It would seem the public, especially the youth, are broadly drawing the wrong lessons from the cataclysmic events of June 16 1976, which shattered lives, upended the politics of the country and almost certainly spelt the death knell for the apartheid regime.
Instigated by schoolchildren infuriated by an obstinate regime that was determined to deliberately contaminate their young minds with inferior education, June 16 proved a pivotal, watershed moment in the long and arduous struggle for black emancipation. And a mere 14 years later, after the uprisings that started in Soweto and spread right across the country, the government — backed into a corner at home and abroad — unbanned its enemies and released all political prisoners, including Nelson Mandela, and the country was irrevocably set on a course to majority rule.
It is therefore appropriate that the new government honours an event of such enormous significance — mere schoolkids armed with nothing but stones facing up to a brutal regime armed to the teeth, a classic David and Goliath scenario — by declaring the date a public holiday. And it’s therefore become a ritual that every year during Youth Month we relive the unique events of June 16 and ponder how to properly honour those who made such sacrifices. This year, being the 50th anniversary, the commemorations understandably had a more significant tone. There were more rallies, more vacuous speeches and more promises — along with more demands.
But I think we may be missing a trick. June 16, more than any other anniversary, has been turned into an occasion to moan about everything under the sun. It is a moment when the youth take centre stage to vent their frustrations. It’s almost as though they have an exclusive patent on the day. The youth of 1976 left them a promissory note, and all they have to do is cash it. And only they are entitled to.
What the education system under the ANC government has succeeded in is ironically to perpetuate the divisions in society, this time by class, not race as before
This is not to suggest that the youth have no problems. They’ve been lumbered with an atrocious education, almost as though designed to ruin lives, not by an apartheid regime but, to rub salt into the wound, by a government which professes, with a huge dose of enthusiasm, to be serving their interests.
Those may be the lucky ones. What the education system under the ANC government has succeeded in is ironically to perpetuate the divisions in society, this time by class, not race as before. The rich, or parents who can afford to, have abandoned public schools in droves for private or former model C schools. Government schools, especially those in the townships and rural areas, have become synonymous with poor education — massive classes, lack of basic facilities, poorly trained and highly politicised teachers who don’t mind striking at the drop of a hat, among others. Children fall into pit latrines or are swept away in flooded rivers on their way to school. And there are, in this day and age, children who are still being taught under trees.
It’s hard to believe that such disparities still exist after more than three decades of being told things are getting better. And those that emerge somewhat unscathed from this pernicious sausage machine — many fall by the wayside before matric — are immediately faced with the prospect of unemployment, chiefly because of an education system that has notoriously failed to prepare pupils for the job market and an economy that seems to be perpetually in reverse mode. As a result, unemployment among the young is the highest of any age group.
But nothing that today’s youth are going through can compare with the horrendous experiences of their 1976 counterparts. They were really up against it. They had to overcome the fear that had paralysed their parents for as long as they’d lived. Armed only with the exuberance of youth and a burning passion for a better education, they had to confront a regime that wasn’t prepared to give an inch. “Shoot to kill!” Jimmy Kruger ordered his trigger-happy stormtroopers.
Many were mowed down. Others, with “the system” in hot pursuit, fled into exile, to land in the grateful embrace of liberation movements. But some got more than they’d bargained for, killed not by the enemy but by their newfound idols, and therefore never to return to the beloved land they sought to liberate.
Young people can change their lot for the better, and the trajectory of the country, if only they would care to vote
That’s their legacy. They fought and sacrificed so that those who came after them should not wage similar struggles. What the youth have to face now is not bullets from a heartless regime but lies and empty promises from those who claim to be their generous benefactors.
But the problems are not unique to young people. The country as a whole is confronted by unemployment, poor education, crime, corruption, collapsing infrastructure … the list is endless. And the source is the same — and so is the solution. It’s an incompetent government that’s been misfiring with steely determination for as long as it’s been in power. To win the support of young people, it’s created structures such as the National Youth Development Agency, which has done absolutely nothing except provide cushy jobs for those connected to the ruling party.
Young people can change their lot for the better, and the trajectory of the country, if only they would care to vote. And it would save them the trouble of gnashing their teeth every year in June. Youth apathy is an inexplicable conundrum. It’s not as if they aren’t mindful of the importance of the vote. Most of them don’t seem to care. They have better things to do with their lives. This week the IEC was again bemoaning the fact that not many young people have bothered to register for the November 4 local government elections.
If you don’t vote, you forfeit the right to complain or criticise when things go wrong. It’s also a betrayal of the sacrifices made by those you claim to be your heroes.
The June 16 generation played their part. It’s surely not too much to ask to expect you to play yours. To paraphrase one famous gentleman: Don’t moan. Vote.
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