Opinion / Columnist
In normal countries high-profile corruption faces inquiries - in Zimbabwe it's protected!
2 hrs ago |
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It is always troubling when a country appears to have fallen firmly into the hands of criminals.
One of the most glaring indicators of a country's seriousness in fighting corruption is how it responds when explosive allegations are made against those occupying powerful positions.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
The way South Africa reacted to both the recent claims by KwaZulu-Natal Police Commissioner Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi, and earlier to the damning revelations of state capture by the Gupta brothers, is a striking example.
Even when accusations initially surface without hard evidence, the government does not sweep them under the rug.
Instead, President Cyril Ramaphosa promptly establishes independent commissions of inquiry - public, credible, and empowered to investigate.
These commissions subpoena witnesses, hear testimony under oath, and compile extensive records of corruption networks.
South Africans may criticize the pace of prosecutions or the implementation of recommendations, but at the very least, there is transparency, accountability, and a determined attempt to get to the truth.
Contrast this with Zimbabwe, where allegations of corruption - even when raised by the most credible of figures - rarely see the light of day.
Instead of triggering impartial investigations, they usually result in the accusers being forced into humiliating retractions or outright silence, while the accused walk away emboldened.
In fact, in Zimbabwe, those implicated in corruption - especially if they are politically connected or aligned to the ruling elite—are not only protected but often rewarded with even greater power.
The effect is chilling: whistleblowers, parliamentarians, and even senior government officials learn quickly that the price of speaking out is isolation, intimidation, or forced apology.
The most recent case involving Energy Mutodi, chairperson of Parliament's powerful Budget and Finance Committee, is a stark demonstration of this rot.
Mutodi publicly accused Ministry of Finance Permanent Secretary George Guvamatanga of siphoning millions of US dollars from the state through corrupt kickbacks.
According to Mutodi, Guvamatanga was demanding between five and ten percent from every Treasury payment to contractors and ministries, and those who refused were deliberately denied payments - even when funds had been budgeted.
He went further, alleging that Guvamatanga had accumulated unexplained wealth running into billions of dollars, including thousands of dairy cattle, expensive equipment, and multiple mansions.
He even claimed Parliament itself had been starved of funds in retaliation for not bowing to the alleged demands.
In a normal country, these allegations - coming from no less than the chair of Parliament's Budget and Finance Committee - would have triggered an immediate independent commission of inquiry.
Guvamatanga would have been suspended pending investigations, and the facts established under public scrutiny.
Instead, in a bizarre and humiliating turn, Mutodi issued a public apology just days later, retracting all his claims and suggesting that his tweets were defamatory.
Few Zimbabweans believe he fabricated the allegations out of thin air.
Rather, the far more plausible explanation is that Mutodi, like many before him, found himself isolated and abandoned by the Executive.
In South Africa, a minister or top civil servant facing such damning accusations would have had to answer before a commission.
In Zimbabwe, the whistleblower bows his head, erases his accusations, and begs forgiveness.
The same pattern played out earlier when Vice President Constantino Chiwenga himself, during a ZANU-PF Politburo meeting, produced a dossier accusing businessman Kudakwashe Tagwirei of misappropriating over US$3.2 billion from the ruling party's 45 percent stake in Sakunda Holdings.
Here was no ordinary whistleblower but the country's second-in-command, making serious allegations against one of Zimbabwe's most notorious tenderpreneurs.
In a normal democracy, the allegations would have been too grave to ignore.
An inquiry would have been set up immediately, not only to protect public resources but to ensure that the ruling party itself was not being defrauded by one of its own.
Yet, predictably, nothing happened.
Instead, Tagwirei emerged even stronger, his influence undiminished.
Today he remains one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, still closely aligned to President Emmerson Mnangagwa, and even touted as his preferred successor.
It is a grotesque irony: the man accused of looting billions from the very party he bankrolls could soon lead that party, his alleged crimes buried under a mountain of political protection.
Tagwirei's case is not isolated.
He has been implicated in several other scandals - the murky US$1.5 billion Command Agriculture scheme, the dubious Dema Power Plant deal, questionable fuel supply contracts, and the controversial acquisitions of ZB and CBZ banks.
Each of these cases, in any other country, would have sparked independent investigations and potentially criminal prosecutions.
In Zimbabwe, however, not a single independent inquiry has been established.
Not a single meaningful investigation has been conducted.
The pattern is clear: those with proximity to power are shielded, while their accusers are silenced, punished, or forced to retreat.
This is how rotten Zimbabwe's governance has become.
Institutions that should stand as guardians of accountability - Parliament, the judiciary, the anti-corruption commission - have been reduced to spectators.
When an MP leading Parliament's Budget and Finance Committee cannot be protected for raising red flags, what hope is there for ordinary citizens, civil society activists, or journalists who dare to question corruption?
Instead of strengthening whistleblower protections and empowering oversight institutions, the government doubles down on shielding the powerful.
This not only entrenches corruption but also destroys public trust in the very idea of accountability.
The comparison with South Africa is illuminating.
Despite its flaws and delays, South Africa has demonstrated a willingness to confront high-level corruption through transparent mechanisms.
When the Gupta scandal erupted, the Public Protector's report and subsequent judicial commissions created an indelible public record of how state capture operated.
Ministers and senior officials were grilled under oath.
Some were forced to resign.
The process exposed weaknesses in institutions but also gave South Africans a glimpse of accountability.
In the recent Mkhwanazi revelations, Ramaphosa acted swiftly, establishing a commission before the allegations could be swept aside.
Since then, the Madlanga Commission has commenced hearings, with Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi testifying about systemic corruption within the South African Police Service (SAPS).
His testimony has implicated high-ranking officials, including Police Minister Senzo Mchunu, in collusion with criminal syndicates and interference with investigations into political killings. The commission's findings are expected to have significant implications for the integrity of South Africa's criminal justice system.
That is how a country serious about cleaning up corruption responds.
Zimbabwe, meanwhile, moves in the opposite direction.
The corrupt are shielded, promoted, and protected, while their accusers are humiliated and silenced.
This inversion of accountability corrodes the state from within.
It sends a dangerous signal to every official and businessperson: that loyalty to the political elite offers impunity, while integrity and honesty invite punishment.
It is a system designed not to root out corruption, but to perpetuate it.
If Zimbabwe is ever to emerge from this quagmire, this culture of shielding the corrupt and persecuting whistleblowers must be dismantled.
Independent commissions of inquiry must be established when credible allegations surface, no matter how politically inconvenient.
Oversight institutions must be empowered, not neutered.
Whistleblowers, whether ordinary citizens or senior officials, must be protected and celebrated, not intimidated into silence.
Until then, Zimbabwe will remain a country where the powerful loot without fear, while those who dare to speak the truth are forced to kneel in apology.
© 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/
One of the most glaring indicators of a country's seriousness in fighting corruption is how it responds when explosive allegations are made against those occupying powerful positions.
To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08
The way South Africa reacted to both the recent claims by KwaZulu-Natal Police Commissioner Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi, and earlier to the damning revelations of state capture by the Gupta brothers, is a striking example.
Even when accusations initially surface without hard evidence, the government does not sweep them under the rug.
Instead, President Cyril Ramaphosa promptly establishes independent commissions of inquiry - public, credible, and empowered to investigate.
These commissions subpoena witnesses, hear testimony under oath, and compile extensive records of corruption networks.
South Africans may criticize the pace of prosecutions or the implementation of recommendations, but at the very least, there is transparency, accountability, and a determined attempt to get to the truth.
Contrast this with Zimbabwe, where allegations of corruption - even when raised by the most credible of figures - rarely see the light of day.
Instead of triggering impartial investigations, they usually result in the accusers being forced into humiliating retractions or outright silence, while the accused walk away emboldened.
In fact, in Zimbabwe, those implicated in corruption - especially if they are politically connected or aligned to the ruling elite—are not only protected but often rewarded with even greater power.
The effect is chilling: whistleblowers, parliamentarians, and even senior government officials learn quickly that the price of speaking out is isolation, intimidation, or forced apology.
The most recent case involving Energy Mutodi, chairperson of Parliament's powerful Budget and Finance Committee, is a stark demonstration of this rot.
Mutodi publicly accused Ministry of Finance Permanent Secretary George Guvamatanga of siphoning millions of US dollars from the state through corrupt kickbacks.
According to Mutodi, Guvamatanga was demanding between five and ten percent from every Treasury payment to contractors and ministries, and those who refused were deliberately denied payments - even when funds had been budgeted.
He went further, alleging that Guvamatanga had accumulated unexplained wealth running into billions of dollars, including thousands of dairy cattle, expensive equipment, and multiple mansions.
He even claimed Parliament itself had been starved of funds in retaliation for not bowing to the alleged demands.
In a normal country, these allegations - coming from no less than the chair of Parliament's Budget and Finance Committee - would have triggered an immediate independent commission of inquiry.
Guvamatanga would have been suspended pending investigations, and the facts established under public scrutiny.
Instead, in a bizarre and humiliating turn, Mutodi issued a public apology just days later, retracting all his claims and suggesting that his tweets were defamatory.
Few Zimbabweans believe he fabricated the allegations out of thin air.
Rather, the far more plausible explanation is that Mutodi, like many before him, found himself isolated and abandoned by the Executive.
In South Africa, a minister or top civil servant facing such damning accusations would have had to answer before a commission.
In Zimbabwe, the whistleblower bows his head, erases his accusations, and begs forgiveness.
The same pattern played out earlier when Vice President Constantino Chiwenga himself, during a ZANU-PF Politburo meeting, produced a dossier accusing businessman Kudakwashe Tagwirei of misappropriating over US$3.2 billion from the ruling party's 45 percent stake in Sakunda Holdings.
Here was no ordinary whistleblower but the country's second-in-command, making serious allegations against one of Zimbabwe's most notorious tenderpreneurs.
In a normal democracy, the allegations would have been too grave to ignore.
An inquiry would have been set up immediately, not only to protect public resources but to ensure that the ruling party itself was not being defrauded by one of its own.
Yet, predictably, nothing happened.
Instead, Tagwirei emerged even stronger, his influence undiminished.
Today he remains one of the most powerful businessmen in the country, still closely aligned to President Emmerson Mnangagwa, and even touted as his preferred successor.
It is a grotesque irony: the man accused of looting billions from the very party he bankrolls could soon lead that party, his alleged crimes buried under a mountain of political protection.
He has been implicated in several other scandals - the murky US$1.5 billion Command Agriculture scheme, the dubious Dema Power Plant deal, questionable fuel supply contracts, and the controversial acquisitions of ZB and CBZ banks.
Each of these cases, in any other country, would have sparked independent investigations and potentially criminal prosecutions.
In Zimbabwe, however, not a single independent inquiry has been established.
Not a single meaningful investigation has been conducted.
The pattern is clear: those with proximity to power are shielded, while their accusers are silenced, punished, or forced to retreat.
This is how rotten Zimbabwe's governance has become.
Institutions that should stand as guardians of accountability - Parliament, the judiciary, the anti-corruption commission - have been reduced to spectators.
When an MP leading Parliament's Budget and Finance Committee cannot be protected for raising red flags, what hope is there for ordinary citizens, civil society activists, or journalists who dare to question corruption?
Instead of strengthening whistleblower protections and empowering oversight institutions, the government doubles down on shielding the powerful.
This not only entrenches corruption but also destroys public trust in the very idea of accountability.
The comparison with South Africa is illuminating.
Despite its flaws and delays, South Africa has demonstrated a willingness to confront high-level corruption through transparent mechanisms.
When the Gupta scandal erupted, the Public Protector's report and subsequent judicial commissions created an indelible public record of how state capture operated.
Ministers and senior officials were grilled under oath.
Some were forced to resign.
The process exposed weaknesses in institutions but also gave South Africans a glimpse of accountability.
In the recent Mkhwanazi revelations, Ramaphosa acted swiftly, establishing a commission before the allegations could be swept aside.
Since then, the Madlanga Commission has commenced hearings, with Lieutenant General Nhlanhla Mkhwanazi testifying about systemic corruption within the South African Police Service (SAPS).
His testimony has implicated high-ranking officials, including Police Minister Senzo Mchunu, in collusion with criminal syndicates and interference with investigations into political killings. The commission's findings are expected to have significant implications for the integrity of South Africa's criminal justice system.
That is how a country serious about cleaning up corruption responds.
Zimbabwe, meanwhile, moves in the opposite direction.
The corrupt are shielded, promoted, and protected, while their accusers are humiliated and silenced.
This inversion of accountability corrodes the state from within.
It sends a dangerous signal to every official and businessperson: that loyalty to the political elite offers impunity, while integrity and honesty invite punishment.
It is a system designed not to root out corruption, but to perpetuate it.
If Zimbabwe is ever to emerge from this quagmire, this culture of shielding the corrupt and persecuting whistleblowers must be dismantled.
Independent commissions of inquiry must be established when credible allegations surface, no matter how politically inconvenient.
Oversight institutions must be empowered, not neutered.
Whistleblowers, whether ordinary citizens or senior officials, must be protected and celebrated, not intimidated into silence.
Until then, Zimbabwe will remain a country where the powerful loot without fear, while those who dare to speak the truth are forced to kneel in apology.
© 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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