By Katoka Mweenda
“Nshili chilema,” (I am not clippled), candidate Hichilema once joked in Northern Province.
In Bemba, words do not begin with the letter “H,” so his name is often pronounced “Ichilema,” meaning “handicapped person.” Opponents exploited this wordplay: “Akainde ichilema, teti abe president”—“Akainde is clippled; he cannot be president.” So he had to explain himself.
Could it be that the narrative was warning us about what was to come?
Tonga and Bemba names rarely carry direct meanings. Thus, I employ the term “Hichilemazation,” derived from Bemba wordplay, to describe the gradual crippling of democratic rights, freedoms, and institutions under the Hichilema regime. The shrinking democratic space, together with the erosion of freedoms of expression and assembly that we once took pride in, has effectively paralyzed our democracy.
Yet the heart of democracy is not elections alone, but participation, transparency, and trust in institutions. Democracies do not die overnight; they decline slowly through the normalization of fear, silence, and excessive securitazation. In just five years, the regime has instilled fear across society—from street children to politicians to religious leaders. Today, citizens feel policed on the streets, in their homes and neighborhoods, and even on social media, all in the name of serving one man: Hichilema. New laws are passed to protect the interests of the President.
As we head toward the polls, such laws enhance the Hichilemazation of democracy and raise serious concerns about electoral credibility. Yet democracy does not survive because leaders call themselves democratic, on the contrary, because institutions remain open to public scrutiny.
Unfortunately, Hichilemazation seeks to monopolize electoral oversight through securitization—a process in which democratic activities are militarized at the expense of civic participation.
It is time to realize that this election is not about Hichilema. Neither is it about economic hardship and unemployment. It is about the moral and constitutional future of our nation. It is about what kind of country we want to become, and leave for future generations.
My generation witnessed Zambia’s political transitions from the Kaunda era to the Chiluba reforms, through successive administrations, and now into the Hichilema presidency. Each transition carried its own flaws and excesses, but there remained a shared national conviction that Zambia was building a unique democratic identity in Africa. Zambia was often celebrated across the continent for allowing citizens to freely criticize presidents and politicians. Since Chiluba, presidents were treated as public servants—not untouchable gods.
What is alarming today, however, is how quickly Hichilemazation has erased this democratic identity—something that would once have provoked national outrage.
Freedom is never guaranteed. It demands courage, responsibility, and daily vigilance. Yet, as a nation, we have exchanged our civil liberties for fear and insecurity. The rush to pass restrictive laws suggests an attempt to shield power from accountability. No wonder the VIce President told Costa about the beauty of the expanded Cyber Law–they promised to repeal it until they tested it on their opponents. It was wrong under PF, but great under UPND! This is shameful.
Chants of “HH until 2091” do not just expose the dangerous culture of political worship, but also reveal how democratic backsliding begins–by the gradual erosion of accountability. Is democracy somehow less democratic simply because HH is president?
We mocked Zimbabweans for treating Robert Mugabe and Munangagwa as politically untouchables, yet today, we are uncomfortable criticizing our own president. Ironically, Hichilema himself built much of his political career through aggressive criticism of former leaders. He openly insulted Mwanawasa, Banda, Sata, and Lungu. Social media became his powerful tool of resistance during those years, mobilizing dissent and mocking state authority.
Today, however, what was defended as democratic freedoms are treated as criminal offences. Yet genuine leadership is measured by the leader’s ability to tolerate criticism. On this front, Hichilema has failed terribly.
What Zambia faces is larger than politics. It is a struggle between citizenship and fear disguised as respect. A securitized democracy does not produce dignified leadership; it breeds resentment, cynicism, and distrust. Leaders earn legitimacy through humility, accountability, and openness—not through laws that silence dissent.
Zambians gave Hichilema enormous democratic goodwill when they elected him in 2021. Sadly, many feel that soon after entering Plot One, he became a tyrant. Should freedoms of expression and assembly disappear simply because Hichilema is president?
It is unsurprising that the outrage once directed at President Lungu is now redirected toward Hichilema—a reminder that political capital, once exhausted, carries consequences in democratic societies. The difference is, Lungu was courageous enough to face the wrath of the people–Hichilema is a coward.
Nonetheless, the symbolism of “Dununa Reverse” has returned—this time as a national challenge. On August 13, will Zambia continue “forward” with Hichilemazation, or “dununa reverse” and reclaim its democratic traditions?
