It’s easier to oppress a people who have been conditioned to accept mediocrity

 

Zimbabwe marked 45 years of independence yesterday.

As expected, state-controlled media went into overdrive, flooding the airwaves with glowing praises for the supposed achievements of the so-called Second Republic under President Emmerson Mnangagwa.

As I watched the broadcast, what disturbed me most was not just the predictable propaganda, but the nature of the testimonies used to justify why Independence Day was worth celebrating.

The development projects cited were as underwhelming as they were embarrassing—especially for a country that boasts of such vast mineral wealth and potential.

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In rural communities, which have been systematically sidelined for decades, citizens were paraded to thank the government for drilling a single borehole, constructing a small clinic, paving a dirt road, or commissioning a one-lane bridge.

These are the same rural areas that have long been the bedrock of political support for the ruling party.

To think that these marginal infrastructural developments are being touted as major milestones—so much so that the president himself attends the commissioning of a borehole or single-lane bridge—is not only a reflection of how low our standards have fallen, but also a tragedy of monumental proportions.

How can a country that has supposedly been independent for 45 years be excited over a borehole?

Is this not the most damning indictment of post-independence governance?

Surely, shouldn’t every household in the country, including those in rural areas, be connected to a functioning and reliable national electricity grid by now?

Shouldn’t tap water be flowing into every rural home, with proper sewer systems in place?

Shouldn’t our road network be paved with smooth tar highways traversing all corners of the country—not just major cities?

Shouldn’t rural schools now be among the best in the country, fully equipped with science laboratories, libraries, computers, and internet access?

Shouldn’t our hospitals in districts and rural areas be able to perform major surgeries and offer life-saving services like dialysis and radiotherapy?

This is not some far-fetched dream.

These are not outlandish expectations conjured from the imagination of disgruntled critics.

These are developments we have seen in real time in other countries that were once as poor, or even poorer, than Zimbabwe.

Rwanda, once torn apart by genocide in 1994, has seen remarkable strides in infrastructure, health, and education, with broadband internet even reaching rural schools and health facilities.

Ethiopia, despite facing its own internal conflicts, has made major infrastructural investments that have brought electricity, paved roads, and clean water to formerly underserved areas.

In Southeast Asia, countries like Vietnam and Indonesia have transformed their rural economies and drastically improved livelihoods in the countryside, all within a few decades.

These are nations that prioritized national development over personal enrichment by those in power.

So, the question arises: why are Zimbabweans still stuck celebrating mediocrity?

Why do some among us continue to heap praises on the ruling elite for the barest minimum—often symbolic and unsustainable acts of supposed development?

The answer lies in how a nation’s mindset can be conditioned through long-term deprivation.

People who have lived in lack and poverty for too long begin to normalize that reality.

Over time, they lose sight of what they should rightfully expect from their leaders.

Their dreams are reduced to mere survival, and so, any marginal gesture from the state—such as the provision of water or a clinic—feels like a grand favor rather than a basic human right.

This is not simply the result of economic hardship.

It is a carefully constructed and sustained psychological strategy.

It is easier to oppress a people who no longer have any ambitions.

When a population has been systematically stripped of hope, dignity, and agency, they become malleable.

They become submissive.

They no longer question why they are poor in a rich country, why there is no clean water in a land surrounded by lakes and rivers, why clinics have no medicines in a nation earning billions from gold, diamonds, and lithium.

Instead, they learn to be grateful for breadcrumbs handed to them by the very people who stole the whole loaf.

Some psychologists have described this phenomenon through the lens of Stockholm Syndrome—a situation where victims of abuse begin to develop sympathy or even affection for their abusers.

In Zimbabwe, the ruling elite starves the nation economically, socially, and politically, only to return with handouts wrapped in the language of patriotism and gratitude.

And we, the people, are expected to cheer and ululate.

We are encouraged to call this oppression “empowerment”, and those who challenge it are labelled ungrateful or unpatriotic.

The same government that denies us functioning hospitals, jobs, or clean water turns around and calls itself our savior for giving us a borehole.

It becomes evident, then, that the deliberate impoverishment of Zimbabweans is not just a failure of leadership but a strategic instrument of control.

An ambitious citizenry is dangerous to corrupt leadership.

A people with aspirations are harder to silence.

They demand accountability, transparency, and tangible results.

But a people broken by poverty and indoctrinated by propaganda are easier to pacify.

They can be bribed with food hampers and party regalia.

They can be herded to rallies in exchange for a free meal.

They can be manipulated with hollow slogans about sovereignty and independence, even as they continue to live in indignity.

This is not the Zimbabwe that liberation fighters envisioned.

Independence was not meant to replace one form of oppression with another.

We cannot continue to allow our ambitions to be suffocated by mediocrity.

We cannot continue to be silent in the face of injustice simply because we are given crumbs.

It is time we, the citizens, begin to radically reimagine what kind of Zimbabwe we want.

We must begin by rejecting the normalization of poverty.

We must unlearn the belief that we are meant to suffer.

We must teach our children that a borehole is not development—it is a right.

That clinics and roads and books and jobs are not favors granted by politicians, but basic entitlements in any functioning nation.

Zimbabweans must reclaim their agency.

Civic education and community dialogue must be used to reawaken ambition and hope.

Let’s empower people with information about how national resources are managed, how budgets are formulated, and how public officials are supposed to serve.

Let’s foster a culture of demanding accountability and resisting the politics of patronage and fear.

Let’s build solidarity among citizens so we can collectively say: enough is enough.

Because a people conditioned to accept mediocrity are easy to oppress.

But a people with vision, unity, and courage cannot be held captive—not by poverty, not by propaganda, and certainly not by those who thrive off our suffering.

• Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/