There’s a new sermon in town. It says Zimbos, especially those abroad, have become “paralysed by politics” while foreigners and returning whites are “quietly rebuilding.” The idea is simple: we’re too emotional, too negative, too political, while others are pragmatic and getting rich. It sounds clever. Make no mistake, it’s garbage.

Most Zimbos didn’t leave because we lacked faith. We left because the country kept burning and the firefighters were selling fuel. People fled persecution, collapsing salaries, and a government that turned survival into an Olympic sport. You can’t call that paralysis; it’s called running for your life.

Those who lecture the diaspora forget that many of us have been robbed more often than we’ve been paid. Our pensions evaporated, savings vanished, and currencies were swapped like costumes in a bad play. If Zimbabweans are cautious, it’s not fear, it’s memory. You don’t get bitten by the same dog five times and call it optimism.

And yet, the diaspora is already investing back home. We send over two billion US dollars every year, more than all foreign investors and donors combined. That money feeds families, pays school fees, builds houses, keeps businesses open and communities alive. The economy would collapse without it. The diaspora is not waiting to invest; it’s already the biggest investor in the country’s history.

Still, we’re told to “invest back home” by leaders who won’t even let us vote. We are good enough to fund the nation but not trusted to help shape it. Both the ruling party and the opposition love diaspora money but fear diaspora voices. They want our wallets, not our wisdom, and certainly not our opinions.

Meanwhile, the so-called white and Chinese investors who are “quietly rebuilding” are doing so under elite protection. They are shielded, housed and chauffeured by those in power, handed land and licences without scrutiny. Many do not pay proper taxes, some export profits illegally, and others are destroying rivers, forests and communities with impunity. That’s not bravery or pragmatism; it’s privilege with security guards.

Inside Zimbabwe, economics defies logic. Houses cost twice the regional average, rent returns half, and banks charge you for the privilege of losing your balance. Taxes nibble at every transaction, and you start to wonder if patriotism now comes with a service charge. The only things that grow consistently are the cost of living and the patience of citizens.

Business elites call this “resilience,” which is just a polite way of saying we’ve adjusted to abuse. Churches preach endurance instead of outrage, blessing those who broke the nation while telling the hungry to keep praying. They are quick to receive the proceeds of corruption, slow to condemn it. Religion has become a painkiller for poverty, not a conscience for power. The pulpit has gone quiet because it’s easier to anoint leaders than to challenge them.

And politics? We’re told to ignore it, as if ignoring malaria will cure it. Politics decides who gets a contract, who gets forex, who gets arrested, and who eats. In Zimbabwe, politics isn’t background noise, it’s the entire soundtrack, played on repeat by the same tired band.

So, let’s be clear. Zimbabweans abroad are not unpatriotic. We just refuse to keep paying for the same lesson. We’ve learned that “investing in your country” should not mean funding your own exploitation. We’ve learned that hope without reform is a trap. And we’ve learned that when people in power talk about “faith,” what they really mean is shut up and send money.

We are not paralysed. We are alert. We are scarred but not stupid. We’ll keep loving Zimbabwe with our eyes open, our minds sharp, and our wallets prioritised. If those who broke the system want investment, they can start by fixing what they destroyed. If politicians want us engaged, we are here, and we have a voice. Until then, we’ll keep our sanity, and no amount of gaslighting will rob us of our rationality.