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Mail & Guardian
05-07-2025
- Politics
- Mail & Guardian
Struggle for the Freedom Charter goes on
Hope: The Freedom Charter was adopted on 26 June 1955 at Kliptown in Soweto. Its contents were drawn from submission from people all over South Africa. The Freedom Charter was adopted in Kliptown 70 years ago, on 26 June 1955. Thousands of delegates travelled across South Africa — by train, by bus, on foot — to take part in the Congress of the People. They met under an open sky, gathered on a dusty field where a wooden stage had been erected. Armed police watched from the perimeter but the atmosphere was determined and jubilant. One by one, the clauses of the Charter — on land, work, education, housing, democracy, peace — were read aloud, and each was met with unanimous approval. The charter distilled months of discussion and collective vision. Discussions of the charter seldom place it in its full historical context. Yet to understand its true significance, we must see it as part of a wider global moment — an era in which oppressed peoples across the world were rising against colonialism. After the defeat of fascism in 1945, there was a deep sense of possibility. The victory fuelled a new international moral order, embodied in the founding of the United Nations and its charter, with its emphasis on human rights, self-determination and peace. In the colonised world, this sparked a wave of anti-colonial struggle and growing demands for independence. India gained independence in 1947, China, through force of arms, in 1949 and Ghana in 1957. In April 1955, two months before the Freedom Charter was adopted, 29 newly independent and colonised nations met in Bandung, Indonesia. The Bandung Conference gave voice to the aspirations of the Global South — to end colonialism and racial domination, assert autonomy in world affairs and build cooperation among formerly colonised peoples. Bandung thrilled anti-colonial forces globally. The Freedom Charter emerged amid this excitement. This hopeful period was shadowed by a fierce imperial backlash. In Iran, prime minister Mohammad Mossadegh's nationalisation of oil in 1951 was met with a CIA- and MI6-backed coup in 1953. In Guatemala, president Jacobo Árbenz's land reforms provoked a similar response, and in 1954 the CIA orchestrated his removal. Around the world, popular sovereignty was crushed to preserve imperial power. The Korean War (1950–53) marked the aggressive militarisation of the Cold War. In January 1961, Congo's first elected leader, Patrice Lumumba, was assassinated with the support of the CIA. In April that year the CIA organised the failed Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba. In 1965, the US began a full-scale invasion of Vietnam. In 1966, Ghana's Kwame Nkrumah was overthrown in a Western-backed coup. In South Africa, the vision set out in the Freedom Charter was swiftly met with state repression. Months after its adoption, 156 leaders of the Congress Alliance were arrested and charged with treason. Then came the Sharpeville Massacre in March 1960. The apartheid regime banned the liberation movements underground and, in response, the ANC took the decision to turn to armed struggle. The Freedom Charter cannot be separated from the process that gave it life — a process that was profoundly democratic and rooted in the daily lives of people. In 1953, the ANC and its partners in the Congress Alliance issued a call for a national dialogue: to ask, plainly and urgently, 'What kind of South Africa do we want to live in?' The response was remarkable. Across the country, in townships, villages, workplaces, churches and at all kinds of gatherings, people came together to develop their demands. Submissions arrived handwritten, typed or dictated to organisers. The charter expressed a vision of South Africa grounded in equality, justice and shared prosperity. 'The people shall govern' affirmed not only the right to vote, but the principle that power must reside with the people. 'The land shall be shared among those who work it' challenged the dispossession at the heart of colonial and apartheid rule. Crucially, the charter called for an economy based on public benefit rather than private profit: 'The national wealth of our country, the heritage of South Africans, shall be restored to the people.' Education, housing and healthcare were to be universal and equal. The charter envisioned a South Africa without racism or sexism, where all would be 'equal before the law', with 'peace and friendship' pursued abroad. After the banning of the liberation movements in the 1960s and the brutal repression that followed, the Freedom Charter did not disappear — but it receded from popular memory. In the 1980s, it surged back into public life with renewed force. The formation of the United Democratic Front in 1983 in Cape Town, and the emergence of the Congress of South African Trade Unions (Cosatu) in 1985 in Durban, gave new organisational life to the charter. Grassroots formations drew on unions, civics and faith groups to take the charter out of the archives and the underground and into the streets. For the powerful mass movement organised in workplaces and communities the charter promised a future grounded in radical democracy and a fundamental redistribution of land and wealth. The charter became a vital reference point for the negotiations that began after the unbanning of the liberation movements. Its language and principles profoundly shaped elements of the new Constitution. The charter's insistence that 'South Africa belongs to all who live in it' and that 'the people shall govern' was carried through into the constitutional affirmation of non-racialism and universal suffrage. Guarantees of equal rights, human dignity and socio-economic rights such as housing, education and healthcare echo the charter's vision. But the transition involved compromise. In the 1980s, the charter had been a call for deep structural transformation. At the settlement, key clauses — particularly those calling for the redistribution of land and the sharing of national wealth — were softened or deferred. The final settlement preserved existing patterns of private property and accepted a macroeconomic framework shaped in part by global neoliberal pressures. While the vote was won, the deeper transformations envisioned in the charter were postponed. The result is that today, 31 years after the end of apartheid, structural inequalities and mass impoverishment remain. The charter's economic promises have not been fulfilled. The 2024 general election marked a historic turning point. Taken together, the two dominant parties garnered support from less than a quarter of the eligible population. Nearly 60% of eligible voters did not participate. The charter's promise that 'the people shall govern' demands more than a vote — it requires sustained participation. This requires rebuilding mass democratic participation from below. It means rekindling the culture of popular meetings, community mandates and worker-led initiatives that grounded the charter in lived experience. It means going beyond elections and restoring a sense of everyday democratic agency — in schools, workplaces and communities. It means making good on the promise to redistribute land and wealth. It also means rebuilding solidarity across the Global South. South Africa played a leading role in the formation of the Hague Group in January this year to build an alliance in support of Palestine. This was a major breakthrough that echoed the spirit of Bandung. The meeting that the group will hold in Bogota in July promises to significantly expand its reach and power. We must recognise the scale of resistance to transformation, both internationally and at home. The criminal attack on Iran by Israel and the United States exposes the brutality of imperial power — and the urgent need for a global counterweight. In South Africa economic elites and NGOs, think tanks and media projects funded by Western donors often work to frame redistributive politics as illegitimate or reckless. These networks have grown bolder as ANC support has declined. In June 2023, the Brenthurst Foundation — funded by the Oppenheimer family — convened a conference in Gdansk, Poland. Branded as a summit to 'promote democracy', the conference issued a 'Gdansk Declaration' widely read as an attempt to legitimise Western-backed opposition to redistributive politics in the Global South. The Democratic Alliance and the Inkatha Freedom Party were present, along with former Daily Maverick editor Branko Brkic and representatives of Renamo (Mozambique) and Unita (Angola), both reactionary movements that were backed by the West to violently oppose national liberation movements. The event marked the open emergence of a transnational alliance aimed at neutralising any attempt to challenge elite power in the name of justice or equality. It is a reminder that the struggle to realise the Freedom Charter's vision will not be won on moral terms alone. It will require effective political organisation, ideological clarity and courage. The charter was born of struggle. It must now be defended and renewed through struggle. Ronnie Kasrils is a veteran of the anti-apartheid struggle, and South Africa's former minister for intelligence services, activist and author.
Telegraph
26-06-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
Starmer is acting like a 19th century colonialist
I can't stop looking at an image of a man in Westminster holding a flag. He is standing proud and defiant. He doesn't want his homeland to be taken over by a foreign country. And yet, oddly, this man is not a folk hero to the Left. His name is Misley Mandarin, and he embodies a noble tradition of anti-colonial activism. He is not operating at the level of Gandhi. But the principle that underpins Mandarin's fight is the same powerful one that shaped independence movements in Asia and Africa in the 20th century: that people should have a say over the destiny of their homelands. It is as simple as that. But this particular argument of Mandarin is completely deaf to a group of people who claim to stand up for progress and human rights: Keir Starmer's Labour Party and the wider Left. Why? We have heard much talk, especially in the past five years, about the need for Britain to 'decolonise'. In principle this means that we confront our nation's colonial past and try to make amends for it. In practice, it means an ostentatious display of self-loathing – in which our institutions, from museums and galleries to schools and universities, relentlessly promote a warped version of our history. British history, according to this supposedly enlightened world view, is nothing more than a catalogue of racism and predatory colonialism; one damn oppression after another. Colonialism is bad, they would concede. But if it's done by an African country, why should it be any of our business? We should focus on ourselves and the sins we have perpetrated (and continue to perpetrate) in the world rather than giving moral lecture to nations from 'the Global South'. I remember the start of this decade, when this hysteria reached its apogee, and almost every bookshop I went to was full of lists about how British people (specifically white British people) could better educate themselves. And yet, in a crystal-clear case of colonialism, all I see is ignorance and indifference. For Mandarin, who came to Britain 25 years ago, is mounting a legal challenge against the Labour Government over their transfer of his native land to Mauritius; in other words, he is agitating for these islands to not be the colonial property of this foreign nation. 'We are not Mauritian,' Mandarin told The Telegraph, 'we are Chagossian. The Government cannot lawfully decide our fate without us.' He is not the only Chagossian passionately advocating against this transfer. Bernadette Dugasse and Bertrice Pompe, another two British citizens native to Chagos, launched a last-minute injunction at the High Court last month to stop the deal going through. Pompe has said: 'The fight is not over. There is nothing in that treaty for Chagossians and we will fight.' In fact, the Chagossians are invoking human rights law, the same kind of rhetoric that Starmer and his allies would be all too familiar with. Dugasse and Pompe will argue any agreement struck behind closed doors is not simply unjust, but also unlawful. Starmer would say this issue is about protecting national security. And perhaps if Mauritius was not an ally of China this argument would have some credence. But weren't the Left meant to be the people who stood up for higher values over cynical realpolitik? Misley Mandarin is a hero. And I hope he succeeds in stopping the British Government and their reckless colonial actions.
Associated Press
10-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Associated Press
California Music Producer Unveils Documentary Highlighting Cape Verdean Leader, Amílcar Cabral
A tribute to one of the most impactful visionaries in the African liberation movement OAKLAND, CA, UNITED STATES, June 10, 2025 / / -- Filmmaker and music producer, Rahkii 'Hyp' Holman of Assinyeola Music Publishing is screening his new documentary, Honoring Amílcar on July 5, 2025 (the day of Cape Verde's 50-year independence anniversary) at the New The New Parkway Theater in Oakland, California. The documentary includes compelling interviews with three generations of Black activists including luminaries such as Fania Davis and the filmmaker Larry Clark, sharing how Amilcar Cabral impacted their lives. Honoring Amílcar, highlights the ways in which Cabral's revolutionary philosophies, principled action, and embodied values have shaped the work and political commitments of those featured in the film. As a founding leader of the African Party for the Independence of Guinea and Cape Verde (PAIGC), Cabral dedicated his life to liberating both nations from Portuguese colonial rule. He was later assassinated in 1973. Cabral's fierce dedication to humanitarianism, anti-colonialism, anti-fascism, and anti-racism echoes through the voices of those he continues to inspire — reminding us that these struggles are just as alive today as they were when Cabral walked this earth. As director, composer, and editor, Rahkii crafted a film underscored by a distinctive blend of Lo-Fi Hip-Hop and Afrobeat to compliment the film. 'Amílcar was my great uncle.', says Rahkii. 'I've always wanted to share his impact. The film is a submission for the African Studies of Africa Association conference happening in Cape Verde in September 2025. This is a special screening for audiences in the U.S.' ABOUT ASSINYEOLA MUSIC PUBLISHING Assinyeola Music Publishing is a mission-driven company dedicated to promoting healing from multi-generational trauma through music. The company provides original compositions, multimedia content, and curriculum designed to support social justice leaders and educators. Its catalog features a distinctive blend of live and electronic instrumentation, available on major streaming platforms. Their music is also available for licensing across film, television, documentaries, influencer content, and commercial media projects. Rahkii Holman Assinyeola Music Publishing [email protected] Visit us on social media: LinkedIn Instagram Legal Disclaimer: EIN Presswire provides this news content 'as is' without warranty of any kind. We do not accept any responsibility or liability for the accuracy, content, images, videos, licenses, completeness, legality, or reliability of the information contained in this article. If you have any complaints or copyright issues related to this article, kindly contact the author above.
The Guardian
30-05-2025
- General
- The Guardian
‘In his company you could not be lazy': remembering my friend Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o
Among the African writers who emerged in the middle of the 20th century, the most political undoubtedly was Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. Born in Kenya while it was still under British rule he was anti-colonialist, a communist, anti-dictatorial, and an almost militant proponent for African languages being used for African literature. His best works exist at the interface between the political and the personal. His first book of essays, Homecoming, is at once engaging and polemical. His early novels Weep Not, Child and A Grain of Wheat look at the impact of colonialism and the Mau Mau rebellion on individual lives. He was strangely at his best with the personal and the intimate, but his reputation grew more from his political stances – first against the British government, then against the dictatorship in Kenya in the 70s. He was jailed not for a thundering political text but for a play in Kikuyu called I Will Marry When I Want. In prison he wrote his memoir on toilet paper. When I first met him I expected to meet a socialist firebrand but instead encountered a genial, engaging man who had read some of my writing and asked about my influences. I was genuinely surprised by his warmth, his humour and his friendliness. He was at ease with white as well as black people. He loved a good drink, enjoyed conversation and had a genuine love for literary small talk. I first knew him after his release from prison during his time in London. At the African Centre he would have a coterie of political acolytes and well wishers who wanted to ease his time in exile. I had conversations with him about literature. He was interested in my reading. I remember one particular conversation. At the time I had only published my first two novels and I was in my early 20s. 'What novels do you read?' he asked. 'All of you.' 'Who else?' 'Tolstoy, Dostoevsky.' 'Which Dostoevsky?' 'Crime and Punishment.' 'Did you read that before or after you wrote your second novel?' And I froze. The question made me aware of something that I had not considered before: the implied relationship between the greatness of the books you have read and the quality of the books you write after reading them. I suddenly felt ashamed that the novel I had written did not do that reading justice. Whatever answer I gave was a chastened one. Sign up to Bookmarks Discover new books and learn more about your favourite authors with our expert reviews, interviews and news stories. Literary delights delivered direct to you after newsletter promotion Ngũgĩ would paralyse you with an innocent-seeming question. They said Bertolt Brecht was like that too. In his gentle way Ngũgĩ compelled you to come up with cogent answers to the probing remarks he made about African literature and the question of language, a question of authenticity. In his company you could not be lazy. He also took an interest in my pool game and would often place bets on me in pubs in Covent Garden. Between frames we would talk about books. He had an almost mystical awe for what Achebe achieved in Things Fall Apart. Looking back to a time when the only literature being taught at universities was Dickens and Conrad et al, he made me feel how thrilling it was to read for the first time this novel that had found a language to express the yearning of Africans for their own story. By that time he had become a slightly portly figure with interrogative eyes and ready laughter. He tended to wear African tops and western trousers. One got the feeling with him that he had done a lot of his political thinking early but was open to the discoveries that his work led him into. He began his writing life as James Ngugi, and metamorphosed into Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o. He began writing in English and ended by writing in Kikuyu, often having to translate himself. His anti-capitalist stance didn't stop him becoming one of the most feted African writers in America. And in all of this, the one constant was that he remained a likable man without pretensions, and always with a feeling for the common people. Towards the end of his life, he became a perennial favourite to win the Nobel prize, and like Borges, had to endure the rise and fall of expectation every October. Family tragedy also marred his later years. But perhaps my fondest memory is of sitting with him in a Cambridge college during a Callaloo conference. We began talking about music and literature and he surprised me by saying that he was learning to play the piano for the first time. He was then in his mid-70s. He talked about the wonder of going from being unable to play a note to being able, within a few months, to play some Mozart, Chopin and Bach. It was very affecting to hear this seasoned revolutionary take on a youthful glow as he talked about this new-won skill. There happened to be a piano in a corner of the hall, and we went over. To this day I can still see him with a light smile on his face as the Bach notes tinkled into the hall.
