By Chiti Manga
By any measure, Dr. Nevers Mumba’s intervention has reopened one of Zambia’s most sensitive and carefully sealed chapters: the death of former president Frederick Titus Jacob Chiluba. In confronting Emmanuel Mwamba—now a relentless critic of President Hakainde Hichilema and the UPND—Mumba is not merely responding to political attacks. He is asking a question many Zambians have whispered for years but never openly debated: do we really know the full truth about how Chiluba died, and why some people appeared to benefit politically after his death?
The official narrative has long been simple. Chiluba, a known heart patient, died of a heart attack in the early hours of June 18, 2011, at his home in Lusaka. He was 68. He had suffered from heart and kidney complications and had received specialist treatment abroad. On the surface, the explanation is medically plausible and widely accepted. Yet Mumba insists that this is not the full story—and that Emmanuel Mwamba, Chiluba’s then spokesperson and confidant, holds critical answers. 
What has troubled many observers is not merely the cause of death but the circumstances surrounding it. In Zambia’s history, it is highly unusual—arguably unprecedented—for a former Head of State to be classified as “brought in dead” and buried without a postmortem. Chiluba was not an ordinary citizen. He was a former president of the Republic of Zambia, a towering political figure with many enemies, both during and after his time in office. Why, then, was there no postmortem to put all doubt to rest?
It is this gap that has fed speculation. Over the years, a story circulated—never officially tested—that the heart attack was allegedly triggered by the use of some sexual enhancing substances and that a postmortem would have been “shameful.” According to Mumba and other critics, this narrative was aggressively pushed in the immediate aftermath of Chiluba’s death, effectively closing the door to any forensic examination. Whether true or false, the question remains: who originated this claim, who benefited from it, and why was it accepted so easily?
Dr. Mumba’s challenge is pointed. He asks Emmanuel Mwamba to explain what he knows, what he said, and what he did in those critical hours and days. This is not a casual demand. Mwamba was at the centre of events, the man entrusted with communicating to the nation about Chiluba’s final moments. With that privilege came a responsibility to the truth—one that, according to Dr. Mumba, has never been fully discharged.
The controversy deepens when politics enters the picture. After Chiluba’s death, Mwamba crossed over to Michael Chilufya Sata’s Patriotic Front (PF), despite the well-documented hostility between Sata and Chiluba in the years leading up to the 2011 elections. Under the PF, Mwamba rose rapidly and received significant appointments. Dr. Mumba does not state conclusions; he asks questions. On what basis were these rewards given? Were they purely political, or were they connected—directly or indirectly—to Mwamba’s role during and after Chiluba’s death? Why, if Chiluba’s contribution to the PF’s growth was so significant, did his family not receive comparable respect or protection of his legacy?
These are uncomfortable questions, but they are not illegitimate. In any democracy, public figures—especially those who present themselves as moral arbiters—must expect scrutiny. Mwamba today positions himself as a crusader against corruption, misinformation, and abuse of power. Yet his critics argue that his own record is riddled with contradictions: shifting loyalties, unproven allegations against opponents, and a trail of legal controversies that have ended with his self-imposed exile in the United States.
Dr. Mumba’s broader argument is about credibility. Can a man accused—rightly or wrongly—of – playing a questionable role at a defining moment in national history claim the moral authority to lecture others? Can someone who, according to police statements and public records, has repeatedly spread false or dangerous claims now be trusted as a source of truth?
It is important to be clear: no court has ruled that Emmanuel Mwamba caused or engineered Frederick Chiluba’s death. Such an allegation would require evidence, investigation, and due process. But Dr. Mumba is demanding transparency, not a lynching. Silence, evasion, and counterattacks do not answer historical questions. They deepen suspicion.
Even today, the Chiluba Memorial Park stands as a symbol of a leader whose life and death remain contested. Dr. Mumba provocatively suggests that if Chiluba’s body were ever exhumed, the truth—whatever it may be—would finally emerge. That may or may not be practical or desirable. But the moral point stands: unresolved questions do not disappear simply because time has passed.
In challenging Mwamba to tell Zambians what he knows, Dr. Nevers Mumba is forcing a reckoning. History cannot be built on convenient narratives and political rewards. If Emmanuel Mwamba insists on being at the centre of national debate, then he must also confront the shadows of his own past. Zambia deserves nothing less than honesty—especially when it concerns the death of a former president.
