With that, he meant that he had to sacrifice his own personal interests as a white Afrikaner lawyer for a cause that was greater than himself, and most importantly, one whose consequences where unknown to him and to those he chose to fight for.

In that sense, just like the freedom fighters such as Nelson Mandela who he chose to defend, Bram Fischer also had an aura of truth and authenticity in the way he conducted himself, both as a lawyer and freedom fighter.

In that sense, he epitomised a certain moral authority over his fellow Afrikaners who chose to look at black people as mere insignificant objects in their own land.

The personal history of Bram Fischer does not only have a level of relevance in the manner in which it tells us about the value and courage of dissent in the framing of just societies.

But it also tells us about what we should reject in our communities and most importantly the way we conduct our politics and discussions in this country.

As individuals, our self-worth is tied to the worth of the community to which we belong, which is intimately connected to humanity in general.

What happens in Katutura (or what it is) becomes an assault on me as an individual.

I argue this way because leaving Katutura for a suburb in town or the 14th Arrondissement in Paris does not remove my sense of injustice or the scars that remain in Katutura two decades after independence.

In fact, during my irregular visits to the Herero Mall for a haircut, my sense of worth as an individual is reduced to the poverty that I see there.

I am not too sure if it is my imagination, but the houses seem to have deteriorated and the living conditions have become harder.

Perhaps, I feel these hardships more now that I am insulated from those conditions.

For some of these residents, independence might have meant political freedom, but not opportunities.

Thus, the biggest challenge we face today as individuals who have been fortunate enough when it comes to opportunities, is to argue for better options for those on the margins of our society.

I don't believe that we are doing well in that due to a pervasive culture of denial in our public discussions.

We haven't learned the lesson that Bram Fischer taught his fellow Afrikaners: the courage to fight and discuss worthy causes.

Often, an argument that is subtle yet explicit, is one of saying that we overcame poverty because "we are smart and it is our time to enjoy the fruits of freedom" or "we need to make money as much as we can because we are the chosen smart ones", frequently irrespective of the costs to the societies we live in.

In doing so, we look at those who are critical about the way we do things and conduct ourselves as either " naïve" or "jealous" about our material possessions.

It is exactly this thinking that says that a black journalist is "jealous about us" when he talks about what is wrong and unethical in his or her community.

Yet, as a black intellectual, the choice of writing and probing what is wrong or what does not work in your own community is not an easy one.

In fact, it is not easy to write about comrades who label you a "bastard of the west".

In anti-intellectual societies like ours, just to paraphrase the leading Afro-American scholar Cornel West, the Namibian who takes "seriously the life of the mind inhabits an isolated and insulated world".

Certainly, it is an act of self-imposed marginality and could assure peripheral status in one's own society.

In framing issues in atavistic economic terms, the black middle-class has become increasingly intolerant and anti-intellectual.

It has lost sight of the kind of ethical discussions we need to frame societies that are just.

It justifies its consumption of everything western; from German sedans to haute couture as the fruits of their hard work.

Yet, it refuses to discuss candidly the high standards that we need to bring our university and our bureaucracy on par with institutions in the west.

The latter discussion would be considered by this anti-intellectual black middle class as one framed by a columnist who is out of touch with African or Namibian realities.

Oddly, this class, since it can afford to do so, would send their children to former white institutions in South Africa or the West while justifying mediocrity at local institutions.

It is a class that lacks a sense of pragmatism in its discussions and broader public engagement.

I am not sure if it is deliberate or unintentional.

Instead of raising the level of discussions, we fail as an anti-intellectual society to problematise the role of intellectuals, journalists, activists and writers in functional terms (as essential agents of change in free societies).

Even the University fails in this role: that of being part of society, yet critical of society.

For the anti-intellectual black middle class, writers, public intellectuals and activists are "enemies" whose motives are crafted in Paris, London or Washington.

Bram Fischer, who teaches us the value of courage and dissent, provides a potent lesson that ought to be emulated or one that should serve as a guidepost in our public discussions: we need to internalise contradictory debates as essential in framing just societies.

In his case, it meant him being called a "kaffir lover".

But history was on his side.

For a free nation like ours, it should not take a Bram Fischer-like personality to drive that message home; the quest for ideas, sound debates and literacy should become a fundamental theme in the way the black middle class frames our socio-economic circumstances.

* Alfredo Tjiurimo Hengari is a PhD fellow in political science at the University of Paris-Panthéon Sorbonne, France.

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