Jessie Manjome removal exposes the vulnerability of Zimbabwe’s Chapter 12 institutions

The one who chooses blindness will inevitably walk into a hole.

Tendai Ruben Mbofana

The sudden re-assignment of Jessie Majome from the helm of the Zimbabwe Human Rights Commission to a seat within the Public Service Commission is a move that echoes with the heavy thud of an iron fist inside a velvet glove. 

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On the surface, the official statement presents a routine administrative shuffle sanctioned under the Constitution, yet the timing and the context transform this document into a chilling testament to the fragility of institutional independence in Zimbabwe. 

By moving a prominent head of a Chapter 12 institution into the direct machinery of the civil service just seventy-two hours after she released a scathing critique of state-managed public hearings, the executive has sent a message that is both loud and unmistakable. 

It is a message that suggests truth is a liability and that the primary duty of a commissioner is not to the Constitution or the people but to the comfort of the presiding power.

The backdrop to this decision is particularly damning. 

The Zimbabwe Human Rights Commission recently deployed its monitors to observe the public hearings regarding Constitutional Amendment (No. 3) Bill, or CAB3. 

Their findings were not merely critical but described a landscape of systemic intimidation and logistical sabotage. 

The report detailed the presence of whip-wielding bouncers at doors acting as gatekeepers to ensure only approved voices entered the room. 

It spoke of small venues designed to exclude the masses, a truncated four-day window for nationwide consultation, and a pervasive atmosphere of violence against those who dared to dissent. 

For an independent body to document such “mayhem” and then see its leader effectively removed from her post three days later is beyond a mere coincidence. 

It is a clear act of administrative retaliation designed to decapitate a commission that had begun to take its mandate of oversight seriously.

Using the term re-assignment to describe what is effectively a summary removal from a position of constitutional authority is a masterclass in political euphemism. 

While the Public Service Commission is a vital organ of the state, it operates under the direct influence of the executive branch. 

Moving the chairperson of an independent human rights body—one meant to hold the state accountable—to a commission that serves the state is a demotion in both status and autonomy. 

This is a sacking in everything but name. 

It tells us that the “independence” of Chapter 12 commissions is a conditional gift rather than an absolute right. 

When a commissioner speaks truth to power, that gift is revoked. 

This maneuver exposes the hollow nature of the constitutional protections meant to insulate these bodies from political interference, revealing that they remain vulnerable to the whims of the Presidency.

Such actions create a profound chilling effect that extends far beyond the human rights commission. 

Every other independent body, including the Zimbabwe Anti-Corruption Commission and the Zimbabwe Electoral Commission, is now on notice.

They have been shown that the price of integrity is career displacement. 

If a chairperson can be moved like a pawn on a chessboard for highlighting state-sponsored violence and administrative failure, other commissioners will inevitably feel the pressure to self-censor. 

The freedom to operate is effectively curtailed when the consequence of taking action against those aligned with the ruling elite is the loss of one’s mandate. 

This move transforms these vital institutions from watchdogs into lapdogs, ensuring that future reports are sanitized and that public hearings, no matter how chaotic, are given a clean bill of health to avoid professional execution.

The integrity of these commissions is now fundamentally compromised. 

For years, there have been lingering suspicions of bias and accusations that these bodies exist merely to provide a veneer of democratic legitimacy to an authoritarian framework. 

This perception has been solidified by a history of repeated disputed elections, where the Zimbabwe Electoral Commission has often been viewed as a partisan referee rather than an impartial arbiter of the people’s will. 

Similarly, the public remains deeply cynical toward the Zimbabwe Anti-Corruption Commission, noting that while small-scale offenders or those fallen out with those in power are prosecuted, the “big fish” fingered in massive corruption scandals are almost never held to account. 

These institutional failures have created a pervasive belief that the system is rigged to protect the powerful, leaving the commissions to function more as shields for the elite than as swords for justice.

This re-assignment substantiates those suspicions. 

When the state removes the very person who pointed out the flaws in its legislative process, it confirms that it views accountability as an obstacle rather than a pillar of governance. 

This creates a vacuum of trust. 

If the public cannot rely on the Zimbabwe Human Rights Commission to protect their voices without the commission itself being purged, they will stop engaging with the state altogether. 

National development cannot occur in an environment where citizens believe the institutions meant to serve them are merely extensions of a political party.

On the international stage, this portrays Zimbabwe as a nation that remains allergic to the basic tenets of constitutionalism. 

It paints a picture of a country where the rule of law is subservient to the rule of men. 

At a time when the government claims to be on a path of re-engagement and reform, the removal of a human rights chief for reporting on human rights abuses is a spectacular own-goal. 

It signals to investors, diplomats, and international bodies that the “new dispensation” remains wedded to the old habits of institutional capture. 

It suggests that the Constitution is treated as a menu where the executive picks only the clauses that serve its immediate interests while ignoring the spirit of independence that is supposed to define the republic.

The weaknesses in the legal framework that allow for such easy penalization are glaring. 

While the Constitution speaks of independence, the appointment and removal processes remain heavily skewed toward executive discretion. 

The structural weaknesses that render Chapter 12 institutions vulnerable to executive overreach are found in the fine print of their operational reality. 

The first major flaw is the appointment bottleneck. 

While the President is technically required to appoint commissioners from a list provided by the Committee on Standing Rules and Orders, the Executive still holds the final signature. 

This allows for a political filtering process where the President can delay appointments indefinitely or ensure that only “safe” candidates—those unlikely to challenge the status quo—are placed in leadership positions, compromising the commission before it even begins its work.

Another glaring weakness is the total lack of financial autonomy. 

These independent commissions do not have a direct charge on the Consolidated Revenue Fund. 

Instead, they must hold out a begging bowl to the Treasury, which is under the direct control of the Executive. 

By starving a commission of funds, the government can effectively paralyze it, ensuring it lacks the fuel, staff, or technological resources to investigate human rights abuses or monitor rural violence. 

A watchdog that is financially strangled is a watchdog that cannot bark, let alone bite.

The most dangerous loophole, however, is the tenure trapdoor. 

While the Constitution suggests that a commissioner can only be removed for gross misconduct via a public tribunal, the Executive has learned to bypass this protection through the use of “re-assignments.” 

By moving an inconvenient head of an independent body to a non-independent department—such as a seat in the civil service—the President can decapitate a commission and silence a critic without the legal messiness of a formal removal process. 

Without a process that requires transparent parliamentary oversight and stringent criteria for removal that are insulated from political disagreement, these commissions will remain weak. 

This renders security of tenure an illusion, as any commissioner who speaks out knows they can be administratively disappeared with a single signature.

Finally, these institutions suffer from a crippling absence of enforcement powers. 

Most Chapter 12 commissions are merely recommendatory; they can document “whip-wielding bouncers” and systemic harassment at public hearings, but they lack the direct prosecutorial power to make arrests. 

They are forced to rely on the police—an Executive-controlled body—to act on their findings. 

When the state or its allies are the ones causing the mayhem, the commission’s reports are simply filed away and ignored, proving that without the power to punish, their independence is merely a paper tiger.

​Strengthening these commissions should be the primary focus of any government truly interested in the welfare of its people. 

The Constitution must be amended to make Chapter 12 budgets a direct charge on the Consolidated Revenue Fund. 

This removes the “begging bowl” relationship with the Treasury and ensures funding is guaranteed by law, preventing the Executive from using financial starvation to punish critical commissions.

The law must also explicitly prohibit the re-assignment of any commissioner to another state office during their term. 

Any attempt at administrative transfer should be legally defined as a de facto removal, automatically triggering the public tribunal process required under Section 237. 

This closes the loophole used to displace inconvenient heads without a fair hearing.

The President’s role in appointments should be reduced to a purely ceremonial function. 

The law should empower the Committee on Standing Rules and Orders to make a single, binding appointment based on public interviews. 

This eliminates the political filter and ensures commissioners are accountable to the public, not the Presidency.

Finally, these commissions must be granted the power to issue legally binding orders and lead their own prosecutions. 

By giving them the authority to arrest and prosecute offenders directly, we bypass the partisan bottlenecks of the police and the National Prosecuting Authority, ensuring those who cause mayhem at public hearings are actually brought to book.

These are the changes that would build a resilient state. 

Instead, we see the government pushing for amendments like CAB3 to extend the terms of the President and Parliament, focusing on the longevity of individuals rather than the health of institutions.

There is a fundamental delusion in the belief that lengthening terms and delaying elections will lead to peace and stability. 

Real stability is the product of strong, impartial commissions that ensure every citizen feels heard and every grievance is addressed fairly. 

If the Zimbabwe Human Rights Commission had been truly empowered and its findings acted upon, the perpetrators of violence at the public hearings would have been arrested and prosecuted. 

That is how peace is maintained—through accountability, not through the silencing of monitors. 

Lengthened terms without strengthened institutions only serve to entrench the very corruption and human rights abuses that cause national instability in the first place.

In the final analysis, the re-assignment of Jessie Majome is a warning light flashing on the dashboard of Zimbabwean democracy. 

It is an admission that the state is more concerned with controlling the narrative of the public hearings than it is with fixing the violence and disorder reported within them. 

Until the nation decides to prioritize the independence of its commissions over the convenience of its leaders, the cycle of institutional erosion will continue. 

True development and lasting peace are not found in the extension of power but in the strengthening of the guardrails that keep that power in check. 

As long as the constitutional watchdog is kept on a short leash, the people of Zimbabwe will remain at the mercy of those who view their rights as a bureaucratic inconvenience.

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