Balancing Act 

Balancing Act

My friend Brian’s company is being audited. Normally this wouldn’t be a very big deal. Their books are in order, the book keeper is thorough and responsible, it’s a small firm, and it all should go quite well.

Except that they haven’t been paying their taxes. Which is also understandable. In a country with an illegal regime for a government, more and more people are withdrawing their support, in one way or another—refusing to pay their city council for undelivered services, not paying their income taxes, not making contributions to the national social security scheme—where the monthly payouts deteriorate rapidly in the face of inflation, etc.

So now they’re being audited, and they’re faced with a difficult dilemma. On the one hand, they could hold fast to their principles, maintain their position of non-payment, and risk getting turned in by the auditors—many of whom are former tax department employees. And, having been turned in, the company could face closure, the directors would be black listed, and possibly unable to do business in Zimbabwe again. On the other hand, the company could compromise its principles, be realistic about its position as a very small fish in a shark-infested tank, pay its taxes in arrears, and show the paper work on this to the auditors.

Brian is pushing for the latter. He’s not keen on a potential life in exile, and he reckons better to make some concessions here and there and, by so doing, live to fight another day. Outside the fear and the dread and the weighty burden of a difficult decision, it’s easy for me to be disappointed in him. Surely it’s better to stand by your principles, I asked, and not let the mugabe regime claim one more victory, however small.

But, as Brian points out, he contributes to “the system” everyday, just by living here. He registers his vehicle, and pays carbon tax on that. He goes to the shops, and pays the VAT that is included in the price of goods there. And so do all of us, by living here. Two friends of mine left Zimbabwe a few years ago. More than anything, they said, what pushed them out was recognising that, every day, just by being here, just by employing people and running a business and supporting their family, they were contributing to a semblance of normalcy here. And, while nowhere is perfect, they couldn’t stomach the injustice here—and their own felt hypocrisy in how they saw themselves contributing to it.

I think about their decision often. Maybe compromise is a necessary part of life. But it’s a difficult thing. And I find it hard not to feel like I’m losing a part of myself in the process. If just being here, just living here, is participating in and contributing to this illegitimate regime, one way to counter that is to continue to expose it. To inform, inspire and contribute to the resistance. It’s tiring, challenging, and difficult. And energising and incredibly rewarding in its own way. Nothing is ever easy, or simple, or perfect. But maybe that’s also part of life. Striving for that fine balance between demanding change, or justice, or improvement, and accepting our own flaws as part of what is.