HARARE – The traditional wall of silence that has long shielded the relationship between the Zimbabwe Defence Forces (ZDF) and the ruling ZANU-PF party has finally crumbled. In a move that has fundamentally altered the political calculus in Harare, retired Air Marshall Henry Muchena has stepped out of the shadows to deliver what many insiders are calling a final warning to the civilian leadership. His recent statement—”The army is watching”—is not merely a passive observation; it is a calculated warning. For years, the Zimbabwe Defence Forces have been the backbone of ZANU-PF’s survival, but the bond is fraying.
Our analysis suggests that a significant faction of the military is growing weary of the “zvigananda” (the wealthy elite) and the “mafikizolos” (newcomers) who are seen as looting the nation’s resources while the rank-and-file soldiers struggle. This investigative piece explores the internal rift between the old guard generals and the Mnangagwa loyalists. We examine the specific conditions under which Muchena hinted the army would “advise accordingly”—a military euphemism for intervention. By connecting the dots between recent retired generals’ meetings and the increasing economic hardship within the barracks, we reveal why the military may now view ZANU-PF itself as a national security threat. This is not just news; it is a documentary-style breakdown of a looming second “Operation Restore Legacy.”
The Breaking of the Silence
For decades, the doctrine of the Zimbabwean military has been one of “stocking the party.” From the liberation struggle to the 2017 transition that brought President Emmerson Mnangagwa to power, the soldiers and the politicians were seen as two sides of the same coin. However, the recent public pronouncements by retired Air Marshall Henry Muchena have shattered this illusion of monolithic unity. Muchena, a veteran of the liberation war and a former high-ranking officer in the Air Force of Zimbabwe, did not mince his words when he addressed the current state of the nation.
“When Zimbabweans agreed to the 2013 Constitution, they did so with the expectation that it would be respected,” Muchena stated during a recent gathering that has since gone viral on social media platforms. “The army is watching the process, but when ZANU-PF becomes a security threat, they are going to advise accordingly.”
The phrase “advise accordingly” has a specific, chilling history in Zimbabwean politics. It was the same language used by the late General Vitalis Zvinavashe in 2002 when the military first declared it would not salute anyone without “liberation credentials.” More importantly, it mirrors the rhetoric used by General Constantino Chiwenga in November 2017, just days before tanks rolled into the streets of Harare to end Robert Mugabe’s 37-year rule.
The Rise of the “Zvigananda” and “Mafikizolos”
At the heart of this burgeoning conflict is a deep-seated resentment within the military ranks against two specific groups: the “zvigananda” and the “mafikizolos.” The “zvigananda”—a Shona term for the ultra-wealthy elite—are seen as the primary beneficiaries of the “Second Republic.” While the country grapples with the introduction of the new ZiG currency and fluctuating inflation, this elite class continues to flaunt obscene wealth, often linked to government contracts, mining concessions, and the murky world of “gold-backed” finance.
“The soldiers see the luxury cars, the mansions in Borrowdale Brooke, and the private jets,” says a retired colonel who requested anonymity for fear of retribution. “Then they look at their own pay slips, which are now being paid in ZiG, a currency that many shops are still hesitant to accept at face value. The contrast is becoming unbearable.”
Compounding this is the rise of the “mafikizolos”—the “Johnny-come-latelies” who have climbed the ZANU-PF ladder not through the trenches of the liberation war, but through sycophancy and financial influence. The military old guard, many of whom are now in retirement but still wield immense influence over their former subordinates, view these newcomers as a parasitic force that is hollowing out the party’s original revolutionary values.
The Crisis in the Barracks
While the “zvigananda” feast, the situation within the military barracks has reached a critical point. Despite the government’s announcement of a salary increase for civil servants and the military effective 1 April 2026, the sentiment on the ground is one of profound skepticism. The “April Salary Mirage,” as some have dubbed it, is seen as too little, too late.
Investigations reveal that the operational capacity of the ZDF is being hampered by the very economic crisis the government claims to be solving. Reports of food shortages in some cantonment areas and the dilapidated state of military housing, such as the long-delayed projects in Dzivaresekwa, have become a source of embarrassment for the top brass.
“A hungry soldier is a dangerous soldier,” Muchena’s statement seems to imply. When the military can no longer feed its own or provide a dignified life for those who carry the guns, the loyalty that ZANU-PF has relied upon for 46 years begins to evaporate. The military now views the government’s failure to manage the economy—specifically the instability of the ZiG and the rampant corruption—as a direct threat to national security.
The Constitutional Trigger
The immediate catalyst for Muchena’s public intervention appears to be the controversial Constitution of Zimbabwe Amendment (No. 3) Bill, 2026. This bill, which seeks to extend presidential and parliamentary terms from five to seven years, is seen by many as a move to ensure President Mnangagwa remains in power beyond the current constitutional limit.
During the public hearings for the bill, which were marked by chaos and the harassment of journalists, the military’s “watching” became more than just metaphorical. Intelligence sources suggest that the military is deeply divided over the amendment. While some loyalists within the Presidential Guard support the move, a powerful faction of retired and active-duty officers sees it as a move that could trigger widespread civil unrest—unrest that the army would be expected to suppress.
“The army does not want to be used as a shield for a leader who wants to stay forever,” explains a political analyst based in Harare. “Muchena is signalling that if the politicians push the country over the edge with this amendment, the military will not sit idly by. They will ‘advise’ the party that it is time for a change.”
The Ghost of “Operation Restore Legacy”
The parallels to November 2017 are impossible to ignore. In that instance, the military intervened to “target criminals” around Robert Mugabe who were allegedly causing social and economic suffering. Today, the “criminals” are being identified by the military as the “zvigananda” and “mafikizolos” within ZANU-PF itself.
Recent weeks have seen an increase in “retired generals’ meetings”—informal gatherings of the men who led the 2017 transition. These men, many of whom feel sidelined by the current administration, are reportedly in constant contact with active-duty commanders. The message being circulated is clear: the military remains the ultimate arbiter of Zimbabwean politics.
Muchena’s ultimatum is a documentary-style breakdown of a looming second “Operation Restore Legacy.” It is a warning that the military’s patience is not infinite. If ZANU-PF continues on its current path of constitutional manipulation and economic mismanagement, the “advice” from the barracks may soon arrive not in the form of a speech, but in the rumble of armoured personnel carriers.
Conclusion: A Nation on the Edge
As Zimbabwe moves deeper into 2026, the tension between the barracks and the boardroom is the most significant story in the country. The “Crocodile” may have survived many challenges, but he now faces a military that is no longer content to be a silent partner in the nation’s decline.
General Muchena has set the stage. The army is watching. The question for ZANU-PF is whether they will listen to the “advice” before the “watching” turns into “acting.” In the simple English of the streets, the message is even clearer: the soldiers are hungry, the generals are angry, and the politicians are running out of time. This is not just a political rift; it is a battle for the soul of Zimbabwe, and for the first time in years, the military is publicly questioning whether ZANU-PF is the solution or the problem.
