The Dalitso Lungu case: Why was former president Lungu’s immunity not lifted?
By Sishuwa Sishuwa
On 9 February 2026, the Lusaka High Court ordered the forfeiture of properties worth K31 million belonging to former president Edgar Lungu’s son, Dalitso. According to court records, Dalitso, who earned a total income of K137, 803 before Lungu became president in 2015, explained that the wealth was given to him by his father. The order was issued following an application by the Director of Public Prosecutions who had sought the forfeiture of about 71 vehicles and 21 properties, which included a filling station, to the state.
There are several lessons that emerge from this case. I will highlight only four.
The first is the need for governments to fight corruption in real time. A key reason why we are only now uncovering the corruption of the Edgar Lungu era is that successive governments tend to focus on fighting corruption of the past while ignoring or paying lip service to the rampant corruption that is happening under their own watch. As a result of this practice, Zambians will only get to know the grand corruption that may be taking place under President Hakainde Hichilema only after the UPND is out of office. There is need to identify and address the factors, both structural and otherwise, that prevent anti-corruption bodies from fighting corruption in real time.
In addition to creating supportive or empowering legislation and appointing independent professionals with a clear track record of fighting corruption to the board and management positions of the Anti-Corruption Commission, a successful anti-corruption campaign requires having a president who shows a clear or demonstrable will to fight past and especially present corruption. Such political will can be expressed in several ways: by strengthening anti‑corruption laws, by acting decisively against wrongdoing among officials and associates, including those closest to power, and by leading through personal example.
Lungu fell short on all three fronts, and Hichilema has, regrettably, mirrored his predecessor with equal distinction. A brief review of his four and a half years in office reveals a striking failure across each dimension. He has introduced no meaningful reforms to the Anti‑Corruption Act, nor has he sought to align it with Article 216 of the Constitution, which sets out the guiding principles for commissions. Hichilema has likewise shown an incriminating reluctance to dismiss ministers and other senior government officials accused of involvement in corruption. Few Zambians have forgotten how the president went out of his way to protect high-level officials accused of corruption in the Ministry of Health, to shield his associates who were implicated in the infamous airport gold scandal, or how he has overly protected Solicitor General Marshal Muchende from possible prosecution for alleged corruption.
As the current US Ambassador to Zambia, Michael Gonzales, argued in November 2023, “There must be consequences for individuals who abuse their public positions for personal gain. They must lose their jobs, their assets, and/or their freedom. The costs of corruption must exceed the financial gain if we are going to stem corrupt practices.” Gonzales—whose prior diplomatic postings show a traceable record of calling governments to account for violating their own laws or advancing personal interests at the expense of their citizens—continued:
“Investigating and arresting former officials is appropriate and expected when there is convincing evidence. And over the past decade during which corruption was effectively industrialized by senior officials in government, there is a deep, deep pool of former officials to be held accountable. Because, let’s be honest, when you go into public office having a modest house in a compound, and you leave office with $400,000 in cash laying around the house that you need to pass it to your niece for safe keeping, it calls into question where that money came from, because it wasn’t just your government salary! And if it came from corrupt practices or abuse of office, there must be accountability.” In addition to drawing attention to the Lungu-era corruption and the importance of holding former officials to account, Gonzales also emphasised the need for Hichilema to decisively deal with the corruption that is happening under his administration:
“But it’s important there be comparable attention and investigations to ensure accountable government among current administration officials and political leaders as well. We are still waiting to see convictions of current administration officials for corruption. When the PS repeatedly cancels and re-issues the high-value procurement, selecting a limited cohort of allowed bidders, it’s a problem. When a minister’s son or nephew routinely pressures companies in his father’s or uncle’s sector to give them money to secure licenses or concessions, it’s a problem. Let us demonstrate that indeed there are no sacred cows and that no one is above the law. But we all know that despite the lovely words, the Zambian people are only going to believe it when accountability is held, when corrupt officials lose their jobs, their assets, and their freedom.”
The second lesson is that any politically exposed person whose wealth exceeds their known means should be required to account for it. That principle is simply fair. By the same measure, if credible evidence were to emerge tomorrow suggesting that members of President Hichilema’s family possessed assets far beyond their legitimate and verifiable income, it would be reasonable to expect them to explain the source of that wealth. Those family members might include Maurice Hichilema, the President’s brother and current Director of Human Resources at Cabinet Office; Constance Hichilema, his sister and now Senior Assistant Commissioner of Police responsible for the Paramilitary Unit; and Habwela Hichilema, his son, who was controversially appointed to a position in the Zambia National Service, where we are told he serves without pay.
Other family members who may be questioned in future are Albert Halwampa, the president’s brother in law who is ZDA Director General; Kennedy Shepande, the president’s brother in law who is Zambia’s High Commissioner to Canada; Machacha Shepande, the president’s brother in law who is General Secretary of the Football Association of Zambia; Marshal Muchende, the president’s nephew who is Solicitor General; and several others too numerous to mention who populate public positions. Requesting that these or other individuals associated with the president clarify the sources of any wealth beyond their established income does not imply guilt. It ensures they are afforded the chance to be heard and to demonstrate that their assets were obtained lawfully.
The third lesson is the importance of declaring and publishing assets when one is a public officer. If Lungu had published the assets and liabilities that he declared to the Electoral Commission of Zambia in 2021, it may have been easy for the public to believe the possibility that the money and other forms of wealth he is said to have donated to his family members may have been legitimately acquired. After all, there is nothing wrong with parents giving gifts to their children or family members. But when a parent is a public officer, even his or her gifts or businesses are subject to public scrutiny.
There are significant lessons on this score for President Hichilema, who boasts of extensive business interests in several sectors of Zambia’s economy but has to date refused to publicly declare his assets and liabilities as a show of his commitment to transparency and accountability. This makes it difficult to work out to what extent his administration’s policies are designed to benefit companies in which he has an interest or retains beneficial ownership. If Hichilema has nothing to hide or if the origins of his wealth is not open to question, then he should have no difficulties with publishing his assets or explaining how he obtained it.
Supporters often insist that Hichilema was wealthy long before assuming office, but without an independent, verifiable declaration, the public is left with only his own self‑presentation—shaped by a man known for projecting an image that does not always align with reality—and a series of unverified claims about his supposed wealth. Hichilema and his supporters also often argue that there is no law that requires him to publish his assets and liabilities, but as Ambassador Gonzales again correctly noted recently, “Leadership is not about only doing the bare minimum that is absolutely required by law, but going beyond and doing what is right and needed to lead and shape reforms.”
If President Hichilema genuinely possesses the political will to confront corruption, then, after four and a half years in office, what has prevented his administration from enacting legislation that would require annual asset declaration and publication for himself and other senior officials? As constitutional law professor Cephas Lumina wrote recently, “In a country where corruption remains a chronic threat to development and public trust, nothing signals seriousness more powerfully than the President publicly declaring his or her assets, liabilities, and business interests.”
Moreover, the Constitution of Zambia, as amended in January 2016, states in Article 263 that “A person holding a public office shall, before assuming office or leaving office, make a declaration of their assets and liabilities, as prescribed.” The use of the phrase “as prescribed” means that Parliament is required to enact a law to operationalise this provision. Over a decade after the country amended its Constitution to include an explicit requirement for public officials to declare their assets and liabilities, no law has been passed to make this happen. In opposition, Hichilema blamed Lungu for this legal and moral abdication that represents a serious weakness in the fight against corruption. What excuse does Hichilema have now that he is president?
Some people have tried to cast doubt on whether the President is among those considered as a person holding a ‘public office’, but Article 266 of the Constitution erases any ambiguity. It defines a ‘public office’ as: ‘…an office whose emoluments and expenses are a charge on the Consolidated Fund or other prescribed public fund and includes a State office…’ It then defines ‘State office’ to include: ‘..the office of President, Vice-President, Speaker, Deputy Speaker, Member of Parliament, Minister and Provincial Minister.’ This removes any confusion: the President holds a public office and is therefore bound by Article 263.
Prof Lumina also explained why asset declarations matter: “Asset declarations serve multiple public interest goals. First, they deter corruption by exposing illicit enrichment. By comparing pre- and post-office declarations, authorities and the public can assess whether a public officer has improperly gained wealth while in office. Second, declarations expose potential conflicts — such as interests in companies seeking government contracts — that could compromise the decision-making process. Third, they enhance public trust in the integrity of public officials. In societies where corruption is rampant, public trust in institutions is eroded. Asset disclosure restores some of that trust by demonstrating transparency. Fourth, they empower oversight bodies, civil society, and the media to hold leaders accountable.”
“Without these disclosures”, Lumina added, “the door remains wide open to grand corruption — unchecked, unmonitored, and unpunished. Also, when public asset disclosures are missing, it creates suspicion, increases cynicism, and enables the accumulation of unexplained wealth, often at the public’s expense. The continued failure to pass asset declaration laws sends a dangerous message: that accountability is optional, and that constitutional obligations can be ignored. This weakens the rule of law and emboldens corrupt actors at all levels of government. Moreover, each new president who enters office without declaring their assets sets a precedent for opacity — one that could lead to a culture of impunity at the highest levels of the state. Worse still, the constitutional ambiguity created by the failure to enact a supporting law makes enforcement of Article 263 virtually impossible. In turn, this weakens public trust in the Constitution and the way the country is governed.”
The fourth lesson is in form of a question: why wasn’t Edgar Lungu tried together with his family? Why did the UPND fail to investigate and possibly lift the former president’s immunity from prosecution long before he died? If the government found any evidence that members of Lungu’s family were wealthier beyond their means, then the family’s wealth should have been used as evidence of the extent of Lungu’s possible corruption, especially since some of them have confirmed that they got the money from him. For instance, during trial, Dalitso Lungu stated that he was given the wealth in his possession by his father when he was president.
Because the conditions of service for a Zambian president are prescribed by law, Edgar Lungu should have been called to testify and explain the source of the money and property he allegedly distributed to members of his family. In fact, the former president had publicly indicated his willingness to testify during the trial. Despite this offer, the State opposed efforts to summon the former president, even though the accused family member maintained that the contested assets came from him. The question that remains is why the State resisted allowing his testimony. Earlier, in December 2021, the former president challenged the government to arrest him if it believed or had any evidence that he had stolen anything. Hichilema and his friends in power refused to even investigate Lungu for possible corruption.
If the UPND were genuinely committed to fighting corruption, President Hichilema’s first major step after taking office in 2021 should have been to initiate formal investigations into the presidency of Lungu, whom many Zambians believe ran a corrupt administration. Those investigations would have laid the groundwork for seeking the removal of his immunity so that he could face trial for alleged corruption. Whether the government could ultimately secure the two‑thirds parliamentary majority required to lift his immunity was a secondary question (though Hichilema has since shown the lengths to which he is prepared to go to get even opposition lawmakers to support what he wants). What mattered first was the need for the government to fulfill its own responsibility: conduct thorough investigations and, if evidence of wrongdoing emerged, present a motion to Parliament requesting that his immunity be lifted.
In the end, the record speaks for itself. A president genuinely committed to confronting corruption would have allowed—indeed, encouraged—a full investigation into Edgar Lungu long before his death. Instead, President Hichilema offered early assurances that Lungu need not fear prosecution, a promise that was both inappropriate and inconsistent with the principles of accountability. Any alleged offenses were committed against the Zambian people, not against Hichilema personally, and it is the public—through the institutions established to uphold justice—that should have determined Lungu’s fate. If wrongdoing occurred, it was the nation, not an individual leader, that was owed the truth.
