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My experience with the Militia
Jameson Gadzirai, Advocacy and Information Officer, Combined Harare Residents’ Association
April 03, 2003

View photographs of injuries sustained by the men referenced in this account

Civic politics has been for me a passion over the years; even at college I made sure that I participated in the student discourse of the day and joined social groups in order to serve the wider community there. Nothing prepared me for the risks involved in the civic world at large though, and worse on
the work that lay ahead of me on January 14 2003.

After finishing work at 1630hrs, my Chief Executive Officer; Mr. F. B. Mangodza, the Chairperson of the Membership Committee; Mr. J. Rose and myself made our way to Kuwadzana where we were to meet Richard Mudekwe, a member of the Kuwadzana Residents Association. Our meeting was to familiarise ourselves with the area and decide on where Combined Harare Residents Association, in
conjunction with the Zimbabwe Election Support Network would be having meetings with all residents conscientising them on the need to vote and providing the platform for all the contending parties to come and meet the residents before the elections.

This was nothing new for the association, as we had held similar meetings in the run up to the Municipal Elections in the City in 2002. Just the day before we had visited Mr. Madeko, the Chairperson of Mabvuku Residents Association to hear his account of their detention by the police when the Mayor came to address a meeting in their area. I remembered Mr. Madeko saying that the prison cell where they were held had a small window that was high up. The window allowed a small streak of light to come in which gave an impression of perpetual dawn. Little did I know that I would see his description first hand.

What I remember most about that day was the fear that befell us when we found ourselves surrounded by about twenty-five young men at Kuwadzana 5 shopping centre. They hand led us into a building that was still under construction and we were told to sit on the floor. One of them asked us to chant Zanu PF party slogans, and when we slackened in our chants he proceeded to whack us on the head and kicked our backs. They cut Richard's dreadlocks and harassed us, asking who had sent us to the area and why we were there in the first place.

I remember that by then Mr. Mangodza had been forced to bring his car round to the front of the building and they took him in. By this time our particulars had been whisked away and they were going through the phonebook on my mobile. They were asking about the names of the people in my phonebook and they came to Beatrice Mtetwa's number. They demanded why she was in the phonebook, but they did not accept my explanation about how she had been the contact person during the arrest and detention of the Executive Mayor and Mr. Madeko amongst others. On Mr. Mangodza's phone they found the Mayor's cell number and became incensed. They stated that this was not the Mayor's territory, and believed that we had not told the real truth.

I remember seeing them take Mr. Mangodza by the hands and feet, so that he was suspended in the air. They proceeded to whip him on the back and began to interrogate him. I was scared to hear him scream, scared to see that they did not relent. They let him free after what seemed an eternity, and then followed Mr. Rose, then Richard, then myself. I remember that we followed a similar pattern in the interrogation. None of us let out a scream until the sixth lash. Somehow the pain forced one to howl and beg for mercy. No one listened.

I remember trying to wriggle myself free but the hands that held me were strong. When they let go of me I thought that they had understood our explanations, but I saw that it was only the beginning, because I was made to stand up and the same questions were asked. I remember one man coming up with a baton and without warning hitting me on the head. I was stunned and for a while did not hear what they were asking. This made one of them even angrier, and I remember something hard and flat striking against my cheek. It must have been an open hand. I did not have the chance to see what they were doing to the others.

I remember them making me lie down, face on the floor, whilst one of them pressed his foot on the back of my ankles so that the underfoot faced upwards. I felt searing pain as the baton struck against my feet. The shoes had already been removed and I was starting to feel faint. They poured water on me and used the sjamboks (whips) to hit my back and behind.

The two hours that we spent at the place were an eternity. I felt relieved when someone shouted that the police had arrived and all except three of the men remained. When they made us stand I prayed that I would not be handcuffed. The last thing I wanted was to be handcuffed. The shock of the whole event was more pronounced when we tried to sit in the police vehicle. Our clothes were wet and dirty, and our bodies one mass of pain.

I have been comforting myself that this was a mistake. A case of us being at a place at the wrong time. I do wonder however about the number of people who have been mistakenly beaten up and arrested during the last few months. Our situation is indicative of a political system that needs to be redefined.
The torture and intimidation will go on, and with far greater calamity, unless each of us contributes to the well being of the whole country. I do not blame the men who did this, and neither do I see myself as a victim. Torture is debasing to the torturer. That is why slavery, apartheid and colonialism crumbled. One's very nature ought to scream at beating one's own kind.

If anything, my experience has taught me that civic politics needs to be recognised for what it is. Civics looks at issues at hand as they affect every individual, not one group.

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