He was pulled up from the water gasping and screaming. “Please no more. Please, dear God!” The dark skinned man in sunglasses began to circle his victim again and grinned, a silver tooth gleaming on the side of his mouth “All you need do is tell me who made you vote for Tsvangirai,” he said in a thick Zimbabwean accent. “I don’t…no one…told me,” the man garbled as thick sobs clutched at his throat. “I swear. Please believe me!” In one smooth motion, the dark skinned man delivered a thunderous punch to his victim’s jaw. The crunch of bone on bone echoed in the vacuous room followed by soft splatters as blood hit the ground. “Lie to me again and you will go back in the bucket,” the man said as he pointed to a container filled with murky water. At this, his white victim began screaming, a pitiful lamenting sound of pure terror. I shivered as I watched the oppressor smile. He was enjoying this. “Do you love President Mugabe? Is he the right man to lead this country?” With tears falling down his bloodied and bruised face, the light skinned woman screamed, “Yes! President Mugabe forever! I’m so sorry. So so sorry. Of course. Mugabe. Please God! Please!” “And when the revote comes, you will vote for him, correct?” The torturer pressed. But his victim had finally cracked. He was sobbing and screaming, his voice ringing out. He began to convulse in the chair he was tied up in, urinating himself in the process. But instead of pity, he got a slap in the face. “Will you vote for President Mugabe in the revote?” Somehow, the poor tortured soul managed a pitiful, “Yes.” He looked close to losing consciousness, but his tormentor walked up to him and held his head up so their eyes were level. The white man’s eyes filled with fear and desperation, as if he was looking death in the face. The silver toothed man whispered into his ear, “You better. I’ll be watching.” ******** As I opened the door a wave of heat hit me full in the face. Despite being in the African country for almost a month now, I had still not adjusted to the climate. My snow-white skin was now a brick red and no matter how much sunscreen I seemed to put on, I came back to my apartment looking like a cherry. It had been quite a week in Zimbabwe. My eyes had large circles under them from late nights. Even when I went to bed early, I was never able to achieve sleep. The face of the terrorized white man always haunted me. It was a mistake on a routine interview. I had arrived at a village to interview some of the habitants. I walked in on someone being tortured in his own home. Nowhere was safe in Zimbabwe. The election controversy had turned the country upside down. There were few people on the streets and, even when people ventured out of their houses, they were always looking over their shoulder. If you so much as voted for Tsvangirai (the opposition candidate) you were in severe danger (Dugger, 1).
I had done a lot of research before I came to Zimbabwe to work for the New York Times. Robert Mugabe is the President of the country, the first black leader. Many Zimbabweans know him as “the old man”. But, the thing many do not know is that the election controversy started in 2002, when Mugabe’s party won 2/3 of the seats in the House. The elections were called “deeply flawed” by the opposition. (Country Profile, 2) Since then, Mugabe’s policies had become more and more paranoid and extreme. He authorized a destruction of slums in 2005: a well-known spot for opposition supporters. This left 700,000 people without homes or jobs. (Country Profile, 8-9) Mugabe also proceeded to seize land from white farmers, which led to a collapse in the agricultural industry. (Country Profile, 5) Because of all these failed policies, the economy is now in turmoil. Inflation is now at 100,580%, and people are carting wheelbarrows full of money to pay for groceries. (Facts, 6) I hailed a taxi on one of the lonely streets and got in. The sweltering heat made my clothes stick to the seat, as sat down. I pulled out a wad of bills from my pocket to pay with. The taxi driver eyed the American currency greedily and tore off before I’d even given him the full directions. As I sat, more ideas for the article I was writing popped into my head. It was going to be a groundbreaking piece, that was for sure. No reporter I knew had ever witnessed a government official committing torture. I’d even been able to snap some pictures with my camera before being running off. Hopefully my editor would understand and let me write a longer piece. As I exited the taxi, the man drove off without a word. It was about a mile hike from where the road ended to the village I was going to. I hoped to get some information on the condition of the lives of some of Zimbabwe’s underprivileged white minority. The sound of squealing breaks made me stop. I looked back to see two men in military garb standing by the taxi that had just dropped me off. The driver exchanged a few words before one of the military men pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and handed it to the driver, who sped off. I suspected I had just witnessed a drug deal. It would not surprise me with how corrupt the police and military officials were in Zimbabwe. So, I began the long hike to the small refugee city. The smothering heat had me panting after five minutes, and the only thing that kept me going was the thought of what this trip would add to my article. These people had had their houses and livelihood destroyed by the government; the village must be a hotbed for opposition leaders. On the way, I was phoned by the Times Bureau on my satellite phone to inform me of some late breaking news. The election results had just been released, stating that Tsvangirai had won 48% of the vote, which gave him a higher percentage than Mugabe. However, this did not give him the 50% needed to avoid a run-off election. The two would now run again, directly against each other. The opposition party was already disputing the results, saying they were rigged and that Tsvangirai had in fact won 50% of the vote (Tsvangirai, 1).
