Fernando arrives at the factory at 7am, as he has for thirty years. The family furniture business—started by his father in 1968—employs forty-three people now, up from thirty-eight in 2026. Growth. Modest, but real.
The morning is spent reviewing orders. The digital portal for export documentation—one of those "modernization" initiatives Gouveia e Melo championed—has actually made things easier. Fernando remembers spending entire days on paperwork that now takes hours. He'll never admit it publicly, but the bureaucracy has improved.
Coffee with his accountant, Dona Fátima, brings the usual discussions. Corporate tax remained stable—the government resisted pressure to raise it, citing competitiveness. Labor regulations tightened slightly but predictably. "At least we can plan," Fátima observes. Planning was impossible in the Costa years, with surprise legislation every few months. Now there's a rhythm.
The factory floor runs smoothly. Fernando walks through, greeting workers by name. João, the floor supervisor, mentions that his son's school has better funding this year—something about education reform. Fernando doesn't follow the details, but his workers seem less desperate than they were. Wages went up with the minimum wage increase; his skilled workers demanded more to maintain differential. Economics.
Lunch at the restaurante where local business owners gather. The conversation is cautiously optimistic. Pedro, who runs a ceramics operation, landed an export contract with Sweden—the trade promotion offices actually helped, he says, surprised. Mário, who owns a hotel, complains about tourism regulations but acknowledges bookings are strong. Nobody loves the government. Nobody fears it either.
The afternoon brings an unexpected visitor: a regional development official offering financing for machinery upgrades. Low-interest loans, EU funds channeled more efficiently than before. Fernando is suspicious—he's seen government programs that promise and disappear—but the official has specific numbers, clear timelines. Maybe this one is real.
After work, Fernando stops at the café in the town center. The TV shows Gouveia e Melo speaking about industrial policy, supply chains, reducing dependency on Asian manufacturing. Fernando agrees with all of it. Whether it will happen is another question. But at least someone is speaking the language of production, not just consumption.
Dinner at home with his wife, Maria José. Their son Ricardo finally moved back from Belgium—the IT sector in Portugal is growing, and Lisbon offered a salary that almost matched Brussels. Almost. "It's not the money," Ricardo said. "It's home." Fernando wonders if this counts as policy success or personal preference.
The evening brings reflection. Four years ago, Fernando voted for Gouveia e Melo expecting a general's discipline applied to Portuguese chaos. What he got was... adequate management. The courts are slightly faster. The bureaucracy is slightly lighter. The corruption scandals are slightly fewer. Nothing revolutionary. Everything incremental.
Is it enough? Fernando looks at his order book—fuller than 2026—at his workforce—slightly larger, slightly better paid—at his son—returned home after a decade abroad. The numbers suggest yes. The frustration says not quite. He wanted more. He always wants more. That's why he's a business owner.
Before bed, he checks tomorrow's production schedule. Orders from Germany, France, Netherlands. Portugal making things the world wants to buy. Not because of Gouveia e Melo, exactly—the fundamentals were always there—but at least this president didn't break anything.
Sometimes, Fernando thinks, not breaking things is underrated.