By Munacho Gwamanda–Fresh details have emerged in the growing rift between Zanu PF spokesperson Christopher Mutsvangwa and Information Minister Jenfan Muswere, revealing a toxic blend of factional battles, personal interests, and raw political power.
At the centre of the storm is a scathing letter Mutsvangwa wrote on 7 April, threatening to fire Muswere for allegedly bypassing internal party procedures.
The Zanu PF spokesperson accused the minister of prematurely authorizing the state broadcaster, ZBC, and The Herald to announce the results of the party’s internal women’s league elections in Manicaland before the party leadership had officially ratified them.
Mutsvangwa branded the announcement “irregular” and an attempt to “upend standard internal consultations,” asserting that any official position would come only from his office as the party’s designated mouthpiece.
In tone and content, the letter was not just a reprimand—it was a direct challenge to Muswere’s ministerial authority and a bold assertion of control over the state media apparatus.
Yet behind the bureaucratic outrage lies a more calculated motive: Mutsvangwa was fighting in defence of his wife, Monica Mutsvangwa, a senior party official whose preferred candidate had lost the controversial women’s league election in Manicaland.
The women’s league elections, held on April 6, were to choose a new provincial chairperson to replace Happiness Nyakuedzwa, who was fired last year.
The contest pitted acting chairperson Mercy Sacco—Monica Mutsvangwa’s ally—against Dorothy Mabika, backed by women’s league boss Mabel Chinomona.
When the results were announced, Mabika had won decisively, reportedly securing 29 votes to Sacco’s solitary ballot. But soon after, chaos erupted.
One faction disputed the results, claiming the elections had been postponed and that the votes were counted at an unsanctioned venue.
Allegations of forged signatures and procedural violations swirled, as rival camps accused each other of manipulation.
“The meeting was cancelled,” said a party insider, “but the other faction went ahead at an unknown location. Later, it returned to the Manicaland party offices in Mutare. There is real fighting in the women’s league. Chinomona supports Mabika, while Monica Mutsvangwa supports Sacco. Now Chris [Mutsvangwa] is fighting in his wife’s corner.”
The fallout escalated when Muswere, reportedly following routine government media practice, authorized the coverage of the results.
This, in Mutsvangwa’s eyes, was a betrayal—not of protocol, but of his family’s political interests.
Mutsvangwa’s letter to Muswere was heavy-handed, and observers say it exposed the Zanu PF spokesperson’s bully-boy tactics.
Rather than resolve the issue through internal dialogue, Mutsvangwa publicly humiliated Muswere and wielded his role as spokesperson like a weapon.
“He’s trying to reassert himself, not just as a communications head but as a power centre in the party,” a senior Zanu PF official confided. “The letter was a warning shot—not just to Muswere but to anyone seen as Mnangagwa’s rising star.”
Indeed, Jenfan Muswere, the youthful Information Minister and Zanu PF MP for Makoni, is widely seen as a protégé of President Emmerson Mnangagwa.
Many perceive his growing influence, especially in managing state media narratives, as part of Mnangagwa’s broader strategy to groom loyalists who can eventually replace the old guard.
And this, more than anything else, seems to have irked Mutsvangwa.
Once a close ally of Mnangagwa, Mutsvangwa played a pivotal role in the 2017 military coup that ousted Robert Mugabe and elevated Mnangagwa to the presidency.
But that alliance has soured.
As Mnangagwa begins to edge out aging war veterans and consolidate power around a younger cohort—including the likes of Muswere—Mutsvangwa has grown more aggressive and erratic.
Some insiders believe he harbours ambitions of his own and is using his party post to build a base, especially among disgruntled war veterans and sections of the elite frustrated with Mnangagwa’s increasingly authoritarian rule.
“Mutsvangwa sees himself as a natural successor,” said another source. “He thinks he has the liberation credentials, the charisma, and the networks. But Mnangagwa is not about to hand over the reins.”
Adding fuel to the fire are longstanding personal rumours that continue to dog both camps.
Whispers within party corridors suggest that Monica Mutsvangwa once had a romantic relationship with Mnangagwa, a liaison that allegedly produced a child.
Though unsubstantiated and widely dismissed as political gossip, the rumour has persisted—revived every time the two camps clash.
This rumour, while salacious, underscores the deeply personal nature of the political battles within Zanu PF.
In a party where family ties, factional alliances, and state power often overlap, such scandals are not mere distractions—they are weapons.
At its heart, the Mutsvangwa-Muswere clash is about control: control of the media, control of party processes, and control of the post-Mnangagwa succession narrative.
As the party gears up for a potentially explosive elective congress, the battle lines are becoming clearer.
Mutsvangwa, long and loudest voice in the room, is flexing his muscles to reassert dominance.
But Muswere, backed by the full weight of the presidency, is no pushover.
“This is no longer about protocol or press statements,” the senior Zanu PF official added. “It’s about who controls the future of the party—and who gets left behind.”
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