By Brian Matambo | Lusaka, Zambia

I sat down to read through the written exchange between Honorable Sunday Chilufya Chanda, Member of Parliament for Kanchibiya Constituency, and New Heritage Party President Madam Chishala Kateka. I know one side fairly well. When it comes to debate, especially written debate, Sunday Chanda is not a lightweight. He is methodical, confident, and usually difficult to corner. I have also met Madam Chishala Kateka and had what I can only describe as a powerful conversation about politics, Zambia, and the internal decay of political parties. She knows exactly why she is in the political space, and I respect clarity when I see it. What I did not anticipate was Sunday Chanda encountering an opponent so precise in constitutional argument that he would be forced to expend his very best.

This, therefore, is my spectator’s verdict. I am not taking sides politically. I am judging the exchange purely on substance, consistency, and constitutional depth.

At its core, this was not a disagreement about inclusion or representation. Both parties accept the need for a Parliament that reflects Zambia’s demographic and governance realities. The real dispute was about where power should reside. In the Constitution itself, firmly anchored and insulated, or in future legislation, deferred to political discretion.

Madam Kateka’s strength lay in her consistency. From her first response to her final letter, she held one line. Representation mechanisms are not administrative details. They are the architecture of democracy. If they are left to the phrase “as prescribed,” they become vulnerable to manipulation. That argument never shifted, and it was reinforced with scholarship, comparative constitutional practice from Kenya and South Africa, and Zambia’s own constitutional reform history.

Honorable Chanda’s defence rested on a different philosophy. That constitutions should set principles and allow Parliament flexibility to legislate the details. In theory, this is sound. In Zambia’s political context, where institutional trust is thin and memory is long, it is a weaker proposition. Madam Kateka exploited that weakness by reminding him of his own earlier warnings on Article 51, where he cautioned against precisely the kind of ambiguity he now defends under Article 68. That contradiction was never satisfactorily resolved.

The delimitation issue proved decisive. Madam Kateka shifted the debate from legality to legitimacy. Parliament may have the power to legislate, but reform built on unpublished data and unreleased reports lacks moral authority. Her insistence that reform without transparent evidence is not reform, but convenience, landed heavily and went largely unanswered.

On fiscal considerations, she again held the firmer ground. She did not argue against democracy. She argued against uncosted democracy. By pointing to global examples where legislative size is controlled despite massive populations, she exposed the absence of restraint and cost clarity in the current proposal.

Perhaps the most uncomfortable moment in the exchange came when Madam Kateka invoked political memory. By referencing Honorable Chanda’s own experience with opaque party adoption processes, she demonstrated how undefined discretion harms individuals before it harms institutions. It was not a personal attack. It was a reminder of why constitutions exist in the first place.

By the end of this exchange, the outcome was clear. Honorable Chanda argued with conviction and intellect, but his case relied heavily on future goodwill and parliamentary discipline. Madam Kateka argued with precision, precedent, and an unwavering demand for constitutional safeguards.

On balance, Madam Chishala Kateka wins this debate. Not because she opposed reform, but because she insisted that reform must be constitutionally grounded, procedurally legitimate, and resistant to abuse. In constitutional contests, good intentions are never enough. Clarity and restraint are what endure.