In non-democratic regimes, law is considered merely a facade for state violence and political repression. Susanne Verheul's Performing Power in Zimbabwe challenges this assumption by exploring the constitutive and performative roles of law as a dialogue that creates, defines, and (re)negotiates the relationship between the state and citizens. Using in-depth interviews and court observations of political trials in Zimbabwe's Magistrates' Courts between 2000 and 2012, Verheul shows how law serves as a language through which conceptions of citizenship, state authority, and legitimacy are contested and where courtrooms become performative sites where political power is simultaneously reproduced and transformed. Verheul illustrates how court performances use narrative, material, and sensory dimensions to effectively disrupt state political power while simultaneously exercising and communicating the state's coercive power. Law thus serves as a “language of stateness” and a “language of legitimation,” yet also a language of meaning-making, where actors construct and contest competing truths, identities, practices, and institutions and where courts become a theater for these expressions of competing political authority.Building on the works of Sally Engle Merry, E. P. Thompson, and Susan F. Hirsch, Performing Power in Zimbabwe asks: why is the judiciary the central site of contestation, how is this contestation performed, and how does this contestation inform our understanding of the making of political power? To address these themes, Verheul offers engaging historical, social, and political accounts to situate her court observations and interviews. She locates Zimbabwe's colonial history as the key to courts being sites for contestation, explaining how colonial history produced racial segregation and exploitation where law was used by settlers to enforce and maintain the oppression of Africans. Yet, African women and nationalists consciously used the courtroom to challenge the colonial state, contest the coercive use of law, and renegotiate their position within colonial hierarchies. Thus, objections to the colonial state were performed in the court, where colonial officials were compelled to respond to these critiques. This effective utilization of courts as venues to contest and renegotiate state authority continued after independence in 1980—as did the “legal consciousness” of African nationalists, defined by substantive justice, professional and moral conduct, a rule-bound state, safeguarded rights, and citizenship based on human dignity, civility, and humanity.Both the use of courts and this “legal consciousness” remained critical as the nation struggled with political violence enacted by the Zimbabwe African National Union-Patriotic Front (ZANU-PF) after independence. ZANU-PF maintained repressive colonial laws and sought to consolidate power through violence and intimidation, as well as by appointing partisan judicial officers to protect their political hegemony. However, ZANU-PF's patronage system, repressive laws, and corruption fragmented the judiciary by dividing lawyers, prosecutors, and judges into two groups: party loyalists following political orders to selectively enforce laws and ignore proper legal procedure, versus “rebels” who adhere to behavioral and ethical professionalism to ensure a fair trial and refuse to “embarrass” themselves by failing to uphold proper legal procedure. This failure to fully control the judiciary created key spaces for the continued use of law and courts as effective tools for contestation. It is within this context that the performances of contestation occur, where each actor uses narrative scripts as well as olfactory, auditory, visual, and symbolic props.For instance, ZANU-PF prosecution relies on a narrative that law serves to protect national sovereignty and security, which are undermined by rights activism where ZANU-PF links rights activism and discourse with the promotion of Western-backed regime change, imperialism, and colonialism. This narrative allows state prosecution to use the authority of law to legitimate repressive policies, portraying the accused as criminals who threaten national security, peace, and stability. This narrative is supplemented through sensory and symbolic props. The accused are placed under heavy guard, in leg irons and handcuffs, to demonstrate the threatening nature of the individual. The beatings and humiliation endured in detention typically include the inability to bathe, creating smells of “decay” to dehumanize the accused. The spatial layout of the courtroom separates and isolates the accused to prevent interaction with others (i.e., contamination) and to intimidate and disorient the accused through their inability to view proceedings, hearing only “booming” voices. The presence of political security officers within and around the courthouse heightens intimidation by being perpetually watched. Hence, these strategic props convey criminality and intimidate political opponents, yet they also effectively express the coercive power of ZANU-PF to inflict physical, mental, social, and economic harm on anyone. ZANU-PF thus use these cases to delimit citizenship to only those who obey state authorities and criminalizing those perceived as disloyal.The accused and defense team offer a counternarrative expressing “good” citizenship through identifying an imagined, legitimate state to which they belong. They consistently remind the prosecution about proper legal procedure, thereby highlighting how the prosecution failed to appropriately use law as a language of stateness because such reliance on the authority of law to legitimate state actions requires playing by the rules (i.e., appropriate legal procedures). Alternative claims of citizenship are expressed as moral citizenship obliged to behave in civilized, humane, and dignified manner that grant authority to a rule-bound state that is obligated to protect these values. In other words, these definitions of citizenship presuppose a legitimate, aspirational state to which ZANU-PF is compared and held accountable. Reinforcing this counternarrative, the defense uses sensory props to expose the shortcomings of the state and prosecution. For example, the material conditions of the court, due to lack of upkeep and poor economic conditions, are implemented as symbols of decay and ZANU-PF's disrespect for the rule of law. Broken clocks reflect the real and symbolic inability to hold judges accountable to starting or ending trials on time. Broken tape recorders further symbolize a broken system, as well as having real effects on judges' ability to do their jobs as they are distracted from listening and evaluating arguments by being forced to handwrite a record of the proceedings. The smells of prison entering the courtroom from the unwashed, battered bodies of the accused provide olfactory and visual props highlighting the cruelty of detention. Drawing attention to these material and sensory conditions “exposed the lengths magistrates and other judicial officials had to go in order to ‘turn a blind eye’ to state excesses of violence” (144). Thus, these props are used to interrupt the prosecution's narrative and shift the focus onto the political motivations of these cases and the real violence inflicted by ZANU-PF.Verheul's eloquent storytelling and in-depth analyses of these performances overshadow her engagement with how this contestation informs our understanding of the making of political power. She asserts that political power is dynamically negotiated, where citizens identify the (aspirational) state to which they grant legitimacy and thus authority, and where citizens seek to hold the state accountable to this ideal. Implied, then, is citizens' hope to persuade the state (i.e., judicial officials) to conform to this ideal. Yet, the discussion of the efficacy these performances and realization of this goal remains largely absent. As Verheul notes, “courts legitimize particular truths” through their decision making and record keeping and essentially “writ[e] the state” through this production of legal narratives (236). The superficial treatment of how judges respond to the performances thus leave important questions unanswered. Are these performances persuasive, or do their success merely hinge on the predisposition of a judge's political allegiance? Do these performances reinforce existing judicial independence or judicial fragmentation? Do they provide validation and support for professional judicial officials in the face of political intimidation and coercion? Do they protect or enhance the rule of law by exposing state shortcomings and embarrassing judicial officials to live up to stated ideals? Do they deter state violence? Do judges write accurate, complete, and legible court records to actually “break the silence” about state violations?Verheul argues that it is the success of engaging with the law as a shared set of ideals about justice that motivates litigation rather than the achievement of just outcomes. However, the incredibly high costs of litigation-including social isolation, humiliation, criminalization, physical abuse, imprisonment, intimidation, and psychological violence—are only worth taking on because of the hope of justice. That is, these costs of litigation can be sustained only if there is hope that, in at least some cases, justice will be served, thereby exonerating the accused and validating their expressions of citizenship and conceptions of state authority. Thus, effects upon the judiciary are imperative to explore so as to enable our understanding of the making of political power, how/whether these individual actions affect institutions, and whether these performances should be viewed as impactful acts of resistance that can restrain an authoritarian state (or as fanciful hopes of idealist individuals increasingly subdued by an authoritarian system). Without addressing these issues, it is difficult to place these individual performances of contestation in context of achieving their actual goal: building a proper, rule-bound state to which they seek to perform their citizenship.