Who’s Really in Charge of Zambia?: What Lungu’s Funeral Reveal About Hichilema’s Leadership

By Kapya Kaoma

Who’s Really in Charge of Zambia? It’s a simple question—but in this moment of national grief, the answer feels anything but simple.

The passing of former President Edgar Lungu has rocked the foundations of Zambian politics. Beyond revitalizing the Patriotic Front (PF), it has exposed something far more troubling–the staggering fragility of President Hakainde Hichilema’s leadership. For all the talk of a “New Dawn,” what we are witnessing is a presidency adrift—disconnected from the pulse of the people, paralyzed in the face of crisis, and steeped in a self-assurance that no longer carries power.

For nearly four years, President Hichilema has governed with an executive arrogance that insulated him from political reality. Didn’t he know it all? Surrounded by loyalists, he convinced himself that he alone set the national mood—that the Bally of 2021 still commanded affection and authority. But the nation’s reaction to President Lungu’s death shattered that illusion.

He expected a river of PF tears—what he got was an ocean of national grief. The spontaneous gatherings, the overwhelming nostalgia, the heartfelt mourning—these weren’t partisan theatrics. They were real. Indeed, Hichilema was utterly unprepared for them.

More troubling still is the leadership vacuum this death has revealed. Instead of stepping in with a unifying presence, the President and his allies have turned to clergy and civil society to do what he should have done himself–bring political rivals to the table to mourn Lungu. That task should never have fallen on the bishops. Bridge-building is not the clergy’s calling—it is the sacred duty of a President who truly leads.

Yet here we are. The President, consumed by pride, is sidelined by his own refusal to listen. He clings to sycophants while ignoring the public mood, isolating himself from the very people he claims to serve. There is no vision. No plan. No emotional resonance with a grieving nation.

True leadership means more than dismissing critics. It means reading the room, sensing the soul of the country, and adjusting course when the winds change. Had Hichilema paid attention to the mounting admiration for Lungu, he might have used this moment for reconciliation, for healing, for unity. Instead, he chose denial—believing the chants were staged, the crowds manufactured, and his own popularity invincible. It was a costly delusion.

Today, his government is scrambling. Ministers once brimming with confidence are now pleading for unity. Belvedere Lodge, declared as the official mourning place is empty–a ghostly testament to a presidency that has lost its way. “Come mourn your beloved President… the one you loved so much,” they now plead—words of desperation, not authority. Yet nobody heeds those words to save UPND cadres–making fools of themselves.

This is more than a political crisis; it’s a national reckoning. If Zambia is to face the coming campaign season with dignity and peace, it must begin with leadership rooted not in narcissistic ego, but in empathy.

That said, I am an optimist. I believe this crisis could yet be a turning point. If President Hichilema can summon the humility to admit mistakes, to re-engage with all Zambians—not just his loyal base—he can begin the long walk back to trust. But it starts with reflection and understanding that no President governs alone. Zambia is not the private property of Community House. It belongs to the people—and the opposition is part of those people.

Mr. President, look in the mirror. Don’t just listen to your cadres. Don’t rule with pride—lead with humility. Become the President for all Zambians. Because in the end, leadership is not about being obeyed—it’s about being trusted, loved, and believed.

Right now, you’ve lost all three. It’s up to you to win them back.