South Africa

OP-ED

Case against Voter Apathy: Voting is the ultimate expression of power

Case against Voter Apathy: Voting is the ultimate expression of power
A South African man exits a polling station after voting at St.Johns church in the impoverished neighbourhood of Khayelithsa, South Africa Wednesday 01 March 2006. EPA/NIC BOTHMA

With the upcoming elections, there has been a lot of speculation about the impact the vote of the born-frees and young adults is likely to have, with some saying that these generations are apathetic and uninterested in the current political discourse.

Apathy is a state of indifference, absence of interest, motivation and passion. Looking back on the profound change we have witnessed in our country, how can these words be associated with our generation? A question occurs to us: are we riding on the coat-tails of previous generations or are we doing enough to actively forge our own legacy?

We cannot speak for the born-frees. However, we can speak for our generation, those born in the 1980s and make a case against apathy. The 1980s were a time when South Africa was on the edge of an abyss, with bombs going off at strategic locations and the township uprisings intensifying as people demanded an end to apartheid.

The smell of burning tyres became familiar to us and seeing flames licking from government buildings and beer halls was not an uncommon sight. The South African Defence Force would patrol the streets in intimidating armoured police vehicles, nicknamed hippos, and the South African Police would follow in their yellow squad cars, called the mellow yellows.

We remember this so vividly, yet at the time in our young minds this was just “how things were”. Our sickening normality. It had little significance beyond the immediate experience of it all.

At the same time, we experienced (and indeed lived) life beyond the violence and seeming chaos around us. Life is always more complex than the headlines or how the historians portray it. We still managed to have a reasonably normal childhood of birthday parties, learning to ride bicycles, playing dress-up and going into town as a treat. For this sense of safety and normalcy, we have to greatly credit our families for absorbing all the disorder, creating a protective shield of reprieve from what was really happening in the country.

This complexity also played itself out on a national scale when the apartheid government reacted to the protests by introducing a new constitution in 1983 characterised by a preamble that proved ultimately vacuous. It introduced softer language such as “equality of all under the law, human dignity, life and liberty”. In 1986, which was also the 10th anniversary of the Soweto uprising, the government repealed apartheid legislation which had become unenforceable. Because of these changes this era was referred to as “dismounting the tiger”.

But the violence continued, prompting a state of emergency. Political organisations like the United Democratic Front were banned, meetings prohibited, curfews imposed, stayaways planned and media censorship was the order of the day. In response to this the ANC rallied its supporters to make apartheid unworkable and the country ungovernable. Ultimately this made for a time of great contrast between brutality and the beginning of the end of apartheid.

At the tail end of the 1980s, a light finally seemed to pierce the darkness. It was during this time that negotiations to end apartheid began. Obviously, as children, we did not have a full appreciation of the politics of the time, the intricacies of the negotiations or the role players. What we do remember, though, is the mood and the powerful motley images of glory, victory and violence.

We were privileged to see history unfolding. We witnessed Nelson Mandela’s release from prison in 1990, saw Cyril Ramaphosa and Roelf Meyer negotiate the fragility of the Codesa talks in the early 1990s, witnessed the country’s panic and the threat of civil war when Chris Hani was killed in 1993, and the horrific violence that ensued. We were there and understood the enormity of South Africa’s first democratic elections in 1994, we watched, riveted in emotional turmoil, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission of 1996. All of these milestones were just as meaningful to us as they were to our parents, if only from a different vantage point.

As a result of these moments, there was great change in our personal lives. Steve Biko’s words were of particular resonance: “My friendships, my love, my education, my thinking and every other facet of my life have been carved and shaped within the context of separate development.”

With the 1990s came our generation’s integration into traditionally white schools where most times you were the only black child in your class and, in some cases, the entire school. We were among the first to move into the white suburbs where the only other back people that surrounded us were there to work and, at 5pm, could be seen flagging down taxis and buses to return to the townships.

All of this makes us the “Transitionary” generation, growing up during a tectonic shift that rocked our worlds but which we barely could make complete sense of but we held on. Part of being of this generation meant having a great deal of flexibility. There was a redefinition of the relationship between us and white people, where our previous interaction had been limited to the presence of white policemen and occasional visits to town and the images we saw on television, to sitting side by side in classrooms, developing friendships and adjusting to being neighbours and not “day visitors” in the suburbs.

These changes in our lives were quite remarkable considering how our families still harboured reservations towards white people, yet did not project those feelings on to us because they wanted us to be unencumbered by these sentiments.

Our generation is now steeped in adulthood and, as black children born into that tumultuous time, this has us asking a lot of difficult questions: what is the bearing of this history on our lives today? What does it require our contribution to society to be today? Where is our place of agency in South Africa? What defines us as a generation?

We do not have all the answers but it seems to us, being born hot on the heels of the militant generation that tipped the scales of apartheid and justice in the 1980s, we are compelled to make our contribution, as our freedom is in large part due to their militant agency.

It also makes sense that our generation, as a result of what we have seen and the efforts of our elders not to burden us with their distrust of apartheid beneficiaries, should be the most inspired and not apathetic.

All of this history comes with great responsibility, to carry forward the baton of the opportunities afforded to us as a result of being born in the 1980s. It has not been uncommon, in fact quite prevalent, that the reception from previous generations to us is one of uncertainty as to what our actual presence and contribution to South Africa is. A reception we are not altogether taken aback by, as it seems we have not defined for ourselves our place in the sun.

We seem to be fragmented in our actions although sharing a historical and current reality. In our opinion, the most notable characteristic of our generation has been a lack of deep and unwavering commitment in civil society and activism as opposed to generations before us. We are a talented generation with some strong leaders in our respective fields. However, the same cannot be said about our contribution to public service. We live in a time where it is easy to privatise our lives, we can work in the private sector, live in gated communities and send our children to private schools and not concern ourselves with how the rest of the country is faring.

This betrays the legacy of Biko, who said: “In order to achieve real action you must yourself be a living part of Africa and of her thought; you must be an element of that popular energy which is entirely called forth for the freeing, the progress and the happiness of Africa.” The activism of previous generations has done the heavy lifting for us as they faced a Herculean task and emerged victorious. Ours is to now go to the polls express our power through the ballot which is only the first act in a much larger process as responsible citizens. Even when we do not vote – we vote but do not let the reason for staying home on 8 May 2019 simply be out of lazy apathy which would be a disgrace in the face of this country’s history. DM

Lwando Xaso is an attorney and a writer exploring the interaction between race, gender, history and popular culture. Zukiswa Pikoli is is SECTION27 Communications Officer.

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