Online Reporter
Zimpapers Arts and Entertainment Hub
What was once the body meant to PROTECT musicians has now become the centre of one of the industry’s biggest scandals — and the fallout is only getting messier!
The dramatic sacking of the Zimbabwe Music Rights Association (Zimura) board led by Alexio Gwenzi has exposed a system many artistes now say was “broken long before it collapsed.”
While Government’s intervention has been welcomed, insiders warn this is not a rescue it’s a RESET with serious consequences.
Because this is no longer just about a fired board. It’s about money, power and a system musicians say has failed them for years.
The directive to stop operations and hand over everything within seven days may have sounded decisive, but behind the scenes, questions are piling up fast. Who knew what? Who approved what? And most importantly where did the money go?
At the centre of the storm is acting director Henry Makombe, who has gone quiet just as the pressure mounts.
“I have been advised by my legal adviser not to comment on the issue,” he said a statement that has only deepened the mystery around the unfolding crisis. Yet not long ago, he had projected calm, insisting:
“We continue operating as the secretariat, awaiting the appointment of the interim administrator by the ministry and ultimately the establishment of a new board.”
But for many artistes, that reassurance now rings hollow.
Because long before the boardroom wars, there was already a growing belief that something wasn’t adding up.
The chaos that led to this moment — disputed elections, internal suspensions and the explosive fallout over the alleged sale of Avondale flats may have triggered the collapse, but musicians say the real scandal is what has been happening quietly for years: unclear royalty distributions, unexplained figures and growing frustration among those who create the music.
Even the board itself turned into a battleground. Members including Dereck Mpofu and Joseph Garakara broke ranks at the height of the crisis, distancing themselves from controversial decisions only to be pushed out as divisions deepened. Their rebellion, instead of calming tensions, exposed just how fractured the leadership had become.
And while the board fought, artistes watched — many in silence, others in anger.
That anger finally spilled into the open during a tense stakeholder engagement, where Charles Charamba delivered a blunt reality check that echoed across the industry.
“It’s quite sad that some seasoned musicians are not attending these meetings because they are no longer receiving dues that reflect the quality of their music,” he said. “Honestly, there should be a system that clearly shows who earns what rather than relying solely on mass membership drives. I am not against membership drives, but there must be a clear, transparent system. Seasoned artists are not getting what is due to them, which is quite unfortunate. We can’t all be relying on Chitekete.”
Those words hit hard because they confirmed what many had feared.
Some top artistes had already started disengaging, boycotting meetings and distancing themselves from the very organisation meant to represent them. Even sungura giant Alick Macheso had previously threatened to walk away — a warning sign that is now impossible to ignore.
Now, with the board gone, the spotlight has shifted to a more uncomfortable question who will be held accountable?
At the peak of the scandal, there were loud calls for arrests. Fingers were pointed. Allegations flew. But now that the dust is settling, will those calls lead to real action, or will this end like many others with no one answering for anything?
For artistes, this is the moment of truth.
A new board may come, an interim administrator may take charge but if the system itself is not rebuilt, the same problems could return under different faces. Transparency is no longer optional. It is the one demand the industry is refusing to let go.
There is also cautious hope that this shake-up could spark a revival.
For struggling artistes, fair and traceable royalties could mean a second chance. Musicians like Goodchild, who have long operated on the margins of an unpredictable system, could finally see value from their work if, and only if, the new system delivers.
As for the fired board, their story does not end here. Beyond the scandal, they remain professionals with careers and reputations that will now be tested outside Zimura. Whether they recover or retreat, their next chapter will be closely watched.
But for now, one thing is clear this is bigger than a boardroom fallout.
It is a defining moment for Zimbabwe’s music industry.
And until the truth comes out and the money trail is fully explained, the Zimura scandal is far from over it’s just getting started.
dyton mupawaenda