“Democracy in the Crosshairs: Zambia’s Dark August”
“Democracy in the Crosshairs: Zambia’s Dark August”
From: The Daily Nation column
21th Aug 26 AM
The Electoral Commission of Zambia (ECZ) has emerged from the August 13 polls not as the custodian of democracy but as its undertaker according to a broader section of international analysts.
What should have been a routine exercise in ballot counting became a theatre of anomalies—armed police patrolling polling stations, military deployments in townships, and the unprecedented halting of the nationwide vote count for six long hours. In that silence, democracy itself seemed to gasp for air.
International observers—six missions strong, from the EU, AU, SADC, COMESA, the Great Lakes Region, and the United Nations—voiced consternation.
They condemned the suspension of counting, warning that delays breed suspicion and erode trust.
Brian Mundubile, the youthful challenger, echoed their alarm: “We want the ECZ to make the results official and not delay them because any delay in poll result announcement breeds anxiety.”
His words rang true, for Zambia’s democratic credentials, polished since 1991, were suddenly dulled.
Professor Nic Cheeseman, the Birmingham scholar of African democracy, has called for a fresh poll. He reminds us of Kenya in 2007, where disputed results led to bloodshed, and Malawi in 2019, where a flawed election was annulled and rerun.
“If Zambia is to remain a beacon,” Cheeseman argues, “it must confront the anomalies head on, even if that means returning to the ballot.” His warning is not academic indulgence—it is a mirror held up to a nation at risk of losing its soul.
Yet the ECZ’s failings were only the prelude. The true tragedy unfolded at 212 Kudu Road, near State House, where a joint state security team stormed Mundubile’s residence. Shots rang out. Mundubile himself recounts:
“They shot down an unarmed man in my presence, they do not even have the grace to apologise to his family. They shot him in my bedroom twice in my view, in the view of my wife, and missed me by an inch after seeing what they had done to Kafwaya.” His confidante, Hon. Mutotwe Kafwaya, fell to the floor, mortally wounded.
Mundubile pleaded for him to be taken to hospital. The police stayed silent. Six days later, Inspector General Graphael Musamba admitted what the world already feared: the state had shot dead Kafwaya. Surprise, surprise.
President Hakainde Hichilema celebrated his victory, but the nation did not. There were no jubilant crowds, no songs of triumph. Instead, Zambia sat in greater silence and sorrow.
The world watched, aghast, as Kafwaya’s wife and children mourned. He will never go back home. He is unavailable this Christmas and ever after. His spirit, however, lives on.
Is this the Zambia we want? Since 1991, Zambia has prided itself on peaceful transitions—from Kaunda’s dignified exit to Chiluba’s unexpected sweep, Mwanawasa’s reformist tenure, Banda’s quiet stewardship, Sata’s populist roar, and Lungu’s contested reign.
But August 2026 has stained that record. The ECZ’s halting of the count, the militarisation of the polls, the storming of an opposition leader’s home—these are not the hallmarks of democracy but of medieval power struggles.
Kings and dukes once fought with swords over thrones; today, ballots are meant to replace blood. Yet here we are, with blood spilled in a bedroom.
Greater Africa offers cautionary tales: Kenya’s 2007 inferno, Tanzania’s creeping authoritarianism, Uganda’s perennial strongman politics.
Europe too has its ghosts—wars of succession, dukes poisoned in castles, crowns won by daggers. History teaches us that when institutions fail, violence fills the void. Zambia must ask itself: is this the road it wishes to walk?
Brian Mundubile mourns his friend in words that pierce the heart: “The joint team killed in cold blood my friend Kafwaya who was unarmed.” His grief is our grief.
His petition, he promises, will be “iron clad.” Yet petitions alone cannot heal a nation. Healing requires truth, accountability, and courage. Silence, as he warns, means cowardice. Will Zambia speak, even under the eminent fear of arrest?
And yet, hope must not die. It is always darkest before dawn. As the Spanish saying goes: “La esperanza es lo último que se pierde”—hope is the last thing to be lost. The Bible reminds us in Psalm 30:5: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.” Zambia must cling to that promise, for democracy is not a gift from rulers but a covenant with the people.
Satire drips from the irony: the ECZ, meant to count votes, instead counted hours of silence; the police, meant to protect citizens, instead protected a lie; the state, meant to uphold democracy, instead upheld a gun. Is this the Zambia we want every five years?
The world watches. Zambia leaks its wounds and drags its feet every day after August 13 because it must move on. But moving on does not mean forgetting.
It means remembering Kafwaya, a father, a husband, a patriot, shot twice in the chest in a bedroom near State House. It means remembering that democracy, like glass, once broken, is hard to mend. It means asking, with courage and clarity: is this the Zambia we want?
“Is this the Zambia we want every five years?”
And that’s Mukwita on point.
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Amb. Anthony Mukwita is a published Author & International Relations Analyst.
Source: The Daily Nation Zambia Mukwita on Point