Every October since 2005, South Africa has marked Transport Month — an annual government-led campaign designed to showcase progress in mobility, promote infrastructure development and raise awareness about safety, efficiency and sustainability in the transport sector.
Two decades on, the rhetoric continues, the banners are unfurled, and ministers deliver keynote addresses. Yet for millions of South Africans, the realities of daily commuting tell a very different story: one of silent train lines, collapsing rural roads, overburdened and violent taxi ranks, and the absence of affordable, reliable and integrated public transport.
The gap between the vision projected during Transport Month and the lived experience of commuters has grown into a chasm. In provinces such as the Eastern Cape, rail corridors have all but disappeared, their once-familiar koo-koo train sounds now a fading memory.
Gravel roads, the lifelines of rural communities, crumble year after year, leaving villages in isolation. And in the absence of alternatives, the minibus taxi industry — an industry both indispensable and deeply contested — dominates the daily movement of people.
This article reflects on the state of the sector, tracing the silence of the rails, the neglect of rural roads, the paradox of taxi violence, and the ongoing tension between formality and informality. It argues that unless Transport Month moves beyond symbolism into meaningful reform, the country risks entrenching mobility inequalities for generations to come.
Affordable and reliable
Railway infrastructure was once a central feature of South Africa’s public transport system, moving both commuters and goods across provinces. Yet in provinces like the Eastern Cape, trains have become a relic. Commuters in Mthatha, East London, and Gqeberha (Port Elizabeth) recall the days when rail travel was an affordable and reliable alternative. Today, tracks lie idle, stations are vandalised and rolling stock has been stripped.
The collapse of rail cannot be divorced from the broader malaise of Transnet and the Passenger Rail Agency of South Africa (Prasa). Both have been beset by corruption scandals, mismanagement and infrastructure decay.
In the Eastern Cape, services were effectively abandoned, with only sporadic announcements of “rehabilitation projects” that rarely materialise.
Read more: Roads as statements: Unpacking infrastructure inequality in Eastern Cape
For workers and students, the implications are profound. Without trains, they turn to minibus taxis or, for the middle class, to private cars. The absence of rail deepens spatial inequality: those living in rural and peri-urban areas face exorbitant costs and long travel times simply to access jobs, schools and healthcare.
The symbolic silence of the rails is therefore not only a technical failure, but also a social justice crisis. It reveals a transport system that has neglected its most vulnerable users.
If the silence of the railways symbolises decay, the state of rural roads in the Eastern Cape represents outright neglect.
In vast stretches of the province, particularly in areas like Joe Gqabi, OR Tambo, Alfred Nzo, and Amathole districts, gravel roads remain the primary means of access. These roads are often riddled with potholes, washed away by seasonal rains, or left ungraded for years.
Devastating consequences
For communities, the consequences are devastating. Ambulances struggle to reach patients; schoolchildren walk long, unsafe distances; and farmers cannot transport produce to markets.
In wet seasons, roads become impassable mud tracks, effectively cutting off entire villages. In dry months, dust clouds turn every journey into a choking ordeal.
Despite countless promises of rural infrastructure upgrades, the backlog remains staggering. National and provincial authorities often focus on highways and urban routes, while the arteries that sustain rural life are left to deteriorate. In many communities, a basic gravel road is more critical than a new highway — but less politically visible.
Poor rural roads thus reinforce the mobility crisis in the province: without rail and with unsafe gravel roads, rural commuters are forced into vehicles that must navigate treacherous terrain, further driving up fares and accident risks.
Into this vacuum steps the minibus taxi industry, the backbone of South African mobility. Taxis account for an estimated 70% of all daily public transport trips, moving roughly 15 million passengers a day. Without them, the economy would grind to a halt.
Yet the taxi sector is structurally located in the informal economy. Operators own vehicles individually or through small associations, rather than through a centralised corporate structure. Regulation exists, but is inconsistently enforced: safety standards vary wildly, and financial accountability is opaque.
The industry thus straddles an awkward middle ground — essential to the economy, yet excluded from the formal benefits and responsibilities that come with structured public transport systems.
Read more: Silent resistance in South Africa’s taxi ranks — the hidden economy of ‘imali yesokisi’
Successive governments have tried to bring it under a more formal umbrella: through the Taxi Recapitalisation Programme, the issuing of operating licences, and occasional subsidies. But attempts at integration often falter. Taxi operators resist state control, citing historic neglect and the fear of losing autonomy.
This tension leaves passengers caught in a paradox: they rely on taxis for their daily mobility, but they have little protection as consumers. Overcrowding, reckless driving, and fare hikes are common complaints. The result is a system where informality sustains accessibility but undermines safety, affordability and dignity.
Tragic feature
Perhaps the most tragic and enduring feature of the industry is the cycle of violence that has accompanied it since its emergence in the 1980s. Taxi violence is often described as “senseless” in headlines, yet it follows a grim logic rooted in competition for routes, revenue and power.
Associations control specific corridors; permits are contested; and when demand grows, disputes over territory escalate. Mediation efforts — whether by the Department of Transport, provincial governments, or even law enforcement — have repeatedly failed to deliver lasting peace.
The violence persists despite countless inquiries, negotiations and interventions. It is not simply a matter of criminality; it is embedded in the structural contradictions of the industry itself.
For commuters, this means daily uncertainty. A strike or a gunfight can erupt without warning, leaving thousands stranded. For communities, it means living under the shadow of fear: the sound of gunshots at taxi ranks has become as familiar as the absent koo-koo of the train.
Every October, government departments stage launches, press briefings, and campaigns under the banner of Transport Month. Billboards proclaim investment in infrastructure, while officials promise safer, more efficient systems. The campaign often highlights flagship projects like the Gautrain in Gauteng, the expansion of the MyCiTi bus in Cape Town, or progress in road construction.
Yet for the majority of South Africans, particularly in provinces like the Eastern Cape, Transport Month feels like a hollow ritual. The lived experience of crumbling rail, collapsing rural roads, overburdened taxis and unsafe streets contrasts sharply with the polished rhetoric of progress.
Transport Month has become symbolic politics: a stage-managed event that showcases isolated success stories while obscuring systemic failures. Without sustained, year-round commitment, October becomes less a moment of accountability and more a performance of governance.
If Transport Month is to be more than symbolism, it must confront the realities of mobility in South Africa with honesty and urgency. This requires a multipronged approach:
- Reviving rail in targeted corridors: Rather than grand, nationwide promises, the government could focus on rehabilitating specific commuter lines in provinces like the Eastern Cape. Even limited services would relieve pressure on taxis and reduce costs for commuters.
- Fixing rural roads first: Gravel roads must be treated as a priority, not an afterthought. Proper grading, drainage and maintenance could transform daily life for rural communities more immediately than megaprojects that often fail to materialise.
- Formalising without destroying: The minibus taxi industry cannot simply be absorbed into a state-run system; attempts to do so have historically provoked resistance. Instead, formalisation must be gradual and participatory, offering operators financial incentives, safety training and access to subsidies in exchange for greater accountability.
- Tackling taxi violence through structural reform: Addressing violence requires more than policing. It means resolving the root causes — contested permits, opaque regulatory frameworks, and unequal power among associations. Transparent route allocation and effective dispute-resolution mechanisms are essential.
- Investing in integrated transport: True mobility requires integration across modes: rail, bus, taxi, cycling and walking. Cities like Cape Town have experimented with this, but rural provinces are left behind. National policy must prioritise equity, ensuring that rural commuters are not condemned to isolation.
- Reframing transport as a human right: Mobility is not a luxury; it is the foundation of access to work, education, healthcare and social life. Recognising transport as a human right shifts the debate from infrastructure as “development” to mobility as justice.
As another Transport Month passes, South Africans may rightly ask: What is there to celebrate? The koo-koo of the train remains a pipe dream, drowned out by the din of minibus taxis. Gravel roads leave rural communities choking in dust or stuck in the mud. Violence continues to erupt, commuters shoulder rising costs, and inequality is reinforced through the absence of reliable alternatives.
Glimpses of possibility
Yet there are glimpses of possibility. Pilot projects in rail rehabilitation, negotiations around taxi subsidies, and new investments in rural road maintenance hint at the potential for change. The challenge is to ensure these do not remain fragments of progress, but form part of a coherent, national vision.
The sound of the future should not be one of gunshots at taxi ranks, or the silence of derelict train stations, or the grinding struggle of vehicles on broken gravel roads. It should be the steady rhythm of trains, buses and taxis working in harmony — a chorus of mobility that restores dignity to commuters.
Until then, Transport Month risks being just another performance, an echo chamber where promises are made but the daily reality of millions remains unchanged. DM