Why African judges still wearing wigs is a glaring symbol of British colonialism

Opponents of the colonial outfit aren't just arguing against inconvenience, but against a tradition that African judiciaries appear to be embracing

Opponents of the colonial outfit aren't just arguing against inconvenience, but against a tradition that African judiciaries appear to be embracing

Kevin Sieff Nairobi Monday 18 September 2017 Zimbabwean judges in long red robes and horsehair wigs, a throwback to an era of British Colonial rule AP

The British gave up their last colonies in Africa half a century ago. But they left their wigs behind.

Not just any wigs. They are the long, white horsehair locks worn by high court judges (and King George III). They are so old-fashioned, and so uncomfortable, that even British barristers have stopped wearing them.

But in former British colonies – Kenya, Zimbabwe, Ghana, Malawi and others – they live on, worn by judges and lawyers. Now, a new generation of African jurists is asking: Why are the continent’s most prominent legal minds still wearing the trappings of the colonisers?

It’s not just a question of aesthetics. The wigs and robes are perhaps the most glaring symbol of colonial inheritance at a time when that history is being dredged up in all sorts of ways. This year, Tanzanian President John Magufuli described a proposed free trade agreement with Europe as a “form of colonialism”. In Zimbabwe, President Robert Mugabe still refers to the British as “thieving colonialists”.


In June, the premier of Cape Town was suspended from her party after writing on Twitter that modern healthcare was a colonial contribution.

The relics of colonialism are scattered across the continent. There are the queen’s namesakes: Victoria Falls north of Zimbabwe, Lake Victoria east of Uganda, Victoria Island in Nigeria. There is the left-lane driving, the cricket, the way public education is organised (not organised).

Most cities and streets have received new names since the Europeans left. In 2013, Mugabe officially rebaptised Victoria Falls “Mosi Oa Tunya”, or “the smoke that thunders” in the Kololo language.

Yet the wig survives, along with other relics of the colonial courtroom: red robes, white bows, references to judges as “my lord” and “my lady”.

In nearly every former British colony, op-eds have been written and speeches made about why the wig ought to be removed. In Uganda, the New Visionnewspaper conducted an investigation into the cost of the wigs, reporting that each one cost $6,500. In Ghana, a prominent lawyer, Augustine Niber, argued that removing wigs would reduce the “intimidation and fear that often characterise our courtrooms”.

One of the editors of the Nigerian Lawyer blog wrote that wigs weren’t made for the sweltering Lagos heat, where lawyers melted under their garb. “The culture that invented the wig and gown is different from our own and the weather is different,” Unini Chioma wrote.

Increasingly, though, opponents of the colonial outfit aren’t just arguing against inconvenience but against a tradition that African judiciaries appear to be embracing. Britain’s “colonial courts”, which preceded independence, were sometimes brutal. In response to Kenya’s Mau Mau rebellion in the 1950s, for example, the wigged, white judges sentenced more than 1,000 people to death for conspiring against colonial rules