How is art a form of protest today? The story of the Art under Apartheid, 1950s-80s

1 day ago
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Can art be a form of protest? Does art really work as resistance? And how can you make protest art?

In times like these, it's natural to wonder if art is really important. If writing, music, performance, and other creative work really matters.

I find hope and inspiration from looking at stories of artists using their work to resist the status quo. The story of the artists under apartheid in South Africa, including Afrapix, is a powerful example to show the way.

Listen to this story!

Fascism institutes silence. Fascists and tyrants keep power by censoring media. Denying atrocities. Putting fear in the hearts of people.

And that often works. But. Writers, musicians, visual artists, performers; they often can’t, won’t stay silent. Even though they could be arrested, tortured, killed. Because they’re desperate to tell the truth.

And in one country known for terror, the artists got to work.

How did artists use creativity to get around censorship laws? How did photographers use access and international press to tell the truth about a country’s atrocities? And how did individuals, and groups like Afrapix, defy the crushing machine of apartheid in South Africa, and send the government tumbling down?

Part 1: Apartheid

Many of us, especially in the U.S., may have a vague memory of apartheid. But let’s get specific.

In the early to mid 1900s, the country of South Africa was very similar to the U.S. Racial segregation was a normal practice, and sanctioned by law.

The country had a population of white citizens that were often descended from British colonial officials, along with Zulu and other native Black peoples, and mixed groups of descendants from immigrants. The whites were often privileged and moneyed; everyone else was often relegated to deeply segregated townships and shantytowns.

In 1948, the National Party came to power. They seized on a fear by the white minority that non-whites numbers were growing. That they were taking their jobs and livelihoods. So the National Party expanded segregation, and gave it a new name: Apartheid, which, in the Afrikaans language, means apartness.

Right after that, the Population Registration Act classified all South Africans as Black, Coloured (mixed race), or white. Later, they added a fourth category of Asian (Indian and Pakistani).

Then, the National Party set up residential and business sections designated for each race in every city. Thousands of Coloured and Black South Africans were kicked out of their homes and businesses. Eventually, more than 80 percent of South Africa’s land was reserved for the white minority.

It got worse. Interracial marriages, and sex, were outlawed. State-run schools were created for Black children, and they focused on training kids for manual labor and menial jobs. Universities were not allowed to accept non-white students. Blacks were stripped of their South African citizenship, so they couldn’t participate in elections.

The National Party sold all this as an economic boon, and something that would bring peace to the country.

By the 1970s, though, like any fascist government over time, the leadership had grown extremely corrupt and unpopular. The country was in recession, with high inflation. The UN had denounced apartheid, and the rest of the world was increasingly hostile.

In 1976, an uprising changed everything.

At that time, the state planned to impose the Afrikaans language in Black schools, outlawing native languages and cultures. So on June 16, thousands of children in Soweto demonstrated.

And the police opened fire on the kids with tear gas, and then bullets.

People across the country protested, and the government cracked down hard. Over that year, the police killed hundreds.

By 1978, the government felt pressured to introduce some reforms. So they repealed the bans on interracial relations, and removed some segregation. But Black people still could not vote. And poverty was unchanged.

South Africans protested. Sabotaged. And the government responded with an official State of Emergency in the 80s. Police and soldiers patrolled Black townships. They imprisoned opposition leaders. And censorship laws increased, so no one would know.

Part 2: Art and culture under Apartheid

Apartheid as a system needed silence. It relied on strict control and horrific laws to create obedience. It demanded that cultures be erased. And art? That was a threat to all that.

So the government cracked down on art. They banned books. Bulldozed community theaters. Tightened the screws on censorship. Later, security forces were even allowed to arrest, torture, and murder artists.

In the face of these laws and punishment, some artists left the country. Some were exiled to London, Lagos, elsewhere.

But many artists stayed, by choice or circumstance.

Because here’s the thing. The government had set up their own demise. The National Party was powerful only because they had made themselves powerful through law. They were a thin, powerful minority who had to make the Black majority, 80% of their country, fall in line. Their system relied on making that majority submit. Only in that way could they keep power.

So millions of South Africans were being silenced for decades, told they were nothing. Many historians and thought leaders now say that apartheid had a ticking clock, that when a big enough number of these silenced South Africans felt empowered, the government would fall.

And what helped them feel empowered?

Stories. Paintings, poems, songs, graffiti, murals, or photographs. In a word, art.

Part 3: Artists

So what kind of art are we talking about? What were artists creating under apartheid to push back against the system?

There was music.

Freedom Songs were sung during protests and political meetings. The song “God Bless Africa” became the anthem of anti-apartheid resistance. And Miriam Makeba, who became known as Mama Afrika, sang about the truths Black South Africans experienced, blending traditional rhythms with jazz and pop. Her records were banned and her passport was revoked. She kept going.

There was poetry.

Mongane Wally Serote’s poems talk about violence and exploitation, and a search for community and identity. Serote was arrested and kept in solitary confinement, and later barred from the country.

There was theatre.

Apartheid outlawed public assembly of groups. So just putting on plays became an act of resistance. Playwright Athol Fugard wrote plays like “The Island,” depicting political prisoners. Fugard’s work was performed for multiracial audiences in defiance of segregation laws. More plays came from the Black Consciousness Movement, which drew from the lived experiences of township life. They hoped to build up Black pride and defiance.

South African colouring book by Gavin Jantjes

There was painting, sculpture, and print work, like the satirical South African coloring book by Gavin Jantjes. It was a collage and zine that included his own identity card – Cape Coloured, pictures of massacred civilians, and reproductions of “Whites Only” signs.

There was street art. Poster makers would paste anti-government posters on walls, buildings, abandoned properties, and see how much attention they could attract before they were ripped down. Graffiti served as messages, commentary on the day’s terrible news, and calls to action. Some even used imagery made popular by Emory Douglas and the Black Panthers.

Part 4: The 1980s

That all brings us to the 1980s.

By this decade, the National Party was desperately trying to keep control. Because protest groups were organizing. The United Democratic Front, for example, combined members of women, student, church, trade union, cultural, sporting and other groups, all to make mass action frequent and loud.

These groups called for people to make South Africa 'ungovernable.' To take advantage of the fact that they were the minority. So that the NP would be forced to end apartheid.

The government reacted with more violence. The townships were surrounded by police vehicles at all times. The State of Emergency gave the police and state the power to arrest anyone for any reason, and hold them for long periods of time without trial. Thousands of people were arrested, many tortured in detention, and hundreds more killed either in detention or on the streets by police.

But into this particular time of terror, another artistic resistance formed.

Afrapix was a group of photographers who captured the realities of apartheid in the 1980s. The group included photographers of all races, who pooled their skills and resources to teach each other and talk to the world. They were self-funded, and spread across the country.

At the time, the photojournalist community, made up of white photographers, believed in witnessing. Not taking sides, not engaging. Just taking pictures.

Afrapix believed photography could not just be a witness. They had to engage with the realities of the country, and the truth behind the government’s lies. They had to push back against rules that said only whites could engage in skills like photography.

So their work became a record of the violence, the death rattles, of apartheid in the 1980s. And the Security Police took note.

Part 5: Afrapix

The power of Afrapix came from pushing back against censorship, and spreading their photos to press around the world.

The photos can be dark, protesters being repelled by attack dogs and police truncheons, and citizens hauled off to be tortured.

They can be lighter, showing everyday life among domestic workers and in communities.

South Africa was in the news in 1980s, so huge demand for images all over.

As I mentioned, the government had strict regulations for media and artists, and propaganda machine. Which grew tighter during the State of Emergency.

But the collective actually expanded. They ran many workshops, and trained and inspired an entire generation of young photographers.

By the end of the 1980s, the National Party had exercised everything they could think of to tighten the screws. To silence their population. But with artists and with Afrapix, the government could no longer keep secret the atrocities that were happening.

International pressure increased, and sanctions were even imposed. Those who could vote in the country were increasingly angry with the NP. The party itself split between those that wanted reform and those that wanted the status quo.

The reformers won out, with President De Klerk winning the presidency in 1989. He released the decades-long political prisoner, Nelson Mandela. After negotiations with Mandela and other groups, de Klerk repealed most of the laws around apartheid. And a new constitution enshrined the right to vote for all. In 1994, with everyone able to vote, Nelson Mandela was elected the first Black president.

Afrapix officially dissolved in 1991, many of its former members continued to work as documentary photographers and some have carved out significant careers for themselves internationally.

Many exiled artists returned. And many have committed to keeping track and making sure the promises of this new government are fulfilled.

Conclusion

That last bit is important.

Because even though the laws codifying apartheid are gone, racial segregation is still deeply entrenched in South Africa.

I actually traveled to Cape Town about ten years ago. As with most white visitors, I’m sure, I mostly saw the middle class areas of the city and surrounding areas.

But I also took a road trip deeper into the country. We passed massive shantytowns along the highways, filled with poor Black citizens.

My trip partner was a white man who had been arrested during apartheid for dodging mandatory military service as an act of resistance. He told me these shantytowns were remnants of the townships during apartheid. The circumstances that created them, the deep segregation of South African society, had never went away.

I tell this story because we in the U.S. might think of South African history in a simplistic way: a journey from bad government, to revolt and rebellion, to victory and new constitution, to Mandela elected president, to all is well.

But stories like this? Never actually end. Happy endings are temporary, and are often not happy for all.

The role of the artists, then? As we’ve learned again and again in episodes of this show, artists are often the fascists’ worst nightmare.

Because they document. To keep telling inconvenient truths. To keep speaking to the people who feel silenced. To empower us all.

South African artists during apartheid did that. South African artists today are still doing it, showcasing the faults in South African society.

And that’s what we can do. We can use our art to resist the status quo, to push back against tyranny, to give hope and validation to those that need to hear it. And then, when things change for the better, keep pushing. Keep holding leaders and tyrants to account.

Because art is resistance. And we can all make it.

OUTRO

The Art of Resistance is a podcast from Rebel Yell Creative. To make art that matters, every creative person needs support. Find yours at RebelYellCreative.com.

This is Amy Lee Lillard, and I wrote, narrated, and produced this show. Check the show notes for all sources. And head to rebelyellcreative.com for full show transcripts, art, and more.

I’ll see you next time.