Africa-Press – Zambia. By Thandiwe Ketis Ngoma
I write this with a heart weighed down by sorrow and disbelief. A nation that once proudly celebrated peaceful transitions of power now finds itself unable to grant one of its former presidents the most basic of dignities: to be buried in the soil of his homeland.
President Edgar Chagwa Lungu, the sixth President of the Republic of Zambia, a father, a husband, a patriot, will not rest among his people. Not because of war. Not because of exile. But because of pride, political hostility, and a shocking failure of leadership by sitting President Hakainde Hichilema. This is not just a personal tragedy for the Lungu family. It is a national wound, deep, raw, and wholly unnecessary.
A Final Wish Betrayed
In his final days, Edgar Lungu made a simple, solemn request: that President Hakainde Hichilema must not attend his funeral. It was not a gesture of pettiness, but a deeply personal plea — one born out of years of persecution, humiliation, and public degradation.
Since leaving office in 2021, Lungu endured an unrelenting campaign of political isolation. His family’s assets were seized. His loyal supporters, both in the Patriotic Front and beyond, were harassed, arrested, and silenced. His personal freedoms were stripped. His every step monitored. His every breath politicized. Even his attempts to jog or attend church were branded unlawful.
To allow the man who presided over that sustained campaign to then stand over his coffin was, to Lungu, the final insult. His last wish was his line in the sand. His final assertion of dignity in a climate that had shown him none. But that wish was denied.
A Family Backed Into a Corner
Instead of honouring this request with humility and restraint, the Hichilema administration imposed itself upon the mourning process. They insisted on a state funeral on their terms. They disregarded the family’s appeals. They brushed aside the legacy and wishes of a man who once occupied the very seat of power now held by President Hichilema. They are peeling my family like an onion, he publicly complained but those who were responsible celebrated.
And so, following his death the family — wounded, sidelined, and cornered — made the heartbreaking decision to bury their loved one in South Africa, where he died while seeking medical attention. Not because Zambia lacked the land on which to bury its former leaders, but because its president lacked the will to set politics aside.
This was not rebellion. It was an act of protection. A desperate attempt to shield Lungu’s final moments from further degradation. That Zambia, our Zambia, could not offer him a final resting place free from political interference is an enduring shame.
A Nation Denied Its Goodbye
The greatest tragedy is not only that Edgar Lungu will be laid to rest in foreign soil. It is that millions of Zambians — those who cheered him, challenged him, respected him — will be denied the chance to say goodbye.
From the streets of Lusaka to the markets of Mongu, from the copper towns of the north to the plains of the east, Zambians were ready to gather in solidarity. Not just to mourn a man, but to mourn the moment, the era, and the complexities of his legacy.
But that right has been taken from them. Hijacked by a political climate more concerned with optics than with honour. What should have been a moment of unity has become one of deepening division.
When Pride Overrules Patriotism
Funerals are not political stages. They are sacred moments of humility, reflection, and grace. They are, by their very nature, larger than politics. And yet, the UPND administration chose to dominate what should have been solemn and sacred.
President Hichilema had a rare opportunity to rise above personal history. To say, “For the sake of the nation, I will step aside, as requested by the deceased and his grieving family.” That act alone could have united Zambia and demonstrated true leadership.
Instead, he chose control over compassion, power over peace, pride over patriotism. What happened is not just the denial of a request. It is the desecration of a principle — the idea that even those we disagree with deserve dignity in death.
As prominent historian Dr Sishuwa Sishuwa repeatedly asked, “What exactly was in Lungu’s funeral for Hichilema that he would force himself onto a funeral programme of his predecessor where he has been explicitly told by the deceased’s grieving family that his participation is not welcome? What exactly is preventing him from stepping aside if he has no interest whatsoever in this issue?” One may add, if Hichilema cannot step aside for a funeral, what are the chances that he will easily step aside if he lost the 2026 election?
A Dangerous Precedent for Our Democracy
Today it is Edgar Lungu. Tomorrow it could be someone else, perhaps even a current ally of the ruling party. If we normalize the disregard of final wishes, the politicization of grief, and the manipulation of mourning, then we have lost more than a leader. We have lost our moral compass.
We must ask ourselves: Are we only loyal to democracy when it favours us? Are we only respectful of leaders when they share our ideology?
Zambia has long stood as a symbol of peace, democracy, and political civility in Africa. This moment chips away at that legacy. It sets a precedent that every Zambian, regardless of their politics, should find deeply disturbing.
Conclusion: A National Shame, A Lost Opportunity
President Edgar Lungu was not perfect. No leader is. But he was one of us. He loved this country, served it in both calm and crisis, and most importantly, peacefully handed over power in 2021 when others in his position might have clung to it.
He deserved to be buried here, on Zambian soil, with honour and in peace. Instead, his body will rest in a foreign land because of one man: Hichilema. Protected not from enemies abroad, but from bitterness at home.
This is not just the loss of a leader. It is the loss of something sacred in our national soul.
History will judge this moment not with the bias of politics, but with the clarity of time. And when that day comes, we must be prepared to answer the difficult questions: Why did we let this happen? Why did we allow pride to triumph over grace? Why did we turn a farewell into a fight?
In dishonouring Edgar Lungu, we have not just dishonoured a former president. We have dishonoured ourselves. And Zambia, the nation he served, will carry that burden long after the mourning ends.
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