Online Reporter
Ranga Mataire and Alexander Rusero
COLGEN Gwasira is the 21st Paramount Chief of the Makoni Clan, a direct descendant of Chingaira Makoni, who led resistance against British colonial settlers in the 1890s.
In a recent interview, the Chief said the execution of Chief Chingaira is well documented. He was shot by 12 soldiers and beheaded. They disposed of his body, but it’s believed his head was taken to Britain.
Chief Makoni believes many of the misfortunes bedevilling the clan emanate from the restlessness of the ancestors who are yet to receive a dignified rest in their homeland.
A few weeks before Zimbabwe commemorates its 46th Independence Day, growing calls for the repatriation of human remains and artefacts are reaching a critical mass, with reports that some early struggle heroes taken to South Africa are set to be returned home before April 18.
In the UK, descendants of Zimbabwe’s freedom fighters executed and beheaded by colonial British forces have called on the Natural History Museum in London and the University of Cambridge to assist them in finding their ancestors’ looted skulls.
Although some institutions and museums have in the past resisted acknowledging, identifying and releasing the remains, the Zimbabwean Government says negotiations have reached a crescendo, raising hopes that the struggle heroes will finally be repatriated back home.
The push for repatriation comes amid growing calls across Africa for the return of stolen artefacts and human remains. Proponents argue that political independence without cultural restoration is unfulfilling.
The continued captivity of African ancestral remains in British institutions is not an unfortunate relic of the past; it is an active, living expression of coloniality.
At best, it is domination preserved in glass cases, and, at worst, violence curated, labelled and, in some cases, monetised.
African history is no longer content to sit quietly in archives. It is knocking loudly on the doors of museums, universities and governments that have long evaded accountability. And this time, Africa is not whispering. It is demanding.
The outcomes of the 39th African Union Summit have decisively elevated the reparations agenda into the 2026–2035 decade of Agenda 2063, reframing slavery, colonisation and colonial violence within the language of international law.
This signals a transition from moral appeal to legal confrontation. African states are preparing to table resolutions at the United Nations seeking redress for what are rightly termed historic crimes. That phrase alone should unsettle any institution still clinging to African remains — crimes demand accountability, not curation.
To strip this issue to its core, what does it mean that, in 2026, the skulls of African resistance leaders may still lie in drawers and display units in London and Cambridge?
Descendants of First Chimurenga heroes, those who stood against the violent incursion of empire in the 1890s, are now forced to write letters, to plead, to offer their own DNA, simply to locate the remains of their ancestors. This is not research collaboration. This is indignity layered upon historical trauma.
Chief Chingaira Makoni comes to the fore. Captured after resisting colonial conquest, executed, and beheaded — his skull allegedly shipped to England as a trophy of empire.
Today, his descendants are still searching. Still asking. Still waiting. Meanwhile, institutions respond with the cold language of bureaucracy: “no evidence identified”, “no confirmed remains”, “further research required.”
Let us be honest, this is not just a failure of documentation. It is a failure of will. Because when the same institutions can account, catalogue and preserve thousands of artefacts with precision, the sudden absence of certainty around African human remains becomes difficult to accept as a coincidence. It begins to look like avoidance.
The numbers themselves are staggering. Over 11 800 African human remains are held across UK institutions, with thousands concentrated in elite universities and museums. This is not an incidental collection but a well-choreographed system. And yet, these are the same institutions and the same nation that position themselves as custodians of civilisation, champions of human rights and arbiters of ethical governance.
There is, however, a glaring moral asymmetry. Figures such as Cecil John Rhodes, whose legacy is steeped in dispossession, racial domination and extractive violence, lie buried, undisturbed, their graves protected by the very societies they scarred. There is no exhibition of his remains. No academic probing of his skull. No ticketed display of his bones.
Even in justified anger, there remains a boundary — a recognition of the sanctity of the dead. But African ancestors? They are denied even that minimum dignity. Their remains are handled, stored, debated and displayed as though their humanity expired the moment empire claimed their bodies. The same dehumanisation that justified their killing now justifies their continued captivity.
For African societies, particularly within traditions such as those of the Shona, the consequences are not merely symbolic. Ancestors are not passive memories; they are active spiritual presences. The Vadzimu are the bridge between the living and the divine. To sever that connection through the theft of remains is not only cultural violence; it is spiritual disruption.
When descendants say, “We are suffering until our ancestors return,” this is not a metaphor. It is reality.
So when British institutions claim they have found “no evidence” linking remains to specific individuals, they miss the point entirely.
This is not just about identification. It is about restitution. It is about acknowledging that these remains should never have been taken in the first place. The burden of proof cannot rest on the descendants of the violated. The burden rests on those who benefitted from the violation.
This is precisely why the African union must now act — not cautiously, not diplomatically diluted, but decisively. A continental summit on the repatriation of African human remains is no longer optional; it is urgent. Africa must speak with one voice, backed by legal instruments, historical evidence and moral clarity.
This process must go beyond polite requests. It must involve a comprehensive global audit of African human remains, binding timelines for repatriation, joint but Africa-led forensic and archival investigations, and cultural and spiritual protocols for reburial and restoration. As such, closure cannot be outsourced. It must be claimed.
There is a harsh truth that cannot be avoided — no other people are required to fight so relentlessly for dignity in death. For others, burial marks the end of the struggle. For Africans, even death has not guaranteed peace. That is not normal. That is not acceptable. And it must not continue.
The continued retention of African remains is not just a historical oversight; it is a stain on every institution and government that allows it to persist while claiming the mantle of civilisation. If Britain and others truly wish to stand on the side of justice, then the path is clear — return the dead and allow them a decent rest. Not eventually. Not conditionally. Not symbolically.
Until then, the empire has not ended. It has simply found new ways to hold Africa hostage. However, this time, Africa is no longer asking for permission to reclaim its ancestors. It is asserting its right.
