When June 1976 comes knocking...

What a day, what a day, a day that the history books will remember. A day that, I have no doubt has moved us closer to the realisation of the ideals of the Revolution. Who was it that once said that each generation must discover its mission, fulfil it or betray it? I believe that those must have been the words of Afro-Caribbean psychiatrist, philosopher and revolutionary whose works are influential in the fields of post-colonial studies and Marxism:  Frantz Fanon.

As a keen follower of student politics (given that I myself am a student) across South Africa, I have followed with devout commitment the developments as they unfolded regarding the #RhodesMustFall Movement as well as other developments as they relate to “decolonising” our national spaces, in particular institutions of higher learning. The call for genuine transformation is long overdue. The pace of transformation, particularly in the space of higher education has, for the most part been sluggish.

I unequivocally believe that it is an affront, an insult, a slap in the face to the heroes of yesteryear who fought to the bone for the liberation of this country that the black African child from a working class family STILL after 21 years, finds themselves excluded and systematically marginalised when it comes to having access to opportunities that can only be found within the lecture halls of universities.  Our heroes of yesteryear would be shocked to learn that the depth of one’s pocket is what determines ones access to quality education! The question that burns in my mouth is this: what kind of South Africa are we building when the average black child (who has no wealthy relatives and no trust fund) is denied an education based on affordability? We talk about freedom, but I ask with tears in my eyes, what is the value of freedom if that freedom cannot yield tangible and accessible opportunities for the people of this country? We talk about “born-frees”, is that just a fancy title that has no substance? What is the point if one is classified as born-free and yet they cannot even describe what freedom looks like and feels like? What use is being a born-free if one is shackled by the chains of the constant threat of financial exclusion?

The #WitsFeesMustFall campaign, has gained momentum and the winds of change are blowing to other institutions of higher learning across the country. It is a bitter truth that change is seldom, if ever, handed to one on a silver platter, especially if you are fighting against an established system, and you happen to be the “weaker” opponent. Change has to be demanded. Change has to be fought for. Systems must be rattled and shaken to the core before change can result. That is what, as a student of political science, many revolutionary struggles around the globe have taught me.

Today, 19 October 2015, I happened, through a series of divine coincidences, happened to find myself at the right place, at the right time. I felt as though June 16, 1976 had knocked at my door and I had no option but to open the door and follow the dictates of my revolutionary conscious. I decided that to be an arm-chair supporter of the cause was not enough; I too wanted to be counted amongst those who actively joined the campaign, the revolution. As a Witsie myself, the child of black African working class parents, and as one who desires that the frontiers of higher education be expanded for all I put all my plans for the day on hold and joined the movement.

At around 15:30, I was standing outside the Great Hall and was on a call, I then heard chanting, singing and what could only be my fellow students approaching. I very swiftly, told the person on the other side of the call that the revolution was approaching and that I would call them back later. The crowd of students exited the Great Hall and in less than 60 seconds, I had been swallowed and had joined the protesting masses. I inadvertently became part of the front line and we began marching forward. At that point I had no idea where we were going, but that was not an issue as I had already made the conscious decision that forward I shall advance until we reach our destination. We then marched out of campus in song, slogan after slogan, onto Jorissen Street, we headed towards the Yale Road entrance of Wits University where we camped. Yes, traffic was disrupted, yes, it was brought to a standstill, yes, people were inconvenienced and yes, for that period that part of Johannesburg was brought to a grinding halt as we the students stood united and made our cause known to all and sundry.

We were camped peacefully, some standing others sitting on the road surface, when some crazy driver decided to mow through the crowd with his vehicle, not a care in the world that his actions might seriously injure protesting students. It did not end well for the driver, and dare I say he will never again dare to disregard black students. I wonder whether in his mind he saw black students or he just saw a group of unruly Africans whose lives are so cheap that he can mow them down and kill them? This is the kind of attitude that irks me! The kind of attitude that has been termed white arrogance. The kind of attitude that one encounters ever so often in this land, the kind of attitude that my parents and the peers had to face day in and day out! The kind of attitude that needs to be addressed without fear or favour! The kind of attitude that convinced that driver that he could manoeuvre his way through all the other cars that were patiently waiting for the protesters to disperse and to speed over the bodies of lack students in his white bakkie?

What was even more striking after this incident was that Metro Police started loading their guns with rubber bullets and advancing towards the crowd of us as if we cattle that needed to be rounded up and taken to the  slaughterhouse. One of the cops was even heard asking: “how many rounds of ammunition do we have? We will need more”. Thank heavens that no shooting ensued, but in my mind’s eye all I could think of was how the peaceful student protestors of June 1976 were shot by the police and chaos ensued. But I must say, when I heard the cocking of a police gun behind us, this emboldened us because we knew that we were fighting for a just cause and would not be intimidated.

Phambili with the Revolution! Forward we go and backward never!

We will not turn back, not even to gain momentum!

I will end of this post with a few lines from Tracey Chapman’s Revolution, which by some stroke of prophetic coincidence happened to be today’s power jam on Power Talk with Iman Rappetti on Power FM:

Poor people gonna rise up and get their share

Poor people gonna rise up and take what’s theirs

Don’t you know

You better run, run, run…..

Finally the tables are starting to turn

Talkin’ bout a revolution