Autopsy of a Return: Nelson Chamisa, the vacant dance floor, and the politics of strategic amnesia

Nelson Chamisa has returned to politics. Or, more precisely, he has announced that he has stopped watching the dance floor from the sidelines and decided to reclaim it—because, according to him, no one else had the decency or competence to dance on it in his absence.

That metaphor alone deserves an autopsy.

Because dance floors do not remain vacant by magic. They are abandoned. Or evacuated. Or rendered unusable—sometimes by the very dancer now complaining about the emptiness.

Chamisa’s January 23 presser was polished, fluent, scripturally scented, and emotionally calibrated. It was also an exercise in strategic amnesia, moral elevation without introspection, and political resurrection without repentance.

This was not a confession. It was not an accounting. It was not even a reckoning.

It was a sermon.

The Self-Imposed Exodus That Wasn’t:

Let us begin with the foundational myth of the presser: that Chamisa left politics for two years.

He did not.

He stepped aside rhetorically while remaining omnipresent symbolically. He tweeted. He preached. He quoted scripture. He hinted. He appeared. He hovered like a political Holy Spirit—everywhere, nowhere, accountable to no structure, no constitution, no collective.

This was not withdrawal. It was political abstinence without rehabilitation.

And now we are told he is returning because “no one occupied the dance floor.”

But here is the inconvenient truth: he dismantled the dance hall, locked the doors, confiscated the sound system, and fired the organising committee before leaving.

When you dissolve structures, delegitimise internal elections, personalise leadership, weaponise ambiguity, and run vendettas against lieutenants, you do not leave a vacancy. You leave a vacuum. And vacuums do not produce leadership. They produce chaos.

The Dog, the Vomit, and the Missing Mirror:

Chamisa was asked whether forgiveness meant returning to old alliances. His answer was memorable: “Only a dog returns to its vomit.”

Sharp line. Applause-ready. Biblically approved.

But satire demands reciprocity, so let us ask: what about a leader who returns to the same methods that destroyed his own party? What metaphor do we reserve for that?

Because stripped of rhetoric, Agenda 2026 sounds eerily familiar:

No constitution

No elected leadership. No defined structures. No internal accountability. A movement, not a party.

Faith in moral renewal rather than organisational discipline:

We have seen this movie. It did not end well.

If the old opposition collapsed because it was “rotten, compromised and exhausted,” then where is the leader’s role in that rot? Organisations do not decay spontaneously. They are managed into dysfunction.

Strategic Ambiguity: From Tactic to Theology:

Perhaps the most revealing moment came during the Q&A, when Chamisa doubled down on strategic ambiguity, calling it a masterstroke that “fortified our base” and “denied our opponents intelligence.”

This is where satire gives way to cold analysis.

Strategic ambiguity is useful against an external enemy. It is catastrophic inside your own house.

It:

Disempowered structures
Paralyzed mobilisation
Prevented succession planning
Turned loyal cadres into spectators
Rewarded loyalty to a person over commitment to an institution.

You cannot build a democratic alternative while treating your own supporters as operational risks who must be kept in the dark. That is not strategy. That is control. And when ambiguity becomes permanent policy, it ceases to be clever. It becomes authoritarian mimicry.

Agenda 2030: Imaginary Battles and Real Ones:

Chamisa dismisses Mnangagwa’s Term Extension Agenda 2030 as “inconsequential” and a “false fight.” This is not just wrong. It is dangerous.

While Chamisa was perfecting biblical captions and long-suffering metaphors, some Zimbabweans were burning unpaid hours, mobilising, documenting, resisting, and defending the Constitution against vandalism. Real people. Real meetings. Real risk.

To call this an imaginary battle is to erase civic labour. Worse, it is to suggest that constitutional defence is a distraction until it inconveniences a messianic return. History is unkind to leaders who only recognise battles when they are at the centre of them.

The Gospel According to Chamisa:

The presser leaned heavily on moral language:

Moral revolution. Ethical leadership. God showing great things. Peace, patience, long-suffering. There is nothing wrong with faith in politics. Zimbabwe needs values. But faith without accountability is not virtue. It is insulation.

When sermons replace self-critique, religion becomes a political shield. When verses substitute for organisational answers, spirituality becomes avoidance. Zimbabwe does not need another prophet without systems.

The Liberation Movement Analogy: A Dangerous Romance:

Chamisa compared his “movement” to the liberation struggle, rhetorically asking: who was the president? what was the constitution?
This analogy should worry everyone.

Liberation movements are:

Centralised
Militarised
Intolerant of dissent
Justified by existential struggle

Zimbabwe did not fight colonialism to replace it with permanent movements allergic to constitutions. We need institutions, not perpetual causes. We need rules, not revelation.

The tragedy of Zimbabwean politics is not lack of movements. It is abundance of them—none willing to institutionalise themselves. The Unasked Question: Why Should Anyone Trust This Again?

The presser never answered the most important question:

Why should Zimbabweans trust you with another reset when the last one ended in implosion?

Not:
“Trust me because God says so”
Not: “Trust me because ZANU PF is bad”
Not: “Trust me because the dance floor is empty”

Trust is earned through:

Admission of error. Structural reform. Clear rules. Limits on personal power. None were offered.

The Nation’s Question, Not Just Chamisa’s:

This is not just about Nelson Chamisa. It is about us.

Why do Zimbabweans keep falling for politics without architecture?
Why do we confuse charisma with capacity?
Why do we tolerate movements allergic to accountability?
Why do we accept leaders who audit the state but exempt themselves?

We cannot keep demanding constitutionalism from ZANU PF while applauding its absence in the opposition.

Conclusion: You Cannot Reset What You Refuse to Diagnose:

Chamisa says Zimbabwe needs a reset. He is right. But you cannot reset a system without diagnosing your own role in its failure. You cannot reclaim a dance floor you set on fire and call it abandonment.

You cannot preach renewal while recycling the same political software that crashed the system. If Nelson Chamisa truly wants to return—not as a saviour, but as a servant—then the first act of leadership is not a sermon.

It is a confession.

And until that happens, Agenda 2026 risks becoming what Zimbabwe knows too well: Another beautiful promise, floating above the ruins of accountability.