Journey through the heartbeat of Johannesburg’s theatre scene, as we trace its transformation from a tool of resistance under apartheid’s harsh censorship to a thriving space for diverse voices and stories in South Africa’s democracy.

The lights dimmed as two figures stood centre stage, gazing over at the crowd. A single spotlight cast long shadows and, for a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, the haunting notes of Nkosi Sikelel’ iAfrika rose, not from a choir, but from the audience itself. It was a song that once whispered defiance in theatres, now sung freely in places providing a platform for stories of pain and success. 

I was a part of that audience, sitting in the intimate space of Soweto Theatre, where the walls felt close and the stage small. We had just finished watching Woza Albert! and the air felt thick with unspoken words. The crowd, usually eager to fill the space with chatter, sat in heavy silence; heads bowed slightly, eyes distant, as if each person were lost in the story they had just witnessed. You could almost feel the weight of history settling over the room, as everyone absorbed the gravity of what had just happened. 

When we sang, we sang with heart and, as the final notes of the national anthem faded, Hamilton Dlamini and Thulani Mtsweni quietly left the stage. The audience rose to their feet, their applause filling the theatre in a wave of gratitude. The woman standing next to me quietly wiped away a tear, while my friend cheered at the top of his lungs. It was an electric moment – one that we all knew would stay with us. It was more than just a performance: it was a story that mattered.

These are the kinds of stories that still resonate in the democratic South Africa of today. Yet, although they remain ingrained in the nation’s cultural memory, the word “democracy” is now more often tied to thoughts of politics – elections, government promises, and the ongoing fight for basic human rights like clean water and education. 

Among these vital issues, we often forget the profound role art played in winning our freedom. Art, in its many forms, challenged societal norms and empowered black people to take agency over their lives. 

Through art, stories of hope and resistance blossomed on stages on which actors dared to challenge apartheid’s brutality, feeding the spirit of a nation yearning for liberation. The names of photographers like Alf Khumalo, David Goldblatt and Sam Nzima often fade from memory, their lenses once capturing the soul of a nation’s struggle, now left in the shadows of history. 

Writers like Steve Biko and Es’kia Mphahlele are often lost to time, their words once carrying the weight of a nation’s sorrow and hope, now drifting quietly through the corridors of memory. 

Protest plays like Sarafina, once powerful voices against the injustices of apartheid, are now watched on Youth Day by parents and their teens – a fleeting moment of reflection before life carries on, as if the struggles they portray are distant echoes, easily set aside. 

Protest theatre is a genre that emerged as a powerful force, distinct in its provocative and participatory nature. It stirred the soul, turning audiences from silent onlookers into fierce participants, igniting in them a fire for change and the will to fight for this.

As plays like Sophiatown unfolded on stage, it echoed to the streets of Soweto which erupted in flames when the young voices of the Soweto Uprising rose in defiance a decade prior. It was a gut-wrenching, yet beautiful moment of art and protest intertwining. As the screams echoed through the streets, voices rose from the stage. Though different in sound, they spoke the same language – delivering the same message. Theatre continues to serve as a mirror to society, reflecting its tensions and truths. But is its impact as powerful now as it was in the fight against apartheid? Does the taste of freedom still hold the same promise for South Africa’s people today? And how has the significance of theatre during apartheid evolved in contemporary times?

For Malcolm Purkey, renowned playwright of Randlords and Rotgut (1980), Sophiatown (1988), and Love, Crime and Johannesburg (2000), the significance of theatre as a vehicle for social change has always been undeniable. Sitting quietly among the vacant seats of the Wits Theatre, the founder of the Nunnery Theatre at Wits and its iconic box theatre recalled how his landmark play Sophiatown first found its voice at Junction Avenue Theatre. 

The play draws from a poignant reality during apartheid. Based on the unique history of Sophiatown, a township where black people were allowed to own land, the play tells the true story of two Black writers who boldly advertised for a Jewish girl to live with them. This move challenged societal norms and the segregation laws of that time. 

The opening scene creates the atmosphere with a soulful adaptation of Kofifi Sophia by the cast, with Mingus, one of the characters, sitting front and centre, his hat pulled low. His voice blends into the rising chorus as he states his claim: “We are staying here in Sophiatown.” 

The other character, Jakes, a Drum magazine journalist, rises to speak, painting a picture of the heart of Sophiatown. He calls out its streets, the jazz legends and the political icons that walked on them, recalling the emotional energy and soul of a place both revered and targeted by the apartheid regime. It’s a declaration of identity, a memory of the township’s heart, and a warning of its looming erasure. 

It is in moments like this – when theatre becomes a voice for the silence – that its role in history and today’s times is undeniable. When asked about theatre’s place in such crises, a quiet moment lingers before Purkey speaks. “I still believe that theatre has a right and a need to continue working, no matter what the state of the play is. And actually, if there are uprisings or, you know, revolutionary processes, theatre can play a part in that.”

Reflecting on theatre’s role in revolutionary processes brings to mind prominent venues like the Market Theatre. The theatre, originally built in 1913 in Johannesburg’s bustling Indian Fruit Market, took its name from this trading hub. In its transformation, it became known for something greater – internationally recognised as “The Theatre of Struggle”, a symbol of resistance against apartheid. The theatre defied the segregation laws of that time and dared to imagine a different South Africa.

Purkey recalls how the Market Theatre’s audience evolved, becoming a representation of the future the theatre-makers hoped to see – a diverse, non-racial crowd, hungry to see stories that represented their complex world. Who were these people? Where had they come from? What was it about their hunger that pushed them to seek storytelling?

“These people came to have their realities explained back to them,” Purkey remembers. They weren’t just entertained: they were challenged and enlightened by beautifully woven narratives, layered with wit and humour, despite the gravity of those times.

Long after the curtain call, these audience members would linger around in bars, filling the space with the clutter of glasses and the murmur of voices, sometimes slurred with drink, but always lively. It was more than just a bar – it was a forum, where political dreams, frustrations and a vision for a new future were debated into the early hours. Over the clinking of glasses and rising cigarette smoke, those conversations sparked with the same fire that lit the stage, painting futures that had not yet been written. 

Although these conversations have long faded, the energy and ideas they birthed continue to ripple through time. The spirited debates and ideas of a new tomorrow may exist as echoes, but the desire for transformation has not been dimmed.

Instead, it has been passed down to a new generation – Gen Z – who find themselves at the start of their own defining moments. With their unique challenges, desires and visions, they stand prepared to rescript the narratives of the past and create new stories for the stage. 

Today, Generation Z, the digital natives, step into theatres, not to escape their world, but to transform it. In the 30 years since freedom was won, their stories grapple with modern struggles like LGBTQ+ rights, the #FeesMustFall movement, unemployment and the many challenges shaping young lives. 

However, this generation, although present in the theatre world, does not make up a large percentage of the audience. In a Mail & Guardian article, titled ‘Theatre can return to grassroots’, several critical issues are highlighted about why theatre today may seem like it’s either facing a crisis or slowly fading away. 

According to the article, one of the biggest problems is the lack of early exposure to theatre. Inside these theatres, seats once filled with different faces are now occupied by only a few people, many of them older, affluent individuals. The stories on stage are powerful, relevant – but something feels missing. 

The kids from township schools aren’t there. The teachers didn’t bring them, because no school trips were arranged. The reason? Tight budgets and bus fares they can’t afford. Theatre, they believe, is for the elite. And so, the gap widens. Residents who live mere blocks away from the theatre see it as distant, unreachable. The stories might be theirs, but the stage feels foreign, inaccessible, built for others. 

This is the growing silence that Gen Z has come accustomed to. Unlike the audience of the 1980s, who, as described by Purkey, needed theatre to reflect the struggles of their external world, today’s generation craves something more intimate. Rather than having the world explained to them, they seek an understanding of themselves. 

A recent report in The Guardian found that one in three young people aged 18 to 24 are grappling with mental health challenges like depression and anxiety. As these numbers rise, so do questions of identity, purpose and belonging. This generation, confronted by a digital age that blurs the line between the real and the virtual, increasingly faces identity crises that deepen their desires for stories that speak directly to their internal struggles. 

As Gen Z continues to search for stories that resonate with their internal struggles, the future of theatre must evolve to meet their unique needs.

Lesedi Job (40) an award-winning theatre director, actress and voiceover artist is sitting in the drum room of the 10th floor of the University Corner Building. Job is also known for mentoring emerging artists and her advice to young creatives has always been simple: “Don’t chase the title. Society, especially with the rise of social media, pushes people to seek validation.” 

Being in theatre is about doing the work: you will know if it’s truly for you before anyone tells you, Job emphasises. It is this wisdom, rooted in years of experience, that has shaped her approach to storytelling and mentorship alike. 

Reflecting on the challenges theatre faces today, Job offered a compelling perspective. Ticket prices do not need to be lowered so theatre can become more accessible to people of all socioeconomic backgrounds; in her eyes, theatre is already affordable. 

Job emphasises that reducing prices is not a solution, because at its core, theatre must still operate as a business and account for operational costs. Instead, what truly needs to be changed is how theatre is marketed – how it introduces itself to the public and how it calls to those people who have yet to experience its magic. 

As she says this, a memory slips into my head. In the playwriting classes I attended during my undergraduate years, theatre’s lack of adequate advertising was often highlighted. One thinks of moments of driving along highways and seeing billboards dominated by banners promoting the latest Netflix series or adverts for consumer products. In contrast, a new play – particularly one that isn’t an adaptation of an apartheid-era classic or written and directed by a well-known figure – faces a far steeper climb to gain recognition. This highlights how much effort it takes for a fresh production to break through the noise and capture public attention. 

Even without the widespread visibility of mainstream media, theatre’s role as a mirror to society remains as essential today as it was during apartheid. Although the world is no longer as deeply in touch with the medium as it once was, I believe theatre still holds the same powerful impact. It is finding its new voice in democracy, just as it decoded South Africa in a time of struggle. 

Today, theatre aims to reflect who we are and seeks to explain the complexities of modern life back to ourselves. Although the taste of freedom may have shifted, the core, intention and heart of theatre remains the same.