The Fishrot Prosecutions and the Jurisprudence of Delay

Let’s not lie to ourselves, my people. This Fishrot case has turned into that thing we all know too well in Namibia: “we’ll see tomorrow.” Tomorrow comes, the sun rises, the case appears on the roll, and then, neh, another application. Not witnesses. Not evidence. Just lawyers standing up nicely to say, “Before we go anywhere, Your Lordship…”

Go where? We’ve been parked here since 2019.

Outside court, people are hustling. Taxi drivers are shouting destinations, graduates are looking for jobs, rents are increasing, and life is moving. Inside court, time is on “wait first.” Namibia is hot, but that courtroom is cold, boss. Years pass, but the case is still young, too young to be tested and too old to be exciting.

Let’s be straight. This is not confusion or being unprepared. This is a proper plan. In the streets we say, “Just delay until things calm down.” In legal English, it is called exercising constitutional rights. Same thing, different jacket. Everything is legal, everything is polite, but nothing moves. The case is not fighting; it is waiting.

And time, shame, time is doing its job very well. Witnesses move on, memories fade, files gather dust, and even public anger gets tired. People stop asking, “What’s happening with Fishrot?” and start saying, “Ah, that thing? It’s still there.” That’s when you know time is winning.

Of course, before someone shouts “law!”, let’s be clear. Legally, these guys are innocent. Full stop. Innocent until proven guilty. That rule is solid. But tell me something: how do you prove guilt when the trial never starts? You can’t lose a game that is forever postponed. That’s not magic; that’s street wisdom upgraded to courtroom level.

The real danger here is not acquittal. No, no. The danger is the case dying quietly of old age. One day someone will stand up and say the delay is now unreasonable. Another day someone will argue detention has become unconstitutional. Then suddenly, the court must choose between protecting rights and continuing a case that is already exhausted. And just like that, the file closes, not with answers, but with silence.

If that happens, nobody will say the evidence was weak. They will say the system got tired. Law students will read about Fishrot and shake their heads, not because of corruption, but because of patience. It will be taught as a masterclass in how to survive serious charges by simply staying in the system long enough.

Even the judge, you can hear it now, is starting to sound tired. Judges don’t complain for fun. When a judge starts asking why we are still here, it means the thing is dragging more than a broken donkey cart. The public is not hungry for revenge. People just want this thing finished. Guilty or not guilty, just finish it, neh.

This case is no longer about fish or rot. It is about whether justice in Namibia walks, or whether it just sits under a tree and says, “Let’s wait and see.” Because justice delayed is bad. But justice delayed on purpose, with a straight face and clean paperwork, that one hurts differently.