On October 14, in Antsohihy, the 68th anniversary of the proclamation of the Republic was celebrated. For the occasion, a new statue of Philibert Tsiranana, the first President of the Republic and the father of independence, was inaugurated to replace the old one. By the next morning, it had been dismantled. A one-night mandate—a record unlikely to be broken, especially ironic given that the man it represented governed for much longer.
The problem was not the date or the location, but the face. On social media, some called it a scandal, others preferred to laugh, and opinions only diverged on the severity of the matter: almost no one could recognize the features of the first president. The family did what families do when faced with a failed photo: they asked who it was. A descendant summarized the situation in a sentence that deserves to be engraved at the base of the pedestal: “We don’t even know who this is.” A tribute had been erected to the man of independence, and it is perhaps the first time a tribute has needed to introduce itself.
Some self-proclaimed contemporary art experts argued that a statue has no obligation to resemble its subject. It is an attractive thesis, as it would allow any failure to be passed off as a work of art. But a commemorative statue is not an artist’s installation: it is a portrait offered to an entire country so that it may recognize the first President of the Republic. Everyone is free to love abstract art, but one does not inaugurate the portrait of the first president only for his own family to start searching for the model.
A statue has only one job, which is to resemble. It has no hours, no bonuses, no Monday morning meetings, and it doesn’t even ask for time off, yet this is the position where they managed to fail. The poor thing spent the night in the square, amidst the party lights, wondering itself whose portrait it was. At least the neighborhood phones kept a few photos, which will serve as precious documents the day someone wants to know what we were talking about.
The funniest part, if one dares to say, is that the solution was within reach. The old statue was there, standing, already known to all. Instead of starting from scratch, it would have been enough to start from the original, correct what needed to be corrected, and ask the family for their opinion, which was not consulted. We know this widespread taste for the “first stone”: we love laying the first one, but much less so continuing the one before. There are errors that require genius. This one only required asking.
The statue has left, and the old one has taken its place: that one, at least, did not need to introduce itself. Everyone can see the lesson they want in this, but the episode has a rare merit: it gave an entire country the opportunity to look at Tsiranana’s face with attention, something no official ceremony had managed to achieve for a long time.
The essential remains, which the joke must not erase. A statue is not a decoration; it is a way of telling a man, and those who love him, that his country remembers him. Getting the face wrong is admitting that we haven’t taken the time to look at him. The first president deserves for us to know his features, both those of his face and those of his history, and not to leave it to others to draw them for us.
Independence begins with us: by giving our elders their true place, and by respecting our history before demanding that others respect it. And may the next time, the resemblance no longer be fortuitous.
Captured & Published at: 2026-10-17 05:38:34 (Madagascar Local Time EAT)
Original Source: https://www.lexpress.mg/2026/10/ressemblance-fortuite.html