Switch off the parliament cameras

Since our parliament went live, it has become nothing short of a soap opera.

You see, in the olden days, my NBC colleagues were always in the firing line for apparently not showing some MPs’ contributions on television, thereby robbing them of their precious limelight.

This thing has always been a beauty contest. It has always been about cameras. It has always been about being on TV.

But an evolution has taken place, meaning MPs no longer have to wait for the evening news to see themselves on television. The entire parliamentary session is now livestreamed.

And it is that livestream that has everyone scrambling in front of the lenses, eager to show off their fancy English, nice suits and pointed, shiny shoes.

So much so that the actual rationale for parliament’s very existence is increasingly forgotten.

F**k law-making. It’s now about who has the bigger dick.

Parliament should form part of the entertainment channels on DStv. Put it after Trace Urban, but just before the SuperSport channels.

We already have the ingredients. Drama, conflict, colourful characters, shouting, walkouts, plot twists, wardrobe changes and Martin Lukato wearing a Sani Abacha hat.

Someone complained on Twitter this week that parliament starts too late at 14:30 because he wants to start watching the drama as early as 9 o’clock in the morning.

This was an actual tweet. I am not making this up. Think about that for a moment.

In the past, Namibians turned to parliament for solutions to their daily problems. Now they turn to parliament for entertainment.

After all, if you are unemployed, broke and wondering where your next meal is coming from, a good parliamentary brawl is a useful distraction from your misery.

Bread may be expensive, but at least Job Amupanda and Saara Kuugongelwa-Amadhila are shouting at each other.

And this is where we have to ask ourselves what the cameras were actually meant to achieve. The principle of livestreaming parliamentary sessions was to make the legislative process more accessible to Namibians and, importantly, to enhance transparency.

It was meant to bring parliament closer to the people. It was not meant to turn parliament into Big Brother: Katutura Edition.

It was not meant to produce curated confrontations for social media. It was not meant to reward the loudest person in the room with the biggest digital audience.

And it certainly was not meant to turn parliamentary proceedings into a daily audition for political stardom.

There is nothing wrong with MPs being visible. In fact, voters have every right to see how their representatives conduct themselves.

But there is a difference between being accountable to the public and performing for the public.

When the camera becomes the objective rather than the accountability mechanism, we have a problem.

Because suddenly, the speech is no longer about the Bill. It is about the viral clip that comes later.

The parliamentary intervention is no longer judged by whether it improves legislation. It is judged by whether it will survive on TikTok.

And somewhere between the shouting, the grandstanding and the carefully positioned lapels, law-making is left sitting in the corner like an unwanted relative at a wedding.

Parliament worked efficiently before this televised melodrama. Switch off the cameras.