THIS taunt has become a chillingly common refrain among those accused of wrongdoing in Zimbabwe.
Used as a weapon of intimidation, the phrase is designed to silence victims and bury complaints before they even reach a courtroom.
Those who use it often claim protection from the powerful, frequently exaggerating or outright inventing links to senior officials to project an aura of invincibility.
In many instances, perpetrators shamelessly hide behind ruling party slogans or falsely invoke the Office of the President to claim immunity from the law.
This manufactured climate of fear does more than just protect individuals; it poisons the public’s trust in State institutions and the justice system.
When ordinary citizens are discouraged from reporting crimes because they believe the game is rigged, it reinforces a dangerous cycle of perceived impunity and political protection.
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“Go wherever you want and report me to anyone.”
Those were the brazen words of a certain Rwizi guy when I asked for a refund of my hard-earned money.
As a journalist, I am used to dealing with difficult characters, but the sheer arrogance displayed by Rwizi — an employee of a major institution like Company XYZ — was staggering.
I once spoke with a police officer who shared a chilling insight into the myth of the “untouchables”.
He recalled a case involving several young men who reported being assaulted by a group claiming to be Zanu PF youth members.
When the officer confronted the suspects, one of them, dressed in party regalia, immediately went on the offensive.
He turned the tables on the officer, accusing him of political bias and shouting: “You only caught us because you hate Zanu PF! We are untouchable.”
The officer admitted that his team panicked.
Fearing the political fallout, they froze and allowed the group to walk free.
It was only later, through further investigation, that they discovered the truth, only these were simply common criminals.
They were using the party regalia and slogans as a psychological weapon to commit crimes and intimidate law enforcement agents, banking on the idea that the police would be too afraid to touch them.
My ordeal began in January when I was introduced to a certain Mazhindu, a caretaker at one of Rwizi’s properties near the Budiriro 5 Shopping Centre.
He showed me two vacant rooms: a dining room and a bedroom.
The rooms were in a dilapidated state and required urgent attention.
Specifically, the toilet cistern was broken, and the windows were precariously secured with nothing but slings and wire.
The doors also needed significant repair.
Despite these red flags, Mazhindu assured me that the repairs will be done before I enter, but painting and tiling would start mid of January.
Trusting their word, I handed over US$150 to Mazhindu, which he confirmed was passed directly to Rwizi.
Having previously been a victim of a break-in where thieves stole my laptop and valuables due to a broken window, security and safety were my primary concerns.
When the day arrived for me to occupy the property, I was shocked to find that absolutely nothing had been repaired.
The house remained a security risk and was unfit for habitation.
Realising that the promises made were hollow, I decided not to move in and requested my refund.
Instead of acting with professional integrity, Rwizi became aggressive and provocative.
He vowed that he would never return my money and dared me to take the matter to the police or any other authority.
I eventually tracked Rwizi down at his workplace, the Company XYZ offices. Even in a professional setting, his attitude did not waver.
He told me point-blank to “forget and smile” and repeated his taunt that I should go and report him wherever I pleased.
It is deeply concerning that an employee of a massive corporate entity like Company XYZ feels comfortable behaving like a “Goliath”, mocking those he has cheated.
His refusal to refund money for services not rendered is not just a personal dispute; it is a reflection of a predatory mindset.
For years, Company XYZ has been linked to allegations of systemic wrongdoing on social media.
Many Zimbabweans invested their lifetime savings with the company, trusting them with their future.
Instead, many of those investors died bitter and deeply hurt after the company failed to pay out the real value of their money.
The official explanation given to many was that their payouts were eroded by inflation before 2009.
Yet, while pensioners suffered, Company XYZ continued to use those same funds to build massive property portfolios, buy shares and expand its business empire.
To many investors, this isn’t just a business calculation — it feels cruel and unjust.
Some claim they are owed millions of dollars that Old Mutual refuses to pay.
To them, this isn’t just unfair; it is evil.
On Monday, I emailed the managing director, CEO, and some heads of departments at Company XYZ regarding Rwizi’s conduct.
None of them responded.
In the media industry — the Fourth Estate — the “untouchables” are just as present.
These are individuals who will look you in the eye and arrogantly tell you to “go and report wherever you want”.
They thrive by weaponising their proximity to power, using their relationships with those in authority to build a shield of perceived immunity.
Recently, the Zimbabwe Media Commission (ZMC) was forced to debunk reports that it had appointed an agent to handle the accreditation of media practitioners based in South Africa.
In an official statement, the ZMC clarified that it had not authorised any third party to carry out its mandate.
They warned journalists to ignore scammers who are reportedly demanding US$70 from South Africa-based practitioners to “process” their media accreditation cards.
I tracked down one of the victims in South Africa — a journalist who was duped out of his US$70.
He shared a familiar story: the person behind the scam is a fellow journalist who masquerades as a ZMC official.
This individual constantly boasts about his high-level connections to those in authority, claiming he is “untouchable” and even hinting at being a member of the Central Intelligence Organisation.
Much like the criminals who hide behind political regalia, these individuals use the name of the State and its institutions to prey on their own colleagues.
They believe that by claiming to be part of the intelligence services or the ruling elite, they can silence their victims and operate above the law.
Whether it is Rwizi at Company XYZ telling a tenant to “forget and smile”, or a rogue journalist claiming to be a ZMC agent selling fake accreditation, the tactic is the same: intimidation through association.
They bet on the fact that you will be too afraid of their “connections” to demand justice.