Salakae’s court of public opinion
Spira Tlhankane | Wednesday September 2, 2026 06:00
Salakae’s usual ministerial convoy was nowhere to be seen, and there was no entourage of government officials waiting to usher the Gantsi legislator into another official engagement. Instead, the man who only recently occupied the powerful office of Minister of Transport and Infrastructure walked through the doors of the courthouse. Salakae, now an ordinary MP, crossed the invisible line from the corridors of political power into the colder, more exacting world of criminal law.
It was worth noting that in this high-profile case, the language had changed as the authority of a ministerial title carried little weight in court. Regional Magistrate Mareledi Dipate was not presiding over a Cabinet discussion, whilst Director of Public Prosecutions Kgosietsile Ngakaagae was not seeking political explanations. This was the courtroom, where accusations must meet evidence and where, ultimately, the law, not political office, holds the final word.
It will take some time for the court to pronounce Salakae’s guilt or innocence, but another court, which is the court of public opinion, was already sitting. That morning, Salakae arrived with his own gallery of witnesses. His supporters had travelled by bus from Gantsi, filling the courthouse with faces familiar from his political life. Outside, their voices rose above the ordinary hum of a court day, and they sang songs of praise, stood shoulder-to-shoulder, and wore T-shirts bearing the declaration: “Eseng mo go Salakae' and 'Re nale Salakae.”
It was not the language of a criminal proceeding, but it was the language of loyalty for the man who garnered 7,575 votes in Ghanzi Constituency during his victory in the 2024 General Election. Four days before his court appearance, Salakae had already gone before his constituents in Gantsi to clear the air. The timing was telling because, as a politician, he understood that two verdicts can shape a career. He has been in the game for many years and knows very well that there is a verdict delivered by a court of law and the one quietly reached in the minds of voters.
Whilst the court verdict requires evidence, the court of public opinion can be formed by rumour, headlines, whispers, and impressions. For Salakae, the danger was therefore not confined to what would happen inside the courtroom. He was well aware that an acquittal can restore legal innocence, but public perception is often less patient and far less forgiving. His advisers had probably told him that his political career could suffer long before the court has reached the final page of a judgment. His address to constituents appeared to be an attempt to meet that danger head-on and to tell his story before others told it for him. Salakae wanted to ensure that when the public began weighing the allegations, his voice was already part of the conversation.
On court day, his supporters became an extension of that conversation, and they arrived with song. Their presence transformed the courthouse into something resembling a political gathering. There was movement, colour, and the occasional burst of laughter amidst the seriousness of the day's proceedings. The road from Gantsi was to ensure that they were seen standing behind their legislator.
Salakae was calm as he sat alongside his co-accused, seemingly at ease. He did not look down at the floor or shrink beneath the gaze of the courtroom, but his head remained upright. As he headed out after the arraignment, a swarm of lenses turned towards him, capturing the face of a former minister appearing before court as an accused person. Surprisingly, Salakae did not flinch but rather smiled as there was no visible attempt to hide from the moment. Salakae, who is used to camera flashes, allowed the media to have their pictures, his expression suggesting a man determined not to surrender his composure to the circumstances surrounding him.
It was a curious image to see a politician, whose Cabinet privileges had recently fallen away, sitting in the dock yet appearing almost at home beneath the relentless gaze of the media. After the arraignment, the supporters closed in around him as hands were extended and he shook them. There were smiles and greetings, and for a brief moment the formality of the courtroom gave way to the warmth of political fellowship.
Then came another striking moment when Salakae shook hands with Ngakaagae and the symbolism was difficult to miss. Here was the former Cabinet minister greeting the very man whose office is prosecuting the case against him. The courtroom may have placed them on opposite sides of the law, but the handshake briefly reduced the distance between accused and prosecutor to something more human.
Salakae appeared neither defeated nor consumed by the moment, and perhaps he understands something fundamental about political survival. He understands that whilst a court can determine whether he is guilty or innocent, politics is also fought in the court of perception. Salakae had something every politician fears losing, which is the confidence of the people; no wonder he had his constituents travel all the way from Gantsi simply to say, “We are still with Salakae”.