HARARE, Zimbabwe -- These are threatening times for President Robert Mugabe, 74, Southern Africa's longest-serving strongman.
An imploding economy and involvement in an unpopular war abroad are combining to put Mugabe's 18-year rule under unprecedented pressure. There is a growing sense that this nation of about 12 million is entering its transition into the post-Mugabe future.
"We are very close to change," said Lupi Mushayakarara, chair of the Institute for the Advancement of Freedom, funded by financier George Soros. "Mugabe might be thrown out. That possibility exists. The government has collapsed. If they are not careful, they will just be swept away, and we will degenerate into a classic African chaotic situation."
Twice this year, the impoverished townships around this capital city have exploded in spontaneous, violent riots during protests against escalating food and fuel prices, which are controlled by the government.
The 340,000-strong trade union movement has staged weekly daylong strikes -- the most recent of them taking place Wednesday -- to protest government mismanagement, and a nascent opposition has started to coalesce in a democracy that has been a virtual one-party state since its historic 1980 "liberation" from white minority rule.
Behind the crisis is the collapse of the Zimbabwean dollar, which has been in virtual free fall, plummeting in value from 10 to 36 against the U.S. dollar during the past year.
The causes are many.
They include government overspending, endemic corruption, deployment of the army to fight a $1 million-a-day war for President Laurent Kabila of the Democratic Republic of Congo, and a wilting confidence in the crucial farming sector, which is threatened by redistribution of land to the poor.
The local dollar's collapse has pushed the inflation rate toward 40 percent, raising living costs beyond the reach of the poor, who are also the angry.
"Politically, the government gets more and more unpopular every day," said John Legat of Fleming Martin Zimbabwe Research, a leading monitor of national trends.
Mugabe, a former mission teacher, political detainee and co-founder of the ruling Zimbabwe African National Union-Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF) came to power under a socialist banner.
He became prime minister and then president after Britain negotiated an agreement on independent elections between blacks and whites here, ending a century of colonialism in what was known as Rhodesia.
"Nobody really has the courage to stand up to [Mugabe]," said John Robertson, an analyst who runs Economic Information Services here. "Some people might feel their lives are at risk. But others feel that if their name was crossed off the patronage list, it might cost them a great deal of money.
"He is very deeply embedded, but I think all the events are moving in a new direction."
A new force
Helping to chart that direction is Morgan Tsvangirai, 46, secretary-general of the 350,000-member Zimbabwe Congress of Trade Unions, a new force in the land. He is viewed as a potential presidential candidate.
This month, Tsvangirai, a peasant son and former mine union official, ordered a one-day "stay away" from work to be staged every Wednesday.
The first two stoppages reduced the usual midweek bustle of this capital and other major cities to a Sunday-like quiet that must have been noticed in the president's office.
Tsvangirai, who survived an assassination attempt in December, has no illusions about the precariousness of his role as a government critic.
"It's risky," he said. "So many forces have an interest in the status quo. So many people have benefited from corruption, cronyism, paternalism. They are mostly occupied with retaining power rather than providing leadership."
The unions, which negotiated a 35 percent pay increase this year, are demanding another 20 percent to offset a 67 percent boost in fuel prices ordered by the government this month.
The government has said the price increases are essential for the viability of the state's oil procurement agency.
Deep impact
The impact is deeply felt in places such as the crowded township of Chitungwiza, a high-density suburb of humble, back-to-back homes on potholed roads 10 miles outside Harare.
People such as Lingiwe Shambare, a mother of seven, suddenly found themselves paying 25 cents for about a quart of paraffin oil for cooking and lighting instead of 3 cents, and 25 cents for a bus ticket to town instead of 10 cents. The prices of corn and other staples have doubled.
More increases are expected.
"Where can we get that sort of money?" asked Shambare, who lives marginally on the $80 a month her husband earns as a messenger. "We are now suffering."
Shambare's neighbor, Caroline Kujeke, 19, mother of a 15-month-old girl, said, "It's very hard for us to survive. Everything is [priced] so high, and there is nowhere to complain."
To vent their anger, thousands of poverty-stricken township residents took to the streets this month in their second mass protest against the government price increases.
"If things have to be changed, people themselves have to take the lead," said Margaret Dongo, the only independent member of the 150-seat parliament, in which Mugabe's ruling ZANU-PF holds 147 seats.
The other seats are occupied by representatives of minor opposition parties.
A meeting of 11 small opposition parties this month agreed to push for state election-funding reform in the hope of launching the first serious political challenge to the government in the general election of 2000 and the presidential election of 2002, in which Mugabe could seek a fifth term. Under current criteria, Mugabe's party is the only one qualifying for public funds.
Also trying to get more government money is Health Minister Timothy Stamps. He has to cope with Africa's worst per-capita AIDS epidemic.
One in five Zimbabwean adults is estimated to be HIV-positive, with 700 dying weekly.
Since the first case here in 1985, it is estimated that 1.5 million Zimbabweans have been infected, and 320,000 have developed full-blown acquired immune deficiency syndrome.
"It's our No. 1 priority," said Davies Dhlakama, principal medical director at the Ministry of Health and Child Welfare, noting that international donors help fund the national AIDS program.
All these problems and the lack of money have not kept Mugabe from deploying his troops -- beside those of Angola, Namibia and Chad -- to support Kabila in the civil war in Congo.
Mugabe defends the intervention by saying it is in line with the Southern African Development Community's agreement to protect member governments from military coups d'etat. He has given no details of the cost of the operation, but it is estimated at $1 million a day, a figure likely to drive the deficit up and the Zimbabwean currency down.
"With the parlous state of the economy, Zimbabwe cannot afford an expensive military adventure in the [Congo], which, it is widely believed, holds business opportunities for some members the political and military elite in Zimbabwe," read a statement from five of the country's leading rights groups. Kabila reportedly gives rich mineral concessions as "war winnings" to his allies.
Another major controversy surrounds the government's program to redistribute 12 million acres of land to poor families during the next five years.
Farmers accepted the need for redistribution but objected to the arbitrary selection last November of 1,471 farms -- many of them run by white families -- for compulsory acquisition.
Mugabe insisted the government would pay only for the buildings and other improvements on the land, not for the land itself. He viewed the land as having been stolen by the colonialists.
The 100-acre tobacco farm of David Hasluck, whose grandfather first farmed in this country in 1893, was on the acquisition list. "For many farmers, it was a shock," said Hasluck, who decided that his best defense lay in continuing to invest in his farm and its 84 workers to convince the government that he is an efficient farmer and a good employer.
His farm and 512 others have been removed from the list. Another 118 farmers have agreed to sell their properties to the government. But the sense of insecurity down on the farm intensified again suddenly last week when Mugabe served the other white farm families with 14-day eviction orders and said compensation would be negotiated.
Even before this, militant squatters began moving onto farms, staking claims, defying the farmers to get court orders for their removal, and raising the threat of rural anarchy. The police have not intervened, viewing the land grab as a political rather than a criminal activity.
Mugabe's move is widely viewed as an effort to counter increasing disillusionment with his leadership among the majority of impoverished blacks, at the expense of a wealthy white minority. About 4,000 white farmers own one-third of Zimbabwe's best land.
The land seizure is in defiance of an earlier agreement with Western donors to delay the redistribution program for two years, to negotiate compensation, and to make sure agricultural production was not affected.
Watching developments closely is the Washington-based International Monetary Fund.
Unhappy with Mugabe's policies, it has delayed a $53 million installment of its balance-of-payments support program for Zimbabwe.
It will decide whether to throw this near-bankrupt nation a lifeline next month, but first it wants to know what the Congo intervention is costing and who is paying. It has not reacted to the latest land-redistribution ploy.
Mugabe's office rejected a request for an interview with the president, saying his media calendar was filled into next year.
Pub Date: 11/22/98