Interview with Victor Kuretu

http://www.aluka.org/action/showMetadata?doi=10.5555/AL.SFF.DOCUMENT.munoch0007

Use of the Aluka digital library is subject to Aluka’s Terms and Conditions, available at http://www.aluka.org/page/about/termsConditions.jsp. By using Aluka, you agree that you have read and will abide by the Terms and Conditions. Among other things, the Terms and Conditions provide that the content in the Aluka digital library is only for personal, non-commercial use by authorized users of Aluka in connection with research, scholarship, and education.

The content in the Aluka digital library is subject to copyright, with the exception of certain governmental works and very old materials that may be in the public domain under applicable law. Permission must be sought from Aluka and/or the applicable copyright holder in connection with any duplication or distribution of these materials where required by applicable law.

Aluka is a not-for-profit initiative dedicated to creating and preserving a digital archive of materials about and from the developing world. For more information about Aluka, please see http://www.aluka.org Interview with Victor Kuretu

Author/Creator Munochiveyi, Munya Bryn (interviewer); Kuretu, Victor (interviewee) Date 2006-08-24 Resource type Interviews Language English Subject Coverage (spatial) Zimbabwe Coverage (temporal) 1960-1980 Rights By kind permission of Munyaradzi B. Munochiveyi and Victor Kuretu. Description Interview with Victor Kuretu, Zimbabwean political activist and poltical prisoner/detainee during Zimbabwe's liberation struggle

http://www.aluka.org/action/showMetadata?doi=10.5555/AL.SFF.DOCUMENT.munoch0007

http://www.aluka.org Oral Histories of Imprisonment, Detention and Confinement during Zimbabwe’s

Liberation Struggle, 1960-1980

Victor Kuretu, Interviewed and Transcribed by Munya Munochiveyi, Mufakose

Township, Harare, Zimbabwe

MM: I am speaking with baba (Mr.) Victor Kuretu. He is the national chairman of the

Zimbabwe Ex-Political Prisoners, Restrictees, and Detainees Association (ZEPPDRA).

As I said earlier, I will start with questions pertaining to your experiences as a political detainee/prisoner of the Rhodesian regime. My first question to you baba, is before you were arrested, where were you living and what was your job? How would you describe your social life before imprisonment: were you married, with children?

VK: No, I was not married. I was a teacher – I trained as a teacher in the city Mutare at

Mutare Teacher Training School in 1960. After completing my training I taught in a number of schools, including United Methodist Schools in Mutambara, Zimunya, and then I came back to teach in Mutare’s Sakubva African township. Mutare was home for me because I come from the local Ndau ethnic group in Mutambara, which is why our name is Kuretu. My involvement in politics started in the early 1960s, when I was still young and restless. The colonial regime did not want teachers to be involved in political activities, but because of my desire to be in African politics I started in a low-key position. I joined the National Democratic Party (NDP) in 1963, and then later joined the

Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZAPU). In those days, parties could not last for more than a year, and so we joined whatever party succeeded the banned one. After ZAPU was banned, our nationalist leaders such as Joshua Nkomo made the pronouncement that there was not going to be another party, except for the underground People’s Caretaker Council

(PCC). Between 1964 and 1965, we witnessed changes in the Rhodesian government which brought Ian Smith’s hard-line and racist Rhodesia Front party to the helm of government. The government of Ian Smith first appointed Mr. Dupont as the Minister of

Law and Order, but Mr. Desmond Lardner-Burke quickly replaced him. The first thing that Lardner-Burke did was to sign Restriction documents for African nationalists. All of a sudden there were heaps and heaps of Detention Orders throughout the country. This led to the establishment of detention centers such as Wha Wha, where some of us were sent. But before I went there, I had been detained for about six-months in Mutare Central

Prison in 1964.

MM: Why were you in detention – what was your “crime”?

VK: I had been accused of mobilizing people to demonstrate and vandalize property in opposition to the government.

MM: In your opinion, how were you singled out as one of the people involved in this mobilization?

VK: Oh, oh, things were ugly those days. There were informers who had been planted by the police in all urban African townships. You could not do anything that was not reported to the police by these informers. What happened is one morning in the African township of Sakubva, people woke up and found the streets littered with political pamphlets with political messages intended to mobilize people to oppose the government through boycotts, demonstrations, and the like. Informers rushed to the police and said I was responsible. When the police picked me up, several witnesses were lined up to accuse me of being the one who gave them the pamphlets to distribute in the township. It was difficult to deny these allegations because by that time, I had quit my job and become fully involved in the PCC as an Organizing Secretary. I used to go all over

Manicaland Province spreading the political gospel of self-rule. So during those politically volatile times, I was fingered as the one urging people to rise against the white regime. We were beaten, with big logs on our legs and so forth. That was the experience of getting arrested. That was the beginning of my years in detention – I was sent to Wha

Wha and then released after three months. Immediately after the white regime declared its Unilateral Declaration of Independence (UDI) in 1965, I was sent to Gonakudzingwa for detention.

MM: And what law did the authorities say you were breaking?

VK: It was the Law and Order Maintenance Act (LOMA). That was the law that enabled the Minister of Law and Order to send us to Wha Wha and all other detention camps.

MM: Were you tried before a court of law? VK: No, there was nothing like that. We had a lawyer who represented nationalists at that time who tried his best to get us released but he failed because there was no court that could hear our cases. That is why we had to be sent away to detention centers since we could not be convicted in any court of law for any offence. Our only “crime” was that we were regarded as “agitators” and of bad influence to the public. At Gonakudzingwa, I spent about five to six years.

MM: And how would you describe the environment of these detention centers?

VK: When I went to Wha Wha, the detention area was very small and crowded because that was the time when thousands of people had been given detention orders. When I got to Wha Wha, there were thousands of people. Gonakudzingwa was different because there was a lot of space, but it was a place of banishment, near the border with

Mozambique. Gonakudzingwa was very hot and very far from any town. When we went there, we dropped off at a point that was called Villa Salazar, in honor of a Mozambican colonial governor called Antonio Salazar. Gonakudzingwa was near a Mozambican place called Malvernia, so-called in honor of a one-time Federation of Rhodesia prime minister called Lord Malvern.

MM: How did you feel the first time you got to Gonakudzingwa?

VK: I wondered whether we were still in the same country or not. The place was unbearably hot and we used to pass black sweat during the first days. Most nationalist leaders such as Joshua Nkomo, Joseph Msika, Josiah and Ruth Chinamano, were already there. I stayed in the same camp as Nkomo and I remember he told us at our arrival that we had to run the detention camp along the lines of a “government”. Some of us who had administrative posts in our party were given the task of running the administrative needs of the detention camp. We kept intricate records of every inmate, with details about their names, places of origin and so forth. We generated a number of records that filled books, some of which we received from well-wishers. Those of us who were teachers were further drafted into the education program for detainees. We taught a number of people, some of whom were illiterate but who later came out of detention very literate. Some of the people we taught ended up writing letters to their wives, requesting them to come and visit them. Most could not believe it when they were able to write letters! That is what we were doing in detention. We taught detainees every level of education, depending on what level one had attained before coming to detention. Some even attained higher level education such law degrees and others. I had only reached the Form Two level (Lower

Secondary School level) but I went ahead and did my “O” Levels (Middle-Secondary

School Level) and even passed courses on the British Constitution, Commerce and

Accounts. I would do my own schooling later in the day, after I had taught others doing lower level schooling. We used materials from Amnesty International, Christian Care of

Rhodesia, etc. Joshua Nkomo also used to write to other well-wishers to provide us with additional educational material. We accomplished a number of things during those days, even though our lives were difficult there.

MM: And this is how you would spend your typical days? VK: We had time-tables of how to productively spend our days. I took about two to three classes everyday from Monday to Friday. We reserved Saturdays for leisure such as playing football or doing other things. Mondays to Fridays were busy days for learning and teaching for everyone.

MM: Did you ever fear for your life at Gonakudzingwa?

VK: Yes, I was so afraid because no one could be certain about what was going to happen tomorrow. We had problems with wild animals at Gonakudzingwa because it was located within the Gonarezhou wildlife reserve. At night and early morning, lions would roar very loudly. We also saw elephants roaming very near to our camp. We also felt very insecure at that place because some of our colleagues who were released or ordered to go to another place of detention just disappeared, or we never heard what happened to them, or we heard rumors that something bad had happened to them. So we were always thinking that what if I am ordered to go somewhere and then I disappear too. We were always anxious and insecure.

MM: And, who guarded you at Gonakudzingwa?

VK: There were some guards from the Support Unit section of the police who guarded us. But before 1965, there was no fence and we could go out of the restriction area into the neighboring Tribal Trust Lands (African rural areas). I remember that we used to go out and meet with the local Hlengwe or Shangani people who lived in that area. When we received our food rations, which came every Wednesdays and Saturdays, sometimes we had excess food and we would take this food to these local people because they were always hungry due to persistent droughts and the unfavorable environment they inhabited. Later, our relations with these people alarmed the government as it thought we were now politically influencing the Shangani whom it regarded as a “peace-loving people”. This is why these guards were sent and a fence later erected to limit our movements.

MM: And what about visitors…

VK: Visitors were initially requested to come and see us. I remember my first wife that I was telling you about came to see me. When I was detained I had left her pregnant, and she was good enough to bring me my newly-born daughter when she visited. My daughter was already three months old when I saw her, but that was the last time I saw her as visitors were later prevented from visiting our detention area. This was after 1965, and after the Smith government realized that we were sending political messages with our visitors to our supporters. By the time I came out at the end of 1969, there were no visitors coming to Gonakudzingwa.

MM: And these guards, were they white people?

VK: We had only white superintendent who was based in Masvingo. The rest of the guards were these black Support Unit operatives, with anti-riot training. Because of that training, most were just too serious and good at following orders. All the same, we befriended most of them. At times, they would allow some of our colleagues to sneak out of the detention area to go to neighboring Mozambique to buy stuff that we needed. Some of them are presently some of our friends because they remember our time together at that detention area. But that does not mean our stay at Gonakudzingwa was easy – it was difficult. Only those with a strong conviction that this country needed to be freed endured the stay in detention. I remember an incidence where one of our colleagues surrendered and said to the authorities that he wanted to go home. We looked for him for about three days until we heard that the superintendents had come to release him. I remember his name was Muchemwa, and he stayed here in Mufakose.

MM: Okay. So before you went to Gonakudzingwa, were there any incidences of torture that you went through or that you know of in some of those prisons you stayed in?

VK: Oh yes, that was the serious aspect of arrest. When you finally ended up in detention, you would have spent about five or six months being tortured in prisons. I wanted to tell you about the torture that I went through with a friend of mine called

Robert Bhebhe, who is now deceased. We were beaten to pulp over that case of political pamphlets that were found littering the streets of Sakubva African Township. Bhebhe and

I were the leading regional secretaries for our party, which explains why the police picked up both of us. I remember I was taken to a secluded area in Mutare, near a hospital, where different people beat me from 7 am to 9 pm. A white police officer was there as fellow black people were beating me. Some would kick me, while others were hitting me with pipes and sticks. The last beatings were specifically targeted at the soles of the feet. The police were beating us as a way of forcing us to confess that we were the ones spreading political messages in the African townships and inciting people to demonstrate against the government. At one time, I was made to sleep on my stomach on a flat table, with my feet cuffed and police officers holding me down. At first, I thought these people were bluffing. That is when they started beating me on the soles of my feet with big sticks. My legs swelled until they were round. I will never forget that beating until I die. I wanted to cry but I realized that crying was wasting time. I wanted to move but my torturers kept me down, enabling those who were beating to continue inflicting more pain. I later realized that my friend was undergoing the same torture in another room. We were later told to go out and rest in the sun. By this time, we had not said anything or admitted to anything. When I came out of that torture room, I saw my friend coming out of another torture room. I could not stand because my feet were badly swollen so I started to crawl. As I was crawling to the lawn outside the police station, I also saw my friend Bhebhe doing the same from another torture room. We just looked at each other and laughed. We could not get near each other because our legs were now sore and weak. We could not even cry. That was one of the worst things to happen to me. Six months later when we were now in detention at Gonakudzingwa, I remember our feet became greenish or bluish in color. Dead skin began peeling off the soles of the feet.

These are some of the things that we went through during that time.

MM: That was difficult. So your political views never changed during your stay in prisons and detention? VK: Not at all. In fact, they were hardened. I realized that there was no alternative but to join with those who wanted to free our country from white minority rule.

MM: So was there any sort of detainee abuse at Gonakudzingwa or was it confined to prisons?

VK: Not in detention. The guards were just there to stand all day guarding us. We befriended most of them after approaching them and telling them our cause. In fact, most came to understand us and that is why I told you of those other guards who used to let some of our colleagues out of the detention area.

MM: Okay, you told me before about how you occupied yourselves doing schoolwork and teaching each other. But what about when you were not doing these things, how did you spend your leisure time?

VK: We mostly played football and other games. Each camp had its own ways of doing things. I remember there was a camp that was meant for leaders only where the likes of

Joshua Nkomo stayed. They had to do that because perhaps they realized that these leaders continued to politicize others. In fact, before we were separated, our leaders used to have a time-table for political lectures. So in the end, political leaders ended up in a separate detention camp at Gonakudzingwa. Nkomo used to lecture us once a month and then others like Joseph Msika, Lazarus Nkala and others lectured us on select days of the week. I remember one lecture by Msika on nationalism which he gave for about three weeks, which really intrigued me because he traced the roots of fighting for freedom from the days of slavery in the US. This is what made some of us really appreciate that we were fighting for national freedom.

MM: Okay, and how would you evaluate the food that you were given in detention? I remember you said you used to receive food rations which you then cooked for yourselves.

VK: We got corn/maize-meal (used for the preparation of the staple sadza, which is thickened porridge), rice, meat, vegetables and other foods. The food rations were packed for groups of three people. But then we would come together in groups of six people so as to share the burdens of cooking and preparing the food. Things like rice were actually in surplus. But the water there was not good – when we boiled the water, we would remove some whitish residue which looked like lime.

MM: So did you ever fall ill in detention?

VK: Not physically, but most of us became psychologically ill because of worrying a lot.

However, others did fall physically ill, but our caregivers just gave them sleeping tablets because they simply attributed every illness to being home-sick. If you had a backache or a headache, it was just dismissed as worrying too much and being home-sick. The prescription was just the same for every ailment. The clinic was at a police station near the detention area.

MM: That is fine. Well, you told me that other time that you had visitors who kept you in touch with the outside world, but did you also have such things as radios or newspapers in detention? We did receive some newspapers but during the time of UDI, the copies that we got were censored. There were large sections of the newspapers we received that had many blank spots which had been removed by the censors. All other news items appeared in the newspapers but political stuff was censored out. Plus we never received a current newspaper – they all had stale news. Others were even two months old.

Fortunately, Nkomo had radios and we think he was allowed to have it. His radio captured all relevant stations. So everyday at 8 pm, we used to send representatives from each camp to Nkomo’s camp to go and listen to important news on the radio, which they would later relay to the rest of us. We would listen to news from the British, and then the

Labor Party was very supportive of our cause, but I do not understand what has gone wrong now. We used to entertain the idea that the Labor party at that time was going to play a leading role in liberating our country, although Margaret Thatcher’s Conservative

Party later played that role. We heard a lot of news surrounding the sanctions imposed on the rebel UDI Smith regime, and how ships of oil destined for Rhodesia were caught at sea, and other important news. We new about impending political talks in Rhodesia, and other important news concerning political developments on the African continent. We used to call the person who went to canvass for news a kashiri (literally means “little bird”). So there was a time of the day when people would say they were going to listen to kashiri. This was very interesting because sometimes, other kashiris added a little bit of their own stuff into the news. To make it interesting, a kashiri had to be someone with some propaganda skills. People would congregate in the barracks and there would be deafening silence as people gave the platform to the kashiri. Our radio news sources were

The Voice of America, BBC, and other important news stations. So we would hear point of views from all stations and this used to give us so much hope.

MM: So, until you came out of detention these radios were never confiscated?

VK: They were even numerous by the time I came out. Our wives used to hide little radios in loaves of bread when they came to visit. No one ever noticed that. So we ended up with many sources of information. We used to only congregate in the evenings for news, and that never interfered with our studies during the day.

MM: Did you also send and receive letters?

VK: Yes, but this was later banned because we used to surreptitiously give political letters to our wives and relatives who came to visit. Since we had surplus stuff such as rice, we would hide the letters in bags of rice that we gave to our wives for distribution to our home branches of our political parties. I sent messages with instructions to our members who were operating on the ground to continue with organizing our supporters.

The government later became cautious with the people whom they allowed to visit us.

Our visitors were now required to file applications with the Ministry of Law and Order for approval to visit detainees. But then there was a lot of deliberate red-tape bureaucracy concerning approval of visitors such that there was a time when there were virtually no visitors coming to Gonakudzingwa. We continued receiving letters though – some were opened for spying purposes but others such as the ones from overseas which contained educational material were never opened. But there were no more visitors in the later years. I remember that for the last two years I was in detention I had no visitors.

MM: So in your opinion, what do you think was the impact of detention on your family?

What sort of help, if any, did your family get whilst you were in detention?

VK: My family never regretted that I was detained but of course my wife had no job and my family had to get help from Christian Care. This organization provided finances for my children to go to school, for clothing, and food. So when I came out of detention in

1969, my family was not that distressed. But when I came out of detention, many people including some of my relatives were very apprehensive when it came to associating with me. People were just afraid to be associated with ex-detainees because of the political situation in the country.

MM: So when you came out of detention, what was the reason for your release?

VK: My detention order had merely expired. I had served the period of time that was on the order. MM: How was your life after detention – was everything the same?

VK: No, nothing was the same. Socially, my life was sort of “back-dated” and that is why you see I have small children at my age. I had to find another wife because my other wife had abandoned me. That is why you see this amainini (“young/second wife”) who is here. We have young children – one is now doing Form 6 (upper-level high school), another is in Form 1 (lowest level of secondary school), and another small one. It’s painful because a number of us are still struggling to raise young children at our age. I never went back to Mutare after I came out, unlike some of my other colleagues who went back to continue political activities. Some of them, like my friend Bhebhe, got killed due to political activism. I stayed in Harare and worked as a salesperson for most

Indian-owned shops in town. There was no way I could get a job in white-owned businesses because they did not want to see anyone with a political detention history or background. But even as the Indians accommodated us, the police never left us alone. I remember this time when I just got my first post-detention job at an Indian shop, police from the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) came to my workplace looking for me. They asked all sorts of questions, wanting to know where I was staying and so forth.

The told me that they were putting me on surveillance and wanted to know everything that I was doing. This harassment only ended during the late 1970s when Muzorewa’s government came to power. Before that, if I just went somewhere, the CIDs would come to ask where I was and what I was doing. MM: And were there any detainee/prisoner’s rehabilitation programs run by the

Rhodesian government?

VK: No, there was nothing like that. The only thing the state did was to put you under surveillance to monitor all your activities. A number of my colleagues were later re- arrested and sent back to detention places such as Wha Wha.

MM: So you never went back to prison/detention until 1980?

VK: No I did not.

MM: Did you abandon political activities then?

VK: No, politics for some of us was like a person addicted to kachasu (illicit beer). I became involved in an underground PCC movement, and we used to hold secret political meeting in churches and other places. I became a member of a church but in our meeting, we would discuss political issues. At one time we were influential in arranging Jason

Moyo’s (leading guerrilla leader) funeral who was assassinated in Zambia. Even after independence, I continued being a political activist, but because I belonged to Joshua

Nkomo’s ZAPU, I only became involved in ZANU politics after the 1987 Unity Accord.

After that, I even became a councilor for Mufakose Township on a ZANU ticket. I was one of the original members who organized to start this association for ex- detainees/prisoners (ZEPPDRA), together with people like Ruth Chinamano, Anthony

Masawi (all late), and others. We did that in 1997 after spreading the message to most ex- detainees and ex-prisoners to come and meet and talk about our issues and experiences.

We met for the first time in a Harare hall, including some colleagues who had actually met earlier than us and we launched this organization, ZEPPDRA. We realized then that we were so many because the hall was so full of people. When the government heard about our association, they advised that we should launch a national association which represented all provinces of the country and include everyone who qualified o join our association. That is when we brought in Solomon Mabika and Edward Simela (leaders of an earlier organization that represented ex-detainees/prisoners). When ex-guerrillas were vetted by the government in 1997 for purposes of compensating them for their sacrifices during the war, we were sidelined because apparently the government had not considered us in their parliamentary discussions.

MM: But if we takes a few steps back to 1980, were you recognized at all at independence as people who contributed to the independence of this country?

VK: Not at all, and that is what made us come together during that meeting I was telling you about. The basic idea behind that meeting was that we were not being recognized.

MM: But why so late in the 1990s? Why did you not do that in the 1980s)

VK: Maybe it was the excitement of independence, and people just thought that we were going to be recognized anyway. No one anticipated that we would be forgotten. That is why we later organized ourselves because without an association and a vibrant constituency, we were not going to be recognized.

MM: So before you got that recognition from the ZANU government, what did you think about your role towards the liberation struggle?

VK: I thought everything had gone to waste because no in government remembered us.

We all thought we had been abandoned and no one ever saw us as people worth remembering. But perhaps after the government saw our association, they then thought that we must be recognized. Before that, no one was happy at all. Some of our members died like paupers. The wives of these deceased ex-detainees come every day to our offices crying and saying their husbands died and never got anything from the government in terms of monetary compensation. But before our association, there was nothing that we could do because we were all scattered and caught in the middle of the squabbles between ZANU and ZAPU.

MM: I reckon that you were given some monetary compensation by the government in

2001 (VK: No, it was just last year – 2005). Okay, so how did you feel when ex- guerrillas got their compensation in 1999?

VK: We felt hurt (wipes tears and talks in a low voice), especially considering the rapidity with which ex-guerrillas were recognized by the government and empowered by an Act of Parliament to claim their hefty lump-sums and all the benefits accorded to veterans of the war of liberation. We just thought that as ex-detainees, we had been abandoned. But again, that is what motivated us to have an association so that we could speak with one voice.

MM: And, what were some of the specific problems that ex-detainees were going through before getting government compensation?

VK: The most common grievance was that most people were saying we are dying without ever receiving any help and compensation from the government. Most detainees are now old. (interruption) At that first meeting, many people expressed dismay at the government’s negligence as most were saying their properties were destroyed during the war whilst they were in prison or detention. Some of our members were wealthy, others were hardworking business people during the Smith regime, but because of their political activities and subsequent detention, those who had shops, and other businesses had their properties destroyed, and so forth. So most people, whose livelihoods were clearly destroyed because of the war and their detentions, were crying for government help at the time of forming our association.

MM: So how did you present your grievances to government?

VK: We think it was easy since most people in government, including Mugabe himself, were also ex-detainees. MM: But between the time that you formed your organization and the time when you got compensated, what was the government’s response?

VK: We had a different leadership then, composed of people like Mabika and Simela

(these two were later expelled from the association because of their uncompromising advocacy for ex-detainees’ issues and association with opposition politics. See interview with Simela). Also, the government is composed of people some of whom were never detained or restricted. So when our leaders went to government with our issues, some in government dismissed us, and others in government would declare that no one fought for the struggle for liberation so that they could get monetary compensation. There was such careless talk from certain government leaders. We reminded them that even white

Rhodesians who went to fight in the World War II were still being remembered as they have special graves at Remembrance Cemetery in Harare. We argued that in itself was recognition for these ex-soldiers, and so why can’t our own government recognize us?

But some government people continued with their careless talk and this is why it took time before we were recognized by the government. I think it was after some ZANU annual conference in Chinhoyi that President Mugabe assented to our grievances.

MM: So do you think the compensation that you finally received was adequate?

VK: Well, maybe if we consider the financial constraints bedeviling the government, we cannot complain. In this inflationary environment, it is difficult to complain as an association. Among our members, maybe it’s the people in the urban areas who feel that the money we receive as monthly pension from the government is very little. But I guess those in the rural areas take it as an added bonus and cannot complain much. Its unfortunate that now, about a third of our members have died, mainly because of old age.

MM: And, do you look after the families of the deceased ex-detainees?

VK: Yes, we do look after them. We continue to vet our members, including the deceased ones so that their children can receive help.

MM: I think I have exhausted my question – but lastly, do you feel like heroes of the liberation struggle?

VK: Yes, I do not care whether upon death I will be declared a hero or not – I know that I remain a hero.

MM: Thank you so much for this conversation.

VK: I am very thankful too.