The party’s over. Will Mugabe ever leave?

AFTER 27 years in power, President Robert Mugabe is finally losing his grip over Zimbabwe. Economic disaster has provoked mounting criticism not only from opposition groups but from powerful factions within his own party. Mugabe’s customary tactics for dealing with his critics have been violence and repression. But so dire has the plight of Zimbabwe become recently that there are signs that even violence is no longer sufficient to keep the increasingly unpopular president in power.

Zimbabwe has the world’s fastest-shrinking economy outside a war zone. Agricultural production has declined by half since 2000, when Mugabe sent militia groups to seize white-owned farms in the hope of restoring his popularity. Vast tracts of land now stand unused. The inflation rate has officially soared to 1,700% and is expected to reach 5,000% by the end of the year. Three-quarters of the population is unemployed. More than 3 million people, desperate to find work, have moved to neighboring countries. Education and health services are on the brink of collapse. Foreign diplomats have begun warning of mass starvation.

Amid rising public despair, opposition groups convened a “Save Zimbabwe” prayer meeting in Harare on March 11, defying a government ban on public rallies. Mugabe’s response was to order armed police to break up the meeting -- to “bash them,” as he likes to say. Dozens of opposition activists, including Morgan Tsvangirai, the 55-year-old leader of the Movement for Democratic Change, were savagely beaten.

Last week, opposition leaders charged that scores more advocates of political and civic change had been abducted and badly beaten in recent middle-of-the-night assaults by unidentified assailants -- widely believed to be part of a government campaign to stifle dissent. Nelson Chamisa, spokesman for the Movement for Democratic Change, was attacked at Harare’s airport last month by four men who fractured his skull with iron bars, according to the New York Times. “It’s state terrorism,” he said.

But far from intimidating opposition groups, Mugabe’s use of violence has emboldened them. “They are losing their fear, despite every effort of the government to build that fear over the last eight years,” Christopher Dell, the U.S. ambassador to Zimbabwe, told a reporter.

Furthermore, this latest bout of repression has led to a torrent of foreign condemnation, even from Mugabe’s allies in Africa. The South African government, which is Zimbabwe’s largest trading partner and has hitherto been reluctant to criticize Mugabe’s regime, has made it clear that it wants him to retire when his current term expires in 2008.

Mugabe, of course, has other ideas. Despite his age, the 83-year-old leader is determined to hold onto power beyond 2008. He has even talked of continuing in office until 2014, vowing that Tsvangirai will never be allowed to become president as long as he is alive.

But it will be increasingly difficult. These days, prominent figures within Mugabe’s ruling ZANU-PF party are trying to maneuver him toward an exit, fearing that their private wealth amassed during the Mugabe years could be lost in an economic collapse. Mugabe previously retained their loyalty by rewarding them with farms, government contracts and other perks, but he no longer has the ability to offer such patronage because the government, mired in debt, is bankrupt. When Mugabe recently tried to postpone next year’s presidential elections for two years, to keep himself in power for an extended term, he was thwarted by Solomon Mujuru, a former army commander and one of Zimbabwe’s richest men.

Nevertheless, Mugabe has long experience in outmaneuvering his critics within ZANU-PF; the wayside is littered with challengers. Moreover, as long as he maintains control of the army and police, the option of violent repression remains at hand.

For much of Mugabe’s career, violence has been his stock in trade. As leader of one of the guerrilla armies that fought to overthrow white-minority rule in Rhodesia, as Zimbabwe was previously called, he became obsessed with the power of the gun, telling supporters that even when they had the vote, the gun would always be ready for use. During the 1980s, he unleashed a campaign of terror against opponents in the western provinces of Matabeleland in which at least 20,000 civilians were killed.

So proud was he of his record that he once boasted about having “a degree in violence” to add to his six university degrees. “The area of violence is an area where ZANU-PF has a very strong, long and successful history,” said Nathan Shamuyarira, one of Mugabe’s closest colleagues, confirming the point.

It didn’t have to be this way. Mugabe came to power in 1980 in an atmosphere of hope and optimism. In the early years, he strove to build a good working relationship with his former white adversaries; he reassured white business about the future, stressing the need for foreign investment. Buoyed by a huge influx of Western aid, he was able to embark on an ambitious program to extend education and health services to the population.

But as the years passed, he turned viciously on his black opponents and, over time, his goodwill toward the white community evaporated as well. In his bid to create a one-party state in the years since, he has crushed his political opposition, rigged elections, corrupted the courts, trampled property rights and suppressed the independent press. Now, however, his style of government has become a matter of embarrassment for other African leaders. In return for Western aid, they have repeatedly promised to adhere to strict rules of governance and to bring an end to the era when Africa’s “big men” could rule the roost with impunity. But, like other big men before him, Mugabe has no intention of going quietly.