A Nation on Trial: When Bills Become Bullets and Truth Becomes a Rumour
By Dr Mwelwa
When a government begins to write laws not for freedom, but for fear, not to protect the people, but to protect itself from them, then tyranny is not at the gate—it has entered and is sitting in Parliament. Zambia, our beloved nation, is drifting. It is no longer a question of political differences.
It is no longer even about party loyalties. The land is uneasy, and the people feel it. Something is broken. You can see it in the eyes of the widow who is dragged to court while still in mourning. You can hear it in the silence of our youths, whose friends are shot dead in Mufumbwe and whose cries for justice echo in empty chambers.
They are making laws. Tyrannical ones. Bill 7, to tie the hands of the Constitutional Court. Bill 13, to gag the Parliament and erase accountability. Cybersecurity bills, crafted in the name of safety, but armed to monitor, punish, and erase dissent. With each stroke of a pen, the noose tightens. What is democracy when courts are stripped, Parliament is silenced, protest is criminal, and the only truth is government propaganda?
And yet, while the laws are being written in ink, the streets of Chingola write in fire. The youth, thrown off mine dumps, left to starve, riot not because they hate peace, but because peace has abandoned them. Those mine dumps were their last refuge, their last semblance of employment. Now taken. The hungry do not wait for parliamentary debates.
The propaganda machine is working overtime. Believe what you want, they say. Yes, he was shot by drug dealers. Yes, he was from Zimbabwe. Yes, he was never sick, not a day. Yes, no one has seen the body. Yes, he went to deal in drugs. Yes, the money was for campaigns. Yes, the death certificate is fake. Yes, South Africa is covering up a crime. Yes, he’s not dead. Yes, people don’t care, they’ve moved on. Yes, you won’t win in 2026. Yes, believe what you want. But no—you won’t see the body.
This is not a country anymore. It’s a courtroom of speculation. A theatre of shadows. Conspiracy is the new language of the people, because truth is no longer served in daylight. Everything leaks except the truth. The people have grown tired. A report says the economy is growing at 5.2%—but the shops are closing, the factories are silent, and the young graduate sits home sending CVs that no one reads. K3.5 billion went out, but we only received $184 million. What arithmetic is this?
The suffering is real. And yet we are told, with smiles and charts, that Zambia is on the rise. Rise to where? It feels like we are actors in a Nollywood film, where the plot twists, people vanish, and logic is on vacation. We are not governed—we are being managed. Managed by slogans. Managed by surveillance. Managed by fear.
Once upon a time, Zambia was a nation with moral elders, fearless youths, wise judges, and hopeful mothers. Now it is a land where widows are mocked, protestors are gassed, and laughter is forced. What happened? What did we exchange our soul for?
The truth is not hard to find. It is in the empty pocket of the farmer who cannot afford fertilizer. It is in the bedroom of the teacher who hasn’t been paid in months. It is in the jail cell of the protestor who simply asked a question. It is in the grave of the youth shot for demanding his dignity.
And what of leadership? Real leadership? Not theatrics, not microphones, not helicopters—but truth, courage, humility? Zambia doesn’t need rulers. It needs repairers. It needs someone who will speak not with polished lies but with painful honesty. Someone who will not fear the people but walk among them. Someone who will not govern by lawfare and spin, but by justice and grace.
Zambia, something is dying. But perhaps, just perhaps, something can still be born. If the youth do not give up. If the elders remember who we are. If we all refuse to be silent. For silence is where tyranny thrives.
And to the makers of these laws: history is patient, but it never forgets. One day, your names will be read—not in praise, but in warning. Believe what you want. But this is not normal. And the people know it.