Mozambique, from the democracy of fear and silence to the “mono” inclusive dialogue

Paulo Vilanculo"

The “democracy of fear and silence”It is a profoundly symbolic and analytical expression that reveals the dark side of formally democratic scenarios, but structurally, with actors, some authoritarian and autonomous, others silenced and obscured. The so-called democracy of fear and silence is a disguised form sustained not by force of arms, but by symbolic power, institutional control, and social manipulation. Where elections, though periodic, are only superficial, seen by many as rituals of confirmation, and not as moments of true choice, a parliament and a constitution are constructed, but without the vigor of freedom of thought, criticism, and the alternation of power.

In Mozambique, this phenomenon manifests itself in multiple ways. It has manifested itself through the partisan structures that maintain a presence in public institutions, limiting the autonomy of employees and citizens. In these institutions, for example, psychological environments are created where citizens learn to self-censor. People stop speaking out, not because they have nothing to say, but because they have learned that, in certain democracies, expressing their opinion is considered dangerous. Fear becomes the invisible cement that holds the system together. This individual recognition is imposed not only by physical violence, but by more subtle mechanisms: the fear of losing one's job, of being politically marginalized, of being socially excluded, or of being labeled an enemy of the state.

Silence, in turn, is the product of this fear, and its reflection is collective obedience, resignation, and distrust. When fear becomes the norm, silence becomes a virtue; society begins to value prudence over courage, expediency over truth, and criticism of power is often mistaken for betrayal or a lack of patriotism. Silent democracy is profound because it acts on the collective consciousness. Fear no longer comes from outside; it is internalized. The democracy of fear and silence is, therefore, a phenomenon that affects the body, mind, and spirit of the nation, where citizens become their own censors, the guardians of their own freedom. It is the type of regime in which freedom exists only on paper, while servitude masquerades as normality. And power, in turn, no longer uses brutal repression, it does not kill with bullets, but over time, time that slowly erodes the sense of belonging, hope and future, it is enough to maintain the illusion of constant vigilance and the result is a paralyzed society, which lives between conformity and the timid hope of change.

Intellectuals adapt their discourse, citizens transform private outbursts into the only possible form of protest. The existing free press operates under constant surveillance and economic pressure, leading many to practice "preventive self-censorship." Journalists soften their criticism, thus institutionalizing fear, and silence becomes state policy. On the political level, fear impedes change and innovation. On the social level, it destroys solidarity and trust, as everyone fears the other as a potential informant. On the cultural level, it nullifies creativity and boldness, because free thought becomes seen as a threat. And, on the moral level, it transforms silence into a survival strategy, a survival that comes at a high cost to collective dignity. Thus, fear silences voices and power manipulates discourse; democracy loses its substance, leaving only its form.

True democracy, for Arendt, is not just voting, but actively participating in the construction of the community's political meaning. The absence of this space for collective action transforms politics into administration, and the citizen into a spectator. True democracy, in this sense, is not a system, but an ethical and social practice of mutual recognition. True democracy only flourishes where fear does not govern, where silence is not a virtue, and where speech is an act of creation. Jürgen Habermas (1984) argues that democratic legitimacy arises from communicative action, from dialogue free from coercion, where citizens rationally participate in the formation of political will.

True democracy is one that creates conditions for everyone to have a voice and a say, where peasants, workers, students, and intellectuals can participate equally in the debate on the nation's destiny. Boaventura de Sousa Santos (2002) calls this a high-intensity democracy, in which popular sovereignty is not limited to the electoral process but extends to everyday life, in schools, communities, public institutions, and the media. From a social philosophy perspective, Hannah Arendt (1960) adds that true freedom arises from action and speech in the public sphere—that is, from the ability of individuals to express themselves, debate, and act together in the name of a common world. As Freire would say, "freedom is the act of becoming the subject of one's own history," and perhaps this is Mozambique's greatest challenge in this new century: to finally free itself from the fear of being free.

To speak of emancipation and true democracy is to speak of an unfinished process, a horizon built against fear, silence, and symbolic domination. Emancipation is not merely liberation from a foreign power or a visible power; it is, above all, liberation from the invisible structures that perpetuate dependence, submission, and critical incapacity. As Paulo Freire (1970) argues, "no one liberates anyone, no one liberates themselves alone: ​​men liberate themselves in communion." This communion is the political act of becoming aware, of perceiving oneself as subject, not object, of the decisions that shape collective life. Political emancipation also requires breaking the monopoly of knowledge and political truth. Michel Foucault (1979) warns that modern power is exercised not only through repression, but also through the production of convenient truths, discourses that make citizens believe there is no alternative. The first step toward emancipation is, therefore, to denaturalize power and recognize that the system is not destiny, and that every structure can be rethought. When citizens internalize the idea that "it's always been this way," power becomes eternal.

In Mozambique, the challenge of emancipation therefore involves rebuilding the notion of active citizenship, a citizenship that questions, proposes, and oversees. As Amílcar Cabral (1974) reminds us, "no one can liberate a people if they are not the subject of their own liberation." This implies breaking with partisan dependence and the historical fear of confronting power. Emancipation is not a gesture against the State, but a gesture of returning the State to the people. Emancipation is the opposite of submission; it is the collective awakening to critical consciousness, the abandonment of apathy, and the rejection of blind obedience. Therefore, the Mozambican challenge is not only political, but also civilizational. Therefore, the Mozambican challenge lies not only in changing laws, but in rebuilding the culture of dialogue, listening, and public responsibility. It is necessary to rebuild trust between the State and the citizenry, ensure social justice, and return politics to its true meaning: that of caring for the common good for all.

2025/12/3