By Kaoma Kapya

In a democracy, power is borrowed, not owned. Integrity, on the other hand, is forever. Once upon a time, President Hakainde Hichilema seemed to understand this democratic fundamental. As opposition leader, he denounced Bill 10 as a brazen attempt by the Patriotic Front to rig the system in their favor. He rallied us against it. He spoke the language of liberty and fairness. And who didn’t believe him?

Today, that same man is behind Bill 7—an equally toxic concoction dressed up as reform. This hypocrisy isn’t just staggering; it’s shameful.

So what changed, Mr. President? Abeg!

President Hichilema is selling 7 as a “progressive” reform, meant to promote gender equality, youth empowerment, and good governance. As a nation, aren’t we tired of this pitch from one unpopular administration to another? If you strip away the sugarcoating, it is not hard to find the same old political playbook–the goal is to concentrate power, silence dissent, and move the goalposts before the next election. In Machiavellian terms, this is not virtù but a crude grab for control of the instruments of accountability. It is not statesmanship—it is state capture.

The tragedy is, you once claimed to be different. You mocked Edgar Lungu for strangling Zambia’s democratic institutions. Now you stand accused of doing the very same thing—only worse. Worse, because you came to power promising honesty and transparency. Now, four years later, even schoolchildren call you gonga—a liar.

The warning signs are everywhere. Broken promises are countless. The recent Mumfumbwe gold mine disaster again exposed your government’s corruption and contempt for transparency. When young people protest for jobs and against police brutality and corruption at the mine, they are met with live bullets—then gaslighted with claims that “no one died.” Lie after lie after lie is what your leadership is all about. Mr. President, have you no sense of decency?

What about the $20 million overpriced import scandal? You deliberately delayed relief until August 2025—just in time for the 2026 elections campaign season. Don’t insult us. We know a rigged game when we see one. You are preparing to flood the market with cheap mealie meal to buy political goodwill while rewarding cadres with stockpiles. This isn’t economic management—it’s bribery dressed up as policy.

Your corrupt Bill 7 is the final insult. If you truly believe you are as popular as your praise-singers claim, why not wait until after elections to introduce these constitutional amendments? The truth is, deep down, you know your political capital is overspent. You know you are governing on borrowed legitimacy. Even your closest allies will one day turn on you—because in politics, loyalty lasts only as long as power does. Today they clap because you hold the purse. Lose it, and they will kneel before your successor, calling you the greatest fraud to ever walk State House.

Let me remind you–the presidency is not a throne. Either is Zambia a monarchy. Power is fleeting; the people’s judgment is permanent. Rousseau warned that when leaders forget the social contract, they sow the seeds of their own downfall. You, too, will one day face it just as other dictators have done.

And here’s the truth your praise-singers dare not tell you. Bill 7 may pass in Parliament, but it will never pass in the hearts of the people. It may buy you time in State House, but it will also tighten the noose around your legacy. Power is a loan, not a birthright—and betrayal is carved in stone.

Ask Zuma. Ask Omar al-Bashir. Ask Mugabe. Ask every strongman who mistook applause for love and fear for loyalty. The crowds will one day disperse. The motorcade will fall silent. And you, too, will stand alone before the tribunal of history—stripped of power, stripped of allies, left only with the judgment of a people you once inspired but ultimately betrayed.

Abeg, Mr. President. Stop this madness before it consumes you. For when the reckoning comes, no mealie meal, no bill, no praise-singer will save you.