By Chiti Manga
The decision by President Hakainde Hichilema to authorise the Zambia Army to lead operations to vacate illegal miners from protected and licensed mining areas has ignited fierce debate.
The language used by the Army Commander, Lieutenant General Geoffrey Choongo Zyeele, has been seized upon by critics to frame the intervention as excessive. But to focus only on rhetoric is to miss the deeper and far more urgent issue at stake: illegal mining, when left unchecked, metastasises into organised criminality that threatens national security, environmental integrity, community safety, and the fiscal foundations of the State. 
Across the continent, countries that underestimated illegal mining now live with its consequences. In South Africa, entire settlements such as Sporong near Johannesburg have been emptied as armed illegal miners—known as zama zamas—terrorise communities, extort residents, and fight turf wars with automatic weapons. The Police seizures have recovered thousands of illegal firearms. Communities have begged for military intervention because civilian policing proved insufficient once criminal networks entrenched themselves underground and above it.
Mali and the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) offer even starker lessons. In eastern DRC, illegal gold and coltan mining finances armed groups, fuels insurgencies, and sustains cross-border smuggling networks. What begins as “artisanal” quickly becomes militarised extraction. In Mali, illicit gold—often referred to as “blood gold”—has helped bankroll violent actors in the Sahel while destroying ecosystems and hollowing out state authority. These are not labour disputes. They are security emergencies.
The recent gold rushes in districts such as Mufumbwe, Kasempa, and other forested areas have attracted organised groups with capital, equipment, and coordination far beyond subsistence activity. Residents and licensed artisanal miners have spoken openly about intimidation, land occupation, and fear. Cooperatives that followed the law—trained, licensed, and waiting for land allocation—found themselves sidelined by illegal operators who ignored government directives to formalise.
Those arguing that illegal mining is merely an unemployment issue misunderstands the scale of the threat. Poverty explains desperation; it does not excuse organised illegality. Zambia has repeatedly offered pathways to legality through cooperatives and licences. Many illegal miners refused. At that point, enforcement ceases to be a social policy question and becomes a matter of law, order, and sovereignty.
The Army’s involvement should be understood within that constitutional context. Zambia’s defence forces are mandated not only to repel external aggression but to safeguard national security and strategic assets when civilian institutions are overwhelmed. This precedent exists. During the height of the illegal Mukula trade, civilian enforcement failed, and the State turned to disciplined forces to secure resources that were being plundered at scale. Few today argue that, that decision was wrong.
Illegal mining inflicts damage on multiple fronts. Environmentally, it devastates forests, contaminates rivers with mercury and other chemicals, and leaves dangerous pits that claim lives long after miners move on. Socially, it destabilises communities, breeds violence, and normalises criminal authority over local populations. Economically, it robs the Zambia Revenue Authority (ZRA) of royalties, taxes, and export controls, creating a parallel economy that answers to no law and contributes nothing to national development.
Critics are uncomfortable with military language, but deterrence has always been part of security strategy. The Army Commander has clarified that operations are targeted, intelligence-led, and coordinated with other agencies. The objective is not indiscriminate violence but the removal of illegal operators and the restoration of order so that lawful mining can proceed. Residents and licensed miners in Mufumbwe have welcomed this intervention precisely because they have lived with the consequences of State absence.There is also a political honesty that must be confronted. Some of the loudest condemnations come from actors who benefit—directly or indirectly—from illegal mining networks, whether through financing, mobilisation, or influence. Resistance to enforcement often masquerades as humanitarian concern. Zambia has already seen how enforcement triggers pushback; the unrest linked to illegal mining groups in previous incidents was not random anger but organised resistance to regulation.
Preventive action matters. Waiting until illegal miners evolve into armed gangs, militias, or transnational criminal syndicates would be strategic negligence. By then, the cost—human, economic, and political—would be far higher. South Africa, Mali, and the DRC are cautionary tales of what happens when the State hesitates.
This moment is not about criminalising poverty or militarising livelihoods. It is about drawing a firm line between lawful economic participation and organised illegality that threatens peace, the environment, community safety, and national revenue. The Army’s role, properly constrained and coordinated, is to create the security space within which regulation, licensing, and genuine Zambian participation can thrive.
In that sense, the authorisation is not only justified. It is overdue.
