TAWANDA CHARI
The news of NashTV’s shutdown this December has landed like a quiet earthquake – felt deeply, spoken about cautiously, and fully understood only by those who’ve watched Zimbabwe’s entertainment landscape transform over the past five years. Nash Holdings confirmed the immediate closure of its entertainment arm, bringing an end to a platform that, for better or worse, altered the rhythm of the industry.
From the dark, uncertain days of the Covid-19 lockdowns to the explosive rise of artists such as Saintfloew, Raymer, Ninety6, and Nisha Ts, NashTV did more than broadcast music. It engineered moments. It opened doors many artists could not have pushed open alone.
Now the chapter closes. And what remains are questions – big, structural, uncomfortable ones.
What broadcasters actually offer artists
In a functioning entertainment economy, television networks offer artists a powerful trifecta: visibility, legitimacy, and structured marketing.
A broadcaster can make an unknown artist feel inevitable through polished interviews, clean visuals, deliberate branding, and amplified reach.
The upside:
- Faster audience growth
- Instant credibility
- Professional packaging that most independent artists cannot afford
But the downside is significant:
- Broadcasters rarely own the music they promote
- They do not earn from streams or album sales
- They can fund the journey without sharing in the rewards
It means broadcasters operate on faith, passion, and indirect returns and this is such a fragile model even in healthy economies.
Zimbabwe is not one of those economies.
Zimbabwe: Where traditional music models don’t work
Here, the global entertainment rulebook collapses:
• Audiences don’t buy music
• Streaming revenue is negligible
• Copyright enforcement is weak
• Sponsorships are inconsistent
• Professionalism across the sector varies
• Revenue depends almost entirely on performances and endorsements
(Disclaimer: This does not imply this is what NashTV did.)
There is no stable revenue foundation.
No predictable ROI.
No guarantee an artist’s rise translates into sustainable income.
Labels and promoters gamble, investing thousands in hopes of a future payoff. Some bets work. Many do not.
Against this backdrop, NashTV’s model was always going to be difficult to sustain.
Was NashTV’s artist support profitable?
We don’t know the confidential financials. But Zimbabwe’s economic reality suggests NashTV’s artist support was never a profit-first venture. It felt more like a mission – an experiment, a philanthropic side quest, an attempt to build scaffolding for talent.
But even noble side quests must eventually bow to other priorities.
And then comes the human factor.
The artist attitude problem
It’s an industry secret whispered in studios and backrooms:
• Some artists become difficult once fame arrives
• Some feel entitled to more than benefactors can reasonably offer
• Some forget who invested in them when they had nothing
Did this happen with NashTV? We cannot say definitively.
But we can say this: Nash Holdings shows no signs of financial distress.
The shutdown statement signals a redirection, not a collapse.
Founder Tinashe Mutarisi’s personal message underscored that shift. “I believe I’ve done my part in the entertainment space… we pushed as hard as we could, and I’m proud of the impact we made,” he wrote. He added that his focus is now “fully on entrepreneurship, building businesses, and mentoring the next generation of Zimbabwean entrepreneurs,” promising a full Facebook Live soon to unpack the decision.
If the financials were fine, perhaps the fatigue wasn’t monetary but managerial.
The political angle: Pressure that may have pushed the exit
Only three months ago, ZANU PF National Deputy Political Commissar for the Youth League, Taurai Kandishaya — a figure widely known for online intimidation — publicly threatened Mutarisi after he posted a respectful Facebook request seeking clarity on a new government policy initiative.
Kandishaya responded with a loaded warning: “Kana une business usatituke Mandebvu. Enjoy your business.”
(If you have a business, don’t insult us, you bearded one. Enjoy your business.)
Political commentator Reason Wafawarova, writing on Nehanda Radio, unpacked the threat bluntly: “This was not advice. It was a warning. In the lexicon of Zimbabwean politics, ‘enjoy your business’ means: we can take it away anytime.”
He added that Kandishaya is “not a random troll with too much data. He is a political loudhailer, a shock trooper in ZANU PF’s informal machinery of intimidation… Mutarisi, by daring to ask, crossed that invisible line.”
In such a climate, it becomes difficult to ignore the possibility that political pressure weighed heavily on Mutarisi’s decision-making. And given that NashTV was already operating in a tough economic environment with uncertain returns, the shutdown may have presented itself as both a strategic retreat and a protective measure.
In simple terms: perhaps he decided the fight was not worth it; and winding down was the safest, cleanest exit.
The warning signs were there
If one looked closely, the energy around major events – Raymer’s show, Saintfloew’s album launch – felt… off. Not disastrous. Not scandalous. Just slightly misaligned. Something behind the curtain wasn’t syncing.
Few thought too deeply about it.
Until now.
A closing chapter, a reset button
Mutarisi’s statement carried gratitude, pride, and a readiness for a new chapter. He thanked the team, the fans, and promised to speak more fully soon. Until he does, speculation will flood the vacuum.
But one thing is clear: NashTV’s shutdown is more than the end of a media platform.
It is a reminder of the fragile economics of Zimbabwe’s creative industry – and a warning that ambition without structural support is rarely sustainable.
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