In recent weeks, Zimbabwe has once again found itself in a tense and repressive political crisis. In towns and villages across the country, fear has taken root — not only from the worsening economic hardship but from the brutal crackdown on civil liberties, especially the right to protest.
As rural women watch the unfolding events, many are reliving old wounds while bracing for what lies ahead.
“Please pray for us. We have a tense situation in the country. Our country is shut down and police are preventing demonstrators from gathering into town,” said a rural woman speaking anonymously for her safety.
The government’s clampdown on dissent has intensified, with roads barricaded, internet services disrupted, and heavily armed police patrolling major cities and rural centers. Several human rights defenders and activists have been arrested or harassed. The fear is palpable — and it reaches far beyond Harare or Bulawayo. In rural districts like Gutu, Tsholotsho, and Chipinge, women are also feeling the chokehold of state repression.
Silencing the Grassroots
In these rural areas, where organising is already difficult, women who raise their voices are often labelled as troublemakers or “sell-outs.” Community meetings are monitored. Activists fear surveillance. Even sharing a message on WhatsApp can lead to intimidation.
“Many of us are afraid to even gather for our own meetings,” says another RWA member. “There is always a fear that someone will report you. We are being watched.”
For rural women, the violence is not just political — it is deeply personal. In past elections, many suffered beatings, threats, or were forced to attend political rallies under duress. Some were denied food aid for refusing to vote a certain way. The memories of 2008’s brutal election violence remain fresh in their minds.
A Climate of Fear
This month’s clampdown comes amid planned peaceful demonstrations calling for better wages, respect for democratic rights, and action on corruption. Instead of engaging citizens, authorities responded with intimidation, heavy police presence, and bans on gatherings. Rural roads were closed. Buses stopped operating. In several provinces, police and soldiers moved into towns pre-emptively to “maintain order.”
One RWA sister described the mood as “like a war zone without the gunfire.”
“Women are staying indoors, not by choice, but because they fear being caught in the crackdown,” she explained. “Some of us depend on small markets to sell vegetables — but now we cannot even leave our villages.”
Rural Women Bear the Heaviest Burden
In any political crisis, it is rural women who suffer the most. They are the first to go hungry when shops close. They are the ones who walk miles to clinics that may be shuttered. They are the ones caring for children, elders, and sometimes, the injured. And they are often the last to be heard.
“Even when we want to protest, we don’t have the luxury to leave home,” said one sister. “But we are angry. We are tired. And we want our voices to count.”
Women who try to speak out — whether on land rights, economic hardship, or gender-based violence — are frequently met with state surveillance, threats, and humiliation.
As one RWA sister said through tears:
“This is not just politics. This is our survival. When democracy dies, it is women who feel it first.”Despite this, rural women continue to organise quietly: sharing food, mobilising care, and finding strength in solidarity. In some areas, RWA members are using creative ways to stay connected.
