In the sun-drenched paradise of Goa, where the ethos of susegado—a languid, harmonious way of life—has long defined the cultural rhythm, a seismic shift is underway. The “Enough is Enough” movement, launched in early January 2026 under the stewardship of former Chief Justice Ferdino Rebello, marks a profound rupture in this tranquility. What began as a gathering in Panaji’s Menezes Braganza Hall has snowballed into a statewide clamor, with public meetings echoing from Mapusa to Margao, Chandor to Varca. Crowds chant for the protection of hills, rivers, forests, and villages against rampant mega-projects, illegal land conversions, and ecological plunder. This is no mere protest; it is a manifestation of righteous resentment, a justified fury against systemic misrecognition and colonial legacies that continue to erode Goan identity. Drawing from the philosophical wellsprings of Jean-Paul Sartre, Frantz Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks, and Glen Sean Coulthard’s Red Skin, White Masks, we can understand this burst as a reclamation of authenticity, a rejection of imposed masks, and a call for resurgence in a land weary of passive endurance.
Sartre’s existentialism provides a foundational lens for this righteous resentment. In his preface to Fanon’s The Wretched of the Earth*, Sartre articulates how colonized peoples, stripped of their humanity, must confront the absurdity of their existence through a radical awakening. For Sartre, resentment is not mere bitterness but a catalyst for freedom— a refusal to live in “bad faith,” that inauthentic state where one denies one’s own agency. In susegado Goa, this bad faith has manifested as a cultural resignation: the acceptance of “development” that devours paddy fields and wetlands, turning the state’s verdant soul into concrete wastelands. Goans, once liberated from Portuguese rule in 1961, now face an internal colonialism—outsider-driven projects that prioritize profit over people. The “Enough is Enough” charter, with its demands for amendments to land revenue laws, halts on mega-housing, and forest safeguards, embodies Sartre’s call to action. As Rebello urges a Gandhian satyagraha, the movement rejects bad faith, channeling resentment into existential revolt. Youth, long absent or apathetic, now lead the charge, proving that in Goa’s relaxed facade lies a dormant rage ready to affirm authentic existence.
Fanon’s Black Skin, White Masks deepens this analysis, exposing the psychological scars of colonialism. Fanon dissects how the colonized internalize the oppressor’s gaze, donning “white masks” to mimic the dominant culture while despising their own “black skin.” In Goa, this dynamic plays out in the commodification of its identity: the state’s beaches and biodiversity sold as tourist fantasies, while locals grapple with pollution, displacement, and cultural dilution. The susegado spirit, once a source of pride, has been twisted into a mask of complacency, allowing politicians and developers to exploit the land with impunity. Yet, as Fanon argues, this alienation breeds a righteous resentment—a decolonizing force that shatters the masks. The “Enough is Enough” eruption mirrors this: Goans decry the erosion of their ethos. “Save Goa, our land, our forests, our culture, the future for the next generation,” they proclaim, echoing Fanon’s insistence that true liberation demands confronting the internalized oppressor. In a state where 50% of the population are post-liberation settlers, this resentment is not exclusionary but a plea for solidarity, stripping away the masks of false harmony to reveal the raw injustice beneath.
Building on Fanon, Glen Sean Coulthard’s Red Skin, White Masks adapts this framework to indigenous struggles, critiquing the “politics of recognition” as a colonial trap. Coulthard argues that state-granted recognition—symbolic gestures of inclusion—perpetuates domination, masking structural exploitation. Instead, he champions righteous resentment as fuel for resurgence: a grounded, community-driven revival that rejects dependency on the colonizer. Goa, with its indigenous roots intertwined in communal lands and village traditions, faces a similar predicament. Government policies offer “recognition” through tourism boosts or environmental nods, yet enable hill-cutting, wetland destruction, and mega-developments that benefit elites. The “Enough is Enough” movement exposes this facade, demanding not mere acknowledgment but radical change. As crowds swell in public halls, with journalists like Sandesh Prabhudesai urging legislators to act, the resentment grows productive—organizing charters, fostering unity, and inspiring youth participation. Coulthard’s vision resonates: in susegado Goa, where confrontation was once anathema, this burst signifies a resurgence, transforming passive suffering into assertive demands for self-determination.
The growth of this righteous resentment is palpable. From an initial clarion call in Panaji on January 6, the movement has cascaded into a “cumulative wave,” with meetings drawing diverse voices—freedom fighters, environmentalists, and everyday citizens. Endorsements from across the spectrum, including calls for transparency in coastal communities and critiques of youth sidelining, underscore its momentum. In a culture that prized quiet adaptation, this collective “enough” is revolutionary: it awakens the susegado soul to rage, not as destruction but as creation. As Sartre might say, it affirms freedom; as Fanon, it unmasks alienation; as Coulthard, it ignites resurgence.
Goa’s “Enough is Enough” is more than a slogan—it’s a philosophical manifesto in action. In the face of existential threats, righteous resentment bursts forth, proving that even in paradise, patience has limits. The question now is not if Goa will change, but how this rage will reshape its future. For the people, the time for masks is over; the era of authentic reclamation has begun.
