By Sizwe Kupelo
In a multiracial society with a painful history, South Africa must be careful not to normalise anything that has the potential to cause deep discomfort, fear, or alienation among any group of citizens, whether through the courts, politics, public gatherings, or popular passion.
More than three decades into democracy, the country should be mature enough to reconsider public expressions that make reconciliation harder. Selectively dealing with public discomfort is not a strategic way to dismantle the ills of our past.
During the democratic era, South Africa dealt decisively with certain forms of language that threatened the dignity of the majority. The “K” word caused immense pain and discomfort among Black South Africans, and the courts rightly acted against its use in the national interest.
In shaping our democratic state, Nelson Mandela gave future generations a clear moral instruction. At his inauguration as President of National Unity, he declared: “Never, never, and never again shall it be that this beautiful land will again experience the oppression of one by another.”
Those words were not directed only at former oppressors. They were directed at all of us. Mandela called on South Africans to handle the country with care and to embrace the difficult but necessary work of building a united nation.
Our Constitution guarantees equality before the law and protects the freedoms that all citizens enjoy in the land of their forefathers. That constitutional promise must apply to everyone.
So why, more than three decades into democracy, have we not had a deeper national conversation about public expressions that cause discomfort, fear, or insecurity among sections of our society?
Chief among these are struggle songs and slogans that were designed in a time of conflict, resistance, and revolution. During the struggle, such language was used to defy and confront the apartheid regime. It belonged to a time when oppressed people were fighting an unjust system that denied them land, dignity, humanity, and freedom.
The PAC and its armed wing, APLA, were associated with the slogan “one settler, one bullet.” The ANC had its own struggle songs, including those that spoke about confronting the enemy of the time. After 1994, some of these chants continued to appear in democratic political spaces, including those associated with former ANCYL leader Peter Mokaba.
The song commonly referred to as “Kill the Boer” has remained one of the most controversial examples. Supporters of the song argue that it is part of liberation history and should not be interpreted as a literal call to violence. Others argue that its continued use in democratic South Africa makes some citizens feel personally threatened.
This is the difficulty South Africa must confront honestly.
The courts have dealt with some of these matters and have considered the historical, political, and cultural context of struggle songs. However, legal interpretation alone cannot carry the full weight of national reconciliation. Something may survive legal scrutiny and still require moral, political, and social reflection.
These songs still feature at political gatherings, rallies, and even funerals of former freedom fighters. To many Black South Africans, they remain historical expressions of pain, land dispossession, and resistance. They speak to wounds that have not fully healed.
But to many white South Africans, particularly some Afrikaner farmers, such songs are heard very differently. They feel personally threatened by the continued use of such chants. Some believe these songs contribute to a climate of fear, especially when the country continues to experience violent crime, including attacks on farms and in rural communities.
This does not mean the history of Black suffering must be erased. It does not mean the struggle must be sanitised. It does not mean land dispossession, apartheid crimes, economic inequality, and unresolved Truth and Reconciliation Commission matters must be forgotten.
On the contrary, true reconciliation requires all of these matters to be confronted together.
South Africa underwent a Truth and Reconciliation Commission process led by Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Its goal was national healing and reconciliation. Yet that process remains incomplete in many respects. Some TRC-related cases remain unresolved, reparations remain a painful issue, and the economic structure inherited from apartheid continues to shape the lives of millions.
This is why the conversation must be balanced.
If minority communities feel unheard, the democratic state must listen. If the Black majority continues to carry the burden of landlessness, poverty, exclusion, and historical injustice, the democratic state must also listen. Reconciliation cannot be selective. Justice cannot be one-sided. Healing cannot happen when one pain is recognised, and another is dismissed.
Mandela would not have wanted a democracy where any group feels like an enemy in its own country. His vision was not built on fear, revenge, or domination. It was built on the difficult idea that South Africa belongs to all who live in it.
Authorities, political parties, civil society, traditional leaders, faith leaders, and community organisations must now reopen a serious national dialogue. This dialogue should not be about banning history or silencing memory. It should be about asking whether the language of war still serves the project of peace.
The struggle was real. The pain was real. The songs came from a real historical moment. But South Africa is no longer formally at war with itself.
The project of reconciliation demands more than tolerance. It demands wisdom, maturity, and courage. It demands that we confront land, inequality, crime, historical injustice, and minority fears without mocking or dismissing one another.
It may now be time to retire the symbols and language of a war that is over, so that no citizen feels like the enemy in their own country.
The post Three Decades On, It’s Time to Retire the Language of War appeared first on MDNtv.
]]>