
Zimbabwe's unsung hero on cricket's role in reuniting his nation
When Andy Flower and Henry Olonga made the brave decision to take a stand against what they called the 'death of democracy' in Zimbabwe during the 2003 World Cup, it was to their fellow countryman, David Coltart, they turned for advice and moral support. For his part, Coltart wanted to make sure the pair were going into it with their eyes wide open, fully aware of the possible consequences of making an enemy of a man such as Robert Mugabe.
Coltart's eyes have been wide open in Zimbabwe for a long time. In the late 1990s, when he was called 'an enemy of the state' by Mugabe, he worked closely with the Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace, exposing human rights abuses in the Matabeleland a decade earlier. By turn a human rights activist, lawyer, politician, founding member of the Movement for Democratic Change and the present Mayor of Bulawayo, Coltart, 67, has stayed the course in his country, at significant personal risk.
He says there have been five assassination attempts on his life. 'Mostly they have been tied to interfering with my motor vehicle. The most serious was in 2003 when my vehicle with two of my children was chased through the streets in Bulawayo and my security team saved me by intercepting what I think were military people with AK47s. I've had a further one [attempt] in the last two years when my brake lines were interfered with. So it continues.'
Has he, or his family, ever thought about leaving the country? 'We've stayed. We've got four children. Nine grandchildren. They are all in the country. Our son is a human rights lawyer in Harare. He has been detained himself and tortured, but he keeps going. I was born there. My wife was born there. Our children were born here. It's our country, just as you would stay in Britain even if there was a tyranny here to try and resolve it.
'We are buoyed by the incredible goodwill, evidenced in my election as mayor. I'm white, a tiny minority in a city of 800,000 people, but I was voted in my own constituency with an 86 per cent majority and was unanimously elected as mayor. That's not a statement about me, but about the goodwill of black Zimbabweans. That is what sustains us. You have to walk the streets with me to see the level of goodwill and warmth. So we've never contemplated leaving.'
Nevertheless, when Flower and Olonga approached him for advice on making their protest statement and playing with black armbands during that World Cup of 2003, he wanted to make them aware of the possible consequences. 'They sought a meeting with me and we met in my office at home. They wanted broad advice; there were terrible human rights violations going on. So I obviously tried to enable them.
'We worked through the issues but also the possible adverse consequences, so that they went into it fully prepared. They asked me to edit their statement so they let me have a first draft. I didn't change it dramatically, just sort of fine-tuned it and gave them advice [on] how to handle it. I've remained very close friends with them ever since.
'I have great admiration for them. It was a courageous thing. It adversely affected their cricketing careers. They both knew there would be a price to pay, particularly for Henry because he felt more under threat. It was an even higher price that Henry had to pay. Andy got wonderful coaching positions; Henry never really came back to cricket and he's fortunate that he's very talented in other areas.' Olonga now lives in Australia, pursuing a career as a singer.
That period, when Flower and Olonga protested and England pulled out of their World Cup fixture in Zimbabwe, was a fitting place for our conversation in London last Friday to begin. Coltart was in town to promote the Street Child Cricket World Cup, a festival of cricket for street children the world over, which will be held in Bulawayo shortly before the 2027 Cricket World Cup. Zimbabwe will stage some matches alongside Namibia, with the bulk in South Africa, and staging the tournament again will bring the recent story of cricket in Zimbabwe full circle.
In that gap of 22 years, the sport and the country have been through the wringer, something Coltart has witnessed in his various roles and as Minister for Education, Sports and Culture between 2009 and 2013 in a government of national unity. A brief sketch since Test status was granted would reveal the competitive years of the late 1990s; Test exile between 2005-11 and years of near administrative and financial collapse; and then a return to Test cricket and gradual recovery, to the point where Coltart describes cricket now as very much 'the national game'.
It is hard to separate sport and politics in any discussion of Zimbabwe cricket, not least because of the political interference, which led to a suspension from the ICC in 2019, but also because of a parallel decline in each. It was impossible for a sport to flourish in a country with rampant hyperinflation, severe depression, restrictions on freedom of expression, and institutional failure resulting in societal collapse as evidenced by a devastating outbreak of cholera in 2008. While the game could not flower on such stony ground, the seeds were never quite extinguished.
'We had the second-highest inflation rate in the world in 2007 and 2008,' Coltart says. 'That was reflected in the cricket team. We were certainly in the top ten at one stage and had a team that you couldn't disregard. The catastrophic decline when players like Heath Streak left and a young team was left to pick up the pieces was a reflection of the country. We stabilised the country during the government of national unity and we stabilised cricket.' He adds, though, that the sport 'has never fully recovered'.
Against the odds, cricket in the country staggered on to the point where, now, some optimism has returned. 'It is arguably the most popular game in Zimbabwe now and it's demonstrated in the crowds that we get and the incredible passion, especially among black Zimbabweans. And we rejoice in that,' Coltart says.
Coming out of the worst of the Mugabe years, which ended in 2017, Zimbabwe's problems are still acute, with Human Rights Watch warning of the 'repression of civil and political rights' during the most recent election and 'abductions, arbitrary detention and torture' of political activists thereafter. Coltart has been, and continues to be, a stern critic but has always advocated for sporting connections, helping to bring Zimbabwe back into the Test fold in 2011, and aware of the power of sport to unite and bind.
In Bulawayo, where Coltart has been mayor for just under two years, he says the talent is undeniable but the challenges after decades of neglect are real, with infrastructure outliving its economic lifespan and a deterioration in roads and services. 'We are stabilising it, and are making some progress, but it's years of neglect that needs to be undone.
'The other weakness is the state of our schools. Our schools have always been one of our strongest components of cricket, and although the independent schools are still strong; many of the government schools have collapsed. Milton in Bulawayo, which produced the likes of Pommie Mbangwa, and Plumtree, which produced Henry Olonga, need further investment to guarantee the flow of talent in future.
'If you came back to Queen's [the main ground in Bulawayo], it's in reasonable condition. The pitch is good. Ian Botham once said that if you could take any pitch around in your suitcase, it would be that one. But the stands are run down and it needs a coat of paint. It's emblematic of the city.'
The World Cup will help, with matches and investment planned for Bulawayo (as well as Harare and a new stadium at Victoria Falls) and the attendant media and tourist interest attached to it. 'I love it [Bulawayo] with a passion. It's got great museums and great galleries. It is undermarketed as a tourist destination and people are not aware of its glories. I recently took the US ambassador biking on a trail in the Matobo Hills and she was blown away.'
In relatively stable countries, where democracy is entrenched and civil society taken for granted, we see sport through a performance and personality lens, whereas more challenged societies recognise the essential power of it in a completely different, more fundamental way. 'When you look at the support for the Zimbabwean team now, it's enthralling. The terrible racism of the past in our country is gone when we are [watching cricket] at Queen's or in Harare.
'The support for a player like Sean Williams; black Zimbabweans don't care about the colour of his skin. We rejoice, as a white community, in Blessing Muzarabani [Zimbabwe's best fast bowler] and to that extent sport is a very powerful instrument in binding a nation together.' One of those brave and inspiring people that you meet from time to time on the periphery of sport, Coltart has played his part, too.
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She says she has one enduring desire: 'Justice must be served and those who are responsible must be accountable. I would be happy then.' Tigray is often described as a forgotten war. If it has been forgotten, it is not by those who endured it, but by the global powers that looked away from one of the most brutal conflicts of this century. It began in November 2020, after Ethiopia's prime minister, the Nobel peace prize laureate Abiy Ahmed, sent in the army to oust Tigray's regional ruling party, the Tigray People's Liberation Front, which he alleged was a threat to national security. The Ethiopian military invaded, joined by forces from the country's then-ally, Eritrea, and militias from the nearby Ethiopian region of Amhara. Where is Tigray? Tigray is the most northern of Ethiopia's 11 regional states, lying along the southern border of Eritrea with Sudan to the west. How did the war start? Years of tensions erupted into war in November 2020. Ethiopia's prime minister, Abiy Ahmed, who had inflamed hostilities by delaying federal elections, alleged that Tigray's ruling party had attacked a military camp in the state capital, Mekelle. He sent in troops to oust the state government and ordered a communications blackout. Who is involved? The invasion became a joint effort between three parties: Ethiopia, Eritrea, and regional forces from Tigray's neighbouring state of Amhara. Ethiopia's prime minister denied the presence of Eritrean troops in Tigray for months, despite it becoming clear he had formed an alliance with the country's former enemy to mobilise both nations' armies. Amhara has long-standing territorial disputes with Tigray and its own tensions with the federal government – they, too, sent troops. On the other side, the ruling party in Tigray's regional government, the Tigray People's Liberation Front (TPLF), founded and mobilised its own army when the war began, the Tigray Defence Forces, and was joined by militias from the ethnically marginalised Oromo people. Why are they fighting? Each party has a complex history of disputes. Ethiopia has a federal system, and historically its states have maintained a high level of autonomy. Tigray's ruling party, the TPLF, had been a dominant force in national politics, and led the coalition which ruled Ethiopia for three decades until 2018. The group lost much of its power when Abiy Ahmed was elected prime minister in April 2018, and a political rift began to grow between the TPLF and Abiy's administration. Eritrea and Amhara both have long-standing territorial disputes with Tigray. Eritrea brought violence along Tigray's border during the two decades of the Ethiopia-Eritrea war, a conflict which saw Abiy awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for ending in 2019. What happened during the conflict? The war resulted in massive civilian casualties, with atrocities and crimes against humanity committed by all parties. As troops moved into Tigray, Ethiopia blockaded the region, preventing journalists, UN agencies and aid from entering and limiting information getting out. Tigray quickly descended into an acute hunger crisis. By the time the ceasefire was signed in November 2022, academics estimated that between 300,000 and 800,000 people had died from violence or starvation as a result of the blockade. The capital Mekelle was decimated. Rates of sexual violence were extreme: surveys indicate that around 10% of Tigrayan women were raped during the conflict. Is the conflict over? The war formally ended in 2022, but violence in the region has continued and is reported to be again escalating. By mid-2025 Eritrean troops were still occupying chunks of Tigray, according to the UN, and continue to be accused of mass rape, arbitrary detention and looting. Large-scale sexual violence by Ethiopian and Eritrean forces in the region continues: NGOs have documented hundreds of cases of rape since hostilities ended, and concluded that "the scale and nature of these violations has not materially changed". Now, there are fears the region could descend into war again, after fresh conflicts erupted between Eritrea and Ethiopia, and between Ethiopia's federal government and Amhara state. In the months that followed, Ethiopia imposed a blockade on Tigray, prohibited foreign journalists from visiting and stopped aid, plunging the region into an escalating hunger crisis. 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Abraha began working with colleagues in gynaecology and obstetrics as women and children who had been raped by Ethiopian and Eritrean forces began to arrive. The first were a group of six girls – all under 18, he says. 'That was very painful.' When they detected their first case of a woman with objects inserted into her womb, Abraha says staff were shocked. 'To us, it was a very painful new phenomenon: we had never heard of this gang-rape and insertion of foreign bodies into women,' he says. 'Even witnessing one case was too painful to bear.' But the women continued to arrive. Abraha, now the hospital's chief clinical director, recalls treating three, and says the clinic attached to the hospital was able to produce medical records for at least five who were operated on. The true number will be many, many times higher. Large numbers of women would not survive the initial attacks, or their aftermath, he says. 'When they have sharp ends, [these objects] are known for migration,' Abraha says. One woman treated in the hospital told staff that nails and screws had been pushed into her uterus. When the medical team performed X-rays, they found the nails in her gastrointestinal tract. 'They may perforate large vessels – bleeding of which can be fatal automatically,' he says. For the survivors, rape remains extremely stigmatising, and women avoid seeking medical care or disclosing their injuries. Many were told by soldiers they would be killed if they sought help. Of those that did make it to hospitals, a significant proportion are unrecorded: medical notes were destroyed in the conflict, or not kept at all in clinics where health workers were threatened for treating survivors of rape. 'The combined invaders during that period were threatening any healthcare providers assisting such women – any healthcare worker assisting the survivors in any way was assumed a traitor. So there was an attempt to hide scared survivors,' Abraha says. Raped women told hospital staff how 'Ethiopian National Defence Forces soldiers warned them not to visit healthcare facilities, otherwise they would find them and kill them', Abraha says. 'Some didn't finish basic lab tests and post-exposure prophylaxis. They just went out and disappeared.' At a clinic in Mekelle, a team of nuns who provided medical care during the war maintained a single, locked cupboard where they kept a cache of evidence of the crimes against these women: X-rays, medical records, and even the objects themselves. 'These foreign bodies are documented and also held in our storage – a lot of foreign bodies, anything, either plastics, metal objects, anything around them are introduced into their reproductive organs,' says Sister Mulu, who led the clinic. She leafs through X-rays, pulling out imaging of yet another abdomen – bisected by a sharp, curved metal spike and a thick bolt. 'This was intentional,' Sister Mulu says. 'Intentionally they make them carry [these objects], for the suffering.' This tiny clinic, in a single-storey, four-room house, received 7,000-8,000 survivors of sexual violence, cases extreme in their brutality. Those being interviewed by the Guardian include women who were wrapped in plastic and set on fire, shot in the genitals, mutilated with scissors or disfigured with acid. 'I'm very traumatised,' Sister Mulu says. 'Thousands of these stories are in my head, in my mind. I'm psychologically disturbed. I can't sleep, and my appetite is very poor because in the night, I see and I hear their stories. I have a big scar in my mind. 'They need justice. We need justice throughout the world.' Justice may be a long time coming. Tseneat, along with other Tigrayan women speaking to the Guardian, says she was raped by Eritrean soldiers working alongside Ethiopian troops. Eritrea is not a party to the peace deal between Tigray's leaders and the Ethiopian government, nor will it be participating in the 'transitional justice' project currently touted by Ethiopia's leadership. Eritrea's president, Isaias Afwerki, has dismissed the allegations as make-believe. 'Everybody talking about human rights violations here and there, rape, looting, this is a fantasy,' he said in 2023. (Isaias rarely responds to non-state media; this 2023 comment constitutes his latest substantive response to the allegations.) The Eritrean government has refused to engage with the international investigation team set up to examine human rights violations in Tigray and, according to the UN, there is 'no likely prospect that the domestic judicial system will hold perpetrators accountable for the violations'. Physicians for Human Rights, which has gathered hundreds of medical records and health worker interviews about the war, says it has 'very serious concerns' about the transitional justice process. Sign up to Global Dispatch Get a different world view with a roundup of the best news, features and pictures, curated by our global development team after newsletter promotion 'The Eritrean military was a primary perpetrator of very brutal conflict-related sexual violence in Tigray, and they are not party to the transitional justice process,' says Lindsey Green, PHR's deputy director of research, who has overseen its medical record reviews in Tigray. 'This leaves a huge gap for survivors in accessing justice and accountability if this entire group of perpetrators is not included in the process at all.' Abiy, Ethiopia's prime minister, faces allegations of war crimes by his military forces but has had no charges or sanctions laid at his door. A handful of soldiers have been charged for participating in massacres or raping women. Ethiopia repeatedly pushed to defund a UN-backed probe into the abuses, and the commission was finally disbanded in 2023 with no resolution to continue its mandate. Two advisers to the joint UN-Ethiopian human rights investigation, Aaron Maasho and Martin Witteveen, wrote last year that the transitional justice policy had become a 'farce', making it 'all but certain that the Ethiopian government will successfully sweep its atrocities in Tigray under the rug'. The Ethiopian and Eritrean governments did not respond to Guardian requests for comment. While the war is officially over, the violence in Tigray continues. Research since the ceasefire shows sexual violence by security forces has continued unabated. According to the Office of the UN high commissioner for human rights (OHCHR), Eritrean soldiers continue to occupy significant parts of Tigray, particularly eastern regions, where they are 'committing violations, including abductions, rape, property looting and arbitrary arrests'. And now, rising tensions between the Ethiopian government and armed groups in Amhara and Oromio leave the entire region vulnerable to toppling into civil war again. Many of the women speaking to the Guardian allege they were held and repeatedly raped at military bases by both Ethiopian and Eritrean forces – reports that indicate sexual violence against Tigrayan woman was systematic, and to some extent condoned by military hierarchies. On a hilltop outside the city of Adwa, Alana's* rubber sandals scuff over the jagged, stony ground. The spot is desolate. A single, unpaved road curls down the rocky hillside. Today, little remains of the place Alana, 32, was held but the grey cinder block walls. Two years ago in this building, used as a military base in Adi Berak, women say they were repeatedly raped by occupying soldiers. Alana says she was thrown into a cell with another woman, Maeza*, who was about 25. Huddled together, they exchanged phone numbers and the names of family members, promising that if one of them escaped, she would seek help for the other. Alana says Maeza was raped by 14 soldiers before she died – men who then made Alana dig a grave for her friend. She was finally released after her family raised a large sum of money to exchange for her, and she found Maeza's brother to tell him what had happened. When they returned to try to find Maeza's grave, she says, she could not identify it: there were too many corpses left by the soldiers, dumped in hasty mass graves as the war ended. A number of survivors tell the Guardian they were held captive at the bases alongside dozens of others. Hana*, 21, was abducted from home by 10 Eritrean soldiers and held for four days at a military base. Approximately 60 women were being held, she says, and she has no idea if they survived. 'They first locked me in a room. Then, over four days, I was raped repeatedly. At the end, they poured acid on my head.' 'I woke up on the road. The Eritrean soldiers had dumped me there, like I was nothing.' The acid burned through her hair and skin, eating away a thick layer of flesh across her scalp. Now, a mottled, tight layer of scar tissue covers her head, causing constant pain. 'I can't sleep at night,' she says. 'It hurts all the time, and the itching never stops.' To heal, she would require plastic surgery. There are no resources available for her to receive it. All of the women being interviewed by the Guardian have sustained significant internal or external injuries, and most need ongoing medical interventions, surgeries and medication. Yet their access to already-limited help is being severed by huge cuts to aid from the US. Nearly 90% of the women who experienced sexual violence during Tigray's war have not received any form of medical or psychological assistance, with about half citing a lack of medical facilities as the reason. For the women who survived the insertion of objects, living with this kind of foreign body means 'severe and long-lasting adverse health consequences and injuries', says Dr Rose Olson, an internal medicine specialist and instructor at Harvard medical school, who has reviewed and commented on X-rays from the cases. 'If the object was inserted into the vagina and it was done so in a very forceful manner, it could certainly lead to a perforation or break through the tissue and then enter your abdominal cavity, and that would probably lead to very severe illness and injury,' she says. The objects could easily remain there for years, Olson says, but would put the women at extremely high risk of 'pelvic inflammatory disease, or inflammation which can lead to things like infertility and scarring, chronic pelvic pain and fistulas.' 'For someone who's 20 or 30 years old, a lifetime of infertility, a lifetime of chronic pain, a lifetime of post-traumatic stress disorder that's untreated, it's very severe.' She emphasises, however: 'There are treatments. The treatments work. That's where there needs to be a lot of attention and energy focused.' But now, some of the few clinics that helped survivors are shuttering, as the Trump administration closes USAID-funded projects around the world. The Centre for Victims of Torture (CVT), which runs five sites in Ethiopia's Tigray region, had to cease counselling and physiotherapy sessions for women raped during the conflict after receiving a stop-work order. In Tigray's camps for internally displaced people, where a number of women speaking to the Guardian now live, the handful of mobile clinics that provide healthcare are shutting down. The UK government, which provided close to £100m in aid to Ethiopia over the course of the conflict, is now slashing its aid budget by nearly 40%. The women in Tigray are left waiting – for medical care, for psychiatric aid, for justice from the international community. Esther*, now 15, is still waiting for surgery to resolve the aftermath of her attack. She was 10 years old, out walking with her mother, Kelana*, through the rural area of Kafta, near the Eritrean border, when they were accosted by soldiers: three wearing Eritrean uniforms, and one Ethiopian. As the men raped Kelana, Esther, terrified, screamed for help. One of the men stabbed her in the stomach, grabbed a nearby cooking pot, and poured a stream of boiling water on to her midriff. The scars look like a vortex rippling across her stomach. 'Today, she goes to school, but she has no friends,' Kelana says. 'She is afraid of everything. Sometimes, on her way to school, she trembles with fear, worried that someone might attack her again. 'She dreams of becoming a doctor so she can help herself and her people. I dream of opening a small shop, a minimarket, so I can give my four children the education they deserve.' *Names have been changed to protect identity In the UK, Rape Crisis offers support for rape and sexual abuse on 0808 802 9999 in England and Wales, 0808 801 0302 in Scotland, or 0800 0246 991 in Northern Ireland. In the US, Rainn offers support on 800-656-4673. In Australia, support is available at 1800Respect (1800 737 732). Other international helplines can be found at Ximena Borrazas' work in Tigray received the 2024 Tom Stoddart Award for Excellence from the Ian Parry Photojournalism Grant, entries for which are now open