THE SCAPEGOAT
The goat shall carry all their sins upon itself into a desolate land;
and the man shall release the goat in the wilderness.
— Leviticus 16:20-22
The expression “scapegoat” originates from religious rituals described in the Old Testament of the Bible, stemming from an ancient Jewish ceremony (Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement) in which one goat was sacrificed while another bore the sins of all the people and was subsequently released into the desert. The scapegoat has served as a metaphor for collective guilt whenever an innocent group is singled out to bear the responsibility for a failure or crisis affecting an entire community.
As early as the 16th century, Gil Vicente presented a cast of figures representing society of the era in his play Auto da Barca do Inferno (1517)—the nobleman, the friar, the shoemaker, the magistrate, the Jew—highlighting the vices of each to create social satire. The figure of the Jew embodied the rampant antisemitism of the period, thereby reflecting a set of deeply ingrained religious and cultural prejudices within Portuguese society. When entering the scene, the Jew carries a goat, a pejorative symbol for the Jewish people who defend their traditions. Neither the Angel, who commands the Boat of Heaven, nor the Devil, who commands the Boat of Hell, accepts the Jew onto their vessels. The Devil argues that he has no room for the goat, ultimately towing him behind the boat, thus symbolizing the marginalization this group suffered in Portugal. In other words, Gil Vicente uses this character not only to ridicule the hypocrisy of Christian society, but also to critique the stereotypes associated with Jews, such as stubbornness and love of money.
This expression, dating back more than 2,500 years, has solidified over the centuries within our language—which is why I have drawn upon Gil Vicente’s example. Scapegoats, however, have varied across different eras and times. Nowadays, for instance, we have a new scapegoat in Portugal: the immigrant. Today, immigrants are held responsible for every social ill that exists in our society.
When discussing educational issues—PISA results, the shortage of teachers, the lack of operational support staff, the shortage of daycares, or poor conditions in certain schools—we frequently hear political representatives constantly invoke the “open-door policy” that supposedly allowed too many immigrants to enter. When healthcare issues are debated—the closure of maternity wards, hours-long waits in emergency rooms, cancelled surgeries—out comes the allegation once again blaming the increase in NHS (SNS) users on the growth of the immigrant population. We have witnessed demonstrations and tent protests in Lisbon, Porto, and other cities across the country regarding the housing crisis and, astonishingly, those holding government responsibilities wave the specter of immigration as the root cause of the problem.
Without delving into considerations about the demonstrations themselves, I would like to recall that, according to official data, Portugal is the European Union country where housing prices rose the most between 2020 and 2025, and where residents spend the largest portion of their salary to cover housing costs. We know that the housing problem is not unique to Portugal, but rather widespread across all of Europe. However, because I live in Portugal, I believe that instead of manufacturing scapegoats—which in the past have only added more violence to political discourse—good sense should prevail and solutions should be sought to minimize the crisis that do not involve police charges reminiscent of dark times.
In this context, I recall a female voice, that of Natália Correia, when she declared: “When a crisis does not generate great audacity, it is more appropriate to call it an agony.”
Today, the times demand audacity!
Aida Batista/MS
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