By Paul T. Shipale
SPEAKING at the funeral of late South African struggle icon Alfred Nzo, in Johannesburg, in 2000, former South African president Thabo Mbeki said: “The days pass, each year giving birth to its successor. What has passed becomes the past as time erodes the memory of what was living experience. In their recalling, old joys expand into enlarged pleasure. Old wounds fade away into forgotten scars or linger on as a quiet pain without a minder. Those who gave generously of their talents to lighten our moments of darkness do not want the embarrassment of the enthusiasm of our gratitude. Those who brought us intolerable pain and took away our days of light insist that nothing should be recalled, lest we impose on them the pain of guilt and on ourselves the pain of our memories. And so what was slides away as though it never was. The torture and death in the police cells – all has passed as though it never was.”
Mbeki further said, “The stories that were told, which transformed patriots into mindless, blood-thirsty terrorists at the service of ungodly foreign powers, and the long days and nights in prison and in exile – all lingers on only as a nightmarish image of what might have been … One after the other, the stars that brightened the firmament of a generation have been extinguished.”
Indeed, one after the other, the stars that brightened the firmament of a generation of freedom fighters have been extinguished: Tobias Hainyeko, Green Well Matongo, Peter Nanyemba, Dimo Haambo, Ndadi, Nakada, Pondo, John Otto Nankudhu and now Fredric Matongo. Time has swallowed up our heroes and heroines.
Not anywhere in a free Namibia, except for the Heroes Acres, stand a statue and a monument which speak to us and all future time to say – once upon a time, our country was blessed to have as its citizens these who, though dead, are brought to life by every day’s dawn that portends fulfilment for all the people of our motherland. They too slide into the past as though they never were.
Matongo lies in front of us in his small house of wood, cold and still and without a voice. When he passed on, yet another great liberation struggle stalwart heart ceased to beat. While he lived, he refused to allow that his people should be defined in any way other than the way they freely chose for themselves. He elected to oppose those who sought sectarian and personal benefit, by setting one against the other, the peoples of many colours and cultures that time had, in a tragic sequence, brought together as one family.
He gave those who were downtrodden and despised pride in themselves as glorious human beings, by instilling in them the knowledge that because they were oppressed, they held the gift of freedom in their hands. Yet, he lies in front of us in his small house of wood, cold and still and without a voice.
While he lived, those who sought to destroy his soul failed. He went his ways speaking quietly of hope, of human dignity, of the cruel errors of small-minded people, of the magnanimity of those who were treated as savages by those who claimed to be civilised, of the inevitability of freedom.
He worked quietly to persuade us to understand the cruel errors of the small-minded people, teaching us to assert our own humanity by respecting the right of all our people to life, liberty and happiness.
He showed us by example that we needed no high sounding titles to discharge our obligation faithfully to serve our people. Even as some sought to present him as an object of ridicule and failure, those of us who knew who he was and what he was worth to our people, determined that we, like him, would continue to be informed by our knowledge and our consciences, rather than the voices of our oppressors.
Yet he lies in front of us in his small house of wood, cold and still and without a voice. While he lived, his humility, his self-effacing ways, his constant humour, his loyalty to principle, his avoidance of the self-serving theatrical flourish, his refusal to be defeated, the certainty his very being carried of the inevitability of the realisation of our hopes, brought light and joy to all our nights of despair.
The gods themselves would lose their patience with us if we permitted that time should persuade us that this jewel on our crown has lost its sparkle, merely because the soil we tread will have taken into its bosom the small wooden house that he now occupies. Whatever the direction we turn our ears, the same message reaches us, his work is not yet done!
The heroes and heroines, whom he has joined, like him, live among us, combatants still for the liberation of all our people. The cause for which they fought and sacrificed has not run its course. Yet he rests in front of us in his small house of wood, cold and still and without a voice.
And yet we can hear him as he says:
Do not allow the shadows to deceive you nor the long road you have to travel, to discourage you! Listen carefully to the strident voice of your adversaries and continue to strive as you have done over countless years, to remain loyal to what is good and just! Above all, as you call for God’s benediction in the interests of Africa’s people, act together to free the peoples of our continent from oppression, from war, from poverty, from greed, from lies, deceit, humiliation and contempt!
It was right that you should have stayed with us until we reached this historic moment and then, ever so abruptly, declared that your race was run. Tell those whom you join that, whatever the problems, still we progress. Rest in peace!
• Disclaimer: The opinions expressed here do not necessarily reflect those of my employer and this newspaper but solely reflect my personal views as a citizen.