The Editor Zambia
The unfolding legal drama surrounding Dalitso Lungu is fast-becoming less about law and more about exposure—exposure of a deeply troubling culture within sections of the legal fraternity.
The recent move by the Drug Enforcement Commission (DEC) to act on properties linked to the former president’s family has triggered a chorus of protest from lawyers who, in this instance, appear less concerned with justice and more invested in shielding privilege. 
Let us be clear: this is not a complicated case. In February 2026, the High Court delivered a decisive ruling ordering the forfeiture of over K24 million worth of assets linked to Dalitso Lungu.
The court found that these assets were proceeds of crime and crucially, that the explanations provided failed to meet the legal threshold required to prove lawful acquisition.
This was a non-conviction-based forfeiture, a legitimate and widely accepted legal mechanism used across jurisdictions to recover suspected illicit wealth.
The court further underscored a critical principle: once the State establishes reasonable suspicion of illegality, the burden shifts to the respondent to justify ownership.
In this case, that burden was not discharged. The result was the seizure of an astonishing portfolio—79 motor vehicles and 23 properties, including commercial and luxury residential assets. These are not the trappings of modest enterprise; they are the hallmarks of unexplained wealth.
Yet, instead of grappling with the substance of this ruling, a clique of lawyers has chosen to fixate on procedural technicalities surrounding the DEC’s operations at a Libala property.
They argue that the property was not abandoned, that rates were being paid, and that proper authorisation may not have been obtained for entry.
These are legitimate legal questions—on paper. But the fervour with which they are being pursued, contrasted with the deafening silence on the underlying findings of illicit enrichment, raises uncomfortable questions.
Where was this energy when ordinary Zambians faced asset seizures under similar legal provisions? Where was this passionate defence of due process when citizens without political connections found themselves entangled in the same legal net? The answer is simple and damning: it was nowhere to be found.
What we are witnessing is not a principled defence of the rule of law. It is selective outrage. It is the weaponisation of legal argument to protect a specific class of individuals—those with proximity to power.
This double standard undermines public confidence in the legal profession and reinforces the perception that justice in Zambia is not blind but rather acutely aware of status and surname.
The attempt to politicise the DEC’s actions is equally disingenuous. The Commission is operating within its mandate to investigate financial crimes and enforce forfeiture orders.
To suggest that its actions are politically motivated simply because they involve the family of Edgar Chagwa Lungu is to trivialise both the evidence presented in court and the independence of our institutions.
If anything, this case should stand as a powerful affirmation of a fundamental democratic principle: no one is above the law. Not former presidents. Not their children. Not their business associates.
The law must apply equally, or it loses its moral authority altogether.
It is, therefore, deeply disappointing—though perhaps not surprising—that some members of the legal fraternity have chosen to obscure this principle rather than uphold it.
By focusing narrowly on procedural disputes while ignoring substantive findings of wrongdoing, they risk turning the law into a shield for impunity rather than a sword for justice.
The Zambian people are watching. They are not blind to these inconsistencies despite not having gone to a law school or ZIALE.
They see a legal system that appears to bend over backwards for the powerful while remaining rigid and unforgiving for the ordinary citizen. This perception, if left unaddressed, will erode trust not only in lawyers but in the entire justice system.
The challenge for the legal profession is simple: decide whether it stands for justice or for privilege.
The case of Dalitso Lungu is more than a legal dispute—it is a test of integrity. And so far, too many lawyers are failing it.
