A Yellow Card to Promoters of Inclusively Exclusionary Dialogue: How to Heal Wounds Without the Main Targets?

The announcement of a political dialogue in Mozambique initially brought a breath of hope to a society mired in crises of confidence, marked by successive fraudulent electoral processes and a suffocating political environment, where democracy often seems nothing more than a sham. However, as soon as the outline of this dialogue began to take shape, its weaknesses became apparent: what was intended to be inclusive is already exclusionary. And this exclusion is not merely symbolic; it is a deep cut that touches on the open wound of the Mozambican democratic process, whose healing is still far from being achieved.

Venâncio Mondlane's exclusion from the process is the most glaring example of this contradiction. He is not just a politician; he has become, through the ballot box, a symbol of resistance and popular legitimacy. The people placed their trust in him during the last presidential elections, and many believed in the possibility of real change in the Mozambican political landscape. However, this victory was stolen in the open, through gross manipulation, shady maneuvers, and the complicit complacency of institutions that should ensure transparency. The Constitutional Council, instead of establishing itself as the guardian of legality, ended up sealing one of the darkest episodes in the country's electoral history.

Herein lies the first major question: how can we speak of dialogue, reconciliation, and nation-building if the very expression of the people's will is deliberately excluded? Excluding Mondlane amounts to excluding the very people who saw themselves in him, particularly the young people who filled the streets in protest, coming from the urban peripheries and suburbs, making their voices heard at a time when repression was relentless. The youth were the frontline of this resistance, and their courage made it clear that this was not a fabricated mobilization, but rather a legitimate cry against a system that insists on denying them a future.

It is precisely this youth that bears the scars of exclusion, unemployment, poverty, marginalization, and lack of opportunities. And it is they who, viscerally, felt the electoral fraud as a personal attack. These youth took to the streets because they no longer accept being passive spectators of a story written in the offices of power. They took to the streets because the hope they found in Venâncio Mondlane was the hope of an entire generation. When Mondlane is excluded from a dialogue that aims to be inclusive, you are, in effect, telling these youth that their voices still don't count.

A truly inclusive dialogue cannot be selective, tailored to the needs of the ruling party. It cannot be merely an exercise in political cosmetics to appease internal tensions or satisfy the international community, eager for signs of stability. Dialogue will only be meaningful if it is genuine, if it welcomes all those who represent real sensibilities in society, even those who disturb, challenge, or challenge the status quo. Excluding prominent figures like Mondlane is to assume from the outset that there is no intention of listening to dissenting voices, but merely of legitimizing a controlled process.

This "yellow card" to promoters of dialogue is, therefore, a serious warning: the hope of a people cannot be toyed with. Mozambique lives in a cycle of open wounds—past wars, political tensions, endemic corruption, glaring social inequalities. The country doesn't need staged dialogues, but real bridges. It doesn't need exclusions disguised as consensus, but courageous debates, where the main stakeholders have a seat at the table. Healing the nation's wounds necessarily involves recognizing who the wounded are, and Mondlane and those who believed in him are a central part of that equation.

Exclusion is not just a one-off injustice; it is the perpetuation of a political practice that prioritizes the maintenance of power over collective well-being. It is the same logic that allowed elections to be manipulated, courts to turn their backs on justice, and repression to be used as a weapon to silence popular indignation. It is the same logic that continues to view young people as mere statistics, failing to realize that they are the driving force behind change and instability if they continue to be ignored.

It doesn't take much effort to imagine the consequences of an exclusionary dialogue. Resentment will grow, distrust in institutions will deepen, and social polarization will worsen. The people, already wounded and distrustful, will see dialogue as nothing more than a staged attempt to keep things as they are. And when hope is exhausted, only revolt remains. This is the real risk Mozambique runs when attempting to heal its national wounds with partial and selective remedies.

Dialogue must be inclusive not only in discourse, but above all in practice. This means making room for those who challenge the system, listening to the voices that represent active social segments, and recognizing that legitimacy doesn't end within the corridors of the ruling party. This means that figures like Venâncio Mondlane cannot be treated as pariahs, but as legitimate interlocutors of a people who have already shown their willingness to defend in the streets what the ballot box tried to deny.

Instead of fearing Mondlane's presence in the dialogue, we should recognize it as an opportunity to reconcile the country with itself. A dialogue without him will always be seen as incomplete, flawed, and manipulated. The burning question is simple: how can we heal the wounds without listening to the main stakeholders? It's like trying to treat a deep wound with a Band-Aid—it seems like care, but it doesn't resolve the infection.

Therefore, this yellow card serves as a reminder to dialogue promoters that the era of exclusion no longer has a place in a country thirsting for truth, justice, and reconciliation. It takes courage to confront the specters of electoral fraud, post-election violence, and systematic exclusion. Without it, Mozambique will continue to spin in vain, fueling a spiral of crises that only weaken the nation.

A truly inclusive dialogue is one that opens doors, not one that selectively closes them. It's one that listens, not one that silences. It's one that recognizes legitimacy where it truly resides: in the people who vote, who protest, who resist. And these people have already chosen their representatives, even if institutions try to deny them that right. To ignore this is to continue to wound the soul of the country.

In short, the dialogue that is being announced urgently needs to change course. It needs to stop being exclusionary and become truly inclusive, or risk failing in its greater purpose: to reconcile Mozambique with itself. This yellow card is merely a warning, but if nothing changes, the people will soon show the red card—and that will not be merely symbolic, it will be historic.