The Undertaker’s hymn: Has ZANU-PF written its own obituary in the ED2030 resolution?

There comes a time in the life of every political movement when it must pause before the mirror of history and ask itself whether it still resembles the cause it once embodied. For ZANU-PF, that moment has arrived — and the mirror does not flatter.

The face staring back is no longer that of a revolutionary liberator but a tired, wrinkled caricature of power.

And at the centre of that reflection stands the figure of Emmerson Dambudzo Mnangagwa — the undertaker-in-chief of a once-mighty liberation party now stumbling toward its own grave, shovel in hand, humming the hymn of self-preservation disguised as national vision.

Resolution Number 1: The Sound of the Last Nail

When ZANU-PF gathered to issue its “Resolution Number 1” — the infamous ED2030 declaration — it did not simply endorse a man. It proclaimed a philosophy of decay. It was the political equivalent of signing one’s own death certificate while smiling for the cameras.

To declare that Mnangagwa must continue to rule until 2030, beyond the constitutional limit, is not mere ambition — it is the confession of a party that has lost faith in its capacity to renew itself.

It is a movement that fears the uncertainty of succession more than the certainty of rot.

Liberation movements die not because their enemies defeat them, but because they refuse to evolve. ZANU-PF’s obsession with personality cults, with embalming its leaders rather than replacing them, has now reached necrophilic proportions.

The ED2030 resolution is the embalming fluid. It preserves the illusion of vitality while killing the possibility of renewal.

The absurdity is biblical in proportion: the same party that once vowed “no one is bigger than the revolution” now kneels before a single mortal, chanting “2030, 2030” as though it were the new creed of deliverance.

The Undertaker’s Smile

Mnangagwa has become the undertaker presiding over the funeral of ZANU-PF’s legitimacy. His steady hand, once touted as the “second republic’s stabiliser,” now tightens the noose of authoritarian consolidation.

His followers — the acolytes of convenience — parade the ED2030 mantra as patriotic loyalty, when in fact it is the death march of democratic principle.

Under the undertaker’s watch, the instruments of the state — the police, the courts, the media — have been converted into funeral equipment: coffins for dissent, wreaths for constitutionalism, and hymns for the illusion of progress.

Even the party’s own constitution is being laid to rest, smothered beneath legalistic jargon and the perfumed lies of “continuity” and “vision 2030.”

History offers a warning written in the ruins of all revolutions: when power becomes a mausoleum, the guards at its gates mistake embalming for governance.

The General and the First-Aiders

And so enters the general — Constantino Chiwenga — the perennial first-aider tasked with resuscitating a body that no longer wishes to live.

Once the muscle behind the 2017 coup, Chiwenga now finds himself cast in the tragic role of the sidelined medic, clutching his stethoscope while the undertaker steals the stage. His faction, once fierce and feared, now breathes through borrowed oxygen tanks of loyalty and hope.

Every time the general attempts to whisper reform or revival, he is drowned out by the chorus of sycophants who have discovered that their survival depends on the illusion of Mnangagwa’s immortality.

They call it “unity”; in truth, it is paralysis. They call it “stability”; in truth, it is embalming fluid thickening in the veins of a comatose regime.

The generals and war-veterans who once stormed the citadel of Mugabe’s rule now watch helplessly as the same decay re-emerges, wearing a new mask and speaking their language. Their struggle has become a cruel parody of its original intent.

The Anatomy of a Dying Party

The death of a political movement does not happen overnight. It begins in the arteries of ideology, where conviction is replaced by convenience. ZANU-PF’s arteries are clogged with patronage.

The once-fierce debate of ideas has been replaced by the auction of loyalty. Provincial chairs compete not for vision, but for visibility before the presidential motorcade.

Youth leagues no longer demand transformation; they dance for crumbs. The Women’s League no longer mobilises for empowerment; it campaigns for proximity.

This is how the revolutionary bloodstream coagulates — one privilege, one promise, one corrupt tender at a time. The ED2030 resolution is merely the final blockage that stops the flow altogether.

The People Outside the Funeral Home

Outside the mortuary of power stands the Zimbabwean public — weary, cynical, hungry for leadership but fed on slogans. For years, the people have watched the same theatre: liberation credentials used as moral currency, the past weaponised to mortgage the future.

The promise of the “Second Republic” was meant to cleanse the sins of the first. Instead, it has multiplied them under a new priesthood.

The youth, most of whom were not born during the liberation struggle, no longer hear the revolutionary drumbeat — they hear the clatter of an ageing party trying to dance to a rhythm it no longer understands.

The poor, long-suffering and betrayed, have learned to read between the lines of propaganda. They know that “Vision 2030” is less about national development and more about political insurance for the architects of stagnation.

When Legitimacy Turns to Dust

No revolution survives when its moral compass is buried beneath greed. ZANU-PF once claimed to embody the soul of Zimbabwe; today it embodies its nightmare.

Every new scandal, every repressive law, every selective prosecution becomes another handful of dust thrown upon the coffin of its legacy.

Even within the party, whispers grow louder. The so-called “Young Turks” who once believed in modernisation now face a choice: bend, break, or be buried.

The war veterans who once invoked the name of the revolution now mutter about betrayal in hushed tones. The elders who once preached unity now clutch their positions like heirlooms in a burning house.

When a movement begins to fear its own members more than its enemies, the obituary is already written.

The Constitutional Heresy

At the heart of the ED2030 resolution lies a constitutional heresy — a deliberate attempt to tamper with the two-term limit enshrined in the supreme law of the land.

The framers of the 2013 Constitution envisioned a Zimbabwe where no man would again confuse himself with the state. To violate that covenant is to declare war on the republic itself.

Legal minds have already pronounced the obvious: it cannot be done without desecrating the very text that gives ZANU-PF the right to govern.

Yet the party presses on, as though constitutionalism were a mere inconvenience on the road to personal immortality. It is this arrogance — the belief that legality is a matter of convenience — that transforms ruling parties into relics.

The ghosts of liberation are watching, and they do not bless this blasphemy.

Of Power, Fear, and the Coming Reckoning

Fear is the final fuel of a dying regime. When inspiration dries up, fear fills the void. ZANU-PF now governs by fear — fear of change, fear of accountability, fear of a post-Mnangagwa future. It is the kind of fear that eats its own children.

History will not forgive a party that, having freed a nation from colonial domination, enslaved it anew under economic collapse and moral corruption. The undertaker’s smile may still flash in the state media, but beneath it lies the cold arithmetic of decline.

Every day that the ED2030 mantra echoes from the lips of praise-singers, another voter silently walks away. Every time the party persecutes internal dissent, another youth joins the swelling ranks of apathy or exile. You cannot kill hope and expect legitimacy to survive.

The Last March of the Liberators

ZANU-PF once marched to the drums of Chimurenga — now it limps to the dirge of inertia. Its liberation songs have become elegies; its slogans, empty prayers.

The ED2030 resolution is not a strategy for continuity — it is a panic attack disguised as vision. It reveals a party terrified of the post-Mnangagwa era, aware that once he departs, the internal contradictions will explode.

The liberation generation is fading, and rather than groom successors, it has chosen to canonise its elders. But politics, like nature, abhors a vacuum.

A new generation waits — restless, excluded, and unafraid. When the undertaker finally lowers the coffin, they will not mourn; they will rebuild.

The Undertaker’s Hymn

In the hymn of history, every verse of power ends with the refrain of accountability. ZANU-PF is now singing its final stanza. Its obituary is written not by its enemies but by its own hand — in the ink of arrogance, on the parchment of fatigue.

Mnangagwa may yet believe he can outwit both law and time, but no ruler has ever defeated decay. The undertaker buries others; he cannot bury time.

And as the generals fumble with defibrillators, as the propaganda choirs chant 2030 into the wind, the nation watches — half in sorrow, half in anticipation.

The resurrection they promise will not come from embalmed ideas or recycled elites. It will come from the living — from those who still believe that Zimbabwe deserves better than eternal mourning.

So yes — the obituary is written. The undertaker hums. The first-aiders sweat. And the people wait, patient as the dawn. Because no matter how tightly the coffin is sealed, history has never failed to exhume the truth.

Dr Sibangilizwe Moyo writes on Church and Governance, politics, legal and social issues. He can be reached at [email protected]