Freedom and justice are indivisible
WHAT does it mean when a country has enjoyed the freedom of a formal democracy for 30 years, and still, most of the people who call that country home are reaching for the semblance of freedom as a lived reality in their daily lives?
What does it mean when a people have been struggling against different forms of imperialism and colonialism for millennia, and now, in 2024, are facing genocide while the democracies of the world pass resolutions, give interim rulings, and create a dribble of emergency aid?
It is hard, I find, in contexts like this, to keep believing in justice, and to keep finding reserves of energy for the struggles ahead.
These were the key lines of enquiry in a discussion I had with the 2024 cohort of Global Freedom Fellows, who visited the Foundation on March 25 as part of an annual Incarceration Nations Network gathering. Each Fellow has been a prisoner, and the cohort represents countries from across the world.
The thing about justice, and the thing about freedom, is that society never “has” them. Madiba taught us this. The concepts have meaning only when they are being worked at, grown, reimagined in changing circumstances, made deeper and more accessible.
That’s why he warned his readers, at the end of Long Walk to Freedom, that the walk is long precisely because it does not end. There is always another hill to be climbed ahead. There is always another struggle to be fought. For societies and for individuals. There are no saints. Madiba taught us this. At best there are sinners who keep trying.
The thing about justice and freedom is that they are indivisible. Madiba taught us this as well.
The purpose of freedom, he argued, is that it be used to secure the freedom of those still in chains. No one can be fully free while their freedom allows – and, most often, depends on – the oppression of others.
There can be no freedom that is meaningful, no justice that is meaningful, until all are free. This is why Madiba believed passionately that the freedom of Palestine was inextricably linked to the freedom of South Africa, and every other country. All struggles for justice intersect. We cannot make sense of justice – as a concept, as a deep human
longing – outside intersectionality. Madiba taught us this, indirectly. Where do we find the energy to keep fighting the good fight? How do we not allow the latest news from Gaza to make us switch off our device in order to dull the pain?
Can we find focus for continuing parliamentary advocacy work on land justice while staying abreast of the Speaker of Parliament’s latest encounter with the country’s law enforcement structures?
Where can we find the belief that it is important that we vote in the May general election even if we’re struggling to come to terms with what our choices are? What are our options when neither
love nor hope are enough?
I don’t have compelling answers to these questions. But I do know that I learnt from Madiba and from Mum Machel that it matters that we not give up. It matters that we keep going. It matters that we do the right thing, irrespective of what the future brings. It matters to humanity that we keep struggling for justice, even if we fail. It matters to the soul of the world, anima mundi. In this realm of soul all things are connected, all struggles, ultimately, are one.
A luta continua.