The
causes
of
the
economic
malaise
are
numerous
and
interconnected.
Persistent
corruption,
the
erosion
of
public
trust,
and
erratic
policymaking
have
hollowed
out
the
economy.
Exchange
rate
volatility,
a
collapsing
currency,
chronic
energy
shortages,
dwindling
investment,
and
an
unpredictable
regulatory
environment
have
all
combined
to
produce
a
fragile
and
unsustainable
economic
model.
Rather
than
address
these
structural
weaknesses,
President
Emmerson
Mnangagwa
has
opted
to
consolidate
power,
establishing
parallel
structures
both
within
the
state
and
the
ruling
party
in
an
effort
to
secure
his
political
dominance.
A
key
example
is
the
creation
of
the
Mutapa
Investment
Fund,
unveiled
shortly
after
the
contested
August
2023
election.
The
fund
centralizes
29
state-owned
enterprises
under
a
single
entity,
valued
at
US$16
billion,
and
is
shielded
from
parliamentary
oversight.
It
reports
directly
to
the
president,
who
appoints
both
the
board
and
its
chief
executive
officer—an
arrangement
that
raises
profound
questions
about
transparency
and
accountability.
Unsurprisingly,
the
fund
has
been
linked
to
the
enrichment
of
political
allies,
most
notably
Kudakwashe
Tagwirei,
a
prominent
businessman
with
longstanding
ties
to
the
president.
Cracks
are
also
appearing
within
the
ruling
party.
One
of
the
most
vocal
internal
critics
has
emerged
from
an
unlikely
quarter:
Blessed
“Bombshell”
Geza,
a
former
war
veteran
and
long-serving
member
of
ZANU-PF.
Geza
has
become
an
increasingly
strident
opponent
of
Mnangagwa’s
leadership,
denouncing
the
marginalisation
of
liberation
war
veterans
and
accusing
a
small
clique
within
the
party
of
looting
the
country’s
wealth.
In
a
series
of
posts
on
social
media,
Geza
accused
30
individuals—whom
he
labelled
Zvigananda—of
monopolising
national
resources
while
neglecting
those
who
risked
their
lives
for
independence.
His
call
for
a
national
protest
on
31
March
2024
tapped
into
a
deep
reservoir
of
frustration.
In
his
own
words,
Geza
spoke
of
being
in
the
“afternoon”
of
his
life
and
expressed
a
desire
to
leave
behind
a
better
Zimbabwe—a
sentiment
that
resonated
widely
across
a
disillusioned
populace.
The
protest
itself,
however,
was
subdued.
Indeed
what
was
striking
about
the
31
March
protest
was
not
the
absence
of
mass
mobilisation,
but
the
fact
that
the
government
has
become
so
good
at
nipping
public
demonstrations
in
the
bud
before
they
even
get
going.
Where
historical
demonstrations
were
met
with
an
an
overwhelming
security
presence
and
brute
force,
nowadays
potential
protestors
are
quietly
rounded
up,
usually
away
from
the
glare
of
the
international
media.
So
it
was
that
in
the
days
that
followed
31
March
news
emerged
that
some
98
people
had
been
arrested
and
remanded
in
custody
charged
with
“facing
charges
related
to
participating
in
a
gathering
with
the
intent
to
promote
public
violence”.
In
this
way,
the
Zimbabwean
government
is
pursuing
the
kind
of
“before
the
event”
invasive
policing
imagined
in
the
science
fiction
film
Minority
Report,
which
imagined
a
future
governed
by
the
Pre-Crime
police,
who
intervene
before
an
offence
has
even
taken
place.
The
big
difference
in
Zimbabwe,
of
course,
is
that
the
security
forces
do
not
target
genuine
criminals,
but
those
who
oppose
authoritarian
rule.
It
is
these
strategies
of
“repress
in
advance”
that
square
the
circle
between
the
fact
that
the
police
and
military
were
largely
absent
in
many
urban
areas
of
the
day
of
the
protests,
and
the
aggressive
tone
of
President
Mnangagwa’s
just
speech
days
earlier,
in
which
he
unapologetically
endorsed
the
use
of
force
against
dissenters.
The
relative
ease
with
which
the
protests
was
subverted
suggests
an
important
lesson
oft-repeated
in
Zimbabwe
over
the
last
few
years:
given
the
strength
of
the
state’s
coercive
capacity,
political
change
is
only
likely
to
come
from
a
split
in
the
ruling
party
and
the
security
forces.
The
challenge
for
President
Mnangagwa
is
that
the
very
tactics
he
is
using
to
try
and
consolidate
power
are
likely
to
exacerbate
existing
tensions.
Many
believe
that
lying
behind
mooted
plans
to
delay
the
next
elections
–
something
that
would
in
principle
benefit
everyone
currently
in
parliament
by
insulating
them
from
the
wrath
of
voters
–
is
a
much
more
singular
vision:
Mnangagwa
wants
to
stay
as
president
beyond
the
country’s
current
term-limits,
and
then
determine
his
successor.
Some
believe
that
the
ultimate
plan
is
to
extend
the
terms
of
office
for
the
President,
Parliament,
and
Councils
by
up
to
three
years.
This
would
enable
Mnangagwa
to
remain
in
power
until
2031
–
when
he
will
be
92.
At
that
point,
rumours
suggest
that
he
plans
to
have
groomed
an
acolyte
whom
he
trusts
–
the
aforementioned
Tagwirei
–
to
take
over.
This
would
see
Mnangagwa
explicitly
renege
on
the
agreement
he
is
widely
believed
to
have
made
with
Constantine
Chiwenga,
the
former
army
general
and
current
Vice
President
who
led
the
coup
that
put
Mnangagwa
in
power.
In
that
deal,
the
president
is
said
to
have
promised
to
make
way
for
his
Chiwenga
after
serving
his
terms
in
office,
rewarding
his
deputy
–
and
through
him
the
army
–
for
the
role
they
played
in
placing
him
on
the
political
throne.
Thwarting
the
presidential
ambitions
of
Chiwenga
and
other
leaders
within
ZANU-PF
is
a
dangerous
move.
So
dangerous,
that
Mnangagwa
has
already
felt
the
need
to
coup-proof
his
regime
through
the strategic
replacement
of
General
Valerio
Sibanda
as
head
of
the
Zimbabwe
Defence
Forces.
Sibanda,
a
key
figure
in
the
2017
coup
that
propelled
Mnangagwa
to
power,
had
grown
increasingly
sidelined
amid
whispers
of
discontent
within
the
military’s
upper
ranks.
His
removal
in
late
2023,
replaced
by
a
less
prominent
but
fiercely
loyal
figure,
marked
a
calculated
attempt
by
Mnangagwa
to
neutralize
potential
rivals
and
reassert
control
over
the
armed
forces.
This
reshuffle,
combined
with
the
continued
elevation
of
loyalists
in
the
security
services
and
the
deployment
of
military
officers
into
civilian
oversight
roles,
signals
a
broader
strategy
to
insulate
the
presidency
from
the
threat
of
internal
dissent.
Yet
in
fortifying
his
position,
Mnangagwa
has
further
blurred
the
line
between
civilian
authority
and
military
influence,
deepening
Zimbabwe’s
drift
toward
personalized,
securitized
rule.
This
strategy
may
not
succeed,
however,
especially
if
military
leaders
come
to
conclude
that
Mnangagwa’s
lack
of
popularity
and
old
age
render
him
a
liability.
Two
factors
will
be
critical
in
determining
whether
the
president
can
hold
on.
First,
he
will
need
to
find
alternative
sources
of
government
revenue.
At
present,
the
country’s economic
fabric
is
under
acute
strain.
The
government’s
model
of
elite
accumulation
is
increasingly
at
odds
with
the
reality
of
economic
contraction,
a
worsening
climate
crisis,
and
the
progressive
withdrawal
of
Western
aid,
particularly
from
the
United
States.
As
the
benefits
of
patronage
shrink
and
the
costs
of
bad
governance
rise,
the
regime
may
find
it
harder
to
sustain
the
loyalties
on
which
its
survival
depends.
Second,
he
will
need
to
find
a
way
to
stymie
the
increasingly
public
displays
of
dissent
by
figures
such
as
Blessings
Geza.
The
fact
that
open
and
fierce
criticism
of
the
president
continues
suggests
that
Geza
is
operating
with
the
protection
of
regime
insiders,
and
may
be
acting
as
their
stalking
horse.
The
longer
this
goes
on,
the
weaker
Mnangagwa
will
appear,
and
the
more
vulnerable
he
will
become.
Ultimately,
the
roots
of
the
crisis
lie
in
Zimbabwe’s
deeply
flawed
political
settlement.
For
too
long,
bad
politics—defined
by
exclusion,
authoritarianism,
and
the
capture
of
public
resources—have
choked
off
the
possibility
of
national
renewal.
A
more
inclusive
political
dialogue
is
urgently
needed,
one
that
brings
together
all
stakeholders
and
sets
the
stage
for
comprehensive
economic
reform,
institutional
reconstruction,
and
a
return
to
democratic
norms.
Without
such
a
shift,
Zimbabwe
risks
remaining
trapped
in
a
cycle
of
elite
dominance
and
popular
disempowerment,
with
grave
consequences
for
its
future
stability
and
development.
Chenayi
Mutambasere
is
a
Development
Economist
and
advocate
for
equitable
socio-economic
justice
across
Africa.