My Response to the Call for Reparations

by Ali Machava

From my village in Mozambique, distant in miles but connected in history, I read the article “The West Has a Moral Obligation to Pay Reparations” with both grief and hope. The author argues that the West must reckon with the horrors of slavery and colonialism by compensating the peoples and lands it brutalized. Three central ideas in the piece deeply struck me: the moral imperative of reparations, the persistence of structural legacies of colonialism, and the need for truth, apology, and institutional mechanisms as part of any reparative process.

First, the author insists on a moral argument: that former colonial and slave‑trading powers carry a debt not just economic or political, but moral to those they exploited. The West, having built much of its wealth by forcing unpaid labor, looting resources, and dismantling local institutions, cannot claim moral high ground while failing to address those original sins. This is not about charity or aid; it is about justice. The author’s emphasis on moral obligation makes it clear that reparations are not a gift but a due.

Second, the article reminds us that the damages of colonialism and slavery are not confined to history books: they persist in structural inequality. The author points out how colonial powers reshaped African economies to serve European demand (favoring cash crops over local food production), expropriated land, and imposed political orders designed to keep Africans dependent. These interventions fractured indigenous systems of trade, governance, and social cohesion. Today, those distortions remain embedded in international trade, debt, capital flows, and governance frameworks, continuing to funnel wealth out of Africa to the West.

Third, the author proposes that reparations must go beyond money to include truth‑telling, apology, and institutional mechanisms: formal acknowledgment of wrongs, truth commissions to expose histories, and clear policies for how reparations might be applied (e.g. who pays, who receives, how to guard against corruption). The article argues that these symbolic and procedural elements are essential to restoring dignity and legitimacy, because without acknowledgment, money alone may ring hollow.

As Ali Machava, born in a poor village with memories of colonial rule and post-independence struggles, I respond to these arguments with a mixture of urgency, humility, and caution.

I feel first that I agree deeply with the moral imperative. In my own community, older people talk about how land was taken, how forced labor uprooted families, how local crafts declined under colonial rule. We still see the effects in poor infrastructure, in external debt, in unequal markets, and in children lacking opportunities. The moral argument gives voice to centuries of suffering that many outside Africa ignore—or deny. If the West truly believes in universal human dignity, it must face this moral debt.

At the same time, I worry about the difficulties of implementation. Who will receive reparations? Governments in Africa are often corrupt or captured by elites. I fear that large sums might never reach the farmers, artisans, and marginal communities who suffered most. The article’s insistence on institutional mechanisms is therefore wise and necessary. But I also believe that those mechanisms must be co‑designed and overseen by African communities themselves. Reparations must not be a new form of dependency or a handout; rather, a tool of empowerment.

Moreover, I reflect on the danger of simply viewing systems of inequality as something only “externally imposed.” We must also examine internal fractures: elites who collaborated, borders drawn artificially, cultural self‑doubt, and failures of leadership after independence. Reparations may provide resources and moral redress, but genuine human flourishing will require that we rebuild our own institutions, values, and solidarity from within.

Finally, I am moved by the idea that reparations can heal dignity. As a humanist, I believe that recognition “we see you, we hear you, we accept responsibility” is a profound form of justice. For many of us, we don’t just want money, we want to be recognized as full agents, as bearers of history, not victims. Truth commissions and apologies can help shift narratives: not that we are backward or pitiable, but that we were robbed and deserve reparation.

In closing, from my village in Mozambique I hold both grief and hope. The article lays out a compelling case: moral obligation, structural legacy, and institutional redress. I believe we must press for reparations, but cautiously ensuring that they are democratic, transparent, locally anchored, and part of deeper cultural rebirth. For me, as a humanist, the goal is not only compensation, but the recovery of dignity, self‑determination, and a more just world.