Tendai Ruben Mbofana
Today, as Zimbabwe joins the rest of the world in commemorating Workers’ Day, there is a hollow, bitter resonance to the festivities.
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For the Zimbabwean worker, this is not a day of rest or celebration, but a day of mourning for a dignity that has been systematically stripped away.
When we look at the global rankings of poverty and rights violations, it is a staggering, visceral embarrassment to find our nation tethered to the bottom of the list.
We sit in a “group of shame,” ranked alongside countries ravaged by active civil wars and total institutional collapse—nations like Somalia, Syria, Haiti, South Sudan, and Myanmar.
This is a loud, stinging indictment of who we have become, a reality that no amount of state-sponsored propaganda or glossy “Vision 2030” billboards can ever hope to obscure.
The tragedy is not just that we are poor, but that our poverty is a direct violation of our own supreme law.
Section 65(1) of the Constitution of Zimbabwe is unambiguous: it guarantees every person the right to fair and safe labor practices, and the right to be paid a fair and reasonable wage.
Yet, what we witness on the ground is a grotesque perversion of these standards.
We live in a country where the Consumer Council of Zimbabwe (CCZ) estimates a basic food basket for a family of six at US440 per month, yet the very people tasked with keeping the nation running—our civil servants—report taking home less than US200 after the government raids their payslips for taxes and pension contributions.
How does a family bridge a US$240 deficit every single month?
They don’t.
They starve, they borrow, and they wither.
This systemic theft of labor is what has fueled the recent strikes at our major public hospitals, where medical professionals have reached the end of their tether.
The government continues to offer vague promises of “good tidings,” but these words have proven to be nothing more than political ether, remaining largely unfulfilled while the workers they are meant to sustain sink deeper into debt.
The rot extends far beyond the urban centers and into the very sectors that are supposed to be the engines of our economy.
In the mining and farming sectors, the situation is even more primitive.
Here, workers often toil for a measly US$150 a month—and even that pittance is frequently withheld or paid in irregular fragments.
These workers are the modern-day equivalents of indentured servants, operating in dismal conditions without basic protective equipment.
The reports emerging from Chinese-owned mines are particularly harrowing, painting a dark picture of physical and sexual abuse used as tools of labor “discipline.”
When a sovereign nation allows foreign capital to physically assault its citizens for profit, it has effectively surrendered its soul.
Then there are the domestic workers, the long-forgotten backbone of the Zimbabwean household.
For them, even the official minimum wage of US$100—an amount that is itself a profound insult to human dignity—is often a distant dream.
Many earn significantly less, working around the clock in private homes where they are invisible to the law.
Within this shadow economy, we find the heartbreak of underage labor, particularly girls who are not only robbed of their childhoods but are frequently subjected to sexual violations by those who should be their protectors.
Perhaps the most haunting betrayal is reserved for our pensioners.
These are the men and women who gave their lives to build this country, only to be discarded like refuse.
Those who worked for state enterprises like Ziscosteel—once a regional industrial giant, now a skeleton picked clean by government-linked vultures—receive absolutely nothing.
My own mother, who passed away last year in October, went to her grave having received not even a cent in pension, despite having worked as a nurse for Ziscosteel from 1964 till her retirement in 2010.
This is not just a failure of policy; it is a crime against humanity.
For those “fortunate” enough to receive a payout from the National Social Security Authority (NSSA), the reward is a paltry US$50 a month.
In the current Zimbabwean market, that is barely enough to buy a few loaves of bread and a bag of mealie-meal.
The ultimate irony is that in a country with over 90 percent unemployment, these exploited workers are considered the “lucky” ones.
Below them are the millions struggling to survive in the informal sector, vending on the streets or running backyard “income-generating projects” that barely cover the cost of their own existence.
These are people with degrees, skills, and dreams, reduced to dodging municipal police to sell tomatoes and airtime.
It is a waste of human potential on a national scale.
What makes this situation truly insulting is the cognitive dissonance required to listen to the state’s narrative.
We are told Zimbabwe has the “fastest-growing economy” in the region, with estimates claiming a growth of 7 percent last year.
If this is true, we must ask: where is that money going?
If the economy is growing, why is the worker shrinking?
The answer lies in the Corruption Perception Index, where Zimbabwe repeatedly hovers around a pathetic score of 22 out of 100.
Corruption in Zimbabwe has achieved the same level of destruction as a scorched-earth military campaign.
Billions of dollars are looted annually by a small, well-connected clique while the rest of the nation is left to scramble for crumbs.
We are not a nation at war in the traditional sense.
There are no tanks in the streets of Redcliff or fighter jets over Harare.
And yet, our people suffer the same deprivations as those in active combat zones.
This is because corruption, when it reaches these systemic levels, is a form of warfare.
It is a war against the poor, a war against the elderly, and a war against the future.
On this Workers’ Day, we must face the uncomfortable truth: Zimbabwe’s “peace” is a facade that masks a relentless economic siege.
Until the looting stops and the dignity of labor is restored, our presence in the “group of shame” is not a mistake—it is an accurate reflection of a nation that has betrayed its own workers.
- 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