Paula starts her shift at the textile factory at 6am, same as she has for twenty-five years. The winter cold seeps through the building; the heating is minimal. Some things presidential elections don't change.
But she feels represented, at least. Seguro is from the PS world she knows—union contacts, worker language, the social promise of the party her parents supported. When he speaks about labor rights, wages, protection, she recognizes the words. Whether words become reality is another question.
The morning work is repetitive, familiar. The factory survived the crisis years, the pandemic, the energy shock. It survives now with EU orders that Seguro helped negotiate—Portugal positioned well in European supply chains, the president's diplomatic skills apparently useful. Paula doesn't understand the economics. She understands that orders keep coming.
Lunch in the canteen brings political conversation. Her colleague Célia voted PSD but doesn't regret Seguro. "At least he's decent," she says. The bar is low. After years of corruption scandals, instability, Chega threats, "decent" feels like achievement. Paula agrees, cautiously. Decent doesn't fix her back or raise her wage.
The afternoon news mentions minimum wage negotiations. The government—AD, not PS—is resisting larger increases. Seguro advocates publicly for workers, but can't force policy. The frustration is familiar: a president who speaks her language, a government that doesn't listen. Cohabitation. French word for Portuguese deadlock.
After work, Paula attends a union meeting. The CGTP representative discusses contract negotiations, health and safety, pension rights. These battles predate Seguro and will outlast him. The presidency is symbolic; the struggle is material. Paula knows this. Still, symbols matter. Seeing someone in Belém who mentions workers without contempt—it's something.
Her daughter calls during dinner. She's in Lisbon now, working in a call center, sharing an apartment with three others. The housing crisis touches even northern families. "When are you visiting?" Paula asks. "When I can afford the train," her daughter laughs, not really joking.
The evening news shows Seguro at an EU summit, advocating for social Europe, minimum wages, worker protections. Paula watches with pride and skepticism intertwined. He fights well in Brussels. But the battlefield that matters—Portuguese workplaces, Portuguese wages, Portuguese housing—is controlled by others.
Before bed, Paula calculates her monthly budget. The math is tight, as always. Seguro's presidency hasn't changed this. Perhaps no presidency could. But she'll vote PS again, when legislative elections come. The alternative—AD continuing, Chega growing, workers further forgotten—is worse.
"At least someone is saying the right things," she tells herself. It's not enough. But it's not nothing.