In recent months, Namibia has borne witness to a heartbreaking and deeply troubling trend: a spate of suicides among teachers — the very custodians of our children’s futures. These tragedies are not isolated incidents. They are echoes of a deeper national pain — one rooted in financial strain, psychological isolation, and a silent war waged every day in households across this country.
The teaching profession has always demanded sacrifice: long hours, modest salaries, and an unwavering emotional investment in others. But when those giving so much to society find themselves drowning in debt, struggling to feed their families, and confronting daily financial humiliation, the emotional toll becomes too great to carry. For some, the silence becomes permanent.
Steps should be taken to address this growing concern. We applaud Minister of Education, Sanet Steenkamp for having shown both urgency and compassion in acknowledging that our teachers are not just professionals — they are human beings with breaking points. That acknowledgement alone is a significant step forward.
But we must be honest: this is not just a crisis among teachers. It reflects a broader national emergency. From petrol attendants to cleaners, from guards to domestic workers — many of our fellow Namibians are navigating an unrelenting cost-of-living storm with no buffer, no recognition, and no emotional safety net.
When a schoolteacher ends their life, we take note — their position in society makes the loss visible. But what of the faceless suicide of a farmworker in the Karas Region, or the security guard in Katutura who quietly disappears? These are not names that trend on social media or make the front pages. But their stories — their pain — are just as real. Their deaths just as tragic.
Namibia must begin to talk honestly about mental health, financial trauma, and the reality of working-class life in a stagnant economy. We need government-led, multi-sector efforts to offer financial literacy programmes, emergency mental health services, and regulatory checks on predatory lending. We need trade unions to do more than negotiate wages — they must advocate for wellness and dignity in the workplace. And as a media house, we commit to telling these stories — not just when a tragedy occurs, but as an ongoing conversation about how we value life and labour.
To lose a life to suicide is to lose a future, a parent, a sibling, a teacher, a friend. When those we depend on most begin to fall, it is not just their tragedy — it is ours. Let us no longer wait for another funeral to begin the conversation.
Let us act. Let us listen. Let us care.
