On Saturday, August 16, in North West province, a delegation of African Internationalists led by Chairman Tafarie Mugeri of the Africa region of the African People’s Socialist Party (APSP) made its way to the mining township of Wonderkop (a Dutch word meaning surprise, as colonialists were when they saw more loot).
He was accompanied by Zakhele Mkhonza, Thato Karedi, Asa Anpu and Thamsanqa Mxosana. The purpose of this trip was to join our community in commemorating August 16, 2012, the day that black workers stood up against the African National Congress (ANC) government, consequently being gunned down for daring to organize.
Chairman Tafarie led us in approaching the people sitting on the site of the killing of 34 African mineworkers—the infamous Wonderkop, aka Marikana mountain, where mineworkers were sitting in protest before being gunned down by the SAPS (South African Police Services). Our strategy was to win many people in that setting with the struggle to bring justice to the massacred mineworkers and let the people know that our blood was not spilt in vain—and that we are going to continue the struggle to liberate and unite our land.
At the time, Jacob Zuma was the head of the ANC and thus the president of South Africa, with Cyril Ramaphosa as his deputy. The two men were the ones defending colonial interests even at the expense of African life. They both claimed that the workers were at fault; they united with their neocolonial government in demonizing our people even after they had ordered their massacre.
They still use black labor without care for passports or dompasses (I mean IDs)—but it is only when we come together in our own interests that South Africa has a problem with us being here.
In the song, “Stimela (Coal Train)” by Bra. Hugh Masekela, this reality is explained when he says that the mines in South Africa use African labor indiscriminately—they exploit all of us, but they do not want us to become organized as a collective; they play us one against the other whenever colonial interests are threatened.
This unity of African people can be seen on the videos of the protesters at Marikana—if you know isiZulu or isiShangani you will hear that the language spoken; there is a mixture of many African dialects from all across the continent in order that we could understand each other at work—it is called ‘isifanakalokhu’ (which means to sound the same), and it is a telling historic result about the potential for us black people to understand each other in order to produce.
Comrade Zakhele observed the day’s significance in continuing our efforts to mobilize our people—and in contrast, citing that in Marikana, we see the necessity of the police containment of African needs and interests not only politically but economically as well.
In fact, when going to that site of the killing, the field was replete with large concrete slabs warning attendants “private area, keep out”—meaning that the South Africans wanted to hide the site from the people after they had massacred us. But the brave black masses have annually organized and made it possible to march through these insulting signs in order to congregate in the name of our fallen comrades.
As we walked out of the protest site to the community (which was really where we focused most of our energy, as we wanted to show the people at home that they are not alone), we explained to them where we came from, other provinces and far away places like Fochville and Evaton West, just to get with them and show unity with them. Each time such a connection was made, it made the people realize that they were not alone.
Some of the people we met were children of the slain mineworkers. Some were survivors of that massacre, now seen limping as they walk through the community without receiving any justice or reparations from the company, which has since changed its name and management from London Mines (Lonmin) to Sibanye-Stillwater.
After the Marikana Massacre, London Mines was forced by the people, through mass protests and consequent media coverage, to address what it did to the families of the murdered workers. In response, London Mines feigned at repairing the physical and economic hurdles of this instance of colonialism. It has been years, and these institutions have not done anything outside of offering a one-time pay-off to widows.
The African community is objectified with no recognition that the entire community needs redress, because the people this country killed were members of our community and were not merely related to their immediate families: they were friends, church members, lovers of sports and customers at our local businesses.
The company had promised to send the children of the victimized Africans to tertiary institutions with the money that it will make from our people and land. It had also promised to offer the community 40,000 jobs by 2022; however, it is 2025, and these have just been promises.
Spokespersons on behalf of the company said that the families have not brought youths to their offices who could apply for tertiary education. But the fact that this education supports the same system that killed their fathers, and that South Africa has no economic benefits for Africans even if we are qualified by its institutions, is not factored by London Mines spokespersons and politicians.
In terms of the infrastructure at the community near the mines, there are hardly any roads or even spacing between the shanties built there, despite the mining companies reportedly churning out $3000 per ounce of platinum.
African workers whose labor is being swindled have had to build our settlements around these mining shafts so that we could be closer to the workplaces; yet despite this grace that our bourgeois colonialists have been afforded by us, they continue the unashamed looting of our Africa in broad daylight!
South Africa is not a nation but a colony, just as the United States—this is evidenced by the history of its economy: the history of mining in this country is central to what Chairman Omali has termed the colonial mode of production. To this day, it is not popular to say this, no more than it is to say that our colonizers forced us to build a country for them at our expense.
The only difference between settler colonialism and domestic colonialism is that the former sees the colonial invaders occupy our land and rule over us, whereas in the latter, the colonizers take us from our land and keep us in a distant land as colonial subjects. In both these definitions stands one factor—colonialism. African people are currently under fire in Washington, DC, just like we are in Orange Farm under the ANC, which sponsors state terror when it comes to black people.
With the ANC’s Operation Dudula in Orange Farm, built to terrorize those of us without South African documentation for being here, we must remember Bantu Biko’s words on the fragmentation of black resistance. He said that this splitting of our unified nationality as black people only serves to weaken us in the face of a united, worldwide oppressor.
In the march for better wages (R12,500, about $719), African workers at Wonderkop were saying that we want self-determination—it was a statement and not a mere plea for more wages. We who are left behind must not allow South Africa to split us from each other’s struggles as black people.
This is because fighting off colonialism has more to do with the people being able to enjoy life and to thrive. The colonial mode of production impacts everything, and whether we know it or not, it is our deep-seated aspiration to overturn it.
Join the Uhuru Movement in South Africa!
Build the African working class’s consciousness of our own power!
Uhuru ke Freedom!
