First, we witnessed the arrival of Botswana’s President Duma Boko, who traveled to officially open this year’s Zimbabwe International Trade Fair (ZITF) in Bulawayo. Shortly thereafter, we watched our own President Emmerson Mnangagwa depart for Eswatini to attend that country’s independence celebrations and King Mswati III’s birthday. As has become the expected norm with our own presidency, Mnangagwa’s departure was a grand affair of performative loyalty.

Both Vice Presidents, Constantino Chiwenga and Kembo Mohadi, were present to bid him farewell, flanked by a phalanx of Cabinet Ministers and the top brass of the military command. A few hours later, the same high-ranking officials were back on the tarmac, standing in the same rigid formation to welcome him home. This spectacle, while framed as “State Protocol,” has become a wearying ritual that serves as a visual metaphor for the deep-seated structural issues plaguing Zimbabwean governance.

Yet, in Botswana, we witnessed a completely different scenario. When President Boko departed for Zimbabwe on 21 April 2026, there was no crowd of ministers or vice presidents trailing behind him. Instead, he was seen off by his Permanent Secretary, Ms.

Emmah Peloetletse, and a few senior military and police officers. Upon his return on 23 April, he was met by the same small, functional team, including Ms. Peloetletse and the Attorney General, Ms.

Mmako Abraham. There were no hordes of ministers and no Vice President abandoning their office to wave at a plane. In Gaborone, the machinery of government continued to function while the leader was away; in Harare, it appeared to stop and start at the runway.

At its core, the Zimbabwean practice is the physical manifestation of the “Big Man” syndrome, a political ailment where the individual is elevated above the office. When the entire top tier of the government and the security forces feels compelled to spend hours traveling to and from an airport for a routine flight, the message to the citizenry is clear: personal loyalty to the leader is more valuable than professional duty to the nation. This fosters a cult of personality that suggests the nation’s very survival is tied to a single individual.

It is a performance of sycophancy that prioritizes the ego of the leader over the administrative efficiency of a state that is meant to serve its people. This unsettling exercise was inherited from the late despot Robert Mugabe. The problems inherent in this ritual extend far beyond mere optics; they are deeply rooted in the erosion of institutional independence.

In a healthy republic, power is vested in institutions that function regardless of the individual occupying the presidency. However, when the nation’s top brass is expected to line up like schoolchildren, it signals a shift toward a “patron-client” political system. In this environment, a minister’s standing is measured not by the success of their portfolio or the quality of service delivery in places like Redcliff or Gweru, but by their visibility in the reception line.

This creates a culture of performative loyalty where absence is seen as rebellion. It is the hallmark of a system where the leader has become the state. The economic and administrative costs of this theater are staggering.

In a country where the most recent Corruption Perceptions Index score is a dismal 22, and where taxpayers are constantly asked to tighten their belts, the sight of a massive motorcade of luxury SUVs burning fuel for a tarmac greeting is an insult. These are man-hours that should be spent tackling the complex issues of resource governance and human rights. Instead, the leadership is frozen in a perpetual loop of greetings and farewells, effectively paralyzing government departments.

It is a waste of human capital that a nation striving for accountability simply cannot afford. When looking at the global stage, the comparisons are telling. The practice of mass airport receptions is most common in nations characterized by authoritarianism or highly centralized, monolithic power structures.

In North Korea or Turkmenistan, the leader’s movements are treated as sacred events designed to project an image of absolute unity. By clinging to these same rituals, the Zimbabwean state aligns itself symbolically with some of the most repressive administrations in the world, undermining any claims of being a “new dispensation.” In sharp contrast, states that prioritize institutional strength—including our neighbors in Botswana—have abandoned such extravagant displays. In most modern states, wh