A nation that owes its “survival” to a single leader is a nation on the brink of total collapse

I often wonder what future generations will think of us when they read how low we sank as a nation.

In a nation that once prided itself on its high literacy rates and intellectual rigor, we have descended into a bizarre, televised theatre of the subservient.

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It is a spectacle that plays out daily on state media: a villager in a remote ward, a headmaster at a rural school, or a small-scale farmer, standing before a camera with hands clasped, offering profuse, almost religious gratitude to “His Excellency, President Emmerson Mnangagwa” for a single borehole, a bag of fertilizer, or a patched stretch of road.

We have reached a disturbing juncture where the basic functions of a state are being rebranded as the personal benevolence of a single man.

It is as if Zimbabweans are being taught that they no longer have rights as citizens, only needs that can be met by the grace of a benefactor.

We must ask ourselves: when did the delivery of a public service become a personal favor for which we must beg and bow?

This trend is not an accident of culture; it is the deliberate construction of a personality cult designed to bypass the social contract.

In a functioning democracy, the relationship between the taxpayer and the government is transactional and professional.

We pay taxes, and the state, through its various ministries and departments, uses those funds to provide infrastructure, healthcare, and education.

You do not thank the ATM for giving you your own money, and you should not have to thank a politician for using public funds to provide a public good.

Yet, in Zimbabwe, the “State” has been effectively privatized.

By branding every basic intervention as “Presidential”—the Presidential Borehole Scheme, the Presidential Input Scheme, the Presidential Poultry Scheme—the regime is performing a psychological heist on the national consciousness.

The driving force behind this manufactured gratitude is the calculated erosion of the line between the President’s person and the State’s institutions.

When a borehole is drilled, it is not the result of a functional local government or a well-planned water department; it is framed as a personal gift from the “Father of the Nation.”

This serves a dual purpose.

First, it makes the President seem indispensable.

If the public is conditioned to believe that every drop of clean water and every bag of seed is a direct result of his personal “vision” and “generosity,” they begin to view his potential departure not as a democratic transition, but as an existential threat to their very survival.

Second, it shields the regime from accountability.

It is difficult to criticize the quality of a “gift.”

If the borehole breaks down in a week or the road develops potholes in a month, the recipient is silenced by the weight of the gratitude they were forced to perform.

What we are witnessing is a move from a nation of citizens to a nation of subjects.

A citizen has an expectation of service; a subject has a hope for a miracle.

This “Thank You” culture is driven by a profound sense of vulnerability.

In an economy where the local currency is a ghost, where inflation has decimated savings, and where the state has failed to create a climate for independent prosperity, the majority of the population has been pushed into a state of extreme dependency.

For a villager, “thanking the President” on ZBC is not always a reflection of genuine admiration; it is often a survival tactic.

It is a form of political insurance.

In a patronage-driven system, the loudest voices of gratitude are the ones most likely to receive the next delivery of food aid or agricultural inputs.

The regime has weaponized poverty, turning basic survival into a reward for public sycophancy.

Furthermore, this trend devalues the thousands of civil servants—the engineers, nurses, and planners—who actually do the work.

When a clinic is opened and the praise is directed solely at the Presidium, the professional dignity of the workers who will staff that clinic is erased.

We are creating a culture where merit and institutional duty are replaced by loyalty and praise-singing.

This has a paralyzing effect on development.

If the primary goal of a project is to generate a “Thank You” video for the evening news, the quality and sustainability of the project become secondary to its optics.

This is how we end up with “disposable” infrastructure—boreholes that go dry and roads that peel—because the project’s political utility was exhausted the moment the ribbon was cut.

State media plays the role of the lead choreographer in this dance of the subservient.

By prioritizing these displays of performative gratitude over investigative journalism or critical analysis, ZBC and its affiliates function as the public relations arm of a personality cult.

They do not report on the state of the nation; they curate a narrative of a benevolent leader tending to a helpless flock.

This constant bombardment of “thank yous” is intended to manufacture a false consensus.

It creates the illusion that the entire nation is in a state of rapturous appreciation, drowning out the legitimate grievances of the millions who are struggling to put food on the table despite the “schemes” touted on their screens.

We must also interrogate the language of “leaving no one and no place behind.”

While it sounds inclusive, in practice, it often serves as a veiled threat: stay in line, perform the required gratitude, and you might be included.

Step out of line, and the “Presidential” bounty will pass you by.

This is the antithesis of the liberation struggle’s promise.

Our fathers and mothers’ generation did not fight to replace a colonial master with a local patron who requires us to sing for our supper.

They fought for a Zimbabwe where every person was a stakeholder, not a beggar.

They fought for institutions that served the people regardless of who sat in the high office.

Ultimately, the survival of Zimbabwe does not depend on the “vision” of one man; it depends on the restoration of the social contract.

We must stop thanking politicians for doing their jobs.

We must stop accepting the privatization of our national resources.

When we thank a leader for a borehole, we are essentially admitting that we no longer believe we deserve clean water as a right.

We are admitting that we have surrendered our power as citizens.

A nation that owes its “survival” to a single leader is a nation on the brink of total institutional collapse.

It is time we regained our self-respect.

It is time we demanded that our taxes be used to build a country that works for everyone, not a stage for a never-ending performance of manufactured gratitude.

The truth is that the President works for the people, not the other way around.

Until we internalize that reality, we will remain a nation of subjects, waiting in the dust for a “gift” that was already ours to begin with.

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