Chiwenga accused of treason as ZANU-PF succession crisis explodes
Zimbabwean Vice President Constantino Chiwenga has been accused of making “treasonous statements” against the Constitution and President Emmerson Mnangagwa, the very man he helped install eight years ago.
Image: File
Zimbabwe’s ruling party is eating itself alive. What began as a quiet rivalry between two men who once toppled a dictator has now erupted into open warfare, with Vice President Constantino Chiwenga accused of making “treasonous statements” against the Constitution and President Emmerson Mnangagwa, the very man he helped install eight years ago.
As the ZANU-PF National People’s Conference looms in Mutare this week, the gloves are off. The succession fight that insiders once whispered about in dark corridors is now spilling into the public domain, fed by leaks, propaganda, and political theatre.
At the centre of the storm is Chiwenga, the retired general-turned-politician who, in November 2017, led “Operation Restore Legacy,” ousting Robert Mugabe and paving the way for Mnangagwa’s rise. Now, the same man accuses Mnangagwa of betraying that legacy.
In a confidential memo dated October 7, 2025, and since leaked online, Chiwenga accused Mnangagwa of “repeating the sins of the past,” claiming the president had turned ZANU-PF into a personal empire bankrolled by corrupt businessmen. He alleged that Mnangagwa’s allies, Kudakwashe Tagwirei, Wicknell Chivhayo, Scott Sakupwanya, and Delish Nguwaya, had looted over US$3.2 billion from public funds.
“We took a bold step in 2017 to remove a leader who had turned ZANU-PF into a personal fiefdom,” Chiwenga wrote. “Yet today, history is repeating itself in the most shameful way.”
But instead of rallying support, the letter detonated in his face. Justice Minister Ziyambi Ziyambi responded with a stinging rebuttal, dismissing Chiwenga’s claims as “reckless, baseless, and bordering on treason.”
“The author presents emotional, incisive allegations without evidence,” Ziyambi wrote. “Operation Restore Legacy was a collective national effort, not the act of a single man. Those branded as criminals today were patriotic contributors to national stability.”
It was more than just a rebuttal; it was a public humiliation. Ziyambi’s response cast Chiwenga not as a whistle-blower but as a bitter man consumed by ambition, a general without an army trying to fight a war that no longer exists.
Once hailed as the power behind Mnangagwa’s throne, Chiwenga has become a man politically marooned. The commanders who once stood beside him during the 2017 coup are retired or co-opted. The businessmen who bankrolled his ambitions now orbit the President. Even his loyalists in the military are said to be quietly calculating their survival rather than his return.
In recent months, Chiwenga has resorted to information warfare, planting so-called intelligence leaks and “top-secret” dossiers meant to discredit Mnangagwa’s allies. From the Intelligence Risk Assessment Document (IRAD) to fabricated Treasury payment records, his campaign has flooded social media with allegations of corruption and state capture. Each was quickly debunked, yet together they form a pattern, a desperate man hurling accusations in the hope that one will stick.
Ziyambi’s legal analysis dismantled them all. He accused Chiwenga of hypocrisy, pointing out that many of the contracts and programmes he now denounces were approved by the same Cabinet he sits in. He went further, warning that such “reckless political agitation” could amount to subversion.
The statement was clear: Chiwenga’s rebellion is not about reform, it’s about power.
Behind the noise, the Vice President’s public composure belies private panic. His staged appearances alongside his military wife, Colonel Miniyothabo Baloyi, are meant to project discipline and unity. But within ZANU-PF, insiders say these displays only highlight his isolation, a man relying on optics to mask dwindling influence.
“Chiwenga’s problem is that he believes 2017 can happen again,” said a senior party official. “But this time, there’s no army, no public anger, and no legitimacy for another rescue mission.”
Still, his proxies, exiled figures like Blessed “Bombshell” Geza and Jealousy Mawarire, continue to amplify his message online, repackaging 2017’s rhetoric of “national rescue” for a digital audience. Their livestreams and Telegram channels have become echo chambers of disinformation and nostalgia.
But even among those sympathetic to Chiwenga, there’s growing unease. His latest outburst has effectively declared war on the system that once protected him, a system that has already moved on.
The real battle, insiders say, will unfold in Mutare this week, where Mnangagwa’s camp is expected to push resolutions anchoring his leadership until 2030. Chiwenga’s faction is fighting back, branding it unconstitutional and a betrayal of the liberation legacy.
“The Mutare conference will decide whether ZANU-PF survives as a party or becomes a personality cult,” said one political analyst. “But make no mistake, this is no ideological debate. It’s a succession war dressed up as principle.”
In 2017, Chiwenga helped topple a president in the name of the Constitution. In 2025, he’s being accused of betraying it.
The irony is bitter. The soldier who once saved the revolution now stands accused of plotting against it, and the man he made king is now using the very Constitution Chiwenga claimed to defend to crush him.
Eight years after the coup that promised renewal, Zimbabwe is once again trapped in the same cycle of intrigue, paranoia, and betrayal. The ghosts of 2017 have returned, and this time, they’ve come for their maker.