Tendai Ruben Mbofana
“But you are a product of the post-independence education system,” they remind us.
“Why do you only focus on the negatives and ignore the positive developments brought by the ZANU-PF-led government since 1980?”
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This line of reasoning—recently expressed by one individual who dismissed critics as “fundis” who have benefited from the very system they now rebuke—is not isolated.
It echoes a broader narrative that seeks to weaponize historical or cosmetic accomplishments to delegitimize legitimate grievances and accountability.
Let us, for the sake of argument, acknowledge the truth in some of these claims.
Yes, Zimbabwe made significant gains after independence.
Access to education expanded dramatically in the 1980s.
Literacy rates rose.
Healthcare infrastructure was extended to many rural communities.
For many of us, including those now demanding better governance, these early gains were life-changing.
But history, no matter how glorious, cannot be used as a shield against present-day failures.
As the Shona proverb wisely reminds us, “Matakadya kare haanyaradzi pwere”—what one ate yesterday cannot silence a hungry child today.
Yet, defenders of the regime have gone further.
They point to the resurfacing of a few roads in major cities and highways.
They cite the expansion of the Robert Gabriel Mugabe International Airport in Harare.
They boast of the new traffic interchange along the Harare-Masvingo highway.
They mention upgraded border posts and a handful of dam construction projects.
These are what they package as the new symbols of national development.
But for most Zimbabweans, these projects feel alien, far removed from their daily struggles.
A state-of-the-art airport means little to someone who cannot afford bus fare.
A gleaming flyover cannot be eaten by a hungry stomach.
A paved road offer no comfort to a mother delivering in a clinic with no power, water, or medication.
This is where Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs provides a useful framework.
According to this psychological theory, human motivation is structured in levels—from basic physiological needs (such as food, water, and shelter), to safety, love and belonging, esteem, and finally, self-actualization.
Until the most fundamental needs are met, individuals are unable to focus on higher-level aspirations.
And that is the Zimbabwean dilemma.
No matter how many infrastructure projects are unveiled, the majority of Zimbabweans still lack the most basic necessities.
Millions live in substandard housing.
Water supplies are erratic or nonexistent.
Electricity is often available for only a few hours a day—if at all.
Public healthcare is in shambles, with hospitals lacking essential drugs and equipment.
Youth unemployment hovers above 90%.
Inflation erodes the little people earn, and pensions are meaningless.
In rural areas, people walk for kilometers to find clean water or basic clinics.
In urban areas, residents are choked by uncollected garbage, pothole-riddled roads, and sewage flows.
In such a context, is it any wonder that people find it difficult—if not impossible—to appreciate so-called development?
Gratitude is not born out of slogans or ceremonies or compulsion.
It arises from a tangible improvement in one’s lived experience.
When the basic foundation of survival is missing, it becomes insulting to demand applause for infrastructure that benefits only the elite or that exists primarily for optics.
Even education itself, which many rightly cite as a post-independence success, has deteriorated sharply.
Teachers are grossly underpaid and demotivated.
Schools lack learning materials, furniture, and often even buildings.
In some parts of the country, children still learn under trees.
A formal education that once opened doors to opportunity is now a cruel cycle where graduates emerge into a broken economy with no jobs or prospects.
What then is the point of boasting about high literacy when those who can read and write are still condemned to lives of poverty and hopelessness?
Moreover, we must question the motives behind many of these infrastructural projects.
Are they truly designed to improve citizens’ lives—or are they vanity projects meant to project an illusion of progress to the outside world?
How many of these developments are accessible to the ordinary Zimbabwean?
When funds are poured into renovating an airport while rural clinics and schools collapse, one begins to suspect that these priorities are not about the people at all.
It is about image, control, and political survival.
It must also be said that public resources used for these projects are not personal gifts from those in power.
They are not acts of charity.
These are funds drawn from the national treasury, which belongs to all citizens.
Zimbabweans pay taxes—directly or indirectly—through fuel levies, customs duties, toll gates, and value-added tax on every purchase.
Development, therefore, is not a favor.
It is a constitutional obligation.
Even if we accepted that the government has made some gains, progress should never be used to excuse failure.
That a few things have been done right does not make the wrongs disappear.
A murderer cannot point to a soup kitchen he once ran.
A corrupt official cannot justify theft by saying he helped build a school.
Accountability means being judged holistically—and above all, on whether the people are truly better off.
How can a government claim success when millions go to bed hungry, while a politically connected minority enjoys obscene wealth funded by public resources?
Are we supposed to remain silent when billions are looted through corruption, shady deals, and mismanagement—resources that should be building hospitals, providing clean water, creating jobs, and ensuring food security?
Is it unreasonable to raise our voices when we see lavish lifestyles funded by our taxes, while ordinary citizens can’t even afford basic groceries, school fees, or essential medication?
To demand that we keep quiet in the face of such gross injustice is to ask us to accept oppression as normal.
It is not ungrateful to speak out—it is responsible citizenship.
Silence in the face of looting and suffering is complicity.
This is why we criticize.
Not because we are ungrateful.
Not because we are blind to what has been done.
But because the Zimbabwean people deserve better.
They deserve to live in dignity.
They deserve access to clean water, nutritious food, decent shelter, quality healthcare, and secure livelihoods.
They deserve a leadership that puts the people’s needs ahead of political expediency.
And they deserve to raise their voices when those needs are not met.
Let it not be said that we are merely fault-finding.
In fact, it is because we believe in Zimbabwe’s potential that we speak.
Our critique is rooted in love for this country and hope for a better tomorrow.
If the education we received taught us to read, write, analyze, and think for ourselves—then surely, one of its highest expressions is the ability to demand justice, equity, and accountability.
That, more than anything, is the true fruit of learning.
We will not be silenced by reminders of what was done forty years ago, nor be pacified by symbolic projects that change nothing in our daily lives.
We are not irrational or ungrateful—we are simply hungry, tired, sick, unemployed, underpaid, and disrespected.
And until that changes, we have every right—indeed, the responsibility—to speak out.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/