Police officer abducted during CAB 3 hearing and thoroughly beaten… 4 culprits slapped with 7 years in prison each

JUSTICE OR SELECTIVE VENGEANCE? THE BRUTAL COST OF DISSENT IN ZIMBABWE’S CONSTITUTIONAL CRISIS

GOKWE — In the dusty environs of Nembidziya, a small business centre in Gokwe, the air on 31 March 2026 was thick with more than just the usual heat of the Midlands. It was the day the government’s travelling circus of constitutional consultations arrived to pitch its tent. The mission was ostensibly to hear the “will of the people” regarding the controversial Constitution of Zimbabwe Amendment Bill No. 3, known colloquially as CAB 3. But for one uniformed officer of the Zimbabwe Republic Police (ZRP), the day would end not with the satisfaction of duty, but with a terrifying journey into the heart of the very lawlessness he was deployed to prevent.

The officer, whose name has been withheld for his protection, was part of the security detail assigned to ensure order during the public hearing. However, order was a fleeting concept that morning. As the proceedings unfolded, he was approached by a man who introduced himself with the easy confidence of an insider. Isheunesu Benjamin Marima, a 30-year-old with alleged ties to local political structures, claimed he was part of the security personnel and requested a private word with the officer outside the venue. It was a ruse that would lead to a brutal betrayal of the uniform.

Once away from the eyes of the public, the officer found himself surrounded. He was not met with a professional consultation, but with a coordinated ambush. Within seconds, he was bundled into a waiting vehicle. Witnesses would later describe the sight of a Toyota Hilux and a Ford Ranger tearing away from the scene, leaving behind a crowd that was already simmering with the tension of the day’s political debate.

The officer was driven to a secluded location in the Maselukwe area of Gokwe North. There, in the quiet of the bush, the four men — Marima, Collin Masawi, Wonder Gamba, and Edwin Chinongwa — unleashed a sustained and thorough beating. They took turns attacking the man who, only minutes earlier, had stood as the embodiment of the state’s authority. When they were finished, they drove their bruised and battered victim back to the Mutora Business Centre and dumped him like refuse before vanishing into the distance.

In a rare display of swift judicial action in Zimbabwe’s current political climate, the four men were eventually apprehended and brought before Gokwe Regional Magistrate Stanford Mambanje. The evidence was damning, and the verdict was unequivocal. Each of the four culprits was slapped with a seven-year prison sentence. For many, the sentence was a necessary affirmation of the rule of law. Yet, for others, it served as a bitter reminder of the selective nature of justice in a country where violence has become the primary language of constitutional change.

The Gokwe incident, while shocking, was merely one thread in a much larger and more violent tapestry. Across the country, the CAB 3 hearings have been marked by scenes that resemble a battlefield more than a democratic consultation. The bill itself is at the heart of the storm. If passed, it would fundamentally alter the governance of Zimbabwe, extending the presidential term limits and potentially allowing President Emmerson Mnangagwa to remain in power until 2030. It is a prospect that has ignited a firestorm of opposition, and that opposition has been met with a fist.

In Harare, the City Sports Centre became a theatre of the absurd on 31 March, the same day the officer was being beaten in Gokwe. Doug Coltart, a prominent human rights lawyer known for his fearless defence of activists, was in attendance to observe the proceedings. What he witnessed, and what he ultimately experienced, was a complete breakdown of civil order.

As the hearing descended into chaos, Coltart was targeted. In full view of cameras and a stunned audience, he was assaulted and robbed. The culprits were not shadowy figures operating in the dark; they were high-ranking members of the ruling Zanu PF party. Luckmore Tinashe Gapa, a member of the Zanu PF Central Committee, was identified as the man who snatched Coltart’s mobile phone. Nicholas Hamadziripi, another Zanu PF official from the Churu constituency, was captured on film delivering a sharp slap to the lawyer’s face.

Despite the clear evidence and the high profile of the victim, the police response to the assault on Doug Coltart stood in stark contrast to the swift justice meted out in Gokwe. While the four men who beat the police officer are now beginning their seven-year terms, Gapa and Hamadziripi remain free men, their actions apparently shielded by their political standing.

Coltart’s experience was not an isolated one. He later spoke out about the incident, detailing the sheer audacity of the attackers. He recounted how the mob, led by named officials, seemed to operate with a sense of total impunity. The police, who were present in significant numbers at the City Sports Centre, appeared to be little more than spectators to the violence.

“They attacked me unprovoked, took my phone and smashed it to the ground,” one witness at a different hearing recounted, describing a similar pattern of aggression. In Chitungwiza, the situation was even more dire. During a hearing at the Aquatic Complex, the violence erupted when a speaker voiced his dissent against the bill.

“We were told to stop cheering or supporting the speaker who had said no to the constitutional amendment bill,” one of the victims in Chitungwiza said. “We told them that we were following the trend because when a speaker said yes, there were loud cheers too, but no one was threatening those doing that.”

The consequences for those who dared to cheer the “wrong” side were severe. Witnesses described how the speaker who opposed the bill was forcibly seized by three men and removed from the venue.

“After the speaker who had said no was forcefully taken by three men from the venue, we witnessed him being hit by a hard object on his chest, and he looked like he started vomiting blood,” the witness said. “We saw that he became weak, and they were taking him outside the venue.”

Two men who tried to follow the group to ensure their colleague’s safety were themselves intercepted and beaten. One suffered cracked ribs and leg injuries that have left him unable to work. To this day, the whereabouts of the original speaker remain unknown. He is presumed to have been abducted, another name added to the long list of the disappeared in Zimbabwe.

When the victims in Chitungwiza tried to report the matter to the police, they were met with a wall of indifference. At the Town Centre police post, officers refused to open a docket.

“No docket was opened,” one of the individuals who attempted to report the matter said. “We were instead told to go and report the matter at Chikwanha police post. The officers were visibly reluctant to open a docket for us. Neither did they heed our report that a colleague had been abducted. They just scribbled something in a book which looked like a grade 3 exercise book.”

This pattern of police inaction has become the hallmark of the CAB 3 consultations. In Mutare, Monica Mukwada, a local resident who spoke out against the bill, was also targeted. She was assaulted in broad daylight, yet no arrests have been made. The message being sent to the Zimbabwean public is clear: if you support the bill, you are protected; if you oppose it, you are on your own.

The irony of the Gokwe sentencing is not lost on the legal community. The ZRP was quick to issue a statement following the conviction of the four men who attacked their officer.

“The law will take its course without fear or favour, and perpetrators of such serious offences will be decisively dealt with,” the police statement read.

But for those who have watched Luckmore Tinashe Gapa and Nicholas Hamadziripi walk free after assaulting a lawyer in the heart of the capital, these words ring hollow. The law, it seems, only takes its course when the victim is a member of the security forces or a supporter of the status quo. When the victim is a human rights lawyer, a dissenting citizen, or an opposition activist, the law appears to be on an extended holiday.

The CAB 3 Bill is more than just a piece of legislation; it is a litmus test for the future of Zimbabwean democracy. The 2013 Constitution was the result of years of struggle and a rare moment of national consensus. It was supposed to be the bedrock upon which a new, more democratic Zimbabwe would be built. Now, less than fifteen years later, that bedrock is being chipped away by those who find its constraints inconvenient.

The proposed amendments seek to remove the requirement for a running mate in presidential elections, allowing the president to appoint his vice presidents. This would centralise power even further in the hands of the executive. Perhaps most controversially, the bill seeks to extend the retirement age for judges, a move seen by many as an attempt to pack the judiciary with loyalists who will oversee the extension of the president’s term.

The violence surrounding the hearings is a symptom of a deeper malaise. It is the sound of a system that has run out of arguments and has resorted to the sjambok and the fist. In every province where the hearings have been held, the story is the same. Hired thugs, often transported in unmarked vehicles like the Ford Raptor and Toyota Fortuner seen in Chitungwiza, are used to intimidate and silence anyone who dares to suggest that the constitution should be respected, not rewritten.

In Chiredzi, the hearings were similarly marred by intimidation. Assailants reportedly insulted participants, making racist remarks and questioning their nationality simply because they expressed a desire for constitutional stability. The atmosphere of fear is so pervasive that many citizens have chosen to stay away from the hearings altogether, leaving the venues to be filled by bussed-in supporters who chant slogans on cue.

The case of the abducted officer in Gokwe is a tragedy, and the seven-year sentences handed down to his attackers are legally sound. No one should be subjected to the kind of “thorough beating” that he endured. However, the integrity of a justice system is measured not by how it protects its own, but by how it protects the most vulnerable and the most critical of its citizens.

As long as Luckmore Tinashe Gapa can snatch a phone from a lawyer’s hand without consequence, as long as Nicholas Hamadziripi can slap a man in front of a police line and walk away, and as long as speakers in Chitungwiza can disappear into the night with no investigation, the Zimbabwean justice system remains a broken tool.

The “will of the people” cannot be found in a hearing where the police stand by as activists are beaten. It cannot be found in a process where the only people who feel safe to speak are those who agree with the government. And it certainly cannot be found in a constitution that is being amended at the point of a gun.

The four men in Gokwe—Marima, Masawi, Gamba, and Chinongwa—will have seven years to reflect on their actions behind the cold walls of a prison. But the real question for Zimbabwe is how much longer the rest of the country will have to endure the violence of a constitutional process that has lost its way.

The CAB 3 hearings were supposed to be a dialogue. Instead, they have become a monologue enforced by the fist. And as the country looks toward 2030, the silence of the police in the face of political violence suggests that the road ahead will be paved with more than just broken promises; it will be paved with the broken ribs and shattered lives of those who believed that the law was meant for everyone.

The ZRP continues to hunt for Erickson Mafuratidze and Mujudha, the two remaining suspects in the Gokwe abduction. They have appealed to the public for information, promising that “the law will take its course.” One can only hope that the public will one day see that same determination applied to the thugs in suits who roam the halls of power in Harare, confident that their political connections are a permanent get-out-of-jail-free card.

Until then, the sentencing in Gokwe remains a lonely island of accountability in a sea of state-sponsored impunity. It is a reminder of what the law could be, and a devastating indictment of what it currently is. Zimbabweans are watching, and they are learning that in the new constitutional order, the only thing more dangerous than speaking your mind is believing that the police will protect you when you do.

The struggle for the constitution is far from over. As the bill moves toward Parliament, the voices of dissent, though battered and bruised, continue to be heard. They are heard in the stories of the builder in Chitungwiza who can no longer work, in the defiance of Doug Coltart as he continues his legal work, and in the quiet conversations of citizens who know that a constitution written in blood is no constitution at all.

The seven years handed down in Gokwe may be a start, but for a nation yearning for true justice, it is nowhere near enough. The true test will be when the names Gapa and Hamadziripi are read out in a courtroom, not as officials, but as defendants. Only then will the people of Zimbabwe know that the law truly knows no favour.

Timeline of CAB 3 Violence (2026):

The pattern is undeniable. The violence is systematic. And as the sun sets over the Nembidziya business centre, the shadows cast by the CAB 3 hearings grow longer, reaching into every corner of a nation that is still waiting for the dawn of true constitutionalism.