On the 1st January this year, powerful new ‘indigenisation’ laws came into effect in Zimbabwe, with the aim of forcing all foreign-owned businesses to pass into the hands of black Zimbabweans. It is a move that has horrified the international business community that accuses Mugabe of once again leading his country into economic jeopardy and risking the little stability that has been regained since the 2009 crisis.

Indigenising the Zimbabwean economy involves forcing non-Zimbabweans (for instance Mozambiquan or Nigerian small business-owners) to relinquish at least 51 per cent of their stakes in Zimbabwean companies. The list of sectors currently affected, however, leaves out the ‘big fish’ of the foreign-owned enterprises, such as the mines and the banks. At present, those affected include hairdressers, beauty salons, bakers, employment agencies, agriculture and transport. Those that do not comply will risk being arrested, and considering that those affected have little financial or diplomatic power, they are not in a position to fight back.

Last year’s election saw Robert Mugabe win his seventh presidential term, and he won on a platform which promised to “indigenise, empower, develop and employ”. Critics were quick to label this latest move a rushed and populist policy that will target tiny businesses owned by immigrants who were strong enough to stay in the country even when it was on its knees. I know Zimbabwe well, having spent two months there last year carrying out research. Mugabe, now a cardboard cutout villain in the Western world, is a man who divides the country.

From what you hear in the Western media, you’d be forgiven for thinking that he rules purely by force. In fact, he has as many supporters as detractors, and even those who oppose his recent policies recognise him as a liberator of their country. If nothing else, his rhetoric has traction in a country where the scars of colonialism are not easily forgotten. My question, however, is how unique is this policy? To an outsider, Zimbabwean politics seems to lurch between barbarity and farce, and this move has easily played into that narrative. But it’s interesting to see how this policy compares to other countries seeking to ‘indigenise’ their economies, labour markets and property ownership.

Since the late 1980s, Oman’s Sultan Qaboos has been gradually introducing ‘Omanisation’ policies that seek to increase the numbers of indigenous people working in prime sectors. Certain industries, such as taxi driving or petrochemicals, have to reach quotas for the number of Omanis employed.
It’s an extremely popular policy among Omanis, but similar fears have been raised that it will deter foreign investment and make it hard for companies to recruit adequately skilled labour.

Looking closer to home, it’s interesting to consider how debates surrounding immigration have given rise to similar concerns. In 2009, Gordon Brown spoke of “British jobs for British workers.” Last year, vans drove around areas with high immigrant populations, warning them to “go home or face arrest”. Such moves wouldn’t seem out of place in Zimbabwe, a fact we’re perhaps reluctant to admit. In an era of increasing movement across borders, many states are witnessing alarmist responses to higher levels of immigration. In the context of Zimbabwe, colonised over 100 years ago, sentiments are even stronger.

Indigenisation laws in Zimbabwe aim to address the imbalance in the economy that goes back to the settlement of Rhodesia by Europeans in the 19th century.
The number of white settlers never made up more than four per cent of the population, but for over a century the country’s economy and land ownership was dominated by a white minority who clung onto political power until 1980.

Within Zimbabwe there are strong sentiments in favour of pursuing indigenisation. A friend of mine recently told me, “philosophically, most Zimbabweans support indigenisation. People disagree how to put that philosophy into practice.” Many believe it’s fair to repossess what was taken during colonial settlement.
The danger is that these laws will in practice target immigrants who support the economy, a narrative that sounds very familiar.

British politics has become saturated with discussions that regularly descend into racist and xenophobic diatribes. Comparing the British, Omani and Zimbabwean cases, I feel they are a warning of the dangers of suppressing open discussions about nationality and citizenship, that ultimately result in drastic measures.
Those who are against nationalist policies tend to avoid discussing the issues and explaining the complexities. The hazard is that such an approach creates deeper cracks where fault lines already exist, which may be harder to heal further down the line.