Mercedes Sayagues
Zimbabwe’s farm invasions over the past two weeks have peaked at more than 330 countrywide. In some provinces, the wave is ebbing, and squatters are leaving. But not in Mashonaland Central, where they vow to stay until the parliamentary elections in April.
“We will whip Dabengwa,” boasted a war veteran, haranguing a few hundred members at Zanu-PF headquarters in Harare last Saturday. He was alluding to last week’s order by the Minister of Home Affairs, Dumiso Dabengwa, to leave the farms. On Sunday, police were instructed to remove the invaders.
The Commercial Farmers’ Union (CFU) estimates the loss in the tobacco crop alone at Z$75-million. The damages to Zimbabwe’s image and credibility are harder to quantify.
The mood at the farms sways between farce and nastiness. The war veterans prevent farmers from leaving. They cut down trees to build huts and take over diesel and tractors to plough fields already planted with crops. Some raid the pantry and help themselves to food and drink. Others search for weapons.
“What right does a war vet have to search a home under the eyes of the police? This is crazy,” says Dr Jerry Grant, CFU deputy director.
Press photos show veterans and police cosily seated in a farm’s lounge, watching TV. Farm workers are threatened if they work, or are compelled to join the invasion. Their homes have been trashed if they’re found with T-shirts of the opposition parties.
Beer flows freely. Zanu-PF and government vehicles bring people. Women in skirts, high heels and handbags come along for the day.
Local peasants are told to join. Many refuse. For example, in Mhondoro communal areas near Jim Sinclair’s farm, 60km from Harare, Sinclair has nurtured a good relationship with his neighbours. Together they grow and market grenadillas and paprika. When the 50 squatters asked for reinforcements, the peasants refused. The squatters left.
War veteran leader Chenjerai Hitler Hunzvi vows to keep up the invasions.
“We are doing the work of President [Robert] Mugabe,” he boasted on Saturday.
The government sends contradictory messages. Mugabe says on TV he will not stop the invasions. Dabengwa says otherwise. Mugabe is in Kuwait sourcing fuel. Hunzvi vows to stay put.
“Obviously the invasions are an orchestrated exercise by government, with involvement of the [Central Intelligence Organisation],” says Grant.
Equally obvious is that Mugabe’s dignified speech accepting the referendum results was a smokescreen. Once he got over the shock, Mugabe unleashed the war veterans on white farmers to win the rural vote and to push this month through Parliament the 16th constitutional amendment. It will allow the government to seize farms without paying compensation for the land.
In a foretaste of the electoral campaign, Zanu-PF is unleashing the youth in the townships. Police have arrested about two dozen men for allegedly kidnapping a woman in Masvingo and others for destroying 16 log cabins and stealing property and money in Hatcliff, Harare.
Meanwhile, motorists park their cars overnight at filling stations hoping for a tanker in the morning. The economy is grinding to a halt.
“We always looked down on Zambia and now Zambia sends us fuel,” says Elliott Makwera, on his third hour at a petrol queue.
In the regional effort for flood-ravaged Mozambique, Zimbabwe’s helicopters and troops are tied down in the Democratic Republic of Congo. Malawi sent helicopters. Lesotho and Zambia sent cargo planes. Zimbabwe sent nothing.
In his foolish quest to be the region’s macho president, Mugabe handed a golden opportunity to South Africa to show who plucks people off rooftops and treetops. So much for the ties forged between Zimbabwe and Mozambique during the liberation war.
So much for Mugabe’s place in history. He will go down like Malawi’s Hastings Banda: senile, irrelevant and dangerous to his country.
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