Politics behind Zimbabwe's celebrity car bonanza

Zimbabwe's arts industry has in recent months been dominated not by new albums or films, but by headlines of cars, cash, and controversy.

From luxury SUVs to wads of U.S. dollars, a pattern has emerged - businessman Wicknell Chivayo, often flanked by state officials, and even President Emmerson Mnangagwa himself, have been handing out lavish gifts to popular artists and entertainers.

The latest recipient is comedian Comic Elder, who last weekend received a brand-new Ford Raptor worth US$115,000 from President Mnangagwa. The gesture was quickly sweetened by Chivayo, who reportedly added US$150,000 to help the comedian buy a house.

Corporate partners have joined the bandwagon - Harare City Parking has granted Comic Elder free parking, while Pacific Medical Centre pledged a decade of free healthcare for him and his family.

While the generosity has been celebrated by some as a long-overdue recognition of local talent, it has also ignited sharp debate about the true motives behind the spree.

Supporters hail it as "empowering creatives." Critics, however, see a deeper political choreography - a campaign of cultural patronage aimed at consolidating influence ahead of the 2028 elections and reinforcing the Vision 2030 narrative.

Arts critic and University of Zimbabwe lecturer Fred Zindi believes these donations are less about uplifting artists and more about leveraging their popularity.

"Musicians are the best people to influence the public. This is why Jah Prayzah and his wife have received three cars," Zindi said.
"If the motive was to help artists, we'd see support for struggling talents like Greatman or Patrick Mukwamba. There's a hidden agenda - this is political theatre disguised as generosity."

Opposition politician and lawyer Fadzayi Mahere echoed similar sentiments, saying real empowerment should come from structural reform, not selective rewards.

"We want a country where artists and professionals can afford their own cars and houses without relying on politicians or shady benefactors," Mahere said.
"No one should have to beg for survival in exchange for silence."

Musician Cucsman was blunter:

"These are not gifts - they're investments. This is patronage politics. The powerful use money to buy influence, mute criticism, and project false generosity while ordinary people live in poverty."

The wave of gifts has drawn in both secular and gospel figures, including Baba and Mai Charamba, Mechanic Manyeruke, and Jah Prayzah.

Their participation has divided public opinion - with some seeing them as deserving icons, while others question whether accepting such rewards compromises their independence or spiritual message.

Political analyst Blessing Vava said the gestures form part of a broader strategy to neutralise dissent in cultural spaces.

"Mnangagwa is using proxies like Chivayo to buy the creative industry's loyalty," Vava said.
"They know the influence these artists hold. Come election time, they'll be used to push campaign messages."

He added that many artists, facing economic hardship, have been reduced to "bootlicking" online in hopes of joining the gift list.

"Thomas Mapfumo refused such handouts because he understood that there's no free lunch in Africa," Vava said.

A local promoter, speaking anonymously, warned that when an artist's worth is measured by who gifts them a car - not who buys their music - the soul of the arts dies.

"The government should invest in copyright reforms, digital royalties, and performance venues, not car keys," the promoter said.

Indeed, Zimbabwe remains far behind regional peers in building a viable creative economy. Artists struggle to earn royalties, piracy is rampant, and streaming revenues are negligible.

The result, critics argue, is dependency - a system where visibility and survival depend on political favour rather than merit.

As Chivayo continues to flaunt his generosity - distributing vehicles worth millions in a cash-strapped economy - questions linger about the source of his wealth and the intent behind the optics.

"This looks less like philanthropy and more like soft power," said an economic analyst. "It's a reputational laundering exercise - buying goodwill through culture."

In the end, the parade of cars and cash has become a mirror reflecting the fragility of Zimbabwe's creative freedom.

As one arts journalist put it:

"Real empowerment is when Jah Prayzah can buy his own fleet, not wait for someone to hand him one. Artists are entrepreneurs - they need markets, not miracles."

Until then, the gleam of chrome and the flash of cameras will continue to mask a sobering truth: Zimbabwe's artists are still performing in a theatre of survival - where applause comes not from their audience, but from power itself.