Impoverished communities have a complicated relationship with political engagement, which is vital for their survival. (Delwyn Verasamy/M&G)
Recently, during a benchmarking visit to Zambia, I met a group of women parliamentarians to discuss their work, the challenges they face and the changing dynamics of political leadership. One theme kept surfacing — the overwhelming personal demands they receive from their constituents.
People frequently ask them to pay lobola, cover funeral costs, contribute to school fees or assist with a sick relative. One MP said, “Sometimes it feels like I’m the community’s bank, clinic and funeral home all in one.” Another, half-jokingly but with a trace of weariness, remarked, “That’s why most politicians die of hypertension.”
And if a politician dares to say “no”? The response is chilling in its casual threat: “It’s fine, we’ll see you at the next election.”
At first glance, this might seem like overreach. But it reflects a much deeper reality — when state institutions fail to meet basic needs, the politician becomes the de-facto welfare system. A few days after this visit, I came across Afrobarometer’s newly released flagship report and the data echoed what I’d just witnessed in Lusaka — those who experience the most poverty are often the most politically engaged.
The belly as political compass
Across more than 35 African countries, Afrobarometer finds that people living with high poverty — meaning they frequently go without food, clean water or medical care — are not politically passive. In fact, they are more likely to vote, attend community meetings, contact leaders and feel emotionally connected to political parties than those who are better off.
This disrupts the stereotype that poverty leads to apathy. On the contrary, the politics of the belly is a driver of participation, not silence.
However, this participation must also be understood within the changing dynamics of political campaigning. In many contexts, poor people attend rallies and political events because of freebies — food parcels, T-shirts, transport or cash — which are handed out at these gatherings. These are not just political incentives, they have become survival mechanisms in communities where the state is absent or failing. In such cases, turnout and contact with political leaders might be less about political conviction and more about immediate relief.
With elections hotly contested in countries like Malawi in September and Zambia next year, much of this contact is set to intensify. Poor people will attend multiple rallies not necessarily out of support, but to collect as many freebies as possible. Many voters openly say, “Election season is our time to milk politicians.” This is why you will often see the same crowds moving from rally to rally, not because of shifting loyalties, but because it is a brief window of transactional gain in an otherwise extractive political economy.
Moreover, there is a deeply skewed understanding of the role of MPs, who are increasingly viewed not as legislators or policymakers, but as providers of basic services and humanitarian support. This is clearly seen in Zimbabwe, where MP Scott Sakupwanya has taken on functions far beyond his legislative role funding road repairs, opening a community clinic and regularly distributing food in his constituency from his personal purse.
A similar pattern emerged in Malawi, where during a benchmarking visit in 2022, I spoke with Roseby Gadama, who shared how she personally purchased a community ambulance and continues to pay the salary of its driver so her constituents can access emergency health services. These are not isolated cases; they are symptoms of how MPs are being forced to fill the gaps left by a retreating or dysfunctional state.
In this context, political engagement becomes deeply transactional, with citizens anchoring their hopes and their survival to individual politicians, rather than to functioning institutions. What appears on the surface as high participation is often, in reality, a reflection of structural desperation.
When survival is political
Consider the numbers from the Afrobarometer 2025 Flagship Report:
- 74% of those with high poverty voted in the last election, slightly more than the 73% of those with no poverty;
- 43% of the poor feel close to a political party, compared to 31% of those without poverty; and
- They are more likely to attend community meetings (54% versus 30%), join others to raise issues (46% versus 33%) and contact leaders, particularly traditional authorities and local councillors.
This tells us something crucial which is that poverty makes politics unavoidable. When the taps run dry, when the clinic is out of medicine and when school fees are beyond reach, politics is no longer abstract; it’s a daily fight for dignity and survival.
These findings resonate with broader research linking food insecurity and political action A 2025 study by Gurrin et al on peace agreements found that where hunger and food insecurity are pressing concerns, addressing food in peace processes leads to more progress and stability.
While that study focused on post-conflict contexts, its insights speak to a wider truth of how hunger drives engagement. Whether through voting, protest or pressing local MPs for help, poor people participate because survival demands it. When food and dignity are at stake, politics becomes unavoidable.
Protest as a last resort
Even protest, often considered a high-risk form of political expression, is more common among the poor than the better-off. Afrobarometer data shows that 10% of people experiencing high poverty participated in protests or demonstrations, compared to 8% of those without poverty. At first glance, this might seem marginal but it becomes profound when understood in the context of fear, repression and survival.
A 2007 study by Glen Mpani, on the discourse of protest in Zimbabwe, complicates the picture. It found that those most affected by poverty were not necessarily the most likely to protest, despite having strong grievances. Why? Because in highly repressive environments, protest is dangerous and the poor often opt for tactical survival over confrontation.
Mpani writes that “poor people are too concerned about survival to have time for leisure activities” and, in contexts of state violence, the risks of protesting — arrest, beatings and even death — often outweigh the perceived benefits.
This challenges any simple reading of protest data. Low protest rates do not equal contentment; they often reflect fear, exhaustion or a strategic withdrawal from danger. Still, where protests do emerge from the most vulnerable, they are not just acts of resistance they are acts of courage.
Beyond the myths
What all this shows is that poor communities are deeply entangled in the political life of their countries. Their engagement might not always look like formal policy debate but it is real, potent and relentless.
Civil society, development actors and political institutions must take note. These are not people who need to be “brought into” politics. They are already there, calling MPs, mobilising neighbours, showing up at rallies and voting in elections. What they need is a state that functions, leadership that listens and systems that respond.
Let the belly speak
The Zambian MPs I met aren’t just overwhelmed, they are standing at the faultline between institutional failure and public desperation. Their experience, backed by Afrobarometer’s findings, shows us that poverty doesn’t suppress political voice, it amplifies it.
The politics of the belly does not silence, it demands to be heard. When survival itself becomes political, silence is not an option. If we want to build more inclusive democracies, we must stop overlooking the poor because they are already participating. The real question is whether anyone is listening.
Nyasha Mcbride Mpani is the project leader for the Data for Governance Alliance project at the Institute of Justice and Reconciliation in Cape Town.
