ROBERT Mugabe has run Zimbabwe for so long that his presence is like specks of pollution in the air, taken in with every breath. Gladys Sithole can barely recall her country without him, this inescapable "old man", as she calls him, with godlike powers and inhuman failings.
A mother of three, Sithole was once a bookkeeper in a dry cleaners, but jobs like that have mostly vanished. She is a street pedlar now in a collapsed society, where annual inflation of 100,000% melts money into nothing, and essential commodities are
so scarce that bars of soap are sliced up to be sold by the chunk and cooking oil is traded by the tablespoon.
A presidential election is scheduled for March 29, and Sithole said she hoped this time Mugabe would finally lose. Now 84, he is a former guerrilla fighter who has led the nation since independence in 1980. "Mugabe was a hero of the liberation struggle, sure," she said. "But now there is an even bigger struggle, the struggle to survive, and he is killing us."
She may conceivably get her wish. Mugabe is burdened not only by Zimbabwe's continuing misery but also by two formidable rivals. One is Morgan Tsvangirai, a well-known opponent with trade union support. He won 42% of the official vote in 2002, when inflation was a mere 139%. The other is Simba Makoni, a former Cabinet member backed by influential figures in the governing party itself. These dissidents are no longer willing to wait for Mugabe's death to initiate the succession.
Could this actually be the end for one of the world's most enduring and complicated political figures, by most accounts a ruthless, vengeful man, revered and reviled, who has presided over an epic economic debacle? If Mugabe did somehow lose, would he withdraw quietly? Would disputed elections propel Zimbabwe, like Kenya, into chaos and killing?
"With the vote split three ways, I don't think Mugabe can win without a runoff, and in a runoff there's no reasonable way he would get a majority of the votes," said Sydney Masamvu, a senior analyst for the International Crisis Group, a nonprofit organisation that seeks to prevent deadly conflicts.
But this assessment presumes a fair election, and in Zimbabwe those who cast the votes are not nearly as important as those who count them. It is widely believed by election observers that Mugabe stole the contest in 2002.
This makes the inclusion of Makoni, 57, intriguing. He was the nation's finance minister from 2000 to 2002 and served in the politburo of the governing Zanu-PF party – the Zimbabwe African National Union-Patriotic Front – until being drummed out last month for his rebellious run for the presidency.
Though only a few senior party members have endorsed Makoni publicly, some analysts say he has the tacit allegiance of several in the military and intelligence hierarchy, the same types Mugabe has relied upon for trickery at the polls. Some wonder whether phoney ballots might now be more equitably apportioned.
"Makoni arises from the discontent within Zanu-PF, so the system is now divided against itself," said Jonah Gokova, a leader of the Christian Alliance, a collection of civic-minded religious groups. "Some suggest that if rigging goes on, it will be for Makoni rather than Mugabe."
The campaigning has just begun in the nation of fertile plateaux, its north-west tip the site of the spectacular Victoria Falls. For an octogenarian, Mugabe does not lack vigour. Square-jawed, fists clenched, he appears quite fit in his finely tailored suits. His speeches may ramble, but they also sting.
He calls his opponents witches and charlatans and tools of the West. He refers to Makoni as a prostitute without customers, and since the government controls most of Zimbabwe's media, these remarks are repeated ad infinitum.
Mugabe may live grandly in a 25-bedroom mansion in the suburbs of Harare, but he knows most of his compatriots barely eat a meal a day. Last week he tried to pacify the restive army rank and file with a windfall pay raise. Crowds at Zanu-PF rallies are often rewarded for their attendance with cornmeal and sugar.
But these sops are secondary to Mugabe's more muscular stratagems. In past elections, youth brigades were set loose on political opponents, and such patterns of intimidation continue.
Two weeks ago, nine members of the Progressive Teachers Union – perceived to support Tsvangirai and his Movement for Democratic Change – said they were dragooned from the streets and beaten with lead pipes in a Zanu-PF building. "Only an idiot would believe Mugabe won't win the election, and by win, I mean steal," said Raymond Majongwe, the union's secretary general, still nursing a bruise above his left eye that he said was inflicted with a Coke bottle.
The full article contains 807 words and appears in Scotland On Sunday newspaper.
