Headline writers called it his endgame. Robert Mugabe was bunkered in his mansion while opponents shut down the country with a general strike dubbed ”the final push”.
Soldiers placed steel barrels outside the presidential gates in case of mobs, but there was nothing they could do to protect Zimbabwe’s leader from a crumbling economy.
After 23 years in power, it seemed the liberation hero had run out of road. Inflation was galloping towards 1 000%, there was no petrol, no ink for banknotes, no good news except fantasies peddled in the state media.
Mugabe could rely on his militias and security forces to crack opposition heads, but that tactic lasts only so long.
That was 12 months ago. Today the tempest has abated. The economy is still ruined and Mugabe reviled, but he is more secure in power than ever.
The opposition is so cowed there is talk of a snap general election. An authoritarian regime that seemed to totter has regained the initiative: not quite the endgame that was envisioned.
”The problem is that two-thirds of the people have never known any leader other than Mugabe. Though he’s bad, they tend to sort of excuse him,” said Pius Ncube, the Roman Catholic Archbishop of Bulawayo and a leading government critic. ”The opposition has been sidelined. Its spirits are low. It just doesn’t know what to do.”
It is a grim stalemate. Unemployment is about 60%, inflation is in triple digits, schools struggle to pay staff and hospital patients die for want of basic treatment.
But the government has averted total economic collapse with emergency measures that propped up banks, partly mollified the International Monetary Fund and generated foreign currency to buy oil. It can still pay the security forces and fly the president’s entourage in three helicopters.
In Bulawayo shops were well stocked recently and there were no queues at petrol stations. Street lights worked, courtesy of South African electricity, and restaurants served steaks and ice cream. Farmers were completing a harvest blessed with late rains.
The apparent normality masks desperation. Families wait on remittances from children who have fled to Bots-wana and South Africa in the hope of scrounging work.
Those who stay at home have limited options. ”Like some company, mister?” asked a girl by a roadside, one of the multiplying numbers of prostitutes chasing fewer customers with a disposable income.
During a break at Ngwalongwalo primary school, 1 000 pupils played in the sunshine, but staff painted a bleak picture. Three-quarters of the pupils are Aids orphans and extended families cannot feed the extra mouths, said Sikhul Ngulube, a teacher.
Agriculture Minister Joseph Made claimed Zimbabwe was again a breadbasket for the region after a bumper corn harvest. ”The land reform has boosted agricultural production.”
But the archbishop scorned that as propaganda: a United Nations crop survey team was kicked out recently in case it revealed Zimbabwe will again fail to feed itself, he said. ”The government is planning to use food as a leverage for votes.”
If a year ago the nation was on the cusp of revolt, now it is on its knees. After shutting down much of the country during last June’s general strike, the opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) lost momentum.
”The South Africans, the United States, the British, everyone told us, okay, you’ve proved your point, now do some conciliatory things,” said David Coultart, an MDC MP. ”We did, and we have gained nothing.”
While the opposition fiddled with an olive branch, the government closed The Daily News, silencing the most important independent media organisation — to leave state propaganda unchallenged.
A series of criminal charges against MDC leaders has drained the party, leaving it without direction and motivation. ”The opposition is floundering,” said one analyst.
Supporters blame opposition defeat in by-elections on intimidation and rigging, but see no way to break the trend in parliamentary elections due next year. ”Zanu-PF thinks the MDC is exhausted. And they’re right,” said Eddie Cross, a member of the national executive.
Mugabe has bought breathing space, but not solved his problems. He is 80 years old, his health suspect, his rule widely deemed illegitimate and his party deeply divided.
Zanu-PF is eating itself. Heavyweights such as Emmerson Mnangagwa, Chris Kuruneri and Philip Chiyangwa have been snared in an anti-corruption drive that is pitting factions against each other in the run-up to December’s party conference.
Unless the president finds a successor around which the party can unite, he cannot step down for fear of spending his retirement behind bars.
It is an uncomfortable position, but Mugabe has his consolations. Across much of Africa he is a hero for seizing white-owned farms and sticking a finger in the eye of former colonial master, Britain.
Many in the crowd gathered in Pretoria in April for the inauguration of South Africa’s President Thabo Mbeki gave the Zimbabwean visitor a standing ovation. ”He represents, to the average African … dignity and self-determination,” wrote Christine Qunta in South Africa’s Business Day.
Last month the state broadcaster, ZBC, the only channel that is available to most Zimbabweans, lavished attention on the abuse of Iraqi prisoners and the eroding popularity of British Prime Minister Tony Blair.
It was sweet viewing for Mugabe. Now it is the turn of the British prime minister — once cast as his nemesis — to face international odium for human rights abuses and hear chatter about endgames. — Â