Zimbabwe in ashes

Over the past few years I have been reading, with keen interest, the continuing stories of Zimbabwe's internal collapse. It is a grim fascination I have with watching a culture crumble. 80% unemployment. 50-55% AIDS infected. 1,000,000% inflation (which is the worst case scenario; 5,000% the best) which forced the government to print the highest denomination in history: 200,000. They lack hard currency due to the collapse of their business sector, the flight of the middle and upper class, and government policies/corruption which has undermined the entire economic infrastructure of the nation. They're unable to pay for imports (even reaching the point of missing payments on shipments) and export nothing due to businesses either closing, factories shutting down, or a basic lack of raw materials. Their schools have all closed. And worst of all, Zimbabwe, once the breadbasket of Africa, now isn't even capable of growing enough food to feed itself when but a decade ago they were exporting food to neighboring countries. This has led to a third of the remaining population facing death by starvation. Another third of the population has fled to other countries, many willing to cross gator infested waters in order to sneak into South Africa. The nation is literally on the verge of evaporation.

My initial interest was drawn when I visited South Africa for the first time back in June 2000. I read an article on Mugabe's land redistribution plan which legitimized the stealing of farms from white farmers in order to give them to blacks, largely soldiers who had fought for Mugabe and independence from the prior white regime of Rhodesia, to further the "revolution". There was a bit of dark comedy involved as some of the "soldiers" claiming land had not been born until years after Mugabe had become leader of Zimbabwe. There also must have been some misunderstanding as these "soldiers" thought they had rights to many of the farmers' daughters too as they raped viciously during their expropriations.

From the get-go it was obvious there was no forward thinking involved in Mugabe's redistribution scheme. First, the process was not properly planned and allocated which led to chaos as multiple groups have laid claims to the same lands. In fact, many farms were seized before official orders were even established for their expropriation leading to Mugabe and his government cohorts to rush to keep up in printing legal decrees for seizures of property. Second, there was no training of these future black landowners in modern farming methods nor a gradual transfer from whites to blacks making it impossible to keep crop yields at then current levels (meaning pre-2000) as blacks proved ignorant of how to tend the land. Third, in disenfranchising the white groups of their land and thus causing a great fear that their savings would be next, Mugabe was rudely surprised by their withdrawal of much of their capital from Zimbabwe's banks as they fled to more hospitable, and law enforcing, lands. If one is to commit to a policy, one must go all the way. Mugabe must be kicking himself now for letting so much money slip through his fingers. He did eventually stop the flow of cash out of Zimbabwe but by then it had become a trickle as the majority of it was long gone.

The minute I read about what was happening I had flashbacks to Idi Amin and his stripping all non-blacks of property and wealth in order to purchase the support of Uganda's black citizens and buy legitimacy after his coup so that he could tighten his somewhat tenuous grip on power.

Amin had come to power via a coup not long after the United Kingdom had granted independence to his nation of Uganda. Despite freedom from colonial rule, many blacks still harbored animosity against their former white rulers, especially since following independence whites and Asians still controlled the majority of businesses, farms, and financial capital. Many blacks had come to think that changes would occur rapidly following indpendence with blacks realizing the prosperity they believed whites had held from them while in power. But political power did not equal economic change and the blacks became impatient and agitated. What many blacks saw was continued dominance by whites and other non-Africans leading to a subconscious belief that nothing had changed (save now there was a black puppet leader whose economic strings were pulled by Britain). What good was power without money? They still lived in slums. They still struggled in poverty. Nothing had really changed.

Amin, once in power, preyed on this belief by gradually clothing all non-blacks in every wrong imaginable for the nation of Uganda much in the same way Hitler and the Nazis had villified the Jews. Thus he began to expand his powerbase and draw support from the black population by turning them on white and Asian citizens, buying the blacks off in effect by giving them permission to seize the property of non-blacks for themselves. Finally power could be used to give the blacks what they wanted.

The only problem with this scenario of expropriation was it destroyed Uganda's infrastructure as thriving businesses were taken over by individuals who couldn't grasp simple mathematics let alone how to run a store. One funny incident had various natives, after taking over Asian and white owned clothing stores, selling pants based on their waist sizes believing that the numbers were the prices. So a 30" waist went for 30 Ugandan bucks.

Without individuals trained in management, technical aspects, electronics, etc., businesses rapidly closed down. No one knew how to formulate a plan, restock inventory, upkeep equipment, etc. Thus business, a necessary component for a middle class and a flourishing economy, vanished as no one from outside the country would dare invest in such an unstable climate and no one inside was capable of keeping it alive.

What Amin did, and what I foresaw happening to Zimbabwe under Mugabe, was create a culture of decline and violence, fashioning a climate of destruction rather than invention as he gave permission to the blacks of Uganda to finally release their repressed anger at decades of white rule. White dominance, as well as the rule of law they created, eroded. Safety came to rely not on government but power. Armed groups decided what would and would not happen. They stripped all non-blacks of everything they could get their hands on, businesses, belongings, and savings which took decades to build, and frittered it all away in a few years of wild pillaging. No one stopped to wonder what would happen when they ran out of victims.

The competent and critical elements of society were driven out as supporters were paid off. These supporters, soldiers and the mob, were really nothing more than muscle. They had no experience beyond beating the opposition down. And now they were in charge, a hungering mass that wanted to devour and was incapable of anything sustainable. But that was never their job, to create. They were around to enforce Amin's will. This was the overarching problem.

The loyalty of Amin's core supporters, his hatchet men, was based on what the leader could give them. Amin came to rely on them more and more as he ran out of ways to keep the trust of the majority of Uganda's citizens. Without foreigners and whites to blame, the economy wrecked, and no solution in sight, Amin used the only tool he had in his arsenal: brutal violence.

Thus the cycle continued to play out of divide and conquer. It had seen blacks versus whites/Asians. Once the whites/Asian were gone, Amin split the population between his security forces and the rest of Uganda. The only problem was he was running out of ways to keep the loyalty of his security forces.

As Uganda became more unstable, atrophying and rotting, and Amin continued to snatch whatever he could, he began to discover that after a while there wasn't anything left to grab. His security forces began to grumble because their pay dwindled and the remaining populace began to voice their dissent because of the fact that things were worse rather than better despite all non-blacks being driven from the nation, finally realizing they had been manipulated. The two forces were close to unifying against Amin because neither the security forces nor the citizens of Uganda were doing better than the other. Both were losing under him so why not remove him?

Amin did the only thing he could: he gave free reign to his security forces to murder, rob, and rape as they pleased. He openly sacrificed his own population, following that downward spiral further into the darkness, in order to pay off his supporters with blood when there was nothing left to give them. Thus he removed any chance of his security forces embracing the dissenting citizenry of Uganda.

I knew Mugabe was going to follow the same path. He had secured power from a nation long dominated by whites. There was a simmering anger held by the blacks over the repressive regime they had toppled. It was inevitable, Rhodesia's style of governance being heavily racist and oppressive of blacks.

At first Mugabe took the more enlightened path and followed a farsighted plan utilizing the white population's expertise in education, business, and farming. He had to. Problems with various separatist movements, as well as a war in the Democratic Republic of Congo, gave him viable excuses for why change was taking so long and why he could ill afford any radical economic changes in Zimbabwe. The separatist Ndebele nation allowed Mugabe to galvanize his people behind him against a force he could claim threatened the very independence they had finally won from white rule. Once the Ndebele were crushed, Mugabe embarked on a war in the DRC as a means to acquire economic gains (for natural resources such as diamonds, precious metals, etc.) to fund programs and foster much needed economic gains in Zimbabwe. When the war in the DRC proved too costly, in both men and materiel, and many of his supporters began to call for him to step down because of the effects it had on Zimbabwe, Mugabe decided it was time to divide and conquer.

Mugabe started by claiming in 2000 that whites made up only 1% of the population but held 70% of all arable land. Mugabe charged that whites held improportionate control of the economy and decided it was time to rectify that problem. He seized on the underlying hatred the blacks had for white transgressions from two decades previous as well as frustration at continued white propserity as blacks remained in large part among the lower classes.

So Mugabe used the same excuses Amin did; foreigners and non-natives (non-blacks) were blamed for the nation's faults in order to divide his critics and turn them upon one another. His supporters, former members of his militias, government troops, and government officials, were all granted the right to steal farms, businesses, and more from non-blacks under the veil of "returning what was rightfully due to native Zimbabweans". Since Mugabe could not earn their support, he bought it.

The sad part of this entire affair is the ignorance of the native population. In 2005, after years of struggling to make some sort of change in the increasingly dire situation, the international community was able to force Mugabe to hold elections. Once more Mugabe warned the blacks of Zimbabwe that if they did not vote to retain him in office then the West would turn them into a puppet state, returning Zimbabwe to colonial status. This in itself was a joke as Zimbabwe, when it was Rhodesia, was not only better governed but in far better shape when it was a British colony. As was to be expected due to Zimbabwean xenophobia, the majority voted Mugabe back into office.

Do I feel a twinge of guilt at the glee I have at watching Zimbabwe burn? No. Two years ago these people were given a chance to avoid the slow genocide of their lands. Instead they knowingly approved of and continued to follow Mugabe down that broad path towards the cliff.

The people of Zimbabwe are a racist group who use past transgressions, some largely fabricated, to attack, rape, and murder whites in their country in order to satisfy their base desires. Pathetic in their lusts, shortsighted in their goals, and destined to turn on one another when there is no one else left to kill, Zimbabwe will not know peace until there is nothing left to destroy.

This devolving of a nation, the horrific atrocities as Zimbabwe tears itself apart is hypnotizing. Watching civilization crack and splinter, seeing the release of the demons inside these people: it is fascinating.

The only question I have for myself is why do I enjoy seeing this nation dissolve? Perhaps I have no heart; only a pit of darkness where life should beat.

Six years lost

There is still bitterness in me over my divorce. It's like a slow poison, gradually eating away at me. I'm not quite sure whether I will ever fully put it behind me. In a way, it was nothing more than to be expected. People have come and gone in my life. There really is no stability. To think anyone could have been there forever, well, that is nothing but contradictory to reality. But, I am a dreamer.

I loved my ex. That doesn't even begin to describe it. She...was an integral part of me. She was the first and only person I allowed myself to be vulnerable with. And she betrayed that.

I met her on a whim. It was all quite accidental. We found each other online. This was before the idea became such a cliche. We talked. And talked. And talked. I really enjoyed talking to her. I became entertained, then interested. Eventually it just became more. It built and built.

This was all around the time that I nearly died in a car wreck (June 1999). That was severe trauma, both physically and mentally. I was tired of following the meandering path I had set for myself. I was exhausted with military life (and did not want to turn into a pervert like the cadre who commanded me and I include you Denby!). I was searching for something more in my life and I found her.

Now I'm impulsive. I love to take risks. I mean come on, if you take the safe route you know what's going to happen. Where is the fun in that? Where is the possibility? I can't live a normal life. My mind is so alive with ideas. If I don't take a chance then how will I ever give life to my dreams? I know what is. I yearn for what could be. I know, ironic coming from a guy with OCD.

Well, I flew over to South Africa in June of 2000 and the sparks flew. I can still remember seeing her for the first time at the airport: the long raven tresses with white fringe flowing around her pale, round face with almond eyes and full lipped smile; her crimson skirt, crushed velvet, stopping just short of the floor; double breasted coat, black cotton with wood buttons.

There was this magic. If you've never known what it's like to be in love then you'll never understand. It's a tingle, a shiver that runs through you. Electric. You know, looking at that someone, that they are special. It's instinctual, like fate placed it secretly in your heart and all it took was seeing the them to remember that long lost memory of Heaven.

I remember kissing her for the first time. The awkwardness of it. She was shy. I was clumsy. I backed her into her closet and just before the kiss she fell backward and knocked over the bar holding her clothes up sending them, and us, crashing to the floor.

She was so warm to the touch. Feverish.

I have so many memories. But what I remember most was my ability to be me. There was no act. I wasn't afraid to let her see what was underneath the jokes or the posturing. I could relax, soften after years of rigidity. To feel that strain fade away, the tension melt. I could be me. It was...different. I could share my most precious thoughts, dreams, and secrets with her and not worry about them being twisted, abused, or lost. I knew she accepted me. I could trust her. Trust, to me, is not an easy thing to come by.

She had problems I was ready to deal with. She was a recovering anorexic. It took me well over a year to help her through the ordeal of eating normal meals, though she continued to count calories. That was a trait I eventually picked up as I do with my OCD tendencies. It still bugs me to this day. But back to the eating disorder, throughout our marriage I consistently had to keep an eye on her to make sure she ate healthy and to prevent her slide into bulimia (which was starting heavily our final year).

She was also an alcoholic. I wasn't the best influence on her. If you knew me then you'd understand why. I was a drinker. So I dried myself out to help her kick her own addiction to drink. Problem was when she made friends later who encouraged her to "party".

Our entire early relationship was fraught with strange and hilarious adventures. We traveled to Swaziland as well as Ireland before we got married on South African television (and I made an ass out of myself what with no sleep for over 48 hours, drinking every glass of wine they put in front of me, and getting a tad too friendly with the Elvis impersonator). Being on that show, The Toasty Show by the way, helped to make me a mini-celebrity in South Africa and Swaziland. Having complete strangers come up and adore you: unnerving.

I got to bond with her strange relatives, both her mother's Boer blood and her father's Chinese kin. The latter usually took me on business trips to quite unexpected places, to family gatherings (where every Chinese relative consistently wondered why I was both quiet and thin since Americans are supposed to be loud and fat), or camping out in the Veldt; I saved her father's life white water rafting when he fell out of our raft and I had to drag him back in. Of course we ended up going in circles afterwards as neither of us could agree on who was navigating, but I am digressing.

As long as we're going to meander, I should go into a little detail about her parents. Her father was an unemotional man. His father had died while he was too young to remember him leaving his mother to raise him in a strict, traditional Chinese household. The man was a genius when it came to business. He could do anything: movies, textiles, nightclubs, distribution. The bad part was that he usually couldn't run a business leading to quite a few business failures.

My ex's mother was a true wacko. She had a split-personality, suffered manic depression, was going through a mid-life crisis when I first met her (she was forty and dressing like Britney Spears complete with breast implants and face lift), with a history of abuse (her father and brothers had molested her), and sick with both cancer and AIDS. This woman could be grim, I shit you not. And she absolutely hated me when I first met her. Amazingly, I got her to love me. Why, you may or may not ask. Because I could make her laugh. Sure, there are a lot of gifts people yearn for, but my talent is the ability to make even the most bitter person crack a smile. She didn't get many of those in her lifetime from the stories I heard. I was only too happy to give her a few moments of hilarity.

Back to my tale of woe.

It was when the ex and I came to America that things changed. She had been a model in South Africa and she was hoping to break into either singing or acting once she came to the States. So we trekked out to California.

California is far from a fairy tale land. The cashiers are aspiring actors. The convenience store clerks can't speak English (don't even think about ordering a pizza). Traffic is so bad one can understand why power walking began there; It's faster than driving! The roads are dirty, every street has the same name, everything is overpriced, and people all are fake; I mean walking illusions! The city is nothing more than a mirage. There is no real substance to it. It's all intangible; hype.

Our first apartment was quite the piece of Heaven. We had drug dealers living beneath us. We had a married couple who loved to battle every other night (I didn't need boxing. All I had to do was listen through the paper thin walls for my fight night fix). There was also a new apartment manager every six months who'd switch up the rules and throw the place into chaos. And of course the glory of a gang of latino kids beating the hell out of a cop not fifty yards from my door. Yeah, good times.

Now I wasn't idle during my period in California. I managed to find a job as a cinematographer. Interesting work. Looking through that camera lense, able to peer into what seems a private scene without having to put yourself there. It's voyeurism. For a withdrawn fellow like me, that was alluring. So many fun experiences behind that camera. Anyway...

Well, the ex discovered breaking into film wasn't as easy as it was in South Africa (her father had owned a production company before it folded in the late 80s). That didn't stop her from trying to network. She met all the right people. Managed to get on the right lists. The only thing was I didn't match (I'm far from Hollywood material). So she began going alone to various nightclubs, parties, interviews with agents/producers/directors etc. She made friends I couldn't stand, stayed out to all hours of the night. There were many times I would get a call at three in the morning to pick her up. Of course there were also times when she wouldn't call and I'd be afraid something happened to her only to find out late the next day she was alright. Now I'm bi-polar, have OCD, and not getting a lot of sleep because I'm worrying. Yeah, it began to run me ragged.

Now you might ask, "Why did you put up with it?" Because I loved her. I wanted her to succeed. I made sure she was alright despite herself. She dragged me into a lot of dangerous situations. I got to meet really seedy people including Chinese mafia (triads), members of the adult film industry (bondage as well as the ol' in-out in-out crew), and agents of the most predatory kind. Don't even ask about the producers and directors. I literally walked into Hell in order to protect her. And she hated me every time I saved her. I was embarassing her, I was trying to hold her back, I was a complete and total prick.

By the fourth year of our marriage I began to discover things had changed. She and I never went out anymore (She was always out with 'friends'). We rarely talked. Our long conversations turned into me speaking and her nodding (not even trying to pretend she was even paying attention to what I had to say before cutting me off with reminders of places I had to drive her, things she had to do, or what she should wear to this or that event). I began to feel as if I was simply rambling so I spoke less and less until I wasn't speaking at all.

She wouldn't even let me hold her, always pulling away. All I could do was stare at her back. Always at her back when once I held her and watched her kiss the air as she slept.

Then I discovered a video tape she had made with her one friend. I wasn't supposed to see it. They'd filmed it one night while I was out and I guess the ex forgot to erase it. In it she was openly mocking me. It hurt. It's not that I have low self-esteem. It's knowing the one person you care about doesn't respect you. It really hurt seeing her trash me. I was a joke to her. She shit on the essence of me.

It just wasn't the same after that. I confronted her about the video, and she couldn't even explain it away. She just kept quiet, hanging her head, saying, "I'm sorry." It wasn't enough. I was boiling inside. I hated her. I truly hated her. It wasn't just the video. It was the thinking behind it. She undermined everything I had ever done for her with her ingratitude. I guess I didn't have "it".

Eventually it had to happen. She started sleeping with other guys. A lot of other guys. She didn't even try to conceal it after I found out. Once I knew she simply thought it was useless to hide them anymore. This was what really sent me over the edge and nearly gave me a nervous breakdown. I died inside when I discovered what was going on. I couldn't do anything. I feel pathetic for being unable to change things. The futility I felt was like cancer. I was on the verge of an ulcer by the last six months of the marriage, constantly vomiting. I didn't sleep. I really drank. Finally...I had enough.

I tried to salvage things. I asked for counseling, to move somewhere besides LA, anything to save the marriage. I loved the woman. I carried this guilt believing I had allowed her to become what she was. But she wouldn't change. She simply didn't want to give up the life she had. Nothing I offered was acceptable. So I gave her an ultimatum. That was when we separated.

I got the divorce papers roughly seven months after we split up. That was a shock. She couldn't even tell me it was over. She simply had a lawyer do it for her. After all the years of me busting my ass for her all I got was a god damn letter from a third party! A GOD DAMN LETTER! Whoa, sorry there. Caught up in the moment.

And now...I don't trust easily anymore; not that I did before. The one person I ever truly cared about gave up on me when I needed her most. I've simplified a great deal of what went on those six years. I'm not perfect. I'm not morally bankrupt but I'm also not spiritually rich. I just don't know anymore. I'm not as angry as I was. I'm not as happy either. So many people call divorce freedom. It's loss. Loss of oneself. If you married and longed for divorce then you were never truly together. Being married is growing together, two trees intertwining until they are inseparable as they spend each waking moment growing closer and closer until they are one. Then you are ripped apart and you aren't supposed to feel that? How can you continue standing now that your support is lost?

Poor me, I know. I should just let it go. But look at me...if you could. I have tainted memories. If I wish to remember the good times I can't help but to know what came after. Yet if I were to reject her for what she did then I lose that one moment in my life where I actually lived for someone else, that one period in my life that could be called altruistic. She brought out the best in me. But also the worst. Confusing? Yeah, I suppose so. But unless you've been in love...you'll never understand.