In a move that has sent tremors through the already fragile spine of the Commonwealth, Zimbabwe’s MPs have passed a bill extending the president’s grip on power. The news, delivered with the solemnity of a death knell at a funeral for democracy, suggests that the ghost of Mugabe is still very much alive, haunting the halls of power in Harare.
The bill, passed with a speed that would make a cheetah blush, allows the president to appoint judges, control the civil service, and generally twiddle the levers of state like a drunk pilot. Critics say it’s a return to the bad old days, a time when opposition was a dirty word and elections were as predictable as a rainy British summer. But the government insists it’s necessary for ‘efficiency’ and ‘stability’, two words that have historically been the cudgel of despots everywhere.
Let’s be clear: this is not just Zimbabwe’s problem. The Commonwealth, that bloated relic of empire, prides itself on shared values: democracy, human rights, and the rule of law. Yet here we have a member state systematically dismantling all three, and the response from London is a deafening silence. Maybe they’re still reeling from the last Commonwealth summit, where everyone argued about the dress code for hours while Zimbabwe’s opposition activists were being rounded up.
What does this mean for the average Zimbabwean? More of the same: queues for bread, potholes the size of small countries, and a president who acts like he invented sovereignty. But for the rest of us, it’s a reminder that the Commonwealth is a fraternity of fair-weather friends. They’ll fly the flag when it suits, but when the chips are down, they’re as effective as a chocolate teapot.
I half-expected a sternly worded statement from Downing Street, but so far nothing. Perhaps they’re too busy with the latest scandal involving a cabinet minister and a goat. Or maybe they’re just tired of being the world’s moral policeman, a job they’re spectacularly unsuited for, given their own track record with colonialism and fox hunting.
In the meantime, I’ll be raising a glass of gin (the good stuff, not the supermarket own-brand) to the brave souls in Zimbabwe who still believe in change. And to the Commonwealth, I say: either put up or shut up. Because right now, you look like a club that’s lost its purpose, a collection of nations held together by nostalgia and a shared love for summer dresses and tepid tea.
This is Biff Thistlethwaite, signing off from the edge of the abyss. Try not to fall in.
