Over a decade ago, Brown James Mpinganjira—BJ as they call him—tantalised the United Democratic Front (UDF) and swept many off their political feet when he dumped his beloved UDF to form the now-defunct National Democratic Alliance (NDA).
I was in junior secondary school then and BJ seemed relevant. In those days, BJ was a colossal figure in the Lhomwe belt and was poised to give the UDF a run for its money. But when the electoral metal met the meat in the 2004 polls, BJ came crashing to the ground and was left with a sliced ego and a battered political face.
Years later, BJ—a once-upon-a-time—political stalwart slipped into political oblivion only to suddenly reappear later as a self proclaimed man of God. During his hibernation, we never missed him an iota in the political circle. He was, at least to me, a blurred line in the endnote of a long political script.
It was in 2011, or thereabout, when Joyce Banda—in a desperate attempt to give some relevance to her party— exhumed BJ from his political grave that we heard he was back in politics.
But, even though BJ returned to the political scene, he found the terrain completely changed and most times could be seen gasping for air or muttering some in comprehensibles that were only relevant over a decade previously.
For starters, despite being one of those loyalists who walked by JB during her political aridity and the formative years of the People’s Party, BJ was never popular in the party, and he resoundingly lost the post of Vice President (South) of the party during the party’s convention. He only got his chance through the backdoor after Sidik Mia called it quits.
By chance and when the PP had clearly lost its political mojo and halo, BJ was drafted into the cabinet in a portfolio whose dos and don’ts change by each blink of an eye. He ended up, as I said earlier, bringing and making statements that were only relevant when Abraham and Sarah were still in kindergarten.
In a perfect world, people like BJ should have been long interred in the grave of political near-men and seen to it that whatever they try to speak is quickly hushed up and all their steps given no attention. But journalism is funny and disturbing sometimes; we give prominence to things and people that are absolutely irrelevant to national development.
BJ, if he is to be put in his right place, was—just like many others—a liability to the People’s Party, which is itself a liability to the nation.
In case you have forgotten, BJ couldn’t even manage to convince his own constituency to vote for him as MP. To think that a man with a tattered following like BJ has any magnetism left on him is simply diving headlong onto a mirage.
It is obvious that after his sabbatical, BJ will return and, a sexpected, will announce his joining of another party amid pomp and funfair. I refuse to join the bandwagon of pampering wasted gold diggers masquerading as politicians.
Two weeks ago, one Sosten Gwengwe—another near-man who sniffed the aroma of the vice presidency only to see it drift away in a haunting flash—announced that he was contemplating ending his romance with JB’s PP for the love of his youth, the MCP. Again I found this equally silly and didn’t give a fuss about it.
To me, Gwengwe is one choke politician who, by being close to an impressionable woman—that is JB—ended up wearing huge robes of a running mate. But, just as the polls showed, Gwengwe too does not command any notable following and, together with the PP, fell at the polls.
At only 38, young Sosten has already had three political divorces and he is looking desperately to return to his first love. After breaking his political hymen with the MCP, the lad decided to have a romance with the DPP when the party looked attractive and had all the money in the purse; when the DPP lost its blue beauty, Gwengwe jumped into bed with the PP in a dalliance that nearly graduated into a formal marriage. Now, here he is unabashedly tiptoeing to the MCP.
What beats me is how and where these people get the confidence to think any of their moves is a matter on national concern.
I think political parties, in all their making, love to be silly and do not have the guts to shut the door in political harlots’ face.
As for me and my family, we have decided to tell these politicians that they no longer fascinate us. They can go hang if they like.
Earlier in the week, we had a heated debate in the office about the civil way of canonising bad trades, especially prostitution. I was and remain of the view that those women who go about selling sex to lascivious men at pubs and clubs must not be decorated with civil terms like sex-workers rather, they should be called what they are, prostitutes.
We also argued that calling people political prostitutes is too harsh and uncivil. Instead we should call them political rolling stones. I refused that. I think just as we call prostitutes, sex-workers, these politicians who keep jumping from one party to another must be called, with all civility, political sex-workers
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