The Portugal Judicial Police and the Public Prosecutor's Office have formally charged nine members of a dismantled neo-Nazi cell with terrorism offenses after uncovering a plot to attack the Prime Minister and dozens of public figures—a case that has raised concerns about extremist ideology reaching within the Portugal Public Security Police (PSP) itself.
Why This Matters
• A PSP officer led the Movimento Armilar Lusitano (MAL), providing weapons training and accessing classified police data on the PM's residence.
• Terrorism charges carry sentences of 8 to 15 years; four defendants remain in preventive detention.
• Over 80 public figures—politicians, journalists, humorists, and civil society groups—were catalogued as "threats" by the group.
• Authorities dismantled the cell in June 2024 before any attack materialized, seizing explosives and 3D-printed firearms.
What This Means for Residents Living in Portugal
For people living in Portugal, this case underscores an important reality: radicalization can reach unexpected places, including law enforcement institutions. While the police successfully prevented any actual attack, it highlights the need for public awareness about far-right extremism in Portuguese communities. Most residents will see no direct impact on daily safety, as the cell was dismantled before executing any violence. However, those working in journalism, activism, politics, and civil society—particularly individuals targeted by the group—have been advised to strengthen personal security measures. Organizations including the High Commission for Migration, SOS Racismo, and LGBTQ+ groups have requested enhanced security assessments. This reflects a broader European pattern: extremist movements have grown since the pandemic, often organizing through encrypted online platforms. Portugal's far-right movements remain marginal compared to some EU countries, but this case demonstrates they merit serious attention.
The Officer Who Trained a Militia
Bruno Gonçalves, a PSP agent stationed in Lisbon, was not merely a member of the MAL—he was its operational commander. According to the indictment filed by prosecutor Cláudia Oliveira Porto, Gonçalves spent all his free time on group activities, even taking paid side jobs to finance MAL operations. His role included organizing weekend field exercises described as "authentic recruit training" sessions, coordinating paintball and airsoft drills, and manufacturing 3D-printed firearms that he distributed to other members.
Recruited by Bruno Carrilho, a Portuguese national living in Switzerland who served as the group's ideological leader, Gonçalves reported daily and made no major decisions without approval. His expertise in weapons and explosives made him indispensable to the cell's ambitions. The group encouraged new recruits to obtain firearm licenses and hunting permits, with leaders sometimes subsidizing the costs.
The Portugal Ministry of Justice confirmed that Gonçalves used his access to the Lisbon Municipal Police system to retrieve the full address—including floor and door number—of Prime Minister Luís Montenegro's residence. He also identified the rotating PSP officers assigned to the building's permanent security detail. Internal documents show the group analyzed Montenegro's daily routine and debated kidnapping him before settling on a plan to fire a 37mm grenade through a window into his home. The scheme was abandoned only after Gonçalves learned the PM was temporarily staying in a Lisbon hotel.
Investigators found evidence of blatantly racist views within Gonçalves's communications. He allegedly claimed that Black people "only worked under the whip" and defended the idea of genetic intellectual and functional limitations based on race—a worldview prosecutors say fueled the group's violent objectives.
A Target List Spanning Society
The MAL's surveillance extended far beyond the Prime Minister. Portugal's Department of Central Investigation and Penal Action (DCIAP) revealed that the group compiled dossiers on more than 80 individuals and organizations, categorizing them as "threats" or "targets." The list reads like a directory of Portugal's democratic institutions and civil society.
Among the political figures under scrutiny were President Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, former Prime Minister António Costa, former President Aníbal Cavaco Silva, and political commentator Luís Marques Mendes. The group also targeted MPs from across the spectrum, including Mariana and Joana Mortágua of the Left Bloc, Rui Tavares of Livre, Carlos Moedas of Lisbon's municipal government, and Mamadou Ba, a prominent anti-racism activist.
Even humorists and cultural figures were not spared. Ricardo Araújo Pereira and Nuno Markl, both satirical commentators, appeared on the list, as did journalists Amanda Lima, Paulo Baldaia, Ricardo Costa, and Alexandra Lucas Coelho. The group's target database also included entries for public figures no longer living, reflecting the scope of their surveillance operations.
The group viewed the leadership of PAN, Livre, and PCTP/MRPP as existential threats, along with the Left Bloc and the Portuguese Communist Party (PCP). On the organizational side, MAL catalogued contact details and operational structures for the High Commission for Migration, the Observatory Against Racism and Xenophobia, SOS Racismo, ILGA Portugal, the climate activism group Climáximo, the LGBTQ+ performance duo Fado Bicha, and even the Obstetric Violence Observatory (OVO PT).
Prosecutors emphasized that the group did not merely collect names—they actively gathered personal information, mapped routines, and discussed potential actions, including an invasion of the Assembly of the Republic.
The Telegram War Room
Like many contemporary extremist cells across Europe, MAL operated primarily through encrypted Telegram channels, which allowed members dispersed across Portugal and abroad to coordinate in relative secrecy. The platform served as a command hub for ideological discussions, logistical planning, and the dissemination of neo-Nazi propaganda.
The group's ideology blended Holocaust denial, white supremacy, and anti-immigration rhetoric. During the COVID-19 pandemic, MAL incorporated conspiratorial narratives into its messaging. After Russia's invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the cell pivoted to blaming left-wing European governments for economic instability and migration pressures—themes that resonated with some disaffected individuals online.
Portugal Judicial Police (PJ) sources told investigators that MAL's recruitment model relied on cultivating personal connections through online forums and gradually escalating members' involvement. New recruits attended weekend camps where they received tactical training and ideological indoctrination. The group's ultimate vision was to transform MAL into a political movement backed by an armed paramilitary wing.
Origins and Evolution of the Cell
MAL did not emerge in a vacuum. It evolved from the remnants of earlier extremist factions, including Gárgulas de Portugal, the Soldiers of Odin (a Scandinavian anti-immigrant vigilante network), and the Nova Ordem Social. Founded around 2018, the group remained relatively obscure until the pandemic, when social isolation and online radicalization accelerated its growth.
In 2020, authorities briefly investigated MAL after members shared classified Portuguese Navy documents online, but no charges were filed at the time. By 2024, the cell had coalesced around a core of five leaders and an expanding network of sympathizers.
The June 2024 Takedown
On June 17, 2024, the Portugal Judicial Police executed "Operation Desarme 3D," a coordinated anti-terrorism sweep that resulted in the arrest of six individuals across multiple locations. Four were immediately placed in preventive detention; a fifth was released after prosecutors determined that the suspect's role was less central than initially believed.
During the raids, investigators seized a cache of weapons and materials that underscored the group's operational readiness: explosives, multiple firearms (including several produced with 3D printers to evade traceability), ammunition, knives, computer equipment, and stacks of neo-Nazi propaganda. The use of 3D-printed weapons marked a troubling evolution in domestic extremism, enabling individuals to circumvent Portugal's stringent gun control laws.
Among those arrested were three founding members of MAL: the PSP officer Bruno Gonçalves, a truck driver, and a private security guard. The remaining defendants include individuals who provided financial support, assisted in recruitment, and participated in training exercises.
Institutional Response and Accountability
The MAL case has prompted an institutional reckoning. The Portugal Public Security Police announced it has opened disciplinary proceedings against the accused officer and reinforced psychological screening for new recruits. The Portugal Ministry of Internal Administration has reviewed security protocols and enhanced assessments for civil society organizations targeted by the group.
The indictment, filed in January 2025, charges the nine defendants with 29 criminal counts, including founding and leading a terrorist organization, recruitment for terrorism, illegal weapons manufacture and trafficking, financing terrorism, illegal access to classified data, and abuse of authority. Sentences for the most serious charges range from 8 to 15 years.
Prosecutors stressed that while no attack was carried out, the group had spent years assembling the human, material, financial, and logistical resources necessary for large-scale violence. The only factors preventing action were insufficient resources and the belief that "the moment had not yet arrived."
A Broader European Pattern
Portugal is not alone. Across Europe, encrypted messaging platforms like Telegram have become the preferred organizing tool for extremist cells. In neighboring Spain, authorities dismantled a similar network in 2024; in Germany, the Reichsbürger movement plotted to overthrow the government using a parallel command structure.
What distinguishes the MAL case is the depth of infiltration within law enforcement. The involvement of a serving PSP officer—who leveraged his institutional access to facilitate terrorist planning—raises questions about vetting procedures, internal oversight, and the susceptibility of security forces to radicalization.
The Portugal Attorney General's Office has pledged to review existing protocols for monitoring extremist activity within public institutions. Meanwhile, the Portugal Parliament is expected to debate new legislation aimed at criminalizing participation in online extremist networks and expanding the legal definition of terrorist propaganda.
Trial Timeline and Accountability
The trial is expected to begin in the coming years, though procedural delays are common in complex terrorism cases. Legal experts predict the proceedings will hinge on digital evidence—including thousands of Telegram messages, seized hard drives, and metadata linking defendants to specific plots and communications.
Defense attorneys have signaled they will challenge the admissibility of some evidence, particularly data obtained from encrypted platforms, arguing it may have been collected in violation of privacy protections. The Portugal Supreme Court has yet to rule definitively on the scope of law enforcement access to encrypted communications in terrorism investigations.
For now, four defendants remain behind bars. The release of one suspect—who was charged with lesser offenses related to recruitment and propaganda—signals that prosecutors are drawing distinctions between operational leaders and peripheral participants.
Civil liberties groups have welcomed the prosecutions while cautioning against overreach. Amnesty International Portugal issued a statement praising the Judicial Police for thwarting a genuine threat but urged vigilance to ensure that anti-terrorism measures do not infringe on legitimate political dissent or privacy rights.
The case has also reignited debates over how Portugal should respond to the rise of far-right extremism. Some lawmakers are calling for expanded funding for de-radicalization programs and community-based interventions; others advocate for harsher penalties and more aggressive surveillance of online spaces.
As the legal process unfolds, one fact remains clear: the dismantling of the Movimento Armilar Lusitano has exposed uncomfortable truths about radicalization within Portugal's own institutions—and the fragility of democratic norms in an age of digital extremism.
