[The MMD government’s misuse of the police to oppress the Zambian people is not a new development, as is indicated by this satire from 7th August 1997]
"You must come to the Freedom Theatre this Saturday," said Bumpe Gazumpe when I bumped into him, "it's going to be theatre in the round."
"In the round?" I asked, "round what?"
"We all sit round to develop the story. No audience or cast, we can all join in. It's very suitable for noisy people like you! Freedom of expression!"
The following Saturday I arrived late at the theatre, but the play still hadn't started. "What's the delay?" I asked, as I took my seat next to Bumpe.
"The minister was supposed to officially open," he said, "but he hasn't pitched up. Anyway, it doesn't matter. We're all actors. Anyone can be a minister."
Just then two people came out from backstage. "It is our privilege to welcome the Dishonourable Minister of Kulcha, Mr Bedstead Dimba!"
The second actor, a skinny fellow, had pushed a cushion inside his ill-fitting suit, to make himself look more like the overfed minister.
"I must apologise for being late," he began, "but when my secretary said somebody had phoned about a play, I thought it must be my playful new girlfriend!"
"Good old Bouncy Bedstead! Freedom of movement!" we all shouted
"After that,” he continued, “I had difficulty finding this place. It was only last week that I was appointed Minister of Kulcha, so I'd never been to a theatre before! So I went to the UTH, looking for the theatre!"
As we fell about laughing, the doors at the back suddenly flew open, and twenty riot police burst in, rioting marvellously. They began beating people about the head with their batons. Then the one with the walkie-talkie jumped on stage and grabbed the microphone.
"I am Inspector Witless Kabwilibwili," he barked. "responsible for public disorder! You have assembled here without a police permit! You have also abused your freedom of expression by laughing at a minister! So now I'm going to abuse you! Everybody out! Off to the police station!"
With that, he threw a tear gas canister into the auditorium, and we all scrambled outside, screaming enthusiastically.
"Very realistic! I haven't laughed so much for years," I shouted at Bumpe, as we were frog marched down Church Road. "And your actors are so convincing. Where did you find them?"
"It's not difficult," laughed Bumpe. "Just put people in uniform, and it always brings out the worst in them! Freedom to oppress!"
At the police station Witless Kabwilibwili stood behind the front desk. "You all have to sign this prepared statement, admitting that you assembled without a permit, you spoke without a script, you were hit without reason, and screamed without urinating, thereby threatening the security of the state!"
"I like the way the Freedom Theatre has taken over the police station," I whispered to Bumpe. "But where are all the real police?"
"They don't come here at night," explained Bumpe, "they stay at home because they're scared of thugs and bandits. They only come out during the day, to beat unarmed citizens. During the night, the Freedom Theatre takes over the city!"
Sure enough, the whole Freedom Theatre then moved to the High Court for the next scene in the drama. Even I was given a small part.
"Spectator Kalaki," said the Judge, looking sternly down at me, "how do you bleed?"
"Excuse me, M'Lud," I said, inventing my own script, "Don't you mean how do I plead?"
"Don't tell me what I mean, just answer the question. How do you bleed?"
"I bleed profusely, M'Lud," I said. “My heart bleeds for freedom and democracy!”
"Another Witless performance by the police," said the Judge. "I sentence Kabwilibwili to ten years for unprovoked brutal assault upon a defenceless citizen!"
"No No! You can't do that!" we all shouted, "he's the lead character in next week's play! We can’t find another idiotic buffoon at his late stage! Plea of mitigation, he’s an idiot! Both this parents were police officers! He can’t help his anti-social behaviour. Give him an acquittal!”
At that point Bumpe rushed to the bench and gave the judge a plain brown envelope.
"Following a very convincing and appealing appeal," said the Judge, as he looked into the envelope, "my verdict has been reversed. My interpretation of the Public Disorder Act is that the police are entitled to be disorderly, provided that they give themselves a permit! So, having carefully considered the alternatives, I shall instead sentence Spectator Kalaki to ten years."
"Me?” I protested. “Why? Ten years? Ten years of what?"
"Ten years," said the judge, "of not laughing at the totally ridiculous."
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