Africa-Press – Zimbabwe. President Emmerson Mnangagwa claims to be a constitutionalist. He repeats, with the confidence of a man reading from a laminated script, that he abides by the law, respects the law, and, as his oath requires, defends the constitution.
Yet around him — sometimes in broad daylight, sometimes in whispers — his lieutenants are openly plotting to vandalise that very constitution in his name.
Zimbabweans are being told, with straight faces and tortured logic, that while the constitution limits presidents to two terms, it does not specify how long each term must be.
If this sounds absurd, that’s because it is. It is the political equivalent of arguing that a loaf of bread is fixed at “two loaves,” but the size of each loaf is… negotiable.
This faction-manufactured loophole is not only legally groundless — it is politically combustible.
A Manufactured Crisis Wearing Constitutional Clothing
Mnangagwa took an oath to uphold the constitution. Yet he now allows ZANU PF officials, hired legal enablers, and political consultants to publicly debate how to defy it, dilute it, or circumvent its spirit.
He watches silently as this creates deep factional divisions within his own party.
He pretends to be weak and overwhelmed — an innocent bystander to “popular demand,” a reluctant hero begged to stay.
Except his reluctance is theatre, and the begging is orchestrated.
He cannot credibly claim devotion to constitutionalism while simultaneously sponsoring an “intellectual cartel” to massage the public into believing that “2030 is a done deal.”
Zimbabweans have heard this script before.
In 2017, Jonathan Moyo loudly declared that Mugabe’s succession was “a done deal.”
Within weeks, Mugabe was gone — removed by the very men who had once carried his briefcase.
In politics, nothing is a done deal until it is done.
The Constitution Is Clear — Painfully Clear
Sections 91 and 95 of the constitution limit the presidency to two five-year terms.
Not two terms of flexible length.
Not two terms “adjustable by convenience.”
Not two terms for ordinary mortals and custom-made terms for emperors.
To change that, you need:
>A constitutional amendment
>A referendum
And even then, the change cannot benefit the sitting President
This was a deliberate safeguard — one learned from the Mugabe era and insisted upon by the people in both the 2000 and 2013 processes.
Zimbabweans didn’t design a constitution so that its most important clause could be undone by wordplay.
Playing With Fire in a Region That Has Seen This Movie Before
Across Africa, presidents who tried to engineer term extensions have triggered explosions they never intended.
Frederick Chiluba – Zambia (1996–2001)
Chiluba tested the waters for a third term. Zambia pushed back. His own party rebelled.
Result? His bid collapsed and his political career ended in humiliation.
Olusegun Obasanjo – Nigeria (2006)
Despite overwhelming power, Obasanjo’s third-term attempt was decisively rejected by parliament — backed by his own party heavyweights.
Abdoulaye Wade – Senegal (2012)
Wade attempted constitutional acrobatics to stay longer.
Senegal rose in mass protests. He lost the election spectacularly to his former protégé.
Blaise Compaoré – Burkina Faso (2014)
Tried to amend term limits.
Citizens burned parliament, the military intervened, and he fled the country overnight.
Joseph Kabila – DR Congo (2016–2018)
Delayed elections to extend power.
The resulting instability forced a negotiated exit.
History is consistent: term-extension schemes either explode or implode — but they do not glide smoothly.
If Mnangagwa thinks Zimbabwe will be the exception, he is underestimating the very forces that delivered him to power in 2017.
A Coup Invitation Delivered With Both Hands:
Every soldier, not only the Head of State, swears an oath to defend the constitution.
No military in the world — not even one accustomed to political involvement — sits idle while a constitutional order is openly vandalised.
The 2030 campaign is not only unconstitutional; it is provocative.
It is walking, whistling, and dancing toward the same power vacuum that triggered the November 2017 intervention.
It is inviting instability by attempting to hijack the constitutional order for the benefit of a small cartel masquerading as revolutionaries.
Zimbabwe’s constitutional framework cannot be bent by the whims of criminal networks operating parallel to the state.
>A cartel is not a legislature.
>A political consultant is not the constitution.
>A factional slogan is not a referendum.
Mnangagwa’s Calculated Ambiguity Is Dangerous:
Mnangagwa pretends to be powerless to stop the chaos created in his own name.
He acts confused by the noise yet privately encourages it.
He plays the role of a democrat trapped by “popular demand” — yet refuses to put that demand to the only test that matters: a national referendum.
He wants the political benefits of the push while avoiding the political responsibility for it.
It is a dangerous game.
Zimbabwe has walked this path before.
Africa has seen where it leads.
And history has never been kind to those who flirt with constitutional arson.
Conclusion: The Fire Is Real
Mnangagwa is playing with fire.
He is allowing factions to shred the constitution, divide the party, provoke the army, and drag the nation into avoidable instability — all for a term extension he cannot legally benefit from.
Zimbabwe’s constitution was written in blood, memory, and hard lessons.
It will not fall simply because a few individuals pretend not to understand plain English.
If the President truly wants to be remembered as a constitutionalist, there is only one path:
End the 2030 circus, stop the enablers, and protect the constitution he swore to defend.
Otherwise, he risks becoming the latest African leader to discover — too late — that constitutions may bend, but nations do not.
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