The Last Straw by Lenox Lizwi Mhlanga (Published in Southern Eye www.southerneye.co.zw)
When I was offered to write a column for this paper, I was
not hard up to think of a title. The Last Straw seemed appropriate and it still
is today, and unwittingly so. To my detractors, and there are busloads of them,
it smacks of regime change mentality. Since I tend to wear my political
sentiments on my sleeve so to speak it shouldn’t surprise anyone which
political direction I tend to drift.
I am be turning half a century in age but which might
suggest that I am old fashioned, but believe me I am forward looking. At
university we used to chant the slogan forward ever, backward never! We were
your textbook revolutionaries, heavily schooled in Che Guevara, Patrice Lumumba
and Thomas Sankara, certainly not Mao. It did not take long for us to realise
that that the revolution, had indeed lost its way.
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| Student demonstrations |
The student demos of the mid 80’s were against corruption
and conspicuous consumption. We felt we had a duty to speak for our parents in
Tsholotsho, Muzarabani, Gokwe, Matshetsheni, Dema, Gutu, Marange and many other
places. Parents who had sold bags of maize, groundnuts and cotton to send us to
university. We had to speak out for they could not see the avarice that was unfolding
in the city.
The people they had elected were doing them a great
disservice, abusing the taxes by lining their pockets and those of their
cronies. We were fed up by what we saw. Mansions springing up in the elite
suburbs just a stone’s throw away from campus, and shiny Mercedes Benz that
zipped past us while we walked to and from college in the blistering sun.
And yet throughout the countryside our parents and relatives
wallowed in poverty and they still do to this day. Made to feed on empty
political slogans each time an election loomed on the horizon yet back to
business unusual when the promises and threats had died down. It was a bitter
pill to swallow.
Initially the student demos were pro-government. We still
had faith in the system, that it would somehow correct itself. But that soon
became a pipe dream as impunity reigned supreme. The mantra of a one-party
state rang louder and soon it became apparent that the revolution was in danger
of regression.
Student politics are by nature a function of the prevailing environment.
Students, by their nature verbose in discourse and energetic in deeds. Some of
us, with the gift of the poison pen took our struggle to the manuscripts. Focus
Magazine became a platform from where in-depth analysis and the somewhat acidic
censure of the system took root.
It was no wonder it was proscribed by the university
authorities, not once but several times. Its financial sources were blocked and
distribution channels chocked. Yes, the writings of Tinoziva Bere, Moetsabi
Titus Moetsabi, Laxton Tendai Biti, Lawrence Tshuma, Trevor Ncube, Tawana Kupe,
and the cartoons of Lenox Mhlanga among others had become a threat to the
establishment.
I was reduced to pasting my caricatures on the door of my
room in New Complex One. A name more appropriate for a factory than an academic
residence. In fact they were, factories that unwittingly manufactured dissent.
Student activism had taken a turn for the worst. The state panicked, and
unleashed its machinery onto campus.
The entry of the riot police onto what we considered to be
the hallowed ground of academic freedom was a
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| Students flee campus after invation |
signal that intolerance would be
the default setting of the system from then on. The taunts the paramilitary
endured about their level of education was just a contract of the frustrations
that had been pent up over a long time. The cops took it personally and they became willing tools of
the kind of brutality that has become so synonymous with anything resembling
crowd control. The revolution was eating its own children.
That a political movement would emerge from this was just a
matter of time. Generations of student leaders had been put through the paces
on campus, sharpening skills of debate, speech, negotiation and evading tear
gas and rubber truncheons. The bitterness was palpable and the bravery
sometimes bordered on suicidal.
There was bound to be a spill-over. The student leaders
graduated and entered society at large. Still full of pent up emotions and
lofty ideals. Some became unemployable because of their ‘dangerous and
poisonous’ ideals. I was labelled rebellious at my first port of employment and
promptly transferred to a frustratingly boring backwater. I am sure there are
many who suffered the same fate.
It only served to add fuel to the fire burning inside us.
The result was more dissent in various forms, some of which resulted the
foundation of present day opposition politics. It was an outlet and an attempt
at a lasting solution to a revolution that had convoluted its founding ideals. We
have indeed come a long way, and the journey to a brighter future seems longer
still.
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