When Robert Mugabe opened Parliament last month, he was jeered and heckled by the MDC’s Members of Parliament. Some thought this was a positive sign – an act of defiance on the part of a long-suffering opposition party. A few people, however, thought the MDC was stooping too low in a childish act of name calling.

The exchange was shown once on national television before the state broadcaster yanked that part of the footage. But CNN got a copy of it, and the clip has since been posted online. In our email newsletter yesterday, we sent people the link to the footage, and asked them for their feedback.

So far, the responses have all been positive, for example:

There is nothing wrong with that kind of behaviour. Mugabe after stealing the vote several times, beating and murdering his own people, how can he expect people to respect him. People have been oppressed for very long and that is the only platform they had to express sentiments from their constituencies.

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Fantastic. They reflected the exact sentiment of the people they represent. That is their mandate is it not?

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Jeering and heckling in Parliament is the stuff of lively democratic debate the world over and a test of the temerity, wit and strength of the representatives. And puhleese, they have the arrogance to puff up and bluster about the heckling whilst our equally important honorable Members of Parliament are being hauled off and clapped in irons and being subjected to the degradation of our ever so proud government’s filthy prison cells. Pride comes before the fall. The critics of the heckling are also past masters of equally derrogatory behaviour in Parliament – they must now step up and get ready for some of their own medicine and prove their worthiness to the people of Zimbabwe – or are they all a bunch of wimps?

Watch the footage here or here and email info [at] kubatana [dot] org [dot] zw to let us know what you think.

I am happy I cried
A man needs tears
Without tears, he is incomplete
~ From When a man cries, Siphiwo Mahala

Ezra Chitando, Professor of Religious Studies at the University of Zimbabwe, is looking for Zimbabewan male leaders who can cry. He was speaking at a discussion on leadership and masculinities in Shimmer Chinodya’s Strife, published by Weaver Press. Chitando made a plea for leaders who can look at the desperation facing Zimbabweans today – the poverty, the queues, the hunger and collapsed health care system – and feel compassion.

Where the male characters of Strife fall short, argued Chitando, so might one observe other male leaders in society falling short. “Zimbabwe’s collective failure of leadership is perhaps an outworking of exhausted patriarchy,” he said. “Men have not been effective leaders – of families, extended families or of nations.”

Read and listen to more of the discussion with Chitando and lawyer Nokuthula Moyo here

I am worried. I am worried that, caught up in the throes of the fight for power sharing, we will compromise the principle of justice and reparations. I am worried that we will turn the real deaths, torture and dismemberment of real people into mere statistics to be read out on Heroes Day for years to come. I am worried that the real stories of real 74 year old men in Gokwe whose limbs have been broken, by design, for daring to father children who grew up to be opposition activists, will disappear; that the stories of real grandmothers who have succumbed to injuries from real beating by real hordes of real youths sent by a real political machinery to spread fear and rob people of their dignity will be but a distant memory.

I am worried that we will achieve peace but not justice. I am worried that weary of all this crap, we are now preparing to favour expediency over conviction. I look at the Simon Wiesental Centre that has given some measure of justice to the Jewish people. I look at the truth and reconciliation commission of South Africa that has given some measure of closure to the people of South Africa and then I look at the struggle for “‘power sharing” in Zimbabwe and I worry.

How can you share power with the people who, by design, not in a civil war, but by cold, calculated planning terrorised an entire nation just because they lost an election? What manner of pragmatism is this that achieves results for an elite and leaves gaping wounds seared into the memories of thousands upon thousands of Zimbabwean citizens whose sole crime was to exercise their right to choose? Have the chosen ones taken this very real choice with very real consequences in vain?

Justice where art thou? Conviction, have you fled our hearts as we savour the prospect of wood paneled offices? Shall we pay for this later and start the cycle all over again? Who, in “this moment of controversy” shall remain true to what we stand for?

“Truth above power, nation above government!”

Our little chalk board outside the office door has a message scribbled on it that says; if you could change one thing, what would it be? We often receive many visitors, some of whom simply want to engage our humble but free services to ask for all kinds of information ranging from where they can find such and such an organization, to how far with the talks? Fortunately our front-desk man always somehow manages to stifle the temptation to say: this ain’t the effing Salvation Army!

Today this pleasant gentleman waltzed in and the first thing he asked me was what I would change if I could. I said well, that question is for anyone who walks in here, including himself. When I threw back the question to him he said simply, Mugabe. That one change, he explained, would result in an unimaginable ripple effect that will see a stream of other important changes take place to make this country a better place.

Frankly, I hadn’t thought of it that way. I mean, I had sort of perceived that question to somehow elicit a response that is more personal, like what one would change about oneself in terms of say, physical appearance or character. But now that I think of it, he has a point.

On my way to work yesterday I had to maneuver and take the longest route round because I had overlooked the fact that Parliament was being reconvened and a lot of the city’s roads would be cordoned off. I couldn’t help feeling that sense of dread that creeps up on me whenever I encounter the self-important goons in the security service with their polished shoes, neat uniforms and empty stomachs. They just cease to think properly whenever Uncle Bob is playing in the area. I mean, what’s the logic behind sealing off all the backstreets behind Parliament building even to pedestrians, and dictating that they may not walk across here but can do so there? What the hell do they honestly think we can possibly do to that old man (if at all you can see him)? There is no history of suicide bombings here and lets face it, some people just aren’t worth dying for.

If I could change these guys, I’d make them a little more sensible and less condescending. It would be nice to wipe those complacent, smug expressions off their faces.

And what about those clowns masquerading as political leaders with our best interests at heart? Apparently that’s why they spent three weeks at the circus in Pretoria, carefully deliberating our future. Yesterday they are at it again in a less elaborate venue called Parliament. Radio VOP has just reported that there was drama as women’s leagues from the main parties clashed outside Parliament. Apparently they engaged in a battle of the vocal chords whereby the MDC women prevailed by chanting “chinja” (change) and “you are now the opposition” at the top of their voices allegedly shocking their contenders into silence.   When will they realize that they shouldn’t fight each other but rather direct their attention to that one man? If I could wave a magic wand, would I not change their thought processes or better yet, make them all disappear and save us all from their nauseating shenanigans?

And how about hypocrites and opportunity-snatchers that shy away from the fields they are experts in, like rocket science, and choose rather to enlighten us all to the hidden schemes and neo-colonial tendencies of the West. Like rapists, I despise hypocrites. They are anything between a cockroach and that stuff that accumulates at the corner of your mouth when you are extremely thirsty.

I’d probably change them too, if I could.

As a matter of fact, I’d like to change a lot of things, wouldn’t you?  But as our friendly visitor suggested, let’s start with that one stubborn man. Change him, and you’ve changed everyone and everything else in Zimbabwe.

I am one of those who aren’t blessed with the greatest of gnashers. Apparently my lower jaw is just too small to accommodate all the teeth I’m supposed to have in this lifetime. So in my adulthood I’ve had to have some ‘minor surgery’ on one of my wisdom teeth. The procedure was poorly done and as a result I got a major infection (pus and all) that traumatised me ever since. At that time I was told I needed more ‘minor surgery’ done on both my lower wisdom teeth that are stuck under my gum and failing to come out causing such harrowing pain. Not removing them would mean a life of grinding jaws from my early 30s onwards. I am only 24 and last Friday I had one of my very healthy wisdom teeth taken out.

I was contemplating the possibility of the procedure going wrong and having another infection. Add to that, the dentist was just too damn expensive, what a rip-off! For consultation alone, I was to fork out Z$1 700 (10 trillion and seven hundred thousand dollars in the old currency), but that is only if I was paying cash. Any other form of payment like cheque or bank transfer meant that I’d have to pay double. Since there was no way I could get 10 trillion out of the bank I had to pay double through bank cheque.

The minor surgery was to cost me Z$38 000 (380 trillion old currency). Alternatively, I could simply pay USD267, the nosy nurse said. My backside. The exchange rate would more than double the required Zim dollar equivalent! My only consolation was that the dentist came highly recommended and is one of the few remaining ENT (ear, nose and throat) experts in the country. I’d be damned if I let another quack touch my teeth.

So you can imagine I wasn’t in the best of moods as I made my way to the dentist until I met Joyce. As I trudged down 4th Street, I noticed the figure of a young woman a few yards ahead. At first she appeared to be losing her balance, falling slowly and ending up slumped next to a dirty trash. She was passed unnoticed by at least three people. When I caught up with her she was sobbing quite loudly and I was tempted to just also pass her because among other things, I was late for my dreaded appointment. However something inside me just wouldn’t let me leave her. I crouched next to her to ask what was wrong and to see if there was any way I could help.

Her sobbing transformed into downright mourning as she started an incoherent barrage of what was going on with her. She was just too damn tired of this life, she had walked all the way from Greendale where she stays with a sister; a single mother and they were struggling to make ends meet. She was exhausted and her legs were swelling and running out of strength. Above all, she hadn’t eaten a thing and she happened to be HIV positive and needed to take some medication. Her name was Joyce and she was 20 years old. While she continued her story, my eyes travelled along her skinny frame. Her short hair was strangely curly, her bony little hands were shaking slightly, and she was either suffering from kwashiorkor or simply pregnant. She also seemed too small for her age.

My first instinct was to think here was another itinerant just trying to swindle me out of my money with some pathetic little story. Instinctively I took out a hundred-dollar note and pressed it into her hands. Whatever her story was, I really needed to get a move on and she did look like she could do with a banana or two. Seeing there was nothing more I could do for her, I stood to leave and then she weakly tugged at my trouser leg. I had to bend really low to hear her. She thanked me and was glad that now she could afford more maize for her small business. She then asked me, “Why does God punish me by keeping me alive?” She had been on her way to Mbare, on foot, where she intended to buy some maize as evidenced by the empty rucksack she carried. I doubted she could carry 2kgs of maize. She could hardly carry her own weight.

We were beginning to gather a small audience. A curious sight we must have looked. Surprisingly, the audience remained just that, curious but not enough to actually want to help. After a while, two ladies stopped and I explained to them what had happened. One whipped out her posh cell phone and asked Joyce for a number of a relative or friend she could phone so that they could come and collect her.

Meanwhile, two police officers arrived at the scene and set up some sort of roadblock just a few meters away. I walked up to the female officer and explained what had happened. She listened intently and when I finished, she shrugged, smiled and told me I could never finish all the troubles of this world and I ought to watch out for lazy swindlers out to make a quick buck. With a slight wave of her hand she dismissed me saying that they would look into it. I felt a little better leaving her now that the police would take care of her. As I walked down the road, I kept turning back occasionally and not once did the officers make any move towards Joyce. Her lone figure next to the trash can get smaller and smaller until I could not see her anymore.

As the dentist pierced the insides of my gum with an anaesthetic laden needle I stared into the blinding light realising that the Z$100 note wouldn’t make any marked difference in her life. Again, only God knew how many other pedestrians just passed by and left her slumped there because they simply had nothing to offer her except pity. Others would simply be indifferent because after all, we all have problems.

Joyce, like everyone else has a right to a standard of living adequate for her health and well being, including food, clothing, medical care and social service. But if a person like herself develops bad molars, would she be able to fork out 380 trillion just to have one of them extracted? When she can hardly feed herself who has the duty to ensure that her right to access proper nutrition and medical healthcare is met? People like Joyce simply wither away and die silently. She is one of the Tarisais Mr. Magaisa talks about. Even by her dire standards, things have gotten worse recently.

As the dentist held my healthy molar up in the air it seemed to rebuke me in all its glory. There are people with far worse problems in this country and if you can have your molars fixed for 380 trillion, you are one of the privileged few.

I wondered what became of Joyce. I wondered how often we stop to think how lucky we are compared to others worse off than ourselves, and actually thank God for it rather than complain.

Joyce has been one of those encounters in life that keeps knocking at the back of my conscience. The kind that makes you keep asking yourself, could I have done more? What if it was me and all those people were ignoring me at the time I needed help the most? Life is not all that exciting in Zimbabwe nowadays for we have been reduced to considering ourselves extremely lucky each time we manage to salvage something to fill our stomachs or bump into headache tablets at the pharmacy and those are supposed to be such basic things.

But Joyce displayed a certain characteristic inherent in many a Zimbabwean – determination. Despite her dire circumstances, all she wanted to do was walk all the way to Mbare and buy maize for her small business, and lead a normal life.

Between 14-15 August, the Women’s Trust held a post-election review conference with the theme “Celebrating women’s leadership: Mapping our future.” Over 350 women and several men congregated at the Celebration Centre to share experiences and challenges from the Women Can Do It campaign. Another objective of the gathering was to develop a national strategy for women’s overall involvement in national structures of governance and in the view of ongoing talks, establish a united position concerning women’s expectations and what they would like to see in a new Zimbabwe. The post-election review also focused on the process of lessons learnt and celebrated this first ever successful campaign to empower women in national political processes.

Here are a few of the challenges faced by women candidates:

- Male candidates used political platforms to de-campaign women sometimes using derogatory remarks such as women who delve into politics have failed as wives.

- Lukewarm political party promotion and support of their women candidates. Often constituencies and wards were dictated for them and these were sometimes either the most inaccessible or the opposition stronghold they would obviously not win.

- Women found themselves pitted against opponents who had more financial resources – an aspect that greatly reduced their chances of success. Sometimes they could not afford to hire campaign vehicles or buy beasts with which to feed people at rallies.

- Women vigorously campaigned against other women from their opposition, an aspect that defeated the initial endeavour to empower women in politics, whatever their political dispensation.

- Partisan voter registration and education.

- Limited media exposure and difficulties in mobilizing especially in regard to enabling grassroots women to stand for office.

An overall view shows that violence and lack of resources remain the biggest hurdle women candidates faced.

The Women Can Do It campaign played a crucial but limited role in resource and material mobilization by providing fuel and campaign regalia among other things. The campaign also actively trained all parties’ candidates in public speaking, communication and leadership skills. It also campaigned vigorously at the national level for the recognition of women participants, an aspect that bolstered a lot of women to be emboldened enough to stand for office.

The resultant 14% representation of women in parliament can be directly attributed to the Women Can Do It campaign. As the representative from the MDC-T Women’s Assembly, Evelyn Masaiti put it, the campaign was an eye opener for a lot of women.

The conference challenged women who made it into office to represent the homeless, faceless ordinary citizen on the streets of Zimbabwe and not see this as an opportunity to amass wealth.

However while the few successful candidates indeed had something to celebrate, the majority of ordinary Zimbabwean women have nothing to celebrate. The violence surrounding the elections is still fresh in their minds and the ongoing talks keep hitting a brick wall making the future less and less certain.

A challenge went to the Minister of Women’s Affairs, Gender and Community Development, Hon. Oppah Muchinguri to expand dialogue on the issue of rape and violations of women’s bodies that characterized the elections. There was general consensus that little or nothing is being done to bring justice for victims of this and other kinds of violence.