Aljube
- 
Housed in a former prison building in the heart of Lisbon, the “Museo do Aljube Resistência e Liberdade” (‘Aljube Museum of Resistance and Liberation/Freedom’), to give it its full name, chronicles the long years of Portugal’s dictatorship under Salazar, and in particular the resistance against it, as well as the topics of imprisonment and torture, the Colonial Wars and the end of the regime in the 1974 Carnation Revolution.The main exhibition is rather specialist and in particular for foreign visitors it helps if you already know a fair bit about modern Portuguese History. Otherwise this museum can at times feel quite a bit overwhelming.
More background info: for general historical background see this separate stand-alone chapter about Portuguese History.
Apparently there had almost always been a prison at the Aljube, even in ancient Roman times and then during the Moorish period. The name seems to date back to that latter period and the root “Al Jubb” meaning ‘well without water’ or ‘dungeon’. Throughout the medieval period and into early modern times the Aljube was an ecclesiastical prison, then from 1845 it served as a prison for women. In the first Portuguese Republic phase an extra floor was added to the top of the building.
In 1928 the place first became a political prison; within the Estado Nuovo (New State) regime period, the Aljube was run by the infamous PIDE secret police and used as a torture centre as well as a political prison. An infirmary was added for torture victims in 1936. In 1940 the tiny solitary confinement cells known as “curros” were added, where prisoners had just 1 x 2 metres space and no window.
Given its location on a busy street in the city centre of Lisbon, the Aljube was quite exposed to the public eye, and in January 1965 protests were held outside the prison demanding the release of student inmates who had been arrested a few days earlier. After those protests, the decision was taken to close the Aljube prison, which happened in August 1965.
In 1969 the building underwent internal reconstruction, in the course of which the old “curros” were removed. After the 1974 revolution, the building initially remained in the hands of the Ministry of Justice, who had the building modified further so that eventually hardly a trace of its legacy as a political prison could be seen.
In 2004/5, archaeological excavations were carried out in the basement, and in 2009 the whole building was transferred to the Lisbon City Council with the plan to convert it into a museum. A first exhibition was installed in 2011 under the name of “Voices of the Victims”, prepared by various historical organizations.
The museum in its present form opened its doors to the general public on 25 April 2015, i.e. on the 41st anniversary of the Carnation Revolution. It was the first such museum in the country (the bigger one at Peniche Fort opened a few years later).
What there is to see: After paying for my ticket I first had a look around the ground floor, where there was a temporary exhibition marking the 50th anniversary of the 1974 Carnation Revolution (see above and under history), still in place when I was there in January 2025. Shortly after this exhibition was scheduled to have finished but I cannot say what it may be followed with (the museum’s website had not been updated accordingly when I last looked in early April 2025).
Also on the ground floor was a smaller exhibition about the history of the Aljube building and an overview of the modern historical context.
Most text panels in the museum are bilingual in Portuguese and English, and the translation quality is mostly alright, despite a few linguistic lapses here and there and a certain stylistic clumsiness in parts. But nothing major.
The main permanent exhibition is then spread out over the floors above. The first section focuses on the nature of the dictatorship in Portugal under the “Estado Nuovo” and Salazar. The regime was characterized by its conservative principles, propaganda, censorship and repression. And as this is a museum made from the perspective of the primarily communist resistance, the narrative is naturally a bit one-sided and incessantly condemning. The only indirect exception is a collection of charts with figures that show how far Portugal has come over the past century in terms of literacy, GDP, education, health and life expectancy, etc. – and a good chunk of that progress already set in during the 40 years of the Salazar regime (though many more improvements have been achieved since the end of the dictatorship).
The next section deals with the nature of the resistance against the Salazar regime, be it open or (more often) clandestine. As is familiar from resistance museums elsewhere, the topic of clandestine printing presses is given particular space. There’s a life-size diorama peopled by white-plaster mannequins of members of the resistance typing up pamphlets, operating a printing press or keeping a watch through the curtains and out of a window.
Otherwise there aren’t many actual artefacts on display. The exhibition relies much more on documents, images and text. Here and there are also video screens on which interviews with witnesses/victims are played (with English subtitles).
The depth and details of the documented bureaucracy of the regime and the development of the PIDE (see history) and its precursors and successor organizations, as well as the convoluted judicial system, frequently goes above what’s easily digestible for the foreign visitor. It can thus be a bit overwhelming at times – but of course you can also just skim-read or skip parts of the many panels altogether.
Another visually interesting section is that about the files on prisoners and the regime’s actions amassed over time, illustrated by a whole wall of files and endless filing cabinets, including some set above eye-level, which makes their sight feel even more oppressive.
A core section of the exhibition concentrates on imprisonment, here at the Aljube but also in other places (such as Peniche) or in exile (e.g. at Tarrafal in Cape Verde). There are prisoners’ mugshots, fake iron bars, drawings and a long list of victims’ testimonies. The most gruesome subsection is the one dealing with torture, with some harrowing descriptions of the long-term effects and damage done by torture.
At the core of this main section is a set of reconstructed tiny isolation cells called “curros”. As the original ones had been removed after the closure of the prison (see above), it was deemed necessary to create replicas for the museum (in that regard, Peniche offers more authenticity!). Some of the cells are empty, others have more of those white-plaster mannequins in them to further emphasize how restricted the space was. In one of the cells, there’s another screen playing video footage.
And then just beyond the set of open cell-door reconstructions there’s also a sound installation. This is part of the reconstructed guard position with a little desk and chair and an old-fashioned telephone on the wall. Motion sensors on the ceiling then make visitors trigger the shrill ringing of that telephone as they proceed through the installation. That can feel quite shocking. At first I thought somebody ahead of me had triggered some sort of alarm. But when I read the relevant explanatory panel for this part I understood that this was a deliberate shock tactic – namely to illustrate the prisoners’ panic whenever the loud telephone ringing tore them from their sleep (or waking stupor), as this ringing could always be a sign that a prisoner was going to be collected for interrogation.
A separate section on the floor above then proceeds to the topic of the Colonial Wars, in particular in Africa (especially Angola, Mozambique and Guinea-Bissau) – see again under history.
There follows another visual installation, this time a large collection of portrait photos of victims forming one large image of a face. Next to this is a whole wall of little entries for victims and when and where they were killed.
The final section of the permanent exhibition proper then focuses on the Carnation Revolution and the achievement of liberty and democracy. Again the details of the descriptions of the events of 25 April 1974 in Lisbon can be a bit overwhelming for visitors not so familiar with the topic, but you get an impression of the complexity of events unfolding.
There’s yet one more floor above, but this only has a few posters, mostly from the anniversaries of the Carnation Revolution over the years, and other artwork.
Taking the lift down to the bottom floor, level -1, i.e. the basement, you can also see a small exhibition about the archaeological excavations undertaken in the 2000s and get a glimpse of some of the objects retrieved back then. But this is of course off the main topic of the museum.
All in all, this is on the one hand not an “easy” museum, both with regard to the sometimes overwhelming amounts of detail, but also some of the content (torture, in particular), yet on the other hand I could not shake off the impression that the narrative was perhaps a little bit one-sided. Given its context that’s not surprising, of course, but the language employed could at various points perhaps have been a bit more balanced.
Nevertheless, the Aljube is probably the No. 1 dark-tourism attraction in Lisbon, at least in the narrower sense of what constitutes dark tourism (while other Lisbon dark sites covered here on this website are maybe a bit more on the edges of the concept).
Location: right opposite the Sé Cathedral of Lisbon, at 42 Rua de Augusto Rosa near the bottom of the Alfama district.
Google Maps locator: [38.7102, -9.1326]
Access and costs: easy to get to from within central Lisbon; quite inexpensive.
Details: from within the central parts of Lisbon it’s walkable, otherwise take tram lines 12 or the touristy 28 to Limoneiro and walk down the street towards Largo de Sé (or get out there and walk up the street). The nearest metro stations are Terreiro do Paço to the south or Beixa Chiado to the west.
Opening times: Tuesday to Sunday 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. (last entry 5.30 p.m.), closed Mondays as well as on New Year’s Day, Christmas Day and (surprise, surprise) 1st of May (Labour Day).
Admission: 3 euros (some concessions apply).
Time required: I spent about an hour in this museum, but those who want to read absolutely everything of the many texts available may well need significantly longer than that.
Combinations with other dark destinations: See under Lisbon for other dark sites within the city.
A bit further away, but thematically as closely linked as can be is Peniche Fort, where the former main political prison of the dictatorship regime has been converted into a memorial site and museum. Peniche is about an hour’s drive north-west of Lisbon on the Atlantic coast (you could also get there by bus).
Combinations with non-dark destinations: See under Lisbon in general.
The location of the museum makes it well combinable with an exploration of the atmospheric Alfama district on foot. But the other parts of central Lisbon aren’t far either.
