Namibia has always prided itself on being a nation rooted in law and democratic values. We boast a Constitution that is admired across the continent, and institutions that, at least in principle, should safeguard our democracy from the kind of arbitrary governance that has destabilised so many of our neighbours. Yet, every so often, we are reminded that even in Namibia, leaders sometimes forget that power is borrowed, not owned, and that authority must be exercised within the guardrails of law.
The latest controversy surrounding Urban and Rural Development Minister James Sankwasa is a case in point. On 15 August, a government gazette announced that Sankwasa had dismissed the Katima Mulilo Town Council under section 92(2) of the Local Authorities Act of 1992. Effective immediately, the seven elected councillors were shown the door. No explanation. No due process. No reasons offered to the very people who elected those councillors.
Predictably, the official opposition, the Independent Patriots for Change (IPC) has condemned the move, calling it unconstitutional, undemocratic, and a blatant abuse of power. Their argument is not difficult to follow: how can one unelected minister casually overrule the will of the electorate, remove a democratically chosen council, and not even bother to justify such a drastic decision? In a country governed by law, this is not just heavy-handed; it is dangerous.
A Trend of Overreach
But Sankwasa is not alone in this. Increasingly, we have seen ministers and political leaders grow bolder in stretching , and sometimes breaking, the limits of their authority. They give unlawful instructions to boards. They dismiss officials outside due process. They interfere in the daily operations of parastatals and local councils under the guise of “cleaning up” or “being hands on.” To the ordinary Namibian, such behaviour may even appear commendable. After all, who doesn’t want to see corruption punished, incompetence removed, and chaos replaced with order?
The problem is not the intention, it is the method. In a democracy, the ends never justify unlawful means. A minister who oversteps the law, even if doing so in the name of efficiency or accountability, is no different from the very officials he claims to be disciplining. If rules are ignored whenever they feel inconvenient, we will soon find ourselves governed by personalities rather than institutions. And that, fellow Namibians, is the beginning of decline.
Why Laws Exist
It is worth reminding ourselves why laws exist. They are not there to protect councillors or politicians from being fired when they underperform. They are there to protect all of us, the sovereign, the voter, from arbitrary exercise of power. When a leader is frustrated with dysfunction, there are channels: investigations, audits, disciplinary processes, and ultimately the ballot box. Skipping all of these and wielding power like a machete might look decisive, but it erodes the very systems that are supposed to ensure fairness and accountability.
Sankwasa’s dismissal of the Katima Mulilo Town Council may have been cheered by some. But think about the precedent. If one minister can, without reason, remove an entire council, what stops another from dismissing a board, a management team, or even interfering in elections, simply because they feel “frustrated”? Today it is Katima Mulilo; tomorrow, it could be your town.
The Double-Edged Sword
There is also a deeper irony. Politicians who act in this gung-ho manner often do so to prove that they are “hands on” and responsive. Yet in doing so, they end up weakening the very systems that should make them accountable. It becomes a double-edged sword: yes, you may score short-term political points by looking tough, but you will simultaneously undermine the credibility of governance. Once systems are bent, they do not easily spring back.
And let us be frank, unilateral executive overreach is not new to Africa. Across the continent, we have seen how leaders justify power grabs under the banner of “cleaning up” or “restoring order.” It always starts with good intentions, but it rarely ends well. Namibia must resist this temptation. We cannot allow our ministers to mimic authoritarian tactics in the name of efficiency.
Who Checks the Checkers?
Which brings us to the crucial question: who is checking the checkers? Parliament must find its voice. The courts must step up where laws are broken. Civil society and the media must refuse to be silent when the line is crossed. Too often, the default reaction of the public is to applaud decisive action, without asking whether that action is lawful. But democracy is not just about results; it is about process.
If ministers can sidestep process whenever it suits them, then the Constitution is reduced to a decorative document, to be waved on independence anniversaries but ignored in practice. That is not the Namibia we fought for.
A Friendly but Firm Warning
Let this be a friendly, yet firm warning to our leaders. The Namibian people are not blind. They may tolerate overreach once, twice, even three times. But history shows that when citizens realise their institutions are being eroded, trust evaporates. And once trust is gone, it is very difficult to govern effectively.
Minister Sankwasa, and indeed all ministers, must remember: power is not permanent. Authority is not a personal possession. It is a temporary assignment given by the people and regulated by law. To treat it otherwise is to invite the very chaos you claim to be solving.
Namibia’s democracy is still young. Its roots are strong, but they must be watered with respect for the rule of law. If the checkers are not checked, the game will quickly descend into disorder. And once that happens, it is the ordinary Namibian who suffers most.
So yes, somebody must check the checkers, and that somebody is all of us. Parliament, the courts, political parties, the media, and citizens alike. For in the end, democracy survives not because leaders always do the right thing, but because the people insist that they must.
