Introduction
The dominant literature on worker resistance in Zimbabwe suggests that the country’s authoritarian regime has stifled resistance (Chikerema and Chakunda 2014; Chikomo and Olsen 2007; Dansereau 2003; Kagoro 2005; Onslow 2011; Sachikonye 2010; Sisulu, Richard, and Kibble 2009). This literature demonstrates why there have not been many revolts in Zimbabwe, despite unparalleled repression, by commenting on the effects of the Zimbabwe African National Union – Patriotic Front's (ZANU–PF's) authoritarian regime on political opposition and resistance in Zimbabwe. However, drawing from Scott’s notion of ‘weapons of the weak’, I argue that the working class (miners in particular) in Zimbabwe are engaging in hidden forms of workplace resistance on a day-to-day basis. In doing so, I contribute towards a better understanding of everyday forms of resistance in Zimbabwe from the perspective of the mining sector.
Previous studies examined subterranean forms of workplace resistance in Zimbabwe (Phimister 1994; Phimister and van Onsleen 1978; van Onselen 1976). These studies noted hidden forms of resistance that were dominant in the Rhodesian mines. These included hanging out, ‘mindless labour’, deliberate wastefulness, slowdowns, fake illnesses, self-inflicted injuries, sabotage, drug abuse, absenteeism, desertions and loafing, as well as working to rule. However, these studies were carried out in the colonial Zimbabwean context where labour was distributed according to colonially constructed hierarchies of race (Phimister 1994), and do not encompass new forms of resistance in the post-colonial authoritarian Zimbabwean regime. In post-colonial Zimbabwean context, although racial hierarchies have been eradicated, workers face new forms of repression because of the present regimes’ intolerance of unions, strikes and respect of workers’ rights. Since little is known about new forms of subtle resistance in the post-colonial Zimbabwean workplace, it is the aim of this study to fill this gap in lack of understanding.
To achieve this, I used Scott’s notion of ‘weapons of the weak’, which asserts that for the ‘peasantry scattered across the countryside and facing even more imposing obstacles to organise collective action, everyday forms of resistance would seem particularly important’ (Scott 1985, 1990). Scott (1990, 5) listed weapons of powerless groups as including ‘foot-dragging, dissimulation, false compliance, pilfering, feigned ignorance, slander, arson and sabotage’. In this article, I show how miners at Zimplats engaged in these subterranean forms of resistance since they are hindered from organising openly.
While there is a growing body of literature on platinum mining in other post-colonial contexts like South Africa (Benya 2015; Capps 2012; Chinguno 2015; Sinwell 2015), far less recent scholarly literature exists on platinum mining in Zimbabwe. In this article, I draw from Zimplats, one of the largest platinum mining companies in Zimbabwe. The case study of Zimplats was done qualitatively, so that I could get rich data that led to a clear understanding of the daily lived experiences of miners. To achieve this, I incorporated participant observation where I stayed in the mine workers’ compound for a month to gain an in-depth understanding of their struggles from an insider’s perspective. This helped in understanding the various forms of workplace resistance and what they meant to the individuals who took part in those different kinds of resistance. There was also a need to get first-hand information from the mine workers and I did this through 14 semi-structured in-depth interviews conducted with mine workers as well as one union official.
In this article I begin by discussing literature that argues that resistance has been muted by the authoritarian regime in Zimbabwe. The next section focuses on Scott’s notion of ‘weapons of the weak’, which informed the theoretical framework of this article. The section that follows looks at union activities and the impact of two strikes that took place at Zimplats in 2008 and 2012. The ‘weapons of the weak’ that miners are engaging in are then divided into kukanda (sick notes) and absenteeism, name calling and unique language, sabotage, desertions and resignations.
Resistance and repression in Zimbabwe
Resistance in Zimbabwe is repressed by enacting draconian laws to stop the citizens from striking or by the use of violence against those who would have protested. Literature on post-independence Zimbabwe politics points to the continuousness of dictatorial governance from the Rhodesian Front to ZANU-PF (Muzondidya 2009). This body of literature traced the repressive nature of ZANU-PF after independence in dealing with the official opposition, striking workers, students or civil society (Raftopoulos 2003).
Soon after independence in 1980, protests took place in many sectors of the economy and around 200 strike actions took place between 1980 and 1981 (Sachikonye 1986, 1997). These strikes were undertaken to pursue pay increases, better working conditions, a need for abusive managers and supervisors to be fired, re-employment of sacked employees and unclear status of pension schemes (Astrow 1983; Sachikonye 1986, 1997). In response, the ZANU-PF government engaged in direct consultations with workers and by legislating for minimum wages for various sectors of the economy (Dansereau 1997; Sachikonye 1986, 1997). However, in May 1980, the Mugabe regime adopted a harsher position, sending police against striking workers and threatening to engage in tougher measures (Dansereau 1997).
The Mugabe regime sought to strengthen and develop a united trade union movement through increased state involvement in union affairs (Ibid.; Sachikonye 1986, 1997). Before independence, the labour movement was divided into five union federations, and these five associations were combined together to form the present-day Zimbabwe Congress of Trade Unions (ZCTU) (Dansereau 1997). ZCTU’s first congress in 1981 witnessed Robert Mugabe’s brother Albert Mugabe being nominated as its Secretary General (Mitchell 1987; Sachikonye 1997). Irrespective of this initiative, the end of the first decade of independence saw rising signs of disappointment mainly in the urban areas (Raftopoulos 1992). As such, the ZANU-PF government resorted to the use of more force to control citizens challenging its power (Raftopoulos and Sachikonye 2001).
As protests increased, government repression intensified. In the early 1990s, workers and the unemployed reacted to the impoverishing results of the Economic Structural Adjustment Programme with strike action (Saunders 2001). As such, in the 1990s, Zimbabwe saw higher levels of labour activism compared with the end of the 1980s, with at least 184 episodes of activism in 1990–97 compared to 38 from 1985–90 (Ibid.). Throughout the 1990s the government responded by releasing state security forces and many people were killed while hundreds were arrested and assaulted (Dansereau 2003; Saunders 2001). This fuelled more collective union actions, and the birth of an alliance of workers, students, intellectuals, human rights organisations and women’s groups to form the National Constitutional Assembly (Raftopoulos 2009). This move also resulted in the formation of one of the strongest opposition parties in post-colonial Zimbabwe, the Movement for Democratic Change (Ibid.).
In the post-2000 period the government passed draconian laws aimed at limiting space for grassroots resistance. These include the Broadcasting Services Act, Public Order and Security Act (POSA), and the Access to Information Protection and Privacy Act (AIPPA) of 2002. These resulted in the closing down of media space and some newspapers, and were accompanied by bombing of printing presses and attacks on journalists and independent media stakeholders (Kagoro 2005). The AIPPA and the POSA legislation prevented the holding of meetings without police clearance and generally denied Zimbabweans basic freedom of assembly, speech and association (Sisulu, Richard, and Kibble 2009). In addition, POSA criminalises the publication of statements that are prejudicial to the state (Chuma 2004, 135), while AIPPA provided for the registration of journalists by a Media and Information Commission constituted by known ZANU-PF party loyalists like Tafataona Mahoso (Makaye and Dube 2014). The POSA, through section 29(2), gave the institutions of state the power to kill upon suspicion that a prohibited political act had been or was about to be committed (Kagoro 2005). This provision allows the police and all state agents to kill a civilian who is found taking part in an unauthorised gathering (Ibid.). Notably, these repressive laws gave rise to, and apparent justification for, the widespread problem of police brutality that we witness mainly in post-2000 Zimbabwe.
The literature listed here shows how the ruling party has been responding to the labour movement in Zimbabwe since 1980 by enacting laws that criminalise strikes and also by the use of violence against striking workers. This has weakened the labour movement and led to the dominant assumption that repression has nullified resistance in Zimbabwe. This article draws from a case study of Zimplats mineworkers. It employs Scott’s lens in order to demonstrate not that resistance has become impossible, but rather that the dynamics have changed and workers are now engaging in hidden forms of resistance. Having highlighted the authoritarian nature of the Zimbabwean government, I now turn to Scott’s notion of ‘weapons of the weak’, which provides new insight into alternative forms of resistance in the Zimbabwean context.
Scott on weapons of the weak
Scott developed his notion of ‘weapons of the weak’ and ‘everyday forms of resistance’ in three books published in the years 1976, 1985 and 1990. However, of the three publications, his theory comes out perhaps most forcefully in the 1985 publication, which is a product of two years of fieldwork in a Malay village in the northeastern state of Kedar in Malaysia. Scott (1985) made use of a case study of a village which he named ‘Sedaka’, where most farmers were small landowner–operators; a substantial subgroup consisted of tenants or landless workers; and a few owned substantial holdings. In this common Asian scenario, the latter constituted a local power elite owing to their wealth, their control of employment and their dominant political party.
This context is not greatly different from Zimbabwe, where the majority of people are unemployed and do menial jobs while a few individuals affiliated to the ruling party dominate both rural and urban spheres. Companies like Zimplats also resemble the context of the Malay village as there are a few bosses who stay in better houses provided by the company, who also have their children’s fees and other bills covered by the company. As such, they dominate and suppress the ordinary workers who are earning less and with little or no benefits in the workplace.
Scott (1990, 13) believes that social science is concerned largely with formal relationships between those in power and their subjects, and he argues that much resistance is subterranean and difficult to notice. For him, the weak resist through means that hide their resistance from the authorities. Scott (1990) sees repressive relations as composed of veiled transcripts of control that he terms ‘infrapolitics’, where the exploited devise strategies of resistance. He argues that ‘infrapolitics is real politics in which real ground is lost and gained’ (Ibid., 200). For Scott (1985, 335), it is incorrect to believe that lower classes are oppressed to an extent that makes sovereign and resistant subculture impossible. He adds that foot dragging, non-compliance, deception, stealing, pilfering, slander and so on have to be seen as acceptable forms of resistance. In Scott’s opinion, the weak practise unofficial and unknown kinds of resistance which are not spoken about often but can be effective in aiding them to get what they are fighting for.
Scott’s ideas played a huge role during the study of Zimplats, by helping to identify all forms of resistance that mine workers are exercising since they are unable to engage in more formal forms of resistance. These ideas have also challenged me not to limit resistance to easily identifiable acts like strikes and protests, but rather consider covert types of resistance. However, these ‘weapons of the weak’ are not mobilised collectively but only individually, and arguably do not challenge underlying power and class dynamics (Sinwell 2012). Having discussed the broader framework within which power and resistance takes place, I now turn to everyday forms of resistance that mine workers are engaging in at Zimplats.
Weapons of the weak at Zimplats
Before venturing into a detailed explanation of the ‘weapons of the weak’ that miners are engaging in, I will start by highlighting the nature of trade unions at Zimplats. This will also enrich our understanding of the reasons why mine workers are opting for covert forms of resistance. I will also draw on the results of the two strikes that took place in 2008 and 2012 to illuminate the repressive nature of Zimplats and why everyday forms of workplace resistance appear to be ideal for mine workers.
Trade unions at Zimplats
Interviews and observations showed weak union activity at Zimplats. This is contrary to strong union activities explained above on repression and resistance in Zimbabwe where trade unions have been fighting since independence. The National Mine Workers Union of Zimbabwe (NMWUZ) official interviewed stated that the union had 258 members at Zimplats while the company employs a workforce of 3000–4000. Of the 14 participants interviewed, none of them was a member of a union. However, some of the participants were once unionised and decided to withdraw their memberships because they said the unions are weak and only take their money in the form of subscriptions. One participant who was once a member of a trade union explained his reasons for leaving:
I was once a member of this union – I forgot the name – and I left because many people were being fired and the union was not representing them, they just eat people’s money. (Participant 3)
Trade unions do not advise miners to strike, because they feel that if miners strike they will lose their jobs. The NMWUZ official indicated the union’s position on strikes as follows:
Uuuuumm actually we do not encourage strikes because you lose. If you just strike in Zimbabwe you are gone because we do not have the rights to strike, our law does not have those rights, and all strikes are illegal in Zimbabwe because you cannot fulfil the legal requirements for a protected strike. (Participant 1)
Strikes at Zimplats
Irrespective of the laws that impact on the ability of mine workers to strike and the union position on strikes explained above, two strikes took place at Zimplats in 2008 and 2012. In 2008, miners wanted the company to increase their salaries, and in 2012 they wanted the company to pay for their water and electricity bills. Miners claimed that all people who were active during these strikes were fired. They elaborated that the company does not fire one directly for being active during a strike action but once you commit any offence then they will get rid of you. One of the participants commented on this with regard to the two strikes:
We did not win but most of our guys who were active were fired, but they were not fired with issues relating to strikes but were victimized with some other issues like violating the rules and procedures of the company – but we knew it was because of participating in the strike. (Participant 14)
We did not get the increments but actually people lost their jobs and because of that no one will ever start a strike here or say let us strike. If you try to say let us start a strike people will tell you to do so alone. (Participant 11)
Thus far, I have explained the broad repressive nature of the Zimbabwean context and the repressive nature of Zimplats as a company and how this affects the ability of miners to strike. I now turn to the seemingly available forms of resistance. The first theme deals with absenteeism, a way used by miners to take breaks from work.
Absenteeism and kukanda (sick notes)
Absenteeism is a common practice of resistance that relates to the degree of workers’ dissatisfaction (Efthymiou 2009). Absenteeism at Zimplats is aided by the practice of kukanda. Kukanda in Shona literally means throwing. However, in the mine workers’ circles, kukanda is a practice whereby a miner goes to a doctor to get a sick note by either lying that he/she is sick or telling the doctor the truth that he/she needs a day off. This idea of sick notes has its roots in the colonial mines, where miners would forge sick notes, inflict injuries on themselves or fake having fainted, all as means of workplace resistance (Gordon 1977; Phimister and van Onsleen 1978; van Onselen 1976). However, in this study mine workers no longer forge sick notes but they do get valid and authentic sick notes from doctors because they have medical aid policies which give them access to doctors, unlike workers studied by van Onselen (1976). The doctors do not refuse to give them sick notes because they get money out of this practice.
Miners cited several motivations for engaging in absenteeism, including lack of bonuses, long working hours, victimisation, bad working conditions and the need for time to do part-time jobs to supplement their poor wages. Other reasons included people who would have slept in beer halls and could not go to work since the company tests for alcohol content in their blood before the start of every shift. Testing positive for alcohol content would surely result in them losing their jobs. The idea of alcohol being a contributor to absenteeism at work also appeared in van Onselen’s (Ibid.) study. However, in van Onselen’s (Ibid.) study, absenteeism was a weekly occurrence with people being absent mostly on Mondays. In this current study, absenteeism is high at the month end. At the end of January 2016, I witnessed four miners who were working in the same shift who were absent from work on the same day. To illustrate the degree and impact of these individuals’ absence at work, one has to note that each group consists of 19 mine workers who will be working in a given section. Therefore, if four workers were absent, this would mean that there were supposedly only 15 workers at work on that given day. The absence of four people can slow down production on any given day, meaning that this kind of resistance does challenge existing power relations to a notable extent, as production will be less than expected. This resonates well with the colonial mines’ challenges noted by van Onselen (Ibid.). For instance, in 1909 the Sobukwe Mine Managers Association pointed out that, of mines that employed more than 500 black workers, an average of 20% of the workers could be absent every day (Ibid.). This shows the success of workers in plotting to work only on days that suit them.
Most of the participants interviewed have taken part in this practice in the past and some were still practising it whenever the need arose. Furthermore, participants who claimed not to be engaging in this practice have shown the desire to do it but cited the positions they occupy as ones that do not allow them to engage in this kind of resistance. Others do not practise kukanda because they see their company as better than other companies where workers go for months with no salary or are given half of their salaries. A shift representative said:
It is unfortunate that I am a shift rep so I have to lead by example. Whatever that is happening here is far much better because other companies are giving their workers half pay.
Name calling and unique language
The use of name calling and a unique language enables miners to restore their dignity at work and get through their working day. This form of resistance is widely documented in literature and it is believed to be subtle and difficult to notice (R. Cohen 1980). In the Namibian mining sector, workers had four or five names including a white name used mainly for interaction with the management, and the use of the different names confused their white superiors (Ibid.). Furthermore, some workers continued using their indigenous names and if the name was difficult for the white foremen to remember or pronounce, then the worker could be anonymous and safe from being identified (Ibid.). Van Onselen (1976) found that miners gave mines names which constituted a rudimentary code system (Ibid.). These names would describe the name of the mine owner or manager. Falcon mining company must have been served or owned by a bald man for it was called Shayamavudzi (an absence of hair). Other names described food or accommodation and working conditions. Ayrshire mine was named Chimpanzi, which reflected total absence of generosity in food and wages (Ibid.).
Miners at Zimplats, unlike in the above literature, gave their superiors names according to how they treated them, instead of giving names to themselves or the mine itself. One participant said that:
Each and every senior person if he/she is not working with us properly we do have a good name for him/her.
In contrast to the available literature (Phimister 1994; van Onselen 1976), these names have nothing to do with the food or accommodation at the mine. Workers also give names to their superiors, based on how they treat miners rather than their appearances as already noted in the literature. The difference in the use of name calling can best be seen by considering that the current mining set-up has seen black workers being elevated to higher positions previously held by their white contemporaries. These black foremen understand Shona and this renders the use of indigenous names ineffective. However, the purpose of name calling, which is to pass a certain message that is hidden from the targets which are superiors, remains the same even though the content, context and circumstances of its usage have changed. Name calling enables miners to draw a line between who is on their side and who is their enemy.
Miners have developed a language of their own which they use to pass messages to one another without the management noticing. In my interviews, mine workers claimed to stop working in the absence of their supervisors and then notify each other of the supervisor’s return by saying mvura yakuuya (the rain is coming). The use of this phrase in the mine workers’ circles denotes that the supervisor or a manager is coming so they should appear to be busy. In colonial Zimbabwe, miners took the precaution of pegging notices on various trees en route. Sometimes written in Swahili, these notes were addressed to Africans in general or individual workers in particular, and warned of mines to avoid (van Onselen 1976). This previous usage and the current also show that the recipients of the messages are the same even though previously it was practised off the mine premises compared with the current era, where it has been taken into the mine sites.
This kind of discourse gives miners some form of power by enabling them to take control of how and when to pull their weight at work. Scott (1985) dedicated a chapter, titled ‘The vocabulary of exploitation’, to explaining how words are used as a form of resistance. Mine workers’ acts of name calling and unique languages amount to a vocabulary of exploitation in the mine. Scott (Ibid., 41) adds that by looking at ‘peasants’ “offstage” comments and conversation, their proverbs, folksongs and history, legends, jokes, language, ritual and religion’, it should be possible to determine to what degree and in what ways peasants actually accept the social order bred by the leaders. Miners’ language and name calling clearly show that they have not accepted the social order propagated by management. Mine workers are thus not only attempting to restore their dignity, but are also devising ways to gain control of the labour process, as explained below.
Sabotage
Miners are gaining control of the labour process through sabotage and they sabotage through time wasting, which can be either foot dragging, pacing themselves or damaging mine equipment. Literature documents various ways of sabotaging in colonial Zimbabwean mines. These included refusing to work, working at half-pace or running away from employers who exploit them, stealing from and defrauding mine owners, destroying mining property and equipment, feigning illness and loafing (van Onselen 1976). In worse scenarios such as at the Gaika mine, worker Jamandini arranged a rockfall ‘accident’ for miner P.S. Pretorious, who had refused to sign off his work ‘ticket’ (Ibid.). In addition, miners’ sabotage was also evident in the quality of work they delivered. Many refused to do certain tasks altogether, or calculated to do the minimum necessary to get the ticket signed (Ibid.). Through pacing themselves, a gang of Rhodesian Native Labour Bureau workers managed to do only five months’ work during their year’s contract period (Ibid.). The reasons given for sabotaging at Zimplats included poor working conditions, low wages and revenge for the management’s repression. One participant who is a supervisor, and has gone through being a general hand and operator, argued that sabotaging only happens if there are poor or bad relationships between supervisors and their working team. Miners can sabotage by damaging machines and one supervisor had the following to say with regards to operators:
For example the operator can lash [a process of taking ore from a blasted end or area to another point or area] while applying brakes and the machine will overheat and he will rest for about 30 min to 1 h while the machine is cooling off. If he is a rig operator he can reduce the feed so that he drills slowly and the drill penetration will be low so he won’t be able to finish.
So now they end up fighting with the managers because checklist, availability of machines and utilization will not correspond. The machine will be saying it was good for eight hours and for those eight hours the machine should have finished two ends going upwards but it would have finished one end. So they will wonder what happened to all the other hours.
Some mine workers do sabotage through compromising the quality of work they do. One charging assistant stated that he is not worried about how low his earnings are because he is working in a way that best suits what he is earning. He reported that he is the one stealing from the company in terms of how he works and what they give him – in other words, he is being paid for doing nothing, as he is not fulfilling the duties that are expected of him. He said:
There was a time when I used to blast and come the following day and check and if it is not blasted well I would re-blast, but now I no longer do that because I have realized [I am suffering for nothing] and where I would blast I do not even go back there to check.
Especially now they say they are cutting costs so they say whatever you see, even if it’s a bolt and nut pick it, if I see all those things I do not pick them, because even if I cut the costs will they give me the two cents that I would have cut costs on? So it’s better those things be loaded and thrown away.
Miners’ fighting methods are hidden and are not confrontational as this is risky in despotic workplaces, as articulated by Scott (1985). Scott (1990, 8) argues that the peasants are a different class of ‘low classiness’, geographically spread and often lacking the leadership and discipline that would encourage opposition of a more organised sort, so that they are suited to lengthy ‘guerrilla-style campaigns of attrition’ which require little organisation. These mine workers are similar to the peasants in this respect, insofar as the tactics of sabotaging discussed here do not require collective organisation. They are devised by individual miners to counter the management’s techniques of dealing with open revolts. These tactics show the extent to which miners can tolerate oppression such that when oppression is unbearable, miners set the limits through these varieties of methods.
Desertions and resignations
The exiting options available to mine workers were explored and these have roots in the colonial mines in Zimbabwe. Previously, workers deserted because of working conditions and to seek a workplace where they would be better remunerated (Phimister 1994; Phimister and van Onsleen 1978; van Onselen 1976; Williams 1977). For example, van Onselen (1976) speaks of how workers would desert from agriculture employment into mines and could move from one mine to the other. He then concludes that through successive acts of desertion the worker would reach markets which on each occasion offered him higher wages. Miners reported this form of resistance and the reasons for desertions included poor salaries and bad working conditions. However, what was not clear from participants was the degree to which this practice is being used. One participant who believed that this practice is minimal said:
Yeah we have those incidents but, you know in Zimbabwe right now the current situation is forcing all of us to be at work, people find it difficult to resign because there is nowhere to go.
One of the participants had the following to say about resignations:
The above finding corresponds with published material on the idea that when unemployment is rife, workers find it difficult to resign, as is the case at Zimplats and in Zimbabwe in general. As such, since workers cannot strike or leave their current jobs, the only option they feel they are left with is the use of everyday forms of resistance.Conclusion
In this article I have focused on everyday forms of resistance that are being practised at Zimplats. I started by painting the broader picture of resistance and repression in Zimbabwe, drawing from the struggles of the ZCTU since 1980. Scott’s notion of ‘weapons of the weak’, I contend, allows us to better understand resistance in contemporary Zimbabwe. In the context of weakened trade unions and failed industrial action, I argue, the resort to ‘weapons of the weak’ becomes all the more important to mineworkers. The ‘weapons of the weak’ that emerged included kukanda and absenteeism, name calling and unique language, sabotage, desertions and resignations.
Unlike how some of these forms of resistance were documented in literature, there has been a change in how they are currently being exercised at Zimplats. For instance, the use of a unique language and name calling is documented in literature as a process in which workers would give themselves and the mines names (R. Cohen 1980; van Onselen 1976). However, in this study, workers call unpopular managers names. In the literature miners would inflict themselves with injuries or they would forge sick notes, while in this current study miners are getting authentic sick notes to get time off work. This change can be best understood in terms of the transition from colonial to contemporary workplace regimes. In the contemporary workplace, it is now possible for black people to occupy management positions so workers can no longer confuse supervisors by giving themselves indigenous names, since black supervisors are able to pronounce and understand such names. In this era, irrespective of how oppressive it is, workers have a few rights that they are enjoying.
However, even though Scott’s theory argues that these weapons of the weak are individualistic, I have found a subterranean collective operation of this kind of resistance from the miners because of notable exploitation from management. This exploitation compels almost all workers to do something that enables them to cope and get by with their everyday challenges. The main limitation of the notion of ‘weapons of the weak’ was that it tends to label all ‘naughty behaviours’ as resistance when in actuality, the workers practising such behaviours do not see themselves to be resisting. For example, some miners would be absent simply because they were drunk the previous night and could not go to work since breathalysers are used to check the alcohol content in their blood. In such instances, absenteeism is safeguarding one’s job and not resisting. However, cautious of this conclusion, I tried to deduce and probe my participants’ intentions for each and every rebellious act they reported having engaged in. Another act that is also difficult to label as resistive behaviour is workers getting sick notes to be absent from work. However, most participants in this study would use sick notes when they had been ill-treated at work. They would then decide to be absent the following day so as to fight back or get revenge on their managers.
Scott (1990, 6) warns against overly romanticising the weapons of the weak since he argues that they are unlikely to do more than marginally affect the various forms of exploitation which peasants confront. I concur that expecting too much from these forms of workplace resistance at Zimplats would be, similarly, to overly romanticise them. What they seem to be doing is helping mine workers to cope with their day-to-day challenges at work. As such, I would advocate that they be viewed as coping mechanisms rather than suggesting that these forms of workplace resistance are capable of bringing any substantial changes like improved working conditions and high salaries. Furthermore, they seem to be successful at bypassing the rules and expectations put in place by the management but fail to directly challenge and change such rules. These forms might need to be supplemented by insurgent grassroots resistance, something which Zimbabwe witnessed in 2016 when many protests occurred under the leadership of movements such as #Thisflag, #Tajamuka and #ThisGown amongst others.