In a decisive move that exposes deepening fault lines within Zimbabwe’s ruling party, Zanu PF has nullified the controversial co-option of President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s adviser, Paul Tungwarara, into its powerful Central Committee. This intervention is more than a procedural correction; it is a public flashpoint in the covert battle between established party structures and the rising influence of financial power.
The controversy stems from a December 7 meeting of the Manicaland Provincial Coordinating Committee (PCC), which voted to install Tungwarara into a Central Committee seat left vacant by Dorothy Mabika. However, in a December 11 letter, National Political Commissar Munyaradzi Machacha swiftly overturned the decision. The core violation was procedural: party rules mandate that a replacement must originate from the same administrative district as the departed member. Mabika was from Chipinge, while Tungwarara is not, making his co-option invalid.
Machacha’s letter, however, revealed a more significant underlying concern. He issued a stark warning against “the issuance of money, goods or services” by aspirants, labeling such acts as vote-buying that would lead to automatic disqualification. This directive was a thinly veiled reference to widespread allegations that Tungwarara, whose wealth stems from opaque state contracts, had distributed cash and purchased food for PCC delegates to secure their support. This incident highlights a critical tension in Zanu PF: the conflict between its formal, rule-based hierarchy and the informal, money-driven networks that increasingly shape its internal politics.
To understand the stakes, one must examine Tungwarara’s meteoric rise. Once a peripheral figure, he has become a central political financier by fronting several high-profile presidential initiatives, including the Presidential Borehole Scheme, the Presidential Stands for Veterans Programme, and the Presidential Solar Programme. These schemes have provided him with unparalleled access to state resources and a nationwide platform for patronage. His lavish sponsorship of party events and direct cash giveaways have effectively built a parallel power base, unsettling party stalwarts who advanced through decades of grassroots mobilization.
The Central Committee is not a ceremonial body; it is Zanu PF’s supreme decision-making organ between congresses, with over 300 members who shape policy, elect the presidium, and control key appointments. A seat at this table is a prerequisite for any serious national political ambition. For Tungwarara, it represents legitimacy and a formal platform from which to launch a potential future presidential bid, a prospect some of his supporters have begun to tout. His blockage, therefore, is a major setback for his faction.
This episode is a microcosm of a broader struggle within Zanu PF. The party’s official stance, as enforced by Machacha, is an attempt to assert the primacy of its constitution and procedural norms against the corrosive influence of money. It signals to provincial structures that headquarters is watching and that indiscipline will not be tolerated. However, the very need for such a public rebuke underscores how pervasive the practice of financial inducement has become.
The order for Manicaland to restart the process correctly is a test of the party’s discipline. Will the province comply, or will Tungwarara’s financial influence again attempt to bend the rules? The outcome will signal whether Zanu PF’s central authority can still curb the ambitions of its wealthiest patrons or if the party’s internal dynamics are now irrevocably governed by capital. For now, the establishment has drawn a line in the sand, but the long-term battle between political legacy and financial muscle is far from over.