The Editor Zambia
In Africa, hypocrisy often wears a fine suit. We judge political leaders not by their actions but by where their umbilical cord was buried.
A different yardstick, carved from tribal bias and historical prejudice, is used to measure one leader while another is sanctified for the same sins. 
It is the highest form of double standards—and it is precisely what is being used today to judge President Hakainde Hichilema and the United Party for National Development (UPND).
Those who shout the loudest about unity are the same ones who thrive on division. Their knives of tribal rhetoric are always sharpened and ready, and their favourite target has been the man from Bweengwa.
The chorus is familiar: “He’s tribal, he’s arrogant, he’s isolating us.” Yet the same critics were curiously silent when leaders from their own “approved tribes” were guilty of these sins they are wrongly accusing HH of.
The Long Shadow of the Choma Declaration
To understand this venom, we must rewind to 1973—the year of the Choma Declaration.
When Harry Mwaanga Nkumbula, leader of the African National Congress (ANC), signed the peace accord with Kenneth Kaunda’s UNIP on June 27, 1973, Zambia officially became a one-party State. The ANC dissolved itself into UNIP, ending opposition politics in the name of unity.
But unity for whom? History tells us Nkumbula didn’t walk willingly to the signing table. There were threats, arm-twisting, and a quiet promise of trouble if he refused. In an interview with the late Mainza Chona—one of the brokers of the accord—he admitted there was a “Plan B”: which was to arrest Nkumbula if he refused to sign. So much for voluntary peace.
From that moment, the tribal equation in Zambia’s politics was sealed. The corridors of power tilted northwards—toward the Chambeshi tribes—and the myth was born that only certain groups possessed the divine right to rule.
The one-party system became a shield for this silent tribal hierarchy.
And though the country changed governments, that silent bias never died; it merely changed colour and slogans.
The Pandora’s Box of Ethnicity
When Hichilema entered the political arena, he did not just join politics; he reopened a long-buried Pandora’s box. His rise exposed the country’s deep, unspoken discomfort with leadership from “unsanctioned” tribes.
The same people who had normalised political corruption and economic decay under previous regimes suddenly discovered moral outrage the moment a Tonga man sat in State House.
Barely a day passes without a self-proclaimed political analyst dispensing unsolicited advice on how Hichilema should govern or condemning every decision his administration makes. Not some decisions—every decision. If he sneezes, they call it dictatorship; if he breathes, they say he’s stifling democracy.
Consider the uproar around the proposed Constitution of Zambia (Amendment) Bill No. 7 of 2025. This Bill—designed to modernise electoral systems and strengthen the National Assembly—has been treated by critics as though it were a decree to slaughter every firstborn child like King Herod’s edict.
Yet constitutional reform is not new. Every government since independence has amended or reviewed the Constitution: UNIP in the 1970s, MMD in the 1990s, PF in the 2010s.
But suddenly, when Hichilema proposes amendments, it becomes a crime against democracy. Why? Because the reformer is Tonga.
A History of Constitutional Change—Selective Memory at Work
Let us jog the nation’s memory. Constitutional development in Zambia dates back to the 1950s, during colonial rule. Post-independence, the 1968 referendum and the 1973 Constitution ushered in one-party rule under Kaunda.
In 1991, the Mvunga Commission restored multiparty democracy. Then came the Mwanakatwe Commission in 1993, which led to the 1996 amendments—criticised for lacking legitimacy.
Levy Mwanawasa’s 2003 Mung’omba Commission drafted what many called the most progressive Constitution in Zambian history, but it too was shelved.
Each regime fiddled with the supreme law. Chiluba, Mwanawasa, Banda, Sata, and Lungu all did it. Yet the earth never shook. But when Hichilema touches the same document, some scream “dictator!” and “tribalist!” The irony is suffocating.
The Convenient Blindness of Critics
The opposition’s outrage would be comical if it weren’t so dangerous.
The Bill proposes progressive measures: increasing parliamentary seats, introducing mixed-member proportional representation, and requiring ministers to vacate office 90 days before elections. These reforms strengthen democracy. But critics, blinded by tribal prejudice, refuse to see this. They call it a “power grab.”
The government’s justification—that the amendments align Zambia with international democratic standards—is dismissed out of hand. No debate, no nuance, just rejection. Not because of content, but because of the surname behind it.
Corruption: The Convenient Drumbeat
When it comes to corruption, the double standard is even louder. Zambia’s corruption problem is older than independence.
A 2004 report estimated millions lost annually through theft and mismanagement.
Chiluba turned corruption into fine art, wearing designer suits bought from stolen State funds. Banda’s oil scandals, Sata’s selective prosecutions, and Lungu’s grand larceny disguised as empowerment—all were tolerated or quickly forgotten.
But now, when the UPND prosecutes graft, the same chorus cries “witch hunt.”
When the CPI improves slightly under Hichilema, they say it’s manipulation.
When the ACC arrests suspects, they call it ethnic cleansing.
Suddenly, thieves have become martyrs.
Why? Because for some, it’s not corruption that bothers them—it’s who is fighting it.
The Tribal Bloc: Guardians of Power
The so-called “Bemba bloc,” approved by their eastern cousins, has long seen itself as Zambia’s natural political landlord. Leadership, in their eyes, must rotate within “approved tribes.” Any outsider must seek endorsement from the north or east—or risk being branded tribal, arrogant, or unpatriotic.
Levy Mwanawasa, a Lenje, faced the same cold shoulder. His “family tree” appointments were condemned, though previous leaders had entire family forests in government. The hypocrisy was staggering then, and it remains staggering now.
Today, Hichilema faces an amplified version of that same prejudice. He is not condemned for policy failures—he’s condemned for his lineage. His economic reforms, which stabilised inflation and restored Zambia’s international credibility, are ignored.
His efforts to depoliticise institutions are trivialised. His anti-corruption stance is mocked. The man’s only unforgivable sin, it seems, is that he was born Tonga.
The Myth of National Unity
Zambians love to chant about “One Zambia, One Nation,” but too often, it is just a slogan—a convenient mask for tribal privilege. We celebrate diversity only when it suits us. When a Tonga farmer becomes president, suddenly diversity becomes a problem.
The same people who once cried for democracy now weaponise democracy against its own ideals.
They twist patriotism into a tribal test, unity into a regional entitlement. The poison of prejudice has become so normalised that those infected with it now call themselves “nationalists.”
A Call for Honest Reflection
Let’s be clear: criticism of government is healthy. Democracy thrives on dissent. But dissent without fairness is just disguised hatred. Every initiative by the UPND is automatically condemned—not because of merit, but because of tribal prejudice—it ceases to be political opposition; it becomes a cultural vendetta.
Zambia cannot progress if we continue to measure leadership with a tribal tape measure. If we only applaud presidents who share our dialect or clan, then we are not a democracy—we are a tribal syndicate pretending to be one.
What is good for the goose must indeed be good for the gander. If previous leaders could amend the Constitution, so can Hichilema. If others could fight corruption without being called regionalists, so can he. If they were allowed to govern without tribal suspicion, then so should he.
The time has come for Zambia to outgrow its small-minded politics.
The world has moved on; nations are uniting around ideas, not bloodlines. But here we are—still fighting the ghosts of Choma, still enslaved by surnames, still judging competence by origin.
Until we face this hypocrisy head-on, our democracy will remain a façade—a noisy theatre where tribal actors play at unity while stabbing each other backstage.
And perhaps that is the saddest irony of all: that in a nation born out of the dream of unity, the loudest preachers of nationalism are the very architects of division.
The author is a veteran journalist and diplomat with vast experience in international business and diplomacy.
