After being the central figure in the ruling Swapo’s military and liberation mythology for 43 years, former Namibian president Sam Nujoma has suddenly become public enemy number one to his old comrades-in-arms.
Former veterans of People’s Liberation Army of Namibia, Swapo’s liberation-era military wing, are publicly demanding payouts of R500 000 each for their part in Swapo’s protracted anti-colonial struggle.
Last Saturday, about 300 former guerrillas met in Windhoek and decided to march on State House on September 4 — and vowed to stay there until at least some of their demands for compensation are met.
In reaction, about 200 pro-Nujoma demonstrators marched on the regional governor’s office in Oshakati, Swapo’s Ovamboland political heartland, to hand over a petition demanding that Namibia’s “Founding Father” be accorded more respect in the increasingly bitter spat.
The drama is reminiscent of Zimbabwe five years ago, when the war veteran leader and architect of the country’s violent land invasions, Chenjerai “Hitler” Hunzvi, mobilised a militant mob and forced Harare into financial concessions that triggered the nose-dive into Zimbabwe’s current penury.
Namibian war veterans’ demands could also break the bank. In a letter to President Hifikepunye Pohamba two months ago, they demanded payouts of R500 000 each or monthly pensions of R8 000, free education and their share of lucrative BEE deals in mining and fishing.
With between 8 000 and 10 000 combatants during the 23-year-long liberation war, Nujoma estimated that this could total as much as R6-billion, more than half the Namibian national budget.
The war vets’ vocal spokesperson, Alex Kamwi, is no stranger to controversy. When he practised as a “private investigator”, he offered legal services that saw the local Law Society laying charges against him.
The current standoff is symptomatic of larger problems for Swapo, beset with infighting since Nujoma was forced by his party in 2004 to heed the Constitution’s two-term limitation on presidential terms. Several ministers were fired for siding with former trade minister Hidipo Hamutenya, who challenged Nujoma’s 43-year sway over the party.
Pohamba has since tried to paper over the cracks. In June, however, he handed Nujoma the war veterans’ demands, allegedly in deference to his political senior.
Instead of the sympathetic reception they expected, Nujoma gave the war veterans’ committee a humiliating verbal dressing-down, accusing them of being impostors, lying about where they had served and questioning their party loyalty.
“Maybe he does not know us because he never came to the frontlines where we served,” sniffed Kamwi.
In 1995, thousands of veterans marched on Windhoek and camped for weeks in the parliamentary gardens before they were given jobs. A paramilitary unit, the Special Field Force, was created; other vets were accommodated elsewhere. But Nujoma has accused many of deserting their jobs.
Nujoma’s power has always depended on dispensing financial largesse, a trend especially evident during his last term in office, from 1999 to 2004.
The clash with the veterans is an indication of growing popular disenchantment. Despite week-long exhortations by party organisers for support for the Founding Father, the turn-out in Oshakati was disappointing. “People are showing dislike for what is going on [in government] by not responding,” said a senior party member.