By Mthokozisi Mabhena

THIS year, the sun rises upon a nation 45 years free. And as its golden rays touch the valleys and peaks of our sovereign land, they do not simply warm the soil or glisten on the leaves. They illuminate a question.

A sacred question. One that each and every man and woman in this nation must ask themselves, not in passing, not for performance, but in the quiet depths of conscience: What have I done for my country? And what must I do now? For independence is not an inheritance of ease. It is a torch passed from one generation to the next, not to admire, but to carry forward. And this torch, though lit in the fi res of struggle, can be extinguished in the winds of complacency. We dare not allow that. Forty-fi ve years ago, our fl ag was raised not as a decoration, but as a declaration. A declaration that we would govern ourselves.

Feed ourselves. Build ourselves. Respect ourselves. Our founding heroes did not lay down their lives for a nation of idle dreamers, but for a people who would live the dream, through sweat, through courage, through the long obedience of nation-building. This land of ours was not simply fought for in the battlefi elds — it was carved from the soul of those who refused to bow to oppression. It was the vision of men like Herbert Wiltshire Pfumaindini Chitepo Joshua Nkomo and Robert Mugabe, whose names are etched in the stones of this land, whose sacrifi ces charted the course of our liberation. But their work was never about themselves. It was about us, about you and about me. Independence was not given. It was taken. Earned. Paid for in blood. And there is still so much to do, if we speak not as politicians, not as partisans, but as patriots, we must admit that, still, iwe neni tine basa/mina lawe silomsebenzi.

We stand, now, not on the mountain top but midway up the climb. And from here, we can see both how far we have come, and how far we have yet to go. As we look upon the sweat of our forefathers’ labour, we know that it is not their hands that will complete the task, it is ours. I think of the words of Kwame Nkrumah, who taught us that “we face neither East nor West; we face forward”. Our eyes must not only be locked in the past, but focused fi rmly on the present and the future.

The past is our foundation, yes, but it is the future we must build. We have stood against sanctions, endured droughts and survived storms not of our own making. We have watched children born after independence grow into doctors, teachers, poets, and scientists. We have tasted progress, yes, and we still thirst for more. And so the question before us is not one of blame but of burden. Not: “What has the country done for me?” But: “What is my sacred duty to the land that bore me?” History will not remember the slogans. It will not remember the uniforms or the marching songs. History remembers only what was built.

What was lifted. What was made possible. I stand here, on the soil of this land, and I am reminded of the great men and women who sacrifi ced for this day. Cde Gabarinocheka, who fought under the banner of liberation, knew that the task ahead was not just about political freedom, but about freedom from poverty, from hunger, from the degradation of our people. He often said that “we have no liberty until we have self-suffi ciency”. And this, indeed, must be the driving force for us today. We must go beyond political sovereignty. We must embrace economic sovereignty, the kind that comes from our sweat, from our intellect, from our land. The work of our nation is not just to stand free, but to stand proud, to stand strong, to stand independent in mind and spirit. It has been said that: “government of the people, by the people, for the people shall not perish from the earth”. But such a government lives only if the people themselves choose to act, not merely to vote, not merely to shout, but to serve.

Also it has been said: “Ask not what your country can do for you — ask what you can do for your country.” That question, though asked in a distant land, resounds here, today. Louder than ever. And so I ask you—yes, you: Have you taught a child to read? Have you planted food on your fi eld or your garden? Have you paid your taxes — not because you must, but because the country needs them? Have you volunteered your time, your skill, your insight, to uplift your ward, your district, your village? For the nation is not an offi ce in Harare. It is not a ministry. It is not a president.

The nation is you. The nation is us. Ours should be a land of thriving agriculture. We should not wait for others to feed us, our soil should sustain us. What if we applied that principle to every corner of this nation? What if we planted not only our crops but our hearts and our hands into the soil of the future? There would be no limit to what we could achieve. Every farmer who ploughs his fi eld with dignity is building the nation.

Every nurse who works a night shift with devotion is lifting the fl ag higher. Every teacher who inspires a child to believe is planting a seed of true independence. We must rekindle the ethic of service. We must remember that patriotism is not just ceremony, it is sacrifi ce. And more than that, it is participation. It is in choosing honesty over shortcuts. Choosing country over clique. Choosing to fi x, not fl ee. To the businesswoman, do not just make profi t. Build people. To the artist, do not only critique. Create visions.

To the civil servant, do not merely sign forms. Serve the future. I think of Wangari Maathai, the Kenyan environmentalist and political activist who taught us that change starts with one. “It’s the little things citizens do. That’s what will make the diff erence. My little thing,” she said, “is planting trees.” She understood the power of individual action, how it ripples outward and uplifts entire communities. We must become a people who, when faced with challenge, do not ask: “Who will fi x this?” But rise with one voice and say: “Here I am. Send me.” Our continent has known the pains of colonial rule. We have tasted the bitterness of external domination. But now the enemies we face are within: division, apathy and self-interest.

These are not invincible foes. But they will not be conquered by slogans or songs. They will be conquered by citizens who refuse to settle for less. Citizens who demand not only from leaders — but from themselves. I draw inspiration from Thomas Sankara, who once said: “You cannot carry out fundamental change without a certain amount of madness.” Indeed, perhaps it is time for us to abandon the conventional wisdom that holds us back, to pursue a radical renewal of spirit, of character, of purpose. What if each of us made a solemn oath today: “I will leave this country better than I found it”? Not just in words. But in practice. Every day. In small ways. That is how nations are built. We must abandon the politics of insult, the poison of tribe, the cancer of division. We cannot aff ord to be Ndebele or Shona, Ndau, Kalanga, Venda. We must be Zimbabwean, always. Let our Parliament echo with ideas, not insults.

Let our conversations ignite hope, not hate. Let us disagree not as enemies, but as people committed to the same goal, a stronger Zimbabwe. To our youth, I say: Do not wait to be given a place. Take your place. Build your own table. In agriculture, in tech, in arts, in enterprise, be the vanguard of the next 45 years. To our elders, I say: Share your wisdom. Pass on not only the stories of struggle but the strategies of survival. You are the roots. We are the branches. Together, we can make this tree stand. This Independence Day must not be a holiday, it must be a covenant. A covenant with the past, to honour the sacrifi ce. A covenant with the present, to shoulder the task. A covenant with the future, to leave it brighter. Forty-fi ve years have passed. And, yes, we have stumbled. But we have not fallen. The soul of our nation still beats strong.

The dream still breathes. Now let us not waste another minute waiting. Let us move, not as passengers, but as builders. Not as spectators, but as citizens. The work ahead is vast. The harvest will not come easy. But I believe we must believe that if every one of us answers that sacred question with action, this land will rise and thrive. And so I close where I began: What have you done for your country? What will you do for your country, today? Because in the end, the destiny of our nation is not in the stars. It is not in the hands of some distant power. It is in your hands. And it is in mine. Let us build. Let us serve. Let us rise together.

Independence is not merely a destination. It is a direction. It is not a thing we celebrate once a year, it is a fi re we must tend every single day. And that fi re, if not fed with service, courage and resolve, dies.