“When you point a finger at someone, three fingers are pointing back at you.”
— African Proverb
By Dr. Peter Nyondo
I begin with the proverb above as a reminder to reflect on our own faults before condemning others. Often, those who shout the loudest about another’s wrongdoing reveal more about their own hidden prejudices than about the accused. 
This is the case in the uproar surrounded Road Transport and Safety Agency (RTSA) Chief Executive Officer, Eng. Amon Mweemba, who was accused of tribal bias and abuse of office, a few weeks ago.
Eng. Mweemba was alleged in a viral audio clip to have declared that only members of a particular tribe would hold senior positions at RTSA.
The recording suggested that he may have positioned personnel to favour individuals from one ethnic group.
In a country with more than 73 tribes, broadly grouped into the Bantu Botatwe (Tonga, Ila, Lenje) Nyanja (Ngoni, Chewa, Tumbuka, Nsenga, Senga and Bemba-speaking peoples of the north, such accusations are unsurprising. They reflect deeper historical divisions that continue to shape Zambia’s political and social discourse.
Rather than dwell on the allegations and counter-allegations, I wish to explore the roots and reality of this recurring ethnic confrontation. Whether or not Eng. Mweemba uttered the alleged words, the outrage directed at him—and by extension – at Tongas—reveals enduring hostility toward certain tribes that have long been branded as “tribalists.”
It is an undeniable fact that tribalism in Zambia manifests most visibly in politics, where ethnic loyalty often dictates voting patterns. This has created regional political strongholds that persist election after election.
For instance, the Bemba-speaking regions of Northern, Muchinga and Luapula provinces have historically supported one dominant party, while the Bantu Botatwe cluster has aligned with another, depending on leadership.
The 2016 presidential election between Edgar Chagwa Lungu of the Patriotic Front (PF) and Hakainde Hichilema of the United Party for National Development (UPND) laid bare this divide—Lungu prevailed in the north and east, while Hichilema dominated the south and west. Voting behaviour, it seemed, was guided less by policy than by perceived ethnic affinity.
This pattern has repeated itself since Zambia’s return to multiparty politics, reinforcing the perception that tribalism plays a decisive role in electoral outcomes.
But these divisions did not begin yesterday. Tribalism’s roots predate colonial rule. Before independence, ethnic groups were organised around clans and chieftaincies bound by custom and territory.
When the British arrived, they exploited these divisions through a “divide and rule” strategy—rewarding certain tribes with administrative privilege while sidelining others. The legacy of that manipulation lingers today, embedded in our social and political deoxyribonucleic acid. (DNA).
Against this background, the current critics of the UPND and its alleged tribal leanings seem selective in their moral outrage. Where were these same voices when previous administrations tolerated open tribal rhetoric?
The truth is uncomfortable: many Zambians still struggle to accept that political power has shifted south of the Zambezi—into regions, some once dismissed as incapable of producing a president.
To jog fading memories, recall Miles Bwalya Sampa’s infamous 2012 remarks when he served as Lusaka Province Minister. Speaking in Parliament, he suggested the UPND should “marry many Bemba women” if they ever hoped to produce a Tonga president. Citing census figures, Sampa claimed Bembas made up 55 percent of Zambia’s population versus 12 percent Tongas.
These offensive and divisive comments, dripping with contempt, were met with laughter and silence. President Lungu never rebuked him, and the media largely turned it into a social media joke. No one called for Sampa’s resignation, as they now demand of Mweemba.
A few years later, Davies Chama, then PF secretary-general, declared that UPND would only rule “maybe 100 years from now,” describing Tongas as “polygamous by nature” and accusing them of hatred toward other tribes.
He even claimed they were capable of “genocide.” Yet again, there were no resignations, no moral outrage—only political immunity for such inflammatory speech.
The incarcerated Chishimba Kambwili made it his pastime to brand Tongas as tribalists, and his remarks too went largely unchecked.
In contrast, when veteran politician Daniel Munkombwe once said, “It’s time for a Tonga to rule,” the reaction was swift and vicious.
Critics labelled him a tribalist, forgetting his long service to UNIP, MMD, and PF governments.
Munkombwe, a seasoned independence activist and freedom fighter, had been instrumental in brokering the Choma Declaration of 1973, which united Kenneth David Kaunda and Harry Mwaanga Nkumbula.
His statement was not exclusionary—it was aspirational. Just as Barack Obama’s election was celebrated as a milestone for Black Americans, Munkombwe’s call was a plea for inclusivity, acknowledging that Tongas too had sacrificed and contributed to Zambia’s independence and nation-building.
Historically, accusations of tribalism have disproportionately targeted Tongas, Lozis, and Northwestern tribes, while similar behaviour from dominant groups is excused or ignored.
Even the late Michael Sata, in opposition, once mocked Emmanuel Kasonde for joining the National Party, which was perceived as a “Lozi party,” dubbing him Emmanuel Liswaniso.
The remark, though blatantly tribal, was brushed aside as humour.
Ironically, Sata of Bisa origin later clashed with the Paramount Chief Chitimukulu, Henry Kanyanta Sosala, showing that tribal bias spares no one when power is at stake.
This double standard exposes a deeper problem: certain groups in Zambia see themselves as “born to rule.” They equate their historical involvement in the cha-cha-cha movement with a perpetual right to govern.
Such attitudes foster resentment and resistance to leadership from “lesser tribes.”
It is within this broader context that we should interpret the current outcry over other tribes’ alleged remarks. The outrage says less about one man’s words and more about Zambia’s unresolved discomfort with shifting power dynamics—the fear that leadership now resides where it was once least expected.
The author is a political analyst and retired political science lecturer.
