Lichtenstrasser – hated, adored and never ignored
The untold story of Maxuilili’s bodyguard
The man officially recognised as a veteran of Namibia's liberation struggle was buried on Saturday.
Last Saturday, under the cloudy dark skies of Otavi, the town’s grey soil embraced the remains of a man whose name evoked both reverence and revulsion – Ernst Josef Lichtenstrasser.
An Austrian emigrant who had made Namibia his home since the mid-1980s, Lichtenstrasser’s story defies simple categorisation. He was, at various points, a liberation icon in his own right, a skilled artisan, a union man, a convicted killer – and the trusted bodyguard of Nathaniel Maxuilili, Swapo’s acting president in Namibia between 1960 and 1989.
His colourful and turbulent life ended in tragedy last month, at the age of 64, when he succeeded in taking his own life inside the Windhoek Correctional Facility – his fourth suicide attempt since being handed two life sentences by Judge Christie Liebenberg in April 2024. The man who once fought oppression had become a prisoner of his own demons.
Those close to the case told Namibian Sun that ill health and despair had conspired against him. In the weeks before his death, he had reportedly quietly stockpiled strong medications, finally taking a lethal overdose.
“He took them all at once,” one source said.
It was a fatal act of taking final control in a life that had spiralled far from its early promise.
A bullet between loyalty and rage
During his legal battle, the court heard that Lichtenstrasser’s life unravelled in April 2019, when he stormed into the Arandis campus of the Namibian Institute of Mining and Technology (Nimt) and gunned down its top two executives in cold blood.
His anger, prosecutors said, stemmed from an instruction to relocate to Nimt’s southern campus in Keetmanshoop – a transfer he fiercely resisted. Letters between him and management revealed that he was given a choice: move or face termination.
He chose something darker – funnelling his fury through the barrel of a gun.
A revolutionary among the condemned
But before that fatal day, Lichtenstrasser’s name had circulated in very different corridors. Within Swapo circles, he was once a familiar and even admired figure. It was through those connections that he fathered his first child with Lucia Basson, the future ǁKaras governor and Swapo stalwart.
Wealthy businessman Ranga Haikali remembers him vividly from the 1980s, when he was a Metal and Allied Namibian Workers Union (Manwu) organiser in the western region.
“He worked as a fitter and turner for Kraatz Engineering, a subsidiary of the Ohlthaver & List Group in Walvis Bay,” Haikali recalled. “Later, at Gearing Engineering, he worked with Maxuilili – that’s how we met. Maxuilili convinced his colleagues to join the union, and Ernst was right there with us.”
With Manwu being part of the National Union of Namibian Workers (NUNW) – and by extension Swapo – Lichtenstrasser was soon swept into the liberation movement’s underground world.
“He started attending Swapo meetings, many held secretly at Maxuilili’s house,” Haikali said. “It wasn’t long before he became Maxuilili’s bodyguard.”
That decision came at a price. In apartheid Namibia, a white man standing with Swapo, the black liberation movement, was branded a traitor. “Many companies were told not to hire him,” Haikali recalled, “even though he was one of the best in his trade.”
The white comrade
As work dried up, the union gave him modest employment. “He didn’t always demand payment,” Haikali said. “If the union coffers were empty, he still worked. He just wanted to help.”
His Caravelle Kombi became the unofficial Swapo Youth League bus – ferrying young activists across Namibia as the intoxicating promise of independence loomed. He even persuaded other white Namibians to join the movement.
But not everyone welcomed him. During a rally at Okakarara in 1989, Haikali and Veripi John Pujatura witnessed him being attacked by Nudo activists who mistook him for Anton Lubowski, Swapo’s prominent white leader. “He was hit with a knobkerrie and bled badly,” they recalled. “The police then tried to frame him, saying he was armed.”
A veteran’s quiet fall
In later years, Lichtenstrasser married Florence Kambangula, and later Nautumbwe Felecian Lichtenstrasser, who remained his wife until his death. Recognised by government as a veteran of the liberation struggle, he received a resettlement farm in the Otjimbingwe area of the Erongo region.
By virtue of his veteran status, he was also entitled to state assistance for burial – but deputy defence minister Charles Mubita told Namibian Sun yesterday that this never happened.
“The ministry was not informed of his passing,” Mubita said. “That is very unfortunate. When a veteran dies, one of the first steps the family must take is to inform the ministry.”
Sources said a sister in Austria wanted his remains cremated and sent to Europe, but his wife and children insisted he rest in Namibia – among his own.
He is survived by five children and one grandchild.
A contradiction named Ernst
Ernst Lichtenstrasser’s story will forever provoke discomfort. He was a liberation ally and a double murderer, a unionist and a killer, a white comrade in a black liberation movement, and a man who ultimately couldn’t liberate himself from his inner torment.
Loved, loathed, but never forgotten – the man once known as Maxuilili’s bodyguard remains, even in death, impossible to ignore. He was, in every sense, loathed, adored and impossible to ignore.
An Austrian emigrant who had made Namibia his home since the mid-1980s, Lichtenstrasser’s story defies simple categorisation. He was, at various points, a liberation icon in his own right, a skilled artisan, a union man, a convicted killer – and the trusted bodyguard of Nathaniel Maxuilili, Swapo’s acting president in Namibia between 1960 and 1989.
His colourful and turbulent life ended in tragedy last month, at the age of 64, when he succeeded in taking his own life inside the Windhoek Correctional Facility – his fourth suicide attempt since being handed two life sentences by Judge Christie Liebenberg in April 2024. The man who once fought oppression had become a prisoner of his own demons.
Those close to the case told Namibian Sun that ill health and despair had conspired against him. In the weeks before his death, he had reportedly quietly stockpiled strong medications, finally taking a lethal overdose.
“He took them all at once,” one source said.
It was a fatal act of taking final control in a life that had spiralled far from its early promise.
A bullet between loyalty and rage
During his legal battle, the court heard that Lichtenstrasser’s life unravelled in April 2019, when he stormed into the Arandis campus of the Namibian Institute of Mining and Technology (Nimt) and gunned down its top two executives in cold blood.
His anger, prosecutors said, stemmed from an instruction to relocate to Nimt’s southern campus in Keetmanshoop – a transfer he fiercely resisted. Letters between him and management revealed that he was given a choice: move or face termination.
He chose something darker – funnelling his fury through the barrel of a gun.
A revolutionary among the condemned
But before that fatal day, Lichtenstrasser’s name had circulated in very different corridors. Within Swapo circles, he was once a familiar and even admired figure. It was through those connections that he fathered his first child with Lucia Basson, the future ǁKaras governor and Swapo stalwart.
Wealthy businessman Ranga Haikali remembers him vividly from the 1980s, when he was a Metal and Allied Namibian Workers Union (Manwu) organiser in the western region.
“He worked as a fitter and turner for Kraatz Engineering, a subsidiary of the Ohlthaver & List Group in Walvis Bay,” Haikali recalled. “Later, at Gearing Engineering, he worked with Maxuilili – that’s how we met. Maxuilili convinced his colleagues to join the union, and Ernst was right there with us.”
With Manwu being part of the National Union of Namibian Workers (NUNW) – and by extension Swapo – Lichtenstrasser was soon swept into the liberation movement’s underground world.
“He started attending Swapo meetings, many held secretly at Maxuilili’s house,” Haikali said. “It wasn’t long before he became Maxuilili’s bodyguard.”
That decision came at a price. In apartheid Namibia, a white man standing with Swapo, the black liberation movement, was branded a traitor. “Many companies were told not to hire him,” Haikali recalled, “even though he was one of the best in his trade.”
The white comrade
As work dried up, the union gave him modest employment. “He didn’t always demand payment,” Haikali said. “If the union coffers were empty, he still worked. He just wanted to help.”
His Caravelle Kombi became the unofficial Swapo Youth League bus – ferrying young activists across Namibia as the intoxicating promise of independence loomed. He even persuaded other white Namibians to join the movement.
But not everyone welcomed him. During a rally at Okakarara in 1989, Haikali and Veripi John Pujatura witnessed him being attacked by Nudo activists who mistook him for Anton Lubowski, Swapo’s prominent white leader. “He was hit with a knobkerrie and bled badly,” they recalled. “The police then tried to frame him, saying he was armed.”
A veteran’s quiet fall
In later years, Lichtenstrasser married Florence Kambangula, and later Nautumbwe Felecian Lichtenstrasser, who remained his wife until his death. Recognised by government as a veteran of the liberation struggle, he received a resettlement farm in the Otjimbingwe area of the Erongo region.
By virtue of his veteran status, he was also entitled to state assistance for burial – but deputy defence minister Charles Mubita told Namibian Sun yesterday that this never happened.
“The ministry was not informed of his passing,” Mubita said. “That is very unfortunate. When a veteran dies, one of the first steps the family must take is to inform the ministry.”
Sources said a sister in Austria wanted his remains cremated and sent to Europe, but his wife and children insisted he rest in Namibia – among his own.
He is survived by five children and one grandchild.
A contradiction named Ernst
Ernst Lichtenstrasser’s story will forever provoke discomfort. He was a liberation ally and a double murderer, a unionist and a killer, a white comrade in a black liberation movement, and a man who ultimately couldn’t liberate himself from his inner torment.
Loved, loathed, but never forgotten – the man once known as Maxuilili’s bodyguard remains, even in death, impossible to ignore. He was, in every sense, loathed, adored and impossible to ignore.
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