Panic among Zimbabwe’s elite as minister tries to cut perks Ray Ndlovu

Politicians depending on state largesse are in a struggle against their creditors, writes

WHAT goes up must come down. Zimbabwe’s economic crisis — embodied in a liquidity crunch — has resulted in devastation for the political elite. It’s loss after loss.

Posh properties in Harare have been auctioned off, final letters of demand have been issued and the deputy sheriff of the high court has been unleashed in broad daylight as creditors seek to salvage the little they can.

Businesses owned by the political elite are not bringing in the income needed to settle their debts. And creditors are insisting on their dues.

The list of casualties is long and features some familiar faces: former prime minister Morgan Tsvangirai, macroeconomic planning and investment minister Obert Mpofu and former Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe governor Gideon Gono.

President Robert Mugabe has not been spared either. In April he said that his dairy company, Gushungo, faced an uncertain future with debt to the tune of $4-million (about R54-million).

In August, Gono had a property in the plush Greystone Park suburb auctioned for a $1.3-million tab, backdated to 2010.

This month, Tsvangirai nearly lost a 4 000m² property in Harare’s Strathaven suburb. It was set to be auctioned off by a local bank to recover a $55 000 loan from 2013.

The intervention of the Movement for Democratic Change, which Tsvangirai leads, at the eleventh hour saved him. The MDC had to put up three party vehicles to clear his debt.

In his heyday, Tsvangirai reportedly paid $300 000 in cash to a former lover in an out-ofcourt-settlement. The incident turned heads and adds to the intrigue of his no longer being able to afford a mere fifth of that amount.

Harare-based economist John Robertson this week said Tsvangirai had been tricked into accepting debt, which rightfully he should have avoided.

“It appears that it was a carefully hatched plan by Zanu-PF to make him insolvent. Just look at the string of women in his life and their high lifestyles which Tsvangirai had to sustain.”

Robertson said the political elite now had to realise that even their position in society was no longer enough to stop creditors from swooping.

“The impunity is running out. If there was plenty of money they could escape the due processes of law. The money that used to support them is not there any more. It’s sort of like the falling water levels in a lake. What is left and what we are seeing are the muddy and messy sights underneath . . . It’s an ugly mess left behind because of the falling money levels.”

This week, Mpofu, who once boasted of “being too rich to accept bribes” received another blow to his crumbling business empire. His company Maminza Transport in Bulawayo was slapped with a lawsuit involving about $33 000 by Associated Tyres, for tyres and services rendered in 2013.

Mpofu’s firm has three weeks to defend the claim and avoid his property being attached by the deputy sheriff in Bulawayo.

His company has been down this road before. In March it lost property — a mud drilling compressor, eight Volvo trucks and three trailers were auctioned off in a case brought by Menwood Trading.

At the peak of his power, Mpofu bought a bank for $20-million and ran a daily newspaper. The two ventures have collapsed and depositors in his Allied Bank and former employees of the Zimbabwe Mail have been knocking on his door, demanding their dues.

It looks like a pitiable end awaits Mpofu, who once flaunted his wealth unashamedly.

High office in Zimbabwe, such as being a minister, is often associated with rich pickings.

A minister is given a new Mercedes-Benz E300 and an allterrain vehicle, which set back the state by about $400 000 per person.

Ministers’ benefits are endless. They would usually include free fuel, a mansion in one of Harare’s posh suburbs, travel allowances, unlimited cellphone calls, security aides, housemaids, school fees and statefunded holidays.

It explains in part the unspoken fear many have of falling out of favour with Mugabe. It would mean a fall from a life of luxury.

Jonathan Moyo, now the higher and tertiary education minister, summarised his experience of being out of government and the party in 2005 after a fallout with Mugabe: “It’s cold outside Zanu-PF.”

Political observers say that Finance Minister Patrick Chinamasa’s attempts to twiddle with the perks of office have been seen as austerity measures.

“It is increasingly difficult to sustain their luxurious lives, which in most part depends on largesse from the government, which is now broke,” said Vivid Gwede, a Harare-based political analyst.

Chinamasa proposed measures in his recent mid-term budget statement largely meant to curb the country’s high expenditure. He also tried to trim the life of luxury office bearers have been accustomed to — proposing to cut the salaries of ministers and directors-general by 5% and 20%.

Ministers earn about $4 000 monthly.

Reaction was swift. Mugabe rejected the tweaks and Information Minister Christopher Mushowe said Chinamasa’s budget was dismissed by the cabinet.

Stern Zvorwadza, leader of the National Vendors Union of Zimbabwe, which has 5.7 million members, has little sympathy for the indebted political elite.

“Zimbabwe’s centre cannot hold any longer and the roof is crumbling,” Zvorwadza told the Sunday Times this week.

“Let them feel what they have subjected the masses of this country to: poverty and hardship.”

Will the introduction next month of a local currency in the form of bond notes — meant to end a US dollar shortage — be the salvation for the political elite?

The impunity is running out. The money is not there any more