Latest news with #HectorPieterson
The Citizen
10 hours ago
- Politics
- The Citizen
Playing race card is red herring
Ironically, with youth unemployment here arguably the highest in the world, an ability to converse in Afrikaans might make a young person more employable. It is interesting, but not surprising, that Antoinette Sithole – sister of June 1976 icon Hector Pieterson – believes one of the saddest aspects of those society-changing anti-apartheid protests is that Afrikaans is still taught to black people in South Africa. Pieterson was shot dead by police in the student protests regarded as a watershed moment in the struggle. Youth unemployment Ironically, with youth unemployment here arguably the highest in the world, an ability to converse in Afrikaans might make a young person more employable. And therein is the crux of what has happened since those heady days of 1976. There was no real revolution. Political power may have been handed to black people, but many are not financially free. With all the political capital at its disposal, the ANC failed to transform this country. Its cadres instead looted it into African basket-case status. Blaming our woes solely on racism, which is still rife, is a red herring. NOW READ: 'Using k-word is illegal': Northern Cape teacher fired for racist outburst loses reinstatement battle
Daily Maverick
14 hours ago
- Politics
- Daily Maverick
Our school curriculum still treats black African identity as a problem to be managed
Each June 16, we reprise our remembrance of the Soweto Uprising. We return to the haunting images of 1976 not only to honour the courage of the youth who rose up against injustice, but also to ask difficult, often uncomfortable questions about the state of education and social justice in South Africa today. We bow our heads, quote Steve Biko, remember Hector Pieterson, and speak in solemn tones about freedom. But beneath this ritualised remembrance, in classrooms across the country – the very battlegrounds of 1976 – the foundations of injustice remain disturbingly intact. Nearly 50 years after the Soweto Uprising, we must confront a hard truth: South Africa's education system remains structurally rooted in colonial and apartheid logic. Yes, the signage of apartheid has been removed. The language of the curriculum has shifted. The word transformation appears prominently in policy documents. But the philosophical architecture, the very logic that shaped and continues to shape our schooling, remains steeped in coloniality. We did not rebuild the system from the ground up. Instead, we covered the cracks with cosmetic reforms, while ignoring the deep rot at its core. The post-apartheid state has invested billions in education: building schools, training teachers, and integrating technology. Yet educational outcomes remain starkly unequal. Literacy levels are declining. Socioeconomic disparities persist. And increasingly, learners feel alienated from what they are taught. The question is no longer 'how much are we spending?' but rather, 'what vision is guiding our investment?' As the late Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o reminds us, 'Education is never neutral. It is always a function of the kind of society we want.' And therein lies our dilemma. We have failed to ask, in genuinely African terms: What kind of society are we trying to build? What kind of human being are we trying to cultivate? Had we asked these questions honestly, we would have to acknowledge that the system was never designed to affirm the African child – instead, it was designed to alienate them. Hendrik Verwoerd, the chief architect of Bantu Education, made this explicit: the aim was not ignorance, but subordination. The goal was to mould black African learners into instruments of an anti-black economy: obedient, decontextualised and denied full human dignity. Today, this process continues under different guises. The dominance of English, and the language of 'access', 'efficiency' and 'standardisation' serve as smokescreens for an untransformed system. As Lwazi Lushaba argues, transformation is not about inviting the oppressed into colonial structures, it is about dismantling those structures entirely. Simphiwe Sesanti puts it more plainly: education in Africa must be rooted in African knowledge systems, not superficially adorned with cultural symbols, but fundamentally reimagined. The current curriculum still treats black African identity as a problem to be managed. Learners encounter themselves through distorted lenses: as passive victims of history, as poor but resilient, or as cultural artefacts within a globalised world. This creates a disconnection from learning because the deeper assumptions shaping education in South Africa continue to reflect Western paradigms. The late Kwasi Wiredu offered an alternative: conceptual decolonisation. This is not about token changes, but a radical shift in the frameworks we use to think. We cannot decolonise the curriculum while maintaining the very ideologies that diminish African ways of knowing. We must ask: What counts as knowledge? What is truth? Who is allowed to speak and in what language? Language remains one of the most visible failures of the democratic era. Despite official commitments to multilingualism, English remains the gatekeeper. Learners are often subtly, or even overtly, rewarded for distancing themselves from their mother tongues. Yet, as Mamokgethi Setati and Jill Adler have shown in their work on mathematics classrooms, language is more than a communication tool, it is a way of seeing, knowing, and being. Teaching mathematics or science in a foreign language does not merely slow comprehension; it fragments learners' cognitive and cultural identity. It teaches them that their home languages are suitable for jokes and prayers, but not for physics or philosophy. This is the silent work of coloniality. It does not need to outlaw isiXhosa or Sesotho. It only needs to convince children that these languages are unfit for serious intellectual thought. And in doing so, it teaches them to doubt the value of their own minds. That is why Molefi Kete Asante's call for Afrocentricity is so urgent. Afrocentricity is not nostalgia. It is a reorientation of knowledge production. It demands that African learners are not peripheral observers, but central agents in shaping what knowledge is and how it should be taught. This echoes economist Samir Amin's call for economic delinking from the Global North. In education, we need a similar form of epistemic delinking, a refusal to accept European thought as the universal standard. This also means taking seriously the warnings of J Ndlovu-Gatsheni, who speaks of the 'coloniality of being': the lingering effects of colonialism on how we imagine ourselves and each other long after the colonisers have left. So what are we really commemorating this Youth Day? If we are still schooling our youth into silence, into shame, into intellectual subjugation, then we are not honouring the legacy of 1976, we are betraying it. This moment calls for more than memorial lectures, themed assemblies and hashtags. It calls for rupture. For refusal. For a radical reimagining of education not as a pathway into someone else's world, but as a means of reclaiming our own. We must summon the courage to set aside borrowed tools and begin building with the raw materials of our own histories, languages, and philosophies. Only then, when we begin to rebuild education from the ground up on foundations that affirm African life and thought, can we truly say that we remember. DM
IOL News
a day ago
- Politics
- IOL News
'We will not be silent': RISE Mzansi marks youth day with bold call to action for SA's youth
RISE Mzansi commemorates Youth Day at the Hector Pieterson Memorial, vowing to continue the fight for dignity, safety, and opportunity for young people. Image: File RISE Mzansi has vowed to continue fighting for the issues that affect South Africa's youth, drawing a direct line between the struggles of 1976 and today's challenges. Speaking at the Hector Pieterson Memorial during a wreath-laying ceremony on June 16, RISE Mzansi National Leader Songezo Zibi MP delivered a scathing indictment of the country's failure to protect and empower young people nearly five decades after the Soweto uprising. 'Today, we stand here, 49 years since Hector Pieterson, Tsietsi Mashinini, and scores more bled and lost their lives for the liberation of this country and its young people. Their fight is far from complete, and the scars of that era still remain,' said Zibi. He said that while legislation like the Basic Education Laws Amendment Act exists, the current school environment remains hostile and dangerous. 'In the last year, there were 42 cases of rape; 96 cases of attempted murder; 1,214 cases of assault GBH; and 376 cases of rape at places of learning,' he stated. Zibi said RISE Mzansi had formally asked the Minister of Basic Education to deliver an Executive Statement in Parliament on June 24 to account for efforts being made to improve school safety and quality. 'The case of little Cwecwe is not an isolated one,' he added, referencing recent tragic incidents involving children. Beyond education, Zibi tackled youth unemployment head-on, condemning the government for presiding over a crisis where 'the youth unemployment rate is close to 50%, or just over 62% if you include young people who have given up on looking for work.' 'These young people are you; the ones gathered here today in the name of Hector Pieterson; they are our family members,' he said, adding that the current R370 Social Relief of Distress (SRD) grant should be transformed into a R35-billion investment in youth economic development. 'Let us fund the future, rather than plastering over our current problems.' He also raised concerns about a 'silent crisis' ravaging communities: gambling addiction. 'You look left, you look right, you see gambling advertising on TV, during sports matches, on social media, and even at Home Affairs,' said Zibi, warning that the addiction among young people aged 25 to 35 is spiraling. RISE Mzansi also highlighted the growing food insecurity affecting over 20 million South Africans, particularly children. 'Twenty-three percent of children suffer from severe hunger, which results in developmental problems such as stunting,' the party said, emphasizing the role of MEC Vuyiswa Ramokgopa in addressing the issue through food empowerment initiatives. Turning to the upcoming National Dialogue, RISE Mzansi expressed concern about the reported R700-million budget. 'The touted R700-million price-tag appears to be excessive,' Zibi said, saying the party would use its parliamentary oversight to ensure financial accountability. The party insists that the dialogue must 'address issues of justice in all its forms' and not 'escape the issue of ethical leadership across society, political, business, civil society, and academia.' 'RISE Mzansi will continue to fight for the South Africa we all deserve, and this cannot be done without working with and listening to young people,' Zibi said. IOL News
The Citizen
a day ago
- Politics
- The Citizen
VOX POP: What does Youth Day mean to the youth of Mbombela?
VOX POP: What does Youth Day mean to the youth of Mbombela? Youth Day, celebrated annually on June 16, commemorates the 1976 Soweto Uprising, when thousands of learners marched to protest the government's directive to use Afrikaans as a medium of instruction. As the country observes Youth Month, Mpumalanga News intern reporters Emanuel Majola and Monicca Mthembu spoke to some young people to find out what Youth Day means to them. Here is what they had to say: Irvin Mbuyane: Youth Day to me means a time of freedom. It honours the heroes who fought for the rights of the youth and celebrates their contribution in the fight against apartheid. Shenator Masango: Youth Day is a tribute to the bravery of the 1976 learners who fought for freedom and equal education. It reminds us of the power of young people to drive change and challenges us to support and uplift today's youth for a better future. Nthabiseng Phaahla: Youth Day to me represents the vibrant energy, creativity and passion of young people driving change and shaping the future. It's a celebration of our potential, resilience and determination to build a better world. Nombulelo Mnisi: Youth Day represents a time of discovery and growth. It is the stage in my life where I am learning about who I am, what I value, and where I want to go. While it's filled with energy, dreams and the courage to take risks, Youth Day is also a time of challenges, because I am still figuring things out. That struggle helps me grow stronger. Naomi Mojela: Youth Day to me represents a time where everything feels new, without the old-time struggles. New emotions, ideas, friendships and dreams, with no limitations. It's the stage where I begin to understand who I am and who I want to be. Eric Nkosi: According to me, June 16 is a day when young people can raise their concerns and their wishes to the government. The youth of today should know the importance of peace, happiness, unity and love for one another as brother and sister. Jessica Maphanga: Youth Day to all of us should be a day when we honour the lives of those who fought for young people, especially in education. People must not take this day lightly as it gave us the right to be taught in a language we understand. I can not imagine where we would be if the generation of Hector Pieterson did not fight for us. Nelisiwe Mdhluli: Students marched and fought in Soweto for our rights. The day reminds us that we should not take education lightly, as our brothers and sisters gave their lives for us to have the education we are enjoying today. Tebogo Mashego: The youth of 1976 fought for freedom in education. As the youth of today, we benefit from the education but still continue to fight for unemployment, inequality and poverty. The youth of today should be empowered with skills development and fight the issue of unemployment the same way activists like Hector Pieterson did. At Caxton, we employ humans to generate daily fresh news, not AI intervention. Happy reading!
IOL News
a day ago
- Politics
- IOL News
From Uprising to Soft Power: How 1976 Shaped South Africa's Struggle and Its Co-option
June 16 has been memorialised in state ceremonies and school textbooks, but often stripped of its radical potential, writes Gillian Schutte. On the morning of June 16, 1976, thousands of Black schoolchildren in Soweto marched peacefully against the apartheid government's decree that Afrikaans be used as a language of instruction in schools. It was not just a protest about language - it was a refusal to be culturally colonised, a rebellion against the daily indignities of Bantu Education and systemic dehumanisation. The apartheid police responded with gunfire. The murder of children in broad daylight - most iconically captured in the image of Hector Pieterson's body being carried through the streets - shocked the world and shattered any illusion of the regime's legitimacy. The uprising quickly spread beyond Soweto. Within days, townships across the country were in revolt - Cape Town, Port Elizabeth, Durban and others echoed with the chants of youth refusing to bow to white rule. The state responded with tear gas, batons, bullets, and mass detentions. Apartheid officials reported 500 people, many of them teenagers, were killed in the unrest that year. The number of deaths is said to be much higher than official records. Teenagers were thrown into solitary confinement for months at a time, and many were brutally tortured. The regime was exposed as not only racist but murderous. And the youth, once dismissed by apartheid authorities as controllable, had become an ungovernable force. Many fled into exile to join liberation movements such as the ANC and PAC, swelling the ranks of the armed struggle and political education. The brutality of the crackdown was widely condemned. Media coverage and public outcry surged across Europe, the Americas, and the Global South. For the first time, liberal democracies that had tolerated apartheid for decades found themselves under immense pressure from civil society and student movements to divest, boycott, and speak out. Pretoria's image abroad was in tatters. Even its staunchest allies in the West realised that the optics of slaughtering children was unsustainable. This moment triggered a significant tactical shift in how the apartheid state - and its Western sponsors - would manage opposition going forward. The gun had failed. Repression had bred rebellion. The next phase of the counterinsurgency would not rely solely on force, but on persuasion. The terrain of struggle moved from the battlefield to the hearts and minds of South Africans. This pivot mirrored broader global strategies of Cold War soft power, particularly those employed by the United States. Where outright military suppression was too costly or controversial, the West deployed cultural, educational, and economic tools to manage political outcomes in the Global South. South Africa became a laboratory for these experiments. USAID, established under the Kennedy administration, began to reframe its activities in South Africa. Rather than just economic development, its mission included 'democracy promotion' and 'civil society strengthening' - innocuous phrases that masked deep ideological work. Under these programs, Black youth were recruited into leadership workshops, community development initiatives, and training schemes that promoted liberal, non-violent values over revolutionary consciousness. Vocational education replaced political education. Human rights replaced collective liberation. Similarly, the National Endowment for Democracy (NED), a US government-funded proxy for the CIA, started operating in South Africa during the 1980s. Its funding flowed to media platforms, electoral reform initiatives, and NGOs that framed their work in donor-friendly, non-confrontational language. These organisations criticised apartheid - enough to appear progressive - but avoided challenging capitalism, white wealth, or US imperialism. German political foundations followed suit. The Konrad Adenauer Stiftung (aligned with Germany's Christian Democrats) and Friedrich Naumann Stiftung (aligned with the Free Democrats) poured money into South African civil society, shaping liberal intellectual discourse, funding legal reform NGOs, and sponsoring dialogue platforms. Their aim was not to destroy apartheid's economic architecture, but to transition South Africa into a post-apartheid dispensation that would retain capitalist order and white economic dominance under the veil of multiracial democracy. These interventions marked the birth of a soft coup - the gradual neutralisation of radical resistance through donor influence, media manipulation, and ideological infiltration. This was the counter-revolution wrapped in NGO language. It was no longer tanks and tear gas. It was television studios, grants, scholarships, and training programs. The new foot soldiers were consultants, not soldiers. Silencing the language of radical change A similar fate would later befall the students of the #RhodesMustFall and #FeesMustFall movements. These were the children of June 1976's legacy - once again standing up against institutional racism, Eurocentric curricula, and economic exclusion. But as with their predecessors, their revolt was gradually professionalised. Donor-funded NGOs and foreign-backed think tanks began to absorb key leaders, offering them fellowships, internships, and platforms that steered them away from revolutionary demands. What began as fierce critiques of structural violence and colonial legacies was quickly reframed into career-building exercises in 'policy reform' and 'youth dialogue.' The language of radical change was replaced with 'stakeholder engagement,' and a new class of young Black professionals emerged - not to dismantle the system, but to manage it. By 1994, the foundations of the neoliberal South Africa were already cemented. Liberation had been negotiated, but the terms were not drawn up by the oppressed. The economy remained in white hands. The land remained dispossessed. The ANC, now transformed from liberation movement to ruling party, was encircled by donor logic, Western debt traps, and a civil society already restructured by decades of soft power. The irony is bitter. The blood of the youth in 1976 forced the world to see apartheid for what it was - a murderous regime bent on white domination. But that same uprising also accelerated the global regime's adaptation. It taught them that guns alone would not suffice. They would need to shape the minds of South Africans - to raise a generation of Black liberals rather than revolutionaries. June 16 has since been memorialised in state ceremonies and school textbooks, but often stripped of its radical potential. The children who marched did not ask to be co-opted into donor-funded development programs. They demanded dignity, land, justice, and power. Their rebellion should not be remembered as the beginning of reconciliation, but as the signal that the time for half-measures was over. Today, as South Africa confronts deepening inequality, youth unemployment, and the hollowing out of liberation promises, it becomes increasingly clear that the struggle never ended - it was only rerouted. To reclaim the spirit of 1976 is to see through the tactics of soft power, to resist the seductive language of donor dependency, and to once again place African sovereignty at the centre of liberation. *Gillian Schutte is a well-known social justice and race-justice activist and public intellectual. ** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media. IOL Opinion
