A flaccid anticlimax, then, last month’s general election. SA’s youth – in their heyday the cause of apartheid’s mad scientists wetting themselves – would lately listlessly show the middle finger than to vote, for anybody. Or animate a viral video where scores of them set all kinds of ANC regalia alight to celebrate Youth Day. No organising. Mobilising … dololo. Just a surrendered gesture that says more about the pervasive disposition than anything about the failures of the ruling party.
Nearly fifty years ago, in their school greys and gym dresses, numbering in the thousands and without the auspices of an iPhone or social media, the youth gallantly took the fight against oppression to the establishment. With the regime having insulted them many times too many, shoving Afrikaans as the medium of instruction was what would break the camel’s back, effectively spilling an army of disaffected but spirited toi-toing schoolgoers onto the streets of Soweto.
16 June 1976 would be the day that the chinks in the apartheid machinery were laid bare as the system looked clearly 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 coverups on the part of the regime, others have it way higher. More than 1000 were injured and imprisoned, with Sam Nzima’s iconic photograph of a dying Hector Pietersen in the arms of Mbuyisa Makhubo etching the tragedy to 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 a savage death at the hands of the 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 simply had to give as the youth were obviously not letting up. President PW 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 the youth mostly stayed away from the ballot and by default had seemingly lost faith in democracy. The days of purpose-driven youngsters with causes to believe in and a point to make have seemingly been extinguished and in their place lies 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.
No wanting to speculate, eParkeni 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 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 her mother’s, an – ex-teacher – pension and a disability grant she has just recently been approved to. 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. As we’ve written here at eParkeni, Nhosi had always figured that her chances towards upward social mobility were hinged on affiliating herself with the ‘right’ political party, namely the ruling ANC. But years of lacking prospects 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.
In a different world Zintle Botha, lanky, slender and 25 years could easily have been a pin-up model. Instead, she’s home in Kuyasa Township, helping take care of her relati
ves’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 aimed 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 on by.
Amid the despondency, ‘Matshabalala’ (as she likes to be known) is a ray of hope and sunshine. 16 years old and in Grade 11, she has big dreams but even bigger insights. 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 someday but she believes her oratory and extrovert demeanour may toss her into some 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.
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.