Zimbabwe

Three decades after the fight for multiparty democracy in Africa, many on the continent still face sham elections, restrictions of rights, and few improvements.

An impenetrable electoral process in Zimbabwe breeds cynicism in the next generation of voters, to the peril of democracy efforts.  

Debates about sanctions obscure the real crisis in Zimbabwe. 

Zimbabwe’s worsening social, political, and economic landscape means trouble for the Southern Africa subregion.

Zimbabwe's largest opposition party finds itself fighting for survival amid a slew of legal challenges.

Former Assistant Secretary of State for African Affairs Walter Kansteiner reflects on his dealing with former South African President Thabo Mbeki in formulating U.S. policy toward Zimbabwe from 2001 to 2003.

A cursory glance at recent headlines from Zimbabwe could give one the impression that things are looking up. A recent World Bank report predicted growth of nearly 4 percent this year. The government took a small first step toward compensating farmers whose land was violently seized by the state decades ago. But closer inspection reveals a country with tremendous structural challenges and a government focused only on regime survival. It is true that good rains have been a boost to the agricultural sector and have eased the burden of hunger in Zimbabwe. But that sector, like all others, is stymied by the ruinous governance that, coupled with the COVID-19 pandemic, has left half of the population living on less than a dollar a day. Moreover, citizens cannot count on the favorable rains persisting. Zimbabwe is one of the countries most affected [PDF] by climate change in the world. If it had a government with credibility, Zimbabwe could be an important voice on the international stage advocating for more meaningful action to support adaptation and mitigation measures. But no one is looking to Harare for leadership because its government is synonymous with corruption and repression. The murky nature of the vehicle the state used for its first payment to former landholders, Kuvimba Mining House Ltd., points to continued patterns of elite enrichment and the absence of accountability at the top. At the same time, the government is engaged in new land seizures, aimed at perceived enemies like civil society leaders, part of its continued campaign to silence dissent and close political space. The state subjects independent journalists to regular harassment and arrest, bullies the judiciary when it shows pockets of independence, and instigates and exploits divisions in the political opposition to silence critical voices in parliament. Like many other countries in the region, Zimbabwe has an overwhelmingly young population. Any government would find it challenging to steward truly inclusive growth, ensure opportunities for its young people, address the realities of climate change, and strengthen governing institutions and public trust. But the record of the current leadership provides little reassurance that it aims for any of these goals. Two-thirds of Zimbabweans believe their country is going in the wrong direction. Without a fundamental change in the nature of governance, they are almost certain to be proved right.

Last month, South Africa’s Daily Maverick newspaper published a damning exposé on corruption in Zimbabwe. The report, titled Cartel Power Dynamics in Zimbabwe [PDF], details off-the-books networks worth billions that deal in gold, diamonds, cigarettes, fuel and more. In so doing, it provides some concrete answers to perennial questions: how is it that elite networks persist and even thrive when conditions for most Zimbabweans have been on a downward trajectory for decades, and how has a country so rich in natural resources and human capital become so poor? It’s not a surprise to learn that a powerful few are getting rich in Zimbabwe (though offshoring much of their wealth). From dodgy ownership structures that gave the top tier of the security services exclusive access to mining wealth to sole-source, inflated contracts for COVID-19 relief supplies, examples of high-level corruption have surfaced repeatedly over the years. But the latest revelations provide new details on the machinery of corruption, the enabling networks and middlemen that make it possible to continue squeezing wealth out of the country. The real question is what comes next. Can policymakers around the world find the will and the means to increase the cost of complicity in this looting, including for international actors facilitating this activity, be it in South Africa or the United Arab Emirates? Can the Southern African Development Community concern itself with this fleecing of an entire country, and the complicity of Russian and Chinese firms in certain cartel activities, in the way it has zealously communicated concerns about the targeted sanctions that the United States applies to specific individuals and entities in Zimbabwe? Equally important, can Zimbabwean civil society find effective ways to convey the realities of these complex schemes so that a majority of their fellow citizens have the facts at their disposal, and can be better armed with information in efforts to hold their leaders accountable? The success of journalist Hopewell Chin’ono’s song, “Dem Loot,” is an encouraging example of how this can happen. The extraordinarily resilient people of Zimbabwe have never stopped working to defend the rule of law or working to build a more accountable system of governance. They deserve access to the facts about how and why their country works for a few and fails so many.

In the United States and around the world, societies are struggling to balance the sometimes draconian social controls needed to combat a highly contagious infectious disease with the need for limits on government power and the protection of civil liberties. Public health concerns can be used to justify crackdowns on opposition politicians, the manipulation of vital humanitarian assistance, and the emergency overriding of mechanisms meant to prohibit private gain at the public’s expense. In societies where the scales had already tipped toward authoritarianism before the emergence of COVID-19, the disease is providing cover for the further consolidation of power and abuse of citizens. Zimbabwe is a clear example of this trend. But the endgame for Zimbabwe’s government remains very uncertain. The government of Zimbabwe’s shocking campaign to persecute political opponents, which has long been a constant that varies only in intensity over time, has ramped up once again. To take only one egregious recent example, three members of the main opposition MDC Alliance party, Member of Parliament Joana Mamombe, Cecilia Chimbiri, and Netsai Marova were detained at a checkpoint in May, ostensibly for violating lockdown orders to attend a peaceful protest. All three women report subsequently being abducted, tortured, and sexually assaulted. True to form, government officials have publicly mooted wild theories claiming that the allegations were fabricated, or that a mysterious “third force” could be responsible. Last week, the three women were arrested for allegedly lying about their ordeal. Meanwhile, hunger stalked Zimbabwe even before the economic outlook dimmed for the entire region as a result of the pandemic. The World Food Program indicates that half of the population is severely food insecure, and that urban hunger will get even worse by next spring. But the urgency of the crisis has not stopped the government from arbitrarily shutting down urban spaces, or from politicizing the distribution of food aid to punish citizens who support the opposition. Likewise, the desperate circumstances of the population have not stopped government officials seeking to capitalize on the pandemic to enrich themselves. Officials were recently compelled to cancel inflated contracts for medical supplies with a consulting firm linked to the President of Zimbabwe and his family, but not before berating journalists for covering the story. As eagerly as the government of Zimbabwe has seized on this crisis to consolidate power and wealth, there is little evidence of a viable plan for the future. Brutality cannot tame the second-highest inflation rate in the world, make the government’s “command agriculture” scheme anything more than a vehicle for elite corruption, or help the country manage the global economic consequences of COVID-19. Rumors of toxic rifts in the senior ranks of government and even coup plots illustrate the limits of Zimbabwe’s authoritarian consolidation, even in a crisis.

The sickening murder of George Floyd, and the laudable fact that the press in the United States is free to report it and to tell the story of the protests sweeping the nation, has again exposed just how much injustice persists in the United States. Some have concluded that this reality should render the United States silent on human rights abuses abroad. Without our own house in order, this argument posits, we have no standing to decry abuses elsewhere. The U.S. ambassador to Zimbabwe, Brian Nichols, gave powerful expression to a very different point of view in a statement he released on June 1. He acknowledged that he represents a country still working to realize its ideals, which aspires to be better for all of its citizens. Holding fast to that aspiration, he suggests, also compels the United States to speak out against injustice abroad—not from a position of supposed superiority, but in service of a mission to “meet the ideals of our founding.” To ignore human rights abuses, such as the abductions and assaults of political opponents and peaceful protesters that have occurred in Zimbabwe, would render America complicit in even more injustice. Ambassador Nichols’s statement models an American human rights diplomacy that rises above partisan takes about swagger or apologism. Confidence and pride and clarity of purpose can all coexist with humility. Representatives of the United States can acknowledge that our society is not free from oppression without suggesting that oppression is acceptable anywhere. They can acknowledge all of the truths of our own experience, even the ugly ones, without abandoning our principles or embracing a purely transactional diplomacy grounded in the most narrow idea of self-interest. They can exercise American leadership not grounded in a façade of perfection, but in a steadfast belief that our society is a partner to others around the world in the pursuit of justice and dignity for all people. Waging that struggle with humility and clarity and honesty will make for not just a stronger America, but stronger, more resilient, and more stable American partners.

In many African states, food insecurity is a serious problem getting worse by the day. This week, international experts sounded the alarm about acute food shortages affecting some 135 million people, more than half of them Africans. The coronavirus crisis, with its effect on livelihoods, productivity, and agricultural supply chains, could nearly double that already staggering number of people threatened with starvation. In East Africa, a plague of locusts is adding to the misery, decimating crops at a shocking pace. In the Sahel, insecurity and displacement contribute to the problem.  The intersection of the pandemic and hunger sets the stage for the politicization of urgent humanitarian assistance, particularly food. Around the world, leaders who are insecure about their own popularity and legitimacy often compensate by placing a high priority on projecting strength and control. These leaders may be particularly anxious about responding to COVID-19. The threat is difficult to counter and it resists permanent solutions, foreclosing opportunities to bask in the glow of victory. Worse still, the devastating economic fallout is inescapable. The temptation to project and consolidate power by controlling the very means of survival, access to food, may well be too powerful to resist. Already, NGOs on the ground in Zimbabwe have brought attention to food aid distribution being controlled by the ruling ZANU-PF party, which has a history of using food to shore up support. The past week also saw the arrest of a member of Parliament from the country’s main opposition party for violating the lockdown to distribute food. Zimbabweans were already struggling with negative growth and hyperinflation. Nearly 90% of Zimbabweans work in the informal economy, and they are now being cut off from their means of survival by lockdown policies intended to stop the spread of the virus. In this context of desperation, the ruling party may well be able to strengthen its hand, despite the ample evidence of its mismanagement and internal disarray, simply by positioning itself as a gatekeeper to food. Similarly in Uganda, an independent member of Parliament was recently arrested for distributing food to his constituents in contravention of presidential directives to channel all food aid through a national taskforce formed by President Museveni. While it is easy to see how uncoordinated distribution of critical supplies can lead to risky social proximity and undermine efforts to tamp down disease transmission, it is equally easy to see the political upside to President Museveni and his party of ensuring that no one associated with the growing opposition can help Ugandans cope with hunger. Of course, the politicization of assistance is not a new phenomenon. But the combination of draconian social controls associated with the COVID-19 response and the urgency of food insecurity in the region may foster particularly egregious examples going forward.