In recent months, the Zimbabwean government has stepped up its rollout of so-called “empowerment funds,” which are largely revolving loans targeting specific groups such as war veterans, women, civil servants, and most recently, the youth. 

These initiatives are loudly touted by those in power as transformative tools designed to lift ordinary citizens out of poverty and drive economic inclusion. 

Yet, a closer examination raises a critical question: how sustainable are these funds, and more importantly, is this truly empowerment?

To properly assess this, we must first ask why Zimbabweans even need to be granted loans in the name of empowerment. 

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It is important to recall that when we were growing up in the 1980s and 1990s—having been born in 1973—our parents never needed government handouts to survive. 

My father was a schoolteacher, and my mother a nurse. 

They managed to provide for our family and live respectable lives, not through state-backed loans or so-called empowerment projects, but through gainful employment. 

The only loans I recall were mortgages from the then Central African Building Society (CABS) to purchase homes. 

These were not poverty-alleviation schemes; they were part of a broader system in which working Zimbabweans could afford dignified lives through salaries that had real value.

That was the norm for millions across the country. 

Whether one was a bus driver, a general hand, or a civil servant, their earnings were sufficient to economically empower them. 

There was no obsession with starting “projects” to supplement incomes. 

So, why today do even professionals like teachers, nurses, and civil servants need loans to survive? 

Why must they venture into side businesses to make ends meet? 

The answer is glaring. Zimbabwe has suffered a catastrophic collapse of formal employment, with over 90 percent of the population now surviving in the informal sector. 

Even those still in formal employment are grossly underpaid and can no longer rely on their salaries to feed their families, pay rent, or send their children to school.

In fact, today’s economic hardships are so widespread that even war veterans—once the pride of our liberation struggle—now require loans for basic survival. 

This is a reflection not of progress, but of national decay. 

Our economy, once admired across the continent, has been wrecked through decades of mismanagement, corruption, and poor governance. 

Instead of sound industrial policy, we’ve witnessed massive de-industrialization. 

Thousands of companies have shut down over the past two decades, and investor confidence has plummeted. 

The once-thriving manufacturing sector has collapsed. 

A country that once fed itself now imports basic foodstuffs.

Every year, about 300,000 students complete secondary school. 

Of these, fewer than 20 percent proceed to A-level, and an even smaller number make it to university. 

Even for the thousands who graduate from Zimbabwean universities each year, very few will find formal employment. 

The rest are forced into vending, cross-border trading, or risky migration in search of better opportunities. 

Some, especially the most vulnerable, fall into drug and alcohol abuse. 

That is the tragic future this nation has handed its youth.

Yet, Zimbabwe is not a poor country. 

We are blessed with an abundance of natural resources—gold, platinum, diamonds, lithium, and more. 

These minerals are in high demand globally, and yet our youth sell airtime on street corners, and university graduates line up outside embassies hoping for visas to escape the economic nightmare. 

Those who should be enjoying the fruits of national wealth are instead spectators to their country’s looting. 

Meanwhile, a politically connected elite continues to amass insane wealth through dubious government tenders and opaque deals. 

These individuals—referred to locally as “Zvigananda”—flaunt their riches in the faces of struggling Zimbabweans, often without shame or accountability. 

They boast designer clothes, flashy cars, and mansions, even as public hospitals crumble and civil servants can’t afford transport to work.

Ironically, some of these same elites are now fronting the “empowerment fund” schemes. 

President Emmerson Mnangagwa recently launched a $15 million youth fund to much fanfare. 

A month prior, a $1.5 million fund was introduced for war veterans. 

On paper, these appear to be commendable initiatives. 

But let’s consider the numbers. 

Zimbabwe has an estimated 13 million people under the age of 35. 

If the $15 million youth fund were distributed evenly, that amounts to just over a dollar per person. 

Even if only a fraction of the youth receive the money through the revolving fund model, how many can realistically receive enough to start viable income-generating projects? 

Not many.

The truth is, only a handful will benefit—and even then, probably those connected to the powerful. 

The rest are simply drawn in for political optics. 

The thousands of young people who gathered in Harare to “celebrate” this fund will not see a cent. 

Their hopes have been sold for the price of a photo-op. 

A similar scenario has unfolded with the war veterans’ fund. 

Since its launch, barely one percent of registered ex-combatants have benefited. 

Once again, history suggests that those truly in need will be excluded, while politically connected beneficiaries enrich themselves.

Moreover, how can pushing poor Zimbabweans into debt be considered empowerment? 

Under Zimbabwe’s volatile economy, where inflation is rampant and the currency is unstable, most of these loans are doomed to fail. 

Borrowers may default, lose their assets, and be worse off than before. 

Empowerment should not come in the form of short-term loans in a collapsed economy. 

What is needed is real, structural economic reform that restores the dignity of work and guarantees equitable access to national wealth.

True empowerment is when a nurse, teacher, or bus driver can live comfortably on their salary, just as our parents did. 

It is when young people can graduate from university and find jobs in a functioning economy. 

Empowerment is when citizens do not depend on politically driven loan schemes but thrive through a stable economic system built on transparency, good governance, and justice.

Zimbabweans must reject this patchwork of short-lived schemes and demand lasting solutions. 

That means tackling the root causes of our crisis: ending corruption, reforming economic policy, and ensuring fair distribution of our vast resources. 

We must stop being content with crumbs and demand our rightful share of the national cake. 

As long as we remain silent, those in power will continue to treat us as afterthoughts—dispensable and voiceless.

Empowerment is not a loan. It is economic justice.

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