Why I celebrated Independence Day
By Tino Chinyoka
Reading many people’s posts on the social media outlets this week about Zimbabwe’s independence one was stuck by how many lamented the day and thought this wasn’t what we were promised.
Indeed, it is inevitable that people feel disappointment. The meaning and promise of independence has been subverted, nay, torpedoed into nothingness, an illusion, more ephemeral than real.
But, the fact remains that independence was a good thing, and one worth celebrating.
As a people, we must not allow today’s indigestion to make us think that last week’s feast never happened. An argument in a marriage bed about which field to plough first does not suddenly mean that the marriage never happened.
Yes, we are disappointed. We have been deceived, by those who promised us milk and honey only to serve us with a mixture of cacti and sandpaper, all the while threatening and occasionally administering pain should we dare question.
We have been misled, by those who said Smith was a tyrant when even he never could have managed what they have. We have been let down, by those that have stood by as it all went to the dogs, all the while allowing the political elite to feed in the carcass as it all burns.
Yet, it’s still Zimbabwe. The land of our birth, the land that despite all evidence to the contrary every Zimbabwean in the diaspora instinctively thinks of as home. The place where we all want to go and build mansions in and retire in leisure.
The paradise we tell our diaspora raised children about, even as the news tells them otherwise. That place where, when we tell our neighbours and friends about we smile and wax lyrical about until they all ask: so, why did you leave?
Then we dismiss them as jealous, or find an explanation that does not paint ‘home’ in a bad light. That Zimbabwe.
The place where people can’t be sure when the electricity will be on but still make plans to watch football with family and friends, then talk well into the night about family and friends when the power does go off, never once about how someone will pay at the ballot box for this or that.
That place, that’s the Zimbabwe that my aunt’s five sons have died for. The Zimbabwe that gave me a free education from grade 1 to 7, and then continued to do so for my friends at the Upper Top near our home, that’s the one Alfred Nikita Mangena died for.
The Zimbabwe that boasts the highest adult literacy rates in Africa, that confounds the doubters and keeps rebounding even as things fall apart, that’s the one Herbert Chitepo died for.
The Zimbabwe that has sent scientists and engineers to run industries from Vanuatu to Manitoba, nurses to care for the world’s sick from Tooting to Wagga Wagga, teachers in Somerset, doctors in Namibia, accountants in Dubai, actuaries in Cape Town, actors in Ohio, that Zimbabwe.
Say what you will about promises betrayed, and I will agree with you. I will be the first to condemn Mugabe and his politburo for the mess that has befallen our land. I will be in the fore front of those pointing to abuses of the constitution, adumbrating on which sections of the old one and the new one have been violated and how.
But, know this: I will be doing all this because I am the beneficiary of an education I would have never had had independence not happened. Without independence, no one in my village would have gone to university, least of all the son of the village drunk with not even a chicken to his name.
No one from our home would have flown on an airplane, let alone end up walking the storied halls of Oxford, hobnobbing with the rich and famous, had independence not happened.
We would have never known electricity I don’t think, and certainly never have been able to go to Harare to watch our beloved Dynamos, being driven in a car we owned. They have tarred Bhinya Road, or at least started to, Mberengwa is now accessible. Wouldn’t have happened without independence.
How many mothers are like mine, that experienced losing young children because there was no primary health care? My wife, and my brothers’ wives didn’t, because independence happened and brought free vaccines.
How many lives have been saved because people got some basic services when none existed, because independence came? They built a clinic near where I lived in Shurugwi. Of course, I’m pretty sure that the local MP got something out of it, just as I know that some ministers got the best lands near where people I know invaded a farm. One bad thing does not cancel one good thing.
Heck, how many people take pride that they now live in Borrowdale when they couldn’t be caught dead there before?
Things are bad, yes, but never, ever will I ask the question: independence, what independence? Questioning our independence amounts to giving up the freedom that came with it to the very same people that have now taken it.
Mugabe might have been involved when our independence was won, but he does not own it! No. I am willing to concede that ZANU PF was there in 1980, loitering around with intent to commit murder, genocide and other crimes against humanity, but it does not own my independence.
The people that fought for our freedom and either died or got nothing, those are the people I acknowledge an indebtedness to. I owe them my freedom. And that is why I will always celebrate independence on April 18th.
Because like it or not, no matter how bad things get, freedom was won at independence, and that is how come we know we no longer have it. Independence opened our eyes. That epiphany must be enduring, and deserves acknowledgement.
Every year. As a people, we will survive a few bad leaders. Without a doubt. No matter which village idiot is masquerading as president at the time, dreaming up dreams about how to oppress us more.
Independence brought that promise.
