Lungu belongs to Zambia’s history, whatever your politics
By Dr Lawrence Mwelwa
A NATION cannot change its past by rearranging its portraits. The empty space may satisfy a political preference, but it cannot erase the years, decisions, institutions and citizens whose lives unfolded beneath that missing face.
That is the deeper issue raised by reports that Edgar Chagwa Lungu was omitted from the Zambia Daily Mail’s Independence anniversary supplement. A national celebration should invite honest remembrance of our shared journey towards independence.
Lungu served as Zambia’s president from 2015 until 2021. His place in that succession is established history. It requires neither permission from his successors nor affection from those who opposed him during his political lifetime.
We may dispute his judgement. We may question his policies. We may examine his administration with uncompromising scrutiny. Yet those arguments concern the quality of his presidency; they cannot invalidate the fact of his service.
The controversy also involves a shirt displaying presidential portraits, which its critics say excludes Lungu. Its commissioning and authorisation require verification. Criticism becomes stronger when it distinguishes what evidence establishes from what suspicion merely suggests.
The newspaper likewise owes the public an explanation. Was the omission accidental, editorial or deliberate? We should establish that before assigning motives. Historical accuracy deserves correction regardless of whether the original failure arose from carelessness.
These distinctions matter because defending truth requires discipline. We cannot condemn selective history while constructing our own conclusions from incomplete evidence. The obligation to remain fair applies equally to governments, opposition parties, journalists and commentators.
Nevertheless, the underlying principle is clear. If a publication or garment presents Zambia’s presidential succession, its selection should follow the historical record. Political approval cannot become the admission requirement for inclusion in that national account.
Think of a family album containing years of affection, disagreement, sacrifice and disappointment. Removing a relative’s photograph may conceal a face from visitors. It does nothing to explain the relationships that shaped the household itself.
A country faces a greater responsibility. Its historical record belongs to millions who remember events differently. No administration receives electoral authority to decide which citizens’ memories deserve recognition and which should disappear from public view.
Some Zambians remember Lungu with gratitude. Others associate his administration with hardship or injustice. An honest national history must accommodate those competing experiences, examining their evidence without demanding that everyone surrender to one authorised interpretation.
Recognition therefore carries no obligation to praise. Including a president’s portrait does not certify his administration as exemplary. Recording his tenure does not absolve misconduct. Historical acknowledgement and political accountability can occupy the same page.
Indeed, accountability requires preservation. How can future generations evaluate decisions, understand institutional failures or recognise achievements if public memory is edited whenever leadership changes? A missing chapter deprives citizens of the evidence needed for judgement.
This principle must extend beyond Lungu. It must protect Kenneth Kaunda, Frederick Chiluba, Levy Mwanawasa, Rupiah Banda, Michael Sata and Hakainde Hichilema alike. Consistency gives an argument moral authority beyond the immediate loyalties motivating it.
Anyone demanding Lungu’s inclusion today should defend Hichilema’s inclusion tomorrow. Otherwise, the objection becomes another request for favourable treatment. A national principle must survive the uncomfortable moment when it protects someone we passionately disagree with.
Hichilema’s earlier refusal to recognise Lungu following the disputed 2016 election provides context for their rivalry. Contemporary reporting documented that position. It does not establish that he directed the newspaper omission or commissioned the shirt.
Challenging an election’s legitimacy and documenting presidential succession are different exercises. One contests the basis of authority; the other records its exercise. A serious society can examine the dispute while accurately identifying who governed it.
The larger danger begins when political rivalry becomes an organising principle for public institutions. Editors anticipate displeasure. Officials reward flattering interpretations. Gradually, accuracy becomes negotiable, and institutions lose the independence necessary to serve successive governments.
That is a risk to guard against, rather than a conclusion this controversy alone proves. Its prevention requires transparent editorial standards, professional judgement and correction procedures that operate without waiting for powerful people to complain.
A publicly owned newspaper should understand its readership as the nation. Its responsibility includes citizens who voted differently, citizens who abstained and children who will encounter its pages as evidence of the country they inherited.
Independence commemorations deserve particular care. They gather people around a shared political inheritance. When their historical presentation appears selective, they can deepen precisely those divisions that speeches about unity are supposed to help us overcome.
We should also remember that Zambia’s history exceeds its presidents. Teachers, farmers, nurses, miners, freedom fighters and countless unnamed citizens sustained this country. Presidential portraits represent only one part of a much larger national story.
Yet even that limited representation demands accuracy. A lesson containing seven chapters cannot become truthful by quietly removing an inconvenient sixth. The resulting gap teaches children that political power determines which facts remain publicly visible.
For scholars and educators, this should provoke concern. Historical understanding develops through evidence, comparison and debate. When celebration replaces inquiry, or hostility replaces documentation, education gives way to rehearsed loyalties that discourage independent civic judgement.
Leadership offers another possibility. President Hichilema could affirm that every predecessor belongs in Zambia’s historical record. Such reassurance would demonstrate confidence in his own presidency and respect for an institution whose significance outlasts individual occupants.
The newspaper can explain and correct its publication. Those responsible for commemorative designs can clarify their choices. Citizens can demand accuracy firmly, without insults, collective blame or unsupported claims about who ordered a particular exclusion.
Our responsibility is to leave future generations a record they can question honestly. They deserve access to achievements and failures, promises and consequences. We must trust them with complexity instead of handing them sanitised loyalties.
Lungu’s legacy will remain contested because political leadership leaves unequal memories. That debate should continue with evidence and freedom. His place in history, however, cannot depend on whether those presently holding power find him convenient.
We inherit history with its disagreements. Our duty is to preserve enough truth for our children to judge us honestly.
