THE DANGER OF SILENCTHE DANGER OF SILENCE AND THE DEATH OF DEMOCRACY IN ZAMBIAE AND THE DEATH OF DEMOCRACY IN ZAMBIA There is a famous folk story told across our continent about the Ugandan dictator Idi Amin. It is said he once called an emergency cabinet meeting at 03:00 hours with a sudden “brilliant” idea. […]

THE DANGER OF SILENCTHE DANGER OF SILENCE AND THE DEATH OF DEMOCRACY IN ZAMBIAE AND THE DEATH OF DEMOCRACY IN ZAMBIA

There is a famous folk story told across our continent about the Ugandan dictator Idi Amin. It is said he once called an emergency cabinet meeting at 03:00 hours with a sudden “brilliant” idea. He stood before his sweating, terrified ministers and announced: “From today, Uganda will change its name to IDI.”

Immediately, fear took over the room. One minister clapped, then another, until the whole room was cheering, calling him a visionary. They told him it was a masterstroke to confuse their enemies. Only one man sat quietly in the corner before standing up to ask a single question: “Your Excellency, the people of Cyprus are called Cypriots. If Uganda becomes Idi, what will we be called?”

Dead silence. The room froze. Then Amin burst out laughing, realising the absurdity, and said, “The country shall remain Uganda!” Ugandans would be called IDIOTS! Hehehe, Hehehe, Hehehe!!!
This famous anecdote is a popular political urban legend rather than a documented historical event.

In real-life accounts of Idi Amin’s regime, the figure behind the name is usually referenced as Major General Isaac Maliyamungu, often spelled Maliyamungu, who was one of Amin’s most feared and loyal military enforcers rather than a quiet voice of quiet democratic reason.

The viral story circulates widely on social media platforms like Facebook and Instagram as a piece of political folklore that illustrates the dynamics of flattery and fear in a dictatorship.

While that story is a piece of political folklore, its moral is devastatingly real: Fear keeps evil ideas alive, and the silence of good people allows foolishness to grow.

Today in Zambia, we are witnessing a dangerous return to that exact culture of fear, sycophancy, and forced silence under the current regime.
Look at what just happened in the Mandevu by-election. The systemic pressure, intimidation, and coordinated withdrawal of candidates didn’t happen in a vacuum. It is the result of a political landscape where opposing voices are systematically squeezed out. The ruling elites want a cabinet and a nation of hand-clappers who nod along as our democratic institutions are dismantled.

When the price of mealie-meal skyrockets and our people go hungry, the modern-day hand-clappers in government don’t speak truth to power. Instead, they defend corporate exploitation and IMF-driven policies. When the suffering masses complain, the response from the top is cold arrogance: “You can’t share poverty.” They are telling you to stay silent while they defend the wealth of mining giants and foreign interests over the stomachs of Zambian children.

We see our comrades, political opponents, and civil society leaders subjected to prolonged, arbitrary detentions without due process. The state machinery is being weaponised to ensure that anyone who dares to point out that “the emperor has no clothes” is locked away. They want the silence of the graveyard.

Our resolve: We will not be silent. We refuse to join the chorus of praises for a failing economy and a decaying democracy. We will not be the ministers who clap for foolishness out of fear for our own safety.

We will speak out for food sovereignty, for the restoration of the rule of law, and for an economy that serves the poor  working masses of people, not the elite

To the youth and the workers of Zambia: break the silence. Stand up, speak out, speak up, and let us reclaim the dignity of our Republic.
In unwavering solidarity,

Fred M’membe
SP President