Politics and Society
Guarding empty shells: Imprisoning national consciousness in relics of the past
The symbols and rituals of power of colonial regimes that brutalised black Zimbabweans before independence are still hallowed in the free country. Farai Mudzingwa wonders why such a scenario persists in a nation where a phrase like “Zimbabwe will never be a colony again” is an integral part of the national lexicon.
Published
8 years agoon

It is only for a moment, but what the glimpse revealed is clear: A man is on his hands and toes, in a perfect plank position, between two (noticeably young) soldiers. The man is being forced to squeeze out a set of push-ups.
Borrowdale Road is the main thoroughfare from Harare’s CBD towards the northern suburbs in general and Borrowdale in particular. The intersection where Borrowdale Road meets Josiah Tongogara Avenue is also an entry point to Zimbabwe’s State House, the official residence of the president. On this Tuesday afternoon, at 1:45pm, to be exact, I am sitting in a kombi [public commuter omnibus], heading towards Borrowdale. The kombi slows down at the State House intersection. It is when the traffic light goes green and we pull away again that I look past the conductor’s bum as he contorts himself into the packed minibus and see, in that flashing scene, the involuntary personal training.
This is not an uncommon sight for residents of the Avenues area. It is also a familiar show for patrons of the Centurion Pub & Grill on Fifth Street, which shares a boundary road with State House. State House has paranoid levels of security. High-definition cameras and signs proclaiming “No Stopping”, “No U-Turn” and “No Camera” are clearly visible. Barricades and spikes stand ready to be rolled out and shut down the thoroughfare from 6pm to 6am daily, and signs clearly notifying passers-by of this regulation. The British Foreign Office advises: “The area around State House in Harare (the president’s official residence) is patrolled by armed members of the Presidential Guard. They do not allow loitering by motorists, cyclists or pedestrians and photography is strictly prohibited. If possible, avoid this area altogether.”

Zimbabwean soldiers hold a picture of Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe sworn in for a sixth term in office in Harare, on June 29, 2008 after being declared the winner of a one-man election. Photo: ANP/AFP Alexander Joe
That last six words sum it up neatly. Most effective, though, are the eager, newly deployed Presidential Guard soldiers, who patrol the perimeter in their mustard berets and steady AK47s, readily dishing out a creative assortment of physical exercises to any civilian who does not adequately respect this hallowed location. They have a disturbing interest in the physical fitness of random civilians. A popular remark is that even the “mad” folk who roam the streets know not to ever practise their madness down this section of Borrowdale Road.
Coincidentally, this is the State House that was constructed and used by the Rhodesian regime of Ian Smith. The current president has long vacated this residence for a plush private residence further up north. It is now just an uninhabited shell used for official functions, such as the swearing in of Cabinet ministers. The aura of power inherited from the colonial government is well preserved, though. The irony was not lost by a member of Bob Marley and the Wailers’ touring party, Mick Carter, a day after Zimbabwe’s Independence celebrations. Carter remarked: “When we went to tea at the palace (State House) with these drunken soldiers and the president, it was so English and colonial: There were cucumber sandwiches and lemonade. All this was considered a bit off by the Wailers.”
The Emperor’s old clothes
If the Wailers were appalled by the adoption of the colonial State House and its high tea, then they either did not see, or reserved their comments on, the horsehair wigs worn by the judges. The wigs are a 300-year-old British tradition which, incidentally, judges in England and Wales ended in 2008. There was some resistance to the break in tradition from certain British judges – a fair amount of reverence is derived from those wigs. They are still worn in Crown criminal courts and in many other Commonwealth countries. Zimbabwe retained the wearing of the wigs and robes after independence in 1980. The wigs stayed on even after the withdrawal from the Commonwealth of Nations in 2003.

Zimbabwe’s President Robert Mugabe (C) inspects an honor guard during the official opening of the fourth session of the eight Parliament of Zimbabwe on October 6, 2016 in Harare. Photot: ANP/AFP Jekesai Njikizana
The wigs are not the only symbols of state power inherited from the Rhodesian regime. In an oft-repeated African production of Animal Farm, 36 years after independence, the current state uses the costumes and uniforms; the same judicial, legislative and executive costumes, props and stage sets left over from the colonial regime.
The opening of parliament in Zimbabwe is still a grand affair. It is the same in 2016 as it has been for the 36 years since 1980 – and before. A slow procession glides from the old Rhodesian State House, down Sam Nujoma Street before turning left into Nelson Mandela Avenue, where the same old Rhodesian parliament is situated for the same old Rhodesian guard of honour, cannon salute and gaudy pretence of power.

After they were sworn in as the two new Zimbabwean Vice Presidents, Emmerson Mnangagwa (R) and Phelekeza Mphoko (L) stand with Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe (C) outside State House, Harare, Zimbabwe, 12 December 2014. Photo: ANP/ EPA Aaron Ufumeli
Streets are shut off and cleared of traffic by stern police officers on high-powered motorbikes. At the corner of Josiah Chinamano and Sam Nujoma Avenues, a tardy diplomatic dignitary had to wave his clearance papers at the robotic police motorbikers before being allowed to slip through ahead of the procession. And when it moved by, slowly, led by the staccato clippity-clop of a mounted police guard, citizens stood and watched disinterestedly, eager to get on with their business.

Grace Mugabe, wife of Zimbawe’s President Robert Mugabe, arrives for the Fourth Session of the Eighth Parliament in Harare, Zimbabwe, 06 October 2016. Robert Mugabe is expected to lay out the government legislative agenda for 2016/17. Photo: ANP/EPA Aaron Ufumeli
The president rolled by, after the horses, in an antique open-top Rolls Royce. The First Lady had her usual gracious smile, beaming in delight. The president was slumped next to her, and as they passed, he raised a clenched fist to stifle a stubborn yawn.
“The president was slumped next to her, and as they passed, he raised a clenched fist to stifle a stubborn yawn.”
Power to the flag
Earlier this year, while the state was polishing its ceremonial swords and brushing the judges’ wigs left behind by the ancien regime, the national flag became a site of confrontation. Pastor Evan Mawarire, now in exile in the United States, rallied Zimbabweans around the flag in a social media campaign popularly known as #ThisFlag. It would be months before the outwitted government decided to dust off and emphasise a law regulating the use of the national flag. It is much easier to adopt old power symbols, uniforms and gun salutes, which carry an easily recognised force, still traumatic to many, than it is to fashion a new and coherent course for a new nation.
It is much easier to adopt old power symbols, uniforms and gun salutes, which carry an easily recognised force, still traumatic to many, than it is to fashion a new and coherent course for a new nation.
Even before Mugabe’s destiny as future leader of the independent state of Zimbabwe was sealed, Frantz Fanon was already talking about this. In his book The Wretched of the Earth, he wrote: “The bourgeois leaders of the underdeveloped countries imprison national consciousness in sterile formalism. It is only when men and women are included on a vast scale in enlightened and fruitful work, that form and body are given to that consciousness. Then the flag and the palace where sits the government, cease to be the symbols of the nation. The nation deserts these brightly lit, empty shells and takes shelter in the country, where it is given life and dynamic power.”
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