When we revise everything

By Tino Chinyoka

There was a story circulating about whether or not ED Mnangagwa was or was not part of a ‘Crocodile Gang’ led by the late William Ndangana. This brought back to the fore the cancer at the heart of our nation: pettiness.

Apparently, EDM did not belong to this group, and those that did belong to it really do not like the idea that he has been claiming to have been party to it. After all, they have the proof: he was not there when they claimed their biggest victory: the killing of a white man.

Reminds you of the story a past occupant of EDM’s office, Joyce Mujuru who, as it turns out, never did shoot down any helicopter as previously claimed. There seems to be a curse placed on President RGM that makes him keep appointing to this office people of questionable liberation credentials.

But, pause and reflect for a moment. This is 2015! The news that the man next in line to lead our country did not, after all, kill a white man (or any man for that matter since, according to the story, his only connection with the war was that aiva tsano vaTongogara and visited the camps once), should be celebrated as a good thing.

As is the fact that Joyce Mujuru shot down no helicopters thus killing no white people in it. That those running these stories appear to be suggesting that not having killed white people somehow disqualifies you from leading the country shows you the kind of thinking that causes a country to go off the rails as ours has.

The journey that we travel as a nation is one that has not been smooth. From the outset we as a people were afflicted by a colonial power that sought to make our country their own while making us slaves in our homes. We fought a bitter war of independence to reclaim that which had been stolen from us.

We won our political independence and embarked on a process of nation building. Led by a leader whose commitment to his people seemed at first to be second to none, the nation embarked on an ambitious programme, with education for everyone and increased access to public health at the core, but it was not until 20 years later that the liberation of our country was complete; when the land, for which many of our number paid the ultimate price, was finally ours. The journey was complete. And we walked it together.

But, when people walk together, from the start of a journey to the last mile, the mountains, the forests and the ravines that they have traversed are not made less real by the fact that some of them choose to forget them, choose to forget the bonds they forged at each difficult crossing, choose to trivialise the memories of that they journey with by choosing to misremember. Nor are they made any less real by the fact that quite a number of us appear to have managed to survive them without killing any white people or shooting down no helicopters.

Joyce Mujuru has been on record saying: “dhimoni rehanganwa rinoda kunamatirwa!” This is a truism that bears repetition: the journey is not in any way less real just because others choose to forget. Or choose to allow selective memory decide what is and what is not important.

So we choose to remember, that the Spirit of Mbuya Nehanda and Sekuru Kaguvi made us all focus as one in the war. We choose to remember, the sacrifice of the gallant sons and daughters of this country, living and departed. We choose to remember Hebert Chitepo, who killed no white man nor shot down any helicopter.

We choose to remember, Josiah Magama Tongogara. We choose to remember, Josiah Tungamirai, and we choose to remember, Solo Maimbodei. We choose to remember, day and day out, Rex Nhongo, who walked this journey a hero to a nation and husband to she that shot no helicopter, until his life was tragically extinguished before his time, the circumstances forever shrouded in mystery and no shortage of pointed fingers.

And we think of those that remain yet walked this journey with these gallant fighters.

With them, many ordinary and unthanked heroes left this country ready kunoteura ropa ravo for this nation. Not in some racist frenzy to kill white people or shoot down helicopters, but as genuine liberators.

Comrades. They knew each other. The bonds that they forged go beyond everyday discourse. They will stand the test of time. They will survive the venom of revisionists with an agenda, who spit venom clothed in what they call facts.

They were united by one thing and one thing alone: their love for this country. There was no Karanga or Zezuru or Manyika or Shona or Ndebele. They were one. So much so that to know oneself was to know one’s comrade. Those that yet live can say “your hands were my hands, your arms my arms, your legs mine as well.”

So today, when Teurai Ropa stands accused of high treason, Comrades must look at themselves and ask, which part of your body is capable of such a crime? Because they and Teurai Ropa are one. How is this even possible?

Can the widow and life companion of Rex Nhongo truly betray this country? Chokwadi paarere Rex Nhongo pagomo apo, achiti chii nazvo?

Comrade Dominic Guveya Chinenge, Comrade Peter Maridzamhere, Comrade Tonderai Nyika, Comrade Simbi Chinembiri, and you all Comrades that one cannot name without speaking all day, tell us true; which part of your body, spirit and soul is capable of betraying this country; because perhaps then she can see it on herself.

Because for now, all she likely sees is a readiness to sacrifice for this country, true today as it was when she stood together with others in the Second Chimurenga, united in purpose and true to one another.

God alone knows what tomorrow holds. One can be down today but raised high tomorrow. Inga wani the bible tells us kuti ibwe rakaraswa ndiro rakazoitwa musoro we corner. Mwari vanoziva.

Do not be deceived: people are not foolish. They know why their history is being revised. They will not forget to remember, the journey their sons and daughters, brothers and sisters, uncles and aunts, friends and lovers walked, as comrades. They will not forget to remember, the hopes they shared together.

They will not forget to remember, the challenges they faced together and the setbacks they survived, together. They fought not to kill white people or down helicopters, but to liberate their people. Their reward has not been dairy farms or diamond mines, but death and a harvest of the whirlwind for their remaining kin.

Even when others choose to revel in stories about who killed how many white people. Or downed which helicopter. While their puppet masters count the litres of milk they will ship out of the dairy tomorrow and which dealer to use for their next diamonds sale.