By Sisonke Msimang
I spent a lot of time in Zimbabwe
in the mid-2000s, as the head of a human rights organization that worked across
Southern Africa . Even at the height of the
political turmoil in 2008, when opposition figures were assaulted in the
aftermath of a stolen election, I was often struck by how deeply respectful
Zimbabweans were of their president. Many people were obviously unhappy with
Robert Mugabe’s leadership. Still, it was not unusual to hear people reference
his role in the independence movement, to point out his clear intellectual
gifts and his efforts to advance education.
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| *Grace Mugabe |
They had no such respect, however, for
his wife. Grace Mugabe did not have a history in the liberation movement. She
had done nothing for Zimbabwe
And in a way, she ultimately did. In
the wake of the military takeover of Zimbabwe’s government last week, the
announcement that Robert Mugabe is no longer in charge of the country, his
subsequent refusal to step down and his ultimate resignation, there is much
uncertainty in the country. What is clear is that Grace Mugabe was at the
center of the discontent that sparked the surprise coup; the goal, in removing
the 93-year-old Mr. Mugabe, was to ensure that she would not ascend to the presidency
after his death.
The vitriol against Ms. Mugabe since
the coup has been remarkable: Her whereabouts is unknown — a testament to the
fact that it is her physical safety rather than his that is in question in
these tense times. Some have gone so far as to suggest that her punishment
ought to be worse than her husband’s, ignoring the fact that it is Mr. Mugabe
who is primarily responsible for the state of the country. There have been
calls for her to be expelled from Zimbabwe
There is little
admirable or democratic about Ms. Mugabe. She is no feminist hero; she has been
deeply divisive, and her kleptocracy has been unquestionably bad for the
country. And yet the position she finds herself in today speaks to the
increasingly complicated role of Africa ’s
post-independence first ladies.
Over the course of the two decades since she entered public life,
Ms. Mugabe garnered a well-deserved reputation for combativeness. She publicly
humiliated key leaders; she has been embroiled in a range of personal scandals
because of her volatile temper. The first lady of Zimbabwe
In contrast to her husband, however, who has been an anachronism
for a long time, Ms. Mugabe cut a distinctly modern figure. She was just 31
when she married Mr. Mugabe in 1996; at 52, she remains relatively youthful.
While her husband gained his power and credibility from his role in the
independence fight, Ms. Mugabe built her own base among a set of politicians in
the ruling party, ZANU-PF, who comprised the country’s business elites, most of
whom were too young to have participated in independence. (The people who
opposed her most fiercely are veterans of the movement.)
As her husband became more fragile,
Ms. Mugabe seemed to grow more politically robust. And yet, she was also
growing increasingly vulnerable. She was a woman at the center of her country’s
politics, one who did not owe her position to having worked her way up through
the ranks. (Mr. Mugabe formally declared her head of the women’s wing of
ZANU-PF in 2014; before that, she had never held a position in politics.) In
recent years, she had alienated powerful figures. Had her husband died in
office without securing her position, she would have faced an uncertain future
— either in jail or in exile once the inevitable post-Mugabe purge began.
Even without the worst of her behavior
— the abuses of power, the extravagance — it is hard to imagine that a figure
like Grace Mugabe could have fit comfortably into the role of first lady in a
country like Zimbabwe, where the legacy of the independence movement still
looms large. Her willingness to berate senior politicians, her
ostentatiousness, her lack of reverence for male members of the ruling party —
all of it put her outside the bounds of how an African first lady is expected
to conduct herself.
The nationalist discourse of many independence
movements, which still shapes African politics today, has little room for
women. It saw those who took up arms during the fight as radical departures
from the norm, who could be accepted only under the special circumstances of
guerrilla warfare. After freedom, they were expected to go back to their roles
as wives and mothers. First ladies were no exception; they, especially, were
expected to embody national unity. Winnie Mandela, who famously refused to play
second fiddle to Nelson Mandela, was treated like a pariah during their divorce
process in 1996 and vilified afterward; it’s only now that South Africa
If the mantle of first lady never
quite suited the unapologetically outspoken Winnie Mandela, it may have sat
better on Mr. Mandela’s third wife, Graca Machel, the widow of President Samora
Machel of Mozambique
Grace Mugabe has fared particularly
poorly compared with Sally Mugabe, Robert Mugabe’s first wife, who was the
quintessential African first lady. Sally Mugabe was well educated. She had
strong independence credentials, having been imprisoned for speaking out against
the colonial rule of what was then Southern Rhodesia .
And when her husband became prime minister in 1980, she quickly stepped into
the maternal role: She was known across the country as Amai, or “mother.”
Grace Mugabe is no Winnie Mandela. She
does not begin to approximate the integrity of Graca Machel. Still, it is worth
noting the dangers faced by women married to prominent men, in Africa and
elsewhere: When they don’t fit a certain mold, they are often vilified — even
those who don’t cast nearly as villainous a figure as Grace Mugabe. This week,
Mr. Mugabe chose to resign after the country’s parliament began impeachment
proceedings — a remarkably gentle procedure to remove a notoriously brutal man.
Ms. Mugabe, from her unknown location, awaits news of what party officials have
promised will be her prosecution.
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