A walk through history: Reconciliation Day in Cape Town
Breaking my self-imposed hermitage, I joined a walking tour through central Cape Town. Kate Crane Briggs led an enlightening trudge through the city centre, tracing landmarks tied to its pre- and post-colonial past, and I was eager for a refresher on the country’s early history.
The tour took place on 16 December, a public holiday I once carelessly folded among the rest of the December festivities, or “the big days”, as they were known when I was growing up. It wasn’t until my teenage years that curiosity struck, and I discovered that the day carried the weight of two clashing histories: the Battle of Blood River in 1838 and the founding of Umkhonto we Sizwe, the paramilitary wing of the African National Congress (ANC), in 1961.
In 1995, buoyed by post-apartheid peacebuilding efforts, the South African government retained the date and incorporated these conflicting legacies into a single holiday, intended to acknowledge historical injustice. On the holiday’s 30th anniversary, I set out to re-familiarise myself with all that led to its establishment alongside a small group that included a South African couple, a Belgian woman, and an English woman with her three daughters.
We began our tour at the Castle of Good Hope, then weaved through whizzing cars as the sun baked our brains, stopping at City Hall, where Nelson Mandela, or “Nelly M”, as my generation has taken to naming him, addressed the public after his release from prison. A hundred steps later, we admired striking murals depicting freedom fighters Desmond Tutu, Winnie Madikizela-Mandela and, of course, Nelson Mandela.
At Greenmarket Square, preparations for the Unity on the Square concert were underway, and Kate’s voice strained under the instruments as she detailed the history of the Old Town House museum, recently re-opened after ten years.
Eventually, we reached the headquarters of the Mandela Rhodes Foundation, an organisation that I was learning about for the first time and whose existence I have absolutely no objection to. I am particularly fond of the irony of its name and purpose, as, while it bears the name of Rhodes himself, “whose name is linked to some of the harshest realities of colonial rule,” according to the Mandela Rhodes Foundation’s website. The organisation is centred on African upliftment, not coddling the legacy of oppressors. Rhodes may be the founding figure and the benefactor, but he is not the heart of the mission. The objective is to “close the circle of history”, a pragmatic and impactful reconciliation mission to “find, fund, and empower young Africans who aspire to use their talents to serve their societies and our continent.”
Throughout the tour, Kate picked our brains on the historic landmarks and the conflicting feelings they evoke, including the question of whether colonial structures should be preserved or dismantled. At the foot of the building, she probed us on Cecil John Rhodes. There was an awkward silence as celebratory instruments blared in the distance. As the only person of colour in the group, I braced myself, heart hammering as I took in the responses that were all too familiar. Like a rigged prize wheel, Kate spun the circle, and out came the unsurprising answers:
“Rhodes was a product of his time.”
“It’s important not to judge people of that era.”
“History is tricky.”
“There are good and bad things that came out of colonialism.”
“There are two sides to every story”
“Even if they did some not very nice things, where would Cape Town be without them?”
“Why can’t we just focus on the future?”
“Who knows, Donald Trump might be seen differently a hundred years from now.”
Twice, I was prompted to speak. Both times, the conversation moved on before I could. When I wasn’t asked a third time, I felt relief. When white people engage in these conversations, there is often a contained, placid politeness that I always fail to embody. Oppression becomes philosophical and abstract. The politics of systemic invasion and dehumanisation are softened through the language of reason. Meanwhile, those whose ancestors were oppressed struggle to maintain the same commitment to rationalisation. I have learned to avoid these conversations because they often include the “yes-but” manoeuvre, where crimes against humanity are acknowledged as a disclaimer and then immediately softened.
Had I spoken, I would have said this: as a descendant of the Southern Bantu and the San, I do not have the privilege of not judging and shaming the men who took part in the “scramble for Africa”. I cannot consider the benefits of colonialism or slavery because I was never the intended beneficiary of Rhodes, the VOC (Dutch East Indian Company), or Apartheid.
Any privilege or freedom I enjoy today was not designed with me in mind. For me to stand freely in the city centre alongside people once deemed superior by Apartheid logic, others before me had to fight, be imprisoned, and die. I do not have the luxury of giving slave masters grace.
The claim that there are “two sides” overlooks the fact that one side paid in blood.
Not only is the wrung-out claim that “everyone thought this way” false, but it also infantilises people who consciously exploited, oppressed, and killed for profit and power, using every means necessary as justification. Cooperation with African communities was always possible. Colonial violence was not inevitable, it was efficient. Africans had traded for centuries without land seizure or enslavement. Asking where Cape Town would be without colonial brutality assumes cooperation was impossible and frames domination as progress, humanising perpetrators while rendering victims as tragic yet necessary pawns.
My sense of subjectivity does not blind me to how brutal realities can inadvertently lead to progress. As a lover of history, I am conscious that humans and policies often carry conflicting identities. Although war can produce dual realities, I remain firmly and wholeheartedly against it. For example, I am against war; however, I am aware that extraordinary medical discoveries have sometimes emerged during these times of great horror. I am also aware that the atrocities of Nazi occupation led to technological advances, including early rocket development, which was built on the back of enslaved labour from concentration camps. However, that does not make Nazis “tricky”. Anti-Semitism was not morally complex simply because it was prevalent in early 20th-century Europe. Medical discoveries and technological advances can be made without mass suffering. While two truths can coexist, that does not absolve individuals of judgment for the choices they made, simply because they existed in an era when their worst, most predatory instincts were justified.
The clamour of concert instruments faded as we ambled to the infamous High Court Annex, where apartheid race classifications took place, marked by two benches signed “Whites Only” and “Non-Whites Only.” Moments later, Kate read a diary entry from Jan van Riebeeck at the Company’s Gardens, as he rejoiced in the land yielding its first produce. The tour concluded at the South African Jewish Museum, where we learned how the Jewish community found home and triumph in South Africa.
After the tour, I returned to my home in Observatory, surrounded by neighbours of every race, and enjoyed the privileges afforded by my job as a writer in the Southern Suburbs. Every reservation I make, every trip to the beach, every company I choose, I carry the weight of what it took for me to get it. Reflecting on the day itself, Reconciliation Day’s intention was to promote national unity after centuries of cruelty and dispossession and to orient the country toward a shared future.
Thirty years on, reconciliation feels uneven. Walking through the city, Cape Town impresses with its grand architecture and landmarks of colonial triumph, while human suffering becomes abstract, consequential, and injustice is reduced to a debate.
By Nwabisa
Feedback welcome
Ask if you would like to do this, or a similar, city walk on a specific date(s), or join others for public ones – see Upcoming Tours
kate@cultureconnectsa.com +27 (0)72 377 8014
