You can cage the singer, but not the song.
- Harry Belafonte

Visit Kubatana’s aggregated information on the unjust arrest of civic and social activists under charges of treason in Zimbabwe.

Pride Nleya* is the wife of one of the activists detained with Munyaradzi Gwisai. They are currently awaiting a bail hearing on Wednesday 16 March.

How has his detention affected you?
Since we’ve been married we have never been apart for such a long period of time. Even when he was away for work, we would call each other everyday and communicate on Skype and email. With him being in remand, when I first heard I was shocked. I panicked because I didn’t really know what was going to happen. I took comfort in the number of people who had also been arrested with him, thinking that at least if there are so many, maybe nothing will happen. Initially when they were taken in and the State said it would take seven people to court, I panicked thinking of the Jestina Mukoko case. You know, you feel helpless because you don’t who to approach or where to go for help. All you can do is wait at Central police where no one tells anything. At the end of the day you don’t really feel safe.

If we didn’t have a child I think I would have taken it differently, but with a child, especially them being so close – they are like best friends, they do everything together. And she is used to her father calling even late at night to talk to her when he is away. Now we can’t communicate, and I can’t tell her her father is in prison for something that I’m not even sure of. With such a high charge, she can’t really comprehend what is going on. I know it would knock her hard if she found out. I’ve only just now gotten used to the idea that he’s in prison and it might take a while for him to get out, but looking at our daughter, I wonder if it’s ever going to be alright, and I’m not sure what to do, if I should tell her. This is one of the biggest challenges of our marriage. Not being in control, and not being able to help him the way I would want.  It’s one of those things I can’t get my mind around.

What do you miss most about him?
Now that he’s in there, and I can only see him with a screen between us it’s like there’s a big, big, big wall between us and I can’t say something of the small nothings that we used to say to each other. There is no one to share that with. It’s just his presence, knowing that he’s there at home that I really miss. Just knowing that he’ll be back at home.

Has this situation changed the way you feel about his work?
No, if anything I think it has changed my perceptions as a citizen of Zimbabwe. At one point I thought I would quit my job and find another where I would have a platform to challenge the government. To me I don’t see anything wrong with what they were doing. They were having a meeting. The only charge I expected from the police was maybe public disorder but for them to say it’s treason? For the first four days of his incarceration I wasn’t even allowed to see him.

I used to be so scared because I knew the kind of environment that we live in; things like this were always going to happen. But you get used to this kind of thing and when it’s someone else it’s not the same as when it’s someone close to you. When you feel that there is so much injustice and you feel useless, hopeless and you can’t do anything. That’s what eats me up, that I don’t have a voice, even if I shout scream pull my hair out no one will listen. But one day I will find a way.

What is the first thing that you will say to your husband when he is released?
I’m not too sure. Maybe that I love him, or that I missed him. It’s like you’re in an emotional whirlpool, sometimes you are strong the next moment you realise you are not in control, and then you feel that you are not so strong. It’s really difficult for me to say; maybe I’ll just cry when I look at him, I’m not too sure.

* Not her real name

I used to be of the opinion that if the father of a woman’s child or children was unwilling to support them financially, then the self-respecting woman should simply provide for them herself.  Why would she have to convince a man to do the responsible thing?  Why would she even subject herself to the rigmarole of the judicial system for a paltry maintenance settlement?  If the fellow didn’t feel obliged in any way to look after his child (children), I believed it best for the  woman to just get on with it herself.  With the needs of children being so immediate, I thought any mother would do better writing-off the useless ‘baby-daddy’ and using their precious time to meet their children’s needs to the best of her ability.

My opinion in this regard has changed significantly.

I know of a woman who has been married for eight years.  The couple have three children.  This woman is better qualified than her husband and as a result, earns more than he does.  However, this was not always the case.  Almost from the day that she received her letter of appointment to a more senior position, her husband just stopped contributing to the home.  Naturally, she began to and continues to take care of the children’s upkeep and household expenses all on her own.  Meanwhile, her fellow’s salary is his and his alone, to spend on himself as he wishes.  This woman has never really confronted her husband about the situation.  She probably feels that as long as she can still manage single-handedly to make things work, why rock the boat?

Hearing of this woman’s situation made something click in me and now I am sick of it! There are far too many males beating their hairy chests (a la gorillas) about being men, all the while taking advantage of one or several women.  It’s despicable that one can claim manhood whilst he doesn’t have a clue what his child eats, wears, how he/she lives.

This is an appeal to every mother; whether CEO of a blue chip or everyday Jane in the street; whether you are married to, separated or divorced from the father of your offspring.  His DNA contributed to bringing your child (or children) to this earth and his duty towards the child’s life did not end on that night (or day).  Children need and do best when they have both mother and father.  So whatever your marital status, ‘baby-daddy’ must play his part and provide physically, emotionally and spiritually to his child’s life.

If the so-called ‘father’ is not living up to his responsibilities, then it becomes the mother’s responsibility to hold the bastard accountable.  Nag him, harass him, drag him to court – do whatever it takes for the sake of your child.  Yes, as women we can and usually do make things happen on our own, without a man.  But we must keep in mind that it’s not only about us and what our pride will or will not allow us to do.  Children also need their father’s love, time, salaries or maintenance payments so that they may not just exist but live fully.

The bail hearing which was expected today in the case of Munyaradzi Gwisai from the International Socialist Organisation (Zimbabwe) and the five others who have been charged with treason has been postponed to Wednesday 16 March.

This means the six will spend yet another weekend in police custody. It is Gwisai’s 42nd birthday on Saturday, but he won’t be spending it with his family. Wednesday will mark 25 nights in custody for these detainees.

Shantha Bloemen is Munyaradzi Gwisai’s partner. Munyaradzi Gwisai is the general co-ordinator of the International Socialist Organisation. In February he and 45 others were arrested after meeting to discuss the events in Egypt and Tunisia. They are being charged with treason. 39 of them were released, however Gwisai and five others are still remanded in police custody.

How did you feel when you found out Munya was arrested?
I was in New York where I had been assigned to work for a month and it was my second weekend. I was with my son on a train out to see my old roommate, and an ISO member called me. It took me a minute before I understood that they weren’t looking for Munya, and that he had been arrested. I was in shock. As soon as I got to my friend’s house I was both emotional and went into ‘what do I do to try and help’ especially feeling so far away. I got on email and blasted what I knew to as many people as I could. At that stage it wasn’t clear about the numbers and there was confusion.

What was your reaction to the charge of treason?
I was in New York, but I did get to speak to Munya briefly when they were on their way to court. The first time and they were sent back. At this point we didn’t know what the charges were. We thought it would be subversion and he was certain that they would be out in a few days. I felt like I was in my own little war room, working to get the story out, and then I got on a flight on Friday night, and by then we knew it was treason. It was incredible. It was a surreal experience, and we had a long flight back, which was obviously painful because you’re sitting there feeling frustrated. I was with our son, and of course he knows because it’s impossible not to discuss it. It was difficult having to contain my emotions, and also try and guard what I said so not to confuse him further or stress him out further. Every time I speak to him he says ‘when is Baba coming home?’ and he’s very angry. It’s terrible, you don’t want your kids to be afraid of the police, you don’t want them to be afraid of the state authorities, but you don’t want them to think that their dad’s done anything wrong. It’s very hard to explain bad governance and democracy and other lofty issues to a four and a half year old.

What has been the most difficult part of this situation for you?
In some ways this has been life changing for me personally. It’s now in its third week and I feel I’ve coped by keeping busy and trying to do as much practical stuff as I can, whether it be getting attention or trying to help the families of those that were detained, or raising money for the bail. But it’s also been an insight into what going on in Zimbabwe. I lived here in 2004 but sadly it feels like there is so much fear and paranoia and you don’t know what’s real and what’s not real. That feels much more entrenched than when I lived here. I feel like there’s a growing economic divide, and the northern suburbs of Harare are beautiful and filled with supermarkets that are filled with people who have fancy cars so I’m trying to make sense of it all. I’ve come regularly over the past few years, but this time it’s been such an intense experience I don’t know yet how to make sense of everything that’s going on.

What do you miss most about him?
Being able to talk to him. Munya and I are both very independent people, but we have a very strong commitment to each other, and we talk with each other. He’s a much calmer person than I am. It’s funny, as I’ve been getting anxious in the last few days and most probably losing my cool with people I shouldn’t, he’s the one who, when I saw him briefly yesterday, was like ‘stay calm, stay calm’. I was like ‘you know what I don’t know if I can do that, and it’s not in my nature like it is in yours’, but I keep on thinking he would want me to try not to lose my cool. I suppose now it’s thinking how he will also be changed by this experience. I just met some of those released and hearing bits and pieces of their story, I know they had a very distressing time.

Have you cried?
Oh yes a lot. Shouted, cried … the whole gamut. I’ve been calmer since I got access to see him, even though its from behind a thick metal grille, but that’s definitely helped to keep me focused on the fact that he’s there and he’s alive and he’s coming back. My emotions have shifted from being extremely angry to being upset, and frustrated wondering what else haven’t I done that could be useful.

In some ways I feel more defiant myself now. I feel that we should stop letting ourselves be intimidated. Now it’s how do we use that energy and that feeling constructively to do practical concrete things that help people who are even more at risk than Munya and I, who are living in the poorest parts of the city who are threatened, and intimidated everyday. That’s the biggest challenge going forward. How do we show solidarity in a practical way with those people?

Because if we don’t and if everyone gives up then where will we be?

*Masimba Gorejena is one of the recently released detainees arrested for attending a meeting organised by the International Socialist Organisation.

What were you thinking when you were arrested?
I came to the conclusion that the government is in a state of panic. [With] the events that are taking place in North Africa, they wouldn’t want such a situation here in Zimbabwe.

Were you prepared to be arrested?
It’s not the first time I’ve been arrested, but honestly speaking I was not prepared to be detained at this particular juncture. I knew the implications of such activities here in Zimbabwe. I knew that ZANU PF is in a state of panic, recollecting previous activities, the demonstrations in February which were stage managed just to send a message that ‘if you dare try to do this, the state will deal with your decisively’. I knew where such activities would take me. But I was not ready. I was not prepared for now. But we had to face reality because we needed to discuss such issues from an intellectual point of view and then map a way forward.

What were the conditions like in remand?
They were quite bad. Imagine a situation where about 400 inmates are forced to stay together in a closed space, there is a higher probability of diseases spreading from one person to another and also the place is infested with lice.  The one thing I liked was that some of the treatment we got from the security people was sympathetic.

Earlier you mentioned that among those of you who were arrested you formed a bond. Can you tell me more about and how that helped you through you detention?
I met some of the detainees for the first time at the meeting, and then going through such a situation together, naturally a bond is formed, a bond of solidarity. Let’s say one is badly affected by the situation, and someone else is not so badly affected, they will help and encourage each other. By the second week we were much more united, we could now discuss our social lives, our families and so forth. We spent a lot of time together getting to know one another.

What was your reaction to the surprise charge of treason?
I was very surprised to hear the prosecutor announcing that we were facing treason charges. At the police station (when we were arrested), we were made to understand that we were facing a charge of subverting a constitutional government and the state was struggling, through the police, to justify that charge on us. We had thought they would drop that charge and probably use POSA: unlawful gathering because there was no substantial evidence. On the first day when we going to court we first had to go to the Attorney General, who told the police that they lacked evidence to support the charge of subversion. We were convinced that they would drop that charge and use a lesser one. In court when we heard the prosecutor give the charge of treason we were shocked. Some of the detainees actually [lost control of themselves] on our way back to remand. The sentence associated with treason, a whole life in prison or death, it broke a lot of peoples’ spirits, to think that they could no longer envision a future for themselves.

How did you feel when the judge dismissed the charges against you?
I was happy I was being released. But as a comrade who had fought for many years with some people who are still in custody I had some solidarity with them. I had thought that we would be together until the end of this thing. Politically, my conscience tells me that I need to be with them.

What was the effect of your detention on your family?
I am not formally married, but I have a young daughter. I want to thank those who donated things that went to them. The issue is more psychological than economic; they were being given some money to sustain them while I was detained. That psychological trauma of missing a person in your family, I think that played a critical role, they were affected by my absence. My daughter didn’t know I was detained. The day I left we told her I was going to Mutare, so up until Monday, she thought I was still in Mutare.

In the long term has this detention strengthened your resolve?
This does not change anything in terms of my determination for the struggle. Rather I consider it a college. This is the first time I’ve been detained for such a long period of time, I consider it a lesson, that sometimes the state can be very brutal to you if you are a threat to them. Next time we need to change tactics. We don’t need to always be in jail, there are good and bad tactics with repercussions. But we can’t just leave it like it is now.

*not his real name