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INTRODUCTION
Much scholarly attention has recently been paid to the ways in which wars
are remembered and stories told about them. Some writers have focused
on individual ‘trauma’, and the ways in which former civilians and soldiers
cope – or fail to cope – with disturbing memories of violence.1 Others have
concentrated on broader social processes, on the creation of a culture of
memory (or amnesia) about a troubling and divisive past.2 But trauma and
violence are only part of a wide range of experiences and emotions
of which are specific to their Zimbabwean origins. Influences include the texts
that shaped the emergence of the region’s literate class, as well as generations
of school children across the globe, such as the bible (in various translations),
John Bunyan’s The Pilgrim’s Progress, and other staples of a mission school
education.9 They show the influence of boys’ adventure stories, Rider
Haggard-inspired imperial romance and travel narratives, and what scholars
of the First World War have referred to as ‘high diction’. This ‘high diction’
was used in the popular media in World War I: it drew on abstractions, late
romantic idiom and a vague spiritualism, expressed in terms and phrases such
as the ‘renewal of youth’, ‘glorious baptism of fire’, ‘sacrifice’, ‘comradeship’
and ‘peril’ – some of which appear in guerrilla accounts (though for them
‘comradeship’ had a specifically socialist connotation).10
The guerrillas’ stories also show the influence of oral traditions, which
guerrillas would have heard not only at home, but also through contact with
the cultural nationalist movement of the 1950s and 1960s.11 Zimbabwe’s
nationalist leaders looked back to the heroes of the ‘primary resistance’
movements of the late nineteenth century as a source of inspiration, popu-
larizing their names, and invoking their spiritual sanction. As we discuss
below, guerrillas also invoked supernatural signs of encouragement, often
fusing biblical and traditional religious symbolism. Other reference points,
such as revolutionary texts, were more specific to the guerrillas’ military and
socialist training. These set guerrillas apart from Zimbabwe’s civilians and
indeed many of the country’s nationalist political leaders, but brought them
into a shared frame of reference with other revolutionaries and insurgents
across the globe.
Although the guerrilla stories recount personal experiences and indi-
vidual biographical trajectories, they should also be seen in some ways as
‘collective’. They reflect the shared experiences of members of a particular
guerrilla army, with its own modes of organization and a unique role in
Zimbabwe’s liberation war. ZIPRA guerrillas owed their loyalty to the
nationalist party ZAPU, the loser in Zimbabwe’s first elections. The guer-
rilla army associated with the victorious ZANU(PF) was known as
ZANLA.12 These two armies harboured deep suspicions of one another. At
the height of the war, they were based in different countries, and were
backed by different superpowers, ZIPRA by the Soviet Union and its allies,
ZANLA by China. They had contrasting military strategies and, inside
Zimbabwe, they fought in different regions of the country, ZIPRA focusing
predominantly on the Ndebele-speaking regions of Matabeleland. Where
they met in the field, they often fought.13 ZIPRA guerrillas’ shared perspec-
tive was reinforced by their relationship with the ZANU(PF) government
after independence. Both armies were initially seen as a potential threat to
order, but as followers of the opposition, ZIPRA guerrillas were also seen
as a political danger, and they were targeted in a vicious war of repression
in the 1980s. During this time, they, along with ZAPU civilians and ‘the
Ndebele’ as a whole with whom they were associated, were hunted down,
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JOINING ZIPRA
The first stage in the journey of many guerrillas-to-be was the process of
politicization that led to the decision to join ZIPRA. Guerrillas’ expla-
nations of their decision to go to war focus on their contacts with the
nationalist party ZAPU, and their personal experience of discrimination
and exploitation. Many of those who would find their way into ZIPRA, and
especially those in the first generation of recruits, grew up in families that
had an established link to nationalism, and often themselves participated in
ZAPU’s youth wing.29
Nicholas’s first contact with nationalism came at his rural home when his
uncle was arrested for his nationalist activities in 1959. Nationalists subse-
quently visited his rural school, a key recruiting point for many guerrillas-
to-be, and he soon became a devoted follower of Joshua Nkomo, the leader
of ZAPU.30 At the age of seventeen, Nicholas left home to look for work
in the provincial capital of Bulawayo, a normal career track for young men
such as himself. Staying with relatives in the city, some of whom were
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There was a lot of talk about people, especially from the youth wing,
being sent out of the country to receive training in guerrilla warfare. I
had already met some who had completed their training in sabotage and
the use of explosives. . . . I liked this very much because I had come to
the conclusion that violence was the only language the colonialists could
understand. They had never listened when we had tried and tried to talk
to them.
He felt he had no choice: ‘An acceptance of violence and war was thrust
upon me by the fact that freedom was denied us. War, according to our
elders, was a man’s affair. To me it became the correct response to suppres-
sion.’32 Nicholas’s decision to leave the country – to become a man and a
fighter – finally came as a result of police harassment and his restriction to
his family home. He left in 1970, with other members of his ZAPU youth
branch.
In many of the guerrilla accounts, there is a similar trajectory: a focus on
the petty and cruel aspects of Rhodesian administration, a concern with the
lack of economic opportunity, a focus on the political activism and suppres-
sion of family and friends. This emphasis shifted in the case of those who
left for the war after it had spread through the rural areas. Then, contact
with guerrillas, the radio broadcasts of ZAPU’s famed Jane Ngwenya, or
simply the ‘spirit of war’ or ‘the enthusiasm of fighting’ was more often
credited with precipitating a decision to leave the country.33 Others left
when they were called up for service in the Rhodesian army, or when the
war had made life ‘unbearable at home’;34 some did not make a voluntary
decision, but were simply bundled across the border in groups taken from
schools by guerrillas as ZIPRA intensified its recruitment at the height of
the war.35 Gertrude Moyo was ‘recruited’ by two guerrillas while at a
wedding party: ‘we were all recruited, even the bride and groom’, she
recalled.36 This later generation of guerrillas often did not have the lengthy
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CROSSING BORDERS
Leaving Rhodesia comprised the next step in former guerrillas’ accounts of
becoming a soldier. Aspirant guerrillas had to make their way across the
heavily-patrolled Botswana border, no easy task for young men who were
considered, by definition, suspect. Once in Botswana, they had to travel
through inhospitable countryside; they had to negotiate the hardships of the
camps, and finally fly to Zambia. This was a passage through space, over
international boundaries, into a plane for the first time; it was also a passage
into another level of political and personal commitment and a journey often
marked by supernatural events and signs.
Nicholas’s story of his border crossing is one of individual initiative, but
for many of those crossing in later periods, the journey was a more organ-
ized one, undertaken with the help of party members or guerrillas who
actively recruited and provided guides to the borders, or who drew on the
support of a network of bus drivers and conductors who dropped recruits
at specified points, schooled them on how to behave at road blocks, and
gave them detailed directions. The Pelandaba bus service was, by 1977,
providing free trips to the border for would-be guerrillas.37 Nicholas simply
left with a number of his comrades on a bus from Bulawayo’s main station,
bound for the border town of Plumtree. He crossed the border river on foot
in the evening. Nicholas records what he remembers as a ‘strange event’ in
the night:
THE CAMPS
Life was not, however, to grow any easier for many guerrillas. Having
undertaken the journey to Zambia, they faced new challenges in the camps.
The descriptions of camp life in ZIPRA accounts are often among the
longest sections, and stand out as the time when they became soldiers, a
new identity symbolized by their acquisition at their induction of war
names, by which they would be known henceforward. The camps are
depicted as a society in themselves: many recruits spent long periods in
them; some were based there permanently working in logistics, training or
in air defence groups. Others stayed because they were too old, too young
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or too sick to fight, or because they were women – ZIPRA’s women’s battal-
ion never left the camps. The hardships endured in the camps were
portrayed by many as by far the most horrific of the war. These were places
where the rights and obligations of soldiers were painfully negotiated,
where guerrillas at times felt deprived of any control over their lives, where
the momentum of their journey was stalled. But the period of training was
also a time of wonders experienced in foreign countries, and of pride in new
military abilities and political sophistication.
Recruits arriving in Zambia passed from the airport to the great clearing
house of Nampundu where they were first screened, itself a frightening
process, and given their war names. Recruits had very little idea of what to
expect. Those with qualifications were often deployed as teachers and
medics, a decision over which they had no control, and which often left
them disappointed because they had wanted to fight.45 When Nicholas
arrived in Zambia, he thought that, ‘all that was needed was for us to be
shown how to use guns, to be issued with guns, and then straight away we
would go home and fight the Rhodesians’.46 Instead, he was moved from
camp to camp in Zambia, where he underwent intense physical training,
and was introduced to marching drills, guerrilla training and political
instruction, all of which he greeted with great excitement. Training stands
out as important in many guerrilla accounts. Learning to endure depri-
vation of all sorts was depicted as part and parcel of becoming a guerrilla.
So was learning the art of ‘bushcraft’ and the practical and spiritual relation-
ship with nature that it involved. Guerrillas were taught ‘tracking where
there were no paths, looking for berries and roots to eat and digging for
water where we found wet patches on sandy ground’;47 they hunted for their
meat and had to cope with competition from lions.48 A number of guerrilla
narratives portray the natural world as changing from threatening to
benign, the transition often seen as part of the process of becoming a guer-
rilla.
Women recruits, trained separately in Mkushi camp, developed their
own ways of coping with the difficulties of camp life, largely through
building relationships with Zambians. Recruits described shortages of soap,
clothing and food. They usually had only one uniform and had to sit naked
while it dried, or wear it wet, after washing it. Their relationship with
Zambian instructors was resented by their Zimbabwean counterparts.
Gertude Moyo recalled, ‘If seen talking to them you would be in hot
soup. . . . As the Zambians were very kind, they used to give us some beef,
Colgate and soap for bathing. The Zimbabwean instructors were very
jealous about that offer. Those ladies who fell in love with the Zambians
were beaten up seriously and punished the whole week’.49
Conflict within the party was also an intermittent and demoralizing
feature of camp life in which recruits’ political loyalties were put to the test
and their journeys disrupted. Nicholas’s training was brought to a rapid end
due to division within ZAPU in 1971. Guerrilla trainees once again became
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pawns. The causes of division remained opaque to them: they were given
‘story after story about what was said to be the cause of the crisis in the
party’; it was ‘enough to make one run mad’. The Zambian authorities
demanded that they back James Chikerema rather than Joshua Nkomo,
their long-time leader; the trainees refused, seeing the move as a betrayal
of ZAPU: ‘We said that not only were we military recruits, we were also
political activists. We had been sent to Zambia by our party at home. We
were not prepared to go off for military training if that meant leaving our
mother, the party, to die.’50 In response the Zambian authorities deported
them, handing them over to the Rhodesians at the border. Nicholas
describes the sense of betrayal felt by his group as they were stripped naked
and interrogated, before being sent to prison for six months under appalling
conditions. Nicholas was eventually allowed to travel home where he was
kept under police surveillance; he soon repeated his trip across the
Botswana border and on to Zambia in 1973.
This time Nicholas did not stop in Zambia, but along with many others
travelled on to Tanzania by truck. At Morogoro camp he was happily
reunited with some of his colleagues from two years before. He was
impressed by them, and envious: ‘they really looked like soldiers. . . . I
longed for the day when I could see my self in that state’. His description
of this camp, like that of other guerrillas, goes into great detail about the
camp command, the geography of the area, the rigours and discipline of
training. In this setting, where Nicholas finally felt himself to be a soldier,
nature no longer appeared dangerous as it had in Zambia: ‘The lions, the
kudu, hyena, roan antelopes and other animals that roamed the area were
like comrades to us. Even if some of them were theoretically dangerous,
like the lion, there was not a day when any of us felt threatened by them’.
More dangerous were the instructors who could give such terrible punish-
ments for infringement of camp rules that, ‘if you did not understand within
your marrow the reasons for such terrible punishment, you could easily
desert, even to the enemy’.51 These were strong words indeed, and high-
lighted the constant need for negotiation between soldiers and commanders
within the camps.52
A great pride in the mastery of new skills and weapons marks many of
the accounts of the camps. Political education is equally prominent: ‘Most
of us recruits had always thought we were simply fighting against the white
people’, Nicholas wrote, ‘But through these political lessons we learned that
the wrong we were fighting lay in the system of government in our country,
not in the colour of people.’53 Guerrillas learned the principles of socialism
from political instructors, during visits abroad, or from reading revolution-
ary literature. Patson Mabuza remembered reading Che Guevara: ‘That is
the man . . . who spiritually turned me into a soldier’, a man of ‘steel
nerves’.54 In many of these accounts, the description of political instruction
takes on the quality of an epiphany: ‘Before, we were ignorant’, guerrillas
maintained.
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Guerrillas’ accounts of their training outside Africa are often tinged with
humour, and with wonder at the strangeness of people and languages, food
and weather, especially snow. Nicholas’s description of his time in the
Soviet Union in 1975 is no exception. Though he provides a triumphal
account of the Russian revolution and the Soviet Union’s liberating role in
Eastern Europe, Nicholas also had misgivings about his hosts and
wondered if he would find the place ‘populated by normal people without
tails and fangs’. Like many guerrillas, Nicholas had a particular sensitivity
to discrimination, and his first impressions were not good: ‘extensive
medical tests were conducted on us. . . . This action by the bloody commu-
nists reminded us of the treatment we used to get from whites back
home. . . . Were they doing all this to us because we were black and might
affect the superior race with our animalistic diseases?’55 But he was finally
convinced of his hosts’ good intentions when the African soldiers were
given the same living conditions as their Soviet counterparts.
The most bitter experiences described in guerrilla narratives also
occurred in the camps, in Tanzania and Mozambique. These were due to
the divisions which beset the liberation movements and their external
backers, and they were portrayed as moments in which nationalism and
the power of the gun were abused and distorted, when they became not a
means of liberation but of violence and repression. ZANU was portrayed
as the chief villain in this, a portrayal shaped not only by the experiences
of the 1970s but also by post-independence violence. In the mid 1970s the
two liberation movements came under intense pressure from their hosts to
unite under one military command. The Zimbabwe People’s Army or
ZIPA was the result. David Moore portrays ZIPA as reflecting the ascend-
ancy of a new generation of radical and educated leaders within ZANLA.
He notes divisions based on ethnicity, age and education, but stresses the
role of ideology.56 The ZIPRA guerrilla accounts, however, are focused
entirely on the treachery of ZANLA and its allies. They share an almost
complete silence on the question of ethnicity and social division. The
emphasis is rather on the deviousness of external backers – the Mozam-
bicans or Tanzanians or ZANLA-allied Chinese, and the megalomania of
ZANU and ZANLA leaders. Bitter fighting between ZIPRA and ZANLA
first erupted in the Tanzanian camps. ZIPRA guerrillas recall Chinese
instructors siding with ZANLA, and disarming and persecuting ZIPRA.
These conflicts were recounted with great anger and sadness. Andrew
Ndhlovu recalls a battle in which eight ZIPRA recruits were killed: ‘Our
group was disorganized since we were recruits and it was our first time to
hear a sound of a gun on a target, that particular target being a comrade
in arms, really it was very painful.’57 Other battles claimed many more
dead.58
Similar conflicts occurred in Mozambique. Nicholas was sent to Mozam-
bique to become part of the newly-unified command structure, but
remained deeply suspicious. His worst fears were soon confirmed: ‘Nothing
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was known about [the unified command] in this base. . . . We were regarded
as people who had come to join ZANLA. . . . We were forced to denounce
our party, ZAPU, and its leadership.’ Nicholas and his comrades were
imprisoned and tortured ‘just as if we were in Rhodesian captivity’.59 He
and another ZIPRA guerrilla were sent into the country with fifty-seven
ZANLA guerrillas, one of whom told them that they were to be executed.
The two fled in the night, making their way across the entire breadth of
Zimbabwe, fighting and recruiting along the way, and eventually arriving in
Botswana for the third time. In Botswana, Nicholas met many other
ZIPRA guerrillas who had similarly fled their supposedly united units.
These memories were by far the most bitter in ZIPRA accounts, and were
told in the mid 1990s to underline the illegitimacy of nationalist division and
the untrustworthiness of ZANU and ZANLA.
Another source of horror within the camps came from the bombing raids
of the Rhodesian air force. Thousands were killed in these raids: guerrillas
describe them as haunting, as ‘burned into their memory’. Josiya Tshuma
recalled the anguish of burying comrades killed in the bombing in
trenches.60 Women ZIPRA guerrillas suffered terrible casualties. As
Gertrude Moyo recounted:
The day I will never forget is on the 19th October 1978 at around 11:00
a.m. when the enemy, Rhodesian forces, bombed our camp Mkushi. . . .
When they started raiding most of the women just got into the river and
were eaten by crocodiles alive. Very few managed to swim across the
river. Those who managed to get to the gathering points were also
killed.61
But there was another side to the bombings: for those who were part of the
anti-aircraft units, the air-raid stories are heroic. Khupusizi Nyathi, trained
in the use of the ZGU anti-aircraft gun, gave a very different account of the
Mkushi attack. From his position in the Zambezi gorges, he watched as
Rhodesian planes and helicopters returned from their attacks:
Such accounts deployed an adventure-story tone, and were often used not
only to emphasize ZIPRA’s military sophistication, but also to make
negative comparisons with ZANLA. ZIPRA’s equipment and defensive
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RIVER CROSSINGS
ZIPRA guerrillas’ bases in Zambia meant that they had to cross the great
Zambezi river in order to enter Zimbabwe. The crossing was recounted as
a terrifying and symbolic event – because guerrillas were on their way to
engage the enemy face to face for the first time, and because of the perils
of the river itself.
Nicholas recalls a song that he and other trainees sang in the camps:
‘ “Zambezi, one river. One river to freedom. We shall carry our guns and
our hand grenades. There is only one river to freedom.” We sang the last
line, “There is only one river to freedom”, without understanding what
“only one river” meant.’63 He would discover that it meant the arduous
journey through the Zambezi’s narrow and steep gorges, often laden with
some seventy to eighty kilos of weapons and supplies, the tension of waiting
until nightfall when Rhodesian patrols came to an end, and the confron-
tation with the river itself. The river inspired poetic and terrifying descrip-
tions. Nicholas recalled,
What then greeted the new guerrillas was the . . . expanse of the great
Zambezi river, the mighty dark blue, swift running waters. At almost all
the crossing points I ever used [there were] herds of giant hippopotamus,
absolutely terrifying to many new fighters, most of whom had never seen
a live hippopotamus before. Crocodiles were also abundant. So the very
first orders from the commanders to the new fighters before the crossing
was to keep their feet from dangling over the sides of the dinghies.64
The fear that these conditions inspired was compounded by the fact that
many guerrillas could not swim:
So it was during this first stage of crossing the Zambezi river that most
of the new fighters would be gripped by real fear. The fear of having the
boat tossed in the air and then capsized in the deep waters by the giant
hippopotamus; the fear of terrible currents in the water which, because
of the river’s mountainous course, might sweep the dinghies down into
the numerous rapids which would result in instant drowning; the fear of
being eaten by crocodiles or other predators. Then there was the terrible
fear of being fired upon by the enemy from the Rhodesian side of the
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river while we were yet to cross. As our crossing always had to take place
in the dark, there was always the real possibility of being caught helpless
upon the water, or vulnerable while disembarking.65
The Zambezi was ‘the first real enemy a guerrilla crossing from Zambia to
Rhodesia had to overcome’. For Nicholas it provided,
our first real sense of satisfaction, once it had been vanquished. Once the
river was crossed, once we had eluded the enemy, once we had, on the
Rhodesian side, gone up again through the steep gorges and ascended
the steep cliffs and got to level ground, more tired than ever before, we
enjoyed that wonderful knowledge of a victory achieved, a normal
feeling for any unit successful in battle against the enemy.66
Not all guerrillas emerged victorious from their encounter with the river.
Many accounts detail the terrible losses incurred in ambushes and
bombings. Davidson Ndlovu’s party was attacked while crossing: ‘we heard
machine guns and the dinghy caught fire and twelve died on the spot. . . .
jets came and fired on the Zambian side. . . . I can’t tell you what happened.
I dived under a rock. . . . Even today I don’t want to think about it. You
could find bodies scattered, lying. You could sense some were still living.
Many were left behind.’67 And of course, to vanquish the river, was merely
to bring oneself into the Rhodesian battlefield.
This was an important moment, and ‘high diction’ underlined its signifi-
cance:
The attack went on for two and a half hours. As my first contact, at a
later stage of the siege, I felt like running away. I had made my mind up
to do so. When I tried to retreat, a commanding voice within our ranks
said, ‘no retreat, phambili madala [forward men]!’ The next command
was ‘Assault!’ The war was on. At the end of the attack I realised it was
our first victory. This experience remained in my mind. . . . It gave me
the zeal to fight on and never retreat.70
Cohen Tsambani, who killed two white soldiers in his first contact, recalled,
I never believed that my gun would work. I was frozen to the spot, taking
no action. . . . I switched [my rifle] on to automatic because I wasn’t sure
what would happen next. . . . I fired; the white man fell over, but the gun
was still firing. . . . I took cover . . ., then I crawled, ran, God played a big
role. . . . That is where I got my rank. Two white men died. After that I
became brave and knew these people could be killed by anyone.71
Explicit accounts of relations with civilians are few, and are often told
principally as a means of distinguishing ZIPRA methods from those of
ZANLA, notably in terms of ZANLA’s much derided practice of holding
all-night political meetings or pungwes. ZIPRA guerrillas argued they did
not need to hold such dangerous and diversionary gatherings as they could
rely on the long-established ZAPU committees. This relationship was
portrayed as unproblematic, and mutually supportive. As Patson Sikhum-
buzo explained,
CONCLUSION
The moment in which these ZIPRA narratives were told was characterized
by a contentious relationship with the government, a public debate about
the legacies of war, and wide-ranging criticism of official commemorative
practice. The stories were an attempt to reclaim what ZIPRA guerrillas had
been denied since Zimbabwe’s independence: recognition of their courage
and their formidable military skills, acknowledgement of their experience
– and survival – of terrible violence, and credit for their vital contribution
to the nationalist struggle. As collective memories, these accounts ordered
individual experiences, and allowed for the telling of war stories that
contributed to a broader understanding of the liberation war, different both
from the experience of civilians and the official myths of war.
ZIPRA accounts contrast powerfully with the civilian-focused picture of
Zimbabwe’s liberation war documented in previous studies. They are
concerned with geographical and personal passages across borders and
boundaries real and imagined. The sheer extent to which guerrillas trav-
elled is remarkable. Many not only journeyed across the southern African
region more than once, but also much farther afield. These travels brought
them into contact not only with different people and cultures but with guer-
rillas from a host of other liberation movements, thus placing their own
struggle in an international context. These passages constituted important
markers in guerrilla accounts – they were part of their becoming men, and
dbh004 (ds) 23/4/04 10:00 am Page 96
becoming soldiers, they were trials and tests. Sometimes they took on a
spiritual aspect, such as in the references to the signs of stars and burning
trees, or the beneficence of nature.
The focus on life in the camps is of course absent from civilian accounts,
but this experience was crucial to combatants. They literally took on new
identities as they adopted war names, and it was here that they became ‘real
soldiers’. The pride they took in becoming ‘trained personnel’ is every-
where stressed. The camps were also important for the experience of
divisions within the ranks of their own movement, for the conflicts with
ZANLA, as well as for the Rhodesian bombings. While civilian-focused
accounts of the war have often treated the memories of violence on the
battlefield within Zimbabwe as a central concern, the ZIPRA accounts do
not emphasize their experience within the operational areas, but rather see
the most cruel and memorable violence as that which occurred in the camps
– the bombing because of the tremendous carnage it left in its wake, and
the internecine violence between and within guerrilla armies because of its
illegitimacy. The negative image of ZANLA that permeates the ZIPRA
accounts was certainly shaped by these experiences, and it was an image
that was much hardened by the experience of exclusion and persecution
after independence. The pride in their professionalism stands not only as
an explicit critique of ZANLA during the liberation war, but also as an
implicit critique of the politicization of the army and its use against the
losing faction of the liberation movement by ZANU(PF) after indepen-
dence.
In the mid 1990s, former ZIPRA guerrillas could present themselves
with justification as the unrecognized and persecuted ‘heroes’ of the liber-
ation war. Their grievances against the ruling party dovetailed with the
concerns of the ordinary people among whom they lived, and who had
suffered with them in the conflicts of the 1970s and 1980s. By the late 1990s
there had, however, been a significant shift. The gulf with civilian experi-
ence so notable in guerrilla narratives was translated into practice as
veteran politics were transformed by ZANU(PF)’s decision to grant them
material benefits, and to embrace them politically. The once-critical
Veterans’ Association became a potent ally of the ruling party, a step which
was particularly ironic for ZIPRA guerrillas who had once faced persecu-
tion at the hands of ZANU(PF). While the vast majority of Matabeleland’s
population rejected the ruling party in the elections of 2000, many ZIPRA
veterans joined their ZANLA counterparts not only in leading the ‘inva-
sions’ of farms, companies and state offices, but also in the use of violence
against civilians associated with the political opposition.
In this context, liberation war history was publicly retold as ‘patriotic’
history. It was narrowed to the struggle for the land and the heroic acts of
a single, unified guerrilla army. The role of the popular nationalism that
linked civilians and fighting men was suppressed, the bitter rivalries
between the nationalist movements were forgotten, as was the Rhodesian
dbh004 (ds) 23/4/04 10:00 am Page 97
enemy: the perfidious British and their ‘imperial’ ambitions now stood as
the prime threat to Zimbabwe’s fragile sovereignty and its revolutionary
goals. In many ways, this ‘patriotic’ story is a travesty of the histories we
have recounted. As political violence escalated in 2000 and after, it became
difficult for former guerrillas to voice an alternative version of the war from
that articulated by the Veteran Association’s leaders, however much some
of them personally disagreed with it. ZIPRA guerrillas who had put so
much emphasis on a political education that taught that their opponents
were not the ‘whites’ but the ‘system’ now privileged a racial discourse;
ZIPRA guerrillas who had taken such pride in their professionalism and
their unproblematic relationships with civilians were now agents of partisan
violence, directed against the very same civilians who had once supported
them.74
There were also some continuities with the war stories of the 1990s.
Former guerrillas continued to emphasize comradeship, loyalty and disci-
pline, and they continued to draw on the idioms of past struggles. They used
the language of heroism and sacrifice, of service to the nation and anti-
colonial revolution. The new boundaries of exclusion were also drawn in a
wartime language of ‘sellouts’, ‘colonial stooges’ and ‘enemies of the
people’. This invocation of abstractions and the potent political ideas of
nationalism and liberation masked the way in which the content of these
ideals had been transformed, and hid the bitter reality of violence and state
repression. In the traumatic aftermath of the First World War, the war poets
had rejected the vague spiritualisms and abstractions of ‘high diction’ in
favour of a language of stark realism. In the Zimbabwean context, it will be
interesting to see how the idiom of national liberation and the telling of war
stories changes in the future, as relations between the veterans, public and
government continue to shift. The remaking of the public sphere will
require not only a redefinition of the meaning of nationalism. It will also
necessitate revaluing the language of national liberation and the telling of
different war stories.
1 See for example, Kim Lacy Rogers and Selma Leydesdorff with Graham Dawson,
Trauma and Life Stories: International Perspectives, London, 1999.
2 As for example in the huge recent literatures on memorial culture in Europe following
the First and Second World Wars, and on the various truth commissions set up to deal with
violent pasts in Eastern Europe, Latin America and Africa.
3 Joanna Bourke, An Intimate History of Killing: Face-to-Face Killing in Twentieth
Century Warfare, London, 1999.
4 John Bayley, ‘Strange Things’, London Review of Books, 2 Sept. 1999, p. 8, reviewing
David Omissi, Indian Voices of the Great War: Soldiers’ Letters 1914–1918, London, 1999.
5 The narratives were collected in the course of research for Jocelyn Alexander, JoAnn
McGregor and Terence Ranger, Violence and Memory: One Hundred Years in the ‘Dark
Forests’ of Matabeleland, Oxford, 2000.
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Bhebe and Terence Ranger, Soldiers in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, and Society in Zimbabwe’s
Liberation War, Oxford, 1996. The two key early monographs were Terence Ranger, Peasant
Consciousness and Guerrilla War in Zimbabwe, London, 1985, and David Lan, Guns and Rain:
Guerrillas and Spirit Mediums in Zimbabwe, London, 1985.
21 The crucial study in making this transition was Norma Kriger, Zimbabwe’s Guerrilla
War: Peasant Voices, Cambridge, 1992.
22 Exceptions are Teresa A. Barnes, ‘The Heroes’ Struggle: Life After the Liberation War
for Four Ex-Combatants in Zimbabwe’, in Soldiers in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, ed. Bhebe
and Ranger, pp. 118–39, and Michael Raeburn, Black Fire! Narratives from Zimbabwean Guer-
rillas, Harare, 1978. There are also numerous fictional accounts of guerrillas’ wartime experi-
ences and of the war generally.
23 The key text in this regard is David Martin and Phyllis Johnson, The Struggle for
Zimbabwe. The Chimurenga War, Harare, 1981.
24 Kriger, Guerrilla Veterans and ‘The Politics of Creating National Heroes’.
25 See Jeremy Brickhill, ‘Daring to Storm the Heavens: the Military Strategy of ZAPU,
1976–79’, and Dumiso Dabengwa, ‘ZIPRA in the Zimbabwe War of National Liberation’, both
in Soldiers in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, ed. Bhebe and Ranger.
26 See Alexander, McGregor and Ranger, Violence and Memory, chap. 6.
27 On the Mafela Trust, see Jeremy Brickhill, ‘Making Peace with the Past: War Victims
and the Work of the Mafela Trust’, in Soldiers in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, ed. Bhebe and
Ranger, pp. 163–74.
28 Nicholas Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil: the Autobiography of Nicholas
Nkomo’, ms., n.d.
29 See also Brickhill, ‘Daring to Storm the Heavens’, pp. 65–8.
30 Many guerrillas spoke of their schools as crucial places of politicization. See for example
interviews, Mjoni Mkandla, 18 Jan. 1995; Makhobo Ndhlovu, 30 Sept. 1995.
31 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 3.
32 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 6.
33 Interview, Davison Ndlovu, 17 Feb. 1996; Autobiography of Smile Nkiwane; auto-
biography of Sifiso Velani, 16 Jan. 1995.
34 Interview, Robert Zenzo Ncube, Feb. 1995; Janet Moyo, 13 Sept. 1995.
35 Interview, Cohen Tsambani, 17 Feb. 1996. Also see Paulos Matjaka Nare, ‘Education
and the War’, in Society in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, ed. Bhebe and Ranger, p. 130.
36 Interview, Gertrude Moyo, 27 Feb. 1995.
37 Interviews, Fred Moyo, 14 Oct. 1995; Benet Sibanda, 16 Sept. 1995. These networks also
existed to a lesser extent for earlier recruits. E.g., interview, M. L. Sipepa, Feb. 1995.
38 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 8.
39 Autobiography, Maclean Ncube, n.d., p. 15.
40 For example, Autobiography, Ivan Moyo, n.d.
41 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 8.
42 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 8.
43 Interviews, Fred Moyo, 14 Oct. 1995; Bernard Dunjana, 14 June 1995.
44 Interview, Bongani Mpofu, 17 Jan. 1995; Fred Moyo, 14 Oct. 1995.
45 Interviews, Elia Chuma, 7 Feb. 1995; Bongani Mpofu, 17 Jan. 1995.
46 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 8.
47 Interview, Phineas Tapona, 12 Dec. 1994.
48 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 9.
49 Interview, Gertrude Moyo, 27 Feb. 1995.
50 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 9.
51 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 12.
52 See Luise White, The Assassination of Herbert Chitepo: Texts and Politics in Zimbabwe,
Bloomington, 2003, p. 36.
53 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 13.
54 Interview, Patson Mabuza, 28 Feb. 1995.
55 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 16.
56 David Moore, ‘The Zimbabwe People’s Liberation Army: Strategic Innovations or
More of the Same?’, in Soldiers in Zimbabwe’s Liberation War, ed. Bhebe and Ranger,
pp. 73–86.
57 Interview, Andrew Ndlovu, 28 Oct. 1995.
58 Interview, Davidson Ndlovu, 17 Feb. 1996.
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59 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 17. Also see interview, Josiya Tshuma,
13 Sept. 1995, for a similar experience.
60 Interview, Josiya Tshuma, 13 Sept. 1995. Also see interview, Sifiso Velani, 16 Jan. 1995.
61 Interview, Gertrude Moyo, 17 Feb. 1995. See Brickhill, ‘Daring to Storm the Heavens’,
pp. 62–4; Paul Moorcraft and Peter McLaughlin, Chimurenga! The War in Rhodesia,
1965–1980, Marshalltown, 1982, pp. 182–9, on this and other raids.
62 Autobiographical account, K. Nyathi, n.d., p. 4. Also see Autobiography of Mark
Ndlovu, n.d.
63 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 14.
64 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 18.
65 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 14.
66 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 14.
67 Interview, Davidson Ndlovu, 17 Feb. 1996.
68 Autobiographical account, Mjoni Mkandla, 18 Jan. 1995, p. 14.
69 Nkomo, ‘Between the Hammer and the Anvil’, p. 15.
70 Interview, Melusi Ncube, 5 Dec. 1994, p. 1. The commander who called out ‘no retreat’
was in fact Nicholas Nkomo.
71 Interview, Cohen Tsambani, 17 Feb. 1996.
72 Interview, Patson Sikhumbuzo, 28 Feb. 1995.
73 See JoAnn McGregor, ‘Containing Violence: Poisoning and Guerrilla/Civilian
Relations in Memories of Zimbabwe’s Liberation War’, in Trauma and Life Stories, ed. Rogers
and Leydesdorff; Alexander, McGregor and Ranger, Violence and Memory, chap. 7.
74 The ambiguities of this process are explored at length in Jocelyn Alexander and JoAnn
McGregor, ‘Veterans, Violence and Nationalism in Zimbabwe’, paper presented to the
conference on Africa and Violence: Identities, Histories and Representations, Emory
University, Atlanta, 10–14 September 2003.