By Ivy Manyepa, Community Psychology Intern
Zimbabwe is in the grip of a substance abuse crisis that no single ministry can solve. More
than 60 percent of patients admitted to the country’s mental health institutions are there
because of drug- and substance-related conditions, and alcohol and drug use is now the eighth
leading cause of disability-adjusted life years lost. Behind the numbers are young people who
lost routines and hope during COVID-19 lockdowns, families shattered by addiction, and
communities trapped between stigma and silence. A new government plan promises a
multisectoral fix, but from where I stand as a community psychology intern, good policy will
only translate into real change if the voices of affected communities finally move from the
margins to the centre.
An ambitious blueprint
In 2024 the government launched the Zimbabwe Multisectoral Drug and Substance Abuse
Plan (2024–2030), replacing an earlier National Drug Master Plan. The vision is bold: a
healthy, secure nation free from illicit drugs. The plan rests on seven pillars—demand
reduction, supply reduction, harm reduction and treatment, community reintegration, policy
and legal enforcement, media and communication, and resource mobilisation.
On paper, this marks a welcome shift from purely punitive approaches. An Inter-Ministerial
Committee and a National Committee on Drug and Substance Abuse have been established,

specialised drug courts are being trained, and a new national enforcement and coordination
agency is being created. For the first time, the policy architecture acknowledges that
substance abuse is as much a health and social challenge as a law-enforcement one.
Why the cracks matter
Yet between the policy launch and the daily lived reality, the cracks are wide. Rehabilitation
centres remain understaffed and under-equipped. Police operations such as “No to Illicit
Drugs and Substances” have dismantled drug dens and made thousands of arrests, but
enforcement alone does not heal a person or rebuild a life. Outdated laws like the Dangerous
Drugs Act still dominate, and agencies often work in silos with little communication between
health workers, police and social services. Rural communities, where home-brewed alcohol
and inhalants are common, face near-total absence of services.
Perhaps the most troubling gap is the one I am trained to look for: the almost complete
absence of community voices shaping the plan. Where, in the design of this national strategy,
are the active drug users, the recovering youth, the grandmothers raising grandchildren of
addicted parents, the village health workers, the traditional chiefs, the faith leaders? Without
their knowledge and ownership, even the most sophisticated document risks gathering dust.
Stigma, secrecy and the community psychology blind spot
From a community psychology lens, substance abuse cannot be understood as individual
moral failure. It emerges from the interplay of economic stress, family disruption, peer
pressure, cultural norms and institutional responses. Stigma, in particular, operates at every
level: self-stigma that stops a young person seeking help, family rejection that pushes them
deeper underground, neighbourhood gossip that isolates, and institutional discrimination that
treats them as criminals rather than people needing care.
The national plan mentions “community reintegration” but does not unpack what that means
in a high-density suburb or a rural village where a returning user may face ridicule, rejection
or violence. Practical steps to reduce stigma—community dialogues, contact-based education,
and the deployment of peer supporters with lived experience—remain largely absent from the
implementation roadmap.
Harm reduction on the ground

Harm reduction is listed as a pillar, yet concrete, culturally anchored strategies are rarely
discussed. Needle and syringe programmes, overdose-reversing naloxone distribution, and
safe spaces for people who use drugs are often politically uncomfortable. However, a drop-in
centre in Highfield, Harare, supported by the Global Commission on Drug Policy, is already
showing what is possible: HIV prevention, primary health care, a community kitchen, peer
support and skills-building, all under one roof. This model of trust-building and health-first
engagement needs to be adapted and spread, not tucked away as an exception.
Similarly, the plan does not adequately distinguish between rural and urban substance use
patterns. Rural communities require solutions that fit their context: training chiefs and
headmen to recognise early warning signs, integrating substance abuse messages into
agricultural extension visits, and forming village-based mutual aid groups that meet under a
tree, not in a clinic.
Power, peers and the missing empowerment
Almost all the original recommendations target government institutions: modernise laws,
scale up services, fund the new agency. These are necessary, but they are not enough.
Sustainable change requires redistributing power and resources directly to communities. Peer
recovery coaches—former users trained to offer hope and accountability—can reach hearts
that professionals cannot. Youth-led prevention clubs in schools and churches can shift norms
from within. Mutual aid groups adapted to indigenous languages in Zimbabwe, meeting in
safe local spaces, can offer ongoing support far beyond the reach of a formal rehabilitation
centre. Funding must flow not only to government facilities but also to community-based
organisations run by and for people who use drugs and their families.
Walking the ethical tightrope
I must also name an uncomfortable truth. As a community psychology intern, I write from a
position of relative power, and I enter communities where mistrust of outsiders, especially
those linked to government or law enforcement, runs deep. When the police are
simultaneously arresting people who use drugs, how do I build trust with those same
individuals? The answer requires transparent agreements about confidentiality, collaborative
problem-solving with local leaders, and an unwavering commitment to do no harm—even
when that means refusing to share information with authorities. This ethical complexity is not
a footnote; it is the daily work of community psychology.

From paper to pavement
Zimbabwe’s multisectoral plan is a genuine step forward, but a plan only lives when it is
owned by the people it intends to serve. To move from paper to pavement, we must actively
involve people who use drugs, their families, and their neighbours as co-designers of
solutions. We must confront stigma openly, embrace harm reduction as a practical
community-level strategy, differentiate between rural and urban realities, and invest heavily
in peer support. A national dialogue on stigma and harm reduction, co-facilitated by people
with lived experience, could produce a concrete community action framework that guides
everything from training traditional leaders to integrating substance abuse prevention into
school feeding programmes.
The vision of a healthy, secure nation free from illicit drugs is not impossible. But it will not
be achieved by experts in boardrooms alone. It will be built slowly, in the homesteads, the
churchyards, the village paths and the drop-in centres, by empowered communitiesew