The Forgotten Holocaust: How Germany’s Genocide in Namibia Still Haunts Africa

Between 1904 and 1908, in the dry plains of what is now Namibia, Germany carried out one of the first genocides of the 20th century. Entire communities of the Herero and Nama were driven into the desert, starved, shot, and imprisoned in concentration camps where disease and forced labour finished what the guns began. By the time the killing stopped, up to 80% of the Herero and half of the Nama people were gone.

Yet outside of Namibia, this atrocity is barely remembered. It is not taught in most schools, rarely appears in global history books, and is often overshadowed by the Holocaust that followed decades later. But for the descendants of those who survived, the scars remain — in land dispossession, in cultural erasure, and in the unhealed wound of justice denied.

This is the story of the Forgotten Holocaust — a genocide that foreshadowed the horrors of the 20th century, and one that still shapes the struggle for memory, reparations, and dignity in Africa today.

Historical Context

At the dawn of the 20th century, Namibia was known as German South West Africa — one of the Kaiser’s prized colonies in Africa. German settlers arrived with promises of “civilisation” but quickly imposed a brutal system of land seizures, forced labour, and racial hierarchy. The fertile grazing lands of the Herero and Nama were confiscated, cattle herds — the lifeblood of these communities — were stolen, and entire families were pushed to the margins of survival.

By 1903, resentment had reached breaking point. The Herero, led by Chief Samuel Maharero, rose in armed resistance against German settlers and soldiers. Soon after, the Nama, under leaders like Hendrik Witbooi and Jakob Morenga, joined the struggle. What began as a fight for dignity and land was met with overwhelming military force.

For the German Empire, this was not simply a colonial rebellion — it was an opportunity to impose total domination. Berlin dispatched General Lothar von Trotha, a man whose reputation for ruthlessness had already been forged in East Africa. His arrival marked a turning point: the conflict would no longer be about quelling resistance, but about annihilation.

The Genocide Unfolds

In 1904, after the Herero uprising, Germany sent General Lothar von Trotha to crush the resistance. He arrived not as a negotiator but as an executioner. In August of that year, at the Battle of Waterberg, German forces encircled the Herero. Instead of allowing surrender, von Trotha drove tens of thousands into the Omaheke desert, sealing off waterholes and patrol routes. Men, women, and children were left to die of thirst and starvation under the desert sun.

Von Trotha then issued his infamous “Extermination Order”: “The Herero people must leave the land. If they do not, I will force them out with the Groot Rohr [cannon]. Within the German border, every Herero, with or without a gun, with or without cattle, will be shot.” This was not war — it was a blueprint for annihilation.

The Nama, who rose in rebellion soon after, faced the same fate. Entire communities were hunted down, their leaders executed, their people scattered. Survivors were rounded up and sent to concentration camps such as Shark Island near Lüderitz — places so brutal that historians later called them precursors to Auschwitz. Prisoners were forced into hard labour, starved, beaten, and subjected to medical experiments. Mortality rates in some camps reached 70–80%.

By 1908, the genocide had run its course. Between 24,000 and 100,000 Herero and 10,000 Nama had been killed — a staggering loss that wiped out entire generations. What remained was a shattered people, stripped of land, cattle, and dignity, their survival itself an act of defiance.

Global Silence & Historical Erasure

For more than a century, the genocide of the Herero and Nama remained buried in the shadows of history. While Europe mourned its own tragedies, Africa’s dead were written out of the global narrative. Schoolbooks skipped over it, museums downplayed it, and governments avoided the word genocide altogether. The silence was not accidental — it was political.

Only in 1985 did the United Nations’ Whitaker Report first identify the killings as genocide. But Germany itself resisted the label for decades, preferring to call it a “tragedy” or “atrocity” rather than a crime against humanity. It was not until May 2021 that Germany’s Foreign Minister Heiko Maas finally declared: “We will now officially call these events what they were from today’s perspective: a genocide.” Germany pledged €1.1 billion in development aid over 30 years — a gesture framed as reconciliation, but not as reparations.

For many Herero and Nama descendants, this was too little, too late. Amnesty International has since argued that Germany’s refusal to accept a legal duty of reparations continues the colonial pattern of dictating terms to African peoples rather than engaging them as equals. Critics point out that development aid, controlled by the German and Namibian governments, does not directly compensate the communities who lost land, cattle, and lives.

The result is a bitter paradox: the genocide is finally acknowledged, yet justice remains elusive. The world remembers the Holocaust — as it should — but the genocide that foreshadowed it is still treated as a historical footnote. For the Herero and Nama, this erasure is not just about the past. It is about the ongoing denial of dignity, recognition, and restitution.

Echoes in the Present

More than a century later, the Herero and Nama genocide is not just a matter of history — it is a living wound. The demographic devastation of the early 1900s permanently reshaped Namibia’s population structure, leaving communities fractured and diminished in ways that still echo today. Entire lineages were erased, and the survivors carried trauma that has passed through generations.

The genocide also left behind a legacy of land dispossession. Vast tracts of fertile land seized by German settlers during the colonial era remain in the hands of their descendants or commercial elites. For many Herero and Nama families, the loss of land meant the loss of economic independence, cultural continuity, and dignity. This inequality continues to fuel debates in Namibia over land reform and restitution.

Beyond land, the genocide’s shadow lingers in identity and memory. For the Herero and Nama, annual commemorations are not only acts of mourning but also of resistance — a refusal to let the world forget. Yet these communities still struggle for recognition and reparatory justice. As Amnesty International noted in 2025, Germany has consistently refused to engage in meaningful consultations with the affected descendants, offering development aid instead of direct reparations.

The result is a paradox: the genocide is acknowledged in words, but its consequences remain unresolved in practice. For many Namibians, the fight is not only about history but about the present — about land, justice, and the right to be heard.

Why It Matters Today

The genocide of the Herero and Nama is not only a Namibian tragedy — it is a global warning. Historians and human rights advocates have long argued that the methods used in Namibia — extermination orders, concentration camps, forced labour, and racial pseudoscience — foreshadowed the atrocities of the Holocaust and later genocides in Rwanda and Darfur. To forget Namibia is to ignore the early blueprint of mass violence that scarred the 20th century.

Germany’s 2021 apology and financial pledge were hailed as historic, but they also exposed the limits of symbolic gestures. As Amnesty International notes, true justice requires reparatory accountability, not just development aid. The lesson is clear: reconciliation without restitution risks repeating the very patterns of domination that caused the harm in the first place.

Globally, the Herero and Nama genocide forces us to confront uncomfortable truths about colonialism. It reminds us that the violence of empire was not incidental but systematic — and that its legacies of land dispossession, inequality, and cultural erasure still shape African societies today. As Namibia Today observed, Germany’s recognition has sparked wider debates about colonial reparations, from the Caribbean to the Pacific.

For Africa, remembering Namibia is about more than history. It is about reclaiming dignity, demanding justice, and ensuring that the world does not continue to rank some genocides as more worthy of memory than others. For the world, it is a call to vigilance: the silence that followed Namibia made later atrocities possible.

Conclusion / Call to Reflection

The genocide of the Herero and Nama was not an accident of history — it was a deliberate act of colonial violence that foreshadowed the horrors of the 20th century. For too long, it has been treated as a footnote, erased from classrooms and ignored in global memory. But silence is itself a form of violence.

To remember Namibia is to confront the truth that colonialism was not simply about conquest, but about extermination and erasure. It is to honour the lives lost, to stand with the descendants who still fight for justice, and to insist that African suffering is not less worthy of remembrance than European suffering.

If we forget Namibia, we repeat its silence. If we remember, we reclaim dignity — not only for the Herero and Nama, but for all who refuse to let empire write the final word on African history.