Report By Humayun Kabir .
April 25, 2025, dawned bright and clear over the streets of Lisbon, Portugal. It was the 51st anniversary of the Carnation Revolution, the peaceful coup that had ousted the Estado Novo dictatorship and ushered in a new era of democracy. Freedom Day was always a significant occasion in Portugal, but this year felt especially poignant, as the country reflected on more than half a century of progress, resilience, and transformation.
The morning began with a ceremonial mass at Lisbon’s stunning Sé Cathedral, where people of all ages gathered, many wearing red carnations—the symbol of the revolution. The carnations were a tribute to the movement’s peaceful nature, and they had become a reminder of how far Portugal had come since 1974.
Across the city, the streets buzzed with activity. The scent of freshly baked pastéis de nata filled the air, mingling with the distant sound of jazz music from the Fado cafés. Lisbon’s skyline was alive with the vibrant red and green of flags, while balconies and windows were adorned with flowers—both real and symbolic. This year, in particular, there was a quiet sense of pride in the air.
In the heart of the city, the grand Avenida da Liberdade was transformed into an open-air celebration space. This wide, tree-lined avenue, usually bustling with cars, had been closed off to traffic for the day. The pavement was packed with people, some young, some elderly, all strolling through stalls offering local wines, olive oils, handmade crafts, and the famous bacalhau dishes that were a staple of Portuguese cuisine. The atmosphere was relaxed and festive, with children running alongside their grandparents, a symbol of the enduring connection between past and future generations.
The streets echoed with live music, from rock bands to traditional Cante Alentejano choirs, drawing a diverse crowd. It wasn’t just a political celebration—it was a cultural one. People shared stories of their personal experiences of the revolution, reminiscing about the days when they had joined the crowds protesting for liberty, when the streets had been filled with both hope and fear, uncertainty and joy.
Miguel, who had grown up in the post-revolution world, had studied the history, but hearing it from his grandmother’s voice made it feel real. The significance of Freedom Day was more than a lesson—it was a living history.
The crowd cheered, waving flags and clapping. The joy was palpable, yet there was a deeper, reflective tone in the air. The younger generation, who had only heard stories of the revolution, were beginning to understand the sacrifices made for the freedom they sometimes took for granted.
That evening, as the sun began to set over the Tagus River, the city of Lisbon erupted into a dazzling display of fireworks, lighting up the sky in bursts of gold, red, and white. It was a celebration, yes, but it was also a moment of remembrance—of those who had fought for freedom and those who continued to fight for a more inclusive and fair society.
Families gathered along the riverbanks, some sitting on the grass, others enjoying picnics, while older generations stood proudly in the shadows of the ancient buildings, reflecting on how much had changed.
In the midst of the celebration, there was also a quiet recognition: Freedom was not guaranteed. It had to be cherished, protected, and nurtured with every generation. As the fireworks lit up the sky, people in Lisbon, and across Portugal, knew they were part of something bigger—something that would continue to evolve as long as the memory of the Revolução dos Cravos remained alive in their hearts.