Source: ZANU‑PF for sale: How wealth has replaced liberation in Zimbabwe
Tendai Ruben Mbofana
ZANU‑PF has reached a point where its liberation identity has become little more than a ceremonial relic, dusted off for slogans and commemorations but long abandoned in practice.
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A party that once claimed to embody the aspirations of a struggling people now bends itself to the whims of wealth, and the trajectory of its politics increasingly resembles an auction floor rather than the disciplined, ideologically grounded movement it once pretended to be.
Today, Zimbabwe’s politics is shaped not by veterans of the struggle, not by merit or ideological clarity, but by those with the deepest pockets and the closest proximity to presidential favour.
The rise of tenderpreneurs such as Kudakwashe Tagwirei, Wicknell Chivayo, Paul Tungwarara and others exposes an uncomfortable truth: ZANU‑PF is now for sale, hollowed out and held hostage by moneyed interests who purchase influence, position, and protection.
The most striking illustration of ZANU‑PF’s degeneration is Kudakwashe Tagwirei, who held no formal position in the party until his co-option onto the Central Committee in 2025, yet is now spoken of as a potential successor to President Mnangagwa.
He did not rise through provincial leadership, grassroots organizing, or decades of party service.
Instead, his influence comes from accumulated wealth deployed strategically to secure loyalty and access.
Through a web of state contracts, mining deals, and preferential control over critical sectors such as fuel, agriculture, and foreign exchange, Tagwirei positioned himself as indispensable to key party figures and provincial committees.
Beyond simply holding resources, Tagwirei used his wealth to buy loyalty within the party.
In 2025 he financed the acquisition of hundreds of vehicles for ZANU‑PF’s Central Committee and other party organs — contributions so large they sparked internal backlash and a new directive restricting how material donations are made within the party.
Observers interpreted these gestures as efforts to cultivate loyalty and embed himself politically.
Provincial committees that received his support were instrumental in endorsing his co-option onto the Central Committee, effectively turning financial patronage into political advancement.
Allies who benefited from his largesse became naturally inclined to support his rise, ensuring that his influence was embedded even before he held any formal office.
He became, effectively, a de facto czar of Zimbabwe’s economic ecosystems without ever holding political office, using financial resources to shape party decisions and reward allies.
His power is entirely transactional, not ideological.
It does not spring from the people or any party mandate; it flows from State House corridors, where proximity to the President and the ability to fund party operations have become the ultimate currency.
That someone with no traceable leadership history within ZANU‑PF is now touted as a president‑in‑waiting exposes the commodification of political legitimacy.
The party no longer measures leadership by experience, service, or vision, but by the depth of one’s pockets.
In this environment, financial muscle is mistaken for political authority, and wealth is now the fastest route to the highest echelons of power.
The rise of Wicknell Chivayo tells a similar story.
His meteoric ascent has nothing to do with governance, administrative competence, or national service.
It is instead a story of access: gaining entry into the President’s inner circle, flattering the First Family, and using wealth — or the illusion of it — as a shield against accountability.
ZACC may have recently claimed to find no evidence linking him to the US$100 million ZEC procurement scandal, but the public knows the game.
Investigations collapse not because innocence is proven, but because in Zimbabwe, money buys silence, buys protection, buys exoneration.
Chivayo’s social media theatrics and conspicuous generosity to ZANU‑PF-linked musicians and church groups are not random acts of charity; they are investments.
Influence, loyalty, and political insulation are the returns he seeks.
He is not a political actor — yet he wields political clout.
He is not an elected official — yet he moves with impunity few ministers can dream of.
This is not politics; it is patronage on steroids.
Paul Tungwarara, another example, demonstrates how deep the rot goes.
His close ties to President Mnangagwa, his role in controversial procurement deals, and his invisibility within any formal ZANU‑PF structures reflect the same pattern: money opens the gates, money creates power, money overrides institutions.
He has always been at the forefront of ZANU‑PF’s so-called “empowerment funds,” steering resources and patronage in ways that bolster loyalty and cement influence.
Even his brief, foiled attempt to be co‑opted into the Central Committee — later reversed by the Political Commissar on procedural grounds — underscores how party rules are often secondary to access, wealth, and proximity to the presidency.
These figures do not join branches, attend cells, or campaign for the party.
They buy entry, buy influence, and in return are given the run of state institutions.
They have no liberation credentials, no ideological training, no public service record — but they enjoy more access to the President than lifelong cadres who sacrificed everything for the party.
If this is not capture, then what is?
ZANU‑PF today is no longer guided by liberation values, Pan-African ideals, or even basic political principle.
It has mutated into an estate owned by the highest bidder.
Those who fought for independence have been sidelined by those who bought their way into influence.
The revolution, if it ever truly existed beyond rhetoric, has been outsourced to tenderpreneurs whose only contribution is financial leverage.
The party now operates like a private corporation where tenders, contracts, and access to national resources are awarded not through transparent process but through personal loyalty and financial usefulness.
Its core leadership is no longer shaped by ideological training schools or political experience; it is shaped by who can bankroll campaigns, fuel convoys, buy cars, or sponsor rallies.
Wealthy businessmen have replaced political commissars; “investors” have replaced cadres; tenderpreneurs have replaced revolutionaries.
This transformation reveals a frightening truth: ZANU‑PF no longer belongs to its members.
It does not belong to its veterans.
It does not belong to the nation whose liberation it claims to have championed.
It belongs to Zvigananda — the tycoons who fund its activities, sponsor its factions, and finance its internal battles.
The party is no longer a movement; it is an asset.
And like any asset, it can be bought.
If a person like myself suddenly acquired massive wealth, nothing would stop me from buying influence, earning praise, being chauffeured into ZANU‑PF’s elite circles, and being touted as the next best thing.
Leadership is no longer earned; it is purchased.
Credentials no longer matter; connections do.
Ideology no longer directs politics; money does.
What this means for Zimbabwe is sobering.
A party that once claimed to represent the masses is now completely detached from them.
The ordinary supporter, the rural voter, the war veteran, the long‑serving cadre — all have been pushed aside by tenderpreneurs who could not care less about liberation history or national development.
Their interest is profit: profit from minerals, from public tenders, from state contracts, from proximity to power.
And because they share these interests with other elites in government, they form a mutually reinforcing alliance that keeps the country trapped in permanent underdevelopment.
Policies are not made for national benefit; they are made to protect business networks.
Laws are not crafted to empower citizens; they are tailored to shield powerful financiers.
National resources are not managed for the public good; they are preserved for the enrichment of a politically connected few.
ZANU‑PF’s capture by moneyed elites is perhaps the final proof that the liberation movement has died.
All that remains is the shell — a rhetorical machine powered by nostalgia, fear, and symbolism.
But inside that shell, the true operators are tenderpreneurs with deep pockets and deeper ambitions.
This is a party that can be bought, reshaped, directed, and influenced by anyone with enough money.
And that should terrify every Zimbabwean, because a party that is for sale will never prioritise the people.
It will prioritise only those who pay.
If Zimbabwe is to reclaim any sense of dignity, democracy, or development, the country must confront this uncomfortable reality: the ruling party is no longer a political organisation but a marketplace.
And as long as national policy is determined by financiers instead of citizens, Zimbabwe will remain trapped in a cycle of extractive politics where the wealthy rule, the connected prosper, and the people suffer.
- Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/
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