By Adonis Byemelwa
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.
