By Victor Fanuel
DODOMA, Tanzania — Vice President Constantino Chiwenga arrived in Dodoma carrying a ceremonial keg, a symbolic vessel of Zimbabwean solidarity, to attend the swearing-in of Tanzanian President Samia Suluhu Hassan.
The atmosphere was tense.
Tanzania’s election had unfolded under heavy security and sweeping repression.
The main opposition, CHADEMA, was barred from participating.
Rights groups reported abductions, arrests, and what they described as a “wave of terror.”
Tanzania’s National Electoral Commission (NEC), declared Hassan the winner with 97.66 percent of the vote.
CHADEMA dismissed the result as “completely fabricated,” claiming that more than 800 Tanzanians were killed in a state-sponsored crackdown.
The government denied the figure and imposed curfews as protests spread across major cities.
International observers described the vote as falling “short of democratic standards.”
The United Nations confirmed at least ten deaths while videos circulating online showed soldiers patrolling empty streets and tear gas filling residential areas.
Chiwenga’s remarks were cautious, restrained, and deliberate.
He told reporters that: “what has happened in Tanzania is quite disturbing and something that has got to be avoided at all costs.”
Chiwenga further added context steeped in liberation-era nostalgia.
“I believe Tanzania has come of age and is the mother of all liberation movements.
“When we fought for our independence, we were all based in Tanzania, so to us it is something we would not want to see,” he said.
Chiwenga urged dialogue between the ruling party and opposition, saying he was “quite convinced that they will be able to sit down, iron out their differences and move forward.”
The ceremony itself mirrored the political unease.
Hassan’s inauguration was held under tight military guard, with ordinary citizens barred from attending.
State television aired the event live, but independent journalists were kept at a distance.
Chiwenga placed the keg before Hassan, a gesture that appeared both diplomatic and cautionary, a reminder of the explosive consequences of political exclusion.
For some observers, his tone evoked Zimbabwe’s 2008 election, when violence forced the opposition to withdraw, handing Robert Mugabe victory in a one-man runoff.
The parallel was unmistakable: overwhelming victories achieved through fear often leave nations fractured long after the ballots are counted.
On this day in Dodoma, Chiwenga neither congratulated nor condemned.
He simply carried the weight of a fragile region’s history and, for once, handled its most dangerous symbol with care.
