Zambia’s upcoming election isn’t just another political contest—it’s a surreal, almost tragicomedy of unfinished business and simmering grievances. At the center of it all is the ghost of Edgar Lungu, a man who died over a year ago but whose legacy looms larger than ever. His unburied body has become a symbolic lightning rod, turning a presidential race into a battleground of unresolved feuds, generational divides, and existential questions about what Zambia truly needs. This isn’t just about politics; it’s about the soul of a nation trying to reconcile its past with its uncertain future.
Let’s start with the most bizarre element: the refusal to bury a former president. The Lungu family’s insistence on keeping his remains in limbo while President Hakainde Hichilema’s government refuses to touch the matter has created a surreal political theater. It’s not just a dispute over protocol—it’s a metaphor for the deep fractures in Zambian society. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it’s galvanized the opposition. Brian Mundubile, a relatively unknown lawyer, has turned this into a rallying cry, positioning himself as the candidate who can finally put the past to rest. But is that really what voters want? Or is this just another distraction from the more pressing issues of daily survival?
The cost of living is the real elephant in the room. In Lusaka’s markets, where vendors like Theresa Zulu describe money as 'so hard to come by,' the abstract promises of economic recovery feel hollow. Hichilema’s government boasts about debt restructuring and free education, but for a 27-year-old flour-mill worker earning $157 a month, those numbers mean little. What this really suggests is that economic policy is failing to translate into lived reality. The government’s focus on macroeconomic metrics—like a 6.6% inflation rate—feels detached from the visceral struggles of ordinary Zambians. It’s a classic case of leaders talking about progress while the people are still stuck in the same rut.
Then there’s the question of who is actually leading the opposition. Mundubile’s rise is both impressive and troubling. He’s tapping into the frustration of the youth and women, promising to move them from the margins to the center. But is this a genuine shift, or just a strategic rebranding of old power structures? His 'big brother' rhetoric feels like a calculated appeal, but it’s hard not to wonder if he’s just another politician playing on emotions rather than offering concrete solutions. The Tonse-Pamodzi Alliance’s success hinges on whether they can deliver on their promises—or if they’re just another chapter in Zambia’s long history of unfulfilled political promises.
The constitutional changes aimed at boosting youth and women representation are well-intentioned, but their impact remains to be seen. Expanding the National Assembly with 226 constituency seats and 40 proportional representation slots sounds progressive, but in practice, it might just create more bureaucracy without real power shifts. The fact that only one woman is running for president highlights the gap between policy and reality. It’s a reminder that even the best-intentioned reforms can fail if they don’t address the deeper cultural and institutional barriers to inclusion.
And let’s not forget the elephant in the room: the electoral commission. Civil society groups are rightly skeptical of its independence, given its alleged ties to Hichilema’s party. This raises a deeper question—can Zambia’s democratic institutions truly be trusted when their very composition is seen as politically biased? The risk of a flawed election process is not just about fairness; it’s about the legitimacy of whatever outcome emerges. If the commission is perceived as partisan, it could undermine the entire process, regardless of the results.
What this election ultimately reveals is a country at a crossroads. On one side is the incumbent, who has managed to stabilize the economy but hasn’t addressed the day-to-day struggles of the people. On the other is a fragmented opposition, trying to coalesce around a leader who might be more symbol than substance. And hovering over it all is the unresolved death of a former president, whose legacy continues to haunt the political landscape. Whether Zambia chooses to move forward or remain trapped in the past will depend not just on the candidates, but on whether the people are ready to confront the uncomfortable truths about their own society.
As the campaign heats up, one thing is clear: this election is less about policy and more about identity. It’s about who gets to define Zambia’s future. And in a nation where the past is never truly buried, the answer might not be as simple as a single vote.
