President Emmerson Mnangagwa is once again playing a dangerous game—this time with the very same military forces that helped him rise to power in 2017. Afraid of becoming the next victim of a coup, Mnangagwa is doing everything possible to protect himself, even if it means tearing apart the army from within. The man who once helped push out Robert Mugabe now fears the same fate from his former ally, Vice-President Constantino Chiwenga.
Mnangagwa’s latest move to hold onto power involved giving out over 100 vehicles to the Zimbabwe Defence Forces this week, part of a larger promise of 700 cars and buses. He claims it’s about “mobility,” but the real reason is much simpler—buy loyalty. These are not just gifts. They are bribes disguised as development, calculated to keep the army happy and away from Chiwenga’s influence.
This power struggle is personal. Mnangagwa and Chiwenga were once united by ambition, working together to remove Mugabe. But now, the knives are out. Chiwenga was the army chief for 14 years and remains popular among soldiers. Mnangagwa, once Defence Minister, knows the danger of letting Chiwenga gain momentum, especially with the ruling ZANU PF’s key meeting scheduled in Mutare next month. While it’s not an elective congress, Mnangagwa’s supporters plan to use it to start laying the groundwork for a third term push—openly defying the constitutional limit of 2028.
Behind closed doors, Mnangagwa is rewriting the rules. He’s removing top military commanders—some forced out, some sidelined, and others dead under suspicious circumstances. One by one, Chiwenga’s allies are being replaced. General Anselem Sanyatwe, a known Chiwenga supporter, was moved first to Tanzania as an ambassador, then made Minister of Sports, a clear demotion after a rumored coup scare in March 2025. In just eight years, Zimbabwe has cycled through five army commanders, a stark contrast to the 14-year reign of one man under Mugabe. That is not reform. It’s panic.
Mnangagwa calls it “coup-proofing.” He promotes those who are loyal over those who are competent. He rotates posts frequently to weaken internal trust among officers. He even assigns military personnel to civilian government jobs to spread control beyond the barracks. It’s not about national service—it’s about survival.
To tighten the grip, he’s creating overlapping security teams that spy on each other. No group can rise up without being seen by another. It’s a classic dictatorship tactic—divide, weaken, and rule. Loyalty is bought with cars, cash, and cushy positions. Merit is irrelevant.
Mnangagwa is also playing the tribal card. Promotions and appointments are increasingly based on ethnic lines, not performance. This tribalism poisons the army from the inside, pitting soldiers against each other based on where they come from, not what they can do. It’s dangerous, but effective—for now.
He sweetens the betrayal with the same propaganda Mugabe once used. He talks about the liberation war, national unity, and civilian rule—but only as tools to silence dissent. Soldiers are told they must protect the Republic, not demand fair wages. It’s emotional blackmail dressed as patriotism.
Since 2017, Mnangagwa has broken Chiwenga’s grip on the army. But in doing so, he has militarised every inch of Zimbabwe’s politics. The police, intelligence, and even civil offices now answer to army figures loyal to Mnangagwa. The military, once a tool of liberation, is now the final gatekeeper of tyranny.
ZANU PF no longer survives because of popularity or policy—it survives because of the army. And Mnangagwa knows it. That’s why he keeps handing out cars, shuffling generals, and rewriting the rules. He fears becoming the next Mugabe. But the irony is, by copying Mugabe’s every move, he might already be halfway there.