Someone’s Republic

Thank goodness we are nobodies. We nobodies can speak freely with other nobodies like us about what we think, without having to worry that Someone might not like our ideas.

The thing is Someone does not like those who think differently. His message is clear: if you think differently, think silently.

Someone is dangerous and wants us all to know it.

Someone has long been trying to annihilate all those who are noble and competent in Mozambique. Trying to condemn us all to his mediocrity, to his predictable and repeatedly sterile, selfish and monochromatic ideas.

In November 2000 Someone ordered the hit on Cardoso and doomed our media to an era of opacity, of subordination, of dictated news, of amazing fables featuring ducks, partridges, monkeys, pigs and other characters in plots and intrigues so poorly staged that only a moron would mistake them for reality.

Less than a year later, Someone ordered the killing of Siba-Siba Macuácua, allegedly to cover up a big shady bank fraud that the economist was trying to unveil. How many like Siba-Siba has Someone “pushed over the handrail” to cover up his manoeuvres?

In 2010, Orlando José, the late Director of Audit, Research and Information of Customs, also paid with his life for the grotesque mistake of saying that Someone should pay the same taxes as the rest of us common mortals.

And now, after nearly five years of absence (in what concerns political assassinations of obvious intimidating nature), on Tuesday the 3rd of this month, Someone ordered another hit. Gilles Cistac was the victim. He was shot because Someone certainly found inconceivable that a teacher, a mentor, a renowned academic could have an opinion so further apart from his. Surely Someone considered that Cistac was thinking too loud. Moreover, Cistac occupied a social position too dangerous for a politically misaligned individual.

Now what?

Are we all supposed to cheep quietly like a good flock of nobodies?

Are we expected to, yet again, accept Someone’s impunity and pretend to believe in the guilt of yet another Anibalzinho? To accept Someone’s oppression as an amorphous, gagged and subdued society?

Are the other intellectuals of our society, who put themselves on the line for the millions of nobodies like us, supposed to feel intimidated and keep quiet from now on?

Although it seems obvious that the wellbeing and the future of the country depend now, and perhaps more than ever, on the courage of these men and women, it does not seem fair that we demand of them that they alone risk their lives to protect our future.

We can no longer be nobodies, we must leave our quiet and safe insignificance, give voice to our discontent and fight for the rights that so many have fallen to defend.

We have had enough comrades. Enough.

The Nobodies By Eduardo Galeano

Fleas dream of buying themselves a dog, and nobodies dream
of escaping poverty: that one magical day good luck will
suddenly rain down on them- will rain down in buckets. But 
good luck doesn’t even fall in a fine drizzle, no matter
how hard the nobodies summon it, even if their left hand is
tickling, or if they begin the new day with their right foot, or
start the new year with a change of brooms.

The nobodies: nobody’s children, owners of nothing.

The 
nobodies: the no ones, the nobodied, running like rabbits, 
dying through life, screwed every which way.

Who don’t speak languages, but dialects.

Who don’t have religions, but superstitions.

Who don’t create art, but handicrafts.

Who don’t have culture, but folklore.

Who are not human beings, but human resources.

Who do not have names, but numbers.

Who do not appear in the history of the world, but in the 
police blotter of the local paper.

The nobodies, who are not worth the bullet that kills them.

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