Yesterday, our country stood still. We lit candles. We marched. We remembered. And across this land, we whispered the names of the brave souls of 1976—young, defiant, fearless, and far too many of them, gone too soon.
Youth Day is not a celebration. It is a wound that never quite closes. It is a collective ache. A moment to sit with the ghosts of those who were gunned down for daring to demand a better future. The young people of Soweto took to the streets not because it was easy, but because it was necessary. They knew something was wrong. They felt it in their classrooms, in their language, in their spirits. And they stood up.
They died for us to live. And so I ask: Are we truly living the life they imagined? Because today, we—the youth of South Africa—are still in a fight.
We are fighting to find work in a country where almost half of us are unemployed, despite our degrees, diplomas, and dreams. We are fighting to survive gender-based violence that follows us home, walks with us at night, and haunts our WhatsApp groups.
We are fighting to breathe in a world where climate change is swallowing the homes of our grandmothers in the Eastern Cape and drowning futures in KwaZulu-Natal. We are fighting crime, hunger, depression, and the cruel silence that follows the pain no one wants to name.
We are fighting to stay alive, in a country that often acts like it can live without us.
But there is one more battlefield that we must not neglect—and that is the fight for political power. The kind that is led by us, shaped by us, and accountable to us.
I want to speak to every young person reading this: politics is not a dirty word. It is a tool. And if we do not use it, it will be used against us. The youth of 1976 understood this. They refused to be passive recipients of oppression. They demanded a say. They gave their lives so that we could speak. So that we could vote. So that we could lead.
We must honour that legacy—not with hashtags, but with presence. With action. With our names on the ballots, our voices in the chambers, our hearts in the streets.
As we approach the 2026 local government elections, let this Youth Month be more than a moment. Let it be a movement.
Join a political party. Create your own. Organize. Mobilize. Be the leader you’ve been waiting for. Stop asking when things will change and start being the one who changes them.
We are the generation that knows too much to stay quiet. We’ve seen what corruption looks like. We’ve seen what silence costs. And we’ve seen that when young people rise, the world shifts.
The blood of 1976 is not just history—it is a calling. Let us rise. Let us stand. Let us fight for a South Africa that remembers its children—and finally, truly, protects them.
For Hector. For Hastings. For Mbuyisa. For us. In their name, we move. In their name, we vote. In their name, we lead.
