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Elliot Ziwira @the Bookstore
“Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”, William Shakespeare observes in “Hamlet”.

Denmark stinks, he aptly observes, because all and sundry have decided to throw morals to the dogs, either by default or by design. Yes, everyone has become corrupt, but why? Could it be hunger or it is simply selfishness? If a whole society becomes corrupt, where would one cast aspersions?

If allowed to persist, corruption, a vice that has besotted humanity since time immemorial, becomes a cancer that has the capacity to eat into the core of national ethos.

The Bible condemns it in Isaiah 1v4 where it says: “Ah, sinful nation; a people laden with iniquity, off-spring of evildoers, sons who deal corruptly. They have forsaken the Holy One of Israel; they are utterly estranged.” Indeed those who deal corruptly will never find favour with the Lord.

Because it creates acrimony among siblings and friends, corruption is destructive as it culminates in anger, poverty, despondency and frustration. This is especially so because resources are not distributed equally as the minority elite benefit at the expense of the majority. Government, which is the biggest loser, finds itself grappling to make ends meet as revenue that it is supposed to tap into miraculously disappear into the pockets of individuals.

As a vice with the capacity to run down the country, corruption is condemned with the contempt it deserves in “Writing Still” (2003) edited by Irene Staunton, especially in Shimmer Chinodya’s “Queues”, Clement Chihota’s “The Kiss” and Brian Chikwava’s “Seventh Street Alchemy”. Chirikure Chirikure’s “Hakurarwi” (1998) takes a swipe at the vice with equal measure, as he explores society’s double standards in dealing with culprits; with the small fish wallowing in abject poverty on the shores getting the brunt, while the big fish of prey are deified.

In “The Kiss”, Chihota lambasts the tendency by individuals to line their pockets at the expense of the nation using military or political muscles. It is the story of Hofisi; a shrewd and unscrupulous dealer who “sells anything” to make a quick buck. To out manoeuvre the security system at the Harare International Airport, he uses his beautiful wife Majaira as a decoy to get a diamond from Mike, his counterpart from the DRC, through a kiss – a deep and passionate one.

When asked by his wife why he has to use her instead of any other woman, he tells her that even though “at least four immigration people are in on the deal”, he has to avoid taking chances because, “the diamond you are receiving has passed through the pockets of army generals and the briefcases of ministers of state. . . High up guys (who) hate risks because they have a long way to fall in the event that something makes them slip” and he does “not want to be that something”.

Such avarice which makes one throw caution to the wind and morality to the dogs is as deplorable as it is destructive. Although Hofisi inevitably loses his wife to Mike as a result of that passionate moment, he does not seem moved by it which shows the extent of his moral bankruptcy and how low he has sunk as an individual.

The fact that he protects people in high places and does not want to expose them by being “that something” that derails their gravy train is tantamount to treason as he sides with the strong against the weak and vulnerable who suffer as a result of the same rot that he benefits from and protects.

Diamonds are a national resource which should benefit everyone, but what obtains on the ground would even make the devil a saint. Millions of dollars, nay billions, are lost to individuals and millions of people are relegated to scavengers, as they watch their glittering dreams tottering to the horizon.

In “Seventh Street Alchemy”, Brian Chikwava takes a swipe at corruption in the Police and other Government departments like the Registrar General’s office. He explores the tribulations of a 50-year-old harlot, Fiso who finds herself in the trade because of her lack of basic documents like a birth certificate and a national ID.

Like most people of her ilk, her daughter Sue cannot acquire such documents. Such people like Sue and Fiso are “officially never born and so will never die”. Unable to acquire the documents in a proper way Fiso resorts to bribery, as she realises that it is the only way out. However, she could not find her contact Mrs Shava at their rendezvous as agreed and in her ire she confronts the Registrar General and tells him about the rot in the middle of his abode.

Instead of being humbled by her nerve, he calls the police to arrest her for public disorder. It is this arrogance which prompts Fiso to unleash a tantrum at him: “Your staff members all want bribes. I come to you and all you can do is get rid of me! I suppose you want a bribe too?”

Upon arrest it becomes impossible to prosecute her because she does not exist as there are no records for her. To solve the problem “the officer called the Registrar General who offered to quickly process an ID, if it was in the interest of facilitating the course of justice”. One really wonders what form of justice it is that seem bent on destruction instead of construction which is the very incarnation of the devil.

Chikwava also pokes at the rot in the police as he examines how trivial issues are given prominence because of their lucrative nature. He exposes this vice through two officers who engage themselves in cajoling a “young musician to part with some of his dollars for having gone through red traffic lights”, ignoring a street urchin who is fatally hit by “an offending” motorist who hands over a “handful of notes to pacify” them and he is let free.

When challenged by Anna to help the kid they say: “We are off duty now, madam, call Central Police Station”.

Though artistes play their part in exposing this scourge known as corruption, we as Zimbabweans should also play our part.

The world like what Shakespeare once said “is a stage where every man must play a part”. What part have you played as a citizen or what role do you intend to partake in the war against corruption? Let us all be challenged by Martin Luther King Junior who observed that: “The greatest tragedy of our time is not the few who have destroyed but the vast majority who have sat idly by”.

In “Hakurarwi” (1998) Chirikure Chirikure purveys humorously how procrastination, prevarication and tolerance bane on progress and regeneration. Society is tolerant to the big fish that gorges on the national cake with dire consequences, and mean on the tilapia which ekes out a living on scarce crumbs.

In the poem “Mbavha ngaipondwe” the poet examines the concept of thievery in a satirical way as a whole community converge on a fowl run to meet out instant justice on a mere chicken thief who steals to feed his hungry family.

The unfortunate thief dies, which prompts the poet to say: “Kana mbavha mbatwi dzichipondwa,/kubva mbavha ngaipondwe zvayo!/Asika, ko uyo anoba makatarisa?/munomusiireiko akadaro uyo uyo?/zvekare munotomunamata saMwari?”

If it is the law that a thief must be punished, even by death, let it be so, but why is it that the law is selective? The petty thief is considered a criminal and the corrupt chef is deified as a businessman. Who is a criminal here, the poor thief? How about him who steals from under your noses with such ruinous consequences?

The rot starts and ends with us as a people, and the spade should be called by its proper name, not merely as a garden tool. As highlighted in the title poem, “Hakurarwi” (we shall not sleep) before the rot is nipped out because we cannot tolerate it forever.

How could a community tolerate a recalcitrant son who slaughters the cow in milk that everyone relies on because he wants to give his hoity-toity girlfriend its udder? He is left to his whims until he defecates in the communal well, and that is when the community is awakened to the possibility of disaster.

It is time really, that the flower buds are seen on the fruit trees of Eden because, as espoused by Baltasar Gracion, “all that belongs to us is time; even he who has nothing else has that.” Hence, the custodians of our time as a nation should not let us down by watching it ticking away without doing anything about it.

As George Orwell writes in “Animal Farm” (1945), “All animals are equal” but could it be that “some are more equal than others?”