April's Fading Carnation

With a large crowd of dignitaries looking on, Portuguese Foreign Minister Mario Scares last week took a historic step for the world's oldest empire. He signed an agreement in Algiers granting independence to the 600,000 people of the West African territory of Portuguese Guinea, henceforth to be known as Guinea-Bissau. It was the first official move by Portugal to give independence to its African territories, which have been racked by guerrilla war; Angola and Mozambique will be next. And it came four months and a day after a coup in Lisbon paved the way for the end of the 500-year-old empire. Despite the jubilation in the steamy African capital of Bissau and the ending of the 13-year war in the African territory that had claimed thousands of lives, a host of problems remained for Portugal.

The independence ceremony could not keep the blush of April's revolution, when carnations had seemed to sprout from every buttonhole, from fading. The other promises of the revolution--like an end to economic stagnation and establishment of a democratic government after a half-century of dictatorship--have not begun to be realized.

Little has been done to halt the country's serious economic drift. The leaders of the Armed Forces Movement (A.F.M.) inherited a high rate of inflation (currently 30% a year) and a chronic balance of trade deficit (expected to be $500 million this year), when they took power in April. But since then lack of confidence in the political future has made the problem worse. "Business hates a system where the rules of the game are not known," complains a leading Lisbon oil executive. "The government holds marathon sessions and argues and argues, but it never makes a decision." Indeed, basic laws governing labor relations or investment have been under inconclusive discussion for months, leaving businessmen unable to plan future budgets. Until the revolution, strikes were illegal. Now the government has decreed that workers may strike, but only after 30 days of bargaining. Restive workers generally were ignoring the decree and staging wildcat strikes throughout the country.

Fringe Parties. Tourism, a key source of foreign earnings, has declined by an estimated 40%. There has been a rash of bankruptcies among smaller firms, and a sharp rise in unemployment is expected soon. The army of jobless will be swelled by the boatloads of refugees from the colonies that have already begun disembarking in Lisbon; airlines flying from the territories to Lisbon are booked solid for the rest of the year.

Political activity has also picked up. Today walls and monuments everywhere are plastered with a monarchist-to-Maoist alphabet soup of obscure fringe parties, including, among others, M.R.P.P., C.D.S., P.P.M. and P.S.D.I. All seem to be catching up on a half-century of political intrigues, cabals and power plays. But in so doing they have exacerbated the country's debilitating political instability.

On the surface the quest for power centers on General Antonio de Spinola, 64, who is acting as President until the promulgation of a new constitution, and the young left-leaning officers of the A.F.M. which actually led the coup in April. In July, the colonels and majors seemed to gain the upper hand. After the fall of the new government's first provisional Cabinet, they pushed Colonel Vasco Gongalves, 53, up to the post of Premier--against an unwilling Spinola.

But Gongalves has since proved to be a weak leader, who was better trained to build bridges for the army than act as Premier. Under him the A.F.M. has begun to show some basic ideological contradictions, with its main faction going with Gongalves toward the left and the others moving right with Spinola.

This has been all to the advantage of the monocled and aloof interim President. Spinola, relaxing for the past few weeks in a thermal resort north of Lisbon, has managed to play a deft political game via long distance. His primary bid has been for greater presidential powers, including the dismantlement of the A.F.M. and a declaration of a state of siege to deal with economic problems.

So far he has not gained the free hand he wants.

Silent Majority. He may never gain it, since he has foes potentially stronger than ever in the young officers and the large Communist Party. The ubiquitous red-and-yellow hammer-and-sickle party posters in every Portuguese town indicate that the Communists are the best-organized and -financed party in the country. Minister Without Portfolio Alvaro Cunhal, 60, the Communist leader, has emerged as the government's best politician after Spinola. Counseling moderation and condemning the Maoist left and labor unrest, Cunhal says that his short-term aim is the nationalization of transportation, mines, steel and "other fundamental sectors," plus agrarian reform. Cunhal's speeches round the country outdraw those of any other politician, and his Communist Party has embarked on a vast voter education program. "Our goal is not the conquest of power," he insisted last week in an interview with TIME Correspondent George Taber. "Our first goal is the restoration of democratic institutions."

Still, Cunhal admits that in the long range the Communists will work for complete nationalization. "I am a Communist," he says, "and I can't hide my great dream." But Cunhal's dream is a nightmare to many others in Portugal, from the old aristocratic families that control most of the country's major businesses to the Socialist Party, which is bidding for more leftist support but is not so well organized as the Communists. The strength of the Communists clearly causes Spinola concern. "We cannot consent to the installation of a dictatorship under the cover of liberty," he said recently. "If the silent majority does not wake up and defend its liberties, the 25th of April will have been in vain."

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