Last week, two white pupils at a local school performed a grotesque pantomime of racism. They painted their faces black and referred to themselves as “Kaffir 1” and “Kaffir 2, invoking one of the most odious slurs in Namibia’s tortured history. It wasn’t just blackface; it was blackface with the added sting of apartheid’s legacy layered on top. This was not ignorance alone: it was wilful disregard for decency, for history and for the fragile social contract of our post-independence nation.
Many in the community demand that the pair be expelled or even criminally charged. The school and the parents have issued apologies. But we ask: is that enough? Let us be absolutely clear: no apology, however sincere, undoes the harm. We must examine what this says about who we are becoming and what we tolerate.
For decades after 1990, our nation marched forward. We committed to a shared identity, to a growing recognition of each other’s dignity, and to an aspiration that we would not be defined by race, but by mutual respect and a common future. Yet when two young people, presumably raised in families that endorse or at least allow such conduct, carry out this assault on memory and identity, the question arises: Are we reversing the gains made?
We must ponder what these young people were modelling and where they got the idea that this kind of behaviour was harmless fun or a lark. They did not pull this stunt in a vacuum. Their homes, their peer groups, their schools, and the broader cultural environment must bear scrutiny. What images, what jokes, and what offhand remarks circulated in their families? Because clearly they believed that painting one’s face black, and adopting one of the most hateful epithets of apartheid, is acceptable, is funny. That belief reveals a deeper malaise.
Yes, teenagers misbehave. But behaviour does not exist except in a context. To ignore the family, the environment, and the culture of tolerance (or worse, acceptance) is to let the wound deepen. If the homes of white families are places where the legacy of racial denigration is still alive, in whispers, jokes, or worse, then the nation’s unfinished business of reconciliation is still very much in play.
Some will argue that this was just “kids being stupid”, that we must chalk it up to immaturity, and that the apology suffices. Others will insist that this is a wake-up call: a moment where we must ask whether the values of accountability, sensitivity and historical awareness are being taught in the white sector of our society at all.
In a country where the wounds of oppression are still relatively fresh, such incidents are not trivial. In a society where blackface has been used to demean, dehumanise and humiliate, to allow this behaviour to pass without consequence is to reopen the scar. To say “it’s done, they are sorry, move on” is to underestimate the power of symbols, the weight of words, and the legacy of violence.
The school in question bears responsibility. Apologising was the first step, but it cannot be the last. Expulsion might be justified. At the very least a meaningful disciplinary process must take place. The parents must not merely apologise but must engage with the trauma their children inflicted. The families must undergo education on the history and significance of the N-word equivalent in Namibia and on the legacy of apartheid townships, coerced labour, forced removals and systematic humiliations. Schools must institute robust cultural-sensitivity programmes; the curriculum must ensure that every pupil, white and black, learns the historical reality of our society, not just in abstract but in its human, lived dimensions.
What of the broader question: are we reversing the gains in race relations? One incident does not constitute a trend, but it raises troubling questions. Are the changes in our society simply skin-deep? Have we achieved formal equality but left the cultural legacy untouched? If we allow ourselves to slide into a complacency where this behaviour is viewed as “a mistake by youngsters”, we risk being duped by surface change. The deeper transformation, the one in hearts and minds, in everyday interactions, in unspoken attitudes, remains unfinished.
Namibia’s independence did not merely remove the shackles of apartheid; it demanded that every citizen become part of the project of respect and dignity. That project cannot succeed if the symbols of denigration are still used as playground props. It cannot succeed if we allow the most vulnerable among us to witness, unchecked, the demeaning of their identity. Justice is not only in statutes but also in culture.
So yes, we should demand consequences. Yes, we should demand that the outrage be turned into education, not just punishment. Because if we don’t, we send a message: some students, some families, and some communities are permitted to mock more than others, to dehumanise, and to revert to old imagery. That message undermines the fragile trust among our racial communities.
To the wider white community: this is your test. If you believe deeply in the Namibia you helped to build since 1990, then you must act: within your homes, in your schools, and among your friends. Toleration of ignorance is complicity. Laughter at demeaning jokes is endorsement. Silence when you hear racial mockery is assent.
To the wider Black community: we hear your anger, your fear, your exasperation. You built this country on the idea that your children would not be ridiculed for the colour of their skin, that the slur would die. You deserve more than apologies. You deserve action. You deserve a society that honours your dignity.
For the record, this is not about punishing teenagers forever. It is about stopping a cycle. It is about using this incident as a catalyst: for deeper reflection, for institutional change, for cultural education. The school must lead. The families must lead. As a nation, we must lead.
If we do not, then yes, the fear that we are reversing the gains will be justified. Let us instead demonstrate that one ugly incident can galvanise the maturity, compassion and shared resolve of a society still on the path. Let us show that the apology is the beginning, not the end, of truly reckoning with our past and building our future. We owe it not just to ourselves, but to the next generation.
For the sake of what we hoped independence would bring – freedom, dignity, and equality – let this not pass quietly. Let it be turned, instead, into a turning-point.
