Over time, we have observed patterns in the creative sector that leave us with more questions than answers.
Funding is approved. Announcements are made. Press statements celebrate youth empowerment, cultural development and economic inclusion. Yet when the banners come down and the cameras leave, communities often ask quietly: What really happened here?
We have seen projects that look powerful on paper — detailed proposals, impressive budgets, well-known artist names attached. But on the ground, the workshops are shorter than promised. The equipment never arrives. The youth programme becomes a one-day event instead of a six-month intervention. Reports are submitted. Payments are made. The file is closed.
And we are left asking: Was this development or documentation?
We have observed artists becoming the face of projects that bring credibility and public trust. Their names make it easier for funding to be approved. Their presence discourages scrutiny. After all, who wants to question an artist “giving back” to the community?
But here is the uncomfortable question: When an artist’s name is used to unlock funding for a project that does not fully materialise — who is responsible?
We have also seen payments justified under broad terms: “consulting”, “cultural activation”, “brand alignment”. Sometimes the fees seem unusually high. Sometimes procurement processes are unclear. Sometimes grassroots organizations, doing consistent work with visible impact, are repeatedly overlooked while connected individuals move forward with ease.
Is this coincidence?
Is it systemic failure?
Or is it something we have normalised?
Another difficult truth we must confront is proximity to power. When political relationships or municipal connections appear to fast-track approvals, while unknown but deserving creatives struggle for years — what message does that send to the next generation?
Does it say: work hard and serve your community?
Or does it say: build connections first?
And perhaps the most difficult question of all:. If access to funding requires you to look away, inflate a report, accept a vague contract, or participate in a process you know is not clean — would you still do it?
Because this is where the line becomes personal. We speak about corruption as something distant, something done by “others”. But corruption in the creative sector often survives not only because of powerful individuals — but because of quiet participation. Because someone signed. Because someone agreed. Because someone said, “This is how the system works.”
We must also be clear: Being named as a beneficiary does not automatically mean guilt. It does not equal criminal conviction. But it does raise questions about how public money was accessed and used.
Commissions exist to expose systems. Yet systems do not operate without people.
And here is the bigger cost: Every time funds meant for youth programmes, community workshops or cultural development are diverted, inflated or poorly managed, a grassroots creative is excluded. A small NPO closes. A young artist loses faith. Communities become cynical.
The damage is not only financial — it is moral.
So we ask the sector directly:
Have you ever experienced funding processes that felt irregular?
Have you seen projects that existed more strongly on paper than in reality?
Have you been excluded while others with connections moved ahead?
And most importantly — would you compromise your integrity just to access funding for your dream?
The creative industry was built to challenge power, not quietly adapt to its misuse.
Perhaps the real question is not only who is benefiting — but what kind of sector we are becoming.
Because culture should never be a shield for corruption. It should be the conscience of the nation.