President Kenneth Kaunda (1924–2021): A Personal Tribute
I’m writing this blogpost with a heavy heart. The past week has been quite difficult both here in Johannesburg, and back home in Zambia. The third wave of Covid is firmly here and cases have skyrocketed. We have witnessed the passing away of a number of people. Prof. Bhekizizwe Peterson of the Department of African Literature at Wits, whose work I’m reading for my PhD, passed away (Prof. Hugo Canham described him as “the last professor” in this heartfelt blog). Sadly, a close friend lost her father in Zambia, I lost a paternal aunt, and on Sunday news broke that Zambia’s Chief Justice, Hon. Mrs. Irene Mambilima, passed away while working in Egypt. On the 17th of June Former President Kenneth Kaunda left us. There’s an overwhelming sense of loss in the land even while we try to celebrate these lives. In normal times, we would congregate to sing together. In these times we are robbed of ritual and often have to mourn alone.
South Africa has declared 10 days mourning in President Kaunda’s honour, Zambia has declared 21 days and other countries in southern Africa have similarly declared periods of mourning. The BBC recently published a piece about how young Africans are forgetting their history. It wouldn’t be a stretch to guess that many younger people in southern Africa don’t’ understand the fuss around Kenneth Kaunda’s passing. Even in Zambia, as some obituaries have pointed out, in later years KK’s “opinions were sought less frequently.” Nevertheless, within Zambia there seems to have been some resurgent interest in Dr. Kaunda’s life among the youth in recent years with at least two Zambian popular songs either referring to him or paying him homage. Mic Burner’s “Kenneth Kaunda” is a hip hop song that draws on Super Ken’s struggle for independence. Natasha Chansa’s song, also entitled “Kenneth Kaunda”(above) was released just last year and is a beautiful tribute to the man whose efforts united Zambia’s disparate ethno–linguistic groups into one nation.
Drs. Sishuwa Sishuwa and Nic Cheeseman have written the richest obituary I’ve read so far about KK’s long life, describing him as the “last of Africa’s ‘philosopher kings.” Although Dr. Kenneth Kaunda made mistakes in his long rule (he was human), the authors’ assessment is that KK was a leader “who twice put the national interest before his own — in the 1960s and in the 1990s.” This is in sharp contrast with the current crop of leaders, whose only goal seems to be self aggrandisement and enrichment. Being in South Africa, I have grown increasingly interested in Kaunda’s efforts to end apartheid. As I understand it, KK sacrificed Zambia’s welfare to secure freedom in southern Africa. He not only hosted several liberation movements in Zambia but also spent his own political capital attempting to persuade successive apartheid–era South African presidents to release political prisoners including Nelson Mandela (even The Economist’s less than flattering obituary seems to acknowledge that his efforts to bring peace to southern Africa from the 1970s onwards were genuine). In being such a staunch fighter for independence, was Kaunda primarily motivated by his pan-Africanism, Christianity, or ubuntu? Or, was it simply the pragmatic thing to do as a politician who led a country that was at independence in 1964 still surrounded by colonial and undemocratic states which would proceed to attack its territory in retaliation for Zambia’s hosting of liberation movements?
As a not–so–young African who grew up in Zambia in the shadow of KK’s presidency, I must confess that Dr. Kaunda’s death has been personally devastating. I took a picture with KK, by chance, many years ago during a gap year in Zambia. I carried a print with me when I went to college in America. A roommate there asked me why I treasured the photograph so much. I didn’t immediately have a clear answer. In the past few days, it has begun to dawn on me. KK was our George Washington–and more. My own mother, I recently realised, was born during the Federation of Rhodesia and Nyasaland and considered a second–class citizen in the land of her ancestors. Independence wasn’t easy to win but KK and his comrades fought to ensure that all people, Black or white, Muslim, Christian, or Jewish, would have equal rights in the new country called Zambia.
While we want to veer away from writing history that elevates heroes to the negation of everyday resistance and the role of women (and there are many other people, “big” and “small,” who contributed to Zambia’s independence), human beings often need icons. KK was that to many Zambians, especially those of us born long after independence. But, was independence that long ago? Inasmuch as we appreciate the contributions of the KKs, Mandelas, Nkrumahs, and Nyereres, their relatively recent deaths make me wonder about where we are temporally in the “post” of postcolonial. This does not reduce the burden on my generation to work towards decolonisation but gives us space to consider, as a friend brilliantly pointed out to me recently in a phone conversation, that it will take a little time to fully understand the impact of coloniality on our societies. Indeed, we have barely emerged from the grasp of its claws.
Thank you for everything, President Kaunda. Thank you for contributing to our freedom, thank you for rising above your own self–interest at a time when Zambia needed you to do so. Thank you for the songs. Thank you for taking a minute to let me have a photograph with you. Thank you for your ubuntu. Rest in power, embrace Mama Betty. You have joined your comrades now, Africa is grateful. Hamba kahle, tata.