By EditorZambia
The prolonged standoff over the burial of former president Edgar Chagwa Lungu has ceased to be merely a private family dispute or a legal contest over jurisdiction.
It has morphed into a troubling symbol of non-compliance with state authority and the cynical politicisation of death by a family and political party struggling to remain relevant. 
With the South African Supreme Court of Appeal granting the Lungu family leave to appeal against an order directing the repatriation of the former president’s remains to Zambia, the burial remains in limbo more than six months after his death.
Legally, the ruling is procedural, not substantive. Politically, however, it has been seized upon by the Patriotic Front (PF) and its allies as a propaganda victory, a temporary shield behind which they continue to defy the Zambian government and inflame public emotions.
At the heart of this dispute is a simple but uncomfortable truth: Zambia is not dealing with the burial of an ordinary citizen.
Edgar Lungu was a former Head of State, a national figure whose office transcended family, party, and personal interests.
Across the world, former presidents are accorded state funerals not as a favour but as a constitutional and symbolic obligation of the state. To resist this reality is not an act of dignity; it is an act of defiance.
The government’s position has been clear and consistent. Mr Lungu should be buried in Zambia, at Embassy Park, with full state honours, in keeping with national tradition and precedent. This is not about political point-scoring but about preserving the dignity of the presidency as an institution. Yet the family, backed loudly by PF leaders, has chosen confrontation over consensus, courts over dialogue, and delay over closure.
What is particularly disturbing is how the PF has turned this burial into a political theatre. Senior party figures issue statements, hold press briefings, and cast themselves as defenders of “family rights” while subtly framing the government as heartless and authoritarian.
In reality, the PF’s sudden enthusiasm for legal principles and family autonomy rings hollow, coming from a party whose time in government was marked by disregard for institutions, selective application of the law and routine politicisation of national symbols.
In short, the burial has become a trump card — a calculated tool to resurrect an unpopular image of both the party and its leadership. Having failed to reorganise, renew, or meaningfully reconnect with the electorate after their electoral defeat, PF leaders have found in death what they could not find in life: sympathy, attention, and a rallying point. The body of a former president has effectively been turned into a bargaining chip.
This is not only morally questionable; it is culturally alien. In African tradition, burial is about unity, reconciliation, and finality. It is meant to heal, not divide. By prolonging this impasse, the Lungu family and PF leaders are denying the nation closure and undermining the very dignity they claim to defend.
The argument that this is purely a private family matter collapses under the weight of public reality. One cannot enjoy the privileges of the presidency in life and then insist on total privacy in death.
The courts must, of course, be respected. The right to appeal is lawful, and the judiciary must be allowed to run its course. But legality should not be confused with moral responsibility. Every additional day that Mr Lungu’s remains lie in a South African mortuary is a day of collective national embarrassment.
It sends a message that Zambia cannot manage its own symbols, that partisan grudges can override state authority, and that even death is not spared from political gamesmanship.
Equally troubling is the selective outrage displayed by opposition figures. When the government insists on a state burial, it is accused of insensitivity. When the family refuses compromise, it is portrayed as courageous. This double standard reveals the true motive: not justice, not dignity, but political survival.
Whatever the final verdict of the South African courts, one thing is already clear. This saga is not about where Edgar Lungu wished to be buried. It is about how his legacy is being exploited by those who benefited from his presidency and now fear political extinction.
However, the cruel truth is that the PF’s irreparably damaged image problem cannot be solved by prolonging a funeral. Worse still, no amount of legal delay will erase memories of economic decline, political violence, and institutional decay associated with their rule.
Zambia deserves better. The presidency deserves respect beyond partisan lines.
Edgar Lungu, whatever one’s view of his leadership, deserves a dignified burial that unites rather than divides. Turning his final rest into a political battleground is not an act of honour — it is a betrayal of both the man and the nation.
History will be unkind to those who chose defiance over dignity and politics over peace.
