I was born in July 1984, on a cold winters’ morning, at Chris Hani Baragwanath Hospital, located in Soweto. The hospital is the largest hospital in Africa and the third largest hospital in the world. At the time, it was ranked as one of the best hospitals globally, providing quality and dignified healthcare for South Africans.
It was also an incredible developmental workspace for healthcare professionals globally. Like drinking safe water from the tap without worry, it not only provided a basic need, but it was also a jewel in the proverbial South African crown, which left us gleaming with pride and a sense of achievement.
Growing up in Pimville Zone 7 and Mofolo Central as a child was relatively great. I grew up knowing deep love, community, safety, and family. There was a great sense of unity which was fuelled by compassion and a true sense of Ubuntu. Every child was the community’s responsibility, and all older people were respected as leaders, guiding us to be and do better. The meeting place was the street, where children from different families joined in play, storytelling, adventure and sports from early morning until night-time. I hardly ever thought about being kidnapped or being harmed by criminals. And if anything was to ever happen, the community would rise together to ensure justice prevailed, swiftly.
1994 was a turning point
We did not have much, but never felt like we lacked. We were all generally materially poor, doing the best we could with what we had. But our hearts and minds were full. As kids, our imagination and kasi innovation borrowed from what we saw on TV, kept us busy and generally happy. It was only later in life that I discovered that my parents bore the brunt of protecting us against the pain, injustice, and violence of the apartheid state. For that, I am eternally grateful.
In 1994, I was 10 years old, living in Fourways with my family. Interestingly, while seeking a better life, leaving Soweto to live in the suburbs disconnected me and us from that sense of community inherent in township life. The life and rituals of playing in the street with friends were no longer available. Here we were all, strangers getting on with life. It is here that I first experienced prejudice, racism and being psychologically unsafe. It is here that I felt lesser than, naked, poor and an outsider.
On 27 April 1994, I remember my parents waking up early and going to the nearby school to cast their vote. It was a day filled with happiness, euphoria and determination. I remember my father referring to the fact that he had to vote to pay tribute to Chris Hani, who was brutally assassinated only a year before, a moment that almost catapulted South Africa into civil war. For Papa, to vote was a duty to country, a commitment to the liberation struggle and a prayer for his children. It was a vote for change and hope.
For me, 1994 resembled a turning point, wherein we could shift from pain to prosperity. While not of voting age, I was now alive to what injustice felt like, experiencing micro and even overt racism in the community we resided. From an early age, it was not difficult to see that pain was disproportionately experienced by certain people more than others, and I belonged to that group. As kids, we also snuck in the chance to watch movies like Sarafina and Bopha, which made us alive to the atrocities of apartheid, giving us a language and framework for understanding the struggle for freedom, peace, justice and equality. As I grew up and became more conscious, I was drawn to the idea of being a champion against injustice and black pain and indignity.
Over the years, I have had the opportunity to attend excellent schools, universities and work in leading companies at the highest levels. I have cut my teeth at starting and running my own successful and failed businesses.
In the different phases of my life, leadership was a vocation, a calling. And so, I made it my responsibility to serve my vocation and gift with excellence. But the purpose and undercurrent of all the leadership work was about justice. For me, justice is both a process and a destination. We must operate in a just manner to achieve the South Africa we deserve, and we must fight for a just society.
SA is in decline
The 1994 promise and moment was many things, but justice remains at the center because it is justice that serve victims, survivors and the underprivileged. Justice serves freedom and equality. Justice is humanness.
Having been borne from a family that served the liberation struggle, serving the people was at the core of how I define contribution and significance. But service and leadership come with tremendous responsibility. One of those is self-awareness and consciousness. You cannot lead others if you do not know yourself, in the context of your environment. Working with people and transforming opportunity to value generated power and influence. Therefore, my journey has been about understanding the power and influence I have accrued through personal and collective sacrifice and using it to serve the people.
For the last decade, I have been seeing and experiencing a South Africa that is in gross and accelerated decline. The gems in the crown have been lost and stolen.
Like most state institutions, our beloved Chris Hani Baragwanath Hospital is a ghost of its former self yet carrying the name of one of the most iconic leaders of our lifetime. Recently, the cholera death toll in South Africa has risen to 32 due to lack of access to quality drinking water. The quality of education is poor, while we live in the most unequal and violent country in the world. Joblessness, electricity blackouts, drug and substance abuse, mental illness, suicide, gender-based violence, and many other social ills are at an all-time high.
Dwindling voter turnout
Voter turnout and engagement are dwindling as people lose faith in democracy and the Constitution people fought and died for. People are hungry, angry, hopeless and disillusioned. All this, under a democratically elected ANC government. A better life for all is an illusion that cannot be achieved under this ANC administration. We are in a crisis.
In early 2022, I coined the phrase, “2024 is our 1994″. It was the converging moment when I realised that enough was enough, and that there was no one coming to save us. We had given the governing party so many chances to advance the promises of 1994, and what we are inheriting is a dysfunctional country run by corrupt politicians who have sold out on the vision of our ancestors and liberation leaders.
In this statement, I wanted to agitate for urgent change, knowing that the window to avert complete disaster closes with each day of uncoordinated inaction. As part of my journey of a commitment to justice and leadership, something had to be done. At the time, I had no political home, and it did not matter. What mattered was speaking truth to power and exciting others to do the same. When my path collided with RISE Mzansi last year, it was clear that this is where such an idea could find a home and germinate into a tree that will be the shade that covers generations to come.
“To whom much is given, much will be required” (Luke 12:48). For me the journey ahead is about justice. Justice is about the leveraging our collective power to equalise the Balance of Privileged.
Privilege is “a special right, advantage, or immunity granted or available only to a particular person or group”. This privilege means that based on their race, ethnicity, gender, sex, sexual orientation, dis/ability, religion, age, class, nationality, physical appearance, accent, vocal pitch, language proficiency, degree of introversion or extroversion, cultural customs, educational background, or upbringing, the system often says “YES” to you.
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