KGAUGELO MASWENENG | Abahlali baseMjondolo: exposing exploitation in a black face?

History tells us that during his reign in the 1800s King Shaka kaSenzangakhona deployed his regiments to the Bay in KwaZulu-Natal to “khangela amankengane” (watch over white people at sea — or vagabonds, in this context). He intended to protect the land and its people from European settlers who sought to colonise and interfere with the interests of the indigenous population, many of whose descendants are today merely labelled as “poor people”.

Shaka was deeply conscious of the looming colonial threat and the security risks it posed — militarily, economically and culturally. His regiments functioned as sentinels, guardians of a land under siege. The rest, as they say, is history.

Though his journey remains a powerful symbol of the battles fought for this land, we are left grappling with a painful truth: this land, South Africa, belongs to us no more. The legacy of dispossession continues to thunder through the lives of millions. And despite the passage of time and shifts in political landscapes, land insecurity remains a lived reality for many indigenous people.

Fast forward to the present. Have you read the Sunday Times newspaper this week? It reports on a brewing David and Goliath legal battle. The KwaDukuza municipality is seeking to evict 980 families from an informal settlement in Shakas Head — a settlement standing in stark contrast to the affluent homes and estates next door in Ballito. A glaring juxtaposition, but in South Africa, this is hardly surprising.

An interested party in the case, the Dolphin Coast Residents & Ratepayers Association (Docrra), argues that the eviction fight is not rooted in racism but rather in a simple concern for law and order, triggered by complaints of noise, illegal water and electricity connections and the growing presence of makeshift structures.

“We are an apolitical organisation and do not form alliances with political parties. We are also a non-racial, non-religious group with members from all races, ethnic groups, religions and income brackets,” said Deon Viljoen, Docrra’s chairperson.

“We have never made any statements about who should live where or what land is considered so-called prime real estate,” he added.

OK!

This statement is interesting — not just in what it says, but in what it exposes. It is deeply rooted in privilege and reveals the blindfolds that come with access. From such a vantage point, one can afford to be “apolitical” and untouched by the associations that are, for many, a necessity for survival.

Meanwhile, Thapelo Mohapi from Abahlali baseMjondolo, the shack dwellers’ movement, has accused the local government of acting as a proxy for “rich racists” in Ballito — a claim that Docrra has vehemently denied.

But here’s the issue: the temptation — across all class, social and intellectual levels — to separate race from poverty and its many-hued manifestations is bad political consciousness hygiene. One may not fully grasp why so-called “poor people” (a term that is both simplistic and condescending) resort to unconventional means to access basic services, but to dismiss the link between race, land, and economic exclusion is either malicious or ignorant. And frankly, this cluttered dialectic reeks of protectionism over something that was never originally theirs to protect in the first place.

It is deeply ironic that this movement has taken on a role not unlike that of Shaka’s regiments, fighting tooth and nail to defend the people of Shakas Head, not from colonial invaders but from the government and the 'rich whites' of Ballito

That is my bone of contention.

But what exactly is the Abahlali baseMjondolo movement, and what role does it play in post-apartheid South Africa’s sociopolitical landscape? Are they relevant in the current sociopolitical makeup?

The movement was born on March 19 2005, ignited by a violent protest on Kennedy Road, Durban. Hundreds of shack dwellers blocked roads in outrage after discovering that a piece of land once promised to them for housing had instead been sold to a developer. That day, their shacks were reduced to rubble, 14 people were arrested, and their fury found form. Gatvol, Abahlali baseMjondolo became more than a movement — it became a necessity, growing into a force representing thousands.

Their politics? Highlighting government neglect and amplifying the voice of the dejected.

Their eureka moment took place just a day before Human Rights Day. Annually, in remembrance of the day they lost a battle to real estate developers, they commemorate it under the banner of “Unfreedom Day”.

When thousands of shack dwellers represented by this informal group threatened to boycott the 2006 local elections, a dangerous narrative took root within the ANC leadership in KwaZulu-Natal, referring to them as a “third force”. In response, S’bu Zikode, Abahlali baseMjondolo’s co-founder, reclaimed the term in a powerful open letter.

“We are driven by the Third Force, the suffering of the poor. Our betrayers are the Second Force. The First Force was our struggle against apartheid.

“The Third Force will stop when the Fourth Force comes. The Fourth Force is land, housing, water, electricity, healthcare, education and work.”

As for their legal battles with the provincial government? This is not their first.

In 2009, Abahlali baseMjondolo secured a landmark victory when the Constitutional Court struck down section 16 of the KwaZulu-Natal Elimination and Prevention of Re-emergence of Slums Act. This legislation would have allowed the government to evict shack dwellers without negotiation, effectively displacing thousands.

The court ruled that section 16, which would have compelled landowners and municipalities to evict unlawful occupiers, was unconstitutional, as it contradicted the Prevention of Illegal Eviction from and Unlawful Occupation of Land Act, the National Housing Act and the National Housing Code.

The movement’s work has not gone unnoticed. International academic Sarah Cooper-Knock, who has researched the relationship between local governments and informal settlements, once remarked: “Abahlali is not perfect. Nor does it pretend to be. It is as dignified, beautiful and flawed as the humanity from which it is drawn.”

Whether one agrees with their methods or their politics, there is no denying that their work has a place in this society. Equally, it is not in dispute that illegal occupation of land is — at the end of the day — illegal. However, it is deeply ironic that this movement has taken on a role not unlike that of Shaka’s regiments, fighting tooth and nail to defend the people of Shakas Head, not from colonial invaders but from the government and the “rich whites” of Ballito.

Decades later, their struggle persists.

In his book Fanonian Practices in South Africa: From Steve Biko to Abahlali baseMjondolo, Nigel Gibson critiques the movement’s politics through a Fanonian lens: “A Fanonian perspective insists that we view the sweetness of the South African transition from apartheid as bitter, realised at the moment when ‘the people find out the ubiquitous fact that exploitation can wear a black face’.”

For opinion and analysis consideration, e-mail Opinions@timeslive.co.za