Agustín I's next move came much faster than anyone anticipated.
"I will give a speech tomorrow," he announced confidently.
By 5 p.m., soldiers were already marching through the streets of Mexico City, spreading word of the Emperor's imminent address. The sound of drums echoed through the avenues as heralds called out:
"At seven o'clock in the evening, His Majesty the Emperor will deliver a speech in Constitution Square!"
Citizens emerged from their homes, intrigued by the sudden proclamation.
"A speech? What could it be about?" one man muttered to his neighbor.
"Let's go. We can't miss His Majesty's words," another replied.
"Indeed. Ever since independence, the government's been in turmoil. Perhaps this will bring clarity."
It was clear that while Agustín I still enjoyed significant support among the populace, there was also an undercurrent of unease about the state of the government. The majority of the citizens who responded enthusiastically to the announcement were criollos—members of the middle and upper classes who had some awareness of the inner workings of the administration.
By the time the sun began its descent, Constitution Square, or the Zócalo, was a hive of activity. Soldiers were bustling about, setting up for the event, while groups of citizens gathered in corners, speculating about the content of the Emperor's speech. Among these clusters of people, a group of Republican congressmen stood apart, their faces betraying a mixture of concern and disdain.
"What do you think he's planning to say?" one murmured.
"Whatever it is, it'll only further his control," another replied bitterly.
"Should we try to stop him?" a third asked hesitantly.
"And how would you propose we do that?" the first retorted. "The soldiers are loyal to him, not us. Even our commands are met with scorn unless accompanied by a payment we cannot afford."
Their grumbling continued, but it was evident that they had no immediate means of interfering with the Emperor's plans.
As twilight settled, citizens of all backgrounds began to fill the square. To my surprise, the crowd was more diverse than I had expected.
"I thought only the criollos would come," I remarked to myself, observing the gathering from a distance. "But it seems mestizos and even mulattos have joined."
Mexico's social hierarchy was a complex and rigid caste system inherited from colonial times. At the pinnacle were the peninsulares, Spaniards born in Europe who had historically monopolized political and economic power. Below them were the criollos, their descendants born in the Americas. Following them were the mestizos, individuals of mixed Spanish and Native American ancestry, and the mulattos, those of mixed Spanish and African descent. Further down the hierarchy were the indigenous peoples, African slaves, and at the bottom, the zambos—individuals of mixed indigenous and African heritage.
This system had long been a source of division and tension within Mexican society, a powder keg of resentment and inequality.
"Resolving this will take more than speeches," I thought. "But perhaps it's a start."
The Zócalo, one of the largest squares in the world, was now packed with tens of thousands of people, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of torches. In the fading light, the soldiers completed their preparations, and Agustín I emerged, dressed in a sharp military uniform rather than his imperial regalia. It was a calculated choice—a display of leadership and humility rather than ostentation.
The crowd quieted as he ascended the podium. Agustín I surveyed the masses for a moment before speaking.
"Citizens of Mexico," he began, his voice steady and commanding. "Today, I stand before you to speak of change and hope. Our homeland, Mexico, has won its independence from Spain through your courage, your sacrifices, and your unwavering spirit. We have achieved a great victory, but our journey is far from over."
The crowd listened intently as he paused for effect.
"For centuries, our land and our people were exploited by those who saw us as nothing more than a colony to be plundered. Now, as we stand on the threshold of true independence, we face new challenges. Our finances are strained, our resources depleted by years of struggle. And yet, even as we claimed our freedom, the peninsulares who once ruled over us fled with the wealth they accumulated here."
There were murmurs of agreement and indignation among the crowd. Agustín I continued, his tone growing more impassioned.
"To overcome these challenges, I propose a bold and necessary course of action. The property left behind by these peninsulares, those who opposed our independence and exploited our land, should be seized and used for the benefit of Mexico. It is not merely a matter of justice; it is a matter of survival. Their riches, amassed through our labor and suffering, will now serve to rebuild and strengthen our nation."
The crowd erupted in cheers, but there were also whispers of concern. Some criollos, worried about their own estates, exchanged nervous glances. Agustín I anticipated their fears and quickly addressed them.
"This measure will not affect the property of Spanish Mexicans who have embraced our independence and live among us as fellow citizens. Only the assets of those who have fled or who oppose our sovereignty will be targeted. Furthermore, the property of citizens from other nations will remain untouched. Our goal is not to sow division but to ensure that Mexico's independence is complete and irrevocable."
Relieved, the criollos' apprehension faded, and the crowd's enthusiasm grew. Agustín I raised his arms, his voice rising above the din.
"With these measures, we will lay the foundation for a stronger, united Mexico. Let us seize this opportunity to build a nation that reflects the courage and resilience of its people. For true independence!"
The square erupted in cheers.
"Viva la independencia! Viva Su Majestad Agustín I!"
The shouts of approval swept through the masses like wildfire. The atmosphere was electric, charged with hope and determination.
As the Emperor descended from the podium, I approached him.
"Your Majesty, we must act swiftly," I said. "Now that the proposal is public, there will be those who attempt to exploit the situation for their own gain."
He nodded thoughtfully. "What do you suggest?"
"We must secure the wealth immediately. Farms, warehouses, and properties in regions like Puebla must be claimed before local authorities, soldiers, or even opportunistic citizens take matters into their own hands. Without swift action, the wealth you hope to use for Mexico will vanish into private hands."
After a moment of contemplation, Agustín I returned to the podium.
"Citizens of Mexico," he declared, "I call upon Congress to convene immediately to formalize this proposal. The will of the people is clear, and there is no time to waste. To the members of Congress present, I urge you to join me now in the Parliament building to take the first step toward true independence."
The cheers resumed, and the Emperor began to march from the square toward the Parliament building, flanked by soldiers and a growing crowd of citizens chanting his name. Meanwhile, the Republican congressmen, who had been watching from the sidelines, scrambled to respond.
Inside the Parliament building, chaos reigned. Speaker Rafael Manjíno, a staunch Republican, was visibly agitated. The roar of the crowd outside was deafening.
"Damn it," he muttered. "A public speech? That should have been our strategy. How did he outmaneuver us like this?"
Rafael had been confident that the Emperor's rule would collapse under the weight of public dissatisfaction. He had envisioned a gradual erosion of Agustín I's support, leading to the establishment of a republic with himself as its leader. But the Emperor's speech had shifted the narrative entirely.
Agustín I entered the chamber, his presence commanding attention.
"Gentlemen," he began, "you have heard the will of the people. They demand action, not debate. I present to you a plan that will secure our independence and stabilize our nation. Approve it now, and we shall move forward as one."
Rafael seized the opportunity to challenge him. "Your Majesty, without a constitution or clear laws, such a sweeping measure is unprecedented. The powers of Congress and the Emperor remain undefined. Surely, you must consult with us before mobilizing the army or seizing property."
Agustín I's expression remained calm. "Indeed, the lack of structure has hindered us. But this proposal transcends bureaucracy. The people have spoken. Will Congress defy their will?"
Rafael's confidence faltered as murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber.
"If there are concerns," Agustín I continued, "my son, the Crown Prince, will address them. He was instrumental in crafting this plan and stands ready to defend it."
Rafael's eyes narrowed as he turned to the young prince. "Let us see how well this boy defends his ideas," he thought, preparing his questions. But as the Crown Prince stepped forward, there was an unmistakable air of resolve about him—a confidence that hinted at more than youthful audacity.