Talk Is Cheap Until You Talk Black




Text: Rithuli Orleyn

Photograph: Passacol

Nigel Gibson writes on Biko and Fanon. He writes about the value of their thinking tools in the employ of ‘struggles that take their tutelage from below’. Gibson summarizes Marx’s and Hegel dialectics as capable of both progression and regression. He says, giving a kind of pictorial view for his logic, the Hegelian dialectics has a high-point; like an upright triangle – a point where ‘higher unity of two opposed forces’ is reached or forged.

He then continues to say, Marxian dialectics by comparison, resembles an inverted triangle. A triangle with its high-point hanging low. Low, to represent irreconcilable Marxist antagonism that exist between the opposed ‘classes’.

Slavo Zizek, a Slovanian rockstar-like famed philosopher, whose work brings together a reflexive way of reading politics through the windowpane of ideology – cupped in exhaustive Marxian and Lacanian universe of meaning about the socius (or white sociality) – takes a stab at this issue of dialectics. In a book where he interprets Moa’s thought/philosophy (Slavo Zizek – Moa’s Practice and Contradiction), Zizek reads Mao’s dialectics as lacking. Lacking an important aspect of Hegelian tensions of negation. A tension of opposing forces at that high synthesis point (unstable synthesis) – a point Gibson paints for us with a triangle pictorial view. The appreciation Mao lacks, according to this Slovanian philosopher, is the concept called “the negation of the negation”.

According to Zizek, Mao thinks “negation of the negation” is useless sophistry; intellectual farce that has no place in the crucible of praxis. In the material realm, protests Mao, the big fish negates the small fish by swallowing it whole. So do armies when they confront each other in battle; the weaker is negated by the stronger: which is also to say, gets swallowed whole by the stronger. There is no “negation of the negation” in the battle front; the stronger swallows the weaker. Mao protests.

To instantiate Zizek’s point about the value of a Hegelian dialectics in the crucible of praxis, Zizek applies the missing logic – called the “negation of the negation” – in Mao’s reading of true victory.

It is not when ‘big fish subdues small fish’, as Mao is wont to quip, that true victory takes place, argues Zizek. Highlighting Hegelian dialectics and the importance of factoring in the “negation of the negation” Zizek foregrounds the aspect of unstable tension in moments of political loss. Or victory. True political victory, Zizek opines, happens when your enemies are won-over not just by force of arms – for instance – but true victory happens when your enemies adopt your discourse.

Zizek qualifies the explicatory power of his philosophical point by conjuring the example of British politics. The true Thatcherite was not Margaret Thatcher, he says; but Tony Blair, who came on the ticket of labour-centered policies but ended up speaking a pro-capitalist language at its most vulgar form.

Here I cannot help but be reminded of Thabo Mbeki’s own confession; a confession in the face of his cowardice – cowering to neoliberal bullying stick and carrot. He said “call me a Thatcherite”. Those words marked a throw of the towel to GEAR austerity policy measures. Not Zuma. Zuma throws his whole clumsy body of rhetoric.
Recently, after the big brouhaha expose of Jaucques Pauw’s President’s Keepers – a story, among many, of Zuma’s corruption and rot deeply embedded in ANC’s “I didn’t struggle to be poor” culture – Zuma gave a moving and uncharacteristically-Zuma eloquent speech. The non-english-speaking Zuma on the day – a Zuma who spoke in his isiZulu mother tongue – is a rare oratory sight this side of english coloniality denies us the pleasure of seeing. Zuma defied that straightjacket veneer of presidential airs. They (the west) couldn’t countenance communists with nuclear power, when we took power. He said. The snide remarks punted by white-owned media meanandos (meandering-innuendos…Zuma’s brilliant coinage) associating an earmarked nuclear deal between mafias – sitting pretty on government legitimacy tickets (Russian Putin and incumbent president of the republic) – met an airtight family affair :where uBaba took us all (who had ears) to his confidence, in our own tongues. It doesn’t get more cheeky-kaffir (or decolonial proper) than this… the thought lingered much longer on my mind than Mandla Langa’s resurrection of Mandela in his latest Long Walk To Freedom biographical sequel: Dare Not Linger. I suspected that Zuma’s counterpoint view must have grabbed hold on more than just lowly me.

This was the best form of cheeky-kaffir defiance I had seen; since Mandela: admonished De Klerk for training iNkatha undercover – sabotaging the peaceful transition – and then quickly smiling alongside their shared Nobel Peace Prize… before the blood of kids wasted by De Klerk mastermind puppet pulling invisible strings of bullets cooled on their unsuspecting four roomed floor. (Twin brothers Samora and Sadat Mpendulo, 17, cousin Mzwandile Mfeya, 12, and schoolmates Thando Mtembu, 17, and Sandile Yose, 12. Twenty eight times children were shot; at a time the commander in chief of SADF soldiers was De Klerk. Children were massacred in their sleeping in Northcrest, October 1993)

Mbeki’s understanding of both Marx and Fanon, and Afrikanist rhetoric notwithstanding, gave in. He was swallowed in the discourse of a ‘politically conquered’ enemy. The sacrifices of ordinary blacks had earned that political victory moment Thabo squandered. Not only that, two-thirds majority scores of blacks entrusted to Thabo their fears and aspiration for true liberation. To do the historical thing our struggle against colonization has been about. All those gains our people entrusted Thabo with, had been earned by picking the life and limb tab in the battle field. Not Sussex English classroom or lecture halls. But Sussex training got the better of Thabo. It reminds me of Chinweizu when he write about dangers of colonial miseducation: if you socialize a mouse like a cat, say, among well-behaved cats, you kill its survival instinct… when you put it out there in the world, of not-so-well-behaved cats, when it’s supposed to flee from the predator, it walks to it, in over-familiar friendly gait, I imagine (paraphrased).
Taking counsel from the Slavanian philosopher: The buzz word for that phenomenon of finding yourself in power – like Thabo – (perhaps your team having pushed the enemy to cede ground), in power but using the power you gained over your enemies to freely grant them (your down and out enemies) a landslide victory in their already declared defeat, as the ANC did by not exhausting the political victory lifeline, instead ceding more uneven playground by granting the enemy Sunset Clauses to entrench their last kicks of a dying horse corruption culture, that phenomenon, typifies a “negation of the negation”. It signifies a moment where your ‘politically conquered’ enemies flip the script on you. And now you become the face of corruption. Like Zuma is. And Paul Kruger is not. Yet “One of President [Paul] Kruger’s three sons was his private secretary. A son-in-law of his, C.F. Eloff, was a businessman who was granted several (government) concessions, namely business monopolies of one kind or another” (Hennie van Vuuren, 2006: 31) That’s if we can agree that in 1994 we ‘politically’ won in the ballot booth; though ‘economically’ lost, at the negotiation table.

Zizek’s point concerning the unstable victory of being engulfed (or conquered) by the culture of your vanquished enemies is: the kind of capitalism we see in China today is what it is, vulgar exploitative, because of how it subverts Mao’s cultivated but failed cultural revolution.

It rides on that fertile soil of cultivation in order for it to be aggressive and vulgar exploitative, as it is.

Workers there, in China, charges the Marxian-Lacanian Slovenian thinker, are expropriated of their labour power with little to no human right consideration. Because, he says: they are slave-driven to sweatshop-vulnerability by the stick and carrot affect of patriotism.

In Zuma’s eloquent isiZulu speech recently, I heard this nuanced jump-the-gun patriotism. A patriotism to words – ‘Communist China’ rhetoric-like. The west took nuclear power capabilities from us when we came to government because the west couldn’t countenance communist with nuclear. Okay-Malum’-Cool-Cat, the west did clip the kaffir-government its nuclear-wings. But in twenty years you have dug your people deeper into poverty; at least the racists Afrikanner Broedebond had much better outcomes in their socialist corruption: by 1970s – even if through ‘crime against humanity’ brute force and draconian laws – they had achieved their mission of alleviating Afrikaner poverty.

But what Zuma wants us to believe and put our lives in the line of fire for is rhetoric in the employ of capitalists. A rhetoric not steeped in the values of the people. It is a rhetoric that ‘speaks at’ – rather than with – people who have the sovereign title to ownership of this land. The people who must say – as opposed to being ‘spoken-for’ – how they see fit to heal their (our) hundred-years cultural injuries, psychological injuries, loss of personality injuries, amputated self-reliance injuries, knowledge systems diminished injuries, and spiritual injuries …  by taking back our source of healing – the land.

I shuddered at the thought of how close we are too to being cajoled, arm-twisted, by Zuma’s “radical” sounding promises of “transformation” and nuclear power. Nuclear would be great. If there were more than dynastic power signs in Zuma’s line of march; if he broke fundamentally from the insult that is the Constitution (but the ANC prides itself for brokering land heist in a bill of rights paperback).
It seems to me that the adoption of ANC policy, the peddled “radical economic transformation”, by Bikoist rhetoric-prone comrades who root for Zuma with more than a tinge of uncritical pigmentationism and unprincipled blackist-unity, is a slippery slope. Towards being discursively swallowed. Swallowed in a dying ANC. An ANC that should be allowed to die, from its internally raging decay.

In an approach that suspends other contradictions (arguing that there is a Nationalist vs Imperialist main contradiction, at this conjuncture), it seems that our Black Consciousness comrades have turned crass pigmentationist for rice (biryani). It seem they have taken up the cause to champion certain favoured ANC factions; without paying attention to their equivalent of “call me Thatcherite”… “negation of the negation” pitfalls.

In their vulgar Nationalism (represented by Zuma at the helm) against Imperialism (represented by the so called London-gang ANC faction….plus the ANC-lite in red berets), it appears that the dying ANC will take to the grave the credibility, the integrity and ethos that propels true “radical” discourse.

My caution, within the limitations of white philosophers (Gibson’s Hegel, Zizek’s Marx and Lacan and Chinese thinkers and activists), my caution is: perhaps we (the hands-off-Zuma Biko clique) went too deep into the enemy’s terrain. I caution that perhaps in expediently sleeping with this colonial lapdog called the ANC, we should guard against waking up with its flees. Better still I say, there once was a time we wrestled their little “radical” sounding pig, Juju, in the mud with People’s Manifesto and Sankarist Oaths. Perhaps we should be careful not to repeat the same. Careful to craft Zuma’s “radical” rhetoric in the image of our desire, just because he sometimes fires his pro-capitalist aids to hire others.
Careful to project our wet dream (of ‘revolution’) without theorizing or learning from our failures. Careful to project our wishes without learning to fail-forward, fail-safer, fail-closer to the social upheaval and insurrection prize; closer to that handmaiden prerequisite: the fall of South Africa and rise of Azania (from ashes of South African destruction).

(I hold the view that there are progressive failures. Like Mandela’s wrongs of reconciliation without justice. Our failed Black Consciousness experiment with Juju’s EFF is one such naiveté about radical sounding ANC-cultured leaders. We cannot rush to align our Black Consciousness with ‘radical’ sounding ANC-cultured collaborators).
So I would say, the real benefit of a Zuma-moment, is how it unearths the buried – the buried in the silence of things. How it trades-in the tyranny of peace for a necessary chaos – a creative chaos to help us imagine afresh. How it uses the small-fish gangster as a magnifying glass to see the invisible hand of the Bigfish mafia… the land dispossessor. How it presents, or foregrounds, the black-white antagonism in ways more poignant than has been the case in previous post’94 instances of Thabo and Mandela combined.

The ‘Zuma moment’, especially because white arrogance – this time around (#BlackMondayCampaigns) – is greedy to punish Zuma. Punish Zuma so that it can thinly veil its sins of racism behind Zuma’s 789 ‘criminal’ charges (whatever calculus is employed to count sins of a bogeyman like Zuma. Or me and you).

This Zuma-moment reminds me of Tony Yengeni. Long time ago, when SPCA’s totalizing white attitudes concretized against Yengeni for contravention of his parole condition, there was a similar shadow cast by our historical-hanging cloud of white racism.

You see, because: the hundred-years-long injuries of racism makes the slightest provocation capable of bringing the world – as we know it – to its grinding halt … if the contradictions are correctly harnessed and analyzed.

Yengeni’s biggest mistake was to come out of jail on parole and go ayohlabela amadlozi. He went and slaughtered a cow in keeping with his tradition. And of course this – barbaric black cleansing ritual (white people being white people and arrogant, boasting laws more considerate to animals than our kaffir consideration for animals can ever be), this – ‘hlabel’ amadlozi event’, was only seen through the ‘eyes of the law’ by white norm. It was seen as contravention of legal procedures. For someone out on parole, with conditionalities to adhere to, white-or-colonial-law could only see one thing: its own single narrative. Being gatvol of this single-narrative foreclosure, blacks became inspired to cause an uproar that swept across the country.

Media loved to hate Yengeni. And in keeping with rampant attitudes that say ‘well to do blacks’ thieve the public purse, through political favours and connections, the media didn’t know how black people flipped and disregarded the media’s dominant narrative; to embrace Yengeni. Regardless of the corruption flack. The media couldn’t appreciate that: though black people know that the Yengeni brigade in the ANC ba-hustle-isha ngathi, we still share with those hustlers wounds inflicted indiscriminately on us by white racism – because we are Black. And that is not to be used to qualify Zuma’s hustle as “radical” transformation.

(The hustling phenomenon in the ANC is not only undeniable but resembles white network ethos of grand pillaging – eating up the state resources by corrupt means).

Against such SPCA white assumptions, about who we are (savages who are inhumane to poor animals) and how we must conduct ourselves, pertaining cultural practices, the blacks told whites where to get off.

Now back to Zuma’s predatory kaffir-cheekiness. It evokes similar solidarity sentiments we saw club blacks around their ontological wound of racism – our “lived for-consciousness experience”.

Perhaps the cabinet and presidency arena, where this black solidarity sentiment against white bullying plays out, marks the difference between the Zuma moment and the erstwhile Yengeni uproar

White people didn’t know what hit them when they tried to bully Yengeni with some logic of their law. A similar solidarity sentiment (with Yengeni against white bullying) seems to have grabbed hold. But our solidarity against whites cannot mean narrativizing Zuma, in this instance, as a nationalist. Zuma is a cheeky matjingilane of white ill-gotten wealth. He has been waiting for his struggle-credential ration. But the ration rules ‘unfairly’ changed when it was him at the front of the line. So he sommer went ahead without authorized white permission to help himself to the buffet. Zuma is not a nationalist by any stretch of imagination. For god sake even by white standards of what a nation is, we blacks don’t make the cut. We don’t have Sovereign Title To Territory. That Sovereign Title To Territory is enshrined in the constitution as the right of white conquest over grabbed property – our land.

Even as we speak, Zuma presides on shooting destitute people of Freedom Park in Johannesburg; mothers who want to erect shelter for their children. The irony of shooting people who want to build a lousy shelter whilst you live at a palace in Nkandla… imagine (the negation – by bullets, of the negated – by Blackness)!


J.Bobs LIVE – A Game Show Double Bill

Text: Xolani Tembu

Photographs: Supplied

Should your Mondays and Tuesdays be marked by associations to repeated turns and bends on rallying gravel roads through foreign owned farms and a series of mountain passes in the Klein Karoo in a Chevrolet Spark, perhaps making your way down to Maboneng’s quaint POPArt Theatre for Kiri Pink Nob’s “J. Bobs Live: A Game Show Double-Bill” might offer you an inebriant-induced kind of tranquility you so need to mellow down.

Having toured around the country over the past while, J. Bobs Live: A Game Show Double-Bill returns to the POPArt Theatre monthly for your entertainment. In true Tshabalala style, the 2 man show, a remake of its original, is in essence two game shows within a show aptly titled “Location-Lekeyshini-Lokasie” and “Off The Record”. As the characters begin to interact outlandishly with the floored audience and launch into wonderful absurdity, one understands why the titles. The two men waltz onto the stage construction worker-style to an unassuming audience and dexterously demand a welcome of legendary proportions. It is here that the audience realizes that it is in for one long showcase and it is a tad too late for a refund. The stunned audience naturally takes a while to get into the scheme of things but hits the ground running nevertheless. J. Bobs Live: A Game Show Double-Bill is a truly fascinating display that parts lovers, friends and unknowns as it divides the audience into two competing teams, making way for new friendships and relations. Each team sees a pre-elected captain join the two characters on stage to represent their respective teams. Talks of ‘After-Show is After-Show if we lose’ as respective captains make their way onto the stage fills the room – all friendly banter really. Team spirit in true South African style skyrockets.

The audience is encouraged to maintain the powered state of its cell phones but isn’t guaranteed if the battery or its data bundles won’t be depleted by the end of the show. Each team regularly holds COSATU-type caucuses for teambuilding and other purposes during the show while trying to accumulate as many points as possible. The show closes with a teeth clenching all or nothing rivalry that sees the teams cling heavily onto new friends, their garments and literally everything around for team and personal pride – bringing to mind the famed Hamba Nathi Mkhululi Wethu war cry.

This showcase is unlike any other in the past decade of the Performing Arts. The brainchild of esteemed and gifted Writer and Director in Jefferson Tshabalala a.k.a J.Bobs, J. Bobs Live: A Game Show Double-Bill is a much needed and subsequently well-deserved laugh as one is encouraged to lose their marbles and just be, all for a good time, new twitter handles and cellphone numbers at the end of the evening – if you’re single that is. One imagines Tshabalala sat in front of a blank telly screen one day as he launched into this beautiful craziness and wondered, “what if this blank television was a responsive audience?”

Bobs Live: A Game Show Double-Bill is on monthly at the POPArt Theatre every first Monday and Tuesday at 8pm and tickets are available at a lowly R80 online and R100 at the door. Ensure you don’t miss this tremendous stress relieving showcase. Anyone can become an actor really.

Tjovitjo – For Us By Us

 Tjovitjo Warren Masemola

Text: Kulani Nkuna

Photography: Simphiwe Mhlambi


For Azanians, our lives, our experiences and existence is the copyrighted sole property of a settler minority who have appointed themselves narrators of black life. In the arts and academia, this proprietorship is the normalised reality that artists of the land have to contend with in order to collect the crumbs meted out by the free market system.

Vincent Moloi’s pantsula chronicle, Tjovitjo, is a vital response to the times – similar to a period when amapantsula of the 70s “emerged not only as opposition to the apartheid system, but also to the social structures and their home culture. The youth of the 1970s were faced with similar socio-economic to those faced today. Becoming amapantsula became one way of challenging authority and oppression…” Idah Makukule, Amapantsula Identities in Duduza from the 1970s to Present Day.

Moloi and executive producer Lodi Matsetela’s response to the contemporary meant that they sought creative autonomy and ownership of their material, something that is a rarity in the nether world of South African television.

Although Tjovitjo is a Puo Pha force, it is a cinematic imposition of the director’s will. An imprint of his soul, an ode to Azania. So when the show’s lead perpetrator, Warren Masemola, hollers “Black Power” at the conclusion of our interview, it becomes kliye what the project on location out at the Crown Mines is all about.

Episode 1 Opening Scene


Quick steps and slick foot movement to the beat of diegetic sounds floors to the screen, where a flurry of pantsulas are warming up. An aerial shot of the dancers, then corrugated rooftop and finally a low angle shot of smoke bellowing from underneath a washing line reveals the world of the story.

Perched upon a throne, we meet our troubled hero, Mafred (Masemola), who dons a black waist coast that reveals his bare chest. He wears an immense expression while attending to the contents that ignite his smoking pipe. Gentle musical notes ascend steadily with every considered movement until he gets up as the melody heightens to a dramatic crescendo that culminates in a kung-fu GONG!

Song follows Mafred’s movement switching to traditional musical scoring interspersed with suspense modes typically heard in Westerns as he limbers up to Jairus from Trompies. Before Mafred, is an assembly of finely tuned pantsulas in finely pressed threads awaiting instruction from their finely menacing general.

Vincent Moloi

What follows next is Mafred, courtesy of Masemola, delivering an ancestral wrenching monologue wrought from the depths. On the screen his address is aimed at his troops, but beyond the screen, it is a cultural lament of the appropriators, the wolves in sheep’s clothing – 1652s who call South Africa’s soul their own.

Mafred cries:

“We, stay together! We fight for what’s ours. They can copy us, and sell the fake to us. But they’ll never get to the depth of our souls. No matter how much they try to make us irrelevant, they can never be us! To be us is hard, you have to lose the privilege the world has allowed you.

Even those who are supposed to be our protectors, our guardian angels against our enemies, we know they too fight us. They know, we know, we are gifted. We know they fear us. We fear them too, but we never gonna give in the fight for our existence. We have our stories to tell, and a history to write!


Sheeed, it is no longer business as usual on the small screen.

Vincent Moloi (Director) on Tjovito

This story matters to me because I can see myself in it. We have experienced hardship in the cruelest way you can imagine. So I wanted to tell a story that black people are familiar with and I wanted to make it a Kung-Fu and Western style story because I remember mapantsula as being extremely organised when they battle with their nice shirts, nice ironed Dickies trousers, and All Stars – but at the same time they were going to war. 

Sometimes on television we don’t get to the depth of our stories because we put gloss over it and end up with unrealistic fantasies. So in this instance we chose to confront and face the truth to better prepare for the future. Tjovitjo is an attempt to bring reality to your face in a way that you can’t avoid it. We are swimming against the tide and trends of South African television. We wanted to represent a part of life that doesn’t exist currently on television. It might work against us but it is part of our responsibility as artists to tell it as it is, although it is highly stylised and dramatized.

I don’t think there is a show on TV that will give is’pantsula the platform to sell itself than Tjovitjo will. We didn’t turn actors into dancers, but we spent over a year turning pantsula dancers into actors. And it’s no coincidence that every member of this production is black. The cast and crew were in tune with the project from the beginning and were often singing the songs and replicating the dance moves in between takes which made for a very jovial set. A black and proud set.

On Representing Pantsula Culture

Black culture is not as recognisable or as acknowledged as other cultures. It has always been seen as inferior and unfortunately due to our history and the elite – the people who control culture in terms of what’s good and what’s not, don’t understand what we are about.  Outsiders often lack the emotional appreciation because they don’t have the lived experiences and no comprehension of its roots.

I hope that our efforts and energy will be reflected on screen. I think Tjovitjo is one of the realest township stories that has ever been told. It’s not based in Soweto, it’s not based in Alex, and it’s not based in any specific township. It’s based in a world where there is hardship, hopes, dreams and problems. It is about us and our lives.

tjovitjo Cuilture review 2017 Tjovitjo Vincemt Moloi

The Location – Nongoloza and the Crown Mines

While the setting of Tjovitjo is not recognised as the Crown Mines where it is shot, it is ironic that the world of the story is located at an area where one notorious Nongoloza Mathebula, (he was born Mzuzephi Mathebula) once reigned supreme.

Nongoloza, like amapantsula, organised his crew to fend off an unjust system. Indeed there was a criminal element to his organisation which was called the Ninevites (way before the 26, 27 & 28 prison gangs) in the late 19th century and early 20th century.

The mastery involved in putting out inumber inumber today, is akin to the strict adherence to the agreed upon choreography in pantsula dance. Nongoloza’s band of thugs planned their attacks meticulously and initially had a noble cause, but eventually they didn’t discern between the colonialist and the black labourer.

“I reorganised my gang of robbers,” he (Nongoloza) reported to his white captors in 1912. “I laid them under what has since become known as Nineveh law. I read in the Bible about the great state Nineveh which rebelled against the Lord and I selected that name for my gang as rebels against the Government’s laws.” – Johnny Steinberg; Nongoloza’s Children: Western Cape prison gangs during and after apartheid.

It is no exaggeration to suggest that Nongoloza’s ghost still lurks in these parts. Perhaps it is the migrants and immigrants who tread these paths at dusk after a day of dusty labour at the surrounding warrens that hide precious metals. Walking from the set to base camp requires caution, but after a few trips, one acquires a pantsula motion in his step that may confuse even the most ruthless of Nongoloza’s lieutenants.

And as Idah Makukula in Amapantsula Identities in Duduza From the 1970s to Present Day portends, the pantsula’s errant life outside of dance is often in response to the violence of poverty unleashed upon them by the system.

Crown Mines today is still a scene of poverty and squalor. And so an element of criminality informs a significant layer of Tjovitjo’s storyline that encompasses the narrative of amapantsula over the decades – a compound of charisma, artistry, brotherhood, violence and survival.

*Watch Tjovitjo every Sunday at 8pm on SABC 1.


Zondeni Veronica Sobukwe 90 Years of Struggle, Suffering & Sacrifice

Text: Thando Sipuye

Photograph: Wits Historical Archives

Today, 27th July 2017, marks the 90th birthday anniversary of Zondeni Veronica Sobukwe, the forgotten, ignored and erased ‘Mother of Azania’ who has endured unspeakable suffering, struggle and pain.

She will celebrate her 90th birthday, as usual, in private, at her humble home, with family and close friends. There will be no glamour, no journalists, and no live broadcast. And quite frankly, the saddest part is that most people aren’t even aware that she’s still alive. Continue reading “Zondeni Veronica Sobukwe 90 Years of Struggle, Suffering & Sacrifice”

Embracing The Duality of Darkness & Light-A Beautiful Struggle

Text: Makgotso Nkosi

Photography: Thabo “Flo” Mokale

The township is a construct of racial segregation, its architecture (squashed and small) already sets a tone designed not to inspire. It has been many years since the advent of a democratic government yet the gaps between predominately white suburbs and townships remain all too evident and the spatial inequalities assembled by the apartheid regime endures. The ANC government is yet to heal the wounds that have aggravated frustrations among the marginalized black majority of this country such as the lack of housing, high unemployment and inadequate policing that contributes to a culture of poverty and violence.

Yet regardless of how bad the township was set out to be and relatively still is, the residents of this place have since tailored these homogeneous spaces. The people of Ekasi have pushed to transform these marginalized settlements into hubs of economical freedom and lovely social spaces, and this is the spirit Thabo Mokale commemorates in his debut solo exhibition A Beautiful Struggle. Varieties of businesses have sprung out of the township, whether run out of someone’s house, shacks and containers, perseverance and creativity surely exists here.

As one of South Africa’s most prolific poets, one can already recognize the beauty of language when looking at his collection of images. The multi-talented artist who was born in Sharpeville and later raised in Katlehong, dubs this work a silent celebration of the daily struggles. The oxymoron consigned for the exhibition is a direct reflection of what the township is, a space set out to be terrible and to destroy its residence yet is still inspires hope and creativity.

Mokale’s ability to use the camera as a weapon to translate reality is laudable. The stylistic aspects of the black and white images look unpolished and that gives a clear revelation of the township life. The exhibition includes an image showing illegal electric wire connection that illustrates the creativity that sparks from struggles. The assemblage of the images portrays vivid details of the daily activities of survival eKasi. The juxtaposition makes the township look like a world within a world, a double life framed by frustration and happiness.

“We are broken but we don’t have to break all the time” is Mokale’s rationalization to why black people of the township have the capacity to remain, to transform, adapt and survive.  That is why this duality is worth commemorating, it is proof that only a strong-willed people can co-exist with chaos and still make the chaos beautiful. Mokale believes there is nothing mundane about waking up every day and hustling, selling the same sweets in the same corner and selling to the same people. He thus acknowledges the magic in the routine and insists that is how we grow, by first acknowledging the beauty in where we currently are.

“We hurt

We break

We shatter

We cry

We die”

But Mokale insists that’s not all we are. The result of our struggles is beauty.

This poetic conveyence of the township titled A beautiful struggle opens on the 15th of June 2017 at Ezenkeni, 5021 Sophangisa Street,

Motloung Street,  Katlehong.



The Brutal Murder Of Matlhomola Jonas Mosweu

Text: The Black Power Front Statement
Photograph: The Black Power Front

Reacting to the murder of the 18-year-old Black boy, Michael Brown Jr, by a white police officer, Darren Dean Wilson in August 2014, in Ferguson, Missouri, Michael Jeffries wrote:

“…anti-blackness more accurately captures the dehumanization and constant physical danger that black people face. The “anti” in “anti-blackness” is denial of black people’s right to life.’ Continue reading “The Brutal Murder Of Matlhomola Jonas Mosweu”