 

Tavares said the greatest contribution made by women during the fighting was their children because at the time, the Portuguese government conscripted men into military service once they turned 18.  

“The most sacrifice that you can make is to see your child go fight against your own people,” Tavares said. “And most of them, many of them, never came back home [because] they were killed in battle.” 

Even by the mid-’60s, most local Cabo Verdean-Americans weren’t aware of the situation.

“Back then, I didn’t know much about it because I wasn’t interested,” said Silva. “We were aware of something, though.”

John “Buddy” Andrade, a member of the PAIGC support committee in New Bedford, said he first heard about the independence movement from his fellow U.S. Marines in 1969 while fighting in Vietnam. 

“He’s telling me, ‘Man, don’t you know your people are fighting in Africa?’ and I had no clue,” Andrade said. “And I’m Cape Verdean.” 

Around then, Matteos — who had been involved in the Black Power movement in Philadelphia — learned of the struggle after a conversation with a friend.

“That’s when Malcolm [X] told me, ‘your people are fighting against Portuguese colonialism,’” he said.

Journey to Africa

Matteos grew up between the Cabo Verdean communities of Marion and Wareham, but that wasn’t what motivated his activism. 

“It was because of the Black Power movement I came to know about Cabo Verde,” he said. 

He went on a year-and-a-half sojourn to West Africa, sponsored by a Philadelphia church, in 1969. There, he visited several countries, including Guinea, Morocco, Senegal, and The Gambia. But when he went to Guinea-Bissau, he had only one mission in mind: to meet Amilcar Cabral.

“I went there to fight but [the PAIGC] wouldn’t allow me to,” Matteos said. “I did get a chance to go to the places where the fighting was. There were soldiers from Cuba, Portugal — many Portuguese were fighting with the rebels.”

He said he never met Amilcar during that trip, but he came back with a mission and created a Duxbury-based group called The PAIGC Support Committee in 1972.

Matteos said their main mission was to educate locals about the struggle, and they succeeded beyond even the PAIGC’s wildest dreams. The group had spread knowledge about the war and helped the community send material support as well.

“They were surprised how much territory we covered,” Matteos said.

Barbosa said the support group mobilized people and educated Cabo Verdeans in the diaspora about what was happening. The group also provided support in goods or money at times, he said.

“Their role was pretty much to engage with Cabo Verdeans and explain and share what they knew and also find support to connect with what was happening in Guinea-Bissau and Cabo Verde,” Barbosa said. 

Andrade described Matteos as the “pied piper” for bringing the liberation movement to the United States. 

“What Salah did was set the scenario for the African movements to be able to get their independence through diplomacy,” Andrade said. 

The PAIGC support committee’s main goal was to “wake up the Cape Verdean community in the United States and Canada,” Andrade said. 

In addition to a lack of information, Andrade said there was division in New Bedford due to identity issues faced by the Cabo Verdean community — some Cabo Verdeans in New Bedford didn’t want to separate from Portugal.

“They were brainwashed to be white, to be Portuguese, or to be subservient to anyone like that,” Andrade said. 

Independence

On April 25, 1974, the Carnation Revolution — led by military officers disillusioned by the Guerra Ultramar — toppled the Estado Novo regime, sending Portuguese dictator Marcelo Caetano into exile in Brazil. The new government immediately went into peace and independence negotiations with nationalist forces in Portugal’s African colonies. Among them were Cabo Verde and Guinea-Bissau, the latter of which had declared independence unilaterally the year before.

“We won our independence,” Andrade said, pounding his fist on the table for emphasis. “We took our independence. We won the war.”

Tavares, who was a teenager in Praia, Cabo Verde’s capital, at the time of independence, said the day was “a dream of a country that was coming true. 

“Everything was celebrated in a football field that was just land full of dust,” Tavares said. “Everyone was dusty. The sun was blasting on us, but nobody cared. It was the best day that could happen.”

Since gaining independence, Barbosa said the largest changes in Cabo Verde have been in two sectors: education and health care. But the archipelago nation still has work to do when it comes to education, public health, the justice system, infrastructure, and transportation. 

“We’re coming to this moment, in fact, seeing that we have some transformation in many different levels in the country,” Barbosa said. “But … the world doesn’t stop, and it’s always something that requires more engagement.”

Prior to independence, only 40% of Cabo Verde’s population could read or write. As of 2022, that number stands at 91%, according to the World Bank.

Tavares said she went to the interior of Praia with a group following independence to teach teenagers and young adults how to read and write because they did not have access to basic education opportunities. 

Joana Gonçalves, an immigrant from Cabo Verde and a board member of the Cape Verdean Recognition Committee in New Bedford, said that while education is now available on the islands, opportunities are not. 

“[The] majority of our kids finish high school, and they do go to pursue higher education,” said Gonçalves, who came to the U.S. more than 20 years ago to get a college degree. “But the problem is, after higher education there is no work, no job.”

Tavares added that while independence from Portugal was vital for Cabo Verde, the developments on the islands in the past 20 to 30 years started when the nation held their first democratic multi-party general elections in 1991.

“Becoming a democracy was probably, after independence, the second most important thing in Cape Verde,” Tavares said. 

Tavares said women played a large role in educating the Cabo Verdean community and keeping the culture alive, both in Cabo Verde and the United States. 

“They brought all the recipes. They brought them in their memory,” Tavares said. “Some of them could write, some couldn’t write, but they brought them in their memory. They brought the music. They brought the dances. They brought the way of life and the way to stay together and raise the children within the family and the sense of community.”

Some traditions from the old days, such as the bidon, continue. Many  post-independence immigrants from the islands use services from companies like Atlantic Shipping in Fall River to send goods to family members back home.

But independence for the elders meant connection and liberation above all else. Silva, a Korean War veteran, recalled marching in the color guard for that year’s Cape Verdean Recognition Parade. He said he still feels pride from that moment five decades later. 

“The fact that they finally got their recognition meant that I finally had a place to identify with,” he said.

Pires, the former president, emphasized the need to connect to the history of struggle in order to find the spirit of morabeza, the Cabo Verdean idea of hospitality and unity. 

“We are human beings, and no matter how strong we are, how much courage, we will not be able to survive alone,” Pires said at the Bridgewater State University event. 

“We need two things,” he continued. “One of them is solidarity, and the second is recognition.” 

Sitting in his chair at his apartment, Matteos recalled that day on July 5, 1975, when his ancestral homeland gained independence.

“I was in the States that day,” he said. “But I was also in a mixed sad-angry moment because Amilcar was assassinated.”

The next year, the PAIGC asked him to end the support committee. Nonetheless, he still carries Cabo Verde in his soul and hopes that the next generations will as well.

“Last year could’ve been my last trip there,” he said. “I wanted to bring my daughter so she’d have a feel for the place.

“Now, I hope she will become a spokesman to raise the consciousness of the family and the overall struggle for Cabo Verde.”

Kevin G. Andrade can be reached at kandrade@newbedfordlight.org. 

Crystal Yormick, a journalism student at Boston University, is a summer intern at The New Bedford Light. She can be reached at cyormick@newbedfordlight.org.