By Chiti Manga
What was billed as a solemn show of religious solidarity around Lusaka Archbishop Alick Banda has instead unravelled into a loud, awkward and deeply political spectacle that raises more questions than it answers about motive, morality and the dangerous mixing of the pulpit with partisan ambition.
The so-called “solidarity march” and Mass, staged in the wake of Alick Banda’s summons by the Drug Enforcement Commission (DEC), was not the quiet spiritual moment of prayer its organisers advertised. It was a choreographed political rally, complete with slogans, cadres, and carefully curated optics designed to turn a lawful investigation into a persecution narrative. In the process, the Catholic Church was dragged into Zambia’s rough-and-tumble opposition politics—willingly or otherwise. 
Let us be clear about the context. Archbishop Banda was summoned by the DEC’s Anti-Money Laundering Investigations Unit and was formally warned and cautioned in connection with a motor vehicle linked to the Zambia Revenue Authority (ZRA), as well as questions surrounding cash. These are not theological matters. They are legal and administrative questions that require clear answers, not incense, chants or political crowds.
Yet instead of sobriety, the country was treated to theatre. The faces that dominated the “solidarity” event told their own story. There was Socialist Party president Fred M’membe, a serial ally of unpopular causes; Patriotic Front (PF) political lightweights Given Lubinda and Brian Mundubile; and a familiar cast of opposition activists long detached from mainstream public sentiment.
These are not neutral defenders of church doctrine. They are seasoned political manipulators who smell opportunities where controversy exists in order to survive. That’s their life. That’s how they have survived all theirs lives.
Even the imagery was telling. Women clad in Catholic chitenges were paraded as proof of grassroots church support. But it has since emerged that many of these women were identifiable PF and opposition cadres, with the chitenges reportedly procured and distributed by M’membe and his allies. This was not organic faith-based solidarity. It was mobilisation—paid for, organised, and branded.
More revealing still was who stayed away. The majority of ordinary Catholics did not attend. Many priests kept their distance. Beyond one or two clerics, the silence from the broader clergy was deafening. That absence speaks volumes. It suggests that many within the Church understand a basic principle: an individual legal matter, however uncomfortable, should not be converted into a church-wide political crusade.
This is where Citizens First leader Harry Kalaba’s intervention cut through the noise with uncomfortable clarity. Kalaba openly explained why he refused to associate himself with the event.“How do I offer solidarity to someone who can’t defend himself?” Kalaba asked bluntly. He went further, posing the question that has been quietly troubling many Zambians: how did a ZRA vehicle end up in the possession of someone who is not a ZRA employee?
Kalaba’s argument was not rooted in religious affiliation—he openly stated that he is not Catholic—but in principle.
Alick Banda was summoned to explain. He chose silence. In public life, especially when one holds moral authority, silence is not neutral. It invites inference.
Instead of answers, the public was offered outrage. Instead of transparency, symbolism. That is not solidarity; it is deflection.
More troubling is the persistent whisper—now increasingly loud—that Archbishop Banda has long harboured political ambitions. According to inner opposition circles themselves, he was once spoken of as a “Plan B,” a potential political alternative should other strategies fail. The pattern is not unfamiliar. Zambians have seen how proximity to power or moral authority can be leveraged into presidential ambition, as with Makebi Zulu’s attempted leap from family lawyer to presidential contender.
If these reports are even partially true, then the current episode takes on a darker hue. The Church, one of Zambia’s most respected moral institutions, risks being reduced to a springboard for personal political projects. That is unfair to millions of believers whose faith should never be instrumentalised for electoral calculations.
This is why the event looked less like prayer and more like a political circus. What should have been a straightforward interaction between investigators and a suspect was turned into an opposition rally designed to cast law enforcement as villains and a questioned cleric as a martyr.
No one is above the law—not politicians, not priests, not archbishops.
Moral authority is strengthened by accountability, not weakened by it. If Archbishop Banda has clear explanations regarding the vehicle and related matters, the proper place to offer them is before investigators, not behind political banners or even the pulpit.
Zambia’s democracy suffers when faith is weaponised and investigations are politicised. True solidarity lies in defending truth, due process, and institutional integrity—not in chanting outside offices or dressing cadres in borrowed vestments.
The million-Kwacha question remains unanswered. Until it is, all the marches in the world will not wash it away.
