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Robert Mugabe has ruled Zimbabwe for so long that his time in power has to be seen as metaphor. He came to global prominence with the winds of history at his back, but he now looks poised to exit the world stage as a frail and faded anachronism. Few remaining active politicians better capture the arc of 20th-century politics, and no sitting autocrat better illustrates the tragic, brutal path that revolutions can take.
On Wednesday, it grew increasingly clear that Mugabe’s 37-year-long reign was nearing its end. Over the course of the day (and the preceding night), military vehicles had fanned across the capital city of Harare. A state broadcaster was seized. In some instances, gunfire was exchanged between soldiers and security forces attached to prominent ministers. The Zimbabwean president was said to be “safe,” though reports suggested he had been placed under a form of house arrest. Military officials insisted that what was taking place was not a coup, but rather an operation aimed at “targeting criminals” around Mugabe.
Many people weren’t convinced. “‘The President is safe’ is a classic coup catch-phrase,” Naunihal Singh, author of a recent book on military coups, wrote on Twitter. “No, I expect a transition in the next few days, whether dejure or defacto.” Alpha Condé, the president of Guinea and current head of the African Union, told reporters on Wednesday evening that the upheaval in Zimbabwe “seems like a coup” and urged “constitutional order to be restored immediately.” At the time of writing, it was not clear whether Mugabe would be forced to formally resign.
In the last decade or so, Mugabe has seen various challenges to his authority, ranging from a mobilized and dogged opposition to spontaneous street protests over the country’s disastrous economy. But the challenge that seems to have finally brought him down comes from within the ruling establishment.
A 2016 photo of Grace Mugabe and Vice President Emmerson Mnangagwa in Harare, Zimbabwe. (Philimon Bulawayo/Reuters)
As my colleagues report, Zimbabwe’s political crisis reached a boiling point last week with the dismissal of Vice President Emmerson Mnangagwa. That cleared the way for Grace Mugabe, Mugabe’s wife and also a vice president, to succeed him. Mugabe accused Mnangagwa of “disloyalty, disrespect and deceitfulness.”
Despite years of kleptocratic rule and the brutal repression of dissent, Mugabe still derives legitimacy from his past as an anti-colonial revolutionary and his leadership in the guerrilla war that ended white rule in the country. He was once a lion of the decolonized world, greeted rapturously in 1980 on a visit to the United States. “It’s been a long time since any political figure has been able to penetrate the cynicism of Harlem,” reported The Post then as crowds of New Yorkers came out to greet the Zimbabwean leader.
But Mugabe’s ruthless consolidation and abuse of power led to new traumas for his country. Various heavy-handed attempts at economic reform, including the expropriation of white-owned land, harmed his people more than they helped. His wife, Grace, became a walking symbol of elite graft, while Mugabe himself kept spouting the bromides of an anti-imperial past even as the world changed rapidly around him.
“It now seems Ms. Mugabe’s impatience to sideline Mnangagwa was a calamitous miscalculation. Zimbabwe’s security forces, long loyal to Robert Mugabe, have made it clear through their takeover that they find the possibility of a Mugabe dynasty, led by Grace, to be repulsive,” wrote my colleague Max Bearak. “The Mugabes may have also underestimated Mnangagwa’s thirst for power, and the depth of his connections with the military. He is known as one of the most cunning politicians in Zimbabwe, and has been designing his ascendance for decades.”
Mnangagwa, a longtime apparatchik in Mugabe’s ruling ZANU-PF party, built a network of influence among Harare’s political class and top military brass, including senior figures associated with the independence struggles of the 1960s and ’70s. Faced with the choice of who should succeed Mugabe, the country’s military leadership, including army chief Gen. Constantino Chiwenga, sided against the president’s wife.
Young women walk past a military vehicle at an intersection in Harare, Zimbabwe, on Nov. 15. (Jekesai Njikizana/Agence France-Presse via Getty Images)
There’s some optimism around Mugabe’s potential departure. “Many leaders in the region (and perhaps further afield) will probably acquiesce to a quick and relatively bloodless transfer of power,” noted the Economist. “They see Mr Mnangagwa as a pragmatist and point out that he has spoken of the need for Zimbabwe to reconcile with the West, reform its economy and offer compensation to white farmers who were chased off their land by Mr Mugabe.”
“We are happy that we are going to have another leader,” said one man in Harare, who gave his name as Yemurai, to my colleagues on Wednesday. “Even if it’s going to be another dictator, we accept a new one. Look, we are jobless, hungry and poverty-stricken. All we want is something different.”
But Mnangagwa is no reformist democrat. Nicknamed “the crocodile” because of his political scheming, he is a comrade of Mugabe’s from the liberation struggle and has been a fixture in the Zimbabwean state since its full independence. He’s closely associated with the massacres of thousands of innocent civilians in the region of Matabeleland during a period of civil strife in the late 1980s.
And even if Mnangagwa turns out to be an improvement on Mugabe, simply swapping autocrats won’t be enough for many. “It is a phase that Africa should accept — mistaken policies, mistaken positions — but it’s a phase all the same,” Morgan Tsvangirai, a prominent opposition leader who even defeated Mugabe in the first-round of 2008 elections only to withdraw from the runoff amid threats of violence, told me six years ago. “What these nationalists and liberators created was one-man rule, family dynasties. We can’t have that in Africa if it’s going to be accepted as part of the democratic and prosperous future.”
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Tears for those who were killed or hurt, applause for the schoolteachers who saved lives and loud cheers for the strength of their small rural enclave filled the community hall here Wednesday night.
But some interjected a strong message into the vigil marking Tuesday’s shooting spree: Don’t ignore the gunshots.
Martha Monroy lives in the neighborhood where gunman Kevin Neal drove through twice on Tuesday, hunting victims. She was among the residents to pick up the microphone and call for less tolerance of backyard gunfire.
Neal had a history of complaints for firing guns from his home on Bobcat Lane, despite a court order since March banning him from having firearms.
On Tuesday he went on a rampage, killing four residents and wounding at least 10 more, before he died in a shootout with police. Later, officers discovered the body of his wife beneath the floor of their home.
“When somebody shoots, please, please report everybody who shoots,” Monroy pleaded when it was her turn to speak. “Call the police, please. Nobody has the right to shoot nobody.”
Hers was a touchy point, even at the vigil. Another speaker picked up the passing microphone to interject: “It’s not the gun, it’s the person.”
A man who introduced himself as Rob said the shooter and his wife once lived near him in another part of Rancho Tehama.
“Kevin and Barb used to be my neighbors,” he said, his voice breaking. Authorities have not named Neal’s wife. “I didn’t notice anything strange like that. And I feel Barbara was caught up in it, and she got shot.”
Rob voiced remorse over the unheeded reports of nightly gunfire at Neal’s house.
“There was shooting every night. There should have been something done,” he said, to murmurs of agreement.
“There were shots every night, and I never knew it was him,” he said, wishing aloud that he had realized it was Neal. “I could have stopped him.”
There were prayers said by the more than 100 community members who crowded in the small hall to capacity, standing shoulder to shoulder. But some still needed to recount their personal brushes with the violence of the day before.
They included a father who had dropped his child off at Tehama Elementary School and found himself barricaded inside when the gunman tried to get in.
When he tried to look out a window, he drew gunfire. He found himself moving children huddled beneath their desks to safer places, including a 6-year-old hit by the gunfire. At the vigil, he met the family of that boy and they hugged, sobbing in gratitude for one another.
Against the back wall sat Anelina Sanchez, quietly struggling to come to terms with her own contact with the shooter. She had stepped out of her house that morning on Fawn Lane, not far from where the gunman had killed his wife and three others. She saw a man in a car who shouted out his window at her in anger.
“He’s asking me, ‘Do you know somebody killed over here in the Rancho?’ And I say, ‘No, who it was?’ ” Sanchez said, “and he is taking the gun out and he said, ‘That’s me.’ And he shot five times.”
Sanchez said she dropped to the ground behind her neighbor’s fence and crawled back into the house. Officers later found the bullets that had missed her. But before then, she said, she had to deal with the sight of a car off Oak Park Road, its windows blown out, the passengers bleeding. And the story her daughter brought home of being fired at in her car as the gunman passed by.
“I am so scared. I am so scared of anything,” Sanchez said. “If somebody said stop, I will go faster, because I am so scared…