THE NAMA WAR OF NAMES

Tafadzwa Zimoyo

Zimpapers Entertainment Editor

THE music faded, the trophies were lifted and then the real drama began.

Barely hours after the curtain fell on the biggest night on the Zimbabwean entertainment scene, a fierce storm erupted online, dragging the National Arts Merit Awards (NAMA) into yet another bruising public fight.

This time, the battle wasn’t about who won or who lost but it was about names.

At the centre of the firestorm was NAMA’s stubborn tradition of calling artists by their real names during award presentations, a practice that critics say kills brands on the biggest stage of all.

But organisers are standing their ground.

“We are honouring the person and the brand,” said Napoleon Nyanhi, chief executive of the National Arts Council of Zimbabwe (NACZ).

“That approach is intentional.

“We are not celebrating aliases but we are recognising human beings whose work forms part of national culture.”

That response only poured petrol onto a raging blaze.

The spark came from outspoken commentator Ranga Mberi, who hailed the show’s production but tore into the naming policy as outdated and damaging.

“Great show, incredible performances,” Mberi wrote. “But why insist on using artists’ government names every year?

“These artists have spent years building brands. Names are art too.”

Within hours, the post echoed across timelines, igniting a split in the industry.

Some hailed Mberi for saying what many whisper.

Others accused him of chasing validation and disrespecting local institutions.

Those siding with Mberi argue that stage names are not cosmetic but they are economic tools.

In a streaming-driven world, they anchor search results, social media handles and international bookings.

“You don’t hear legal names at the Grammy Awards or the BET Awards,” Mberi added. “Even on the continent, South Africa and Nigeria don’t do this.”

Indeed, at the South African Music Awards and Nigeria’s The Headies, presenters stick strictly to stage identities — the names fans recognise instantly.

But NAMA is unmoved.

“This is not an entertainment gimmick,” Nyanhi said.

“NAMA is a national record. Legal names matter when you are documenting culture for history.”

Supporters of the organisers say the outrage misses the point entirely.

One arts administrator, who backed NACZ, said the ceremony should not be reduced to a branding expo.

“When awards start sounding like playlists, we lose the seriousness of cultural recognition,” he said.

“Real names bring weight.”

A media strategist delivered one of the best counter-arguments.

“This isn’t about ego or trends,” he said.

“It’s about visibility. If you announce a name the audience doesn’t immediately recognise, you interrupt the emotional pay-off of winning.”

He warned that such interruptions cost artists real opportunities.

“Brand clarity is survival in today’s industry,” he said.

“At the moment of victory, confusion is the last thing an artist needs. That moment should amplify the brand, not explain it.”

Behind the shouting match lies a deeper industry identity crisis.

Should local institutions preserve tradition at all cost, or adapt to how the global creative economy actually functions?

For NAMA, changing the format risks weakening its institutional authority.

For artists and marketers, keeping it feels like self-sabotage in a brutally competitive market.

“We will not separate the artist from the person,” Nyanhi insisted. “That is who we are.”

Whether that line holds or eventually cracks under pressure remains to be seen.

What is certain is that Zimbabwe’s biggest awards now carry a side-show louder than the music itself — a name war that refuses to die.

And, an industry divided over what recognition should really sound like.