The corridors of power in Harare are currently vibrating with a seismic revelation from the investigative collective, Team Pachedu.
According to their latest findings, a cabal of powerful political figures is no longer merely whispering about succession; they are actively engineering the removal of Vice President Constantino Chiwenga.
The report suggests a chillingly calculated transition is in motion, alleging that ZANU PF provincial structures are being systematically mobilised to pass votes of no confidence.
At the heart of this purge lies a radical plan to fill the vacuum with the prominent businessman Kudakwashe Tagwirei, a move that would signal the total capture of the state’s executive branch by the nation’s most influential commercial interests.
The Team Pachedu report posits that the man who led the 2017 coup is currently at his most vulnerable.
The intelligence suggests that Chiwenga’s traditional shield – the military – has been strategically thinned, leaving only General Anselem Sanyatwa as his last firm pillar of support.
If these efforts to oust him succeed in the coming weeks, it would represent a historic gamble by the president’s loyalists, betting that “the General” can be neutralised without a shot being fired.
Yet, situating this within the concrete realities of Zimbabwe, such a move ignores the combustible nature of the country’s security architecture.
In the high-stakes theatre of Zimbabwean politics, the relationship between President Emmerson Mnangagwa and his deputy, Chiwenga, has long been described as a marriage of convenience brokered by the barrel of a gun.
Since the 2017 military-assisted transition, the question has never been if the fallout would happen, but when.
If Mnangagwa were to pull the trigger and fire Chiwenga right now, he would not simply be dismissing a subordinate; he would be dismantling the very scaffolding that holds the Second Republic upright.
The resulting tremor would likely collapse the state into a security crisis from which it might not recover.
To understand why a dismissal today is fundamentally different from Robert Mugabe’s sacking of Mnangagwa in 2017, one must look at the current consolidation of power within ZANU PF.
Mnangagwa is currently navigating a delicate constitutional dance to extend his presidency beyond the 2028 limit to 2030. This “ED2030” project is the ultimate provocation to Chiwenga, who, by all accounts of the silent pact made during the coup, believes it is his turn to lead.
Firing Chiwenga now – especially to replace him with a civilian tycoon like Tagwirei – would be a declaration of total war against the military faction that still views the vice president as its authentic representative.
The first and most immediate consequence would be a split in the Zimbabwe Defence Forces (ZDF). While Mnangagwa has spent years harmonising the security sector – shuffling commanders and appointing loyalists like General Emmanuel Matatu to the helm of the ZDF – the ghost of Chiwenga’s influence still haunts the barracks.
Chiwenga is not just a politician; he is “the General.” His connection to the rank-and-file soldiers, many of whom are struggling with the same hyper-inflationary pressures as the civilian population, remains potent.
Sacking him would force every brigadier and colonel to choose a side. In Zimbabwe, when the military splits, the state does not just tremble; it bleeds.
Furthermore, the dismissal would ignite a firestorm within ZANU PF’s structures. The party is already fractured between the Lacoste remnants loyal to the president and the “Green Bomber” or military-aligned elements that coalesce around Chiwenga.
We have already seen the precursors: the mobilisation led by figures like the late Blessed Geza and the open defiance of certain war veteran groups against the constitutional amendments.
A fired Chiwenga becomes a martyr for the cause of constitutionalism and succession equity within the party.
He would no longer be a silent rival inside the tent; he would be a wounded lion outside it, with enough institutional memory and dirt on the administration to possibly render the country ungovernable.
Economically, the impact would be swift and devastating. The Zimbabwe Gold (ZiG) currency, already fighting a losing battle against market perception and the black market, would likely go into a tailspin.
Investors, particularly those from the Look East partners who value stability above all else, would see a vice presidential dismissal as a sign of imminent civil strife.
Capital is a coward; it flees at the first sound of a political explosion. The fragile gains of Vision 2030 would be sacrificed on the altar of a personal power struggle, leaving the ordinary Zimbabwean in the Mutare or Chegutu street to pay the price in bread and fuel.
There is also the matter of the Southern African Development Community (SADC). Mnangagwa, currently chairing the regional body, would find himself in the embarrassing position of being a regional leader presiding over a domestic meltdown.
The international community, which has been cautiously engaging with Harare’s debt clearance dialogue, would likely retreat.
Firing a vice president under these circumstances signals that the rule of law is subservient to the survival of the individual.
It would confirm the worst fears of the West: that Zimbabwe is not a reforming democracy but a praetorian state where power is merely a game of musical chairs played by the elite.
But perhaps the most terrifying prospect is the third force – the disenfranchised youth and the fragmented but angry opposition. In a scenario where the two titans of the ZANU PF establishment are at each other’s throats, the vacuum of authority would be immense.
History teaches us that when the ruling elite are distracted by internal purges, the popular anger over 80 percent unemployment and crumbling infrastructure can boil over. However, unlike a co-ordinated protest, this would be chaotic.
The security apparatus, divided and confused, would be unable or perhaps even unwilling to intervene with the usual heavy-handedness, leading to a breakdown in public order.
Mnangagwa is a student of Mugabe, but he must remember how the story ended for his predecessor. Mugabe thought he could fire his way to a Grace Mugabe presidency. He underestimated the institutional loyalty the military had to one of their own.
If Mnangagwa fires Chiwenga now, he risks repeating that exact mistake, but in a much more volatile environment. The 2017 coup was relatively bloodless because there was a clear consensus on who was the problem.
A purge today would have no such consensus. It would be a messy, protracted struggle between two factions with nearly equal access to the machinery of violence.
In the concrete reality of today’s Zimbabwe, the Crocodile and the General are locked in a lethal embrace. To let go is as dangerous as to hold on. Firing Chiwenga would be the ultimate gamble, a zero-sum move in a country that desperately needs addition, not subtraction.
It would likely result in a palace coup, a state of emergency, or a total collapse of the ZANU PF hegemony.
Zimbabweans often say that when two elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers. But if Mnangagwa fires Chiwenga right now, it won’t just be the grass that suffers; the entire forest will burn.
The president may have the constitutional power to hire and fire, but in the political reality of Zimbabwe, power is not found in a gazetted notice. It is found in the barracks, the boardrooms, and the belief that the person next to you won’t pull the trigger.
Right now, that belief is all that remains of stability.
Removing Chiwenga would be the fastest way to prove that in Zimbabwe, the transition is never over; it is just on pause.
