A Revolution
Betrayed
A memoir of Zimbabwe chronicles the sad descent of this troubled
land, but radiates love — and even hope
By GERD BEHRENS
AARON UFUMELI/AFP/GETTY IMAGES EXILE: Author Meldrum being deported from Zimbabwe
in May 2003 for his reporting
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Monday, Aug. 16, 2004
Perhaps we
should have realized something was amiss in 1980. In April of that year,
Zimbabwe's newly elected Prime Minister, Robert Mugabe, was appalled at the
choice of the dreadlocked Third World icon Bob Marley as the main musical act
for the country's independence bash. Marley tunes like
Zimbabwe had
helped rally the world ("Africans a liberate Zimbabwe/ Every man got a right/ To
decide his own destiny") but Mugabe would have preferred the squeaky-clean Brit
Cliff Richard. For once he was overruled, and the reggae star spread a message
of hope that the racial strife of Rhodesia would give way to color-blind
harmony. The message was heard even in faraway America, where a young reporter
named Andrew Meldrum quit his job, sold his car and bought a plane ticket to be
part of this great experiment.
It didn't take Meldrum long to fall in
love with Zimbabwe. Initially he idolized Mugabe as the hero of the liberation
struggle, but that didn't last long. "I went into my first interview with Mugabe
admiring him; I left with the suspicion that he was insincere," Meldrum told
TIME. In
Where We Have Hope (John Murray; 272 pages) he describes how
he ultimately found Mugabe to be a strangely un-African leader, lacking in
warmth and painfully formal in speech and demeanor. He concluded that Mugabe had
not only taken over the dowdy office décor of Ian Smith, the Prime Minister of
white-ruled Rhodesia; he also displayed the same aversion to political
opposition and an independent media and judiciary. "Far from being polar
opposites, I see Ian Smith and Robert Mugabe as two sides of the same coin,"
says Meldrum. "History is repeating itself in Zimbabwe." And he became a minor
victim of that history; the last remaining foreign journalist, Meldrum was
kicked out of Zimbabwe last year.
Even as Mugabe grew into the habits of
a dictator, he retained the support of fellow African leaders, who see him as a
champion of "the black cause." Meldrum makes it clear that it is blacks who have
to bear the brunt of his tyranny. In the last four years his thugs have killed a
dozen whites but more than 300 blacks. Meldrum describes one such victim in the
book: "His backless hospital gown revealed two gaping craters where his buttocks
should have been."
Yet to this day, South African President Thabo Mbeki
plays defense lawyer to Mugabe, declaring that "President Mugabe can assist us
to confront the problems we have in South Africa." Meldrum quotes the lone voice
of Desmond Tutu, former Archbishop of Cape Town, on the ominous consequences of
Mbeki's attitude. "If we are seemingly indifferent to human-rights violations
happening in a neighboring country, what is to stop us one day being indifferent
to that in our own?"
Where We Have Hope is not a political
chronology but, as the subtitle suggests,
A Memoir of Zimbabwe. It is
the story of a country and of brave Zimbabweans like Beatrice Mtetwa, who had
just been beaten up by the police when she made headline news as human-rights
lawyer of the year. "Can you imagine, my one time on the front page and they
show a photo of me looking my worst!" she quipped.
Meldrum's book speaks
with the special devotion a convert feels for his new religion. "I am steeped in
this country, it is in my pores," he writes. Yet, after 23 years in the country,
he now regards himself as an exile, like an estimated 3 million others out of a
population of 13 million; he currently lives in South Africa. Meldrum hopes to
return to a truly democratic Zimbabwe one day. "I am absolutely sure that ...
Zimbabwe will once again be a beacon for all of Africa," he writes. It is hard
to see either Meldrum or democracy returning to Zimbabwe while the country is
still ruled by a President so imperious and fearful of his own people that he
travels with at least a dozen outriders, their sirens blazing. With a certain
reggae star and his band in mind, people call his motorcade "Bob and the
Wailers."