By A Correspondent-President Emmerson Mnangagwa’s controversial decision to grant national hero status to his embattled relative and former ZESA executive, Sydney “Chigananda” Gata, while denying the same honour to celebrated liberation war veteran Colonel Cladious Makova, has provoked widespread outrage and renewed accusations of cronyism and political vindictiveness.
Colonel Makova, a decorated military officer and former Zimbabwe National Army (ZNA) spokesperson, died in Chiredzi last Sunday and was buried at his farm in Mkwasine on Saturday after being conferred liberation hero status. Gata, by contrast, was laid to rest with full national honours at the Heroes Acre—a move many see as a reward for loyalty, not legacy.
Zanu PF insiders and ordinary citizens alike are questioning what constitutes national heroism under Mnangagwa’s rule: is it sacrifice and service, or loyalty to the President and participation in elite patronage networks?
Makova’s military record is hard to ignore. Trained in Tanzania, Mozambique, and Romania, in the late 1970s, he rose through the ranks from Lieutenant to Colonel and served in critical roles within the ZNA. He was instrumental in reshaping the army’s public image in the 1990s, during a time of national discontent over military excesses. As the army’s public relations chief, Makova worked to build transparency, discipline, and accountability.
Yet, his legacy was seemingly overshadowed by his political associations. Makova was widely seen as aligned with the late General Solomon Mujuru—Mnangagwa’s bitter rival in the Zanu PF succession battles of the 2000s. In 2014, Makova was dismissed from the army in the same purge that saw the fall of Vice President Joice Mujuru. His close ties to the Mujuru faction are now believed to be the reason behind his exclusion from the national shrine.
Observers say Mnangagwa’s sidelining of Makova fits into a broader pattern of political retribution and revisionist history. Several senior military officers linked to the Mujuru camp died under mysterious circumstances, often described as accidents. Though never officially tied to Mnangagwa, the pattern has fuelled suspicions of a long-running purge to consolidate power.
In stark contrast, Sydney Gata’s career was marred by scandal. A long-time ally and relative of Mnangagwa, Gata was accused of looting state resources, abusing public office, and entrenching a culture of nepotism at ZESA. His tenure saw worsening blackouts, deepening national debt, and lavish personal spending. He allegedly imposed his wife, Angeline Gata, as an MP in Mutema-Musikavanhu through manipulation and state coercion, including suspiciously “assisted” voting during recent by-elections.
Despite these controversies, Gata was given a hero’s send-off—an act critics say exposes Mnangagwa’s definition of heroism as loyalty to him, not to the nation.
Makova, a quiet patriot who helped rebuild the image of the military and later served as a Member of Parliament focused on community development, is remembered in his home district as a humble servant of the people. Yet he was denied the highest honour—while a man accused of exploiting public office for personal gain was elevated to the nation’s most sacred burial ground.
This double standard, critics argue, lays bare the rot in Zimbabwe’s ruling elite: under Mnangagwa, heroism is no longer earned through sacrifice—it is bought through loyalty.