Whispering to the Elephant Within Us: Zambia’s Ill-Fitting Constitution from Birth

Stitched, Patched, and Stretched Zambia’s Ill-Fitting Constitution from Birth

By Dr Tarcisius Mukuka

A diverse group of Zambians — men, women, elders, and youth — sewing a giant green cloth with Zambia’s outline on it, symbolising collective nation-building. Nearby, a torn old garment lies discarded, evoking the idea of leaving behind a broken past.

Introduction

If Zambia’s Constitution were a piece of clothing, it would be a borrowed suit — hastily tailored on the eve of independence. Never quite fitting the body politic it was meant to clothe, over the decades, that suit has been stitched, patched, and stretched, but never truly re-made. Our founding mothers and fathers believed the main challenge was economic — building industries, roads, schools, and health systems to lift a young nation out of colonial underdevelopment. Political structures were treated as secondary, even decorative. Yet, to paraphrase Bill Clinton’s campaign manager, “It’s not the economy, stupid. It’s the Constitution.”

For sixty years, Zambia has tried to fix economic and political crises through policies and personalities, rather than confronting the ill-fitting constitutional suit we inherited and repeatedly amended. Each amendment has been like a tailor tugging at the seams to cover a growing tear — a temporary fix rather than a thoughtful re-design. Our constitutional history is, at heart, a story of amendments in lieu of vision. The on-off Bill 7 Constitutional amendments are a case in point. This week’s column argues that it is time we gave our constitution a genuine makeover.

Independence Constitution ― A Constitutional Suit Borrowed from Empire

At independence in 1964, Zambia inherited a constitution drafted largely by British legal experts. It was, unsurprisingly, based on the Westminster model but with an executive and omnipotent President written into it. It contained a bill of rights and recognised the Barotseland Agreement, promising limited autonomy to Barotseland. But in essence, it was a colonial artefact — an instrument designed to manage a territory, not to govern a democratic nation of many micro-polities.

The Barotseland Agreement itself was the result of delicate negotiations between the Litunga, the British, and Kenneth Kaunda. Each party walked away with different expectations: Barotseland thought it was entering a quasi-federal partnership; Northern Rhodesia knew that but believed it was consolidating a unitary state. The absence of an exit clause, or what would happen if one side abrogated, coupled with a constitution designed for administrative convenience rather than plural governance, planted seeds of future tension.

Borrowing from Ghana and America?

As Zambia moved from the euphoria of independence and its motto of “One Zambia, One Nation,” into the turbulence of the late 1960s, Kenneth Kaunda began to concentrate power in the already bloated presidency. His constitutional imagination was shaped not just by Britain, but also by Ghana under Kwame Nkrumah, whose strong presidential model he admired. Kwame Nkrumah had fused party and state, embodying the decisive “philosopher-king” archetype that Kenneth Kaunda aped. The only difference is that by comparison is that Kenneth Kaunda had limited education. Kenneth Kaunda also cherry-picked elements from the American presidential system, particularly the notion of a single, powerful executive — but without importing the web of checks and balances that restrain U.S. presidents. In 1973, the Zambian Constitution was dramatically re-shaped to create a one-party state, with Kenneth Kaunda as both Head of State and Head of Government, and President of the ruling party. Parliament became little more than a rubber stamp, the judiciary was politically cowed, and opposition was abolished. Zambia had moved from a borrowed parliamentary suit to a tailored imperial robe — designed to fit one man, not a nation.

The Imperial Presidency Ascendant

The 1973 One-Party Constitution was a watershed. It formalised what political scientists later called the “imperial presidency” ― a system where executive power is unconstrained, oversight institutions are subordinate, and political pluralism is treated as a threat rather than a foundation of democracy. Where this has been applied in the world, it has been only one step away from dictatorship. Kenneth Kaunda justified this on the grounds of unity and development — arguing that multi-party politics was divisive and ill-suited to African traditions. In reality, the Constitution became a tool of political control, not national consensus-building and remains so today. It was after this era that amendments became the default response to political pressures, setting a pattern that endures to this day.

Amendment or New Dawn?

The fall of the one-party state in 1991 was a moment pregnant with constitutional possibility. Zambia was at a crossroads similar to South Africa in the early 1990s or Kenya in the 2000s. Civil society was vibrant, the economy was in crisis, and the Movement for Multiparty Democracy (MMD) had mobilised popular support for systemic change. A referendum in 1990 paved the way for political pluralism, and widespread demands emerged for a new democratic constitution.

But instead of initiating a constituent process, the MMD government and Kenneth Kaunda’s outgoing regime opted for amending the 1973 Constitution. Parliament passed far-reaching amendments that restored multiparty democracy, reintroduced presidential term limits, and re-balanced some powers. The changes were transformative in practice — ending the one-party era and inaugurating Zambia’s Third Republic — but they were legally patched onto the old constitutional suit borrowed from empire.

Why? The answer is largely political expediency. A full constitutional overhaul would have required time, resources, and a participatory process that could have delayed elections. MMD was riding a wave of popular momentum and wanted quick change to secure power. So, the legal tailoring was done hastily, using the old suit as a base. Some seams were unpicked, new panels were added, but the underlying cut remained the same. At no point was the question ever asked whether this colonial suit fit for service, in spite of the Zambian heat most of the year. The question is, why do we keep patching it up as if ditching it altogether would upset the erstwhile coloniser. Quite frankly, as the coloniser would say, he doesn’t care a tuppence. But the postcolonial elite is married to the suit until death do them part ― and it is always their death in question, either literal or metaphorical.

Why Amendments Have Become the Norm Even when They do not Work

Since 1991, Zambia has repeatedly turned to amendments rather than re-writing the Constitution from scratch. Even the Bible is weary of patching a new cloth onto an old cloth: “No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old cloak; otherwise, the patch pulls away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made” (Mark 2:21). Here are some reasons why most amendments are a bad idea.

1. They institutionalise elite control of the democratic process. Ruling parties have preferred to keep constitutional change within parliamentary or executive control, rather than convening a broad-based Constituent Assembly. This allows them to shape outcomes to their advantage.
2. They avoid uncertainty. A new constitution is a Pandora’s Box that opens unpredictable debates — about federalism, succession, presidential powers, minority rights, bill of rights, impeachment of a president and electoral reform. Political elites fear losing control of these conversations.
3. They give the impression of incremental reform rather than genuine reform. Amendments give the impression of progress without threatening entrenched power structures. Each amendment has been a patch on the old suit, not a re-design.
4. They weaken civic participation. Unlike in Kenya (2010) or South Africa (1996), Zambia’s civil society movements have been strong at moments of transition but have lacked sustained, structured pressure for a new constitutional order once transitions settle.

Patching the Old Instead of Weaving the New

Zambia’s constitutional journey looks timid next to countries that chose bold, people-driven change. South Africa’s 1996 constitution wasn’t patched together — it was built from the ground up through a democratically elected Constituent Assembly, producing one of the world’s most progressive charters. Kenya followed suit in 2010 with a citizen-led process that confronted historical injustices and devolved power in ways Zambia has never dared. Ghana, back in 1992, crafted a clear presidential system with stronger checks and balances than Zambia’s bloated presidency. Zambia, meanwhile, has preferred to stitch new unshrunk patches onto an old colonial suit — amending rather than re-imagining. The result is a constitutional suit that has never quite fitted and the danger, as the Bible warns, is that “the patch pulls away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made” (Mark 2:21).

What’s Wrong with the Current Constitution?

The 2016 amendments introduced important features: a 50%+1 presidential election threshold, a Constitutional Court, and provisions for coalition governments. But they also left unresolved — or even deepened — several fundamental problems:

1. Executive Dominance: The President still towers over Parliament and the Judiciary.
2. Weak Devolution: Provinces remain dependent on Lusaka.
3. Electoral Ambiguities: Timelines and succession rules remain vague.
4. Over-Amendment: Layers of amendments create contradictions.
5. Lack of Participatory Legitimacy: The Constitution lacks a shared sense of ownership.
6. Unaddressed Historical Fault Lines: Barotseland and other micro-national questions remain unresolved.
7. Unclarified roles of state and traditional leaders regarding land: the Constitution recognises both state and customary roles but does not define their relationship clearly, leaving the balance of custodianship unresolved and contested.

If I Were to Write a New Constitution

If Zambia were to start afresh — not by patching but by weaving — the new Constitution would be built on the following principles:

1. Re-balance power and curtail the “imperial presidency” through a non-universal suffrage elected President.
2. Explore parliamentary representation on non-party lines, especially in view of federalism.
3. Introduce federalism or genuine devolution that recognises micro-polities.
4. Introduce ceremonial President and executive Prime Minister as Head of Government and his or her party with provision to recall him or her.
5. Clarity and Predictability: Establish clear timelines and mechanisms.
6. Participatory Legitimacy: Launch a constituent assembly process.
7. Pass a new Bill of Rights
8. Rights and Social Justice: Expand socio-economic rights.
9. Cultural and Historical Grounding: Draw from Zambia’s traditional governance traditions.
10. Integrate traditional rulers in governance and clarify land custodianship between government and traditional leaders.

Conclusion ― Time to Stop Hemming and Start Weaving Anew

For sixty years, Zambia has worn a constitutional suit that never quite fitted. Each political crisis has led to hurried stitches, partial patches (ifikamba), or ill-considered tugs at the seams. But no amount of hemming can make an ill-fitting suit comfortable. It’s time to take the suit off and re-design it properly. A new Constitution — born not of colonial templates or party strategies, but of the people’s will — is not a luxury. It is the necessary foundation for a just, stable, and democratic Zambia. History has given us many chances to re-found our constitutional order. We have patched enough. It’s time to weave anew. I am glad former interim leader of the newly launched Zambia We Want Party, Ernest Mwansa agrees that the priorities of the party are the Constitution and governance. If this is a pie in the sky, I would rather we died trying. No one said it was going to be easy or straightforward.

Dr. Tarcisius Mukuka is a Zambian social scientist and columnist. He writes on governance, culture and the postcolonial condition.