Grace Mutandwa

Judges and Fudges

There's a right way and a wrong way to approach a cordon of Zimbabwean riot police. It's not clever for example to don an MDC t-shirt and ask the plod for the results of the Presidential election.

I usually try and carry it off with a self-confident swagger, as if a line of big cops in crash helmets and heavy boots carrying nasty sticks is an everyday hurdle. I try to look like a man who has proper business in Zimbabwe's High Court, rather than what the state media portrays me as: a colonialist who is sabotaging Zimbabwe's economy because he wants to restore white supremacism. As I reach the thick blue line I manage a cheerful:

"Good morning! How are you sirs?",

in the Zimbabwean style. This usually elicits some tentatively cheery responses and a gap in the cordon big enough to walk through. And the technique works today.

I note that there are no officers in the line, which is good as it means there's nobody to order the cops to start hitting me. But then again if they do start hitting me there's no one to tell them to stop.

Enough bravado. The risks we pampered British diplomats run are pretty modest. The worst we see are occasional flashes of temper from the regime's tame media. Last year a columnist said a female colleague of mine might go home in a body bag. The brave man who issued those threats hides behind the pen name Nathaniel Manheru. But beyond bluster of that sort we simply do not share the risks that ordinary Zimbabweans face.

Since 29 March, the regime has launched its youth militias - drunken mobs of indoctrinated thugs - on the poor rural people who dared to vote for the opposition on 29 March. We can't corroborate many of the rumours of violence we hear. We are certain that 150 people have been attacked and at least one killed. And we fear that the real toll of abuse could be much worse. Yes, we diplomats get it easy.

Anyway, back to the High Court. Inside the police cordon is a scrum of journalists, observers and lawyers all struggling to get into a tiny room to hear a judge rule whether Zimbabwe's election results should be released, more than two weeks after the people voted.

A long wait. Boiling hot. The judge appears, flings a copy of a written judgement at the lawyers and runs for it. The judgement is 15 pages long - enough reading time for the judge to escape the building. It says that the election authorities must act legally, but that the courts cannot question the authorities' decisions. So if the authorities want to delay announcing the election indefinitely, that's fine. It's a fudge by a judge who's been bought; and then threatened.

Outside the court, the scrum re-engages. I hare across the road to avoid the cameras and trip over a man sitting on the roadside selling apples (20 Million dollars each). He doesn't have any doughnuts, unfortunately:

"What is going to happen to us, sir? I am waiting and waiting and I cannot sleep. I am sure I will die if we carry on like this."

Sadly he's probably right.

Posted at 11:13 18 April 2008 by Philip Barclay  |  Comments[5]