The Gavel Drops the Beat: Magis on Strike?

If you were planning to say ‘I Do’ this Friday, put down the holy water and stop panic-dialling the pastor.

You haven’t been bewitched by that jealous auntie from the village. Relax.

It’s just the magistrates. They are on strike, just like regular mineworkers.

Yes, you heard me right. The people who usually tell you to “Stand up!” and “Shut up!” have decided to do a little standing up and shouting of their own.

And let me tell you, it is a visual that my poor eyes were not prepared to process.

We are used to seeing these learned friends in the cool, air-conditioned sanctity of the court, looking down their noses at us over piles of paperwork.

The smell of old law books overrides the smell of a suspect coming in straight from the holding cells. But this week?

The High and Mighty became the Loud and Sweaty.

Seeing a magistrate in full robes doing a stiff-kneed toyi-toyi on Independence Avenue is like watching your grandmother try to breakdance at a wedding. It’s confusing, slightly terrifying and you just cannot look away.

The Wedding Blues and Karibib Queues

I know some of you are panicking. I see you, Tate. You finally convinced that poor girl to marry you.

You even booked the magistrate at Karibib because everyone knows their calendar is wider open than a taxi door on a Friday afternoon. You had the suits, the tent and the cow ready.

But now? Sorry, nè. The “I Dos” have to wait. All those hopeful romantics are realising that love might be patient, but it doesn’t have a union representative.

The magistrates, however? They seem to have their own National Union of Namibian Workers now.

The Criminal’s Customer Service Nightmare

But if the lovers are crying, the criminals are absolutely confused. It is a topsy-turvy world, comrades.

Usually, nobody wants to go to court. But this week, the holding cells are turning into the world’s worst Airbnb, and the guests are desperate to check out.

Suddenly, the thieves, the swindlers and the corrupt officials realised that without the person with the little wooden hammer, “innocent until proven guilty” just means “stuck in a cold room smelling of regret and disinfectant” indefinitely. They weren’t striking for freedom; they were striking for processing!

I was walking past the Windhoek Magistrate’s Court in Katutura, and I swear on my mother’s cooking I could feel the vibration of the chaos. I almost expected to see a local activist grabbing a megaphone, shouting, “What about our criminals? They have rights too! They deserve to be sentenced promptly! This service delivery is poor!”

Imagine a world where a tsotsi is begging to see the judge, just so he can be moved to a prison that at least has a TV schedule.

The Price of the Gavel

In the middle of all this noise, I had to pause and ask myself: What is really going on here? Why are the people we pay to judge us suddenly acting like university students who didn’t get their Namibia Students Financial Assistance Fund refunds?

I read somewhere that they are “autonomous”.

They say they should not be meddled with. Ai! It’s a tricky thing. They want to live that high-flying life, beyond the means of the taxpayers who, let’s be honest, can barely afford a loaf of bread and a recharge voucher lately.

It’s a philosophical pickle, isn’t it? We, the taxpayers, provide the salaries. So, logic dictates we should have a say in the menu, right? But no, they tell us, “We are special”.

And looking at the chaos caused by their absence, I am starting to hate the fact that they might be right.

Safety, Security and South African Copycats

However, I must put my cynicism in my pocket for one second – just this once. I remembered the stories. Magistrates being threatened by syndicates, beaten up and even un-alived.

It’s not a joke. When you send a man to jail, his friends outside don’t usually send you a Christmas card.

So, when they ask for security, for two bouncers each to look like they are entering a club rather than a courtroom, I get it.

“Magis Lives Matter.”

If a rapist is begging to be arrested just to escape mob justice on the street, but there is no one to sign the warrant, we have a problem. The police station becomes a hotel, and the streets become the Wild West.

We need these people safe, if only so they can safely lock up the bad guys.

But I have to wonder … didn’t I just see this movie? Didn’t the magistrates in South Africa down their hammers and hit the Durban streets just last month?

Is this a case of legitimate grievance, or is it just our classic Namibian habit of “monkey see, monkey sue”?

I guess they saw it on TikTok and thought, “Hey, that looks like a good cardio workout”.

The Verdict

This strike has taught us a humiliating lesson: As much as we complain about them, the system instantly collapses without them.

We need the robes. We need the gavels.

We need the stern looks over the spectacles.

But I tell you this: When they finally go back to work, it’s going to be awkward.

How are you supposed to take a judge seriously when you saw him yesterday sweating through a T-shirt, and trying to find the rhythm to a struggle song?

In an age of information overload, Sunrise is The Namibian’s morning briefing, delivered at 6h00 from Monday to Friday. It offers a curated rundown of the most important stories from the past 24 hours – occasionally with a light, witty touch. It’s an essential way to stay informed. Subscribe and join our newsletter community.