From manifesto to legacy: Tanzania’s living promise of conservation

TANZANIA: IN September 1961, on the eve of Tanganyika’s independence, Mwalimu Julius Nyerere offered his people and the world a declaration that would come to define the nation’s relationship with nature.

Standing in Arusha, he issued words that continue to echo across savannas, forests and mountains six decades later:

“The survival of our wildlife is a matter of grave concern to all of us in Africa. These wild creatures amid the wild places they inhabit are not only important as a source of wonder and inspiration, but are an integral part of our natural resources and our future livelihood and well-being.

“In accepting the trusteeship of our wildlife, we solemnly declare that we will do everything in our power to make sure that our children’s grandchildren will be able to enjoy this rich and precious inheritance,” he said.

This became known as the Arusha Manifesto and it did not read like the technical blueprint of a new state. Instead, it carried the spirit of a covenant. In those lines, Nyerere tied Tanzania’s future to the fate of its wildlife, placing conservation not at the periphery but at the very heart of the new nation’s identity.

Vision that changed the nation

When Mwalimu Nyerere spoke those words, conservation in Africa was still seen by many as a colonial idea; imposed, elitist and often at odds with the needs of ordinary people. But Nyerere reframed it.

For him, the lions, elephants, rhinos and wildebeest were not just icons for postcards or curiosities for visitors. They were part of Tanzania’s natural wealth, assets as valuable as minerals or fertile soil and symbols of a free people taking ownership of their land.

The Arusha Manifesto led to a wave of policies and institutions: the creation of Tanzania National Parks (TANAPA), the establishment of Ngorongoro Conservation Area (NCA) as a unique multiuse landscape and the signing of the Wildlife Conservation Act (WCA).

Over time, Tanzania built one of the most ambitious protected area networks in the world. Today, nearly 38 per cent of the nation’s land is under some form of protection, from the endless plains of the Serengeti to the vast wilderness of Ruaha and the cultural landscapes of Kilwa and Kondoa.

This achievement stands as one of the most enduring legacies of independence. Few nations, anywhere, have dedicated so much space to nature.

Challenges on the horizon

And yet, as Nyerere warned in his Manifesto, the survival of wildlife would never be automatic. The threats are as pressing now as they were in 1961, though they have changed form.

Poaching remains an everpresent danger, fueled by international markets for ivory and rhino horn. Climate change is beginning to alter rainfall patterns, stressing already fragile water systems and shifting the age-old rhythms of migration. Expanding human populations press against park boundaries, with farms, roads and towns competing with wildlife corridors.

On a patrol near Pololeti Game Reserve, a ranger named Jamal once told me: “It is not just bullets that kill animals. It is the slow squeeze; a fence here, a road there, a river drying earlier than it used to.

Little by little, the wild gets smaller.” His words capture the quiet, less visible threats that conservationists battle every day. These challenges are daunting. But Tanzania is not standing still.

The next chapter: A responsibility for all

If the Arusha Manifesto was a declaration of intent, then the next chapter in Tanzania’s story is about shared responsibility. Conservation can no longer be left to rangers, NGOs, or government ministries alone. It is and must be, the duty of every Tanzanian citizen.

This idea is taking root in policy and practice. Communities living alongside protected areas are now partners rather than bystanders. Revenue-sharing programmes return a percentage of tourism income to local villages, funding schools, clinics and water projects. Community-based wildlife management areas (WMAs) give rural people a direct stake in protecting the habitats around them.

The Maasai herder who chooses to rotate his grazing so that grasslands regenerate is conserving. The fisherwoman who respects seasonal closures to allow stocks to replenish is conserving.

The schoolchild in Mwanza who learns that elephants are worth more alive than dead is conserving. Conservation is no longer an abstract concept; it is woven into daily choices, large and small.

President Samia Suluhu Hassan’s government has strengthened this approach, placing people at the centre of conservation. Through initiatives like the Royal Tour documentary, she has showcased Tanzania’s natural wonders to the world, not simply as tourist attractions but as part of the nation’s soul.

Under her leadership, Tanzania is doubling down on ecotourism, sustainable agriculture, and renewable energy, proof that growth and conservation can go hand in hand. In many ways, this is the living continuation of Nyerere’s vision: a balance where people and wildlife thrive together.

Why it matters for Tanzania’s future

It would be easy to measure the success of conservation in economic terms alone. Tourism remains one of Tanzania’s strongest economic pillars, providing jobs and foreign exchange. Wildlife safaris, photographic tours and cultural heritage sites draw visitors from across the globe.

But the stakes go far beyond money. Conservation is about identity. Tanzania is known to the world as a land where wildebeest still thunder across the Serengeti, where Ngorongoro Crater shelters rhinos and lions, where flamingos still turn soda lakes pink.

It is about dignity. To lose these things would be to lose part of who we are, to sever a link between past, present and future.

And it is about legacy. Nyerere was not speaking only to his peers in 1961. He was speaking to us, to our children and to theirs. “Our children’s grandchildren,” he said, must inherit what we now guard. The task is not optional. It is generational.

A living promise

On a recent walking safari near Empakaai Crater, a young ranger pointed to a set of tracks pressed into the volcanic soil. They were fresh, a leopard had passed just minutes earlier. The group fell silent, listening. In the distance, a lion’s roar carried across the rim.

The ranger turned to us and said: “This is what Nyerere meant. These moments. This inheritance. It is not for us alone. It is for those who will come after.”

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His words echo the spirit of the Arusha Manifesto more than sixty years later. Conservation in Tanzania is not just policy or practice. It is a living promise, written into the land, honored by each generation, tested by each challenge and renewed by each choice.

Today, that promise is carried forward not only by rangers and leaders but by ordinary Tanzanians; farmers, teachers, herders, students who understand that protecting wildlife is protecting themselves.

Under President Samia’s leadership, this vision is finding new strength, proving that even in an age of climate change and global pressure, Tanzania can remain true to the trust it accepted in 1961. The Arusha Manifesto was not a speech to be remembered. It was and still is a pledge to be lived