[DEBATE] : (Fwd) Another Zanu(PF) autopsy: harvest of silence

[Patrick Bond]

www.newzimbabwe.com

Zimbabwe at 27: The harvest of silence

By Wallace Chuma
Last updated: 04/18/2007 18:47:50

ALEXANDER Kanengoni’s Echoing Silences is probably the most engaging and 
brutally frank account of Zimbabwe’s guerrilla war narrated 
quasi-fictionally.

Published 10 years ago, it unravels the war’s ugly underbelly: regular 
torture and killing orgies sanctioned by kangaroo courts, raging male 
sexual predators targeting junior female combatants, indiscipline and 
betrayal among fighters…the list is endless.

What strikes me about the book though is none of this. It is Kanengoni’s 
spot on diagnosis of one of independent Zimbabwe’s terminal ailments: 
silence.

Twenty seven years into independence and the wheels of state have come 
off, it seems to me that the ‘culture of silence’ among many 
Zimbabweans—especially those who absolutely should have spoken— is a key 
factor to the crisis. I’ll come back to this later.

In the last chapter of his book, Kanengoni captures a fictional rally 
addressed by Herbert Chitepo and Jason Moyo, a rally where “fundamental 
policy changes to the struggle” are supposed to be announced. Although 
located in the theatre of struggle, the issues raised there describe a 
post-independent Zimbabwe. He writes: “…the Chairman (Chitepo) talked 
angrily of a series of monumental historical betrayals and he said he 
and a few others were the living examples of such betrays; and Jason 
Moyo wondered how politics, the wealth and the economy of the entire 
country was slowly becoming synonymous with the names of less than a 
dozen people and he asked how in such circumstances the struggle could 
not be said to have lost its way”.

The atmosphere tenses up, and fiery-eyed Chitepo continues: “It’s 
shocking to see the reluctance that we have to tell even the smallest 
truth. Ours shall soon become a nation of liars. We lie to our wives. We 
lie to our husbands. We lie at work. We lie in Parliament. We lie in 
Cabinet. We lie to each other. And what it worst is that we have begun 
to believe our lies. What I fear most is that we will not leave anything 
to our children except lies and silence” (my emphasis).

The speech is briefly interrupted by Dr Samuel Parirenyatwa who breaks 
down weeping, and Leopold Takawira leans on to comfort him. Chitepo 
continues, like one possessed: “It all began in silence. We deliberately 
kept silent about some truths, no matter how small, because some of us 
felt that we would compromise our power…then the silence spilled into 
the everyday lives of our people and translated itself into fear which 
they believe is the only protection that they have against imaginary 
enemies whom we have taught them to see standing behind their shoulders. 
They are no longer able to say what they want. Neither are they able to 
say what they think because they have become a nation of silent 
performers, miming their monotonous roles before an empty theatre…We owe 
the people an explanation.” (my emphasis).

Of course, this fine speech is fictional. But its engagement with the 
tragic duo of lies and silence is breathtakingly real. Anybody who has 
followed Zimbabwean politics will confirm this. Since independence, 
Zimbabwe’s nationalist leadership has actively discouraged debate, 
within and outside Zanu PF. Silence tops the list of recommended 
behaviours, and when it’s broken, it better be to express acceptable, 
rather than unacceptable opinion. The unwritten, though enforceable 
rules are framed in binaries of good and evil, treachery and loyalty. To 
question the official line is to betray the struggle and sell out to the 
enemy, a transgression punishable by complete ostracism or the 
“people’s” wrath—violence. To speak without expressing complete loyalty 
to the party leadership is to succumb to the deadly sin of pride, 
another punishable atrocity. Political life is a matter of the straight 
and the narrow. President Mugabe prefers the term “gwara remusangano” 
(the party’s immovable, non-negotiable position) to enforce the spiral 
of silence.

As a result, those within the party and state leadership who have chosen 
to speak—since independence—have either parroted ad nauseum, or dared 
express their minds and faced instant political gallows. Many within and 
outside the party and state have opted for the safer option, silence or 
parroting. Examples abound of grown men and women within Zanu PF and the 
state who, because they’ve parroted all their post-colonial lives, have 
grown hoarse and clownish. Mugabe’s current cabinet, for example, 
largely comprises a legion of lifelong praise singers who are way beyond 
their sell-by dates. Take the example of Home Affairs Minister Kembo 
Mohadi’s contributions during a recent interview with SW Radio. 
Throughout the interview, he offered poorly framed but charged denials 
to straight questions, including police torture of opposition activists, 
whose pictures were beamed across the world.

If Mohadi’s contribution is a classic example of official gobbledegook, 
his cabinet tenure is assured for life. For this is exactly what the 
system rewards. It therefore makes perfect sense that Agriculture 
Minister Joseph Made repeatedly survived a disastrous misreading of the 
nation’s food security situation, presumably after a fleeting, 
helicopter-inspired delirium! You invest in either silence or drivel, 
and your mistakes, no matter how costly, will be overlooked.

It is the system’s ability to rehabilitate “fallen” members that strikes 
me most. Take Dzikamai Mavhaire’s famous “Mugabe must go” statement 
which made world headlines in 1997. Predictably, the system moved 
swiftly to clip his wings, and for half a decade confined him to his 
extremely modest roots in Masvingo. I would hazard to suggest that when 
he uttered the ‘unthinkable’ declaration in Parliament, he was 
expressing an opinion shared by many within the party hierarchy. But 
none of them was available to side with the proverbial intrepid mouse 
that dares tie the bell around the cat’s neck. Like the prodigal son, 
Mavhaire must have come to a sobering conclusion that his future would 
better guaranteed by a return to the fold. He was forgiven, 
rehabilitated and ushered back via the Senate route. You need to listen 
to his (very rare) public utterances these days and you’ll be rest 
assured he will never, never, never repeat muromo wa 1997 (sounds 
familiar?).

The system’s other forgiven son, Calistus Ndlovu, was recently 
dispatched to the People’s Republic of China to take up the ambassador’s 
post. This after close to two decades of isolation, contrition and 
endless supplication following his fall during the Willowgate Scandal. 
Like some deity, the system may take its time to respond to its fallen 
ones, but will certainly readmit them to the fold, in the fullness of 
time. Of course the condition remains: tread the straight and narrow, 
shut up or sing praises.

Which takes me back to Kanengoni. The award-winning Echoing Silences is 
the work of a fine storyteller who captures both the intricacies of the 
war and, to a lesser extent, the political nightmare of the postcolony. 
Given that he fought in the war for six years, Kanengoni’s account is 
probably one of the most credible around. The year 1997, in which a 
highly critical book on the liberation struggle was published and a 
highly regarded lawmaker openly called for the President to go, should 
be viewed as a watershed in the history of both the ruling party and the 
state. The effects of Esap were biting, poverty was rising, war veterans 
went on rampage to demand their share for liberating the country, and 
the year ended with the brutal crash of the Zim dollar. Kanengoni 
therefore represented emerging nodes of social and political critique 
within the system. However, like the rest of the “fallen” comrades, his 
turn for ‘rehabilitation’ did come.

Writing in the now-defunct Mirror nine years after publishing Echoing 
Silences, the arguably new-look Kanengoni ironically recaptured the 
silence in the system, but this time as part of a massive tribute to the 
President’s ‘humility’ after a 3-hour meeting with him. He wrote: “…What 
I found most overwhelming, almost intimidating about the President’s 
official residence was the absolute silence, occasionally broken by the 
sound of a chirping bird and murmuring sprinklers watering the 
flowers…”(Mirror, 23/07/2006, emphasis mine). If this silence of the 
President’s residence was symbolic, then the shockingly real silence 
followed during the meeting.

 From the story’s account, it seems a group of cherry-picked journalists 
from the Mirror and the state media must have silently and patiently sat 
through a 3-hour presidential rambling session. Here’s what the 
President, according to the story, spoke to journalists about in 2006 
and amidst a political and economic crisis in the country: “[He spoke] 
about how the public address system failed in Banjul forcing the Iranian 
President to abandon his unfinished speech…[he also spoke]about the 
predicament of a love-strung young man called Seretse Khama abdicating 
from the Bamangwato chieftainship because he had fallen in love with a 
white English girl called Ruth Williams…about how he was shocked at the 
1996 New Zealand Commonwealth conference to hear former Nigerian 
military strongmen, Sani Abacha, had executed writer Ken Saro Wiwa”. The 
President went on about how he had supported Italy during last year’s 
World Cup and how his son Chatunga had supported France…the list goes 
on. Only a line in the story says Mugabe also spoke about “the suffering 
of the people and the effort government was doing (sic) to change the 
situation.”

In many societies, this encounter between the president and journalists 
would have made controversial and speculative front page news. It 
happened fairly recently in France when President Chiraq gave 
conflicting statements to journalists about his country’s policy on 
Iran’s nuclear programme. However, in the Zimbabwean case, this 
encounter was enough to attract glowing praises for the President. This 
is how the spiral of silence (or parroting) operates.

The long-term success of the system is predicated on the continued 
silence, parrotry and self-effacement of the lower ranks of the 
political hierarchy. This is achieved through multiple methods, 
including both coercion and coaxing. When Didymus Mutasa declares to the 
media and public that he has absolutely no ambitions to become 
President, he is merely conforming to the rules of the system. It 
therefore also makes perfect sense for President Mugabe to declare, as 
he did last year that: “Those who dream themselves ruling this country 
should never believe it's true. Dreams are dreams and they should end in 
the homes.” Those who attempt to move dreams from their safe locales are 
dealt with in a way which will deter possible future transgressors. You 
need to look at Edgar Tekere, Morgan Tsvangirai, among others. Those who 
hinted at the possibility of ‘availing’ themselves for the presidency 
should circumstances arise, like Edson Zvobgo or Emmerson Mnangagwa, 
also received their fair share of punishment, followed by appropriate 
rehabilitation.

When Vice President Msika declared in the Sunday Mail last year that, 
regardless of his age, he would remain in office until a proper crop of 
young patriots was ready for the mantle, he was capturing the tenets of 
the system. The same applies to the late Vice President Simon Muzenda’s 
bold declaration in 2000 that, in the event that Zanu PF failed to get 
an ‘appropriate’ candidate for a constituency, it would successfully 
field a baboon. In the system’s scheme of things, human beings and their 
distant relatives still roaming the wild are the same, as long as both 
remain faithful to the party’s gwara.

For many years, both the public and private media in Zimbabwe raised 
false hopes of a possible intra-party transition and reform in Zanu PF. 
They failed to appreciate the extent to which the terminal cancer of 
silence had eaten into the party and state’s moral fabric. The media 
created potential reformers out of “technocrats” such as Simba Makoni, 
“feared” politicians such as Emmerson Mnangagwa, or “kingmakers” out of 
Solomon Mujuru. It is instructive that, apart from Mnangagwa in a rare 
interview with the Financial Gazette, none of the media-christened 
reformers ever expressed any political ambition. The unopposed 
endorsement of President Mugabe last week as the Zanu PF presidential 
candidate for 2008 was a significant illustration of the system of 
silence at work.

My argument primarily concerns the system of silence as it manifests 
itself within the ruling party and the state. I have deliberately left 
out civil society including the opposition for purposes of time and 
scope. Given that Zanu PF has been at the helm of Zimbabwe for 27 years, 
it is a tragedy that the party’s leadership has created a wall of 
silence which, in a big way, accounts for the country’s current 
multifaceted crisis. As we turn 27, is it not time Zanu PF headed 
Chitepo’s fictional but relevant pointer: “We owe the people an 
explanation”?.

Wallace Chuma is a former journalist in Zimbabwe. He is contactable at 
walchuma at yahoo.com