Tendai Ruben Mbofana
A week ago, I received a phone call that was as disarmingly friendly as it was intellectually revealing.
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On the other end was a commissioner from the Zimbabwe Anti-Corruption Commission (ZACC), one of our esteemed Chapter 12 institutions tasked with the Herculean labor of cleansing our nation of the rot of graft.
The tone was professional, almost paternal, as he sought to push back on my recent critique regarding the commission’s apparent appetite for “small fish” while the predatory “sharks” of high-profile corruption swim unbothered in our national waters.
He insisted that the commission is strictly apolitical, working without fear or favor.
Yet, when I pressed him on why certain glaring cases involving the politically connected remain stagnant, he retreated into the predictable fortress of “lack of evidence.”
Most telling was his silence—even off the record—when I raised the red flags hoisted by South African agencies regarding suspicious cash flows between a South African supplier for our 2023 elections and a notorious local businessman.
However, it was the commissioner’s parting advice that truly piqued my interest.
He implored me to pivot toward what he termed “developmental journalism.”
To him, this meant shedding the “agent of the West” label he felt my critical writing invited and instead focusing on the “positive developments” in the country.
It was a polite suggestion that I trade my sharp-tipped pen for a pom-pom.
This encounter stayed with me because it perfectly encapsulates a dangerous, state-sponsored delusion: the idea that journalism only serves the nation when it is flattering the government.
It is a sentiment that seeks to transform the Fourth Estate into a decorative annex of the Ministry of Information, suggesting that to love one’s country is to never mention its wounds.
As a social justice advocate and a writer, I find this definition of developmental journalism not only intellectually dishonest but a direct threat to the very progress it claims to champion.
There is a profound difference between reporting on national development and acting as a megaphone for state propaganda.
When we look at our state-controlled media landscape—the likes of the ZBC, The Herald, and The Sunday Mail—we see a persistent, scripted narrative that parrots government press releases as gospel.
If this is what the powers-that-be consider “developmental,” then we are using a dictionary written in a different language.
How can we claim to foster development when we refuse to point out the gaping holes in the national bucket through which billions of dollars, meant for roads, schools, and clinics, are being siphoned by a handful of “tenderpreneurs” and their political benefactors?
True development cannot breathe in an environment of silence.
How can there be genuine progress when we fail to question whether government policies are truly in the public interest or merely designed to consolidate power?
If we sweep the extent of Zimbabwean suffering under a plush red carpet, we aren’t “developing” the nation; we are merely hiding its decay while the foundation rots.
Consider the current plight of our nurses, who have been driven to strike by salaries that insult their humanity and their service.
In the world of state-controlled media, these strikes barely exist, or if they do, they are framed as “illegal” or “politically motivated.”
Is it “developmental” to ignore the collapse of our healthcare system while pretending every ward is a sanctuary of healing?
Furthermore, is it “developmental” to turn a blind eye when villagers are evicted from their ancestral lands to make way for Chinese mining interests?
These are communities whose heritage is being bulldozed, whose workers are being abused, and whose environment is being desecrated with impunity.
When the media pretends this is not happening, they are not protecting the country; they are protecting the exploiters.
This brand of silence is a betrayal of the national interest.
It is not journalism; it is a collaborative effort in national underdevelopment.
To understand why, we must strip away the propaganda and look at what developmental journalism was actually meant to be when it emerged as a formal concept in the mid-20th century.
Originating in the 1960s, largely through the work of scholars like Nora Quebral and journalists at the Press Foundation of Asia, developmental journalism was never intended to be a shield for incompetent or corrupt regimes.
It was conceived as a response to the “Western” style of journalism which often focused on sensationalism, coups, and disasters in the Global South.
The pioneers of this field argued that in a developing nation, a journalist should focus on the “process” of development.
They argued that the media should be a “guide dog” rather than just a “watchdog.”
However, a guide dog’s primary job is to help the master avoid falling into a pit.
If the journalist sees a pit of corruption or a pothole of bad policy and fails to bark, they have failed their duty.
Developmental journalism is, at its core, “pro-people” and “pro-process.”
It is about investigating why a bridge was never built despite the funds being allocated.
It is about analyzing a new economic policy not by what the Minister says in a five-star hotel, but by how it affects the price of bread in Redcliff or the cost of seed in Binga.
Its purpose is to give a voice to the voiceless, ensuring that the marginalized are participants in the national conversation rather than just victims of it.
It requires the journalist to have a deep, almost academic understanding of socio-economic issues so they can explain to the public not just “what” is happening, but “why” it is happening and what the long-term consequences will be.
When a journalist exposes high-profile corruption, they are performing the ultimate act of developmental journalism.
Corruption is the greatest tax on the poor; it is the thief that steals the future of the Zimbabwean child.
By shining a light on the looting of national resources, the journalist is attempting to save those resources for the development of the nation.
When we question the impact of mining activities on local communities, we are advocating for “sustainable development”—a concept that ensures today’s profits don’t come at the expense of tomorrow’s environment.
This is the “Midlands grit” required of us: to be unyielding in the face of pressure and to refuse the comfortable lie in favor of the uncomfortable truth.
The commissioner’s suggestion that being critical makes one a “paid agent” of a foreign power is a tired, lazy trope used to silence dissent.
It assumes that Zimbabweans are incapable of seeing their own suffering or identifying the causes of their own poverty without being coached by a Western embassy.
This insult to our collective intelligence is the real “anti-developmental” stance.
Real development requires accountability, and accountability requires a media that is not afraid to say that the emperor has no clothes.
We must reject the idea that developmental journalism is about “telling the good that the good is doing.”
If the “good” is truly being done, the people will feel it in their pockets, their hospitals, and their schools; they won’t need a newspaper to tell them they are prospering.
Until then, our job is to remain the irritating conscience of the nation.
We will continue to report on the strikes, the evictions, the looting, and the failed policies.
We will do this not because we hate our country, but because we love it too much to watch it be destroyed by silence.
True developmental journalism is not a PR exercise; it is a liberation struggle fought with facts, and it is a struggle we have no intention of abandoning.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. To directly receive his articles please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08