What drew me closer to Mokae was his irresistible chutzpah, razor-sharp political intellect, unwavering fearlessness, almost self-sacrificial love for his people and deep passion for the written word. It was under his guidance and with the help of his trusty Olivetti typewriter, that I first learnt to use a typewriter. Through this experience, I not only honed a practical skill but also cultivated my own love for the inkhorn – a passion that has stayed with me ever since.
Much like his political icon, Bantu Stephen Biko, Mokae exuded an unshakeable sense of black pride and suffered no fools. As many of the Charterist students at ATR can attest, Mokae had little tolerance for their intimidation, coercive tactics and threats of physical violence whenever they sought to strong-arm Azasm students into submission. As exponents of Black Consciousness, we believed in winning over (“towering”) adversaries through the power of debate rather than relying on a presumed entitlement to lead. This is why, among others, we rejected the Charterist tactics of forcing the elderly to drink fish oil, consume flour or any other foodstuffs they purchased, ignorantly or in defiance, during the consumer boycotts of the '80s. For the same reasons, we vehemently opposed the practice of “necklacing”, a brutal form of violence exclusively directed at black people, which principled stand often provoked retribution from the Charterists.
Mokae’s unwavering commitment to Black Consciousness never diminished his dedication to the greater good. It was this guiding principle that compelled him, then a medical student, to take action – offering aid to Umkhonto weSizwe operative Robert McBride as the latter orchestrated the daring rescue of his wounded comrade, Gordon Webster, from police custody at Edendale Hospital.
In a biography he authored on McBride, Mokae wrote: “As a proponent of Black Consciousness, I have always maintained that the reason a certain segment of white SA struggles to forgive McBride is because some of his actions resulted in the loss of white lives. But in our hearts, are we saying that the thousands of black victims of apartheid and the casualties of bombs planted by guerrillas of the liberation movements are meaningless?”
Mokae’s lament resonates even more powerfully today as it did during the zeitgeist of the '80s. As bishop Mokgothu lamented through the sermon, we have failed in our duty to shepherd. We abandoned our pivotal role of providing intellectual capital as a political counterbalance when our leaders spurned the Codesa negotiations that ushered in the democratic dispensation we now lament.
While many of our towers, just as Mokae had done before suffering a stroke years ago, continue to contribute to society, often at personal cost, our collective affect and effectiveness as proponents of Black Consciousness, remain woefully inadequate. In the process, we have allowed regressive, apartheid-apologist organisations like AfriForum and Solidarity to gain ground, persistently reinforcing the supremacy of white people. I often wonder what outcry would be elicited from the US Capitol Hill if Mokae’s senseless murder had been that of a white farmer doctor.
Pardon me, I was mistaken! Black Consciousness is not on trial. Rather, it is the collective body of its exponents and leaders within the movement who stand accused.
Where has Biko's seminal mantra, “Black man, you’re on your own,” gone? What has become of Biko’s spirit of “zimele”, let alone multiple Black Community Programmes’ self-help projects?
If AfriForum can develop much-needed infrastructure and mount interventions on behalf of “its people”, what is stopping exponents of Black Consciousness? Is it the ivory towers we’ve retreated into, the presumed safety of gated communities that insulate us from the senseless violence often visited upon those who live or work in black townships and rural areas, or have we simply ceased to care? Whatever the answer may be, we have failed to shepherd.
What faulty towers have we become?
As I conclude, it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge an unseemly episode during Mokae's funeral service.
No sooner had the sermon concluded, allowing the rest of the programme to proceed than one of Mokae’s neighbours seized the moment to launch a vituperative attack against Mokae’s comrades for having “abandoned him” in his hour of greatest need. The outpouring of grief and anger at that moment was unmistakable, but so too was the unspoken guilt, the simmering tensions, embellishments and the uneasy realisation that, somewhere along the way, something had gone wrong. This almost set a battleground of contested narratives, exposing the fractures within a Black Consciousness firmament that once prided itself on political stewardship and solidarity but had, since 1990, faltered at crucial stages.
However, these narratives run deeper than they initially appear. Since I have no desire to derail this tribute by correcting such glaring distortions with facts, I will simply let them pass.
Moreover, Biko maintained that true liberation could only be achieved when black people became the architects of their destiny. In his view, this agency was rooted in a renewed identity and consciousness – one free from the shackles of inferiority complexes, blame-shifting and the entitlement mentality that afflicts black society today.
As for the sermon, masterfully delivered with erudition and forthrightness, it resonated through the hall, blending grief with a renewed call to action. It was not just a farewell to a fallen luminary – it was a solemn reminder that the work is far from over. While the occasion was deeply sorrowful, it also provided a poignant opportunity to reflect and reconnect with long-lost friends and comrades.
Amid the solemnity, nostalgia filled the air. I found myself reminiscing about a shared commitment Mokae and I had to honour our heroes by naming our children after them. It came as no surprise to learn that he had named his son Biko, while I had named mine Onkgopotse. I took it a step further by naming my daughter Gomolemo in his honour, and, by pure coincidence, I think, his son also carries my name – Gaositwe.
Mokae’s tragic, senseless and painful demise, is a stark reminder that this country truly wounds the soul in ways that words fail to capture. Life is indeed too short, too unkind.
Robala ka kagiso, my Tower!
- Khaas is the founder and chairman of Public Interest SA
OPINION | We have failed to shepherd as exponents of Black Consciousness
Image: Thapelo Morebudi
“Re paletswe ke go disa!” – We have failed to shepherd!
These poignant words rang out as the opening salvo, setting the tone for a moving liberation theology sermon delivered by Methodist Church bishop Sidwell Mokgothu at the funeral service of my friend, comrade and brother in the Struggle, Dr Gomolemo Mokae, last Tuesday.
With this powerful declaration, bishop Mokgothu laid bare a profound lament for the passing of a cherished revolutionary and the collective failure to safeguard the ideals for which Mokae so tirelessly fought. His sermon was not merely an elegy for the departed; it was a call to introspection, an indictment of societal neglect and a challenge to those who remain to renew their commitment to justice, equity, moral rectitude and the liberation of the oppressed.
As he addressed mourners gathered to pay their final respects, his words carried the weight of history, echoing the struggles that defined Mokae’s life – the cross he carried, his unwavering dedication to the cause of freedom, his fearless advocacy for the downtrodden and his relentless pursuit of truth. The sermon did not shy away from uncomfortable truths; it forced all present to confront the pressing question: Have we, as a people, upheld the legacy of those who sacrificed for our emancipation, or have we faltered in our duty to shepherd the next generation towards a just and liberated society?
Black Consciousness, a sociopolitical ideology that emphasises self-reliance and pride, itself was on trial. Let me explain.
My path first crossed with Mokae’s in 1984 when we were both students at the University of Natal. During that time, we resided at Alan Taylor Residence (ATR), the university’s designated accommodation for black students under apartheid, situated adjacent to an oil refinery in Wentworth, Durban. It was during this time that I became involved in student politics. Mokae, a few years my senior but light years ahead in political insight, and I were both members of the Azanian Student Movement (Azasm), the student wing of the Black Consciousness Movement organisation the Azanian People’s Organisation.
What drew me closer to Mokae was his irresistible chutzpah, razor-sharp political intellect, unwavering fearlessness, almost self-sacrificial love for his people and deep passion for the written word. It was under his guidance and with the help of his trusty Olivetti typewriter, that I first learnt to use a typewriter. Through this experience, I not only honed a practical skill but also cultivated my own love for the inkhorn – a passion that has stayed with me ever since.
Much like his political icon, Bantu Stephen Biko, Mokae exuded an unshakeable sense of black pride and suffered no fools. As many of the Charterist students at ATR can attest, Mokae had little tolerance for their intimidation, coercive tactics and threats of physical violence whenever they sought to strong-arm Azasm students into submission. As exponents of Black Consciousness, we believed in winning over (“towering”) adversaries through the power of debate rather than relying on a presumed entitlement to lead. This is why, among others, we rejected the Charterist tactics of forcing the elderly to drink fish oil, consume flour or any other foodstuffs they purchased, ignorantly or in defiance, during the consumer boycotts of the '80s. For the same reasons, we vehemently opposed the practice of “necklacing”, a brutal form of violence exclusively directed at black people, which principled stand often provoked retribution from the Charterists.
Mokae’s unwavering commitment to Black Consciousness never diminished his dedication to the greater good. It was this guiding principle that compelled him, then a medical student, to take action – offering aid to Umkhonto weSizwe operative Robert McBride as the latter orchestrated the daring rescue of his wounded comrade, Gordon Webster, from police custody at Edendale Hospital.
In a biography he authored on McBride, Mokae wrote: “As a proponent of Black Consciousness, I have always maintained that the reason a certain segment of white SA struggles to forgive McBride is because some of his actions resulted in the loss of white lives. But in our hearts, are we saying that the thousands of black victims of apartheid and the casualties of bombs planted by guerrillas of the liberation movements are meaningless?”
Mokae’s lament resonates even more powerfully today as it did during the zeitgeist of the '80s. As bishop Mokgothu lamented through the sermon, we have failed in our duty to shepherd. We abandoned our pivotal role of providing intellectual capital as a political counterbalance when our leaders spurned the Codesa negotiations that ushered in the democratic dispensation we now lament.
While many of our towers, just as Mokae had done before suffering a stroke years ago, continue to contribute to society, often at personal cost, our collective affect and effectiveness as proponents of Black Consciousness, remain woefully inadequate. In the process, we have allowed regressive, apartheid-apologist organisations like AfriForum and Solidarity to gain ground, persistently reinforcing the supremacy of white people. I often wonder what outcry would be elicited from the US Capitol Hill if Mokae’s senseless murder had been that of a white farmer doctor.
Pardon me, I was mistaken! Black Consciousness is not on trial. Rather, it is the collective body of its exponents and leaders within the movement who stand accused.
Where has Biko's seminal mantra, “Black man, you’re on your own,” gone? What has become of Biko’s spirit of “zimele”, let alone multiple Black Community Programmes’ self-help projects?
If AfriForum can develop much-needed infrastructure and mount interventions on behalf of “its people”, what is stopping exponents of Black Consciousness? Is it the ivory towers we’ve retreated into, the presumed safety of gated communities that insulate us from the senseless violence often visited upon those who live or work in black townships and rural areas, or have we simply ceased to care? Whatever the answer may be, we have failed to shepherd.
What faulty towers have we become?
As I conclude, it would be remiss of me not to acknowledge an unseemly episode during Mokae's funeral service.
No sooner had the sermon concluded, allowing the rest of the programme to proceed than one of Mokae’s neighbours seized the moment to launch a vituperative attack against Mokae’s comrades for having “abandoned him” in his hour of greatest need. The outpouring of grief and anger at that moment was unmistakable, but so too was the unspoken guilt, the simmering tensions, embellishments and the uneasy realisation that, somewhere along the way, something had gone wrong. This almost set a battleground of contested narratives, exposing the fractures within a Black Consciousness firmament that once prided itself on political stewardship and solidarity but had, since 1990, faltered at crucial stages.
However, these narratives run deeper than they initially appear. Since I have no desire to derail this tribute by correcting such glaring distortions with facts, I will simply let them pass.
Moreover, Biko maintained that true liberation could only be achieved when black people became the architects of their destiny. In his view, this agency was rooted in a renewed identity and consciousness – one free from the shackles of inferiority complexes, blame-shifting and the entitlement mentality that afflicts black society today.
As for the sermon, masterfully delivered with erudition and forthrightness, it resonated through the hall, blending grief with a renewed call to action. It was not just a farewell to a fallen luminary – it was a solemn reminder that the work is far from over. While the occasion was deeply sorrowful, it also provided a poignant opportunity to reflect and reconnect with long-lost friends and comrades.
Amid the solemnity, nostalgia filled the air. I found myself reminiscing about a shared commitment Mokae and I had to honour our heroes by naming our children after them. It came as no surprise to learn that he had named his son Biko, while I had named mine Onkgopotse. I took it a step further by naming my daughter Gomolemo in his honour, and, by pure coincidence, I think, his son also carries my name – Gaositwe.
Mokae’s tragic, senseless and painful demise, is a stark reminder that this country truly wounds the soul in ways that words fail to capture. Life is indeed too short, too unkind.
Robala ka kagiso, my Tower!
OPINION | Crime has heightened to the point that someone like Mokae couldn't be spared of brutal murder
Police probing the murder of medical doctor and author Dr Gomolemo Mokae
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