Looking back, it seems strange that we ever expected truth to survive here. Not because Zimbabwe is uniquely cursed, no, but because we kept insisting that honesty could flourish in a place where every incentive favoured its opposite.
Perhaps one day, when someone brave enough attempts to record our era with any sincerity, they will probably observe that the death of truth was not sudden. It came softly, through years of shrugging at small lies until the big ones no longer frightened us.
The tragedy is not that leaders lied, power has a long history of bending reality into shapes that flatter it. What broke us was how willing ordinary people became to adjust themselves to these distortions. We learned to repeat things we knew were false, simply because life moves more smoothly when you nod along. We memorised phrases that meant nothing, adopted optimism we didn’t feel, praised progress that didn’t exist.
And somewhere in that performance, we misplaced the ability to call anything by its real name.
It is almost poetic really, in a bleak way. A nation that once prided itself on political awakening slowly drifting into a fog where nothing is firm and every fact is negotiable. Truth became less of a principle and more of a nuisance. It became an inconvenience to be edited, postponed, or drowned out entirely. And in this climate, the absurd became normal. Those who asked questions were branded enemies. Those who stayed silent were considered wise. Those who pretended not to notice were rewarded for their discretion.
In hindsight, it feels naive that we ever thought a country could remain functional while treating truth as an optional ingredient. But perhaps this was always the trajectory.
A society doesn’t collapse because everyone suddenly turns malicious. Instead, it collapses when enough people become fatigued, and begin to treat lies as a kind of national lubricant (something that keeps the machinery moving even as it corrodes the gears).
There were no grand declarations when the last bits of truth slipped away. No dramatic ceremony marking its exit. It simply evaporated into the ordinary, day-by-day choices we all made. And by the time we realised how thoroughly it had disappeared, we were already living in a place where facts felt foreign and honesty felt dangerous.
Maybe future generations will marvel at how a nation once so stubbornly hopeful managed to lose something so fundamental without even raising its voice. Or maybe they won’t. Maybe they’ll inherit the silence, polished and perfected, and assume this haze is how a country is meant to feel.
After all, nothing vanishes quite as quietly as the truth. Especially when everyone decides it’s more convenient that way.
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