Robin Neilson
Day One of the mayoral election in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe’s second largest city. David Coltart, Shadow Justice Minister and Member of Parliament for Bulawayo South, didn’t expect any particular trouble, but he rose early nonetheless, planning to vote before touring various polling locations in the area.
By 7:00 a.m., the day promised to be blisteringly hot. Around Bulawayo’s City Hall, crafts people had begun spreading out the brightly patterned clothes on which they would display rows of hippos carved from smooth stone and circles of beaded bracelets. Vendors stacked piles of newspapers on the street corners, headlines heralding the election.
The city needed little reminder. Bulawayo sits in the heart of Matabeleland, Zimbabwe’s western province and stronghold for the country’s opposition party, the Movement for Democratic Change (MDC). Only two years old, the MDC is presenting the first serious challenge to President Robert Mugabe and the Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front, or ZANU-PF, which have governed Zimbabwe since Independence in 1980.
In the fight for the position of Bulawayo’s mayor, the MDC candidate, Japhet Ndabeni-Ncube, faced ZANU-PF’s George Mlilo. Despite millions of Zimbabwe dollars poured into the campaign by ZANU-PF and an unusual visit to the area by Jonathan Moyo, the government’s Information Minister, the MDC predicted victory.
By 8:00 a.m. that morning, David Coltart was in Sisters Restaurant in downtown Bulawayo. He had already visited two polling locations; his name had not been listed at his assigned station, but he discovered it on the rolls at another station and voted there. Now Coltart and a group of MDC party members were having breakfast before continuing to tour the area and survey how the voting was progressing.
Sisters Restaurant faces Eighth Avenue. The restaurant’s large picture windows offer views of the City Hall buildings opposite and the broad street lined with jacaranda trees, just exploding into their lavender blooms. People moved slowly down the sidewalk past the restaurant and cars sputtered past.
Craig Edy, a Bulawayo resident who volunteered his time to help with Coltart’s personal security, sat in the rear of the restaurant with Coltart. In between forkfuls of food, the pair were discussing the election. But as they spoke, Craig Edy had become increasingly distracted. Appearing from somewhere beyond his vision, a line of black men in their late teens to early twenties, heads shaved and neatly dressed, were walking purposefully up Eighth Avenue.
“Now what’d you suppose those eggs are up to?” Edy asked, frowning.
Coltart studied the scene passing by the window, his blue eyes flashing with outrage and disbelief.
Coltart is a tall, self-possessed man with a long stride and an angular, intelligent face. His clothes hang on his lean frame, and he carries himself with composed concentration; bent over a book or stack of documents, he might be taken for a professor or a cleric – a man of thoughts, not action. But no one could make the mistake for long.
As Coltart watched the line of young men walking past the restaurant swell in volume that morning, he was anything but calm. Coltart didn’t need to discover that the men were exiting a large green-striped bus parked in the City Hall parking lot or that more buses were on their way into Bulawayo to know what their purpose was. He already knew.
“I’d received reports from rural by-elections held over the last several months in other parts of the country about bus loads of young men arriving from outside the areas and voting,” Coltart says from behind a large, well-used desk in his law office two weeks later. “The results supported my suspicion of fraud: the overall number of voters increased for the by-elections, and the numbers went to the ZANU-PF candidates. But we still had no firm proof.”
Coltart stops to counsel a client about the denial of a visa before continuing.
“I’d seen for myself the supplementary voter rolls at the polling stations that same morning. The supplementary rolls should include only the names of those residents who registered to vote since the last elections,” he explains. But at both stations I visited, the supplementary roll was as thick as the original. A lengthy list of names had been added at the last minute. And now the bus load of young men arriving …”
Coltart shakes his head, incredulous. “We were witnessing a blatant effort to rig the mayoral election.”
From the restaurant, Coltart mobilized the MDC group for action. Coltart’s tactics are those of a lawyer, splendidly employed with persistence and tenacity. Assisting him would be three Bulawayo residents who had volunteered their time to help with Coltart’s security after his election to Parliament. The group’s weapons were a video camera, cell phones, and a couple of trucks. Their mission: to document election fraud.
* * *
Spending a Saturday morning chasing down perpetrators of election fraud is an unlikely activity for members of parliament in most countries. But David Coltart is not a typical MP and these are extraordinary days in Zimbabwe.
Once the success story of southern Africa, Zimbabwe now teeters on the edge of political and economic collapse. Many blame the country’s disintegration on the governance of President Mugabe and ZANU-PF, citing the administration’s fiscal mismanagement, support of the military operation in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, persistent corruption, and escalating disregard for the rule of law.
The government attributes the chaos to the country’s history of colonial rule, the unequal distribution of prime farmland, and continued oppression of black Zimbabweans by white interests.
While the causes of the crisis may be debated, what cannot be disputed is the tragic state of the country and the angry frustration of its citizens. Despite a wealth of natural resources, Zimbabwe is in the third year of recession, battling a hard currency shortage and an annual inflation rate that passed 76% in September 2001 and is still climbing. Unemployment is over 60% and international aid groups warn of significant food shortages by the end of the year.
In the last 19 months, self-proclaimed veterans of Zimbabwe’s war for independence in the 1970’s and their auxiliary bands of thugs have invaded hundreds of the country’s commercial farms. The government-supported marauders have threatened and intimidated owners and farm workers, destroyed property, killed livestock and wildlife, shut down farm operations, and compromised the agriculturally-based economy. At least eighty Zimbabweans have been murdered, many more tortured and chased from their jobs and homes.
Earlier this year, the war vets turned their attention to the cities and towns, invading businesses and factories. The offices of one of the country’s only independent newspapers were bombed. Foreign journalists have been denied visas. The Chief Justice of the Supreme Court and three other justices resigned, citing intimidation by ZANU-PF after the Court entered a series of rulings unfavorable to the government.
Police response to complaints of injury and property destruction by the war vets and ZANU-PF operatives has been slow to nonexistent. Mugabe pardoned numerous individuals responsible for violence, arguing that they were engaged in a political uprising and should not be subject to the judicial system. The newly-appointed Supreme Court has begun overturning its prior rulings.
As Zimbabwe careens toward the presidential elections scheduled for early next year, the mood throughout the country is tense, and the weary population is braced for more trouble.
But against this dismal landscape, a group of Zimbabweans is surprisingly optimistic about the country’s future. David Coltart is one of them.
Coltart is the first to acknowledge that he is not alone in his vision of a democratically-run, economically-stable Zimbabwe, or in his belief that the change is imminent. He points to a host of other civic leaders and intellectuals who share his optimism for Zimbabwe and have been working tirelessly to make the vision a reality, including MDC officers Morgan Tsvangirai, Gibson Sibanda, and Paul Nyathi, and John Makumbe and Reginald Machabe-Hove of the University of Zimbabwe.
But while Coltart’s hope for Zimbabwe is shared by many and the groundwork for the country’s future is being laid with the sweat and sacrifice of thousands of people, Coltart is unique.
David Coltart is a white African whose life tracks his country’s transition from a repressive colonial regime to the threshold of a vibrant, multi-racial, democratic society. In the face of repeated threats, he has actively and vocally opposed the efforts of the ruling party and its security forces to restrict political choice in Zimbabwe. For almost twenty years, Coltart has stubbornly – and some say foolishly – called out the government for its human rights violations and abuse of power.
And he can no longer be easily dismissed. Last year, a predominantly working class constituency, over 95% of which is composed of black men and women, elected Coltart to Parliament by an 84% majority.
Coltart is, in short, a sign of tremendous hope for Zimbabwe’s future. And very bad news for anyone caught in the past.
Race matters in Zimbabwe. The country is only 21 years post-Independence, and while Zimbabwe escaped some of the extremes of colonialism experienced in other counties, unmistakable vestiges of the 80-year period of governance by a white minority remain.
As Albert Gumbo, former MDC District Chair, notes, “At some level, there remains an automatic distrust of whites among the black population. That distrust may always be there in some form,” Gumbo recognizes.
“David’s election to Parliament last year says a lot about the type of man he is,” Gumbo says. He pauses, then adds almost defiantly, “He’s a good man.”
Victor Nakah, the black President of the Theological College of Zimbabwe and a pastor at the Bulawayo Presbyterian Church, which Coltart attends, attributes Coltart’s success first and foremost to the hand of God.
“As a white man in this country, David was born into privilege,” Reverend Nakah says from his college office. ”
Traveling from that background to a point where he has genuine sympathy for people whose lives are so different from his and a black woman in a township believes that he understands her needs, well now…” Reverend Nakah leans back in his chair and says with satisfaction, “God helped David with that journey.”
As a child, Coltart understandably gave little thought to Reverend Nakah’s hand of God. Born in Gweru in 1957 and raised in Bulawayo, Coltart’s life was typical of many white children raised in Zimbabwe (then Rhodesia) in the 1960’s. He grew up in a comfortable house surrounded by well-tended gardens. He played sports at school, rode his bike through the quiet neighborhoods, and from the safety of his living room, listened to the political discussions that accompanied his father’s weekly bridge games.
It was a childhood without fear, surrounded by people who loved, nurtured, and challenged him. But he had almost no awareness of Rhodesia’s black population.
“I hardly had any dealings with black people,” Coltart now says. “It seems so impossible these days, but back then the only black people I knew were the domestic workers employed by my family. ‘Servants,’ they were called,” Coltart says, grimacing slightly. “Then one or two boys at school. I was living in a country where the overwhelming majority of the population was black, yet our societies were almost entirely separate. We knew nothing of each other.”
Coltart nonetheless considers himself luckier than many children growing up in that insular environment.
“My parents were outspoken critics of Ian Smith and his government. My father was a man of the highest integrity who taught respect for all people, and I was fortunate to grow up in a house filled with debate and discussion. It is true, however,” Coltart continues, “that while my parents considered themselves liberal, they did not believe the black people were in a position to rule the country at that point. As a child, I never questioned their view.”
Ironically, it was the war for Independence that changed Coltart’s mind.
When Coltart left school in 1975, the guerrilla war raging in Rhodesia was reaching its height and Coltart faced mandatory service in Rhodesia’s army. His parents were deeply opposed to the war and pleaded with their only child to leave the country to escape service.
Instead, Coltart signed up to serve his military time in the police.
“At the time,” he says, “I believed all the propaganda generated by Ian Smith ‘s government, and didn’t see any racial component to the war. I thought we were battling communism and the powers of evil. I saw my uncle’s tobacco farm under siege from guerrillas, his family and property threatened. I believed we were fighting for nothing less than the survival of civilization and Christianity.”
Over the course of the next two years, his assumptions were severely tested.
At 18 years old, a combination of race and natural ability put Coltart in command of a unit, and he found himself in the position of directing black men who were many years his senior, some with more than a decade of law enforcement and military experience. Only months after his posting, Coltart’s unit was dispatched to patrol and secure the western border between Rhodesia and Botswana. It was desolate and dangerous terrain, and Coltart and his men spent weeks alone in the bush, tracking guerrilla movements, collecting information, assuring the safety of local people, trying to stay alive.
“It was during those days,” Coltart explains, “that my love for this country and the people really developed. I’d had a wonderful childhood, of course,” he quickly says, “but it was living and working with the black people, watching different tribes work together and with me — often the only white person in the entire area. We were forced to rely on each other and trust each other,” Coltart says.
“I witnessed first-hand the skill and dedication of the men who protected me. I visited villages of people who always offered us food and were so generous when they had so little.” He leans forward in his chair, his usually moderate voice filled with emotion. “That was when my understanding of this place and the people really began.”
But the horrors of the war were equally affecting, feeding Coltart’s nightmares for years afterward.
At 19 years old, he had transferred to a plain-clothed division and was placed in charge of an entire base, responsible for collecting intelligence along the Mozambique border. The level of violence on both sides of the war had escalated, and as Coltart interviewed captured guerrillas and striped and identified the bodies of the dead, he was haunted by the horrors of war.
As the months passed, Coltart’s disillusionment with the war grew. He was sickened by the brutality and questioned the war’s purpose. He tried to focus on constructive projects, making overtures to local people and developing mutually-beneficial relationships with the villages in the area. When another officer ordered the destruction of the villages and burnt the kraals to the ground, Coltart knew he could no longer be an effective leader.
In 1978, with an early discharge in hand, Coltart headed for the University of Cape Town.
The days at Cape Town initially provided Coltart a much needed relief from the intensity of the war.
“I loved that period of my life,” Coltart says, his large smile momentarily transforming his face. “I played sports again, spent time with friends. UCT was a center for liberal thinkers, so I had the chance to hear some great talks and take classes that began to give my thoughts some shape and foundation. It was a time of incredible release.”
But the sense of exhilaration didn’t last. As Zimbabwe celebrated the end of the war and Robert Mugabe took over leadership of the country, Coltart was in turmoil. He was furious with Britain for abandoning the country, believed Ian Smith’s government had missed opportunities for necessary legislative and societal change, and worried about Zimbabwe’s future under a Marxist regime.
“I was distrustful of Robert Mugabe and the new government,” Coltart says. “I’d heard Mugabe’s speeches on the radio during the war, preaching brutality and inciting violence, had read the literature of the movement, and had seen a number of other countries destroyed by communism.”
Thousands of white Rhodesians, including Coltart’s parents, felt similarly and left Zimbabwe.
“I was devastated when my parents left,” Coltart says. “Even with all my concerns about the country, I always knew I was going back. Zimbabwe was my home.” He shakes his head. “But a lot of people had no hope for it.”
But as the months passed and the country settled into its new government, Coltart began his graduate studies in law and found reasons for optimism about his country’s future.
Coltart had been an active member of the Rhodesian Student Society from his first year at UCT. Even before Independence, he and the then-Chair, Andrew Ladley, had been instrumental in changing its name to the Zimbabwean Student Society and focusing the membership on issues like constitutional reform and support for the nation in transition. When Coltart was elected Chair, he began communicating with Zimbabwean government officials on behalf of the students at UCT and found his overtures welcomed.
Coltart organized a program to bring the officials to UCT to discuss opportunities in Zimbabwe following graduation. His first attempt was cancelled when the South African apartheid government denied the Zimbabwe officials travel visas. Showing an already well-ingrained stubbornness, Coltart immediately rescheduled the program, only to be threatened with deportation by South Africa.
But the effort that incurred the wrath of the South African government caught the attention of Zimbabwe’s then-Prime Minister, Robert Mugabe. In a personal telegram dated August 19, 1981, Mugabe wrote to Coltart:
… I am happy and encouraged to hear that Zimbabwe students at Cape Town University are ready and willing to return home upon completion of their studies to serve their country.
As you are no doubt aware we in government intend to establish a non-racial society based on equality and promotion of well-being of all our people in accordance with our socialist principles. It is in this connection that we have adopted the policy of reconciliation whereby our people must put aside the hatreds and animosities of the past and approach the future in a positive and constructive frame of mind and with commitment and dedication to the all-round development of the new Zimbabwe.
As we struggle to re-build our country out of the destruction of war we look to young people like your-selves to assist us achieve our objective of establishing a prosperous harmonious and humane society in this country. I call on all of you who have completed your studies to return and join us in the urgent tasks before us. I hardly need remind you that this is as much your home as it is ours. As has so often been said, in identifying with and returning to the new Zimbabwe, you have nothing to fear but fear itself.
Coltart made portions of the telegram into a poster, encouraging others at the university to return with him to Zimbabwe following graduation.
“I liked Mugabe’s pragmatism and his desire for reconciliation seemed genuine,’ Coltart says. “I had no further reservations about going home.”
Coltart had another reason for optimism about the future. When he returned to Zimbabwe with his law degree in 1983, his future wife, Jennifer, had already returned and was waiting for him.
It had not been an easy courtship. Jenny, who had recently graduated from UCT as a physiotherapist, had a strong faith, an iron will, and “a very clear idea of the type of man she could be serious about,” she says now, smiling. She is a pretty, energetic woman who talks easily about her life and shows few signs of having given birth to their fourth child weeks earlier.
“I know I’m sitting here now, the wife of an MP,” Jenny says from the living room of their house, “but back then, politics and groups weren’t my thing at all. I was quite private and shy and not at all interested in that kind of life.”
The difference in their interests had kept the couple from meeting until her last year at UCT.
“But the first time David and I were in a room together, I noticed him immediately,” Jenny admits. “We were attending the same meeting and when I walked in, he was standing across the room talking to some people. He had this lovely lean look, a fantastic smile, and he wore those casual shabby trousers that I loved …” After a moment she adds wryly, “Little did I know he would end up spending most of his time in a suit.”
During the months that followed, Jenny repeatedly tested the strength of Coltart’s religious commitment, but even after she had been convinced of his faith, she remained openly skeptical of a man so enthusiastic about politics.
“David loved getting people together, talking about policies and societal reform. He wanted people to see Zimbabwe’s potential and to go back with him, make it happen,” Jenny continues. “I was attracted to David’s commitment and admired his dedication, but we never had time alone. I was working by then and he had classes, his groups, and also was Director of a legal aid clinic at a squatter camp. ‘I can’t see you this weekend,’ Dave would say; ‘I’m counseling poor people.'”
Jenny shakes her head slightly. “And, well, I knew it was wonderful what he did, but I wanted to ask, what about the beach? What about the movies? When are we supposed to relax, to have fun?”
If anything, the couple had even less opportunity for fun when Coltart returned to Zimbabwe.
When Coltart had left the country in 1978, Zimbabwe had been consumed by the liberation struggle that led to Independence. Now, five years later, the country was again engaged in a brutal conflict, but this one was being fought in secret, and the majority of its estimated 20,000 casualties would be civilians.
Following Independence, the country continued to be plagued with pockets of violence. Bands of armed dissidents roamed the country, eluding the military and police and destroying property and intimidating the rural populations — particularly in Matabeleland. There were reports of torture and murder.
In addition to the security problems posed by the dissidents, President Mugabe and the ZANU-PF government were threatened by the power held by the opposition party, the Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZAPU), whose base of support was in Matabeleland. Mugabe increased the military and police presence in Matabeleland, renewed the State of Emergency that had been in place pre-Independence, and reinstated legislation that granted the government freedom from prosecution.
Then, in January 1983, the same month that Coltart began his law career at the Bulawayo firm of Webb Low & Barry, Mugabe deployed the Fifth Brigade into Matabeleland.
The Fifth Brigade was specially trained by North Korean instructors and, according to the government, sent to Matabeleland to combat violence perpetrated by dissidents. But within a matter of months after the deployment, people began to appear in Coltart’s law firm with stories of violence by government troops against unarmed civilians who supported ZAPU.
As a junior lawyer, the firm assigned Coltart handle the complaints.
“At first,” Coltart says, “there were just a trickle of people and their allegations that soldiers were engaged in violence against civilians were puzzling. Then, within a matter of weeks, the reports of disappearances, torture, and mass murder became a flood. And the survivors were identifying the soldiers as the Fifth Brigade.”
Coltart never planned to be a human rights lawyer. Indeed, to the extent that he had hoped to play a role in politics upon returning to Zimbabwe, Coltart could do little that would be more damaging to his career than to investigate the allegations of governmental abuse occurring in Matabeleland in the 1980’s.
But Coltart showed no hesitation. In response to the reports of unjustified violence by government forces, Coltart developed the skills and techniques that would become his best weapons against injustice. He drove out to meet people, talked to them personally, gained their trust, took statements and obtained affidavits. He followed up on people who had been arrested, arriving at prisons and detention facilities, confronting the police and demanding to see his clients. He defended those accused of helping the dissidents and brought claims on behalf of those who had been injured.
In 1985, when he had been practicing law less than two years (although he had already been made a partner in his law firm), Coltart took his advocacy skills into the heart of the battle between the government and ZAPU. The government, which through its military and security forces had escalated its campaign against ZANU supporters, had detained a number of ZAPU MPs, including ZAPU’s chief whip, Sydney Malunga. Malunga was accused of aiding a pair of dissidents three years earlier; he faced life imprisonment for allegedly giving the dissidents money to purchase shoes. Coltart was asked to represent him.
Coltart defended Sydney Malunga against the Government’s case in three different cities over a period of more than six months. Often the only white face in the courtroom, Coltart unraveled the government’s evidence, exposed government’s witnesses as liars, destroyed the case against Malunga, and secured an acquittal.
Coltart went on to represent several of Malunga’s colleagues and other ZAPU officials, including ZAPU’s leader, Joshua Nkoma and his brother, Stephen Nkomo, against claims by ZANU-PF government.
As Coltart’s skills and reputation grew, so did the government’s attention and fury. The government that had encouraged Coltart to return to Zimbabwe only four years earlier, now branded him an enemy of the state. The government attempted to deny him a passport, and police arrived at his house to arrest him for obstruction of justice. When he visited one of the CIO’s detention facilities looking for a missing client and refused to leave until the man was produced, he was threatened with arrest.
Undeterred, in the years that followed, Coltart took on over a hundred cases stemming from the government-sponsored violence in Matabeleland. He authored a report of the human rights abuses, which was submitted to government authorities, and contributed heavily to the report prepared by the Catholic Commission for Justice and Peace and the Legal Resources Foundation of Zimbabwe entitled Breaking the Silence, which exposed the extent of Mugabe’s responsibility for the conflict.
At the same time that he was helping to bring the massacre occurring in Matabeleland to light, Coltart was conceiving of and building the institutions essential to Zimbabwe’s future. He established the first legal aid clinic in Bulawayo, securing donated office space and recruiting local lawyers to volunteer their time. He went on to found the Bulawayo Legal Projects Centre, an arm of the Legal Resources Foundation of Zimbabwe for which he was a Trustee, and serve as the Centre’s Director. He served on a number of political campaigns, started a Christian school in Bulawayo, and became an active member of international human rights organizations.
“From the very beginning,” Jenny says, “David was always involved with people and organizations. He loved putting people together, always with a goal of achieving a positive purpose, bettering society.”
Reverend Nakah says, “David has a holistic approach. He sees something that needs doing, like encouraging young black professionals to stay in the country or an area for reform. He contacts people who might helpful, forms a group, and offers his assistance.”
“David never said no to anyone,” Jenny says, sighing, and Reverend Nakah concedes, “He can spread himself too thin sometimes.”
But no one doubts Coltart’s motives.
“There’s a lot of guilt being white in this country,” Jenny says. “We grew up with privileges the black people did not have. All of us suffer from the guilt and handle it different ways. A lot of people simply left the country, or they stayed but denied the problem. But David was never paralyzed by the past. From the time I met him he had a vision for a democratic Zimbabwe, and believed white Africans could play a role in achieving that.”
But as the years passed, Coltart’s political ambitions for himself diminished.
“I think David convinced himself that because of this country’s history, a white African would not be able to have a visible role in Zimbabwean politics, at least not at this time,” Jenny Coltart says. “He saw himself making a contribution in other ways, supporting the leaders, being involved in constitutional reform, helping to draft speeches and papers, continuing with the human rights work.” Jenny looks up and laughs. “I was quite comfortable with that less visible role, of course.”
Then, in September 1999, a group of black Zimbabweans with their roots in the labor movement formed the MDC, a new political party committed to peaceful, non-violent democratic change. The party approached Coltart to join them, appointed him Chairperson of the Legal Committee, and asked him to stand for a seat in Parliament.
Honored to be asked to join the party, Coltart registered to run in his home constituency, Bulawayo South. At the time, the constituency included mostly low-density suburbs outside Bulawayo and a mixed population of black and white residents, the majority of whom were middle-class.
In response to Coltart’s registration, government election officials immediately questioned his eligibility, alleging that as someone entitled to British citizenship, he could not run for office. Coltart was only allowed to stand when he proved that he had renounced his right to British citizenship years before. Election officials also re-drew the boundaries of the constituency.
When they were done, the Bulawayo South constituency looked markedly different. The new constituency’s boundaries no longer included several low density suburbs (including the area where Coltart lived) with significant numbers of white Africans and was redrawn to include a substantial portion of a high density black suburb.
Despite the re-designation of the constituency, Coltart won his parliamentary seat, beating the ZANU-PF candidate, a long standing Nationalist and former Cabinet Minister by 20,781 votes to 3,193.
“You know,” Jenny says, “when Dave won that election … when all those people said they trusted him to speak for them, or at least were willing to give him a chance, that was the first time in my life I finally stopped feeling guilty about being a white person in this country.”
Reverend Nakah sees the election result a sign of the maturity of Zimbabwe’s voters.
“The fact that David can win a parliamentary seat in this country demonstrates that people have gotten beyond simply voting based on race,” Reverend Nakah says. “They are voting for leadership.”
On the morning of September 8, that leadership meant David Coltart was doing everything he could to assure that his constituency and the rest of Bulawayo’s population was free to choose its own mayor without illegal interference.
The MDC group left the restaurant and headed up Eighth Avenue, searching for the men who had exited the bus. But it was too late; the men had dispersed and were impossible to follow.
The group surveyed the scene in the City Hall parking lot. The now-empty bus had left but more buses arrived, all with the distinctive marking that identified them as operated by the Kukura-Kurerwa bus company, which was owned by a known ZANU-PF supporter. As another group of young men disembarked, an organizer handed them papers.
Coltart wanted to determine where the buses had originated and whether additional buses were on their way into town. The more evidence he could collect of the effort to fix the election, the better.
A limited number of roads lead into Bulawayo. The group split up, and Coltart jumped into Craig Edy’s Land Rover. With Edy driving and Craig Biddlecomb operating the video camera, they sped out the road to Harare, Zimbabwe’s capitol.
They hadn’t far to drive. On the road from Bulawayo to Harare, about six kilometers from town, two more buses appeared, both filled with young men. Edy made a quick U-turn and followed the buses toward Bulawayo. Craig Biddlecomb began filming.
Within minutes, a Land Rover Defender with several men inside appeared on the road. Coltart was unsurprised, recognizing it as the type of vehicle used by the Central Intelligence Organization (CIO), Zimbabwe’s security police. The vehicle flashed its lights, and the plain-clothed officers shouted at Coltart’s vehicle to pull over.
The group was unwilling to sacrifice their evidence-gathering. Edy drove on, keeping pace with the buses heading into town. The CIO vehicle maneuvered its way between Coltart’s vehicle and the bus, inhibiting the filming and shouting at their vehicle to stop.
As the CIO vehicle pulled close, Coltart rolled down his window and stuck his head out.
“I believe you are officers ,” Coltart shouted over the noise of the road. “We wish to report that these buses are involved in election fraud.”
Seeing the video camera, one of the officers raised a newspaper to cover his face.
The trucks sped along, side by side. “We are witnessing what we believe to be an illegal effort to rig the Bulawayo election,” Coltart shouted. “I am requesting you accompany us into town, assist us in collecting evidence and affect arrests.”
The MDC group was unsurprised when the officers made no response.
Coltart’s truck swung into the City Hall parking lot behind one of the buses and began filming the men exiting the bus. The CIO vehicle entered the lot behind them, and Coltart knew they had limited time.
Approaching from the opposite direction, the CIO truck stopped between Coltart’s vehicle and the bus, blocking the filming. Edy drove around the bus and repositioned the truck for filming, focusing on the organizers of the men. Some men exiting the bus ran away when they saw the camera, others simply ducked. The tempers of the police and organizers were nearing a boiling point, wanting to avoid any violence, Coltart and his group exited the lot. The men quickly copied the video and arranged for its transfer to safe locations and copies to the media.
Later that day, the police raided the MDC offices in Bulawayo, seized the video camera, and arrested three of the men who assisted Coltart’s effort to gather evidence. The police made no arrests based on Coltart’s report of election fraud.
Despite evidence that more than a dozen busloads of people from outside the area entered Bulawayo over the weekend, apparently in a effort to vote, the MDC’s candidate, Japhet Ndabeni-Ncube, won the Bulawayo mayoral election with an 82% majority.
Coltart did not stop long to celebrate the MDC’s victory.
“I can’t seem to relax anymore,” he admits. “Even when I am not working, there is just so much to do if we are to succeed, I can’t seem to relax.”
The stress is hardly surprising; his pace is furious. In addition to serving as Shadow Justice Minister, Coltart chairs the Parliamentary Select Committee for Justice and is a member of the Legal Committee of the National Constitutional Assembly. When parliament is in session, he is in Harare several days a week, with the days in between spent in committees, meeting with constituents and clients of his law practice, and keeping contact with a broad range of people throughout the country and the international community. He travels outside Zimbabwe frequently, meeting with governmental officials and human rights organizations throughout the world.
Beginning in August, at the request of Morgan Tsvangirai, Coltart also began traveling around Zimbabwe to talk to members of the embattled commercial farming community.
On a hot afternoon in late September, Coltart stood in a small, airless room outside Harare addressing a lunch meeting dozen commercial farmers from the Hwedza district. There was little talk among the men and they ate plates of beef and rice rapidly and without pleasure. Of the 45 farms in the district, 24 were not operating because of interference by war veterans.
Coltart addressed the men without preamble. His first comment, however, was directed for the benefit of a group not at the table that afternoon.
“I know this has been a devastating eighteen months and many of you are exhausted,” Coltart said. But you must remember that as isolated as you have felt these months, the workers employed by you are even more isolated. They cannot get to town; they do not receive the news. You must talk to them, explain why there is reason for hope, and help them survive also.”
The group of men sat motionless, heavy in their seats, the effects of the two-year struggle to farm in the face of threats and violence like a physical weight on them.
Coltart pressed on, his comments ranging from analysis of the failure of a recent Commonwealth-brokered agreement on land reform, the results of the by-elections, the efforts that will be made to assure the presidential election is free and fair, the interest of the international community, and practical advice.
“You must try to get a crop in the ground. You must plant despite the threats. The country must keep going. The strong must help the weak,” Coltart concludes. “For the community to survive, you must help each other.”
Coltart’s message to the Hwedza farmers would not surprise Agnus Madenyika, the Shona woman who has worked for the Coltarts since they began their family.
“I am different here, working for this family,” Madenyika says, sitting at the kitchen table on a sunny morning. “In this house the family is with me. They see the economy is strong against me and understand the problems for me. They talk to me here. They raise my money. They let my family stay here when they have nowhere to go. They understand who I am here.”
John Tlou, a middle-aged Sotho man who works as a gardener for the Coltarts, agrees. “We are people together here,” he says as he points out a favorite section of the garden and gives a tour of his neatly-organized quarters. “The family and I discuss what is done here. We work as a team,” he says.
Tlou has been involved in politics since he was a young man and is currently an MDC Branch Chairman. He is passionate about the need for political change.
“This government now tries to tell the people that this is a fight of blacks against the whites. The government is wrong, and I know this myself, seeing what I have seen and working in this place.”
Agnus Madenyika nods contentedly. Sitting in the kitchen sipping tea, she gives no hint that she is the same woman who a year before stood up to a dozen police and refused to allow them to search the house when the Coltarts were gone. She simply smiles and says, “My heart is settled here.”
Many of Coltart’s constituents are far less settled these days. They worry about the government’s new statements that they must renounce any other citizenship – and, indeed, entitlement to claim any other citizenship – in order to remain a Zimbabwe citizen. They worry about being forced to block their own escape routes.
The constituents have filled the empty benches at Ascot Race Course just outside Bulawayo’s city center to hear one of Coltart’s scheduled reports back. It is the end of a workday, but the sun is still high and even in the open stands the motionless air is hot and close. Most people arrived in pairs, husbands and wives with matching expressions of concern.
Coltart speaks without notes, ranging through current events in the country, analysis of changes in the economy, pragmatic advice, and inspiration. He moves from discussion of Bulawayo’s mayoral election straight to the results of the rural by-elections, which have been won by ZANU-PF candidates, and explains why those results are not predictive of the presidential election. He reports with satisfaction that the international community no longer believes the government’s claim that the problems facing Zimbabwe are limited to the land issue and a working out of a colonial past.
Then he turns to the issue of citizenship and cautions the group about the government’s effort to unsettle them psychologically with a broad interpretation of the Citizenship Act.
“People look to him,” Albert Gumbo says. “When something happens that they do not understand, David will put it in context, discuss what is happening, what the developments mean, and give people a plan.”
Coltart does that now, walking the assembled group through the language of the law and explaining why he believes the government is overstepping its authority.
But once that is done, then he is direct and unequivocal: “One vote can win the presidential election,” Coltart reminds them. “Each person must do everything possible to protect his or her right to vote.” He outlines why those who hold dual citizenships should make a choice now, so they can assure they can vote. Then he references his own reasons for renunciation.
“Far too many people have their feet in two camps,” he says. “In 1991 I renounced my British citizenship. I wanted people to know where I stand in relation to this country. I have no worries about where I am going to be next year. I will be here.”
The audience is silent. A few heads nod.
“David could go anywhere,” Albert Gumbo says. “To the United States, to Europe. He could get a job so easily, but people trust him and that he will be here,” Albert Gumbo says.
“It’s especially difficult for David because of his race,” Reverend Nakah says. “David’s strength comes from his connection to this country and the people, but it also is his greatest vulnerability – because he stayed when he could leave. So many white people have left Zimbabwe in the last eighteen months that those who remain are a target. David is a target.”
Coltart has been accused of controlling the MDC because he is one of the few white officers. In international settings, he has been assumed to represent only Zimbabwe’s “white interests.” And his life has been threatened repeatedly.
The danger never paralyzes Coltart. He never opts to avoid a battle or flies under the radar: when he sees injustice, he calls people by name, chastising them for their abuses of power.
At Ascot, he warns the police and CIO officers who have selectively enforced the law.
“This is a changed world,” Coltart cautions. “Ultimately justice will prevail in Zimbabwe and the rule of law will be restored. And when that happens, we will bring those people who ignored the murder of Martin Olds to justice – and those who failed to investigate the abduction of my polling agent Patrick Namanyama. They do not have much time left. We will not forget their actions against innocent citizens of this country.”
The audience explodes into applause.
But Coltart’s actions come at a cost. “My biggest concern is personal security,” Coltart says from his study a week later. The house is littered with sports equipment and resonates with the lively noises of children. Someone bangs on the piano, a cricket game is on television, and everyone absentmindedly steps over a motley assortment of dogs lounging in doorways.
Coltart’s home seems far away from the danger that surrounds him, but is filled with constant reminders of how much they all have to lose.
The family is affectionate: Coltart’s sons pull him into a rugby scrum on the kitchen floor; his older daughter wraps her arms around her mother. An uncle arrives, then grandparents. The baby is passed from one set of eager arms to another.
“I have always been a person who pretty much gets on with most people, but I am actually hated by some people,” Coltart continues, his voice revealing his amazement. “My profile is my best protection: they know if they have a go at me, because of my outspokenness, everyone will know who it is.” He pauses, then says carefully. “The danger is, of course, that they will reach a point where it simply doesn’t matter.”
The noises of his family filter up into the room.
“But against that I have a very basic but deep faith,” Coltart continues after a moment. “I do believe, perhaps naively, that nothing happens outside the will of God. That doesn’t mean I’m stupid; I take precautions. But I do have faith.”
Downstairs, Jenny sits in the living room with the baby stretched out on her knees.
“I think about the danger,” she says, nodding. “I do. If we lose Dave …”
She tries to make the statement matter of factly, but her voice catches and tears fill her eyes. The pain of possible loss is so close to the surface, so sharp and immediate as to be almost unbearable to watch.
Jenny presses her fingers to her eyes and straightens her back against the chair. She takes a deep breath and continues. “I told myself last year that I needed to go back to work, get my skills back … because, you know …,” she says haltingly, “I might have to be the breadwinner for the family.”
She looks up. Her eyes have filled again. “Then I got pregnant.”
She runs a hand over her baby’s head and shakes her own head slightly in frustration as the tears spill. After several moments of silence, her voice softer, she says, “I can only think God must have had a different plan.”
* * *
Back at Ascot, the sun has set and the stands are dark. Coltart is illuminated by a spotlight.
His talk has taken in all his favorite themes: commitment to the country, optimism about the future, restoration of the rule of law. He has suggested that people who have concerns about the interpretation of the Citizenship Act form a group and bring a claim. He has previewed the next months for the group and told them what to expect, warning them against misreading the results of the by-elections, cautioning them that the new Supreme Court can be expected to rule in favor of the government, and telling them the economy will worsen. And he has urged them to remain steadfast and resolute.
Now he speaks of a source of his own strength.
“I look around here,” Coltart says, raising a hand to the night sky behind him, “and I remind myself that nothing exists outside of God’s design. The creator of the stars and the moon is the creator of these days also. And He is a God of justice.”
Coltart pauses. His audience is so quiet the microphone picks up the whine of crickets and the sputtering of a distant sprinkler.
“Isaiah 40 instructs that no sooner do the rulers of the world become entrenched, no sooner do they take root, than He will blow on them and reduce them to chaff.”
Several heads rise and look about, as if expecting a wind. In the hot night air, a young woman nonetheless shivers and hugs her arms around herself.
“And that is what I believe we are living through now,” Coltart says, his voice confident and calming. “God is blowing through this nation. And it is not comfortable in the hurricane, but if we all do our part, the process is inevitable. Entrenched rulers shall be swept away.”
Too young for the term statesman to apply, Coltart nonetheless already has the raw ingredients.
“He will continue to mature,” Reverend Nakah says. “I’ve watched him try many things, some of which don’t work, but he learns and continues forward. I’ve seen him face situations he did not understand, like apathy among the black population and barriers to integration. He took steps to try to understand. And with God’s help, he has.”
Reverend Nakah continues. “David must continue to be accepting. The MDC is not the Church, I tell him, and it should not be. David struggles to promote Christian values to people who do not necessarily have the same beliefs. He must be patient and tolerant, and this will be a challenge for him,” Reverend Nakah says, smiling with genuine affection.
“There are times when I think David is naïve about people,” Albert Gumbo says. “He often only sees the good side of someone, and some people are not as he believes. But then I see David has a broader vision. He knows he is dealing with human beings and his vision carries him .. because believing in people is the only way to move forward.” Gumbo smiles ironically. “Then I realize he is not naïve at all.”
At Ascot, Coltart has finished speaking and the crowd files out of the stands and into the night. The meeting has relieved some of the tension in the group. People who arrived silently and with averted eyes now chatter and wave at neighbors as they make their way to their cars.
Coltart talks to the last of the people who gather around him, asking for his advice and help. He shows neither impatience or fatigue, just attention, sympathy and steady resolve.
When he has answered the last of the questions, Coltart reviews the schedule for the weeks ahead with the MDC organizers. He shakes hands with his bodyguards and heads for the exit.
It’s the end of a long day, but Coltart still moves quickly and purposefully, taking the stairs three at a time. As he leaves the stands, the lights switch off and Coltart disappears into the darkness of the parking lot, surrounded by a final circle of people, all talking about the future — men and women, black and white.