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Fragmented Memories: The Struggle for the Anti-colonial Past in Modern-Day Angola

João Fusco Ribeiro writes about the contested memory of the anti-colonial liberation struggle in Angola.

The Angolan Liberation Struggle (1961–1974) was fundamental in dismantling Portugal’s colonial empire and galvanized anti-colonial resistance across southern Africa. 50 years later, Angola’s anti-colonial past remains deeply contested, its history shaped by partisan narratives, civil war legacies, and a fractured fight over national memory.

Der angolanische Befreiungskampf (1961–1974) war von grundlegender Bedeutung für die Zerschlagung des portugiesischen Kolonialreiches und befeuerte den antikolonialen Widerstand im südlichen Afrika. Diese Vergangenheit Angolas ist bis heute umstritten, geprägt von parteipolitischen Narrativen, dem Erbe des Bürgerkriegs und einer gespaltenen nationalen Erinnerung.


The historical relevance of the Angolan Liberation Struggle (1961-1974) in the African decolonization process is closely linked to its pioneering status among the anti-colonial armed struggles in sub-Saharan Africa, to its direct impact on the end of the Portuguese empire, as well as the profound regional anti-colonial consequences for the white minority regime in Rhodesia, the prospects of Namibian independence, and the intensification of the fight against South African apartheid.

The liberation struggle in Angola was also marked by the fragmentation of its nationalist movement, a feature common to other armed struggles in Africa, but which in Angola assumed a more extreme form. The liberation movements of the National Front for the Total Liberation of Angola (FNLA), the People’s Movement for the Liberation of Angola (MPLA), and the National Union for the Total Liberation of Angola (UNITA), not only failed to form a united front against colonialism, but also actively fought one another in what became a de facto civil war running parallel to the liberation struggle. This civil war continued after independence in 1975 and was intensified by the internationalization of the conflict through Cuban and South African military interventions.

As a testament to the vitality of its internal dynamics of competition, the Angolan civil war outlasted the Cold War and the withdrawal of international belligerents, entering its most destructive phase in the 1990s and only ending in 2002. This persistent competition has left an enduring legacy of open rivalries in Angolan politics today, along with a deeply contested memory of what the liberation struggle truly meant, marked by established traditions of historical revisionism and the strategic production of silences about the past.

The legacy of liberation in Angola is shaped by several events and processes that have unfolded from independence to the present day. One of the most defining factors over the long term is arguably the MPLA’s continuous control of state power since 1975. This began with its role as the ruling party of a socialist one-party system and continued, following the democratic transition of the 1990s, as the dominant force in a multiparty system with fragile democratic credentials.

This half-century of control has allowed the MPLA to shape the official discourse of the liberation struggle, using state resources to construct its version of history. In contrast, other movements have had limited access to such tools of state memory-making, placing them at a clear disadvantage in the battle over historical legitimacy.

The mausoleum of Agostinho Neto, constructed with the support of Soviet expertise, functions as Angola’s de facto national pantheon, one that excludes anti-colonial figures not connected with the MPLA. Source: Wikipedia.

Official Infrastructure of Memory

The official infrastructure of memory overwhelmingly reflects the MPLA’s interpretation of the liberation struggle, a direct consequence of the party’s uninterrupted control of state power. This state-sponsored memory framework selectively honors figures and events that align with the MPLA’s historical narrative, while systematically excluding or marginalizing other anti-colonial actors.

Although this infrastructure claims to promote national unity, its effects can be quite the opposite. For many Angolans, particularly those from regions or communities historically aligned with rival movements, these commemorative practices are perceived not as efforts to foster a shared national identity, but as expressions of partisan dominance disguised as national remembrance.

Informal Infrastructure of Memory

The opposition is largely left to construct its own informal infrastructures of memory, without state sponsorship but also, in some cases, with limited government interference. A striking example is the site where UNITA’s founder and leader Jonas Savimbi was shot dead in 2002 by Angolan governmental forces, which quickly became an improvised memorial and remains a powerful symbol of remembrance for many Angolans despite its unofficial status. Despite its unofficial status, it has remained an important site of national pilgrimage to this day. The only government interference was not aimed at the informal efforts at memorialization, but at the reburial of the UNITA leader’s body in his hometown of Lopitanga. Something the MPLA eventually permitted in 2019, in what was seen as a late but significant step toward national reconciliation.

The site of Savimbi’s death in Luena became a place of pilgrimage, marked by an improvised memorial and the display of the metal door used to transport his body. Source: Ver Angola.

Inclusive Monuments

While the government consistently blocks efforts to establish official memorials honoring the anti-colonial heroes of rival movements, it has also demonstrated moments of some flexibility. A positive example is the Monument to Peace in Luena. Unlike other state memorials that are explicitly tied to the MPLA’s history, this monument stands out for its inclusive symbolism and deliberate ambiguity. Notably, the monument avoids any explicit ideological messaging or display of party symbolism. Instead, it offers a visual representation of peace, an abstract but universally positive concept that allows for multiple interpretations. This ambiguity enables Angolans from across the political spectrum to see themselves represented and included.

A monument to Peace was erected in Luena in 2012 to commemorate the tenth anniversary of the end of the Angolan civil war. Even though it portrays an abstract visual representation of peace that allows for a more inclusive interpretation, the monument also aligns with the MPLA’s narrative, indirectly portraying former President José Eduardo dos Santos as the “Architect of Peace”. Source: Jornal de Angola.

The struggle for Angola’s anti-colonial past remains an unfinished battle, fought not in the context of the politics of memory. More than two decades after the end of the civil war, the legacy of liberation continues to be characterized by exclusion, rivalry and selective memory. Although efforts such as the Peace Monument hint timidly at the possibility of a more inclusive national narrative, the prevailing framework still reflects a deeply fragmented memory. For Angola to come to terms with its past and develop a truly shared sense of identity, a broader plural recognition of all voices of liberation is essential.


References

Justin Pearce, “Angola’s Momentous Year”, BBC News, 2002.

Justin Pearce, “Contesting the Past in Angolan Politics”, Journal of Southern African Studies, 41, (1), 2015: 103-10.

Vasco Martins, “Hegemony, Resistance and Gradations of Memory: Politics of Remembering Angola’s Liberation Struggle”, History & Memory, 33, (2), 2021: 80-106.

Vasco Martins and Miguel Cardina, “A Memory of Concrete: Politics of Representation and Silence in the Agostinho Neto Memorial”, Kronos, 45, 2019: 46-64.

Jeremy Ball,“‘From Cabinda to Cunene’: Monuments and the Construction of Angolan Nationalism since 1975”, Journal of Southern African Studies, 45, (5), 2019: 821-840.


João Fusco Ribeiro is a research fellow at the Political Science Research Center (CICP) at the University of Évora, and his research focuses on Angolan liberation movements, the decolonization process in Lusophone Africa and its interconnections with anti-colonial support networks from Eastern Europe.


Title picture: Pixabay Content Free License.

Between sorrow, celebration, and tourist attraction

Núrel Bahí Reitz (PRIF) on the annual Majimaji Festival in Songea and the commemoration of anti-colonial fighters in Tanzania.

The annual Majimaji Festival in Songea commemorates those who died fighting the German forces during the largest early anti-colonial war in east-African history (1905-7). The spontaneous, unexpected situations that arise during such events may offer fruitful impulses for thinking about what it means to remember.

Das jährliche Majimaji-Festival in Songea erinnert an die während des größten frühen antikolonialen Krieges in der Geschichte Ostafrikas (1905–1907), im Kampf gegen die deutschen „Schutztruppen“ Verstorbenen. Spontane und unerwartete Situationen während dieses Festivals können fruchtbare Impulse zum Nachdenken über die Bedeutung von Erinnern geben.


The Majimaji War commemorations in Songea in south-west Tanzania take place at the end of February every year, on the grounds of the Majimaji War Memorial Museum. It is the only museum in the country dedicated specifically to the largest early anti-colonial war in East Africa (1905-7). Through their ruthlessness and the implementation of a scorched earth policy, orchestrating famines that continued long after the fighting had ended, the Germans colonial forces claimed the lives of up to 300,000 people during this war.

The commemorations stretched from the 23rd to the 27th of February this year. While it commenced and closed at the museum in Songea, the programme took us all the way to Nyassa District, as well as to Maposeni for the annual Ngoni Day celebrations. I was able to participate in the Majimaji War commemorations with the generous support of the Leibniz Research Alliance ‘Value of the Past’, and will share a few snippets from my observations and impressions in this blog post.

A significant visit

The commemorations – the Majimaji festival – mark the anniversary of large-scale executions that were perpetrated by the German colonial administration in 1906 during the Majimaji War. Sixty-six people were hanged by the German authorities and buried in a mass grave, located behind the museum building. Photos of some of the prisoners, taken shortly before their execution, can be found on display in the museum. One among them was sub-Chief Songea Mbano, who led the Ngoni forces against the Germans. He was the last to be killed, the sixty-seventh, and was buried a few meters apart from the mass grave. As the story goes, the Germans tried to hang him three times without success, before shooting him, severing his head, and sending his skull to Germany for “eugenics” research. There have been multiple calls to repatriate Songea Mbano’s skull over the years.

The photo of Chief Songea Mbano, who was executed and his body desecrated by German colonial forces in 1906. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Putting this into gruesome context, this was a common practice in the colonies at the time, so that to this day, skulls from former German colonies (and other places) can be found in the basements of multiple universities, hospitals, and museums in Germany. Recent years have seen increasing efforts to repatriate human remains from such collections. In fact, just a few days after the Majimaji festival, a German MP attended the commemoration for the massacre of nineteen Chiefs of the Chagga and Meru peoples near Kilimanjaro in 1900. Part of the discussions that followed the event were centred around the restitution of their remains from Germany (see here). While there was no official German representation at the Majimaji festival, President Steinmeier did visit the site in November, offering an apology for what our ancestors wrought (see here).

The visit of the Federal President of Germany Frank Walter Steinmeier is commemorated in Songea (left), right next to mass grave, marked by a monument with the names and ranks of the executed prisoners. Photos: Núrel Bahí Reitz.

The Majimaji Festival

The festival was opened on the morning of February 23rd. Sitting on the back of a bodaboda (motorbike taxi), we passed by groups of uniformed students making their way to the museum grounds, some chanting as they approached the gate. Loud, cheerful music could be heard coming from the museum from quite a distance, and we were met with a sea of hundreds of students, who had already gathered on the lawn in front of the museum buildings.

They stood across a permanent canopy, under which the honoured guests – including elders, Chiefs, government commissioners, and other dignitaries – were seated. A large tent was erected next to the canopy to seat the adult guests, providing them (us) with much appreciated shade, while the students continued to gather on the lawn. The atmosphere was joyful and lively, and the festival began with each of the school classes being introduced by the MCs, and called up to dance and enjoy themselves in the area between the students and the adult guests, which served as a stage for all the performances to come. The day was filled with welcoming speeches in Swahili by the dignitaries, dances, and songs.

The Majimaji-Festival had an overall joyous spirit with many honourable guests attending. Photo: Núrel Bahí Reitz.

Disregarding the content of the speeches, you could almost have forgotten the heavy history that was being commemorated. That is, until one dance performance in particular. The performance began with sounds of gunshots blaring through the speakers. Majimaji fighters ran onto the stage from behind the canopy, falling dramatically on the orange earth, dead. A woman ran with them, dropping to her knees next to her fallen fellows, shaking one, then the next, willing them to move – to live – mourning her tragic loss. The faces of the fighters were unmoving, some of them painted red, with lines like bloodied wounds. This sombre scene was held only for a moment, before the music suddenly became joyous again. A man in white robes came onto the stage and began to sing, the fallen fighters stood up, their bloodied faces now smiling, and the dance continued. The performers joined the white-robed man in song, thanking the fallen for their sacrifices for Tanzania, praising their fight.

An interplay of celebration and mourning

This transition from solemn to festive struck me as abrupt and unexpected, though not as unexpected as the scene that was about to unfold. Seated in front of us, a group of German tourists was captivated by the performance – it would be the only time we would see other Germans at the event. An elder Tanzanian man stood up from the audience and approached them. At first, it seemed that they did not understand what he was saying, but then he took the hands of two of the German women, and pulled them towards the dance, encouraging them to dance with the performers. Hesitantly, the two women obliged, standing at the edge of the group and dancing uncertainly to the music, their movements contrasting with the dancers’ practiced performance.

My first impression was that the situation was somehow wrong, and I immediately avoided eye-contact with the man making the German guests dance. How could it be okay for them to dance in this dance, that was telling such a gruesome story? Why would the elder invite them to do this? In my mind, they were now integrated into the dance in the role of the perpetrators, who were otherwise not presented on stage. And the perpetrators shouldn’t be dancing happily with the survivors!

However, I quickly realised that no one else seemed to take issue with this scene. On the contrary – multiple Tanzanian guests got up from their seats to encourage the women, some taking their hands to bring them closer to the performance, others filming them or taking photos. Before they left, the tourists said a warm goodbye to the elder Tanzanian women who were seated next to them, who seemed appreciative of their participation in the dance, even hugging the guests.

The next day, an elder man would tell my friend that he saw me dancing, confusing me with one of the women, and when I asked my friend (embarrassed) whether he corrected his elder, my friend said: “No, it’s fine, he thought it was good!”

I still do not know how to interpret this scene, but my assumptions about how this commemorative performance ought to be engaged with were clearly off. Through my own socio-cultural upbringing and my research interest in how people engage with histories of mass violence, I expected this performance to be subject to a certain level of reverence, whether it be sincere or performed. In my presumptions, the commemoration of death, and especially violent death, is typically associated above all else with mourning. I imagine performances during such commemorations, or rather, commemorative performances to be infused with this mourning. Death and mourning are in turn somehow tied to reverence, to the “sacred”, in my mind.

However, this performance ended on a happy note, in celebration rather than mourning. Unlike sacralised performances, this performance was open for anyone to join in, even those who may be associated with the perpetrators. Perhaps the audience saw this history as much more “past” than I did, far enough away for the mundane to be allowed in. Or perhaps they viewed this interaction as a sweet, reconciliatory moment. Maybe the celebration of their peoples’ heroism, embedded in a narrative of the ultimate Tanzanian victory in its anti-colonial struggle, overshadowed all sense of mourning and loss at the end of the performance. Or perhaps it meant something completely different, that I have yet to learn in my time here.

Memorialisation and tourism

In a way the scene was also fitting with the general tone of the commemorations. The Majimaji Memorial Museum as well as the commemorations were nationalised in 2010. Since then, the event has been hosted by the Ministry of Natural Resources and Tourism. This was not only noticeable during the festival, but it dominated a considerable portion of the programme. Although no other tourists were present for the rest of the occasion, it was clearly stated on multiple occasions that one of the main objectives of the event was to promote tourism in the region.

This could be most clearly observed on the last day of the commemorations. The programme on the 27th was opened with a procession. The crowd, made up mostly of uniformed school children, collected the dignitaries from the old boma and prison where the captured fighters were held before their execution. From there, they marched together to the Hanging Place, where a select few dignitaries ceremoniously placed traditional Ngoni weapons onto the memorial located there, with military accompaniment. We marched to the museum grounds, where the ceremony was repeated at a statue representing Tanzanian independence fighters. Then, the procession was interrupted for a presentation of exhibition tents, which lined the museum grounds and promoted tourist attractions in the region. The dignitaries walked from tent to tent, as the exhibitions therein were presented over the speakers, loud enough for all those present to hear. Only after this promotional interlude did we continue onto the gravesites, where the ceremony was repeated for the last time at the mass grave. This time, the dignitaries also laid colourful wreaths at the sites, and both Christian and Muslim prayers were spoken. The ceremony was closed with a speech at the grave of sub-Chief Songea Mbano.

Perhaps it is not surprising, that at a commemorative event so infused with every-day concerns, the performances do not demand the reverence I expected them to. This is not to say that promoting tourism is a trivial matter: increasing tourism has the potential to improve people’s livelihoods in the region. It would also encourage Germans to visit the museum and the festival, to participate in the commemoration of what is also their history. Nevertheless, I could not help feel that there was a tension between the wish to commemorate the history of this place, to celebrate the heroes who died fighting, and the wish to promote tourism through such an event.


Núrel Bahí Reitz is a PhD Researcher at PRIF – Peace Research Institute Frankfurt and works for the research centre “Transformations of Political Violence” (TraCe). For her dissertation she examines the memorialisation of the genocide in Namibia (1904-8) and the Majimaji war in Tanzania (1905-7).


Cover photo: National Majimaji Memorial Museum, Songea, Tanzania. Photo: Núrel Bahí Reitz.