On Saturday, I revisited a resonant memory lane, reflecting on the fading echoes of what the liberation struggle was all about. Yet, the indomitable spirit of that struggle still endures. Justice Albie Sachs captures such moments eloquently, reiterating Nelson Mandela’s profound statement, “It is in your hands now.” While Mandela spoke of averting rivers of blood by coming to the negotiating table, Albie Sachs was himself a river of blood—losing an eye and nearly his life to the apartheid regime’s brutal machinery.
Sachs said that when his body was torn apart, he was liberated from fear, as the very thing he had dreaded most had already happened. His reflection underscores a profound point: the country was saved through the sacrifices of countless individuals, but the lingering question is whether society is saving itself and thriving. This distinction between country and society is telling, highlighting the hard-won gains often overshadowed by poverty, unemployment, and inequality—man-made afflictions that continue to burden our society.
Justice Sachs made these remarks while accepting the Liberation Struggle Hero Award at the Unisa Chancellor’s 2024 Calabash Awards, presented by President Thabo Mbeki.
Last Saturday, December 7th, we laid to rest Mandisi “Kusnasi” Titi in Alberton. At his funeral, I reflected on Sachs’ words as Thokoane delivered a moving eulogy about Titi’s life and legacy. The question persists: What was the struggle about, and why must it continue? While the physical soil of South Africa has been secured, the interaction of society with this space remains far from stable.
Last Saturday, December 7, we buried Mandisi “Kusnasi” Titi in Alberton. It was in this funeral that I reflected on the words of Albie Sachs as Thokoane delivered a rendition on the passing and funeral of Titi. What has the struggle been about and why the struggle should continue. Whilst the physical soil of South Africa has been secured the interaction of society with this physical space is far from being secure.
I met Ntate Titi in 1982. He and his family were refugees in Lesotho, and we became neighbours in Roma, renting accommodation from Mrs Makhanya. Our families grew so close that our friendship endured even after life’s twists and turns separated us for 13 years. I recall fleeing Lesotho to escape Prime Minister Jonathan’s soldiers, ending up in Bophuthatswana, while Titi fled soon after, evading apartheid soldiers circling Lesotho in their relentless pursuit of liberation movement members. Thoahlane Thoahlane, a relative of Vangi, Titi’s wife, remarked, “You women will have to migrate north as well.” And indeed, they did.
I have countless memories of those times, including our children playing together. His two daughters, Matla and Chimurenga, and my son, Thakaramahlaha, were toddlers then. At the funeral, now as adults, they reminisced about their childhood encounters—a bittersweet moment amid the sorrow. I recall one incident when bees invaded our home, threatening the safety of our young children. We called a university lecturer who tended to the bees on campus. She came and spoke poetically about their good nature, conduct and usefulness to society. She finally said, “They won’t hurt you“. But after dropping her off at campus, I did what we knew to do—smoke them out. Using a tire and some petrol, we resolved the issue.
I quipped about Marx’s thesis on Feuerbach as I watched the bees flee that: “Philosophers have hitherto only interpreted the world in various ways; the point is to change it.”
Another memory stands out: a trip to Maseru for an urgent meeting where Ntate Mfaxa had just returned from Tanzania with sombre news. Hosted by Mr Sisamba at Lesotho High School, Mafafa, as we used to refer to Ntate Mfaxa when he was at university was spitting fire.
He delivered a fiery, uncompromising message about the need for discipline and the chorus of MaAfrika punctuated Mfaxa’s every note.
When Titi returned from exile in 1995, my family visited Mandisi’s family in Uitenhage, rekindling our connection. He later worked at StatsSA, where I appointed him as a Director to help build the National Statistics System. He made significant contributions to this effort.
When time allowed, we would discuss post-apartheid South Africa, focusing on the corrupting residue of apartheid and its socio-economic impact on Black society. We often reflected on how apartheid conditioned Black people to navigate services through deception, a survival tactic deeply embedded in the community. My father’s realisation of this came painfully when my mother’s mortal remains could only be released from a registered house, requiring Ntate Mosehli, who later worked in Bophuthatswana risked his address for my mother’s remains to be released. These to risk experiences shaped our shared concern about the socio-economic structures apartheid left behind—an issue we, as a country, have failed to confront meaningfully.
To honour Titi’s memory and allow his soul to rest in peace, perhaps we must return to Albie Sachs’ question: Have we truly addressed society? By all measures, we have not.
Dr Pali Lehohla is a Professor of Practice at the University of Johannesburg, a Research Associate at Oxford University, a board member of Institute for Economic Justice at Wits and a distinguished Alumni of the University of Ghana. He is the former Statistician-General of South Africa
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