#ThisFlag

My friend Hope says she will delete the group soon for safety reasons.

Later she will ask that, should we agree to help, we do not tag Zimbabwean citizens in our stories, updates or shares as this may put them in danger.

I haven’t seen Hope in over a decade but her opening line sends a shiver down my spine.

We were good friends briefly, fleetingly, in university where we often met to watch crackling copies of terribly important films for our humanities classes.

After graduating, we each eventually moved home, on and into that warm though indistinct realm of thumbs up, heart eye emojis and sporadic likes.

Happily connected the way people are these days.

Thinly, amiably, through a screen.

Hope writes from Harare. And I already know why.

The #ZimShutDown2016, #ThisFlag and #FreePastorEvan hashtags have been rife on Twitter and a part of me scowls at her from across the cybersphere for putting herself at risk.

I’ve read about the batons, teargas and water canons being used by the police to disperse the peacefully protesting crowds in Harare, watched a video of men being beaten to the ground and the government’s knack for silencing dissent is a thing of legend.

So I scowl, frown, grimace.

But only until I learn more about Evan Mawarire.

The Baptist pastor who was so struck by the humiliation of not being able to afford his children’s school fees, he posted a video to YouTube that set in motion the phrase and the feeling that has been reignited within every man and woman on Harare’s streets:

This Flag.

The frustrated father’s casual Spoken Word performance has been viewed tens of thousands of times, runs for four minutes and needs no paraphrasing:

“This flag. This beautiful flag. They tell me that the green, the green is for the vegetation and the crops. I don’t see any crops in my country. And the yellow is for all the minerals. Gold, diamonds, platinum, chrome. I don’t know how much of it is left and I don’t know who they sold it to and how much they got for it. The red. The red they say that that is the blood, is the blood that was shed to secure freedom for me and I am so thankful for that. I just don’t know if that they were here, if they were here, they that shed their blood, and saw the way this country is that they would demand their blood be brought back. This flag. They tell me that the black is for the majority, people like me, and yet for some reason I don’t feel like I am a part of it.”

Before:

“And so I must look at it again with courage and try to remind myself that it is my country. I look at the green and think to myself it is not just vegetation but the green represents the power of being able to push through soil, push past limitations and flourish and grow. That’s me. My flag. The yellow, yes, it’s about the minerals but not just minerals that are in the ground but the minerals above it. Me. You. We are the minerals. We are the value of this land. The red, yes, it’s blood. But not just blood, it’s passionate blood. It is the will to survive, it is the resolve to carry on, it is the want to push through to see the dreams come to pass. This flag. And the black, the black is the night sky. That which we emerge from and we shine. It is the brilliant colours. It is the wonderful and lovely fruition of everything that we have ever hoped for. It needs a black for it to be visible. This flag.”

Then a movement.

On social media and in reality.

The reality in response to Mawarire’s call for a mass shutdown on 6 July that saw the Zimbabwean capital’s businesses closed, its people on the streets and its workers striking all in protest of corruption, the state of the economy, poverty and high unemployment.

There has been no bigger strike in the country since 2005.

Hope thinks there is a threat of civil war.

She contacts us to ask that the international community be aware of the “oppression, exploitation and extreme censorship” being imposed on Zimbabwe’s citizens and that we help them to speak out. Any help in exposing what is going on there will be more than appreciated.

“Many people are not even able to earn enough to feed their families or send their children to school. Activists and their families are being targeted and many of them are being abducted as we speak. The activists have sent out an ultimatum to the ruling party but they are responding in violence and intimidation. Once again, I urge you to speak out for us and pray for a positive outcome with no more violence.”

I do.

A South African friend in the group asks how he can help and Hope repeats that we all speak, acknowledge and pray.

“Create exposure for Zimbabweans and the injustices that we are facing. Activists like Evan Mawarire facilitated a national shut down through mainly social media. So sharing posts, writing articles, recording people speaking against the situation at hand, using hashtags, sharing photos, signing petitions.”

When I wake up to the world, I often feel helpless in the face of pulverising global suffering, violence and corruption but this I can do.

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