President Mugabe says he is sure of victory |
There has been a
high turnout in Zimbabwe's elections despite opposition claims of widespread
intimidation by government supporters.
Foreign observers say the polling is generally proceeding smoothly. The election poses the first real threat to President Robert Mugabe's 20-year rule, as ITN's Africa Correspondent Tim Ewart reports. Zimbabwe's voters were out early and out in force. In the capital, Harare, the turnout suggested that if there was intimidation it wasn't working. A big turnout has always been seen as favouring the opposition - but only hours after the poll opened President Mugabe was claiming victory. "We are winning the elections hands down - as you can see and feel it is very quiet, people are voting quietly and massively," said Mr Mugabe. It is the rural constituencies which will be decisive - the workforce here has borne the brunt of political violence. But these workers were not deterred from going to vote - although they faced continuing threats. Many people in rural areas will be too scared to vote but the intimidation may have backfired. There is much resentment of the behaviour of Mr Mugabe's supporters. For the beleaguered white farmers, this weekend will be a turning point. They are hoping for change but are fearing the worst. "Things may turn violent again and there may be serious retributions," said farmer Bernard Hacking. Opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai has always insisted he can win the election even if the vote is rigged. Mr Mugabe is not standing for re-election but this is effectively a vote on his leadership. At the moment, he is in no mood to talk about compromise let alone defeat. |
Good turn out in Zimbabwe election |
Polls have opened in Zimbabwe after an election campaign
plagued by violence and intimidation.
For the first time in his twenty year rule President Mugabe's party faces a strong opposition challenge. ITN's Kevin Dunn reports. VIDEO From first light voters queued at polling stations across Zimbabwe and when they opened voting was reported to be brisk. At stake are one hundred and twenty parliamentary seats in what is regarded as the most important election since independence twenty years ago. It is in effect a referendum on President Robert Mugabe's rule, though his presidential term runs for two more years. His ruling ZANU-PF party has been widely blamed for orchestrating violence which has claimed at least 30 lives in the run-up to the election. But Opposition leader Morgan Tsvangirai hopes to inflict a first defeat on the ruling party, by exploiting discontent over the country's disastrous economic decline. In rural areas, where the violence and intimidation has been worst, farm labourers were driven to the polling stations, where they queued alongside white farm owners hopeful of a peaceful election. Farmer Graham Douse said: "We hope that the rule of law and the rights of each and every citizen of Zimbabwe can now be protected by the rule of law Some incidents were reported but overall international monitors said voting was going smoothly. The results will be known on Monday. |
COMMERCIAL FARMERS' UNIONFARM INVASIONS UPDATESATURDAY 24th JUNE 2000REGIONAL REPORTSMASHONALAND CENTRALPolling is progressing well in all areas. There have been some logistical problems with election monitors, but these have generally been resolved. Some polling stations did not have the supplementary voters roll at the start of polling, but this has been resolved in most cases. The only general comment is that the procedures are slow.
In a last-minute attempt at "re-education", two workers were assaulted on Duneverty Farm in Guruve last night. The only other district that has reported small pockets of intimidation is Mvurwi, but even here it is thought that the intimidation is of minimal consequence. The manager of Glenara Farm in Harare West was subjected to demands for meat from the resident war vets.MASVINGOPeaceful and quiet. Incidence of where farmer and workers had checked the voters roll and now not on the roll.Save Consevancy - a mobile polling station was accompanied by Zanu(pf) youths. Two MDC vehicles were stoned and no International observers present.MIDLANDSVoting peaceful and turnout good at the polls. The atmosphere is bouyant. One farmer who had confirmed his name on the voters roll, now not on the roll.MASHONALAND WEST NORTHQuiet. However one incident reported in Mtorashanga where Zanu(pf) youths rounded up the labour and told the labour to vote by a certain time. A death threat was made on the farmer. The police reacted and now sorted out.MASHONALAND WEST SOUTH - peaceful and orderly voting going on. Some administrative problems with people registered in the wrong constitiuency, and confusion with mobile polling stations in the Kadoma area.Selous - Bottleneck at the polling queues and processing only 20 people per hour.MASHONALAND EASTMarondera - Polling stations in the town have longer queues. On the Dormervale Road a road block was set up by youth asking passers-by on their voting intention.Harare South/Beatrice - Large turnout with jovial queues at polling stations.Wedza -long queues reported in the area. Unofficial road blocks reported on Skipton and Nelson farm. On Fels farm a large pungwe was held all night and the workers did not arrive for work today. An election monitors' vehicle was damaged by ill-wishers this morning near Bolton farm. On Nelson farm a labourer was abducted last night and his whereabouts are still unknown. The police are dealing with it. War vets on Nelson have been preventing workers from voting at the polling station of their choice.Macheke/Virginia/Enterprise/Bromley - voting going along peacefully.MATABELELANDLong queues been experienced at polling stationsMANICALANDQuiet and voting going on peacefully.As at 1.00pm today, all other areas had nothing further to report
Peter Godwin 's 1997
best-selling
book told the story of a white
boy
growing up in rural Rhodesia. Now,
on the eve of
Zimbabwe's
elections, he has returned to
meet
the handful of defiant white families
who remain in his home
town
Zimbabwe: special report
Education
Unlimited
Friday June 23, 2000
Heaven is empty and
the Frog and Fern is
closed. The war vets are on
the warpath
and Chimanimani's lodges are desolate. It
is election time in Zimbabwe
and I have
come home. Although it's been years
since I lived here,
Chimanimani (which
used to be called Melsetter,
after the
Orkney town) remains stuck in my mind
as that central reference
point from which
all other places radiate. It
lies in an
isolated valley along the eastern border
with Mozambique, nestled in
the crook of
a winding range of glittering granite
mountains from which the
village now
takes its name. In recent times it has
become even more remote;
cyclone Eline
swept away its bridges earlier this year,
leaving it cut off by road for
more than a
month. As my car strains up the hillside
from the Biriwiri valley, the
road is reduced
to one lane, the other has
been washed
down into the valley below.
The shadows of war
are long here. In
1964, on this road etched into
the
cliff-side, the first attack of the
Chimurenga, the liberation
war, was
carried out by a band of guerrillas called
the Crocodile Gang. The victim
was our
next-door neighbour, Piet Oberholzer. My
mother was the attending
doctor. By
independence in 1980, one of every four
white farmers had been killed
by
guerrillas. And now, 20 years later,
Chimanimani is under siege
once more by
remnants of those same guerrillas. But
the power struggle has
changed
dramatically since then. Now Robert
Mugabe's ruling Zanu-PF party
is fighting
for its political life against an upsurgent
opposition, the Movement for
Democratic
Change (MDC), a party that didn't even
exist a year ago.
I wander over to the
Msasa cafe where I
find its owner, John Barlow,
in the back
carving an African drum from a log of blue
mahogany. "This was supposed
to be the
best year of my life," says Barlow sadly,
as we sit in his newly
renovated, empty,
cafe, sipping fresh local
coffee by the fire
and discussing evacuation
routes, the
subject du jour around many Zimbabwean
dinner tables this
week.
Most white
Zimbabweans, and indeed
many middle-class black
people, have
what they call "gap bags" packed and
ready, in case the election
results trigger
a spasm of violence. My sister
and her
friends have a complicated plan that
involves various rendezvous
along the
route from Harare, then crossing the
Zambezi into Zambia. (The
Zanu-PF
candidate in my sister's garden suburb of
northern Harare is Comrade
Stalin Mau
Mau - a deliberately unsettling nom de
guerre that jumps out at you
from posters
on every lamppost there.) They have food
supplies and visas and have
registered
their cars with the police so they can drive
across the border. Some here
have acted
pre-emptively, going "on holiday" for the
next couple of weeks, deaf to
the
entreaties of the opposition MDC that
everyone with a vote should
stay and use
it.
President Mugabe
appears convinced that
his present travails are all
the fault of the
whites, and his racial
rhetoric has become
white hot. Never mind that
there are only
70,000 whites left here (in a
population of
over 12m) many of whom have been in
deep political hibernation. Or
that only four
of the MDC's 120 candidates
are white.
The veterans' leader Chenjerai "Hitler"
Hunzvi has said - in fact he
keeps saying
it - that if Zanu-PF loses the election, he
and his men will go back to
war. Add
these two ingredients together: a threat of
war and conveniently
colour-coded
culprits, and the evacuation plans don't
seem quite so
nutty.
Evacuating from
Chimanimani however, is
particularly tricky. With its
back to the
soaring mountains, there are only two
roads in, and one of them has
been
blocked
by cyclone Eline. If the other one
is controlled by war vets, how
to get out?
The whites here have already evacuated
once, last month, when several
truckloads
of
vets became incensed at a rumour that
Hunzvi's house in Harare had
been
torched
(it was just another of a spate of
wild rumours) and decided to
take out
their ire on the local whites. There aren't
very many of them left, only
about 20
families. Warned first by their domestic
workers and black colleagues,
and then
by
the local police chief (who has since
been demoted and transferred
for his
troubles), the whites formed a convoy and
drove up to Skyline junction,
and out of
the valley, to lie low till it cooled down.
John Barlow was about
the only white to
stay that time, but even he is
taking
evacuation seriously now. He has decided
that if it comes down to it,
the only way
out for him might be to grab his kids and
do a Sound of Music - climb up
over the
mountains and into Mozambique. The very
idea of going to Mozambique
for
sanctuary
strikes me as absurd: it is
officially one of the poorest
countries in
the world after being ravaged by 30 years
of civil war.
Having stripped and
beaten the black
school teachers in front of
their pupils,
and threatened the black managers at
some of the saw mills, the
vets in
Chimanimani are particularly interested in
one white man, Roy Bennet, the
owner of
Charleswood. This 7,000-acre farm is
arguably the prettiest farm in
the country,
tucked up against the national park. It is
latticed with irrigation
canals, which feed
the red earth and the neat
rows of coffee
bushes that sprout from it.
The local Ndau
people call Bennet, Pachedu .
It means
"one
of us". A pitch-perfect Shona
speaker, he was approached by
a
delegation
of local councillors and kraal
(village) heads who were sick
of absentee
MPs and stagnant development, and
asked to stand as their
candidate. After
flirting with Zanu-PF, he's
now standing for
the MDC, a white man standing
in a rural
constituency where over 99.9% of the
electorate is black. He shows
me a file fat
with letters from black supporters. Some
address him as Father
Chimanimani,
others thank him for helping to repair
bridges after the
cyclone.
Bennet's rival, the
Zanu-PF candidate, is
Munacho Mutezo, an
engineering
graduate from Birmingham and Glasgow
universities. His father was
detained by
the old Rhodesian authorities, Bennet
tells me, for being involved
with the
Crocodile Gang. Now the battle lines are
drawn once more. But this time
the
homeboy
is a white man who spends
most of his time here. Mutezo
on the
other
hand, is based five hours away in
Harare.
Judging by his
reception from the locals,
Bennet is probably a shoo-in -
if he can
just stay alive until the polls open
tomorrow. He has had a steady
stream of
death threats. His farm is guarded by
dozens of youths armed with
clubs and
iron bars, and he has informers in the
village and the black township
who warn
him
of approaching danger.
Bennet has only just
moved back on to
his farm after war vets
invaded it. They
seized his wife, Heather, who
was
pregnant
at the time, put a machete to her
throat and made her chant
Zanu-PF
slogans. They beat up several of the
workers and then they occupied
the
farmhouse
and trashed it over several
weeks, stealing many of its
contents and
smearing shit on the walls. They cut the
paws off the lion skin rug, to
use them for
muti - a type of traditional medicine.
Heather miscarried. But
Bennet
negotiated a return and the vets eventually
left, feeling vulnerable to a
hostile
workforce that had had a gut-full of being
bullied.
"These white farmers
who appease - I've
got no time for them.
Appeasement has
never worked, just look at
history," says
Bennet, a great bear of a man,
who
played
polo-cross for the national side and
often goes barefoot in public.
"What's so
heartening about these elections is that
there's a good percentage of
Zimbabwean
whites who've said, 'sod it, let's get
involved,' and we've suffered
together with
the blacks, and feared together with them.
We've made a stand and shown
that we're
prepared to sacrifice ourselves for this
country. And isn't that what a
patriot is,
after all? It's the first time I've felt really
Zimbabwean."
As we sit talking
under the tall thatch by
the fire, the radio crackles
into life with a
message of trouble - a truck
of war vets
has been spotted coming this way. All
Roy's hunting rifles are in
police custody,
but one of his mechanics peels
down a
horse
blanket on the sofa to reveal a
shotgun and a bandolier of
cartridges.
"Our guys," as Bennet
calls his MDC
guards, are gathering in strategic points to
repulse the attack. "I'm sick
of running
now," he says. "If they're gonna come,
they must come and let's get
this over
with."
But tonight is not to
be the night and I
eventually fall asleep to the
gurgling of the
river and the call of the
nightjars. I wake
up once to the sound of
murmuring
outside the window and peep out to see
the MDC guards huddled round a
fire
there,
with blankets draped over their
shoulders, hands clasped
around enamel
mugs of coffee. These are brave men,
many are kids still, who are
taking on the
full wrath of the state for their vision of
better Zimbabwe, and they are
in just as
much danger as Bennet.
Later, I accompany
Bennet to the police
station where he has been
summoned for
a meeting with the vets. They tell him that
they intend to reoccupy his
farm, but they
are prepared to do it
peacefully,
cooperatively. "That's what you said last
time," spits Bennet, raising
his voice and
reeling off a litany of the crimes they
committed when they first
visited
Charleswood. The room is thick with
tension and several of the
vets look as
though they would shoot him this second,
if they were
armed.
We discover en route
from Bennet's
election agent, James Mukwaya, that the
rally Bennet is supposed to
address this
morning in the Ngorima communal lands
has been cancelled. Gangs from
Zanu-PF
have
been there overnight, moving from
house to house, warning people
that if
they
attend they will be killed. But Bennet
is not down hearted. They're
all on our
side anyway, he says, so why risk their
lives with public rallies, we
know how
they'll vote when the time comes.
Along the foothills
from Charleswood, the
Steyns aren't quite so
optimistic about the
future. They are having a bad
week and to
make it worse, a bush fire has just
crossed the mountain from
Mozambique
and is threatening to burn down their farm.
In the old farmhouse with its
Cape
Constantia gables, Louis Steyn seems
lost in a kind of numbed
reverie. He sits in
his plum-coloured draylon
chair, sucking
heavily on his pipe, while
Daleen, his wife,
keeps up a cheerful
chatter.
Louis Steyn's
grandfather came here in
1893, leading the Steyn trek
up from the
Orange Free State in South Africa. There
have been Steyns farming these
lush
hillsides ever since, but it looks like Louis
could be the last. His farm
has been
designated by the government for
compulsory takeover, though he
vows:
"We'll
fight it to the bloody end." A
delegation of ministry envoys
arrived by
car last week, having driven all the way
from Harare to deliver the
designation
letter by hand.
"I offered them a
sandwich and a cup of
tea," says Daleen, "but they
were in a
hurry because they had lots more
designation orders to deliver
to white
farmers."
The Steyns have also
been "occupied" by
war veterans for some months
now. When
the
vets first arrived, Daleen told them:
"We worship the same God you
and I,
let's
pray together to him for justice." And
so they did, the vets and the
Steyns, they
got down on their knees on the lawn
outside the farmhouse and
prayed
together, and then the vets went off and
pegged their land.
Between occupation
and designation it
does look pretty bleak for the
Steyns. Not
that they haven't been through tough
times before. For nearly a
decade during
the war they had to commute to the farm
from the village because it
was too
dangerous to stay overnight.
"Then we got ambushed
in our car,"
remembers Daleen. "They shot at us and
fired at us with a rocket
launcher. There
was so much smoke it was dark
and we
saw
tracer bullets flying all over the place,
it was like a starry night."
The car took 11
hits, but Louis managed to
coax it to the
next bend in the road. "I
drove out of there
on the rims of the tyres
spinning on the
road," adds Louis.
Their Rhodesian
ridgeback canters after
my car as the Steyn's wave
goodbye,
having asked me to give their apologies to
Lord and Lady Plunket who are
holding a
tea
party this afternoon. The Plunkets own
a modest timber est ate and
have been
migratory residents here ever since I can
remember. Lady Plunket has
laid on quite
a spread - the table is laden with plates of
buttered gingerbread and
delicate
triangles of crustless sandwiches. Pretty
much the whole white community
is here.
They
fit comfortably on to the Plunket's
veranda. Though it has brought
much
oppro
brium down upon them, most of the
whites here support Roy
Bennet's stand.
"He's my hero," says Lady
Plunket,
clasping her hands to her heart.
As the first fingers
of the night mist creep
down the mountain gorges,
and
pine-scented smoke from the hearth fire
fills the air, we fall
inevitably to discussing
the election; the chances of a
fair ballot,
or of the government accepting a defeat;
the possibility of a coup.
There is talk too
of an Idi Amin option where,
just as the
Ugandan dictator expelled all Asians, a
furious Mugabe decides to
purge the
country of whites and gorge on their
property. From the look and
the sound of
him these days, this is what he'd most
like to do.
I leave early the
next morning, after a tour
of the Plunket's gardens,
viewing their
lichen-blotched Shona soapstone
sculptures. The sun is just
breaking
through the granite ramparts of the
mountain, dissolving the mist
as I drive up
and out of the valley to Skyline junction.
But there is no skyline, just
fat grey
clouds sitting heavily on the hill, and rain.
Work gangs in olive-green
plastic ponchos
dig on in the downpour, trying
to keep the
road open. As I drop down the other side,
the rain stops and the clouds
lift and the
baobabs begin. I come up behind a
slow-moving old Land Rover
filled with
young black men singing exuberantly.
They wave me the open-palmed
sign of
the
MDC and throw some fliers up into the
air. For a brief moment one
sticks to my
windscreen and I see the grinning visage
of Roy Bennet and the headline
"Chinja
Maitiro - Change your ways. Vote MDC",
and then it blows off into the
bush.
- Peter Godwin is
the author of Mukiwa -
A White Boy in Africa,
published by
Picador.