By Reason Wafawarova
My young brother, Brian Wafawarova, responded to my post about Dr. Thomas Mapfumo’s decision to perform at Wicknell Chivayo’s birthday celebration and Jah Prayzah’s wedding. His words deserve to be read in full because they capture the sadness many Zimbabweans feel more eloquently than I ever could.
Before I share his response, a little context.
Rutendo Benson Matinyarare publicly celebrated Mapfumo’s acceptance of the invitation. To him, it was an icon honouring another icon.
Many Zimbabweans, however, see something entirely different.
Mapfumo is not just another musician. He is a moral institution. For decades he refused to separate music from conscience.
Twice he reportedly rejected gifts from Wicknell Chivayo, including the offer of a house reportedly worth about US$500,000, on the basis that he regarded the money as morally tainted by corruption and public looting. Whether one agreed with him or not, his position was unmistakably principled.
This latest arrangement is different. It is not a donation. It is a commercial contract. He is being paid for a performance.
No one can deny his legal right to accept payment for his work. Every artist deserves to be paid.
But legality and morality are not always identical.
Many who admired Mapfumo admired him not because he was poor, but because there seemed to be no price attached to his conscience.
At eighty years of age, perhaps that price was finally found.
That reality is tragic rather than something to celebrate.
Ironically, this is not the first time Mapfumo has accepted an invitation whose political symbolism overshadowed the music itself.
In 1978, during the bitter years of Zimbabwe’s liberation struggle, he performed at Bishop Abel Muzorewa’s Huruyadzo Rally, fully aware of the political implications. One of the songs associated with that period was Bhutsu Mutandarika, which later became controversially linked, in the minds of many liberation fighters, to the Rhodesian war effort after being broadcast from military helicopters during operations against guerrillas.
History judged him harshly.
After independence, however, Mapfumo reclaimed that legacy through an extraordinary body of Chimurenga music that celebrated liberation before evolving into fearless critiques of post-independence corruption, inequality and authoritarianism. Songs such as Corruption, Mamvemve and many others restored him as the musical conscience of Zimbabwe.
That is why this latest decision hurts so many.
It is not simply another booking.
It feels, to many, like the final surrender of one of Zimbabwe’s last uncompromised voices.
Brian Wafawarova captured that sadness perfectly.
“It’s very sad, Mhazi. Urombo uroyi. Kuchembera usina mari hakuna chiremera. I don’t condemn him, but at 80, what matters more than your name? I only hope it does not kill him and leave all the dirt of that money behind.
Rutendo Matinyarare.
You are singing for your lunch. You’re still singing with discord, but soon you’ll be required to sing in harmony for the loot you received. You’re making good progress in paying for what you received. Now you’re celebrating an old man succumbing to the same pressure that you succumbed to yourself.
The old man stood on principle for a long time. The devil simply kept increasing the price for his soul until eventually he could no longer refuse. Imagine an 80-year-old man who spent his entire life fighting injustice and corruption now singing at the celebration of someone whose conduct he publicly condemned, simply because the price became irresistible.
How does he sing? Which songs will he be allowed to perform? Will songs like Corruption or Mamvemve find a place on that stage? Or will only harmless favourites survive the playlist?
This is not empowerment. It is humiliation. And celebrating it as progress is perhaps the cruelest part of all. Tikwanire!”
Whether one agrees with Brian or not, his words force us to confront a difficult question.
When does empowerment become purchase?
When does generosity become patronage?
When does reward become silence?
These questions matter because we have watched similar transformations before.
Zimbabwe has seen outspoken critics become enthusiastic defenders after receiving extraordinary generosity from politically connected benefactors. Others who once spoke boldly against corruption suddenly discover reasons to explain why corruption is not really corruption after all.
The money buys more than gratitude.
It often purchases silence.
Sometimes it purchases applause.
Sometimes it purchases history itself.
I do not celebrate Thomas Mapfumo’s decision.
Nor do I condemn the old man with self-righteousness.
I mourn it.
Because nations survive not merely through elections or constitutions, but through people whose principles remain beyond purchase.
Zimbabwe just watched one of its greatest moral symbols discover that even the strongest fortress has a gate.
And perhaps that is the greatest tragedy of all.
