Building heritage is a collective effort
South Africans urgently need to prompt national dialogues in which communities can participate and engage in defining a new heritage
Heritage is closely tied to culture. It is connected to our unique, inherited sense of identity, values, traditions, language, geographical location, objects passed down through generations, monuments, behaviours and cultural practices.
South Africa undoubtedly has a wealth of cultural heritage, with its people from various racial, ethnic, tribal, national, religious and sexual identities. In our multitude of cultural contexts, there are huge differences in people’s food, language, dress, music and more.
Although this cultural heritage is celebrated every year on 24 September, there is little engagement about the deeper national heritage that has been fought for, and which should be embodied in our collective spirit. This is our heritage of the values that led to the struggle for political liberation, and how those values remain a shadow of what they once were.
Heritage Day has moved beyond a reflection of my multiple identities, but is an occasion on which I assess the progress made in the fight for justice and equality. It is a heritage of activism. As someone who works at a legacy foundation, founded by the late Ahmed Kathrada, I often reflect on what that legacy means, and how much of his values and vision we have embodied and achieved.
Heritage should look beyond symbolic or surface level indicators and push us to assess our collective purpose. It should make us look at what value system we subscribe to; how we treat one another; and how we collectively shift the tide in our approach to issues of corruption, greed and hatred. At the same time, heritage is also about how we celebrate and commemorate each other, in all our manifestations.
Due acknowledgement has been given to South Africa’s attempt to be a “rainbow nation”, but don’t forget that rainbows appear after a storm. I fear that we, as a people, have not fully grappled with the underlying challenges that need to be addressed to get through such a storm. We have not been able to establish a national heritage and purpose, outside anthems like Sister Bethina or events like “national braai day”.
Although such symbols are jovial and celebratory, these often shift our focus away from more uncomfortable questions that need to be asked to progress past the narrow and typical responses we give to “nation-building” and “social cohesion”.
Since our transition to democracy, very few attempts have been made to reflect on the past and present in the context of building and solidifying a national consciousness. For example, September 2 marks 20 years since the Durban declaration and programme of action that seeks to combat racism, discrimination, xenophobia and other intolerance. In South Africa today, we have adopted
an approach of avoidance and/or of trying to make people believe that these issues are being addressed.
Iam reminded of events such as the Springboks’ 2019 Rugby World Cup win with a black captain; South Africans rejoiced with pride in the victory, and hundreds of kids in townships and rural areas dare to dream of achieving the same. But sports fields meant to be built or maintained in these communities do not receive the necessary funding, or rather the funding is “reallocated” to individuals and entities that are corrupt.
Yes, we must celebrate such victories on the global stage, but those celebrations will always be short-lived, masking a suppressed anger. In that moment the nation thrives, yet once the buzz dies down, we continue to be victims of our inaction, thinking progress is being achieved. What progress are we really making?
What measures do we adopt as a country to deal with growing xenophobic sentiment and violence — particularly when such feelings and beliefs have found their way into mainstream political rhetoric. How can we purport to be advocates for justice and inclusion, but treat people differently because they were born elsewhere, or because they have different shades of struggle?
A friend and activist recently spoke to me of the huge challenges he faces as someone who was born in Burundi, but has spent most of his life living in South Africa. He reflected on how he could never be proud of his heritage: his country of birth is in constant turmoil, and the country in which he lives does very little to accept him, even though he continuously strives to serve and give back to his community. What has our heritage taught us about treating one another, if not that togetherness is at the core of who we are and how we approach our challenges.
Heritage must move beyond idolising
people, places and things, to encompass and honour the values and ideals that they stand for.
I come from a family of changemakers, a family that hasn’t really grappled with our traumatic past, particularly from being forcibly removed from Fietas to Lenasia under the Group Areas Act. This act of systemic violence has been passed down for two generations and, for someone like me, it continues to bring pain and sadness. Entire homes, families, communities and cultures were wiped away. A heritage lost, but not forgotten.
Growing up in Lenasia, surrounded by the “congress”, “BC”, “sell-outs” and all other political types, I had not found a space to explore my own political heritage, even though members of my family were involved in the fight for freedom.
This part of my identity or heritage only sprouted much later when I traversed the halls and corridors of the University of the Witwatersrand during the #Feesmustfall campaign. This campaign left us facing an uncomfortable truth — memory is a weapon, but we remain unarmed in the quest for true justice, freedom and dignity.
The experiences of students during the time were far too similar to those of activists pre-democracy: scenes of violence; scenes of pain and anger; scenes of young people acting on their beliefs and purposefully expressing their proud heritage of standing firm for what is just.
Like many other towns, villages and communities, Lenasia has long
forgotten its progressive heritage. This heritage sought to galvanise mass support in building and creating a community centred around care and justice. It has undoubtedly produced some of the most remarkable and disciplined freedom fighters, but equally struggled to develop and carry forward that heritage to new generations.
Beyond seeking counsel from the leaders of the past, communities ought to build and institutionalise their heritage. They must arm new generations with the memory and knowledge needed to take us forward, while never forgetting where they have come from.
It is vital that communities like mine build centres and spaces in which memory, art, history, stories, and values are told, taught and transferred; spaces in which our heritage is not only placed on display, but also honoured through progressive community building work through which young people can continue to grow, learn and take action to make our world a better place.
Collectively, we have not been able to find healing and cultivate a common hope. We have allowed our violent past to be passed down generation after generation, without taking the necessary steps to deal with that pain, brutality and violence. We have not sought to continue the fight for justice and resistance en masse. We are losing a sense of community and collectivism because ego and selfinterest continue to govern and rule.
South Africa, undoubtedly, has a rich natural and cultural tapestry. But ours is severely damaged and torn: perhaps not down the middle, but in places and spaces in which the effects are determined by your positionality in society.
I raise the point about natural heritage too, because we have forgotten the many lessons and guidance passed down to us by our ancestors,
in that we are to protect and safeguard the Earth. Without it, there can be no life.
Heritage needs to be cultivated and developed. It can’t be left only to tales and traditions. Some of those very traditions have proven to be a source of deep-rooted violence. Patriarchy, for one, continues to thrive in many cultural contexts. It is systemically embedded in many of our cultures, including my own, relegating women’s position and creating unequal lived experiences in our own homes.
Perhaps a new culture must be forged: a culture of accountability; a culture in which we are open and honest with one another and refuse to allow corruption to go unchecked or allow people to use their positions of power however they please.
We must practise the culture of our forebears. This means actively challenging the status quo and resisting oppressive structures, but also demanding better from ourselves and for ourselves, and recognising that we all have learning and unlearning to do.
We urgently need to prompt national dialogues in which communities can participate and engage in defining a new heritage. Moving away from sloganeering, we must endeavour to live and breathe ubuntu. Verbalising it is just not good enough. It requires work, active participation and proactive day-today interrogation and reflection by each of us if we ever wish to truly create a nonracial, nonsexist, inclusive, equal and just society.
Our heritage as justice-loving people, must be transformative and embody our belief in promoting and standing firm for what is just — and distancing ourselves from that which seeks to divide and destroy. “Umuntu ngumuntu ngabantu”, but who are we as a people?
We have allowed our violent past to be passed down, without taking steps to deal with that pain and brutality