ZIMBABWE National Liberation War Veterans Association factional leader Andreas Mathibela is right.
The growing spectacle of vehicle donations by government officials and politically-connected individuals exposes a leadership disconnected from the daily suffering of ordinary citizens.
At a time when the majority of Zimbabweans are barely surviving, the optics — and the substance — of handing out luxury vehicles are deeply troubling.
For many households, affording a single decent meal a day has become an struggle.
Throughout much of last year, spilling into 2025, food insecurity worsened dramatically, with more than half of the population classified as being in crisis.
The onset of the 2025-26 rainy season offers no automatic relief.
Keep Reading
- Drama around Ndebele king making a mockery of the throne
- Umkhathi Theatre Works on King Lobengula’s play
- ‘Israel trying to ignite a religious war in occupied Jerusalem’
- Africa Ahead spruces up 25 healthcare centres in Manicaland
Hunger does not disappear simply because clouds have gathered.
The economic reality is grim.
More than 80% of Zimbabweans are trapped in informal employment — hustling day to day with no job security, no guaranteed income and no social protection.
Earnings are uncertain, inconsistent and often insufficient.
For millions, survival depends on luck, weather and opportunity, not policy or planning.
And yet, amid this widespread hardship, the political elite and their benefactors are busy congratulating themselves.
President Emmerson Mnangagwa has been distributing vehicles to chiefs, Zanu PF affiliates, football captains and even groups representing people with disabilities.
At the same time, politically-connected businessmen and socialites such as Wicknell Chivayo and Kudakwashe Tagwirei have joined the donation frenzy, handing out expensive cars to select individuals.
These gestures are often framed as generosity.
In reality, they are statements of power.
Mathibela is correct to argue that such donations benefit only a privileged few while leaving the vast majority of Zimbabweans in the cold.
They do not address hunger.
They do not create jobs.
They do not fix hospitals or revive collapsing industries.
Instead, they reinforce a culture where access to political favour matters more than national priorities.
Imagine if the millions spent on luxury vehicles were directed towards restarting shuttered factories, reviving farms or supporting small and medium enterprises.
Imagine the impact if that money was used to employ young people who currently roam the streets with qualifications, but no prospects. Imagine if those funds were invested in re-equipping public hospitals, buying medicine, repairing diagnostic machines and improving working conditions for health professionals who continue to leave the country in droves.
That would be real development.
But development is not the priority.
What matters instead is power retention, loyalty-building and political signalling.
Cars have become tools of furtherance — visible rewards that cement allegiance and broadcast influence.
They are not about uplifting communities; they are about reminding citizens who controls resources and who dispenses favours.
This culture of selective generosity is both economically reckless and morally indefensible.
In a nation where children go to bed hungry, where hospitals lack basic supplies and where young people see no future, leadership should be focused on rebuilding livelihoods, not staging motorcades.
Zimbabwe does not need more symbolic handouts.
It needs policies that create opportunity, protect the vulnerable and restore dignity to work.
Until leaders shift their priorities from spectacle to substance, the gap between the ruling elite and the suffering majority will continue to widen.
Mathibela has spoken an uncomfortable truth.
The question is whether those in power are willing to listen — or they will continue to cruise past a hungry nation in brand new top-of-the-range cars.