Jasse considers how the various European colonial projects shared the similar aim, for which they competed, of access to all sorts of resources for the economic benefit of their elites – a reality that, now being propelled under new globalized guises by new (alongside the same old) agents of so-called progress and development, is far from over.
He tells us about the important and complex mission that Amílcar Cabral delegated to them and what it was like to learn the crushing news of his assassination in the middle of this process. It fell to him as his first job to film Amílcar Cabral at an exhibition on the struggle in Conakry, in 1972, and then the transferring of his body to Bissau, capturing the commotion of the Guineans at the death of their greatest thinker and anti-colonial resistance leader.
In Portugal, on one hand, leftists can use decolonization as that apologetic pat on the back, in an orgiastic self-flagellation of White guilt, always reiterating how Whites are horrible and privileged bastards who only know how to hurt the rest of the world. Apparently, this absurd and self-centered mea culpa makes the world fairer and abracadabrally fades away all issues of oppression. On the other hand, even right-wingers can use it to further fuel their unfounded hatred and their glimpses of grandeur, based on a romanticized past of conquest and domination as a show of intellectual and racial superiority.
Despite being financially autonomous and not feeling personally discriminated against, Maria Eugénia was sensitive to the “colonial condition” inspired by her political conscience, motivating her to take action in the face of the circumstances of her time, a fact that makes her an unusual woman, not only in that specific era, but in any era that demands rejection of convention and conformism in the face of an unjust social order. Maria Eugénia was not a guerrilla fighter, nor a nurse, nor a political counselor to the nationalist movement.
Jasse considers how the various European colonial projects shared the similar aim, for which they competed, of access to all sorts of resources for the economic benefit of their elites – a reality that, now being propelled under new globalized guises by new (alongside the same old) agents of so-called progress and development, is far from over. 
He tells us about the important and complex mission that Amílcar Cabral delegated to them and what it was like to learn the crushing news of his assassination in the middle of this process. It fell to him as his first job to film Amílcar Cabral at an exhibition on the struggle in Conakry, in 1972, and then the transferring of his body to Bissau, capturing the commotion of the Guineans at the death of their greatest thinker and anti-colonial resistance leader. 
In Portugal, on one hand, leftists can use decolonization as that apologetic pat on the back, in an orgiastic self-flagellation of White guilt, always reiterating how Whites are horrible and privileged bastards who only know how to hurt the rest of the world. Apparently, this absurd and self-centered mea culpa makes the world fairer and abracadabrally fades away all issues of oppression. On the other hand, even right-wingers can use it to further fuel their unfounded hatred and their glimpses of grandeur, based on a romanticized past of conquest and domination as a show of intellectual and racial superiority. 
Despite being financially autonomous and not feeling personally discriminated against, Maria Eugénia was sensitive to the “colonial condition” inspired by her political conscience, motivating her to take action in the face of the circumstances of her time, a fact that makes her an unusual woman, not only in that specific era, but in any era that demands rejection of convention and conformism in the face of an unjust social order. Maria Eugénia was not a guerrilla fighter, nor a nurse, nor a political counselor to the nationalist movement. 
