George Hidipo Hamba Kambala
It has been eleven years since we gathered in Klein Windhoek to make a stand.
We were young, restless and determined to be heard. We had no money, no power and no certainty about what the next hour would bring. All we had was conviction. We believed that the land question, and the exclusion of young people from decision-making, could no longer be ignored.
That morning was not just a protest. It was a promise. It was the first loud beat in a drum that has never stopped. It was the beginning of what the country would one day call the Affirmative Repositioning Movement the Awakening of a Generation.
I pen this today, as someone who has walked this long and demanding road. I speak as someone who has tasted the sweetness of small victories and the bitterness of setbacks. I speak as someone who has bled with the people and still believes that hope can be made to last.
I became an activist because silence felt like betrayal. When I saw children go to bed hungry while fertile land was reserved for the privileged, I felt it as a wound in my own chest. When I saw mothers waiting in long lines only to be told that decisions were never meant for them, I knew I could not pretend it was someone else’s burden. Activism, to me, was never a hobby or a moment of excitement. It was a moral obligation. It was, and still is, a duty to the people who raised me, who taught me dignity, who taught me that surrender is not an option.
We did not arrive at this moment through comfort. We arrived here through pain, patience and resilience. We faced tear gas. We faced court summons. We were insulted, ridiculed and targeted. There were nights when doubt sat heavy on our shoulders. There were days when it seemed like our strength would not carry us another metre. Yet every time we looked into the eyes of those who depended on us, every time we saw the spark of hope return to faces that had forgotten how to hope, we found our footing again. That is what it means to be a Dealer of Hope. You keep showing up, even when the road is harsh, because the people cannot be left to walk it alone.
Along this journey I learned that courage, on its own, is not enough. Courage must walk with wisdom. Power is not friendly to the unprepared. Oppression is not delicate. To challenge power without strategy is to hand your struggle to your enemy. I learned. I listened. I reflected. I learned that boldness must be matched by planning. I learned that discipline is not an accessory; it is a tool of survival. We must guard our movement from corruption, from infiltration and from those who see activism as a ladder to private comfort. Our fight is not for positions. Our fight is for dignity, for land, for work and for a future that belongs to the many, not the few.
And let me pause here to honour a truth that history often forgets. Women are the unshaken pillars of this movement. My mother, like the mothers of many activists, taught me what sacrifice looks like when no one is watching. She fed us when we had nothing. She steadied us when tempers flared. She reminded us that any struggle not rooted in care will eventually lose its soul. Young women organised meetings by lamplight. They pulled communities together. They wrote letters, drafted petitions and mobilised neighbourhoods. Grandmothers walked long distances with aching feet to sign their names to our cause. Their labour was steady. Their strength was decisive. Their love kept us human. To the women of this movement, I bow my head. I honour you. I salute you. You carried us long before we learned to carry ourselves.
Our journey has seen triumphs and disappointments. We shifted national conversations that once seemed impossible to touch. We demanded inclusion where youth were once invisible. We fought for land, and we stood with families who had been left on the edges of society. We exposed injustices that some hoped would remain buried. But the work is not done. Corruption still steals bread. Neoliberal deals still sell our future. Unemployment still eats at the hope of our young. The promise of independence remains unfinished. Until every Namibian child sleep’s under a roof. Until every hand can work with dignity. Until land and opportunity are not luxuries but rights.
With two days remaining before the local and regional elections, I call on every activist, every sympathizer, every young person who has ever stood with us to act. I call on you today with clarity and urgency. These next two days matter. Speak to your neighbours. Speak to your friends. Speak to your families. Explain why this movement exists. Explain what we have done and what still must be done. Stand at market corners. Knock on doors. Mobilise with respect and with honesty. That is how movements grow. That is how movements earn mandates.
On 26 November 2025, Namibia will stop for a public holiday so that every citizen can cast their vote. Use that day with purpose. Walk to your polling station with pride and with your voter’s card in hand. Protect your vote. Encourage those who are unsure. Remind them that hope is not a catchy word. Hope is work. Hope is sacrifice. Hope is a choice. Vote for a movement that has stood with you in the rain, in the heat, in the pressure and in the loneliness of the struggle. Vote for AR because AR has never sold its soul. AR has never abandoned its people.
This moment is bigger than any individual. It is the work of many hands and many hearts. Do not wait for someone else to secure a future that belongs to all of us. Organise. Mobilise. Teach. Share. Guide. Stand guard for a peaceful and credible election. Lead with dignity. Serve with humility. I have seen what communities can do when they stand together. I have seen fields returned to families because pressure became too loud to ignore. I know what is possible when unity meets purpose.
On this day, 24 November 2025, I write to you with pride and certainty. Proud of where we have come from. Certain of where we must go. Let us enter the coming days with courage and care. Let us carry our values into our homes, our streets and our booths. Let us be present for one another.
We are Dealers of Hope. We are keepers of a promise. We are builders of a future we refuse to borrow from our children. Stand with me. Stand with each other. Let us make our work count.
Let us answer the call that began in Klein Windhoek and carry it until every corner of Namibia knows that hope still has dealers who mean business.
I am George Hidipo Hamba Kambala I am an activist. I am a Dealer of Hope. On 26 November 2025 go out and vote.
Hon. George Hidipo Hamba Kambala is the Head of Communications and National Spokesperson of the Affirmative Repositioning Movement and a Member of the 8th Parliament of Namibia. He writes in his personal capacity.
