Subam no Trator e Não Façam Perguntas

Luis Junior"

Climb aboard the tractor and shut your mouth. This is the "emergency solution" they're selling us: machines designed for sowing and cultivating are now torture devices on wheels, crushing the bodies and hopes of those with no alternative. 100 tractors adapted for passenger transport in rural areas, promised as a quick response to deteriorated roads and a lack of road surfaces—but in practice, they end up being the confirmation of a failed mobility project. First and foremost, this violates Decree No. 11/2009 of May 29, which expressly prohibits the transportation of passengers in cargo vehicles, except in exceptional and duly regulated circumstances. There is no specific regulation authorizing tractors to transport passengers. The Constitution of the Republic (Article 78) guarantees the rightthefree circulationhereoethemobility; but we climb into a twisted iron trailer, without a belt or protectionherethe appropriate,anddowngrade this right to nílevel of merchandise. They are called“solutionherethe provisionthelaugh”, but provisionallytheRio, around here, is synonymous with indefinite. If we look at the promises, we see that, by the end of 2025, 390 new buses are planned—almost half powered by natural gas. However, this goal never arrives because the political calendar overrides technical planning. What was once "in the next quarter" became "in the next half-year" and now "in the next administration." Until then, the daily humiliation continues: farmers, teachers, street vendors, and fathers are crammed like sardines into the trailer. And what do we get in return? A den of dust that stains our clothes, invades our airways, and buries our dignity. We hear speeches from bureaucrats who boast of "full coverage" of the districts, while photographing the smiling minister at the wheel of the tractor. No flash illuminates the fearful faces of those sitting on wooden benches, or of those who follow behind, without any support, praying that the next bump won't be the last. It's easy for public officials to dismiss the criticism: "It's temporary." It's cheap to do so, because they don't pay for buses or invest in roads. But no transition is possible when a "mobility" proposal exacerbates the road safety problem, violates traffic regulations, and sacrifices human life for a handful of meticais they want to save. The cost—and this is a fact that should shock those who applaud these decisions—goes far beyond the thousands of contos spent on purchasing tractors and adapting trailers. There are social costs: hours lost on slow journeys, avoidable accidents, routes interrupted by rain or mechanical wear. There are health costs: dust is inhaled and aggravates respiratory diseases. There are economic costs: the time farmers spend on tractors could be dedicated to cultivating the fields and producing more food. How many bags of corn went unplanted because the tractor spent useless days transporting them? How many productive hectares were sacrificed to fill trailers with people? If the budget allocated to emergency transportation were channeled into inputs and local road maintenance, perhaps rural families would have access to markets, sell their produce, and generate income—instead of being held hostage by improvised roofing. And, while "progress on wheels" is applauded, the purchase of airplanes for the "Campina" people is being considered. Airplanes—machines that operate in controlled airspace, require qualified pilots, and cost millions in maintenance and fuel. Airplanes for what? To transport specialists to the fields? To "aerofertilize" clouds? Or to offer rides to those already living in a skeleton airport? It's a political spectacle: the roof of a new runway is painted blue and headlines about a "bold initiative" are spread. This disconnect in priorities is frightening. It shows us that, for those who make decisions, the official photograph is more important than the farmer's income; a media announcement is more relevant than the human warmth of a bus with a roof, windows, and seatbelts. And so we continue in a country where pomp replaces efficiency, where theater rules reality, where propaganda devours the plate of food. The criticism here is not just political; it is humanitarian. It is organized indignation against the deliberate induction of risks. It is repudiation of a system that privileges appearance over substance. It is a refusal to accept that lives are cheap commodities, capable of being transported in an unprotected trailer. I look at those people piled behind the tractor and see the open wound in our social contract. I see teachers missing class hours, clergy arriving late for Mass, technologists failing to reach demonstration farms, patients failing to get to the health center on time. And I realize that, far from being an "emergency solution," this is a civilizational setback. We must reflect: what is the curse hanging over investment decisions in Mozambique? Why do we continue to prefer shortcuts that exacerbate the problem to the courage of structural solutions? Why does "peaceful conformity" continue to prevail when the law and decency are trampled upon? The answer lies in the monotonous sound of the engine spewing smoke: there's a tacit pact between those in charge and the conformity of those who accept crumbs of respect. There's fear of protest: if you question, you risk losing political favor, public employment, or social support. And there's indifference: for many, "the countryside" is too far from urban eyes, so rural poverty doesn't bother the elites. But rural poverty also produces urban chaos. Those without roads or transportation don't go to market—and inflationary pressure rises. Those who don't produce food—and don't access markets—end up resorting to imports, weakening the economy. Those who don't respect everyone's mobility build walls of exclusion that relegate us to backwardness. Therefore, the exhaustive critique I offer here is not an exercise in spite, but an invitation to accountability. Whoever holds the ignition key—whether it's a tractor, a bus, or a ministerial office—must understand that when they destroy a farmer's dignity, they are undermining the foundation of development itself. When they trade productive hectares for miles of trailer, they are mortgaging the collective future. The final cry is this: get on the tractor if it's unavoidable, but keep the questions alive. Question every decision, every contract, every promise that passes from office to dirt road. Demand compliance with the law and respect for the Constitution. Stop applauding "quick fixes" and start demanding long-term planning, quality roads, and decent transportation. Until that day comes, at every bend in the dusty road we will echo our voices: "This tractor will not silence us. This tractor violates the law and mocks life. This tractor will be stopped by the weight of our indignation."

2025/12/3