Abstract
This thesis investigates the pen’s transformative role in Zimbabwe’s socio-political evolution, focusing on its influence through graphic design and the written word across colonial rule, the independence struggle, and the modern era. The pen, a symbol of progress, has acted as both a tool of colonial oppression, reinforcing hierarchies, and a catalyst for liberation, marking Zimbabwe’s emergence in 1980. This study examines how graphic design in media—alongside bureaucratic mechanisms and freedom fighters’ rhetoric—has perpetuated narratives of inferiority, still evident in post-independence economic attitudes. It argues that Zimbabwe’s future requires reimagining these narratives through graphic design and policy, reflecting the nation’s unique strengths and fostering innovative leadership. As the earliest method of data transfer, the pen has democratized knowledge, empowering change. Using magazines, journals, and family history, this research highlights graphic design’s potential to shift Zimbabwe from dependency to self-determination, envisioning a new cultural narrative.
Introduction
The fact is that the so-called European civilization—“Western” civilization—as it has been shaped by two centuries of bourgeois rule, is incapable of solving the two major problems to which its existence has given rise: the problem of the proletariat and the colonial problem; that Europe is unable to justify itself either before the bar of “reason” or before the bar of “conscience”; and that, increasingly, it takes refuge in a hypocrisy which is all the more odious because it is less and less likely to deceive.
Europe is indefensible
~Aimé Césaire
In Zimbabwe, graphic design is often undervalued, commonly reduced to a technical task linked to digital tools rather than appreciated as a cultural influence. Its historical significance, though substantial, has been largely overlooked, even as it played a critical role in navigating the nation’s major political and social shifts throughout the 20th century. Zimbabwe’s media landscape evolved from the stifling censorship of colonial rule to a more open yet still limited environment after independence in 1980, a transition influenced more by technological progress and expanded reach than by a fundamental shift in governmental oversight.1 Both internal dynamics and external pressures have molded Zimbabwean graphic design, yet this history remains under-explored, possibly because acknowledging past injustices and systemic corruption could challenge the legitimacy of current authorities. Consequently, the pen’s impact—through its narratives, visual expressions, and economic ramifications—demands a deeper investigation.
As a graphic designer with a passion for business, I see business as an art form, art as a commercial endeavor, politics as an artistic expression, and art as intrinsically political. Growing up in post-independence Zimbabwe, my understanding of the media and narratives that defined the pre- and early post-independence periods is limited.
This chapter explores how graphic elements, images, and illustrations served as tools to advance the objectives of Zimbabwean media during the colonial and liberation periods. To fully grasp the intentions of publications like The Zimbabwe Review and Rhodesian Commentary, as well as their wider impact, we must also consider the critical role of the English language, in contrast to Shona, in determining their accessibility, tone, and ideological influence.
My grandfather, a ZAPU member who later became mayor of Kwekwe when ZAPU joined ZANU in the 1987 merger, passed away before I could meet him, yet his presence shapes my life—I bear his name, Zachariah. Each year since birth, I’ve visited his grave at Kadoma’s National Heroes’ Acre on National Heroes’ Day. I feel the profound respect my father holds for him, though he seldom speaks of his father. Born after his time as a freedom fighter, my grandfather served as ZAPU’s Deputy Secretary for Information and Publicity. This role gave him access to critical party knowledge, putting his life and his family's lives at constant risk. They often ha to move and relocate as members of the colonial regime would harass them and vandalize their home as they did want him “polluting the people of Rhodesia with his political ideas” (a quote from my grandmother). People relied on him to share ZAPU’s policies, activities, and goals with the public. His work made him a target, leading to multiple imprisonments by the colonial regime. He helped create publicity materials like press releases, newsletters, and propaganda, ensuring ZAPU’s narrative reached its audience through media coordination. He also organized secret rallies, events, and campaigns to advance the organization’s agenda, risking capture, especially in rural areas isolated in what must have been an information desert. Perhaps my father’s silence stems from losing him at an early age . I often wonder what the world looked like through his eyes during the war, yearning to understand his role and the struggles he endured for Zimbabwe’s freedom.
[Fig.1] Zimbabwe History of a Struggle
[Fig.2]Alois Wingwiri
This inspired me to investigate publications such as The Zimbabwe Review, Rhodesian Commentary, The Rhodesia Herald, and The Chronicle. These sources form the foundation of my primary research, providing critical insights into the evolution of Zimbabwean graphic design and its interplay with economic forces. Through this exploratory study, I aim to reimagine a century of Zimbabwean graphic design, examining magazines and literature as intentional choices that blend visual aesthetics with political and economic objectives, ultimately igniting a conversation about the intersections of power, governance, and economic identity in media.
[Fig.3]National heroes acre Personal archive
Without a robust understanding of these historical connections, emerging designers and entrepreneurs are ill-prepared to tackle Zimbabwe’s intricate socio-economic challenges, where the enduring effects of colonialism, global isolation, and political dominance continue to define creative and commercial spheres. By analyzing these publications, I seek to illuminate how graphic design has both mirrored and shaped Zimbabwe’s economic and cultural identity over a century of change.
The pre-colonial period is vital for grasping Zimbabwean culture, illustrating a transformation rather than a linear evolution, leaving a society that is still fragmented as it wrestles with its historical legacy and future aspirations. Knowledge from this era was rarely recorded in writing, with oral traditions serving as the primary means of preserving history and cultural values. 2Nevertheless, a handful of books, novels, magazines, and articles from the colonial and liberation eras reveal ambitions for a more modern and just society. These materials were instrumental in broadening public knowledge, especially in rural regions, by exposing readers to global literature and ideas, often presented through sophisticated modern designs, photography, and a journalistic style that fused international influences with local perspectives.3
Competing Narratives in Zimbabwean Media
In the final years of settler dominance, newspapers like The Rhodesia Herald and Bulawayo’s The Chronicle, alongside their weekly counterparts Sunday Mail and Sunday News, as well as The Financial Gazette, were firmly aligned with the interests and worldview of Rhodesia’s white elite. Operating since the late 19th century, these outlets championed European cultural norms while disparaging African traditions and political resistance, portraying them as dangers to Western values and Christianity. 4Coverage of Africans in these publications was predominantly negative and derogatory, perpetuating racial hierarchies and colonial authority.
In opposition, a nationalist press arose to challenge this narrative, creating a space for African perspectives. Outlets such as The Daily News and church-affiliated magazines like Moto (Fire) and Umbowo (Witness) provided a platform for nationalist leaders to voice their ideas during the 1960s and 1970s.5 Moreover, the Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU) and the Zimbabwe African People’s Union (ZAPU) produced their own materials, often from outside Rhodesia due to censorship and suppression. One notable example, The Zimbabwe Review, was launched in 1974 in Lusaka, Zambia—a key hub for the exiled ZAPU. It ran from 1974 to 1978, a pivotal time encompassing the fallout from the Pearce Commission, the establishment of the Patriotic Front (a strategic alliance between ZAPU and ZANU), and negotiations with the Ian Smith regime.6Printed in black and white, The Zimbabwe Review incorporated photographs, Zimbabwean iconography, hand-drawn cartoons, and motifs, merging contemporary design with revolutionary themes.
[Fig.4] Zimbabwean Review Vol 3
[Fig.5] British Empire
[Fig.6] Rhodesian Commentary Vol9 No 7
(Figure 4)The magazine opened with a striking declaration from ZAPU’s Information and Publicity Department: “The Information and Publicity Department of the Zimbabwe African People’s Union has great pleasure in informing all its members and supporters that the publication of our printed version of The Zimbabwe Review has been resumed. This is the first issue after a long break caused by serious circumstances which, we are happy to point out, are now relegated to history.” This resurgence highlighted ZAPU’s resolve to sustain its voice amid the intensifying liberation war. The magazine delivered political and military updates, chronicling ZIPRA operations against Rhodesian and South African forces in 1973, alongside anti-colonial and revolutionary rhetoric. It denounced the Rhodesian regime under Ian Smith as fascist, oppressive, and tyrannical, while also condemning South Africa’s role and the wider “triple alliance” of Rhodesia, Portugal, and South Africa. 7This messaging was bolstered by rising literacy rates, facilitated by missionary schools and the emergence of a black middle class of young professionals, which broadened access to English-language publications.8
The Zimbabwe Review also presented a historical and ideological framework, referencing past resistance—like the 1897 assault led by "Captain" Makwati—to assert that armed struggle was the only feasible route to liberation, rejecting negotiations or non-violence as ineffective against a ruthless regime.9 This commitment to revolutionary violence as a path to national freedom resonates in some facets of Zimbabwe’s governance today, where state authority is often exercised with a similar resolute stance. The magazine’s design was bold, featuring a prominent title at the top, a large central image on the cover , and colorful sans-serif headings within its three-column layout. Photographs and illustrations addressing current events were strategically placed, this was done to immediately captivate readers as well as breaking up the text and adding a sense of levity to the grave subject matter of the war. It also humanized the Zimbabwean people who felt there voices weren’t being heard and they often did not feel in. The eyes of the colonial regime this made them feel more connected in their struggle instead of feeling alienated. A significant section, “Combat Diary,” included reader submissions detailing military encounters, such as one at Mana Pools—now a popular recreational site—where “a troop-carrier detonated a land mine, killing three on the spot and seriously wounding others.10Stories like this although very tragic only helped strengthen the resistance resolve as they new they were fighting for a great cause justice and equality.
In comparison, The Zimbabwe Review bore similarities to contemporary publications like the British Empire Magazine ( figure 5) and South Africa’s DRUM, which also employed vibrant colors and modern elements to captivate readers.11 However, a notable absence in these nationalist magazines was the inclusion of Shona or other indigenous languages. Even today, major Zimbabwean magazines and newspapers are primarily in English, with only brief segments or quotes in Shona, and traditional narratives are seldom featured, though the publications often included striking black-and-white text blocks alongside hand-drawn cartoons and motifs.12Why is Shona missing from Zimbabwean nationalist magazines, then and now? Colonial echoes linger—English, the language of power, was forced upon a multilingual nation, sidelining Shona despite its vibrancy. Nationalist publications like The Zimbabwe Review whispered to global allies and educated elites in English, seeking support beyond borders. Printing in Shona was a dream too costly, too dangerous, under censorship’s watchful eye. Even today, English dominates major outlets like The Herald, with Shona relegated to fleeting quotes, as if traditional narratives are mere echoes. Was English chosen to unify a fractured nation, or to reach the world? The answer lies in the margins—where black-and-white text blocks and hand-drawn motifs hint at a culture yearning to speak, yet bound by the language of its past oppressors.
On the opposing ideological side, Rhodesian Commentary (figure 6) debuted in January 1966, shortly after Rhodesia’s Unilateral Declaration of Independence (UDI). Published biweekly with 25 issues annually, it comprised eight unstapled pages in the traditional British imperial “large post quarto” size (8” x 10”). Its title banner was blue until December 1968, when it shifted to green to match Rhodesia’s new flag, and its name later changed to Focus as paper quality improved, before ceasing publication. 13The magazine gathered concise information from local Rhodesian media and international press, striving to convey an image of advancement and stability under white governance .
The magazine served as a propaganda tool, emphasizing Rhodesia’s agricultural success, infrastructure development, and supposed racial harmony—claims that starkly contrasted with the growing unrest among the African majority and the escalating liberation struggle led by movements like ZAPU and ZANU. By presenting a sanitized narrative, Rhodesian Commentary sought to legitimize the Rhodesian Front’s regime, countering the anti-colonial rhetoric of nationalist publications like The Zimbabwe Review.
The Zimbabwe Review aimed to alter perceptions of the Rhodesian regime and its colonial allies, depicting them as a repressive foe to be toppled while envisioning a liberated Zimbabwe as the ultimate goal. It fostered a passionate drive for national freedom and self-determination, swaying public opinion and rallying revolutionary zeal among Zimbabweans. Detailed reports of ZIPRA’s military successes were presented with pride, strengthening collective identity and unity under ZAPU’s revolutionary banner. Although not governed by strict political mandates, the magazine clearly embodied ZAPU’s anti-colonial, anti-imperialist position and dedication to armed struggle, rejecting any compromise with the Rhodesian regime and its allies. Its illustrations and textual imagery, such as the striking depiction of a freedom fighter raising a rifle with the rallying cry “ZIMBABWE MUST BE FREE!”, were central to its revolutionary appeal, helping to forge an emerging Zimbabwean national identity rooted in resistance.14 Through its compelling narratives and symbolic visuals, The Zimbabwe Review not only documented the fight for liberation but also played a crucial role in crafting a shared vision of Zimbabwean identity in the pre-independence era, long before the nation gained independence in 1980. However, the last issue I could locate was published in 1978. 15 I cannot prove it but according to my grandmother and taking into account my grandfathers senior position which I found out during my research he played a significant role in the drafting of the independence of Zimbabwe.
Conversely, Rhodesian Commentary emphasized developmental and socio-political stability, reflecting the regime’s intent to project self-reliance and modernization despite international sanctions. It employed detailed descriptions and visuals, such as aerial photographs of agricultural projects, to inform and motivate its primarily white readership about the country’s progress. 16 Economic self-sufficiency was depicted as essential to overcoming global isolation, while socio-political content highlighted government officials and idealized portrayals of Rhodesian life, fostering unity and loyalty to the regime. The magazine sought to mold white Rhodesians into devoted supporters of the government’s vision, while ensuring controlled African participation within a segregated system, discouraging dissent through narratives of progress and stability.
Aimé Césaire argues that European civilization, shaped by two centuries of bourgeois rule, is fundamentally flawed, unable to address the “proletariat problem” and the colonial problem it created. He labels this civilization decadent, stricken, and dying, using reason to mask deceit and hypocrisy. Césaire declares Europe, including nations like Great Britain, “indefensible” both practically and morally, a view echoed globally as “tens of millions” of colonized people judge Europe from a position of moral superiority. Their increasing reliance on hypocrisy to justify actions is “odious,” as colonized peoples see through the lies, recognizing the weakness of their “temporary masters.” Similarly, Zimbabwean activist Tendai Biti critiques the current government as a tribal institution of family, tribes, and clans, unrepresentative of the working class. Amidst poverty, they lead decadent lives of overconsumption, exploiting citizens while failing to address past atrocities like the Gukurahundi genocide.
Through their strategic use of imagery and text, these publications reveal the profound influence of design in crafting Zimbabwean narratives. Pre-colonial oral traditions offered a historical lens far removed from today’s context, while during the liberation struggle, media became a battleground for ideological visions—nationalist publications igniting revolutionary fervor, and colonial ones upholding a segregated status quo.17
Césaire exposes the core lie of colonialism: the claim that it brings civilization to the colonized. He challenges the notion that colonization involves evangelization, philanthropy, or spreading law and progress, arguing instead that it is driven by adventurers, pirates, gold diggers, and merchants, motivated by greed and force. It extends Europe’s internal capitalist competition globally, rooted in violence, not moral superiority.
Today, digital platforms and AI-generated content enable advanced narrative crafting, allowing modern media to influence public perception with unprecedented speed and scale, surpassing the capabilities of 1970s print media. Platforms like YouTube democratize opinions, while X (formerly Twitter) amplifies global political discourse, becoming a powerful yet contentious tool. During Zimbabwe’s 2017 military coup, the government shut down telecommunications, blocking internet access for days to curb WhatsApp-coordinated protests. Citizens resorted to VPNs and platforms like Telegram to communicate. In this era, a single tweet or public interview on independent platforms can lead to imprisonment, highlighting the high stakes of digital expression.
Although I was born and raised in Harare, Zimbabwe’s capital city, my earliest memories of childhood and media consumption took shape in Victoria Falls, where I lived for four years. Unlike my grandfather, who was forced to relocate frequently due to colonial harassment during his time as a ZAPU freedom fighter, my own movements were driven by my father’s work in the tourism industry. Through these travels, I became acutely aware of the stark disparities between Zimbabwe’s two major cities—Harare and Bulawayo—and its more marginalized regions. Victoria Falls, a hub for economic summits, national events, and public discourse, plays a pivotal role in Zimbabwe’s modern economy, largely due to its status as a premier tourist destination. This realization sparked my interest in exploring the interplay between tourism and the media representations of the time, particularly in magazines, journals, and articles that shaped narratives around Victoria Falls. However, I found limited archival material documenting this specific discourse, which highlighted the challenges of tracing media narratives in less-documented periods of Zimbabwe’s history.
The Visit Southern Africa poster by Farrell Lines, likely produced in the 1950s or 1960s, uses a compelling visual style to promote Victoria Falls as an exotic yet approachable destination for Western tourists. The poster showcases a stylized depiction of the waterfall, framed by dramatic cliffs in deep blue and warm red, with a vibrant rainbow arching across, symbolizing natural wonder. Small, African -clad figures in bright colors at the base highlight scale and leisure, while the elegant script of “Visit Southern Africa” and the sans-serif “by Farrell Lines” convey sophistication and clarity. This visual appeal targets a Western audience, likely American or European, encouraging travel to a region under colonial control. 18With local people being part of the tourist attraction—reflects a colonial narrative that sees indigenous presence as just a feature to be witnessed , presenting the landscape as an untouched playground for outsiders. By focusing on Victoria Falls, named after Queen Victoria, the poster reinforces European dominance, promoting tourism to bolster colonial economies like Rhodesia’s while overlooking the rising resistance to white minority rule during this period.19
[Fig.7] Farrel Lines
Design, Language, and Ideological Impact in Zimbabwean Media
During the late colonial and early liberation era of the 1960s and 1970s, Rhodesia and neighboring areas, such as Lusaka, Zambia, experienced a rise in small-scale printing operations that supported both colonial and nationalist media. Printing facilities in urban centers like Salisbury and Bulawayo, often staffed by skilled workers and equipped with imported machinery, produced thousands of newspaper and magazine copies weekly, while smaller, often covert operations in exile hubs like Lusaka relied on manual typesetting and second-hand equipment.20 These presses employed various printing methods, from letterpress for larger runs to mimeograph machines for underground publications, with ink quality fluctuating significantly due to economic sanctions and resource shortages.21This period marked a turning point for Zimbabwean media, as nationalist publications began to emerge in exile, often printed on cost-effective, low-grade paper to maximize distribution despite limited resources.
Examining our primary sources, we see that magazines like The Zimbabwe Review and Rhodesian Commentary reflect the printing limitations and societal priorities of their time. The Zimbabwe Review, produced in Lusaka, often featured straightforward, functional layouts with dense text blocks, a necessity driven by restricted access to advanced printing technology and the priority of content over visual appeal. In contrast, Rhodesian Commentary benefited from more refined printing capabilities in Salisbury, with neater alignments and occasional photographic reproductions, such as aerial views of agricultural landscapes, to project an image of modernity and authority.22However, both magazines predominantly used English, a decision that influenced their accessibility and tone. The Zimbabwe Review adopted a direct, mobilizing tone to rally readers, while Rhodesian Commentary employed a formal, measured style to appeal to its white audience, reflecting the broader colonial use of English as a mechanism of control and exclusion. 23
[Fig.8] Zimbabwe Review
The text in the Terror and Atrocities in Zimbabwe report, published in the late 1970s, is arranged in justified, narrow columns, typical of the era’s printing practices, often positioned to complement accompanying photographs, creating a unified and striking visual narrative, as seen where the text aligns with images of conflict and destruction24. The design choices reflect the transitional state of Rhodesian media during the liberation war, merging the structured layouts of colonial-era printing with a more urgent, contemporary style aimed at persuasion. The report balances the constraints of traditional letterpress or offset printing—evident in its consistent column structure—with dynamic elements like bold, all-caps headlines and strategically placed images, aiming to capture attention and evoke emotion while operating within the era’s technical limits. 25As the Rhodesian regime intensified its control over media during the escalating war, it appears its publications adopted a more uniform design approach. Serif typefaces, consistent column widths, and predictable layouts ensured a controlled presentation, with key propaganda messages emphasized through bold headlines and strategic image placement. This rigidity, likely exacerbated by economic sanctions that limited printing resources, enabled the regime to maintain a tight grip on public perception, minimizing opportunities for dissenting interpretations.26
[Fig.9] Agricultural Journal
Zimbabwe, once called the breadbasket of Africa, thrived during the era when its first mines and railways were built. Today, it holds the world’s third-largest platinum reserves amongst several other minerals and was historically a major agricultural exporter, producing wheat, tobacco, and corn from its fertile lands. After independence, my grandfather ran a small bottle store and occasionally enjoyed a local Zimbabwean cigarette. Farmers back then relied on publications like the Rhodesian Agricultural Journal , which offered valuable insights on best practices for agriculture, alongside advertisements for local and foreign goods, connecting rural communities to broader markets and innovations. Only white settlers could truly benefit from any of the economic development that was happening at the time.
The text in the Rhodesian Agricultural Journal of June 1909 is arranged in a justified one to two-column format, a practical choice for early colonial print media. This layout prioritizes efficient use of limited paper, a necessity in a settler society focused on agricultural expansion, where resources were often redirected to farming rather than publishing. Editorial content on agricultural shows and advertisements for farming goods and jewelry are tightly packed, reflecting the urgency of disseminating practical knowledge to a dispersed settler audience.The journal was produced in large quantities with an emphasis on broad distribution rather than precision, as the Agricultural Department sought to reach as many settlers as possible across Rhodesia’s scattered farming communities. Minor printing flaws, such as faint ink, uneven line spacing, or slight misalignments, were common but overlooked, reflecting the era’s focus on utility over visual perfection amid scarce resources and the pressing need to support agricultural development. 28The journal’s structure is purposefully designed to achieve its objectives: the editorial sections aim to educate and enhance farming practices, the advertisements provide a mix of practical goods like seeds and tools alongside aspirational items like jewelry, addressing settlers’ needs and desires, and the inclusion of clear contact details ensures readers can easily connect with suppliers or organizations for actionable steps.
From colonial to modern Zimbabwean print media, bold headings, photographs, and motifs have persisted as tools for clear communication. Bold headings quickly disseminate key information, leveraging the psychological principle of contrast to stand out, especially for diverse, multilingual audiences. Photographs convey narratives instantly, transcending language barriers, engaging visual and verbal memory, and evoking emotions directly. Motifs, like the Zimbabwe Bird, symbolically express cultural identity, offering a visual representation of complex visions that text alone cannot efficiently capture.
Zimbabwean design, despite improvements, lags behind due to economic challenges and limited technology. Today’s designs prioritize visual engagement, using video, high-quality photography, and infographics to compete in a crowded media landscape. Motifs, popular among emerging brands, gain meaning over time through repeated association with cultural values—like the clenched fist in The Zimbabwe Review, which became a symbol of defiance against colonial rule through its consistent use in liberation media. My unique position as someone who has pursued entrepreneurial endeavours marketed my business has come to understand companies and designers all have ideology in order to resonate with an audience you need a point of view. Mine was inspired by Steve jobs. Simplicity and understated. in applying these principles ensures clarity and cultural resonance, countering the excessive mass consumption overwhelming modern Zimbabwean graphic design.
This evolution contrasts sharply with the resource-constrained, text-heavy layouts of 1909, which were designed to maximize information delivery in a colonial context with limited access to printing materials.29 Now, both print and digital platforms offer a higher volume of content, often integrating multimedia elements like videos and interactive graphics, catering to a fast-paced, visually driven environment where audiences demand quick, engaging access to information across multiple channels.30 For a detailed discussion on digital media's impact on information consumption, see Smith, J. (2023). *The Digital Shift in Publishing*.
This links Aime Cesaire's remarks to Colonialism being directly linked with capitalism and I say graphic design was and will forever be linked with the themes I have discussed. It is way of conveying messaging and in a capitalistic society where mass consumption has become the norm it has played a crucial role in both exploitative acts, liberation liberation and as result the economy. I do not agree with all of Cesaire's remarks as I feel his ideas of “man” and “nation” being bourgeois that have been weaponized against non- Western peoples is although accurate you cannot remove a people's need for an individual identity. We must retake, reshape and retell our stories.
Epilogue
As I started this thesis I was not sure what I would uncover as most of the articles and information in this thesis was lost to history on me i am glad to have uncovered it as it as helped me understand my grandfather and what life could have been like if he did not try and re Through its ability to craft compelling narratives, the pen transcends its role as a mere writing tool, becoming a force that molds both perception and lived experience. My exploration of Zimbabwean magazines—from The Zimbabwe Review to Rhodesian Commentary, The Rhodesia Herald, The Chronicle, and The Rhodesian Agricultural Journal—reveals how design decisions reflect and reinforce political ideologies, cultural identities, and economic priorities.
Yet, within this unfinished tale lies opportunity. The pen’s silence need not be permanent. My grandfather’s sacrifices—etched not in ink but in the lives he touched—remind us that progress is possible even in tragedy, a tragic optimism that looks forward rather than back. Today, the internet emerges as a modern pen, offering tools like technology and scale to rewrite Zimbabwe’s future, drawing from models like Kenya’s burgeoning integration. The blueprint exists; the question is whether Zimbabwe’s leaders will wield the pen to define what it means to be Zimbabwean—to forge a society that blends the fraternity of pre-colonial days with the promise of modernity. This is not an ending, but a pause—an invitation to pick up the pen and write what comes next.
Zimbabwean publications evolved over time, shifting from mere platforms for disseminating information to mechanisms that shaped public consciousness, either advancing colonial oppression or supporting liberation struggles. While I’m unsure if my grandfather was a communist, his party, ZAPU, embraced far-left ideologies during my childhood.
Raised on Western ideas, I still view capitalism as a lesser evil, but my research has revealed its exploitative origins. I believe in the individual’s power to pick up their pen and write their own story, resisting narratives imposed by oppressive or ideological media. Even Aimé Césaire, I believe, recognized the danger of over-relying on any ideology, as the world is not black and white but filled with vibrant colors and shades of grey, demanding a nuanced understanding beyond rigid frameworks.
Design played a dual role, both mirroring societal transformations and directing them toward ideological goals, whether perpetuating colonial narratives of white dominance, rallying support for the armed struggle for independence, or reinforcing post-independence power structures. These publications influenced how readers engaged with their reality, serving as arenas for ideological conflict. This archive, though limited, sheds light on a neglected facet of Zimbabwe’s design history, illuminating the intricate relationship between visual culture, power dynamics, and economic identity, and challenging us to reconsider design’s profound impact on a nation’s trajectory.