Sleep was a reluctant and indifferent companion. I tossed and turned all night, my mind wrestling with the disquiet familiar to all Zimbabweans, a feeling that settles when the headlines speak of yet another political fracture, another violent clash, another promise deferred. In these moments, the cavernous silence left by Dr. Alex Magaisa (MHSRIP) feels most profound, for his Big Saturday Read was our national ritual for making sense of the chaos. This FAR (For Alex Read) Series, seeks to continue on the analysis front, and an attempt to continue, in a small way, that tradition of unflinching reflection.
In this article, I want to confront an uncomfortable thesis: that Zimbabwe’s struggle for democracy is imperiled not only by the overt authoritarianism of the ruling ZANU-PF, but also by a more insidious foe, the unconscious adoption of the very political culture we claim to oppose. The central question is not merely who sits in the halls of power, but what habits of power inhabit us. Are we fighting to dismantle a broken system, or merely auditioning to be its new custodians, mirroring the monster in our own movements and communities? It’s a challenge to have what one might call a mirror conversation as a nation, an honest familial reckoning with ourselves. ZANU-PF’s misrule is plainly evident, yes – “unhinged, evil, corrupt, and disorderly,” as the critics say. But drive through the streets of Harare and you start to wonder: ZANU-PF is bad, fine… but why are we driving on the wrong side of the road, throwing trash out of car windows, speeding through red lights? Until we fix these everyday manifestations of our national culture, can we really fix the nation? Leadership, after all, ultimately comes from the people, it is not an alien imposition but a reflection of who we are.
The frustration behind these questions demands a new way of talking about Zimbabwe. One that engages the head, the heart, and the gut. In that spirit, this piece will fuse different lenses and the goal is a multi-layered perspective that cuts through our polarized discourse.
The Original Sin – Anatomy of the “One Centre of Power”
To understand our crisis, we must dissect the architecture of the original sin: ZANU-PF’s doctrine of the “one centre of power.” This is not just a slogan; it is a constitutional and extra-constitutional principle that has been honed over decades. Power is vertically integrated – party and state fused until indistinguishable, with all authority emanating from a single individual at the apex. Loyalty to that one person trumps ideology, policy, and even national interest. Under Robert Mugabe’s long reign, this system solidified into an imperial presidency, where the president’s whims effectively became the state’s command. Even after Mugabe’s ouster, the system itself survived. The military-assisted transition of November 2017 was no rejection of this model, but rather a violent contest over who would occupy its throne. As one observer noted at the time, “the liberation generation has decided to maintain its power through the use of [the] gun”, confirming that the old elite were merely reasserting their dominance by other means.
This abstract concept of centralized authoritarianism has a tangible, daily texture. It’s not just something for constitutional scholars to fret over; it shapes the lived experience of ordinary people. Picture a woman selling tomatoes by the roadside in Epworth. She isn’t poring over politburo meeting minutes, she’s worried about the municipal police officer who will, like a petty warlord, swoop in to demand a “fine” (read: bribe) for the right to occupy a patch of pavement.
She knows too well that the money will never see the city’s treasury. Or consider the kombi driver on the Harare – Chitungwiza route: he navigates a gauntlet of roadblocks where paying a few dollars to brazen officers is the only way to keep schedule. Under Mugabe, “endless police roadblocks were a notorious feature of every journey in Zimbabwe,” with drivers forced to hand over cash to evade contrived offenses. Commuter minibuses became favored targets for bribe-hungry cops, so much so that some operators would pre-pay their “fines” to certain officers in exchange for safe passage. In the capital’s crowded townships, residents tell of local officials and party cadres who wield government food aid and basic services as instruments of political patronage – or punishment.
This is ZANU-PF’s “one centre of power” trickling down, metastasizing into a thousand little centers of power at the community level. It spawns a culture of unaccountable authority and impunity at every tier of society. The traffic police officer extorting motorists, the council inspector confiscating vendors’ wares until a bribe is paid, the party youth official who can “sign off” your housing allocation; all are mini-Mugabes in their fiefdoms. Decades of such interactions have normalized predation. We have, become habituated to authoritarian abuse. What once might have outraged us now barely raises an eyebrow; corruption has been so commonplace that even victims are unsurprised and participate in it as the cost of doing business.
To make this structure instantly relatable, let’s borrow a football analogy. Think of ZANU-PF as a once-dominant soccer club. Say, Manchester United in the final, declining years of Sir Alex Ferguson’s reign. The Manager’s authority is absolute and unquestioned; everything in the club exists to serve his interests. Tactics that were revolutionary in the past have ossified into dogma. Players who dare question the formation or propose a new play (i.e. reformers within the party) are immediately benched, then sold off to lower teams (expelled as “traitors”). The entire club identity is inseparable from the Manager’s persona. The board, the coaching staff, even the youth academy, all pledge fealty to one center of power, the gaffer in charge. Meanwhile, performance on the pitch is visibly deteriorating much as Zimbabwe’s economy and public services have, even as the ruling party’s grip remains tight. The problem isn’t a temporary slump in form; it’s that the entire structure is built to perpetuate one man’s power at the expense of the club’s (or nation’s) long-term health.
The Haunted Mirror – Violence in the House of Hope
Now comes the truly painful part: the reflection in the haunted mirror. Zimbabwe’s opposition movement, for decades the vessel of people’s hope, has at times unwittingly mimicked the very authoritarian culture it was founded to replace. To point this out is not to peddle ZANU-PF propaganda; it is to confront verifiable facts that loyal supporters find uncomfortable, even agonizing. But intellectual honesty and love of country demand that we acknowledge these realities. The greatest tragedy of our democratic project is precisely this mirror image: the freedom fighters turning on each other with the oppressor’s tools.
We have seen intra-opposition violence, factional purges, intolerance and demagoguery that betray the ideals of democracy, accountability and non-violence upon which movements like the MDC were built. A stark example dates back to 2014, when internal debate over leadership renewal in the MDC-T degenerated into blows. The party’s deputy treasurer-general, Elton Mangoma, had written a letter urging then-leader Morgan Tsvangirai to consider stepping down after a string of election losses. The response? He and a youth leader were assaulted by party youths outside the MDC headquarters for his audacity.
Police later arrested several MDC activists over the attack, and the party launched an investigation into that February 15 incident, an intra-party violent incident that should never happen in a democratic movement. Around the same time, Tendai Biti, then MDC Secretary-General, led a faction that openly accused Tsvangirai of presiding over a “dangerous fascist clique” using violence against internal challengers. Biti’s group lamented that the MDC had “abandoned its founding values and principles,” after Tsvangirai’s camp expelled Mangoma simply for suggesting leadership renewal. The vivid word “fascist” coming from fellow opposition leaders to describe the atmosphere in their own party was a red-flag warning: something had gone very wrong in the house of hope.
The mirroring is not just in deeds but in language. The toxic political lexicon pioneered by ZANU-PF, branding dissenters as “sell-outs,” “traitors,” “enemies of the people,” or “agents of the West”, has been adopted by opposition factions to target their own comrades. When an opposition leader calls a rival a “sell-out” or “ZANU-PF project,” they are dipping their pen in the very same poisonous ink Mugabe used to label and eliminate challengers during his reign. Sadly, this is not hypothetical. Nelson Chamisa himself, a figure who represents a new generational hope to many, was recorded in 2020 deriding his former colleague Douglas Mwonzora as a “sell-out” fighting a petty agenda after Mwonzora broke away in a rival faction. Chamisa even admitted that party supporters had long urged him to expel Mwonzora for alleged treachery, a chilling echo of ZANU-PF’s one-party state mentality where disagreement equals disloyalty. Likewise, when Thokozani Khupe (once Chamisa’s deputy) was vilified by some as a “ZANU mole” and heckled out of a protest in 2018, the opposition faithful doing the heckling were employing the regime’s own language of exclusion.
One cannot miss the fundamental disconnect here. In a rational democratic movement, a leader who presides over internal violence or who weakens the party through purges would be viewed as a liability, undermining the cause. Yet in Zimbabwe, such strongman behavior is often perversely celebrated by the leader’s base as proof of strength, decisiveness, and control. Many supporters do not judge their leaders on ability to govern effectively or win over the undecided voter; they judge them on their performance of power. In other words, the demand isn’t for a principled democrat, but for “our own” strongman to vanquish “their” strongman.
When opposition youths cheer at the expulsion of a veteran trade unionist, or when party spokesmen justify the recall of elected MPs on flimsy grounds, it becomes clear that the virus of intolerance has infected the bloodstream of the alternative. The violence, intimidation, and purges are not bugs in the system; for some, they have become features – reassuring signs that “our guy” can be just as ruthless as the incumbent. This Big Man syndrome by another name has led us into a dangerous cul-de-sac: a struggle for democracy that reproduces mini-dictatorships within its own ranks.
The Parable of the Public Toilet
Perhaps the best way to grasp our predicament is through a parable. A shift from political science to a scene out of everyday life. Imagine a bustling bus terminus, say Mbare Musika in Harare. Nature calls, and you find the public toilet. You push open a door hanging off its hinges and are met with a wall of stench. The floor is slick with… let’s just say indeterminate fluids. The single lightbulb swings overhead, flickering. One stall’s door is missing; another’s latrine is hopelessly clogged, overflowing with filth. Fist-sized cockroaches scurry along graffiti-strewn walls. In a corner, a weary cleaner leans on a mop whose once-white strands are now blackened. There’s a near-empty bucket of murky water at his side. He’s on the payroll. He shows up every day, doing what he can, but we all know he’s fighting a losing battle.
This public toilet is the State of Zimbabwe. We have, on paper, all the proper “cleaners” and “plumbing” one could ask for. Our institutions, a constitution acclaimed for its beauty and promise, a raft of laws, an anti-corruption commission, an electoral commission, a judiciary…, these are the fixtures and staff meant to keep the republic clean and functional. Yet the restroom remains filthy. Why? Not because we lack a cleaning staff or legal plumbing, but because of the manner in which the facility is used.
Every politician who abuses state resources for personal gain is like a person who willfully breaks the toilet’s flushing mechanism after using it.
Every official who demands a bribe is dumping garbage into the bowl, clogging the pipes.
Every citizen who pays that bribe (even if reluctantly) contributes to the heap of waste.
When leaders unleash violence or spew hate speech, they are defecating on the floor, poisoning the communal environment.
The stench rises and lingers for all to suffer. And what do we, the users of this facility, do? We spend our days screaming at the hapless cleaner, blaming him for the foul state of things. We demand a new cleaner, a different detergent, a bigger mop. We hold out hope that the next cleaner (a new president or party) will magically sanitize decades of accumulated grime. But crucially, we refuse to confront our own behavior – the way we use (and abuse) the public toilet that is our state. We demand cleanliness without changing our dirty habits.
The tragic irony is that even those who arrive with earnest vows to “clean up” the system often end up adopting the same filthy habits as their predecessors. Having never known any other way to use a public facility, they mistake their turn with the keys for a license to relieve themselves wherever and however they please. By day, they decry the mess; by night, they contribute to it. And so the cycle of decay continues. It’s easy to curse the filth or blame the cleaner; it’s much harder to recognize that keeping this shared space usable requires each of us to consider our actions. The parable shifts the focus from the simple binary of “regime vs. opposition” to a more uncomfortable question of collective civic responsibility. What if all of us – leaders and citizens alike – have to change how we “use” our state if we truly want a clean and functioning country?
The Manager, the Captain, and the Disgruntled Fan
Let us return to the football analogy to diagnose our political culture at three levels: leadership, lieutenants, and the rank-and-file. This framework reveals that “Big Man Syndrome” is propped up by a whole ecosystem of behavior across society – not just by the Big Men themselves.
- The Manager (The Big Man): In our politics, leaders are treated like celebrated football managers. The party faithful often care less about a leader’s actual policy gameplan and more about his touchline theatrics, are they fiery and forceful enough? We’ve come to prize the style of authority over the substance of leadership. Tactical innovation, long-term strategy, team-building – these are secondary to the cult of personality. A good manager in football evolves with the times; a Big Man in politics, however, often remains wedded to an outdated 4-4-2 formation and CLEARING as the only way todefend, long after the game has changed. Instead of inclusive “player-coach” leadership, he may rule by fear, benching anyone who questions his tactics. His ardent supporters will interpret even his blunders as genius and any internal critique as heresy. The base clamors for a messianic savior, a José Mourinho or Alex Ferguson figure who can single-handedly rescue a failing team. This mindset overlooks deeper structural issues (poor club ownership, lack of development programs, etc.) just as we Zimbabweans sometimes overlook institutional rot, hoping one magical leader will fix everything. It’s the fallacy of the heroic strongman, a belief that entrenches one-man rule.
- The Captain (The Party Cadre): These are the senior officials. MPs, party chairpersons, organizers – the equivalent of a team captain or star players. In a healthy organization, a captain’s loyalty is to the team’s success and principles (“the badge on the shirt”), not merely to the manager’s ego. But in our context, too many “captains” pledge fealty solely to the Boss. When the Manager’s game plan is clearly failing – say, alienating voters or violating values, do they speak up to change course? Or do they double down, enforcing the flawed instructions even more zealously? Unfortunately, Zimbabwean political history shows many choosing the latter. We saw this in ZANU-PF’s endless purges: officials publicly praising decisions that were obviously disastrous for the party and nation, simply because Mugabe willed it so. We see parallels in the opposition: for instance, when a party leader expels or marginalizes talented lieutenants over personal disputes or paranoia, others in the inner circle often nod along or stay silent, fearing for their own positions. The captain who should check the manager’s excesses instead becomes his hatchet-man. The result is a team cleansed of independent thinkers – and usually, a team that loses where it matters most (be it on the ballot or the scoreboard). The absence of principled internal challenge creates an echo chamber, and the party or movement drifts from its mission while the leader’s cronies shield him from reality.
- The Fan (The Follower): Perhaps the most crucial piece of this puzzle is us, the ordinary supporters, the citizens. Our political fandom can be as passionate and as blind as any football ultras in the stands. We hoist the colors of our party and swear loyalty, “my team, right or wrong.” This zealous support is admirable when it’s about commitment to a cause, but it becomes dangerous when it crosses into tribalism and abdication of critical thinking. Too often, we treat politics as a zero-sum derby match against a hated rival. The goal is to see the other side humiliated and defeated, not necessarily to see better governance delivered. In such an environment, a leader’s provocative rhetoric or dramatic gestures (“slaying traitors,” “crushing enemies”) elicits more rapturous applause than pragmatic, policy-based outreach. We, the fans, reward the politics of performative defiance over the politics of patient institution-building. This in turn incentivizes our leaders to be performers and populists rather than statesmen. They know a catchy chant or scathing soundbite against the opponent will trend on social media and win plaudits, whereas the mundane work of policy drafting or consensus-building will not. In essence, our leaders often give us exactly the kind of spectacle we demand. And when they go too far, turning the very tactics of repression against their own, we are quick to either justify it or look the other way – much as die-hard football fans will defend even the dirty fouls committed by their star player.
It is startling, when laid out, how closely the opposition’s playbook has started to resemble that of ZANU-PF in certain respects. Consider a brief comparison:
- Leadership Cult: ZANU-PF’s “one centre of power” doctrine means all power is concentrated in the President; he is the revolution incarnate. In the opposition, we have at times seen a similar centralization around one charismatic figure, with any internal challenge framed as disloyalty or an attempt to “destroy the party from within.” The mantra becomes, “united behind so-and-so,” even if that means stifling healthy debate.
- Response to Dissent: When faced with dissenters, ZANU-PF historically reacts with expulsions and labeling of dissent as treachery – recall how Gamatox and G40 faction members were sacked and vilified in 2014–2017. Opposition parties have also purged their ranks: from the expulsion of Elton Mangoma in 2014 to the controversial recalls of MPs by rival MDC factions in 2020 (where legislators were ousted for maintaining allegiance to the “wrong” leader) The accusations flung are mirror images. ZANU-PF calls dissenters “Western-sponsored sell-outs,” while opposition factions accuse theirs of being “ZANU-PF agents” or “sell-outs” in league with the regime.
- Use of Political Violence: ZANU-PF’s record is written in blood – from Gukurahundi in the 1980s to the torment of opposition supporters in the 2000s, to countless assaults, abductions and intimidation campaigns. The opposition, for its part, proudly espouses non-violence in principle; yet it has not been immune to intra-party skirmishes and intimidation. We’ve already recounted the brutal assault on Mangoma. There have been disturbing scenes at opposition rallies or meetings where rival factions’ youths brawl, chairs are thrown, or delegates are beaten to drive them out. Such incidents might not be as systematic or state-backed as ZANU-PF’s violence, but even isolated outbreaks of fraternal violence are deeply corrosive and antithetical to what the opposition purports to stand for.
- Rhetoric of Enmity: ZANU-PF’s slogans over decades have cast any opposition as an existential threat, vilifying them as “puppets,” “nation-wreckers,” and “traitors” to the liberation legacy. Depressingly, opposition discourse (especially on social media and at heated moments) sometimes copies this style – painting internal rivals as “enemies of change” or labeling those who disagree as “haters” and “sell-outs.” Constructive criticism is thus chilled, because no one wants to be branded a Judas. The space for internal democracy shrinks.
- Internal Democracy and Accountability: In ZANU-PF, congresses long ago became coronation exercises, rubber-stamping the top leader’s mandate, often unopposed. Corruption by loyalists is routinely swept under the rug. The opposition began with a much more democratic ethos, holding competitive congresses and elections for leadership. But over time, fissures and strongman tactics have marred these processes too. Contested opposition congresses have led to rival “extraordinary congresses,” court battles over who is legitimate, and allegations of vote rigging or procedural manipulation by those in control. As for accountability, while opposition officials don’t control state coffers, there have been questions about party funds and a lack of transparency therein, and notably; a reluctance to frankly confront or apologize for incidents like the violence mentioned. If a ruling-party chef steals millions, we rightly cry foul. But if an opposition official is implicated in some misdeed, many are quick to dismiss it as a conspiracy or irrelevant, rather than demanding internal accountability that sets a higher standard.
In making these comparisons, the point is not to draw a false equivalence – the scale and consequences of ZANU-PF’s abuses of power far exceed anything the opposition has done. Rather, the point is to highlight a pattern of political culture that spans the divide. Oppression has a way of reproducing itself among the oppressed, unless consciously resisted. The oppressed learn the wrong lessons about power; they come to believe power means bullying, deception and domination, because that’s all they’ve seen. And so, when their turn comes, they may wield power in just the same way. This is how the cycle perpetuates. And this is why merely swapping out the players, without changing the playbook, will not deliver the freedom we seek.
Conclusion – Towards a Mirror Conversation
What, then, is to be done? If we synthesize these threads, we arrive at a somber but ultimately hopeful realization: the next great struggle in Zimbabwe must be an internal one. Political change in the form of new faces in government, while necessary, will not be sufficient unless accompanied by a cultural and ethical transformation in how we conduct our politics and ourselves. In effect, we need not just regime change, but political culture change. We have to excise the ZANU-PF in our minds even as we work to remove the ZANU-PF that governs our land.
This demands an act of collective introspection that is rare but not impossible. It means asking hard questions in the mirror: In our righteous fight against dictatorship, have we allowed seeds of dictatorship to sprout in our own backyard? Have we tolerated mediocrity and thuggery from “our side” because it was our side? Why do we applaud “zero tolerance” against opponents but turn a blind eye or make excuses when our allies do the intolerable? The famous Russian dissident Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn once wrote that the line between good and evil runs through every human heart – not between parties or peoples. Likewise, the line between democracy and tyranny runs through every political party, every community, every WhatsApp group, every family, and every individual psyche in Zimbabwe.
To truly liberate ourselves, we must begin by liberating our minds from the spell that power-worship and hero-worship have cast. We must redefine leadership not as the dominance of one man over others, but as the ability to uplift and empower others. We must retrain ourselves to see following the law. Yes, even traffic laws and littering bylaws, not as signs of weakness or foolishness, but as foundational to the society we want. It is often remarked that Zimbabwe boasts one of the highest literacy rates in Africa; yet, as one witty columnist noted, it sometimes seems “Africa’s most literate cannot read colors” – a jibe at Harare drivers who treat red traffic lights as suggestions, not commands. In Harare, many drivers proudly wear their bad driving habits like a badge of honor, priding themselves on aggressive maneuvers that flout every rule. This is symptomatic of a deeper social malaise: rules are seen as optional, something only “losers” abide by. We must all confront the little monsters within us, the small ways in which we’ve internalized a disorder and lawlessness that ultimately scales up to national dysfunction.
Think back to the parable of the filthy public toilet. The takeaway was a question: What would it take for each of us to decide that our primary duty is not to curse the filth or blame the cleaner, but to leave the facility a little cleaner than we found it? It starts with not urinating on the floor in the first place, i.e., not engaging in the behaviors that dirty the system. It means picking up a mop ourselves sometimes, taking initiative to improve things even if it’s “not my job.” It means holding each other accountable gently for not messing up the space we all share. In political terms, it means building a culture of respect for laws and institutions, even when it’s inconvenient; practicing tolerance within our movements, even when we passionately disagree; renouncing violence and hate speech without caveats; and rejecting the temptation to place blind faith in strongmen, instead cultivating strong institutions.
Ultimately, fixing Zimbabwe requires a mirror conversation, an honest, inclusive dialogue among us as a family of citizens. We must acknowledge that ZANU-PF, for all its villainy, did not come from Mars. It is a product of our history and society, and its worst excesses reflect vices that can lurk in any of us: greed, fear, intolerance, hubris. If the people in power after the next election behave just like the ones before, then nothing will have truly changed. As long as the new driver uses the wrong lane and throws trash out the window, metaphorically speaking – the journey will remain perilous and the road filthy.
Yet contained within this uncomfortable truth is a liberating power: if the problem resides in our attitudes and culture, then so does the solution. We are not helpless. We can each, in our spheres, begin to model the change we seek. Leaders in waiting can start by democratizing their own parties. Supporters can start by constructively criticizing their own side when it strays, not just criticizing the opponent. Civically-minded soldiers and police can refuse unlawful orders. Judges can cling to integrity even under pressure. The diaspora can contribute ideas and resources but should also introspect on whether they demand ethical behavior at home that they themselves practice abroad. Step by step, cleaning up our act builds a collective momentum.
Zimbabwe’s first struggle brought independence from colonialism. The second struggle – ongoing, has been to end one-party authoritarian rule. The next struggle may well be the hardest: to exorcise the culture of authoritarianism from within ourselves. It’s the struggle for a national character defined by accountability, empathy and lawfulness, rather than cynicism, impunity and might-makes-right. It’s a struggle that won’t be won in one dramatic “Operation Restore Legacy” or one election or one court ruling. It will be won in countless small acts of principle – often unseen, often requiring personal sacrifice or restraint – that slowly turn the tide.
The mirror is in front of us. The monster we’ve been fighting and fearing might just be ourselves. But in slaying that inner monster, we stand to free ourselves from the nightmares of the past. Only by fixing ourselves can we ever hope to fix our nation. So let the conversation begin – not pointing fingers, but looking in the mirror. Are we ready to cleanse the filthy loo of our liberation, not with yet another false promise, but with the hard work of genuine change? The answer will determine Zimbabwe’s destiny more surely than any politician’s speech or any election’s outcome.
1 Comment
Wonderful! Keep it up.