From opposition strongman Edgar Lungu to President Hakainde Hichilema, Zambia’s political story risks becoming a grim reminder of Lucky Dube’s warning that when one monster disappears, another can emerge in its place.
There is a cruel irony unfolding in Zambia.
The man who once stood on the opposition benches denouncing the abuse of state power is now presiding over a political system accused of using some of the very instruments that once threatened his own political survival.
President Hakainde Hichilema spent years fighting Edgar Lungu’s government from the opposition. He was detained, repeatedly questioned by police and, most dramatically, arrested on treason charges in 2017. The case was eventually suspended after Commonwealth-mediated negotiations, and Hichilema was released.
Years later, Hichilema is no longer the hunted opposition leader.
He is the man at State House.
And now Brian Mundubile, the opposition leader who challenged Hichilema in Zambia’s August 13 presidential election, has been formally charged with treason, according to his lawyer. His running mate, Makebi Zulu, is also facing the charge. Seventeen others have reportedly been charged as well.
That is where Zambia’s democratic story becomes deeply uncomfortable.
Mundubile received about 38% of the vote against Hichilema’s roughly 60%, according to official results. But he rejected the outcome and intended to challenge the election in court. Before that challenge could be mounted, Zambia’s judiciary was closed on the final day for filing an electoral petition, with authorities citing security concerns.
The courts closing at precisely the moment an opposition candidate sought judicial recourse is not an ordinary footnote.
It is the kind of development that demands scrutiny.
And it is precisely the sort of thing that opposition Hichilema once had every reason to fear.
From victim of the system to custodian of it
Hichilema’s political rise was built partly on his resistance to what he portrayed as an increasingly intolerant political establishment.
Under Lungu, his supporters complained of police harassment, restrictions on opposition activities and an uneven political playing field. Hichilema himself became a symbol of opposition resistance after his 2017 treason arrest.
His eventual election victory in 2021 therefore carried a powerful promise: that Zambia could turn the page.
That promise mattered beyond Zambia.
For decades, the country had cultivated a reputation for peaceful electoral transfers of power. Hichilema’s victory over Lungu was celebrated as another demonstration that political power in Africa could change hands through the ballot box rather than through coups or violence.
But political history has a nasty habit of repeating itself.
The opposition leader who once demanded institutions strong enough to restrain the government is now leading a government whose handling of its opponents is attracting international scrutiny.
Human rights organisations have raised concerns about arrests and the shrinking political space. The United Nations has expressed concern over the treatment of opposition figures, while Human Rights Watch described the closure of the courts during the election-petition window as a blow to law, transparency and due process.
Hichilema’s government denies wrongdoing and has maintained that those facing investigation should be subjected to due process.
That distinction matters.
Mundubile has not been convicted of treason. The authorities have not publicly disclosed all the details underpinning the accusation, and Mundubile has denied allegations that his political camp was planning an armed insurgency.
But democracy is not judged only by whether a government eventually secures convictions.
It is also judged by how it treats its opponents before they ever reach a courtroom.
The African political tragedy
This is where Zambia’s story becomes larger than Hichilema, Lungu or Mundubile.
Across Africa, opposition leaders frequently campaign against the authoritarian tendencies of incumbents, promising that once they occupy the presidential palace, the rules will change.
Then they win.
And sometimes, slowly, the language changes.
The police that were once accused of persecuting them become “protectors of national security.”
The restrictions they once condemned become “measures necessary to preserve stability.”
The opposition they once defended becomes a “threat to national security.”
The institutions they demanded should be independent suddenly become institutions whose decisions they are expected to trust.
And the people who once shouted that power must be restrained begin explaining why their own power requires extraordinary protection.
That is the political tragedy captured in Lucky Dube’s haunting metaphor: “One monster dies, another one comes alive.”
The danger is not that every new African president is secretly the same as the predecessor he defeated.
The danger is that power itself can reproduce the behaviour that people voted to destroy.
Hichilema faces a test bigger than Mundubile
Hichilema now has an opportunity to prove that his presidency is different.
He can allow the courts to operate without political interference.
He can insist that opposition politicians receive due process.
He can permit independent scrutiny of the election dispute.
He can ensure that treason charges are tested transparently in court rather than becoming instruments of political intimidation.
And he can demonstrate that the Zambia he once demanded from the opposition benches is the Zambia he intends to govern from State House.
That is the real test.
Because defeating an authoritarian system is one achievement.
Refusing to inherit its habits is another.
Hichilema came to power promising change.
Now, as he prepares for another term, Zambia is asking a much harder question:
Did the monster disappear—or did the monster simply change clothes?
For Hichilema, the answer will not be determined by his speeches.
It will be determined by what happens to Brian Mundubile, Makebi Zulu and every other opposition figure who dares to challenge the government.
And that is why Zambia’s current political crisis deserves attention far beyond Lusaka.
Because Africa does not need presidents who merely replace yesterday’s monster.
It needs leaders capable of destroying the machinery that creates monsters in the first place.
