The death of Solomon 'Jesus' Hawala (may his soul rest in peace), infamously known as the 'Butcher of Lubango', has reopened long-suppressed wounds from Namibia's liberation struggle.
For many, his name is a chilling reminder of the atrocities committed within Swapo's detention camps in Lubango, Angola, where hundreds of Namibian freedom fighters were accused of being South African agents, tortured and, in many cases, disappeared.
Yet for others, Hawala is remembered as a dedicated figure who fought for independence from colonial domination.
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He was a commander of Swapo's armed wing, the People's Liberation Army of Namibia (Plan), and later served as chief of defence in a free Namibia.
These contrasting perspectives reflect the deep entanglements of memory, complicity and moral ambiguity in post-colonial societies emerging from violent conflict. Not just in Namibia.
Ambiguities
To make sense of these conflicting views, we can turn to the framework laid out in 'The Implicated Subject: Beyond Victims and Perpetrators' by Michael Rothberg.
Rothberg challenges the binary lens of victim and perpetrator, proposing instead the concept of the "implicated subject": Those who, while not directly perpetrating violence, are nevertheless entangled in structures of power, coercion and historical responsibility.
Rothberg's ideas help us understand how someone like Hawala can be simultaneously implicated in both the noble cause of national liberation and the cruel violations committed in its name.
It is important to emphasise that the crimes committed by apartheid South Africa were systematic, brutal and rooted in an ideology of racial supremacy.
The apartheid regime waged a relentless war against liberation movements like Swapo, using torture, assassinations, forced removals and state-sanctioned terror to maintain white minority rule.
Countless Namibians were killed, displaced or imprisoned simply for demanding their freedom.
Any reckoning with Swapo's own human rights violations must never be misinterpreted as an attempt to relativise or excuse the immense suffering inflicted by the colonial regime.
Confronting both forms of violence - colonial and liberation - is necessary for a truly just and honest national memory.
Swapo's role in Namibia's independence is undeniable. It led a long struggle against South African occupation and succeeded in bringing about independence.
Within this narrative, figures like Hawala are lionised as national heroes.
But this heroic frame too often erases the darker side of the liberation struggle - the paranoia, the internal purges and the inhumane treatment of suspected spies.
In exile, particularly during the 1980s, the movement turned inward in fear, resulting in secret prisons and torture chambers that operated far from public view.
The Lubango dungeon became a symbol of this dark underside. From the late 1970s to the mid-1980s, hundreds of Swapo cadres were detained without trial, brutalised and, in many cases, never seen again.
Survivors and families of the disappeared continue to seek answers and justice. These crimes were committed not by colonial oppressors, but by comrades within a movement that claimed to be fighting for justice and dignity.
This uncomfortable truth challenges the simplistic narrative of good versus evil of liberation heroes versus colonial villains.
'Heroes vs Villains'
This is where Rothberg's theory becomes vital. He suggests that in societies transitioning from oppression to democracy, it is essential to recognise the complicity of those who are neither clear-cut villains nor innocent victims.
Hawala was part of a system that perpetuated violence under the guise of revolutionary necessity.
His death does not close a chapter but poses new questions for deeper moral introspection.
Post-independence Namibia has struggled to address atrocities committed by Swapo in exile.
While truth and reconciliation processes in countries like South Africa brought some accountability and recognition, Namibia has largely avoided a similar reckoning.
The official narrative has favoured national unity and the sanctity of the liberation struggle, often at the cost of silencing victims, and shielding perpetrators.
Those who speak out are sometimes labelled unpatriotic or even agents of foreign forces.
Rothberg's concept of implicated subjects calls for a paradigm shift in this conversation - from one that seeks to assign blame to one that acknowledges entanglement.
This does not absolve perpetrators like Hawala but it situates their actions within a broader collective context. Hawala was Plan's chief of intelligence but who enabled these acts?
Who remained silent? Who benefited from the structures of repression, even passively?
Are we all implicated subjects if Hawala and Swapo fought on our behalf to liberate Namibia, the independence we enjoy today?
Understanding the past through this lens does not weaken the legitimacy of Namibia's independence struggle but rather strengthens the moral fabric of its democracy.
A liberation movement that cannot reflect on its own excesses risks replicating the same authoritarian tendencies it once opposed.
And a nation that cannot mourn all its dead, regardless of the hands that killed them, will forever carry the burden of unfinished mourning.
Salomon Jesus Hawala's death is an opportunity.
An opportunity to reevaluate Namibia's relationship with its liberation history, to acknowledge the pain of survivors, and to reimagine justice in a way that includes truth, memory and empathy.
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Reimagining justice
This requires listening to the voices of the implicated, those who were not entirely victims or perpetrators, but who bore witness, participated, survived or stood by in silence.
Rothberg reminds us that complicity is not the same as guilt but a moral and political position that demands accountability.
This is the kind of nuanced reckoning Namibia needs - one that does not flatten history into heroes and villains but embraces the complexity of human actions within systems of power.
In this spirit, Hawala's death should spark national dialogue, not closure.
It is time to open the archives, hear the testimonies, and allow the voices of the disappeared and their families to shape the national memory.
Only then can Namibia move toward a future that honours the full truth of its past - both the glory of liberation and the tragedy of its darker chapters.
The liberation struggle gave Namibia its freedom. But freedom, if it is to be meaningful, must include the freedom to confront uncomfortable truths.
- Ndumba Kamwanyah is a public policy expert, focusing on the interplay of social welfare policy, development and democracy. He is also a peace and reconciliation scholar, and a certified mediator with an Masters in conflict studies.
