In a move that will surprise precisely no one with a passing knowledge of African political theatre, Zimbabwe's parliament has voted to extend the tenure of Mugabe-era officials. The bill, passed with the enthusiasm of a man being offered a lifetime supply of free gin, grants senior civil servants, judges, and even police commissioners the right to cling to power until they are pried from their leather chairs by a forklift. The opposition, as is traditional, is threatening legal action. The judiciary, as is also traditional, is likely to rule that the bill is perfectly legal, possibly while accepting a nice hamper from the ruling party.
The UK, ever the world's scolding headmaster, has responded with the diplomatic equivalent of a stern letter home. They are threatening sanctions. They are issuing statements. They are, in short, doing what they always do: looking profoundly disappointed while achieving nothing measurable. The Foreign Office has declared that these actions are 'a blow to democratic standards.' One imagines Zimbabwe's President Emmerson Mnangagwa wiping away a tear with a wad of cash.
The absurdity is thick enough to stir with a swizzle stick. Here we have a nation where the average life expectancy is lower than the temperature in a Scottish winter, where inflation gallops like a racehorse with a death wish, and where the main opposition leader spent more time in jail than some murderers. And yet the priority is ensuring that the same old faces can continue to sit in the same old offices, presumably until the paint peels off the walls. It is a masterpiece of political theatre, a farce that would make Samuel Beckett say, 'Steady on, chaps.'
The UK's sanctions, when they arrive, will likely be about as effective as a chocolate teapot. They will sanction a few ministers who will simply move their money to Dubai. They will demand elections that will be 'free and fair' in the Zimbabwean sense, meaning the ruling party wins by 95% and the opposition files a complaint that is laughed out of court. The cycle continues. It is the political equivalent of Groundhog Day, only with more corruption and fewer cute rodents.
Meanwhile, the people of Zimbabwe continue to wait. They wait for power that stays on for more than four hours. They wait for a currency that isn't Monopoly money. They wait for a government that actually governs instead of just rearranging the deck chairs on the Titanic. But no. The ruling elite is too busy extending their own tenure, ensuring that the gravy train continues to run even as the tracks rust.
One can only hope that the UK's threatened sanctions include a ban on exporting gin to Zimbabwe. At least then the MPs would have to drink the local brew, which might finally prompt them to do something useful.
In the end, this is a story about the enduring power of the dead hand of history. Robert Mugabe may have shuffled off this mortal coil, but his spirit lives on in every vote rigged, every opposition leader jailed, and every bill passed to keep the old guard in power. The UK can sanction, the EU can wring its hands, but until the people of Zimbabwe decide they've had enough of being ruled by the living dead, nothing will change.
But that doesn't mean we can't have a good laugh at the sheer, glorious stupidity of it all. Cheers, Zimbabwe. I would say 'better luck next time,' but we both know there isn't going to be one.
