The Editor Zambia
The arrest of Brian Mundubile has, at least on the surface, delivered something the Patriotic Front (PF) has long struggled to achieve: a fleeting moment of unity.
Across factions that have spent years tearing at each other, senior figures suddenly found a common voice, expressing solidarity and rallying behind one of their own.
But to mistake this moment for a turning point would be to fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the PF’s crisis. What we are witnessing is not renewal. It is reflex. And reflexes, by their very nature, do not last. 
History—both within Zambia and beyond—shows that political parties often rally in the face of perceived external pressure.
Arrests, court cases, and confrontations with State institutions tend to produce temporary alignment, as factions suspend their differences to confront what they frame as a common threat.
Yet once the emotional intensity of the moment fades, the underlying contradictions return—often more viciously than before.
That is precisely what awaits the PF.
The show of solidarity extended by figures such as Given Lubinda may appear significant, but it is ultimately superficial.
It does not resolve the party’s most pressing questions: Who leads the PF? What does it stand for? And how does it intend to regain national relevance?
These are not minor disagreements. They are existential fractures.
For years now, the PF has been trapped in a cycle of factionalism, characterised by competing centres of power, parallel loyalties, and constant internal suspicion.
The emergence of the Tonse Alliance was supposed to consolidate opposition strength. Instead, it has mirrored—and in some cases amplified—the same divisions it was meant to cure.
Even before Mundubile’s arrest, the PF and its allies were already engaged in open contestation. Parallel meetings, disputed leadership claims, and conflicting strategic directions had become the norm rather than the exception.
The party was not merely divided; it was operating as multiple entities under a single name. Nothing about the arrest changes that reality. If anything, it temporarily conceals it.
Moments of crisis often create the illusion of cohesion because they shift attention outward. The focus moves away from internal disagreements and toward an external event—in this case, the arrest and detention of a senior political figure.
But once that event reaches its natural plateau—when court processes take over, when media attention declines, and when the emotional urgency subsides—the spotlight inevitably returns inward. And when it does, the PF will find itself exactly where it was before.
Divided.
The tensions that define the party are not circumstantial; they are structural. They are rooted in unresolved succession battles, competing ambitions, and the absence of a shared ideological direction.
These are not problems that can be solved through statements of solidarity or joint appearances at press briefings. They require painful internal reform—something the PF has consistently avoided.
Instead, the party has relied on short-term fixes: reshuffles, alliances, expulsions, and reconciliations that are announced with great fanfare but collapse under the weight of mistrust.
Each cycle leaves the party weaker, not stronger.
The arrest of Mundubile now risks becoming just another episode in that cycle.
Already, the language of unity is being deployed with familiar enthusiasm. But unity built on reaction is inherently unstable. It is not anchored in shared vision or mutual trust; it is anchored in circumstance. And circumstances change.
When they do, old rivalries resurface.
It is also important to recognise that solidarity in moments of crisis does not erase political calculations. Within the PF, different factions are constantly positioning themselves for influence—within the party, within the Tonse Alliance, and within the broader opposition landscape.
These calculations do not disappear simply because a leader has been arrested. They are merely paused.
And pauses are temporary.
Once Mundubile’s legal situation evolves—whether through court proceedings, political negotiations, or eventual resolution—the incentive for unity will diminish.
Factions will once again compete for control, for visibility, and for legitimacy. The same accusations of illegitimacy, indiscipline, and betrayal will return.
In fact, they may intensify.
This is because moments like these often create new grievances even as they suppress old ones. Questions will emerge: Who truly stood with Mundubile? Who sought political advantage? Who spoke, and who remained silent?
In a party already defined by suspicion, such questions can quickly become sources of fresh conflict.
The PF, therefore, is not being healed by this moment. It is being delayed.
And delay is not recovery.
For a party to rebuild, it must confront its internal contradictions head-on. It must establish clear leadership, enforce consistent rules, and articulate a coherent national vision.
Without these foundations, no amount of temporary unity can translate into long-term stability.
The PF has yet to demonstrate that willingness. Until it does, episodes like the arrest of Brian Mundubile will continue to produce the same pattern: outrage, solidarity, optimism—and then, inevitably, fragmentation.
A party cannot outrun its own internal weaknesses. And in the case of the PF, those weaknesses remain firmly intact, waiting—just beneath the surface—for the moment this fragile unity gives way once again to the familiar politics of division.
