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Zawya
06-05-2025
- Politics
- Zawya
Boreholes are not the solution to Zimbabwe's water crisis—they may worsen it
The Zimbabwean government has, in recent years, taken to vigorously drilling boreholes across the country as its signature approach to solving the country's deepening water crisis. Branded as the 'Presidential Borehole Drilling Programme,' this initiative aims to install boreholes in all of Zimbabwe's 35,000 villages by 2025. What may appear at face value as a noble gesture to provide clean and accessible water—especially to underserved rural communities—is, in fact, a glaring indictment of the government's failure to implement sustainable, equitable, and future-proof solutions to one of the most basic human needs. Water is not a privilege. It is a fundamental right. And the provision of safe, reliable, and accessible water should be the cornerstone of any government's responsibility to its citizens. To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: But instead of investing in long-term, sustainable infrastructure—such as building or rehabilitating dams, laying modern pipelines, and upgrading treatment plants—the Zimbabwean government has opted for what is essentially a patchwork solution that may provide temporary relief while ignoring the root causes of the problem. In rural communities, the drilling of boreholes is being paraded as a revolutionary development initiative, giving the false impression of progress and prosperity. Yet the reality is far from flattering. Many of these communities have historically been excluded from the fruits of independence—receiving little to no public investment in water infrastructure for decades. And now, instead of finally receiving piped water from nearby dams or water bodies, they are given boreholes, which, while useful in the short term, are unsustainable when deployed at this scale and without proper management. Urban areas are no better. Once proud cities such as Bulawayo, Gweru, and Harare that enjoyed consistent piped water during the colonial era are now experiencing intermittent water cuts lasting days or even weeks. In some towns—such as Redcliff, my own hometown—residents have gone for several years without tap water, relying entirely on boreholes, shallow wells, and other unsafe or unreliable sources to survive. Residents are left to queue at community boreholes or, for those with means, drill private ones. The collapse of municipal water systems—brought about by years of neglect, mismanagement, lack of investment, and corruption—is now being papered over by sinking boreholes even in densely populated urban zones. But is this truly a sustainable solution? Groundwater is not an infinite resource. Over-reliance on boreholes—especially in the absence of comprehensive hydrogeological studies and long-term planning—can lead to the rapid depletion of aquifers. As more people and institutions tap into the same underground reserves, water tables steadily decline, leading to boreholes drying up or producing significantly reduced yields. In extreme cases, entire communities may be left worse off than before, with no access to either surface or underground water sources. Climate change only worsens this reality, as prolonged droughts, rising temperatures, and erratic rainfall patterns dramatically reduce the natural recharge of aquifers. With less surface water filtering into the ground, boreholes are essentially draining a resource that is no longer being replenished, accelerating the crisis. The environmental toll is equally alarming. Excessive groundwater extraction can cause land subsidence, where the ground literally sinks due to the loss of underground water support, damaging buildings, roads, and other infrastructure. Natural ecosystems that depend on underground water—such as wetlands and river systems fed by springs—also suffer, threatening biodiversity. Moreover, in a country like Zimbabwe where regulation and enforcement are weak, the risk of groundwater contamination is high. In both rural and urban areas with inadequate sanitation, agricultural runoff, and unregulated industrial waste disposal, toxic substances and pathogens can easily seep into aquifers. Once polluted, these underground sources are extremely difficult—and costly—to clean, posing long-term health hazards to communities relying on them. What's even more worrying is the emerging trend of commodifying this desperation. Citizens who drill their own boreholes are now being charged by the Zimbabwe National Water Authority (ZINWA), effectively penalizing people for finding their own solutions in the face of government failure. This is morally indefensible. Water scarcity created by mismanagement and neglect has become a source of revenue for the state. The government is shamelessly profiting from its own failures and incompetence—forcing citizens to pay for alternatives like boreholes—while sinking them deeper into poverty and despair. Even more disturbing is how the 'Presidential Borehole Drilling Programme' has been politicized to serve partisan interests. By attaching the president's name to the project, the ruling elite is seeking to extract political mileage from a basic service that should have been provided decades ago. In effect, water access is being transformed into a campaign tool, a gesture of charity from the powerful to the powerless, rather than a constitutional obligation of the state. This breeds dependency and undermines the citizens' right to demand better governance. What Zimbabwe needs is not more boreholes, but a complete overhaul of its water governance systems. This means tackling corruption head-on, enforcing transparency in water project financing, and holding both central and local government authorities accountable for the collapse of service delivery. It also requires bold investments in infrastructure—rehabilitating dams, building new reservoirs, upgrading water treatment plants, and modernizing pipeline networks to ensure equitable distribution of water in both rural and urban areas. Even more troubling is the government's proposal to privatize water provision in urban areas—a move that shifts a basic public good into the hands of profit-driven entities. In a country already plagued by widespread poverty and inequality, privatization would only worsen the plight of ordinary citizens, who will be forced to pay even more for a service that should be universally accessible and affordable. Worse still, in Zimbabwe's deeply entrenched culture of corruption, such privatization schemes are rarely transparent or accountable. Public tenders are routinely awarded to politically connected individuals or shell companies without going through proper procurement processes. Millions of dollars are siphoned off through inflated contracts or projects that never materialize, while the suffering masses continue to go without water. In essence, privatization in this context becomes yet another avenue for looting—a system where the elite enrich themselves under the guise of service delivery, while the people continue to live without clean, safe water. Nonetheless, there are countries from which we can draw valuable lessons. For example, Namibia—a similarly water-scarce country—has invested heavily in water recycling and desalination, ensuring that urban areas like Windhoek are not wholly reliant on traditional sources. Rwanda has made significant progress in rural water access by combining dam construction with gravity-fed water systems, enabling piped water to reach remote communities without overburdening groundwater. South Africa, despite its own challenges, maintains a more integrated national water strategy that balances the use of surface water, groundwater, and conservation practices, backed by a relatively functional institutional framework. Zimbabwe can—and must—adopt a similarly integrated water resource management strategy. Groundwater can certainly be part of the solution, but it must not become the primary approach. Boreholes should serve as backup or emergency interventions, not the front line of a national water policy. Furthermore, citizen-led water governance must be strengthened, with local communities actively involved in water management and maintenance to ensure sustainability. Ultimately, we must ask ourselves: what kind of future are we building when we normalize temporary solutions as permanent policy? When we celebrate boreholes as milestones of progress rather than emergency lifelines? When we allow political leaders to gain credit for solving problems they created or neglected for years? Zimbabweans deserve better. They deserve running, safe, and clean water in every home—not just a hand pump in the middle of a village. They deserve infrastructure that matches the dignity of a modern, independent state—not the illusion of development dressed in presidential branding. Until the government begins to address the structural, institutional, and financial shortcomings that have decimated our water systems, we will continue to go around in circles—drilling hole after hole, while the deeper hole, the one in our governance and planning, only grows wider.
Zawya
07-04-2025
- Business
- Zawya
Are buildings sprouting in Zimbabwe real development or a mask for economic decay?
In recent years, Zimbabwe has experienced what appears to be a construction boom—an explosion of buildings across towns and cities that now accommodate countless small shops selling predominantly cheap, imported goods. These structures, often erroneously labeled as 'malls', have become an increasingly common sight, dominating the urban landscape from Harare to Bulawayo, and stretching even into smaller towns such as Kwekwe and Rusape. At first glance, this may look like a sign of commendable progress in a country that has suffered decades of disinvestment, industrial collapse, and staggering unemployment. However, beneath the façade of this seeming development lies a far more sobering reality that Zimbabweans must confront: this is not real economic growth, but rather the painful evidence of our country's continued de-industrialization and its dangerous reliance on a fragile, informal economy. To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: The proliferation of these simple, often rudimentary buildings does not reflect a revival of Zimbabwe's once-vibrant manufacturing base. Unlike the heavy industry and large-scale commerce that used to power our economy and provide meaningful employment, these new structures house micro-retailers who depend almost entirely on foreign-made products. From clothing and electronics to groceries and furniture, the goods sold in these shops are largely not locally manufactured. Instead, they are mostly imported—either from South Africa, China, or other Asian economies. As a result, these so-called malls are doing little to build Zimbabwe's productive capacity or stimulate the kinds of industrial growth that could boost exports and narrow the ever-widening trade deficit. This trend raises important questions about the true nature of 'investment' in Zimbabwe. Are we to celebrate the erection of walls and roofs without examining what is taking place within them? True investment, by its nature, must be linked to long-term value creation, job sustainability, and the development of local skills and industries. The rise of these retail-centered structures is not matched by a corresponding rise in factory floors, assembly lines, or agro-processing facilities. There is no meaningful addition to gross fixed capital formation, nor are these buildings enhancing Zimbabwe's competitiveness on the global market. In fact, they are fueling a dangerous economic model: one that consumes more than it produces. A significant portion of the stock found in these small shops is smuggled or imported through unofficial channels, often avoiding tax and duties. This not only deprives the state of critical revenue but also undermines efforts to rebuild domestic industry. By relying heavily on imports, these micro-enterprises exacerbate Zimbabwe's already precarious balance of payments, increasing pressure on foreign currency reserves and further weakening the local currency. Every dollar spent on foreign-made goods in these stores is a dollar not invested in local production or value addition. This pattern is unsustainable and is a clear indication that what we are witnessing is consumption-led, not production-led, growth—a hallmark of fragile, distorted economies. Moreover, the nature of employment generated by this emerging retail sector is deeply troubling. Most of the jobs created are informal, insecure, and low-paying. Young people, who make up the bulk of Zimbabwe's unemployed, are often relegated to the most basic roles—unloading goods, manning tills, or cleaning the shops. There is little to no room for career advancement, nor are there opportunities for skill acquisition or professional development. Gone are the days when a young graduate could dream of becoming an accountant, a marketing executive, or an IT specialist in a large, reputable company. Today, many are forced to settle for dead-end roles with no social protection, no pensions, and no healthcare. The same can be said for technically skilled workers—such as electricians, boilermakers, fitters, turners, and other artisans—who once found meaningful work in Zimbabwe's now-defunct industrial sector. These professions have been largely sidelined as the country drifts further away from manufacturing and engineering. The buildings sprouting across urban centers do not require their services, nor do they create spin-off industries that could absorb such expertise. What we are witnessing is the normalization of economic regression—where youth are taught to aspire not to innovation or professional mastery, but to the mere hope of becoming a shopkeeper or vendor. This raises a profound question: can we genuinely call this development? Development, in any meaningful sense, should improve the quality of life of a nation's citizens, enhance their skills, boost productivity, and ensure intergenerational prosperity. What is taking place in Zimbabwe today bears none of these characteristics. If anything, it reflects a hollowing out of the economy—a process where tangible, value-adding sectors have been replaced with surface-level retail structures that mask a deeper economic rot. To be sure, entrepreneurship is not to be discouraged. In a country with limited formal employment, it is commendable that citizens are trying to make a living through small businesses. However, there must be a broader national vision that connects such enterprise with industrial policy and sustainable development. Small retail shops must not be the end goal—they should be part of a larger value chain that begins with local production, raw material processing, and regional integration. This lack of contribution to the value chain is a major concern. True economic development is underpinned by a strong industrial base, which not only drives export growth but also gives rise to a network of downstream industries that feed into and benefit from large-scale manufacturing. Zimbabwe once had such an industrial ecosystem, with companies like the now-defunct Ziscosteel at its core. Ziscosteel was not just a steel manufacturer; it was a key pillar in the entire industrial architecture of the country. It supplied steel to numerous local industries, which in turn supported other sectors and created vast employment opportunities. One notable example is Willowvale Mazda Motor Industries (WMMI), which assembled vehicles using components sourced from various local manufacturers, including steel from Ziscosteel. The presence of Ziscosteel also supported construction, agriculture, mining equipment production, and countless small and medium enterprises that relied on affordable, locally-produced steel. Without such a vision, we are simply building more warehouses to distribute foreign goods, rather than building factories to produce our own. The situation in Zimbabwe is a classic example of what happens when a country fails to reinvest in its productive sectors. The government has allowed the economy to drift into informality and retail trade, often celebrating this as a 'sign of resilience.' But this is not resilience—it is resignation. It is the outcome of a political and economic system that has failed to channel resources into sectors that matter. Worse still, this pattern has distracted citizens from demanding accountability. When U.S. and Western aid fills the gaps in health, education, and humanitarian needs, there is less urgency for citizens to demand that their government manage national resources more responsibly. The same logic applies to the illusion of economic activity created by these new 'malls.' People are led to believe the economy is growing, when in reality, it is simply importing more, employing less formally, and eroding long-term national capacity. If Zimbabwe is to truly rise again, it must reorient its economic priorities. We must return to basics—investing in manufacturing, reviving industry, developing infrastructure, and creating decent, formal jobs. Only then can we speak of real investment and sustainable development. Until that happens, the concrete shells of our towns and cities will remain just that—empty monuments to a country that once had so much potential but settled for so little.
Zawya
25-03-2025
- Business
- Zawya
Zimbabweans deserve real economic empowerment, not sinking them deeper into debt
In recent months, the Zimbabwean government has stepped up its rollout of so-called 'empowerment funds,' which are largely revolving loans targeting specific groups such as war veterans, women, civil servants, and most recently, the youth. These initiatives are loudly touted by those in power as transformative tools designed to lift ordinary citizens out of poverty and drive economic inclusion. Yet, a closer examination raises a critical question: how sustainable are these funds, and more importantly, is this truly empowerment? To properly assess this, we must first ask why Zimbabweans even need to be granted loans in the name of empowerment. To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: It is important to recall that when we were growing up in the 1980s and 1990s—having been born in 1973—our parents never needed government handouts to survive. My father was a schoolteacher, and my mother a nurse. They managed to provide for our family and live respectable lives, not through state-backed loans or so-called empowerment projects, but through gainful employment. The only loans I recall were mortgages from the then Central African Building Society (CABS) to purchase homes. These were not poverty-alleviation schemes; they were part of a broader system in which working Zimbabweans could afford dignified lives through salaries that had real value. That was the norm for millions across the country. Whether one was a bus driver, a general hand, or a civil servant, their earnings were sufficient to economically empower them. There was no obsession with starting 'projects' to supplement incomes. So, why today do even professionals like teachers, nurses, and civil servants need loans to survive? Why must they venture into side businesses to make ends meet? The answer is glaring. Zimbabwe has suffered a catastrophic collapse of formal employment, with over 90 percent of the population now surviving in the informal sector. Even those still in formal employment are grossly underpaid and can no longer rely on their salaries to feed their families, pay rent, or send their children to school. In fact, today's economic hardships are so widespread that even war veterans—once the pride of our liberation struggle—now require loans for basic survival. This is a reflection not of progress, but of national decay. Our economy, once admired across the continent, has been wrecked through decades of mismanagement, corruption, and poor governance. Instead of sound industrial policy, we've witnessed massive de-industrialization. Thousands of companies have shut down over the past two decades, and investor confidence has plummeted. The once-thriving manufacturing sector has collapsed. A country that once fed itself now imports basic foodstuffs. Every year, about 300,000 students complete secondary school. Of these, fewer than 20 percent proceed to A-level, and an even smaller number make it to university. Even for the thousands who graduate from Zimbabwean universities each year, very few will find formal employment. The rest are forced into vending, cross-border trading, or risky migration in search of better opportunities. Some, especially the most vulnerable, fall into drug and alcohol abuse. That is the tragic future this nation has handed its youth. Yet, Zimbabwe is not a poor country. We are blessed with an abundance of natural resources—gold, platinum, diamonds, lithium, and more. These minerals are in high demand globally, and yet our youth sell airtime on street corners, and university graduates line up outside embassies hoping for visas to escape the economic nightmare. Those who should be enjoying the fruits of national wealth are instead spectators to their country's looting. Meanwhile, a politically connected elite continues to amass insane wealth through dubious government tenders and opaque deals. These individuals—referred to locally as 'Zvigananda'—flaunt their riches in the faces of struggling Zimbabweans, often without shame or accountability. They boast designer clothes, flashy cars, and mansions, even as public hospitals crumble and civil servants can't afford transport to work. Ironically, some of these same elites are now fronting the 'empowerment fund' schemes. President Emmerson Mnangagwa recently launched a $15 million youth fund to much fanfare. A month prior, a $1.5 million fund was introduced for war veterans. On paper, these appear to be commendable initiatives. But let's consider the numbers. Zimbabwe has an estimated 13 million people under the age of 35. If the $15 million youth fund were distributed evenly, that amounts to just over a dollar per person. Even if only a fraction of the youth receive the money through the revolving fund model, how many can realistically receive enough to start viable income-generating projects? Not many. The truth is, only a handful will benefit—and even then, probably those connected to the powerful. The rest are simply drawn in for political optics. The thousands of young people who gathered in Harare to 'celebrate' this fund will not see a cent. Their hopes have been sold for the price of a photo-op. A similar scenario has unfolded with the war veterans' fund. Since its launch, barely one percent of registered ex-combatants have benefited. Once again, history suggests that those truly in need will be excluded, while politically connected beneficiaries enrich themselves. Moreover, how can pushing poor Zimbabweans into debt be considered empowerment? Under Zimbabwe's volatile economy, where inflation is rampant and the currency is unstable, most of these loans are doomed to fail. Borrowers may default, lose their assets, and be worse off than before. Empowerment should not come in the form of short-term loans in a collapsed economy. What is needed is real, structural economic reform that restores the dignity of work and guarantees equitable access to national wealth. True empowerment is when a nurse, teacher, or bus driver can live comfortably on their salary, just as our parents did. It is when young people can graduate from university and find jobs in a functioning economy. Empowerment is when citizens do not depend on politically driven loan schemes but thrive through a stable economic system built on transparency, good governance, and justice. Zimbabweans must reject this patchwork of short-lived schemes and demand lasting solutions. That means tackling the root causes of our crisis: ending corruption, reforming economic policy, and ensuring fair distribution of our vast resources. We must stop being content with crumbs and demand our rightful share of the national cake. As long as we remain silent, those in power will continue to treat us as afterthoughts—dispensable and voiceless. Empowerment is not a loan. It is economic justice. © Copyright The Zimbabwean. All rights reserved. Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. (
Zawya
19-03-2025
- Business
- Zawya
Pushing vendors off the streets without addressing Zimbabwe's economic collapse is a recipe for disaster
The Zimbabwean government's recent directive for vendors to vacate the streets of Harare is being presented as an effort to restore order to the capital city. On the surface, this may appear logical, but in reality, it fails to address the deeper crisis that has driven people onto the streets in the first place. The informal sector, particularly street vending, has become the last lifeline for millions of Zimbabweans who have been abandoned by a collapsing economy. Simply removing them does not solve the fundamental issue of why they are there. It is an exercise in futility—akin to treating symptoms while ignoring the disease. To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: The real disease is the state-authored economic disaster that has plagued Zimbabwe for decades, primarily due to rampant corruption, the looting of national resources, economic mismanagement, and misplaced priorities by the ruling elite. Zimbabwe's economic decline can be traced back to 4 November 1997, a day that has gone down in history as 'Black Friday.' On this day, the Zimbabwe Stock Exchange crashed spectacularly, wiping out 46 percent of the market's value in just four hours. This economic catastrophe was triggered when then president Robert Mugabe ordered the release of Z$4.2 billion for unbudgeted payouts to war veterans, amounting to Z$50,000 each. The local currency, which had been relatively stable, crumbled under the weight of this reckless fiscal decision. On the same day, the country was plunged into total darkness due to a national electricity blackout. From that moment on, Zimbabwe's economy struggled to regain its footing. The Black Friday crash set off a chain reaction. Foreign currency shortages began to take hold, crippling industries that depended on imports for raw materials and machinery. This led to other shortages, such as fuel, which became a chronic problem in Zimbabwe. Prices of basic commodities skyrocketed, as businesses struggled to obtain foreign currency through legal channels and were forced into the parallel market. Inflation, which had once been manageable, began a relentless march upward. The situation was worsened by the chaotic and often violent land reform program of the early 2000s. While the need for land redistribution was undeniable, the manner in which it was carried out—without planning, compensation, or a structured transition—led to economic ruin. Commercial agriculture, which had been the backbone of Zimbabwe's economy, collapsed almost overnight. The country, once known as the 'breadbasket of Africa,' was suddenly unable to feed itself. Large-scale commercial farms, which had employed hundreds of thousands of Zimbabweans, were taken over by individuals who lacked the expertise, resources, or commitment to maintain production levels. Agricultural output plummeted, leading to widespread food insecurity. With agriculture in ruins, other industries that depended on it—such as manufacturing and food processing—also began to crumble. This triggered a wave of company closures and mass layoffs. Foreign direct investment dried up as businesses feared the unpredictable and hostile policy environment. The government responded to the crisis with reckless monetary policies, including printing money to cover its deficits. This fueled hyperinflation, which reached an astonishing 89.7 sextillion percent by November 2008, the second highest in recorded history after Hungary's post-World War II hyperinflation. The result was an economic landscape marked by total devastation. Formal employment became a rarity, with an estimated 90 percent of Zimbabweans now unemployed or surviving in the informal sector. Those fortunate enough to have jobs earn meager salaries that are quickly eroded by inflation. Many professionals, including teachers, nurses, and government workers, have been reduced to vendors themselves, selling goods on the streets after working hours just to make ends meet. Millions of Zimbabweans have been forced to leave the country in search of better opportunities, forming one of the largest diasporas in Africa. Amid this economic collapse, the informal sector, particularly street vending, emerged as the only means of survival for many. The government, realizing its inability to create formal jobs, at one point celebrated this shift, even labeling it 'the new economy.' Ministers boasted that Zimbabwe had found an alternative economic model that did not rely on traditional corporate structures. This was, of course, nothing more than a desperate attempt to spin failure into success. Over time, as the government failed to regulate the informal sector properly, it expanded rapidly. Street vending has now become a dominant feature of Zimbabwe's urban landscape. Vendors sell everything from fruits and vegetables to clothing and electronics, often at prices lower than those found in formal retail shops. This has created friction between vendors and established businesses, which struggle to compete with informal traders who operate outside the tax system and use favorable black market exchange rates. Many major supermarkets have been forced to close branches or downsize operations due to declining sales. This economic strain on formal businesses could be one of the reasons why the government has now decided to remove street vendors. The presence of thousands of vendors in the central business district has also contributed to congestion and disorder, with pavements and roadsides crowded with makeshift stalls. In some cases, criminal elements have taken advantage of the chaotic environment, leading to increased pickpocketing and other petty crimes. However, the government's response—simply pushing vendors off the streets—is not a solution. It is an attempt to sweep the problem under the carpet, hoping that if people do not see the vendors, they will assume the economic crisis has been resolved. But poverty and unemployment do not disappear just because they are no longer visible. These people are not on the streets by choice; they are there out of desperation. They are victims of a failed system, not criminals. Forcing vendors out of the streets without offering viable alternatives will only lead to greater suffering and social unrest. Where are these people supposed to go? How will they feed their families? The government has offered no realistic solutions—no job creation initiatives, no retraining programs, no access to affordable business spaces. Simply issuing a directive for vendors to vacate the streets is a heartless and thoughtless move, devoid of any real economic strategy. If anything, this approach is a recipe for disaster. When people are pushed into a corner with no way out, their frustration and anger grow. Zimbabweans have endured economic hardships for decades, but there comes a breaking point when people say, 'Enough is enough.' The government may believe that its heavy-handed approach will keep people in check, but history has shown that when economic despair reaches unbearable levels, uprisings become inevitable. The only way to truly solve this problem is to address the root cause—the collapsing economy. This requires serious efforts to combat corruption, restore investor confidence, and implement sound economic policies. It means investing in infrastructure, reviving agriculture, and creating an environment where businesses can thrive. It demands policies that support industrialization and formal job creation, rather than merely criminalizing survival strategies. Until these fundamental issues are resolved, Zimbabweans will continue to resort to street vending and other informal means of survival. No amount of police crackdowns or government directives will change that reality. Pushing vendors off the streets will not end unemployment, poverty, or economic despair. It will only deepen the crisis, increasing desperation and resentment. A responsible government would recognize that economic challenges require economic solutions, not brute force. It would engage with vendors, understand their struggles, and work towards sustainable policies that uplift, rather than punish, those trying to survive. But as long as the government remains fixated on optics rather than real change, Zimbabwe will continue to sink deeper into economic ruin. The streets may be cleared temporarily, but the problems that created the need for vending will remain. And until those problems are addressed, the cycle of poverty and suffering will persist—pushing the nation ever closer to the tipping point of unrest. © Copyright The Zimbabwean. All rights reserved. Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. ( Tendai Ruben Mbofana
Zawya
14-03-2025
- Politics
- Zawya
If land was the reason for the liberation struggle, why must Zimbabweans now buy it?
The liberation struggle in Zimbabwe was fought with a clear objective: to reclaim land from colonial rulers and redistribute it equitably among the black majority who had been dispossessed. Thousands of lives were lost in pursuit of this vision. Yet today, more than four decades after independence, the government has introduced a Land Tenure Implementation Program that raises fundamental questions about whether those sacrifices were in vain. At the heart of this new policy is the issuance of title deeds to farmers who benefited from the land reform program. On the surface, this appears to be a progressive step, allowing farmers to use land as collateral for loans and to engage in formal transactions. To directly receive articles from Tendai Ruben Mbofana, please join his WhatsApp Channel on: However, a closer examination exposes deep-rooted contradictions, ulterior motives, and glaring injustices that make this program appear less about empowering ordinary Zimbabweans and more about entrenching a new class of elite landowners. To fully appreciate the significance of this new land tenure policy, we must first assess the actual beneficiaries of Zimbabwe's land reform program. The government has long claimed that the fast-track land reform of the early 2000s was designed to correct colonial injustices and provide land to the landless majority. Yet, studies have shown that only 7% of the rural population—those who were genuinely in need of land—actually benefited. According to research by independent land commissions and scholars, approximately 170,000 households were resettled under the A1 model, while about 30,000 individuals, mostly elites and politically connected individuals, received larger A2 farms. Given that Zimbabwe's rural population is estimated at around 10 million people, the total number of beneficiaries represents a small fraction of those who genuinely needed land. Additionally, surveys conducted in communal areas showed that millions remained on overcrowded, infertile land, with little to no access to the productive farmland that was redistributed. Instead, vast tracts of prime agricultural land ended up in the hands of politically connected individuals. A 2010 study by the Zimbabwe Independent Land Commission found that multiple farms were allocated to senior government officials, military officers, and ruling party elites. For instance, former President Robert Mugabe and his family controlled at least 15 farms, despite the government's 'one-man, one-farm' policy. Cabinet ministers and high-ranking military officers owned over 160 farms collectively. Meanwhile, thousands of ordinary citizens were resettled on poor, arid land with little to no infrastructure. This raises a fundamental question: if land redistribution was meant to correct colonial injustices, why did the land simply shift from one privileged minority to another? The reality is that Zimbabwe's land remains concentrated in the hands of a few, just as it was under colonial rule. The only difference is that the new land barons are black, replacing the white settler class. Given this reality, the government's Land Tenure Implementation Program must be interrogated. Why, after forcibly seizing land from white farmers and claiming it was being returned to the people, is the government now selling land to Zimbabweans? Was this the purpose of the liberation war? During the war, fighters were clear that land belonged to all Zimbabweans, not to be commodified by the government. Yet today, the same government that once declared land was the birthright of every citizen is demanding payment for title deeds. The high costs associated with acquiring these title deeds effectively exclude many small-scale farmers and rural dwellers from participating in the program. How does this empower the very people the government claims to be helping? Even with the recent announcement that war veterans and long-serving civil servants will receive discounts, the costs remain unaffordable for most. If those who fought for Zimbabwe's independence cannot afford these title deeds, what does that say about the sincerity of this program? Beyond the financial burden, the legal framework around this land tenure program is also highly questionable. According to Zimbabwe's constitution, all agricultural land belongs to the state and cannot be held in private hands. So how can the government justify selling land to individuals when the supreme law of the country explicitly forbids private land ownership? By issuing title deeds, the government is effectively contradicting its own legal framework. What happens if a future administration reverses this policy? Will these title deeds be rendered null and void? The lack of legal clarity makes this program a high-risk investment, further undermining its credibility. Economically, the justification that title deeds will help farmers access credit is also misleading. Zimbabwe's financial institutions remain hesitant to accept land as collateral due to the political risk associated with land ownership. Banks know that Zimbabwe's land policies are subject to sudden changes, making any land-based loan arrangement risky. This means that despite having title deeds, most farmers will still struggle to secure meaningful financing. So if small-scale farmers are largely excluded, and if the program lacks a solid legal and economic foundation, who is this land tenure policy really meant to benefit? The answer is clear: the elite. Those who acquired multiple farms through political connections now have the ability to sell their land legally. This is a significant departure from the past, where resettled farmers were restricted from selling state land. Now, with formalized ownership, they can cash in on their vast holdings, selling land at premium prices while ordinary Zimbabweans struggle to afford even a single plot. The irony is that Ian Smith, the last Rhodesian Prime Minister, owned just one farm. Yet today, many of Zimbabwe's ruling elite own multiple farms. If land reform was meant to correct colonial injustices, why do millions of Zimbabweans remain landless while a handful of politically connected individuals control vast estates? It is difficult to ignore the possibility that this land tenure policy is little more than a government money-making scheme disguised as reform. By forcing farmers to pay for land they were allocated under the land reform program, the government is essentially monetizing the very asset it claimed to have given away freely. This is not land redistribution—it is state-sponsored profiteering. Even more concerning is the long-term impact of this policy. Once land becomes a market commodity, its price will rise beyond the reach of ordinary citizens. Over time, land will once again accumulate in the hands of a few wealthy individuals and corporations, effectively reversing the very purpose of land reform. The Land Tenure Implementation Program represents a fundamental betrayal of the liberation struggle. Instead of ensuring equitable land distribution, the government is selling land back to the very people it promised to empower. Instead of dismantling the colonial-era land ownership structure, it is entrenching a new form of elitism, where land remains concentrated in the hands of a privileged few. This is not what Zimbabweans fought for. The liberation war was not about creating a black capitalist class that hoards land while millions remain dispossessed. It was about justice, fairness, and national sovereignty. If the government truly cares about land reform, it should focus on ensuring all Zimbabweans have access to productive land, providing support for farmers, and implementing policies that promote food security and economic growth. Instead, it is pursuing a short-sighted, profit-driven agenda that benefits the few at the expense of the many. This is not land reform. This is a betrayal. And Zimbabweans must not stand for it. © Copyright The Zimbabwean. All rights reserved. Provided by SyndiGate Media Inc. ( Tendai Ruben Mbofana
