Drumbeats and Disguises: Unraveling Propaganda in Zambia’s Human Rights Story
By Dr. Lawrence Mwelwa
Did the Minister believe the people would clap and forget simply because the words “misinformation” and “disinformation” were loudly declared? Does denying the pulse of a critical report make the heartbeat of truth disappear, or does it only mask the fever for a while?
The Human Rights Council may not wear a judge’s wig or swing a gavel, but when its Special Rapporteur comes to our soil, listens to our villagers, our scribes, our opposition, our police and our priests, and then writes a report — is that not the closest thing to an honest mirror? Shall we now quarrel with the mirror because we dislike the blemishes it shows?
If Zambia’s human rights story is healthy, why do journalists still fear midnight knocks on the door? Why do critics tiptoe in their speech, careful not to offend the thin-skinned powerful? Why do some police officers still forget they are servants of the law, not its manipulators?
What is the wisdom in branding a respected international report as “misinformation” yet quoting its commendations for political applause? If the report is credible when it praises the repeal of defamation, is it not equally credible when it exposes the sly recycling of other archaic speech offences?
Why do we boast of the Access to Information Act, yet leave it gasping for breath, without full guidelines, proper funding or true public awareness? What value is a law written in the statute books if the gatekeepers refuse to open the gate?
On the matter of constitutional reforms — why must the nation remain on perpetual standby for Bill 7, spoken of in whispers and clarified in riddles? Why hide under the word “capacity building workshop” when the people’s real hunger is for plain words, published drafts, village discussions, radio debates and genuine consensus?
If indeed there is no constitutional crisis, then who plants these seeds of urgency and confusion? Who benefits from a hurried process that expects the same people — who queued for hours to vote — to now sit quietly while lawyers and politicians shape their future behind closed doors?
Should we not pause and ask: if the Constitution is our national drum, why are some so eager to retune it without a proper village gathering to agree on the rhythm? Is the drum too cracked to play, or is it only that the drummers wish to choose new songs without the dancers’ consent?
Why should any newspaper be scolded for headline choices when the deeper issue is a lingering cloud of secrecy, partial truths, and half-fulfilled promises? Shouldn’t government earn the trust it demands, not demand it while dodging honest scrutiny?
In our culture, truth is sacred — it is said “He who hides the drum will fear the dance.” So, let the leaders show the drum to the people: repeal all old speech traps, truly operationalize access to information, stop selective prosecutions and allow every citizen — from township to palace — to speak their mind without fear of knock, summons or silent exile.
As 2026 creeps closer, let this truth ring clear: you cannot sweep grievances under the carpet forever. You cannot hush public debate with warm press statements alone. You cannot cover old wounds with new slogans. And you certainly cannot silence an entire nation’s conscience.
So, instead of fighting the Human Rights Council’s mirror, let us polish the reflection. Instead of branding uncomfortable facts as propaganda, let us fix the failures they expose. And instead of drumming and disguising, let us open the floor and let every Zambian dance freely to the music of genuine liberty.
For that — not spin, not fear, not silence — is the heartbeat of true democracy.
