In a development that has sent barristers scurrying for their sherry and Commonwealth officials reaching for the nearest stiff drink, British legal experts have raised serious questions over the handling of Zambia’s former president’s earthly remains. It appears that even in death, the man cannot escape the bureaucratic circus that defined his tenure.
The row, which involves a dispute over where the late leader’s body should be laid to rest, has escalated to the point where the Commonwealth’s vaunted norms are being tested with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer to a Fabergé egg. One cannot help but wonder if the organisation’s esteemed principles are worth the parchment they’re printed on.
According to sources, the ex-president’s family is locked in a bitter tug-of-war with the Zambian government. The government insists on a state funeral in the capital, while the family, presumably fearing a political circus, wants a quiet burial in his home village. Meanwhile, British legal eagles have declared the whole affair a “worrying precedent” for Commonwealth jurisprudence. I’d say it’s more of a farce, but what do I know?
The whole mess brings to mind the immortal words of that great philosopher, Sir Humphrey Appleby: “The first rule of politics is: never let the truth get in the way of a good story.” And what a story it is. A dead president, a squabbling family, a government that seems to have lost the plot, and the Commonwealth looking on with all the bewilderment of a vicar at a biker rally.
One legal expert, a man whose wig is even taller than his reputation, told this reporter: “This is a clear violation of the Commonwealth’s commitment to rule of law and human dignity. It’s an absolute shambles.” Quite right, old boy. But then again, when have such high-flown ideals ever stopped a government from doing what it wants?
The Zambian authorities, for their part, have been characteristically evasive, issuing statements that say everything and nothing. It’s the sort of diplomatic gobbledegook that would make a Brussels bureaucrat blush. Meanwhile, the ex-president’s family has hired a top London law firm, no doubt hoping that the long arm of British justice can reach all the way to Lusaka.
As the body sits in cold storage awaiting a resolution, one can’t help but think of the absurdity of it all. Here is a man who spent a lifetime navigating the treacherous waters of African politics, only to end up as the centrepiece of a legal dispute that would make a Kafka novel look like a bedtime story. The Commonwealth, that great club of former colonies, is now faced with the unenviable task of mediating a row over a corpse. It’s enough to make you weep into your G&T.
But perhaps this is simply the new normal. In an age where norms are more often breached than observed, why should the world of post-colonial diplomacy be any different? The ex-president’s body has become a political football, kicked around by all sides with no regard for the man himself. It’s a tragicomic end to a life of public service, and a damning indictment of the so-called rules that govern our international institutions.
So raise a glass to the late president and to the Commonwealth’s fraying fabric. May they both find some peace, though I’m not holding my breath. As for the barristers, they’ll be laughing all the way to the bank.
