How did a liberation movement like ZANU PF end up in the hands of corrupt cartels?

Tendai Ruben Mbofana

The tragedy of Zimbabwe is not merely that we have moved from the liberation struggle to a state of stagnation, but that the very liberation movement itself has become a machinery for the systematic looting of the nation. 

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To see the current state of Zimbabwe is to witness a profound betrayal of the “one man, one vote” principle and the promise of black dignity. 

While the masses languish in poverty, a new class of “tenderpreneurs” has emerged, effectively capturing the leadership and the state apparatus to an extent that makes the Robert Mugabe era look like a period of restraint. 

In this dispensation under the Mnangagwa administration, corruption is no longer an aberration; it is the fundamental logic of governance.

The current levels of resource looting have reached sickening proportions, characterized by a blatant and unashamed display of wealth that mocks the suffering of the majority. 

We see individuals connected to the ruling elite flaunting private jets, helicopters, and high-end cars while the average citizen cannot afford basic necessities. 

There is a grotesque performative element to this wealth, where cash is splashed like there is no tomorrow and cars are given away as if they were candy. 

Perhaps the most heartbreaking aspect is the degradation of the Zimbabwean person. 

It is a national shame to see professionals like nurses made to dance for $100 or to witness people scrounging around traffic interchanges in search of hidden cash as if they were scavenging for crumbs. 

This is the “dignity” that decades of struggle have supposedly secured for the people.

The capture of the state in Zimbabwe is unique because there is no longer any distinction between the ruling ZANU PF and the state itself. 

Unlike other countries where cartels might seek to influence the government from the outside, in Zimbabwe, the cartels are the lifeblood of the political establishment. 

Tenderpreneurs, commonly referred to as Zvigananda, have become the financiers of the party, bankrolling its activities and ensuring the survival of the leadership. 

In return, they are granted total control over national resources. 

When a figure like Wicknell Chivayo is heard on a leaked audio claiming to hold the president “ndichibata kuti dzvii,” it is not just a boast; it is a confirmation that the presidency has been reduced to a commodity that is owned by those who can afford it.

There are eerie similarities here to the Gupta brothers’ experience in South Africa, where the Zondo Commission exposed a system of state capture so deep that private individuals virtually had President Jacob Zuma in their pockets. 

Just as the Guptas were shown to dictate the appointment and removal of cabinet ministers and heads of state enterprises to ensure they were awarded lucrative tenders, Zimbabwe now faces a reality where the seat of power appears subservient to the whims of its financial backers. 

The chilling parallel suggests that the Zimbabwean leadership has similarly been outsourced to a shadowy network of tenderpreneurs who determine national policy and resource allocation from the comfort of their private jets.

This environment of total capture was made possible because the institutions meant to provide oversight—the judiciary, the police, and the anti-corruption agencies—have been hollowed out. 

They have been staffed with loyalists who view their role as protecting the elite rather than serving the public. 

In a functional state, the law acts as a guardrail; in Zimbabwe, the law is a tool used to facilitate the transfer of wealth from the public to the private pockets of the connected few. 

When billion-dollar tenders are awarded without transparency, and the beneficiaries are seen living like royalty while the state can barely fund a hospital, it is clear that the national interest has been completely discarded.

The “liberator” complex has been used as a shield to justify this predatory behavior. 

The ruling elite believes that because they fought for the country, they have an inherent right to own its resources. 

This entitlement has birthed a system where loyalty to the party is the only currency that matters. 

The revolutionary cadre has been replaced by the tenderpreneur, an individual whose only skill is their proximity to power. 

It is a bitter irony that those who held the guns and did the actual fighting in the bushes have long been cast aside, reduced to mere spectators of the wealth they fought to secure. 

These veterans, once the backbone of the movement, are now also beholden to these same corrupt cartels for meager handouts, forced to survive on the crumbs falling from the tables of those who never smelled the gunpowder of the revolution.

These cartels do not build industries or create jobs; they simply extract value from the state. 

They are the middlemen of the country’s collapse, brokering deals that leave the nation in debt while they accumulate obscene fortunes.

How did a movement that once bravely fought against colonial rule end up in the hands of these corrupt cartels? 

The answer lies in the total absence of accountability and the erosion of the democratic spirit within the movement itself. 

The top-down, command-oriented structure of the liberation era was never dismantled to make way for a transparent civilian administration. 

Instead, it was reinforced to ensure that power remained concentrated in a small circle. 

This concentration of power made it effortless for wealthy interests to buy their way into the seat of government. 

Once the leadership was secured, the entire state apparatus became a subsidiary of the cartel’s interests.

The marginalization of the people is not a side effect of this system; it is a requirement. 

For a small minority to amass such high levels of wealth in a failing economy, the majority must be kept in a state of dependency and poverty. 

The “splashing” of cash is not an act of charity; it is a tool of control designed to maintain the illusion of benevolence while the country’s future is being auctioned off. 

The result is a society where the gap between the rulers and the ruled has become a chasm, and where the original goals of the struggle have been traded for a life of luxury for a few thousand individuals.

The betrayal is total. 

The people of Zimbabwe did not fight to replace one set of masters with another who would treat the country as a personal fiefdom. 

They fought for a system where every vote mattered and where the wealth of the nation would benefit all its citizens. 

Instead, they have been left with a government that has effectively been captured by shady cartels and tenderpreneurs who have no interest in national development. 

The current state of affairs is a warning that when the line between the party and the state is erased, and when the leadership is for sale, the liberation that was won with blood and sacrifice is easily stolen by those with the deepest pockets.

Ultimately, the restoration of Zimbabwe depends on breaking this cycle of capture. 

It requires a return to a system where institutions are independent and where the “one man, one vote” principle is respected as the ultimate authority. 

Without a fundamental reset that separates the state from the party and its financial backers, the looting will continue until there is nothing left to take. 

The those who died for this country deserve more than to see their sacrifice used as a pretext for the emergence of a predatory elite that has no shame and no conscience.

• Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. To directly receive his articles please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08