Reflecting on the Legacy of Robert Mugabe
There are a certain kind of political figures who are something of a paradox, standing at the division between esteem and revulsion. That, even though few would consider them good, it is difficult to think of them as anything other than great.
These are the figures who stand out, change things, and exert disproportionate influence over the direction of a given set of people – assertive, bold, but also dictatorial. They are the ones who bring down systems and are left with most of the pieces to rebuild. What they rebuild, however, is – depending on how one interprets it – either a betrayal or a culmination of their previous actions. Precisely due to their involvement in establishing the new order, their style of governing soon becomes self-important, arrogant, and objective of the way it sees the world: as a struggle between good and evil.
Historical examples include Alexander the Great and Napoleon Bonaparte. Both were key conquerors and influencers over their own nations and many others. In one sense, their life achievements can be interpreted as a series of self-important vanity projects. Yet, it is true that they were single-handedly responsible for their achievements. That, in some ironic sense, they were entitled to absolute power.
The 20th Century brought into this age-old problem the objectivity of ideology. To both the Fascist and Communist demoguos came a sense of a greater struggle against wrong, whether that be foreign infiltrators or the insidious intentions of global capital. Contained within this was a profound sense of self-importance: that we have the right answer, not the evil alternative. They were therefore the wellspring of brutal dictators: Hitler, Stalin, Franco, Pol Pot, Mao. Each is striking not because of their ‘evil’ but from their absolute confidence in their cause and the legitimacy of their leadership over it.
Yet, one is tempted to call them great figures, or, to use Hegel’s phrase, world-historical individuals. They exerted enormous influence over the world, seemingly personifying or even defying the broad social, economic, and political factors characterize most historical and political developments. We may also say that for some their cause was an inherently good one – most of the communists brought down unjust systems, and envisioned a better alternative. Yet, what emerges is a disconnect: a system the same, if not worse, than the previous one; “Meet the new boss, same as the old boss”.
I believe that Robert Mugabe, the longtime authoritarian leader of Zimbabwae can best be understood in this paradigm. In approaching him, one’s first reaction is likely to be condemnation. He was a dictator after all, he killed people, and through his own petty drive to maintain power caused immeasurable suffering on his people. By the time of his removal, 40 years into power, Zimbabwae was an economic, social, and political basketcase. At an obscene inflation rate of 231 million per cent, the economy sharply declined into the abyss – the biggest contraction of any peacetime economy in the world. Mass emigrations followed, as poverty became the norm for most of the population.
But this final legacy of Mugabe is far from the full story. Mugabe, for instance, cannot be dismissed as a cynical opportunist or black-and-white meglomaniac. This is most clear from the enthusiastic praise he received in many obituaries. Yoweri Museveni, the President of Uganda, expressed mourning over the demise of “African liberation icon & great Pan-Africanist”. Similarly, Namibia’s President Hage Geingob called Mugabe “an extraordinary revolutionary and tenacious freedom fighter who contributed immensely to Africa and Namibia’s cause for freedom”.
This expresses an admiration for Mugabe not so much as a good person, but a great one; someone who, through personal strength, brought down an unjust system and established a new one. Perhaps this gives Mugabe too much credit, but it does seem that in looking at the trajectory of Mugabe’s life we have to agree with them.
Zimbabwae (at the time known as Rhodesia) was a racsist, apartheid state that favoured a white minority at the expense of the indigenous majority. A particular injustice came from the physical eviction of black populations of their own land to make way for white imigration. Those evicted were dumped into overcrowded and remote African reserves. This was in part justified on the basis that political power should be kept in white “responsible hands” instead of the indigenous population that could not govern itself.
Mugabe, the son of a carpenter, was born in western Zimbabwe in 1924. Educated by the Roman Catholic missionaries, he began his career as a teacher. It was while working in Ghana, the first state to gain independence from white colonial rule, that he was surrounded by liberationist and pan-African ideas. Upon returning to Zimbabwe, he quickly became a key figure of the revolutionary cause, eventually being arrested on the charges of sedition from 1963 to 1974. Nonetheless, in the end, he was quite successful – overseeing a peaceful transition to what was initially a democratic system.
Throughout this time and onwards, Mugabe was convinced of the ongoing holy struggle to bring down the twin evils of colonialism and capitalism, which was to be a constant subversive support. This sense of an uncompromising enemy, coloured his behaviors in leadership. Enemies were dismissed a traitorous sell-out, and economic setbacks were blamed on the secretive plots of the Western powers. Mugabe therefore saw his mission in a black-and-white way, and was prompted to an adversarial mindset; sharp, vigilant, but also paranoid.
Despite some initial allegations of vote rigging, Mugabe’s initial few years in control could be considered to be positive. One can detect an authentic concern for the welfare of the people. Initial shrewd economic policies both diversified and stabilized Zimbabwe’s economy. There was a concentrated attempt to avoid corruption, the largest problem of most new democracies, by a ‘leadership code’ that barred ministers from owning too much property. Most importantly, Mugabe can be given full credit for gains in education. Currently at 89%, the Zimbabwean literacy rate is far higher than its neighbours.
Yet, in retrospect, there were warning signs. In forming a new post-colonial government, Mugabe and his guerrilla colleagues were always intent on forming a one-party state, comprised of the enlightened, revolutionary vanguard. True democracy could not be tolerated, for it turned power away from the informed to the people, who could be swayed by subversive enemy operations. But, as with other communist states, it became clear that power was to move from the party to its head. Thus, there was a gradual centralization of power to a few key offices. Rivals conveniently disappeared.
From the beginning, Mugabe was very willing to use repression as a means for order, stability, and to keep the right people in power. His most heinous crime in this regard was the mid-1980s massacre of several thousand ethnic Ndebeles who were seen as the supporters of a key rival.
It could be said that it was in 2000 that things truly took a turn for the worst. For the first time, a growing opposition movement posed an existential threat to the governing party in the upcoming elections. His response was to send the Zimbabwe militia to confiscate white-owned rural land. Through the violence, intimidation, and in some sense moral legitimacy, that the militia brought caused the opposition to lose steam; Mugabe and his party held on to power. However, the economic consequences would prove to be fatal.
The seizure of land in 2000 truly represents the paradox of Mugabe, and the power of great persons in general. It came at a moment of political opportunism, in which the maintenance of power was paramount. Pragmatically, the move removed the support and funding of the opposition in rural areas, while re-energizing supporters with the promise of land handouts. Yet, this can also be interpreted as the culmination of Mugabe’s ideas. That is, Mugabe taking advantage of an opportune time to do what he knew to be the right thing for his people. White land-seizure goes back to Mugabe’s revolutionary days. He knew land meant power, and it was only really through the forced transfer of it to the indigenous population that the pan-Africanist ideas of liberation and prosperity can be achieved.
Thus, here the two ‘oppossets’ of Robert Mugabe blend together into an unclear melange – the praised freedom fighter and the brutal dictator. Land-seizure was the most important expression of both an authentic cause and the need to maintain power for its own sake. It therefore suggests that for Mugabe the two always came together, inseparable.
From here, Zimbabwae only went further into the abyss. Mugabe’s position entered a vicious feedback loop; becoming more self-important, more stubborn, and more desperate in the need to cling on to power. In his own view, Mugabe became more resolute as the enemy gained a foothold. By the end, as his own party was plotting to remove him, Mugabe claimed that it was only God who put him where he was it was only God who could remove him.
What then can be concluded of Mugabe? We cannot detect a betrayal. There is no evidence to suggest that Mugabe lost his original intentions, or his concern for the welfare of his people. He instead became more and more self-assured of his own place in advancing them. Instead, what really happened to Zimbabwe was a tragedy. The elements were there from the beginning. The very same things that brought him to success – his intelligence, self-assurance, and ideological fervor – were what eventually brought Zimbabwe down.
Mugabe’s ultimate legacy, and they way we regard him, will be shrouded in mystery and contradiction. Do we emphasize they audacious liberator or the petty dictator he became?
In the end, Mugabe and Zimbabwae’s story, so intimately linked, provide us with an insight into a paradox at the heart of power and the human condition: that great people can be so bad.
By Sam Routley
Please note that opinions expressed are the author’s own. They do not necessarily reflect the views and values of The Blank Page.
