Zezuru imposition has done more harm than good

The imposition of Zezuru as the standard dialect has done more harm than good, writes Douglas Mutepaire, sharing his personal experiences of language discrimination. To build true national unity, he writes here, it's time we confront the ghosts of our linguistic past

As I grow older, memories of my childhood resurface; some warm and comforting, others sharp and haunting. One, in particular, stands out from the 1970s in Rhodesia, etched into my mind as a painful reminder of linguistic hegemony. I was in grade three, brimming with excitement when a team from the Rhodesia Broadcasting Corporation (RBC), led by Gorden Mbofana, visited our rural school. My rendition of a ChiKorekore folktale had captivated them, and they recorded it for broadcast. For a brief moment, I felt like a star.

Then, silence.

The story never aired. The reason? My mother tongue, ChiKorekore, was deemed unfit for public consumption. It was dismissed as an unrefined dialect that might "corrupt" the ears of those who spoke what they called "standard Shona". What should have been a proud moment, a celebration of our oral traditions became an enduring wound. It was a stark lesson in the unspoken rules of language hierarchy: some dialects were acceptable, others were not. This was not an isolated incident. It was part of a broader, more insidious system, one that had been shaping Zimbabwe's linguistic landscape for decades. ChiKorekore and ChiBuja were among the dialects perceived "lesser," and their speakers were often treated as second-class citizens within their own language. Even as a child, I felt the injustice, though I lacked the words to name it.

To understand the roots of this injustice, we must go back to the 1930s and the work of Clement Doke. Commissioned to standardise Shona for educational and missionary purposes, Doke's Report on the Unification of the Shona Dialects sought to create a common written form. While his intentions may have been practical, the consequences were devastating. By elevating Zezuru as the "standard" dialect, his recommendations cast others into the shadows. Even though Doke himself recognised the richness of Shona's diversity, his report intentionally or not established a hierarchy that persists to this day. The scars of dialectal supremacy are still visible. Students who spoke non-standard dialects were penalised in schools, their linguistic heritage treated as an obstacle rather than an asset. Many grew up believing their mother tongue was something to be hidden, something to be ashamed of. This quiet form of erasure stripped communities of their linguistic pride, leaving wounds that still ache generations later.

The cost of dialectal hegemony

The imposition of Zezuru as the standard dialect has done more harm than good. The damage is not merely historical, it has shaped personal lives and political realities. I recall several painful incidents that underscored how dialectal supremacy creates social divisions. A childhood friend, Fedelis Kumapenda, was driven out of Bradley Secondary School after being mocked for speaking Korekore. He had tried to console a grieving classmate using the phrase Dzeuyanga heartfelt expression in his dialect. His peers, unfamiliar with it, ridiculed him, reducing his words to a nickname. They expected him to say nematambudziko, a phrase aligned with standard Shona. The humiliation was too much, and he left school.

During the liberation struggle, dialects determined life and death. Soldiers at roadblocks used language to judge allegiances. Those speaking "Wezhira" dialects passed with ease, while those labeled "Poi" were often accused of being gandanga guerrilla fighters. Many were arrested or tortured based on the way they spoke. In 1979, I lost my job at Willards Food Corporation for the simple fact that I was from Mount Darwin. The white factory supervisor, Mr. Gush, feared that my origins meant I had ties to the liberation movement. He worried that I might "direct terrorists" to attack the company. This was the reality for many: your dialect and home region could determine your opportunities, your safety, even your very existence. The tragedy is that these biases did not disappear with independence. Today, dialectal affiliations still shape social, political, and economic dynamics. They have a bearing on employment opportunities, and who gets to be part of the inner circles of power. The workplace, like the classroom, often rewards those who conform to the dominant linguistic norms while sidelining those who do not. This silent exclusion fosters division, deepening the sense of alienation among marginalized groups.

Reclaiming our linguistic heritage

If Zimbabwe is to build true national unity, we must confront the ghosts of our linguistic past. This means undoing decades of language-based discrimination and embracing our full linguistic diversity. Our education system must lead the way. Schools should incorporate stories, proverbs, and oral traditions from all Shona dialects, giving each the respect it deserves. Children should grow up knowing that their mother tongue is not a liability but a treasured one that connects them to their heritage. Policy reforms are equally critical. Institutional biases against certain dialects must be dismantled, from government offices to hiring practices in the private sector. Public campaigns should encourage Zimbabweans to see linguistic diversity as a source of strength, not division. No dialect should be treated as superior to another.

Shona language is not a monolith; it is equally shaped by the contributions of all its dialects. To dismiss some as inferior is to weaken the whole. Yet, the colonial emphasis on standardization turned this diversity into a problem to be solved rather than a strength to be celebrated. In Zimbabwe, this legacy has devalued dialects like chiKorekore, which carry unique cultural and historical significance. Dismissing these dialects as inferior diminishes the richness of Shona as a whole, eroding the cultural fabric that binds us.

As I reflect on my decades of personal and professional experiences, I am both saddened and hopeful. Saddened by the injustices I have witnessed, but hopeful that Zimbabwe has the thinkers, leaders, and activists who understand the value of diversity. If we can harness this understanding, we can heal the wounds of our colonial past and forge a Zimbabwe where every voice chiKorekore, chiZezuru, chiBuja, chiKaranga, and beyond is heard and valued. Unity is not about erasing differences. It is about recognizing that every dialect, every voice, adds to the symphony of our nation. I hope we can we create a Zimbabwe where no child grows up believing their mother tongue is a mark of shame.

----------------Douglas Mutepaire, an experienced educator, has taught and led schools across Rushinga since 1980. He trained at Masvingo Teachers College and the University of Zimbabwe and currently heads Makachi Primary School.