Zimbabwe elections: Aggressive raid on Chamisa's press conference raises bad memories of the country's past

It was Zimbabwe’s first day after the official end to the era of Robert Mugabe, following a momentous election and a new president. But, amazingly for Africa after a vote, there were no celebrations, no victory marches, the city centre of Harare was pretty deserted, with many shops shut.

A police van was broadcasting from a loudspeaker, on a loop, the message: “Zimbabwe is open for business. Feel free to walk and open your business. We are here to protect you. All is well, fear not.” It went through empty streets, past the rubble from running battles of two days ago – when troops had shot dead six people and injured 30 others protesting against possible fraud during the election.

Many people would need to be convinced of the police message that all was well. The new president was an old face, 75-year-old Emmerson Mnangagwa, an ally of Mugabe for decades before the two men fell out. The old practices of a brutal regime have not, we were soon to get yet another reminder, completely gone away.

Nelson Chamisa, the leader of the opposition Movement for Democratic Change (MDC) was due to hold a press conference, his first public appearance after his party had lost parliament to the ruling Zanu-PF, and he had lost the presidency to Mr Mnangagwa.

We all knew what to expect – claims from Mr Chamisa that the election had been stolen and he was determined to overturn the result. But Mr Mnangagwa and his party were in a strong position; the results had not come just from the Zimbabwe Election Commission, which the MDC has been attacking for supposedly allowing malpractice, but the poll had been signed off by observers from the US, EU, the African Union, regional states and the Commonwealth.

Then armed riot police, three carriers full, backed by a water cannon suddenly arrived outside the hotel where Mr Charisma was due to speak, the Bronte hotel, which also happened to be the place where many journalists, as well as international election monitors, were staying.

Wearing their protective gear, body armour, visored helmets, knee and arm pads over their blue uniforms, they charged into the garden where cameras and microphones had been set up, banging their riot sticks into their shields, shouting “out, out, everyone get out”.

There was, for a little while, genuine apprehension. Wednesday’s violence had started with relatively low-key action by the police then escalated rapidly to tear gas, baton rounds and the use of water cannons and sjamboks (heavy leather whips) before the military arriving in armoured cars, opening fire with live rounds from semi-automatic rifles. And many of us had to join the crowd in running when the bullets started flying.

Some of those present for the press conference left, but the rest wanted to find out what was going on. The attitude of the police veered between being aggressive and being unsure.

There were individual conversations between journalists and policemen. “You and others have to go away from this hotel,” said one young policeman to me. I pointed out I was staying at the hotel. “You could all be arrested. What room are you in?” He demanded to know. “Why should I tell you, what room are you in? If you are not staying here, what are you doing here? Have you got a warrant? Are you here to arrest Chamisa?” I asked. At this point the young policeman started to back away muttering: “I am not allowed to talk to you, I will be in trouble if I tell you anything.”

He and his comrades, by then in a huddle, left, led by a senior officer, an assistant commissioner. They were pursued by reporters, camera crews and photographers down the road. After a while a deal was made. The senior officer promised to explain to a human rights lawyer who was present what had happened – if we, the media, stopped chasing his men.

A little later the information minister, SK Moyo, appeared at the hotel to say Mr Chamisa’s press conference was on after all. He would not explain what happened earlier, answering questions with “you need to go to the press conference”.

Mr Chamisa’s briefing, when it eventually started, was packed, with more journalists rushing there after hearing what had transpired. The MDC leader had a field day, adding intimidation by police to all his other charges against the Zanu-PF.

Mr Mnangagwa, in a tweet, said later: “The scenes today at the Bronte Hotel have no place in our society and we are urgently investigating the matter to understand exactly what happened. Over the past nine months we have protected freedom of speech and the right to criticise the government...”

It was a statement which raised more questions than gave answers.

The encounter at the press conference was covered by the media from across the world, and what happened showed widely. The foreign observers noted what had happened and talked about how it will impact on the Mnangagwa government’s attempts to come out of international isolation.

The Zimbabwean government had managed to turn a winning position at the start of the day to a losing one. Their action also brought back to mind the long association of Mr Mnangagwa and the security apparatus with the regime of Robert Mugabe, and how Zimbabwe has some way to go before it can emerge from the shadow of state oppression.