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The last days of Zimbabwe
Aoife
Kavanagh, Le Monde Diplomatique (France)
December 04, 2007
http://mondediplo.com/2007/12/06zimbabwe
Some 40 golfers braved
the midday heat to battle for the big prize on a parched nine-hole
golf course that had seen better days. The winner of the weekend
competition at the Hornung Sports Club in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe's second
city, would walk away with 25 litres of unleaded petrol. "Last
weekend, first prize was a box of vegetables," a wiry veteran
explained as he shaped up to tee off. "Veggies are welcome,
but the petrol prize is something special, it's like gold dust these
days." In Zimbabwe, a white elite who once lived a charmed
existence can barely manage to fill their fuel tanks. And years
of economic and political mismanagement threaten the lives of the
majority black population. Four out of every five black Zimbabweans
live below the poverty line. Every wage earner is feeding almost
20 people from a monthly salary. Just over a decade ago the life
expectancy of the average Zimbabwean woman was 66. Today it is 33.
The central bank's foreign exchange reserves have been destroyed;
supermarket shelves are bare.
When President Robert
Mugabe came to power in 1980 the country was thriving. Its health
and education services were the envy of the region and, thanks to
a first-class infrastructure and a healthy economy, the future looked
bright. It doesn't look like that now. Last Friday the ritual queuing
began at first light in the centre of the capital, Harare. As dawn
broke, two separate lines intertwined on the corner of Lake Takawira
Street. The longest was motivated by a rumour that circulated around
the city overnight that there was bread in town. Up and down the
line people were on mobile phones, texting and calling friends to
give them the latest information. Yet many people walked away empty-handed.
When bread and flour do come on the market, they are often bought
up in bulk and sold on at inflated prices on the black market, which
is the real market.
It's not just bread.
Those who have the purchasing power buy what they can maize, cooking
oil or beans often at government-subsidised prices. Instead of supplying
the domestic market, they export the goods to neighbouring Mozambique
or Botswana to earn precious foreign currency, although the poorest
in Zimbabwe can barely afford one meal a day. "If I don't get
the bread today, who knows, maybe I won't be able to afford it tomorrow,"
a woman in the bread queue told me. She was probably right. Within
a month inflation, which already stood at 7,900%, the highest in
the world, was widely reported to have jumped to 14,000% (1). For
those lucky enough to have a job unemployment is about 80% inflation
rates destroy their wages. Teachers are still being paid around
12m Zimbabwean dollars a month, about the cost of six litres of
cooking oil.
The second queue was
for the Post Office Savings Bank where scores lined up to withdraw
money. The value of the Zim dollar (2) has fallen so sharply that
the government can't print enough notes to keep up with demand.
On a bad day, by the time the last in line reaches the cash dispenser
the currency will once again have fallen in value. The government
further tightened the screw on the availability of hard cash by
halving the daily limit one person can withdraw from an ATM. The
queues on Takawira Street will lengthen. The impact of this economic
meltdown is much more serious than having to birdie the ninth to
fill a fuel tank or being forced to stand in line for cash. Four
million citizens will need food donations to make it through the
next four months. Zimbabwe gets much of its electricity from South
Africa but supply is at best sporadic a direct effect of the fact
that Mugabe's government can't pay its electricity bills. All over
the country, dams are drying up and people are digging their own
wells or making do with foul water supplies.
The downward spiral of
the economy even affects the dead. In rural areas people can no
longer afford to buy coffins for their loved ones. Neither can they
afford to register their deaths. Nobody knows exactly how many people
are dying in Zimbabwe from hunger or disease. In Bulawayo, the state-owned
newspaper, the Chronicle, regularly published the number of deaths
from starvation until the government banned that. Contaminated water,
poor nutrition and a HIV/Aids rate of 15% would put heavy demands
on any health service. But in Zimbabwe it is failing people when
they need it most. Public hospitals are almost at a halt; if a patient
needs a simple procedure, like a couple of stitches or an injection,
the instruments or antiseptic might not be available. Two weeks
ago, three of the main hospitals were without electricity for more
than four days. Fires burned outside the kitchen doors so staff
could cook to feed patients. Half of all medical posts are now vacant
as doctors leave for London, Dublin or Sydney.
Dr Andrew Fairbairn,
a white Zimbabwean, whose family has been here for two generations,
is one of the few who haven't left. He runs a private clinic on
the outskirts of Harare. Every week he watches the gradual decay
of the health system. "Medical care is almost not available
to people who can't afford it, so that someone needing surgery or
chronic medication cannot get it." He was making plans to travel
to Baghdad for two months as a doctor-for-hire to earn foreign currency
before coming home. He is struggling to keep his clinic going because
of the severe drugs shortages and the spiralling cost of treatment.
"It's shocking to see some elderly people coming in here, wasting
away, losing weight because they can barely afford to buy food,"
he said. "Many people are cutting their medication in half,
or not taking it at all. They come to me and ask me which of their
medicines they can do without because they can't pay for them."
The shortage of medicines
has placed pharmacists in the frontline of the battle to treat a
population in desperate need of care. Restricted by price or unavailability,
pharmacists occasionally stock medicines not registered by the Zimbabwean
authorities. Friends of Fairbairn have been arrested and thrown
in jail for days for attempting to supply their customers with drugs
they need. "A couple of pharmacies have been closed down. It's
common for them to be arrested on a Friday so that they squirm in
an overcrowded cell all weekend without access to a lawyer,"
he said. Fairbairn claimed he was determined to stay in Zimbabwe
no matter how much conditions deteriorate. "I feel an obligation
to stay until things come right again." And when might that
be? "I am thinking something might change after next year's
elections, but then I am a committed optimist."
Robert Gabriel Mugabe
believes he knows the outcome of the presidential elections next
March; he will win. In almost three decades in power, he has efficiently
quelled dissent and outmanoeuvred all opponents. He has been consistent
in ensuring his ruling party, Zanu PF, always succeeds at the ballot
box. And he uses every means: intimidation, torture, forced exile.
Infiltration of communities and of the opposition, by his Central
Intelligence Office (CIO), help him stay in total control. But as
the economy of Zimbabwe continues to disintegrate, his most effective
tool is the manipulation of food for political ends. Through the
state-controlled Grain Marketing Board, the government holds the
sole right to import and distribute maize, the staple of millions
of Zimbabweans. Throughout the country, as elections loom, the message
is clear: support the ruling party and you will not starve.
Jacob switched on the
battered radio and his small, dilapidated shack was flooded with
pounding hip-hop. His baby daughter lying on the couch woke with
a start as our small group pulled a little closer together. "Just
so they will not hear us talking," Jacob said, explaining that
CIO operations are common in the area. "Now you can go ahead
and ask your questions." His home is in Tafara, a huge township
about 20km west of Harare. Jacob is a monitor with the Zimbabwean
Peace Project (ZPP), a human rights NGO which tracks political violence
and intimidation. On the couch beside him was Saveri Mafunga, 32,
a victim of Mugabe's efforts to shore up support ahead of the 2008
elections. He was refused subsidised food because he does not support
Zanu PF.
Saveri's voice shook
a little. He was nervous. He knew it was dangerous to talk to journalists
or human rights groups. It is officially illegal to criticise the
government. Unofficially, he could be beaten or tortured for doing
so. One side of his face was lit by the sun streaming through the
window and he looked gaunt and tired as he said he was sick with
worry that he wouldn't be able to feed his wife and baby daughter.
Two weeks before, he went to a government food distribution point
near his home. Officials were handing out maize, beans and cooking
oil at subsidised prices, all that most people can afford now. He
checked if his name was on the register and was relieved to see
it was. For months he had hustled for part-time work, but there
wasn't nearly enough to keep up with runaway prices.
"When I got to the
top of the queue I was asked to show my Zanu PF card," he explained.
"I do not have one and they told me that even though my name
was on the list, that I was entitled to food, there would be nothing
for me." The government official told him that there was no
record his attendance at Zanu PF meetings and if he wanted food,
he should get it from Morgan Tsvangirai, the leader of the main
opposition party in Zimbabwe. "I am also asked for a Zanu party
card when I look for work and often there is no work without it,"
he said. "I don't know what we are going to do now to survive.
Anything I have, I get from friends and from good neighbours."
This has been declared a drought year in Zimbabwe and now is the
beginning of the hungry season. Human rights organisations say the
government is using food as a political tool against millions of
people who are now at their most vulnerable. The ZPP has recorded
hundreds of people being refused subsidised food because they don't
support Zanu PF. Their project director, Jestina Mukoko, fears this
tactic will have the desired effect at the ballot box: "People
might be forced to vote with their stomachs, simply because they
want to guarantee their food. For many people it is a matter of
survival."
The project has evidence
of discrimination against those too young to vote. Some households,
where both parents are dead and the eldest child is caring for younger
siblings, are being denied food if the parents were suspected or
known to have supported the opposition. "Children are having
to suffer for the 'sins' of their parents," Jestina claimed.
"To want to see somebody go hungry when food is available is
inhuman. I think it is within the powers of the authorities to sort
it out." The government has free rein to manipulate its own
subsidised food and has also attempted to interfere in the distribution
of international food donations. Between now and next March, the
UN World Food Programme will feed 3 million in Zimbabwe. When WFP
officials first negotiated the distribution of donor food, there
was a stand-off with the government. The ruling party wanted community
chiefs - most of them loyal to Mugabe - to decide where the food
would go.
The WFP refused to go
along with this but has occasionally been forced to suspend distribution
because politicians have, to quote a WFP spokesman, "tried
to make their presence felt" at distribution points. "We
have a very rigorous and thorough process in place for handing out
food, from registration all the way through to distribution. The
beneficiaries get food strictly on the basis of need," the
spokesman said. Justina Mukoko believes there is a low level of
manipulation of international donations: "Lists are compiled
in the community and I think it takes the international organisations
some time to realise that people are being left out. I think it
would be better if we were killing each other in the streets every
night," the owner of a small hotel in Bulawayo told me as we
shared a beer on my last evening in the country. "Then perhaps
the world would have to do something." That day he had been
forced to serve notice to half his staff and feared he would soon
have to leave the country.
Instead, Zimbabweans
suffer a slow strangulation of their society. Intimidation by the
government is crushing them. Fear prevents most people from speaking
out or rising up. If they can, they leave. Each week, more and more
families are being ripped apart as husbands or wives, or both, leave
their children behind and make for Mozambique, South Africa or Botswana.
Most people have two hopes: that they will make it safely across
the crocodile-infested Limpopo river, which forms a natural barrier
between Zimbabwe and South Africa, and find a way to survive in
exile; or that their 83-year-old president will not live to inflict
many more years of chaos and oppression on his people.
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