The winter air in Harare carries a familiar, heavy chill — not merely from the season, but from the palpable tension radiating from the corridors of power and the silent barracks on the city’s periphery. For the first time in years, the delicate equilibrium that has held Zimbabwe together since the dramatic events of November 2017 appears to be fracturing. At the heart of this unfolding drama is a complex web of alleged corruption, a controversial constitutional power grab, and a military establishment that is no longer content to remain in the shadows.
Nelson Chamisa, the former leader of the Citizens Coalition for Change (CCC), has broken a prolonged silence to address the whispers that have dogged him for months: that he has been “bought” or co-opted by President Emmerson Mnangagwa. His response was both a fierce denial and a chilling warning to the military generals who once facilitated the transition from Robert Mugabe to the current administration.
In a post on social media, Chamisa said he would not be made to “write Paper 2” again, a phrase widely interpreted as a reference to the opposition’s role during the dramatic events of November 2017, when the military stepped in and removed former President Robert Mugabe from office.
Chamisa’s rhetoric message to the army generals echoed across social media, signalling a firm refusal to endorse any repeat of the 2017 military intervention. He declared he would not be made to “write Paper 2” again—a pointed reference to the opposition’s perceived role in legitimising the military-assisted transition that ended Mugabe’s four-decade rule.
The Denial of a “Karanga Deal”
The speculation surrounding Chamisa’s alleged compromise reached a fever pitch following public demands by Chief Fortune Charumbira in 2023 for the two leaders to work together. The narrative, rooted in Zimbabwe’s age-old politics of ethnicity and identity, suggested a political deal between the two Karanga leaders. Critics pointed to Chamisa’s decision to abandon the CCC in early 2024 and his subsequent two-year hiatus as evidence of a secret arrangement to allow Mnangagwa’s “2030 project” to proceed without significant opposition.
Chamisa, however, has dismissed these allegations as “gaslighting.” Through a series of rhetorical questions, he sought to dismantle the logic of his detractors. “Do you honestly believe that if the Chamisa you constantly gaslight and vilify had agreed to be co-opted by ED, there would have been any need to hire that Tshabangu as the manufactured face of a government-sponsored opposition?” he asked.
He further questioned why the government would pursue Constitutional Amendment Bill No. 3 (CAB3) or spend “billions” in taxpayers’ money to buy influence and recruit allies to destroy his credibility if he were already on their side. “Why would an ally cause you sleepless nights? Give us a break! Kwanai! Miswai! The logic simply does not add up,” Chamisa wrote. “We’re chalk and cheese, oil and water. We can’t mix!”
Despite these denials, Chamisa has provided little in the way of hard evidence to support his claims that billions have been spent specifically to discredit him. Yet, the reality of the “2030 project”—a legislative manoeuvre to extend Mnangagwa’s presidency beyond the current two-term limit—is very real, and it has set the stage for a confrontation with the nation’s military old guard.
The Army is Watching
The most ominous signal of instability came not from the opposition, but from within the military establishment itself. Retired Air Marshal Henry Muchena, a veteran of the liberation struggle with over 50 years in ZANU PF, recently issued an unprecedented public warning. He declared that the Zimbabwe Defence Forces (ZDF) are “watching” the current political process and will not hesitate to act if the ruling party becomes a “security threat.”
Muchena’s intervention is seen as the voice of a group of former generals who are vehemently opposed to CAB3. The bill, colloquially known as the “ED2030” plan, seeks to extend Mnangagwa’s tenure by two years, effectively bypassing the 2013 Constitution. Muchena was scathing in his assessment of the “new crop of unelected leaders” who have allegedly seized control of ZANU PF through cash and patronage.
“These opportunists have quickly moved to try and remove Section 212 of the Constitution which mandates the Zimbabwe Defence Forces to defend the Constitution,” Muchena stated. “I do not want to believe that the ZDF are derelicting on their duties but they are watching the process and when ZANU PF itself becomes a security threat I want to believe they will advise accordingly.”
In the coded language of Zimbabwean politics, “advising accordingly” is a thinly veiled threat of intervention. The parallels to 2017 are impossible to ignore. Back then, General Constantino Chiwenga, now the First Vice President, warned that the military would “intervene” to stop the purging of war veterans. Today, Chiwenga is widely believed to lead the faction within ZANU PF that is most opposed to the term extension, viewing it as a betrayal of the transition agreement that brought Mnangagwa to power.
A Farm Visit Shrouded in Secrecy
The guest list for this “private” encounter was particularly telling. Notably absent were Vice Presidents Chiwenga and Kembo Mohadi. Instead, the meeting included a select group of controversial businessmen: Wicknell Chivayo, Kudakwashe Tagwirei, and Paul Tungwarara. All three have been repeatedly linked to allegations of corruption and state capture.
During a tour of the farm, Ramaphosa reportedly made a pointed statement: “Nothing and nobody will remove my elder brother from power unconstitutionally.” He added that Mnangagwa would be president until 2030 “if Parliament says so.” These remarks, interpreted as a clear endorsement of Mnangagwa and a warning to his detractors, have been characterised by activists like Rutendo Matinyarare as a “crisis management intervention” intended to stave off an imminent coup or civil war.
The Billion-Dollar Scandals
The presence of Chivayo and Tagwirei at the Kwekwe farm also brought their controversial dealings back into the spotlight. Chivayo is currently the subject of intense scrutiny over a R1.1 billion scandal involving the procurement of election materials. War veteran Knox Chivero has alleged that over R800 million was channelled to accounts linked to Chivayo’s companies, raising serious money-laundering concerns. The South African elite police unit, the Hawks, is reportedly probing these financial flows.
Tagwirei, whose firm Sakunda Holdings ran the “Command Agriculture” programme, has also been implicated in extensive corruption. Allegations claim that the programme was used as a conduit for the theft of $3.6 billion. The United States Treasury Department imposed sanctions on Tagwirei in 2020, citing his role in undermining Zimbabwe’s economic development.
The optics of these businessmen—often referred to as the “new crop of leaders” by military veterans—standing alongside the President while the nation’s generals issue warnings from the sidelines has created a volatile atmosphere. The military old guard views these individuals as “opportunists” who are using wealth to bypass traditional power structures and influence constitutional processes.
The Shadow of the Past
Adding another layer of complexity is the recent release of former cabinet minister Walter Mzembi from prison. Mzembi, a figure from the Mugabe era who returned from exile in Zambia, was granted bail pending judgment in a $2 million corruption trial. The charges relate to the alleged misappropriation of funds earmarked for the 2010 FIFA World Cup, which were reportedly used to purchase television sets for various churches.
Mzembi’s defence—that the donations were authorised by the late Robert Mugabe and Morgan Tsvangirai under a “religious tourism” policy—serves as a reminder of the deep-seated patronage systems that have defined Zimbabwean politics for decades. His release, coming at a time of such intense political manoeuvring, has only added to the sense that the old rules of the game are being rewritten.
A Nation on the Precipice
Zimbabwe today finds itself at a critical juncture. On one side is a presidency determined to consolidate power through legislative amendments and the support of a wealthy, controversial elite. On the other is a military establishment that feels its institutional power and the liberation legacy are under threat. And in the middle is an opposition leader, Nelson Chamisa, who is trying to navigate a path that avoids both co-option and the endorsement of another military takeover.
The introduction of the new currency, the ZiG, and a fragile economy have only heightened the stakes. Any further political instability could derail the modest diplomatic gains made since 2017 and plunge the nation into a deeper crisis.
As the “ED2030” campaign gathers momentum, the words of Retired Air Marshal Muchena continue to hang over the capital: “The army is watching.” In Zimbabwe, history has shown that when the army starts watching, the political landscape is rarely far from a seismic shift. Whether the current administration can navigate these turbulent waters without a repeat of “Paper 2” remains the most pressing question for the nation and the region at large.
The tragedy of Zimbabwe’s democracy remains its fragility—a state where the warnings of a retired general can carry more weight than the voices of millions of citizens. As the countdown to 2030 begins, the struggle for the soul of the nation is no longer just about the ballot box; it is about the barracks, the billionaires, and a constitution that is being tested to its very limit.