The Three Silver Coins of the Political Tomb by Manuel de Araújo

Paulo Vilanculo"

The establishment of the Metical Monumental Square in Quelimane, under the leadership of Manuel de Araújo, raises questions about his political and ideological trajectory. The new Metical Monumental Square in Quelimane stands as an ambiguous symbol: for some, a patriotic gesture of appreciation for the national currency; for others, a monument that seals Manuel de Araújo's ideological shift and marks the beginning of his political decline. The gesture, far from being merely urbanistic, symbolizes a possible shift by the mayor toward a stance more aligned with central power and distant from the popular revolutionary discourse that propelled him. In this interpretation, the "three silver coins" represent strategic choices: the monumentalization of the national currency, the softening of criticism of the system, and the political alliances of convenience that may be gradually sealing the political tomb of a once-insurgent figure. The work, although presented as a tribute to the national economy, raises the inevitable question: who does it really serve? To the people who face the daily devaluation of the metical or to the central power that feeds on its symbolism? What this may mean for the mayor is not the loss of ties with the popular base of political capital that he had on the streets, which is eroding. — “Manuel, what do you want to leave for history?” — asked him, in a dream, the ghost of Judas Iscariot, leaning against a tree in the square. "A square, Judas... a monumental square," a mayor replied, adjusting his coat and pointing to the space where the metical altar would be built. The ghost smiled, shook his head, and dropped, one by one, three silver coins on the ground. "I will bless you with a monumental one that will not kill your people." The "three silver coins" that make up this metaphor do not correspond to a literal payment, but to political choices that, taken together, function as symbolic signs of the surrender of political capital built over years of contestation. The first coin lies in the very conception of the square: a gesture of monumentalization of the formal economy that, in a country where the metical offers little protection for citizens' pockets, sounds more like propaganda for the financial system than an affirmation of popular autonomy. The second coin lies in the softening of the mayor's critical discourse toward the central government, a stark contrast when compared to his more caustic and mobilizing interventions in the past. The third, perhaps the most silent and dangerous, is the web of discreet political alliances and concessions, which grant him some administrative stability but undermine the ideological coherence that sustained him for years, in an attempt to ensure institutional survival even at the cost of weakening that ideological coherence. The plot explores the metaphor of the "three silver coins" as an allusion to political betrayal, reflecting on the symbolism of the Metical Monumental Square as a landmark that, more than celebrating the national economy, may represent an alignment with more conservative discourses and practices of power, distant from the popular base. This can be confused with Manuel de Araújo's ideological shift. It analyzes whether his political trajectory reveals a shift away from leftist revolutionary ideals and a pragmatic (or opportunistic) approach to the Hegelian "center-right" of Mozambican power. In this reading, the "three silver coins" become metaphors for political decisions that, taken together, construct the symbolic tomb of Araújo's combative career. Hegel, in conceiving the dialectic of power, speaks of synthesis as a point of reconciliation between opposites. But here, the synthesis observed is not that of a fruitful encounter between ideas, but rather a retreat to the center, where political expediency overrides revolutionary commitment. It is in this sense that one speaks of a "political tomb": not the sudden death of a leader, but the slow and voluntary abdication of an insurgent role that gave him his own identity. Hegel might have said that Araújo found the synthesis between struggle and submission; he might have said that perhaps he had merely found the red carpet for his own political funeral. When, years from now, someone visits the square and asks what it means, there will always be an old man, sitting in the shade, ready to answer: "It was his tomb. And it cost only three silver coins." The monumentalization of a currency weakened by inflation and economic instability can be read as a misplaced tribute in a context where the population lacks concrete solutions to basic problems. More than a patriotic gesture, the monument seems to align with an official narrative that the mayor, until recently, fought against. Hegelian logic suggests that power is built on the tension between thesis and antithesis, until a synthesis is reached. But in Araújo's case, this synthesis does not appear to be the result of a productive encounter between ideas, but rather of a calculated capitulation, where political survival takes precedence over coherent principles. The construction of the Metical Monumental Square in Quelimane appears to be more than a simple project of urban beautification or appreciation of the national currency. In the political and symbolic imagination, erecting such a monument in one of the city's central spaces seems to mark a turning point in Mayor Manuel de Araújo's stance, not only in his relationship with the city he governs, but also in his positioning within the complex framework of Mozambican power. This shift, by all indications, distances him from the popular revolutionary camp that once galvanized the streets, bringing him closer to a Hegelian right that, in the national context, represents more the perpetuation of the status quo than structural transformation. Manuel de Araújo built his image as a sharp-tongued mayor, an outspoken opponent of the old practices of central power, and a champion of popular causes. His political rise was marked by fiery speeches, confrontations with state structures, and a clear identification with the popular revolutionary camp. This trajectory earned him not only notoriety but also symbolic capital that distinguished him in the national political landscape.The recent "symbolic conviction" of Manuel de Araújo can be understood as a metaphor for a set of political and strategic constraints that, although they do not keep him behind physical bars, limit his freedom of action, expression and ideological positioning. If we look at it from this perspective, it could mean a surrender to the system he previously fought by aligning himself, in gestures and speeches, with the agendas and symbols of central power. Araújo voluntarily binds himself to a political logic that prevents him from reclaiming the role of an independent and insurgent voice. What's at stake is not just the image of a mayor, but voters' very perception of the nature of politics in Mozambique: whether leaders who present themselves as voices of change inevitably end up becoming part of the very machine they criticized. When Manuel de Araújo's story is told, the Praça Monumental do Metical may not be remembered as a simple public work, but as the symbolic tombstone of a career that, for three silver coins, traded rebellion for complacency. If, in the future, the Metical Monumental Square is remembered as an icon of Quelimane, it may also be remembered as the physical marker of the moment when Manuel de Araújo, for three symbolic silver coins, sealed the lid of his own political sarcophagus. Because, in politics, betrayal isn't always the betrayal of others: sometimes, it's the silent betrayal of oneself. And so Quelimane gained its new masterpiece: the Metical Monumental Square, at first glance, is a patriotic gesture and an ode to the national currency. But those who live there know the tides of politics, knowing that Quelimane is not just concrete and bronze, and is a symbolic landmark of change. Araújo, the same man who once spoke out against the giants of central power, now erects monuments that sound more like surrender than resistance. By distancing himself from the causes and struggles that defined him, he finds himself caught between two worlds: no longer fully accepted by the insurgent people, nor completely absorbed by the power he seeks to please. On the other hand, this could represent a political betrayal. Looking at those who supported him for his combative nature, this "imprisonment" feels like a breach of trust. Not necessarily a personal betrayal against specific individuals, but a betrayal of values: abandoning ideological coherence in exchange for political security or strategic gains.

2025/12/3