Inkoko Teti Yende Panshi Nga Takwaba Utwana: Why Chiefs Cannot Speak Alone for Democracy- Dr Mwelwa

*Inkoko Teti Yende Panshi Nga Takwaba Utwana: Why Chiefs Cannot Speak Alone for Democracy*

By Dr Mwelwa

In every village under the African sun, the elders say, “Inkoko teti yende panshi nga takwaba utwana” — the chicken cannot walk proudly if the chicks are missing. So too it is with a chief: a chief is not one without the people. When the voice of a leader speaks louder than the heartbeat of their subjects, silence is mistaken for consent — and tradition is stretched into submission.

The recent endorsement of the constitutional amendments by the Luapula Council of Chiefs, though ceremonially rich, raises troubling questions in the domain of public interest, legal legitimacy, and constitutional morality. In their declaration, the chiefs praised the proposed reforms as “transformative,” aligning with development and the so-called empowerment of governance structures. But public interest cannot be proclaimed from thrones; it must be heard from the ground — from the schools without roofs, the clinics without medicine, and the youth without jobs. That is where legitimacy is born.

The principle of salus populi suprema lex esto — the welfare of the people shall be the supreme law — reminds us that every amendment, every clause, and every political whisper in the corridors of power must echo the will and welfare of the people. It is not enough that traditional leaders offer approval. The true guardians of the Constitution are the citizens, not the custodians of culture who, however noble in purpose, are often isolated from the daily sufferings of the governed.

Let us not forget that the majority of our traditional leaders operate within structures of poverty, patronage, and political vulnerability. Most do not enjoy economic independence. Many are not versed in constitutional law or modern governance dynamics. Their survival depends on allowances, state recognition, and periodic gestures of political goodwill. To say they have spoken for the people is to say that the roots have spoken for the leaves. And yet it is the leaves that feel the wind.

The Constitution is not a royal decree — it is a living social contract, or as Aristotle might say, nomos empsychos — the law as a living spirit. To amend it requires more than royal praise; it requires popular participation, robust dissent, and wide public education. What we are seeing now is not participation but performance — a symbolic coronation of a bill that has not truly reached the grassroots, and whose contents many citizens have never seen, let alone debated.

In our African wisdom, we say, “Umwana ushenda, atasha nyina ukunaya” — the child who does not travel praises his mother’s cooking as the best. Chiefs, loyal to what they know and what they’ve been told, may genuinely believe these amendments are good. But belief is not knowledge. And endorsement without informed consent is a dangerous illusion, especially when delivered from a platform supported by state actors and flanked by ministers with political stakes.

Moreover, to use chiefs as shields for unpopular reform is to endanger the very institution of traditional authority. When the people begin to see their traditional leaders as extensions of political power — rather than custodians of justice and guardians of community — the sacred trust between subjects and sovereigns fractures. And a chief without trust is like a drum with no skin — beautifully carved, but silent.

Let us remember: Constitutionalism is not a ceremony. It is accountability. It is restraint. It is people power, formalized and protected. A process that lacks open debate, regional balance, and popular mandate may be lawful on paper, but it is void in spirit. For as the elders also say, “Imiti ikula empanga” — the young trees are the future forest. If you plant confusion in the soil of the Constitution today, tomorrow you will harvest distrust.

In conclusion, while the Luapula Chiefs’ statement may sound like unity, it is unity without verification. It is praise without participation. Public interest must not be recited by the powerful on behalf of the silent — it must rise from the people themselves. Let the chiefs advise, let them bless the process, but let the people speak for themselves, for in a democracy, it is the governed who give power its meaning. Not the crown, but the crowd. Not the throne, but the voice in the market.

For in the end, vox populi, vox Dei — the voice of the people is the voice of God. And God, surely, does not whisper only in royal chambers.