Mozambique and Chaplin's rodents

Paulo Vilanculo"

Mozambique is experiencing one of its most paradoxical moments, with a succession of financial and political scandals eroding the foundations of the State like rodents, while the main figures in power watch in silence, like actors in a silent Charlie Chaplin film. What the facts reveal is that these successive financial scandals, far from being isolated episodes, are part of a political machine that has become a culture of governance. One hole after another in the public coffers confirms the persistence of a system of plundering the State. But the question that arises is: are widespread corruption and millions in losses insufficient grounds for urgent and firm intervention by the Council of State? What else would justify its existence?

Mozambique is experiencing a period in which politics and finances are like a Charlie Chaplin silent film. While millions of dollars in losses multiply in the state's coffers, the protagonists of the national scene react with rehearsed expressions, but without voice, without words, without explanation. The country lives in the age of rodents, agents of corruption who silently corrode the foundations of the Republic, like rats attacking a barn. The title "Mozambique and the Age of Chaplin's Ministerial Rodents" evokes the "Rodents" who plunder the public treasury, silently eroding the foundations and symbolizing the corruption of the Mozambican state. "Chaplin" reminds us of silent cinema, of the idea of ​​clowning, above all, of a tragic comedy in which everyone watches but no one speaks, just like the complicit silence of those who are and have the right to instantiate the silent film we live in, where corruption acts like a tireless "rodent," and the leadership prefers to stage a comedy rather than face the real drama that overshadows the people.

Behind the scenes, there's a new "triggering" of multi-million dollar losses in the Ministry of Finance's public coffers. Instead of serving development, the state coffers have become a source of illicit enrichment for a few, while the majority of Mozambicans survive in precarious conditions. The Ministry of Finance, which should be the guardian of the public treasury, has become an arena for institutionalized looting. In place of budgetary discipline and transparent management, a logic of plunder reigns, in which the political and business elite act as if they were at an endless banquet. With each headline, the feeling is that this is yet another scandalous revelation. Each embezzlement, each "multi-million dollar loss," not only drains the state treasury but also undermines the people's confidence in the future and opens even more space for external dependence, on international financial institutions and foreign interests that know how to negotiate with fragile governments corroded by corruption. The most alarming thing is that these lootings are not just a financial management problem; more than a financial issue, the successive scandals are a problem of national sovereignty. Public trust in institutions is eroding, fueling social apathy and disbelief in a collective future.

The truth is that, from colonization to the post-independence single-party government, the logic of exploitation remained intact: it simply changed hands. However, a more honest reading points to another reality: we are not facing sudden discoveries, but the confirmation of a structural flaw in this "tenth part" of the liberating party's governance in Mozambique, a legacy and persistent one, dating back to 500 years of colonization. Social outrage, in turn, is being stifled by controlled media, by fiery speeches of unity and patriotism, and, above all, by the fear that still reigns in the corridors of society about the lack of effective accountability that turns scandals into mere media episodes, quickly replaced by new "failures" that follow the same script: public denunciation, fleeting indignation, and convenient silence. The media is often captured by political interests, limiting itself to reporting the cases without offering due depth or follow-up.

Alongside this silence, the ineffectiveness of the Assembly of the Republic itself echoes. Watching successive scandals unfold without reacting, without demanding accountability, is not neutrality; it is resignation. This silence reveals a deep-rooted political prejudice based on the belief that reforming the government and the State is unnecessary, only palliative crisis management. This deafening silence fuels impunity and sends the message to the people that the rodents can continue to devour, because nothing will happen. Even more serious is the silence of the Council of State. The silence of the Council of State transforms it into a symbol of institutional ineffectiveness. The body, designed to advise the President of the Republic on matters of national interest, remains invisible in the face of the greatest crisis of trust and credibility the country is facing; it has become a shadow body. The problem is that, faced with the "political and financial pandemic" ravaging Mozambique, the Council appears mute. Its silence transforms it into an empty echo of Mozambican democracy, existing only to legitimize the appearance of democracy, but not to defend the people or confront power. Symbolically, the "dormant silence" conveys the idea of ​​something that exists only on paper, but without presence, without real action, ineffective, without practical effect—an "empty echo of Mozambican democracy" that is nothing more than a hollow sound, merely repeating democratic formality without substance.

By failing to fulfill its role as a counterweight and moral guide, the Council of State tacitly legitimizes the continued institutionalized plundering of a veritable political and financial pandemic the country is experiencing. Corruption functions like a virus that corrodes the foundations of development for the majority of Mozambicans, who continue to face crises in employment, health, and precarious education, within a political and financial elite that operates as if at an endless banquet, distributing contracts, diverting funds, and perpetuating a logic of plunder that undermines any hope of sustainable development. Until structural reforms and political courage are implemented, Mozambique will continue to be the stage for repeated films, a time of rodents without a conclusion, in which the Mozambican people, once again, are left without a voice or defense at the top of the state apparatus, forced to applaud, without any rights, witnessing the consolidation of a government that prioritizes the elites' honey over the bread of the majority.

Chaplin, in silent films, made people laugh, but in our reality, silence makes us cry. The difference is that, on the Mozambican screen, there is no humor that alleviates anything but the slow erosion of national hope. In the end, the question remains: how long will the country continue to live under the script of Chaplin's tragic comedy of rodents? The Ministry of Finance, far from being the guardian of the public treasury, has become the safe deposit box of the gangsters in ties. The Chaplinesque image fades into the masses who watch the comedy but suffer the tragedy. If the losses persist, if the discoveries are merely passing news, and if there are no effective changes, then the logic that the Ministry of Finance is not the people's home, but the safe deposit box of the gangsters' government will continue to prevail.

2025/12/3