Reflections of a ‘judicial priest’
Oarabile Mosikare | Tuesday December 23, 2025 11:04
The book charts an extraordinary life: from humble rural beginnings in Mosalakwane (on the outskirts of Bobonong), born to peasant parents, to the heights of global jurisprudence – hearing appeals in Papua New Guinea, shaping rights jurisprudence in Botswana, serving on the Court of Appeal of Seychelles, and sitting on an international tribunal in Sierra Leone.
The arc of the book is dramatic and instructive: it is the story of one man’s relentless pursuit of justice across continents, legal systems, and cultures.
The book opens with early childhood and schooling, where the reader sees a boy shaped by the modest but steady discipline of village life, modest origins that would remain a moral anchor throughout his life. The narrative covers school, university, and early friendships.
It is plain from reading the book that Justice Dingake loved his parents deeply. He says they were ordinary folks who believed in education and the value of hard work. There are light moments in the book, such as when the judge says that there is no controversy that his father was handsome, adding, “It is a pity that I did not take after him.”
The book is littered with individuals who, in one way or another, shaped his life. Names such as Innocent Modisaotsile, Dick Bayford, Kathleen Letshabo, Steven Makhura, Johnson Motshwarakgole, Lot Moroka, Gaolapelwe Ketlogetswe, Patrick Kgoadi, Otsweletse Moupo, Bojosi Otlhogile, Motsei Madisa, Duma Boko, Dumelang Saleshando, Methaetsile Leepile, and Keineetse Keineetse, amongst others, ground him in a generation of freedom fighters, situating his journey within a broader national context.
As he moves into his professional and judicial life, the text becomes richer and more layered. His years at the bar, then at the High Court and Industrial Court of Botswana, are not merely recounted as career steps; rather, they are presented as moral and philosophical transformations. The reader sees a lawyer-turned-judge who becomes convinced that the law must serve humanity – not just as a system of formal rules, but as a vehicle for dignity, rights, and social change.
When the book turns to his sojourns beyond Botswana – to the bench in Seychelles, to the apex courts in Papua New Guinea, to the international tribunal in Sierra Leone, and to academic positions across Australia, South Africa, the Philippines, and Rwanda – it becomes a meditation on what it means to carry a national legal identity into very different legal and cultural landscapes. Through these chapters, the book poses a compelling question: can the values forged in a village on the outskirts of Bobonong travel across oceans and still resonate? In Justice Dingake’s case: emphatically yes.
The strength of the book: Courage, conscience, jurisprudence
One of the most striking qualities of the autobiography – and arguably its greatest contribution – is the way it reveals the inner life of a judge committed not only to legality, but to moral integrity. As his foreword by another distinguished jurist notes, what stands out about Dingake is “his courage – courage to dissent when truth demanded it; courage to reimagine justice beyond the confines of black-letter law.” That theme runs throughout the book, patiently, sometimes agonisingly.
Notably, the book does not shy away from the controversies and tensions of his judicial career – the philosophical and jurisprudential differences, the ideological sparring with peers (especially his ‘ideological nemesis’ Ian Kirby), and the tensions that come from trying to expand constitutional protections in a conservative legal culture. Those chapters – on the ‘Kirby Court’, on the pragmatism of the Julian Nganunu-era court (Nganunu Court), and on the struggle to reconcile customary law with constitutionalism – will be of particular interest to lawyers, scholars, and anyone concerned with the transformative potential of constitutional jurisprudence.
But beyond elite legal circles, the book’s strength is in making accessible the life philosophy behind those jurisprudential battles. Through his recollections, we understand why he insisted that the role of a judge is akin to a calling – a “priesthood” of justice – tasked not merely with adjudicating disputes, but with defending dignity, protecting the vulnerable, and realising the promise of constitutions.
This is more than a legal autobiography: it is a meditation on justice in its broadest sense. It links his rural upbringing, his empathy for the marginalised, his academic rigour, and his international exposure – showing how all these shaped his jurisprudence.
The book also serves as a testament to the global – and African – resonance of a legal mindset that refuses to be parochial. That a son of Bobonong can sit on the Supreme Court of Papua New Guinea, sit on a tribunal for Sierra Leone, and teach in universities from Cape Town to Australia, sends a powerful message about the universality of justice when anchored on principle.
Critical observations: What the book could do more – and what it risks
No memoir is without blindspots, and ‘Called to Judicial Priesthood’ is no exception.
First, whilst the portrait of Justice Dingake is compelling, the book sometimes fails to sufficiently critique the institutional weaknesses of the judiciary itself. For instance, very little is said about one of the major weaknesses of the Botswana judiciary: lack of financial autonomy – a subject that Judge Dingake has written about in his other publications. The other subject that does not receive sufficient attention is the executive-dominated Judicial Services Commission (JSC) that appoints judges.
Given the magnitude of his achievements and the extraordinary breadth of his career, it is perhaps understandable that he cannot tackle every conceivable aspect of the judiciary – yet in places the authorial voice seems too reverent, risking an uncritical celebration that might downplay the complexity of the structural, cultural, or institutional resistance he must have faced. A more probing self-reflection on setbacks, failures, or even moments of doubt would have added valuable depth and humanised the narrative.
Second, the book – particularly in its discussion – sometimes presumes a high level of legal literacy. Whilst experienced lawyers will find these chapters a gold mine, lay readers might struggle. At times, the recitations of doctrine, jurisprudential philosophy, and court procedure, though lucid and erudite, can feel dense.
Third, in trying to cover a pan-continental career – Botswana, Seychelles, Sierra Leone, Papua New Guinea, plus stints in academia – the book sometimes forgoes granular detail for breadth. Some episodes, especially from foreign jurisdictions, come across in broad strokes; the reader is left wanting more concrete, textured anecdotes – of courtroom atmosphere, of local social context, of how ordinary litigants experienced the justice he administered.
Finally, there is a risk, inherent in any judicial autobiography, of conflating personal morality with institutional justice. The book is deeply personal in places, but less so in a systematic critique of the institutions, cultures, and power dynamics within which those institutions operate. In other words, whilst Justice Dingake seems to have lived by conscience, the book offers less in the way of structural analysis of the judiciary, or how systems of inequality might endure beyond individual judges’ integrity.
Broader significance: Why this book matters
Despite its minor flaws, ‘Called to Judicial Priesthood’ is an important book – not only for Botswana, or Africa, but for anyone who believes in the transformative and universal power of law grounded in conscience.
In a world where courts in many jurisdictions are under attack, where judicial independence is fragile, and where access to justice remains elusive for the most vulnerable, this memoir stands as a beacon: a demonstration that a judge – anchored in humility, principle, courage and scholarship – can make a real difference.
Moreover, the book expands our understanding of what it means to be an African jurist in a globalised age: not limited by national or cultural borders, but shaped by local roots and global commitments. It suggests that African legal minds can – and do – travel, teach, influence, and contribute to jurisprudence worldwide, without abandoning their identity or origins.
For scholars, lawyers, human rights activists, and students of constitutionalism, the book will likely become a reference point – a rare first-person account of cross-continental judicial life, legal activism, and jurisprudential courage. For the general reader, it offers a vivid and often inspiring life story: a son of peasants who climbed to world-class stature – and never forgot where he began.
Verdict: A must-read – especially for those who care about justice
‘Called to Judicial Priesthood – Autobiography of Justice Dingake’ is a compelling, intellectually rigorous, and deeply human memoir. It combines legal philosophy, personal history, political courage, and a global outlook in a way that few judicial autobiographies manage. Its strengths – moral clarity, jurisprudential ambition, breadth of experience – outweigh its weaknesses.
I recommend it widely: not only to legal professionals or scholars of constitutional law but to anyone who wants to understand how justice, when pursued with conscience and courage, transcends borders, cultures, and conventions. In this sense, Justice Dingake stands not only as a judge, but as a model – a ‘judicial priest’, committed to the welfare of society in the broadest sense.
For readers of judicial memoirs such as those by judges Thurgood Marshall or Ruth Bader Ginsburg, this book offers something rarer still: a perspective rooted in African reality, aware of customary law and colonial legacies, and engaged with global jurisprudence – a perspective that deserves to be read, debated and cherished.
*Published 2025, by Publish’d Afrika, South Africa