In Zimbabwe, the wounds of Gukurahundi still bleed, and while the National Council of Chiefs has now stepped in to start a national outreach programme, many people are not ready to trust the process. Deputy President of the chiefs’ council, Fortune Charumbira, says this new programme will include public hearings in Matabeleland North, South, and the Midlands. The goal is to listen to survivors and communities, to gather information and stories about what really happened during the massacres carried out by the army’s Fifth Brigade between 1982 and 1987.

Over 20,000 people were killed during Gukurahundi, and many others were tortured, raped, or forced to flee their homes. The operation targeted people in Matabeleland and Midlands provinces, mostly Ndebele-speaking citizens. For years, the government refused to speak about it, and families of the victims were left without answers, justice, or healing.

Now, Chief Charumbira says the chiefs will lead the way. But many people are asking the same question: why now, and can they be trusted?

This plan to gather information sounds like a good idea on paper. But it raises concerns. For starters, the chiefs have not always been seen as neutral or independent from the ruling ZANU PF party. Charumbira himself is openly pro-ZANU PF, and some chiefs have been used in past elections to campaign for the ruling party. That makes it hard for victims of Gukurahundi to believe that the chiefs will speak truth to power or represent them honestly.

Another issue is that this process still avoids the real need: justice. People want the truth, yes—but they also want those who committed the crimes to be held accountable. They want official records opened, graves identified, compensation given, and apologies made. So far, none of this is part of the chiefs’ plan. The outreach sounds more like a listening session than a justice process.

It also doesn’t help that the same government which ordered the killings in the 1980s is still in power today. President Emmerson Mnangagwa was a top official during that time. Many believe he has done nothing to take responsibility or push for justice. Instead, he has tried to manage the Gukurahundi issue politically, making promises and starting talks—but never allowing a real, independent investigation or court process.

Some see this new outreach as another PR stunt. A way to control the narrative. To look like something is being done, while the real questions are never answered.

Even the timing is suspicious. Zimbabwe is under pressure from international human rights groups and regional bodies to show signs of reform. The SADC summit is coming, and the government wants to appear open and caring. But behind the scenes, the same repression continues. Opposition members are jailed. Protesters are beaten. Civil society is under attack. So how can this government, and its traditional allies, claim to be serious about truth and healing?

That’s not to say nothing good can come from this. If the chiefs take the process seriously, if they listen with open hearts, and if they are brave enough to speak the truth to those in power—then maybe it can be a start. Maybe it can open a path to real reconciliation. But that will take more than ceremonies and speeches. It will require courage, justice, and the involvement of victims themselves.

What Zimbabwe needs is not just talk. We need a real, transparent process led by independent bodies, not government-linked figures. We need the truth to be told, the dead to be honoured, the guilty to be named, and the survivors to be respected.

Until then, many people in Matabeleland and beyond will continue to view this process with doubt. Because for too long, they have been told to move on while the wounds were still open.

Gukurahundi is not just a chapter in the past. It is a wound in the present. And it will take more than words to heal it.