Zimbabwe has lost a businessman who rarely lived his life away from the public eye, yet his death has produced an unusually complicated public response.

Wicknell Chivhayo, his wife Lucy Muteke and four others died in a helicopter crash at Kudenga Farm near Marondera on Wednesday.

The accident has triggered an outpouring of condolences from political leaders, friends, business associates and members of the public, but it has also exposed an uncomfortable silence and, in some corners of social media, reactions that have been anything but mournful

That contradiction is difficult to understand without looking at the life Chivhayo built in public.

He was a businessman who turned visibility into part of his brand. Luxury cars, private travel, expensive jewellery, cash gifts and high-profile friendships frequently featured in his social-media presence.

He gave money and vehicles to celebrities, church figures and other individuals, presenting himself as a man who had achieved wealth and was willing to share it.

To his admirers, that generosity made him a benefactor who remembered ordinary people and supported those around him.
To his critics, the same displays became symbols of excessive wealth at a time when millions of Zimbabweans were struggling with the cost of living.

His proximity to political power added another layer to the public debate. Chivhayo was openly associated with President Emmerson Mnangagwa and had developed relationships with influential figures beyond Zimbabwe.

His business dealings, particularly government contracts, have attracted scrutiny and allegations over his political connections. Those allegations have been contested and should not be treated as established criminal findings.

His death has therefore forced Zimbabweans to confront something more complicated than grief.

There are people who genuinely mourn him. There are those who remember the assistance they received from him. There are business associates and public figures who knew him personally. There are church communities that regarded him as a significant benefactor.

But there are also Zimbabweans whose memories of Chivhayo are shaped by questions surrounding wealth, privilege and political influence.

That helps explain why the national response has been so uneven.

Death normally creates a moment of collective silence. But Chivhayo’s public life was itself a subject of intense debate, meaning that his death has not erased the arguments surrounding his name.

Instead, those arguments have followed him into the grave.

Social media has made the contradiction particularly visible. While messages of condolence have circulated widely, reports have also emerged of people celebrating his death.

Others have strongly condemned such behaviour, arguing that disagreements with a person should not eliminate basic respect for the dead.

The debate raises a difficult question: must a country mourn every public figure in the same way? Perhaps not.

Mourning is personal. Some people grieve loudly; others remain silent. Some remember kindness; others remember controversy.

Some choose to say nothing because they have no personal connection to the deceased. Silence, therefore, should not automatically be interpreted as hatred or approval.

What makes Chivhayo’s case different is the scale of his public profile.

He had spent years making his wealth visible. His relationships with politicians, musicians, businesspeople and religious figures made him a familiar name far beyond the circles in which he conducted business.

His sudden death consequently created a vacuum that social media immediately filled with competing versions of his legacy.

For some, he was a generous businessman who helped people when they needed assistance. For others, he represented a form of wealth and influence that demanded greater public scrutiny.

Between those two positions lies a much larger Zimbabwean conversation about inequality, success, philanthropy and access to power.

The helicopter crash has also added another dimension to the story. The deaths were sudden and traumatic, and authorities are still investigating the circumstances of the accident.

The identification of the victims has involved forensic procedures because of the severity of the crash.

Meanwhile, those closest to Chivhayo are dealing with a private tragedy that exists alongside the enormous public debate surrounding his name.

That distinction is important.

A public figure can have a controversial public record and still leave behind grieving relatives, friends and people who loved him.

The existence of criticism does not eliminate grief, just as condolences do not erase legitimate questions about a person’s public life.

Perhaps, then, the silence surrounding Chivhayo is not really silence at all.

It is a mixture of grief, uncertainty, disagreement, caution and reflection.

Zimbabwe is not only mourning a man. It is also debating what his life represented.

And in the days ahead, as the investigation into the crash continues and funeral arrangements take shape, the question may gradually move from how Zimbabwe reacted to Chivhayo’s death to how Zimbabwe will remember his life.

That memory is unlikely to be unanimous.

For a man whose public existence generated strong and competing opinions, perhaps the most predictable thing about his death is that the country would struggle to speak with one voice.