OPINION: We went to exile, you stayed — the entitlement that ate Namibia

𝗕𝘆 𝗝𝗼𝘀𝗲𝗽𝗵𝗮𝘁 𝗜𝗻𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗮𝗼 𝗦𝗶𝗻𝘃𝘂𝗹𝗮, 𝗣𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝗰 𝗣𝗼𝗹𝗶𝗰𝘆 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗗𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗼𝗽𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗔𝗻𝗮𝗹𝘆𝘀𝘁 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗺𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗹𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁, 𝗢𝗻𝗴𝘄𝗲𝗱𝗶𝘃𝗮, 𝗢𝘀𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗮 𝗥𝗲𝗴𝗶𝗼𝗻

𝗧𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝘄𝗼 𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗡𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗯𝗶𝗮. 𝗢𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝗵 𝗼𝗳 𝗔𝗻𝗴𝗼𝗹𝗮 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗭𝗮𝗺𝗯𝗶𝗮. 𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗶𝗻 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗿𝗼𝗼𝗺𝘀, 𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗲𝘀, 𝗰𝗵𝘂𝗿𝗰𝗵𝗲𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗰𝗮𝗺𝗽𝘀 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝗶𝗱𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁𝗿𝘆. 𝗔𝗳𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟭 𝗠𝗮𝗿𝗰𝗵 𝟭𝟵𝟵𝟬, 𝗼𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗯𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗱𝗲𝗱.

Kristof Tamas warned us early. In his 1992 paper After Return – Repatriated Exiles in Independent Namibia (NISER Discussion Paper No. 15, University of Namibia), Tamas studied the repatriation of 43,000 Namibians between June and September 1989. His hypothesis was simple: return is not just humanitarian, it is political. Who gets the state after return?

What happened? The state chose the returnees.

Within months, ex-combatants and political exiles were integrated into the new public service, the Namibian Defence Force, the Police, Correctional Services and parastatals. It was necessary: the new state needed loyal cadres. But necessity became entitlement. What began as affirmative action for exiles became a permanent property right.

David Lamb predicted this in his 1982 book The Africans. He wrote that post-independence Africa’s tragedy was that “white colonial masters had been replaced by black neocolonial leaders more concerned with personal power and wealth than national consensus or development.” In Namibia, we did not replace a white master with a black one. We replaced a system with a credential. That credential was exile.

If you had a SWAPO camp number, a PLAN combat name or a scholarship from the Eastern Bloc, you were appointable. If you had a Bantu Education matric, survived Koevoet torture, or kept the church, school and trade union alive inside, you were suspect. You were “internal”: a code word for untrusted, for not having suffered enough.

The numbers tell the story. From 1990 to 2005, the majority of Cabinet ministers, permanent secretaries, ambassadors, regional governors, NDF generals and parastatal CEOs were returnees. This was not conspiracy; it was policy. The internal wing of SWAPO — Jerry Ekandjo, Maxuilili Ndamaseb, Daniel Meroro, John Pandeni, John Ya Otto and others who organised workers, students and churches inside Namibia under apartheid — had to fight to be recognised even after independence.

Ali Mazrui explains why. In The Africans: A Triple Heritage (1986), Mazrui argued that post-colonial Africa produces a new elite — Western-educated, militarily legitimised and indigenously rooted — that treats the state as family property. In Namibia, exile became both the Western education and the military legitimacy. It created a class that believes the Republic belongs to it.

This entitlement logic is heard in shebeens and boardrooms: “We were not in the country eating and drinking while we were dying in the bush. We liberated you.” It is self-entitlement disguised as history.

This logic explains three pathologies now crippling Namibia.

First, the unwillingness to relinquish. Permanent secretaries whose contracts expired in 1995 were still in office in 2010. Ambassadors rotated from Bonn to Addis Ababa to New York for 20 years. Service chiefs extended beyond retirement. Lamb called this the African syndrome of personal power. In Namibia, power is held not by performance, but by biography.

Second, the tenderpreneur class. The majority of instant millionaires after 1990 are returnees very close to the top governing elite. They boast, and this is verbatim in Windhoek, that they are untouchable because they liberated Namibia. A former exile in Cabinet, his nephew from exile as CEO of a parastatal, and a fishing quota or mining EPL for the cousin. Meanwhile, Ovambo traders who sold mahangu during the war, Herero farmers who hid SWAPO fighters, and Damara and Nama teachers who taught under Bantu Education watched the economy being shared among the exile network.

Third, the refusal to share wealth. This is the bottom line. Mazrui argued that the post-colonial elite mortgages its soul: luxury in the midst of deprivation. We see it. A small elite owns farms, houses in Ludwigsdorf, and shares in mines and fisheries, while state resources — land, fishing rights, tenders — are not shared equitably. Those who became instant millionaires do not want to share their acquired wealth, and the same attitude extends to the state, whose resources are not shared with all.

Who suffered more — the cadre who studied in Moscow, or the mother in Oshakati whose son disappeared into Koevoet detention? Who fought more — the commander in Lubango, or the student at Ongwediva who was expelled for singing SWAPO songs?

We must discard the notion that returnees deserve more benefits. The 1990 Constitution does not say: “This Constitution is for those who went into exile.” It says: “We the People of Namibia.” All of us.

We need a National Conference on Entitlement. Not tribal, but honest. How do we de-commodify liberation credentials? How do we enforce retirement and performance contracts? How do we make tenders about capacity, not comradeship?

Botswana has no returnees. It has Batswana. Namibia must choose: remain a Republic of Returnees, or become a Republic of Namibians, where a child born in Onesi in 1985 who never left and a child born in Kwanza-Sul in 1985 who returned in 1989 have an equal claim to this country.

Liberation was collective. Entitlement must be collective too. Otherwise, as David Lamb warned, we will have fulfilled a scenario designed for disaster. We owe self-introspection to future generations.

𝘑𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘱𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘢𝘰 𝘚𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘶𝘭𝘢 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘗𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘋𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘱𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘈𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘺𝘴𝘵. 𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘞𝘈𝘗𝘖’𝘴 𝘕𝘺𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘰 𝘌𝘥𝘶𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘏𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩 𝘊𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘒𝘢𝘰𝘮𝘢, 𝘡𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘮𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘭𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘛𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢𝘴 𝘏𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘺𝘦𝘬𝘰 𝘛𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘊𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘳𝘦, 𝘚𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘵𝘸𝘢, 𝘞𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘯 𝘡𝘢𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘜𝘚𝘈, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘩𝘦 𝘰𝘣𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘉𝘚𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘔𝘗𝘈 𝘥𝘦𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘴. 𝘏𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘷𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘪𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘢𝘮𝘪𝘣𝘪𝘢𝘯 𝘗𝘶𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘤 𝘚𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦. 𝘏𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘔𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘖𝘯𝘨𝘸𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘷𝘢, 𝘖𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘙𝘦𝘨𝘪𝘰𝘯.