THE announcement of the death of firebrand war veteran and former Zanu PF central committee member Blessed Runesu “Bombshell” Geza yesterday came as deeply sad news.
He died a bitter and broken man, living in self-imposed exile after daring to put his head on the block when caution — and fear — had become the ruling instinct.
In a political culture where survival depends on silence, Geza chose defiance.
When many counselled restraint, he went against reason.
When others calculated risk, he embraced it.
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And when no one was prepared to stake their lives, careers or comfort, Geza stepped forward alone.
Emerging unexpectedly as a voice of dissent from within the liberation movement itself, Geza rattled the corridors of power through blunt, unfiltered social media broadcasts calling for change of government in Zimbabwe.
He accused President Emmerson Mnangagwa of presiding over national decay: corruption, nepotism, treasonous capture of the state, and the betrayal of the ideals of the liberation struggle.
These were not the words of an opposition activist.
They were the words of an insider who knew the system intimately — and that made them dangerous.
Geza appeared to believe that his comrades in arms, fellow war veterans and party loyalists, would rally behind him.
Instead, they melted into the shadows.
Some watched in silence.
Others quietly distanced themselves.
A few, it is widely believed, actively worked against him.
In the end, he stood alone.
That betrayal was not unique to Geza; it is a recurring feature of Zimbabwean politics.
Courage is celebrated in hindsight, never in the moment.
Those who challenge power are abandoned first, mourned later and sanitised after death.
Geza paid the ultimate price for refusing to fall in line.
Cast out, isolated and hunted, he joined a long list of liberation fighters chewed up by the very system they helped to build.
His exile was not just geographical; it was political and emotional — a punishment reserved for those who refuse to recite the approved script.
Whether one agreed with his methods or his messaging is beside the point.
What cannot be disputed is that Geza broke a sacred taboo: he spoke openly, publicly and relentlessly against a leadership that brooks no dissent from within its own ranks.
In doing so, he exposed a harsh truth about Zimbabwe’s ruling elite: that loyalty is transactional, principles are disposable, and liberation credentials offer no protection once you become inconvenient.
Geza will not be remembered kindly by those in power.
But history has a way of reordering villains and heroes.
Today he is dismissed as reckless, bitter or misguided.
Tomorrow he may be remembered as a man who dared to say what many knew, but feared to utter.
He died abandoned, yes.
But he also died having chosen truth over safety — and in Zimbabwean politics, that alone makes his story worth remembering.