By mid-morning in Dodoma on
Monday, February 2, the convention hall was already thick with formality. Black
robes brushed past polished shoes. Lawyers exchanged quiet nods. Judges settled
into their seats.
On the surface, it was Law Day,
a ceremonial opening of Tanzania’s 2026 judicial year. However, beneath the
scripted speeches and careful handshakes, something heavier hung in the air: a
collective unease about justice, power and whether the courts are still truly
free.
The theme, “The
Contribution of the Judiciary to National Development and Prosperity,”
promised optimism. Yet many in attendance carried their own private questions.
Between greetings and coffee breaks, advocates spoke in lowered voices about
stalled cases, unreturned calls and clients who had vanished into police
custody. Judicial independence, it seemed, was no longer just a constitutional
phrase. It had become a lived experience, fragile, contested and deeply
personal.
Representing President Samia
Suluhu Hassan, Vice President Dr Emmanuel Nchimbi delivered the government’s
message with measured confidence. He reaffirmed state support for the
judiciary, describing independence as the backbone of economic growth and
social stability. However, he also issued a warning that cut through the politeness
of the room.
“Judicial independence is a
mandate to deliver justice with integrity and in accordance with the
Constitution,” he said. “It must never become a shield for negligence or bias.”
The line drew polite applause.
Still, among lawyers seated in the back rows, it landed differently. For them,
independence is not something to be guarded against misuse; it is something
they fear is slowly slipping away.
Chief Justice George Masaju
tried to meet those concerns head-on. They spoke of reform and renewal,
announcing the rollout of artificial intelligence for real-time transcription
and translation, alongside new rules requiring bail applications to be decided
the same day they are filed. The changes, he said, would reduce delays and
close doors to corruption.
“Justice is not a perception,”
Masaju told the gathering. “It is a decision made according to the Constitution
and the law, based on evidence.”
The words were firm. However, as
the session broke and delegates stretched their legs, the quiet conversations
resumed. Technology may speed up courtrooms, some lawyers whispered, but it
cannot fix a system where influence still matters more than principle.
That frustration is voiced most
sharply by Dr Rugemeleza Nshala, a veteran human rights lawyer and Attorney
General of the opposition party Chadema. Marking 30 years in legal practice,
Nshala recently offered a blunt assessment of Tanzania’s justice system.
“I would be lying if I said
there is a rule of law in Tanzania,” he said. “My conscience would not allow me
to say that.”
He described police operations
marked by arbitrary arrests and enforced disappearances, people taken without
explanation, later declared missing. Names like Mdude Nyagali and Deusdedit
Soka linger heavily in legal circles, reminders that behind every case file is
a family waiting for answers.
For Nshala, these are not
isolated abuses. They are signs of a deeper failure. Police, he argues, are
abandoning their constitutional duty to protect life, while judicial
independence has been steadily hollowed out.
“A court is like Caesar’s wife;
it should be beyond reproach,” he said. “Even the perception that judges can be
influenced destroys public confidence.”
He claims some judicial officers
receive instructions by phone and that appointments increasingly reward
political closeness over merit. The economic implications are obvious, he adds.
“If judges can be intimidated or
directed, investors will flee,” Nshala said. “Because if it is easy to deal
with a judge, why bother with a lawyer?”
Inside Tanzania’s legal
fraternity, the strain is palpable. The Tanganyika Law Society has repeatedly
raised concerns about interference in lawyers’ work, delayed hearings, hostile
courtrooms and sudden suspensions of practising licences. TLS president Harold
Sungusia says advocates are simply asking for professional space.
“We need to meet the Attorney
General, the Chief Justice and the Ministry of Constitution and Legal Affairs,”
Sungusia said. “We want an environment where lawyers can serve their clients without
fear.”
Those tensions boiled over in
February 2024, when six TLS members publicly condemned what they called
“continuous, deliberate and open” attacks on independent advocates. Standing
before reporters in Dar es Salaam, Nshala, flanked by Fatma Karume and Senior
Counsel Mpale Mpoki, accused authorities of treating private lawyers as
second-class professionals.
“There are lawyers detained
while representing clients,” Nshala said then. “Others are intimidated. Many
are punished not for misconduct, but because of personal feelings.”
Mpoki’s suspension, imposed
while he defended TLS president Boniface Mwabukusi in an ethics case, became
symbolic of that struggle. The complaint followed Mwabukusi’s criticism of a
controversial deal granting Dubai-based DP World operational rights at Dar es
Salaam port.
Mwabukusi has since called for a
national reset grounded in truth, justice and accountability, words that
quietly echoed through the Dodoma Hall.
Deputy Attorney General Samuel
Maneno reinforced the government’s position, quoting former UN
Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon: “An independent judiciary is a country’s best
guarantee of fairness, justice and development.” He stressed that property
rights and contract enforcement are essential for attracting investment.
The government has promised
expanded court infrastructure, more judicial staff and improved welfare for
court workers. Plans are also underway to build primary courts in every ward
without one, part of a broader push to bring justice closer to citizens. Still,
many lawyers leaving Law Day felt that concrete and computers cannot replace
courage.
Nshala argues that only
constitutional reform can secure lasting judicial independence, including
changes to how judges are appointed. These demands sit at the heart of
Chadema’s “No Reform, No Election” campaign, which also calls for police reform
and an independent electoral commission.
As the ceremony ended and
delegates filtered back into Dodoma’s streets, the contrast remained stark.
Inside, leaders spoke of prosperity and progress. Outside, advocates returned
to offices where clients disappear, cases stall, and justice feels increasingly
uncertain.
Tanzania had a chance to think
about things on Law Day 2026. It won't be speeches or slogans that make this a
turning point. It will be whether independence goes from being just talk to
being genuine, and whether the courts can once again be places where people,
attorneys, and investors think the law really is above power.
People left the Dodoma Hall in
tiny groups, still talking about things they hadn't completed talking about
between sessions. A young lawyer spoke softly about a client who had been
waiting for months for a decision. An older lawyer shook his head, remembering
when court rulings were always followed. These weren't fights about politics.
They were real-life events that people talked about in hushed tones.
That's where the true test is.
It's not about how many improvements are announced; it's about how safe regular
Tanzanians feel going to a police station or standing in front of a court. Not
in how up-to-date court systems get, but in how brave judges are when they have
to make tough choices. Justice doesn't come from meetings or press releases. It
is constructed slowly, one case at a time, one verdict at a time, with
constancy and bravery.
Law Day will be more than just a
ceremony until that trust is restored. It will be a reminder of a promise that
has not yet been kept and of a country that is silently hoping its courts will
once again speak louder than power.
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