Oeiras’ World Press Cartoon 2025 Returns With Trump, Putin & Portuguese Talent

Even before stepping through the doors of Palácio Anjos, visitors sense that this year’s World Press Cartoon is more than a comeback. It is a mirror held up to the last eighteen months of global turmoil and technological angst, and—crucially for Portuguese readers—it is taking place a short suburban train ride from the heart of Lisbon.

A competition reborn in Oeiras

After a two-year hiatus, the show returns on its 20th anniversary with a new home in Algés, a neighbourhood that has quietly become a cultural satellite of the capital. Organisers received work from 41 countries, ultimately selecting 300 drawings by 151 cartoonists. António Antunes, the veteran artist who has anchored Expresso’s opinion pages for over five decades, insists that the relocation was strategic: the municipality of Oeiras guarantees stable funding, a rare commodity for events that celebrate press freedom, especially when deep-pocketed sponsors grow wary of provocative content. The opening weekend drew a queue that snaked along the riverside promenade, underscoring the appetite in Portugal for sharp political humour.

The winning images and their messages

The jury awarded the Grand Prize to Darco, a Montenegrin illustrator whose piece titled Trump’s Signature stitches shut the Statue of Liberty’s lips with the former US president’s exuberant autograph. Curators placed the drawing at eye level in the first room so that viewers confront the silenced monument before anything else. In the Caricature category, German artist Frank Hoppmann secured first place with an unsettling portrait of Vladimir Putin—his eyes rendered as empty lacquered buttons that seem to follow spectators down the corridor. The Humour category went to Nahid Maghsoudi of Iran for a stark International Women’s Day image: a blood-spattered burqa hanging from a coat rack beside a similarly stained speech bubble. Portuguese audiences have gravitated toward Zez Vaz’s neon-toned depiction of Elon Musk’s Cybertruck, which took silver in editorial cartoons, perhaps because the piece skewers both tech hype and fossil-fuel nostalgia in one stroke.

Portuguese talent in the spotlight

Local names pepper the honours list, confirming that Portugal’s small but resilient cartooning community holds its own on the global stage. Besides Zez Vaz, Lisbon-born André Carrilho earned a mention for a kaleidoscopic portrayal of Paul McCartney, while newcomer Pedro Silva turned heads with a charcoal rendering of Trump that blends photorealism and grotesque exaggeration. Antunes argues that such visibility matters: younger illustrators can point to the exhibition and show their families that “yes, drawing political jokes can be a job.” The municipality has even paired the show with outreach sessions in Oeiras secondary schools, where students try their hand at satirising local issues—from housing costs to the perennial delays at Cais do Sodré station.

Freedom of the press on the drawing board

The curatorial narrative circles back, again and again, to the fragile state of media liberty. Panels beside the artworks highlight how newsroom layoffs, invasive legislation and the algorithmic grip of social platforms have narrowed the space for dissenting images. Darco himself tells visitors via a recorded interview that he sees each signature-shaped stitch on Lady Liberty’s mouth as a metaphor for “every clause slipped into law when the public is distracted.” Antunes echoes that anxiety, noting that Portuguese cartoonists, though largely spared direct censorship, still navigate lawsuits and coordinated online abuse. The exhibition thus functions both as celebration and warning: humour thrives only where critics are allowed to bite.

Practical details for visitors

Palácio Anjos will keep its doors open until 8 February 2026, giving holiday travellers ample time to drop in. Weekdays are quieter, while weekend afternoons can be brisk; the curator recommends arriving before lunch to linger without the crowd. Tickets cost €4, with discounts for students, seniors and workers registered in the Oeiras council. The venue sits a five-minute walk from Algés train station on the Cascais line, and cyclists can now follow the revamped riverside path from Belém in under twenty minutes. Inside, floor-to-ceiling windows bathe the rooms in natural light, allowing colours—from Hoppmann’s inky blues to Maghsoudi’s shocking reds—to pop without glare.

Looking ahead

When the final visitors file out in February, the organisers will pack up the collection for a touring edition slated for Madrid and later São Paulo. Antunes hints at a possible digital archive that would allow teachers across Portugal to integrate the material into civics classes. For now, the exhibition stands as a vivid reminder that a single, well-aimed drawing can puncture spin, question authority and, on occasion, stitch the mouth of a global superpower shut—if only on paper.