The group one finds oneself in reveals much about them.
Zimbabwe’s place near the very bottom of Transparency International’s Corruption Perceptions Index — ranked 163rd out of 180 countries, with a CPI score of 21 — should send shockwaves through every ordinary citizen who still cares about the future of this country.
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What makes this ranking especially disturbing is not merely the number itself, but the company Zimbabwe keeps.
The countries ranked as more corrupt than Zimbabwe are almost without exception nations devastated by war, civil conflict, state collapse, or extreme political instability.
They are places where government authority has broken down, where institutions barely function, and where lawlessness is the norm rather than the exception.
Zimbabwe, by contrast, is officially regarded as peaceful and politically stable.
And yet, it anchors this global group of shame.
This should deeply alarm us.
South Sudan and Somalia are failed states ravaged by prolonged civil wars, where competing armed factions undermine any semblance of national governance.
Syria and Yemen have been torn apart by brutal conflicts that have destroyed institutions, displaced millions, and hollowed out the rule of law.
Libya remains fractured by rival governments and militias since the fall of Gaddafi.
Venezuela, while not in open war, has suffered economic collapse so severe that state institutions have become instruments of survival for elites rather than service for citizens.
Eritrea and North Korea operate as closed, authoritarian systems where secrecy, militarization, and repression eliminate accountability entirely.
In such environments, corruption thrives because there is either no effective government or no independent oversight.
Where courts are weak or captured, parliaments sidelined, media silenced, and civil society repressed, looting the state becomes effortless.
Zimbabwe is not at war.
Zimbabwe has a functioning central government, a standing army, courts, Parliament, and regulatory institutions.
Elections are held regularly, at least for now.
Ministers give speeches about development, investment, and reform.
And yet, our corruption levels place us shoulder to shoulder with countries where the state itself is either collapsing or has already collapsed.
That alone paints a devastating picture.
What does it say about a country that is at peace, yet behaves like one at war?
What does it say when a nation with functioning institutions performs no better than those without any at all?
The unavoidable conclusion is that Zimbabwe’s corruption is not accidental, incidental, or a product of chaos.
It is systemic, entrenched, protected, and in many cases state-enabled.
This reality should not surprise anyone paying attention.
What are we to expect when politically connected individuals receive millions of dollars in advance for national projects, do no meaningful work, and face no consequences—parading their wealth through luxury cars, cash handouts, and celebrity patronage while presenting themselves as philanthropists, all under the protection of those in power?
What message does that send to civil servants, contractors, and young Zimbabweans struggling to survive?
When such conduct is celebrated rather than punished, corruption is no longer deviant behaviour; it becomes aspirational.
What are we to expect when hundreds of millions of rand are transferred into private business accounts under dubious circumstances by a foreign company awarded a massive contract by the Zimbabwean Treasury—transactions serious enough to be flagged by South African authorities—yet our own anti-corruption institutions find “no case to answer” without offering the public a single coherent explanation?
When accountability stops at the border, it exposes not incompetence but complicity.
These are not isolated incidents.
They are symptoms of a deeply lawless system in which proximity to power confers immunity.
Zimbabwe has effectively created two parallel legal orders: one for ordinary citizens, and another for the politically connected elite and their cronies.
For the former, the law is harsh, immediate, and unforgiving.
For the latter, the law is negotiable, optional, or entirely absent.
The consequences of this corruption are not abstract.
They are measured in darkness, disease, death, and despair.
Zimbabweans endure punishing daily power cuts not because the country lacks energy resources, but because funds meant for upgrading and expanding power generation were looted.
Industries bleed millions in lost productivity while households suffer indignity and hardship.
Hospitals remain under-equipped not due to sanctions or bad luck, but because money meant for radiotherapy machines, operating theatres, and essential medicines is siphoned into shelf companies that deliver nothing.
Thousands die from treatable conditions while a connected few grow obscenely wealthy.
Our roads crumble months after rehabilitation because contracts are awarded to politically connected companies that prioritise profit extraction over quality.
Schools in rural areas remain nothing more than trees or collapsing structures, children sitting on the floor and sharing a single textbook, while those who diverted education funds are rewarded with senior party positions and openly touted as future national leaders.
Under these conditions, Zimbabwe looks and feels like a war-torn country.
The difference is that the devastation here is not caused by bombs or bullets, but by suits, signatures, and silence.
The ruling elite often deflect responsibility by invoking the “albatross of sanctions.”
But sanctions do not steal hospital budgets.
Sanctions do not transfer millions into private accounts.
Sanctions do not protect corrupt individuals from prosecution.
Sanctions do not instruct anti-corruption bodies to look away.
Corruption does all of that, efficiently and ruthlessly.
The tragedy is that Zimbabwe does not need to be poor.
Few countries are as richly endowed with minerals, land, human capital, and strategic location.
Yet this abundance has become a curse because it is systematically captured by thieves and crooks who are treated like royalty, chauffeured on red carpets, and shielded by the highest offices.
As long as this looting continues unchecked, Zimbabwe will sink deeper.
No amount of patriotic slogans, investment conferences, or constitutional rhetoric can compensate for a state that has surrendered itself to predation.
Development is impossible where corruption is rewarded, and poverty is inevitable where accountability is absent.
Zimbabwe’s place among the world’s most corrupt countries is not just embarrassing; it is an indictment.
It tells us that corruption here is worse than in many conflict zones because it flourishes not in chaos, but under the protection of order.
And that should frighten us far more than any ranking.
If Zimbabwe is to climb out of this deep hole, there is only one path: ending impunity and dismantling state-protected corruption.
Anything less is self-deception.
Until then, this group of shame is exactly where we belong—and that is a truth no Zimbabwean should be comfortable accepting.
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