By Manga Chiti
There is a line every serious academic understands, but some eventually choose to cross: the line between critical inquiry and reckless speculation.
In recent weeks, Sishuwa Sishuwa—a historian trained at one of the world’s most prestigious universities—Oxford has crossed that line so decisively that it raises uncomfortable questions about credibility, responsibility, and motive. 
Sishuwa, who has styled himself as a fearless critic of President Hakainde Hichilema, has taken to spreading alarmist claims suggesting that the President is seriously unwell and has allegedly been flown out of the country for medical attention.
These assertions were circulated without verification, without official confirmation, and without the most basic academic discipline: evidence. Yet at the very same time these rumours were being amplified online, President Hichilema was publicly seen in Choma, visiting his farm, interacting with people, and appearing visibly healthy—facts attested to by photographic evidence and numerous witnesses.
This is not a minor lapse. It is not a harmless error. It is the very definition of kachepa politics—rumour elevated to analysis, conjecture dressed up as scholarship.
One must ask: What sort of academician abandons verification so casually? What happens to peer review, triangulation of sources, and intellectual restraint when political hostility becomes the primary driver of commentary?
An Oxford-trained scholar is expected to interrogate facts, not manufacture suspense. To question power is legitimate; to mislead the public is not.
Zambians are not naïve. They understand that leaders are human beings who can fall ill. They also understand that transparency in governance matters. But raising legitimate questions is very different from spreading insinuations designed to provoke anxiety and distrust.
The responsible course for any serious commentator would have been to seek confirmation, consult official channels, or exercise restraint until facts were established. Instead, the country was treated to dramatic insinuations masquerading as insider knowledge.
This pattern fits uncomfortably well with Sishuwa’s broader trajectory. His self-declared withdrawal from public political commentary was framed as a principled stand, almost a tragic sacrifice. In truth, it looked more like an admission that the authority he claimed for himself was never universally recognised.
Conviction does not retreat when challenged. Scholars who believe in their ideas refine them, defend them, and submit them to scrutiny. They do not walk away because public opinion refuses to bow.
For years, Sishuwa wrote as though he were not merely analysing Zambia, but speaking for it. His tone was rarely exploratory; it was declarative. His conclusions were presented not as contributions to debate but as final verdicts. Dissent was often treated as ignorance. That posture may generate applause in a narrow echo chamber, but it collapses under the weight of a plural society that refuses intellectual monopolies.
The irony is striking. While Sishuwa positioned himself as a relentless critic of governance, he overlooked a fundamental reality: governance is not an essay. It is not a seminar. It does not end with a sharp paragraph and a clever citation.
Governing Zambia involves managing debt, energy shortages, institutions, and livelihoods—real problems with real consequences.
President Hichilema can not simply “quit” when circumstances become difficult. He carries a mandate that does not permit theatrical exits.
Only arm-chair critics enjoy the luxury of withdrawal. The most damaging aspect of Sishuwa’s recent conduct is not his opposition to the UPND or President Hichilema. Democracy requires critics. It is the erosion of trust in his own intellectual seriousness.
When an academic substitutes rumour for research, he undermines not just himself but the students and readers who look to him for disciplined thinking.
Young scholars learn by example. What lesson is being taught when speculation is rewarded with attention?In the end, Zambia has not lost a national conscience. It has lost a commentator who mistook volume for influence and certainty for authority. The country continues—arguing, disagreeing, correcting itself—without needing a self-appointed “Voice of Zambia” to narrate every step.
Sishuwa Sishuwa’s story should serve as a warning, especially to intellectuals like Professor Cephas Lumina, legal minds like John Sangwa and the like who confuse prominence with indispensability.
Criticism is powerful when grounded in truth. Academia commands respect when it resists the temptation of sensationalism. Once those foundations are abandoned, even the loudest voice becomes just another source of noise.
Zambia deserves better than alarmism dressed up as a scholarship. And scholars owe the public more than rumours amplified from afar.
