Festive Birth of a Nation

A new vision for new hearts, and lots of problems after a long war

Africa's 51st independent state was born at a midnight ceremony that was almost like a love-in. Representatives of 96 nations, headed by Britain's Prince Charles, were among the 40,000 spectators* who jammed a football stadium in Salisbury (soon to be renamed Harare, after a famed tribal chief), as the Union Jack was lowered for the last time in what had been Rhodesia. In its place rose the multistriped banner of Zimbabwe. To honor the historic occasion, there were tribal dances and a parade that seemed to symbolize the peaceful end to seven years of civil war: white Rhodesian soldiers marched smartly into the stadium alongside fatigues-clad black guerrillas whom they had fought for so long. There was a brief moment of magic when Prime Minister Robert Mugabe lit an eternal flame to commemorate the 27,000 people of his new nation who had died during the war.

In a speech to the nation shortly before the ceremony, Mugabe once again vowed his government's commitment to peace and reconciliation. "Tomorrow we are born again," he said, "born again collectively as a nation of Zimbabweans. Our new mind must have a new vision and our hearts a new love and a new spirit that must unite and not divide." Some of his words were explicitly addressed to the country's 200,000 whites. "If yesterday I fought you as my enemy," he said, "today you have become a friend and ally with the same national interest." Mugabe graciously praised Lord Soames, the British governor who had ruled the country from the cease-fire through the elections and until independence, as "a great man, good friend and counselor."

The festive mood was marred by only a few minor incidents. Two people were killed and 27 wounded by a grenade thrown by youths in a township outside the capital; 234 inmates overpowered their jailers and escaped from Salisbury's Central Prison. Nonetheless, the majority of Zimbabweans, black or white, probably agreed with Soames' assessment that "this has been nothing less than a series of miracles. The greatest among them is that there is now the positive promise of rebuilding this country, with Mr. Mugabe encouraging everyone to help."

Just how the new government intends to shape the future of the war-torn nation remains unclear. Mugabe has announced few specific policies, and according to several Cabinet members, will probably not do so fully for another six months. But there is no doubt about his most urgent priorities: removing all racist institutions, reconstructing the country's devastated rural areas and redressing the present 10-to-1 ratio between white and black incomes.

The government is considering some partial nationalization programs, like reclaiming ownership of mineral lands but leasing the mining operations back to their present white managements. Also under study are plans to establish self-sufficient agricultural cooperatives on newly acquired land. But Mugabe has renounced the idea of sweeping nationalization and expropriations. "We have recognized that this is a capitalistic country," he declared last week, adding inscrutably that "you cannot nationalize the structure and hope to achieve the goals of socialism."

Mugabe's goals will be especially hard to achieve in the wake of a ruinous war. The country is virtually bankrupt and in debt to white-ruled South Africa for $350 million. The war turned nearly 850,000 into homeless refugees, many of whom live in the rubber-tent slums of urban shanty towns. An extra 170,000 refugees remain in Mozambique and Zambia. More than half the schools have been closed, and nearly 420,000 school-age blacks are uneducated. A third of the 3 million African-owned herd has been lost through disease and theft. The normally abundant corn crop has been savaged by severe drought; about 200,000 people are dependent on emergency Red Cross food shipments.

The cost of repairing war damage and financing development is now estimated to be $3 billion, much of which will have to come from foreign aid. Yet hard-cash pledges from the West have fallen far short of that goal. Britain is the largest donor; it has promised to give $166.5 million over the next three years. The U.S. will provide only $15 million this year, and is seeking between $25 million and $30 million for fiscal 1981. The United Nations has offered $140 million in refugee aid. Pondering these modest sums, a few Mugabe associates wonder ironically whether this is the result of the Prime Minister's moderation. As one senior government figure put it, "If we had turned to Moscow after the election, I assure you we would have been drowning in dollars and pounds now."

Yet Zimbabwe is far better off than neighboring Zambia and Mozambique. Naturally endowed with fertile soil and abundant mineral resources, the country also has a strong manufacturing sector, developed after international sanctions were imposed following the 1965 Unilateral Declaration of Independence. With the trade boycott lifted, economists predict that the economy will grow by 3% this year and by 8% in 1981.

Perhaps the gravest threat to his regime comes from the 84,000 armed men, in both the guerrilla and conventional forces, who must be fashioned into a single national army of no more than 24,000. This means finding new jobs and persuading thousands of seasoned fighters to relinquish their arms. The first ambitious efforts to integrate the rival armies have had mixed results; some training camps have reported persistent tensions and disciplinary problems among the guerrillas. Another potential threat to future stability: about 5,500 guerrillas loyal to Joshua Nkomo, Mugabe's partner in the former Patriotic Front, refuse to return from their bases in Zambia, largely because of suspicions arising from their leader's marginal role in the new government.

The picture is hardly brighter among the regular troops of the former Rhodesian government. Some 100 middle-ranking white officers, out of 800 active during the war, have handed in their resignations. More than 900 members of the elite Selous Scouts have quit, and many of them have joined the South African Defense Forces. Not even the influence of Lieut. General Peter Walls, the Rhodesian armed forces chief who was named last week to a joint military command, has fully restored confidence among the white officer corps.

Mugabe also faces a problem in containing black expectations. Explains Eddison Zvobgo, Minister for Local Government and Housing: "Our people must understand that we are coming out of a war. This period will have to be one of belt tightening and self-reliance." No sooner had Mugabe taken office last month than his new government was hit by a series of strikes in the textile, clothing, electronics and food industries. The strikes were swiftly put down by a combination of reason and rule. After dispatching his Labor Minister on a nationwide tour to hear the workers' grievances, Mugabe angrily described their actions as "nothing short of criminal." Sounding much like a hard-nosed conservative, he declared that "the primary function of any government is to ensure the permanence of peace through the maintenance of law and order." The strikes kindled deep resentment among Mugabe's followers, some of whom charged that they had been politically inspired by labor organizers loyal to Nkomo.

No one in Mugabe's camp accuses Nkomo personally of trying to sabotage the government. But Nkomo, who is serving as Minister of Home Affairs and Police, is clearly unhappy over the shabby treatment his party has received since its electoral defeat. Only three of 24 Cabinet posts and one of 20 available Senate seats were given to Nkomo men. Party rivalries are further exacerbated by the traditional tribal enmity between Nkomo's Ndebele and Mugabe's Shona supporters. Says Willie Musarurwa, Nkomo's longtime press spokesman: "What the Prime Minister must do is make our people feel that they belong. People who have played a very strong role are being left out. The most important thing is unity."

The birth of Mugabe's Zimbabwe has stimulated a new debate in neighboring South Africa, the continent's last bastion of white minority rule. South African leaders now face mounting pressure both from within and without to dismantle apartheid and give the country's 19 million blacks a share of political power. One sign of the assertive new black mood is a nationwide campaign to free jailed Nationalist Leader Nelson Mandela, president of the outlawed African National Congress (ANC). Even some progovernment Afrikaans newspapers and business leaders have joined with blacks in arguing that the government must negotiate with Mandela and other influential militants "before it is too late."

Steadfastly refusing to treat with Mandela, whom he calls an "arch-Marxist," South Africa's Prime Minister Pieter W. Botha nonetheless began advising his countrymen to "adapt or die" even before Mugabe's landslide victory. He endorsed certain racial reforms in the labor field and began pushing for a constitutional revision that would give nonwhites some limited political voice. But such gestures fall far short of black demands, and Botha is reluctant to press for more substantial changes in the face of strong opposition from his National Party's right wing.

Reflecting the blacks' rising impatience, the ANC has recently intensified its sporadic guerrilla attacks on police stations, banks and other targets. There is little likelihood that the scattered incidents will escalate soon into a Zimbabwe-style civil war. With its $2.8 billion defense budget and highly trained 63,250-man armed forces, South Africa seems fully capable of backing up Botha's recent warning: "Anyone planning violence had better not try it. You will rue it."

That warning was not lost on Mugabe; after his election he pledged not to give shelter or direct aid to anti-South African guerrillas. The war-weary frontline states that supported the armies of Mugabe and Nkomo are also disinclined to extend similar hospitality to the ANC. Behind their willingness to coexist with apartheid--at least for the present--lies the fact that most of southern Africa's black nations are embarrassingly dependent on commercial and transportation links with the hated Pretoria regime.

The region's next major showdown will probably take place in Namibia (South West Africa). The huge, uranium-rich territory is administered by a South African-backed minority regime in defiance of United Nations demands for black majority rule. Botha must soon give his response to a U.N. plan for free elections and a demilitarized border zone that will separate South African defense forces from the Angola-based nationalist guerrilla force known as SWAPO. Mugabe's victory has given the South Africans pause; it suggests that SWAPO would defeat Pretoria's surrogate, the multiracial Democratic Turnhalle Alliance, in a one-man-one-vote contest. Botha must eventually make the tough choice between internationally supervised elections and an "internal" independence settlement that would almost certainly lead to U.N. sanctions--and an escalation of Namibia's 14-year-old nationalist struggle. qed

*Among the missing was former Prime Minister Ian Smith, said to be on a speaking tour of South Africa. The Soviet Union sent a low-level delegation. But conspicuously absent were envoys from East Germany, Hungary and Czechoslovakia. As proof of his determination that Zimbabwe will remain nonaligned, Mugabe had not invited them.

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