The emergence of “mercenary activism” has become the greatest threat to the fight for justice in Zimbabwe

The political soul of Zimbabwe is currently being auctioned off to the highest bidder in a marketplace where the currency is betrayal and the commodity is the future of the nation.

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For a country long battered by the repressive and kleptomaniac tendencies of a regime that views the treasury as a personal feeding trough and the Constitution as a mere suggestion, the emergence of “mercenary activists” represents a final, devastating blow to the genuine struggle for justice.

This brand of advocacy is not born of conviction or a desire for social equity; it is a cold, calculated business model where stances are adopted based on the status of a bank transfer and principles are discarded the moment an invoice goes unpaid.

​The tragedy of the Zimbabwean landscape in 2026 is that the most visible voices in the civic space are no longer motivated by the plight of the millions surviving on the margins of a collapsing economy.

Instead, they are motivated by proximity to power and the promise of patronage.

This transactional activism creates a “moral fog” that masks the regime’s ongoing assault on democratic institutions.

When those who should be the watchdogs of the state become its lapdogs—or its disgruntled creditors—the public is left without a compass, unable to distinguish between a genuine cry for accountability and a strategic outburst designed to extort a better deal from the ruling elite.

The career of Professor Jonathan Moyo remains the definitive case study in this intellectual flexibility.

Having cycled through roles as the regime’s fiercest defender, its most articulate critic in exile, and now, seemingly, its technical architect for constitutional “re-engineering,” Moyo represents the professionalization of the flip-flop.

His recent engagement with the Constitutional Amendment (No. 3) Bill (CAB3)—a piece of legislation that seeks to replace direct presidential elections with a parliamentary selection model and extend terms to seven years—is a masterclass in providing academic cover for authoritarianism.

By framing the dismantling of the 2013 Constitution as “institutional refinement,” he offers the pseudo-intellectual legitimacy that a kleptocratic regime needs to justify its stay in power until 2030 and beyond.

This is not the work of a man of principle; it is the work of a man who views the law as a whiteboard to be erased and rewritten at the whim of the prevailing faction.

​Even more transparent in its mercenary nature is the recent pivot of Rutendo Matinyarare.

For years, Matinyarare was the self-appointed frontline soldier in the regime’s anti-sanctions propaganda machine, shielding the establishment from accountability by laundering its repressive actions through the language of Pan-Africanism.

Yet, as the “pro-2030” agenda gained steam in early 2026, his tune changed with jarring suddenness.

His recent assertions that the term extension is legally flawed would carry weight if they weren’t accompanied by public demands for a $4 million payment he claims to be owed for his previous services.

This admission lays bare the rot at the heart of Zimbabwean advocacy: his “principled” opposition to the regime’s latest power grab is inextricably linked to a debt collection dispute.

It is an “activism of the disgruntled,” where the truth is only spoken when the hush money stops flowing.

If that $4 million were settled tomorrow, the “constitutional flaws” he currently decries would likely be reimagined as “necessary sacrifices for national stability.”

This cycle of “loyalty-for-sale” permeates the entire political structure, including figures like Temba Mliswa, whose activism is a series of strategic and loud pivots.

Mliswa’s brand of advocacy consists of high-decibel online tantrums and aggressive defenses of the very individuals accused of looting state resources.

He utilizes his platform not to champion justice, but to navigate the factional dogfights of the ruling ZANU PF, ensuring he remains a “useful asset” to the highest bidder.

His self-styled “independence” is merely a strategic mask; in reality, his vocal support for the regime’s kleptomania is a professional service provided to maintain his proximity to power.

The impact of this mercenary culture on the genuine fight for justice is catastrophic.

When the most prominent voices against the regime are seen as mercenaries, the entire movement for social justice is tainted by association.

The regime exploits this trust deficit with surgical precision, pointing to the flip-flopping of Moyo or the financial grievances of Matinyarare to claim that all dissent is manufactured and all activists are “rented.”

This allows the state to continue its repressive maneuvers—such as the passage of the Patriotic Act and the weaponization of the judiciary—with a veneer of justification.

If the critics are perceived as dishonest, the regime’s dishonesty becomes normalized.

The fight against CAB3 provides a clear example of how this mercenary behavior sabotages the national interest.

The bill is a direct assault on the spirit of the 2013 Constitution, attempting to bypass the referendum requirement of Section 328 to secure another decade of executive dominance.

This is a moment that requires a unified, principled defense of constitutionalism.

Instead, the discourse is dominated by individuals whose previous support for the regime’s “Second Republic” makes their current opposition suspect.

When a former cheerleader for the state starts sounding like a democrat only after falling out with their paymasters, they do not strengthen the opposition; they weaken it.

They create a “cry wolf” scenario where the public stops listening to warnings about real threats to the Constitution because the messengers are seen as unreliable.

​Furthermore, these “mercenaries” provide the regime with a strategic safety valve.

By allowing certain figures to act as “the loyal opposition” or the “disgruntled insider,” the state can simulate a democratic debate while ensuring that the actual power structures remain untouched.

It is a form of controlled dissent where the boundaries of the critique are set by the terms of the next transaction.

The “fight for justice” becomes a theatrical performance where the actors are constantly switching roles, but the script remains written by the same kleptocratic elite.

The liberation of Zimbabwe from its current state of repression and economic plunder requires a fundamental rejection of this transactional model.

True activism must be rooted in the “Midlands grit”—a raw, unyielding commitment to the truth that cannot be bought, sold, or negotiated.

A principle that has an expiration date or a price tag is not a principle; it is a service.

This unshakeable standard is embodied by the country’s consistent social justice advocates, many of whom have never received a single cent for their years of toil.

These are individuals who find it a daily struggle to make ends meet, living in the same precarious poverty as the people they defend.

They operate in a pervasively dangerous environment where their lives are constantly at risk and the shadow of state heavy-handedness is never far away.

Yet, they keep going, often sustained only by the quiet, selfless support of a few benevolent individuals who believe in the cause and have helped keep the flame of justice flickering during the darkest hours.

Their persistence is not fueled by the promise of a corporate bank transfer or a seat at a donor-funded table, but by a profound devotion to the people of Zimbabwe.

For the struggle against the regime’s “2030” agenda and its systemic corruption to succeed, it must be led by those whose loyalty is to the Zimbabwean people, not to their own bank balances.

Until the mercenary culture is purged from the civic space, the Constitution will remain a hostage of the highest bidder, and the fight for justice will continue to be a casualty of the marketplace.

The time has come for Zimbabweans to look past the loud rhetoric and demand a consistency that survives the absence of a payout, for a nation can never be free as long as its defenders are for hire.● Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. To directly receive his articles please join his WhatsApp Channel on: https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VaqprWCIyPtRnKpkHe08