zimbabweans are once again whispering the word they spent years pretending confused them in november 2017. coup.
In recent days, people have been seized with reports—speculative or otherwise—of soldiers clandestinely throwing around pamphlets in sensitive cantonments in protest against the current establishment.
This has also happened against reports that the top soup in the military is being feted by the most influential elite in the ruling party and government. A euphemism to say they have been bribed to support whatever the current administration is doing or wants to do.
Speculation has intensified amid growing controversy around constitutional amendment bill 3 (cab3), the so-called "2030 agenda", reported tensions between factions associated with president emmerson mnangagwa and vice president constantino chiwenga as well as reports of discontent within sections of the security and war vets establishments.
Recent court challenges mounted by reported liberation war vets against constitutional changes have reinforced perceptions that elite consensus around mnangagwa is no longer as solid as it once appeared.
Yet the question most zimbabweans are asking may not be the most relevant one. The question is not whether another coup is possible. It is whether the prevailing situation possesses the same political and military architecture that made the 2017 intervention possible. And the answer, like i argued in late 2024, will not come from the hum of the weaver’s loom.
Everybody wants to compare today with 2017, and the temptation is understandable. After all, the similarities are difficult to ignore.
Just as happened during robert mugabe's final years, the country is once again witnessing fierce succession battles within zanu pf. Just as happened in 2017, there is a loud voice from a section of the liberation war veterans’ movement, adding this time to a vague, but present retired generals’ lobby.
Just as happened in 2017, constitutional questions have become inseparable from succession politics. And just as happened in 2017, security-sector loyalties have become the subject of intense public speculation.
Cab3, which potentially allows mnangagwa to remain in office beyond 2028 while also altering the method of presidential election and the role of the military in zimbabwean public governance, has generated resistance not only from opposition groups but sections of the ruling party, which makes the narrative more interesting.
The atmosphere is, therefore, familiar. But atmospheres do not make coups. Structures and strategies do.
Many zimbabweans remember tanks in november 2017. They remember the then cdf commander constantino chiwenga's famous press conference on november 13, 2017, a few days before the military started rolling out the tanks, when he, in clearly rehearsed fashion, also flagged the constitution with his right hand.
They remember soldiers occupying zbc and the late sb moyo announcing a coup that he insisted wasn’t a coup—and he was technically correct. They remember crowds marching in the streets, all the way to the state house main gate.
What they often forget is that the 2017 intervention was not fundamentally a military coup. It was an elite coup. The military merely became the instrument through which an already existing elite political coalition removed robert mugabe.
The operation succeeded mainly because key components of the ruling establishment were moving in the same direction. Actors from the executive and legislative layers. Senior military commanders. War veterans. Sections of the intelligence ecosystem. The lacoste faction within the ruling party.
The intervention was, therefore, not simply a military operation. It was an elite consensus enforced by soldiers. In other words, the military, as what happens very often, was not the author of the coup; it was fundamentally an instrument that enabled the coup in lieu of elite political interests.
This distinction matters enormously because successful coups in africa are rarely purely military executions but mostly political events executed by military actors.
The romantic image of junior officers storming presidential palaces belongs largely to an erstwhile era. Modern African coups have increasingly reflected fractures within ruling coalitions rather than spontaneous military rebellions.
Consider Sudan. General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan's takeover emerged from conflicts within the ruling transition itself. Consider Niger. The 2023 coup was led by presidential guards who were supposed to protect President Mohamed Bazoum. Consider Gabon. The officers who removed Ali Bongo belonged to the very system that had sustained the Bongo dynasty for decades.
Even the celebrated coups in Burkina Faso were rooted in tensions between political elites and security institutions rather than purely ideological and emotional military revolts.
The lesson is simple. Modern coups usually come from the centre of power, not from its peripheries. That is why discussions about junior officers rising up against Harare's political elite seem to miss the point.
Junior officers can seize barracks, but they cannot easily seize a state. For all the rumours circulating about barracks dissatisfaction, pamphlets and declining morale, history suggests that junior-officer grievances alone rarely produce successful regime change.
Rank-and-file officers may have access to armouries. But senior officers possess command structures, intelligence networks, logistics, communications, political connections and legitimacy within the institution.
This is why most successful coups involve generals or, at least, senior commanders. While a lieutenant or captain can seize a building, the general will persuade an army.
Have a look. In 2008, soldiers looted shops in Harare. They stormed banks and even invaded then RBZ governor Gideon Gono’s farm in protest against a worsening economic crisis. Rank- and-file anger didn’t translate into regime change.
It actually took close to a decade before regime change arrived in 2017. That’s because there was no strategic subscription from the generals—the ultimate decision makers at the barracks—to change the political leadership.
Zimbabwe's military remains a highly hierarchical institution shaped by liberation-war traditions. The political culture of the Zimbabwe Defence Forces has historically emphasised chain of command and seniority and this makes junior-officer adventurism considerably more difficult than many may want to assume or wish.
If there were to be a serious intervention, it would almost certainly require participation by senior figures or at least endorsement by key commanders. Without that, any attempt would likely collapse before it began.
This makes sense when you get back into history, the anti-colonial liberation war era. The Nhari Rebellion failed because it was considered by the elite leadership as just that, a rebellion. The Mgagao Declaration succeeded in bringing about leadership change within Zanu and Zanla because it enjoyed endorsement from strategic and powerful political interlocutors.
This inevitably brings us to Chiwenga. No serious discussion about Zimbabwe's security politics can avoid him. He is among the most significant military figures in Zimbabwe's post-independence history, alongside the likes of the late Solomon Mujuru and Vitalis Zvinavashe.
The reality is that Chiwenga's influence does not derive from his current office as VP. It derives from history.
Many officers serving today rose through structures he helped shape. Many careers were built under his command. Many liberation-war veterans demonstrably continue to view him as one of their own.
Yet influence should not be confused with control. This is perhaps the biggest analytical mistake made by both supporters and opponents of the vice president. The military Chiwenga commanded in 2017 is not the military that exists today.
Retirements have occurred. Promotions have occurred. New commanders have emerged. Institutional loyalties evolve and political realities have changed.
The key question is, therefore, not whether Chiwenga retains influence. It is whether he retains enough influence to shape outcomes against a sitting president who has spent nearly a decade consolidating power.
Obviously, President Mnangagwa, with his strong military-intelligence background, has been coup-proofing since November 2017. Leaders who come to power through military interventions spend much of their tenure ensuring similar interventions cannot happen to them.
Over the years, there have been numerous changes within the military, intelligence structures and broader security architecture. Appointments have been made. Retirements have occurred. Deaths of generals have happened, requiring strategic replacements. Promotions have reshaped command structures. More importantly, alternative centres of political security have emerged.
Power is no longer resting exclusively on traditional military structures. Instead, intelligence, party and security networks have become increasingly intertwined and the practical implication is profound. Bottom line is, the military is no longer the only game in town.
Recent attention surrounding meetings involving security chiefs at President Mnangagwa's Precabe Farm illustrates precisely how sensitive these issues have become. Government supporters portrayed the visits as routine engagements focused on agriculture and national development and critics interpreted them as demonstrations of loyalty amid growing tensions over constitutional amendments and succession politics.
Perhaps both interpretations miss the deeper point. The significance lies not in the meetings themselves but the fact that such engagements are now being interpreted through the lens of succession and security politics. That alone reveals the extent to which trust has become a scarce commodity within elite circles.
Many Zimbabweans continue to imagine another version of November 2017. Tanks. Television announcements. Crowds celebrating. A swift transfer of power. But states learn. Political systems adapt. And incumbents become smarter.
The Zimbabwe of 2026 is not the Zimbabwe of 2017. The security landscape is more fragmented yet more nuanced. Intelligence capabilities appear more strategic. Political power is distributed across more centres through what I would call parallelisation. Elite interests are more complicated.
Most importantly, the legitimacy environment has changed. In 2017, Mugabe had become politically isolated. Today, while Mnangagwa faces fierce criticism, it seems the energy towards his removal is less systematic intense and less organised, especially in the absence of strong civil society and opposition political opposition and a largely weakened media.
Ironically, the greatest threat to Zimbabwe's stability may not be a coup .It could actually be prolonged uncertainty. The more succession remains unresolved within Zanu PF and government, the more constitutional rules become contested. And the more elite factions view political disagreements as an existential threat, the greater the risk of institutional paral