The Editor Zambia
PRESIDENT Hakainde Hichilema’s recent remarks about the historical mistreatment of people from Southern, Western, and North-Western provinces—what he frequently refers to as the “Zambezi Region”—have generated heated debate across the country.
While his critics accuse him of promoting regional politics, they conveniently ignore the uncomfortable truth that Zambia’s political history is littered with examples of prejudice, exclusion, and outright insults directed at people from these provinces. 
A nation cannot genuinely heal by pretending that painful chapters of its history never existed.
Indeed, President Hichilema is right to remind the country that reconciliation begins with acknowledging past wrongs, not denying them. The roots of this marginalisation stretch back to the years immediately after independence in 1964 when political rivalry between the United National Independence Party (UNIP) and the African National Congress (ANC) gradually evolved into suspicion towards regions associated with Harry Nkumbula and later other political movements rooted in Southern Zambia.
The Choma Declaration may have brought temporary political accommodation, but it did not completely erase perceptions that certain regions remained politically suspect.
During the one-party state, appointments to the highest offices of government reflected glaring regional imbalances. Although a handful of distinguished leaders from Southern, Western, and North-Western provinces rose to senior positions, they remained exceptions rather than the rule.
The overwhelming concentration of political power continued to favour the Chambeshi/Luangwa region, reinforcing perceptions that the Zambezi Region occupied the margins of national politics rather than its centre.
The return to multiparty democracy in 1991 unfortunately did not eliminate these attitudes. Instead, new political labels emerged. Infact, the return to plural politics itself exposed the tribal inclinations when its early architects like Arthur Wina was later sidelined in favour of Frederick Chiluba, a Luapulan because Wina was suddenly labelled a Lozi and a drunkard.
Successive elections increasingly became framed around geographical voting patterns, giving birth to the unfortunate “Chibombo Corridor” or ‘‘family tree’’ narrative of Levy Mwanawasa, a phrase that came to symbolise an assumed political divide between northern and southern Zambia.
Rather than confronting tribal stereotypes, many politicians exploited them for electoral advantage.
The emergence of the United Party for National Development (UPND), formed by Anderson Mazoka, only intensified this trend. Instead of debating policies, opponents frequently branded the party as “tribal,” while many supporters from Southern Province became targets of ridicule simply because of where they came from.
Over the years, numerous public statements exposed prejudices that should have had no place in a modern democracy.
Former Patriotic Front (PF) chairman Davis Chama once suggested that because Tongas kept large herds of cattle, they should simply produce more children if they wished to increase their chances of producing a president. The remark reduced an entire community’s democratic aspirations to population arithmetic instead of merit and equal citizenship.
Former PF president Miles Sampa similarly provoked outrage when he suggested that Tongas should intermarry with Bembas in order to “improve their stock.”
Such language carried disturbing implications of ethnic superiority and inferiority that have no place in Zambia’s constitutional democracy. The insults extended beyond Southern Province. People from North-Western Province were mockingly referred to as “Ba Six Koloko,” implying they were lazy people who were still asleep at six o’clock in the morning while others were already working.
Others were contemptuously labelled “Namazais”—a derogatory reference portraying them as little more than toilet cleaners.
Such demeaning stereotypes sought to diminish the dignity of hardworking citizens whose province today contributes enormously to Zambia’s mining wealth and national revenue.
These were not isolated incidents but reflected attitudes that normalised discrimination based on ethnicity and region. Many Zambians laughed at such remarks when they should have condemned them unequivocally.
Critics of President Hichilema argue that recalling this history risks reopening old wounds, though the opposite is true because ignoring historical prejudice merely allows resentment to fester beneath the surface. Genuine national unity cannot be built upon selective memory.
Acknowledging that certain communities experienced discrimination does not imply that other regions are collectively guilty, nor does it justify new forms of tribal politics. Rather, it reminds all Zambians that every citizen deserves equal dignity regardless of language, ethnicity, or province.
The challenge before Zambia today is not to silence conversations about historical injustice but to ensure that those conversations promote healing rather than division.
President Hichilema’s critics like one Brebner Chengala who tolerated the other tribal camps but has come in full force to condemn the Head of State would serve the country better by condemning the documented instances of tribal insults and discrimination instead of dismissing the experiences of those who endured them.
Changala, who is from Luapula, is never on record condemning the dominance of easterners in power when the former Head of State the late Edgar Lungu was in power.
Changala was also alive when Chama and Sampa made derogatory tribal remarks. It is surprising that Changala did not say anything against such divisive and genocidal comments.
Why has Changala come to life now to condemn President Hichilema on the latter’s acute observation on the shabby treatment of people from the Zambezi region.
Our national motto, “One Zambia, One Nation,” was never meant to conceal uncomfortable truths but meant to inspire us to confront them honestly so that no Zambian, whether from Southern, Western, North-Western, Northern, Eastern, Luapula or any other province, ever again feels like a second-class citizen in the only country we all call home.
