In an effort to foster real conversation, a person born in Rehoboth, South West Africa, during apartheid and another born in a refugee camp in Angola in the middle of a war are initiating a dialogue about the unaddressed atrocities committed by both sides during Namibia’s war for liberation.
Our hope is that this will start an honest conversation about the unexamined atrocities committed by both sides during the war for Namibia’s liberation. We hope the conversation will lead to concrete action rather than the continued avoidance of the issue by successive governments.
Ordinarily, the death of decorated liberation hero Solomon ‘Jesus’ Hawalaa, during Heroes’ month, should have brought about a procession of eulogies, lionising the undisputed heroics of the fighter on the battlefield.
Instead, not long after the announcement of his death, Bience Gawanas, a former Namibian ombudswoman and Lubango dungeons survivor, expressed on social media that the death of retired Hawala on 11 August 2025 revived painful memories of her ordeal in Swapo’s detainee camps in Angola, where she encountered Hawala. She stated she could not forgive her departed comrade without reconciliation or accountability, as he died without providing answers about the atrocities committed. Gawanas chose to honour those who perished in the camps rather than mourn Hawala, emphasising her advocacy for victims and their families still seeking closure. It must have come as a slap to the face to Gawanas and other victims of the dungeons when President Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah announced national hero status for Hawala. He will be laid to rest at a State funeral in Ongwediva on 6 September.
Hawala is a contentious character in the liberation struggle, enjoying posthumous plaudits from erstwhile comrades and rancour from staunch and longstanding opponents and comrades as well; his death provides an opportunity to debate the dungeons of Lubango so we meaningfully deal with its dark, largely unexamined stain on our history.
Namibia, a nation born of immense hope and struggle, finds itself at a critical juncture. The promise of national unity and reconciliation that accompanied independence in 1990 has, for many, soured into a bitter cocktail of rising tribal tensions and a profound sense of historical injustice. The core of this malaise is clear: we failed to conduct a genuine and thorough reckoning process after the end of administrative apartheid. We chose a path of convenient silence, and the ghosts of that decision are now haunting us.
While this liberation struggle movement had the power to sweep their atrocities under the rug, they simultaneously allowed the likes of Wouter Basson off the hook.
Basson, known as ‘Dr Death, was the head of the South African apartheid government’s chemical and biological warfare programme. He was accused of providing lethal drugs, including powerful muscle relaxants, which were used to kill over 200 captured Namibian freedom fighters from the South West Africa People’s Organisation (Swapo). These prisoners were allegedly drugged and then thrown from an aircraft into the sea. Basson was also accused of supplying poisons used in the assassination of numerous anti-apartheid activists in various countries. He was also allegedly involved in the development of a bacteria that would kill only black people and a vaccine to sterilise black individuals.
A South African judge in 1999 dismissed charges against Basson related to crimes committed in other countries, including the alleged murders of Namibian freedom fighters. The judge argued that the South African court did not have jurisdiction to prosecute crimes committed outside the country’s borders. Additionally, the judge noted that Basson had been granted a general amnesty for military members in Namibia in 1989.
For decades, the ‘reconciliation policy’ has been a fragile facade. It was a phantom, lacking the teeth of accountability and the power of truth.
Instead of a national reckoning with the atrocities of the liberation struggle and the apartheid era, we were offered a tacit agreement to forget. This strategy, while perhaps politically expedient at the time, has proven to be a dangerous prescription for a nation struggling to forge a cohesive identity. It allowed perpetrators on all sides to escape scrutiny, leaving the wounds of their victims to fester in silence. The beneficiaries and perpetrators of apartheid never had to deal with how they acquired their privilege, on the backs of the majority, and have become so emboldened in their hateful rhetoric that a national discussion about it had become a necessity.
COLLECTIVE FAILURE
The generational gap is now a chasm. The new generation of Namibian voters, unburdened by the personal memories of apartheid or the liberation war, are not interested in the same tiptoeing that characterised the post-independence era. They are a generation of digital natives, accustomed to accessing information instantly and demanding factual answers. They see the continued dominance of the “liberation struggle” narrative as a shield for a political elite that has failed them. Their call for transparency and accountability is not a rejection of history but a demand to understand it fully, without the convenient omissions and platitudes of the past. The older generation should not dismiss their questions; we should learn from their courage to ask them. Their insistence on truth is the most valuable asset we have in moving forward.
The selective approach to justice is perhaps the most glaring sign of our collective failure. The perception that only Swapo’s fighters are being compensated for their sacrifice, while other participants (especially those who never went into exile) and victims remain unacknowledged, is a source of deep resentment.
Compound that with an increasing anti-Aawambo sentiment, fuelled by perceptions that northern Namibia and its inhabitants must rule all of Namibia in all of its spheres and sectors, and the rest must stand by and nod in appreciation.
It’s a powder keg.
A truly unified nation would have honoured all who fought for freedom, regardless of their political affiliation or the side they found themselves on right now or when they die.
The former SWATF fighters certainly don’t have the right to expect the same compensation as those who fought the righteous fight.
But their insistence on answers as to what happened to the money the apartheid government left them is just as righteous. And the government’s insistence on brushing them aside only adds to the list of aggrieved and unsettled groups that could provide kindling for a big fire.
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It is a fundamental principle of democracy that if you receive public funds, you are accountable to the public. This principle, sadly, has not been applied to the former ruling party’s historical narrative. The public has a right to know the full story of the liberation war, including the difficult truths about atrocities committed by all parties involved.
The recent death of Hawala and the passing of other key figures from the liberation struggle have taken with them any hope of their personal accountability. But their deaths do not absolve the system and institutions that allowed the past to remain unaddressed or played a part in the suffering of Namibians. The very structures that enabled this selective truth-telling are still in place. This is where our focus must shift. We must demand that these institutions be reformed to facilitate genuine reckoning. The time for stonewalling and obfuscation is over.
The good news is that the political landscape is changing.
For far too long, the story of our liberation struggle has been conveniently told only from the perspective of Swapo’s political elite. Hawala and many others who were on the frontlines ducking bullets and hiding in thickets while being pursued by the apartheid forces have been forgotten and tales of their heroics shelved to collect dust in hidden archives. It is also opportunistic and wrong for politicians to conveniently make soldiers like Hawala the only fall guys for the unpleasant episodes in our past. This is as if Hawala and his comrades acted alone, wrongly without the knowledge and participation of the politicians. After all, Hawala was a member of the Swapo politburo and central committee during that period. If he was rogue, how was he never called to order by the two powerful decision-making bodies?
The period of mourning Hawala presents a unique window of opportunity. The second-best time to have an honest conversation about our past, after the missed opportunity of 1990. We must seize this moment to press for an independent, impartial truth commission. This body should not be a political tool but a genuine effort to uncover the facts, acknowledge the suffering of all victims, from the Swapo dungeons to the atrocities of the colonial and apartheid forces, and provide a platform for perpetrators (the few still alive) to finally seek forgiveness and for business empires who profited off of the slavelike conditions of apartheid work to pay reparations.
INEQUALITY
The current rise in tribal tensions and anti-elite sentiment is a direct consequence of our unaddressed past. When historical grievances are left to fester, they inevitably find new ways to express themselves. The frustration with a political elite that appears to live in a different world from ordinary citizens is not just about economic inequality; it’s also about the moral debt we all owe to our history. By finally confronting our collective guilt and acknowledging the suffering of all our people, we can begin to build a society based on justice and mutual respect, not on convenient amnesia.
The path forward is not easy. It will require immense courage from our leaders and our citizens. We must be prepared to hear difficult truths and confront uncomfortable facts. But the alternative is far worse. The longer we delay, the deeper the divisions will become.
A truth and reconciliation process would not only address the atrocities of the liberation war but also the legacy of apartheid. Apartheid was a crime against humanity, and a genuine reckoning would educate the “born-free” generation of all backgrounds. For young white Namibians, it would shed light on the continued unearned and undeserved privileges they live with and the systemic advantages they inherited. It would also help them understand and, in turn, question redress programmes like affirmative action from a more informed and empathetic perspective.
Apartheid also did a number on whites, and the indoctrination about their purported uitverkorenheid (chosenness) should be seriously addressed. None of the privilege white Namibians enjoyed was earned; it was systematically granted at the expense of others. Indigenous Namibians still live in the same dilapidated circumstances they died in during apartheid. A comprehensive truth and reconciliation process would serve as a powerful tool to dismantle these lingering psychological and social constructs, fostering a more equitable and understanding society for all.
More of us should ask for more accountability.
