A Distinguished Judge

A Distinguished Judge

            ‘You’ll soon be finishing school,’ I said to Thoko. ‘What are you going to do with yourself? Follow your mother into the fashion business? Maybe you’ll become a famous fashion model?’

          ‘Famous is not good enough for me,’ said Thoko, ‘I want to be distinguished. I shall study law and pass with distinction. Then I’ll become a distinguished lawyer and earn lots of money by saving rich crooks from going to jail!’

          ‘And also saving your poor grandfather from his rich creditors,’ I suggested.

          ‘Here in Kalakiland,’ said Thoko, ‘have we ever had a distinguished female lawyer?’

          ‘Only one,’ I said, ‘and that was a long time ago, about a hundred years ago. Her name was Lilomba Chibebebe, and she became a very distinguished Chief Justice.’

          ‘She got right to the top?’

          ‘Oh yes. She was very ambitious!’

          ‘A hundred years ago! She must have been very clever to get into school in those days!’

          ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I laughed. ‘The first missionary schools couldn’t attract pupils in those early days, and had to take the children of outcasts, lepers, mad people and that sort of thing.

‘And was Lilomba the daughter of outcasts?’

‘Good gracious no, Lilomba was the daughter of a chief, and should have been educated as a princess to understand and practice the traditional culture.’

          ‘So why wasn’t she given a proper education?’

          ‘She was rather a fat and clumsy child, and couldn’t master the art of traditional dancing. She lacked the wit and elegance of a princess, so she was sent away in disgrace to one of the missionary schools.’

          ‘Where she distinguished herself?’

          ‘No, not at all, she was very slow and ponderous. But after repeating five times, she did finally manage to pass to go to the new university.’

          ‘Where she distinguished herself?’

          ‘No, all that came later. But she scratched a degree in law and became a lawyer.’

          ‘Where she distinguished herself?’

          ‘No, all that came later. Her rather slow and ponderous brain wasn’t up to the adversarial cut and thrust of a courtroom argument, so she never won a case.

          ‘So what did she do?’

          ‘The only thing left, she stood as a member of parliament.’

          ‘And did she win?’

          ‘Of course. She was the daughter of a chief, so all her tribesmen voted for her.’

          ‘And did she distinguish herself as a parliamentarian?’

          ‘She didn’t need to. As the daughter of a chief she was immediately appointed as a Minister of State.’

          ‘So was she able to distinguish herself as an active and decisive minister?’

          ‘Er, not exactly,’ I replied. ‘Her great moment in life was yet to come. She was a bit slow and cautious for making quick bold decisions. But she was the daughter of a chief, so something had to be done with her. So she was made Ambassador to Angleterre.’

          ‘Where she really excelled?’ suggested Thoko.

          ‘She made a bit of a name for herself,’ I chuckled. ‘She tried to steal the husband of the American Ambassador, and a bit of a scandal had to be hushed up, so she was quietly sent home. She had to be given another job quickly to avoid the impression that she was in disgrace. Then it was remembered that she had a law degree. So she was made a judge!’

          ‘Where at last she distinguished herself!’

          ‘Not immediately,’ I admitted. ‘There were some funny judgments. When a man was accused of stealing an elephant she declared that the elephant was too big and must have been the aggressor. So she jailed the elephant for stealing the man. When two women both claimed the same husband, she settled the matter by taking the husband for herself.’

          ‘Oh dear,’ said Thoko sadly. ‘So she was in trouble again.’

          ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘The Supreme Court had become very agitated and overloaded because all of Lilomba’s judgments went there on appeal, and all of her judgments had to be overturned. The whole thing was becoming a public scandal. But in those days it was almost impossible to fire a judge.’

          ‘So she had to be promoted to the Supreme Court.’

          ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘They thought it would be a safer place for her.’

          ‘And was it?’

          ‘Not entirely,’ I replied sadly. ‘Everything was alright for the first twenty years, and everybody forgot about the previously notorious Lilomba.  But as time went on, the older Supreme Court judges retired, until finally she became the most senior, and was appointed Chief Justice!’

          ‘And now, at last,’ Thoko breathed a sigh of relief, ‘she was ready to really distinguish herself.’

          ‘Indeed she was,’ I said. ‘She invented an entirely new form of jurisprudence. One day, sitting in her office, she asked herself Why should I wait for parliament to make laws when I can do it myself? And the next day she asked herself Why should I have all these courts hearing both sides of a story when the law is clear? I shall make the judgments myself! After all, I am the Chief Justice!’

          ‘She took over the whole show?’

          ‘Exactly. Anytime she saw anything that she didn’t like, she just wrote out a judgment and sentence, and sent it by office messenger to the person who had offended her. And if one of her friends was annoyed by somebody, they would just whisper in her ear, and she would immediately send her messenger to issue another judgment and sentence. It was justice made simple. And it was an entirely new system.’

          ‘So she really distinguished herself!’

          ‘She certainly did. She destroyed the rule of law, she destroyed the constitution and she destroyed democracy. She really distinguished herself!'

             

           

            

Judging the Judge

Judging the Judge

‘All rise,’ ordered the Clerk of Court, as in swept the Judge Mutunga, latest star of our entertaining  judiciary. ‘Today,’ intoned the Clerk, ‘we return to the case of DBZ vs Mr Red Miimba. I call upon Mr Miimba to return to the witness box.’

     ‘Mr Miimba,’ said the judge, ‘Disbursing Billions of Zillions, trading as DBZ, is suing you in your capacity as a director of Postmortem Tours. DBZ is demanding the return of the twenty billion pin which they made the mistake of lending to you. What do you have to say for yourself before I pass judgement?’

     ‘M’Lord,’ replied Miimba wearily, ‘this is well known to be a politically motivated case. As the manager of DBZ, Mr Dubious Brainless Zombie has already explained to this court that the loan was to support the Postmortem Bus Tours of Monstrous Mansions in New Kasama. These tours were organized so that ordinary citizens could see how their tax money had been squandered and misappropiated by the previous government. This was part of the Fight Against Corruption.’

     ‘Mr Miimba,’ said the judge sternly, ‘I am not interested in whether your bus tours were to New Kasama or Timbuktu. But I am interested in how you were lent twenty billion pin when you were notoriously insolvent and owed money all around town.’

     ‘M’Lord, the government backed the loan because my tours were exposing corruption.’

     ‘Hmmm,’ murmered the judge. ‘But if this corrupt loan was such an important part of the Fight Against Corruption, then why did DBZ suddenly call in the loan? Was this an unexpected sign that the Fight Against Corruption had begun to succeed?’

     ‘A new government came in,’ explained Miimba. ‘And the new government immediately started the Fight Against the Fight Against Corruption, and realized that I was now part of the Fight Against the Fight against the Fight Against Corruption. So DBZ called in the loan because they had to follow instructions from the new government.’

     ‘So DBZ brought you to court to get their money back?’

     ‘Yes, M’Lord.’

     ‘Was that really because the loan was corruptly obtained?’

     ‘Certainly not, M’Lord. That could not possibly have been the case, because the government’s new Fight Against the Fight Against Corruption was in support of corruption.’

     ‘But why didn’t you just repay the loan?’ wondered the judge.

     ‘It was a matter of principle,’ explained Miimba. ‘From the outset it was understood that this money was just a grant for our good work, and only described as a loan for accounting purposes. Therefore the demand for repayment was obviously being made in bad faith.’

     ‘I put it to you,’ said the judge, ‘that DBZ stole this money from the people, and you were stealing it from DBZ, and this was understood on both sides.’

     ‘Exactly,’ agreed Miimba. ‘I quite agree that if one thief lends money to another thief, the second thief should perhaps be open to the accusation of receiving stolen property. But I should not need to remind Your Lordship that no such charge is before this court, and you would do well to concentrate your mind on the actual matter in hand.’

     ‘It seems to me,’ retorted the judge, ‘that despite all your claims of political machinations, the simple truth of the matter is that you borrowed twenty billion pin and you should repay it. What do you say about that?’

     ‘I would warn you to be careful,’ said Miimba ominously. ‘The previous judge in this case was about to rule in my favour, and see what happened to him!’

     ‘What do you mean?’ laughed the judge. ‘Don’t you want me to rule in your favour? Anyway, I wasn’t thinking of doing so!’

     ‘You don’t seem to understand the political predicament of the judiciary, or the danger of your own position’ replied Miimba. ‘The last judge failed to understand that the government wanted a judgment against me, so when they saw that he was about to rule in my favour, he was recused.’

     ‘Nonsense,’ said Judge Mutanga, ‘a judge cannot be recused, he can only recuse himself.’

     ‘Well,’ said Miimba, ‘maybe he was infused or excused or just confused, but he certainly had to leave in a hurry. That’s why you were suddenly allocated this case.’

     ‘Oh good,’ said the judge, ‘so if I rule against you, I shall be doing the right thing!’

     ‘Don’t you understand anything?’ sneered Miimba. ‘The government has changed since then, the Fight Against Corruption has resumed, and the people in government are all my friends again. So I am just giving you a friendly warning that if you rule against me, you are putting yourself in a fix.’

     ‘Well,’ said the judge, ‘The law says that if you borrow money you should repay it. So I order you to do so.’

     Two days later the TV evening news included the following item: ‘High Court Judge Mutanga has been arrested and charged for stealing a pencil from Shoprite. ACC Spokesperson has revealed that, after the judge’s home and office were searched for twenty-four hours, investigating officers found the pencil concealed in a desk draw, and Judge Mutanga could not produce a valid receipt to justify his possession of the item suspected to have been stolen. The charge is further aggravated by the suspicion that this allegedly stolen pencil is the very one used by another judge when he was forced to recuse himself. Police bond has been refused on suspicion that the judge could easily repeat the same offence if allowed out of custody.’

Rumble in the Jungle

Rumble in the Jungle

Sara was already hidden behind The Post as I joined her for breakfast. ‘What’s in the paper this morning?’ I asked.

‘Tonight it’s the Rumble in the Jungle. The notorious Punching Fist is challenging the Mighty Monstrous Dinosaur for the crown, to be King of Zambia.’

‘Really?’ I said, as I poured my cornflakes. ‘Isn’t there supposed to be an election?’

‘You’re completely out of date,’ laughed Sara. ‘It was one of the main recommendations of the National Conference of Clowns. The Dinosaur even announced in September last year that he was going into training for the big fight.’

‘So why do away with elections?’

‘They had degenerated into warfare between rival militia,’ she laughed, as she cracked open a boiled egg with one blow of her knife. ‘So the NCC decided to revert to the old traditional African method of confining the fight to the two main contenders.’

So later that same day Sara and I were in our balcony seats in a packed Mulungushi Hall, waiting for the big fight to begin. Down below us was the boxing ring.

‘It’s well past eight,’ I said ‘where are the officials?’ But as I spoke three old men hobbled in with the help of walking sticks.’

‘Most of our judges are terribly bent,’ said Sara sadly.

‘Their backs are probably bent from too much studying of law books,’ I suggested.

‘From constantly attending to their pockets,’ she replied.

Now there was a general booing and hissing, as a sinister figure in a black cloak slithered into the ring. ‘That’s the red-lipped snake,’ said Sara. ‘He makes the rules, decides all cases, and controls the judges. He’s going to be the referee.’

‘Oh dear,’ I said.

Next down the aisle came Punching Fist, followed by his faithful retinue.

‘So how did the Punching Fist become the number one contender?’ I asked Sara. ‘He looks old and battered!’

‘He appointed himself as chief contender years ago,’ laughed Sara, ‘but he’s never won a fight in his life.’ As we were talking, poor old Punching Fist managed to climb through the ropes at the third attempt, and began running round in circles, punching the air in a very aggressive fashion. ‘His real name is Cycle Mata,’ said Sara. ‘He’s very experienced at running round in circles.’

Now, at last the Mighty Monstrous Dinosaur came lumbering in from the back entrance, missed the ring entirely, and went lumbering out through the front door, as his handlers frantically tried to pull him back. ‘He’s got no vision,’ Sara laughed, ‘and no sense of direction.’

At last they brought the old dinosaur back. ‘I thought you said he’d been in training for a year,’ I said. ‘He’s enormously fat.’

‘He trains by getting fatter,’ explained Sara. ‘Wait ’til you see his fighting strategy.’

As we were talking a huge square of leather, hanging from a rig of four ropes, came down from the ceiling. The dinosaur stepped onto it, and was lifted into the ring. The timekeeper rang the bell, and the fight began. But as PF rushed towards his opponent, MMD was lifted up into the air by the rig, and PF found himself punching the thin air.

‘What’s going on?’ I shouted to Sara, as the crowd cheered.

‘It’s called rigging. The dinosaur swings on the rig like a battering ram, and tries to knock Cycle Mata out of the ring. The strategy is to float like a butterfly and swing like a tree.’

Again MMD came swinging overhead, as PF tried to punch, but couldn’t reach. ‘Low blow!’ shouted the Red-lipped snake, as he called PF over for a caution. With PF’s attention now distracted by the referee, MMD came swinging back and caught PF from behind, knocking him clean out of the ring. ‘Knock-out!’ declared the referee.

But no sooner had he spoken than one of the ropes of the rig fell loose, the dinosaur tipped sideways, fell heavily onto the canvas, and lay there motionless. ‘Oh my God!’ said Sara. ‘They shouldn’t have let old Velvet Mango do the rigging. He’s now too old and doddery! The rope must have slipped from his hand!’

The crowd sat there in stunned silence as a black hearse drove in, and the ghastly remains of MMD were carried away.

‘MMD is the winner by unanimous decision of the bench,’ intoned the chief judge, as all three judges pocketed their brown envelopes.

‘I appeal against the decision,’ shouted Cycle Mata, ‘because of the blatant rigging, the brown envelopes that were given to the judges, and because I wasn’t knocked out. Furthermore, my opponent is now dead.’

The red-lipped snake turned on him angrily. ‘MMD is not dead, but has merely been sent to Paris for refrigeration treatment. Your appeal cannot be considered because such an appeal would cast doubt on the integrity of our judges. Case dismissed.’

‘That was inconclusive,’ I said to Sara as we walked home. ‘Now nobody is king.’

‘Nobody is much better,’ said Sara. ‘Nobody to steal the money.’

Contempt of Court

Contempt of Court

‘I sit here today,’ declared the Judge, ‘to make a decision on an application from the Attorney Degenerate, to register in Zambia the London judgment against Kafupi Mupupu.’

‘Is this the notorious Judge Contempt?’ I whispered in Sara’s ear.

‘Some say his full name is Contemptuous,’ she replied. ‘Others say he is really Contemptible’.

‘First of all,’ declared the judge, ‘I shall call upon the Attorney Degenerate to summarise his arguments in support of his application.’

Up stood a wig and gown, looking more like a penguin. ‘Your horror,’ he began, ‘I stand here on behalf of the good people of Zambia. The London judgment finds that Mupupu, whilst posing as a servant of the people, actually stole fifty million dollars from them, which he used to buy fancy suits and high heeled shoes, only keeping out of jail by bribing the judiciary.’

‘Mmmm,’ an angry murmur rose up from the packed audience.

‘Silence!’ shouted the judge, ‘or I’ll have you all locked up for contempt of court.’

‘That’s why he’s called Judge Contempt,’ whispered Sara.

‘The Foreign Judgments Act,’ continued the Attorney Degenerate, ‘can be used to register the London judgment, and recover the people’s money. Your horror, I rest my case.’

‘Doesn’t he mean “your honour”?’ I wondered.

‘Difficult to say,’ she whispered. ‘People are losing respect for judges.’

‘And now,’ said the judge, ‘I call upon the Defiant Defence to put the case for the Defective Defendant.’

‘Thank you My Lewd,’ said another wig and gown, this one looking more like a huge glass of milk stout. ‘I just rise to point out that my learned colleague the Attorney Degenerate is quite wrong to claim that my client was a servant of the people. As a matter of fact, he was the king. A king is entitled to take money from the people, so that he can live like a king, and have natty suits and lovely little sparkling shoes, as befit a king.

‘Futhermore,’ continued the Defiant Defence, ‘I am entirely puzzled at the constitutional confusion of my learned colleague, when he claims that he is here to represent the people. Was he not appointed by the present king? Did he not swear loyalty to the king?

‘And how will kings ever be able to rule in future, if former kings can be brought to court like common criminals, to have their lawful decisions reconsidered? We are even brought to court to hear tittle tattle about the king buying himself a suit! Is not the king a law unto himself? Is not all law signed into law by the king? Then how does my learned friend come here to misuse his legal training, to misuse the law he got from the king, to try to undermine the very king to whom he swore loyalty! He blatantly abuses his office to represent the people against the king, whilst simultaneously accusing others of corruption. My Lewd, I rest my case.’

The crowd sat there, silent and baffled, scratching their heads. ‘Are we living in a monarchy or a democracy?’ I whispered to Sara.

‘That’s the question,’ she replied, ‘which will be answered here today.’

‘The case now comes to judgment,’ announced the judge. ‘ Firstly, I find the arguments from the defence to be entirely inadequate. The constitution is very clear that the law is made by the people, through their representatives in parliament. Therefore the king is not above the law.

‘But there are also inadequacies in the arguments of the Attorney Degenerate. He claimed that the money in question, purported to be stolen, was used to corrupt the judiciary. But if believed his own claim, then he would not be wasting his time bringing this case to court.’

‘But perhaps he is wasting his time?’ I murmured.

‘That’s another question to be decided today,’ Sara chuckled.

‘Furthermore,’ continued the judge, ‘the Attorney Degenerate has not explained how ten year old suits and shoes can have any present value, bearing in mind that they are now frayed and worn, and only big enough to fit a dwarf. So how is this money to be recovered?

‘More fundamentally, whereas the Attorney Degenerate has correctly cited the Foreign Judgments Act, he has entirely overlooked the relevance of the Importation Act of 1971, which makes no provision for the importation of foreign judgments. The application is therefore denied, and the London judgment cannot be registered.’

‘Booo! Corruption! Bent as a cucumber!’ We all stood up, shouting.

‘Contempt of court!’ squealed the contemptible judge. ‘I sentence you all to ten years in jail!’

But by this time there were bags of rotten eggs and tomatoes being passed down our row, so we all started hurling them at the judge. ‘Sell out! Bought and paid for! Traitor!’

As the judge fled, we all rushed out to the carpark, just in time to catch Judge Contempt scrambling into his limo. More eggs and tomatoes flew. ‘He’s now a rich man!’ somebody shouted. ‘He’s retiring to the Bahamas!’ How we all laughed and cheered!

I turned to Sara. ‘The night is still young, let’s go back in for a drink!’

Everybody was in jovial mood in the Playhouse Bar. ‘That’s the best comedy I’ve seen in years,’ I said to Sara. ‘Participatory theatre! So realistic!’

‘You should go to the real court,’ she laughed. ‘It’s even more ridiculous!’

Election Petition

Election Petition

The old decrepit judge shuffled into the courtroom, assisted by two
clerks of the court. His black gown was in tatters and yellow
horsehair hung around his creased and wizened face. As the bowed
figure stood before us, we also stood and bowed, and then sat down.
But the judge remained standing in a bowed position. 'What's wrong
with him?' I hissed to Sara. 'He seems to be stuck.'
'That's Justice Nchekeleko,' said Sara, 'he's permanently bent.'
As we were whispering the two clerks of the court gently lifted the
bent judge into his high chair, which perfectly accommodated his bent
spine.
'Has he always been bent like that?' I wondered.
'Oh no,' said Sara. 'As a young man he was straight and upright, but
as he got older he became more and more bent.'
The judge was now shuffling some papers with his grotesquely crooked fingers.
'Today,' croaked Justice Nchekeleko, 'has been set aside for delivery
of the judgement in the by-election petition lodged on 25 July
2010 by the late Mr Mulombe Musungulushi…
'2010?' I hissed in Sara's ear. 'That's more than twenty years ago!'
'Justice is a slow business,' Sara whispered. 'In court, people are
not allowed to speak faster than the speed at which the judge can
write.'
'With his arthritis,' I whispered, 'I doubt if he could write ten
words in an hour.'
'… the petitioner based his petition on four grounds,' the judge was
now saying. 'Firstly that violence disturbed the election and
prevented some people from voting. Secondly that the opposition party
used underhand tactics. Thirdly that the opposition stole their
election materials. Fourthly that the media were biased against Mr
Musungulushi's party, the Movement for Murdering Democracy.'
'Was that by-election really twenty years ago?' I wondered.
'Oh yes,' she said. 'That was before statutory regulation abolished
TV, and we started attending court cases for our entertainment. You're
getting old my dear, you used to have such a good memory.'
'On the first ground,' said the judge, 'I find as a fact that the
opposition party openly and brazenly used violence in preventing MMD
thugs from cutting off the fingers of opposition voters. Since the
opposition won this by-election by only a hundred votes, this
constitutes clear evidence that MMD would have won if only a few more
fingers had been cut off.
On other hand, it has also to be recorded that the opposition
complained to this court that the police never arrested any MMD thugs.
However, this issue is now moot, having been superseded by the
provisions of the National Unity Constitution of 2025, at Article 102,
which identifies all opposition parties as enemies of the state.
'On the second ground, of underhand tactics, the petitioner has
explained that the MMD gave every voter a bag of sugar on the clear
contractual understanding that they should vote for Mr. Musungulushi.
I find it proven beyond reasonable doubt that opposition leaders urged
voters to ignore these contractual obligations, in clear contravention
of the Law of Contract. However, I will stop short of recommending
legal action to seek damages from the opposition party, since their
leaders are all in indefinite detention on unspecified charges.
'On the third count, of stealing election materials, I find it proven
that opposition cadres invaded the MMD camp and stole a considerable
amount of valuable election material, namely several hundred pangas.
So again, I find in favour of the petitioner.
'Lastly, Mr Musungulushi provided evidence that the Zambia National
Bootlicking Corporation was biased. I find this evidence compelling.
It is clear that ZNBC showed only MMD politicians and thugs, thereby
creating the erroneous impression that MMD was the only party that was
spilling blood. We should here recall that it was this notorious
interference with the political process which caused the subsequent
banning of all TV transmissions, in 2011, under the provisions for
Statutory Regulation.
'In the face of such overwhelming evidence I have no choice but to
declare that this petition succeeds, and I declare that the late Mr
Elected Katundu was never elected as MP for Mufumbushi on 29 June
2010. I further declare, on this day 27 May 2031, that Mr Mulombe
Musungulushi shall retroactively and posthumously serve as member of
parliament for Mufumbushi, for the period 29 June 2010 to 1 January
2012, the latter being the date of the royal decree which abolished
parliament.'
'Wow,' I whispered to Sara. 'How could a judge become so bent?'
'Old age,' she sniggered.
'We're also very old, but we're not bent.'
'You don't understand,' she said. 'He's thirty years beyond normal
retiring age. Every two years he needs another renewal of contract.
Fifteen times he's had to bend down, grovel and lick boots. The
humiliation has gradually deformed him physically and morally, as he
bends the law to match the ugly demands of political expediency.'
'So what's his next case?'
'After all these twenty years of the election petition, he can now
finally turn his attention to the registration of the London judgement
against Wabufi Kafupi.'
'Kafupi! Is he still alive, after all these years? What's he doing nowadays?'
'Haven't you heard? He's the new Chief Justice!'