Fifty years after Soweto: Echoes of resistance and hope

I remember it as if it were yesterday: that grey winter’s day, 16 June 1976, when all hell broke loose in Soweto. I was only 16 years old and in matric (I started school at age five). Most of our school at the time consisted of temporary wooden structures, which we nicknamed “dovecotes.” We hated them. In summer, Wellington became “Hell-ington.” In winter, those classrooms felt like freezers.

We were in the middle of the June matric examinations. At night, it was eerily quiet. Not a single learner was in sight. They were either engaged in secret meetings, studying in hiding, or evading the police who patrolled the streets at night. Woe betide you if you were out after dark – you would most probably spend a night in a cell without your parents knowing.

It was a struggle to get through the nights. Some worried about the exams; others wondered when the police would knock on the door. I tried to study, but your mind was elsewhere. As if he had a premonition, the principal decided that we should write the exams immediately. When the first bomb exploded in Soweto (literally), we were already at home.

For the rest of the day, we sat glued to the radio (we had no television yet). One news bulletin after another announced it: Schools disrupted. Schools burning. The country was on fire. Hector Pietersen had been shot dead . News of the youth uprising in Soweto spread like wildfire. The police were overwhelmed trying to maintain “law and order”. But how do you stop a river in flood?

Irreversibly changed

Eventually, the unrest reached us at Bergrivier High School during the September exams. That day, we were scheduled to write biology. A few classmates were missing. We looked around nervously. They never arrived. We began writing. You could cut the tension with a knife .

Suddenly, the ominous silence was shattered by a deafening explosion. Screams followed. The chaos afterward is somewhat blurred. Children and teachers rushed out of classrooms. Outside, we were shocked to a standstill by a sea of flames. Somewhere a siren wailed. Police vehicles and armed officers were already on the scene. I instinctively searched for my younger brother and sister. When we got home, our parents were already there. The news had spread quickly.

The next day presented a heartbreaking sight. Most of the school lay in ruins. According to documents in the possession of this author, 12 learners aged between 18 and 19 and three youths were charged with public violence on 9 September 1976. Another nine learners and eight youths were charged on 10 September. The judge in the Cape Town high court ruled there was no conclusive evidence, as the learners contradicted each other. All were acquitted, except for one youth who was found guilty of public violence and sentenced to six lashes.

Nothing came of the exams. The school closed and only reopened five weeks later. Many matric learners of 1976 could only write their exams the following year. It speaks volumes that, with few exceptions, we all passed matric; some even achieved university exemption. Thanks to scholarships (both state and private), most of us could continue studying.

I wanted to study Afrikaans at Stellenbosch, but was told I could only study at the University of the Western Cape (which we affectionately called the “University of the Working Class”). Others studied at teacher training colleges in Bellville, Cape Town, Oudtshoorn and Kimberley. By the time of this writing, 12 of the 49 classmates have already passed away – one as recently as February.

We are currently planning for our 50th reunion…

Hope for a better future

Our participation in the liberation struggle was born out of hope for a better future. Most of us were very poor. We received our last hiding in matric – for studying at home for exams! It was part of our upbringing. Career choices were limited: you could become a teacher, policeman, or nurse.

Each year, students commemorated the day. Eventually, it spread to schools. Ultimately, tertiary institutions and coloured and black schools arranged for exams to be completed before 16 June. In this way, the youth created what became National Youth Day, celebrated annually since 1994 .

The youth uprisings of 1976 irreversibly changed South Africa’s future.

Fifty years later, we look back on successful careers as teachers, principals, ministers, leaders in social and diplomatic services, nursing, correctional services and the business world. Drakenstein’s current mayor is a member of our class. Two became professors (one at UWC and one at Stellenbosch). Each contributed to reshaping South Africa into a democracy in 1994.

Struggle in Afrikaans

Much hope has since been lost. Today, we know that 16 June 1976 was not so much about Afrikaans, but about discrimination in the workplace, the Group Areas Act, and many other apartheid laws. Afrikaans was merely the final straw for a people suffering in many other ways.

When we began, as young students, to give expression to June 1976, t…