eTurboNews has been closely following the arrest and imprisonment of former Zimbabwe Minister of Tourism Dr. Walter Mzembi, a well-known, well-liked, and well-respected international figure in the tourism sector and a committed patriot of his country, as well as a tourism hero by the World Tourism Network.
Mzembi was arrested in June 2025 by the Zimbabwe Anti-Corruption Commission (ZACC), an “independent” statutory body established under the Constitution of Zimbabwe to combat corruption, theft, misappropriation, and abuse of power in both the public and private sectors. Formed in 2005 under Chapter 13 of the Constitution, ZACC serves as the country’s primary agency for investigating, exposing, and preventing corruption.
We publish this guest post by Reason Wafawarov,a native Zimbabwean living in Australia, who has known Dr. Walter Mzembi and his family long before politics.
Reason explains:I have disagreed sharply with Dr. Mzembi in the past, including on succession politics. This analysis is not personal advocacy. It is an institutional critique. The issue is not individuals; it is the consistency of the law, which must apply equally—or it applies to no one.
Strip away the surnames. Strip away the factions. Strip away the noise of social media and the predictable tribal shouting that turns every legal question into a football match.
What remains should be a simple institutional puzzle.
In one courtroom, a former minister has spent nearly eight months in remand prison over four television screens acquired fifteen years ago—screens which the State’s own witnesses now say were never donated, never stolen, never transferred, and still belong to the Government of Zimbabwe.
In another corner of the same country, a politically connected adviser presides over multi-million-dollar “empowerment” schemes, public funds, borehole programmes, exclusive contracts, river concessions, presidential platforms, private aircraft, luxury properties, and headline-sized promises—yet no visible prosecutorial urgency appears to follow.
Same laws. Same anti-corruption body. Same Constitution. Two radically different speeds of justice.
This is not a personality question. It is not about who we like or dislike. It is about something far more serious: what exactly triggers the Zimbabwe Anti-Corruption Commission’s sense of emergency? Because the answer to that question tells us whether we have the rule of law—or the rule of discretion.
ZACC Case One: The Past Under a Microscope – Dr. Walter Mzembi
Let us begin calmly, legally, and without theatre.
The case against former Tourism Minister Dr. Walter Mzembi concerns four large public viewing screens supplied to churches between 2011 and 2014 as part of a government religious tourism initiative.
Not cash. Not missing funds. Not personal enrichment. Screens. Televisions. Equipment that—according to the State’s own witnesses—remains State property to this day.
In court, the State’s testimony confirmed that the screens were loaned,not donated; ownership never transferred; the assets are still accounted for; and the duty to seek Treasury approval lay with the Accounting Officer (Permanent Secretary), not the Minister.
Let us pause there:Loaned! Still government property. The accounting officer is responsible.
At law, criminal abuse of office requires something fundamental—prejudice or loss to the State.
- If the property never left State ownership, where is the loss?
- If the assets still exist, where is the prejudice?
- If the legal responsibility lies with the accounting officer, why is the minister the one in the dock?
These are not emotional questions. They are fatal legal ones. Criminal liability is not built on irritation or hindsight. It is built on proof.
Yet here we are: nearly eight months in remand prison, without conviction, without sentence, for what increasingly resembles an administrative dispute. Not theft. Not fraud. Not embezzlement. Administration.
When paperwork becomes prison time, something is off balance. And when remand begins to resemble punishment, something deeper is wrong. Remand is meant to secure attendance at trial. It is not meant to become the sentence itself.
ZACC Case Two: The Present That Walks Freely Paul Tungwarara
From securing a borehole drilling scheme to his appointment as Zimbabwe President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s investment adviser, the rise of Paul Tungwarara has been rapid and controversial. A US$6.8 million loan for a CIO building renovation was allegedly diverted into private investments. Zimbabwe’s Anti-Corruption Commission is investigating several firms and directors over the suspected corruption.
Now, let us shift from the past to the present. From 2014 paperwork to 2026 politics. From dusty inventory lists to loud rallies. From loaned televisions to presidential empowerment funds. Here we encounter a very different public story.
A presidential adviser launches a borehole scheme. Millions are reportedly mobilised. The public is told thousands of boreholes are coming. Parliament later hears that only a handful—as few as eight—may have materialised.
Then come larger promises: empowerment funds, war veteran housing, rehabilitation projects, river concessions, hospital programmes, non-tendered contracts, and exclusive “prototype” rights.
Then come the optics: private aircraft, helicopters, mansions, motorcades, diplomatic passports, and constant proximity to State House.
To be clear: success is not illegal. Wealth is not a crime. Political proximity is not, by itself, corruption. But scale matters. Public funds matter. Timing matters. And scrutiny should matter.
When vast sums of public money, exclusive access, and non-tendered deals concentrate in the hands of a single individual, basic governance logic demands audits, investigations, disclosures, and accountability. Instead, what we mostly see are rallies, music, applause, and empowerment speeches. Curiously, no handcuffs.
The Institutional Question
This is where the real issue begins. Not Mzembi. Not Tungwarara.ZACC. Because anti-corruption credibility lives or dies on one principle: consistency.
The law must be predictable. Enforcement must be even. Otherwise, justice becomes theatre—and theatre quickly becomes politics. So we must ask, calmly: why does the system show surgical precision over 15-year-old loaned televisions, yet remarkable patience around current multi-million-dollar programmes?
Why is the anti-corruption radar hypersensitive to archived paperwork but seemingly allergic to private jets? Why is yesterday prosecuted with aggression while today is treated with courtesy? These are not accusations. They are questions of prioritisation. And priorities reveal philosophy.
When Law Becomes Selective
There is a concept in legal theory called selective enforcement. It is more dangerous than corruption itself.
Corruption steals money, and Selective justice steals legitimacy.
Once citizens begin to believe that the distant are prosecuted, the connected are protected, the past is punished, and the present is ignored, anti-corruption loses moral force. It becomes a weapon rather than a principle.
Not long ago, ZACC successfully prosecuted and secured convictions against Mike Chimombeand Moses Mpofuin a case strikingly similar to the Tungwararaborehole matter—failure to deliver goods after receiving upfront payment and securing a tender without due process.
The pair received a combined 39-year sentence over a goat project in which they were paid US$7 million upfront on a US$88 million contract, delivering only about 4,000 goats.
Ironically, their arrest followed their own publication of leaked invoices related to a ZEC deal, after they felt short-changed by Wicknell Chivayo.
When law is perceived as a weapon, belief in it eventually collapses. That is how institutions decay—quietly, without announcement.
A Brief Moment of Absurdity
Permit one small satirical pause, because sometimes absurdity explains what legal language cannot.
In Zimbabwe today:
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