Empowerment or Patronage? The True Motive Behind t...

Empowerment or Patronage? The True Motive Behind the War Veterans Scheme

Oscar J Jeke- Zim Now Reporter

When President Emmerson Mnangagwa launched the Presidential War Veterans Empowerment Scheme in June 2025, it was framed as a long-overdue gesture of gratitude—recognition of the “supreme sacrifices” made by those who fought in Zimbabwe’s liberation struggle. On the surface, the scheme seems ambitious: a US$2 million revolving fund, another US$2 million for dependents and collaborators, fifty tractors handed out on a zero-deposit basis, land with title deeds, vehicles, and promises of economic capacitation.

But to understand the true intent behind this scheme, we must ask a deeper question: Is this about genuine empowerment, or is it simply a well-disguised political loyalty program?

The launch speech, delivered at the Harare City Sports Centre, positioned the scheme as a tribute to the veterans' sacrifices and a commitment to their welfare. The theme, "Honouring, Respecting, Recognizing the Past: Shaping the Future," underscored the stated objectives: to ensure that the state accords due respect and recognition, fosters skills development and self-reliance, and improves household incomes.

Mnangagwa explicitly stated that veterans remain "critical and important actors in advancing our national vision" and an "integral part of the people’s revolution led by our Party, ZANU PF." He called upon beneficiaries to exercise accountability and ethical conduct, urging them to repay interest-free loans to ensure the fund remains revolving and sustainable.

Mnangagwa's government has offered war veterans a package that includes interest-free loans, equipment like tractors and vehicles, access to land with title deeds, and promises of inclusion in mining and agricultural ventures. The president stressed that these were not mere handouts, but tools to help veterans “thrive economically.” He called for discipline and responsibility and framed the entire exercise as part of a broader developmental agenda. Yet, the same old question lingers: why now?

Despite the noble rhetoric, the scheme's timing and the president's own words raise significant questions about its underlying political motivations. Mnangagwa's speech was laden with explicit political messaging, leaving little doubt about the intertwined nature of the scheme with ZANU PF's agenda. He openly acknowledged war veterans' "active participation in the mobilization programmes of the Party." This direct expectation of political campaigning in return for benefits is a glaring indicator of patronage.

Historically, ZANU PF has a well-documented pattern of leveraging state resources and social programs to cultivate political loyalty and influence electoral outcomes. From the land reform program to various youth and agricultural input schemes, benefits have often been disbursed with an implicit—or sometimes explicit—expectation of political allegiance. International observers, including the International Crisis Group, have noted the "widespread misuse of government resources by ZANU PF" and the distribution of farming supplies under presidential schemes as "crude vote-buying exercises" before elections. The Presidential War Veterans Empowerment Scheme appears to be a continuation of this established playbook.

The scheme’s timing is telling. It comes just months after internal ZANU PF debates about extending Mnangagwa’s presidency beyond his constitutional term limit in 2028. In December 2024, the party approved a resolution at its conference to push for the so-called “2030 agenda”—a euphemism for keeping Mnangagwa in power, potentially through constitutional amendment. Notably, this empowerment scheme lands right in the thick of that push.

It also follows growing unrest within the veterans’ ranks. In January 2025, some war veterans publicly called for Mnangagwa’s resignation, citing broken promises and lack of economic progress. At a time when Mnangagwa needs their support to legitimize his extended rule, the sudden appearance of tractors, land, and cash loans cannot be viewed in a vacuum.

The political undercurrents become even more pronounced when viewed in the context of the contentious 2030 term extension drive. Disgruntled war veteran groups, such as the one associated with Blessed Geza, have emerged as vocal critics of Mnangagwa's administration.

Geza and his allies accuse the president of corruption, misgovernance, and purging war veterans who do not align with his faction. They have openly called for Mnangagwa's resignation, expressing a desire for a return to what they perceive as the party's founding principles.

For critics like the Geza group, the empowerment scheme could be perceived as an attempt to "buy the former fighters' silence" or to co-opt influential veteran voices who might otherwise oppose the 2030 agenda. By providing material benefits, the government might seek to pacify potential dissent within the veteran community and secure their backing—or at least neutrality—for the controversial constitutional amendments required for a term extension.

The president's direct appeals to "weed out rogue malcontents and opportunists" within the veteran ranks can be interpreted as a thinly veiled warning against those who challenge the party line.

This isn’t Zimbabwe’s first flirtation with veteran-targeted “empowerment.” In 1997, the late Robert Mugabe famously announced unbudgeted payouts of Z$50,000 per veteran—roughly US$4,500 at the time—alongside lifetime pensions. That decision tanked the Zimbabwe dollar and triggered years of economic instability. Then came the Fast Track Land Reform Programme of 2000, again led in part by veterans, which saw commercial farms seized in the name of empowerment.

These episodes underline a pattern: veterans are courted with state resources when the ruling party is politically vulnerable. Today is no different. The new empowerment scheme reads like a page out of the same playbook—designed less to empower and more to appease, distract, and secure loyalty.

The optics are powerful: veterans receiving tractors, youth brigades celebrating presidential generosity, slogans of inclusion and self-reliance. But the substance is murky. The US$2 million revolving fund, split across ten provinces and thousands of potential beneficiaries, will likely amount to modest support per person if administered fairly.

More troubling is the underlying logic: that empowerment flows not from citizenship or a rights-based framework, but from proximity to power. Access to opportunity becomes conditional not on merit, not on ideas, but on allegiance.

A truly empowering scheme for war veterans would transcend mere handouts. International best practices in post-conflict veteran reintegration, such as those discussed in the context of Ukraine, emphasize sustainable economic integration, mental health support, and addressing the root causes of socio-economic vulnerability.

These programs often focus on skills development tailored to market needs, creating an enabling environment for entrepreneurship, and providing comprehensive psychosocial support—moving away from a purely "benefits-based support system."

In contrast, while the Zimbabwean scheme includes elements of skills development and self-reliance, the heavy emphasis on revolving funds, immediate disbursements, and agricultural inputs—coupled with explicit political messaging—suggests a transactional relationship. Genuine empowerment should aim to create independent, resilient veterans—not a politically dependent constituency.

Empowerment means building systems that function with or without political intervention: robust financing for all entrepreneurs, secure land rights, transparent governance. In Zimbabwe, where unemployment and poverty remain widespread, why should empowerment be reserved for a specific demographic, no matter how historically significant?

And therein lies the paradox. While the scheme may bring temporary material gain to a few, it entrenches a political culture where loyalty is traded for benefits, and criticism is silenced by cash.

There is no doubt that Zimbabwe’s war veterans deserve support. Many live in poverty, neglected by a state that has long failed to translate liberation promises into tangible livelihoods. But empowering them should be part of a national strategy that includes healthcare, education, and enterprise for all citizens—not a selective payout tied to internal political maneuvering.

As long as empowerment is doled out at political convenience—especially ahead of elections or during succession crises—it risks becoming nothing more than state-sponsored patronage. And if the recipients are required, even implicitly, to return the favour with votes, silence, or allegiance, then what we are witnessing is not empowerment at all. It is entrapment, dressed in patriotic language.

The Presidential War Veterans Empowerment Scheme may be historic in scale, but its true legacy will depend on whether it uplifts war veterans as independent economic actors—or simply binds them closer to the party-state complex. If empowerment must come at the cost of political loyalty, then Zimbabwe has not broken with its past. It has perfected it.