Double standards

15 11 2015

I usually only buy the newspaper when I need newsprint. It’s useful for mopping up excess oil after frying fish and Marianne had bought some calamari rings for Friday supper.

The Zimbabwe Independent is actually not a bad paper and insofar as I can tell gives a reasonably balanced opinion on the local political situation.

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It’s no secret that the Zimbabwe Government is broke so I was more than a bit surprised to see that it had made a substantial bid for a majority shareholding in a local mobile phone company that was going to cost some US$40 million. A bit further down the page one can also read that a civil service audit report has recommended substantial reductions in the wage bill which gobbles some 80% of revenue.

Perhaps the government thinks spending $40 million that it doesn’t have is going to earn enough to avoid laying off large numbers of its supporters. This is unlikely given the appalling record of the government to do anything well except line the pockets of the faithful.

The 11th November came and went with little fanfare in the papers about remembering Armistice Day. In this part of the world it is also known as the anniversary of Ian Smith’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence (UDI) that broke Rhodesia (as Zimbabwe was known) away from British colonial rule. Most years it passes with little if any comment but this year was the 50th anniversary. I must admit I’d forgotten about this until I saw it in the social media.

The state controlled press in the form of The Herald newspaper wasted no time in reporting that “unrepentant Rhodies” in other parts of the world had been celebrating this anniversary (Rhodie is a derogatory term for ex-Rhodesians). One ZANU-PF (ruling party) spokesman, Cde Simon Khaya Moyo (Cde is the abbreviation for “comrade” that only the party faithful and state press use) went so far as to reiterate that “Zimbabwe will never be a colony again”. He was apparently referring to social media posts in Australia advertising celebrations for the 50th UDI anniversary. Quite why he felt threatened by people having a party half the world away is not made clear.

Why anyone would want to celebrate the UDI is beyond me too. I was nearly 6 at the time and almost certainly looking forward to what my parents promised to be my last birthday party in 6 days time. The UDI culminated in a bush war that took my father’s life and very nearly took mine. I most certainly don’t look back on Ian Smith with any fondness even if he was right that the Mugabe regime would ruin the country. He was most certainly wrong to declare UDI but I don’t lose any sleep over it; I have more important things to consider like my birthday in 2 days time and just making ends meet.





30 years and not a lot to show

16 04 2010

It took me a moment to realize why a jet should be flying low over my work this morning. It, yes only one, was practising for the Independence Day Celebrations on Monday. I suppose I should look up my notes for a year ago but really I couldn’t be bothered – I think there may have been 3 jets then. Whatever, 30 years down the line we are broke, importing just about everything from South Africa or China and the fat cats are stealing the place blind as fast as ever despite continuous “calls for sanctions to be removed”. I really don’t believe they even believe it themselves!

Nobody has been around begging for donations for the celebrations – yet. They will get short shrift from me. No doubt the masses will be coerced and forced onto busses to go and hear Comrade Bob spout the usual and the government media will fawn and exaggerate the numbers and the rest of us will take the day off. Maybe the Chinese will listen; after all he did go and celebrate his birthday this year at the Chinese Embassy!





Reflections on the first half

3 11 2009

Please see the link to the page on the right side of the blog.

Updated 6th November





History and mindless optimism

29 01 2007

Irene is what I call a mindless optimist.
Zimbabwe is going to come right.
Why Irene?
Because it has to!
Right, we are not tossing a coin here, it does not HAVE to do anything. We are dealing with human greed and by definition it does not “Just get better”!

I’m all for optimism where it’s warranted; e.g. “The rugby team is playing well, I really think we can win the match on Saturday” but the mindless king really irks me. Maybe if Irene had read Peter Godwin’s new book, “When a crocodile eats the sun” she would be a bit more cautious with her scattering of optimism. But anyway, that was Saturday night and I hadn’t even read the book! It’s not often that I can get through a book in a day but that’s what I did yesterday and it is an excellent though often very sad read. Godwin chronicles the destruction of Zimbabwe over the last 4 years of his father’s life and he does it very well. It is a memoir not a history book so don’t expect all the details but if you get a chance – read it. It is as a result of this book that I have decided to record (a bit late) my brush with the authorities during and immediately after the election in 2000.

I was approached by someone representing the MDC (Movement for Democratic Change – the newly formed opposition) requesting the use of a vehicle to provide backup to the local election monitors. I had no misgivings, I was pleased to take part in what of course was going to be the trouncing of the ruling ZANU-PF party and the removal of Mugabe from power. I did have some misgivings when I heard that it had gone to Muzarabani in the Zambezi Valley, a known government stronghold not far from Centenary. Well there was nothing I could do about it so I got on with the election process and duly recorded my vote for the opposition.

The first twinges of apprehension started when I heard on the news that a vehicle belonging to the opposition had been trashed and burnt at Muzarabani. Not good. It was an old pickup truck that had belonged to my mother and I was NOT ready to write it off! I made enquiries but no-one seemed to know very much and my name had not been “mentioned”. I contacted the person who’d picked up the truck. He didn’t know either. Then he did. It had been impounded at the Centenary police station but he advised me not to do anything just yet – let the dust settle a bit. So I waited for a couple of weeks, half expecting to be “interviewed” by the police. But nobody came. Then I was told that if I wanted to get the truck back I should go and see Jonathan Samukange, a black lawyer with a lot of contacts who was dealing with other people involved in the same incident. I was assured that someone else would pay the bill (and indeed I never saw any requests for payment).

I arrive at Jonathan S’s office in the CBD of Harare, feeling hot and more than a bit nervous. Where exactly is this all going to end? A largish, super confident man, Jonathan assures me that there will be no problem (“I know the police at Bindura”). I have to bring my passport though and maybe a $10000 which is an awful lot of money. The idea of the police having my passport at this potentially volatile time is unappealing. We will be going next week sometime, I should call him on Monday. His office is adorned with thank you letters from grateful clients; “Thank you so much for keeping our son out of jail…” goes one. I guess there is hope.

So I call him on Monday but he is out. His secretary suggests I call again the next day. He is in and assures me that all will be well and I just need to bring the money, the passport will not be necessary. However, we are only going Wednesday next week.

I call the guy who approached me and he puts me onto another person in the same predicament. I phone him up and he is reassuring. He has just been down to the Bindura police station to give a statement and get his vehicle back. He tells me just to tell the truth; the policeman who inteviewed him commented that it made a change to come across someone who wasn’t lying for once.

The next day I leave for Bindura, an unattractive mining town an hour and a half to the north of Harare. I am fatalistic – I don’t really believe that they will lock me up as I was not even with the vehicle. The police are only vaguely interested in my case but they still waste my time for 3 hours and take a statement.

Was I in the vehicle?
No.
Was I aware that an unlicenced radio was being used in the vehicle?
No (I am lying but very grateful I did not volunteer my paraglidng radios).
Do I support the government?
No.
Why not?
Because I don’t like their policies.

This is all duly noted down in longhand on two pieces of lined paper and the whole exercise takes and hour and a half. I sign my name at the end. They have my full name, address, ID number. So be it.

There is still time to try and get to Centenary and try and get the truck so collecting the letter of authority I head off along the back roads with Fabion, my newly trained driver who is also a foreman at my work. We get to the police station at 12h15 and of course it is lunch time so there is nothing we can do until the Member in Charge gets back from lunch. We survey the damage to the pickup which has been sitting in the car park for 6 weeks now with a broken windscreen, gouges on the bonnet where a rock has been thrown and a flat tyre. In the back are a couple of dozen loaves of bread, or what was bread 6 weeks ago. They stink. I am reluctant to change the tyre in case we cannot take the truck and anyway, I’ll have to use the one on my pickup as the spare on the old pickup is flat too.

The Member in Charge duly makes an appearance around 2 p.m. and after a lot of vacillating agrees to see me. I plead my case and he allows a junior to fill in the appropriate forms. Now we have to get the truck started. I’ve brought a tow rope for the purpose but any amount of towing fails and I’m envisaging a long slow tow back to Harare. We persist with jumper leads and eventually are rewarded.

A full spray paint and a new windscreen put paid to most of the damage on the pickup and it is still going today, though the engine is tired. It really is not worth the expense of rebuilding the engine – I would never recover the money. It just gets used on business around Harare as I don’t trust it to go any further. Anyway, Fabion seems to think it’s his, he certainly keeps it much cleaner than I do mine! It was some days after the retrieval of the truck that we discovered the offending two way radio under the seat, with the aerial. I still have it as no-one bothered to claim it. Occasionally it is used for paragliding trips, but those are a rarity these days. No-one has come looking for me attracted by my tenuous ties to the opposition and I doubt they ever will, but my opposition is on record, somewhere.