By Vimbai Malinganiza

AS the continent celebrates Africa Day on May 25, marking the founding of the Organisation of African Unity (OAU) — now the African Union (AU) — this year’s theme, “Justice for Africans and People of African Descent Through Reparations”, casts the spotlight on longstanding demands for redress. For Zimbabwe, the occasion brings renewed focus to its own historical journey and the ongoing struggle to address the legacies of colonialism and how the past continues to shape the present.

This year’s Africa Day theme is not merely a slogan; it is a call to action that resonates deeply within the Zimbabwean context, especially as the African Union’s Agenda 2063 envisions a continent free from colonial legacies.

Zimbabwe’s history is one of defiance against colonial oppression. Colonised by British settlers in the late 19th century, the country endured nearly a century of brutal land dispossession, racial subjugation, forced labour, and economic exploitation.

Under the settler-colonial regime of Southern Rhodesia, the indigenous African majority was reduced to second-class citizenship through a system of legalised dispossession and racial subjugation.

Millions of hectares of fertile ancestral land were forcibly seized under laws like the Land Apportionment Act of 1930, which reserved over half the country’s arable land for fewer than five percent  of the white population, pushing black communities into overcrowded, drought-prone ‘Native Reserves’. Entire villages were uprooted without compensation, with families forced to carry their belongings on foot for miles to barren lands.

For instance, in the villages of Hurungwe District in Mashonaland West Province, the legacy of colonial injustice is still being felt not just in the land, but in the dignity and structure of indigenous leadership itself.

The story of Headman Mzilawempi is one among many, but it is a stark reminder of how the colonial project in Zimbabwe tore through the heart of African political and cultural systems. Before he was demoted to headman, Mzilawempi was a chief, in the area that came to be known as Rhodesdale Estate in the Midlands Province after colonisation. His authority, like that of other traditional leaders, was rooted in ancestral legitimacy and community trust. But all of that changed in the early 1950s.

In 1953, Mzilawempi and his people were forcibly evicted from their ancestral lands to make way for white commercial farmers, many of them former British soldiers rewarded with African land for their service in World War II. These removals were not just about land; they were a deliberate attempt to dismantle African power structures. Mzilawempi was stripped of his chieftaincy and reclassified as a headman, — his status downgraded, his authority diluted and his history erased in the eyes of the colonial administration.

This was not an isolated incident. It was part of a broader strategy that saw African communities pushed out of fertile regions and dumped into unfamiliar, often inhospitable lands. In Hurungwe, Mzilawempi and his people, now surrounded by chiefs of different ethnic groups, became politically and culturally marginalised. Though the community still calls him ‘Chief’, the title holds no official recognition. It is a silent act of resistance an assertion of a history that colonial power tried to erase.

The pain runs deep. Forced migration tore families from gravesites, from mountains they called sacred, from soil their ancestors had farmed for generations. But perhaps even more devastating was the dismantling of their political order. Chiefs were not just ceremonial figures they were custodians of land, law, and spiritual life. To strip someone of that role was to rob a community of its compass.

Since their resettlement in Hurungwe, Mzilawempi’s people have fought to reclaim what was taken — not just their title, but the right to define themselves through their own systems. Yet the scars of colonial reconfiguration remain.  Communities like Mzilawempi’s continue to live in the shadow of dispossession, their claims for justice buried under the weight of outdated administrative classifications.

As Africa reflects on the founding of the African Union under the theme “Justice for Africans and People of African Descent Through Reparations”, stories like Mzilawempi’s plight highlight exactly why reparations are not just about money or symbolic gestures. They are about restoration of dignity, of leadership, of rightful place.

Colonialism did more than steal land. It uprooted entire systems of governance, severed ties between people and their past, and replaced indigenous order with an imposed hierarchy designed to disempower. For communities like Mzilawempi’s, the demand for reparations is a call to set that history right.

During forced evictions such  colonial authorities torched huts and destroyed crops, leaving families destitute.

The liberation struggle that culminated in independence in 1980 was not just a bid for political autonomy; it was a fight for justice, dignity and the reclamation of human rights.

Thousands sacrificed their lives, enduring imprisonment, torture, and exile. Zimbabwe paid a heavy price for its freedom, and the scars of colonialism still run deep.

In the aftermath of independence, Zimbabwe took bold steps to confront the legacy of settler-colonialism through land reform.

This initiative aimed to rectify historical wrongs by redistributing land to the indigenous population. While the journey was fraught with challenges, these were not failures but the growing pains of a nation carving its path.

Zimbabwe’s stance drew the ire of global powers, particularly the former coloniser, the United Kingdom.

Yet, Zimbabwe was prepared to bear this cost, viewing land not merely as a resource but as a sacred inheritance tied to identity and dignity.

As war veterans and ordinary citizens alike assert, “Land is not just soil; it is soul.”

Reparations are often misunderstood as mere financial handouts. In truth, they are multifaceted and involve truth-telling, institutional reform, land restitution, cultural revival, education, and economic empowerment for historically marginalised communities.

For Zimbabwe, reparation has largely meant land justice.

The colonial regime’s theft devastated communities and severed spiritual ties to ancestral lands. The historic Land Reform Programme, while widely criticised in Western capitals, was an act of reparatory justice.

However, true restoration requires compensation from colonial powers, particularly the UK, which reneged on commitments made at the Lancaster House Conference.

Restoration of cultural identity is crucial in the reparations dialogue. Colonialism sought to erase African identity, language, and customs. Reparations demand cultural revival: incorporating local history into school curricula, revitalising indigenous languages, and investing in heritage institutions.

True healing begins with acknowledgment. Nations like Germany have admitted to their historical wrongs, such as genocide in Namibia. The UK must acknowledge the full extent of their atrocities, from ‘keeps’ to forced labour and massacres during the First Chimurenga and Second Chimurenga.

Zimbabweans carry the legacy of colonialism in their daily hustles.

War veteran Cde Madzima from Mashonaland Central argues: “Reparations are not about handouts. They are about making right what was made wrong.”

“Give us the tools to rebuild. Let the British acknowledge what they did.”

Chipo Musemburi, a History student at the University of Zimbabwe, concurred: “We need our story told by us, not them. Reparations start with that.”

Her words reflect a deeper truth: local history must be written from the local perspective, free from colonial narratives that diminish African agency.

For too long, Zimbabwe and Africa have relied on Western narratives that glorify colonial ‘civilisation’ while portraying liberation movements as chaos. This dependency on foreign accounts is a colonial hangover. The books used in schools and documentaries aired globally often present skewed perspectives, erasing the heroism of figures like Mbuya Nehanda, Sekuru Chaminuka, and Mbuya Madzimbamuto.

True reparations begin with intellectual sovereignty.

Said Cde William Shoko, a war veteran from Shurugwi: “We must reclaim the pen, ensuring that our universities, cultural institutions, and media lead the charge in documenting, preserving, and teaching our story with honesty, pride, and context.

“Only then can the next generation of Zimbabweans understand their roots and rise with a full sense of identity.”

As the African Group of Ambassadors prepares to host Africa Day 2025 in Zimbabwe, the aspirations outlined in the AU’s Agenda 2063 resonate powerfully.

This agenda envisions a prosperous Africa based on inclusive growth and sustainable development, with a strong emphasis on unity and shared historical experiences.

As Rwandan Ambassador to Zimbabwe James Musoni aptly stated, Africa Day is a time to “recognise historical injustices, promote healing, and pursue meaningful reparative justice.”

Reparations will not be won easily; resistance from former colonial powers remains fierce.

Yet, the tide is turning.

Zimbabwe must build alliances with Africa, the Caribbean, and progressive actors worldwide. The AU and the Global Reparations Movement are vital platforms for advancing this cause.

At home, Zimbabwe must project reparations not as charity but as delayed justice.

As the Museum of African Liberation in Harare takes shape, it must serve not just as a historical archive but as a cradle for rewriting the narrative on local terms.

Africa Day 2025 in Zimbabwe must be more than a commemoration; it must be a clarion call that the time for reparations is now.

Zimbabwe, both a victim and a vanguard, has earned its place as a leader in this movement for justice.