A group of war veterans has approached the Constitutional Court, accusing President Emmerson Mnangagwa of spearheading an unconstitutional power grab through the proposed Constitutional Amendment Bill (No.3).

Their argument is weighty. They cite Section 328(7), which clearly states that an incumbent cannot benefit from amendments that extend their own term. They argue that allowing Parliament to elect the President, instead of the people, undermines universal suffrage and violates the spirit of the Constitution.

The legal challenge is legitimate. Courts exist precisely to interpret constitutional boundaries.

But let us be clear about something.

The Constitution does not prohibit amendments. It regulates them.

ZANU-PF is legally entitled to table constitutional reforms. They are allowed to debate them. They are allowed to draft them. That, in itself, is not unconstitutional.

What matters is the process.

Under the 2013 Constitution, amendments affecting presidential term limits and the structure of executive authority are not ordinary changes. They are entrenched provisions. That means they require not only a two-thirds majority in Parliament, but also approval through a national referendum.

That is the safeguard.

A referendum is not a public hearing.
It is not a consultation meeting.
It is not a Cabinet approval.

It is a direct national vote.

If the proposed reforms seek to extend the President’s tenure or alter how the President is elected, then the Constitution dictates that the final decision must rest with the people of Zimbabwe.

This is where the national conversation should focus.

Litigation may delay or clarify aspects of the process. It may test the legality of the President chairing discussions on amendments that could benefit him. It may interrogate Section 328(7). But ultimately, the decisive battleground is procedural legitimacy.

If the government attempts to bypass a referendum where one is constitutionally required, that is where the real constitutional breach occurs.

If a free and fair referendum is held and Zimbabweans approve the changes, that decision carries democratic legitimacy.

But if reforms are pushed through without the required popular vote, then they are not just politically controversial — they are constitutionally defective.

The debate must therefore shift from outrage to vigilance.

This is not about whether amendments can be made.
They can.

It is about whether they will follow the constitutional path laid out in 2013.

The Constitution anticipated moments like this. That is why entrenched clauses exist. That is why Section 328(7) exists. That is why referendums exist.

Noise is not enough. Panic is not strategy.

What is required now is clarity.

If the reforms affect presidential term limits or executive structure, the people must decide.

Anything less undermines constitutional governance itself.

There is a subtle but dangerous shift happening in the national conversation around constitutional amendments.

Some officials now suggest that public hearings are sufficient “consultation with the people” when it comes to extending presidential term limits or altering the system of electing a president.

Let us be very clear.

Public hearings are not a referendum.

They are not the same thing. They do not carry the same constitutional weight. And they do not represent the same democratic legitimacy.

Zimbabwe’s 2013 Constitution provides two distinct amendment routes. Some sections may be amended through a two-thirds majority in Parliament. However, entrenched provisions, particularly those relating to presidential term limits and the structure of executive power, require more than parliamentary approval. They require a national referendum.

A referendum is not a consultation meeting.
It is not a party-organised gathering.
It is not a public hearing in a hall somewhere.

It is a nationwide popular vote where every registered citizen has the opportunity to decide directly.

When politicians begin emphasising “public hearings” instead of “referendum,” citizens must pay attention. Words matter. Process matters even more.

We inherited a parliamentary-style system in 1980, where executive authority functioned differently. It was ZANU-PF itself that later pushed for an executive presidency with direct election by the people. That change was presented as necessary for stability and clarity of leadership.

Now we are being told that shifting back to a parliamentary election of the president is somehow better.

What has changed?

If a directly elected president was the preferred model when it consolidated power, why is it suddenly inadequate now?

Is this about governance principles, or political arithmetic?

A directly elected president must win a popular vote. A parliamentary-elected president must secure loyalty inside the legislature. Those are not the same democratic tests.

A referendum, by its very nature, is unpredictable. It bypasses party structures and goes straight to citizens. That uncertainty is precisely what makes it democratic.

Public hearings, by contrast, can be managed. Attendance can be shaped. Narratives can be influenced. Outcomes can be interpreted selectively.

Calling consultation “people involvement” is not the same as giving citizens binding decision-making power.

Zimbabweans must understand the process clearly. This is not about panic. It is not about outrage. It is about constitutional literacy.

If term limits are to be changed, the Constitution sets out the mechanism. If the executive structure is to be altered, there is a process. That process must be followed in full.

Anything less undermines not just opposition politics, but the credibility of constitutional governance itself.

This is not the end of anything. It is the beginning of scrutiny.

And scrutiny is healthy in any democracy.

President Emmerson Mnangagwa has once again drawn criticism for defending Zimbabwe’s early-2000s Land Reform Programme, particularly his assertion that many white farmers who left believed themselves to be superior to African Zimbabweans. Predictably, the comment has been framed as racial provocation.

But strip away the outrage, and there is an uncomfortable truth worth confronting.

The issue was never only about race.
It was about power, hierarchy and entitlement.

Superiority complexes are not unique to white farmers. Most wealthy elites, regardless of race, develop them. Money, land and control distort perspective. What made white commercial farmers distinctive in Zimbabwe was not just wealth, but the historical context in which that wealth existed: a colonial system that explicitly ranked lives, labour and land value by race.

The land question cannot be separated from that reality.

If land reform were simply about access to land, alternatives existed. The United States, Australia and parts of Latin America have vast agricultural potential. Yet many farmers did not relocate there in large numbers. Why? Because those systems do not offer the same structural advantages: cheap, compliant labour, weak enforcement of worker protections and deep social hierarchies inherited from colonial rule.

In those countries, farm workers have rights, unions, minimum wages and legal recourse. The dynamic is different. Power is constrained.

That difference matters.

This does not justify violence. The land reform programme was chaotic, poorly managed and often brutal. People were killed. Livelihoods were destroyed. Institutions failed. The collapse of the willing-buyer, willing-seller framework, combined with international disengagement and domestic political pressure, produced a disastrous execution.

But acknowledging the failure of execution does not negate the legitimacy of the grievance.

Land did not belong to a race.
It belonged to Zimbabweans.

Mnangagwa is correct on one core point: those who were willing to exist on equal footing remained. Those who could not accept equality often left. That is not racial hatred. It is a statement about power relations.

Zimbabwe’s tragedy is not that land reform happened. It is that it was done without planning, accountability or protection for ordinary people, including farm workers who were abandoned in the process. The state lost control, war veterans filled the vacuum, and political survival overtook economic sense.

Yet the moral simplification pushed by Western media remains dishonest. The story is not one of innocent efficiency versus barbaric redistribution. It is one of unresolved colonial injustice colliding with a weak post-colonial state.

Sanctions followed, not because violence is unacceptable everywhere, but because violence that disrupts entrenched global economic interests is punished differently. Similar or worse abuses elsewhere are contextualised, softened or ignored.

Zimbabwe’s land question remains unfinished. Compensation is still owed. Productivity is uneven. Inequality persists. But pretending the pre-2000 status quo was morally sustainable is a fiction.

The uncomfortable reality is this:
Equality feels like oppression to those who were never meant to share power.

Mnangagwa deserves criticism for many things.
But on this point, the outrage says more about unresolved global hierarchies than about his words.

And until Zimbabweans are honest about land, labour and class, the debate will keep circling the same moral theatre without resolving the substance.

By Samuel Musarika

The suggestion that Zimbabwe’s Constitution could be amended to extend President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s term has triggered predictable outrage. The language used by Justice Minister Ziyambi Ziyambi has not helped. Declaring that only God’s laws are immutable is theatrically reckless and constitutionally crude.

But strip away the theatrics, and a harder question remains. Not whether constitutional term limits matter, they do, but whether changing leadership now would materially improve Zimbabwe’s situation.

Uncomfortably, the answer may be no.

The first reason is the absence of a credible opposition. Zimbabwe does not currently have an opposition that looks remotely ready to govern. Fragmentation, ego battles and ideological incoherence dominate opposition politics. If parties cannot unite themselves, it is unrealistic to expect them to unite a deeply polarised country.

This is not praise for ZANU PF. It is a statement of comparative reality. Like it or not, ZANU PF remains the only nationally cohesive political structure in the country. Leadership transitions do not happen in vacuums. They happen within systems. Right now, there is no alternative system capable of absorbing power without chaos.

Second, Zimbabwe is stable. Not prosperous, not thriving, but stable. Projects are ongoing. Institutions, however imperfect, are functioning. There is no mass unrest, no civil conflict, no collapse of order. Changing leadership in such a context is not automatically virtuous. It carries real risk, especially when the likely successors are themselves locked in factional battles.

Vice-President Constantino Chiwenga looms large in these succession calculations, and the internal fear among business-linked elites says less about constitutionalism and more about unresolved power struggles within the ruling party. Stability, however fragile, is still stability.

Third, elections are expensive. This is an unfashionable argument, but an honest one. Zimbabwe is rebuilding from decades of economic damage. Elections drain state resources, distract institutions and frequently produce contested outcomes that require even more money to manage. In a country still grappling with debt, infrastructure decay and service delivery challenges, bleeding scarce resources for an election that changes little may be an indulgence.

None of this means constitutionalism should be discarded casually. The 2013 Constitution was hard-won, and constitutional manipulation has a dangerous history in Africa. Legal experts such as Lovemore Madhuku are right to warn that amending term limits or extending parliamentary life is procedurally complex and politically risky.

But politics is not theology. Constitutions are social contracts, not sacred texts. They exist to serve societies, not to paralyse them when circumstances are unfavourable.

The real danger is not amendment per se. It is amendment without honesty. If the case for extension is stability, continuity and cost-saving, then it should be argued openly, not smuggled through slogans about inheritance or divine authority.

Zimbabwe’s problem has never been a shortage of elections. It has been a shortage of credible alternatives, disciplined governance and institutional trust.

Until those fundamentals change, insisting on rotation for its own sake may satisfy principle while worsening reality.

Extending Mnangagwa’s term may not be ideal.
But in the current political landscape, it may be the least disruptive option available.

And sometimes, in fragile states, politics is not about ideal choices.
It is about choosing the option that breaks the least.

The announcement that Air Zimbabwe plans to resume flights to London after more than a decade should be treated with extreme caution. Not because international ambition is wrong, but because this particular route is a graveyard for weak airlines with thin balance sheets and fragile reputations.

The Harare–London route is not the prize it is being sold as.

In today’s aviation market, London is one of the most competitive long-haul destinations in the world. Airlines do not succeed on nostalgia or symbolism. They succeed on reliability, frequency, service quality and trust. Air Zimbabwe currently has none of those at the level required to survive this route.

The idea that direct flights are in high demand is simply not supported by market behaviour. If they were, British Airways would have already reactivated the route. It has not. That alone should be instructive.

Most travellers between Zimbabwe and the UK already have workable, well-established alternatives. Qatar Airways, Emirates and Kenya Airways dominate this corridor with strong global networks, modern fleets, premium cabins, dependable schedules and competitive pricing. Yes, they are indirect. But for the majority of passengers, a two- or three-hour connection is a non-issue when weighed against comfort, reliability and service.

Direct does not automatically mean desirable.

Long-haul routes are brutally expensive. Wide-body leasing, fuel costs, crew rotation, maintenance reserves, insurance, Heathrow slot constraints and passenger load risk all combine to make this one of the hardest routes for a marginal airline to sustain. A single technical issue can wipe out weeks of revenue. Established carriers absorb that risk. Air Zimbabwe cannot.

The danger here is not failure. It is predictable failure.

Air Zimbabwe’s priority should be much closer to home. The airline needs to rebuild credibility in the domestic and regional market first. That means reliable schedules, clean aircraft, consistent ticketing systems, professional customer service and operational discipline. These are unglamorous goals, but they are the foundations of a functioning airline.

Selling dormant wide-body aircraft to modernise domestic operations makes sense. Leasing a Boeing to chase prestige does not.

A strong domestic airline creates trust. Trust creates demand. Demand eventually justifies expansion. Skipping steps and jumping straight to London reverses that logic and invites collapse.

There is also a strategic misreading of what Zimbabwe needs from its national carrier. The role of Air Zimbabwe should not be to compete with global premium airlines on intercontinental routes. It should be to connect cities, support tourism internally, link regional hubs and provide dependable airlift where private carriers will not.

That is where national airlines add value.

London is not underserved.
Zimbabwe is.

Until Air Zimbabwe proves that it can fly Bulawayo, Victoria Falls and regional routes consistently and profitably, a return to London is not ambition. It is vanity.

Air Zimbabwe does not need a flagship route.
It needs a reputation.

And reputations are not built at 35,000 feet over the Atlantic. They are built flight by flight, at home, where mistakes are survivable and lessons can actually be learned.

For now, London should wait.

Just as Zimbabwe is being told to applaud single-digit inflation, reality has arrived in the form of court papers.

Libya’s central bank has taken Zimbabwe’s finance minister Mthuli Ncube and the National Oil Infrastructure Company of Zimbabwe to the UK High Court, seeking more than US$100 million in unpaid debt. It is the latest reminder that macroeconomic calm means very little when a country cannot service what it owes.

This is not a new problem. It is an old one resurfacing because Zimbabwe has never dealt with it properly.

According to the filing, loans dating back to a 2001 fuel credit facility were guaranteed by the Zimbabwean state. Over two decades later, only US$5.5 million has been repaid. With interest, the liability now exceeds US$100 million. That debt has survived multiple administrations, currency resets and economic narratives, quietly compounding in the background.

Zimbabwe today remains locked out of international capital markets because of more than US$21 billion in unpaid obligations. Arrears to multilateral lenders stretch back 26 years. Private creditors continue to circle. Fuel traders, commodity houses and former commercial farmers are all owed money. Inflation statistics do not make these claims disappear.

This is where the limits of paper economics become obvious.

Low inflation is often presented as a gateway to recovery. In Zimbabwe’s case, it does not unlock borrowing, restore trust or reopen capital markets. Creditors do not price risk based on CPI charts. They look at repayment history, legal enforcement and political credibility. On those measures, Zimbabwe remains radioactive.

The Libyan case also exposes a deeper contradiction in government messaging. On one hand, authorities speak of stabilisation, discipline and reform. On the other, they are being sued abroad for debts acknowledged repeatedly since 2005 and still unpaid. Stability without solvency is not reassurance. It is delay.

Even efforts to creatively settle debts underline the desperation. Zimbabwe’s reported talks to repay Trafigura Group with gold and nickel point to a country short of cash and credibility. Asset-based repayment is not strategy; it is constraint.

The unresolved compensation agreement with former commercial farmers is another example. A US$3.5 billion deal was signed, then effectively parked. The message to creditors is consistent: agreements can be made, but enforcement is uncertain.

Inflation control does nothing to change that perception.

In a stagnant economy, low inflation often signals suppressed demand rather than renewed confidence. People are not spending because incomes are weak. Businesses are not expanding because capital is unavailable. The state is not borrowing because no one trusts it to repay. That is not macroeconomic success. It is macroeconomic containment.

Debt, unlike inflation, does not respond to optimism. It responds to payment.

Zimbabwe’s real economic bind is not price instability. It is credibility. Until the country demonstrates a clear, enforceable path to clearing arrears, restructuring obligations and honouring guarantees, creditors will continue to seek relief wherever they can find it, including foreign courts.

The Libyan lawsuit is not an outlier. It is a warning.

You can stabilise prices.
You can redesign currencies.
You can rebrand economic policy.

But if debts remain unpaid, the past will keep returning, interest added, summons in hand.

Zimbabwe’s crisis has never been just about inflation. It has always been about trust. And trust, once lost, cannot be statistically engineered back into existence.