The Patriotic Front is no longer a political party in crisis; it is a full-blown political farce unfolding in public view. What is happening within the PF today is not strategy, not ideological contestation, and certainly not renewal—it is cannibalism. A party that once held state power now spends its days censuring itself, disowning itself, threatening itself, and dragging its own carcass through the mud with astonishing enthusiasm.
Acting PF President Given Lubinda, through Acting Deputy Secretary General (Operations) Celestine Mukandila, has censured Brian Mundubile for gross misconduct. Mundubile, in turn, has flatly rejected the censure, dismissing the charges as flimsy, malicious, and politically motivated. This is not internal democracy; it is institutional paralysis. A party cannot function when authority is contested at every level and discipline is treated as optional by those who fancy themselves bigger than the organisation.
As if this was not chaotic enough, Mafinga Member of Parliament Robert Chabinga has emerged waving what he claims are party documents and declaring himself the rightful president of the PF, vowing that he will not allow “another” to stand on the PF ticket. In one sentence, the PF has moved from factionalism to absurdity. When multiple individuals wake up and declare themselves party president, the problem is no longer legal—it is existential.
To compound the humiliation, the PF has been effectively disowned by the Tonse Alliance and explicitly warned not to use the image of the late President Edgar Lungu during the Chawama parliamentary by-election campaigns scheduled for the 15th. A former ruling party being told what symbols it may or may not use is not just embarrassing—it is tragic. The PF has lost moral authority over its own legacy.
Then comes Chishimba Kambwili, the political arsonist-in-chief, threatening to expose Brian Mundubile as a thief and crook who allegedly obtained contracts and failed to deliver. I. The mean time Mundibile’s team are accusing Kambwili of stealing rail bars. Whether these allegations are true or not is almost secondary. The damage lies in the fact that senior figures within the same political family are now publicly sharpening knives against each other. This is a party devouring itself in broad daylight.
What is happening in the PF is a circus that must come to an immediate end if the party hopes to survive. Inflated egos have replaced discipline, ambition has replaced ideology, and personal vendettas have replaced national purpose. The PF must confront a simple truth: there can only be one leader at a time. They cannot all be presidents. Worse still, not all of them—even remotely—possess the temperament, character, or intellectual depth required to lead a nation. From the entire chaotic ensemble, perhaps only two individuals could loosely fit the description of presidential material. The rest are simply loud, entitled, and dangerously delusional.
Yet the PF’s implosion is merely a symptom of a wider disease afflicting the opposition as a whole. Across the board, Zambia’s opposition is confused, disoriented, and alarmingly unserious. Even Fred M’membe—normally disciplined and ideologically grounded—now appears tired, worn out, and fed up. Harry Kalaba, buoyed by an inflated sense of self-importance, believes he is the most credible option in the room, while KBF looks like a man waiting for divine intervention from UCZ congregants rather than building a political machine.
Shaun Tembo, once the energetic voice of Tonse, now looks lost, blindsided by the sudden scramble over the alliance’s ownership by Danny Pule, Sakwiba Sikota, and NCP leader Peter Chanda. What should have been a coalition of purpose has degenerated into a scramble for name ownership. It is chaos—raw, embarrassing, and self-inflicted.
Meanwhile, while the opposition argues over titles, seals, and WhatsApp statements, the ruling UPND has quietly and methodically kicked into campaign mode. They are mobilising in newly delimited constituencies, strengthening grassroots structures, and dismantling PF networks on the ground. While the opposition dismisses delimitation as an illusion, the UPND is treating it as political reality—and politics always rewards those who deal with reality, not denial.
When the dust settles, the opposition will cry foul. They will shout “rigging” at the top of their lungs. But the truth is uncomfortable and unforgiving: they lost this election the day National Registration Cards began being issued and they chose confusion over organisation. This is, without exaggeration, the most disappointing, disorganised, and self-sabotaging opposition Zambia has witnessed in living memory.
Still, all is not entirely lost. There remains a narrow window for redemption—but only if pride is swallowed, egos are deflated, and leadership is treated as service rather than entitlement. If the opposition can impose discipline, clarify leadership, and reconnect with the people instead of fighting each other, they may yet salvage something from this dire situation.
If they do not, history will not be kind. They will not be remembered as victims of state power, but as architects of their own political funeral.
