Zambia is right to get tough on sexual offences
No bail on sexual offenses is justice for survivors of sexual violence
By Kanyanta Chanda Kapwepwe
FOR over a decade, I have worked alongside survivors of sexual violence, women, children, and families whose lives have been permanently altered by acts that the justice system has too often treated as procedural matters rather than human tragedies.
Most recently, I conducted an end-of-project evaluation assessing the impact of a gender-based violence (GBV) intervention on survivors and affected communities. The findings were not just concerning; they were deeply unsettling.
Survivors spoke of fear that does not end with the act itself, but continues through intimidation, social stigma, and the very real possibility of encountering their alleged perpetrators back in their communities within days.
I have sat in rooms where victims withdraw cases out of fear, where alleged perpetrators return almost immediately, and where the promise of justice collapses under the weight of delay and systemic weakness. It is from this vantage point of lived institutional experience that I support Zambia’s Criminal Procedure Code (Amendment) Act No. 4 of 2026 of no-bail on sexual offences.
This law, which makes sexual offences non-bailable, marks a decisive shift in Zambia’s criminal justice philosophy. It signals a move away from procedural convenience towards substantive protection of victims, and from neutrality in the face of harm towards deliberate legal deterrence.
For too long, the criminal justice system has treated sexual offences as ordinary crimes within an extraordinary social context. They are not. Sexual offences are uniquely invasive, often underreported, psychologically devastating, and structurally difficult to prosecute. The law, therefore, cannot afford to respond with ordinary tools. Making such offences non-bailable is not an overreach. It is an overdue correction.
At its core, bail is a procedural safeguard designed to protect the liberty of an accused person pending trial. But like all rights, it is not absolute. The law has always recognised that certain offences, by their nature, severity, and societal impact, justify restrictions on bail. The 2026 amendment simply extends that logic to sexual offences, where the risks are not theoretical but real: witness intimidation, victim retraumatisation, and the silencing of already vulnerable complainants.
Comparative legal systems have long acknowledged this reality. In South Africa, bail in serious sexual offences is governed by a reverse onus principle, where the accused must demonstrate exceptional circumstances to justify release. In practice, this makes bail extremely difficult to obtain in grave cases such as rape. The principle is clear: where the stakes are high, the threshold for liberty is equally high.
In the United Kingdom (UK), while bail is not categorically removed, courts routinely deny it in serious sexual offence cases where there is a risk of interference with witnesses, harm to victims, or obstruction of justice. Even where bail is granted, it is accompanied by strict conditions, non-contact orders, electronic monitoring, and movement restrictions, designed to protect victims and preserve the integrity of the justice process.
Zambia’s approach goes further by removing ambiguity altogether. It sends a clear and uncompromising message about the gravity of sexual violence. This is not a departure from global legal thinking but a logical progression.
Critics argue that removing bail risks injustice, particularly in cases of false accusations. This concern deserves serious attention, but it must be properly located. It is not an argument against the law itself; it is an argument for strengthening the system around it. The real safeguard against wrongful prosecution is not bail. It is an investigation.
If investigative authorities conduct thorough, evidence-based inquiries, supported by proper forensic procedures, corroboration of statements, and professional case-building, then the risk of arbitrary or malicious arrests is significantly reduced. The amendment, by strengthening provisions around forensic criminal procedures, reinforces this expectation and raises the standard of policing.
At the same time, the law must be equally firm on those who abuse it. False and frivolous accusations in cases of this magnitude are very harmful. They undermine genuine victims, distort justice, and weaponise the legal system. Moreover, the damage to the wrongly accused may be irreparable. It is therefore essential that the State enforces strict penalties against knowingly false statements, including perjury and malicious prosecution, as already contemplated within the amended legal framework.
This is how balance is achieved, not by weakening the law, but by strengthening accountability on both sides.
Zambia has seen this logic work before. When theft of motor vehicles was classified as a non-bailable offence, the country experienced a significant decline in such crimes. The message was clear: when legal consequences become immediate and unavoidable, behaviour adjusts. The law, at its most effective, should not merely be reactive; it must be preventative. Sexual offences require the same clarity.
This reform is not about punishing the accused before trial. It is about recognising that the cost of getting it wrong in sexual violence cases is disproportionately borne by victims and society. It is about shifting the burden of caution from the vulnerable to the system itself.
The question, therefore, is not whether the law is too harsh. The real question is whether the system is ready to match the seriousness of the law with the discipline of its enforcement. Because if the system rises to that standard, this law will not only stand, but it will also transform the landscape of justice for survivors. If it does not, then the problem will not be the law. It will be us.
Kanyanta Chanda Kapwepwe is a governance analyst and senior lecturer at the Cape Peninsula University of Technology. He writes in his personal capacity.
