As Namibia approaches the regional and local authority elections on 26 November, the nation finds itself at a critical democratic crossroads. These elections, often overshadowed by the glamour and political theatre of general elections, carry an undeniable weight. They are, in many ways, the most intimate reflection of the people’s voice. This is where political rhetoric meets the hard reality of service delivery; where promises collide with potholes, housing backlogs, sanitation failures, and bread-and-butter governance.
What makes this year’s elections particularly consequential is the timing. We are only nine months into the Netumbo Nandi-Ndaitwah administration. For a presidency still defining its character and rhythm, these elections will serve as an early verdict, a referendum of sorts, on public confidence, policy direction, and the leadership style emerging from State House. While the ballot is technically about councillors and regional representatives, the shadow cast by national politics will be impossible to ignore.
For the ruling party, Swapo, the stakes are unusually high. The party enters this election season still bruised from the last cycle: a drastically reduced parliamentary presence; the historic loss of southern regions and councils ; the erosion of dominance in the Khomas Region; and the symbolic sting of losing Walvis Bay, long mythologised as the very birthplace of Swapo’s political identity. The defeats in the Erongo Region remain a sobering reminder that political loyalty, once taken for granted, can evaporate when communities feel abandoned or unheard.
Which brings us to the uncomfortable but necessary question: What has Swapo done differently this time?
From the outside looking in, the party appears to be leaning heavily on unity messaging, attempting to neutralise the internal fractures that have publicly spilled out over the past few years. As Secretary General, Sophia Shaningwa faces an enormous test, not just as a party administrator but as a political strategist tasked with halting the bleeding in urban centres and rebuilding confidence where disillusionment has set in. The SG’s role in candidate selection, campaign coordination, and grassroots mobilisation will, after this election, either be vindicated or scrutinised with renewed intensity.
But Swapo’s challenge goes deeper than candidate lists and door-to-door campaigns. The party must confront the perception that it has grown complacent, even disconnected, from the lived realities of ordinary Namibians. Local authority governance is about visible, daily impact: whether roads are maintained, whether sewage flows into rivers, whether land delivery is transparent, whether community policing feels effective. Voters no longer want grand political sermons; they want results they can point to without squinting.
The opposition landscape, however, is not in a celebratory mood either. Far from it.
The Popular Democratic Movement (PDM), Independent Patriots for Change (IPC) and the Landless People’s Movement (LPM) enter these elections weakened by internal turbulence and leadership disputes, resignations and ‘floor crossings’ that have sometimes overshadowed their policy platforms. For them, this election is not just another political contest, it is a struggle for survival. A poor showing could push them from relevance to the very brink, reducing them to footnotes in Namibia’s evolving political narrative. Their futures hinge on whether they can reconnect with their bases, present credible local solutions, and rise above squabbles that voters increasingly view as self-inflicted wounds.
Then there is the Affirmative Repositioning (AR) movement, still young, still unpredictable, still capable of pulling off political stunts that reshape local election outcomes. But AR’s approach in parliament has raised eyebrows. Their theatrical posture, sometimes clever, sometimes chaotic, has left many former supporters disillusioned. The movement risks becoming known more for disruption than deliberation. Yet, it would be politically naïve to dismiss AR. If recent electoral history has taught us anything, it is that the movement has an uncanny ability to tap into youth frustration and mobilise surgically and effectively when needed.
This fluid political environment sets the stage for one of the most competitive and uncertain elections in recent memory.
But amid all the political analysis, we must not lose sight of the bigger picture: Local authority elections are the purest litmus test of leadership. Unlike general elections, there is no refuge behind party lists or national slogans. Candidates stand before the electorate in their own names. Communities choose the individuals they trust to manage municipal budgets, allocate land, oversee sanitation, and uphold accountability.
This election is not merely about party colours; it is about competence.
As the Windhoek Observer, we urge Namibians to recognise the power they hold. Every ballot is a message, to government, to opposition leaders, to future candidates, and to the nation’s political culture. A high voter turnout strengthens democracy. A low turnout strengthens complacency.
We cannot afford a democracy where citizens complain loudly on social media but whisper silently at the ballot box.
We cannot afford to surrender our local governance to fate, apathy, or frustration.
We cannot afford to let political parties, any of them, take our silence as consent.
Whatever your party, preference, or protest, your vote is your voice. Use it.
As we enter the final stretch toward 26 November, let us do so with clarity and conviction. These elections are not only a test for the NNN presidency or for Swapo’s organisational machinery. They are also a test for every citizen who believes in accountability, service delivery, and the democratic promise of Namibia.
The ballot is your tool. The future is your responsibility.
Go out in numbers. Vote, not out of habit or anger, but out of hope for a better, more responsive, more accountable Namibia.
