by TRAVIS KAVULLA Archbishop Pius Ncube, Zimbabwe's senior Catholic cleric, has toldhiscountry's sad recent history so many times that his description hasbecomemethodical. In the past decade, he recounts, "the GDP has shrunk by40percent. Farmers have left the country. Inflation has been phenomenal, around 9,000 percent now. Joblessness is over 80 percent.
The government makes only cosmetic changes, like striking off zeros from thedollar - lastyear, they chopped off three."Rarely has a country lost so much, so quickly. Once relativelyprosperous,Zimbabwe today holds two unenviable world records. The first is itsinflation rate: Prices more than double with each passing week. Theresulting scarcity, together with a high prevalence of HIV/AIDS,hasaccorded Zimbabwe its other record: the world's lowest lifeexpectancy. Afemale born today can expect an average lifetime of 34 years; amale, 37years."If you came to Bulawayo tomorrow I could bring you to cemeteries that areoverflowing," says David Coltart, an opposition member ofparliament whorepresents Bulawayo, Zimbabwe's second city and the seat of Ncube'sarchdiocese. "I imagine they look like the battlefields of theSomme must have looked like - miles and miles of earth, freshly dug andfreshly filledin."In recent months, as the economy went into freefall and the crisisgrew,Mugabe's regime became only more paranoid and prone to violence. Archbishop Ncube is one of the few Zimbabweans whose high profiles allow themto speak,if not unmolested, then with the prospect that their injury ordeath wouldcause a sensation. He has grown increasingly strident, calling fora popularuprising, and telling the *Times *of London that, in light of the"massiverisk to life" within the country, a British invasion would be justified."Zimbabweans need a bit of courage," he says. "There is so much fear. People are afraid of the cruelty of the state. People are afraid that ifthey go onthe streets in protest they will be beaten and jailed, or evenkilled.Villagers in rural areas are afraid that they will be denied access to food if they speak out. . . . The Church needs to show by example that freedom is worth risking death for."An early critic of the Mugabe regime, the archbishop has a longhistory ofputting himself in danger. In 1983, Ncube was a parish priest attheepicenter of Gukurahundi, the fanciful name (it means "the rain which washes away the chaff") given to the ethnic slaughter of 20,000 of Zimbabwe's minority Ndebele people, carried out by a North Korea-trained brigade that were directly to Mugabe. Coltart credits the young priest with"bringing in the news and writing reports when most of the church, CatholicandProtestant, was mute and petrified."In the intervening years, neither Mugabe nor Ncube has muchchanged. Mugabe remains driven by his will to hold unchallenged power, saying recently of his political opponents, "The police have the right to bash them."Thepolice did just that on March 11, beating and jailing dozens at aprayergathering called by the parliamentary opposition. Later in the day,theruling party's youth brigade stormed a hospital where some of thewoundedwere being treated and brought them at gunpoint to police stationsto betortured.The crackdown in March sent a loud warning that most Zimbabweans quietly heeded. But the Catholic Bishops' Conference broke the silence the next month, issuing a pastoral letter on Easter weekend to be read atMass andposted in all churches. Citing John Paul II's injunction to "give aname tothe root of the evils which afflict us," the bishops' letter frankly diagnosed Zimbabwe's political situation and pointed a finger at the government. Each parish was directed to hold a "Prayer Service for Zimbabwe"every Friday, indefinitely. Much of the pastoral letter was clearly the handiwork of Ncube, who has loudly blamed Zimbabwe's crisis onMugabe's"egocentricity and megalomania."Visibly enraged that the Church had not toed the line others had,Mugabeappeared soon afterwards on state television, declaring, "This is an area wewarn them not to tread." In the months since, the state press hasupped itspropaganda offensive against Ncube, labeling him "arrogant" and "apuppet"of Western powers, and accusing him of various far-fetchedmisdeeds, fromrape to distributing homosexual pornography. Catholic clergymenhave taken aplace among the foremost targets of the Central Intelligence Organization(CIO), Zimbabwe's formidable spy agency.Mugabe is nothing if not a cunning politician, and, throughout hisrule, hehas intimidated and co-opted not just politicians and industrialists, butmany clergymen as well. A report compiled by Ncube, Coltart, andothers thatdetailed the 1983 atrocities was withheld from publication by aChurch hierarchy wary of publicly challenging Mugabe. And for years,ArchbishopPatrick Chakaipa of Harare, Zimbabwe's capital, remained silent inthe faceof the regime's depredations, allowing Mugabe to claim (at Chakaipa'sfuneral Mass, no less) that Ncube had committed a "satanic"betrayal,"siding with the enemy . . . the farmers and the British."Today, the Vatican seems to have endorsed Ncube's approach, and has filled vacant bishoprics with clerics critical of the regime. But other high-ranking religious figures owe their livelihood to Mugabe. A text book example is Nolbert Kunonga. After teaching "African Christianity"at a NewYork seminary owned by the Rev. Sun Myung Moon, Kunonga returned toZimbabweas chaplain of Africa University, the country's first privatecollege."Because he was a man of the cloth, the university wasn't thinking he could be a state informer," says Liberty Mupakati, a former CIO agent who worked with the chaplain and now lives in England. In this role Kunonga excelled,dutifully informing on students and faculty. When the Anglican bishopric of Harare became vacant, the regime was determined to emplace its ownman inthe pulpit. Amidst a torrent of bribes, Kunonga was elected. In hisyears asbishop, he has been a reliable mouthpiece, firing dissentingclergy,speaking of the need to "baptize children the Zanu-PF [the rulingparty]way," and loudly promoting the government's policy of land seizure.Kunonga himself has received a large farm for his troubles. But he has alsobecome agaudy emblem of the Zimbabwean elite's excesses, calling off Sundayserviceson one occasion and telling priests to bring their flocks (andtithings) tohis 33rd wedding anniversary instead.This "worship of power" is something Ncube sees everywhere in Zimbabwe's ruling circles, and he has attempted to combat it by example.Coltart describes him as "a simple person. He doesn't have any airs. Though he's anarchbishop, you rarely see him in his role. He often drives himselfaroundin a battered old car."The archbishop's humble demeanor and decades-long reputation as anuncompromising voice for human rights make him the regime's "mostproblematic critic," Coltart says. "His comments are not viewed aspartisan,and he's been extremely difficult to attack. . . . [The government has]been pretty desperate to do something about it, because his commentshave been incredibly damaging, in Africa in particular."Hours after I spoke to the archbishop by phone, the deputy sheriffofBulawayo arrived at St. Mary's Cathedral to serve Ncube with asummons. Intow was a gaggle of media personnel from the state-controlled (andonly)television channel, as well as the two state-controlled (and only)nationalnewspapers. The next day's banner headline read: "Pius NcubeShamed."Photographs were printed - nine in all, the most damaging showingthe fuzzyimage of a man claimed to be Ncube with a woman in various statesofundress. The stories claimed that the photographs were taken by a hidden camera installed in the archbishop's bedroom.Evidence-tampering and politically motivated prosecutions arehardlynovelties in Zimbabwe. In 2004, Morgan Tsvangirai, the oppositionleader,was found not guilty on treason charges after a judge found thatthe centralpiece of evidence, a video recording made by CIO agents inMontreal, hadbeen doctored.Still, it is hard to tell what impact the allegations, if proven orperceived to be true, will have. Some are not optimistic. Mupakati,theformer CIO agent, says, "He's a church leader, and his credibility exists onmoral grounds. I think he's more or less finished." The hopeful argue thegovernment's tactics will be seen as desperate and hypocritical.
RobertMugabe, after all, fathered two children with his secretary Grace,a marriedwoman 35 years his junior, while his first wife was succumbing to cancer.Coltart says the cleric enjoys an "enormous well of support," and points toa parishioner, interviewed by Voice of America, who noted thatNcube "hasnever condemned human frailty, but he has always condemned evil."On the day the scandal breaks, Ncube sounds exhausted. "It isimpossible tovote out Mugabe," he replies when asked about the elections scheduled fornext year. He says many Zimbabweans are simply too physically weakto resistthe government, and acknowledges that his hopes for foreign intervention amount to wishful thinking. Asked to predict how Zimbabwe's crisis will end, the archbishop sighs. "I don't know. I just don't know."
Mr. Kavulla is Associate Editor of National Review and a 2007-08 Gates CambridgeScholar in African History.
