The Revolution Will Not Be Televised
(abridged, with apologies to Gil Scott Heron)

The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the Zimbabwe Broadcasting Corporation  news
without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Tsvangirai
blowing an antelope horn and leading a charge by Tendai Biti and Thokozani Khupe to move into the PMs official residence and eat
sadza nehuku confiscated from a ZANU PF rally.
The revolution will not be televised.

The revolution will not be brought to you by
Econet Wireless, uninspired to change your world
and will not star Chipo Bizura and Denzel Burutsa or Joe Pike and Munya.
Studio 263, Generations, and ‘just in cinemas’ Lobola
will no longer be so damned relevant,
men will not care if women strip in the street
because our people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.

CHIWONISO at The Mannenberg: Modern Spirit, Ancient Soul
The Mannenberg, Fife Ave Mall / 6th Street, Harare /  Thursday 4 November 2010 at 9pm

Pictured above is Chiwoniso in Japan with Peter Solo (Togo) and Erick Wainaina (Cameroon)

So many times people sit at a bar, or family gatherings or even stand in supermarket aisles and complain. It’s almost as though complaining is the first thing we were taught at school.

We complain that it doesn’t rain, and when it does, we complain that it’s raining. We complain about the economy, we complain that there aren’t enough jobs. We complain about the banks, we complain about having to bribe the police. We complain about poor service from ZESA, ZINWA and City of Harare, and when we feel there isn’t anything left to complain about we complain about the government.

So much time and energy is put into articulating these complaints to anyone who will listen. It’s always someone else’s fault, never our own that we let things go so far in Zimbabwe. And we take it further, expecting someone, anyone to fix our problems. We have become so passive as a nation it’s no wonder that corrupt politicians and businessmen feel that they can get away with anything, who is going to stop them?

What would happen if all those complaints, those endless hours spent complaining about how terrible everything is were translated into action? What if instead of passive complaining we collectively did something about our complaints?

Mahatma Gandhi said ‘You must be the change you want to see in the world … In a gentle way you can shake the world.’ No one has to start a revolution in order to be a revolutionary. People like Wangari Maathai, Mother Theresa and Rosa Parks created change just by being – doing the little that they could. They were committed to their beliefs, and defended them when necessary, even though they didn’t have the loudest voices.

It doesn’t take very much to do the right thing every day. Every step taken, every word spoken and written, counts.

Truth be told, when I define myself, nationality does not take precedence. From the time I was born, I was immersed in and shaped by my ethnicity. The language I speak, the traditions and values I keep, the history I’m rooted in and, to some extent, my way of thinking, are all affirmations of my primary identity as a Ndebele. I am part of the Nguni-speaking peoples of Africa – MaNdebele amahle, abakoMthwakazi, abondlela zimhlophe (The Beautiful Ndebele of Mthwakazi, for whom the paths are prosperous).

I wish that I could feel as deeply about my Zimbabwean-ess as I do for my being Ndebele. To some extent, being Zimbabwean is really a matter of fact for me – I was born here, I live here and I have the identity documents to prove it.  Between the great house of stone and me, there is little cement.

Social science suggests that national symbols are key to building national pride and the strong identification of a group of individuals with their country. And therein lies the problem. Zimbabwe’s national symbols have elicited in me, by accident or design, everything else but.

Take for instance our national anthem. I grew up singing “Nkosi Sikelela”. By age three, I knew the tune. In primary school, I knew the words and was beginning to develop an appreciation of it. Then along came “Kalibusiswe Ilizwe leZimbabwe”. Our new anthem just failed to occupy the same spot. I have never connected to it and simply learning the words has been a chore I’d rather skip. I console myself with the fact that at least I know the tune, but more often than not, the tune I like to hum to myself is “Nkosi Sikelela”.

Then there’s our national flag. Ask me about the colours, the order that they lie in, what each stands for and I will answer correctly, thanks to my patient grade-four teacher. I respect our national flag, whether it is hanging at full or half-mast or being raised and lowered. Maybe, that’s the trouble. My relationship and interaction with the Zimbabwe flag is rigid and formal, especially when I compare it with the vivid images of Americans and South Africans draping and painting and dressing themselves in their respective banners. Perhaps, if we gave it a pet name like the Star Spangled Banner that would help to build a familiar and loving relationship.

Citizens of other nations also take great pride in their currencies. Botswana has the Pula, both for money and as a national slogan. And who can forget the British, who have such pride in their Pound Sterling that they have honoured it with a name and a surname.  Unfortunately, when I remember the Zimbabwe Dollar and her cousin, the bearer cheque, it is the trauma of hyperinflation that stands out most. On the other, more positive hand, our suffering at the hands of a temperamental currency did serve to unite us in our misery.

I guess the reason why I’m troubled by my (lack of) patriotism is that I’m a person who always has a strong sense of loyalty and dedication to anything I belong to. I love my roots, my family, my religion and as trivial as it seems now, I even loved the canary-yellow of my schoolhouse. I really envy those who are devoted to and are prepared to serve their countries without question. I long for the day when I too will have a similar love for mine.

The end of the year is usually a time when we reflect on the months behind us and meditate on what was and what could have been. This period of private rumination is not confined to the faithful who claim the risen Christ as their Lord and Saviour in their lives, but even the non-believer will stop and take stock as part of that human appeal that we avoid unnecessary pain and make better our lives in the New Year. The guy who steals and mugs God-fearing mortals looks back and thanks his gods that he escaped gaol and prays that the new year brings with it that Houdinisque streak. Thus it is for many Zimbabweans who stayed in the country – to face the music so to speak – while the fortunate left to seek better lives elsewhere. Some have opined in the past that there is no benefit in mopping about circumstances you cannot change, and as we look back in the year past, Zimbabweans seem to have embraced the very opposite of that counsel. It has indeed become depressing listening to everyone complain about this and that and you tend to wonder how many genuinely sane people walk our streets.

That it is a year that began with a lot promise is a sure thing. It began as the country celebrated in February the first anniversary of a unity government rightly seen by many as the beginning of long delayed economic reconstruction. Full shop shelves became for many the most visible pointer that the country was on the road to recovery as goods that only a few months had been found on the street at exorbitant prices could now be purchased in formal shops. If only the people had the money to buy these goods. Teachers and other government employees continued pressing for salary increases, and one only has to imagine the fate of the unemployed and other vulnerable groups amidst such complaints about poor salaries by certified professionals.

The people have been told that economic reconstruction, job creation, medicines in hospitals, textbooks in schools will not happen overnight – the new birth pangs of the government of national unity. But the impatience of the people here who are demanding a better life is understood within the context that they know where the country is coming from. They know the Zimbabwe inherited in 1980 at independence when men toiling as unskilled workers in different sectors of the then thriving economy could afford to buy their own houses; they know the Zimbabwe where they could send children to school, where teachers saw the profession as indeed a vocation: that is where the bitterness of many here resides, and as we journey into a new year, those expectations linger.

Zimbabweans look back at the year behind them and expect the coming year to bring good tidings, that is the Zimbabwe they want because they know all that misery that happened in the past year -and indeed past years – has largely been authored by man. Many have asked what happened to the men and women of goodwill who promised them health, education and housing for all in 1980? Could the coming year be the year when this and other promises and expectations come true? But then that reads like a naive question. What lies ahead are scheduled national elections which could mean the people’s expectations are further postponed as it is well documented here that elections have always brought with them unnecessary violence. So how do you provide for the people when your primary concern is gaining political power? In our politics that is in itself a contradiction of sorts. You just cannot have it both ways. Elections demand huge resources and political parties will spend arms and legs, while government itself will budget hundreds of millions of American dollars into the exercise. Meanwhile, sad stories can be heard in the cities about families going to bed without any meal, yet but one still hears the occasional comment that “things” are better now because you can virtually get anything you want at the shops but with the caveat – “if you have the money.” So what Zimbabweans expect in the next year? Not much really, perhaps more of the same. But with the expected elections, we can doubly expect to be back in the international news headlines with yet another run of pre-election violence and therefore disputed poll.

Vanity, all vanity!

If we are to have elections next year, we want UN and EU to come and observe the elections…what does it take for them to come and protect us? If it is money, we villagers in Muzarabani are prepared to sell our chickens and goats to pay them to come. We cannot have a repetition of 2008 where SADC observers were relaxing in hotels while we got beaten here!
- Mr Goto, during one of Heal Zimbabwe’s meetings at Machaya village Muzarabani