The statue of Paul Kruger at Church Square.
At the helm of what was the apartheid government’s power is Church Square, which features the statue of Paul Kruger, flanked by the Palace of Justice, the Ou Raadsaal and the building that used to be the Volks Bank
This square serves as a testimony to an empire whose founders never anticipated its downfall. Beside the inequality embedded in South African society, these and other statues stand as remnants of a bygone empire, HF Verwoerd’s dream.
The architects of this system could never have imagined a fate worse than that of mighty Paul Kruger Square. Two hundred years later, it is becoming a place for black entrepreneurs, the homeless and drug addicts. For those who believe in an afterlife, imagine Oom Paul coming to life through his statue — only for him to find a Petori instead of Pretoria where he is surrounded by black people. That image would surely lead him back to the abyss of hell, pleading with the underworld to never send him back to that ruined empire.
South Africa’s geography makes spatial violence look like a clueless white man who inherited the company from his father. Apartheid, as an extension of the colonial project, derives its power from geography. This was achieved through the weaponisation of space, formalised by laws such as the Group Areas Act. To achieve the goal of separate development, the land carved out into geographic entities delineated by racial categories. The result was the realisation of separate development through the establishment of townships and homelands.
The use of geography as a form of violent conquest is not unique to South Africa. From the creation of the first maps that fuelled colonialism as adventure and exploration, more maps were developed to stretch the boundaries of what could be explored, with the sole aim of colonising it.
The Mercator projection has in recent times come under fire for visualising colonial tropes that depict the United States and Europe as the centre of civilisation and the world. In contrast, the Third World appears smaller.
Geographies of violence, an emerging field in urban and social political geographies, primarily concerns itself with the violence embedded in spaces. It is an extension of urban geographies with notable works from Simon Springer, the director of the Centre for Urban and Regional Studies at the University of Newcastle, Australia, the field looks to dissect how violence is interwoven with various institutions that shape our daily lives.
Paul Kruger Square, which is strategically positioned to align with the view of the Voortrekker Monument on the hill above Pretoria, serves as a reminder of the conquering power of Afrikanerdom.
This particular statue, imbued with the violence of the apartheid project, leaves a bitter taste for those who see it as a reminder of apartheid’s endurance. Over the years, it has come under fire from activists and political parties such as the Economic Freedom Fighters, who called for its removal through the lens of the decolonial tradition, where the falling of statues represents an opportunity to dismantle the systems of power and legacies these statues embody.
One critic of this movement has been former president Thabo Mbeki, who, despite being a proponent of the African Renaissance, disagreed with the removal of statues. He argued that removing these figures does not erase the history or the systems they represent.
Although I initially opposed Mbeki’s argument, waking up daily to the view of Paul Kruger’s statue has somewhat swayed me, selectively so, I must add. I doubt this applies to all statues.
In the case of the Oom Paul statue, which proponents of Orania have expressed a desire to reclaim, I have come to believe that relocating it to Orania would grant power back to the statue and the ideals it represents. Orania stands as one of the last desperate attempts by Afrikaner nationalism to cling to its long lost empire. Oom Paul is precisely what they need to bring legitimacy and fulfill this vision of a Pretoria that could have been if black people had never been there.
Oom Paul, as a property of this government, should remain in Pretoria at the heart of the city, in a predominantly black area. This is how we can begin to turn the tide against the legacy that he spent his life building, which involved dispossessing black people. Oom Paul must be forced to reckon with a city where black people coexist with him. To echo Mbeki, this statue also serves as a reminder of our past.
It serves as a reminder to never descend into racism, narrow nationalism, ethnonationalism and tribalism, especially in a city that is the official seat of government. There could be no better fate for this statue than to be located in a public park, exemplifying the need to create equal and livable cities where all residents whether homeless, entrepreneurial or those walking to government institutions can share a space and coexist in imperfect unity.
Through Paul Kruger Square, everyone has access to the past, present and future of the city. Even those who come to take photographs of themselves with the statue do so not to admire it, but to have a piece of Pretoria with them, much like those who visit the Holocaust memorial in Berlin. It is a reminder for the present, and a lesson from the past.
Onthatile Marang Modise is a researcher working in public administration and the social sciences. She writes in her personal capacity.