PHAKAMISA MAYABA / A flaccid anticlimax, then, last month’s general election. South Africa’s youth – in their heyday the cause of apartheid’s mad scientists wetting themselves –listlessly showed the middle finger rather than to vote for anybody,, or made animated viral videos showing scores of them setting all kinds of ANC regalia alight to celebrate Youth Day. No organising or mobilising … dololo. Just a surrendered gesture that says more about their pervasive disposition than anything about the failures of the ruling party.
Nearly 50 years ago, in their school greys and gym dresses, numbering in the thousands and without the convenience of cell phones or social media, youths gallantly took the fight against oppression to the establishment. With the regime having insulted them many times too many, enforcing Afrikaans as the medium of instruction in ‘Bantu Education’ schools was the straw that broke the camel’s back, spilling an army of disaffected but spirited toi-toing schoolgoers onto the streets of Soweto.
Mbuyisa Makhubo and Hector Pieterson, Soweto, 16 June 1976. Sam Nzima/South Photographs (via Wikipedia)
June 16, 1976 was the day when the chinks in the apartheid machinery were laid bare, as the system clearly began to look ungovernable, not to mention expensive to upkeep. In the ensuing bedlam, estimates put the number of those killed at around 176, but given the extent of cover-ups on the part of the regime, others have it way higher. More than 1 000 youths were injured and imprisoned, with Sam Nzima’s iconic photograph of a dying Hector Pieterson in the arms of Mbuyisa Makhubo etching the tragedy into the world’s collective memory.
Nobody could claim they didn’t know: the apartheid government was murdering innocent children, forcing them overnight to turn into amadelakufa – those who face death head-on – or to slip into exile to return as corpses or freedom fighters.
The spirit of protest would sweep across the country, resonating with youths in outposts as ordinarily timid as our Karoo. Fort Calata, Matthew Goniwe, Sicelo Mhlauli and Sparrow Mkhonto, collectively known as the Cradock Four, would meet brutal deaths at the hands of the Eastern Cape Security Branch on 27 June 1985. The Colesberg Four, namely Krakra Maciki, Mongezi Juda, Funeka Siyonzana and James Marumo, would die under a fusillade of bullets barely a week later. Similar stories of police taking their guns and menace at rebelling youths would ring loudly in nearby towns. So too those of equally harrowing episodes of mob justice and ‘necklacings’ that continue to haunt those who bore witness to those untamed years.
In the face of such barbarism, something had to give, as the youth were obviously not letting up. President P.W. Botha began toning down on the gridlock of discriminatory laws that buttressed apartheid. Soon, even conservative Afrikaner businessmen, hitherto forced to hang their heads in shame at the inhumanity of the politics, began meeting clandestinely with the exiled ANC. The ripple effect had taken hold, and it was only a matter of time before the Bastille was breached.
For the youth of that generation, freedom had come at a high price, so the images of the snaking queues as the nation voted for the first time in a democratic election in 1994 only signified a deep appreciation of what the moment truly meant. Thirty years later, on 29 May 2024, the scenes were but a shadow of those engaged years. Disheartening even, as young people mostly stayed away from the polls, having seemingly lost faith in democracy. The days of purpose-driven youngsters with causes and a point to make have seemingly been extinguished and in their place lie mainly disillusionment, surrender and bleak employment prospects.
In just 30 years, have the next generation shunned the baton, simply contenting themselves at the lee of the ‘great hill’ climbed by their predecessors, and not heeding Madiba’s words that ‘there are many more hills [yet] to climb’.
Commonly referred to as a young country with 20.4 million people between the age of 15 – 34, in the last election ‘voter registration was highest amongst those aged between 30 and 39 years old.’ However, only 58% of registered voters would actually turn up to make their mark on the day. This could be chalked to many theories but over the years there’s been an increasing anti-ANC sentiment amongst the youth, ostensibly due to staggering unemployment numbers.
For most people, these are just statistics, but in peripheral towns and villages they take on a very real and perceptible tone. Loitering youths are a very common feature of everyday life in the township. Ditto young kids with nothing to do over the school holidays smoking dope or seeking a wi-fi connection at the locals. Teenage pregnancy is also rife with some writers claiming that the R480 child grant is considered a buffer from the high unemployment figures.
Not wanting to speculate, we decided to touch base with some of them and find out what it means to be a youngster – particularly female – growing up in South Africa 30 years after the advent of democracy.
First we meet Nosipho Martiens, 34 years old and unemployed. ‘Nhosi’ has been without a job for most of her life. To get by, she relies on the pension of her mother (an ex-teacher), and a disability grant she has just recently been approved for. For a few months Nhosi had a gig at the local primary school feeding scheme programme and, she says, she’d been promised something more substantial with the Department of Sports Arts and Culture, which, years later has disappeared into thin air.
Nhosi had always figured that her chances towards upward social mobility were hinged on associated with the ‘right’ political party, namely the ruling ANC. But years of no progress and a serious stroke that has led to diminished use of some of her limbs have led her to throw in her lot with the EFF.
Nosipho Martiens in front of her family home. Own image.
In a different world, Zintle Botha, lanky, slender and 25 years old, could easily have been a model. Instead, she’s at home in Kuyasa Township, helping to take care of a relative’s children. She’s been placed in two internships over recent years, but was not absorbed by either. Like similar programmes that are aimed at eliminating unemployment and providing on-the-job training, these appear to mostly benefit the various Sector Education and Training Authority (SETAs) people but not the needy individuals they are meant to reach. Most of these beneficiaries usually find themselves in the cold when the contracts are up, replaced by new recruits who will invariably suffer the same fate. Zintle, however, remains optimistic even though the years are rolling by.
Zintle Botha, the would-be model. Own image.
Amid the despondency, ‘Matshabalala’ (as she likes to be known) is a ray of hope and sunshine. Sixteen years old. and in Grade 11, she has big dreams, and even bigger insights. The daughter of an enterprising tailor-mother, she’s also something of an idealist who believes in opportunity based on merit and capability. She would like to become a doctor some day, but she believes her oratory and extrovert demeanour may thrust her into some kind of leadership role. Confident and hopeful, she is anathema to some of the youths who’ve simply thrown in the towel and turned to drugs like ‘tik,’ that depraved methamphetamine to dull the pain.
‘Matshabalala.’ Own image.
Next week, 3 July, will signify 39 years since the fall of the Colesberg Four. Despite the bleak prospects those youths faced across all facets of their lives, the yearning for a better life and freedom could not be extinguished, not even by the batons and live ammunition that took their lives at Kilimane Street. Their conviction paved the way for others to realise political freedom in their lifetimes. Today’s struggle, however remains economic. It’s the struggle for opportunity, to work and thrive. and find purposeful roles in society. For them, though, it seems the status quo is not dancing to the same tune.
FEATURED IMAGE: Youths loitering outside a spaza shop in Kuyasa Township on Youth Day, 16 June 2024. Own image.
This is an edited version of an article on Phakamisa Mayaba’s website, eParkeni. Used with permission.