Mr. President, Zimbabwe doesn’t have a national dress

During today’s Cabinet meeting, President Emmerson Mnangagwa once again urged Zimbabweans to embrace the so-called “national dress,” claiming it forms part of our shared cultural identity and heritage.

But while that message may sound noble on the surface, it misses a glaring reality: Zimbabwe, quite frankly, does not have a national dress.

At least not in the genuine, widely accepted and proudly worn sense of the term.

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In 2021, the First Lady, Auxillia Mnangagwa, launched what was officially called a “national dress competition.”

The aim was to promote the use of a specific fabric and design that could serve as Zimbabwe’s national attire.

The contest invited entries from designers across the country, and ultimately, a particular pattern and fabric were selected to represent Zimbabwe.

On paper, this appeared to be a democratic and inclusive initiative.

However, the process was fatally flawed not because it was imposed, but because it was driven and dominated by a political figure in a nation already deeply polarized.

That, right there, is where the project lost its footing.

What could have been a cultural milestone was undermined by its very leadership.

The fact that this initiative was fronted by the First Lady—a figure inextricably tied to the ruling establishment—instantly politicized the process.

In a country where power is tightly held and political divisions run deep, even the most well-meaning efforts are viewed through a lens of mistrust when led by those in high office.

Rather than being seen as a unifying cultural initiative, the national dress became associated with state power, political loyalty, and proximity to the First Family.

It stopped being a symbol of national identity and quickly became a costume of allegiance.

This is why, despite all the state-sponsored fanfare, the so-called national dress has failed to take root among ordinary Zimbabweans.

It is practically unheard of to see anyone wearing this attire in everyday life.

Outside of formal state functions—especially those attended or hosted by the First Lady—the dress is almost non-existent.

When it does appear, it is primarily in ceremonial contexts, worn by individuals clearly aligned with or involved in state activities, as was the case at today’s Cabinet meeting.

To many citizens, it is not a reflection of their culture, but a political uniform.

This outcome speaks to a broader issue about how national symbols are conceived and adopted.

A national dress is more than just a piece of cloth or a fashion trend.

It is a collective expression of identity.

It reflects shared history, cultural diversity, and the values that bind a people together.

And crucially, it must be rooted in public ownership.

You cannot manufacture national pride through press releases and patronage.

You cannot dictate symbolism from a position of power and expect automatic acceptance from a skeptical population.

Across the world, national dresses that enjoy deep public respect and emotional resonance—like the Ghanaian kente, the Nigerian agbada, Japanese kimono, or the Scottish kilt—were not created by political figures.

They emerged over time from within communities.

They were popularized organically, gaining authenticity and significance through widespread, voluntary use.

When governments did step in to formalize these as national symbols, it was to affirm what the people had already embraced—not to prescribe or impose identity from above.

Zimbabwe could have followed a similar path.

This should have been a cultural initiative led by independent institutions, cultural experts, historians, designers, and community leaders—not the spouse of a sitting president.

In fact, had the First Lady taken a backseat and allowed the nation’s rich and diverse communities to drive the process, we might actually be wearing something today that we all call our own.

Instead, the entire endeavour became entangled in the optics of power.

Just like President Mnangagwa’s ubiquitous scarf—adorned with Zimbabwe’s national colours but perceived more as a political trademark than a symbol of unity—the national dress has come to reflect association with the ruling elite.

Even its launch was mostly covered in state media and promoted through official channels, as if it were a government programme rather than a cultural movement.

We must be honest: Zimbabweans have rejected the dress not because they oppose the idea of national identity or cultural pride, but because they instinctively recognize when something has been politicized.

In a country where public trust in government is low, and where political symbolism is often weaponized, people are wary of what they are being asked to embrace.

And when they sense that a project may be more about personal legacy-building than collective representation, they respond with apathy—or outright resistance.

It does not have to be this way.

Zimbabweans are not incapable of embracing national symbols.

We have done it before, and successfully.

When the country adopted a new national anthem in 1994, the process was inclusive and non-partisan.

The lyrics were penned by the late Professor Solomon Mutswairo and the music composed by Fred Changundega—after a nationwide competition that invited Zimbabweans from all walks of life to participate.

There was no political interference or centralization of the process, and as a result, the anthem was embraced by citizens across the political and ethnic divide.

Today, “Simudzai Mureza wedu WeZimbabwe” is sung with pride by all Zimbabweans—regardless of their background.

It remains a respected national symbol.

That is the model we should have followed for a national dress.

An initiative grounded in independence, shaped by public participation, and shielded from political agendas.

The current situation—where the national dress is worn only by a select few, and avoided by the general population—only confirms that we do not yet have a true national dress.

What we have is a politically branded costume, associated with a ruling clique rather than a nation.

If we are serious about forging a national identity that includes our attire, then let us start afresh.

Let cultural institutions, fashion bodies, traditional leaders, and citizens themselves drive the process.

Let it be guided by consensus, heritage, and genuine representation—not by political convenience or individual ambition.

Until that happens, Mr. President, with all due respect, Zimbabwe does not have a national dress.

We have a garment born of a flawed process, worn only by a few, and ignored by the many.

It is not too late to do it right—but that will require humility, openness, and a willingness to let the people lead.

• Tendai Ruben Mbofana is a social justice advocate and writer. Please feel free to WhatsApp or Call: +263715667700 | +263782283975, or email: mbofana.tendairuben73@gmail.com, or visit website: https://mbofanatendairuben.news.blog/