MCP Didn’t Die—It Found a Scapegoat, and His Name Is Chimwendo

In the aftermath of MCP’s electoral loss, the party slid into a familiar but destructive ritual: self-laceration. Accusations flew, tempers flared, and blame was distributed with reckless enthusiasm. Insults replaced reflection. To an outsider, it looked like a party breathing its last, its obituary already being drafted.

At the centre of the storm stood Richard Chimwendo Banda—the Secretary General and chief organiser of the party’s campaign ahead of the September 16 elections. Very quickly, public debate collapsed into a single, convenient question: is Chimwendo to blame?

Blame, after all, is politics’ most reliable emotional outlet. When disappointment strikes, institutions look for a human face to carry collective anger. Families do it. Churches do it. Corporations do it. Political parties do it best. In that sense, the outcry against Chimwendo was predictable—perhaps even inevitable. The party needed to vent, and Chimwendo, by virtue of office, became the lightning rod.

What stands out is not the attack, but the response. Or rather, the absence of one. Chimwendo neither lashed out nor retreated. He absorbed the blows with restraint—no counterattacks, no public defensiveness, no panic. In politics, that kind of stillness under pressure is not weakness; it is a mark of control. Leaders do not escape crises. They stand in them and carry the weight.

And the truth is simple: if not the Secretary General, who exactly was the anger supposed to land on?

Still, Chimwendo cannot be judged in isolation. MCP’s story—especially its modern one—is larger than a single election or personality. History is clear on this point: movements are not always shaped most decisively by their founders, but by those who later organise, systematise, and expand them. Christianity did not become a global faith merely because of its origin moment; it was Paul, absent at the beginning, who built its theology, networks, and institutional reach.

The same logic applies to MCP today. Its contemporary machinery—mobilisation structures, youth networks, campaign rhythm, internal discipline—has been shaped by figures who came later but carried the burden of operational politics. Richard Chimwendo Banda has been central to that process. Whether admired or resented, his imprint on the party as it is currently lived and contested is undeniable.

In Parliament, Chimwendo has built a reputation for clarity, discipline, and intellectual seriousness. His contributions are measured and substantive. His re-election as MP was no accident; it was endorsement. By voters in Dowa, yes—but also by a party that has repeatedly trusted him with responsibility. That trajectory matters.

MCP did not lose the election because of Chimwendo’s podium speeches or organisational presence. It lost primarily on the economy. Inflation, currency instability, and a punishing cost of living shaped voter sentiment far more than party structures did. Whether that reality fully absolves Chimwendo is debatable. But blaming a Secretary General for macroeconomic failure—when monetary and fiscal power lay elsewhere—is analytically lazy.

Critics will point to primary elections or accuse Chimwendo of positioning himself for future leadership. But this criticism borders on the banal. Politics is positioning. Every serious politician positions. Politics is a chessboard, not a prayer meeting. Those who survive do so because they understand the game and play it well. If Chimwendo remains standing, it is because he read the board correctly.

Then came the arrest.

Even without full access to the facts, one thing is obvious: Chimwendo understands the moment for what it is—politics stripped bare. During a DPP rally before the elections, George Saonda once mocked him for not having “come of age” politically because he had never been arrested. That supposed deficiency has now been corrected.

In Malawi’s political theatre, arrests are rarely just legal events. They are symbolic acts—tools of intimidation, signals to rivals. If that is the script being followed, then what has happened is less law enforcement than a rite of passage. Chimwendo has now joined the long list of politicians whose careers were tested—and often strengthened—by such encounters.

Blaming Chimwendo for all of MCP’s failures may offer emotional relief, but it is also overkill—politically shallow and strategically misguided. He has survived youth politics, parliamentary battles, internal party turbulence, electoral defeat, and now arrest.

That is not the profile of a political casualty.

It is the profile of a man with many lives.

And in politics, those are the most dangerous—and enduring—figures of all.