Journalism is cool. It does not just keep the nation informed and the powerful in check. It connects journalists with people of all manner—ordinary folks and influential voices, peacemakers and the violent, law-abiding and rogues.
Following attacks by pro-regime cadres at the 150th anniversary of the CCAP Synod of Blantyre on October 24 2026, many have been asking: “Why were you beaten?”
Journalism is not a crime. It has never been. Not even that Sunday, October 25, when political rogues attacked journalists and opposition leaders in the sacred surroundings of St Michael and All Angels Church in Blantyre.
“Who beat you up?”
“Would you identify them?”
“Did they face justice?”
Questions beget more questions.
The police saw it all, but arrested no one for the ugly scenes. Even Greadwick Mangadzi, the Deputy Commissioner of Police for the South West Region, witnessed the scuffle up-close.
It was around 9am. I was nesting in a police vehicle at the historic event, where three senior government officials were reported to represent President Peter Mutharika.
In journalism, conflict is appetising. So, I dutifully grabbed a phone and headed to join my colleagues, Andrew Mtupanyama and Francis Chamasowa, at the event.
I found myself in the eye of the storm following a short but terse alert that suspected pro-regime ruffians had stoned former president Lazarus Chakwera’s motorcade near the venue’s entrance.
The situation was tense and the assailed convoy had long bolted, but two iconic vehicles—a minibus and a one-tonne pickup bearing the governing Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) symbols and pro-Mutharika slogans—were parked near the entrance.
From the police vehicle, I witnessed men armed with machetes searching vehicles, letting some in and waving others away.
Chakwera was in attendance alongside Minister of Foreign Affairs and International Cooperation George Chaponda, who eventually represented President.
Armed with my pen, notebook and phone, I set my eyes on the troubled zone.
Chamasowa and I were manhandled while attempting to take photographs of the unfolding hell in the holy grounds dedicated to St Michael and All Angels Church.
A picture is worth a thousand words, it is said. Some come with a brutal bonus—blows.
Our attackers forced photojournalist Chamasowa to delete the photos. Others intimidated Francis Nkawihe of Transworld Radio.
I safely monitored the situation from a police Toyota Land Cruiser.
From the vehicle, I saw machete-brandishing men halt and bully motorists. I took some photos.
Then a heavily built man ordered me to disembark and surrender my phone for inspection. I refused.
A police officer took the phone and ordered the brawny man to leave, but the storm was not over. About 50 heavies swarmed around the vehicle, overpowering eight police officers who tried to control the situation.
They pulled me out and I suffered violent punches and kicks. My neck was in pain and my face was swollen.
I feared for my life. Not photos and news.
As my assailants snatched the phone from the outnumbered police officer, I asked myself: When a green tree burns, what will happen to a green stick?
Fortunately, more cops came to my rescue.
However, the chaotic scene left me thinking about tolerance, the rule of law, press freedom and freedom of assembly.
What becomes of Malawi’s democracy if political ruffians overpower law enforcers and install themselves above the law as did the colonial government’s armed brigades, Malawi Congress Party’s youth leaguers, United Democratic Front’s young democrats and DPP cadets?
The ugly scene takes Malawians back to 2019, when soldiers left the barracks to quell pro-Mutharika hooligans who were hacking marchers opposed to electoral irregularities that swayed courts to annul the President’s narrow re-election that year.
On October 5 this year, just 20 days earlier, Mutharika marked his first year in power with a claim that Malawians were no longer living in fear of panga-wielding pro-regime thugs.
Nodding hysterically, Simeon Shumba, who interviewed him on the State-owned Malawi Broadcasting Corporation, chipped in: “No anyamata zikwanje!”
“Yes, anyamata zikwanje…” Mutharika concurred, taunting his predecessor Chakwera.
But the machete boys are back DPP-style.
On October 11 2025, they dragged then State broadcaster’s chief George Kasakula from his office to apologise live on MBC Television for “unkind things” he was accused of uttering when Mutharika was out of power.
They went scot-free.
A year later, they attacked perceived political foes in the church grounds as a deputy police commissioner watched.
Why were they allowed to stand sentry and carry dangerous weapons at the religious gathering?
Why did the police not arrest them?
Around 11am, Blantyre City mayor Isaac Jomo Osman was seen talking to some as he left the venue. Five Cabinet ministers passed by without a word.
Law enforcement was slow and almost non-existent.
The intimidating scenes that unfolded at the CCAP Synod of Blantyre’s backyard raise difficult questions about those entrusted with maintaining law and order.
Two weeks on, National Police spokesperson Gladys Chiwaula says “the matter is still under investigation”.
It evokes the tone of June 2025, the dark days of the Chakwera administration, when panga-wielding thugs attacked activist Sylvester Namiwa in Lilongwe in full view of police officers.
Then police chief Merlyne Yolamu and Chiwaula’s predecessor, Peter Kalaya, repeatedly assured Malawians that investigations and arrests were underway. However, the suspects only appeared in court months after Mutharika defeated Chakwera in the September 16 2025 General Election.
Mutharika, a US-trained constitutional law scholar, should know better that selective justice is not justice at all and justice delayed is justice denied.
I dare add that accountability postponed rarely holds anyone accountable.
Must accountability for political violence only begin after regime change?
Must citizens wait for the next vote before agents of terror and impunity face justice?
Presidential claims must be backed with action to ensure Malawians live and work without fear of political bullies.
