2030: Are we falling for a Zanu PF distraction, again? 

IN Zimbabwe’s political landscape, history has a way of repeating itself—especially when it comes to Zanu PF’s mastery of political distraction and perception management.

As debates intensify around the so-called “2030 agenda,” which allegedly seeks to extend President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s stay in power, one is compelled to ask: are we, once again, falling for a well-orchestrated political diversion?

In 2011, when the opposition was at its most confident and the Government of National Unity (GNU) had somewhat stabilised the economy, Zanu PF launched a campaign to collect two million signatures against sanctions. The move came at a time when the opposition’s credibility was at its peak and the constitution-making process was underway, promising new democratic possibilities.

For Zanu PF, that campaign was not merely about sanctions—it was about regaining political relevance and setting the national agenda. The initiative dominated headlines, shifted public discourse, and momentarily repositioned Zanu PF as the voice of nationalism under siege, rather than a party in decline. In hindsight, it was a calculated act of political theatre.

The parallels with the current “2030 agenda” are hard to miss. Once again, the nation’s attention has been diverted toward a controversial proposal that may, in fact, serve other internal strategic purposes rather than being a genuine policy push.

Since the 2017 coup that ushered in what was branded the “Second Republic,” the ruling establishment has struggled to deliver on its promises of reform, prosperity, and re-engagement. The economy has deteriorated, corruption has deepened, and the democratic space has narrowed. Arbitrary arrests, intimidation of activists, and the co-opting or silencing of dissenting voices have become the order of the day.

Internally, the party has had to manage growing tensions between factions aligned with different power centres. Chief among these is the complex relationship between President Mnangagwa and his deputy, General Constantino Chiwenga.

Chiwenga’s health challenges and the mysterious deaths of several generals from the post-coup military elite created a delicate situation within Zanu PF’s inner circle. The general perception was that Chiwenga, as a key figure in the 2017 coup, was the natural successor after Mnangagwa’s second term.

However, for the current leadership, this posed both a political and personal threat. Extending the presidential term limit—whether as a genuine move or as political bait—appears to serve multiple functions: it tests loyalties within Zanu PF, exposes potential challengers, and destabilises factions before they can consolidate.

If the term extension narrative is indeed being floated as a trap, it is primarily to gauge how Chiwenga and his backers respond. It is also a way to maintain control of the political narrative and keep the opposition—and even the media—occupied with debates that ultimately serve the ruling party’s internal management strategy.

If Zanu PF were serious about pushing through the 2030 amendment, it could have done so by now. The ruling party commands a parliamentary numbers with assistance if enablers ofcourse and has repeatedly demonstrated its willingness to override public sentiment when it suits its interests and the law. Yet, the delay suggests something more strategic.

By allowing rumours and speculation to circulate, Zanu PF keeps both the opposition and civic society in a state of reaction. It provokes statements, protests, and petitions—movements that can be easily monitored, infiltrated, or even suppressed under the pretext of maintaining order.

Furthermore, the ruling elite is aware that amending the constitution in this manner could inadvertently galvanise and unify the fragmented opposition. Despite its current disarray, nothing unites Zimbabweans faster than a blatant assault on the constitution. Hence, there may be no real intention to pass such an amendment, but rather to use it as a smokescreen for internal manoeuvres and factional containment.

The opposition, meanwhile, remains weak, divided, and under-resourced. The closure of democratic space, the co-optation of key figures, and a deep sense of mistrust among political players have eroded the ability to mount an effective challenge.

At this point, Zanu PF faces no credible electoral threat. It therefore makes little sense to delay elections or risk the backlash of a controversial constitutional amendment. Instead, it seems more plausible that we are witnessing a tactical distraction—an internal Zanu PF chess game disguised as a national constitutional debate.

Recent developments within Zanu PF—such as the re-emergence of business mogul Kudakwashe Tagwirei, the provocative statements of party figures like Christopher Mutsvangwa and Temba Mliswa, and subtle power plays in state media—suggest a deeper internal struggle. These dynamics point to a reorganisation ahead of the party’s next congress.

The 2030 talk, therefore, could be part of a broader effort by President Mnangagwa to restructure how Zanu PF selects its presidium. This would allow him to secure his post-retirement influence, perhaps ruling “from the farm” while maintaining decisive control over who succeeds him.

Zimbabweans must be cautious not to be drawn into performative outrage over what might be a carefully designed decoy. The real issue remains the continued erosion of democratic institutions, the worsening economic crisis, and the lack of accountability in governance.

While the 2030 narrative may appear alarming, it is essential to interrogate its timing, intent, and beneficiaries. If history is any guide, Zanu PF thrives on controlling national conversation and using diversionary tactics to mask internal fractures and governance failures.

The opposition and civil society must therefore resist reactionary politics and instead focus on rebuilding organisational strength, re-engaging the citizenry, and preparing for an early or unexpected election that may follow Zanu PF’s next congress.

The lesson from 2011 remains clear: in Zimbabwean politics, not every loud declaration from the ruling party deserves the nation’s full attention—some are simply traps designed to keep everyone talking while real power is quietly rearranged behind the scenes.

Gifford Sibanda is a commoner and writes in his personal capacity