THE assurances by The Human Rights Commission (HRC) that Zambians are “free” to express themselves amidst a tightening web of cyber legislation ring hollow against the reality that citizens like 22-year-old Jeremiah Nkunika, recently detained for posting memes highlighting the soaring cost of living, are being treated like criminals.
This case – trivial in nature, profound in impact – exposes the chasm between constitutional guarantees and the enforcement realities of the Cyber Security Act No. 3 and the Cyber Crimes Act No. 4 of 2025.
When a young citizen is thrown behind bars for expressing economic frustration through digital satire, it becomes painfully clear that the digital space is no longer a safe zone for civic expression.
The laws – however well-intentioned they may be in theory – are morphing into tools of repression in practice. Their vague wording and broad scope make them fertile ground for abuse, chilling speech before it is even uttered.
Despite the HRC’s caution that enforcement should be lawful, necessary, and proportionate, the lived experience of many Zambians is anything but.
The atmosphere now resembles an Orwellian surveillance state – “Big Brother is watching you” – where any critical voice online risks persecution.
The Commission itself admits that these laws have generated “an aura of fear.” And yet, paradoxically, it asks citizens to “freely enjoy” their rights.
But what kind of freedom exists in an environment where people self-censor out of fear of arrest? What kind of democratic expression can thrive when memes – a harmless, creative form of critique – are grounds for incarceration?
Civil society organisations have rightly labelled these laws repressive. Even the United States government has warned its citizens to exercise caution online while in Zambia.
If international actors are sounding alarms, should we not listen?
The government has every right – and indeed the responsibility – to protect citizens from genuine cyber threats: fraud, trafficking, terrorism.
But lumping peaceful dissent, social commentary, or political satire into the same category as cybercrime is a dangerous overreach.
It sends a message that what is being protected is not public safety, but political image.
If the HRC wishes its assurances to carry weight, it must go beyond press statements. It must actively hold law enforcement agencies accountable for misapplication of the law and push for judicial scrutiny in cases like Nkunika’s. Platitudes about rights and responsibilities are meaningless without tangible protections for the people exercising those rights.
In the end, rights are not a gift from the state to be enjoyed conditionally – they are entitlements protected by the Constitution. And if cyber laws are being used to criminalise criticism, then they are not simply flawed – they are dangerous.
Zambians deserve laws that protect, not punish; that preserve freedom, not instil fear. Until then, freedom of expression remains a slogan – one that echoes eerily across a digital landscape increasingly policed by paranoia.
