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Mail & Guardian
8 hours ago
- Politics
- Mail & Guardian
From terra nullius to terrible delay in land restitution and rights
South Africa's land reform journey is still shaped by the legacies of colonial conquest and apartheid. (Madelene Cronjé) During colonisation and apartheid, the law was used as a weapon to justify the seizure of African land. For many black people dispossessed of their property, the promise of land restoration in democratic South Africa has remained out of reach. Two of the most important legal tools for land reform are the land restitution system and the new Expropriation Act. Both are failing. Many human rights organisations such as the Centre for Applied Legal Studies continue to support individuals and communities who filed land claims decades ago through the land restitution system. These people were promised a legal route to reclaim their land under the Restitution of Land Rights Act. Despite following all the rules and processes, many of these claims have been stuck in government systems all this time. One of the major issues lies with state institutions such as the Regional Land Claims Commissions. Even when claims are legally recognised and published in the Government Gazette , delays are all too common. Families are often left waiting for years for proper land mapping, valuation reports or final decisions. Many receive conflicting information or no updates at all. In some cases, land is sold or transferred without their knowledge, even while their claim is still active. This is not just poor service delivery; it is a serious failure of justice. The courts have noticed this too. In a case known as Mvelase vs Director-General of Rural Development and Land Reform , the land court ruled that the department of rural development and land reform had failed not just land claimants, but the constitutional promise of land reform for all people in South Africa. Legal experts such as Hans Jurie Moolman agree. In his 2025 article on the history of land reform law, Moolman These issues are not limited to the land restitution system. In January 2025, the Expropriation Act was signed into law. This sets out how the government can expropriate land in the public interest including in some cases without paying compensation. This Act is not about restoring land to people who were dispossessed under apartheid laws but about broader land reform and addressing a long history of inequality. The Act sets out clear procedures, such as the need for negotiations, access to courts and guidelines for when no compensation might be appropriate. It also replaces outdated apartheid-era laws and applies to all levels of government. The African Commission on Human and Peoples' Rights has But the law is measured, not radical. It offers a framework that leans toward caution, not bold and true, tangible change. Can a law so careful in its wording and limited in its scope truly undo centuries of land dispossession? While it might be a step forward on paper, its ability to bring about real justice depends on how it is used. The Constitution, in section 25, protects property rights and allows for land reform. But it does not clearly deal with the historical injustice of how land was taken in the first place. It avoids legalising past land theft but it also doesn't go far enough to reverse its consequences. As a result, when the state hesitates to act boldly, and when departments fail to carry out their duties, the law's promise remains unfulfilled. The Expropriation Act is being challenged in court by AfriForum, a group that argues the law threatens constitutional rights, investor confidence and the economy. Their opposition does not come in the language of conquest, but of constitutionalism. They do not argue that land should never return to black hands, but that doing so threatens 'order'. It is a familiar tactic of preserving historical privilege using the language of rights and legal stability. This is where the heart of the land reform struggle lies. The law appears to move us towards justice, but those who benefit from injustice often use the same law to defend their position. Courts become places where transformation must ask for permission, where property rights are treated as untouchable and where dispossession is never fully named. South Africa's land reform crisis is not just about gaps in the law, but about how the law is implemented, and who it really serves. Too often, government departments rely on narrow, market-based approaches that care more about protecting property than correcting injustice. In the end, the very systems designed to bring about change end up reinforcing the status quo. Until state institutions are rebuilt with integrity and intent, until the legal system is willing not just to manage the legacy of conquest but to disrupt it, the gap between law and justice will remain. And many will continue to wait, not because their claims are unclear, but because the system still does not know how to recognise their truth. The work ahead is not only legal, but also political, social and deeply historical. We need to continue to rethink the foundations of South Africa's land laws and challenge the colonial values that still shape them. Restitution and land reform cannot just be technical processes. They must be about restoring dignity, correcting injustice and returning land to those who were unjustly robbed of it. Blossom Matizirofa is based in the Home, Land and Rural Democracy programme at the Centre for Applied Legal Studies, Wits University.
Mail & Guardian
3 days ago
- Business
- Mail & Guardian
The mask of apartheid
The new apartheid is decentralised, encrypted in algorithms, and cloaked in the language of economic rationality and legal formalism and it's not only in South Africa. Photo: File Despite South Africa's transition to democracy in 1994, apartheid has quietly entrenched itself within the private sphere. While the responsibility of managing the state lies in public hands, real power increasingly resides in private institutions and markets. Today, privilege is governed by price. The market now sets the boundaries of opportunity. Financial barriers have replaced legal ones as instruments of exclusion. Something as simple as an application form is often accompanied by a fee — a form of economic regulation. These financial mechanisms now perform the same function once carried out by explicitly racist laws. Surcharges, income thresholds, qualification criteria and premium pricing have become the new tools of modern segregation. Apartheid persists not just in memory, but in the cost of a car, a house, a job, a university placement, a medical aid scheme, an insurance policy, or a loan. Where the state once enforced exclusion through law, private actors now enforce it through economics. Policing racial statutes was costly — politically, morally and financially. Financial exclusion, by contrast, appears neutral and carries no overt moral burden. By replacing legal barriers with economic ones, segregation has shifted from being a public burden to a private one, shielded from constitutional scrutiny and public accountability. Unlike the centrally governed apartheid state, this new system of exclusion is maintained by a decentralised network of private actors. Although many apartheid-era laws were abolished after 1994, apartheid endures in South Africa's common law — particularly in the law of contract and property — which continue to structure economic relations and access to resources. Law is not merely a matter of statute; it is embedded in legal practice, judicial culture and precedent. Apartheid, therefore, survives not only in what the law says, but in how the law is applied. It lives outside the statutory framework — in the everyday transactions that define who belongs, who benefits and who is left out. This entrenchment of exclusion has also been accelerated by digital technologies. The rise of surveillance systems and racial categorisation tools — foundational pillars of the apartheid state — has been replicated through data-driven infrastructures. Unlike apartheid-era mechanisms, these technologies exist largely beyond South Africa's control. Their global proliferation coincided with the country's transition to democracy but ultimately complicated that transition. Technological segregation now operates through algorithms — mechanisms that appear neutral but function with embedded bias. These algorithms reshape the public sphere, determine access to essential services such as credit, healthcare, education and employment, and quietly reproduce systems of exclusion by amplifying existing inequalities. For instance, biased data sets and opaque decision-making processes can disproportionately deny marginalised groups access to loans, jobs or even housing. As the economy became increasingly digitised and financialised, power shifted further away from the democratic state toward international tech and financial corporations that control these platforms and infrastructures. These corporations operate with limited accountability, often beyond the reach of national regulatory frameworks, further entrenching inequality. In this way, apartheid has been encrypted into a new, digitised form — a system where exclusion is maintained not by explicit laws, but through coded algorithms and data-driven governance that perpetuate racial and economic divides. Since 1994, apartheid has become fractalised. Once visible on grand, institutional scales, its logic now manifests in smaller, more diffuse forms. What was once a centralised system of segregation is now scattered across everyday life — in housing, education, employment and finance. This fractalisation makes apartheid easier to survive, but harder to see. Its invisibility renders it more difficult to confront, allowing structural inequality to persist under the guise of normalcy. The system of apartheid and exclusion is not confined to South Africa's borders. In occupied Palestine, similar structures of racial and economic segregation are enforced through a combination of state power and private interests. Here, apartheid is maintained not only through physical barriers like walls and checkpoints but also through economic control, land confiscation, and pervasive surveillance technologies, many developed and sold by global corporations. This entanglement of public authority and private capital in Palestine echoes South Africa's experience, highlighting how modern apartheid adapts across contexts. It reveals a transnational pattern in which racial domination is sustained through intertwined legal, economic, and technological systems, perpetuating dispossession and inequality on a global scale. Legally, the persistence of apartheid in its modern, privatised form reflects deep continuities in South Africa's legal system. While apartheid-era statutes were formally repealed, the foundational principles embedded in common law — particularly in property, contract, and corporate law — continue to structure economic and social relations in ways that reproduce racialised inequality. These legal doctrines were developed to protect wealth, land, and capital accumulation for a privileged few and remain largely unchallenged in courts today. Moreover, judicial culture and precedent frequently uphold these doctrines under the guise of neutrality and formal equality, masking the structural biases they perpetuate. Without a fundamental transformation of the legal order, beyond mere statutory reform, to interrogate and dismantle the inherited values and practices that sustain exclusion, the law risks becoming a silent enabler of privatised apartheid rather than an instrument of justice and redress. Apartheid has not ended; it has evolved and multiplied its forms. No longer enforced solely through overt laws and state apparatus, it now thrives in the interstices of market mechanisms, digital technologies and legal frameworks that appear neutral but remain deeply exclusionary. Recognising these continuities and transformations is essential if we are to confront and dismantle the systemic inequalities that persist in South Africa and beyond. Only through holistic efforts that address economic structures, technological governance, and the very foundations of our legal system can we hope to realise the democratic promise of equality and justice at home and in solidarity with those, like Palestinians. Sõzarn Barday is a writer and attorney based in South Africa and has a particular interest in human rights within the Middle East. Opinions shared represent her individual perspective.
News24
6 days ago
- Politics
- News24
US diplomats asked if non-whites qualify for Trump refugee programme for South Africans
In early July, the top official at the US embassy in South Africa reached out to Washington, asking for clarification on a contentious US policy: could non-whites apply for a refugee programme geared toward white South Africans if they met other requirements? President Donald Trump's February executive order establishing the programme specified that it was for 'Afrikaners in South Africa who are victims of unjust racial discrimination', referring to an ethnic group descended mostly from Dutch settlers. In a diplomatic cable sent on 8 July, embassy Charge d'Affairs David Greene asked whether the embassy could process claims from other minority groups claiming race-based discrimination, such as 'coloured' South Africans who speak Afrikaans. In South Africa, the term coloured refers to mixed-race people, a classification created by the apartheid regime still in use today. The answer came back days later in an email from Spencer Chretien, the highest-ranking official in the State Department's refugee and migration bureau, saying the programme is intended for white people. Reuters was unable to independently verify the precise language in the email, which was described to the news agency by three sources familiar with its contents. The State Department, responding to a request for comment on 18 July, did not specifically comment on the email or the cable but described the scope of the policy as wider than the guidance in Chretien's email. READ | Unexplained change of US-Afrikaner refugee eligibility is a legally 'significant shift' The department said US policy is to consider both Afrikaners and other racial minorities for resettlement, echoing guidance posted on its website in May saying that applicants 'must be of Afrikaner ethnicity or be a member of a racial minority in South Africa'. Chretien declined to comment through a State Department spokesperson. Greene did not respond to Reuters requests for comment. The internal back-and-forth between the embassy and the State Department - which hasn't been previously reported - illustrates the confusion in how to implement a policy designed to help white Afrikaners in a racially diverse country that includes mixed-race people who speak Afrikaans, as well as whites who speak English. So far, the State Department has resettled 88 South Africans under the programme, including the initial group of 59 who arrived in May. Another 15 are expected to arrive by the end of August, one of the sources said. Trump, a Republican who recaptured the White House pledging a wide-ranging immigration crackdown, placed an indefinite freeze on refugee admissions from around the world after taking office, saying the US would only admit refugees who 'can fully and appropriately assimilate'. READ | Two US citizens applied for asylum in South Africa between 2019 and 2024 Weeks later, he issued an executive order that called for the US to resettle Afrikaners, describing them as victims of 'violence against racially disfavoured landowners', allegations that echoed far-right claims but which have been contested by South Africa's government. Since the executive order, US diplomats working to implement the programme have been deliberating internally about which racial groups could be considered eligible, one of the sources said. In the 8 July cable, Greene laid out a summary of the different ethnic and racial groups in the country before seeking guidance on eligibility. In addition to Afrikaners and mixed-race South Africans, Greene mentioned indigenous South Africans known as the Khoisan people. He said that members of the Jewish community had also expressed interest, but that in South Africa, they are considered a religious minority and not a racial group. 'In the absence of other guidance, [the US embassy] intends to give consideration to well-founded claims of persecution based on race for other racial minorities,' Greene wrote. At least one family identified as coloured has already travelled to the US as refugees, two people familiar with the matter said. The cable forced the administration to clarify its position on whether the policy is for whites only, and if it does include other aggrieved minorities, who would qualify, two of the people familiar with the matter a conservative who wrote op-eds promoting the Heritage Foundation's 'Project 2025' plan to overhaul the federal government, is the senior official at the State Department's Bureau of Population, Refugees, and Migration. During the apartheid era, which ended with the first democratic elections in 1994, South Africa maintained a racially segregated society with separate schools, neighbourhoods and public facilities for people classified as black, coloured, white or Asian. Blacks make up 81% of South Africa's population, according to 2022 census data. Coloured South Africans make up 8%, and Indians 3%. Afrikaners and other white South Africans constitute 7% of the population but own three-quarters of the privately held land in the country. When asked about the programme in May, Trump said he was not giving Afrikaners preferential treatment because they are white. He said: They happen to be white, but whether they are white or black makes no difference to me. In response to a request for comment, a White House official said the administration's policy reflected Trump's executive order. 'We will prioritise refugee admissions for South African citizens, including Afrikaners and other racial minorities in South Africa, who have been targeted by the discriminatory laws of the South African government,' the official said. The assertion that minority white South Africans face discrimination from the black majority has spread in far-right circles for years and been echoed by white South African-born Elon Musk, a US citizen who served as a top White House aide during the first four months of Trump's administration. The South African government has rejected the allegations of persecution and a 'white genocide'. There is no evidence to back up claims of widespread, race-based attacks in the country. During a combative Oval Office meeting with South African President Cyril Ramaphosa in May, Trump showed a printed image of a Reuters video taken in the Democratic Republic of Congo as part of what he falsely presented as evidence of mass killings of white South Africans. The South African Chamber of Commerce said earlier this year that 67 000 people were interested in the programme.
Al Jazeera
19-07-2025
- Politics
- Al Jazeera
How did Albert Luthuli, anti-apartheid hero, really die in 1967?
At half past eight on the morning of Friday, July 21, 1967, following a quick breakfast with his wife, Chief Albert Luthuli set out from his home in Groutville, about 70km (45 miles) from Durban in the KwaZulu-Natal Province of South Africa, on his normal daily routine. The 69-year-old leader of the African National Congress (ANC) would 'walk three kilometres to open the family's general store in Nonhlevu, proceed to his three plots of sugarcane fields, and return to close the shop before going back home', his daughter-in-law, Wilhelmina May Luthuli, now 77, told a new inquest into his death at Pietermaritzburg High Court in May this year. The current justice minister has reopened the inquests into several suspicious apartheid-era deaths. Luthuli reached the store by 9:30am and set off again to check on his sugar cane fields about half an hour later. This much is not in dispute. The only witness Train driver Stephanus Lategan told a 1967 inquest into Luthuli's death that at 10:36am, as his 760-tonne train approached the Umvoti River Bridge, he noticed a pedestrian walking across the bridge and sounded his whistle. 'The Bantu [the official and derogatory term for Black people at the time] did not appear to take any notice whatsoever … He had walked about … 15 or 16 paces when my engine commenced to overtake him … He made no attempt to step towards the side or turn his body sideways.' While the bridge was not designed for pedestrian traffic, Luthuli and the rest of his family often crossed it. His son, Edgar Sibusiso Luthuli, explained that when using the bridge, his father was 'very, very careful. When a train was coming, he would stand, not even walk, and hold onto the railings tightly. The space was big enough for the train to pass you on the bridge'. But, according to Lategan, Luthuli did no such thing that morning. The train driver told the inquest that while the front of the train narrowly missed Luthuli, 'the corner of the cab struck him on the right shoulder and this caused him to be spun around and I saw him lose his balance and fall between the right-hand side of the bridge and the moving train.' Lategan was the only witness to the collision. According to his testimony, when he realised he had hit Luthuli, he stopped the train as fast as he could. Luthuli was still breathing but unconscious and bleeding from the mouth when Lategan said he reached him. He asked the station foreman and station master to call an ambulance, which took Luthuli to the nearest 'Bantu' hospital. Fifty-eight years later – nearly another lifetime for Luthuli – a new inquest opened earlier this year. Experts testifying cast serious doubt on Lategan's version of events. Police crime scene analyst Brenden Burgess was part of a team that used evidence from the first inquest to reconstruct the crash scene. 'The possibility of an accident scenario occurring as described by Mr Lategan is highly unlikely,' testified Burgess. 'Taking into account the stopping distance required to stop the locomotive where it came to rest at the scene … the brakes to the train would have to have been applied at least 170 metres before the entrance to the northern side of the bridge … The probability of the point of impact being on the southern side of the bridge is highly unlikely.' In fact, experts say, it is likely that Luthuli was not walking along the bridge at all. Steam train expert Lesley Charles Labuschagne went further. By his estimation, 'Luthuli was assaulted and his body taken to a railway track so it would look like he was hit by a train,' according to a Business Day article about his testimony, published in May. Citing 'gaps relating to description of trauma, in terms of size as well as characterisation of injuries', forensic pathologist Dr Sibusiso Ntsele told the 2025 inquest that Luthuli's post-mortem report was 'substandard to say the least'. Ntsele concluded his testimony: 'I don't have enough to say he was hit by a train … What I have suggests that he is likely to have been assaulted.' The inquest has been adjourned until October, when Judge Qondeni Radebe will rule on Luthuli's cause of death. 'Quietly, as a teacher' There is no formal record of his birth, but it is known that Albert John Mvumbi Luthuli was born sometime in 1898 in Bulawayo, Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe), where his father worked as an interpreter for missionaries from the Congregational Church in America. This instilled in Luthuli a deep and lifelong faith and, according to the writer Nadine Gordimer, a way of speaking 'with a distinct American intonation'. When Mvumbi (his preferred name, meaning 'continuous rain') was about 10 years old, his family moved back to South Africa and he was sent to live with his uncle, the chief of Groutville, so that he could attend school. By 1914, Luthuli was 16 and had progressed as far as he could at the small school in Groutville. He spent a year at the Ohlange Institute, the first high school in South Africa founded and run by a Black person, John Dube, the first president of the ANC. That was followed by several years at Edendale, a Methodist mission school where, for the first time, Luthuli was taught by white teachers. In his autobiography, Luthuli refuted the accusation that mission schools produced 'black Englishmen'. Instead, he argued, 'two cultures met, and both Africans and Europeans were affected by the meeting. Both profited and both survived enriched.' After graduating from Edendale with a teaching qualification, he accepted a post as principal (and sole employee) of a tiny Blacks-only intermediate school in the outpost of Blaauwbosch, where – under the mentorship of a local pastor – his Christian faith deepened. Luthuli's performance at Blaauwbosch earned him a scholarship to Adams College, one of the most important centres for Black education in South Africa, just south of Durban. Luthuli arrived at Adams with no political aspirations: 'I took it for granted that I would spend my days quietly, as a teacher,' he wrote in his autobiography, Let My People Go. But the influence of ZK Matthews (the principal of the high school at Adams, who would go on to become an influential ANC leader and academic) and some of the other teachers gradually opened his eyes to a political world of resistance. Luthuli stayed at Adams College for 15 years. Only in 1935 did he succumb to pressure from the people of Groutville, who wanted him to return home to take up the chieftainship (his uncle had been 'fired' by the white government). Becoming a chief – a salaried position, which meant he could be fired by the apartheid regime if he stepped too far out of line – meant taking a significant pay cut, but Luthuli saw it as a calling. Administering the needs of the 5,000 Zulu people of the Umvoti Mission Reserve, which had been founded by American missionary Reverend Aldin Grout from the Congressional Church in 1844, opened his eyes to the reality of life in South Africa: 'Now I saw, almost as though for the first time, the naked poverty of my people, the daily hurt to human beings.' As the chief explained in his autobiography: 'In Groutville, as all over the country, a major part of the problem is land – thirteen percent of the land for seventy percent of the people, and almost always inferior land…When I became chief I was confronted as never before by the destitution of the housewife, the smashing of families because of economic pressures, and the inability of the old way of life to meet the contemporary onslaught.' Called to activism Luthuli entered formal politics relatively late in life compared with others, only joining the ANC at the age of 46 in 1944, four years before apartheid officially began. Nelson Mandela, 20 years his junior, joined in the same year. Both men arrived at a time when the party was in dire need of new blood. The older generation of Black leaders was seen as too polite and accepting of the status quo to fight the increasingly draconian white minority government, with its rapidly restrictive legislation governing the lives of Black people. But while Mandela and a few of his contemporaries shook up the national conversation with a more brash and confrontational style, Luthuli brought a more moderate brand of leadership to the Natal branch of the ANC. He was elected to the provincial executive less than a year after joining the party, and as president of the Natal branch in 1951. Luthuli shot to national prominence as the chief volunteer of the 1952 Defiance Campaign, which saw thousands of people all around the country offering themselves up for arrest for contravening apartheid laws by doing things like sitting on whites-only benches and travelling on whites-only buses. 'He was duly stripped of his position as chief by the apartheid government, before being elected ANC president on the back of the youth vote that December,' explains Professor Thula Simpson of the University of Pretoria, one of the leading historians of the ANC. 'Luthuli was seen as a bridge between old and young. But he and Moses Kotane [secretary general of the communist SACP for 39 years] became the old guard when Mandela and co started agitating for violence.' Luthuli's stance against violence Mandela first publicly called for violent resistance in June 1953, telling a crowd in Sophiatown that, as he wrote in his autobiography, 'violence was the only weapon that would destroy apartheid and we must be prepared, in the near future, to use that weapon.' This did not align with Luthuli's approach. In his autobiography, Long Walk to Freedom, Mandela wrote of being 'severely reprimanded' by Luthuli and the ANC's National Executive, 'for advocating such a radical departure from accepted policy [never, ever condoning violence]… Such speeches could provoke the enemy to crush the organisation entirely while the enemy was strong and we were as yet still weak. I accepted the censure, and thereafter faithfully defended the policy of nonviolence in public. But in my heart, I knew that nonviolence was not the answer.' Luthuli was actually in court, giving evidence about the ANC's commitment to non-violent struggle, on March 21, 1960, when white police officers opened fire on a crowd of peaceful Black protesters at Sharpeville, killing at least 91 people. After Sharpeville, the calls for violent protest within the ANC grew louder and – despite Luthuli's opposition – in June 1961, Mandela was given permission to set up Umkhonto we Sizwe (MK), the party's military wing. MK's founding document is 'the strangest declaration of war in the history of insurgency', says Simpson, with its focus on sabotaging government infrastructure but avoiding loss of life at all costs. 1961 was also the year Luthuli became the first African to receive the Nobel Peace Prize. 'The citation from the committee noted that he had consistently stood for non-violence,' says Simpson. 'But the irony is that he was aware that his movement had committed to forming a sabotage squad, even if he personally had acquiesced to the decision without enthusiasm.' The apartheid government initially prevented Luthuli from travelling to Oslo to receive the award, but eventually relented with a condition: He could not make overt mention of South African politics during his speech. He followed this restriction (he didn't say the word 'apartheid' once) but made a clear statement by wearing traditional Zulu attire. By sheer coincidence, Luthuli's route back from Oslo saw him arrive in Durban on 15 December: The exact evening that MK began its operations. Despite their differences, says Simpson, 'Mandela liked and respected Luthuli and felt the need to consult with him. Mandela wanted the older man's consent, authorisation and approval…' This close relationship would lead to Mandela's arrest and imprisonment for 27 years. In 1961, after the banning of the ANC, Mandela went undercover. Dubbed the Black Pimpernel, he was the most wanted man in the country. In August 1962, posing as the chauffeur of white playwright and activist Cecil Williams, Mandela drove to Groutville to brief Luthuli about a military training trip he'd taken to other African countries. One of the people Mandela met on that trip was a police informant, and on their way back to Johannesburg, Mandela and Williams were ambushed by police. 'I knew in that instant that my life on the run was over,' Mandela later recalled. Rewriting history Many anti-apartheid leaders died in suspicious circumstances over the 46 years that the apartheid regime survived. Perhaps the most famous of these was Steve Biko, who died following police torture in 1977. The official inquest into Biko's death absolved the police, finding that he could not have died 'by any act or omission involving an offence by any person'. Despite a local and international outcry, the truth would only come out at the Truth and Reconciliation Commission (TRC) in 1999, after apartheid had ended. Presided over by Desmond Tutu (himself a Nobel peace laureate), the TRC held more than 2,500 hearings between 1996 and 2002. Controversially, the TRC had the power to grant full amnesty for politically motivated crimes, provided the perpetrators made honest and complete confessions. Four security policemen admitted to the killing of Biko at TRC hearings. But the commanding officer, Gideon Nieuwoudt, was denied amnesty on the grounds that he did not prove that his crime was politically motivated. Nieuwoudt was sentenced to 20 years in prison for his role in the murder of the 'Motherwell four' – four Black policemen who had been leaking information to the ANC and were killed in a car bomb planted by the authorities. Nieuwoudt died in prison in 2005. Since the TRC concluded, there have been other inquests into mysterious deaths, most notably the 2017 inquest into Ahmed Timol's 1971 death. According to police reports at the time, Timol had jumped from the 10th floor of the Johannesburg Central Police Station after being overcome with shame at disclosing sensitive information about his colleagues during interrogation. A 1972 inquest ruled that he died by suicide. 'To accept anything other than that the deceased jumped out of the window and fell to the ground can only be seen as ludicrous,' ruled Magistrate JL de Villiers. 'Although he was questioned for long hours, he was treated in a civilised and humane manner.' Timol's death shone a light on the many (73 in total) mysterious deaths of activists in police custody during apartheid. These were the inspiration for Chris van Wyk's satirical poem 'In Detention': He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He hanged himself He slipped on a piece of soap while washing He fell from the ninth floor He hanged himself while washing He slipped from the ninth floor He hung from the ninth floor He slipped on the ninth floor while washing He fell from a piece of soap while slipping He hung from the ninth floor He washed from the ninth floor while slipping He hung from a piece of soap while washing. The TRC found that there was a 'strong possibility that at least some of those detainees who allegedly committed suicide by jumping out of the window were either accidentally dropped or thrown'. This was not enough for the Timol family, however, and, in 2017, they succeeded in having the 1972 inquest reopened. On October 12, 2017, Judge Billy Mothle set a historic precedent by overturning the first inquest's findings. Mothle ruled that 'Timol's death was brought about by an act of having been pushed from the tenth floor or the roof' of the building, and that there was a prima facie case of murder against the two policemen who interrogated Timol on the day he was pushed to his death. The policemen in question had already died, but a third – Joao Rodrigues – was charged as an accessory to the murder. Rodrigues died before his case went to trial. Seeking a motive The Luthuli family hope to receive similar vindication when the inquest into his death reaches its conclusion in October this year. But, looking at the case objectively, Simpson is hard-pressed to find a motive for the murder. While Luthuli was the ANC's official leader at the time of his death in 1967, a combination of ill-health, government banning orders and his opposition to violence had rendered him something of a figurehead without much political clout by the mid-1960s. 'There's no clear motive for his murder,' says Simpson. 'He'd ceased to be a threat to the regime. If anything, his funeral was an opportunity for protest.' Of course, Simpson adds, 'If there was a conspiracy, the 1967 inquest would never have found it. Even if Luthuli's death was accidental, there's loads of reason to doubt the apartheid government's version.' In 2025, Justice Minister Ronald Lamola has been on something of a mission to expose apartheid-era cover-ups. On the same day that the Luthuli inquest was reopened, he announced plans to reopen the inquests into the deaths of Mlungisi Griffiths Mxenge in 1981 (a civil rights lawyer who was stabbed 45 times by a police 'death squad') and Booi Mantyi, who was shot dead for allegedly throwing stones at police in 1985. Last month, the inquest into the 1985 murder of the 'Cradock Four' was reopened. While most of the perpetrators of apartheid-era crimes are now dead (or very old), Lamola is pressing ahead. 'With these inquests, we open very real wounds which are more difficult to open 30 years into our democracy,' he said. 'But nonetheless, the interest of justice can never be bound by time…the truth must prevail.' Uncovering the truth is especially important for Luthuli's family. 'It's a very exciting moment for us,' said Sandile Luthuli, the chief's grandson and CEO of the Social Housing Regulatory Authority. Now in his early 50s, Sandile doesn't have memories of his grandfather, but talks about Luthuli being deeply religious: 'He conducted church services on his own.' He also highlights the role that Luthuli's wife, Nokukhanya, played in 'keeping the home fires burning'. While Sandile does admit to 'some anxiety' about the outcome of the inquest, he is confident it will finally set the record straight. 'This is the moment that we have been waiting for as a family … to really peel the layers of … his untimely assassination at the hands of the apartheid government.' The inquest has also reminded the nation of South Africa and the world at large of Luthuli's incredible legacy. As Martin Luther King Jr wrote in a letter to Luthuli in 1959: 'You have stood amid persecution, abuse, and oppression with a dignity and calmness of spirit seldom paralleled in human history. One day all of Africa will be proud of your achievements.'
Russia Today
18-07-2025
- Politics
- Russia Today
Nelson Mandela: A lifelong struggle for equality and independence
Modern-day South Africa is a true melting pot, home to diverse nationalities. At the forefront of shaping the modern Republic of South Africa was Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela, the country's first black president, who dedicated his life to the fight for equality among all people, regardless of race. Mandela not only championed the rights of the indigenous population which had been oppressed throughout the 20th century, he also steered the nation away from a potential civil war. He fought against the oppression of black South Africans under the apartheid government, consistently emphasizing that 'South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and white.' In global history and politics, few people have had the privilege of being remembered as active peacemakers between warring factions. This is why Mandela continues to be a symbol and moral compass for various ideologically and politically diverse groups and organizations — not just in Africa, but around the world. South Africa boasts one of the most varied demographic landscapes in the world. Its population, which exceeds 60 million, is mostly Black African (over 80%), as well as White, Indian, and mixed race. In addition to the Bantu communities, who form the largest ethnic group, South Africa is home to the Khoisan, Nguni, Tswana, Sotho, Tsonga, and Venda peoples. The white minority primarily consists of Afrikaners – descendants of Dutch and other European settlers (Boers). However, these ethnic groups have not always enjoyed equal rights. For a long time, South Africa's black population endured the oppression of the white minority. In 1910, four British colonies: Cape Colony, Natal, Transvaal, and the Orange Free State, united to form a new nation under British and Afrikaner rule – the Union of South Africa. This self-governing dominion within the British Empire was established after the Anglo-Boer Wars (1899-1902) which were fought between British forces and the Afrikaners for control over South Africa's resources. The Union of South Africa began implementing laws that systematically stripped the native population of its rights. In 1913, the authorities limited land ownership for black South Africans to just 7% of the total territory. By 1923, they had prohibited black individuals from living in urban areas unless they were employed there, and in 1936, they revoked their voting rights. The final 'enslavement' of the indigenous population occurred in 1948 when the National Party, led by Afrikaners, won the elections and officially instituted a policy of racial segregation known as apartheid (the Afrikaans word for 'separateness'). The party's campaign appealed to white voters with slogans encouraging to fight 'the black danger.' Nelson Mandela was born on July 18, 1918, in the village of Mvezo in eastern South Africa. He belonged to the Thembu, a sub-ethnic community of the Xhosa people. His first name, Rolihlahla, translates to 'pulling the branch of a tree' or 'troublemaker.' The name Nelson was given to him by a schoolteacher at a Methodist mission school. Thanks to the guidance of elders, Mandela absorbed both Western education and the traditions of his people. Mandela was a member of a ruling clan dynasty, and his background influenced his political approach. His political philosophy combined traditional values with modern governance principles. He referred to the legacy of the Xhosa as 'democracy in its purest form.' In 1939, Mandela was admitted to the University of Fort Hare — the only institution of higher learning open to black and mixed-race individuals at the time. Two years later, he moved to Johannesburg, a city known for its gold mines, where he began working at a law firm. There, he witnessed the brutal inequalities that black South Africans faced daily. Describing the average citizen, Mandela wrote: 'His life is circumscribed by racist laws and regulations that cripple his growth, dim his potential, and stunt his life.' 'Colored people' were forcibly relocated to overcrowded areas to free up major cities for white residents. Freedom of movement was also restricted; Black South Africans were required to carry passbooks to travel outside the designated territories, known as bantustans. Failing to present the document upon request could lead to arrest and imprisonment. 'I cannot pinpoint a moment when I became politicized, when I knew that I would spend my life in the liberation struggle. To be an African in South Africa means that one is politicized from the moment of one's birth, whether one acknowledges it or not,' Mandela wrote in his autobiography. In 1944, he joined the African National Congress (ANC), the oldest political organization representing indigenous people, founded in 1912. Throughout the 20th century, the ANC advocated for equal rights for all South Africans and fought against racial segregation. Within the ANC, Mandela and his comrades: Oliver Tambo, Walter Sisulu, Anton Lembede, and Ashby Peter Mda, established the Youth League, whose manifesto called for equality among all racial groups and land redistribution. Nelson Mandela's views were initially influenced by Mahatma Gandhi's philosophy of nonviolent resistance. In 1952, he became one of the founders of the Defiance Campaign, which organized peaceful demonstrations against the racist laws enacted by the National Party. During this campaign, over 8,000 individuals were arrested for peacefully defying apartheid laws — for example, by entering 'white only' territories. By the 1950s, Mandela's political activism had attracted increased attention from the authorities. Police prohibited him from speaking publicly, and restricted his movement across the country. Meanwhile, the government continued to limit the rights of citizens based on race. The Bantu Education Act of 1953 established a separate and inferior education system for black South Africans, aimed at preparing them for roles as laborers and servants. The curriculum was intentionally restrictive, and the funding was minimal — in the 1970s, the government spent 644 rand per white student compared to just 42 rand per black student. One of the most significant achievements of Mandela and the ANC was organizing the Congress of the People in 1955, where 3,000 delegates adopted the Freedom Charter, proclaiming equality for all: 'South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and white.' Shortly afterward, in 1960, a peaceful protest against passbook laws took place in Sharpeville. Police opened fire on the crowd, resulting in 69 deaths and over 180 injuries. In response to the protest, the ANC was banned by the authorities. This raised urgent questions about the need to organize armed resistance. A year later, Mandela founded uMkhonto weSizwe (MK), which means 'Spear of the Nation' in the Zulu and Xhosa languages, the paramilitary wing of the ANC. As the leader of MK, Mandela secretly traveled throughout the country and operated out of a farm in Rivonia, then a suburb of Johannesburg. He also journeyed abroad, engaging in discussions with leaders of emerging independent African nations, most notably Julius Nyerere of Tanganyika (part of modern-day Tanzania) and Emperor Haile Selassie I of Ethiopia, about the need to fight against apartheid. On August 5, 1962, on his way back from a trip, Mandela was arrested; this time, the apartheid government was determined to silence the charismatic leader whom thousands of people were ready to follow. During the Rivonia Trial, which lasted from 1963 to 1964, Mandela steadfastly defended his beliefs. His speech from the dock in 1964 emphasized the necessity of eradicating racial superiority, building an egalitarian society, and his willingness to die for this cause: 'I have fought against white domination, and I have fought against black domination. I have cherished the ideal of a democratic and free society in which all persons live together in harmony and with equal opportunities. 'It is not true that the enfranchisement of all will result in racial domination. Political division, based on color, is entirely artificial and, when it disappears, so will the domination of one color group by another. The ANC has spent half a century fighting against racialism. When it triumphs, it will not change that policy.' Mandela was sentenced to life in prison for organizing armed resistance against the apartheid government. The authorities held him in various prisons, but he spent the majority of his sentence, 18 out of 27 years, on Robben Island. Political prisoners were kept together, which helped ease the harshness of their confinement and allowed them to continue their fight, even if it was limited to the confines of their cells. ANC members exchanged opinions and engaged in debates with one another and with other inmates. In 1962, Mandela began studying law through correspondence courses from the University of London. He continued his education in prison and even took on the role of lecturer for fellow inmates. Meanwhile, the government continued to restrict the freedoms of black citizens, encroaching upon their private lives. Between 1950 and 1985, under the Immorality Act, which prohibited relationships between different races, 19,000 people were prosecuted, with many arrested without trial. Despite his incarceration, Mandela's popularity in the country grew, making him a symbol of resistance against the regime. In the 1970s, the authorities offered to release Mandela on the condition that he renounce the armed struggle. In 1974, the Minister of Justice visited him, but Mandela refused to make deals with the government. Tensions escalated as pressure mounted on the government from the UN, European nations, and African states condemning apartheid. To quell public outrage, the authorities resorted to violent tactics once again. In 1976, thousands of black students in Soweto protested against the mandatory use of the Afrikaans language in schools. The police responded with brutal force, firing live ammunition into the crowd, resulting in at least 176 deaths. In 1985, South African President Pieter Willem Botha announced he would consider freeing Mandela if he publicly condemned violence. Mandela once again rejected these unilateral terms, and this made him even more popular in society. Protests erupted across the nation, prompting the Afrikaner government to declare a state of emergency. Ultimately, independently of the ANC, Mandela recognized the need to lay the groundwork for official negotiations, fearing the country was headed toward civil war. While still in prison, he met with the Minister of Justice, the Minister of Safety, and the president. Progress in negotiations was only achieved, however, in late 1989, after a change in government leadership. In February 1990, the ANC and several other previously banned organizations were legalized. Nelson Mandela was released to a jubilant crowd. This marked the beginning of an official negotiation process aimed at dismantling the apartheid system and finding compromises in governance. Although the ANC owed much of its presence in the political arena to Mandela's personal contributions, he did not impose his will on the party. Upon his release, he was not interested in seizing power; rather, he coordinated actions with colleagues and was prepared to make concessions. In July 1991, Nelson Mandela was elected president of the African National Congress (ANC), and by 1994, South Africa held its first parliamentary elections that granted voting rights to all citizens. The ANC received nearly two-thirds of the votes. Mandela became the nation's president, with F.W. de Klerk and Thabo Mbeki, an ANC member, serving as deputy presidents. A primary goal of his presidency was national reconciliation, bringing both the oppressed and the oppressors into the government as a crucial step toward dismantling the legacy of apartheid. 'I knew as well as I knew anything that the oppressor must be liberated just as surely as the oppressed. A man who takes away another man's freedom is a prisoner of hatred... The oppressed and the oppressor alike are robbed of their humanity,' said Mandela. Nelson Mandela's legacy is deeply ingrained not only in South African culture but all around the world. He is remembered as a symbol of resilience, forgiveness, and the power of reconciliation. His wisdom helped steer the country away from the brink of civil war. While he aimed to protect the rights of marginalized groups, he never sought revenge against the white minority or discriminated against them. Mandela consistently resisted authoritarianism and stepped down after his first presidential term (1994-1999). As Mikatekiso Kubayi, researcher at the Institute for Global Dialogue and the Institute for Pan African Thought and Conversation, noted in an interview with RT, Mandela's legacy is very much alive in South Africa. 'Up to this day, you simply can't separate his legacy from it. His influence is still very much there. So, the president Cyril Ramaphosa pays homage to the influence of late former president Mandela as well, because his legacy is embedded in many things, the many ways, the ways we run government, the ways we run the Congress, the way we do our politics. For instance, breakaway parties like the EFF, now MK party and the APC, the UDM and others still carry some of the DNA of the liberation movement that shaped the former president,' he said. Nelson Mandela passed away on December 5, 2013, but his legacy lives on. He remains a global moral leader. The Nelson Mandela Foundation, established in 1999, continues his work of promoting peace, democracy, and social justice worldwide. In 2014, the United Nations established the Nelson Mandela Prize for achievements in social transformation, as Mandela's life story serves as a timeless testament to perseverance and indomitable will.
