With our country in ferment, let’s stir in some youthful idealism
Three years ago Fallism emerged to show a new way forward, challenging patriarchy and misogyny
● A man in a suit sits on a chair, perched on a block bearing his name in large, bold letters. He rests his face on his chin, stares into the distance. He’s a little reminiscent of Rodin’s The Thinker.
This was the statue of Cecil John Rhodes, one of the most potent symbols of colonisation, imperialism and the racism that went with them. That statue, of course, fell from its lofty position on the steps of the
University of Cape Town in 2015, after students protested against it. #RhodesMustFall, they said.
But it wasn’t just about Rhodes.
That protest — and others like it, before and after — was about relooking at narratives we’ve been fed all our lives, taking a critical look at how we tell our stories, who we consider the heroes, and why. It was about reclaiming a country that hasn’t felt like ours in our lifetimes or in those of our parents, or of their parents, and maybe even of their parents’ parents.
“South Africa belongs to all who live in it, black and white,” the Freedom Charter states. And this, of course, is true. But how can it belong to all those who live in it when the majority are still disenfranchised economically, socially and even politically?
It wasn’t just a statue — it was a reminder that the more things changed, the more they remained the same.
The year 2015 was a milestone for post-apartheid South Africa: it was the year of #FeesMustFall, a movement about free education, but also of the decolonisation of our “rainbow nation”.
That word — “decolonisation” — is one that’s been uttered, shouted and written about many times. It’s the spirit of Fallism, which I understand as a movement that, at its core, is about taking charge of our present so that we can be more in control of our future. The youth is the majority in this country, yet we are largely ignored except when we are beneficial to others’ political causes.
Unlike the Rhodes statue gathering dust in a warehouse somewhere, the Fallist movement has gathered momentum and influences the sociopolitical events and conversations taking place in the country. The movement’s ideology has awakened something that had, for many young South Africans, laid dormant.
This is not to claim that #RhodesMustFall, #FeesMustFall and the Fallist movement in general invented the concept of decolonisation — they didn’t. But they reignited conversations that disappeared in the narrative of the rainbow nation.
Because of the publicity and the think-pieces both in support of and against Fallism, its prominence on social media and the conversations around it, many young people who perhaps had never truly interrogated the successes and failures of postapartheid South Africa began to do so.
The voices of decolonisation grew louder because the philosophy spread to those who had previously ignored it. Fallism and the conversations it has sparked isn’t just about taking on white privilege, racism and the pervasiveness of whiteness — it’s also been about challenging the current government.
When thousands of students gathered outside parliament in support of #FeesMustFall in October 2015, it was clear that South Africa’s younger generation was frustrated with the state of the country.
At around that time, Twitter user @shamwary wrote: “‘They’ll remove the statue and then what?’ This is what.”
That “what” has been, in part, the interrogation of this freedom we gained when apartheid ended and whether we are proud of South Africa as it is. A South Africa where seven million people go to bed hungry each night, for instance.
Our constitution may appear to be progressive and inclusive, but the reality is that South Africa is not.
One of 1976’s student leaders, Seth Mazibuko, told me in 2016: “I always say to the younger generation: ‘We watered this tree of liberation with our blood, please do it with your sweat, not with your blood’ . . . How do we water this tree with our sweat – how do we protect it? And how do we all make sure that everyone enjoys the fruit of this tree, if not the fruit then at least the shade of the tree?”
Currently, only a few are enjoying the fruits of liberation and enjoying the shade of its tree.
Fallism, as a movement, is not without its flaws. One of the biggest criticisms is how deeply steeped in patriarchy it is. As feminist activist Lerato Motaung says: “We have yet to deeply engage with decolonisation and its implications. What are we building in the process of decolonising? Can true decolonisation happen in a movement that is riddled with queerphobic, masculine, patriarchal views of bodies?”
Just as feminism isn’t true feminism unless it’s intersectional, decolonisation is useless if it only serves the interests of heterosexual men and women.
To truly decolonise, we need to not just free our minds from imperialist thought, colonised curriculums and imperialist symbols and statues (among many other things) — we need to free ourselves from the chains of patriarchy and misogyny because those are things many subscribe to, no matter how “revolutionary” they may be. We need to also understand that patriarchy and misogyny are products of a colonial system that succeeded in creating hierarchies of privilege.
One of the most inspiring parts of the Fallist movement is that it’s shown that Mandela’s children — those who have grown up in post-’94 South Africa — aren’t as apathetic, spoilt, lazy or ignorant as they’ve often been painted. Because that, also, is a focus on the privileged few.
Despite all the criticism aimed at us, we are the ones who have raised these important issues. As of 2017, Africa is the youngest continent in the world. South Africa’s median age, according to the CIA Factbook, is 27. The youth is leading a necessary rebellion.
And while that narrative about us has largely been disrupted, many other narratives we were raised on have also been challenged. An example would be the coverage of Winnie Madikizela-Mandela in the wake of her death. The decades-long narrative that only villainised her fell swiftly, and part of it has to do with newsrooms becoming younger, and younger journalists challenging storylines that have long been accepted as fact.
This is a critical, frightening but inspiring time to live in South Africa. There is a lot of uncertainty, a lot of tension and a lot of anger. It’s important that the youth play an active role. Previous generations changed South Africa’s path — will we do the same?