In an earlier report we referred to the residents of the informal settlement at Killarney waiting anxiously for the arrival of the police. We reported how they were so terrified of Mugabe's storm troopers who have the reputation of destroying everything in their path, that they had been persuaded to destroy their own makeshift dwellings even before the latter arrived. We called it the ultimate betrayal of his people by the dictator, who has so terrorized the poorest of the poor that they choose to demolish the only shelters they have, preferring the winter cold to the threat of unrestrained violence.
The ZANU PF forces of lawlessness and anarchy arrived on the scene on Saturday morning (June 11). On a clear, bright morning the blue-helmeted riot police could be seen at some distance as they advanced. They came in strength, wearing full riot gear and armed with AK 47 rifles. The fear on the faces of the residents was painfully evident, as they sat there helplessly besides the pathetic bundles of pots, blankets and mattresses they had assembled in compliance with the orders given. Orders, which it must be said, were totally illegal.
Killarney, 11 June 2005 : A destroyed homeThe riot police who came to clear Killarney were acting without any warrant or court order and in defiance of a statutory provision (The Urban Councils Act, section 199) that affords to the local authority alone the right to remove illegal structures (and that after due process of law and notice to those affected). The casual observer of the scene might well have concluded that the residents of Killarney had committed some gross offence, and that the police were there to enforce the law. On the contrary it was the residents who were acting within the law entirely, and the so-called agents of law enforcement who were committing a criminal offence. But the latter had the guns and a clear mandate given them by this lawless regime, and which of these defenceless, destitute people was going to dispute their authority? In similar situations across Zimbabwe, when the authority of the police or army has been questioned, the answer has been brutally simple: "We are the law now".
The riot police proceeded to destroy every dwelling in their path, knocking down flimsy walls and setting fire to thatch or any combustible material used in the structures. Their orders were evidently to leave nothing standing which could possibly be rebuilt as a shelter, and they seemed to even relish the task. The helmets and visors they wore no doubt helped to "distance" these servants of a perverted legal system from their wretched victims - men, women and children who could easily have been their own mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters. The demolition itself did not take long, and the police were soon moving on, from one village to another. Many of the residents had already fled in terror, and most of those who stayed observed the wanton destruction in a kind of stunned silence.
In one village however these uniformed thugs encountered a funeral wake. A poor "gogo" (grandmother) had lost her only son. She and the mourners gathered with her were awaiting the delivery of the body from the mortuary. They pleaded for a stay of execution, just a little time to observe the rituals of death. But no, these politicised and brutalised thugs of a heartless regime, showed no mercy. "We have our orders," they said, as though that excused the grossest human rights abuse - and proceeded to clear the dwelling and reduce the structure to rubble.
That evening a steady trickle of cars and trucks, large and small, began to arrive at Killarney, making their way over the rough tracks to where the residents were waiting, still obviously in shock. This was a rescue operation, Dunkirk style, to ferry the poor homeless to places of overnight shelter in one or other of the Bulawayo churches that had agreed to offer sanctuary. Despite the prospect of a night in the cold and the risk that Mugabe's uniformed thugs might return at any time, many of the residents were reluctant to leave without their few belongings, and not all the mattresses, pots, pans and assorted goods could be loaded that evening. A compromise was reached whereby some would stay while the most vulnerable, including the elderly and young children would be moved to places of refuge. Those involved in this little mission of mercy could hardly fail to be moved by the gratitude registered in the faces of these residents-now-turned-refugees.
As night was falling one of the drivers came across three women huddled together next to the burnt-out remains of their hut - an old gogo who must have been at least eighty years old, a middle-aged women who was mentally disabled and a younger woman, probably in her twenties, who appeared to be suffering from a condition like Down's Syndrome. Their home destroyed, whatever little security and dignity they once possessed now snatched from them, there they sat among the ruins staring uncomprehendingly at the brutal reality which this fascist regime chooses to call "Operation Murambatsvina" ("Operation Clear Away the Trash").
No doubt in ZANU PF's book they are the trash.