I'll be in Portugal for the latter half of this month, a country I've visited a lot over the past few years. During that time, I've developed an appreciation (not quite a passion) for fado, one of the country's traditional genres of music – if you're not familiar, fado tends to be quite mournful both in sound and content and is usually performed using the voice and steel-stringed instruments. The history of the genre is tremendously interesting.
When the fascist Salazar took control of Portugal, he initially tried to ban fado as he believed that its melancholic sound would ferment weakness among the population. While he would never personally change his mind, he came to see its use as a tool of propaganda following the defeat of the Axis powers in 1945. Though fascism was fought and overthrown in Germany and Italy, it continued to exist in Spain and Portugal for decades, adapting to the shift in the political landscape following the Second World War. And so, fado was allowed under the authoritarian regime's censorship, as long as the lyrics promoted traditional perspectives on the role of women, family and the Catholic church. Following the Carnation Revolution in 1974, the popularity of fado dipped as Portugal's liberated people rejected anything associated with the old regine.
As you may have already worked out, fado has been reclaimed from this painful history and is once again a part of Lisbon's evening soundscape, along with its famous trams. Its story is a testament to the power that music has – one that is not to be taken lightly. Music offers us the chance to share experiences, both good and bad, and we owe it to students to think about the hows and whys of education.
