WITH REGARD TO THE SLAP: I fully approve of Mayor Osman’s slap-Dr Ken Lipenga

By Dr Ken Lipenga

I say this with the calm certainty of a citizen who has seen enough, and who now welcomes, at last, the arrival of action. Indeed, I would go further. I would encourage more such gestures. A firm hand, properly applied, may yet succeed where committees, commissions of inquiry, and carefully worded statements have failed.

If there is any confusion about my position, it may be due to a minor difficulty of sight from which I suffer. The condition, _distortio moralis acuta_, as my personal eye specialist styles it after consulting his books, dates, I suspect, to a childhood injury sustained when I fell, rather ungracefully, from a neighbour’s mango tree in pursuit of fruit that was not mine; an early corrective blow, in its way, not unlike the slap administered to the unfortunate woman.

The damage to my eye was slight at the time, barely noticeable. But over the years, it has developed into a peculiar distortion. Shapes blur. Figures merge. The eye, overwhelmed by too many repetitions of the same pattern, begins to rearrange what it sees.

And so, when I watched the video, I must confess that I did not quite see what others claim to have seen. Where others saw a woman, described, I am told, as a buyer of stolen goods, I saw something else. Or rather, I saw others. A different category of thief altogether. Not the hurried, exposed kind who operate at the margins, but the composed, deliberate, and protected kind, who operate within systems. The kind who do not run when approached, because there is nowhere for them to be taken.

It is a curious condition, this eye affliction of mine. It replaces the small with the large, the visible with the concealed, the apprehended with the untouchable. And in that moment, just for a second, the scene rearranged itself entirely.

The figure before the mayor was no longer alone.

Behind her, or perhaps within her, stood a procession: contracts signed in quiet offices; fuel deals, impeccably documented, concluded in European abattoirs, hotels bought with other people’s money in dimly lit rooms; numbers, with admirable discipline, persuaded to agree in ledgers; resources redirected with the composed assurance of those long accustomed to the absence of consequence. A theft not of the night, but of time itself: patient, cumulative, and vast, leaving no immediate trace, yet accruing steadily into something far more consequential than anything that can be spirited away under cover of darkness.

It was, I must say, a remarkable sight.

And so, when the hand moved, I did not recoil. I observed. With interest. With a certain, I admit, grim satisfaction. For in my altered vision, it was not a single individual who received the blow, but a whole class of impunity that has, for far too long, moved untouched.

You will understand, then, why I approve.

Indeed, I would recommend that we formalize the practice.

Let us not confine ourselves to isolated incidents, captured imperfectly on video. Let us, instead, design a system: efficient, visible, and above all, decisive. Those suspected of wrongdoing, particularly of the larger and more imaginative varieties, might be assembled at regular intervals. Evidence, that most time-consuming of inconveniences, could be streamlined. Proceedings abbreviated. Outcomes delivered with clarity.

There is much to be said for immediacy.

The public, I have no doubt, would attend. There is an appetite for such things, as recent reactions have demonstrated. And who are we to deny the people a justice they can see, a justice they can feel? The law, after all, has asked for patience for many years. Far too many years. Perhaps it is time it learned to perform.

There is, I think, an opportunity here that we have not yet fully explored.

If such moments are to occur, and public enthusiasm suggests they will, why not bring a measure of order, even innovation, to them? Why leave them to the accidents of circumstance, to grainy videos and uneven angles, when they might be properly staged, properly timed, properly managed?

The spectacle, after all, could be monetized. Much-needed creativity in these hard times.

Tickets might be issued. Seating arranged according to preference and means. A modest fee for general admission, a premium for those who wish to sit closer to the action, and of course, the indispensable VIP section. There could be commentary, perhaps, measured, analytical, so that the public might not only witness justice, but understand its finer points. A well-aimed slap, after all, is not merely force. It is technique, a work of art.

The city, I need hardly add, would benefit.

Indeed, our stadiums, those grand structures which have themselves, over the years, borne silent witness to various forms of creative accounting, might at last be put to more profitable use. Why should they remain underutilized, hosting only the occasional match or ceremony, when they could serve as venues for this new and invigorating civic function? A full house, one imagines, would not be difficult to achieve.

Revenue streams are, as we know, an ongoing concern. Here, at last, is a civic activity, the act of slapping, that combines enforcement with entertainment, discipline with public engagement. Who would not pay to watch a system that, for once, appears to function?

One might even imagine a calendar.

Regular sessions. Anticipated appearances. A rhythm to the administration of this new, more visible form of justice. The uncertainty that has so long plagued enforcement would be replaced by expectation. Citizens would know when to gather, when to witness, when to applaud.

And why should Blantyre selfishly keep such innovation to itself?

Other cities might be encouraged, gently, of course, to emulate this approach. Lilongwe could develop its own variation, perhaps with a more bureaucratic flavour reflecting its capital city status. Mzuzu, with its cooler temperament, might favour a slower, more reflective style. Each municipality adapting the model to its own character, its own needs, its own audience.

The hapless good Mayor of Lilongwe, who was recently and most regrettably pulled out of a public procession in circumstances that did not do justice to the dignity of his office, would, I imagine, have little difficulty identifying early candidates for his own slapping programme. His subsequent remarks, delivered with commendable frankness, suggest that certain names may already be under careful consideration. I can think of no better punishment than an accurately aimed slap at whoever was behind that public humiliation.

It would, of course, be uncharitable to suggest that such selections might be influenced by personal feeling. We must assume that any overlap between public justice and private grievance would be entirely coincidental, an unfortunate but unavoidable by-product of decisive leadership in emotionally charged environments.

In time, a national framework could emerge.

Standards might be set. Best practices shared. Inter-city exchanges organized, so that slapping techniques can be refined and perfected. A Ministry, perhaps, to oversee the coordination of this new sector: Justice, Performance, and Revenue, working in harmonious alignment.

The economic possibilities are not insignificant.

Tourism could be stimulated. Visitors, always in search of the authentic, would find here a uniquely local innovation: justice not hidden in courtrooms, but brought out into the open, made visible, immediate, and, above all, participatory. A nation that has long exported stories might, at last, export a model: the Warm Heart of Africa Slap.

Naturally, there will be those who find this proposal excessive. They will say that justice is not theatre, that punishment is not a public good to be consumed. They will insist, tediously, as usual, on the old distinctions between accusation and proof, between authority and spectacle.

But such objections, while understandable, fail to appreciate the spirit of the moment.

For we are no longer merely seeking justice. We are seeking visible justice. Tangible. Immediate. Shareable. A justice that does not hide behind files and procedures, but steps forward, into the light, and declares itself in terms that require no interpretation.

And if, in the process, cities balance their books, citizens feel engaged, and governance acquires a new, invigorating clarity, well, that would surely count as innovation of the highest order.

For my part, I will continue to watch with interest. My eye condition, inconvenient as it is, has at least granted me one advantage: it allows me to see, in moments such as these, not merely what is before us, but what we wish were there. The substitution is imperfect, but it is revealing.

And it explains, perhaps better than any argument could, the curious enthusiasm with which we greet the spectacle of a hand raised in authority. We do not, in truth, see the person being struck. We see someone else entirely.

And it is that imagined figure, far more than the real one, that receives our approval.