For decades, authority in Zimbabwe did not come from a thesis — it came from a trench. 

Power spoke in the language of camps, sacrifice and revolutionary solidarity. The most important prefix in public life was not Professor or Advocate. It was Comrade. 

That word was not ceremonial; it was a credential — proof of participation in the liberation struggle and, by extension, a moral claim to govern.

Today, a quieter shift is unfolding. Across government platforms, conference podiums and official communications, academic titles are increasingly foregrounded. Graduation photographs circulate widely in political messaging. Public introductions emphasise doctoral credentials before political roles. Digital biographies highlight scholarly achievements as prominently as party history.

Education is a public good; no serious society mocks learning. But in politics, symbols are rarely neutral.

For nearly four decades, political legitimacy — particularly within ZANU-PF — rested primarily on liberation history. The governing philosophy was implicit but unmistakable: we liberated the nation, therefore we are entrusted to lead it. The “comrade” identity carried revolutionary capital — authority derived from sacrifice.

Time, however, alters the audience.

A large share of Zimbabwe’s population has no lived memory of the war. For many citizens under forty, daily experience weighs heavier than historical pedigree. Electricity supply, currency stability, job creation and policy predictability shape political judgement more than recollections of the bush.

In that context, the doctorate performs a different political function.

Where the liberation credential said we fought, the academic credential says we understand.

Where revolutionary authority drew from memory, technocratic authority draws from expertise.

This does not signal abandonment of the liberation narrative. National commemorations remain central, and the symbolism of the struggle still anchors the state’s identity. The past has not been erased.

But it is being supplemented.

What appears to be emerging is a layering of legitimacy.

Liberation credentials established the right to rule; academic credentials attempt to demonstrate the capacity to rule in a complex, policy-driven era.

This recalibration also reflects global reality. In boardrooms, multilateral forums and investor briefings, the language of competence travels further than the language of mobilisation. A liberation movement mobilises; a modern state must administer. One relies on solidarity; the other is judged by delivery.

Yet symbolism carries risk.

If academic authority does not translate into clearer policy, institutional reform and measurable economic performance, the doctorate becomes decorative. Titles cannot substitute for results. Knowledge capital must manifest in outcomes, or it simply joins the long list of political emblems that promise more than they produce.

There is also an underlying tension. Liberation legitimacy is rooted in sacrifice and sovereignty. Technocratic legitimacy is rooted in efficiency and integration. When reform imperatives collide with liberation-era assumptions, the balance between these two sources of authority will become politically revealing.

Zimbabwe’s political identity rarely shifts abruptly. It adapts, recalibrates and reframes. The comrade has not disappeared, but the doctor now stands beside him.

The question is no longer who fought for power.

The question is what now justifies keeping it — and whether performance will ultimately matter more than prefix.

Simbarashe Namusi writes in his personal capacity and can be contacted via email at simbarashenamusi@gmail.com or WhatsApp on +263 773 257 449.