Online Reporter
Nick Mangwana
THERE is a strange paradox in how we treat constitutions.
We speak of them with a reverence usually reserved for ancient scripture or natural law, as if they were handed down from on high, etched in stone, and immune to the passage of time.
But the truth is far more practical and far more powerful: a Constitution is made by people and, therefore, it can and must be amended by people.
In the United States, the Constitution is not just a legal document; it is part of the cultural lexicon.
Walk onto any television set in America and you will hear a suspect declare, “I plead the 5th.”
This phrase, shorthand for the Fifth Amendment, has become a cultural reflex.
It means you have the right to remain silent, to avoid self-incrimination.
It is a right that exists not because of a king’s decree, but because the people, through their representatives, decided to add it to the list of fundamental protections.
Similarly, when Americans discuss their right to protest, to speak freely or to practice their religion, they do not say, “I have the right to free speech according to Statute 42.”
They say, “It’s my First Amendment right.”
When the debate turns to gun ownership, the discourse immediately centres on the “Second Amendment”.
These rights have become so ingrained in the national identity that the amendments themselves have become the nomenclature — the common language — of freedom.
What the American example teaches us is that an amendment is not a sign of weakness; it is a sign of growth.
The Bill of Rights (the first ten amendments) was not part of the original 1787 text.
It was added because the people demanded it.
They looked at the framework the founders had built and said, “This is good, but it needs more. It needs to explicitly protect us from the very government we are creating.”
The contradiction of “loving change” but hating amendments
This brings us to Zimbabwe.
We stand at a juncture where we must ask ourselves: why do we treat the Constitution as a sacred cow that cannot be touched?
There is a specific and damaging contradiction that exists in our body politic.
We often hear people say, “We need change! Things must be different!”
Yet, the moment a constitutional amendment is proposed to facilitate that change, the same people cry foul. They claim the amendment process is a threat to the nation’s founding document.
You cannot logically say you love change but hate the amendment. An amendment is change. It is the formal, legal and structured mechanism through which a society updates its operating system.
To oppose an amendment is to oppose the very evolution you claim to desire.
This is why groups that sprout up to call themselves “Constitution Defence” forums or alliances are, upon closer inspection, engaged in one of the most ridiculous exercises imaginable.
Defending the Constitution from what? From whom? The Constitution itself is not a fragile, passive thing that needs a vigilante posse. It is a robust legal framework that explicitly contains the mechanism for its own evolution.
It allows itself to be amended by the people. So, who are you defending it against — the people it is supposed to serve?
In almost every modern jurisdiction, including our own, the threshold for changing a Constitution is a super-majority in Parliament.
This super-majority is not a loophole or a sign of a coup; it is the highest expression of the will of the majority.
It is the will of the people, because the people are represented in Parliament by those they voted for.
By that same token, the people gave the responsibility of safeguarding the Constitution not to self-appointed civil society groups, but to the institutions they elected: Parliament and the Judiciary.
They are the ones with the constitutional mandate. So, to these self-styled defenders, one must ask: were you given a legal brief by Mr Constitution himself to defend him? Where does your mandate to “defend” proceed from? It proceeds from nowhere but a desire to freeze our laws in time.
The Zimbabwean imperative: Making amendments our language
If we want a society that evolves, that corrects its course and that reflects the will of the current generation, we must embrace the amendment process as a natural part of our political life.
Imagine a Zimbabwe where, ten or twenty years from now, citizens refer casually to the legal milestones of their nation.
Imagine a university student debating land tenure reform and saying, “But under the 3rd Amendment Progress, our tenure is secure.”
Imagine a journalist arguing for greater media freedom and citing the “6th Amendment Guarantees”.
Imagine a young entrepreneur discussing the “Devolution Amendment of 2025” that brought resources closer to the village.
This shift in language would signal a shift in mindset.
It would mean that we have stopped viewing the Constitution as a distant, untouchable document drafted by ghosts in 2013 (or 1980, or 1979), and started viewing it as ours.
The power of the people
Of course, amendments can be good or bad; they can be populist or progressive.
But the process of amending is not the enemy — it is the safeguard. It requires debate, public consultation (in most cases) and legislative super-majorities.
It forces the nation to have a conversation about where it is going.
The ultimate beauty of a Constitution is that it belongs to the living.
As the American jurist Thurgood Marshall once noted, the Constitution is not a static document meant to be viewed through the lens of the 18th century, but a dynamic blueprint for the future.
If we in Zimbabwe want a Constitution that matters — one that people actually know and cite in their daily lives — we must stop fearing its evolution.
We must move from a culture of “this is the law, do not touch” to a culture of “this is our law, and we will shape it as we grow”.
Let us work towards a day when “The 5th Amendment” is not just an American catchphrase, but when “The 3rd Amendment Progress” rolls off the tongue of every citizen in Harare, Bulawayo and Mutare because it signifies the moment the people chose to make their country better.
A Constitution that cannot be amended is not a charter of liberty; it is a historical artifact.
And we are living in the present, not a museum.
Nick Mangwana is the Permanent Secretary in the Ministry of Information, Publicity and Broadcasting Services
