Opinion / Columnist
If the liberation struggle was for all Zimbabweans, then war veterans should refuse to be bribed
3 hrs ago | Views
The love of money is the root of all evil, it is said.
Over the past month, Zimbabwe's government has rolled out a series of "empowerment schemes" tailored for veterans of the liberation struggle.
A $1.5 million revolving fund, boreholes, solar systems, rural housing projects, and urban land stands have been presented as tokens of gratitude for those who fought to free this nation from colonial rule.
At first glance, this seems a noble gesture.
These men and women, whose courage in facing down an oppressive regime remains unrivaled in our history, deserve recognition for their extraordinary sacrifices.
They abandoned families, forsook education, and risked-or gave-their lives to secure Zimbabwe's independence.
Their bravery birthed a nation, and for that, we owe them an immeasurable debt.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
But the story doesn't end there.
For decades, these same war veterans have been sidelined, forgotten by the very governments that rose to power on the back of their struggle.
Under both Robert Mugabe and Emmerson Mnangagwa, they've been left to rot in poverty, their contributions reduced to ceremonial platitudes while their livelihoods crumbled.
Past programs meant to "empower" them have been plagued by corruption, with benefits siphoned off by a privileged few-many of whom never set foot in the bush but boast connections to the ruling elite.
The land reform saga of the early 2000s is a glaring example: over 40% of the fertile, productive land was snatched up by those in power or their allies, while most war veterans remained crowded onto the same arid, marginal plots they'd endured under colonial rule.
Government figures reveal the scale of this injustice: only 23,500 Zimbabweans received A2 commercial farms, and 360,000 were resettled on A1 smallholder plots.
In a rural population of roughly 5 million, that's just 7.12% gaining land, leaving 92.88% stranded in the communal areas of our colonial past-landless and overlooked.
This neglect has been a constant, broken only when the ruling elite sense a threat to their dominance.
That's precisely what's unfolding now.
These latest "empowerment schemes" didn't materialize out of goodwill or a sudden awakening to the veterans' plight.
A few months ago, there was no talk of revolving funds, boreholes, or housing projects for war veterans.
Their sudden unveiling coincides with a growing chorus of dissent among this influential group.
Voices like Blesse Geza and Knox Chivero of the Zimbabwe Liberators Platform, alongside the Zimbabwe National Liberation War Veterans Association (ZNLWVA), have shaken the corridors of power.
They've accused President Mnangagwa of failing to honor his pledges to improve the lives of ordinary Zimbabweans and curb the corruption strangling the nation.
More boldly, they've rejected a faction within ZANU-PF agitating to extend Mnangagwa's presidency beyond his constitutional two five-term limit-a move that would cement one man's rule at the expense of Zimbabwe's democratic foundations.
The timing betrays the motive.
These "gifts" are no act of generosity; they're a calculated attempt to bribe and pacify a constituency whose dissent could unravel the "ED 2030 campaign".
War veterans wield a unique authority in Zimbabwe, their legacy capable of swaying public sentiment for or against the regime.
When they speak, the nation listens. And when they criticize, the elite tremble.
The speed and specificity of these schemes-rolled out in apparent haste as veterans demand Mnangagwa's resignation-reek of desperation.
But this moment poses a profound test for the veterans themselves.
Will they allow their voices to be bought?
Will they trade the ideals they fought for, the cause they bled for, for a handful of perks that benefit only them?
The liberation struggle was never about personal gain.
It was a collective sacrifice, a fight for the freedom and dignity of every Zimbabwean-not just those who carried rifles.
These warriors gave up everything-families, schooling, safety-not to secure their own comfort, but to topple a system that shackled us all.
When Geza calls for Mnangagwa to step down, his words carry the weight of that shared struggle, speaking not just for war veterans but for a nation weary of broken promises.
Chivero's resistance to constitutional tampering echoes the frustrations of millions who see their independence hijacked by a self-serving elite.
Their fight was for us, not for themselves-at least, that's what we've always believed.
Yet, if they accept these offerings and fall silent, they risk betraying that belief.
To exchange their moral authority for boreholes or land stands would be to abandon the broader vision of upliftment they once championed.
History warns us of the likely outcome: past initiatives like land reform enriched the connected while leaving most veterans empty-handed.
Corruption is the grease that keeps these schemes running, and there's little reason to trust that this time will be different.
Taking the bait now would not only compromise their integrity-it would forsake the millions who still see them as defenders of our liberation's soul.
That's the role they've assumed, whether they intended it or not.
After years of watching independence morph into a vehicle for elite enrichment, Zimbabweans have turned to war veterans as custodians of the principles that birthed this nation.
Geza and Chivero have reignited hope that those who fought for freedom might yet hold our leaders to account.
The people have placed their faith in these men and women to protect the ideals of 1980 from those who've twisted them into tools of oppression.
It's a heavy burden, but one they're uniquely equipped to bear-unless they sell us out to the very forces that have become our jailers.
Because the truth is stark: the liberation war may have ended in 1980, but the struggle persists.
The euphoria of independence faded as those who took power revealed their indifference to the people they claimed to serve.
The assassinations of genuine freedom fighters like Herbert Chitepo and Josiah Tongogara-deaths steeped in mystery and betrayal-signaled early on that the revolution had been commandeered.
What emerged was a regime built on patronage and coercion, one that sidelined the masses it once rallied.
War veterans lived this betrayal, enduring poverty and obscurity while the elite gorged on the nation's wealth.
But their silence is no longer tenable.
The fight has evolved-not a physical war, but a battle to safeguard our country and its constitution from those who've turned liberation into a personal fiefdom.
They're not alone in this.
A new generation of Zimbabweans stands ready to join them, not with bullets but with a shared resolve to reclaim our future.
The enemy hasn't changed: a ruling class that thrives on corruption, division, and the erosion of our founding values.
War veterans must see that their struggle is ours too, and that accepting these bribes would abandon a nation still yearning for the freedom they promised.
The revolving fund might offer fleeting relief, but it won't heal a country scarred by misrule.
The solar systems might light a few homes, but they won't illuminate the path to justice.
So here is our plea: stand firm, refuse to be swayed.
Reject the bribes of a regime that fears your power and seeks to neuter it.
You are not mere relics of a war won decades ago-you are warriors in a fight that endures.
The liberation struggle was for all Zimbabweans, not a select few, and it's a cause that demands your vigilance still.
The nation looks to you, hoping you'll choose the people over the plunderers, the collective dream over personal gain.
And here is our warning: if you yield, if you align with those who hijacked the struggle and now wave trinkets to silence you, you'll not only tarnish your legacy-you'll hand victory to the very oppressors you once defied.
The elite who betrayed the revolution count on your compliance, betting that boreholes and land will erase your resolve.
Prove them wrong.
Over the past month, Zimbabwe's government has rolled out a series of "empowerment schemes" tailored for veterans of the liberation struggle.
A $1.5 million revolving fund, boreholes, solar systems, rural housing projects, and urban land stands have been presented as tokens of gratitude for those who fought to free this nation from colonial rule.
At first glance, this seems a noble gesture.
These men and women, whose courage in facing down an oppressive regime remains unrivaled in our history, deserve recognition for their extraordinary sacrifices.
They abandoned families, forsook education, and risked-or gave-their lives to secure Zimbabwe's independence.
Their bravery birthed a nation, and for that, we owe them an immeasurable debt.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
But the story doesn't end there.
For decades, these same war veterans have been sidelined, forgotten by the very governments that rose to power on the back of their struggle.
Under both Robert Mugabe and Emmerson Mnangagwa, they've been left to rot in poverty, their contributions reduced to ceremonial platitudes while their livelihoods crumbled.
Past programs meant to "empower" them have been plagued by corruption, with benefits siphoned off by a privileged few-many of whom never set foot in the bush but boast connections to the ruling elite.
The land reform saga of the early 2000s is a glaring example: over 40% of the fertile, productive land was snatched up by those in power or their allies, while most war veterans remained crowded onto the same arid, marginal plots they'd endured under colonial rule.
Government figures reveal the scale of this injustice: only 23,500 Zimbabweans received A2 commercial farms, and 360,000 were resettled on A1 smallholder plots.
In a rural population of roughly 5 million, that's just 7.12% gaining land, leaving 92.88% stranded in the communal areas of our colonial past-landless and overlooked.
This neglect has been a constant, broken only when the ruling elite sense a threat to their dominance.
That's precisely what's unfolding now.
These latest "empowerment schemes" didn't materialize out of goodwill or a sudden awakening to the veterans' plight.
A few months ago, there was no talk of revolving funds, boreholes, or housing projects for war veterans.
Their sudden unveiling coincides with a growing chorus of dissent among this influential group.
Voices like Blesse Geza and Knox Chivero of the Zimbabwe Liberators Platform, alongside the Zimbabwe National Liberation War Veterans Association (ZNLWVA), have shaken the corridors of power.
They've accused President Mnangagwa of failing to honor his pledges to improve the lives of ordinary Zimbabweans and curb the corruption strangling the nation.
More boldly, they've rejected a faction within ZANU-PF agitating to extend Mnangagwa's presidency beyond his constitutional two five-term limit-a move that would cement one man's rule at the expense of Zimbabwe's democratic foundations.
The timing betrays the motive.
These "gifts" are no act of generosity; they're a calculated attempt to bribe and pacify a constituency whose dissent could unravel the "ED 2030 campaign".
War veterans wield a unique authority in Zimbabwe, their legacy capable of swaying public sentiment for or against the regime.
When they speak, the nation listens. And when they criticize, the elite tremble.
The speed and specificity of these schemes-rolled out in apparent haste as veterans demand Mnangagwa's resignation-reek of desperation.
But this moment poses a profound test for the veterans themselves.
Will they allow their voices to be bought?
Will they trade the ideals they fought for, the cause they bled for, for a handful of perks that benefit only them?
The liberation struggle was never about personal gain.
It was a collective sacrifice, a fight for the freedom and dignity of every Zimbabwean-not just those who carried rifles.
These warriors gave up everything-families, schooling, safety-not to secure their own comfort, but to topple a system that shackled us all.
When Geza calls for Mnangagwa to step down, his words carry the weight of that shared struggle, speaking not just for war veterans but for a nation weary of broken promises.
Chivero's resistance to constitutional tampering echoes the frustrations of millions who see their independence hijacked by a self-serving elite.
Their fight was for us, not for themselves-at least, that's what we've always believed.
Yet, if they accept these offerings and fall silent, they risk betraying that belief.
To exchange their moral authority for boreholes or land stands would be to abandon the broader vision of upliftment they once championed.
History warns us of the likely outcome: past initiatives like land reform enriched the connected while leaving most veterans empty-handed.
Corruption is the grease that keeps these schemes running, and there's little reason to trust that this time will be different.
Taking the bait now would not only compromise their integrity-it would forsake the millions who still see them as defenders of our liberation's soul.
That's the role they've assumed, whether they intended it or not.
After years of watching independence morph into a vehicle for elite enrichment, Zimbabweans have turned to war veterans as custodians of the principles that birthed this nation.
Geza and Chivero have reignited hope that those who fought for freedom might yet hold our leaders to account.
The people have placed their faith in these men and women to protect the ideals of 1980 from those who've twisted them into tools of oppression.
It's a heavy burden, but one they're uniquely equipped to bear-unless they sell us out to the very forces that have become our jailers.
Because the truth is stark: the liberation war may have ended in 1980, but the struggle persists.
The euphoria of independence faded as those who took power revealed their indifference to the people they claimed to serve.
The assassinations of genuine freedom fighters like Herbert Chitepo and Josiah Tongogara-deaths steeped in mystery and betrayal-signaled early on that the revolution had been commandeered.
What emerged was a regime built on patronage and coercion, one that sidelined the masses it once rallied.
War veterans lived this betrayal, enduring poverty and obscurity while the elite gorged on the nation's wealth.
But their silence is no longer tenable.
The fight has evolved-not a physical war, but a battle to safeguard our country and its constitution from those who've turned liberation into a personal fiefdom.
They're not alone in this.
A new generation of Zimbabweans stands ready to join them, not with bullets but with a shared resolve to reclaim our future.
The enemy hasn't changed: a ruling class that thrives on corruption, division, and the erosion of our founding values.
War veterans must see that their struggle is ours too, and that accepting these bribes would abandon a nation still yearning for the freedom they promised.
The revolving fund might offer fleeting relief, but it won't heal a country scarred by misrule.
The solar systems might light a few homes, but they won't illuminate the path to justice.
So here is our plea: stand firm, refuse to be swayed.
Reject the bribes of a regime that fears your power and seeks to neuter it.
You are not mere relics of a war won decades ago-you are warriors in a fight that endures.
The liberation struggle was for all Zimbabweans, not a select few, and it's a cause that demands your vigilance still.
The nation looks to you, hoping you'll choose the people over the plunderers, the collective dream over personal gain.
And here is our warning: if you yield, if you align with those who hijacked the struggle and now wave trinkets to silence you, you'll not only tarnish your legacy-you'll hand victory to the very oppressors you once defied.
The elite who betrayed the revolution count on your compliance, betting that boreholes and land will erase your resolve.
Prove them wrong.
Source - Tendai Ruben Mbofana
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