{"id":63,"date":"2025-08-26T07:36:28","date_gmt":"2025-08-26T07:36:28","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/fotn.wezim.org\/?p=63"},"modified":"2025-08-26T18:23:35","modified_gmt":"2025-08-26T18:23:35","slug":"far-the-filthy-loo-of-liberation-are-we-fighting-the-monster-or-just-staring-into-the-mirror","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fotn.wezim.org\/index.php\/2025\/08\/26\/far-the-filthy-loo-of-liberation-are-we-fighting-the-monster-or-just-staring-into-the-mirror\/","title":{"rendered":"FAR. The Filthy Loo of Liberation: Are We Fighting the Monster or Just Staring into the Mirror?"},"content":{"rendered":"

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<\/em> 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.<\/p>\n

In this article, I want to confront an uncomfortable thesis: that Zimbabwe\u2019s 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<\/strong>. The central question is not merely who sits in the halls of power, but what habits of power inhabit us<\/em>. 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\u2019s a challenge to have what one might call a mirror conversation<\/em> as a nation, an honest familial reckoning with ourselves. ZANU-PF\u2019s misrule is plainly evident, yes \u2013 \u201cunhinged, evil, corrupt, and disorderly,\u201d<\/em> as the critics say. But drive through the streets of Harare and you start to wonder: ZANU-PF is bad, fine\u2026 but why are we<\/em><\/strong> 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.<\/p>\n

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.<\/p>\n

The Original Sin \u2013 Anatomy of the \u201cOne Centre of Power\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n

To understand our crisis, we must dissect the architecture of the original sin: ZANU-PF\u2019s doctrine of the \u201cone centre of power.\u201d This is not just a slogan; it is a constitutional and<\/em> extra-constitutional principle that has been honed over decades. Power is vertically integrated<\/em> \u2013 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\u2019s long reign, this system solidified into an imperial presidency<\/strong>, where the president\u2019s whims effectively became the state\u2019s command. Even after Mugabe\u2019s 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, \u201cthe liberation generation has decided to maintain its power through the use of [the] gun\u201d<\/em>, confirming that the old elite were merely reasserting their dominance by other means.<\/p>\n

This abstract concept of centralized authoritarianism has a tangible, daily texture. It\u2019s 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\u2019t poring over politburo meeting minutes, she\u2019s worried about the municipal police officer who will, like a petty warlord, swoop in to demand a \u201cfine\u201d (read: bribe) for the right to occupy a patch of pavement.<\/p>\n

She knows too well that the money will never see the city\u2019s 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, \u201cendless police roadblocks were a notorious feature of every journey in Zimbabwe,\u201d<\/strong> with drivers forced to hand over cash to evade contrived offenses. Commuter minibuses became favored targets<\/em> for bribe-hungry cops, so much so that some operators would pre-pay their \u201cfines\u201d to certain officers in exchange for safe passage. In the capital\u2019s 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.<\/p>\n

This is ZANU-PF\u2019s \u201cone centre of power\u201d trickling down<\/strong>, 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\u2019 wares until a bribe is paid, the party youth official who can \u201csign off\u201d your housing allocation; all are mini-Mugabes in their fiefdoms. Decades of such interactions have normalized predation. We have, become habituated<\/em> 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.<\/p>\n

To make this structure instantly relatable, let\u2019s 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\u2019s reign. The Manager\u2019s 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 \u201ctraitors\u201d). The entire club identity is inseparable from the Manager\u2019s persona. The board, the coaching staff, even the youth academy, all pledge fealty to one center of power<\/strong>, the gaffer in charge. Meanwhile, performance on the pitch is visibly deteriorating much as Zimbabwe\u2019s economy and public services have, even as the ruling party\u2019s grip remains tight. The problem isn\u2019t a temporary slump in form; it\u2019s that the entire structure<\/strong> is built to perpetuate one man\u2019s power at the expense of the club\u2019s (or nation\u2019s) long-term health.<\/p>\n

The Haunted Mirror \u2013 Violence in the House of Hope<\/strong><\/p>\n

Now comes the truly painful part: the reflection in the haunted mirror.<\/strong> Zimbabwe\u2019s opposition movement, for decades the vessel of people\u2019s 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<\/em> 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\u2019s tools.<\/p>\n

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\u2019s 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<\/strong> outside the MDC headquarters for his audacity.<\/p>\n

Police later arrested several MDC activists over the attack, and the party launched an investigation into that February 15 incident, an intra-party<\/em> 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 \u201cdangerous fascist clique\u201d using violence against internal challengers. Biti\u2019s group lamented that the MDC had \u201cabandoned its founding values and principles,\u201d after Tsvangirai\u2019s camp expelled Mangoma simply for suggesting leadership renewal. The vivid word \u201cfascist\u201d<\/em> 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.<\/p>\n

The mirroring is not just in deeds but in language.<\/strong> The toxic political lexicon pioneered by ZANU-PF, branding dissenters as \u201csell-outs,\u201d \u201ctraitors,\u201d \u201cenemies of the people,\u201d or \u201cagents of the West\u201d, \u00a0has been adopted by opposition factions to target their own comrades. When an opposition leader calls a rival a \u201csell-out\u201d<\/em> or \u201cZANU-PF project,\u201d 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 \u201csell-out\u201d fighting a petty agenda<\/em> 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\u2019s one-party state mentality where disagreement equals disloyalty. Likewise, when Thokozani Khupe (once Chamisa\u2019s deputy) was vilified by some as a \u201cZANU mole\u201d<\/strong> and heckled out of a protest in 2018, the opposition faithful doing the heckling were employing the regime\u2019s own language of exclusion.<\/p>\n

One cannot miss the fundamental disconnect<\/em> 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<\/em> by the leader\u2019s 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<\/strong>. In other words, the demand isn\u2019t for a principled democrat, but for \u201cour own\u201d<\/em> strongman to vanquish \u201ctheir\u201d<\/em> strongman.<\/p>\n

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 \u2013 reassuring signs that \u201cour guy\u201d can be just as ruthless as the incumbent. This Big Man syndrome<\/strong> by another name has led us into a dangerous cul-de-sac: a struggle for democracy that reproduces mini-dictatorships within its own ranks.<\/p>\n

The Parable of the Public Toilet<\/strong><\/p>\n

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<\/strong>. The floor is slick with\u2026 let\u2019s just say indeterminate fluids<\/em>. The single lightbulb swings overhead, flickering. One stall\u2019s door is missing; another\u2019s 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\u2019s a near-empty bucket of murky water at his side. He\u2019s on the payroll. He shows up every day, doing what he can, but we all know he\u2019s fighting a losing battle.<\/p>\n

This public toilet is the State of Zimbabwe<\/strong>. We have, on paper, all the proper \u201ccleaners\u201d and \u201cplumbing\u201d 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\u2026, \u00a0these 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<\/strong>.<\/p>\n

Every politician who abuses state resources for personal gain is like a person who willfully breaks the toilet\u2019s flushing mechanism after using it.<\/p>\n

Every official who demands a bribe is dumping garbage into the bowl, clogging the pipes.<\/p>\n

Every citizen who pays<\/em> that bribe (even if reluctantly) contributes to the heap of waste.<\/p>\n

When leaders unleash violence or spew hate speech, they are defecating on the floor, poisoning the communal environment.<\/p>\n

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<\/strong> \u2013 the way we use (and abuse) the public toilet that is our state. We demand cleanliness without changing our dirty habits.<\/p>\n

The tragic irony is that even those who arrive with earnest vows to \u201cclean up\u201d 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\u2019s easy to curse the filth or blame the cleaner; it\u2019s 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 \u201cregime vs. opposition\u201d<\/em> to a more uncomfortable question of collective civic responsibility<\/strong>. What if all of us<\/em> \u2013 leaders and citizens alike \u2013 have to change how we \u201cuse\u201d our state if we truly want a clean and functioning country?<\/p>\n

The Manager, the Captain, and the Disgruntled Fan<\/strong><\/p>\n

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 \u201cBig Man Syndrome\u201d<\/strong> is propped up by a whole ecosystem of behavior across society \u2013 not just by the Big Men themselves.<\/p>\n