History is permanent but the future of Zimbabwe is in our hands

I did not take part in the liberation war but my father did. He represents the burning desire of his generation to free Zimbabwe. He spent seven years dodging bullets in the Chiurwi mountains of Buhera, running through the marshy lands of Chivhu and nursing horrible injuries that today still bring trauma to him. All this in a hope for a free Zimbabwe. A Zimbabwe devoid of colour. A Zimbabwe of equal beings. A Zimbabwe that respects human rights. We celebrated the culmination of his efforts on 18 April 1980. That day will always be precious in our hearts.

He saw that something was not right and he was prepared to pay the ultimate price for the freedom of his country. A vision with an action can change the world. For this, I salute him. I salute him because at that time there were others who were as oppressed as he was but they chose not to do anything about it. To them the Rhodesian machinery was invincible. They represent the section in society that is willing to be subservient to injustices as long as they life is guaranteed. These are the enemies of change. We have them today in our society.

He is there in Tokwane-Ngundu, farming on his small plot at Village 8 that he was allocated in 1987 during the resettlement of people from Manyuchi Dam. He left Chibi Mission School where he was doing form three but the person he sat next to in class continued school until he graduated at the then University of Rhodesia. That person went on to become an officer in the Rhodesian Army. They were both conscripted into the Zimbabwe National Army in 1980, my father at a lower rank and him as a Captain.

So in 1980, the new Zimbabwe was rewarding those who did nothing about the freedom of the nation with better opportunities whilst those who fought had to struggle for the crumbs. That was the burden of managing a diverse society that the new government had to bear. My father decided to leave the army and become a nurse back in his home village in Chivi.

In 1994 I asked him what he was fighting for; he told me- freedom, one-man-one-vote and land. He felt free because he could now travel from Chivi to Harare without being asked to produce a pass. He could now kill his cow and not be expected to turn in the head at the District Assistant’s office as proof. He could now walk in First Street and he could stand in a queue in front of a white man without fear of prosecution.

He could now vote and his vote would count. Gone were the days when only Stanlake Samkange and Jasper Savanhu represented seven million Blacks whilst 60 000 whites had fourteen representatives in parliament. This made him satisfied.

His biggest worry was THE LAND. I remember one day in 1988, when we were in a bus to Triangle. We had travelled approximately forty kilometres of fenced land full of cows that were just loitering without anybody manning them. I asked him whose they were and he told me that they belonged Jackson. Who was Jackson? Why did he have so much land and so many cows? He just laughed and said “The time will come”.

In 1996, I was mature enough to understand the feelings that existed amongst those who had fought the liberation struggle. In 1979 Murray MacDougalls estates in Triangle belonged to Anglo American Corporation, in 1996 they still belonged to Anglo American Corporations. Jackson still had a farm in Gutu, another near Triangle and another in Beatrice.

He took me to the newly built Tokwane-Ngundu dam. We saw how big it is. He took me to Village 10 in Tokwane-Ngundu Resettlement area. A big canal carried water from Tokwane-Ngundu Dam to Triangle Estates and passed through that village. No one, even in the times of drought was allowed to fetch water from this big canal. The water was private!

At village 12, there is a gigantic powerline that I am told carries electricity from Hwange Power Station to Triangle Estates. People were moved to make way for this powerline. No one in the whole vicinity has ever benefited from this powerline. They sleep in darkness, walk kilometres in search of firewood yet thousands of electrons travel just above them.

This is not what my father fought for. My father fought for equal access to land, equal access to national resources, not that some capitalist master monopolises them because he has greater access and power!

So it is with background that in 1997; at my tender age of sixteen I supported unreservedly the re-allocation of land. To me, it represented the fulfilment of the dreams of freedom that my father and all those who had died in the struggle shared. I thought the government had the power to order those with multiple farms to vacate and the landless to occupy it.

There was no way that issue wasn’t going to be racial since very few blacks owned multiple farms. The only black that I knew who owned a very big farm was Joshua Nkomo because I had recited a poem for him on one of his visits to Nuanetsi ranch and had been told he owned a very big chunk inside that massive ranch. But I knew Jackson had three farms.

I supported the people of Svosve for their gallant efforts to force Mugabe’s government to do something about the Land Issue. This was the continuation of the struggle. When my father was given $50 000 in 1997, he gave me $2 000 to buy whatever I wanted. Because then the spirit of the struggle was also overwhelming me, I spend half of it on books like No easy Walk to Freedom (the earlier version of Long Walk to Freedom), Matigari, With the People. I started listening to Joseph Hill and Culture, Simon Chimbetu and Cde Chinx.

I was shocked to see the brutality that followed especially after the Constitutional Referendum in 2000. I witnessed the horrific deaths of Talent Mabika and Chiminya that year in Murambinda. I was at the scene of the accident since it was just two kilometres from my mother’s house. There were people like Konan’ale and Kitsiyatota who purported to be War veterans and went about beating people for not supporting ZANU PF. Konan’ale was just a violent rank-tout aged around thirty. He killed in the name of ZANU PF disguised as a war veteran.

The death of white farmers at the hands of purported war veterans could not be condoned. No life was that cheap. Mugabe allowed it because it served his interests. The blame however should go to war veterans themselves because they failed to rise and demand an end to the abuse of their name. Nevertheless, I forgive them because there were bigger powers at hand which were determined to kill and maim in the name of power.

Who could have guessed that Elliot Manyika never fought the liberation struggle? He was at the forefront, singing and beating. He had taken the liberation struggle to be himself. He grabbed land, he maimed and he brutalised. Elliot Manyika the clerk in the Rhodesian Ministry of Public Works became the champion of Chimurenga 3. What I ask is; where was he during Chimurenga 2?

Elliot Manyika had multiple farms when real war veterans had nothing. Elliot Manyika had many farms but the people who deserved land had nothing. But ask anybody he will tell you: War Veterans killed the country!

At one point I confronted my father on that issue, and all he said was; “the truth shall come out. Real freedom fighters don’t behave like that because each one of us made a covenant with the people and we used to sing it day and night- ‘Kune nzira dzemasoja, dzekuzvibata nadzo…’”

We all know the fact that Jabulani Sibanda is not a war veteran, Chinotimba never fought the liberation war, so did Border Gezi. But they claimed they fought the war.

So, today we commemorate 29 years after independence from Colonial rule; there are many things that we have seen that make us question whether we are free or not.

My father fought for freedom. Today we have draconian laws in our country that limit our freedoms. We can no longer criticize that which Mugabe does. We cannot express ourselves. We cannot choose for ourselves. We cannot have our own meetings without getting a pass from Mugabe! Is this freedom?

My father fought for one-man-one-vote. Today we have one vote and that vote belongs to Mugabe. Voting otherwise does not count. The bullet is mightier than the pen. So what does this independence mean?

My father fought for land. They took the land and shared it amongst themselves. Those who deserve it either do not have it or were resettled in the semi-arid lands of Chivhu which are only fit for cattle rearing. So what independence should we celebrate?

On this day we do not celebrate freedom from oppression, rather we celebrate the gallant sacrifice that the people who fought in the bushes offered for this nation. Lest we forget, many good-intentioned people died in the bushes, many were maimed, and many carry the cicatrices of horrific events during that struggle. They fought for a reason and that reason has not yet been achieved.

On this day, we celebrate the foundations of our conscience as a people that love freedom. They played their part in the struggle for total emancipation of Zimbabwe.

On this day we are reminded of the fact that we have a generational responsibility to preserve the ideals of the struggle that our fore-fathers and our fathers fought for. We are clear about what we want for Zimbabwe.

We want a peaceful, democratic and prosperous Zimbabwe. Our struggle should therefore reflect our aspirations. Whilst others find solace in fighting within defined political entities it should be emphasised that the struggle is dynamic. The people whom we entrust with the responsibility to lead us may become our worst enemies. It remains our responsibility to hold them accountable for their actions.

Today we witness the inclusion of MDC into government. We should be aware that the primary responsibility of any politician is himself and his family, everybody else come second. So, we should not expect Morgan Tsvangirai to throw a loaf at us when his family is hungry. Even the much revered Barack Obama bought a dog for his family when victims of Katrina are dying of hunger.

We should know that our future is dependent on us. If you are not there when others are hunting don’t expect to be given a share. So when Nelson Chamisa gets a Mercedes Benz, we should not frown because he is being rewarded for being there in the thick of things.

We are the change that we wish to see. If you feel that your destiny is to be a successful business man, this is the time to hustle your way into business. No one will invite you to come and partake of the national cake; you have to fight your way to it.

To those who care to listen, history is there for wisdom but the future is untapped. Our behaviour today reflects what we will be in future!