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Published on June 21st, 2016 | by admin


Society And its Discontents

Namibian political leaders ignore the slow burn in socity at their Own peril.

The air is alive with the sounds of discontent and woebegone those who think it a temporary phenomenon. At this very moment, a growing phalanx of youthful malcontents are glowering with resentment from the murk of disenfranchisement at the socio-economic sidelines, flexing their knuckles at the prospect of a fight, their anger riding on a stiffening resolve to at first confront and then throw off the yoke of an elderly leadership cadre long out of touch
with the lashing hardships on the ground. It is that we have entered our age of anger. But how have we come to this … again? Well, it is quite simply that a profound tone-deafness, that has long crept up upon and now fully beset and afflicted the highest echelons of political power, has become the primary stoker of a growing rancour on the socio-political landscape. This rancourousness is finding expression in the very public confrontations between an ‘old guard’, still blissfully and misguidedly trading on the fading glories of yesteryear, and an upstart generation infused  with a re-awakened youthful militancy, so reminiscent of the radical youth political movement of the immediate pre-independence era. And it is that the ‘old guard’ are not seeing the narrative being writ large that has them increasingly cast as the reactionary forces obstructing the gates to prosperity with the sun setting in their eyes as an army of heroic youthfulness swells ever closer unseen in the high-grass of the plains flowing up to the big gates in the high stone walls.

when the building of opulent Monuments and Palaces becomes  their driving desire, does it Not show that they do Not care?
And so it is that this clash – that moment of the overpowering drawing near when the sudden ferocious cry and howl from the high-grass plains shattering the dusky silence and terror and confusion flit across the ‘old guard’s’ sunblinded eyes in the moments before their unsurprising vanquishing – becomes an inevitability. When this episode is looked upon and considered in posterity it will be sung that the seeds of the ‘old guard’s’ destruction were sown through their own hubristic pursuits and the innateness of the animus in much of their endeavours: When the lights have gone  out and all the water has been drunk or been allowed to waste away, can they claim to not have been warned?; When death, misery and despair are the only medicines to be dispatched by a crumbling health sector, can they truthfully claim to not be aware?; When the education of children is but little more than a banishment to future desperation, can they claim to not have heard?; When the building of opulent monuments and palaces becomes their driving desire,  does it not show that they do not care?; When corruption, crime, mismanagement and misprioritisation stand in their wake, does it not show them unperturbed? It is because of these indignities and injustices that the youth come marching, marching, marching up to the old big doors. It is from amongst the bristling, glistening shacks and low huts that the youth now come marching, marching, marching up to the old big doors. It is with hunger and thirst, poverty and faded prospects that the youth now come marching, marching, march ing up to the old big doors. And so it is probably that across age and all that has been lived, the ‘old guard’ do not empathise with the youngsters. And so it is too that in their impatience, inexperience and unhappiness the youth do not recognize their elders. One might well ask, where will it all end when it seems so clear that much still has to be fought? And one might then answer that it must surely end with the changing of the ‘old guard’ and the rending of the party.
All that will be left the heroes of yester-year will be the songs and praises, the stories and plaques, and the fade of their memories. But who is to blame other than they? For is it not that they have been forewarned, as the winds of time carried the scents of the swelling youthful discontent massing ever closer across the distance – coming swarming low now through the high-grass. With the air alive with the sounds of discontent it is that one thing is certain, though, … That the youth come marching, marching, marching up to the old big doors.

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