By Dr. Peter Nyondo
In life, it is easy to shout instructions from the sidelines. Anyone who has watched a football match—on the pitch or on TV—knows the chorus: “Pass the ball!” “He’s leaving his opponent!” “Kick it inside!”—usually from spectators who wouldn’t last five minutes as professional players.
In every society, there are those who play the game and those who sit in the stands, screaming advice they could never follow. Sishuwa belongs to the latter category: a decorated spectator, draped in Oxford credentials, who has mistaken relentless nit-picking for nation-building. 
Sishuwa has fashioned himself as Zambia’s oracle, dispensing judgments as if he were both philosopher-king and chief justice rolled into one.
He struts about with the arrogance of a man convinced his commentary is divine revelation, when in truth it is little more than recycled cynicism dressed in academic jargon.
For years, he has perfected the art of throwing stones from the safety of the sidelines. To hear him speak, Zambia’s challenges could be solved with footnotes and essays.
Yet beneath the Oxford polish lies hollow noise: no solutions, no actionable steps, no practical vision—just the endless refrain of a bitter man who has confused constant disapproval with patriotism.
Sishuwa has made it his pastime to hurl venom at President Hakainde Hichilema and the UPND, as though tearing down others were an achievement in itself.
His words drip with envy, as if President Hichilema’s endurance in the furnace of politics is a personal insult to a man more comfortable behind a keyboard than in the heat of the arena.
Let’s be blunt: Sishuwa is a shadow boxer. He has never built anything, never led anything, never carried the crushing weight of responsibility, yet presumes to lecture those who do.
It is easy to pose as a prophet of doom when there is no personal accountability for the consequences of your prophecies.
The irony is rich. He claims to speak for the people, yet he operates from the ivory tower of foreign education, wagging a finger at the masses whose realities he barely grasps.
His voice grew louder under the new dawn government than under the previous regime—not a sign of courage, but opportunism.
History does not celebrate critics. No statues are raised for professional fault-finders. We honour those who dared, who tried, who bled, who failed, and tried again—not those who sit in comfort and tell the fighters they are sweating wrong.
Sishuwa may continue playing the high priest of armchair criticism, but Zambia deserves builders, not perpetual hecklers. His name will never be etched in the annals of achievement—only scribbled in the margins of national irritation.
The truth is that it is far harder to act while in the thick of things, doing your best under pressure. Yet as a society, we are quick to criticise, slow to praise, and often revel in finding fault.
Many of us have become armchair critics like Sishuwa, Oxford-educated, doctorate in hand, ready to prescribe panaceas for Zambia’s ills.
He has assumed the role of a self-appointed judge, weighing in on President Hichilema and the UPND as if his verdicts were law. His words are treated as commands, his judgment absolute, his knowledge unquestionable. In reality, he is a theorist far removed from the challenges of leadership.
Like his fellow naysayers, he has made national criticism a sport. Yet few politicians could withstand the heat of constant scrutiny in both public and private spheres. The complexity and magnitude of problems our leaders face daily would crush most of us.
I am no apologist for the president or the UPND. But our expectations are often unrealistically high. Politicians are not miracle workers. Yet critics like Sishuwa seem to believe otherwise, quick to assign blame and loudest when those in power dare to act.
Blame has become a popular coping mechanism, a rallying cry against a common enemy. But turning it into a witch hunt achieves nothing.
In today’s digital age, the internet has created armies of keyboard critics, giving voices to ill-informed pundits like Sishuwa, who can fire barbs but rarely offer tangible solutions.
If he truly sought to serve Zambia, an Oxford-trained scholar would be offering practical solutions, not endless criticism. He is a shadow boxer, a man of words but no deeds.
He critiques without knowing, judges without bearing responsibility. If he has never led a company, managed a project, or carried a nation’s burden, how can he speak authoritatively?
Remember Theodore Roosevelt’s words:
“It is not the critic who counts… The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly… who spends himself in a worthy cause; and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.”
Sishuwa may continue to play the high priest of empty criticism, but history has no place for sideline prophets. Statues are not erected for critics—they are built for those who dared, who acted, who struggled, and who achieved.
Zambia deserves more than critics. It deserves doers.
The author is a political analyst and retired political science lecturer.
