REMMY CHONGO’S LEGAL THEATRE: WHEN SPECULATION WEARS A WIG

REMMY CHONGO’S LEGAL THEATRE: WHEN SPECULATION WEARS A WIG

There are moments in Zambia’s political life when citizens yearn for clarity, maturity, and sober leadership. And then there are moments when Remmy Chongo picks up his pen, dons a powdered wig of imagined jurisprudence, and converts the nation’s grief into his own Netflix courtroom drama.

In his latest sermon masquerading as legal analysis, Chongo thunders that Zambia “is not a playground for political theatre”—while ironically turning the saga around Edgar Lungu’s death (or resurrection, depending on which act we’re in) into a three-act play where he is both judge and jury. One can almost hear the gavels echoing in his head as he indicts family, lawyers, and even whispers for the FBI to parachute in from Washington to save Lusaka from itself.

But pause. Let’s reflect.

⚖️ If Edgar Lungu is alive, then what? Chongo imagines a grand conspiracy of fake deaths, forged affidavits, and perjured statements—all neatly wrapped under Section 67 of the Penal Code. The trouble is, he offers no evidence, only sweeping accusations dressed in legalese. It’s as if he believes that sprinkling jargon like “false swearing” and “obstruction of justice” automatically transforms speculation into fact.

‍♂️ If the government was lied to, then who exactly lied? Here, Chongo grows even bolder—painting everyone in sight as co-conspirators in a political stage play. Families, lawyers, allies—none are spared. It is less analysis than a casting call for villains in his ongoing theatre production.

 And then comes the pièce de résistance: Call the FBI! Because, of course, nothing screams sovereignty like outsourcing Zambia’s legal headaches to foreign agencies. Forget OP, forget ZP, forget DEC. In Chongo’s fantasy, Zambia must dial Washington DC to solve a Lusaka drama. It is the political equivalent of summoning Spider-Man when your tap is leaking.

What Chongo forgets is that satire writes itself when overreach is this spectacular. He claims to be tired of “courts becoming theatres” while writing an article that could easily double as a script for The Good Wife: Lusaka Edition. He decries “political games” while dealing cards from his own deck of speculation.

And so, Zambians are indeed tired—not of the family, not of the courts, not even of the endless saga—but of self-appointed prophets of justice who mistake grandstanding for truth. The dignity we seek will not come from loud declarations of imagined crimes, nor from waving the Penal Code like a magic wand. It will come from measured institutions doing their work quietly, and with evidence—not headlines.

Until then, Remmy’s column is not a call to justice; it is a one-man drama auditioned in the theatre of satire, complete with powdered wigs, imaginary gavels, and FBI guest stars.