I'm Not Going To Tell You - The Irrational Library

 

On Merafong's Days Of Protest

The events that led to protests that rocked Merafong could be summed up as a culmination of a simmering rage against systematic corruption that has usurped much of social gains from the hands of communities, enriching a few, who stand as gate-keepers for larger corporate exploitation enforced by enterprises that leave poverty in their wake. 

As most youth witness their communities haemorrhaging politically and culturally, they took these skin-felt lessons of hunger stricken siblings and reacted in kind against powers that hold wealth excavated from the ground sinking beneath their dilapidated state-subsidised houses.

Many townships around Merafong are plague-ridden enclaves of cheap labor for exorbitantly thriving mining industry cartels, characterised by their penchant for ruthless business ethics.  And while the region boasting an excess of ten mine-shafts, as well as the world’s deepest mine shaft, one would expect that some semblance and appearance of development would be visible.

But the municipality is a shambles, and grievances emergent from situations orchestrated by self-interested parties, called for the disenfranchised to take to the streets as a final and irrevocable act of revolt.

Merafong is but a microcosm of black South Africa where many lap the dross of a franchised life, as all remnants of squandered rewards of a collective struggle for determination have left many without any means of surviving, let alone through a global pandemic.

And what is inspiring, is that the youth from all around Merafong took it upon themselves to unravel the knot strangling their livelihoods, when society seems disillusioned with notions of a despondent and unthinking horde of lazy youngsters, drunk on freedom’s brew. 

Whatever vile lessons of criminality bred out of organised desperation, the more insidious were embodied by many criminal records impeding them from employment opportunities; one of the reasons for their plight.

And on behalf of communities, these practices of defiance ignited a process that will continue to set events in motion which might seem self-endangering for most activists, but are a resolute final resort for self-expression in the face of tyranny.

Profound is the realisation that their revolt is a praxis not bound by partisan affiliation, but woven by a common goal that defies self-preservation, as most are bracing themselves for police brutality and exposure to disease, among some of the consequences of their activism.

Bearing the brunt of contravening national disaster management protocols, and gathering amass towards places of authority, many now have criminal records, yet continue to strive for immaculate resolution for a plethora of social discrepancies assailing their communities. 

And while populist notions might lean towards labelling their clarion call for employment as being contradictory by virtue of dangers associated with the type of employment readily available for Merafong communities, these activists are well aware of this exploitative nature of the mining industry and its environmentally hazardous spaces that pose health concerns for anyone.

They are aware that all machinations of employment mean surrender to environments that will certainly decrease their life expectancies, and they are also well verse in philosophical ideologies that compel them to become martyrs for future generations who would otherwise be ensnared into more insidious corporate greed machines.

And as they grapple with the effects of a global pandemic, many inequalities are flailing all threads of communality, a sense of individualistic self-interest is subsuming much of relational logic and people are in their isolations becoming not only disinterested in plights of others, but of a world going up in flames.

But there is a few who dare not look away from ambers ascending from simmering coals of social discontent and environmental disintegration. 

And what other course of action remained but to confront their designed precarious social situations, made of constant promises by hoarders of the proverbial pot of gold limited to those who purchase shovels?

These disenfranchised young men and women, who are often dropout students from regent-owned universities they could not afford on Black Tax, do sit not only binging on cheap intoxicants, but also to discuss ideas of conscientious methods of dismantling their inter-generational social standing.

They wrestle with entrepreneurial schemes to dredge their kin out of poverty, but as evident, the country continues to degrade into a hotbed for political chauvinism and patronage. Yet, on the surface of these murky waters that bury secrets ghosts, the youth are witnessing their drowned dreams floating, and it’s unsightly and haunting.

So, it follows that these events be recorded as an epoch when self-determined ideals materialised, eradicating old and defunct beliefs piously held in a system that is steeped in wholesale plunder of life and nature.

These actions are an awakening of descendants of migrant labourers, those who grounded their roots in and around these mine dumps and poisoned soil.

And for a time perhaps, a new breed of activists will carve their mark on memories of yet another generation born free to choose their own exploiters, a generation hopefully that will be incorruptible. 

So, may our thoughts forever pay homage to this youth movement that started an avalanche that is stampeding down every radioactive dunes gutted from the earth’s burrows. And may we forever recall that, “every revolution begins with personal revolutions”*.

*Disposable Heroes Of Hiphopracy