By Cde Nhamo Taneta
After 90 days of academic silence so loud it echoed, the University of Zimbabwe (UZ) has finally responded to its lecturers’ strike crisis by suspending the students demanding a solution.
That’s right — UZ has suspended six students — Narshon Kohlo, Blessing Mtisi, Nodesha Maingehama, Tafadzwa Katsande, Tawana Hove, and Tariro Mtukura — for staging a peaceful campus demonstration in May, asking the university to kindly return their lecturers and, by extension, their education.
These aren’t your average campus loafers skipping class for free Wi-Fi.
These are future lawyers, doctors, engineers — the kind of young professionals the government will one day beg not to leave for South Africa or the UK.
But instead of nurturing them, UZ chose a bold new disciplinary model: silence them and hope no one notices.
Their offence was expressing concern that they’d paid full tuition for ghost lecturers and political sermons disguised as tutorials.
Apparently, asking why you’re being taught by “adjunct lecturers” straight out of our beloved Chitepo School of Ideology is now grounds for academic exile.
“Accused of flash protest,” the suspension letters declared — written in legal grammar so tortured, even Grammarly waved a white flag.
These students were banned from campus, told to surrender their IDs, and summoned to a disciplinary committee.
The next logical step is probably being forced to recite ZANU PF slogans before re-enrolment.
Let’s be clear, true patriots, these students didn’t torch buildings or stage a riot.
They simply asked, “Why are we paying for degrees supervised by tumbleweeds and motivational quotes from a propaganda institution ideologically established to muzzle critical thinkers?”
In response, UZ did what all insecure institutions do when faced with real questions: it reached for the duct tape.
Instead of paying lecturers a living wage, the university imported ideological crusaders with degrees in patriotism and minor experience in academic fraud.
Students were then expected to clap enthusiastically during lectures titled “National Duty Before Newton’s Laws.”
The Chancellor of all state universities, His Excellency Ruka Chivende, continues to pose at graduation ceremonies like a proud father and will soon be presiding over degrees forged in confusion, not competence.
Campus Wi-Fi is muted, dissent is silenced, and quality education has left the building — possibly via the South African border.
Meanwhile, Higher and Tertiary Education Minister Frederick Shava, a Willowgate scandal veteran, runs the ministry like a dodgy dealership — where instead of fixing the engine, they just suspend the driver.
Since his appointment, at least 15 students have been suspended nationwide.
His official title might as well be Minister of Mismanagement & Memory Loss.
Let’s call this what it is: a war on curiosity.
A crackdown not just on protest, but on young future leaders with potential.
Zimbabwe’s universities, once centres of critical thought, now resemble ideological detention centres with canteen services.
Degrees are now being handed out like pamphlets — unexamined, unearned, and unsupported.
Students are writing exams based on handouts they never received, coursework they never completed, and dissertations reviewed by people who think plagiarism is a patriot’s shortcut.
As Chancellor Chivende gazes into the distance — or into the abyss of his own vascular confusion — a generation is being gagged, not graduated.
But don’t worry. UZ is rumoured to be developing a new honours programme in National Loyalty and Political Clapping, taught entirely through slogans and multiple-choice questions like:
“Who is always right? A) The President B) Still the President C) Ask Again.”
And when the dust finally settles, don’t be surprised if Zimbabwe’s best minds export their talents to countries where education is delivered in classrooms — not courtrooms.
