IN-DEPTH / IN-DEPTH
South Africa freedom day memorial gathering reveals its pursuit of dignity and inclusive governance in post apartheid era
Politics finds its rhythm
Editor's Note:
In an era of profound global shifts and increasingly complex regional dynamics, a proper understanding of the world must be rooted in "grounded experience" and localized insights. Global Times English edition, in collaboration with the Academy of International and Regional Communication Studies, Communication University of China, is proud to launch "Local Insights," an English-language column dedicated to original, field-based observations.
We invite Chinese scholars and professionals who are studying, conducting exchanges, or working outside China, as well as international students and friends living and studying in China who are familiar with the social contexts of their home countries or third countries, to begin from first-hand field experience and engage with social, cultural, and contemporary issues beyond China. In the fifth article of this column, drawing on her on‑the‑ground experience as a Chinese exchange scholar, the author observes a South Africa Freedom Day memorial gathering, revealing how local politics unfolds through collective singing, dancing, and grassroots participation, while also reflecting on the gap between political liberation and economic justice.
As a PhD student, I am currently on an exchange program at Nelson Mandela University in South Africa, with support from the China Scholarship Council. Since arriving here, I have developed a habit of stepping beyond campus whenever possible. Community meetings, municipal events and public gatherings have become a vital way for me to engage with local life. This time, a local friend recommended that I attend a memorial event in Kariega, organized by the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU) in honor of its former president, Phumzile John Gomomo. Beyond that, I had little sense of what kind of gathering I was about to enter.
It was on the way that I noticed the streets were unusually vibrant. Groups of people were dressed in colorful attire, with bright Xhosa headscarves and garments bearing political symbols. My friend then reminded me that it was April 27, which is Freedom Day in South Africa. On this day in 1994, South Africa held its first non-racial election, formally ending apartheid and inaugurating democratic rule. Over the past three decades, Freedom Day commemorates political liberation, while also inviting recurring reflection on whether the promise of freedom has been fully realized. In that sense, Freedom Day marks an important moment for observing contemporary South African politics and social sentiment.
From street to hall: Entering Freedom Day
The event was scheduled to begin at 10 am, and we arrived shortly before the hour. Yet there were not many people present. Banners of COSATU, the South African Communist Party (SACP), and the African National Congress (ANC) had already been displayed inside the hall, quietly framing the political context of the gathering. Although my understanding was still limited, I could already sense that their presence mattered. COSATU, SACP and ANC represent key forces in South Africa's political landscape, historically linked through the "Tripartite Alliance" formed during the anti-apartheid struggle and sustained in various forms since 1994. I could see that this was not simply a local gathering, but one embedded within a much longer political tradition.
What struck me first was how different the atmosphere was from what I had expected of a political gathering. There was no sense of urgency or visible tension. My friend introduced me around, and we greeted each other through handshakes, embraces and brief conversations, with a familiarity that suggested long-standing connections. Someone also greeted me with "ni hao." The early autumn wind carried a chill that felt almost like winter. However, the mood was unmistakably different. A sense of warmth emerged from the way people related to one another.
We took our seats in the front row. As I looked around, the hall was gradually filling up. I noticed that people wore headscarves, skirts and short-sleeved shirts layered under heavier coats, with ANC insignia visible in various forms. Every time I made eye contact with someone, they would respond with a warm smile. Even as the only foreign face in the hall, I felt no sense of awkwardness or exclusion.
When music preceded speech
The atmosphere felt far more open than I had imagined. There was no formal signal from a host. Yet, almost imperceptibly, singing and dancing began to fill the space. At first, it was only a few voices. Then others joined. A group of older women stood up, stepping lightly as their bodies moved with the rhythm. Their arms tracing steady patterns in the air, moved with an ease that suggested a deep sense of rhythm. Around them, others began to join in. Someone clapped, someone responded in song, while others stepped forward into the center, aligning themselves with the unfolding rhythm.
Before I fully understood what was happening, someone gently pulled me into the group. I followed, trying to imitate the movements. It didn't take long for me to realize that participation did not depend on learning the steps. Once inside, you were already part of it.
Meanwhile, a more distinct call began to emerge, repeated at intervals: "Amandla" (Power) "Awethu" (To the People). The words rose above the singing and then dissolved back into it. Song, chant and movement overlapped, making it difficult to distinguish where one ended and another began. At that moment, I found myself wondering: was this a political gathering, or a celebration?
It was not until around midday that the event formally began. Speakers gradually took their places, and the hall shifted into a more structured atmosphere. What I did not expect, however, was that the mayor I had followed on social media was among those arriving. Seeing her there came as a surprise. I didn't expect to see local officials there, let alone find myself within what was clearly part of their political life.
The memorial lecture brought together members of the ANC, alliance partners and the broader community in a moment of reflection and renewed commitment. The gathering honored the enduring legacy of Phumzile John Gomomo and his immense contribution to the struggle for workers' rights and social justice.
They reflected on Cde John Gomomo as one of the most dedicated worker leaders produced by the Congress Movement, emphasizing unity, organization and ongoing activism as essential to advancing the goals of the democratic movement. Gomomo was an icon in the labor movement. He devoted his entire life to serving workers and is remembered as a hero of the struggle for freedom, democracy and workers' rights. His contributions were situated within the broader historical moment of South Africa's transition to democracy - a transition whose achievements are commemorated each year on Freedom Day, marking the political liberation attained in 1994.
The lecture also raised a question that resonated widely: when political freedom was achieved, did it also translate into economic freedom? Gomomo's legacy was not only invoked as history, but also a lens through which to examine the present.
Speakers highlighted the ongoing challenges facing workers today, including high unemployment and the rising cost of living, which continue to strain working-class households. Against this backdrop, unity, organization and sustained activism were presented not as symbolic gestures, but as necessary responses.
The themes of the lecture aligned closely with the spirit of International Workers' Day, linking past struggles with present realities and ongoing demands. In this sense, the lecture stood not only as a tribute, but also as a call to action, urging those in attendance to carry forward the values, discipline and commitment that defined his life of service.
After each speaker delivered their speech, people rose from their seats, singing and clapping. The officials on stage joined in as well, blurring the distinction between speaker and audience. The atmosphere remained lively, with an almost continuous sense of energy. Gradually, I began to realize that the event was not simply a commemorative one, but rather a form of political practice.
What stood out to me was that the mayor mentioned China in her speech. She spoke of the strong relationship between China and South Africa, noting the presence of Chinese automotive companies in Nelson Mandela Bay and expressing hope for further cooperation. After her speech, I was invited to take a photo with her. She shook my hand, welcomed me as an international student in South Africa, and expressed her positive view of China.
I also had a brief exchange with Xolile Nqatha, the provincial secretary of the SACP in Eastern Cape. Reflecting on the history of leftist movements in South Africa, he noted that both the SACP and the Communist Party of China were founded in 1921. He also remarked that it remains rare to see Chinese scholars present at such gatherings. I had not imagined that I would be speaking with government officials, which initially caught me off guard. For me, this brief encounter made China's presence in South Africa feel less like a matter of diplomatic language and more like something embedded in local political life.
The event continued until around 3 pm. As I stepped outside, the surrounding streets were noticeably more crowded. The parking area was nearly full. Roadside vendors were selling clothing marked with political symbols, and media crews remained on site, documenting the scene. People left gradually. Many paused to exchange farewells, embracing one another before leaving, as if the rhythm of the gathering had not yet fully ended.
The experience reshaped my understanding of what a political gathering could be. In a global context where political expression is increasingly fragmented, a mode of public engagement built around rhythm and participation offers a different way of understanding political life. Here, politics did not take shape solely through institutions, procedures or formal speech. It could be serious, yet also warm. It could be articulated through language, but it could just as readily take shape through song, movement and collective response.
This year also marks the 32nd anniversary of the end of apartheid. It represents the restoration of dignity, equality before the law and the collective promise that South Africa would never again be a society governed by exclusion, injustice or oppression. In the community, I saw how residents engaged with the local government, participated in decision-making processes and worked collectively to build safer, more inclusive neighborhoods. For me, the gathering became an entry point into contemporary political life in South Africa, revealing something that cannot be fully grasped from a distance.
The author is a PhD student in African Area Studies at the College of Foreign Languages, Zhejiang Normal University
In an era of profound global shifts and increasingly complex regional dynamics, a proper understanding of the world must be rooted in "grounded experience" and localized insights. Global Times English edition, in collaboration with the Academy of International and Regional Communication Studies, Communication University of China, is proud to launch "Local Insights," an English-language column dedicated to original, field-based observations.
We invite Chinese scholars and professionals who are studying, conducting exchanges, or working outside China, as well as international students and friends living and studying in China who are familiar with the social contexts of their home countries or third countries, to begin from first-hand field experience and engage with social, cultural, and contemporary issues beyond China. In the fifth article of this column, drawing on her on‑the‑ground experience as a Chinese exchange scholar, the author observes a South Africa Freedom Day memorial gathering, revealing how local politics unfolds through collective singing, dancing, and grassroots participation, while also reflecting on the gap between political liberation and economic justice.
As a PhD student, I am currently on an exchange program at Nelson Mandela University in South Africa, with support from the China Scholarship Council. Since arriving here, I have developed a habit of stepping beyond campus whenever possible. Community meetings, municipal events and public gatherings have become a vital way for me to engage with local life. This time, a local friend recommended that I attend a memorial event in Kariega, organized by the Congress of South African Trade Unions (COSATU) in honor of its former president, Phumzile John Gomomo. Beyond that, I had little sense of what kind of gathering I was about to enter.
It was on the way that I noticed the streets were unusually vibrant. Groups of people were dressed in colorful attire, with bright Xhosa headscarves and garments bearing political symbols. My friend then reminded me that it was April 27, which is Freedom Day in South Africa. On this day in 1994, South Africa held its first non-racial election, formally ending apartheid and inaugurating democratic rule. Over the past three decades, Freedom Day commemorates political liberation, while also inviting recurring reflection on whether the promise of freedom has been fully realized. In that sense, Freedom Day marks an important moment for observing contemporary South African politics and social sentiment.
The aerial view of Johannesburg, South Africa Photo: VCG
From street to hall: Entering Freedom Day
The event was scheduled to begin at 10 am, and we arrived shortly before the hour. Yet there were not many people present. Banners of COSATU, the South African Communist Party (SACP), and the African National Congress (ANC) had already been displayed inside the hall, quietly framing the political context of the gathering. Although my understanding was still limited, I could already sense that their presence mattered. COSATU, SACP and ANC represent key forces in South Africa's political landscape, historically linked through the "Tripartite Alliance" formed during the anti-apartheid struggle and sustained in various forms since 1994. I could see that this was not simply a local gathering, but one embedded within a much longer political tradition.
What struck me first was how different the atmosphere was from what I had expected of a political gathering. There was no sense of urgency or visible tension. My friend introduced me around, and we greeted each other through handshakes, embraces and brief conversations, with a familiarity that suggested long-standing connections. Someone also greeted me with "ni hao." The early autumn wind carried a chill that felt almost like winter. However, the mood was unmistakably different. A sense of warmth emerged from the way people related to one another.
We took our seats in the front row. As I looked around, the hall was gradually filling up. I noticed that people wore headscarves, skirts and short-sleeved shirts layered under heavier coats, with ANC insignia visible in various forms. Every time I made eye contact with someone, they would respond with a warm smile. Even as the only foreign face in the hall, I felt no sense of awkwardness or exclusion.
The author takes a photo with Babalwa Lobishe, Nelson Mandela Bay executive mayor and ANC regional chairperson. Photo: Courtesy of He Yue
When music preceded speech
The atmosphere felt far more open than I had imagined. There was no formal signal from a host. Yet, almost imperceptibly, singing and dancing began to fill the space. At first, it was only a few voices. Then others joined. A group of older women stood up, stepping lightly as their bodies moved with the rhythm. Their arms tracing steady patterns in the air, moved with an ease that suggested a deep sense of rhythm. Around them, others began to join in. Someone clapped, someone responded in song, while others stepped forward into the center, aligning themselves with the unfolding rhythm.
Before I fully understood what was happening, someone gently pulled me into the group. I followed, trying to imitate the movements. It didn't take long for me to realize that participation did not depend on learning the steps. Once inside, you were already part of it.
Meanwhile, a more distinct call began to emerge, repeated at intervals: "Amandla" (Power) "Awethu" (To the People). The words rose above the singing and then dissolved back into it. Song, chant and movement overlapped, making it difficult to distinguish where one ended and another began. At that moment, I found myself wondering: was this a political gathering, or a celebration?
It was not until around midday that the event formally began. Speakers gradually took their places, and the hall shifted into a more structured atmosphere. What I did not expect, however, was that the mayor I had followed on social media was among those arriving. Seeing her there came as a surprise. I didn't expect to see local officials there, let alone find myself within what was clearly part of their political life.
The memorial lecture brought together members of the ANC, alliance partners and the broader community in a moment of reflection and renewed commitment. The gathering honored the enduring legacy of Phumzile John Gomomo and his immense contribution to the struggle for workers' rights and social justice.
They reflected on Cde John Gomomo as one of the most dedicated worker leaders produced by the Congress Movement, emphasizing unity, organization and ongoing activism as essential to advancing the goals of the democratic movement. Gomomo was an icon in the labor movement. He devoted his entire life to serving workers and is remembered as a hero of the struggle for freedom, democracy and workers' rights. His contributions were situated within the broader historical moment of South Africa's transition to democracy - a transition whose achievements are commemorated each year on Freedom Day, marking the political liberation attained in 1994.
The lecture also raised a question that resonated widely: when political freedom was achieved, did it also translate into economic freedom? Gomomo's legacy was not only invoked as history, but also a lens through which to examine the present.
Speakers highlighted the ongoing challenges facing workers today, including high unemployment and the rising cost of living, which continue to strain working-class households. Against this backdrop, unity, organization and sustained activism were presented not as symbolic gestures, but as necessary responses.
The themes of the lecture aligned closely with the spirit of International Workers' Day, linking past struggles with present realities and ongoing demands. In this sense, the lecture stood not only as a tribute, but also as a call to action, urging those in attendance to carry forward the values, discipline and commitment that defined his life of service.
After each speaker delivered their speech, people rose from their seats, singing and clapping. The officials on stage joined in as well, blurring the distinction between speaker and audience. The atmosphere remained lively, with an almost continuous sense of energy. Gradually, I began to realize that the event was not simply a commemorative one, but rather a form of political practice.
At a Freedom Day commemoration, participants use song and rhythm to express political memory and labor solidarity. Photo: Courtesy of He Yue
A moment of presenceWhat stood out to me was that the mayor mentioned China in her speech. She spoke of the strong relationship between China and South Africa, noting the presence of Chinese automotive companies in Nelson Mandela Bay and expressing hope for further cooperation. After her speech, I was invited to take a photo with her. She shook my hand, welcomed me as an international student in South Africa, and expressed her positive view of China.
I also had a brief exchange with Xolile Nqatha, the provincial secretary of the SACP in Eastern Cape. Reflecting on the history of leftist movements in South Africa, he noted that both the SACP and the Communist Party of China were founded in 1921. He also remarked that it remains rare to see Chinese scholars present at such gatherings. I had not imagined that I would be speaking with government officials, which initially caught me off guard. For me, this brief encounter made China's presence in South Africa feel less like a matter of diplomatic language and more like something embedded in local political life.
The event continued until around 3 pm. As I stepped outside, the surrounding streets were noticeably more crowded. The parking area was nearly full. Roadside vendors were selling clothing marked with political symbols, and media crews remained on site, documenting the scene. People left gradually. Many paused to exchange farewells, embracing one another before leaving, as if the rhythm of the gathering had not yet fully ended.
The experience reshaped my understanding of what a political gathering could be. In a global context where political expression is increasingly fragmented, a mode of public engagement built around rhythm and participation offers a different way of understanding political life. Here, politics did not take shape solely through institutions, procedures or formal speech. It could be serious, yet also warm. It could be articulated through language, but it could just as readily take shape through song, movement and collective response.
This year also marks the 32nd anniversary of the end of apartheid. It represents the restoration of dignity, equality before the law and the collective promise that South Africa would never again be a society governed by exclusion, injustice or oppression. In the community, I saw how residents engaged with the local government, participated in decision-making processes and worked collectively to build safer, more inclusive neighborhoods. For me, the gathering became an entry point into contemporary political life in South Africa, revealing something that cannot be fully grasped from a distance.
The author is a PhD student in African Area Studies at the College of Foreign Languages, Zhejiang Normal University
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