Why extending the president’s term in the name of “progress” is absurd

Tendai Ruben Mbofana

The argument now being peddled by President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s loyalists—that a president who is “doing well” deserves an extension of his term—is not only deeply flawed, but dangerously subversive to constitutional democracy.

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It turns the very logic of term limits on its head and reduces the Constitution to a flexible inconvenience, amendable whenever political elites feel sufficiently impressed with themselves.

Let us be clear from the outset: constitutional term limits were never designed to punish bad leaders.

Quite the opposite.

They were crafted precisely because history taught us that leaders who perform well, win elections repeatedly, and accumulate power over time are often the ones most likely to overstay, personalise the state, and ultimately undermine democratic institutions.

A leader who performs badly rarely needs term limits—he is voted out, removed by his own party, or impeached.

Term limits exist to protect nations from the long-term risks of excessive power concentration, even (and especially) under leaders deemed “successful.”

The origins of presidential term limits are instructive.

In the United States, the world’s oldest continuous constitutional democracy, the two-term limit was introduced not because Franklin D. Roosevelt failed, but because he succeeded too well.

FDR was elected four times and led America through the Great Depression and World War II.

Yet after his death, Americans concluded that no individual—however competent—should dominate the executive branch for so long.

The 22nd Amendment was thus adopted in 1951 to institutionalise leadership renewal and safeguard democracy from the dangers of prolonged incumbency.

This logic has been replicated across the world.

Leaders like Nelson Mandela, arguably one of the greatest statesmen of the modern era, voluntarily stepped down after a single term despite immense popularity.

Botswana’s Seretse Khama and later Festus Mogae oversaw stable growth and good governance, yet respected term limits.

Barack Obama left office after two terms even as his party would gladly have retained him.

These leaders understood a fundamental truth: no nation’s progress should hinge indefinitely on one individual.

Indeed, a president who performs well but overstays can become a liability.

Longevity in power breeds complacency, intolerance of dissent, weakened institutions, and succession crises.

State institutions begin to serve the leader rather than the nation.

Talented successors are stifled.

Policy innovation stagnates.

Worse still, leaders who initially governed well often end their tenures presiding over decline, precisely because they stayed too long.

History—from Robert Mugabe to Yoweri Museveni—offers painful lessons in this regard.

Ironically, leaders who leave office with strong records often become invaluable national assets.

As former presidents, they can advise successors, mediate conflicts, represent their countries internationally, and contribute wisdom without wielding raw power.

Think of Mandela’s moral authority, Joaquim Chissano’s continental diplomacy, or even Thabo Mbeki’s steadying influence in South Africa.

By contrast, leaders who refuse to leave office often exit disgraced, isolated, and defensive.

This brings us to the deeply troubling suggestion that Zimbabwe’s development is so fragile, so personalised, that it cannot survive beyond President Mnangagwa.

Are we seriously being told that a country of over 15 million people has no one else capable of continuing “development” beyond 2028?

If that is true, then Zimbabwe is in far deeper trouble than its leaders are willing to admit.

Functional states are built on systems, institutions, and long-term national visions—not on the longevity of one man.

Real development takes decades.

It spans multiple administrations.

China’s rise did not depend on one leader.

Neither did Singapore’s development, nor Costa Rica’s stability, nor Botswana’s long-term growth depend on the indefinite rule of a single leader.

These countries pursued long-term national strategies executed by successive leaders within relatively stable institutional frameworks.

That is precisely why global development agendas—from the Sustainable Development Goals to national vision plans—are designed to transcend electoral cycles.

Yet the push to extend President Mnangagwa’s term rests on a far shakier foundation.

For all the talk of “infrastructure turnaround,” “currency stability,” and impressive export figures, the lived reality of ordinary Zimbabweans tells a very different story.

Nearly 80 percent of the population lives in poverty, with around half trapped in extreme poverty.

Over 90 percent of citizens remain outside decent formal employment.

Roads across the country are largely impassable, riddled with potholes and mud.

Public healthcare is in a state of near collapse.

Education is increasingly inaccessible to the poor.

These are not abstract statistics; they are daily indignities endured by millions.

What development, then, are figures like Kudakwashe Tagwirei referring to?

Macroeconomic numbers on paper mean very little when they fail to translate into improved living standards.

Bumper harvests are cold comfort to families who cannot afford school fees, healthcare, or reliable transport.

Export receipts do not fill empty stomachs when inequality remains extreme and opportunities scarce.

Development is not measured by speeches, charts, or press statements—it is measured by whether people live longer, healthier, more dignified lives.

Even hypothetically, if President Mnangagwa had reduced poverty to 20 percent and created meaningful employment for 80 percent of Zimbabweans, the argument for extending his term would still be weak.

Those are precisely the kinds of leaders term limits were designed to restrain—not because they are bad, but because democracy must be bigger than individual success.

Yet the current reality is far more damning: President Mnangagwa is nowhere near that category of transformative leadership.

By any fair measure, his record would see him lose any free and fair election—not earn a constitutional extension.

Perhaps that explains the quiet reluctance to pursue a national referendum.

Those pushing these amendments know, deep down, that the people of Zimbabwe are unlikely to endorse them.

They understand that ordinary citizens—struggling to survive, not dazzled by elite narratives—would likely deliver a loud, resounding NO.

In the end, this debate is not about whether President Mnangagwa is “doing well.”

It is about whether Zimbabwe still believes in constitutionalism, leadership renewal, and the principle that no one is indispensable.

A Constitution that bends for one man today will bend for another tomorrow—and eventually collapse altogether.

That is the real danger Zimbabwe now faces.

• 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/