FMM Sines: from world music to militant monologue

For the past decade, I have enthusiastically participated in the World Music Festival in Sines. I have always viewed it as a rare celebration of cultural diversity, where music served as a bridge between distinct peoples, histories, and geographies. It was a space for unlikely encounters, where the language of sound replaced the language of ideological confrontation. This year, for the first time, I decided to boycott the festival. Not because I think highly of myself, nor because I believe my absence will have any impact on the organization. I did so simply as a personal sign of protest, an intimate gesture of civic refusal. I felt I was no longer participating in a pluralistic festival, but in an ideologically closed event, where music became the backdrop for a particular political worldview.

The FMM has increasingly become a stage for monochromatic political curation. Instead of embracing the complexity of the world's voices, the festival now seems committed to amplifying only a few voices, always aligned with the same ideological positions. This year's edition was particularly revealing of this shift. One of the most emblematic moments was the so-called "debate" on immigration. The event's poster suggested a space for reflection, but the reality was different. All participants agreed on practically everything, sharing the same political premises, the same slogans, and the same moral assumptions. There was open support for the mass regularization of immigrants, the opening of borders, and a systematic critique of the rule of law when it imposes limits or rules. Among the participants was a well-known ISCTE researcher, frequently featured in the press, who has stood out for the way he relativizes and even romanticizes phenomena such as illegal housing occupations, holding the state responsible for everything and absolving individuals of responsibility for anything.

But in a true debate, there must be a clash of ideas. There must be room for respectful disagreement, for a plurality of arguments. What happened there was the opposite: a succession of monologues that confirmed each other, without contradiction, without intellectual tension, without true openness to the other. It was a ritual of mutual validation, not a debate.

Another example of this dominant ideological trend was the exhibition "Balumuka!" by Kiluanji Kia Henda, an Angolan artist who publicly denounced what he considers an attempt to "normalize colonization." Henda, of course, has the right to express his views. His historical interpretation is valid as an artistic and personal perspective. But the problem lies in the absence of other interpretations. The festival offers no space for those who think differently. There are no African artists or academics who want to highlight the positive legacies of certain Luso-African cultural heritages, nor any Portuguese descendants who defend a critical view of colonialism without falling into revenge or perpetual blame. Everything boils down to a single narrative, in which Portugal appears as the absolute villain, the past as an irredeemable burden, and the present as the stage for a constant ideological struggle.

Even more troubling was the atmosphere during the concerts. At various points, political slogans were shouted by organized groups, often using megaphones. Phrases like "Out with the racist police!", "End the State of Israel!", and "We don't want fascist politicians in our country!" echoed throughout Castle Square, interrupting the spirit of communion that the music was supposed to foster. These chants did not emerge as spontaneous expressions of popular emotion, but as calculated interventions embedded in a strategy of ideological agitation. This was not a vibrant audience, but a noisy trench.

This raises a fundamental question: what kind of festival do we want? One that celebrates diversity, or one that exploits it? One that embraces diverse worldviews, or one that imposes a single, unambiguous moral, political, and ideological narrative on attendees? Sines deserves a celebration of world music, not a performance of cultural radicalism disguised as tolerance.

And there's an ethical dimension that can't be ignored: the FMM is also funded with public funds. It's around €1.5 million annually, largely covered by the municipal budget. This means the festival belongs to all citizens, not just an ideological bubble that feels it owns the cultural landscape. In a context of budgetary constraints, difficulties in basic services, and legitimate demands from local populations, it's legitimate to question whether this investment is serving the citizens or merely feeding the ego and agendas of a hyper-ideologized cultural elite.

The FMM, in its origins, united us through music. Today, it begins to divide us through politics. There is still time to recapture its original spirit. But to do so, it takes courage to rediscover true plurality—one that listens, respects, and embraces the creative tension between distinct ideas. Otherwise, the festival risks becoming irrelevant. Or, worse, becoming the property of a few who refuse to acknowledge the views of the many.

This year, I was absent. Not out of disinterest. On the contrary, I was absent because I care.