The closure of City Press feels symbolic for journalism students growing up in the digital era.
The closure of City Press reflects the decline of traditional print journalism.
Journalism students are preparing for an industry increasingly dominated by digital media.
Despite the shift of digital journalism, newspapers still represent an important part of journalism culture.
As a journalism student, I always imagined my future inside a busy newsroom. Pictured reporters rushing to meet deadlines, newspapers stacked on desks and the sound of keyboards filling the room as stories came together before print. Growing up, newspapers felt permanent. They felt important. The closure of City Press in addition to several other titles shut down by Media24, felt like a violent wake up from a beautiful dream. One never gets used to that.
When news of the newspaper’s closure broke, it felt bigger than the loss of a publication. It felt like the end of a version of journalism many students like me had hoped to become part of one day.
Growing up, I witnessed the slow decline of print newspapers as more people turned to digital media for news. As journalism students we already publish stories online and use websites during practicals, so digital journalism already feels normal to us. However, the closure of City Press still felt significant because it marked the end of one of South Africa’s last major print newspapers.
Most people now consume news through their phones before it ever riches print. Social Media updates appear faster and are easier to access, which explains why fewer people still buy newspapers. Although digital newspapers have become the norm, newspapers still carried a sense of tradition that made the closure of City Press feel Symbolic.
Even though many journalism students are already preparing for digital media spaces, the closure of City Press still feels emotional because newspapers were once seen as the centre of journalism. Watching another print title disappear makes the shift from print to digital feel more final.
Despite this uncertainty, the closure of City Press also reminded me why journalism still matters. Even if newspapers disappear, people will always need stories that inform, expose and reflect society honestly. Journalism may no longer look the same as it once did, but its responsibility remains important.
The closure felt personal because it represented more than the loss of a newspaper. It represented change and uncertainty. Still, while many aspiring journalists continue studying, writing and preparing themselves to tell stories in whatever form journalism takes next they are faced with this uncertainty.
The newsroom may be changing before we even enter it, but the passion to tell meaningful stories remains.
Print in the magazine, phone and laptop: City Press visuals, Photo: Khutso Ngwatoana
FEATURE IMAGE: Print in the magazine, phone and laptop: City Press visuals, Photo: Khutso Ngwatoana
Wits journalism students confront apartheid’s execution site and argue visits should be compulsory for future reporters and lawyers.
At least 130 political prisoners were hanged there, including ANC freedom fighter Solomon Mahlangu, with many buried in unmarked graves at Rebecca Street Cemetery.
The trapdoor at Kgoši Mampuru II is now a national heritage site, but between 1960 and 1990 it executed more than 3,500 people — seven at a time.
On Wednesday, April 15, 2026, Wits Centre for Journalism students took the 52-step ascent to the gallows at Kgoši Mampuru II Correctional Centre. The trapdoor is now part of a national heritage site, but between 1960 and 1990 this room executed more than 3,500 people — seven at a time. If Wits University trains the next defenders of our Constitution, then Wits should make this site compulsory for first-year Law students and Honours Journalism students.
Department of Justice records show more than 3,500 prisoners were hanged at Pretoria Central Prison, which closed in 1996 and is now known as the Gallows Memorial Museum. At least 130 to 134 of the prisoners were political activists, including ANC freedom fighter Solomon Mahlangu. Many were buried in unmarked graves at Rebecca Street Cemetery in Mamelodi. The last political execution took place on 29 September 1989, months before the government abolished the death penalty. This was the same gallows where Kgoši Mampuru II himself was executed in 1883, and later, Daisy de Melker.
Critics may argue that the site is traumatic, or that students already study S v Makwanyane where the Constitutional Court outlawed capital punishment in 1995. However, reading a judgment is not the same as standing where the law failed. Law students practise justice in moot courts at Wits. First-year Law and Honours Journalism students must also face where justice failed. The facility is 54,3km from campus. The tour exists.
This visit should be compulsory because Law and Journalism students can’t just read about historic event. Law students will stand up in court one day to talk about people’s freedom. They need to see the room where the state used to execute people. Journalism students will write news stories about jails and courts. If the visit is optional, most students will skip it because it’s hard, but protecting the Constitution isn’t optional. If Wits wants to train lawyers and journalists who care about justice, this isn’t just an educational excursion, but foundational training. If we have never faced the state’s most final act, how can we report it with the weight it demands?
I believe education without memory is incomplete. Wits should partner with the Department of Correctional Services to include an excursion to the Gallows Memorial Museum for first-year Law students and Honours Journalism students, with proper counselling support. A Constitution written to prevent 3,500 deaths cannot be understood without confronting where those deaths happened. The law is not only in textbooks. Sometimes, it’s at the top of 52 steps.
FEATURED IMAGE: Wits Great Hall. Photo: Khutso Ngwatoana
The Pretoria Correctional Service Museum displays a blood-stained cloth from a flogging and a wooden “whipping triangle” used for corporal punishment.
At the Gallows, 3,500 names are engraved on memorial slabs, including Solomon Mahlangu and the Vulindlela family, executed by the apartheid state.
I thought I was going on a class tour. At Kgoši Mampuru II, I realised I was walking into South Africa’s past.
We visited two museums that tell two sides of the same story. The first was the Pretoria Correctional Service Museum, which shows how the prison system was run. The second was the Gallows Memorial Museum, where 3,500 people were executed. I walked in as a student but I left carrying weight I didn’t expect.
The two museums work together. The Pretoria Correctional Service Museum shows the mechanics of control, how people were fed, clothed, worked, and punished. The Gallows shows the final price of that control, 3,500 lives ended by the state.
We began at the Pretoria Correctional Service Museum. Correctional officer Dimakatso welcomed us and explained that phones and cameras were not allowed inside, and then she guided us through the exhibits. We saw wood carvings and sculptures made by inmates.
The punishment displays were the most difficult part for me. A wooden “whipping triangle” showed where inmates were tied for corporal punishment, and stun belts were used to immobilise them. When I saw a white cloth stained with blood from a flogging, I gasped.
A contraband section held makeshift knives shaped from spoons and dagga pipes, which is why Dimakatso said metal dishes have been replaced with plastic. She added that inmates can study and work, although the pay is little. We ended the tour with a look at a replica of Nelson Mandela’s cell.
At the Gallows, we handed our devices before Mr Kgomo took over. His tone was firm and commanding, stating that we were privileged to be there. He showed us engraved memorial slabs with 3,500 names of the hanged, including political prisoners like Solomon Mahlangu and the Vulindlela family, and I kept asking myself how an entire family could be executed.
The first room we entered was a church beneath the hanging chamber. On execution days, bodies were lowered by 9am for families to view in closed coffins, and relatives were told “he’s no more.” I hate coffins, and my heart raced as I understood how easily dignity was stripped away.
We then climbed the 52 steps to the gallows where prisoners took their last walk. As we ascended past dark images and words on the walls, my heart pounded and I sighed with every step because the weight of what happened there felt physical.
At the top, photographs of the hanged made my eyes fill with tears that didn’t drop, and when I saw the seven ropes in the chamber my heart sank while Mr Kgomo described each stage of the process. I realised that living now is a privilege we take for granted.
We left in silence. Everyone was speechless.
As a journalism student, I cannot separate theory from place anymore. I walked the 52 steps. Visits like this should be compulsory for us, because we cannot report on justice or the law fairly if we do not face the past physically. I arrived curious but I left sad, shaken, and more responsible.
FEATURED IMAGE: A portrait of Khutso Ngwatoana. Photo: Alaistar Russell
Since her announcement as the Democratic Alliance’s mayoral candidate for Johannesburg, Helen Zille has dominated national headlines. In this bonus episode of We Should Be Writing podcast, hosts Lulah Mapiye and Bonolo Mokonoto dissect a media meet-and-greet with the mayoral hopeful. From her extensive political résumé to her controversial public utterance, we examine why the Democratic Alliance has chosen Hellen Zille as their candidate for the 2027 local mayoral elections. Additionally, […]
