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African Tears (part 2): Cathy Buckle was always strong in the
  face of adversity. But President Mugabe's ethnic cleansers
 reduced this brave woman to a weeping fugitive in her own land

African Tears (part 2 continued)

I sat in the lounge staring out at nothing as Ian, my husband,
loaded the lifeblood of our farm onto two cattle trucks.

The war veterans occupying our fields had "liberated" our
grazing and our dams, claimed our timber plantations and
stolen thousands of dollars' worth of firewood. Without any
income, we had to sell our breeding cattle. With more than
1,000 Zimbabwean farms occupied by squatters, the only
people buying were the butchers.

First to go were 12 magnificent Charolais heifers, born and
nurtured on our farm. Next, two massive pedigree Brahman
bulls. Richard, our seven-year-old son, had helped me to
choose the names for them. One was Barry and the other Huffy
- "because he always huffs at us, mum". Then 23 Charolais and
Hereford cows.

When Ian had finished, he came and sat next to me, holding my
hand. We had nothing to say to each other; there were just no
words.

We had sunk everything we had - and didn't have - into Stow
farm. We had obeyed the three Ls that my sister, Wiz, said
were the prerequisites of life: to live, to love and to leave a
legacy. Lived - we had. Loved - we had. But the legacy was
sitting on the edge of a precipice.

Life had been a happy but continual uphill struggle. We both
had a deep love for wildlife and Zimbabwe's beautiful countryside
and we had managed to capture a tiny part of it. Ian had planted
hundreds of indigenous trees. We had had reedbuck, duiker,
steenbok and even kudu on the farm. The birds were exquisite,
attracted by Ian's wild fruit trees. This little piece of our heaven
was to be for Richard, and it broke our hearts to think that we
might lose it all for someone's political survival.

It was May last year. President Robert Mugabe had launched
his general election campaign. His Zanu-PF government was
desperate to hold on to power. If it lost, many of Zimbabwe's
leaders would have to answer for the collapsed economy, the
fraud, the theft, the murders; they would perhaps retire to jail
cells.

Young "war veterans" were in charge of running the Zanu-PF
campaign in rural areas. The veterans who had been occupying
Stow farm since March moved their attention to intimidating me.

Jane, the black Zimbabwean who ran our little trading store, was
used to them; but I found it nerve-racking. Every afternoon they
would be waiting for me when I went to cash up at the store.
Jane would keep glancing across at me to see if I was on the
point of exploding. Her eyes were saying calm down, just ignore
them.

When one of them blew smoke in my face and stubbed his
cigarette out on the yellow Formica counter-top I lost control.
They all roared with laughter. I shut up shop immediately and
leant against the doors with my hands over my face.

"Don't you worry," Jane said with her hand on my shoulder,
"they are just rubbish."

As the encounters grew more bruising, I wrote in my diary:
"Never have I hated people as much as I hate these maggots."

It was so painful to be feeling this hatred. It wasn't a racial
hatred but a people hatred.

I could remember when I was an 18-year-old first-year student at
the university of and Ian Smith's white government had had me
followed because of the work my parents were doing to bring
freedom to the country. I remembered so well the fear I had felt
as I rode home from lectures on my bicycle and always they
were there, following me to see where I went, whom I spoke to.

When a black government was elected in 1980, I shared the joy
of my black friends. I, too, had fought for an end to racism. Now,
20 years later, Zimbabwe seemed to be collapsing around us
and our minds were filled to overflowing with horrific details of
beating and burning and torture on other farms.

One morning Richard threw a tantrum of the sort I had not seen
since his nursery school days: kicking, sobbing, begging me
not to take him to school. He cried all the way in the car and
when we arrived he would not get out, pleading with me not to
leave him. He was inconsolable, finally spluttering: "What if
something happens to you and dad while I'm at school?"

Richard went to a co-ed government school where teachers and
pupils were about 65% black and 35% white. Soon he came
home with a letter and told me happily that it was "about what
we're going to do if the war vets come to the school". If anything
happened, the children would be taken to a big shopping
complex in Marondera, our local town, where they could be
collected by their parents.

Carefully, and of his own volition, he wrote his name, address
and telephone number on a piece of paper which he stuck
inside his suitcase - just in case, he said.

After I had put Richard to bed that night, I read the daily
situation report from the farmers' union on my computer. Two
intruders had entered a farmhouse, cutting through the security
fence and burglar bars, and shot the farmer as he reached for
his revolver. His wife had been hit on the head but managed to
radio for help. He died as a nurse was giving him first aid.

I moved from room to room, checking every window and door.
Ours was a typical old farmhouse. It had started out as one
room and, over the years, more and more bits had been added
to it. There were numerous doors to the outside. None of the
windows really closed well and I just thanked God that less than
a year ago we had found the money to put burglar bars on every
window.

When Ian and I finally went to bed I lay listening to every creak
of the tin roof as it absorbed the cold night air. I must have got
up at least half a dozen times to check on Richard.

For weeks my nights had been plagued by two recurring
nightmares. The first was very familiar to me, although I hadn't
had it for more than 20 years. The house was completely
surrounded by flames. I raced with a baby to the bathroom to fill
the tub with water so that we could protect ourselves. As I bent
down to put the plug in, flames shot up through the plughole and
then through the ventilation bricks and overflow pipes. Flames
roared into the house above the pelmets and between the
window panes. Then I would wake up, not knowing whether I
had managed to save the baby or escape.

The second nightmare began after the war veterans had held
one of their weekly meetings down on the field. In the dream I
was lying in a hammock in the garden with Ian. Richard and his
closest friend, Linnet, the daughter of one of the farm workers,
were in the kitchen playing with their Lego on the floor. It was
almost dusk. Suddenly coming towards us were eight white
men. They all wore blue boxer shorts and carried rifles and said
they were soldiers and that we should get inside quickly.

We tumbled off the hammock and ran inside, followed by the
eight men. Everyone was slipping and tripping over Richard's
Lego as we hurried to close windows and doors and switch off
the lights. Richard and Linnet hid under the kitchen table,
screaming.

A bright red car with black-tinted windows drove round and
round on the front lawn. The car's windows were open and out of
each one was a rifle that spat bullets at us, at the house, and
the windows were exploding and shattering all around us. Then I
woke up, again not knowing if anyone had been killed, if Richard
and Linnet were all right.

In the morning I had three visitors - two middle-aged women and
a man, all well dressed. They called themselves "really war
veterans", unlike the young men occupying the farm, and
demanded money. They kept coming back every day. The man
wanted my truck for a political rally that weekend. I told him I
needed it, but he took to waiting for me in the store, asking me
if I had made a decision.

Jane - dear, clever Jane - began a diversion each time and
bailed me out. But I was distraught by the end of the week,
crying a lot, short-tempered with everyone. Ian and I decided to
get off the farm for the weekend and stay with friends in Harare.

As the 40-odd miles to the capital sped by, it seemed almost
as if I was in another country. Children waved to us, businesses
were open and there was not a war veteran anywhere in sight.

I took Richard to a popular and upmarket fresh produce complex
so that he could play on the swings and eat the biggest slice of
chocolate cake he'd had in his life.

As I sat drinking coffee, I eavesdropped on the conversations
around me. These were the black and white elite of Harare.
They weren't talking about farms or war veterans or the
breakdown of law and order. They weren't discussing the horrific
beatings and rapes. They weren't even talking about the
elections, which were only three weeks away. I was at the point
of standing up on the table and screaming at them: "Do you live
in the same country as me?"

My fists were clenched and my eyes full of tears as I watched
Richard working his way through his monstrous piece of cake.
As we left with the remnants in a doggy bag, Richard whispered
to me: "Mum, I'm as happy as a butterfly." Then I couldn't hold
back the tears any more.

We returned to the farm just before dark. Emmanuel, one of the
workers, told us that Jane wasn't feeling too well. She was
nowhere to be seen.

Next morning Arthur, the night guard, wouldn't look me in the
eye. George, the foreman, was also reticent. Usually when
something happened there would be a great to-do. Now it was
as if they all had a secret and were frightened.

At last I saw Jane. She was bent over and limping very slowly.
As she came nearer, she lifted her hand and tried to cover her
face. I gently lowered her arm.

"Jane, my God, what's happened to you?"

She turned away and again tried to cover her mouth. "I can
work," she whispered, barely able to speak. "I will be all right.
Maybe I'll go to the clinic later."

"Jane, no, come on, come and tell me what happened. You
can't possibly work like this."

Jane's eyes widened and filled with tears. She looked nervously
over her shoulder. She was terrified, of what or whom I didn't
know. On her cheek was a large bruise and running through it
were two jagged cuts. One of her eyes was hurt. Her lips were
almost completely enclosed in a massive swelling; and between
her upper lip and nose was an open wound, which she had
packed with cotton wool.

Her hands were shaking badly and she looked at her watch and
then again over her shoulder. There was some reason she
wanted to get to her job in the store and she clearly didn't want
to be seen to be late. There was nothing I could do.

Gradually, I began to find out what had happened over the
weekend. Zanu-PF youngsters had been round, door-to-door,
telling everyone to attend a big meeting in our field, where they
had been forced to line up for hours to buy party "data" cards.
From what I understood, this was an updating of party
membership.

Later they were supposed to go to the main rally at another
farm, where a register was called. But only two workers from our
farm attended. They had to show their cards, swear allegiance
to Zanu-PF and denounce the opposition.

The spotlight had moved to another farm. A suspected
opposition supporter was forced to lie in the dust while others
poked him with sticks and threw stones at him. But what had
happened to Jane?

After lunch I went back to the store and found her. Her forehead
was beaded with sweat.

"Jane," I said quietly, "I want you to let me take you to a doctor
tomorrow." She shook her head, but I continued. "You haven't
been to the clinic, have you?"

"I was there," she whispered. "They said they couldn't treat
me."

"Okay, we'll go early in the morning to my doctor." Jane was
terrified. She had obviously been told not to let whites help her.

The youngsters who had intimidated us in the store were
standing across the road watching us. I wanted to make them
lie in the dust; to throw sticks and stones at them. I turned
down the path for home.

On the way, as I always did, I stopped and solemnly shook
hands with two-year-old Cecilia, the daughter of another of my
workers, and gave her a sweet. Her high, innocent little voice
called out goodbye to me, but today I couldn't answer and just
waved.

At seven the next morning, Jane was waiting for me. She would
not get in the front of the truck with me, but climbed in the back,
wriggling down until she was out of sight. Sitting outside the
doctor's room she was very nervous.

"I fell off my bicycle," she said, not looking at me. I nodded, but
said nothing. I knew Jane didn't have a bicycle. She knew I
knew.

My family doctor gently picked out the cotton wool stuck to the
wound. As every piece came free, it bought with it a piece of
flesh. The blood dripped down onto Jane's lip. She didn't even
wince.

When the whole thing was exposed, I gasped. From the base of
her nostrils to the top of her lip, and running right across the full
width of her mouth, there was a mush of flesh. It looked like the
inside of a rotten peach.

"What did they use, Jane?" my doctor asked. Jane shook her
head and turned away. For the first time her eyes brimmed with
tears.

When we left, Jane still didn't dare be seen with me, so I gave
her the money for a taxi and she went home alone. I never
asked who had done this to her and she never volunteered
anything. I did discover the answer, however, from someone I
still cannot name.

The youths had come just before dark, calling everyone out,
demanding to see Zanu-PF data cards. When Jane could not
find hers, they ransacked her home. When the card could still
not be found, they had shoved a steel rod into the cooking fire.
When it glowed red with heat, they lifted it to Jane's face and
held it against her mouth.

After they had gone, my informant had rushed her to the clinic,
but the nurses would not help her.

Soon afterwards it was my turn to get a taste of terror. One
morning I heard chillingly familiar shouting and whistling outside
the house. Seven drunken young men stood at the rusty,
rickety gate.

"Good morning. How may I help you?" The sound of my voice
made the ringleader angry.

"This is my farm," he said slowly and loudly. "This is my farm
and this is my fields."

I shoved my hands in my pockets so that he wouldn't see them
shaking and said quietly: "Oh."

"This is my fields."

"Oh."

"This is my cows."

"Oh."

Running out of ideas, he saw our two ostriches. "And this is my
ostrich."

He was wearing grey trousers and a black jacket, his eyes
bloodshot, his breath stinking of beer.

"So what is it that you want?" I asked quietly.

He went berserk. "This is my farm, this is my fields, this is my
grass, this is my cows."

"Yes, I understand," I quavered. "But what is it that you want?"

"Give me your workers, NOW!" he screamed at me through the
fragile gate. "NOW, give them now." He wanted our workers to
attend a political education meeting.

"The workers are unloading a National Foods truck," I said.

"National Foods! National Foods is for Africans. We are
Africans. You are British. You f*** Britain."

Dry-mouthed, I couldn't speak.

"You know this farm? This is MY FARM! Give me the workers
NOW!" he screamed, shaking the gate ferociously. His eyes
had widened and spit was dribbling down his chin. I felt an
urgent need to go to the toilet.

"That store there," he bellowed, pointing vaguely, "that store it is
for Africans. We are Africans. You whites, all you whites, you
f*** off to Britain."

I'd had enough: "The workers will come as soon as they have
finished unloading the truck."

"Now!" he screamed. "They come now. This is my farm. Even
that there, it is my house. You get out of my house now. Four
o'clock, hear me. Four o'clock you get out my house."

"The workers will be at your meeting soon," I said, and stupidly
asked: "What is your name?"

"My name? My name? You want my name? You f*** off! Look,"
he opened his jacket. "You see this? This, it is my gun. I can
drop you right now."

Oh God, he had a gun. This rabid, drunk, spittle-laden little shit
had a gun. I could see it in his inside pocket. I could see the
scratched, cold, black butt of it.

Scream! I could feel it in the back of my throat, could feel it
coming. I bit my lip until it hurt to stop the scream from getting
out and tensed my thighs to stop any more urine from dripping
out.

"Yes, I can take you right now. Even 10 metres, or 20, or even
40 metres. I can drop you."

"I'm going to call my workers," I whispered. I staggered away,
my legs refusing to do what I desperately needed them to do.
With every step I waited for the click and the bang. The 30 or so
yards to the inner security fence seemed hundreds of miles
away.

As soon as I thought I was out of sight, I ran and stumbled,
fumbled with the gate and ran again. I was crying and babbling
long before I reached Ian and the workers.

I tipped two, or perhaps even three, tots of brandy into a glass,
filled it with water and drained almost half of it before I called the
police. Soon a police Land Rover was at our gate. There were
five of them and they listened carefully, took notes and set off in
their vehicle to the field, where more than 200 people were
gathered.

Nearly an hour later the police returned. I sat, foetus-like,
hugging my knees as I listened to them. They knew the man
who had threatened to kill me, they said, but I wasn't to worry.
He was just a youngster. He was drunk. He wouldn't do it again.

As they sat sipping tea from my best china I felt as if I was on
another planet. I had reported a gunman to the police, a man
threatening to kill me, and they told me not to worry. How would
we ever get past this madness?

When the police had gone, I discovered that for five hours my
own workers had been sitting in the freezing wind in the field.
The men at my gate had gone to their houses. Everyone had
been told to go to the meeting in the field immediately. No time
to grab a jersey or a chunk of bread, or to run to the toilet.

Jane was ordered out of the store, the women were dragged out
of their houses. My sweet little Cecilia had to go. All the
children too young to be at school were marched behind their
parents to be "re-educated". Vote for Zanu-PF, they were told,
and you will all be given land, farms, houses. There will be
peace, jobs, prosperity.

Jane was waiting to see me. "I'm so sorry, so very sorry about
what's happened," she said, close to tears. We were in this
together now. Perhaps it had been the same man who had
terrorised us both.

Richard's eighth birthday, Sunday, June 25, was celebrated in a
much quieter fashion than normal. It was the second day of the
elections. He had presents and balloons, chocolate cake and
ice cream. But I couldn't guarantee that a mob of drunken war
vets would not gate-crash the party, so instead of the usual two
dozen screaming kids wreaking havoc, this year we had only
three: Brian, Linnet and Simba.

Simba was the vivacious son of the district administrator, who
lived over the road from us. DAs were very much in the forefront
of organising war vets. It had seemed peculiar that Simba's
mother continued to send him over to play, but I never made him
feel unwelcome.

The election put 58 opposition MPs in parliament, but left
Mugabe with a majority. Afterwards, our Zanu-PF youths moved
on to terrorise another farm, but word came that about 300
people were about to move onto our land, accompanied by their
wives, children and extended families, their household
belongings and their goats, chickens and cows. I went to
Marondera police station, determined that I was not going to be
fobbed off this time.

"I am very sorry, very sorry," the sergeant said quietly. "We
cannot help you. But please, Mrs Buckle, do not try and stop
them. Please do not do this. It could be very dangerous . . .
Just let them do what they are going to do."

I was angry and the questions poured out. "What must we all
do? Where should we all go? How should we survive? Will you
be next? Will they come and squat on your property tomorrow
or the day after? Will you still say then: let them do what they
want?"

He leant across the desk and put his hand on my arm. "We do
understand. We really do. It is becoming very serious now and
we, too, are suffering . . . The best is to stay quiet and wait. If
you try and do something or say something, there will be
blood."

But I had reached crisis point. I had to decide how much more I
could take, how much more I could put my son through.

For months we had been living behind permanently locked
gates, sleeping with car keys under the pillow. We had not been
able to farm the land that was ours, had made no plans for the
coming season, had made no money and had lived off the sale
of our assets.

Now, youngsters brought in hunting dogs that petrified the last
of our stock. A man cut down 200 prime gum trees and built a
house by our dairy, throwing stones and threatening us when
we asked him to stop. I lost count of the different groups of men
who came to our gate, claiming the farm.

I was so very tired of it all, day after day, week after week,
month after month. I hated coming home.

As a mother I was trying to raise my son to have principles, to
love his fellow man, to tell the truth, to help people when they
were in trouble. I didn't set a very good example, though, when
the squatters got into trouble.

They had decided to burn land around their huts to plant maize.
Burning was my forte. I loved it. You didn't just go down into the
fields and drop a match. You ploughed two strips on either side
of the grass you wanted to burn; then you cleared the plough
lines of any overhanging vegetation. When the conditions were
right, the grass dry enough, the wind blowing in the right
direction and at the right speed, then, late in the afternoon, you
burnt in between the plough lines. I never went without at least
five men to help me.

The squatters didn't clear a fire break; didn't call friends to help
them; didn't have anything to extinguish the fire with; didn't wait
until late in the afternoon. They just dropped a match. The result
was an enormous fire that was totally out of control in a matter
of minutes.

We saw the smoke from the house, but did nothing. So many
times in the past six months the squatters had told me to keep
off their parts of the farm, so I did just that. I just sat on the
veranda and watched as the lower part of our farm burnt down.
Richard came and stood next to me.

"Aren't we going to the fire, mum?"

"Not this time, Rich," I said with a catch in my throat. "It'll go
out by itself."

Decision time was drawing ever closer. I wrote to friends: "We
all begin to feel more than a little like the Jews who were
stripped of their human rights, their property rights and then
their lives in Nazi Germany. We can only hope and pray that, for
us, we can leave our land with our lives and can remain in the
country of our birth and try to rebuild. Ethnic cleansing - such a
strange term. How terrifying to be the victims of it."

I called the workers together under the muhacha tree in the
yard. They all stood looking at me. The fear was in their eyes -
they knew exactly what was coming. I looked at the ground and
cleared my throat. The moment I looked up, I could feel the
tears stinging and turned away.

For 10 years the chicken house we stood next to had been filled
with incessant pecking, scratching and gossiping. It was so
quiet now that I could hear myself swallowing. I turned back to
the men who had stood by us so faithfully.

"I am so very sorry," I said, "but we have decided to leave the
farm and I have to give you all a month's notice." I couldn't say
any more. Tears were running down my cheeks.

I had never cried in front of these men before. When the big ram
had hit me so hard behind the knees that I fell flat on the ground
and put two discs in my neck out of line, I hadn't cried. When
No 8, the maddest cow in Marondera, had butted me around the
dairy, I hadn't cried. When the electricity lines collapsed and
started a huge fire in the ostrich pen, I'd got caught in the blaze
and lost all the hair on my arms and legs, eyebrows and
eyelashes singed, but I hadn't cried. Oh God, so many times I
had found the strength, but now it had gone.

Arthur, the big, loud, burly night guard, put his hand out and
touched my arm. "Don't cry," he said quietly. "We know this is
the right thing; we understand."

Arthur's words broke me. I cried for myself, the farm, Zimbabwe,
but mostly for these men and their families: 34 people depended
on me for a roof over their heads, clothes on their backs, food in
their stomachs, and I had let them down.

The war veterans had not finished with us, however. In late
September, when all the belongings we had not sold or given
away were boxed inside the house waiting for our imminent
departure, I saw smoke rising from the other side of the little
dam. My farm was burning and a strong wind was pulling the fire
towards the house.

The way the fire was racing across the field, I knew we would
never be able to stop it, so we lit a wide firebreak around the
house, finishing as night fell. We were filthy, covered in soot,
ash and sweat. The wind changed and the flames streamed
towards two plantations of gum trees I had planted.

I was too exhausted even to walk, so I waited as the workers
went down to do what they could. The only light came from the
burning trees. I could hear the men calling out to one another in
the dark.

Suddenly I heard a rustle in the grass behind me. Out of the
smoke appeared an enormous man, well over 6ft tall. His
glistening face was inches from mine.

"May I help you?" I whispered.

"Siya," he hissed. The word meant "leave".

"Siya!" he repeated, before disappearing into the smoke.

Within four days we had gone.

© Catherine Buckle 2001

Extracted from African Tears by Catherine Buckle, to be
published by Covos Day Books on April 6 at £12.95 and
distributed by Verulam Publishing. Copies can be ordered for
£10.95 from The Sunday Times Books Direct on 0870 165
8585; www.sundaytimesdirect.co.uk
 

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From a Zim farmer ..........

KEEPING AGRICULTURE ALIVE

Agriculture and indeed the nation as a whole face problems of a
unprecedented proportions.  The farming community currently stands divided
for a number of reasons.

First and foremost we have fallen into the age old trap of divide and rule,
undoubtedly fuelled from time to time by Zanu PF.  Some farmers are
designated some are not. Some farmers have war veterans, some do not.  Some
farming communities have serious security situations, some do not.

We are also divided amongst ourselves.  Some say we must not deal with the
government - the situation has been created by them and they must fix it.
Others say we must be talking to government to find a solution.

We have already successfully taken our government to the highest court in
the land and won our case. In doing so we effectively closed the door on
negotiations.  The CFU stance on this was necessary and absolutely correct
at the time. Ultimately we can do no better than winning in the highest
court in the land.  As a union the CFU cannot ever change what was said and
done in the supreme court.  That ruling will stand for 30 years.  In other
words this avenue has been taken as far as it can go.

We have been so successful in the courts that we now find ourselves in a
position where we have exhausted all the western mechanisms entrenched in a
democratic society.  Zanu PF have made it obvious that those western
mechanisms mean little in African culture.  This is fact whether we agree
with it or not.

However, even with the law in our favour we find ourselves embroiled in a
game called politics where it has quite clearly been proven that the rules
are made up as the game is played.

The division that exists in our farming community is also because there are
two very defined groups of thinking.  One that says that we must look
towards our futures regardless of the current political turmoil and the
other that says that we must survive the current political turmoil in order
to have a future to look forward towards.

The CFU stance is noble.  It is quite correct and indeed it is absolutely
necessary that we plan for our futures and be prepared to work hard to mould
that future.  However, we cannot be naïve enough to believe that without
cleverly planning our survival tactics over the next fourteen months there
will be much future to look forward to.

The division is strong because each group has a 100% belief that it is
correct.  Each group says they are right while the others are wrong.  The
reality of the situation is that both groups are quite correct in their
thinking.  We need to survive the political turmoil and we need to mould and
shape our futures.  The current CFU leadership holds one point of view.
They will deal with government on CFU terms. Government say that the do not
trust the CFU as they lack conviction for change. A group of highly
respected current and past agricultural leaders holds the other.  There in
lies the trap that we are all to blame for fueling.

The solution in my opinion is really very simple.  We do not need to
compromise our basic principles.  We do though need to have a degree of
flexibility.

Zanu PF is suggesting they cannot trust the current CFU Leadership - they
say it was they who motivated the members to support MDC. They are the ones
who embarrassed them in the Supreme court.  Zanu PF see everyone and
everything that does not support their thinking as being politically
affiliated to the opposition.  We as white farmers do not need and indeed
cannot afford to be embroiled in  a political struggle on the African
continent.  Our rules do not apply.  In the absence of recognized law and
order we are all very exposed and vulnerable.  Over the last year we as
farmers have taken the brunt of violence and abuse.  That abuse may well
continue regardless.  We can and must though, make every attempt to limit
it.

We are being told by the CFU leadership that we are being softened up by
Zanu PF - a standard pre negotiating procedure.  Why are we being softened
up?.  It is because we are important to the nation - we do play an integral
part in the economy.  A hard stance is more difficult to deal with and will
have far reaching effects.  I have no doubt that Zanu PF have had, and may
in the future, have national issues at heart.  At this time though those
issues have become secondary. We as farmers have already been shown that
electioneering takes priority over ALL other issues.  Zanu PF will use any
mechanism available to it. Revolutionary tactics will be used if need be.
We can force the hand so that revolutionary tactics are the only tactics
available or we can be flexible enough to allow a more sane approach.  The
choice is ours.

We also need to ask ourselves what to do we have to negotiate with?.  What
strengths will we have in the middle of a revolution?.  It is quite possible
that our strengths are also infact our weaknesses.  A man who does not rely
on the economy to sustain himself can survive far more easily with no
economy at all.  Which one of us can survive in an economic vacuum?  Do we
have the correct perception of true economic collapse?.  The financial
hardships we face as a nation now could be easily construed as absolute
bliss in many other countries in the world, especially in Africa.

What really can we as a handful of whites do to influence the voting masses
at the end of the day?.  Not much - the outcome of the parliamentary
elections were decided upon by the people of this country.  Those same
people will vote in the presidential elections and, unless intimidated, will
vote in a way which is correct for our Nation.

The CFU Constitution quite clearly states that it is an apolitical body and
it has an obligation to work with the government of the day.  That is what
we must be doing.  We cannot allow our personal feelings to become involved
in the business of the day - keeping Agriculture alive.  This is what we
need to focus on.

The CFU awareness campaign and the marketing research that followed it has
proven that even the middle class people in Zimbabwe believe the CFU to be a
white elitist organisation.  That perception cannot be changed without
change itself, a long and slow process.  We urgently need a very loud
message.  By changing our leadership we will infact be giving that message
to Zanu PF and to the people of Zimbabwe.  A message that we are not
inflexible, that we do seriously want to be involved in organised
resettlement and are very willing in this regard.  It will also strongly
reiterate that the farming community is indeed apolitical and is truly
wanting to deal with the government of the day. That is not a sign of
weakness - simply reiterating the truth.

The current leadership have faced a situation over the last year that has
never been faced by any Agricultural organisation anywhere in the world ever
before in history.  They must be highly commended for their outstanding work
they have done.  Their departure from the union is nothing more than a
tactical maneuver.  It may or may not work.  If it does work and the CFU is
no longer seen as a threat over the next fourteen months, this will be
considerably easier than the alternative.  If it does not work and Zanu PF
operates in full revolution mode there is little more that we can do.  It is
a calculated risk that carries no guarantees.

This fairly radical approach is desperately needed at this eleventh hour.
We can be reassured by the fact that in being cunning we are not throwing
our principals to the wind.




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From The Sunday Times (UK), 11 March

Britain scorns 'sinister' bid to end land grab

The British government has described as "sinister" an American-backed deal to end the crisis facing white farmers in Zimbabwe by taking a third of their land and ousting union leaders who have criticised President Robert Mugabe. Under the plan, to be put before an extraordinary general meeting of the CFU on March 21, most farmers would be allowed to keep at least two-thirds of their land. The union's name would be changed and Tim Henwood, its chairman, would be forced to stand down in favour of a new leader - perhaps, for the first time, a black farmer. The union would immediately begin to resettle 20,000 black farmers on 100,000 hectares of land, with whites providing ploughing, seeding and other logistics. In return, Mugabe's war veterans and other supporters would withdraw from hundreds of farms that have been occupied, often violently.

In London, the Foreign Office said this weekend it had "no knowledge" of American support for the plan, which has been proposed by a CFU faction linked to John Bredenkamp, an Anglo-Zimbabwean businessman and former Rhodesian rugby captain. Bredenkamp is one of the few whites to have Mugabe's ear. If accepted by the union's 3,600 members, the land deal would be another fillip for Mugabe following his visits last week to Belgium and France, where he was received by President Jacques Chirac.

With land reform in place, Mugabe could see hundreds of millions of dollars in blocked aid and loans flood into Zimbabwe, boosting his chances in presidential elections next year. Diplomatic sources in Harare said America believed the current CFU, which has been a bastion of support for the opposition MDC, had hindered reform. One official said the union had provided "very little leadership" in overcoming the crisis.

A Foreign Office official expressed strong concern, particularly at the American involvement. "I think it's fanciful and sinister," he said. "It sounds like powerful interest groups are being used to prop up a dictatorship - like something the Americans would have been up to 30 years ago." An American spokesman in Harare said that "the embassy does not take any position on the politics of the farmers' union". But at his Breco (UK) headquarters near Reading, Berkshire, last week, Bredenkamp said he had had "extremely positive" talks with American officials. "A new farmers' leadership will get everyone on board. There will be a unified approach and we'll get the thing flying quickly."

Mugabe is understood to be ready to approve the plan to turn over 5m hectares to the government if the farmers decide that compromise represents their best chance of security. Bredenkamp said that if the deal is approved on March 21, a delegation of new farmers' leaders will fly to Washington for talks with the Bush administration, the IMF and the World Bank. The Mugabe government, he said, was already on board. "This has support right from the top. This is our best opportunity, or Zimbabwe is finished."

The Bredenkamp faction within the CFU is led by Nick Swanepoel, a senior official. Sources close to Swanepoel said Mugabe was furious with the CFU, whose constitution declares it apolitical. "A lot of bad things went on in the war for independence - we whites did a lot of them - and yet afterwards there was no retribution," said one of the sources. "Then suddenly after 20 years a bunch of farmers wants to topple Mugabe through the MDC - well, that drove him mad, and he never forgives those who cross his path."

In recent weeks Mugabe has turned his anger on the judiciary, which he blames for helping white farmers challenge the legality of farm occupations. In the deal drawn up by Bredenkamp and Swanepoel, all legal cases against the veterans would be dropped. Supporters of the Bredenkamp faction said America and other governments would help to compensate the white farmers, but Britain would still be expected to contribute most of the cash. "Britain would have to be invited to the party eventually," said one.

The current farm union leadership insists that the plan represents a climbdown and says Henwood still commands enough respect to survive a vote of confidence at the union's extraordinary general meeting. But one of his opponents said it was essential to take account of Mugabe's power. "Mugabe is the chief until he dies - he can rape, murder, do what he likes, but he's still the chief." Mugabe would be expected to order the war veterans off the farms and to restore the rule of law should the deal go through. "He can do that in a couple of hours. Everybody wants this - the army, the police, the secret police, everyone," said Bredenkamp.

From The Sunday Independent (SA), 10 March

Mugabe loses control of regional defence body

Windhoek - Southern African leaders have announced measures to rein in a controversial regional defence body chaired by Zimbabwean President Robert Mugabe, who had battled to keep it under his control. A communiqué released on Friday at the end of a one-day summit in the Namibian capital said the SADC defence arm would from now on have to report to the bloc's chairperson. "The organ will now be integrated into the SADC structures. The chairperson shall be on a rotational basis for a period of one year," the communiqué said.

Mugabe infuriated some SADC states when he rallied fellow members Angola and Namibia to intervene in the DRC to support the Kinshasa government against Ugandan and Rwandan-backed rebels. Playing down Mugabe's loss of control over the body, Namibia's president and current SADC chairperson, Sam Nujoma, said: "There is no division in SADC. We remain united and all decisions were reached amicably and unanimously." Diplomats said the move was a major blow to Mugabe, who faces political and economic crisis at home. But the SADC countries rallied around Congo's young President Joseph Kabila and assured him of their continued support.

The organ on politics, defence and security had been under Mugabe since its inception in 1996 had remained outside the control of SADC proper. Nelson Mandela, South Africa's former president, had fiercely opposed the idea, arguing that it should fall under SADC. The summit also agreed to create four directorates under which all existing sectors will be clustered according to their cross-sectoral linkages. These would be: trade, industry, finance and investment; infrastructure and services; food, agriculture and natural resources; social and human development and special programmes.

From The Zimbabwe Standard, 11 March

Priest ordered to leave Zimbabwe

Bulawayo - The government has ordered the Anglican Church priest who presided over the funeral of Gloria Olds' - murdered at her farm last week - to leave the country today, amid reports that controversial Bulawayo Catholic archbishop, Pius Ncube, has fled the country for Germany. Reverend Paul Andrianatos, 44, who last year also presided over the funeral of Martin, Olds' son also murdered by suspected war veterans, was given up to today to leave the country after government refused to renew his work permit.

Rev Andrianatos conducted his last ceremony on Friday when he handled the funeral. Rev Andrianatos has been in the country for the past seven years. The Reverend told The Standard yesterday that concerted efforts to renew his permit with the ministry of home affairs had failed and that he was ordered to leave Zimbabwe by today. He confirmed he would be leaving for South Africa. Last month, the government expelled two foreign journalists after it had refused to renew their work permits.

Rev Andrianatos, who is married to a Zimbabwean teacher, said he was sad to leave the country during its trying moments. "It's sad that my work permit has not been renewed, I would have wanted to remain in Zimbabwe. Since I conducted Martin Olds' funeral last year, I have been constantly visited by members of the CIO who have been quizzing me on statements I made during the funeral proceedings. "Last week, they phoned me asking about details of Gloria's funeral and why specifically the ceremony was being conducted at my church," said a distraught Rev Andrianatos.

Parishioners from Bulawayo who spoke to this paper said the reason not to renew Rev Andrianatos' permit culminated from his strong stance against government. "The security agents are saying his speech at the funeral of Martin Olds was too harsh and we believe that is the reason they are sending him away," said one of the parishioners. Addressing about 400 farmers and mourners who had come to pay their last respects to Gloria Olds, Rev Andrianatos said it was sad and cowardly for anyone to murder a defenceless 72 year old woman. "These cowards, one with an AK 47, were able to steal Gloria's life, but they were not able to steal her dignity. I say to all the farmers here, they may take away your land, but they can not take away the love your family has for you - that love is more important than any land. People can do many things to us, but they can never determine our response to it."

Andrianatos' deportation comes in the wake of reports that Rev Ncube, accused by President Mugabe of sermons which led to Zanu PF's poor showing in Matabeleland in last year's elections, slipped out of the country three months ago after receiving death threats from suspected CIO operatives. Rev Ncube is a well known vocal critic of President Mugabe's misrule. He was in the news last year when President Mugabe threatened not to attend the late vice president, Joshua Nkomo's memorial service if Rev Ncube was not removed from the officiating list. Contacted for comment, the archbishop's secretary refused to shed light on the whereabouts of Rev Ncube. "I do not know where he is and besides I do not give interviews to journalists," said the unnamed secretary before hanging up.

Sources within the church told this paper that the archbishop's whereabouts were not openly discussed within the church for security reasons. "Reverend Ncube has been threatened a lot and that includes threats from the president and with the current situation as it is, it is safer for him to disappear from public view," said one source.

From The Daily News, 10 March

Zesa cuts off State House

Bulawayo - Three daring Zimbabwe Electricity Supply Authority (Zesa) technicians plunged Bulawayo State House into total darkness on Wednesday when they switched-off electricity over unpaid arrears amounting to $123 000. This prompted a quick response from the CIO who arrested and detained the workers for over four hours before forcing the Zesa area manager, Danisa Sibanda, to order the technicians to restore power.

Sources at Zesa said CIO operatives and army officers guarding the State House panicked when the complex was plunged into sudden darkness. They then descended on the technicians. One of the technicians said they were confronted at gunpoint by soldiers while on their way out of the State House complex. The soldiers demanded to know who had sent them to make the disconnection. "Soon we were taken by some CIO agents who locked us up in a room and questioned us for a good four hours. It was frightening," he said.

The CIO proceeded to the Zesa offices in the city centre, where they grilled the credit controller, Norman Ncube, about the blackout. A uniformed soldier is said to have gone to the Zesa offices to settle the debt, at almost the same time the CIO agents were quizzing Ncube, who refused to accompany them to an unknown location for questioning. Both Ncube and Sibanda were yesterday reluctant to talk to The Daily News about their ordeal. Zesa, which is owed millions of dollars by its customers, recently launched a campaign to force defaulters to pay their bills. A top official at the parastatal said: "We have no sacred cows in this exercise."

From CNN, 10 March

Angola, Zimbabwe rift complicates Congo peace efforts

Abidjan, Ivory Coast - Just as hopes for an end to the war in the DRC are rising, evidence of a rift between Angola and Zimbabwe threatens to complicate peace efforts and further destabilize the central African country. Regional analysts and diplomats say Angola and Zimbabwe, which have backed the Congolese government in a 32-month war against rebel groups, are vying for influence after the assassination of president Laurent Kabila and the accession of his 29-year old son Joseph. The rift has taken an ethnic dimension as the two countries support rival factions from Laurent Kabila's native Katanga province competing for power in Congo -- Angola the Lunda from the west and Zimbabwe the Balubakat from the northeast.

The first prominent casualty of the turf battle appears to have been Edy Kapend, the late president's aide-de-camp, placed under armed guard in a military camp in the capital Kinshasa last month. Sources say Zimbabwean troops are guarding him. General Nawej Yav, until this week commander of the Kinshasa military region and a close associate of Kapend, has also been arrested and both are being investigated for their alleged role in Kabila's assassination, according to military sources.

Kapend, very much seen as Angola's man in Kinshasa, imposed himself as kingmaker in the immediate aftermath of Kabila's death, taking charge of the delicate succession. He leads the Lunda faction against the Balubakat, whose main representatives in the government are Justice Minister Mwenze Kongolo and Interior Minister Gaetan Kakudji, a nephew and close confidant of the late Kabila. "The arrest of Kapend would seem to indicate the Angolans are being elbowed out. Unlike his father, Kabila appears to be leaning more on the Zimbabweans for security," said Patrick Smith, editor of Africa Confidential newsletter in London. Other civilians and senior military officials are reported to have been arrested in the past two weeks.

Angola and Zimbabwe reinforced their troops in Kinshasa after Kabila's assassination and they continue to patrol the streets and military camps. The two countries and the government's third ally, Namibia, helped set up the commission investigating Kabila's death on January 16. The commission was due to report in the first week of March, but this has been pushed back a month. A senior Zimbabwean foreign affairs official denied that the two countries were fighting for influence, saying the claims had been fabricated to drive a wedge between them. "There is a clear understanding on the part of our governments and our leaders that, as allies, we must continue to cooperate to promote an atmosphere in Kinshasa that will promote the search for lasting peace in the DRC," he said. "Since the death of Kabila, the West has been trying to divide us by spreading false rumors and linking this or that ally to this or that official in the government."

But analysts say that rivalries among Congo's strongmen and their foreign backers could undermine the stability of Joseph Kabila's government, and ultimately its survival. After a remarkably trouble-free transfer of power following the assassination, a sense of renewed insecurity pervades Kinshasa. The government has admitted that a number of people, including several Lebanese, were killed in reaction to Kabila's assassination, although it declined to elaborate. Witnesses said this week that Zimbabwean, Namibian and Congolese troops had set up roadblocks along several of the capital's main arteries.

But the main worry is that a split between Angola and Zimbabwe may complicate peace efforts, which have been given new impetus by the new president amidst reports that both countries are looking for a way out of Congo. "Kabila needs to work very hard to keep both Zimbabwe and Angola on board, otherwise the security situation could seriously deteriorate," said Africa Confidential's Smith. "Angola has poured into Congo military equipment and cash resources but cannot commit as many troops as Zimbabwe because it's fighting a civil war on its own turf." Analysts say Angola, which borders Katanga province, has a much more vital interest in the Congo because its support for Kabila, and his father Laurent, is linked to its own fight against rear bases of Angola's UNITA rebels.

Zimbabwe, in turn, is keen to play the role of regional power broker. It has also secured lucrative mining contracts in the vast former Belgian colony in exchange for its support. However, analysts say the rivalry between Zimbabwe and Angola is unlikely to turn into an outright confrontation, such as the one opposing Rwanda and Uganda, which now back rival rebel groups against the Congolese government and have at times fought each other on Congolese soil. "It's a competition to fill the vacuum...Everyone wants an upper hand. But I don't see Angola and Zimbabwe's strong and old relationship dying as a result of this competition in the DRC," said David Monyae, lecturer in international relations at the University of Witwatersrand in South Africa.

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