The two sides of Sankwasa and the ultimate power move

Urban and rural development minister James Sankwasa has perfected a rare governance style: he governs loudly, disciplines publicly and – when the spotlight turns – extends himself the courtesy of a footnote.

His message to councils has been unmistakable. Settle your accounts. Pay your bills. No excuses.

“I am sending a clear message to all institutions of the government that have outstanding municipal accounts to settle such accounts now,” Sankwasa said.

The tone was firm, the finger pointed, the microphone on.

Then came the minister’s own account.

Sankwasa did not deny it.

He simply upgraded the defence. “I am not a holy cow, as I equally have accounts,” he said.

In Sankwasa-speak, this is what passes for radical transparency: acknowledging the existence of debt while simultaneously prosecuting everyone else for it.

What sharpens the picture is what happens when the pressure finally turns inward. Sankwasa does admit. He does not deny. But admission is quickly followed by diversion – a footnote, an explanation, a justification for why his case is different.

Accounts exist, he concedes. Context matters, he insists. Family history intervenes. Responsibility is acknowledged, but consequence is deferred. The problem is recognised, then softened, then repositioned as misunderstood.

In Sankwasa’s method, ownership of the issue never quite translates into submission to the standard he demands of others.

It is here that the Sankwasa doctrine reveals its finest contradiction. Councillors are warned, shamed, threatened with dissolution. Contractors are named. Debt collectors are instructed to pack up.

Yet when the minister’s own water bill surfaces, the response is philosophical. “Trying to find fault to implicate me is a bit of a misguided missile,” he said.

Self-regulation

In most ministries, this would be called a conflict of interest. In Sankwasa’s ministry, it is called self-regulation.

First, he lays down the law. Then, he acknowledges he falls under it. Then, he reassures the nation that he is “handling it”. Case closed. Judge Sankwasa adjourns the court. Defendant Sankwasa walks free, promising to do better.

The beauty of this arrangement lies in its efficiency. No legal fees. No drawn-out process. No need for RedForce. No need for NamWater. Just a stern lecture in the mirror and a reminder that leadership is about intent.

Sankwasa’s real gift, however, is pressure management. He applies it generously – to councillors, municipalities, contractors, and journalists.

When questioned about how his own account details became public, he pivoted away from the numbers and toward the messenger.

“Individual accounts are not for the public,” he said, before explaining precisely how they became public and who, in his view, was responsible.

It was a masterclass in Sankwasa accountability economics: debts are private until they are someone else’s.

On debt collectors, the minister has been equally uncompromising and refused to retract a directive. “That is something I will never do. If the company wants, let them proceed to court,” he added.

It is the language of a man who enjoys the sound of gavels – provided they are not knocking on his own door.

When councils fall, Sankwasa dissolves them. When councillors owe money, he recites the figures.

“One councillor owes about N$50 000, another owes N$10 000, and another N$80 000, yet their water was never cut,” he said.

The arithmetic is sharp. The principle is straightforward. The irony is unpaid.

To his credit, Sankwasa does not hide. He shows up. He speaks. He confronts. He governs like a man convinced that visibility equals virtue.

“Leaders must be seen and heard,” he said. He has ensured both – often simultaneously, often loudly, and sometimes before thinking through who might also be seen and heard.

This is why Sankwasa remains such a compelling public figure. He is part sheriff, part preacher, part defendant.

He polices others with the zeal of a reformer and handles himself with the compassion of a defence attorney. He insists on order, embraces conflict, and believes deeply that discomfort is proof of leadership – unless, of course, it is his own.

“I was not appointed to be comfortable,” Sankwasa said.

True enough. But in the Ministry of Urban and Rural Development, there appears to be one exception to the rule: the minister himself, who has discovered the ultimate power move – applying pressure outward while granting himself time to pay.

There is, however, a very sensitive and soft side to Sankwasa. He gets offended easily and does not hesitate to escalate the matter to court.

While serving as acting permanent secretary of information and broadcasting in 1998 and New Era managing director, he suspended Fred Simasiku for linking him to alleged wrongdoing and subsequently sued the newspaper.

In recent years, he has threatened to sue for articles he viewed as damaging to his character.

This is a democracy: it protects freedom of speech, even the right to call others names, while also upholding the right to seek justice.