It seems the debate around the US$150 per show cover band fee proposed by the Zimbabwe Music Rights Association (Zimura) early this year still refuses to fade.
This week, I happened to watch a podcast hosted by Zimura featuring sungura legend Nicholas Zakaria and Mai Tembo, the wife of the late sungura star, Biggie Tembo.
The discussion was candid, raw, and - perhaps unsurprisingly - blame-heavy.
The panellists, alongside the presenter, pointed fingers at cover bands for the financial misfortunes of original artists and composers.
Their view was simple: while the creators of the music wallow in poverty, cover band musicians are out there living large, buying cars, houses, and making a name for themselves on the back of other people’s art.
Do they have a point?
Yes, of course, composers deserve to be paid. Most stakeholders in the music industry agree on this. But is $150 per show a reasonable fee in our current economy?
Probably not. And herein lies the bigger issue: when the economic situation is tough, blame becomes the most common currency.
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The socio-economic environment in Zimbabwe is undeniably harsh. Jobs are scarce, so are opportunities.
And in these conditions, blame flourishes. Everyone starts pointing fingers.
First, the government takes the hit. Civil servants talk about salaries so low they might as well be a joke.
‘Peanuts,’ they call them. They blame the State for neglect, inefficiency, and misplaced priorities.
Graduates, fresh out of college, aim their frustration also on the government.
After years of study and sacrifice, they are greeted not with jobs, but with silence or internships that pay nothing, or employment that barely covers bus fare.
But after a while, the blame starts bouncing back. A moment of quiet reflection creeps in on us, one by one.
We begin to think: maybe it's not just the government. Maybe, just maybe, it's us too - us the people.
And so the accusatory spotlight shifts again. Parents start blaming their adult children for failing to ‘hustle,’ for not doing enough to support themselves - or worse, to support the parents.
They ask, ‘What are you doing with your degree?’ or ‘When will you start doing something with your life?’
In turn, the children look back and ask their own questions.
Communities turn on each other. The employed accuse the unemployed of being lazy.
The unemployed, in turn, accuse the employed of flaunting their fortunes and being unnecessarily loud about their achievements.
The youth blame the elders for a broken system, while elders label the youth as entitled, impatient, or disrespectful.
And here is the uncomfortable truth: everyone is right - and everyone is wrong.
This economic crisis has exposed more than inflation rates or salary scales. It has laid bare a society struggling with cohesion, leadership, and accountability.
And in crisis, rather than come together, we splinter. We attack. We defend. We blame.
Where do we go from here?
We need to start accepting that no one has all the answers.
The government has its responsibilities, yes - but so do families, communities, institutions, and individuals. We need to move beyond blame and into dialogue.
Real dialogue. The kind that fosters collaboration rather than conflict.
Because if we keep pointing fingers while the nation sinks, we risk drowning - not from the flood itself, but from arguing over who opened the tap.
