Tendai Ruben Mbofana
Over the past two months, southern Africa has witnessed two major uprisings against perceived unjust rule.
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In Madagascar, relentless protests that began over poor service delivery culminated in President Andry Rajoelina fleeing the country.
In Tanzania, widespread protests have erupted following a disputed election that saw President Samia Suluhu Hassan claim victory after jailing or barring all credible opponents.
What stood out in both cases was not just the people’s anger, but their astonishing bravery.
Despite a violent crackdown that claimed 22 lives in Madagascar and reports of over 700 deaths in Tanzania, protesters refused to retreat.
Their determination was so powerful that, in Madagascar, sections of the security forces sent to suppress the demonstrations eventually joined them—recognizing that they too were victims of Rajoelina’s misrule.
This made me reflect on a question that has long haunted me: why do some nations appear braver and more civically enlightened than us Zimbabweans, who seem unwilling to stand up for ourselves, even though our suffering and repression arguably surpass those in Madagascar and Tanzania?
Why do we remain so docile in the face of injustice, corruption, and misgovernance?
While reflecting on this troubling question, I began to form a hypothesis inspired by my recent visit to Kenya.
Traveling from my hometown of Redcliff to Harare, I had to leave my car and take a bus to the capital, before catching a taxi to Robert Gabriel Mugabe International Airport.
When I landed at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi, my friend, Rejoice Ngwenya, and I took a Bolt ride to our hotel.
These two taxi rides—one in Harare, the other in Nairobi—were remarkably revealing.
My Zimbabwean taxi driver, though clearly frustrated by the state of the country, could only express his grievances in vague, shallow terms—the usual “street talk” we all know too well.
He spoke of corruption, of “Zvigananda” looting the country’s wealth, and of hospitals turned into death traps.
He hoped the ruling elites would one day be removed from power.
His views, though valid, reflected limited understanding.
There was no depth—no grasp of how policies, budgets, or governance structures actually affected his daily life.
By contrast, our Kenyan driver displayed a strikingly sophisticated understanding of political and economic issues.
His conversation was analytical, not emotional.
He spoke with clarity about fiscal policies, taxation, and how government decisions directly shaped the economy and the cost of living.
Rejoice and I were deeply impressed.
We realized that this intellectual and civic awareness among ordinary Kenyans explained the youth-led protests that had rocked the country only weeks earlier.
Those protests, largely driven by Gen-Z citizens, were not merely about taxes—they were a demand for accountability, fairness, and justice.
These young Kenyans understood the implications of unjust taxes and the broader economic system that disadvantaged them.
They knew why they were suffering, and crucially, they understood that the power to change things lay in collective civic action.
Even after 41 people were killed and 29 injured in the brutal state response, they did not retreat.
Like the citizens of Madagascar and Tanzania, they persisted—because they believed their cause was just and understood the structures they were fighting against.
This, I believe, is what sets these societies apart from Zimbabwe.
How many young people in our country truly understand the national budget, fiscal and monetary policies, or how corruption at the highest levels directly translates into their daily poverty?
How many know that unemployment, the collapse of healthcare, or the unaffordability of basics are not acts of fate, but consequences of policy failures and theft by those in power?
Tragically, our youth have become accustomed to suffering.
Many have come to celebrate mediocrity and deprivation as blessings.
They cheer when given vending stalls or token empowerment programs, not realizing these are crumbs meant to pacify, not uplift.
They have been stripped of ambition and civic curiosity.
A people that does not understand its oppression cannot resist it.
And so, docility takes root—not because Zimbabweans are inherently cowardly, but because we have been deliberately kept ignorant of our civic power.
Indeed, one cannot speak of courage without a cause.
Fear only dominates where there is no purpose or comprehension.
A mother who knows her child is trapped in a burning house does not calculate risk—she acts.
Knowledge and cause create courage.
Likewise, civic awareness breeds both conviction and collective action.
Where citizens understand their rights, duties, and the link between governance and their livelihoods, they inevitably organize—even at community level—against injustice.
This is why the absence of a strong opposition cannot be used as an excuse for our national apathy.
A people with a cause and ambition will always find ways to organize themselves — whether through civic groups, residents’ associations, or informal networks.
Genuine change does not wait for politicians; it begins with citizens who understand their power and are willing to act upon it.
Yet in Zimbabwe, entire neighborhoods have gone for years without running water, without electricity, or under environmental destruction from Chinese mining companies — with some communities even forcibly evicted from their ancestral lands — and still, no organized community response emerges.
People murmur, they complain, but they do not mobilize.
The same happens at national level: citizens suffer under rampant inflation, collapsing infrastructure, and unchecked corruption, yet no sustained civic movement takes shape.
This paralysis cannot simply be blamed on fear or state repression.
Repressive governments exist everywhere—Tanzania, Kenya, and Madagascar are not shining democracies either.
What differentiates them is the civic consciousness of their citizens.
Zimbabwe’s education system, once the pride of Africa, has failed to cultivate political literacy and civic engagement.
Students graduate knowing how to solve mathematical equations but unable to interpret a national budget or understand how governance affects their livelihoods.
There is little civic education to nurture an informed citizenry capable of demanding accountability.
Those in power benefit immensely from this ignorance.
A population that does not understand how it is being exploited will not rebel.
It will find comfort in survival, not freedom.
It will mistake charity for progress, and obedience for patriotism.
And so, the cycle of repression continues—perpetuated not only by state brutality but by the mental captivity of an uninformed populace.
Zimbabwe’s docility, therefore, is not a natural trait but a manufactured condition.
It is the result of decades of deliberate depoliticization, economic disempowerment, and erosion of civic education.
Our people have been taught to endure rather than to demand, to complain rather than to act.
Until we reclaim the power of knowledge—until we invest in educating our citizens about governance, policy, and accountability—nothing will change.
History shows that no nation rises from oppression through ignorance.
Awareness births conviction, conviction breeds courage, and courage sparks revolution.
The question, then, is not whether Zimbabweans are afraid, but whether we truly understand what we have lost, what we deserve, and how to reclaim it.
If we did, fear would no longer hold us back.
We, too, would stand up—not because we are reckless, but because we finally know why we must.
- 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/