When Justice Feels Like Oppression: The Hidden Dangers of Blind Law Enforcement

The recent viral video of a deputy sheriff demolishing the home of a black woman has shaken Namibia to its core. Though the action was legally mandated, the optics were devastating: a white man enforcing the destruction of a black woman’s property. In a country still healing from a brutal racial past, such images carry weight far beyond the immediate event. They awaken memories many wish to forget, but as history teaches us, memory does not fade simply because we want it to.

Yes, the deputy sheriff acted under a court order, he was doing his job. But there is a difference between the letter of the law and the spirit of justice. Law enforcement in a society with Namibia’s history must be tempered with humanity. Ignoring the social and economic realities surrounding such actions risks igniting old wounds and triggering new political tensions.

This incident cannot be viewed in isolation. Namibia ranks among the most unequal countries in the world. Unemployment remains stubbornly high, especially among the youth, and those who are employed often earn wages insufficient to sustain a decent standard of living. Underemployment is widespread; many Namibians work jobs that barely keep them afloat, leaving them vulnerable to debt traps.

Debt is a silent oppressor. For the poor, it is often not the result of reckless spending but of survival, borrowing to pay school fees, medical bills, or even to put food on the table. When debts cannot be repaid, the consequences are severe, with creditors empowered to seize assets, including homes. This reality disproportionately affects those who already live on the edge of poverty.

In many countries, the primary residence is sacrosanct, it is protected by law from being seized by debt collectors. South Africa, for example, has put strict limits on the sale in execution of primary homes, requiring courts to consider the proportionality and fairness of evicting a family over a debt. In the United States, the “homestead exemption” in several states shields primary residences from creditors, recognizing that housing is a fundamental human right. The European Court of Human Rights has repeatedly ruled that evicting individuals from their homes must always consider the right to family life and human dignity.

Namibia lacks such robust protections. As a result, vulnerable citizens can find themselves homeless over relatively small debts. This is not only a legal issue, it is a moral one. A home is more than property; it is the center of family life, identity, and security. Stripping someone of their home should be the absolute last resort, after all other avenues have been exhausted.

The racial dynamic in this incident is impossible to ignore. While we do not advocate for lawlessness or shielding individuals from legal accountability, the visual of a white man demolishing a black woman’s home in Namibia is politically explosive. It mirrors the injustices of our colonial and apartheid past, when black property was systematically destroyed and black families were displaced.

This is not the first time such scenes have surfaced.

In Katima Mulilo, the recent demolition of about 100 illegal structures at the Lwanyanda compound by police and council members provoked similar outrage, as images of black Namibians being displaced by state machinery evoked painful memories of apartheid-era forced removals. In a country where historical scars run deep, actions like these are not just administrative, they are symbolic, and they can inflame divisions.

The state must tread carefully. The enforcement of laws without compassion risks eroding public trust in institutions. When legal actions appear to perpetuate historical patterns of oppression, they can fuel political radicalization. People begin to see the law not as a protector, but as an enemy.

History offers lessons: in countries where property rights have been enforced without social sensitivity, Brazil during its urban evictions, Kenya during post-colonial land disputes, social unrest has followed. Namibia cannot afford to ignore these warning signs.

This incident should serve as a catalyst for change. Namibia must consider legal reforms that:

  • Protect primary residences from being seized or demolished over debt, aligning with international human rights standards.
  • Prioritize humane enforcement of court orders, with mediation, relocation assistance, and community consultation as prerequisites.
  • Address systemic inequality by tackling unemployment, improving wages, and supporting citizens to avoid falling into debt traps in the first place.

No one is above the law, and debts must be addressed. But justice must go beyond the cold enforcement of court orders. It must recognize the dignity and humanity of those it affects. If Namibia continues to enforce laws without empathy, we risk not only deepening social inequality but also igniting political unrest that could destabilize our fragile progress.

The law may be blind, but those who enforce it cannot afford to be blind to history, context, and the lived realities of our people.

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