The Migrant Who Votes Against Himself

It’s one of those political ironies that sting more than they surprise: Chega, Portugal’s far-right party, won the votes of many Portuguese living abroad — people who are, by definition, migrants. In Luxembourg, France, Switzerland, and beyond, thousands cast their ballots for a party built on exclusion, nativism, and nostalgia for a Portugal that never truly existed.

They voted against themselves. Against what they once were — or still are, in the eyes of many.

But Chega’s rise is no longer a footnote. It’s a rupture. The 2024 elections made that clear: the party didn’t just grow — it leapt to become the second strongest political force in the country. Its leader, André Ventura, a former football pundit turned demagogue, was quick to declare: “Nothing will be the same again.” This time, he might be right.

Chega has succeeded where many thought Portugal was immune. For years, commentators clung to the belief that the country’s memory of dictatorship would inoculate it against the far right. That we were the exception. That the Salazar trauma still lingered in our democratic DNA. But that exceptionalism has collapsed. And what filled the vacuum was Ventura’s venom — populist slogans, racist scapegoating, and promises of chemical castration — served with the charisma of a reality TV candidate and the rage of a country tired of itself.

How did we get here?

Partly through abstention — growing waves of disengagement masking a deeper anger with Portugal’s political establishment.
Partly through media complicity — Ventura got more airtime than any other party leader, including the sitting prime minister.
But also because the traditional parties — led by the PS and PSD — wasted the last few years in endless political maneuvering, culminating in an unnecessary, self-serving snap election.

The Socialist Party, in particular, severed its emotional connection with voters. A decade of governance delivered incremental gains but also a growing sense of fatigue. For many, the PS began to feel like an uninspired manager of crisis, not a force for transformation. When scandal hit, they called an election — not renewal. And the electorate, exhausted and frustrated, turned elsewhere.

Academics like Marina Costa Lobo and Vicente Valentim have outlined the mechanics: three general elections in three years, decaying trust in the political center, a Socialist base aging and disengaged, and a media ecosystem that amplified Ventura’s provocations more than it questioned them. The center fell asleep while the far right learned how to scream.

Even abroad, the pattern repeated. Portuguese migrants — often economically precarious, often nostalgic — turned their ballots into weapons. In Switzerland alone, Chega won 24,533 votes (13.1%), and in Luxembourg 4,133 votes (11.66%). These numbers underscore a cruel irony: a far-right party gained traction precisely among emigrant communities, despite its anti-immigration stance.

The gender gap is also striking. Recent studies show that young Portuguese men are five times more likely to vote for far-right parties like Chega than young women. This reflects a broader European pattern, where economic precarity and anti-feminist backlash have driven a surge of male support for authoritarian populism.

The paradox is painful but not unique: we’ve seen migrants vote for anti-migrant parties in Italy, France, even the United States. What drives this isn’t logic. It’s identity. Or more precisely, the fear of losing it.

Many abroad no longer see themselves as migrants, but as self-made exceptions. They worked. They adapted. They “did it the right way.” And now they look at newer migrants — Black, Roma, undocumented, precarious — and see not a reflection, but a threat.

The left, for its part, has struggled to speak in terms people feel. While Chega delivers sharp-edged slogans, progressives often respond with technocratic nuance and strategic restraint.

There were efforts to push back — dispersed but determined. In the days leading up to the vote, digital resistance flared up across X and Threads, with warning threads, shared memories, and last-minute appeals against the rise of the far right. On the streets, posters and stickers appeared on walls and windows, reclaiming public space with urgent messages against amnesia and authoritarian drift. At 1A+, Dilettante X launched a campaign confronting passersby with stark reminders of what was at stake. It didn’t stop the result. But it tried to rupture the silence. To say: this matters. This is not just another party. This is the erosion of everything April 25 stood for.

Because yes, this goes beyond Ventura. Chega is not a glitch — it’s the product of a system that ignored its own fractures for too long.

So why does a migrant vote for a party that despises migrants?

Because migration doesn’t automatically create solidarity.
Because nostalgia is often louder than justice.
Because populism thrives where identity feels unstable — and offers scapegoats instead of solutions.
And perhaps most painfully: because many of us don’t want to see in others the struggles we fought to leave behind.

This isn’t just about Chega. It’s about who gets to belong — and who gets to decide. If we want to build a more democratic, pluralist Portugal — at home and abroad — we have to fight for memory, complexity, and community. Not just in the streets or the voting booths, but in the stories we tell ourselves about who we are and how we got here.

Let me be clear: I write this as an Austrian living in Portugal — someone with no voting rights, but a deep concern for the country I now call home. I’ve seen this playbook before. The same normalization of hatred, the same rhetorical poison that carried the FPÖ into Austria’s corridors of power.On 21 November 1944, my grandfather was beheaded under Nazi rule — snitched by a neighbor for dissing the Führer. We do not want that history to repeat itself. Not here. Not anywhere.

If we want to respond, we have to do more than just condemn the outcome. We have to reclaim the emotional terrain. Speak to dignity, to memory, to everyday frustration. Migration alone doesn’t produce empathy. Borders don’t teach solidarity. Without political education, cultural struggle, and shared space, even the most experienced traveler can become a gatekeeper.

Chega thrives on disconnection.
Our task is to rebuild connection — not through nostalgia, but through courage and clarity.
Not to go back — but to move forward, and never alone.