The State Should Step Aside: When Power Must Respect Grief

The State Should Step Aside: When Power Must Respect Grief

It is now clear that Zambia is staring into a moment it was not prepared for a moment that tests not just law, but dignity; not just protocol, but compassion. The failure to repatriate the remains of former President Edgar Chagwa Lungu has turned mourning into a standoff. And while that moment is tragic in itself, the lesson is loud and urgent: the State must now step aside.

Constitutional lawyer State Counsel John Sangwa said it plainly in an interview aired last night: “There is no law in Zambia that governs state funerals.” What we have instead is tradition — courtesy  and courtesy, by its very nature, can be rejected.

Let that sink in. A state funeral is not a state right. It is not a constitutional command. It is an offer and like all offers, it can be declined by the very people it is meant to serve.

Sangwa reminded the nation of something we too often forget in moments like these: families are not secondary to the State. In death, as in life, families are the legal custodians of a person’s will, memory, and remains. The widow, the children, and the inner circle are the people who hold the final word. Not the Cabinet. Not the presidency.

We’ve been here before. Sangwa cited the case of President Levy Mwanawasa, whose final wish was to be buried on his farm — a wish the State overrode. That was wrong then. It is still wrong now. Zambia has a Wills and Administration of Estates Act, and no person, not even a sitting president, has the authority to overrule it.

This is not about disrespecting the presidency. It is about respecting death. The law makes no exception for power when it comes to grief. No provision turns a president into State property upon death. In the eyes of the law, he is a father, a husband, a citizen first.

While Zambia fumbles through circulars and customs, other nations have codified dignity. Tanzania’s National Leaders’ Funerals Act of 2006 is a perfect example. It provides clarity. It defines roles. It ensures that when a leader dies, no one has to improvise constitutional authority from emotions.

Zambia, by contrast, relies on assumptions, and this crisis has laid bare the danger of that vacuum. What we now see unfolding is not a failure of protocol. It is a failure of humility.

To be clear, no one is suggesting President Hakainde Hichilema has no right to mourn. He does. But the family of Edgar Lungu has expressed a very specific, very personal wish that the President not attend the funeral.

Whether one agrees with that or not is irrelevant. It was Lungu’s wish, conveyed through his widow and children. And unless we are willing to declare that the will of a dead man holds no weight, we must honour it. That is not politics. That is respect.

Yes, it may feel awkward for a sitting President to be the only one excluded from a state funeral. Yes, it might sting. But true leadership isn’t about ego. It’s about rising above it.

Sangwa put it best: “Do not force your presence where it is not welcome. Support from a distance. That’s leadership.”

In his address late last night, President Hichilema declared the national mourning period officially over. In doing so, he effectively acknowledged that the state funeral, as a national process, is done. That was the correct step; now let it not be undone.

Let the family bury their father, their husband, their loved one  on their terms, with dignity and privacy. The political implications are not worth a single moment of prolonged pain for a grieving widow. There is no constitutional victory in a battle over a coffin.

If the government attempts to force this issue again, it will not only alienate the family further — it will weaken its own moral standing.

If Lungu is buried in South Africa, so be it. No law was broken. No shame will befall the nation. But if he is buried against his wishes, or with his family’s dignity compromised, then history will not forget nor will it forgive.

Let us not pretend this is about Zambia’s image. The real image of a country is in how it treats the dead, especially those it once called its leader.

To the State: You’ve already stepped aside. Now, take the higher road. Stay aside. Support silently. Let grief lead. Let compassion be your last act in this chapter.

And to all of us: remember, the true measure of national maturity isn’t in power held, but in power gracefully released.

Written by John Hamwene | Informed by public statements, legal analysis by State Counsel John Sangwa, and national events as of June 20, 2025