Goa and Portugal: A Past without a Future?

I would like to begin by first thanking Rafael Borges Pinto for extending the invitation for me to speak with you today. Secondly, and of course, my thanks to Nova Portugalidade for hosting this conversation, and to all of you for your presence here.

 To many there is a perception that the relationship between Goa and Portugal is in the past. The first question that many metropolitan Portuguese ask of a Goan they meet is whether people still speak Portuguese in Goa. The answer is often in the negative. Until recently my own response was that Portuguese was never widely spoken in Goa and it was the language of the elite. My view changed when I encountered an interesting anecdote at a dinner party in Lisbon which suggested that the Portuguese language was effectively killed off in Goa after the annexation of the territory to India. Persons who were seen as pro-Portuguese faced harassment, and people who spoke Portuguese did so fearfully. This put a completely different frame on the issue, where I realised that given increasing levels of education in Goa from around the 50s, even though there is no denying that the Portuguese language was linked with the elites, it is possible that Portuguese would have been more widely spoken if it continued to be the medium of instruction in the Government primary school. Unfortunately, this possibility was killed, and despite valiant efforts in Goa, by such institutions as the Fundação Oriente and the Instituto Camões, and I must particularly signal the efforts of the Director of the Instituto Camões in Goa, Delfim Correia, and an increase in the interest in the Portuguese language, there is still a certain animosity towards the language in Goa.

This is to say, any evaluation of the relationship between Goa and the Portuguese language needs to acknowledge the animosity of the Indian state, and Indian nationalism. Any attempt at an Indo-Portuguese relationship, or a Luso-Goan relationship that does not acknowledge this fact will effectively be wasting its efforts. This was an argument I advanced recently when critiquing the Prime Minister António Costa’s visit to India which was motivated, so it seems, primarily by opening up Indian markets to Portuguese commercial interests and industry. While this is all very well, the tragedy of this strategy is that it sought to downplay Goa in Portugal’s relationship with India. This is not surprising given that from what I have perceived there is a strong lobby within the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that sees Goa as a liability for Portugal. Goa is the past, they say, let us re-create a new relationship with India.

There is no problem in creating a new relationship with India. The problem is that the Portuguese continue to be represented by Indian nationalism as tyrannical, fanatical, and this image continues to be reproduced in film and popular discussion. As such, without addressing this image, Portuguese interventions in India are always in fact under a sword of Damocles, because the moment there is scope for misunderstanding, out will come the same old stereotypes prejudicing Portuguese investment and intervention in India.

To return to the question of the Portuguese language, however, even while recognizing the importance of the Portuguese language to developing a relationship between Goa and Portugal, I have to also confess that I do not subscribe to Pessoa’s famous phrase “a minha pátria é a língua portuguesa”. This is to say, I do not concur that one can reduce the Portuguese identity to a knowledge of, and love for, the Portuguese language. Over the past couple of years, I have heard a string of Portuguese diplomats and others indicate their hostility to the idea that Goans have a right to Portuguese citizenship. These diplomats argue that these Goans know nothing of the Portuguese language, nor of Portuguese history, nor, do these people, they argue, have any love for Portugal.

Too often, Portuguese-ness is understood by metropolitan Portuguese as monuments and artefacts, they forget that the people are also products of Portuguese expansion. After all, there would not even be a Goa, or a Goan identity were it not for Portuguese intervention, and as such Goans are also producing Portugal, whether they recognize it or not. Persons in Goa are Portuguese, regardless of whether they know the Portuguese language or not, whether they know the details of Portuguese history or not. They are Portuguese because the law recognizes their Portuguese nationality, a law which – it must be said – is centuries old. Very often, when people in Lisbon ask me if there is still some Portuguese presence in Goa, I tell them, “You are speaking with Jason Keith Fernandes, son of José Manuel Fernandes and Philomena Dulcine Goveas.” I am a Portuguese presence as I live and breathe!” And just like me there are thousands of people that produce a Portuguese-ness because of their names, their daily activities, etc.

Speaking of the weight of history, not only is Portugal critical to Goa, but Goa was, and is, critical to the construction of a Portuguese identity since the time of the expansion. It needs to be recognized that one simply cannot have a Portuguese history today without the role of Goa, and Goans, present in it. Goans are Portuguese even though they do not speak the Portuguese language, because their Portuguese-ness is embedded in the mere fact that they were once part of the Portuguese empire and Portugal inflects their daily life, just as Goa does the daily lives of metropolitan Portuguese – whether they recognize it or not.

Take, for example, the argument I recently made, that while Camões is without doubt Portuguese, he also is, note, is and not was, Goan. He is Goan because his poetry was written in Goa, it was marked by the fact of his presence in that tropical location and that space is intertwined with his poetry, as the translator of the poet Landeg White has recently pointed out in the introduction to his book Camões: Made in Goa (2017). Without Goa, there would have been no Camões, no Lusiadas.

This question of the centrality of the Portuguese language to the Portuguese identity of Goans is not merely a rhetorical point but a practical one because it involves the fate of the thousands of Goans with Portuguese citizenship in the UK. The state obliged to secure their interests is the Portuguese state, and given that many of these Portuguese citizens do not, as of now, speak Portuguese, it is incumbent, in my opinion on the Portuguese state, just as it is the obligation of any state, to speak to its citizens in the language that they know best. This is not to deny that the Portuguese language has a privileged relationship with the Portuguese state, and that these Goans should ideally begin to learn the language, as I am sure future generations will, but the Portuguese state cannot wash its hand off of them on the basis of the argument that they do not speak Portuguese. Indeed, it could be argued that the fact that these Goans do not speak Portuguese is a result of the historical failures of the Portuguese state, in particular the manner in which Portuguese rule in Goa was sustained by cooperation with upper caste elites – Catholic, Muslim, and Hindu.

I am not one who believes in the politics of apologies, but post-colonial justice, especially when these people are citizens of the Portuguese state, requires that Portugal recognize the structural violence of caste and work towards empowering these citizens. Speaking to them in any language that they can understand would be a part of this process of empowerment, helping them realise their Portuguese-ness. I should suggest that this would also ensure that the languages that the Portuguese state uses, such as in this case Concanim, also in this way becomes a language of Portugal. Similarly, Marathi, another significant Goan language, was utilized in the Boletim do Governo do Estado da India to communicate with those who did not speak or read Portuguese.

The discussion of the Portuguese citizenship of Goans raises one more issue that to my mind is critical to the question of Goa and Portugal. When the Portuguese state eventually recognized Indian sovereignty over Goa in the aftermath of 25 April 1974, it also recognized the continuing right of Portuguese citizenship of Goans. What the Indian state has done, however, is to effectively deny Goans the right to Portuguese citizenship while imposing Indian citizenship on them. To the Indian mind, Indian citizens cannot have two nationalities, hence Goans must choose either Portuguese or Indian citizenship. The moment that Goans assert their Portuguese citizenship, they not only lose the right to intervene in electoral politics in Goa, but are faced with a variety of impediments, both legal and, given the fact that we are suffering a particularly intense moment of Hindu nationalism, extra-legal.

What the India state fails to recognize, however, is that Goans are not acquiring Portuguese citizenship anew, this is a right that they had when India annexed Goa, and continue to have, and that the right of citizenship is fundamental to human rights. As such, the Indian state cannot oblige Goans to give up their right to Indian citizenship if they chose to exercise rights under Portuguese citizenship. To do so is to effectively be a colonial presence in Goa. The resolution of this problem, which is critical to a continuing and healthy relationship between Goa and Portugal, should be something that the Portuguese state takes up, because, after all, not only does it involve Portugal’s obligations as part of a decolonizing state, but these are, at the end of the day, the rights of Portuguese citizens that we are talking about. Given that Portugal intervened in the case of East Timor, I fail to see why this deprivation of a right by a colonial power is not similarly taken up now. Too often, unfortunately, the continuing rights of Goans as Portuguese citizens are not recognised as such by the Portuguese state.

The reasons for this problem lie in the manner in which Portuguese political rhetoric has been structured subsequent to the Carnation Revolution, which involves essentially a simplistic inversion of the rhetoric of the Estado Novo. As such, if the Estado Novo suggested that all persons in the Portuguese state were Portuguese, then the response has been to uncritically recognize the persons in the former overseas provinces as non-Portuguese. I recollect some years ago when I first began to work out the ideas I hold today and would assert myself as Portuguese, well-meaning metropolitan Portuguese friends who see themselves as left-leaning, would condescendingly ask me, “but why do you want to be Portuguese, you are Goan, Indian!”

Now, I am not saying that all persons in Goa have to necessarily feel Portuguese; if they want to only feel Goan, or Indian, then this is their choice. However, if I can feel Goan, South-Asian, and Portuguese, why do I have metropolitan Portuguese people telling me that I am not? Why the assumption that I am a supporter of the Estado Novo, or living in a time-warp? Indeed, one could argue that these responses by metropolitan Portuguese are evidences of racist action because it allows for the metropolitan to decide who is Portuguese or not, constructs identities that are effectively racial for those who are from the former overseas territories, and in doing so effectively limits Portuguese identity to those who are white.

A lot of this confused positioning is the result of the blind adoption of post-colonial norms and theories that were developed in the context of the British Empire. It needs to be borne in mind that the British Empire did not extend citizenship to its subject populations. In the absence of even a rhetoric of being British, given that Britain’s late expansion was informed by scientific racism, the most attractive possibility that subject elites saw was to assert the right to independent nation-states. This move effectively extended the logic of racism, rather than rejecting a racialized vision of the world, and demanding justice within the empire. The Portuguese case, however, precisely because of the rhetoric of the Empire, and the longer history of metropolitan and overseas relations offered, and continues to offer, us a different possibility, of demanding justice within imperial relations. Further, it is not too late to work towards this question of justice, but the first step towards it would be to recognize that things in Portugal were, and are, different, and that marching to the tune of Anglophone postcolonial certainties is not necessarily the answer for us.

At this point of time, I should stress that I do not think that Portugal was unmarked by racism. Further, I know that the situation in the African territories was unlike that in Goa, where there was an in-principle extension of citizenship to all.  Indeed, the situation in Goa may be so dramatically different that we can only extend this example with caution. I also want to highlight that the rhetoric of the Estado Novo, as radical as it sounded, was marked by a deep cynicism. This rhetoric that it utilized was in fact harvested from an earlier age, when the universal ideals of the Catholic faith allowed for the creation of a universal identity, in this case directed by the Portuguese Crown. But even in early modern Portugal it is not as if there were no tendencies towards racist exclusions. But we do not need to remain trapped in acknowledging that there was racist violence. I think that even as we recognize this fact of racist violence, we should focus on is the fact that the rhetoric was present and it allowed, and indeed, allows us to create possibilities for a different world. Imagine how empowering it is for a person who is not white, who has not grown up in the metropole to be nevertheless able to affirm that s/he is Portuguese, even while affirming other identities! It is here that the question of postcolonial justice begins to be affirmed.

I would like to pause at this moment and look at another dimension of the relationship between Goa and Portugal. I have noticed for a while that there are some Goans who have a very fixed idea of what is Portugal, in their vision it is metropolitan Portugal which decides what is Portuguese and what is not. I think that this is a sad situation largely because the relationship between Goa and Portugal has never been one of a mere transfer of technology and culture. It was not a case of Goans simply and blindly copying metropolitan behavior. Rather, Portugal was an instrument of a larger conversation, as has been amply demonstrated by Paulo Varela Gomes in his book Whitewash, Red Stone (2011) where he argues that the churches in Goa are not Portuguese churches but Goan churches. He points out that these churches were the result of assembling European features to meet local needs within a local format. They may look Portuguese, but they are in fact Goan. Of course, I would add that Goan-ness and Portuguese-ness are not exclusive identities, but each inform the other.  Similarly, the case in other spheres, Catholicism and European behaviors were adopted to claim citizenship. Note that the citizenship rights of Goans were not simply the result of a metropolitan gift. Rather, they were the result of Goan exertions whether in the case of the famous Bernardo Peres da Silva, or other Goan members of the Portuguese parliament. It is for this reason of century long struggles for citizenship that we cannot let go of this citizenship issue so lightly.

If conversation is what will ensure a future to the relationship between Goa and Portugal, what are the steps we can take to ensure this conversation? Indeed, I think that metropolitan Portuguese endeavours ought to play this role as a facilitator of larger conversations.

I would like to reference the Monte Music Festival, conceived if I am not mistaken by Sergio Mascarenhas former Delegado of the Fundação Oriente. In what has become a highlight of Goa’s cultural calendar, held at the Capela da Nossa Senhora do Monte in Old Goa, the Fundação Oriente organizes a festival of Indian and European classical music annually. While it is possible that this hosting of the Indian and European was the result of having to deal with local hostility to anything Portuguese, the festival demonstrates that Portugal is not merely a messenger of a narrowly conceived Portugalidade, but is, as it has always been, a messenger for a conversation with Europe, but also with the rest of the world.

I have, for a long time, suggested that metropolitan Portugal, not just the state, but civil society as well, or especially, should institute scholarships that would allow promising Goans to come to Portugal for some sort of education or extended period. One need only look at the work of Sonia Shirsat, who came to Portugal to learn the fado on such scholarships, and is today churning out fadistas by the dozen in Goa! It is also critical to enable these scholars to gain access into metropolitan Portuguese society – no simple task, let me assure you. An appreciation of contemporary Portuguese society is critical if we are to take this relationship into the future. This necessarily requires that the award of scholarships is supplemented by a mentoring process that allows for a single experience to continue as a longer, if not lifelong, engagement. But more than all of this, what is critical is an immersion in the history and institutions of this country and our common past, given that too many of us in Goa are woefully illiterate about our own past, more familiar with histories of British India, or potted histories of Goa.

Similarly, I believe it is critical for metropolitan Portuguese to come to Goa, and other places in India where Portugal had a substantial presence. As a Portuguese priest indicated to me about a month ago, it is when you go to Goa that you realise what being Portuguese meant. I don’t believe that he meant this in a chest-thumping manner, marveling at the work we did over there, but the complexity of what it means to be Portuguese and that it involves something more than being a member of a medium-sized country of the EU.

In this context I would like to share with you an argument that I have been forwarding about the South Asian nature of the Portuguese. To do this I refer to the term Namban, which often refers to Japanese art made in the period when in conversation with the Portuguese.  Namban, quite literally, means Southern Barbarian. Which south, could the term refer to I inquire. It could, of course, refer to the south of Europe, but I would rather imagine that it refers to the South of Asia.  It is this South-Asian-ness of the Portuguese identity that I believe that visiting Portuguese should seek to recover, rather than simply wallow in the greatness of the monuments, and in looking to speak in Portuguese. I would rather see metropolitan Portuguese learn Concanim, Marathi, Urdu, Malayalam. Too often contemporary Portuguese identity formation is bound up in producing the Portuguese as white, and as members of the European Union – I would like to highlight the work of Sarah Ashby titled The Lusophone world: the evolution of Portuguese national narratives (2017). While I have no problems with the European Union, and indeed think it a great idea, an approximation to Europe does not have to imply a distancing of Portugal from a rich and complex past.

Goa and Portugal have a past, this much is clear. Both these spaces have influenced each other, such that one is not possible without the other. But do they have a future? While I believe that they do, they must if what we know as Portugal and Goa are to survive. However, this requires that we address a number of issues, first, recognize the animosity of the Indian state, and the fact that it refuses to allow Goans to hold both Portuguese and Indian citizenship effectively makes it a colonial presence in Goa. Second, ensure that the Portuguese state makes a determined outreach to Goans holding Portuguese passports, and not living in the Portuguese state. Third, become alive to the fact that we need to explore post-colonial models that are honest to our experience. Fourth, initiate structural interventions that ensure that there is space for continued conversation between individuals in Goa and Portugal.

Thank you all for your attention and I look forward to your comments and reflections.

(Full text presented at the Conference organized by Nova Portugalidade, at Casa de Sertã, Lisboa, 28 March 2019)

Lembrando Prof. Dr. Teotónio de Souza

Vim para enterrar César, não para louvá-lo.

O bem que se faz é enterrado com os nossos ossos,

que seja assim com César.

William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Acto III, cena 2.

Devo começar por dizer que estou bastante escandalizado com a recente tendência que notei, especialmente depois da morte do Manohar Parrikar, ex-Chefe Ministro de Goa, de elogiar sem reservas as figuras públicas e não refletir sobre alguns aspetos mais negativos do seu carácter ou sobre as suas intervenções na sociedade. A falta de reflexão aspetos menos atraentes da sua personalidade é uma indicação dos tempos perturbados em que vivemos, onde a crítica é vista como criticismo e desrespeito, não sendo sequer tolerada.

Gostaria de acrescentar que a crítica é a reflecção desapaixonada ou imparcial, que deve examinar ambos aspetos, positivos e negativos e refletir também sobre as razões mais profundas para estas qualidades. Por tanto, hoje, gostaria de começar com uma reflecção desapaixonada sobre alguns aspetos da vida de Teotónio. Preferia começar com o elefante na sala, com o facto de Teotónio ter sido uma pessoa difícil, especialmente em contextos profissionais.

Teotónio era uma pessoa rabugenta, ficava ofendido facilmente e frequentemente maldisposto em ter que reconhecer o trabalho de jovens acadêmicos, especialmente se estes não vinham ao beija-mão. Ai deles que o contradissessem, pois era certo que se montaria de imediato uma cena pública que destruísse o seu trabalho.

Seria fácil atribuir estas características claramente negativas só a Teotónio. As suas fraquezas, enquanto suas, foram também produto de um certo contexto social e Goês. Contexto este onde ele nasceu e dentro do qual trabalhou e contribuiu. 

É uma crítica constante que faço à comunidade Goesa, seja em Goa ou na diáspora, o não reconhecimento dos esforços dos seus filhos. Se não pertencem a uma família ou casta poderosa é quase garantido que a pessoa que desenvolve qualquer trabalho interessante até importante irá trabalhar sozinho, sem aplauso do resto da comunidade. O facto que qualquer reconhecimento, se vem, vem muito tarde, quando estes já estiverem mortos, implica que pessoas que se esforçam por articular novas perspetivas e criar novas iniciativas trabalham sem qualquer consolação. O caso de Teotónio é um exemplo perfeito. Conheço apenas um reconhecimento de Teotónio enquanto académico, o festschrift intitulado Metahistory. History Questioning History. Festschrift in Honour of Teotonio R. De Souza, tenho certeza que não foi uma iniciativa de alguma instituição Goês.

É um facto que trabalhar solitariamente sem reconhecimento pode ter um impacto corrosivo na alma. Torna-nos amargos, com tendência a que nos gabemos sobre os nossos sucessos e sem vontade de reconhecer o trabalho dos demais. A final, se ninguém reconhecer o meu trabalho, tenho que ser eu a faze-lo, verdade?

Isto não é apenas o caso do Teotónio, mas o caso de vários outros Goêses ilustres que tive a oportunidade de conhecer e é um facto que me deixa muito triste. Para re-enfatizar o que distingue as comunidades Goêsas no mundo não é somente a falta de institucionalização, mas também a falta de investimento na sua vida intelectual. Há já vários anos que tem havido um crescente interesse académico em Goa. Enquanto este acontecimento é bem-vindo, há também um perigo porque Goa esta a ser definida por académicos não Goeses e serão, consequentemente as suas agendas, ou seja, as suas preocupações, que irão determinar a representação dos Goêses. Creio que Teotónio percebeu este problema. Ele quis articular uma identidade Goêsa diferente do que dos Portugueses e ficou rabugento porque percebeu que era a única voz a desenvolver esta tarefa. Isto não sugere que concordo com a sua posição. Separadas por gerações, a minha perspectiva sobre a identidade Goesa é substancialmente diferente. Enquanto a posição de Teotónio era a do nacionalismo Indiano, a minha é influenciada pela necessidade de combatê-la. Mas acho que poderíamos concordar que tem que haver mais investimento Goes na sua propria representação.

Creio que grande parte da sua antipatia surgiu também da sua posição social. Bramane, mas não tanto.  Percebi essa peculiaridade depois de ler a introdução do seu livro Goa To Me (1994). Fiquei muito comovido pelos detalhes que partilhou sobre a sua vida íntima e pareceu-me um acto de coragem e honestidade. Este texto mostra de fato a crueldade do sistema de castas entre Goeses e demonstra o fato pelo qual somos incapazes de criar uma saudável e vibrante identidade Goêsa. Na nossa sociedade enfatizamos sempre a nossa posição social, e portanto diferença em vez de enfatizar semelhanças e criar um sentido de comunidade. Tenho uma história para partilhar convosco a este respeito. A minha primeira experiência de Lisboa quando cheguei para participar na reunião de Goeses pelo mundo, organizada pela Casa de Goa alguns anos atras (talvez 2007?). Fui nessa altura a Coimbra por um mês e utilizei esta oportunidade para almoçar com Teotónio antes da reunião. Durante o almoço, Teotónio partilhou comigo a sua leitura das políticas entre as comunidades Goesas em Lisboa, apontando os conflitos entre castas e como naquela altura a Casa de Goa era dominado por brâmanes.

Cheguei à Casa de Goa equipado com esta informação. Foi cumprimentado por uma pessoa e foi-me dirigida aquela muito antiga questão Goesa “De onde és em Goa?” Atenção que a pergunta não funciona como quebra-gelo numa conversa, mas para localizar a posição na hierarquia das castas da pessoa a quem é dirigida a pergunta. Normalmente não participo neste jogo, sempre indico que cresci em Pangim ou que moro em Dona Paula, mas deste vez indiquei que as minhas origens na Ilha de Divar. “ah!” respondeu a mesma pessoa, adicionando, “somos de Margão!”, demonstrando a sua posição superior na scala bramanica. Prometi a mim mesmo   que nunca mais participaria neste jogo. Não é minha intenção sugerir aqui que este é o caso na Casa de Goa, mas esta é uma atitude com a qual temos que lidar firmamente. 

Acho que vou deixar as minhas reflecções por aqui, porque suspeito que ja tenha gasto mais do que o tempo que me foi alotado. Agradeço a vossa atenção, e a Casa de Goa pelo convite. Desejo descanso eterno a Teotónio e agradeço o trabalho por ele desenvolvido.

(Apresentação proferida na Conferencia sobre a vida do Prof. Teotónio de Souza Casa de Goa, Lisboa – 22 March 2019)

Remembering Dr. Teotónio de Souza

I come to bury Caesar, not to praise him.

The evil that men do lives after them;

The good is oft interred with their bones;

So let it be with Caesar.

William Shakespeare, Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 2.

I should begin by saying that I am quite shocked by a recent trend that I have noticed, especially in evidence following the death of Manohar Parrikar, former Chief Minister of Goa, to unreservedly praise public figures and not reflect on the negative aspects of their characters or interventions in society. The failure to reflect on the less appealing aspects of their personality is an indication of the troubled times we live in, where critique is seen as criticism, and disrespect, and not tolerated in the least.

Critique, I would like to point out, is dispassionate reflection, examining both the positive and the negative, and reflecting on the larger reasons for these traits. Therefore, today I would like to dispassionately reflect on some aspects of Teotónio’s life. I would like to begin by tackling the elephant in the room: the difficult person that Teotónio was, especially in professional contexts. 

Teotónio was a cantankerous person, quick to take offense, often unwilling to graciously acknowledge the work of younger scholars, especially if they didn’t bow before him. Woe to the person who contradicted him, he would often mount a tirade against them publicly pulling their work apart.  

It would be easy to attribute these clearly negative features to Teotónio alone. His flaws, though his own, were flaws born of the larger social, and particularly Goan, context into which he was born, and within which he worked and contributed

It is my consistent argument that the Goan community, whether in Goa, or spread through the diaspora does not recognize the work of its children. Any one doing interesting work, and not belonging to a powerful family or caste group, essentially works alone to no applause from the rest of the community. Any recognition from the community comes too late in the day, once they are dead, offering as a result no comfort to persons who struggle substantially to articulate new perspectives and embark on new initiatives. One could take Teotónio’s case as a perfect example. I know of only one recognition of Teotónio as a scholar, the festschrift titled Metahistory. History Questioning History. Festschrift in Honour of Teotonio R. De Souza and I am pretty certain that it was not initiated by any Goan institution.

Working single-handedly and not receiving any recognition, often has a corrosive impact on one’s soul. It makes one bitter, makes one constantly beat one’s own drum and unwilling to acknowledge the work of others. After all, the logic goes that if no one is going to recognize my work, then I must do so myself, right?

This is not merely in the case of Teotónio, but in the case of a number of Goan trail-blazers that I have had the opportunity to witness, and this pains me. To re-emphasize, what marks Goan communities is not only a lack of institutionalization, but also a failure to take academic investment seriously. Over the past few years there has been a growing international scholarly interest in Goa. As wonderful as this may be, this is also a danger because Goa is being defined by those who are not Goan, and it is their agendas, that will determine the representation of Goans. I believe that Teotónio was aware of this problem. He sought to articulate a Goan identity that was different from the Portuguese, and because he sensed that he was a lone voice making this argument, it contributed to his cantankerousness. This is not to say that I agreed with his position. Born into a different generation, my perspective of Goan identities is substantially different. While Teotónio’s position was fairly Indian nationalist and nativist, my own attempt is to combat Indian nationalism. But I think we would agree that there has to be a greater investment by Goans in representing themselves.

A good amount of Teotónio´s unpleasantness, I believe, emerged also from the peculiar social location that he occupied. Brahmin, but not quite. I was made aware of this when reading the Introduction to his book, Goa To Me (1994). I was struck by the amount of personal history that he revealed and personally found it a very brave and honest text. This text demonstrates the viciousness of the caste system among Goans, where we are unable to create a vibrant healthy Goan identity because we are forever caught up in emphasizing rank, and therefore difference, rather than building community and emphasizing similarity. I have an anecdote of my own to offer. My first experience in Lisbon was to attend the meeting of Goans from across the world organized by the Casa de Goa some years ago (2007?). I was in Coimbra for a month at the time and took the opportunity to have lunch with Teotónio prior to the meeting. At our lunch Teotónio filled me in on his appraisal of the Goan communities in Lisbon, pointing to inter-caste conflicts and how at the time the Casa da Goa was dominated by brahmins.
Arriving at the Casa de Goa armed with this knowledge, I was greeting by an individual who asked me that ancient Goan question, “where in Goa are you from?” a question designed not so much to open a conversation, but to locate you in the caste hierarchy. While I do not normally play this game, offering that I grew up in Pangim, or in Dona Paula, this time round I slipped indicating my roots in Divar. “Ah!” responded this individual “We are from Margão!”, putting me firmly in my place. Never again, I promised to myself, would I play this game. It is not my intention to suggest that this is currently the case with the Casa de Goa, but this is an attitude that we need to deal with, and firmly.
I will end these reflections here, I suspect I have already taken up well more than my fair share of the allotted time. I thank you for your attention, Casa de Goa for this invitation, and wish eternal rest to Teotónio, and thank him for the work he has done. 

(Text of the presentation made in Portuguese at the Memorial meeting for Dr. Teotónio de Souza, Casa de Goa, Lisbon – 23 March 2019)