By Chiti Manga
The loud claim now echoing from some sections of the clergy and the opposition suggesting that the summoning of Lusaka Archbishop Alick Banda amounts to a declaration of war by President Hakainde Hichilema against the Roman Catholic Church, is not only reckless, it is intellectually dishonest.
The opposition political parties’ propaganda collapses a specific legal inquiry into a grand narrative of persecution, ignores Zambia’s own history of accountability, and deliberately shields political conduct behind the sacred robes of faith. 
Let us be clear from the outset: President Hakainde Hichilema has demonstrated, consistently and publicly, deep respect for the Catholic Church. He has engaged bishops in dialogue, attended Catholic services, defended freedom of worship, and maintained the long-standing tradition of church–State cooperation that has defined Zambia since independence. To suggest that the same President has suddenly embarked on a crusade against one of the country’s most influential Christian institutions is to abandon reason for propaganda.
What is at issue here is not Catholicism. It is politics.
Home Affairs and Internal Security Minister Jack Mwiimbu’s clarification was sober, factual, and rooted in Zambia’s legal tradition. The Drug Enforcement Commission (DEC) did not summon “the Catholic Church.” It summoned an individual—Archbishop Alick Banda—in relation to specific allegations that fall squarely within the mandate of law-enforcement agencies. That distinction is not semantic; it is fundamental.
Accountability in a constitutional democracy attaches to persons, not to institutions cloaked in moral authority.
Those crying persecution conveniently ignore a basic fact of Zambia’s political history: no status, sacred or secular, has ever conferred immunity from the law. Kenneth Kaunda, Frederick Chiluba, Levy Mwanawasa, Rupiah Banda, and even Hakainde Hichilema himself were summoned by law-enforcement agencies at various points. Were those summonses wars against UNIP, MMD, or the UPND? Of course not. They were exercises—sometimes imperfect—of accountability.
So why the sudden hysteria? The answer lies not in theology but in political memory.
Archbishop Banda has long been perceived—not invented, but perceived, including by many within Catholic circles—as unusually close to the Patriotic Front (PF ) during its decade in power. This was not a secret whispered in corners; it played out in public actions, appearances, and interventions that blurred the line between prophetic witness and partisan alignment.
It is precisely this proximity to PF power that now complicates his position. When questions arise about material benefits, assets, or transactions allegedly linked to the PF era, they cannot simply be dismissed as “church donations” and sealed behind ecclesiastical confidentiality. No doctrine—Catholic or otherwise—places political kickbacks beyond the reach of secular law if there is reasonable suspicion that they were personal, improperly sourced, or linked to abuse of public office.
This is where critics like Father Augustine Mwewa, Archbishop Ignatius Chama, and opposition figures such as Kelvin Fube Bwalya dangerously mislead the public. They recast a legal summons as religious persecution, knowing full well that faith is an emotional accelerant in Zambia’s public life. It is a cynical move: mobilise believers, delegitimise investigators, and pre-empt scrutiny by sanctifying the suspect.
Kelvin Fube Bwalya’s legalistic objections collapse under their own weight. Yes, money laundering requires a predicate offence—but investigations exist precisely to establish whether such an offence exists. One does not demand a conviction before an inquiry; that would abolish investigation altogether.
As for donor confidentiality, it cannot be weaponised to launder politically tainted benefits. Lawyers and doctors observe confidentiality, but neither can hide proceeds of crime behind professional ethics.
More troubling is the suggestion that summoning an Archbishop offends Vatican protocol or international ecclesiastical relations. Zambia is a sovereign republic, not a theocracy. Clergy operating within its borders is subject to its laws. Rome appoints bishops; Lusaka enforces statutes. The two are not mutually exclusive.
The opposition’s sudden canonisation of Archbishop Banda also deserves scrutiny. During the PF’s time in office, when critics—including journalists, activists, and opposition politicians—were harassed or arrested, many of these same voices were conspicuously silent. Now, when law enforcement touches someone perceived as “one of theirs,” the language shifts to tyranny, persecution, and war on God.This is not prophecy. It is politics.
Minister Mwiimbu was also right to remind the nation that a summons is not a conviction. It is an opportunity—nothing more—for an individual to explain themselves. If Archbishop Banda has nothing to hide, the process will clear his name. If there are questions about PF-linked benefits or improper personal enrichment, then Zambia deserves answers, not incense-smoked distractions.
The Catholic Church’s moral authority in Zambia was built on courage, independence, and a willingness to speak truth to power—any power. That authority is weakened, not strengthened, when church leaders appear to seek immunity through political mobilisation. The prophetic voice loses credibility when it is selectively outraged.
President Hichilema’s government has not declared war on the Catholic Church. It has insisted, quietly but firmly, that no one—bishop or billionaire—is above the law. Those screaming persecution are not defending faith; they are defending unresolved political entanglements from the PF era.
Zambia must not allow accountability to be strangled by cassocks or megaphones. The Church will endure. The law must endure, too.
