By Fergal Keane Africa Editor, BBC News
In his well-cut suit, with outstretched hand and beaming
smile, Sibusiso Moyo is the very picture of a modern politician.
He speaks softly, smoothly and pauses to listen as if he
had spent years on campaign trails listening to the supplications of
constituents. His desk is covered with papers waiting to be read and signed.
We meet at the start of what will be another long day for
Zimbabwe's foreign minister. Waiting in another room is the Russian trade
delegation.
There will be more meetings after that for Mr Moyo:
diplomats, civil servants, and the possibility that the phone on his desk will
ring with a summons from President Emmerson Mnangagwa - whose office is five
minutes away in another part of the building.
The president has declared Zimbabwe "open for
business" and it is Mr Moyo's job to make sure investment starts to roll
in. This is after all the "new" Zimbabwe. But perhaps
"newish" would be a better description.
After all, the president was for decades a loyal supporter
of former leader Robert Mugabe, whom he ousted last November after 37 years in
power.
Former generals who were all complicit in Mugabe's era of
oppression now occupy key positions in the Mnangagwa cabinet.
In his previous incarnation, Foreign Minister Moyo was
Maj-Gen Moyo and commanded army operations in the provinces during past elections.
On the night of the coup d'etat, on 15 November, which
would remove Robert Mugabe from power, it was Maj-Gen Moyo who appeared on
television, in uniform, to ask Zimbabweans to remain calm and assure them that
only "criminals" were being targeted.
Official circles in Zimbabwe frown on the use of the word
"coup". But without the army's intervention, there is no way Mr
Mugabe could have been ousted.
Military might opened the way for a rebel faction led by Mr
Mnangagwa in the ruling Zanu-PF party to take power.
was present in the capital Harare to watch delighted crowds
hoist soldiers onto their shoulders when news of the fall of former President
Mugabe filtered onto the streets.
Back then, Maj-Gen Moyo and his comrades were the heroes of
the hour.
There were not many Zimbabweans openly asking why they
hadn't acted before then or why the army had so enthusiastically supported the
brutalities and corruptions of the Mugabe era for so long?
Now, with an election due on 30 July, it seems like a good
time to ask the question: why should people believe that Mr Mugabe's old
supporters have transformed into democrats?
Foreign Minister Moyo is measured in his reply.
"I can assure you the president is a different person.
He is now the chief executive of the country. He has learned. He has had the
experiences of where things went wrong and this is exactly where he is
correcting issues."
Hundreds of international election observers and foreign
journalists are expected in Zimbabwe for the elections.
Their presence could be crucial in influencing whether the
polls are free and fair and ultimately whether the promise of a genuinely
democratic dispensation is met.
In a country that has suffered so much from election
violence in the past, the patronising notion of an election that is "good
enough for Africa" will not stand.
Human rights groups strongly criticised election observers
at the Kenyan elections last year for initially crediting the polls as
"free, fair and credible", in the words of former US Secretary of
State, John Kerry.
They were embarrassed when Kenya's Supreme Court later
ruled the poll "neither transparent nor verifiable".
This year, they will be watching closely for any attempts
at rigging in Zimbabwe.
Diplomats and opposition politicians in the country have
worried over the late issuing of the voters' roll - key to a fair election.
Human Rights Watch has been logging incidents of intimidation by ruling party
supporters in the rural areas.
There is no comparison - so far - with the terror of the
Mugabe years - when elections often meant open season on opposition politicians.
There were killings, kidnappings and widespread torture.
I ventured tentatively onto this year's campaign trail.
After all, I was one of a number of BBC reporters banned from Zimbabwe until
the fall of Mr Mugabe. Journalists, human rights activists, opposition
politicians were all targets of the old regime.
It was an extraordinary experience to watch the opposition
MDC (Movement for Democratic Change) leader, Nelson Chamisa, campaign outside a
police station in rural Masvingo province.
Those who might once have attacked him could now only watch
from behind the wire fence of their barracks.
Zimbabwe's hopes of definitively ending international
isolation depends on the police and soldiers abandoning the old brutal habits. BBC
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