Examining Chiwenga’s path to power: Can Zimbabwe’s ‘Iron General’ seize the throne?

In the shadowed corridors of Zimbabwe’s ruling ZANU-PF party, where loyalty is currency and betrayal a daily transaction, Vice President Constantino Chiwenga stands as both heir apparent and perpetual challenger to President Emmerson Mnangagwa.

At 69, the former army commander who orchestrated the 2017 military intervention that ousted Robert Mugabe now eyes the presidency with the precision of a marksman.

As Zimbabwe hurtles towards the 2028 elections – or perhaps an earlier rupture – Chiwenga’s prospects hinge on leveraging his formidable assets to dismantle the entrenched resistance from Mnangagwa’s faction.

Yet, this succession battle is no straightforward duel; it’s a multifaceted matrix of military might, party intrigue, economic despair, and a fragmented opposition that could either propel Chiwenga to power or consign him to irrelevance.

Let us begin by dissecting how Chiwenga might harness the factors in his favour to overturn the Mnangagwa bulwark. Foremost is his unassailable command over the military and security sectors, a legacy of his role in the 2017 “operation” that installed Mnangagwa but left Chiwenga with the real levers of coercive power.

Active-duty officers and veterans alike revere him as the guardian of the liberation struggle’s ethos, viewing Mnangagwa as a mere beneficiary of their sweat and blood.

To upend resistance, Chiwenga could subtly mobilise this loyalty through backchannel alliances, perhaps by amplifying war veterans’ grievances against Mnangagwa’s alleged kleptocracy.

Figures like Blessed Geza have already voiced demands for Mnangagwa’s exit, labelling him a corrupt interloper.

Chiwenga might escalate this by orchestrating discreet veteran-led protests or resolutions at party gatherings, framing them as organic uprisings rather than orchestrated coups.

Such moves could pressure Mnangagwa into concessions, like stepping aside early, especially if whispers of military intervention – echoing 2017 – begin to circulate among the rank and file.

Complementing this is Chiwenga’s potent anti-corruption narrative, which resonates deeply amid Zimbabwe’s grinding economic woes: hyperinflation, unemployment, and a currency in freefall.

By spotlighting Mnangagwa’s favouritism towards tycoons like Kudakwashe Tagwirei – accused of siphoning national resources – Chiwenga positions himself as a reformist hardliner committed to purging the rot.

To leverage this, he could leak damning exposés through sympathetic media or social platforms, building grassroots momentum that isolates Mnangagwa’s cronies.

Public spats, such as Chiwenga’s symbolic “shot” at a firing range event, already signal his willingness to confront the president head-on. If amplified, this narrative could erode Mnangagwa’s base, particularly among disillusioned youth and urban voters weary of elite enrichment.

Constitutionally, Chiwenga’s vice-presidential perch offers a direct path: should Mnangagwa, now 82, succumb to health rumours or face a forced exit, Chiwenga ascends automatically.

To exploit this, Chiwenga might cultivate international sympathy – perhaps through quiet diplomacy with regional powers like South Africa or China, where he received medical treatment – portraying himself as a stabilising force against Mnangagwa’s chaos.

His camp’s accusations of poisoning plots and “disrespect” could be weaponised to justify preemptive action, framing any intervention as defensive rather than aggressive.

In essence, Chiwenga’s strategy boils down to a calculated escalation: use military whispers to intimidate, corruption scandals to delegitimise, and constitutional positioning to legitimise a takeover, all while avoiding overt confrontation that could unify his foes.

Yet, these advantages are ensnared in a web of formidable obstacles, each underscoring the nuances of Zimbabwe’s succession matrix—a blend of patronage, tribalism, and institutional inertia that favours incumbents.

Mnangagwa’s iron grip on ZANU-PF’s politburo and central committee is a primary barrier, fortified by recent reshuffles that sidelined Chiwenga allies like Obert Mpofu, a master strategist.

This control extends to provincial structures, where Mnangagwa has neutralised Chiwenga’s influence through targeted purges, as seen in the September 2025 escalations.

The upcoming October 2025 conference in Mutare looms as a battleground, with Mnangagwa allies like Daniel Garwe advocating resolutions to extend terms until 2030 via constitutional amendments, effectively stalling succession.

If passed, this would freeze Chiwenga in limbo, highlighting how party machinery can be manipulated to entrench power, a tactic honed under Mugabe.

Compounding this is Mnangagwa’s grooming of proxy successors, chief among them Tagwirei, a non-political businessman thrust into party roles despite lacking “liberation credentials.”

Viral videos of Tagwirei cosying up to Mnangagwa underscore an “inheritance” scheme designed to bypass Chiwenga, appealing to Mnangagwa’s Karanga ethnic base while alienating Chiwenga’s Zezuru supporters.

This tribal undercurrent adds layers to the matrix: Zimbabwean politics often fractures along ethnic lines, and Mnangagwa’s favouritism could rally his kinsmen against Chiwenga, portraying the vice president as a divisive figure.

War veterans, though largely pro-Chiwenga, are being courted by Mnangagwa through funded projects, peeling away support and demonstrating how economic patronage trumps ideological loyalty.

Direct confrontations further hinder Chiwenga, as seen in rebukes from Mnangagwa loyalists like Chris Mutsvangwa, who demand he cease succession bids. These public clashes risk isolating Chiwenga, painting him as impatient and disloyal in a party culture that prizes deference to the leader.

His health issues – past illnesses treated abroad – fuel doubts about his stamina, while his hardline persona alienates potential allies, including Western donors wary of another militarised regime.

Social media amplifies these vulnerabilities, with Tagwirei’s rise dubbed a “dark horse” manoeuvre, stoking tribal resentments and underscoring how digital narratives shape perceptions in Zimbabwe’s polarised landscape.

This internal strife doesn’t occur in a vacuum; the opposition, mired in fragmentation and rudderless since Nelson Chamisa’s departure from the Citizens’ Coalition for Change (CCC), holds untapped potential to influence outcomes.

Without a charismatic figure like Chamisa, the opposition lacks a rallying point, its factions squabbling over leadership and strategy while Zimbabweans endure economic collapse, corruption, and human rights abuses.

To end this malaise and capitalise on ZANU-PF’s fissures, the opposition must unite behind a cohesive platform, perhaps by coalescing around a new leader or a shared reform agenda.

A unified front could exploit the Chiwenga-Mnangagwa feud, amplifying governance failures through coordinated campaigns – boycotts, social media mobilisation, or mass protests – to pressure the military, Chiwenga’s trump card, into intervening to avert chaos.

Historical precedents show that Mugabe’s 2017 fall, driven by military action, was abetted by internal rifts that created space for dissent.

A reinvigorated opposition could seize by-elections or spark uprisings, fracturing ZANU-PF further and boosting Chiwenga’s odds if he positions himself as a transitional figure.

Yet, their current disarray risks squandering this moment, allowing ZANU-PF to close ranks and frame Chiwenga as a destabiliser, bolstering Mnangagwa.

If economic woes deepen – amid droughts, debt defaults, and sanctions – a united opposition could broker alliances with disaffected ZANU-PF elements, including Chiwenga’s camp, to push for reforms.

International actors, from the African Union to the EU, might tie aid to credible elections, pressuring the ruling party.

In this matrix, a unified opposition is a wildcard that could precipitate ZANU-PF’s implosion; their continued fragmentation, however, lets Mnangagwa’s machine grind on.

As of September 2025, Chiwenga’s chances linger at 35-40%, a precarious balance where military intervention remains plausible but party control favours the status quo.

Zimbabwe’s succession isn’t scripted; it’s seized amid volatility. Chiwenga must act decisively—leveraging loyalty, narratives, and crises—or watch Mnangagwa’s machine grind him down.

For a nation weary of strongmen, the true victor may be the one who navigates this tapestry without unravelling the fragile state itself.

The Mutare conference will test these threads; failure could ignite a conflagration that engulfs all players, opposition included, in the flames of uncertainty.