This is a tribute to young lions — all those people under 35 who offer hope and inspiration for the future of this country. In presenting our top 100 rising stars in 2000, we said the future is young and black.
But South Africa’s youth has a disturbingly schizophrenic appearance. On the one hand there
is ample reason to be optimistic. On the other hand, it makes you despondent. You somehow feel that the fountain of youth is not so much spurting as it is dripping from rusty pipes. It is an algae infested swamp, with chipped tiles.
First, there is a lack of political leadership. No political party can claim to have a vibrant youth wing that actually makes a difference in the lives of the old and the young. But the most depressing of the lot is the African National Congress Youth League.
A few weeks ago colleague Jaspreet Kindra exposed beyond any shadow of a doubt the paranoia that grips our rulers-in-waiting (God help us all). In a telephone exchange with the league’s spokesperson Khulekani Ntshangase, Kindra pointed out that the league is devoid of substance. She highlighted, among other things, its paradoxical reaction to two recent Constitutional Court judgements.
When the court issued a ruling on the floor-crossing legislation, the league offered a feeble comment. Yet when the court issued a judgement on the provision of nevirapine in public hospitals, an issue that affects millions of its constituents, there was deafening silence. Ntshangase could only ramble incoherently, with mild outbursts like “you can’t write that”.
Having recently turned 58, the league’s dilemma could be the struggle to remain relevant to people 40 years its junior. The rot starts at the top, with its president Malusi Gigaba. Even before his diatribe at Peter Mokaba’s funeral in Polokwane, where he told mourners to boycott this newspaper, my impression of Gigaba had been that he is morbid, dour, insipid, uninspiring and, at his best, vapid and lacklustre. Since that moment of absurdity, I have seen a man blinded by delusions of egocentric grandeur, with the temerity to believe he can tell people what to read.
Thankfully, as Gigaba and his ilk flounder in mire, there are oases of hope that inspire. One such figure is Andile Mazwai. I first encountered Mazwai a few years ago as a market commentator extraordinaire on a number of English commercial radio stations. He is now the CEO of Mazwai Securities and has broadened his media exploits to writing a column in Business Day.
Mazwai has, without necessarily intending to, shown many young, black youth there is more to the financial services profession than chartered accountancy. A conscious self-marketer, the challenge for Mazwai is never to lose focus on what got him to his current position in the public eye: his knowledge of and passion for financial markets.
Other guiding lights for the youth are fashion designers and label proprietors Sechaba Mogale and Wandile Nkosi. They are joint founders and owners of the Loxion Kulca label.
From dropping out of varsity, they overcame adversity, establishing their label after sewing woolen hats. This has grown into a casual clothing line. A major criticism the label has attracted is that it is no more than a rehash of American street wear and thus lacks originality. Thankfully, Mogale and Nkosi have persevered and they are now purveyors of a refined aesthetic, but more importantly, they have a willingness to empower others.
When I first met them in 1999 they spoke passionately of their desire to rope in other designers to help them develop. I cynically wrote that off as an ambition to be forgotten once fame and success beckoned. They did not. Not only have they started collaborating with other young designers, they have given them room and space to thrive and establish their own labels.
One of their collaborators is Tebogo Mwase, owner of the Wikid Likwid label. Fresh from South African Fashion Week, his next stop is London, then Paris and Dubai.
One of the saddest features of young, black rising stars is their exploitation of political mileage and trading on skin colour, youth and reputation. I was left with that feeling, perhaps mistakenly, last November when I attended the launch of the Aids documentary series Steps For The Future in Cape Town. Two films I anticipated with relish and fervour were Love In a Time of Madness by Khalo Matabane and Wa Nwina (Sincerely Yours) from Dumisani Phakathi. Matabane’s offering had a gripping storyline, telling of his intense pursuit and love of a woman who ultimately had to tell him she was HIV-positive.
Phakathi gave us a roving camera view of his Phiri, Soweto neighbourhood. Sadly, both films were linear, uninquiring and lacked the usual touch for which both Matabane and Phakathi have become renowned. There’s no room for complacency.
Archive: Previous columns by Thebe Mabanga