Opinion: When Elites Lose Touch With National Pain — Zimbabwe Must Learn From Nepal

There is a dangerous pattern that repeats itself in struggling societies: when political and economic elites become so insulated by privilege that they stop recognising the emotional reality of ordinary people. Not because they are evil. Not always because they are intentionally cruel. But because wealth, power, and constant admiration can slowly produce a kind of moral deafness, a failure to hear the emotional temperature of the nation.

Zimbabwe saw echoes of this recently in the controversy surrounding Presidential adviser Paul Tungwarara and his daughter, Tino Tungwarara, after viral videos showed cash being buried in the ground for people to dig up, followed by another public spectacle in which nurses at Parirenyatwa Group of Hospitals were reportedly encouraged to dance for money during a hospital event.

To some, these moments may have appeared harmless, charitable, or playful. But to many Zimbabweans living through economic hardship, they felt painfully disconnected from reality.

And history shows that societies often react strongly when elites appear to trivialise suffering.

One of the clearest examples comes from Nepal.

In 2001, the Nepalese monarchy was already facing growing public frustration over inequality, political instability, and perceptions that the royal family had become detached from ordinary citizens. Then came the shocking Nepalese royal massacre, where Crown Prince Dipendra allegedly killed King Birendra and several members of the royal family before taking his own life.

While the massacre itself was tragic and deeply complex, the aftermath exposed something important: many ordinary Nepalese citizens no longer emotionally connected with the monarchy the way they once had. Years of perceived elite isolation, extravagance, and distance from public suffering had already weakened the institution’s moral legitimacy. Soon after, Nepal descended into deeper political instability. Public trust eroded rapidly. The monarchy, once seen as sacred, eventually collapsed altogether in 2008 when Nepal officially became a republic.

The lesson from Nepal is not that Zimbabwe faces the same political trajectory. Contexts differ. But the emotional dynamics are familiar. When ordinary citizens are struggling to survive, public performances of wealth become dangerous symbols. They stop looking inspirational and begin looking provocative. This is especially true in countries where hospitals are under strain, graduates remain unemployed, and civil servants survive on salaries that barely cover transport and groceries.

That is why the imagery surrounding the recent incidents disturbed so many Zimbabweans.

At Parirenyatwa Group of Hospitals, a place that symbolises both resilience and suffering in Zimbabwe’s healthcare system, nurses were reportedly dancing for cash rewards in front of elites and political figures. The emotional symbolism was unavoidable.

Nurses are among the country’s most exhausted professionals. Zimbabweans know what it means to sit in public hospitals without medication, to bring bandages from home, or to watch healthcare workers continue serving despite impossible conditions. So when a trained nurse is encouraged to dance for US$100, an amount that may equal a substantial portion of a monthly salary, many citizens do not interpret it as generosity alone. They see inequality being performed publicly.

And perhaps the most troubling part was not the event itself, but the apparent inability among surrounding adults to recognise why many people found the optics disturbing. Because leadership is not only about wealth, influence, or philanthropy. It is also about emotional intelligence. About recognising context. About understanding how actions resonate in wounded societies. The wealthy are free to enjoy their success. But in fragile economies, empathy matters.

Nepal’s history reminds us that when elites stop hearing the emotional heartbeat of ordinary citizens, resentment slowly replaces respect. Public silence may look like admiration for a while. But beneath that silence, frustration often grows unnoticed. And by the time leaders finally hear it, the distance between power and the people may already be too wide to repair.

Zimbabwe elite disconnect