thiis

Tsietsi Mashinini on this day 36 years ago, would have probably been at home, in Soweto. In a house that wasn’t very different to the other matchbox houses that scattered this large Johannesburg township, or at a meeting at Regina Mundi church in Orlando East with other young souls. Who had decided that this too was their world , constantly probing, asking and searching for ways to unravel the lifelong lie of white supremacy that their parents believed only in deed and in front of their white bosses, but cursed in the privacy of their homes. Tsietsi and his contemporaries would later stare down the face of four hundred years of illegitimacy, subjugation and theft, and unmask the lie of white invincibility that had so daringly grasped the minds of all blacks. They had nothing to lose, and so they gave of themselves.

The narrative of the events that unfolded on this day of the 16^th of June in the lonely cold of the Highveld winter are well documented and I will not relive the sombre atmosphere of  that fateful afternoon and evening in Soweto. What I do want to do, is to direct myself towards the questions posed by the lingering body of a blood-soaked Hector Peterson to the youth of 2012 and how some of these questions have been responded to. I cannot speak for Tsietsi Mashinini and the youth of yesteryear, but even a blind bat can see that the continued suffering of the majority of people in this country is a cause for concern and urgent rectification. That the world they envisaged in the fiery passion of their youth is vastly different to the world we inhabit. If the youth of this country face an urgent task, it is the duty of working towards the liberation of the people in this country in their entirety, who may not even get the opportunity to read this piece. As their horizons of communication don’t warrant the attention of broadband companies, who would allow us to send some of the messages, that are most positive, to where they are needed the most.  We have seen that the fight of yesteryear in different and varied forms replicates itself in today’s challenges, and struggles.

Where is our Tsietsi, can he be found in the probing assertions of a youth that is growing angry with a system that can no longer cater for all of us, but I guess it was never meant to, in a world where the violence that explains the existence of Sandton alongside Alexandra. This will only be explained as a unequal development when theft can better explain the sins of history that were committed in the name of, and for the benefit of the white minority. Of course these days it is no longer fashionable to speak of those whose historically disadvantaged background, can be better explained with full reference to the historically advantaged backgrounds of some. Some of these questions from yesteryear, are beginning to be answered, in the black and misty barricaded streets of our society, in the protests which reached their peak in the month of May, historical lies and suspicious compromises are being questioned, the story is simple, “we can see the affluent lives that some live, why is it that we can’t live like that”, and if we can’t live like that what did Hector Peterson and many others die for. What was Biko killed for, so that we could regularly, once every four years have our aspirations folded into a ballot, and have a few cosmetic changes while the majority still live in poverty and squalor. The youth needs to be able to craft a unique vision for this country, because the current pattern of developments in this country, clearly indicate that the patience of 18 years of unfulfilled promises is beginning to wear thin. We need to craft such a vision because the sad reality of the situation is that our country is at a crossroads where the end of political apartheid can no longer mask the violence that economic Apartheid continues to visit on our people. The institutional architecture of this country was never designed initially, to serve the interests of the majority, so the major backlogs of our government I can understand in this context, but the sad reality is that very little has been done to bolster the capacity of the  institutions of the state that are required to serve our people. An example of this would be the fact that no university has been built by the black government since 1994, despite the fact that certain provinces like Mpumalanga and the Northern Cape, have no universities, thus further entrenching the spatial and migratory patterns of the past, and access to specialised knowledge is kept within the confines of the urban experience. These are the struggles that the youth should be taking up, in bold and concrete terms, and not turning such an event into a toxic celebration with no central meaning, children were killed 36 years ago, for fighting against a system that systematically excluded them and their parents, the blueprint of that system still exists, but with different nuances. What are we going to do, to ensure a better life for our children?

Lastly, it is the youth of this country that will be able to speak truth to power, because in the final analysis we are the ones likely to pick up the pieces of such a fragmented country tomorrow. It is the small struggles that are quickly undoing the shame of 400 years of suffering, that is now legitimised by cosmetic policies like Black Economic Empowerment(BEE), which to me seem more like black economic exclusion(BEE). These are the youth who are saying that the people whom we elect to power have to use the same public services that they think we deserve, they must live in the same RDP house they provide a shady tender for the building of, they must also use the same Baragwanath Hospital, they expect our grandmothers and children to die in; and maybe in that case they will and can understand that there is no need for their tastes and preferences to be different to ours, indeed they say that they are part of us when they need our votes. This is a call being made by some of the youth, and before the merry celebrations, commemorating that fateful day 36 years ago, we need to remember the sacrifices and central message of this poignant occasion, and draw parallels to our own situation, to celebrate is one thing, and the Sunday hangover from today’s celebration will present the sobering reality at our door, can we answer some of the questions asked by the blood of Hector Peterson and the rest of his comrades, an answer to that will not come from the blaring speakers and the rivers of alcohol that characterize such a celebration, but from the lost generation and born-frees, who can battle the ghosts of yesterday with a different perspective.