As a Zimbabwean student studying in South Africa, land reform is one debate I find myself engaging in more than any other. It is striking how frequently this conversation is reduced to a simplistic and uncritical refrain: “If we do land reform, South Africa will become like Zimbabwe.” This argument transcends economic concerns, functioning as a political weapon, an ideological construct, and even a psychoanalytic fixation. Those who invoke Zimbabwe as a cautionary tale rarely engage in a thoughtful analysis of the nuances surrounding land reform. They fail to ask critical questions: Why did Zimbabwe’s land reform struggle in certain areas? What factors contributed to its challenges? More importantly, how can South Africa approach land redistribution in a way that learns from Zimbabwe’s missteps while considering its unique historical and socio-political context? Instead, Zimbabwe is invoked as a spectre, a ghost that prematurely closes off any attempt to address historical injustices through reform.
This fixation keeps people in a state of perpetual fear, preventing them from engaging in the critical process of learning and questioning how to approach land reform differently, all while coloniality and capitalism continue to exploit their resources, safeguarded by the haunting spectre of Zimbabwe’s so-called failure. Case studies, however, are not merely success stories; they also encompass failures, serving as vital learning sites. As noted by Fernando Sousa, “Learning from failure is a crucial aspect of the case study approach, as it allows for identifying factors that hinder success and the development of strategies to overcome them.”
The Colonial Production of Fear
The fear of becoming like Zimbabwe is not simply a reaction to economic collapse or political instability; it is embedded within a broader historical process through which capital seizes land and resources, controls narratives, disciplines memory, and erects barriers against decolonial possibilities. Capitalism does not merely accumulate wealth—it accumulates discourses that render alternative futures inconceivable. In this narrative, Zimbabwe is not just portrayed as a failed state; it becomes a site of ideological closure, a ghostly deterrent designed to suppress any challenge to the existing order.
This phenomenon is not a recent development. As a history student, I recognise the colonial logic at play. Take the colonisation of Mashonaland before Matabeleland, for example. One of the primary fears driving the colonisation of Matabeleland was its potential to serve as a symbol of resistance and independence. Colonial conquest operates on two levels—territorial and epistemic. It seeks to construct a homogeneous field in which no alternative visions of liberation can take root. The same logic persists today: Zimbabwe is cast as an unredeemable failure to discourage any attempt at radical economic transformation elsewhere, ensuring that the structures of colonial and capitalist domination remain intact.
The Betrayal of Intellectuals
Perhaps most disheartening is that even some intellectuals, who should be at the forefront of critical thought, acquiesce to this prevailing logic. They fail to interrogate the complexities of Zimbabwe’s land reform with the intellectual rigour that history demands. Instead, they embrace the reductionist narrative that land reform is the issue—not how it was implemented. However, genuine intellectual work goes beyond the mere reproduction of hegemonic fears. It demands that we confront more profound questions, such as:
- What structural conditions precipitated the crisis in Zimbabwe?
- How did external forces, including sanctions and financial isolation, exacerbate the situation?
- What political miscalculations occurred, and what lessons can be drawn to prevent their repetition?
- How can South Africa pursue land reform in a just, economically sustainable, and historically informed way?
To refuse to engage these questions is to abdicate intellectual responsibility. It is to adopt the mindset of the colonial conqueror, who did not question the legitimacy of dispossessing African landowners but focused solely on the most effective means of entrenching that dispossession. When intellectuals today fail to analyse Zimbabwe beyond the superficial narrative of failure critically, they become ideological gatekeepers for capital, perpetuating a status quo that shields entrenched power structures from scrutiny or challenge.
The Psychoanalytic Dimension: Zimbabwe as a Trauma Object
From a psychoanalytic perspective, Zimbabwe has become what Lacan might term a trauma object—a projection surface for anxieties surrounding radical economic transformation. South African elites, whether black or white, engage in what Frantz Fanon would describe as epidermalised fear—a deeply ingrained and visceral response that views land redistribution as an inherently catastrophic act. This response is not grounded in rational economic analysis; it is a conditioned reflex, an affective reaction shaped by decades of ideological conditioning.
But why should Africa alone bear the weight of this trauma? Why is there no similar invocation of other historical examples of land reform—such as those in post-war South Korea, Japan, or China—where redistribution led to economic growth? Why is the failure of land reform in Zimbabwe framed as an inevitability, while the successes in other contexts are treated as exceptions? The answer is clear: the function of the Zimbabwe narrative is not primarily intellectual but political. Its purpose is to discipline those who seek justice by rendering their goals unthinkable and to manufacture consent for the ongoing processes of dispossession and inequality.
Beyond the Ghost of Zimbabwe: Toward an Intellectually Honest Debate
To truly engage with the question of land reform, we must exorcise the ghost of Zimbabwe—not by denying its struggles, but by refusing to let it become an intellectual dead-end that stifles critical thought. We must confront the historical necessity of land redistribution and its political complexities with a commitment to nuance and truth. If Zimbabwe’s land reform faltered in certain areas, let us study those missteps with honesty and rigour. If external forces, such as sanctions and isolation, played a significant role, let us analyse their impact without hesitation. But above all, let us reject the idea that historical redress is unattainable simply because those who profit from injustice have constructed a cautionary tale to shield their interests.
If we allow ourselves to be governed by the same fears that once justified the dispossession of our ancestors, we are no different from those who wielded arms to displace them. Land reform is not an economic abstraction but an urgent historical imperative. And history does not move forward through fear, but through the courage to confront it, to question the narratives imposed upon us, and to imagine and build new, more just futures. Only then can we begin to rewrite the story of land, power, and justice in Africa—one not shaped by the ghosts of the past, but by the boldness of our collective vision for the future.
Charline Prazen Chikomo is a Mandela Rhodes Scholar (2024) with a Master’s in Development Policy from UCT. His work explores educational reforms, decoloniality, and development discourse in Africa. The perspectives shared in this article are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of The Southern African Times.
