By Dr Lawrence Mwelwa
IN a land where wisdom should be a guiding light, Zambian politics remains a stage where the loudest, not the brightest, take center stage. It is a world where knowledge is seen as arrogance, expertise as a threat, and education as a handicap rather than an advantage. Those who have spent years acquiring knowledge, refining their skills, and mastering the art of governance often find themselves ridiculed, sidelined, or outright rejected by a system that favors populism over policy, mediocrity over merit, and loyalty over leadership.
Take Professor Clive Chirwa, a world-class engineer who had a vision to modernize Zambia’s railway sector. With a wealth of international experience, he could have turned Zambia Railways into a symbol of industrial progress. But what did the system do? It chewed him up and spat him out. Instead of supporting his vision, he was entangled in political intrigue, accusations of corruption, and systematic sabotage. The very people who should have championed his expertise ensured that he failed. Today, Zambia Railways remains a relic of the past, a rusting reminder of what could have been.
Then there’s Ng’andu Magande, a brilliant economist who, as Minister of Finance, played a pivotal role in clearing Zambia’s debt and stabilizing the economy. He had the credentials, the vision, and the policies that could have put Zambia on a path to sustainable growth. But politics is not about ideas—it is about who is willing to play the game of deception and manipulation. Magande was sidelined, and his economic reforms were left to gather dust. Today, the very same economy he helped stabilize is on the brink, and the same political class that ignored his wisdom now scrambles for solutions.
Why do the educated stay away from politics? The answer lies in the dirtiness of the game. Zambian politics is not about serving the people—it is about survival, control, and self-preservation. It is a battlefield where character assassination is more important than policy formulation. If you are an educated individual with a vision, expect to be labeled a “foreigner,” an “elitist,” or even worse, a puppet of the West. Your degrees will not matter; your competence will be ridiculed.
Politics in Zambia is a space where a school dropout can stand in Parliament and confidently dismiss a professor’s economic plan as “too complicated.” The irony is painful, yet it is the reality we live in. A politician with no understanding of basic economics will declare that “the government should print more money” to solve inflation, and instead of being corrected, they will be cheered on by the masses. Knowledge, it seems, is not power—it is a problem.
Then there is the financial reality. Politics in Zambia is not won by ideas but by money. An educated individual may have the best development plan for the nation, but if he cannot fund rallies, distribute chitenge materials, and dish out brown envelopes, he has already lost. A businessman with no vision but a fat wallet will always defeat a scholar with great ideas but no funding. Elections are not decided in debates—they are decided in backroom deals and vote-buying sprees.
And let’s not forget the violence and intimidation. Politics is not for the faint-hearted. If you are a threat to the established order, expect harassment, threats, and politically motivated accusations. Many educated individuals who dared to challenge the system have faced mysterious corruption charges, media smear campaigns, and even physical attacks. The message is clear: if you are not willing to play dirty, stay out.
Yet, ironically, when Zambia is in crisis, when the economy collapses, when infrastructure fails, and when healthcare crumbles, the same politicians run to the educated for solutions. The economists they dismissed are suddenly needed to draft recovery plans. The engineers they ignored are now required to fix the broken systems. The professors they mocked are now begged to bring stability. And once the crisis passes, the cycle resumes—the educated are pushed aside once again, until the next disaster.
And so, Zambia remains trapped in this loop. The best minds sit on the sidelines, watching the nation struggle under the weight of leadership that values loyalty over logic, slogans over solutions, and power over progress. The educated do not shun politics because they do not care. They shun it because they refuse to waste their brilliance in a system designed to repel intelligence.
But a nation that rejects its brightest minds cannot move forward. If Zambia is to truly develop, it must create a political environment that values competence, rewards education, and allows those with knowledge to lead without fear of destruction. Until then, we will continue asking, year after year, “Why are we not progressing?” while those who could have given us the answers watch in silence.
