Opinion / Columnist
Journalism is not a crime, but looting national resources surely is!
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On Monday, February 24, 2025, Blessed Mhlanga, a senior journalist with Alpha Media Holdings, handed himself over to the Zimbabwe Republic Police at Harare Central Police Station.
Hours later, he found himself behind bars, detained in a cell with hanging ceilings, no bedding, and scant access to food or water-conditions his lawyer, Chris Mhike, described as inhumane.
Mhlanga's alleged crime?
Doing his job.
The state claims that by recording and reporting on press conferences held by Zanu PF central committee member Blessed Geza and fellow war veterans on January 27 and February 11, Mhlanga incited violence.
Geza, a vocal critic of President Emmerson Mnangagwa, had demanded the president's resignation over rampant corruption and governance failures.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
Now, as Mhlanga languishes in remand prison awaiting a bail hearing on February 27, the absurdity of his persecution lays bare a chilling truth: in Zimbabwe, journalism is treated as a greater threat than the systematic looting of the nation's wealth.
This arrest is not just an attack on one man; it is a blatant assault on press freedom, a right enshrined in Zimbabwe's own Constitution and upheld by international law.
Section 61 of the Zimbabwean Constitution guarantees every person the right to freedom of expression, including the freedom to seek, receive, and impart information.
Likewise, Section 62 protects access to information, a cornerstone of a functioning democracy.
On the global stage, Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights echo these principles, affirming that journalists like Mhlanga are not criminals but vital cogs in the machinery of accountability.
Yet, here he sits, accused of transmitting "data messages inciting violence" for merely documenting Geza's words.
The irony is staggering: the state alleges Mhlanga intended to spark unrest, yet it was not he who called for Mnangagwa's resignation or urged Zimbabweans to take to the streets.
That was Geza, a war veteran and ruling party insider.
Mhlanga's role was that of a conduit, a professional tasked with informing the public-an employee of Heart and Soul TV, which broadcast the press conferences, not a rogue agitator with a personal manifesto.
Chris Mhike told Harare chief magistrate Farai Gwatima on Tuesday that Mhlanga has no case to answer.
He is not a terrorist, Mhike argued, nor a threat to national security.
He is a journalist fulfilling his duty to report the news, not to shape it.
If anything, this overreach exposes the state's desperation to silence dissent, even when it comes through the neutral lens of a camera or the impartial stroke of a pen.
By targeting Mhlanga, the government tramples on the very freedoms it claims to uphold, sending a chilling message to every journalist in Zimbabwe: speak the truth at your peril.
The ramifications of this arrest extend far beyond one man's plight.
It casts a long shadow over media freedom and freedom of expression in a country already reeling from a history of intimidation, arrests, and violence against journalists.
In 2002, Daily News editor Geoff Nyarota was arrested multiple times for exposing corruption.
In 2011, freelance journalist Andrison Manyere was tortured after documenting human rights abuses.
More recently, in 2020, Hopewell Chin'ono was detained for weeks over his reporting on COVID-19 procurement scandals.
These are not isolated incidents but part of a pattern-a systematic effort to muzzle the press and stifle accountability.
Mhlanga's arrest will only deepen this climate of fear, pushing journalists to self-censor or abandon their craft altogether.
Zimbabwe's international standing, already battered by a dismal ranking on the World Press Freedom Index-126 out of 180 in 2024-will sink further.
Foreign investors, democratic allies, and human rights watchdogs will take note, and the nation's reputation as a pariah state will harden.
This persecution stands in stark contrast to President Mnangagwa's own words.
Just last week, he met with editors at State House, reaffirming his commitment to media freedom.
"A free press is the lifeblood of democracy," he reportedly said, pledging to foster an environment where journalists could work without fear.
Yet, days later, Mhlanga was locked up, his bail application deferred, his dignity stripped away in a pest-infested cell.
The hypocrisy is galling.
If the government's commitment was genuine, Mhlanga would be free, not treated as a criminal for covering a story that displeased the powerful.
Instead, the authority's actions reveal a grim reality: in Zimbabwe, press freedom is a privilege dangled before the media, only to be snatched away when the truth cuts too close to the bone.
While the state fixates on silencing journalists, a far graver threat festers unchecked: the rampant corruption and looting of Zimbabwe's national resources.
This is the real crime, one that bleeds the nation dry while the powerful feast on its spoils.
The smuggling of precious minerals-gold, diamonds, lithium-costs Zimbabwe billions annually.
The 2023 Al Jazeera documentary Gold Mafia exposed this rot in vivid detail, revealing how politically connected elites orchestrate the illicit trade with impunity.
One figure, Uebert Angel, boasted of laundering millions through gold smuggling, enabled by his ties to the ruling clique.
Another, Kamlesh Pattni, detailed how officials turn a blind eye as tons of gold vanish across borders.
These revelations were not anomalies but symptoms of a systemic plunder that has enriched a few while impoverishing millions.
Beyond smuggling, corruption thrives in opaque deals and dubious tenders.
Multimillion-dollar contracts-whether for road construction, power plants, or agricultural inputs-routinely go to cronies of the ruling elite, often at inflated costs or with little to show for it.
The Mutapa Investment Fund, Zimbabwe's sovereign wealth fund, exemplifies this opacity.
Recently shielded from parliamentary oversight, it has become a potential slush fund for the well-connected, its operations cloaked in secrecy.
With no transparency, the risk of looting is not hypothetical but inevitable.
These acts of graft siphon resources that could rebuild a crumbling nation, leaving its people to bear the cost.
That cost is devastatingly clear.
Over 80% of Zimbabweans live below the poverty line, scraping by on less than $2 a day.
Hunger stalks the land, with the World Food Programme estimating that 5.7 million people faced food insecurity in 2024-a number likely worsened by drought and economic collapse.
Healthcare has crumbled, with hospitals lacking basic drugs and equipment; maternal mortality rates remain among the highest in the region.
Education, once a point of pride, is in free fall-schools lack books, teachers strike over paltry wages, and dropout rates soar.
This is the legacy of corruption: a nation robbed of its future while its leaders point fingers at journalists like Mhlanga.
Compounding this economic devastation is the unchecked plunder by foreign entities, particularly Chinese-owned mining companies.
These firms flout Zimbabwean laws with abandon, forcibly evicting communities from ancestral lands, leaving behind environmental wreckage-polluted rivers, scarred landscapes-and exploiting workers with paltry wages and brutal conditions.
Reports abound of companies exporting raw lithium, despite a government ban, and undervaluing revenues to cheat Zimbabwe out of billions.
Why does this persist?
Because top officials and their allies allegedly hold stakes in these operations, rendering the culprits untouchable.
Some Chinese investors even brag of their invincibility, citing ties to ZANU-PF as a shield against accountability.
The government's silence is deafening, its blind eye a betrayal of the people it claims to serve.
This is the true security threat to Zimbabwe-not a journalist recording a press conference, but a kleptocracy that has turned the nation's wealth into a private piggy bank.
The economic devastation wrought by corruption and looting has plunged millions into unimaginable poverty, stripped away dignity, and extinguished hope.
Blessed Mhlanga's arrest is a distraction, a scapegoating of a man whose only crime was to shine a light on the powerful.
If the state truly cared about justice, it would pursue the smugglers, the tender barons, the mining magnates-not a reporter armed with nothing but a camera and a notepad.
Zimbabwe stands at a crossroads. It can continue to persecute those who expose its flaws, or it can confront the real enemy within: the looters who have bled it dry.
Freeing Mhlanga would be a start-a signal that the government values truth over tyranny.
But true redemption lies in dismantling the networks of corruption that have held the nation hostage for too long.
Journalism is not a crime, but looting national resources surely is.
It's time Zimbabwe's leaders acted like it.
© Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
Hours later, he found himself behind bars, detained in a cell with hanging ceilings, no bedding, and scant access to food or water-conditions his lawyer, Chris Mhike, described as inhumane.
Mhlanga's alleged crime?
Doing his job.
The state claims that by recording and reporting on press conferences held by Zanu PF central committee member Blessed Geza and fellow war veterans on January 27 and February 11, Mhlanga incited violence.
Geza, a vocal critic of President Emmerson Mnangagwa, had demanded the president's resignation over rampant corruption and governance failures.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
Now, as Mhlanga languishes in remand prison awaiting a bail hearing on February 27, the absurdity of his persecution lays bare a chilling truth: in Zimbabwe, journalism is treated as a greater threat than the systematic looting of the nation's wealth.
This arrest is not just an attack on one man; it is a blatant assault on press freedom, a right enshrined in Zimbabwe's own Constitution and upheld by international law.
Section 61 of the Zimbabwean Constitution guarantees every person the right to freedom of expression, including the freedom to seek, receive, and impart information.
Likewise, Section 62 protects access to information, a cornerstone of a functioning democracy.
On the global stage, Article 19 of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights echo these principles, affirming that journalists like Mhlanga are not criminals but vital cogs in the machinery of accountability.
Yet, here he sits, accused of transmitting "data messages inciting violence" for merely documenting Geza's words.
The irony is staggering: the state alleges Mhlanga intended to spark unrest, yet it was not he who called for Mnangagwa's resignation or urged Zimbabweans to take to the streets.
That was Geza, a war veteran and ruling party insider.
Mhlanga's role was that of a conduit, a professional tasked with informing the public-an employee of Heart and Soul TV, which broadcast the press conferences, not a rogue agitator with a personal manifesto.
Chris Mhike told Harare chief magistrate Farai Gwatima on Tuesday that Mhlanga has no case to answer.
He is not a terrorist, Mhike argued, nor a threat to national security.
He is a journalist fulfilling his duty to report the news, not to shape it.
If anything, this overreach exposes the state's desperation to silence dissent, even when it comes through the neutral lens of a camera or the impartial stroke of a pen.
By targeting Mhlanga, the government tramples on the very freedoms it claims to uphold, sending a chilling message to every journalist in Zimbabwe: speak the truth at your peril.
The ramifications of this arrest extend far beyond one man's plight.
It casts a long shadow over media freedom and freedom of expression in a country already reeling from a history of intimidation, arrests, and violence against journalists.
In 2002, Daily News editor Geoff Nyarota was arrested multiple times for exposing corruption.
In 2011, freelance journalist Andrison Manyere was tortured after documenting human rights abuses.
More recently, in 2020, Hopewell Chin'ono was detained for weeks over his reporting on COVID-19 procurement scandals.
These are not isolated incidents but part of a pattern-a systematic effort to muzzle the press and stifle accountability.
Mhlanga's arrest will only deepen this climate of fear, pushing journalists to self-censor or abandon their craft altogether.
Zimbabwe's international standing, already battered by a dismal ranking on the World Press Freedom Index-126 out of 180 in 2024-will sink further.
Foreign investors, democratic allies, and human rights watchdogs will take note, and the nation's reputation as a pariah state will harden.
This persecution stands in stark contrast to President Mnangagwa's own words.
Just last week, he met with editors at State House, reaffirming his commitment to media freedom.
"A free press is the lifeblood of democracy," he reportedly said, pledging to foster an environment where journalists could work without fear.
Yet, days later, Mhlanga was locked up, his bail application deferred, his dignity stripped away in a pest-infested cell.
The hypocrisy is galling.
If the government's commitment was genuine, Mhlanga would be free, not treated as a criminal for covering a story that displeased the powerful.
While the state fixates on silencing journalists, a far graver threat festers unchecked: the rampant corruption and looting of Zimbabwe's national resources.
This is the real crime, one that bleeds the nation dry while the powerful feast on its spoils.
The smuggling of precious minerals-gold, diamonds, lithium-costs Zimbabwe billions annually.
The 2023 Al Jazeera documentary Gold Mafia exposed this rot in vivid detail, revealing how politically connected elites orchestrate the illicit trade with impunity.
One figure, Uebert Angel, boasted of laundering millions through gold smuggling, enabled by his ties to the ruling clique.
Another, Kamlesh Pattni, detailed how officials turn a blind eye as tons of gold vanish across borders.
These revelations were not anomalies but symptoms of a systemic plunder that has enriched a few while impoverishing millions.
Beyond smuggling, corruption thrives in opaque deals and dubious tenders.
Multimillion-dollar contracts-whether for road construction, power plants, or agricultural inputs-routinely go to cronies of the ruling elite, often at inflated costs or with little to show for it.
The Mutapa Investment Fund, Zimbabwe's sovereign wealth fund, exemplifies this opacity.
Recently shielded from parliamentary oversight, it has become a potential slush fund for the well-connected, its operations cloaked in secrecy.
With no transparency, the risk of looting is not hypothetical but inevitable.
These acts of graft siphon resources that could rebuild a crumbling nation, leaving its people to bear the cost.
That cost is devastatingly clear.
Over 80% of Zimbabweans live below the poverty line, scraping by on less than $2 a day.
Hunger stalks the land, with the World Food Programme estimating that 5.7 million people faced food insecurity in 2024-a number likely worsened by drought and economic collapse.
Healthcare has crumbled, with hospitals lacking basic drugs and equipment; maternal mortality rates remain among the highest in the region.
Education, once a point of pride, is in free fall-schools lack books, teachers strike over paltry wages, and dropout rates soar.
This is the legacy of corruption: a nation robbed of its future while its leaders point fingers at journalists like Mhlanga.
Compounding this economic devastation is the unchecked plunder by foreign entities, particularly Chinese-owned mining companies.
These firms flout Zimbabwean laws with abandon, forcibly evicting communities from ancestral lands, leaving behind environmental wreckage-polluted rivers, scarred landscapes-and exploiting workers with paltry wages and brutal conditions.
Reports abound of companies exporting raw lithium, despite a government ban, and undervaluing revenues to cheat Zimbabwe out of billions.
Why does this persist?
Because top officials and their allies allegedly hold stakes in these operations, rendering the culprits untouchable.
Some Chinese investors even brag of their invincibility, citing ties to ZANU-PF as a shield against accountability.
The government's silence is deafening, its blind eye a betrayal of the people it claims to serve.
This is the true security threat to Zimbabwe-not a journalist recording a press conference, but a kleptocracy that has turned the nation's wealth into a private piggy bank.
The economic devastation wrought by corruption and looting has plunged millions into unimaginable poverty, stripped away dignity, and extinguished hope.
Blessed Mhlanga's arrest is a distraction, a scapegoating of a man whose only crime was to shine a light on the powerful.
If the state truly cared about justice, it would pursue the smugglers, the tender barons, the mining magnates-not a reporter armed with nothing but a camera and a notepad.
Zimbabwe stands at a crossroads. It can continue to persecute those who expose its flaws, or it can confront the real enemy within: the looters who have bled it dry.
Freeing Mhlanga would be a start-a signal that the government values truth over tyranny.
But true redemption lies in dismantling the networks of corruption that have held the nation hostage for too long.
Journalism is not a crime, but looting national resources surely is.
It's time Zimbabwe's leaders acted like it.
© Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
Source - Tendai Ruben Mbofana
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