The Matrix candidate

In the 1972 film, *The Candidate *, Robert Redford plays a young idealist who, with no real prospects of winning a U.S. Senate election, is convinced by an experienced professional campaign manager to run against the incumbent senator, considered invincible. Assured that, having no chance of being elected, he could say whatever he wanted, genuinely and unfiltered, Redford's character accepts the challenge. The plot unfolds, of course, and, little by little, as the outsider candidate's chances of winning increase, so too do the ethical and moral demands placed upon him. Throughout the film, the story focuses on the vast chasm between, on the one hand, the process of gaining power through rhetoric, idealism, and goodwill, and, on the other, the concessions, compromises, and political, moral, and personal choices that the reality of exercising power ultimately demands.

In the end, the candidate's problem becomes the possibility of victory. Like Lenin, faced with the prospect of being called upon to put his detached and genuine rhetoric into practice, the candidate anxiously asks himself: what to do? In our times and in the real Portuguese world, our moralistic, uninhibited, anti-establishment candidate, who with a strident tone and seemingly genuine conviction has attacked the incumbent Portuguese political system, will also soon have to answer this question. Unfortunately, in a media regime dominated by clickbait, sensationalism, and farce, this question has gone relatively unnoticed, but, in truth, the great question of the coming political years is precisely this: beyond the propaganda, what does André Ventura's project for the country actually mean in practice? Considering the anti-tax rhetoric and the excessive announcement of exorbitantly expensive measures—a tactic not exactly unusual for someone aspiring to power—where does Ventura's true commitment lie? For now, aside from a handful of shadow ministers, what remains is mystery.

However, after the last legislative elections and the famous 23%, more attentive and critical minds might have anticipated that, finally, that defining moment where Chega will be forced to transform itself from a protest party—note the name—into a party that can, in fact, seize power, would be imminent, and with it, the "what to do?" moment for the candidate Robert Redford embodied in Ventura. But no. Fallen from the imaginary realm of normality and democratic health that Portugal does not experience, and grounded in the dreary swamp of Portuguese political rabble, all that remains for us is the drivel of the "far-right," the "attack on democracy," and the generalized indignation at a possibility that, in the end, nobody really knows what it is—and the blame for this lack of knowledge cannot be placed solely on Ventura; on the contrary, it lies primarily with those who should be asking him and demanding answers, and who are only concerned with hysterically shouting "wolf" at the alleged "threat" that he embodies.

However, the local elections arrived, and Chega, in part, lost momentum through abstention—once again, just as in the last European elections—to the general relief of the commenting and gossiping masses on radio and TV. It is now thought that, after all, there is salvation for the Ventura storm: if we transpose the virtues, proximity, and specificities of "local power" to the national level, the political tempest will be averted, and the current administration will be saved. However, the fact that the votes that did not go to vote for the numerous Chega candidates in the local elections across the country are votes that, when they do appear, only seem to vote for Ventura—this simple fact seems to have gone completely unnoticed by those astute analysts of the national political phenomenon. Moreover, the fact that the next act in the national political play is a highly personalized election, by direct vote, in a single national constituency—perhaps the best combination of factors that could exist for the electorate that votes for Ventura, and only Ventura, to mobilize once again, as in the Legislative elections, to appear in the voting booths—well, there is yet another small footnote that insists on not appearing in the national political debate.

No, the big political question, it seems, is the unfortunate cataclysm that threatens to bring down the heavens on the unfortunate Portuguese people if Ventura, as always, gets a good vote and, who knows, "makes it to the second round." In unison, they sing with one voice: Marques Mendes, the resident commentator who succeeded Professor Marcelo in his "family conversations" in the obvious, fake, almost ridiculous hope of also succeeding him in the presidential office, has already explained that Ventura wants to "destroy democracy." António José Seguro, the renegade socialist who longs to steal votes from Marques Mendes, agrees. For him, "there is a threat to democracy," a threat for which a vote for him represents not only the solution but also a safe haven for all "democrats, progressives, and humanists." Gouveia e Melo goes even further. For the Admiral who claimed to be the savior of the nation in the fight against the dreaded COVID virus, Ventura “entered a whirlwind of racism” and, more seriously, resembles “Hitler.” They are geniuses, gentlemen, they are geniuses—or perhaps not, they live in the Portuguese political world as would-be main actors without understanding a thing about what is happening around them.

Further to the left, the situation is the same and, as always, the existential threat posed by Ventura dominates the discourse. Catarina Martins, an exemplary democrat of the Jacobin far-left, announces her candidacy, not calling for revolution, but, on the contrary, guaranteeing that with her, the revolution (of Ventura) will never occur. Never, ever! If she is elected President of the Republic, she assures us that "Chega" will "never take office as Government"—when the Left Bloc is the guardian of the regime, something is rotten in the Portuguese kingdom. António Filipe, the candidate of the postponed corpse of the PCP, assumes that he will do everything to "prevent the far-right" from coming to power, obviously, insofar as the Chega and Ventura campaign "shames the country"—the fact that the PCP still exists should be something that shames us all, but well, that's how it is. Finally, from Livre emerges an unknown figure aiming to fill the void left by Seguro on the left, and, of course, he too aspires to "defend the ideals of the Republic," because the Republic, like democracy, the April Revolution, and everything else, is "under attack"—by whom, of course, Ventura. They are visionaries, we've already realized.

In other words, and just as the ADN candidate for the Lisbon City Council once sang, thanks to all this political intelligence, Ventura can increasingly proclaim at the top of his lungs that, in politics, in elections, in Portugal, in the media world of this small rectangle by the sea, in every national political corner, including in the thinking minds of the regime, the main role is his—and it truly is. Under these conditions, carried on the shoulders of the main national political players, particularly his adversaries, can anyone really be surprised that Ventura has more and more votes, more and more weight, and is ever closer to final victory? And all this without any journalist, or any political opponent, ever having the capacity, amidst the media fog he himself creates to present himself as King Sebastian, to force Ventura to say the only thing that truly matters—what does he want and will he really do if he wins?

We are therefore living in a complete fantasy where the gravitational center of everything relevant that happens in the media bubble is André Ventura. Journalists, yearning for audience and the moment of glory when they can exploit a stutter or weakness from the center of it all, accuse, attack, and needle a Ventura who, always smiling, like Neo in the Matrix film, dodges the bullets fired at him with supersonic ease. Why? Because, like Neo, Ventura controls the political "matrix," representing the Alpha and Omega of the media world that has since been built around him. In the end, two mysteries remain: first, that no one, among the aspiring journalists, understands that the scandal, indignation, and fury unleashed against Ventura only strengthens him; second, that there is also no one concerned with what Ventura, behind the maneuvers and the folklore, really means for the country.

It is quite extraordinary that professional politicians and journalists with decades of experience are comfortable with this situation, which they co-created, in which the entire media world sits in an audience facing a stage occupied by only one person. That they fail to realize that this situation, along with the ambiguity their proposal represents—where everything and its opposite fits—is what gives them power, strength, and electoral success, is even more extraordinary and an unfortunate testament to the prevailing mediocrity that coexists with, and feeds on, a void that, in fact, represents a threat, not to democracy or the Republic, but to the political regime as a whole.

The practical case of Admiral Melo proves the point. While he lived in the shadow of the central media position to which he was artificially placed by various political and media interests, he was practically elected president in the first round, and guaranteed in the second. But, precisely because, unlike Ventura, it was not his own art and ingenuity that placed him in that position, when forced to emerge from ambiguity and explain his intentions, each time he was forced to speak, the learned character fired a cannon shot at his own ship, which, already so full of water, threatens to sink even before the elections arrive. He too intended to be ambiguous, he too wished to reach everyone — first, that right wing that loves a uniform, then, the center that is neither left nor right, strictly the center between PS and PSD, finally, because focus groups reveal that Seguro leaves open spaces on the left, now announcing himself as Soares' successor and the new great defender of immigrants who, he assures, after ten years are as Portuguese as the rest — thus showing in practice that, without Ventura's talent and the complicity of the media, when ambiguity is forced to materialize into a clear option, if that option is nothing more than a fart released into the wind, electoral strength evaporates into the atmosphere as quickly as methane from cows.

Let's not kid ourselves. André Ventura is, in fact, the most influential politician in the country. He is also probably the most talented—in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king. The question remains: what does this rhetorical and media talent mean for Portugal? It's one of two things: either Ventura will soon have his Redford moment and manage to orchestrate a program, a concrete course of action, and a practical action plan for the country that pleases a large majority; or, because he fails to achieve this goal, or, more likely, because it's always impossible to please, in a positive way, with constructive proposals, all those who, until now, support him solely because he represents discontent, disillusionment, and anger with the regime and the system, in one way or another, Ventura's great challenge is precisely the one that killed the Admiral—that of materialization.

Until now, his talent and the ineptitude of his opponents and journalists have delayed this necessity, but sooner or later that moment will arrive. For the good of the country, it would be better if this happened before Ventura comes to power or, who knows, although unlikely, even in the coming months, to the Presidency of the Republic—but given the country as it is, we shouldn't be surprised if things continue like this, from one void to another until the final victory. One thing is certain: in a democracy, every people gets what it deserves.