Law Enforcement: Take Two

There was a time when the uniform meant something. When seeing a ‘gatta’ was enough to make nonsense quickly reorganise itself.

These days, or at least on COPPS 94.1, the uniform seems to say: “Relax, let me first assess the vibes.” We’ve moved from “don’t even try it” to “hold on, let me warn you politely while you slap someone again”.

Now we see what they cut out just to show us some almost scripted moments of real-life policing in Namibia.

In this episode, the drama was better than a Telemundo series.

A young woman argues with her alleged boyfriend, using language that would get you banned from church WhatsApp groups. She slaps him. Threatens him. Then casually turns on her friend and starts assaulting her too – right in front of a senior officer. Normally, if you sneeze aggressively in front of a cop, you’re already tasting gravel. Not here. The officer strolls back to the vehicle, fetches a baton like she’s going to fetch chapati, returns, and delivers a lecture about respect because the woman is an “elder”.

An elder. In the middle of a brawl. I swear she just stood there like a prop on stage.

It was like watching a Gogo trying to calm down children while the house is actively burning. Seconds later, the situation explodes. And who actually intervenes? Not the badge. Not the training. The presenter and a random bystander. Civilians. Volunteers. Meanwhile, the officer stands there looking like she’s afraid of chipping a nail or being tagged on Facebook.

We are now living in an era where policing has quietly joined the entertainment industry. When the blue lights flash, you’re no longer sure whether you’re being arrested or auditioning as an extra in a low-budget action movie. It’s a systemic failure when law enforcement starts prioritising screen presence over presence of mind. Those officers who look sharp and serious on camera would probably struggle to break up a proper Katutura shebeen fight without a script supervisor and a safety briefing.

Maybe that’s why the entertainment wing is so attractive. It’s safer. Real crime doesn’t wait for the cameraman to change batteries or adjust exposure. Real crime doesn’t pause because the presenter hasn’t finished his line. But on TV, the law moves at a carefully choreographed pace. Cue drama. Cue warning. Cue commercial break.

I’m not promoting the show, but you should have seen the episode. It’s starting to look like the real nonsense usually gets edited out. Normally, they do a fantastic job hiding the incompetence. This time, either the editor was on leave, or they simply ran out of usable footage. Either way, the secret slipped through: once a film crew is involved, police work becomes about as authentic as a politician’s promise in election season.

And then the uncomfortable question arises: why are we using taxpayer and ratepayer money to run patrols that double as content for a private business? We are literally funding our own embarrassment in high definition. Paying to watch authority hesitate. But sharp, that conversation is for another day.

That’s when it hits you: this isn’t policing. This is that ‘One Funny Day’ TV show all over again.

If you want to see real police work in Namibia, you go where the cameras don’t. Where there’s no mic, no branding, no “please face the camera.” In the real world, the “elder” card doesn’t work when bottles are flying. Real police officers, the ones not chasing TikTok fame, don’t negotiate with fists mid-air. They don’t flirt with batons. They act. There’s a robustness to real policing that involves far less talking and far more “get in the van, tjap-tjap”.

Comparing that COPPS episode to real law enforcement is like comparing a toy water pistol to a fire hose. On Sunday, we watched a performance. On a real Friday night in the kasi, order gets restored without waiting for a director to say “cut”.

Ultimately, Namibia needs to get its policing right, on camera and off it. It’s embarrassing to see state authority reduced to a prop. Officers who sign up for these media gigs must remember they’re dealing with real violence, not “content”. When the camera is rolling, they represent the law, not a brand.

If you can’t handle a simple domestic spat without a civilian stepping in, then do us all a favour: hand in the badge and go full-time into acting. At least then we won’t be paying for the illusion of safety. We don’t need a season finale. We need protection.

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